August 21st, 2009: Shanti Home, New Delhi

I have a confession to make:

I do not enjoy flying.

I believe I have spent about a week of my life in the air, and I've gathered enough personal experience to reach that conclusion.

The destinations, however, usually make the journey worthwhile.

An elderly African American gentleman drove my shuttle into Newark after I had a nervous goodbye lunch with my Mom. New Jersey seems to be all but destroyed in terms of its auto infrastructure. Standstill traffic afforded me views of homeless people asking commuters to spare what they could for a thankful blessing, and young men selling bottled water for a dollar.

I pulled up at Newark International about three hours after my departure from New Haven. Handing the driver a tip, I pulled my heavy bags up onto the curb.

Ah, the Continental International Terminal at Newark Airport. A marvel of creatively inept engineering. As I stood in the check-in line, a German family walked by, apparently confused by the airport's layout. A young girl in the family followed behind, looking very tired, and carrying a poorly outfitted Ken doll (its clothes were hanging open and your could see its shiny ass).

After a confusing check-in process and invasive security screenings, I was good to go - I reunited with Alexandra in the terminal. She looked tired from her CA to CT flight. Only 14.5 more hours to go! We waited for the plane, talking excitedly about our plans. We decided that we should stay awake for the entire flight so as to avoid jet lag (we would arrive at our first hotel, Shanti Home, at around 10:00 PM). I had no problem with this, as I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep if I had wanted to.

We watched movies and television in our little seats, avoiding blood clots and pressure ulcers by shifting in our seats uncomfortably. It was mind numbing.

Finally, we arrived in New Delhi. Our entertainment screens were forced out of our control for a public service announcement about what to do when we arrive at the airport. A lone business traveler, apparently the only passenger on his plane, walked into the terminal, breezing through customs, and easily finding his bag on the conveyor (coincidentally the only bag present). He then leisurely strolled outside to find a single cab waiting for him on the street. New Delhi airport seemed like a well-managed, squeaky clean and sparsely populated haven for travelers.

Needless to say it would take a moronic suspension of disbelief for me to take this video as an accurate representation of the madness that awaited us. Ensuring that all of my effects were secure on my person, I stood, stretched, and shuffled to the exit of the plane.

We quickly noticed that the airport was far more crowded and smelly than the video seemed to indicate. Our luggage took quite a while to arrive on the conveyor and, after changing a little money (which is a long, laborious, and complicated process in India for some reason involving various forms and calls to the President), we finally got into our driver's car on the crowded, hectic curbside.

Automobiles of all kinds cluttered the pavement, angled awkwardly without any sense or reason. Horns sounded proudly and lights flashed as our little van dodged bicycles, trucks, pedestrians, small cars, motorbikes, and trucks. We finally make it out onto the road after some aggressive driving moves.

But that was just the beginning.

What followed was an hour long stop-and-go madhouse. Most of the roads were in fine condition. They were modern blacktop roads with fewer potholes than american ones, hedged by tall yellow-striped curbs. Though there were clearly marked dividing lines in the road, every driving rule imaginable (except perhaps which side of the road to drive on, and indeed even this was flexible) was being broken before my eyes. If we were on a three-lane road, there were five cars and a few motorcycles between them. Whole families piled onto tiny motorbikes and weaved dangerously in and out of the crawling mass of vehicles. Horns honked endlessly. I soon discovered that, unlike in America, car horns are merely a method for motorist Indians to say "Hey, I'm here!" Larger cars and trucks, in fact, frequently have signs painted on their bumpers and backs that say "Blow Horn" or "Horn Please". Our driver complained at length that the Indian government did not adequately control and enforce traffic laws, and that it often took over an hour to travel just one kilometer!

Finally, we made it to Shanti Home after endless flurries of hand-painted signs, slums, lights, and confusion, my tired mind fading in and out of consciousness. Passing through the gates, there was an unbelievable difference between the interior of the hotel and the squalor of the street - far worse than I had seen (or smelled) in Nicaragua. After check-in and a glass of sweet lime (a traditional drink of welcoming) we made it to our room, bolted the door, and collapsed into our bed.

We were poised for a great adventure.

Graduation from Wesleyan; Summer Research 2009

I would prefer to focus this blog on my adventures, and while the following events may be more exciting than the lives of some, I'd like to summarize them briefly instead to of including the details of the more mundane aspects of my life.

Spring break finished all to quickly, and we all went back to school. Things continued much as they had before break... I continued work on my documentaries, continued having fun with friends, continued to photograph most everything I saw. I finished all of my schoolwork, and the end of the year ratcheted up into a massive celebration for the seniors. Everything came in a blur; my final a cappella concert, end of the year parties, and finally, graduation itself. All to rapidly my closest friends began to pop out of existence, and I wondered if I had fully appreciated my undergraduate years. Perhaps I should I have done things differently. Perhaps I missed out on meeting many people that would have enriched my life manyfold. Oh well, it was great while it lasted.

Without resting I immediately began my field work. Caterpillar sampling is one of my favorite times of the year... full time work in the field, hot and dirty, insect bites and myriad discoveries in the form of interesting fungi and unique forms of weevils and other small creatures. Best of all, the wonderful people I worked with. Mike, Izaac, the two Joshes... they were awesome, of course. It's a funny thing that happens to people who work together in the field. Inside jokes and little skits pile up quickly, and by the end of the season we basically create a new language to speak to each other. Like crazy people. Very hard to describe, but incredibly fulfilling.

Oh to live and work in the natural spaces of the world, to explore and capture what little we have left. It's my dream above all else.

Field season came to an end, and after a frenzied rush to enter an analyze date for the Hughes presentations, we were finished. Time for me to leave...

An opportunity had arisen for my sister and myself; a wedding was to be held in Chennai, India, and we had been invited. Not ones to pass up a grand adventure, we began planning our big trip...

Final Nicaragua post...

March 15, 2009

It was a decidedly low key day as we prepared for our departure. We spent most of our time up at the Pelican Eyes, lounging by the pool and relaxing, enjoying breakfast (really good breakfast).

On our way home, we saw a shark dog laying in the middle of the road. Though cars went by frequently and he was in direct, intense sunlight, the dog refused to move. Worried that it had been hit by a car and was unable to move itself to safety, we stood by and watched. We were concerned about the dog, but did not want to be mauled by the beast if it was unfriendly.

A boy on a bicycle approached and passed the dog, nearly hitting it. We watched in horror as the boy did several lazy circles around the dog, almost hitting it multiple times. Finally the boy kicked the dog. It immediately sprang up, uninjured. We left for home at once, cursing the stupid animal for wasting our time.

After packing a bit, we went to the shore in search of souvenirs. I bought two bracelets, and as I paid for a nice t-shirt I heard a loud thump nearby and was suddenly splashed by something. A coconut had fallen just a couple of feet from where I stood, hitting the ground with skull-crushing force! Lucky I guess.

We enjoyed dinner (langosta a la plancha) at the first restaurant we had eaten at on the first day, and then we went to Republika and Iguana's to say goodbye to all of our new friends. After drinks and conversation about renewable energy and the development of Nicaragua, it was time to go home and go to bed early. We had paid our rent, and were ready to leave early the next morning.

Laying in the hot, windowless room, I waited for sleep to overtake me. It was inconceivable that I was going home already. On the whole, this trip was an incredible opportunity, not only for recreation and silliness, but for important life experiences. Never before had I seen such destitution firsthand, nor had I seen the destruction and exploitation of a native people and environment for largely wasteful and unsustainable "development". Of course, I had heard of such things, seen documentaries, even seen analogous situations in Australia, but this was entirely different. I do not know what will happen in Nicaragua, but I have a hunch that it will benefit the rich rather than the people who now struggle to live here.

The degree to which I take my comfortable and privileged American life for granted was also thrown into sharp relief. Never do I have to worry about cut electricity or water, or even where to get water to drink that won't make me violently ill. These are matters of daily concern for the citizens of Nicaragua. They must also fight malnutrition, find medical care somehow (if they even can), and earn a living in a society where it is very difficult to get an education, compete with outsiders, or lead any sort of traditional lifestyle. SJDS, for example, would not survive if it were not for tourism... it is not a typical town in Nicaragua.

But I digress. Life is comparatively sweet and easy in America.

My final conclusion is one I have reached before, but it is certainly reinforced: I must see as much of the world as I can as if it will not exist tomorrow. While I am young and able, I must continue my travels and learn all I can.

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End of the Nicaragua entries.

March 14, 2009

It was a lazy day.

I took some time to get my effects in order and plan my return home. I visited the internet café and bought a "Federal Witness Protection Program" shirt at the thrift store (~$1.50... they don't call it a thrift store for nothing). I'm dangerously low on funds, so I decided to forgo a zipline canopy tour in favor of the means to eat for the next two days. I relaxed and updated my journal, took a long over-due shower (hot water was working... wow) and slept for a while.

By the time we were ready to "be real people again" (this is a common Wesleyan University term amongst my friends and myself), it was the late afternoon. We headed over to La Panga for some fish and chips. The name of the restaurant had become something of an inside joke over the past few days. Strangely enough, Poutine (french fries with cheese and gravy) was on the menu, clearly displaying the Canadian influences to culture in the area.

We enjoyed fried calamari and fish and chips, admired the interesting seafood-themed murals on the wall, and danced in our seats to the excellent music that was playing. Life was good.

Shortly after, we decided it would be a good idea to go for dinner... again. We had heard a lot about the local Parilla fare in the area, but hadn't tasted it yet. Walking down the streets we came upon a large outdoor barbeque piled high with different meats and tortillas. Basically an under-the-table temporary restaurant operation, Parillas are popular with locals because they serve a ton of food for very little money. We soon found ourselves in front of huge plates of steak, chicken, pinto gallo, rice, tortillas, and cabbage. Yum. We left full and happy.

Night fell and we visited Republika for some buckets of rum and coke (~$4 each) and some cards. It was a silly night, and we ended up at Iguana's.