Ah, the summer.
Spent yesterday lying on a beach, looking through the gaps in my straw hat carefully positioned over my face (I know what you're saying, and its not funny) at the cotton wool clouds drifting past. My favourite skies are the ones that look like the title frame for 'The Simpsons', and this one didn't disappoint. I could hear my breathing echoing around the inside of my hat, as well as the lazy inhalation and exhalation of the sea rolling over the pebbles. Someone had a baggy panel in their windbreak that rattled in the occasional breeze. Every so often there would be the scrunching of footsteps in the stones - 'Keep going, keep going, don't sit near me'. In the distance excited children's voices called to each other, and once or twice an admonishing adult's tone.
When the level of relaxation became too strenuous, a cup of tea would be sought from the kiosk nearby. A good cup of tea, that excused it's nasty little expanded polystyrene container. I was even quite glad of the plastic lid as it did arrive pleasantly hot.
There is a knack to getting comfy on a stony beach, it never works at the first attempt, and once you acknowledge this, things become easier. There is the little ceremony of trying to tack the rug down in the breeze, making sure you go for the stones that look too big first off (saves effort in the end). When you lie down you will undoubtedly find that one or two stones are a bit pointy, and catch you in that tender area around your kidneys. Remember that they have been around for several million years so have earned their place on the beach as well. A small amount of shuffling, or even a kneel up and pat movement should sort this out. You can then enjoy several hours of worrying only about whether to have a Magnum or a Ninety Nine. Actually, you HAVE to have the Ninety Nine if you are a serious beach person. Magnums (Magna/Magnii?) just don't dribble down your forearm in the traditional manner, rather like modern candles don't dribble wax down the Liebfraumilch bottle any more (and not just because no-one buys cheap white these days).
The best finale to a beach day is the take away curry. This means you don't have to retain a vertical position for too long while slaving over a hot stove. You can phone from the sitting position and just move sideways onto a comfy couch when the doorbell rings with the chicken tickler masala. ALWAYS remember that however careful you are, the oil from the curry containers will trickle out onto the nearest surface. Forego any Feng Shui concerns and just keep a bin liner propped open at the ready.
Wash down with copious amounts of red and when your eyelids get heavy, fall into bed.
Job done.
Sunday 30 August 2009
Wednesday 26 August 2009
Coming Home
I've been shouting, 'Yeah Baby!' quite often since I got back; on feeling my pillow, on my first cup of tea, on washing my malaria tablets down with white wine, on turning the cold tap and DRINKING THE WATER, on leaving the back door open and not worrying about the mosquitos coming in, on eating meals that aren’t curried - but mostly on having completed such an amazing adventure.
Tuesday 25 August 2009
India II
For the last week in India we went to help out in a rural orphanage. This is where children from the city slums come for sanctuary when their home life is considered unsafe, or when one or both parents have died – usually from AIDS. The orphanage houses 45 boys and 5 girls aged between 6 and 18. They had an assembly hall, called the Temple of Peace, a dining area with kitchen, and small houses to live in. The little ones had house-mothers to help with washing and cleaning. The older ones performed these chores themselves. The women who worked there had also been offered sanctuary from destitution.
The children had clothes, presumably donated, and virtually nothing else. There were some well-thumbed books available, three worn out tennis balls and a broken cricket set. A volley ball net was strung out over some rough ground.
The electricity only worked for twelve hours each day, a week of daytime power, followed by a week of night-time power. When the children settled to do their homework, they were limited in how long they could write by the setting sun. Some of them would gather round two solar powered street lights to continue their studies.
The campus was delightful. There was a lovely playground with swings and climbing equipment - something of a luxury in India. The area around the buildings had an abundance of banana trees, lemon bushes, palm trees heavy with coconuts and neatly tilled fields of grain, maize and vegetables. The ploughing was done by a very elderly man and a pair of white oxen. It seemed quite medieval, as did the local village, with basic thatched huts and women sitting outside cooking over open fires. There was a properly covered well, donated by visiting doctors who had serious concerns about the health implications of the old water supply. The village housed the primary and high schools. Both buildings were Victorian in their facilities – benches built into double desks, bare floors, chalk boards around the room and very little else. One board had the seasons written on it; summer, monsoon and winter. The children sat quietly and attentively. When we asked a class of teenagers what they dreamed of, the answers were about being doctors, teachers or lawyers. One boy wanted to be a software engineer, which I found particularly poignant, given that the school was probably about 5 miles away from the nearest internet connection. The contrast between these well motivated young people and their equivalent in this country was quite startling. None of them gave evasive ‘dunno’ style answers, they all had strong self esteem and ambition that would put their Western counterparts to shame.
There was no furniture to speak of in the orphanage. The children slept on mats on the floor (as they did in the slums) and sat on mats in the dining area to eat. Each meal consisted of chapatti, dhal, rice and a delicately spiced vegetable curry, washed down with sugary chai. The children each had a tin plate and mug, which they washed up after the meals. No cutlery was needed as the chapattis were used in traditional style to scoop the food off the plate.
The community was warm, loving and extremely happy. All the children shared the chores and never seemed to argue or complain. The timetable was well structured, the day starting with outdoor exercises at 6am, followed by washing and cleaning duties, assembly at 8am. The assembly quite often broke into vibrant drumming and dancing, a proper celebration for a new day. Breakfast was at 9am and then school or other activities on holidays. In the evenings they did their homework and ate dinner at 8pm. After dinner the children had to make their way to their houses to sleep, it was too dangerous for them to walk around in the dark on a campus that was visited regularly by cobras and the occasional anaconda. The snakes were seen to by what must be one of the bravest men around, a gentle giant of a man, who could spot the snakes tens of metres away, stalk them and throttle them with his bare hands. He had to do this once or twice a week to protect the children. We were advised to take our torches to the toilet block in the night, to check for cobras. This was extremely worrying, but luckily the cobras stayed out of the way while we were there. To think that before being warned about the snakes, I had been worried by the size of the ants. Somehow they paled into insignificance as I lay in bed trying to convince myself that I didn’t need to go to the bathroom after all.
The most startling and profound revelation about the orphanage was how well balanced, happy and enthusiastic the children were. They all shared a love of life and eagerness to learn that was infectious. When given some art materials they were astonishingly creative, and when some basic percussion instruments were brought out, their dancing and drumming took wings and soared. They worked together really well, being used to community life, sharing and caring for each other.
The children all looked lean and fit on their high carbohydrate diet. Their food was all organically grown and locally sourced, much from the fields around them. There was no junk food within miles and no money to buy it had it been. Some of the children however were smaller than you would expect for their ages, a sad reflection of their malnourished start in life.
The work the charity is doing for these children and adults is almost miraculous, giving a chance in life to so many who would otherwise have languished in the slums. The fact that they are happy and caring individuals is testimony to the love and commitment shown to them by the staff running the orphanage.
The term ‘poor’ had no meaning in this place.
The children had clothes, presumably donated, and virtually nothing else. There were some well-thumbed books available, three worn out tennis balls and a broken cricket set. A volley ball net was strung out over some rough ground.
The electricity only worked for twelve hours each day, a week of daytime power, followed by a week of night-time power. When the children settled to do their homework, they were limited in how long they could write by the setting sun. Some of them would gather round two solar powered street lights to continue their studies.
The campus was delightful. There was a lovely playground with swings and climbing equipment - something of a luxury in India. The area around the buildings had an abundance of banana trees, lemon bushes, palm trees heavy with coconuts and neatly tilled fields of grain, maize and vegetables. The ploughing was done by a very elderly man and a pair of white oxen. It seemed quite medieval, as did the local village, with basic thatched huts and women sitting outside cooking over open fires. There was a properly covered well, donated by visiting doctors who had serious concerns about the health implications of the old water supply. The village housed the primary and high schools. Both buildings were Victorian in their facilities – benches built into double desks, bare floors, chalk boards around the room and very little else. One board had the seasons written on it; summer, monsoon and winter. The children sat quietly and attentively. When we asked a class of teenagers what they dreamed of, the answers were about being doctors, teachers or lawyers. One boy wanted to be a software engineer, which I found particularly poignant, given that the school was probably about 5 miles away from the nearest internet connection. The contrast between these well motivated young people and their equivalent in this country was quite startling. None of them gave evasive ‘dunno’ style answers, they all had strong self esteem and ambition that would put their Western counterparts to shame.
There was no furniture to speak of in the orphanage. The children slept on mats on the floor (as they did in the slums) and sat on mats in the dining area to eat. Each meal consisted of chapatti, dhal, rice and a delicately spiced vegetable curry, washed down with sugary chai. The children each had a tin plate and mug, which they washed up after the meals. No cutlery was needed as the chapattis were used in traditional style to scoop the food off the plate.
The community was warm, loving and extremely happy. All the children shared the chores and never seemed to argue or complain. The timetable was well structured, the day starting with outdoor exercises at 6am, followed by washing and cleaning duties, assembly at 8am. The assembly quite often broke into vibrant drumming and dancing, a proper celebration for a new day. Breakfast was at 9am and then school or other activities on holidays. In the evenings they did their homework and ate dinner at 8pm. After dinner the children had to make their way to their houses to sleep, it was too dangerous for them to walk around in the dark on a campus that was visited regularly by cobras and the occasional anaconda. The snakes were seen to by what must be one of the bravest men around, a gentle giant of a man, who could spot the snakes tens of metres away, stalk them and throttle them with his bare hands. He had to do this once or twice a week to protect the children. We were advised to take our torches to the toilet block in the night, to check for cobras. This was extremely worrying, but luckily the cobras stayed out of the way while we were there. To think that before being warned about the snakes, I had been worried by the size of the ants. Somehow they paled into insignificance as I lay in bed trying to convince myself that I didn’t need to go to the bathroom after all.
The most startling and profound revelation about the orphanage was how well balanced, happy and enthusiastic the children were. They all shared a love of life and eagerness to learn that was infectious. When given some art materials they were astonishingly creative, and when some basic percussion instruments were brought out, their dancing and drumming took wings and soared. They worked together really well, being used to community life, sharing and caring for each other.
The children all looked lean and fit on their high carbohydrate diet. Their food was all organically grown and locally sourced, much from the fields around them. There was no junk food within miles and no money to buy it had it been. Some of the children however were smaller than you would expect for their ages, a sad reflection of their malnourished start in life.
The work the charity is doing for these children and adults is almost miraculous, giving a chance in life to so many who would otherwise have languished in the slums. The fact that they are happy and caring individuals is testimony to the love and commitment shown to them by the staff running the orphanage.
The term ‘poor’ had no meaning in this place.
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Thursday 13 August 2009
India
I've been wizzing around in little motorised rickshaws in India, which once you get used to the fact that no-one follows any sort of highway code, gets quite exciting. You cling on for your life as traffic drives straight at you from every angle. I am surprised to still be alive.
Sad things greet you when you look beyond the bus that is threatening to kill you. Some people sleep on the traffic islands, some children come begging (and can then be seen to give their procured goods and money to a Fagin character in the background).
From the trains you can see men defaecating, but oddly enough, this seems to be quite a chatty, communal time. The train facility dumps its effluent straight onto the line anyway, so not much difference in the end (those of us with Delhi Belly got quite chatty too as we kept bumping into each other on the frequent trudges to the toilet).
More offputting was the sight of rats happily frolicking on the railway lines, but this was made up for by seeing a couple of elephants frolicking in some fields outside Delhi.
Attempting to use squat toilets while suffering from the runs and wearing floaty, Indian costume is a bit of a bother. I am full of admiration for Indian women, who always look totally composed and almost regal, while I have been dragging various bits of my clothes back out of the U bend only just in the nick of time - I have been keen to avoid being strangled as the scarf disappears into the sump of the train.
When we were staying in Poona there were pigs wandering around, and ferral dogs with their ribs sticking out. At night you could hear when the dogs formed packs to hunt some poor pig, the squealing was something out of a horror movie. Cows wander around freely too, but they seem quite relaxed and can be seen drinking from the taps in the street (that the locals also drink from).
The mosquitos haven't been as bad as the midges I have become aquainted with on trips to Scotland, but it's quite hard to remember to take the anti-malaria tablets when on the move so much.
The food is delicious, really simple rice and dhal for most meals, but all home-made from local produce. It is interesting to see the chippatties being cooked, I think I've forgotten how to use a knife and fork.
The children we have been working with are delightful, and so enthusiastic about anything we do. The people running the charity here are inspirational, and as is often the case, inspirational people attract other incredible people to work with them - so all the charity workers we have met have been amazing. The work they are doing to help the children here is so valuable, literally changing the lives of many and saving lives with the AIDS awareness project they are also running. One memorable moment was going to watch some beautiful Indian women dressed in elegant red sarees peforming a play about AIDS in a truckers yard, where oil tankers were coming and going, interspersed with ox drawn carts. The sight of the elegant women bravely tackling such a sensitive issue in front of the tough truckers was very moving. It was made all the more fascinating when one of the women couldn't then sit in the minibus home next to a man - but had been party to a condom demonstration in the yard. Whoever had the idea to promote AIDS awareness to truckers is a genius, as the drivers are encouraged to spread the word at each truck stop they go to - spreading the knowledge across the whole of India via the transport network. As they say in the charity office, the battle for AIDS will be won or lost in India.
Sad things greet you when you look beyond the bus that is threatening to kill you. Some people sleep on the traffic islands, some children come begging (and can then be seen to give their procured goods and money to a Fagin character in the background).
From the trains you can see men defaecating, but oddly enough, this seems to be quite a chatty, communal time. The train facility dumps its effluent straight onto the line anyway, so not much difference in the end (those of us with Delhi Belly got quite chatty too as we kept bumping into each other on the frequent trudges to the toilet).
More offputting was the sight of rats happily frolicking on the railway lines, but this was made up for by seeing a couple of elephants frolicking in some fields outside Delhi.
Attempting to use squat toilets while suffering from the runs and wearing floaty, Indian costume is a bit of a bother. I am full of admiration for Indian women, who always look totally composed and almost regal, while I have been dragging various bits of my clothes back out of the U bend only just in the nick of time - I have been keen to avoid being strangled as the scarf disappears into the sump of the train.
When we were staying in Poona there were pigs wandering around, and ferral dogs with their ribs sticking out. At night you could hear when the dogs formed packs to hunt some poor pig, the squealing was something out of a horror movie. Cows wander around freely too, but they seem quite relaxed and can be seen drinking from the taps in the street (that the locals also drink from).
The mosquitos haven't been as bad as the midges I have become aquainted with on trips to Scotland, but it's quite hard to remember to take the anti-malaria tablets when on the move so much.
The food is delicious, really simple rice and dhal for most meals, but all home-made from local produce. It is interesting to see the chippatties being cooked, I think I've forgotten how to use a knife and fork.
The children we have been working with are delightful, and so enthusiastic about anything we do. The people running the charity here are inspirational, and as is often the case, inspirational people attract other incredible people to work with them - so all the charity workers we have met have been amazing. The work they are doing to help the children here is so valuable, literally changing the lives of many and saving lives with the AIDS awareness project they are also running. One memorable moment was going to watch some beautiful Indian women dressed in elegant red sarees peforming a play about AIDS in a truckers yard, where oil tankers were coming and going, interspersed with ox drawn carts. The sight of the elegant women bravely tackling such a sensitive issue in front of the tough truckers was very moving. It was made all the more fascinating when one of the women couldn't then sit in the minibus home next to a man - but had been party to a condom demonstration in the yard. Whoever had the idea to promote AIDS awareness to truckers is a genius, as the drivers are encouraged to spread the word at each truck stop they go to - spreading the knowledge across the whole of India via the transport network. As they say in the charity office, the battle for AIDS will be won or lost in India.
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