At the end of the card Lori told us that she got her driver’s license in India and was driving like crazy! India most definitely is a crazy place to drive. Then she wrote, “APRIL FOOLS!” (a fun auntie trick for my kids to read.)

Maddi thought this was very funny and giggled to Jordan, “Aunt Lori doesn’t know that it is MAY over here! It must still be APRIL in India!”

Yes, India has a 12 hour time difference–which I’m sure my brother and sister-in-law would agree must feel like months apart at times. Still, I love how my little girl interprets life. Maddi sparkles with a unique quality to see life through smiles.

Enjoy your Friday–whether you are living in April or May!

This is a wonderful event honoring all police officers who have given their lives in the line of duty in the state Minnesota’s history.  My message will include the themes of trust and time, both strong words connected to the journey of grief.

My prayer for all families who have lost someone they love, is that comfort will surround them today and always in both simple and unexpected ways.

I think home can sometimes feel as foreign as an adventure to India. The chaos of schedules is like the chaotic traffic of rickshaws, motorcycles and cars all honking for the same space on a narrow Indian roadway. Balancing family, work, school, extra-curricular activities and some attempt at a social life can feel similar to the trick of fitting the Indian population of one billion people into a geographic location not much larger than the state of Texas. Keeping a house in order, clean, picked-up and toilets scrubbed is at times as interesting as the smogs and smells of a developing nation. Relating to the big people and little people inside the house can be as fascinating and frustrating as learning a second language.

Home can also be as comforting as a chocolate croissant in Paris, France. Sleeping in one’s own bed, the conveniences of one’s own kitchen, the luxury of a washer and dryer can be as charming as the Eiffel Tower. Sometimes all that matters is the light in which one views the attractions.

Then I thought about my travel companion. Steven was with me on my Indian adventure, my Paris, France escapade and my coming home destination. And I’m captivated. Taken with. Deeply overwhelmed by how much I love this guy. Travel is best when shared. Whether at home or far away, I know where my heart is.

Open-air concert at Sucre Coeur Church in Paris, France 2012

One of the things that matches my heart to Steven’s is his flexibility to explore. There is often an element of give and take when trying something new. I am not blind to the blessing of being with someone who can adapt and operate with even the most bizarre proposals. Like trying to fit India and Paris and all of the culture shock in-between into a tightly sandwiched amount of time and call it an adventure.

With backpacks in tow we hopped on the metropolitan light rail searching for our French hotel. The slight drizzle only added to the ambiance of traveling in one of the most popular, charming cities in the world. Standing on the corner of Rivoli Avenue we met an old chap who tipped his wool beret to greet us. The man looked like a professor dressed in a tweed coat. He started speaking to us in French with a cheery sing-song rhythm. When we were finally brave enough to open our mouths he instantly switched mid-sentence to English and shared how in his younger years he lived in Texas after the war because he needed a change. “The American people were so nice to me,” he repeated several times.

He asked how many days we had to enjoy Paris and sadly we confessed only two. With this the man folded his hands up towards the sky and responded, “Then tonight I will pray for sun. I pray God will listen to me so that you can see as much as possible while you are in Paris. And then I will meet you back on this corner in eight days.”  We had just arrived this man read our minds, we didn’t want to leave. Giving us directions to our hotel, he shook our hands farewell.

We filled our 48 hours will chocolate croissants and cappuccinos. We feasted on oven burnt pizzas and green olive-oil salads. Of course we had to try the creme brulee. We walked the narrow streets along the canal until our feet hurt and then we walked some more.

Our sight-seeing highlight was Sacre Coeur, a church on top of a high hill in the northeast area of the city. The church’s name translates to “Sacred Heart.” A most majestic construction, I was enthralled by all the steps fashioned to climb to the top. Sitting on those steps we listened to a musician play his guitar collecting coins in his case. Many people congregated and some started to sing along. With a bottle of wine in our backpack we had an impromptu date–an unplanned concert.

With a view of the city below and starry sky blanketing above, I felt captured in a picture worth remembering for as long as my mind will allow. The night summed up everything that is right about the world–enjoy the moment in front of you especially when it isn’t planned.

On the way back to the hotel I pulled out the book I started reading in India, “Holy Cow – An Indian Adventure.” The French man sitting next to us on the metro commented, “I read that book a couple years ago. Very funny.” What a full circle feeling to find someone in Paris who connected to my snapshot excursion in India!

My overall summary for the trip is appreciation. Merci beaucoup (French). Spasibo (Russian). Dhanyavaad (Hindi). I give thanks.

Sacre Coeur Church in Paris

Steven and Jennifer on the steps of Sacre Coeur

Sacre Coeur Church at Night

Flying home from France!

You can see below that Steven is fascinated with the Russian language. Another motivator for my paper–how does language fit together to communicate a topic one is passionate about and finds important?

Coffee is always a good companion. Whether traveling, meeting with a friend or writing a long, long…very long paper.

Sip away this Saturday on your own strong cup! I will lift up my coffee as a cheers to you.

The walk through the airport to transfer planes allowed us enough time to see people bundled up in fur coats and lavish accessories, go to the bathroom, see signs written in Russian, make a quick detour through the gift shop and find a cafe to buy a cappuccino (well, we really didn’t have time for that, but I can always make time for coffee!)

At the gift shop we bought a set of Matryoshka dolls for our children. These dolls are also known as Russian nesting dolls which are hand-painted, wooden dolls each decreasing in size and placed inside the other. We bought a replica of the story “Goldilocks and The Three Bears” where baby bear is hiding in the middle.

Near our gate we discovered a coffee shop and bakery. I ordered a cappuccino and piece of tiramisu. Steven has had an ongoing challenge to find the best tiramisu in the world. For those of you who have not tried this luscious dessert, tiramisu is an Italian cake made with ladyfingers, coffee and liquor.

Up until Moscow, the leading winner of all Steven’s tiramisu taste tests was Toronto, Canada–which has held first place for many years. But, in a matter of minutes, Moscow took the lead from the very first bite. The decadent dessert was perfectly layered with cookies, cream, coffee and rum without being too soggy which is one of the key contest requirements.

The frothy cappuccino also scored first place in my opinion and I have now decided that I, too, will have my own little contest to find the world’s best frothy coffee drink. I believe Moscow will hold first place for awhile.

The stop was quick, the memories were lasting. Sometimes that is the best part of traveling…not that you always have a lot of time, but that the time you do have is unforgettable.

In 1632, King Shah Jahan built a palace in memory of his third wife Mumtaz Mahal to be her burial place, a tribute of how much he loved her. The white marble mausoleum took twenty years to construct and legend says that King Jahan would sit watching in the garden across the river mourning her death. Maybe it is hard to describe the sheer beauty of this place just as it is equally difficult to ever describe someone else’s love story.

Walking along the pristine courtyard, Steven leaned over to tell me, “I will never know enough people or have enough resources to build you something like this, but I will spend my whole life trying.”

The Taj Mahal is one of the best love stories ever told.

There is nothing easy about getting to the Taj Mahal, which quite possibly adds to the allure. For what kind of love is worth having if it is too easy to find and too easy to take for granted?

Leaving my brother’s we flew to New Dehli, the capital, and then embarked on a five hour taxi ride to the town of Agra. We were stunned that a five hour taxi ride only cost fifty US dollars. Our Indian driver, Sanjay, was eager to introduce us to his country on the hot, stuffy, dusty drive through the interior mainland.

Most of our introduction occurred through mime and gesture as Sanjay spoke very little English. However, broken words and hand gestures can tell a person many things when held captive in a taxi for five hours. Several times, Sanjay reminded us with a toothy smile that he spoke, “little, little English.” Still, we were able to communicate our need to stop and use a bathroom or stop to eat lunch. Steven’s favorite translation occurred when I asked Sanjay if we could stop to buy some bottled water. Sanjay nodded and replied, “I am little little English. You are problem.” He meant, of course, that it was no problem to make the stop. Steven only smirked with an agreeable opinion, “Wow! He has you pegged!”

The following day we took the train back to New Dehli as a way to experience real Indian life. Many of the seats were filled with people packed into cars so tightly that arms were waving out the windows. Our tickets were in first class. This bought us a seat in an area that looked like a luggage rack. When I took off my dirty shoes and curled my legs underneath me, I heard rustling. I wasn’t sure if someone was trying to take my shoes, if there was an animal scavenging through the aisle or if the conductor was sweeping.

When I looked down there was a naked boy, wearing nothing but a tattered cloth sack. His creamy skin appeared to be drenched in a shower of flour. The white dust from the slums covered him head to foot. He  inched along the aisle on all fours, sweeping up traveler’s garbage with his hands and begging for a small payment in return. I handed him a bag of crackers and the men next to us gave him a few small rupies (coins). My heart felt a suffocating weight as I asked questions with no answers, “How can I be so fortunate? How can I complain about sitting in a luggage rack? How can he be expected to live like this? How can I possibly help?”

Our trip to India was filled with mixed questions, mixed versions of beauty and mixed emotions. I had no idea what to expect, so I was not disappointed. I was simply mystified by all of India’s wonder.

The Hindi God “Ganesha” is the God of new beginnings. He has an elephant head and a human body.  There is an ornate elephant sculpture in the New Delhi airport which summarized our arrival and departure all into one–that each adventure is a theme of new beginnings, renewed spirits, new days with new starts. Whether you are coming or going–today is a new day.

The Bamboo Boats – Just like floating down the river in a papason chair!

Jennifer’s Brother Adam and his wife Lori – wonderful hosts

Spices ooze from India everywhere. Each food is created with unique combinations of chilli powders, herbs, roots, curry and turmeric. The heat level of the food matched the climate outside. The typical buttermilk beverage that the natives down like coca-cola was something Steven and I couldn’t convince ourselves to try. We stayed close to our bottled water and found the chai tea to be our craving.

Smells are strong, stifling and suffocating. The more I look for words to explain, the more incomplete and failing is my description.  All I know is I found myself often walking with my arm covering my nose.

Our biggest learning curve?  The traffic. Walking across the street in a land of one billion people, several thousand cows and more-than-I-could-count ricksaws proved to be a challenge for this Minnesota-nice gal who already has issues with hesitation. Motorcycles fill any spaces left open making the traffic seem more like a water current than individual modes of transportation. It was typical to see families of three, four, even five people on one motorcycle.

This trip was the first time in my life that I have floated down a river in a bamboo boat big enough for six people that looked like a papason chair. We spent a day at Hogenakkal waterfalls drifting along with our guide in boats that are round because the shape makes it easier to navigate the circling current pattern of the water. The waterfalls were tame and refreshing, cooling us from the southern heat that reached around 110 degrees that day.

The adrenaline pumping part of the excursion was the near attack by wild monkeys roaming free around this natural Indian water-park. At one rest stop, one particularly determined monkey took interest in our bag of Ruffles potato chips. I stuffed the two chips I had in hand into my mouth to hide all evidence that I was related to the rest of the group. This “save-yourself’-first” mentality must run in the family as my brother threw the remaining bag of chips to Steven in an effort to escape. Catching the bag under his arm, Steven clapped his hands loudly and yelled to let the monkeys know the Ruffles were ours! Beware if you visit my brother, he will teach you true survival techniques…quickly!

The temples of India have a Disney World feel with large exhibits and bigger-than-life formations and statues. The rule is to walk barefoot or in socks throughout the caves and tunnels of the holy structures. One temple priest held out a brass jar of fire. We followed the lead of the natives in front of us, sliding our hands above the fire and then smoothing our hands over our heads as a symbol to remove negativity from our lives. There was a common religious theme to lay our burdens at the feet of God. Every culture endures struggles. Every culture needs someone bigger than themselves to understand.

Last week, Steven and I returned from a ten day tour of India, Moscow and Paris, France. The trip was inspired by my brother Adam and his wife Lori who have been stationed in Bangalore, India for 18 months with work. Fascinated by their adventure, Steven and I were privileged to see where they live, eat what they eat and tag on a few tourist stops at the end of our travels as a bonus.

Since my trip I have discovered that only 20% of Americans have passports. Only 1% of American students from two and four year institutions choose to study abroad. And India is often one of the last places people want to go.

India accounts for around 50% of the world’s hungry. In terms of income, 80% of the population live on less than $2 a day. Power outages occur daily, sometimes up to three hours a day. There are 18 official languages in India including Hindi, English and a language specific to each state. Only 66% of the Indian population is literate. Most people get around by rickshaws, motor bikes, foot or camels. With more than 1.2 billion people, India is the second largest populated country in the world living on a land one-third the size of the United States.

So, why did we go to India? Other than to see my brother and his wife?

I went to see something different from the life I live. I went to try something new. I went because sometimes the best learning is best done by doing. I went because I may never have the chance to go again.

Steven may have a different answer from my own…something to the tune of, “I followed my crazy wife there!”

What adventure is knocking on your heart–one that may not present itself again or anytime soon if you pass it up?

We are happy to be home. We are happy to be safe. More tomorrow on our Ten Day Tour.