Homeward bound…

So folks, this looks like it’s going to be the last post before my epic return to The States.

I guess first of all I’d like to say a VERY belated thank you to those of you who have followed/commented/supported for the past 8 months.  You have NO idea how comforting it was to hear your feedback – it really motivated me to keep the blog updated and share my thought processes.

While I’m looking forward to being back home and seeing you all again, I’m still having a hard time getting my head around the idea of being back in the developed world again (my short respit in Spain gave me a taste of what it will be like….).  TOILETS!!??  WASHING MACHINES!!?? In all seriousness, it really is amazing how time passes and suddenly you realize just how accustomed you are to a certain way of life.

Sénégal ended up surprising me – all of the sudden I realzed my fondness for the culture, the people (specifically my host family and the extension of that family in my neighborhood), the music.  While I regret not appreciating it from the beginning as I should have, I know I can’t keep it on my shoulders.  I have learned so much about myself and about the world…like I said, it just seems so small now.

Whew…I feel like I entered Logan airport 8 months ago and that its spitting me right back out, a different Julia whose life has profoundly changed.

I guess I’ll leave it to you all to be the judges of just how much I’ve changed (if at all).  See you in Boston, folks!  Flight lands at 10:30 AM Wednesday.

ALL MY LOVE,

Julia

…Like Senegalese tea

So, let me tell you all a little story – the story of Julia Rabbit’s African escapades over the course of the last month and the reasons why she has saved it until exactly two weeks before her departure to update her blog…

So, the story begins, as all good stories do, with a dilemma – Julia didn’t like Senegal that much. It was a combination of things, none of which your travel-weary adventuress would like to elaborate on at present, but to make a long story short, Rabbit was not a happy camper for three or four weeks.

I suppose it’s worthwhile to break out of third person to tell you all that I think most of my problems were ones of my own making. I missed India to an extreme, I didn’t feel like I had a lot of responsibility at the school where I work and found it hard to be motivated each day. Even now that I really feel like I’ve acclimated, my stay in Senegal is a mixed bag; a really mixed bag. I was convinced three weeks in that I was going to leave early – a debilitating cold, a strange and painful rash on my face, culture conflicts (I’ll elaborate on that in a moment), and clean-cut fatigue (don’t forget that I’ve been on the road for eight months) all culminated to create a few hellish weeks.

OK, so before y’all get antsy, let me elaborate a bit on Senegalese culture and why exactly I had so many problems adjusting. Life as a toubab (or a white person) in this country poses many problems on a daily basis, namely that the snap judgment made upon seeing the color of your skin is, “THEY HAVE MONEY”. Each time I step out the door in the morning I can expect at least a dozen cat calls along the lines of, “Toubab! Donne-moi mille francs!” or “White! Give me 1,000 francs!” during the course of the day. At the start, I felt like I was being treated like a malfunctioning ATM.

The work at school is tiring, to say the least, sometimes infuriating. The students, at the best of times, are disrespectful, particularly to me. The worst, for me, however, is seeing the lack of motivation in so many of them. They all come from some of the most underprivileged families in Dakar, if not all of Senegal, and yet I sometimes feel as though they’re laughing in my face when I ask them to sit still and work. What remains my biggest dilemma to this day is finding the motivation to give all my energy to kids who seem to not care at all. I ask myself on a daily basis, “Do they get it? Do they get how big the world is outside of Senegal? Do they get how hard it will be to pull themselves up and what a huge helping hand this school is?” The helping hand, namely, is Mr. Abdoulaye, the director, and his wife, Katy, who are also my host parents. I can’t tell you how inspiring these people are – everytime I feel discouraged or tired, I look at the fatigue in their eyes and the amount of work they put into the school each day and I put an extra spring in my step.

As of late, I’ve had a sobering realization – I’ve discovered my true passion for humanitarian work and have come to see it as a kind of guiding light for the rest of my college education, if not the rest of my life, but working at this school has made me realize how taxing it can be to work with all your heart. In some ways I feel very selfish for my sentiments at the start, because I was looking for something to gain for myself – I wanted to come back from each day feeling like I’d done something for those less fortunate, and instead I came back feeling tired, drained, and disheartened. My efforts seemed to be in vain.

The past days, however, have seen me a happier and more worldly Julia – despite the fact that I usually get stuck teaching math and science ( I KNOW RIGHT??!!) because the teacher hasn’t shown up for weeks, I’m there. Mr. Abdoulaye confided the other day, “Sometimes it feels like we’re alone in our struggle.” These are not happy days for Enfance et Paix. There was a fund-raising party at the school this week, and next to none of the large companies that the school asked for donations followed through with their pledges. There aren’t nearly as many students enrolled as their were when Mr. Abdoulaye opened the school in 1986, and many of the students’ families can’t afford to pay the already obscenely low monthly school fees. I, however, can be there – I can tell them that they are not alone. When I feel discouraged now, I tell myself that its not for me – it’s not my place to be discouraged, because there’s already plenty of that. I’m here to provide hope and follow through with my promises.

I’m temped to say that the world is big, but I’ve come to realize that that is simply not the case. Suffering is what makes the world small. A child in Senegal who can’t afford schooling, not to mention three square meals a day, a Tibetan refugee in India recovering from torture inflicted by the Chinese government after a month-long journey across the one of the most dangerous mountain ranges in the world – these are my problems, these are your problems, these are everyone’s problems.

I’ll leave it at that for this particular tirade, but this really is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the enlightening things I see each day. I don’t want to be a pain, and if you don’t share my opinion then you are more than welcome to respond with yours.

As you can see, there’s been a massive shift of gears here, and all I can really attribute it to is a five-day respit in the city of St. Louis over the course of my birthday weekend. Sophie, another volunteer, and I endured the six-hour car ride north to what used to be Senegal’s capital with a teacher of geography and history at Enfance et Paix named Mr. Thiam who grew up there. We had a wonderful stay with Mr. Thiam’s family, attended the St. Louis jazz festival, and basked in the glory of the old French architecture and the culture of a much smaller city than Dakar. I don’t really know what happened in St. Louis, but I returned to Dakar feeling ready to fully embrace the challenges I had found so hard to face before. I was happy to return to my family and friends in Parcelles (the quartier I live in).

Since the beginning of this month, things have been going really well. Senegal really is one big family. Everything is shared, from the small plastic cups of cafe touba – a sweet and strong brewed black coffee that I can’t go a day without – to the heaping trays of chebugen – the national dish of the country, some variation of fish, rice, and veggies. You can be expected to be greeted upon entry in each household at mealtimes, “Kai leckel! Viens manger! Come eat!”. While it can get a little wearisome when it comes to the sharing of personal space (i.e. my bedroom), its become a really endearing part of Senegal to me, and whenever I go to buy a snack, I make sure to buy enough to offer around.

The music permeates the air here. For all the difficulties I’ve faced with the culture, the music has made up for in spades. Its like there’s this rhythm, constant and strong, that everyone can kind of tap into. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like seeing my djembe teacher, Amadou, play a solo. Sometimes his face doesn’t seem big enough for his smile! That rhythm isn’t just a trickling stream, it’s like white water rapids just itching to break out of every gorgeous Senegalese body (and trust me – they’re all GORGEOUS).

In the evenings, I either go to a djembe lesson or give a guitar lesson to a friend who works at the clinic a block away. In short, I always end up playing the sun down drumming on the beach or strumming on a rooftop sipping Senegalese tea, sweet and strong. Before bed, I head up to my rooftop to chat with Mr. Thiam and go to bed with my head full of new ideas, the cool, African night breeze having cooled the day’s sweat from my face.

So there you have it – in the end, the hardship lead to learning, and the learning lead to growth. I’m actually really glad I saved posting until now – I don’t think I could have accurately conveyed the spectrum of emotions until this moment.

One of my favorite parts of each day is sipping the daily brew of Senegalese tea, taken fresh off the fire, made from strong Chinese green tea leaves, and sipped quickly from small glass cups. There are three cups, – the first is brewed until the water is brown and brackish and very little sugar is added; the second (all are brewed with the same tea leaves) is sweeter and made with mint and lighter in color; the third is the sweetest and the lightest. I don’t think it’s unfair to draw a comparison between my life in Senegal and those three cups of tea. It went from bitter to sweet, but it took time.

Sunny Senegal and other intercontinental adventures

Salaamalekum, my friends!  In the past week I hqve successfully traveled across 2 continents and currently reside in a third!  I suppose I’ll begin with my Taj Mahal adventures with my roommate, Rikden.  We left New Delhi at around noon for Agra and, after a grueling and sweaty five hours in a bus and yet another 45 minute escapade with a rickshaw driver, we arrived safely at a hotel with a spectacular rooftop view of the Taj.  We woke up at 5 the next morning in order to see it at dawn and waited for the gates to open with a cup of chai, admiring a passing pack of camels and fending off the wannabe guides.

Now, hearing about the experience of seeing the Taj Mahal or even seeing photos cannt parallel the sensation of walking through the entryway and catching sight of it for the first time.  It is phenominal.  I’ll post photos soon, I promise.  I sincerely believe that any efforts to describe the experience would be in vain.

So, upon our return to New Delhi, I had one last meal of momos and fried veggies, and Rikden and I made our way to the airport.  As I’d forseen, going through those gates was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.  My experience in India was a completely life altering experience.  Finding a home was something I never anticipated happening, and as painful as it was to leave, all I can do now is be thankful that it happened.

The journey to Spain was uneventful, albeit arduous, , and seeing Mareva, Emily, and EGlen – all friends from Smith – was wonderful.  For 5 glorious days I ate jamon, drank sangria, went to a flamenco performance and revelled in all the other delights that Southern Spain has to offer.  That being said, the reverse culture shock I’d heard so much about from other travellers hit me hard, and I won’t say that the experience wasn’t a little tainted.  I managed to hold it together until my train ride from Sevilla to Cordoba when I was forced to don my sunglasses and have a little cry.  The transition in Senegal has been rough, but I never expected it to be easy.

However, despite the change of pace, Senegal has really struck a chord with me.  Literally.  While volunteering at the school, Enfance et Paix, is what I spend the majority of my time doing, its in the evenings that I really get to have some fun.  It won’t surpirse any of you that my first indulgence – nay, investment – in Senegal was a djembe and lessons.  As if it isn’t cool enough that I get to brag about my Senegalese drum, but my lessons take place on the beach as the sun sets over the ocean.  So, think over me playing every evening in Senegal!  There are three other volunteers here and we all play together with our teacher, Amadou.  Amadou is my age and, while he’s a man of few words, it turns out that we play music really well together.  Time seems to slip by playing the djembe or singing to the bongos in the company of good friends.  The other volunteers and I have fallen in with his group of friends, all musicians, and my enthusiasm for West African ,usic is growing exponentially.

I’m living with a host family and being treated extremely well.  The food – usually some variation of rice and fish –  is splendid, and I really can’t speak anything but French during the course of the day, save with the other volunteers – one of which is from Portland!! – and I’m already seeing the results.  It can be hard, but my French is really improving.

To quote Monica, a volunteer from Canada, “Things around here shouldn’t work, but they do!!”.  Senegalese time, which means no time, moves at a snail’s pace, and the days are full of friends, family, and lots and lots of sweet sweet music!

Stay posted for more in-depth and comical African adventures!

Yours, as always,

Julia Rabbit

P.S. The French keyboard is hard to get used to, so don’t judge me for the numerous typos.

This time tomorrow…

So, I left Dharamshala yesterday with one of my roommates, Rikden.  We arrived in Delhi early this morning, and we’re headed to Agra to see the Taj Mahal tonight!  We’ll spend all day in Agra tomorrow, and come back to Delhi Wednesday so I can catch my flight to Spain via Frankfurt that night.

While I’m thrilled to be seeing the Taj and, of course, to be seeing three of my closest friends from Smith in a few short days, leaving my family in Dharamshala was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do on this trip, if not ever.  About 10 people came to see me off, but saying goodbye to my brothers at the very last was the real kicker.  I jumped onto the already moving bus with about 7 khata (white Tibetan scarves signifying good luck and safe journeys) around my neck, sobbing like a baby with diaper rash.  Luckily the weeping suppressed pretty quickly and I was able to “enjoy” the remaing 12 hours of busride to Delhi (it was also during the course of said busride that a mouse snuck into my bag and hopped out at a restaurant here where Rikden and I got breakfast this morning – oh the friends, big and small, that we manage to pick up on the way…).

So we’re here now, in the Tibetan settlement which really is, if I haven’t mentioned already, an oasis in the middle of New Delhi and will get right back on a bus this afternoon for another 5 hours of busride to Agra.  Maybe we’ll befriend another rodent along the way…?  Ah well, see you all at the Taj!!

One of my favorite poems…

I am a blog-posting MACHINE!!  I re-read this poem and thought it really captured my emotions at present and also that it was worthwhile to share it.  Below are some photos of a walk my roommates and I took before Travis left to go back home.  We’ll miss you, Trav!  Also, there’s one taken of a few of us at the temple by my boss, Yeshe.

Neon Birch

By: Adrie Kusserow

Hush, little one.

Nothing I tell you

will ever measure up.

Nothing else will coax the small fists

of your brain

to open this wide.

In the bright of winter, enter the sun’s open

mouth, its brilliant, giddy scream.

Behold the densely packed snow,

all whale-muzzled, crested and tidal wave.

Look up. Even in winter

the wild geese

will still be sewing their stitch of ache

across the sky.

At dusk, enter the silence.

if the past comes lumbering in,

keep walking up the hill to the oldest field of birch,

poised like dinosaurs in their slow walk across time –

only these can take the mind’s weight

and deposit it, small, random, and inconsequential

as a teacup in the snow.

When the dark crouches at your feet,

Watch the sleek pale gloves

of the birch glow neon

pink, neon bone. Behold their tiny branches,

glowing capillaries

inching across

the dark laps of hills.

Nothing I say

will ever feel this good.

Still, even in joy, watch the mind start to fuss,

watch its haggard architects

hunched over their blueprints of meaning, ink

smudged on their face and hands,

I say: let the ink bleed across the page,

let it spill out luxuriously across the meadow.

Remember there is nothing you offer

the fields do not drink gladly.

Behold the small pond you have become:

this is the first fist, opening.

Lie back, float. Let the slow oars

pull you farther and farther

into this wild and ragged life.

Out there, beyond

the dense coils of worry

beyond the fields we have sewn

so diligently with self and other,

beyond the swollen landscapes

pitted with language and thought,

go there, don’t hesitate.

Whatever it is

that flies hard into the light,

go there, don’t be afraid.

The joys of living in India

So here comes another one, hot on the heels of the last – I thought it would be a good idea to list all of the things I take for granted in the States, from the poignant to the laughable.  Enjoy!

Water: available in plentiful amounts and at every hour of the day – Yup — we’ve gone three weeks without and let me tell you it is not a pleasant experience.  I must say, however, in our apartment we are lucky because our landlord always seems to have running water even when we don’t, so we can ask for some when we need it to take a shower or do the dishes, but we still can’t use much when there’s a water shortage.  This experience, however, makes you look at such phenomena as the flushing of a toilet differently – no water to flush, you just keep pouring water from a bucket in the porcelain alter until its contents have been disposed of.  When we have a bucket of water, of course…you can envision the predicament otherwise.  There’s a saying here in Dharamshala – when there’s water, there’s no power, and when there’s power, there’s no water.  I prefer having no power for obvious reasons.

The shower head – While some residences are graced with such a luxury (albeit an apparent one), our apartment is not, and bathing involves a plastic bucket of hot water and a pitcher.  However, do not be fooled by what appears to be an inconvenience — usually the showerhead only provides 3-5 minutes of hot water, and after that its a chilly trip all the way from washing away the suds to the warm embrace of a towel.  The bucket method provides warmth for, presumably, as long as you want it, and the force of pouring the water from the pitcher is a lot more effective than the shower heads which tend to be nothing but a dribble.

The washing machine and dryer: Here, unless you want to pay to have your laundry done at a hotel or laundromat, it is more cost-effective and efficient to do your laundry by hand.  Getting it done by someone else means risking shrinkage and/or loss of garments (this is India, after all).  Luckily, there’s a great spring a 2-minute walk from the apartment that provides a great source of [chilly] running water to wash and rinse clothes in.  What I usually do is soak my clothes in a bucket of hot water with washing powder for an hour or so, then head down to the spring with the sopping mass and a bar of hard soap to scrub with.  Then I lay each garment out on the rocks (its great when there aren’t any people there so I don’t have to be as discrete with the undergarments) and scrub, scrub, scrub until I feel I’ve done a sufficient job.  Then I rinse everything by holding the laundry under the stream of water and squishing the suds out on the rocks.  After that I hang everything out to dry on our rooftop and the job’s done within a few hours (going to the laundromat takes a few days).  I have had a few items fly away in a rogue breeze, but they were recovered again.

An oven – While each apartment is usually furnished with a stove and a sink, an oven isn’t included in the deal.  I miss baking bread!  I can’t really complain about this one, however, because the food we make is splendid – it involves a lot of frying and steaming (I’ve quite taken to steamed bread, and I hope I can find as magnificent a steamer as the one we have here!), but always a delicious result (usually traditional Tibetan food).

Heating – While spring has sprung here in McLeod Ganj, and the Indian sun is getting hotter and hotter every day, don’t forget that I’m living now in the foothills of the Himalayas — it. gets. cold.  Really cold.  I’ve had nights where 5 layers plus a 0-degree sleeping bag were barely enough to keep me warm.   In our household, this is also remedied by the fact that we all sleep in close quarters on mattresses on the floor, but still — chilly nights are still a force to be reckoned with.

Decent public transport – I think I’ve described in sufficient detail the precarious state of these mountain roads, and the cars/jeeps packed with more people than one might try to stuff in a stretch Hummer, but these minor details I don’t see as inconveniences so much as humorous facets of day-to-day life in McLeod Ganj.  The real inconvenience lies in navigating around the rest of the country — just getting from Delhi to Dharamshala involves a 10-hour, overnight bus ride in a cramped and rickety vehicle with questionable break pads.  The train system, as I’m sure you all know, it quite enjoyable, but it still takes time.  Everything here, takes time, however, and learning to divorce myself from the American fast-paced way of life has actually been pretty nice.

Education – When I left Smith last spring and began preparing for this journey, I was convinced that I would never return to college and that academia was ruining the world.  As if the poverty here were not enough to make my head spin, living in a refugee community amongst some of the most intelligent and insightful people  I’ve ever met who find it difficult even to finish the equivalent of a high school education in exile at times makes me want to weep.  Going to college was never a question for me –I knew there would be money, and I always knew that, if I worked hard, I could choose from some of the best universities in the United States.  Not going to college, it seemed, was an impossibility.  Now I see that leaving Smith, for the most part, was because I couldn’t appreciate being there and the opportunities it had to offer.  Getting a university education is next to impossible for most Tibetans in exile, and I’ve been reminded every day of my good fortune in having the opportunity to expand my horizons.  I feel as though when I return to Smith this coming fall, I will be more motivated than ever.

(last but certainly not least) MAPLE. SYRUP. – Yup.  I went there.  I miss that heavenly stuff almost as much as I missed snow on Christmas.  They don’t even have the corn syrup and sugar mockery that I could find in New Zealand!  To remedy the situation, however, Dad sent me a package with maple sugar candy and root bear suckers to sate me until I get home in July — I am thoroughly enjoying the comforts of my Maine home at present!  Can’t wait to put the stuff on my pancakes again, though…

Julia Rabbit

Here in India, everything is done between cups of tea.  I’ve taken to sipping hot water all day in addition.  Sometimes it seems like every person, stray dog, or overloaded jeep careening around corners of the narrow streets (ever seen 17 people piled into one before?  It.  Is.  Magnificent) are all part of the chaotic inner-workings of some out-of-this-world machine.  For the time being, I am a part of it, complete with my new nickname: Julia Rabbit.

Some days, I have to run an errand in lower-Dharamshala or conduct an interview in Ganchin where the Tibetan Government in Exile in housed – this entails at least a 35-minute walk down winding dirt roads, shortcuts through the woods and down several ramshackle staircases.  Hiking back from said errands is – aside from sweaty – always a little magical.  Seeing the brightly-colored buildings piled on top of one another like children’s blocks, the trees strewn with prayer flags, and the majestic snow-capped Himalayan peaks towering above it all is a sight to behold.

In McLeod Ganj, six roads converge at a bus stop where, it seems, all the chaos and grime of the village like to collect as well.  Of the three main roads, one leads to Bhagsu where, after a ten minute walk, you can relax at the foot of a little waterfall and soak up the sun on the rocks.  Another leads down to Dharamshala and, incidentally, is how you get to my current residence.  The last leads to the Main Tibetan Temple and is one of the only places in town to get a decent cup of coffee.

McLeod Ganj is littered with cafes, restaurants, and tourist traps, but luckily my roommates know the best places to buy groceries (the street side vegetable vendor we usually buy from knows us well and gives us a head or two of garlic every now and then).  While eating out is very cheap, it’s been a joy cooking at home – you’ll all be looking at an expert Tibetan cook when I get home!

I am no longer teaching at Volunteer Tibet, but have taken on my position at newspaper full time in addition to teaching the boys at home.  Each day is a delightful routine, and having a home to come back to a the end is a sweet, sweet thing.  I think that I will look back on this time not only as a time of love and growth, but a good career move as well – who can say that they were corresponding for a news agency before getting a B.A.?!  I’ve interviewed two ministers in the Tibetan Government in Exile and other very prominent figures both in the exiled and global community, not to mention the fact that I’ve been within inches of His Holiness and Karmapa both (remind me to tell you all about my Karmapa encounter in person when I get home – typing it here would not do it justice; let’s just say that Julia’s awkward streak STRIKES AGAIN).

This town has become home – I eat, sleep, and laugh with six amazing roommates and I am entirely head-over-heels in love with them all.  I don’t think my descriptions or even my photographs could relay to you all my love for this place and my Dharamshala family.  While I have always relished daydreaming about how my life would be in Greece, Cambodia, Ireland &c., I never fully realized that nowhere could possibly be as good as where I am in the present.

Ringing in the New Year…

The past few weeks have been pretty exciting here in McLeod Ganj, and the excitement is forseen to continue for the month of March in its entirety. So, here’s my little summary of what’s been going on and why:

It has been a time of upheaval for Tibetans this past year, and it seems to all be culminating here and now in Dharamsala. Recent days have seen me jogging in front of and crouching below passionate demonstrators with my point-and-shoot, trying my best to capture their spirit, pain, and anger.

February 25th marked the first day of the Tibetan New Year (Losar) which, this year, was not celebrated by most Tibetans. Foregoing the traditional celebrations involving fireworks, feasts, and traditional song and dance was the Tibetan community’s way of protesting in solidarity against the Chinese occupation, mourning the loss of those lost during the Chinese crackdown at the peaceful protest at this time last year in Tibet, and condemning the current ill-treatment of Tibetans. Tibetans are still being arrested, tortured, and even killed to this day for doing nothing more than worshiping and supporting His Holiness the Dalai Lama and speaking out for their rights as human beings in their own country.

In class, I look on as my students debate (in English, of course) the principles of non-violence, and what this means for the Tibetan community. They speak of His Holiness with respect while, sometimes, expressing concern for his methods and for their countrymen being detained and tortured. The struggle of the Tibetans, for me, has taken on a whole new meaning. It is here – real, immediate, and at my finger tips.

In addition to the New Year demonstrations (the three days of the holiday have now come to an end), the month of March marks the 50 year anniversary of the Dalai Lama’s flight into exile and also the one year anniversary of the uprisings in Lhasa which saw many Tibetan lives lost. There will, no doubt, be ongoing demonstrations throughout the month.

Just this morning, I found myself kneeling barely a foot away from His Holiness as he greeted the crowd after a religious blessing in his honor. As he passed, I couldn’t help but think about the fact that, in his own homeland, his people are forbidden to worship him or even have a photo of him.

Coming to Dharamsala, Tibetans exchange one kind of freedom for another. One of my students described his feelings upon arriving to Tibet, expressing his surprise at seeing the Tibetan flag for the first time, hearing his national anthem, and having the ability to worship the Dalai Lama openly. In conjunction, however, Tibetans in India have no rights as citizens, and must cope with the daily trials and tribulations of having refugee status. I leave it up to the reader to see the irony of this situation.

I’m not really sure how big a risk I’m taking posting this, but this is my reality now; these are the things I think about and witness each day.

I hope this post find you all in good health (and, in many cases, braving the New England chill), and that you all will keep Tibet in you thoughts this month.

Sweet, sweet times

Hello all! I apologize for the tardiness of this post, but I have ample excuses, I assure you! I am safe and happy here in McLeod Ganj, if not a little weakened by a case of giardia (I’m pretty set on living off of digestive biscuits and apple juice for the next few months – food now frightens me. I’m fairly sure I have a permanent aversion to Indian food specifically).

My days here are full and chaotic – I’m currently a volunteer at Volunteer Tibet, teaching one English class a day and leading a conversation class in the evening along with the other volunteers; I’m a volunteer writer for a newsletter and my first article should be published within the next 24 hours (!!) ; and lastly, I’m a volunteer editor at the Tibetan Women’s Association – I’m helping them write/edit a book that they’re writing for the 50th anniversary of the Dalai Lama’s escape from Tibet in 1959 (there are lots of projects like this being undertaken all over the world). Not only am I volunteering at these three non-profits, but I am living – along with another American from Idaho named Travis – with 4 Tibetan guys – Dhondup, Rikden, Yangsham, and Jamyang – and helping them prepare for a big English fluency test in the spring.  We live in an aparment a ways out of town, a 10-minute hike up the hill to the center of the village.  And when I say “up”, I mean “up” – in order to get anywhere around here, you’re pretty much guaranteed at least a decent thigh-blasting 10 minutes.

An average day usually goes something like this:
Up at 7 or 8, and a breakfast of thimu (or steamed buns) and tea (the boys do most of the cooking – I usually take care of it on the weekends – and it is GOOD).
9 – 11 I help the guys with vocab questions from their reading and I pick 2 articles from the daily paper for them to read and review. I also prepare for my class which goes from 11-12.

After my class, I head next door to the paper that I work for (where I am currently, mooching the free internet) and either write, or do an interview. Sarah, a girl from California who arrived at the same time I did in Dharamsala, also works here. We’ve come to the conclusion that we were separated at birth. The similarities are uncanny. The director, is the BEST – he has a great sense of humor, and working in the office is one of the highlights of my day.

At around 2, I head over to the Women’s Association to edit/write for their book which needs to be done by mid-March. The women who work there are some of the most inspiring, strong, motivated women I’ve ever met. The director (a VERY prominant figure on the human rights scene) is warm, personable, and understanding. Working there has proved to be a great experience. The fact that they give the volunteers lunch and tea also helps ;D

At 4 I head to conversation class which, oftentimes, is the best part of the day. The students I talk with are SO motivated, and the conversations always leave me thinking. It’s surprising to me how willing – if not eager – the students are to talk about their experiences in Tibet and their journey across the Himalayas to India. It’s not something I try to bring up or press, and yet each class the subject seems to come up. The stories are mind-blowing, and it’s even more heart-breaking to see the struggles that Tibetan refugees face even after they’ve made the arduous trek across the mountains (which can take up to a month). Their status as refugees doesn’t permit them to travel outside of the country, and getting higher education is, oftentimes, next to impossible. TB and HIV are rampant in the community, in addition to a growth of substance abuse problems among the younger generations (the general health of the community is what my article for the Post is about).  I think that my students have taught me more than I’ve taught them – being here has made me value my ability to get a higher education to an insane degree.  I realize now just how many things I take for granted in The States, and just how many opportunities I have that many of my students probably will never have.

After class, I usually have a little private session with 3 or 4 of my students.  They are all sisters between the ages of 9 and 14, and they are wonderful.   They – like most of my students who are not monks – are studying at the Tibetan Children’s Village and are on vacation.  Yeah, that’s right – they all study on vacation.  I can count on a class of around 40-50 people each day, and most of them are on holiday and will return to school in March.

I head home at around 5:30 and help prepare dinner – usually steamed momos (kind of like veggie dumplings), or thenthuk (vegetable and noodle soup), or some masterful creation undertaken by myself and Rikden, who once worked at the Namgyal Cafe here in McLeod Ganj which is famous for its pizza.

So, as you can gather, this part of the trip has taken a turn more towards the political and less the spiritual.  Each day is an adventure, but I’m always rewarded with a little home and a family to come back to at the end of each day.  In addition to “Ju”, “Julia Rabbit” (a nickname my roommates have for me, derived from “Julia Roberts”…I don’t really know…), and “Jules”, I answer to “Teacher”, a name I’m coming to like a lot.

Hello from New Delhi (and a bit of Australia)!

That’s right folks, I’ve arrived safely in India after a short respit in Melbourne and a 10-hour layover in Singapore (that was AWESOME), and I have to say, this country is already blowing my mind.  I stayed here, in a Tibetan community last night, and am hanging out here until my bus leaves for Dharamsala at 6:30 tonight.  As a sidenote,  I am, at this very moment, letting a YouTube video of Barack Obama’s inauguration speech buffer (quite slowly), a little envious of those of you who were able to watch it in person, or live on TV.  I am so proud of my country and I am hopeful for the future.

First things first, however – my trip to Melbourne was excellent, albeit far too short.  I stayed in the home of my dear, dear friend, Belinda Huang in a suburb called Camberwell and never before have I been as well fed or taken care of!  Belinda, whose family is originally from Shanghai, spent her junior year of high school at Gould Academy when I was a sophomore and lived at my house before school started, over vacations, &c.  She became a part of my family that year, and saying goodbye 5 years ago was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.  Despite the distance, and despite the amount of time that had elapsed since I’d seen her last, our friendship is just as it was when I was 15 (now even better!).  Seeing her again and catching up over the course of 4 days was wonderful, and it really made me realize how important these kinds of friendships are – my notebook is littered with hastily jotted names, numbers, and emails, and I’m up about 30 friends on Facebook, but for better or for worse, friendships like the one I have with Belle are rare and special.  Lifelong friendships are the ones that make life as beautiful as it is, and I’m lucky to have as many as I do, not to mention to have found one or two on this journey.

So, here I am, excited and a little nervous for my journey to continue.  Already the level of poverty is shocking.  I’m also realizing exactly how big a step it was in choosing to immerse myself in the Tibetan culture and Buddhism.  I’ve begun to mentally prepare myself for a lot of changes and a lot of exploration, and hopefully I’ll come out of it with a better undertanding of myself and the world we live in.   I’m kind of invisioning these next 2 months as being like school, except I’ll be able to experience being a student and a teacher.

Wow – this is probably one of the cheesiest posts I’ve written so far…

I hope all is well with everyone; thank you sososososo much again for all your comments!  I’ll catch ya in Dharamsala!