sliced fresh

Human Nature

2011-12-28T13:25:00.000-08:00

I find human nature so darned interesting. I've been visiting some friends and their two 20 month old twins boys in Atlanta over the holidays. Without fail, every time we go into the playroom one of them gets their plastic pail full of legos/toys and dumps it on the floor, which elicits a huge smile. I'd love to know what synapse fires or what protein synthesizes (does that even make sense scientifically) that brings so much enjoyment from such a destructive act. Maybe it's called the Destructo Gene.

This same curiosity lets me enjoy books by the likes of Malcolm Gladwell, Daniel Coyle, and John Wooden. It's what excites me about tutoring and coaching young people. It's also what keeps me up at night wondering why I actively avoid doing the things that I know will help me reach the goals I've set out. We're a funny species; it's like we've been designed with huge flaws that can only be overcome by a surfeit of hard work and discipline.

Coolest neighborhood in Cleveland

2009-07-02T13:24:00.000-07:00

By the time I leave, I'll have spent just over a month in the City of Crippling Depression. All jokes aside, Cleveland is actually quite an interesting town. Despite a mass exodous of industry in the last 50 years, the art scene here is quite thriving due to the "old money" here. Instead of investing in the infrastructure or economic development of the city, these wealthy families have continued to pour money into the museums, symphony, and the like. Which, for a visitor is great since I get to experience all of this amazing culture without getting involved with the negative aspects of a city that had a bleak economic future before the recession hit. As a result, there are not too many people moving to Cleveland (at least not by choice). Without an influx of new blood, you really get to see the true face of a community. There is nothing to hide behind, no new crowd taking over the neighborhood to complain about. Just the nitty gritty. It's like you took all of the jokers out of the deck - along with most of the face cards - and are just reshuffling the cards that you have left. So the cool neighborhoods aren't spoiled, and they do not turn into Park Slope or Silverlake (not that those neighborhoods are not cool, but they are definitely quite gentrified). One such neighborhood that I have come to enjoy here is Waterloo.

It's quite the mix here, and definitely would not be considered "nice" by any means. Now, new blood does not necessarily connote gentrification, but it's a fine line. The Beachland, a music venue, has apparently been around for a while, but just recently a few new spots have been popping up, one of which is the Waterloo Cafe (www.waterloocafe.com). I came last weekend after the Waterloo Arts Festival. Little did I know that that weekend was the cafe's grand opening! And now I am back typing away thanks to their free wifi! While here, me and my two cohorts have enjoyed a breakfast burrito, a cold brewed coffee, a draft beer, a tex-mex wrap, and one of their working-on-becoming-infamous Waterloo Cookies, all of which have been just delicious (especially the beer!). It is actually connected to the Community Art Center, which exhibits local art (and was a part of the Arts Festival). This neighborhood definitely has the feel of one of those neighborhoods that is yet "undiscovered" and taken over by the new class of yuppies, ie hipsters. With a lagging economy there's only so many of them to go around and they cannot immerse themselves into every nook and cranny of the city. I'm sure it will be found (possibly with the aid of this post) soon enough and there will be more fixed gear bikes and skinny jeans than you could shake a stick at. But for now, for my final days in the Cleve, I will enjoy Waterloo for all it's splendor.

My quarters in the big apple

2009-06-05T16:56:00.001-07:00

Thanks to my to one of my best friends in the world (and closest thing
I have to a younger brother), Dave, and more thanks to his lovely
girlfriend Aly who got him to move to New York, I'll be put up for the
next 5 days in their posh residence @ 22 E 22nd St. (Apt. 7A- just let
yourself in; the door is unlocked).

Bloggin' fron 35,000 feet!!

2009-06-05T12:06:00.000-07:00

I had planned to begin the chronicles of my six weeks of travels once I got to Cleveland, but seeing as Virgin America offers wifi I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get this blog-party rolling from high in the sky (currently above the surfeit of Nebraska cornfields - we'll see where I am when I finish) (also, I almost had a conniption not being able to check/update my facebook for six and a half hours - whew!)

I'm sure this will all be passe in about a month and a half when every flight has this, but right now it feels as if I'm on the forefront of technology, like I'm the first person to talk on a cell phone or use a microwave. For a mere $12.95 (and the cost of a plane ticket) you too can hop on this wave of technological innovation!

Besides affording me to be a technological trailblazer, Virgin America is also rad for the following reasons:
-their safety video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyygn8HFTCo)
-they conducted a trivia session with free drink/movie coupons while we waited to board.
-did I mention I'm writing this from an airplane in the sky?
-there was a boom box on the floor plugged into the wall blarring dance music as we walked down the corridor to board the plane.

New York City here I come!

Go big or go home

2009-05-02T15:14:00.000-07:00

I work a booth at a farmer's market every Saturday morning. There's this girl who works at another booth just a few stalls down. For the past few weeks we have chatted here and there - she even gave me a bite of her frozen yogurt the other day as we were all breaking down our tents. I've always enjoyed talking to her and she's super cute, so this week, I decided that I would ask her out.

It was like going to bat against a pitcher that you haven't faced before, but you've seen his stuff and think you might have a good shot at getting a hit. So I step up to the plate, and take a big swing.

"What are you doing later? There's a show down at the Casbah tonight that I was going to go see. Would you want to go?"

I connect right on the sweet spot of the bat and hit a rocket. Everything about the at bat feels great - good eye contact, level swing, smooth follow through. But I don't even take one step towards first base because the ball goes directly... to... the shortstop.

"That sounds really cool, but so you know, I have boyfriend. Maybe we can hang out another time? As friends?"

I can hear my teammates on the bench, "Good cut... Good cut."

Bathroom Cabinet: 1, My left eye: 0

2009-04-14T18:15:00.001-07:00

Karma Police

2009-04-07T21:03:00.000-07:00

It's funny how things work out.

On the day when my normally passive mother finally divulges her thoughts to me, essentially telling me that my life has been a failure ("You know, you're going to be thirty this year."), I also unintentionally find out that my ex-girlfriend is pregnant with her first child. Of course, these things are bound to happen, and it's quite probable that I would find these things out eventually. But when fucking facebook reveals this tidbit of information, you kind of want to kill the messenger, so to speak.

Facebook affords you the opportunity to connect with people you haven't heard from in years, including the ex-girlfriend who dropped you like a bad habit after a three year relationship (to the day!) without a word of explanation and left you emotionally distraught for years to come and with whom you haven't spoken since shortly after she called you while you were half way across the country with all your belongings packed into your car on your way to meet and live with her in California while she was still staying with your extended family. The joys of online social connectivity!

The best part is that I wasn't even attempting to cyberstalk her. Honest. If I were, then I would be less inclined to chalk this one up to the gods playing a cruel trick on me, and thereby indirectly giving me a wicked hangover tomorrow morning. The circuitous nature by which I found out is unsurprising for anyone familiar with the facebook. You click on a friend's profile, and then click through to another friend, and then while scanning the posts on his wall to see what he's been up to you all of a sudden see a name you haven't seen in some time and read, "Hey! How are you? It's been forever! I'm 4 months pregnant and happier than ever! Especially happier than I ever was when I was with that looser Zach - whatever happened to him anyways? Actually, who cares? That guy was going nowhere with his life!"

Ok, so I made that last part up. But after getting taken to task by my loving mother - whose opinion is one of the few I actually care about in this world (to be fair, she does care about me very much and was just speaking her mind, which is better than her normal passivity, I guess...) - it kind of took that form in my wildly overactive brain. I definitely do not approve of wallowing, nor do I enjoy complaining to others about my (especially when put in perspective) meaningless difficulties that everyone has dealt with at some point in his or her life. But since no one actually reads this, I figure I can get away with this as more or less an online journal entry.

And all this, after hearing last fall that the other half of my most recent relationship - that ended with some spectacular fireworks - was also with child. Granted, I don't pine for either of these women, but it definitely draws a sharp contrast to the view my mother has about the apparent dearth of production in my life up to this point. ("What have you been doing with your life?")

When it rains it pours, my friend(s). Or maybe it's just when something gets you down, it's easy to look around and only focus on the bad shit happening, filtering out any positive around you. Either way, I'll have another, kind sir. Better make it a double this time.

pounding the pavement

2009-03-23T09:43:00.000-07:00

Of two of you that read this, maybe one of you saw my first post about how I was back running again after a few months off due to an injury. Well, that didn't take and the injury stuck around. Now, 6 months after that illustrious post and still not 100% healed, I did my 5k loop with the intention of repeating this run three times per week for the next several weeks. Cross your fingers that my foot holds up!

Cowel's Mt.

2009-03-18T09:34:00.000-07:00

This morning I borrowed Sasha, my friends Liz and Bruce's dog, and
hiked to the top of Cowel's Mountain. It's the highest point in
Mission Trails Park and you have a full 360 view of all of San Diego.
It's quite the view.

I've never seen a dog happier than when Sasha ran freely in the sage brush after rabbits and who knows what. Though, she definitely used up a good portion of her energy before we got to the steep part just before the summit. At the top - and along the way down - she would find even the smallest patch of shade and plop right down to rest. Poor girl! That's when I would eschew my own thirst and let her drink from my water bottle. She needed it more than I anyways.

Rummage sale

2009-03-16T05:38:00.000-07:00

I got a sweet pair of Modern Amusement pants (that fit perfectly!), a half a dozen strings of christmas lights to put in my back yard, a merino wool sweater (perfect for San Diego) and a sweatshirt that reads, "Happy Birthday Jesus" all for under 7 dollars American.

Etc.

2009-03-15T08:06:00.001-07:00

After three weeks of travel, over two of which were in India, I
noticed a few things. These are all the observences that did not make
it into the blogs for one reason or another.

Hair:
Everyone in India has amazingly well kempt hair, especially the men.
Even the majority of the people on the street had brushed, well
groomed hair, usually styled in a part. Also, almost every single man
you see has on a collared shirt. It may not be nice, and it may not be
clean, but it has a collar. There's something to be said about looking
your best, even when you are living in the street.

Bizzare vs. Bazaar
I'm not sure if the later stemmed from the former, but I tell you
these bazaars here are aptly named. Just craziness everywhere.

Crossing the street:
It's not "like" a game of chicken, it IS a game of chicken. You have
to gage the speed and determination of the oncoming drivers and decide
if you can make it. If you hesitate, then you will never get across.
Someone referred to it as akin to Frogger (the old stand up video game
in which you are supposed to get a frog across the street with traffic
seemingly coming from every direction. Also in a great Seinfeld
episode).

Driving:
The driving here is insane. I've finally figured out the system -
that's not to say that I could drive in it, but I think I understand
it. The driving is actually the same as crossing the street- it's a
constant game of chicken. When a car is coming at you in your lane,
even if it is on the wrong side of the road, it's all about who
flinches first. No one makes sudden moves because every cubic inch (or
centimeter, I guess) is taken up by a either a car, bus, truck,
rickshaw, bicycle, motorcycle, person, cow, dog, elephant, or goat. At
red lights - when people actually stop - and the light is about to
change everyone revs their engines, slides up next to one another and
rolls back and forth. It looks like the start of a demolition derby. I
hope they are hard at work on Grand Theft Auto VII, Delhi.

Inundating:
Another appropriate word to describe what it's like to walk around as
a foreigner. The constant barage of people approaching and/or yelling
at you is exhausting. As I came out of the Los Angeles airport a man
approached me asking if I needed help with anything. I had this
visceral reaction and immediately said "No thank you!" and tried to
walk away. As it turns out, LAX has a cadre of volunteers who actually
just help people at the airport. They're not trying to get money from
you; they're not trying to get you to go to their hotel or ride in
their taxi. It was quite refreshing!

Westerners:
I always find it odd when I see other travelers, other western
travelers trying to fit in to the culture, or more so, trying to be a
local. Usually this is ostensiby in their dress, wearing sarees or
other local garb which they would never be caught in at any other
time. Maybe I'm being judgemental, but it seems as if these people are
trying to be someone different - change who they are - by dressing or
eating differently. I find travel and more so immersion in another
culture allows me to be more of myself, both in the good and bad ways.
But maybe that's why other people travel, to escape who they are for a
short time. I do it to further find myself. I guess it's this
incongruity that gets me.

Handmade:
I'm sure they have automated factories somewhere, but by much of what
I saw, they do most things by hand. Labor is so cheap here it just
makes sense. Out in the mountains I saw a couple of people making
gravel by hand, GRAVEL for Pete's sake!! A guy would sit on a big pile
of larger rocks, grab one, and hit it with a hammer and break it into
smaller rocks. Ridiculous!!

Record keeping:
Every transaction has an associated paper receipt, carbon copy, rubber
stamp, and signature. It's a sure fire bureaucracy. I guess this is
what it was like before computers. Someone said to me that India is
about 30 years behind. That makes since all the men dress like they're
straight out of the 70's.

High end, low end:
India's high end is right on par with any developed country's, but
their low end drops off the face of the earth. This dichotomy is
apparent everywhere you go as there are many people living in the
streets while life goes on around them. It is just accepted as the way
it is here. If you stop to think about it you will not get very far.

Fixies!
The hipsters must have sent the fixed gear trend across the world as
many people here ride bicycles, and they are all fixed gear (the
bicycles). The bikes aren't quite as cool looking with matching red
tires to your candy apple frame, but that doesn't make the riders here
pedal any less hard.

Swastikas:
The first time I saw one emblazoned on a temple I figured India was
not overrun with white supremists, but found it curious nonetheless. I
unfortunately have not had the appropriate internet time to research
this, so if anyone has better information please post it. From the
Buddhists I asked, they said it is an ancient symbol for peace, an
ironic, but maybe purposeful symbol that Hitler must have usurped.
Even realizing that the sybmbol was theirs first, I still can't get
over the impact of seeing them all over with the weight of the meaning
they carry for us westerners. (I saw one guy walking around with a
large swastika on the front of his t-shirt. Can you imagine someone
wearing that in the US?!)

Carlos and Aashumi:
The night if the wedding when we were all hanging out at the rooftop
bar, Aashumi recalled the story of how they met, their courting, etc.
One detail in particular stood out to me: after the second time they
had met, Carlos made Aashumi 16 mix tapes. Sixteen!!!! And then he
Fedexed them to her for her birthday! Overnight! (she was living in NY
at the time, he in DC) The most mixtapes I've ever made for a girl is
like five, and that was over a period of two or three months. But
that's probably why Carlos is married and I haven't been in a stable
relationship in six years. I guess I just haven't been willing to put
in the effort... Sixteen!!!

It's good to be home

2009-03-14T01:54:00.000-07:00

After 36 hours of travel, with no sleep, on two busses, three taxis, three planes, and a 130 mile drive I have finally made it to my wonderful bed! India and France were both quite amazing, but it is nice to be back in the land where there are trash cans and water fountains, you don't don't have to brush your teeth with bottled water, and artificially sweetened cereals are in abundance (gotta have my Pops!). God bless The USA!

Adiós, India

2009-03-12T16:05:00.000-07:00

The cab driver who took me to the airport tried to rip me off by
switching the 500 rupee note I gave him with a 100 ruppee note and
claim that I didn't pay him enough. This final episode of malfeasance
left a bad taste in my mouth, that is, until I saw this: (read to the
meter of the old-school rap song "These Are The Breaks")

The last hurrah:

2009-03-12T15:37:00.001-07:00

After traveling all over India, including on it's capital (Delhi) and
largest city (Mumbai) I finally found a wireless signal 100 yards from
the ocean. A little hotel restaurant right near where I was staying
had wifi. And it was free if you ate there! I had eat breakfast
anyways, so I figured I could also send out the posts that had been
accumulating in my iPhone in anticipation of this apparently hard to
locate service.

I uploaded as many posts and pictures as I could as my battery was
about to run out and I wanted to save a little juice "just in case".
My plan was to catch both buses this time, and then a cab the last leg
to the airport.

I teamed up with a couple Israelis on my 1.5 km walk out of town who
happened to be headed the same way. I figured safety in numbers... or
misery in company, depending on the outcome. Thankfully both bus
rides, along with the transition were uneventful. On one of the buses
the quote, "If you wish to love people, never judge them" was posted.
I love that there are positive messages like that everywhere you go;
we could use more of that in America.

I killed some time in Panaji before going to the airport. The town was
mostly dead due to the Holi holiday. I did, however, meet a friend
while I sat along the river side. He gently applied a small amount of
dye to my forhead and cheeks in celebration of Holi. Happy Holi!

Gotta love the holidays!

2009-03-12T15:36:00.002-07:00

Don't you love it when you think you have everything planned out
perfectly and then something like a national holiday throws a monkey
wrench at you?

The 24+1 (the plus one was Lexi's) postcards I had written were just
screaming for stamps to make the journey on their own to the US and
Australia- like a mama bird pushing her babes out of the nest, I
wanted to send these suckers off. Of course I waited until the last
possible day.

I had planned to stop by the post office right before I caught the bus
out of Arambol. The bus stop is literally right next to the post
office. What I didn't account for was the national holiday of Holi.
The closest holiday I can compare it to in the US is St. Partick's
Day, except everyone throws brightly colored dye/water on each other.
It's a holiday for the celebration of good, as far as I can tell. In
any case, the post office was closed and I'm stuck sending the cards
with US postage. So it goes.

Hiking in the hills of Goa

2009-03-12T15:36:00.001-07:00

Goa reminded me of Florida a bit, except less trashy. The weather is
about the same - hot and muggy - and they both are kinda marshy.
Although, things quickly increased on the trashy scale as I entered
the town. Since the area was taken over by tourists, the local economy
has adjusted accordingly and caters to them exclusively, even at the
most northern of the Goan beaches where I was staying.

Interestingly enough, a great percentage of the tourists were Russian
and Israeli. You also had your standard fare of Brits, with a strong
contingent from the German squad, not to mention a few French thrown
in there for good measure. I didn't come across too many Americans
however. This was the most heterogeneous mix of people I had been
around since arriving in India. In fact, I found the whole of the
country to be quite homogeneous, so much so that I would rarely see
another foreigner for long stretches of time. In terms of homogeny,
India is kind of like Bethesda (except the opposite color).

The hovel I stayed in was just a one minute walk from the beach. I was
close enough that I could hear the waves crashing against the beach in
the morning. I pretended that they were calling my name to come play
in them, which I happily obliged both mornings I was there.

After my first morning swim, I decided to hike up the hills that run
north along the coast. Devon, my neighbor from Jersey (not the 'New'
one, but the one in the English Channel), told me that there was a
hippie colony in the woods not too far away. I figured I might come
upon it during my hike, which might prove interesting, if nothing less.

It was about 92 or 93 degrees out, and very humid. I stuck my water in
my pack, applied some sunscreen (not enough, as it turned out) and set
out to earn myself a hearty meal and Kingfisher beer for dinner.

The beginning was pretty open, which provided panoramic views of the
entire Adaman coast. After the first big hill, the path began to head
inland as there was a small stream and valley flowing into the ocean.
I figured I could hike around the valley and drop down onto the beach
from the other side. This plan would have worked out beautifully if
the path didn't disappear. Actually, "disappear" is inaccurate; it's
more like "split into a dozen different off shoots, none of which were
well trodden." I decided that getting lost in the urban nexus of Delhi
wasn't enough for me, so I started to bushwhack my way through the
overgrown path. It wouldn't have been so bad if every other plant
didn't have large and extremely sharp thorns on it. I began to regret
my decision to hike in shorts.

Finally, after many u-turns, I found a path that looked as if someone
had actually walked on it in the past six months. Following it down
into the jungle, I eventually came across a dude just chillin' on his
mat under the canopy of trees reading a magazine - Rolling Stone I
believe - in the middle if the woods. He pointed me in the direction
of a large banyon tree where "some people live". I set out directly
for it. I had found the magical hippie comune! (Actually, before I ran
into this guy, I had seen another place where rocks had been stacked
up and dirt filled in to make a flat area, plus a few things scattered
about giving me a sneaking suspicion that I was close)

Before too long I ran into this huge banyon tree in the middle of the
woods. I could hear voices, so I walked around the tree to find four
hippies sitting around a smoldering fire on another rock and mud built
up area. I said hello. When I casually asked which direction the beach
was, I received a five minute orienteering diatribe from the hippiest
looking one (think Tom Hanks from Castaway) about how water flows
downhill, not up. "Weren't you, like, a scout, man?" When he finished
I thanked him for the lesson and was about to take off when another
guy offered me a cup of chai from a pot he had just made for everyone,
over an open fire, mind you. How could I refuse chai? "Twist my arm,"
I said as I slipped off my shoes and joined them.

The guy who proffered the tea was a younger looking Indian, probably
about 20 or so, with long hair and a Bob Marley cut off t-shirt. I've
already mentioned "agro-hippie", as I secretly named him because after
my lecture he went on to discuss his unhappiness with a recent
purchase and how he wants to fight the guy who may or may not have
overcharged him. The third guy was a bit older than the rest, late
40's to 50's, and looked British or American. He was relatively clean
cut and spoke not a word the entire time I was there. The fourth dude
also appeared to be native, with an almost shaved head, white paint
streaking his arms, and only a sarong on. There was also a dog hanging
out, who, appropriately, had a red paint mark between his eyes just
like the hippies'.

I didn't stay long, just long enough to finish my tea and listen to
the monkeys howling in the trees above us. Right as I set off a
Russian couple came up the path and stopped by, she in a bikini, and
he in tight trunks; it couldn't have been better timing. I hiked out
to the beach and had a couple nice swims before exploring further up
the rocky coastline.

Main train station in Mumbai

2009-03-12T00:33:00.000-07:00

Those darn Portuguese always have to leave their mark, don't they?

Jain temple

2009-03-12T00:30:00.000-07:00

Goa

2009-03-10T21:19:00.001-07:00

The flight from Mumbai is a short one, under an hour. I had my journey all set up to get to Arambol, one of Goa's most northern beaches, and away from a lot of the touristy areas.

My plan had me taking a pre-paid taxi to Panaji (the closest big town) and then catching two busses, the second of which would drop me off about 1.5 km outside of town and I'd have to walk the last bit. Nevermind that I didn't have a place set up to stay- I figured I could find one when I got there. Once outside the airport, I thought about the odds of me screwing something up/getting screwed and how they would increase not linearly, but exponentially with two bus trips. So in an effort to hedge my bets I decided to pay the extra 150 rupees to get to the next city up, Mapusa where I would only have to catch one bus to my destination.

I found the bus to Arambol no problem; I just asked a couple people and they pointed me to the correct bus. At 3:48pm while waiting for the bus to depart I spotted my first hippie! For those of you that don't know, Goa became a proverbial Mecca for hippies in the 60's. Someone must have found the tranquil beaches here and sent word. While here I've gotten a look of disdain from a few of them, like a "I was here first" kind of look. But actually, it was the Indians who were here first, and then the Mughals for a short bit, and then the Portuguese set up shop before being
pushed out first by the British, an then finally by the Indians after independence. So really, the hippies were like 6th. And you could even make the argument that they have set the stage for another wave of colonization and have paved the way for all the tourists that now swamp the beaches here. That's what I have to say about that, man.

Besides being sweaty and cramped, the hour long ride wasn't so bad. Try to picture what a hot, rickety bus from a small town in India to an even smaller town is like and you'd probably be right. Both rows of two seats were full, sandwichimg the center isle full of standing passengers. If this were a sandwich, I would be somewhere near the mustard and the cheese.

I made it no problem and found a cheap-o place to crash for two nights before I return to Mumbai for my plane flight back to the good ol' U-S-and-A.

As promised...

2009-03-10T21:08:00.000-07:00

http://www.vimeo.com/3443682

The day after

2009-03-10T21:04:00.003-07:00

We were all meeting for lunch in town at a restaurant before most
people flew back that night, leaving me to my own devices for a couple
days. I had loosly planned to go south to the slendid beahes of Goa,
but had nothing set up yet. I went to the train station in Mumbai on
Sunday hoping to purchase tickets down and back. The journey would be
about 8-12 hours each way, depending on the train. I hoped to take an
overnight train Sunday night so I would arrive Monday morning.

I arrived at the train station a pro, already having booked a ticket
in Delhi a week prior. I filled out my slip and approached the
foriegner ticket counter and waited as there was one person in front
of me. As soon as he finished, the gentleman behind the counter
informed me he was on his lunch break and placed his wooden "KINDLY
WAIT" sign in front of his ticket window. To his credit, it was
clearly posted that lunch was from 11:50-12:10. I couldn't complain.
While I waited I watched the Russian tourists sittin next to me be
loud and obnoxiuos while sipping straight from a Bailey's bottle.

Upon the ticketman's return I confidently handed him my paper. He
confidently handed it back and informed me that all trains to Goa were
full for then next two days. Ugh. All the advice I had gotten told me
to book early. That's what I get for not listening.

I decided to figure it out after lunch, for which I was already late.
I entered the restaurant to find all the family and guests spread out
amongst a number of tables. Aashumi's one uncle and aunt who I had
chatted with during the mhendi and wedding ceremonies beckoned me to
sit down next to them. The uncle poured me a glass of beer and the
aunt explained the menu to me.

This was a thali restaurant. Thalis are basically a big metal dish
with different comparmenta that are each filled with different dishes.
This restaurant had one big plate and then a bunch of small stainless
steel bowls for the food. There were three kinds of thalis, from three
different regions of the country. I of course opted Goethe combo
plater, consisting of all three. Beyond the food that fills the bowls,
you also receive endless bread, fried treats and coitleas other things
that seemed to just appear on my plate. Half way through the meal I
had more food than when I started out! I managed to stuff my fat face
as much as possible... And then I had a little more. It was all so
delicious!

We walked next door to a music store where I purchased some Indian
music and possibly the coolest t-shirt ever.

I decided that hanging out by myself for three more days in Mumbai was
not an option, so I went to the Internet cafe and bought a cheap (thnk
Southwest) ticket to fly to Goa. Done and done.

The Wedding

2009-03-10T21:04:00.001-07:00

Carlos and Aashumi's wedding was the impetus for this entire trip, so
it was lovely to celebrate with them on their wedding day.

On Saturday, the day of the wedding, Lexi and I set out to see a Jain
temple and to do more shopping of course. Jainism is a descendant of
Hinduism, similar in the same way that Catholicism and Protestantism
are (so actually quite distinct). The temple was very interesting,
with much ornamentation. There was a quote written above a set of
stairs that I particularly liked: "Everyman is the architect of his
own fortune."

After we went to a store called Anoki where they had marvelous hand-
printed fabrics in everything from table cloths to clothes. They have
a factory set up in another part of of the country where many workers
utilize the age old process of printing with wooden blocks carved with
intricate designs. Lexi about bought the store out!

Then we headed to Chimanlals, a paper store recommended to me by my
goodfriend Elaine who is from Mumbai. The shop is kind of tucked away
on this little tree lined street. If you know me, then you know I'm a
sucker for paper goods, especially hand made cards and envelopes; I
was a kid in a candy store. I pretty much bought one of everything,
and it only came to 1000 rupees ($20). How cool is that?

Then we came back to get ready for the wedding. I dressed in my new
silk kurta and Lexi in a traditional womens outfit, not a saree, but a
blinged out top with a long skirt and a beautiful scarf. She looked
spectacular! And in her words, she said she "looks like Hillary
Clinton attending some state dinner trying to look 'traditional'."
That or the Eat, Pray, Love woman going through her midlife crisis.

The way the wedding proceeds is that the groom and his entire posse
show up together and are accepted by the bride's family. There are a
series of rituals that different members of the bride's family goes
through before the bride herself appears and trades necklaces with the
groom. Then everyone enters and sits down for a couple hours of more
rituals. Meanwhile, many of the guests are just milling about, eating
appetizers and having conversations. It was quite strange, although
I'm told this is standard. Aashumi was kind enough to put together a
worksheet that explained all oft he ceremonial aspects of the wedding
which proved to be quite useful (and interesting) for us foreigners.

Then there was more food followed by lots of mingling. As the party
was dying down we put together a plan for all the "younger" people to
rendevous (bride and groom included) at a rooftop bar. It was a very
swanky place, with drinks costing the same as at any NY or LA hotspot.
There were white sofas everywhere and we had a spot right next to the
pool. It was a great night! Congratulations to Carlos and Aashumi!

Memorial at the Taj Hotel

2009-03-10T21:01:00.001-07:00

Sunrise at Glenburn

2009-03-10T21:00:00.001-07:00

The food I made in Delhi

2009-03-10T20:59:00.001-07:00

Morning tea at Glenburn Tea Estate

2009-03-10T20:57:00.000-07:00

My henna!

2009-03-10T20:55:00.002-07:00

Lexi and her henna!

2009-03-10T20:55:00.001-07:00

Mehendi Ceremony:

2009-03-10T20:50:00.004-07:00

The mehendi ceremony was a blast. There were all these pillows set up
on the floor with sheets covering them; this is where the henna took
place. Women would take turns sitting in front of the henna artists
(I'm sure they have an official name; I just don't know it) and these
women (the artists) would apply intricate designs, often with two
women working on one person at the same time (one hand each). After
inquiring if it was acceptable (it was), I opted to get some done on
my wrists and it looked fabulous! If you have not had it done before,
the henna is applied as a thick paste that takes a couple hours to dry
whence it eventually crumbles off leaving a dark orange or red
pattern. The supposed reason that the men are invited is to serve the
women food and drink since they cannot make use if their hands for a
couple hours.

Speaking of food- holy shit. There was so much food, and it was all
outstanding. As one guy James said, "These people even out do the Jews
with the amount of food they push on you." During the mehendi, there
were appetizers and drinks being tray passed. Then they opened up a
dosa station- essentially Indian crepes- and a "sizzling brownie"
station. I had a masala dosa: potatoes, onions, and spice! Then, just
as I was loosening my belt a notch, I found out that dinner was going
to be served in a little bit- dinner!! Then what was that we just
had?! Instead of protesting I just loosened the belt two notches in
anticipation.

Fortunately there was some dancing inbetween meals so I could use some
energy and make room for the food that was about to come. And for
those of you who know my penchant for dancing, well, let's just say
fun was had by all (I even managed to incorporate some Bollywood moves
I observed others doing!)

Dinner was outstanding, with the highlight for me being the naan fresh
out of the naan oven; I love that stuff!

Mumbai:

2009-03-10T20:50:00.003-07:00

The road into/out of Glenburn Tea Estate is quite a journey, but
that's probably part of what makes the place so wonderful. All in
all, it took Lexi and me 12 hours to make the trip from Glenburn Tea
Estate to the hotel in Mumbai: 3hrs of curvy mountain road to the
airport in Bagdogra, 1hr waiting for flight, 1hr flight to Kolkata,
3hr layover, 3hr flight to Mumbai, 1hr to collect bags and get to
hotel. Whew! Needless to say we were exhausted by the time we made it
there. That, and we had no one to wait on us hand and foot anymore!
Poor us!

Carlos, a good friend of Lexi's, was the groom. Lexi worked with him
for years at the public defenders office in DC. His bride to be,
Aashumi, is from Mumbai, but has been living in NYC and now DC for the
past six or ten years (I'm not sure of specific number of years).
There were also a number of people who had also made the trip from the
States, mostly other public defenders and their tagalongs (ie. me) as
well as the cousins, aunts and uncles of Aashumi's that live there too.

Lexi and I set out to do some shopping in the morning before the
Mehendi ceremony that night (during which henna is applied). We took a
cab down to Colaba, the main tourist hub. The main sight there is the
Gateway of India- an emormous arch at the seaport that was originally
built to commemorate King George V's visit in 1911. As you might
imagine, there were plenty of people there trying to sell you
everything from maps and tours of the city to enormous baloons (I have
no idea what those were all about). From here we went to Cottage
Industries, an absolute wonder of a store housing articles from all
over India. Three separate Indian friends told me to go here, and boy
was I glad. I'll spare you the details, but an hour and a half and
$180 later, we were primed for lunch. The other great thing about this
store is that all the prices are fixed, which means no haggling, and
that no one working there even approaches you unless you want to buy
something; it's quite the departure from the rest of my buying
experiences in India.

Upon reccomendation, we decided to go to the Taj Mahal Hotel for
lunch. The Taj was the site of the most recent terror attacks back in
November when armed men came in and started shooting, eventually
holeing up and starting a fire before the authorities took control. I
believe it lasted a couple days. For those of you worrying- mom- the
Taj is probably the safest place to be in India. There are three metal
detectors you must pass through to enter. The hotel itself is probably
one of the nicest hotels I have ever been in. It's in the same
eschelon as the Four Seasons. The story has it that it was built in
the beginning of the 20th century by an extremely successful Indian
businessman after he was refused entry to a European hotel on the
grounds that he was "native". Way to stick it to the man!

Our waiter at lunch has worked there for 33 years and was there when
the attacks went down. He ended up hiding in the bushes for 25 or 30
minutes, witnessing two people get shot, and then helped another man
who was bleeding escape to the nearest hospital. They have a lovely
memorial to those killed set up in the lobby, with a guestbook to sign.

Next we went to FabIndia for more shopping. It's kind of like an
Indian Urban Outfitters. I bought traditional Indian wear for the
wedding - I looked awesome! Then it was back to the hotel to get ready
for the mehendi ceremony- how fun!

Final day at Glenburn

2009-03-10T20:50:00.001-07:00

We spent our last day at the tea estate eating and sipping tea; I
think I was up to about 12 cups of tea per day at this point among
morning tea, breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner. I was soon
up for a serious withdrawl once we left this land of tea. I did manage
to get to taste tea that had been picked and processed the day before-
it was as fresh as you can have it!

We did go for a short hike into one of the eight villages on the
estate. On it we stopped by a school where there were four classrooms
of about a dozen students each separated into grades 1-4. We could
hear the mayhem of screaming children as we approached. But one of
them happened to get a glimpse of us and must have ran and told
everyone else as they were all sitting obediently when we walked up.
The kids were all rosy cheeked and excited to see us, regularly
shouting out "Hi!" and "How are you!", which must be the first two
English phrases they learn.

We had another delicious meal, this time with about 19 people total- a
full house! Most of the other guests were from Britain, with a couple
Australians and Indians mixed in. Many of the Brits were stuffy,
older, and quite ridiculous. Lexi put it best: "It was like being in
the middle of a British sitcom."

We wished we could have stayed longer, but all good things must come
to an end. Plus, we were on to our next adventure-the wedding in Mumbai!

Airport warning sign

2009-03-10T05:44:00.000-07:00

As the bottom of the sign informs you, the list is not exhaustive, but
does include bamned items such as "Brass Knuckles", "Bows and Arrows",
"Hockey Sticks" and the ever dangerous "Pickles" (bottom right).

Darjeeling

2009-03-09T21:03:00.000-07:00

We spent a good part of the day in Darjeeling itself. It's quite a
lovely mountain town, though I hear it has gotten busier and busier
over the past few years. The first activity we did was go to the zoo
and the Himilayan Mountaineering Institute (HMI). The zoo had some
interesting animals, including a tiger and a couple red pandas, but
the highlight was the HMI.

It was set up right after the first successful summit of Mt. Everest
by the Nepalese man who made the journey with Sir Edmund Hilary, and
whose name eludes me at this moment. There are many cool artifacts
from the different journeys and attempts to climb the world's largest
mountain. After, we visited the Tibetan refugee village just outside
of town. Here a number of Tibetans live and work. We saw an entire
room where Tibetan rugs were being weaved on a dozen or so old wooden
looms- it was very interesting. They have a shop where you can
purchase the goods they make and help support their village. After
making a few purchases, we went back into town to do some more shopping!

Prakash took us to a pashmina shop. You so on little stools while a
man sits crosslegged on a slightly raised platform just in front of
you. His assistant grabs dozens of beautiful scarves from towering
shelfs full of folded ones lining the tiny shop. They unfold the
cloths so you can see the amazing colors and embroidery. The
artisanship that goes into these is just stunning. After struggling
with having to pick out just a few, we then set forth on finding a
price. I think we did ok, but probably could have gotten him lower.
Next we hit a curio shop filled with wonderful items with everything
from 20 rupee key chains to exquisetly crafted silver and jewel budda
statues. I bought a Tibetan necklace made from yak bone and a book on
all the Hindu gods. Most of the people in this region are of Nepalese
descent rather than Indian as Nepal is so close. So many of the items
in the store were also from the surrounding areas.

We hoped in the car and headed down the mountain in time to catch
dinner back at the tea estate. Darjeeling is a magical little town
tucked away in the mountains. I highly recommend visiting if you ever
get the chance.

Hike to Darjeeling

2009-03-09T20:33:00.000-07:00

The hike to Darjeeling is 20-25km (12-15 miles), depending on which
way you go, and climbs about 4000 feet in elevation as Darjeeling sits
right around 7000 feet above sea level. I was told the hike would take
from five to five and a half hours. We did it in three hours and
twenty minutes. That's right.

I got up at 6am to have my mornimg tea and watch the sun rise. My
guide, Prakash, came to meet me at my room at about 6:45 with a fully
loaded backpack. Prakash is a slight man; I doubt he weighs 100
pounds. He has a full, thick beard, putting mine to shame. On this
morning he had on slacks and a Glenburn sportcoat and the obsequious
tone that most of the staff have was noteably absent. I liked him
immediately.

To start the hike they drive you out of the estate and down into the
valley (this is not included in the 25k). Once at our drop off point
Prakash left his bag in the vehicle as the car was going to follow us
(again) and meet up for "breakfast". This pampering thing was cool and
all, but I was interested in going for a hike, not a leisurely stroll
with occasional breaks where someone serves you lemonade on a tray in
the middle of the woods. I brought my pack, and when Prakash offered
to carry it for me, I said "no thank you" and pulled the straps
tighter. I'm not going to make another man carry my bag; it's just not
going to happen.

Prakash started down the road (with vehicle following) but quickly
strayed off onto a small path. We continued downhill, alternating
between tea fields, woods, and small villages. He seemed to just float
downhill, especially down rocky paths where he would bounce
effortlessly from rock to rock. I managed to keep up, albeit much less
gracefully. In hindsight, I think he was maybe testing me to see my
hiking ability. Along the way he pointed out all the different plants
and bird calls - he knew both the plants' botanical as well as common
names. This conversation naturally led into vegetables and fruits (as
many there were many trees fruit trees), paving the way for further
discussion of food, a favorite topic of mine. We got along just fine.

We met up with the vehicle along the road and Prakash broke out the
tea, biscuts, sandwiches, etc. There was a veritable feast to be had!
However, I opted just for some tea and a couple little biscuits as I
did not want to weigh myself down before this hike. I implored Prakash
to take most of the food and things out of his bag as not to weigh him
down, but he insisted on carrying the prepacked sandwiches, "just in
case". I didn't argue; it was his funeral, as they say.

Instead of following the road (as do most people), Prakash and I set
up the mountainside along a narrow path through plentiful tea fields.
There's not much cover - the tea plants are only a couple feet tall -
so the majority of the hike was in the sun, though this also provided
for spectacular vistas the entire way up. Prakash kept taking
"shortcuts", which I renamed "steepcuts" as they took us straight up
rather than the usual switchback. Though the steepcuts probably took a
few kms off our total hike, they definitely made for some precarious
climbing, often with only enough room for one foot to plant safely.

Whenever we looked up the mountain we could see Darjeeling hovering
above us as we inched closer. I'm pretty sure Prakash had not taken
this route before. I say this with pretty assured measure because as
we got closer to the top he stopped and asked every single person we
came upon (not many) which way to go.

At one point while we were taking a water break Prakash told me his
sister just got engaged and that she lives in Darjeeling. He asked me
if I liked chai tea and if I wanted to stop at his sister's house on
the way up. I'm pretty sure this was not standard operating
proceedures, but I excitedly accepted. He pulled out his phone and put
in an order to his sister for some tea. It was like a little bonus on
the hike!

As we started to get into the developed area, dirt path changed to
semi paved walkways and stairs, equally as precarious. The
mountainside is steep, and the views that each of these ramshackle
buildings has is phenomenal. Views like this would cost $1-2 million,
easy, in Cali. We snaked our way up through the houses until finally
Prakash stopped and yelled up. We had found his sister's house!

The house was a series of rooms on different levels, each separate
from the others. The house was built out of concrete, and had a large
deck at the top level overlooking the entire valley below. I was led
into a room where there were three men already sitting around a glass
coffee table: his father, uncle, and brother-in-law. Everyone was
there apparently to receive the sister's new fiancé- a traditional
cerimony I suppose. The men were all very nice and spoke at worst
decent English, which droppped the rating on the awkward scale to
about a 7. I wouldn't say there was a lot of conversation going on,
but we did manage to talk about how Darjeeling has changed and Obama
(the latter of which has turned out to be a hot topic throoughout
India- more on this later). The majority of the 30 or 40min I was
there we spent in awkward silence. Our tea arrived and it was the best
chai yet! She also brought these delectible little sweets (which were
well received after my strenuous hike). They were like donut holes,
except made from many tiny donut holes the size of quiñoa pushed
together with a sugary glaze. I believe Prakash was hanging out with
his sister this entire time.

I thanked everyone and congratulated his sister before we set off for
the top of the town where we were to meet up with Lexi, who had opted
to get a ride up.

First day in paradise

2009-03-06T02:18:00.000-08:00

The estate can only accomodate about 20 guests at a time, so staying
here is rather intimate. We each managed to get our own room. Mine was
just amazing. About 500 sqft, with all wood floors and 20 foot tall
ceilings, the room had a very colonial style. What's wonderful is that
of is not faux-colonial- it's all pretty authentic, down to the silver
tea pot brought to my bedside each morning. All the guests meet for
breakfast and dinner- kind of like a big dinner party. Our first night
there were only about eight people. Neenah, was our very accomodating
host. She runs a tight ship and makes sure the guests are always happy
by giving orders to the numerous staff always about. She dined with us
at all the meals, and gave us lots of tips for things to do during our
stay, always with flexibility for us to do things to our liking at our
own pace.

After breakfast and the factory tour Lexi and I went for a guided hike
down to "camp". It's about a two hour hike down the mountainside to
the river where they have a quaint, rustic little lodge, available for
overnight stays if desired. Not only did we have a nice young woman
lead us on our hike through the tea fields, but also there was a jeep
that followed us so that we could have lunch when we arrived. It was
all so reduculius and foreign to me, to have someone, or many people
in this case, to be of service. Later in the day when I was siting at
my desk writing and someone brought me tea on a tray, I just started
laughing (after they left, of course). I'm just not used I having
anyone do anything of that nature for me, ever.

At the bottom of the hike in camp Lexi and I sat down for a
rediculously good lunch of grilled fish, two kinds of salad, quiche
and bananas foster for dessert. I also enjoyed a delicious beer. And
instead of having to hike all the way back uphill, they insisted in
driving us back. I actually had been looking forward to a good uphill
hike, but I wasn't yet willing to disturb the apple cart, as they say.
We did, however, stop on the way and do a short hike through the woods
and across a 100 year old suspention bridge into Sikkim, the northern
neighboring state (with some political searation from the rest of
India), tucked in between Nepal and Bhutan.

This was a lovely way to spend my first day at Glennurn. At dinner, we
decided that we would go to Darjeeling the next day. I, however, after
hearing that a couple of the guests had hiked there earlier in the
week, made it known that I was going to walk. Lexi concurrently
decided to get a ride and meet meet me there. I went to bed excited
for my trek through the mountains, even though I would be leaving at
6:30 in the morning.

Darjeeling Un-limited!

2009-03-06T02:16:00.002-08:00

Lexi and I made it through the domestic airport no problem, including
going through the separate security lines for men and women. We landed
in Bagdogra, a small airport in East Bengal, one of the northeastern
states in India. We were picked up at the airport by a representative
of the Glenburn Tea Estate.

I should take a moment here to mention how wonderful my sister is. The
entire impetus for this trip was Lexi's friend's wedding. Lexi asked
me to join her AND funded a great portion of the cost, without which
it would not have been possible for me to have these amazing
experiences. Thank you Lexi!!!! Now, back to the story...

Lexi arranged for us to stay on a tea estate, which is probably most
analogous in the US to a wine estate. Glenburn is situated in the
mountains, about an hour and a half drive on mountainous roads to
Darjeeling. In fact, from the estate you can see Darjeeling high up on
the mountain top a couple of ridges away. Staying at Glenburn is like
staying in a full service five star hotel, except you are surrounded
by mountains and small villages. The drive from the airport took about
three hours, much of which went through small villages reminicent to
me of SE Asia, Laos in particular. We also traveled through a nature
preserve before we started climbing.

Bagdogra is just above sea-level, where Glenburn is at about 3200
feet, though we had to climb to 6400' through teak and pine forests
before dropping down into the estate, with the last few miles on an
unpaved, bumpy road. The vistas along the way were unceasing and
amazing.

The tea plantations are quite striking. Each plant looks like a small
bush, about 2 feet high and the same in diameter. Each is trimmed to
have a flat top and is spaced just far enough apart from the next one
for a small Indian woman to be able to squeeze between them. The
bushes themselves are between 100 and 120 years old. The bottom leaves
are dark green and left alone. Only the new, bright green leaves
growing from the pruned branches are picked, so each branch only
yeilds two tea leaves at a time. The pickers must wait till the next
day for the new shoots to grow. The tea bushes line the hills in all
directions, with trees and other fauna spotting the hillside.

The estate itself was built some time ago. The buildings have a very
colonial feel to them, as the British are the ones who introduced tea
to this area (though there are some studies now suggesting that the
tea plant may actually be indigenous to India, though uncultivated).
The factory sits right in the middle of it all. We took a tour during
which they explained to us all the steps of processing tea. It is all
very delicate and anyone misstep can ruin it. (if you have no interest
in the production of tea, then stop reading here)

There are four picking seasons from February to November: 1st flush,
2nd flush, Monsoon, and Autumn. We arrived right at the beginning of
the 1st flush.

There are four basic steps to the process for black tea (green tea in
a minute). After picking, the leaves are left to "wither". During this
step the leaves are spread on large screen beds, separated by type of
plant (there are three different species grown here) and location on
the estate. Unheated air is then blown from underneath to dry out the
leaves. Only about 22% of the leaves are dry matter; the rest is
water. The withering process lasts between eight hours and overnight,
very much depending on the humidity, etc. After this the leaves are
rolled in these large pneumatic machines that roll the leaves by
spinning them while a large plate presses down on them. This step
starts to break down the cells of the leaves. After filtering out the
fine material they are spear out on large metal tables to ferment.
This lasts about 40 minutes, again depending on the atmospheric
conditions. From here they are loaded into the dryer where hot air
(only about 245 degrees) is passed over them ad they run through a
series of conveyers. Then the leaves are sorted through a number of
screens which separates the leaves into different sizes. These are
then gone through by hand to pick out the stems.

Green tea is actually the same exact leaves, it just skips the
withering and fermenting steps. The fresh leaves are put into a
tumbler and steam is applied for three minutes and then let to dry.
They give the leaves a light roll (less pressure) and put them into
the dryer and then sort them.

It's all supremely facinating, especially for its simple yet delicate
process.

Last day in Delhi

2009-03-06T02:16:00.001-08:00

I visited two sights on this morning: an historic mosque and the Red
Fort, both in Old Delhi. The mosque, Jama Masjid, is a red sandstone
building at the top of two or three dozen steps. There is a large
plaza with the actual mosque at one end and minarets in the corners.
Visitors are allowed to climb the 121 stairs to the top of one ofthe
minarets. The circular stone stairway is narrow and dark, with
occasional look outs. At the top you are treated with an unfettered
panoramic view of India's capital city. I think seeing anything from
that high up is always striking; it's just such an unusual vantage
point.

From here I walked to the Red Fort, a very large and important piece
of India's history. The entire grounds are surrounded by red sandsone
walls. For many years the army was housed here- even the British used
this as a troop depot during their reign. There are many structures
contained within the walls along with vast gardens and grass. There
are (now empty) waterways where water would flow from pool to pool
throughout the entire place. It was very tranquil there, even with the
honking off in the distance (it never stops!)

I returned to the Wongdhen House for lunch and then moved my
belongings to a different abode as my sister Lexi was to arrive late
that night. Not only did I want to have a nicer and more spacious
place for when she arrived, but also I wanted to be closer to the
airport since we were then departing the next morning, just hours
after she got in. I managed to reserve a homestay in the same complex
where I was set to take a cooking class that evening- a nice
convenience.

My cooking class was superb! I was joined by one other girl- an
American, the first one I had seen in sometime. Our wonderful
instructor, Lalit, taught us four dishes: Dal Makhini (lentils), Aloo
Ghobi (cauliflower and potatoes), Paneer Rolls (Indian cheese rolls),
and Paranthas (a type of fried bread).

The class was originally going to be all demonstration, but seeing as
we were in a small space (just in a regular kitchen) I could not help
getting my hands dirty. Lalit and I immediately hit it off, as we both
approach food similarly (without hesitation!). He said he used to run
his own street food stand while in school to help pay the bills. If
you've seen the number and variety of food stalls all around Delhi you
would understand how impressive this is.

After finishing I sat down to eat all of our lovely creations. Lalit
was kind enough to give me a few more recipies, along with
instructions for real chai tea, which I'm excited to make when I get
back!! (and to share- come over!)

I took my second shower of the week and waited to go pick Lexi up from
the airport at 1am. After a slight miscommunication of where to meet
(which resulted in my waking someone up at 1:30am) the driver and I
picked Lexi up from the airport so that she could get a few winks of
sleep before we set off again at 9 the next morning.

And on this day he rested!

2009-03-06T02:16:00.000-08:00

After a whirlwind week of non-stop travel and sightseeing I decided to
take a day to recover. I mozied downstairs for a breakfast of tea, OJ,
and a honeyed pancake- this was going to be a good day! I went back to
my room and relaxed/read/wrote/napped until lunch.

After my delicious thukpa- a hearty Tibetan noodle soup- I ventured
outside into the Tibetan district. While still active, the hustle and
bustle of central Delhi was thankfully no where to be found. I found
the one internet cafe and proceeded to pound out travel updates for
the next 4 hours, costing me an exorbinant 80 rupees! ($1.60 for those
of you keeping track).

On my way back, I managed to get a little lost (imagine that) and
happened upon this narrow passageway that had a series of large wooden
Tibetan prayer wheels mounted on the wall for passerbys to spin. Quite
interesting.

Before dinner, I discovered the rooftop patio that overlooked the
river just behind the hotel. I would have spent more time out there if
it were not for the army of mosquitos that guarded the door.

Taj Mahal

2009-03-06T02:15:00.000-08:00

This day began at 5am when I roused to catch a ride to the train
station for my 6:15 train to Agra, the town about 2 hours away where
the Taj Mahal is located. I had arranged for a ride, as I was not sure
of what the tuk tuk situation would be that early in the morning. When
I came downstairs I found my driver asleep on the sofa in the lobby
and we motored off into the darkness. Just a couple kilometers down
the road we pulled into the gas station to fill up. It looked like a
Home Depot on a weekday morning as there were dozens of disheveled men
standing around looking like they were ready to work. This was the
second time I've stopped for gas, and both times the driver has made
me exit the vehicle before he filled up. It probably has nothing to do
with liability in case the CNG blows up as I'm sure all those tuk tuks
have regular safety inspections...

As we pulled away my driver stopped and bought two chai teas,
dispensed into dixie cups, from the man walking around with a large
pot. I'll have to say, that was probably the best chai tea I have ever
had. After downing my thimble of tea my new friend was kind emough to
relieve me of my empty drinking vessel and promptly dispose of it out
the driver's side window, just as he had done with his a moment earlier.

The train system in India is quite vast, and amongst the chaos that
surrounds it, the trains are quite organized and actually run very
much on schedule. I caught mine no problem, especially with the help
of the paper taped to the side of the car that had my name printed on
it next to my seat number. How handy! On the train, I lamented my
failure to see the sunset at the Taj. Instead I watched the golden orb
acsended the polition filled horizon from the comfort of seat #37 in
air-conditioned car #3 of the Shatabdi Express.

I had a surprisingly tasty meal on the train (surprising both because
I received it and because of its quality). After eating, I outlined an
itinerary and budget for the day, all of which was completely thrown
out the window when I found KK.

Upon arrival, before even stepping foot off the train I was being
asked if I wanted a ride and/or tour by half a dozen people, all of
whom I rebuffed as I was obstinate about sticking with my plan. (can
you be 'obstinate about' something?) I went to the prepaid taxi
station where the fares to different areas are set, basically set up
so peole can avoid having to haggle, and KK was assigned to me as my
driver.

A middle aged, slightly overweight, affable man, KK engaged me in
conversation as soon as we set off. He asked me where I was from and
what sights (other than the Taj) I planned to see that day. He began
to indirectly offer his services as a tour guide- a common practice of
tuk tuk drivers. During our conversation he fingered through some of
his belongings, finally producing a couple of well worn notebooks. He
opened one of them to a carefully selected page and handed it back to
me. On the page was a glowing testimonial about his service as a
guide. In fact, the entire book was filled with these, many of which
were in different languages. I'll have to say, KK was the master of
the soft sell. He "understands that not all foreigners are wealthy and
should be taken advantage of", adding "you probably have more than we
do, but that you work just as hard and save up for a long time to take
a trip like this." when everyone else in India is going left, KK is
going right.

He carefully listened to the itinerary I had planned myself and then
gave me some knowledgeable adjustments, with explanations as to why
these would be better. (for example: going to the Taj in the afternoon/
evening rather than the morning because the air is clearer) he quoted
me a price of 650 Rupees (about $13). I did the math in my head,
adding up all the tuk tuk rides between sights for which I would have
I pay, not to mention the haggling, and I gladly accepted.

KK showed me four differet views of the Taj Mahal, including one from
the backside that was completely secluded (no tourists). I bought some
post cards from a young guy and ended up having a nice conversation
with him as he had recently gotten his economics degree and was
currently studying Russian. KK also took me to see another temple
known as the "Baby Taj" for it is similar in construction but much
smaller. However, the signature stone inlay is a little more intricate
here. He also took me to a spot by the river where there is a small
farm run by one family. I was familiar with most of the vegetables he
showed me as I have grown most of them myself, a fact KK liked. There
were lots eggplant, fennel, cilantro, corn, cauliflower, potatoes. And
then there was this one funny shaped, 5 sided leafy herb that I was
not familiar with...

After lunch KK took me to see some traditional "art". He took me to a
couple places where they were making rugs, marble inlays, an a number
of curios. As it turned out, all of the items they were making were
also for sale in their vast gift shops. How convenient! I didn't take
this obvious set up too hard as I realize KK gets some sort of
compensation when people purhase things, but I definitely let him know
that I had caught on to this operation. By the third one he plainly
asked me if I would just spend 15 minutes in the shop otherwise he
looses face; I was happy to oblige.

After the "art" we ventured over to the main event: the Taj Mahal. Now
I've seen pictures of this thing, but let me tell you this thing is
unreal.

There are three entrances, all of which lead to a large courtyard.
From there you walk through a large gateway, or arch that opens up to
the main grounds. Walking through you are provided a perfectly
aligned, front and center view of the Taj. It literally stops you in
your tracks. Now, I've seen many pictures of this thing, but let me
tell you it is unreal. This building is just stunning. The entire
thing is built out of white marble, with copious intricate carvings
and stone inlays, all perfectly symetric (as is all Islamic art).
There are rectangular shallow pools leading up to the front, with
quite lovely gardens and walking paths on either side of the pools.
The building is built on a large marble slab, raising the entire thing
up and giving only empty sky for a backdrop. As you move closer you
realize the enormity of this structure. The domed center looms high in
the sky with the four perfectly placed minarets guarding this palace
from each corner. The Taj was built by Emperor Shah Jahan as a tribute
to his second wife who died giving birth to their 14th child. The
grandeur displayed is amazing; I can only imagine how much he must
have loved that woman. On either side of the Taj are large plazas
that lead to quite large red buildigs, one housing a mosque and the
other supposedly for guests back in the day.

I toured the inside with the hordes of other people, and then found a
nice spot where I could sit down and watch the setting sun throw its
last light onto this most impressive of all manmade structures. I
stayed here for a good hour and a half, just taking it all in.

On the way out, walking through the arch I entered through, everyone's
head was turned trying to steal one last glimpse of that magnificent
building. I found KK and treated him to one last chai before he
dropped me off at the train station for my two hour trip back to Delhi.

Etc:
KK genuinely seemed to enjoy his job, which he has been doing for 22
years. Throughout the day I peppered him with questions about
everything from how Agra has changed over the years (very much) to how
many times he had actually been inside the Taj (3). The best was when
I made an inquiry into how often he works. He is off on Fridays
because the Taj is closed. And then with a large smile crossing his
face he said he also takes Sundays off to spend time with his kids. It
very well could have been a play for pathos, but he went no further
with it so I do not believe it was. When it was time for lunch I had
KK take me to a local restaurant (rather than a touristy place) with
the strict instructions that I not get sick. I of course offered to
buy him lunch, which he willingly accepted. I think the total bill
came to around 240 Rupees, or $5. During lunch we discussed food and
cooking (obviously favorite topics of mine). We went through different
spices and techniques, and he described how he helps his wife prepare
meals.

All in all, hiring KK as my tour guide turned out to be a great
decision. As much as I am a DIY person, this experience softened me up
a bit to accept that sometimes it is better to pay someone for a
service than to do everything myself. I would not have been able to
get such a thorough experience if it were not for KK.

Quick Update

2009-03-03T20:48:00.001-08:00

Hello all,

I apologize for the dearth and staccatto nature of posts lately. Currently I am in the mountains of Northeastern India, in the state of West Bengal. Lexi and I are staying at this lovely tea estate called Glenburn, which is situated in the middle of the mountains, about an hour and half drive from Darjeeling, or a 15 mile hike (more on this later). It is just wonderful here! We leave tomorrow for Mumbai where I should have a good wireless connection and be able to update everything that has transpired since my adventure in Delhi.

I hope everyone is well (assuming anyone is reading this). We'll talk soon.

Zach

My street in Delhi

2009-02-27T17:35:00.000-08:00

Just back behind that pink building is where the Wongdhen house is
located.

Taj full frontal

2009-02-27T17:33:00.000-08:00

Spectacular!

Taj Mahal

2009-02-27T17:32:00.000-08:00

This is from the back side where KK took me for a specatcular (and
free) view of this monstrous monument.

Train ride

2009-02-27T17:26:00.000-08:00

There I am! Seat #37. (This sheet is posted on the outside if each
train car to confirm your seat.)

Gandhi Museum

2009-02-27T17:22:00.000-08:00

This is a sculpture on the grounds of the museum. I very much enjoyed
my visit here.

Wongdhen House

2009-02-27T17:18:00.000-08:00

This is my room in Delhi for the first four nights.

Louvre

2009-02-27T17:14:00.000-08:00

BAD IDEA JEANS

2009-02-27T03:48:00.000-08:00

(WARNING!! For any of you reading this who happen to have given birth to me - you know who you are - you may want to stop reading here)

The fact that the sun had set did not seem to faze me. After all, I had just booked a train ticket in India - I owned this country! Besides, I had looked at the map and knew "exactly" where I was going.... I crossed the bridge over the train station with purpose and weaved in and out of the deluge of cars/people/bikes/buses/tuk tuks/dogs/oxen/etc that defines Delhi's streets.

I was sure of where I was going, even though there are no street signs of any kind or anything distinctive enough to mark my path. That, and I was hesitant to pull out my voluminous travel guide and get hassled by anyone; this was the first time I was able to walk unhindered and just go with the flow. It was like that first time you stand up on a surf board and ride a wave. I kept walking, distantly hoping I would find my tuk tuk driver from earlier who I very much enjoyed, however improbable it would be. I kept up a pretty good pace for a good 45 minutes to an hour. I probably managed to cover about three to four miles, albeit in who-knows-what direction, as full darkness took over. It was around this time that I realized I had no idea where I was and that my decision to walk this far was not the smartest one I had ever made.

At a noisy intersection (what other kind are there here?) where traffic was piling up, I approached a tuk tuk asked to see if he might be able to get be back to the Wongdhen House. A few things complicated the situation:
1. He did not speak English
2. When I tried to show him on the map, it became quite apparent that he not only was not familiar with the map of Delhi, but also that he was not familiar with "maps" on general.
3. I had no idea where I was or how to get where I wanted to be
4. The light had changed to green and traffic was starting to move and I was standing in the middle of it all.

With these consideration (especially the last one) I decided to take my chances and I hopped into his tuk tuk and we took off. Once we cleared the intersection he pulled over and we tried to figure it out together, enlisting the help from a man on the side of the road. After a short conversation with this man, my driver seemed confident that he knew where he was going... I was less so.

I constantly consulted the map and peered out looking for ANYTHING familiar. This was when I realized I had not taken a comprehensive survey of the area surrounding the hotel, a mistake I was dreadfully regretting. After a little bit we entered a stretch that looked vaguely familiar to me, yet it was obvious my driver had not ventured into this area prior. He pulled over and we asked a couple young guys if they knew where the Wongdhen House was; they were of no help.

The driver was going to be of no use, and I somewhat recognized the area we were in from the ride back from the airport. So I decided my best option was to get out and walk as I was sure I was pretty close. How close? That was another question.

I walked down the alley that looked familiar, this time paying attention to my path at each turn in order to extract myself if I did not find it. This turned out to be a good idea since I was not in the correct place. Besides worrying about sticking out like a sore thumb (being the only foreigner around) and having everyone stare at me, I was growing more and more concerned as it was getting later and later. Though no one had shown any aggression toward me, even with the constant barrage of offers/questions throughout the day, I'm smart enough to know that sometimes the rules change at night.

I exited the alley and headed up the main road. This way if anyone were to happen, at least there would be plenty of witnesses, not that they would necessarily do anything about it. I was relying on the good will of man. I asked some teen aged kids if they knew where my hotel was, and again, they were of no help. Apparently the Wongdhen House is not very well known.

I walked up and down the street, hoping that something familiar would pop out (wishful thinking). Finally, I realized I had the phone number in my book! It costs me $2.50/min to make calls in India, which, at this point was cheap compared to my other option of, well, I didn't know what my other option was at this point, but I knew it wasn't good.

Dialing wasn't as easy as I hoped. I used the country code, but there must be some other regional code that I was missing. Defeated, I turned around and headed back the other way. A bicycle rickshaw driver (about 15 yrs old) stopped and asked me if I wanted a ride (which happens about every 7 seconds in India if you are a foreigner). I asked him if he knew where the Wongdhen House was, and of course he didn't speak English. I asked again, this time slower and more phonetically. He unconvincingly assured me he knew exactly where it was. I hopped in the back and he pedaled off in the opposite direction from where my internal compass said we should be going. But since we know how accurate that is from earlier that evening, I made no objection.

Since the road was split and he wanted to be on the other side, he turned into oncoming traffic (a common occurrence here, but exceedingly more harrowing on the back of a bicycle taxi!). This maneuver, however life threatening, actually gave me a modicum of confidence because it seemed as if he was at least headed SOMEWHERE and not just driving around aimlessly. My hopes increased as we turned off the main road and into the "New Tibetan Colony", where I was pretty sure the Wongdhen House was located. He made two turns down two increasingly narrow alleys and HALLELUJAH there it was!!!

I tipped the driver and entered hoping I wasn't too late for dinner. Not only did I not miss dinner, but also the meal was free! (and delicious!) Earlier that morning when I came down for breakfast I was informed that it was the Tibetan New Year and meals that day were free. Yay! Free food! Free Tibet! (seriously)

Delhi: Day 1 (cont) (cont)

2009-02-27T03:24:00.000-08:00

(I broke this entry into two as it's quite long)

After lunch I checked my email for a good hour before I reentered the fray. After rebuking the same tout for the second time, I walked to another tourist area called Connaught Place to further innundate myself. After walking around aimlessly for a bit, I decided that I would take on the task of planning my stint to Agra, about two hours south by train, where the Taj Mahal is situated.

There is a special office at the train station for foreigners, thank god. The booking agent was the first person in Delhi I had met who had no clandestine intention of ripping me off. I wouldn't go so far to say he was outgoing, but he wsa extremely helpful with planning my trip.

My original hope of renting a motorcycle and driving the 130 miles south to the Taj Mahal and watch the sunrise were quickly dashed that first trip from the airport. Not only would I have to drive on the left side of the road, but also I'd have to contend with the craziness of people driving against traffic, etc. Basically it would be a death wish. Once I accepted this fact, I hoped I could at least take a train down in the evening, stay the night, and watch the sunrise the next morning before coming back to Delhi. Unfortunately the trains that would have allowed me to do this were full. I'd have to do the one day up and back and settle for the sunset. Could be worse.

790 Rupees later (about sixteen dollars American) and I was all set for my first train ride in India! This step ameliorated some of my anxiety about figuring this system out. So much so that I decided I would walk part of the way back, past the big traffic areas and catch a tuk tuk home from near the Gandhi museum.

To be continued...

Delhi: Day 1 (cont)

2009-02-27T02:49:00.000-08:00

You didn't think I was just going to leave you hanging like that, did you?
My first day in Delhi was dizzying. The most accurate word to use is overwhelming. The colors, the smells, the poverty, the louts (people coming up to foreigners trying to sell them everything and anything), the animals, the incessant honking (seriously, it NEVER stops). I took the guide book's advice and started easy.

My first visit was to the Gandhi museum. It was outstanding. There is a full scale replica of his living and working quarters as well as numerous photos and historical information, the latter of which was right up my alley. Not only am I a sucker for old photos, but also Gandhi's teachings really resonate with me. They are probably the closest thing to a religion for me, which, it way they are for many.

Across the clusterfuck of an intersection is Raj Gaht, a large and lovely park that marks where Gandhi was cremated. I went for a nice walk and found a nice shady spot on the grass to relax in before I set off for the insanity of Old Delhi. I caught a tuk tuk there (or motorized rickshaw, as the book likes to call it. Either way, it is a three wheeled tiny vehicle for getting around. The driver sits up front and there is a bench in the back for passengers that holds two to three (though you can often see six or seven people piled in one). It is cheaper than a taxi, but more expensive than a bicycle rickshaw (pedicab). It is partially open air: there's usually canvas over the top and back, with the sides open - think of a jeep, but much, much smaller, and many of them now run on CNG (compressed natural gas) as it's less polluting).

I went to Main Bazaar, directly across from the train station. I mistakenly entered in the wrong spot, but soon enough foud the appropriate area. Main Bazaar (as is I imagine any bazaar) a narrow "street" with buildings going up on either side about five or six stories. On the ground level there is everything imagineable (and somethings not) for sale spilling out toward the middle. Bsides having to contend with the hordes of people moving thorugh this area, you also have dozens of stray dogs, piles of trash strewn about, not to mention bicycles, scooters and even cars attemption to navigate this pot holed avenue that is about as wide as a one way street.

While looking for Sam's Cafe (I read about their roof top terrace in the guide book) I got stopped by a dodgy tout trying to get me to book a tour with him. Man was he relentless! I relieved myself of this attempt to swindle me and entered Sam's for some lunch. The guys at on the first floor worked hard to get me to stay and eat down there rather than to go up to the roof. Maybe they get a bigger cut if someone eats downstairs. Or maybe they just didn't want to climb the 5 flights of stairs. Either way I went up to the beautiful rooftop terrace and enjoyed my chicken tikka and naan!

Delhi: Day 1

2009-02-27T02:40:00.000-08:00

Wow. Very, very wow.

Mario Kart in 3D

2009-02-27T01:58:00.000-08:00

I landed in Delhi at around 11pm local time; who knows what time it was in, well, France? San Diego? or in my body? The airport was pretty easy to figure out, with no real monkey wrenches being thrown my way. Zach: 1, India: 0 (I have a feeling that this will end up a landslide victory, though not for me). I had arranged to be picked up from the airport, a deft move on my part if I don't say so myself. I'll go ahead and give that one to me as well: Zach: 2, India: 0 (I'm sure I'll need as much of a headstart as possible) And sure enough, after I exchanged my money I exited to spot a young man holding the sign with my name neatly scribed on it amongst the plethora of other men holding signs. The young man, Viktor, politely introduced himself and we headed to the parking lot. As Viktor and I walked out of the airport, the first thing I noticed was the smell. It was a combination of exhaust, dirt and pollution (aren't those redundant?). The second thing I noticed was that it was very dark, with the only lights on being the runway lights (thankfully) and the headlights of the cars trying to leave.

Viktor unlocked the door the Suzuki Something-or-other and qued up to the exit booth. While he tried to keep the vehicle from stalling out while idling, I noticed the only part of the car that seemed to work well were the brakes (whew!). Watching everyone jockeying for position and trying to get out of the parking lot, I was reminded of the old adage, "That's why they're called bumpers." Viktor adroitly maneuvered us out of the parking lot and we were off!

Immediately the chaos began. It was like being in a real, live Mario Kart game (I apologize to those of you not familiar with the marvelous Nintendo game). Seriously, we were squeezing between other vehicles, left and right, usually with less than inches to spare. People even honk when they pass to let you know they're ahead (or so you don't translate an inch and hit them). The only things missing were banana peels and turtle shells whizzing about.

I will have to say that Viktor did an excellent job. Shortly after leaving the airport, however, we ran into a bunch of traffic backed up on the highway. No problem for Viktor; he's got it covered. Just make a U-turn on the highway into oncoming traffic and go back an exit. Problem solved. Flashing red light? Easy - There's no need to slow down if you're not planning to stop - just lay on the horn and let them know you're coming.

Needless to say, we made it to the Wongdhen House, located a little ways outside of busting downtown Delhi in the much quieter Tibetan district. I set up my mosquito net and was ready for bed - Hopefully I'll be able to sleep!

Plane Flight

2009-02-27T01:47:00.001-08:00

At the gate, I realized I packed both my book to read and my India travel guide in my checked luggage, leaving me with minimal outlets for distraction on the 10 hour plane flight. Nevertheless, I figured I could investigate the in-seat movies and games that I ignored on the way to France. To my chagrin, this airplane was not equipped with such advanced technologies, but rather a drop screen every five rows or so. Unfazed, I prepared to zone out for a couple hours to the preselected in-flight program. As the lights dimmed and the opening credits began to roll, I could feel the excitement brewing; I knew I was in luck... HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL 3!! (or HSM3 as us cool kids know it) I weighed the opportunity of reliving those agonizingly sexually frustrating high school years by watching scantily clad young girls sing and strut around against my other option of staring at the sun glaring off the gigantic wing of the Boeing 747. With the restless toddler kicking my seat from behind, the broken seat cushion (I hope it floats...) slipping out from under, and the imbroglio stewing about god-knows-what in front, I warmed up the iphone, cued up the Kurupt, Nate and Snoop Dogg, and proceeded to fry my retinas attempting to grab a glimpse of the the Alps.

ps. While proof reading this section, I noticed something: If in the sentence after I mentioned High School Musical 3 in all caps you were to misread the word 'reliving' as relieving it is possible you would get a completely different mental image of my plane flight... I'm just saying...

Transition

2009-02-27T01:32:00.000-08:00

On my final morning in Paris I managed to sleep in an entire extra half an hour until 4:30! Woo-hoo! Jet Lag: 4. Zach: 1. Looks like you won this time, Jet Lag.

The one and only - and I mean ONLY benefit of the Woodstock Hostel is that it is quite close to the train station that hooks up with the airport. Bright and early, I hoofed it to the train station. I swallowed my pride and strapped all my belongings to my back, looking the part of the true backpacker/tourist (and I had done so well up to that point! C'est la vie as we say in America). I managed to hit up a boulangerie for one last pan au raisin before again becoming frustrated with the necessity for coins at the automated ticket machines. (Warning!! Soapbox alert!) Now that I think about it, it's rather the lack of change machines that frustrates me; if you're going to force me to pay with weighty coins then please god put at least one machine that dispenses them in exchange for your apparently pointless paper money! Thankfully, my minuscule amount of sleep allowed me to get going to the airport with plenty of time to spare, the first time in my entire adult life that this has been the case.

At the airport the customs official did not stamp my passport. This happened on the way in as well - maybe it's some sort of grudge against us Americans for the Louisiana Purchase (I always thought France got the short end of the stick in that deal) or maybe they are just finding ways to cut costs by conserving ink during this global economic crisis. Either way, I regret not going back as I have no official proof of my visit. This blog is a sham!!

One final thought from France: Every time I travel I'm always miffed by the duty free items because I'm always so broke by the end of a trip. Even though that Cartier watch is a great deal, I just cannot quite scratch up enough pocket change to add another one to my collection. Next time! Instead I dropped my final 1.08 Euros in the UNICEF box (great idea to put that there, by the way) and boarded the plane to India. Au revoir, Paris.

Final Night in Paris

2009-02-27T01:15:00.000-08:00

I apologize for the long delay between posts - I'm sure many of you have been waiting at the edge of your seats for the next post. For all of you (well, all two of you) that were worries about my whereabouts, I am safe and sounds in a internet cafe in Delhi, India. I had typed out my next few posts on my iphone so they would be all ready to upload as soon as I was able to connect, but unfortunately a wireless signal is not as easy to comt by in India as I thought it would be. I will transcribe the past few days from iphone to computer now. Thanks!

The Louvre:
I only spent about an hour and half in the largest museum in the world. I probably saw only 15% of the art they have there. To my defense, I was pretty exhausted and I had had a pretty god museum and sight seeing resume up to that point.

I made sure to hit the big one: The Mona Lisa. It's a little odd having seen some of these infamous paintings so many times in books, television, etc. Seeing it live, I'm conflicted between the impact of viewing such a poignant piece of our society in person and the lack of surprise as it looks just the same as I've seen it 1000 times before. I took a gander at many of the other masters and filled up on my religious iconic art. I also visited the Egyptian antiquities wing, which, more than anything was impressive for the shear fact that most of those items are three to four thousand years old. the glass and metal work was particularly intriguing to me not only for its delicate and intricate nature, but also for its durability. Well crafted indeed. I managed to make my way to the exit before I passed out. Once outside, however, the cool are perked me up and was my companion on my walk home to catch a cat nap before I met Caro and Franck for our third meal of the day!

At 6pm we rendevoused at our usual meeting spot: Place de Clichy. From there we caught the bus back to their place where I perused their wedding album while we waited for our sushi to be delivered. Caroline and I split an Asahi and some sake (Franck declined as he was still a bit under the weather) as we dined on a wonderful selection of sushi rolls, sashimi and miso soup. We hung out for a bit afterwards, cleaning up and listening to music, some American, some French. The evening culminated in a Journey (yes, that Journey) dance party/kareoke session in the middle of their apartment, which Franck kindly flimed (video/link to be posted as soon as it is available). It was one for the ages. I could not imagine a better ending to my first, albeit whildwind visit to the city of love.

Paris: day final

2009-02-23T19:58:00.000-08:00

Another 4am wake up call. These 3-4 hours of sleep/night are killing me. Hopefully when I get to India I'll be far enough ahead of my time zone that I will lap it!
Monday it finally rained. It had been threatening my entire stay, even sprinkling for a few minutes while I was at the Sacré Cœur, and now it finally came through. I met Caroline and Franck, my two lovely French friends, for a traditional Parisian breakfast of coffee (espresso in my case, tea in theirs) and a croissant before they went to work. After the light meal I explored an area of Paris called Belleville and discovered two wonderful parks. It is in the 19th district and is a very ethnically mixed area- right up my alley. I usually find the fewer white people the more interesting the neighborhood. And this one did not disappoint. Of the few white people I saw, they looked and sounded more eastern European than French. There were a good mix of Chinese, North African, Indian/Pakistani, and Middle-eastern stores/restaurants, though many of them with a French twist. The smells were wonderful, full of spice and MSG. I decided to work my way up a hill- a penchant of mine. At the top I was greeted with a sweeping view of the city from atop Parc de Belleville. The rain of course dampened (get it? I kill myself with these double entenrdrés!) the view, but it was nonetheless quite spectacular. After witnessing what appeared to be a drug deal, I quickly scampered back down the hill and decided to explore elsewhere. I ended up happening upon an even more enchanting park called Parc de Buttes-Chaumont, with it's own hilltop view, this time of the Sacré Cœur. There are a number of great looped paths in this park that I imagined would make an excellent place to train if I were able to run and not still injured from the marathon 9 MONTHS AGO!!!! (maybe you can tell this frustrates me; however, it is completely my fault as I have not been putting the time or money into fixing it- granted I've had not much of either of those things lately)

After fully exploring the park I headed back to the metro to meet Caroline for lunch (Franck was in a training at work). We ate at this lovely little place in a neighborhood called Pigalle, very near my former and sorely missed home, the El Dorado Hotel. We each had a first course of a deliciously creamy zuchinni soup. Boy do the French love their cream and butter! (no complaints from me!) I went for the tarte a flet, a concoction of diced ham, cheese, onions, and LOTS of cream and butter served to you bubbling hot. Yes, it was amazing. Caro went for a pasta dish which looked nearly (but not quite) as rich. With a coffee to top everything off, I was well sated as we parted and I set off for the Louvre.

Paris: day four

2009-02-23T01:08:00.000-08:00

I must be terribly out of shape because all this walking has made my legs extremely sore. In fact, my hip flexor has not been this sore since the half marathon I ran last year injured and in 90 degree heat. Everytime I try to get up after sitting on the metro I feel as if I'm 90 years old. It also does not help that I decided to break in my new shoes walking 5-10 miles a day in Paris because, well, I'm an idiot. But they should be good to go for India!
The fourth day began at 4am again. Just after I thought I had won the jet lag match, it came back to bite me in the ass. After a few hours of pretend sleeping cleaned up and prepared to move to my new home for the next two nights: the Woodstock Hostel (where I happen to be composing this post).

When I initially booked the El Dorado they only had three nights available at the 35€ rate, so in an effort to save a few bucks I figured I'd pretend to be 19 again and switch to a hostel for two nights. What a mistake this turned out to be. I've stayed in a few hostels over the years that were actually quite nice; the Woodstock is not one if these. I forgot just how unsettling sleeping in a room with 5 strangers can be, especially with all your possesions right with you. I probably slept about 3 hours last night, continually woken up by people coming in and out, and the thought that somene was going through my bag. Even though it was chained to the bed next to my feet on the top bunk. We live and we learn (hopefully).

The rest of the day was much more relaxed than past days. I met Marijke at the market in Bastille to buy food for dinner that night. Wow! Was this market something! I was like a kid in a candy store. Imagine the nicest and best farmers market you've been to, times 20. There were so many fresh vegetables, meats, seafood, cheese, fruits and more! Marijke and I turned out to be a good team- I created our menu from the multitude of options and she translated for me when we picked out the ingredients.
Later that evening I cooked up a beautiful 4 course meal in Marijke's kitchen, which is litterally in a closet (I also unfortunately forgot to photograph) Anywhoosle, here goes the menu:
1st: potato leek soup with chives
2nd: sautéed brussel sprouts and shallots
3rd: fresh gnocchi with fennel, sage, oyster mushrooms and grated parano cheese
4th: poached pears with red wine, nutmeg, cardamom, and cinnamon.
We had a lovely red wine (the same one used to poach the pears)

Of all the things I wanted to do in Paris, going to the market and cooking a meal was at the top of my list! Thanks Marijke for letting me indulge!

Notre-Dame

2009-02-21T22:22:00.001-08:00

Go Irish??

Macaroons at Ladurée

2009-02-21T22:21:00.002-08:00

Yum!

St. Sulpice

2009-02-21T22:21:00.001-08:00

Paris: day 3

2009-02-21T21:32:00.000-08:00

This day stared at a normal hour (thankfully). Not planning to meet Caro and Franck until the afternoon, I decided to check out one of the famous Parisian flea markets. I took the train to Porte de Vanves, at the south end of the city. My iphone decided to play a trick on me and erroneously tell me that it was warmer than the day before, fooling me into leaving without my outer coat, which turned out to be a poor decision. I shivered throughout the copious stalls, perusing all the wares laid out before me. The market seemed to go on forever, with hundreds if stalls lining the street for some length. There was everything from kitchy key chains to old furniture. It was all mostly junk, but it was French junk, which made it decidedly more interesting. I managed to drop a few Euros on a couple of old, blank journals and a cool metal block for making imprints into sheet metal, which will probably end up being a paper weight (who uses paper weights anyways?) I needed something so I can point to it and say, "I got that on my trip to France!" Mission accomplished.
I metroed it home for another quick nap and overslept, making me late to meet Caroline for the second time! Thankfully Caro and Franck are quite forgiving! We walked around the Latin Quarter and ended up in a large park, the Jardin du Luxembourg where, oddly enough, Owen Wilson happened to jog past us.
From there we stopped at another amazing church, St. Sulpice. Again, the stone construction of the extraordinarily tall ceiling was just breathtaking. We continued on to a wonderful and famous patissier called Ladurée know for their macaroons, which did not disappoint. We each had a selection of four mini macaroons. My choices were caramel fluer de sel, praline, vanilla, and fruits rouge (red fruit). Each treat had a meringue cookie sandwiching a delectable creme, all in different colors.
Night had fallen by the time we finished our mid day sweets. We meandered along the Seine, stopping outside Notre-Dame along with about 500 other people. Our walk culminated at their friends Julie and Christophe's place for an aperitif. Again, everyone was kind enough to indulge my lack of French by translating all evening long. We dined at a superb little Brasserie in the Bastille neighborhood. I started with the escargot (amazing!!), had a stuffed rabbit dish, and finished with a selection of fromage. It was an outstanding night!

Caro and Franck

2009-02-21T16:56:00.001-08:00

They are quite possibly the most adorable couple in Paris. Magnifique!

Caroline: the self annointed "Smoothie King"

2009-02-21T16:53:00.001-08:00

In case you forgot what I look like

2009-02-21T16:52:00.001-08:00

Top of the Eiffel

2009-02-21T16:51:00.000-08:00

Paris: day duex, part duex

2009-02-21T15:49:00.000-08:00

After my adventurous morning I came home for a short rest (very short). The other week when I was in LA visiting with my good friends Sasha his girlfriend Lien mentioned that her good friend Marijke lives here. So one facebook friend request later and I was meeting up with my new friend for lunch! It was my first "real" French meal. And as the French are wont to do, we took a leisurely lunch, two and a half hours. Afterwards Marijke went back to work and I went to the top of the Eiffel Tour. Talk about enormity- that thing is huge! The views were quite awesome; I will make sure to post some pics.
I then headed back to Casa El Dorado for a short nap before I met up with my old friend Caroline. We had not seen each other in almost 10 years! And thanks again to good ol' facebook, here we were meeting up in the streets of Paris. I was fortunate enough to be invited to dinner at her husband Franck's parents' home 20 km or so outside the city. Franck, who I had not met before(except on the facebook- that thing has come in handy!), drove the three of us.
Fortunately for me Franck's family all spoke at least a modicum of English, much more so than I can say about my French (I've been limited to Bonjour, Merci, & Si vous plait. Franck's father, Jean Charles, is a riot. He has visited San Diego a couple of times before and was very excited to talk about this common thread. He was quite affable that evening, offering me annisette before dinner (I accepted willingly) and lemoncello after (again, open arms). Joelle, his wife, prepared us a lovely North African meal (they are origially from Algeria) of mezze, couscous, and a delicious beef and chickpea stew. Seb, Franck's brother, had made two loaves of wonderful challah for the shabbat meal. For my contribution I brought a box of San Diego's finest chocolates to share, about which no one argued and which were extremely well received. Franck and Caroline dropped me off around 11:30 and I promptly fell asleep, not waking up until 9am! Trés bien!

Living wall

2009-02-21T05:25:00.000-08:00

For all you architecture/design geeks out there (you know who you are)
I saw this rad living wall. It was the entire side if this building.

Sign

2009-02-21T05:23:00.001-08:00

My French is pretty much non-existent, but I'm going to go ahead and
translate this as, "No chillin', Oct.15-April 15". San Diego would
never disallow such an activity.

Sacré Cœur

2009-02-21T05:20:00.001-08:00

Paris: day deux

2009-02-21T04:40:00.000-08:00

Apparently emailing my post from via the iPhone makes for odd indentation so I will attempt to enter this one directly, albeit still on the iPhone.
Day two started around 4 am when I posted my first update. Instead if pretending to sleep I got ready and went exploring. I exited the hotel at 7:15 sharp and walked the still dark and rather quite streets of Paris. 7:28 am I hit up my first boulangerie- outstanding! With my rasin pastry in hand (and mouth) I set off to find the Sacré Cœur.
I took a shortcut through the high rent neighborhood, working my way through narrow and curvy streets, eventually popping out on the side of the grandiose cathedral. From the front steps you have a full panorama view of the city. On this morning it was rather gray and starting to rain so the view was a bit impacted.
Having traveled through Europe before I've seen a number of cathedrals, and though they are always impressive, after a while they can seem to look the same. But maybe because I haven't seen one in a while, this one was great. I watched the nuns walk on to the alter and sit in prayer as it was still rather early. It must be weird for those nuns having all these tourists come visit their church in the sense that they are just going about their normal day; it just happens to be in a 100 year old building. I guess you could say the same thing if someone were to tour say a donut factory, just a lot less sacrosanct.
I tromped my way down the hill and stopped at a cafe for a pick-me-up. The coffee was strong, the croissant buttery, and the kitten roaming about quite endearing. I then headed on a walkabout through some of the major sights. The enormity of some of these structures is quite striking. The Palis-Royal, the buildings around the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, etc. They all have this massive feel about them, not in the same way a skyscraper in New York does, but more in a density way as they're all built (or appear to be built) out of an enormous quantity of stone.
And this was all before noon!

Who's got two thumbs but only one ear?

2009-02-19T20:33:00.000-08:00

THIS GUY!!!

Museé d'Orsay

2009-02-19T20:32:00.001-08:00

The Thinker

2009-02-19T20:31:00.000-08:00

Paris- day one

2009-02-19T20:23:00.001-08:00

I arrived to sunny skies and crisp air, and with the excitement of discovery. It took me a couple tries to figure out the ticket system (apparently you can only pay in coins- what's the point of having paper money then?). But after a few confusing moments I seemed to get the metro system down (with the help of my new iPhone app I'm happy to admit).

I arrived at my temporary abode shortly after noon Paris time, the El Dorado Hotel. When checking in I of course attempted to curry favor with the girl at the desk by giving her chocolate- my only bribe worth anything these days. Time will tell if it proves worthwhile.

The El Dorado Hotel lies in the 17th arrondissement, coincidentally just a couple blocks from where my friends here live. Paris, for those not familiar, consists of 20 "arrondissements", or districts, laid out in a spiral fashion starting in the middle and rotating clockwise and extending out. It's quite the easily navigable city.

After a short nap I ventured out to be the best damn tourist I could be! I visited three museums, aided by the windfall that two of them are open late on Thursdays- score! I started with the Museè Rodin. This museum is host to a number of Rodin's impressive sculptures scattered throughout a large garden area, including "The Thinker" and "The Gates of Hell". Seriously, who has the gall to sculpt the gates of hell? ... I guess Rodin. I then hoofed it up the Esplanade des Invalides (which seemed appropriate) to the Seine on my way to museum #2, Museè d'Orsay.

During this walk, with the Eiffel Tower looming in the horizon, I noted the similarities between this city and DC. It makes sense, as our nation's capital was designed by a Frenchman (L'Enfant). There is a noticeable dearth of tall buildings, which makes each city's tall skinny iconic structure stand out.

The Museè d'Orsay is quite the labrinth. I found myself lost a number of times, though that very well may have been abeted by my extreme exhaustion/hunger. Regardless, I managed to see some of the most poingiant Impressionistic works ever created (occasionally multiple times). Monet, Manet,, Degas (to whom, since seeing a self portrait of him a few years back, I think I bare a striking resemblance), Van Gogh, Gauguin, and a new discovery for my art-historyless brain, Caillebotte. Fighting off my lack of food/water/rest I crossed the Seine on foot and caught the metro in search of the best fallafel place in the city, according to my good friends Geoff and Tara. I'll have to say, I was duly impressed; hopefully my review was not colored by my severe
hunger at this point.

Night had fallen, and I worked my way through the narrow streets past dozens of wonderful bellangeries (sp?), bistros, and cafes on my way to the Museè des arts et métiers. It turned out to be free (score again!) the museum is chock full of scientific instruments from the 16th century on, basically an engineers dream (nerd alert! Skip this paragraph if you have no interest in all things mechanical). There were precise astronomical devices, building technologies, chemistry
tools, etc. The artisanship of these tools is just amazing! It also has primitive phonographic and photographic equipment, including a cannon AE-1 camera, the same one I happen to own and had right in my bag. This brought me much amusement.

I arrived back home at 9:45 with my dogs a-barkin' and passed out promptly. I woke up at 4am and have been writing this blog post on my iPhone for the past hour. I'm not looking forward to playing this game of sleep adjustment; somehow I feel as if I always loose this one. C'est la viè.

Test email blog post

2009-02-19T06:38:00.001-08:00

This is a test. If this were an actual blog post then this message
would be followed by (hopefully) interesting stories.

Run run run!

2008-09-27T18:41:00.000-07:00

After many weeks walking with a boot and/or cane, I completed my first run today. The last time I ran, 117 days ago, was in the Rock n Roll Marathon on June 1st, in which I placed 76th in a time of 2:56.18. Since then I have been hobbled by at first a stress fracture and later by a tendon problem in my left foot. My run today was a 20 min run through Balboa Park on the grass and trails. Though terribly out of shape, I was so happy to be out there. Cross your fingers that my foot holds up.

My Morning Jacket

2008-09-26T00:13:00.000-07:00

9/25/08

My Morning Jacket show. I bought two tickets about a month ago in anticipation of this show. As the show approached, I had casually asked a couple people to go to the show with me, but none of them could. It got down to crunch time and I tried everyone I know in San Diego, and few outside of SD. I went to the show hoping that I could maybe sell it, or even just give it away.

When I got the the Open Air Theater (or as Jim James called it - with a reference to Wilford Brimley - “the OAT”), no one seemed to be buying, and by that point I was happy to just give it away. But even then, no one was interested. So I left it at the counter at Starbucks after getting a cup of coffee. I can't say that I didn't get anything for the ticket because the guy behind me in line thought it was cool and gave me props.

The irony in the whole thing is that I could have had a free ticket because MMJ donated a portion of their ticket proceeds to the Foundation For Change, the non-profit on whose Grant Making Committee I sit. So it goes.

I had never been to the OAT before – it's right in the middle of SDSU's campus – and as the name suggests, it's an outdoor amphitheater. A really wonderful place to see a show; I doubt there is a bad seat in the house. Weirdly enough, it backs right up to the library (you can see the stacks through the window). I could see a loud rock-concert being somewhat disturbing if you are trying to study... good thing this is SDSU.

I noticed that there were two mini stuffed bears with dresses on on either side of the stage – quite curious. One of them came into play towards the end of the set, when the aforementioned James puled it over and played some strange stringed instrument that was on top of it.

I actually got chills during this concert. The only concert that I have seen that comes close to this was when I saw Fishbone at the 9:30 club in DC 10 or 12 years ago. And I think this show may have topped that. Two and half hours of straight rock n' roll!!! Just amazing. He (James) is quite the performer. Loved his dance moves (reminded me a bit of my own, I'll have to say) and the leg kicks. Though, from my perspective he looked a bit like a cross between Rob Zombie and Cactus Jack. Regardless, I thank you Mr. James for the best live musical performance I have ever witnessed.