Since we’d had some misunderstandings in the past about when certain plans were going to happen, I was careful to inquire in advance about what time I should be ready. I figured out 6pm.

Later, it was made clear that I was going by rickshaw with the three boys at 6pm. Hari and Vanita would come by motorbikeat 8 or 9pm. I didn’t really understand, but I knew it was better to go along with their plans.

When the time came, I was ready, and as the rickshaw pulled up, I realized there was a giant thing on the back of it. Then I realized that in addition to the mattress they were giving Barti (the bride), they must have also arranged a bed. So now it made sense, we were going with the bed and mattress and Hari and Vanita were coming later.

Now, this rickshaw was the type that has what looks like a motorcycle in front with a pickup bed in back. The bed didn’t fit inside, so it was up on top, sitting high above the driver. The mattress went into the bed, and then the boys and I went on top of the mattress. Off we went, like some great Maharajas, drawing the attention of locals all along the bumpy roads.

Everything was going along just fine, albeit very bumpy on the terrible roads made worse by the monsoons, and we were enjoying the scenery and seasonal rivers. Until, of course, we heard a very loud crack. The bed had broken. One of the two main support beams on the bottom was very much cracked. After talking to Hari we figured out we were headed back to the farm.

So about 90 minutes after we left the farm, we returned. Hari and Vanita were off with Jayesh to Mandvi to visit another of Hari’s sisters, who also had a child getting married. The rest of us waited on the farm.

But first, I had some washing to do.

Yes, washing. Because, you see, on the way back to the farm we couldn’t sit up in the bed anymore. Dharmendra sat under the bed, but the rest of us sat on the back with our legs hanging down off the rear end. Perfectly normal in India. I even took off my sandals so I wouldn’t lose one on one of the bumps.

As it turns out, that wasn’t such a good idea. As we rolled over an apparently fresh cow pie, it splattered like slime on Nickelodeon’s old show Double Dare. My right foot, mostly on the bottom, was covered. I had splatters on both pants legs. And my youngest traveling companion couldn’t stop yelling “Mendhi! Natural!” The rest couldn’t help but laugh, which was also Vanita and Hari’s response when they found out. And Vijay wasn’t much different. He at least understood why I wanted to wash myself.

And so, quite a bit after anybody planned, we found ourselves piling into Vijay’s car and leaving the farm at 10pm. My feet were clean, my pants clean enough and I couldn’t help but think two things. We might not be coming back that night (and I wasn’t really prepared for that) and that this would be the first – and like probably only – wedding I ever attended with manure on my pants.

By 11pm we arrived and found plenty of people milling about the village street in front of Barti’s house, with plenty more people in and just outside of the house. It was a mostly segregated affair, with the women inside socializing and doing mendhi while the men sat around outside.

I found it to be much like a big backyard barbeque back home. But without the meat. Or any food, for that matter. And without the barbeque. And none of the beer. Although the chai was pretty much free flowing. There was also no grass, but none of these things stopped people from enjoying themselves.

And the women came in their traditional finest, with sarees of seeimingly every color and design. The men, on the other hand, came in whatever happened to be at the top of the pile, often times this was even a clean set of clothes. And since India, while often fashion-minded, is stuck in a fashion that fits the 1980s, the men looked like they came out of the 1980s. Of course, the women looked like they came out of the 1780s.

Slowly I realized that this wasn’t actually the wedding. This was the final celebration before the actual wedding, which would take place the next night. I also found out I had been right, we were spending the night. If I had known that in advance I may have brought a toothbrush, more safe drinking water or contact lens solution and glasses. I was very glad to have packed rewetting drops. I also figured out that this party wasn’t going to stop.

After a while a guy with a drum started banging away while women and children starting dancing around him. This went on for a while, an interesting and impressive display. Then some guys came and would lift up small rupee notes and drop them down, in some sort of traditional offering. Then Barti was brought out and sat in a chair in the middle of the circle. Her brother squatted next to her and collected the fallen bills. More and more people came up to wave money over Barti’s head and let it fall to the ground. This went on and on.

Eventually the drumming stopped and the dancers dispersed and around they came with more tea for us. A little bit later, the drumming started again. Now anybody who wanted to could dance around in a circle. And this cycle was repeated all night, although not typically with the money. At some point I was given a cot and I fell asleep. A few others had done the same. Plenty never even closed their eyes.

But before I slept I really need to pee. I had scouted around the house thinking they may have a spot for this sort of thing, but I had only found a washing area (of course, as I walked back around the house from this discovery, I came across two squatting toddlers). I figured I’d ask Hari where I might find a toilet. I figured it would be very basic, but that there must be a spot for this sort of business. He told me to get water. I explained I didn’t need that much toilet. He figured out “only urinal.” I smiled and said yes, always surprised at which words Hari knows. I was directed around the house. There was a covered area, completely pitch black. I held my breath, stepped in as far as I dared, took aim and hoped for the best. I have no idea what I hit, but I was glad to be done. A few hours of sleep were waiting.

Hari woke me about 6 and we were on the road by 6:30. Vanita and Chetan stayed behind. Hari explained that “India… open toilet” and offered me the chance to use the river and its water. I declined. Later that day Hari and Dharmendra took off, I discovered, for Barti’s actual wedding. Jayesh and I were left behind. For the next day as well.

So, feeling bad that Jayesh was left behind only to take care of me, I made sure we got a special treat of ice cream and a mango drink in the village. Ice cream is his favorite treat (and I sure don’t mind it either!), and mango is both of our favorites. This put a smile on both our faces, as we were both rather disappointed to not be at the wedding, and it was an awfully quiet and rainy day on the farm, leaving us not much to do.

Heavy rains came in the afternoon (it was light all morning), and that brought the family home early, soaked, and we all enjoyed a late dinner. Perhaps secretly Jayesh and I were amused by the completely soaked and premature return of the family.

All this was the start, though, of a great friendship between Jayesh and me. Vijay and I were heading to the Vipassana meditation center to be there for rIAm’s final day – the one where she can talk to people – and then take her home the next day. I was also going to help with some trimming, and it was decided to send Jayesh along for the two nights.

Jayesh makes for a great friend, but let me tell you, he also makes for an excellent roommate. Since there was only one single bed, I got that and Jayesh got a mattress on the floor. He had this arranged nicely, but I pointed out that there were two more thin mattresses he could put under his to make an even more comfortable bed. Maybe this had occured to him, maybe not, but he was very happy I was so insistent, and you could tell he thought the bed got much better. Similarly, he was insistent I take the fairly heavy blanket, but quite happy to be able to use it for himself when I made it clear that even if I took the blanket I wouldn’t use it – I’m hot even with the fan, I said, but he’d be cold. He agreed and was happy to be curled up under the blanket at night.

In any case, from about 4pm on the 2nd until 8am on the 4th Jayesh and I were practically inseprable. We drew the attention of a number of Indians at the center, who were quite impressed. I couldn’t tell what was more impressive to them, though. That I had such a good Indian friend or that an Indian had such a good westerner as a friend. Or, perhaps, that we could easily talk to each other. Everybody agreed that Jayesh needs to come to the U.S. or Canada one day to visit.

Trough all of this, we all had a great time on the farm and in Kutch. We each found something we were looking for, and some other things we weren’t. We look forward to the day we can return to the farm, perhaps with our children, but we also look forward to bringing some elements of Kutch to Canada.

Cooking over a fire, eating with our hands, eating on the ground and making kitcheree all come to mind as occasional excellent reminders of life in India. Not to mention wearing Kutchee handicrafts and sleeping under our beautiful new quilt. We have much to take with us back home, both in materials, memories, photographs and ideas. We are excited!

(Too bad date trees don’t grow in Toronto, though!)

We headed to this city, the major one of the Kutch region of Gujarat, after we parted ways today with our lovely Nu Tech Farm family. We do not know for certain when we will cross paths with any of them again, but we are hopeful we will return one day to renew our friendship, and perhaps introduce our future children to this sometimes dusty, sometimes very wet, wild west and wonderful place we have called home for five weeks of our time in India.

I am a mix of feelings, most of which I am aware of and observing with equanimity (!), as my 10-day Vipassana meditation course has taught me (more about this later in post dedicated to my experience learning this ancient technique.

I feel privileged to have encountered Vijay Shah, the farm owner, and the lovely family we lived with on the farm and the farm workers we worked with, all who seem follow an ebb and flow, which follows the seasons and the slow beat of life in Kutch. I have learned much about organic farming, but even more about the people here, even if there are daily communication conundrums due to the language barrier. But mostly we have taken this in stride, and must simply laugh at what does manage to come out in broken English. I can certainly say people are people — sometimes enthralling, sometimes frustrating — no matter where you are.

I couldn’t help paying hommage to this broken English with the title of this post. Certainly you must have thought this an odd way to express myself in English. I couldn’t resist, after I heard how the word “expire” was used by people we spent so much time with on the farm. And I mean no disrespect; indeed, I appreciate everything everyone did here to communicate with us. Hearing how “expire” and other expressions are used by people who only know a bit of English, reminds me how complex English is, how difficult it can be to learn another language, and in turn, funny I must sound when I try to speak a foreign language, like Kutchie.

jft explained that during my time away in silent meditation, one of the two farm goats died. He at first saw the goat lying down on the ground — an unusual postion for a goat which you can either standing or resting on the ground with its legs tucked under its body, much like the cows here. The goat’s position was clarified when Hari, the farm manager announced, “Goat expire.”

Oh India, this made me laugh when I heard it! But I thought perhaps it was an isolated incident — something simply Hari says. However, yesterday we encountered Vesubah, one of the farm workers in Rayan, the village near the farm. jft explained we would be leaving today, and asked Wasuba if Atul, the worker with which jft seems to share the strongest bond, would be returning to work after several recent holidays in the region. Wasuba explained that Atul had gone to Gandhidham, because as he put it “Atul uncle expire.”

I held it together and did not laugh when I heard this. We of course were quite sorry to hear about Atul’s loss, and jft even sorrier he would not see Atul again before we left the farm today.

It occurred to both jft and me, from a we-are-linguistic-nerds perspective that in Kutchie the word for “died” or “dead” perhaps must literally mean “expire” in English. It’s hard to say for sure without some in depth study, made more difficult by the fact that Kutchie is not a written language, although it does share some portions in common with Gujarati.

Certainly our time in Kutch has not died — it has literally expired, but ah, hearing how our Kutchie friends used it, makes me think twice now about the meaning of each English word I use.

There are so many other linguistic and cultural things to share, including more photos of our latest visit to the farm, all of which will bubble to the surface as we find some moments to take ourselves away from our final eight weeks in breathtaking India.

Then I realized they were the familiar faces of Vanita and Chetan waving. And in true Indian fashion, we piled everybody, including Jayesh, into this broken down Ambassador along with our two big bags, and began the bumpy ride 7 kilometers back to the farm.

It would appear we made an impression on this fine family, and they came to meet us in grand style. The hug rIAm got from Vanita was especially telling.

But now rIAm is meditating and I’m alone on the farm, which, admittedly, suits me fine. Sure it’s a bit lonely without my wife and traveling companion, especially in the evenings, but I’m managing fine. And for me, farm work and relative solitude – with days filled with hard work and friendship with the men workers – beats silent meditation and 4am wake-up calls.

Hari, Vanita and the boys are worried that I’m sad without rIAm and that I’ll overwork myself in the sun. Not altogether bad sentiments, although sometimes it means I’m sent to do a small task in the shade instead of working with the guys in the sun. Perhaps good for preventing a red face, but I enjoy the camraderie of the workers and the feeling of a hard days work.

It’s funny, though, how the second time round there’s a certain veneer that’s been lifted from the farm stay and the resident family. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a most wonderful place, but the quirks and reality that every person has their strengths and weaknesses is a bit more evident. In some ways it’s reassuring; we’re all just regular people.

For example, I’m sent to tie bundles of a root that goes into drinking water. It gives the water an earthy taste and is supposed to be good for your system. In any case, it is nothing more than roots steeping in water – tea, basically – and messing this up isn’t really possible. As I’m left with a pile of root, a roll of string and a cutter, it seems that I’m also left to divine the proper method on my own. Naturally, I do it wrong. Which is pointed out to me freely, although the right way is less obvious (my bundles, to me, look an awful lot like the bundles done previously).

This is one of this things that you can chalk up to cultural and language barrier, and also the result of a much different way of life. Vanita, for example, pointed out that my bundles were not as tidy as the others. Let’s take this example a bit further.

Vanita, by convential American or Canadian standards, would not be considered very smart. She has no formal education, her world view doesn’t extend much beyond her local village and region (with the exception of the WWOOFers who come through) and things are done wrong if they are not done her way (not that this trait is unique to Vanita!). And yet, she is one of the smartest and most capable woman I know. She successfully raises three boys, who are getting a most excellent education. She manages to communicate with foreigner after foreigner. She makes perfect chapatti, excellent subzi and an even better kitch-er-ee. Plus, she knows how to do more things than I dare list here. But alas, the nuances of communication across cultures can escape her or me and it’s like we talk crossways. Like the root bundles, the way I tied them would result in water just as satisfying as always, but for Vanita, they were being done wrong. Fortunately, it’s a small, trivial matter.

Similarly, Hari spends a great deal of time concerned that the sun will make me red color and will assign me a more solitary or “easy work” task to take care of me. A most wonderful sentiment. Perhaps even brought on when he noticed one morning I was often sitting while Imran was working. But what he doesn’t see is that I enjoy working with the guys, and make a point to sit (ideally in the shade) and have water regularly, so I don’t wear myself down. But I understand what Hari’s doing, and by golly I know rIAm is loving him for doing it.

I’m sure it also hasn’t escaped Hari and company that I sweat about as many liters of water per day as I drink (which is, on many days, conservatively, 8 liters – 2 gallons!). All this is good for my system, even if it means laundry everyday! [skip to the next paragraph if you don't want to read bathroom talk] Despite all this drinking, my daily bathroom output is probably no more than a liter. If you take out my first morning bathroom run, at most I’ll have one stop during the day, in which I’ll eliminate probably <500 mLs. If I’m lucky, I’ll go again before bed. So I just keep on drinking and drinking.

In any case, it is impossible to really have any complaints while on the farm. I’m treated exceptionally well and get along with everybody famously. Although I can tell they all wish rIAm were on the farm too, and not 30 kms away in silent meditation.

Even today, Vanita made a point to include me in Raksha Bandan a festival where sisters give brothers (not just the blood-related ones, think of it also as very close friends) bracelets, put a red dot on their forehead, and a super sweet small hockey puck of a treat to eat, and in return the brothers give a small gift, often some rupees. It’s supposed to help ward of evil in the coming year and be good luck, or some such thing. It’s a very good day, anyway, and a much practiced and enjoyed custom. Vanita made sure I got my bracelet, and so this should mean a year of good things for me. And tomorrow the family plans to take me with them to Hari’s niece’s wedding. rIAm is most certainly going to be jealous of these experiences when she returns.

I would also be remiss to not mention that the plants and wildlife on the farm are in much greater quantity now, with the rainy season in full effect. Everything is super green; things are growing just about everywhere. The number of birds, including peacocks, storks and some other things I don’t know the name of is impressive. Some sparrow-sized bright yellow birds are building amazing nests in a tree and made for a dazzling display, with often more nests than you can count in one tree. There are also lizards of seemingly every size, such as the geckos on the wall (from pinky finger size up to probably 8 inches) and “big lizards” which can be 14-36 inches. The number of mosquitoes is much less than we anticipated (yay!), but the number of flies and other bugs has increased dramatically (boo!). And we’re also ever mindful of the possibility of snakes, a precauation made all the more sensible when a farm’s goat apparently got bit by a snake and died an hour later. Yikes! But now I can say I helped bury a goat… a most bizarre experience. The good news is that were only days (or less) away from the other goat on the farm giving birth.

I guess with all things there is a cycle, and as one thing ends another begins. Such is life on the farm, always more to do, always another plant sprouting, always another adventure around the corner. It will be sad in 10 days time to say goodbye again, not knowing when we’ll see these great people and this great land again. And yet exciting to know that as this chapter draws to a close, we begin our south Indian adventures.

You can visit the photos from our time on the farm here, (all our trip here or here, all of India here) where you can meet the family

see some fresh dates

or see if I actually got milk from a cow

We were also thrilled to have our dear friend linda join us for several weeks, as we visited the farm, Bhuj, Ahmedabad, Jodhpur and McCleod Ganj (Free Tibet!)

And then we were sad to say goodbye… although we were happy to take full advantage of linda’s baggage allowance for her return flight! Between the three of us, linda went home with at least 43kg (90ish lbs.) of checked luggage, filling my very large backpack and a new duffel bag we purchased. Now I’m traveling with linda’s pack, which is much smaller. The moral of the story is that it’s hard (impossible?) to resist buying beautiful things in India.

After a week in Delhi, mostly taking it easy, we are eagerly awaiting the arrival of our sister(-in-law) Bianca to arrive… in about an hour! It should be a very happy moment indeed when we find her at the airport tonight. Then it’s off again, back up to McCleod Ganj for some nice weather and to celebrate the Dalai Lama’s birthday. Afterward it’s back to Delhi for a day, then over to the Taj Mahal. Following that we do a nice little tour of Rajastan, soaking in the colors, forts and beautiful textiles (which, I’m just sure we’ll resist buying). Then it’s over to Bhopal to visit the former POW camp where my grandfather-in-law spent about 5 years during WWII, after which we hit Mumbai.

It’s been an interesting stay in Delhi, though, as we haven’t had too much we had to do. With Bianca coming, we didn’t want to visit the tourist sites we’ll be going to with her, and taking it easy, catching up on all sorts of internet stuff (like email!) and learning our way around this big city worked for us. Now we feel much more confident about the proper prices for autorickshaw rides, for example. We also found ourselves enjoying one large meal a day – usually costing us about $5-6US – and then snacking on the most delicious mangoes, plums and/or peaches our new favorite fruit vendor had to offer.

But one thing we also had to do was talk to STA, our travel agent, about our return flight home. We had to change our ticket – which we planned on – and so we had a credit to use, and we wanted to get something booked before we lost out on the best fares and our choice of dates. The basic itinerary? Depart from Delhi, stop in Paris so we can visit France for about a month, then end up in Toronto or Chicago. After a lot of searching, trying Air France or India for direct flight and Aeroflot or Sri Lankan Airlines for cheap fares, among others, we finally figured out that the cheapest and best flights available were with British Airways! I mean, it wasn’t even close.

So there we were, picking dates to leave India (made easier by not wanting to deal with getting a new Indian visa), and also, ultimately, which day we want to come back to North America. Which also means the day we will have to more seriously worry about a few other little things. Like where we’ll be living. Or how we’ll get all of our stuff to one city. Or what my immigration status will be. Or, you know, what we’ll be doing for jobs. Having an income does have its benefits, after all!

And as scary as all those things can be, it was also exhilarating. Plus it’s pretty cool to think that we’ve got 4 flights with British Airways coming up!

First we have more of India to discover and enjoy. And more thalis to consume.

But in the back of our minds, we also know we leave India 8 November. And come home 11 December. Kind of weird knowing that now. But I’m sure the mango will distract me.

This is a country where driving requires honking. This isn’t to say that there is always a reason to be honking, simply that there is constant honking. At times we can be driving along, seemingly peacefully, and the driver simply starts honking for no apparent reason. Other than, perhaps, that he feels he just hasn’t honked recently enough. The ensuing cacophony along every street is oh-so-special.

On the subject of driving, the right-of-way is very clear. Whatever is biggest has it. Everybody yields to the trucks, autorickshaws yield to cars, bicycles yield to everything… except pedestrians, for whom nobody yields. But you can’t forget about the cows. Yes, I said cows, for which everybody always yields. So as you’re walking down a busy street – in the middle of a big city, even – and you stop and gawk at the cows, you may get run over by a bicycle or honked at mercilessly by motorbikes, cars or rickshaws.

Did you get that bit about cows? They’re everywhere. In the villages, in the cities, on farms, on the roads, everywhere. We’ve come to the conclusion that if you are going to be a cow, India is the place to do it. People leave food scraps for cows, sometimes more than that. Despite wandering the streets, you get a pretty good life. And, since cows are sacred to Hindus, and some 85% of the Indian population is Hindu, nobody eats cows. Haven’t seen beef on a menu once. So basically, cows in India get to go wherever they want, eat well, get treated like royalty and eventually die happy after a nice long life.

Yes, this would be a pair of cows under a (severely) damaged train car at the Bhuj station. And why wouldn’t cows be on the tracks? At a station. Somehow this conveyed the prevalence of cows even better than a cows-on-the-street picture. But we’ll share some of those soon enough.

Throughout India, although particularly noticeable here in Delhi, are these handy “public conveniences.” You can find them along major roads or even in alleyways. Usually built of stone and tile, they are readily identifiable. If you have trouble spotting one, you can always just follow your nose. Ah yes, these would be public urinals. Very public. And very, very smelly.

Speaking of bathrooms in India, most people arrive with a fairly romanticized vision of the Indian railway system. Riding the trains in India is a must for any traveler, but it’s not the utopian world most people have in their heads when they arrive. Like everything else in India, the trains are a sea of humanity, dirt and culture. Learning this culture can be interesting and even quite enjoyable. Learning to use the train bathroom, however, leaves much to be desired. First of all, naturally, train toilets are simply squatters. All metal, so in that way they aren’t so bad. But the smell builds as the trip continues. Which would make more sense if there was a tank collecting your refuse. But that’s not how it works. There are signs asking you to not use the toilet while the train is in a station. Why? While, if you look carefully while the train is moving, you can see the tracks zipping by underneath. Because yes, the squatter merely funnels your waste down and out onto the tracks.

Speaking of tracks, you can’t go very far, especially near stations, without seeing numerous people on the train tracks. Sometimes they are from the slums that build up next to the tracks. Other times you just can’t tell where the people are from. But it’s as if there’s some sort of supernatural pull bringing masses of Indians to the tracks.

Then again, it’s not like train tracks are the only place you see lots of people. There are 1.2 billion people in this country. That’s a sixth of the world’s population. It’s a big country, yes, but not that big. Imagine what would happen if there were four times as many people in the USA – an extra 900 million people. There would be people anywhere and everywhere. Well, that’s India. You go into the small village of Rayan near the farm and loads of people are milling about. The small village – a nothing on India’s maps – has nearly 8,000 people. It’s no wonder that there’s no concept of personal space here. Privacy simply doesn’t exist.

Yes, let’s talk about personal space. India is a land of queues – lines – and you find yourself needing to form a queue frequently. So as you stand there, minding your business, waiting your turn, you suddenly feel somebody breathing down your neck. Or perhaps their belly is sticking into your back. Or maybe they’re looking over your shoulder, reading whatever is in your hand. This is, of course, if they’re not simply cutting right in front of you, jumping the queue.

There’s jft, waiting in one of many Indian “Qs.” This one is to buy 3 rupee platform tickets. That would be tickets to go out onto the train platform to meet a passenger.

Another harsh reality of India is its poverty. It isn’t always a stark image of poverty in front of your face, but as a white person, it’s impossible to go anywhere without encountering beggars, often a woman with her baby, a crippled person or a young child. Back home, seeing people asking for money on the streets isn’t uncommon – walking in Chicago you’ll find plenty of beggars. But in Chicago they hold their ground, hold out a cup, and if you walk by, that’s the end of it. Here in India, the beggars walk up to you. Wherever you are. And then they follow you. They may ask for “just one rupee,” or for some “chapatti (Indian bread).” They may tap you, hold onto your arm, or if you’re sitting down (on the train, for example), sit on the floor and hold onto your leg. As a general practice we don’t give out any money. For one, we don’t want to encourage the begging. It can be a nuissance, and at other times it can be kind of scary, especially for rIAm (there are also some creepy looking guys on the streets). But we also feel that any resources we have to donate are better utilized if they go through an organization. We will, at times, offer some extra food we may have, especially to children. But there’s no doubt that the poverty of India often, literally, follows you around.

One refreshing alternative to the above comes from a group of “women” comprised of cross-dressing men. Some of these men are gay, others simply cross-dressing, some transexual, some hermaphrodites and others eunuchs (yes, they’ve had their bits and pieces cut off). In any case, they all wear women’s clothes (usually saris) and mostly beg for food and money. But they’ll come up to you, clap their hands, put on a big smile and happy voice, proclaiming “give me money!” It’s rather funny in the moment, although the rumored possibility of getting a little “show” if you fail to produce any money is less humorous. In any case, it always seems to lighten the mood for us.

India is also a country of brilliant colors. Everywhere. Especially on India’s women. The bright yellows and reds and blues and saffron or gold or green, not to mention purples, cranberry and pinks – as if this were an exhaustive list of colors – are simply stunning. The rickshaws always stand out with a bright yellow top, and in many cities are further punctuated by the bright green frames. Seemingly wherever you look your eyes are filled with the amazing hues of India.

I would be remiss to not mention the Indian bobble head, though. Intially I thought this side-to-side and somewhat up-and-down (but on an angle) head motion always meant some variant of “yes” or “maybe,” but that’s not so. Maddening in its simplicity and yet complexity, this head motion can mean almost as many different things as there are Indians in this country! Sometimes it means “yes,” other times “maybe,” further still it could mean “no” or “I don’t understand.” Other times it could mean the person is agreeing or saying yes, but they really shouldn’t be. For example, we asked a rickshaw driver if he knew where Moti Mahal restauarnt was in Old Delhi. Naturally, he bobbled a yes, we agreed on a price and climbed in. Along the way he asked for directions no fewer than 5 times.

One thing that is completely normal about India that we will never, ever dream of complaining about, though are the mangoes. Becaue in India, not only are mangoes very, very cheap, but they are very, very good. Better than that. Better than any mangoes you have ever dreamed of eating. And there isn’t just one kind of mango, there are many. Around a thousand. And we’re doing our best to sample every one of them.

Staying on the farm meant hot days (40C), getting very dirty, working very hard, eating on a concrete floor, living and working with people who know either very little or no English, having just about the same food everyday, getting cuts on our hands, hand-washing our clothes, and for me, it meant the longest stretch of time I’ve ever gone without having any meat.

But we didn’t want to leave, and this morning, it was hard to say goodbye. Because the farm also meant so much more. It meant learning what truly hard work can be. How locals live. How they eat and what they eat. How to communicate. Sharing clothes and laughs and so many mangoes. Learning some of the local language. The most incredible nights, a mix of perfect temperature, glorious breeze and star-filled skies. Getting dressed up to go to “the city,” which is the sleepy town of Mandvi, where rIAm did her best to help boost the local handicraft economy while I kept some local barbers in business with some most excellent shaves (Rs 15 = $0.45US).

And yet the time meant so much more. The working, while at times tiring and difficult, was so rewarding. And the relationships – the people – are some of the most amazing we’ve ever met.

Vijay is the owner, and he’s incredibly gracious and enjoyable, but he lives in the village (Rayan), not on the farm itself. So most of our time is spent with Hari (farm manager), Vanita (cook, worker, Hari’s wife), Dhammaindra (oldest son of Hari & Vanita), Jayesh (middle son), Chetan (youngest son), Kaki (”auntie,” Hari’s 80 year-old mother), and assorted farm employees. Hari’s whole family lives on the farm, so naturally we spend a lot of time with them. Nobody except Vijay speaks fluent English, although the boys (ages 14, 12, 10) know a decent bit of English (progressively knowing more with their ages) and both Hari and Vanita know some words.

For example, after cutting a very ripe mango, Hari announced it was time for “mango eating.” Vanita suggested after dinner one night that we come to their room for “tv looking.” And when renee noticed some dogs playing, Hari proudly announced “dog loving.”

So we have fun communicating.

The food is spectacular; rIAm’s dream come true of a diet, more or less. It’s an entirely vegetarian farm (also no alcohol or smoking), but not vegan, and there is always lots of milk around. Each morning we have tea (chai; tea with lots of milk and sugar) and chapatti, a flat bread made with wheat, water and oil. Lunch is some sort of “sab-zee,” which is vegetables cooked in a sauce with lots of spices. Always flavorful and interesting, and served with (eaten with!) chapatti. Dinner is a risotto-like concoction, a variant of “kitch-a-ree” which is rice and lentils. Some days it isn’t really kitch-a-ree, but it’s very similar as it’s still rice based, but not perhaps with lentils. At each meal there is always buttermilk available, which is cool and fairly sour (you can add salt if you like) and at dinner there is always fresh warm milk with sugar. Either at a meal or as a snack during the day there is usually fruit from the garden, perhaps watermelon or canteloupe, often cucumbers. And we can regularly count on mangoes, which are in season, although not growing on the farm itself. Add some crusty bread and olive oil and rIAm would be in heaven. Not that it crossed her mind to complain.

rIAm made fast friends with Vanita, as they learn each other’s language and prepare meals, clean dishes and do laundry (hand washing). They also will head out to join the women workers most days.

The farm has two main crops, aloe vera and fresh dates. We are just before date season, so we can see them getting ready on the trees. But aloe can be harvested whenever there is an order, which there was twice while we stayed. In the morning we cut aloe and filled up a tractor trailer, then bring it in for extensive washing, filleting, “juicing,” boiling and then rapid cooling. The next day it is filtered and bottled for use. Some aloe vera liquid goes for making soaps, creams, etc while a further purified version goes for making beverages, both medicinal and juice.

For rIAm, bonding with Vanita and the women workers took her energies, as she did her best to communicate, show photos, and learn names. She also paid a lot of attention to Kaki, who spoke zero English whatsoever, but, as it turned out, developed an enormous affection for Meena (aka rIAm; she never grasped the right name, and by the time we figured out what she meant by Meena, it was too late and too great to try or want to change anything). But those are rIAm’s stories, and hers to tell, so as Jayesh would say, “telling stories yes, but now not.”

I can tell you that I approached the bonding with the male workers carefully. They work hard and have their way of doing things, and I didn’t want to step on toes or presume to know a better way. Slowly, after about a week, they saw how I could work, liked what they saw, and spent more and more time trying to talk with me. I realized that Atul knew a lot more English than he let on, as did Vesuba. Imran, the young pup of the group, knew very little, but was enormously curious and interested in me. Rajaa always had a crazy look on his face and knew no English, but we tended to communicate through what seemed to be howls and grunts.

It was perhaps with Atul I forged the best bond. A consistent task while on the farm was covering the many fresh dates with newspaper and plastic to protect them from the upcoming strong rains. These sweet and juicy fruits bring a lot of money into the farm, and so they go to great effort to protect their fruit. Eventually I started working with Atul, helping him cover the large bunches. He’d handle getting the plastic ready; I’d handle the paper. He’d get up high in the tree and start putting the paper and then the plastic over the dates. I’d be underneath, pulling them down and around. Then he’d secure one side, me the other. After an afternoon and the next morning like this, Imran seemed to complain.

It would seem that he was jealous. He wanted to work with me. Nevermind that he had his chance, but now he saw how it could be. But Atul wanted nothing of it. He said no, he was still going to work with me. OK, in all fairness, I’m totally speculating as to how the conversation went, but none of it was in English. But when it was done, Atul turned to me and said something kind of like this: “Imran say no working [with] him. I say working me. [Pointing his hand back and forth between us he continues] Good working, enjoy.”

By the end Atul was calling me his good friend and brother (which isn’t so uncommon, but he wasn’t saying it at the beginning). I was feeling the bond as well, and also still trying to comprehend how he and his wife, Lakshmi, also a farm worker, raise their 5 kids on a combined income of no more than $4US/day (I know Atul gets Rs. 80 for one day of work – work is 7 days/week, but you are free to take a day off when you need it, but of course you don’t get paid).

We have likely not fully wrapped our minds around the farm or its people yet, and we both know that it has captured our hearts in a big way. These people are all incredible in their different ways, and living a full and rich life that is so different than what we know in the USA or Canada. There is no way that the story of the farm is fully or properly captured in this post, and yet I feel compelled to start telling the story, however clumsy or incomplete it may be.

But we have no qualms calling this the most amazing cultural experience of our lives, and we have every intention of taking some of what we’ve learned and incorporating it into our North American lives. Whether it is using soil as grit to clean dishes, making a “sab-zee” for a meal or farting freely during dinner, there are some wonderful aspects to this life.

Of course, we’ll also be very, very happy to get back to a laundry machine and refrigeration.

***

Hopefully you are all enjoying the onset of summer. It’s hard for us to believe the weather may (finally) be better in Toronto & Chicago than where we are traveling; in our minds, it’s still cold and snowy back home! We’ve certainly gotten more used to the hot weather, as we tolerate days that reach 40 C (best not to think about the F conversion!). But even our jaws dropped when we saw Delhi temperatures earlier this week (8-11 June) were 45, 46, 47, 48C.

After a job well done making a garden bed, we pose for a photo. Farang, remember, means (western) foreigner. Our stay at Good Earth Agriculture was good, and we accomplished quite a bit while there, both on and off the farm.

We learned about growing things in a tropical environment, including the process of composting, making fertilizer, making soil, making a garden bed, planting and weeding (some things are the same everywhere!).

Be sure to check out our photos on flickr for some additional information about the processes we used. But rest assured, it involved scooping buffalo poop. And sweating a lot. It was over 90 every day, so we would work from 7:30 or 8 until noon at the latest, and then maybe do a bit again in the late afternoon.

We also got to see into Thai life in a small village and a small city, including at a local Thai school. There are many photos of our visit to Kanlayaprasit School on our flickr page, as well as of our entire stay just north of Prakonchai in the little village known as Ban Sai.

Ah yes, Ban Sai, where four 640ml bottles of Archa Beer (6% alcohol, or so) sell for 100 Baht ($2.86) and a huge bunch of banannas (about 20) go for 10 Baht ($0.29). A big bowl of noodles with some greens and meat, absolutely delicious, is also 10 Baht. So is the scoop of ice cream from the woman on a motorbike who drove right up to the farmhouse. Things got a bit pricier in Prakonchai, where a stir fry on rice was 20 Baht ($0.57) and a whole watermelon (maybe 1-2 kilos) was 25 Baht ($0.71). All prices US.

We also enjoyed playing with Jane, trying to see life in Thailand through the eyes of a 6 year old. Who loves Connect 4, a puzzle kids book, being flung into the pile of hay and eating fried bugs.

Now, hopefully, our seeds have sprouted and Good Earth Agriculture will have a nice crop of gourds, peas, watermelon, tomatoes, and probably some other things I’m forgetting, on the way.

Well we’ve left the farm and are now in Khon Kaen, although we’ll be leaving here soon too. The farm stay was great fun and a great education, so far described only in the captions of our flickr photos. In case you haven’t noticed, there are quite a few new photos uploaded. And there are plenty more on the way when we get the chance.

For now, we’re enjoying our tour through Issan, the region covering most all of northeast Thailand, and specifically our time in Khan Kaen. Right now it’s time to find a midnight snack (literally) and then off to bed.

And we’ve decided that today was by far the hottest it has ever been on my birthday. At least in the place I’m in.