An Oil Refinery is An Oil Refinery is An Oil Refinery

Around the House Series - The Refinery
Originally uploaded by Autumm.

I ended my last email from India with 3 things that I learned while traveling there. The title of this blog post was number one.

Many people have asked me what that means......

On a bus through the Indian country side the cool night is threatened by the rising sun. I awaken and out the window is a sight that I am all too familiar with, a sight that I grew up seeing.

When I was really little I was sure that the billowing white smoke out of the stacks were actually making the clouds, the black smoke of course storm clouds. Later in life I had a friend tell me that it looked like some kind of dark gothic castle, and I had a stoner friend that dreamed of it being giant water bong.

As we jumbled pass the refinery I thought about how so many of the things that I had seen the world over were the same. How people in the cities were all hussle bussle and folks in the rural areas would stop and say hello. How folks show the same sense of pride when speaking about their children, favorite sports team, or political point of view and how they all show the same disgust and horror if what they perceive as their way of life or simple comforts are threatened.

Public washrooms are scarce in India and when the bus stopped about a mile after the refinery I had to jump off and see if they had one in the area or if there was a discrete spot for me to find. This spot was very strange, it was a big truck stop of sorts, looked like they served food and chai but it was huge and just opening. The man showed me the porta johns in the back like he was doing me a favor and when I came back out my companions were sitting have chai with the man.

He spoke with a gravel booming voice and spoken in broken english telling us how much he loved Gorge Bush and Americans.

" Love America, Love Gorge Bush...YES.....You love Gorge Bush?"

I am about as hung over from the road as one can be and sick. My friends tell him that we are American but that we don't love Gorge Bush as I sit staring at my tea.

"Gorge Bush, this is my man....YES.....He does good for India......He does good for me......YES......He is my man......He is your man, no?"

The situation persists as I become more annoyed and wish that we were already in Delhi.

"Well I am sure that your travels are going well as you are traveling with Ms. Laura Bush." He smiles and throws his hand to indicate that he is speaking of me.

I peak up from over my chai with what must have been a look of disgust.

"YES.....She looks just like Ms. Laura Bush....YES....I think so.....Don't you think so......YES.......Ms. Laura Bush.....Right here with me.......YES."

I leaned over and asked my friends who the hell Laura Bush was and they informed me that it was George's wife. I asked what she looked like and Fruity informed me that she was a hippy girl with long dreadlocks. :-)