Puri was a relief. After two weeks of building sites, hyper Rainbow children, the Air Horns and Mr. Kortenhorst, we needed a rest. When we arrived at the three-star Victoria Club, I though I had found heaven. Mind you, anywhere quiet and restful would have seemed like heaven to me right then. The next day we arrived at the four-star Mayfair Hotel. I found heaven, again. This time I think I was closer to the mark. The pool was warm, clean, and most of all, fun. I don't know how many times I nearly drowned thanks to David Murphy. The Sea, though unbelievably salty, was powerful and perfect for a bit of fooling around with the lads (fear not, there was a good lifeguard on duty!).
On our last night at the Mayfair, Monday, Alex Shtanko and I rose at 3am in the hope of slipping out to the beach to see turtle eggs hatching. Unfortunately, the guard at the hotel's gate refused to let us out, telling us to return at 6am. Though disappointed, I was still pretty proud of Alex and I for managing to get up at that time of the morning.
Six o' clock came, and we got up yet again. We were allowed out the back gate and onto the beach. It was still dark, but there was some light peaking over the horizon, enough for us to see where we were going, and what was around us. We did find about ten turtles of the beach in the end, but not the kind of turtles we were expecting. Typical, we got up hoping to see the animals being born, but instead we found big old turtles dying and being eaten by stray dogs. Anticlimax perhaps, or maybe just unlucky for us.
We walked back to the hotel, and Alex returned to his room where Emmet, Eddy and Dave were asleep. I sat outside of my room, looking out on the hotel staff watering the grass, and the manager inspecting the pool for the day's activities, while the sun began to rises rapidly over the thrusting waves of the sea beyond. I took a few photos of this idyllic moment, which I will hopefully post when possible. In the quiet of the morning, I listened to what few noises could be heard, and thanked God that the noise and dirt and smog were gone. Yet, I missed it somehow.
As I write this, I am sitting at home. Ireland, back at last. As I think of all the comments from my fellow students and my teachers, I wonder whether I agree with them. They have said how India has changed them, how their lives and careers may take a completely different course now. How the memories will stay with them forever. I sincerely hope they're right. I hope my memories of India never leave me. I didn't just learn about poverty and dignity, about helping others and how happy those poor kids seemed to be, or about the value of education. I learned an awful lot about myself that I didn't know, and a lot about my friends and classmates.
I would like perhaps to go back to Kolkata some day, but my one fear would be that my return would not be the same as the trip we have just completed. I wouldn't want to expect the same again, and for the journey not to live up to the one I've been on now. What made India so special for me was the group I was with. When I think of school and my class in years to come, and the times we shared together, I'll think of India, of the best days we spent together and may ever spend together, and how grateful I am for those days. And I'll think of myself, sitting alone looking at that sunrise in Puri, looking out over the Bay of Bengal, possibly the happiest I've ever been.
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