Taking the Scenic Route

Hello everyone!  Sorry this post is coming a bit later than you might have expected it.  I thought I’d have wifi more often than it has turned out while I was in Italy.  (Although I’m posting this a few days later than when I originally wrote it, I’m backdating it.)

For those of you confused about why I’m mentioning Italy when you know I’m moving to Tanzania, let me explain:  From 2006 to 2009, I worked in Italy, mostly in the Via del Bollo church in Milan along with the Short family. They have now been in Tanzania for four years, and I am joining them there now.  They have found that for very close to the same price as flying directly to Tanzania, it is possible to break up the trip by stopping in Europe. So, they generally stop in Italy to visit the church there and all of our friends there, so I did so as well.

This was the first time in the nine years since I left Milan that I have had the chance to return;
when I left, I thought within a year or two at the most I would find a way back to see everyone, but then
I took a job in China, and it never worked out.  I have kept up with several people on facebook, but it’s
not the same as seeing them in person, so I’m grateful for this opportunity.

I’ll be in Italy until the 4th, when I will fly together with the Shorts to Tanzania, via a layover in Ethiopia.  

Yay for Public Transportation!

...And I should have looked at the map a little more closely before going all the way back by the hostel to the Maharajalela monorail station.  Once I was studying the map at the station to decide which stop I needed to buy a ticket for to get to Merdeka Square, I had the epiphany that the center of Kuala Lumpur really isn't that huge and is pretty walkable--I was already halfway there if I had only kept going from the other end of the market.  Too late now; I've already walked all the way back.  I suppose I'm used to Wuhan or places like Beijing, where one stop on the subway is a thirty minute walk at the least and the city sprawl for miles.  Oh, well, I love subway/monorail/light rail/whatever systems. 

I rather collect subway systems, or I suppose I ought to say commuter rail systems as I'm including monorails and such.  As a list-keeping type of person, somewhere or other I have written down all the subways etc.  that I've ever been on.  I don't know what it is about them, but they make me happy.  The Kuala Lumpur version didn't disappoint; since it's above ground most of the time just riding around is a great way to see the city from all angles, and I thoroughly enjoyed keeping an eye out for a view of the Petronas Towers.  

The system is a bit confusing at times--it isn't really one system, but several (the monorail, the Kommuter Rail thing, the light rail...) that mostly join together but occasionally don't.  I had a typical tourist moment of spinning slowly around with a confused look on my face in a public place at the Masjid Jamek station when coming in from the airport trying to figure out how to get to the other line I knew there was supposed to be a connection to--turns out it was up a stairway at an odd angle with a tiny sign obscured by an ice cream vendor.  I got turned around at the Hang Tuah station today--I forgot that you must go down half a flight of stairs, cross under the tracks, and back up half a flight to get to the main part of the station.  This time, however, a grandmotherly lady heading out with her shopping bag saw me studying the signs and, as she spoke pretty good English, chatted with me about my stay in Kuala Lumpur as she led me down and over and up and across and around the corner and down the big escalator to the other line, where we took trains going in opposite directions.  So far, the Malaysian people have been very friendly and welcoming.  

The Train to Varanasi

One of my favorite things in India...masala chai.  Wang bought me
and Vera some for breakfast  on the train.

After more than the usual amount of crazy taking a night train, I did finally make it from Agra to Varanasi.  I had bought a ticket nine days ahead of time, but even then, all I could do was get on the waiting list.  I usually buy sleeper tickets (the cheapest, and probably least comfortable, option), but this time I decided to splurge a bit and move up a step to 3rd class AC.  Bad move, unfortunately...the waiting list for sleepers moves a lot faster, because there are a lot more bunks.  Even though I started at number fifteen on the waiting list, which in sleeper would have been no problem, at time to leave for the station I  was still only at number five.  At my hostel, I met a couple of Chinese travelers, Vera and Wang, who were in the same situation--they were number three and four.  One of the guys who works at the hostel took pity on us and made a few calls to see if we were likely to make it, and finally he went to the station with us and, with much running around and craziness, managed to get us sleeper tickets, for nearly triple the normal price.  However, that was fine with us at this point, because the only other option for getting to Varanasi (the train the next day was sold out, too) was to hire a car and driver, which would have been much more expensive than that (about $60 a person, a small fortune here).  But we made it.

The view from the window near Varanasi...
somebody said the yellow is mustard plants.

Once on the train, the drama wasn't over.  We crammed into a small area with several other foreigners and an incredibly patient and welcoming older Indian couple.  We met three Americans and an Israeli girl; two of the Americans had somehow bought tickets to share a bunk, and a top one at that.  I was told to just hang out there for about half an hour, and then the conductor would come and tell me where to go, so me and my stuff just took up space and got in the way for a while.  Finally the conductor came by, and gave me the top bunk just next to this crowd of people--until about 2 am.  Then, I and the Chinese couple were to move to the bunk on the other side of the original compartment.  Until then, the Chinese girl shared a bunk with the one American girl with a bunk.  All of this could have been a nightmare, except I had the good fortune to get in with a crowd of people who were determined to make the best of it, and everyone just laughed and lived with it.  The train was the most crowded I've been on in India; quite a few people were sharing bunks, and I saw one man sleeping on the floor.  Turns out there's a big festival going on near Varanasi, so that might be the reason.

Actually, I was more comfortable than ever before--for one, I finally had the bright idea to arrange my jackets and scarf on top of my bag of shoes to make a better pillow than usual (I usually use my blow-up neck pillow wrapped in scarves, but I offered that to one of the American girls who was sharing a bunk; I figured I should share with someone less comfortable), and two, it didn't get as cold as it usually does on the train at night.  However, I guess just because of the stress and craziness, I didn't get much sleep; I was quite comfortable, but my mind just couldn't wind down very well.  Oh, well.

For some reason, I was thinking that the train was supposed to arrive at eight-something, so at eight something I cleaned up all my sleeping paraphernalia and all, only to find I'd been mistaken at the train was scheduled to arrive at 10:30.  Except it was by now running two hours late.  It wasn't too bad, though, between my kindle and the company around to talk to (now joined by a French guy from Bordeaux who explained how he broke up with his girlfriend while  he's spending a year traveling in Asia, and she's dating someone else now, but when he gets back she'll break up with that guy and get back with him...), the time passed agreeably.  Around one we finally arrived...

The train station in Varanasi

The Indian Railway System

Part of traveling in a new country, especially a large and complicated one with its own way of organization like India, is learning a new transportation system.  Fortunately, the India railway system is pretty well organized, and you can register to buy tickets online.  However, I needed a copy of my passport to register, and my passport was at the embassy until the day before I left.  (Only afterwards did I find a copy in the bottom of my bag that I'd forgotten about)  So, I wasn't able to register until the day before my flight to India.  I bought my first train ticket immediately, from Mumbai to Udaipur--but I was number 73 on the waiting list.  Apparently, in India, since the train tickets are cheap and easily refunded, people just buy several tickets ahead of time, decide later which they actually wish to use, and then just cancel the rest at the last minute.  But still...70-something?  It seemed like a long shot I'd make that train. 

However, I checked the status online the morning after I arrived in Mumbai, and I was already to 34, which was better than I expected.  I went by the train station, though, to train to buy a tourist-quota ticket to be sure, but there weren't even any of those left.  The guy at the ticket window told me there was no way, with 34 people ahead, that I'd make the list for that train; my best shot was to come back first thing Monday morning and try to buy one of the higher-priced last minute tickets for that day's train.  

But, Sunday morning, with the original train supposed to leave that afternoon at 2:45, I checked again.  Number 12!  I decided that it was worth the bother to go to the train station (to add to it, not the one near the hostel, but one in a suburb) to just see what would happen.  The website said that the final update would be at noon, so I stayed at the cyber cafe until then, to see if the status had changed any...and lo and behold, I  had made the train!  There it was, my carriage and seat number.  Carriage 9, seat 71.  It was even a lower bunk!  

So, I headed to the train station in plenty of time, just to be sure.  I had nearly two hours to wait once I got there; I hung out with a couple from New Zealand while we waiting; they were somewhere on the same carriage, but several bunks down.  

My ticket was on a sleeper train, which is a much more basic carriage than the sleeper trains I'm used to in China or Europe.  In China, you have sheets, comforters, pillows, heat or AC, etc...Here there were open windows, and vinyl-covered pads on the bunks.  Fortunately, I always travel with my fleece blanket, and the warm air coming in the windows felt good.  At least until about eight o' clock.  Then it began to feel a bit cool...everyone shut the windows.   By ten it was downright cold air coming in around the leaky windows.  I got my fleece jackets out of my backpack.  Unfortunately, my bunk was closest to the end of the car, right next to the bathrooms.  The area between carriages had a large opening, and a strong blast of cold air was coming in.  By midnight, I got up and put on also a sweater, and a scarf, and still shivered and froze through the night.  The Indian people around me were cold, too.  It took me until about one in the afternoon the next day to thaw enough to take the fleece jacket off.  

Train to the Future

Today, I am on a train to Rapallo, near Genova.  Matteo and I are going to spend a few days with Nadia and her family at their house by the sea.  I've finally come out from under the clouds that covered Milan, and it is a beautiful evening here in the mountains we're crossing—or, we would be if we weren't mostly in tunnels.   Matteo will stay until Saturday; I will probably return to Milan Wednesday evening or Thursday morning.   I have things I need to work on before going to the convegno in Firenze next week.  It's a little strange—while writing this I keep thinking in Italian and translating back into English. 

I can't get out of my head today the book I just read—A Touch of Betrayal by Catherine Palmer.   It's one of series of four, of which Tammy has and I borrow the second and third.   I read the second first, but the third one I read twice because I wasn't ready to get out of the story yet.  I think the titles of her books are a little overdramatic, but I enjoyed the stories.  The books are Christian romance novels, which I love, even though I don't always want to admit that, being a serious former English major and all, that I like such fluff.  But, it's wonderful just to read for the pleasure and escapism of it, something I just don't do as much as I used to. 

It's wonderful, too, to read books written about people who live in my "real world," –people who follow a code of morality and whose relationship with God is a part of day-to-day life   It's something refreshing to me in today's culture where God and spiritual things are completely left out of popular entertainment.  I wish we were more open to talk about our spiritual lives.  That's probably the most important reason I have for wanting a husband someday—I want someone to be mutually accountable with, someone to pray with, to talk about my spiritual ups and downs, to encourage each other.   I want to raise my children to be truly integrated—not to compartmentalize spirituality from other aspects of life; I know I often have.  Growing up, it seemed we so rarely talked about our faith.  We prayed together at meals, but almost never at any other times.  I want to be more comfortable sharing that part of life together.   I'm hoping things will be different now that Dad also had become a Christian,  We need to take advantage of the spiritual high the family is on now to talk more openly.  It's also something I need to put into my work here in a much bigger way.   I'm more of a project person—I plan things, do thing, teach—but I'm not as good at building deeper relationships.  I get along well with everybody, but often at a fairly superficial level.   I need to find a way to work in more discussion of where people are spiritually and their highs and lows; I need to work towards more meaningful conversation.  It is difficult when I only see most of the church members briefly after the service on Sunday.   I need to make it a priority to find a way to spend more time with individuals outside of church activities; I would like to invited people over to my place for lunch, but I haven't yet as I didn't know if people would really want to come all the way out to my place; it's out of the way for most of my friends.  But, maybe they would. 

Back to the book I mentioned earlier—the series is set in various parts of Africa, and is about three sisters and a brother, as adults; as they find love, find God, etc.  My head has been in Africa all day.  I would love to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Now, there is a motivation to get in shape!  Grant, the man in the story, is an anthropologist living with the Maasai; he is studying their stories and myths, and trying to write down all these important parts of the heritage before the children all go off to the city and the ancient culture is lost.  It sounds like a wonderful work.  I've though the last few years that I would go back to grad school, and then teach English literature.   But, it seems so meaningless in the grand scheme of things, to be wrapped up in the minutiae of academia.  I want to be involved in missions; I would like to study languages, cultures—to travel.  And yet, somehow it seems selfish or unwise to live my life like I want to live it.  What I really want to do is, after next summer when I finish my commitment here in Milan, is to find somewhere else to go to teach English (or whatever other job is available), and learn another language.  I think I could learn Spanish fairly easily, now that I speak Italian—I can already understand it pretty well.  I was reading online the other day that English teachers can earn quite a bit of money in Korea.   However, I really need better certification.   And, I don't know if I'm brave enough to move to Asia, to a country I've never seen, with such a very different culture.   But, somehow, I would like to learn another language, and I want to travel. 

There are people who save up some money, and then just go travel—backpack around the world.   Why not me?  Then I think—it would be more responsible to get a job, earn money, settle down—but why?  You only live once.  The only thing really stopping me is wondering what mom will say.   Everybody will think I'm crazy—but I just want to be free.   And I don't have a husband or children, my parents are still young and in good health—so to who is it irresponsible?  But how do those who backpack find the money to do it?  I, so far in life, haven't been very good at making money.  But it has been worth it—I wouldn't trade the time I've spent doing mission work in Italy for a high paying but lifeless job in an office.   Somehow, I want to see the world.  And then, after a few more years, I do want to marry and have children.  I often feel that biological clock ticking—the older I get, the more I look forward to having children.   I've come across several websites on homeschooling lately—it's something I'm very interested in.  

And then there's finding someone to marry.  Reading these romance books make me wonder if I'll ever find anyone to feel that strongly about to feel that way about me.  I daydream, but in reality—I'm not the type you find in romance novels   I know God has a plan for me, and that he will send the right person into my life, so it isn't something that I spend a lot of time really worrying about.  It's just that sometimes I feel lonely for someone I haven't met yet.   Usually I'm fine—I'm happy being single, and I'm not at a point where I want to settle down.   But sometimes—it seems to be about a month out of the year or so—when it seems I feel lonely more than usual.  It hasn't been too bad yet this year (it was downright depressing last year, around May), but still I want someone to talk to, to tell all those little details of everyday life.  I can talk to Mom about most things, but as close as we are, there are still things she doesn't understand—some, because we are of different generations, and some because I live in a different culture.  She doesn't know the people I know or how they think, or the ups and downs of life as a missionary.  And besides, it's expensive to call the U.S.!