accra

Treasured friends, beloved family members, facebook stalkers, and robot code-bots:

Oh how we have missed your invisible presence on the other side of the blogosphere bubble. Unfortunately, our secretary Buster went off the deep end last year, and our new personal assistants, Gubby and Lolly, are on the 'backward' side (as they say a l'Inde), technologically-speaking. Thankfully, my whopping 14,000 USD annual salary has allowed me and Jones to take on a new staff member, so please welcome Yovo-Yovo-Bon-Soir (henceforth YYBS), who will be handling our Twitter, Blogspot, Tumblr, Flickr, Facebook, and (most importantly) Linked-In accounts while we are busy enjoying planet earth!

A brief recap of the last eight months: The second half of India was far more interesting and adventuresome than the first, so it's really too bad that Gubby and Lolly were so lousy about updating you all. Trains through endless fields of Mysore sugar cane; hills and hills of Siliguri tea plantations; wide rice paddies punctuated by women in bright saris and bangles, ankle deep in mud. Long walks in the mountains of Ladakh; hours of broken Hindi conversation with grey-haired men in the oldest temple in Manali, the snow falling softly as I learned of the Hindu-Rajasthani escape from the Mughals, ancient years ago. Road trips from Ahmedabad to Chennai to play Ultimate with the finest stray dogs that side of Bengal Bay, including one championship and a lot of wonderful new friends. All this while, Jones was doing something as-yet undisclosable. You'll find out all about it in part one of her memoirs, set for publication in May 2059 (I'll be the 'as told to').

Then, two months of fun in the US of A. You were all there. Jones was there too, but her activities were and still are classified information. Only our high-security-clearance staff even know what she was doing, and unfortunately for you, that does not include YYBS. So, ffwd...

Now, Accra: Ghana's fine capital. It gets a pretty bad rep in the guidebooks, mainly because of its lack of good, accessible tourist sites, but we like Accra just fine (me and YYBS, that is). The beach runs along the whole city, which keeps things nice and mellow-- a lot more breathing room than Delhi, for sure-- and the office and guesthouse are in a nice neighborhood-- not too expat-y, but within walking distance that serve foods that don't resemble fufu, banku, akplen, or any other starch-based paste, which can occasionally taste good (but let's be honest-- usually don't, at least to anyone with western taste buds) and result in illness at least 20% of the time.

The work has been great-- super busy-- and below is a picture for your viewing pleasure, a snapshot of my life so far.

As you can see, at times, we work in an office just like anyone else in the world. But it is quite entertaining, and soon, very soon, we will be out in the field, training surveyors, back-checking math tests, and evaluating the 500 schools covered in the TCAI programme (Teacher Community Assistant Initiative, which you can read more about here: http://www.poverty-action.org/remedialeducation/scalingup).

These people are spectacular workaholics (in case I felt homesick for my favorite robot compadre, Jonas Jonas Bon Soir (JJBS)) and require no food, sleep, or even water to function. One day, Joyce (sitting next to me in the foto) and I were sitting at our desks when her phone alarm started going off. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. "Oh!" she said, "I must have accidentally set it to PM today." Need I say more? It is cruel poetic justice for my job last year, where my coworkers abandoned ship at 4 45pm on a regular basis, leaving me and Shayak to fend off the work monsters ourselves.

And second, a map of the parts of Ghana for which I'll be responsible for our evaluation, my area outlined in red. (Also circled Tamale, where I'll be living, and Accra, where I've been for the last month.) So let's just say- there are a lot of long bus rides in my future.

Some equations, to summarize: end of rainy season= cool weather; accra= beach; bike= bamboo; ewe= adja (the language they speak in lokossa, benin); and benin=this weekend. E nyo= It's good. Life is good.

o dabs. byebye-o.

My Life Is Too Ridiculous Not To Blog, Part 2

Once again, folks, I had defeated the cynics. To all those Negative Nancys, who thought I could never make it to a train station on time, in any country, I had proudly proclaimed: Yes, We Can. I had left my apartment a full hour early for a 30 minute journey, accounting for traffic and other possible delays, just like a real live grown-up. I had boarded the proper metro line, and pulled into New Delhi Station with 20 minutes to go before my train for Ahmedabad was bound to depart. It was 8:35pm. Nice work, Callie.

There was only one problem. When I entered the terminal, I pulled out my ticket confirmation, which I had responsibly remembered to print in my office earlier that day—my train was not listed on the station bulletin!

I double checked the bulletin at the other end of the terminal. The necessary information was nowhere to be found. I stood dumbfounded, watching as the train listings scrolled across the screen. 8:38. I looked down at my confirmation, up at the board, down, and up, and down, and up, unable to ascertain why there was not even the slightest mention of a delay or cancellation. Come on, India, you can do it, I prayed under my breath, hoping that I had just missed it, and that the listing for the 8:55 for Ahmedabad would pop up on the screen any minute. Alas. It would not. 8:42.

I tried to go to the “Queries” counter, but… In the capital of the second-largest country in the world, they could only find TWO people to staff it. So there were lines of literally scores of men (yes, all men), waiting behind the two open windows to ask a question or make a booking. 8:47. Come on, India, I muttered, with more frustration than hope.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just listen to the announcements. Surely they would have mentioned a train that was scheduled to depart in less than ten minutes. 8:49. Actually, in five minutes. Maybe they were making an announcement at that very second! Too bad one of the ‘Queries’ guys was ALSO making announcements over the PA system SIMULTANEOUSLY— the result obviously being that both were completely unintelligible. 8:50.

Desperate, I started asking people around me for help. They looked down at my paper and then up at the big screen. I told them that it wasn’t listed on the big screen. They looked down again, up, down, and up. Useless. 8:52. I ripped my ticket away from them and scurried away, my luggage awkwardly wobbling behind me as I swerved around the swarms of men under the loudspeakers.

The clock was ticking. My heart was racing. And I still had no idea where to go, with only minutes before my train. 8:53. Then, like a ray of sunshine through a day of clouds, I thought I heard it. Ahmedabad. The strangely melodious and robotic voice of the announcer, through all the shuffle and hubbub of the station, “Eyk”—Platform One. She was speaking in Hindi, and the queries guy was still going strong, so I couldn’t be entirely sure, but there was no time to waste—I had to take the chance. 8:54.

I slammed the rolling handle down into the suitcase, lifted it onto my hip, and started to run through the station, jumping up the steps and sprinting across platforms, 16, 15, 14… elbowing past porters carrying giant sacks of rice, barefoot Hindu pilgrims and Mumbai business men, women with entire suitcases on their heads—8:55!! Time was out, but I was only 4 platforms away. Platform 4, 3, 2…

I kept sprinting, rolling my little red maleta as fast as it would roll, and as I turned to jump down the stairs, I saw that the train was already pulling away. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! I actually did scream this time. Everyone was already staring at me, so why not? I kept running down the stairs, my suitcase banging angrily against my thigh, and saw a conductor hanging out the door of the train only a few yards away. I sprinted towards him shouting “Help dijiye, wait kijiye!” in classic Delhi Hinglish, and passed him my suitcase as the train gathered speed, then jumped onto the train as it sped out of the station!

My adventure was successfully underway. Gujarat, Ho!

The End.

My Life Is Too Ridiculous Not To Blog, Part 1

Let’s begin with the reason I haven’t been blogging: I have been SO busy that I haven’t even had time to procrastinate (and since procrastination is the major force behind everything I write...). Anyone who has seen me divide my frisbee team into our destined Hogwarts houses the night before a final exam (and thus knows my extraordinary powers of doing non-urgent things at extremely urgent times), knows that this means I am really, really busy. If I am too busy to blog, it means I am nearly too busy to gchat. And that would just be ridiculous, people.

So, the reason I have been so busy? An untimely combination of work deadlines and the dreaded GRE—a rather unpleasant blast from the past, for which I have forced myself to revisit those ugly brothers, The Princeton Review and Kaplan, for assistance in my quest to go to grad school. (Which grad school, exactly, is still up for debate—and I welcome your trenchant (GRE word!) comments on the subject, so please feel free to send some great advice my way. ANYWAY..).

I spent the past three weeks basically wavering back and forth between the decision to take and or not to take the darn exam, for which I thought I had started studying well in advance. It turned out that by Indian standards, I was WAYYY behind track, leading to a great deal of unnecessary anxiety and indecision. You see, two girls in my office had recently set their date for the GRE—and proceeded to take the following TWO MONTHS OFF FROM WORK in order to prepare. Another friend at work had been studying 4 hours a day for his GMAT. And one of my closest friends had been studying pretty diligently since we arrived in Delhi in September.

I felt very confused about how much studying was required to succeed.

In any case, I decided to go for the gold, and set myself to work, reviewing vocab, dissecting right triangles, and poring over practice tests in the weeks leading up to the exam, and somehow magically managed to score perfectly on the final practice test I took the night before my actual GRE-- an auspicious sign indeed! Needless to say, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. I went to bed exactly on schedule, woke up exactly on schedule, and took off exactly on time for Gurgaon, a 1.5-2 hour journey from my house, to get to the centre well before my exam.

My auto-rickshaw pulled into the parking lot exactly an hour before my GRE was supposed to start, and a broad smile spread across my face. I couldn’t help reminiscing about my former self, who, at St. Paul’s, had to sprint full speed from the dining hall to the gym in order to get to the SAT on time. I was really growing up. An hour ahead?! This was unprecedented.

I walked down the stairs, found the centre, and asked to sign in. And this was when it hit me.

“Your photo identification, madame?”

I had forgotten my passport in Delhi.

2 long rickshaw rides and an hour-long metro ride away.

“Noooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!” My cries would have rung through the basement halls of the Prometric Testing Centre, but for the presence of 20-30 test-takers, who had competently remembered their photo identification when they embarked on this all-important venture. I was forced to bear my frustration, fury, and tendency toward emotional melt-downs in silence.

Luckily, the guy took pity on me… and happened to have an open slot at the evening testing time. So I ran back up to the road, took another 30 minute rickshaw back to the metro station, 1 more hour on the metro, 10 minutes rickshaw-ing to my house, ran up the stairs, got my passport, and did the reverse back to the testing centre in Gurgaon. If you can imagine going from the Bronx to Long Island, then realizing you didn’t have your passport, going back to the Bronx and then back to Long Island again, and then taking an expensive and fairly important 4 hour standardized test, well, that’s pretty much how it was.

I finally got back to the test centre 3 hours later, sat down, and took my GRE…. And beat my goal score by 60 points! Hooray! I’m not sure if the scores they show on the screen are completely accurate (since they’re technically inofficial), but in any case, I’m very relieved and excited to be done with standardized testing for A WHILE. Maybe forever. Wooooo!

The End. Until Part 2.

Diseased, But We Keep On Truckin'!

Dearest friends, family, and vague-acquaintance-blog-stalkers,

Indeed, it has been a trying few weeks. What with the unceasing monsoons; the eternal brokerage and leasing wars; and an disasterous attack of conjunctivitis- fever- subconjunctival-hemmorhaging (that is, me looking horrifically bloodshot and zombie-like, but-- DON'T WORRY-- in no real danger, according to mayoclinic.com), I am convinced that Delhi is testing me. CAN I HANDLE IT?

I guess so. Though I have yelled at more rickshaw drivers in the past two days (VIDESHI KA F*CKING PRICE NAHI CHAHYIE-- which roughly translates as 'I don't want your goddamn jacked-up white girl price!') than in the last month altogether. I have also watched a lot of The Office. Coping mechanisms, folks.

The Good News:

1. I have moved into an apartment!:

I am still feeling kind of ambivalent about living with foreigners, since normally I try to go all in for cultural immersion, etc. But since I'm living with a French guy (and thus get to practice my French A LOT), I think it will be a cool complement to my fully-Indian work environment. And I really like the flatmates and the beautiful flat.

As they say here, it's a 'very posh locality'. That basically means, quiet, green streets and lovely balconies-- a nice retreat from the Delhi madness. [For those of who you have been following the Commonwealth Games debacle (that is, those of you who read this article: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/22/world/asia/22india.html) know that Delhi is a massive shitshow (in many respects... see my facebook photo for one example) and is making an international embarrassment of itself by trying to host a sports competition half the world hadn't heard of until they read about the rampant corruption among Games officials and lack of hygiene in the athletes' dorms.]

So, the point is, I'm going expat-style for now. It has been really, really stressful finding a place, but I think it will be worth it now that I'm getting settled.

2. I am so important!:

I am going on a business trip! I find this spectacularly amusing. Luckily, my trusty fictional secretary Buster is on hand to manage the details, since otherwise, I would find it rather hard to stomach that today at 1:45pm it was decided that I would take a 7am flight to Mumbai/Bombay tomorrow for all day meetings Thurs-Fri. I am going to stay in Mumbai through the weekend to see a few sights and meet Jessie/Eliza's family, hopefully.

3. I can speak with an Indian accent fluently!:

This is not Hindi, of course; but helps immensely with my communication. I have also started to bobble my head more than a bobble head doll. (Subliminal messaging: You can only *hear* this Indian accent (which is basically unshakeable) and *see* this head-bobbling if you SKYPE me!) The Hindi is getting there too.

THE BAD NEWS:

1. Conjunctivitis
2. High Fever and Headache
3. Subconjunctival Hemmorhaging

Despite the strong suspicion that Roz Chast has rubber-erased my original subconscious and replaced it with hypochondriacal cartoons, I am actually recovering just fine and am thanking my stars that I don't have Dengue Fever....

YET.

With love!,
Cal

PS Jonas is busy undercover on a top secret mission. I have spoken with Buster and he assures me that she is busy with undisclosed, high-security, confidential operations but will be reporting back soon with news for us pleebs. Post is in transit somewhere or other, but meta-blogging will commence soon, hopefully with a mixed-up meta-top-ten list of her favorite Mixed-Up Files.

PPS The latest installation of pictures!!!: CHANDIGARH.



My favorite tourist site in India was actually this incredible sculpture garden called the Nek Chand Rock Garden. This guy stayed up half the night for 20 years making thousands of small sculptures with found objects and creating an incredible garden with waterfalls, fake concrete trees, and thousands of people made out of broken bracelets, car parts, etc. Chandigarh, Punjab.



Nek Chand Rock Garden. Chandigarh.



Lizard. Nek Chand Rock Garden. Chandigarh.




Jonas (Virginia) at one of her favorite sites-- the major government buildings designed by the famous French architect, Le Corbusier. Chandigarh was actually a totally planned city, designed to replace Lahore when it became part of Pakistan and the Indian part of the Punjab was without a capital city. Though 2 Americans were originally hired to design the uber-modern city, one died in a tragic plane crash and the other resigned, so Le Corbusier took up the job. It's a lot calmer than the cities down 'on the plains' (like Agra and Varanasi), but sort of dull and ugly too, if you ask me... A lot of concrete.



More of Le Corbusier's work. Chandigarh.



In person, I thought these buildings were all pretty ugly, but I think these pictures bring out how unique they actually are. To be clear, Jonas took all of these. Or maybe Buster-- the mad secretarial genius! Chandigarh.



Last architecture picture. Pretty sweet. Excellent work by Buster, as usual.



For Cool-E!

Putting Roots Down in Delhi

Jonas (VA) and I arrived in Delhi about a week and a half ago. I have started work at Pratham and I am having a great time-- I really like my coworkers, and I have the company of another 'new kid', Shayak, at the Pratham apartment. So we've been having a great time, cooking (for realzies! okra and rice and other veggies! legit meals. we're pretty proud ;) ) and hanging out, aaaand I've started going to frisbee! Frisbee here is pretty casual and non-competitive, but it's still frisbee, so I'm simply glad and grateful that it exists-- and it turns out that my old friend Rohan from SPS is only a few minutes away! So in only a week, this unfamiliar city is already starting to feel like a home.

I have found a really nice apartment, and I should be moving in with my 3 flatmates-- 2 Italians (a guy and a girl) and a French guy-- in the next few days, so it will be a very international and multilingual (Spanish, French, Italian, and English!) household, which of course I'm really excited for-- a chance to learn Italian and practice the others! Pictures of that will come after we've settled in and decorated.

For now, more pictures of the Jonas and Cal Adventure!


No pickles allowed on the plane to Varanasi. Domestic Airport in Delhi.


Ganesh graffiti. Spray painting of the Hindu god. Varanasi.


Woman choosing flowers to bring to the temple in Varanasi for the festival-- there were thousands of pilgrims walking barefoot through the streets to visit the holy river Ganga (known in the west as the Ganges).


Women leaving a temple on one of the ghats, or steps, down to the river Ganga. Varanasi.


Hindu worshipers bathing in the Ganga. Varanasi.


A really chill looking pilgrim. Varanasi.


Development in action. Varanasi.


Jonas and Cal at the Taj Mahal! Agra.


The Taj up close. Incredible. Agra.


Token monkey picture! I love monkeys!!! Outside the Jama Masjid Temple. Agra.

Enough for now. I miss you all! And a special shout-out to my darling Jonas, who left me a week ago today! Alas. She is soon to start posting from her new location in the capital of that fine country, the United States of America: Washington, DC! Also coming soon, a meta-blog from Jackie "Post" Thompson. Keep your eyes peeled for the latest!

picture picture pictureeee

Akelapaan Strikes: The Lonely Blogger, First Day Solita

Jonas has left me! After bursting into tears when she got into a rickshaw and disappeared into the smoggy night, I have been non-stop busy looking at apartments all day yesterday, and with my first day of work today, so it wasn't until dinner yesterday that I even got a chance to sit down and reflect on what it will mean to be here sola.

But first, the last two weeks, which we have been remiss in documenting!

We were in Shimla for days, pondering our next move and resting weary bones (and stomachs), but the hard rain kept a-fallin'. The roads up in Himachal Pradesh (the mountains) were pretty dubious seeming with the monsoon hitting hard, and after a few articles describing bus accidents in the region, Tanq and I decided to reroute southward.

The next trial in transit was lack of a guide. You see, in our quest for the smallest backpacks this side of Lonely Planet, we cut up our books, carrying only the paper-clipped sections we'd planned to travel to. And since we had planned to stay in Himachal for the duration of the trip, the Rajasthan chapter was sitting in the bottom of a suitcase in the back of a Pratham office closet in Delhi! But we couldn't let this stop us, of course, so Rajasthan, ho! Off we went.

As luck would have it, we spotted two Chinese college girls just as we stepped off the train in Jaipur, and so we adopted them as our traveling partners for the following 1-2 days. Saw some sites, shopped some shops, the usual.

Next, to Udaipur on an overnight train, in which Jonas got trampled by at least thirty people, climbing past her to get out of the train as it stopped at various stations all through the hot Rajasthani night. We arrived in Udaipur at 6am, so we went straight to the river-side cafe of our hostel, where we met 2 other travelers- Jimmy, a Chinese guy with literally perfect English, and James, a British med school student who had traveled all over the place. We spent the next 2 days hanging with them, being very diligent tourists: the first day, we saw two temples, the City Palace, James Bond Octopussy (which was filmed in Udaipur), AND a culture and dance show! Impressive. We know. The next day, we did some final shopping and took a boat ride around Lake Pichola, then boarded our final overnight train back to Delhi.

The past few days have been filled with apartment shopping and other errands. We had a victory over the scam artists of Delhi's rickshaw system, in which the rickshaw-walla (as usual), claimed that his meter no longer worked. We bargained a price, got into the rickshaw, and figured out that the darn thing worked perfectly fine-- so needless to say, we caused the maximum stir upon arrival at our destination to guilt the rascal into admitting his LIES and TRICKERY and allowing us to pay the proper price!

And now, what you've all been waiting for... PICTURES!!!!