The Guide Hog

For the love of Peter Rabbit, as my Nana used to say, why am I still blogging about spring break?! It’s been more than a month.

Well, here’s why: With less than four weeks before we head Stateside for the summer, life is crazy busy. My calendar is packed with the usual stuff in addition to report card writing, physical therapy appointments for my wonky neck, rehearsals for the elementary school play, professional development workshops, summer travel planning, end-of-year social functions, and meetings, meetings, meetings. It seems I rarely have time to think, much less think about what I did over spring break.
Nevertheless, it’s time to wrap it up. So, make those Scooby Doo arm-waving gestures and doodly-doo sounds to take yourself back to April 4.

Theresa and I were hanging out in McLeod Ganj up in the mountain state of Himachal Pradesh.

Walking around town, I kept feeling an odd mash-up of deja vu and country-confusion. I KNEW I was in northern India, of course, but I kept seeing people, architecture, clothing and food reminiscent of my visit to Tibet in 2009, as well as market stalls stocked with Chinese-made souvenirs like so many I had seen and purchased while living in Shanghai. Sometimes I actually had to remind myself: You are in India, dummy.

The town has a distinctly Tibetan vibe because it is home to the Dalai Lama, Buddhist spiritual leader and, until recently, political leader of the Tibetan government-in-exile. (Last August, the Dalai Lama handed over his political responsibilities to Tibet’s first democratically elected prime minister, Lobsang Sangay.) This excerpt from a BBC profile of the Dalai Lama explains how this Indian town became a Tibetan settlement:

The 14th Dalai Lama was born on 6 July 1935, in a small village just outside the current boundaries of Tibet. His parents, who named him Lhamo Dhondub, were farmers with several other children. When he was two years old, a search party of Buddhist officials recognised him as the reincarnation of the 13 previous Dalai Lamas and he was enthroned before he turned four. He was educated at a monastery and went on to achieve the Geshe Lharampa Degree, a doctorate of Buddhist philosophy. But in 1950, when he was 15, the troops of Mao Tse-tung’s newly-installed Communist government marched into Tibet. As soldiers poured into the country, the Dalai Lama – his title means Ocean of Wisdom – assumed full power as head of state. In May 1951, China drew up a 17-point agreement legitimising Tibet’s incorporation into China. When Tibetans took to the streets in 1959 demanding an end to Chinese rule, troops crushed the revolt and thousands of protesters were killed. The Dalai Lama fled to India on foot and settled in Dharamsala, in the north of the country, which is now home to the Tibetan government-in-exile. He was followed into exile by about 80,000 Tibetans, most of whom settled in the same area.

The Dalai Lama’s residence and Tsug Lakhang Temple are simple and unassuming, painted mustard yellow. White sails rise up from the temple, similar to those at the Denver airport, providing cover but plenty of natural light. Wooden platforms with sliding handrests and knee pads lined the area in front of the Buddha shrine for prostrating pilgrims. I only saw a couple people use them; it seemed to be a quiet day in the temple.

Monks were mending those cushions on the right.

We learned later that the Dalai Lama had been teaching at a nearby monastery. One of my colleagues, Sue, had tickets to hear him speak, but she said the audience was too thick to see him and the FM radio that was supposed to transmit his talk in English malfunctioned. Still, she said she enjoyed his soothing voice, even if she couldn’t understand the words. We regretted not doing our homework and thus missing his talk, but then again, I’m not a fan of crowds.

A sign next the prayers wheels.

Multi-generational blessings.

Theresa gets in on the prayer wheel action.

A monk was lighting candles in this small sanctuary.

After turning all the prayer wheels in the temple, we headed outside to the “kora,” the circumambulation path. Buddhists walk the path clockwise in meditation. Trees along the path were draped with prayer flags, and other visitors had left colorful flat stones painted with Buddhist mantras. Benefactors funded sections of prayer wheels, marked with plaques explaining the blessings. The most common mantra was “om mani padme hum,” which calls forth blessings from the god of compassion. To learn more about the mantra, visit this excellent website: Om Mani Padme Hum – the Meaning of the Mantra in Tibetan Buddhism.

Cows numbered among the pilgrims on the path. Theresa tried to pose with them, but one poked her in the belly with its horn.

I made a little movie so you could take a virtual walk on the kora! I love practicing yoga to the music of Deval Premal, and this recording of her chanting Om Mani Padme Hum is one of my favorites.

If you want to know more about the Dalai Lama, check out his website: His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet.

I don’t know why it was so hard to get out of bed each morning in McLeod Ganj! What it the cool temperatures? Fresh air? Altitude? Tranquility? In New Delhi, we never escape the sounds of people and vehicles, but only chirping birds disturbed the total silence at our cottage here. On the morning of April 5, Theresa and I rolled out of bed, ate a quick breakfast in the Glenmoor’s dining area, and took off for some sightseeing. Our driver, Sanju, carefully maneuvered his little taxi on the rubble-strewn mountain roads, deftly zipping through hairpin curves and patiently yielding to other cars when two lanes suddenly and frequently became one, as we explored the Kangra Valley in the north Indian state of Himachal Pradesh.

First stop – Norbulingka Institute
The Norbulingka Institute is dedicated to the preservation of Tibetan art and culture. Passing through the archway, we entered a shady terraced garden with stone paths and narrow waterways.

We eventually meandered to the Deden Tsuglagkhang, a temple housing a 14-foot gilded copper Buddha and many stunning paintings created by the institute’s artists. The temple’s rooftop offered excellent views of the town and mountains.

Sipping a lemon soda at the café, I watched fuzzy seeds rain down from the trees and relished the peace created by gurgling fountains, greenery and omnipresent prayer flags. Here are some more shots from our visit to Norbulingka.

I like this quote by the Dalai Lama on Norbulingka (lifted from the institute’s website):

Buddhism changed the whole Tibetan way of life, giving rise to a more compassionate community, in which there is a more peaceful attitude towards ourselves, towards our fellow human beings, towards animals and towards the environment. In today’s world there’s a lot of talk about peace and non-violence, but the real factor in creating genuine peace is compassion, not just education and technology. Where there is compassion, a sense of community, a sense of respect for others’ rights is automatic. In order to promote compassion, it is not sufficient just to talk; it needs to be spread through example. I believe that our peaceful and compassionate Tibetan society is such an example; that’s why it is worth preserving, and I am pleased to see that in its work to keep Tibetan culture alive, the Norbulingka Institute is actively contributing to that task.

Next stop – Kangra Fort
Unsure of other sightseeing options in the area, we asked Sanju, our taxi driver for tips. He suggested a visit to Kangra Fort, so that’s what we did.
Believed to be the oldest fort in India, it was referenced by Alexander the Great in his war records from 326 B.C. and other accounts of wars dating back 3,500 years. Equipped with a surprisingly informative audio tour and headphones, Theresa and I trekked around the fort in the scorching sun. We climbed steep stairs, pausing in the shade of massive rock walls or flowering trees to listen to the fort’s bloody history.

Posing at the entrance to the fort.

At the top of these stairs …

… there were some interesting carvings …

… including this one of Ganesha, the elephant-headed Hindu god.

Darshani Darwaza, a doorway leading to a shady courtyard, toppled pillars and a couple small temples.

Inside the tiny temple.

This carved wall reminded me of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, but the rest of the Kangra Fort’s ornate palace was destroyed in an earthquake.

View of the river valley and the Himalayas.

Here are a few more shots from our visit to the Kangra Fort.

The Indifest travel blog has a nice write-up of Kangra Fort, including this interesting statement.

This fort has the unique distinction of being ruled by great Hindu Kings, Muslim Invaders, Sikh Maharaja and Christian Rulers of British empire.

Back in McLeod Ganj, we asked Sanju to drop us off for a little shopping. Minutes after we exited the taxi, the sky burst open, blasting the market with hail and freezing rain. We stood under a market stall awning, hoping the storm would blow over quickly. When it didn’t, we called Sanju back to drive us the short distance to the McLlo Restaurant. Everyone and their mother had the same idea, so we crammed into a corner table and watched the poor suckers stuck in the rain outside.

After a delicious dinner, we bought cakes to enjoy back at our cottage. They looked better than they tasted, but cake is always a good way to end a fun day!

Unless you live in a neighborhood that backs up to a noisy slum where residents frequently engage in late-night drumming and children play ball well after dark and clanking clunking construction continues by lamplight and cows announce their bedtime and dogs bark messages from house to house and traffic screeches and honks …
unless your daily life is fraught with ambient chaos …
then you simply cannot fully appreciate
the tranquility
of mountainside yoga
on a sunporch
with only bird songs
and pine
wafting in through open windows.

That is my spur-of-the-moment tribute to Glenmoor Cottages, a genuine place of peace in McLeod Ganj, an upper Dharamsala hill station in the Himalaya Mountains. The owner, Mr. Singh, is genteel and unwaveringly helpful. He relaxed with us in the yard over a cup of tea, chatting about Indian fiction and politics and pointing out a lake in the valley known for its migratory bird population.

Theresa and I arrived here on April 2 and happily threw open the windows of our little cottage overlooking the forest. At 6,300 feet above sea level, we found ourselves gasping for breath after the short trek up to reception. Too lazy to pursue food in town, we ordered tea and later a simple dinner delivered to our porch. We finally crashed at 8:30 and slept for 12 hours!

In Delhi, I feel pretty confident playing tour guide, but this was my first time to McLeod Ganj. For the last few months, Theresa had sent me emails with some of the sights she wanted to see here, so I left the trip planning to her. Unfortunately, she left her notes in a bag back at my house in Delhi. Without internet access at our cottage and lacking a good guidebook, we were quite disorganized. Still, we managed to see and do quite a bit during our three-day stay. At the end of each busy day, we both expressed such relief at coming “home” to our little cottage.

Tony and I enjoyed Amritsar so much last fall that we decided to share it with our guests. The four of us took the train on April 1 for six hours to the state of Punjab. At the Amritsar train station, a young taxi driver approached us. Sunny gave us a ride to our hotel, and we liked him so much we hired him for our whole visit.

At the recommendation of our school’s travel agent, we stayed at Mrs. Bhandari’s Guesthouse, which featured a pool, outdoor eating area, garden, courtyard with water buffalo and a humble collection of rooms. Liz snapped this shot of our fellow guesthouse residents.

We checked in, grabbed a quick snack, and took off for the Wagah Border-Closing Ceremony at the Pakistan-India border, about 45 minutes out of town.

Just like our last visit, food and drink vendors lined the path approaching the stadium. I loved this papaya seller with his papaya-colored shirt and turban. Theresa got the shot.

Sno-cones made on the spot with the Indian flag colors!

A water boy wisely targeting the men in line. This may be the only place on the planet where the women’s line moves faster!

After passing through VIP security, we took our seats in the Foreigners Gallery and watched the bedlam. A full Bollywood street party was followed by people actually LINING UP to run a short distance with the Indian flag.

Great shot by Theresa:

Eventually the hollering, high-stepping, gate-slamming, foot-stomping, thumb-gesturing, hat-straightening, mustache-twisting, anthem-singing, flag-lowering antics came to a close. I took so many pictures on our last visit. This time I just watched. Check out the Pakistani guard (black beret and shades) who Theresa photographed. You do NOT want to mess with him.

Returning from the border ceremony, Sunny eagerly asked if we knew the story of Ganesha. I did, only because I had heard it at school during India Week. However, Sunny told the tale with such exuberance and joy that I just let him run with it. Here’s the story, fyi. (This is NOT how Sunny told it. His rendition featured generic nouns slapped with unconjugated verbs in an unintelligible but joyous English soup.) From the website religionfacts.com:

Incensed by the refusal of her husband to respect her privacy, to the extent of entering her private chambers even while she was having her bath, Parvati decided to settle matters once and for all. Before going for her bath the next time, she rubbed off the sandalwood paste on her body and out of it created the figure of a young boy. She infused life into the figure and told him he was her son and should guard the entrance while she bathed.
Soon after, Shiva (Lord of destruction and husband of Parvati) came to see Parvati but the young boy blocked his way and would not let him in. Shiva, unaware that this lad was his son, became furious and in great anger fought with this boy whose head got severed from his body in the ensuing battle. Parvati, returning from her bath, saw her headless son and threatened in her rage to destroy the heavens and the earth, so great was her sorrow.
Shiva pacified her and instructed his followers (known as ganas) to bring the head of the first living being they encounter. The first creature they encountered was an elephant. They thus cut off its head and placed it on the body of Parvati’s son and breathed life into him. Thus overjoyed, Parvati embraced her son.

Theresa took this great shot of the dashboard decor in Sunny’s car: Ganesha in a Clam Shell. I love it so much! No, I don’t know why this Hindu elephant god is resting on a mollusk, but there’s no denying that it’s awe inspiring.

Basically re-creating our first Amritsar visit, we took Liz and Theresa to Kesar da Dhaba for dinner. Everyone seemed happy with their food, and the restaurant owner remembered me from November! We bought dinner for Sunny, who tried to have a philosophical discussion with Tony about the Sikh religion.

Liz being a BIG risk taker!

After dinner, Sunny drove us to the Golden Temple. It was not the peaceful oasis we remembered from five months ago! It was a mob scene … a happy, spiritual, family-oriented mob scene, but a mob scene nonetheless. I was trying to take a photo of Tony and Liz in front of the temple when this family crowded in to the shot. Okayyyy.

Another family shoved a baby into Liz’s arms, which she confusedly cuddled until the mother realized its absence and abruptly yanked it back. Craziness! I liked this calm lady who was chilling and enjoying the glowing temple.

The next morning, Liz and Tony ventured back to the temple and the Jalianwallah Bagh Memorial. Apparently, they hung out with this guy.

Theresa and I lazed around the guesthouse, taking photos of the colorful garden.

For more details on the places we visited, check out my old posts about Amritsar.

On April 2, it was time to head our separate ways. Tony and Liz returned to Delhi and later took a daytrip to Agra. Theresa and I drove to McLeod Ganj, a hill station in the Himalayas and home of the exiled Dalai Lama. That story is coming up next!

Tony’s sister Liz arrived March 30 and hit the ground running! No time for jetlag…

Although Old Delhi is a must-see attraction, it can be pretty intimidating. A bicycle rickshaw tour is marginally safer and less scary, so that’s how we kicked off Liz’s India tour. Theresa, Tony, Liz and I climbed aboard two rickshaws, disembarking to visit the spice market, Jain Temple and sari market, essentially following in the same footsteps as our first Delhi rickshaw tour.

Ratan gets ready to chauffeur Tony and Liz.

Off we go, straight into traffic.

A view from the top of the spice market. I’m not sure what those yellow things are drying in the sun.

Stringing streetside flower garlands.

Theresa and me. Dang, I forgot our driver’s name!

Barely squeaking by a watermelon salesman.

Driving through the wedding market.

That’s my handsome groom!

Tony takes the wheel (handlebars?).

Following lunch at McDonald’s (Theresa got the McVeggie, a paneer patty), we walked to the Red Fort.

A colorful crowd heads in to the fort.

Emperor Shah Jahan (the same guy who built the Taj Mahal) constructed this fort starting in 1638 after he moved his capital from Agra to Shahjahanabad, in what is now Delhi. (Remember when Theresa and I visited the FIRST city in Delhi? This was the SEVENTH!) It served as the Mughal Empire capital until a failed uprising against the British in 1857. At one point, up to 3,000 people lived in the fort complex.

Love those Mughal-style archways! This was the Diwan-i-Aam, a pavilion for public audiences with the emperor.

The Diwan-i-Khas was used for private audiences with the emperor.

Yes, yes, we know … we’re fabulous. But how many photos of sweaty foreigners do you really need?

For Theresa’s first full day in Delhi (March 26), it only made sense to visit the first city of Delhi: Lalkot, which dates to around 1060. Here, Delhi’s first sultan, Aibak, imposed Muslim rule and began construction of a mosque and tower that would proclaim Islam’s victory and domination. So why can you see Hindu architectural designs in the buildings? Watch this short UNESCO World Heritage video to find out!

The Qutub Minar, which stands about 238 feet high, is the main attraction at the Qutub Complex. Here are some interesting facts about the mosque and minaret, from the UNESCO website:

The Quwwatu’l-Islam mosque consists of a courtyard, cloisters, and a prayer hall. The high arched screen facing the prayer hall was added in the 14th century. The Qutb Minar is a column built from red and buff sandstone blocks rising to a height of 72.5 m, tapering from 2.75 m diameter at the top to 14.32 m at the base, making it the highest stone tower in India. In addition to its traditional use for calling the faithful to prayer, it also has a monumental purpose, since a later Nagari inscription calls it Alauld-Din’s ‘victory monument’ (Vijava-stambha). In its present form it consists of five storeys, the topmost of the original four storeys having been replaced by two storeys during the reign of Firuz Shah Tughluq. Each storey is separated from the next by highly decorated balconies, with pendentives and inscribed bands. The three earlier storeys are each decorated differently, the lowest being of alternating angular and rounded flutings, the second with rounded flutings alone, and the third with angular flutings alone; the same vertical alignment continues, however, through all three storeys. The whole structure was originally surmounted by a cupola, which fell during an earthquake and was replaced by a new cupola in late Mughal style in the early 19th century. This was so incongruous that it was removed in 1848 and now stands on the lawns to the south-east of the minaret.

This shot was taken from inside the mosque courtyard.

I enjoyed strolling around the complex with its manicured gardens, pockets of shady trees, pathways and historical markers. There was a sense of organization and peace, despite the big tour groups.

The tomb of Iltutmish, Aibak’s successor, was especially impressive with its elaborate Islamic carvings.

A pretty visitor to the tomb.

The Alai Minar was meant to be even taller than the Qutub Minar, but it was never finished.

Theresa and I paid a bit extra for an excellent audio tour of the complex. At designated historical spots along the path, we stopped, punched in the corresponding number, hit “play” and listened to detailed stories of life 800 years ago. I wish I could remember some of them…

Yikes, I just looked at that little calendar over there to the right of this post. See it? Whenever I post something, the date changes to brown. Until today, April had no brown dates. I haven’t written a single post this month!

Sometimes a dry spell stems from ennui. Work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep … my usual schedule often lacks substance worthy of a blog post. The last few weeks, however, blurred with activity and left little time to capture it all in writing. Faced with a few free hours for the first time this month, I am ready to make up for my excessive blog neglect.

In the weeks preceding our spring break, we made arrangements for three visitors:
* Tony’s sister Liz,
* Theresa, a friend from my old journalism days, and
* Flat William, a paper version of a friend’s son.

Liz had never traveled outside the U.S., and I worried that India might make her climb under the covers and refuse to leave the house. Theresa was a seasoned traveler, but her emails suggested an overbooked itinerary and I stressed that we would run ourselves ragged. But, surprisingly, Flat William was the most high-maintenance guest of all.

He never made any demands or complained about getting squashed in my backpack, but I felt a codependent, obsessive need to photograph him everywhere I went. Unfortunately, because of his reticence, he would sometimes stay buried in my bag while we toured an Indian hotspot, making me smack my forehead with frustration later when the realization hit. I entrusted him to Theresa’s care on her Rajasthan side trip, but I experienced three days of anxiety that she would lose him or forget to take pictures with him. (I had nightmares of the time my mom fed a Flat Friend through the paper shredder on accident.) Theresa did forget to snap him in front of the Taj Mahal, but at least he got to see it. I sent him home with Liz, who informed me yesterday that he was returned safely to his family. Whew!

Flat William hanging out with Ganesh at the American Embassy School, New Delhi.

For years, Tony has dreamed of his family visiting us overseas. Finally, he convinced his sister Liz to make the trip to India. When I told people this would be her first international journey, the incredulous responses often sounded something like this: “She lives in KANSAS? And she’s never been out of AMERICA? And she’s coming to INDIA?” I began to panic. I carefully crafted a list of “Delhi Light” sight-seeing excursions. In the weeks leading up to her visit, Tony and I often found ourselves in the midst of an oppressive Delhi crowd, glancing at each other nervously and saying, “OK, we won’t bring Liz HERE.” However, from the moment she stepped off the plane, Liz amazed and inspired me with her willingness to take risks, move far out of her comfort zone and reflect on the sensory overload of India. She barely rested during her week here, dragging Tony all over town to see the sights, making observations that were acute and full of compassion. Tony and I both feel deeply grateful for this time with Liz, and we’ll never underestimate her again!

Tony and Liz at the Taj Mahal.

Theresa and I worked at the American Academy of Family Physicians in Kansas City way back before I made the career switch to teaching. We hadn’t kept in touch much over the years, except through occasional emails, Face Book updates, and links to online photo albums. When she turned 40, she emailed and said she wanted to celebrate with an international vacation. We were living in Laos at the time, and although I do love that country, I felt compelled to say, “If you’re only going to take one big trip every 40 years, maybe you should pick a country with more on offer…” When Tony and I moved to India, she quickly proposed a visit. There’s no denying Incredible India has more on offer … maybe too much! As Theresa and I planned her trip via email, the biggest challenge was picking the places to go. Knowing Theresa was eager to see the Himalyas, I met with our travel agent at school, who pointed out certain destinations would still be blanketed with snow and unprepared for tourists in April. We finally settled on Dharamsala, home of the exiled Dalai Lama. Theresa packed a crazy amount of sight-seeing into her two-week visit and took about 47 million fabulous photos. Although whacked with a mysterious illness on the flight back to the States, she certainly made good use of her time here!

Theresa on the rooftop of Ashoka restaurant in McLeod Ganj with the Himalayas in the background.

It’s going to take me awhile to post everything we did during the last few weeks! But stay tuned…

As I write this, I’m sucking on a twig. I have no idea what it is, but my landlady (and downstairs neighbor) says it will help restore my voice. As we were leaving for Night Under the Stars, Alka greeted us and discovered my laryngitis. She quickly ran back into her house and returned with a baggie full of little sticks, some kind of Indian herb. A university professor, she said, “You know, my voice is my livelihood, so I have used this many times! Just suck on one until it loses flavor, and then start another.” I worried that the sticks might not mix well with red wine, so I saved them till this morning. So far – and I’m only only stick number one – I can attest to a soothing quality of the mild liquorice-flavor. Still no voice, though.
Breakfast of champions.

You know I couldn’t just suck on a stick without researching it first, right? Well, I actually started sucking and THEN started researching, but look what I found! As I suspected, the wood chip under my tongue is liquorice root, called “mulethi” here in India. According to the Speedy Remedies website, this little stick can cure just about anything, from bad breath to genital herpes. Laryngitis? We shall see.

Jangling bangles, swirling skirts, glittering bindis and big smiles set the stage for a gala evening yesterday at Night Under the Stars, an annual fundraiser staged by our school’s PTA. Indian drummers greeted guests on a candle-lit path past a pink-draped tent photo-opp and down to the AES field, where sponsors’ booths ringed the dinner tables and Mughal Empire-themed props set the mood.

As we lingered in the courtyard next to the field, a school employee quickly pushed me away from a dia that threatened to send my lehenga up in flames. The little traditional candles posed a serious fire hazard to those of us dressed in floor-grazing elegance! However, it was hard to focus on fire prevention while gawking at everyone arriving at the party. Just one formally clad mannequin in a store window here can take your breath away; imagine hundreds of people sashaying by in an unimaginable range of silken styles and colors. The men, in general, wore interesting but understated costumes or suits, but the women stole the show. Rhinestone-encrusted tops and full heavy skirts. Glimpses of skin under carefully draped shimmering saris. Bare-backed anarkalis with fitted bodices that flared into golden trim. Dramatic make-up and hair ornaments dripping with jewels. Delicate dupatta scarves tossed over shoulders. We kept telling each other, “You look so beautiful!” because everyone honestly did.

The visual feast served as a great distraction from my lingering cold and laryngitis. We mingled, enjoyed a nice dinner and even got Tony out on the dance floor. Truly a special night.

This is how we got to the party. No, not really.

AES Director Bob Hetzel gets thronged by the ladies.

Tony shunned a turban for his suit, but you know I love to break out the fancy costumes!

That’s our table in the foreground.

It is NOT easy to dance in these clothes.

Prop du jour: cowboy hat, courtesy of Laura Pitale, another AES teacher.

More shots from NUTS.

For our date-night dinner Thursday, Tony and I went to a wonderful restaurant in the historic Mehrauli District. We called a taxi from our neighborhood stand and got picked up by Mr. Kapoor (not to be confused with the Kapoor who drives us to school every day). As we inched along in traffic, Mr. Kapoor couldn’t resist judging us.
“Most people go out on Friday or Saturday,” he said.
“That’s true,” I admitted.
“This restaurant is very far. Are you meeting people there?” asked Mr. Kapoor.
“No, it’s just us,” Tony answered.
Did we really have to justify our mid-week excursion to a taxi driver? Did he really want to hear that we have made a commitment to spending time together on a school night once a week? It was funny but also annoying.

I had felt a cold coming on, and sure enough, during our date my voice went from normal … to Kim Carnes-esque sultry … to gone. Within two hours, I had completely lost my voice. I contemplated texting in sick on Friday, but I knew several of my colleagues were out, and substitute teachers are hot commodities. I showed up, skipped my in-class support lessons and taught a whispery EAL class before taking off early. Outside the school gate, I walked the short distance to a taxi stand and climbed into a taxi van. The driver called out my address, which was a relief since I couldn’t speak. (We take taxis home every day, so most of these drivers know where we live.) About halfway home, I spotted something that snapped me out of my head-cold haze.

The dashboard components had been ripped out, and wiring hung down around the driver’s feet.

Devoid of needles, the gauges were useless. I was riding in the equivalent of a motorized tin can.

When we arrived at my house, I made several universal gestures of confusion – shrugged shoulders, hands outstretched, crunched up forehead and questioning smile – and then swept my arm toward the dangling wires.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why,” he replied.

I decided to interpret his answer as a powerful commentary on our life choices. Rather than assume the obvious (that the driver didn’t speak English), I am choosing to believe it was a sign.

Why? Why, indeed?
Why do we put up with this silliness? Why worry so much about transportation? Why panic when I can’t find a taxi to take me home after school? Why ride in a bone-rattling death trap? Why wonder if the driver is drunk, crazy or simply reckless? Why stress about getting stranded somewhere?

So that was a long, convoluted way of announcing … we bought a car!

We won’t take possession till the end of the school year (the seller is a departing AES teacher), but I already feel a sense of relief. Even better, we are hiring the driver who works for the car’s current owner.

Ahhhh … freedom.