Words from the Guru

Teaching and learning

Volunteering in Indian mountain schools.

22nd October 2008

Wow. The schools here are a whole new world. So basic, and they start full school aged 2 1/2 and straight away start learning to read and write in English.  They can't even speak it!  It makes it quite difficult for the volunteers to teach at that age, though it's more effective for the older ones. 

I am seeing three more schools today in the Darjeeling area and staying on at one of them to do some teaching, which I am somewhat apprehenisve about. I cetainly haven't got a lesson planned, and I'm not sure if what I have brought out to share with the children will be any good. Still I won't learn if I don't try. Neither will they!

 
Kolkata was great fun and I met some really interesting people, and had my palm read -  he said some very acccurate things. 

Hotel somewhat overpriced for what it was.  You always have to remember how everyone in India never stops looking for a chance to get an extra rupee or two.

Love,

Tessa

Sunsets in Darjeeling
October business trip to Northern India to see volunteering in the mountains.

15th October 2008

 
"It's hard to encapsulate all that I am seeing and doing.  It seems like a life time away.  I do miss  some luxury that is for sure - had my first reasonable hot shower this morning, otherwise it's been three dips of cold water! 
 
So, here I am in Darjeeling.  A very touristy town, but it does have areas of pedestrianised walkways which are a relief from the horn tooting crowded streets of Kalimpong. Why the British chose such hard-to-get-to places I cannot imagine. 

 
The camping experience to see the sunset was definitely an experience; in all its unpredictable Indianness.  I wasn't too cold forutnately; though I did wear every layer available! The only sure thing was that the sun would set and would rise again in the morning.  Anything else was chance or good fortune!   It was a superb sunset. Strips of cloud glowed a fiery orange, which when viewed through the binocluars was unreal in its beauty. The light cast on the mountains in varying hues and tones was equally awesome. Kachenjunga is a wonderful sight and presence in this area and we have been lucky enough to see it really clearly on a few days.
 
More later,
 
Tessa

The toy train to Ooty
Discovering old memories in the hill station of Shimla

Fate took me to Ooty but I was completely unprepared for the reasons why.  It is one of India’s hill station towns established by the British Raj as their government summer headquarters and a cool retreat from the hot humid southern plains. 

The best way to travel to Ooty is on the narrow gauge,  steam ‘Toy Train’ that gently meanders 2,240 metres up the Nilgiri Hills, where the air is crisp and fresh and you are rewarded with superb clear mountain views.

I am  at Eve’s  ( my elderly  cousin’s) house in  the South of France as I head home from my travels  and  we  have been sharing our travelling tales.   She asked me if I had been to the hill station towns of Ooty and Shimla, as  she and her peripatetic mother, although having  travelled widely  had never been to India together.  I told her about  the nostalgic  trips I took on those toy trains  to Ooty and also to Shimla in the foothills of the Himalayas. 

Both towns blend their British Raj past  easily with today’s new independent India.  Shimla with its seven mile  long pedestrian-ised  mall  is now a popular holiday retreat for  Non Resident  Indians and also for those who live and work in Delhi. Ooty  (Udhagamanalam)   is a noisier  bustlier  Indian town, but parts still have many British colonial buildings and an air of quiet faded elegance pervades the old  centre of the town..  The  Anglican  church with its beautiful  stained glass windows  of angels; Higginbotham’s the booksellers  and a library still lending books under the stern gaze of Queen Victoria.

 
My cousin was silent for a while… and then she  told me about her father, my Great uncle Dickie, who had honeymooned in Shimla and then when the marriage and army life  had all gone sadly wrong, he went to Ooty and there on the toy Train he took his own life.  He’s buried with a simple headstone in the  small somewhat barren churchyard there.

Children are often  told so little about the lives of their older relations, especially if they are disapproved of.  But I am glad I know why I was so drawn to these towns and why the angels shone so brightly in the Ooty Church.                 

Traveller's Tales
Tessa Mills gets interactive in Marrakech’s spice market (in quest of the perfect story) on a weekend writers course.

 “Drop the British reserve, get in there and interact with the local people.  You’ll never get a story otherwise.  Be back here in an hour.” And with that I was down and out, alone in the Marrakech Spice Market. I, along with eight others were on a weekend travel writing course in Morocco run by experienced  travel editor Jonathan Lorie.

None of that was any help our first morning, when Jonathan led us to the large pulsating square for our initial assignment.  We had been asked to spend the time observing and collecting data and then to use our other senses, as if we were walking about with our eyes shut, so that we could use these details to describe a place or situation visually through words.  This was a world away from wandering around in my usual casual observation, buying postcards, eyeing up the local crafts yet avoiding eye contact with the traders in case I was pressured into buying something.

 
Notebook and pen in hand I feverishly scribbled my observations, hoping to miss nothing yet fearful and inexperienced. Upon our return there was a quick test: who spotted the bowl of black soap, the tele-boutique, the kitten in the pizza box, who heard the birds singing, the shoe cleaner banging his brushes to attract attention, who smelt the fishmonger?  None of those were on my list.  Must try harder next time.
A quick mint tea to refresh those parts that most needed it and for the next hour we were to write a short article describing the square, remembering and using the guide lines we had been given.

 In the afternoon some of the more confident and able writers read out their work.  Evocative, well paced observations re-created exactly what I’d seen.  Later, alone in the Riad courtyard and drawing from my detailed notes, I worked on my own piece. The confidence and surety with which I wrote ebbing and flowing. The following morning after a relaxing evening of eating, drinking and friendship with no pens involved, the tasks and instructions became more challenging.  We started to learn about shape and structure, the importance of the hook and the ending and the thread that must link our writing together.

By the end of the fourth day we had written 3 or 4 articles, heard readings from the masters of Travel Writing and been given excellent and relevant advice on how, when, what and who to write for.
I’m not quite ready yet to give up the day job, but brimming with confidence and knowledge I know that “the book that is in us all” now has a better chance of being written and more importantly being written well.
 
There can be few better locations for a travel writing course than the lively colourful city of Marrakech heady with smells, full of sounds and atmosphere, people and colour.  And I have the added bonus that it has given me personally a whole new depth and perspective on travelling. Out and about and armed with my notebook I am ready for the interaction and to observe the unobserved.