In the Interim.. Or the Intern.. Hmm..

Why I feel the need to post apologies and excuses for being summarily absent in blogging - I'm not entirely sure. But I have been awfully busy with my lovely new job, and in the off time - my horrible old job, (security work) which, for some reason, I keep agreeing to do.

BUT, the wonderful thing is, that I have been able to get a lot done in the reading department. Yes, some of them may seem a little boring to you, but frankly, I found "External Affairs - Cross Border Relations" (an examination of India's relationship with China, Pakistan, Bhutan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka and Afghanistan) to be really interesting. If this seems a little yawn oriented, I've also finished up "Down and Out in Paris and London" by George Orwell (who, by the way, was born Eric Arthur Blair..and BORN.. in India!!). It's an excellent read, purportedly a semi-autobiographical account of his start as a writer in.. ta da.. London and Paris. Try as he might to the opposite, he manages to make poverty look just a little appealing. Especially when a bad meal is fresh bread, wine and chocolate. Oh.. spare me.

Also, for those inclined to read the cream of the crop, I picked up an amazing (while unfortunately named) book, a compendium of phenomenal writing.. called.. "The Best American Magazine Writing 2004". Now.. I'll send an autograph and a t-shirt to the person who can come up with a worse name than that. However, the deeply ingrained "don't judge a book by it's cover" (or in this case an awful name) stopped me from throwing it back on the shelf.. And I'm so pleased that I kept it. It truly is some of the best writing I've read in a LONG time, all in a dashing little purple black blue and green package. Do pick it up.. you won't regret it. If anything, Tucker Carlson's article regarding Al Sharpton is worth every penny. I knew that bow-tied bastard would put out one day. (You can chose which one I'm referring to at this point.)

If your looking for something a little tougher, a nose bleed read if you will – then I’ll suggest “The Wealth of Nations” by Adam Smith. (Which my somewhat smug friend said he read in Econ. 20 – wherein I think at that point I was trying to convince my class that investing our monopoly money in Bayer, the only company with a large stock of anthrax vaccine, was a good bet. We could have been mega monopoly rich. Bastards.) I think it’s one of those books that you really appreciate having read after it’s completed; I know it’ll definitely help in my voracious endorsement of a militant communist Poshlust realpoltik. But for now, it just looms, a huge orange and black and yellow tome, floating around in my handbag like a crazed capitalist monarch. (The butterfly kind.)

So there you go, my few recommendations for making your brains a little heavier. (It’s a fact folks.) As soon as I manage to extricate myself from this horrendous work schedual, I’ll try and update my real life adventures, and not just the ones I’m finding in this pages and bylines. Because, as I see it, I’m officially two and a half adventures behind – Diving in Burma, Rafting in Rishikesh (which I’m pretty sure I spell differently every time) and then the rest of my mountain adventure. Because as of now, the biggest adventure that came my way was trying to hold my breath the length of the public washroom in the park that I ran in this morning. Now, I suppose an argument could be made that it pretty much sounds like I was running from one coast of India to the other.. but I digress.

I’m off to fight the office battle with the office photocopier. Hope all is well.

Trips Overdue

I guess I'll just pick up from today, because otherwise I won't be able to remember all the things I've been doing, all the places we've been. I'll have to write about Rishikesh when I get home, because I'm so immersed in this whole mountain town thing that I can't wrap my head around anything else.

Shimla -

We (my friend Hamish and I - he was my dive instructor on the boat in Burma - yet another story- he came to visit India, I had time to do a little travelling with him.) left Monday morning for the train station to hit Shimla, a really lovely little mountain town about 2200 metres up into the Shivalak range of the Himalayas. It was a really neat little train ride, because you have to do about 6 hours on the main Shatabdi Express, then hop on this completely collonial toy train that runs on these little tracks and goes through 103 bridges on its way to Shimla. Now, our main train engine on the express went out, and we had to wait to be kinda pushed into the town to catch the toy train. (Another reason I'm afraid this country has nuclear capabilities...their trains don't work.) We did manage to get there in plenty of time to be absolutely jam-crammed onto this little train. Now, I've visited some pretty awful bathrooms here in India.. but none so terrible, so purtrid, acrid, and horrible as the train bathroom. Which is saying a lot when all it is is a whole in the train floor. Apparently the idea of bracing yourself to pee is more foreign here than sour cream, because about an hour into the ride it was pretty much possible to skate in the sludge from one end of the train to the other with what might be on your feet. Yum. The scenery was enough to completely take your mind away from it. It was this stunning mix of terraced farming, bright jewels of red flowering trees, snow capped mountains, cactus, monkeys.. It was a mix of just about every landscape I've ever seen, sprinkled onto the side of a mountain. This train wasn't completely reliable either, and we periodically stopped between the 103 bridges to give the engine some zen time.

Shimla was completely worth it. It was originally where the British went when Delhi got too hot in the summer, and I can see why. It's pretty chilly up there, at night you definately needed layers. (5 layers for those of us used to the heat). In the day, it's absolutely stunning, very warm, very green. Everything is built into the mountain side, so it has this lovely appearance of brightly colored paint running down the hills, so bright and sweet are all the houses and shops. Its supposed to be a fairly touristy place, but we really didn't see more than a couple white people. The good thing about the places that are tourist attractions is that they don't really give a damn, they know they'll be more, so they don't bother. So we pretty much were left alone to explore the town.

I have to say, the best tea I've ever had in my life was in Shimla. They have these little dhabas (food shops) all around Indian cities.. But the one that we found was beyond amazing. We've officially dubbed them BLD's, because all they say on the outside is "Breakfast - Lunch - Dinner". In Shimla, just down from Christ Church, is this tiny hole in the wall, with the best Indian food and best tea I've ever had. Bar none. I think the most we paid for a meal was 100 rupees, and that was with about 4 cups of tea, 3 main dishes, and about 10 chapatis. About 3 dollars, maybe a little less. We went there for breakfast first, then returned for dinner that night. (Which the grumpy looking little chef seemed quite pleased with.) Every meal left us stuffed, and it was so good it was terrifically impossible to not eat everything, though I'm pretty sure my stomach was begging not to be punished any more. But the smell of this little shop -the onions, the curry, the dahl, the beedies, the fresh mountain air - combined with the fact there were only seats for about 10 people, that everything was made in front of you, that the arch of an eyebrow was all you needed to get more chapatis.. It was fantastic.

Our first full day in Shimla, both Hamish and I slept in, both being exhausted from the trip and having such amazingly comfortable 3$ room beds. (Seriously, it was so comfortable.) I woke up with a bit of a start, I thought maybe somebody was on the balcony, as I could see something moving. Lucky for me and my modesty, it was just a bunch of monkeys unscrewing all my porch lights and smashing them. Just up the hill from Shimla, about a 2 or 3km walk, is the Jakkhu temple, devoted to Hanuman, the monkey god. Which, as you can well imagine, brings many monkeys into the surrounding area. They kind of wander around like dogs do in Delhi, with the exception that the Delhi dogs don't pick your pockets. The temple was lovely, bright and beautiful and sparkly, as expected. We sat and had tea and looked out at the mountains, trying to make out any snowy peaks. We met another little family from Paris, another from Agra, took pictures and relaxed.. It was wonderful.

The next morning we left on the early bus to Mandi, a relatively short (4 hr) bus ride, down from about 2200 metres to only 800metres. Needless to say.. Mandi was a little bit warmer. Now, any of you who know me.. know that it generally takes a LOT to make me throw up, but when I do start.. beware. This story should demonstrate that point adequetly enough.

Indian buses, never mind Indian buses careening around mountain curves.. are fairly erratically driven. It's like one big long game of chicken, played alternately with cars, cows, mountain sides and tractors. So without extreme "intestinal fortitude" as Bryan says, you're almost certain to join the majority of passengers hanging listlessly out the window retching and vomitting. (Thus the strange colour that Indian buses take on after a few months of service.) Hamish and I were doing quite fine, more tired that naseaous, when I felt a big yawn rolling over me; at the same time the lady in front of me felt a corresponding wave of naseau. The universe and science conspiring in this cruel game, we turned a hard corner and above mentioned vomit deposited itself in above mentioned yawning mouth. My.. yawning.. mouth.

After having recovered (not without a lot of spitting, swearing, gagging and water gargling) we continued on out way with our Indy 500 wannabe driver.


Up next - He's going to stop... right?

Its All Uphill in the Mountains

At least I have a good excuse for being totally un-diligent in updating this.. I've been in the Himalayas white water rafting with Bryan for three days, then I got home Monday at midnight and hit the road with a friend at 5 the next morning togo to Shimla, another mountain town up at about 2200 metres. We're doing a week of travelling before I have to head back to start my smashing new temporary job in Political Affairs at the embassy. Its absolutely, unabashadly beautiful up here.. And, all my lovely cold weather friends- it was minus 2 here this morning when I woke up to monkeys pulling the porch lights off in my hotel room.. Its the coldest I've been sinceI left Canada, and I have to say, that with the exception of some terribly awfully stylish leg warmers, my little butt has been a little chilly. I promise a full update when I get home, for now, I'm actually going to knit a scarf on the bus ride to the next town. Missing you all, and always wishing that you could see what I get to see. Take care!

Three Beautiful Things

I'm not sure what makes some particular moments in life so beautiful.. Maybe it's the joy and surprise at witnessing them, maybe it's just a combination of simple factors like mindset and sunlight and perhaps at any other time we would have missed them.. But I'll always remember these three things.

1. I was walking down Nyaya Marg, my street, on my way to the American Embassy for lunch. It was pretty blazing hot, but I had my iPod tuned to Aimee Mann and a bottle of water in my purse so I was alright. Coming towards me, barefoot, was this young guy, maybe 15, 16 years old at the most. He looked like he was talking into his hand, which looked, at 15 feet away, like it was filled with garbage. As I got closer, I could see he was cupping a little bird in his hand, talking to it and petting it. As I walked by, it seemed like everything slowed.. The hot wind starting blowing a little softer, the music was more poignant.. It was a fantastic slow motion event in my life. This boy looked at me, and I'm sure he didn't even register me, so wrapped up he was in talking to this little dusty bird. I'm not sure what it was - but it I do know it was fantastic and beautiful and memorable.

2. I know I've mentioned this before in my favorite things... But I think I need to elaborate, if only because it was 10 minutes in my life that I will cherish. A few Fridays ago, Bryan and I were making cheesecakes to take to his staff picnic, which we delinquently didn't start baking until about 9 o'clock in the evening. By the time we got around to the second one, we realised that we didn't have enough (ok.. we didn't have any) eggs. So we took the puppies, on this beautiful, warm clear night, and walked to the market at the end of the street. Sometimes, just having somebodies hand in yours is enough to make any event perfect unto itself. But to be walking in and out of little spheres of streetlights, comfortable in the city sounds and the beautiful smell of Delhi at night.. it was wonderful. The eggs we bought were still warm from the day, and to have them slipped into a homemade (homemade!!) brown paper bag by a gentleman how didn't know what to watch, us or the cricket game murmering on his little tv.. The brightness of the shop will always stand out. The darker the evening gets, the more the little markets stand out with their bare lights hanging from wires, the glow of little tv sets and the orange fireflies of cigarrette ends - markets end up looking otherworldly, sitting illuminated among all the darkened houses. To be there, warm on the outside, on the inside, to be beside somebody you care about, experiencing such a sliver of lovelyness.. it was beautiful.

3. It was hot yesterday. I was grumpy, sweaty, and in an incredible hurry. Rajesh was driving me to one of the hotels to pick up chocolates, and it was all I could do not to be vocally grumpy. We were driving down one of the wider streets when we slowed down behind a bunch of cars. There was a young guy on a bicycle in front of all the traffic, conducting. He had a walkman on, and both hands outstretched to the sides, leading the traffic in a completely lovely symphony of horns. But he was taking his time, peddling deliberately and carefully, looking alternately like a parade leader and a mad man, furiously and beautifully directing bicycles and rickshaws and cabs and people. We rolled by, and I could only smile for the rest of the day.

I Love Apple Pie.. And Table Tennis Too..

First, a word of warning. If ever you are in the situation where you are inviting a couple of non-english speakers to dinner, I would say, pepper the party with people who DO speak engligh, and a lot of it. That is my little piece of humble advice.

Last evening Bryan and I hosted the Chinese defence attache and his wife for dinner at Bryan's residence. Now, I have to say I was mislead a little in believeing that his wife spoke a bit of english. She spoke none. Well. I suppose "Hello" and "Yes" and "Thank-you", but I can say that in about 10 languages, so it doesn't count. And not like it didn't look like she was trying, but I bet she had an easier go at dinner than Bryan and I who played "cross cultural non-sequiter" (as Bryan put it) with her husband.

It went a little something like this.

Us - "These are my favorite appetizers"

Him - "Yes, I play tennis, I learned from a book"

Us - "Oh. It's good exersise yes?"

Him - "Because Chinese staff live on compound, we get together a lot to cook and drink".

Needless to say, it kept us on our toes. But when you go from speaking about marathons to the system of ranking chinese officials in one giant leap.. You can't decide if you need another glass of wine or if you've already had too many.

My personal source of entertainment (and I'm pretty sure Bryan would second me here) was actually the food. You are all aware of Amit, the strange cook that Bryan employs. Well, he gets really excited when he gets to entertain, and now that Bryan has let him know that four meat dishes and some broccoli does not a dinner make; he's had to find some other ways to express his culinary creativity. Namely by garnishing the food, or creating one off wonders like the tuna casserole that I've heard about.

Last night, it was the mashed potatoes. It was all I could do to kick Bryan under the table and hide my smile behind my napkin when Amit unveils the crockery dish of mashed potatoes with a giant tomato rose in the middle, and toast stuck precariously in all sides of the dish. Toast. Would you maybe like some starch with your starch? Although, when he did bring out dessert, (two types of apple pie.. one that had this strange nuclear green tint about it, individually plated for us with a slice of ice-cream.. ) I did have to chuckle. What did he think? "Well, if they don't eat the failed green slice that looks like it came overnight from Chernobyl, then I'm sure they'll enjoy the one baked in a cupcake tin that doesn't resemble anything close to apple pie. Yes. "

Now, as classy as I am, (no really boys, sit down, stop laughing) near the end of the night I was beside myself with thinking of a nice warm bed to crawl into and forget all about Chinese-American-Canadian relations and funny apple pie. But not before I got something stuck in my tooth and decided to excavate with my tongue, forgetting my mouth was full of tea. At that point in the night, my motor skills and mouth/brain coordination was misfiring at a rapid rate. Luckily, when I spurted tea all over myself with a noise vaguely resembling a wet fart, it was in the middle of a particularily humerous story about how a Chinese army commander decided to surrender Beijng. Good lord. Next time I'll just hold back until they're talking about the dead Pope.

But, we did it. We made it through the evening, tea stained and full of apple pie(s). I'm not entirely sure how we did it, perhaps the Chinese are thinking the same thing this morning. But heck, if we can make it through the Chinese.. I say lets have the Russians next week. At least they'll appreciate the potatoes...

No really, I'm much worse.

I can't even be patient zero here. You think you're the only one that is doubled over in pain, head swimming, doing the Delhi "hurry hurry" shuffle to the washroom.. But no. Our cook's kids are sick. Bryan is sick. My sister is sick, my dad is sick. Eventually, I think you get lost in the plethora of complaints, and you're really better off in a closet that echoes so you can at least hear your groans reciprocated. Becuase it really is hard to show sympathy for anyone else when you're sure that you're going to implode at any second and they definately look like they may be faking.

Even WORSE.. I'm feeling better. Then you have to contend with the naysayers who are like "Oh, at least you're feeling better, I'm still sooo sick." And you want to say "Well, I still have a little headache, and I'm sure I was MUCH sicker than you you wimp." Or is that just me? So now I'm fervently trying to avoid the sick people, not to avoid getting sick, but to avoid psychosematically putting myself back there. I think there must be something wrong with me. In my head. And I'm betting it's worse than anything you've ever had.

Is that a sign?

You could make a killing here in Delhi writing grammatically and sensical signs. No joke. I forgot to mention - on the way to the riding grounds Sunday morning, in blazing 5 inch letters, was this sign:

"Dead Slow Horses Have The Right Of Way".

Althought it's hard to match "R. Stones Uralogical Clinic".. It may come close.

Ms. Poshlust's Favorite Things (April)

1. Tweed - Really, I don't think there is anything more colonial, more dignified, more upstanding.. than a suit, a jacket.. that litterally stands up on its own .
2. Riding boots - I'm hooked. After seeing all the women stomping around in their burnished leather.. I'm in.
3. Hot weather music - Jack Johnson, Zero7, The Roots, Jill Scott... I'm not sure if it cools you down or heats you up..
4. Going to bed with jewlery on - I never knew how wonderful it was to get up at night to pee and look like a sleepy debutante. Jewlery it is.
5. Pineapple juice - I think I drink a carton a day. I have the Oktoberfest mug from the American embassey last October (no shit) and it's the perfect size for about 4 ice cubes and have a carton of juice. I'll forever associate Oktoberfest with pineapples now. Shiza.
6. ArtForum magazine- Any of you with access, enjoy it. My dearest Mr. Almost Poshlust has been so wonderful as to mail me the monthly installments, and I savour them one glossy page at a time.
7. Okayplayer.com - For all of your best hip hop news, book reviews, and an uproariously funny cartoon every morning.
8. Ubiquity - Written by Mark Buchanan, it's a book I never thought I'd read, and definately never thought I'd enjoy.. And now it's pretty much one of my alltime favorite books. Please also read Malcolm Gladwell's "Blink" and "The Tipping Point", and "The Elephant Vanishes" by Haruki Murakami. Camote - these recommendations are all pretty much for you. Who am I kidding. ;-) You're the only one that I KNOW would a) read these and b) love them. Or at least understand them.
9. Beautifully Simple Things - Helped Bryan make a cheesecake on Friday, had to go get eggs at about 10pm, in the beautifully warm dark night. Bought 10 eggs for 20 rupees, they were put in a homemade paper bag, and everyone smiled at us. Life is good.
10. Ticking things off - I have this painfully simple list of things I want to do in life, included are things like making soup, staying silent for one day, etc etc. Small, simple things. Have accomplished one this month, and am close to a second! Drank Scotch and smoked a cigar, which has been on that list since I was like.. 15. Then, on the 27th of this month, I've officially not work make-up for one month! Pretty good for a city girl hey?

Interim Update

So my level of blog absenteeism has been a little high lately. I've been trying to get all my Burma adventures down in a draft, but I think it's going to take me awhile, so I figure I might as well keep blogging in the mean time. Apologizing, of course, assumes that anybody still checks in here, so for those of you who do.. I'm sorry!

It's been busy here in Delhi pretty much as soon as the wheels touched tarmac. I don't know how I manage to be so busy when I really have so little to actually do. I think perhaps I talk myself into being busy.

Saturday attended a staff picnic for Bryan's work, had a lovely time. Made a few new aquaintences while these huge friggin' flying fox fruit bats circled overhead. Honestly, in the past month, I've seen more strange and rare wildlife than I have my whole entire life. It's a rare day where I sit in a palatial backyard smoking a cigar and wondering if they really do JUST eat fruit.

Sunday morning (Camote, you'd have been so proud!) I went horseback riding with the Indian colonel, Bryan, and Greg and Wendy, friends of Bryan. My horses name sounded decidedly close to Flower, so I figured I was safe. Of course, Bryan hops on his horse and succeeds immediately at looking like the Marlboro man, Greg and Wendy look like something out of a British pastoral scene.. And where does that leave me? Looking somewhat like the girl who decided to mount an ornery Mr. Ed. "Flower" was a titch tempermental, and not totally unlike driving a volkswagon minus the power steering and comfortable seats. With the exception that a volkswagon has multiple speeds, and Flower had two: slow, and fast. Kinda like a broken mixmaster. Nevertheless, despite later feeling like I had literally broken my ass, it was a great time. After riding, we went and sat with the Colonel and various other officials in this stunningly beautiful little garden, with a cricket field in the background, and drank lovely tea and had egg sandwiches. It was quite the timewarp, and a most enjoyable one.

Alas, be it the broken ass, egg sandwiches or malaria (we've yet to decide) I'm not feeling so great. I've had a burgeoning cold for the past few days, and now it appears to have switched course and has turned into some sort of achey yucky flu type deal. Luckily, that left me free yesterday to be a complete lay about and watch movies.

If you haven't seen Hotel Rwanda yet, please, please do. It's an absolutely amazing movie. It's based on a true story centering around the genocide that took place in the early 90's. I don't think it's supposed to be one of those movies that you can watch again and again.. but it really is superb. Don Cheadle made me laugh and cry, in a film that really should just have inspired torrents of tears. It's surprisingly unbiased, as much as a film about such a subject can be, and I think my heart actually stopped on one or two occasions. So if you have a chance, please rent it. I'll let you know that the end is uplifting enough to warrant all the tears, which is what I wish somebody had told me!

So, I'm slowly on the mend (I'm sure of it, even though I don't feel like it.. ) trying to find little things to do about the house and otherwise. Hope everyone is well, I miss you all!

Thumbs up I say.

Hello Everyone!

Have no fear, I'm perfectly fine. I was in the middle of Burma when the earthquake happened, and nowhere near Phuket when the tsunami sirens went off. Apparently the quake was felt a little in Phuket, but mostly just intense fear when everyone had to run to the hills. I can't even imagine. So I'm happy that I was in Burma then, safe and sound, underwater actually! I'm just in Phuket airport, on my way to Bangkok for a little bit, then finally back to Delhi. Will be posting all my adventures from there. Hopeing that everyone is well, have missed hearing from you all. Will talk to you in a couple days.

Ms. Poshlust Is Okay

Hello Everyone,

This is Brad (Mr. Almost Poshlust) here. I just wanted to post a quick little blog to let everyone know that our favourite little Blogger is doing just fine. The earthquake off Indonesia has not troubled the family trip in any way.

I must admit, I was worried. I received word from the tour guide himself that all was A.O.K. so we can all rest easy and await more amazing blogs from the talented Ms. Poshlust.

Merry Christmas,

Brad

But this time, I'm not being deported.

Hello Everyone! Just a short little reminder - Poshlust Inc. will be silent from this evening (the 23rd of March) until about April 5th. I'm taking my first family vacation, to Bangkok and Burma. We'll be diving off the coast of Burma for about 7 days I believe, the rest is time spent in Bangkok. I'll be keeping a journal on the boat, which I'll then put on here.. so stay tuned. I'll miss you all, please take care of each other. Love Always!

Scrambled Eggs

My family never ceases to amaze me. I mean that in the broadest sense of the word. I suppose they always make me laugh.. But sometimes it's one of those "oh my lord" laughs. Which is why, I guess, I love them so damn much.

We're going to be in Burma for Easter, so my mother decided that last Sunday would be our easter dinner. She cooked a big ham and scalloped potatoes and all that jazz, it was excellent. We invited Bryan over (Roselyn the cook thinks he eats so much because he's lonely. Hmm. *laugh*) to help with the ham eating, and sat down to dinner around 6:30.

Anybody who's ever eaten a meal with my family knows what a hoot it can be. I am the lucky recipient of one of the kindest, funniest families on earth - and there is nothing quite like watching my brother and my dad laugh silently at the table. There being 3 young people at the table, the talk turned to JackAss, and the explanation of said show to my parents. I thought I was going to die. It was so funny. Bryan was in pain he was laughing so hard, my father was crying, and my brother looked like he was repetatively making the sign of the cross, although I think he was just trying to breath. We must have laughed for a good half an hour, everytime we'd manage to stop somebody would slip back into giggles and we'd be off again.

Now, my lovely mother has had a little bit of trouble letting tradition slip away. Although our home no longer holds three children (we're 20, 18, and 14) she insisted (not that we tried very hard to disuade her) that we have an Easter Egg hunt after dinner, post dishes. But, seeing as how we were older, we would have to do it in the dark with flashlights.

Lucky for me, I've got Mr. Mountaineering-river fjording-lizard eating-special forces on my side (and we all know they have the best bad ass gear) so I got to use what looked suspiciously like and OBGYN headset with a big light on the front. My brother and sister had to use regular old un-special flashlights. Well - maybe not true.

This wouldn't be a true McQuade celebration if somebody didn't hurt themselves. My mother has a special sneak attack flashlight, that's actually a stun gun. You just connect the handle at a certain spot, turn it on, and voila, your own special Indian Cooker. She had just been to old Delhi that afternoon, wherein she keeps it connectd (though turned off) in her purse in case of emergency.

She forgot.

Our home has this eerie ability to fall silent whenever anyone is about to do something embarrasing, perhaps to maximize either the embarrassment or the humour, I'm not sure which. But the house was silent when my mother turned on her flashlight and a sound akin to a large bug-zapper preceded the screaming akin to a banshee. She was fine, a little numb, a little angry, but cogniscient enough to swear Bryan to complete secrecy. And so, the hunt began.

We're a fairly communist family at heart. There are a couple rules to our egg hunt - Eggs are hid in 3's, and you can only take one. (Apparently, when there are 4, you can only take 1 as well.. which I found out the hard way after Bryan tattled on me and I had to face the Bunny Tribunal.) After a certain point (decided by the egg hiders) you can go back and pick up everything than anyone else hasn't found. Basically futile, because when the hunt is over, we sit down and divide all the eggs into respective colour groups, then evenly divide them among the kids. It's been this way since I can remember there being more than one kid in our house.

So, we hunted, we gathered, we divided. It was wonderful. My mother has come up with yet another excellent way to extend tradition in our family. I can only hope that when I have kids I can do the same.. or at least make them laugh when I cause myself bodily harm. The things you learn from your Mom. So Happy Easter in advance everyone, enjoy the egg hunts. Or heck, just watch Jackass and stick a fork in a socket. You can feel just like you were at my house!

Once upon a time in India.

Once upon a time, there lived a Princess. This Princess lived in a beautiful apartment castle with two faithful lions and a man with cameras for eyes. She was very happy there. Until, the King and Queen moved far across the beautiful, and sometimes smelly, ocean, to live in far off India. Eventually, the Princess decided to trade her life of arts and culture for one of farts and vultures; packed a suitcase full of couture and made a 2 day long dash around the world.

The Princess was very happy there. It was very warm, which suited her, and she could almost forget about the smell of urine if she tried hard enough. When she squinted her eyes and plugged her nose, she knew that she really did love her new kingdom. Even if it didn't love her so much, or just wanted her to shop at the jezebel emporiums.

But all was not to stay so tranquil. Her magic passport, which had until this time held her safe and strong, with a magic Visa inside.. Began to tire, and she realised it would expire on the 16th of March! The Princess was very dissapointed, as she did not want to return to her old kingdom, and did not want to be put into a barred tower where hair growth only promoted lice, not rescuing by handsome princes.

The Princess fled to the King and Queen, afraid and upset. The King declared he would do everything in his power to keep her safe, and the Queen, with her sometimes psychic powers, already knew that it would be alright.

The King tried his hardest, enlisting the help of two Visa Sirens, Meena and Priya, to send word out over all of the government castles that they needed to extend his daughters Visa, and keep her safe here. Meena and Priya worked all day and all night, searching for somebody to help.

Soon a magic scroll arrived and the Princess drew hope - India did not mind if she stayed, she must only go to "The Ministry of Foreign Affairs" to seek Mr. Lal's approval. This, unfortunately, was a task that she must complete herself, although they allowed the Queen to come for moral support.

So, at noon on the designated day, the Princess rode confidently out on a white steed with her mother in tow. (Actually an old white volvo. Steed it is.) They raced to the office, the Princess soon discouraged by the double talk and empty promises sprouted by the ominous Mr. Lal and his Reception gaurd. So, the Princess and Queen decided to go shoe shopping and eat mango ice cream to relieve their copious anxiety. They returned refreshed and newly shod to the ministry, and were directed to Reception.

A dark, dank little whole filled with greying souls and empty eyes that didn't care anymore.. Reception was lorded over by a large man with three telephones. Striding up to him, confident in her looks if not her brain, the Princess asked where she might find Mr. Lal. "Mr. Lal only sees people between 9 and noon!" the Receptionist bellowed. "Yes," stammered the Princess, "But we have an appointment at 2!". "I did not know of this, you must come back in the proper hours. Goodbye!".

The princess whipped out her trusty cell phone and called the number she had for Mr. Lal. No, he was on lunch, yes, he would be back in half an hour. The Princess worked on a hunch. "Is this Mr. Lal?" she asked. "Yes. Now I will see you in half an hour at F7" The Princess marched out to the gaurd and demanded to know where F7 was, so that she might wait for Mr. Lal. The guard, using the oldest trick in her kingdom, claimed not to speak english. Luckily, the Princess was not only beautiful, but learned and cunning, and could understand what he was saying in Hindi, which basically amounted to a lot of horse shit.

Out of nowhere, a handsome, blond Polishman whispered "I'll show you the way to Mr. Lal's! Follow me!!" The Princess and Queen took after the Polishman. The wound their way through the government office, going through back offices where still more people lounged, looking for hearts, brains, courage and passports. Sometimes they thought they would be sucked into the plush chairs and would have to wait for eternity under the dusty electric fans. But they pushed on, following the blonde man in front of them until he whispered, "We're here! There he is!".

The Princess and Queen stepped tentatively into a room, dusty and grey as a jail cell, but far worse. Stacked shoulder high were millenia worth of Visa requests, hopes and dreams turned into tea tables and foot rests. The Princess could barely look, could barely walk in. THere were no computers, no fans, just 8 men at desks arguing over carbon paper and doomed to push files from one side of the desk to the other forever.

At the back of the room in front of a curtain (that we did not look behind) sat a man, startling in his resemblance to the Karate Kids grandfather (but Indian), yelling into his phone. He was yelling at his pet Receptionist that he was supposed to let us in. The Princess defiantly pulled out her security badge and marched up to the desk. "Mr. Lal, " she almost shouted, "I need your help."

"Yes," snivelled Mr. Lal, "You do. But first Princess, you must promise me three things. One - that you will tell your Visa office that we accomadate Canadians by taking them in late, they should accomodate us. Two - My one daughter lives in Canada, my other daughter wants to visit her, you must get her a Visa. And three, and this will be the hardest. You must wait here in this dusty room, and laugh at my awful jokes, and not succumb to dispair when I say I'm leaving for 15 minutes and do not return for an hour."

The Princess drew strength from deep down, and simply nodded her head. She laughed at his jokes, she filled out all his ridiculous forms and sat, stone faced, while he left them to calcify in the dirty horrible room. At long last, Mr. Lal returned, surprised to find them there, more so to find frozen smiles still on their faces. "These Canadians," he thought, "They are far too nice." Finally defeated, he granted her another 3 months in India, and told her to proceed to the FFRO office to get the Visa.

The Princess glanced at the clock. 3:15. The office was closed! Mr. Lal, impressed and moved by her looks if not her brain, felt some part of his heart melting, and called the office to ask them to remain open for them! The Princess and Queen raced out of the awful office, unable to spot the beautiful Polishman, into the open air and back onto their noble steed.

They raced across the city, dodging cows and beggars and potholes, to arrive breathless at the FFRO office. They ran in, to find a small little man singing instructions. "We are closed. Closed at 3. Come back tomorrow if you want to see." " We are here for inspector Bishct!" yelled the Princess, emboldened by her previous success. The little man pointed to a desk, who spoke amazing words. "Give them the forms."

The Princess filled out the forms with much aplomb, and was directed to line 5. There were babies screaming and people blank with waiting for eons. It was all she could do to sit and laugh with the Queen at the man who appeared to be sleep working at the head of line 5. Finally, he called her up and handed her a completed visa. The Princess was so excited, they paid and left immediately, returning home triumphant and relaxed.

From this point, the Princess knew that she could do anything. She had been to the very heart of Indian government, and survived. She had stood up to bad jokes and interminable waits, crying babies and lewd stares. She had even found time to shoe shop and eat Mango Zap ice cream in between!

And she knew, deep down, that she would always have a very soft spot for Polish people. That night, she said a little prayer for her Polish saviour, hoping that he too would someday get what he was looking for from Mr. Lal.

And with that.. She fell asleep.

Barely Legal

So as of midnight tonight, my visa expires. We're in a mad scramble to get it renewed today. I've just gotten a letter from the Ministry of External Affairs stating that they don't have a problem with me renewing my visa from within the country, and now my mum and I have to go down to the Indian Visa office and beg them to do in a few hours what usually takes a couple days. Good GOD. I'm not entirely sure how I get myself into these troubles, but I must have been pretty nasty to some previous boyfriend to have this kind of karma. So rest assured all you slighted men - you've had your revenge.

The stress has been causing a plethora of strange dreams - be it building a homeless shelter with my friend Matt and the rapper Jay-Z (who proceded to fall in love with me.. of course... Damn you Beyonce.. he doesn't want that much junk in the trunk..), or running an Amazing Race with Bryan, wherein we were the two most cut throat competitors in history. I vaguely remember stealing a Vietnamese long boat. I'm not sure what it all means, other than I should probably stop eating chocolate before I go to bed, and stop brushing my teeth with local water.

Before I forget to mention, SEA, thank you for your wonderful offer. There is nothing that I miss or need too terribly, just that you offered was enough. Know also that if you want anything from here (and that goes for anyone) that it's so easy for me to send it to you. So please, don't hesitate to ask.

Alright lovelies, I'm going to get my mother and head to the visa office. (For some reason, in my mind, it really does deserve capitals.. Visa Office. It's some strange, forboding place that seems to loom so large.. Knowing India, it probably doesn't loom at all. ;-) Wish me luck!

How come PETA hasn't heard about this..

And how can I tell them? This is friggin' hilarious, and made my entire week. www.savetoby.com

Hey Baby.. Ever kiss an illegal alien??

Ok - so due to some totally unforseeable (yet at the same time preventable - I'm told) events, I might have to leave the country tomorrow until I can get my visa renewed. It was one of those "Hey, you have a funny passport photo. And hey - your visa expires soon" kinda events. (Does that fly with anyone? It was a little more complex than that.. but above situation could have totally happened.) So, as a result, I might get to go see Sri Lanka for a bit. (Hmm.. it kinda sounds like I'm being shuttled out to have a baby somewhere else.. but it really is a visa problem!!) I'm trying to refrain from having phrases like "flee the country" "deported in the middle of the night" and "inevitably fell into the sex trade" run through my mind - but it's way cooler if I get to tell that story. (Maybe minus the "sex trade" part.) Rather than "to avoid being killed by the avalanche of paper and twisting her poor fathers back doing diplomatic backflips for his daughter". Cause really.. haven't you always wanted to flee the country? At least I get to do it with an iPod and a big purse.. grabbing only what you can carry is so passe. Talk to you soon - hopefully! Love you all, will try keep you updated.

PS - No really, how do these things HAPPEN to me?

Tender Disclaimer

It appears that I was a little harsh on the two puppies, as Bryan pointed out with a hurt look this evening. They are smelly, and nothing takes away the fact that they're ghetto Delhi dogs - BUT... They are really friendly, have sweet little personalities (Tess crawls around like a snake all the time and Jack seems to have a built in spring) and are super affectionate. Sure, I'm one undergarmet short because of them, but would I trade that for finding said undergarmet over Jack's head like an eyepatch? Not anytime soon. *smile* And you know, since I stepped in all that pee, my feet are feeling softer...and my legs are a little more defined after chasing them all over the house. So really - even Delhi dogs have a silver lining. Even if it's just that they taste good on the barbeque..

Out Damn Spot! Shoo!

Like all good stories, this one starts with a mildly irrational phobia. I get really scared living totally alone for the first little while, and turn into one of those OCD people who check on the locks 3 times a night. Never mind the fact that I had a gaurd, a big front gate, and two dogs to protect me. That's where the irrational part comes in.

Lucky for my sanity, this usually goes away after a few days. But what definately helped, was the fact that my bedroom door at Bryan's has like, 10 locks on it. So I felt even better locking me, my cell phone, two dogs and my honour in at night. Until about the third day, when I realised on the outside of the door, stuck so pertly into the locks - were the keys. Instead of dwelling on my own stupidity, I simply took the keys out and placed them so neatly onto the bedside table.

Thursday afternoon, after returning from a day out, I hung my shopping bag on the bedroom door, and let the puppies loose. Seizing the chance to wreak more havoc in my life, they ran straight for the shopping bag, and slammed the bedroom door while tugging on it. Locking all my clothes (save the ones I had just put into the washing machine, after having changed into pj's) my books, the shower, the painkillers.. into the bedroom. It was like slow motion - running towards the dogs, yelling at them, them pulling even harder on the door, it clicking shut.. Damn.

So this is like, 6 o'clock. The gaurd doesn't get there until 8:30. So I have to wait, and try all the spare keys I can find out in the open in this door. This, of course, leaving ample time for me to worry. So I decide to venture outside, seeing if maybe I can open one of the windows in the bedroom. At which the dogs think I'm a much maligned intruder, and have me dancing all over the backyard trying to avoid stepping in dog crap.

The gaurd finally gets there, and I have to find something to wear. I substitute a bathing suit for bra and underwear, and it's a good thing too. Because the only pants I had were the wet ones I had to pull out of the washing machine. Luckily I had a somewhat normal shirt in my purse. So it basically looked like I had just waded across a river to get there when I asked the gaurd for his help.

So he started calling superiors, who called the embassy, who told me they would send somebody to pick the lock. Ten minutes later, a Sikh midget and two Indian giants arrive. No word of a bloody lie, they look like they are straight from the Bollywood version of The Wizard of Oz. It didn't help that the midget was wearing an enormous bright yellow turban. It was completely surreal. They take one look at the lock, and begin to hammer at it with what looks like a rubber mallet and a railway tie spike, until the lock pops out the other side, leaving a neat little hole. And the door completely sheared off on the inside. To which they smile, and turn to leave. So I, in hysterics, ask when exactly this will be fixed. And they say tomorrow. Which could me next year.

Amazingly, the carpenter does arrive the next day. At 7 in the morning, when I'm still trying to decide if the previous evening was a dream. It wasn't, because this toothless old man takes one look at the door, another at me (still in my bathing suit, and now with a nasty case of bed head) and leaves to call his supervisor. Who informs me that I'll need a new door.

By this point, I've given up hope on pretending this didn't happen. Especially when there are pieces of door everywhere and the maid hasn't shown up. And won't show up again. So, instead, I get to revel in choosing a new bedroom door and imagining various vicious things to do to the puppies. None of which come to fruition, because as soon as Bryan walks in the door the next morning - the puppies act as though they could never even have had the notion to be bad.

So it's done. My week of dog sitting, living alone, pretending to be responsible, my phobia of intruders. The door will be replaced "next week", and the regular maid came back this morning, and has no doubt already had a heart attack looking at the shape of her poor house.

And I just found out that in Nagaland, they eat dogs. Particularily tender little puppies. Anybody want to take a trip?

Recipes Welcome

Immediately after I had posted my homage to Bryan's puppies - I walked into the livingroom to find why they had grown suddenly quiet. They have torn in half my favorite pair of underwear, and eaten a summer dress that I've had since I was in grade 9; that's made it across the ocean 3 times now, weathered countless summers, dates, spilt ice cream, climbed trees, rollerbladed.. And now has only one cap sleeve and a gigantic whole in the butt. Spaghetti sauce it is.