Off to Southeast Asia!

"SURPRISE! You have 7 days leave that expire at the end of 2010!"

This is what happened to me last week. I had been saving up my leave days for a longer trip in the spring; I assumed leave days could carry over (also, it should be noted that I still think of years in academic terms. September is the new year for me, not January! so it didn't occur to me that this might be a problem). One might ask why HR did not tell me this during orientation. The answer would be that HR never gave me an orientation. So basically I don't know any of the policies of my organization.

Anyway, 7 days leave + 2 Sundays + Christmas holiday = 10 day vacation. And I had exactly one week to figure out where to go. I looked up flights to everywhere warm (hey, it's cold here in the mountains without central heating!) within and near India, and Bangkok was the cheapest flight (cheaper than Goa). So, there ya go. I'm going to Thailand, mostly to some islands for beach time and scuba diving. And Cambodia to see Angkor Wat, because, you know, I'll be in the neighborhood.

I leave tonight on an overnight bus from Shimla to Delhi, and my flight to Bangkok is tomorrow. Weeee vacation!!

Don't let them fool you.

Monkeys. As a young lass in the US, I thought monkeys were cute and playful and pretty much the best land animals ever (but my favorite overall animals were, naturally, whales). At age 6, I had a plush monkey with exaggerated arms and velcro on the hands so that it could hug things (and me) that I bought at the Baltimore Zoo. I loved that toy. I even went through a phase in middle school when I only wore Paul Frank, the monkey-lover's answer to Hello Kitty (it was an awkward time in my life, ok?). Seriously, just ask my mom, Jessie S., and Mayan, and they will tell you: 12-year-old Emily loved monkeys (by the way, Jessie S. and Mayan were totally guilty of going through a monkey phase too! And I was totally jealous of Jessie's Aeropostale monkey pajama pants, even though I had the Paul Frank version. Her monkey design was just cuter).

This was all before I came to India, a place that has shattered my dreams of adorable monkeys playfully swinging through trees and not threatening human life. My earliest evil monkey encounter occurred in Gingee (pronounced Sinjee), Tamil Nadu. A bunch of us in my study abroad program decided to take a fun weekend away from campus to visit the fort in Gingee and the temples in Tiruvannamalai. Fun, we thought. Until we were attacked by monkeys.

Gingee Fort

view from the fort

When we finally reached the uppermost section of the fort, we decided to stop and eat lunch. As we were eating, we slowly realized that more and more monkeys were approaching. Soon, we were surrounded by monkeys on all sides, with nowhere to go. One monkey even snatched Fred's bag of dates right out of his backpack! They clearly intended to steal more food from us. They hissed, bared their teeth, and crouched in about-to-pounce position--very intimidating. So we did the only thing we could: we ran. I remember jumping off the structure because monkeys were blocking the stairs. And I ran all the way down the hill. I then refused to climb up to the second area of the fort, because I had had enough of these monkeys (Zeliha would later tell me how the monkeys at the second section tried to steal her juice box right out of her hands, and I was happy with my decision to stay put).

evil monkeys who stole our food

Unfortunately for me, Shimla is the epicenter of monkey madness. Shimla's monkeys are infamous all over India. If I tell an Indian I'm living in Shimla, one of the first things they ask is "how do you handle the monkeys?" Indians often mention monkeys before the beautiful mountain scenery, the colonial architecture, and the (relatively) pleasant climate. These notorious monkeys steal ice cream out of children's hands at the Mall and glasses off of faces at the Jakhoo Temple.

Jakhoo Temple is appropriately dedicated to Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god. This temple surely must be Hanuman's Lair, as thousands of monkeys--every single one of them evil--populate the area. In fact, these monkeys are particularly evil. A neighbor once told me that she saw a monkey pry a 4-month-old baby out of his mother's arms and then bring the baby up a tree. The monkey only released his hostage after banana negotiations. In my opinion, it was terrible parenting to bring such a young child to Hanuman's Lair. Needless to say, I will NEVER step foot in these glasses- and baby-stealing monkey-infested temple grounds.

monkeys on the Mall plotting their next attack. as you can see, I tried to keep my distance.

The state of Himachal Pradesh has tried numerous measures to control the monkey population, but to no avail. The most recent desperate attempt? The state has declared open hunting season on the monkeys; farmers can shoot to kill these monkeys if they feel their farms are threatened.

The monkeys in my neighborhood are no exception. They are just as menacing. My landlord installed grills on my windows so that monkeys would not break into my apartment (yes, it happens, usually through the kitchen). I hang my newly-washed clothes to dry on the terrace, despite the risks (I have heard stories of monkeys ripping up expensive saris left out to dry), and I have paid the consequences. One time, a monkey unclipped a kurta from the line and threw it over the terrace onto the street below. Luckily, a shopkeeper picked up the now-filthy garment and returned it to me. Another time, I found all my underwear missing; clearly, monkeys stole my underwear. From time to time, monkeys leave me gifts: their feces. I'm afraid to go out onto a my terrace at night, because sometimes I hear monkeys fighting and shrieking out there. Or even if they're not fighting, they are hanging out there and G-d only knows what they'd do to me. Every morning I'm woken up by the monkeys and dogs having an all-out epic battle, and there is no question in my mind that the monkeys win every time.

The monkeys in my neighborhood gave birth recently. There are tiny--and I mean tiny--baby monkeys stumbling around everywhere or clinging to their mothers' undersides. Adorable? One might be fooled into thinking so, but let's not forget that these monkeys' mothers will train them to become monsters. So another generation of devils has been brought into this world, and I am not happy about it.

spawn of Satan

In conclusion, don't let these monkeys fool you: they are not cute, they are evil menaces to be shot by angry farmers.

My new favorite blog

Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like, a variation on the popular Stuff White People Like, could also be called Stuff Expat Development Workers Like, because I can relate to many of the posts.

What stuff do Expat Aid/Development Workers like? Well, according to this blog, Blending In, Pictures of Burqas, and Tropical Diseases and Parasites, among others. Um, yeah, guilty as charged on all counts. (I wear a salwar kameez or at least kurta every day in an attempt to fit in with Indians; I tried to sneak pictures of women in burqas in Hyderabad; I once had dengue fever and yes, have brought it up in conversation.)

I am ashamed. And laughing really hard at this blog--and at myself.

Credit goes to Molly for directing me toward this genius source of entertainment. Thanks!

I am in love. ...with the adorable offspring of goats and sheep.

Just look at how gosh darn CUTE they are!!

baby sheep napping in a bowl
Nako Village, Kinnaur District

Rajesh and me with a baby goat
Chhitkul Village, Kinnaur District

On Migration, Part 1: Things I learned about buffaloes

Two months ago (yup, I'm real late on this one) I went on a field visit that involved me traveling with the migratory Gujjar tribe. They travel with their buffaloes, so I got to know these creatures fairly intimately. These are the things I learned (as told to me by Gujjars or as I witnessed):

• Buffaloes walk damn slowly.
• Buffalo eyes glow in the dark. Or at least they appeared to at times, and it totally creeped me out.
• A group of 27 buffaloes ate approximately 200 kg of grass twice a day = one buffalo eats approximately 15 kg a day.
• A single buffalo can poop up to 10 kg of dung a day.
• This poop can be collected by women's bare hands and turned into dung patties for future use, "just like making chapatis." But the women cannot possibly collect all the poop, as there is just way too much of it.
• Buffalo placenta can come out 9 hours after the newborn baby buffalo (calf?), and I thought it was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen. Until the mother buffalo ate the placenta. Then that was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen.
• Although newborn baby buffaloes can stand and even wobble/attempt to walk within hours of being born, they cannot walk completely properly until they are 10 days old. So, naturally, someone has to carry it:

Re: The Roads of My Life

Tonight I was telling some neighbors about the Ice Road Truckers: Deadliest Roads TV show and how they featured our beloved NH-22. Their response? "Oh yeah, we saw them filming. Right here. We weren't entirely sure why those trucks had cameras surrounding them and thought it was अजीब/ajib [strange]."

So there you have it. My neighborhood was filmed in IRT. Sweet!

The Roads of My Life (Mom: please do not read this post.)

This is why my mother cannot sleep at night:



(Mom: for the love of G-d and your sanity, do NOT watch this trailer. Or even read the rest of my post. Please.)

I take a short section of that road, National Highway 22, a.k.a. the Hindustan-Tibet Road, to and from my office every day; my office is actually located on this road. And I have taken that road between Chandigarh and Shimla 6 times (so far), and the road past Shimla to some villages for field work several other times. And to Kalpa for a fun mini-vacation weekend with Helene. In fact, I've gone the full length of the NH-22, all 459 km of it, from Ambala (Haryana) to Khab (Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh), over various trips. So yeah, pretty familiar with the good ol' NH-22, and yes I recognize sections of the road from the trailer. The crumbling piece of road at 0:53, for example, drove within inches of that just 2 days ago (yes it's still there; maintenance on this road is difficult due to the rough terrain).



I think it is unfair to call these Ice Road Truckers "today's toughest truckers." I mean, there are Indian truckers and bus drivers who take these roads EVERY DAY, and I bet they aren't nearly as afraid as these North American truckers. I, perhaps naively, have full confidence in my bus drivers. I'll admit there have been moments in which I've thought "OMG WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF OMG THAT TRUCK IS MILLIMETERS AWAY FROM MY BUS OMG WHY DO WE HAVE TO BE THE ONES BACKING UP AROUND A HAIRPIN TURN OMG WE ALMOST HIT THAT HERD OF GOATS OMG THIS BRIDGE HAS HOLES IN IT OMG WE ARE GOING TO DIE OMG" but those moments are not that common. Because you know what? These Indian drivers DO know what they're doing. They have experience. They know the unwritten, unspoken rules of the Himalayan roads. So I trust the bus drivers. I trust them because I have to trust them. If I didn't trust them, I'd probably live my life in fear and never leave my apartment. ...which my mother would probably consider a good thing, because then she'd have much less to worry about. (Mom, I wish you would have as much faith in these drivers as I do! Seriously, it will make your life so much less stressful.)

PS: That trailer, and probably the TV show (I've never seen it), dramatizes how dangerous/scary the Himalayan roads are. I swear, they're not nearly as bad as this trailer makes them out to be.

Contrary to popular belief, I am not English.

I have encountered something in Himachal Pradesh that I have encountered nowhere else in India, even after spending approximately 1.5 years here and traveling all over the country: people calling me "अंग्रेज़"/"angrez," or "English."

I have been called many things in India (usually "गोरी"/"gori," or "white"), but never "English." And I haven't just been called angrez once or twice in Himachal Pradesh. No no no, I've been called angrez more times than I can count, all over the state from the Punjab border to the Tibet border and on a near-daily basis in Shimla. I don't know why Himachalis call all fair-skinned people English, but it drives me पागल (mad). Whenever I hear someone say "angrez"--whether to my face or talking about me right in front of me as if I don't understand a word of Hindi--I automatically get all defensive and yell "मैं अंग्रेज़ नहीं हूँ! मैं अमेरिकन हूँ!!" ("I am not English! I am American!!") Honestly, it has never annoyed me when people call me gori. Because I am gori. But boy do I hate when Himachalis call me English. Why? Well, mostly the following reasons:

• There is a lot of negative colonial baggage associated with angrez people. Because, you know, they ruled over India for a few hundred years, and in a pretty brutal manner. But hey, wait a minute, my people never ruled over you! Don't think of me as one of your former imperial overlords! I don't want the baggage of angrez associated with me.
  
• Indians generally like Americans. Yes, you may think there would be negative baggage associated with some American foreign policy actions, but there really isn't much (though people express curiosity as to why the US supports Pakistan so much). The vast majority of people's reactions to hearing I'm American are very positive and excited. I actually think it's one of the best foreign nationalities you can be in this country.
  
• I'm proud to be American. There, I said it. And don't think I won't start singing the song, because I can. I can and I will.

So, my dear Himachalis, despite what you may deduce from my white skin, I am not, have never been, and never will be English. Please stop calling me अंग्रेज़. If you're not going to recognize my American citizenship (...or my status as an Indian resident, like you'd ever recognize that! HA!), I much prefer being called गोरी or even the semi-derogatory फिरंगी. Thanks!

I'm baaaack! But leaving again soon--help me choose where!

I'm back from the field again, back from the sea of graduate school applications (ok not really, still have 2 left), and back to the blog. First order of business: Where should I spend my next vacation? Turns out I have 4 days leave that will expire Jan 1, 2011, and combined with a day off for Christmas (remember I normally work Saturdays) and a Sunday, that gives me a 6-day vacation! I want to go somewhere warm/hot and preferably with a large body of water like a sea or ocean (basically somewhere that is the opposite of the cold mountains I live in). And I'd like to stay in South Asia. Here's what I'm thinking:

• Mumbai (to see Stanford friend(s) Nandita and/or Nina, depending on timing) and Gujarat (Little Rann, Rann of Kutch, Gir, and/or Diu) (yes I know technically Diu is in a separate Union Territory, but come on that's like saying Pondicherry town is not in Tamil Nadu)
  
• Goa (it's hot, it has beaches and delicious food ...but also has rowdy British holidaymakers)
• Lakshadweep (basically an extension of the Maldives archipelago in India, off the coast of Kerala. read: SCUBA DIVING! but also requires a permit I may or may not be able to get in time. and expensive.)
• Andaman Islands (already been to Havelock, could explore other islands. but expensive to get there)
• Bangalore (to visit friends), Hampi (ruins of an ancient city), and Gokarna (beach)

So, which location(s) you vote for? Or do you have other suggestions? Let me know via comment, email, or gchat! Thanks. :)

PS: Here is a taste of where I did field work:

I'm sorry, did I accidentally cross over into Tibet? Nako Village, Kinnaur.

More to come.