Workshops, Driving, and Finding Home.

Note: I added some pictures to the previous blog entry.

I have just completed my first full week in Kolkata! Everything has been amazing, enthralling, and wonderful! I am so indebted to my host teacher Sachi and my unofficial co-host Dr. Subrata Basu for making everything possible and run so smoothly given the plethora of potentially threatening variables (like, say, a city-wide taxi and bus strike?)

Sachi and Dr. Basu

The attacks in Mumbai notwithstanding, things have settled into a familiar pace and rhythm. The first three days of last week were spent at the school. On Thursday and Friday I attended a workshop with several Indian ILEP teacher exchange alumni, including my host teacher Sachi. It was held at the American Center (complete with tight security!) which is part of the US Consulate here. The topic was Myers-Briggs personality trait inventory. I have had some experience with this, but it was seen through the fresh focus of cultural interaction. The instructor was educated in the US, including earning a graduate degree from University of Michigan (our Illinois Big Ten arch-rival!), and served as an excellent facilitator. I met some pretty fascinating and talented folks!

I promised in the previous post that I would talk more about Midul, our driver here in Kolkata. The pantheon of crazy driving is littered with relative declarations – “no one is crazier than X!” (Fill in: Chicago, New York, Paris, Rome, etc.). I am here to tell you, friend, that I have borne witness to the unquestioned acme of motor insanity – the streets of Kolkata. If I was forced to drive here, I would certainly be in an accident within hours, and I know many people that would simply pull over to the side of the road and pull the trigger. There is no way to describe how the system works – every vehicle jockeys for position like a scene in The Road Warrior. Despite the apparent chaos, there is a subtle dance that occurs with each interaction. Horns are used frequently, but not superfluously; every beep seems to have its meaning and significance. To the mix of cars and taxis, add trolleys, filled buses, auto-rickshaws (basically three-wheeled, covered golf carts driven by a scooter chassis), human rickshaws, scooters, motorcycles, road equipment, horse-drawn carriages, and not to mention millions of pedestrians. Each participant has different operating speed, maneuverability, and squishability, but all have the same goal – to occupy the same physical spot that everyone else wants. At first, the experience is overwhelming to both the senses and logic. You experience more close calls in ten minutes than an average American driver (or pedestrian) has in a lifetime. However, I can say that after seven days, I have become accustomed to everything being a close call. I am in awe of Madul’s ability! (A side note, accidents DO happen, and I saw the results of a fairly recent broadside one morning last week. Both vehicles were private passenger cars, which makes me realize even more that this activity is better ‘left to the professionals”. The one benefit from the strike was that the streets were virtually deserted – eerily so, like you would see in an apocalyptic movie, which made me realize the huge percentage of traffic contributed to by public transport.

Wait, I see a space!

Midul - bad-ass with the gas!

One big surprise in the Indian educational system is that many schools have classes on Saturday, including Kendriya Vidyalaya, Command Hospital. Instead of being in the classroom with students, I led a workshop for my fellow teachers. This is expected of visiting teachers as part of the exchange. The topic was “The Use of Emerging Technology in the Classroom”. I am blessed to be a colleague and friend of one of the true gurus of educational technology, Paul Andersen from Bozeman High School. His insight into this subject has rubbed off on me considerably enough so that I feel competent to introduce these concepts to others. I have also participated in a Qwest grant – utilizing the Montana Learning Center near Helena, Montana – which brought several teachers from around the state together to discuss how technology can be applied to further educational goals. In such a short time, I felt as thought the best tack to take would be to introduce them to some of the applications I have personally used, because if I can do it, anyone can do it!

The state of technology at the school is comparable to the ways things were at Bozeman High School about eight or so years ago. Most teachers have their own computer – although often a desk model at home – and email is ubiquitous. There is a full, broadband-connected computer center, and a few LCD projectors. This represents the triumvirate of what I consider to be the ‘Teacher’s Tech Bill of Rights”. With a connected computer and an LCD projector, a world of possibilities is opened for the teacher. Lacking these materials does not make one a bad teacher; conversely, having all three does not necessarily guarantee quality instruction. Further, in my book, a good teacher without tech gadgets beats a poor one with all the toys hands-down. That being said, a good teacher with tech savvy is  a formidable combination.

Opening the Workshop (I get a lot of flowers here!)

I chose to offer the smorgasbord of tech applications, stressing the lowest-cost, most effective ones I personally know. A discussion of using Powerpoint effectively was the only examination of a tool that had any cost whatsoever. We looked at open source freeware - such as Jing and Audacity for creating podcasts and OpenOffice as a free, alternative suite of programs comparable to Windows Office, using Google docs or blogging as a way to develop a rudimentary class website, social media such as Twitter and Facebook – both an introduction for some of the participants, as well as potential uses in the classroom, uses of Wikipedia (now with a Bengali translation, discussed today in the Calcutta Telegraph!), and finally, using Moodle – also free – as an interactive classroom management system.

Captivating, eh?

I hope to accomplish three goals:
1) Be sensitive to the discrepancy in access to technology between my school in Montana and my school here in Kolkata. In time, decreasing costs and increasing public pressure will certainly close this gap. When I look at where BHS was only a short time ago and where it is now, I have to marvel. I recalled to the class having a Sony Vaio in 2000 (with a whopping 128Mb RAM and 20G hard drive) and thinking that I couldn’t imagine ever wanting a computer with greater capability. That beast cost almost $1500 then, which would now probably get you 3 serviceable set-ups.

2) Encourage the teachers to explore these applications on their own and adopt the ones they feel would be a good fit for them either now or in the near future as more students and the school become equipped.

3) Be a leader in technology in their school. As I said, I am fortunate to work with someone who is truly at the cutting edge of technology, and also with a group of teachers – the “Tech Junkies” – that spend a lunch a week just talking about tech stuff. The conversation inevitably steers toward education in general, and it includes some of the most dynamic instructors, administrators, and students I have encountered. I would hope that at least a couple of the teachers who attended would be inspired to try to start-up a similar group in their schools.

On Sunday, we had a later start than usual, meeting at 2pm. I spent the morning with a new friend and fellow Ramakrishna Mission resident Christian, a German ex-pat currently seeking professional employment in Kolkata. He has lived here previously – and at the mission – and decided to come back and try his luck. We went out for coffee (yes, coffee…mmmmm!) and chatted about his prospects and impressions of India.

After meeting up with Sachi and Dr. Basu, our day's excursion was to the Howrah Botanical Gardens, across the Hooghly River (a branch of the sacred Ganges). Among the many examples of sub-tropical flora is an incredible banyan tree. As it extends outwards, taproots extend down from the branches. Once rooted, they become buttressing posts that allow for seemingly unending chain of trunks; a single tree creates an entire forest! We stopped for a brief ice cream treat to beat the heat before we journeyed on.

Dr. Basu + Mango Popcicle

Banyan Tree (Possibly the world's largest!)

Our next stop was the Belur Math Shrine, the headquarters of the Ramakrishna Order. The grounds were teeming with local Sunday tourists and devotees. A trip through the main exhibit allowed a fascinating glimpse across the relatively recent history of this religious sect. Although Hindu in flavor, it also encompasses Christian, Buddhist and Muslim traditions, in keeping with the founder’s belief of tolerance to the extreme for other religious views. The shrines themselves are magnificent and I could imagine - during a quieter time, perhaps - that they would elicit reverence and reflection. Sadly, pictures are not allowed (Sachi tried to put that rule to the test!), so I had to rely on pictures of the affiliated university to suffice.

On Sunday night was something I was anticipating since I first got my schedule – dinner at Sachi’s house! I had yet to meet his family and I wanted to be able to personally thank his wife and daughter for allowing me to steal him for so much time during my extended stay in Kolkata. Without their support (much like the support I have from my family at home), this experience would be neither enjoyable nor possible. According to Dr. Basu’s gentle barbs, Sachi’s house is ‘in the suburbs’, but I was not aware of really leaving the city environs. It is very different from my house, which sits on a quiet street in a quiet neighborhood in Bozeman, but there is no doubt whatsoever that this is ‘home’. It is on the second floor of a fairly lively street and the adjacent flat belongs to his sister and brother-in-law. Sachi’s mother also lives alternatively with both of her children, but spends a little more time with his sister, who is hearing-impaired. Soma prepared an incredible Bengali meal of curried chicken (my favorite) with delicious, lightly-spiced basmati rice. As a surprise, we had a bowl of freshly popped popcorn as a pre-meal snack. Sachi, the incomparable host he is, heard me mention popcorn as one of my favorite snacks sometime during the week, and he ensured that his guest – his friend – would be satisfied. He was also gracious to find a couple of beers for us to share. The place we shopped was out of Kingfisher, and the only choice left was called “Thunderbolt” – the name says it all there. At 8%, it provided considerable kick, and we agreed it wasn’t the best quaff of our lives, but it was still enjoyed by at least two of us! I appreciated all of the Herculean efforts made in the name of hospitality; it was a most special evening and one I will certainly cherish.

Thunderbolt: Indian Lightnin'

Kolkata in the soul...

***There were some bombings in Mumbai as I was writing this. Kolkata is on red alert as a result. I will post what I have written, but I think I will take a little break to see what’s up…

I have procrastinated my first Kolkata blog as I have tried to grasp its significance to me. In the past few days I have gone through a full gamut of emotions - denial, fear (and loathing!), doubt, acceptance, exhilaration, nostalgia, and melting. It has been an absolutely incredible three days; and with the possible exception of the days leading up to my wedding, the most dense with pointed visceral experience.

When I last wrote, I was preparing to board the plane from Mumbai to Kolkata. I flew Kingfisher Airlines, which is run by the self-appointed Richard Branson of India - think of the "Most Interesting Man in the World" commercials for his persona and bravado. In his welcoming video, he even mentioned how the flight attendants are “personally selected by myself". I have no idea what that actually means, nor do I care to speculate. The fight itself was excellent, and the food was better than good.

I touched down in Kolkata at about 7:30pm local time and was met by my host teacher Sabyasachi Majumdar (Sachi!) and his friend and teaching colleague, Dr. Sabrata Basu. I felt as though I was a visiting dignitary: I had a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and a warm enthusiastic welcome to my new home for the next three weeks. Our driver Madul was also there, and he has been our stalwart ever since – more on him later.

The air was 'close', stiffling with both heat and humidity. The traffic from the airport to the city was very bad, exacerbated by the terrible condition of the roads. As we passed throng after throng of people and scene after otherworldly scene of squalid poverty, I began to have the feeling that I should not only get to a phone as soon as possible and tell Suzi to cancel her trip here (we bought trip insurance), but that I should at least investigate what should happen should I decide to return before the exchange even begins. Yes...despite the presence and stoicism of both Sachi and Dr. Basu, I felt in imminent danger of a freakout and I wondered if I had made a colossal mistake in estimating my tolerance for the unknown.

The four of us navigated through a tangle of sketchy side streets looking for a Xerox machine. Since my host school is on a military base, we were forced to file some last-minute paperwork (with copies of my passport and visa) to let me into the compound. It was Sunday night at about 9pm, and the Kolkata alternative to a brightly-lit FedEx/Kinkos corner store was a dilapidated internet café-cum-copy shop in a run-down area in the Muslim district encompassing all of about 100 square feet. Sachi had the car stop a short distance later so that we could see the Hooghly River. With some trepidation, I stepped out, acutely conscious of being stared at by every pair (or in one case, single) eye. The only thing that passed my mind was, “What’s the minimum time I need to look at the river and race back to the car and still be polite to my host?”

We drove around a little more before we arrived at my accommodations. They were not at a hotel, but at the International Scholars House of the Ramakrishna Mission in the Golpark neighborhood. This place is certainly interesting to say the least. It is not a traditional ‘hotel’ – you have to apply to be able to stay, and justify it with some reason acceptable to the mission. The price is outstanding - $20/night which includes a large air-conditioned room with private bath, and three meals and two tea times. It is undoubtedly the best bargain I could find since ‘mid-range’ hotels are hard to find in Kolkaka – the extremes are available in the Taj Bengal and Oberoi Grand, but I didn’t think I could plop down some $3-400 per night on my stipend. It was dark when I arrived at the hotel, and since visitors are strictly forbidden after 10pm, I had to leave the only two people I knew in Kolkata at the front desk as the front desk clerk handed me an ancient key that looked like it was a prop from a pirate movie. Room A-7, upstairs, to the left. After waving goodbye to Sachi from the balcony, I juggled the lock and opened the door. When I flicked on the lights, a couple of small roaches scattered. The furniture was neat but industrial, and clearly from a different era. The heat and humidity was oppressive – even by Kolkata standards: 95 degreees and 97% humidity! – so I switched on the air conditioner. Cold air belched from it almost immediately and I began to unpack. My mind was numb as I debated whether to put my t-shirts in the shelf or in the closet. “Did I make a mistake?” was the mental soundtrack as I prepared for bed. I will give this experience the best effort I can for as long as I can last. I fell asleep with Michael Shermer’s “Why People Believe Weird Things” on my chest. I feel profoundly alone.

From what I have written, you might be wondering where I am now. Am I in Bozeman already? What happened? Not to be overly melodramatic, I slept on it, and woke with a new attitude. Since that time, I have not only decided to stay, but have grown to love Kolkata!

I woke up at about 5:30, refreshed, and took a soothing shower in preparation of my first day at school. We were to meet at 7:30, which precluded breakfast, since it starts promptly at that time. I grabbed a banana and met Dr. Basu and Madul for the trip to my school, the Kendriya Vidyalaya School, Command Hospital, in the Alipore neighborhood. We met Sachi near his train station – he commutes the 40km daily from his place to the north of Kolkata.

Kendriya Vidyalaya school back door

We arrived while the school was having the normal morning assembly in the school grounds, where all 1500 students and teachers meet for a morning prayer, the singing of the national anthem, and any general announcements. As we opened the doors to join them, I noticed a pair of nicely appointed chairs next to the speaker. She looked back and said that there were two special visitors to our school that will be with us the next two weeks, Sabyasachi Majundar, a KV teacher from a different school, and Scott Taylor, from Bozeman High School in the United States. I think they would like to say a few words to you. Mind you, it’s been less than a minute since we have arrived. Sachi took the mike first. While he was talking, all I could think about was, what am I going to say? – I had no idea I would be addressing the student body and staff. I thought about how I could lead in with an anecdote and just say hello. But that would be lame. Sachi looked over to me. After an student adjusted the microphone stand – for what seemed like an eternity – I could only think of the most banal things to say – “I want to learn much from you.” Blah, blah, blah,  “We are not so different.” I felt as though I was striking out, so I listened to the crazy portion of my brain in attempt to ‘be memorable’. Since the students are seated in rows according to their grade, I thought that this would be the perfect time to do “the wave”. Something was lost in translation, however, so I left the podium and got the group on the far left to start going and raced the 40m or so across the students, almost taking out another teacher and a pole in so doing, and back. The giggling of the students and stunned expressions from the teachers told me I at least made a first impression. I can’t say for sure yet that it was a good one!

In my effort to 'be cool' I forgot about the heat! As I took the mike again and thanked them for inviting me, I became painfully aware that my back and face were now literally dripping in sweat (teachers later confided in the principal that they were worried I was going to have a heart attack). I was brought a bouquet of flowers from a group of students, and seated next to the stage where a group of students performed a traditional Hindi dance for the occasion. It was set to a poem by Rabindranath Tagore (Nobel Laureate in Literature) and beautifully expressive in its execution. After the assembly, Sachi and I went to the principal’s office (thankfully air-conditioned!) to map out our plans for the day.

In the three days I have spent at the school, I have come to realize that the principal, Dr. Samal, is one of the finest educators I have ever encountered. She is generous, highly intelligent, compassionate, and an outstanding leader who exudes grace. Her workload is tremendous – from what I can tell, she is the only administrator for the school. In addition to what a principal does in the states, she also arranges substitutes (which can include several in a day - WITHOUT a bank of substitute teachers!) and every day personally hand signs hundreds of student workbooks. I suggested she get a stamp for the task, but she replied that it allowed her to get a feel for what the students are doing. She performs her job without complaint and with an infectious enthusiasm and optimism. Any school, anywhere in the world, would be lucky to have her at the helm. I feel blessed to be able to share her room throughout the day, infinitely more to hear her wisdom and insight than to feel the welcome blast of the AC.

My first “assignment” was to observe the X level (that’s ‘tenth’ for the Roman-numeral impaired, and roughly equivalent to the 10th grade in the US) in their science class. One main difference between American schools and Indian (and from what I hear European) schools is that the students stay in the same room, while the teachers move according to the schedule. The class had about 45 students and the lesson was on acids and bases. Even though the school is in India, all but a few courses are conducted entirely in English by both the teachers and students. I was completely impressed by the oral and written command of the students. Not a single student misspelled “phenolphthalein” - hear that BHS students! I sat in the back between a girl and boy who were brave enough to try to engage me in conversation while the lesson was going on. I didn’t want to be a distraction, but I also wanted to ask them a million questions. Before I knew it, the bell rang, and class was over. This was followed by recess; even though the students I am observing are mostly ‘high-school’ aged, their daily break is still called recess. I thought it might be interesting to see what the students did during this time. When I stepped out the doors, I was immediately mobbed by about 50 boys bombarding me with questions and introductions. I even had a couple of autograph requests. Yes, I am a rock star at the KVCH school! The girls stood back from the mob and giggled at any semblance of eye contact. Sachi thought this was a little too distracting, so he pulled my away from my cluster of adoring fans.

We returned to Dr. Samal’s office for a cool-down and explanation of the rest of the day. I was told that if I felt comfortable with it, I could teach the afternoon lesson to the level XII biology class. The topic was control and coordination in organisms – both plant an animal. I really liked the textbook that the students used. I recognized many of the figures from other biology books I have seen, although it’s a publication of the Indian government. It had the feel of an AP Biology prep book – short on specific content, but comprehensive in coverage. There is ample latitude for individual teacher methods and interest, while addressing the most fundamental topics of biology. College Board – the governing body of AP courses – has vowed to reduce content in AP Biology in favor of emphasizing process, and this book would certainly be a good step in that direction.

Dr. J. Samal

I accepted the challenge of teaching the class. There is a resource room complete with computer and LCD projector. Since I forgot my Mac pigtail that day, I was forced to punt and use the old PC with a flash drive intermediate. I was saddened by how dependent I have become on technology to deliver a lesson, but I convinced myself that with about 30 minutes or prep time that this was the best solution. The class went very well, and there are some bright – and I mean REALLY bright – students in the class. There were two girls in particular that seemed to be able to predict the questions I was going to ask them. Despite the class being primarily ‘lecture-driven’ I did have ample time for questioning and I also gave them some problems to solve while I circulated around the room to check on comprehension. This seemed to be a surprise to them. In talking with Sachi and some of the other teachers, there seems to be a fairly conservative approach to education in the Indian system: the teacher is the authority of the class, and the students learn the content that is presented by the teachers. It’s simple, relatively easy to implement and assess through examination, and cost-effective. Sachi and some of his colleagues feel, as I do, that this model of education should be open to debate and critique. There is no doubt that the teachers I have encountered here are dedicated to their profession. The average pay is relatively low compared to other professions, but comfortable, much like it seems in the US. They have certainly fewer resources and larger classes, yet there is a palpable sense of school pride by both staff and students alike.

Level X girls testing their reflexes

Level XII Biology Elective

My second day found me in the class for two groups – one was the group I first met briefly,  and the second was same group I had met in the afternoon. Their science teacher was out for the day, so under Sachi’s supervision, I plodded ahead. I remembered my pigtail, so I could directly plug into the Epson LCD, identical to the one in my room at BHS. I felt a rush of home! The topics: mendelian genetics in the morning and reflex arcs and an activity in the afternoon. The same schedule held for my third day, with the addition of an interview for the school newspaper from a palpably nervous 9th grader, and a short game of football with the students. After my crossing pass was handballed, I was invited to take the free kick. I nailed it! In fact, it went into the parking lot across the street. Sachi also played on the other side and it was fun interacting with the students on a more personal level. The autograph requests continue, but I think I am settling in and seeming more normal to them. The feedback I have been getting from the students has been humbling and greatly appreciated. After a somewhat difficult year in the classroom at BHS, it was really nice to have the feeling again that I couldn't wait to go back tomorrow.

Level X boys

Level X girls keying plants from the schoolyard

In addition to school, the afternoons are spent touring the environs of Kolkata. Monday, we were going to visit the Victoria Memorial, but an epic traffic jam forced a last minute change of plans, so we went to the botanical gardens and the Hindi Kalighat Temple. The gardens were as beautiful as you would imagine you would find in a place that can get the 95/95 temp humidity daily double! Yesterday we fulfilled our plans to see the Victoria Memorial, now an ironic testament to Indian independence. Today, Sachi and I strolled through the largest market in Kolkata – everything from trinkets to food to antiques to ‘antiques’ were available. I had to finally shoo away three gentlemen rather firmly after four polite ‘no, thank yous’ didn’t suffice.

Botanical Gardens

Kalighat Temple

Victoria Memorial

Cool!

Last night, I met up with another exchange teacher, Ron, who left today. It was so nice to compare notes and gain a few tips from a seasoned pro. We ventured out into the neighborhood surrounding the mission for dinner at a well-regarded restaurant. The food was good, but the experience was even better. Sitting at our same long table was an extremely friendly chap who introduced me to the anticipated custom of adda – a spirited chat with a stranger, who quickly becomes your friend. We talked about a variety of subjects – education, cricket, and Bengali food, but I thought it best to steer clear of politics. You never know what you might say, plus I am not overly familiar with the politics of India.

More on Kolkata life later – I will close this entry with this. Mumbai attacks notwithstanding, in three days I have gone from questioning whether I should have participated in the program to already preparing myself for how hard it is going to be to leave this city, but more importantly the KV school. The students and staff have been so inviting and I know that we have each made an indelible impression on each other. Should the events in Mumbai today jeopardize this experience, there is one more minute reason why such heinous activities should be condemned by the entire human community. I thought these two photos deserved to be posted…there is hope in a child’s vision.

Kolkata Street Scene

Level VII Artist with her work

Goodbye, Mumbai, Namaskar Kolkata!

It’s been a while since 1) I had internet, and 2) was not spending my free time sleeping; not from jetlag mind you, but from adventure!

My last day in the Indian East was spent with my new friend, Mitesh Panchal, of Thane City north of Mumbai. He spends his free time hiking in the Ghandi National Park just to the north of Mumbai, and was gracious enough to agree to take me along for a day of monsoon rainforest trekking.

Mitesh - the coolest dude I have met in Mumbai!

I took a very early morning train from Victoria Terminus (VT) for the approximately one hour trip. The total cost for the round-trip ticket: 20 rupees (about 50 cents). Like my last train trip, I was able to see where India’s most poverty-stricken attempt to eke out a meager living along the tracks. Since the trip was early Sunday morning, the train wasn’t crowded, but not so empty I felt like I was a hapless tourist target. The only complaint I could offer was that the gentleman seated across from me saw fit to share his “Indian adult contemporary” with the whole train via his cell phone. I used to think American adult contemporary was the worst type of music; I can safely say this tops it – obvious cheap synthesizers on ‘record’ set to the cheesy beats of electric drums accompanied by over-reverbed vocals – all through the audiophile nightmare of cellular phone speakers! Don’t accuse me of cultural bias here – one of my favorite music types is salsa and I don’t understand the lyrics too well there, either. There is no other way to put it – it was terrible music by any objective measure of quality.

When I arrived at Thane (pronounced Tah-nay) City station, I couldn’t find Mitesh at first, so I called his cell phone. Unfortunately, the pay phone was right under the speaker blaring the arriving and departing train schedule on continuous loop. That made the conversation decidedly one-sided, and ‘transmit only’ (sorry Mitesh!) so I basically had to describe my position to the best of my ability and hope that Mitesh wasn’t saying that he was stuck at home with a sick kid and couldn’t make it today! I did have to go through my first real prolonged begging experience. Continuing the trend of sticking out in a crowd, I was a magnetic attraction to the denizens of the train station, who approached me with various maladies and deformities. For the first time in India, I had to pull out the blank, distant stare of apathy. It is something I was loathe to do, but every guidebook (and probably common sense) suggests this unfortunate, hardened approach.

Mitesh appeared out of the throngs and we headed west to the forest through yet another torrential downpour, which up until now, has been the last I have experienced of the Noachian level in India. The National Park is truly a spectacular place to visit and considering the juxtaposition with the urban sprawl of Mumbai, it serves as a welcome oasis. We scrambled up the well-maintained paths, and even did some bushwhacking up a waterfall wash. I wish I was more prepared to get totally wet, because the waterfall temperature was absolutely perfect. The wildlife highlight was watching six kites circling above, most likely to scan the scene for scavenging a fresh leopard kill.

Ghandi National Park near Mumbai

Kites

Even thought it is a national park, there are small groups that walk the gray line of legality by ‘monsoon farming’ and temporarily set up domiciles in the hills with their crops, dogs (which are a great food source for the leopards, apparently), and sacred cows. I took a picture of the stream of 15 that passed us by.

Don't have a cow, man!

After our hike, Mitesh was kind enough to bring me back to his apartment, where I met his family and had a lovely meal and some nice tea. As my first ‘home-cooked’ meal since leaving Bozeman, it was the perfect way to top off my adventure. Mitesh thought it best to take a cab back to Mumbai, and I was in no position to argue, given my moist and dirt-clodden presence.




I returned to the hotel for a final clean-up and was fortunate to be able to stay there with an extreme late check-out time of 2:00pm. One final Mumbai cab ride, a rest in the fabulous Mumbai domestic terminal (no kidding – one of the best airports I have encountered!) a knosh of chicken, onion, and cheese Domino’s Pizza  (not recommended) and I was off to Kolkata!

Dharavi Slum.

I took an early train to Mahim Station in northern Mumbai to meet my tour guide for Dharavi Slum. I am having trouble using that word since there is such a negative connotation in the US. I don't know what would be a more appropriate term. "Dense residential/industrial aggregation" sounds too sterile, but I am truly at a loss for words from what I experienced today.

I boarded the train at Churchgate Station, which is about 300m from my hotel. It's a bargain - 20 rupees for a round trip ticket - about 50 cents! It passed through some crumbling infrastructure that was once probably quite impressive, and I saw some of the population that lives in pretty squalid conditions. There were several sightings of people relieving themselves in the open, and squatters living with nothing more than a tarp - or less - for protection. The ride was about 25 minutes. As the only non-Indian aboard the train, I was struck by the fact that I was the only person seeing this for the first time.

My guide, Shakar, met me as planned, albeit after about 15 minutes of chasing each other through the station. I was honestly getting a little nervous about the situation but I made a couple of phone calls to his cell phone that assuaged my trepidation that I was on a wild goose chase.

Shakar is a resident of Dharavi and somewhat of a local celebrity. He has appeared in a few documentaries about the slum and has worked with my friend Thane as a reporter. Everywhere we went we met people who apparently either owed him or that he owed for something – often paid in cigarettes (being filtered, he touted them as ‘healthy’). Dharavi once held the title of 'largest slum in Asia', but has been surpassed recently by another in Pakistan. By American standards, the living conditions are brutal - most of the population lives in homes less than 100 square feet in size, and toilets are virtually all communal, about one per 1,400 residents. There is a tangle of electrical wires that supply each home (with meters), and open pipes that bring some measure of water. Sewage troughs are alternately covered by tiles or exposed.

Despite these conditions, there is a palpable sense of pride and community. I did not see what I had expected - throngs of children begging for loose change and people sleeping in the street. In fact, I did not encounter a single example of either. Our meeting was facilitated by Thane, but I had thought Shakar worked for a tour company touted by my guidebook, Reality Tours. For various reasons, he no longer works for them, so I found myself on a ‘private’ tour by an expert guide. Reality Tours expressly prohibit photography by their clients, so I unfortunately left my camera at the hotel. I wish I had brought it, since Shakar would have told me when it would have been appropriate.

To say I stuck out would be an understatement. Despite that, Shakar led me through the narrow, bustling streets, and the even narrower (~1m) passages between buildings as I caught a somewhat voyeuristic view of the pace and logistics of day-to-day life. We went through the industrial area – 40% of the estimated one million residents works in Dharavi – which consisted of such enterprises as recycling paint and cooking oil cans with caustic chemicals and open fires; there was a fire a couple of days ago in a chemical plant that took out several buildings. I saw a small fire break out in a leather manufacturing area that was put out by five people (including myself!) by pouring water from plastic bottles and hitting it with a wet tarp. Suffice it to say, OSHA, the EPA, and building code inspectors in the US would have been apoplectic.

After meandering through the labyrinth, we eventually went to Shakar’s home, a cramped room upstairs from his parents. Given its somewhat run-down condition, I was shocked to hear it was built in the mid-nineties; I would have been less surprised if he had said EIGHTEEN nineties! He showed me some of his documentary work and some exquisite photography he had taken. He has an old computer, whose monitor was the kind I saw in the halls of MSU marked ‘trash’ – ten years ago. His internet cable was accidentally cut a sort time ago and he hasn’t been able to get it repaired.
After leaving his home, we had some chai and a couple of snacks and talked about life in Dharavi and in Bozeman. He also helped me get a replacement umbrella – a good one! – which helped to protect us a little during the occasional cloudburst. We walked back to the train station after a total of about four hours of intense experience. I am still digesting it, but I know it has profoundly moved me.

I returned to Churchgate Station and had lunch at an excellent Indian buffet near my hotel. It was accompanied by the first beer (OK, TWO beers) I have had in India. I think my comfort level with Mumbai is growing.

Mumbai, Footwear, and Umbrellas.

After 39 hours of travel, I landed at the Mumbai airport at 12:55am local time. The biggest issue there was getting the bags off the belt. Everyone on the flight had a luggage cart (a free one - you hear that O'Hare!) and they were pressed like sardines side by side. The bags trickled on so there was ample time to spot yours, but it took a herculean effort to move everyone aside. No one wanted to mess with the husky American with the hockey shirt!

I got through customs without a hitch, exchanged some USD for INR, and hoped with every fiber of my being that a driver with a card bearing my name was going to be visible among the throngs of people!

There was!

Mumbai Airport (BOM) 1:48am

I boarded my cab and we headed straight to the hotel. It was expensive as cab rides go in India (~$30), but worth every penny for peace of mind. The best part about getting in so late is that there is virtually no traffic at this time, so it only took about 30 minutes (that is purely a guess, given the addled state of my brain). The hotel staff were waiting for me, and that was also a big relief. I would at least have a bed to sleep in and a place from which to launch my Mumbai adventures.

I consider myself sort of a ‘master sleeper’. I usually don’t get jetlagged to a great extent and my plans to abate have it seemed to work. In addition to using the iPod-selected Mumbai time as a gauge for mental preparation, I looked to pharmaceuticals for an assist, taking an Ambien about five hours before landing which promptly resulted in deep sleep (with some crazy 747 crashing dreams, but that is another story). The airport experience and ride then served as a lucid dream between the Frankfort airport and hitting the pillow at the hotel and waking at 9am Mumbai time. I felt pretty good.

My first plan was to stake out the environment. This consisted of two short sojourns near the hotel, each time getting a little further, a little more confident before (in the words of Jonesy from ‘The Hunt for Red October) ‘running home to momma’. I was ready for the big time!

My first ‘real’ adventure consisted of finding an umbrella.

A side note here. When the weather forecasters predict precipitation, they use several models and the percentage you finally hear is the percentage of models that predicted precip in that area, i.e. 40% of the models predicted rain in Bozeman, so you hear ‘40% chance of precipitation’ – even though ’rain’ or ‘not rain’ is a binary proposition. Over time, poor models are discarded and ones that hit are used and/or given more weight – it’s the scientific method at its best!

The chances of rain in Mumbai were 90%. Now that’s high by forecasting standards. That being said, I humbly think that ANY model that failed to forecast rain today here should be immediately discarded and the authors of said models should be demoted to writing in the Farmer’s Almanac. There was literally no sun visible today and the rain varied from a fine mist (OK, stopping once entirely for about ten minutes) and sheets of rain from various horizontal directions.

Thus, the pressing need for an umbrella.

I looked in a couple of shops that could pass for grocery stores, I guess, and failed. I then thought it might be cool to check out the train station, because, hey, commuters might need an umbrella. The Churchgate train station is the terminus of one of the lines, and when I entered, I thought I would be prepared for the sea of humanity inside. My imagination being what it is, I feel as though I actually underpredicted what I did see, so I felt prepared to continue without having to chicken out and scoot back to the hotel. I found a stall that had a nice selection of umbrellas, complete with hawkers. There is no hiding that I am not a local Mumbaiker, so I played along with the game. I was shown a nice, high quality umbrella from a pile and told that it was 250 rupees (about $5). I was ‘incensed’ at the price and began to walk away. When they came down to 150 rupees, I agreed and was handed an umbrella from the same pile. As I walked away, I noticed them giggling at each other, because – I thought – that they would have gone down even further in price and they ‘got me’. To me, 150 or 100 rupees was not worth the haggling at that point. I also thought, being the humanitarian dude I am, that the 50 rupees meant way more to them than to me. When I exited the station, the rain was not strong enough to warrant the hassle of an umbrella, so I moved on toward my food destination. Eventually (inevitably, I guess) the rain strengthened in intensity, and I opened the umbrella. I realized then the reason for the mirth of the salesmen. The tines of the umbrella were rusty, and two of them were not connected to the fabric. I had been suckered by the old ‘bait and switch’.

I decided to keep going and retain the umbrella as a reminder to always be aware. More on it later.

For lunch, I went to Brittania, an Iranian restaurant that was highly rated by my guidebook. It was about 1km from the hotel and it think it took some savvy navigational skill to get there, so when I saw the storefront, I was quite self-impressed. The co-owner himself, the very spry 92-year-old Mr. Kohinoor, waited my table, likely the most fluent English speaker. I ordered chicken berry pulav, a curry dish with native Iranian barberries, somewhat similar to cranberries, and basmati rice. Simply put, it was delicious! I spoke with Mr. Kohinoor about my trip and exchanged many pleasantries about America, Iran, and Mumbai. His father had opened the restaurant in 1923 during the British Raj period and while the décor was nothing special – crumbling masonry on the ceiling and various eclectic art – there was a familiar hominess to it that was truly special. The life’s work of a family on display to the world, warts and all. I topped my meal off with a dish of caramel custard (also sublime) and left, but not before taking a picture with my new friend. My first meal in India was everything I had hoped it would be!

Brittania Restaurant

Mr. Kohinoor, Co-owner

Mr. Kohinoor was kind enough to offer some directions to the historic Gateway of India, so I hoofed it on over. The rains continued, but did not dampen the spirits (Did I really just write that?).

I passed by the museum. It was the Prince of Wales museum (now Chhatrapati Shivaji Majariaj Vastu Sangrahalaya – so let’s just call it ‘the museum’. I decided to stop in for a visit. At only 300 rupees (but 30 if you’re an Indian), it seemed like a bargain. Simply touring the grounds and building was worth the price. There were cool exhibits of ancient Indian sculpture and coins and a gallery celebrating the 150th birthday of Rabindranath Tagore, India’s foremost literary figure. The guidebook said the ‘natural history’ section would be a disappointing – a collection of cramped, sad stuffed animals – and they were right on. I imagine it’s what the Field Museum in Chicago looked like in 1920. (I’ll come back in 50 years to see if they have caught up with the times!)

The "Museum"

I then proceeded to the Gateway of India, which saw the ceremonial leaving of the final British troops after Indian independence. While beautiful and historic, it’s the kind of place that tends to attract the overtly tourist crowd and the local crowd bent on separating them from their rupees. Every few years, there is a ‘new thing’ to do that. When I was in Rome, it was those horribly annoying magnetic pellets that whine when they are thrown in the air. Here, it was massive speckled neon green balloons at least a meter in length. There must have been twenty vendors plying the same thing. I’m sure everyone will have one soon…just not me.

The Gateway of India

I thought a quintessential Mumbai tourist experience would be stopping for tea at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel – a truly 5-star hotel – right across the street from the Gateway. Since this was one of the sites rocked by the terrorist attacks in 2008, there is a palpable security presence. I had to pass through a metal detector, and I noticed that entering cars were given a thorough underside mirror inspection. In shorts and flip-flops, at first I felt out of place, but the dress was completely bimodal – tourons like myself, and those sporting tailor-made stylish suits. It was the one place I found at least some people dressed like me! I asked the front desk where I could get some tea, and was ushered into the ‘coffee shop'. I immediately realized I was about to make a big faux pas, as this was clearly a ‘sit-down’ restaurant. I was seated with pomp and fanfare along with the explanation of the specials of the day. The person who escorted me in, who was listening, curtly told the waiter that I only wanted tea. The disappointment in the eyes of the server was obvious. I was at least hoping to try some of the finer teas that I saw on the menu, but before I could say anything, the waiter immediately brought me the ‘house tea’ served in a pitcher. I wanted to crawl under the table at this point. I did my best to be cheery and brief, sucked down two cups of (quite good) tea, left a 500 rupee note – probably at least triple the bill, in deference for wasting their time – and high-tailed it out of there.

The TaJ Mahal Palace Hotel

I decided to attempt navigating back to my hotel. The rains continued to buffet my – now cursed – umbrella, and I began to get a little disoriented. I trudged on and began to feel a blister forming from my flip-flops. I should mention that these are the first pair I have ever owned, but they seemed to be the right choice for wading in a combination of rain, dirt and raw sewage (I think they said that on the box). Empathizing with the plight of most Mumbaikers, I forged ahead while thinking "tough thoughts". The rain, the navigational lapses, and the pain finally got the best of me. I hailed a cab to take me to my hotel. I felt deflated and defeated until I looked down at the inside of my left foot to see not only a blister, but a bleeding wound, probably not the thing you most want to see in the streets of Mumbai. I felt vindicated that I my pain threshold was at least somewhat ‘manly’, and continued that mental thread as I poured hand sanitizer on the site. The alcohol-based salve shot arrows through my foot, and I gritted my teeth.

No caption needed!

My cab driver spoke virtually no English, but through pointing at the location on my guidebook map, we were able to find our way. I felt a huge wave of relief as I entered the hallway, obtained a bandaid from the front desk, and washed, dried, and dressed my wound. I then took a little nap.

I woke up to the lack of rain sounds, conspicuous in their absence. When I had first heard the rain earlier, I erroneously thought a neighbor with a shared window was taking a noisy shower; it was in fact rain pouring into the courtyard from the rooftop with the same hollow splashing sound. The silence encouraged action. I was still full from my lunch, but I thought I would take advantage of the respite in precipitation to stroll along Marine Drive, a spectacular stretch along the Indian Ocean. There were couples snuggling and actually a few joggers. I thought I saw some rain in the night distance, so I figured I had better turn back. I was too late; the rain came sideways in sheets buffeted by gusting winds. My umbrella, of little use normally, was rendered into a scarf attached to a rusty, mangled, metal stick. I laughed at the situation, joined in by a couple of locals, and deposited my first ‘durable’ good in the nearest wastebasket.

Drenched to the bone, but refreshed to say the least, I crawled into my room, dried off, and prepared for tomorrow – a visit to Dharavi slum at 8, which will require an early wake-up and travel by train from the same station I bought the umbrella. I think I will go to a different stall.

Frankfurt Airport

I got in to FRA at 6:55am local time and honestly feel pretty good. I have seen a substantial shift in demographics as I have gone from Bozeman, to O'Hare, to O'Hare International Terminal, and finally to Frankfurt. It is amazing to sit here and hear conversations in at least 11 discernable languages!

I can see why some folks can have some low opinions of my fellow countrymen. The elevator was broken and a group of three ladies (perhaps 50-55) complained vociferously to the security guard manning the bottom of the stairs. "How are we supposed to get to the second floor with all our bags?" I replied over my shoulder, "With your arms and legs." Didn't go over too well. (I should note by 'bags', we were talking about two small roll-behinds and two purses between them. I would have offered to help had they not been so exceedingly rude and demanding of pampering.)

Then there was the decked out tween screaming obscenities at her frazzled mom about not being able to find any good food. An American version of Verucha Salt (from Willie Wonka) came to mind.

I hope to offer a different impression than these parties.

 

FRA!

ORD and leg one complete.

I broke down and bought a 24-hour susbscription to Boingo, so I have intenet access for my five-hour layover at O'Hare. Crossing the Dakotas brought some pretty big bumps. I sat amongst a family of seven whose reactions ranged from white-knuckled terror from the mom to blase acknowledgment from the PS2 playing eight-year old. In a month that saw my 5 year old puking on my 11 year old in the back of my small plane on approach to a remote mountain airstrip, I think the pilots appreciate not being able to see the reactions of the passengers.

Women's World Cup (TM) is playing on the TV at the airport lounge. Brazil is kicking the crap out of Equatorial Guinea, and Australia just upset Norway with a goal in the final minutes. The bartender and I discussed our appreciation of the pleasant diversion of live sports at this time of the day. Definitely beats an episode of inside edition or rants on FoxNews.

It's 11:26 in Chicago, although my iPod says it's 23:26 in Kolkata; I better get to sleep soon. Hmmmm, perhaps a nice bloody mary might just do the trick...

mmmm...breakfast