We had rented a car, or borrowed from Biku's cousin (it's unclear which, but he was the one driving). We went to see the sun temple on the way there.
It was the most touristy place we've been since getting to India. Complete with disfigured beggars, souvenir stalls and pushy salesman trying to sell us postcards and coral necklaces. To get in, the tickets were 10 rupees for Indians and 250 for foreigners like ourselves. Even with the 2500% markup, it was less than $5. Despite being biggest tourist hub we've seen, we were still the only white people. By the 10th time I was asked to pose for a picture, I started to make goofy faces. People would also shout white sports stars or teams at us.
The sun temple was beautiful. It was one huge center surrounded by smaller ruins. The inside had been filled with stone a long time ago to keep the temple from collapsing. Intricate carvings covered every visible surface and, in typical Indian fashion, were completely contradictory from what we understand of Indian culture. Shouldn't have been surprising from the country that brought us the karma sutra. We walked around for a while and thought about all the swear and years that must have gone into building such an immense monument.
I bought a coconut after we left and drank the water after the top was expertly hacked off with a machete.
Biku had said we were going swimming but we just stopped by the beach for 5 minutes on our way to Biku's house. There were a bunch of cousins and aunts there and a big meal was waiting.
The women don't eat with us together and only eat leftovers (if any). When I'm eating in someone's home, I never get second helpings of anything because there is an unfortunately real chance I'd be taking from the women of the home. (There are no such concerns at the hospital and I get second and third helpings all the time). Some of the patients that I see here are a direct result of this cultural problem. I understand that deeming it "problem" comes from my westernized and privileged perspective. Be that as it may, I can't see this aspect of the Indian culture as anything but wrong. Girl children and, more frequently, their mothers, are malnourished and diseased while the sons and husbands eat several helpings of the choice portions. I can't help but wish that there was more we could do to change the mindset of these patients while they are in our care.
Anyway, after the meal with the males (and Spanish nurses), we took a short nap and went to the market to buy spices and some gifts for the nurses to bring back for friends and kids. As usual, we were starving after being way too full at lunch. We chose a food cart that would've been sketchy even in New York City, and ordered a few helpings of chowmein. It hit the spot, and so far, seems to have been fine. I passed on the sauce because Biku said it's often watered down and all my food was cooked.. So.
On the way back to Biku's house, we stopped to buy beer (always sold through a sketchy barred window in hushed voices) and were harassed by a man trying to sell us fireworks for Diwali the next day. He spoke English better than anyone I've met here but also had some clear mental issues. I bought a couple of every type of beer they had (they had 3 options.
At Biku's house, we went onto his roof and drank about one of the huge beers each before dinner. Drinking culture might be another point for the United States.
No matter how fast dinner is, I always need help standing up afterwards to slowly stretch my cramped ankles. By the time I leave, I Will master sitting on the floor.
-AB
Flexibility
Indians don't have ankles
I'll work on sitting
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