Home sweet home

I just wanted to share the view from my bedroom window. This is Xuijiahui (shoe-ja-way) Park. I hear that on warm evenings, there's an open area where they play music and couples come out and waltz. I have yet to witness this phenomenon, but I can't wait. Have I mentioned how much I love it here yet??

Tomorrow people...

Ziggy Marley
Originally uploaded by Portfolios.

This was my view last Monday night. Ziggy Marley in Shanghai - fantastic show. It was in a teeny tiny little venue, so every seat was actually pretty damn good. Our seats were actually on the 18th row, but as soon as the concert started people poured out of their chairs and into the aisles to dance, leaving the first 4 rows completely empty for cheapskates like me to move up and get a closer look.

I wish I could say that I took this picture, but I didn't bring a camera. Ratz!! But someone else was kind enough to post it on Flickr, and there ya go.

All you can eat...

I had mentally prepared myself for odd foodstuffs long before I came to Asia. I knew in India that it was better not to ask questions if you didn't know what something was. But in China... well, let's just say they take it to the next level.

We walked past a street stand today that served up 3 kinds of ducks feet, chicken hearts, intestines, duck necks, squid, pork knuckles, and for the mild at heart, processed meat product and tofu. The best part of it all though, is that you can get anything on a stick. We Americans have corny dogs nailed, but the Chinese have run away with the concept of portable food. Lamb, chicken, pork, beef, - any my personal favorite - squid. You name it - it comes on a stick. There's nothing like seeing a well-dressed business woman walking down the street gnawing on a pinkish, tentacled squiggly thing proudly skewered and grilled to perfection. And the price for this delicacy - approximately 50 cents. A bargain!

Another amazing food process is the conveyor belt sushi restaurant. You sit at a counter in front of a conveyor belt full of small, colored plates with every kind of sushi imaginable. Different colored plates are different costs. You take what you want from the conveyor belt, one or two pieces of sushi at a time, then at the end of your meal, you take your empty plates tot the cash register and pay up. You're also given a cup with a tea bag in it. About every two seats is a spigot that spews boiling water for all you can drink tea. It's a fantastic twist on fast food dining. Here, the price per plate ranges from 50 cents to 2 dollars. You can stuff yourself on sushi for under $10. Heaven!

Aside from the oddities, I have found the food in China to be amazing. I am a certified dumpling addict (a plate of 24 - more than plenty for 2 people - costs you about $1.50), I'm quickly becoming a noodle-holic, and I've got chopstick skills I never knew I had.

So now that I have an apartment, and a kitchen (yay!), I plan to find a cooking class. Guess I should stock up on the wooden sticks for my first dinner party.

First impressions of China

So where to begin… I left India late Wednesday night in a whirl of mixed emotions. Saying goodbye to my friends was a lot harder than I imagined it would be. I’ve said this before about Kosovo and Spain, but it’s amazing how quickly you form bonds with people when you are living in a foreign country. I will definitely miss my friends, but I still don’t know how I feel about leaving about India itself. Something tells me I will miss the chaos a little – I mean, seriously, where else can you live in a swanky neighborhood and still have oxcarts bringing vegetables to your front door?

Coming into Hong Kong was like awakening from a long, deep sleep. Nestled in a bay, 38 or so little islands make up the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Sharp mountains spring from the water, and all along the coastlines skyscrapers stick through the clouds, the peaks of the mountains just barely peeking over their spires. My toes tingled just from being in such a vibrant, fantastic city, full of life and millions of people living it. The food, the shopping, the arts (oh how I’ve missed these things), the setting… everything about Hong Kong made me smile. Friendly people on the street were willing to lend a hand the second I started to look a little bit lost, the markets were full of strange and wonderful smells, a mix of kitchy trinkets and stunningly beautiful jade work. Even more surprising to me, were all the familiar things – McDonald’s (that actually have real cheeseburgers – in India it’s only veg burgers or chicken), 7-11 and Circle K, Best Buy, Starbucks, and multitudes of international clothing brands – but all with signs and menus in Chinese. It was almost easy to forget I was actually in China, it felt more like being in China Town in San Francisco, but with better weather. I was in HEAVEN.

Things function in China. Very clean metros, easy to navigate buses, no power cuts, there’s water pressure, people follow lanes, they drive on the right side of the road (in Shanghai anyway, HK it’s still on the left – British influence), and most importantly… nobody honks unless it’s absolutely necessary. Three years in 3^rd world countries and it’s incredible how much a little functionality pleases me. So I’ve spent the last 5 days running around soaking in all the things I’ve missed in the last 3 years.

I’ve fed my spirit on art museums and live music. I happened to arrive in Hong Kong at the tail end of the annual Arts Festival and spent a small fortune on a ticket to see the Chucho Valdes Quartet – a long standing Grammy winning, famous Cuban jazz pianist. Absolutely brilliant. Imagine a perfectly enjoyable evening out that didn’t involve sitting in some smoky, overpriced bar playing bad techno – I was listening to live jazz by a master. I felt like dancing all the way back to the hotel.

I’ve fed my body wonderful sushi, steaming noodles, fried duck and imported beer (Guiness, Asahi, anything other than Kingfisher!). I will admit to one Big Mac, but that’s it. It had to be done, I’m over it now.

The streets in both Shanghai and Hong Kong are spotless, there is no trash anywhere, except in bins, no dust hanging in the air, and it is quiet – oh so quiet. Funny, I met a Dutch woman in HK who was touristing around too, and she couldn’t get over how noisy it was. To me, it was so blissfully calm in comparison to Bangalore. It just goes to show that it’s all about perspective – everything is relative.

Shanghai is cold and cloudy right now. Since I found myself here over the weekend, with nothing else to do, I did what any normal girl would. I went shopping! I had to. I didn’t own a coat, and the only pair of closed-toed shoes that I owned were my trainers. I shopped out of sheer necessity. At least that’s how I am justifying it to myself right now. I now have a new pair of foxy black boots, a pair of really cute brown pumps, two turtleneck sweaters, a pair of wool trousers, a coat, and most importantly – socks. I had a total of 3 pairs of gym socks to my name. These were the only socks I ever needed in India.

Shanghai is divided in half by the Huangpu River (a branch of the Yangtze). The financial district, Pudong, lines one side of the river, and lining the opposite bank is an area called the Bund. The Bund has a very European feel to it, and is lined with stately buildings that once housed foreign embassies. A wide sidewalk chock full of street vendors selling everything from photos of you in front of the buildings to candied mini-apples on a stick stretches along the water from one end to the other. Here you can board a ferry boat for a cruise along both sides. I haven’t done this yet – but I will!!

Looking across the river to the Pudong district, all I can say is VEGAS BABY! (But without all the casinos.) Every high-rise along the waterfront has some kind of light show going on up and down the side/front of the building. It is truly something to behold. The pictures don’t do it justice, as the lights on each building aren’t static – it is a frenzy of flashing color and lights for miles on end.

So here I am today, my first day in the office. They weren’t really prepared for me, and no one really knows what to do with me. What that means for the time being, is free play! I have to meet a real-estate agent at 2pm this afternoon, but until paperwork is sorted out and they get me a computer, or access from my personal laptop, I am stuck and can do nothing. Darn it. HAHAHAHA

I like being a well-paid tourist.

Packed and ready to roll

As unbelievable as this might sound, I am actually packed - a full 48 hours before I am set to leave. One of my friends came over after work last night and we worked and worked and worked until it was finished. I now have nothing to deal with but last minute errands and a few loose ends at work to tie up. This is all happening so quickly. It's hard to think that I'll be apartment hunting in Shanghai on Saturday.

My internet access is going away today, so the next time I write, it will be from the People's Republic of China - which I'm not even sure will be possible yet since internet there is censored. It might be back to mass emails.

The thing that scares me the most about going, is living in a place where I will be functionally illiterate for the first time in my life. I won't be able to read signs on shops, in stores, menus... I won't recognize things at all. At least with phonetic alphabets like Cyrillic or Hindi script, it's possible to sound things out, but Chinese is a whole new ball game. What a challenge - I can't wait!

I haven't even really had time to think about how I feel about leaving India yet. I don't think it will really hit me until I'm getting on the plane tomorrow night. It's all a bit much to process at once. I need sleep. Seriously. I guess that's what long flights are for. :)

And the countdown begins

Only 4 more sleeps till I move to China!!

Michi on the move

The official announcement has been made, so I can post it here now... I'm moving to China in two weeks. My boss has asked me to go to Shanghai to develop and deliver communication and culture training to the engineers in the office there. Wahooooo! It's a huge opportunity for me and I can't wait to go.

India has been a good experience overall. It's a strange mix of all things odd and wonderful, as well as things that drive me insane. I'll miss the people I've met here like crazy, but frankly, I am quite ready to move on. So buh-bye, Bangalore.. hellloooooo Shanghai!

A teaser

I know it's been AGES. And this probably won't satisfy any of your curiosity either. Suffice it to say that the past two and a half months have been full of adventures, travels, romance, heartbreak, boredom, frenetic running around, and everything in between. And on top of all of that - there's major life changes in the works. I can't say more than that right now - but I will be able to soon. I've got about 200 pictures to post and many a story to tell. I will devote this weekend to getting it all done, as the next few weeks will be hellishly hectic all over again. So until then, my friends, I beg your forgiveness and thank you for your patience.

:)

Mini-update

Thanksgiving dinner went swimmingly... even though I didn't have a single bite of turkey. I couldn't do it after spending 2 hours ripping his little guts out with my bare hands the night before. It was enough to make me go veg (for a couple of days). Everyone else said it was delicious though. We had an unbelievable spread. I've never seen so much food in my life. I'm still eating pumpkin pie for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I consider that a bonus. :)

Pics are up of the Goa trip finally. I haven't labeled any of them yet, but at least they're there.

And in other news, my stepsister had her baby this week. I'm an auntie, kinda.. at least my brother is an uncle... *sigh* My family is complicated. In any case, he's beautiful! I can't wait to meet him when I come home next summer. Keep the pics a'comin, Mama TriStar. Congrats to both of you.

Not much else going on these days, so I'll sign off for now. Pics of Thanksgiving to come soon.

Happy Turkey Day

Holiday cooking in a foreign country is always an adventure. Finding the right ingredients, making do with what you can get your hands on, etc. Today I picked up my Thanksgiving turkey that I ordered from the butcher last month. (You have to give them enough time to fatten them up.) I was hoping and praying it wouldn't still be alive and walking around, because you never really know. He told me that he could keep it in the freezer for a couple of days for me. That was reassuring. At least I wouldn't have to kill it and clean it myself.

So anyway... I get there this morning and he opens the bag to show me the 15 lb. bird, flat on it's back, feet (yes, FEET) up in the air, with his little frozen turkey head looking at me. I about died! I guess this is what I get for growing up thinking that steaks come in packages and turkeys come with built in pop-up meat thermometers, but I sure wasn't expecting it to look at me. After the initial shock wore off, I kindly asked him to remove the head and feet before I took the bird home.

Once I got here, I had to make sure it would fit in my oven. It's a tight squeeze, but I think we can manage. I have not been able to find a roasting pan as of yet. That is my mission tomorrow morning. Otherwise, it's improvization time again. I'm getting very good at it.

Dinner is served

Anyone who has ever traveled has probably seen some pretty funny things on menus. I just got back from 10 days in Goa and thought I'd share some highlights:

As a starter:
Tandoori lamp chops (a distant relative to the Duchess of Sconce and Queenie Candelabra, the poor little fella never saw it coming)

For dessert:
Candid Fruits and Nuts (gay men from California that will tell you honestly that , "Yes, those pants do make you look fat.")

and for the main course, try the pasta (middle right hand side):


Just out of curiosity, what do you think they did with the rest of the fish?

p.s. Photos and stories from the rest of the trip coming soon!

It's a sickness

I'm addicted to Grey's Anatomy. Yes, the TV show. One of my friends here had season 1 and I've managed to watch all 9 episodes in 2 days. I have no life. She just got season 2 in the mail from Amazon, except I have to wait for her to finish watching it first. The problem is, unike me, she has a life. I may have to wait two whole weeks (or more) to find out what happened with Dr. McDreamy's wife showing up at the end of season 1... dammmmit. Don't tell me, don't tell me. I know I could google it and find out all about it, but that takes all the fun out of sitting at home on a Friday night and watching 4 episodes. (I really need to get a life...)

American English

There are some who say there is no such thing as American English and British English, and for that matter Indian English. Some would argue that they are no more than dialects of the same language and some would argue that they are separate languages all together due to variations in vocabulary, sound, structure and usage. What all this talk is leading up to is a strange offer I had this week to do some voice-over work for an animated film. They were looking for people with regional American accents. Unfortunately, I don't think they really get what dialects are all about. For example, they were expecting two completely different sounding people for Alabama and Georgia. Unless you are a native of either of those two places, or a sociolinguist specializing in American dialects, you probably wouldn't be able to recognize the difference. There's a hell of a lot more difference in a Boston accent and a Texas accent than between Alabama and Georgia.

Another point they were missing is that it's not just so much the way we sound, but the way we use language that differentiates the regions. For example, that carbonated sweet stuff we all like to drink is a soda in some parts of the US, a pop in others, and God help us Texans, everything is a coke. The underground floor of a house is a cellar to some and a basement to others, and that thing I fall asleep on half the time could be a couch or a sofa, depending.

Anyway, what I'm saying is that whatever your accent, whatever your vocabulary, we all speak the same language, so why make such a big deal about the differences? Man, it's a good thing I don't have an accent. I feel sorry for you Scots, Irish, Kiwis, Brits and whatnot, though. Y'all talk funny.

So, being the Texan at heart that I am, I sent in my sound sample liberally sprinkled with "y'all"s. I haven't heard anything back yet but my friend Gamey has. She was told by a non-American, non-native English speaker that her accent sounded like an African American forcing a Texas accent. Yep... that's her all right. Never mind that's she's a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Cheesehead from Wisconsin. That might have something to do with the forced bit, but the other??

My Linguistic Profile:

65% General American English

20% Dixie

5% Upper Midwestern

5% Yankee

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

And the Lord says...

I just had to repost this. My friend took this photo whith her cell phone this morning as she was dropping her daughter off at her private Catholic elementary school. She couldn't drive for 15 minutes because of the tears of laughter running down her face. Evidently, the school has since replaced the sign.

Officially Old

Happy birthday (you old fart) to meee! I'm officially one week closer to 40 than I am to 30. Last Wednesday was my 35th birthday. Someone please tell me where the last 10 years went?!?! Wasn't I just 25?? *sigh*

Well, I'm definitely not 25 anymore. I proved it last weekend by traveling with three 25-year-olds and foolishly trying to keep up. By day two I was off for the old-timer's afternoon nap while the young 'uns went for beer and pool. By day three my liver went on strike. Day four I gave up and lost the ability to speak all together. I had a great time, but I seriously needed a vacation from my vacation.

Seriously though, it wasn't all party party party. Kerala, Kovalam in particular, is stunning. When it wasn't raining, my days were spent lying on beaches of the softest black sand I've ever felt between my toes. While fending off the beach-vendors can be challenging, it only adds to the charm of the place (she says while crossing her fingers behind her back - it's totally annoying!). There was an old-fashioned red and white striped lighthouse at one end of the beach, and at the other end of the arc, the beach disappeared into a swath of thick coconut palms. Add to that 4 hottie French surfers running around without shirts and you really couldn't ask for better scenery. Evenings were spent watching breathtaking sunsets like this one. My hotel room door opened onto the boardwalk, and I slept to the sound of waves crashing onto the rocks every night. Every morning, I woke up to the sound of the fishermen's chants as they hauled their gigantic nets in from the sea by hand. Talk about fresh seafood!! I had lobster for dinner twice, just because I could. It was damn near a perfect weekend, and exactly what I needed to get my head back on track.

p.s. I'll post more pictures later this week - I've got some pretty good ones.

Grr...

I've had one of those "God-it's-so-frustrating-living-in-a-foreign-country" kind of days.

Incident #1: I got dumped by my yoga instructor first thing this morning (which is actually mid-afternoon for me, thanks to working nights). Because of my work hours, I couldn't actually make any scheduled classes at the local yoga studio so I hired a private instructor. I was paying him a boat-load of money to meet with me for 1 hour a day, three days a week. After three classes, he decided that it just wasn't all that convenient for him, and that he really didn't like missing his afternoon nap. He was firing me as a client. Boo!

Incident #2: Yesterday afternoon, I received a phone call from the local post office telling me that I had a package, could I please come down after 9:30 am today and collect it. I needed to speak to a man named Danayam. No problem. I went to yoga, got dumped, headed for the post office. When I arrived at the post office, I was told to go around back to collect my package. I don't want to scare anyone away from sending anything to India, because the system actually works, but what I witnessed was the most frightening thing ever. Stacks and stacks and stacks and bags and bags and bags of mail dumped into the middle of a large table with three skinny scruffy little men in sarongs sitting around hand sorting things into random piles. There was mail on the floor, on chairs, in cubbies, in boxes... utter chaos, just like the rest of India. Anyway, so I had gone around back to the package-place, only to be sent back around front to find the mysterious Danayam. Danayam was not in the office. Danayam would not be back today. Evidently this Danayam is the keeper of my packages and my packages only, because when he was called on his cell phone, no one used my name, only the lovely monniker "Madame", as in "Madame is here for her package." And he knew who I was and where my package had been sent. Shockingly, it had been forwarded on to the address that was on the package. Now there is a novel idea. However, if they were going to send it on to the address on the package anyway, why in the hell did they call me and tell me to come down to the post office to pick it up? It must have been one of those "Let's mess with the white girl" things. They do happen.

Incident #3: Shortly after my experience at the post office, I receive a phone call from reception at my office. I had a package. Unbelievable. My package had made its way from the post office to the address on the box. Funny how that works. "Great!" I said, "I'm not in the office today, I'll pick it up later." Then the receptionist asked me the oddest question. "What do you want us to do with it?" Evidently, in the history of the entire company, this was the first time they had ever received a package or piece of mail. The mail room had been completely unused up until this point. I politely suggested the unused mailroom, what the heck - give those boys something to do, until I was able to get around to pick it up. She said ok, and we hung up the phone. No worries, easy right? Welllllll... later on I decided to stop by and pick up my package from the office. My company has two buildings in this large business park 'campus' kind-of thing. I work in building A. My desk is in building A, right around the corner from the never-before-used mailroom in building A. The receptionist that called me was also in building A, so I assumed that they would send the package to the mailroom in building A. No. No no no. Of course not. They sent the package across the campus to the mailroom in building B. So after a ten minute conversation with the under-worked mail boy in building A, we finally determined that my package had indeed been sent to building B. I went to building B. I went to the mailroom window to request my package, knowing full well that I only had 10 minutes to collect my package and make it down to the basement to catch transport home, which only leaves every 30 minutes. If I missed this round, I'd be stuck sitting at the office with my package for another half an hour. I explained this very carefully to the woman in the mailroom. She nodded and smiled and head waggled all while talking on her cell phone for the next 15 minutes, then she handed me my package that was sitting next to her the whole time. I missed transport. I sat in the hot, un-airconditioned basement for 30 minutes waiting for the next round to take me home.

Incident #4: The ride home in transport was uneventful. Never mind that no one offered to help me load the medium sized, heavy box along with a backpack and two bags of books that I was struggling with, into the car. I managed. No big deal. I was used to this day going badly. When I got home, I got out of transport and tried to get my things out of the back of the hatchback. I walked around the back of the car, and for some reason, without looking behind him, the driver threw the car into reverse and began to back up.. over me. I started backpedaling as fast as I could and beating on the back window of the car. Only then, did he actually check his rear-view mirror to see if anything was behind him. Seeing my panicked face did not immediately stop him. It was the other person in the car literally slapping him across the back of the head and yelling at him that got him to stop. I had already jumped clear at this point, realizing he just wasn't going to stop. When he stopped I stepped to the back of the car, opened the hatchback, removed the backpack and two bags of books and put them on the side of the road. As I stepped back behind the car for the second time, to get the box out of the back, the idiot starts to back up AGAIN. If I could have reached him to smack him myself, I would have. But the other passenger managed it for me. He stopped. I got the box. I went home.

It was all worth it for the contents of the box. Care packages from Mom are always good. I was expecting most of the contents, since I'd asked for them... but she always manages to sneak some little cool surprise in there too. This time it was a beautiful Japanese style cast-iron teapot and yummy gourmet tea. I'm sitting here finishing the last of a pot while writing this. Thanks, Mom! You turned an otherwise yucky day around.

Trying Really Hard to Like India

I read this article about India today that made me laugh out loud. Probably because, even after the very short amount of time I've been here, I can totally identify with it. In part 4, Seth Stevenson writes:

Back home in the States, it can feel like we've got life figured out, regulated, under control, under wraps. But here in India, nothing seems even close to figured out. Nothing seems remotely under control. You're never quite sure what will happen next, and you're working without a net. Terrifying? Yes. But also invigorating.

I couldn't have said it better myself. Take for example, the simple act of walking down the street here. It seems like something you should be able to do in peace, without conflict or disaster raining down on you from above. It seems so. It's not.

The Indians have a fondness, shall we say, for the horns on their vehicles. Cars, motorcycles, buses (these beauties sing entire songs for your listening pleasure), scooters, autorickshaws, even crusty, rusty lame-ass bicycles with pink baskets, all come equipped with bull-horn type honkers. These are used for everything... to say hello, to signal the approach to an intersection, to notify other drivers of your existence, for passing, for turning, for going straight, for going in reverse, for approaching another vehicle (which in a city of 8 milion people and nearly as many drivers is fairly constant), and for letting pedestrians that a car is there. All of this leads to a pretty noisy street scene of 8 million drivers, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand on the horn. Chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos.

The other morning, I was minding my own business, strolling along the nice quiet side streets of my neighborhood on my way to yoga class, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and thinking to myself how happy I was to live far enough away from the main drag that I didn't have to deal with all the noise all the time. As it was mid-afternoon on a weekday, there wasn't much traffic at all. I was actually marvelling at the fact that I had the wide, tree-lined lane all to myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and as I was exhaling, I damn near had a heart attack because the driver of the only car on the road waited until it was less than two feet away from me and mashed on the horn as long and as hard as he possibly could.

Once I was able to breathe again, I pondered what could possibly have been the motivating factor for that action. Let's look at the scene... it was a wide street - plenty of room for 4 cars to pass each other side by side. It couldn't have been that the driver needed space. There was not another moving vehicle within miles. He wasn't warning another car that he was coming. There were no intersections nearby, so that wasn't it. I was the only pedestrian within sight. Granted, since I was on my way to a yoga class I hadn't showered yet and wasn't looking my whole-hearted best, but did I look like I had a deathwish? Like I would suddenly and inexplicably turn and hurl myself in front of the only moving object on the road? Obviously. The driver must have decided to save me from a slow and painful death from being run-over in favor of a quick and shocking heart-stoppage instead. For that, I thank him for saving me from myself.

What a week it's been...

Congratulate me. I've not had a cigarette in 10 days now. My intention was to quit after my birthday anyway, but circumstances sort of forced me into it a bit early. Remember that last little nasty post about the sinus infection? Well, it kinda never got better. Actually, it kept getting worse... and worse... and worse. It traveled from my head to my throat & ears and eventually settled into my lungs, landing me in the hospital for a week. Don't worry, Indian hospitals aren't as scary as you would think - at least not where I was.

Last Tuesday morning I went in for my 4th doctor's appointment in as many weeks. They finally determined that the course of drugs they were trying wasn't working and that I needed serious help or I would be pneumonia bound. I didn't even get a chance to go home to pick things up. I was immediately whisked to a private office labled "International Patient Registration". I knew right then that I was getting rooked. However, I didn't really care, since insurance was going to pay for it. Once all the paperwork was signed, I was shuffled off upstairs to the 11th floor. When the elevator doors opened, you had two options: turn right to the old, chipped blue tiled, poorly lit, scary wing OR you turned to the left and sunshine and happiness awaited you through frosted glass doors. It was like a 5 star hotel. I had a private room with an incredible view (unfortunately, the central point of that view was my office), satellite TV, a personal dietician who visited me every morning to discuss my menu for the day, and I could get just about anything I wanted with the push of a button.

The nursing staff was so incredibly sweet, and sympathised with me completely when I threw myself a pity party because I wanted my mom. I may be 35, but I still want my mama when I don't feel good. The nurses are all living here in a hostel far away from their families in other parts of India, but it's the best place to work - so what to do? They even offered to sleep in the room with me if I wanted. I may be a bit of a baby, but that was pushing it. Finally, they threatened me with a BIG injection, if I didn't cheer up. By the end of the conversation, we were all giggling instead of crying.

Basically, I spent the next four days being pumped full of antibiotic IVs, steroids, nebulizer breathing treatments, sleeping pills, cough syrup, and fever reducers. By Friday, it was time to go home. FINALLY. Unfortunately, the story doesn't end there. It seems I have a bit of a mold problem in the walls of my apartment, and that was probably what was exhasperating my condition.

People from work were so incredibly kind. The Prince of Perth came to visit everyday, bringing me contraband cookies, chocolate and such. :D A couple that I work with really came to the rescue with a little care package of clothes to go home in, toiletries and whatnot. They also managed to get my consulting company to step up to the plate, as they were being a little slow on the response of their end of the bargain. I don't know what was said, but within an hour of his visit, the whole team was in my hospital room, had paid the deposit, painters were being sent to my flat and my leaky boiler was being replaced. I spent the weekend at a friend's house while they replastered and painted my flat, covering the mold in a temporary fix. The fella who lives upstairs has a leaky pipe or something, and if he doesn't fix his problem, I'll never be able to fix mine. The paint job seems to be helping though, I haven't had any issues since I've been home.

As for not smoking, the doctor made me swear not to start again, but he didn't really need to. After 5 days of not being able to breathe, and being forced to be smoke free, there's really no point in going back. It's been a breeze so far. I've had one or two little urges, mainly in habitual situations, like after a big meal. I just drink a glass of water instead. I was a little worried about going back to work because EVERYONE smokes. Going to the 3rd floor balcony was a major social event 3 times a night. However, when I got back to work, the 4 people who sit near me had all quit over the weekend, just for kicks. YEAH! Moral support all around.

Anyway, now that I finally feel like a human being after a month of being sick, I've been nesting like a mad woman and finding all the things I've been wanting to do since I got here. I've started going to the gym, I found a yoga studio, and I've been cooking again. I bought beadspreads and curtains and new dishes. I've rearranged furniture and reorganized cabinets... now that I think about it, it sounds a little more like I've gone crazy than like I'm getting settled. I think a big part of it is finally having energy again. Whatever it is, I'm glad to be BACK.

How's things with you guys? It's been a while....

Sickly

WARNING - evidently not for the weak of stomach (sorry Sambo!)

I am an incredible secreter of mucus lately. I had no idea it was possible for one person to produce this much snot. I've had sinus infections in the past, but this one takes the cake. For the past two weeks, I've done nothing but blow and blow and blow my nose, turning it into a red, raw, sore chunk of cartiledge protruding from my sad little face. If I don't blow it, I can hear the gunk rattling around inside my head, and if I do blow it, it almost kills me. *sigh* I'm on day 5 of anitbiotics, and while it's getting better, I'm still a prolific producer. I'm almost a little proud. I wonder if there's a world record for this sort of thing... hm. (that thought has gotta be the product of of the fever...)

p.s. New pics have been posted on FLickr

Monkeys in a cage

Yesterday was Indian Independence Day, a free play-day off work. The Prince of Perth and I decided that it would be a great day to go hang out in the park, get some sun, read and generally be lazy. I also wanted to take my camera and see if I could capture just a little of the feel of Bangalore and India. After a half-hour stuck in traffic in a rickshaw, being gassed out by busses, trucks, scooters and everything else, it started to pour down rain. It is the monsoon season after all. Not a great start to our adventure, but we stuck it out, hoping that the rain would get tired and go away. And 15 minutes later, that's exactly what it did.

The rain left, but we were still stuck in traffic. As we rounded the bend, and the entrance to the park came into view, I was suddenly very aware of why traffic had been so bad. I have never seen so many people in once place in my life. It seemed the entire 8-million-person population of Bangalore had the same idea as we did. A sea of color unfolded before us, dotted by thousands of black-topped heads. In the distance we saw our goal - the iron gates of Lalbagh Botanical Gardens. With a deep breath, and hands over pockets with phones and valuables, we dove in head-first and made our way to the ticket line. PoP went in first and paid. He took his hand off his pocket for 5 seconds. Unfortunately, it only took 3 seconds in the crowd before PoP was shouting at me, "Call my phone call my phone!! Someone's just nicked it!!" It rang a few times, but in vain. The thieves shut it off immediately, and disappeared into the swirling masses. C'est la vie.

Once we had our tickets, things took a major turn for the better. I hung my camera around my neck and through the gates we went. The crowd thinned a little. Not much, but enough where you could walk without touching someone else.... Kind of... ok, ok.. it was REALLY crowded. But it's India, everything is crowded. The park itself was stunning; I could only imagine what it must be like on a non-holiday afternoon. Wide lanes cut through the central area of the park, while narrow dirt paths wound through the trees and grassy areas, allowing you a glimpse into a world of peace in the midst of so much chaos. The trees in this park are even more amazing than those I have described before. One of them had 7 full-size trunks that melded into one at the base. Massive. Beautiful. Around another little dirt path is the lake, which is fenced off so that you can't get in it or near it, but you can watch the water birds like egrets, pelicans and geese from the sidelines. While we were standing there, a cast of hawks (yep, that's the official name for a group of hawks - I had to Google it) soared above us, circling in the drafts and waiting for a fish to make the fatal mistake of coming too close to the surface.

As we walked around I took pictures of people, plants, birds, and the scenery. Snap snap snap. So many colors, so much contrast. Interesting faces, unbelievable greenery, totally indescribable - I'll post the pics this week as soon as my internet is up and running (should be Friday!!).

Finally, we found an empty (shocking!) patch of grass nearby, shook out the blanket (or rug as the evidently call them in Australia) and proceeded to do exactly what we came to do. We pulled out our books and had a little lie down in the sun. It didn't take long before I got that strange feeling that we were being watched. Not such a strange feeling I guess, when 5,000 pairs of eyes are watching your every move. I sat up and looked around and literally every person within my field of vision was staring at us. Men, women, children, whole families... all staring with mouths hanging open at the foreigners. Soon I started to notice even stranger things. Like the brother and sister team (about 8 years old) that circled our blanket about 10 times in a row, sneaking shy glances over at us when they thought we weren't looking. Like the couple leaning up against a tree who took out their video camera and filmed us for half an hour. Like the boys playing catch who kept throwing the ball closer and closer so that they would have an excuse to talk to us. Like the 20 people who asked to take our picture. Like the 3 and 4 year olds that families would send over to shake our hands, and once they touched us went running away with huge grins on their faces. It was crazy. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to relax when you know someone else is watching your every move, some even documenting it. Somehow, I think I finally understand how animals in a zoo must feel. No wonder certain animals don't breed in captivity. It's a little disconcerting. I went to the park to observe, and ended up being the observed.

Once we'd had our fill of being the afternoon's entertainment, we shuffled off to find a tiny restaurant purported to have the best dosas in town. Again, we were the only foreigners in the place, so it had to be gooooood. We were seated at a shared table with two sweet old gentlemen, who took it upon themselves to make sure we knew what things were, and to stir our tea. even though PoP speaks Hindi fluently, the gentlemen wanted to help us out anyway they could. We pigged out on dosa masala, idli and puri. After the meal, we had a cup of the best tea I've ever had - spicy, creamy and piping hot. All this goodness was a grand total of 100 Rps - just over $2. We've vowed to do more exploring to find the great local places like this one, and stay out of the larger, fancier, more overpriced restaurants. And just after we made the declaration, being the hypocrite that we are, we promptly went to the Library Bar in the Leela Palace, a Kempenski 5-star hotel, for a glass of posh red wine to wind up the day. Sometimes, it just has to be done. I went home exhausted, stuffed, and completely satisfied with life. Not bad for a mere monkey in a giant zoo.