Blog 12

As I near Mauritius, I am recalling my experience in the country of India. Right now, I'll go ahead and excuse my blog from Mauritius. Mauritius is the equivalent to any other schools Spring break. This port, which is well known by the faculty and staff, is our party port. So, though some of you might like to hear about the wildness about to occur, I'm sure Gramma doesn't want to hear about beer bongs and booty music.

The first day in India, I got up bright and early with my Nikon. By 7:00 AM, I was on the front of deck 7, like always. This time, I waited and waited… but nothing ever happened. I started seeing the occasional cargo ship, and some fishing boats. Nothing new. I eventually got frustrated and went back down below deck for a while. We didn't end up getting docked until a little after 9 AM, if my memory serves me correctly. When we finally started pulling into the port, we saw that it was a very dirty and industrial looking scene. We were being tugged into a very brown, but very bright and hot dock point. We were running a little behind schedule as a ship, and were playing catch up in order to be let off in time after all the processing and landing procedures. Around 11:30 AM, we were finally able to get off the ship. I had an FDP at a disabled children's home for my Intercultural Communication class, for which I had to be back for at 12:30. I figured maybe I could get off the ship and find just a few cool sites, and snap a few pictures before the trip. I was in a hurry to get out of the port and look around. As it turns out, we were docked in place that was used primarily for cargo and was absolutely filthy. A walk down the street to the gate would cover you in dust and soot, and the walk was about ½ mile. The heat would make you sweat within minutes, not to mention the conservative culture which required that no knees and no shoulders be shown. I was wearing khaki pants and a white tee shirt. By the time I had gotten to the gate, where industrial trucks would speed by stirring up the air, I was filthy and we still had a sea of rickshaw drivers to ambush us. In this country, 4 or 5 to Indian hustlers to each tourist would actually grab you and put their hands on you to get your business. I kept walking with my camera and ignored them. I walked for about 15 minutes before it was time to turn around and return for the FDP.

After returning from an unsuccessful first journey out, I boarded a bus that would take us on our field trip. We drive for about an hour to get to the children's home, our final destination. We walked through an Indian village through dirt roads while chicken strutted around us, and Ox and cows roamed through the street. On foot, we zigzagged through the village following a young Indian man until we came to a fence. Once the fence opened, we were funneled into a building that was open to the outside and ended up in a very large room. In the room, we found a group of mentally handicapped individuals of all ages enjoying their lunch. They were all sitting in the floor eating with their hands out of large metal dishes. My first thought was that, these individuals were eating this mobid-seeming way because of their condition, but I then realized that all people eat this way in India. I noticed some kids who looked to have no visible conditions of being mental handicapped. I started snapping pictures and bonding with the people. We brought balls and toys for the kids and begin with the activities once the group had finished eating. I played with the little boys throwing a bouncy ball and attempting to play a form of cricket, as it is their national sport. A bit later, we were asked to help with the chores around the home. Some washed dishes, some swept, I cleaned cob webs from the ceilings with a broom that was just a palm leaf wrapped around a stick. Once everyone had finished, we return to the group and played with the children once more. By this time, the kids had gone haywire with the play-doe we bought them, and it was sure to be one big ball of dark brown play–doe soon enough. We concluded the visit with a dance when someone turned in some upbeat music and everyone joined in. One little kid, was clearly the star, and the others new it, as he took the floor and everyone else attention. I can't remember the last time I saw a group of kids so happy. We all took a picture and waved goodbye.

Once we returned to the ship, we had some dinner and took a short nap. Sam, Yudai, and I attempted to find a local restaurant to enjoy some nightlife. We set out to a 5-star hotel, taking the advice we learned from pre-port about the only bars or alcohol consumption in the city being available at these establishments. Once we argued with more rickshaw drivers, we finally agreed on a price and got into the rickety cab. Half way there, the driver, said you pay 200 rupees, which was double what we agreed to pay. I got angry and told him to stop, he did and we got out and started to walk away until he said "ok ok ok, 100 rupees." We reached the hotel, paid our driver, 100 RUPEES and entered the place. The bar was an Australian themed place where we were ushered immediately to the second floor. The lower level was packed with people and, apparently, was reserved for couples and hotel guests. Upstairs, it was pretty dead and the drinks were very overpriced. We got a pitcher of beer for the 3 of us and enjoyed some laughs and peanuts. A little later, we went to a dance type club joining another crew of other SASers. A little later that evening, I was asked to not dance to close to a girl on the dance floor by the bouncer who found it necessary to rush out on the dance floor to tell me. It was like I was back to my middle school dances. Outside, I was approached by an aggressive Indian who started to talk negatively about America. The night concluded on a less than average note.

The next day I awoke early and set off by myself. I was frustrated with the evening, but decided to set off by myself. I was trying to get some tank tops for the boat for the smoldering heat and was looking for some Henna for a gift. I hired the first Rickshaw driver I found, which I later realized, was a mistake. I told him I wanted to go to a market place called Spencers for 100 rupees and he agreed. He told me that Spencers was closed for the day but he would take me to somewhere very similar. I should have known that this was a mistake from the beginning. I rode around with this man for hours while I tried to tell him to take me to this market place while he continually lied to me and took me to little shops where he got kick-backs for bringing tourists there. It was shop after shop, even after I said "back to the ship, back to the ship". By the end of the day, I was so frustrated, hot, and exhausted. Once I finally got back to the ship, my driver angered me more by demanding an obscene amount of money. He underestimated the American rule of the customer is always right. Let's just say, there was a heated discussion and he wasn't happy with the outcome.

The ship was sailing that night for Kochin and I was pleased to be sailing on it.