Contract

I forgot to post this one, my contract to Sig Ep--
I give full permission for anyone to kick my ass if any of the following conditions are met upon return from India:
I become a Sikh or Muslim
I have dreads (or am plannin on growin some...)
I don't eat meat
I don't take pictures
I don't drink
I don't like Rashad because he's Muslim

Sincerely,
Tyler Rapp

June 25, First day in Mussoorie

I woke up because there were loud crashing noises on the ceiling of the building. So I went outside to see what was causing the noise. Turns out there were four monkeys fighting. And by monkeys I mean like human-size half-apes. And by fighting I mean hitting each other and having sex. I decided to take a shower without realizing that the hot water doesn’t work in our room, so it was frigid. And there is no lip, so the entire bathroom floor just gets soaked. Breakfast was nothing to write about…which is why I’m wasting space saying this, right. Vijay our guide took us on a walking tour of Mussoorie, a.k.a. him not telling us we were going the wrong way until we had already walked that way for a good fifteen minutes. This time of year is the peak tourism season, so there are a lot of “weird people” he says. There were a lot of specialty shops, like the egg store (with crates upon crates of eggs), the mutton shop (always needed in any town?), general stores, vegetable stands (useless to me thanks to water contamination), tailors, phone and internet “surfing zones”, Tibetan handicraft and textile shops, clothing stores, and restaurants. I bought two pairs of acid-washed totally Indian FOB jeans, underwear (tight and small, but they don’t sell anything else, when in India...?), and a pair of khakis (that word is Indian woot-woot). Then I walked back. However, it was like an hour-long hot and sweaty walk, which turned into a really soaking wet one once the monsoon hit all of a sudden. There were rivers flowing down the streets while we waited under an awning. To make matters worse, three taxis filled with EAP students passed us without stopping! Then we walked back and had lunch with my now see-through shirt. We had an orientation at the church/language school, where the principal (a small Indian bearded man) explained the program. I was really expecting a priest to walk in, and I’m glad to know that UC is paying money for us to study in a CHURCH. The principal was funny. We have 48 students, and 10 groups, so he said “that leaves 4.8 students per group”. He also goes, “The Canadian priest started this school. He was a scholar and wanted the best for this church. If you want to see him, his grave is out back”. And also, he goes, “70% of India’s water is contaminated, so don’t try and be adventurous. This could ruin your vacation and your peace”. In other words, this guy is a baller. We got our Introductory Hindi textbooks and 3rd grade notebooks with random pictures of phones/microchips/windmills, and flowers on the cover. I was walking to my cottage and this random cow climbed up the cliff, walked about five feet across and jumped off and started jumping and kicking its legs and following me kicking. Mad cow disease! Apparently we have four hours of class every morning with a 30-minute tea break (what are with these tea breaks), and two hours of homework every day. I thought I was done with school...it’s summer! Plus, Hindi is hard. The writing is a line with curly q’s coming down and they talk so fast, there is no hope.

June 24, drive from Delhi to Mussoorie in the Himalayas

Got up at the buttcrack of dawn to leave the YWCA in Delhi for Mussoorie, where we spend 4 weeks learning Hindi in an Intensive Language Program in the foothills of the Himalayas. People were everywhere, and it was only 6:30 in the morning. People were sweeping their shops, bathing in the wells, cooking, and driving their goods to market. We passed some painted elephants, and there were a lot of cows, mostly water buffalo, but some Brahmanic cattle with their white color and shoulder hump. We started getting out of Delhi into Uttar Pradesh, a very densely populated region of the Gangetic plains, largely under wheat cultivation. Very fertile but it seemed dry. The Indian idea of a highway was a two-lane road that was shared by oxcarts, motorcycles, pedestrians, cars, bicycles, and buses. After a couple of hours we stopped at Cheetal, a busy rest stop. Vijay, our guide, was saying he was glad we had left the “Burning inferno of hell” that was Delhi (his home). I heard someone say there was internet, but then I thought, “At a random truck stop in the US, would they have internet…Actually India is just that weird…we don’t have a toilet, but we do have internet”. I went across the street because for half of the bus ride I thought I saw weed growing on the side of the road, everywhere. It looked a lot like ganja, and I crushed some. Confirmed, without a doubt. Marijuana literally is a weed here. It grows everywhere. It reminded me of Harold and Kumar when Kumar is with the huge weed woman. If you could harvest that and get it into the United States, you’d never have to work again. We were on our way again, and passed through rural market towns with their stands selling foods, candy, Pepsi, souvenirs, phone calls, and tyres. There seemed to be a lot of Muslims around these areas, as well as Sikhs, who together probably only make up 15% of India’s population, but in the North are quite numerous. You can tell a Muslim by their long white shirt, kofia, and Abraham Lincoln beard. You can tell a Sikh by the turban or weird bun-on-head thing. All of a sudden, it started getting hilly; the foothills of the Himalayas. We went in taxis up the moutains. I felt like I could lift the van it was so thin. And I felt like they just put a chainsaw motor in some metal and wheels and called it a car. The driver kept passing everyone else, which became old really fast because the road was as wide as normal one-lane, with oncoming cars using both lanes, with loose mountain rocks on one side and abysmal cliffs on the other side. The foothills were completely lush and green, and looked over the large towns and flat green cultivated Gangetic Plains of Uttaranchal and Uttar Pradesh. Apparently a lot of Indians take vacations here, with good reason. 110 degree heat compared to 70 degree temperatures, black snot because of pollution versus clean mountain air, harassing touts and beggars vs. rich white hippies. Then we finally winded up the small roads past the little town to our guest house. I got the second-floor cottage that fits six. It had a bunch of rooms but only one bathroom. There is a secret attic/loft-like room that we are going to use for parties and common area. It’s awesome. Right when you walk into the cottage you are greeted by an American flag. Sick. Ajay got the single room, Daniel and I are sharing the fireplace room, Joe got the entryway room, and Eleyce and Amy had to share the small room that is adjoined to the bathroom. That means that everyone has to walk into their room in order to pee, poop, take a shower, and shave. That’s going to get annoying and really awkward, but for the time being it’s funny. The cottages are on top of a ridge; on one side you see Mussoorie and the plains below; on the other you can see the untouched beauty of the lush Himalayan foothills that extended for miles. The weather is perfect; it’s about 60 degrees and fresh moist Himalayan air surrounds you. It reminds me of Seattle in the spring. I went to bed at 11 and then I had to wake up to pee like five times over the cliff because I didn’t want to wake the girls. Turns out they actually don’t care if I come into their room at all. Thanks.

June 23, Mosque, Taj Mahal lite, YWCA hostel party

Took a dollar motor rickshaw to Jami Masjid, the largest mosque in India. People were bathing outside, selling food, making shoes, sorting trash, selling souvenirs and candy and food on the street. Every aspect of life in India, it seems, happens on the street. I love it. Street life...is that some West Coast record label? The buildings were all old and had pillars, sheet metal awnings, power and phone lines everywhere, Pepsi signs, STD ISD PCO signs (meaning phone service, not syphilis), movie posters, and other business signs. The common names of the businesses are: Kumar, Malhotra, Aggarwal, Ajay, Mehta, Singh...funny because I know someone with each of those names in the states. There were vendors and beggars everywhere. This is definitely a poor Muslim area. The men were all clad in kofias and the women all wore veils. The path was really dirty and smelled like feces and rotting garbage. I used the public (and I mean ‘public’) bathroom for men. These kids were harassing us the entire time, asking for ‘chapati’. One kid smeared feces on my pants. It was the hottest temperature I have ever experienced in my life (112 and dripping humid). I’m sorry but Allah is just not worth kneeling five times a day for, in the 100-degree heat. My shirt was soaked through and see-through. The others had to wear Russian shawls over their shoulders and legs. Thousands of vultures were circling around the mosque. Um…what died and how? It could be anything from cows to horses to dogs to humans. The follower is supposed to face the main building, which is west in India (opposite of the United States or Europe) because it faces Mecca. We got to go up into the minaret, which was well worth the dollar it cost. Besides the extreme claustrophobia of climbing a never-ending pitch black spiral staircase and the top which had a hole to the very bottom of the staircase and 30 people in a space designed for 5, it afforded the best view of Delhi besides my flight. I could see the modern high-rises of Connaught Place and New Delhi, the nearby Red Fort, the expansive courtyard of the mosque, and the sprawling flat megalopolis of Delhi (with endless amounts of 4-story cement rectangular buildings). We left and I got 3 nice shirts for $2. It was so painfully hot. There were two ticket counters at attractions; one for Indians (20 cents) and one for foreigners (25 times the price for an Indian). We walked past the uniformed guards (who had loaded machine guns pointed at the people who were entering) through the curio shops and to the main enclosure. Then the four of us plus some others took rickshaws to Humayun’s Tomb in southern Delhi. It was really hot still. There was a domed building that used to be completely turquoise but they are doing restoration on it, which they somehow considered dousing the dome in gasoline. Then there was an implied procession to the main tomb, which houses the Mughal ruler Humayun and his barber (I was hoping it had carvings of all of his hairstyles but I’m afraid not). It had Jewish stars on it for some reason, and then the 8-pointed star. It was the little brother/predecessor of the Taj Mahal built by Shah Jahan, and looked the same but nowhere near as beautiful or large. We somehow ended up going through deserted roads bordering the train lines and random forested areas. We ran into a Gurdwara (Sikh temple). We had to cover our heads and we looked Amish. It turns out they were filming a movie (it looked like a wedding; there was a nicely-dressed couple doing something). Then we walked through a really nice area to Nizamuddin and didn’t want to pay, so we instead took pictures from outside! Then we took a crazy rickshaw ride back from a Sikh man (some things around the world never change). We came back and our room was open; people had broken in to hide alcohol in Erin’s room for the party…in MY ROOM. I wasn’t aware of this at all. So, I didn’t eat, took a nap, and then watched Bollywood while taking shots of my Absolut (I didn’t even want to drink what those guys bought…'White Mischief' Vodka and Kingfisher beer, which they purposely put in stuff that makes you get a headache). It was so hot in the room. I was wearing my jeans I bought the other day without knowing they would actually be painted on my butt, and they have no button to close them!) and so I went upstairs and partied with the others. No one was really doing anything, and when I tried to start a dance party or anything, everyone looked at me like I was the only drunk one and just talked the whole time amongst themselves....please, party poopers! It got so hot in the room and the air conditioning eventually just failed, so we moved rooms. I took shots of JD and expressed disappointment that Indians would choose to study abroad in India.

June 22, Delhi, cell phones, Lodi Gardens

I spent all morning doing administrative stuff with the rest of the group. We all took a bus to register our Visas with the police in Delhi. It ended up taking three hours. It was a room with counters like the DMV. The urinals were funny; they were a bowl with a hole in the bottom, so the pee just drained into a gutter and outside. We took the bus back and had lunch before going to Connaught Place to purchase cell phones. For some reason Airtel, the company, needs a passport-size photo and has representatives go visit you at your listed address to make sure you live there. My number is 091-98-7154-3360. It’s a weird plan, but it’s cool because now I have a cell phone and don’t have to wear a watch. After that I went with the same people to LodiGardens, which was a large swath of green space in sprawling Delhi. I walked alone over to Palika Bazaar to haggle. I wanted some acid-wash jeans because that seems to be what Indian guys my age wear in Delhi. So I haggled the guys down from $20 to finally $4 for a pair of nice jeans. Then I went to Palika Bazaar to look for some nice collared shirts for $1.50 each.

June 21, Delhi sighseeing, Hanuman Temple, India gate

All water and food is included for the first week, which is awesome (and so generous of EAP considering that whole package probably cost EAP $100 total). We took a rickshaw through a scummy neighborhood to a Hanuman temple. These people lived in filth, so sad! They had tarp roofs and dirt floors, with no garbage, electricity, or running water. Men were praying on the ground, in meditation. We had to get the bindi (dot) on our foreheads. But after we got them, the priest gives you holy water and I accidentally washed off the dot hahaha. Then we collected our shoes and the transvestite asked for money.
After that, we took rickshaws to the India Gate. However, on the way, this policeman ran into the middle of the road and stops our rickshaw and gives the driver a ticket. I didn’t know they gave tickets here. So it was a really awkward cab ride the rest of the time. We got out and saw a snake charmer who was playing his flute. The cobra was upright in a little basket. He was moving to the rhythms. It was awesome.
The India Gate was a big arch inscribed with the names of soldiers who fought for independence. Not that amazing. It was so unamazing that the Indian tourists wanted to take pictures with us rather than of the gate. At the far side was the Parliament building, the seat of the largest democracy in the world.

June 20 Delhi meeting other students

The group flight came in. After that we sat around in the AC lobby not doing anything constructive, so a group of us went to Palika Bazaar and Connaught Place. Then we came back and ate and spent a long time filling out a form…and three copies of the same India government form. I guess they don’t do copiers here. The other EAP people seemed mixed, like a masala haha. Most are from Berkeley. There are definitely Bohemians who are trying to be different and spiritual...please. There seemed to be a bunch of normal people forming the majority. There were a few hot girls even. Then there was a group of Indians that I have a feeling will be really clique-y, and they act like know-it-alls and like they’re different from us. Study abroad somewhere else! But then there are the annoying white people who try to be Indian, like the white girls with bindis and saris. Not kosh. I’m going to try and be as Indian as I can, but modern college student Indian, which might include jeans and a collared shirt and a TAN. I want to fit in and not be overly conspicuous, even though I look kind of different and don’t speak the language and am NOT Indian. Then we had dinner and watched the World Cup game (Ghana vs US and we somehow suck so much we lost), and went to bed early.

June 19, Delhi

I landed in India at 6am. First time in India and on the Asian mainland. I stepped off the airplane, and they say India is an assault on the senses. Sight: young male Indian workers standing around watching the passengers, sound: the workers yelling where to go, touch: hot and stifling and humid, taste: bad pretzel breath, smell: raw sewage. Welcome to India! First of all, the bathroom: The stall door didn’t close fully, the floor was wet, the seat had feces on it, there was a faucet to wash yourself, and the hand dryer was so hot it burned my hands but didn’t dry them and the power cord was directly under where you put your dripping wet hands. I went through the hour and a half customs line. Plus there were mosquitoes and I was late on my malaria medication. That’s always good, and I was swatting them the whole time. After getting my passport stamped, I got my bag at the baggage claim, a big room with a ceiling that was about 6 feet tall. There was a duty-free shop that sold a liter of Absolut vodka for $11, so I bought some, thus making my first purchase in India a bottle of alcohol…Wow I'm so predictable. I grabbed all my stuff, headed out to the street, and this guy cornered me into getting a prepaid cab for $12, ripped off. I had to go to the YWCA Guest House where EAP was putting us up (they sure do splurge with us at UC). It was muggy and hot outside. There was a random field with people sitting, walking, and peeing. Delhi is incredibly polluted. That’s why I shouldn’t smoke; this abroad trip will probably shorten my life by eight years. All of them seemed pretty poor, at least in the outskirts. There were a few white or tan cows, just eating food and being sacred and shit. The traffic was insane. I could touch the cars (and people on motorcycles) next to me. We passed some slums before going into the city, filled with gated military bases and streets and neighborhoods. Everything is in Hindi or English or both. We got to the womens’ hostel, the YWCA International Guest House, behind gates and fitted with scaffolding (which was bamboo tied with string). Then I lugged my stuff up to the room on the fourth floor and met my roommate Derek, who was the clone of Josh Zappala, soccer/sass/strut/South Americanity and all. I went down to breakfast because it was like 8, and met up with him, Liz (annoying and only talks about study abroad in France), Christina (so Korean...for example she says 'luggages' and 'homeworks'), and Cora (pretty cool) to eat. After breakfast I spent some time emailing and writing, and then we all met Vijay, the study center director person, who seems nice and fun. His glasses magnify his eyes like four times. Then we went to lunch at the restaurant (although entrees are only three dollars it’s nice by Indian standards). Then we all went out for the first time. The streets were not as bad as I thought. This might be because we’re in New Delhi and not real Delhi. No one came and hassled us like I thought (even me wearing qwik-dri shorts and a Cancun shirt). Some guys came up and wanted to talk to us; it was like we were stars. It’s like a formula; as long as Indians have brown skin and black hair, any other possible combination of features is possible. That comment was incredibly Orientalist and racist. The streets were dirty and crumbly, but flattened by pedestrian traffic because people are EVERYWHERE. There were some stray dogs and monkeys, no cows. We passed Janpath, a long stretch of shops selling foods, incense, shoes (probably dalits), saris, western clothing, wallets, belts, purses, shawls, media, and carpets. There were men peeing on the side of the road, which is interesting because men don’t feel embarrassed about it. This is because the street is seen as male space. The shopowners all greeted us with “hello, my friend” (so Indian), and wanted our business. The stuff is incredibly cheap. It makes you wonder how people survive on that wage. We then walked through the 100-degree heat (muggy and cloudy, too) to Palika Bazaar, a huge AC (that is key) underground shopping market with tons of shops along maze-like corridors. After that we walked up even further to Connaught Place, the center of the city. It housed shops like Pizza Hut, Niketown, Adidas, Lacoste, KFC, bookstores, as well as shoeshiners and such. We went and checked out the Odeon movie theatre before catching a motor rickshaw (all five of us), which was comfy. I took a long nap and walked back to the movie theatre and paid $2 for a Bollywood film ChupChupKe, all in Hindi with no subtitles. Good music, but everything was exaggerated and kids were laughing left and right. I didn’t understand anything.

Departure

I miss all you guys at UCSB and Mercer Island! Sad to be leaving but also stoked to get to India and have naan-stop non-stop.

I am leaving today at 7:45 pm for Delhi, India from Seattle via London Heathrow. I think it's like a 28-hour flight. So all you whiners about having to drive to Norcal this weekend, please....

June 17--Flight
I got 3 hours of sleep. I spend the entire morning online, updating my contacts on outlook, setting up a blog, and setting up email lists...you can thank me later! At 5:45 the fam drove me to Sea-Tac and I checked into my British Airways 9-hour flight, went through security, and waited for Sarah York's flight but it turns out she wasn't on it, but I saw Greg Trowbridge. I waited and took a picture of myself. The people on the flight were pretty much all British...fun with tea and crumpets. The movies didn't work for a while, they offered wine to the lady next to me but not me (WTF), and there was a big post in the middle of my legroom. JAL and KLM are much better. I slept and ate and watched The Pink Panther and Freedomland...nice movie selection. The British woman next to me stole my armrest on the aisle seat. When we neared Heathrow it was 1pm, and cloudy. I could see central London on the north side of the Thames with its modern skyscrapers, and then the winding Thames curving south and traversed by the beautiful London Bridge. We touched down and got off the plane. Since I had until 5, I went through British customs and immigration. The officer looked at me weird and was like, "Ok..." but then stamped my passport and I left the aiport walking down the street and on the highway and roundabouts towards some random neighborhood, not really knowing what to do. My allergies killed. The first people I saw was an Indian family socializing and playing cricket in their backyard...typical. Britain is definitely diverse. I walked down the street further, past soccer fields, little schools, social clubs, pubs, houses, and small cars (many with English flags coming out the window). I tried going to a pub, but they didn't take Visa. Boo. I walked back to the airport and waited in a massive probably 800-yard line for security. About 50% of the passengers were white, 49% of the passengers were Indian, and 1% were half-Asian. I thought they’d all be Indian. I’m leaving civilization for six months! The food was all Indian, great because I won’t get enough of that as is. I drank wine! The plane passed through Poland, Kiev, Georgia, Armenia, Caspian Sea, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, before reaching the Gangetic plains of north India. It was hazy (mmm, pollution), most of the buildings were small and light and square and four or five stories tall and clumped very closely together. There were open fields, mostly brown and dusty. The city is huge in terms of population (12 million) and size. There were some modern skyscrapers and some poorly-made slums or squatter towns.