Things have settled down significantly, and that’s why I haven’t been writing more consistently. Most of the things that I’ve been up to are focused on my project, which you can read when I write the paper, or local things that aren’t especially significant.
I want to first off say that I think that I want to correct a statement that I made in an earlier e-mail. Cheap things in India are cheap. Nice things in India are just as expensive and sometimes more expensive than things in the United States. So, I’m having a particularly hard time wanting to buy things in India when I can buy things of similar quality for a similar price in the US. Of course, those things don’t have the aura of being purchased in India, but I also don’t have to drag it overseas in a suitcase either. To top that off, there really isn’t a place to buy those nice things in Vizag anyway. I’ve also been told that there is a distinct difference between authentic items and expensive items. While it is completely possible to buy nice things in India, buying authentic things (which is what I’m interested in) is next to impossible. To buy authentic things one must know what one wants, know the right people, know the right time to ask if they can buy that personal item (you can’t buy these things in the market), and have the person be willing to sell. There are very few exceptions to this because, as I said before, there is no Indian cottage industry. So...there probably won’t be many gifts coming back to people from India.
Having said that, I think that at the end of the program I’ll be traveling to the northern part of West Bengal to Darjeeling, which is supposed to have a place that sells authentic rugs made by Tibetan refugees. But again, almost all of the street vendors sell rugs, which aren’t made locally, so one has to be careful about where these are purchased. Even if you asked a vendor if something was made locally and he understood what you were asking, he would probably lie to you to fetch a higher price and assure the sale.
Not that buying a rug would be the purpose for going. The north eastern part of India is the seat of the gladiola and orchid industry in India, and I would be going to see and perhaps purchase orchids. There are laws about exportation and whatnot, but I’m not worried about it since one of the nurseries that I would be seeing has specifically sold to someone in the US that I know. Besides that, orchids are propagated using a method called flasking, in which orchid seeds are sown in auger and put in a sterilized jar until they grow into seedlings that can be planted into a regular pot. One of those shouldn’t be too difficult to get through customs.
Speaking of Orchids, a large group of them just got delivered to Hollister, and the vivariums are starting to look quite full. Hopefully they don’t die before I get home, but I trust Katie to look after them. Also, everyone at home has been helping to look after them as well, from what Katie has told me. I do feel a little bad letting her shoulder the burden of my orchids for 3 months, because the amount of plants that I have requires a serious time commitment, but I promise that it won’t be for any longer than this three months.
Earlier this week (on Republic Day) Peter, the local warden and only other white American in the Vizag district, took us men on the program to get a shave from a local barber, which is how all Indian men keep clean. That doesn’t mean that I shaved my beard, it’s just what it’s called when it involves the face. I got my beard trimmed (which I had mixed feelings about, but figured it was an experience that I should have), my neck shaved, and my beard shaped on the cheeks. It was a wonderful experience, especially because included in a shave is a message. It also felt a little like the wild west because all of the shaving was done with a straight razor. I had heard before, and now I believe it, that a straight razor is the best way to shave. It was extremely effective and I’m not sure that I ever want anyone but a barber to shave me ever again. The best part: it cost about 45 cents.
Apparently, the only gym in the region that does olympic style lifting is on the other side of town in a slum area. it has no air-conditioning, no roof, and very primitive weights. It was kind of funny, because before I went there I was talking to people at another fitness gym (the nicest in Vizag...they wanted to 6500 rupees for two months, which is nearly 150 dollars. No thanks) to try and find a place that I could do olympic lifting and they were all telling me that it was a slum area and that I shouldn’t go. I should just work out at the nice gym. Well, I checked it out anyway, and it’s not only cheap (about a dollar a month), but as good as I need. Besides, I would rather rub shoulders with dirty street, slum people than upper caste English speakers. My translator wants to joint the gym as well, so we’ll be commuting with each other starting on Tuesday evening (gas will run us about a dollar a day, split between two people).
Three people in the program ran into a film crew filming a Bengali movie and are going to be in the movie. That’s good for them, and I’m not super interested in telling you the story, but suffice it say, they did two days of filming. One of the perks of being white in India, I guess.
On Saturday, I went to the beach with two other girls from the program, because one of the girls, from BYU Hawaii, had heard that there were surfboard rentals at Rushiconda, a beach just north of Vizag. I told her that I had never gone before, but that I would be willing to go out with her so that she wouldn’t be alone (plus, I’m kind of crazy, so I’ll pretty much try anything athletic). True to the Internet’s word, not only were there two people surfing when we got there, there was indeed a place to rent boards. The man, named Melville, who rents the boards out, is a really cool local who was in the Indian navy, but never had enough money to try surfing. In the ensuing 25 years or so, he’s managed to acquire boards, other supplies, and become friends with world famous surfers and board shapers. It’s a tightknit community of people (only a handful of people) and Melville was very generous to us. After surfing, or in my case, attempting to surf, we ate lunch with him and his friends, talked about surfing and generally got to know each other. Amy, the girl from BYU-H was super stoked to find people who surfed, and fell in love. We’re planning on going back on the weekends to surf, hang out, and find out more about the community for her to blog about and post information about on the internet. I’m not so interested in surfing (I hate the beach, but the ocean was fun enough), but the community is amazing, and I wouldn’t mind going back just to be a part of it.
I didn’t stand up, but I didn’t particularly try. I caught nearly every wave I tried for (which was grand total of 2), but the hardest part of surfing was sitting on the board. When you’re sitting on the board and you’re not moving in the water, it’s incredibly difficult to balance (and I don’t usually have a hard time with balance), but once you actually get going after catching a wave the fins actually do something, and you feel rock solid. Amy thinks that I won’t even be able to stand up on the board by the time I leave, but I’m pretty sure that it won’t take me more than one or two more times of going. I’m a fast learner, and even if I suck at balancing on the board while sitting, I’m pretty sure that I could have gotten up on the board the first wave I caught. We’ll see what happens, because I’m literally teaching myself how to do this. And for the record, the waves weren’t very large (like 2-2 1/2 feet), and they’re supposed to get up to 15 by the time we leave. My goal: ride a big wave before I go home.
Justin Tungate
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