PONDICHERRY: STAYING THERE

Our first order of business upon arriving in Pondicherry was to locate our accommodations and freshen up before setting out to see the city. After negotiating a fair price, we clambered into an auto and headed off to the French Quarter. Our hotel, Les Hibiscus, was simple yet elegant and exactly what we had hoped to escape to. At first the proprietor tried to tell us that there were no vacancies at the hotel, even after we told him who we were and that we had confirmed reservations. He soon pulled out his booking records in effort to prove to us that he had no room, which in turn, allowed us to point out our names in his book as the two who had filled his vacancies. Once confirmed, we were warmly welcomed and led through the lounge, out the side door, up a tight spiral stairway and eventually to our respective rooms.

A VAGABOND'S HOME

People here ask me a lot of questions about my home. What is the weather like? What is the food like? What are the people like? What do I like to do for fun at home? And so on. Most of the questions are easy to answer, but some of them a more complicated because they are asking specific questions about my home. I don’t know where my home is. I was born and raised in eastern Washington, but moved away to pursue higher education and a job. I ultimately landed in western Washington and have been living there for the past few years. During graduate school I found lodging with my gracious sister and tolerant brother-in-law. Their home was my abode... that is until I moved back to eastern Washington for an internship placement last fall. My few belongings are scattered hither, thither and yon; some in eastern Washington at my Dad’s place, some in western Washington at my sister’s place and some here in India. Although my dad and his wife, and my sister and her husband have both widely opened their doors to me, I cannot call either house my home. They are homes that I am comfortable in. Homes I enjoy staying in. But they are the homes of others that I temporarily reside in. I am a vagabond.

POCKETS OF PARADISE

The housing saga continues. Charlie and I confirmed our housing for the CHTC this past week. We had planned on moving in and out of the CHTC during the course of our stay there as a solid stretch of accommodations was not to be had. We counted how many times we would be moving. Nine times. Count ‘em. One, two, three… seven, eight, nine. Nevertheless we were happy with our situation.

CHARLIE

I have found that there seems to be no end to the lessons I have been exposed to, and presumably learned from, over the past few weeks. There are lessons in cultural nuances such as: when to take off your shoes, when and how to address various people, how to eat with your fingers, when to take food that is offered, how to avoid getting hit while crossing the street, how to get on a bus (it can be a peculiar art form—not for the faint of heart). There are lessons in healthcare, specifically occupational therapy, in a foreign land such as: how to improvise with limited resources, when to take off your shoes, how to treat someone with a complete C4 spinal cord injury (I had not been exposed to this particular patient population before I arrived here), how to count in Tamil, and much, much more. There are also lessons in faith such as, faith that I will be kept safe despite walking home alone in the dark (I do try to avoid it), faith that my housing situation will be resolved, faith that I will be willing to go when my Lord says “go” and “do” when  He says “do.”

LOCKS

This is a quick note on the locks and safety. I had someone question the lock situation at my hotel. There is a bolt with padlock on the outside of the door to most every hotel (even on CMC campus). You are given the key to the padlock upon arrival. Once inside, there are two similar locks on the inside of the door so that you can secure the door shut. I suppose someone COULD lock you into your room  if they wanted to, but I act on the faith that they will not. This is a very common way to operate hosing in India. Even homes and apartments are set up with this situation. Padlocks everywhere! 

MY HOME, MY CLOTHES

This post will serve to inform you of my living situation and (for some of my curious readers) my new wardrobe. I mentioned that I have been trying to move to campus to be closer to the international students. Every evening it is challenging to leave my new friends and trek back to me lonely little Indian “cottage.” I don’t mind the conditions I live in; it is the solitude that I am struggling to accept. Last night I wrote the housing director, and I knew she would respond to me today. This morning I prayed that whatever the answer was, I would have a peace about it. I dearly wanted to be brought closer to the international students; instead, the international students were brought to me. Rumor has it my hotel is now full of international students. I have only met seven of them, and they have expressed interest in getting to know me. The feeling is mutual.