doop dee doooooooo!!

In Which We See a Film

2009-03-03T11:24:00.003-05:00

Last night I finally saw a movie for the first time since my departure for the wild world of Abroad. Not just any movie - an ACADEMY AWARD WINNER. The other day I introduced Rylee* to the wonders of the expat second hand shop and its plethora of aged electronics, multi-lingual books, chachi crapola and hit-or-miss clothing selection. As we loaded our purchases onto the counter (a zippy muumuu, pair of high boots and a practical-though-unfun lady bag for me, and a binocular box/purse, shrug, and pile of books for Rylee), we saw a poster for a showing of Slumdog Millionaire, part of a local bar's free Monday movie night. Free movie? Most likely in English with Greek subtitles? Oh, we were so, SO in.

The day before I scouted out the place - Chania is not the easiest city to navigate (roads bend and curve and their names change every block), so I've generally found a scouting mission to be invaluable for such things. I felt like a genius when I found the cafe on my first try, and then immediately was unsure if my elation was warranted when it became clear the place was in a strange location, not very big, and without much to recommend it from the exterior. At least, however, I knew where it was.

Monday evening rolled around, and off we went! John (a bit hobbly with a bad back), myself, Rylee and her friend Yannis (one of the prolific Yannis' we have met here) all made the journey to this solitary spot. I hadn't gone in when I had found it before - I wasn't really sure what to expect. I remained unsure even as we opened the door to go inside that this was the right place/night for the movie. The first thing I noticed as I stepped inside was the hazy air of stale and stagnant cigarette smoke. "Ah," I thought, "Of course. This is to be expected. Time to buck up and be a man about it. A MARLBORO man." The second thing I noticed was the projector screen, which at the moment was showing Billy Madison subtitled in arabic, thanks to the power of a small laptop hooked up to the projection system. Third thing - lots and lots of English being spoken all around me, most in a non-American accent. At that point I realized - we had found an EXPAT BAR.

It wasn't huge - there was room for about 5 tables, two couches and the bar itself. There were about 20 people milling about, seemingly between the ages of 40-60, some with young kids running in and out. Many spoke with loud, bawdy Australian-ish accents. We bought cheap beers and cheap wine and asked the bartender if the movie had Greek subtitles. He cheerily apologized for the lack of them (our pal Yannis was then forced to utilize his burgeoning English skills for the film) and then we staked out a couch. I picked up the Learn to Draw book and taught myself to draw a minotaur and house elf (turns out I'm great at drawing). The movie was a bit late starting - there was a brief interlude in which the lights were dimmed and the entire bar broke out in a round of Happy Birthday as a cake alit with candles was brought out from the back. Everyone got a slice. It was delicious.

The movie began. It became apparent it was not, exactly, an entirely LEGAL copy (though why I ever thought a free showing of a movie not yet out of the theaters would ever be acquired legally is beyond me), but still an excellent time nonetheless. As Jamal and Salim and Latika entwined their destinies I was treated to the catcalls of the bar mistress to the screen as she kept up her pack-a-movie habit, the screams of the children outside on the porch and my own endearing clumsiness as I bumped into some sort of pole and sent it crashing to the floor.

The credits rolled. I had laughed, I had cried (or maybe that was just the smoke irritating my eyes?). I went up to the bar and asked what was on NEXT week. The friendly guy at the bar gave me not only THAT information, but signed me up for their newsletter so I could get the full weekly schedule of events in my inbox (rugby games! football games! trivia night!!!). They also happened to have a full bookshelf of English language novels - a SWAP shelf, which meant I could give 'em and take 'em at whim. I'll never go without again! I left that night slightly weirded out and oddly comforted.

And oh, next week they're showing Twilight. I just might be there.

* Rylee, by the way, is the newest addition to our little Team Chania troupe. She was a fellow traveler here in Hotel Nostos who Farmer John hired after a week of friendly dinners and adventures with us (along with her friend Elise, who is now back to her life in Iowa). We met up with her in Venice and brought her back with us. FUN!!

In Which We Make Our Return

2009-02-26T08:32:00.003-05:00

Last night I slept on a shot mattress that should have retired years ago but is too stubborn to give up the working world. I washed my face in a sink that takes forever to drain and listened to the sounds of a storm swirl close above my head as I tried to sleep in a room that wasn't QUITE warm enough. I woke up periodically through the night to utilize the roll of toilet paper I'd placed on my bedside table for this silly headcold I'm sporting, and finally got out of bed this morning with a sore butt from the mattress and a dry throat from the heating unit.

In other words, I'm home. Hello again, Crete. It's good to see you.

In Which a Random Assortment of Carnevale Pictures are Posted

2009-02-22T13:26:00.003-05:00

In no particular order, some photos from carnevale thus far...

Lesley, John and I show off our shiny puffy shirts. We all got an XL. We each are wearing about 5 layers underneath our sheeny outerwear so as to not mar them by wearing a coat atop.

John, a bit unmasked, looking decidedly coy.

These were our favorite guys. They hugged us and danced with us and felt like rubber. Suspicious...

That's me, Lesley and Elise looking in awe at the twirling girl above us.

Oh, the COLORS of Carnevale...

And, a touch less blurry, one of the many beautifully garbed masqueraders.

This morning I ventured out and spotted this puppeteer in the square.

His puppet was in love with a flower.

A bit further on, a Russian group performed classical music via the medium of glassware.

And one of the many beautiful masks for sale here...

In Which We Encounter a Watery City

2009-02-22T04:16:00.001-05:00

Oh VENICE!

John lost about 20 years and 20 pounds as soon as we alit upon its watery surface. Buildings and their beauty have a great effect on the man - so many cities he hates because of their modern, slick, Ahrimanic surfaces. He loves old, romantic, slightly decrepit Luciferic things, and Venice is a paradise for him. We walked for hours last night, adorned in festive regalia, and around every corner John virtually squealed in delight and is now convinced THIS is where he wants to stay for the rest of our time in Europe (well, not actually - we live where the treadmill desk lives, and THAT is still in Chania).

And it IS gorgeous here - upon viewing the meandering canals, the slightly crumbly architecture, the gondolas, and the narrow alleys that hint at stolen moments of amore, one cannot help but be lost in the romantic cliche. Add to THAT the heightened energies of carnevale and the beautiful men and women wandering about in full Renaissance regalia... needless to say, it was hopeless from the beginning. We're all in love with this city, despite any cynical walls we had put up before our arrival.

Our hotel is located a quick walk from St. Marks square (where the carnevale is concentrated). It describes itself as "Art Deco" - in fact that's the name of the hotel - and if I had any idea what the style of Art Deco meant I could judge whether or not this was accurate. For those of you that are smart about those things, here's their website: Venice Locando Art Deco.

We were met by the affable Fernando who showed us our room for three (we know it's a good one thanks to the bidet in the bathroom). I give the hotel great reviews thus far, the one exception being the lobby that smells slightly of stewed cabbage (in fact, that's where I find myself currently sitting as I wait for my traveling companions to wake up already, and the smell does not disappear).

We had a great time getting dressed up in our Amsterdam-purchased regalia last night, matching puffy shirts and all. Before departure into the Carnevale streets, we met up with Rylee and Elise, our hotel friends from Chania - the reason we're here in the first place was due to their description of Venice Carnevale... they did such a good job making it sound like the perfect thing we changed our itinerary to include it the day before we left for our February adventures. And then, we took off for St. Mark's Square... the costumes! The entertainment! The dancing in the streets! 'Twas all a sight to behold. I'd describe it further, but as they say, pictures (and video) speak a thousand words, and I fully plan on uploading what I took last night (in fact, I was planning on doing it this morning, but I forgot to take my camera with me out into the lobby and effectively locked myself out of our room and am now stuck WITHOUT access to my most recent camera endeavors).

Until then, dear readers, the adventure continues.

In Which I Visit Some Dutchy Museums

2009-02-19T12:46:00.002-05:00

Today I was a touristy tourist in Amsterdam.

I woke up nice and early (to beat the lines), partook of our hotel continental breakfast, and headed out the door with two maps, my camera, and two practiced expressions: the first an ogling, spaced out tourist-in-wonder look that often gets one run over or pickpocketed, and the other a suspicious glare to be directed at anyone and everyone who gets too close to my purse, clutched in a death grip close to my chest.

The first touristy thing I did was to refuse to give a homeless man money (New York has trained me too well, perhaps) but I was impressed at his approach - very pleasant, very apologetic, very it-seems-like-I'm-going-to-ask-for-directions-but-really-I'm-asking-for-money. I then almost missed my first destination as I pondered what it means to be homeless in a country like the Netherlands that is often described as a Welfare State - in fact, I just did a quick googling of the topic, and Google has informed me that most of the homeless found here in Amsterdam are either mentally ill or have substance abuse problems (shock), and that generally speaking it's easier in the Netherlands than in other countries to NOT be homeless. (As you can see, I am going to some lengths to assuage my "I could've given him that 50 cents" guilt.)

As I pondered one's obligations to society and its residents and how next time I should just give him the damn change if only so I won't obsess about it afterwards I almost completely bypassed the Anne Frank Museum, Tourist Stop #1 (quite the appropriate museum for such things as where one's social and moral obligations lie, I would think). I paid my entrance fee and stepped inside, winding my way through the former warehouse, the former offices, and then up through the concealed back staircase to the secret annex. True to Otto Frank's wishes, the rooms in the annex remained bare, left as they were after the Nazis discovered the hiding place and stripped it of its people and furniture. Some movie posters and newspaper pictures in Anne's room remained glued to the wall, and it was hard to really fathom their history - why they had been glued there in the first place and what had happened in that room since.

And then in a jump from history to present, I left the last of the annex through a glassed-in bridge from the Frank house to the modernized, more museum-like display in the building next door. It jumped to displays of artifacts, movie clips, and the story of the diary being published after the war. Out of the entire exhibition, it wasn't the annex itself or any of the preserved artifacts that got me the most - it was hearing about Otto surviving the war and finding out his entire family was gone, his discovery of the diary, and the looping video of a 1960s Otto talking about the daughter he had lived with and the daughter he had discovered through the pages she had written. Dang.

And as was to inevitably occur, I then thrust myself out into the light of day and made my way to the Canal Bus, a boat transport I was fully planning on taking down to the Van Gogh museum. I inquired about tickets and route at their kiosk stop and the young guy behind the counter couldn't stop laughing and I couldn't tell if he was stoned or just pleasantly odd - our conversation went something like "Is this the right place to get the canal Bus down to the Van Gogh museum?"
"Yes ha ha ha! Follow this green route you can see on this map ha ha ha! And then when you are done you can get right back on with the same ticket ha ha ha! No need to buy a new ticket ha ha ha! My brother works down at that kiosk ha ha ha! And my OTHER brother works at a different station ha ha ha!"
"Wow! Do ALL your siblings work for the canal bus?"
"No ha ha ha! My sister works in a hospital ha ha ha! She is a doctor ha ha ha!"
"How fantastic! And, with that information, I'd like to purchase a ticket."
"Oh just one thing ha ha ha! You should know that the next bus isn't coming for 45 MINUTES ha ha ha! It would be faster to walk ha ha ha!"
And so I took my two legs and powered myself to Van Gogh on foot.

My ticket also got me entry to their special exhibition - Van Gogh and the Colours of the Night - starring (ha ha ha), as you might be suspecting, that ever-popular dorm wall poster Starry Night. I felt pretty cultured as I had already SEEN Starry Night in person once before thanks to a certain Chicago friend and a certain Chicago exhibition. I'd say more about it but really, it was a bunch of paintings. I mean, really GOOD paintings, but I'm not entirely sure what I could say that would actually be interesting.

Moving on!

I was meeting up with my little touring group for lunch at 1:30, so off I gallivanted to the area around the Waag to find the small cafe we had agreed upon. I nabbed a free ride on a trolley (I didn't expect it to be free but I couldn't figure out how to pay for it) and then meandered through the red light district and Amsterdam's China Town before happening upon it. Here's a picture!! That's Lesley on the far left, our Amsterdam friend Robin sitting to the right and IN MOTION, and obviously there's John (feeling a bit sickly) sitting in the back.

The food was great, the service was great, and then off we went as a group to do some SHOPPING. The most entertaining part of THAT expedition was our hunt for appropriate Venice Carnevale attire - my most favorite part of our eventual costumery are the puffy shirts we all bought in a rainbow of colors. In fact, I like mine so much I've been wearing it for the entirety of the composition of this blog post and feeling like a matador. Ba da BING!

In Which We Take a Minute to Catch Our Breath

2009-02-15T09:59:00.003-05:00

So we're in Forest Row, England!! Lesley and I are sitting at a dimly lit pub table at Chequers Inn, catching up on email and figuring out what has been going on in the world since the last time we had the opportunity to find some sort of internet signal and a minute or two to utilize it. This morning we went to a Christian Community Church service. The entire chapel was purple (the walls, the chairs, the accents, the vestments) and it created a very soothing atmosphere. The purple mixed with the calming cadence of a priestly British accent mixed with the meditative quality of the service resulted in a soporific effect and I was very, very glad to have had those three cups of coffee before we set off (I have become an expert again at self-caffeination).

Last night we had dinner with some members of the Christian Community (in brief, this particular church is specifically anthroposophical, hence why my Jewy little self was spending so much time in religious circles). The dinner was held in a beautiful old house, the best part being the converted glassed-in porch off to the side of the living room - it was no longer a sitting area, but rather its tables and couches were strewn with a thick layer of hay and was now a hangout for the five sheep living on the property. When we opened the door to get a better look, the most adventurous one, Florence, poked her nose in to try and join the party. We were all so floopy and tired at that point it felt vaguely surreal and totally hilarious (and I completely forgot to get a picture of it). A sheep room is now on the ever growing list of Things to Have on John's Farm.

And! As yesterday was Valentine's Day we gathered together for lunch here at this inn and John invited his most favorite 98 year old lady friend to come join us (we bought her flowers). Also in our large Valentine's Day party was the Christian Community priest and his wife (also a priest) and their friend Galimir, a masseuse who was in town for rhythmic massage training and had a pretty fascinating life story taking him from a destitute Bulgaria to a more prosperous Czech Republic (it turned out his wife was also a Scorpio named Hannah - well, to be perfectly correct, she spells it "Hana", but still). He had such a good time he ran out and made a particular Bulgarian delicacy he had been telling us about and Nicholas (the priest) gave it to us today after the service as Galimir was on a flight back to the Czech Republic. Needless to say, with feta, philo dough and eggs being the main ingredient, it was pretty delicious.

Tomorrow we're off for some London sightseeing and general touristy carousing, then to Amsterdam, then to Venice, and then back to Crete. Whew!! Once I have a minute I fully plan on filling out these past few weeks because, frankly, they have been AWESOME. I feel lucky every day.

In Which We're On the Tour

2009-02-09T16:51:00.003-05:00

I should probably be asleep right now, but instead I write a quick little entry saying I think I might spend the rest of my life touring farms. They are so much fun to VISIT!!! Also, I was glad to discover Limousin cows are still my favorite. They are so beautiful and tasty looking.

This last week has been fairly amazing, to say the least. The conference was wonderful and the farm touring has been just as good as I remembered, except this time we have a 9 seater van in which almost every seat is taken as we jaunt around Europe. Tomorrow we're off to Dottenfelderhof, yet another beautiful spot full of farmy beauty and vision.

I fully plan out flushing out this tour thus far a bit later. But dear lord, we're up and out again tomorrow for yet another action-packed day. Time to prepare.

In Which I Encounter the Goetheanum

2009-02-03T10:45:00.003-05:00

We did it! We made it to Dornach, Switzerland, home of the Goetheanum. It is the craziest building I have ever seen. Rarely do I have visceral reactions to architecture, but THIS building... oh dang. I don't even know if it's a POSITIVE reaction... I'm a little scared of it. It seems like it's going to maybe come ALIVE, and I don't know if it would work for the forces of good or evil. Luckily, we got here a day early so I've been able to creep around it a bit today, sniff it out and make sure we've reached a truce before things get going tomorrow morning. This is what it looks like:

I'm kind of a little bit excited about everything, by the way. So far everyone has been ridiculously interesting. I mean, there's plenty of time for that to change, but dang, so far SO GOOD. Whoooooo!!

In Which We HAVE TO BOARD RIGHT NOW!!

2009-02-02T03:17:00.003-05:00

You know what I like? Airports with free WiFi.

And yep, that's right, folks. I'm back on the road. We're currently waiting on our flight from Chania to Athens, then to Munich, then finally to Basel at which point we hop in a cab to Dornach, Switzerland (I'm fully expecting my hair to magically plait itself and to develop an instant ability to yodel when we cross the country line).

Also! You can now see the full itinerary of our upcoming adventure on Farmer John's website: www.angelicorganics.com/news. It's pretty long, with about 7 pages of introduction, but if you have the time/interest it gives a pretty complete view of not only what we're doing on the tour, but what the greater goals of John's farm is.

Oooh boarding time!!!

In Which I Dance Into Chaos and Out Again

2009-01-30T18:06:00.006-05:00

Tonight I tried something new, and all by myself (although John was the one who discovered this in the first place, he had too much work to complete to go tonight). I was even able to transport myself - I not only found the cab stand BUT ALSO got a cab, and THEN I almost successfully give him directions as to where I was going (we found it eventually).

Now what was this I was trying? That would be a 5Rhythms class. What exactly IS 5Rhythms? To quote Wikipedia:

5Rhythms is a movement meditation practice devised by Gabrielle Roth in the 1960s. It draws from many indigenous and world traditions using tenets of shamanistic, ecstatic, mystical and eastern philosophy. It also draws from Gestalt, the human potential movement and transpersonal psychology. Fundamental to the practice is the idea that everything is energy, and moves in waves, patterns and rhythms. Roth describes the practice as a soul journey, and says that by moving the body, releasing the heart, and freeing the mind, one can connect to the essence of the soul, the source of inspiration in which an individual has unlimited possibility and potential.

That, it seems, is the technical definition.

What is actually is: dancing around like CRAZY! We wiggled and we woggled and we rolled around on the floor and we jumped up in the air. We moved our limbs like robots and we moved them like they had no bones. We made round shapes and angular shapes and big shapes and small shapes. We moved fast and we moved s l o w. And we danced for three hours, just me and the two middle-aged instructors (one Australian, one British), shakin' our hinies however they felt like shakin', until we all finally collapsed onto yoga mats for 15 minute naps.

In short, it was noodle dancing ecstasy. I'll be going back.

In Which We Utilize a Rental Car

2009-01-25T06:30:00.009-05:00

Our favorite Athens folks Christina and George came to visit (last weekend)!

We rented a car and, for the first time ever, actually explored Crete a bit. Off we drove to rubbly ruins at Knossos, home of the fabled minotaur lurking in his labyrinthian home (there was no trace of him remaining, hard as we looked).

Knossos is as equally well known for its more recent history. In 1900 Arthur Evans, an archeologist-cum-British gentleman of independent means, bought the site and promptly conducted massive and thorough excavations, not to mention reconstructed buildings and frescoes where he saw fit and according to his own ideas about what was what. He's a controversial figure, to say the least. George, for one, was a bit less than thrilled, especially in regards to Evans' rampant use concrete in place of wood (etched with whorls to give it that authentic look). Also, in re: image to the left there, the durned thing uploaded sideways. Please tilt your head 90 degrees counter-clockwise in order to get the proper perspective.

John was a sicky poo for the whole weekend, although he did his best to participate. "Participation" for him often meant just being in the car... he was able to wander around Knossos a bit but generally speaking, he most often looked like this:

Not to be dettered, we took off from Knossos and into the mountains in search of that ever elusive Untouched Cretan Lifestyle, i.e. we kept looking for THIS guy:

We were not as successful as we were hoping, though we DID spot some black-clad widows and a few glimpses of potential male candidates through the windows of the traditionally-male cafeterias. Sigh. I hate when my tourist ogling instinct is thwarted.

That night we ate at our second favorite restaurant - one on the water that happens to have live Cretan music on the weekends. The most entertaining part of the evening was twofold: Fold 1 - Clandestinely staring at the table of gratuitously, shall we say, affectionate teenage couples at the table next to us. The double date went from spells of heavy public make outs to moments of awkwardness, i.e. when they weren't making out. I tried to take a picture using the ol' "pretend to take a picture of John when REALLY getting the other table" but I think they were on to us.

Fold 2 - there is a woman who earns a living by entering Chania restaurants, dumping a bunch of key chains and lighters on every table along with a card that explains that she is deaf, mute, and destitute, and that each little toy is 4 euros, please help (the card is translated into a few different languages and, to look REALLY professional, is also laminated). One such toy that evening was a mini-revolver, which I assumed was a lighter. When I picked it up to try it out by squeezing the trigger, I dropped it and shouted in surprise when the darn thing SHOCKED me with a majillion volts of electricity (obviously an exaggeration, but OH MY GOD it was so weird). I stared at it with hate and mistrust until the woman came back to take it away, relief quickly followed by regret at not buying the toy. What was I THINKING?! It would have been HILARIOUS to have other people try!

Our last day with Christina and George was spent driving along the west coast to enjoy the gorgeous coastline. Up up up we went through twisty and mountainous coastline roads (I continually forget that I have a certain fear of heights until I realize the very act of looking at the view out my car window makes my feet sweat), and down down down we would go to dip our feet in the water and take as many snapshots as possible before clambering back in the car. We saw millions of goats - they sometimes caused traffic jams. Luckily a traffic cop was there to guide us through.

As our final meal together, the four of us stopped for a late lunch at the first place we spotted as we left our final beach destination to drive back to Chania. We weren't even entirely sure they were open - there just seemed to be folks hanging out around the general vicinity of this "taverna". But yes yes, they were open, and they ushered us inside, right into the hubbub of family activity. The woman in charge arose and ushered two older boys out of the room. Her two little daughters occupied another table, finishing the remnants of their lunch, coloring in books, and watching the huge television that took prominence off to one side. The eldest of the two girls (Christina, who knows such things as a teacher, estimated her to be about 8 or 9 years old) came over and softly told us everything they had that day. She wrote down our order in careful, looping penmanship, and often looked to her mother for clarification of any of the gentle questions George and Christina posed to her about our options. The mother, at this point donning an apron, was more than happy to oblige. Needless to say, the food was delicious (it was lots of meats and cheesy stuff... George is so good at ordering we never questioned what was put in front of us), and the girl was incredibly adorable and helpful throughout. We almost stole her.

And now? Now it's a weekend later. Dinner with the circus and our new favorite hotel friends tonight!!

In Which I Was Not Drugged (Mom)

2009-01-23T10:09:00.004-05:00

I feel WEIRD. I mean, I usually AM a little weird (John reminds me of this at least once a day) but I usually don't FEEL weird. Last night I was standing saying hallo to some folks and about 2 minutes later I had to bolt to the hotel because I allofasudden had to IMMEDIATELY go lie down on a cold floor somewhere. ODD, huh??? (the reason for this entry's title - I told mom and her two questions were "was it food poisoning?" and "did anyone drug you?")

So today I was going to put a big ol' post up about last weekend with all the things we did and saw with George and Christina but it seems uploading all those photos caused my computer to completely reboot (and show the terrifying blue screen) so I thought it wasn't to be today. Maybe tomorrow. But to give you an idea, here's a picture of a goat in a tree (look closely in the center of the foliage):

Also, Sunday night we're having dinner with a traveling circus troupe/jazz band. John got so excited when he saw them he immediately made them promise to have dinner with us (actually, he passed them a note inviting them to a party, a party which he had made up on the SPOT, and after we discussed the fact we only knew exactly two other people who would COME to this party we arranged to take them all out for dinner instead). THAT should be a fun time. What circus, you ask? Why, I have their website right here! http://cyclown.org/

Okay I'm gonna go lie down and embrace the weirdness.

In Which John Achieves Maximum Efficiency

2009-01-20T04:42:00.004-05:00

Oh we had so many fun adventures this past weekend because we had VISITORS and also a RENTAL car!! But I'm not going to write about that now. That'll be LATER. The really BIG news in Chania life is we finally rigged up John's treadmill desk after an intensive two weeks of research and planning. What is a treadmill desk, you ask? John explains it to our hotel neighbors below:

John is in LURV because it means he can now achieve his goals All. At. The. Same. Time. Books, Business, and losing his Belly are all SIMULTANEOUS activities! Pretty awesome, eh? It seems there's a bit of a learning curve, however... I give you Treadmill Desk, Day 1:

In Which We Make Some Friends

2009-01-16T16:16:00.003-05:00

Hey guess what John and I have us some BUDDIES! We have completely shocked the PANTS off our favorite waiter at the restaurant we frequent every night by bringing in guests not one but TWO nights in a row. HOLYCRAP!

Last night John met a fellow hotel guest in the lobby and invited her and her traveling friend out with us to dinner - the two of 'em are dear old friends from when they were mere tots who are exploring the world a bit while the job market is crap (so they'll be on the road for what, the next 3-10 years?). Turns out they make for great doubles partners on the air hockey table... let's just say we'll be seeing them again during their week here.

AND!! We now have weekend VISITORS who we can claim as our Greek friends from ATHENS. Why? Because we're that awesome (actually, it's more that THEY are that awesome). You might remember from about a month ago when I wrote about my favorite NYC broker getting me in touch with one of his best friends who happens to live in Greece with her boyfriend... WELL, we had so much fun in Athens that they are VISITING this weekend! Even better? I might be able to keep my claim of this as a "travel blog" when we take off tomorrow for some historical sites and small mountain towns full of stinky, noirish Creten men.

So stay tuned! There just might be exciting, travely things to report on oh-so-soon...

In Which We Are Attacked By Adorability

2009-01-14T12:57:00.004-05:00

I had a fuzzy wuzzy puppy moment today. It was one of those times where I kicked myself a little for not having my camera. 'Twas as follows:

John and I took advantage of the current ridiculously perfect weather by meandering about and venturing a ways up a eucalyptus lined path. At the top lay a shell of an abandoned building that looked out over an orchard of an indeterminate fruit, and we took a moment to enjoy the view and the sweet aromatics the eucalyptus provided (especially as the trash on our normal dump route was pretty firey today... the acrid smoke lingered over our path as we held our breath and ran through it).

And then, from one corner of the building, a small black puppy came trotting out and spied us standing there. It immediately froze - it wasn't sure what to make of us. It's little nose sniffed once or twice, its tail gave an uncertain wag, and it came no closer. Instead, staring straight at us, it gave a sharp bark or two.

There was a rustle of movement from the other side of the building.

Three more tiny adorable baby dogs came tumbling out of one of the archways to see what the commotion was about. They used their tiny puppy legs to stumble to a properly safe-but-curious distance from John and me (at this point, I might have squealed). I immediately dropped to my haunches and held out an open hand and it was only a matter of seconds before I had four balls of fur licking the salt off my skin and succumbing to scritches behind their ears.

DAWWWWWW SO CUTE.

John and I then had quite the time getting back on our walking route - the little nuglets insisted on following us back down the lane. This would have been fine except for the fact CARS often passed by on the connecting road and we didn't want to be the cause of puppy roadkill. After about 15 minutes, we finally made our escape when I hid behind some bushes and John gently herded them back up the road. They followed him back down almost to the end but luck was on our side - a brief distraction had all their heads turned and John quickly joined me in the camouflage of the shrubbery. We inched our way up the road and were relieved to find the puppies had been sufficiently fooled. No dead baby dogs on OUR collective conscience. Whew!

They kind of looked like these (four black ones and one brown one) except I can pretty much guarantee you that unlike THESE pups, they WEREN'T purebred dobermans:

In Which Not So Much Goes On

2009-01-11T16:20:00.002-05:00

I kicked butt at air hockey yesterday and won five out of five games. The subsequent gloating resulted in my obvious defeat today, though only by a game and wasn't close to the thorough schooling I gave John last night (to be fair, his rusty nail was a little strong at dinner and he wasn't quite as competitive as usual).

We generally like to go get food and then blow our money at the arcade.

Otherwise the weekend has been quiet and cozy. It's rainy and blustery outside, meaning John and I have both holed up with books and computers and not done much of anything. I change out of my pj pants only for those occassions that call for leaving the hotel, and THAT I can keep down to only once or twice a day if I try hard enough.

Tomorrow is once again Monday, however, and even though that doesn't mean much in this small little world we've created, I think I'm obligated to at least go to the grocery store - one of my jobs is making sure we have all our staples on hand, and as that only really consists of coffee and cookies and we're out of coffee, off I go.

In Which Funcles and Felines Both Play a Role

2009-01-07T16:04:00.006-05:00

The other day John decided I was a Cat Person because I spend a lot of my time here in Greece checking out the feline population (it's not my fault - they're everywhere and a bunch of 'em are cute. Not to mention, the ones that AREN'T cute tend to have some sort of fascinating deformation that begs to be ogled).

Now, in and of itself, I do not mind being a cat person. I like cats, after all. But John had decided I was a Cat Person who must be bought Cat Things. This, THIS was the point where something had to be done to correct this impression. I could already see my future unfolding in my head: John buys me one or two cat themed items. I bring them back to the states. Friends in the states see these cat items. They think to themselves "oh! Easy gift idea! Hannah = cat things!" Allofasudden, my life is filled with kitty tape dispensers, kitty water bottles, kitty magnets and kitty sheets. For. The. Rest. Of. My. Life. I know this happens. I've seen it. Heck, I'm GUILTY of it: Jill gets anything leopard print. An old housemate from college gets stuck with giraffe-themed items. I give DeBob, well, cat things (but only few and far between! And only the GOOD ones!!!! Right, DeBob? ...right?). And when John said, "Hannah! I saw this great CAT LAMP I think you should have! You have to come see it!" I immediately and unequivocally said "OH HELLS NO JOHN. YOU ARE NOT BUYING ME THAT CAT LAMP NO WAY NO HOW."

He was a bit shocked by my strong reaction. He was hurt that I didn't want to even SEE the lamp first, that I just destroyed his lampy dream without giving it a second thought. He thought I LIKED cats. Why wouldn't I want a lamp that looked like one??

Later that day I decided the best way to describe my relationship to John to other people was as an Uncle. A fun Uncle. A Funcle!!! John reacted the same way to THAT idea as I had to the cat lamp (to refresh: no way no how). In fact, he told me that every time I used that term he would be buying me another cat-related item. I told him every time he bought me a cat-related item I'd be calling him my Funcle. We had reached an impasse.

Fast forward to today, January 7th, and the National Name Day for Johns in the Eastern church. It's a big deal, apparently. It's as important as a birthday (if not more important). Obviously, I got John a present.

I call it "Preemptive Strike".

(And oh, by the way. We ended up popping into the lamp store regardless of my protests. The lamp in question wasn't EXACTLY like this one, but it was pretty darn close.)

In Which My Limbs Surprise Me

2009-01-07T03:30:00.003-05:00

For all of my exotic locale, the majority of my jobby life is spent staring at my laptop and typing various things. Today I had my feet propped on the coffee table while I slouched in the comfy chair with my computer in my lap, tippity tapping away and getting things done. I can't exactly remember if my feet were crossed or what, but about ten minutes ago I got up from my supine position and basically tripped all over myself. One of my legs had stopped working - it didn't want to walk, it wanted to float up in the air. Every time I lifted it to move a step forward it kind of raised itself a litte higher than it should have and decided bearing weight was a task it was NOT interested in. I stumbled a bit drunkenly around the Lab and was secretly glad John was out and about so I could weave around the room with no witnesses.

It felt a lot like that trick where you stand in a doorway and press your hands as HARD as you can against its sides. After about a minute, you release and your arms just float up of their own volition. Except in this case it was my leg. I didn't even know that was POSSIBLE.

I wonder if I can make it happen again.

In Which We Play Air Hockey

2009-01-02T11:27:00.003-05:00

The clattering sound followed by the "oh no" at the end is the expression of dismay caused by the puck neatly getting past my defense and sliding into my goal. You can see the evidence as I pan down, the puck mocking me from the "this means John got a point" tray.

Needless to say, I lost the game.

In Which We Toast to Auld Lang Syne

2009-01-01T03:40:00.007-05:00

At 10:00 last night John popped his head into my room to announce he was all done with his calls to the states and maybe we should find some food and see about this whole New Year's Eve thing. We both kind of sighed. Celebrating New Year's can sometimes feel like a major burden - both of us had been worried all day about making it all the way to midnight without desperately wanting to be asleep in our own beds. Luckily we had hit upon a brilliant plan: eating a super late dinner. This way, our bodies would be tricked into thinking it was actually dinner time and not two hours PAST our normal eating hour, thereby enabling us to ring in 2009 with very little effort on our parts.

But where to go? What to do? Our extraordinarily vague plan was to "eat" and then "maybe check out that jazz club our hotel guy used to own that is apparently close by." We rallied our cantankerous selves to the occasion by dressing ourselves in festive garb. Check it:

John sports his sassy new glasses, newly dry cleaned shirt and his blazing blazer.

And, erm, you can't exactly see my festive sparkly belt, but I AM wearing sparkly eyeliner.

So out we ventured. We automatically turned our feet towards Tamam, our absolute favorite dinner spot approximately 20 steps away from our hotel home's front door. It was suspiciously dark, and in a state of increasing panic we pushed our noses against the window just to make double, triple sure that it was actually, truly closed. Crap!

In a daze, we turned our feet to the harbor front. We quickly devised a list of other restaurants we knew of (that wouldn't give us food poisoning) that might be open. Options were limited, and we quickly determined that we really, really should have made a reservation. 20 minutes and three restaurants later, I was pretty sure we'd end up back at the hotel with that bottle of almost empty Retsina, dining on the piece of chocolate cake in our fridge and finishing off the chocolate Christmas mouse we had yet to partake of.

With one last option and with no great hope, we asked the last open spot we could find on the harbor if they had a table for two. It was pretty packed - expectations were low. But then! Wonder of wonders!! Hiding amongst the celebratory patrons was an empty table right in the corner where the people watching was at its best.

Giddy from our coup and a bit loopy from hunger, John and I took our seats and immediately set out to order half the menu and some toasting beverages from our new favorite waiter in the world, the Albanian Angel, decked out in a blinking Santa hat. John and I both decided to order concoctions with names to start the night off - apparently, Angel was sorry to inform us, I couldn't order a Black Russian because the bar couldn't handle specialty cocktails due to the volume of patrons that night. Undettered, I put in my request for white wine. John had been about to order a Rusty Nail - curious, he asked if he could still get a whiskey. Angel said of course! John then asked if the bartender could put some Drambuie in with the whiskey? Oh absolutely!! Drink orders taken, Angel flew off to fulfill our requests, and I was left wondering if I could have procured a Black Russian by requesting vodka with kahlua instead.

But no matter! As you can see below, they came out just FINE.

And then what?? Things got pretty silly between drinking on an empty stomach, our flitting Angel, and food that was, if not good, at least mediocre to fine (i.e. we didn't feel the need to fob it off on stray cats). The New Year rang in with the live band striking up a festive tune and fireworks erupting over the harbor, and I discovered John looks especially good when photographed in black and white, even MORE especially with those new GLASSES.

We tottered our way home around 2 a.m., taking the long way back in an attempt to fulfill the only other item we had on our itinerary that evening, i.e. the finding of the Fagote, the jazz club we had been so determined to patronize. We obviously did not find it.

We did, however, end up eating that Chocolate Mouse.

Happy New Year!

In Which the Morning Goes Awry

2008-12-29T04:51:00.003-05:00

Today I managed to break both our coffee mugs. One is completely shattered and the other one is now missing its handle. Apparently my dropping skills are so advanced that the first mug, taking its trip down from my hand to shatterville, managed to catch the handle of the other mug that was peacefully drip drying on the stool below and rip it right off.

So I went to go buy new mugs at the grocery store and also to pick up a few other things. I spent the next hour knocking things over and out of place and desperately trying to undo the havoc I was wreaking by shoving things back onto shelves and onto display tables. The check out girl had to price check about half my items because there were no labels and I forgot to weigh some of my produce so THAT had to be taken care of and meanwhile the line was growing and the people in it started to mutter in incomprehensible Greek. I finally booked it out of there and alarmed myself time and again by the sharp CLANK of the new mugs dinging against each other, regardless of the extra bags wrapped around them (thank goodness, they stayed unbroken).

Now it's closing in on lunch time and I decided this morning that it wouldn't be THAT hard to just make sandwiches here even WITH our limited resources. This is going to involve wielding a knife. The way this day has been going so far, I should have remembered to stock up on band aids before I left the store.

I think eating this entire bar of chocolate will probably help.

In Which John and I Set Some Limits

2008-12-28T06:52:00.001-05:00

John and I often find ourselves with one main topic of discussion over dinner every night. We don’t decide on them beforehand, but generally we end up focusing on a Main Theme that defines the entire meal. Themes in the past have included “Truth: What it Means to Be Honest, What it Means to Lie, and How to Tell the Difference”, “Desire: What Causes It? Do We Have Control? Why Do We Desire Those Things Which Cause Us Harm?” and “The Heart is Not a Pump: Rudolf Steiner’s Refutation of the Pressure Propulsion Premise of Heart Function”.

Last night John brought up the following topic: “Appropriate Limits to Fawning: When is Enough Enough?” John was curious, you see, as he has recently felt as if he’s been fawning over me too much. He confessed he often resolves on his long daily walks to cut it out, but then, as he put it, “It’s not MY fault you’re so extraordinary.”

Well! What a problem to HAVE!! We set about figuring out how to limit his spontaneous bursts of accolade-laden monologues, working to find the line where heart-warming appreciation turns into an awkward/uncomfortable recitation of virtues, leaving the one being praised feeling uncertain about motive and exhausted by living up to the standard the fawner sets by excessive extolling of excellence (“Don’t worry,” he reassured me, “I don’t think you’re perfect – I’m well aware of your faults.”).

After much back and forth, much discussion of what it means to fawn, what it means to be fawned over, past experiences on both our ends of each role, etc, we came up with a concrete and satisfying agreement on the future role of fawning in our work/personal relationship (which is entirely blurred at this point… we spend almost our entire day constantly in each others’ company, and if we weren’t so good at being friends this whole endeavor could have turned into a major disaster). The terms are as follows:

John will henceforth keep the fawning on the DL. We decided deserved appreciation and compliments were fine, but if a compliment starts to go on a little too long and it feels like the beginning of a fawning fit, I will signal him to stop with a brief cutting motion of a finger across the throat. However, if I am having a particularly bad day and am in desperate need of a copiously complimentary pep talk, he has agreed to be available to fawn on command, and when my ego is sufficiently swollen I can gently bring the talk to a close with a conductor's sweeping "fin". John, by the way, put in the caveat that I was allowed to fawn over HIM if I felt so inclined.

“Whew!” John exclaimed once we had gone over all the details. “I’m really glad we figured that out.”

He paused. A grin tugged at the side of his mouth.

“Hannah!” he said as he began to laugh. “You need to put this conversation on your BLOG!!!”

In Which We Chave Chappy Cholidays in Chania

2008-12-26T13:36:00.003-05:00

I made a photo album! With captions! And this whole blog entry is going to be just a big ol' link to the album (click on the pic below)! And if you already saw my Xmas album on facebook, then you can just SKIP this one 'cause it's the SAME DURNED THING!!!

Happy Holidays!

Christmas with Farmer John

In Which the Holiday Season Makes Itself Known

2008-12-23T12:29:00.004-05:00

It is Christmas Eve Eve.

This afternoon I panicked about stocking up on food supplies in anticipation of everything being closed on Christmas Day leaving John and I without a thing to eat. Because I am such a good shopper I ended up with bananas, apples, and about ten different kinds of cookies and pastries.

To get into the holiday spirit, I am listening to my new favorite online radio service's Christmas channel. Thanks to AccuRadio (found because Pandora does not operate in Greece), I have now learned that pretty much everyone has released a Christmas album. Like EVERYONE. Some are better than others. For instance, I'm listening to Bruce Springsteen sing "Merry Christmas, Baby" right now (he is singing directly to me, I think). It also seems to be the case that David Bowie and Bing Crosby sing a Christmas duet! Wonders never cease.

Lastly, I just decorated the Lab to be in tune with the Christmas spirit. Prepare to have your socks knocked off.

The whole effect (notice shmancy golden strands wrapped around Lab couch):

Close up of the artfully decorated tree:

For real lastly, apparently there's this holiday called "Hanukkah" that my people celebrate, and it started two nights ago! Incredible!!

In Which Poseidon Makes Himself Known

2008-12-22T09:41:00.003-05:00

Last night I gasped awake, shaken by a soul-shattering crack of thunder and accompanying raindrops hell bent on breaking through the skylight above my bed. The storm raged and whirled as I cowered in my lofted nest of blankets, convinced the Greek Gods had decided to make a reappearance to say it loud, say it proud. It was violent to the point I was uttering reassurances to myself such as "this building has survived 400 years and there's no reason it shouldn't keep on surviving... there must be storms like this all the time! No big deal! holycrapgonnadie no no Hannah, you're fine." After reverting to the childhood remedy of a nightlight and hiding under a pillow, I was finally able to drift off once the storm had gotten through its worst.

I wandered dazed into the Lab this morning, preparing myself for a day's work after a somewhat sleepless night. John came stumbling in soon after, his eyes smeared and bleary and his complexion pale. I had forgotten his exposure to the elements was greater than mine - his superior views and larger space, so wonderful on beautiful days, resulted in screaming winds and banging shutters with a pervading chill his small room heater was unable to contend with. On the longest and darkest night of the year, John battled with the elements to latch his shutters closed in the wee hours of the morning, stepping out onto a roaring balcony and taking in the surreal 3am sight of angry waters flooding walkways below, fighting against the permanence of the lighthouse, and reaching raging sodden fingers up towards his ankles in a surreal attempt to drag him down in their swirling depths. He eventually shut, locked and barricaded himself against the storms outside, finding sleep for only a few hours as pale daylight crept into his room.

By the time we forced ourselves up this morning the torrential rains and electric accompaniments had stopped. The wind, however, pervades. In the light of day, the weather outside is more of an incredible phenomenon than a midnight phantasm, and watching the usually placid harbor waters roil from the safety of our windows is quite the sight to behold. And so, for your viewing pleasure:

In Which We Eat Some Fishy Dishes

2008-12-20T13:10:00.006-05:00

The place was deserted which we really should have taken as a sign to keep on moving, but then again, John and I have yet to figure out the generic Greek hour for lunch, often finding ourselves venturing out to seek food when everyone else is occupied elsewhere. So we sat down, checked out the menu, ordered some fish soup for John and a big ol’ whole bream fish for me. We live on the water, after all. It should be fresh, right? ...Right??

John’s soup came out. It REEKED of fish. If I’ve learned anything from my fisherman father, it’s that the fishier (lit.) something smells, the fishier (fig.) it is. John and I both eyed it suspiciously - two large slabs of what MUST have been seafood languished in a murky green broth dotted with floating spots of orangey oil. John trepidatiously dipped in and took an experimental sip. His eyebrow shot up. “This is, hrm, salty,” he remarked. “Almost unbearably so, in fact. Huh.” As we amiably chatted and waited for my dish to arrive, he would every so often dip into the soup again, screw up his courage and swallow a bit more.

Some of Chania’s numerous stray cats caught onto the scent. Two came meowling up to our table, looking piteously up at John and the enticing smells emanating from his bowl. One, especially, was quite insistent with his demands. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure our waiter wasn’t watching, he placed a small piece of fish on a bread plate and lowered it down under the table.

(note: the following video is not of the cat at our table. our cat, for instance, did not sing.)

Watch more LiveLeak videos on AOL Video

Soon after, John pushed his bowl away. “I can’t do it, Hannah,” he said with a tone of defeat. “I can’t even eat enough to be polite. It’s just terrible.”

Soon my own fish arrived – a whole grilled fish smeared with oil and spices and, upon further investigation, also overcooked and rubbery. Does overcooking cause rubberiness? I sure hope so.

John and I ended up splitting the fish – I was pretty over it by the time I had picked my way through one side, and John half-heartedly picked at the other.

The cats meowled. John extracted the rest of the fish from his soup and had me be the lookout while he once again loaded up the plate and lowered it down to the kitties. The loudest meowler took one sniff and immediately shunned the offering, trotting away with his nose in the air. Luckily the other one was not so picky – by the time John once again retrieved the plate, the fish was almost gone and John felt a bit better about the food not going to waste (unfortunately the cat died soon after. Kidding, just kidding).

John, never one to really complain about food, put his napkin down at the end of the meal and matter-of-factly proclaimed “well, that was probably the worst meal I’ve had since I’ve gotten to Greece. Man, was that just awful. We are DEFINITELY going to need to find some ice cream or a cookie immediately after we leave, if only to reward ourselves for getting through this.”

And of course, where do we end up? Curled into the squashy couches of our neighborhood Starbucks, hot chocolate (piled high with whipped cream) taking away the unpleasant aftertaste of old oil and bad seafood, with Rat Pack Christmas carols gently soothing the eerie memory of desperate kitties and deserted landscapes. Though I hate to admit it, Starbucks, sometimes you are a balm to the soul.

In Which I Find Out Something Unsavory About This Country

2008-12-19T13:02:00.005-05:00

I thought Greece was perfect.

I should have known better.

I just tried to watch 30 Rock online, and I CAN'T ACCESS IT because of my quote unquote location. Same rings true for Hulu.

WHY? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyy....

In Which We Explore the Day-to-Day of Chania

2008-12-17T06:25:00.007-05:00

I've gotten some inquiries about the day to day here in Chania, even BETTER with pictures illustrating it. Here's what I've come up with:

John and I eat breakfast at the same place every morning. The coffee is good, the waitress is kind, and the owner has taken to giving us a hearty greeting whenever we come in. The menu is easy - there's a choice of "breakfast," "simple breakfast," "breakfast [take 2... I still haven't decided how they know which 'breakfast' you're ordering. Tonal? Perhaps an eyebrow wiggle?]" and "american breakfast." We usually go for the Greek yogurt option. This picture, however, tells the story of when we opted for toast. When the waitress came by and asked if we wanted MORE toast, John couldn't resist. He went for it. He stared at his new order wide-eyed and exclaimed he couldn't POSSIBLY eat an entire new order (bringing his total to four (4!!) slices). This picture, as you may have guessed, is the end of that fourth piece.

The water off of the harbor is beautiful and clear (well, most days). Much like the men strolling about, I find myself ALSO checking for fish. In this picture? There are no fish (much like most days).

John and I try to walk every day, stretch our legs out and ease John towards his fitness goals (we have to do it somewhere... cookies are too delicious to give up). One of the routes leads us to the lighthouse, and from the lighthouse is a gorgeous view of the hotels lining the Venetian harbor (our little residence is noted by the red arrow).

Sometimes John has to be put into a time out.

As John as been abroad for four years, he's not as over saturated by Starbucks as so many of us have been. In fact, when we found a Starbucks just down the street from our hotel (/home) he did a little wiggle of delight for all the GOODIES they have there. He doesn't look so thrilled in this photo, but I swear, right before I took this picture he was doing a Starbucks jig.

Sometimes we get nutritious dinners from Starbucks. This is the remains of dinner last night. It was DELIGHTFUL.

This photo is especially for my distoh. Look Claire! Look what they HAVE!!

Lastly, even graffiti is sweet in Chania.

In Which I Am LEARNING

2008-12-15T14:52:00.003-05:00

I just bought Rosetta Stone for Greek because it's time I am LEARNING. I just signed off of my first lesson and what I can remember is how to say "the girl drinks" and "the girl eats" and "the man drinks" and "the man eats." That will come in handy for myself and John - I can now give our waiters and waitresses a play-by-play of our meals.

Speaking of which, John and I have given up on finding new places for dinner. We tried a few and the best one by FAR is the one three steps from our hotel so we just go THERE every night. I bet they're going to be pretty excited when we come in tomorrow and I can tell them what John and I are doing whilst we dine.

Here is a picture of a preggo dog and a headless peacock:

In Which We Find Chania to Our Liking

2008-12-13T09:10:00.002-05:00

John is once again sleeping off the sick, pobrecito.

We're in Chania now, an old Venetian port town (city? It WAS the capital at one point...) in Crete. We're staying right on the harbor in an area that during the summer screams of noise and debauchery, but now that it's the winter it's quite peaceful and quiet. We hope to stay on here until the end of January - both John and I are anxious to get settled somewhere in order to organize ourselves for the months ahead. Our current plan is to have a situation figured out by the end of Monday (fingers are crossed).

Here's a picture I just took of myself on our balcony, oohing at the view. I'm learning how to use the self-timer on my camera as well as the gorilla tripod John just obtained. The BEST part about this picture is how ODD it looks... instead of oohing, I just might be whistling, and instead of a REAL background it looks more like an image projected on a green screen. Perfect!

Here are two more for good luck - the first a fisherman I spied on from the balcony (was there anything to catch, really? Was it purely a meditative exercise?) and the second a shot of the moon last night hovering above the harbor, after which I promptly turned into a werewolf (for serious!).

In Which Farmer John Battles His Germies

2008-12-12T10:13:00.005-05:00

Farmer John has an ickle widdle cowde today and he is NOT feewing wewll. Poor ickle widdle guy needs attention and WUB and maybe some chocowate. He feews so ucky wucky that he must take lots of nappy poos.

Farmer John has come up with a new way of pronouncing my name in order to get my attention because he thinks I am not being very sympathetic to his needs (I do not know WHY). It goes a little something like this:

In Which Farmer John Steps in Donkey Exhaust

2008-12-10T04:00:00.004-05:00

from wikitravel:

"The flip side to Hydra's environmentally friendly transportation policy is the presence of large amounts of what might be termed 'donkey exhaust', so watch your step when walking around."

John accidentally stepped in a large yellow puddle on the way to breakfast this morning. It made me laugh pretty hard.

Today is Greece's general strike. We're going to spend it wandering around this unwheeled island, maybe get so tired we have to take a donkey taxi back home (unless they are ALSO on strike).

I am continually surprised at the lack of noise on this island, especially after the hustle and bustle of Athens (though lucky for us we avoided the noise of the riots). With no cars, no trucks, no mopeds, no NUTHIN' except the occasional donkey bray, this island is almost EERILY quiet. We like eerie, so we're looking into spending five weeks here come the end of February.

Wheee!

In Which I Stare at a Glowing Screen in a Dark Room

2008-12-08T17:44:00.003-05:00

I just spent the last two hours trying to force myself to fall asleep. It was not, in the end, successful, and now I am back to this little 'puter until something resembling any sort of tiredness happens.

Today was a PLANNING day. John and I stayed close to the hotel (the farthest we went was around the corner for some afternoon spinach pie, i.e. my best Greek word, SPANAKOPITA!) and basically spent the rest of the time in the hotel greenhouse room looking at the internet until our eyes bled. But! Now we have the next FOUR WHOLE DAYS planned! Tomorrow we take the boat to Hydra and spend two idyllic days wandering about Greece's sole unwheeled island (the only vehicles allowed are sanitation trucks; you can't even have a BICYCLE). At first it was going to be only one idyllic day, but then we learned Wednesday is a general strike (i.e. no boats, no planes, no nada), so two it is! Thursday we boat it back to Athens and then hop a flight to Chania, Crete, where we so far have a hotel for two nights and, beyond that? TBD.

Also, I just downloaded firefox and three million add-ons and I have no idea how to use most of 'em. Awesome, right??? Hopefully these suckers will keep me amused until I hopefully, finally fall asleep.

PS It seems there are riots going on in Athens. I know this because people have emailed and asked if I am okay and if I'm safe and thank GOODNESS the first folks who wrote told me WHY they were asking because I never would have known otherwise. Apparently this little area John and I are in is a completely sheltered little riotless cove of tranquility. That being said, we were thinking of seeking them out - I AM in the market for a new large suitcase, and I hear the rioters have been liberating items from classy department stores...

In Which Farmer John Successfully Gets In His Pants

2008-12-07T19:24:00.008-05:00

From earlier this evening (pardon the epileptic-fit inducing camera shake... I was laughing so hard and trying to be so quiet and the camera was all over the place. John thought I was taking pictures and didn't realize I was filming, which made it all the MORE hilarious):

A bit of backstory: yesterday John and I met with our yet-unkown new favorite people in Greece, Christina and George. Christina came with the endorsement "one of my best friends in the whole wide world" from my favorite real estate agent in New York, so there was no way we COULDN'T track her down and make her hang out with us. George was a super bonus extra, i.e. Christina's boyfriend. Both are Greek, although Christina mainly grew up in the states.

Needless to say, John and I had the BEST time out with them - Christina took us all around Athens and told us WHAT everything was and WHERE everything was and then George and Christina led us to this magnificent little eatery with all of this tasty meat and french fries and magical spicy tomato and feta dish that I want to eat every day.

Anyhoo, turns out she and George are avid and talented tango dancers (this is, in fact, how they met, and that's them dancing on the left there) and so TONIGHT they took John and I out to TANGO. It took a bit of convincing on John's part - he's a self-declared bad dancer. It's not that he doesn't LIKE to dance, he's just been scarred occasion upon occasion by others not responding well to his moves. But! Luckily I had declared just two days previously that one of my goals for this adventure was to teach him to dance, so he really had no choice.

Hence the struggle into his new, snazzy, tight fitting jeans.

As for the tango itself? AMAZING. George and Christina were fun, informative and patient teachers. By the end of the night, John and I were out on the dance floor with everyone else, doing a really good job of staying out of everyone else's way (okay, pretty good job) and honing our 8 step move. We were also the only ones out there collapsing into hysterical fits of laughter, but we're working on our game faces. By the time we strut our stuff again for Christina and George in a few months, we're going to be as passionately serious and debonair as everyone ELSE on the dance floor.

And oh yes, John's dancing phobia? It downgraded into just a strong fear. Boo yeah.

In Which Farmer John has a Healthy Breakfast

2008-12-07T11:38:00.001-05:00

Jet lag and I are still in a fight. I woke up today at 1 pm and was shocked to realize the entire morning had fled. Luckily John had not wasted his morning. "I had some pie for breakfast," he told me. "Actually, it was more like cake, which is good because it's healthier."

"HEALTHIER?!" I exclaimed, "how do you find cake to be HEALTHIER?"

"Well," he replied, "cake has, you know, flour. And there was this gooey stuff in it that
just seemed to be very nutritious."

This from the man who has "getting in shape" as one of his top two goals for our European jaunt. He informed me of his entire fitness plan whilst munching on a stale donut he bought at a coffee kiosk in the Amsterdam airport. A lot of this plan revolves around finding enough time to go walking - once he's in a walking routine, he says, the cravings for sweets is cut way down and his diet takes care of itself.

As we can see, he hasn't quite made it to that point. He happened to add, later in the morning, that what made the cake REALLY delicious was the scoop of ice cream on the side.

In Which I Fulfill Jennifer's Request

2008-12-06T17:34:00.006-05:00

Jennifer, this is for you (readers, if you're curious, see comment on previous post):

In Which I Land in the World of Feta

2008-12-05T11:40:00.004-05:00

John and I are HERE! We are in GREECE! Nothing much to write about, really. We landed in the airport, went through zero customs or anything of the like (on one hand, it was great - no lines, no waiting, no potential for being rejected at the gates - but on the other hand, no stamp in my passport. mroooo) and are now in our hotel, somewhere in Athens and within walking distance of the Acropolis.

As for the rest of our short sojourn to Amsterdam? I slept until noon yesterday and woke up just in time to go out for lunch and spend 6 hours clothes shopping with Robin and John. Robin did a bang up job of finding John some swanky clothes (that's one new outfit there to the left... we got those pants hemmed, by the way, even though the cuffed look IS pretty awesome), but really, shopping in Amsterdam isn't so different from shopping in NYC (they even have a bunch of the same stores).

My favorite image of the day - This is how John secures his laptop for take off and landing:

In Which We Follow Meandering Canals

2008-12-04T06:21:00.005-05:00

Well I am just feeling REFRESHED. Twelve hours of sleep later, I awoke to loud knocks on the door and then, with no answer, someone entering my room. A little perturbed, I called out "HELLO?" and was met with a profusion of "oh I am so sorry! I just came to change the towel! I am so sorry I am so sorry!" and the gentleman proceeded to change my towels while apologizing and then left the room. It made me laugh a little bit, and with that, there was no going back to sleep. A good thing, too, as I'm meeting John for lunch in about 30 minutes.

Briefly: Amsterdam is LOVELY. John and I wandered about for hours last night, following canals and pedestrian streets. The smell of the marijuana drifted up to us every once in awhile, but really, when I first arrived I fully expected it to be a city that just REEKED (at least in the tourist section) but it was not to be so! It's actually just a regular ol' gorgeous little city that happens to have some stuff legalized that we don't! Shock.

Another thing that was slightly shocking: Amsterdam stairs. Farmer John warned me, but REALLY, they are INCREDIBLE. We went over to his friend Robin's apartment last night where she and her lovely husband Dennis fed us delicious cheese fondue and a cheesy berry dessert, and getting up and down to their top floor apartment was an exercise in balance and finesse. No wonder they both practice yoga - they HAVE to in order not to severely injure themselves in their own apartment. I kid you not, they are actually this steep:

And! Here is an awesome picture of Farmer John, Robin and Dennis. The BEST thing about this photo is that in it, Robin is demonstrating the best way to take a photo - apparently it's what all starlets and models use. You suck in your gut, strike an asymmetrical pose, and then instead of smiling (I think) you instead exhale with a little "pooh" sound and hold the shape your lips make (I'm not sure if this is entirely correct - I was pretty sleepy at this point). I'm liking the glamorous smile she's sporting in this photo a bit better, though.

And now off I go again!

In Which I Have Myself a Sit

2008-12-02T18:53:00.004-05:00

And I'm off again, intrepid readers!

Having managed to stuff 5 months worth of items into a duffel bag, small international-friendly rolly bag (which is also seriously the best rolly bag I have EVER HAD and also I just bought it TODAY and it has FOUR WHOLE WHEELS!!! Not half! WHOLE!) and backpack, I now find myself sitting in terminal 7 utilizing BA's colorful high backed chairs as I patiently wait for my flight to be called. All, thus far, is on time.

And I sit here, attempting to fill it constructively. As you can see via exhibit A on left, it has been constructive INDEED. I have successfully discovered that 1. built-in computer cameras are a good time, and 2. maybe using it to make odd photos surrounded by those one is to spend the next bajillion hours with on a large, packed flight is not the smartest of ideas?? Then again, perhaps it will make me friends. A better technique, I think, than hacking out half my lung like the man next to me and then swallowing whatever it was back DOWN in such an obvious fashion it was impossible to miss. You, Mr. Man, are NOT going to be my airplane friend.

20 minutes til boarding. The excitement builds.

In Which Farmer John Has a Snack

2008-10-13T17:18:00.004-04:00

The Luxembourg airport looked likeTHIS:

Needless to say, we weren't going anywhere fast. Our flight was delayed. Then it was cancelled. Then we were re-routed on a Heathrow flight, which was, of course, delayed. Farmer John decided he needed a SNACK. He bought a blueberry smoothie and THEN decided vending machine chips would make for a perfect pair. He pondered the choices.

He very carefully counted out the required euros for the transaction (I believe he opted for paprika flavored potato crisps, in the end).In the money went! But the machine would not TAKE his money!! Farmer John was taken by surprise when the money comes clattering out into the change bin.He tried again. Maybe the first time was a fluke? Those chips, after all, looked mighty tasty.Farmer John was shocked! Once again, the machine refused his coinage! What the hell, machine?! Give the man some CHIPS!
Farmer John, however, was a good sport. He resigned himself, with a bittersweet smile, to his chip-less fate.
He achieved a stoic, philosophical, anthroposophic attitude toward the chip machine as he prepared his blueberry smoothie.
He tenderly inserted the straw.

And, gracefully, he made do with his non-chipped fate with the best straw-suckin' face in Luxembourg. Here's to you, Farmer John.

In Which We Wrap Up Germany and Want to Take it Home as a Present

2008-10-10T16:46:00.006-04:00

FJ and I are back in our luxury suite in the 'burg. You know, that little Grand Duchy we like to use as a bookend for our trips to Germany. The hotel was quick to give us our favorite room 700 at the same discounted price as the last time. Either this means we're awesome, or this room is only worth the discounted price (maybe less) and they are rubbing their duchy hands together and silently giggling with glee. "Estupid Americans!" They say. "So easy to take advantage of!" Except probably not "estupid" but that was the only way I could make it sound accented and I don't know how to write a Luxembourgish accent.

Reason #429 why I like Farmer John: Farmer John is in a very pensive mood tonight, pondering all these things we have seen and done in the last bit of time, and planning his next steps in his farm's 22 year plan. Yet, even when pensive, staring fixedly at a certain spot in the table and absentmindedly twirling a martini glass, one notices the very carefully folded napkin tucked into his sweater, placed there specifically due to the delightful complimentary accent it adds to his outfit.

Reason #430: Farmer John, over there on his computer, exclaimed "I'm COSMIC right now!" He kind of IS.

Yesterday found us back in Dottenfelderhof (our time there was far from complete when we left it last Tuesday morning). We arrived just in time for lunch (totally on purpose) and then went to speak with Knut, one of the founding pioneers of Dottendfelderhof, and now a 77 year old man with the most AMAZING beard. He spoke English quite well, though not as well as he would like, and we were able to gain his perspective on the past 40 years of the farm - what it was when it began, how it has changed, how it is going forward. I spent the whole time wanting to pet his beard. He was kind enough that maybe he would've let me, but I didn't ask. That's him to the right there, in a stalkery picture I took when I first encountered his facial magnificence.

And then FJ and I drank coffee and chatted and then we were off so FJ could lead a class with Dottenfelderhof's group of biodynamic farming students, many of whom were already farmers and were looking to explore the biodynamic method, and FJ talked about his explorations with farming and his findings with all the farms he had visited and it was a whole mix of english and german and hilarious translations back and forth ("Irony? What is this word, irony?" [frantic looking up in the single german/english dictionary on the table] "Here it is!! It's... um, irony. Ee-ron-ee."), and it was a great hour and a half and we ended with looking at pictures of FJ's farm and then watching Lesley Littlefield Freeman's Farmer John video and then the GRAND FINALE, Lesley's "Four More Times", available HERE: http://www.lesleylittlefield.com/video.html. It got stuck in EVERYONE'S head for the rest of the night. It's super catchy!

We also did lots more awesome farm stuff, like drink Dottenfelderhof Riesling and go talk to Dottenfelderhof's in-house biodynamic scientist about the connection between the moon, constellations and planting, and talk to their orchard and vegetable guy about building warmth in the farming process and whether horses were a good means of doing so and how to continually enhance the farming experience, and we ate more homemade bread and jam and soup and cheese and also Heidi, our favorite Australian translator, took us to see the cows and dairy, and then we stayed a bit longer today than expected (juuuust long enough to have lunch before we left) and hopped in the car and took the scenic route through a gorgeous national park back to Luxembourg and walked to dinner and saw THESE:

Life, in these crazy times, is good.

In Which I Make a Shocking Discovery

2008-10-08T17:02:00.005-04:00

I learn more things every day.

Today I learned how an electric fence works. Twice! It's a strange endorphin rush to be slightly electrocuted. I swear, though, it wasn't like I touched a fence and was all "oooh 'tricity I LIKE it" and then promptly became a voltage junkie and went around trying to find electric fences to touch. I was just THAT stupid two times (though they happened at two different locations, and the fences were v. different from each other, plus the second fence was holding in donkeys and I consider it a BOOBY TRAP to have donkeys held behind electric fences that one cannot help but touch in an effort to pat those donkeys on their schnozzes. How can you resist this face???).

The morning started off, however, with the effort of dragging myself out of bed, eating chocolate cereal and coffee for breakfast in an effort to get to some level of awakeness whether through sugar or caffeine, and then jumping in the car with Farmer John, our host Tadeu, and his daughter Charlotta. Off we WENT to the organic farm research center, and were met by the MOST amazing and enthusiastic gentleman of our acquaintance thus far, Ulrich. Ulrich was in love with his research and in love with exploring new and alternative means of studying the wide world of organic food. He started off our morning with telling us he had put silica in all the paint on the interior walls of the research center, as silica promotes liveliness. If at any point we were feeling less-than-lively, we should put our hand on the wall and voila! Instant jolt of energy. Farmer John, feeling the same way I was feeling that morning, immediately put his hand to the wall. Ulrich also supplied us with muscatel grapes infused with energy-giving dew, and he excitedly told us that we should eat a kilo of these grapes a day, and if we do so we would have SO much stamina and only need four hours of sleep a night!! And THEN he provided us with espresso and told us his most recent experience in the realm of the alternative and regaled us with the tale of his own daughter, who for years had these attacks of stomach pains, and no doctor could find anything wrong and they were at a loss as to how to cure her. Finally, in desperation, he called a friend involved in alternative research while his daughter lay writhing on the ground. His friend directed him to press on various points on her ear and to relay to him what points hurt the most when prodded. From this information, this Alternative Scientist determined Ulrich's daughter's Inner Note, i.e. the sound frequency in which she existed, and Ulrich was then instructed to fill a bottle of water and place the bottle on top of a piano. With his daughter in the room, Ulrich played, over and over again, the note to which his daughter was so indelibly intwined and then had his daughter drink the now note-infused bottle of water. She drank it. They waited. She hasn't had an attack in the five years since. And I cannot, for the life of me, figure out the right google term to find the page that will tell me how to figure out what my OWN note is. Oh fate!

Continuing on, apparently the dew outside exists on frequencies that, when paired with the already life-affirming muscatel grapes, creates a powerhouse of vibrant energy one can tap into if one consumes enough of the fruit, seeds and all. Ergo, five minutes later, one found me leaning wholeheartedly against the silica wall, clutching bunches of grapes in my fists and downing them as fast as I could (half) chew them. I ate so many, in fact, that the natural acid of the grapes began to burn my tongue and the sides of my mouth.

Two walls, five bunches of grapes, three cookies, four espressos and a few hours later, still exhausted, I shocked myself on the first electric fence. One eye sprang open. After jolt number two, I was wide awake.

Shock therapy, people. Better than caffeine.

In Which I Learn Things and Tell You About Them

2008-10-07T18:08:00.003-04:00

Today I learned how adept cow's tongues are. One calf kept trying to swoop my hand into its mouth and it very nearly succeeded.

I learned to stand in a field and attempt to feel what happens when I concentrated on my left hand and then have my right hand come to join the left, and then tried to experience the difference between standing in a newly plowed furrow vs. standing on a field with sprouts of various sorts coming up around me.

I learned the drive along the Rhein has so many CASTLES. Why so many? Why don't I have one?

I learned a valuable lesson in navigating foreign traffic - I attempted to work my way around what seemed to be a totally stopped and unmoving line of traffic in an impossibly picturesque town somewhere along the majestic Rhein waterway and only succeeded in driving right into the middle of a very pedestrian cobblestone street right at the top of an incredibly steep and narrow road. I then was able to experience, for the very first time, the lovely feeling of having 50 incredulous Germans stare as I more-or-less successfully backed all the way down the way I came, only forcing ONE van to back up and let me by as I very stubbornly kept backing my way down and wound my way BACK to the terrible back up, which by that point was moving again (yay!) only to stop again very suddenly (boo). Turns out all those cars were waiting for trains to pass so they could get across the tracks to the main motorway. The gates would come up, three cars would get through, the gates would go down, ten minutes would pass, a train would finally come shooting by, the gates would come up, three cars would get through... and so on and so forth.

I learned that land mines are everywhere - I was exploring the biodynamic research center we visited today and, in attempts to get into every nook and cranny, I went to explore this great looking outdoor fountain setup. Before I stepped into that area, I was quick enough to notice there were several dug out holes where buckets filled with water were stored, a veritable booby trap. I smugly patted myself on the back for being so aware of my surroundings as I picked my way through the recessed small pools. My pants are still drying in the car.

I learned that traveling means never enough sleep, and I learned that I am quite okay with this. Well, as long as there's coffee.

In Which We Begin to Explore Farms. Biodynamically.

2008-10-05T16:45:00.005-04:00

Today was the first true day of assistant-ship to my farming friend. Up we were, bright and early, to take leave of the city of Luxembourg and head out to its more suburban areas. About 25 minutes north (I THINK north. let's just say north) of the city we reached our first real farm - that of Anja, Tom, and their three ridiculously adorable children. Anja and Tom were in year 2 of a multi-year project of designing - absolutely from scratch - their own biodynamic farm. They had gathered most of the funding, the land, and the close-to-final architectural plans for the project. This NEW farm is to be located just down the street from the farm where they CURRENTLY reside, i.e. Tom's father's farm, which causes no end of heartache as although Tom's father is retired and has given over the operation to his son, he is still fully entrenched in the goings ons of daily activities and firmly refuses to reside anywhere but in the past. Needless to say, Tom and his family are eager to move into their own space. Farmer John, Anja and Tom spent around 5 hours exploring both their current situation and their future situation, and I, of course, spent most of MY time taking pictures of adorable animal noses.

I also managed to find a satanic baby goat...

...and a bunch of other goat butts to boot(ie).

As you can probably tell, my job is v. demanding.

After an entirely too satisfying lunch of these savory torts that I am determined to somehow mimic (one was made of beets and apples, the other of carrots and other shredded stuff), Anja led us to Schank-Haff, the next farm on our list (this one fully developed). At this particular biodynamic farm, they not only grew carrots and potatoes, but also had a dairy operation, a cheese-making facility, a farm store (open two days a week), and a small bakery. Their dairy cows, by the way, did nothing but stare.

We also spent a good amount of time ogling machinery. Okay, JOHN spent a good amount of time ogling machinery. That's, like, his thing. If that happens to be your thing as WELL, then remind me to send you photos. I can fuel your machinated dreams with potato pickers/sorters, carrot pickers/sorters, carrot washers, earth tillers, spikey things, rumbly things, etc.

I will show you ONE piece of machinery, however. This is called a football (in American that would be "soccer") car: I don't know how it works, exactly, but there's mesh for a windshield and something big attached to the front bumper. Hos's (the farmer and our host) son does this kind of thing as his hobby.

To prove to you I tell you only the truth, here is the starey dairy:

Also, there's a good reason for all that potato machinery mentioned above - freakin' so many potatoes my eyes almost fell out (or maybe the POTATO'S eyes almost fell out! Ah hahahahhahaaa!). This was just a small part of the whole (we were in the dedicated potato cellar):

Remember that show Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers? And then there was the slightly overweight mouse pilot who couldn't resist cheese, and when he smelled it his eyes would bulge, his moustache would sproing into a lightning bold-esque shape, and he would defy gravity and lift off the ground? Well anyway, this is some cheese:Oh my gosh and then THEY fed us TOO! I was smart and remembered to take a picture of the spread. In case you're like me, that slab to the right of the bread is not cheese, it is butter. Luckily they told me before I ate an entire hunk. Life is just tastier on farms (not pictured - apple cake and homemade whipped cream, i.e. the love of my life and the bane of my existence; though, let it be said, I drank raw milk all day and have had ZERO ISSUES. Psychological? Maybe).

And now? Now, I sit in a pink hotel, in a room with a lovely bed calling my name. I can ignore it no longer.

In Which We Get An Upgrade

2008-10-04T11:19:00.006-04:00

So on LuxAir, even for short flights, they give you a full on SNACK! Little sandwiches, a sugar coated cherry muffin, and then on your way out they give you CANDY. I think it is perhaps my new favorite airline. Too bad it's fairly local to Luxembourg.

I would also have all of you know that I am currently in charge of driving the rental car. Not too significant in and of itself, but this particular rental car is a MANUAL car, the likes of which I have only driven on Nantucket. There were absolutely zero automatic cars available because no one drives the things in Europe really (and when we did a last minute inquiry at the airport, just in case, the looks of incredulity at the very THOUGHT of such a thing were pretty impressive to behold), and so voila! I am now in charge of a manual car, and much like riding a bicycle, I have managed to manuever this vehicle with something approaching ease (just as long as I concentrate very, very hard). Also, there is a major difference between driving a brand new manual car and the beaters I'm used to on Nantucket - I am astounded by how easily the gears shift in our European vehicle.

And so, without even stalling one time, and with the help of the soothing British accent of our GPS guide, I chauffered us to our hotel for the evening. Well, we THOUGHT it was our hotel, except for the slight issue of our lack of reservation. It's not like it never got MADE, we had a confirmation number and everything, it just somehow never got from the internet booking service to the HOTEL. Because they felt so badly about it, they ended up giving us the last room available in the hotel for a substantial discount, i.e. the penthouse suite. Woohoo!! It is not perhaps as penthouse as, say, the Trump Tower, or even the Hilton, but still. There's a jacuzzi, a rolltop desk, a small sitting area, a fake fireplace... it has it all. If we have to share a room, THIS is the way to do it.

And now, a few random shots from our wanders around the city:

Lastly, we did not eat here, as delectable as the sign makes it sound:

Instead I ordered the "hearty salad" at another restaurant - the healthy choice, as it was lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, endive, fried potatoes and an egg over easy on top, all smothered in a hollandaise sauce dressing. It's healthy because I opted out of the bacon.

In Which I Abscond to Europe

2008-10-04T04:47:00.005-04:00

It seems like only yesterday I landed in England (because I did) and now I sit in the London City airport awaiting our departure to the last remaining Grand Duchy in the world, Luxembourg. I have a scant 20 minutes before the flight boards, so until there is time to write more, a selection of photos from the journey thus far:

Bruce Henrietta on her first trip to Europe:

A shot of Emerson College, a small school in Forest Row based on the teachings of Rudolph Steiner:

Farmer John striking a pose in the Eurythmy studio (background: all the different eurythmy poses, each representing a different sound):

My angelic halo by the stained glass window (also in the strikingly pink eurythmy studio):
Farmer John's beloved swisher sweets. He doesn't smoke them, but rather enjoys the flavor of their wrappings. I transported twenty cases to him from the states as he was running dreadfully low... when he first said he was sending me a case to transport along, I was DELIGHTED to have so much CANDY with me. When they arrived, I realized the "sweets" had nothing to do with tasty sugar:
Lastly, taken just a moment ago, Farmer John matches the menu:
I think I have a few more moments before I have to log off... for those who have zero idea as to what, exactly, I'm doing over here (and who have grown frustrated with my answer of "uhhh... looking at farms? Biodynamic farms? And I think we're going to be in a few different countries?"), I present to you a few different links:

My traveling companion (and instigator of the trip), Farmer John:

this is his film: http://www.angelicorganics.com/ao/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=148&Itemid=182

this is his farm website: www.angelicorganics.com

The purpose of the trip is to view and tour biodynamic farms, gain information, and take it back to the states so he can continue to develop his OWN biodynamic farm. What is biodynamic farming, you ask? Thank goodness for wikipedia...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biodynamic_farming

That link is part of a series on Anthroposophy, the driving philosophy behind Farmer John's endeavors. Verrrrrry interesting, Farmer John...

On to Luxembourg!

In Which I Give A Vocabulary Lesson

2006-01-21T07:21:00.000-05:00

Just so you all know, I should not be using this computer. In fact, it is HIGHLY ILLEGAL, and there is a little sign posted upon said computer stating "Esta computadora es para uso exclusivo de PCVs, NO PARA RPCVs o VISITANTES."

Then, in english below, it says, "This computer is for the exclusive use of PCVs, NOT FOR RPCVs or VISITORS," which is how I understood I should not be using it. I am currently experiencing a delightful little tingle of illicitness.

But enough small talk.

This is a short entry designed to teach the reader a lesson in Dominican, a variant of the Spanish mother tongue. Notice, as you read, my rigorous and impeccable use of the OED's stringent guidelines for creating a proper dictionary definition. Let us begin:

un chin [oon CHEEN] -n- a little bit; can be emphasized as following: "I only want (except pretend that part was in spanish) un chinininininininininininin."

una china [OO-na CHEEN-a] -n- an orange (for eating); origin --> Let's just say those shipping crates for Asia were not, in fact, labeled ORANGE.

un safacon [oon saf-ah-KON] -n- trash bin; origin --> This word is the result of an old NYC recycling campaign, onto which they printed "Save A Can" onto all public trash recepticles. The importation of such a word is made possible by the friendly fluidity of personages, material goods, and bastardized ad campaigns between Nueva York (see definition below) and the Dominican Republic.

Nueva York [noo-EH-vah YORK] -n- 1. New York City, NY 2. United States of America.
e.g. "I went to Nueva York for the holidays to see my family."
"And where in Nueva York does your family live?"
"Phoenix."

los paises [lohs paiy-EE-sez] -pl. n- 1. the countries 2. anywhere that is not the Dominican Republic; more a mindset than, perhaps, a proper noun. (syn. alla [ay-YAH] -n- literal meaning: over there)
for instance: "I hear you were gone in los paises for the holidays!"
"Yes, I went to Boston to visit my aunt."
"Did you see my cousins there?"
"I don't think so, where do they live?"
"In Spain!"

con-con [KON-KON] -n- the cohesive mass of burnt and oil-saturated rice found the bottom of the rice pot. considered a delicacy.

In Which I Love The Loma

2006-01-17T14:32:00.000-05:00

Ahhh the loma!!

This is the code word for Kate´s Official Site, Las Aguas Negras, i.e. the mountain top farming village to which Kate was assigned. And it´s not so much code word as to how people affectionately refer to their mountain top home as they commute back and forth between the bustling town of Pedernales and the small community of Las Aguas Negras. Kate began her PC service living exclusively up the mountain, and then as her work and projects brought her down the mountain more and more she eventually moved her base of operation to Pedernales. She now spends the majority of the week down here and one to three nights up top. We just returned yesterday from our last stint up there before my imminent departure (oh the sadness), and it only served to remind me of just how wonderful life up there truly is.

For instance, up on the loma, we eat chocolate soup for dinner. It´s considered delicious and nutritious and is a completely acceptable dining choice. Staying true to the Dominican Philosophy of Food, chocolate soup contains: 1. water 2. flour 3. block of hot chocolate mix (i.e. one part chocolate to two parts sugar) 4. sugar 5. Carnation sweetened condensed milk 6. nutmeg. After stirring together until fully mixed and hot, one then ladles out generous portions to be eaten with hot dog rolls, the Dominican equivalent of ¨bread¨.

So basically, I´m coming home 25 pounds heavier as well as diabetic.

The loma, being a small community of approximately 45 houses occupied full-time, is also a tightly knit community, where everyone knows everyone else (as well as everyone elses business). One of the main loma activities is porch hopping. Kate and I spent a good portion of our days on the loma going a-visiting, walking around to different houses, where inevitably we were invited to sit down for a bit, and then coffee was inevitably offered (shockingly, the coffee here is made with a LOT of tasty sugar), and we would sit and chat until our coffee was finished and then we´d go to the next house over and do it all again! In this way I got to hear some of the good town gossip, for instance the identification of the town drunk, as well as witness such sights as a small boy fall off a horse, get back on in exactly the same way, and fall off three seconds later, ¨just like an avocado¨ (he was fine, so it was okay that it was really, really funny).

What is also possible in the fashion of porch hopping for coffee: Kate has perfected the art of showing up at ¨un buen tiempo,¨ or at ¨a good time¨ (Future PCVs, take note! This is an essential survival method of all volunteers). It being meal time, and Kate and I having little of our own resources on the loma, we would go visiting one of her favorite doñas when the afternoon meal was conveniently on the stove. As Kate called hello, said doña would emerge, all smiles, to throw her arms around Kate and to tell us that we had arrived at ¨un buen tiempo¨ and that we should sit down and have something to eat. Soon, our bellies would be full of the loma staple of rice and beans, usually with a bit of fried salami or chicken just for fun. Wonderful.

This recourse was only necessary, however, when Kate´s host family´s house was empty of all domestically inclined members, i.e. the wimmens. Apparently, her host family´s house went from being one of the most popular hangouts on the loma to a fairly empty house with the departure of her host mom to Spain and her host sister to University. Now it´s only the dad there, and when Wilma (her amazing host sister, who is also one of Kate´s best friends here, who is also coming to the States for a bit this summer) isn´t around, the visiting method is induced. However, this last weekend Wilma was home as classes don´t start until next week, and the house was full of laughter, music, good cheer, and fooooooood. Another plus of Wilma being home: Kate and I sleep in the house. Because otherwise we sleep cold and alone in the street. No no just for joke!! But maybe only half-joke. If it´s just the dad at home, it´s a little bit weird for Kate to sleep there, so instead she was given a room in the family´s extra storage house. It´s a house just like all the others in the town, except there´s no furniture, no latrine, no electricity, and the only occupied room is Kate´s bedroom. When we first got back, we had to do a bit of cleaning as the room hadn´t been touched in the month and a half Kate had been gone, and in the process we found a bitty little dead scorpion on the mosquito net (but on the outside! so the net works!!!) and a large dead cockroach who chose to die under the fitted sheet (so the net almost works!!). Sleeping is a bit scary in the very, very empty house, save for the old chicken cages in the room next door, and apparently it´s even worse when Kate´s there all by her lonesome. On her to-do list: find better sleeping arrangements.

Scary house aside, sleeping in the loma is a lovely thing. Being up the mountain, everything there is decidedly cooler than in Pedernales, and I actually had to utilize a sweatshirt now and again. It also rains with greater frequency, leaving everything a little bit fresher and the light filtering in soft focus. And oooh oooh!! Now that it´s winter, the loma is basically considered freezing by its inhabitants, and shivering under long sleeved shirts and such is a common occurance. The most novel method to stay warm I have seen so far, however, has been the young man Kate and I saw whilst out walking one day - fully done up in one too-small women´s snow suit that seemed to be pulling at all the wrong places. When Kate came upon this marvelous sight, her eyes got huge, she stopped in her tracks, and as soon as she could wheeze out the question through gales of laughter she asked her buddy what exactly he was wearing, at which point he responded it was a suit for the cold, and didn´t he look damn good. What else could we say but dang, do you ever.

Hens, roosters, pigs, horses, mules, goats, and pigs run amock on the mountain top. Men adopt favorite fighting roosters, and carry the little devils around like pets. Apparently the cure-all for a sick rooster, by the way, is an injection of chlorine, or when that isn´t available, dish soap does in a pinch. I just have no idea if this is scientifically sound, but I guess it does the trick (unless they overdose it, in which case the rooster just dies).

And now, I must say good-bye to the loma. Ah porch sitting, ah chocolate soup, ah wonderful little mountain community with whom I built latrines and painted libraries, I will miss you.

In Which I Meet A Cast of Characters

2006-01-14T16:08:00.000-05:00

Take a drunk, a mute transvestite, a Canadian soul searcher, a Kurdish world traveler, a guagua driver named Moses, and what do you have? That would be my last 36 hours.

As a little beach break, Kate and I went to one of her favorite ¨get away from it all¨locales yesterday afternoon, located a quick 2 hours from Pedernales. After squishing ourselves into the guagua, and then sitting in the guagua for 15 minutes while the driver got good and ready to leave, we trundled off down the road toward our final destination. We almost didn´t make it out of Pedernales due to the immigration stop every public vehicle is required to make on departure (they have a bit of a problem with illegal Haitian immigration through Pedernales into the D.R. interior), as the dude inspecting our vehicle demanded passports that we didn´t have on us (Kate isn´t allowed, in fact, to carry her passport and has to leave it in the capital). Thank goodness that Kate is skilled at talking her way out of such situations, because phew, we were then allowed to leave.

Of course, three seconds after we left the army station, the guagua stopped to pick up all those passengers who had bypassed the entire inspection by waiting about three steps beyond the army base gate. So, full beyond capacity, the journey continued.

About thirty minutes into the ride, it became entirely noticeable that one man in particular was a talker, to say the least. Whether actually having a conversation with someone or just kind of addressing the van as a whole, his mouth ran almost constantly, unless, of course, his mouth was busy imbibing some of the 1/2 liter rum bottle he all but finished over the course of two hours. I couldn´t understand a single word coming out of his mouth. Kate, fortunately or unfortunately, understood the entirety of it all, and thanks to her translation I was able to find out that no, he wasn´t an alcoholic, he just had to drink a 1/2 liter a day because it was the only way he could get to sleep at night as he just thought way too much and without the booze his thoughts would drive him to insomnia. This home remedy had the side effect, however, of getting him extremely drunk. Imagine.

Things got all the more interesting with a random stop in another small dusty town on the way to the beach, where the guagua driver picked up a woman who was obviously, obviously a man - bright red hair, turquoise eye shadow, and mini-skirt aside. The man-who-was-not-an-alcoholic then had a focus for his attention - he alternately went from rants of what a fag, bird, etc. etc. s/he was to continually passing the bottle in her direction to what seemed to be hitting on her. Oddly enough, the woman-who-was-a-man seemed to not mind, and perhaps even enjoyed the attention. It was unclear, however, as s/he was incapable of speech and instead could only make these odd sounding vocalizations that I can only describe as sounding like a goat bleat. Surreal? A little bit.

And I was very proud of Kate. Having to listen to this guy for two hours straight would drive anyone to the brink, and she held it in almost the whole way to San Rafael. It got to a point, however, when listening to him heap this weird abuse on a mute transvestite grew to be too much and finally she turned to him and said (in english, so as to be less understood) ¨You need to shut up. OH MY GOD will you please just SHUT UP. Someone MUST be able to make this man JUST STOP TALKING.¨ At which point, the non-drunk seemed to feel they were co-conspirators as he started smiling and jabbering away to her and insisted on a few friendly high fives, at which point Kate started hysterically laughing (there was just nothing else to do), and thank goodness, 10 minutes later we were dropped off.

A bit dazed, suffering from hiccups of residual laughter, we headed down to Kate´s hostel respite, and what a respite it was. The small hostel is located basically on a cliffside overlooking the Caribbean Sea far, far below, with a porch facing out over the water where one can see both the sunrise and sunset. Compared to Kate´s house in Pedernales, it´s a mecca of quiet.

On arrival, we were surprise to find two others staying with us there (in the numerous times Kate has gone, she´s always been the only guest), and in fact were greeted by a tallish red head cooking on the stove as soon as we got in with an immediate invitation to join him and his friend for food as there was plenty. Faaaaaantastic!!!

As the sauce simmered, we got to know our fellow hostelers, and turns out the redhead was a 26 year old Canadian who did not have opinions, only feelings, and felt that the world was inherently selfish and pretentious and we´d all be better off if we just gave into it, and thought that pain was just as beautiful as pleasure, and that he found it so much easier to love a man than a woman, because women start out fine but then have all these damn ¨needs¨and ¨expectations¨but luckily his current girlfriend was cool as she seemed to have more testosterone than other women and didn´t weigh him down. I could go on, but basically, that was the Canadian, who shared his strong ¨feelings¨with us about the world whenever he got the chance. For being the loner he claimed to be, he sure sought out a listening audience.

Antonio was his then-traveling companion, who was of Kurdish origin, spoke 10 languages, had 44 years of life stories to relate (much more interesting to listen to than his diahrrea mouth friend), and participated in beach side workouts, lifting heavy rocks and gyrating in interesting fashions for his daily dose of exercise, to the great amusement of his Dominican spectators (and let´s face it, me too). Antonio and the Canadian had a bit of a falling out this morning before Kate and I left, as Canada tried to intervene when Antonio was raging at the fifth person staying in the hostel who was very obviously there for less than illegal pleasures, involving, mayhaps, the young Dominican girl he happened to be hanging around with. Hm.

So in between getting to know these characters, Kate and I went to the beach, and read our books, and had quality time in an absolutely stunning locale, and were both completely unable to sleep thanks to the malaria medication we´ve been taking thanks to a recent scare. We finally took off back to Pedernales around two this afternoon (when we were coming up with a plan for the day, i.e. when to go back, etc. with options a, b, and c, Canada chimed in with option d, which is to like, just go with the flow, and just see where life takes you). Thanks to a bit of money mismanagement on my part, i.e. I completely ran out and there were zero ATMs so my card did nothing, Kate and I ended up with about 50 pesos to get back to Pedernales (Kate had to pay for the room). As it cost 200 for the two of us on a guagua, it looked like we´d have to bola it back.

And damn, did we do a good job.

Not only did we get back in less time than it took to get there, but we got to sit in roomy air-conditioned truck cabs the whole way in a three-part trip. The favorite part: our ride with Moses, leg 2, who promised to part the waters whenever we needed it and on finding out we were bola-ing on account of no funds, insisted on shoving 200 pesos into our hands and refused to let us go without taking it, despite our firmest protests. So not only did we get back for free, BUT we made a profit! Or should I say, prophet? (yes, groan, go ahead).

In Which We Must Spend The Night In Pedernales

2006-01-11T09:19:00.000-05:00

¨At the western end of Hwy 44, after a long journey through the thorn
forest, is the hot and dusty frontier city of Pedernales, which has nothing to
offer the tourist aside from a few bad hotels and several forgettable
eateries. ...If you must spend the night in Pedernales, look no farther
than the Rossy, next to the Shell has station at the eastern entrance to
town. ...It´s a no-frills place, as is everything in Pedernales.¨
- Lonely Planet, D.R. & Haiti, 2nd edition 2002

What´s not to love about Kate´s Dominican home?

We arrived in Kate´s little corner of paradise after an epic seven hour guagua ride. We knew it was going to be special when our 7:30 a.m. bus was already almost packed with luggage when we were loaded on. Kate got the enviable location in the last row on the makeshift aisle seat, i.e. an upturned bucket covered with a cushion. I was located one row in front of her, next to a kindly abuela with her granddaughter on her knee to my right and a young man to my left who read his bible for most of the journey. It looked as if we might have a fairly comfortable ride with only five altogether in our row of seats when I was distracted by a fairly voluptuous 16 year old girl pushing her way towards the back, yelling at everyone to get out of her way as she had to go sit with her sister. She shoved people aside on the already crowded bus, stepping on and around fellow passengers, as she finally made her way to our row and unceremoniously squeeeeeezed into the small space left that we all had previously been using for such unnecessary things as oxygen. Fully packed in, off we went. It was all quite the adventure for the first two hours, with such luck as to have a blaring radio soundtrack for added cinematic value. The last five hours... let´s just say we survived (poor Kate had a live rooster under her seat which took great pleasure in pecking at her feet now and again).

But make it we did, and now I have the great pleasure of bearing witness to Kate (or Kati, as she is known here) in her Dominican element. We lugged our ridiculous amount of bags to her front door, where she was immediately accosted by thousands of children shouting ¨KATI KATI KATI!!!¨ and begging to be picked up and let in and wondering what Kate had brought for them. Kate´s home is a cozy little five room government built 5 room house (none of the rooms very big, mind you, but just the right size), decorated with treasures found at the famous Haitian market Kate loves so dearly, as well as photos, quotes, and D.R. -related art (including drawings made especially for Kate by the neighborhood kids). We share her mosquito-netted double bed (guards against those darned malaria-ridden nocturnal pests), cook on her double burner portable gas stove, and diligently fill all water buckets for the two hours a day the water comes on.

Kate has introduced me to almost everyone that makes up her little community here (all absolutely ecstatic to see her again... our first few days were punctuated with ¨Kati where have you BEEN? It´s so good to SEE you!!¨), including her 50 year old best friend Lili, a farmer with the coffee association who is also one of Kate´s biggest supporters on the latrine project, her 17 year old best friend Wilma who is off to NMH´s summer program in a few months to learn english, her one year old goddaughter Carla who has just so many teeth, the all important Brujo the batita man, as well as a whole host of others like Lala, Lydia, Maney, Cuca, etc. etc. who all offer delicious highly sweetened coffee or mayhaps a heaping plate of rice, beans, and fried salami when we go a-visiting.

So it´s pretty amazing that in little over than one short year Kate has made a whole life out here, and all in spanish. Which she speaks fluently. So now, of course, I also have to finally and totally learn spanish, because it drives me crazy to almost understand everything and to almost be able to talk to people. Mayhaps the next adventure?? Anyhoo, the hour´s almost up, stories are to come.

In Which I Learn About Cement

2006-01-09T16:27:00.000-05:00

So off we went to Nagua, y por supuesto, once again we travelled via guagua. Speaking of which...

!!!!CORRECTION!!!!

A GUAGUA IS NOT WHAT I PREVIOUSLY DEFINED IT TO BE!!! I was close, but Dominican cigars, I had not. After a deeper, more in depth discussion as to what a guagua represents in terms of life, love, and long term happiness, I discovered that it does not, in fact, refer to whether transportation is public or private at all. In fact, the definition gets simpler. A guagua, in the end, is solely a form of transportation expressed in the following equation:

guagua (greater than) car

I had big plans to actually make the mathematical symbol for ¨greater than,¨but these darn keyboards thwart me every time with their lack of symbiosis between what the key says it does versus what it really does. Boy, is foreign travel difficult.

Anyhoo, that´s a guagua. SUVs on up. Back to the narrative...

After another lovely guagua ride, our party was dropped off on a pre-determined street corner to meet Josh, a fellow peace corps volunteer, who was putting us up for the night and showing us around his latrine site the next morning. Soon enough, he came careening down the street on the only mode of transportation PCVs are allowed (and one of my own personal favorites), the bicycle. I have never, ever seen anyone go so fast on a bike. This boy was like a bat out of hell, and screeched to a stop to say hallo after a day of latrine building, so yes, he was realllllly sweaty and dirty, the picture perfect peace corps volunteer.

Oh wait I lied. PCVs are also allowed to own mules as transport, though as far as I know no one has one...

After a quick run to the market, we all headed to Joe and Jill´s, an older volunteer couple who lived right down the road from Josh. They had a beautiful block house (i.e. made of concrete, which in the peace corps world is luxurious) that we could kind of see as the power had gone out and they had no idea when it would come back on. Nonetheless, a delightful Italian meal was prepared by candlelight (puncuated half-way through by the return of electricity, huzzah!). Turns out it was also Josh´s birthday that day, so the whole meal had a festive air. The other PCV in the area also showed up for our little private party, so there were eight of us altogether, a nice little gathering of folks. We got to hear a lot of peace corps dirt, about the trials and tribulations of their work and of the peace corps itself. For instance, Joe and Jill were less than thrilled about half their furniture being stolen on their trip back home for the holidays, including their guest bed, and were more than ready for a return to not-so-bare-boned living. My favorite quote of the evening:

(asked to Joe and Jill): ¨Do you think you´ll do the peace corps again?¨
Joe: ¨Oh definitely, definitely, in a couple of years.¨
Jill: (nods assent, murmerings of agreement)
Joe: ¨Yeah, I mean, well, we´d never do this again, actually.¨

So good times, good times.

That night the four of us split up. Denny and I stayed on the couch/fouton/guest bed (as the other one was stolen) and Kate and Kristina hiked up the road to stay in Josh´s guest room.

Bright and early the next morning, we were called upon (literally. Our alarm clock was Kate´s cellphone with Josh at the other end telling us he was coming to fetch us) to get up and at ´em, today was a big day! Slowly, groggily, Denny and I got ourselves and our stuff together, so that even though we weren´t exactly awake when Josh came to show us the way to his house, at least we could make a passing effort at it. The coffee he gave us at his house helped a bit, for sure.

Our party reassembled, we took a 15 minute stroll to the brick making facility, where Josh had a team of men (working for 1 peso a brick) manufacturing by hand the materials to build the latrines. They used a small manual machine to press the bricks into shape, after which they were left to be cured for awhile under a tarp, emerging only for their twice daily waterings until they were muy fuerte and ready to go. Before this, I had no idea cement was such a delicate flower, needing to be watered and talked to and loved in order for it to reach its full potential, and I was able to learn a valuable lesson to apply to cement as well as life.

Josh then arranged for our passage up to the actual village where the latrine building was happening. Kate and Denny got a bola (aka free ride) on a motorcycle, and Kristina and I took the traditional route of guagua THEN motorcycle. Josh, cyclist extraordinaire, took his bike and beat us to the halfway point.

Aaaaand latrine building. What a project. I won´t go into too much of the logistics, only to say it involves a lot of cement and rebar (moment of pride... I now know what rebar is). It also involved a lot of sitting around and watching and being fairly useless as they constructed the floor of two of ´em. Or should I say, I was useless and Kate and Kristina actually knew what they were doing so could help. But I learned!! And learning is important!!

Finally, enough with the latrines. We then got eat a huuuuuge lunch, prepared by Josh´s assigned doña, of rice, beans, and chicken. Really tasty. As Kate says, with food here, if you can´t add sugar, fry it. Yum.

Then a moto/guagua ride back to where we came from, a gathering of things, a bittersweet parting with Kristina, and Kate, Denny and I took off for Santiago, where he would fly out the next day.

Best thing about Santiago visit number 2: visiting the cigar factory. The morning of Den´s departure, we took a quick visit to the cigar factory of whose name I cannot remember. They gave us a delightful demonstration of how they constructed their finest cigars, gave us a little sample (I tried a puff, and that was MORE than enough... it was a bit too reminiscent of the Indian tobacco fiasco...), and then showed us everything they had for sale. When we informed them we couldn´t really buy anything, but that the whole thing had been great, they gave us coupons for free beer!! Which we didn´t really use, as it was 10:30 in the morning, but still!!

And then Denny flew off into the sunset (okay, fine, afternoon sun, so much less poetic), and then we were two.

In Which I Love Beach Massages

2006-01-07T09:28:00.000-05:00

With the new year successfully ushered in and our own selves fully recovered from the festivities, Kate, Denny, Kristina and myself took off for Rio De San Juan, a small beachside town that offered a quiet and tranquil respite from the party that was Cabarete. After a bus and a moto ride, we were dropped off at the door of Bahia Blanca, a hotel placed right on the water. Our second floor location gave us brilliant views of the Dominican part of the ocean, especially from the deliciously squishy patio furniture located right outside our room. As it was deemed truly impossible to get up once in said chairs, we spent much of our short stay at the Blanca ensconced in their squashy glory. When we aroused the gumption to actually go somewhere other than those black holes of comfort, we made our way to La Playa Grande (basically, The Big Beach) and slept on the sand or played in the warm tropical waves. And oh! The best part? I mean, aside from all mentioned above, and then the tasty fried plantains they offered beachside (best with gallons and gallons of salt)? THAT would have to be the $6 on-the-sand hour long massages we all invested in. My GOODNESS!! How fantastic. It was also a bit of an exfoliating massage, due to all the sand we had gotten on ourselves and which was basically impossible to remove (though the water spritzer and heavy handed oil application our masuesses believed in definitely helped). (How the hell do you spell that, anyway? Massuessssessssssss???)

So I loved it there. A tranquil, lovely little spot, and it would have been a great place to spend a few more days had we had time (though sleeping two to a bed, and having those beds being just slightly bigger than a twin, made it a bit easier to leave...). Rio de San Juan was also the first place I tried a batita, i.e. a delicious fruit milkshake (we all had papaya). The ¨milk¨in milkshake refers to Carnation sweetened condensed milk, which obviously isn´t sweet enough as then they add sugar, and then the fruit. Delightful. Kate lives on these marvels in Pedernales, where she and her Batita man, Brujo, have a longlasting friendship.

After a mere 24 hours in the Paradise of Rio de San Juan, we packed and were off again to our next adventure, this time to El Factor, outside of the larger town of Nagua, to give us all a crash course in latrine building. Stay tuned...

In Which I Get To A Computer, Finalmente!

2006-01-05T14:42:00.000-05:00

Hello, dear readers (i.e., mom)!

At long last, we have reached a point in our journey where computer access is once again a viable option. Not that it wasn't available elsewhere, but I've been on vacation for the last week, and when on Peace Corps vacation, internet isn't high on the list of activities. But what, you may ask, WAS on the list of activities? I'm so glad you asked.

Kate, Denny (Kate's brother), and I arrived in Santiago late last Thursday. Due to the general Dominican efficiency (Evan and Kate, I believe, have much to discuss in terms of compare/contrast), it took us about three hours to get out of the airport, between customs, waiting for our luggage, and then successfully physically leaving the airport. All this activity took place inside one large airport room, so the general feel was of smooshing ourselves into vaguely different areas as directed by vague handwaves of those seemingly in charge until we all of a sudden found ourselves and all our luggage outside. Tadaaaaa!!

The PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Place To Stay in Santiago is called The Hub, a hostel-like house specifically built for volunteers and their friends by an extremely generous and friendly Canadian couple. Before the Hub, they had informally let PCVs crash on the floor of their own house, which had resulted in a total influx of volunteers and their friends, family, etc., to the point where they could no longer handle the load and gave them their own abode. Lovely.

The next day we headed off to Veinte Siete Charcos, or 27 Waterfalls, a peace corps project and rapidly growing tourist site. This was an absolutely amazing venture. The three of us got off a bus seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with a tiny little town right across the street. After speaking some rapid-fire Spanish, Kate directed Denny and I to dump our three thousand pounds of luggage in some random house on a random bed, which she explained used to be the room of a volunteer who had recently moved and no longer lived there. Yes, exactly.

Kate then arranged a guide for our quaint group of three, one of the many available in their official Veinte Siete Charcos shirts in a shaded patio by the road. He led us off down a dirt road and through a small footpath until we reached the official beginning site, where we were outfitted with life preservers and helmets (we were GAW-geous). Another group of four PCVs + friends were close behind and so our two groups merged into one for the adventure. And so, properly outfitted in safety-suits-of-hotness and three guides leading the way, we were off!!

The beauty of the entire water hike is better said in pictures, as in, you know all those pictures of tropical waterfalls that are so ridiculous in their sublimity one is convinced they must be fake? Well that's this place. Of course, I spent a great portion of the trip staring at my feet in an effort to stay upright over all the rushing waters and slippery rocks, but the times I looked up, oh MAN, what a sight!! I think perhaps the guides thought I might have been a bit, erm, more special than the rest, as I generally lagged way behind and could not seem to look anywhere but my feet, and they kept asking if I was okay with very, very concerned looks. I just tried to explain that I was like the tortoise, and slow and steady wins the race, but apparently my spanish leaves something to be desired as that only gave them more concern for my sanity.

As PCVs et al., we got to go all the way to the top, to the 27th waterfall, whereas the general practice was to take tourists to the 7th then back down. Therefore, we spent an hour or two scaling up the waterfalls by clamboring over rocks, being hoisted up ropes by our extraordinarily fit guides, swimming through small channels of turquoise waters, etc. etc. Our guides themselves were in their early twenties, and knew the waterfalls like the backs of their hands, and tended to acrobatically swing their way up and down the falls, accompanying their antics with deep bull-like moos and bird calls. One of our group, a muscular Dominican himself, joined right in with monkey hoots, duck quacks, and a Tarzan yell, all in all contributing towards quite the entertaining display as the rest of us awkwardly struggled our way up the topography (and were secretly grateful for the less-than-daring safety equipment adorning our unexperienced selves). The top of the climb found us at the bottom of an intimidating drop, which those who weren't me scrambled to the top of in order to jump down into a thimble sized pool of deep water. My legs turned to jelly just watching. Luckily, there was a total lack of injuries and death. Whew!

Getting down was exhilirating. We jumped down from all sorts of heights into the pools below (though none so high as that at the top, thank goodness), slid down natural slides, rapelled down a few rock faces, and, like on the way up, tried not to slip and fall too much on the straightaways. The last step was a triumphant leap into a giant pool below, and it all seemed over way too soon. Those of you who ever come to the D.R., GO HERE. So awesome!!!

And so, wet, happy, and a mite bit peckish, we gathered our things and all seven of us took off for Cabarete, our New Year destination, in a guagua.

Vocabulary Sidenote: GUAGUA ~n~ a general term for bus-like vehicle of public transportation, varying in size and comfort level. At best, a large, roomy bus. At worse, a van with 13 seatbelts and 20+ passengers.

Guagua #1 was a nice little bus. I was able to take a short little nap with my bag, brought to an abrupt end by my concerned Dominican co-passenger yelling "WAKE UP AMERICA!!!" in my ear to inform me I didn't have to keep my bag on my lap, I could seat it next to me as there was room.

Guagua #2, not so nice. I think we counted 24 passengers on the small van at one point, and all of us had overloaded bags of luggage on our laps, and also could not breathe, and also had to get out and get back in every time we made one of the many, many stops, where we would let out one person (who was inevitably squished in a corner in the way back) in order to make room for the 8 people waiting to board. Relief, relief, I tell you, when we finally made it to our hotel.

And ooooh, our hotel was so NICE! And CHEAP! It's AMAZING how prices go down when a suite meant for two houses seven!! What with the air mattress, double bed, fold out fouton, and fold out chair, we were set for a New Year's to remember. Besides Kate, Denny, and I, we were staying with Kate's friends Kristina, Samantha, Greg, and Dominic, all completely wonderful people. Apparently almost the entirety of the D.R. Peace Corps was in Cabarete for New Years, so besides those staying in our delightful be-kitchened suite, I met what felt like three zillion other volunteers throughout our short stay. Needless to say, Cabarete was a fun-filled three day party, and a great place to spend the New Year. Highlights:

~ The Beach. It was so, so nice to once again be in a hot, beachy climate, and get all sandy and salty and sunned.

~ The Pool. Great alternative to the beach when we didn't feel like going any farther than downstairs.

~ Favorite Restaurant: Jose O'Shay's, Cabarete's premiere Irish Beach Bar. They had fantastic nachos (cheese, it seems, is pretty touch and go here), guinness, and tropical beverages presented in coconut shells and hollowed-out pineapples.

~ Pancakes. As PCVs are not rich as a rule, we made pancakes in our little kitchen every day. Aunt Jemima, I tell you. That woman is a genius.

~ The Casino. We went gambling! It was the first time I've ever gone, and after much effort was made getting everyone together and calling a taxi etc., we were driven approximately three doors down to the premiere casino of Cabarete (I swear, it was exactly like the opening scene of L.A. Story...). It was a one room operation, and after Kate and I had gambled away our 100 pesos (i.e. $2.85) on slot machines in one cent increments, we decided the world of chance was not for us and we left the serious gamblers behind to walk the three feet back to our hotel to worship the glories of trash tv.

~ New Years Eve! After some massively fun preparations, the entirety of the peace corps gathered in our small hotel apartment and about half an hour before midnight, we all made our way out to the beach, where music was blasting, fireworks were being set off (and Kate got hit in the leg by an overzealous miscreant... luckily no harm done), and it was generally a hugely rambunctious party.

Ahhh, Cabarete. What a time. Soon enough, all volunteers filtered out, back to their sites and their work. Kate, Kristina, Denny and I stayed until the 2nd before we, too, bid adieu, and boarded a guagua to Rio de San Juan.

In Which It Begins Again

2005-12-28T17:08:00.000-05:00

Ah, little travel blog, what an empty month it has been... pictures are a pain in the proverbial tuchus to post, so I think I got like one up from the India trip. Pain pain pain. Also, within the last month, I have, shall we say, "misplaced" my digital camera (AGHGHGHAHGHGHGHHHH), and it HAS to be somewhere in the house or SOMETHING because where else could it BE?!?!?! In conclusion, this hasn't been bothering me at all, especially as I leave for the Dominican Republic tomorrow.

As always, I'm completely stressed out about packing, and my room is littered with many, many things that will not fit into my suitcase. I also have not been out of the house all day, so in order to de-stress I've been having an iPod dance party (thank goodness for R Kelly and his remix to ignition). Fantastic. Anyway, this little doohickey is back in action. Huzzah. Will be writing again when I actually reach my travel destination.

In Which My Rajasthani Adventure Comes To An End

2005-11-25T11:28:00.000-05:00

So here it is, the day after Thanksgiving, and I'm sitting here in my pj's hours after arising. Snow is shining brilliantly out the window, the soundtrack from The Secret Garden is playing on the stereo system (which is actually odd. Since when do we play this CD???), and the family (biological and otherwise) is feasting on Thanksgiving sandwiches in the kitchen. I've almost completely recovered from jet lag, and I'm thinking this stomach bug I developed that last day in India (damn that final Alwar dinner!) might actually work its way out of my system soon. Thank goodness.

What we may conclude from the above: after a really, really long 24 hours of travel, I made it home, safe and sound. I love my family, I love being home, and I can't wait until the next adventure. I'm off to the Dominican Republic come December 29, so this puppy is going on hiatus until then, save for some pictoral additions (hopefully). Most of you I'll see sooner than later now that I'm back, so until then, SITARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!

In Which We Shoot Some Wildlife

2005-11-25T09:54:00.000-05:00

Ahh Alwar, such a change from other places located directly on the tourist trail. This town was, by no means, completely off it, but far enough away that for the 36 hours Evan and I spent there I believe we encountered exactly one other non-Indian, not to mention no corner stands sold toilet paper, which is generally a staple item in more tourist-driven economies. Evan and I fully embraced the opportunity to be a bit off the beaten Western path and dined at Bob's Family Restaurant for our first meal of the day, where Evan had one of the best ice cream shakes yet in India (tasted just like one from McDonald's!!).

After failing miserably in our attempts to contact anyone at the Sariska wildlife reserve, we decided to just chance the hour bus ride there in hopes it would be open with jeeps available. As the wildlife reserve was the sole reason we had made the trip to Alwar, we figured at the most it would be two hours wasted on a bus, and even then, it's the journey, not the destination, right? Especially on a bus!

And thank god, the gamble paid off. The Sariska bus stop was seemingly in the middle of nowhere, which makes sense as it is in the middle of a wildlife reserve. The entire "town" of Sariska consisted of the offices of the reserve itself and two hotels, all conveniently situated right there by the bus stop. Therefore it only took Evan and I about three minutes of scratching our heads and looking hopelessly lost before a kind soul took pity on us and pointed to a building not 100 yards away where the ticket office was located. Whew!

Very quickly, it became apparent our wildlife safari came with the most expensive entry fee yet, between the cost of the jeep, the driver, the tour guide, the entry fee for the jeep, and the entry fee for us non-Indian citizens (this was one of the very few places Evan's residency permit held no power and he had to pay the full foreigner rate). Evan was none too pleased with the final total, and spent a good 15 minutes seeing if there was any way to bring the cost down, and seemed about ready to forgo the whole adventure except for the fact I told him that we were going on the damn tour if I had to pay for the whole thing or not (the thought of getting right back on the bus...). Evan graciously accepted the overrule and insisted on splitting the cost, and soon enough, we were off!

Our tour guide, whose name I definitely can't remember, lived in a nearby village where he taught economics as his day job and gave tours as a hobby. He was great lover of animals, and was a strong advocate to give park rangers shoot-on-sight privileges to stave off the rampant poaching problem (a problem so great that Sariska currently had no tigers to speak of, and the other larger Indian tiger reserve a few hours away just had their own population reduced by 16). With only three rangers to guard hundreds of kilometers of reserve with no weaponry to speak of, it doesn't look like the situation is going to get much better, not without major funding the park just doesn't have. All of a sudden the entry fee seemed more than reasonable.

On our three hour tour (a threeeeeeeee hour tooooooooooour!!!), the skipp... I mean, the tour guide and the driver, both with great eyes for spotting wildlife, pointed out to us two or three different species of deer/antelope, jackals, varying avian species, wild boars, monkeys, etc. My two favorites were the Indian Magpie - a brilliantly colored bird that was bold enough to feed out of our hands (I'll give you one guess as to how many pictures we took of that) and had the ability to make 18 different sounds, the best one sounding almost exactly like that triumphant "You Have Collected One Hundred Coins!" trill in Super Mario Brothers - and the Nilgai (which translates to "blue cow") antelope, a virtually untouchable species due to their fortunate resemblance to the holy bovine, not to mention the male's godly blue tinge. The male was stunning to see.

After about an hour in the jeep, our driver and guide brought us up to one of the ranger stations which overlooked an important watering hole, and from where Evan and I had a great view of a herd of Sambars taking an evening respite. One male in particular was having a great time, rolling around in the mud and flinging it around with his huge antlers. According to our tour guide, the Sambar was in heat and the mud helped him cool off (ha ha).

Between the lushness of our surroundings, the peaceful scene at the watering hole below us, the sweet smelling air, and the gently setting sun, Sariska worked its voodoo magic and I felt relaxed like I hadn't in awhile. Our guide wrapped us in blankets for the ride back, a drive taken at a leisurely pace as more creatures had made their way out of the woodwork now that the sun had made its disappearance. All too soon, they were dropping us off at the bus stop headed back to Alwar, and we bid Sariska a fond farewell.

In Which I Latently Remember To Title This Entry

2005-11-22T08:23:00.000-05:00

Evan told me that one hasn't truly, truly experienced India until you find yourself puking out the window of a public bus.

Of course, he might have only been saying that to make me feel better.

It stands to reason that the day Evan finally feels back to his normal self I wake up with a brick in my stomach and my body totally desperate to get rid of my dinner the night before out of any orifice possible. I was actually surprised that I'd stayed so darn healthy the entire trip, and now, with only hours left here in India, I've been hit. Ah well. It could've been better timing, but I'm feeling much, much better now that our 5 hour bus ride from Alwar to Delhi is over and I've had the luxury of lying very, very still in the dark for a few hours.

And yes! Alwar! That was our destination when we left Jaipur only a day or two ago. Evan and I were pretty happy to leave at the end, but I think I'm glad we went. Our last day there we went to the Amber Fort, after which we decided to call it quits on forts as we had probably already seen and lived in the two coolest oness in Rajasthan. This one was a bit more rundown than the others, and had all these creepy dark passageways leading into creepy dark rooms, which would have been great for a game of haunted hide and seek. This was also the first tourist destination I had been to where Evan and I kept being asked to pose in pictures with other, more Indian, tourists. So now we're forever captured in random family photographs scattered throughout Southeast Asia. Excellent.

And oh! In the way the world works, who drove us to the fort-bus that morning but our prize fighting driver of the day before! We were glad to see him alive and unscathed, and after making him promise the drive would be fight-free, we warily got into his auto. He proceeded to explain to us what exactly had happened the day before, which according to him was a massive jealousy-induced brawl. Most rickshaw drivers also work on a commission system, where they get 30% of sales for bringing customers to specific restaurants or hotels. And by getting 30% of sales, I mean the hotel or restaurant charges the customer 30% more in order to pay the rickshaw drivers. This means you get a lot of drivers aggressively pushing you towards one hotel or another and it can be a bit of a battle to get them to take you where you actually want to go. Anyway, this particular driver doesn't participate in the commission system, which I guess results in a lot of tension with other drivers, and hence the tussel.

Ali Baba (as was his name) was quite the entertaining chauffer. Are you ready??

Q: How do you fit an elephant into a refrigerator?
A: Open the refigerator door, put in the elephant, close the door.

Q: How do you fit a giraffe into a refrigerator?
A: Open the door, take out the elephant, put in the giraffe.

Q: What animal in the animal kingdom cannot be found in the jungle?
A: The giraffe - he's still in the refrigerator.

And how Ali Baba picks up the ladies...

Ali Baba to Hot Babe: "Why helloooo. Tell me, what's the difference between a woman and a cup of coffee?"
Hot Babe: "What?"
Ali Baba: "How about I take you out for a cup and we'll find out."

Oh Baba, what a card. Turns out he was worth fighting for...

Right before we left Jaipur, we had lunch at this traditional Rajasthani restaurant that served a traditional Rajasthani thali, a dish that consists of lots of little dishes and some bread and rice to mix it with. Interesting to this thali were these tasty little brown balls of goodness, which the waiter crushed onto the plate and mixed with lots and lots of sugar. MMMMMM!!!

We ended up taking this super fancy train to Alwar as it was the last one to leave that night. Getting the tickets resulted in a bit of sticker shock on both our parts, but we bought them anyway as the convenience was too much to resist. The train was much, much shorter than other forms of transportation, and then it turned out to be even better as they kept giving us all this free food and drink, and played background music that actually stayed in the background, and the bathrooms had both soap and toilet paper! It was insane. We didn't want to get off.

Yet eventually, diembarkation had to occur, and we went from the lap of transportation luxury to stuffing ourselves and all our gear into a bicycle rickshaw. We could have taken an auto, but as soon as we got off the train we were immediately surrounded by ten bajillion drivers all offering their services, so in the name of fairness and of escaping as soon as possible we went with the first guy who approached us. Between the fort that morning and the swarming masses that evening, Evan and I were feeling fairly celebritylicious, and were quite ready to retire in a quiet, paprazzi-free bungalow for the night.

The ride through the streets of Alwar was deliciously quiet, cool, and pollution free. It seemed most of the transportation was by cycle rickshaw or motorbikes, with only a few autorickshaws and virtually no cars, trucks, or buses, at least not at that hour. Such a difference from Jaipur.

And as these things always go, we were able to successfully locate a hotel, at which point it was only an hour or two later before we called it a day.

As for right now, I'm off to ready myself for the long flight home. Next time I write in this thing, I'll be stateside.

In Which India Finally Gets The Better Of Me

2005-11-19T10:46:00.000-05:00

So everyone was right.

Jaipur has me completely overwhelmed, not so much with its size (which is huge), but with its general atmosphere of intense aggression. It's a virtually unending assault as soon as we step outside, and it doesn't end until we gratefully duck our heads into wherever our destination happens to be. Oy, I tell you, oy.

After an unusually chilly overnight train ride, Evan and I arrived here in Rajasthan's capital at 6 a.m. Exhausted after a night of not sleeping, we headed off to our hotel, a short walk away. With our front-and-back travel backpacks, obvious non-Indian features, and very Western clothing, I started to feel like the blackhole of rickshaw drivers, drawing them towards us with incredible force and impossible to remove for the twenty minutes it took to find our hotel. I have yet to meet a more determined rickshaw force than here in Jaipur.

The Atihti Guesthouse, however, is an absolute haven from the bustle of this city. It's by far the cleanest place we've stayed, with an incredibly nice staff, comfy rooms, and a fantastic rooftop terrace with card tables and cushioned chairs. I breathed a sigh of relief as I dumped my luggage to the floor and fell onto the mattress, relieved to stop for awhile.

Soon enough, however, Evan and I were on our way out again, with big plans to visit the Jaipur City Palace Complex and then bus it to the Amber fort, apparently a Jaipur must-see. An autorickshaw awaited us right outside the hotel, with quite a friendly driver willing to drive us for a fair price to the entrance. As we were getting into the rickshaw, however, another rickshaw driver told us to get in his rickshaw, and then words in Hindi between the two drivers were exchanged, and then they started to tussle, and then it was seemingly resolved when our driver pulled the other driver into the seat next to him and we drove off. Evan and I were completely confused as to what had gone on, but were just relieved it seemed to over. "Seemed" being the operative word. We drove all the way across the street to a parking area filled with other men. As soon as we pulled in the two drivers got out, at which point a third man in a turban immediately reached for our driver's throat before the whole scene became hidden from view by the throng of male spectators who quickly gathered around the growing fight. It was then that Evan made the wise suggestion of perhaps finding ourselves a new driver.

And find a new driver we did, this time on a cycle rickshaw. It was the first time I've ridden one, and I think I may prefer autos, if only because it feels a bit weird to be cycled around by a man old enough to be my grandfather and not offer to do the biking myself. Anyway, he ended up biking us to the city center, NOT the city palace, and after much sign language and then bringing in an interpreter, it became obvious the cyclist had no idea where the city palace was but wanted about three times more than what he first requested to bring us there. Didn't seem like such a great deal, so we paid him for the ride and then finally, finally found a guy who knew where he was going and didn't get into any fights along the way. Huzzah!!

The city palace had some gorgeous sections, like a courtyard with four beautifully decorated gateways, and two urns made of pure silver (their size earned them a place in the Guinness Book of World Records) that a king used to bring water from the Ganges River to England as his own personal drinking supply. There was also a museum full of the best miniature paintings we've seen thus far, depicting godly events and stories. After the museum, we battled our way towards the Hawa Mahal, a historic estate known for its outer facade and view of the city. By that point, my sleep deprivation had entirely caught up with me, and instead of heading off to the forts we decided on a food-then-nap plan.

After another interesting rickshaw trip, in which our cycle driver stopped halfway through the trip to try and barter a new fee (this was the first time that's happened... usually all the bargaining is done at the beginning and both the driver and passengers stick to the agreement), we found a cool, calm restaurant with good food and great lassis. Fantastic. And then, on the drive home, our driver was just incredibly nice and friendly and looking to improve his english so we chatted the whole way. Oh, oh the gratitude I felt towards that man. He was also the first Indian man I've met who has been adamant in his dislike of the country and his fellow countrymen (he said the only Indians he liked were his wife and kids). Verrrrry innnnnteresting.

And then I fell sound asleep until dinner, where after a very short venture outside I decided it wasn't worth the anxiety and we went back and ate at the small restaurant in the hotel, which was more than fine. Now I think it's going to be an evening of cutthroat jungle boogie and cuarenta (which Evan learned from David and just taught me today, and David, it's just so hard NOT to call that first game jungle boogie that I've now given in to the temptation for good, mwa ha ha).

Tomorrow, we're off to see the Amber Fort first thing in the morning, after which I think we're gonna hop the first bus outta here, off to see a wildlife refuge specializing in tigers. Rawr.

In Which I Write An Entry That Is Of A Reasonable Length

2005-11-18T03:49:00.000-05:00

It was too much to resist, and Evan and I finally gave in to the temptation.

After all, with it everywhere around us, hounding us at every turn, it was bound to eventually break us down and give in to its spell.

Yes, my dear readers, last night Evan and I climbed four flights to a candlelit rooftop under the stars, sat down side by side, ordered some cool beverages and southeast asian cuisine, and deliberately watched Octopussy in its entirety, from the beginning to its action-packed, seduction-filled end. Dinner and a movie, Udaipur style.

It was, indeed, a highly entertaining flick, and quite the experience to watch the cameras pan across scenery that we only had to look a few degrees to the left to see in person. So be careful, everyone. I recommend NOT watching this movie with me pretty much ever, as I'll spend the whole time saying "oooh I've been there! oooh I've been there TOO!!" One of those places happened to be the other floating pleasure palace (you know, the one you don't need reservations to visit), which Evan and I had visited a few short hours before on a sunset boat tour. The movie had it all decked out in Octopussy opulence, replete with scantily clad ladies wandering about in colorful sarees. When we saw it it was more a reminder of resplendence past, still gorgeous, but without the harem-like feel, and instead of a force of devastatingly beautiful highly trained jewel thief circus performers, it was more a gaggle of photo snapping tourists ranging from grubby looking 20-somethings to massive group tours of retirees. Viewing the city of Udaipur from the middle of the lake resulted in yet another series of too many photos trying to capture the magnificence of something a digital camera just can't do justice to.

Evan and I leave Udaipur tonight on an 8:00 train to Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan and about to become Delhi's equal in population, noise, and pollution. I have a sneaky feeling it's not going to be my favorite stop on the trip... but before we leave this land of lakes and palaces, here are a few jots and jolts I forgot to add...

We ended up switching hotels halfway through our stay, all the way to next door. Hotel #2 had a better room with soft pillows and blankets and a private bathroom for the same price (a whopping $1.50... books cost more than hotels here). Not to mention, Hotel #1 had these huge headless dolls on one of their balconies, dressed to kill in flashy flourescent colors, and gave us a vague sense of unease whenever we were sleeping.

There is a man who runs through the streets here hollering at the top of his lungs. Everyone is quite accepting.

Evan and I found that delicious falafel restaurant that night after a half an hour of wandering through the Udaipur streets trying to find a place that wasn't showing Octopussy with dinner. When we found Shivam Restaurant, it was extremely exciting... on their marquee was As Good As It Gets, which we thought would go down a bit easier with food.

At the ticket booth of the city museum there is a list of prices for different services, such as "entry fee," "camera fee," and "boat tour fee." Also on the list is "soft drink with a crystal touch" and "soft drink with a vintage touch," vintage being the less expensive choice, but both of which are at least twice the price of the entry fee. What are these? What do they mean???? Udaipur, Land Of Mystery...

In Which We Gaze Longingly At the Forbidden Lake Palace

2005-11-17T02:02:00.000-05:00

To state the obvious: bus trips in India are really, really scary. Even my 20-something sense of invincibility is noticeably challenged by the driving techniques of men who use the opposite traffic lane as an extension of their own lane, cars coming in the opposite direction be damned. And yet, time after time, all passengers arrive in one piece to their final destination. It is truly one of life's great miracles (Evan says the night buses are even worse... I don't want to think about it).

And so, after making sure all our limbs and belongings were still where they were supposed to be, Evan and I disembarked Bus o' Death onto the streets of Udaipur, then caught an autorickshaw to Lhal Ghat Street where our hotel for the evening was located. Lhal Ghat Guest House was centrally located, had nice shared bathrooms, and a beautiful rooftop view of the lake. We dumped our stuff in our room, checked in, and wandered off to find some dinner.

It soon became clear why Lonely Planet had kept using the words "romantic" and "for lovers" in almost every description it contained about Udaipur. The streets were relatively uncluttered, and instead of stalls there were actually indoor shops lining the sides of the road, displaying jewelry and brightly colored textiles meant to catch the touristy eye. Evan and I went two doors down to the Rainbow Restaurant, and were immediately seated on their rooftop right by the edge, with a gorgeous view of the lake. Our table wasn't so much a table as a large, daybed-esque seating arrangement with a heavily and brightly tiled short table in the center and rolled pillows on either end. I kind of had to scrunch my legs up in order to fit, and Evan basically had to hang his legs over the side and eat sideways, but the idea of it all was quite majestic. Looking out over the water, we could see the famed Lake Palace, a floating piece of luxurious history, built as an ancient prince's pleasure palace, and today reknowned as one of the world's best luxury hotels. Turns out you can only go out there if you're staying at the hotel or have a dinner reservation, both of which are hard to come by and are generally booked months in advance. So generally, throughout our stay here, it just mocks us from a distant. Some day, palace, some day...

But more than just the Lake Palace, another floating structure reeking of majesty lies a bit farther off in the distance, and is run as a museum which one can visit for a fee. Both are lit up at night, and sparkle off the water surrounding them. As if this wasn't enough, fireworks were soon to be seen exploding in their golden glory over the water. It was too much for Evan and I to resist, and Mom, Debbie, I hate to tell you this way, but in a fit of "this is all too romantic to bear" we eloped that very night. No no just kidding just kidding!! Evan and I ignored it all as we were enthralled by the movie they were blaring, with terrible audio quality, throughout the restaurant. Which movie, you ask? Why, the movie they show EVERY night, 7 pm sharp, that great story of love, danger, and shagging... OCTOPUSSY. And yes, they do actually show it every single night, along with most other restaurants in the area. One can also pay a bit extra at some hotels to stay in room 007. Evan and I wandered around a bit dazed and confused that first night, wondering why every single restaurant advertised at which time their showing of Octopussy would be held, but luckily, Lonely Planet came to our rescue once again. Turns out parts of the movie were filmed in Udaipur, I think at the Lake Palace, and it is now forever entrenched in the tourist industry of the city, almost impossible to escape.

And oh yes, one more notable thing from that evening: Evan. Ate. A. Banana. Which he hasn't done in YEARS. And which was completely not on purpose as it was covered in sauce and he thought it was something else. He still doesn't like it (Jeni, watching him chew it was reminiscent of your blue cheese face).

After spending the night in our fairly comfortable abode, which would have been better without pillows that were rock hard and blankets so itchy I couldn't sleep with them on, we arose to the daylight view of Udaipur, which was just as insanely picturesque as the night view. There's just lush, green mountains everywhere (those in the distance a bit mistier and soft-focus than those in the forefront), all these gorgeous lake structures, and mountaintop castles shrouded in mystery. It's reached the point of ridiculousness, actually. I'm not sure how many more lame pictures I can take of scenery that's just so much better in person.

Evan and I took off for the City Palace, a palace to which we were actually allowed entry (stupid Lake Palace I hate you, but only because you won't let me love you...). A tour guide offered his expert services, which we decided would probably be unnecessary and therefore turned down his offer. As a last ditch appeal to Evan the man beseeched, "But sir, we have the same color shirt!!" This worked, of course, as we just hadn't noticed both Evan and he were wearing red shirts before, but now that it was made apparent...! Okay no, not really. But it was an interesting tactic nonetheless.

The City Palace was a mighty fine place to visit. It had lovely gardens, dazzling rooms made completely out of mirrored tiles, stories of intrigue, war, and sacrifice (we saw the room in which a beautiful 16 year old princess, sought out by two different Kings of competing states, killed herself to avoid making the decision which would inevitably lead her kingdom to war with the rejected party). There was also an entire room dedicated to Ganesh, the elephant god, which turned out to also be an in-store shop (big signs with "no photographs" and then "buying allowed $$$"). Evan and I tried to play the "what nationality are they?" game for awhile whilst sitting in the gardens, and very quickly realized we were really, really bad at it (though not so bad, I think, as some people have been at guessing Evan's. This is often ventured at by street vendors to get your attention, and so I've had people think I'm French, British, Australian, or Italian, all understandable though incorrect. Evan, however, has on occasion gotten Malaysian, Thai, or Japanese. Because those are obvious choices for our fair-skinned, red-bearded friend).

I think my own personal favorite, however, was the museum within a museum, the small Government Museum out of the main complex. For 3 rupees, or just about 6 cents, one had access to a display of molding, poorly taxidermied animals, including a kangaroo whose blantantly sewn patches were starting to come up at the edges, a terrifying monkey holding an empty lamp, and numerous others who looked either possessed, tortured, or both. It was finished off with a fine coating of dust. There were other various random displays, such as turbans, broken statues, and clay tablets on which ancient writing could be found. I wish I could tell you what, exactly, their historical significance was, but generally the explanation plaques (when they existed) were in hindi only. I KNEW I should've learned the language before coming over. Ergh!

We found a restaurant that served dosas for lunch, and THIS time I tried one with cheese baked right into it that gave it a scrumptious hint of Cheddar Goldfish. I loved it.

Evan, at this point, was starting to fade pretty quickly. That banana from the night before, or maybe the sketchy bottled water he'd been drinking, or any number of other things one can encounter in India, was doing a number on my poor buddy, so we went back to the hotel for a rest. We made it out to dinner at this great little restaurant that served Israeli food and had some falafel, pita, and hummus, and then called it a night.

Oh my goodness, just so you guys know, I'VE ALMOST CAUGHT UP COMPLETELY. This is very exciting to me.

Yesterday we ended up not doing so much besides walking around the area and staying pretty close to the hotel, and Evan spent the majority of the day sleeping and feeling crummy. Finally I went out to buy a thermometer and while I was at it bought him some weird-looking pills the pharmacist recommended for fevers and general aches, pains, and bellyaches (I checked the ingredients out online just to make sure, and lo and behold, they weren't poison!!). Turns out he had a temperature of 101, so we turned on the fans, popped in one of those pills, and he resumed the all important task of sleeping it off.

And would you just know it?? Sleep it off he DID!!!

This brings us to TODAY!!

With the great news that he now feels much, much better, we took an auto to some beautiful gardens this morning, where we wandered among the trees and flowers and ruins and marveled at, once again, the beautiful views. The gardens overlooked the other lake found in Udaipur, which has a garden cafe in the middle as well as a floating observatory, both of which happen to be closed today. Still, the walk was lovely, and now, NOW, we are off to find some lunch.

In Which We Put On Our Jodhpurs Once Again

2005-11-16T02:24:00.000-05:00

Did everyone get my slight history lesson/pun as contained within the title? Eh? Eh???? Man, I just get cleverer and cleverer.

After a slightly hairy train ride back to Jodhpur, we arrived at the train station wickedly early in the morning, and we were all bleary eyed as we exited the train. David had arranged for a ride from the station back to the Blue House, and who came to pick us up but the owner himself who gave us a ride in the first real car I'd been in since my arrival. It took about three seconds to get to the hotel at that hour as the streets were completely empty. Quite a difference, let me tell you.

Of course, as soon as we arrived, we all gratefully fell into our soft and stationary beds and slept well into the morning, finally arising still a bit groggy but much refreshed, and ready to explore this city that had served only as a stopping point on our previous stay. After a hearty breakfast of porridge and tea, we took to the streets.

We were all pleasantly surprised by the lack of aggressive vendors, and enjoyed our stroll of being relatively unharrassed through the busy city streets, dodging autos, motorcyles, cows, and cow patties as we went. We briefly stopped in at a city temple, found the city clocktower, visited the "Tourist Information Center" (a small shack distributing a choice of three pamphlets, manned by an employee who spoke no English), and stopped for lunch at what we all deemed to be one of the best restaurants yet - fast, cheap, and terrifically delicious (saffron lassis...mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm). And then on to our major activity of the day - The Jodhpur Fort. None of us were expecting to like it NEARLY as much as the fort which we had lived in and come to call home for a few short days, but our pessimistic outlook was very soon corrected to having one of the Top Three Best Fort Experiences Ever. Because, um, I've had so MANY of those experiences.

We wound our way up, up, up through the streets of Jodhpur, often taking wrong turns but very helpfully turned in the right direction by friendly bystanders. We all decided we needed to exercise more as the streets got steeper and steeper and we got slower and slower, but soon enough, pavement turned to stone, and we trooped up the final leg of the journey and reached the fort's magnificent entrance. Evan turned off towards the "Residents of India" gate, and David and I made our way to the "We Are Very Obviously Tourists" gate, where, for parting with a few hundred of our precious rupees, we gained admission, camera permission, and a free audio tour. The audio tour turned out to be amazing, and as silly as we looked wandering around with headphones on and walkmans hanging around our neck, I have yet to be more impressed with the organization of any historical site I have visited in India before or since. For instance, I learned (with a background track of traditional Rajasthani music) about those mysterious copper handprints on the wall of one of the gates. They turned out to be the handprints of recently widowed wives of princes and generals, who imprinted their hands upon the wall as they made their ceremonial trek out of the fort, never to return again, to silently self-immolate themselves along with the bodies of their husbands. Whoof. I decided to cross THAT option off my list of What To Do If I Am Ever Widowed, and instead am sticking to my plan of learning how to skydive with other widowed ladies, and perhaps will fit in a lesson or two of bridge if there's time.

After the tour, we hung around to watch the sunset, wandering up and down what we dubbed the Great Wall of China But In India, taking pictures and ogling the giant cannons and amazing view. I had a brief 15 minutes of fame when I snapped a shot of some chipmunks hanging out in one of the holes in the wall through which soldiers had shot arrows or poured boiling oil or something. I immediately had about eight kids surrounding me wanting to see the picture, and then the dad wanted to see it, and then I showed it to his wife and mother at his insistence, and then we all shook hands with a firm grip and exchanged "Hellos" and "How do you dos", and then they all disappeared as quickly as they had come. Chipmunks - gets 'em every time.

And when I say "disappeared," I'm actually lying. As we were all watching the sunset later, they asked David (using mainly sign language... their english was limited and our hindi non-existent, though David is now quite proficient at counting to 10) to take a family picture. This he did, and they were all quite amused and satisfied with the result. This seemed to be all they wanted, however, as when David offered to email them the picture, they casually shrugged and said none of them HAD an email address. So if anyone wants a family photo and doesn't really care as to which family...

After a glorious sunset, we were firmly directed out of the fort for closing by a stern looking man with a piercing whistle and rapidly waving "out out out" hands. Working our way down the inclined streets, we were stopped by a smiley soft-spoken man hanging out in his doorway (who also had this incredibly large and ropey scar across his chest that was peeking above his tank top undershirt, but that has very little to do with the story and is only something I couldn't stop staring at), who in a very friendly way asked where we were from, how we liked Jodhpur and then insisted we come in to see his house and meet his wife. Not knowing quite how to refuse, we all followed him in, where he gave us, as he had promised, a tour of his house, showing us his pantry, his kitchen, the various bedrooms of his three children, two of whom were gone and married, and his living room. He did, indeed, have a nice house, though we didn't really want to be there and were wondering what the catch was to this whole tour. We met his wife, who wore the exact same benign smile as he did, and they showed us pictures of their kids as well as his son's school books and such. And then, the grand finale. "See? Look at this! My son collects money from all over the world! See? He has money from Taiwan, from Tibet, from blah blah blah blah blah [the collection was extensive... he went through almost every bill] blah blah blah blah. But look! This is very sad. He has nothing from the U.S.!" And therein lay our collective "ah HA" moment. Verrrrry clever, Ropey Scar Man. Very clever indeed.

It was at this juncture in time his son came home from school, and seemed less than thrilled to see us there. Not wishing to infringe on any more of their time, or have the son embarrassed for any longer than necessary (if, indeed, he HAD been thinking "OH MY GOD THEY'RE AT IT AGAIN. When will it end? WHEN WILL IT END???"), we thanked them for the tour and made our way out the door, while our delightful tour guide continued to point at the empty space in his son's collection, reserved for that elusive U.S. dollar.

Later that evening Evan made a phone call home (I know mom, I'm sorry, I'm a terrible daughter but you were at work and I was work number-less!) and David and I walked back to the hotel, stopped only by a couple who looked at David, pointed and yelled "Israeli! Israeli!!!" David politely responded, "um, no, I'm American... Are YOU guys from Israel?" to which he got a disappointed, "No no, we're from New York." Americans, man. They're strange sometimes.

The next morning I tried my first South Indian dosa, a staple of Evan's diet back in Madurai and often replicated poorly in the North. This dosa, however, met with Evan's approval (after all, we were eating at that cheap and best restaurant of the day before and expected nothing less than perfection), and I have to say it is a miiiighty tasty thing to eat, a delightful thin sourdough pancake thingy that is often rolled around a vegetable interior. We all chose the masala dosa, which meant a savory potato concoction was contained within, and after doused with the traditional sambar sauce and chutney, we all dug in with our hands and had a delicious messy feast (as the left hand is considered impolite to eat with here in India, I'm becoming quite ambidextrous... you should see me go!).

As our last activity as a troupe of three, we all marched off to the markets where we ventured into the spice industry. David went looking for tea, and as always, the vendors were looking to have him buy more than that. Favorite sales pitch? Glad you asked! "Try the chicken tikka masala spice! In London, 35% of people are CRAZY about chicken tikka masala!" Pfffft. As if we'd want to be just like 35% of people in London.

But perhaps the most popular spice being sold, even MORE popular than chicken tikka masala (I know! It's hard to believe!) was their Winter Spice, which they kept offering as the "Indian Vee-ah-gra." I wish I could remember the description on the bag... but people! Don't be fooled!! They gave us each a little to try, and besides being pleasantly sweet and vanilla-y, it didn't do nuthin'. Yeah, we were surprised too.

Soon, too soon, it came time for us to part one another, Evan and I off to the bus station to endure a hair-raising 6 hour ride to Udaipur, and David to wile away another few hours in Jodhpur before he took off for Delhi and from there, Malaysia. Oh David, parting was such sweet sorrow. The Three Musketeers are three no longer. Who else to suggest sharing dishes at meals? Who else to run up and down the steep stairs at the Blue Hotel, guaranteeing a decent mattress for the person who has to sleep on the floor? Who else to treat us to the most expensive meal we'd been to yet, a farewell dinner that, though delicious, proved to us the best food in India was NOT to be had at the most expensive hotels? Darling David, your presence is missed. May Malaysia quickly find out what a treasure it has gained in your arrival. Adieu, dear friend, adieu.

In Which We Hold Down the Fort

2005-11-15T06:24:00.000-05:00

A day or two ago David attempted to leave a comment on this puppy and was thwarted by my stringent requirements that one MUST have an account on blogspot in order to do so. I had no idea my comment options were so delightfully exclusive! But, due to my highly spiritual journey through India, I decided that exclusivity is bad kharma, at least when it comes to blogs, and I have now successfully switched my options settings to allow comment equality among all, whether they are of the blogging class or a member of the anonymous internet-using masses.

So, where were we? Ah yes, let us go back to Jaisalmer...

Jaisalmer was a delightful location to rest our camel-weary hides, a place we could truly let our guard down as we were protected by a desert fortress, a fortess that had yet, in centuries of existence, to fall to enemy attack. The only thing to be wary of were the ruthless shop vendors, who were relentless in their pursuit of our Indian monopoly money. Therefore, we spent much of our time in Jaisalmer sprawled on our gorgeous hotel rooftop, whiling away the hottest part of the day on the shaded daybeds and chairs and catching up on the reading none of us had done since our journey began. We couldn’t spend ALL our time up there, however, and DID venture out during our stay in the Golden City. Some highlights:

Our first day there, and our last day with Roop, found the four of us headed out of the fort and to a historic Haveli, aka mansion, built by a rich dude back in the day and now transformed into a museum commemorating glory days gone by. It was quite impressive, with ornate carvings on the exterior and the faded glory of opulence once known contained within. Roop then hustled us off to the lake of Jaisalmer, where we rented a pedal boat and took a turn around the lake. The last time I attempted one of those was on a 7th grade field trip, and all of us were quickly reminded of how much effort it took to go the whopping 0.5 mph speed we obtained. After pedaling ferociously for about ten minutes (Roop put his feet up pretty early on, leaving just the three of us to provide the brute strength for locomotion), we reached a beautiful shaded island, where we were greeted by a gentleman all in white and requested to remove our shoes before stepping out onto land. Turns out this gentleman was one of the wealthiest in Jaisalmer, now retired and letting his 5 sons take care of him on his monthly income of 3 million rupees, or approximately $66,667. He gave us a brief history of his own life, which involved parachuting adventures as the first man from Jaisalmer to join the air force, his return to his homeland, the building of his very lucrative businesses, and his way of life now that work is no longer a part of it. He was also quite generous with his history lessons of Jaisalmer (we must have been there for 45 minutes or so), and entertained us with the following:
Ages ago, the king's concubine decided she wanted to build a structure to secure her place in the history books. After being denied permission by both the king and the entire royal family (she was a concubine, after all), she went the sneaky route and secretly constructed a stone gate to the lake, hiding the construction in the surrounding rural area. When the king left on a hunting trip, she acted fast. The gate was carted in and assembled in one day, and a temple to Vishnu was assembled on its crown. The king and royal family were outraged when they learned of her doing, even more so as the temple to Vishnu prevented them from tearing it down, as it would be considered an act of holy desecration to destroy a dwelling dedicated to the god. To this day, the gate still stands as the main entryway to the lake, and to this day, the royal family has yet to once pass through it, forever shunning the work of a royal hussy.
After our vigorous peddle back to shore (David, by the way, is quite a talented navigator), Roop gave us one last ride in the jeep we had come to know and love, and we bid a bittersweet farewell to our constant companion of the last few days, he to rush back to the desert to look after his neglected trekkers, and we back to our desert citadel. Sitaram, dear Roop, Sitaram.

I was told by a woman to whom we were chatting, "I love your hair! It looks just like NOODLES!!"

In another episode of Skills We Didn’t Know David Possessed, we found out he had quite the knack for bargaining vendors down to fractions of their preliminary asking price. Without giving away the purchase or the price, Evan and I watched a miraculous 20 minute haggling battle between David and Jacky, the bargaining opponent, which involved begging, pleading, cajoling, and a good dose of harsh truth, which left everyone sweating and David walking away with purchases gained at more than 60% off the initial offer. Well done, my friend. Our hats are off to you.

How they fix printers in Jaisalmer (this technique was employed at the Jaisalmer train station, where the ticket line came to a standstill when the ticket printer ceased to print): After poking at printer for about half an hour with finger, take printer in both hands and vigorously shake upside down, periodically banging on the bottom to excise any existing demons. When this fails to work, angrily declare the station closed and force everyone out.

A Brief Lesson in Bollywood film stars (as given by employees of Paradise Hotel, when we all sat around watching Bollywood films on tv): Today’s Lesson: Salman Khan Vs. Shah-Rukh Khan.
Salman Khan is perhaps the biggest Bollywood star in India today. He’s handsome, ripped, and blessed with devastatingly long lashes, not to mention the way he dances and sings his way through Bollywood blockbuster after Bollywood blockbuster. Women want him, men want to be him. Shah-Rukh Khan, on the other hand, is a little less of a star, a little less handsome, a little less devastating. But! According to our friends at the Paradise, it is truly Shah-Rukh who deserves the stardom, the limelight, and all the attention being currently fawned on Salman. For, in real life, Salman is a rake and a rapscallion, a man who lives only for his own pleasure, which takes the form of booze and women, and a man who feels he is above the law. This latter claim seems to ring true, as a few years ago he ran over four people sleeping in the street when driving whilst intoxicated, killing one and injuring the others (they had no other place to sleep, being of the poverty stricken masses). Apparently he spent a grand total of 3 hours in jail, paid off the families, and that was the end of THAT. Shah-Rukh, on the other hand, is a sweet, gentle family man, whose acting skills far outweigh those of Salman, and whose morals are on a par Salman could never hope to attain. For homework, read pp. 301-342 in the textbook and write a brief paragraph summarizing what you’ve learned.

David taught Evan and I the game he calls "Jungle Golf," a card game that saved us during perhaps the most laughably awful dining experience thus far. We sat down to eat at the "Hollyday Inn Rooftop Restaurant," ordered, and David dealt the cards while we settled in for the customary 25 minute wait for food. After a half an hour, the only other table in the restaurant was served their meal, and we were all a bit taken aback as we had assumed when we arrived they had already eaten and were hanging about to chat. Oh no. Turns out they had been there for an hour and a half already and were JUST being served, as the only customers in the tiny restaurant. Already annoyed, they decided enough was enough when they deemed the dishes to be cold, and all got up to leave. Evan, David, and I were left as the only customers on the rooftop, where we heard a scuffle downstairs as the owner and customers fought over the bill (as in, they didn’t want to pay it and the owner insisted they did). The fighting got closer and closer as they moved it back up to the roof, where the owner grabbed the dish in question and said "What do you mean this is cold?!?! This dish is fine!!" He then proceeded over to our table and insisted we feel the dish and give our opinion (I mumbled a "I really don’t want to get in the middle of this" and Evan gave the classic "Uh, I wasn’t paying attention" response. You know, not paying attention to the vicious argument happening about three inches from our table.). There was much storming about, and they finally moved it downstairs, where I assume the customers left without paying and the owner, who was also our waiter, was officially put in the Best Mood Ever. It was suddenly eerily quiet and we sat in an uncomfortable silence, wondering if perhaps we should leave too, and then just stayed put as it seemed easier to stay, and besides, we had discovered Jungle Golf!
About an hour later (right on time…), our food came out, along with a few things we hadn’t ordered and no way to eat them due to lack of serving utensils and anything to put the food on. We sent back the things we hadn’t requested (the owner insisted we HAD ordered them, oy vey), and then finally got our required eating hardware after a few sly hints of "Excuse me, would it be possible to get some plates?" We were, in the end, just relieved to get some food and pay the bill and leave as soon as we could, and to his credit, the owner came up later and apologized, citing being short-staffed with only one guy in the kitchen. You know, for the six customers he had that night. He seemed so stressed out we felt bad for him, but dang, was that a dining experience we didn’t look to replicate, especially as the food ended up causing some stomach problems later that night. Thank goodness, however, that THAT has been the only dining failure thus far. Everything else has been on a scale from Delicious to Superb.

And those, I believe, are the better stories from our Deliciously Superb fortress stay. All in all, it was fantastic, and I fell completely in love with the rooftop sunsets, and playing Jungle Golf on the roof in the afternoons, and planning our Paradise Fusion rooftop restaurant with the hotel employees, and gazing upon the incredible desert views available from any high point within the majestic fort. Too soon, we packed up once again, and motored down to the train station for our overnight journey back to Jodhpur.

In Which We Do Not Die By Swarming Bees

2005-11-12T05:27:00.000-05:00

I know everyone was in suspense about whether we made it out alive or not. But never fear, dear readers, our night of "My Girl" terror ended peaceably, with the yellow bees keeping to themselves and our wimply little heroes definitely, definitely keeping to THEMselves, and awoke the next morning intact to the sounds of an already bustling household.

The most exciting part of the morning, by far, was bathing. It was a bucket-shower system, that had us hauling water from their cistern to the shower area, but it was glorious. And it turns out that my "tan" was actually a few layers of "dust" that quite gleefully washed away, back to whence it came. Ah well.

Roop Singh had left earlier that morning to pick up his next bunch of camel trekkers and bring them to the farm, so soon after breakfast a group consisting of two Danish girls and a Canadian with the name of Alister made their appearance. Roop was driving us to Jaisalmer that day (so we didn't get there so much on camel back as in the back of a jeep), and so set up the new group with Mohan and set them on their way. Soon we, too, had packed up, said our goodbyes and thank yous in the limited common language we shared with his family, and took off in the jeep.

We made a few quick stops on the way to Jaisalmer, if only to make the 5 hour jeep ride seem a little shorter. Our first stop was at a temple, and was also our first reintroduction to the crowded urban atmosphere we had so luckily escaped for the past few days. Far more than the temple I remember outstretched hands and the calls of vendors, and told myself to prepare for how overwhelming it all could be.

The second stop was at a bird sanctuary, or should I write, "bird sanctuary." It was little more than a dirt parking area with a slight mud puddle to one side and, which was kind of cool, a whole bunch of Siberian cranes you couldn't quite see roosting in its waters. I almost erased the picture I took of it the other day when scrolling through my trip thus far thinking "what the hell is THAT crappy photo?? It looks like I took a picture of a pile of dirt! Why did I DO that??" and then realizing that ah, yes, 'twas the sanctuary of birds, whom you could barely see waaaaay off in the distance.

We stopped for lunch soon after, at a place Roop knew of in the middle of nowhere and which was quite good, not to mention it held the first bathrooms any of us had seen in awhile, squat toilet or no. Fantastic! We enjoyed a lovely meal and were off again.

Somewhere along the ride we were stopped at a train crossing, and it soon became clear that the train was going to take a bit to actually CROSS where we were. Roop took a philosophical view and said "SITARAM! It is on India time. Just take a break SITARAM!!!!!" By this point his sitaraming had gotten a bit out of control and David, I think, was going a bit berserk. It didn't help that apparently Roop and Mohan had spent a good portion of that last day in the camel cart shouting back and forth "sita!" "RAM!" over and over, to the detriment of poor Dave's mental health. We entertained ourselves at the train crossing by singing along to "It's a Small World After All," which happened to be the song Roop's jeep played when in reverse, and which it happened to be put in for much of our train delay. David, being a musical genius, actually knows the words, so could do the verses whereas I only could join in on the chorus (which the jeep DIDN'T play, but which we decided to include anyway). At long last, the train made it's way past, and we were off again.

There was something incredibly cathartic about the jeep ride, and I had a great time lounging in the back and looking at the landscape as it rushed passed. We ran through the repetoire of songs we had, including some classic Simon and Garfunkle, Simon all by himself, Bon Jovie, and Aerosmith. We passed camels and busses, motorcycles and street-wandering cows, and became used to the slightly hair raising style of driving in India, though to his credit (or maybe because it was broken) Roop never used his horn, which seems to be all anyone else does.

We stopped for the sunset by the road and watched to see if there would be a flash as the sun finally dipped below the horizon (David insisted, even though he ALSO said it would only occur when the sun set on the ocean... but he's a scientist at heart, so I guess one could say it was a fruitless experiment...). Soon after, Jaisalmer, in all its golden glory, could be seen through the fading light, and we wound our way up its sand colored streets to the entrance of its famed fort, where Roop bid adieu to us for the evening and we autoed it up inside the desert citadel to the Paradise Hotel. Our room had retained its original stone walls (we got a cheap one, and they didn't plaster those over, and dang, it was the COOLEST ROOM EVER) so we, of course, danced around for awhile in our awesome fort digs (it completely, completely blew any pillow forts out of the water), found a delightful rooftop restaurant (all restaurants here, actually, seem to be rooftop), wound our way home, and fortily fell asleep.

In Which Our Camel Adventure Comes to an End

2005-11-12T03:57:00.000-05:00

This time, we didn't miss the sunrise.

It helped that we were sleeping open-air that night, so no tent blocked the harshest streams of sunlight. It also helped that it was three of us huddled together under one blanket, so no one slept all that well as the blanket wasn't quiiiiite large enough to fit us all underneath and it was almost a relief to truly wake up. But perhaps the greatest aide to our awakening was the cry of "SITARAAAAAAM!!! DAVID, THE SUNRISE! DAVID?? SITARAAAAAAAAM!!! EVAN, HANNAH, IT IS THE SUNRISE!!!! SIIIIITAAAAARAAAAAAAAAAM!!!" And so we were awake.

David had, by this point, perfected his own ingenious way to successfully avoid the desert burrs when taking a break in the wilderness, a carefully thought out method that had gone through much discussion ("I think I've thought of a new way to go to the bathroom") and resulted in the wearing of his pants on his head when it was necessary to remove them completely. Speaking of his head, on this trip he was also the great entertainer to the kiddos as a headstand afficionado, and I took a lovely photo of him upside down on the dunes at sunset. (Note: I don't think I can post pictures here in India, but when I get back home I plan to have much fun illustrating this thing).

After some breakfast and some lounging while Roop and Mohan went to find the camels, who were free to wander during the night and seemed to enjoy this freedom to the fullest and therefore took about an hour to find, we got going. To switch things up a bit, I betrayed my darling Mr. Raj for Mr. Singh, David hopped on the Raj, and Evan decided to take a mid-morning snooze in the camel cart. At first, riding Mr. Singh was a relief. He's a bigger camel, so all those parts of me that were sore from riding Mr. Raj remained untouched on the back of Singh. Not to mention, it was quite fun being in complete control of such a beast, and I had about as much luck as Evan keeping him from snacking on what he wished. About 20 minutes into the ride, however, a dozen NEW sorespots were screaming for mercy, and it took all I had (and the fact that Mr. Singh was lagging behind enough so that asking everyone to stop so I could get off would require more effort than it was worth) to not beg to be let down. After what seemed to be an eon, we finally came to rest at a camel watering hole under the trees, where camel, cow, and sheep intermingled in harmony. Three giggling little girls watched us closely, imitating our speech and leaving us pretty sure it was a laughing AT and not WITH situation. We WERE pretty goofy looking, after all.

Convinced we had stopped for lunch, we all groaned a little when Roop directed us back on the camels after they had refilled their humps with water. I quickly reclaimed Raj, as at least I had had the last few days to get used to the dull ache caused by his saddle, Evan was once again on Singh, and David helped direct Chon from the camel cart. It was only a quick ride, enough to get us to our lunch spot, and for the two minutes it took to get from point A to point B Roop attached Mr. Raj to Mr. Singh, an interesting experiment as Raj was moving much faster than Singh and we kept ending up wandering in circles and having to muckily work our way forward until we reached the base of the first truly movie-like desert dunes we had happened across. Roop told us to go explore while he and Mohan got lunch together, and off we went.

Photo opportunities abounded, and we had quite the time taking pictures of shadows and of David taking a mighty leap from the edge of a dune into the soft sand below. The same three giggly girls followed us up there, and insisted on their picture being taken, which resulted in more giggles every time I showed them the result. One turned out to be a great dune jumper herself, and another entertained herself by feeling my face and my weirdo mickey mouse hair, and the last was the shy one who stood off to the side and smiled behind her hand. The girls succeeded in working my two silver rings off my hands (the ones I never take off) and putting them on their own tiny fingers. They offered me chewing tobacco, which THIS time I was smart enough not to take, but was a little thrown when they were trying to explain to me what it was by showing me the chewing tobacco they kept tucked in their bottom lip. They were just so little for such things! After some more jumping, a little dance lesson (the dune-jumper had some GREAT moves), and more picture taking, we were ready to go back down the mountain and we gave the girlies some stickers David had in his bag and asked for the rings back. This was nothing doing, and soon they ran away, stickers in hand, and one girl with a ring in her mouth. Darn little girls, outsmarting me.

A bit sad at the loss of my rings, David, Evan, and I made the trip back to the camel cart, where soon all these fried things made their appearance on plates in front of us, fried potatoes and onions and such, delicious in a way only fried things can be. All of us were slightly shocked when the three girls made a reappearance over the dunes and then made their way over to our little lunch site, having their own midday meal only a few feet from ours. We were convinced that after they had acquired the stickers and rings they got what they had wanted and would have nothing more to do with us. I was still put out about the rings so didn't pay them much attention, but after awhile it became clear they wanted what we were having for lunch, and Evan was able to barter a trade: the rings for the food. And so now I have my rings back!! A little bit yellow, from whatever they had in their lunch tins as that's where they had been storing them, but my rings nonetheless. And still they wanted to play around, and waved big goodbyes when we left with shouts of "TA TA! TA TA! TA TA!" following the camels as we ambled off, and we came to this conclusion about the whole experience: well look at that, kids are the same no matter WHERE you are.

What followed lunch was the last big haul on the camels before our trek came to an end. This was the longest, by far. It was through beautiful landscapes and farmland, and it became clear we were getting closer when Roop told Evan not to worry about directing Mr. Singh, he knew the way from here. And so at THAT point, we thought we couldn't be more than ten minutes from our final destination, having made the trek from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer. But oh no, let us not be fooled any longer. I'm thinking it may have been another hour, maybe two, before we finally stopped, or at least it felt that way as most of my time was spent adjusting and readjusting myself on Mr. Raj, often to no avail as that dull ache was becoming not-so-dull by the minute. I was determined, however, to ride triumphantly into our final destination, and therefore took a deep breath and did my best to endure. Evan took the smart route and joined David in the cart after Mr. Singh's back became an instrument of sheer torture and they had a lovely evening ride through the desert. Tenaciously, however, I hung on, and felt a brilliant flash of triumph when at last, AT LAST, we reached the end of our cross-country trek and reached the finish line, nobly ambling into.... the family farm. Where we had begun our journey. Which wasn't anywhere NEAR Jaisalmer. Which meant we had just done a big, big circle around the surrounding desert of Roop's home and come right back to where we began. I felt a bit deflated, to say the least. A tour, more than a trek, shall we say. So the moment of triumph wasn't quite as sweet, but we had still done it. We had still braved three days in the bathroom-less desert, and slept with no shelter but the sky, and crawled up and down desert dunes, and learned to live among the deadliest of desert burrs.

And we sat back, and enjoyed our chai tea of triumph, and refused the celebratory rum (okay, fine, I didn't refuse, but I didn't manage more than a few polite sips), and came to the decision that a game of cards must be played, so David went into our little mud hut and didn't find the cards but DID discover a huge nest of giant yellow desert bees among the boxes of bottled water they had provided. After quite a bit of contradictory information - "No no, the bees are friendly, but DON'T SHINE THAT LIGHT ON THEM!" "Don't worry, they sleep at night and only get active in the morning (David's point: "yes, but we will be IN there in the morning...")" and "No no, they won't sting you, unless they do. And it's only bad if there are 20 of them (Again, David's wisdom of noticing there were at least 100 in there...)" - we relocated to a different hut, one located within the family compound and filled with everyday living stuff, which was actually a little bit more awesome than sleeping in the guest hut.

As we were getting into bed David remarked "Now wouldn't it be ironic if, after all that, there was a nest of bees in THIS hut... Roop would just LOVE us then." We all had a good "yeah, geez, woooo!" when Evan, who was playing with the flashlight, said "Oh look, there's a bee right there! And, um, a few more farther up... and... oh god." Turns out a whole OTHER happy huge yellow bee family was living in the hollow post in the middle of the room, but at this point we were all too tired to care and uneasily rolled over to sleep.

In Which My Camel Adventures Continue

2005-11-11T01:40:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I succeeded in flushing my sunglasses down a squat toilet. Oh, sunglasses, what times we had, and what a bitterly foul end you came to. I am sorry, lovely $2 sunglasses. You may have been $2, but in my heart, you were priceless.

Please, everyone, a moment.

And now, catching up with our heroine on Day 2 of the epic Trek Through the Desert...

Having fully expected to view the sunrise, I was shocked to awake long after the once-in-a-lifetime event, cocooned in our camel scented blankets that were as burr-free as possible in the height of the burry season. And by "long after the sunrise," maybe about half an hour after, but felt plenty late. We ambled about our campsite, brushing our teeth, utilizing our knowledge of angles and depth perception and such to take care of our personal toilette (punctuated every so often by a shout from the wilderness of "OUCH! goddamit, stupid burrs."), and were served some delightful breakfast by Mr. Roop Singh, which THIS morning happened to be, of all things, french toast with bananas. I should have asked him to throw some of his rum in their and voila! It's like a little bit of the Even Keel half way across the world. Generally, the toast tasted like the soy bean oil it was prepared in, but all in all, not too shabby. Not to mention, Evan was able to fashion a FANTASTIC likeness of India out of the last uneaten piece.

And then we lounged, as we were wont to do on this journey, and chatted, and the kids came back so we played some more frisbee, and we distributed water bottles and said we had no pens, and then we were off and back on the desert trail by mid-morning, with Dave in the camel cart, myself on Mr. Raj, and Evan high and mighty on Mr. Singh, made even more so by the unexpected event of Roop giving Evan the reins and a very basic lesson on how to guide his camel ("you go right, you pull right. you go left, pull left. want to stop, pull very hard, sitaram*.").

*Sidenote, which isn't so much on the side as in the middle: Roop Singh said sitaram about ten times every minute. It was either contained in his response to all queries or was the answer to a query, whether if it was a question about dinner, a response to someone begging for money, or a farming family yelling at him at how his camels destroyed their trees during the night. It was how he answered his phone, how he said good-bye, and, according to Evan, he spent a good portion of a jeep ride muttering it to himself, over and over again, under his breath. It just about drove David up the wall by the end, whereas I found it wedging itself into my vocabulary. A few more days, and who KNOWS what would have gone down. For the first day or two, I thought he was saying "sit around," and thought what a relaxed guy this was, but turns out it's an amalgam of Sita and Ram, a great Hindi God/Goddess love story. As far as we could tell, he's the only one who uses it.

So there we were, once again on the road, a little bit sorer, a little bit wiser, a little bit dirtier than the day before. Roop Singh stopped to chat with some of his grandfather's friends in the area, older sheepherder men in white turbans, and we did our best to properly Namaste as we passed by. Eva tended to lag behind as Mr. Singh wasn't feeling very fast (he IS 11 years old) and liked to take frequent snack breaks. As Evan said, they had reached an understanding. Mr. Singh carried Evan, and Evan let him have a snack when he wanted, because Evan couldn't stop him.

Roop Singh led us to a village he knew where the mainstay was clay pottery and rug weaving, done the old fashioned way. It took two men crouching over a low loom about 15 days to complete one rug made of camel hair, and an older gentlemen demonstrated the making of a few pieces of pottery on his completely hand spun clay spinny thingy (what are those called?? Pottery wheel! On his pottery wheel!!!). Roop then ushered us to the exit, but on the way we were ushered into side activities, i.e. a group of men beckoned David and Evan into their opium den, blessed their foreheads with red paint and rice, and fed them a mild chewable version of the poppy derived substance, and I was shown into the lady and childrens quarter, with a group of giggling children surrounding me and a smaller group of colorfully garbed women (then again, not much ISN'T colorfully garbed here) sitting nearby, who giggled a bit more subtly behind their head scarves. They offered me chai, and then a packet of what looked to be some sort of Japanese candy with a cute little Kirby-ike cartoon character on it. Once dumped into my hand, however, I was at a loss of what it could be. It looked like greyish blue lint, and was then directed to put the whole thing in my mouth and chew, which I did, and which eliceted MORE giggles from all corners. It tasted fairly minty and weird, and was (thank goodness) not meant to be swallowed as the very idea made me gag. The kiddos then directed me to spit it out with the aid of water to get it all out of my mouth, and followed me outside to watch me do my best to expel every little last bit of it. Finally having gotten it all out of my mouth, I stood up and immediately felt terrifically, terrifically dizzy. The boys, who had completed their opiate experience, were ready and set to go, none the worse for wear. I, on the other hand, was having a bit of trouble, and the dizziness soon turned to feeling quite queasy and weird. I therefore called the camel cart and curled into the fetal position for the ride to lunch, which was mercifully short, wondering what the hell I had eaten and praying that there wasn't some insidious parasite making a nest inside my belly. Once I decided that it helped more to sit up than to lie down on the cart, I was able to locate the wrapper, AND they listed its contents on the back. Turns out I had me some "betelnuts, catechu, tobacco, lime, [and] permitted spices and flavors." So instead of some weird Japanese breath mint, I had injested some very Indian chewing tobacco. I was okay after about another hour or so, but it was a valuable lesson to always, always look gift horses in the mouth.

Roop came up with the magical cure of soda water to cure my tummy, which definitely helped, among his reassurances that he was our mother, father, grandmother, etc. for the trip and not to worry ("You miss your mother?" he said to David. "I am your mother!"). We snacked, napped, hung out with some more kids who showed up, and then I was well enough to hop back on Raj and make our way to our campsite for the night, a spot right below these beautiful shrub covered dunes that offered a brilliant view of the sunset after a steep and sandy scramble up the side. We chilled with the beetles and the burrs while the sun set, David showed us a few of his hives (they come and go... every day brings something new and exciting and it's become something to look forward to, David's Daily Hive Check), we had another delectable dinner, had another poor showing when it came to rum drinking (on our part... Roop did alright, I think, and when he came to wish us goodnight after awhile he fell asleep on my blanket covered leg for a bit until I started laughing), and eventually fell asleep under the stars.

In Which Raj is My Camel and I am His Queen

2005-11-10T02:45:00.000-05:00

You are now reading the words of an experienced desert camel trekker, a woman who traversed the Thar desert on the back of a spindley legged mammal and lived to tell the tale. Yes, my friends, I have achieved a wisdom beyond my years, an intimate knowledge of the desert and its peoples, and an almost uncanny connection with those noble beasts who have, for ages unknown, braved the dusty and arid clime that is Northern India with forbearance and dignity. Not to mention, I learned how to pee in the bushes!! WITHOUT getting those damn desert prickers all over my pants!!! And so now, as long as I carry that lifesaver, Scott tissue, in my bag, I can do anything.

The journey began mid-morning, when Roop Singh picked Evan, David, and I up at the Blue House hotel and spirited us away on his sand-worn jeep to the desert country side, finally arriving at his family farm where he performed his formal welcome by smearing red paint on our foreheads, draping us with quite the colorful lei-like garland (which I was forced to throw out by the end of the trip as it shedded its little strands everywhere and was a total desert burr magnet), and sprinkling red dust all over our shoulders. Once adorned, they prepared the camels for departure. Our fleet consisted of four camels - Mr. Singh, the oldest at 11, and the best trained; Mr. Raj, who I considered to be MY camel, was at 5 years of age surprisingly docile and sweet and on his way to become the best of the best; Mr. Chon, the camel who lugged the camel cart, and was absolutely HUGE; and lastly there was Mumel, the baby at 4, who had been purchased only a few months before from a herd of 300, and who still terribly missed home and sang us his song of discontent every time he was expected to do anything other than walk. Pobrecito. Coming with us on the trip was Roop Singh himself and his cousin Mohan, who spoke just enough English to tell us to watch out for branches. And so! Once mounted upon our noble steeds (which got only SLIGHTLY less terrifying by the end of the trip... it's this three step process of rising and sitting down for a camel, and I was continuously surprised at just how BIG these animals were), we were off on our adventure, from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer!!

Out of respect for our untrained bottoms, camel riding was kept at a minimum the first day, so after about twenty minutes we stopped in a shady spot for lunch. Roop and Mohan had their tourist system down, so they made this little bed-couch out of the mattresses they had brought along and positioned us so the camel cart blocked the sun. From the other side of the cart, we heard the delightful sound of the camping stove being started (It was about 2 at this point, and the last we had eaten had been at an early breakfast), and what seemed to be eons later they produced this AMAZING mix of potatoes and vegetables and spices and who knows what else, but we didn't really care as it was just. so. taaaaaasty. And after lunch we lounged, and read a bit, and then noticed that over this slight bump in the topography a group of about 6 or 7 kiddos peeking at our little campsite. As soon as they saw us see them, they immediately all crouched down out of sight. This quickly developed into a wave-and-hide game, with the waves getting bigger and more flamboyant the longer it went on, but they still ran away (only to come back) as soon as it looked like we might get up and go closer to them. What finally won them over?? Ah yes, that good ol' Amherstonian past time, ultimate frisbee. David conveniently hauled a disc all the way to India, and soon there was a group of about 10 kids runningly manically around shouting "YES! YES!!" and holding out their hands to whoever happened to have the frisbee. Great, great fun. It soon became time to pack up and move on, at which point the frisbee was put away, we got all our stuff together, and all the kids requested our empty water bottles. Over the next few days this request was often repeated, and if not for water bottles, then for pens. Water bottles we sometimes had, but none of us had brought pens, at least not in the bulk supplies the demand asked for. So, so many kids.

And then back on the camels! David, by this point, had had enough of the camels for the time being and relocated to the camel cart, which became his main location for the rest of the trip with a few quick forays back to Mr. Singh and Mr. Raj (and a quickly aborted trip on Mumel, which came to an end NOT because Mumel threw him off or rolled over with him on, which I was kind of expecting, but because the saddle kept sliding). I didn't blame him. My camel-riding muscles aren't exactly well-defined, and everything ached for almost the entire duration of the trek. Evan made quite the sight on Mr. Singh, on that huge beast with his red beard and his traditionally wound red turban (the kids gave THAT look a decided thumbs down). In about another twenty minutes we stopped for the night on this beautiful sandy mesa that offered us a beautiful view of the desert sunset. Once again, our delightful bed-couch was set up, another slew of frisbee playing kids came to visit, and we had no pens but a water bottle or two to offer. I quickly learned to never, ever, EVER rest my pants on the desert terrain during burr season, and that the burrs were way more deadly than the huge black beetles that dotted the sand (they were like ugly bug BFGs).

Everything soon calmed down, the sun set, and Evan, David and I sat back and enjoyed the phenomenal desert sky. Roop had quite the culinary system, and he had us sipping on chai tea in no time, followed by a "special surprise." This he had us drink before he would tell us what it was, a beverage with a decidedly grainy undertone but milky in consistency, i.e. camel milk. According to Roop, the stuff has amazing healing qualities and is used in India to cure obesity (is that correct to say? "Cure" obesity? anyway...). Then, as if we hadn't had ENOUGH to drink, he broke out the rum, which he said was very good, very good for the desert! I think we highly disappointed him in our inability to drink it. Evan and Dave had a sip or two before giving up, and I think I was able to finish maybe half of the spiced, warm, straight-up-right-out-of-the-bottle glass before regressing to pretending to drink it and then dumping it in the sand when he next left us. Roop regaled us with stories of the huge parties he had at this location, sometimes with 20 tourists and then inviting all the surrounding village folk, with a lot of drinking and dancing and all night revelry. I think he went away thinking we were kind of wussy. Ah well. But we talked of other things too, how Roop Singh has only in the last two years really become quite successful after 11 years giving tours, thanks in large part to the help of some German customers he had who bought him two camels and a good quality cart. He now works like crazy for the trekking season for six months, and then plays for six months and builds his business. Sound familiar, anyone...? He has a wife and a five year old son, but doesn't really sound so enthralled with family and seems to get much more pleasure out of being on the road and visiting friends and building a desert tour empire.

And soon enough, we were all exhausted from our first day's journey, and all crawled into our tents for bed. And so, I think, ends this installment of this apparent novella I am writing. Dang.

In Which I Arrive in Jodhpur

2005-11-05T06:15:00.000-05:00

Ha HA! Finally figured out where the "h" goes in Jodhpur. Applause applause.

Last night was spent on an overnight train from Delhi to here, and it's the only way to ride. We were in a sleeper car, which is much, much nicer than the "unreserved" section, i.e. wooden benches that are crowded at all times, but not quite as nice as the private air-conditioned cars. As it isn't exactly sweltering here at this time of year, the air-conditioning was pretty unnecessary, so we were juuuuust fine where we were. There are basically eight beds to a section, two bunks three tiers high and one bunk with two tiers. Each car has about, erm, 4 sections or so. When no one is sleeping, the middle bunks fold down and create nice little bench seats to enjoy, but I was so damn tired from jet lag I lasted until about 10 minutes before the train left before I crawled up to my top bunk and fell fast asleep, where I remained, drifting in and out, until Evan told me it was time to wake up as the train was pulling into our stop 12 hours later. The fews times I woke up during the night I was pleasantly surprised at how calm and quiet it was, especially as there were at least 32 people within hearing distance. There were no shouters, no screaming babies (though babies there were), and no chainsaw snorers. Gentle, lulling snorers, yes, but nothing that wasn't tolerable and gently soothing.

Now we are staying in the Blue Hotel for a night, which (shock surprise) is BLUE! In fact, the majority of this city is blue, painted so as it's considered to not only be a holy color BUT ALSO an effective mosquito repellent. The family who owns the hotel lives downstairs and insists on the old adage "our home is your home... please, please, when you are here you are family." Speaking of becoming family, we met with Roop (or as I can't seem to stop calling him, Roop a Doop) a few hours back, our camel trek tour guide for the next week. He also insists on our being his family for the duration of the trek (and beyond!), hit home by his answer to almost all our pre-trek questions, i.e. "whatever you want, just ask. We are family, I get you whatever you need, please ask. We take care of you." So basically, he is awesome. And now I have an Uncle Roop. Who knew??? He's also a great believer in Kharma, so always takes good care of his trekkers, and in exchange hopes what goes around comes around. So if anyone wants to take a camel trek through India, have I got a man for YOU!

Tomorrow, off to the desert.

In Which I Arrive in India

2005-11-04T03:40:00.000-05:00

Am currently sitting in an Israeli internet cafe located in Old Delhi, with adorable disease ridden puppies outside the window and Evan going crazy over how well he did on fantasy basketball last night to my right. So I made it! Safe and sound! And! Am just really, really tired, but the plan today is to stay awake until we hop on the overnight train to Jahdpur, where the camel trek will begin... Delhi is just slightly larger than Nantucket, as far as I can tell. Just. A. Little. Bit.

Finally got in last night at about 11:30, was through customs and on the way to the hotel at around 2. The hotel room for three of us consisted of a really, really big bed and a bathroom. LOVED the big bed. Fit all of us with room to spare. This morning we woke up, packed our stuff, and kicked off our daily adventure with a good dose of chocolate babka, courtesy of Evan's amazing mother. And now we've visited the ATM, had some lunch at the delightful Appetite Restaurant, and now I'm alerting everyone (especially you, Mom) that I'm not dead or maimed and am safely where I'm supposed to be. Excellent.

In Which I Test The System

2005-11-02T11:51:00.000-05:00

TESTING TESTING ONE TWO THREE.

So I have nothing to report on India yet, as I haven't left, and am sitting here in my house on a beautiful fall day in New England tippity tapping on the computer trying to think if there's anything I forgot to pack. But it's gorgeous out here, and the ride to Boston promises to be a nice one, and soon, SOON, all of you who are perusing this, I'll have something (hopefully) way, way more entertaining for everyone to read. But now we know this works! Oh huzzah!