Happy New Year!

May 2009 be your year!

- from cold and foggy Sofia, where it's -13 degrees C (9 F)

Sofia in the Winter Time

Sofia can be pretty depressing during winter. I have always wondered why it appears more depressing to me than other cities. After all, many cities are gray, rainy/snowy, and dark during winter. Perhaps it's because it's "my city" (the one in which I was born) or perhaps it is because I know it much better than other cities and am able to make comparisons to what it looks and feels like during other times of the year. Although these things seem somewhat superficial to an extent. As I thought about this today, I realized that perhaps I feel this way because of something (or things) entirely different. To an extent, I always find Sofia a little bit depressing because I feel like a guest here (which, technically, I am). Although I have lived outside of Sofia for ten years now, this feeling still throws me off every time I come back. Similarly, it feels awkward to meet up with good friends just once or twice while I am here, for lack of time on both sides. It almost feels like I am just checking them off of some to-do list and moving on to the next item. It sucks! But this year I also noticed something else...the fact that nothing seems to change here. And I am not talking about new buildings, bars and restaurants cropping up, but rather about the way of life. A significant number of the people who hung out at bars, cafes and nightclubs ten years ago, still hang out at bars, cafes and nightclubs now. There is nothing wrong with that per se. I like it that people are social and like to go out, but sometimes I wonder if they actually want to get something more out of life, outside of the drinking and partying. Yes, maybe this makes me sound like a prune... or old or something, but I feel like people should be moving from one stage of their lives to the next, not be stuck in their teenage years forever. I realize that people are bound by certain constraints, which are greater for some than for others, but still ... I find the whole "standstill" quite depressing. It makes me wonder though why I didn't notice it while I was living here in 2006-07. I guess once you "go native", you lose the ability to view things more objectively. Or perhaps I have also changed since then.

While I've Been Living Under a Rock...

.... the first Starbucks opened up in Bulgaria (last month). I just noticed it today: Sofia, the corner of Gurko and Vassil Levski, where the Pizza Hut used to be. Somehow it seems almost symbolic that one American chain should make way for another. Also, does having our very own Starbucks mean we have passed some higher bar of development?

Year at a Glance

The things that I'll remember 2008 by:

1. Sitting in a Princeton dining hall until being kicked out at closing, realizing that sometimes the most seemingly mundane places turn out to be special
2. Obama's victory
3. Hiking volcanoes in Nicaragua
4. Seeing the Taj Mahal for the first time
5. Learning to love NYC
6. First babies among my friends
7. General silliness

Making It in the "Land of Opportunity"

About a week ago I received a phone call from a friend of my father's. He has been living in the US with his family for 7 years or so but has not been able to find a job matching his qualifications from Bulgaria. The longer I spoke to him, the more I contemplated the absurdity of the situation. A graduate degree and years of experience from another (I guess, non-Western) country apparently count for nothing. But how long do you stay before you make the decision to call it quits and return home (where, granted, quite a few things have improved over the last seven years)? Do you keep trying in the hope that with the next set of applications you will succeed? Do you stay because your son would have better opportunities here than back home? Even if it means that you have to drive a cab or deliver pizza? I guess the answer to those latter questions would be "yes", but it still felt strange to think that someone twice my age, with much more work experience than me, someone I consider my father's peer, has lower chances in the US job market than I do. I guess that's how the system works. Or perhaps there is an age limit to "making it" in the US? If you arrive after you've passed it, you have no chance.

Obamanos!

It is reality. Barack Obama is the next President of the United States. It will take a little bit for that reality to sink in completely, especially as we return to the usual suspects at the White House over the next couple of months. The results feel special not only because of the historical moment that they represent in so many aspects, but also because I was able to participate in them first-hand. I voted for the first time in a U.S. presidential election, having gained that right two years ago.

Tonight, as I sat among my public policy classmates, our eyes glued to the television screen, our fingers crossed, and our hopes up, I felt grateful that I could participate in this process and witness this transformation directly. And, perhaps, for the very first time since I received my naturalization certificate, I could say I felt truly proud of my second nationality.

Yes we can.

India in Pictures

A visual representation of my posts.

Delhi sights:

Lodhi Gardens

The Red Fort

Jain temple

Markets

At Jamma Masjid - largest mosque in Delhi

At the biggest Sikh temple in Delhi

Delhi traffic

Luggage porters at train station

Shimla sights:

Murals at a fort in the town of Arki

"Hmmm, where should I go on my next trip?"

The Mall - city center and main pedestrian area in Shimla

Agra sights:

Finally, the Taj Mahal

Agra Fort

India: The Bottom Line

In retrospect, what struck me the most during the two weeks in India?

1. The colors - India is a very colorful country, and the color lends even the poorest, most run-down places a striking and happy air. Nowhere are the colors more diverse and better displayed than on women's garments. I felt like taking pictures everywhere I looked.

2. The friendliness - Indians, and especially the women, are extremely friendly and open. Although the women may keep quiet most of the time in the presence of men, their eyes reveal a certain warmth and make you feel immediately at ease. Of course, part of this could be due to curiosity. (This is definitely true among children, who would follow us around but then run away laughing as soon as we turned around to look at them.) All in all, even the severe hardship that many families face, did not detract from their hospitality and friendliness. A fact that lies in distinct contrast to how many Bulgarians would react under the same circumstances.

3. The diversity of religions - I was amazed when I first learned how many religions co-exist in India. From Buddhism and Jainism to Islam and Hinduism to Christianity and Sikhism. I am happy that I was able to visit some of their places of worship. But what struck me the most is how all of these religions can exist peacefully side by side, when political groups don't have a say in the matter. It is only when such groups decide to abuse differences for their own subversive purposes that violence and unrest erupt.

On the not so positive side:

4. The poverty - Unfortunately, the poverty in India is omnipresent. It probably would have struck me even more had I not spent the ten weeks prior to the trip in Nicaragua where poverty is just as widespread. The level of poverty seemed similar; however, in terms of sheer numbers, India's poor surpass Nicaragua's by far. I have heard from others who have been to India previously that this has started changing ... for the better. But there is still a long way to go, especially in the rural areas.

5. The "guiltripping" - I already wrote about this at length, but it is (for better or worse) one of the things with which I will associate India. I realize it is not meant in a mean way, but Indian vendors'/drivers' ability to take advantage of your touristic self, and then make you feel guilty about not allowing that, is quite extraordinary. I don't think I have experienced it anywhere else.

This trip was a wonderful introduction to India. However, I realize that it allowed me to only scratch the surface of all that the country has to offer. I explored a very minute part. Hopefully, I will get to return in the future and dig deeper. It would be an honor.

Navigating the NJ Bureaucratic Maze

It took me three days to confirm that I am registered to vote in New Jersey. For some reason, I harbored the thought that surely local US bureaucracy must be better than its Bulgarian counterpart. Well, those thoughts have been dashed. For the past three days I have been trying to contact the Mercer County Clerk's Office in order to determine whether they received my voter registration. (I had not received anything in the mail although the election is next week and my registration was sent in at least 4 weeks ago. I certainly wasn't leaving it up to chance whether I am voting in this election!) On Tuesday, I called. Somebody answered took down my name and query and said they would call me back. They did, except at a time when I wasn't near my phone, and left a message. Instead of telling me whether I am registered or not, the message simply said that absentee ballots would be sent out the following day (had I requested an absentee ballot?) I called back. Someone else answered and transferred me... to a line where no-one picked up. I left a voicemail. Didn't hear back. Today, I decided to try my luck again. I called again. A woman answered and said she would transfer me to the right person dealing with voter registration. A man picked up.
Man: "Hello."
Me: "Good morning, I am calling to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "Yes, hello." (Pause)
Me: "Hi, I would like to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "Yes, tell me."
(Which I assumed means I should continue with my query.)
Me: "My name is Denitza. That's spelled D as in David -E-N as in Nancy-I-T as in Tom-Z-A. Last name, Jilkova: J-I-L-K-O-V as in Victor-A."
Man: "Hello, why are you calling?"
Me (thinking I must have landed on some alternate universe at this point): "I am calling to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "I don't understand."
Me (thinking, "How complicated can this be?"): "I would like to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "I have no idea what you are saying. Hold on."
Me: !?!?!?

So another man came on the line. I explained what I needed. He told me he needed to transfer me somewhere else but he didn't know where (?!?!?) so he gave me some numbers to try. They didn't work. I redialed the first number I had called and told the lady that she had transferred me to the wrong person. She gave me four more numbers to try. Finally, the third one worked and someone picked up. And she was able to check whether I was in the voter registration system. Best of all, I am. But why I had to go through this convoluted process, I will never know.

Vote. November 4.

A Visit to One of the Seven Wonders and a Run-In with Bollywood

I apologize for the long lapse in writing. Somehow, it has been hard to get both the mood and timing right to collect and put all of my impressions in writing. And I certainly don't want to do the job perfunctorily. That's not the point. So, thank you for your patience and please keep returning. The posts are coming. There will probably be one more on India followed by a few on Nicaragua.

Ever since the day we arrived in India, my classmates and I had discussed the possibility of visiting the Taj Mahal if we had some free time at the end of our trip. We had two days left in the country after our return from Shimla and although all five of us had initially been enthusiastic about seeing the Taj Mahal, realizing that we had to catch an early morning train the following day, dissuaded the majority from actually making the trip. In the end, I and a classmate (the one with whom we had the crazy tour of Old Delhi) decided we would make an attempt to go, although we had no train reservations or tickets. The train was leaving at 7:15 the following morning, so we decided to get up early and try to be at the station an hour ahead of time in order to get tickets.

The Nizamuddin train station was a hectic place, but not nearly as crazy as the New Delhi Station (from which we had departed for Shimla). There were only a few people in line and we made our way to the ticket counter quickly. Alas, there was no availability in first class (which is nothing special and seems like the equivalent of second class on US and European trains) so we bought second-class tickets. As we made our way to the train platform, it looked like we were approaching a colorful, moving mosaic. Women of all ages squatted or sat on the pavement in their saris, children ran around, men paced to and fro. We weren't quite sure in which part of the platform to stand to get into the right car. However, the approach of the train quickly limited our options as the colorful crowd surged forward and started boarding the train. The cars that quickly filled up were the 2nd class cars. We managed to grab some seats amidst the pushing and shoving, but then it struck me that the car next to ours was completely empty. I went over to check it out and it turned out that this was CC (chair class) - something in between 2nd and 1st class. A gentleman told me we would have to pay 50 Rps more if we sat in that car with our current tickets. A no brainer given that we were craving some quiet after the few hours of sleep the previous night. We quickly left the crowds and noise and moved to CC.

The trip to Agra (the town where the Taj Mahal is located) was pretty uneventful except for my classmate's attempt to buy bananas at one of the stations. A vendor was selling bananas on the platform and when she asked how much one cost, he told us 10 Rps (approx. 25 cents). It seemed like we were definitely getting a tourist price given that we had eaten whole lunches in Shimla for 60 Rps. But regardless she asked him for two bananas having readied 20 Rps in her hand. The vendor took the 20 Rps and promptly returned with two bunches of bananas! Apparently, "one" to him meant "one bunch" of approximately 4-5 bananas. Needless to say, we were on a banana diet for the rest of the day.

We had decided ahead of time that we would hire a taxi for the whole day to take us to the major sites in Agra (including the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort). The great (or perhaps most annoying) thing (depending on the circumstance and your mood) about being a tourist in India is that you don't have to look for anything. People find you. As soon as we stepped off the train in Agra we were accosted with tourist guide offers. One guy seemed legitimate enough having shown us a printed price list that included the sites we wanted to visit. The price was also not far off from the one our hosts in Delhi had named - 600 Rps - so we decided to hire him.

We were dropped off as close to the Taj Mahal as possible. However, that still left us with a 10-15 minute walk given that motorized vehicles are prohibited from entering the area immediately surrounding the Taj to prevent the fumes from darkening the building. I was pleasantly surprised to learn this as I didn't witness much environmental consciousness elsewhere while in India. (For example, a man on the train had told us to throw our trash out the window after he saw us wondering where to put it.) I had been warned that the walk to the Taj would be one where we would have to fend off vendors left and right but that wasn't the case. Maybe we had arrived too early in the day or maybe we were lucky to be there during the off-peak season. Regardless, we still had to pay the tourist price for getting in: 750 Rps (approx. $17). (Compared to 20 Rps that locals had to part with.) However, to make this more palatable to foreigners the price included a small bottle of mineral water, shoe covers (for entry into the actual building so you don't have to take your shoes off the way the locals do), and free toilet visits (locals had to pay 2 Rps to use the restroom).

I had wondered whether I would be that impressed by the Taj Mahal given that I had already seen so many photos of it elsewhere (including from friends who had been to India). How different could it be in person? As soon as I walked through the arch of the wall separating the outside world from the tomb, however, I had to hold my breath. Yes, I had seen that sight so many times previously. But seeing it in person was an entirely different experience. What struck me the most was how dainty and delicate the building looked despite being built from solid white marble. Something about its design, the color, the decorative motifs, and the light playing off of it lent it a certain lightness that I had totally missed in the multiple photos I had seen. It's hard to describe. I guess, you just have to see it in person to know what I mean (and I certainly hope that you get the chance). It's a sight that draws you in and doesn't let you go. It was really hard to leave, but a few hours, multiple snapshots, and a rain shower later, we decided it was time to head to the Agra Fort - the second most-visited attraction in Agra.

The walk back to our taxi was not as easy as the walk to the Taj Mahal. All of a sudden, there were a lot more vendors, selling everything from Taj Majal snow globes to whips (!?!). And despite multiple firm "No's" on our part they continued to follow us almost the entire way. What amused me was their pricing strategy. An initial price of 100o Rps would quickly decline to 100 Rps. The more times you said "No", the faster the price would fall. It really made me wonder about the actual cost of producing these goods. In front of the Agra Fort, I made the "mistake" of inquiring about the price of a backgammon board from one vendor. Two seconds later, I was being offered not only the board, but also elephant figurines, ornamental boxes, and postcards. Vendors rushed towards me like vultures to a carcass. After I had decided I would buy the backgammon board and bargained for it, the guy proceeded to offer me a chess board and a second backgammon board. When I told him I wasn't interested, he just handed them to me to look at and then refused to take them back (presumably until I decided to buy them). In the end, I literally had to leave the boards on the ground and continue walking. Vendors' persistence in India is simply amazing.

After the exhausting day of sightseeing, my classmate and I decided to try to find seats in first class on the train ride back to Delhi. We had been told that we could speak to the ticket conductor about any unclaimed seats and simply pay the difference in price between first class and our existing second-class tickets. Speaking to the conductor turned into a long-winded affair (of course). After listening to our query he went off to check for seat availability, telling us that he would be right back....which in the end turned out to be 30 mins later. During this time, we simply stood by the doors of the train and hoped he would come back with good news, because at that rate, we probably wouldn't have been able to find empty seats in second class either. When he returned he announced with a grin that he had seats for us. "Great!" we thought and followed him. We made our way to the back. I didn't see any empty seats. Then the conductor started talking to two women, who looked like mother and daughter. We had no idea what was being said but the result was that the women were made to get up and give us their seats. Uhmmm, not exactly what we had intended. I felt horrible. I was certain the whole car was shooting us "whities" down with their eyes at that very moment. However, the conductor kept smiling graciously and it seemed impossible to back out now. So, reluctantly and guilt-ridden we sat down. It turned out that the mother had a place to sit but the daughter had to stand until another seat opened up. She chose to stand next to us. As soon as the conductor left, I started apologizing to the girl for what had happened and told her we could alternate sitting. She smiled and quickly reassured us with, "Oh, please don't worry, I always travel like this since I never make reservations. Please, you are guests in our country, sit." I was amazed. If this had happened any place else (let alone in Bulgaria), the girl would have been giving us evil looks, insulting us, or scheming how to get us back. (Well, her mother did keep turning around and giving us cold looks almost the entire ride back.) The hospitality and warmness of people in India (and especially of the women) is something I will always remember about the place.

We struck up a conversation with the girl. It turned out that she was an actress (she definitely had the looks for it) and was off to Switzerland the following day for a shoot. It felt somewhat strange to meet someone associated with Bollywood. Yet, when I thought about it, given the scale of the industry, I guess it wasn't that surprising. At one point, as we spoke, the ceiling above me started dripping, right on my head. Every few minutes. My classmate and I started laughing. Guess that's what you get for displacing someone out of their seat. The Bollywood actress tried to keep the water from dripping onto me by holding her hand above my head (can you imagine?!?) But I quickly told her that wasn't necessary. She kept saying, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," as if she had made the ceiling drip on purpose. It was one of those bizarre and surreal moments when you almost can't believe your eyes and yet you know that what you are seeing is really happening. At the next stop some seats freed up, and the actress and her mother moved. We continued to sit where we were, with the occasional water drop falling on my head.

(Later we learned that the Indian train system has such a thing as a "tourist quota" - a number of seats in first class that are reserved especially for tourists. If two people - a tourist and a local - try to upgrade from second class, the tourist has a greater chance of getting a seat if the quota has not been filled. That made us feel slightly better about what had happened, after the fact. Plus, I guess we did get to meet what could be the next big Bollywood star.)

The Road to Shimla and Back

This is Post #1 of the remaining ones from India. Bear with me as I try to write up the rest of the trip (where do I start?) while also trying to keep up with my to-do list at the beginning of the new semester. I also promise to return to the last weeks in Nicaragua after finishing the India posts.

The trip to Shimla, the capital of the northern state of Himachal Pradesh and the primary destination for our school research trip, took more than 10 hours. We traveled in style for the first leg of the trip (4.5 hrs) in a first-class air-conditioned train car – our seats reclined; we were served tea, cereal, a vegetarian cutlet, and some fruit. I have learned that serving is not always done very efficiently here. One guy would first hand us each our tea cups, then another one would come by with the hot water. One would first give us our bowl of cereal and a second one would pour the hot milk. Sure makes for job generation. The second leg of the trip was far less comfortable but far more exciting. We took a toy (narrow-gauge) train from the city of Kalka that wound its way slowly up the mountainside, through a total of 103 tunnels in a little over 5.5 hours. Before we even boarded, I noticed the segregation – foreigners were directed towards one car, locals towards another. Our porters (who accosted us as soon as we exited the previous train) were very eager to put our luggage on board before we had even bought tickets. And only my classmate’s extremely firm and loud “No, stop!” cut short their crusade to hoist all of our luggage through one of the train windows. I think we boarded one minute short of the train leaving. Our car was filled with Brits going on a motorcycle tour of the northeastern part of the state. They had already taken up most of the space on the two-person benches (which in all honesty were not made to fit two people comfortably), so we had to squeeze next to some of them and try not to dwell too much on the fact that we would have to ride like that for more than five hours. As the train chugged along, the scenery that opened up definitely kept my mind off the uncomfortable seats. Small towns perched vertically on the mountainside; the air became fresher and cooler the longer we traveled; pine and other evergreen trees soon started appearing; and the sight of the railway tracks zigzagging up the mountain was certainly impressive. It was hard to believe that this was still India for it defied any and all images and descriptions of what I had ever thought to be India.

Shimla is located at an altitude of 2159 meters in the foothills of the Himalayas. At first sight, and in comparison to Delhi, the town seemed almost serene – the fresh air and greenery lent it a very different feel. The town is built vertically with roads winding their way between the different levels and series of stairs connecting them. Going on foot makes for a significant cardiovascular endeavor. The terrain also adds a tinge of scariness to driving (or being driven) on Shimla’s roads. Drivers break suddenly at sharp turns, overtake while honking wildly (to signal their approach to anyone coming from the opposite side around the bend), and are not too concerned about passengers’ proneness to motion sickness. The most amazing thing to me is that amidst all of this, pedestrians walk slowly and calmly on the side of the road (there are no sidewalks) and don’t move a muscle during all the honking taking place around them, while I would continually get startled. Often they don’t even move to the side for passing vehicles. Somehow they seem confident that drivers will look out for them (why or how I am still to find out).

Our goal while in Shimla was to talk to the Principal Secretary of Health for Himachal Pradesh and his staff and potentially visit some health centers and villages in more remote areas of the state. We did both the office and field visits and while I won’t get into the details of those (since I am not sure everyone is interested in my school project), I will try to note the things that struck me over the week spent in Himachal.

1. People are extremely welcoming. The feeling that people are trying to take advantage of you and potentially rip you off disappears once you leave the mainstream tourist trail. I didn’t get a sense of that once while we were in Shimla and the surrounding area. Himachal Pradesh is also one of the better off states in India – we didn’t see any beggars and the streets seemed much cleaner than most places in Delhi. Everyone we spoke with met us graciously, offered us tea multiple times (tea-drinking is actually an inseparable part of the meeting process and it would appear rude to refuse it although often times this meant that we would spend way more time than we had anticipated with a given group of people), and seemed to want to help us in any way possible. Women are especially sweet and gentle. Given that they often come second (see next section), they have this shy look about them, often averting their gaze downwards, but once you’ve caught their eye and smile, a genuine, friendly smile lights up their face.

2. Women are largely ignored. Very early into our meetings it became apparent that we would have to work hard to make ourselves heard and voice our opinions (and questions) during conversations. Everyone we met (mostly men) directed their attention to our professor (a man) and hardly even looked at us, the students (all women), let alone address questions our way. For a state that prides itself on its programs for female empowerment and raising the female-male sex ratio (side-note: because of the very strong traditional male preference in India, sex-based abortion is a large-scale problem here that the government is working hard to address and overcome), it was surprising to see such behavior. We had a couple of awkward (and somewhat amusing) situations in which our professor would wait for us to walk into a room first, while the Indians would wait to him to walk in first, which resulted in a lot of confusion. In the end, we just admitted defeat and waited for the men to walk in first. Even our interpreter, who for all intents and purposes was hired for all of us, addressed most questions to our professor and very soon referred to him as Sir Jeffrey while he never learned our names. This was both amusing and somewhat frustrating but given that there was little we could do to change it without appearing extremely rude, we simply ignored it for the rest of our trip.

3. Our every move was tracked. No matter where we disembarked, we were immediately recognized by people around us as foreigners and followed around (sometimes only by gazes, sometimes quite literally by crowds of children, who would start laughing hysterically if you looked back at them). Mostly we were stared at by men. And I don't mean a quick gaze or look-over. I mean full-on, very obvious staring. I still haven't quire figured out whether these were "sexual" stares or stares of curiosity given our white-ness. Given that culturally women are more modest and in generally do not stare at anyone, they would largely dismiss us (or steal furtive glances our way when they thought no-one was looking). Our interpreter was particularly “good” at following us around. He tracked our every move like a mother lioness, making sure we didn’t go too far astray. I guess he was only looking out for our wellbeing, but after a while this got slightly annoying. One evening as we decided to take a stroll in the town we were staying after dinner, he saw us leaving and quickly inquired, “Where are you going?” He did not follow us but he did wait for us in the yard of the hostel we were staying until we came back.

4. Lost in translation. It turns out that not as many people as I had thought speak English fluently, especially when you leave the bigger cities. Luckily, one of my classmates is Pakistani and her Urdu served us well among the Hindi-speaking population. But even with the people that do speak English, there were some misunderstandings. Like the housekeeper in Delhi, when people try to show deference and ask you something politely, it comes out sounding more like an order, “Sir, you come eat now.” “Go in, please.” “We go now, please, go in the car” (with an accompanying gesture). I couldn’t help feeling like a small child that was being told what to do (something I don’t particularly enjoy and never have, even as a child). Of course, I realized it wasn’t meant this way, but sometimes it was hard to ignore the tone regardless.

5. India is a very hierarchical society. To this day, caste and social status have a significant bearing on everyday life. Matrimonial classifieds are listed by caste. Higher-caste doctors in rural areas will not touch lower-caste patients (which makes you wonder how they actually treat them). Higher-status families have house staff (usually a driver, a housekeeper, a gardener, and a couple of guards). An even simpler example I noted at the Directorate of Health Services in Shimla was the fact that each of the staff we met with had their own assistant. In contrast to the Western world, however, this assistant would often stand outside his/her boss’s office and enter only when summoned by a buzzer. The buzzer button would be located somewhere on the superior’s desk. Being in India reminded me in a lot of ways of being in Zimbabwe. At the time we were living there (and I was too young to fully comprehend this at the time), whites were higher-status than blacks. They lived in bigger houses, with huge yards and house staff. Even we had a gardener. In contrast to people who have grown up in such hierarchical societies though, my family always felt somewhat awkward of being assigned such status power. I still feel extremely uncomfortable at the thought of having someone else “serve” me. Hence I uttered many more “thank you’s” and made eye contact more often to let people know my appreciation than seemed to be the norm in India. May be one gets used to it after a while and doesn’t even notice. I think it would take me a while to get fully accustomed to it though.

After a week in Shimla and the surrounding areas, we drove back to Delhi. Monkeys observed our winding descent from the side of the road. Big, colorful TATA trucks passed us by. Slowly, the air got warmer and the traffic heavier. Until we were engulfed by the craziness of Delhi once again.

Taste of Delhi

Day two in Delhi concluded. I think I have had an overload of impressions but perhaps not as many as I would have had had I not spent 2.5 months in Nicaragua. The level of poverty is very similar. But I noticed one big difference. The flies. In Nicaragua, no matter where you find yourself (in a city or the most remote area), people will keep flies away from their food. They cover plates, utensils, bottle necks, and glasses with napkins. They wave flies away almost continuously when they sell fruit or cooked food on the street. (Funnily enough, they have invented a simple tool for this - a plastic bag tied to the end of a stick. Works very well.) Well, people here are not at all careful about the flies. They are everywhere in some areas and they land on everything. But anyhow. That as more of a tangential remark. Delhi is quite a hectic place. I have learned several things so far:

1. Big trumps small. That seems to be the primary (and only) rule of driving here. That and the horn-blowing (more below). With the craziness of motorcycles, rickshaws, cars, trucks, and buses (add to that pedestrians and bicycles in some areas) on the roads, I am surprised I haven't seen any accidents yet. Two lanes often are improvised into four or even five lanes of traffic. But somehow magically, everyone knows exactly what to do, where to go, and how to react when driving between a bus and a rickshaw with a car forcing its way before them. Guess the rule works.

2. One hand on the horn. All drivers (whether taxi, rickshaw, car, truck ,or bus) seem to have one hand constantly on the horn and blow it intermittently. Similarly to Nicaragua, it is used to signal to others that you are approaching or passing them or are thinking of passing them (and probably a multitude of other things). As soon as a traffic light changes to green, the first thing that happens is almost everyone blowing their horn. "Here I come," it seems to say. Horn blowing is so ubiquitous that buses and trucks sometimes have the following words written on the back "Horn please." Well, now that you politely asked, don't mind if I do use my horn. Which leads me to another thought.

3. Indians' funny signs. So far I have seen the following: "Speed thrills but kills", "Say no to plastic bags" (posted randomly on the side of the road under a street sign), "Safe operators are smooth operators" (I guess this refers to construction workers since it was posted near construction but I love the pop music reference) and my favorite so far by a landslide: "Ladies are requested to remain seated through the performance" (Guess where? On the inside of a toilet stall door. Yes, the performance :) )


4. The guilt trip. Another major part of being a foreigner in India. Taxi and rickshaw drivers will always try to extract more from you than is the usual fare. I am not trying to be mean or make a generalized statement. This has been my experience here thus far. Out of the 7-8 taxi and rickshaw rides taken so far, only one driver didn't try to up the fare. There are several ways drivers do this. 1) They hide the meter under a towel. You always have to check that it is turned on at the start of your ride. 2) Even if they show you it is working, sometimes it does not move - they have to start it, which they sometimes "conveniently" forget to do. 3) If there is no meter or it isn't working, they will quote you a higher fare than you know you are supposed to pay. One of my classmates got charged 600 rupees for a ride that should have cost 100 at most (she didn't know that at the time). 4) You agree on an amount but once you get to your destination, they suddently quote you a different amount. Once I argued and told the driver that we know the fare should be X amount, he replied by saying, "You not a good madam." Yes, the guilt trip. And then you feel like an *&$hole for denying them the $1. It is not that I really care about the $1 or $2 they are trying to overcharge me, but to me it is the principle of the matter that counts. I would gladly give them that extra money if they just treat me cordially and get me to my destination. But blatantly lying and then pulling the guilt trip card just won't work. I know they don't do it out of spite or any malicious intent, but still.

5. 'I don't know' does not exist in the Indian vocabulary. Similarly to Indians' inability to say "No" is their inability to own up to the fact that they don't know something. Very dangerous when you are a first-timer in Delhi and asking for directions. Last night, our taxi driver couldn't find our street address so he stopped to ask. Well, it was more complicated than that. He didn't speak very good English, so we first had to get him to understand the address we were telling him. Also tough to do, because he would nod (or more correctly, wobble his head in typical Indian fashion), although it turned out he did not understand us. That barrier overcome, he had to explain to the people we stopped the address (which he kept forgetting). We had several night guards point us in what seemed to be the right direction, but our driver was quite unsure and kept stopping every 20-30 meters to ask someone else. We were finally on the right street and asked one final time, when the guy we asked told us (very authoritatively) that such an address did not exist. "But we were there last night," we argued. It was futile. Finally we just continued driving down the street and I recognized a landmark. From there, it was easy. As our hosts told us when we finally made it back, "The more they don't know, the more detailed directions people will give you." :) Guess I will watch out for that next time.

And other than that, we finally managed to do a little bit of sightseeing in Delhi. That was an experience in and of itself as upon leaving the Red Fort we were joined by one man who steadfastly followed us around and kept pointing out landmarks. He did this so well that in the end he spontaneosly turned into our private tour guide. At first, we weren't sure it was a good idea, but in the end after maneuvering the crowded streets of the various bazaars close to the Red Fort, having him around turned into a blessing. He took us to the mosque and the Jain Temple; showed us Silver and Wedding Street (the latter an explosion of colors); popped us into several fabric stores (which may give him a commission, but at that point buying a pashmina, which I would have regardless, seemed like an insignificant price to pay even if that were the case); and had us back at the Red Fort for the Light & Sound Show two hours later. We tipped him and surprisingly he was not unhappy with the amount we gave him.
The trip home was yet another adventure as we braved a bicycle rickshaw ride to a taxi stand after the Light & Sound show, which seemed close to suicidal on the crazy roads. Also, as we got dropped off at the "taxi stand", we realized it was not a taxi stand at all but a parking lot. Our driver had yet again misunderstood us (although he had nodded so emphatically that he would take us to "taxi stand".) We sighed. That's just how things go here. It is never simple. Of course, you make your way to your destination eventually, but how eventually can vary widely. After confirming that indeed there was no taxi stand there, several guys came to our "rescue". "Yes, madam?", "What do you need, madam?" Even simply saying that we needed a taxi caused some confusion.
"Where is the nearest taxi stand?"
"You looking for taxi, madam?"
"Yes, we need a taxi."
"Where is your taxi, madam?"
"We don't have a taxi yet. We need one."
"You told taxi to wait here, madam?"
"No, we didn't come by taxi."
(Looks of confusion at which we try to explain.)
"We need taxi, now."
"Oh, you need now taxi? No taxi here, madam."
"Ok, where then?"
"Taxi at taxi stand, madam."
"Great, where is the taxi stand?" (which, if you were paying attention, was the question we started out with)
It is hard not to get exasperated sometimes. But then you remember that things don't always work the way you are used to in other countries, and why should they? You breathe deeply and move on. And, in the end, you get home.

Good Morning, Delhi!

So, I have officially landed in Asia for the first time. As our Australian ex-pat host put it, "At the deep end." I had heard much about what India would be like but decided to try to come as impressionless and expectationless as possible in order to formulate my own opinion and not merely mirror what others have told me. But let me start at the beginning. The flight from Newark.
For a 13-hour flight it was pretty painless. I was surprised. We had our own entertainment system, with over 300 movies (and additionally, TV programs and music) to choose from. The middle seat next to me was empty. The only "disturbances" so to speak, included my pillow mysteriously disappearing after I had made a trip to the bathroom. This was topped only by my snacks (handed to us in order to survive the hours between dinner and breakfast) disappearing during the last hours of the flight (probably also during a trip to the bathroom, but I didn't realize it until some time later). Perhaps it was the young guy on the other side of the aisle or some random passer-by... I will never know. Nevertheless, my "Indian" experience began the moment I boarded the plane. We were offered Indian food as one of the options. Older generation Indians mulled about in a confused fashion trying to decipher their boarding cards and find their seats. My classmate sat one seat away from a gentleman who seemingly polite (he kept apologizing for making her get out of her seat when he needed to use the bathroom), ended up trying to put his feet onto her lap after taking up all of the middle seat between them. (She glared him down into keeping his distance.) I decided there was no better time than this one to watch a Bollywood movie. I didn't really enjoy it much but at least I can say I have seen one.
Then we landed at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi. I stepped out into the heat and made my way to immigration. The officer didn't ask me anything. I noticed that his nameplate was handwritten with bubble block letters that were filled in pen. It was hard for me take him seriously after noticing this fact. Passport stamped, I moved on.
Our professor was supposed to meet us but he was nowhere to be seen. Then one of my classmates had the smart idea to look at the signs people were holding. Sure enough, our names were on one of them. We stepped outside and made our way to the car. I didn't notice the smog or smell that I had been warned multiple times about. Perhaps, I will today. The scene on the road also did not match what I had been told. I had pictured a madhouse of cars, rickshaws, people, bicycles, and cows. All I saw was quite a bit of traffic and a crazy way of driving. Not to say that the above isn't still coming, but those were my first impressions. Apparently, Delhi is not as smog-filled as it used to be. Our host told us that many of the buses and taxis have switched to natural gas for fuel, which apparently has made a big difference.
I woke up at 4:20 am. Not surprising given the time difference. I dozed on and off till about 8 am. As I got up, an eager Indian housekeeper ordered me to come have breakfast, "Madam, come have your breakfast now." Although I'm sure she didn't mean it that way, it sure sounded like an order and something I should not disagree with. So, I obediently went to have breakfast. Which brings me to something else I had been warned about and experienced already. Indians' inability to say "No". Apparently, this is not because they are trying to be mean, confuse you, or rip you off. They are just trying to save face. It seems inappropriate for them to refuse you anything. So when asking for directions they will assure you you are on the right track although you are not. They will tell you, they have something in stock when they do not. And so forth.
There is plenty of room for misunderstandings. This morning as our host left, she told us she would tell her driver that we may need him to drive us to the World Bank office at some point. Five minutes after she left, the eager housekeeper came over to tell us that the driver is going to the World Bank, now. When my classmate explained that we wouldn't need to go until later, she stubbornly stood her ground, "But driver is leaving now." In the end, all my classmate could do was shrug her shoulders.
And thus begins our Indian adventure.

Bye Nicaragua, Hello India

Yes, I am back from Nicaragua. I apologize for not having written in the last couple of weeks but travel made that hard. There are just too many impressions to share and I won't do them full justice if I don't devote enough time to them. Unfortunately, time is currently an issue, since I leave for India (on a school-related trip) today. I feel like I still need time to mull over everything I saw and experienced in Nicaragua, but won't be able to properly before being whisked off to a new country and a new continent, where I am sure I will be overwhelmed by a whole new set of impressions. I am not complaining though. I am sure it will all make sense and come together one of these days. And when it does, I promise to capture the highlights in writing.

Stay tuned.

Mini-Nicaragua in a .... dance performance

I was super excited to find out that the one night I would be in Managua (Saturday), there was a performance of their Ballet Folklorico Nicaragüense at the National Theatre. I was also very pleasantly surprised to see that the theatre was packed, people wore formal clothing, and the seats were super comfortable with enough leg room (extremely important for me with my height and something I didn't expect given that I tower over almost everyone here, including men). The performance included approximately 20 different dance sequences from the different regions in Nicaragua, all in bright, colorful costumes. At the end of the performance I also thought how well it exemplified Nicaragua and Nica traits:

- Patriotism: We all had to stand up and listen to the national anthem before the performance began (this is probably also at least partially due to the fact that the Sandinistas are currently in power, and I couldn't help but think back to Communist times in Bulgaria). A number of songs and a poetry recital glorified Nicaragua, and everyone in the audience clapped and cheered.

- Religious Faith: A performance that exemplifies Nicaraguan culture would not be complete without some religious references. The last "number" in the sequence was in honor of the Virgin and included the lowering of her image onto the stage from above. People in the audience sang along.

- Having a good time: I guess this is part of any culture's folklore, but I was still very impressed with how full of life, color, and energy the dances were. And although I am sure many in the audience had seen these types of dances multiple times, they still "ooo-ed" and "aah-ed" each time the dancers appeared in new costumes. It made me realize how proud they are of their cultural heritage and how different that seems to be from the way a lot of Bulgarians feel about theirs.

The highlight for me was a dance in which the women swirled and glided across the stage with big flat weave baskets on their heads (without holding onto or supporting said baskets). I thought, "Surely, those aren't real. They are probably made to look like baskets but are somehow fastened to their heads so they don't fall off." Well, as if in answer to my skepticism, at the end of the dance they proceeded to take the baskets off their heads and hold them in such a way as to show us the inside. They were real.

Sun Protection

Nicas are very careful when it comes to protecting themselves from the sun. Most men wear baseball caps, women frequently carry sun umbrellas, and people try to stay out of the sun during the hottest midday hours. So, I guess given this meticulousness regarding sun protection, I shouldn't have been at all surprised when the driver of the mini-bus I was in on Saturday whipped out a sweater sleeve (yes, a stand-alone black sweater sleeve) and proceeded to put it over his left arm (the one that would be exposed to the sun through the window). But I was. And I couldn't suppress a smile.

In Search of the Elusive Howler Monkeys

Location: Northern Nicaragua: Matagalpa – Selva Negra

Since a few weeks back when I read more about Nicaragua’s northern region (or the Highlands, as it is also known), it occupied a principal spot on my destination list. This past weekend, I finally had the opportunity to visit. A Chilean I had met a few weeks back in Managua e-mailed me with the plan to go to Selva Negra (a coffee farm/eco-lodge/cloud-forest reserve) just north of Matagalpa – the region’s major city. The north is Nicaragua’s most mountainous region. It is different from Leon and the surrounding lowlands in almost every way possible. It is notably cooler and breezier. It rains a lot more. The landscape is dotted with green mountains instead of volcano peaks. The city of Matagalpa is situated in the skirts of the mountains. The people are fairer-skinned and often have blue or green eyes. This I learned is due to the influx of German immigrants to the area during the 1920s-1940s. Selva Negra, the place where we were headed, was also actually founded by a Nicaraguan of German descent.

We had luck with the public transportation: 1.5 hrs on a minibus from Leon to Managua, 30 mins to get to another bus terminal, 2 hrs on an express bus to Matagalpa (meaning no intermediate stops), 1 hr to Selva Negra on an old school bus, which wound its way very, very slowly up the mountainous road, then a short ride on the back of a truck whose driver offered to give us a ride.

Arriving at Selva Negra felt like entering another world. The clouds overhead moved rapidly across the sky; there was a constant breeze and rustling in the trees; the air felt crisp and fresh. I could hardly believe that I was still in the same country. After dropping off our bags and having lunch we decided to explore the cloud forest – home to resplendent quetzal (which is very rarely spotted), howler monkeys and many other species of birds, reptiles, and mammals. Our goal: to see the monkeys.

We walked for a while without spotting anything much of interest. Then we heard it: the roar of the howler monkeys. It sounds almost like a predator growl and carries afar. Supposedly, the howler monkey is the loudest land animal. Problem was that we couldn’t tell how far away the source was. A guide we came across a few minutes later claimed they were still more than 1 km away, although that seemed hard to believe. Eventually the roars died down. We had missed our chance.

A while later we were passed by two hikers who stopped a little ahead of us on the trail. Then, all of a sudden, the woman started stomping wildly in one place and then ran off. The guy followed suit (also stomping away). I was thinking, “What the hell???” Then we saw the source of the commotion: ants. While standing around and obliviously watching the swarm of ants a few meters away, I failed to notice that they had started crawling up my legs until I felt their nasty bites. It felt like tens of simultaneous little stings. I tried to brush them off, but they clung so tightly onto my skin that I actually had to pull some of them off. In those few seconds, they had managed to get into my hiking shoes and even as far as my knee-length pants. Now I understood why the woman had run away so frantically. (And I also had a flashback to that ant scene in the new Indiana Jones film.)

The rest of the hike was pretty uneventful until I heard some rustling in the trees above us. Then more rustling. I couldn’t tell whether it was a bird or a squirrel. Then I heard soft whimpering sounds. Then it appeared – a monkey. Then another one. Then another two. Then two baby ones. They were great to watch, especially the babies who were not quite as well coordinated and kept missing some of the branches. They crossed the trees above us following the same invisible path.

The excitement of having seen howler monkeys could only be surpassed by … seeing them again the following morning. Since my companions slept late, I ventured on a longer hike by myself. Sure enough, at the end of the hike, I spotted them again. It must have been the same family since I saw them in a spot close to where we had seen them the previous day. I stood there watching them for a while, before they disappeared completely out of sight. Seeing monkeys brought back fond memories of my time in Zimbabwe where I had seen monkeys for the very first time in the wild. And it made me miss Africa.

The rest of the morning, I read and mostly relaxed, and before I knew it, it was time to leave. We managed to hitch a ride again from Selva Negra to Matagalpa on the back of a truck (I love riding on the backs of trucks – it’s nice and breezy! Although I know it’s not the safest thing). Then took a bumpy, dusty 3-hr bus ride back to Leon (decided not to go through Managua this time). The road linking Matagalpa and Leon is in pretty bad condition, and given how much traffic there is between the two cities, I am surprised this stretch is not higher up on the priority list of road rehabilitation. But the views from the bus were terrific – first winding through the mountains and ending with the sun setting behind San Cristóbal, Nicaragua’s tallest volcano (1745 m).

Fresh off the bus near Selva Negra.

Yes, welcome.

Lake, lodge restaurant & cloud forest in the background.

A strange-looking tree along one of the many trails - this one (not so aptly) named "Romantic" trail. The ants were awaiting further along this trail :)

Other bizarre (and carnivorous-looking) plants

This little guy let me get pretty close to take a picture. Guess he thought I couldn't see him because of his camouflage.

More trail.

Sign at the bus station in Matagalpa. Hmmm... it really didn't look like a dangerous place.

The Matagalpa Cathedral - truly white as snow.

View of town.

Leaving Matagalpa.

From the bus: Volcán Momotombo at dusk - one of Nicaragua's almost perfectly cone-shaped volcanoes.

The sunset behind Volcán San Cristóbal in the distance - another almost perfect cone shape

P.S. Unfortunately, I have no photos of the monkeys, given that I took only videos and those are too big to upload here. But you can see some pics under the Wikipedia link above.

Cinema or Communal Living Room?

I went to the local cinema last night (a new and pretty modern cinema, mind you). As the movie ran its course, I couldn't help but notice all the noise and movement around me. Women had brought their infants or young kids (less than 5 yrs old) with them. Of course, they couldn't help crying or talking loudly through most of it. People kept receiving (and answering) phone calls (the silent option on the cell phone does not seem to exist for most Nicas). People in front and behind me held conversations in a regular speaking voice (I am yet to hear someone here whisper). People kept coming in, going out, shuffling around. No-one apart from me seemed to find this the slight bit out of the ordinary.

All in all, I felt like I was in someone's house watching a movie on an extremely big screen.

Not a Happy Camper

The pyrotechnic explosions started early last night and continued ... all night (except for maybe 3 hours between 2 and 5 am). They wouldn't be as annoying if it didn't sound like bombs were falling right outside my room and if the whole bed wasn't shaking as a result. At midnight we even had the morning siren, except it sounded for much longer than usual. All this is to celebrate July 23 - a day when five students were killed by President Somoza's army in 1959 during anti-Somoza protests. Except that this "remembrance" has turned into a week-long affair in the past two years, I was told. Today is July 23. I expect that I will not sleep very much tonight, given that all the noise, explosions, etc. will be much much worse than they were last night. Can anyone put me up for the night, somewhere far far away?

In other news, I saw a man walking stark-naked on the side of the road yesterday while returning from work. I was told he was mentally disturbed. Although I wouldn't be surprised if he was doing it in protest of something. Here, people like to protest a lot. But I think that is a topic for another post.

Highlights from the Weekend: Northwestern Nicaragua

Locations: El Viejo – Padre Ramos Wetlands Reserve – Jiquilillo – Corinto

A weekend at the house of one my supervisors turned into an exploration of a number of remote corners of northwestern Nicaragua. Favorite moments:

1. Sitting on the beach at Jiquilillo with only a few cows as company.
Jiquilillo used to be a fishermen’s town until a 1992 tsunami wiped out most of it. Right now it appears more like a small, but growing, village (located far north on the Pacific coast). The fishermen are back. Most of the families living there have “beachfront” property. Several “cheles” (I think American or Canadian) have settled there and are renting out cabañas (small huts) and giving surf lessons to tourists who happen to venture out to this part of the Pacific. The beach stretches as far as the eye can see and it is literally uninhabited. The surf supposedly is good as well.

2. Eating mussels cocktail prepared on the spot in 5 mins for $1.50.
I was a little skeptical if my stomach would cope with the raw mussels, but decided to try them since they were recommended by people who’d eaten them before and are supposedly super fresh. Needless to say, the mixture of mussels, lemon juice, and chopped tomatoes and onions was delicious! (And my stomach seems fine.)

3. Swimming in the estuary at Padre Ramos Wetlands Reserve.
Padre Ramos is a protected area of wetlands located almost at the very northwestern tip of Nicaragua. It is home to many species of birds and some turtles (between the months of November and January) and is best explored by boat. The ocean can be pretty rough, that’s why many people prefer to swim in the estuary instead. It is a beautiful, peaceful place.
Small communities live on the shores of the estuary (sometimes literally right next to the water during high tide), completely detached from the rest of civilization. We visited one lady living there – no electricity, no running water, no phone, no nothing, apart from maybe a few Honduran radio stations. But she claimed that she wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

4. Being asked if I was from Spain.
This I took mostly as a compliment to my Spanish, and it made my day.

5. Having my supervisor and her friend tell me story after story about their travels through Nicaragua.
Their laughter is contagious. Even more so is their love of food. Nicas love to eat and have a high appreciation for good food. I hadn’t heard as much talk about food as I did this weekend :) I also realized that my supervisor and I share a love for the outdoors and a hatred for over-development and locations that are “exclusive” and over-priced.

View of Padre Ramos Estuary

We visited an old lady who literally lived by the water of the estuary. You probably can't see much in this photo because it is quite dark, but an essential piece of "furniture" of every Nica home, no matter how remote the location, is the hammock. Rural homes usually have their "stove" outside. Even if inside, all houses seem to lack chimneys so the smoke just fills the room, which serves as sleeping quarters as well. But, people don't even seem to notice, let alone be bothered by this.

Among all sorts of plants, the lady's garden included a wild orchid ...

... and a couple of parrots who seem to have made their home on a nearby tree - making loud noises the whole time we were there.

Off next to Jiquilillo beach...

... where there literally was no-one ...

... except for a cow or two.

The thatched-roof cabañas (right on the beach) can be rented out.

And if you don't feel like battling the ocean waves and currents, you can swim in the estuary. It was nice. Except for the people (pictured here) who threw an empty plastic Coke bottle in the water at the end of their swim. I fished it out. I still can't understand how people can be so reckless when it comes to their trash in such pristine areas.