Of course, where there are tourists (Indian or foreign), there are people trying to sell things to tourists. In Kanyalkumari there is an endless supply of guys walking around selling sunglasses (and sometimes some other things). The market seemed supersatured to me, so perhaps that goes some way to explaining the following, frequent, interaction (which is typically happening while we are walking). It starts with an Indian salesman and alternates between him (as it’s invariably a him) and me.

“Hello Sir (holding sunglasses).”
“No thank you.”
“Sunglasses sir? (now holding sunglasses out to me)”
“No.”
“Good price.”
“No.”
“Sun cooling.”
“No.”
“Unbreakable (while stretching the sunglasses out to prove his point).”
“No.”
“Sun blocking.”
“No.”
“Very good quality.”
“No.”
“Sun cooling.”
“No.”
“Unbreakable.”
“No.”
“Very good…. (trails off as he gives up following, but still calls out his sales pitch)”
“No.”

But we’ve been in India for nearly 4 months and so that is where I will stay focused. Because the transport in India seems like a world unto itself.

In order to get from place to place we rely mostly on busses and trains, and the Lonely Planet – the guide we have used throughout – has a section at the end of every stop titled “Getting There and Away.” It’s a very useful collection of the pertinent air, bus, boat, or train options to get to or from wherever you happen to be. It’s this section – these sorts of transports – that are propelling this post.

I should detour (or, as they say here, diversion) for a moment to mention that for getting around a city, we rely mostly on autorickshaws or walking. Traveling by auto is a strange and sometimes scary beast of its own. You just sort of play bumper cars from start to finish, hoping you never actually touch another vehicle, pedestrian or cow. You also have to work hard to get a fair price. Usually, at least. But let’s get back to those busses and trains, shall we?

India has an extensive and impressive, even if overly romanticized, railway system. You can get a train from wherever you are to wherever you want to go. Except when you can’t. But usually you can; when we wanted to go from Jodhpur to Dharamsala we figured it would be a shot in the dark. Turns out, there was a daily train that went directly to the nearest station. Of course, it took about 20 hours.

That’s one thing about trains in India. They aren’t fast. But it does give you time to enjoy, embrace and at times despise the Indian railway culture. For overnight trains, the primary class of service is “Sleeper (SL).” In this setup, at either end of the train car you have a set of toilets. Then you have an aisle down the car, which is roughly dividing the car into 1/4 and 3/4. On the 1/4 side you have two seats facing each other, which both fold down to create a bed for one person to sleep lengthwise (there is another bed above, which is always just a bed). On the 3/4 side you have two long benches facing each other, each of which hold 3 people (so 6 in this area). Up top one bunk is available permanently (sleeping width-wise), while the seat back for the bottom bench folds up to become a middle bunk. (Follow this link and scroll down a little to “Sleeper Class” for some photos)

The thing about SL, is that it’s used by the masses. You get relatively well-to-do Indians who don’t want to (or can’t) pay the significantly higher price for AC, as well as comparatively poor villagers who are on a great adventure. As well as everything in between. Until “bedtime,” which in train culture usually means 9 or 10pm, the seating is somewhat of a free-for-all. Not that it’s supposed to be, but in practice, people sit wherever they darn well please.

When rIAm, Bianca and I traveled from Bhopal to Mumbai, we had three sleeper berths, but unfortunately not together. We did manage to get them in the same car. As we boarded and came to our first seat, we discovered about 9 Indians crammed into the 6 seats (on the 3/4 side), one of which was supposed to be ours. Special. We pressed on and found our one seat on the 1/4 side open, so we set down bags and Bianca got settled in. I soldiered on to find the third seat, which fortunately was in a set of 6 that was only occupied by a woman and her young son. The second seat with Bianca was open and I considered just putting rIAm’s bag under it, but decided to put two down at our third seat. rIAm sat with me where there was room for two and Bianca sat alone, only to discover several Indian men climbed up to the upper berth – Bianca’s berth – and were just hanging out. Another sat across from Bianca. The two above, when queried, seemed to say they would move for Bianca to sleep. We pretty much gave up on our first seat; in the area for 8 people on both sides of the aisle I counted at least 12 Indians. Fortunately for us, the Ticket Collector worked some sort of magic and gave us the seat opposite Bianca and all was fine. Until, of course, a baby started crying and was never calmed down by its mother or father. All night long.

Also consider the case I mentioned above, with rIAm, linda and I going from Jodhpur to Pathankot (for Dharamsala). We had 3 of 6 seats in one set of 6: a lower and upper on one side and a middle on the other. This was fine and dandy, except a grandma sitting in the same area wanted our lower in exchange for her middle because she couldn’t climb so well. We agreed, being nice and all, but when she wanted to sleep, we were stuck having to move. Although we got our “revenge” in the morning when both rIAm and I (we took the two middles) slept way past all the Indians, which kept people from being able to sit very comfortably down below. The real kicker, though, was during the next day when we were sitting. Only the four of us were actually sitting in this area; the other two people who slept in our area were with family or friends in other sections to sit. We arranged ourselves two on one bench and two on the other. It was very convenient for our group of three, as conversation and card playing was much easier. But then grandma shooed rIAm off the bench so she could lay down and sleep.

These really aren’t such serious complaints; they are amusing more than anything else now. Although the crying baby was especially frustrating. But there are plenty of other interesting things about riding the rails.

Typically, in the morning – and especially in the AC classes – seemingly the entire train car heads to one of the sinks (one on either end) to brush their teeth. People and families bring their tiffins – Indian style metal “lunchboxes” – filled with chapatti and food for the trip. And in true Indian hospitality fashion, if they see foreigners with no tiffin (as, inevitably, is the case), they become almost belligerent in offering us food. Indians, it seems, know how to travel by train; we’ve even seen an Indian family string up a blanket to serve as a cradle for their baby, hanging between the seats on the 3/4 side.

Overall, we’ve found train travel to be a good way to travel. It gets frustrating at times to deal with the beaurocratic booking process (you need to have a form properly filled out, but to fill out the form you need information from the person you will eventually have to give the form to – that would be the form containing the information the person is giving you…). And the toilets are often disgusting, at best (not to mention that whatever business you do lands on the tracks, hence the request to refrain from using the toilet while stopped at stations). Plus, Sleeper class can have a pretty high grunge factor. But overall, we know what we’re going to get, it will be a smooth ride, and we’ll sleep reasonably well.

Of course, you can also travel by bus in India. And many, many Indians do. Basically every bus we’ve been on, at least for some portion of its journey, has, at least, all its seats taken. The problem with the government busses, run by each state, is that you often just don’t know what you’re going to get. And, sadly, usually it’s not very good.

From Dharamsala to Delhi we had what amounted to a very good overnight bus. The seats went back pretty far, were very nicely cushioned, and even had a headrest that held your head in place while you slept. Of course, it was really a pretty crappy bus that didn’t handle bumps too well, but they put nice seats into it.

From Goa to Hospet (gateway to Hampi) we had the “semi-luxury” 10 hour bus. It was the only way to get where we wanted to go; in a few weeks the season will really begin and private companies will start offering their services again. In any case, we knew it was a 2×3 setup, but what we got was even less luxury than the minimally-luxurious bus we were expecting. The seats were barely cushioned, and at the end was a vertical pole (for standees to hold, I guess) that effectively gave us the seating space exactly equal to 2cm less than the width of rIAm’s and my rear ends, seated. And the seat in front was about the same distance too close to really fit my knees. Of course, I had the aisle to relieve this problem.

Except I didn’t. Because not only was every seat taken, but people were pretty much literally climbing all over each other to fill up every last space of the bus. I have no idea how the conductor worked up and down to collect all his fares, but I know it included extensive squeezing and sucking-in of guts. I had the distinct pleasure of having one of India’s many plump women in the aisle next to me. (I should digress here to mention – or remind you – that the notion of personal space in India is non-existent).

Fortunately, a few people got down relatively early in the journey, relieving some pressure, but we were still packed in tight. We did come to our lunch stop, though (this is a feature of many Asian bus routes – they make a half hour stop for lunch or dinner at some restaurant along the way). And, after extracating my shoulder from the rolls of this woman’s stomach, I was able to get up and stretch.

The good news was that nearly every passenger went no further than Hubli, which left a bit less than half the journey with a nearly empty bus, when those of us remaining were happy to stretch out across several seats. This generally made up for having been squeezed, poked, elbowed, squished, used as a shelf and slept on during the first 6 hours or so.

The thing about these government buses is that even though some of them take reservations, most Indians don’t bother. You pay 10-20 rupees for the reservation – well worth it to us; we had seats on the above trip – but many Indians would rather pay the cheaper fare when they get on the bus. So everybody fights to get in to get themselves a seat (and sadly relinquishes it, to rIAm, for example, when she shows a reserved ticket to the formerly gleeful Indians in our seats).

India also has plenty of private bus companies, which are supposed to be good value. They provide a coach bus, sometimes with A/C, and offer both sitting and sleeper options. You don’t pay too much more than the government busses, but you get a better ride. And a better sleep. But these are sometimes just as iffy, and in three sleeper rides we’ve had ok, good and godawful. With the terrible ride from Pune to Goa in mind, we’ve pretty much decided that while we may not get a great bus, we at least won’t feel like we’re getting ripped off with the government buses.

So with this in mind, we tolerated a super bumpy ride from Hospet to Mysore in reasonably comfortable seats that very disappointingly did not recline at all. Not the greatest sleep, but no worse than the bad private bus, and not a big financial investment.

Similarly, as we worked our way from Mysore to Mangalore, with some stops in between, most notably to visit a Tibetan colony, we stuck with the government buses (really, the only option anyway). So when we asked at the station which bus would take us to Kushalnagar (the stop for the colony we wanted), it was a great and pleasant surprise to find a nice looking bus (most buses here look like they are on their last legs, after a career in bumper-buses) equipped with super comfortable and reclining seats. All it lacked was A/C, but that was no problem since the temperatures around that area were not too bad, thanks to a bit of elevation and some cooling rains.

The thing about buses, you see, is not that we don’t like them. They are an effective way to get from place to place, often going from city center to city center, and also, typically, requiring little or no advance booking. It’s convenient. But the roads in India, as a general rule, are total crap. Filled with potholes and often crumbling. And the shock absorbers on Indian buses often appear to be non-existent.

So, imagine our surprise, when after visiting with some lovely Tibetans we find ourselves back at the Kushalnagar bus station looking for a bus to Madikeri, a bit bigger place with better sleeping options, and we are directed to a beautiful, air-conditioned, coach style Volvo bus, complete with comfortable reclining seats. It may have taken us 40 minutes to go the final 14 kms due to crap road, but that was one sweet ride. Although rIAm looked at me with shock when I mentioned how much I liked the A/C. She was kind of angry with the irony of it all; we’ve had plenty of bus rides on major routes in 35 or 40+ degree C weather with no A/C. That night, with incredibly nice temperatures outside (we were at even higher elevation), we had A/C. And then again the next day, when we plied the way to Mangalore, on a day that featured incredibly pleasant temperatures. This is a bit like the person who shovels out from blizzard after blizzard all winter long, only to get a snow blower for that last dusting of snow in March. In any case, the Karnataka State Road Transport Corporation is our new favorite government bus service.

From here on out we will undoubtedly use a mix of buses and trains and face the same question we faced today, for tomorrow’s overnight journey: Take the train, arriving a bit too early but offering better sleeping options, or take the bus, which may be very uncomfortable and super bumpy, providing bad sleeping conditions (but arriving at a bit better time)?

This time? We booked the train.

Next time? Stay tuned.

I think curiousity could play a great role in helping us to understand why others behave as they do, but also to examine our own rituals and purposes.

- Adrienne Clarkson, Canadian journalist and former Governor-General of Canada, “The Society of Difference,” 2007 Lecture of the LaFontaine-Baldwin Symposium

After almost four months of travel in India, I am still trying to understand the Indian head bobble/wobble, a distinct head movement that Indians use instead of nodding, and which often answers our closed-ended questions (seeking a yes or no response) such as: “are you open or closed?;” “does the bus leave at 8 pm?;” “is this (name of Indian town we are trying to get to)?” The problem with the head motion for us is that we can never tell if it means “yes” or “no,” since other times it can mean “ok” or “maybe” or “i see your mouth is moving and sound is being produced, but i do not understand you, oh fair skinned people with so much hair on your arms.”

I’ve examined the many other places I’ve visited and lived in and they all seem to have a preponderance for nodding up and down to mean “yes” and nodding side-to-side to mean “no.” And really the purposes of these distinct head motions seem quite explicit to me. There is no confusion since one does not mean the other and really, there is no in between. Shoulders shrugging, while showing your palms can often mean “I don’t know.” Or a look of confusion works well. And “maybe” is just said as “maybe,” sometimes with a little pout or mouth curl thrown in for extra doubt. So really, there are a distinct said of head and body movements to mean, yes, no, maybe etc.

Maybe I just haven’t summoned enough curiousity to determine the logistics of the Indian head bobble, and how it is used.

See for yourself what we witness daily, via this video at YouTube.

A search online for “Indian head wobble (or bobble)” will yield many travelers blogs, either bemoaning or trying to decipher the nuances of this very south Asian head movement. Insight from anyone stumbling across this post, would be sincerely appreciated.

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.

None happened.

rIAm did manage one post while in Toronto, an entirely unplanned and unexpected one, but amazing in that we both independently were feeling like we were in a land of good cheer (not just good smells).

In any case, now we’re on our way back to the farm, where I’ll work for a couple weeks and rIAm will learn how to meditate. Internet access will be intermittent at best for a while now, but don’t let that stop you from writing us. It just means that those posts we’d still like to write may have to wait for a bit longer.

In the meantime, we have a seemingly endless supply of photos from our first 7 months in Asia, and a nice collection of shots from our time at home. You can find them all on our flickr page.

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.