Flotsam and Jetsam

So I'm back home now, even if my luggage still hasn't made it here. We juggled between three different flights on our last leg and Southwest had a hard time keeping our luggage with us. Hopefully I won't run out of clothes before it gets here or it's going to be pretty awkward waiting on customers at the store. Plus it will be cold.

This picture has nothing to do with this post, I just love her beautiful face.

It's been a bit of a pain that I can't really share about what we did or where we went during this mission trip. Most of you that are actually reading this are probably also getting my emails, in which I can be specific. I am at liberty to say that it was a very good trip and I left confident that the seeds we spread will grow, many will flourish, and hopefully a few will spread. The local team we worked with were mostly top notch and of the four trips I've made, this is the one that I left feeling the most confident in. By the way, if you're not on the email or snail-mail list, give me a call or drop me a line and I'll get you added.

Some things are always a bit of a shock when I get back. The weather, of course, is quite a bit colder and I have to say, I didn't miss having to scrape windshields in the mornings. We did have cooler weather in India this year, cool enough to need a jacket in the evenings. Still, landing at DIA and being met with 12 degrees was a shocker. Landing without our luggage and almost seven hours later than planned was another.

Jet lag and getting my sleep back on track is another struggle. I've never been a real succesful sleeper anyway. Add the 12.5 hour time zone difference and I'm really thrown for a loop. It's odd as I never seem to have any difficulty adjusting to India time, but adjusting back to Nebraska time is always a chore. I did sleep for most of the night last night so I am getting there. It just takes time.

The thing I usually struggle with the most when I get home from these trips is our wealth and consumerism. After working with and seeing so many people in extreme poverty, it's easy to get disgusted with what we spend on everything from food to phones. It's easy to feel guilty about my own spending and wastefulness. For me it's particularly ironic as without excessive American consumerism, I'd be out of business. I'd like to get all philosophical and argue that music is an essential part of life, but if I'm honest, I can't. After all, nobody ever died for lack of a trombone or stereo system.

I also get fairly disgusted with what the vast majority of us think are important things. This last couple of weeks saw the deaths of David Bowie and Glenn Frey and I watched as my Facebook feed featured hundreds of tributes and farewells to these two iconic artists. I probably saw hundreds of posts about one movie or another or people with new toys they were showing off or complaints about things like their cable tv service or the bad meal they got at a restaurant. I could have missed something, but I only saw one post about the persecuted church and I don't believe I saw any concerning saving the lost, starving children in the developing world, or the countless murders of the unborn that happen every day.

Of course, the thing I get most disgusted with is the realization that I'm just as guilty of these things as everyone else.

 

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It's All About Perspective

If you are ever in Kolkatta I'm not sure I can recommend the Ajanta Hotel. Of course, I'm not sure what hotel I could recommend, but that is beside the point. Just make sure when you reserve your room you specify two beds if you want them, otherwise two 6'4" American men will be shown to a room with one 6' bed to share for the night. It's OK, I suppose, as having two bodies in close proximity makes it more convenient for the mosquitoes that swarm the room. The shower doesn't work and the latches on the doors are simple gate bolts but here's the catch: There is one on each side of the door and this means that if one is an early riser such as myself, in order to fully close the door I have to lock my roommate into the room. I guess it conceivable means that a passerby could lock anyone into their room and I'm not sure what to make of that.

So secure you can get locked in your room!

The hotel compensates for such iniquities by also not offering coffee or chai or internet service. It does offer rather grand and guady strings of blue and white and purple LED lights hanging from the roof and down the front of the hotel. They emit just enough light to filter through the dirty windows and give your room a dim, ghastly glow all night. It keeps you company until about 5:00am when the sound of mosquito buzzing finally gives way to the grotesquely loud Muslim call to prayer from the mosque just a door down.

I hope my roommate and I share the same blood type as I'm fairly certain that throughout the course of the night we gave each other transfusions via mosquito. I need to remind him to get his blood sugar tested as I'm feeling a bit light headed this morning.

Mother Theresa's Tomb

It is a fairly secure hotel. In addition to the arrangement that allows you to be locked into your room with no chance of escape, the hotel also features a nine foot gate and two security guards that wander around aimlessly in the courtyard. They opened the gate when I asked and pointed me to a chai-wallah down the street where I could get my early morning dose from a dirty cup.

Of course, just a few short hours later I was touring Mother Theresa's home. She had a hard bed, a desk, and a rusty bucket to clean herself in. That puts things into a really fine perspective and yes, just in case you were wondering, I do now feel like a jerk for writing a snarky post about my accommodations.

 

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Ode To A Chai

When it comes to things in a cup, there is nothing in this world so good as street chai. If you get to the shack early enough, you can watch him make it. First he puts a handful of powdered milk in the rough aluminum kettle and then pours in water of questionable origin and mixes it with his hands that have been who-knows-where. More water is next and the gas fire is lit under the kettle. He takes a small handful of loose tea leaves and throws it into the pot as it begins to simmer and reaches for a finger of ginger which he roughly chops and then smashes with the side of his knife, right there on the small counter where millions of ruppees have passed. Into the pot the ginger mash goes, along with cinamon, pepper, and half a dozen other spices.

Simanta The Chai Guy with his wife and son.

A small dipper sort of like a half cup measure goes in and out of the pot, stirring it as it comes to a rolling boil. Workmen waiting for their bus are starting to gather, ruppees in hand, bindis burning at their lips. When he determines things are just right, the chai-wallah fills a well worn tray with impossibly thin plastic cups. In one hand he has a fine mesh seive that he holds over a cup and with the dipper he ladles the foaming liquid into the seive and below, your cup is filled with delight. You grab the cup by the rim because if you try to hold the sides not only will you burn your fingers, but you will crush the cup whose thickness must be measured in microns, not millimeters.

Hand over your ten ruppee note and sip your chai. Stay out of the bindi smoke as it burns your eyes and smells curiously like it's laced with marijuana. The workman aren't used to seeing a Westerner at their stall and they steal sideways glances at you. Pay them no mind at first and simply savor the sounds, smells, and sights of a busy Indian street corner. Sip. Inhale. Listen. Sip again.

Your cup is now drained and you crush it and throw it to the ground, a hard habit to get into when you are used to trashcans on every street. If the chai-wallah has coins he will now give you your change. If not, he hands you three pieces of wrapped candy or gum to make up the difference. Now you can smile and greet the workmen with the little bit of Hindi you know. Nine times out of ten, they'll be delighted that you took the time to try and learn their language and if you would like, you can snap a picture. Make sure and show them their image when you're done. A smiling "namaskaar" and you are on your way to continue your journey in this incredible country.

 

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Smile Everyone!

Someday I will figure out that part of the Indian culture that says you must frown at all times. I say all times although that really isn't true. About 95% of them, upon getting a smile and greeting from you, will return the smile and warmth and when they do, a little bit of the worlds cruelty slips away. I've been to this country four times and spent forty days here and yet sometimes I feel that I will never really know it's people. Oh, and they'll smile and be all communicative until you pull your camera out. Then it's back to the frown again. Like my driver seen here. He got a new cap that day but he kept admiring my hat so we tried each others on. Laughter and smiles until I asked for a picture. I don't get it and probably never will.

New idea for a TV show: Cultural Survivor Man. You get dropped off in the middle of a foreign country with $10.00 and no interpretor. I would volunteer to be the first contestant and I would choose Assam. It's mild enough you could sleep under that stars and if you just had the tea and biscuits everyone so graciously offers you, I think you could survive for a week and keep most of your $10.00. The people are incredibly hospitable here. It is the custom of the Assamese to present honored guests with a scarf and I now have four of them. I've been here three days and I have had tea in five homes now, each time with biscuits and one time with these wonderful homemade fried treats that were light as a feather and sweet as honey. Anyone who has the tiniest spec of English is eager to share it with you and you can have a bit of a conversation without really understanding each other. At one home today, as we were loading up in our vehicle, our hosts said "We feel like God has come here today." I could let that go to my head but instead it humbles me more.

I do worry about the countries future a bit. Yesterday I met a young couple having ice cream. They were second year medical students and they couldn't wait to graduate so they could move to the States. They were cheerful, bright, and had better English than I do. They asked why we came here and I told them that I love the people. "This shithole?!? I can't wait to get out of here. Nothing works, it stinks, and the government is a joke. I will go to the USA and never come back." I hope that this isn't the norm for India's brightest and best. I didn't argue with them much, but I did tell them not to overlook the importance of people. I think that is the most significant thing a person can do, invest in people. It's something I'll try and get better and better at doing myself.

Yes, she smiled. Only because she didn't know I was taking her picture.

Every time I look into the street or visit a humble village home with its walls of bamboo and mud, I'm reminded of just how hard life is for a vast majority of Indians. Countless times I've been introduced to someone who I assume is in their 80's only to be told that they are in their 50's. I met a bent-up woman today that walked with a cane and could barely see. She was missing several teeth and her skin had the texture of a dryed and cracking river bed. She was 58 and as I look at her picture, I smile at the rememberance of her warmth and the enthusiasm she showed as she welcomed us into her home.

 

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The Winter Of Our Discount Tent

(NOTE: The internet went down Saturday during a thunderstorm and we just got it back today. I'll have some post catching up to do.)

Today we got together with a bunch of old friends and met some new ones. Lunch was supposed to be in the family courtyard and 99% of the time in January this is a perfect time for that kind of event. The weather sunny and dry and it's in the mid-70's. This year we saw some torrential rain and even a little hail and the temperature was in the 50's.

Clouds produce rain but the power lines don't deliver power.

There are certain items that you can find anywhere in the world. Coca-cola cans, those plastic lawn chairs that break if you try to lean back in them, and blue polyester tarps. Only two of those three were found at lunch time. The chairs work great as long as you don't try to lean back on them and the tarp is excellent at sheilding you from rain as long as you aren't near the edge where the water drips down or towards the middle where the creases have caused it to crack. Oh well, we still had a great time with friends and a real home-cooked Assamese meal, even if we were a bit soggy and everone had a blue tinge to them from the light filtering through the tarp.

There's a power outage in the rural areas so our indoor meeting was lit by a single kerosene candle contraption. I think I inhaled enough smoke from it that I've lost 40% capacity in my left lung. That still left me 60% for conversation and laughter, more than enough if you're with the right people and I was. We were late leaving for town and it was pitch black in the middle of nowhere when we had the flat tire. Getting out of the back of the vehicle someone slammed my finger in the car door. The upside is that you should always have hand sanitizer in your pocket and no matter where you are in India, within 200 yards you will find a shack selling an odd assortment of items. That means you can clean your wound and if you have ten ruppees, you can buy five bandaids. Watching the ingenuity of an Indian changing a tire with none of the proper tools and getting it done in record time provides enough entertainment to take your mind off the pain.

Tomorrow I'll be going to church with these same friends and then I believe we're going to see some old ruins and a fort left from the British colonial days. We'll see what actually happens as in India, the key to happiness is to always be flexible. Actually, I think that's one of the keys to happiness no matter where you are.

 

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Finally

When it comes to travel, that was the worst trip to India I've had yet. l won't bore you with a lot of details. It was mainly one delay after another that left us getting to the hotel at midnight instead of the planned 6:00 in the evening. That meant we had been either in a car, on a plane, stuck in an airport, or on a bus almost constantly from 3:00am Wednesday morning until midnight of Friday night. The lukewarm shower and humble bed last night was like a day at the spa and a night at the Ritz-Carlton. So, this morning, rather than grumble in my writing, I'm feeling incredibly thankful for a good nights rest and after a little reading of the 46th Psalm, I'm ready to face whatever the day may bring.

Domino's evidently delivers here as well. Sigh.

I'm taking some special care with names and places this year so you'll get a bit of code-speak. Sorry about that, but it's for the safety of all involved. Don't let that raise any undue fears on your part. I'm more in danger in a lot of neighborhoods in Omaha or Denver than I am here. It's just a consideration for those that live here that I've got to take this year.

I've been reunited with many of my friends from previous trips and it's great to see their faces, share their embraces, and hear their voices. G is contagious in his joy and enthusiasm, K shared the news of his upcoming wedding in February, and we have our favorite driver that we haven't seen in four years back behind the wheel.

Our final airport is really the picture of a third-world airport. There is decaying plaster falling from the ceilings and men carrying AK47's, people dressed in little more than rags hawking samosa's and chai. And right across the road there is a Kentucky Fried Chicken. As the photo here shows, across from our hotel there is now a Domino's Pizza. The appearance of these two American icons in the middle of nowhere (which in my heart, in many ways is the middle of everywhere) gives me just a tinge of sadness.

Last night, or, more accurately, this morning, when we were getting to bed a heavy rain came. It's the dry season here so the rain is very welcome. While it's fairly tropical here, in my previous visits I never got to see the green as everything is covered in dust. This morning throught the haze I can see that it has been washed away and later we'll be driving into the countryside and I can wait to see the tea plantations in their proper hue.

 

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Hurtling and Hurting

Let's get something straight: I love being in India. What I hate is getting there. As my traveling partner Jeff puts it, we're treated like cattle. That might be putting it a little bit harshly as I don't believe there is a slaughter house at the end of the trip. Still, for the most part you are poked and prodded and led down chutes in tight places and the whole ordeal is never really comfortable. The 15+ hour flight to Dubai, even if it is on Emirates, is still no place for any shuteye if you are 6'4" and 205 pounds.

Pre-flight pic. No post flight pic as there are decency laws to consider.

Oh, well. It's all part of the process. The good news is that the person seated next to me was the perfect airline companion. A self-proclaimed surf bum, the 27 year old girl from Denmark was pleasant company and very petite. Those two attributes are always preferable to a grumpy 250 pound ex-linebacker or the like. She's on her way to South Africa to chase waves and a boyfriend. We visited about politics, faith, and how one would ever learn to surf in Denmark. I thought it providential that I would end up next to a Dane as I had just started reading Macbeth while waiting at the terminal. While not a timely piece of literature that takes place in Denmark, my traveling companion did inform me that Denmark still has a monarchy. No word of a ghostly murdered king showing up and asking his troubled son for vengeance, however.

That's right: 15 hours and 29 minutes.

Emirates is a great airline and because we had an eight hour layover, they've provided us with a hotel and meal vouture. Unfortunately, with the check out of security, bus ride to the hotel, bus ride back to the airport, and time for another security check, it really equates to about four hours in the hotel. I don't think I'll take advantage of the bed because I have a feeling that if I do hit the sheets, I won't wake up for the bus ride back. Still, it beats hanging around in the airport and I just had the most extraordinary lentil soup at the hotel restaurant so there is that.

Two more short flights and a bus ride and I will be with some old friends in India and I can't wait. There's a little disruption at home with the store, but it's a good thing. My prayers and thanks are with my wife and staff that are handling it all in stride.

 

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