Namaste! Two weeks have already gone by in India. While I can’t say I feel at home yet (and I’m not sure I ever will, when my looks alone bring stares in public), adjusting to life in Jaipur has been more of an adventure than a struggle (though always some of both). Below are some highs, lows, and general observations from the past 14 days.

I.

First of all, I’d like to thank my tummy for accepting the new food and water gracefully and without protest. When traveling in India, I have to be constantly vigilant about what I consume, as the tap water, and therefore much of the food, is not safe (for everyone, not just Americans). But the terror felt towards everything I eat–instilled in me by stories of the infamous “Delhi belly”–was, as it turns out, unfounded. Knock on wood.

II.

Every morning I take the same auto-rickshaw to the program center with my neighbor, friend, and fellow student Danielle, where Hindi lessons begin at 8:30. Our rickshaw-wallah (driver) tells us his name is Bruce Le. Whether he’s pulling our leg, trying to impress us, or if we’re just hopelessly misunderstanding him, we can’t figure out. It’s probably some combination of the three. He tells us he’s learning English. We tell him we’re learning Hindi. And even though our program center has advised us never to smile at men we don’t know (it has different connotations in India than in the US), I can’t help but grin. I say to him, Phir milenge! (See you later!) when we disembark on Wednesday, and his jaw drops in shock and amusement. Danielle and I giggle at his reaction, even though his clearly low expectations of our Hindi are not particularly flattering (though who can blame him, considering how poorly we speak it at this point).

III.

It’s monsoon season, and the other day I learned firsthand what that means. Five SIT students and I decided to walk to a nearby coffee shop after class, in order to relax and try the Western-style comfort food (Carrot cake! Hot chocolate!) that the shop reportedly offered, and which we all were craving after a fortnight of only Indian food. A few minutes after leaving the program center, the weather suddenly turned “romantic,” as Tara-ji our academic director, likes to say. The slight drizzle became a downpour, and soon all of us were soaked through. After realizing that huddling under a tree on the side of the road was not keeping us from getting any less wet, we decided to flag down an auto-rickshaw. But not a single rickshaw-wallah knew the shop we were talking about, and the map scribbled on the back of one of our notebooks didn’t seem to help them understand its location. And so our walk resumed. Everyone native to Jaipur seems to understand that walking over a mile in the monsoon rains is not particularly fun (or romantic), and so the streets were nearly empty of pedestrians (if you’ve ever been to Jaipur, you’ll know how unusual that is). But we were lucky, and the rains subsided almost as quickly as they’d come, and soon the streets filled with people again (how they respond with such ease to the rain starting and stopping, I have yet to learn). When we finally reached the coffee shop, our monsoon adventure made the hot drinks and gooey deserts even more satisfying and comforting than we had originally intended.

IV.

Not to reinforce stereotypes or anything, but: Yes, there are cows in the streets. And monkeys. And peacocks. And a few elephants. And once in a while a camel. NBD.

Phir milenge,

Helen

P.S. You can see some photos from the trip here.