Once someone said to us, ”Go home, Yankees.” That comment sticks in my mind. It made all of us feel awful and was a reminder that not everyone the world over loves Americans.
I`ll never forget the horseback ride around the Pyramids at Giza. We had to get up at 3:45 a.m. to get out there in time for the sunrise, but it was worth it. The sun coming up out of the desert, dispelling the cool morning air, was awe-inspiring, peaceful. The words kept running through my mind: ”I can`t believe I`m here.”
Children yell `hello`
A felucca ride on the Nile gave us a perspective vastly different from crowded Cairo: farms and open countryside. Riding bikes through the villages of surrounding Luxor was incredible. Children ran after us, yelling, ”Hello. What is your name? Baksheesh.” Baksheesh is the word for begging.
A visit to El Alamein brought us back to a grim reality. The site of three major World War II battles, 8,500 men are buried here. Most of them were my age when their lives were cut short. And while we visited this site of battles that were fought before I was born, another generation of Americans-my generation-was massing in the desert of Saudi Arabia to the east, preparing for yet another war. It was a sobering afternoon.
Before we began our tour, no one had expected anything but peace and calm in India. They were wrong. We arrived in the midst of communal rioting, and most of the country was under martial law.
Our first stop was in Bombay, where we stayed at the Methodist Center. One day we were not allowed to leave the compound because of violence in nearby villages. Our visits to Mysore and Delhi could not be confirmed until the night before departure because of tensions in the cities.
We had been warned about the poverty of Bombay before we went there, but nothing could prepare us for the reality. It is as crowded as Cairo, and Cairo certainly has its share of beggars, but in Cairo it seemed mostly older people were beggars. In Bombay we saw whole families and lots of children begging.
Vivid images are fixed in my mind: Near the Methodist Center at least 100 people on one block literally were living in the street.
They were so crowded they would sleep head to toe. Some attached a plastic tarp to a fence to make a shelter. Five to 10 people lived in a space 6 by 8 feet. Others slept on the curb and in the street. Naked children played and crawled in the middle of the road. This was their life: sleeping and begging in the street.
At one time, Bombay must have been a great city. The architectural evidence is still there, but it has fallen into decay.
I could not bring myself to photograph these people in their misery. But I don`t need photographs. I will carry the images in my mind forever.
Visits children`s ward
Mother Teresa`s home for the destitute in Bombay is for people who are even worse off. They are the ones who have hit absolute bottom, even by Bombay standards. Most have been found near death and have been taken there by the police. Many never leave. I spent my entire visit in the children`s ward.
It is a large room full of small cribs. Kids play on the floor or lie in their cribs, staring into space. Most have severe physical handicaps.
I loved watching the others in my group mingling with the children, especially the guys, who were so gentle and patient. The children were amazing. All they wanted was to be touched and held, to hear words spoken to them. Their smiles were so wide, so beautiful.
I felt uncomfortable only briefly; then I was overwhelmed by their enthusiasm and warmth. I played catch, talked to some of the girls, carried the kids and fed them, though none could speak or understand English. It`s all they wanted. They have so little, they want so little and they need so much.
For the adults in the home, there is little hope. But for the children, efforts are made to place them in special schools where they might have a chance to overcome the difficulties they face.
One little girl, about 5 years old, kept aloof from the others, and she ignored the friendly overtures of members of our group. She had been born with a cleft palate and without eyes or a nose. Her face was horribly disfigured. I was told her name was Pretty, a name that sounded like a cruel joke.
But Pretty let me rub her back, and she listened as I talked. It took a while, but eventually she started to smile and even to laugh. After being with her for just a few minutes, I saw her for the beautiful child that she was.
”Pretty” was a very appropriate name.
When it was time to leave, I was not ready. I did not want to leave Pretty, and she didn`t want me to go, either. She crawled into my arms, put her head on my shoulder and clung to me. I could not hold the tears back.
I`ll never forget Pretty, either.
Whitefield is in direct contrast to Bombay. It`s hard to believe both are in the same country. The extreme poverty so prevalent throughout India was nowhere in evidence in this small village. Whitefield is flowers, blue skies, fresh air and quiet.
Mornings we spent in lectures; afternoons we walked into the village to have clothes made or rode bikes in the countryside. Wherever we went we attracted attention. I guess 30 American students is not a common sight.
One day we were riding our bikes past a lake when we saw some girls washing clothes by the ancient method of beating them on rocks. We stopped, and though none of them could speak English, we managed to tell them that we`d like to try to help them.
Molly Fayfield did it first, soaking the clothes, scrubbing them with soap and beating them on the rocks. It was a far cry from the washing machines back home, but it worked.
We had been warned not to give anything to the kids because they would come to expect it from other tourists and can become violent. It was hard to believe that these beautiful children could hurt anyone, but once 20 boys surrounded one of the women in our group and stole the watch off her wrist.
Later, an adult gathered the children together and scolded them, telling them that we were very hurt and would leave India with a bad impression of its people. The watch was returned.
From peaceful Whitefield it was on to hectic New Delhi, where I met my parents, who had come for a visit. I had had the benefit of entering the Third World by degrees, but for them, coming to it straight from advanced America, it was overwhelming. They were not prepared for the poverty they saw.
In my mind I still can see my father, reaching into his pocket to give money to a single beggar and immediately being surrounded by 10 others.
It was also a chance for a total role reversal for us. I took care of my parents, from getting taxis to bargaining with street vendors to ordering food in restaurants.
The hardest part of visiting India was walking down the streets and having children and adults following me, touching me and begging for money. Riding in taxis, mothers would hold their naked children to the windows at stop lights, asking for money. I could only look away, but I felt their presence. It was a hopeless, helpless feeling.
To give them money would not solve their problems. It was hard to look at them and see that they had nothing and wonder why I had been given so much. Why them and not me?
There is great beauty and grace in India. The Taj Mahal stands out in my mind. But too often it`s hard to see the good for all the ugliness.
Nepal was a welcome change. As a nation Nepal is as poor as India, but poverty is not as evident in Kathmandu, the capital. Everyone seems to have a roof over his head and food to eat.
We spent two days in Kathmandu, and then it was five days of hiking in the mountains, with 10 Sherpas to carry the gear for five of us. The Himalayas are beautiful beyond belief.
It was glorious to wake in the morning in cool, crisp, clean air with snowcapped mountains all around us. We hiked five hours each day and spent the rest of the time exploring the area where we set up camp, talking with the children we met and sharing our experiences around the campfire at night.
From Nepal it was on to our first modern city in three months, Bangkok, Thailand. It was great to see familiar cars, department stores and fast food restaurants. We were never more exicited over a McDonald`s restaurant before. Unfortunately, we didn`t have much time in Thailand, not enough to get out into the countryside, which is vastly different from Bangkok.
In Taipei, Taiwan, we stayed for a month in a dormitory at Soochow University, and it was nice to be back in a school atmosphere again. The students were extremely kind and generous, taking us out to see their city and home to meet their families, where we enjoyed home-cooked meals.
The Chinese students were extremely curious about the American education system and, in particular, about dating customs. They seemed to think that all Americans have boyfriends or girlfriends, while they usually don`t even date until they`re out of college.
Two of the girls in our group were in a store where a clerk said, ”Can I ask you a question? Do you have boyfriends?”
”No,” one of them replied. ”Can I ask you a question? Is that the first thing you ask all your customers?”
We toured an elementary school in Taipei where the children immediately swarmed us, asking for autographs. We felt like movie stars.
Christmastime was a little difficult because it`s a family holiday and we were far from home. Specifically, we were in Hong Kong, which had its compensations. It is paradise for shoppers. We came away from Stanley Market and the warehouse stores off Nathan Road with great buys. The bargains plus the normal glitter of Hong Kong plus Christmas decorations everywhere kept us too excited to think about what we were missing back home.
We made the most of our situation by renting a room at the Sheraton Hotel and having our Christmas Eve celebration there with our own Christmas service, complete with a choir.
Christmas day dinner was at the YMCA, where we were staying. We had turkey and beef, fig pudding and Christmas cookies, but because we were in the Far East, we also had raw oysters, fried prawns and turtle soup.
While in Hong Kong we were able to spend a day in mainland China. What we saw was not really China, but what they wanted us to believe all of China was like. We went to Shekou and Canton, which are special economic zones within China where the people are relatively well off.
The beautiful Chinese children start school at age 3 and attend classes from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., six days a week. They put on a special show for us, with singing and dancing.
Japan was the last stop on our global journey. We spent three weeks in Kyoto, where we stayed in a Buddhist monastery, and one week in Tokyo and Hiroshima.
Mornings were spent in class, usually with guest speakers. But in the afternoons we were free to explore and get lost on our own. In all the countries we visited we never had any trouble finding someone who could speak English, but in Japan communication was a major problem.
We stayed with local families in Hiroshima, and they welcomed us into their homes, showered us with gifts and gave us a sense of Japanese home life. One day was spent learning about the atomic bombing of this city during World War II, and a woman who survived the blast gave us a first-hand account of what it was like.
We visited Peace Park in Hiroshima and watched a very moving and intense movie about the bombing and those who died and those who survived. We were with Japanese students at the time, and afterwards, it was difficult to talk to them. I felt numb and empty. I needed time to be alone and to think about what I had just seen.
Five days after we left Hiroshima, the war in the Persian Gulf began.
The end of our journey was rapidly approaching, and it was hard not to think about being reunited with family and friends. We were safe from the war, but the fact of it intensified our desire to be home.
In Kyoto we found an International Guest House that carried CNN, and we spent two days there, watching the news. Other Americans, traveling on business or pleasure, also sought out this television link to the news.
It felt strange to be in the middle of Japan with a bunch of Americans watching the first hours of the war in the Middle East. We did not know each other, but I think we all felt a bond because it was our country that was at war.
Before this global adventure began I thought five months away from home would seem like forever. It didn`t. Time flew by, and many times I found myself wishing it would slow down. Now that it`s over, my only hope is that I never forget any of it.
