The Gili Islands and Then Onto Our Next Journey

Spending our last full day in Indonesia on the Gili islands was a beautiful end to a wonderful time in this incredible country.  We went into town around 9 AM to try on our snorkel gear, and then walked a few feet from the snorkel shop to climb into the boat that would take us to the Gilis.  It was a boat typical to the kind we have seen so frequently in Indonesia.  Essentially it's a giant canoe, but the sides are straight rather than curved.  There is a roof covering part of it, an outboard motor in the back and two long skids that run almost the entire length of the boat.  The skids are wide, wooden poles that are attached to the bout first by a short pole that juts out perpindicular to the boat, then parallel to the boat so that the skids rest in the water.  At first I wondered at this creation that makes the boats look like giant grasshoppers or something of the sort, but as I rode in one yesterday, I realize it's definitely for stability!  I think the thin boat would certainly capsize otherwise.

The ride to the Gili islands was about an hour, and during that time we both had our eyes trained on Lombok as our view from the water gave us unlimited views of its natural beauty in totality.  We could see to the very top of the cloud-covered mountains, the lush green valleys, and then to the gentle turquoise waters that were carved in places by jagged cliffs and ornate rock formations.  I almost fell out of the boat trying to capture Lombok's wild beauty with my camera, but no photo will ever do it justice.  As we moved further from Lombok and closer to the Gili Islands, their size and contour became more apparent.  Gili Trawangan, the largest one, has the most topopgraphical variety, with a small hill in its center that gently slopes down to meet the water.  Gili Meno and Gili Air, the two smaller ones, almost identical in size, are flatter but also covered in thick trees and vegetation.  As we neared them, I realized how close together they actually were.  Even a mildly-determined swimmer could swim from one to the other, barring strong currents and tides.  As we slowly motored into Gili Trawangan, I marveled at the incredible clarity of the water.  From my perch on the boat, I could see far below into the coral reefs and the schools of fish surrounding them.  I couldn't wait to snorkel, and Landon kindly let me have the first turn when we were dropped off on the beach and he waited with our stuff and arranged the pick-up time with the captain.

I put on my gear and waded into the water, starting out with a few strong strokes to get me out to where the reef lay.  I was stopped short by some curious creatures, small jellyfish the size of a tangerine that were completely clear other than four tiny orange circles near their tails.  I tried to swim around them, but as I looked underwater, they stretched in a thick line in both directions.  I was hoping these weren't some lethal kind of sea creature that would paralyze me on the spot with one sting, and though they did sting when they touched their skin, I realized no harm would come of them and continued to swim through and dive beneath them.  I soon arrived at the coral reef, and stopped still in the water, stunned by the activity and life all around me.  What I had seen from above the water was but a hint of the busy underwater city that lay before me.  Giant coral rose like city buildings and skyscrapers in every direction, and its colorful citizens of fish of every size, shape and color created busy haphazard traffic that ran in all directions and planes.  It was truly miraculous.  I had never seen so many different kinds of fish, there must have been hundreds of different species that I saw in the first ten minutes.  I snorkeled until I was dizzy from the activity, then tagged Landon for his turn to visit the underwater city.

While sunbathing and reading as I waited for Landon while he snorkeled, I was approached by a friendly young Indonesian man who wanted to practice his English and see if I might be interested in his business.
"Well what kind of business are you in?"  I asked.
"The press."  He said.
"Oh, like the newspaper?  Magazines?"  I asked.
"No madame.  Press.  You want me to press you?"  He asked.
Now I was really confused.
"Press me?"  I asked, bewildered.  This was a little weird.
"Yes.  I press you.  Press your body."
"Ohhhh, you're a masseuse.  I see.  Um, no thank you, I don't need pressing today sir."  I said with a hidden smile, which I had to contain even more when Landon came back and he was also offered the opportunity for "a press".  He kindly declined, and we went off in search of lunch on Gili Trawangan.

Though the islands are certainly seeing more tourism in the last couple of years, they are still relatively unscathed by the crowds and developments that mark so many other beautiful islands around the world.  Other than a few small, local hotels and eateries, the island is still mostly green forest, white sandy beach, and serene turquoise waters.  We chose lunch at a Thai restaurant (gearing up for next week!), then met back up with our trusty captain so we could go snorkel at Gili Meno, the best snorkeling in the Gilis according to the captain.  Instead of pulling up to the beach as we had done on Gili Trawangan, he plopped us off in the middle of the water between Trawangan and Meno, right above the largest section of coral reef.  From there we spent over an hour-and-a-half, combing the endless expanse of reef below us, larger than several football fields.  We saw even more fish, and Landon made the accidental discovery that by flipping a fin close to the reef, it sent a gush of water of the coral that caused the tiny anenomes and other plants on it to snap shut like a Venus-flytrap.  I had to do it at least two more times, and laughed through my snorkel.  We swam as far as we could, to where the reef ended and then the ocean floor steeply dropped to its depths.  Wrinkled and exhilirated, we climbed back into the boat at the captain's urging, because rain was coming from every direction.  We almost beat the storm, but it caught us as we pulled along Lombok's coast.  By the time we arrived back at our hotel beach, we were soaked through and through.  Rain water indistinguishable from salt water as the sideways rain had only been rivaled by the waves that crashed over the side of the boat.  Hannah and Mom would have gotten so seasick!

We laid by the pool awhile, reading and enjoying the last hour of daylight.  I love swimming in the infinity pool here, because if you are at eye level with the water, the end of the pool and the beginning of the ocean are indistinguishable.  One deep blue flows into another, meeting at the point of the horizon which marked the setting sun.  Our last dinner on the oceanfront terrace was wonderful, and we toasted the delicious Indonesian food before us, but most of all our fabulous and special time together, with some cold Bintang's (the pride of Indonesia, a slightly bitter but good Pilsner).

This morning we woke up to a cool tropical shower, and dragged ourselves out of bed to meet our last day in Indonesia.  We fly to Bali, then will spend a few hours driving around in order to see the fantastic new year's celebration with the ogoh-ogoh's.  Our flight leaves to Singapore around 9 PM, where we will be reunited with Cristine and Julie!  I am so excited to see my darling friends again, and to continue our travels together.  Though they are two of my closest and dearest friends at home already, traveling and working with them in India for the past month has made me realize even more what a blessing it is to have them in my life.  They are extraordinary women.  I have come to know that traveling strengthens the bonds of relationships in an accelerated fashion, pushing you beyond your limits and challenging you in many ways.  When you go through it with people, your relationship emerges solidified and changed, for the better I think.  I am really looking forward to traveling all together with Julie, Cristine and Landon.  We will take a bus up the Malay Peninsula to Kuala Lumpur on Saturday, spend a day there, then fly to Thailand to begin a week of adventures there.  I can't wait!  I am already missing India very much, but being with my loved ones here and the constant excitement of each new day of travel brings even more joy than the one before it.  I feel very, very blessed.

Loving Lombok

I feel like Landon is past his jet-lag because we slept in until nine this morning!  We had luxurious showers on our outdoor bathroom patio, which I just can't get over.  It's simply the best.  I told Landon that we have to build an outdoor bathroom when we move to Miami.  Please don't picture a "port-o-potty" kind of outdoor bathroom, because that's the exact opposite.  This is like a genuine, luxurious master bathroom you'd find in a home...only there is no roof and you have an unhindered view of  the sky and the beautiful pink flowers hanging overhead as you start the day with a hot shower...ahhhh yes).  We had breakfast on the beachfront terrace, the sounds of the crashing ocean filling our ears and fresh fruit filling our bellies.  We then met our driver, Mr. Mamine, who was to drive us to the northern side of Lombok to hike on Mount Rinjani and visit the beautiful waterfalls.  Gunung Rinjani is the highest mountain in Lombok and the second highest in Indonesia at 3,726 meters.  It is an active volcano with a recent eruption in 1994, and its huge rater contains a large crescent lake that is 6 km at its widest point.  

I couldn't believe how beautiful the island was as we wound along the coast, in and out of palm tree forests and across rivers.  The scenery was constantly changing.  We wound up high cliffs that offered expansive views of the turqouise inlets that flowed into beaches and then the tall green mountains behind them.  The sand was so pristine-white that it assumed the deep blues and greens of the water as it sloped off the beach.  There was such stark topographical contrast between the towering mountains and the ocean, and endless wonder that stretched in between nature's great monuments.  We passed enormous fields of rice paddies in all stages of growth and harvest.  When the rice is very young and tender, it forms willowy wisps of close-packed green strands.  As it matures, it takes on a stronger, reed-like appearance and stands straight and tall in the reflective brown water of the field.  And at harvest, the water recedes and the plant takes on a yellowish-brown hue, ready to be taken for preparation into the form that finds itself onto our plates.  The terraced rice paddies were so visually-astounding, and even more impressive was the ingenious irrigation system that gave sustenance to it all.  As I marveled at the ingenuity of the engineering of it all, little did I know I'd experience it right at the source later that day.

It took almost two hours to reach Mount Rinjani, and as the incline grew so did my excitement as we climbed towards the cloud-covered peaks ahead.  Mr. Mamine helped us find a hiking guide, and we set off with a thin but sturdy-looking Indoesian man in his young twenties.  I was wearing my sturdy and trusty Chaco sandals, Landon was in tennis shoes, and our guide was in flimsy flip-flops that looked like they were from the sale bin at WalMart.  I was amazed that he could hike in them along the steep path and slippery stones when we crossed the river, but he was a fearless leader as we made our way to the first waterfall.  Landon and I were stunned by the seventy-five meter wall of white water that pounded into the pool below with enough force to kill anyone beneath it.  It freely fell from a giant rock ledge covered in an array of greenery so varied that I could hardly count the number of different plants.  The mist surrounding the waterfall was enough to soak us in seconds, and I closed my eyes to take in the fresh scent and feel the coolness on my sweaty skin.  I smiled at a mother bathing her child in a calm area of the stream.  Her naked daughter was gleefully splashing around as she tried to shampoo her hair.

The hike to the second waterfall was about twenty-five minutes from the first, and we had to cross the strong, swiftly-flowing water several times to continue on our way.  All the while I had been noticing that the water rushing downhill was being carefully directed by man-made stone gutters and tunnels.  It was really quite amazing how carefully placed and extensive the system was, and we crossed a neatly-placed bridge over one particularly rapid-flowing portion.  We reached the second and greatest waterfall, and stood in awe at its massive power and beauty.  This one stood even higher than the first, violently throwing infinite gallons of water into the deep blue pool below it.  Landon and I had both worn our swimsuits and we took long, cool dips into the pool, losing our breath instantly in the clean cold.  I will tell you that being in a bikini on a primarily Islamic island (Lombok is about 90% Islam, 10% Hindu, quite the opposite of Bali), makes one quite popular, and I was asked to pose in the photos of four teenage boys that were also visiting the waterfall.  Landon thought it was hilarious and jumped in all the pictures as well, and I only wish that we had captured the moment with our camera too.

After several more swims in the pool and many minutes of quiet reflection on its beauty, we began our hike back continuing along the same path until we crossed the bridge and came upon one of the tunnels I had seen earlier.
"Want to go in?"  Our guide asked, motioning toward the gaping black hole of the tunnel.
"In there?"  I squeaked.  Surely he was joking.
"Yeah!  We go back through irrigation tunnel."
And we did.  Though I was scared, I felt like it was an exciting adventure so we climbed down into the gutter and stepped into the unkown blackness of the tunnels.  The water was to the middle of my thighs and flowing very fast and strong.  If I lifted my feet up for too long it would carry me away.  Every few meters were small openings to let in a little daylight, but it really only provided enough light for me to see the occasional bat swopping by my face.  We made our way through the tunnels for what seemed like an eternity, Landon touching my back when it was pitch black to make sure I was still there, and I in turn reaching out for the certainty of our guide's cotton shirt.  We finally emerged in the sunshine, and climbed out of the gutter and back onto the path.
"Special tour."  Our guide grinned, and he was right.

We had lunch at a restaurant that hung off the side of the mountain, still able to enjoy the wild beauty around us while sipping traditional Lombok coffee and eating chicken with spicy chili sauce.  From our table you could see the first waterfall behind us, the other side of the green valley across us, and the terraced rice paddies ahead of us.  As views go, it really doesn't get any better.

We finished our time on Mount Rinjani with a visit to a Sasak Village, the traditional way of living for the people of northern Lombok.  It was a well-organized tiny city of huts whose walls were composed of intricately-woven bamboo and roofs were made of palm fronds.  They stored their rice and grain in smaller huts elevated several feet off the ground, under which goats and roosters rooted the ground for food.  Handwoven baskets hung all around, useful for many purposes from swinging a crying baby to catching a wiley chicken.  This way of living was quite different than the Balinese compound we'd seen the day earlier, and I was glad to get yet another view of a culture so different than my own.  Cacao, mango and cashew trees lined the village, and from its edges there were magnificent views of the mountains and valleys surrounding it.  I wished we'd had more time to do a trek up Mount Rinjani, but it takes about 2-3 days and we wanted to see more of Lombok and the Gilli Islands.  Guess we'll just have to come back. :)

On the drive down the mountain, we stopped at Taman Wisata Tetebatu, or the Monkey Forest, to feed the monkeys that had made the mountainside their home.  We had passed several on our way up, standing like dedicated sentries along rails and stumps lining the road.  With our bag of peanuts we approached a few of them, which soon turned into a massive crowd of hopping, chattering beasts!  One particularly aggressive fellow as intent on having all the peanuts for himself.  While Landon held a few in his hand while taking a picture of me, the greedy fellow climbed up his leg and latched onto his wrist in an attempt to get at the peanuts.  Landon would have none of it and shook him off, but this didn't deter him much as the cheeky monkey later gave me a good slap across the calves when I ran out of peanuts.  I tell you, my view of monkeys has changed drastically since coming to Asia.  Don't get me wrong, I still adore them, but I have become well-accquainted with their selfish and greedy behaviors!

We dined by candelight on the ocean terrace again, talking about our incredibly fun day and planning our trip to the Gilli Islands by boat tomorrow.  We plan on snorkeling and hopping between the three islands that are rumored to be so incredibly lovely and exotic. 

Bliss in Bali

We awoke to the sound of tropical showers outside our window Sunday morning.  Because Landon was still on Oklahoma time he was quite alert while I could barely rouse myself out of bed at the ghastly hour of 8 AM.  He excitedly pointed out the gecko climbing our wall, and told me our breakfast would soon be served on the porch outside our room.  Still groggy I emerged as one of the charming young Indonesian men that worked at the hotel placed trays on the low table laden with hot coffee, fresh fruit and juice, toast with jam and the typical Indonesian breakfast dish of vegetable fried rice topped with a fried egg.  We contentedly sat on the porch for an hour, watching the rain fall on the canopy of green before us, listening to its gentle stacatto on the roof and leaves, enjoying each other's company and our first morning in Bali.  The rain let up with the same quick flourish in which it had begun, and we were off to explore Sanur.  We walked down the main road and marveled at the happenings of daily life around us.  The area in which we stayed had little in the way of tourism, so the scene was quite local as we walked by the warungs (roadside eateries) selling savory satays, children scampering around in the dirt and people hard at work in the surrounding fields.  

As intended, our walk led us to to the volcanic black sand beach.  I hadn't been to a black sand beach since our visit to the Canary Islands when we studied abroad in Europe, and was reminded of how strikingly beautiful they are, their ebony expanse pulled back and forth by the aquamarine fingers of the tides.  From the beach we could see a great expanse of coastline to our right, tall mountains to our left, and straight ahead, a peppering of tiny islands in a haphazard row, as if someone had carelessly tossed them like marbles into the ocean.  We walked along the edge of the water for some time, observing the locals performing religious ceremonies in which they placed flowers, food and other items into tiny rafts woven of palm fronds and sent them into the waves.  I later saw these offerings everwhere we went in Bali, and learned that they are signs of respect for the gods, ancestors, spirits and demons that are believed to live in Bali.  These deities and spiritual beings are all presented with these offerings throughout the day to show respect and gratitude, and in some cases to bribe a particularly mischevious demon. I had read a bit about Indonesian religion before coming, and was surprised by the hodgepodge of belief systems in the archipelago nation.  Hinduism was the predominant religion in Indonesia until the great Hindu kingdom, the Majapahit, moved to Bali, thus carrying with them their religion and its rituals.  The Balinese, in their characteristic warm and accepting manner, incorporated the Hindu beliefs into their pre-existing animistic religion, and the peculiar Balinese interpretation of Hinduism was born.  The Balinese worship the trinity of Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu (as the traditional Hindu religion does), and they also have a supreme god, Sanghyag Widi.  Islam is a minority religion on Bali, with many followers on Lombok, the island we were headed to next.  There is also the motley assortment of Christian and Jewish practioners in Bali as well.


Along with the number of people performing these religious offerings were many fisherman, floating their boats out to sea in hopes of a successful fishing day.  Our walk took us to the main beach strip, where we passed many beachfront restaurants, warungs and shops where everyone urged us to come look at their excellent merchandise for "special prices".  We walked around for bit along the strip and in the main town, then settled down on some reclining lounge chairs near the water for the bargain price of 100,000 Rupiah (10,000 Rupiah equal 1 US Dollar...quite the exchange rate here).  No sooner had we sat down when I felt two strong hands rubbing my shoulers.
"You want nice Balinese massage?  Very cheap.  I give you good scrub too.  Very cheap.  Very nice."
I turned to see a tiny but stout Balinese woman in jean shorts and a tank top, her hands working vigorously to loosen the tension in my shoulders.  My Aunt Nettie had told me about the fabulous massages she had received in Bali, and she wasn't joking.  For about 10 bucks I had the best massage of my life, right on the beach for an entire hour.  This woman had the strongest hands I had every felt, and used them to attack every muscle in my body.  She massaged oil everywhere, even into my hair!  She tried to give one to Landon, but her magic didn't work on him and I heard her calling out to others as she walked off,
"Nice massage!  Very cheap!"
We were soon approached by another Balinese businessperson, this time a man named Made (pronounced "Mod-e" with a long "e" at the end.  He wanted us to give us his very special tour of Bali, all for the bargain price of 600,000 Rupiah.  He was quite astonished when I used the bargaining skills I had accquired in India and got him down to 250,000.
"Wow!  I've never known an American that can bargain like her!" He said to Landon.
He was honestly very sweet and funny, and we agreed to have him pick us up at 4 PM at our hotel to take us to Pura Luhur Ulu Watu for the evening to see the sacred temple and to watch the traditional Balinese Kecak dance on the cliffs at sunset.  On our walk back home, we made yet another friend.  A jolly gentleman in his sixties who loved Americans because he could practice his English with them.  He walked the whole 1.5 miles home with us, chattering all the way about the Monica Lewinsky scandal, his love of custom-tailored suits and how much he loved President Obama.  I was a little sad to see him part ways with us, and I smiled at all the new friends we seemed to meet everywhere we went in Indonesia.


Made was exactly on time as promised and was a sensational conversationalist as he drove us the 1.5 hours to Ulu Watu.  He told us many fascinating things about Indonesia and Bali, one of which was that the celebration of Balinese New Year that began on March 4th with the parade of Ogoh-Ogoh's around the island before the day of silence (Nyepi Day) on March 5th.  The Balinese build these giant, paper-mache monsters (the Ogoh-Ogoh's), and parade them around the entire island in a racuous manner to chase away the bad and evil spirits from Bali in preparation for Nyepi Day to welcome in the Balinese new year.  Landon and I were thrilled that we didn't leave until late evening on the 4th, so we'd be able to see the Ogoh-Ogoh's marching down the streets of Bali.  

Made walked us from the car to the base of the temple, first helping us buy the sarong and sash that was required of all people in accordance with the laws of the sacred temple.  I noticed that he had a limp, and asked him what happened.  He told me that he'd had polio as a young child, and as a result, had partial loss of function of his left leg.  I told him that I was terribly sorry that he had suffered from the terrible disease, and he said to me,
"But why?  I am happy?  This is my blessing to be alive."
And once again I saw the humble and graceful spirit that I had met so many times in India.  What may seem like misfortune to so many is but a reminder of the gift of life to others.  It's all relative to where you're coming from, I suppose.


Made warned us to take off every speck of jewelry, watches and sunglasses, because the hordes of monkeys around the temple were trained to steal people's stuff by the peanut vendors around the temple.  To get your stuff back, you had to pay outrageous prices to the sellers to get some peanuts in order to make a trade with these badly-behaved furry fellows.  He was certainly right, and I watched as a girl had a flip-flop stolen right off her foot.  I saw another monkey perched on top of the wall, thoughtfully chewing a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses.  Nonetheless we enjoyed walking through the temple, built to honor the spirits of the sea along the south coast of Bali.  The temple is perched precipitously on the cliffs of the southwestern peninsula, and below it is a sheer drop to the raging surf.  The temple was quite beautiful with many archways and stone carvings, and the small inner temple is still an active and private place for Hindu worship.  The best part of it all, however, was the enchanting view from atop the cliffs.  We had unhindered glances down both sides of the coast, and witnessed an incredible and brilliant sunset as we leaned against the temple walls.


The dance ceremony began right around sundown, and we sat on stone benches and watched a fascinating story from the Ramayana (one of the great Hindu holy books) of Prince Rama trying to rescue his beautiful wife Princess Sita when she is stolen from him through a serious of unfortunate events by the evil Rahwana.  The dancing was beautiful, and the whole thing was quite entertaining because not only was the entire dance accompanied by a choir of thirty-five loudly chanting bare-chested men, but there was scene in which Hanuman, the white-monkey god, jumped through a wall of flame then kicked burning piles of grass into the audience in his attack on Rahwana.  Landon and I were quite impressed by the pyrotechnics as well as the traditional Balinese dance, and agreed that it was an excellent suggestion by Made and we told him so as we got back in the car and he drove us to dinner in Jimbaran.  


We told Made that we wanted fresh seafood for dinner, and again he delivered on his promise by taking us to a restaurant where you dined on the beach and picked out your seafood as they swam in the large tanks you passed when you walked in the restaurant!  I felt a little guilty as I eyed the fish I would be eating for dinner, but the red snapper and jumbo prawns were so good any remorse I had was washed away with a gulp of fresh banana juice.  We bade Made goodnight with many thanks and a generous tip, thankful for such a fun, cultural and exciting day in Bali.


The next morning Landon had arranged for Banyan Tree Bike Tours to pick us up at our hotel at 7:00 AM to take us into the mountains for a day of touring by bicycle.  Our enthusiastic tour guides picked us up promptly at 7 AM and after picking up Petra and Rhiannon, a lovely Australian couple that was staying in touristy and frenetic Kuta beach, we made the 1.5 hour drive to Pacung, a town in the mountains.  We stopped for breakfast at a restaurant with open views of the valley and terraced rice paddies below.  The air was cool and blew in the rain from the mountains, and I felt so rejuvenated as we drank coffee, ate banana pancakes and gazed in wonder at the beauty below.  Our biking guides found out by way of conversation that Rhiannon was in the coffee business at home, so we made a special stop at a coffee plantation so that we could all try Kopi Luwak,  one of the world's finest, most-expensive and most curious coffees.  Why the curiousity, you ask?  Because it is made from the beans of coffee berries which have been eaten by the Civet cat, passed through its digestive tract and then excreted, the coffee beans keeping their shape.  The beans are gathered, washed, dried, roasted and brewed, supposedly yielding an aromatic coffee that is smooth and delicious.  Supposedly the proteolytic enzymes in the Civet's stomach seep into the beans, digesting the peptides into shorter amino acids and enhancing the flavor.  Kopi Luwak is produced mainly on the islands of Bali, Sumatra, Java, Sulawesi and also in the Phillipines, and sells for over $500/kilogram.  I of course had to try this world-renowned "sh*t" coffee as Petra called it, and I will admit while very good, I was more fond of another Balinese I sampled whose coffee beans had had a less eventful life course than those in the Kopi Luwak.  The plantation grew many other produce, and Landon and I tried the snakeskin fruit for the first time, which was tart, tangy, sweet and delicious, almost the consistency of an unripe pear.


We began our bike tour shortly after the coffee break, and I immeadiately realized that this was the absolute best way to see Bali.  Our guides took us on the tiny back roads that wound through villages, past streams, over rivers and on narrow paths directly through the endless fields of rice paddies.  In several villages we saw the construction of the Ogoh-Ogoh's under way, and I stopped to take pictures and give my approval to the people hard at work on them.  We stopped outside one village at a beautiful temple to Shiva, built at the base of a 200-year-old Banyan tree.  I have never seen such a behemoth of a tree!  It's trunk was as big as a house, and there were so many roots and individual intertwined branches it was impossible to track them as they spiraled into the massive emerald canopy above us, completing drowning out the sun.  Our guide took this opportunity to pick up a spider as big as my hand and let it run up his hands, onto his face and even in and out of his mouth.  He thought my squeamishness was hilarious, and passed it to Landon who took equal glee in letting it spin a web between his outstretched fingertips.  


We pedaled for several hours in the strong sun, but the breeze was cool and refreshing and I hardly noticed the work because I was constantly transfixed by the sights around me.  Around every turn was a beautiful mountain, a flowering tree or a field of startling green, and that's not to mention the parade of local life in the form of hardworking farmers, women washing their clothes and children playing who all stopped to wave at us and smile.  We even stopped at a typical Balinese home so we could learn about their traditional way of living.  The Balinese live in compounds, with typically three families living within the compound.  The compound is surrounded by a high wall, and analagous to the human body, there's a head (the family temple with its ancestral shrine), arms (the sleeping and living areas) legs and feet (the kitchen, storage buildings and gardens).  There is one head family whose job is to be in the compound at all times, tending to its daily needs, and the rest of the family can work outside the home to support themselves and the head family.  It has been very interesting to see how family units live and function outside the United States, and an underlying theme both in India and Indonesia is a strong sense of community and dependence on one another in daily living, much more so than in the United States.


We ended the day of glorious biking in the home of Bhayan, the owner of Banyan Bike Tours.  It was very touching that the tour concluded with a meal of home-booked Indonesian food eaten on his porch while his children played with their puppies in the grass.  We ate delicious and spicy Indonesian food while talking with him about everything from world politics to religion to his favorite Indonesian deserts.  He spoke at length about the sadness and loss he felt from the October 2002 bombings in Kuta, and said that many Balinese, including himself, are still searching for understanding of the terrorist act and continuing to deal with its ramifications.  In an act that killed over 200 people and injured over 300, the peaceful and friendly image of Bali was destroyed in one second along with precious life.  Beyond the loss of human life, the bombings were disastrous to the economy and tourism is still recovering, according to Bhayan.  He spoke with worry about the terrorist groups that come to Indonesia to recruit impressionalbe young men, saying that any acts of terrorism and hate go against the Indonesian virutes of love and respect for all forms of life.  He was a lovely man, and I enjoyed spending the afternoon sitting with everyone on his porch, participating in the discussions but also just listening.


Landon and I were dropped off in Ubud, the cultural center of Bali, after the tour and spent some time perusing the markets and strolling the vibrant streets.  We bought a painting of farmers working in the rice paddies to always remind us of the bike ride when we return home, and caught a ride back to Sanur where we lounged by the pool and had an exquisite meal cooked by Braman, Michael's partner and the other owner of The Tropical Bali Hotel.


We were sad to say goodbye to Michael, Braman and the lovely paradise we'd found in Sanur, but excited as we boarded the small plane that would take us to the island of Lombok, just twenty minutes by air from Bali.  As we flew to Lombok, I could see the entire expanse of Bali to the right and Java to my left as we crossed the water.  As we came in for a landing on Lombok, I could already see that it was a less-traveled, less touristy place.  Exactly what we were wanting.  We walked through the tiny airport and to the car waiting for us, and I enjoyed the car ride to the hotel, the coast a constant presence through my windows on the left.  We arrived at our hotel, which honestly, is the most beautiful and fantastic place I have ever stayed in.  We have our own private villa with a curtained bed, outdoor enclosed stone shower and a lovely sitting porch where we were immeadiately served fruity drinks out of an entire pineapple.  The grounds of the resort are a tropical paradise that lead directly to an expansive terrace that overlooks the ocean and beach directly below.  This truly is paradise, and I am in constant wonder of Landon's skills as a travel planner.  Perhaps he should pick it up as a side job.


We watched a magnificent sunset for almost an hour, lingering long after the sun had actually disappeared because the sky kept surprising us with encores of magenta, flourescent pinks and finally deep purples.  You could perfectly make out the looming, dark peaks of Bali's volcanoes across the water, and the setting sun provided perfect retro-illumination to the majestic mountains.  We dined to the sound of waves crashing agains the sea wall below the restaurant, and are ready to turn in for the night, resting beneath the wispy white cloth of our canopy bed.  Ready to start tomorrow anew with a trip around Lombok.  Life is good.

Beyond India: A reunion in Singapore then off to Bali

With sadness I watched India fall away as my plane climbed into the sky, however I knew that it meant Landon was getting that much closer!  The flight from Chennai to Singapore was a little over three hours, and by the time it arrived I could hardly contain my excitement in seeing Landon.  I rushed through immigration as quickly as possible (though noting that on my stamped immigration card was posted: "Bringing drugs into Singapore is punishable by death.". Wow.  They sure take that seriously.), and when I emerged in the baggage claim area I could make out a lone dark-haired figure behind the glass, watching the crowds.  Not sure, I waved, and when the figure waved back I knew it was him, and further confirmed it when I got closer and saw his smiling face.  I could barely contain myself as I waited for what seemed like millenia to get my bag and go through customs, then finally I rushed into his arms and took a deep breath of his special scent that I'd missed for the past month.
"Hi.". Was all I could manage.
"Hi.  I missed you.". He said simply.
"Thanks for coming." I said, which he found quite funny as we headed off to the metro.  He groaned as he picked up my backpacking backpack which continues to weigh more the longer I am around shopping opportunities.

Landon had figured out the Singapore metro system when he had arrived several hours earlier and had already checked into our hotel, so I enjoyed being led back to the Hotel Ibis on Bencoolen Road, and chattered his ear off about India, traveling and everything we had to catch up on.  He was very keen on my henna tatooes, and was surprised at how orange the stain was since I'd only sent him pictures of the designs in black when they had first been applied.  I was quite happy to arrive at the hotel and rest a bit, enjoying the A/C, cable TV, Western toilet with toilet paper and a hot shower.  It was late and Landon was jet-lagged, so we ate in the hotel and had Singapore Slings along with barbecued stingray, shrimp tempura and crab straight out of the claw.  It felt wonderful to fall asleep next to Landon, and I woke up several times to reach out and touch him, making sure he was really there.

Our flight to Bali was to leave Singapire around 5:30 PM, so we had a relaxing breakfast of fresh fruit and other delicious items then went to see the city.  Singapore is an amazing, modern and lovely city!  It's very progressive, with the tall necks of building cranes poking their heads up everywhere like elegant swans along the city skyline.  The streets and sidewalks are incredibly clean and well-kept parks and gardens are found on every city block.  The city's population is an intruiging potpurri of Asian nations-Japanese, Chinese, Phillipino, Vietnamese-that combine to make one super hip and trendy Singapore population.  Riding the metro, it seemed that everyone had an electronic device in their hand.  A tiny, shriveled old man texting on his iPhone sat next to a teenage boy playing on a game pad that I haven't even seen before.

Our first stop was Fort Canning Park, the most historic part of Singapore.  Malay and Chinese historical records show that the hill on which the park and fort stand was the center of the Malysian kingdom, called Temasek, that arose around 1300 A.D.  The site was chosen for settlement by Sri Tri Buana, ruler of Temasek and the one reputed to have been the fabled lion for which he named the island 'Singapura', or Lion City.  Because of its geographical location, Singapore was a valuable port city and highly sought after by many ancient Asian civilizations like the Siamese, Javanese and Majapahit.  We saw its bloody and violent history depicted on several stone carvings along the walls of the fort.  Beleaguered by attacks, the last known ruler of Temasek fled around the early 1500's and except for minimal portside activity, the island of Singapore essentially disappeared until it was re-discovered by the British.  From about 1860-1970, the beautiful hill was used as a military base, first by the British, then by the Japanese in WWII and lastly by the Republic's armed forces. Now this forbidden city turned far East command center of the British empire turned city park is a lovely place where people can enjoy a stroll, listen to concerts or attend art performances.  Landon and I walked through the spice garden and archaeological dig site, and then just sat on a wooden bench for awhile, enjoying the way the tall green trees framed the towering skyscrapers in the background.

We later walked along the river then through Singapore's booming financial district.  The most impressive building was a set of three neighboring skyscrapers that had what looked like an enormous cruise ship that stretched across the three of them.  We took a half-hour ride on the Singapore Flyer, the world's largest observation wheel, and were rewarded with incredible views of the city and its surrounding turquoise waters dotted with islands.  We ate 'hot plate' on the campus of SingaporeManagement University, then headed back to our hotel to pick up our bags and catch the metro to the airport.  We were both very excited to board our plane to Bali, and it was funny to track our progress on the electronic map on the screens of the airplane seatbacks.  Flying from home to Bali would take nearly thirty hours, but it was just a short trip from Singapore, not even enough time to watch an in-flight movie.  I love being in this part of the world!  All the traveling possibilities...

Upon arrival in Denpasar, Bali's capitol city, we purchased our Indonesian visas for $25 a piece, went through immigration and were greeted by our driver from the Tropical Bali hotel.  He skillfully wove through Indonesian traffic, a flavor entirely different than India's.  It was a little slower-paced and people respected the lane space slightly more, but there were many times more people on motorbikes, weaving in and out of our car's headlights, their helmets reflecting the light.  I was relieved to see that they actually wear helmets here, and you don't see the typical helmetless mother, father and two children on one bike combo as frequently (though there are still plenty of helmetless children on them, riding with their parents).  Apparently  helmet-wearing is strictly enforced, according to Landon, who keeps surprising me with delightful tidbits of information that he has picked up from his frequent reading.  It's so much fun to not only travel with my fabulous husband, but someone who is as curious as I am about every aspect of the land and culture we are in.  He loves talking to the locals, and easily makes friends here.  We passed by areas that were quite modern, like shopping malls and McDonald's, but it soon faded away as we left Denpasar in pursuit of Sanur, a more quiet small town on the coast.  We turned off the main road onto a thin, rocky path lined by green cornfields on one side, then into the small driveway of the Tropical Bali hotel.  Though it was dark, I could immeadiately tell what a charming place Landon had found for us.  We were quickly greeted by one of the owners, Michael, an ex-patriate from Sweden with a gentle and friendly manner that matched his small frame and kind eyes.  He showed us to our room for the first night, just off the red-tiled front room that had a couch and an enormous filled bookcase, and was open on two-sides: one to a wooden staircase and the other to the beautiful garden.  He took our breakfast orders for the next morning and wished us goodnight, and we both read for a bit before falling asleep to the sounds of the wild inhabitants of the Balinese night outside our open windows.

A goodbye to incredible India

How did one month go by so fast?  It seems like just a moment ago that I stepped out of the Chennai airport, but now here I am again, ready and excited to go meet my darling husband for more travel adventures, but sad to leave India behind.  My last full day in India was perfect.  Julie, Michael and I went with Onyx, another nurse named Cristy, one doctor and a health aid on their mobile clinic run to the villages.  The ride out in the morning was incredibly beautiful.  The bustling streets of the small towns outside Vellore were slowly transformed to isolated dirt roads that led into small villages.  Along the way we saw monkeys swinging in the branches, banana trees intermixed with palm trees, rice paddies of the deepest green and the rugged red hills of Tamil Nadu that create such a lovely background for it all.  I was almost bounced out of my seat several times as the mobile clinic hit deep potholes, scrambling to grab the bottles of medications that shot out of the boxes on particularly large jolts.  We arrived at our first clinic site and while the men set up the tables, Onyx motioned us to come with her and the other women on a walk.  She led us on a narrow dirt embankment through the fields of rice paddies, her blue sari swishing as she walked.  We continued to walk until she motioned us to stop beside a water-filled field, and we watched as one of the village women in front of us stooped down and grabbed handfulls of green plants from where they grew on the water.
"Ground nut." Onyx said.
I wasn't sure what a ground nut was but I nodded in approval and accepted what they handed to me to eat.  I've learned that refusing food in India is a futile exercise.  They will feed you whether you are hungry are not.  Luckily it's all delicious!  The ground nut basically tasted like a raw peanut, and was just a little smaller and covered in a white husk.  We stayed out in the middle of the green sea of rice paddies before walking back to the clinic site, and on the way back we attracted some interested and friendly glances from the people in the houses lining the path.

The clinic site consisted of a folding table and chairs under a tree where the doctor saw patients and the mobile clinic bus which served the purpose of private exam room, pharmacy and laboratory.  I loved watching the many pregnant women stroll up to the bus, their bellies round under their sarees.  They were giving urine samples to be screened for albumin and glucose.  Positive test results meant they'd have to make the trip to CHAD for further testing.  They all were so lovely in their elegant sarees, jewelry and with fresh flowers adorning their silky black hair.  I have to think that a sari would be very comfortable maternity wear, and it still looks so beautiful.  They just let out the waist wrap to accomodate their growing baby.  I smiled watching the efficient and caring way the nurses doled out medications through the bus window, ensuring that each patient knew the proper way to take their pills.  Many of that patients were 'chronic card carriers', a term the CHAD staff uses to describe someone with a chronic disease like hypertension or diabetes because their health record is kept on a white card that the patient carries for life.  The patient is supposed to bring the card with them to every visit so that their course can be monitored.  The card system is also used for obstetrics patients whose pregnancy and delivery details are charted on a pink card.  The system works well and the patients get good continuity of care through CHAD this way.

After finishing clinic, Julie, Michael and I walked around the village a bit and took in the sights that make up everyday life for the people there.  A barefoot man in a dhoti herding twenty goats and two cows.  A woman sweeping her porch with a homemade wooden broom.  Children chasing each other between the palm-roofed huts.  In India, there are so many wonderful things to see in the moments of everyday regular life.  Even the simplest act, like washing clothes, is an intricate dance of several steps that involves the actual immersion of the clothes in water, the vigoroys scrubbing and the beating of the clothes against a rock or other hard surface.  There is so much here that captivates my attention that I find myself snapping photos of things and actions that at home I'd find boring, like sweeping the floor, building a house or boiling a pot of water.  India does such things with so much personality and innovation that it's constant entertainment.

Our next stop with the mobile clinic was for pediatrics, and we all grinned watching the masses of chubby Indian babies and toddlers that were carried to the clinic on the hips of their mothers.  They don't wear diapers here, but instead are often stark naked on the bottom half or in open clothing that makes the whole process easier.  The people here would be horrified by all the money American parents spend on diapers that are then thrown away.  The pediatric patients had simple needs, like rehydration salt solutions, cough syrup or allergy medications, so we finished the clinic within two hours.  Onyx made a home visit to a man with leprosy who because of the stigmata of his disease, would not leave his home to come to the mobile clinic site.

The next stop was our last, and also where we broke for lunch.  Like the day before, we spread straw mats on the floor and sat cross-legged together.  This time there were more people than the day prior, which meant more force-feeding attempts. :). We were all much too happy to oblige them, and we sampled spicy eggplant, a fresh and sweet carrot dish amd several other scrumptious concoctions that they brought from home in round tin containers.  After we finished eating and washed our hands, Michael, Julie and I were prepared to get back to work but the group clearly had other ideas.  It's very typical here to have a post-lunch relaxation time, and they were in no hurry to get back to the clinic.  The doctors and nurses asked us to sing, which we three are not accustomed to but we agreed to.  Julie chose to impress them with her rapping skills and performed the first few verses of 'Ice Ice Baby', while I went with the more traditional 'Amazing Grace'.  They liked both, and thanked us for sharing music with them.

After the concert it was back to the clinic bus to see more patients, and we finished around 4 PM and packed up to head back to CHAD.  We stopped along the way at a roadside stand for coffee, and while we waited we fed cookies to the monkeys that scampered in the trees overhead.  We would extend the cookies in our hand and the monkeys would watch from above, the brave ones making their way down to reach out and grab the cookie from our fingertips.  I was quite impressed by one very tiny fellow who fit the whole cookie in his mouth.  We could see the outline of the huge cookie in his tiny cheeks as he tucked it in there and climbed back up to enjoy his feast.

We took pictures of our wonderful CHAD friends before we headed back to the hostel, thanking them for allowing us to experience a completely different side of healthcare in India than we saw in the main CMC hospital.  After tying up a few loose ends before our departure, we decided to visit The Golden Temple just outside Vellore that we had heard so much about.  Although we have toured a lot in our short time here, we really hasn't seen much of Vellore other than the CMC hospital, campus, Darling's and Gandhi Road.  We took a rickshaw to the temple and arrived at the main entrance to the paths that led to the site where it stood.  I was amazed at the large amount of people there for a Thursday evening.  Because you couldn't take anything in, even your shoes, I volunteered to hold Michael and Julie's things while they went in and they'd do the same for me afterwards.  Sitting outside the temple I made quite a few friends.  Having light skin and blue eyes does not make one conspicuous in India.  A group of four little girls came up, kissed my hands, gave me flowers and posed for a series of pictures which they then demanded to see on my digital camera.  Soon their mothers joined in on the fun and we had quite a photo shoot.  I had several families invite me to go into the temple with them, and others who just watched me with sweet smiles as they passed by.  Two security guards were particularly fascinated when I took a picture on my iPhone, which led to a whole discussion on its capabilities and price.  They were shocked to learn the cost of it when they asked me how much I had paid for it.
"Two-hundred." I said.
"Mmm two-hundred.  Ok."
There was then a rapid-fire exchange in Tamil before he said,
"Two-hundred rupees, or dollars madam?"
I told him it was dollars and he insisted on examing the iPhone himself, paying great deal to my Peekabo Barn application I use to entertain pediatric patients on my rotations.  Even after they had left, one walked by me again and I heard him muttering and saw his smile of disbelief.
"Two-hundred dollars."
Something that so many of my peers in the U.S. have completely rocked his world, and I understand why.  It must seem like such a silly and frivolous expense to him, which honestly, it is.  But...I still love my iPhone.

Jules and Mike re-emerged and I went in and was immeadiately surprised by the beauty surrounding me.  The crowds and dirty sidewalks were transformed to peaceful gardens with statues, long rectangular pools with fountains and an intricate maze of covered tile pathways that led to the Golden Temple.  I walked slowly as the evening darkened around me, my step in rhythm with the music that flowed throughout the gardens.  I could catch small glimpses of the temple as I wove through the paths, its gold facade shining despite the sun having set already.  It wasn't until I was right in front of it that I could fully appreciate how lavish it was.  As long as a basketball court and two stories high, it was a fanciful structure resting in the middle of a blue pool, connected by a bridge and completely covered in gold leaf.  It was adorned with crystal chandeliers whose light cast such a glow that it looked like the temple itself was luminescent.  I circled the entire thing on the rim of the pond, listening to and watching the chanting ceremony going on at the base of the temple.  It really was lovely, but I had a bit of a hard time reconciling the building of such an expensive and elaborate temple in an area where people don't have running water or access to healthcare.  It seemed that the guru of the temple, Amma, had foreseen such questions and made sure to address it on a large sign outside the temple:
"One may ask why build a golden temple and not a school or hospital?  The wisdom gained from the golden temple will build thousands of schools and hospitals."
I wasn't sure where these temple-wisdom-inspired schools and hospitals were, but the temple surely was a spectacle and quite an experience as I exited it and was blessed with sacred water, a silver metal cone was placed on my head, red powder was rubbed on my forehead and I was handed a cup of rice.  I'll either have to read about this or ask my Hindu friends the significance of it all because I was quite baffled by it all but enjoyed the experience.

We met up with Cristine and Aylin for our last dinner at Darling's.  Everyone was to order their favorite dish, and Julie was almost in a panic worrying that her favorites wouldn't be ordered.  In the end, they were, and we had a savory last supper of sweet mint lime juice, fresh lemon soda, kulcha, vegetable kofta curry, bhindi masala, cashewnut masala, eggplant masala and the mushroom pepper curry.  We took pictures with our favorite jolly doorman at Darling's, and he informed us that he'd counted the number of times we'd been to Darling's: thirteen.  We realyzed he'd actually underestimated it because there were times when we would come for lunch as well as dinner and he wasn't on duty then.  Quite impressive I must say, but Darling's is hands down the best, especially the Aradhana A/C Vegetarian Restaurant on the first floor.  It was our absolute favorite.  Not only because of the incredible food, but because of the charming waiters with their kind smiles and sense of personal style, wearing their white tuxedo shirts with bowties and pure class.  My two favorite waiters were a young man with a cherub-like face and a winning smile, and an older man with a magnificently groomed handlebar mustache and a carefully-formed swoop at the front of his hair.  We almost told them it was our last night, but in hoping we will return to Darling's for many more meals in the future, we just ate, talked, laughed and enjoyed as usual.

Last night we packed, drank red wine out of mismatched cups from the kitchen and said goodbye to our lovely friend Aylin who leaves for Australia on Saturday.  I enjoyed my many chats with her during the past month.  She talks with such animation in her hands, using them in a wonderful way to tell hilarious and interesting stories.  She told us she wants to come visit the States soon, and we all encouraged her.  With the last of our dear Australian friends gone, it really hit me that my time in India has come to an end.

I came here expecting to enjoy my time and learn a lot, but I didn't expect to fall in love with a country so drastically different than my own in so many ways.  I've eaten the spiciest food of my life, walked barefoot in places I never would have before, been blessed at Hindu temples, fed monkeys and held baby goats, cried for patients that die of diseases that don't exist at home, learned another world of medicine, was welcomed into homes for food and fellowship, felt crushed by the amount of people yet simultaneously enjoyed being part of the crowd, became quite good at eating everything (even rice) with my hands, smelled terrible things and lovely things and most of all experienced the warmth and kindness of the people here every single day.  When I reflect on India I will always think in bright colors because that is how my experiences will be stored in my memory.  Every moment here was exciting and rich.  Julie described so well how we all felt by saying that being in India was like not wanting to take a nap when you're a child.  You are afraid on what you'll miss out on if you close your eyes for even one second.

I typed this at the Chennai airport, waiting for my flight to Singapore.  I am happy to have had one last comical memory in my mind as I watched the airline counters opened for check-in.  With four lines open simultaneously, you can imagine the cutting opportunities that provided for eager Indian passengers (refer back to 'Everyday India: Cutting).  The Air India agent was beside himself trying to organize the lines in which women and children with fourteen suitcases between five of them stood in the middle to see which one moved first so they could jump in.  I've learned my lesson by now, so when a man tried to inch past me with his luggage cart, I deftly blocked his move with a sidestep and a smile.  One month in India has made me street savvy in a few things at least, even though i havent quite finessed the art of the Indian squatting toilet.

I can't wait to see Landon tonight.  One month of watching the sun rise while he watched it set made the miles of separation between us seem endless.  I'll meet him at 7:30 PM tonight in Singapore to begin two weeks of fun adventures in Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand.  I can't wait to share my pictures with him, though no one picture can fully capture what I felt and saw in the moment it was taken.  I guess that means that we'll have to go back together to India.  I feel like it is written.              

"Tea", A Surprise Visitor, CHAD and Mehndi

When we returned from our trip to the north of India, we were surprised by the change in weather here in Vellore.  Even though it probably seemed hotter in comparison with the cool, crisp weather of the north, there was a definite change in the atmosphere.  It is now hot, a little muggy, and there have been rain storms for the past couple of days.  It was in one such storm that we trudged our way through the back paths of CMC to the home of Dr. Jayenth for tea.  It was a little difficult to find their apartment building, but we eventually found it with the help of a passerby.  The apartment building was several stories tall, and each door was marked with the name of the inhabitants.  We were a little surprised to see that every door had physicians' names on them.  When we found Dr. Jeyanth's residence, we took off our shoes and were excitedly welcomed by him, Nikita, his three-year-old daughter, his wife, an anaesthesiologist at CMC and his mother and father-in-law. They all lived together in the one-bedroom flat that was both simple and beautiful.  Many of Nikita's drawings and photos lined the walls, and it was obvious how much they adored her.  We soon found out that "tea" was a full dinner, a delicious combination of appam and a Keralan curry that Dr. Jeyanth's wife had prepared.  She filled our plates over and over, even when we insisted that we were full and couldn't possibly eat another bite.
"No, come come.  Fill your plate again.  Oh at least have another appam.  You can do that."
Their hospitality and warm generosity was so touching, and we all ate until we were stuffed.  The rest of the evening was spent discussing how our time in India had been, ophthalmology training in the U.S. and just general relaxed chit-chat about life.  They got out seveal albums of their most precious photos to share with us, and we leafed through the pages of their lives, exclaiming over the pictures of Nikita as a tiny baby and then at her first birthday party, which is an enormous celebration in India (there were about 100 people at her first birthday party!).  The evening ended all too soon, and we snapped several group shots using the self-timer.  The icing on the cake was when the mother-in-law, Mercy Christopher, asked me if I was on Facebook and told me she would add me as a friend.  Taking some pictures on her phone, she said,
"Don't worry.  I'll tag these on FB."

We then headed to Darling's for dinner, a farewell celebration for Thanuja who would leave for some traveling to her family's home in Sri Lanka as well as some shopping with her mother in Chennai.  I was sad to say goodbye to another one of our wonderful Australian friends, knowing that we would have to part ways with Aylin on Friday.  These three girls-Louella, Thanuja and Aylin-have made our time here so much fun.  Along that note, we had a surprise visitor...Louella!  She had been feeling a little lonely in Chennai, staying there two days before her flight, when she decided to come back to Vellore for Thanuja's farewell dinner.  We were all excited to be together again, and had a lovely time at dinner sharing stories and eating my second meal of the evening. 

During my second day of CHAD, Julie, Michael and I were fortunate to go on home visits with Onyx Paul, one of the young nurses that works at CHAD.  As we climbed into the CMC van and drove away from Vellore and into the villages, we learned that as a nurse, she cares for approximately 25,000 people in the rural areas.  On her nurse runs, she is accompanied by a health aid, and today it was young and beautiful Priya.  They made quite a sweet pair, Onyx in the blue nursing sari and Priya in the pink health aid sari.  Onyx explained that these home visits were essential to so many patients in these rural villages who didn't have the means to make it to the main CHAD center as frequently as they needed to be seen for various medical problems.  In India, a manual laborer makes about 50 rupees a day (the equivalent of an American dollar), so skipping a day of work to go all the way to CHAD creates a huge hardship so their health becomes neglected.  Hence CHAD set up these wonderful visits to distribute medications, assess new and chronic probelms, provide antenatal care, and to just share the mission of CHAD, to provide compassionate care for anyone in need.

Our first visit was to the home of a family to which a baby had been born one week ago.  The infant had a proximal femoral deformity, so Onyx assessed his hips and followed up on the scan taken at the hospital with the family.  They made arrangements for the child to return to CMC in a few weeks for further investigations.  The family was young and beautiful, obviously happy about the new bundle of joy in their lives. 

At our stop in the next village, we heard the beating of drums and loud music.  I asked Onyx what it was, and she explained that it was a funeral.  She pointed out a large structure across the road, made of wood and covered in flowers, and told me that that was what the deceased would be cremated on.  She told us that funerals in India have lots of music, dancing and people generally get intoxicated.  Obviously quite different than the ones in the United States.  We passed by the large cluster of mourners on the road, and Onyx told us we had to stop by because they would be upset that CHAD hadn't been at the funeral.  The dead man was in a rectangular glass box, his face painted with beautiful designs and the box adorned with multiple strings of flowers.  A group of women sat on the floor, rocking back and forth with their arms around one another, a woman that was obviously his wife was wailing and had tears streaming down her cheeks.  In a moment that was both beautiful and horrible, I watched Onyx take the woman in her arms and give her comfort, as the three of us stood awkwardly on the periphery, not able to take our eyes away from the dead man lying in plain sight directly in front of us.

The visit to the next home was quite sad.  It was to follow-up on the death of a twenty-three day old baby boy.  In accordance with local superstition and beliefs, the family had fed the baby a concoction made of tree bark to "cleanse the stomach" as according to tradition.  The baby had gotten very ill from it and aspirated, leading to pneumonia and sepsis which caused his death.  Onyx spoke witht he very upset mother and sighed as we walked to the next nurse visit.
"The only way to get around this is education." She said simply.

In the home of our next patient, a very sweet, very pregnant young woman, we did an antenatal check to assess the lie of the baby and check its heart rate.  Onyx was alarmed at the first feel of her abdomen, concerned it was breech, but after more palpation breathed a sigh of relief that it was not.  This patient was one of Onyx's helpers when she came to the village, and she accompanied us on the rest of the visits, pointing out the correct homes of people for us.  As the woman walked ahead, Onyx asked me if I had noticed the large amount of bangles that the woman wore on both wrists.  She explained that until 30 years ago, death from childbirth in Tamil Nadu was extremely high.  There was even a saying, "that with every birth comes a death", speaking of the high rate of complications and mortality for these young mothers.  So from this sad pattern came the tradition of a ceremony at 38 weeks of a woman's pregnany in which she was brought to her mother's house and decorated with beautiful bangles, flowers and an ornage sari.  In the event that the woman does not survive the birth, her mother and family make sure she feels beautiful and cared for.  It made me sad to think of such sadness in a time that should be so joyous, and I was glad that obstetrics had been improved over the last thirty years with places like CHAD and the primary health centers (PHCs, which are government run).  The PHCs and other government hospitals are even offering incentives for women to deliver in hospitals and these centers instead of at home, paying them 6,000 rupees to have their babies in hospitals. CHAD is not yet able to compensate women for the expenses, but it is currently in the works. 

As we visited another patient for an antenatal visit, we heard someone call Onyx's name from down the street.  It turned out to be her first-grade teacher who invited us into her beautiful home for conversaton, fresh-squeezed grape juice and snacks.  She and Onyx had a very special relationship, and the teacher's pride in her former student was evident as they talked about old times and sang one of the songs that she had taught her students many years ago.  The teacher led us to her beautiful garden to show off her handiwork, and asked to take photos with the three of us an Onyx.  Once again, Indian hospitality touched my heart and reminded me of how lucky I am to be able to experience this culture.

The rest of our day of home visits was full of patients who were so happy to see the CHAD patients, and constantly wanted to invite us into their home and show off their most precious things.  My favorite was a tiny calf, just a few weeks old, that the family had named "Peacock" in Tamil.  The way that the people here revere cows just amazes me.  They pretty much have free reign wherever they choose to roam.

We broke for lunch in the back room of a daycare center that helped single mothers and mothers with disabilities.  We tiptoed by rows of adorable sleeping children at naptime, many of them covered in flies which didn't seem to bother them one bit.  I was particularly taken by a chubby little boy whose hiney was hanging out in the open.  We sat on straw mats in the room and we all shared the lunches we had brought.  Ours were parcel lunches from the campus canteen, and Onyx brought delicious food from home that her mother prepared, which she proceeded to force on us with the utmost kindness.  If we ever refused her, she would just look at us aghast at how we could do such a thing.  I told Onyx that she had a lot in common with my dear Grandma Mary in that they both love to feed people wonderful food and watch them enjoy it.  Maybe Grandma Mary is part Indian!

To top off an already great day, we had one of the hostel staff's sister come to Cristine and Julie's room at night to do mehndi on our arms!  She skillfully drew the most beautiful and intricate designs in henna on our arms, artfully sculpting flowers, birds and other exotic figures freehand without a second thought.  I was quite surprised at how dark orange it stains your skin.  I hope it will last for awhile, but at least it will last long enough to show Landon when I meet him in Singapore on Friday evening.  I'm glad that I will have a visual reminder of wonderful India when I board the plane on Friday and say a sad goodbye to the country I have grown to love so very much. 

The Golden Triangle Part III-Delhi

We ceremoniously closed the point of The Golden Triangle with our last stop in Delhi.  We arrived late in the evening, and were picked up from the airport by a taxi arranged by Cristine's father through one of his students with family in Delhi.  We were thankful for the uneventful and peaceful ride to the hotel, enjoying passing the numerous energetic and colorful weddings along the way.  No matter how many times I have seen one, the weddings here never cease to amaze me with their traditional beautiful clothing, fireworks, marching band, and just the general merriment that the whole procession embodies.  We arrived at the Hotel Clarke no worse for the wear, checked into our room, dined in the rooftop restaurant, and called it a night because it was late and we needed sleep to maximize the next day of touring in Delhi.

The morning shone bright and sunny as we finished up breakfast and were picked up by our trusty drivers, and we were off to the Red Fort.  As we drove, the contrast between Old Delhi and New Delhi was both obvious and interesting.  Old Delhi was once the capital of Islamic India, and you can see remnants of its glory in monuments like the Red Fort.  New Delhi was created by the British, and is a more modern, Westernized looking city, almost like something you'd see in Europe.  We began our tour at the Red Fort, an imposing sandstone structure of splendid Mughal construction with walls that extend for two kilometers and are as high as 33 meters on the city side and 18 meters on the Yunama River side.  We entered through Lahore gate, and crossed through Chatta Chowk, the covered bazaar that was both fabulous and a tourist trap.  Managing to evade the scarf and bangle-sellers for the time being, we emerged into an enormous green courtyard studded with trees, fountains and different elegant structures.  There were many majestic buildings, my favorite being the Diwan-i-Khas (Hall of Private Audiences) with its strong marble pillars and delicated floral inlays, much like the Taj Mahal.  The Peacock Throne once graced its center before being looted from India by Nadir Shah in 1739.  Comissioned by Shah Jahan of the Taj Mahal, the Peackock Throne was a two meter tall golden throne set with precious stones-most notably the 191-carat-Koh-i-noor Diamond-that cost twice as much as the Taj Mahal, and rumored to be worth one billion US dollars if it was around today.  Sadly it's not, as it was dismantled after Nadir Shah's assassination, the Koh-i-noor Diamond being cut to 109 carats by the British and placed with the crown jewels.  We also enjoyed the Museum of Archaelology where Michael and I complicated whether it would be more painful to die by some of the menacing swords displayed in the cases, or by the eight-bladed mase.  We decided on the mase, and also decided it was time to move onto another site after that conversation.

Our next stop was Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque.  It was absolutely serene and majestic with its towering 40 meter minarets, four towers and three gateways, all composed of an attractive contrast of red sandstone and white marble.  Michael was not allowed to enter the mosque wearing shorts, so he had to wrap a dhoti (the long, sheet-like garments the men wear here that look like a long skirt) around his waist to be permitted entry.  I thought he looked quite dashing and snapped several pictures of his new Indian attire. 

Next was Raj Ghat, a peaceful botanical garden and sanctuary where India's most beloved have been cremated and are commemorated.  Despite the crowd of people in the place, the atmosphere was quiet and pensive as we slipped off our sandals to walk to the simple black marble platform that marks the spot where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated following his assassination ni 1948.  A flame burns eternally at one end, and the black marble is inscribed with the epitah, Hē Ram, which translates to "O God", believed to be the last words uttered by Gandhi.  I truly felt the peace that the incredible man and philosopher lived and died for, and we spent about half an hour just sitting on the grass outside the memorial, watching several young Indian boys turn flips on the lawn, laughing and waving excitedly at the attention we were giving them.  Several other notable Indian figures have been cremated there, and we visited the cremation sites of Indira and Rajiv Gandhi.  Indira was the daughter of the first Indian prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, and Rajiv was his grandson.  I felt great sadness that both of these leaders had been assasinated, a family wiped out by hatred and misdirected anger.

The last stop before lunch was the Lotus Temple, the Bahai house of worship.  Built in the shape of the sacred lotus flower, the temple has 27 pure white marble petals that reach for the sky.  We were welcomed in Hindi and English to the temple by a young man and a woman who explained that the Bahai faith revolves around universal peace and the elimination of prejudice, and that followers of all faiths were welcome to pray or meditate according to their own beliefs and religion. This attitude of acceptance and tolerance rang home to me, and I wished that all religions and states could be so open to the beliefs and backgrounds of humanity as a whole.  We would all be better off, simply stated.  We sat on a bench in the temple, each saying their own silent prayer, and walked back out on barefeet to slip back on our shoes that we had left at the gate.

At lunch we dined on typical north Indian food, but the atmosphere was anything but typical.  We ate in a sleek, black and chrome lounge where a deejay spun our favorite songs mixed with his own funky flair.  We treated ourselves to some Kingfishers in the afternoon (because it was our vacation :), and the staff must have enjoyed the dancing we did in our seats because our waiter brought over four flaming shots from the bar!  We had found the hip, young, urban scene that we had imagined to be in New Delhi, and enjoyed the rest of our lunch to the re-stylized beats of the Black Eyed Peas and David Guetta.

We bade our drivers goodbye for the day and did a brief stint at Karol Bagh market, but it was only halfhearted because we were so tired.  We rested a bit at the hotel, then found a fun restaurant and bar down the street with great kebabs and beer, and an atmosphere that didn't frown on our Chaco sandals, leggings and kertas.  We had wanted to explore the more upscale side of Delhi nightlife, but didn't think to bring anything more than our traveling clothes which were certainly not up to the high-heeled-cocktail-dressed-three-piece-suit standards of the Delhi clubs.  No matter to our group though because we enjoyed the night and turned into bed quite satisfied with our day overall.

Morning brought a brand new day and our sole mission: shopping!  Michael was again a great sport as we spent hours in the bazaars, bargaining with shopkeepers for gifts to take home and reminders for ourselves of our beautiful adventure in India.  We all prided ourselves on our haggling ability (though I'm sure we still paid too much, but it's all so beautiful I didn't care), and piled into the taxi to the airport laden with our treasures.  Thankfully our flight home was on time and things were uneventful as our plane left the ground of India's fascinating capital city, a true blend of different worlds, both old and new.  During the flight back to Chennai, the beverage cart rolled by and I ordered some tea from the servers.
"Black tea or regular tea, madame?" He asked.
"Regular tea." I said, accepting the cup with a napkin to protect my skin from the scalding heat. 
Sipping it, I marveled that like the spicy, rich tea, nothing in India is regular.  The tea is just one example of so many things here that constantly awaken my senses and a remind me of the joy and celebration in living every day.