Ahmedabad

Our day started at 4:30 am as we packed for the train ride north to Ahmedabad from Mumbai. We hired two taxi’s for the group. These are a slightly larger version of the three wheeled auto-rickshaw which seem almost as numerous as the people Whenever you think that it can’t possibly get more crowded or chaotic, it does. Whenever you think you’ve seen the most persons packed into a tiny rickshaw or taxi you see more. About the first time that I’ve seen one of these drivers challenged with carrying capacity was with our luggage. The drivers seem baffled by how much we are carrying around and how to arrange it into an efficiently packed space. We all thought we were modest and practical by packing no more than 2 bags each, a day pack and a suitcase.
But when you put it all together it’s looks like enough to fill a half ton truck. And half-tons, SUV’s, and mini-vans are simply not around. Maybe all our baggage, or what it represented, is what annoyed our taxi driver. I ended up sitting up front with him (close beside him – this vehicle is not much bigger than an Austin mini) and when I asked him if he spoke English he flashed me a very angry look and a pronounced NO! I kept to myself for the rest of trip while Luke, Karen and Arlene in the back seat giggled.

How long have we been here – two days, two weeks, a month? I have to think hard about that. It’s just day three but my mind is racing with thoughts, my ears are aching with sound and my eyes, my poor eyes, they’ve never processed so many different and intriguing images in a constant stream. It’s just the last 24 hours that I want to journal, but I can’t focus my thoughts on where to start. I’m jumping around in my mind from one experience to the next, unable to weave the fantastic chaos of the day into a coherent story.

I fought back tears for the first time today. Strange in a way. As I anticipated the trip I kind of braced myself for the poverty and despair that I knew would affront my senses. However, it was the trip to a 15th century Mosque in Ahmedabad that broke me down. As we toured the palatial grounds of this ancient site, the speakers came on and the Oman began the call to prayers. There were many locals (Muslims I assume) around and they were fascinated by us. They asked to take pictures with us, like we were dignitaries or something. As that ancient call to prayer filled the air and combined with their genuine friendliness I felt suddenly felt tears welling up as I thought about how our world was so filled with hatred and war between Muslim and Christian. I had to walk away from Sister Sylvia, the nun from St. Mary’s (where we will visit tomorrow) who is our guide for the afternoon and evening, and cover my tears. I notice Luke is drawing a lot of attention from the kids and teens (particularly the teenage girls – which looks really curious as they are dressed in kurti’s and sari’s and he is in jeans and a t-shirt). At one point he inadvertently walks past an entrance where the rest of us went into. When he realizes it and turns around, there are about a dozen people right behind him all pointing helpfully to where we are!
As we bomb around Ahmedabad (the hotel driver assigned to us is a complete maniac who manages to draw out the international symbol of other annoyed drivers every few hundred feet as we blare our horn, cut people off and push them out of the way) we are waved at, called out to and even followed by total strangers who are just interested in seeing us. on the street. I could fill pages trying to describe what traveling is like. It really is beyond description.
An auto-rickshaw loaded with about 7 or 8 school girls follows us for several KM’s weaving in and out of traffic so they can keep waving and greeting us. They are incredibly cute as they alternate pushing their faces out the sides and backs of the rickshaw to wave. The driver is grinning ear to ear as we snap pictures and he keeps his poor rickshaw, with it’s 70cc engine floored trying to stick to our bumper.

The ancient Bazaar with more sari’s and kurti’s than I ever thought possible, roof top dining in Ahmedabad, the train porter selling books with titles like Mein Kampf, 101 Moral Stories about Grandpa, Sexy, Stylish and Spirited, our picture on the cover of the sports page (beside David Beckham, as Luke pointed out) of The Free Press Journal of Mumbai. My head is swimming, I literally get dizzy trying to journal about the day.

I badly need to run. But I’ve no idea where to run. There are no open spaces. I can’t understand how the 30,000 people who will be in the marathon have completed their training. Running 4 or 5 times a week in this traffic, I just can’t fathom.