tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85072473637659582812024-02-07T15:19:49.580-08:00Ashley's In IndiaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-30420073129671796472013-05-03T11:30:00.001-07:002013-05-03T11:32:27.950-07:00One adventure closed, new ones abound<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is my blog from when I lived in India for 6 months in 2007. It was an awesome time, full of craziness and adventure on so many levels.<br />
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Since this trip I've been back to India several times and to many other countries, but this initial experience diving into living on the opposite side of the world with such wide-eyed innocence will always hold a special place in my heart.<br />
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My favorite entries in this blog map to three experiences that remain some of the most interesting of my life:<br />
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1) <a href="http://hyderabadadventures.blogspot.com/2007/08/walking-in-others-footsteps.html">Wearing a burkha to the souk at Charminar</a>, escorted by my Muslim friends from the Google office, Parveen and Nazia, who wanted me to "experience real India."<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uzVolQk5Uok/UYP89KXsrTI/AAAAAAAASno/QIFmglVCY54/s1600/burkha+in+india.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uzVolQk5Uok/UYP89KXsrTI/AAAAAAAASno/QIFmglVCY54/s320/burkha+in+india.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>This is me</b></span></div>
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2) <a href="http://hyderabadadventures.blogspot.com/2007/07/madras-madness.html">Traveling to Chennai</a> with my friend, Ramya, and staying with her family in their home. I slept without air-conditioning when it was 100 degrees with 100% humidity, rode side-saddle on a moped in a saree to the Hindu temple, and went to a real Brahmin fortune-teller.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbX-4d0KtOV0kqJH_rL9i3LbO1xr4iExjQ6pfRW3rmPvj11OaqSMcct3xWjrwo-tuz5upQBaBT11fgMOU0iNWNrsYuR1g20L6R6cMMGmsjvFZVRV5Kn8iblpos2Hh_pPQjIC-wDBnGX5MM/s1600/saree+moped+driving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbX-4d0KtOV0kqJH_rL9i3LbO1xr4iExjQ6pfRW3rmPvj11OaqSMcct3xWjrwo-tuz5upQBaBT11fgMOU0iNWNrsYuR1g20L6R6cMMGmsjvFZVRV5Kn8iblpos2Hh_pPQjIC-wDBnGX5MM/s320/saree+moped+driving.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Me and Ramya (I didn't actually drive the scooter....I rode side-saddle on the back...)</b></span></div>
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3) <a href="http://hyderabadadventures.blogspot.com/2007/08/walking-in-others-footsteps.html">Visiting the school in Baroda</a>, Gujarat that my great aunt May Needham founded in the early 20th century under the auspices of the British Raj and the Maharaja of Baroda. Despite the complicated and unpleasant politics of colonialism, one human truth is that one woman, out of the kindness of her heart, moved across the world to create educational opportunities for girls. She succeeded and the school and students are some of the most successful in India almost 100 years after she started it (pictures in a <a href="http://hyderabadadventures.blogspot.com/2007/08/baroda-gujarat.html">separate post</a>).<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yUtJRzmOl_8/UYP9rPgcI6I/AAAAAAAASoA/5ps973YwKCU/s1600/may's+school+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yUtJRzmOl_8/UYP9rPgcI6I/AAAAAAAASoA/5ps973YwKCU/s320/may's+school+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoij60bYUWZs90Fygn2Oixx5oqPt313brRyWv1E_JM4hRvzofBMLnL_uMTEazgBAIRl92TH8rJuMms9Ohn6vnUeZp3SNiKYp21IL7b5gnTkTbxZ6pWLuHBEy_MJH1-j9kH2MSa9N3_950O/s1600/may's+school+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoij60bYUWZs90Fygn2Oixx5oqPt313brRyWv1E_JM4hRvzofBMLnL_uMTEazgBAIRl92TH8rJuMms9Ohn6vnUeZp3SNiKYp21IL7b5gnTkTbxZ6pWLuHBEy_MJH1-j9kH2MSa9N3_950O/s1600/may's+school+2.JPG" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Maharani girls' school in Baroda - providing the best english girls' education in Gujarat for almost 100 years. While working at Google in Hyderabad I met numerous women who had gone to this school. Baroda continues to have a reputation as one of the top educational opportunities in India and is open to students from all backgrounds.</b></span></div>
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These three experiences were my strongest glimpses into real India. A world away from tourist activities, these experiences were about normal people going out of their way to cross cultures and build deep, empathetic understanding with someone from across the world. I had the unusual privilege to experience the culture as only a local can, and as only a woman can, thanks to the kind openness and curiosity of others.<br />
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These experiences set a standard for my travel expectations that continue to drive me to go beyond the obvious and to appreciate the vivid color that cultural similarities and differences provide to this world.<br />
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This trip is now history, but my adventures continue!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-8599577961304210332007-09-28T16:29:00.001-07:002007-09-28T16:37:55.440-07:00California Beaches with Padma and Hayley<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUUSOeTTqaMC-nwDPLuXsqUtFcT99lDpkOpPyt3nUSKHKHuYCIEYSNCVWb2VuxEP3goz6VTi9oI0Vu68-5Z8rRdaDsmhyphenhyphenKbJhQW-s5cW0xlrOrdqRv0dQthO27snNNV2rR_CgfiTz-wV9/s1600-h/P9160146.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUUSOeTTqaMC-nwDPLuXsqUtFcT99lDpkOpPyt3nUSKHKHuYCIEYSNCVWb2VuxEP3goz6VTi9oI0Vu68-5Z8rRdaDsmhyphenhyphenKbJhQW-s5cW0xlrOrdqRv0dQthO27snNNV2rR_CgfiTz-wV9/s320/P9160146.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115402495885583730" border="0" /></a>Moonrise in Carmel<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgakEyTBJ82ZAsmzaiPl_2VqqEIiyBaj-m8PKRFGBc6spyqEvM8uN52NND7TLY-YwoRA0Lkovaj9YdnZ8M7PYWnK5JwFz2qIIoE71BfX13SgAbHcAWFZdv4lk-18HtsTg3_bRQDzzX824Hl/s1600-h/P9160137.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgakEyTBJ82ZAsmzaiPl_2VqqEIiyBaj-m8PKRFGBc6spyqEvM8uN52NND7TLY-YwoRA0Lkovaj9YdnZ8M7PYWnK5JwFz2qIIoE71BfX13SgAbHcAWFZdv4lk-18HtsTg3_bRQDzzX824Hl/s320/P9160137.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115402392806368610" border="0" /></a><br />Me and Padma at the beach right after sunset<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2PR6poJVI/AAAAAAAAFwQ/rdCCSoQzbKM/s1600-h/P9160119.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2PR6poJVI/AAAAAAAAFwQ/rdCCSoQzbKM/s320/P9160119.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115402289727153490" border="0" /></a><br />Sunset in Carmel<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2PK6poJUI/AAAAAAAAFwI/dpSutae-2SI/s1600-h/P9160112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2PK6poJUI/AAAAAAAAFwI/dpSutae-2SI/s320/P9160112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115402169468069186" border="0" /></a><br />The PCH played it's role on this clear, fog-free day<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVVxaik_uGWHYdD52dF9Qow26ZHKnmKLHMTE7Qrp8WC2Om1cHkuhlb1m9aw-AY1ravL9qJErUnpbSmIyeitvDet5ld_YaAbdJ5U5_kXGAkt7icSBCbAmQIUjUmJn_BMeGsFzFttGFP_NZ/s1600-h/P9160082.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVVxaik_uGWHYdD52dF9Qow26ZHKnmKLHMTE7Qrp8WC2Om1cHkuhlb1m9aw-AY1ravL9qJErUnpbSmIyeitvDet5ld_YaAbdJ5U5_kXGAkt7icSBCbAmQIUjUmJn_BMeGsFzFttGFP_NZ/s320/P9160082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115401916064998706" border="0" /></a><br />Hayley, me and Padma in Monterey<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2O36poJSI/AAAAAAAAFv4/1KZuc51of_M/s1600-h/P9160078.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2O36poJSI/AAAAAAAAFv4/1KZuc51of_M/s320/P9160078.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115401843050554658" border="0" /></a><br />Hayley and Padma have the California experience in my car at the beach<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2Ov6poJRI/AAAAAAAAFvw/zgDP0o7bJMM/s1600-h/P9160058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2Ov6poJRI/AAAAAAAAFvw/zgDP0o7bJMM/s320/P9160058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115401705611601170" border="0" /></a><br />Bringing India to California - Indian myth says that if you write Rama's name on the beach, the sea will wash it away - it took about 10 minutes before the sea could find his name this far from home ;)<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2OpapoJQI/AAAAAAAAFvo/04SzXNeJ7As/s1600-h/P9160047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2OpapoJQI/AAAAAAAAFvo/04SzXNeJ7As/s320/P9160047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115401593942451458" border="0" /></a><br />At the beach<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboRRQI1kcuQdziTFtqyr_u6o8C6L8FrK9o3mfwsSbTkkZtc_EaWX53T4ma0c_YvIKIMMkVDnSFK8uI1ikUu_Bvi9q7xrGK7tGknmZV_EHf-GpQotyRwpLRaAhijBj6iUq_8Kuqv37qshC/s1600-h/P9160038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboRRQI1kcuQdziTFtqyr_u6o8C6L8FrK9o3mfwsSbTkkZtc_EaWX53T4ma0c_YvIKIMMkVDnSFK8uI1ikUu_Bvi9q7xrGK7tGknmZV_EHf-GpQotyRwpLRaAhijBj6iUq_8Kuqv37qshC/s320/P9160038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115401516633040114" border="0" /></a><br />Hayley's first feel of the Pacific Ocean - first impression "So cooold!"<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2OfapoJOI/AAAAAAAAFvY/UEk0aMNxRBo/s1600-h/P9160033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2OfapoJOI/AAAAAAAAFvY/UEk0aMNxRBo/s320/P9160033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115401422143759586" border="0" /></a><br />Me and Padma - after 5 months in India, I'm still so pale that I wash out in pictures ;)<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-25214803390263747482007-09-28T16:16:00.001-07:002007-09-28T16:29:41.045-07:00Full Indian Dinner<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrhm3cQrcZsNOTWMSGkMgryOaPh3x2z73E2fNWaW9rAVcOWPNxqEHAds8OY65AkDASgpekzKSfSSZ8bSpTHHrSiq19q_KDFmaI2Hd-t3ISvD-N9dOOrq_rfwpMNSsi4kPCOfaz5lgbqg4/s1600-h/P9150023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrhm3cQrcZsNOTWMSGkMgryOaPh3x2z73E2fNWaW9rAVcOWPNxqEHAds8OY65AkDASgpekzKSfSSZ8bSpTHHrSiq19q_KDFmaI2Hd-t3ISvD-N9dOOrq_rfwpMNSsi4kPCOfaz5lgbqg4/s320/P9150023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399704156841170" border="0" /></a><br />Yummy Indian Desserts<br /><br />After using every utensil in my kitchen, we had to resort to some creative measures for dessert, such as:<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MzqpoJMI/AAAAAAAAFvI/jumKwwOgIcM/s1600-h/P9150029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MzqpoJMI/AAAAAAAAFvI/jumKwwOgIcM/s320/P9150029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399571012854978" border="0" /></a>Lexi and Annie - measuring spoon and chopsticks<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh99U3M62YDonWBb8wlTPDFlIlZ-gzcIrPVkxyrP758JmWmW26GHPIVs6ONb3Gwi5OQiLgJnJvTZ55l9ikSfIdyodJgqgnWwikSFOiWZI78unYhbjfRn1FtiDRw4rZAstgcF100VveRufg/s1600-h/P9150030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh99U3M62YDonWBb8wlTPDFlIlZ-gzcIrPVkxyrP758JmWmW26GHPIVs6ONb3Gwi5OQiLgJnJvTZ55l9ikSfIdyodJgqgnWwikSFOiWZI78unYhbjfRn1FtiDRw4rZAstgcF100VveRufg/s320/P9150030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399480818541746" border="0" /></a><br />Paula - butterknife = spoon<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxUYdzwQgt6QdfTLIfDa0nCLfqQMZsrcL-ZO28UJ7gauN9NCPBz_h_6zu1FYX9Q_sOdS5PGCsjEK9RdHul5E5X76y7t4VTmJC0hq7nVHyVTDH0oJqqWloMtoWzWMq1vqRqhZFsWlZsTUE/s1600-h/P9150027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxUYdzwQgt6QdfTLIfDa0nCLfqQMZsrcL-ZO28UJ7gauN9NCPBz_h_6zu1FYX9Q_sOdS5PGCsjEK9RdHul5E5X76y7t4VTmJC0hq7nVHyVTDH0oJqqWloMtoWzWMq1vqRqhZFsWlZsTUE/s320/P9150027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399369149392034" border="0" /></a><br />Yev - measuring spoon<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9P7Vk2pIKpQ1pQ7Xe_u3-lDzeftEaT8r55qgI28N5CBlOz6UAdFLOgJgpX31xeCMS9RLanwSWmfEqJJ6uu-XpAngtIWEPeUT8wTkA_nDdGuSYVXjTCl6-UCdegqaRbmx0_8-EXUAt28S/s1600-h/P9150026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9P7Vk2pIKpQ1pQ7Xe_u3-lDzeftEaT8r55qgI28N5CBlOz6UAdFLOgJgpX31xeCMS9RLanwSWmfEqJJ6uu-XpAngtIWEPeUT8wTkA_nDdGuSYVXjTCl6-UCdegqaRbmx0_8-EXUAt28S/s320/P9150026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399287545013394" border="0" /></a><br />Abe - Fondue fork<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2McqpoJII/AAAAAAAAFuo/SQ_bP0suY24/s1600-h/P9150025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2McqpoJII/AAAAAAAAFuo/SQ_bP0suY24/s320/P9150025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399175875863682" border="0" /></a><br />Linnea - Chopsticks<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MWqpoJHI/AAAAAAAAFug/XK483lLdpGY/s1600-h/P9150021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MWqpoJHI/AAAAAAAAFug/XK483lLdpGY/s320/P9150021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399072796648562" border="0" /></a><br />Resorting to more creative measures - my american kitchen lacked a chai strainer, so tissue served as a creative substitute - mmmmmmmmmmmm<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MSKpoJGI/AAAAAAAAFuY/T4zr5KLqKn4/s1600-h/P9150015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MSKpoJGI/AAAAAAAAFuY/T4zr5KLqKn4/s320/P9150015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398995487237218" border="0" /></a><br />Chowing Down on Indian Dinner<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MIqpoJFI/AAAAAAAAFuQ/BlaTOVpiCUc/s1600-h/P9150011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2MIqpoJFI/AAAAAAAAFuQ/BlaTOVpiCUc/s320/P9150011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398832278479954" border="0" /></a><br />More creative cooking - Padma cuts a potato with scissors<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3nf3_pTpauopx9IUSbiitUHNizvS60o__w0V13MdGGfd2VbpiIz25PkqmPLdd84iKgQVhaUMug0Jn8KPB7QmyXA7jh58svpDKscSbbD-CcaXswENCH6iAEDOZGBfANVjSwr50Pcm6Rq5/s1600-h/P9150013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3nf3_pTpauopx9IUSbiitUHNizvS60o__w0V13MdGGfd2VbpiIz25PkqmPLdd84iKgQVhaUMug0Jn8KPB7QmyXA7jh58svpDKscSbbD-CcaXswENCH6iAEDOZGBfANVjSwr50Pcm6Rq5/s320/P9150013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398750674101314" border="0" /></a><br />Hayley, Me, and Padma with our full Indian dinner from scratch<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWOBP6lZWkAqr_zMLvAX7c9Q1pmG0F8jJBp2cqVpnW3fNhFxz09T8QIh1RDDfhacp_ufrJkTfHmY8wC3uAZYX8Q1QfP0Cm-TlODr5bzNYfCSn954lon1WYn663kY6ntu2-AFCf8HdkEoF/s1600-h/P9150009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWOBP6lZWkAqr_zMLvAX7c9Q1pmG0F8jJBp2cqVpnW3fNhFxz09T8QIh1RDDfhacp_ufrJkTfHmY8wC3uAZYX8Q1QfP0Cm-TlODr5bzNYfCSn954lon1WYn663kY6ntu2-AFCf8HdkEoF/s320/P9150009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398664774755378" border="0" /></a><br />Abe took charge to make the Pooris<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2L66poJCI/AAAAAAAAFt4/-66d9Ja0Fm0/s1600-h/P9150006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2L66poJCI/AAAAAAAAFt4/-66d9Ja0Fm0/s320/P9150006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398596055278626" border="0" /></a><br />The table - mid cooking, with tubs of spices<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2L0KpoJBI/AAAAAAAAFtw/FRX_jVN9qVQ/s1600-h/P9150004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2L0KpoJBI/AAAAAAAAFtw/FRX_jVN9qVQ/s320/P9150004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398480091161618" border="0" /></a><br />Hayley chops onions<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2LnqpoJAI/AAAAAAAAFto/4k-ej5--xwQ/s1600-h/P9150002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2LnqpoJAI/AAAAAAAAFto/4k-ej5--xwQ/s320/P9150002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398265342796802" border="0" /></a><br />Padma chops something<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2Ld6poI_I/AAAAAAAAFtg/Z_ERXgEIBZE/s1600-h/P9150001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rv2Ld6poI_I/AAAAAAAAFtg/Z_ERXgEIBZE/s320/P9150001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115398097839072242" border="0" /></a><br />Our first victim/guest - Brent arrived early and got assigned to onion duty - lucky for him, we had some "safety goggles" for him ;) He gets a shout out for being such a good sport!<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-11815139901004159852007-09-28T15:33:00.000-07:002007-09-28T16:16:38.617-07:00You Can Take The Girl Out of Hyderabad But You Can't Take Hyderabad Out of The GirlAlas, I may have lost my audience, seeing as I've returned from India and don't have more adventures to recount. I never got around to writing about Hong Kong, and here we are.<br /><br />Hong Kong was awesome and Shuo was the perfect host. Hong Kong is the most clean, efficient city I've ever been to, and I'm not just saying that because I was just in India - it's way more clean and efficient that any American city. I was able to check my bags into the airline at the subway station in central hong kong - a 45 minute train ride from the airport. The station looks like an airport, with each airline having a check in counter, except after you check in your bags, you get on the train instead of walking to your gate. It was truly awesome, and more cities should try it.<br /><br />Hong Kong also didn't have bad traffic - nothing compared to New York or SF. There is so much accessible, clean, easy public transportation that people don't even want to take taxis that much. For $2 you can get from Hong Kong to Kowloon on the subway, and it's certainly faster than taking a taxi. Shuo and I gorged for 3 days, and then I came down with my final bout of Maharaja's revenge, which I will need to re-name last emperor's revenge, since I'm pretty sure I got it in Hong Kong. I went crazy eating all sorts of lettuce and ice - tsk, tsk - alas, 5 months in India did not give me any extra immunity.<br /><br />But Shuo showed me all the scenes and I went to Macau for a day, which, in case you were planning a trip, is considered a different country from Hong Kong, and you WILL need your passport. Macau is like a Portuguese city in Asia. It was much more similar to Southern Europe than the Portuguese colony in Kerala, which is what I can compare it to. There were actually Portuguese people living there, and the entire architecture of the city was white washed buildings and cobblestone streets. It's the only place close to China were gambling is allowed; it is actually now a "special economic zone" of China, the same as Hong Kong, but considered a different "country" with its own immigration and currency - the Macau Paceta (thank you, portuguese imperialists...). Macau was the last western colony in Asia, and was considered a part of Portugal until 1999, when China took it over. Now when you arrive there are cheesey casinos there to greet you and free shuttle buses to every casino there, including the new Venetian. After walking around Macau and seeing the actual historical stuff, I figured I should see where Macau is going these days, so I made my way to the Venetian.<br /><br />The Venetian in Macau is so big that it's creepy. You go inside, and like any casino, immediately they make it impossible to tell what time of day it is. It is about 500 million times the size of the Venetian in Las Vegas, and the gambling floor that I saw (there are probably many) was so big that you couldn't see the other end of the room. It was so stark and fake and void of real life that I got creeped out and took the next free shuttle back to the ferry terminal.<br /><br />The next day I came down with my emperor's revenge, and spent the day lying on the floor of Shuo's apartment, anticipating my 13 hour flight.<br /><br />My flight allowed me one last good-bye to India when I was seated next to a large Sikh man, who saw my henna and tried to talk to me in Hindi for the rest of the flight. He was a nice man, and whenever he paged the stewardess to get something (they were apparently out of water on the flight), he would page her again to get me something.<br /><br />In retrospect, what I miss most about India was the openness of the people, it doesn't take much to become someone's best friend, and when you are best friends, you are loyal for life. I miss the sense of optimism, which is particularly striking given the constant problems facing you every day. How it is possible to be optimistic when the overpass in the middle of town collapses due to corruption and incompetence, and there are 3 bombings in 4 months, is something that I would like to learn, and to apply to my life in America.<br /><br />Talking with another ex-pat who was visiting Mountain View for the week, we agreed that the main difference between the attitudes in India and the US, is that in India everyone is looking down. They look at the beggars on the streets and the auto-rickshaw drivers who make 100 rupees a month, and they think "wow, I'm so lucky I'm not them. I have this amazing apartment with running water and marble floors, and it's all mine! My whole family can live here cozily, and we even have a lovely view with some trees!" In the US, we look up. We see Britney Spears and Tom Cruise and think "Wow, look at all they have, and all I have is this lousy apartment. Why can't I have a mansion and fame and fortune? They don't even deserve it." I want to hold onto that Indian optimism and gratitude, and every day that I walk arounf Palo Alto, I feel it slipping away, and I feel myself slipping into the old American attitude of always wanting more.<br /><br />Always wanting more isn't exactly a bad thing, it has driven the US to become the successful first world nation that it is. The idea that anyone could become a millionaire (although that isn't enough these days either, so we'll have to adjust the term for inflation) - billionaire - is exciting and spurs innovation. But it also grows a cultural mindset that the grass is always greener somewhere else, and that we must find that grass and own it - which is not the attitude in India. In India it would be more like "wow, there's grass! Let's have a picnic there on Sunday with our family!"<br /><br />What is really intriguing to me is that in Hong Kong, which brings materialism to a level I didn't know possible - where temples have been replaced by Louis Vuitton, and where a "family outing" consists of waiting in line for the next Armani store to open- there doesn't appear to be the sense of pessimism that there is in America. I think that the main difference is that in Hong Kong people know what they want - money and designer goods - and they know exactly how to get it - work hard, save money, buy your purse, feel like a "somebody." In America there is always this sense that there is something bigger, something better out there that prevents us from appreciating what we have - but we don't even know what that bigger and better thing is. And the longer I stay here, the more this old mentality consumes me, as much as I try to fight it.<br /><br />So, in an effort to combat the immediate loss of everything I loved in India, I planned an Indian cooking party with Padma and Hayley who were visiting from the Hyderabad office. Within a week of returning and moving into my apartment, my small gathering of friends exploded like a high school beer bash until 18 people eventually came. We cooked an Indian feast all night, and didn't finish until midnight - the kitchen took a week to clean! But it was great fun, and Padma and Hayley felt at home helping me host the party - and I am now the proud owner of tubs of spices that I can't identify and a pound of fresh curry leaves (check on craigslist any day for my listing - "Palo Alto, California: Free, slightly dated curry leaves - you pick up.").<br /><br />The next day I took Padma and Hayley to Monterey and Carmel in my red convertible to give them a taste for the best that California has to offer - and it didn't disappoint. The weather was awesomely sunny and we walked on the beach, watched the sunset in Carmel from the soft white sand beach, and drove on PCH with the top down (and coats on ;). But alas, Padma and Hayley have now returned to Hyderabad, and I feel my last connection to it fading as they fly into the sunset.<br /><br />It is an incredibly odd phenomenon that it is possible to feel more content in India, a place where you struggle for necessities daily, than when you are in the US, a place where your basic needs are a given and where you have family and friends. I suppose figuring out how to combine the best aspects of both would make life too easy, and then I would complain about being bored. Alas, maybe there is no entirely green grass.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-64793460331917366402007-09-18T16:59:00.001-07:002007-09-18T16:59:37.505-07:00Leaving India<p class="MsoNormal">My last week in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hyderabad</st1:place></st1:City> was bittersweet. I was glad to be going home but sad to be leaving everyone that I had come to depend on. I felt like it was the last week of school, and it was hard to think that I might never see some people again. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My last days were spent trying to stuff everything into my suitcases (which didn’t happen because I bought so much stuff that I had to leave a pile for Jitu, the Q4 ambassador to MV to bring with him when he comes in October). Most of the festivities were cancelled because of the bombings, and for a few days we didn’t go out. But, as always in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>, after a few days, things calmed down and everyone ventured out again. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I bought the last of the necessary souvenirs and gifts, and spent an hour schmoozing with the owner of Saga to get myself 40% off my cashmere stoles at the fixed price store. He was very amused when he said “I’ll give you a good price” and I said “Asli ki math kya hai? Hindustani math, nahi firangi math” (“What’s the real price? Indian price, not foreigner price”). He laughed and laughed and then tried to teach me more Hindi. He also insisted on making me Kashmiri tea (which I only agreed to drink when I watched them make it with a new bottle of Bisleri mineral water), and I got to try on all of the 40,000 Rs scarves ($1,000). </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On my last night a small group went to a bar, and I went home early to get some sleep. I had coffee at Barista with Peter in the afternoon, and lamented the fact that there would be no more evenings of Kingfisher and Seinfeld with my roomies, who were definitely the best roomies I’ve ever had (the fact that we had maid service to clean up our messes didn’t hurt). On my last day I tried to stuff my suitcase closed and watched DVDs of ‘Heroes’ from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, with my suitcases very heavy and barely closed, Sayed took me to the airport and I said Phir milenge to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hyderabad</st1:place></st1:City>. Check-in and customs was a breeze (I had been stressing for weeks in anticipation of my battle over over-sized baggage fees), and the guy who checked me in recognized me from my trip to Australia and asked me how my project was going (and if I normally wore glasses, since I was wearing glasses the last time I was there).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I sat next to a guy who had never flown before and who couldn’t figure out how to buckle his seatbelt. It was a final glimpse at <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and a reminder that there are places in the world where most adults have never been on an airplane.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I landed in <st1:country-region st="on">Singapore</st1:country-region>, I was excited about eating salad, but was sad to think that I don’t know when I will return to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I watched Indian couples walking around the airport, and realized that in 3 weeks when my henna is gone, there will be no visible connection between us, they will assume that I don’t have the slightest clue about their culture, and who knows whether I’ll even notice them in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">America</st1:country-region></st1:place>?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Luckily the answer to those last questions has been answered, and so far I have managed to remain connected to my second home – through Padma and Hayley and all the beautiful things I brought back and the photos and the chaat houses – so far I have managed to incorporate <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> into my American life. </p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-47488248038213233842007-09-14T14:16:00.000-07:002007-09-14T16:25:56.097-07:00We're not done yet! Rewind to My Last Weekend In India<p class="MsoNormal">Faithful readers, never fear, I have not forsaken you! Not yet, at least. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It has been a crazy month, with a crazy journey between totally different worlds. I have returned from Neverland, but I still don’t want to grow up. But before I get into the analysis of my reverse culture shock, let’s start at the beginning, with tales of my last weeks in <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region> – Suffice it to say, <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> said good-bye with a bang.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The over-arching theme of my last week in India was that everything seemed to go wrong time and time again, and yet, things could have gone so much more wrong, that I was extremely grateful to escape unscathed. One thing that I can credit <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> with, is that it really gives you perspective about how things could be, that makes you really fucking grateful for how things are – even when they aren’t great.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I don't want this to sound as if I don't love India - because in fact, I love it very much. There are many things about India that I will miss immensely, and indeed, I already am. It is vibrant, honest, and a constant adventure, with warm, open, hospitable people. India is real. Every detail of life in India feels real at a different level than life anywhere else. Life is a challenge that forces to you appreciate what you have, and to fight for what you want. India forces you to live, because if you don't try, there are 1 billion other people ready to take your place.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">India makes me tired. India infuriates me. India kicks me down and helps me up. India makes me feel alive. India makes me appreciate life.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Gurgaon<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My second to last week in <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region> was spent in Gurgaon, a suburb of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city></st1:place>. This you know, because I already wrote about it. This trip was interesting because <st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city> is a totally different city from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hyderabad</st1:place></st1:city>, with a very different ambience. Many things about <st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city> are nicer than <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hyderabad</st1:place></st1:city>, it is truly an international city, full of diplomats and expensive restaurants. We went to a sushi restaurant that flew their sushi in from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region> every day (I still didn’t eat it though, and my stomach thanks me…). Yet, <st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city> is also worse than <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hyderabad</st1:place></st1:city> in many ways. It is more crowded, the people are poorer, and it doesn’t have that sense of excitement and hope that the developing city of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Hyderabad</st1:city></st1:place> has, despite its political and social uncertainty. <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> is hot and the people are generally not there to help you. It is much more of a “big” city, even though it doesn’t have any big buildings. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first thing to go wrong in my last weeks happened when, due to a misunderstanding, the police arrived at my guest house and told everyone they had to leave (the misunderstanding was resolved within a few days). The house staff packed my stuff, losing two pairs of my shoes and several earrings in the process. Yet, I was very grateful that I wasn’t there when they came<span style=""> </span>- I was having dinner at the sushi restaurant and discussing hinduism and reiki with another expat, Anna, and her Indian Bollywood producer friend who went to Vanderbilt (yes, I’m referring to the school in Tennessee. One of the things I love about traveling is the totally random experiences you can stumble upon, such as this one). I managed to avoid what must have been a very frightening situation, and all I lost in the process were two pairs of shoes – not so bad, not so bad… </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Veranasi<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For my last weekend I went with some American ex-pats, Scott, Anna, and Molly, to Veranasi, the holiest city in Hinduism where Hindus go to die and to bathe in the holy, and extremely polluted waters of the <st1:place st="on">Ganges (</st1:place>http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pollution_of_Ganga) . <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We flew from <st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city> to Veranasi in on a short one-hour flight from <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city></st1:place>. When we arrived we took a taxi to the only western hotel in the area, the Taj Ghat (an Indian chain), where we stealthily snuck 4 people into a room with a maximum capacity of 3. This resulted in us sneaking around to avoid suspicion, including me hiding in the bathtub when the bellboy dropped off the roller bed. The Taj is supposed to be a luxury hotel chain, but that roller bed was THE most disgusting thing any of us had ever seen – covered in stains from many, many different bodily fluids. So Scott ended up sleeping on a concoction of chairs, while Molly, Anna, and I all squeezed into the king sized bed. We all burst out laughing at about midnight when Scott moved an inch and his chair concoction fell over. Generally, it was a great time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before our snuggly bedtime we took the most harrowing auto-rickshaw ride of my time in <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region> to get from the Taj Ghat, which is, FYI, no where near any Ghat’s (the stairs down to the <st1:place st="on">Ganges</st1:place>) to the actual ghats to watch the puja, or evening prayers. Our rickshaw drivers dropped us off about a mile from the river, and we walked with tons of tourists and pilgrims past manure, livestock, hawkers and congested traffic to the main ghat. I was very proud of myself for having developed the uber stink-eye to the point that while I was walking down the street a few feet ahead of the other ex-pats, the hawkers saw me, evaluated me, and kept walking, honing in on the rest of the ex-pats. Muahahaha – I have become so unapproachable that they didn’t even bother with me!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we got to the ghats, priests (possibly Brahmins?) were doing a ceremony with fire on a platform over the river. Tourists were sitting in boats on the water watching and setting floating candles in the water, and we joined the group of pilgrims watching from the ghat. We lasted about 30 minutes before we got bored and decided to head out. I realized that I had reached my limit for travel – it was really cool, but I just didn’t care anymore.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We walked out of the maze of small streets, people everywhere (even more people than normal because Monday was a big festival day), livestock, traffic, manure, hawkers, and crap stands selling crap, and eventually found our way to where the auto-rickshaws were parked. A word to the wise – never, ever agree to go with any driver in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> if they are very persistent, because there is a reason they need to be persistent – because they suck! So we split up, and Scott and I and Molly and Anna went in two rickshaws, who were apparently having a contest about who could die first. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The blur that was the drive home was defined by me yelling “Nahi Geldi, Nahiii!” (“Not Fast!”). We were playing chicken with on-coming traffic and were centimeters away from being hit head on by a teetering bus. We were so close to hitting a man walking across the street that Scott and I were scratching our heads in between holding on to the sides of the rickshaw for dear life, trying to figure out how the man survived. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After that we went to dinner at the Taj restaurant and nursed Kingfishers, anticipating our snuggly 4-person room and our 4am wake-up call to get to the <st1:place st="on">Ganges</st1:place> before sunrise for a boat ride.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">4 am came quickly and we tumbled out of bed, and dragged ourselves downstairs to a lobby packed full of Italian tourists. Apparently everyone who comes to Veranasi wants to take a boat ride at sunrise. <span style=""> </span>But, everyone wants to do it because it made the trip worth the effort. We got onto a boat (as I prayed and prayed to anyone who would listen that the boat not turn over and that I wouldn’t need to touch the disgusting water on the monsoon-swollen river. We paddled close to shore, to avoide being swept into the main current of the overflowing river, and our hotel-provided tour guide told us about what we were seeing. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Pilgrims everywhere were bathing and drinking the water as naughty monkeys climbed around all the buildings, looking to make trouble. Men sat on pillars that are normally part of the ghats, but because of the flooding, they were covered in water, so it looked like the men were sitting on top of the water. We paddled up the river to the crematoriums where thousands of people are cremated daily, and saw human ash floating on top of the water. We also saw a full dead body, wrapped, and strapped to a boat. Hindus generally cremate their dead, but there are certain people who they won’t cremate, including children, pregnant women, and people who died from snake bites (the idea being that they might not actually be dead). We were lucky that these were the most morbid things we saw, because many other ex-pats have returned from <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Varanasi</st1:city></st1:place> with more morbid imagery to describe. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After this, our tour guide took us up into the small streets of the ancient city (one of the most ancient in the world), and we visited an Ashram (Hindu Monastery). The streets were full of manure and livestock and the smell was overwhelming. There were soldiers everywhere with guns because there had been a terrorist attack a few years ago, and because, although we didn’t know it yet, there was a terror high alert because of bombings in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Hyderabad</st1:city></st1:place> on Saturday night. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Varinasi was frustrating to me, because if the water weren’t so polluted, and people took care to not leave the small streets full of garbage and manure, it could have an ambience similar to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Venice</st1:place></st1:city>, with small historical walking streets and a fascinating, ancient culture. But instead, no one cares. The city is collapsing and rotting away, and no one is willing to do anything to prevent it. The river is dying. It is so polluted that it is septic, which means that there is no oxygen in the water so that no aquatic life can live. No fish, no plants, nothing. If this is how people treat the holiest of cities, there isn’t much hope for those places that are less revered. And this is a crying shame, not just for <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>, but for the world. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Somehow the combination of soldiers with guns, the polluted water, and the overwhelming sewage smells prevented me from appreciating the “holy” atmosphere that other travelers to <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Varanasi</st1:city></st1:place> describe, and all any of us wanted to do was escape to our dark, air-conditioned, quiet hotel room. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we got back to the room we saw the news of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Hyderabad</st1:city></st1:place> bombings, and we lay in our room for hours watching the news, as I called Rupa and Shyam to make sure everyone was alright, and the other ex-pats napped. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Luckily, no one that I knew was hurt by the bombings, but they have made the subsequent weeks very tense, because no one is sure who the specific target was (they targeted a busy restaurant and an outdoor carnival), or what the bomber’s motivations were other than promoting general civil unrest. We ended up cancelling all of our good-bye activities, and my last week was tense, yet, I was still grateful that I hadn’t been in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Hyderabad</st1:city></st1:place> during the bombings, and that no one I knew was affected. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If one attitude summarized my time in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> it was: <span style=""> </span>please just don’t let it happen to me. This is the attitude that one must adopt when in India, because if you were to contemplate the chances of something dangerous happening to you, you would be so scared that you wouldn’t leave your hotel or house (and even then, there is always the chance that with the common shoddy construction and corruption in public and private works, that your house or hotel will fall down upon you as you hide under your bed – I’ll get to the Hyderabad flyover collapse later in my blog). </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, back to adventures in Veranasi. After a morning of napping and enjoying the silence of our hotel room, we headed to the airport to head back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hyderabad</st1:place></st1:city>. Anna, Molly, and I were on a SpiceJet flight to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> and Scott was on an Air Sahara/JetLite flight. As the Air Sahara plane landed on the tiny runway (which was clearly not designed for large planes to land on), it slammed on its breaks and it’s wheels popped, stranding the plane on the runway. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The following 3 hours demonstrated why it is shocking and lucky that shit doesn’t hit the fan more often than it does in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>. For 3 hours the SpiceJet flight circled while the airport staff and everyone they’d ever met tried to figure out how to get a 737 off the runway without any equipment (the airport was so small that the planes would land and park and people would walk down the steps, so there wasn’t any equipment capable of hauling a plane anywhere). </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, they wouldn’t admit what was wrong with the plane for about an hour, and then wouldn’t admit that the plane wouldn’t be taking off again soon so the tiny, cramped, over-crowded airport was full of angry, confused, growingly disgruntled people who were starving for any information and weren’t getting it. Just in the nick of time, before my in-coming SpiceJet flight was about to be diverted to Lucknow because it was out of fuel from circling for 3 hours, the airport staff was able to haul the plane off the runway with the help of a tractor from a local farmer. I was hovering around the staff when the news came in over the walkie-talkie that the plane was making it off the runway, and I ended up being the messenger of good tidings for the next 15 minutes to hippie German students, Indian families, American MBA interns, and everyone else in the airport as I reported the info and more people came over to hear the details and ask me to repeat the story for their travel groups and/or families (no one officially announced the news for another 20 minutes).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the plane got off the runway, the SpiceJet flight was finally able to land and we got out of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Varanasi</st1:place></st1:city> (and not a second to late). Even with having planned a 3 hour layover in Delhi, I missed my outgoing flight (also on JetLite/Air Sahara), but I managed to get on the last flight into Hyderabad with seconds to spare, on Air Deccan – the worst Indian airline. Air Deccan was actually not that bad since the plane was about to leave and there wasn’t the opportunity for them to delay it/cancel it like the usually do, and I managed to get JetLite to refund my non-refundable ticket since it was their plane that caused me to miss my connecting flight (I was VERY proud of the negotiating skills that I’d developed while in India, to be able to negotiate them to refund my non-refundable ticket and find me another flight – not something they wanted to do). Yet, with all of this stress and these things going wrong, I was so immensely grateful that things weren’t worse.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">First of all, Scott, who was supposed to be on the outgoing flight on the plane that broke, was trapped in the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Varanasi</st1:place></st1:city> airport all night and most of the following day. I could have been on his flight, and I would have been totally screwed. I was grateful that I wasn’t on the SpiceJet flight that had to circle for 3 hours – a 4 hour flight with 3 hours making tight circles that would make the blue angels queasy would have been total torture. I was so grateful that I got on the Air Deccan flight seconds before it left, or else I would have been stuck in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> overnight. And I was sooo grateful that all of the flights I was on, including Air Deccan, landed safely. All in all, the stars were aligned in my favor, and I didn’t take it for granted for one mili-second. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Thank you</st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>, for helping me appreciate the small things. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To be continued…</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-21541116078398418482007-09-10T10:49:00.001-07:002007-09-14T16:19:23.967-07:00Hong Kong with Shuo<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfCAkA_poxX7VMzavJnGobga-vG0fzy_RZr-__nD6w8a_rMf5O-mS3l6gm7zQEY05fN_nxxZDvqp3NupohiZuReM8_m72lacA0Sv8E4IB7l8kgKqxYgf_-sFtrHK6i6FzILip3a3Fc4fL/s1600-h/IMG_1369.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfCAkA_poxX7VMzavJnGobga-vG0fzy_RZr-__nD6w8a_rMf5O-mS3l6gm7zQEY05fN_nxxZDvqp3NupohiZuReM8_m72lacA0Sv8E4IB7l8kgKqxYgf_-sFtrHK6i6FzILip3a3Fc4fL/s320/IMG_1369.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109113821034519826" border="0" /></a><br />Drinks in Kowloon, overlooking the Hong Kong skyline<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ruc3YnPNHQI/AAAAAAAAFUA/UiUL-fQvRMI/s1600-h/IMG_1364.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ruc3YnPNHQI/AAAAAAAAFUA/UiUL-fQvRMI/s320/IMG_1364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109113198264261890" border="0" /></a><br />Drinks at Fong with Andy and Shuo<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg489IPLHsXlpznoCATTGbvphjSRaiA9x0mbsuD6SurywnnEtUcz15HFPjzk3HjEHWAu1DsMVaN7cMEFdVdlbUIwylteUS2s4_UMWHKKYrXsks8nwH40SX8BrZM0De6JUU40Mij0ZcL17mu/s1600-h/IMG_1334.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg489IPLHsXlpznoCATTGbvphjSRaiA9x0mbsuD6SurywnnEtUcz15HFPjzk3HjEHWAu1DsMVaN7cMEFdVdlbUIwylteUS2s4_UMWHKKYrXsks8nwH40SX8BrZM0De6JUU40Mij0ZcL17mu/s320/IMG_1334.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109112858961845490" border="0" /></a><br />The New Hong Kong Temple - Louis Vuitton, a store shaped like a suitcase<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ruc2sXPNHOI/AAAAAAAAFTw/rZ867hCTaU4/s1600-h/IMG_1331.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ruc2sXPNHOI/AAAAAAAAFTw/rZ867hCTaU4/s320/IMG_1331.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109112438055050466" border="0" /></a>MMMM Octopus on a Stick!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYCeHS9KhPFEXHByRGkNouq9Wx4RUGSDN7NmDOd237Oev2_ucxC4m_Hxekkd_M26PPSryrqrTLi_IsIutp9cdQPUSCoE70sAtAZw8_qnzi8OMxk-V91YlrCk1bwppI12z7aRFcQ9Inh3V3/s1600-h/IMG_1328.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYCeHS9KhPFEXHByRGkNouq9Wx4RUGSDN7NmDOd237Oev2_ucxC4m_Hxekkd_M26PPSryrqrTLi_IsIutp9cdQPUSCoE70sAtAZw8_qnzi8OMxk-V91YlrCk1bwppI12z7aRFcQ9Inh3V3/s320/IMG_1328.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109111901184138450" border="0" /></a><br />Shuo swears this arrow was unintentional ;)<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWHzHPNEwI/AAAAAAAAE-Q/uq14LK8gLsI/s1600-h/DSC03692.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWHzHPNEwI/AAAAAAAAE-Q/uq14LK8gLsI/s320/DSC03692.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108638664507593474" border="0" /></a>Shuo with our authentic Boba<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWHnXPNEvI/AAAAAAAAE-I/NAiAk79My3M/s1600-h/DSC03691.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWHnXPNEvI/AAAAAAAAE-I/NAiAk79My3M/s320/DSC03691.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108638462644130546" border="0" /></a><br />Shuo gets Free Hugs!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbi7P6BacW1GP2vdFukL6iDXRhfIHGAmmCZFlIEHSiF3UKIL3vBZs9SnSy-lt33dXrGeursO-iDrO4SIuwXW4wpkZW5DCQiHuEaBkHYRjUR-L7hr1YlvJiXUpMfvGXU5vH_dXeytkfrbQm/s1600-h/DSC03666.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbi7P6BacW1GP2vdFukL6iDXRhfIHGAmmCZFlIEHSiF3UKIL3vBZs9SnSy-lt33dXrGeursO-iDrO4SIuwXW4wpkZW5DCQiHuEaBkHYRjUR-L7hr1YlvJiXUpMfvGXU5vH_dXeytkfrbQm/s320/DSC03666.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108636641577997026" border="0" /></a><br />The city from the Peak<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWFlXPNEtI/AAAAAAAAE94/gLvjEKmW-pI/s1600-h/DSC03648.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWFlXPNEtI/AAAAAAAAE94/gLvjEKmW-pI/s320/DSC03648.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108636229261136594" border="0" /></a><br />Me at the Peak<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHX2rhNIpzfyOE4FLN0deGBLLNT6sOcJ6G_yhvKaxYBV35DAUzo2THywoXxLZ0Y9wwsypVXjrNuF9pZuT2_SG2GwEJXO2p7gkZzGJGogvPM1b9FeKuyc6yj3m18X0v2nbmGCTAeW6rLkZ/s1600-h/DSC03643.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHX2rhNIpzfyOE4FLN0deGBLLNT6sOcJ6G_yhvKaxYBV35DAUzo2THywoXxLZ0Y9wwsypVXjrNuF9pZuT2_SG2GwEJXO2p7gkZzGJGogvPM1b9FeKuyc6yj3m18X0v2nbmGCTAeW6rLkZ/s320/DSC03643.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108635958678196930" border="0" /></a><br />Me and Shuo at the Peak<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWE6nPNErI/AAAAAAAAE9o/lP3opzV2AhI/s1600-h/DSC03640.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RuWE6nPNErI/AAAAAAAAE9o/lP3opzV2AhI/s320/DSC03640.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108635494821728946" border="0" /></a><br />View from the other side of the Peak<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokmOz6XuMevwJ5yVs-_5wNA9I1sy_1dKjNW7A7cD8j-PcVm-vmN0kq1NsXau9IjOw8cbW4tRy7NnbJ3tiyU0-UXUgdm47fauTobcUSfbLgGbq4odb-Hk-0Mdz_ev27uu7VbuwsoET8NW8/s1600-h/DSC03626.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokmOz6XuMevwJ5yVs-_5wNA9I1sy_1dKjNW7A7cD8j-PcVm-vmN0kq1NsXau9IjOw8cbW4tRy7NnbJ3tiyU0-UXUgdm47fauTobcUSfbLgGbq4odb-Hk-0Mdz_ev27uu7VbuwsoET8NW8/s320/DSC03626.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108634661598073506" border="0" /></a><br />Shuo attacks his Dim Sum<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ELeW5Zz0af7bbv_iVgeqRmxEhQL5dCSdYsIayKQwDhQCncIvUlgnaHZDI8SYMY-qn7hJue47no_v2XEx9sjxv38TcShEMNe0tfb58Wx73aMQ5qbyVbP1EQac22ib7_gf8vc1ig_GTEmH/s1600-h/DSC03628.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ELeW5Zz0af7bbv_iVgeqRmxEhQL5dCSdYsIayKQwDhQCncIvUlgnaHZDI8SYMY-qn7hJue47no_v2XEx9sjxv38TcShEMNe0tfb58Wx73aMQ5qbyVbP1EQac22ib7_gf8vc1ig_GTEmH/s320/DSC03628.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108634455439643282" border="0" /></a><br />Eating Dim Sum with Chopsticks<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ruc4k3PNHSI/AAAAAAAAFUQ/CLAZaotN_OU/s1600-h/IMG_1389.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ruc4k3PNHSI/AAAAAAAAFUQ/CLAZaotN_OU/s320/IMG_1389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109114508229287202" border="0" /></a>Sau Paulo Cathedral, Macau<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-60721957002429508802007-08-31T03:25:00.001-07:002007-08-31T03:44:31.085-07:00Phir Milenge Hyderabad<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1y2UAq_lvF9QLFE9asj3KxDZR2R-MsyxlJA_kTWh1jPdBhIWaM_vvuWrFZZQ0cwAQlAzteME_9yTsP4c2cWXP-WclykaQM1Z5CwfOJBu78fo5a4uVebI5-GQmPPH3njCZ9dar74m-Q8R/s1600-h/DSC03611.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1y2UAq_lvF9QLFE9asj3KxDZR2R-MsyxlJA_kTWh1jPdBhIWaM_vvuWrFZZQ0cwAQlAzteME_9yTsP4c2cWXP-WclykaQM1Z5CwfOJBu78fo5a4uVebI5-GQmPPH3njCZ9dar74m-Q8R/s320/DSC03611.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104813489324364418" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtfwPHPNEnI/AAAAAAAAE9I/vMfAcyDhSFw/s1600-h/DSC03610.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtfwPHPNEnI/AAAAAAAAE9I/vMfAcyDhSFw/s320/DSC03610.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104812845079270002" border="0" /></a><br />Me and Parul at my last Hyderabad lunch<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-69346618706418837372007-08-30T04:51:00.001-07:002007-08-30T04:52:18.839-07:00Last Week In HyderabadIt's my last week in Hyderabad. It has been dampered by the bombings on Saturday, but we've been trying to have as much fun as possible. Wise man once say - when you're moving there are two places you want to be, where you are and where you're going. Wise man was very wise...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-88625400539127160712007-08-30T02:25:00.001-07:002007-08-30T04:51:00.191-07:00Last Week In Hyderabad<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWO5sAbLRCrGx3u10oa5X9p-ZC09ze9PqfzqEynqJmePcuiXfZhHEiicxe-nFCG0sA-Vw0NpjahwMkcYbiFf0kxKQujWsfIgEnSHp9gZIYolCqNLNYuD6thKmuoL1RBPJHiRoyrP2mgpx/s1600-h/DSC03601.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWO5sAbLRCrGx3u10oa5X9p-ZC09ze9PqfzqEynqJmePcuiXfZhHEiicxe-nFCG0sA-Vw0NpjahwMkcYbiFf0kxKQujWsfIgEnSHp9gZIYolCqNLNYuD6thKmuoL1RBPJHiRoyrP2mgpx/s320/DSC03601.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104432547200045282" border="0" /></a>Another traditional dress day<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtaVc3PNEMI/AAAAAAAAE48/7hv8-XxHDIo/s1600-h/DSC03596.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtaVc3PNEMI/AAAAAAAAE48/7hv8-XxHDIo/s320/DSC03596.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104431550767632578" border="0" /></a><br />Me (with saree tied Gujarati style) and Ramya<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtaU1XPNELI/AAAAAAAAE40/5WshXvut7LM/s1600-h/DSC03595.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtaU1XPNELI/AAAAAAAAE40/5WshXvut7LM/s320/DSC03595.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104430872162799794" border="0" /></a><br />Me and Kanupriya, posing very seriously...<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0q7tLTOOijm50F9yiiKRYNDUEX_sJmwtq0HH_NObMgTUaItPYiVbi3pnpa35DdHJRozbXZLOlobV2qYHAKTNe_ScqfJnSFDDCwDiZdf_r0tdrAwRzmxKyyFP5kNIVAkYTdk3L1UMo8WLz/s1600-h/DSC00118.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0q7tLTOOijm50F9yiiKRYNDUEX_sJmwtq0HH_NObMgTUaItPYiVbi3pnpa35DdHJRozbXZLOlobV2qYHAKTNe_ScqfJnSFDDCwDiZdf_r0tdrAwRzmxKyyFP5kNIVAkYTdk3L1UMo8WLz/s320/DSC00118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104423244300882082" border="0" /></a>My trip to Charminar a few weeks ago<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-60703705164207819742007-08-27T07:33:00.000-07:002007-09-17T14:31:39.669-07:00Verinasi - New Pics<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QrvZcjWRZmyGX4RCDETO3Y1DLzlxn_u7fm_myS7Z9Yy7NAadRsppsomLonf-grsngUEo7K4FMGTAkAa9Q54y2gCYOU8YsVo9rI45e-2iKtb-nG4OQQHAOF22t2J8hr5PxbmPovSLhsOL/s1600-h/DSC01111.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QrvZcjWRZmyGX4RCDETO3Y1DLzlxn_u7fm_myS7Z9Yy7NAadRsppsomLonf-grsngUEo7K4FMGTAkAa9Q54y2gCYOU8YsVo9rI45e-2iKtb-nG4OQQHAOF22t2J8hr5PxbmPovSLhsOL/s320/DSC01111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111288147730847170" border="0" /></a>Me and Scott on our harrowing auto-rickshaw ride<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWCQAzOZqcaTIi89wTIvSvgBWgaUm7DMQn6HCnzA9RmP9EMAUu5QHXqxVv7r0ZQRN1MNLKRtTrNQAaBHgvfq4VhxBXRXs1HZQevpISMdUScezs7vuGMVi5ehlQBcVWMfogo0-U45FoFpl/s1600-h/P8250155.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWCQAzOZqcaTIi89wTIvSvgBWgaUm7DMQn6HCnzA9RmP9EMAUu5QHXqxVv7r0ZQRN1MNLKRtTrNQAaBHgvfq4VhxBXRXs1HZQevpISMdUScezs7vuGMVi5ehlQBcVWMfogo0-U45FoFpl/s320/P8250155.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111287950162351538" border="0" /></a><br />Bathing pilgrim in the Ganges<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7xMlYpVaI/AAAAAAAAFtI/l16BHAWW9Bg/s1600-h/P8250140.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7xMlYpVaI/AAAAAAAAFtI/l16BHAWW9Bg/s320/P8250140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111287825608299938" border="0" /></a><br />Pilgrim<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrpYfCk09tul3riS_WATrvne97C6DX6ybCgW13sTJvhMD1B1DHdS1rB0-RLczku1Wdev-5iIHgfXSKmsRI-I12kDlU-mi8a322g1xnpW6ar-h5bbOqJQu8OGfSL7OQm8U9rNdkYg5fsRL/s1600-h/DSC01209.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrpYfCk09tul3riS_WATrvne97C6DX6ybCgW13sTJvhMD1B1DHdS1rB0-RLczku1Wdev-5iIHgfXSKmsRI-I12kDlU-mi8a322g1xnpW6ar-h5bbOqJQu8OGfSL7OQm8U9rNdkYg5fsRL/s320/DSC01209.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111287670989477266" border="0" /></a><br />Sunrise boat ride on the Ganges<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7w61YpVYI/AAAAAAAAFs4/zsfx5mof0t8/s1600-h/DSC01192.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7w61YpVYI/AAAAAAAAFs4/zsfx5mof0t8/s320/DSC01192.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111287520665621890" border="0" /></a><br />Boy takes a break from selling flowers to pilgrims<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7w1FYpVXI/AAAAAAAAFsw/8lVWIQwJ7IA/s1600-h/DSC01190.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7w1FYpVXI/AAAAAAAAFsw/8lVWIQwJ7IA/s320/DSC01190.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111287421881374066" border="0" /></a><br />Bathing Pilgrims<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxK3UsiKretE_4d0hdSsNNEH5m2Lvp8B-spRFUQAoAL9ovrsGuwoEuTI9kKUXS61JIBC7miFtt9_HPP1LuM5i01kCg4olYUsXP8UYE0f8U6R5i3VX9bl5KC-x9ed8qiqd8CMpACWC-HcR/s1600-h/DSC01181.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxK3UsiKretE_4d0hdSsNNEH5m2Lvp8B-spRFUQAoAL9ovrsGuwoEuTI9kKUXS61JIBC7miFtt9_HPP1LuM5i01kCg4olYUsXP8UYE0f8U6R5i3VX9bl5KC-x9ed8qiqd8CMpACWC-HcR/s320/DSC01181.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111287086873924962" border="0" /></a><br />Right before Sunrise<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7wWFYpVVI/AAAAAAAAFsg/tvx_fKN_UDc/s1600-h/DSC01172.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7wWFYpVVI/AAAAAAAAFsg/tvx_fKN_UDc/s320/DSC01172.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111286889305429330" border="0" /></a><br />Our boatmen push off other boats to fight the strong current of the flooded river<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0uHkV6TtKQict7uIcTKtSbBx6Nyd5fjLBF0LvXZkQMPRmmGuvKrlfFoxCJsihuebaOqPCXu6apKTQW8zD-fcqCsZGIv3ZBwOpFuhRltr2Fdwy_LxQ8hTcmPyH1xx6QSQYH75Z0j7SKYQF/s1600-h/DSC01168.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0uHkV6TtKQict7uIcTKtSbBx6Nyd5fjLBF0LvXZkQMPRmmGuvKrlfFoxCJsihuebaOqPCXu6apKTQW8zD-fcqCsZGIv3ZBwOpFuhRltr2Fdwy_LxQ8hTcmPyH1xx6QSQYH75Z0j7SKYQF/s320/DSC01168.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111286412564059458" border="0" /></a><br />Scott, me, Molly, and Anna with our "wishes"<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sSv7QXzNx2yrC-hBQ5duWQdr-I8IqsoLjbZFbUSUW-BsJj28DwLx6Rwn4JZm08Z3d5kOa5jct1jrbdk097-cYd9JhCIoiaDnpXtWQhyphenhyphenSmnjZJDR8EUY0HDj-i2R1AhanhxtWbj0GFwMv/s1600-h/DSC01140.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sSv7QXzNx2yrC-hBQ5duWQdr-I8IqsoLjbZFbUSUW-BsJj28DwLx6Rwn4JZm08Z3d5kOa5jct1jrbdk097-cYd9JhCIoiaDnpXtWQhyphenhyphenSmnjZJDR8EUY0HDj-i2R1AhanhxtWbj0GFwMv/s320/DSC01140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111286176340858162" border="0" /></a><br />Scott, me and Anna at the Puja<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7vY1YpVSI/AAAAAAAAFsI/42uICmkDtlM/s1600-h/DSC01132.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7vY1YpVSI/AAAAAAAAFsI/42uICmkDtlM/s320/DSC01132.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111285837038441762" border="0" /></a><br />Me at the puja<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7u2VYpVRI/AAAAAAAAFsA/mnbD80xT-wE/s1600-h/DSC01131.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Ru7u2VYpVRI/AAAAAAAAFsA/mnbD80xT-wE/s320/DSC01131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111285244332954898" border="0" /></a><br />Me and Anna<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiSxc_IE_2Bk1OsH_sieLO5jXL5WMrFn4RZ4Q4Y-CTmGL3bGD5kklc5aEGsK0sKlITyzQv-N1NDxawknPO5scxDkFk9gCgmTu2vSbavKcVDOZ4JYx1nKE8gTkhL-Gu0vTK3Qr2MYrrwTg/s1600-h/DSC01123.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiSxc_IE_2Bk1OsH_sieLO5jXL5WMrFn4RZ4Q4Y-CTmGL3bGD5kklc5aEGsK0sKlITyzQv-N1NDxawknPO5scxDkFk9gCgmTu2vSbavKcVDOZ4JYx1nKE8gTkhL-Gu0vTK3Qr2MYrrwTg/s320/DSC01123.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111284441174070530" border="0" /></a><br />The Puja<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-Q5axA6ozYNPfrghrwpifzZoB9yNkR6MLbN-gzzmTGGigeZgIY88M9c5jVxljJhqXewXqHwHKlInREqSbjddgzJkZHH_YwrT2D52z9Z4982xCc0prZ0QPqA0l_5GF_FFEZqdUAPxi3aa/s1600-h/DSC03591.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-Q5axA6ozYNPfrghrwpifzZoB9yNkR6MLbN-gzzmTGGigeZgIY88M9c5jVxljJhqXewXqHwHKlInREqSbjddgzJkZHH_YwrT2D52z9Z4982xCc0prZ0QPqA0l_5GF_FFEZqdUAPxi3aa/s320/DSC03591.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103390884486779026" border="0" /></a><br />Pilgrims bathe in the Ganges<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtLhz3PNEII/AAAAAAAAE4E/7uRN1vWgYvc/s1600-h/DSC03589.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RtLhz3PNEII/AAAAAAAAE4E/7uRN1vWgYvc/s320/DSC03589.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103389608881492098" border="0" /></a><br />Sunrise over the Ganges<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-79192173323738782402007-08-23T06:45:00.000-07:002007-08-23T07:01:54.471-07:00Gurgaon Not a City in Thailand or HollandDespite its odd sounding name, it is actually a "suburb" of Delhi.<br /><br />It is pronounced "Gurgaow"(with a french nasal ending).<br /><br />Office is really nice, food is reeeeeeaaally nice.<br /><br />Have learned that most Indian restaurant food in America is from North India.<br /><br />Food is also really heavy and creamy.<br /><br />Finally had chicken korma last night. It was good, but not as good as Marigold- alas!<br /><br />Now my clothes smell like a mix of burnt onions and curry.<br /><br />I don't like the smell of burnt onions and curry.<br /><br />Contrast between rich and poor is even more striking in Gurgaon.<br /><br />Cows everywhere.<br /><br />Bicycle rickshaws everywhere.<br /><br />Tall, marble, modern buildings everywhere.<br /><br />Naked homeless people sleeping on the streets at night everywhere.<br /><br />Almost got in a car accident when a bull decided to meander into the middle of the freeway.<br /><br />Almost hit a pedestrian who was running across the freeway.<br /><br />Waaaaaaaay fewer people speak English here than in Hyderabad.<br /><br />The power goes out at least once every half hour.<br /><br />It's fucking hot here.<br /><br />The air is thick and brown.<br /><br />My car was chased by wild dogs as we drove home today.<br /><br />There were salsa lessons in the cafe this evening.<br /><br />It takes 10 minutes to get to the office and 1 hour to get home.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-44139649742715061582007-08-22T08:12:00.000-07:002007-08-22T08:24:18.248-07:00สวัสดี ประเทศไทย - Hello Thailand<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Some observations about Thailand<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Day 1- <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Passport Control:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Although I am embarrassed to show my passport at most airports because of America’s “world cowboys™” foreign policy (Let it be known, for the record, that “world cowboys™” is my term and the patent is pending ;), it is damn good to be able to bypass the 3 hour visa line reserved for citizens of developing nations and get an instant & free 30 day Mr. Money Bags, rich-foreigner-about-to-spend-lots-of-money entry stamp. <o:p></o:p></span></li><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Perhaps <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region> should consider instituting a similar Mr. Money Bags visa policy rather than spending billions of dollars on tourism ads and then deporting rich foreigners without visas back to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Singapore</st1:place></st1:country-region> to spend their money in the giant sprawling capitalist dreamland of underground malls.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Hotel</span></b><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"> <b style="">at the Westin Grand Sukhumvit:</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Being a platinum Starwoods member rocks -> <o:p></o:p></span></li><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Fruit basket, free breakfast, free cocktails, free snacks, fresh flowers, “early” check-in at 6am when anyone else would have to pay for an extra night = goooooooooooood.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul></ul> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Although I’m sad to be missing cute cultural nuances by staying in a 5-Star hotel, it was more than made up for by my oatmeal, jasmine bath with jets in a marble tub.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Note, however, that the concierge at said hotel will always propose the most expensive option possible for any activity/query you put to him. Said concierge should be weaseled for information with non-committal responses, and then ignored. Especially when he asks for your email address to “keep in touch.”<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Out and About in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City>:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">There are a lot of lonely, socially-awkward old men.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Most of these men have moved to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">These are the single, lonely equivalent of those obnoxious 60-something Hawaiian-shirt & hip-pack-wearing men, generally named Maury or Barry, generally to be found on cruises bellowing across the entire restaurant that their steak is too well done (“I said rare – you know, still mooing!”) and bragging with their wife Edna about the fact that it’s their 8<sup>th</sup> cruise this year and it’s only February.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Replace Edna with a 17 year old Thai prostitute named Bu, and you are picturing at least one table in every restaurant in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City>.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">These men think that Thai prostitutes like them.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">These men also like to start conversations with me in elevators and continue to talk even when I don’t respond.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">I hope that these men aren’t reproducing.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">There are tons of Muslims in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City>, particularly Arab Muslims. I don’t think a ton of Arabs live in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City>, but tons vacation there and there are restaurants everywhere with signs in 4-5 languages common to Muslims, such as Arabic, Urdu, Farsi, Hindi, and Malay.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">My taxi driver to the airport, Mr. Tan, in between trying to teach me Thai phrases (ko kum kaa), explained that for the fall months all moneyed people from <st1:country-region st="on">Qatar</st1:country-region> and the UAE come to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City> to shop. <o:p></o:p></span></li><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The men come to “shop” for something other than clothing or handicrafts.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Even <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Thai street</st1:address></st1:Street> food looks and smells really good, except when there is raw chicken from hawker stand umbrellas. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Good Thai tailors aren’t actually that cheap.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Nor are they <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thai.</st1:place></st1:country-region><o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The best Thai tailors are Sikhs. One of my tailors was a fourth generation Thai citizen who wears a turban and speaks a mix of English, Thai, and Punjabi. He speaks to his wife in “Thai-Jabi”(patent also pending;).<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">It is possible to bargain in a completely calm and quite manor and still get a good deal. This observation clearly does not apply to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Day Two – Pattaya<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Trannies in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region>:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">I had the opportunity to go kayaking with a transgendered Thai woman (formerly man). <span style=""> </span>I didn’t, although it would have made a great story.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">There are tons of transvestites and transsexuals in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region>. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">In general, they are more socially accepted than other places in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Despite popular belief, they are not all prostitutes. Many transsexuals are from normal sectors of society.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">There is a famous Muay Thai boxer who retired from boxing and became a woman.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Many Thai transsexuals look waaaaaay more like women than white transsexuals.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">I’m quite sure that the promoters of the “sex tourism” to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region> would like to keep this fact under raps.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Other Pattaya Observations:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The fact that Arab men felt it was ok to make clicking sounds at me on a private luxury hotel Thai beach when a) I was not in an Arab country and b) I was not scandalously dressed, enraged me beyond all reason. They’re lucky I didn’t go Thelma and Louise on them.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Thai iced tea isn’t sweet, although it is very, very orange.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">There are no taxis in Pattaya, just pick up trucks with benches in the back. This is really weird for a place that depends on tourism. Although, they are nice pick-up trucks…<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">It takes 3 hours to get to Pattaya from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City> without any traffic, not the 1.5-2 hours listed in every tour book and stated by my hotel concierge. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Thai beaches are unsurpassed, too bad they were all destroyed by the Tsunami. I wonder what they<span style=""> </span>looked like before. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Day 3 – Back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Pattaya to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City>:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">It’s possible to get pick-pocketed in the 30 seconds it takes between paying for your bus ticket and sitting down in your bus seat.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Lucky for me, I was wearing a money belt.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">I hope that whichever rich white tourist stole the 400 Bhat in my pocket ($13.33) uses it to get a Thai prostitute who turns out to be a transvestite.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Bangkok</span></b></st1:PlaceName><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"> <st1:placetype st="on">Airport</st1:PlaceType></span></b></st1:place><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Airport food is greasy and disgusting, even in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Despite what airport staff tell you at the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:City> airport, you can check into your Thai Airways flight 6 hours in advance. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">You should do this.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The Bangkok International terminal is the most ridiculous airport I’ve ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">If they had more trolleys people would shop more, rather than lugging heavy bags around the terminal for 30 minutes looking for a trolley.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Most of the trolleys are in use by tiny Asian women who are pushing around 5 pound Louis Vuitton handbags.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">My shoulders really hate these women.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The Flight Home:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">On a flight of 180 people, there were 6 women.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The dregs of Indian society go to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">They are generally there for sex.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">They can’t hold their liquor. They have one drink and act like 16 year old football players at a party when the parents aren’t home.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">I now know why alcohol is banned on Indian domestic flights.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Alcohol should be banned on Indian International flights too.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Lucky for everyone on the plane, alcohol makes men who haven’t slept in 3 days sleepy.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The difference between <st1:country-region st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region> and <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><st1:country-region st="on"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Thailand</span></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"> is not a third world country, <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> is.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Thailand</span></st1:country-region></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"> has modern infrastructure and a vibrant, extensive middle to upper middle class. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Generally, there are not animals wandering the streets of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Bangkok</st1:City></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Bangkok</span></st1:City></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"> has 7 modern modes of public transportation:<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Skytrain – the nicest public transport I’ve ever taken in any city in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Subway – mostly for Thai commuters, reduces traffic on the roads<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">A/C buses – as nice as any bus in Europe, nicer than buses in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">America</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Moped “taxis” – can weave through traffic on modern mopeds, sitting behind the driver, helmets are provided.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Taxis – nice, a/c Japanese cars with drivers who don’t size you up when you get in like they do in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Aero-bridges for pedestrians – allow you to walk across entire parts of the city 40 feet above the road, clears traffic and makes street crossing safe. Crossing the street in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> is more dangerous than yelling “Go Pakistan” in a crowded Indian cricket stadium.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Cars – which are generally in nice condition, although traffic in <st1:city st="on">Bangkok</st1:City> is still bad, it’s nothing compared to <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>. Roads in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region></st1:place> are completely modern as are the freeways. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul></ul> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.75in;"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">And two modes of not-so-modern transportation.<o:p></o:p></span></li><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Tuk-tuks, the onomonpoeiadic name of the Thai version of auto-rickshaws – these are generally much, much nicer than Indian auto-rickshaws and don’t generally belch black smoke out the back.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Nasty old gross buses used by poor Thais, look very similar to Indian buses, but don’t have bars on the windows.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">You can generally drink the water in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region></st1:place>, but if you don’t want to, there is reliable bottled water everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Firangis can’t drink the water in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>, even in a 5 star hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">There are prostitutes everywhere in <st1:city st="on">Bangkok</st1:City>, I have never seen a prostitute in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> – they are better hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Thailand features the good aspects of India – fresh jasmine, exciting foreign culture, bustling markets, cheap awesome silks and textiles, fantastic curry, atmospheric auto-rickshaws (cutely named tuk-tuks) – without many of the bad aspects – 100 men to every woman (at least in public), traffic blocked by livestock, corruption so bad that roads can’t get built, loud intense bargaining/haggling, pollution (to the same degree), impassible traffic (there are traffic jams here too, but see above for the modern alternatives Thailand has come up with to sitting in traffic), and men sizing me up every time I enter a room, sit in the back of a car, or do any other activity that may involve me being seen by non-google or non-expat men. Thai men don’t generally do that, although plenty of foreign men in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region></st1:place> did. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">The Thai word for white foreigner is Firang, the Hindi word for white foreigner (with derogatory connotations, similar to the Spanish <i style="">gringo</i>) is Firangi. There is a flower called Frangi Panni (Foreign Water – also the name of a popular bar in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Hyderabad</st1:City></st1:place>). Some linguist must have written a PhD about this topic. If they haven’t yet, expect to read it in the Norwegian Journal of<span style=""> </span>Flower Etymology and Social Linguistics (or some similarly important and obscure periodocal that exists to publish groundbreaking dissertations such as this) in about 7 years. <o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";">Thai curry is waaaaaaay spicier than Indian curry- you’ve been warned!<o:p></o:p></span></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Viner Hand ITC";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-61647123848741398212007-08-21T23:59:00.000-07:002007-08-22T03:06:55.336-07:00Pattaya<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RswGOHPNEFI/AAAAAAAAE3U/rf0lgfLjZus/s1600-h/60.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RswGOHPNEFI/AAAAAAAAE3U/rf0lgfLjZus/s320/60.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101459317434683474" border="0" /></a>Sunset over the Gulf of Siam<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6HPR-y2Mki5itjB2HbrsLXnFLAtDszhYDmowS4BUuLH8LYgkrjqiGc_2Xfcwz13-priJ6dTN1uHmeOqhI-dHT7_DR-TclYlpvNG-ms_4IxRsF6lGwB-gIUqHrkwxa1_kFtTDR_qqh-U-/s1600-h/55.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6HPR-y2Mki5itjB2HbrsLXnFLAtDszhYDmowS4BUuLH8LYgkrjqiGc_2Xfcwz13-priJ6dTN1uHmeOqhI-dHT7_DR-TclYlpvNG-ms_4IxRsF6lGwB-gIUqHrkwxa1_kFtTDR_qqh-U-/s320/55.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101458050419331138" border="0" /></a><br />Sunset from the Infinity Pool outside my room :)<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvxKHPNEDI/AAAAAAAAE2o/LfUNsR9YK-M/s1600-h/53.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvxKHPNEDI/AAAAAAAAE2o/LfUNsR9YK-M/s320/53.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101436158971023410" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMucBYKqovD9bkY0gixIttHhfowfHH31m9aPjMDOD3jTcV0Hn7qNbryz8Da2S4K2GpwnWgh8C1rCCeKSO3zRsld9wgYvfKATjSuWUEXstrLeMuV7wFCwIBrUZ4w6JsVxwpYvNNse3NipX9/s1600-h/48.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMucBYKqovD9bkY0gixIttHhfowfHH31m9aPjMDOD3jTcV0Hn7qNbryz8Da2S4K2GpwnWgh8C1rCCeKSO3zRsld9wgYvfKATjSuWUEXstrLeMuV7wFCwIBrUZ4w6JsVxwpYvNNse3NipX9/s320/48.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101435016509722658" border="0" /></a><br />Kayaking in the Gulf of Siam<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvvKXPNEBI/AAAAAAAAE2Y/n7dTosGb8tc/s1600-h/46.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvvKXPNEBI/AAAAAAAAE2Y/n7dTosGb8tc/s320/46.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101433964242735122" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_tOLXimDeg2tYauWEEUVJVDdefV9F3yxPC0HQYXSzSN-CyAWnmbcGnXUKc9DTX4CFDFalDkAI7rXfAxtJYNkzzZcPPDYWsuQuOVYDjNKWk6irsucC3x7y521kNXnY9eiXV9fC4IHBss5/s1600-h/41.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_tOLXimDeg2tYauWEEUVJVDdefV9F3yxPC0HQYXSzSN-CyAWnmbcGnXUKc9DTX4CFDFalDkAI7rXfAxtJYNkzzZcPPDYWsuQuOVYDjNKWk6irsucC3x7y521kNXnY9eiXV9fC4IHBss5/s320/41.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101432963515355138" border="0" /></a><br />MMMM- Pad See Ewe and Thai Iced Tea on the beach in Thailand<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvrfXPND_I/AAAAAAAAE2I/FVrQP8R-d-E/s1600-h/32.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvrfXPND_I/AAAAAAAAE2I/FVrQP8R-d-E/s320/32.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101429926973476850" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvqsHPND-I/AAAAAAAAE2A/MjosLrigzKg/s1600-h/35.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsvqsHPND-I/AAAAAAAAE2A/MjosLrigzKg/s320/35.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101429046505181154" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RswHTnPNEGI/AAAAAAAAE3c/rKzp7aNtrHw/s1600-h/75.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RswHTnPNEGI/AAAAAAAAE3c/rKzp7aNtrHw/s320/75.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101460511435591778" border="0" /></a><br />Private Sheraton beach in Pattaya<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwkHtSuY4A2g2Yl85wvPgVzypjbt9Gade57WtZtHP7FNikVmnbtAvCIaYOkUkZ3yGCJayBxAyg8Q5ly6qFa0MHGTW2N_QSkQEKKbMcv7N-HTM0WJIGb26p-EPX5lav75PjELO1h9orwuF/s1600-h/30.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwkHtSuY4A2g2Yl85wvPgVzypjbt9Gade57WtZtHP7FNikVmnbtAvCIaYOkUkZ3yGCJayBxAyg8Q5ly6qFa0MHGTW2N_QSkQEKKbMcv7N-HTM0WJIGb26p-EPX5lav75PjELO1h9orwuF/s320/30.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101417222460215250" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Relaxing on the beach in Pattaya at the resort<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-18217131645686851032007-08-19T05:54:00.000-07:002007-08-19T07:55:01.420-07:00Bangkok<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xBAKKsPcSPN4F8ygMwjHM3M9rB785QI8-eVsHFxj-zeqFXCRDiu90lxPiV68ntrvhn2oBdRLJASa41plu2yCsgCQPv_zpUEHTb84sgwskyHQGKH_MBuGvPZsr5lqMXuYGkdJVBOm3154/s1600-h/DSC03238.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xBAKKsPcSPN4F8ygMwjHM3M9rB785QI8-eVsHFxj-zeqFXCRDiu90lxPiV68ntrvhn2oBdRLJASa41plu2yCsgCQPv_zpUEHTb84sgwskyHQGKH_MBuGvPZsr5lqMXuYGkdJVBOm3154/s320/DSC03238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100424814431899586" border="0" /></a>A moped contrasts old Bangkok with new at the Grand Palace<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RshX1XPND7I/AAAAAAAAE1o/i7M2esm50qs/s1600-h/DSC03232.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RshX1XPND7I/AAAAAAAAE1o/i7M2esm50qs/s320/DSC03232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100423152279556018" border="0" /></a><br />The guard at the Grand Palace<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNx9pKkmo5a9skWpfjuBoqPm9S9oFakWL_wtWy7c6IDX9ChyphenhyphenFVab8ztbS7PsXm4WccCCVA2tBeeUiHUDXMTgr-lPXFL7wtA_7A5qbkfQs-V4A-U3bQHCovSohszPA4bITBGCRvZq_cbTDq/s1600-h/DSC03210.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNx9pKkmo5a9skWpfjuBoqPm9S9oFakWL_wtWy7c6IDX9ChyphenhyphenFVab8ztbS7PsXm4WccCCVA2tBeeUiHUDXMTgr-lPXFL7wtA_7A5qbkfQs-V4A-U3bQHCovSohszPA4bITBGCRvZq_cbTDq/s320/DSC03210.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100421988343418786" border="0" /></a><br />Grand Palace<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RshEq3PND5I/AAAAAAAAE1Y/nGiqpdvUCG4/s1600-h/DSC03164.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RshEq3PND5I/AAAAAAAAE1Y/nGiqpdvUCG4/s320/DSC03164.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100402081170001810" border="0" /></a><br />Demon stands guard at the base of a Temple (Wat)<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYL29sBfjQ5HTQ-XYLSX9EwwCecAFzohlR6eaUjuYn1RJLBdmiVp9bi_hGka-eESRToA5eOwK_SWeE3YvhiQNlNjmqMRBruschCwM1IsnbKIdgqzJyAD9u3sPEtSqkX2oTL8KMIjVSCHIZ/s1600-h/DSC03158.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYL29sBfjQ5HTQ-XYLSX9EwwCecAFzohlR6eaUjuYn1RJLBdmiVp9bi_hGka-eESRToA5eOwK_SWeE3YvhiQNlNjmqMRBruschCwM1IsnbKIdgqzJyAD9u3sPEtSqkX2oTL8KMIjVSCHIZ/s320/DSC03158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100400779794911106" border="0" /></a><br />One of the temples<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinwSSiW-cQnh0ysoo-d3QU4Nv6_ZcML8ZVve5ikAUKNMDlMkR06fkNtvuAlP4nQYlOU7bI9-GGY0uxTwG1v-ewDPpoREvBYd1Dvq7fiaSxED3HKNGJPUpPIcduBY4Dosj4-4-33hFcUand/s1600-h/DSC03154.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinwSSiW-cQnh0ysoo-d3QU4Nv6_ZcML8ZVve5ikAUKNMDlMkR06fkNtvuAlP4nQYlOU7bI9-GGY0uxTwG1v-ewDPpoREvBYd1Dvq7fiaSxED3HKNGJPUpPIcduBY4Dosj4-4-33hFcUand/s320/DSC03154.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100398481987407730" border="0" /></a>One of the Buddhist Temples in the Royal Palace complex (I don't actually know which one because I was a bad, non-culturally sensitive traveler who didn't know or care, but enjoyed the shiney buildings strictly for their aesthetic value)<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9dBG_0NNQEJ4Rgj-53NZOnvaWMxd8MdPEPvWgXRoytJPyv-5IKDmG9zooJp_bSFlA-fJPAYXoJWYGZWPUBcaOBIBm8cRF1bs3IiA5yprZBlzV4ByxFJnc5jfRq64qqf4off5dQx5zY80/s1600-h/DSC03129.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9dBG_0NNQEJ4Rgj-53NZOnvaWMxd8MdPEPvWgXRoytJPyv-5IKDmG9zooJp_bSFlA-fJPAYXoJWYGZWPUBcaOBIBm8cRF1bs3IiA5yprZBlzV4ByxFJnc5jfRq64qqf4off5dQx5zY80/s320/DSC03129.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100397605814079330" border="0" /></a><br />City view from my hotel window<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rsg_znPND1I/AAAAAAAAE04/gBFSHkgfckU/s1600-h/DSC03123.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rsg_znPND1I/AAAAAAAAE04/gBFSHkgfckU/s320/DSC03123.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100396733935718226" border="0" /></a><br />A woman waits for her fried bananas on the streets of Bangkok </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-74462862035082084702007-08-14T05:00:00.001-07:002007-08-14T08:22:06.056-07:00Happy Birthday India<p class="MsoNormal">“Generations to come will scarce believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth”- Albert Einstein, referring to Mahatma Gandhi. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">While reading the India Independence Day issue of the SpiceJet In Flight magazine this weekend, I was disappointed to see that in their list of <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>’s heroes, they had managed to overlook Gandhi. They wrote him off by saying that ‘Everyone knows about heroes such as Gandhi’ and subsequently described several revolutionaries who blew things up. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Recognizing that many of the American revolutionaries also blew things up, I’m willing to accept that every independent nation prides itself on the people who brought about its freedom, no matter what their methods. However, particularly after my recent experiences and on the 60th anniversary of India's final goodbye to Britain, I think that what India can be most proud of is its most famous son who, like so few, was able to bring about change not though force, pain, fear, or suffering, but through goodness and bringing hope that change can be made through goodness. I can only hope that if America had a revolutionary son who brought about as much change as Gandhi did through entirely peaceful methods, that we would revere and respect him as much as Gandhi deserves to be revered and respected. His is a message that I hope modern <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> does not overlook, for they are at a turning point, as is the rest of the world, and the right choices need to be made.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here’s a little of Gandhi’s wisdom:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">“The difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world's problems”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“The most heinous and the most cruel crimes of which history has record have been committed under the cover of religion or equally noble motives”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Almost everything you do will seem insignificant, but it is important that you do it”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Intolerance betrays want of faith in one's cause”</p><br /> <p class="MsoNormal">“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What do I think of Western civilisation? I think it would be a very good idea.”<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsHFsfoTpjI/AAAAAAAAE0w/-oAF15v9IgA/s1600-h/DSC03085.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsHFsfoTpjI/AAAAAAAAE0w/-oAF15v9IgA/s320/DSC03085.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098573621355587122" border="0" /></a><br />Google Indian Independence Decorations in the cafe - this is an outline of India with the Indian flag filling in, made entirely of flowers & leaves<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsGaIfoTpiI/AAAAAAAAE0o/TpyZC1adNko/s1600-h/DSC03074.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsGaIfoTpiI/AAAAAAAAE0o/TpyZC1adNko/s320/DSC03074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098525723880302114" border="0" /></a><br />A birthday card for India<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-80130958757218534002007-08-13T10:22:00.000-07:002007-08-13T10:26:39.886-07:00Walking In Others' Footsteps<p class="MsoNormal">This weekend was not an obviously eventful weekend. There was no Taj Mahal, nothing that would make it into the travel section of any newspaper or airline magazine, no one would recognize any of my pictures from an India tour book; yet my experience was at another level, a level that transcends checking off a list of to-do’s or taking smart pictures to put on the wall.<span style=""> </span>It is a level of understanding that can only be earned, and cannot be frivolously acquired, and can be achieved only through walking in the footsteps of another. I am lucky that I have had other people to help guide me in their footsteps, to lead me to experiences that I could never have on my own.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think that the only way I can do justice to my experiences is to describe them as I experienced them and as I understood them from my frame of reference, and attempt to bridge the oh-so-deep gaping precipice between western and eastern perception. I hope that my opinions can reflect the insight that living here for almost 5 months has imparted, and hopefully that insight has developed beyond what a little holiday to see some pretty monuments can provide. I suppose that my multicultural, multi-national audience will let me know if I have crossed the line, or if I have proven myself to be as impartial a witness to these experiences as I can hope to be. <span style=""> </span></p><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To Truly Understand, You Must Walk In The Footsteps of Another</span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday night I did one of the most elusive and interesting tasks that my imagination could cook up- I went to Charminar in a Burkha. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Parveen borrowed one from her “really tall” cousin so that it would fit my height, and she and her friend, Nazia, dressed me up like a real Muslim woman in the bathroom at the office. The most interesting takeaway from the experience is that once I was in the burkha, no one noticed that I was clearly not Indian (if they did notice, they didn’t say anything to Nazia or her male cousin who escorted us). I wonder if wearing the burkha really makes you that anonymous, or if people just assumed I was a light cousin from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Persia</st1:place></st1:country-region> and it wasn’t their place to comment. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nazia asked me where I got the idea of wearing a burkha, and I had to think hard about the first time it creeped into my mind. I’ve always been fascinated by the Muslim world as an exotic and entirely foreign place. I used to read National Geographic articles about veiled Muslim women and memoirs by foreign women who live in Muslim countries, and think about how doing such a thing would be the ultimate foray into foreign culture. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Usually when I’ve read about something and thought about how exciting it is, when I’ve finally done it, it doesn’t seem that special- if I’ve done it, it couldn’t be that hard. But this, even after I’ve done it, still feels like I’ve done something that most people don’t have a chance to do. Something that it so different that most people wouldn’t think of trying it- indeed, even the other die-hard expats thought that it was a crazy idea. Now that I’ve done it, it doesn’t have the same mystique, but I still recognize that it is something that is unique and not a common cross-cultural experience that most people can have.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of the common western questions is: Why do Muslim women wear burkhas? Why do they allow themselves to be “oppressed” by covering themselves completely. Now having worn one, and walked the streets of the laad bazaar in the shoes of both a white firangi woman, and a veiled Muslim woman, I understand where my friends who tell me that it is “freeing” rather than oppressive are coming from.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For those whose jaws just dropped at that scandalous assertion, do read on. </p> <br /> <p class="MsoNormal">Burkhas allow complete anonymity and complete freedom from unwanted attention and advances. This is something that may not seem like a big deal to people in America, Australia, or Northern Europe (Italian men, however, do seem to have a knack for unwanted advances so I’ve removed Southern Europe from the analogy), where daily life for women is not characterized by a constant stream of noisome attention from the opposite sex. However, freedom from being hassled as you go about your daily business in public is very valuable in a place where the alternative is being stopped every 5 seconds to be solicited for everything from begging to group photos to buying electric fly swatters, Indian flags, and “street roasted” corn on the cob. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A question I must ask is why have men been allowed to create societies where women feel free when hidden because when they are not hidden, they must deal with the constant frustration of unwanted attention. Shouldn’t society just exist so that women don’t need the purdah and all men can control themselves enough to not make life uncomfortable for women? But, that society does not exist here, and so it is a mute point. The burkha is an escape and a sanctuary that allows women to go out and do their business in a society that otherwise requires a strong personality to wade through the throngs of constant undesired attention.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That said, I was still so hot that sweat was dripping down my back 2 hours after sunset, when the temperature was about 80 º. When I was in the car wanting to drink water, I had to lift up the veil to be able to drink it. These are things women just get used to, like wearing high heels or plucking your eye brows, but that I am grateful that I don’t need to think about on a daily basis. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We walked around Charminar and the laad bazaar and shopped for bangles and scarves. I got fantastic deals, with pashminas for only 90 Rs. ($2.25). Nazia’s cousin accompanied us, both for our protection and to help us bargain, and Nazia was a shrewd bargainer herself. We agreed that women are better at bargaining than men because we are always underestimated ;) But the best thing that I got from our trip was something that only a woman can have- the ability to walk the streets of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> completely unnoticed, and to participate in daily life unobserved. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another interesting observation I mad was that my car was approached by beggars in the old city far more when I was in the burkha than in previous trips when I was obviously foreign. This seems odd at first, but I attribute it to the fact that I appeared to be a Muslim woman in a nice car (thus with money). It is part of Islam to give alms to the poor and the beggars must have expected more bakhsheesh from me in the burkha when it would be my obligation to share the wealth than they expected when I was my white foreign self, with no obligation to give them anything. <span style=""> </span>I am grateful that I have reached a point in my knowledge of the world that I can make an observation like this, and that I can realistically think about what the cause of it may be. </p> <div style="border-style: none none solid; border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color windowtext; border-width: medium medium 3pt; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none ; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My second experience this weekend was walking in a different set of shoes, that of my Great Aunt May (Mabel Needham) who came to <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region> on a steamer ship from <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">England</st1:country-region></st1:place> during World War One, in the height of British Imperial India, and stayed for 20 years. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">May has always been a family legend- the spinster auntie who never married and went off to <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> to start a school. The Steens in Eastbourne South England have an ornate silver box given to May upon her retirement from the Maharani Girls High School of Baroda in 1937, which contained a scroll thanking her for her work, signed by the trustees of the school. May was part of a movement during a golden age in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Baroda</st1:place></st1:City>, when the Maharaja Gaekwad instituted all sorts of liberal social and infrastructural improvements, including standardizing and promoting education, particularly for girls.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">May went from <st1:country-region st="on">England</st1:country-region> to <st1:city st="on">Jaffna</st1:City>, <st1:country-region st="on">Ceylon</st1:country-region> (<st1:country-region st="on">Sri Lanka</st1:country-region>) to be a teacher, and after a year made her way to <st1:city st="on">Baroda</st1:City> where she stayed for 20 years until she left <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region> and returned to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>. When I told my 92 year old grandfather that I was going to India, he produced a copy of May’s diary from 1916-1919 which describes her journey from England, her time in Jaffna, and the beginning of her long time in Baroda. It includes first hand accounts of the Maharaja’s daughter’s wedding, the plague that devastated Baroda, British daily life in the outpost of empire, and the 1918 flu epidemic that has become so famous recently with the warnings of what avian flu could do. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Reading this diary has been absolutely fascinating because some of the observations May makes are strikingly similar to today. I feel like I could have written many of the observations May makes, and even her tone and writing style are strikingly similar to mine. My favorite line was an exaggerated “Oh Gujarati [local language of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Baroda</st1:City></st1:place>]- If only I could master thee!” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But in addition to her observations, May breaks the imperialist British stereotype and endeavors to get to know Indian India- staying in Indian homes, learning the local languages, eating Indian food, learning how to sit on the floor and eat with her fingers gracefully (sound familiar?). And I think in some ways, it was easier for May to adjust to life in India as an English woman during that era, than it is today for foreigners to adjust to life in India, because parts of May’s India were little pieces of England, much more, I suspect, than even the most modern shopping mall is a reflection of America. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That said, it cannot be overlooked that although there is no official foreign power ruling <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region> anymore, much of <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region>’s modern development is due to foreign investment, many investors of whom have moved into former British Imperial buildings in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bombay</st1:place></st1:City>. The parallels between the old political imperialism and today’s economic imperialism cannot be ignored. But, modern economic development, mostly spurred by foreign investment, has allowed a vibrant (yet still small compared to the population at large) middle class to form, and with it, the development that goes with a large group of people who have the spending power to enjoy and demand modern amenities- even if they aren’t maharajas or billionaires. The Barista cafes popping up in all big cities around India are a testament to the growth – they mean there are enough people with the cash and the free time to enjoy a mocha (even if it can’t be a half-caf mochachino with 1.5 inches of foam at 120º). <span style=""> </span>And this middle class is what will bring <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> into the modern world, and bridge the gap between the ever growing void between rich and poor. But I digress…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So early Saturday morning (4:30 am to be precise), I ripped myself out of bed to go to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Baroda</st1:place></st1:City> via Ahmedabad to visit May’s school. After months of trying to figure out how to best go about this reunion of the Needham family line and the Maharani Girls School of Baroda, including attempts at contacting the current Maharaja of Baroda via a friend at google who contacted his old army buddies who knew a relative of the Maharaja, I ended up depending on Anupam (my flatmate) to call the school (whose phone number I found in an online listing) and tell them in Hindi who I was, that I was coming, and to find out if it is even the same school. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we arrived in Ahmedabad we became quickly aware that not only do most people there not speak English, but most people don’t even speak good Hindi (only the Gujarati- which so eluded May). We got to the school at about 11 am via one of the only super-highways in India, on which we sped past rice patties and banana plantations with remarkable efficiency passed entertaining signs with messages such as “Lane Driving is Safe Driving,” “Do Not Stop on Expressway,” and “Speed with Safety is Our Motto.” Occassionally there were still villagers in the median, collecting grass and farm animals running along the side of the freeway, small reminders that we were still in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we got to the school we had to get past an army of people wondering what we were doing there before we could get to the principal, whom Anup talked to on Friday. When we got to her office, she had no idea why we were there and had no idea who May was. When I showed her a copy of the scroll, she read it thoughtfully and gave me a copy of the prospectus which had “founded in 1916” written on it. When I told her that May had been the first principal, she pointed to a painting on the wall and told me that the first principal of the school was a Mr. Patel in 1954. When I pointed out that her prospectus said that the school was founded in 1916, we discovered that all records and information from the British era had disappeared/ been destroyed. The only remnants of the original building of the school was a brick wall around the outside of the modern compound, and the only reference to May was a scholarship in her name, dug up by one of the secretaries, and only described in one line of Gujarati.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This may sound very anti-climactic and disappointing- that a school which was founded and developed for 20 years by May no longer remembered her or what she had done for them. But as they gave us a tour of the campus and we saw hundreds of girls playing tag in the school yard and learning in classrooms, May’s legacy was there- whether or not her name was attached to it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Every single girl in that school, thousands of girls over the 20<sup>th</sup> century, were educated because of May’s work. Anupam’s friend, Gita, who served as our guide for the rest of the weekend, graduated from that high school. How many children were given futures by the work done so long ago that no one remembers who did it? I think May would have been pleased, even if the Soviet-style removal of all British Indian history removed her name from her work.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is a poignant and important observation to make two days before <st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region>’s 60<sup>th</sup> anniversary of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Independence</st1:place></st1:City>, that nothing is black and white, nothing is entirely right or wrong. There are positive and negative things about purdah. There were horrible atrocities done by some British imperialists and wonderful things that help support modern <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> done by others. Imperialism was bad for many, many people. But to paint every person, and every situation from an entire era with the same brush, when hundreds of girls a year are continuing to receive good educations because of the work that one British woman did, does not do justice to May and it does not do justice to India. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know the injustices done to this tiny piece of written history within the last 70 years, but when this diary disappears along with the school’s records, and I die and no one remembers this blog entry, there will be no record of where that school came from. I can only wonder what other kind of historical injustices permeate our cultural consciousness. I hear no one wanted the French to eat cake, nor did <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s founding father cut down a cherry tree. What other falsities and omissions inform our judgment and prevent our true understanding of the past?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We can’t rewrite our history, as hard as politicians, academics, and journalists may try. We must acknowledge it for the complicated compilation of differing experiences that comprise it, and only then can we truly develop our global consciousness to a point where we can truly claim to learn from the past and create a more hopeful future. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And if you got to the end of this loquacious blog entry, you may be the world’s last hope.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p><span style="font-style: italic;">'I don't know what weapons World War Three will be fought with, but World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones'- Albert Einstein</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-1287783132648907122007-08-13T01:28:00.001-07:002007-08-13T02:58:57.868-07:00Baroda, Gujarat<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAk3foTphI/AAAAAAAAE0c/rfM5y7Y4ogg/s1600-h/DSC02961.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAk3foTphI/AAAAAAAAE0c/rfM5y7Y4ogg/s320/DSC02961.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098115313985365522" border="0" /></a><br />The entrance to the Maharani Girls School<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAj0voTpgI/AAAAAAAAE0U/QiVrK1kLo8I/s1600-h/DSC02950.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAj0voTpgI/AAAAAAAAE0U/QiVrK1kLo8I/s320/DSC02950.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098114167229097474" border="0" /></a><br />Today's common transportation to school - a far cry from when May was in Baroda<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9xP4LNJT71DgGlcH3abTKo6quBdqicQLEcLnCDY56pkLvXzfFlHDOO3fvCuNiKnt7h5GUdhIRm5gcbV1mHVhG51_Qu-P9JJVL3Pvgj-U-TIXPXJfrw7GKPoh7-yNO1_q7d7YrOnvm-xL/s1600-h/DSC02949.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9xP4LNJT71DgGlcH3abTKo6quBdqicQLEcLnCDY56pkLvXzfFlHDOO3fvCuNiKnt7h5GUdhIRm5gcbV1mHVhG51_Qu-P9JJVL3Pvgj-U-TIXPXJfrw7GKPoh7-yNO1_q7d7YrOnvm-xL/s320/DSC02949.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098112599566033426" border="0" /></a>Girls play tag in the school yard<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86BxApNzJ-xCmyfzpZKIRpe6LNZXUPCcZrjWI3LnIT1HNlXsC-1nQQBGGP0NrQnhSaPW_Zb20rs-eno-IDVKyQ3KHvQo8vc0PkelPokUhzUelcYiNOkT3K5h9-KB0fUBpjuVG95qjo-Nb/s1600-h/DSC02955.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86BxApNzJ-xCmyfzpZKIRpe6LNZXUPCcZrjWI3LnIT1HNlXsC-1nQQBGGP0NrQnhSaPW_Zb20rs-eno-IDVKyQ3KHvQo8vc0PkelPokUhzUelcYiNOkT3K5h9-KB0fUBpjuVG95qjo-Nb/s320/DSC02955.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098111500054405170" border="0" /></a><br />The only remaining structure from the original school - the wall<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGCeKUYOHwJjaIHSEmA3pfSqpMAcIRt0ehaeK7o_fSEagqATleF1qyAHK8mFguhd514_kLcREi-yIDRoRRxQnz_eANPugXkVNCI-RjPO7i3WE615VmdaeHO_CF-Uyihlz4Z72VMOGbKgJ/s1600-h/DSC02982.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGCeKUYOHwJjaIHSEmA3pfSqpMAcIRt0ehaeK7o_fSEagqATleF1qyAHK8mFguhd514_kLcREi-yIDRoRRxQnz_eANPugXkVNCI-RjPO7i3WE615VmdaeHO_CF-Uyihlz4Z72VMOGbKgJ/s320/DSC02982.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098110018290687474" border="0" /></a><br />8 school girls pack into an autorickshaw at the end of the school day<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAfTPoTnQI/AAAAAAAAEhs/TyfLT-9p8No/s1600-h/DSC02986.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAfTPoTnQI/AAAAAAAAEhs/TyfLT-9p8No/s320/DSC02986.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098109193656966402" border="0" /></a><br />School Girls see my camera and smash themselves against the window of the car for some last attention from their strange guest<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAebfoTnPI/AAAAAAAAEhk/YpgaeqwImzA/s1600-h/DSC03006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAebfoTnPI/AAAAAAAAEhk/YpgaeqwImzA/s320/DSC03006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098108235879259378" border="0" /></a><br />Natural Gas powered rickshaws queue miles down the street for one of the few natural gas pumps in the city - I'm still not sure why they choose to drive the clean ones, but I think there must have been gov't incentives<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmD5fHyUXOjvNHFHO-oPczoPxknXZ2AtNuRD4gtCBvdF32IIyaI9tCWyoA7_p5nAjJIP1W5zrzXk6MZceLcqp-lPv8JE8DcwXLhyCE5Oq2CpMZKzrVDBmG_3eC0AihbWSl_0riZH4E1N-/s1600-h/DSC03007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmD5fHyUXOjvNHFHO-oPczoPxknXZ2AtNuRD4gtCBvdF32IIyaI9tCWyoA7_p5nAjJIP1W5zrzXk6MZceLcqp-lPv8JE8DcwXLhyCE5Oq2CpMZKzrVDBmG_3eC0AihbWSl_0riZH4E1N-/s320/DSC03007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098107273806585058" border="0" /></a><br />Sad after we are not allowed to see the Maharaja<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOvm1w6f8EkKIQoS2nbof0qnuTr1ZODN7_nWMDUk_UgEDqQY0ZeCPXer3EgAOnsIrlx3RQOba9Bj5J_77noz6XSzGf8287VdAS91xPFOhd_9hdb274pXynEoVW5XpB1xdgQ3OQUlRZswH/s1600-h/DSC03013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOvm1w6f8EkKIQoS2nbof0qnuTr1ZODN7_nWMDUk_UgEDqQY0ZeCPXer3EgAOnsIrlx3RQOba9Bj5J_77noz6XSzGf8287VdAS91xPFOhd_9hdb274pXynEoVW5XpB1xdgQ3OQUlRZswH/s320/DSC03013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098104782725553362" border="0" /></a><br />The arts faculty of the University of Baroda - one of the founders of the university was May's American roommate, Miss Strong<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIcU8VeijKGe-6h-FLt4tsdv6Fe-XQM-sEu-sHzS0CqGRjc45FgehdlolX4KsCrvkp0NGsp_9JZZUtbW74ykLbPQyURTZW4Y-Mrvr7Z0CZkmEKbAABR2ApC61SCUGNl_fNOdlsLrOGlJb/s1600-h/DSC03053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIcU8VeijKGe-6h-FLt4tsdv6Fe-XQM-sEu-sHzS0CqGRjc45FgehdlolX4KsCrvkp0NGsp_9JZZUtbW74ykLbPQyURTZW4Y-Mrvr7Z0CZkmEKbAABR2ApC61SCUGNl_fNOdlsLrOGlJb/s320/DSC03053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098101205017795778" border="0" /></a><br />Monsoons and Oxen on the road<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAW1_oTnLI/AAAAAAAAEhE/XdS-XkCK-d8/s1600-h/DSC02933.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAW1_oTnLI/AAAAAAAAEhE/XdS-XkCK-d8/s320/DSC02933.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098099895052770482" border="0" /></a><br />A camel draws a cart down the main road in Ahmedabad, a strange scene in this not-so-deserty place. Must be a cultural import from neighboring Rajastan.<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-83573403410652815152007-08-13T01:21:00.001-07:002007-08-13T01:28:00.220-07:00Charminar in a Burkha<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAV4PoTnKI/AAAAAAAAEg8/vnu-LN-K34c/s1600-h/DSC02932.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAV4PoTnKI/AAAAAAAAEg8/vnu-LN-K34c/s320/DSC02932.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098098834195848354" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAVLfoTnJI/AAAAAAAAEg0/WUHr_41zWkg/s1600-h/DSC02930.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RsAVLfoTnJI/AAAAAAAAEg0/WUHr_41zWkg/s320/DSC02930.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098098065396702354" border="0" /></a><br />More pics to come...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-76974345818208589782007-08-06T05:12:00.000-07:002007-08-06T05:15:23.620-07:00Australian Bedtime Story<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Georgia;">In order to bring back flashbacks of foreign language translation exercises, I have translated my Australian bedtime story paragraph by paragraph. So sit back, have a cuppa, and take a squiz at this :)<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Georgia;">A 'Strine' Story For Beddy-Byes<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-family: Georgia; color: red;">An Australian Bedtime Story</span><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />One day, a bloke and a sheila were sinking a few tinnies and eating chucky duck beyond the black stump, way out woop woop. They jumped in their bus and hooned around doing bog laps, chucking burnouts, and doing 360's down the road. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">One day a dude and a girl were drinking some beer and eating fried chicken in the outback. They got in their car and screwed around drag racing and doing spin outs on the road.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />The bloke, Dazza, chunda'd and the sheila, Shazza, spat the dummy. "Struth, Dazza, you've chuck'd up on ya best budgy smuggla's!" she exlaimed. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">The guy, Darren, puked and the girl, Sharon, had a fit. “ Shit, Darren, you’ve barfed up on your best banana hammock [men’s speedo]!” she exclaimed. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />Dazza let it go through to the keeper and pointing, yelled, "Crikey! Take a ganda at that, Shazza! There's a skippy that carked it on the verge. We'd better be careful or we'll prang the bus!" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">Darren ignored her comment and pointing, yelled, “Jesus! Look at that, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sharon</st1:place></st1:City>! There’s a kangaroo that died on the side of the road. We’d better be careful or we’ll wreck the car!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />"Are you taking the mickey outta me?" Shaz asked. So Dazza did a u-ey so that Shazza could take a squiz. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">“Are you shitting me?” Shazza asked. So Dazza made a u-turn so that Shazza could take a look.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /><br />"Ah, that pongs!" Shazza exclaimed, "The garbos should come and take it to the tip!" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">“Ah, that stinks!” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sharon</st1:place></st1:City> exclaimed, “The garbage man should come and take it to the dump!”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /><br />"Bloody oath, they should," replied Dazza. "It's nearly time for a smoko. Let's find somewhere to have a cuppa and a lamington." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">“Hell yeah, they should,” replied Darren. “It’s nearly time for a break. Let’s find somewhere to have a cup of tea and a lamington [chocolate, coconut, cake pastry]”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /><br />"Too right, mate. That's a bonza idea. I need to go to the dunny anyway."<br /><span style="color: red;">“I agree. That’s a great idea. I need to go to the bathroom anyway.”</span><br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Yeh, and crikey, I need to point percy at the porcelaine to shake hands with the unemployed," he said as he let fluffy off the chain.<br /><span style="color: red;">”Yeah, and geez, I need to pee,” he said as he farted.</span><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br />When they got to the roadhouse, Dazza said to the bloke behind the counter, "How've ya been, ya poor bastard?"<br /><span style="color: red;">When they got to the rest stop, Darren said to the guy behind the counter, “How’ve you been, dude?”</span><br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"I've been flat out like a lizard drinking for the last fortnight," replied the bloke sullenly.<br /><span style="color: red;">”I’ve been super busy for the last two weeks,” replied the guy sullenly.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />"I've been flat chat too," commiserated Dazza, "Don't know my elbow from my arsehole."<br /><span style="color: red;">”I’ve been busy too,” commiserated Darren, “I’m totally dazed and confused.”</span><br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Shazza looked up and saw a ute and a bloke chucking a brown eye out the window. "I bet he's been on the turps and he's legless," Shazza said. "Better watch out 'cuz the fuzz might get'im and he'll end up in the clink."<br /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span style="color: red;">Sharon</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="color: red;"> looked up and saw a ute [a car with a truck back] and a guy mooning them. “I bet he’s totally wasted,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sharon</st1:place></st1:City> said. “Better watch out of the cops will get him and he’ll end up in jail.”<br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /> <!--[endif]--></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Dazza took a squiz at the sheila with the big knockers and a pensioner perm who was gas bagging to a bloke and said, "Hey, I know that sheila. She bangs like a dunny door in a gale, and she sure can pash!"<br /><span style="color: red;">Darren looked at the girl with the big boobs and old lady hair who was gossiping to a guy and said, “Hey, I know that girl. She’s the village bicycle [a total slut] and she kisses really well!”</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />Shazza chucked a wobbly and said, "Bugga off, you're a dag! Are you giving me a bum steer? You'se blokes are one snag short of a barby!" <br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">Sharon</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;"> threw a fit and said, “Shut up, you’re a retard! Are you shitting me? You men are all crazy!”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Fair crack of the whip- we're not that bad, we blokes!" Dazza replied, rubbing his chrome dome. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">“Be fair, we’re not that bad, we men!” Darren replied, rubbing his bald head.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /><br />Playing it with a straight bat, Shazza said, "Let's make tracks. We've gotta make it home in time for the session." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">Getting serious, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sharon</st1:place></st1:City> said, “Let’s hit the road. We’ve gotta make it home in time for the afternoon drinking session [at the pub].”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /><br />"Too right, mate" Dazza agreed, "but don't get a skin full, or we'll be driving the porcelain bus home." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">“I agree,” Darren agreed, “but don’t get drunk, or we’ll be puking our brains out.”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /><br />And with that the bunch of galahs rattled their dags and drove off into the sunset.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; color: red;">And with that, the bunch of idiots got moving and drove off into the sunset. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-13577026214714589332007-08-06T01:39:00.000-07:002007-08-06T05:07:15.700-07:00Dreaming of the Land of Oz<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoLcfc0V1mDuwXIi9sSeaKQLXOEKeTs6qnTytox_fWk41AMFcb-YZmqtZR9Sa5aiMSOd6G9BtN2A2PS9LNHWViS6A4KUNEul3QRp7dD8fzWQ66VHaqavrfOSE1eGfUGfS6dQOSH6E3j9Ad/s1600-h/DSC02461.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoLcfc0V1mDuwXIi9sSeaKQLXOEKeTs6qnTytox_fWk41AMFcb-YZmqtZR9Sa5aiMSOd6G9BtN2A2PS9LNHWViS6A4KUNEul3QRp7dD8fzWQ66VHaqavrfOSE1eGfUGfS6dQOSH6E3j9Ad/s320/DSC02461.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095526904699788242" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>The obligatory sign at Hillary's Harbor, reminding us exactly how far Perth is from <span style="font-style: italic;">everywhere</span> else<br /></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HcA6xzVzSfPa74fNBtqbmhCl-SS9WhCC5ReAbL8Ns-snifSapz2TkMFZz5c41n6v9sT5kJ-p6oDpUuNBOL5DFHB3REZsdgLGqInxLVg38ZExnz2lkFDjXYY2pWCge39NvzB3WAroOW2K/s1600-h/DSC02475.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HcA6xzVzSfPa74fNBtqbmhCl-SS9WhCC5ReAbL8Ns-snifSapz2TkMFZz5c41n6v9sT5kJ-p6oDpUuNBOL5DFHB3REZsdgLGqInxLVg38ZExnz2lkFDjXYY2pWCge39NvzB3WAroOW2K/s320/DSC02475.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095529056478403554" border="0" /></a><br />My first day in Perth, from King's Park<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rrb2i_oTnAI/AAAAAAAAEfo/rQvLYIegK-E/s1600-h/DSC02481.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rrb2i_oTnAI/AAAAAAAAEfo/rQvLYIegK-E/s320/DSC02481.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095531109472771074" border="0" /></a>Me and Jenny with my birthday pavlova<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgJsOXdmXzfxQVzcWISeCUfsZfNXJ6-bi43cE1kfUPmDizsugLjx-j3pV9iQMQh9mQlm2Bb5a_IaIWzzngHCEab1hCc-rn3_kdo-zyBv927iIzalrdO0z0DM3ZaVpPoby80UTZk2K_SD-/s1600-h/DSC02477.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgJsOXdmXzfxQVzcWISeCUfsZfNXJ6-bi43cE1kfUPmDizsugLjx-j3pV9iQMQh9mQlm2Bb5a_IaIWzzngHCEab1hCc-rn3_kdo-zyBv927iIzalrdO0z0DM3ZaVpPoby80UTZk2K_SD-/s320/DSC02477.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095530100155456498" border="0" /></a>Enjoying Australian delicacies- 6 types of beer and a steak sandwich (or for those more upscal connoiseurs of haute brewery cuisine- 'seared steak panini ')<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rrb4w_oTnCI/AAAAAAAAEf4/SROPfZnm4aE/s1600-h/DSC02597.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/Rrb4w_oTnCI/AAAAAAAAEf4/SROPfZnm4aE/s320/DSC02597.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095533549014195234" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br />"Over the Rainbow in Oz" - Storms made the Margaret River wineries even more scenic than usual<br /><br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Jmtj6y7XX7QmbrelNhxiOuEbBIhMglZ9oCWzkEW_daGd4ptkhz9nyhXZGsMFFLs7Chkw6PZwP3cFzL6m_5NazOtUW0ruAtpFPpaUvMoIebkG8heGEJdY0bXsMJlzcBVkfWxM7USzpWt3/s1600-h/DSC02523.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Jmtj6y7XX7QmbrelNhxiOuEbBIhMglZ9oCWzkEW_daGd4ptkhz9nyhXZGsMFFLs7Chkw6PZwP3cFzL6m_5NazOtUW0ruAtpFPpaUvMoIebkG8heGEJdY0bXsMJlzcBVkfWxM7USzpWt3/s320/DSC02523.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095532831754656786" border="0" /></a><br />Enjoying wine and cheese with Jenny, Adam, and Jenny's sister Beth at their holiday home in Dunsborough in front of a roaring fire<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrcDcvoTnFI/AAAAAAAAEgQ/tEi_kAamBAU/s1600-h/DSC02619.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrcDcvoTnFI/AAAAAAAAEgQ/tEi_kAamBAU/s320/DSC02619.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095545295749749842" border="0" /></a><br />The longest jetty in Australia - we paid $5 each to walk 2 km out to the gated off end, and then walked two cold & windy km back<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrcCGfoTnEI/AAAAAAAAEgI/YRLv4bFv6co/s1600-h/DSC02631.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrcCGfoTnEI/AAAAAAAAEgI/YRLv4bFv6co/s320/DSC02631.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095543813986032706" border="0" /></a><br />Sunset over tidepools of the Indian Ocean in Perth<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrcBa_oTnDI/AAAAAAAAEgA/f-785GsaJ_c/s1600-h/DSC02736.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrcBa_oTnDI/AAAAAAAAEgA/f-785GsaJ_c/s320/DSC02736.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095543066661723186" border="0" /></a>Being a Pool Shark- I actually won 2 games out of complete luck (definitely not out of skill)<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIIkjgl8NxRmb79AV7HaIu7Sd90PL2GRYRUMFraxE5xMoi3Tac-zxd17NR9ujyBFheTb8NDvklAlV2vcWmwjuTeenJDWeQeGIICeQY1eerJu0Tryha2cbVLeVIFkM11UexSXSLcyPwzPM/s1600-h/DSC02681.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIIkjgl8NxRmb79AV7HaIu7Sd90PL2GRYRUMFraxE5xMoi3Tac-zxd17NR9ujyBFheTb8NDvklAlV2vcWmwjuTeenJDWeQeGIICeQY1eerJu0Tryha2cbVLeVIFkM11UexSXSLcyPwzPM/s320/DSC02681.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095547009441700978" border="0" /></a><br />A joey sticks his head out of his mom's pouch to see what's going on- these are wild kangaroos who have taken up residence at a local memorial park<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK8qyzs9E3wu-3FA0NUsoMQuN-M1I5m8kU84K2AvJfDCNntZneSQFwvk7Jg0ogXEkJgIJHrBWa70SrZZ6ENqMm-Bjk2tnVptbQUjPnxe3A55cFng8l9iydCqMgDdqN6ApFY-lhcuyNAc7/s1600-h/DSC02687.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK8qyzs9E3wu-3FA0NUsoMQuN-M1I5m8kU84K2AvJfDCNntZneSQFwvk7Jg0ogXEkJgIJHrBWa70SrZZ6ENqMm-Bjk2tnVptbQUjPnxe3A55cFng8l9iydCqMgDdqN6ApFY-lhcuyNAc7/s320/DSC02687.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095546081728765026" border="0" /></a><br />Saying hello to the wild kangaroos<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbfTfoTmxI/AAAAAAAAEdw/4vvEagDv5Qk/s1600-h/DSC02807.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbfTfoTmxI/AAAAAAAAEdw/4vvEagDv5Qk/s320/DSC02807.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095505554417359634" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Overlooking the white sand beaches and azure waters of the Indian Ocean at Rottnest Island off the coast of Perth<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwJ-9-bs1GbPJU0tgi4ipeCs0tbAiydDz9p1StC0mGEAyrU_-QgnGIMp2pDBeGgUD6Mx-UxPFWMhjpJmSLFXflF8NuOHRcjKBuCPmYPK-TO_m9Xf-i_Y87wauwj1t25DEtqiuxkv2wBYX/s1600-h/DSC02806.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwJ-9-bs1GbPJU0tgi4ipeCs0tbAiydDz9p1StC0mGEAyrU_-QgnGIMp2pDBeGgUD6Mx-UxPFWMhjpJmSLFXflF8NuOHRcjKBuCPmYPK-TO_m9Xf-i_Y87wauwj1t25DEtqiuxkv2wBYX/s320/DSC02806.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095512684063071058" border="0" /></a>Deserted Beach at Rottnest Island<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ENjLsBDZ0ueZQa7RhNh4R9GiTD757ASIYeQX50MRaSDVE92_8znz_aJUyt7hmgvaPzq40VKR5NAbx1BG8txEyZ5-GHxp4csJG4hZ2j5dzsLuAcZW-BaVW2wBmFT94YXCsTpNQplzm-QF/s1600-h/DSC02813.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ENjLsBDZ0ueZQa7RhNh4R9GiTD757ASIYeQX50MRaSDVE92_8znz_aJUyt7hmgvaPzq40VKR5NAbx1BG8txEyZ5-GHxp4csJG4hZ2j5dzsLuAcZW-BaVW2wBmFT94YXCsTpNQplzm-QF/s320/DSC02813.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095511949623663426" border="0" /></a>Horizontal rock climbing at the deserted beach<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbjCfoTmzI/AAAAAAAAEeA/Lyf-TTGsGJU/s1600-h/DSC02776.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbjCfoTmzI/AAAAAAAAEeA/Lyf-TTGsGJU/s320/DSC02776.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095509660406094642" border="0" /></a><br />Another deserted white sand beach at Rottnest Island<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UBdOkqhTuaKFCzocYGJICsFsXtiBgFX8_u5Wu6b-j4oX6rnn9rezP8aNZH3oNYMs3sYtCw55zktQRVzAAN9uaNKabKMv9P8k5FSQuMrrPVAA1IkQdi8ng5sfC4l2LXFATNRZBxzrGzZ5/s1600-h/DSC02778.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UBdOkqhTuaKFCzocYGJICsFsXtiBgFX8_u5Wu6b-j4oX6rnn9rezP8aNZH3oNYMs3sYtCw55zktQRVzAAN9uaNKabKMv9P8k5FSQuMrrPVAA1IkQdi8ng5sfC4l2LXFATNRZBxzrGzZ5/s320/DSC02778.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095507796390288162" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Rottnest Island Lighthouse<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbmWvoTm2I/AAAAAAAAEeY/4JX4KrIeZxE/s1600-h/DSC02824.JPG"><span class="on" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_JustifyCenter" title="Align Center" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 13);ButtonMouseDown(this);"></span><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbmWvoTm2I/AAAAAAAAEeY/4JX4KrIeZxE/s320/DSC02824.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095513306833328994" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>Adam and Jenny in our preferred mode of transportation at Rottnest Island - motorized vehicles aren't allowed<br /><br /><br /></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbnqPoTm3I/AAAAAAAAEeg/rg1SAkp4LA8/s1600-h/DSC02845.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbnqPoTm3I/AAAAAAAAEeg/rg1SAkp4LA8/s320/DSC02845.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095514741352405874" border="0" /></a>Shaking hands with a kangaroo<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbrTPoTm4I/AAAAAAAAEeo/CPDGgnZSRDA/s1600-h/DSC02856.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Hyf3kQQwVgk/RrbrTPoTm4I/AAAAAAAAEeo/CPDGgnZSRDA/s320/DSC02856.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095518744261925762" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>Canoeing in the canals of the Indian Ocean at Mandurah<br /><br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-S4hYOUhaf26ExA7UGt1X8mRhT1JHNvI-NSthps0vrRiA3apE7cySMg66NPsCB1jKFK8SeO2UsaoiYtdhKSlNSnGWiMowG06YKi7u0VgH4TbU8zV8DiwspboVHIA80FH4psSSRhbdCvB_/s1600-h/DSC02875.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-S4hYOUhaf26ExA7UGt1X8mRhT1JHNvI-NSthps0vrRiA3apE7cySMg66NPsCB1jKFK8SeO2UsaoiYtdhKSlNSnGWiMowG06YKi7u0VgH4TbU8zV8DiwspboVHIA80FH4psSSRhbdCvB_/s320/DSC02875.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095520724241849250" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;">My final haute cuisine dinner - Crocodile (covered in pesto on a piece of pineapple), Kangaroo (rare, with a side of sour cream) & Crayfish (with a side of high school dissection flashbacks)<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5hDqvo3YjZnpbTGMNBNDVcbpHo3jGESFGJnKywo9baLWlI1lO8y6vqUPW5z78vdbKMkFUXTl54LuE7X27pw-XLq_pTsUKqDp3TK8aXcpvXWzCKSJO551g4AltemWsUB92HHrHnoRj03L/s1600-h/DSC02879.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5hDqvo3YjZnpbTGMNBNDVcbpHo3jGESFGJnKywo9baLWlI1lO8y6vqUPW5z78vdbKMkFUXTl54LuE7X27pw-XLq_pTsUKqDp3TK8aXcpvXWzCKSJO551g4AltemWsUB92HHrHnoRj03L/s320/DSC02879.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095523107948698546" border="0" /></a>MMMM- Crocodile - Tastes like tough chicken<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-AZHyn61OyWHZjCK264XrFFT7R9l5zSBE5-ViBgiFu8NbKY7zzt682EH1vracQmn85meeIVjVGyqsduKuHpZsb4Vo62_7RawZDJhXx4hvkv0BgsI6rOz-v7jl0jUZ15xRFM151ChFElc/s1600-h/DSC02889.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-AZHyn61OyWHZjCK264XrFFT7R9l5zSBE5-ViBgiFu8NbKY7zzt682EH1vracQmn85meeIVjVGyqsduKuHpZsb4Vo62_7RawZDJhXx4hvkv0BgsI6rOz-v7jl0jUZ15xRFM151ChFElc/s320/DSC02889.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095548078888557698" border="0" /></a>Adam, Jenny, Dave & Me at my last dinner at the restaurant at the top of a skyscraper in Perth<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6XNXJlxwFf_Fgf2mlxjt2SkUN7Ql-mGWNWkqTR8XGQ_W8AAxfTh6b7NTgdaM8sQrg_T58K6fVjAhL7oZoafkOD51ZulkAiFdzqq0UrLjtd8QfVpnAyD51dQxCT2jWLYR183kHSr6Y19ga/s1600-h/DSC02901.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6XNXJlxwFf_Fgf2mlxjt2SkUN7Ql-mGWNWkqTR8XGQ_W8AAxfTh6b7NTgdaM8sQrg_T58K6fVjAhL7oZoafkOD51ZulkAiFdzqq0UrLjtd8QfVpnAyD51dQxCT2jWLYR183kHSr6Y19ga/s320/DSC02901.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095524241820064706" border="0" /></a>Eating Singapore noodles in Singapore with chopsticks at a hawker place with ex-Hyderabad expat, Joel<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-4881326455937249352007-08-04T03:50:00.000-07:002007-08-06T05:12:49.130-07:00Last Day In OzIt's my last day in Australia and I'm so sad to be leaving. The weather is perfect- clear and warm, and I hugged kangaroos and canoes through canals of the Indian Ocean in Mandurah.<br /><br />In preparation for my return to India I have eaten an absurd amount of good food today. It's 6pm and so far I've had:<br /><br />Eggs, Australian Bacon & tea<br /><br />Smoked Salmon, cream cheese, avocado & onion sandwich (closest thing to a real bagel with these ingredients I could find)<br /><br />Blueberry Muffin & mocha<br /><br />Cinnamon & Ginger Ice Cream cone<br /><br />Australian Beer<br /><br />I'm planning on having kangaroo for dinner at the revolving rooftop restaurant in downtown Perth so that whenever there is a conversation about the weirdest thing you've eaten, I can win :) I realize that today I was hugging kangaroos, and now I'm planning on eating one, but most people don't have trouble eating lamb, and if anyone has ever walked the downs on a spring day in Southern England and seen the cute little lambs with their mothers and then gone home for some lamb pie with a side of lamb pie, they'll agree that the stuff in the dinner was definitely not the cute little lambs (i.e. cute little kangaroos), but rather, evil man-eating lambs/kangaroos. This is the story, and I'm sticking to it.<br /><br />I'll also post the American translation of my Australian Bedtime Story on Monday so that you can all have a go at translating it yourselves :) One clue- fluffy isn't a dog :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-6074565195451800292007-08-03T06:24:00.000-07:002007-08-03T07:23:46.804-07:00A 'Strine' Story for Beddy-ByesThe weather has finally cleared and I can see how incredibly blue and clear the water of the Indian Ocean is here. Today we took a boat out to Rottnest Island off the coast of Perth, and rode bikes around the island. It was covered in seclued white sand beaches with azure water, which were completely empty because it's winter and the water is too cold to swim in (too bad!). The island used to be called 'rat nest' island because it is covered in quokas, small kangaroo-like creatures that look like a mix between a kangaroo and a rat. Many pictures are to come when I upload my pics when I'm back in India on Monday.<br /><br />In the meantime, tonight at dinner, with the help of the Hanslips and their relatives, I've composed a little story in Australian-ese or 'Strine' for you'se all to enjoy.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">A 'Strine' Story For Beddy-Byes</span></div><br />One day, a bloke and a sheila were sinking a few tinnies and eating chucky duck beyond the black stump, way out woop woop. They jumped in their bus and hooned around doing bog laps, chucking burnouts, and doing 360's down the road.<br /><br />The bloke, Dazza, chunda'd and the sheila, Shazza, spat the dummy. "Struth, Dazza, you've chuck'd up on ya best budgy smuggla's!" she exlaimed.<br /><br />Dazza let it go through to the keeper and pointing, yelled, "Crikey! Take a ganda at that, Shazza! There's a skippy that carked it on the verge. We'd better be careful or we'll prang the bus!"<br /><br />"Are you taking the mickey outta me?" Shaz asked. So Dazza did a u-ey so that Shazza could take a squiz.<br /><br />"Ah, that pongs!" Shazza exclaimed, "The garbos should come and take it to the tip!"<br /><br />"Bloody oath, they should," replied Dazza. "It's nearly time for a smoko. Let's find somewhere to have a cuppa and a lamington."<br /><br />"Too right, mate. That's a bonza idea. I need to go to the dunny anyway."<br /><br />"Yeh, and crikey, I need to point percy at the porcelaine to shake hands with the unemployed," he said as he let fluffy off the chain.<br /><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br />When they got to the roadhouse, Dazza said to the bloke behind the counter, "How've ya been, ya poor bastard?"<br /><br />"I've been flat out like a lizard drinking for the last fortnight," replied the bloke sullenly.<br /><br />"I've been flat chat too," commiserated Dazza, "Don't know my elbow from my arsehole."<br /><br />Shazza looked up and saw a ute and a bloke chucking a brown eye out the window. "I bet he's been on the turps and he's legless," Shazza said. "Better watch out 'cuz the fuzz might get'im and he'll end up in the clink."<br /><br />Dazza took a squiz at the sheila with the big knockers and a pensioner perm who was gas bagging to a bloke and said, "Hey, I know that sheila. She bangs like a dunny door in a gale, and she sure can pash!"<br /><br />Shazza chucked a wobbly and said, "Bugga off, you're a dag! Are you giving me a bum steer? You'se blokes are one snag short of a barby!"<br /><br />"Fair crack of the whip- we're not that bad, we blokes!" Dazza replied, rubbing his chrome dome.<br /><br />Playing it with a straight bat, Shazza said, "Let's make tracks. We've gotta make it home in time for the session."<br /><br />"Too right, mate" Dazza agreed, "but don't get a skin full, or we'll be driving the porcelain bus home."<br /><br />And with that the bunch of galahs rattled their dags and drove off into the sunset.<br /><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br />See you'se later!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-65073255329749042412007-08-01T06:45:00.000-07:002007-08-01T08:16:35.603-07:00Birthday In Oz<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjW7u24PpoFWDbIVmP0AooOcYnC-zt4tR90TcHW55w4XYd12uhc5PxiWaaOtLOy8Gnlk3bKr_Ggwx5oY7j9TLlWVfd3SqHQ2_zpmn0UDKwCtE29cjZ6iohQKGV7bxIj70OV_P7lypbV-pU/s1600-h/EOS350D_1575+ps+4x6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093732527493054274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjW7u24PpoFWDbIVmP0AooOcYnC-zt4tR90TcHW55w4XYd12uhc5PxiWaaOtLOy8Gnlk3bKr_Ggwx5oY7j9TLlWVfd3SqHQ2_zpmn0UDKwCtE29cjZ6iohQKGV7bxIj70OV_P7lypbV-pU/s320/EOS350D_1575+ps+4x6.jpg" border="0" /></a> Me with my birthday pavlova</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Just back from a 2 day trip down the west coast to Margaret River. I reckon (to use Australian-ese) it was pretty much as far south as you can go in the world without snow, and even though it's winter and it's been raining on and off, it's still about the temperature and climate of the California coast in the summer. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">We stayed in a holiday house in a town called Dunsborogh with a wood fireplace, where I ate copiously, read Harry Potter by firelight (very atmospheric- and I'm savoring it, so I'm about the only person in the world who does not know the ending yet- and I'm enjoying it), and sat in the hot tub while it was about 50 degrees outside and raining. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><p align="left">We went wine tasting in Margaret River (mmmm-Australian shiraz is now indisputably my favorite), glimpsed the choppy deep blue ocean when the sun popped out between clouds, and went to possibly the only cave in a first world country where they allow 'self-guided tours.' There was an 'amphitheatre' in the cave with a high ceiling and stalactites coming out of the top where apparently Nellie Melba sang a concert because the acoustics are so good. I've had a cold with laryngitis, but did manage to squeak out the first line of 'Porgi Amor' without coughing. Tragic I couldn't sing more, but still the only time I'll probably ever sing opera in a cave (and the only time any of the other visitors will hear opera sung in a cave ;). </p><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Now we're back in Perth and I only have 3 more days in Australia! It's not enough! Although, I may have already had enough red meat to hold me over until I get back to the States ;)</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Don't want to be flogging a dead horse, mate, so I'll bog off now :)<br /></div><div align="center"><span class=""></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8507247363765958281.post-32776197869572318442007-07-29T06:13:00.000-07:002007-07-29T06:58:37.132-07:00Madras Madness Abbreviated, Singapore Culture Shock & Australian Birthday PavlovaI'm writing from Perth on the coast of Western Australia (2.5 hours closer to the international dateline than India and directly south of Singapore). I've once again been a bad blogger, and have posted pictures without any text. And now, I'm so involved in eating steak and ice and drinking good beer and wine, that I don't really have the time or energy to write something good about last weekend. So, I'm going to write the abbreviated version.<br /><br />Last weekend I went to Madras/Chennai (Chennai is the real Indian name, but I think that Madras, the British name, is more Exotic, so I'm going to use it) with one of my office-mates who is from there. We stayed with her family in their house and did all sorts of authentic things the whole weekend. We ate Tamil Thali, shopped for sarees (again, and yes...I bought one...again - but this one I'm planning to upholster my futon with, so it is therefore functional in addition to being 100% embroidered silk and $20), I rode on the back of her moped, we went to a traditional dance concert, went to the bay of bengal, used an Indian toilet (<a href="http://www.csuohio.edu/india_experience/summer2000/20000712/indianstylebathroom.jpg">http://www.csuohio.edu/india_experience/summer2000/20000712/indianstylebathroom.jpg</a>), rode in an ambassador taxi, wore a saree to the temple, went to a Brahmin fortune teller, ect.<br /><br />We went to the Bay of Bengal looking to take a boat ride out into the sea, but when we got there the fishermen wouldn't take us out because they had been forbidden to do so byt he nearby resort. I wasn't too upset because there was oil washed up on the beach and menacing monsoonal clouds on the horizon, so we rode horses for 100 ruppees ($2.50) on the beach instead. It was very adventurous and the weather was 50 times better than it was the first time I went to Chennai in May when it was 105 degrees with 100% humidity. This time it was only 85 degrees with 70 humidity (that was my guess), so riding on the moped and in the non a/c ambassador taxi wasn't so bad. The real problem was the pollution, and after the day on the moped, I actually had a pollution mustache, which I wiped off with a tissue that was soon covered in a thick layer of black soot from the rest of my face- ewwwwe.<br /><br />Since last weekend I've been 'busy' after work socializing with other ex-pats. I saw the new Harry Potter movie (totally awesome & better than the book) and went to a going away party for an expat who's moving to Singapore this weekend. Then, on Friday night I left for Perth via Singapore to spend my birthday week in Australia. I learned, at my first exit attempt from India since I got here, that the clever customs official who stamped my passport upon entry, has stamped it March 2006. The semi-amused exit customs official leafed through my passport for 5 minutes trying to find a March 2007 stamp and then asked me when I arrived in India. When he pointed to the 2006 date I was completely and utterly speechless for the first time in my life. Luckily my visa is March 2007-September 2007, and he very innovatively managed to get an entry stamper, set it to the correct date, re-stamp my entry stamp with March 2007, and cancel my original (I double checked the date he stamped for my exit).<br /><br />My flight from Hyderabad to Singapore was only 3.5 hours, but was a red-eye flight due to the 2.5 hour time difference. I was stuck next to a mother and kid who apparently had a tick that involved kicking me every time I dozed off, and I felt like the principal in Ferris Beuller because the kid kept looking at me and offering me gummy bears.<br /><br />When I arrived in Singapore I was shocked by the number of white people in the airport, and realized that I hadn't really seen more than 10 white people in one place at one time in 4 months. I was also shocked by how modern and new everything was, and my first meal was a grilled chicken, avocado, and bri sandwich with a real espresso-filled mocha. I sat in a cafe with a Dutch guy and an Indian woman, both of whom, it turned out were living in California and were coming from Hyderabad. I spoke to the woman in the Hindi I've learned from classes at work, and said 'Ik sprik neit goede nederlands' to the amused Dutch guy ("I don't speak Dutch well" is one of the only phrases I remember from Beligium) and then the three of us talked about Hyderabad for about an hour until their flight for SFO was leaving and my flight to Australia was boarding- it's a small world!<br /><br />Now I'm in Australia where it is winter and raining, and I've already had two meals with steak :) Last night I went to grab the bottle of water to brush my teeth until I realized that I can use tap water! I've been ordering ice in every drink even though it's cold outside, just because I love ice so much, and I haven't had it in 4 months. The two things that stand out most are a) how much I got used to standing out in a crowd in India- here I'm anonymous until I open my mouth! And b) How much I got used to having people around everywhere.<br /><br />All over Perth today I've noticed how few people there are- I can't imagine what it must be like for someone from India who's spent their entire life surrounded by millions of people to come to Australia or the US and not see people crowding the streets. I also noticed how big the SUVs are - does anyone need a car that size? Now really, how many people are actually driving around the bush in those? It may be roughly equivalent to the number of bay area drivers who spend their weekends off-roading their SUVs in the Sierras (roughly .0005%) ;) I think I'll notice even more when I get back to California, since giant SUVs aren't nearly as popular in Australia as they are in California.<br /><br />Today I spent my birthday sleeping in, going around Perth, and eating- pancakes, steak kabobs, cappuccino, chinese food, and a birthday pavlova :). Tomorrow we're heading south, and I'm hoping the rain will die down (not sure how likely that is). I realized that I haven't been remotely cold in 4 months (other than in the office when the air conditioner is blasting), and that I'm not really used to it being cold outside. But I've now seen the Indian Ocean, and even in the rain the beaches are amazing.<br /><br />More to come soon (I promise..... ;)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628425935317362926noreply@blogger.com0