And so the expatriate becomes the tourist.

After a quick 11 weeks, I have come to the end of my practicum. Following the study presentation to a team in Koppal on Wednesday, my preceptor (Mohan), Mallika, Chethan and I went on a celebratory two day vacation to Hampi (a wealthy dynasty from the 15^th century destroyed by the Muslims). It was truly spectacular to see this UNESCO site and the many ancient ruins known for their architectural wonders (eg. musical pillars). Though my final presentation at KHPT was actually on Friday, it was definitely a good way to end the internship!

Me, Mohan and Chethan in Hampi

Leaving Bangalore early next week, I’m proud to say that I have developed a strong appreciation and love for this city. I am now able to tell you that the markets are the seemingly only aspect of Indian life that is organized and that I have officially cheated the phone credit system (haven’t paid once!). I can tell you that ants no longer crawl out from my keyboard and that the Indians I have known have an oddly exaggerated aversion to feet. I can tell you that different hair oils are applied according to the seasons for cooling/warming purposes. After reading: “put baby in fridge” from translated interviews, I can tell you that language barriers present endless challenges in global research. And finally, I can tell you that my confidence has been restored in NGOs, though I will remain a skeptic.

I’ve come to enjoy the challenge of crossing 8 lanes of traffic coming from the office (think 'frogger' style) and have recently started cutting back on my advil intake, even after temporarily losing the hearing in my left ear for a day from all the commotion (fact).

Mallika and I devouring some street
mangoes with chilli, salt and lime

Betel-nut in betel leaf
(chewed entirely)

I’ve grown to recognize the lasting remnants of the ‘garden city’ that Bangalore once was before the recent industrial boom, and now accept the trees that dangerously stand in the middle of busy roads, as well as those left to grow straight through buildings and temples. In this Garden story there is also a forbidden fruit that I unfortunately can no longer resist on a hot day. Once fearful of evil pesticides and unsanitary washing, I have now succumb to the temptations of mangoes in their skins. I brush my teeth with tap water and shower with no shoes. I’ve neglected my bug spray, my only bottle of Purell remains full, and I bravely braced the monsoon gloom (with no umbrella). I have a closet full of kurtas and don’t wear a watch. I've tasted real chai, chewed on some betel-nut, and have even been blessed by the trunk of an elephant (for 1 rupee). 

Masala Dosa with
coconut chutney and sambar

Typical wedding sign made of flowers
(Kamal weds Kandini!)

Soon leaving my South Indian home, along with the  masala dosa delicacy, I feel ready, but sad. I never made it on a local bus and I never attended an Indian wedding, though saw the decorative entrances to many.



Thankfully, though, I'm not leaving India yet. There is still plenty more foods to try, plenty more to see and plenty more to do.

                             Thanks for reading and see you all at the end of August!

Living the good life.

Being the procrastinator that I am, with one week left to go in Bangalore, I have a TON of work to do for the final report and two presentations to prepare. Thus this post will be rather short.

Now that I’ve been the fly on the wall in this guesthouse for over two months, I thought I’d report on what it’s like to live in Dollars Colony.

Project House balcony

My room!

Thinking back to my fight night in the guesthouse at the end of April, though I was drowsy and severely disoriented, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Anticipating something of similar standard to Kenya – living out of a suitcase in a concrete room with a padlock metal door and sleeping in a bug-netted cot on a mattress colonized by an aggressive army of red ants after not being able to shower for 10 straight days – I was truly shocked at where I would be living for the next few months. Much to my surprise, I was greeted by a security guard at the front of the building and then proceeded to take the elevator (?!) up to 301 and entering with a reassuring breeze of A/C in my new home. I was given a brief tour of the kitchen, laundry area, 4 bathrooms, 2 balconies… and then after taking a HOT shower, I lay in my queen bed in utter disbelief.

Monica and I

Since that welcoming initiation to Bangalore, the KHPT project house still continues to amaze me. Though I do appreciate the bare-essentials lifestyle experienced in Kenya, having a comfortable place to come home to after a fully day of being haggled makes all the difference in the world. I now look forward to Monica’s spicy food and have grown accustomed to Dinesh planted on the couch watching a 4-day long cricket game on television. The early-morning squawks from birds that sound like humans in pain, and the unbelievably, indescribably unnatural noises unleashed by men with pushcarts no longer bother me at 6am. And I can now somewhat confidently use a sparker to light the gas stove with only fleeting premonitions of setting the building ablaze. The cockroach incident of June 2011 has been the most of my worries and I found even that to be more hilarious than upsetting. I can’t really say there is much to complain about here. On top of everything, I get to live here for FREE.

In the first post, I mentioned that there would be updates on the expected future roommates. At that point, I had no idea how many would actually come and go from this place. Since I moved in, I would guess that there have been about 30 people at an incredibly fast turnover rate. The fun part is that I never know when the next intern, family, co-worker etc is going to show up! I’ve gone to bed some nights when the project house is completely empty but wake up to all rooms full with one guy sleeping on the couch. They may stay for a few weeks or leave in a few hours….I never really know. I often have breakfast with complete strangers that arrived the night before and then they’re gone by the time I get home from work. I’ve been able to get to know so many different types of people and they always make for interesting dinner company (and travelling tips!).

The guests often work for KHPT but are also friends of KHPT employees or from other NGOs in India. Some are other interns, some just in town for a conference, and others on contract work for the Public Health Foundation of  Canada. I’ve even had the opportunity to live with and get to know both officiates of the Sukshema project which I work under. This place is truly a networking hotspot (and has good internet).

Me and Andrea out for dinner
(I ordered the pizza for two
....and it was GOOD!)

Milena bargaining for her first kurta
(a proud moment as her teacher) 

Occasionally, and thankfully, there will be someone around my age to hang out with. Andrea was the first and she was here for about two weeks in May. She had previously lived in Bangalore for four years throughout high school so she showed me around a bit and filled me in on some Indian customs and answered a lot of my questions. There was also a girl from New York working on some immunology nonsense I did not understand, and just last week there was someone from Winnipeg en route to an HIV-care centre internship just outside of Bangalore. I got to pay it forward and take her around the city and share my own words of acquired wisdom to her. So, as you can gather, there is never really a boring moment in the guesthouse. Though my social life is extremely transient, it keeps things interesting!

Milena and I out for traditional
South-Indian thalis

Yep, life in Dollars Colony ain’t too bad. I do confess that I must be careful to dodge enormous road kill on my street (rats the size of puppies, headless crows, dead kittens) and be weary of fellows on motorbikes who try to solicit me for sex work, but nothings perfect, right? The families of hungry cows roaming around mansions with security guards continue to make me laugh and there was even a camel wandering around one day that was evidently lost. I tried to direct the poor thing North.

Sadly, I’m nearing the end of my Bangalore Folklore but I am hoping to post once more after my last week of work and before the backpacking begins!

Couldn't resist...

KA02 B634: the little rickshaw that couldn't. 

Leave it to my driver to push it all the way up the hill with his foot!

Rickshaw camaraderie at it's finest.

HORN OK PLEASE

Picking up from promised thematic tactics, this time around will be an attempt to convey the chaos that is Bangalore. A blog about India would simply be incomplete if not touching upon the round-the-clock road traffic and noise pollution amongst the city streets. To help paint this picture, plastered on the back of rickshaws, trucks and buses, one will commonly find the phrase: “horn ok please.” Translation? Honk if you’re passing. Honk if you cross an intersection. Honk if you’re bored in traffic. Honk if you’re happy/sad/angry. And most importantly, honk if you just feel like honking.

Let me start with a thorough description of the auto rickshaw, also referred to as ‘rick’ or ‘auto.’ Unfortunately, I no longer have the privilege of getting a ride to work since all the important people have since left the guesthouse. Taking an auto to work everyday, however, has proved to be a very exciting and energizing method of morning transport (though the combination of no coffee, early morning bargaining and shameless discrimination can occasionally unleash my inner fury). Now that two months have passed, I feel quite confident in my ‘rick’ abilities. Below are a few tricks of the trade that I have picked up after the 45 minute journey to and from work each day and from habitual weekend battles:

One: Always tie your hair back…unless you enjoy a mouthful whipped at you every 2 seconds.

Two: Carry small change. If not, you run the risk of the driver conveniently misplacing cash…even after pretending to dig into the depths of his front shirt pocket for some extra rupees staging the ultimate art of trickery.

Three: Hold your breath when stuck in traffic and sandwiched between two monster buses and surrounded by motorbikes to avoid the exhaust shedding minutes off your life.

Four: Lean forward. I say this for two reasons. The first being that the back of the seat often only reaches less than half way up your back and can be very uncomfortable for a long ride (which is the common case in Bangalore). Secondly, it helps to prepare your jaw and every bone in your body for the sudden jerks and bumps along the way.

Five: Don’t make eye contact with the Hijras (transgendered solicitors) or the beggars that aggressively encircle vehicles stuck in traffic with an exaggerated, but undoubtedly genuine expression of pure melancholy. I must admit to giving in to the occasional pregnant woman (can’t fake that!) but with the thankful excuse of the moral obligation that comes from the subject matter of my research study.

Five.point.one: DO make eye contact with annoyingly blatant onlookers when stuck in traffic. On one of my ‘down’ days here, I decided to reciprocate and stare straight back at two curious but competitive teenage boys on the motorbike next to me. It was an intense stare down that sadly resulted in the overly-confident duo colliding with the motorbike ahead of them. I like to consider that karmic retribution.

Six: Be patient if the driver unexpectedly pulls into a gas station joining a rickshaw traffic jam.
Seven: Don't be alarmed if the picture on the ID card in the rickshaw bares absolutely no resemblance to the real deal.

Eight: Learn the Kannada word eshtu (how much?). It’s all about street cred!

Rickshaw gas station

Most of the drivers are pretty stern and I’ve noticed that in the morning they are slightly more difficult to bargain with. Alas! A few days ago, a passerby who clearly recognized my struggle revealed that there is apparently a superstition among rickshaw drivers that if they don’t crack a good first deal in the morning, the rest of their day will be cursed and they will not make much money…well that makes sense. They are much friendlier in the evening (or maybe just desperate). I recently found one friendly fellow whom I believe will now be my own personal rickshaw driver to take me back to my area from work. He cleverly noticed a trend in my departures from Rajajinagar and made sure to get my schedule straight for next time.

These rickshaws never cease to amaze me. They cram themselves into the tiniest of spaces at full speed and with absolutely no apprehensions. It took a few weeks but I officially experienced my first rickshaw accident after it was hit from behind in the middle of an intersection. Much like would happen at home, the driver stopped the engine, got out and immediately started screaming and finger-pointing at the other driver. The part that was distinctively Indian, however, was the laughter that ensued just minutes after the aggressive arguing. They seemed to have peacefully reconciled their differences in a matter of minutes.

When you’re not caught on a bad day, you can really come to understand a lot about India through the way the autos operate. There’s an incredible sense of camaraderie between rickshaw drivers that becomes quickly apparent. They are always in lighthearted conversation with each other when stuck in traffic and even while driving (an impressive feat). They are also considered the trusted googlemaps of the road. Drivers roll down their windows and bikers often speed up to the rickshaw in a hurried attempt to ask for directions that are always welcomingly returned (whether accurate or not).

Never missing an opportunity
to showcase merchandise

CFAR office
(I had to go through the majority of those
papers looking for MNCH articles)

The motorbikes are a whole different story. Words really can’t describe how they whiz through the busy streets in their massive uncoordinated fleet. I’ve seen entire families on one single motorbike where the woman is holding onto to her children or baby with one carefree arm while the other is casually clutching the back of the bike. In addition to this recklessness, even though the drivers carry helmets, they seem to only feel the need to put them on if a police officer is nearby. Strangely, only the driver is required to wear a helmet, so the rest of the family clinging onto the back is still off the hook! Great logic. It still entertains me to imagine my coworkers riding their motorbikes to work everyday, though that is the exciting reality. In the office, helmets often serve as paperweights.

It's truly amazing what some of
these guys carry on their bikes

Unfortunately, I have still yet to brave the bus system in Bangalore, though Chethan has promised to be my escort one of these days. It is on my list (along with finding a rickshaw driver to allow me to get behind the handles). What I do know about the buses, however, is that they are always jam-packed and just as aggressive on the road as rickshaws. Completely amazed, I once witnessed a bus driver climb out the drivers side window at a red light, slide under the bus to crank some screws on every tire before effortlessly climb back up through the window – and all before the light turned green! It was pretty impressive.

I could go on to talk about how sad I feel for the bicyclists who just don’t stand a chance in the pandemonium of Bangalore traffic, but I think I’ll end here.

Hope you enjoy!

Wakes, Lakes, Cakes and Breaks

There is a lot to say from the last few weeks so I’ve decided to report on four completely unrelated random highlights with no clever segues.

Wakes –

As you should remember from one of my earlier posts, I have had the pleasure of being awoken by some friendly creatures in the middle of the night, such as the preying mantis that landed on my pillow. Since then, there have been lizards, ants, mosquitos…nothing major. 

A few weeks ago though, I started seeing more and more cockroaches and the distinct sound of their shelled bodies scurrying across the tiled floor of my bedroom soon became the norm. Despite the fact that I would sleep with my flashlight in hand to confirm my suspicions every few hours for my own personal reassurance, they never really bothered me enough to file a complaint with Dinesh (caretaker).

About a week ago, however, I was lost in my habitually vivid dream world (no, I am not on malaria pills), when something unfamiliar started repeatedly poking up my nose. In dream world, I disregarded it and made an unconscious effort to ignore that which was desperately trying to disturb my happy place. After what felt like 15 minutes  of continual assault (possibly 15 seconds of real time), I awoke to the realization that it was, in fact, an antennae that had been selfishly interrupting my sleep. Still confused and in a semi-lucid state of mind, I itched my face and came to the rude awakening that a cockroach was comfortably resting on my right cheek. It was not so pleasant. After a spastic jolt, I jumped to turn on the light and saw many of the same critters hurrying to retreat to a new darkness. I lost some serious sleep that night... and the nights to follow, though I do believe I handled myself well! Just ask my friend Maya who was fortunate enough to catch a frenzied - yet collected - skype call with me at 4:30am. I've come a long way since the preying mantis freak out.

The perpetrator moments
before execution.

Anyway, this intrusion obviously crossed the line - I tend to take matters more seriously when its a matter of losing precious sleep. I informed Dinesh the next day and a chemical of some sort was sprayed all over the apartment that smelled absolutely lovely. I was unsure of whether or not it had worked until there was no longer a need to question after witnessing an apocalypse the morning after. I awoke to about 7 dying upside down cockroaches on my floor. I was left no other choice than to channel Kevorkian and put them all out of their misery with a shoe. Apparently the chemical screws with their centre of gravity and forces them upside down to eventually die. Perfect moment for a photo shoot! I am happy to report that no cockroach has been seen since.

Lakes –

About to board the coracle

Me and Nicole!

On a completely separate note, last weekend a friend (Nicole) and I visited Hogennakal Falls. Known as the ‘Niagara’ of India, it should be of no surprise that it is a waterfall…but not just any waterfall – this one is sacred. The falls are believed to have curative powers attracting those with a variety of ailments to bath in its waters. Hogennakal is also known for its massages with special mystic oils. Adding to the coolness factor of this excursion, the common way to experience the falls is in circular basket boats made of bamboo called 'coracles'  that navigate through the lakes and head straight toward the powerful currents. We even got a fantastically disorienting coracle SPIN from our strong and capable paddler just in front of one of the falls.

Currently the background on my computer.

Woman selling freshly
caught fish

Men getting massaged with
mystic oils

Right next to the falls, fresh fish is caught, spiced, barbequed and sold amidst the constant slapping noises of men getting river-side massages. As we soon learned, women have special rooms where massages are done in the privacy of other women. Nicole and I endured a slimy and aggressive massage, obviously unwilling to refuse the $5 bargain. My neck was non-consensually and unexpectedly cracked and we left the room in pain from lying on the rotten wooden tables and absolutely drenched in the mystic oil. Luckily for us, there was an area for women to shower – unluckily for us, we had to shower with our clothes over our bathing suits to fit in with the other unexposed women in their sopping kurtas. There were huge clumps of hair on the flooded ground and dirty diapers lining the stairs, but it was nice to be in water on such a hot day – despite the fact that it was literally repelling my skin from the oil. So much for a clean 3-hour drive back home! Oh India.

Cakes –

In response to all the wonderful birthday messages, I’ll fill you guys in about my celebration in Bangalore. It began with an amazing dinner the night before consisting of wine, pasta and crème brulee which couldn’t have been topped. On the day of the 16^th,  however, Asha (from CFAR) got into a motorbike accident and broke her shoulder and the woman helping us unexpectedly quit, tripling the workload, so it wasn’t exactly all fun and games. In addition, despite the several reminders and sly hints I gave to Chethan leading up to the day he still forgot! I gave him some time to remember but it just wasn’t happening. Eventually, I decided to trigger his memory with a casual giveaway at which point he scolded himself and gave me an extremely enthusiastic handshake. Once we were back at the office, he told David and within 10 minutes I was presented with a very spontaneous “Happy Birthday Jane” cake and serenaded by the whole CFAR team to a Korean version of Happy Birthday from a youtube video. Although I am still baffled as to why it was in Korean, it was pretty nice! I seem to have grown accustomed to celebrating my birthday in foreign countries with bad cake so I’ve learned to embrace it. I’d even go as far as to say that I now prefer it.

Breaks –

Street Dosas
(South-Indian delicacy)

Temple!

It seems that just as I start getting really antsy in Bangalore, I get to take a good break from the chaos and noise pollution. Whether through Koppal, Mysore or Hogennakal, it’s always nice to change things up a bit. This weekend, though, I had a bit of a break within the city limits. Elayne came to visit and we went to some amazing restaurants (sushi!) and cafes. We vented lots and walked all around the city, stumbled upon a beautiful temple, and tons of food stalls. Note: Elayne's bus station experience was entirely different than my disaster…she effortlessly hopped right on…how unfair. How am I always so lucky?

So that’s what I’ve been up to lately! I’ll post again soon as I am now aware of how discombobulated the entries become when too much time has passed.

Miss you all!

Koppalin'

I’m back! I have finally managed to stop procrastinating and give you all another update on the second field visit from last week.

Loving life on a rock by the water

The second trip to Koppal was even more fruitful than the last. Though we participated in some interviews with journalists and health officials, we were mostly there to observe and monitor the resource persons (RPs) in how they conduct interviews and focus groups. We also spent some time creating a database for analysis for our sample size of about 2000 people (not including focus groups). I am happy to report that I officially know the basics of SPSS and Excel and learned more in 15 minutes with Raghavendra and Ravi (the quantitative guys working with us) than from an entire semester of Thursday morning tutorials of SPSS in biostatistics. After training the data entry operator woman I began to feel so sorry for the horribly tedious work that that woman will have to do but so unbelievably thankful that its not my job. In India, I am free from the frustrations of menial intern tasks and given tons of responsibility…and a team of RPs. How glorious.

Just outside of a temple
on the mountain

Every village we visited was about an hour or two from the next and drives were unbelievably scenic. One of the villages was on a hill station, so you can imagine how beautiful, remote and peaceful it was…although once the scary researchers stepped out of the car there was a discordant symphony of wailing and whimpering from terrified children (three even

                                                         wet their pants at the sight of me). 

Each focus group presented its own unique distinctions. Some were shy, some outgoing, and some too nervous to even state their husbands last names for record. Some were illiterate and gave fingerprints as consent, while others could sign. Some groups averaged age 13 at marriage, others were more progressive. Some sold hand-made hair combs, while others roasted ground nuts. Some were far from primary health centres (PHCs) and had much to say, other were so close they almost had no complaints. 

Villager in a mountain of groundnuts
(she gave me a heaping bag of them)

All of them, though, were vibrant, opinionated, and obsessed with serials (soap operas). They were also all completely decked out in tons of beautiful and shiny bling (as many ear piercings as could fit, 1-2 nose rings, 12+ bangles on both arms, 2+ necklaces).

Focus Group Discussion

After one of the focus groups, Chethan wanted to give the women some cloth pieces that he brought with him from his fathers tailoring business. I expected to just hand them out but it turned into a whole gift-giving ceremony, of sorts. In a moment of sheer honor and intimidation, as the foreigner and the on-call celebrity, I was elected to hand out each cloth to the 20 women with garlic cloves, rice and spices piled on top (to symbolize the good wishes of never going hungry). I was asked to apply a bindhi between their eyebrows and dot the same powder on their nose rings, bangles and necklaces with Hindu goddess charms on them. It was pretty spectacular to be a part of such a genuine, spontaneous religious ritual. Once I had gifted, bowed and namaste’d all the women, they decided to pay back the favour and conduct the same ceremony for me with the gift of 5 green and gold bangles. Pretty cool eh? It’s all on video. I shall show you guys when I return.

Gift ceremony post focus-group

Sharanappa and his wife

We were also invited for dinners at the Taluk (district) coordinators’ houses in the villages which was quite exciting. The learned technique of eating with my hands (or unlearned technique of not eating with my hands) was truly tested in this final exam of Indian gobble. I strongly believe that I would have passed with flying colours if it not have been for the fire building inside my mouth. Nonetheless, it was great to see inside some of the homes and try some home-cooked village food. The Indian custom, though, is not to eat until your guests are finished so we were served a ton of food but the couples never actually ate or sat down with us.

Dinner at Sharanappa's house with
our driver, Pavan and Chethan

It was also a bit of a struggle to politely refuse the water and the endless heaping mountains of rice shoveled onto my plate (even after the 4 chapatis I was force-fed earlier). I had a bit of a hard time from the unaccustomed food the next morning, but Chethan was reallyyy not in good shape after the second village dinner. I’ve never seen him so quiet. My stomach must be made of steel because I seriously upstaged my Indian colleague.

One of the many bullock-carts
(FYI: Horn-painting festival is next
month...hoping to be able to see it!)

Driving the bullock-cart!
(the car ruined the picture)

 The trip was once in a life time. There are some pretty awesome perks of traveling with locals (driving my own bullock-cart being one of the highlights). There were no annoying tourist gimmicks. I was the first foreigner to ever visit some of these places. But while it was amazing to visit in the company of my Indian friends, my stardom in the villages got very exhausting. I was unrelentingly swarmed by huge crowds of children every step of the way but I fully realize it comes with the territory and I also know that I would react much worse if I saw a celebrity in my [the] ‘village’.

Unsurprisingly, I was forced to pick up a bit more Kannada and am proud to say that I have a vocabulary of about 20 words. Learning the word ‘toombah’ (very) was pretty helpful. I like to use it as often as possible and attach it to every other word I know to make it seem like I know more than I actually do. As a result, every one I meet thinks I am toombah enthusiastic.

After the first few days, I trusted the villages enough to leave my bag completely unattended with absolutely no apprehensions. Contents of bag include: laptop, kindle, camera, ipod, hotel advances in cash, passport etc. It took a while to relax about it, but I soon learned that theft is just not something to worry about in such welcoming villages. Also, when you walk into a room of skeptical women trying to figure you out (and your intentions), it’s best not to be clutching onto your belongings for dear life. The only way to evoke trust, is to trust!

CFAR and KHPT
(Somya, me, Manju, Asha and Chethan)

So, after a week of excessive eating, sweating, a flooded hotel room after rainstorms, no showering (a circumstantial choice) and lots of road trips, I have lived to tell the tale.

The escape.

Though I am starting to get used to the chaos and oddities of Bangalore, I felt it was time to take a leave of absence for a weekend and head over to Mysore. It had been a long week filled with the common frustrations of working in a foreign country and I finally felt ready to brave the transportation system all by my lonesome.

As I have told some of you already, Chethan likes to monitor my every move. I realize it is with the best protective intentions, but it drives me mad. I am constantly reminded to wear sunscreen, drink water and must always be walking two steps behind him. Those are the ‘do’s, but don’t you fret, there is a whole other list of do not/cannot/should nots. Apparently, I cannot carry my own bag, cannot choose what I want to eat at a restaurant, should not hail my own rickshaw…and the list goes on. How do they think I function when they are not around? I am fully capable and this gender differential makes me angry. To top it all off, Chethan feels the need to insist I visit the hospital for something as little as a mosquito bite and does not take no for an answer. He will continue to call my phone and send me text messages at an incredibly persistent effort. If I refuse, he will go as far as to call a doctor to visit the office. Catch my drift? I am the vulnerable little white foreigner constantly under supervision from several Indian watchdogs. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that so many people are looking out for me but it makes me feel smothered and incapable. Anyway, thus was the reason for my exodus.

Roadside tender coconuts
for all!

David and I in the
Big Banyan Tree

Luckily, David heard of my plans and remembered that he had a meeting to attend there on Friday and offered me a ride. I figured it was a safer bet than taking the bus. He also suggested that Chethan come along (joy!) so we could meet with a focus group expert and visit some PHCs along the way (neither of which happened). It shouldn’t have surprised me, but we left at 10am and only arrived at 4:30pm….it’s a 3-hour drives distance. There were several stops made along the way (roadside peeing, tender coconuts, drinks…etc) and then once we finally started getting close, David wanted to turn around and visit the Big Banyan Tree which was right outside of Bangalore. It was major backtracking….I was frustrated but the tree was 400 years old so I figured it was worth a visit! On our way, we ran into a Bollywood celebrity…very exciting stuff! Don’t ask me for his name.

Chethan, Felix, CELEBRITY, and me

Once we finally got to Mysore, we ignored David’s request to stop for lunch and went straight to Ashodaya – the sex workers collective where Elayne works. We hung around there for a bit…and got some interesting demonstrations on how to secretly administer a condom during oral sex. It was very interesting to see the drop-in centre and hear a bit about the work they do. The condom negotiation strategies they teach the sex workers were particularly interesting.

Once David and Chethan headed back to Bangalore, I could finally relax a bit. The next day we visited the palace and an incredible market with tons of flowers (and bees), perfumes, incense, tiffins and bangles galore. 

BANGLES

Perfume/paints/incense shop

Tiffins!

We ate a lot of good food and just roamed the city shops. Though we got a pedicure from hell, and a rock was thrown at Elayne while we were watching an amateur cricket game, it was a very enjoyable trip. Mysore is so beautiful and much less crowded and congested than Bangalore. Very refreshing.

Elayne and I in one of the many sweet shops.
(mmm Mysore pak)

My plan was to board the Bangalore bus at 2:45pm on Sunday and I was naively convinced that there were no difficulties involved. I was SO wrong. I must have said goodbye at least 5 times to bolt to an approaching bus desperately trying to reach the door in an angry mob of local travelers. It took forever to successfully make it, despite the fact that I had a ticket and no one else did. Note to self: there is absolutely no need to buy a ticket in advance.

So that concludes my adventure report! There is so much more to say but I’ll leave some stories for when I get back.

I’m boarding the train again tonight for Koppal field visit #2 for the week. I shall try and keep this blog thing going but its starting to annoy me so the posts may come a little less frequently in future. My apologies.