I keep the patio door open when I am in the hotel room. The warm floral scented air reminds me that I am not where I am from, and the honking, bird calls, and occasional sirens remind me that a vast city lays just beyond the canopy of luxury I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by.
Yesterday, I asked a hotel driver about going to the City market, also known as Krishna Raja Market. I'd read it was a great place to get a feel of the local culture, and also a spot to find great trinkets to bring home. The driver raised his eye brows as he did the Indian head nod/bob that indicates they hear and understand what you are saying, but not that they agree. (The head bob is very contagious and I'm trying to stop Jeremy from doing it because I keep thinking he is agree with something and then realize he is quickly assimilating and may soon be wearing a Dhoti...ah, but I digress and that IS a whole different story). "You will not want to be there." he said. "It is a very dirty place, you will get Malaria." he added. Malaria? Hmmm. Of course, I was even more curious about it at that point, and so far as my basic medical understanding of Malaria goes, it's mosquito born and I am taking those Malaria pills everyday for a reason. Might as well put it to use, right?
I called the corporate driver, and his only response, as usual, was "Yes ma'am." and we headed off into the heavy traffic. I usually enjoy the traffic in front of the hotel gates. Buses filled to capicity, motorbikes whizzing by with an entire family on board. Noise and hustle and a slight element of danger seems to be my happy place. Today, I was surprised to hear a knock on my window. I turned to find a little boy, maybe 7 years old, making a gesture of hunger towards his mouth. He probably saw my heart drop and my eyes tear up as he held up his left arm, twisted with scars, and he pulled back his shiny silver shirt sleeve to expose more wrinkled ragged skin. Then I heard a knock on the other window.
Yesterday, I asked a hotel driver about going to the City market, also known as Krishna Raja Market. I'd read it was a great place to get a feel of the local culture, and also a spot to find great trinkets to bring home. The driver raised his eye brows as he did the Indian head nod/bob that indicates they hear and understand what you are saying, but not that they agree. (The head bob is very contagious and I'm trying to stop Jeremy from doing it because I keep thinking he is agree with something and then realize he is quickly assimilating and may soon be wearing a Dhoti...ah, but I digress and that IS a whole different story). "You will not want to be there." he said. "It is a very dirty place, you will get Malaria." he added. Malaria? Hmmm. Of course, I was even more curious about it at that point, and so far as my basic medical understanding of Malaria goes, it's mosquito born and I am taking those Malaria pills everyday for a reason. Might as well put it to use, right?
I called the corporate driver, and his only response, as usual, was "Yes ma'am." and we headed off into the heavy traffic. I usually enjoy the traffic in front of the hotel gates. Buses filled to capicity, motorbikes whizzing by with an entire family on board. Noise and hustle and a slight element of danger seems to be my happy place. Today, I was surprised to hear a knock on my window. I turned to find a little boy, maybe 7 years old, making a gesture of hunger towards his mouth. He probably saw my heart drop and my eyes tear up as he held up his left arm, twisted with scars, and he pulled back his shiny silver shirt sleeve to expose more wrinkled ragged skin. Then I heard a knock on the other window.
