Dear dedicated reader,
It is only proper that I begin with the context: a number of the more athletically motivated fellows staff have decided that they are going to run a half marathon in February to raise money for Nanubhai and as a way to keep fit and motivate themselves. While seated around the dinner table in the Bajipura apartment, infected with their raucous enthusiasm, I decided that if my staff could do it, well by golly so could I.
Since that time roughly two weeks ago, the general upheaval which characterizes my life in this country has come in to play and by fate’s roll of the dice I no longer live in our Bajipura apartment and have moved into the downstairs bedroom of our two fellows who live in Surat, the nearest city where we have one site at P.R. Khatiwala High School. Now that I’m located in a city, I have access to all sorts of amenities within a 5 minute autorickshaw ride of the house such as a real grocery store, a mall, a coffee shop, and most of all, a gym.
All of this contributed to the optimism which prompted me to decide to go running in the area surrounding our house.
I start out blissfully content with the morning sun shining down on our porch, the act of stretching bringing on that sense of enlightened anticipation that it always fills me with. With a flick of my finger, my ipod brings the upbeat strains of Natasha Bedinfield into my ears, telling me that not only is this morning beautiful, but ‘no one else could feel it for [me]’ and that I should ‘live my life with arms wide open.’ Sentimental state that I am in, it only heightens my euphoria.
After a brief stretch of the limbs, I set out gently from our porch, jogging my way through gated society and observing the mid-morning activities of our neighbors: hair-brushing, hanging clothes on the line, talking on the phone. I feel almost transported back to the Porter Street hill in Somerville down which I had to go for all my morning and weekend runs, that sense of energy filling my limbs as I strode downhill, until I finally hit the turn onto the main Highland Ave and set off on the real test of endurance. It is like that this morning, hitting the road that leads past Khatiwala High School (which we live behind) until I arrive at the main highway.
The first reservations set in as I observe a group of men sitting shirtless by the side of the road, the pick axes by their side indicating previous intense physical labor, the glistening of their skin the sun corroborating this assumption. As I put one foot in front of the other and naturally speed up as if to prove something, I can’t help but register the absurdity of my running to compensate for me sedentary lifestyle. No matter, I think, push on.
The real uncertainty hits as I realize that I am going about the same speed as a stringy man in a torn shirt ahead of me pushing a loaded down flatbed pushcart to which he is applying all his bodily strength to move its reluctant wagon wheels forward. To avoid comparison, I speed up, which of course leads to my lungs starting to burn and the slowing of my pace as I turn around and head back in the other direction.
Surat, you should know, dear reader, was 7 years ago proclaimed the most polluted city in India. While that title since has been bestowed upon some other hardworking and deserving city, the smog stained buildings and the thick haze hanging over the highway despite the sunny morning make it easy to see how that might have been the case. Like Providence, everyone claims that Surat has come so far, but I can attest that they are a long way from ‘Water-Fire’ like rebirth.
At this point in the run, despite Katy Perry enticing me onwards, I slow to a walk, my lungs really burning and the remnants of last week’s cold blocking my nose. Whether this halt is a result of my general poor level of fitness or Surat’s smog or the rising temperature of India at mid-morning or that cigarette I smoked when I was Thailand, it is hard to know; but at this point I am definitely feeling my optimism begin to curl into a ball and hide behind the cloudiness building up in my head.
According to my rough estimate, I have been running for 10 minutes.
I begin to do a sort of compromised run-walk that pacifies my sense of determination as well as my failing body until through the motivating beats of Jordin Sparks I hear jeering coming from the side of the road. I turn my head in time to see a bus full of private school boys, arms flailing out of the window to catch my attention, urging me onwards. I begin to miss the sweet, adorable faces of my students at Kadod and mentally curse the obnoxiousness of the over-privileged adolescent. Until, of course, I remember that I was one.
The nail in the coffin is a number of Rajasthani women, heads covered with the tails of their saris, giving me a look of horror as I shuffle onward. I smile in a lopsided way and slow to a real walk, turning back down the road to the house in embarrassed defeat and mentally filing this under “Notable experiences” in sub-category “Reasons I need to join a proper gym.”
Best,
Cat
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Krabi Night Market
Dear dedicated reader,
I couldn’t place the taste on my tongue. It was elusively sweet, but mixed with a familiarity, a home-grown variety of … what was it?
Suddenly, I had it. It was corn.
Mixed with – coconut? Deep fried?
I popped the next bite of “Royal Cake” in my mouth and even as I knew I had five more to go before my plate would be empty, my wandering, distractable eye couldn’t help but cast around for the next taste sensation.
In addition to being a feast for the sense, the Krabi Night Market was many things: crowded, loud, full of vendors peddling their clothes, shoes, jewelry, ugly plastic dolls but most essentially – food. On sticks, on small trays, in small cups and all costing the approximate equivalent of a quarter.
As I wandered and met the eye of the various sellers who wanted me to try their concoctions, I couldn’t help but feel shy. I couldn’t read their signs, couldn’t speak the language. I was lost in a sea of Thai faces and while that is usually every traveler’s dream, I found to my dismay that I was unnerved. After spending a week at the beach in the comforting arms of an all English speaking tourist hide-away with white people as far as the eye could see, the shore-town of Krabi in which I’d opted to spend the night before departing for Bangkok was my rather rude transition back to Thai reality. Downtown Krabi itself looks like – think Market and 9th in Philadelphia - rather unimpressive but crowded with some run down looking shops and some large cavemen statues holding the street lights at the intersection. The night market is notable enough to be included in the Lonely Planet that I borrowed on the ferry from Ko Phi Phi from the person sitting next to me and was where it was recommended I go for dinner. By myself staying in a horridly un-atmospheric (but cheap) hotel, off I went.
Being unable to read is my weak spot as a traveler. I’ve made the effort to learn to read Gujarati since I find being unable to read street signs terrifying, and am usually rewarded as many of the signs include English words or words that I know anyway. Being unable to read even the simple menus written next to kabob after kabob on the crowded nighttime street in Krabi made me feel very vulnerable and reminded me how little I actually know about Thailand. What were all these strange looking fried things? What about that thing on that stick over there? And that fruit? I looked about despairingly.
Shyly after finishing my royal cakes, I steeled myself and approached another vendor. I hesitated and she looked at me expectantly. “I, uh…” I started, then gave a half shrug and pointed to what I wanted. She held up a finger – one? – was the implicit question. I nodded. She bagged it. Success!
Handing over my 10 baht coin, I felt suddenly that perhaps things would be all right, of course.
Best,
Cat
I couldn’t place the taste on my tongue. It was elusively sweet, but mixed with a familiarity, a home-grown variety of … what was it?
Suddenly, I had it. It was corn.
Mixed with – coconut? Deep fried?
I popped the next bite of “Royal Cake” in my mouth and even as I knew I had five more to go before my plate would be empty, my wandering, distractable eye couldn’t help but cast around for the next taste sensation.
In addition to being a feast for the sense, the Krabi Night Market was many things: crowded, loud, full of vendors peddling their clothes, shoes, jewelry, ugly plastic dolls but most essentially – food. On sticks, on small trays, in small cups and all costing the approximate equivalent of a quarter.
As I wandered and met the eye of the various sellers who wanted me to try their concoctions, I couldn’t help but feel shy. I couldn’t read their signs, couldn’t speak the language. I was lost in a sea of Thai faces and while that is usually every traveler’s dream, I found to my dismay that I was unnerved. After spending a week at the beach in the comforting arms of an all English speaking tourist hide-away with white people as far as the eye could see, the shore-town of Krabi in which I’d opted to spend the night before departing for Bangkok was my rather rude transition back to Thai reality. Downtown Krabi itself looks like – think Market and 9th in Philadelphia - rather unimpressive but crowded with some run down looking shops and some large cavemen statues holding the street lights at the intersection. The night market is notable enough to be included in the Lonely Planet that I borrowed on the ferry from Ko Phi Phi from the person sitting next to me and was where it was recommended I go for dinner. By myself staying in a horridly un-atmospheric (but cheap) hotel, off I went.
Being unable to read is my weak spot as a traveler. I’ve made the effort to learn to read Gujarati since I find being unable to read street signs terrifying, and am usually rewarded as many of the signs include English words or words that I know anyway. Being unable to read even the simple menus written next to kabob after kabob on the crowded nighttime street in Krabi made me feel very vulnerable and reminded me how little I actually know about Thailand. What were all these strange looking fried things? What about that thing on that stick over there? And that fruit? I looked about despairingly.
Shyly after finishing my royal cakes, I steeled myself and approached another vendor. I hesitated and she looked at me expectantly. “I, uh…” I started, then gave a half shrug and pointed to what I wanted. She held up a finger – one? – was the implicit question. I nodded. She bagged it. Success!
Handing over my 10 baht coin, I felt suddenly that perhaps things would be all right, of course.
Best,
Cat
Friday, October 23, 2009
Lone Traveler
Dear dedicated reader,
Traveling alone has its perks and its disadvantages.
I’m a solitary-ish person so I’ve never minded time by myself – I, generally, think this attribute is good considering my work circumstances and the remoteness of the place that I live. But, my crippling shyness can have its occasional disadvantages.
First, a perk: Unlike other vacations I’ve been on (particularly with women), it does not take me forever to get out the door, thus maximizing enjoyment time. I arrived in Ko Phi Phi, tropical island paradise, two days ago by huge ferry boat. As I didn’t have any specific plans about where to stay (I was still undecided if I would stay right in the town of Ton Sai or outside on one of the more remote beaches), I hauled on my pack, said goodbye to Roberto, my boat friend who was headed for his luxurious accommodation, and set out to find someplace. After wandering in the noon day sun for about as long as my body could handle carrying my humongous pack, I found myself in the center of a very pleasant and to be honest, very unexpected, Thai-style market. The smell of fish oil wafted towards me as I stepped into the crowded narrow lane lined with buckets of fish, chicken on skewers roasting on open charcoal and clear bags of strange looking liquids and assorted unknown ingredients. In the middle of this market, I found a likely looking candidate for a hotel: neat, clean, charming, cheap. I checked in immediately and, to prove my point, was back out the door again in 10 minutes, heading back to the pier to go to Long Beach, a beach that can only be reached by boat and is slightly farther out on the island. You can’t get such good turn around time in a group!
A disadvantage: Things tend to be more expensive when traveling by yourself. A hotel room immediately costs double what it would with a traveling companion, transportation, if privately chartered, is a cost born immediately by you (unless, of course, you happen to be sitting to philanthropic New Zealanders on your flight over). I was prepared for this and had budgeted for it, but I hadn’t factored in my entertainment costs. I had decided before coming that one of the things I wanted to do in Ko Phi Phi was to travel to the smaller nearby Island of Phi Phi Leh and see Maya Beach, part of the Marine Reserve there that was used in the filming of the movie ‘The Beach’. Though touristy, it was billed as one of the most beautiful places in the world.
Unfortunately, chartering a boat to go to there myself was prohibitively expensive, so I had to scrap my fantasy of going there to sun and spend the day. I discussed my problem with a friendly looking female tour booking agent near my hotel, explaining that most of the half or full day package tours included snorkeling of which I was deathly afraid after an aborted experience in Cancun when I was 18 not to mention the overactive imagination that had led me to believe that there were sharks in the lake at my camp at the tender age of 10.
“No problem, no problem,” she replied optimistically. “You go on one tour, half day sunset tour, it take you to Maya beach and kayaking option, no problem.”
“I don’t have to snorkel?” I confirmed.
“No, no – you kayak, others snorkel,” she assured me.
The sunset tour took off from the pier early in the afternoon the next day, when the island was looking at its most beautiful in the tropical sun. It may be dehydration induced delirium that occurs around this time of day, but I am of the opinion that the islands colors get a little brighter, the sand whiter, the sky bluer. My camera agrees with me – this is the best time to take pictures. I settled in to be ferried about for the next 5 hours.
Another disadvantage: I’m not the type of person to make the first move. This of course is not endemic to traveling alone; it’s only a problem when I do it. Some will be surprised to hear this since my friends know I’m not shy; it’s just that I’m terrible at introducing myself to strangers. I adore talking to people in situations like this, but I’ll never initiate these conversations – probably born of the crippling fear that I’ll run out of things to say or ask and that awkward silence that I abhor will set in.
There was an assorted crew of European and Japanese tourists aboard, from what I could gather from the introductions going on around me. Sleepy from the afternoon sun, I missed my chance to get in with the group early and thus spent the next 5 hours in solitary contemplation, trapped on a boat with people chatting all around me. This was a mistake for which I was to pay.
Our first stop was the whimsically monikered ‘Monkey Island’. Environmentalists, beware: bags of fruit in hands of over eager boat guides plus monkeys plus delighted, cooing tourists does not eco-tourism make. The monkeys are smaller than the variety that we see at Kadod High School and their domestication made me incredibly sad, their plump rumps perched on the sand, hands outstretched eagerly for food. Ugh.
Happily, this was a short stop and then we were off to Ko Phi Phi Leh which brightened my outlook considerably. They put on the same beach mix which seems omnipresent here: I’m convinced that all the businesses have copies of the same pirated mp3 CD that they keep playing on loop, a mix of James Blunt, Bob Marley, Weezer and other assorted ‘island’ themed music. However, in my state of mind, I felt peaceful as we skimmed along the waves of the sea towards the towering cliffs of Phi Phi Leh. Around me, some Aussies were hanging off the side of the boat at a dangerous angle, a lone Brit was chatting up a Swiss girl traveling alone and a Japanese couple was taking photos of each other on the prow of the boat. I caught the eye of the Brit and Swiss girl a few times, but just couldn’t bring myself to say anything and instead turned my head to look out over the ocean.
Two unfortunate things followed:
First, we arrived at our snorkeling/kayaking destination. Kayaking, of course, required two people and while Brit and Swiss girl took off on the first kayak, my anti-social tendencies meant that despite my crippling fear of fish I found myself telling the man passing out snorkel fins my shoe size and snapping them on my unwilling feet while fitting a mask over my face. Luckily, this was not to be a repeat of the Cancun debacle (where I spent a lot of time screaming and running from fish and eventually ended up back on the boat just sitting, to the amusement of my family) – the water was deep and the coral was fairly far away from the surface, so I could enjoy the sights without having to get too close to them. (Note: afterwards, Aussies get back on boat saying “Did you check out those barracuda?!”)
Second, shortly after we left the snorkeling site, we arrived at a small bay strung up with ropes through a cave. I balked as I listened to the description of what we were going to have to do: first, jump off the boat and swim to shore; second, clamber into the cave over rocky, uneven, sharp coral using the ropes to pull ourselves up. Third, proceed through the cave which was really an underpass to the other side and fourth, walk through the jungle for a few minutes before arriving at the bliss that was supposed to be Maya Bay.
I should qualify my horror by saying that I hate bathing suits. They are uncomfortable, I’m constantly worrying about what is showing and what is not and I’ll barely stand up on the beach wearing mine to walk to the water, much less scramble nimbly over rocks and cross jungles. But, I found myself jumping into the water behind everyone else and doing an efficient breast-stroke to shore. The clambering and jungle walking was not as arduous as described (though still resented) and soon I found myself emerging from the palms into the famed Maya Bay, which was every bit as lovely as the guidebooks described. The late afternoon rays of the sun lit up the surrounding rock faces and gave everything a beautiful hue of gold. The bay is very touristy – there were a number of other tours on the beach at the same time as us, such that a multinational game of soccer broke out spontaneously on the beach while the rest of us looked on.
The rest of those from our boat split off into groups and began to explore, building on the friendships that they’d started earlier on the boat. Alone and feeling vulnerable wandering in my bathing suit, I toddled up and down the beach, went into the water for a bit, took some pictures and then realized we still had 45 minutes before it would be time to leave. I settled myself down on a stray log of driftwood and watched the Thais kick the European tourists’ asses in soccer.
All in all, I was happy I went because I did enjoy Maya Bay and the boat ride (and the lovely sunset) but I was peeved that I hadn’t done more to set myself up for success in this forced social situation.
Finally, a perk: While it may be hard to initiate conversations, in most cases being alone is a magnet for company. I’m always grateful when someone talks to me because after all, I do love meeting people but don’t feel I have to take any responsibility for how the conversation goes. Luckily, my apparent lack of traveling companion and (perhaps?) winning smile make me a popular person to chat up. Case in point: because the boat trip got back later than expected, it meant that I was finally within striking range of seeing the Fire Show that I’d been eyeing at Carlito’s Bar the past few nights. The show doesn’t start until 10:30 pm and since I get hungry much earlier than this and don’t like wandering aimlessly, I’ve been going back to the hotel to watch TV until fall asleep instead of staying out. However, in this case, when I finished my dinner it was the perfect time to head over. Carlito’s is a very chill affair: plastic chairs on the beach around low lying plastic tables centered around a stage on which small Thai ladies and man twirl huge balls of fire (apologies, Elvis) dare devil style around the stage. It’s the kind of thing where initially it is difficult to see the attraction, but then you realize that everyone in the audience is sitting there merely waiting for the moment when something will go terribly wrong.
I was seated on my own when a very blond girl came up, asked me if I was alone and, on hearing the affirmative, sat down with me. She turned out to be Noelle, the Swedish croupier whose traveling companions had gone off to party at the Irish bar across town (at which, I had observed the night before in passing, a Scotsman dressed only in a palm skirt and headdress next to a girl wearing a glow paint body suit smearing the same blue and orange paint on a bare chested Brit) and she, not being up for such a scene, had decided on this place. She educated me on the joys of Swedish hip hop (which, apparently, the bar played profusely though it sounded like regular pop music to me) while I provided an appreciative audience and asked about her travels. These musings were interrupted by a nice-enough looking guy sitting down next to us to ask if he could join in, or if we wanted to come and join him and his friends.
As we took a seat in the circle of chairs, one woman and four men, the guy turned to me and asked my name in a markedly North American accent.
“I’m Cat,” I said, furrowing my brow, “And you are… Canadian, American?” The latter seemed so unlikely.
I was delighted to find that they were a group of 30 something Americans from California (one girl working for the UN in Pakistan), all former college friends traveling about on a group vacation. This may sound awful but I adore talking to my own country-men and women abroad. There is something so fulfilling about not having to do the same cultural compare and contrast that every conversation seems to take when talking to people abroad. What’s more, it seemed that we had the same travel itinerary, but reversed: they had just come from Siam Reap and Chiang Mai and had only arrived in the islands at 6 pm that day. To my own surprise, I found that I was having such a good time I did not arrive back at my hotel until 2 am, disproving my theory that I am, in fact, an old woman at heart.
The balance between these encounters and my solitary musings are becoming easier to manage a week into my trip. Perhaps I’ll have it mastered by the time I’m ready to return?
Only time will tell.
Best,
Cat
Traveling alone has its perks and its disadvantages.
I’m a solitary-ish person so I’ve never minded time by myself – I, generally, think this attribute is good considering my work circumstances and the remoteness of the place that I live. But, my crippling shyness can have its occasional disadvantages.
First, a perk: Unlike other vacations I’ve been on (particularly with women), it does not take me forever to get out the door, thus maximizing enjoyment time. I arrived in Ko Phi Phi, tropical island paradise, two days ago by huge ferry boat. As I didn’t have any specific plans about where to stay (I was still undecided if I would stay right in the town of Ton Sai or outside on one of the more remote beaches), I hauled on my pack, said goodbye to Roberto, my boat friend who was headed for his luxurious accommodation, and set out to find someplace. After wandering in the noon day sun for about as long as my body could handle carrying my humongous pack, I found myself in the center of a very pleasant and to be honest, very unexpected, Thai-style market. The smell of fish oil wafted towards me as I stepped into the crowded narrow lane lined with buckets of fish, chicken on skewers roasting on open charcoal and clear bags of strange looking liquids and assorted unknown ingredients. In the middle of this market, I found a likely looking candidate for a hotel: neat, clean, charming, cheap. I checked in immediately and, to prove my point, was back out the door again in 10 minutes, heading back to the pier to go to Long Beach, a beach that can only be reached by boat and is slightly farther out on the island. You can’t get such good turn around time in a group!
A disadvantage: Things tend to be more expensive when traveling by yourself. A hotel room immediately costs double what it would with a traveling companion, transportation, if privately chartered, is a cost born immediately by you (unless, of course, you happen to be sitting to philanthropic New Zealanders on your flight over). I was prepared for this and had budgeted for it, but I hadn’t factored in my entertainment costs. I had decided before coming that one of the things I wanted to do in Ko Phi Phi was to travel to the smaller nearby Island of Phi Phi Leh and see Maya Beach, part of the Marine Reserve there that was used in the filming of the movie ‘The Beach’. Though touristy, it was billed as one of the most beautiful places in the world.
Unfortunately, chartering a boat to go to there myself was prohibitively expensive, so I had to scrap my fantasy of going there to sun and spend the day. I discussed my problem with a friendly looking female tour booking agent near my hotel, explaining that most of the half or full day package tours included snorkeling of which I was deathly afraid after an aborted experience in Cancun when I was 18 not to mention the overactive imagination that had led me to believe that there were sharks in the lake at my camp at the tender age of 10.
“No problem, no problem,” she replied optimistically. “You go on one tour, half day sunset tour, it take you to Maya beach and kayaking option, no problem.”
“I don’t have to snorkel?” I confirmed.
“No, no – you kayak, others snorkel,” she assured me.
The sunset tour took off from the pier early in the afternoon the next day, when the island was looking at its most beautiful in the tropical sun. It may be dehydration induced delirium that occurs around this time of day, but I am of the opinion that the islands colors get a little brighter, the sand whiter, the sky bluer. My camera agrees with me – this is the best time to take pictures. I settled in to be ferried about for the next 5 hours.
Another disadvantage: I’m not the type of person to make the first move. This of course is not endemic to traveling alone; it’s only a problem when I do it. Some will be surprised to hear this since my friends know I’m not shy; it’s just that I’m terrible at introducing myself to strangers. I adore talking to people in situations like this, but I’ll never initiate these conversations – probably born of the crippling fear that I’ll run out of things to say or ask and that awkward silence that I abhor will set in.
There was an assorted crew of European and Japanese tourists aboard, from what I could gather from the introductions going on around me. Sleepy from the afternoon sun, I missed my chance to get in with the group early and thus spent the next 5 hours in solitary contemplation, trapped on a boat with people chatting all around me. This was a mistake for which I was to pay.
Our first stop was the whimsically monikered ‘Monkey Island’. Environmentalists, beware: bags of fruit in hands of over eager boat guides plus monkeys plus delighted, cooing tourists does not eco-tourism make. The monkeys are smaller than the variety that we see at Kadod High School and their domestication made me incredibly sad, their plump rumps perched on the sand, hands outstretched eagerly for food. Ugh.
Happily, this was a short stop and then we were off to Ko Phi Phi Leh which brightened my outlook considerably. They put on the same beach mix which seems omnipresent here: I’m convinced that all the businesses have copies of the same pirated mp3 CD that they keep playing on loop, a mix of James Blunt, Bob Marley, Weezer and other assorted ‘island’ themed music. However, in my state of mind, I felt peaceful as we skimmed along the waves of the sea towards the towering cliffs of Phi Phi Leh. Around me, some Aussies were hanging off the side of the boat at a dangerous angle, a lone Brit was chatting up a Swiss girl traveling alone and a Japanese couple was taking photos of each other on the prow of the boat. I caught the eye of the Brit and Swiss girl a few times, but just couldn’t bring myself to say anything and instead turned my head to look out over the ocean.
Two unfortunate things followed:
First, we arrived at our snorkeling/kayaking destination. Kayaking, of course, required two people and while Brit and Swiss girl took off on the first kayak, my anti-social tendencies meant that despite my crippling fear of fish I found myself telling the man passing out snorkel fins my shoe size and snapping them on my unwilling feet while fitting a mask over my face. Luckily, this was not to be a repeat of the Cancun debacle (where I spent a lot of time screaming and running from fish and eventually ended up back on the boat just sitting, to the amusement of my family) – the water was deep and the coral was fairly far away from the surface, so I could enjoy the sights without having to get too close to them. (Note: afterwards, Aussies get back on boat saying “Did you check out those barracuda?!”)
Second, shortly after we left the snorkeling site, we arrived at a small bay strung up with ropes through a cave. I balked as I listened to the description of what we were going to have to do: first, jump off the boat and swim to shore; second, clamber into the cave over rocky, uneven, sharp coral using the ropes to pull ourselves up. Third, proceed through the cave which was really an underpass to the other side and fourth, walk through the jungle for a few minutes before arriving at the bliss that was supposed to be Maya Bay.
I should qualify my horror by saying that I hate bathing suits. They are uncomfortable, I’m constantly worrying about what is showing and what is not and I’ll barely stand up on the beach wearing mine to walk to the water, much less scramble nimbly over rocks and cross jungles. But, I found myself jumping into the water behind everyone else and doing an efficient breast-stroke to shore. The clambering and jungle walking was not as arduous as described (though still resented) and soon I found myself emerging from the palms into the famed Maya Bay, which was every bit as lovely as the guidebooks described. The late afternoon rays of the sun lit up the surrounding rock faces and gave everything a beautiful hue of gold. The bay is very touristy – there were a number of other tours on the beach at the same time as us, such that a multinational game of soccer broke out spontaneously on the beach while the rest of us looked on.
The rest of those from our boat split off into groups and began to explore, building on the friendships that they’d started earlier on the boat. Alone and feeling vulnerable wandering in my bathing suit, I toddled up and down the beach, went into the water for a bit, took some pictures and then realized we still had 45 minutes before it would be time to leave. I settled myself down on a stray log of driftwood and watched the Thais kick the European tourists’ asses in soccer.
All in all, I was happy I went because I did enjoy Maya Bay and the boat ride (and the lovely sunset) but I was peeved that I hadn’t done more to set myself up for success in this forced social situation.
Finally, a perk: While it may be hard to initiate conversations, in most cases being alone is a magnet for company. I’m always grateful when someone talks to me because after all, I do love meeting people but don’t feel I have to take any responsibility for how the conversation goes. Luckily, my apparent lack of traveling companion and (perhaps?) winning smile make me a popular person to chat up. Case in point: because the boat trip got back later than expected, it meant that I was finally within striking range of seeing the Fire Show that I’d been eyeing at Carlito’s Bar the past few nights. The show doesn’t start until 10:30 pm and since I get hungry much earlier than this and don’t like wandering aimlessly, I’ve been going back to the hotel to watch TV until fall asleep instead of staying out. However, in this case, when I finished my dinner it was the perfect time to head over. Carlito’s is a very chill affair: plastic chairs on the beach around low lying plastic tables centered around a stage on which small Thai ladies and man twirl huge balls of fire (apologies, Elvis) dare devil style around the stage. It’s the kind of thing where initially it is difficult to see the attraction, but then you realize that everyone in the audience is sitting there merely waiting for the moment when something will go terribly wrong.
I was seated on my own when a very blond girl came up, asked me if I was alone and, on hearing the affirmative, sat down with me. She turned out to be Noelle, the Swedish croupier whose traveling companions had gone off to party at the Irish bar across town (at which, I had observed the night before in passing, a Scotsman dressed only in a palm skirt and headdress next to a girl wearing a glow paint body suit smearing the same blue and orange paint on a bare chested Brit) and she, not being up for such a scene, had decided on this place. She educated me on the joys of Swedish hip hop (which, apparently, the bar played profusely though it sounded like regular pop music to me) while I provided an appreciative audience and asked about her travels. These musings were interrupted by a nice-enough looking guy sitting down next to us to ask if he could join in, or if we wanted to come and join him and his friends.
As we took a seat in the circle of chairs, one woman and four men, the guy turned to me and asked my name in a markedly North American accent.
“I’m Cat,” I said, furrowing my brow, “And you are… Canadian, American?” The latter seemed so unlikely.
I was delighted to find that they were a group of 30 something Americans from California (one girl working for the UN in Pakistan), all former college friends traveling about on a group vacation. This may sound awful but I adore talking to my own country-men and women abroad. There is something so fulfilling about not having to do the same cultural compare and contrast that every conversation seems to take when talking to people abroad. What’s more, it seemed that we had the same travel itinerary, but reversed: they had just come from Siam Reap and Chiang Mai and had only arrived in the islands at 6 pm that day. To my own surprise, I found that I was having such a good time I did not arrive back at my hotel until 2 am, disproving my theory that I am, in fact, an old woman at heart.
The balance between these encounters and my solitary musings are becoming easier to manage a week into my trip. Perhaps I’ll have it mastered by the time I’m ready to return?
Only time will tell.
Best,
Cat
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Of Nails and Cocktails
Dear dedicated reader,
“Where are you going?” The tall Australian looking guy sitting in the seat next to my vacant window one asked me as I slid by and smoothed out my shirt as I buckled my airline regulation safety belt.
“Um,” his question caught me up for a moment. “I don’t know?” I answered truthfully.
This answer caused him to erupt into a belly laugh. At his genuine mirth, I relaxed a bit and tried to explain. It was the beginning of one of those convenient travel friendships, the kind that begin on a plane and end upon reaching your destination. Slate, the 35 year old New Zealander who lived in Australia and worked in computers and I spent the 1 hour flight from Bangkok (whose airport I did not even step out of before boarding this flight directly to the Islands) had lived in India, had been to Thailand before and was looking forward to getting back to the beach to rock climb his heart out over the next two weeks.
For my part, I tried to explain my hodge podge trip: one week at the beach, moonlighting in Bangkok, Cambodia and then the one that always amuses: my errand to meet my great uncle who I’ve never met but have heard about my whole life and investigate the possible nefarious doings of his Thai caretaker (dog-meat packing? Is this really possible?) I ham up this last part – so far it has never failed to amuse.
Explaining who I am and what I do is kind of like back when I used to canvass for Greenpeace, spending 5 hours a day standing on the hot summer Philadelphia streets. The shopowners, for all that they were annoyed that we’d chosen their block that day, would take pity on us and bring us sodas and sometimes sandwiches, or sometimes people would even make “personal donations” - $5 in cash earmarked for lunch for one canvasser. My current situation tends to elicit the same reaction from the non-NGO crowd – in this case, as we split a taxi to the town of Krabi from which he would head to the rock-climbing and only accessible by boat beach of West Railay, as I opened my wallet he stopped me and said, “Save your money for a cocktail, please.”
After we parted ways at the town pier, I took a moment to reflect. I really didn’t have any idea where I was going. I mean, I knew I was going to Ao Nang but I was alone, in a new country, and didn’t have any idea where to stay. I’d meant to look at the guidebook pages I’d printed out on the plane but had been too wrapped up in hearing the details of Slate’s life to remember to look.
Then it began to rain.
And lucky for me, I took shelter in the nearest tourist agency whose services normally I would abhor but I was to discover that really they were the easiest and friendliest way of getting things done. They got me booked into a reasonably priced hotel, got me on public transportation to Ao Nang and all with a lovely smile, namaste style hand clasp and bow.
After sleeping off both my crazy weekend with Kate’s German roommates who run a dance party scene called Berlin Sound Tamasha and and my red-eye flight to Bangkok which I had thought was 5 hours but turned out only to be 3.5, I emerged in the afternoon sun to explore this so called sea resort town. It reminded me most of the Jersey Shore but without the big hair. I was, as the tourist agency had promised, only a five minute walk from the beach and above it high sea cliffs rose, framing the bay which was rippling, sparkling unexpected blue.
“Thai massage?” A woman idled by the side of the path leading along the beach, with a flyer which she offered to me as I paused, urban shield broken for a minute by the sense of calm flooding in from my surroundings.
“Uh, no, but thank you,” I nodded, accepting her flyer.
“Okay, later, later you come back,” she said to me optimistically and undeterred. Then she bowed and moved on to the next person. This is the best part of traveling outside of India.
I was solicited by a few other women for massages unsuccessfully until one woman, perhaps the one who could read my mind, said, “I do manicures and pedicures too…”
This stopped me up short. I took a brief glance at the sorry state of my feet which tread barefoot in Gujarat most of the day and are covered in callouses and soot. “Okay,” I said immediately. She took me by the hand and led me far down the path. Her name was “Julie” or so she said and as we walked we entered into an area at the end of the beach full of open air, thatched roof hut after another, full of women massaging sun-burned foreigners, sitting idly while their children played waiting for business or chatting with the women next door.
“Here, Here, this is me,” she indicated in Thai accented English, “number 12.” It looked exactly like the other shops: cushioned chairs in the front, mats laid with pillows and clean looking sheets in the back for those interested in massages. A no frills sign indicated that this was “Shop #12” and gave a no-nonsense list of their services and prices.
She pushed me back into one of the cushioned chairs. Since this edged up onto the beach, I could, from this vantage point, enjoy watching the sea softly lap at the shore below the striking high cliffs as she examined my nails and feet.
She pointed to my nails, which had been dyed brown thanks to Taiyaba and her family’s overzealous application of henna at Eid – “you are muslim?” she asked me, concerned.
I laughed. “Uh, no – this was because of my friends, for Eid” I said by way of explanation.
“Ah,” she said, thoughtfully. “Your muslim friends. They do like this.”
I don’t know enough about the relationship between religions in Thailand to know if this was a good or bad thing.
She and another woman got to work on my hands and feet as they handed me a cut stick of pineapple for my enjoyment. As I sat, crunching on pineapple, looking out over the ocean, it occurred to me that I was finally on vacation: a delightful feeling.
At least, this was relaxing until half way through I realized that she keeps her manicuring tools in a dirty bucket.
Best,
Cat
P.S. Aren't my toes pretty?
“Where are you going?” The tall Australian looking guy sitting in the seat next to my vacant window one asked me as I slid by and smoothed out my shirt as I buckled my airline regulation safety belt.
“Um,” his question caught me up for a moment. “I don’t know?” I answered truthfully.
This answer caused him to erupt into a belly laugh. At his genuine mirth, I relaxed a bit and tried to explain. It was the beginning of one of those convenient travel friendships, the kind that begin on a plane and end upon reaching your destination. Slate, the 35 year old New Zealander who lived in Australia and worked in computers and I spent the 1 hour flight from Bangkok (whose airport I did not even step out of before boarding this flight directly to the Islands) had lived in India, had been to Thailand before and was looking forward to getting back to the beach to rock climb his heart out over the next two weeks.
For my part, I tried to explain my hodge podge trip: one week at the beach, moonlighting in Bangkok, Cambodia and then the one that always amuses: my errand to meet my great uncle who I’ve never met but have heard about my whole life and investigate the possible nefarious doings of his Thai caretaker (dog-meat packing? Is this really possible?) I ham up this last part – so far it has never failed to amuse.
Explaining who I am and what I do is kind of like back when I used to canvass for Greenpeace, spending 5 hours a day standing on the hot summer Philadelphia streets. The shopowners, for all that they were annoyed that we’d chosen their block that day, would take pity on us and bring us sodas and sometimes sandwiches, or sometimes people would even make “personal donations” - $5 in cash earmarked for lunch for one canvasser. My current situation tends to elicit the same reaction from the non-NGO crowd – in this case, as we split a taxi to the town of Krabi from which he would head to the rock-climbing and only accessible by boat beach of West Railay, as I opened my wallet he stopped me and said, “Save your money for a cocktail, please.”
After we parted ways at the town pier, I took a moment to reflect. I really didn’t have any idea where I was going. I mean, I knew I was going to Ao Nang but I was alone, in a new country, and didn’t have any idea where to stay. I’d meant to look at the guidebook pages I’d printed out on the plane but had been too wrapped up in hearing the details of Slate’s life to remember to look.
Then it began to rain.
And lucky for me, I took shelter in the nearest tourist agency whose services normally I would abhor but I was to discover that really they were the easiest and friendliest way of getting things done. They got me booked into a reasonably priced hotel, got me on public transportation to Ao Nang and all with a lovely smile, namaste style hand clasp and bow.
After sleeping off both my crazy weekend with Kate’s German roommates who run a dance party scene called Berlin Sound Tamasha and and my red-eye flight to Bangkok which I had thought was 5 hours but turned out only to be 3.5, I emerged in the afternoon sun to explore this so called sea resort town. It reminded me most of the Jersey Shore but without the big hair. I was, as the tourist agency had promised, only a five minute walk from the beach and above it high sea cliffs rose, framing the bay which was rippling, sparkling unexpected blue.
“Thai massage?” A woman idled by the side of the path leading along the beach, with a flyer which she offered to me as I paused, urban shield broken for a minute by the sense of calm flooding in from my surroundings.
“Uh, no, but thank you,” I nodded, accepting her flyer.
“Okay, later, later you come back,” she said to me optimistically and undeterred. Then she bowed and moved on to the next person. This is the best part of traveling outside of India.
I was solicited by a few other women for massages unsuccessfully until one woman, perhaps the one who could read my mind, said, “I do manicures and pedicures too…”
This stopped me up short. I took a brief glance at the sorry state of my feet which tread barefoot in Gujarat most of the day and are covered in callouses and soot. “Okay,” I said immediately. She took me by the hand and led me far down the path. Her name was “Julie” or so she said and as we walked we entered into an area at the end of the beach full of open air, thatched roof hut after another, full of women massaging sun-burned foreigners, sitting idly while their children played waiting for business or chatting with the women next door.
“Here, Here, this is me,” she indicated in Thai accented English, “number 12.” It looked exactly like the other shops: cushioned chairs in the front, mats laid with pillows and clean looking sheets in the back for those interested in massages. A no frills sign indicated that this was “Shop #12” and gave a no-nonsense list of their services and prices.
She pushed me back into one of the cushioned chairs. Since this edged up onto the beach, I could, from this vantage point, enjoy watching the sea softly lap at the shore below the striking high cliffs as she examined my nails and feet.
She pointed to my nails, which had been dyed brown thanks to Taiyaba and her family’s overzealous application of henna at Eid – “you are muslim?” she asked me, concerned.
I laughed. “Uh, no – this was because of my friends, for Eid” I said by way of explanation.
“Ah,” she said, thoughtfully. “Your muslim friends. They do like this.”
I don’t know enough about the relationship between religions in Thailand to know if this was a good or bad thing.
She and another woman got to work on my hands and feet as they handed me a cut stick of pineapple for my enjoyment. As I sat, crunching on pineapple, looking out over the ocean, it occurred to me that I was finally on vacation: a delightful feeling.
At least, this was relaxing until half way through I realized that she keeps her manicuring tools in a dirty bucket.
Best,
Cat
P.S. Aren't my toes pretty?
Monday, October 12, 2009
Upcoming Trip!
Dear neglected reader,
Apologies have been in order for some time - instead, I offer you something new. I've found that my ability to produce material for this blog has decreased directly in proportion to the increase in the number of people I now look after here - hopefully you can enjoy their reflections here: http://www.nanubhai-classrooms.blogspot.com
However, my vacation is looming on the horizon and my fingers are itching to dash and dance across the keyboard for the benefit of this blog once again. So, while I cannot guarantee insightful or witty commentary on my travels, I can promise a truthful account of what I encounter on my first trip to Asia outside of South Asia!
I'll be heading from Delhi to Thailand to Cambodia from October 15th through November 4th when I will return to Mumbai. Here's the detailed itinerary:
Oct 15 - 17: Arrive in Delhi to stay with Kate! Highlights will include reliving a bygone era of college days clubbing in New Delhi.
Oct 18: Arrive in Bangkok - proceed straight to Krabi in southern Thailand!
Oct 19 - 20: Ao Nang and Railay
Oct 21 - 23: Ko Phi Phi, island paradise!
Oct 24: Return to Krabi and fly to Bangkok
Oct 24 - 26: Bangkok
Oct 26 - 28: Meet up with Kim An Ting and his wife in Siem Reap and enjoy a personal tour of Angkor Wat!
Oct 28 - Nov 4: Head to Chiang Mai, take a Thai Cooking class, go trekking and meet my mysterious great Uncle Kaign!
I've been equipped by many a seasoned traveler with tips and tricks and even a useful phrases sheet from Kirsten, our India Program Director who taught English in Thailand for some time, which includes everything from 'papaya salad' (a must, I'm told) to "Where is the bathroom?"
I've traveled alone before in India, but never for this long so I'm somewhat apprehensive... however, I feel confident that in a place as attractive to backpackers and travelers as South-East Asia I'm sure to make some friends along the way. I can't help but think of Jason, the film-making, post-delivering, jolly Canadian guy that Dennis and I met on our trip to Ireland who joined our party of two to make a very happy and enjoyable three!
Wish me luck! Two days left to pack and ready myself!
Best,
Cat
Apologies have been in order for some time - instead, I offer you something new. I've found that my ability to produce material for this blog has decreased directly in proportion to the increase in the number of people I now look after here - hopefully you can enjoy their reflections here: http://www.nanubhai-classrooms.blogspot.com
However, my vacation is looming on the horizon and my fingers are itching to dash and dance across the keyboard for the benefit of this blog once again. So, while I cannot guarantee insightful or witty commentary on my travels, I can promise a truthful account of what I encounter on my first trip to Asia outside of South Asia!
I'll be heading from Delhi to Thailand to Cambodia from October 15th through November 4th when I will return to Mumbai. Here's the detailed itinerary:
Oct 15 - 17: Arrive in Delhi to stay with Kate! Highlights will include reliving a bygone era of college days clubbing in New Delhi.
Oct 18: Arrive in Bangkok - proceed straight to Krabi in southern Thailand!
Oct 19 - 20: Ao Nang and Railay
Oct 21 - 23: Ko Phi Phi, island paradise!
Oct 24: Return to Krabi and fly to Bangkok
Oct 24 - 26: Bangkok
Oct 26 - 28: Meet up with Kim An Ting and his wife in Siem Reap and enjoy a personal tour of Angkor Wat! Oct 28 - Nov 4: Head to Chiang Mai, take a Thai Cooking class, go trekking and meet my mysterious great Uncle Kaign!
I've been equipped by many a seasoned traveler with tips and tricks and even a useful phrases sheet from Kirsten, our India Program Director who taught English in Thailand for some time, which includes everything from 'papaya salad' (a must, I'm told) to "Where is the bathroom?"
I've traveled alone before in India, but never for this long so I'm somewhat apprehensive... however, I feel confident that in a place as attractive to backpackers and travelers as South-East Asia I'm sure to make some friends along the way. I can't help but think of Jason, the film-making, post-delivering, jolly Canadian guy that Dennis and I met on our trip to Ireland who joined our party of two to make a very happy and enjoyable three!
Wish me luck! Two days left to pack and ready myself!
Best,
Cat
Friday, July 31, 2009
Alternative Transport System
Dear dedicated reader,
After many aborted attempts to get my driver’s license so I could buy a motor scooter and zip happily and efficiently between the schools I must visit to observe our Fellows, I must bow to the monolith of Indian bureaucracy and admit defeat. Why I cannot get my license is an overdue story for another time: needless to say, I have discovered another way to jet between schools and it is not the bumbling local bus system.
I stumbled upon the “chakra” system of transportation by accident: I never had any reason to discover it when I lived in Kadod because I never had any reason to travel anywhere that wasn’t regularly serviced by buses. A chakra is an over-sized autorickshaw: basically like a normal auto-rickshaw but with a backseat. I’ve sometimes heard them referred to as tempos in other places around the country. Locally, they are the source of controversy and with reason: I thought it was only my American sensibilities that found the idea of cramming 14 people into space meant comfortably for 7 and watching the driver drive with four men sharing the front seat with him ludicrous, but it turns out the locals feel this way as well. Darshanbhai, Kadod’s local phone booth owner, warned me off the chakras, citing the state of Indian roads: “Driving is crazy! In buses, government will give you money for accident and hurt. Government will give you nothing if you are hurt in chakra!”
Sadly, I must take my chances. The entrepreneurial spirit of the chakra drivers appeals to me and furthermore, the bus only comes about once every one and a half to two hours. To take a chakra is the same price as the bus and they leave much more often. What is the catch, I hear you ask? Well, they drive like maniacs, overcrowd the vehicle to the point of people hanging off of it and they won’t leave until they’ve reached hanging off capacity, which means you could be waiting for the chakra to go almost as long as the bus, depending on the time of day. However, its added modicum of efficiency is enough to convert me to traveling using the system daily.
I found myself waiting today, as I often am, at the Madhi bus station. In order to get from my current residence in Bajipura to visit my old home town of Kadod and the new teachers stationed there, I must change chakras at the Madhi bus stand, which is located in between Kadod and Bajipura since there are no direct chakras that go from Bajipura to Kadod. This change can take anywhere from 5 to 50 minutes, depending on the time of day and the whim/greed of the chakra drivers.
The drivers themselves, despite their insistence on ignoring my pleas to please leave when they have sufficient passengers, have taken an interest in me. Because I’m often at the station by myself in the middle of the day waiting in the back of one or another of their vehicles, in the beginning, they took to standing around at a safe distance and gawking at me. When the word spread that I could speak Hindi (the chakra network updates almost as quickly as Twitter, or so it would seem), they dared to take a step closer and ask me a few questions, mostly predictable: where are you from? Why are you here? Do you know those other girls teaching at Madhi? Do you like India? Etc.
At first, I answered cautiously, unsure of their motivation. I was still new at the system, I hadn’t yet learned which drivers go between which villages and who lives where and who will take you home if you get stuck near nightfall at the Madhi bus station or who will let you pay later if you don’t have a five rupee coin. Each passing day, I’ve learned more: who listens to old hindi music and which drivers like the poppy new versions, who has children, who can read. Each day, they’ve asked me more about myself: why did I come here? Why do we teach in the schools? Do I miss my family? Who is in my family? The camaraderie between myself and these men, young and old, was totally unexpected.
It still won’t get them to leave with only 13 passengers though. Rupee beats relationship, or so it would seem.
Best,
Cat
After many aborted attempts to get my driver’s license so I could buy a motor scooter and zip happily and efficiently between the schools I must visit to observe our Fellows, I must bow to the monolith of Indian bureaucracy and admit defeat. Why I cannot get my license is an overdue story for another time: needless to say, I have discovered another way to jet between schools and it is not the bumbling local bus system.
I stumbled upon the “chakra” system of transportation by accident: I never had any reason to discover it when I lived in Kadod because I never had any reason to travel anywhere that wasn’t regularly serviced by buses. A chakra is an over-sized autorickshaw: basically like a normal auto-rickshaw but with a backseat. I’ve sometimes heard them referred to as tempos in other places around the country. Locally, they are the source of controversy and with reason: I thought it was only my American sensibilities that found the idea of cramming 14 people into space meant comfortably for 7 and watching the driver drive with four men sharing the front seat with him ludicrous, but it turns out the locals feel this way as well. Darshanbhai, Kadod’s local phone booth owner, warned me off the chakras, citing the state of Indian roads: “Driving is crazy! In buses, government will give you money for accident and hurt. Government will give you nothing if you are hurt in chakra!”
Sadly, I must take my chances. The entrepreneurial spirit of the chakra drivers appeals to me and furthermore, the bus only comes about once every one and a half to two hours. To take a chakra is the same price as the bus and they leave much more often. What is the catch, I hear you ask? Well, they drive like maniacs, overcrowd the vehicle to the point of people hanging off of it and they won’t leave until they’ve reached hanging off capacity, which means you could be waiting for the chakra to go almost as long as the bus, depending on the time of day. However, its added modicum of efficiency is enough to convert me to traveling using the system daily. I found myself waiting today, as I often am, at the Madhi bus station. In order to get from my current residence in Bajipura to visit my old home town of Kadod and the new teachers stationed there, I must change chakras at the Madhi bus stand, which is located in between Kadod and Bajipura since there are no direct chakras that go from Bajipura to Kadod. This change can take anywhere from 5 to 50 minutes, depending on the time of day and the whim/greed of the chakra drivers.
The drivers themselves, despite their insistence on ignoring my pleas to please leave when they have sufficient passengers, have taken an interest in me. Because I’m often at the station by myself in the middle of the day waiting in the back of one or another of their vehicles, in the beginning, they took to standing around at a safe distance and gawking at me. When the word spread that I could speak Hindi (the chakra network updates almost as quickly as Twitter, or so it would seem), they dared to take a step closer and ask me a few questions, mostly predictable: where are you from? Why are you here? Do you know those other girls teaching at Madhi? Do you like India? Etc.
At first, I answered cautiously, unsure of their motivation. I was still new at the system, I hadn’t yet learned which drivers go between which villages and who lives where and who will take you home if you get stuck near nightfall at the Madhi bus station or who will let you pay later if you don’t have a five rupee coin. Each passing day, I’ve learned more: who listens to old hindi music and which drivers like the poppy new versions, who has children, who can read. Each day, they’ve asked me more about myself: why did I come here? Why do we teach in the schools? Do I miss my family? Who is in my family? The camaraderie between myself and these men, young and old, was totally unexpected.
It still won’t get them to leave with only 13 passengers though. Rupee beats relationship, or so it would seem.
Best,
Cat
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Poor Substitute
Dear dedicated reader,
I am sorely behind in my accounts to you. I don't make my apology lightly - I think about you almost daily and hope that my anecdotes of daily life here can resume once things become a little more settled. In the meantime, I present the following to you as a poor substitute for my usual detailed updates.
I had an article published in the Indian paper DNA recently that provides a more rounded reflection on my experience than I usually provide. If you are interested, it can be found here:
http://www.dnaindia.com/india/interview_indian-student-works-hard-but-isn-t-prepared-for-jobs_1273822
Best,
Cat
I am sorely behind in my accounts to you. I don't make my apology lightly - I think about you almost daily and hope that my anecdotes of daily life here can resume once things become a little more settled. In the meantime, I present the following to you as a poor substitute for my usual detailed updates.
I had an article published in the Indian paper DNA recently that provides a more rounded reflection on my experience than I usually provide. If you are interested, it can be found here:
http://www.dnaindia.com/india/interview_indian-student-works-hard-but-isn-t-prepared-for-jobs_1273822
Best,
Cat
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