Burma for Tet

The Vietnamese New Year is celebrated during the first day of the first month of the Lunar Calendar, this year in early February. The holiday is called Tết and is the most important week of the year for many of the countries in this region. All students get over a week off of school, decorations flood the streets, gifts are received and given for good luck, and traditions fill homes and hearts throughout the country. I had a great experience getting to learn more about this holiday through my students and my Vietnamese teachers. I was even asked to say a sentence of prosperity in front of the whole assembly! I agreed before knowing I was to be dressed up as a giant watermelon (my favorite word in Vietnamese: dua hau, pronounced "you a ho"). 

During the month of February, you know that super short month that leaves no room for blogging, I went to a little place called Burma (or Myanmar, as the government decided to call it in the 90's). Burma was crazy. I had left like I had traveled back in time whilst in India, but Burma put that idea to shame. Burma is the land of landline house phones in a booth on street corners where people pay cash to make phone calls. Burma is the land of rope hung from 4th story windows with a clip at the end to send messages from the streets below. Burma is the land of USA-lovers, one of the first experiences I've had as a traveler being praised for my country's involvement in foreign affairs. Burma is a place experiencing a sudden and jarring increase in tourism, which apparently meant a 50% increase in prices and a 100% chance of getting ripped off. Burma is a place of reconstruction rather that restoration, a conflict that is burning bridges between Burma and UNESCO. Burma is a land so unfamiliar with the tourism industry that no one, even those who had next to nothing, thought to ask for money from foreigners. It was a quite frankly a strange trip for me.

Because Burma has been almost untouched by tourism since, well... forever, it was definitely one of the more challenging trips I've been on. First, foreigners have to go through an agent to get a visa and those agents typically won't grant you a visa unless you agree to book tours and hotels through them as well. Ugh, already frustrating. Second, foreigners cannot purchase domestic plane tickets. Period. This is where those sneaky agents step in once more. Luckily, we were connected with a lady here in Viet Nam who made all our flights and hotels for us and did not force any tours down our throats. In the end, it was quite a costly trip, but one that I had been dreaming about for some time now. It wasn't until we realized that everything in Burma had doubled in price since the previous year that we were starting to wonder just how much money we were spending on this trip.

Burma had experienced a 33% increase of tourism from December to February, just as Burma was "opening" to the world. This was very exciting for the people of Myanmar. They were able to show their beautiful country to the world. They were able to make an income in the tourist industry. They were able to practice their English with all the foreigners visiting their country. They were also able to charge us far more than any other Asian country. Though at times we felt we were being taken advantage of, we had to learn to just bite our tongues and enjoy the incredible views we had around us at every waking moment.

Watching the sun rise over the temples + hot air balloons

Our first stop was a place called Bagan. Bagan looked like an African grassland littered with thousands of ancient temples constructed in the 7th century. In any direction you look, hundreds of stone structures dominate the horizon. We spent several days exploring these "corn-on-the-cob" buildings on bicycle, taking our time to learn the ins and outs of as many of these majestic architectural wonders. Each time you entered a temple, you were asked to remove your shoes to pay respect to the holy grounds on which the stupas were built. Many countries in this region boast temples and pagodas that are impressive in size and beauty. But the sheer number of temples in Burma was spellbinding. We're talking thousands people! We spent our nights watching the sunset over the plains and the mornings watching the city come to life while the sun rose. It was truly a breathtaking experience.

Rita and I getting second degree burns on our feet

It was Bagan where we first realized how much the people of Burma were excited about what was happening to their country politically. We had people constantly asking us if we were from the USA and when we answered they would say, "OH! Obama!" It was awesome. As a traveler, I rarely get this type of response. I never deny my roots, but have found myself having to defend them more than I ever thought I would. But in Burma, we proudly told everyone where we were from and spoke to many locals about what they thought about democracy, Obama's visit, and "The Lady" as all Burmese call Aung San Suu Kyi. It was really quite incredible to see people so far from the major cities informed about what was happening in their country.

after a day of barefoot temple-ing

Next up was a trip to Inle Lake. An entire town built around a lake where residents commute by canoe, gather produce from floating gardens, and fish with giant nets and poles for paddling. This community was definitely less accustomed to toursim. It was one of those situations where you feel like a jerk looking around in a town where everyone is just going about their day-to-day. Can you imagine a group of tourists taking pictures of you planting bulbs in your front yard? Or while you pray in church? Or play with your siblings outside? Sometimes, I just can't handle how awkward it must feel to have people snap pictures of your life, thus why I don't have many pictures from this part of our trip. It was incredibly beautiful and peaceful and a big part of me wished it could stay that way for the people who lived there...

leg paddling on Inle Lake

Yangon was our last stop and it wasn't until our last day did we realize it was not actually the capital of Burma. This was definitely one of the warmest parts of our trip that had us retreating to places with AC as much as possible. Yangon was where I noticed how seldom we saw anyone asking for money. It was hard to decide if the people were just not in as much need as others we have seen or if pan-handling is not allowed or if people genuinely didn't want to ask others for anything. Regardless, it was an interesting observation that I have yet to notice anywhere else in this region. 

I didn't realize how blurry this was until now but here is a glimpse of Burmese communication: rope + clip = message delivery :)

Unfortunately, I am now feeling too tired and forgetful to tell you much more about this trip. I am thankful for it as I feel like Burma is on the verge of "blowing up" in terms of accepting tourism and its likely to change drastically in the next five years. It would be interesting to return in ten years to see how much it has grown and to see if the prices have fallen :) Here's to you, Burma. May you grow in a way that brings freedom to your people but doesn't take away from the pristine, untouched land that you are. 

Since I've Been Gone

Guys, we need to talk. My relationship with you is suffering, and I need some encouragement. I love blogging, truly, but I don't make time for it. That's something I've always wanted to improve upon but it wasn't until today, when I realized its been so long since I've blogged that my Blogger dashboard has translated itself into Vietnamese, that something's gotta give. Maybe I need to commit one day a week to blogging, no questions asked? Maybe I need readers to give me more feedback? Maybe I need to acquire a computer program in which all my thoughts and words are written out in text so I can skip the typing part of this? Regardless, I'd like for us to still be friends, so please allow me to update you on the last month(s) or so.

**(I did write something on here but don't like posting incomplete thoughts... here was some anticipated excitement for my mom's trip that sadly ended this morning.)

Good news friends, MY MOM IS COMING! On Friday! And she'll be here for more than 2 weeks. She has recently been bit by that ever so sneaky "travel bug" that grabbed hold of my siblings and I years ago. My mom got her passport after all of her kids did. If that isn't a true testament of a mother who made sacrifices for her children, I don't know what is. I am so excited to watch her discover a new part of the world and see how much her influence has shaped how her children view life around them. We have big plans of playing at the beach in Hoi An, Vietnam and reenacting Tomb Raider in Angkor Wat, Cambodia. We've been getting visas, booking flights and hotels, and going through the list of things mom is bringing me from the motherland, including Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and Betty Crocker cookie mix-- hey, I've gone 8 months without that stuff, let a girl indulge for once! ;)

Before I can get too excited about the prospects of this epic mother-daughter trip (edit: tell you about the trip that has already come and gone...ugh), I think I should catch you up on the last month and a half of life that I have failed to blog about. The day-to-day hasn't been too different, except for the little fact that I'm pretty sure my students are obsessed with me. Orrrr more than likely, its actually the content we are studying that they are obsessed with, but either way, I am more than pleased with how things are going in 4D. The amount of compassion they seem to have for other people is just plain inspiring. After doing a unit on "Cultural Conflict," my students seemed to be infuriated with injustices around them. Its amazing about 9-year-old Vietnamese students can recognize the impact of prejudices more than many adults I know. You should check out my class blog and see just how insightful these little people are: http://culturalconflict.weebly.com/ms-hannah-blog.html

At an assembly recently, Colin reminded the students that though they had just returned from a relaxing vacation, it was now time to regain focus and learn as much as they could. One of my students, in front of a completely silent study body, literally threw his arms up and yelled, "YESSSS!" He was stone-faced serious, I kid you not. Proud moment. Another student recently came up to me before recess with a lightbulb glimmering above his head and just about shouted, "Miss Hannah, when I focus, school in FUN! It's like we are playing AND learning!"

Get over here, kid, and give your ol' teacher a hug! 

Moments like these remind me that I truly have the best job in the world. Moments like finishing report card comments and grading the enormous stack of papers I have let pile up on my desk, make me think differently (I finished 'em and maybe even a little bit possibly enjoyed the parent-teacher conferences that followed-- shocking!)

Alright, what comes next is a bunch of blogging vomit in an attempt to update you about all that's been going down here for the last few months. I think I will take one evening a week to blog, even if I feel like there is not much to say. Perhaps Thursday? I'll think about it and let you know :)

For the love of language

I became a writer in fourth grade, the same age my students currently are. I'll never forget the feeling I had when something I wrote was published in the local paper (nevermind the fact that we were living in a tiny town in the smallest state at the time; I still thought I was famous). That encouragement was all it took for me to grow a love of writing. If I had had a car as a child, it's license plate frame would have read, "I'd rather be writing." I felt proud of what I created. I felt I could escape from reality with a pencil and paper. And I felt like I was good at something in school. I was never a bad student, as I was always concerned with my grades and whether my teachers and friends liked me. But this was one part of my schooling that I felt truly confident in, something I felt came naturally. I'm trying my darnedest to help my students feel the same but the difference between them and the 4th grade me is huge. 

I was never trying to write in another language.

These kids are incredible. I know everyone says that learning another language when you are young is easier but that doesn't mean its easy. Sometimes when I read what they've written, I really have no idea what is going on in their heads. Sometimes when I call on them in class and listen to what they have to say, I am bewildered with their entirely unrelated responses. Sometimes when I remind them for the 30th time that it's pronounced "THink," not "Tink," I wonder if I have taught THem anyTHing. But other times, when I pause for a second to remind myself what it was like when I was learning Spanish, what it is currently like as I struggle through the few Vietnamese phrases I know, they quite literally leave me speechless in my own language. 

Can you imagine yourself at age nine feeling confident enough to talk to adults in a language that is not your own? Can you picture what it would have been like to have had to do your homework completely on your own because your parents couldn't read the instructions? Can you empathize with what it would feel like to so badly want to contribute to the class discussions but the word you need to express yourself just won't come to you? 

I love these dudes. They are so cool. And so many of them know the grand plan for their lives and what learning English will mean for their families. Ninety-five percent of our student population is Vietnamese and I would guess 10% of the families speak any English. But this generation, they will grow up learning English, attend a school abroad in an English-speaking university, get amazing jobs, and return to their families to help support them financially. This is the grand plan. This is why so many students spend additional time after school and on weekends studying, practicing, and learning more. This is the subconscious pressure that rests of their shoulders each day they sit in my classroom. 

The most beautiful part of all is witnessing the resilience of a child. I am thankful that I get to spend my days with people, no matter how small, who keep trying no matter how frustrating it all may seem. The fact that they can do so with a smile too, makes my job all the more fun.

Teaching Vietnamese students how to dance the Merengue and Bachata in Spanish Club... love it :) 

On the Commute

Last night I had a sleep over with my most favorite people under 3 feet tall. The Brown's are the family I taught with in Guatemala and who so graciously offered me the opportunity to teach with them in Vietnam as well. They have two little girls, ages 2 and 4, who just brighten my world. We go swimming, paint our nails, celebrate the birthdays of various Barbies, go for walks, read stories, and many other imaginative activities. I am so impressed with the intelligence of these two and wonder what percentage of it comes from their educator parents and international upbringing. One daughter, I'll call her Kay, was born in China. The other one, May, was born in Guatemala. They have also lived in Hungary and Vietnam. Pretty much a new country for every year of life.

I believe the amount of wisdom that is packed into those tiny heads is largely because their parents spend quality time talking with them, reading to them, and making note of their surroundings. Today in the taxi ride to school, we played a game of Eye Spy. Except, Vietnam style. Here is a list of things we were looking for:

• 20 ladies in pointy-hats
• 4 fruit vendors
• 2 men without shirts
• a pig with no head
• a baby sandwiched between it's parents on a motorbike
• a family of 4 or more on one motorbike

Believe it or not, we saw all of those things except for 2 men without shirts (it's apparently the "cold" season in Vietnam, meaning temperatures dip as low as 70*F, 21*C) in our 15 minute ride. The best part of it all is that its the little ones who spark up the game and yell out with enthusiasm "CHECK!" every time we spot something from the list. What an interesting life these girls are having. I thought my childhood taught me a lot from my constant moving and that was just within the United States. These girls are going to know that much more about the world because not only are they seeing it, they are living it.

This taxi ride has reminded me to be more aware of whats happening around me. Since I normally ride my bicycle to school, I focus more on not getting run over than on the hilarity I am constantly surrounded by. I think tomorrow, I'll leave 10 minutes earlier and take my time riding to school. I would love to be able to post some pictures of what it looks like in the streets in the day-to-day of Saigon, but right now I'm moving to fast. I'll share what I find with you soon, perhaps when the internet comes back on at my house :)

Cheers!

Incredible India, Part 2

Welcome back! Okay, whew, part 2.

We left off in the middle of the Thar Desert in northwestern India where camels rule the land and school children stare at white people. Our contentedness with the trip at this point should have been felt with a "too-good-to-be-true" suspicion but we were far too naive to consider what we were about to experience: the Indian railway system.

We needed to head north to a town called Rishikesh where people had raved to us about the tranquility that can be physically and mentally obtained while there. Seeing as the town we were currently inhabiting was over 600km away from this oasis, we were told that the most practical form of transportation to use to reach our destination would be a train. Thinking we could increase our Harry Potter-ness, we originally loved this idea. Wrong again.

Extreme comfort

What we were confronted with was a 16 hour ride, with stops every 30 minutes, on a train packed with passengers, "beds" (benches, pretty much) stacked three deep, no heat (and cracked windows), and one, nauseatingly disgusting bathroom for the entire car. As the unprepared Westerners we are, we neglected to bring any warm clothing that was appropriate for such an evening, and spent Christmas Eve covering our feet with extra tank tops, wearing a pair of pants as a scarf, using a travel towel as a blanket, and glaring at all the other passengers who brought sheets, blankets, gloves, scarves, and other necessary gear to make it through the night. I'll never really know just how cold it got in that train but considering we had just come from always-90-degree Vietnam, we were certain the temperature was below freezing (obviously, it couldn't have been that cold, but to make this sound more dramatic, you should just visualize me shaking in a dark, creaky train with icicles forming around my nostrils where snot from my chest cold was trying to escape my body.)

But there was a moment on this train that quite literally left me in complete shock. It wasn't the bathroom that I finally succumbed to after 12 hours of holding-in the need to relieve myself (here's another dramatic image; I wrapped a scarf around my mouth and nose, put my hood on, and zipped my jacket all the way but none of this was enough to hold back my intense gag reflexes... yeah, it was that bad in there). And it wasn't the volume at which Indian men spoke during the wee hours of the night. It was a moment of true and genuine kindness from a complete stranger. As the three of us were lying there, trying to take our minds off the cold, Alex noticed a man on the train staring at him for an extended and uncomfortable period of time. He began to think through the number of things this man could be fixated on him for, a potential robbery being the most lingering concern. But after about twenty minutes of staring, the man stood up and offered Alex his extra blanket.

Honest to goodness that is exactly what happened. Do you need a second? If the tears that froze to my face in that moment weren't enough to express my complete amazement at this act of kindness, the ones that are freely flowing down my cheeks now are forever engraining this image in my mind.

Alex, Kristi and I were pretty speechless. This man's gesture was able to start a small chain reaction that led Alex to give me his jacket since I was the least prepared of the group with only a rain jacket and long sleeved shirt for protection. It's funny how sometimes a travelers instinct is to think the worst of people around you, when really they can simply be working up the courage to approach you. You know, writing this all out has somehow made me forget just how awful we felt at the end of that train ride. Thanks for that :)

When we finally reached Rishikesh, it was Christmas morning. We decided that we again deserved an evening of lying in a warm bed and watching movies after having the hottest shower we could find. After having taken an interesting "auto-rickshaw" from the bus station into town, we stumbled upon a modest looking hotel called, "Hotel Dev Palace." We were shown a room with a hot shower, delicious looking beds, and a TV, for about $20 a night (divided by three people, mind you). We told the reception we would just be staying for one evening, fed ourselves, cleaned up, and cuddled into our warm beds.

happy :)

Our night of lethargy was interrupted, however, when one of the hotel employees knocked on our door to invite us to the restaurant for some "Christmas cake." Intrigued, we somehow rolled ourselves out of bed to be greeted by the entire hotel staff, all celebrating around a tiny, tropical-looking cake with the words "Merry Christmas" written on plastic and shaded by a purple drink umbrella. They cut a slice of cake for all of us, made us tea, gave us candy, and asked to take 100 different pictures with us using the neon-green Christmas trees and creepy plastic Santa masks as props. My favorite memory was when the original worker who came to get us at our room was wearing a Santa mask and hat while shouting, "Ha Ha Ha! (instead of Ho Ho Ho) Celebrationnnnnnnnns!" over and over again.

Some of the hotel staff. Yes, that woman really is that little.

And you know what? None of them celebrated Christmas. And you know what else? We were the only guests in the hotel that night. It was all for us. It was just another gesture of pure kindness that welcomed strangers as if they were family. After feeling like this was "the year without Christmas," we found ourselves surrounded by goodness that could never be matched.

We ended up staying 6 nights at the hotel instead :)

This is what we woke up to for a glorious week

Rishikesh is known for being the yoga capital of the country and if you know me well, you know yoga and I are not very good friends. I did go to three classes though, which is about three times as many as I normally do in a typical week. We learned some hilarious breathing techniques, new abnormal stretches, and I learned quickly I couldn't make eye contact with Kristi throughout the entire class if I wanted to keep myself from busting a gut. The majority of our time was spent walking around the traffic-free streets, taking pictures of monkeys, and eating loads of delicious vegetarian food. Rishikesh is considered a "holy city" which means they do not serve alcohol or meat dishes throughout the entire city. Food-wise, I had finally found heaven and basked in the glory of endless pastas, soups, and Indian cuisine that allowed me to hang out with my animals friends instead of wondering if people around me were eating them.

Leaving Rishikesh was one of the hardest things we had to do that vacation, just behind holding-in urine for 12 hours. Our bus ride to New Delhi would have been uneventful had it not been for the McDonald's we stopped at for a potty break about halfway through the trip. Some of you may know how I feel about McDonald's but I figured their bathrooms may have been cleaner than the train's so I decided to take a look inside. Since cows are sacred in India, there were no beef burgers on the menu whatsoever. But guess what they had? VEGGIE BURGERS! I have been saying this for years that Mickey D's should add some crappy veggie burger to make people think they were making healthier choices. The people in India finally listened to me and I was so flattered that they made this burger from my imagination that I bought one. All I'll say about it is that is wasn't gross and it had visual chunks of vegetables in it. I'll probably never eat there again, seeing as this was my first visit in close to 10 years, but it certainly was an experience.

mi amiguita Krunchy

Delhi would have been a completely forgettable and uneventful part of the trip if it hadn't been for the amazing Akanksha. Akanksha, or "Krunchy" as I call her, came into my life in the most interesting of ways. She is from Australia but her parents grew up in India. When she was in high school, she studied abroad in Chile where she met my ever-amazing roommate from Guatemala, Aubrey. Later, when Krunchy was in medical school, she did a rotation in Guatemala to learn about serving in undeveloped areas of the world. It was there that I met Krunchy as she spent a few days visiting us in the city. It just so happened that this Christmas, Krunchy and I were in Delhi at the same time but for literally only one day. She and her father picked us up at our hotel and drove us around the city. We went to India Gate where earlier that week the streets had been filled with protestors rioting about how the government handled issues of rape (if you didn't hear about the gang rape in Delhi on December 16th, you should really read about it. Pretty horrific stuff). We drove around the parliament buildings and discovered how much cleaner that side of town was. We visited Krunchy's favorite city monument and at a favorite meal of her father's called "dosa." In all, our day in Delhi was far more than we ever could have imagined, considering our only other plan for that day had been to stay in our beds to avoid the cold before catching our flight to Mumbai. The hospitality and information Akanksha and her dad gave us was beyond incredible and I cannot wait to be able to return the favor someday in either Vietnam or the US. Love you, Krunchy!

Alright, its finally time to discuss the last portion of our trip and one that left me with some of the heaviest of hearts. Mumbai, or Bombay as the locals call it, was debatably just as large as New Delhi but in a completely different world. This city was far more modern and seemingly more financially sound than Delhi. The weather was warmer, there were more landmarks, and the people seemed more laid back. It was also somehow quieter even though their were loads more tourists around.

Taking a break from being in everyone else's pictures to take our own :)

And there was also a lot more poverty. Hundreds of vendors trying their hardest to get you to buy their products. Children waiting in line with tourists at fast food restaurants, hoping they'll buy them an extra ice cream cone. Disabled members of society asking for spare change from the same spot all day. Families living on the roof of bus stations. Children begging for food at 11pm on a 4 lane highway.

At one point, as my eyes met a 5-year-old boy's who gestured his hands to his mouth, showing us the urgency in which he needed food, I felt angry. Not only at the Indian government for not providing shelter for all 1.2 billion of its citizens (impossible, right?), but at the American people who constantly complain about their tax dollars. You know where your tax dollars go? Public schools so our children can be educated. Homeless shelters so our children can be protected. Food banks so our children can be nourished. Never in America would you see a 5-year-old roaming the streets alone at almost midnight asking out for help. My anger with the American people, however, did not take over the gratitude I felt for having grown up there. I am proud that my country takes care of all its members. Even if it means part of my pay check gets taken away each month, I know that in America I am not confronted with the helpless feeling I had that night I looked into a child's eyes and saw true desperation.

*Editors note: I was reminded by a wise reader that there are millions of homeless people in the U.S. This cannot be forgotten or denied. Being homeless anywhere is a life I wouldn't wish upon anyone. But at least in America, there is somewhere for people to turn-- schools, churches, shelters, food banks, substance-abuse counseling centers, temporary homes, job search assistance, foster homes... it seems the aid is endless and aiming at fixing the problems with the purest of intentions. For this I am very proud.

This picture isn't doing the immense size of this place justice.

We spent some time seeing the typical sites like the Gateway of India, Elephanta Island (that had no elephants, sadly), and the natural history museum, but the most moving experience was when we traveled to Mumbai's outdoor laundry facilities. It was here that I learned 5,000 men work everyday to clean the city's clothing. They wash hospital linens, hotel sheets, and clothes for most of the Mumbai's inhabitants. Families rented out concrete cubicles from the government and received thousands of pounds of laundry each day. They washed about 90% of it by hand, the other 10% being boiled for sanitation purposes or cleaned in a teeny-tiny washing machine. After watching from afar, a gentleman who worked there invited us inside for a tour. Turns out, those 5,000 men actually live there with their families cramped into a tiny one-room home just behind the individual cubicles. Only men are allowed to work here as the extreme heat is apparently too much for women or children to handle. All the clothing are labeled and color-coded, washed, dried and returned in 24 hours time. The kids who lived here didn't seem to be attending school as we watched one little boy running around hysterically as he tried to fly his "kite" made from a plastic bag tied to a string. This place was by far the most shocking I have seen on any of my travels. Back-breaking labor being performed by thousands of people all at once-- and this happens every single day of the year.

day in and day out

If you couldn't tell, at this point in the trip I was starting to become incredibly jaded. What was I even doing there? Snapping some pictures, over-eating, shopping. I kept counting all the amazing things I had seen and heard and learned. India gave me this, taught me that...

...but what did I do for India?

I'm still not sure. One could argue I stimulated the economy with my consumerism and increased the Vitamin C levels of that 5-year-old I gave my orange to. Perhaps I taught a few English words to some merchants who were practicing what they knew with me. But really, what did I do for India?

Nothing.

Nothing at all. Yeah, sure, I suppose everyone needs a vacation now and then, but does that mean I can just turn off my compassion? Does it mean I can just forget about the fact that others are suffering while I'm disappointed that this restaurant isn't serving garlic naan before 7pm? Can I expect anything of a place for which I provided nothing?

Though I can't go back and change what I didn't do, I can go forth with a newfound attitude about how I travel. I thought I was opening my mind, broadening my horizons, and adding to my knowledge by seeing the world. And though this may all be true, there are just too many things about me in that sentence and not enough about others. My new goal for 2013 is increased outreach. I want to reach further, dig deeper, and love more. I want to help people see just how meaningful their life is.

I'll keep you updated on how I plan on doing all these things but in the meantime, I hope this entry has helped you ask yourself this same question: what I am doing for others? Maybe its in your job description in your work of service. Maybe you are raising children to become responsible citizens of the world. Perhaps you make donations to organizations you believe in. Whatever it is, I thank you first. And now, I challenge you to do more.

My new friend Nashla. She made that necklace by hand. An older version of me would have tried to talk her down in price, but after hearing her story, feeling her heart and genuine interest in others, and seeing that smile, I paid her quadruple. 

Incredible India, Part 1

The month of December brought the end of first semester of school, a number of holiday celebrations, report cards, a life-changing trip to India, and no time (or internet connection) for blogging.

I'd like to most of all tell you about India for now. Incredible India. Not only was this a slogan the country used to advertise it's tourism industry, but it was also what myself and my travel-mates kept saying the entire trip: Incredible India. Never have I travelled somewhere that was able to shock, amaze and intimidate me while evoking tears, laughter, gasps, and utter silence all at one time. The pollution made us physically ill, the poverty filled us with sorrow, the unexpected kindness of strangers made us speechless, the insane amount of scams being pulled made us frustrated, the freezing temperatures made us long for our sweaty days in Saigon, the pure joy that was experienced by children who couldn't afford a pair of shoes made us question our self-pity. I felt like almost everyday I was battling emotions: Loving India, mourning India, feeling hopeless for India, wanting to stay forever in India. My love-hate relationship with Guatemala was similar, but was developed over the course of 2 years, not 3 weeks.

Let's take a look at some of the things that happened, shall we?

Our first night was full of nerves and anxiety; I was literally nauseous with expectation. We flew into New Delhi late at night and were instantly terrified with its size and congestion. All we really wanted to do was fall asleep but our incredible lack of preparedness for this trip meant we needed to spend our first night organizing. We thought the "Travel Agent" we were working with could simply point us in the direction of the train station, bus tickets, and reliable hotels, but apparently everyone in India is looking to make a buck (rightfully so). In our exhaustion, we were intimidated enough to go with a set plan for the first 9 days of our trip that included hotels each night with breakfast included, a personal driver in a comfortable enough car, a camel safari excursion, and train tickets to our most northern destination. Okay, first half-- planned and over with, right?

Not so much.

We started out the next day eager to see the Taj Mahal in Agra, the one place we all agreed we couldn't leave India without seeing. What became of that day, however, was a seven hour car ride in New Delhi traffic (the train would have taken under 3 hours), an argument about a "free guide" that was being included in our trip (nothing is free in India!), and a denied entrance to the Taj Mahal for being, literally, 5 minutes too late.

India: 1, HAK (Hannah, Alex, and Kristi): 0.

Told ya! Moldy toilet paper plus Alex.

It didn't end there though. When we got over our disappointment of missing out on the Taj, we headed to our hotel only to find wet sheets, moldy toilet paper (I am so serious right now), cold water in the coldest place any of us had been to in lord knows how long, and an unprepared staff that continually woke us through the night with knocks on the door for breakfast orders and phone calls for who knows what (I didn't answer, and instead left the phone off the hook).

Which stage of emotions towards India were we in at this point? One I haven't mentioned yet: Eye-rolling at India.

But...our distaste and disrespectful eye-movements were completely wiped away the next morning. Though we were indeed met by a "free guide" that we specifically asked to not accompany us, we arrived at the Taj Mahal around 8am to be confronted with the clearest, bluest skies we had seen in months. We zipped through security, listened half-heartedly to the guide tell us about the foregrounds, and were shocked into silence when we finally laid eyes on that incredible, historical, marble-full structure. It really is an indescribable feeling to check off one of your life goals. Seeing this man-made structure, the hours-- no, the DECADES-- that were put into creating it was like nothing I have ever seen. The detail carved into marble was beyond what I could even draw. The labor of 20,000 slaves over the course of 22 years was not done in vain (um... yes it was! Slavery? Super lame) in that moment as the three of us came out of our silence and became giddy with happiness.

All smiles today!

iiiiincredible detail!

Nothing could have disappointed us that day. We were filled with love for India and the magnificent wonders it worked so hard to preserve (seriously, there were rules about what you couldn't bring inside the Taj, one being a calculator. We can't have any math-geeks trying to question any of the numerical facts, right?). We almost had to be dragged out by force with the amount of infatuation we were displaying but the next place we headed was also immaculate. Fort Agra was captured by the Moghuls in the early 1500s; history us Americans could barely fathom. This fort, or city rather, was completely red. Not from paint, mind you, but stones that needed to match each other throughout. We had a good time playing in the fort but were unaware at the time that we would eventually become "forted-out" seeing as the majority of India was once constantly on guard and made most of their abandoned forts into monuments for tourists to see.

A woman at Fort Agra watering the grass by hand

We ended the day in high spirits and began our drive to out next destination: Jaipur. We thoroughly enjoyed our two night stay here as we felt we finally had time to explore and become a little more in touch with nature. We fed monkeys on the side of the road, freely walked the streets, strengthened our relationship with Indian food, and toured around the city sites. I remembered having fond feelings towards Jaipur at the time, but looking back on it there doesn't seem to be much else to say. Shame on me for waiting so long to write!

All I remember from Jaipur is in this picture

Oh yeah, we went to some astrology site too. We didn't understand anything we read, but took a cool shadow picture!

We headed to Mandawa next for a one night stay in a town that was halfway between our next point of interest. Mandawa provided Alex with a straight razor shave (which I'm learning all men think are the coolest thing), a new friend named Krishna who gave us his email address so we could help him with English (which reminds me...), and the most breath-taking view of dozens and dozens of kites being flown from the roof tops at sunset. This quiet town afforded us with moments of peace and sleep, things we had been lacking from the previous days.

No caption needed. Just... awesome.

head massage post straight-razor shave?

:)

From Mandawa, we headed straight to Bikaner and found out upon arrival that our camel safari was actually that day, not the next, and that we had 30 minutes to get ready. We quickly put what little warm clothing we had into day-bags and were bussed out to a small village where our camels awaited us. Fortunately, one camel wasn't quite ready yet which gave us the chance to discover the unique experience of being perhaps the first white people an entire village of children had ever seen. School was just let out as a group of kids, most likely aged from 5-12, stopped dead in their tracks when they saw our white skin, light hair, and weird clothing. We spent close to 20 minutes with these children and probably 17 of those minutes were spent being stared at. We desperately tried to communicate, as Americans tend to feel awkward when stared at, but were only able to have the children repeat everything we tried to say to them.

Alex: Hello!

Kids: Hello!

Alex: My name is Alex (points to self)

Kids: My nam iz Al-ax (giggles uncontrollably) 

Hilarious. And also precious. I let my hair down at one point and gestured that the kids could touch it, remembering my dear friend Jaron's experience with this in Guatemala. Luckily a Hindi-speaking gentleman was able to tell them to stop after I had 10 kids pulling my hair seconds later. We took pictures of them and then had to show them all the result of the photography. We commented to ourselves how strange it seemed to see 6-year-olds with nose piercings but then remembered how our own culture will pierce the ears of infants. When it was time to go, the children had a good laugh as they watched us attempt to board camels for the first time, and we parted ways.

lets gooooooo!

Camels are funny. In India, they symbolize peace, and as I sat there adjusting my uncomfortable crotch region like a pre-pubescent boy, ignoring the foul smell of the camel's breath, holding back laughter at the camel's farts, and clinging for dear life as the camel decided to eat ground-level plants whenever it wanted, I thought long and hard about why this animal is the symbol of peace. I'm still not sure I know why, but I figured it had something to do with the fact that it so effortlessly and without resistance carried my friends and I into the unknown. Perhaps camels are simply at peace with the world, knowing they have enough water to supply them for a good amount of time, and strength to get them to where they need to be. Look at that, India has gotten me all poetic about camels... weird.

roomies!

The safari took us into the desert just as the sun was setting. We ate a home cooked meal provided by a man called Mama who had worked for the company for twenty years. We drank tea and huddled around the fire to stay warm and eventually retreated to our tents (with actual beds in them; so much for roughing it!) and shivered until we found warmth. The next morning we took an interesting Jeep ride back to our hotel and allowed ourselves to spend the afternoon watching movies and laying in bed, mine being a mattress on the floor that night :)

I think I'll put this on pause seeing as the next portion of our trip was the turning point in our India discovery. I still have loads to tell you, including the most horrific train ride there ever was, a Christmas memory to cherish for a lifetime, a whole week in a holy city that became our sanctuary, New Years Day with a dear friend, and an experience that will never be forgotten in Bombay. Stay tuned.

Field Trippin'

Last month, the fourth graders at AIS went on their first field trip of the school year. In science and social studies, we had just completed a unit on conservation and were hoping to find a way for the students to relate what they had learned to areas that were pertinent to them. Turns out, one of our fellow gym patrons works for a climate control organization that focuses on helping Ho Chi Minh City deal with it's intensely damaging problems related to flooding. Amazing Amber, our ESL teacher, was able to work closely with the representatives of this organization to devise a field trip where students were shown various areas of the city where flooding is particularly devastating, learn about possible solutions to the problems, and decide for themselves which solution they think would be the most effective. Overall an incredible activity that allowed students to become aware of the issues, understand why the problems were present, and use their own creativity to think of solutions.

We bussed our students to District 4, an area of the city that formerly housed the Vietnamese gangs (perhaps they still live there? I have trouble believing there is any violence in this city... hopefully I'm not being an overly optimistic city-dweller who seems to think everything is safe in comparison to Central America). Many of our students had never even been to this area of the city which was a mere 6 minute drive from our school. We saw houses whose foundations were lower than the street, causing rain water to enter their homes immediately after the streets began to drain. We compared the temperatures of areas in the city that had more trees to those that were without any plants. We saw where a giant pipe originating in the city's septic system lead to the river, skipping the whole filtration process. And we spent time standing on a simple bridge that looked out into the consequences of the city's actions in this river, and what a lack of waste management forces people to do.

Standing on that bridge, watching some of my students gag and frown in disgust, felt like we had traveled to another place. This neighborhood houses hundreds of families who's homes were made from tin roofs, rusting metal, and rotting wood that held the tiny one-room structures 10 feet above polluted waters. No reflections of these homes could be seen in the river as it was as black as night, and even if a reflection could be seen, it would go unnoticed with other distractors like rats, garbage, and oil streams.

people really live here

It really was quite the sight to see.

An even greater sight though was seeing the reaction of our students. Until this day, none of them really understood where their waste went after they placed it in a garbage can. Too often recycling campaigns do not focus on the other two "R's" and how much more important they are. Children are told that if they put their garbage in a can then they are helping the environment. In HCMC, this is more true that in other places since the majority of people seem to think the ground is the same as a trash can, but the action of throwing away is what leads to the blackened rivers, foul-smelling streets, and overly crowded dumps. What we really wanted to show our kids is that creating less waste is really the answer, not just recycling the waste we do create.

at least someone can find enjoyment here

My favorite "ah-ha!" moment of the field trip however, was when our students actually felt the temperature variance between the street that was bordered with trees versus the one where only cement could be seen. As we stood on the cemented platform next to the river listening to a presentation, students began to shuffle around uncomfortably while fanning themselves with their papers. Some began to ask if we could return to the car. Then suddenly, one student noticed that no one had been complaining at the last station we were at, commenting that the trees on that street had provided us with shade from the sun and had absorbed some of the CO2 in the air to help with the air quality-- genius!

the green street!

that big pipe in the back? that's where all the poo comes from

After our return to the classroom, the kids were given temporary tattoos and all was right with the world. We used that opportunity to remind these little dudes that some day THEY will be in charge of this city. These problems weren't going to just disappear on their own-- they needed creative, intelligent, and compassion people like the 4th graders at AIS to fix what was broken. Like all children, they dreamed up big plans for the future and seemed genuinely concerned with finding solutions to these problems... we'll see just how long this lasts ;)