Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Take Note.. Ahem..

Seoul, South Korea (Reuters) -- A South Korean man who played computer games for 50 hours almost non-stop died of heart failure minutes after finishing his mammoth session in an Internet cafe, authorities said on Tuesday.
The 28-year-old man, identified only by his family name Lee, had been playing online battle simulation games at the cybercafe in the southeastern city of Taegu, police said.
Lee had planted himself in front of a computer monitor to play on-line games on August 3. He only left the spot over the next three days to go to the toilet and take brief naps on a makeshift bed, they said.
"We presume the cause of death was heart failure stemming from exhaustion," a Taegu provincial police official said by telephone.
Lee had recently quit his job to spend more time playing games, the daily JoongAng Ilbo reported after interviewing former work colleagues and staff at the Internet cafe.
After he failed to return home, Lee's mother asked his former colleagues to find him. When they reached the cafe, Lee said he would finish the game and then go home, the paper reported.
He died a few minutes later, it said.
South Korea, one of the most wired countries in the world, has a large and highly developed game industry.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

12 Dollar Ham, and The Day Jesus Showed Up on My Dashboard

There are things that you pay a premium for in a Hindu country. Honey cured ham, apparently, is one of them. 12$ for four slices to be exact. Some things are incredibly inexpensive here - waxing for instance. 75$ in Canada. 3$ in India. (there is an abundance of hair here. It's not like they're afraid they're going to run out..) Vegetables. About 30 cents for a pound of carrots. And on the flip side? Toilet paper - 3$ (100 rupees) a roll. Expensive when you think that that would feed a family of 5 a pretty hearty meal on street food. Without pork.. obviously.

And Jesus. You don't get a lot of Jesus here. I mean - down south they have a lot of Dutch Catholic colonies, we have a large Mormon base here in Delhi, in Kerala they even have a (albeit dwindling) Jewish community. But it's not exactly out there in the way that all the Hindu dieties are, you don't see 8 foot Jesus's painted on shops like you do Ganesh.

We're not a religious family. Spriritual - I'd like to think so - but religious.. not quite. So imagine my surprise when I hop into my car on Friday morning to find our new driver has a lovely little Jesus card on the dashboard. (not that a little help in Delhi traffic wouldn't be appreciated, don't get me wrong.) The strange thing about this (obviously Indian) Jesus, is that he appeared to be standing in front of a depiction of the White House.

This place boggles my mind. What will be normal when I leave here? Here's hoping for a pork eating Jesus with an elephant trunk. It'll make it homey. God Bless America.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

A Lifetime a Day..

I can't believe that my time here is coming to an end.. I only officially have 22 days left in India before I take off back to Canada. I know that I'll be back here (at Christmas, and probably next summer..) but I don't think I'll ever be back here in quite the same capacity - or for the same length of time. (9 months!). There is irrifutable evidence that once you come to India, you'll never return in the same state as you were - India changes you too much, whether for the good, or the bad. You never fit the same perameters again.

Lately, I've been dwelling on all the things that I haven't had a chance to do while I'm here. (It always seems like there will be so much more time - until time is suddenly at a premium, and I never seem to have enough money to buy more.) So, for my own peace of mind, I've decided to put down, for posterity, (which I think sound too much like posterior, and reminds me I should get to the gym today..) what I have done in this part of the world.

  • walked barefoot through the Taj Mahal - twice
  • rafted the "Holy River Ganga" in the Himalayan Mountains
  • travelled for 8 days, and up 6500 ft into Manali in the Himalayas
  • survived a 17 hour bus ride from Manali to New Delhi on an Indian Bus careening through the mountains at mach speed.
  • ridden atop an elephant up to an ancient fort
  • lived on a boat and recieved my advanced open water diver for scuba diving (in Myanmar/Burma)
  • did a 30 minute night dive, dove to 30 metres, and learned underwater navigation..(not all on one dive) (in Myanmar)
  • climbed Sigiriya Rock (in Sri Lanaka)
  • visited a tea plantation and drank the best cup of tea of my life (in Sri Lanka)
  • fed a baby elephant a bottle of milk (in Sri Lanka)
  • been to 4 countries - Sri Lanka, Thailand, Myanmar, India (and hopefully Pakistan soon!)
  • seen a huge number of World Heritage Sites

When I list them out like that - they just seem like so much less than their worth as a whole - how they've changed me. Of course, the things you learn completeing these adventures are far more valuable.. well, than anything. Like the fact that I now know that I can survive on dahl and chapatis for 8 days. That I can sleep on dirty sheets, not take a shower, and still enjoy travelling. (Me!) And the little things you do in between these things - I've sat on a rock in a Himalayan waterfall, surrounded by Nepalese goat herders and white long haired goats with blue eyes - and knit myself a scarf. I've stopped for chai in the middle of the night to sit with an Israeli, a Briton, a French girl and an Australian and watched Hindi Kung-Foo movies. I learned to tie a sari and dance like an Indian. I can speak a passable ammount of the language.

I'm proud of myself for what I've accomplished here, for the limits I've pressed myself to - for seeing what I do everyday - and keeping my eyes open. Sure - I've got 22 days left here. But in this country? In 22 days, you can live, and learn, a lifetime.

Muggy August Playlist

For your listening pleasure.

1. Four Hours in Washington - M. Ward
2. Dig the Lightening -Robbers on High Street
3. What they Found- Octopus Project
4. Losing Streak - Eels
5. One Day Without -Keren Ann
6. Spit it Out -Brendan Benson
7. She's so Cold -The Golden Republic
8. Radio Campaign - M. Ward
9. My Lady Story -Antony and the Johnsons
10. I'd Rather Dance with You - Kings of Convienience
11. Apply Some Pressure - Maximo Park
12. Just Got Robbed - The Sights
10. Wandering Star -Portishead
11. Karen - The National
12. Different Days -L'altra

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Only 33 Sleeps

I must have some vestigial seasonal awareness left over from Canada - it feels like fall here, even in 35 degree heat and counting. Suddenly it feels like the days are getting shorter, I'm coming out from work and the shadows are longer and the air has just that hint of coolness, an idea of the season more than the season it self.
I'm in the mood for heavy brown wool sweaters and potato soup and cold noses. There is something so wonderful about warming up by a fire, by a friend, hot chocolate in hand. (Now, I'm not sure about you - but hot chocolate in my mind is always way better than it is in real life. I always end up making it too watery or without enough milk, or too weak and I never have marshmallows. I remember my mum making it in a pot on the stove when I was little - infinitely better than mine. Maybe it's a skill you acquire with motherhood.)
I want to be cold. Not air conditioning cold, not artificially cold - real, cool air, cool wind, cold. I want to wear mittens, and have a reason to knit a scarf again. I want to wear woolly socks and sensible warm shoes (which indicates this might be a passing insanity) , and get out the warm fall jackets and gloves.
Perhaps I'm just craving home - the seasons don't seem to change here, not a smidge, only from hot, to hotter, to wet, to humid. Not exactly a dazzling array of sensations, unless you count varying degrees of sunburn and heat exhaustion. Maybe it's the anticipation of going back to school - the countdown of "how many sleeps" until I'm in school again. (Gosh.. after three years.. has it really been so long? ) Maybe it's because my mom keeps referring to getting "back to school clothes". (I remember in Britain we had to bring an empty paper milk carton with an extra pair of pants stuffed inside in the event that we peed ourselves. Then again, I also remember having to do gym in your underwear if you forgot the appropriate gym clothing. That's the English for you - simultaneously over prepared and underdressed.)
So I suppose until I'm back in Canada (it seems like forever ago that that was "home".. when did India become "home"?) I'll just sit in my over air conditioned room with my toque and my backpack on and close my eyes and pretend that I smell woodsmoke and burning leaves and that wonderful smell of warm pumpkin and candles on Halloween. Oooh fall, here I come!

Monday, August 01, 2005

But I just washed my hands! (of you.)

Mumbai is flooding. 1 metre of rain in 24 hours. And do you know why it’s flooding? Because of the British. Because the sewer and drainage system that was build 100 years ago isn’t quite up to snuff, and what with the no maintenance it’s been given, I don’t see why. Limey bastards. There’s plenty of ditches left to dig yet my friend.. And what, you’re not telling me the independent country of India should have to do it? Saints in Heaven. Deliver us.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Who's the Fairest

I'm always surprised when I look in the mirror these days. I feel like what India has changed inside me.. should somehow be reflected on the outside. I suppose I'm lucky that it doesn't work that way, or else I'm sure I'd have grey hair and leprosy and crossed eyes for what this place does.. But I'm always.. surprised. That I don't have more wrinkles, that what I think isn't written clear across my forehead, that it doesn't look like I've been crying. I know that outwardly, I look exactly the same as I did 8 months ago. And yet somehow.. somehow I feel that inside, all my parts have been rearranged and that they must look older and tired and sad and be decorated with a lot of dirty sequins. It's precocious to tell people "I may look the same, but I'm not.". And yet that's what I think everytime I look in the mirror.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Worth Two in the Bush..

Put down your book in hand.. two new novels are arriving in September! (well.. and countless others.. but two of personal note.) Zadie Smith (White Teeth, The Autograph Man) has a new book "On Beauty" out on September 13th, and Salman Rushdie (Fury, Shame, Midnight's Children) has a new book "Shalimar the Clown" out on September 6th. Save your pennies - from what I've read, these two are worth the hardcover versions.

Who Knew That 1 Less Person in a City of 15 Million Would Make a Difference?

Already I miss Bryan. Delhi feels emptier, lonlier, without him here. There is something about knowing that the person you love is even in your city, that makes you feel better. They don't have to be right beside you, but knowing that they are near, a ten, fifteen minute drive away.. makes it easier.

I went with Bryan to the airport last night, to eke out what few minutes I had left with him. He should be almost in Frankfurt now, and then on to the US. It felt like he'd been leaving for such a long time, that we've been preparing for this - and yet nothing could have gotten me ready to have to walk away from him, to turn around and walk out of the airport. It's one of the hardest things I've had to do in a long, long time.

I've travelled with him, laughed with him, been sick with him - he's been my best friend. And still is. Two and a half months and I'll be in Washington.. It seems like such a very long time. I'm sure it will go quickly, as they say - but for now? Now.. Delhi is just empty.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

I'm a friggin' genius..

So our internet isn't working at the house, but luckily it's up and running at work - which doesn't make a spit shine of difference if my new computer won't let me post to my blog. (On my breaks. Of course.)

Luckily I remembered you can use that nifty "post via e-mail" deal - so here I am! It's not going to be pretty, but it will do until I'm connected at home. Sorry for the delay in figuring that out - my synapses just haven't been firing post haste this week. So much so, that I actually have my hair braided today. Braided. Right.

I see Bryan off to the airport today.. Definately not exactly a red letter day. 29 days left in India without my best friend. Great. Who exactly is going to tease me about my dirty feet and my aversion to cooked vegetables and point out my saggy butt jeans? Hunny.. I can't wait to see you in Washington. I'll keep my feet extra dirty just for you.

Camping.. Squatting.. Really.. Is there a difference?

Due to immense monsoon flooding in Mumbai, Chandigargh and parts of our beloved Delhi - our entire communications network has been washed out. We have no internet, no long distance, no e-mail.. nothing. It's simultaneously mildly unsettling, and kind of liberating. Not, mind you, for our head political officer, who has a deputy Minister coming to visit from Ottawa, and we haven't had any (any) of our questions answered. (Or, as they like to say, "Any of our Q's A'd".)

This is only the stem of the cherry that's been put on my over-hectic banana split of a schedual. We just moved houses, and are no longer living on the embassy grounds (interesting choice in these days of murder and mayhem in the world) but in the West End of Delhi, about a 15 minute drive from work. At the same time, Bryan has been packed up and leaves for Washington tomorrow night (Thursday). At the same time as this, I've got my first real taste of what real, honest to goodness 3rd World sickness, and have lost 5 pounds in the process. And I've changed jobs (halfway), changed offices... *phew* I'm exhausted, and am ready for a break. I just need to get through this week without pulling my hair out, and I'll be ok. I think.

I can't believe that Bryan is on his way already. It seems like just yesterday that we were in Riskikesh, in Rajasthan, at the Black and White Ball.. and all of a sudden he's on his way. We've decided to keep seeing each other - there's no reason to break up just because of the distance. I'm going down (up?) to Washington on a long weekend in October, and for a break in November. And we'll see when he can come up to Canada. I'm kind of excited. Other than Bryan (and the monuments, and Georgetown and all that cool stuff) the Corcoran Gallery is there (with Frieda Kahlo, Jackson Pollock and Georgia O'Keefe all inside!!) and the Smithsonian as well. So I have a feeling I might like Washington. Especially now that there's no beltway sniper. ;-)

So because Bryan's belongings all go over to Washington in a sea shipment, they got packed up and shiped about a week ago. He was basically left with the Embassy furnishings, and the "welcome" kit, which just kills me. Utility pots and pans and three bowls and a wine opener etc.. It's great. We've basically been camping out in this huge empty house, sans tv, music.. anything. It's awesome. We can run laps in the dining room. It's this interesting mix of feeling like squatters and.. hm.. well.. Maybe just squatters. It's fun though. We get to eat everything on the floor.

My new house is pretty nice - semi-colonial/victorian/indian in white. A nice little part of town. Closer to some things, farther to others - kinda like whenever you move. *laugh* My mum likes it, which essentially, is all that really matters in the long run. It will be nice, I have to admit, to be off the compound and away from the feeling that everyone is watching you - I'm happy for that, in the very least.

This turned out to be much longer than I had intended! I hope all is well with everyone. I won't be in contact much this next little while, as our internet is out. Take care of each other.

Naked.. Aggression?

Haven't had too much time to read lately. As I mentioned, I'm working on a mixed list of Pulitzer Prize Winners and Nobel Literature Prize winners.. and then this list of New York Times "10 worst books" and "10 Best books". (I may make note that Malcolm X's Autobiography topped both lists.)

So I decided to start reading some William S. Burroughs. I finished up "Queer".. which was pretty amazing for it's pretty blunt portrayal of homosexuality and addiction. I have to say - it's probably the most straightforward, no words minced account of both. I really admire the way it was written - and when you finish reading it.. and see that it was written sometime in the 40's - you have to give the guy some credit. (Even if it wasn't published in it's entirety until like, 1980.) Even if it wasn't a thouroughly enjoyable novel (he makes you feel his addiction and withdrawl with such accuracy that you swear you've got the shakes) it was definately a good book. So, I decided to take on "Naked Lunch" - his most famous book, also centered on his personal struggle with addiction. (To everything. Litterally.)

This may be one of the only books (other than Little Women.. which is funny that they are in the same catagory) that I may not finish. Gruesome, rude, disgusting, displacing, uncomfortable.. I'm all for books that make you think. That make you uncomfortable. It means that the writer has put you outside of what you traditionally find acceptable, you're stretching your boundaries like a literary aneuryism. It's not pleasant, but its neccessary. "Naked Lunch" goes so far beyond that. It's a nightmare of perversity (somewhere along the lines of the Marquis de Sade - but worse, if you can believe it.) and inhuman, and inhumane passages lie one after another

Perhaps what's worse.. is that some of it's good. That some of the ideas and feelings are palpable they are so well presented. He succeeds in saying everything that everyone else will not - but sometimes people don't say things for good reason. But overall - it's just repetative, like some drug riddled nightmare that you just can't wake up from, with each and every page. I keep expecting the story to change, that it will move forward and progress - but it just gets progressively worse and more depraved and heartwrenching.

Which is.. perhaps.. the most apt portrayal of addiction that there is.

You Can Wait

I wouldn’t want to be of an ethnic minority and late for work in London anytime soon.

London plain clothes policemen shot and killed a man running for the subway this past week. Can’t you just hear the civil liberties people taking a deep breath? The wailing and bellyaching? The tearful mothers, the bewildered community? "He was such a nice guy."

Here are the facts - a young, foreign gentleman was being tailed by 4 plainclothes policemen, when he entered into the London Metro system. Given the state of affairs in London right now, I have no doubt that the heartbeats of those policemen increased 5 fold. He was told to stop, at which point he began to run, jumped the turnstile, and attempted to get on the Metro. He was shot, 5 times, and killed.

The London Police have since apologized, as he appears to be without connection to anyone they were looking for. But with this mornings news - a raid on a house, which just happens to be the same house that this young man was living in. Coincidences like that.. Aren’t coincidence.

They’ve got a shoot to kill policy. They’ve advised the public of this - you will not be getting shot in the arm, in the leg - you will be killed. If you’ve got a bomb in your backpack, we do not want to disable your legs.

I think they did what they were supposed to - if that guy had gotten on the train, and had had a bomb, and had killed dozens of people - the uproar would have been incredible at those four policemen.

So maybe - just to be safe - catch the next train. Do you really need to run?

Monday, July 18, 2005

That's Some Freaky Economics


Just finished reading Steven Levitt's "Freakonomics". Really neat book, akin to Gladwell's "Blink". Not pertinent information - but interesting. You'd never guess why crime ACTUALLY dropped in the 1990's..

Just Wait Until I Get These Training Wheels Off..

I’m not sure why – I’m not the overly sporty type – but I’m completely addicted to Le Tour de France. Maybe it’s because Bryan gets so into it – maybe it’s because it’s just a really neat thing to watch. I like learning about it – and I’ve got an excellent teacher. I know your supposed to drink wine and eat olives and snails while watching it.. But we drank beer and ate peanuts and Tibetan food and it was just as good. I’m sure it was. Check it out if you have the chance – it’s addictive. And, I might admit.. I might have the tiniest celebrity crush on Lance Armstrong and team mate George Hincapie. But that’s ok. I think Bryan might too.

Friday, July 15, 2005

When I Wendt Away..

When I was in Sri Lanka, I fell in love with this photographer, Lionel Wendt. Unfortunately, his best photographs are nowhere to be found online, but I got to see a number of them while I was there. He lived and worked in Sri Lanka, after first practicing law and studying music in London. If you ever get a chance to see an exhibition of his, or even just pick up a book on him, please do. Or hey - you can come for tea and look at mine.

Oh Margaret...

"Who can trust a people who celebrate, as their national event, a jailbreak?"
-Margaret Thatcher
(No wonder they don't like the British.)

"Allons enfants de la Patrie..."

Yesterday was "Bastille Day" - French National Day. We were invited to the much anticipated French National Day reception - which I’d heard numerous stories regarding the plethora of cheese, champagne and general bonhomie. That, and the incredible rudeness of our.. Ahem.. host country.
So Bryan and I, looking very lovely if I do say so, Bryan in his smashing summer uniform and I looking appropriately stylish, perhaps even a little French, minus the armpit hair.. Took off to the relatively early reception at 6:30.
Now, for this particular story I will need to give you a brief physical description of the reception hall. Shaped like a square, with four squares cut out of every corner, and filled with water, leaving a cross shape in the middle. The door is at one end, and the stage immediately across the room. On the two remaining sides (and any other remaining free space) there were tables laden with red wine, champagne.. And loads of beef and pork pate. Which, if you will remember, are two forbidden foods for a number of religions here. ;-)
The hall filled up pretty quickly - it seems like everyone who is invited attends, which is evidence in itself that it’s a self propagating good time. So as the hall filled to capacity with hundreds of people, Bryan and I decided to wander over to the food, see what was good, maybe try a little pate. Only to be completely astonished by the people (without plates) simply winging (because there is no more appropriate a word for "throwing food to the back of ones craw in rapid precision succession..) food into their mouths while walking up and down the length of the banquet.
Now, this food was all labelled in French. So, with some things, I would be willing to forgive a few linguistic mistakes in your non-religious friendly food choices. Poisson? Fish. You’d never guess. But hey, you can tell by the smell. But c’mon people. Porc? Pork. And whether it’s with a c, or a k, Mr. Singh you should not be eating it by the half pound on a 3 ounce Ritz cracker. Beouf? Beef. Mrs. Aggarawal, it’s not mashed or whipped into something you couldn’t identify - these are fist sized hunks of veiny, beefy beef! For the sake of all that’s holy, put it down!
If the food was a veritable horror movie, the drinks were just a comedy. At one point I witnessed an Indian woman balancing two glasses (one champagne, the other red wine) in one hand, and a plate of food in the other, left to look forlornly around at who would feed her, or, alternately, who would catch her sticking her face in her plate. The poor bartenders couldn’t keep the glasses filled, people were simply guzzling, GUZZLING the wine and champagne.
Finally, a moment of respite. The French Ambassador took the stage to welcome us with the Indian National Anthem, then the French. Now, as in most countries, the National Anthem brings about some brief moments of silence. It wasn’t until "La Marseillaise" began the that Indians took it among themselves to being talking again! Good thing the French anthem is sung by some big busty woman with a good set of pipes, or bread was going to fly.
By this time, people were getting antsy. Refrains of "Where is the cheese? Where is the cheese?" could be heard echoing faintly across the hall. Truth is, they have to keep the French cheese covered (a relatively rare and poor quality product in this part of the world) or people simply won’t stay still for the speech. Appallingly, it was hard enough for the French Ambassador to get the crowd quiet enough for the minute of silence dedicated to London. It was horrible.
As his speech ended, they took away the white curtain backdrop to reveal - The cheese! A giant table filled with Camembert, Brie, Swiss, Emmental, Gruyere, Beaufort.... Every and any bacteria laden milk you could imagine. We could feel the crowd surge behind us as literally, people were pushing their way to the front. Somebody had already fallen into the water, and people had their heads down and were moving like this cheese was the last meal they’d ever get.
Last year apparently somebody was stuffing a wheel of brie in their pocket. I didn’t see anything as blatant as that this year - but Bryan and I hid behind a pillar, huddled over our pilfered plate of cheese, watching people contemplate walking through the water to get to the cheese. It was incredible. I was worried that somebody might mistake me for a brie rind, my skin is so pale. Heathens.
It was phenomenal. The food was amazing, the drink was spectacular.. But the people, the people are what made it worthwhile. An old lady snatched a piece of quiche right out from my fingers. My feet were covered in other peoples spilt champagne. I hope I’m here next year...I’m wearin’ the pants with the big pockets next time.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

And Don't Iron


Seriously. Anyone have a spare bucket o' ocean?

Just One of Those Days

I’m having one of those days - those days where your sadness feels like it lies just beneath your skin, waiting to come out at the slightest prick - that tearjerking human interest story, a touching commercial.. Or just that moment when it feels like the bottom of your heart is going to drop out and everything is going to slide down your leg, pushing that forgotten pair of underwear in your jeans leg down into your flip flop.
Its just one of those days, those days when it seems like every news story is impossible (Kids running for candy from American GI’s blown up in Bagdhad by a car bomb?) the weather is so damp and humid that it would unkink Anna Nicole Smith.. You know those days. The ones where not only do you wish you’d stayed in bed, but that your bed had turned over with you in it and you could hide for the next eon, or at least until they found a cure for bug bite itches and ill fitting britches.
Instead, I’m in my office attempting to write about the ill fated and somewhat humorous plan to link all of India’s rivers together (Then they’ll all be holy!) in some cockeyed attempt to irrigate this un-irrigatable and increasingly irritable country.
And to top it off, the only bookstore I really like is near a Parsee cemetary, where this particular religion dictates you should just mumify in the sun, or, god willing, be eaten by the increasingly rare (and increasingly sacred) brown vulture. So now I can’t figure out if it’s the self help books I’m reading that stink, or an unfortunate Parsee getting their final suntan.
Deliver me.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

A Curious Book in the Daytime

So I read "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightime". In fact, yesterday, I picked it up around 11am, and finished it that night around 6. (And yes, I work. Which I did. And read. Intermittently)
It really is an excellent book - very touching - a little sad. I found that for hours after finishing the book my mind was working in the same staccato, point form narrative that the book was written in. So it left a mark, that’s for sure.
It’s a book that should be read - some lovely, although sometimes incredibly sad, viewpoints on life and people. A simple read, and a good story if nothing else. Thanks for the recommendation!

Universal Laws of Passport Photos

1. How you look in everyday life will be the exponential inverse of how you look in your passport photos.
2. Should you ever have a day when you are looking good, this will not be the day that you will have passport photo’s taken. (Which leads directly to law 3)
3. Should you have a day where you look the worst you’ve looked in years, this will be the day you need a new passport photo taken.
4. All passport photos require women to wear their hair down. On the surprise day where you need to have passport photos taken, this will be the day where you have cinched an elastic so tightly around your hair that when removed, makes you appear as though you have a dent in your head.
5. However unlikely you are to smile in everyday pictures is the inverse of how likely you are to smile in your passport photo’s, incrementally more when the photographer is instructing you NOT to smile.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Spin Spin Sugar!

Vinyl sales are up 90% from last year. The World Is Listening!

B and Me


B and Me. Posted by Picasa

Be Proud!

I was watching a public interest story on BBC this morning - Thought I might relay it here.

An NGO in Kenya called "Pride Africa" has started a division called "Drum Net". It really demonstrates how information really is power in the world today.

When you're a small farmer (anywhere in the world) your costs are higher. You're the only one transporting your crop, in a truck that may not be full, to a market where you may not get the best price, because you're selling so little. So what Drum Net does is distributes cell phones to rural farmers. When a particular farmer is ready to sell his, lets say, baby corn, he calls Drum Net, who gives him the numbers to contact other farmers ready to sell. They then hire a truck that is then filled to capacity (as opposed to each farmer hiring a truck) and pool their crops so they can get the best price. Drum Net also provides them with the information they need to get the best price, so that they don't get ripped off. Neat hey? It was really neat to see these rural farmers talking on cell phones, planning babycorn car pools.

Best of all? Rural farmers profits have gone up 40%. And their crops are getting better because of all the info provided by Drum Net on new farming practices.

Now, your chance to be proud to be a Canadian - This project is funded in part by IDRC, (International Development Research Centre) which is Canadian!

Monday, July 11, 2005

Nice House..

If you have a chance, rent "House of D". Try to disregard any and all impressions you may have of the actors in it (Tea Leoni, Robin Williams.. David Duchovney) and the director (.. David Duchovney..) Because it really is amazing, and worth a watch. It's a really sweet, witty film about growing up, and even Robin Williams is toned down enough to make other members of the cast necessary. It's a great film, and the young lead actor Anton Yelchin is really lovely. A nice film to watch with a friend.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Thank-You Sri Lanka

Now that I have a moment to sit down (yes, 4 o’clock on Saturday is the first time I’ve sat down.) I figure I should let you all know about my trip before I forget it! (As much as I love to tell you guys what’s going on, I use this blog to remind myself of what I did as first and foremost…).
Sri Lanka was.. Wonderful. As mentioned, we couldn’t believe how clean it was. After being in India for a while, I didn’t realize how accustomed I was to the piles of garbage, the bad smells, the beggers… everything. In Sri Lanka, you kind of realize what a parallel universe that you’re in. I still can’t stop marvelling over how clean it was.
We used Colombo as our home base, travelling out from there every couple of days. Colombo is the capital city, with all the embassies and government situated there. They really didn’t get any of the tsunami, just a little bit of flooding, the majority of damage was done to a separate coast. Our hotel was just a 5 minute walk from the ocean, you could smell the surf and hear the breakers as you got within a few blocks. It was nice to be by the water again.
Colombo is fairly modern, they have great (so great) shopping. Which usually isn’t my number one cultural activity to do when visiting a new country.. But I think shopping may actually BE a cultural activity in Sri Lanka. Because there were a lot of people shopping.. a lot of the time. We spent 3 of our 5 days in Colombo. It was a vacation after all.
The first trip into the interior that we took was to Kandy, getting higher into the mountains/foothills. We first went to an elephant orphanage at Pinnewalla, which the pictures below are of. It was a pretty amazing facility. It was nice to see a culture that reveres at takes care of their animals. Here in India you seem to get the first, and not the latter. The orphanage is pretty modern, they have a large number of elephants in a fairly huge park that are protected from poachers etc. There was one elephant that was 65, blind in both eyes from being shot at by poachers.. and about the size of a small house. Another was missing half of one of his front legs from stepping on a landmine. It was pretty amazing to see an organization that would take care of them like that. The others were a hodgepodge of mothers and babies and other family members.
They really are huge animals, and you can see that if they really wanted to hurt you – they could. But they manage to be so gentle with their babies, with each other, and with you when you’re near them – it really is beautiful. I walked towards one to feed him bananas, and as I got closer, he wrapped his trunk around the back of my knees to pull me close, until my head was resting against his. He was pressing his enormous head, his completely ancient head against mine as he munched bananas out of my hand. I’d have to say it was a pretty spiritual experience.
After the elephant orphanage we drove to a tea plantation – this incredibly old (100+ years) building with incredibly old tea fields (300+ years!!). It was amazing. I’m not sure what I expected, but when I hopped out of the car by the tea factory, all I could smell was..tea. It was like stepping into a giant sepia coloured photo, that literally clouded your vision with the smell of tea. It was phenomenal.
We got a tour through the factory, where they show the drying and fermenting and mashing of the leaves, and got a lesson in good tea. There are about 6 different grades of tea.. and the really funny thing.. Tea bags are the absolute worst. When they tear the leaves for loose leaf tea, the dust and crap that falls through to the bottom of the machine is the stuff they scoop up and put in your tea bags. Tell that to the next English person who says they know tea. Because unless it’s loose leaf – there are probably some pebbles and dirt in those tea bags.
We walked up to the top of the tea factory, and with the smells of the tea being slowly dried and fermented, we had an amazing cup of tea. Served in old, thin, worn china, with just a little sugar - it was the best cup of tea I’ve ever had in my life. So we proceeded to buy a couple pounds (!!) of it, and you’re all welcome to a cup when I get home. Needless to say - India has nothing on Sri Lankan tea. You never hear anything about it, you always hear stories of Indian tea. But with a straight face I can tell you - Sri Lankan tea takes the cake. And the tea biscuit.
From there we went to the "Temple of the Tooth" in the centre of the town of Kandy. A Buddhist temple built to house.. You’ve got it.. Buddha’s tooth. Apparently, while being cremated (as all the painting depict, I’m not making this up) somebody ran in and grabbed one of Buddha’s teeth off of the funeral pyre. *smile* So this temple purportedly houses the tooth. You’re not allowed to see it, but it’s kept in the centre of the temple.
There was a suicide bombing at this particular temple in 1998, and if it gives any idea of the devastation, it was just re-opening this year. 4 Tamil Tigers (a Sri Lankan terrorist group) walked in with something like 400kgs of explosives strapped to themselves and blew themselves up. From what I’ve heard, read, and been told first hand, they’re incredible terrorists. (If you can use those words in conjunction.) Stories too gruesome to be told here - if that’s any indication.
Needless to say, the restoration was incredible, and extensive. Luckily, most of the damage was done to the front entrance - the actual temple is centred in the middle of the building, and is built of wood. If they had gotten any farther than they did, the devastation would have been complete and irreparable. The temple was interesting, even though our guide appeared to put an interestingly Catholic spin on the Buddhist philosophy. ("Live a bad life, straight to hell. Well, then you come back as a dog. But straight to hell." ) It was interesting to see - but not necessarily a "must see".
Our next trip out of Colombo was taken a few days later, when we went up to Sigiriya Rock (Lion’s Rock) and then to Dambulla.
Sigiriya Rock is... amazing. It’s this gigantic rock that rises out of the jungle, shooting straight up like it was plonked down as a table for the gods. It has a palace on the top, constructed for a prince in hiding. The legend goes that this Prince (not a full prince - by the King and a...ahem..concubine..) was upset that he would never inherit the throne, that it would go to the full blooded prince. So he killed his father, entombing him in the walls of a castle being built. Fearing retribution, he fled to Sigiriya Rock, building a palace at the top. When his brother came looking for revenge 18 years later (I guess they weren’t as hot headed back then...) he climbed down to lead his troops into battle on an elephant. Attempting to out manoeuver his brother, he led his elephant accidentally into a bog, where he became stuck. His troops deserted him, and he killed himself. Moral of the story? You know who your true friends are when your elephant gets stuck in the mud.
So this rock, which served as a palace and refuge in the 5th century, is now a world heritage site. You can take the 377 metre winding climb up to the top, taking in some truly amazing sites. Along the way there are these fantastic frescoes, painted right onto the side of the rock - from the 5th century! All of the paintings are of very busty, very topless women. The colours are absolutely stunning, it’s hard to believe that they were painted in the 5th century, and have been exposed to the elements for 90% of their existence. There were originally 500 paintings, and only 22 survive after a religious vandal destroyed the rest. What so many years of wind, rain and sun could not destroy, one lunatic did.
After the paintings, there is a "mirror wall" - which is really amazing. It’s a wall, buffed shiny, that 5th century visitors to the castle would leave their impressions of the paintings and the scenery etc. It’s incredibly important, of course, because it shows the evolution of the Sinhalese script and language. It’s pretty much a 5th century guest book. It’s amazing. Of course, people often fail to see the value in such historical monuments - therefore there are a lot of "Danta loves Andupura" scratched in there. But ever since it became a UNESCO sight, there is a 50,000 rupee fine and 6 months in jail for even THINKING about touching it.
After the long and somewhat frightening trek up between the lion’s paws (at some points it appears as though the stairs were put in in the 5th century.. When in reality, they used a series of ropes and sometimes what appears to just be a series of treacherous ladder-like foot holds...-wouldn’t you hate to be out of milk??) we reached the top. It really is worth the climb, to imagine the ruins at the top at the palace they once must have been. The view is truly incredible, to look out over the jungle and the start of the small mountain range and the water gardens below. It’s amazing. You can stand where they think the kings throne once sat and imagine what he saw all those hundreds of years ago.
Post climb, we went into Dambulla to see the Caves. (Literally, deserve a capital. I have no idea what else to call them.) There are 5 caves up in the mountain, with these amazing painted ceilings and hundreds of Buddas within. Statues, lounging Buddas.. It was awesome. I can’t imagine what an archeologist would think when he found such a treasure. Definitely along the lines of "jackpot."
It was really a neat place to see. Unfortunately, you can see the rate of deterioration is really high, despite the fact you can’t even take flash photography of the statues. (That, and it’s kind of spiritually uncouth) The Definitely need to start some form of restoration and preservation - or it might not be around for much longer. (Okay, I just looked up how old they are.. I guess they’re holding up pretty good for being created around the 1st Century BC. )
After that - we headed home. To Colombo, and then the next day back to Delhi. It was a really phenomenal trip - and Definitely opened my eyes to a lot of things. For instance.. The most striking difference was the cleanliness. Both Sri Lanka and India are developing countries, but statistically, Sri Lanka is a lot poorer than India. Even with decades of civil war Sri Lankans are generally better educated, (92% literacy compared to India’s staggering 64%). The cities are better organized, the people are kinder, there are fewer beggars and visible street people. The waterways are clean - (so clean in fact we regularly saw people swimming and playing!) The population is high (19 million), but the relative size of Sri Lanka is fairly small comparatively. Now - here comes the stickler - Sri Lanka is 75 Buddhist.. And India is 80% Hindu.
Could it be that religion is at the crux of the incredible divergence of these two countries? Hindus believe that once something leaves your hand and touches the ground - it’s garbage, and for somebody of a lower caste to take care of. That would definitely answer the pollution quandary. Buddhists believe in the understanding, if not outright acceptance, of everyone - leading to a far lower incidence of secular violence. To take care of those less fortunate - less beggars, less street people. Hmm.
Hindu’s believe that everything in your life has been predestined for a long time. That your lot in life is not yours to change, but to accept, to be a good person and to hope for, essentially, a better life next time. And that if you have a bad life now, it’s because you’re doing penance for a previous life. There is no chance for advancement, for living outside of your predestination. It is a culture that does not say "how can I make life better, easier for my children?" But one that says "What life they have is the one that is predestined, and it is not my place to help them out of poverty, disease and illiteracy."
Buddhists, on the other hand, believe that everything is, and always will be, within your grasp. That every choice you make is your choice alone, and it is your duty to strive for a good life, no matter the circumstances. They value education and acceptance and cleanliness. Of course, the wheel of life is prevalent in the Buddhist religion, that you will be reincarnated as something less if you do not live a good life - but that even if reincarnated as a dog, you must strive to do the best you can in that life as well - to excel and to be wise and learned and kind.
It’s true that this may seem incredibly similar in some respects - but to be honest.. The difference is staggering.
Perhaps the greatest difference we saw was in the ritual of prayer. Hindu’s pray for what they do not have, for the grievances that have befallen them, not that they got a new car, a new home, but that they did not get a bigger home, a better car. That they are sick, and why, oh why, are they sick. Buddhists, on the other hand, seem to pray to give thanks. Thanks for a good job that they got, the nice home, the new baby. They pray to say thank you, instead of to ask. It was refreshing - and appealing.
So then, thank you Sri Lanka. It was an amazing trip, and I can’t wait to see you again.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Step.. One.. Two..

Today I take my iPod into the shredding room (which always smells suspiciously like rain) because I’m totally hooked on this Feist song "Inside and Out", which is basically kinda hopped up "steppin’" music from the 70's. I’m completely enamoured, loving it, so much I sang into my hairbrush across to the Italian Embassy this morning. Which I’m sure they appreciated.
I’ve never officially learned the electric slide, but like most things, have become particularly adept at just making them up. Which is what I was doing, listening to Feist’s "Inside and Out" on my iPod, strutting in front of the shredder, can of WD-40 (for the occasional shredder lubrication in tune to the drum beat) in hand like a microphone - when my boss walked in. And walked out.
And.... Slide!

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Thursday, July 7th, 3:30pm

News has just come over the wire of 6 bombs going off in London, England. 6 bombs in total, 1 at least on the Metro, 1 exploding a double decker bus.

Of course, terrorism is still just speculation. Right. And a swastika is just a plus sign doing cartwheels.

Take care London, you're in our hearts.

Excuse me...


Excuse Me..

This trunk on the left snuck in just as my shutter snapped..

Under a Cocoanut Tree


Under a Cocoanut Tree

This guy was actually groovin' away, looked like he was listening to some Stevie Wonder or something.

Elephant and His Friend


Elephant and His Friend

Limited Edition Sold Out

Just read on NYTimes that Nan Kempner passed away. She was the last of her kind, known as a "social X-ray" she was so skinny, and an icon for her style. They say she's got archives in her closets she has such an incredible collection. I'd love to be there for that estate sale. *sigh*

She was of the old mold - Rich, classy, kind, (which I suppose, sets her appart anyways) well dressed. Part of the "ladies who lunch" crowd, but also chair of MOMA, charities, the list goes on. Maybe marriage will give Paris Hilton that kind of drive. Right.

She said often -"Bury me naked. I know there's shopping where I'm going." What a lady.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Strike Two

This is just a little note, in case anyone has been watching the news (and in case you watch it in the near future..;-) . There have been some more religious attacks in the state next to us, Uttar Pradesh. There was an attempt to blow up a Hindu temple at Ayodhya, wherein all of the suicide bombers were killed. From what I gather of the history, there was a Muslim mosque on the site, then that was destroyed by the Hindus, who attempted to erect their own temple, and of course, are now being attacked by Muslims. We’re all safe here at the embassy, although we’re only about the distance from Edmonton to Calgary away.
What we’re most afraid of right now is the Prime Minister Manmohansingh enacting something called a “bahn” (forgive me for my crappy hindu-anglo translations) wherein all shops and businesses will close, schools as well, and is a period of religious fervour – not always a great idea with so much time on everyone’s hands. The Indian papers don’t have as much.. tact?.. as western papers, and therefore the from pages are all plastered with pictures of exploded, shot, imploded, mangled, decapitated etc human beings. I’m happy that my younger sister is as of now out of the country in Canada. I don’t know if I’m prepared to see all this – much less her at 15 years old.

Alright, enough bad news. The good news is that we’re all ok, safe here at the embassy, and enjoying the cooler weather that the monsoon has brought. I hope you’re all well, times like this I miss Canada immensely. Take care of each other.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Bliss

Hello from Sri Lanka! I think I've fallen in love with this country.. Poorer than India, it's about 10x's cleaner, I haven't smelled urine or garbage since I got here! There is no garbage on the streets, the people are all genuinely kind, and it's by the water! What more could I ask for? Plus, I had the best cup of tea I've ever had in my life way up in the mountains. And they have avocados the size of small melons. And no stray dogs! Or cats! And barely any beggars! Be still my heart.. I might be immigrating. I'll tell you all about it later, just checking in. Talk to you all soon!

Monday, June 27, 2005

To The Last Page..

I finished “Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow”, as well as “Things Fall Apart”. The first was an excellent murder mystery-esque book, filled with amazing science regarding snow and theories on math and physics. A very different kind of novel, well worth the read. The ending left a little to be desired (I hate that feeling when you know there are only a few pages left in your right hand and you know the author can’t possibly wrap it up with so little time left.. ) but perhaps I just prefer my climax in the middle of the book. No denoument here my friends.

“Things Fall Apart” was a inimitably sad book, on so many levels. Personal, familial, global, historical – I wasn’t too sad to reach the end, just sad that it had such an ending. I’m not sure if I would recommend it…maybe you just have to read it yourself and see.

Up next – “One Hundred Years of Solitude” – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- “This Side of Paradise” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Some Thoughts for the Day. Like You Need More.

"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." -E.B White

"I never give them hell. I just tell the truth and they think it's hell." ~Harry S. Truman

"When I tell any truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do." ~William Blake

"We do not err because truth is difficult to see. It is visible at a glance. We err because this is more comfortable." ~Alexander Solzhenitsyn

"If we don't believe in freedom of expression for people we despise, we don't believe in it at all." -Noam Chomsky

"The propagandist's purpose is to make one set of people forget that certain other sets of people are human." -Aldous Huxley

I Need Some Help Mr. Bigstuff..

My brother is listening to a lot of Aretha Franklin on his iPod. Here is my current top five in rotation.
1. Blame it on the Tetons – Modest Mouse
2. Golden Touch – Razorlight
3. Rythem – Awol 1
4. Annie’s Parlour – Kid Koala
5. Beverly Hills – Weezer
Anybody been listening to anything new? I need some suggestions - and some bootlegged cd's to make their way over here.. ahem.

Something Stormy This Way Comes.

It appears that the monsoon as arrived...a little ‘monlate’ as the newspapers are fond of quipping. *smile* The temperature this morning was about 15 degrees cooler than I’m used to in the morning; so very strange. I found that I was quite comfortable in jeans and a light sweater.. at 30 degrees!!

Not too much going on this side of the world. I leave tomorrow night for Colombo, Sri Lanka, and am back the following Monday. It seems to have completely snuck up on me, I keep thinking that I’m not leaving for at least another week. I can’t believe that it’s already the end of June.

The weekend was lovely, a nice break. Bryan and I built a fort in his living room, with sheets and the dining room chairs. It was a perfect, grey, rainy day to do it. So we wore our toques and ate peanuts and drew pictures of log cabins (Bryan) and listened to Cat Power and Nightmares on Wax. I haven’t built a fort in years, and as Bryan commented, it seemed to take a lot more work when we were kids. Ain’t that the truth. It’s just about the only thing that’s gotten easier with age.

It was my Mum’s birthday yesterday, so we had a big dinner, ate way too much food and laughed so hard. That’s definitely something that I hope to bring to my own family – the amazing laughter and food that has always graced our table. I always feel like I’m getting a gift being able to sit at a table with my family.

That’s about it! I have to find some time today to pack and get ready for Sri Lanka. This weather just makes me want to drink tea and sleep and listen to jazz. Which worries me, since the monsoon lasts for a few months. Productivity may be a little low in the next while. *smile* Take care everyone!

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Cooking Lessons a la Tibet

Dolma, Bryan’s Tibetan maid, showed me how to make momos today! She usually makes them when Bryan comes home from a trip, and they’re just so amazing. So I asked if she would show me how to make them, and the tomato stuff that goes with them. (Fondly referred to as “Tibetan Ketchup”)

It was so much fun. Dolma is about as big as a minute, I think the top of her head comes maybe to my chin, and when I stand at 5’2” (5’3” on my passport…) that’s pretty tiny. She’s got this endearing gold tooth and a head of long long black hair that’s curiously free of grey and always pulled so properly back into a big bun. She’s got the most beautiful, face altering smile, and she sticks her tongue out when she gets really excited. She could be anywhere from 50 years old to 150.. I have no clue. Her English isn’t great, but it’s a hell of a lot better than my Tibetan, so we get along pretty well. Plus, there is something that’s so familiar, so universal, about one woman teaching another how to cook something; most of the time our grins did more instructing than our words.

So we drank a little South African beer (which made Dolma delightfully giddy) and chopped chicken and made dough and laughed and laughed. She’s just so funny – I can see when she’s standing behind me that I’m doing it wrong because her little hands kept jumping forward, wanting to fix everything. *laugh* The ingredients and all the parts are pretty easy to make, it’s the hand-momo-coordination that you need to make the cool dough designs that just killed me. It was so much fun. At the end I was covered in chicken and ginger and dough and tomato – but it was so worth it. We all stood around the boiling pot as they steamed, waiting to eat them. Which we promptly did as soon as they were done. So now I’ve got an authentic Tibetan momo recipe, written on the back of the “Communist Party of Nepal (Marxist-Leninist) Manifesto” which for some reason, was the only paper in my purse.

Anybody interested in momo making lessons, I’ll give them to you for the price of a new winter scarf, a haircut, or some South African beer.

Monday, June 20, 2005

A Dictator's Doritos

The chances of getting Sadam Hussein on Ricky Lake are relatively slim. But, we have something better. A group of young men who guarded Sadam are now speaking with CNN in regards to their experiences. And oh lord, it’s a right laugh.

For instance, the young man who was so well bred that he almost said “Pleased to meet you” upon Sadam introducing himself.. when (and I quote) “My inner monologue had just kicked in, and now, I was like, Geez, you’re not pleased to meet him, he’s a dictator!” No word of a lie, this is on CNN.

My particular favourite was when they were speaking about Sadam’s favourite foods. Apparently, though his mind is on the loop, his bowels are regular with his daily requested cereal – Raisin Bran. #1 Choice Among Colorectal Surgeons and Dictators alike! 2 Scoops of Infidels in Every Box!

Like two children, these marines spoke in awe of the dictators penchant for Doritos. They would give him a “huge family sized bag” and “in ten minutes, it would be like… gone.” In a single sitting, they gasped! Yes, millions of Kurds and Shi'ites.. but a family sized bag of Doritos?

Pleased to meet you Sadam. Nice to see your other side.

Just 10 Pages.. Please.. a Literary Dime Bag..

So I’ve been indulging in my most academic of addictions – reading. And I’ve been truly, tortuously enjoying it, like a real junkie would. I’ve finished a literary litany of books over the past week or two, and would recommend a number of them.

“Lady Chatterley’s Lover” – D.H. Lawrence (Not what you’d think – but 10 times better)
“Middlesex” – Jeffrey Eugenides (Has pushed “Love in the Time of Cholera” to a tie for favourite book – probably is one of the best books of the past 10 years.)
“Mother Night” – Kurt Vonnegut (Deliciously dark humour –a wonderful read.)
“A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” – Dave Eggers (Painfully real. Made me love my mother.)
“Down and Out in Paris and London” – George Orwell (The pleasures of being poor in Paris – who says only having chocolate and bread to eat is a bad thing?)

Up next – “Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow” – Peter Hoeg
- “The Old Man and the Sea” – Ernest Hemingway
- “Things Fall Apart” – Chinua Achebe

If anyone has some suggestions.. please let me know. I’ve been going off a mixed list of Pulitzer prize winners and New York Times ten best lists etc etc – But nothing is better than real life references.

India Has Gone to Pot


India has gone to Pot.. Posted by Hello

Ms. Poshlust and Mr. Bryan


Ms. Poshlust and Mr. Bryan

Mountain Girl, is that you?


After 8 days in the mountains, having a friend cut your hair sounds like a good thing.

An Indian Backyard


Indian Backyard Posted by Hello

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Addictive, # 10577

www.wordcount.org

Waxing Happy

I had a boy take me on the back of a bicycle through the woods last night while I held my pants from being caught in the spokes and sang Patsy Cline. I sat on the back as he peddled through a perfectly set sun, leaving a lavender and blue sky for the trees to sleep under. The moon was a “waxing gibbous”, imperfect in its lopsided smile that helped, with the glow a city and 13 million people, to light the path. I think my skin sighed, and smiled.

Frying My Canadian Bacon

It’s so unbelievably hot here. This weekend it was 50 degrees in the sun, the hottest I’ve ever been in my life. The wind doesn’t help at all, they don’t have cool breezes here. You roll down your window in the car, in the hopes of something cool blowing your way – and instead you get a face full of what feels like a blowdryer. It was unbelievable. When you walk out of your front door, it’s like opening an oven.

The heat really doesn’t do too much for ones appearance either. Make-up is just a lost cause, as is doing your hair; after an hour in the heat, both of them have slid down around your waist and proceed to stay there. This lovely thing happens where your ankles swell and your toes get burnt by the sun, while the rest of you miraculously avoids getting a tan at all. Meanwhile, your sunglasses are creating some kind of oven between the lenses and your face, so that you have to take them off every 5 minutes lest you parboil your eyeballs. Allowing, of course, all the sweat on your brow to rush down and sting your blinking eyes that have just been exposed to ten million UVB/UVA rays.

While all this is happening, your body is trying to rid itself of any excess weight, usually in the form of sweat, not fat, as I’ve instructed it so many times. I’ve discovered that places that I never knew sweat – do indeed do so, and at alarming rates. The back of ones knees for instance. Or your ears. My favourite, of course, is when it gets so hot that I appear to be lactating. Always attractive.

The mornings and evenings offer little, if any reprieve at all. It’s already 30 degrees by 8:30am, with a usual projected high of about 45. 50 degrees when we’re really lucky. The evening is pretty much the same. It doesn’t go down past 25-30 often.

So, my bigger question is – how on earth am I going to live through a Canadian winter again? Where my hottest day here and my coldest day there have a difference of almost 100 degrees between them? I’ll be praying for a blowdryer then.. I have no doubt.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

A Dusty Update

Delinquent as always.. all I can do is apologise. The days have been filed with work and friends and family and sun and laughter.. Filled with too much to sit still and write a blog.

Everything is well here – wonderfully well. Bryan and I have been playing explorers and driving all around Delhi listening to mixed tapes and getting horribly lost and laughing and yelling and doing all those things that seem amplified inside a car. (Or.. as Bryan refers to it.. “The toaster on wheels”. Which isn’t altogether an untrue description of the Qualis.)

We’ve been exploring antique shops and imagining houses and yard to put the treasures in; covered in dust and the incredibly heat. My favourite so far had almost three floors of absolute wonder. Armoires and couches and tables...coffee tables as big as dining room tables, marble arches bigger than my living room. Shelves of antique toys, little wooden elephants on wheels (which, I caved and bought and secretly stashed for an unimagined child of mine that might one day pull it along a sidewalk, unaware of the story of where their mummy picked it up..) little horses and camels… It was wonderful.

Bryan’s attempting to get his couches reupholstered before returning home, so we were also on the hunt (in the land of textiles; it really was a hunt – which surprised me.) for that particular fabric that would be perfect to buy in bolts of 35 metres and match the lovely furniture he bought. It was worse than prom dress shopping – and I have to say that I wasn’t too much of a help! *smile* It ended up that the place we dismissed at 10 in the morning was the place we ended back up at 6 in the evening, after a day of zipping around the city, positively hot and lost and feeling for all the world that there really couldn’t be worse traffic.

In all honesty.. I think things like that only make people closer, better. Especially here in Delhi, when the only person that speaks your language (literally and figuratively) is the one beside you, holding your hand and laughing just as hard as you. The only one who knows your “Oh my lord lets get out of here” look, things like that. I guess that’s probably relative all over the world. But somehow it just seems all the more-important, here in India. So Bryan – thanks for holding my hand and laughing with me, and knowing my “lets get out of here” face.

Other than the day to day adventures – there is also the most mundane of all – Work. *smile* It’s not been bad at all, fairly busy. This week has dragged by without a doubt, each day felt like a week itself. The family is well, my sister leaves for Canada for 6 weeks on Monday, and couldn’t be more thrilled if she tried. She’s spending the time on the prairies with my grandmother, and my mother keeps reiterating that it’s “Better to be bored in Canada than bored in India.” Which holds some small iota of logic.

That’s my small, and painfully useless update. I hope you’re all well – haven’t heard from a couple of you in a while.. *cough cough* So I’d appreciate an update. Hope you’re all well – of course I’m thinking of all of you. Take care of each other, talk to you soon.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Pale Yellow Papers

I can’t throw them out.

I’m filing all of this information about Nepal – the political upheavals going on, the Maoist insurgency, the clashes between the military and the rebels. And I have stacks, stacks, stacks.. Of these pale yellow papers from Amnesty International.

Each one is a record of somebody that has “been disappeared”. Each one is a brief biography of a person’s life, and the instances surrounding the fact that they have now “disappeared.” The last parts we know, the walking to the market, the coming home from school. The ‘no political ties’ and the ‘never voted’. Then the gone.

Apparently Nepal has the highest rate of “disappearances” in the entire world. An estimated 20000 people.

I’m supposed to throw them out. I can’t do it. They’re sitting on my desk.

I can’t throw them out.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Send in the Postman

So I’m sick. Sick with a distended third world belly. Oh, it may seem comical that I frequently wonder just how close I am to immaculate conception to get a belly like this.

But really, the thought of various amoebas throwing parties in the dim red light of my stomach, dancing away under the slightly intruding disco ball of my bellybutton, thrilled with all the room a missing intestine permits… Gosh.

I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve sent in the AntiBiotic BodyGuards, wielding white blood cells like nightsticks, but they’ve only succeeding in making the party a little less loud – wherein somebody yells “Damn you coppers!” and they kick up their heels and start doing the bumb and grind all over my lower intestine. (Made all the more important by the fact that it's the only one I have left.)

So instead I’m trying to live harmoniously with my resident friends, letting them sap me of energy, like it’s me that’s at the party, not just hosting it. It’s not working very well. I’m thinking that I’m going to have to throw in something a little tougher, perhaps the antibiotic equivalent of Bukowski, who will outlinger and outfester anything silly enough to hang around. I could live with that. Maybe.

Monday, May 30, 2005

A Forgotten Wonderful

The most lovely thing happened. I walked outside to light the clay lamps in Bryan’s driveway, to get ready for our little party. The gardener had watered the driveway, creating a false humidity, and soaking my bare feet. It was so warm, and combined with the humidity, the one bougainvillea branch hanging over from the neighbouring house smelled like perfume from an old blue glass atomizer. I bent down to light the clay lamp underneath, and water from the flowers brushed and ran down my bare shoulder. I happened again as I stood up. I had bougainvillea water running down my spine and across into those little wisps of hair that every woman has falling out of an updo.. It was perfection.

An Unwitty Nitty Gritty Update

There has been so much going on, I’m not sure where to start. It feels like everyday I think “I have to write this down” , and everyday that I barely make it to the end of the day. Much less sit down at another computer.

My heart, too, has been a little sore – my city was hurt last week. There were three bombings across Delhi, two at movie theatres and one at a railway, injuring 54 people and killing 1. We’re just now feeling our shoulders relax, although I still see my mothers eyes flicker when she knows we’ll be out late or alone. The purported reason for the bombings were the films that were being played at the movie theatres. The Sikh community was outraged at the Sikh hero in the film being chased by scantily clad women, and the fact that the title of the film was a Sikh term only to be used in the most pious of situations. Instead of boycotting the film, picketing, going to the film industry’s governing body – what do they do? They set two bombs, causing what they think to be a retaliatory third to be set on a railway.

The worst part? Immediately after the bombings, on the news, a spokesman for the Sikh community comes on, stating that “There is no way that this was anyone from the Sikh community. Our Guru’s teach us not to kill. This was not a Sikh.”. I really hate to be a naysayer… But has anybody heard about Partition? Where Sikh’s killed, and were killed, in the 5 million person massacre? Or the fact that they pride themselves on being a warrior caste?

They don’t know, but are still “investigating” who could have committed the bombings. But it was strange. It’s different when it is some other city, some other place. But it was my city, my place. Even if perhaps it was in a part of the city that I didn’t know, a name I didn’t know. But it wasn’t. It was a place I do know, a name I do know. Is this what happens as you travel? The world gets smaller, the problems closer?

Because it is getting smaller. There was news yesterday of an attack on a bus in Mandi, where my friend and I travelled not that long ago. A woman was the target of an acid attack by a man, severely injuring her and the 20 people surrounding her. I’ve been to the bus station they were talking about. We’ve taken the bus, or at least the route, that she was taking. I’ve been having nightmares about it.

On a lighter note, I got to experience the unbearable lightness of being a hostess on Thursday. Bryan was hosting a little get together of friends, colleagues, interesting people. So I got to play hostess and helped with the menu (pure Italian, lots of pasta and lasagne and ceasar salad and bruschetta) and the wine drinking. The best hostess gift that I think I’ve ever seen? Homemade cantaloupe sorbet for us and doggie biscuits for the puppies. How great is that? It was a wonderful time – everyone ate lots, complimented my cheesecake, left on time.. What more could you ask for? They were even good looking guests.

I was supposed to go away this past weekend, but my increasingly hostile stomach has been holding me back. So instead I spent the weekend at the pool, cooking good food, laughing, reading, shopping. It was just what the doctor ordered. My stomach hasn’t received that memo yet, but I’m sure it will.

I’ve got a reception tonight, and Political and Economic Affairs (which is me) is going on a retreat (which conjures up way too many images of Catholic school for me) tomorrow to discuss the upcoming and past year. Then onwards and upwards from there! Saturday is the farewell party for everyone moving on to other Embassies, other countries, and hopefully includes a lot more lounging in the sun. Other than that, the remaining 36 hours of my week is free.

I hope everyone is well – missing you all, of course. Have I really been here five months? Do I really have just three left? Part of me can’t wait to come back to Canada.. another part is seriously considering building a mud hut here. *smile* Take care everyone, and will talk to you soon.

7 Favorite Things. Because 10 is a Cliche.

Roald Dahl – Without even trying, he’s a prolific children’s writer. James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Fantastic Mr. Fox – the list goes on and on. But, did you know that he’s also got an equally as huge repertoire of really naughty books and gruesome short stories? Neither did I… and now I can’t look at Willy Wonka and Veruca Salt in quite the same way.

Poetry – I’ve really never been a big fan, in any way, shape, or form. But I picked up a copy of Pablo Neruda’s “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair” and had one of those big heart wrenching sighs that makes your toes exhale. He wrote “El Postino” (not the one with Kevin Costner..) which I have yet to see. So really, I guess one of my favourite things isn’t poetry. It never has been. But Pablo Neruda.. he’s not really poetry either.. he’s something else entirely.

Fall – Something I’m completely missing being in India is the turning of the seasons. Seasons change here, just not in the order or in the contrasting nature that I’m used to. All the leaves are currently falling off the trees…into the swimming pool where everyone is trying to escape the 50 degree heat. All of a sudden I’m craving apple cider and cold mountains and big sweaters and brown leather boots and cold air and squash soup. It’s gone from warm to hot to unbearable to.. I don’t know what this is. The closest approximation to Hades that I know exists on our mortal plain. So I’m missing all the things that are as close to polar opposite as I get. Because I don’t much like winter either. *smile*

The Color Green – That dark, not quite forest green that’s associated with riding clubs and members only jackets. I’m completely enamoured with this green carry-on at an unearthly fashionable leather shop – it screams ‘take me around the world with you’. In a British accent no less. Burnished brown and copper are close seconds – but green.. oh green..

Black Sesame Ice cream – Bryan and I went out for Sushi (it gets a capital.. it was that good) and while it was amazing, I have to say the ice cream really was the coup de grace. The color of black speckled wet concrete, with the subtle initial taste of praline and a little bit of milk, into a full bodied cold nutty sesame experience.. I can only hope you can find it somewhere nearby. It would be the perfect accompaniment to lychee martinis and sushi aperitifs. There. I’ve just planned a party for you.

Suntans – There is something inimitably sexy about tan lines. I don’t know what it is – perhaps the connotation of enough time to be idle in the sun (re: rich), or just the healthy glow that it imparts upon anyone and everyone. I spent 75% of my weekend drinking beer and baking in the sun and playing in the pool. It was wonderful. I remembered how I used to be able to spend hours and hours in the pool as a kid, but couldn’t recall exactly what I did. Watching all the young kids at the pool, jumping in and jumping out and splashing and swimming – perhaps youth is what a suntan suggests, the amazing ability to do nothing with all the grave importance of something. And that – that is sexy.

Sunglasses – I’ve figured out what I will hoard. Sunglasses. Big, ungainly, dark, Bardot-esque, Jackie O-ish.. Sunglasses. Those who know me will attest to my love of sun spectacles that cover half my face – there really is something lovely about anonymity and UVA protection all in one. I tried on a million pairs this last week with Bryan alternately laughing or grimacing, and discovered what I really was capable of pulling off. And they’re huge I tell you. Just wait and see. But I will – hoard that is. I know I’ll be fifty bequeathing ten pairs at a time to unsuspecting God-children.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Exactly What is the Menu?

This is pretty cool - www.food-force.com . It's the United Nations World Food Program's computer game. You have to supply aid to this little ficticious island off of India, dealing with rebels, politics, weather, so on and so forth. It's intended as a learning tool for schools - But really, is a recruitment drive really that implausible? I'd work for them after playing this.. To the chopper!

Slow it Down!

Yes, it’s true. I had a birthday yesterday. I’m officially 21 years of age. Two decades plus one. *sob* I can’t believe it. I remember my 18th birthday with a tonne more clarity than I do any of the ensuing ones.. and now I’m 21? How is it that we never believe those little pearls of wisdom like “It only goes faster from here” until we’re gazing down at our own children (or alternately our catheters) saying the same thing? Why don’t we listen to our parents? How is it that I’m already one day closer to being 22? And why didn’t anyone answer my pleas for botox and collagen injections? *sob*

I did get a plethora of beautiful gifts.. Multicoloured sapphire and silver earrings, a beautiful peridot and garnet bracelet from Bryan (no, really – Not only am I now sporting earrings, I’ve slipped so gracefully, into bracelets. I just know I’m going to end up one of those old ladies with a safe full of jewellery that I pull behind me on vacations to Africa) some music, some clothing.. And a bicycle!! The last time that I had a bicycle of my own, not just somebody else’s that I was doing maintenance on…I was about 12. This one is a stunning Indian/British style huge wheeled bike that makes me feel like I should have a basket on the front filled with French bread and wine and flowers and I should be wearing capris and enormous sunglasses. It’s so fantastic, I just about died.

We had a big birthday dinner, a huge roast chicken with stuffing and cranberry sauce and all of the appropriate “fixin’s”. Bryan came over, and we all ate and ate until we were pretty sure we were just going to fall asleep. It was absolutely perfect.
Anyone wishing to contribute to my karmic bank account, your donations are always welcome. So are the names of reputable plastic surgeons. One takes the wrinkles out of my life, the other out of my ass. Perfect.

Rajasthan is a Colour

How did we end up in the desert you ask? Well, to tell the truth, getting to Amritsar was becoming so difficult, that it wasn’t feeling like the advent of a vacation in the least. We found out that we could be guaranteed a seat on the train there, but not back.. And when we looked at all (and I mean ALL) the other modes of transportation up there, everything, every last seat, camel cart and bicycle, was booked. Which leads me to believe that visiting a temple that holds 30, 000 people at a time.. Might not be the best thing to do in 45 degree heat…surrounded by the aforementioned 30, 000 people.

So, we pretty much decided to head in the opposite direction to Rajasthan, and I’m so thrilled that we did. There’s this huge fort/castle down there that’s been converted into a beautiful hotel, which I really think is an excellent way of generating money to keep up the maintenance. Each room is different, so you don’t really know what to expect. We got the beautiful “Neelam Mahal” – decorated in blue and white. It was so fantastic, everything in blue Rajasthani print and white marble – it was like living inside a slice of Wedgewood-cum-Indian pottery. There is a long infinity swimming pool on the side that looks out over the tiny village and the start of the Rajasthan desert, we sat out there and felt quite like we were in another world. It’s a positively amazing place to just wonder around and explore – Bryan was right in saying that it would be a great place for kids to run around and play hide and seek.

We pretty much did that one night – they light up the fort with tiny white lights at night, so you can climb up onto terraces and lookouts. We sat up there and drank our red wine that we snuck in. The wind was so nice and warm and the wine was so good – I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in an ancient fort in the desert watching the moon come up.. The sky out there is a beautiful navy, with the stars and the moon and the glow of the villages it ends up looking like an embroidered sari pulled over the sky.

What we were told by everyone who had been there (and many, in fact, who had not) that Neermrana (the fort) was the only thing there to see. We decided to go down to the little (and by little, I mean miniscule) town of Neemrana, the forts namesake. That’s where I took the photos of the kids. I have some more, which I’ll post later. They were so sweet. The first little boy that I took a picture of just thrilled me. I took the photo (with the digital) and then motioned him over so he could see. He just about had a baby heart attack. He kept examining himself, then looking intently into the camera at himself, then up at me with the most amazing look on his face, like he really couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Needless to say, he attracted a lot of other children. I’d take a picture of them, and they would all run over to the camera. One of the older kids would stand really close, and call each kid up one at a time by name to peer at them selves on the screen. They were amazed – it was really sweet. I forget the things I take for granted, like digital cameras, can be really interesting to others.

The gentleman who’s shop we were in front of (and the father of a couple of the kids) asked if I might send him some of the pictures. He got one of the kids to run to get somebody who could write out his address for him – turns out the young man that they brought back was a business student in Delhi. He took us to his silver jewellery shop (they were making everything right in front of us, him and his brother) where I fell in love with a pair of earrings and a bracelet. The bracelet is kind of a bangle made of wood, edged in silver, and the earrings are made of the same wood and tipped in silver. They cost me next to nothing, and I’ve already gotten a plethora of compliments about them. It was really sweet – Bryan understands my sudden problem that I’ve developed, this buying of jewellery thing. (Even people who have known me for years have rarely seen me with earrings.. now when I have shoppers guilt I wear them to bed.. ;-) So he just sits quietly while my heart rate rises and I spend laudable amounts of money. The young silversmith asked if we were newly married, because Bryan was so patient with his young wife, and oh how that would quickly change. We just about died. It’s easier to feign marriage here than get the sideways glances when you say you’re just friends. So we had a good laugh pretending to be married…and waiting for Bryan’s newlywed patience to wear thin.

Our new friend asked if we had seen the step well of Neemrana, (which we were planning on going to) and offered to take us. It’s the difference between big towns and these fantastic villages – everybody just wants to show you things, have you meet their family, show you their life and their town. They have little interest in your money or your possessions, just your stories and your friendship. It really is different.. so wonderfully different. So we started walking towards the step wells.

It wasn’t long before our young friend encountered a friend riding a camel with a camel cart behind. He wanted to catch up with his friend, and asked if we wouldn’t mind riding in the cart (a term used loosely for a wooden platform with wheels) to the step wells. What luck. A guide, and a camel cart ride, all in one! Needless to say, all the other villagers going by on camels were more than a little surprised to look back and see us sweltering in the sun.

There isn’t a pat way to describe step wells. Basically they were used for surprise military attacks. When you look across a flat field, you can’t see anything but some bricks that appear to be laid out like a basement. When you get closer.. it’s amazing. There is a stairwell that basically descends down about 500ft into the earth, down to a well at the bottom. The stairwell is about 20 ft wide, wide enough, I suppose, for military men to rush up and attack. It’s about the size of 3 Olympic swimming pools at the top, if you were looking down on it. When you’re near the bottom, looking up – it really is stunning. The setting sun coming in illuminates the sandstone, and it glows this warm, beautiful color. The shadows and the birds flying within lend to this completely cathedral like atmosphere, where you can imagine the women (it was built almost exclusively by women) walking down to draw up water, and ascending the hundreds up steps back into the heat of the desert. It really is quite cool at the bottom, a welcome relief from the completely arid desert above.

Traditional Rajasthani dress is full of shockingly bright colors. Being used to the dull, dingy, somewhat dirty style of Delhi, it was so pleasant to see the beautiful colors everywhere. You can pick out Rajasthani women in Delhi easily, just by their amazing saris. Some of the women on road crews (as an aside, there is an interesting division of labour – from what we saw and what I read, primarily women do all the farming, road work, building, and the men do a lot of the artistic work – jewellery, cloth making, sari sewing.) actually had fluorescent saris. They wear a great deal of silver and gold jewellery on the wrists, arms, ears, noses… Everywhere. (They better if their husbands are the jewellers.. ;-) To walk through the villages painted the beautiful greens and purples and blues that is so common in India, and see the phenomenal flashes of yellow and green and silver and gold.. It was like walking through a set of oil paints, so vivid and saturated were all the colors.

It really was a wonderful weekend. I would recommend it to anyone and everyone – not only the fort, but to walk down into the village and explore, meet all the amazingly kind people and walk (or ride, if you’re lucky!) to the step wells. I still can’t believe my luck at living in a place like this, where a two hour car ride takes you to another world. I don’t think I ever will.

Sunday, May 15, 2005


How Beautiful.  Posted by Hello

So.. I went to Rajasthan..

Ok. So maybe we didn't do exactly what we were planning this weekend. We got all turned around in our plans, and decided to just cut and run to the desert and spend the night in this really old castle and explore a little town that everybody said wasn't worth exploring.. It was. Everyone was so kind, and so beautiful.. I'll write more later, but for now - here are some pictures.

Rajasthani Girl in Green Posted by Hello

Rajasthani Boy Posted by Hello

Rajasthani Girl Posted by Hello

Friday, May 13, 2005

Happy Yom Ha-'atzma'ut

Yesterday was the Israeli Independance Day reception. You've gotta feel gyped when in the record books it only says that you've been a country since May 14th 1948. (Because it's based on a different calendar, it doesn't fall on the same day every year.. just in case you were wondering. Not that it matters when they've pretty much existed since before sandals. Birthdays probably lose a bit of spark after a bajillion years. ) For a brief history lesson on David Ben Gurion and the creation of Isreal, click here. You'll be surprised at what you don't know. Like the fact that the day after they became a country they were attacked by six Arab nations. Happy Birthday Israel.