I do not camp. I've tried it exactly twice in my life and both times were complete disasters. My dad teases that my idea of camping is a hotel without room service (which is funny because room service is not part of my norm, but you get the idea). Therefore, at 46.5 years of age, I declare as a grown woman - I do not intend to ever camp again. However, the hours between 5:30pm or so on January 8 and 8:30am on January 9 were the closest I ever want to come to camping ever again. We had grown quite attached to our driver, Selwyn, who'd gotten us everywhere we went since arriving in India and I trusted we were in good hands on this super long ride. He even recruited a friend so they could take turns driving since the driving was happening while we should all be sleeping. Regardless, the 11 of us, Selwyn, his friend and all our luggage set out around dinner and headed for Tiraputi.
The first part of the drive I tried to take in all the sights as we curved up and down mountain-y roads. I didn't want to miss seeing anything! My head was on perma-swivel - especially as we passed worshippers at festivals parading through the streets with portable shrines, heading for the lighted pathways to temples on hillsides. The pilgrims sang and some of the temples were ENORMOUS. As we wound our way back down the other side of the mountain I began to understand that I am the likely source of what I have now determined is the hereditary gene for carsickness that I clearly have passed on to Lydia.
Our van "Sharon" wound through the mountains quickly, in stop and go fashion, amidst honking hors, incense, cacophony noises and smoke. I've learned one of the primary ways t o dispose of trash here is to burn it. It's oddly fascinating, really. We've encountered recycling mandates yet nightly smell smoke from trash burns. We even saw smouldering trash piles on the sidewalk in Kochin. The mix of windy roads, smoke and incense smells made me glad I'd packed one of Lydia's barf bags from the pediatrician and I was able to discreetly throw up on the van without further incident.
After dinner, we stopped again in about 30 minutes for a bathroom break and then back on the bus where the dramamine kicked in and I fell hard and fast asleep.
When I woke it was clear we had ventured into rural India and were on highways. There were frequent toll plazas so more stopping and starting, and the smoke was heavier. Thankfully, because Dramamine is a godsend, I wasn't sick. I did, however, have to go to the bathroom. We had stopped about 30 minutes after our dinner stop but another 2+ hours had passed. I communicated my need for facilities but the search was fruitless. Another 30 minutes passed and I was miserable - I let our driver, Selwyn, know bushes were acceptable and ten minutes later we pulled over. Modesty was of no concern as my professor turned her back to me and we were safely under the cover of darkness. I squatted among thorn bushes (surprise!) and trash in the Indian countryside. I was grateful it was dark - so I couldn't been seen and so I couldn't see what surrounded my feet. Relief was holy.
This is the closest to camping I ever intend to be again in my life. Did I mention it was dark? No street lights, no lights at all really - and I learned the hard way that some bushes carry with them spikey sticker balls. Nonetheless, I was able to pull the sticker balls out of my shirt when we reached daylight. My ankles were still swollen and being seated in a van for 13+ hours only made them swell more. But at 3am we found a roadside, 24-hour market, and stopped for date cake and chai. I was told it was the best chai of the trip, but I didn't drink a drop - having already sensed impending PTSD from our earlier roadside pit stop.
Arrival in Tiruputi was the prize for our endurance. Our hotel was gorgeous, there were public, beautiful bathrooms - with toilet paper! And I was able to change clothes. We enjoyed the loveliest breakfast buffet before travelling to on to Pravahom (https://www.pravaham.org/)- a community created to educate and empower dalit girls so they may elevate themselves, at least economically, in society. We were tired, we wanted showers, we wanted to sleep...BUT the 44 girls who are enrolled this year were DELIGHTFUL. Their welcome was so gracious and warm, it made the evening's events quickly fall into memory so my head and heart could be more fully present. The young women engaged with us in conversation and then gave us the gift of performing two traditional dances - we were invited to dance with them, but I pulled the "I'm an old lady and don't dance card" so took pictures instead. It was just more than I had bandwidth to process at the moment.
We were served a delicious, homemade meal - blessed by the chef herself - clearly made with love. There's just something about a home cooked meal... We toured the campus and met the bunnies, fan-tailed pigeons, parakeets and cockateels that also call Pravaham home and ended our visit in the chapel. I was struck being surrounded by trees and nature after so much concrete in our previous days' travels. The flowers and ficus trees growing in the ground (!) were amazing. We boarded a new van back to town where we embraced the decadence of hot showers and dinner served as a bedtime story.
