Buying stamps from the goddamn post office

Just had an unhealthy dose of Indian bureaucracy; spent the last hour and a half at the post office trying to send a parcel home. A simple task at home perhaps, an absolute nightmare here.

Step 1: Find a parcel wallah (parcel maker) on the street outside the post office.

Step 2: Haggle with parcel wallah to fix a price; do this while standing in the 43 degree heat with sweat literally dripping off your face and cheeks scalded red from the temperature.

Step 3: Sit in shade and watch the parcel wallah VERY SLOWLY wrap your items in newspaper and then again in wax cloth. Cloth must be stitched by hand all the way around the edges (again, slowly slowly seems the favoured way), and then the stitches must be covered in wax seals (wax seals! I loved this bit actually). If you don't do this by the book, the post office won't send your parcel. This takes a good 40 mins and I lose approximately 3 lbs in weight through sweating.

Step 4: Write the address on the top left of the parcel. Write the sender's address on the bottom left. Write phone numbers for each address. I make sure the IRELAND is giant - just get it that far and Ireland will look after it!

Step 5: Go into bedlam post office where it seems that just about anybody can walk behind the counter and have a look around. There is a 'link failure' - basically their server is down due to a powercut. Options are to sit and wait or try somewhere else. The staff are just sitting behind the desks with their feet up, some of them are sleeping. Hilarious. No A/C so no incentive to stick around here.

Step 6: Bribe parcel wallah to come with you to another post office (he has to vouch he sealed your parcel) and head to train station outlet.

Step 7: BASK IN THE JOY OF AIR CONDITIONING!

Step 8: Watch in bemusement with stifled guffaws as three Indian men try to weigh a giant parcel (it's two large chairs) on a teeny tiny weighing scale that is clearly designed only for letters and small parcels.

Step 9: FINALLY you pay the money and think it's all over... how naive.

Step 10: Receive receipt complete with tracking number; write tracking number on both sides of the parcel. Write SPEED POST in giant letters which seems to be the equivalent of putting speed holes in your car - it's meant to make it go faster but probably won't do anything.

Step 11: Wave bye bye to the parcel and to the last 1.5 hours of my life. Success!

Just have to wait to see if it arrives in Ireland now - they said 10 days but I am skeptical. I will happily never post anything from India ever again.

Amazing, astounding, alliterative Andamans

The Indian holiday calendar strikes gold again, awarding me with a Monday office closure in February. Plans are quickly laid and made to visit the mysterious Andaman Islands... mysterious simply by virtue of my complete ignorance of their existence until very recently. Air India began running direct flights from Bhubaneswar to the islands in November, and myself, Laura and Marcus are lucky enough to book return flights for a mere €100 each. Arrangements made way back in November, we all get on with things until February finally rolls around... then the tropical adventures begin.

I am a firm believer in starting your holiday the day before it starts... don't wait until the day of your flight to start enjoying yourself, get stuck in the night before! I think this is a trait I have inherited from my parents, who are partial to an iced G&T of an evening. In this vein, I cook up a Massaman curry (the secret ingredient is Knorr beef stock!) for myself, Laura and Marcus on Thursday night. The train Marcus has taken from Berhampur is inevitably late, and he arrives sometime around 10pm. I go out of the apartment complex to meet him and bring him in through the gate, initially completely oblivious to the scandal I have just caused. I see the shocked looks of disgust on the faces of the caretaker and his brother and realise I have just committed a serious sin in Orissa... inviting a lone male into my home who is not my husband! The shame! I find it difficult to feel guilty about DOING NOTHING WRONG WHATSOEVER and so try to shrug away their shocked glances with a giggle. Not my problem!

Some dinner and beer later, it's bedtime, as I hurriedly double check I've packed the essentials... passport, money, malaria pills, bikini. Everything else I can do without if my brain has fallen out and I have managed to forget everything.

Early on Friday morning we head to the airport and encounter the joy that is Indian inefficiency and bureaucracy; we have our tickets checked 7 times before we are allowed on the flight. Yes, 7 times, by 7 different people. Ticket checks when entering the airport building, entering the departure area, getting baggage screened, checking in, entering security check area, going through the gate and finally again when getting on the plane. Despite this ridiculous nonsensery, we have a very pleasant flight with Air India and they even give us cake. Cake! Michael O'Leary would declare them socialist maniacs, no doubt. I, however, think them wonderful. Jojo likes cake.

Arriving in Port Blair, everything goes smoothly until our ferry ticket agent tries to extort a pile of extra money from us. We point blank refuse and get suitably angry; after a brief argument he disappears and reemerges with three ferry tickets for us with no extra charge. Success! That is until I read my ticket which declares my name to be "Joneso" and my age to be 40. 40? Come on!

The MV Bambooka, our ferry to Havelock island

Snoozy sleepy boring ferry journey later we arrive at our magical destination of Havelock island, where we will stay for a couple of days. The ferry chugs lazily into the jetty just before sunset, and we speculate if we can make a mad dash to the resort and be there in time for a cold beer on the beach to watch the sun go down. How wonderfully naive of us - there is first the small matter of Indian immigration to get through which consists of dozens of handwritten entries into a tired-looking ledger. With the bureaucrats satiated and permits stamped, we stop off to get some beers and head to Emerald Gecko, our chosen resort. This place can be summed up in the following three words:

Wowza jaykers almighty.

This place is ridiculously wonderful. We check in and I nab hut number 1, which is the closest to the beach and only about 20 feet from the shore. If there's a tsunami I'll be the first to go, but otherwise I'm super lucky here.

Hut number 1 at Emerald Gecko

After a seriously quick peek around our accommodations, we regroup for the icy cold beer we have been dreaming of all day. It has been HOT HOT HOT and the first sip of Kingfisher makes my shoulders relax into a lovely shuddery chair-sinky ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Cold beer on the beach in the middle of the Indian Ocean; how bloody fortunate am I? The evening continues in a similar fashion with tiger prawns the size of my face and a clear sky dotted with sparkling stars above swaying coconut trees. The evening cannot end without a mandatory Spider Check, and Marcus is kind enough to indulge my idiotic phobia and checks my whole hut for the rascals. None to be found, much to my delight, and I can sleep well in the knowledge there won't be spider babies in my ear when I wake up. (That's what happens, dontcha know).

Not a bad auld way to wake up in the morning

On Saturday I rouse at 7am and spend some quality time basking somewhat smugly in the stunning views from my wee balcony. It's hard to feel anything but pure joy when the place is so beautiful and unspoilt. We meet for breakfast at 8am and devour simple but delicious plates of fruit and eggs before heading out to the main road to catch an auto-rickshaw to beach number 7. Radhanagar beach, as it is also known, is famed for allegedly being "The Most Beautiful Beach in Asia". Now there's a name to live up to. Will it simply be a hype to lure silly tourists? The answer is an unequivocal NO.

Lovely knarley twisted rocks on Beach no. 7

Man alive, this place is beautiful, and relatively deserted. Long and wide expanses of clean white sand are lapped by tiny teasing turquoise waves, all flanked by beautiful boughs of green-laden trees. No imposing buildings here; no buildings at all in fact. Really simple and peaceful and wonderful.

Sun, sea, sand... and hardly any tourists

We while away a few blissful hours, strolling the shore and swimming in the calmest, clearest sea I've ever known. I am conscious that an unfortunate tourist was killed on this beach a few years ago by a crocodile that has taken up residence here. I'm confident the water is clear enough that I'll see it before it eats me, but luckily there are no crocodile sightings and no need for alarm.

Yikes!

We spent a wildly giggly ten minutes watching an Indian couple pose shamelessly and flamboyantly for photographs; I think the Mother Teresa pose was my ultimate favourite.

The joys of watching Indian photography

Despite the 'no alcohol' signs, we indulge our bold sides and sneakily swig a beer in the shade. It may only be 12 noon but somehow the beer seems entirely appropriate. Such is the joy of holidays.

Beer me! It may be the morning, but I need a beer.

Before we leave the beach we see an elephant - I feckin KNEW there was one around here somewhere and I'm so thrilled to see it I'm like a giddy child at the zoo. It's relatively small (for an elephant - giant for me) and I'm saddened to see metal chains around its feet and tourists tethered to its back. I have no interest in taking an elephant ride, so a few photos and an open mouthed gawp are sufficient.

Squee! Elephant! My heart jumped a mile with glee.

The next port of call is the jetty. Port of call, get it? Port? Jetty? I'll get my coat. We make our way to the government ferry ticket office which transpires to be a complete bloody joke. The exchange pretty much goes like this:

Me: Can we buy tickets for tomorrow's 4pm ferry please?

Man in office: No.

Me: Erm... why not?

Man in office: We are not issuing those tickets now. Come back tomorrow morning.

Me: Can we not just buy them now? We have money.

Man in office: NO.

Marcus has a bash at getting tickets as well and is told the same thing. Fair enough, we'll come back tomorrow. It'll be easy tomorrow right? Oh, how foolish we were! More details on that presently.

We find a place for lunch with a fiercely promising name; "B3 Bar and Brasserie". A bar? Wowza; jackpot! We see they have tonic water on their drinks menu (ridiculously hard to find in India) and are practically salivating at the prospect of a cold G&T with lunch. They'll have gin, right? This is a bar, of course they will. No, no... this is a strictly alcohol-free bar. Yes, you heard me. An alcohol-free bar. No, I don't know know why. They even had Jack Daniels posters up behind the BAR which had BAR STOOLS and looked all BARLIKE. For shame.

We stuff ourselves with pizza and lassi instead and have a bit of a wander about before plonking down at tea stall to while away the 20 minutes until the wine shop opens.

Sweet spiced masala chai

It's the only off licence on the island and we need some stocks for this evening. Two cups of tea later, Mr. Abdul opens his modest off licence and we are amazed to see a bottle of gin on the shelf. Just one bottle, all on its lonesome. Sure we couldn't leave it there all lonely like that, it wouldn't be right. The whole bottle is only 200 rupees (about €3) and this should have rung alarm bells... I think we were too excited at the idea of G&Ts on the beach at our resort to worry about practicalities.

The gin that started the party

Before we head back to Emerald Gecko I meet this little fellow, who is darling and cute as can be. He shows his macho side by successfully chasing a fully-grown man all the way down the street, to much laughter and shrieks of hilarity from the locals.

Cute little mangy pup

Arriving back at the Gecko, we are delighted to see three of our friends have appeared in the bar and have been sipping beers waiting for us to turn up. Two of them, Juliet and Orla, work as volunteers in Bhubaneswar; the third, Becky, is a friend of Juliet's from the UK on a visit to India.

Laura and Orla

Juliet and Becky

We crack open the gin in a most celebratory fashion and the bartender puts some music on for us, and we catch up between many raucous guffaws and giggles. The girls decide to head back to their hotel to clean up before dinner, and myself, Laura & Marcus potter down to sit on a tree by the shore to enjoy another sip of gin. The sun is just about to go down, the water is remarkably warm and there are wafts of laughter on the gentle breeze. I have a bit of an EXTREMELY HAPPY MOMENT and really cannot believe I am here. Simply beautiful.

Super happy almost tearful joy joy

In the evening the others return and sit down to dinner to celebrate Laura's birthday; what an incredible place to have a birthday. I have brought some goodies from the mainland including party poppers, colourful banners, candles and champagne. Dinner is marked by hilarity and laughter, and rounded off by a beautifully decadent fudgy chocolate cake kindly made by the chef.

I've said it before and I'll say it again; I love cake.

The drinking continues into the night, and it seems appropriate and logical to have a wander into the sea while it's dark to do some exploring. We make friends with some sea cucumbers that look suspiciously like turds and generally make silly talk as we plink and plonk our way through the shallows. When the booze is gone, so is my brain, and bedtime follows at some time or another.

Sea cucumbers! Lovely wee fellas.

Sunday starts with an OW MY HEAD followed by an instant OOOH, SUNSHINE. I figure the best cure for a hangover is right outside my hut, so I slip into my bikini and throw myself into the sea. Jaysus that feels good. Today myself and Marcus have to return to Port Blair, so we pack up our things and check out. There is an early morning attempt to yet again buy ferry tickets, and we are yet again told NO - come back later. This is not helping my delicate state.

We return to the resort and while away the beautiful morning on the beach. I immerse myself in the sea to ease my hangover, to no avail, and curse the evils of cheap gin. It's my not fault for drinking so much, it's the gin's fault for being poor quality! Ah, the logic of the blame game.

Beach no. 5, right outside my hut at Emerald Gecko

Right, the last ferry leaves at 4.30pm so we really really need to get some ticket action. We find ourselves yet again at the infuriating ticket office by the jetty at 2pm. I am told the 3pm ferry is now sold out and they are not issuing tickets for the 4.30 ferry yet. I try to reason with the man, telling him if I come back at 4pm as he is requesting then he will simply tell me that the 4.30pm ferry is now sold out. He looks at me as if I am an idiot and tells me to go away, come back later. I well and truly lose my patience and shout AH FOR FUCKS SAKE and storm off. Shouting helps me relax a bit, but it doesn't get us ferry tickets.

We get very very lucky as we find the office for a private ferry company which has a boat leaving at 4pm... at 3pm we manage to buy 2 of the last remaining tickets available. It is three times the price of the government ferry but the man never once tells me to go away and come back later and I instantly love him for it. Thank you, slightly-more-efficient-than-the-government man.

Goodbyes are fondly issued to Laura, who is staying on for another couple of days, and we board the ferry. It's far more comfortable than the government boat, with proper air conditioning and even a movie screen. Success.

The harbour at Havelock island

I watch Havelock island sail forlornly out of view as we move away from the jetty towards Port Blair. I am sad to be leaving and kicking myself for not arranging to spend another couple of days there. Silly Jojo. In Port Blair, we head straight to our hotel, which is home to cracked sinks, dark wood panelling, red lightbulbs, atrocious plumbing, zero mosquito netting and no privacy. Quite the change from my own beach hut! Dinner is dosa with spicy spicy sides, though hungover belly says NO and I sip on some water instead. I am in bed and asleep by 9pm, totally knackered.

The airport the next day outdoes its Bhubaneswar counterpart for bureacracy; here our tickets are checked 10 times. 10 bloody times! Entering the building, entering departure area, getting baggage screened, checking in, immigration desk, entering security section, getting frisked, going through the departure gate, another check at departure gate and boarding the plane. Unreal. We get on the plane and bid farewell to our incredible journey to the paradise islands. It has gone far too quickly but I've enjoyed it so much. Next time I go there will be one rule - no bloody cheap gin!

Kolkata (Calcutta)

I've been putting off writing this blog for the sole reason that I have no idea what to say. How can words possibly capture a place such as Kolkata? It is expansive but with compact zones, diverse whilst somehow cohesive, chaotic yet functional, eye-catching and eye-soring, amusing but frustrating all at once. I spent a lot of my time over the weekend wondering "Do I like this place? Am I having fun here?" I still can't really answer the first question, though though there is definitely a lure to Kolkata. I definitely did have fun, and I can see myself going back. Here we go anyway, a window into the weekend.


A decrepit building, typical of many in Kolkata

Laura and I have a few days off work thanks to India Republic Day, so we take the opportunity to head 400km north to the old British capital of Kolkata (formerly Calcutta). We board an overnight train which is both very cold and very smelling of piss. We both have a terrible night's sleep and stumble blearily off the train into Howrah Railway Station at 8am. It is slightly calmer than I expected in a city of 14 million people, but the place is teeming with life and there is again a familiar smell of human liquid waste.


Busy scenes in Howrah Station

We make our way to our hotel and are delighted to find it is not only sparkling clean, but also has really hot running water (somewhat of a luxury here), helpful staff and a kettle. A kettle! Oh, the joy.

As both of us are booknerds, we quickly decide that our first port of call should be the famous Kolkata Book Fair which happens to taking place this weekend. This is the biggest book fair in Asia and we are both excited to spend a few hours purusing some literature and making some purchases. We arrive at the Fair at 11.15am to be told it doesn't open until 12. And this is where everything starts to go wrong.

The security guard suggests we pay a visit to the nearby Science City to while away the time until the Fair opens. Science City is a somewhat dated interactive science museum with various exhibitions and a large park.


One of the hilariously dated 'exhibits' in the science museum

We make our way there, pay our entry fee, and within FIFTEEN MINUTES Laura realises she is no longer in the company of her wallet. We empty out her bag several times and it is most definitely not in there. Shit.

The next hour is spent with Science City security, who try to persuade us that she must have lost it somewhere outside the entrance. Surely no such thing could happen here, they tell us repeatedly. However, Laura had her wallet at the entry gate and paid her entry fee, so the wallet was definitely disappeared within the confines of Science City. We insist on looking at their CCTV footage which is beyond a joke and then resign ourselves to heading to the police station to get a report. We've only been in Kolkata a few hours and for Laura it's already been a very expensive trip.

The local police station is somewhat hilarious in how maddeningly frustrating and excruciatingly slow everything is. We speak to various different officers and Laura is asked to write out a statement. And then rewrite it. Oh and we will now need a third copy, can you rewrite it again? Now sign here, initial here, give me your father's name. Scribble down the address of your local police station in Bhubaneswar, your age, tell us again what you lost? Your wallet? Oh yeah, I forgot. Okay, fill this in here I'll just go for a wander about - I'll come back in about ten minutes and ask you the same questions over again if you don't mind.

Despite their extraordinary inefficiency, the police are incredibly kind and generous, twice sending someone out to the local market to buy us fresh sweets and drinks. I even learned a few phrases in Bengali from one of the chief officers. Laura reckons my red hair was a real asset as the police simply loved me! About 3 hours later, we leave the station, a stamped report in hand. We are somewhat baffled that we were never asked for a bribe and again thank the lucky red hair.

We now have but one thing on our minds: Books! Pickpocket be damned, we're still heading to the Book Fair.


Entrance to the wonderful book fair

I split the money I have in my wallet with Laura and we spend a lovely ambling afternoon scrabbling through piles of beautiful novels. The Fair is true to its word; it is MASSIVE. Hundreds and hundreds of stalls line the pathways and the selection of books is extremely impressive. I spot Beckett, Joyce and Wilde, very nice to see an interest in Irish authors abroad.


Beckett ahoy!

I buy a copy of Amitav Ghosh's "The Glass Palace" and the heartbreaking and absorbing "City of Joy" by LaPierre. The latter is set in a slum in old Calcutta and was made into a movie many years ago... the upside of this is that I now own a book with Patrick Swayze on the cover. Double bonus. There are also a plethora of local artists at the Fair, showcasing their wares and skills. The paintings are colourful and bold and rather beautiful.


A Bengali artists shows me how it's done

The rest of the day comprises snacks, meanders and eventually a very rich and delicious dinner of BEEF. My first experience of eating beef in India and it is very very good. There is a large Muslim population here in Kolkata so there are fewer taboos about munching into some cow meat.


I thought you might have to see it to beeflieve it (SORRY)

To our horror we discover that India Republic Day is this country's equivalent to Good Friday... nowhere is serving alcohol. After the day we had, a nice mojito would have really hit the spot but alas it is not to be. We instead spend some time in a nearby Kashmiri shop and I exit loaded with some beautiful scarves and shawls. Kolkata is going to eat all my money.

The next morning we are up and atom and decide to walk to the Victoria Memorial. On the map it only looks like this far but in reality it is more like THIS FAR. Turns out the city is massive and the walk takes us about an hour. All the while we concentrate fiercely to avoid falling over broken bricks, torn up pavements, mounds of fly-infested rubbish, plastic bottles, street stalls and the many thousands of legs and feet we pass.


Broken paths everywhere make life as a pedestrian rather trying

Arriving at the Victoria Memorial is a bit like entering another world. The filthy streets give way to immaculately manicured English gardens, irrigated rose bushes, glassy lakes and serenity.


Beautiful flowers in the Memorial gardens

This imposing Memorial was completed by "the Britishers" (I never tire of that wonderful Indianism) in 1921 and has been extraordinarily well-maintained. The inside comprises a well-planned and content-heavy museum which chronologises the arrival of the British to India and the horrors that unfolded thereafter. A series of collections portray the British as pampered, spoiled children, running around India doing as they please, employing the locals for a pittance and generally being very bold indeed. This is a very charming and fascinating museum though admittedly I found the level of detail slightly punishing.


The beautiful Victoria Memorial

Red hair fever is alive and well in this part of town too, as I am approached by several young men keen to take my photograph. I refuse, politely, and they snap my photo anyway. Ah bejaysus. I stalk away grumpily and Laura laughs. It is a bit funny but it tires very quickly.

It is hazily hot now and mid-afternoon, so we take a break in the jungle-esque garden restaurant of the Fairlawn Hotel. This place is a bit magical, as it is in this very spot that Patrick Swayze (here we go again) filmed City of Joy. He stood HERE and HERE and remember when he was over THERE! The food is disappointing but the movie magic (and a very deliciously cold beer) keep the afternoon alive.


A cold Kingfisher takes the edge off any lingering frustration

In the evening we meet with a woman we know through work - she is a development consultant and a native of West Bengal. She has very kindly offered to take us on a stroll and then out to dinner. We visit a tandoori diner which initially excites me; I love food cooked in a tandoor. However, this food is HOT HOT HOT. Seriously the spiciest thing I've eaten in India. It burns! I eat a small plateful of various meats and accompaniments and sip gratefully on a G&T. I admit defeat and return later to the hotel hungry and a bit tipsy.

Saturday morning heralds our last full day in Kolkata. We are both very tired at this stage from walking what must genuinely be very hundreds of millions of miles since our arrival. A quick breakfast and a hot coffee sees us right and we hop into a taxi bound for Kalighat. This is a busy Hindu temple which we are assured is worth a visit. Little do we know that today is a special day of puja, or prayer, and the temple is JAMMERS. We are allowed inside (even with our shoes on!) but warned not to take any photographs. Deal. We giggle delightedly at the spectacle of hundreds of people pushing and shoving their way through doorways and around obstacles. Now THIS is what I expected of Kolkata. It is intensely busy and noisy and the air is heady with perfumed incense. We spot the niche where goats are ritually slaughtered every morning. The floor is thick with blood and women are chopping up various limbs and organs, preparing for lunch.


Wonderfully colourful building near Kalighat

The windy streets outside the temple are thronged with various stalls selling a huge amount of junk and tack. People are EVERYWHERE and it is enough to simply walk around in complete bemusement, marvelling at how many people can be crammed into one space. This is about as 'authentic' as Kolkata gets.


Mad markets full of junk and trinkets

From one end of the authenticity spectrum to the other we go, now bound for the South City Mall. This is a colossal shopping centre, similar to Dundrum Shopping Centre. It is brimming with western-style clothes shops and even some familiar names, including Marks & Spencers, Accessorize and The Body Shop. Sadly the Body Shop prices are just as ludicrous here as they are in Ireland. You may be wondering why we came to such a westernised place, but trust me, if you lived in Bhubaneswar for 5 months you could be craving this kind of a place! Here we can also buy imported cheese and international wine - however again the prices are extraordinarily prohibitive. €9 for 200gm cheddar? €18 for a bottle of Chilean wine that I happen to know is shit? Really? We make a few token purchases but really just enjoy the open-plan space and how clean everything is.

Lunchtime finds us on a rooftop, enjoying a beer and some Indian food for lunch. From here we have a perfect view of the maelstrom that is New Market. Wandering in the front door you are assaulted by an incredible range of shopping opportunities. Do you fancy some fresh flowers, dried fruit, powdered spices, packaged tea, sparkley clothes, handwoven scarves, silver jewellery or even some live chickens or mystery meat on hooks? It is all here, ladies and gentlement, but you really need to fight you way through the pushy sellers to find what you want. Laura buys some Darjeeling tea and I purchase some silver jewellery from two Kashmiri merchants who astonish me by asking "Conas ata tu?" People here will go to great lengths to charm a tourist!



The day winds to a close as we have some very awful chocolate cake and tasteless coffee in the over-hyped Flurys, and we settled into the hotel room and have a glass of wine to toast our last night in Kolkata. It has been a manic few days and we sleep soundly before the alarm bleats at 5am to rouse us. The journey back to Bhubaneswar is pockmarked by VERY LOUD INDIAN PEOPLE, including hijras or transvestites, who clap obnoxiously loudly in people's faces and demand money. A surprising amount of people cough up too, passing coins into the masculine, chiffon-clad hands. Apparently the giving of money to hijras wards off any bad luck that you might incur from not giving them money. Or something. India, you are a confusing sort.

To sum up, this blog has been as long and rambling as the streets of Kolkata. I recommend going there but bring your patience, your sense of humour and for the love of Kali watch out for your wallet.

I'm off to the field

I sometimes get a bit caught up in NGO jargon and get brought back down to earth when someone says "What are you talking about? What do you mean you're 'off to the field'? What field?" Forgive me. "The field" is development-speak for project sites. In the case of Orissa, our projects are spread over 5 districts in the south of the state, and are all in very rural, remote areas. I spent four days in 'the field' last week (in Gajapati district) with my colleague Laura, so this is the story of what we got up and what it's like to do fieldwork.

It's Wednesday and the alarm clock asserts itself noisily at 5am. Our train leaves at 6.20am so there's just time for a quick shower and cup of tea before we make our way to the station on the other side of town. The train station is, as ever, incredibly busy and hectic, not to mention confusing. There are four platforms and it is never easy to be sure which platform your train will arrive onto. In theory you can check this on the big board in the entrance hall, which displays train numbers, train names, departure times and platform numbers... only the column for platform numbers is pretty much always blank. Very helpful indeed.

With the help of many a stranger we eventually find our train and then our carriage. The Indian train system is actually great. You book a ticket (easily done online) and you will be assigned a seat in a particular carriage according to what class you have chosen. Standards vary widely according to carriage class, going all the way from what we call the 'cattle cart' (no allocated seating, very much a free-for-all to see who can get on first and scrambles for seats) all the way up to 1st class AC (haven't experienced this one yet so who knows the joys that await). We are in 2 tier AC class which means you get an allocated seat and a 'berth' (bed), along with clean sheets, a pillow and a blanket. It is one of the least crowded classes to travel in and there is even a western-style toilet at the end of the carriage. We find our seats and settle in for the four-hour trip to Pelasa in the neighbouring state of Andhra Pradesh.

Identifying your stop is another difficulty while travelling by train in India. There are no announcements, and the combination of small windows and lack of signs at each station make it very hard to know where you are. Luckily the ticket inspector has a list of each person travelling in each carriage, and he will often check on foreigners to make sure they know where to get off. We were lucky enough to have such an inspector on this train, so we bundle off at Pelasa and get picked up by one of our partner NGOs, IWD (Institute for Women's Development). We stop off for a quick breakfast of idli (steamed rice/lentil cakes - one of the few Indian delicacies I can't grow fond of at all) and spicy condiments and then hit the road. We need to cross the border from Andhra Pradesh into Orissa to get to Parlakamundi, so we jump into the jeep and set off. It is actually hilarious how the roads immediately become absolutely terrible as soon as you cross the border into Orissa. Oh dear.

The objective of our trip is to monitor our partners' activities, identify successes and problems, and plan for future developments according to what we uncover on this visit.

We travel to the field office of IWD and after quick team introductions, drive to one of their operational villages. This is the village of Sabar, home to 50 households. We are given a tour of their crop fields and see the new irrigation well that has been constructed to help in times of water shortages.


Touring the crop fields


New well for irrigating the fields

The villagers gather together in their school building to tell us of the major issues their community faces.


Settling in at the village meeting

Water is a big problem here and they are hoping to get another well constructed in the near future. In 2010 they suffered from floods and 2011 brought a drought, so it is not easy for these people to plan for the future when the weather patterns are becoming so unpredictable.


The men sit in one group, the women in another


"Put your hand up if you've experienced water shortages this year"

The people are friendly and welcoming and the children adorable. We stay for about an hour, discussing various issues with the community, and then hit the road.


The villagers gather for a goodbye snap outside their school before we leave

Next stop is a slightly larger village a few kilometres down the road. Despite their close proximity, the two villages are very different. The children here are boisterous and cheeky and lack the shyness or fear that is typical in children here. I have a lot of fun with the kids here, happily making silly noises and doing a giddy dance to make them laugh. It works and is a nice start to this visit.


Giddy children, pleased with my antics

Despite the friendliness and silliness, it is immediately obvious there are serious issues in this village. Malnutrition is easily visible; the children are very small and very thin. Some of them appear to have a deformity of sorts, with limbs and torso very much out of proportion. In discussions it is revealed that these villagers each an average of 2 meals per day, but this can often be reduced to only one meal a day. They suffer a 'food gap' of 2 months per year, which means their supplies run out and they have food shortages during September and October. Healthcare is also a big issue here, with both TB and malaria being very prevalent.

One of the positive aspects of this village was the success of a small-scale kitchen garden programme. Some of the village women attended a workshop in a neighbouring town on how to cultivate sweet potatoes. They show us to their sweet potato plot and dig up a few specimens to show us.


The participants of the kitchen garden programme and their sweet potatoes

The women are incredibly proud of the work they have put into their plot and tell us that their children really enjoy eating the sweet potato curries they make. This is great as sweet potatoes are an extremely nutritious food, very high in vitamin A. Moreover, sweet potatoes are a really hardy crop and practically drought-resistant, so very helpful in this area in times of water shortages.

This village is also home to the drunkest man in the world! It is only around lunchtime but already he is singing and dancing and falling around the place. Tomorrow is a festival day and he appears to have started celebrating early. He takes quite the shine to me and gets a bit carried away, and then is quite literally carried away by a group of intervening men. He reappears now and again, shouting and waving at us for our attention, and is quickly carted off again. Haha.


Mr. Inebriated, doing a dance

It is getting dark now so almost time to push on. At the end of every village meeting we always like to invite the villagers to ask us any questions they like... it's only fair after we have asked them a series of questions over the last hour. They ask us about what crops grow in Ireland, whether everyone in Ireland has my unusual hair colour, and of course whether we are married. We have some hearty banter as they bring us cups of hot gingery tea, then wave goodbye as we return to the jeep.


A couple of the gorgeous kids

It's almost 8pm when we return to Parlakamundi and check in at the hilariously-named "Royal Palace" hotel. Parlakamundi is a very noisy, busy, ramshackle town and this hotel makes no effort to drown out the noise or the chaos from the street. To my dismay I notice that most of the windows at the hotel reception have no glass in them. We check into the equally hilarious "executive deluxe" room, which comprises two rock-hard beds with bricks for pillows and no windows. In the evening there is electricity but no running water but we are assured 'there will be water at some time madam', so we throw up our hands in resignation, get a bit of dinner, and go to sleep.

Thursday starts at 6am, when we clambour out of our beds to discover there is no electricity. The lack of windows mean it is PITCH BLACK. However, the water has miraculously started working; perhaps only one can function at a time?


The only light came from the tiny slit window in the bathroom

There is no handle to turn on the shower so we resort to having Indian-style 'bucket showers' in the grim bathroom.


The slightly worse-for-wear bathroom with our bucket for washing

We dress and pack by the light of our torches and mobile phones in time for a 7am meeting, during which I see my first big spider. He has black and white stripes and is thoroughly engrossed in web-weaving. We make a silent pact to stay out of each other's way and I am happy with that.

At 8am we get picked up by IWD for the second day of our monitoring visit with them. We stop in a greasy spoon-style place for breakfast. Today is is dosa, a sort of crepe made from fermented rice and lentils, which is actually a lot more appetising than it sounds. It comes with shockingly spicy dips and chickpeas and I'm not at all sure about this level of chilli for breakfast.


Dosa with accompaniments

I think about what Martin would tell me to do in this situation, and know for sure that his advice would simply be 'toughen up, Jojo'... so I do just that. I eat every bit of that dosa and then wonder how long my mouth with be on fire. (It was a good half an hour).

We rumble on in the jeep and visit Adagon village, home to 387 people. This is an incredibly dry and dusty place, with clay houses and meandering goats.


A few of the houses in Adagon village

This village was only constructed last year; previously these people lived at a higher altitude up in the hills. They suffered from high levels of malaria and diahorrea but could not access healthcare from where they lived. They were sure if they stayed in the hills they would die out, for already 10 villagers had been consumed by malaria and various other illnesses. Bit by bit, they moved down to the base of the hills where they now live in this small village.

The village meeting is very small as it is market day, so many people have travelled to the nearest town to buy/ sell/ trade their wares.


A small group gathers for the village meeting

We learn that the women of this village have set up two Self-Help Groups to reduce reliance on dodgy moneylenders. Each member of the SHG contributes 20 rupees per month, and this month is pooled together and loaned to members as they require it. It can then be repaid without interest. Previously, when people needed a loan they would have to visit a moneylender in the next town who would charge no less than 100% interest.

We discuss the big issues they now face in their new village. Again, the subject of water comes up and it is really hitting home how serious the drought is affecting people in this region. The other big issue for these villagers was lack of opportunities for making money. This results in many of the male villagers migrating for work for up to 3 months of the year. They travel to Chennai or Hyderabad for labour work which pays approximately 150 rupees per day... the equivalent of about €2.30. It's a shockingly low wage, but one which will help to feed their families when they have no other option.

We again invite questions at the end of our session, and the villagers are intensely curious about why we are sitting out in the warm sun rather than in the shade like they are. We try to explain about Ireland's temperate climate and severe lack of sunshine... they almost fall over when we say it rains almost 70% of the time. They are relaxed now and ask us if we like cricket and how long we will be staying in India. We part ways with lots of handshakes and smiles.

More meetings take place over the course of the day, broken up by an incredibly delicious lunch at IWD's field office. We now need to travel north to Berhampur (confusingly also called Bramhapur), which involves a lovely 3 hour trip on Highway 5. After the terrible dirt tracks and corroded roads of the last 2 days, the highway is bliss with its properly-laid tarmac and smooth surface. This journey was, however, the most terrifying part our trip. We had to cross the border from Andhra Pradesh into Orissa, which in theory means queuing up behind about a thousand trucks and waiting patiently for them all to be checked and permitted to cross. Our Indian driver had a better idea; why not just drive on the other side of the road, TOWARDS ENORMOUS TRUCKS, and avoid the checkpoint entirely? This is what we did. For a hair-raising 3km or so we played a game of chicken, driving towards load-bearing trucks, cars, jeeps and cyclists. There was lots of last-minute swerving, horn-beeping and the occasional squeal (the last one may have just been me) until at long last we got past the checkpoint and could cross back to the right side of the road. PHEW.

We arrive in Berhampur which is thronged with people and brimming with chaos. We find the Kamas Inn where we will be bunking down for the night and are heartened to see it's a step up from the Royal Palace in Parlakamundi. There is a shower that actually has hot water in it, and we are brought clean towels, blankets and even a bottle of mineral water. Wowza. Hilariously, we are charged 20 rupees each for the water, despite the fact we never asked for it and had assumed it was complimentary. This is very common in India and never ceases to be annoying.

I wake up the next morning at 6.30 with five giant mosquito bites. Apparently there was a party last night and my blood was the booze. I try to resist the urge to scratch my flesh off and prepare for the day ahead.

Our time with IWD has finished and today we meet with another of our NGO partners, SACAL, who work on agriculture and livelihood strategies in 60 villages in Gajapati. We meet Najindra, the director, at 7.30am and stop for more hot hot dosa for breakfast. Today's dosa is full of chilli-heavy potato and sprinkled liberally with extra green chilli, just in case it already wasn't hot enough. I again try to toughen up and eat it quickly before my mouth can register the flames.

We travel to the SACAL field office where we have a quick briefing over delicious coffee and have a look around.


Map of our operational villages in partnership with SACAL

It's then time to then travel over bumpy godawful roads to the village of Gobinapur. 53 households live here in a community that is incredibly mobilised, motivated and inspiring. They show us the charts they have made to track their progress in growing various different crops, including maize, silk cotton plants and vegetables.


Explaining their charts capturing a wide range of useful information

They have created a poster to illustrate what crops can be grown in what season, and what crops can happily share a plot together.


Whoops, sideways... this illustrates what crops can be grown in what season

All the children in this village are attending school, the farmers have increased the levels of organic inputs in their activities, and a village committee has been formed to make demands from local government for land titles, water supplies and healthcare. It is really very impressive and it is a joy to be here.

We get a tour of their enormous crop fields with a couple of the farmers. They tell us how much things have changed over the last ten years, in particular how the rainfall has become erratic and unpredictable and how their sightings of wildlife (such as herds of elephants) has reduced dramatically. Stories like this really drive home how climate change is having real and serious consequences for people who live off the land.


This local farmer tells us how things have changed in the last decade

We potter about a bit more and I ooh and ahh over the baby goats and gorgeous children.


Ooh! Aah!

Time to move on so we give our profuse thanks and on we go to Langadurai village. This is similar to our previous stop; again very well organised and inspiring. They sing us beautiful welcoming songs and offer us fresh bananas from the trees.


The village's holy man with people gathered for the meeting

Less than 100 people live here and there is the most welcoming and wonderful atmosphere as we discuss the villagers concerns, ideas and hopes. They explain how they have adopted the SRI (System of Rice Intensification) model for agriculture, and are now using only half the amount of seeds per acre and getting 5 times the yield. They have now opened a grain bank in which they currently have 9 quintals of rice (900kg) which is available to everyone in the village.

The rest of the day is a mixture of long jeep journeys, various meetings and furious note-taking. There is an information overload and it is difficult to keep up! By late afternoon it is time to start making our way towards our accommodation for the night. We are excited by this as we have been told we are staying in a Tibetan monastery tonight. We don't have much information except we know that 600 children are training to be monks at this monastery and there are some 10,000 Tibetan refugees living in the area.

It is dark when we arrive and we can't see much of anything. We check into our room which is surprisingly spacious and clean and beautifully silent. There has been some sort of mix-up and instead of two beds there is only one large one. Well, toughen up Jojo.

Dinner is a welcome break from the fiery chilli of the last few days, with Tibetan-style noodle soup, hearty lentils and fat homemade tawa roti (bread). Exhausted, we fall into bed at 10pm and I sleep like a log, my brain delighted by the silence and lack of mosquitos and my body hugged affectionately by the incredibly warm mink blanket.

The morning brings gasps of delight as we look out the window and catch our first glimpse of the Buddhist temple. It is absolutely gobsmackingly beautiful.


Our first sighting of the temple from our bedroom window

We are at about 1200 metres above sea level and it is FREEZING. The icy shower terrifies us as we are already shaking with the cold, so we pack quickly and head off for a brilliant breakfast of homemade hot crumpets and eggs with hot sugary tea. Najindra and his team join us for breakfast and indulge us with a quick look at the temple before we set off. It is the most wonderfully colourful and intricate building I have ever seen.


The temple from the front

Sadly it is too early for it is be open but we peek in the windows and the inside really takes my breath away. I glimpse a 20-foot high gold Buddha surrounded by dancing figures and intense splashes of colour. Simply amazing.


The front porch of the temple


Beautiful view from the front of the temple

It is our last day and we have a few meetings lined up before we have to head back to Berhampur to catch the train. We meet with a Baptist community who sing us bible sings and get us to light ceremonial incense on a makeshift altar.


Lighting the incense for the meeting to begin

This is all rather bizarre as I didn't even know there were Baptist communities in this area but it is a fascinating place.


Meeting with the Baptist community

We also meet with a self-formed local council who advocate on the part of rural villages to get better road access, water facilities and healthcare.

Lunch today is incredible. We sit outside by the edge of a forest, on tarps on the ground, and are served generous helpings of rice, dahl (lentils), fried cauliflower, beetroot relish, aubergine curry and fresh fish on plates fashioned from dried leaves.


Sit cross-legged on the ground and eat only with your right hand

I meet the friendly fisherman cooking up the fish he caught in the nearby dam and he is wonderfully generous, offering me second helpings and making sure I have everything I could need.


My friendly fisherman friend

Stuffed to the brim, we express our thanks, take some group photos and jump into the jeep for the last time.


Najindra (top left) and his amazing staff at SACAL

We have about 3 hours before our train leaves and are told the journey to the station will take about 3 hours. Hmm, I'm not sure about this. Our driver takes the time issue as a challenge and drives like a maniac; we get to Berhampur in 2.5 hours and managed not to crash or kill anyone on the way. Success. Waiting on the platform we notice that most people are too lazy to use the footbridge to cross to another platform; they simply hop down onto the tracks and walk across.


A relaxed attitude to train tracks in Berhampur

Back on the train, get some tea and feel really exhausted but exhilarated. What an incredible trip. Such amazing, resilient people, with such welcoming hearts. We get back to Bhubaneswar around 9pm that night, and I am sleeping soundly by 10pm. I simply cannot express how much I love my job. Hopefully after this somewhat epic post you will have a better sense of what it means next time I declare I'm 'off to the field'.