Close Calls in Granada, or How Not to Plan Your Trip

Prologue: In spring 2007, I (Jessica) studied abroad in Alicante. I did a fair bit of travel and saw a lot of exciting things, but ran out of money before getting to go to Granada and see the Alhambra, one of the most famous Islamic-style palaces in Spain. I told myself it was not a big deal at the time, and that no one can see everything, but it has eaten at me ever since.

Flash forward to 2014: We planned three days in Granada, expressly to see the Alhambra. We’d kick around and enjoy the ambiance of the city for the other two days, but this was the Big One. And yet somehow, in the midst of rerouting our itinerary to include Albania and Croatia instead of Germany, finding a farm placement in Ireland, and booking the last bus and train tickets we’d need within each country, we completely forgot to buy advance tickets for the Alhambra. During the peak season for visiting this city. We didn’t even think to check until Sunday, the night before we left Sevilla for Granada.

The Alhambra was sold out. No more general tickets, no more night tickets, no more split-your-tour-over-two-days tickets. The travel agencies were out of their reserved stashes until the end of May. There was a ray of light–the tourism center of Granada offers a sightseeing pass of various monuments and museums, valid for three days, that includes the Alhambra and promises often to be available even when all other tickets are sold out. It would be more than twice as expensive, but we didn’t care. But as you may have guessed from the key word “often,” rather than “always,” we were out of luck here, too. It was looking more and more like we would spend our time here seeing everything but the one thing we’d wanted.

The woman we talked to at the tourism center admitted that yes, the Alhambra reserved a select few tickets each day for walk-in visitors, but she was hesitant even to mention it for fear of raising our hopes. They were in voraciously high demand.

“The doors open at eight in the morning,” she told us. “There is a line for tickets by four.”

We walked out of the office stunned, but not for long. I only had to look at Andrew to see the same clenched-jaw resolve I was feeling mirrored on his face. The line was in place by four in the morning, you say? Challenge accepted. We were there by three.

In fact, we ate an early dinner (for Spain, at least) and put ourselves to bed by 7:30, to the bewilderment of our dormmates. Then we got up at two. Actually, Andrew got up at two, packed the backpack, and woke me up fifteen minutes later. With his tablet-illuminated face inches from mine, bobbing in the dark. My scream woke up all six roommates, just in case they didn’t hate us yet. We walked to the Alhambra, and were the first ones there.

The next tourists didn’t show up until just after 4:30, and the real rush wasn’t until 5:45 or so, but then it was almost scary how quickly the line built long enough to wrap around itself. We could have safely spent another hour or two in bed, but I can’t regret our decision, because it ensured that as soon as the clock struck eight, we were perfectly positioned to snap up these bad boys:

The Alhambra is similar in many ways to the Alcazar, but it has a much stronger and more consistent Islamic influence. We felt like we were transported back to India, until we looked out the windows at the clusters of white Spanish houses. The Mediterranean surroundings and superb Islamic geometric artwork are magical together.

 

So many beautiful textures!

    

The view from the hilltop

 

There’s a legend I heard about Andalucia (the southern province of Spain) when I was studying in 2007. The legend goes that there was a just and benevolent ruler over Andalucia at the time, and God was pleased enough to offer him five blessings. The ruler wished that his land would have plentiful seafood, lush gardens, mild weather, beautiful women, and perfect peace.

“I cannot grant all of these,” God replied. “For to do so would be to create Heaven on Earth, and man would have nothing left to strive for in the life to come. The first four I will give you, but there will be discord here, to keep the balance.”

Andalucia has had a history of takeovers and different cultures ruling over and shaping it. But walking through the palaces and gardens, you have to ask whether God finally relented and allowed the old ruler’s last wish to come to pass after all.

In addition to beautiful architecture, the Alhambra has gorgeous gardens, too!

La Semana Santa

We’ve made it to Sevilla, Spain! The weather here is incredible (eighty degrees in the middle of April!), the food is delicious, and the royal palace is a 1000-year-old work of beauty.

Nothin’ but blue skies…

Sevilla’s Alcazar palace was built in the tenth century and changed ruling owners many times during the following centuries. Each new ruler added something new to the building, which results in a spectacular cross-cultural mix of architecture and artwork.

The palace that unfolded over 1000 years

An early highlight of our Spanish tour

The gardens of the Alcazar are easily three times the size of the palace itself

The Dancer’s Garden

1100 years and the Alcazar is still evolving. This underground bathhouse is being renovated now.

I wonder if the Spanish were inspired by Delft tiles?

A look into the Maiden’s Quarters

Made me think of octopi

Reminds us of India

We also paid a visit to the Plaza de Espana. The cobblestone square has a large fountain in the center and a wide canal looping around the perimeter (wide enough, in fact, that you can traverse it by rowboat). The Plaza de Espana gets it name from the dozens of images that adorn the north wall of the Plaza, each of which represents a particular region of Spain.

Plaza de Espana

We came to Sevilla for Semana Santa — the Holy Week leading up to Easter — which the city celebrates by hosting dozens of enormous, solemn processions. Every procession consists of hundreds of hooded figures who walk the streets of the city center, some carrying candles and others carrying crosses.

A procession begins

Breathtaking silver

Walking a procession is a form of penance for many, a way of cleansing to begin the new liturgical year.

In the midst of these hooded multitudes, the processions also contain elaborate floats that each depict a scene from Christ’s passion: Jesus praying in Gethseneme, meeting the weeping women as he carries his cross, and finally crucified. Of course, the Spanish harbor a strong Catholic adoration for Mary as well, so each float that tells the passion story is followed by a sorrowful Mary.

Jesus on Good Friday

Mary always follows Jesus. Her face looks so small against her crown and decorations.

The music accompanying the floats has a huge impact on the tone of the procession, sorrowful or majestic.

(Mary fact: in Spain, Maria is the most common first name for women *and* the most common middle name for men.)

The processions are meditative. It can take an hour for one full procession to pass by, but it hardly feels that long. The floats capture the emotional power of the passion story. While I’ve seen hundreds of crucifixes and saintly statues in my life, the ones in these processions are exceptional. They’re incredibly detailed in a way that forces you to consider anew the story of Christ as one filled with human emotion. Seeing Jesus crucified in a street setting, rather than in a church, creates a powerful connection to what it would have been like to stand in the crowd when the real crucifixion happened. Another float that was particularly moving came on Saturday. Normally, the Jesus and Mary floats are separated by hundreds of penitents. This time, there was only one float, of Mary standing in front of the empty cross, the crown of thorns in her hands. She finally closed the distance between them, too late.

Processions by night feel more hushed and mystical than those during the day, even with the same throngs of people around.

Some penitents carry the rosary to meditate during the 6-8 hour walk.

We had a low-key Easter today. The procession was cancelled due to rain (there’s real silver and expensive fabrics on the floats, so they don’t risk damaging them). We hung around outside the doors of the Cathedral until they opened and attended a High Mass. The space is gorgeous. It was cool to experience the music from the floor-to-vaulted-ceiling organ to top off our Easter experience.

Catedral de Sevilla

Catedral de Sevilla

A funny story: we’re sampling a ton of delicious Spanish food (so many tapas!), and have found a few spots aimed much more at locals than tourists. As in, the menus are only in Spanish. Jessica’s Spanish is holding up well enough to manage menu navigation, so we’re ordering with confidence. One day, we were approached twice by Australian or Canadian tourists asking if we could please help translate. It’s a fun way to meet other travelers!

Gambas planchas

Clockwise from top left: espinacas con garbanzos (spinach and beans), arroz con jamon iberico (rice with cured ham), pollo de mostaza y miel (honey mustard chicken), jamon iberico

Herrings, Castles, and Lambs: Last Days in the Netherlands

After Mama and Becca returned to the US, we took it a little easy. After all, we had done enough touring with them to cross off most of our Netherlands to-do list! But there were still a few things we had to see…

 

First off, while we have been enjoying various Dutch culinary treats:

there was one delicacy left to try. The Dutch have a long, deep love affair in place with raw herring. In every city we’ve been to, we’ve seen fresh fish stands offering broodje haring, which is raw, salted herring topped with chopped raw onion on a fluffy, hot-dog-type bun. In The Hague, Andrew finally worked up the courage to give the snack a try. I recorded the myriad of emotions a mouthful of raw fish stirred in him. You’re welcome.

Here goes…

The first bite is a little unsettling

But after careful consideration…

…he’s back for more!

New favorite treat!

Our best touring day, and one of our favorite days in the Netherlands overall, was our trip to Utrecht. Considering that this is a major Dutch city, it is surprisingly far from the typical tourist path, possibly because it takes a little finagling with train transfers to make it out. Once there, we headed straight for the Dom tower, the tallest church tower in the country. The tour guide told us that we would climb 466 steps to reach the top. Once we did, we were treated to quite a view!

The other thing I was dying to see in Utrecht was the Kasteel de Haar. The castle is not technically in Utrecht proper, but in the principality, so we needed to catch another train and take a 45-minute walk. This suited us fine. We’ve been lucky with weather the whole time we’ve been here, and the scenery gave us plenty of fun moments along the way. We saw lambs cuddling their moms in the pastures.

We also came across a fairy ring of churches, with arrows pointing all directions with the number of kilometers to the next church. One arrow pointed to Rome. It’s funny how the other countries we’ve visited find little ways to pop up again.

The castle itself was outstanding. We bought the cheaper tickets that let us tour the park but not go inside the castle, and that was enough for us to spend a few gorgeous hours walking through gardens and admiring the castle itself.

We fly to Spain tomorrow to spend Holy Week in Seville. It’s sad to leave the Netherlands–even after 3 weeks, we keep finding new things to see. But that’s one of the sweet things about traveling, too. We never feel like we’ve exhausted all that a place has to offer. We’ve loved our 3 weeks of the Dutch life, and we look forward to the day we get another taste of it.

 

Tulip Season: A Photo Collection

Dutch Love

We’ve been in the Netherlands about a week, so we have plenty to talk about! Jessica, of course, has been many times before as a child, but this is the first time back since age 19. Andrew visited Amsterdam for a weekend when he studied abroad, so almost everything is new for him.

The best part about being in the Netherlands is that we have family here. We are staying with Ilse and Nico, as well as Jessica’s four cousins. For three weeks, we are back to an “at home” experience. It feels a bit like coming home for a college break: we have bags of laundry and stories to tell. During the day, we either go out exploring a new city or keep it local and relax. We’re so grateful for the amazing vegetarian home-cooked meals, the help with bike-route planning, and the overall insane levels of generosity we’re basking in here. We are especially grateful to Kim, who gave up her room for a week to give us a place to sleep.

It’s even more of a homecoming because Mama and Becca flew in for 10 days! We were so excited we barely allowed them a nap before dragging them out of bed to shop the open market in Voorschoten. Did you know you can get 8 Mars bars for a euro? Or 100 grams of assorted gummy candy? Actually, let’s pause for a second and talk about the food here:

• Kroket: Thick, savory meat ragout or melted cheese fried in a crisp outer layer. Imagine a meaty mozzarella stick the size of a hot dog and you’re getting close.
• Saucijzenbroodje (saw-sigh-zen-bro-che): Sausage in a flaky, ultra-buttery crust.
• Krentenbollen: A brioche roll studded with currants.
• Bossebol: Imagine a cream puff the size of a softball. Fill it with even more cream than that.
• Vla: Have you ever wanted to have, like, a bowl of the custard that comes inside Boston creme donuts? The Dutch have. And unlike you, they acted on that guilty desire and sell the stuff in milk cartons.
• Pannekoek: Dutch pancakes are the size of a medium pizza but thin, like a crepe. You can get them with any topping you can imagine and a few you can’t. Andrew had a salty-sweet bacon and apple pancake that could make you cry.
• Kibbeling: Chunks of haddock, fried fish ‘n’ chips style. Greasy, salty goodness.
• Stroopwafel: Two thin, sweet butter wafers held together with a layer of caramel.

Also, it is COMPLETELY acceptable to eat a sandwich of frosting and sprinkles for breakfast. Seriously, no one will bat an eye if you do this.

You could just snack your way through the Netherlands and come out singing its praises. It is a damn good thing biking is the default mode of transportation, or even Andrew might find himself downright portly in a few weeks!

Back to the family: We got to take Becca exploring in Amsterdam her second day here. I love Amsterdam’s incongruity. There is no barrier between the historic and quaint and erotic and narcotic and everything else. The Dutch seem to see no improbability of a homemade cupcake stand next to a fetish shop, so the juxtaposition of window displays can be hilarious.

A perk of having family in the area is seeing more than the typical vacation spots. Andrew arrived expecting to see the city side of the Netherlands and some of the picturesque, pastoral scenery that makes it onto the postcards. He’s been seeing that, no question. The thing about a country this small is you can’t waste space. There is no “no man’s land” between suburban and rural areas the way there is at home, so while Ilse and Nico have suburban belongings and lead a lifestyle more or less like one we’re used to (albeit with more biking), there is a farm next door and Nico has on occasion had to haul a sinking sheep out of the canal. Sheep graze near the church, chickens scratch in the park. There are canals winding around everywhere, with all the waterfowl that feel at home there. But there are more scenes that are just as typically Dutch.

It doesn’t get much more Dutch than a bike parked next to a canal.

On Sunday, we biked for an hour to the beach. Most people, when they think of dikes, imagine a stone wall, but what you’re more likely to see in many parts of the country are dunes. This is one of the only places to see rolling hills in a famously flat country. The dunes are permanent (they don’t shift much with the wind), so saltwater grasses and scraggly trees grow there. It’s beautiful and wild, more Bronte-looking than you would think.

Dutch dunes

North sea beach

One of our favorite/least-favorite days was going for a 9-mile walk with Mama and Becca. The walk trails through little towns, including the home of a famous literary character named Bartje, the poor, plucky boy who hated the brown beans his family had to eat so much that he refused to give thanks for them before meals. We passed through woodlands, listening to all the birds staking out claims on their own branches. There was a stork nest with both birds present.

We saw a deer park that also had a variety of birds. We laughed especially at the peacock, who was all but begging the peahen for attention, staggering under the weight of his tail and vibrating his back feathers in a way that he clearly thought was irresistible. The peahen remained unconvinced.

This guy was getting NOWHERE with the ladies

Eventually, we left the pastures and entered a nature preserve area. There was something fey about the whole place. The dry grasses made it hard to see what was marsh or dry land. The pale-dark-pale contrast of grass, treeline and sky was harsher, and the directions in our guide heightened the feeling of walking into a strange, fantasy world (continue 20 meters, turn right and cross the wooden bridge, then follow the small grass path between the oak trees). It is especially interesting to Andrew to experience the different facets of the Netherlands, getting to see more deeply into a country he understood only from secondhand stories.

This morning, we biked out to Delft, a city famous for beautiful blue pottery. We couldn’t resist doing a little shopping. The antique stores have pottery dating back to the early 1600s. Any china store is heaped with handpainted plates, vases, and ornaments in subtly varying shades of rich blue.

We also had a great time exploring the Oude and Nieuwe Kerks, including getting a free private tour from a funny, enthusiastic tour guide.

Next stop: How can you say you’ve seen the NL without checking out some breathtaking tulips? We’ll see you on the other side of the Keukenhof Gardens!

 

 

 

Italy, Part Two

Italy is brimming with historical beauty, as we mentioned in the last post. It’s a lot to take in. In Florence, after seeing the Duomo, the cobblestone streets, and a public square shadowed by an enormous archway, we had the following exchange:

Jessica: I can’t handle it!
Andrew: I know; I can’t believe how amazing it all is.
Jessica: No, really, I can’t handle it. I think I’m getting some kind of beauty-induced headache. I’m not sure if I can take any more beautiful sights.
Andrew: Well, listen, don’t turn around, but there might sort-of be a castle behind you.

“It’s behind me, isn’t it?”

The enormous archway

Our time in Florence was wonderful. While the Duomo is truly breathtaking, perhaps the city’s finest element is its pastoral side. Where Rome has fountains and towering ancient ruins, Florence has quiet streets and gardened villas on rolling green hillsides. If you walk about a half hour south out of the city, you can reach the a high spot called the Piazzale Michelangiolo. Because Florence sits at the bottom of a river valley, you can ascend the steep hillside to get a sweeping view of the entire city. From there, even the Duomo looks small enough to pick up, although it still towers over the maroon sea of Florence’s rooftops. Beyond the the city itself lies the northern hillside of the valley, dotted with homes and vineyards.

 

Florence has a city marketplace building, the Mercato Centrale, filled with a huge grid of vendor stalls. We’ve been to supermarkets in Italy, but this was something completely different. If you’ve been to Lexington Market in Baltimore, you’ll have some idea what it’s like. There are dozens of sellers with bread, fruit, vegetables, meats, and cheeses. It’s all at really good prices, because every vendor has competition less than ten feet away. In addition to being a cool cultural experience, Italian marketplace shopping has supplied us with excellent lunch ingredients at prices that only instant comparison shopping can provide. At the Piazza Michelangiolo, we brought a picnic of bread, wine, fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and Roman-style artichokes marinated in sunflower oil and spices, all for much less than even a budget restaurant, and with a gorgeous view to boot.

After Florence, we moved on to the island of Venice. Venice has really quiet streets, since cars aren’t allowed to travel the island. The island is small enough that walking anywhere is generally practical, but for tasks that require rapid transit, the island has an extensive network of canals. Most boats are for private personal use, but we also saw boat taxis, boats carrying construction equipment, a mail-delivery boat, and an ambulance boat.

There’s something captivating about the canals of Venice

There’s a reason why cars aren’t allowed on the island: more than few of the streets in the city are about this wide

We took a day trip to Naples to have a taste of the city’s famous pizza. We had lunch at the famed Starita pizzeria, and it lived up to its reputation: Jessica called it the best pizza she’d ever eaten. The bitter char blisters on the crust blend with the sweet tomato and savory cheese for a flavor that can fairly hold the title of “best pizza ever”.

The best pizza

The most industrious pizza cooks ever

Naples pizza is traditionally eaten with a knife and fork, primarily because it simply not possible to eat it with your hands. The pizza is very soft, and the ingredients would likely slide right off if you tried to eat it by the slice. If knife-and-fork pizza isn’t your style, you can also buy some tasty calzones from street vendors (for a mere one euro each!) that are like fried donuts, filled with meat and cheese.

For our final stop in Italy, we headed back to Rome to visit the Vatican. St. Peter’s Basilica is huge: not only are the ceilings tremendously high, but the hall of the church is full of nested side chapels and prayer rooms. The church is so full of ornate, massive statues that it almost feels a bit like a museum (indeed, some of them have explanatory placards!), but it has an unmistakable holy energy.

Outside St. Peter’s

The altar above the tomb of Saint Peter

So, that’s it for our two weeks in Italy! We’ve arrived safely in the Netherlands, and we’ll have a new post all about that soon.

Love, Pray, Eat

In 2012, we had our honeymoon in Bali, and shortly after that we made the decision to launch this six-month trip with a visit to India followed by a stay in Italy. We joke that we’re doing a “Love, Pray, Eat” tour of Elizabeth Gilbert’s famous destinations, in reverse order. It fits surprisingly well, considering that the “love” part of our travels was our honeymoon, and in India, we spent time in an ashram as well as volunteering.

Now that we’ve made it to Italy, it’s clear why Italy embodies the “eat” part of the trip: the food is simply fantastic. Even living on a backpacking budget, you come across delicious food everywhere you go. Whether you go to a classy ristorante or a hole-in-the-wall place, more likely than not they’ll have something that’s really good, whether it’s prosciutto pizza, marinated artichokes, homemade gelato, creamy cappuccino, or freshly baked bread. (Consider that Andrew never really liked coffee until he had cappuccino in Rome.)

We are enjoying the country’s wealth of visual and cultural marvels as much as the food. Rome is full of beautiful fountains and monuments, both ancient and modern, that remind you of the depth of the Eternal City’s history. Even the ordinary neighborhood streets are gorgeous; the way the morning sun hits the yellow and orange walls is nearly as spectacular as the Colosseum. Just as it’s hard to find a place with middling cuisine, it’s hard to find any part of the city that doesn’t leave you in awe.

We have two stays in Rome, so we can take our time over various sites. We spent two days in the Ancient City, one at the Colosseum and one in the Foro and the Palatino gardens. The Colosseum games were much more spectacular that we had thought. The audioguide pointed out the rectangles in the ruins that used to be elevators under trapdoors, so that gladiators (I almost said Tributes–it’s very Hunger Games) and animals could appear in the arena dramatically. The arena was sometimes flooded to stage miniature sea battles, or trees and wild animals were brought in and the audience could watch a hunt. The funniest moment was the guide explaining, in his dry, British accent, that Romans inspired by a beached whale had built a wooden one. When its mouth opened, 50 bears would come out. Because obviously. What else would you expect?

The remains of the ancient trapdoor system are visible behind us

The most interesting part of the Foro was a frieze in the Arch of Titus showing the plunder of the temple in Jerusalem. The Romans had taken a very distinctive menorah from the holiest part of the temple, and much later, when the Jews were trying to rebuild, the only record they had of what the lost menorah looked like was this frieze. It’s chilling to imagine depending on the faithfulness of your old enemy’s depiction to restore something lost and holy.

We’re in Florence now, enjoying a long weekend before continuing on to Venice. Andrew mentioned the Duomo beforehand, but described it only as a “large, impressive dome,” so Jessica was shocked to see a massive cathedral that’s basically turned inside out. That is, the decorative statues, murals, tiling, etc. are all over the outside of the building, and the Duomo is so large you can’t see all its features at once. When we walked around, new wings and smaller towers unfolded out of nowhere. Andrew will be going to his first Mass service in six weeks there tonight.

Pictures do not do it justice — it’s just not possible to capture the entire building in a single shot.

It’s been amazing staying in a place with so much history and beauty, and we couldn’t be more excited for another week of it!

Farewell to India

Tomorrow is our last full day at EVAD. Early on Saturday morning, we fly to Rome. It feels like we’ve been away from home for a long time, but even so, it’s strange and a little sad to think that the first leg of our trip is over.

We took official photos today with the director and students. The new washing machine we bought with our donation money has arrived, and the remaining funds we brought with us will pay for over half the textbooks for the upcoming school year. Many of the director’s other sponsors provide gifts of 5,000 or 10,000 rupees at a time. You can imagine how grateful he was to hear that we had 35,000 rupees from the church to buy schoolbooks — even after the washing machine was paid for! We won’t be here long enough to see the books arrive, but we got to talk with the publisher to confirm that’s where our funds will go, and the director’s promised to send us pictures of the students later in the spring, when they start the new session (they are in the thick of exam season now).

The two of us with the EVAD director and their new washing machine

I have to admit part of me is relieved to leave India. From the moment we arrived, we’ve faced challenges that forced us to reconsider everything we take for granted at home. I want Andrew to be able to go a week without stomach trouble. I’m craving fresh fruit and vegetables, and meat. We’re looking forward to setting our own schedules, instead of waking up in the mornings wondering if this will be a day we connect with the kids, or have hours of dead time.

But I will miss many things, too, especially the children. I’ve been amazed by their openness. It doesn’t matter to them how much we can communicate, as long as we are willing to play. I’ll miss coloring with them, and the way they run to me to point out small things, like an airplane passing overhead. The way they light up when I toss them the ball makes up for any dull class day.

I’ll also miss the good class days, when we felt like we had something to offer: doing hummingbird impressions, explaining how to carry numbers in addition, trying our best to be clear every time Aadil points at a word and asks “What is meaning?” One of the things that has struck me is how accepting the kids are. I’m used to hearing stories about bullying in school, but what I see here most often is patience, whether kids are deaf, mentally challenged, or have no disability at all.

Even some of the hard parts of India have helped us. I can walk down the street now without jumping every time a motorcycle passes close to me. I don’t know how it would have been possible for Andrew and I to do this trip without each other, but we’ve been able to support each other to get stronger and braver. We can joke about the stressful moments and point out things that the other does well. India’s thrown tests our way, but I believe we’ve passed.

Bowling Day

During our time volunteering at a foreign school, it’s sometimes difficult to know where we fit in. The school was doing fine in a lot of ways before we showed up. There’s a lunch program in place, there is a teacher in every class, and we can see progress in the student’s notebooks. We need to be actively on the lookout for opportunities to help. (It’s a good problem to have.) Some days, it’s obvious where our role is: when the students are reading in English, they regularly ask us for help defining or sounding out words. In math class, the teachers can use us to give additional individual attention to students. Those are the good days.

Other days, it’s not clear how we can help. Sometimes we end up sitting in a classroom for hours with nothing to do at all.

Sometimes, the greatest good we can do is outside of class. We originally signed up to be in an orphanage, after all, rather than a school. Our strengths are more in line with playing the role of fun, caring older sister or brother than a teacher. One of our favorite mornings this month happened a few days ago, when we brought out ten empty water bottles along with the soccer balls.

Andrew had the idea to try bowling with the kids. It’s an easy game to teach and the kids could easily set up a game when we’re gone. As far as we can tell, they don’t have toys or regular recess-style play periods. The kids are left to their own devices outside of class hours, and often that seems to translate into them hanging out chatting in an empty classroom, or asking us to come out and play.

They got the concept immediately, and they LOVED the novelty of the game. And as the play went on, we realized the intangible things we could “teach” by example.

Things like taking turns, when Jessica motioned for the kids to form a line so the same assertive few didn’t monopolize the ball.

Things like losing graciously, and cheering each other on. One boy, Lucky, loves attention and wants to excel at any game. When he kicked the ball hard, though, it bounced up over the water bottle “pins” and didn’t hit any. We sympathized with his frustration, holding our fingers apart to show him, “you were this close.” After a few turns, we saw him making the same gesture instead of clenching fists. We all cheered and high-fived each other when we knocked bottles over.

We could model the difference between cheating and allowing a lenient handicap. Amit, one of the oldest and tallest, isn’t allowed to scoot the ball closer to the pins in hopes of a better shot. Sunny, who is 5, can take a few steps forward so he has a fair chance.

Over the course of an hour and a half, we saw so many great examples of compromise and gracious play. When Lucky’s sister Angeli joined the game late, he negotiated with Amit to let her take two turns instead of one so she could get the hang of the game. Armaan, one of the younger kids, preferred the role of ball-return kid. He took himself out of turn rotation in favor of being the one to throw the ball back to the next kid in line. When one of us had spent too long picking up fallen bottles, kids traded spots with us so we would have a turn to play.

We’ve learned in the last four weeks that the balance between great and difficult is always shifting. If we say we love the country, the next minute we’re splashed with muddy water by a careless driver. If we say we just want to go home, in an hour an old woman will praise the red stripe of sindur Jessica wears on her forehead (a sign of a married woman), beaming her welcome to us. This makeshift bowling game was one of those moments, a flawless morning that showed us more clearly than ever what our best talents are here. It’s hard to imagine that we leave in less than a week.

Strike!

Rishikesh

When you stand on the bank of the Ganges river in Rishikesh, you understand why the earliest people who came there said, “This is a holy place.” The wide, powerful water is flanked on either side by huge mountains, covered in thick forest. After weeks of dusty roads and crowded cities, it was awe-inspiring to see something so green and majestic.

Rooftop view of the Ganges

We spent the weekend at an ashram in Rishikesh. We were pretty lucky to get in at all, because the ashram was preparing for a yoga festival and was denying reservations. We hadn’t made reservations (their website says they have one thousand rooms, so we thought we’d be fine as walk-ins), but after some deliberation by the staff, our group of ten new arrivals were given rooms for the weekend.

Most activities at the ashram were suspended in preparation for the festival, but we still had the oppotunity to do Indian yoga twice. The first yoga class was held in a room with tall east-facing windows where we could see the sun rise over the mountains. The second course was led by a tiny, spry 105-year-old man who barked orders to the English-speaking instructor. The first yoga session was more in line with what we’ve tried at yoga studios at home, with Sun Salutation sequences and stretching. The 105-year-old man’s class was more of an experience with different forms of rhythmic breathing and body isolations. It was fun to see him perform a spirit-cleansing movement of hopping up and down, laughing from the belly.

We attended one structured meditation session, but the entire ashram grounds invite meditation. The pathways are full of beautiful gardens, great sheltering trees, and vibrant lawns. It’s only natural to sit, clear your mind, and reflect on where you’ve been and where you want to go. There’s a special kind of peace that comes from feeling removed from the world, surrounded by nature.

The main pathway of the ashram

That meditative environment was especially helpful for us this week. Many other volunteers have been discussing all the places they want to visit on weekends while they were here. We had been debating whether to make a trip up to Jaipur, which would be beautiful but also would mean that we would miss at least one school day, and possibly two. When we had the chance to clear our minds at the ashram, we realized that we have constant opportunities throughout the next 5 months to see beautiful new sights. This is our only chance to offer our time to the children here. The rest and peace was just what we needed to refocus on the work we can do at the school.

Another welcome feature of the ashram and surrounding places was Western amenities! We got to take our first hot showers since we left the US and enjoyed a few familiar foods at the restaurants. It was great to reconnect with our orientation group and compare stories.

We took an afternoon walk down the bank with the rest of the volunteer group, who wanted to swim in the river. (We put our feet in the Ganges but felt leery about getting in all the way.) Rishikesh is close to the source of the Ganges, upstream from the infamous stretches where many Indians bring the bodies or ashes of their dead. But we were warned by another few tourists that there was a dead body not far from the bank where we were headed, separated from us by a narrow inlet of water. Even with the warning, none of us were sure what to do when we saw it. Stepping in the water was a soul-cleansing ritual for many in the group, but we couldn’t escape the reminder that the Ganges is as culturally tied to death as it is to life.

On the bank of the Ganges river

Every evening, the ashram holds a sunset ceremony on the shore of the Ganges, which is just a few steps outside the front gate. In the center of the ceremony area are lines of robed monks, who lead an hour of chant-singing as the sun disappears behind the mountains. Throughout the hour, people get up to step into the Ganges and pour its water over their heads, or even drink it out of a cupped hand. Some carry offering-rafts made of flowers that they set aflame and send floating down the river.

On the last night, we split off from the rest of the group to go to the sunset ceremony together and set our own flower offering down the river. We were so grateful for the restorative weekend and the beautiful natural sights around us. We sat there on the stone steps together, drops of Ganges water drying in our hair, listening to the chanted hymns of praise as the red sun slid below the trees.

Sunset ceremony

A raft of flowers to set on the Ganges

A crowd set burning offerings into the river each sunset

Sunset on the river

We also visited a mountain temple

Atop the mountain temple

View of the ashram from the mountain