Growing Pains

We’re in our second week at language school here in Mussoorie, a small mountain town in the foothills of the Himalayas.  By my estimation, these are already mountains, but seeing the snowcapped peaks of the bigger Himalayas just beyond us puts these “foothills” into perspective.  Taking the public bus up the narrow mountain road to get her was a hair-raising experience. As the driver flew around blind corners on the single-lane highway clinging to the edge of the mountain, sometimes blaring his horn and sometimes leaving the possibility of oncoming traffic to chance, we often found ourselves doubting the driver’s will to live.  At least gravity was working in our favor… we’re dreading the downhill return this coming weekend, now that we’ve seen the speed that’s possible even when working against the incline.  Upon arrival, however, we walked off our nausea during the mile-long uphill hike to where we’re staying.  We decided that the cool temperatures and stunning views of mist-shrouded hills and the Indian plains transformed into a placid sea spreading toward the horizon below were well-worth the train trip and the terrifying bus ride.  Through some friends, we were able to find a friendly Indian family to rent a small apartment from.  They live upstairs, and we enjoy a bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and living room (with actual table and chairs!) for studying down below.  We weren’t prepared for the 50 degree drop in temperature, so we bought wool sweaters to throw over our summer clothes and now we’re enjoying being cozy instead of just cold :)  It’s monsoon here, so most days there is at least heavy fog if not heavy rain, and the humidity seeps through the walls and keeps clothes and dishes and towels from drying.  But when the dense cloud recedes, it looks like heaven come to earth when the sunlight plays across the sky, painting the clouds that ensconce the low rooftops of the the hillside town itself.  With all the shifting clouds and light, no two days look the same, even from the same vantage point on the mountain.  Walking along dirt footpaths through the massive, dripping, fern- and moss-covered trees to climb up to language school or down to the market to buy vegetables reminds us how much we’ve missed having exercise, silence, and space to breathe in the city.  Nature is rejuvenating.  

Of course it’s not all peace and quiet.  As usual, the monkeys are everywhere, both the aggressive and the space-suit variety, and we had a nasty run-in with a troop of them the other day when we came to a part of the road where they refused to let us pass.  A. wielded a water bottle and made aggressive noises, but the monkeys just leapt forward and bared their fangs.  We retreated to find stones to throw at them, and once we had pebbles in hand the monkeys fled– though not without indignation.  A momma picked up her baby just as I hurled a little rock in their general direction and turned to look at me with her mouth gaping open, as if to say, “Hey, this is a baby!  What do you think you’re doing, being so aggressive?”  The next day, we saw a local guy chasing a monkey troop away from the street in front of his shop with a flare gun, so I guess foreigners aren’t the only ones being monkeyed with around here.

We have two hours of one-on-one language instruction each day, which is really pushing us forward in our listening and speaking ability, and our time thus far has felt extremely productive.  We’re encouraged by our progress and thankful for the formal instruction and the change of scenery.  But there’s an element of being here that is difficult, too.  Having access to internet in our apartment (whenever the fog or thunderstorms aren’t knocking it out) means greater “connectedness” with the outside world– we can read online news, skype with a few people, send emails, check facebook.  But in another way having that connection shows us just how disconnected we really are.  We can digitally follow bits and pieces of hundreds’ of friends’ lives, but we aren’t part of the day-to-day substance of any of them.  The reality is that “back there” isn’t really home anymore, and “over here” isn’t quite home yet.  So this week, even as we take in the beauty of the Himalayas and the excitement of preparing for the next step of our journey here, we’re also feeling the loss of the life we left behind and missing the people who have journeyed with us up to now– people spread across the globe from China to California to Nashville to Peru, and lots of places in between.  A week from now, we’ll be on the move again, as we have been many times before.  Uprooting has become somewhat of a trademark for us, but we’re hoping soon to begin learning the patient art of settling in.

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