Thank You India

When I was getting divorced, I got a lot out of yoga. I liked it because it was something I didn’t do when I was married, it was something I didn’t have to be good at, and it was something that made me feel healthy and peaceful. On days I didn’t feel up for the physical stuff, I could make up for it with the philosophical stuff. I was curious about the place it all came from. I read all about it, but I knew nothing would be as satisfying as simply going there myself.

Jed liked the idea of it too. Particularly the part about his blonde, blue-eyed girlfriend bringing him along, rather than skipping through dangerous countries alone. And also the part about him having a sixth continent logged in his passport. We were talking about it in the car, and he signed over a $400 check from a load vendor, and said “There. We’ve officially started saving for our trip to India together.” I put it in its very own account. Six months later, I used the money to pay for his obituary. India was just one more thing I refused to let his death rob me of. So I’m in Chamba right now, a town in the Himachal Pradesh region of northern India. I’m here, dammit.

I’ve always been nervous about humanitarian trips because they run such a high risk of being Peace Corps wannabes that mock locals and patronize volunteers. Two years ago, I whined on my blog, “people don’t need our help digging holes to crap in.” Nobody needs you to fly halfway around the world to help them sweep a floor. Then, last January, my friend Boomer introduced me to a group that didn’t offend my humanitarian-snob sensibilities. I spent a year preparing with the group. And here I am.

And I triumph personally in saying that. Because it meant five airports, four countries, 24 flight hours, 14 hours in airports, then 2 hours on curbs, then 3 hours in buses, then 10 hours on train, and finally, 6 hours in trucks. And a bunch of crap in between. It took 3 days.

We’re at a hostel in an Indian government hydro-power facility up in the Himalayas, and it has taken four days to negotiate internet here. We still haven’t won, so we get internet connection in a five minute mystery-spurt, once between 6 - 9 AM, another mystery-spurt between 5 and 10 PM. Which we will miss if we’re not watching for it on our laptops the entire time.

 
 
I love these kids.
 
It is taking forever to do this...internet cafes suck. There is someone literally sitting in a chair staring out a window waiting to escort me back into town. So I can't really say as much as I want or upload pix...but I'll try later. There is so much to tell.
 
Sorry this is so spotty.
 
More later...