India Report 8 from Ranthambore

ite INDIA REPORT # 8 FROM RANTHAMBORE

The tigress lay in the grass, long, thick limbs relaxed beneath her. She paid the stinking vehicles absolutely no heed... what harm did they do? Instead she focused on the deer. A herd of sambar were deep in the swamp, eating the lucsious water plants, 0blivious to the cat hidden in the grass. Herds of spotted deer- chital- and wild boar also ambleed past. On dry land lay a pair of truly enormous sambar bulls. In her younger days the tigress might have given them a go- her 250 kg of muscle were a match for any creature- but she had recently lost some canine teeth in battle with a 15 foot crocodile. She had killed the croc, but now found it harder to kill other prey.

A herd of wild boars stumbled by, oblivious, nervously regarding the vehicles. The tigress pressed herself into the grass, making herself flat, but she was painfully aware that she was visible from one side. The pigs came close... closer... almost... the tiger's explosivenes and power are equal to none, but once they hit full stride a pig or deer could outrun her. She shifted position, trying to hide in the thicker grasss, but the pigs saw her and galloped away, snorting in alarm.

The tigress got up, slowly, majestically. Every inch of her body rippled with he power that had made her the biggest and dominant female in the entire park, the power that enabled her to provide for 2 small cubsl with only one fang left. Using the vehicles as shields, keeping them between her and the sambar, the slunk closer to another patch of grass. The gawking humans above- clicking pictures and making awed faces- would have been easy meat, but she saw the trucks as one giant entity, made of rubber and metal, not meat. She gained the long grass encircling the marsh, but as she did a deer on the hill behind her saw the orange creature and snorted loud alarm. Instantly the chital that had been feeding in the vegetation scattered, and the hunter disappeared into the grass to wait.

We saw the tiger from the back of a canter, a kind of flat-bed safari truck were tourists sit in the bed, and yes, she did use it as as a shield from the deer. We waited for over and hour, tense, willing the tiger to make a kill. Several deer came close, but not close enough, and when she finally came out of the grass they took off. She made a half- hearted lope after them, perhaps hoping one was injured or lazy, but no deer was close enough to catch. Finally, the cat gave up and the canter drove us home, elated.

We have two safaris left, but it will be difficult to top this one." We had hoped to see a tiger, even just one, but never dreamed of seeing a friggin' hunt where the cat stalked by almost close enough to touch. (Oh yes, there will be pictures, when I find a computer where I can upload them. If you search for "tiger vs crocodile" or similar on google or youtube, you can see the tigress and her battle with the crocodile. (Thanks to our guide for providing background information on the individual animal.) The same guide also pronounced our sighting "the best one of the entire season." Not much else to say... that was sweet.

India Report 7

INDIA REPORT # 7

"The lynx was dead. But the she-wolf was very weak and sick."- White Fang

"Rather than seek pity, sensing rather that weakness of any kind is something to be ashamed of, the animal crawls away to await the outcome: recovery or death"- Lassie Come Home

So there I was, sick as a dog, and for some reason I thought of quotes about sick dogs. I don't know why, though I blame the fever, and the hours spent lying there doing absolutely nothing. (By the way, I read those books when I was about 10, so the quotes are most likely wrong.) Anyway, I caught a pretty nasty flu bug the other day, had a bit of a fever, a vicious headache, and spent a day and a half in bed. Nothing like lying in bed, feeling like suck and having your mom and sister discuss malaria, and your presence or absence of it's symptoms. Rest assured however, that I do not have malaria, nor any other cool tropical disease, but simply the flu. By the time you read this I will be healthy again (I am already vastly improved.) Also, due to a lack of eating and sudden disgust at the thought of greasy, spicy curry, I will be thinner, with much less work, than weeks of running could do!

So, we head off tomorrow. Our itenerary for the last weekish is as follows:
We will travel to a nearby city with the Reverend and family, to see a project his daughter is running that gives milk and eggs to poor children

We will take the train to Mumbai. From there, we will train to Ranthambore National park. From there to Jaipur, which I know absolutely nothing about, except that it's both filthy and pretty- just like me! From there, probably to the Taj Mahal, and then to Delhi, where my mom and I fly back, while my sister travels with friends.

And finally, my"deep" thoughts for the day: this is the kind of stuff my mom and sister were discussing deep into the night, making me sleep deprived and thus subsceptible to ilness. (In their defence, my decision to do push-ups instead of trying to sleep did not help.)

# 1) To what extend it morality cultural? (I know the standard Christian answer is "it's not"). Most of us would agree that, say, dousing your wife with kerosene and lighting her on fire is wrong no matter where you do it. (This was how more than one of the kids here got orphaned.) However, in some cases it's much less clear cut. Although the Indian Christians disavow the caste system, we've noticed that they still seem to have a bit of a class-oriented attitude. Those with less money, less prestigous jobs, etc are expected to do simple but menial tasks for the wealther and lazier: "get me a glass", "here pass this Bible to that person" etc. Uncomfortable? Certainly. Immoral? I'm not sure... I like to think that, while I was a "holy crap it's a white person!" visitor in the villages, I set a bit of a good example for the Indian pastors by rolling up my sleeves and getting into the mud to help get a truck unstuck. Not that the Indian pastors don't do an enormous amount of good, or show a ton of love, for those less fortunate, mind you. They do, and they are much more to be admired than questioned.

And an enormous thanks go out everyone who helped to contribute financially to the mission, both readers and non-readers of this blog. (Yes, I realize that you need to read the blog to read the thank you, but the mission recieved generous gifts from people who have never heard of filth-man.) Most of the money was spent to buy rice, which is much cheaper now (it is just post-harvest) than later in the year. Thanks largely to your donations, the mission has been able to purchase over 600 sacks of rice. (We need 1000 for the year.) That's awesome.

India Report 6

Given that I leave the mission in 3 days, and I might not be able to blog again for a while, I'm gonna write down a bunch of random stuff that I haven't jammed into a previous entry. Do not expect order, flow or any kind of rational continuation (kind of like an Indian pastor's progress report). There are pics at the bottom.

When people in India want to say "yes" they don't move their head up and down like we do in Canada. Rather, the wobble it from side to side, kind of like those bobblehead dolls some people have on their dashboards. Straight side to side means no (just like in Canada), side so side wobble means yes. It gets confusing. I try to imitate the wobble, but due to my notoriously stiff neck it turns invariable into a Ricky Martin type hip shuffle.

The "hill" I wanted to run up has turned more into a "walk" up, due not to lack of effort, vut due to steepness and heat. The whole thing is a catholic shrine... you start out at the bottom, at a catholic church, zigzag up the path past devout catholics, many of whom are doing ridiculous feats that I can only assume are a form of pennance- crawling over the cobblestones on their knees or carrying heavy sacks on their heads. At the top is a statue of Jesus crucified, and it's quite a religous experience, staggering up to the cross, gasping for breath and totally exhausted. There are moments of comedy too, usually involving the locals. Trying to find a shortcut through the bush, I quickly realized it was going nowhere, I ran back to the path, realized there was a 5 foot drop to the road, jumped off it, landed in a crouch and hit the ground running. But not before seeing the look of sheer horror on the face of a couple of women and children.., may never have seen a white man before, let along a sweat-soaked wild-eyed one jump off a ledge in front of them.

Some interesting cultural differences (so far as I can tell):
Men show affection to each other in public, but not to women. One man in particular shows too much affection, repeatedly, until I finally threatened to beat him up. Really. Ask me for the full story.
Women don't expose thier legs in public. However, they do explose their bellies, in between the "skirt" part of thier sari and their top, a sports-bra-like upper body garment that they also wrap their sari around.
Chubbyness is almost a status symbol. Since the majority of the are either hungry or laborers, and thus skinny.wiry, having a bit of a belly shows that you are not poor.

Man, the kids here lead regimented lives. They are happy (as far as I can tell) but very busy.
They get up very early to do chores, have school from 10-4, come home, do homework for 2 hours, have devotions, eat an enermous supper, and go to bed. They do get some free time in there, but not a whole lot. We've been spending an hour a day playing with the kids. The boys stop being sweet little kids and become competitive athletes very quickly. They fight over the ball (even with teammates), rally around the biggest and strongest, yell and scream and basically make good candidates for "Barbarian camp". Their hand eye coordination is just sick.. one of their games is whipping a tennis back back and forth- hard- and snagging it from the air one handed.

Speaking of sports, I think my retirement from wrestling may end. I found out that I can train in South Africa- perhaps even with the 84 kg African champ, which would end in beating for me I'm sure but might be fun. they have the South African Greco championships while I am over there, so I might go try my luck. I have done ok in Canada in Greco, with 2 national bronze medals, but that's with a small talent pool that's pretty inexperienced in the style. "Umm, arm throw? Hip toss?" As a bonus, Greco seems to require less cardiovascular fitness!

We went to a village of "bull dancers". The men of the tribe dress up a bull in bright color that is better seen than described (see bottom of post), and then make the bull "dance." there are some cool tricks- who knew that a bull could fit a man's neck in his mouth? but mostly the run around with the bull like crazy, getting him close enough that you think he's gonna run you over. The control over the massive animal is impressive. Funniest of all is the village boys, who are supposed so stay away (the bull dancers will smack them if they get within range), but who really want to be bull dancers themselves and play chicken with the big animal while imitating the dance steps.

I always find extremely spiritual places, like foreign missions, a little stressful. A constant focus on God makes think about all the doubts and questions I have. I find it hard to relax when topics like the suffering of children and the eternal destiny of human beings is constantly being discussed. What this says about my own spiritual life, and dedication (or lack thereof) to my faith I'm not sure.

I don't think I've ever met people who pray as much as the pastors do here. I've written up all their progress reports, and standard is several prayer nights a week, plus a long church service on Sunday, plus several days of fasting and prayer, and all night prayer vigils, every month. then there's family and personal praying time. I can't decide if this is amazing or excessive. However, you can't argue with results, I guess... Churches and new christians are springing up everywhere like wildfire, and this among the Hindu people, which are notoriously difficult to convert.

These pastors may wear their big bellies proudly, but they are not soft. They live in what we would consider huts. One of the big goals of our mission is to build them parsonages, houses with electricity and toilets, and most importanty, good roofs. That way, rain and snakes dont' get it. Cobras are actually a common problem. I was in one hut where feral cats came in through the roof, which means a) loads of room to get in and b) lots or mice around for the snakes to eat. One pastor actually lost a kid when a friggin' snake crawed into his hut and it. Sucks.

I would also be remiss if I didn't ask for money... I hate doing it, but the money is sorely needed, and Ive seen enough to convince me that it will be well spent. Total cost to:
build a pasonage or church-$5000
buy a 75 kg bag of rice to feel childen- $25
Sponsor a child or pastor- $25-30 per month

Email me if you are interested, please. I will gladly provide more details, but I feel uncomforable providing personal info for others over a blog anyone can read. We are currently making DVD's to "advertise" the mission, I will gladly share some when I get back home. Making these DVD's is a rediculous amount of work, since the software is posessed by anti-productivity demons.

Finally, we are in the process of booking enterance to Ranthambore national park, supposedly THE place to see tigers in the wild. Tigers! My one stipulation when going to India was "I want a chance to see a tiger in the wild." My mom and sister could plan everything else (which they did quite excellently, I might add) but I wanted that shot at seeing a tiger. Now it looks as if I may get it.

Pics:
1) A bull eats someone's head
2) awww... children with puppies! Who can resist the double cuteness?
3) Some local villagers

Pictures 2

Not so many, and you'll have to ask my sister if you want good ones, but here goes.

1) The tradition Indian welcome- garlands. We got about 10 of them (at least).
2) "Operation Christmas Child" boxes at work
3) Jens fearlessly touches a water buffalo, and realizes it's much like touching a cow
4) happy children
5) The Haji Ali mosque in Mumbai


























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India Report 5 (nothing happens)

So, I cut my arm today...

Relax, just a scratch. I was scrambing down a hillside, grabbed a tree to slow a skid, and got a little scrape. The way people reacted to it, you'da thought I'd rammed the arm through my kidney. Anyway, I found a "mountain" to climb... a hill, actually. It's right behind a catholic church, and all along the steep, cobblestoned path are stations of the cross. It was very wierd, put at the top, watching people pray and then turn and ask us for pictures and autographs. The obsession with white people/foreigners here is insane.

Without betraying anyone's privacy,here is the history of most of the children that are taken care of by the mission. (There are roughly equal girls and boys, but writing his/her every time is a pain, and because I am male, will be our prototypical child.) I've typed up about 10 billion progress reports. These are double-translated: they are written in Telegu, translated into English, then I translate them into "Western" English, changing such interesting phrases as "their father plays with bufallo" and ones that readers might find offensive, like "the child is not intelligent." Christianese phrases are left as written.

Child so-and-so hails from such-and-such a village. His father is a daily wage laborer/has another low paying job, and his mother is also a wage laborer/homemaker. His father is/is not an alcoholic. The parents barely make enough money to pay for food and education for the children.

After the ilness/death/alchohol or adultery induced departure of one/both parents, the child is cared for by the other parent/grandparents. However, the meager income is not enough to support the child.

The parents/grandparents approach pastor whats-his-name, and with his cooperation the child joins the mission home.

The child joined the mission in some year, and is now so old and in a grade. He does well/struggles in school. His favorite subjects are this and that. He attends Sunday School and has learned singing and bible stories. He is shy/mischivous/a natural leader with his peers. He is growing strong spiritually in the Lord. He wants to be a doctor/nurse/engineer/pastor and help the poor and bring Glory to God.

The children live in 2 different dorm houses, one of which has a school attached. They have house parents to care for them. They get plenty of food, though it's simple. Rice forms the majority of every meal. If you'd like to donate a bag of rice, now is the time to buy and it's $25 for a 75 kg bag. Please leave a comment with contact email or email me if you are interested. They are well educated in local schools, and brought to the doctor when necessary. The one thing they seem to lack is personal one-on-one attention to adults. This can nor really be helped, as there simply aren't enough adults to go around. We are trying to do our part by spending time with the kids. They especially like photos. The boys are very athletic, and like to play "soccer"- kicking a tennis ball into the wall of the opposing building to score. Bicycles, geese, passers-by and girls are considered natural obstacles. They also love cricket, which is a dumb to play as it is to watch.

Not much has actually happened since my last blog, we continue to be treated like kings, and to work in the office. The internet here- no wait, if I try to describe the frustration I will descent into cursing. Let's just say mega-suck and leave it at that.

India Report 4ish

(disclaimer: my comments on "Indian culture" and the like are based on my observations, and people telling me stuff, not statistics or objective study or anything. Probably not true in all places in all cases.)

So, we've spent a couple of days touring villages. Despite the enormous cities in India (1 million people rates a "town"), the majority of people still live in rural villages. The villagers grow their own food and/or work as daily wage laborers on the farms of the wealthy few. Visiting them (with several area pastors) is an experience to remember. The pastor at the children's mission also leads a program that builds parsonages and trains evangelists, and he and his compatriots go to "visit the flock" whenever they have guests, once every few months or so.

A typical village visit goes something like this:

1: We drive the the village by taxi. My mom mentions the insanity of the traffic roughly once for every 7 minutes of driving. All of us roll down the windows to take pictures, undoubtedly looking very stupid.

2: We arrive and walk to the parsonage (pastor's home, plus church hang-out place). The parsonages, like the other houses, are simple structures with a couple of rooms. They have electric lights and- importantly- celing fans, but few modern conveniences. These people don't have much. They- being Indian Christians- are also a huge minority in the country. The majority Hindus are usually, but not always, content to let the Christians do their own thing. Some Hindus will even come to the church gatherings.

3: The villagers line up enthusiastically to greet us. We are given garlands of colorful flowers, a traditonal method of greeting. Everyone is grinning wide, waving and cheering and laughing. You put your hands together straight up and down, bow a little, and say "namaste" to greet them in the traditional style. We were very uncomfortable with all the attention.... the pastor's non-PC (but it seems to be very true) comment that "one white person makes an entire village happy" didn't help. Finally we realized that the villages really do love to have guests, and are basically looking for an excuse to celebrate, so we decided to enjoy being Rock Stars for a couple of days.

4: There is generally some sort of church worship. Long, somewhat redundant (especially if you can't understand) songs are sung in Telegu, the local language. (There is no language called "Indian", rather there are a plethora of them. The most common is Hindi.) A pastor speaks, messages ranging from a short greeting to a full fire-and-brimstone, yelling every sentence type sermon. (The pastor yelling in English is very quite funny, as he crechendo-decrechendos at the end of every sentence. "You must accept the Lord JEEEsus!") One of the "honoured visitors" has to give a short greeting and Bible reading, with translation from a pastor.

5: Food! The villagers get to feast, but we are served first. In India, being a good host is of vital importance socially, and serving food is 1a on the list. People bring you water to wash your hands, bottled water (it is common knowledge, I guess, that foreigners are too pansy to handle Indian tap water), and fill plates with food. They will continue to fill your plate once it becomes even remotely empty. This makes eating a tricky venture when visiting 4 or 5 villages in a day. It is rude to eat nothing, but downright gluttonous to eat a full meal every time. (I might have taken the eating challenge, if nor for my wanting to get back into shape. As well, it seems poor form to stuff yourself with food the villagers could otherwise eat.) And yes, it's the women who cook and serve food. A lot of them also work in the fields with the men. Tough girls.

6: "Playing" with the kids... they are shy at first, but once you approach them with a smile they can't get enough of the attention, though the only Englsh the little ones speak is "my name is". They take great pleasure in our attempts to pronounce their multisyllabic names. The magic of digital cameras lets us take pictures and then show them to the kids (and delete later if necessary). The kids get an unbelievable kick out of this and swarm you like happy puppies, smiling and laughing and shaking hands. I started taking flowers from the garlands and putting them in the hair of little girls. They smiled, put their hands to their faces, and beamed. It was great.

The younger women get in on the action too, waving their babies and asking to get their picture taken. They are so slight of build that I constantly worried that I would accidentally pat a mother on the head. Only the men stand back, polite and even friendly, but the young ones seem a little wary. Perhaps they want us to realize that it is THEIR women and children we are playing with.

7: Leaving, followed by waving, cheering throngs. It was bizarre, I felt like Angelina Jolie. Incidentally, the funnest part of the day was when I actually got to do something useful... Our driver got one of our 2 vehicles thoroughy mired in thick greasy mud. Since the villagers don't have cars and the pastors don't have mud, no one had the slightest idea what to do, so I got to more-or-less run the show. We roped the two vehicles together to pull the stuck one out, and the drivers almost blew out the engine on the first one. He gunned it hard, while the second driver did not bother to even turn the stuck vehicle on! A quick explanation of "drive forward with BOTH cars- and other people push" later, and we were on our way.


The villages are hard to describe in their awesomeness, so I will try to upload pics at some point. Small, crumbling houses, roofed with leaves, are surrounded by lush tropical greenery. The women and girls are dressed in bright colors, somehow keeping their Saris spotless. There are animals everywhere- manegy feral dogs looking for scraps, chickens nervously bickering in the dirt, a wobbly-legged calf chasing the chickens, and the placid water buffalo everywhere. These buffalo are more like cows than their savage African cousins, easily herded with the tap of a stick.

The sheer entusiasm of the villagers is mind-boggling. I am reminded that we generally equate "developing world" with "horrible suffering"... and certainly, suffering happens. If a villager can't get work, or his crops fail, food becomes immediately scarce. Many people can not afford medical treatment. After typing up the stories for many kids .I am acutely aware of what can go wrong. However, when things are going well, they seem perfectly content, even joyful, with their "simple" lives. Theu don't need a ton of stuff. They are thin but don't look starving. (Incidentally, most people here are naturally pretty small. It feels very strange to be tall for once. Those that eat to much get the amusing skinny-fat physique: narrow shoulders and a big belly.)

I was also impressed by how hard the children work. It is perfectly acceptable for an adult to ask a child- any child- to get him something, and the child obeys without question. However, the kids do not seem to be intimidated or bullied into doing it. They work with smiles on their faces, and it is clear that their parents (the vast majority, anyway) love them very much.

The only part I didn't like was being made to feel very soft. It feels very wussy to get treated like a king; sitting there getting fanned by a 10 year old girl is slightly rediculous. As is getting your feet washed by hand because they are muddy. As is getting asked "are you too hot? Do you need a rest?" after a 10 minute walk. I wanted to scream at the guy: "I used to carry trees up moutains in this weather! Am I made of freaking glass?"

As far as our doing any work? Apart from bringing joy from our glorious presence, well, yes, we are. We are writing a bunch of letters to sponsors, doing videotaping and scripting for promotional DVD's, and taking pictures of children for the files. Yesterday we went assembly line style through a hundred kids or so at a school: Line up, snap picture, next! The strategy of the Mission people is becoming clear, and it's a pretty good one: make us feel welcome, make us feel part of the work, so that we will want to support, and send more people to the mission in the future. Works for me.

Finally, I am speaking in the English service on Sunday. If you are the praying type, I would appreciate you offering up some on my behalf.

Pics chosen at Random

These were chosen completely at random, by clicking on unseen images. I'm sorry there are not more, but my computer is determined to prevent me from upoading pictures. Getting these on my blog was an hour's worth of work.

1) Spice vendors in a big market in Mumbai.
2) "No Utensils" is cultural! Eating Indian food in our hotel cell
3) cute kids at the children's home
4) palm trees from a rooftop
5) my sister at the enterance to a Hindu temple
6) drinking coconut milk in a village

India Report 3

I have a personality clash with Indian culture, I think. Not just the man-touching, which I wil refrain from mentioning, except right now. Indian hospitality (or at least that which I have experienced) is all about doting on one's guests, giving them your finiest food, drink and location, ensuring their comfort and giving them gifts. I feel uncomfortable without my own space, my own time, my own (as in, bought by only me) stuff. The fine food is amazing, of course, but it does wreak havoc with my plan to get back into wrestling shape. Ahh well, it is foolish to complain about being treated like a king. Especially in a place where so many have nothing. So I guess I will enjoy the lavish hospitality.

Today we went shopping, which I deplore. Specifically, we went Indian garb shopping. The way to the store was travelled by auto-Ricksaw, basically a cross between a golf cart and a tuna can. My mom wants me to mention that the streets are even crazier in an auto-Ricksaw- I entertained myself by touching the occasional bus as it went by. The Indian garb store, called "Venus" was populated by no less thast 11 workers, most of which rush to help you put on clothes (there is no privacy when changing... note to self, wear more underwear next time). The girls bought a bunch of Punjabi suits, and I got some sort of black-and-gold man-cloak. The grinning shopkeepers ensure me I look like a prince. I'm thinking "Haloween", but it really is a very nice man-dress.

I am- still- too tired to do written justice to the children's home. Also, I am kinda paranoid to write too much detail about someone who can easily read it.... for now, we live on a compound with a Reverend, his (older) family, some household helpers, and about 40 kids. The rest live in a seperate "children's home" which we will visit tomorrow. So far our work had not involved the kids directly; rather, we are helping to create DVD's and letters for present and potential sponsors, so more children can be adopted. The home has the space but not the money. A lot of our work involves transcribing "Indian" English into "Western" English... example: "so and so was menstruating constantly. Then God gave her a womb. She is now 9 months pregnant." beomes "So and so was unable to concieve for a long time, but now God has granted her a child".

Sorry about the lack of pictures, they were almost uploading but then my computer quit. Maybe next time.

India Report 2

"... two thousand pounds of education, falls to a ten rupee jezail (Afghan sniper rifle)"- Rudyard Kipling

"People go to India to learn great spiritual wisdom, but for some reason they don't see India, or what that belief system has done to those people over there. Karma, ugh!" - Frank Peretti

"If they just picked up all this trash sooo many more tourists would come"- my mom.

"Soap. You need soap. And I can see you are very sensitive. Are you a sensitive man?"- man on train.


A 24 h train ride is a lot of time to talk, think and read. I read a book called "the Afghan", a trash thriller with a technological and millitary (rather than political take on the War on Terror. The Kipling quote stuck in my head, mostly because of how cheap the rifle is. While you couldn't get a gun for ten rupees (30 cents) nowadays, but you certainly can get a lot for very little. Everything is dirt cheap in India. If you don't like the price, you can generally barter. There's always a ton of people trying to help you for tips as well- carry luggage, show you around, sell you things... We had 4 different kids come on board the train while it was stopped and offer to clean the floor with a rag cloth for money. It is most helpful if you are trying to get all your luggage onto the train, but most annoying if you only need to carry it 10 feet to a taxi.


Frank Peretti, a Christian writer who will never be accused of Political Correctness, blames the Hindu belief in karma for much of the suffering in India. He claims that the (now outlawed, but still widely practiced) Caste system, that places people in different social strata from birth, excuses the rich from helping the poor because "they earned it. That's your karma. If you are born to be a beggar you're meant to be a beggar." I don't know enough about Hinduism, Karma, or the Caste system to pass judgement.. however, we did have an endless conversation with a very nice gentleman on the train that scared me.

He imparted all his wisdom upon us, and while he certainly had some good things to say, his belief that you can discover someone's destiny and criminal nature from their hands and facial features was, to say the least, disconcerting. Someone should tell the FBI, would make their job a lot easier.. no, wait, did I just suggest racial profiling? The Peretti quote makes a lot of sense to me now. Anyway, a lot of the guy's credibility was lost when he "predicted" my age to be 21, AFTER being told my birth date. (I am 23). Also, his palm reading skills told him that I am a very sensitve man. My mom and sister actually went into convulsions of laughter upon hearing that. Oh yeah, and those destined to be poor have a certain feature on the top of their ear... don't remember if the "fortunate" have a flat or bulbous ear, but thanks to the magic of cauliflower earI now have one of each.. perhaps they will cancel each other out?

The third quote is in disgust at the incredibly disgusting streets of Mumbai. Filth everywhere. We went to a Hindu temple and a Mosque... inside they were clean, reverent, and filled with worshippers. Since it is considered disrespectful to wear shoes in the places of worship, "shoe guards" watch your shoes as you walk around. Outside the mosque/temple, beggars beg and mind-boggling mounds of trash accumumate. It's very strange to be a in a very devoutly religious country, where the majority if not Christian. Dunno yet quite what to make of it.

Our train ride was interesting to say the least. We sat 3 to a bench facing each other, facilitating the long conversation. At night time, we sleep 3 high, on bunk "benches" strapped to the wall. Because of our enormous amount of luggage (largely supplies for the children's home), positioning both ourselves and our stuff became quite an adventure. We got a good tongue-lashing from an irate 80-y-old, who eventually became quite friendly, and I had to sleep on a sack of random supplies, finding a soft comforable notch between a big tub of hand cream and a coathanger. My mom, in the bunk below, ticked my feet in her sleep. Twice. No, I don't know why.

Finally, I thought the man-holding-man-hand thing was wierd... much wierder when a man puts his hand on your inner thigh to talk to you. Takes some getting used to for sure. The grabbing of my belly was a bit too much.

We have arrived safe and happy at the children's home... but I will write about that after we have spent some time there and I have actual information. For now suffice to say the accomodations are very comfortable, the hosts are embarassingly gracious, their food is delicous and the children- dark, skinned, almond eyed and kind of shy- are adorable. And the people here don't own cows... they have WATER BUFFALO! Tame, domesticated water buffalo! How cool is that?

I realize as I am typing that my writing sucks today. I am sorry. I am very tired. But good tired.

Jens

India Report 1

So here we are in Mumbai (the former Bombay), exhausted... just got here and already been an exciting trip.

The flight(S) were long, boring, turbulent and uneventful. I break 2 long-lasting streaks of mine... the "can not sleep" streak and the "sucky movie" streak, the latter being broken by screenings of "Driving Miss Daisy" and "Rounders". Nonetheless I was bored enough to read two books, one on comlex biochemistry (Darwin's Black Box). Ah well. Our final flight, Delhi to Mumbai, was by "Spicejet", a family-owned flying company. We took a shuttle bus to the terminal in the middle of the night, driven by a Saddam Hussein look alike, complete with bristling mustache and ancient machine gun. (All the guards have huge mustaches, it seems, but they are good-natured and helpful.) My mom thought we were getting kidnapped, especially when the shuttle bus passed through two heavy gates manned by armed guards. The airport really does look like a secret millitary base- albiet with wussier planes- at night.

Spice Jet's luggage x-ray machine is in the middle of friggin' nowhere. You put your luggage through one end, then open it up for their satisfaction, then pick it up and carry it to boarding. The flight times are indicated in dry-erase marker on a white board. I was quite relieved when we got onto an actual airplane. I was half-expecting a giant catapult or something.

Finally we had to pick up my sister, who was flying in from South Africa, before finding accomodation. We are spending the night at a Hotel called "the Palace Hotel", and by "palace" I mean "prison." Prisoners would riot if they were locked in cells as small, or had celings as low, as ours. It is run by a mob of passport-obsessed Indians (they had to take ours to photocopy them twice) who entertain themselves by sweeping, so the place is immaculately clean. We ordered in some Indian food, and have yet to vomit. (Apparently everyone gets sick from eating the food here.)

We've spent the day touring Mombai, walking the streets and taking the taxis to various "famous" locations. The streets of India are a varitable cacophany of sight and smell. Men wear (almost invariably) dress pants and button up shirts, but the brightly colored Saris and traditonal garments of the women are something to behold, shining bright against the filthy backgrounds. The stench is palpable from the streets- a pungent mix of known odors (pee, poo, sweat, fish, cows and spices) and unknown ones. It mixes with a humid, sticky smog, to create a truly unique experience. The streets are incredibly diverse- the wealthy walk by the shacks of the poor. People sl;eep wherever it suits them, as do dogs, which otherwise laze the sidewalks between playing children who pay them no heed. Even cows wander around aimlessly. Men, curiously enough, walk arm-on-shoulders and hand-in-hand everywhere. In Indian culture this apparently means friendship, not homosexuality, but it takes some getting used to, especially when a man-man "couple" walks by a loving heterosexual couple who are also holding hands.

In some places the blaring constrasts are downright sickening. We crossed the street from India Gate, shaking off the prying hands of a legless beggar boy crawling around on padded knee-stumps, and strode into the most opulent of hotels. Rich and poor, fat and starving, so close together.

Transport is by way of taxis, and it's kind of fun. The taxis compete for travellers, of course, and are not above a little bald-faced lying to get you into theirs. However, the drivers are good-natured and (in comparison to South Africa) unarmed, so it's pretty safe. The roads are something else though- narrow free for alls, with people and animals jockying with drivers for space. Drivers lay on the horn constantly, not with malice, but as way of warning: "I'm coming through!" It seems to double nicely as a turn signal also. They take great pleasure of squeezing in between other vehicles, even when it offers no actual speed advantage. It didnt' help that my mom began to squeal in fear, convincing the driver to try even harder with a grin on his face.

So, ya, India's been good. Lots to see and we haven't actually done anything. Tomorrow afternoon we take a 24 hour train ride- something I am NOT looking forward to. I am out of books and I hope I can sleep most of the way. My mother and sister are quite exhausted, and am I, and I hope to eat a spicy Indian supper (man Indian food rocks) and have a long, blisfull sleep in my cell.

Good night.

Flying to India

Well, we are off to India tomorrow morning. Apparently the Moron-checkers were asleep at their post, for they have given me a visa to their glorious nation.

We appreciate your prayers during our journey. Specific prayer requests:

a) That our stomachs would survive the change in food- several friends of ours have been pretty sick in India.

b) That I might be able to lead effective devotions- apparently I am teaching the story of Joseph to 300 kids with the aid of a translator.

c) That we would be an effective help instead of a nuicance to the children's home.

d) For safety. This should not be a dangerous journey, but it's always good to have prayers for safety.

Too see our itenerary, click here: http://filth-man.blogspot.com/2006/10/indiatinerary-greetings-to-those-of.html

To ask questions just click on "post a comment". Your comments will not appear instantly.

Rambling's from Cave-Man Land

(my mom has NOTHING to do with this post)

Looking up from a miserable streak of planting one day, I locked eyes with an enormous black bear. He was right across the dirt road, 30 odd feet away, looking at me. I cursed my luck, looked at him, and wondered what to do. Bears are common in Northern BC, and they usually don't bother you, but this one was very big and very close. I yelled for my co-workers (bears don't like crowds) but no one was in shouting distance. I wondered if they would be able to hear my screams as I was being dismembered. I looked longingly for the truck, but it was nowhere to be found. I tried to ignore the bear, but such a thing is hard to do.

Finally I screwed up my courage, smiled to myself at the absurdity of it all, raised my shovel and started yelling. Yelling screaming, making myself look big. I advanced a couple of steps, waving my pathetic weapon, and the mantra in my head was "please don't eat me please don't eat me". As I got closer, the bear rose to face me- for one wild moment I braced myself for the charge- and then with the fluidity that all wild things have, he disappeared into the bush. As my heart rate slowed down, relief began to flood over me, and something else... a tiny sliver of regret. So small you could almost ignore it, yet so foolish it borders on machismo. "I was ready", it said. "Why won't you fight?"

I'm fascinated by the concept of man-eating animals. Not a man-killer, who acts in self-defence or anger and takes a human life (such as a rampaging bull or an angry pitbull) but a true man-eater, who hunts down a human being for food. The black bear I encountered was obviously not one. In fact, every bear I have ever met has given way. Some dash off into the bush, some retreat more grudgingly, but I have never even been threatened. I have been circled by a yearling wolf, a lean and gangly thing, and as I wondered if my size could compensate for his speedI remembered that entire species- cheetahs, african wild dogs and North American wolves among others- have sworn off man-eating.

I have stared into the eyes of a shark from a shark cage ( see http://filth-man.blogspot.com/2006/08/instead-of-info-i-have-decided-to.html), looked down on a hunting lion from the back of an open jeep, fished in a crocodile-packed lagoon and observed an irate leopard through an open window. (For what COULD have happened, watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCAoIywxFk8. My leopard took off). These are some of my greatest memories. Perhaps my most memorable experience is catching giraffes with my uncle- huge, majestic creatures that are subdued by hordes of men with ropes- and the sheer exhileration of realizing it could- and wanted to- kick my head off but I was just out of reach.

The true man eater is rare. This is due to one of two reasons (and yes, they may both be true): Either a) animals have learned to avoid messing with man because he has guns and bombs and a long, bitter memory or b) because God has put man fimly in charge, as the book of Genesis seems to suggest. Man eating is very much location-dependant, which suggests that a) has a lot of truth to it. In Southern Africa, where proliferation of guns is a major social issue, leopards exist on the outskirts of major cities without ever being seen. In India, where peasants have no means of self-defence, they become a snack. Basically, predators eat people where they can get away with it.

African Lions, the scariest animals I have ever seen- just look into the pitiless eyes of a big lion and try to feel no fear- are nonetheless safe enough that, when I was on Safari 2 years ago we slept in the Serengeti, the Okavango Delta and the Ngorongoro Crater in fabric tents. (Lion safety lesson.. a) stay in your friggin' tent at night. b) If a lion comes by be very quiet. c) if it tries to get into your tent, kick it in the face. d) If it really wants to eat you, you are screwed.) Sure the ocasional tourist gets nailed- usually because they are blatantly violating park rules (one moron tried to re-arrange some lion cubs for a picutre)- but all in all, if you are careful you are relatively safe. This is not the case in more primative areas, where human beings have the ablility to deplete a predator's natural food source but not enough technology to protect themselves. Some remote parts of India, for example.

Yes, this does tie into my upcoming trip: I was researching national parks in India to find one to visit. Specifically, I want to see a Tiger. I found out two things:
a) Most National Parks were created to protect diminishing Tiger Populations
b) These tigers eat a crap load of people.

Really... it's quite bizarre. The descriptions for some of the parks go into long explanations of how they have had, and continue to have, problems with tigers nailing locals. a year What a travel ad that is: "our locals get eaten by tigers. But come on in, you won't." ( http://www.india-wildlife-tour.com/wildlife-sancturies-india/dudhwa-national-park.html. and http://www.india-wildlife-tour.com/wildlife-sancturies-india/sunderbans-national-park-tiger-reserve.html are good examples)

I am fascinated. Fascinated by the whole idea of human beings still at the mercy of nature, who go to bed at night knowing (as I did that night in the Serengeti) that something bigger and stronger might drag you off in the middle of the night and there was nothing you could do. In bear country I sometimes sleep with a big knife, wondering if it would be completely useless in self defence. I have found a common theme amongst my outdoorsy friends- every one of us wants, deep down inside, the chance to fight a bear. Many of us even have a plan, from the truly bizarre (do a flip over the bear and stab it in the back??) to the masochistic. (A friend of my grandfather's, when attacked by a lion, grabbed it by the tongue. The lion ate his arm but was unable to get to his vitals before the man stabbed it to death.) Perhaps this goes back to our anscestral past when, like the peasants in some parts of Africa and India, a man's abilites really were measured by how hard and how fast he could throw a spear. (To make things even worse for them, most of the man-eaters come from national parks. Imagine being told the government is protecting the killer of your children.)

I do not write to incite fear in those who read this. Tourists are well protected- they, after all, bring money. I write to share my fascination. I think there is a little cave-man in all of us, a little primative sliver that feels resignation that wants to prove itself against the wild. In Southern Africa, the animals everyone wants to see are the "big 5": the professed five most dangerous animals, the lion, leopard, buffalo, elephant and rhinocerous. (I think they got it wrong though: hippos, hyenas, crocodiles and snakes would make my list). Much in demand are the Walking Safaris- a guided walk through big game territory. (My mom did one as a teen-ager. A hippo almost got her. She loved it.)

Peope in the Bible lived like this. Biblical threats are written in language the people of that time fully understood- hungry lions, bears robbed of their cubs, angry serpents. Imagine walking to your girlfriend's house, filled with thoughts of romance, and being jumped by a lion. A lion! Then imagine turning around, grabbing it by the head and tearing it apart.. and being so blase about it that you didn't even tell your parents. How cool is that?

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful- very thankful- to be living in a world of safety, where my life is not in constant danger. I do not want to get eaten, and if a bear ever does come after me I will probably wet my pants. But still... I can't keep thinking... how cool is that? I wonder how many other people (especially men, this might be one of those "guy things") agree?