I had never put two and two together before arriving in India. All the Bollywood films and first or second generation Indians I have met never really expressed the importance. But now that I am here, it is crystal clear - it is an essential survival skill - the Indian head waggle.

- Its useful in conversation, giving immediate affirmation to the speaker.

- Its a simple, effective way to communicate thank you and appreciation to the taxi driver, waiter or receptionist.

- Its a way to say hi to passersby.

- If you are really good, it will get you tea, coffee or a wonderful subji without saying a word or moving a finger! My microwave can't do that!

And when I say head waggle, don't get me wrong. Some people here shake their head vigorously.

There is only one problem. The Indian head waggle conveys the exact opposite meaning from every movement my head has ever made. My up down to express affirmation doesn't work here. Left to right here is what means 'Yes'. Now, just picture it (because it has happened a little too often in the short amount of time that I have been here so far) - where I get animated during a conversation and shake my head up and down - and the person across from me gets animated, and shakes their head side to side. Up - down - side - side - up - side - down - side. Now you can see how confusing it can be. And that's from my point of view. They just probably think I'm some goofball from the planet Mars that has never exercised the side to side neck muscles, just the up and down ones. The more I shake up and down, the more they shake left and right. If I'm not careful, I think I may cause someone's head to fall off during a business meeting. I can only imagine the repercussions from that:

"Latest American Cultural Blight Causes Severe Neck Pain."

"Americans Waggle Wrong, Ministers Heads Roll."

"Misinterpretation of Head Nod leads to WWIII."

Wait a minute - this is starting to sound familiar. A little too familiar, isn't it? It is. No - it isn't. AHH!!!! KRRRPPPOOOWWWW!!!

A Little Further Across the Pond, and a Little Less South

I sat this morning on a Delhi street corner eating breakfast. For a little less than $0.50, a gentleman with a gas skillet on a cart had made me an egg omelette between two pieces of white bread - but it was the minced chili pepper that gave it the Indian flare. I watched the sleepy Saturday morning bustle. Two men next to the omelette cart were busy rolling dough and making Roti. A dilapidated scooter repair stand - an open air 20 sq. ft enterprise - was not yet open for business, but a line of scooters awaited. The barber next door, however, was open. A tarp was tied to a tree to create a roof and single wall, upon which a mirror hung. A man in a chair was getting a shave. A few stray dogs looked hungrily for scraps, a bicycle completely loaded with brooms of all types for sale stopped, and a few cars/auto-rickshaws/scooters cruised by on the paved streets.

Its a few centuries away from the scene of the previous week in the more rural landscape of Bodhgaya. Animals roam the streets freely, wandering from one trash heap to the next - pigs, cows, goats, dogs - they all take their turn, often sharing whatever treasures lay therein. Chickens dart between small houses across a dirt alleyway. A watery, green sludge pools around the wells and winds its way along the alley, following the path of least resistance to a larger, fetid pool. Animal excrement dots the walkway, and an overpowering smell will occasionally take hold. The alleys bustle with nakeed and half naked children laughing, running to and fro, and playing in the dirt. Shops fill the alleys, selling soap and candy. Emerging from the dirt alleys onto the street and you are at once confronted by organized chaos, with auto-rickshaws (indian tuk-tuks) darting between pedestrians, bicyclists, moped, motorcycles, buses and animals. Cows stop traffic, but not much else will slow down the speeding vehicles, honking vigorously to announce passing, watch out, give me space, and move it all at the same time. There are ATMs and tailors, fruit sellars and ice creakm hawks, stores with luggage, sunglasses, shoes and phones. Street food abounds, from rotis to pan, and restaruants fill the gaps with plastic chairs and tables spilling onto the street.

It seems that rural or urban, there are very different sides of India - that of the 21st century, and that of the 18th. Tech companies and fancy cars contrast with the rice paddies and temples. Its a little further across the pond, and a little less south, but its my new home.

No Longer in Limbo

"Hi, Mr. Travel Agent. I would like to book a one way ticket from Boston to Mumbai for Sunday, I have a meeting in India Tuesday morning."

...

"Yes, I know its Friday."

...

"Can you also book a ticket from New Delhi to Denver sometime around Christmas. On second thought, there is a high likelihood that I will need to go to Zambia between now and Christmas."

...

"That's right, Zambia."

The conversation didn't go quite like that. I expected it to, but the travel agent has delt with us a few too many times. He didn't even blink an eye:

"How about I book you on this completely refundable ticket through Ethiopia to Zambia from India, so that in the case you do go to Zambia, you've got it. If not, give me a call, we'll cancel that one and find another way to get you out of India for Christmas."

It was a down to the wire decision - Zambia vs. India. In the end, India came through.

Yes, its been A LONG time since the last blog posting, and yes, they have come VERY infrequently since my departure from Zambia.

My aim is to remedy that.

India will be my new home for the foreseeable future. Home...? You might say more like homeless at this point. Since returning from Zambia in June, I've been bouncing between hotels, friend's spare bedrooms or couches, and my cherished tent. For the next three weeks at least, I'm bouncing around India to meet with a number of partners. Hotel rooms and couches - Indian style.

Homeless ... no. Nomadic.

Ah, and happy mo-vember from Mumbai!

Got Elephants?

I stare out my hotel room window at the highway, enjoying the respite of air conditioning from the summer desert heat outside. My chocolate milk and snacks from the grocery store feel like delicacies, well earned after a long day of work. I'm trying to avoid the pitfalls of previous long work stints in the desert of Southern California - long hours, work frustrations, illogical decisions - although these can be said about most jobs. The days seem to blend together between working, sleeping, and eating. Its a strange exile at a forgotten airport, with carcasses of dying airplanes that seem to wilt in the heat and dirt.

Looking around, there is something lacking. I haven't been able to put a finger on it - until now. There are no elephants. Not in the hangar, not roaming the airport runways. Surely not in town - snacking on the shrubs outside the hotel. I would dare say their aren't even pink elephants to be seen - and there is surely no elephant in my hotel room to ignore (no large gorillas in the room to ignore either...)

When I have been able to escape to the mountains, I have been more worried about run-ins with scarce bears or mountain lions than a heard of roaming elephants, poisonous snakes, or ghastly spiders. A friend wears a bear bell for a trail run in an area with a bear sow with two cubs. I think twice whether the intent is to alert and scare or alert and entice - ala the dinner bell. When I emerge from my tent at night, there are no hippos to look out for and no lions to deter me from straying more than a few inches from my sleeping bag. I wonder more about how many hikers we will see on the trail and what is for lunch - not whether I will become lunch.

Its a different mindset. A different comfort level in the wild. Can it even be considered wild? Do you have elephants?

Life choices...

I've missed the mountains. I find them peaceful, grounding, and inspiring. I've spent most of the last month playing in the mountains after returning from Zambia, venturing places where you don't have to worry about lions when pitching your tent or look for poisonous snakes when hiking. I even got to play a bit in that divine white stuff - snow. I thought it would provide me with an opportunity to clear my mind and focus on a few upcoming decisions. Instead, I found myself paying more attention to the beauty of the location, hiking steep sections requiring concentration, or wearing crampons and trying not to (A) trip and fall in a _bad_ place or (B) tear a hole in my pants.

Not long before I left Zambia, a friend told me a story of his. It turns out, he used to be a monster rock climber, living for a few years in his car as he traveled from one hot climbing destination to another. He was even featured on the cover of Climbing magazine - for an article he wrote himself about a climbing trip. After a few beers, he regaled me with a story about how he had gotten where he is today, working for a renowned organization to improve the lot of the world's children. He was offered a position at a small software company in a mountain town where the focus was on morning ski turns. He was then offered a position with his current organization, living far from the life he had lived - and far from any good climbing. He opted for the more challenging, ambitious job over a more personally satisfying lifestyle. This is a choice that I consistently debate over, the pursuit of happiness or purpose. While you don't have to exclusively choose one over the other, both can have a significant influence over your path in life.

I find myself approaching a similar fork in the road (but without his dichotomous choice in career path). What is that next step for me? After Zambia, what comes next? Is it still across the pond and south a bit? maybe north a bit? Or is it something totally foreign - like staying put? I think it might be time to finally figure out what I want to do when I grow up.

Pictures are from Mt. Baker and Mt. Rainier - courtesy of my climbing partners.