I wish I had worms...

It's our last day and we decided to be gluttonous, hence the blog title!

In just about 12 hours we will be flying out of Delhi in pursuit of Qatar. I'm curious to see how Qatar Airways measures up. Our flight from Kathmandu to Delhi, on Jet Airways, just a few days ago, was by far the best flight Lori or I have ever been on. Neither of us wanted it to end (definitely a first!). Not only did we have our own touch-screen t.v.s we had the choice of a plethora of music from around the world to listen to (full CDs!), music videos to choose from, over 10 movies, and even more t.v. prporgams...we felt spoiled. We listened to the new Radiohead, Pink Floyd, both Bobs (Marley and Dylan), a little Om Shanti Om (the soundtrack to the Bollywood flick) and the Dixie Chicks. We didn't even have time to check out the t.v. selections because we were both so jazzed to have some jams. I was blasting Mary J Blige as the pilot told the crew to get ready for landing. Amazing how good music feels after not having your Ipod at beck and call for 7 months.

Yeah, 7 months. And we'll be back on home soil by tomorrow afternoon. I hope Qatar Air blows us away because after our 4 hour flight from Delhi we have a 14 hour flight to D.C. Just thinking of it makes me squirm. We haven't written a blog for a while, and uploading took so long last time we didn't get the chance to put up more photos. Hopefully we'll have a chance to soon. I guess this is it. Homeward bound and still trying to process it all...

होप

Sikkim Photos

The beginning of our trek in Sikkim...saddling up the yaks!

Oh yeah! Snow storm on the second day!
Sunrise at the Dzongri camp

On our rest/acclimatization day it dumped in camp! Sunrise on Kanchenjunga (3rd highest in the world!)

The More

Trying to describe the more is like trying to describe "The Nothing" in The Never Ending Story. It is amorphous, indescribable, ineffable, uncontrollable, unpredictable. Unlike "The Nothing," the more is a positive "thing," not a force to fear. Once you have experienced the more you cannot imagine life without it. One is speechless, dumbfounded and a myriad other cliches because there are no words, at least that I know of, to tell others about the more.

The problem with not being able to describe the more is that those of us who have it, want it, can't live without it, end up sounding like stuttering school children when asked, "Why are you going there (insert country name of choice here) to volunteer?" Why not go to Ghana to enjoy the splendid beaches; it's much cooler there than in a concrete box with a tin roof. Why not check out the gorillas in northern Uganda instead of shifting bricks for two days in the sweltering heat outside of Entebbe? No safari in Kenya? And what about Goa; you went all the way to India to spend time in one of the most polluted places in the universe! The pious have words for it: God, gods, enlightenment, sacrifice, humility, etc. However, those are not the words I would use to describe the more.

The more is the man on Park Street: no legs, hated me for a couple of weeks because I gave him a smile instead of money, yet every morning and every evening greeted him with an exuberant "Hello" until I learned "Namaskar, Ke mon acho?" and now the zeal with which he notices my legs among all the others coming and going, and looks up excitedly as we greet each other in the same instant; he knows I treat him like a human, not a crippled beggar. His presence in my life is the more.

The more is complimenting the family on AJC Bose Rd on their spring cleaning: they live on the sidewalk; a man, his wife, and their little son, on a 4ft X 6ft square space covered by a tarp. They got a new tarp and it's green. Being here every day, a part of a neighborhood, a street community, an auto-rickshaw route, dodging the heroine needles as I walk down our sidewalk just like everyone else that lives there, allows me to make this observation. Noticing the change in a tarp color is the more.

The more is Ganesh, named after the elephant man-god, a Punjabi who turns on the little fan as I talk on the phone in his hot-as-Hades telephone booth. The more is working with a group of women, a school, a project, for an extended amount of time; a trip can't do it. Four weeks rarely does it. Two months teases you with what the more could be. And even though I continue to seek out the more I am continually surprised at how I receive it. As I said, it is not predictable; the only predictable thing about it is how not to find it.

Butterflies in your stomach, not quite. Chills, goosebumps? Nope. There are physical expressions of the more, but even these are not easy to pinpoint. So, what's the point in writing (or trying to) a blog about it? I've come to realize a lot of people think I volunteer and continue to go on trips like this because it makes me feel good. In no way is this right. In every way this is wrong. It doesn't make me feel good to sweat profusely twenty-four hours a day. If you could see my hands and feet right now you would believe me; they are swollen and soft the way you get from being in the bath too long, covered in heat bumps, red, itchy, painful, hideous. I don't enjoy watching my feet instead of smiling at others as I walk, for fear I might step on one of those needles. I didn't enjoy living in a room with no electricity, therefore no fan, in 40+ degrees Celsius, no running water to cool off with, always at risk of typhoid and malaria. Not fun. I never liked the food in West Africa. And if you think I'm not getting to the point, it doesn't make feel good at all to volunteer and come home. Maybe some can build themselves up and feel good about what they "did," but not me. I, on the other hand, have near panic attacks on my first trip back into the grocery store. I remember the time I stood, completely overwhelmed, in the cereal isle in Fred Meyer guilty with choice. Volunteering, coming on trips like this, makes me feel worse when I go home. I have to leave movies before they finish for fear of discussing the content and being misunderstood; I clam up, I hide out, I try and run off that guilt feeling. I feel worse going home each trip, not better. The reason I travel to volunteer, not climb mountains, not lay on a beach (although I love all of those things and try to do them as much as possible), but make volunteering the point of the trip, is because of the more.

The More is why I am here.

It isn't just for weddings...

So, I work with two wonderful kiwi folks who are going back to NZ after nine years in Calcutta. Naturally, I threw them a party...

Little did I know as I carried a cake all the way from one end of town to the other, riding on a bumpy auto-rickshaw, squishing my way onto the jam-packed Metro, and finally jostling along on a cycle-rickshaw, in the blistering heat, with the cake melting on my lap, that I would soon be wearing it!

I guess in the Bengali tradition, icing is meant to be smeared...

and worn proudly...

The festival of colors isn't until this weekend, but here we are covered in icing!

I managed to clean myself up. Here's me with some of the girls, donning a sari!

hot

calcutta is hot. i thought it was hot before, but now i know, THIS is hot. hot as in: i'm wilted by the time i walk the short four blocks to catch a cycle rickshaw to school around 8 a.m. hot as in: a cold shower, which we long for now rather than just deal with like we did before, is impossible since the water storage tank outside is heated up to around boiling by the midday heat. as in: a cold drink that i buy just down the street is lukewarm by the time i get it home and open it. as in: the air conditioned restaurants we treat ourselves to on the weekend are pure heaven, an undeniable luxury. hot as in: sidewalks sizzle, laundry dries practically instantly, dogs lie in limp-boned piles on every street corner, piles of trash steam, kids run around naked, and i want to run around naked. well....maybe not run. a slow saunter is more like it. it's too hot to run.

but in spite of the heat, calcutta is an amazing city. though i'm fully looking forward to cooler, greener, less populated darjeeling in april, there's so much that will be hard to leave behind. of course there are the delectable restaurants we've discovered, the weekend rituals we've established, the zipping around the city on a shared auto-rickshaw, crammed in seven-deep and somehow still finding it impossible not to move with the blasting bengali techno and strobe lights affixed to the rickshaw's ceiling. you know--typical city stuff that's always fabulous. then there are the people we've met: people who have impacted my life even if our only interaction is greeting each other every day while passing through our respective lives. there are the teachers at tiljala primary school, beautiful, fun, big-hearted women who try to teach me bengali, who insist that i rest after my sweaty but short walk to school (they who travel by train and bus two hours each way to get to school), who, i think, love the kids as much as i do even if they don't show it. and then there are the kids, the kids! these amazing and resilient kids who live in the filthy, chaotic maze surrounding the school, yet who show up on time every morning, clean, hair oiled, perfectly attired, so excited to be at school and genuinely eager to learn. each of their names is poetry, sitting cross-legged on the floor with them while they eat their rice-and-dal lunch is a joy, and helping them learn english (their THIRD langauge, after hindi and bengali) is a privilege. i'm learning as much as they are, if not more.

so. yes...it's unbearably, uncomfortably hot. i don't enjoy my clothes sticking to my skin or tossing and turning at night under my stifling mosquito net. but i'd never take back my time here. in the end, i think a little heat provides a lot of perspective.

Photos from Calcutta

View of neighborhood where Lori teaches

Two great girls at Lori's school

Mandy and Colleen at Sanlaap -designing a new bag, block-printing area

All dressed up on Kelsey's last night in Calcutta

Shelano! - The lovely ladies Mandy works with.

pondering place

preconceptions. perceptions. powerful. piety. pagan. pestilential. painful. personal. poverty. porous. pollution. pity. poking. puking. purging. pining. prayer. pineapple. papaya. pastry. pasta. pancakes. paneer. pakora. protein. popcorn. pounds. period. piazza. panache. peacock. paisley. pantaloons. panch. postcards. packages. past. present. presence. photos. pages. punjabi. parade. pride. paralyzed. punch. passive. p.c. philanthropy. pathetic. perplexed. passionate. perseverance. patience. pure. privilege. perfect.