City of Lakes and Beyond
The next morning arrives to us sitting on our patio, eating a bite, and going over final logistics for the rest of the trip as we part ways two to Udaipur, two to stay in Mumbai. I now decide (now as I sit on the final trip back to NY that I really need to stop flying, it is making my body unhappy, and yes I know I have to fly again tomorrow --- but really really after this next one, I’ll stay put --- until end of May I think) Udaipur is the city of lakes, Lake Pinchola among others. Through a good friend, my teammate and I stayed at a girl’s hostel off in the suburbs of Udaipur. Being fed constantly and made to eat more fried goodness is not good on my stomach. The city is beautiful, the countryside even more so. Yes yes, I only had about 3 hours of sightseeing time in between the lethargic feelings of sleepiness, but the rural areas are beautiful. One of the days during my trip out to the rural areas to study rural development NGOs, we stumbled across the local festival with women in colorful saris arriving in trucks overloaded by people. A humbling and insightful experience even though I kept thinking (okay, if you’re a development person you’ll have read Robert Chambers and understand the term “development tourism”) that yes I was being a development tourist – merely parading through, talking to the better off and zooming off in our car. So in between meetings we did get a minute or two to see the Monsoon Palace and the City Palace which were/are lovely. I’ll have to go back for a longer sojourn, the same can be said for Delhi.
So Delhi, what can we say, it was nice, although I’d heard worse. It’s actually a very green city, not as brown as Udaipur, but the traffic is not good. But hey, for large portions of it I just felt like I was in LA traffic, not moving for 5 minute intervals. Once again, I had a few hours to run to the Red Fort, Dilli Haat, and the Qutab Minar before heading to the airport once again. However, it seems SIPA people are all over the world, hence it was great to meet up with a couple of folks who had graduated in SIPA in 2000 for dinner and drinks one of the nights, even better that she was working for a foundation we wanted to meet.
India, a vibrant country, stressful, but beautiful, I’ll have to go again and not run through areas in 3 hours before departing for the airport, as of now I’m in Seattle, heading back to NY, I can’t really handle another airplane, but hey, it’s the only way to get back to the East coast.
India Here I Am
Moto Photo
Oooh, India
Bzz, the sound of my phone receiving a text message at 8:20PM, EST. I am on the A train on the way to JFK catching a 10:30PM flight to Abu Dhabi and Mumbai. Like most EPD/SIPA functions, it looks like we’re all on the same train running late to the airport. No worries though, the line at Etihad (it means Patience, and only recently started flying to NY) is strangely short for this Thursday evening. What it means is that we are nicely spread out and have sufficient room to sleep. My teammate asks, “how can the airline survive?” to which my other teammate wisely replies, “oil.” Etihad is the national airline of the UAE, so perhaps they have other manners to sustain their company. J
A thrilling 6 and a half hour wait in Abu Dhabi is much too long, however observing those flying through this desert city is interesting. We chatted for a bit with the Ethiopian bartender who served us beer and assured us that Abu Dhabi was a wonderful place that gives respect to women. Sitting in the small terminal with little option to go anywhere else at 2 AM, we all observed the large swarms of Indonesian women who would periodically be called off to Dubai, Qatar, etc etc. It seems one staffing for the Middle East utilizing labour from Southeast Asia was in full force. (On the way back, the plane had a good contingent of South Asian men). The women were huddled together at the both time seeming fearful but excited for the possibilities the future holds. It is so common now, that no one blinks to see a long line of say 60 Indonesian women lining up at the same time for the cafeteria, then to the bathroom, and then back to the waiting area. The bathroom – so an interesting note, there is also a hall of Absolution next door to the bathroom – ie the Mosque and the Bathroom share the same “suite” if you will. It is a bit odd to see.
Another 4 hours later and we all arrive jetlagged in Mumbai, piling into a black and yellow taxi from the 1960s to be driven to the Dadar district and our hotel. The swarms of crowds and the slums semi close to the roadway gives an inkling of just how many people live in the area. Even better, just think 4 hours after I arrive in Mumbai and trying to not sleep, we head off for our first interview with Sanjay from IndianNGOs.com. To get there, the fastest way is the train – a crowded Indian train. No wonder no one cares about space issues, the train hasn’t even stopped yet, when the crowd starts surging pushing pushing pushing to cram themselves into the 2 inches that may open. I get somewhat lost from my 3 teammates – by 2 feet, enough to find myself in the middle of a group of men, but no worries, one was a decent fellow who chatted with me for the 40 minutes or so on the way to Thane. I kept waiting for him to proposition me, I mean that wouldn’t really be new would it? The rush off the train was no better, nor was the rush to find a rickshaw and ensure we arrived where we needed to. Thankfully, all worked out well. The dinner following was equally as humorous as I also fell asleep into my soup bowl. Well, to be fair, I fell asleep, passed out at 6PM when most Indians don’t even think about sleep, there we were, 3 of us sleeping at the table, two with their heads down, me with my head hanging, you know, the norm.
