Trains, buses and mo-peds. . . A tour of Uttar Pradesh and Orissa,

On Saturday November 28^th I embarked for Northern India in the company of my project mates Karthik and Piyush. After a filling Thanksgiving feast hosted by my friend Joy (Pumpkin pie, Turkey, mashed potatoes and even stuffing!) I met the boys at Chennai Central Station. I am still amazed at no matter the time, India train stations constantly buzz with families, businessmen, and travelers alike. It is not uncommon to see a room full of travelers napping on the hard floor and ten feet to the right a family having their evening feast. At 10pm we boarded the train for the 28 hour journey to Sambalbur, Orissa.

One and a half books later we arrived in Sambalpur. The early morning air was a much chillier than the southern regions. Sambalpur is the headquarters of one of the Microfinance institutes we choose to study, BISWA. The town is the hub of Oriyan textiles and situated next to a wide reaching river. Wandering the streets of Sambalpur I could sense the rarity of my physical attributes. Some people shied away while others eyes seemed magnetically linked.

After getting to know the head office of BISWA we organized a day trip out to one of their rural branches for the following day. The rural village of Fasimal was an hour and a half away by hired car. The District Manager passed the time by detailing the Maoist Terrorist activity in the area. As the car bumped across the windy dirt roads my mind raced through 101 horrifying scenarios. However the branch visit went smoothly though and the countryside was deeply peaceful. The rugged terrain and risks involved are exactly the challenges involved with getting cash into rural villages. The very challenges that our project hopes to alleviate.

Work in Sambalpur wrapped up and an 8 hour overnight bus ride to Bhubaneswar now stands as a runner up of one of the coldest nights of my life! Bhubaneswar was Piyush’s hometown so he gave me guided tour on his sister’s scooter around the town. We visited two Hindu temples and spent time with his neighbors and their children. One evening arriving back at our hotel the concierge informed me we were invited to attend the wedding the hotel was hosting. So with very little encouragement I enjoyed my first Indian wedding. The trees were draped in lights and the ground littered with ice cream cups as the festivities wound down. I even met the bride, despite greeting 600+ guests remained beautiful in her red sari.

After two days in the Bhubaneswar, Piyush and I boarded another train to Varanasi. Varanasi is one of the oldest cities in India dating back to 1400 BC. It is one of the holiest places for Hindus because of the Ganges River. Many pilgrims come to wash away their sins in the Ghats or to cremate loved ones. I however dipped one big toe in as the filth of the river is well known. The whole bank side emits a peaceful vibe as locals and tourists alike stroll and sample roasted peanuts and chai from the vendors.

The city was full of winding corridors that not even a compact car could dream of fitting through. Rickshaws are the most popular mode of transit in the labyrinth like town. At first it was uneasy watching a stick thin man pedal feverishly through the streets but their constant encouragement and pleas for rides eased my guilt. My favorite part of the rides was gazing down at the sacks filled with a rainbow of spices that tempted all my senses. On my last day in town we took a boat ride along the Ghats. Our boatman described the various kings, stories and histories associated with each ghat. Since it was the dry season the water levels revealed a sand strip in the middle of the Ganges. Drum beats and festive music filled the air from various weddings and ceremonies. In the evening I boarded my train out of Varanasi and settled in for my first solo 40 hour train journey. The monotony of train food and passing countryside quickly wore on my amusement. Luckily I discovered I can text internationally so had some company along the way via text!

Half Way December 18^th, 2008

Now I know there are all sorts of statistics on living abroad and the cycles one goes through. I remember a friend Alex describing them to me once in at a pub in Kensington last year. I can not say I ever remember wanting to run screaming from London whereas India has had that affect on me more often than I like to admit. From the bug bites to monsoon floods and incessantly feeling out of place, to say the least it has been a challenge. Now I know I could learn Tamil and Hindi and feel a little more integrated in the local culture. But some things I can not change. Even my roommate Princy still sees me as a foreigner. We were out the other day and she saw a Caucasian and immediately said “Kim, its one of your people!” Statements such as send me into fits of laughter but highlight how I am viewed here.

I think it is quite apparent I am in a valley of the cycle but I reminded myself today of the amazing things I have experienced in India. Whether it is the people I have connected/reconnected with along the way or the different ways of life I have been able to view and participate in. I have a feeling the next half of the internship will go like sand between a clenched fist. Also challenges are part of life and changing your immediate surroundings may change your current challenge, but shortly a new trial will rise up. The best I intend to do is take the challenges with grace and a hope that I learn a little along the way.

Merry Christmas Madras

My Indian Christmas was like nothing I had ever experienced. Christmas eve I attended the South Australian Trade ambassador’s wine and cheese holiday affair. It was the classic holiday Christmas swaree. Wine and finger foods floating the room as old friends and colleague mingled and mused on the stresses of the holiday season. The party surpassed many in my opinion when the Ambassador broke out the karaoke set in his office and engaged the attendees in Hindi favorites. Although the meaning of the lyrics was lost to me the spirit and melody inspired me.

Next on the agenda was the traditional holiday salsa dance. Havana’s a Chennai club brings s Latin vibe to the city on Wednesday nights so we thought what better way to enjoy the holidays than groove out. After a few dance numbers I wrapped the evening up at a bar like many I could imagine in Colorado or London, but the only difference was everyone around me appeared to be coming home to see old friends for the holidays; where as I blatantly stood out as a foreign accessory. The end of the night made up for my nostalgia for the homeland. Monika, an American girl from Rochester, NY, and I climbed on the back of her friend Enron’s motor bike to zip back to my flat. So as Christmas Day rolled out across India there we were three Americans cruising the streets with me pulling up the rear with no less than a Santa Clause hat on my head!

Christmas morning

I awoke at 8am to Monika reminding me of my Skype date with the family. I composed myself, made a fresh cup of coffee and donned my Santa Clause hat to join the family for Christmas Eve. It was as if I was at the table as I gazed around my candle lit dining room as they filled me in on the evening. My father even began to lecture me on the historical significance of Bangalore as I would be visiting the city on Friday. I could not have felt more at home. After a few more calls I retreated to my balcony to take in my sun-drenched Christmas morning complete with palm trees.

After an early afternoon nap I headed over to a friend Stacy’s flat for a Christmas open house. Stacy and her 5 roommates work for International Justice Mission on a volunteer basis. Moments within entering her flat I felt the Christmas spirit. Varieties of cookies covered the counters, stockings hung over a 4ft tree. I was escorted in two the kitchen where two male employees of IJM, Joel and Josh were manning the duties of cookies and dishes. Talk about Christmas miracles. As I chopped and peeled veggies we swapped Indian stories and hometown facts. People slowly started trickling in. Starting with Richard and Jacob two Bengali refugees, who had to flee Bangladesh six months before after being persecuted for their Christian beliefs.

Stacy and her roommates appeared shortly from another colleague’s luncheon. Anna, a New Zealand native working in the legal arm of IJM dissected frozen salami to decide if it was servable. We deemed it was a lost cause and moved on to cubing cheese. The flat quickly filled with Monika, along with Spencer, Weena and Karen (fellow IFMR Truster’s), employees of Sparky’s the local Americana diner and Joseph the neighborhood troubadour.

It was a joyous gathering from there out filled with laughter, debate, and the formation of many new friendships. Then I heard the familiar chords of Christmas carols and Christian songs alike and took to the living room to play the game of who remembers the words. I think the only song Karen, Joseph, Joel and I successfully made it through was Joy to World.

The pinnacle of the evening was the lighting of Martine’s Australian Christmas pudding. Indian brandy was poured over the fruitful dessert and matches blazed along sadly the pudding never caught fire just became saturated in liquor. It was a delicious culmination of the wonderful food spread. As all our stomachs settled we turned on the projector and laughed along with Will Ferrell’s antics in Elf. The evening wound down and we said goodbye to new friends and exchanged numbers. The joy and spirit of Christ filled the room as we parted ways with people who only a few hours ago were perfect strangers but now I would count as my Chennai family.

As if we were not full of pudding, cookies and cheese Spencer, Weena, Karen, Monika and I finished off Christmas with the best pizza in Chennai. High above Nugmumbakkum High Street we feasted at Bella Ciao and wound down the joyful holiday. I arrived home shortly after midnight with high hopes of Skype dates only to find my electricity on cahoots. I stumbled my way around the dark flat and managed a candle and lighter to prepare for my 6am train to Bangalore for a work meeting. Exhausted from my varied, joy-filled, and amazing Christmas abroad I fell asleep to the silhouettes of the palm trees.

7 days a week, My First Indian train travel and memories that will last a lifetime:

4 days in Tanjore.

I arrived at the Egmore train station for my first Indian train journey. After such movies as Darjeeling Limited and Partition I had visions flying through my head. Unfortunately due to our last minute decision to travel we were banished to 3^rd class-no A/C. My excitement could not be dampened that easily though. For a Tuesday evening the station was abuzz with throngs of overnight travelers. Karthik, Piyush and I were traveling to Tanjore to do a dry run of mapping cash management on the KGFS financial services operating in the Tamil District of Thanjavur. We found our car and checked on names on the printout confirming out two upper berths and one middle. I secured an upper after reading a disturbing story of a woman traveler who awoke on the bottom to some unwelcome attention from a compartment mate. After some small talk and a bit of reading we hunkered down for the night as the warm breeze cooled our compartment.

Around 5:30 I woke to fields of rice paddies and palm trees soaking in the first rays of the morning sun. As the train tore through the fields I observed many villagers beginning their days. I saw one woman bathing her child with river water and many villagers fetching water in a variety of jugs. We rolled into the station at 6:40 and hired a taxi to cart us to our accommodation. After a quick jog I showered and we headed off to the head office to begin mapping their cash management practices.

We spent the first two days thoroughly analyzing their cash management practices and visiting two branches of KGFS that were situated on main roads. This involved hour and half bus rides each way to access the branches. Public Indian buses are quite the experience. They are so kind as to play Indian pop music at a level that people on the street may enjoy as well as you swerve along the winding roads.

Friday we visited the most remote of the villages in the district, Memilpuram. I overslept by accident so was forced to rush out the door without a shower. To compensate for my lack of bathing I purchased jasmine from a flower dealer outside the bus station to fasten to my hair as I had seen many local women do. Unfortunately my styling skills left me looking as if I fell into a Jasmine bush rather than adorned my hair with flowers. We took in an early lunch in full Southern Indian style at a Brahman kitchen. The curries were delicious and the perfect amount of spice. The meal was polished off with pane (an interesting after meal treat I discovered I am not partial to) and a banana. As we strolled back to the bus terminal despite our fill tummies I could not resist the fruit stands so I picked up a custard apple. Yet another new thing for my palate to adjust to the apple fell apart in mini cones that I slurped up to find little seeds in each pod.

We arrived in Memlipuram to a group of about ten women awaiting their meeting with the wealth manager. As I have grown unaccustomed to in India I was welcomed with wide eyes and amazement. Then the most amazing thing happened, the women surrounded me and seeing the disarray of my hair and flowers and swept my hair up into a perfect loop and fastened the jasmine in. Despite our language barrier we were able to share some entertaining moments over the next hour. Through the gunmen who spoke a little English they conveyed the joke that if they don’t repay that’s what he is there for. It took me a minute to decipher their actions but the laughter we shared after was well worth the confusion. One woman ran down to her hut and returned with my first bindi as a sign of friendship.

Then Piyush and I went to take a tour of the village. We viewed the local temple, were escorted around the rice paddies by a young Indian girl and got Bombay colored dew (Cotton candy) from the man cycling around town. It was by far the best village of our time and I eagerly await spending more time in areas such as these where there is so much potential for development and sharp eager minds.

Happy Thanksgiving

November 27, 2008

Oh Turkey Day, how can I celebrate half a world away? A Thanksgiving feast at one of Chennai’s 5 star hotels?

Prior to the events of the morning that was a rising star on my to do list for the evening. I will start by painting a picture of my past two days. Now from Colorado I was accustomed to the RARE snow day but a rain day. . Unheard of. Currently I am working from home for the second day to due to torrential monsoons and water logging on most streets. What is water logging one might ask? It is rain water pooling on the streets and carrying all of the city streets waste with it. As I tried tirelessly to flag an auto this morning (before I got the call not to come into the office) the filthy water lapped up like waves almost reaching my ankles. Cars, motorbikes and autos drove through the inches of water as if there were hovercrafts due to take off at any moment.

Back to my decision on forgoing the Thanksgiving feast. I first awoke to a text from a fellow intern advising that due to rains we were to work from home again. Relief washed over me as I pulled the covers up to my chin. After a mini snooze I shuffled to the kitchen to prepare a tea before settling into work. Then to my delighted surprise I saw my Colorado home phoning in. My initial thoughts were “Oh how cute, they want to wish me Happy Thanksgiving”. . If only. My mother’s voice carried the tone of worry only a mom can pull off as she informed me of the Mumbai attacks. Due to the rain my paper did not come and Internet was out so I was blissfully unaware. After speaking with my brother, and friends Papa Ward did the best to advise me on precautions and I hung up to call a friend I knew was suppose to travel to Mumbai. Luckily he was fine and the trip was cancelled. This was when I decided to try and make it into work to access humanity and Internet.

I ventured out into the Chennai morning with my dress pants rolled to mid shin, North Face sandals on and rain jacket zipped and hooded. After navigating a slightly dry path to the street where I normally catch my auto I was amazed to see the traffic in the 6+ inches of rain. Ten minutes later I managed to flag auto just as my boss called to dissuade me from coming to the office. I jumped out of the auto leaving the driver quite puzzled as to this white girl’s bizarre actions.

I took a deep breath and tried to digest the morning’s events. Here I was isolated in India on Thanksgiving surrounded by water while terrorists were targeting places I would frequent and people of my descent in a city not too far away. I made my way back to the flat, washed my feet, made a final attempt at the Internet and put on Rod Stewart. My mind began to clear and I realized danger is always present and I just need to maintain presence of mind as much as possible to remain safe in troubled times. So despite the lack of turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie and friends and family I am thankful for this beautiful thing called Life and family and friends that make the hard moments bearable even if they are across the world. Love You All!

Settling In

Thursday November 13, 2005

Receding Monsoons

The receding monsoons are drowning Chennai these days. They highlight another aspect of infrastructure I normally take for granted: Drainage systems. Any step I take is carefully planned in hopes that I do not end up shin deep in water of questionable contents.

Work has started to take form in the past week. I have begun work on a cash management inefficiencies project with two interns who are pursuing their MBA from the Institute of Rural Management. Working closely with two Indian interns highlights differences in the education systems of the two countries. When I want to brainstorm and play around with many different scenarios they want to have a regimented attack plan for the project. It should prove to be a challenging growth experience for me. Visiting the villages where the banks operate will be the highlight of the project to me. We plan to take an overnight train down to Tanjavor this coming week.

Another interesting development at work shocked me yesterday. I have a meeting on Saturday at 10:30 and it is completely normal. It appears in a developing nation such as India 6-day work weeks are a commonality. It makes perfect sense when you think about trying to get a nation functioning properly it was just never a concept that crossed my mind.

Cat sitting has developed into a mini-solitary holiday. I do miss sharing stories and cultural differences with Princy, but I had a startling realization. I have never spent three and a half weeks living on my own. From university and having anywhere from 3-5 roommates to actually sharing a room again in London and then traveling from couch to couch in my gap time there has been no solid amount of time where I have had my own personal abode. Now I have a three bedroom flat complete with projector, two balconies, dining room, sitting room and full kitchen. So far I prove to be quite the lazy bachelorette. My use of the full kitchen led me to my Indian creation of scrambled eggs and I have been tucked into bed with my book by 10:30 every night!

As for my commutes now that they are solo I have been trying my best at bargain. I feel I only get ripped off about half the time now! One evening this week I took a bit of a chance and accepted a motorbike ride home from an ex-pat Praful. Either I am now used to the chaos on the roads here or being on the back of a bike is somehow less scary then in a rickshaw because the ride was actually enjoyable.

Despite all of my woes on infrastructure and work hours after spending my last hour reading the trials of the poverty stricken in India I invite you all to look upon the American economy with hope and still be thankful for all that you have. Take Chaturbuj from Tikamgarh who said “He hates it when his wife hast to go away in search of work. Not because he misses her but because the only mulch cow they own won’t let him milk her.” India has 300 million people that live on less than $1 a day and work long labor filled hours. Sorry to end on a sobering note but in a way I had to remind myself.

Saturday November 15, 2008

Six Days a Week

It is Saturday evening and I arrived home from work a little while ago. I took advantage of the daylight hours and strolled home from work for the first and most likely only time. The November weather in Chennai is quite pleasant. Around 80 degrees along my walk home I had to dismiss around ten auto drivers who were insistent that I needed a ride but it was worth it to share a block of my walk with two beautiful Indian girls. As we parted one reached out her hand and grasped mine with and the biggest smile flooded her face. As I neared my temporary flat I ran into Michael an ex-pat I met at a birthday party the previous night. Its amazing how two weeks in a place and you can bump into someone on the street;)

Sunday November 18, 2008

Because I was only awarded one day off as my weekend, taking full advantage of that small time was absolutely necessary. I unexpectedly ended up at the beach not once but twice. On Saturday evening I was lucky enough to enjoy an al fresco dinner while listening to the Bay of Bengal crash into the shoreline. A Tamil native took me to the Taj Fisherman’s Cove resort to sample Indian seafood. To perfect the atmosphere we dined under a thatched umbrella while the monsoons poured cascaded down. We started with calamari grilled with garlic and lemon and then had Lobster prepared in local spices. It was a fantastic way to spend my one proper weekend night. The meal also highlighted the major differences in between castes or classes in India. My friend is one of the very few Indians that find it an extremely comfortable place because his finances allow him to. The disparity between the rich and poor here is unfathomable until it is in your face.

Bright and early on Sunday I took to my traveling spirit and convinced Joy, an American girl I met at work, to journey down to a seaside town. After an hour and a half open air public bus ride down the coast we arrived in Mahabalipuram. We paid the non-Indian rate to gain access to the Shore Temple and Five Rathas (250Rs as compared to 10Rs for Indians) and enjoyed a hearty laugh at the idea of the US enforcing such pricing at monuments or museums. Could you imagine how they would judge that without asking everyone for identification?

The Shore temple carvings were from the 7^th century and stood around 3 stories high as a place of Hindu worship. The sea gusts and sad had worn much of the carving down but it was still a daunting structure. The heat of the day was quickly draining us so we had a fresh coconut to reinvigorate. The man then used his machete like knife to split the fruit and allow us to devour the meat. The five Rathas were beautiful structures and the carvings more vivid then the shore temple as their distance from the shore saved them from the rough conditions.

Then we journeyed back into town center and enjoyed fresh calamari and pizza at a great new age French/Indian place called Le Yogi. The charming new age restaurant immediately eased me as I slipped of my shoes and strolled into the open air room decorated in an array of oranges and deep red tapestries. We sipped fresh lime soda as we waited for our meals and listened to the eclectic beats (a mix of French and reggae tunes). After lunch we strolled down to the beach and decided to read while enjoying lassi (fruit and yogurt beverage) and milkshakes. In all the beaches I have visited I have never seen such a scene as the Indian Beach. There were circles of old men playing cards while their counterparts appeared to be gossiping and tracing symbols in the sand. Stray dogs galloped around in the waves while their adorable (yet sadly mangy up close) pups chases nipped at their heels. Down the shoreline about 50 yards there were a few young Indian boys playing in the waves. Overall the beach trip was the ideal Sunday afternoon.

Monday November 17, 2008

Preparing for Indian Train Travel

I just received word I will be taking my first overnight train in India. Along with the two young men I am working with I will be boarding an overnight train tomorrow to visit Tanjavor to map cash movement in village life. Unfortunately due to short notice we will be in a non-ac sleeper car. Should be quite the

. . . .

Day 9:

I cannot believe I have only been in Chennai for nine days. The experiences, information, tastes, smells and sights have been incessant. I find myself exhausted by 10 o’clock. The first part of this entry I am going to dedicate to the Election Day Abroad and a typical Chennai day.

At 6:30 on November 5^th I crawled out of my sleep sack to greet the day and catch my first glimpse of election results. I showered up and had one of the Tamil boys that run the guest house take me down to arrange my first solo rickshaw ride. For 50 rupees he carted me to Taj Coromandel where the US Consulate was hosting an election party. The five star amenities immediately appeased my over stimulated senses.

Moments after entering the lobby an Indian man kindly asked “Did you get your vote in?” My reply as I had delivered many times since arriving in India was “I would not have got on the plane had I not.” Rabi was a political science professor at one of the local universities and was kind enough to escort me into convention room. To my surprise the room was packed with Indians, mainly high school aged taking in the voting and election atmosphere. I found my way over the projection of CNN results coming in and spotted one of the other Americans from my office. Spencer graduated in 2007 from MIT and is working in the guarantee company for IFMR. We watched the results roll in over coffee and cakes (and chicken sandwiches-weird huh?). Interspersed with results were speeches from academics and members of the consulate.

When Ohio went to Obama a cheer rose in the room and a premature ease settled. You could tell the vast majority of the room had democratic hopes at that moment. I left around this point with an Indian American woman, Bhati, who offered to have her driver drop, me at work rather than find a rickshaw. After my morning meeting I immediately caught Obama’s acceptance speech on CNN.com. Tears welled in my eyes as his words invigorated the world over and reminded me what America stands for. I could not have felt more proud to be an American.

A Day in the life.

Currently I am staying at Ahtithi guest house in the Egmore district of Chennai. A guest house in India is an interesting concept. To compare it to the dorms would be a loose connection. I have not been so looked after in years. There are four or so Tamil boys that are constantly looking after our needs whether it be tea, breakfast, newspaper, or TV. Note: Chennai is the capital of the Indian state Tamil Nadu. So when I say Tamil boys they are local boys that run the guest house. They sleep in the living room on the floor and in return for caring for us receive room and board. Their warm smiles and eager dispositions are always a light in my day. I share a room with Princy a 26 year old from Kerala. She has a degree in veterinary and pursuing a MBA at IRMA and doing a two month internship with IFMR.

I usually rise around 7:30 to shower before work. I then use my make shift hair dryer (the A/C unit in out room) to finagle my hair. Princy rises shortly after me and we take our breakfast in the dining room around 8:30.

Breakfast has proved to be quite the adjustment for me. Along with my chai I have had a range of vada(savory lentil donuts), chutneys, idli(fermented rice cakes that resemble sand dollars), dosas( savory crepes) and sambra( a spicy gravy for dipping or slurping)!! All of this at 8am! Princy and I have taken to watching BBC news or reading the wonderful selection of books the house has (i.e. How to Win Friends and Influence People and Body Language- I always enjoy a good laugh at the cost of these publications over my chai) then we proceed down to the 3^rd floor where some of Princys classmates are staying. We wait patiently as the boys scramble to get ready as they are normally not ready when we arrive. Now comes the fun part of the day. RICKSHAWS. Depending on the day there are 4-5 of us heading toward IFMR so we have made it a mission to find a driver who will take all of us for 80 rupee. This proves to be quite difficult most days especially with me;) Vikram a north Indian boy who is studying at IRMA with Princy. He tells me we would be better off if I were to hide during the negotiations. The ride through morning rush hour always has me eyes wide open. The manner in which the rickshaw drivers navigate the madness is amazing. Lanes are not a concept Chennai has come to accept AT ALL. Incessant honks fill the air as motorbikes with men and women (sitting side saddle) whiz by.

Work starts at 9:30 and the office could be anywhere in the world. The coffee room and water cooler are popular places to migrate to as always. Our growing office is crowded but always buzzing with a positive energy. Lunch is taken around 1 and I either go with Princy and the other interns or my boss Suyash to one of the local eateries. The closest establishment is a south Indian vegetarian place with lime green walls. Meals are quick and served on banana leaves but full of delicious treats such as roti(bread cooked in a tandoori oven), dahl( a lentil soup), masala dosas(pancakes filled with potato curry), paneer palak( spinach with cheese), and a wide variety of other options. The meal is polished of with a lassi(sweet milk drink) or sweet lime soda. Then everyone ques up to wash their hands as most of the eating is done with your right hand and then back to the office. Office time like any other is filled with meetings, emails and research. Work wraps up around 6:30 where we play the same game with the rickshaw drivers. I must say the rides home are always a bit more heart stopping. I am not sure if it is the night time or the dust that has been kicked up throughout the day but I always find myself tenser on the evening ride. Back in the guest house we wash up, change and either order dinner from the boys or venture out in the neighborhood. I take this gap of time to walk the stairs in our building for a bit of exercise. I sorely miss the ability to take a jog so despite Princy looking at me like I have lost my mind I walk up and down the concrete stairs and take in the view of Chennai. After dinner which consists of a mixture of lunch and breakfast items we retire to our room. Princy no doubt returns to her school work and I do some leisurely reading at least until 10:30 when my body gives in to the exhaustion of the day.

That in a nutshell is my Indian life. Things are shaping up to change as I am moved into my VP’s flats for three weeks to watch his cats and enjoy the conviences of a affluent settled American couples home. I will dearly miss hanging out with Princy and the other students from IRMA on a regular basis.

Work with a view.

Reclining back in my office chair the sun set frames the palm trees outside. . . . .Not exactly the opening you were expecting for my travels to India??

Well neither was I but I guess that goes with the territory of new experiences. I am just finishing up my second workday at IFMR Trust. Along with getting a cell phone arranged, reading countless articles on initiatives and engaging in two full Indian meals my other duty for the past two days was to create a Facebook group for the company to generate interest. It is figures that across the world that would be my first task. I have basically been trying to readjust my mind to working in a developmental world/enviorment as opposed to the US or UK. The problems they face are unlike anything I have ever encountered.

It has not been all facebook and palm trees unfortunately. I arrived at 2am on November 2nd into a balmy 88 degree Chennai International. In all my late night flights I have never encountered a airport that buzzed at such a high frequency at 2am. I was thankful to see a sign for IFMR Trust:Kim Ward as I gazed into the sea of Indian faces. The driver relieved me of my bags and led me to his 4 door Ford. My first memories of India will be the numerous motor bikes with 1, 2, 3 + passengers darting in between cars, the incessant honking and streets lines with people. After about a 45 minute drive we stopped by a group of young Indians to which my driver asked where my new address was. Five minutes later we pulled into a garage beneath a white concrete apartment building. Some chats with the security guard led to us unloading my belongings and loading the the lift that looks like it is straight out of the 70's up to level 6. I was greeted by all 4 managers( young Tamil boys) of the guest house who behaved as a ghost was checking in. They settled me in my own room for the night and turned the A/C to 23 degrees celcius. I unloaded my handy sleep sack and pillow and curled up on the bed. To my horror I gazed up at the headboard and saw a bedbug! A BIG bed bug!!!! Immediately I retreated to the foot of the bed where I could monitor my surroundings. Despite the creepy crawlies sleep took over my exhausted body.

Sunday morning I was awakened by a knock at the door and queried if I wanted coffee or tea. Coffee or tea for me? Yes Please! Although I was not aware at the time I ordered a breakfast for myself as well. Then I was moved into my shared accommodation with Princy. Princy is a 26 year old married Indian who is working at IFMR as an intern as well. She has been amazing on every level.
Then I sat down to my first Indian breakfast of an array of savoury soups and dosas. Then to my delight half-way through my meal Mr. Eric Helms appeared. The true backpacker tanned and with couple weeks beard crossed my threshold. I can imagine the surprise of my new housemates that within a half day that I had a visitor.

Eric and I wandered around my new place a bit before flagging down an auto rickshaw and in our naivety asking to go to a bazaar or market to get food. We probably should have just worn fanny packs and shirts inscripted with "I am a TOURIST". Our lovely driver then proceeded to take us to two of his good friends shops, the local petrol station, a wonderful restaurant of his choice and finally to the local bazaar. All in all though cruising around India with an old friend was well worth the 200 rupee( about 5 USD) in the end. We spent the rest of the afternoon taking in the Sunday life of Chennai with a pit stop to check the previous nights Buffs score;( It was amazing to have a familiar face to explore my new home!

Eric headed off to Calcutta at about 4 and I took my first shower(with pitcher and bucket) and curled up to do some reading. I was fast asleep by 6! Tomorrow I am going to the Taj Coromondo at 7am for an Election party with two of my American colleagues. Go OBAMA!! Tomorrow I will be receiving my first real assignment for the foundation.

Love and Miss You All! Thanks for joining me on my adventure!