Earth Pilgrim

Last night we sat around the campfire (an in-door campfire - it's fuh-reezing here at night) to listen to one of our teachers, Satish Kumar, tell the story of how he and a friend walked from the grave of Gandhi in India to Moscow to Paris to London to D.C. and Jfks grave to protest nuclear weapons. It was 8000 miles, it took them 2.5 years and 8 pairs of shoes. This was 1962, the height of the cold war. And they left without a rupee in their pocket. 

Their first border was to cross over into Pakistan, a country with which India had had 3 wars. When they go to the border, a concerned friend met them there and pleaded with them, "please at least take these sacks of food I've prepared for you. The pakistanis will not feed and shelter you because you are Indian." Satish said that he equated the food with "beautiful delicious packets of mistrust" for if he were to go to a pakistan with his own food, it would be a sign that he did not trust the goodness of he Pakistani people to feed him as a guest. His friend cried and told satish he feared he would not ever see him again.

Within 5 minutes of crossing over into Pakistan, a pakistani man approached him and said "I've been looking for you every day! I heard about your journey on the radio and I too believe in stopping all this nonsense war." the man took them in immediately for the night and fed them and introduced them to many others who gave them food and shelter along the way. 

His story is truly amazing (especially because they entered the Russian border in the midst of winter, Napoleon-style and almost had to stop because of the cold.)

He's written a book about it called No Destination. He is a riveting story teller and I'm sure that translates into his writing, if anyone is interested in hearing more about this fascinating man.

Community stew

The course participants have started to trickle in. There is a farmer from washigton state. A 65 year old travel addict from Bordeaux who is here for 7 months (don't you miss the wine and cheese?!) there's the yogi fm Canada, the German coeds, the Canadian doctor, the Aussie on a post college tour, the international studies teacher from Denver who is on a 2 year tip around he world with his wife. And of course the British ladies who adore their oneness with nature and abhor Delhi. On this we can all find common ground. 

The rest of us seasoned volunteers (I'll indulge myself with membership in this crowd) have been simmering and carmelizing in a pot of Navdanya spices and are now called upon to flavor the newbies with membership in the farm community. What a fragrant and delicious dal curry we make! It's like summer camp for earth lovers! Tomorrow will bring even more ingredients and from what I understand, even an Okinawan girl! I bet a touch of Goya would add a tasty flavor...

20 points for the bovine

Commandment for Surviving in India #23: 

Thou shalt maintain complete and utter faith in thine driver. Failing to heed this commandment could expose you to cardiac arrest, hysteria, or cause you to inadvertanlty fling yourself from a bus window in a fit of madness.

In any instance where you feel your faith slipping, You shall reassure youself repeatedly with the following mantra:

"This man is a PROFESSIONAL driver.
I do not understand the roads of India.
I'm SURE these breaks work. 
No that tire doesnt look THAT flat. 
Of COURSE the driver sees the cow in his blind spot. 
Those children are TOTALLY going to jump out of the way.
That oncoming truck will DEFINITELY stop before it t-bones the passenger side of this rickshaw. 
This fully-loaded bus is most certainly NOT going to topple off that cliff, it has the center of gravity of a 15-passenger van!" (inside joke for mom).

Repeat these words as necessary. It is best to sit back, RELAX, and enjoy the scenery as if you were playing a driving video game or some other such diversion.


Oh, and an add-on to commandment #23 which was tacked on during the 2nd Delhi Council of Rickshaw and Bus Drivers in an attmept to adjust the Word to more modern times: if your rickshaw is driving on the wrong side of the road, dead straight for a manuere truck and your driver is checking out the girl on the side of the road, a quick "twack!" to the back of his head is recommended and may even be appreciated. After all, he may be a professional drivers but no one's perfect.    

Mussoorie - the Queen of the Hill Stations

My lodgings in mussorie were wonderful. The hotel is surrounded by terraced gardens and it hangs off a hill. My room had a little enclosed glass solarium with one of those wicker bird swings so I could sit inside while I watched the stars and the night life across the valley. The shower was hot as can be, although the pressure left much to be desired.  Finally I just started filling up a small bucket with warm water and dumping it on myself which felt lovely. Also having a bathroom IN your room and not having to venture into the night air is something I will never again underestimate.

The night time views are stunning. Mussoorie hangs from what seems to be a bottomless mountian and glitters like the raj's jewelry box. The road up here twisted and looped about. I don't think they have the same 6% incline max on roads as they do in california. It reminded me of the road to hanna in Hawaii. I was defintiely nauseaus but made it with my dignity intact.

Daytime views are just as beautiful. The main road that links both ends of the city wraps around a valley that is fillled with fog, but is clear enough for you to realize that you are way the he'll up there. 

Since this is a vacation destination, and they are perhaps used to seeing people of different stripes, I know longer feel like a fish walking around on legs. Also the store keepers are attentive but respectful when you choose to browse but not purchase. I remember in Korea they'd practically snarl at you if you failed to buy after taking up their time.

This morning I'm going to enjoy some chai and some gohbi parantha, a thin torilla like bread stuffed with a spiced cauliflower mix. Then I will walk up to a town called Landour via a 5k trail and absorb some of the mountain air.

"Just Don't Sleep With a Samosa Under Your Pillow" or "Comfort is Relative"

Me: So where did you stay in Mussoorie? I'm looking for a good hotel.

Volunteer Kate: Let me think... oh, the Broadway Hotel

Me: Yeah I saw that in the Lonely Planet Guide. Was it nice?

Kate: Oh yearh It was really nice. Very peaceful and spacious and kind of quaint.

Me: So you'd recommend I stay there?

Kate: Definitely. I mean, we had rats in our room but just don't keep food in your bag and you should be fine.

Me: Alright, good tip. Thanks.

---

*** note to concerned husband and parents, i splurged for the $20/night place and it has a toilet AND a shower. Higher roller baby.

You can take the girl away from her laptop...

I wish I could figure out how to upload my photos from my camera to my blog. There are so many great visuals in this country! But alas, we must make do with with the written (typed) word. I should be more than happy - after all, I am blogging wirelessly from an iPod touch on which I just scandolously downloaded and watched the season finale of Mad Men this afternoon while the other volunteers were off chanting sacred mantras or some jazz. Shhhhh don't tell anyone. Sometimes a girl needs a little Don Draper escape every now and then. (I KNEW they'd bring Joanie back!!)

I walked down the main road today to buy some sweets - the road consists of two lanes with the occaisonal motorcycle or truck passing by and then a metal shack every 50 yards or so that sells something. Of course there are the cows and goats everwhere. And the children no older than three crossing the road as they please, not even flinching at the blaring honks of the trucks swerving to miss them. Is the US the only country on earth where kids get runover by cars or is this an old wives tale? In japan it's the same - kids seem impervious to the threat of traffic. Nor do their parents bat an eye.

Anyway, I brought my Hindi phrasebook with me and repeated the phrase over and over in my head - "I'd like to buy 8 sweets please". I delivered the translation to empty stares and they had to bring some guy over who knew a bit of English to figure out what I could POSSIBLY be saying as I pointed to the candy and held up 8 fingers. 

Defeated, but with candy in hand I got home and downloaded a Hindi Lesson podcast on to my iPod. And a "This American Life" podcast for later tonight. Steve Jobs, how do I love thee? let me count the ways...ek, do, teen, chaar, paanch...  

Why I'm here

Nov 15
So I don't think I've actually ever explained to most friends or fam what I am actually DOING at the navdanya farm. Let's see if I can boil it down to it's choice bits:

The global food system is a wreck. Currently, large corporations such as monsanto and cargill are trying patent seeds - patent LIFE as it were - and prevent farmers the world over from saving seeds for the next years harvest, by forcing them to buy this patented seed every year. This is wrecking lives and livlihoods amongst the worlds poor. These companies have gone so far as to take natural pesticide plants (the neem plant, indigenous to India) and patent it to sell back to farmers at a cost then suing them and putting them out of business should they reuse to pay! (even though Indian farmers have been using this plant for years and years). They also take seeds for corn that have been honed and selected over thousands of years by seed keepers (usually grandmothers), add one little genetic tweek to it in a lab, and then patent it as their very own to sell back to the farmers! What was the modification they added in the lab? To make the seed require monsantos very own brand of chemical (toxic) fertilizer to stay alive! Great business plan. Oh and if the farmers don't comply by paying each year for the seed, the court systems intervene and make them. This has happened in the US and in Canada as well. 

If there was any doubt as to the intentions of these seed corporations (actually they are chem corporations- the ones who gave us agent orange) they have now created the "terminator" seed. What does this technological innovation do? It up and dies after 1 generation of harvesting. So instead of being replanted every year like has been done since the beginning of the agrarian age, this seed acts as monsanto's own little patent enforcer and keeps the farmer from being able to use it again. He must instead by more from monsanto. What do you think this terminator seed does for world hunger??

The us supreme court has ruled that life can be patented and the WTO tries to enforce these patent laws world wide. There is a giant campaign funded by these chemical companies to make us believe that these patented and genetically modified seeds will save the poor of the third world and anyone who disagrees is a Luddite and an environmental nut who does not care about the starving in Africa. 

Chem company represnetatives write for influencial publications such as foreign affairs magazine. They contribute MILLIONS to universities so that they can influence the research that comes out, such as one scientist who was denied tenure for his work against gmos at berkeley. Yes we'd all like to hope that the university is the last bastion of independent thought, but research needs funding, and corporations are increasingly the ones providing the dough.  

The yields are not necessarily bigger with the new seed and the monoculture destroys the variety that is needed to keep healthy soil for future generations of harvests. 

There is so much more to this that I can't fit on a blog post and that I don't yet understand. The thrust of the reasearch navdanya does is to show that poverty is a result of political choices, and cannot be solved with a scientific fix. The planting and seed keeping on this organic and sustainable farm is actually very scientific and based on thousands of years of knowledge passed down through the women of India. 

Many students are here to learn how to farm organically - to make potent fertilizer from cow dung and worms instead of chemical fertilizer (which by the way uses a ton of fossil fuels to make.) this farm teaches farmers how to take these sustainable practices back to their own farms. My particular interest is in the politics of agriculture globalization, and in particular the extent to which the World Trade Organization acts as a patent enforcer and what that does to third world farmers. 99% of economists would argue that the principal of comparative advantage means that if one country produces grain best, another should produce corn and yet another cotton and thentrash trade through the market. But does this really make sense to do with with food when you have communiies who cannot even afford to buy food at the local market and all they grow is cotton that they cant then sell becuase the US subsidizes its cotton to make it cheaper than african cotton? Not to mention the enormous waste of fossil fuels that it takes to ship the stuff around. These are areas I am examining.

We have a tendency in the West to think that the Global South is backwards - that progress means creation in a lab and that reductionist science can cure all ils. The navdanya organization attempts to view the entire system - the politics, the ecology and the PEOPLE to come up win real solutions to hunger that do not include destroying the earth with chemicals or putting the wealth of a third world county in the hands of multinational corporations.

Anyway that's my little tirade. I worked for two hours last night preparing this mornings breakfast (naash-TA) so I am not going to miss it! Tootles.   

Whatchyu lookin' at

This afternoon I walked with another volunteer to the local Friday market in a nearby village. The other volunteer is American but of Indian descent, although her denim pants give her away. We went to check things out and to by some fixings for a salad. The Indian cooks don't serve us raw vegetables - just cooked, and we were hankering for a salad.

As I approached each booth, people would stop and stare at me. My natural reaction is to give a brighter-than-normal smile and the occaisional "namaste" with hands in prayer position. I also throw in an okinawan bow for good measure. In japan you might not get a smile but you will definitely get a bow, and you feel the exchange is complete and you can move on. In India I am constantly left hanging with nothing but an emotionless stare in response - my presense a seemingly personal affront to them.

 In all likelihood, I am over-analyzing the situation. I usually assume they think of me as an imperial oppressor or a peace corps volunteer on some self-fulfilling mission here to save them from themselves, or a rich tourist with a grip of 500 rupee notes who needs change when she wants to buy a shawl from your stand for 50 rupees ($1) 

...(on a side note, in japan, 500 yen ($5) is a coin instead of a bill and here they have 10-rupee bills, the equivalent of $0.20)...

 In Okinawa, I walk around with a lot of American guilt. My cheeks flush red with shame when the f-15s screech by as if I had some control over the flight pattern or our imperial overreach. "Gomen nasai!" I apologize, ears covered, "i hate the noise too!" But I have learned the rhthym of Okinawa. I know that most okinawans blame their government and ours, but they are kind to us as individuals.

 In contrast, i have no idea what to make of indian stares. Perhaps they are just curious and smiling is not part of their normal interaction. Perhaps the lack of smiles should not be intepretted as disdain? I really dont know what to think or what they think of me. It's the intense stares I cannot handle - from both the men and the women. I'm speaking as someone who shrank from the prospect of walking down the aisle at her own wedding for being the focus of so many eyeballs. Imagine you walk into a party and everyone just stops and looks at you - not scornfully, but not pleasantly either. And then it happens again and again EVERYWHERE YOU GO. 

I'm a bit worried about leaving the farm and traveling again on my own. Hopefully by then I'll have knowledge of some more Hindi which will make these interactions somewhat easier to bear.    

This is LIFE

Yesterday we were visited by about a hundred students from a nearby boardingschool of Tibetan refugee children, grade 8. They were here to study ecology. The English they spoke was quite impressive. "ma'am, can you please tell me was this plant is? Ma'am can you please tell me what is the county with the largest apple exports? Ma'am at what latitude is best for growth of papaya?" and then they'd scribble furiously in their notebooks.  
Once they'd uncovered that I was from the US, they wanted to know if ID been to the inaguration of president obama, if I knew Harry potter (?) and Hannah Montana. Also, had I ever met the dalai lama? Well, they all had - of course, and told me that when I did (not if) my heart would be filled with immeasureable joy.

As their Teacher attmepted to corral them for the walk home, a few of them walked out with one of our puppies. They assured me that the kitchen staff said they could have him. "no!" I said "he's not old enough! (only a month). Jeetpol says to me "Anne marie, everyone must eventually go- I livey family too, this is LIFE." I suppose he is right but I missed the pup all night long.

sweet leaves

Newsflash - farming is physically demanding. Who'd a thunkit? Yesterday I planted basil and cut down massive amounts of it for drying. When planted in a field ( not a windowsill planter) it grows quite high and study. You have to hack at it with a sickle then prune it more than put it through a manual grinder. We ground bales of it. Today I pruned weeds, which is not technically even fieldwork but gardening. It was still very hArd on the knees and back. Elena, a yeAr long volunteer from Myanmar, says that since 'my people' are not familiar with this field labor, I should only work for half the day. Astute observation.

Jeetpol is my best Indian friend here so far. He calls me Anne Marie because apparently I look just like his white friend Anne Marie who was here last year. Now I'm sure everyone here is confused what my name actually is. He made me the best chai I've ever had - he adds black tea to hot water, basil, lemongrass, mint & stevia. Stevia is this magic sweet plant that tastes like it's leaves have been soaked in honey. It can be used in place of sugar. I'm planting pots of it when I get back home. 

Last night we walked about 35 minutes to the home of bindu, a woman who works atthe farm, for her daughters bday. Literally throngs of children flocked to our entourage as we approached. They live in a small two bedroom house on the main road with about 7 people. Four of the kids kept trying to drag me away so finally I acquiesced. They took me to a temple and had me pray to each of the statues od goddesses and gods, giggling like mad whenever I would repeat after them. The kids were so happy and fun to be around.

I caught a bit of a cold last night (cow flu?) so I'm layinglow. Most of the volunteers are going to Delhi for a climate change conference this weekend, but im staying put. You couldn't drag me from here back to Delhi with 100 barrels of stevia.

Redemption in the north

This morning I left the chaos of Delhi behind for the unknown (but very likely much improved.)

On the train i sat next to a german couple who are visiting India for 5 months. They had been delayed in my hotel for 3 weeks while recovering from typhoid (yikes!) and a nasty case of street food poisoning. Cautiously, I ate nothing but naan yesterday so as to avoid that predicament. The train ride was very pleasant, as was the scenery. 
 
Dehradun, 6 hours from Delhi, was it's own chaotic amalgation of smells and sights. But it was clean and more inquisitive than intruding. I suppose they see even less foreigners up here.

I arrived at the farm via a rickshaw outfited with a lawnmower engine after only one flat tire, a very close head on collision with a truck, and completely uncertain of what I'd find. Having had my romantic notions of delhi rather rudely upended, I was afraid that either I would never find the place or that once I got here, i would be sorely disappointed.

It seemed that the bazaars of Delhi were my test, and the farm is my reward. The sprawling 55 acres are beautiful. The lead volunteer here took me on a tour of the grounds and introduced me to countless varieties of vegetables, millets, seeds, cows, worms, puppies, mango trees (35 varieties of those alone!) This was after I was offered a meal of course - "I must warn you it is nothing fancy- simple organic, vegetarian, all grown on this farm, is this okay with you?" um... Yes please! There are several volunteers: Aistrian, potugese, colmbian, Japanese and a few from California. (C-town always represents.) There's a large library on the farm and we are viewing a documentary on global food issues after dinner.  

My room has an outlet! It is a crisp cool evening. There is a meteor shower this weekend. I bathed for the first time on the trip so far (no facllities at the last place) with a bucket of warm solar heated water. And this post is reaching you through wireless Internet!!! Yes, I am one very happy camper. If only my hubby and gunner could be here too, i just might make a home here. 

Redemption in the north

This morning I left the chaos of Delhi behind for the ownknown (but very likely much improved.)

On the train i sat next to a german couple who are visiting India for 5 months. They had been delayed in my hotel for 3 weeks while recovering from typhoid (yikes!) and a nasty case of street food poisoning. Cautiously, I ate nothing but naan yesterday so as to avoid that predicament. The train ride was very pleasant, as was the scenery. 
 
Dehradun, 6 hours from Delhi, was it's own chaotic amalgation of smells and sights. But it was clean and more inquisitive than intruding. I suppose they see even less foreigners up here.

I arrived at the farm via a rickshaw outfited with a lawnmower engine after only one flat tire, a very close head on collision with a truck, and completely uncertain of what I'd find. Having had my romantic notions of delhi rather rudely upended, I was afraid that either I would never find the place or that once I got here, i would be sorely disappointed.

It seemed that the bazaars of Delhi were my test, and the farm is my reward. The sprawling 55 acres are beautiful. The lead volunteer here took me on a tour of the grounds and introduced me to countless varieties of vegetables, millets, seeds, cows, worms, puppies, mango trees (35 varieties of those alone!) This was after I was offered a meal of course - "I must warn you it is nothing fancy- simple organic, vegetarian, all grown on this farm, is this okay with you?" um... Yes please! There are several volunteers: Aistrian, potugese, colmbian, Japanese and a few from California. (C-town always represents.) There's a large library on the farm and we are viewing a documentary on global food issues after dinner.  

My room has an outlet! It is a crisp cool evening. There is a meteor shower this weekend. I bathed for the first time on the trip so far (no facllities at the last place) with a bucket of warm solar heated water. And this post is reaching you through wireless Internet!!! Yes, I am one very happy camper. If only my hubby and gunner could be here too, i just might make a home here. 

Delhi

Arrived in Delhi last night, and all I can think is... naive, naive, naive. Me with my romantic notions of India. Apparetnly when the Lonelyplant guidebook said the Paharganj Area had a "seedy reputation for drugs and dodgy characters - not everyone's cup of tea" I eroneously pictured something like Mission Beach, where I lived in college, where your neighbors all sold pot, but the vibe was chill and artsy. Recall that hotel room in Leo Dicaprio's "The Beach" where his acquaintance OD's on heroine? Well apparently that hotel is a chain and I'm staying in the India branch! It's my own fault - who could resist $4 per night lodgings? I'm going to have to up the budget a bit.

I have a day to kill in Delhi, but it seems that I'd have to get in a car or rickshaw to leave this area, and let me tell you there is no roller coaster ride that compares to my ride home from the airport last night. Lane lines do not apply, cows are everywhere, pedestrians are for target practive, people bicycle on the highway with carts at their backs. lights don't mean much either.

I never really comprehended what it was like to be a woman in a country like India. perhaps it is better for locals, but the searing glances and advances from Indian men are a bit demoralizing. And they come at you 10 at a time. This morning, I resolved to stiffen my back and I threw a shawl over my head and neck and donned some mirrored sunglasses, which gave me a nice "rich Dubai girl" look. You basically just have to not respond to them, even when they are right in your face insisting you respond. If you say no, or respond in any fashion, it only eggs on the conversation further. The next time I hear an American bitch about the political correctness of treatment of women, or the next time I hear an Anerican, man or woman, claim not to be a feminist, I'm going to scream. We don't know how good we've got it.

Happy to find an internet room, though. Going up to get a bite on the roof of this place and watch the bazaar pass by. I will be in Dehradun tomorrow and at the farm shortly thereafter. I keep picturing Vandana Shiva as my Mother Mary, knowing that if I can just reach her, she will provide safe, clean lodgings and a respite from these pestulant men. Will write from there! Please disregard the somber tone of this email - it was a tough night, but I'm sure once I leave the city it will be much better!