Chutti

It had been up in the air for a while as to whether our winter break would begin on December 25th, as we had been told way back at the June orientation in Austin, or on the 31st, as schedule changes aren't technically changes when there never was a schedule in the first place. Tired of waiting for a decision, Hannah and I booked a flight to Goa for Christmas Day and away we went. 

We spent the first night in Anjuna, a touristy, fairly gross beach town, before discovering that the nicer beaches were north of where we were. Our cab pulled up the next morning to Mandrem Beach, where we fell in love with the quiet, clean, white sand and parked ourselves for a week. 

The view that made us stay.

Our home for the week

Beachside restaurant

We literally did nothing all week but lie on the beach on wooden loungers, taking the occasional dip, reading and getting up every once in a while for food. On the 30th, our ETA friend Sarah, who was placed in Madurai, joined us, and we spent New Year's Eve with some people that we met. We stayed up all night, dancing, hanging out on the beach, and enjoying the company. I unfortunately lost my phone in the process, an annoying price to pay. At midnight we were getting out of a cab, running to avoid having sparks rain down on us from the fireworks being set off all around us. It was the perfect way to bring in the new year, a great follow up to last year, when I went to Times Square with some friends visiting from Sweden.

Yours truly

We spent the last few days taking walks, exploring the beaches beside Mandrem, and feeling grateful for our good fortune to have been there. 

Me and Hannah, happy campers

On January 2nd, Hannah departed to Kolkata to visit her boyfriend and I went to Mapusa, the nearest "city," to get a bus to Mumbai, where I was catching my flight to Israel. Mapusa is so far the yuckiest place I've been in India. Granted, I was only at the bus station, and any bus station is bound to be aesthetically disappointing, but waiting there for two hours by myself was a fairly unpleasant experience. I did meet a nice Canadian guy, though, which made the experience a little better. After an overnight bus to Mumbai, I paid 100 rupees to leave my stuff at the Salvation Army hostel, and spent the day wandering the city.

Getting to the airport in the evening was a nightmare. Cab drivers were saying it would take three hours to get there, and were charging crazy amounts. After it took half an hour to go about a kilometer, the driver dropped me off at Victoria Terminal to take a train, where I was promptly told I could not get a train from there to the airport. Exhausted, anxious and not knowing what to do, I started crying in the middle of the train station. No sooner did the tears start to flow did two men who looked to be in their sixties come over to help me out. They were distressed by my distress, taking me to the ticket window where people in line unquestioningly let me cut them when they saw how upset I was, helping the guys to help me. I even had to insist on paying for my own ticket, as they wanted to do everything for me! One of the guys put me on the women's car of the correct train, before hopping on another car and waiting for me at the terminal station and putting me in a cab. I had to go to the domestic terminal to pick up my Israeli passport, which I had forgotten at the check in counter in Delhi and Hannah's boyfriend, Kundun, had facilitated transporting it to Mumbai. Of course, the airline people had no idea what I was talking about, prompting cry #2 and a phone call to Kundun, who set her straight and got them to help me. Passport in hand, I got in a prepaid taxi to go to the international terminal a few kilometers away, only to look at the price list to see a 2,200 rupee tariff (about $40), and force them to stop and let me out. Some fierce bargaining later, I was in an auto and made it to the El Al security counter, where I said my bag had been in a hostel storage room and was told it had to be emptied and checked. At my wit's end, tired beyond beliefand desperate to have this ordeal behind me, I cried a third time, prompting confusion and hesitation from the poor security guy. I assured him that I was fine, to do what he had to do, I was just tired and not feeling great, but I could tell he felt bad for making me cry. And at last, I was on the plane. Sweet relief! 

I slept for a lot of the flight and easily made my way to Haifa from the airport on the train. It was so reassuring to be in a place so familiar and unchanged. I of course spent the first few days totally sick to my stomach, requiring a quick dose of heavy antibiotics before infecting my poor, unsuspecting grandparents, but you can't expect India to stay where it is. I met my cousin Yuval's baby Roee, born in August.

Roee, Yuval and Tami

I went to lunch at the kibbutz, seeing kids who had grown feet since last I saw them, and meeting kids who hadn't been born during my last visit in 2008.

Shlomo, Odelia, Avishag

Avishag, Orya, Daniela and Me

Cousins! The cutest.

The week I spent in Israel was the rainiest and snowiest in ten years. Train tracks were flooded and everyone was receiving picture messages from friends and relatives in the mountains and in Jerusalem, making snow angels and snowmen in feet of white powder. It was a great excuse to stay inside and just spend time with people. I spent the night at the kibbutz, hanging out with Shirit and her boys, Yinon, six, and Roee, twelve. Before I knew Roee, I never liked working with children. It was really my relationship with him, more than anything else, that made me see the fun and reward of spending time with kids. We always had a special connection, and it was such a delight to see him, his voice changing, tall and mature and yet still the sensitive, unique child I remembered. There was a part of me that was sad, as if I had never had the opportunity to say goodbye to who he was as a small child. In any case, seeing him was a total joy. 

I caught up with my mom's friends and the other Yaeli, with whom every time we meet it's like we never parted. I ate lots of cheese and olives and pickles and salad, not to mention the schnitzels and ktzitzot my grandmother had waiting for me in the fridge. And I got to spend lots of quality time with my grandparents, who are positive and curious as ever.

Grandpa Everett and his harmonica

We also ogled at the picture of the newest addition to the family, their first great-grandchild. My cousin Carla gave birth on December 26th to Leo, the cutest baby boy on this side of the Equator.

Carla and Leo

It was great to go to Israel and see everyone; I hope it won't take me four years to get back again!

Marvelous Mumbai

Our week in Mumbai was wonderful. Though Kolkata was the capitol of the British Raj for most of its history, Mumbai has the nicest European architecture I've seen so far in India. Though many of the buildings were rundown, the city has wide, tree-lined avenues and a very cosmopolitan feel. 

Our trip began on the train--Hannah and I took an overnight train, while Tangi flew in the morning and met us. Our first stop after settling into the hostel was....Starbucks! 

Starbucks, our home away from home...

They've just opened two in Mumbai, and one was around the corner from where we stayed. We had some awesome sandwiches (so cheap, too! who knew?!) and the first iced coffee I've had in India that didn't taste like liquid sugar. We spent the day walking around the city, enjoying the architecture and each other's company. 

Gateway to India

Prince of Wales Museum

In the evening we met up with the three girls living in Kolkata, who were also in Mumbai for Diwali, and had DELICIOUS seafood at a restaurant recommended to me by my friend Sim. Then we went and sat on Chowpatty Beach, watching the fireworks for the festival explode all along the shore. When we first got there, we saw that many families were sitting on straw mats on the sand and were covetous.  No sooner did we wish for a mat of our own, two guys came running up to us, offering to rent us mats for 10 rupees. Sometimes the abundance of labor here is a blessing. The girls got tired, but Hannah and I wanted to stay out, so we had some more food and sat on the beach and just enjoyed the lovely night.

Incredible seafood at Trishna

Diwali festivities on Chowpatty Beach

The next day we took a cab to Mani Bhavan, the house where Gandhi lived and set up headquarters in Mumbai at the height of his activism, and where the authorities came to arrest him. The museum was small but very heartfelt, with his quotes and writings everywhere you looked. Talk about a life well-spent...

Gandhi's room

We then hopped in a cab to see the Dhobi Ghat, where hundreds of pounds of clothing are washed every day. In fact, the vast majority of Mumbai's clothes are washed here. It's quite a sight, men beating the dirt out of clothes by hand, giant wringers and stands full of laundry detergent.

Dhobi Ghat

 The next stop was Victoria Terminus, site of the dance scene at the end of Slumdog Millionaire, and an incredible colonial structure. We met up with the Kolkata girls and walked from there to Crawford Market, an indoor bazaar over 100 years old.

Victoria Terminus

Crawford Market

The next day we hopped on a ferry to Elephanta Island, a UNESCO World Heritage site for its ancient temple carvings in the rock of the island's natural caves. It was fairly crowded, but the weather was beautiful and the carving was amazing.

Shiva Trimurti: His three faces as Creator, Preserver and Destroyer

 For some reason, so many people on Elephanta, Indian tourists, mostly, asked to take our picture. It got very irritating, especially when we sat on the boat back to Mumbai, stuffing our faces with the sandwiches we'd brought and a group of women with kids started photographing us. But I digress. The sun set as we pulled into the harbor after our long day of walking. 

Taj Palace Hotel framed by Gateway to India 

The Ladies

That night we were supposed to take a bus to Aurangabad, from which we would depart for caves at Ajanta and Ellora. But India, humbling as ever, had other plans. When we got on the overnight bus, we realized it was non-AC. Poor Hannah, who gets very claustrophobic, nauseous and panicky on buses at the best of times, could not fathom being on that bus for ten hours, and back to the city center we went. We spent our last two days wandering the streets, shopping in the "suburbs" and eating more delicious food than we could have hoped for. But the story isn't over.

On Saturday at around 4PM, as we were resting in our hotel, Kara, one of the girls from Kolkata, gave me a call and said that a major politician had just died, and all the stores and restaurants were closing. If we wanted food or anything, she said, we would have to get it now. Having just eaten, we lay down to take naps and went to meet Tangi at her hotel when we woke up. We watched the news first, though, and saw that the deceased politician was Bal Thackeray, a far right leader who founded a party called Shiv Sena, to the right of the opposition party, the BJP. Not only was he a Hindu fundamentalist, he was a Marathi chauvinist, committed to the belief that the people of Maharashtra are superior (especially to neighboring Gujaratis). He was one of the key players in the renaming of Bombay to Mumbai and was held responsible for not a small number of violent attacks against Muslims. He encourages his followers to take action on issues by any means necessary and reportedly had huge power in the Mumbai underworld. Emerging back onto the street in the evening was like walking out the day after a zombie apocalypse. Shiv Sena supporters had called for a bundh, closing, of every business in Maharashtra to mourn the loss of their leader. No buses or taxis were running. Every restaurant was closed, even though we were in the most touristy night-life-y neighborhood in the city and it was 8PM on a Saturday night. The cinema was closed. The convenience stores and paan stands were bolted shut. A few families had congregated to sleep in the park, presumably because it was so quiet for once. We found out the next day that the few places that had tried to stay open were vandalized, their front windows broken and inventory destroyed. The three of us hung out in the hotel, as all the clubs and bars were closed (there goes the famous Bombay nightlife). 

The next morning we packed our stuff and headed to Tangi's, where we ordered room service--the only place we could find food! Our flight wasn't until 4PM but we left around noon, worried about the traffic caused by the all-day viewing of Thackeray's body and his cremation in the evening. There were still no cabs on the road and buses weren't running so we thought we might have to walk a mile to the train station. We found a cab driver who drove a plain car, who offered to take us for 2,500 rupees, when it had cost Tangi less than 400 on the way from the airport by meter. By a miraculous stroke of luck, the one black taxi in the city drove by and agreed to take us for 1,000. As we were on the highway, a motorcycle carrying three guys on it drove right up next to the cab and told the driver threateningly to get off the road before driving away. We made it to the airport in peace and plenty of time, but I certainly said a prayer for the kind cabbie who took a risk to take us. It's very scary that a relatively small group of people can cause through violence so much fear as to shut down an entire city, and one of the biggest in the world at that. I'm sure part of it was that police would also be too afraid of the supporters to take any action against them, not that Indian police are known for their selfless sense of duty in the first place. In any case, we were glad to leave when we did, but I'd go back to Mumbai in a heartbeat.

To see the rest of my photos, click here.
All best from Mother India,
xoxox