It seems that everything symbolizes “good luck” in China. I believe so far our tour group has been told that several varieties of flowers, pearls, the wearing of Jade, and even bats are all “good luck.” Some things may not be so straightforward in their symbolism; for instance, the Qilin – a mythical being that is part dragon, part horse – symbolizes prosperity and success. And the dragon can be used to symbolize happiness. But those meanings sound pretty favorable to me, too. If I can’t have good luck, I would be fine if I were stuck with “prosperity” or “happiness.” What struck me, however, was not only the plethora of good luck symbols (though it seems a great deal more than we have in Western Culture, which limits itself to one number – 7 – a rabbits foot, and perhaps the occasional clover), but that there was a noticeable dearth of “bad luck” symbols. For example, in Western culture, it’s “bad luck” to walk under a ladder. Or cross paths with a black cat. Or break a mirror. Or do any number of things. But here, the only thing I heard of being “bad luck” was to somehow deface or harm one of the good luck symbols.

One night we went to a dumpling banquet that finished with a soup into which tiny little dumplings were scattered. Our waitress began to tell us the meaning behind the number of mini-dumplings we received in our bowl of soup: “‘One dumpling means ‘good journey,’ two dumplings means “good fortune,” and so on. I kept waiting for her to reach a number that was some sort of bad luck, or simply devoid of luck, but it didn’t happen. It seemed that no matter how many dumplings appeared in one’s soup, there was some variation of “good luck.”
Thinking we had finally found an oversight in the good-luck line-up, we asked the waitress, “But, what if we don’t get any dumplings in our soup?” She paused as she ladled out the last bowl of soup. “No worries,” she replied.

Here are a few “auspicious” Chinese symbols and their meanings:

• Chrysanthemum – “life of ease” (and good luck in the home)
• Citron – luck and happiness
• pearl – wealth, good luck, and prosperity
• the number 9 – good luck (because it is the largest possible single digit)
• bat – good luck (the word “bat” in Chinese sounds identical in the word for “good fortune”)
• Qilin – a mythical dragon/horse creature which symbolizes prosperity and success
• phoenix – heaven’s favor, virtue, grace, luck and happiness
• dragon – success

Acrobatics Show

Yin and yang. In opposition to the Western belief that “you can’t have too much of a good thing,” China seems to operate on the belief that happiness and health follow naturally from a balanced life.

While in the country, I don’t remember seeing many (if any at all) billboards for miracle diets, or ways to “lose 25 pounds in two weeks.” But there also seemed to be a noticeable dearth of overweight Chinese people. In addition to a diet which omits certain popular food groups in America (“McDonald’s,” for one), a great number of people exercise on a regular basis. Driving through the city early in the morning, our bus passed groups of people on the sidewalks and in front of buildings, dancing together. In the evenings, we saw these areas fill with people stretching, or doing tai-chi. We even had the honor of joining a group of retirees in a game of what we called “hacky-disc” (similar to “hacky-sack, but played with a disc with feathers sprouting from one end) in a park. Granted, I didn’t see a lot of body-builder types strolling down the sidewalks in any of the cities we visited. But it seems that just a moderate amount of exercise every day is enough for a healthy “balance.”

The philosophy of balance extends beyond the people and into the architecture of the cities. Some of the tallest buildings I’ve ever seen are there, packed so densely I felt like I was in a set from Bladerunner; but sprinkled across the cities and nestled right next to these skyscrapers are lush, green parks. The juxtaposition of these two environments strike a stark contrast with one another: man-made steel towering above stretches of bright green grass and quiet ponds; imposing buildings next to inviting trees. It’s at once utilitarian and beautiful, beneficial for business and an individual’s peace of mind.

The way balance is so seamlessly integrated into so many aspects of their lives is truly beautiful and, as many things do on my travels, gave me something to ponder and perhaps implement in my own life. Now if only my life of balance could help me to ride a bicycle while standing atop the seat, like these acrobats…

In Front of the Forbidden City

Walking into the Forbidden City, I felt immediately dwarfed by its vastness. With over 800 buildings and 9,000 rooms, it’s certainly more of a city than a palace. But its multitude of rooms aren’t what make it seem so immense: it’s the enormous courtyard in the middle of the compound, stretching itself in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony. This area is completely open – the 15 layers of stone used to construct the ground of this expanse make it impossible for trees to grow, so it remains flat and empty. Looking up from the entrance to the square, I was confronted with the imposing image of the Hall. I could imagine being amid a throng of people, craning our necks and straining to catch a glimpse of the emperor, far above us, during some important ceremony.

Of course, to have been in the Forbidden City prior to 1925, I would have either had to have been a concubine or a eunuch, toward neither of which I have any inclination. But for those who did live inside the walls, it must have been a wondrous place: the wooden buildings are painted in vibrant hues. Blues, golds and greens adorn the rafters, with red columns underneath. There are water channels under the foundations, to bring cool relief in the summer and warmth in the winter. As long as one managed to avoid the political alliances that were often forged and then toppled, it could have been a very peaceful life. In fact, many young women hoped to be selected as one of the Emperor’s concubines because living in the Forbidden City, even in such a role, was preferable to potentially going hungry outside of it.

Nowhere else in the Forbidden City was I able to picture quite so clearly what it would have been like to live here. As I meandered down the open streets and through smaller courtyards, the throngs of people bumped and jostled these thoughts out of my head. At times I even struggled to remind myself I was in a structure that was built over 600 years ago. It all looked as though it had a fresh coat of paint on it, and the wood has held up surprisingly well. Nowhere were the crumbling rocks and fading frescoes I had become accustomed to while in Europe. While this fresh look was beautiful, and I was entranced by the vivid colors, it did prevent me – for much of the visit – from feeling like I was in the presence of antiquity.

Nevertheless, it is a beautiful city. Grand and equally as impressive as any cathedral or palace I’ve seen elsewhere. In some ways, such as in technology, more so. For me, it only lacked a certain demand of reverence that I expected a place so old to possess.

Or, even if you haven’t seen everything there is to see in Los Angeles, but like me, you’re craving some adventurous outdoors-time and lack the time and money to go on a roadtrip, then Angeles National Forest is the place for you.

Not only is the park, which lies just north of Los Angeles, a welcome respite from the asphalt and high-rises of the city, but it is also the only place in California you can do a state-licensed bungee jump off a bridge.

Of course, I wasn’t planning on bungee-ing when I went. Oh, sure – I thought about it when my roommate, Sarah, told me she had researched some bungee company and made a reservation to jump. But I quickly came to the conclusion that bridges were made for walking and driving on, not jumping off. So, when Thea (another one of our friends) and I went with Sarah to Angeles National Forest on Saturday, it was purely for moral support and to enjoy the beautiful hike on the way to the jump site.

When we met the Bungee America group in Azusa before caravaning up to the trailhead, they weighed all of us to ascertain which weight category we fell into for the bungee cords, even those of us who protested that we were only going along to watch our friends jump. But, even though the logical (though perhaps naive) part of me was asking, “Why do you need to remember that? You’re not jumping, silly!” I found myself memorizing which jump group I would be in.

The trail to the jump site is beautiful, meandering along the edge of a river that cuts through the mountains. It feels worlds away from the city, with no trace of humanity save the subtle delineation of the path in front of you. And it’s much more challenging than I expected: we waded through the river at least six times, crossing back and forth to pick up the trail on the opposite bank. The sun was already beating down on us at 10am, and I was not a little worried about a few guys in the group who seemed to have brought something in their water bottles that was intended to help them make the leap off the bridge, but might not have been as effective at helping them navigate the narrow, rocky ledges or deal with the heat.

Sarah took advantage of the two hour hike as an opportunity to try to talk Thea and me into making the jump with her. And actually, by the end of the hike, I could almost picture myself doing it – making the jump and having wonderful, heroic stories to tell afterward; knowing that I can, in fact, be a thrill-seeker when I so choose. Then, we arrived at the bridge.

“The Bridge to Nowhere,” as it is named, spans the rocky, boulder-filled gorge that the river runs through 150 feet below. I leaned slightly over the concrete railing of the bridge to see just what the jumpers were facing, and the first thought that popped into my head was a vehement, “Hell, no!“

Don’t get me wrong – it’s a beautiful site. The river rushing over the giant, smooth boulders. The rocks all worn smooth by the force of the water. But, the thought of freefalling towards it made it appear less beautiful and more… well… fatal.

We were all tired from our trek, and we sat on the bridge to eat our lunch and, for some, to ponder their fate. Soon, “jump school” began, and Michael, a “jump master” from Bungee America began explaining how this whole plummeting off bridges thing works (though I don’t think he phrased it that way).

That logical, and slightly naive, side of my brain was still asking, “Why do you need to know this? Did you see that view over the railing? We are not going down there.” But, I listened anyway, and heard all about how they’re certified by the same people who license theme park attractions; and how, even if all the bungee cords break except for one (people typically have at least three, if not more, bungee cords on a jump) you’ll still be just fine and won’t hit the rocks below; and how, in over 13 years, they’ve never had an injury. Well, all those things sounded pretty reasonable to me. It began to seem like a fairly safe thing to do, actually, jumping off this bridge. In fact, it was probably safer than the hike we just went on, where we were crossing rocky ledges with no safety ropes. And heck, it had to be way safer than driving on the freeways everyday in Los Angeles. But, the thought of actually committing to this jump still did not seem appealing to me.

Then people started making their jumps. One after another, people were flinging themselves off the bridge. And you know the strangest thing? After awhile, it began to seem normal to be doing this. Just like when people watch hundreds of slasher movies and become numb to the violence, so I was becoming numb to the insanity of plunging off the side of a bridge. I again began to toy with the idea of doing it myself, but through the “numbness,” I could still feel the fear battling with my determination to be adventurous and take this opportunity while I had it. Who knew when I would have the time to do another two hour hike out to this bridge just to jump off of it? Now I was torn and unable to commit to a decision one way or the other.

In the end, what “pushed me over the edge,” so to speak, was something Thea said. As we stood on the bridge, watching person after person hurl themselves off and proceed to bounce like human yo-yos over the rocks below, she looked up and said, “There is just nothing in me that wants to do that.” I stopped, as the logical side of my brain finally acknowledged the apparent facts of the situation: there was a part of me that wanted to do that. Every person I watched I was trying to imagine myself in his or her place, trying to imagine what it would feel like to soar off the side of a bridge and fly over the river below, floating in midair, then freefalling towards the earth until being snapped back up by a giant rubber band. Something about it sounded so… free. I mean, there aren’t many chances in life to see what something like that feels like.

The next thing I knew I was asking Ron, the owner of the company, if I could still decide to make a jump that day. And of course, they’re no dummies: they always let people decide last-minute to jump, even if they don’t sign up ahead of time. So then I was stepping into the harness, having someone check and double check all the straps and buckles. And then, the scariest part of the whole experience: they latched the bungee cord onto me. There was no turning back now. I could feel its weight pulling me towards the edge of the bridge. Only one possibility lay ahead of me, and that was to jump.

Michael, one of the “jump masters,” explained to everyone earlier that there is an invisible wall of fear that exists running along the railing of the bridge. Once you cross it, all the thoughts you had of looking cool, of impressing your friends, of showing off, all disappear and are replaced by one thought: get me back on the other side of that railing! But, as I stepped over the railing onto the tiny red metal jump platform, what I felt most was an overwhelming sense of determination. I may have decided to do this at the last minute, but once I made up my mind, there was no possibility of turning back. So, I jumped.

I never really got that soaring sensation, though. You see, what they tell you is to dive out and then somewhere along the way reach for your toes and you’ll naturally turn upward so the bungee (that’s attached to your stomach) will snap you back up. What they didn’t know was that I did gymnastics for 10 years. And what I didn’t know was they were right on about one thing: after crossing that invisible wall at the top of the bridge, all your thoughts and plans do vanish, and pure instinct takes over. So, when I jumped, rather than freefalling and doing a half turn at the last minute onto my back, I immediately reached for my toes and did a forward double-pike off the dive platform.

Afterward, everyone would tell me it was really impressive, and I’d love to be able to say it was intentional, but it was purely instinct. They had been talking before about the confusion your brain feels when there’s no ground beneath your feet and your body is falling in a way it never has before. The trouble, though, is my brain knows what to do when my feet aren’t on the ground and I’m flying through the air: flip. I remember thinking, “This isn’t what I expected to do.” But it was too late, and before I knew it, I had done two forward flips off the bridge, was at the bottom of my cord, and I was being snapped back up towards the bridge with 3Gs of force. It was awesome!

I honestly don’t remember much about the next part, either. I continued to bounce up and down, back and forth under the bridge, stretching my arms and legs out as if I was a flying squirrel soaring between treetops, partly because I didn’t know what else to do with my limbs as I bounced around on this giant bungee, and partly because I felt like, if I could extend myself as far as possible in every direction, I could somehow experience everything more fully.

I came to a rest all too quickly, and they lowered down the retrieval cord and hauled me back up. It all happened so fast: I was up and over the railing of the bridge before I even had a chance to fully absorb what I had just experienced. I guess that’s why people do more than one jump.

Anyway, to end the long saga of our adventure-filled day, I will simply say that I’m glad I did it. The Angeles National Forest and the hike are amazing, and I will certainly be back to enjoy them. But there is something about jumping off of a bridge and experiencing that total freedom of falling that is invigorating, inspiring and hopeful. I hope you have the chance to experience that as well.

Home to Dallas that is. For those of you wondering, I’ll be back in L.A. on December 2.

Now that I’ve had a few days to recuperate, I felt I should write one final post, if for no other reason than to assure you that, despite my semi-threats on facebook, I did not end up staying in India.

I might have been more inclined to stay. But, Charlie and I had to leave the orphanage on Thursday because some paperwork was not filed correctly. (Phil, could you maybe just skip this paragraph entirely? I can only imagine the reaction to this explanation from someone who works in international law… and it’s not good.) Anyway, it’s not exactly anyone’s fault: it just is what it is. Apparently, we weren’t registered to be at an orphanage (at least, this is what I gathered from having it explained several times in very broken English). Anyway, the man who ran the orphanage (understandably) didn’t want the orphanage or the school that’s attached to it to get caught up in any controversy, so he asked for us to be placed somewhere else.

I can understand his point of view, and his duty to all of the kids at the orphanage, and therefore why he should make that decision. But all that logic didn’t keep my heart from breaking when I had to leave. I would have been leaving in two days anyway, but I would have been more prepared by then… ah well… like I said, it is what it is.

So, Charlie and I left on Thursday to stay at Dr. Bandhu’s house – he’s the local coordinator, and he always has volunteers stay at his house, so there was no problem. In fact, we were joining three people who had already been there several weeks: Christian, a 19-year-old from Norway; Isabella, also 19 and from Germany; and Amber, a 28-year-old from Colorado. So, we got to meet cool new people and have a second life of sorts in India. We went to another girls’ orphanage on Thursday, and to a school on Friday. We saw James Bond (there was an English showing!), we watched Friends and Tarzan on TV… it was quite different than being in the first orphanage, but it was fun.

Saturday was my last day, and since my flight was out of Delhi, we decided to rent a car for the day to take us sightseeing in Delhi. Then they could drop me off at the airport before they went back to the house. There are two quick stories worth sharing from that day:

First was our trip to the police station. Okay, calm down: we only went because Christian had his camera stolen earlier, and we went to file a report. Anyway, after talking to some officers downstairs, they told us to go upstairs to see someone else. But, when we got to the stairs, Isabelle and I had a little moment: a paper sign was posted that read, “No ladies on these stairs.” We asked one of the officers, and she pointed to another set of (seemingly) identical stairs on the opposite side of the lobby. So we took those – right up to the same floor – and met Christian. How weird! I felt like I was an African-American in 1950s America who had just been pointed towards the “colored” water fountain. Weird. So, anyway, I started writing some thank-yous by the landing of the afore-mentioned “forbidden” stairs while waiting for Christian, and I heard a racket, like someone had thrown a chair down the flight of stairs and it was hitting every step on its way to the bottom. I instinctively took a step to the side, and none too soon! Three monkeys came crashing down the stairs, rolling, tumbling and skidding over the marble floor – right through where I had been standing – and then jumped up on the balcony and skittered away. I felt like I was in a scene from Jumanji.

The second experience was one of those “be careful what you wish for” kind of things. Whenever we were out in the cities, people were continually trying to sell us stuff. And usually, it was the same stuff. I saw so many little statues of the elephant God, so many
bracelets, even so many wooden chess boards! I started to think, “If only someone had a product that was really different – then people would buy it!” Well, so as we were walking through the park at Connaught Place, we were approached by a man who – are you ready? -
wanted to clean our ears for us. Yup, you heard right. He had his little tool in his hand (to give him credit, it did look clean, but I wasn’t going to take any chances), and he had a little journal filled with his credentials – glowing praise from his past customers, all in different languages. The weird thing was, I think the book was legit. I think all of those people from around the world actually had let this man clean the “muck” out of their ears, as he said. So, he definitely wins the prize for the one-of-a-kind product… but I’m still not buying it.

My flight home was long (VERY long) but pleasantly uneventful. So now I’m back in Dallas, sorting through loads of pictures and getting ready for Thanksgiving with family. I’ll be sure to let all of you know when the pictures are up, but until then… Thanks for “traveling with me,” and have a great end to your week!

We (Charlie – the girl who joined me at the orphanage and I) are in Agra now. Yesterday we saw the Taj Mahal, and today I saw Fatehpur Sikri (an abandoned city 39 km away) and the Agra Fort. We also fit in a shopping trip, and I now have a beautiful cobalt blue sari with silver trim – I can’t wait to show it off! Maybe it will help me blend in…

It started yesterday at the Taj Mahal. First, let me say that it is exquisite. Absolutely gorgeous. No picture could have prepared me for the first glimpse I caught of it as I passed through the gate before it. Surrounded by darkness, I saw part of the giant white structure, peeking through the doorway, framed by the beautiful scalloped edges of the traditional archways. As I emerged through the doorway and it came into full view, I think my jaw actually dropped just a little.

It’s graceful and powerful at the same time. In person you can see the slight texture of the beautiful white marble. It’s awe-inspiring. Anyway, as I was still staring at the monument (constructed by Shah Jahan for his favorite wife after she died giving birth to her 14th child), a boy of about 12 came up to me and said, “One photo?” He was Indian, and I think that was pretty much the extent of his English. Assuming he wanted me to take a picture of him and his Dad in front of the Taj Mahal, I reached for the camera. He pulled it away from me,and repeated his question, pointing to me. It still took me a minute to figure out he wanted a picture of me… so, fairly confused, I consented and awkwardly posed by myself while he snapped the picture. Later, a woman of about 35 asked me the same question. I caught on a little faster that time, and ended up posing for a picture with her and then for another with her husband. It’s strange to think that I’m the one who looks so different that it merits a photographic record. Is it the light hair? The freckles?

The hair must be part of it, because as I was walking to the red sandstone mosque at Fatehpur Sikri, a group of girls – probably about 14 years old – almost swarmed me, asking me where I was from and trying to touch my hair. I was glad to have a group of people next to me motion for me to come walk with them, and they formed a sort of semi-circle around me to keep the curious girls beyond reach of my hair.

Interesting cultural experiences and crowds aside, seeing the monuments has been magnificent. The red sandstone of the Agra Fort and the mosque is striking, particularly when set against the vivid green of the gardens as it is at the Fort. I was the first person in this morning, trying to catch a glimpse of the Taj Mahal at sunrise from the walls (though the fog made this impossible). The architecture was still beautiful, though, and very similar to the mosque. Both look important and massive, but then have beautiful and tiny details carved into every doorway and column. That, along with the mist and the monkeys at the Fort, made me feel like I was in a lost ruin.

Well, I suppose that’s it for now. Tomorrow we leave for Jaipur, and hopefully I will be able to write again soon!

Namaste!

As I was saying, I defied all laws of physics and probability and made it to the orphanage. And I love it. (I don’t think I mentioned that in the last email, but I should have – right away.) I have fallen in love with the kids there. They are all so sweet, and eager to learn and play.

But back to my arrival. I was greeted outside by the “father” of the orphanage (not any sort of religious father, as they are all Hindu there, but I think of him as the father of all of the children there).

He’s a kind-faced, round sort of man, maybe about 65 years old. I was told to sit (in a chair that was brought for me), and brought Chai tea and “biscuits” (i.e., cookies). First, let me say, this chai tea is like nothing I’ve ever had before. It’s a delicious blend of spices and creamy milk, and there’s definitely some sugar in there, too. It’s a daily necessity – at least four times daily.

Anyway, I tell of this only to begin to exemplify their hospitality. He speaks very little English, but he has told me more than once that I am his guest, like a daughter to him, and he is very happy to have me there. I came here to help with the kids, but I have ended up becoming royalty. They serve me every meal – literally bring it out on a tray, bringing in hot roti and puri off the skillet when mine has disappeared from my plate. And when I’m done, the dishes are silently taken away before I have a chance to say “Dhanywad” (“Thank you” in Hindi). Now I know what you’re thinking: she’s supposed to be there working, helping, she should do other people’s dishes! Trust me, the attempt was made. I’ve tried several times, even just to do my own dishes. My sneakiness worked on about two occasions (when people left the kitchen after bringing me chai), but I was foiled every other time, and honestly, they seem mostly offended if I try to take in my own dishes, or serve my own plate. It disrupts the order of things more than it helps. They are the hosts, I am their guest. That is how they see it, and they have certainly fulfilled that role to its utmost.

And, I feel like part of the family as well. I have learned several words in Hindi, from the girls as well as the adults and my guidebooks. The constant game is pointing at something and exchanging the Hindi and English word for the given object. Or, simply trying to have a conversation – that’s a game in itself. But, I’ve played tag, soccer, duck-duck-goose, and danced with them, too. And yesterday, I learned to make parathas on the stove, and the day before, roti (can’t make the dough, just roll them and fry them).

As far as logistics, there are probably 25 girls, and 15 boys (they stay upstairs, so I don’t see them as much) at the orphanage. The girls range from I think 4 years old to 15. The older ones cook and clean every day, and go to class part of the day. The younger ones go to school, then play the rest of the afternoon til TV watching time in the evening, just before bed. (TV is either an Indian TV show or Tom and Jerry). There is a man (the “father” mentioned before) and a woman (the “mother” as I think of her, about 55 or 60) who play those roles, and Vivek, who is 22 and manages the business side of things. He speaks the most English, but it is still very “weak” according to him (and although it’s much stronger than my Hindi, I’d say that’s still an accurate description).

There is (as you may have guessed) no internet there, so I am forced to cram my lifetime’s worth of experiences from the last week into these two emails now that I am traveling.

So, quickly (I will try to write again sooner this time), I am now in Agra with Charlie, a girl (it’s short for Charlene) who is from England. She came on Thursday, which I was very glad of since it meant I had a traveling buddy. We saw the Taj Mahal, but I will try to save that for another post, as I feel I’m starting to ramble and my fingers are tired of this old keyboard. For now, just know that it is completely and totally amazing, completely and totally different, and I completely and totally love every minute.

p.s. “do” is Hindi for “two”

Hard to believe my time in Edinburgh is almost up. I’ve learned a lot while I’ve been here. For one thing, different patterns of plaid (or “tartan”) are used to represent the different clans in Scotland. (Perhaps those who have seen Braveheart already picked up on this.) There’s a different tartan for every clan, as well as the city of Edinburgh itself, and even for the University of Edinburgh! And, as long as I’m going to mention Braveheart, I also learned from Leanne’s fiance – a native of Edinburgh – that the Scottish accents in that movie are apparently nowhere close to accurate. Ah well… Hollywood can only go so far.

I’ve also learned to always carry an umbrella. Or, at least wear a raincoat. Apparently, the saying goes that if you can see Fife – the land on the other side of the estuary from Edinburgh – clearly, then it’s going to rain. If you can’t see it, then it’s already raining.

But, the clouds do create beautiful lighting. Today I stood in the Abbey at Holyrood Palace (Holyrood Palace is the residence of Her Majesty the Queen when she’s in Edinburgh) and felt like I was on a movie set. The lighting or setting couldn’t have been better if someone had planned it. But it was quite the opposite of planned. The abbey was built in 1128, and after being attacked and partially destroyed by a mob in the 1600s due to Catholic vs. protestant
turmoil, the roof caved in in the 1700s, leaving it in ruin as it is today. Much happened to shape this place, but none of the ruin that has come to it was intended to give me the view of it I had today. This structure, open to the sky, with soft green moss creeping across the old, worn stones and sunlight pouring in and streaming across the crumbling columns… this place captivated me. It’s one of the few places I know I will try to hold in my mind’s eye, to go back and visit years from now.

I suppose I’ll wrap it up here. The “tea” in the title has no specific story attached, except that we continue to drink tea at every opportunity. Also worthy of note, Leanne’s mom flew in today, and all three of us went to see Mary Poppins tonight onstage, which was great
fun. I have one more day here tomorrow, during which we plan to attempt to have tea AND SCONES at the teahouse I mentioned in my last post, and then I fly out on Saturday for Delhi!

I hope to write again after a few days in India!