Crickets in the Night (and in my bathroom)

Dear friend,


I am currently sitting on my bed, a slightly worn but very comfortable blanket adorned with red flowers and a mustard-yellow frame directly beneath me, one leg perpendicular to the bed frame, the other propped upwards so as I can rest my cheek on my knee. The fan above me is blowing quite rapidly, allowing just enough air to make the beige curtains dance and my slightly poofy hair stir. It is 11:38 P.M. in Bodhgaya, India, and the usually-hectic, noisy, and crowded streets, tonight, are empty, quiet, and peaceful.

This will be my second night in India. I arrived yesterday afternoon, my flight having landed at approximately 1:20 P.M., and stayed in my room at the Welcome Guest House the great majority of the day. I unpacked my three cotton trousers and a total of five blouses and t-shirts, my sunset-orange and grey scarf, my twenty-dollar, navy Victoria shoes, my abundance of toiletries, the books I bought for the children, and my camera, and placed them all in the two-shelved bookcase in my room. I Skyped my parents and fell asleep shortly afterwards.

The room is quaint, with mellowed-yellow walls, a small brown window overlooking the streets and some trees, a mirror, a table, two single beds divided by a low night stand, and a small bathroom I share with a cricket, consisting of a toilet, a sink, and a shower head directly centered between them both. I learned earlier today that there is no hot water; the hot water is simply slightly less biting than the cold water. I may have released an accidental squeal at the touch of the water to my skin this morning, however, tonight, I will suppress the surprise. At this time of night, there is only silence.

I have been eagerly anticipating this trip for the past five weeks, for it was five weeks ago that I met Jan, and five weeks ago that he presented to me this incredible and humbling opportunity. Jan, a young man whose passions include traveling, the environment, people, and holistic education, is the founder of a non-government organization by the name of One Action. One Action has projects around the world, three of which are in India, one of which is here in Bodhgaya. When conversing with Jan, I expressed my deep desire to see the world as a contributor rather than a mere observer, my absolute love for children, and my concerns for this ailing planet. Jan told me of a project in a small, remote, poor village in India in which there is a local school that teaches three hundred kids from the ages of three to sixteen. His project there includes paying the teachers a monthly salary, growing a garden of trees to supply clean, fresh air to the children, and providing a meal once a day, every day, for the children, after a young girl fainted in his arms from starvation. Jan told me the school was in desperate need of an English teacher who was fluent in the tongue, and invited me to volunteer there, should I be interested. I applied for my visa, made hasty progress on my university application to schools in the U.K., researched the culture and ways of India--as a woman and as a general being--and bought my ticket six days prior to the day I left my home in Barcelona. This simple, sweet room and this colorful, chaotic town is my home for the next seven weeks, and I will share my every breathtaking, heartbreaking, life-changing, adventurous and joyous moments with you; my every thought, my every interaction, my every picture, and my every story.



Welcome to India.