Closing Remarks and final speech

I guess it’s about time, but I am beginning to realize its time to close up shop on Kivunim. I’ve eagerly anticipated the email that tells me which age group I am assigned to this summer, which will act as a nice buffer, but won’t quite do the trick. Going home will be sad no matter the transition.

The general feeling is definitely sentimental. Although we saw these last days coming, no preparation eases us into these closing moments. And it’s sad. There’s no doubt about this year. It was the single most profound, influential, educational and defining year of my life. I have grown accustomed to the quirks and habits and comforts of my fifty new friends. All of the brilliance, humor and idiosyncrasies that have made this program what it is.

When we reunited with the “forgotten 15” in the airport in New Delhi, I wrote in my journal: “time apart makes the heart grow fonder” even if only for two days. Joni Mitchell said: “You don’t know what you’ve got till its gone”. poems, music and literature, theatre. Much of the words, some of the greatest art is induced by the feeling of longing; a desire to be elsewhere with others in another time. I know already that this group, these experiences have occupied a substantial part of my heart that will be left empty, leaving me searching, sketching out the shape and size of that hole that it will leave.

How have I been changed? How did I grow? What was this year and why did I do it? The questions are endless and I am only getting the first tastes of them now. What ever sentimentality these moments create I am comforted by these few things. The first product of this sentimentality is that it only makes me want to soak up, slurp every last drop of this delicious treat. The second comfort is knowing that the effects of this year will be forever, and it will take me that long to discover all the ways it has changed me. But lastly, and maybe most sadly. As best articulated by Reb John Mayer

It’s really over.
You’ve made your stand.
You’ve got me crying, as well as you planned.
But when my loneliness is through, I’m going to find try to find another you.

However profound this year and the amazing experiences that come with it, I will find another group that will only help further this growth. I know I will never be able to replace this group of people. I just know that some of you will be at my wedding whenever that is. Like Reb Mayer, I can only hope I find another group to help me grow, “find another you” to do some of what Kivunim has done; Intellectually stimulate, think, love, appreciate, self reflect, laugh, be ambitious and passionate. I cannot thank you all enough for what you have given and what you have done.

It seems to me that this trip to India more than anything defined Kivunim’s goals in 9 days. There is a fundamental aspect of this program, a rock steady foundation, which speaks to the idea that you must not run away from that which makes you uncomfortable. We are asked to grapple with these ideas and then embrace some of them. Everyone on this program came from a place that they found themselves truly comfortable in. Yet, there we were. In the middle of a country with a language completely foreign to us; a population on a scale we could not possibly understand; a level of poverty that brought many to tears; a religion that our monotheistic cultures term ‘pagan’. We were surround by ideas and images that made us uncomfortable. And we embraced them. We took a step back and took a deep breath.We grabbed it close, and despite the scalding heat, we took a good long look at it.

And now, even in the closing segments of this wonderful year, we are letting all that we experienced, everything that was foreign, to sink in. There is little about this program that will sit lightly. There is little that we will have firm answers to. There is little that we will understand immediately. It will take days, weeks, months and even years to properly digest.

If I may offer an analogy: cows have three stomachs. Once the food goes down, straight to the stomach and it sorts through all the things it has just devoured, it needs a second stomach to reexamine, sort through all that it just let it in. And even then, when the cow thought that it had completely taken all the nourishment it could from the food, it discovers there is more to be gleaned from that tuft of grass it had nibbled on seemingly so long ago. Its not the poop that’s important here. But like the cow every time I thought I knew what this experience meant, there was more to be digested and then more again. And its not done.

Kivunim is an experience that has changed the way we think and the way in which we approach life. Coming back to North America will be strange. Paying for things in our own currency, speaking English, and standing in normal lines– we are after all going home. In leaving, a challenge to us all is processing the Kivunim experience.

As we have talked about so many times, this country is called Yisrael. Meaning to struggle with god. That Ben Gurion dude had some foresight. This entire year has been just that – a struggle. We have struggled with our Jewish identity; our relationship to Israel; our connection to the Jews around the world, and even to understand why that horse. We have spent the year soaking in everything. The beautiful views from Delphi, architecture in Sophia, the foreign sook in Marakesh, anti-Semitic graffiti in southern Spain, a Burger King with Minarets visible just beyond the top of the building in Istanbul, a place with a sinister, beautiful and haunting past in Berlin.

This is an Israel that we continue to discover, reexamine, embrace and push away, passionately love and embarrassingly reject; that we were unsure of the role it played in our lives and we wanted to approach it; an Israel we have learned to love as a lover: to know and explore every bit of a beautiful face, acknowledge its flaws, even when we know that sometimes she is mean, unfair or difficult, love it with every bit of our being.

We have taken it all in and struggled with every moment of it. Most every piece of this program has been difficult, with the rare of exception of a wander through the shuk. But we have grown. We have expanded our minds. We have matured. We entered with questions but leave with many more. I am sure when I say that there is not a single person here that has not been transformed by this program. And for that we are forever grateful. Grateful for the opportunity, the experience for this special moment to do this to our minds and ourselves. I cannot begin to thank you all enough for this year, for this experience. Every bit of this has been wonderful and will not end June 12th.

Unlike All I Know

(some days have been skipped, you’ll just have to ask me about them to find out)

Day 1 Mumbai

I need to begin this blog with my complete and utter disbelief at where I am. Right now, at this very moment, I am writing to you from Mumbai, India.

At 845 pm, Sunday May 31st, Kivunim took off on an El Al flight to Mumbai, India.
Immediately upon arriving, at 8am the onslaught began. Upon leaving the terminal and stepping outside, we felt the wave of 95 degree heat blowing towards us. Oh, its only morning, the weather gets better. We hopped on two buses and took off. From the airport, we were off to Aliba, a town just outside of Mumbai in an area where several towns exist, many with a few Jews. On the bus, the man that will be working with us the entirety of the trip, Ralphi, hit us with a few facts. Beyond the whopping 1.2 billion number that we had heard many times before he told us many new and mind blowing numbers.

75% of Indians go to temple every morning (that means 900 million)
there are over 300 dialects within India
Mumbai is home to 20 million people (that’s three times the size of Israel)
6,000 Indians are born each day
on each rupee bill, there are 15 languages for all the different dialects
in one month, 3.2 billion people ride the Mumbai trains (that’s half the world)

just thought I would leave a few stats to chew on.

The town of Aliba was founded in the late 17th century. Currently there are only five or six Jewish families living there though in surrounding towns, there are few other Jewish families. We walked through the town, until we reached a road sign ‘Israel Road’. As we walked down, the effect of India was already upon us: the colors, the beautiful Hindu garb, horses and goats walking through the street, people being extremely friendly. It was a perfect welcome to the other side of the world.

We finally reached our destination: the shul of Aliba. On the High Holidays and Shabbat they are able to scrape together a minyan. Almost thirty people show up to for these services and Jews from all over the area for various Jewish minhagim, bar mitzvot, brit mila etc. Near by is a Jewish cemetery that has existed for over two thousand years. The president of the synagogue, one of the six Jews in the town, spoke to us for a bit. He explained that they had recently started a project to reconstruct a synagogue in a nearby town that takes an hour to get to. Our guide, Ralphi, said what the president would not, that this is a truly incredible endeavor and an enormous mitzvah just to preserve a culture and community that is already dwindling. Although an physically, emotionally and time consuming-ly difficult mitzvah, he continues to help. This shul is still being used on a regular basis; just that day before we arrived there was a wedding.
The chazzan of the shul then stood up and sang a prayer for us. Of all tunes, the man chose to sing the prayer to the tune of Ha’tikvah. Ha’tikvah’s incredible meaning has only become more profound by two facts: the first that every time we sing the words “b’eretz tzion yerushalayim” we realize the incredible opportunity, the profound fact that we have spent the entire year living in ‘eretz tzion yerushalayim’; An opportunity that has been missing for the last two thousand years and cannot simply be taken for granted. The second is that in virtually all countries we have traveled to, if not all, the chazzan uses this tune as a way of united all Jews and inspiring hope in the Jewish. This is not simply lip service, this is a emotional reactions we all face every time the first few words of ha’tikvah are sung. He then gave us all a blessing, in Hindi, for health, prosperity…and a chance to return to India in the future.

As we walked out of the shul, there were cold drinks waiting for us. The drinks were from a factory owned by a very successful Jewish company in India. There were several flavors, but by the time I got outside, there was only one left. I was told it was ‘ice cream flavor’ but as I took a sip, I realized this tasted like nothing I had ever had before. The drink was lightly carbonated and tasted like rose water. It was extremely delicious. Very, very yummy.

Back on the bus to lunch. We ate in a small restaurant at a hotel in Aliba.
Lunch. Was. Amazing. We had hot tomato soup with croutons to cool us down (from the subsequent sweating we all did) followed by a buffet of paneer mutter, paneer makhanwah, pakoda, dal, na’an and rice. Boy oh boy was this a nice welcome to India.

We then went to nearby Navgoah, the ancient landing site of the Jews. Were they supposedly arrived from the west. Over 2000 years ago, the Jews were shipwrecked and only seven families survived. They swam ashore and lived in the surrounding villages. These seven families became oil pressers in their towns and, because of their Jewish tradition of not working on Shabbat, became known as the Saturday Oil Pressers.

From Navgoah, we drove back to Mumbai proper for dinner. Frankly the place looked like Applebees for India but was delicious nonetheless. I had a paneer platter with na’an. Super yummy. It was getting to be late, so I decided to just explore the surrounding neighborhood a little bit. I walked around and found an atm and withdrew some rupees. Oh. Ghandi is on EVERY SINGLE BILL. The people I was with wanted to grab some ice cream to cool down from the, even at night, extreme heat. Following us almost from the moment we left our hotel for quite a while were two little kids. One boy and one girl. The girl was maybe the most adorable girl I have ever seen. Grabbing at our elbows and asked repeatedly, its hard not to give. Though, we know that the money would not actually go to the children but to the slumlord that they work for. At one point the girl even jumped up and tried to grab at the bandana I was wearing on my head. Although it was emotionally hard, I walked away.

There are close to 800 million people living in poverty or extreme poverty in India. Ben told me a funny anecdote from the Year course trip to India. They had a speaker come to talk to them who told them “we have a thriving middle class – 250 million people! That’s almost the entire population of the United States!” to which someone responded “what about the other 950 million people living in India?” “oh… well most live in poverty of course.”
We eventually made our way home, showered off the full day and dozed off to the humidity of Mumbai.

Its only been one day, only takes one day, to realize this place is like nothing. I. know. And I absolutely love it.
I am so completely fascinated with this place and cannot wait for more. Tomorrow early am we wake up for a flight to Varanasi with a stop in New Delhi and then soaking up even more of this incredible incredible place. My mom doesn’t like when I use the word incredible, she feels its too big of a word and is often used in ill-suited contexts. I can finally use it appropriately.
Sweet dreams from Bombay.

Day 3 Varanasi → Agra
We woke up this morning at four in order to get to the Ganges River by sunrise. Thousands, thousands of people are there, bathing, washing clothes, praying in the dozens of temples along the embankment. And there were– floating down the river watching it all. Here, religion is life. You live your life how you please. Nothing in Hinduism is truly mandatory per se as in the commandments etc. you arrange your life to fit your beliefs and way of life. My life matches up closer with this then the demands of monotheistic religion.

Oh the colors. Bright, vivid colors. Everywhere. Everyone is wearing magnificent colors. Also along the embankment are cows – symbols of fertility and life. In Hinduism, cows are sacred.
At a certain point in our flowing down the river, we are told to stop talking photos. We have reached the crematorium. It is here that at all hours of the day and night families come with their loved ones that have passed, grieve but also celebrate the cyclical nature of life. They pour the ashes into the river and watch as life continues even in death. The human body is simply a vessel with the spirit continuing through reincarnation. Swimming and bathing throughout the same river are thousands of men, women and children, old, young. Families come every morning to bath themselves in what can only be relatable as a mass mikvah. Though this comparison loses much of the unique, beautiful aspects of the Ganges.

Frankly, it was very difficult to grasp. There was never a doubt that we were experiencing something enormously profound, beautiful, amazing yet very hard to grasp. What is this place? This thing, this place, these people, this lifestyle, is so drastically and entirely unlike my own I was practically aghast in my own fascination. 75% of Indians go to temple every morning. I glimpsed just a quick window into that amazing, amazing culture.

As we snapped shot after shot of the Ganges and those bathing in it, kept feeling I was invading. Being very intrusive into this piece of their life. Yet, I have never felt so comfortable. Everyone, and I don’t just mean the beggers, have been incredibly welcoming, sweet and polite. The bathers would call out “hi” or if we were lucky enough “namaste”. I don’t get it. I wish I could but right now I am still gawking then steps behind. Utter fascination, awe of beauty, love, envy but not understanding…not yet.

We then went straight to Sarnath, the Sermon on the Mount for Buddhism. It was here that the Buddha gave his first sermon there is a sapling from the tree the Buddha was enlightened under that was brought here and planted. A temple was then built around it in the 1930’s. From there we went to a silk shop where they continue to make their own silk saris, tapestries, scarves etc. in the shop. With extremely old and delicate equipment.

After our lunch break, we had a session with a yoga specialist. We did several breathing exercises as well as meditative tools. although it was extremely fun and exciting, we had a train to catch.
The train station was simply put one of the most amazing moments of my life and certainly of this trip. We were told that our train had been delayed forty minutes or so. Immediately after disembarking from the bus, one could see the scene. 58 Americans all with luggage shuffling through an already packed Indian train station. What a sight. Never mind for just a moment this embarrassing sight of us, the entire place was amazing. A long the tracks were cows drinking from pools of water, monkeys running on the roofs of the stations and people. Oh the people.
When we finally all made our way to the right platform and settled with all our stuff, we realized how amazing this place was. Very quickly we realized the people around us are just as interested in us as are in them. And that’s an enormous amount. As we sat in the burning, humid heat, and our train got delayed and delayed again, we realized more and more of what was around us. First our madrichim got leeches from a vender in the station. Some ate, and the rest, Kivunim students gave to children hanging out on the tracks. Then when we got delayed again and even at 530 pm the heat was oppressive, our madrichim were nice enough to buy us ice cream cones. When there were leftovers, brene and I took them and gave toa few of the kids on the track and on the train that had stopped. I had been photographing a few people stopped right in front of us, so I felt I owed them something. Specifically ice cream. As I kept shooting these three people in particular (a beautiful woman in a blue sari, a woman with a young child and a young man) became very interested in us. All three called me over individually to ask where we were all from, I asked the same, we asked each others names and shook hands Purell-ed and took more photos.
Elie was called over to the train by the beautiful woman in the blue sari who asked elie to write down her name. she handed her a slip of paper with “elie” written on it. The woman grabbed the pen and paper and wrote her name “sarita”. Sarita then grabbed elies hand and slide on two golden bangles. Naturally this was followed by many more photos.

Finally, finally, finally, our train arrived and the 58 of us, luggage and all filed onto the train. Each car had several sections with three triple-decker bunk beds in each. It took a little while for everyone to settle in and adjust, especially to the strangers staring as we did so, but finally we all were settled in.

Although there was really very little room, I made the best of my ‘penthouse’ view from the top bunk. After photographing the strangers (a family with and adorable baby) I drifted off. I slept relatively well considering my waking a few times to keep my legs from being permanently cramped.
See you in Agra!

Day 4 Agra → New Delhi
What a day.

This morning I was woken up and told we would be at Agra in 30 minutes and hopped out of bed. I brushed my teeth with bottled water and bought a cup of chai a man was selling while we were parked at a station. Extremely yummy and hot – helps you cool down naturally (sweat). When it became clear, and it did so fairly quickly, that we weren’t getting to Agra in the next few minutes I sat with Hannah, one of our madrichim, with out legs hanging off the train photographing the scenery and any people we would see. Every time we arrived at a station snap snap snap – Hannah and I would click away. Lenders and beggers of all sorts would come and persistently do what they do best. We then sat and listening to some music that fir the mood: the kinks, james taylor, bob Dylan, and some Fiona apple.

This was adin at some of his happiest.

Leaning out of the train, I ripped off the paper roster put up on everyone train with the everyone’s names on it. Singh, Shapiro… we fit right in.

Oh the smile on my face.

Two hours after I was told 30 minutes, we pulled into Agra central train station. Again, 58 of us unloading from a train with luggage is quite the sight. The heat here is far drier that it was in Varanasi or Mumbai. And easily hotter. We navigated our way to the buses and took off for breakfast. I had put on a linen shirt I bought the day before and tried to prepare my self for what was about to come.

Agra is home to one of the wonders of the world: the Taj Mahal.

After breakfast, washing out face, drinking some water, it was time to head to the buses. To get the Taj you have to switch to an electric bus when you get relatively close to try and prevent pollution. The electric bus then lets you off just 100 meters from the eastern gate. We then got off and headed through the barrage of beggers and venders. We walked through the gate and already began to gawk at the ‘foyer’ – a massive entrance way to the Taj Mahal plaza. We then walked through the main gate and could already glimpse the magnificence that is the product of a 16th century Mogul architecture. Massive, beautifully symmetrically and immensely simple yet simultaneously complex, the white marble structure leave you in complete awe. That and jumping into various goofy poses for dozens of photos. Perfectly symmetrical, the mausoleum almost appears to be a master painting brush worked into the sky.

The entire complex is essentially the product of a romance between a 15 year old and a 13 year old. The emperor of the Mogul empire built the Taj, meaning crown, as a mausoleum for his wife Momtaz Mahal.

We garnered the strength in this heat, at the hottest moments of the day, to then tour the Agra Fort. The Fort, the home of all the Mogul emperors is an incredible conglomeration of architecture. The guide described it as a combination of Hindu and Muslim architecture. Why would there be Hindu architecture in a Muslim rulers home? e chose to marry a Jain, a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Muslim and a Persian to unite the people of India. Sure enough, as the guide is speaking about Moorish architecture, he says the peak of such design is “the Al-Hambra castle in Grenada. Have any of you been there?” He got a chuckle to say the least.

After the fort was a sag paneer lunch and then back on the bus for a five hour ride to New Delhi. I write this from the bus.
More soon.

We pulled into the Taj Palace hotel. Consider it the highest end hotel in India. The Ritz, MGM don’t stand a chance. After a luxurious shower and silk robes it was off to sleep in our beautiful beds.

Day 5 Agra → Dharmsala

ADIN LENCHNER AND DANIEL STAROSTA HEREBY AGREE TO REFRAIN FROM ALL HISPANIC, MEXICAN AND OTHER UNACCEPTABLY OBNOXIOUS “LEGALITY HUMOR AS WELL AS ANY AND ALL AERIAL, PROPELLER PLANE AND/OR PLANE-CRASH HUMOR RESPECTIVELY. the aforementioned stipulations have been agreed upon by both irrational, questionably, moral parties. With each’s signature, this contract becomes legally binding henceforth until further negotiations are made. Breaker of said agreement is subject to ridicule (one time) and a slap in the face
Adin lenchner Daniel starosta

Ha. Ha. Ha. So last night we were told today was a flight to Dharmsala. They then told us this morning our flights consisted of two charted flights to the north. That means one flight was one hundred percent Kivunim – a 43 seater. I figured “uh oh, I’ve don’t small so it’ll suck but I’ll be ok”. As we pull up to our place on the bus on the tarmac, I see an unexpected but just lovely surprise. The place has propellers. Bad news for adin. I don’t like that. Too bad. File on board to a plane quite a bit less wide then most rooms in my house and certainly less long than my living room. I look out the window and two men spin the propellers to prepare for take off. Uh oh. Start taxing. Uh oh. There are at least six of us anxious-ers plus those that are now desperately reading tfillat ha’derech as we taxi. Propellers go, take off, there’s no turning back. We’re up. Rough start. Bouncing around. Norwegian wood tries to calm me. mid-lift off, I promise to dance when we finally level out and reach cruising altitude. Sure enough, safe and sound, the beep for the safe to walk around goes off and its time to dance. I grab my seatmate Rachel and we’re up. Slow dancing to the sounds of the propellers, we twirl, dip, spin and laugh. Those with camera accessible had a field day. Then, we cool sat down and here I am documenting the affair. I can guarantee that upon landing I will give my self a pretty substantial pat on the back. Oh. And when we land, we’re being greeted by the Tibetan Buddhists we will spend Shabbat with. The Prime minister of the Tibetan exiled government will be there too. And the Dali Lama’s personal students and friends. Nice. Ill keep you posted. I have to stop now, the turbulence has kicked in and other anxious-ers need my hands.
Till then.

Straight from the tarmac, we got to the Tibetan cultural center directly under the Himalayas. Here we were given a tour of the complex. We saw where they produce beautiful Tibetan cultural art, carpentry, and clothes. I am sitting writing from the shrine and the complex moments after meditation. The extreme natural and cultural beauty is immense. I am completely overwhelmed. But more importantly, immersed in this cultre. Mmmm. Or should I say ohmmm.
This just in, the second flight with 10 students plus 5 staff had to turn around mid- flight because of Monsoon storms. They are now in New Delhi and may very well be stranded there. We’re still trying to figure out what will happen – if they’ll meet us in Dharmsala Sunday and we’ll stay longer or what.

Just a short while ago, we checked into our hotel in Dharmsala and explored the town. It is very touristy, but extremely interesting being in the mountains this place is indescribably beautiful. The ethnicity of the people here is also fascinating. Some Indian, some Tibetan, some Arab, Kashmir, southern Asia, China and on and on. Many went and indulged in Tibetan, Indian chatchkeys. While I had serious buyers regret from having not bought authentic prayer/power/meditation beads from the cultural center. Its all surreal. I am about to get dressed to go do Kabbalat Shabbat with the prime minister of the Tibetan exile government.
What am I to think? More soon…

Day 7 Dharmsala → New Delhi → Jaipur

Today unfortunately is a day of travel. We woke up early, at six, to get our with breakfast in our stomachs by 730. At 730 our buses took off in the direction of Chandigarh. Just so happens we were in Dharmsala on the most auspicious day of the year for Buddhists. Today is the day of three special events. Siddhartha’s birth, the day he reached enlightenment and the day he achieved nirvana. Buddhist pilgrims and interested tourists travel from all over to see the festivities. Unfortunately our time was up. Because of the special day, Dharmsala airport is close. So we had to drive six-plus hours to the nearest airport. From Chandigarh it was straight to the airport and our flight to New Delhi, where I am currently writing to you from, and where we will grab a connecting flight to Jaipur. This is the unfortunate consequence of both traveling a huge country and the desire to see so much. We try and minimize the loss of time in commute, but it is often inevitable. For example, night trains are a great way to minimize that time, but they aren’t always available especially at longer distances.

In the time we reached cruising altitude, when I stared writing, to now, I’ve already been asked to put up my tray table. That’s a 45-minute flight for you.

Sitting in Indira Gahndi international airport, waiting for the connection, I am beginning to realize its time to close up shop on Kivunim. I’ve already eagerly anticipated an email that tells me which age group I am assigned to this summer, which will act as a nice buffer, but wont quite do the trick.

The general feeling is definitely sentimental. Although we saw these last days coming, no preparation eases these closing moments. And it’s sad. There’s I no doubt about this year. It was the single most profound, influential, educational and defining year of my life. I have grown accustomed to the quirks and habits and comfort that comes with these fifty. All of the brilliance, humor and idiosyncrasies that have made this program what it is.

We just reunited with the group that got stranded in New Delhi. Kivunim hasn’t even ended and we’re already having reunions. “time apart makes the heart grow finder” even two days. “ you don’t know what you’ve got till its gone” poems, music and literature, theatre. Much of the words greatest art is emoted by the feeling of longing; a desite to be elsewhere with others in another time. I know already that this group, these experiences have occupied a substantial part of my heart that will be left empty, leaving me searching, sketching out the shape and size of that hole. How have I been changed? How did I grow? What was this year and why did I do it? The questions are endless and I only am getting the first tastes of them now. How ever sentimental these moments create I know a few pieces of comfort. It is only making me want to soak up, slip every last drop of this delcious treat. The knowledge that the effects of this year are forever, and will take me just that long to discover all the way its done just that. But lastly, and maybe most sadly, as best said by Reb John Mayer

It’s really over.
You’ve made your stand.
You’ve got me crying, as well as you planned.
But when my loneliness is through, I’m going to find another you.

How ever profound this year and the amazing experiences that come with it, I will find another group that will only help further this growth. I know that some of these people will be at my wedding, standing by me on the alter. Some of these people I hope will be long lasting friends and keep helping me grow and themselves grow. I can only hope I find another group to supplement the growth, find another you to do all Kivunim has done and then some. Intellectually stimulate, think, love, appreciate, self reflect, be ambitious and more passionate to all I love. I cannot thank this year enough for what it has given and what it has done.
My flight to Jaipur is off soon, so too must I be. Another flight, another experience.
Loving it. More soon.

Oh. Whoopdeedo. “no don’t worry it’s a full size jet”. Nope. Its another small propeller plane. Yippee kiyay. I did it once I can do it again right? Guess so.
Talk to you soon.

Day 8 Jaipur
Today was, as usual, an early morning wake up. We hoped on the buses and headed straight for Jaipur. However, we had to make a little bit of a pit stop. As we stopped to look at the winter palace whaddya know – an elephant comes walking down the street. We naturally migrate to the enormous animal, all of us in awe. We pet and admire, but no rides we’re told. As we get to the fort, we get a surprise. Everyone gets an elephant ride from the base all the way up the hill to the fort. Wow. The size, power of them is amazing. Sounds goofy describing them, no? leaving us all either giggling or simply in shock, some of them painted by all of them totally beautiful.
As we get to the top of the fort we find ourselves amazing. We now have explored numerous forts and castles and they never fail to impress. The extraordinary aesthetic beauty of the palaces, the massive estate, the incredibly ornate detail is continually amazing.
From the fort we drove a little to the water palace. A massive castle built seemingly in the middle of a lake. Unfortunately our time at the lookout was disrupted by countless peddlers and beggers. And yes, this has becoming a running theme.
Of all aspects of India, the most impressionable is the fact that virtually everything is unrelatable. From the foreign architecture, cows in the streets, EXTREME poverty, mass population and ubiquity of religion, the colors every where; it’s all unrelatable.

there is no question that this was the peak of our international adventuring.
a concluding blog is just to follow (never mind the many more in reflection after June 12th)