Eyes wide open

Just about every spring break from when I was three until my senior year of high school was spent in Negril, Jamaica. The drive from the airport took us through some small towns and villages consisting mostly of crumbling buildings and too many tin shack communities. Jamaica defined what I knew of extreme poverty. Working in the Salvador favellas brought me closer to that. But I don't think anything could have prepared me for Bombay. In Bombay there is no cleaned up, spruced up area for the tourists. It is reality in your face every where you go. Crumbling buildings, tin shacks, mud hovels, people living on the sidewalks, in parts where the sidewalks are too crowded families live in the middle of the street where there would undoubtedly be traffic had they not set up home there first. And the traffic is unbelievable. It is a free for all, no order and no traffic laws. Cars honking at rickshaws honking at motorbikes honking at bicyclists ringing at pedestrians pushing carts yelling at the cow who's traveling against traffic. A two lane street somehow manages six. It wasn't until the last day in Bombay that Nigel and I figured out the local train - you know the one with everyone hanging out from the doors. We took two to get into town, and on the way back tried for a direct line home but ended up going in the wrong direction. The mistake was a welcomed one though because we saw the outskirts of the city that most people don't see. The poverty crept right up to the tracks and the stations became barely that, just a crumbled slab of concrete. It was a different look at the poverty though: in downtown Bombay you can't walk anywhere without little kids carrying babies tugging at your pants with open palms - (this image will forever be ingrained: a baby sitting up by itself on a mat, not yet able to walk. as I walk past he puts out his hand to me, palm up, and just stares at me with eyes like big black saucers) - But on the train I was able to see people really living, and making the best of life just like anyone does - kids playing cricket, men planting a garden, etc. It's a humble existance.

The extreme poverty is matched with extreme wealth in Bombay. There are great bars and lounges in the city, you would never know because they are behind a wall on a crumbling street that looks just as the others, but they're there. And the bollywood stars are out and the paparazzi's flashes are popping. As I left a club the other night I wondered if we're as blind to the poverty at home as the wealthy Indians seem to be here.

I'm in Goa now, in a little area called Baga Beach. It's peaceful, and eclectic, and probably the only place in India that I can wear shorts and a tank top without feeling the judging stares. I'm here for a few more days, soaking in the sun and drinking too many Kingfishers. Goa is great! Kerela next.