last day

Today is our last full day in Mussoorie. We leave at 5:00 am tomorrow to drive to Delhi to see my cousin, Amanda. The next morning we are off to Istanbul. I must finish packing our bags and making sure we are within our weight limit!

But I couldn't leave this place without making it clear what a wonderful year it's been. Our good friends Fabi and Marcus came by this morning to say goodbye, and we had lunch with our friends at school one last time just now. We all reflected on how lucky we are to have been able to do this and to have met each other. I love knowing that we have friends (good friends) who are from all 6 continents (that are populated!). I love knowing that we have places to stay and fun people to visit all over the world.
I love that Oliver has met so many different people and heard so many different languages. I love that we survived with smiles.

Mostly, I feel hopeful. I hope the drive down tomorrow is painless and Oliver doesn't get car sick. I hope my cousin is well. I hope that our flights are smooth and that we have a blast in Istanbul.
More than anything I hope Andy gets a job. I hope our move to Madison is a good decision. I hope that  we get to enjoy our summer and catch up with our family and friends. I hope we continue to appreciate India for all it has given us. I hope my marriage continues to stay strong. I hope our families can appreciate how much we missed them but also how badly we needed to do this, and that we will probably live abroad again in the future. I hope we can find mangoes that are half as delicious as the ones here. I hope to find a play group and music class for Oliver as soon as possible. I hope to visit Rose and Jay before the winter. I hope we find a wonderful place to live. I hope it's close to a park. I hope my thyroid can get back online. I hope Henry remembers us. I hope that we eat guacamole within 24 hours of landing. I hope to hear several outdoor concerts this summer and dine alfresco as often as possible. I hope my parents have gluten free beer in the fridge for me. And organic blueberries. And something my mom has baked.  I hope that Oliver continues to travel and be curious and be adventurous. I hope he knows how much we love him (and always will, no matter what) and how much we have enjoyed experiencing this year with him and watching him grow and walk and talk in the Himalayas. I hope.

Privacy and Boundaries

These two concepts do not exist here in India. I suspect this is because people are used to living in close quarters, practically on top of each other, in an already incredibly crowded country.

Staring is acceptable. So is looking in someone's windows, approaching strangers, taking pictures of you without your permission.  I have had to shoo people away from Oliver and myself many times. One of the first Hindi terms I was taught here was "Behen chode"; as I understand it, this is a crude way of  telling someone they sleep with their sister. My friend told me to use this if I was ever harassed and remind the people harassing me they have mothers and sister that they wouldn't want treated that way. Thankfully, I haven't had to say it. I have, however, gotten in people's face and done my share of yelling and middle finger raising (I'm not proud of it).  I learned early that my midwestern "Hello! How are you?" and a wave was an invitation to be followed and or flirted with. I stopped greeting people beyond a quick "namaste" and tend to avoid people's eyes. I quickly developed a sneer that I would engage when I heard cars and motorcycles slowing to a stop behind me. "Get away" I would snap in Hindi, thankfully they have all chuckled and gone on their way. 

Beyond harassment, we have had people walk the entire way into town with us. Trying to engage with Oliver, or just merely along for the stroll. In Chicago, I have walked off of a bus with several people  and someone always decides to be the fast one, someone else the slow one, others crossing the street so that no one has to walk "together". I have had ayah's here see me and Oliver coming and wait for us to catch up with them and then walk along the rode next to us, silent, not even making eye contact until they or we turn off. Bizarre.

This creeper above in the aqua shirt found us playing in the river while on vacation with a few other school families. We were in the most desolate place I have been here in India. Yet, he came out of the woods, walked up to us and stood there staring for about ten minutes. Seriously? Maybe he hadn't seen people in a long time; it was a pretty isolated place we were staying in. Maybe he was curious about the babies, or that we were white. Who knows, but I just cannot ever imagine someone walking up to a sandbox in a park and just standing there staring. People would call the cops. Or at least, move their children to a different location.

The picture taking is getting obnoxious now that we have so many Indian tourists coming up to the mountains to cool off. I have had people screech their bike to a halt, jump off, snap a picture of us and jump back on in less than 15 seconds. People will drive by as Oliver and I are walking home and stick a video camera out of the window at us. Because walking is so fascinating? I don't get it. We are strangers. Are they going to go home and post us on Facebook? The security men at school are constantly whipping out their phones to take pictures of Oliver. "Show wife" is often what they tell me. 

The boundaries at home are so different in India. Can you imagine showing up at someone's house, knocking once and then opening the door and walking in? We are vigilant door-lockers here because people knock once and then try the handle. I could be naked! Or asleep! At hotels it is the worst because there are no deadbolt locks. Everything is a sliding lock that you then use a padlock to secure. If Andy is out of the room, and he wants to get back in, I can't lock to door from the inside because he won't be able to unlock it. I have had so many hotel staff members just walk into our rooms; knocking optional. Once I got so fired up because they woke Oliver up to serve us room service that we hadn't ordered. Though I thought I had convinced them they had the wrong room, they came back two minutes later, walking in again trying to convince me that I had indeed ordered coffee and an omelette. 

There is little to no filter on what people will tell you. Everyone wants to ask how much you paid for something, or how your bowels are (this topic most often comes up while you are eating), or tell you how your body looks. For our entire time here, older Indian women have told me I am "too slim." That I need to eat more and exercise less to be able to keep up with Oliver. One woman pointedly told me I must be "sad [my] breasts are so small." Wow. One morning a mother of one of Andy's students told me I was gaining weight. She said, "I can tell, your face is puffy." Never mind that I only slept four hours the night before. She went on, "If you are not careful, you will become a fat housewife!" I muttered "awesome" under my breath and bite my tongue. My friend Sandy, from Delhi, told me that complete strangers on the street will come up to her husband and tell him he is getting fat. She said that people are so used to commenting on each other that they don't see any topic as rude or off limits.  Just yesterday Oliver and I tried our hardest to sit through the end of the year assembly.  We made it 15 minutes. One mother, whom I have never seen before, told me "You really ought to make him sit still. he is too energetic." Woman, please...

Here's what a will miss about the lack of boundaries...there is no wrong way to do something. I have a friend who was told at work that people are not allowed to knock on a certain supervisor's door; the must email them first and be sure it's alright. Even though he is just down the hall. That would never be the case here. I have certain people in the states that I only communicate with via email; phone calls and visits don't/won't happen. Here, face to face is preferred. Voice to voice is the next best option. Texting is just starting to take off here. I hope it isn't as popular as it is in the states. I really prefer talking to people and I think our Indian friends do to. I will miss being treated like everyone's friend. We have met people for the first time and ten minutes later they tell us "Our house is your house. Our car is your car. You are family now." I love that after one year here store owners are inviting me and Oliver up for tea, know our names, know where we live, know what we like. I will miss this. Not the creepers stalking us from the bushes, but I will miss all the other people tremendously. 

A different way

Our neighbors opened their door as we approached our own and said we must come in to meet their niece's baby. They were so excited to show us, but mostly Oliver, "Steve" the newest addition to their family. Oliver glanced at the baby but then went about running around after and trying to engage with their three year old, Enoch. At one point Enoch's dad turned to his visiting niece and said "Lindsey has a very different, but very successful way of raising Oliver." Okaaaay....I thought. Where is he going with this? He continued, "Listen to his vocabulary! Look at how capable he is! This is because Lindsey talks with him all day and let's him try new things! This is because she stays home with him and has no help!" My heart skipped a beat. Rajneesh is officially the first Indian person to compliment my choice to stay home with Oliver. Most have flat-out told me I am crazy not to have any help. I am still thinking a lot about the difference in parenting beliefs I have versus what my current country-mates have. They are so striking when you watch us in action.

Oliver and I have filled our schedule with playdates and music classes and trips up the mountain since Rose and Ennis left. Two weeks ago we had our usual playdate with a two year old son of a teacher here at Woodstock. I will call the boy Bob. Bob stays at home with his grandma and ayah while both parents work. Bob's grandma is a firm believer in keeping him indoors all day so he is "safe", "clean" and "well-behaved." For the first time, I convinced her to let the boys play outside in the common area of her neighborhood. She hesitated but I told her I would keep a "close eye on Bob" and she relented. Bob has no one his age in the neighborhood and because he is inside all day, he never plays with any children. EVER. Bob was so excited to see us walk up that he nearly burst through the screen of his door. He ran at us with his grandma howling "Shoes! No Shoes!" He slowed for about 15 seconds so she could quickly slide them on his feet and when she noticed Oliver wearing a hat, she ran inside and found (no kidding) a bowler hat and placed it on his head. Bob kept a tight grasp on Oliver as Oliver tried to make his way away from Bob. Oliver fell. Bob's grandma yelped but I didn't react. Oliver righted himself and Bob pushed him over with enthusiasm. Oh boy. I have firmly established myself as the mom who doesn't yelp when her child spills, slips and tumbles. I will scoop Oliver up and comfort him if necessary, but my non-reaction is a direct response to the screams and horror of my fellow neighbors when their children do the same. I was starting to question whether it was time to start reacting when Bob drew blood. He was so excited about throwing the ball to Oliver that he grabbed Oliver's arm and dug in. Oliver wailed. "You're going to be just fine. That was an accident." Still calm, I sent him to go after the ball. Then Bob decided he wanted it and bit Oliver's hand. This snapped me out of my super-calm-American-mom mode. "Aramse, Bob! Gentle... do not bite people, it hurts." Oliver decided the ball was  no longer worth it and went after the motorcycle toy which, predictably, Bob decided he wanted as well. To take possession of the motorcycle Bob put Oliver in a surprisingly strong and forceful choke-hold, panicking Oliver and causing him to cough and gasp. I was no longer cool at all. "BOB! NO!" (I pry his arms from my son's neck) "Bob, that's hurting him. ARAMSE! Get off my kid, Bob!"

I freed Oliver and walk to the other side of the common area with my startled and coughing child. Playdate over.  Not sure I really care to see Bob again. Grandma came over and said, "See! It's so hot! Makes him naughty!" and swept him into the house.  I decided then and there that it is not my job, nor Oliver's, to socialize Bob. He's on his own.

I know full-well that Oliver will slug, bite, kick, pinch people in the future, that is what kids do...but I sincerely hope he will draw the line at strangling someone. So that play option is no more. We met once with the woman I picked up at the restaurant and her two sons, but we just didn't hit it off.

I have decided that I can't force Oliver's socialization. We go to school, we play with the pre-k kids and he runs around with the high schoolers. The play groups will happen, and it's okay that they aren't happening now. I do look forward to having a community gathering place: a park, library, children's museum, where we can naturally interact with other kids and moms. That really is the big difference I have felt between child rearing here and in the states. Everyone here turns to their ayah for help, I turn to my friends and other moms. I can't wait to be back around moms once more. I have missed it so much since Rose left. 

Knock Knock!

We have begun our countdown (17 days until Istanbul!) and begun the requisite process of moving halfway across the globe. Namely, packing boxes to courier, sorting what to keep/donate/sell and then of course selling and packing the various piles. I hate moving. Always have. This doesn't feel too stressful, however, because we only have what we came with and a few things we have picked up along the way.
How much could we possibly bring back? How long could it possibly take to pack it all up?

When a teacher leaves Woodstock, it's a big deal. Since we returned to campus in February people have been claiming various household items. "Can I have your comforter when you go?" "Has anyone claimed your area rugs?" I didn't mind, it was one less item for me to try and sell come Spring. However, now that Spring is here, people are obsessed with trying to get the best deal on items from departing staff. Word spreads quickly around the hillside once the ayah's catch wind of you leaving. Last week and early this week I have had a steady stream of sari-clad women banging on my door trying to get "Good deal! No too much!" on our baby clothes and kitchen appliances. At first, I thought that I needed to allow this; after all, it is a well-established practice here. But yesterday I hit my breaking point. Someone banged on our door during the hallowed, holy, respected, sacred nap-time and woke Oliver. I boiled inside. They also wanted to pay only half of what everything is marked. They, like everyone else who has come over looking to buy things, went through our rooms asking if they could buy everything on the walls and beds (no) and opening our kitchen cabinets (stop that). I shooed them out, exasperated. I had had enough already.
I walked Oliver to school and asked our friend to write me a sign in Hindi that reads "Please do not knock on this door. Our sale is June 10th from 2-4. You can come and buy things only on that day."

I thought I had it all figured out. Then this morning came a pounding (which we ignored) and later a ringing phone (my fault for not taking it off the hook) from our neighbor's house. It was his ayah wanting to come over. Nope. June 10th. See you then.

In the meantime, we received word that our couriered packages are held up in customs. Naturally. And that it will cost more money to get them out. Of course. At this point, I really do not care. I get this way once a moving date comes close enough. I have visions for throwing all our possessions out a window and just walking away. India, more than any other experience in my life, has taught me what matters and just how much I need. I don't need much. Good health care would be nice, but beyond that, I have had everything I need to thrive here. Everything else is just stuff. Stuff weighs you down and limits you. Stuff is expendable. We are each selling half our wardrobes and all our appliances and most of Oliver's toys. We can decide to get new things when we get to the states, or not. We won't miss them. We don't need them. I prefer to travel light and live light. I am thinking of packing up our remaining clothes and delivering them to the people who live under the tarps on the way to the bazaar. Take it, we don't need it. The ayah's can have the rest for free, I really do not care. Just do not wake the baby. Never wake a sleeping baby. Fear the wrath of a mother of a waken baby.

Imbalanced but Happy

Well, it finally happened. I have come full circle on my views and feelings about India. I am really, really happy here. Every international teacher and expat friend we have had has always said if you can make it through the first year, you've done it. I get that now. This year has been such a struggle. India has been hard on my body, my mind, my marriage, my confidence, my anxiety...it fed into all of it. My therapist would tell me that people can suppress things for only so long; sooner or later it will all bubble up and it will usually be during a trying and stressful time. This was when all my anxiety was overwhelming me my last two stressful years as a teacher. But during this very unique year, I can't blame it all on India. Raising a young child is hard. Harder than anyone had prepared me for. It's the most fun I have ever had but I am spent in every possible way come 5:30 and then I still have to get dinner out. I have to remember that being a stay at home mom would be challenging anywhere, not just on a mountain-top in India.

I have this perma-bloat thing going on in my abdomen. Not matter how I adjust my diet or my exercise routine, nothing seems to make it go away (and no, I am not pregnant).  I have had a complete work-up checking for parasites/illness and I have a bacteria in my (ahem) stool that the doctor said "happens in India" and that "it will go away once you leave." Okaaaay. Let's hope so. 

My thyroid is also getting wonky. It's no surprise, really, with all the stress surrounding relocating again and find new jobs. I am trying to get it back under control, but feeling uneven and imbalanced in the process. Sigh. 

Our marriage has been rocky and wonderful here. Any insecurities or concerns we had have all bubbled up, sometimes rather unpleasantly, but when your common goal as a couple is resolution, you work hard to come back together. That said, it has not been as simple as "sticking together" as we had hoped. This is the year that we learned that marriage needs active participation and lots of communication; even if you are practically blind from exhaustion. I am also someone who needs alone time everyday. That is a challenge with a baby on your hip. I have learned to give it to myself, even if it means waking up before Andy and Oliver do to get it in. We are doing well, but India and school and the act of being new parents was at times quite a lot to handle.

There were times here that my confidence soared; times when I never knew I could be so brave and then there were times when it shocked me how timid I could be. Those were the interesting times to reflect on. Even yesterday, I changed into shorts when Oliver and I returned from lunch. It was 90 degrees, I was not comfortable in pants. Even though I was in my home, behind locked doors, I still found myself avoiding windows so that my neighbors could not see my bare legs. I laughed at myself when I realized just how "Indian" I had become. I never leave home without a scarf now, never bare my shoulders, only wear skinny jeans to and from the school and I have even stopped going into the bazaar by myself. I feel a bit like a shrinking violet, following these rules for women so long established. The truth is, I am happier following them. I am happier not attracting unwanted attention and advances; happier feeling a little more like those around me. What a code-switcher I have become!

We have made some plans and are excited and hopeful for the year ahead. We are not returning to Chicago; we are moving to Madison, Wisconsin. We have enjoyed a slower pace of life here and hope that Wisconsin will help us continue this pattern. We leave Mussoorie early morning on the 17th of June and drive to Delhi. We will spend the remainder of the afternoon and evening with my cousin, Amanda, who will be in Delhi before she leaves on a tour of India. We fly to Istanbul the next morning and spend five days there adjusting half-way to the time change and (very symbolically) walking across the bridge that separates Asia from the Western world. I can't wait. Then, we land at O'Hare on the 23rd.

These last weeks in India I am going to do my best to smile as much as possible, spend my time with the people I have come to love the most, and eat the food I am going to miss so much. We will also take some day trips to explore more of our surrounding area and start shipping things home. Now that the end is in sight, it's hard to believe it is almost time to go. It has gone so fast. I am thrilled I have come around to the beauty in the country before I left it. I am going to miss India and all it has done for me. I wrote in a previous post that I needed to get shaken. I am so glad I have taken this opportunity to get "shook".

My friend Rose

I have a sad face on today. I am trying my best to turn it around. I spent a good portion of yesterday crying and trying to hide it from Oliver. My best friend here at Woodstock, Rose, left for home (Minnesota) this morning. Rose and I were the only trailing spouses who both had children under two and who did not work at the school. She was the only person I could call during the day and chat with, the only person who could come over regularly for tea and playdates. Not only that, her son Ennis was the only child even remotely close to Oliver's age here (ten months older) and so now Oliver has lost his best buddy too. Andy and Rose's husband, Jay, were close as well. Rose and Jay decided that they would leave this year and not complete their three year contract. Jay got a job back home that starts mid-May, so they had to leave before the school year ended.

Me and Rose in Rishikesh 

I feel unsure of my footing today as I think about walking to school for lunch and knowing that Rose and Ennis will not be there waiting for us to join them at the "kids table". I feel as though a major support has been removed from my foundation and I am left swaying in the breeze. Rose and I bonded quickly over many things; the most important of which: we are white women in India (this was a HUGE bonding point-there are not many of us and it is a very unique experience), we have young boys, we are not  religious people (as so many people who work at Woodstock are; this made us stand out quite a bit), we try to be relaxed/calm mothers unlike our Indian counterparts.  Rose said that we made a small tribe: Rose and Ennis, Me and Oliver. People realized that we were different and we could turn to each other to vent about those differences. As Oliver learned to walk he took many stumbles, planted his face into the slate flooring of the quad numerous times. Rose would join me in deflecting the Indian parents who insisted he be picked up and rocked and held for the rest of the day ("Perhaps he is done walking now?" one mother asked me. Rose and I both responded "He's fine!").  It is one thing if your child is the only one rolling around in the sand box, taste-testing rocks and jumping down concrete steps (with scrapes and bruises along their legs and faces) and quite another if you have you have another pair to do it with you, supporting you, assuring the Indian mothers that the boys will be just fine, it's alright with us if they get dirty, kids get bruises, and that they will not get worms from digging in the sand (good grief).

So I am left to myself to deflect the unwanted attention/criticisms/concerns. I am desperate to find a playmate for Oliver, for myself. I have become that girl who hands out her phone number to people she has just met and is hopeful that someone will call. I eavesdropped on a Chinese-Canadian family at a restaurant in town and deduced that they lived and worked here in Mussoorie. They have two boys, a four year old and a one year old. I went to their table and struck up a conversation, handed over my number and said "We are going to have a playdate!" One is set for tomorrow. You will be our friends! I am not weird! I met another family, who are here for the month, while we were staying at the inn at the top of our mountain. (We stayed there due to a mouse infestation, that's another blog post!) This family is coming over for dinner tonight. Yay! New friends!

There is a child who I think is one year older than Oliver and both his parents both work at the school. This child stays home with his grandmother. I have never seen the child down at school during the week. My friend Fabi lives next door to them and she says she never sees him playing outside. I have made it my mission to get this boy out of the house and playing with Oliver. I have spoken with his father and asked (alright, begged) for a regular playdate, "How about Tuesdays?" This is an unknown concept with Indian families. Most of the Indian children I know here stay at home with their ayah's while their parents work. The ayah's rarely take them out of the house (see previous post, they may get dirty!) and if they do, they play directly in front of the house. Next door we have a three year old and we are constantly knocking on the door to see if the ayah will let him out to play. He is only allowed to remain in the bottom-third of our driveway so we roll cars and balls down the slope with him. Otherwise, we never see the kid. I don't know what they do in there all day. Socialization is not a concern here, watching television is a totally acceptable way to pass the day; no matter the age.

So I am getting proactive. We have updated our routine, I now work out in the school gym early in the morning while Andy and Oliver wake up, get dressed and have breakfast at school. Then Oliver and I either play in the quad with some students, or go to music class with the Pre-K class.  I am adamant about scheduling time with young kids for Oliver-it was so easy with Rose, a quick phone call and we would meet up later that morning after naps-so we have kids coming over tonight and the play date  tomorrow. I am already planning next weeks. We have seven-plus weeks here still, I intend to keep our social life moving forward and get us out and playing with people everyday. That said, if I could, I would wish that Rose and Ennis were still here with us. We are really going to miss you guys.

Motherhood: A Tale of Two Cultures

Last week, my good friend Rose and I were invited to another non-working spouse's home for lunch. It is important to note that Rose is American, from Minnesota, and of course this Midwestern heritage  bonded us immediately. The woman who invited us is Indian and her husband teaches at the school. She has two little girls and couldn't wait for me and Rose to bring our sons over to play with them. This is a woman I see almost daily on the road as she walks her daughter home from Pre-Kindergarten and I walk Oliver to school for lunch with Andy. She is overwhelmingly sweet and very kind towards both me and Oliver. For weeks now she has been saying I should come for lunch "anytime".  To me, this was not an invitation per se, just a thing people say. An Indian friend told me I should actually just stop by someday for lunch. Without calling first? This idea mortified me. What if she had no food in the house, or the girls had ransacked the place that day or she hadn't gotten out of her pajamas yet (It happens)? Any number of situations that would mortify me if someone showed up with her child to my place unannounced and seeking lunch. My friend assured me this was not the case and that this woman would gladly whip up some food; "Of course she has food in the house! Why would anyone not have food, Lindsey?" (Please do not come to the Cooper house unannounced-you may be served soda water and scrambled eggs!) Even so, I could not bring myself to just show up. That seemed so unfair to do to a mom with two young kids.

An official invitation was offered at school as Oliver rolled around in the sandbox and her daughter stood obediently at her side (she was told she couldn't play today because she would get her tights dirty). She told me to bring Rose and Ennis and that she would make south-Indian food. I couldn't wait.

Rose and I showed up with our boys and right away I knew I wasn't in Chicago anymore. There was a bike, a big-girl bike, with training wheels in the living room. Things the mother alluded to made me pretty sure the daughter is only allowed to ride inside the house. Oliver and Ennis made a bee-line for it with Oliver screaming "Auto! Auto!" (These days, if it moves, it's an "auto"). Our host was very worried that the boys would injure themselves but Rose and I supervised as the boys pushed it back and forth along the floor, overjoyed at the chance to do so. Our host promptly put a piece of cake in Ennis' hand and said "Eat! Yummy cake!" Oh boy, I thought, here we go. I deflected the cake and explained that Oliver had not had lunch yet, maybe later (there would be no cake, he's 15 months old, he's sweet enough). Rose and I exchanged looks. Then we were offered Coke, which she also offered to the boys. "He only drinks water" was what Rose and I said. Soda? Rose and I watched as her daughters gulped it down. I guess caffeine and sugar are not big no-no's for kids here. Lunch was served and it was fantastic. She is a tremendous cook. Her maid scurried around in the kitchen cleaning up as we delighted in all the south Indian flavors that are not common here in the north. Amazing chutney and curries and even the dal (lentil) tasted different. Oliver and Ennis dug in. The girls were upstairs watching cartoons. They came down every five minutes for another piece of cake, another glass of soda. Our host wanted Ennis and Oliver to go upstairs and watch cartoons too. Oliver does not watch television, nor does Ennis, so Rose and I explained we wanted the boys were they could see them.
At one point, Oliver toddled over to the bike and pushed it down. Our host yelped and nearly hyperventilated and asked if he was hurt. Oliver looked like he was near-melt down watching her reaction as I walked over and said "It fell over, let's pick it up" and we righted the bike. I heard Rose say, "Looks like you're okay, Oliver." Keep calm and carry on...it's not just a saying used for British propaganda during WWII, it's the motto of every American mother I know with a toddler. If we react, the kid will too. Rose and I kept calm and carried on with lunch, but our host wanted to check Oliver for scratches and give him an ice pack.

Rose left soon after as Ennis came off his cake-induced sugar high so they could make it home for nap. Oliver and I had another thirty minutes we could stay. Oliver raced to the staircase (he is obsessed with stairs, we don't have any in our house) and climbed them to find the girls.  He and I followed the sound of cartoons to the girls bedroom. Our host came up and placed Oliver on the bed. She said I could leave him there and we could go down and have tea. On the bed? He can crawl right off! On the second floor, with no gate at the top of the stairs? He will fall down! I was perplexed. Was this person the same one who nearly fainted at Oliver pushing over a bike really willing to leave him on a bed, at the top of a staircase? Just then her youngest daughter (she's 2) started to whine so my host reached into a drawer and pulled out a jar of nail polish and handed to her. I was dumbfounded. Is she just going to look at the bottle? Surely this little girl can't possibly...she opened the jar and quickly went about painting her toes. I couldn't believe this was happening. On the same bed that Oliver and I were sitting, this two year old was making quick work of her pedicure. She moved onto her fingers. One nail she disapproved of and she wiped it off on the bed sheet.  Her mother was there, next to us and playing with Oliver, aware of the scene. The girl placed the open jar on a windowsill and went to her sister's bed to jump. She jumped and jumped getting toe polish all over the comforter. What is happening? I kept wondering. Then the girl made fists and got her finger polish on her palms. She looked like she was bleeding. This got a reaction. "Oh no, you are so dirty! Look at your hands. Look at your feet! How are we going to clean this?"

We decided it was best to bring the two year old and Oliver downstairs so we could watch them while having tea. Oliver noticed the neighbor's dog in the backyard (we just love this dog and visit him often as we walk by) and wanted to go see him. I brought him outside and and we sat in the grass and rubbed the dog's belly. The two year old came after us a few minutes later, which caused her mother and her maid to yell out the backdoor at her a semi- stern message in Hindi. The mother looked at me sheepishly and said, "Sorry, she is not allowed to play outside today...she is in a dress." So, nail polish on the bed is okay, but walking around in the grass in a dress is forbidden. I am still trying to wrap my head around this contradiction.

A few days later, I was invited on a Friday afternoon, to a child's birthday party...the following afternoon. The parents were passing out official invitations just 24 hours ahead of time? Everyone accepted them as if it was the natural thing to be doing, but I was a little perturbed. I hadn't been planning on going into the bazaar that day, how was I going to get this boy a gift? I can't just jump in my non-existent car and run to the non-existent Target and pick something up. A bazaar trip into the toy store and back is a four hour commitment. I didn't have four hours. We went to the party, gift-less, and I marveled at the catering and the decorations. How much time did this family give themselves to plan this party? Was 48 hours too much notice to give the attendants? This is so common in India, the no-notice party. I once was left a voice mail by one of Andy's classroom parents saying that Oliver and I should "come to school to help celebrate their daughter's birthday" and "could [we] be there in 15 minutes?" It takes me and Oliver at least 15 minutes to get ready to leave the house, so we can never get anywhere in just 15 minutes.  In America, I would never consider giving our friends less than three weeks notice to come to a party. People need to plan babysitters, or shuffle activities or plan what to bring (In India, you are never asked to bring anything, only a gift if it is a birthday); never are these a consideration here. You drop what you were planning to do and go, no questions asked.

You many be thinking that these mothers and stories are "crazy" and to tell you honestly, I have a hard time thinking any different myself. But Americans are just as crazy...sometimes more so.

One day I was running errands while in my third trimester with Oliver and the mother behind me in line at the store asked, "Have you chosen a stroller yet?" Was this something I should have given tremendous thought to? She asked as if she was inquiring as to what I would be majoring in in college: all business, but excited to know. When it told her what we had registered for she responded, "We have friends that are very happy with that line of stroller." Umm, thanks? I feel reassured? We picked our particular stroller because it folded easily and came in orange. Was there more to consider? This woman made it seem as if a poor choice in a stroller now would impede Oliver's future success somehow down the road. This would never happen here. If you are lucky enough that the store has what you are looking for that particular day, you buy it. If not, you don't. This includes strollers.

The clearest proof I have to offer of our crazy parenting/child rearing in America is the concept of
gifted kindergarten. Gifted five and six year olds...really? As an early childhood teacher/developmental therapist I can honestly, in full confidence tell you there is no such thing. There are the children who grew up in homes with books and conversations and experiences and those who did not, but that does not qualify someone to be "gifted" at such a young age. I am rolling my eyes even writing this. I have yet to hear a single Indian mother brag about how many words her child knows, what guided reading level they are at, or how much they are capable of writing.  This is not a bragging point here. It will be later when their child gets accepted into college and/or gets a job that pays a lot of money, but it's nothing to brag about at this stage. There are no infomercials selling you products that will teach your BABY to read (ugh). There are no products labeled "Einstein", no flash cards, no "workbooks" pretending to be a coloring book. None of this exists here.  I was looking at some websites of private preschools in America yesterday (as possible future job placements for me down the road) and several boasted that their two year olds have a "pre-literacy" curriculum. The only  pre-literacy a two year old needs is to be read to and talked to and sung to. Those babies had better not be given worksheets and sight words to study, but nothing would surprise me at this point. Mothers here do not seem to care at what age children walk, get teeth, talk. Mothers in America can treat these as competitive sports; "Oh...he's not walking yet? Well, don't worry...I think there's still time." I promise you, there is still time. A friend of ours was explaining how concerned her mother in law was over the fact that at 14 months, her child still had no teeth. The mother in law kept asking: "What if something is wrong? If he isn't developing teeth, what else will be late to develop?" Oy. Insert eye roll here.

Mothers here worry that their children will get dirty if they play outside, while mothers in America worry that their children are not stimulated "enough" outside. I have witnessed many American parents following their child around the playground labeling everything they are doing: "You are on the swings! Good Job pumping your legs! You are climbing the jungle gym! You are going down the slide...weeee!!!" When it comes to food, Indian mothers feed their babies whatever is on the table, even if it is loaded with sugar and caffeine, while some American mothers practically have a heart attack if there child puts a store-bought cracker in their mouth.

I am trying to find a balance. I am an American, raised by Americans, planning on returning to America. My parenting culture is American, there's no way around it. I have two degrees in early childhood education and child development that supply me with some background, but I am winging it most of the time. I survive on coffee and lots of hopeful thoughts that what I am doing, saying, feeding and encouraging is good for my child. I know what feels "good" or "right" to me and what doesn't. I am very thankful that this particular year we were away from America. Oliver is not on any preschool waiting list, nor is he taking violin or Mandarin lessons. He is able to explore and engage with India in a way that Indian children cannot because he has an American mother. We climb the mountain weekly and get quite dirty looking at rocks and moss and playing in the sand box. Never is 'getting dirty' a reason not to do something. We have both been free of any constraints put on us by our American culture and also by the Indian culture. Indian mothers do not give me advice, they know I do things differently, they seem to just stand back and watch; marveling at how Oliver eats vegetables over chocolate cake, tastes the rocks he picks up, and how he goes to bed nightly at 7:30, not "when he chooses to." It has been very liberating for me. Though I wish we had more places to go: museums, parks, lakes, downtown areas...I have been able to construct the environment that I want him to have, with no questions asked.

In a nutshell

There was one singular experience on our trip that I keep recalling on a near-daily basis. On the train from Jaisalmer to Delhi, Andy and I purchased our dinner from the attendant. It was a box containing roti (bread), rice, dal (lentils), mutter (peas) and paneer (cheese). Simple but quite tasty. We had the box and it's contents to deal with once we finished. I remembered seeing a garbage sign at the end of our train car so I took our containers in that direction. I realized once I got to the end of the car that I had been mistaken and that the garbage container was at the other end of our train car. The train doors were open at this end and the attendant was standing in front of them because we had just pulled away from a station. He smiled to me and made a motion for me to toss my garbage out the open doors. I smiled back and said, "No, it's alright. I can walk this to the other end and throw it away." He made the motion out the doors again and I said "No really, it's alright. I just can't litter so I'm going..." He took the garbage from my hand and threw it out the open doors. He smiled once more and brushed his hands together as if to say "that takes care of that!" I was dumbfounded. I was going to walk the 30 feet to the garbage can and think very little of it and he thought that was ridiculous and a much better option was to throw the cardboard and plastic out onto the tracks. Out of sight, out of mind. Done. Sheesh.

During our three week tour Andy came up with several new slogans for the Indian Tourism Bureau whose current slogan is: Incredible !ndia (yes, with an exclamation point!).
Our favorites are:

• Accidental India
• Roll the Dice with India
• India: A Real Piece of Work
• India: We Mean Well Enough
• India: Growing On You Since 1947
• Catch! India
• India: We're All Here (my personal favorite)

My only contribution was 

• India: You'll Be Thankful You Wore Closed-Toed Shoes

It's incredible here, to be certain, but let's call a spade a spade. It's time to have a more honest and straight-forward slogan so that people can have an inkling of what they might be stepping into (literally!) as they step off the plane here.

Wrecked

It wasn't the ending to our vacation that I had been planning for. How could it have been? Somehow, I managed to get out of bed and get dressed and get in the van to the airport. Aching and freezing (in the tropics!), we made it to Singapore without incident.  I was feeling like I had made some progress. I kept saying, "I'm at 50%, I'm going to be fine." For the next 24 hours, Andy got to go out one last time with Mark and I got to lay down and try to get over whatever it was that had a hold of me.  I would have moments where I was good, I could take Oliver outside to play and moments where I would call to Andy because I was too exhausted to change a diaper. When we said goodbye to Mark the next day (Sashka was in the US), I reassured him that we would be fine, I was getting better all the time. I lied. Things went downhill once we got to Delhi. I woke up the next morning in searing pain. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were on fire, it hurt to move, I couldn't bear weight. All that was on my mind was getting to a hospital, any hospital. I was getting scared. I knew I needed help but was I really about to subject myself to an Indian hospital? What if this was Dengue? An embolism? What if they couldn't help me? What if they made it worse?

Not so luckily for us, we were in the most precarious place for any outside communication.  We had to call our insurance company and we had to get an internet connection to see where a semi-decent hospital was located. Andy was on the move, he ran to the internet cafe (of course, our hotels's was not working that morning...nor was their phone?????) and made the calls, looked things up, paying for each minute and frustrated that he couldn't find out more. I sat on the stoop of our hotel trying to breathe, holding back tears, and shielding my face from the over-curious eyes bearing down on me.
When Andy and Oliver returned, we had a plan: a good hospital was only five blocks away. The ride over in the rickshaw was excruciating. Every bump sent a stab of pain to my lungs. I was sobbing, what was awaiting me? Would I receive quality care? Would I be waiting around for hours?
When we first walked in the hospital doors, we saw a sign that read "casualty viewing." Andy assured me that this was just a waiting room and the translation was bad, but I was panicked. Two steps into the hospital and I am thinking I just passed the morgue. We're off to a great start!
Barely breathing, I check in and give a brief history and am directed to a bed. There is blood on the sheet. Fresh. I make them change the sheet. I get eye rolls. It just keeps getting better. The pain overwhelms me and I start crying again. My nurse comes over and assures me, "We will take good care of you. Stop crying! Nothing bad will happen! You're not going to die!" If you say so lady... did you see that sheet? The man at the reception desk was taking video of Oliver on his phone and showing it to everyone that walked by. I got upset. Are patient privacy laws not a "thing" here? Is he allowed to video anyone that comes in? That's my kid! I don't want him on your phone! Andy told me to relax and my doctor just shrugged his shoulders. Fabulous.

I got hooked up to an IV and am given pain medication. What kind? Who knows! Will it be alright to nurse my baby? It should be just fine! Fantastic. I was given oxygen and told they were ordering a full blood panel, EKG and a chest x-ray. Wonderful, let's get this show on the road; I was pretty sure the woman next to me had Tuberculosis. The EKG looked like something that dated back to Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman's time. They put clamps that looked like jumper cables on my ankles and wrists. I joked, "You're not going to jump start me, right?" My tech said, "Yes...yes." Oh boy.  It was normal.
I got wheeled to the x-ray room and I am pretty sure the tech in there did not stand behind anything as my x-ray was taken. That seemed safe. My x-ray was normal too. I got wheeled back into the emergency room and put in between two different patients. This time, I was sure the person next to me had Tuberculosis and I sent Andy and Oliver outside; this was no place for a baby. My nurse came around to recheck my IV and take blood for the panel. I made her change her gloves. She wasn't going to and she had been seeing every patient down the line. When I told her she had to change her gloves before she touched me, she rolled her eyes. I guess Universal Precautions aren't a "thing" here either. Wonderful.

I tried to breathe and rest all the while staying vigilant for clean gloves. If whatever this was wasn't going to kill me, I wasn't about to get some blood-born illness that would do the job. My fever was 104 and I was told to wait four hours for my blood work to come back and that I could check my results online. I was given fever reducing pills, pain medication, the website to check my results, and a bill for $20 American dollars for three hours of care and the tests. We paid and left. I slept mostly soundly for eighteen hours back at the hotel. Opening my eyes required so much work. That night when I finally did open my eyes, we checked the website for my test results during one of my awake moments and they were not in yet. I fell back asleep and Andy cancelled our overnight train tickets and booked plane tickets (thank goodness). We woke the next morning and I felt haggard. I couldn't even carry Oliver to the car. Somehow, we got to the airport and on a plane and made it to Dehradun. It's still a blur, I don't remember the flight at all. When we got home and got the bags in the house I only had the energy to sit. We checked the website again, maybe they meant twenty-four hours? Still nothing. I had the doctor who comes to the health center at school read my results when they came in (four DAYS later) and she said I clearly had a virus. They can come on fast and strong and linger for days. I had a fever for five. And still did not feel one-hundred percent one week later.

So, that's the end of the five week adventure. It wasn't an easy or painless one, but it had to come to an end. I learned that tropical viruses are no joke. When I look back at those five weeks, the fun and positive memories are what stand out; not the sick and frustrating ones. I would do it all again in a minute (well, maybe leave out Jaisalmer) because beyond all the adventures and the food and the fun, I learned so much about myself and how I respond to stress and how much reshaping my outlook will benefit me and my family. That alone was worth every rupee spent.

Ahhh...Thailand

I just reread my Singapore post; it's interesting what I chose to write about (my haircut) and what I didn't (the fear of a corrupted population that runs so deep that anything "corrupting": alcohol, the casino, r-rated movies, get so heavily taxed and edited that you either can't afford them or can't stand them). Oh well, what's written is written. On to Thailand!

Thailand is heaven. Truly. Shear bliss. The energy, the food, the views, the water....it's all paradise. I feel like we saved the best for last with our vacation. I am so grateful we had eight days to relax, decompress and lay in the sand.

We spent five nights on Koh Lanta, a small island south of the mainland, and three nights in Phuket, on the mainland. Koh Lanta was perfect for us. Dubbed the "family-friendly" island, there were kids and babies everywhere. Oliver was in heaven. He had so many playmates (a dramatic change from our first four weeks of him being the only baby anywhere) he was able to "socialize" at his level again. It seemed we were the only non-Swedish family on Koh Lanta. Everyone at our hotel was Swedish and they all seemed to be either retired or taking their government-sanctioned eight weeks (!!!) paid parental leave. When we asked our new Swedish friends about why we only heard Swedish being spoken as we walked down the beach they explained that Thailand is very popular for the parental leave (no kidding!) and that everyone in Sweden speaks highly of Koh Lanta as a great place to get away to Thailand, but still be able to have your countrymen around you. Personally, it was fantastic to be surrounded by Swedish women, mothers in particular. They were very warm and welcoming and so confident with their mothering and their bodies; it really did my heart such good to talk with them. No matter their shape, they all wore bikinis with their heads held high, such an un-American thing to do. They thought it  was fantastic that Oliver was eating fistfulls of sand and running around bare-bottomed (after he pooped through all his swim diapers one day).  I felt a renewed sense of beauty and confidence as a mother in a way I have yet to feel in India. They all complemented each other and praised everyone's children. I kept thinking that this is how it should always be: a mother-hood. A sisterhood that supports and embraces and encourages. Never points fingers, makes accusations (never once did someone tell me Oliver looks cold), or belittles. It was refreshing. I fell in love with Swedish people as I fell in love with Thailand.

The food was out of this world. There was a couple of years in college when I would try to get out of ordering dinner with friends if it was Thai food. Ugh, not again. I really don't care for this. I rediscovered my love of Thai food in Chicago and then fell head over heels for it this trip. I swam through bowls of Tom Yum soup and waded through Thai green curry on a daily basis. Andy and I gorged ourselves on the fresh seafood and discovered that Oliver loves all things from the ocean. Since a growing portion of what he eats comes from our plates he would *scream* and point at our plates when they arrived at dinner and then sign "EAT! EAT! EAT!" until we would cut up a prawn, or a piece of fish or give him a spoonful of green curry (he loves it as much as I do). The three of us indulged at every meal leaving the table with round, happy tummies. Andy and I drank fruity drinks and lounged in the hammock outside our bungalow or napped next to Oliver in the sand. We discovered lemongrass margaritas are our new favorite drink (to my great dismay, you cannot buy lemongrass here) and had several. I would go back to Thailand just to eat and drink, the meals were a vacation themselves.

I had a Thai massage on the beach and ran barefoot from one end of our beach to the other every morning, my knees never hurt once. Andy went birding while Oliver and I built sandcastles and swam in the ocean. I didn't want to leave. But I got on the ferry to Phuket anyways and I am so happy I did. Our view of Phuket is exactly what our view of Koh Lanta was, the ocean and our hotel. We never left our beach. We didn't have to.

Our hotel in Phuket was quite tranquil, perfect for our last few days. We made some friends from Pittsburg, expats living in Singapore, and hung out with them during the days and nights. We again ate and drank everything we could get our hands on. We all slept soundly at night and Oliver would play until he fell asleep on a lounge chair by the pool. We were relaxed.

On our last day in Phuket, I very quickly came down with something. I was in the pool with my expat friend and suddenly was covered with goosebumps and my hands went numb. I got out and sat in the sun but couldn't stop shivering (it was only 92 degrees out).  I tried laying down on a lounge chair but couldn't stop shaking. Everything hurt, from my scalp to my toenails, I just ached.  I went to the room and fell asleep. After a few hours I woke up and started having hallucinations: I thought the Buddha statue on our porch was Andy. I thought I saw Oliver flying. I thought I was hearing things. I was freezing and in horrible pain. I know Andy and Oliver came in and out of the room. I know at some point Andy put on the movie "My Fair Lady" (one of my favorites) for me and I heard Audrey Hepburn's voice drift in and out of my consciousness. I had no concrete thoughts other than being scared. I had never felt so incapacitated. Not after my abdominal surgery; not after my cesarean; not after being depleted by Colitis; I was a shell and a barely conscious one at that. We had to leave the next day to go back to Singapore. I wasn't sure how I was going to get out of the bed let alone survive a plane ride. I drifted in and out that night alternating freezing and baking under the covers. Andy found our reserve antibiotics and I took the first round and hoped everything would be better in the morning.

Singapore, a safe place

Landing in Singapore felt like being wrapped up in a warm, humid blanket. Ahhh...the tropics.
The first thing you notice upon leaving the airport is how clean everything is. When I say clean, I mean clean. Sanitary, polished, almost sterile...a complete 180 from the desert town we were just in. I felt my shoulders relax into place, my brain stop swimming with concern. We made it out of India, and we can touch, eat, drink, lick, and sit on any surface...without wiping it down first! It felt like a reprieve...you can relax now, Oliver will be just fine here.

We stayed with our friends Mark and Sashka in their fabulous rented condominium. Mark and Andy met in college and we met Sashka two years ago on a trip to NYC when I was about six weeks pregnant. Mark is on a two year contract to help establish the Singapore office of his multi-media advertising company. Sashka, like me, is a trailing spouse. We talked at length about what it is like to follow your partner around the world and not have a professional life for yourself. Sashka and I had "therapy" sessions everyday in the workout room. We got it all out. All of it. We were both struggling with being so far from home, not having a professional life, dealing with our husband's successes while we had no external reward for moving...it was fantastic to be able to have this time with someone who really gets what I am saying, and understands through her own experience, the struggle. It was heaven. After three weeks with three Cooper boys, I really needed some girl time. We all went out to eat, shopping, touring, walking, drinking. It was so great to be with people who knew us before we came to India. We could speak short-hand and they understood. Seeing people from home was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Singapore is a police state, but you don't ever see officers. I asked our friends about this and they explained that the officers are in plain clothes; all the better to arrest you for spitting in. You feel the pressure to stay within the lines every time you walk outside. It's different from Japan, the country I previously had associated with following the rules so well. In Singapore you feel scared to step out of bounds because someone might pounce on you. In Japan, it was societal pressure that kept people in line: Don't litter because we want clean streets! Don't listen to loud music so we all can enjoy the train! Don't smoke unless you are near a designated trash can because others may not want to breathe in your exhaust! But in Singapore it's more scary: even consider stepping out of the rule zone and you will be Punished! Severely! Painfully! You get the sense that everyone is aware of this at all times and they walk around the city with an undercurrent of fear pulsing through them.  It was bizarre, eery, especially coming from a country where you never see officers either but that is because they just can't be bothered to enforce any rules.

Singapore has many nicknames: Asia-light (More like Diet-Asia to me), Disneyworld with the death penalty. It was hard to get a sense of the culture, even though we were there for an entire week. I kept wondering, What do people do? What do they like to eat? With what traditions do they raise their kids? What is important to them? I couldn't get a read on it. Singapore is a new country, self-governing since 1959 and independent since 1965 and you feel that newness still. All the buildings are new (we saw a building getting demolished that was built in 1987! Our friends said it "looked too old") the cars on the road can only date back ten years and then must be replaced, the newest buildings look like they are from the future...nothing  said "restored" or " traditional" in the least. New new new. There is cultural influence from Malaysia, of course, but also China, Japan, India and America. There were so many American expats in Singapore to nobody bothered to even glance at us, let alone ask for our picture (which was fantastic!). People from all over the world move there for work since Singapore is the the second freest economy in the world (behind Hong Kong). There is a huge blending of cultures in demographics; but it feels as if none of it is cohesive. It feels quite separate; as if people save their traditions for home at out on the streets everything is a very homogenous....diet Asia.

Capitalism is alive and well in Singapore and I have to admit, though I am embarrassed to, I missed it. , Just a little. What I really miss is the resources, abundant and right at my finger tips. You could buy anything you want or need in Singapore, for a price. Since everything gets imported, you notice just how much taxes, levies and logistics factor into pricing. Vitamins were $85.00! (A Singapore dollar is about 1.25 for every American dollar) One morning Andy had some stomach issues so I went to the pharmacy.  After seeing that the remedy was $45.00, I told him he needed to ride it out. Once Sashka and I walked for two blocks and in those two blocks I passed by two Chanel's. Because it is so hard to walk to the Chanel two blocks back? Crazy. Yes, I shopped and was happy to do so. I only bought a couple of things but since western clothes are not available/not attractive in India, I wanted something new that I could wear in my own style. People seemed happy to shop, happy to pay what was asked. If there is a culture in Singapore, it's a mall culture; the common thread can be found at the malls.

I had told my friend that one of the first things I had to do in Singapore was get my haircut. I needed a change and I needed someone who knew how to cut curly hair. When I arrived at the salon my very sweet, young, flaming stylist took one look at my hair and gasped, "What have you DONE?" I meekly replied something about how hard the water in India is...how much I am trying with my limited product availability to keep moisture in my hair. He shook his head and said that I MUST get the $325 deep conditioning treatment. "Nope, I just want to cut it off." We agreed on three inches. He was adamant about not going shorter (a commandment for those of us with tight ringlets, 'thou shall not have hair above your shoulders!'). One he had done the trimming and blew out my hair into a nice, straight look I said, "Go shorter." He shook his head no. "Yes, please, you don't understand how badly I need a change!" He said he couldn't possibly. So I very kindly, but very directly said that if he didn't take two more inches off I wasn't going to pay the full price and I wasn't going to come back (he didn't need to know that I wouldn't come back anyway). He very nervously went after those two inches. His brow was sweating but his hands were steady. In the end, even with five inches gone, my hair rested comfortably below my shoulders but I felt like a completely new person.

By far the hardest thing for me to get my head around in Singapore was that there was never anyone swimming in the ocean. There are so many merchant tankers in the surrounding water, waiting to get into port that they leak oil into the water so there is oil at the beach. I just don't understand how you can live on an island and never be able to swim in the water around it. Isn't there a solution? The tankers wait further from shore? Cleaner tankers? There must be a way to still get the goods in (there goes that capitalism, ruining the oceans...I told you I was embarrassed for missing it!) yet keep the ocean's clean. I just don't know the answer.

After a week we were off to Thailand, where I could have stayed, happily, in the ocean all day.

Jaisalmer

Jaisalmer, home to so many things: the Thar desert, the Jaisalmer fort, more camels per capita than any other city I have ever been to, my emotional breakdown...

Here's the thing: I had an entire post written about the challenges of Jaisalmer and of traveling around India in general and how I was handling it all...and I think I just needed to write that for myself. I erased it and feel like all that really needs to be said is that this was a good trip for me. Really. The whole thing.

Jaisalmer, with Jaisalmer fort in the background.

In the moment, so many things can challenge and upset you. But when you step back and get some distance, you realize that it's all great. You did it. You made it. It's okay.

I have to remind myself sometimes that I chose to come here. I could have said no, put my foot down and remained in Chicago, but I wanted an adventure. I needed an adventure. I needed to get away from my routines, my lists, my comfortable existence and shake things up. Get uncomfortable, get proactive, get scared, get shaken. And I did. Get shaken. Jaisalmer brought out all the things that make me most crazy about India (obnoxious men, feces and garbage in the street, general filth) and put it in front of my face, and my feet daily; and it was so difficult. It brought me to my knees. In the moment, I had a complete emotional breakdown at the rooftop restaurant of our hotel. In the moment I felt it was over a lack of coffee, frustrations with my travel companions, camel poop...but now that I have some space I realize I needed that breakdown in the worst way. I had been moving forward, keeping the pace, staying vigilant and I was tired. Exhausted in my bones. I needed to breakdown so I could rebuild, start over, and start enjoying.  

In the moment, this was not clear. In the moment, I was a hysterical, under-caffeinated westerner weeping as if the tears would never stop. But now...much later...it's all great. It's all going to be okay. This is my adventure, I wanted this. So it isn't *exactly* what I wanted it to be; it's exactly what I need. I wanted to get uncomfortable, India said "Okay, deal with this!" I wanted to get shaken, India responded with force. I wanted to get away from my routines and lists and India has thrown every diversion, lack of resource and challenge at me it can muster. And it's all going to be okay. Really, it will. Hear me, and  really listen, because I spent countless dollars and hours needing a therapist to assure me of this: it's all going to be okay. 

I have four more months here and I intend to make the most of them. Sure, I will still roll my eyes at the men and the car horns and get frustrated when my grocer does not have a single item that I need, but it's all going to be okay. I really needed some India in my life and boy, I have it. I got the message, loud and clear. No matter what, it's all going to be okay. And honestly, because I have gotten some space from it all, the big picture is so clear: I am having the time of my life. 

Udaipur

If Jaipur was the beginning of me questioning why we came to India, then Udaipur was a breath of fresh air. Built around a lake (you all know how I love my cities built around lakes!) it has palaces, temples, roof top restaurants and not a single busy road because it is such an old city that it does not have multi-lane roads in the city center. The roads are only wide enough for one car or rickshaw to pass through at a time. Udaipur's claim to fame is that "Octopussy" was filmed there. Several restaurants show it nightly so as you walk down the street at night you hear James Bond flirting with women and shooting guns and leaping from building to building.

Udaipur at sundown; view from a rooftop
Lake Palace in the distance

There were more visible tourists in Udaipur as well, as most chose to stay in the center of the city. This meant I met a few women I could actually talk to. After traveling for nearly two weeks with three generations of Cooper men, I was sorely missing some girl-time.  Anytime I heard a woman speaking English, I would strike up a conversation with her, "Talk to me!  PLEASE!" Great coffee was abundant and so was great food. I took a cooking class and learned how to make four different curries, masala chai, roti, parathas, and dal. Yum.  We found a rooftop restaurant with fabulous food (and minestrone soup for Chuck) that looked over the lake and had a very large cushioned area to sit and eat at on the floor, which was ideal for Oliver because he could move around (highchairs aren't a thing in restaurants in India). I really enjoyed being able to go up on a rooftop, several floors above the street and enjoy a quiet meal with a great view.

Walking around Udaipur was fun. There were many attractive things to look at and all were easily visible as we walked along the narrow roads. The only issue I took with walking these roads was that I was constantly being yelled to by shop owners who were quite forward; "Beautiful woman! Come into my store!" "Madam, you need ______!" "Pretty mother and baby, you like? Come in!" We stayed just four buildings down from a great cafe and I would count dozens of shouts as I walked for coffee each day. I get it! You want business! I want coffee, so it's not going to happen right now!  An owner of a tailoring business even tried to sell me the jacket I was wearing. "I can make your jacket for you! Good price! Come in and get measured!" When I asked him why I would want a jacket made exactly like the one I had on, he was so perplexed. "Then you would have two!" Oh, got it. Maybe next time.

We took long walks around town and across the lake. Toured the city palace and took a boat ride, which was Oliver's first and he LOVED it. We shopped and drank and enjoyed the atmosphere.

City Palace

There were no camels that we saw, but there were hundreds of cows and Oliver was thrilled to "Moo" at them everyday.

When we were in Jaipur I asked Chuck for his input, as it is his vacation too. I asked him, "What would you like to see while you are here?" He responded, "Old stuff." Andy and I howled with laughter and it became a running joke between the three of us. We would pass by an old temple, "Look Chuck, 'old stuff'!" Or an old, dilapidated building, "Old stuff!" Even an elderly cow, "Old stuff!"

Udaipur satisfied the needs of all three adults and Oliver. Water, a more quiet energy and great food for me; Great art, temples and walking for Andy; "Old stuff" and minestrone soup for Chuck; and plenty of cows for Oliver to admire. It felt like a very special place, a place we were very fortunate to see. I truly enjoyed my time in Udaipur. Now we had to prepare ourselves for two overnight train rides in the next forty-eight hours as there is no direct train from Udaipur to Jaisalmer. We headed back to Jaipur on an overnight train and stayed at our former hotel for the day. Then at 11:00 p.m. we left Jaipur for Jaisalmer. I was beyond exhausted, feeling depleted and ready to stay in one place for a while. But staying in one place was not on the agenda. 

Processing

Hello all,
I know I haven't written in quite some time and the truth is that I was just having too much fun in Singapore and Thailand to bother with the internet. When we returned home we were without internet for three days (Ah, welcome home! You have zero contact with the outside world! Enjoy!) and so I have been slowly processing what we went through the past five-plus weeks.

I really cannot believe all the places we went, all the various modes of travel we took, the people we saw, the food (my god, the food!) we ate.  I am going to try and write about the highlights and lowlights of each place and hope to give you a feeling for what like was like for the time we were there.

Jaipur
Oh Jaipur, you crazy sonofabitch. I was so unprepared for you in every possible way.  After traveling from Agra to Bharatpur, we drove to Jaipur for the last leg with our driver. I wasn't ready to get rid of him. We had a nice cozy minivan and everyone had there own space. Oliver was thrilled to have his own seat (Chuck-Andy's Dad-brought over a car seat we had ordered and we lugged that Britax across three countries). Upon arrival, I was very thankful that we had a very quiet, very beautiful hotel. I could tell that this city was going to be far from quiet and not too pretty to look at all the time. Our hotel was owned and operated by the former Chief of Staff of the Indian Navy. It was run like a ship. Spotless. Impeccable service. Silent. We were so happy to be there for some rest and regrouping over the next five days.

Andy and I have a friend, Rebecca, who lived in Jaipur for one year doing an internship at Anohki Fabrics. http://www.anokhi.com/anokhi/anokhi-home.html
They are known for handmade fabrics, block printing and contemporary designs. She told us they have an organic farm where they grow all the food they make in the cafe. Lucky us, the store and cafe were just three blocks away from our hotel. So we had a very pretty, very tasty place to go to and we went there every single day we were in Jaipur.  When you find delicious, quality food (and great coffee!) in India, you stick with what works. Rebecca also mentioned, not warned, of lots of poop and pee in the streets. I was completely unprepared for the RIVERS we would cross on our way to the cafe. As for the poop, we just hoped it was dog poop. Andy even said, "never in my life did I think I would be so grateful to have stepped in DOG poop." In Jaipur, the streets were toilets and we just had to deal. But I felt like a terrible mother taking my baby to a place where you had to walk around all matter of waste just to get to an organic cafe.

We toured the "Pink City", old Jaipur that is surrounded by a large, pink cement wall.

Pink City

We went to Amber Fort, and shopped in the old bazaars.  Jaipur felt crowded, loud and non-stop. At one point we were walking through a very crowded bazaar, bumping up against people, and a man reached out and grabbed my breast! I spun around and shoved him so hard that he knocked over the two men behind him. Satisfied, we made our way out of the bazaar.

Johori Bazaar

Very slowly and very quietly at this point in the trip I was beginning to realize that India and I are not a good match.  I was really struggling with the crowds, noise, filth, waste. I forced myself to name positive things in my head all the time; "Look Lindsey, a pretty building! A flower! A rickshaw that doesn't honk non-stop!" But I was starting to struggle, especially with the growing guilt over having our baby along for the ride with us. Oliver had black boogers and was starting to cough. I was starting to feel like the worst mother in the world. What were we doing here? Why had we thought this was a good idea?

Andy and I made an effort to find green spaces. We went to Central Park and walked. We played in the yard of our hotel. We really tried to counteract the city noise and pollution for Oliver.

I will say, that we had some amazing food in Jaipur. Amazing.  I was very excited for meal times and the opportunity to try new flavors, curries, and concoctions.  Oliver was game for all the flavors and eagerly reached for items off of our plates. Chuck, Andy's dad, began his love affair with Minestrone soup here too. Once he discovered it on a menu, he would order it every day thereafter while he was with us.

When our time in Jaipur was up, we packed up our bags and prepared ourselves for the first of several overnight trains on the Indian Railway. We found our cabin and placed our luggage under the beds and settled in for the nine hour trip to Udaipur.  Oliver slept like a champ. Out cold and barely stirred.
I was thankful that the train trip was smooth and uneventful. Upon arrival, we realized that Udaipur would be a very different experience from Jaipur and we were very excited to explore.

Letting it out

I finally found the time for the emotional breakdown I have been meaning to have since arriving in India. It only took me three minutes. Somewhere between consuming my ump-teenth plastic water bottle, struggling to find a filtered cup of coffee, worrying about what Oliver was going to eat here in rural India and scrapping camel poop off my shoe...I lost it. I made my way up to the roof of our hotel and broke down quietly in the corner. Cursing the dirt, water, annoyingly persistent men, my empty stomach and under-caffeinated head I cried it all out. Once I was aware that there were three waiters watching me, concerned, I pulled down my sunglasses and finished up. "I'm fine" I answered without being questioned and went back to my room. It felt great. I really needed that. I am so happy i finally gave myself the three minutes i needed. This country is no joke; you let your guard down for one minute and you could be drinking bad water and someone you don't know could be walking around with your kid. I am tired of being vigilant, tired of my eyes being so open all the time.
I found Andy and Oliver and announced that we were going on a search for a filtered coffee. We found a place just down the road. It didn't cure my growling stomach, the mounds of poop in the road, or the men who will continue to try and sell to us, flirt with me and hold Oliver...but it was a good place to start.

Tourists

An Indian tourist was staring, not particularly discretely, at me and Oliver for about two minutes. I knew she was going to approach us, but I thought she would just come up, pinch he cheeks and go. You know, our usual interaction with strangers.

To my surprise, here's how our interaction went...

Tourist: excuse me ma'am, if you don't mind I would like to hold your baby.
Me: you have got to be kidding.

Asking to hold a strangers baby? Why? Seriously, why?

When we were in a national park in Bharaptpur, at least five people asked us to either take Oliver's photo, or have their photo taken WITH HIM. No, sorry. Was always our response. One couple even got upset; the husband wanted to know why his wife wasn't allowed to take Oliver's photo. You have to ask?

When we were at the Taj Mahal, Andy was walking hand-in-hand with Oliver out in front of him. A stranger walked up to Oliver, placed his hands under his armpits and attempted to lift him up without even ACKNOWLEDGING Andy. Andy and I both yelled "No!" and the man sheepishly released oliver and slinked away...again without even looking or speaking to Andy. Amazing. I would have asked "on what planet is it okay to pick up a strangers baby without even making eye intact to see if it's okay?" But apparently it is totally acceptable here in India.

Now not only do we try to be present in our surroundings so we can learn something about them, we have to be on alert to run interference for Oliver and delflect not only the aggressive paparazzi, but the man-handlers. Only in India.