Getting There is Half the Fun!

Today was one of those days in India that transport you back hundreds of years. We drove out to visit two remote villages. Although they weren’t that far away from Bhubaneshwar it took us hours. The roads are terrible and the farther away from the city and the deeper into the countryside they get worse and worse. Narrow, pot holed and crowded with trucks, busses, wagons pulled by bullocks, cows meandering, sheep walking, goats playing in the middle of the road, bicycles, and people walking. We were enthralled. We constantly were stopping our van, getting out and taking pictures. The Indians who appear truly dirt poor are happy to have you take their picture. After we take the picture we show them on the camera their likeness. They give a nod or head wobble and appear pleased. They don’t ask for money to have their picture taken. The villages have no running water, women fill jugs from the pump and carry the water back to their houses. They bathe in nearby streams or ponds.

The driving is beyond comprehension. Everyone is honking their horns, and plowing ahead. Motorbikes which are the principal transportation are fearless. They often have an entire family on their bike, Mom, dad and two kids. We are amazed that people aren’t being killed constantly!

The heavy trucks are amazing. There are far more on the road than we see in Los Angeles, and they are travelling works of art. I would like to get a book of photos of Indian trucks. They are over-the-top in their decorations. Not only are they painted, but they have custom tin art work. Almost every truck is decorated. It is a movable art exhibit.

Adult women all wear saris, no matter how poor they are. Some women wear Salwar Kameez. You would never see a woman in jeans and a tee-shirt. Probably half of the men wear dhoti which are sarongs. They can be worn long or tucked up almost making them into shorts.

We first visited an ikat weaving village. As we were walking down the dirt lane there were women weaving textiles. We visited several of their shops and bought some items at ridiculously low prices. We bought something for Ferris. We guessed as to what she would like. A group of women of all ages were standing near a shrine making offerings of coconuts and bananas. There were maybe 30 of them. They would then make a clicking sound with their tongue that westerners could never replicate. We asked what was going on. We found out it one the once a year offering and prayer to keep the King Cobra away. We hoped it worked, and were much more conscious of what was slithering on the ground near us.

We were told we need to bring food for lunch because there was no place to buy food in the village. Naïve that we can sometimes be, we should have realized that there were also no bathrooms in the village. As we drove to the next village we stopped the van and found some tall bushes to shelter us.

The second village we drove to was a brass making village. They made small objects. It is amazing to be among these people; to us they appear to have nothing. Yet they live with a strong sense of family, community and religion. Most people that live in the villages stay in the villages. It is amazing to visit people so different from ourselves.