Field Trip!

I wrote my application essay for the Fulbright program around the theme of field trips. I reached back in time and dredged up my first field trip to Mrs. Witherspoon’s farm in preschool. That magical day—when we left the classroom and learned so much—set a sort of pattern for my life. Besides the fact that I broke out in hives and had to get a really big shot (also a pattern that has been oft repeated), I look to that experience as an example of how I learn best. Since then, I’ve come to realize that many of the significant events in my story—going to England, working at camp, the bike trip with Jimmy, moving to Washington—are all field trips of a sort. Moving out of the normal and into something challenging and rewarding where I’m primed for learning and growth is unique to this kind of endeavor. This was the approach I promised to bring to this program. And it’s held up so far.

So when the school arranged for us to accompany my 11 Arts class on a field trip to Kasuali—a hill station founded by the British about 70 miles north of Chandigarh—my mountain-loving husband and I were thrilled. The excitement and my romanticized outlook on the whole affair was tempered a bit by the crowded bus ride through even more crowded villages and the tail end of the receding monsoon (it sounds way cooler to say “receding monsoon” instead of well, “rain”) but it was still a day to remember. Jimmy even brought his trekking poles, only to learn later that the entire trail was paved.

Our destination was Monkey Point, a shrine inside a military cantonment. Monkey Point is so named because legend holds that Hanuman—the monkey-faced god who’d been flying long before anyone every heard of the Wizard of Oz—touched down on the top of this small mountain in the foothills of the Himalaya. Some even say that the mountaintop still bears his step. Sadly, since the shrine is inside the military area, no photography was permitted. This was strictly enforced, so much so that a student who tried to take a photo just outside the gates was struck and his camera broken by an overzealous guard. But that low moment aside, the day was really pleasant. Even the rain didn’t dampen our spirits too much, instead shrouding the hills in fantastic mist. The kids sang and even broke into choreagraphed routines at times (apparently life does imitate Bollywood art in India) and generally acted like teenagers. I even felt quite at home when I heard them swearing (vocabulary I’m assured is not part of the formal instruction at the Bhavan).



And the scenery—well see for yourself. The pictures never do it justice, but they give you enough of an idea. And yes, true to its name, there were plenty of camera-snatching, food begging monkeys hanging around. Even Mrs. Witherspoon’s farm couldn’t top that.