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On the Road

Keeping it mellow in Bangkok

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You know your life is getting weirder by the minute when you’re actually BORED at the prospect of blogging about Bangkok. Tony and I tried to figure out how many times we’ve been there, but we keep losing count. Still, I love it.

We skipped out of India for last weekend’s Diwali holiday, heading to Thailand for our annual medical check-ups. For a TMI version of a typical day at Bumrungrad Hospital, check out my post from 2009. Our most recent visit was very similar. Same hospital pajamas. Same checklist. Almost the same results. All good.

I had two shopping goals for this trip: a new camera and a bike trainer (a stand that converts a bicycle into a stationary bike). We spent a full day traipsing around to every major camera store in town with no luck. I just couldn’t find what I was looking for. We did, however, track down ProBike, a nice cycling store near Lumphini Park and, more importantly, near the relocated Crepes & Co. (We had sweated our way to the OLD Crepes & Co., only to find a sign saying it moved. Dang it.) Certain the bike shop would deliver my trainer to the hotel, I had envisioned making the purchase and then strolling around the neighborhood before enjoying dinner at Crepes & Co.

Good news: I found the trainer I wanted, and it was on sale!
Bad news: The store wouldn’t deliver it.
Good news: We found a taxi willing to drive around the block to the restaurant, where we had a delicious meal.
Bad news: It would have taken hours to get back to our hotel by taxi, so we had to haul the heavy trainer a few blocks and up a LOT of stairs to the Skytrain.
Good news: Tony did it!

As always in this city of 8 million people, we ran into a few friends – at Chatachuk Market, on the Skytrain AND at the hospital.

Chatachuk Market, one of my favorite places in the WORLD, was amazing, as usual, but it’s always discouraging when the shopkeepers give you the once-over and say, “Come in my shop! I have big size!”

Massages are another highlight of visits to Bangkok. We can get Thai massages in India for about $25, but in Bangkok a good hour-long massage will run you about $8. Such a great way to re-energize after a long hot day of exploring. Lek Massage was a little hole-in-the-wall place right next to our hotel. The ladies were friendly, but not TOO friendly, if you know what I mean. I got what was probably the best foot massage of my life one evening, and we decided to get full-body Thai massages the next day. For Thai massage, you dress in fisherman pants and a loose top, provided by the salon. Tony couldn’t figure out how to secure the huge waistband, so he called out to the massage therapist. He thought she would gesture the answer to his question, but instead she grabbed the top of his pants, whipped them right down to his ankles and THEN gestured that they were on backwards. Good thing he kept on his underpants!

Another funny moment made us feel really old. Vendors selling anything and everything set up along Sukhumvit Road, catering to the mobs of tourists who stay in this district. One night, we passed a stall selling “oral jelly.” We had no idea what it was.
“Isn’t ALL jelly oral?” Tony asked. “You eat jelly with your mouth.”
We speculated a lot about what it could be, and since the vendor selling it was also selling Viagra and sex toys, we figured it wasn’t strawberry jam.
Back at the hotel, we googled it. Turns out “oral jelly” is like Viagra in the form of Listerine strips. It comes in myriad flavors.
“Guess which flavor I want?” Tony asked.
“Chocolate,” I said.
“No.”
“Butterscotch,” I said.
“Yes!”
“Don’t you really just want butterscotch CANDY?” I asked.
“Yes.”

So, our whole weekend basically comprised eating, shopping, getting massages and lounging around. Our new favorite place to lounge: rooftop bars. We met some friends at Red Sky, a bar on the 55th floor of the Centara Grand Hotel (attached to Siam Paragon Mall). Getting there took forever, as we didn’t take the most direct route. We actually went up 23 floors on ESCALATORS before we found the elevator! Ridiculous.

We loved Above Eleven, on the 33rd floor of the Fraser Suites hotel.
Here’s Tony, enjoying the view. Remember, I don’t have a camera. These are phone snaps.
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Bangkok is so quiet and pretty from up high!
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This street-level converted VW Bus bar was also very cool.
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These stickers were in our taxi back to the airport on Sunday.
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As I wrote on FaceBook: Dang it, just when I was all ready for some post-coital durian fruit with a glass of whiskey and a smoke while petting my German shepherd and using a sword to whittle my initials in a big-horn sheep skull… How’s a girl supposed to have any fun in this town?

Just kidding, of course. We ALWAYS have fun in this town!

Daily Life, India

Tibetan spiritual leader tells students in search of peace: Just relax

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The most important Tibetan spiritual leader, after the Dalai Lama, visited our school today as part of our Peace and Global Citizens initiatives. His Holiness the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa arrived with little pomp and sat in the theatre, answering questions from students. Born into a family of nomads in Tibet, Ogyen Trinley Dorje was recognized as the 17th Karmapa as a young child. In 1999, at the age of 14, he left Tibet to meet the exiled Dalai Lama and other teachers in India.

According to the website kagyu.org,

In the case of an enlightened being, rebirths are taken consciously, motivated by a desire to benefit all living beings and made possible by the depth and clarity of an individual’s realization. The first such reincarnation (tulku) was recognized in thirteenth-century Tibet. His name was the Gyalwa Karmapa, “The Victorious One of Enlightened Activity.” Thereafter, he continued to return, generation after generation, until the present seventeenth Karmapa. The Karmapa is said to embody the activity of all the buddhas of the past, present, and future. Citing ancient texts, traditional histories trace his lives back for eons and continue it forward into the distant future.

The Karmapa held several Q&A sessions with students from all grade levels; I attended his session with some middle school kids. The Karmapa leaned forward in his chair to address the students, carefully mulling over each question.

One student asked, “What is the most important value of the Tibetan culture?” The Karmapa responded in a low voice, interspersed with English words, and shared with the audience by a translator, Sister Damcho, an American who lives in a Dharamsala nunnery and frequently works with the Karmapa. “The life that we live is a pretty simple life,” she quoted. “We put at the center of our life altruism, the wish to benefit others. We’re pretty direct and straightforward. I think if you look at Tibetan culture, the most important values at the center of our culture are loving kindness and compassion, and we develop these feelings not just for other human beings but for all forms of life. Whatever we do, whatever activities we engage in, whatever studies we do, we always try to put the value of other beings in the center.”

He was open about neither choosing nor necessarily having fun in his role as Karmapa. In response to the question, “How did you decide to be a Karmapa?” he shook his head and laughed. “Decide?”
Sister Damcho translated: “So actually, I did not decide to be a Karmapa. In the west, people have a lot of choice and generally you decide what you want to study and when you finish your studies, you decide what job or career you want to have, but that was not the case with me. When I was 8 years old, I was just a normal boy. I played with other kids. I had a normal boy’s life. Then some people came and they told me, ‘You’re the Karmapa.’ At that time, I didn’t even understand what the Karmapa was … I thought, if I’m the Karmapa, I’ll probably get a lot of toys. I found out later being a Karmapa is not all that fun. It’s a lot of work and a lot of responsibility and a lot of studying. So becoming the Karmapa was not something I decided. It was more like something that just fell from the sky.”

My favorite bit of advice was the Karmapa’s response to the question, “What can we do to maintain peace?”
“We have so many different things that we’re constantly doing, and there are all these changes going on all the time, so it’s really not that easy, is it? I would say, to put it simply, just relax. Just relax and stay quiet. Generally speaking, this is a difficult question. For you, as kids, to be able to make peace, maybe don’t make it too complicated. Make it simple. Just relax.”

Arriving at AES, the Karmapa gets mobbed by the paparazzi (aka our director, principals and other interested onlookers).
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Getting escorted to the theatre.
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Speaking to the students.
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I feel privileged and grateful today for my school and its commitment to fostering peace. What an honor to share a bit of time with this humble man.

Daily Life, India

Oh, say can you see … how weird Delhi is?

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Not too far from my neighborhood, there’s a fab Japanese restaurant, Kylin, that offers an amazing deal on an upscale Sunday lunch. We celebrated my friend Nancy’s birthday at Kylin last weekend. As we gorged on tempura, satay, tasty salads and dim sum, we jammed to 80s rock, techno dance tracks, mellow flute-y tunes and other random musical selections blasting from their loudspeakers. Nothing distracted us from socializing … until THIS! As you can see, the Canadians at our table are thrilled. Peter tried to interject “O Canada” to no avail, and you can hear his daughter ask, “Is this their national anthem?” I’m sure the waiters thought a table of expats would appreciate the “Star Spangled Banner,” never mind their nationalities.
Just a typical day in New Delhi.

Daily Life, India

Dastkar Nature Bazaar – my first mela of the season

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Woo hoo! It’s mela season in New Delhi!

“Mela” is a Sanskrit word meaning “gathering,” and it’s used to describe all kinds of get-togethers in India. One upcoming mela is the Kumbh Mela, held every twelve years. More than 60 million people gathered in January 2001, making it the largest gathering anywhere in the world, according to Wikipedia. I’m skipping that one for obvious reasons (although some of my friends are going). The melas I’m excited about are big markets of handicrafts, home decor, clothing, food and random tchochkes. I’ve even planned my parents’ visit to India around my favorite New Delhi mela in February.

Nearly everything produced in India stimulates at least one of the senses. Silky soft scarves, quirky colorful bags, organic oils and soaps, music for chillaxing, and all sorts of tantalizing treats. (Much of the time, India OVERstimulates our senses–particularly with sounds and smells–but the melas are much more pleasant than daily life. I’m digressing…)

This morning, I drove to the Dastkar Nature Bazaar (almost 10 kilometers, the farthest I’ve driven in Delhi so far, by the way) with my friend Nancy. We arrived just as the mela was opening, so we enjoyed a peaceful stroll through the booths. The Dastkar organization does good work in this country to support and promote Indian crafts.
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I still haven’t bought a new camera, and whenever I took out my phone to take pictures, I set it down at a booth and nearly forgot to take it. So eventually I stopped shooting. Anyway, here’s what I got.
Pretty ceramics.
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Dangly things in a doorway seem to be good luck here, so you see them everywhere. I love them.
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These little magnets of Indian men and women cracked us up, but we had an even bigger laugh when we saw they were stuck on a Hannah Montana board.
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Vendors enjoying a snack.
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I spent a LOT of money at this booth. The dried fruit and other snacks are so delish! Does anyone need any Hing Goli?
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This guy demonstrated how to decorate wooden spoon handles with lacquer designs. He stuck the dowel in a little lathe and spun it with a sort of bow while rubbing lacquer on the wood. Every time I watch someone make something, I feel compelled to buy it. Savvy craftsman!
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Nancy and I shopped so much, we had to make a trip to the car halfway through our mela circuit to unload some of our bags. Speaking of the car, getting out of the parking lot was no small feat. Let’s just say a tree, a tuk-tuk and a man sorting garbage were all involved. It worked out though, and with Nancy as my trusty navigator, I actually got us home with no problems.

The next mela is next week! Again, woo hoo!

Daily Life, India

Dengue Fever – no dang fun

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This is the (insert string of expletives here) type of mosquito that infected me with Dengue Fever and made the last two weeks so miserable.
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Check out the World Health Organization fact sheet on dengue for lots of fascinating facts, like these: The Aedes aegypti mosquito lives in urban habitats and breeds mostly in man-made containers. Unlike other mosquitoes Ae. aegypti is a daytime feeder; its peak biting periods are early in the morning and in the evening before dusk. Female Ae. aegypti bites multiple people during each feeding period.

I know exactly where and when the little bastard got me. I was just sitting down to dinner with two girlfriends at one of my favorite little restaurants in the funky Hauz Khas neighborhood when I felt the suspicious itch of a new mosquito bite on my ankle. Just as predicted by WHO, symptoms started about a week later. As usual, I had doused myself in mosquito repellant, joking that I was statistically more likely to get DEET poisoning than any mosquito-borne tropical illness. I double-jinxed myself with the stupid quip that dengue would make a cool blog post. Let me make it clear up front that the opportunity to share my first-hand account of dengue in NO WAY redeems the experience.

Here’s how it played out.
Sunday, Oct. 14, I was goofing around at my computer, when suddenly, my back felt like someone had just bashed it with a lead pipe. It came on that fast. One second, I was sitting up tall, feeling fine. The next second, I was crumpled on the bed. Dengue is sometimes called “broken bone disease,” and now I know why. If any part of my body made contact with any surface, the pain was unbearable. I couldn’t lie down or even sit in a cushy chair, but I didn’t have the strength to hold myself upright. It truly felt like all my bones were broken. That lasted for two days.

My temperature hovered around 102 degrees for several days, but I thought I was well enough by Thursday, Oct. 18, to attend parent conferences at school. I muddled through four meetings and then conceded I wasn’t strong enough to return for the next day’s conferences. I contacted Martin, the phlebotomist recommended by our school, who came to my house to take blood for the dengue test. It came back negative, and another test two days later also returned a negative report. Our school doctor suggested I might just have some random virus.

On Friday, a couple new symptoms started. A rash blanketed my chest and back but didn’t bother me too much. However, the palms of my hands felt like electrical worms were burrowing around, causing spastic jolts of intense burning. Ice packs provided the only relief, but you can’t just cling to ice. It gets too cold, and you have to take a break. But the minute I would let go, the stabs of fire would start again. Even if I held on for dear life, the ice eventually melted, and I had to get out of bed to put the packs back in the freezer. I spent two sleepless nights sobbing with fiery hands.

The middle school play took my mind off my symptoms for a few hours on Friday and Saturday. I had organized the make-up crew, but because of my illness I had missed the dress rehearsal. I know they would have been just fine without me, but I couldn’t stand to skip the shows. Friday, I helped the make-up crew set up their supplies, and I stuck around till the curtain call to supervise their work and clean-up. By Saturday, I knew I wasn’t up for a repeat performance. I trudged in for the matinee, got the group started and then headed home before intermission. From all accounts it went fine, but I felt so frustrated not to participate 100 percent.

A week after the symptoms started, I dragged myself out of the house for a second opinion. I visited the office of Dr. Chawla, a gentle Sikh physician, who gave me hard-core antihistamines to stop the electric worms and administered another blood test, which came back positive for dengue. He phoned me later and warned that my blood platelets were low, so I returned to his office on Monday for more blood work. Fortunately, that test showed my platelets rebounding.

During the first 10 days or so, I couldn’t even sit up in bed. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t check my email. I tried to FaceTime and Skype with friends and family, but I couldn’t hold up the iPad for more than a few minutes, and the constant headache behind my eyes made conversation uncomfortable. I had to force myself to eat and drink. At one point, I slept for about 18 hours. Tony came home from work and had trouble rousing me.

Now, two weeks later, I have minor burning in my hands and my energy level is nearly nonexistent. I can’t imagine how I’ll get up for school tomorrow after missing two weeks. The crazy thing is I had a fairly MILD case of dengue! We have friends here and in Laos who suffered far, far worse symptoms than I had. My parents had a driver in Saudi Arabia, whose young daughter died of dengue in Sri Lanka. I escaped relatively unscathed.

As of yesterday, New Delhi had reported 835 cases of dengue, including two deaths, this year so far. The “dengue season” generally extends from the end of the monsoon in September, when standing water provides prime mosquito breeding areas, until temperatures drop enough to discourage mosquito reproduction, which should be in the next few weeks.

There is no vaccine or cure, although Indians offer plenty of ayurvedic treatments for the symptoms. For example, I am drinking liquified papaya tree leaves each morning in the hopes it will restore my strength. It’s worth a shot!

Daily Life, India

You can dress her up, but you can’t take her out

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The last fun experience I had (before dengue smacked me down) combined two of my favorite things: Canadians and Thanksgiving!
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The 2012 Canadian Thanksgiving Ball took place Oct. 13 at the home of the Canadian High Commissioner in New Delhi. The annual event raises money for CanAssist, a local fundraising society that supports organizations and groups working to promote the self-sufficiency of women and children through health and educational initiatives.

Despite a bruised toe that prompted a last-minute exchange of my stunning 5-inch Steve Maddens for a pair of bejeweled flats, I still enjoyed puttin’ on the ritz. Formal events in India get eclectic with western-style gowns mixed with elegant saris, tuxedos mingling with beaded kurtas. An occasional kilt and/or red dinner jacket lent a true Canadian vibe.
Posers at the entrance.
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So elegant.
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Token Canadians at our table.
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Lovely ladies.
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Bustin’ a move.
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I did learn a valuable lesson on this night. Well, it’s a lesson I’ve “learned” many times but haven’t seemed to actually internalize. Here it is: You can’t slam glass after glass of champagne, eat everything on the buffet table (including all six desserts) and then immediately pounce out to the dance floor to flaunt your most spectacular moves in front of a massive fan to AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long.” Especially when you’re wearing heavy Indian earrings.

Unfortunately, the belly bouncing took its toll, so I headed home, nauseated and with very sore earlobes, well before midnight. I could blame Dengue Fever, which hit me with full force the following afternoon, but I’m sure it was the second piece of pumpkin pie. Or maybe the chocolate torte.

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada!

Daily Life, India

Wacky wall painting brings smiles to all who enter

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This is the first time I’ve sat up at my computer for more than 10 minutes since I was smacked in the face with Dengue Fever. I’ll write more about that experience later, but I figure I’ve got the strength to crank out one post, and I want to show you our spectacular wall painting.

Browsing at the Surajkund Mela last February, I enjoyed everything the handicrafts fair had to offer. I was especially attracted to Madhubani Painting, a colorful 2-dimensional folk art from the Indian state of Bihar. Many artists had their work on display, but I was drawn to the paintings of Sarita Devi, whose card listed a studio not far from our Delhi home.

After the furniture delivery debacle that gouged up our foyer wall a few months ago, I dug out Sarita Devi’s card and wrote an email asking if she would be interested in painting our wall. Someone with broken English wrote back with a collection of paintings to consider. I picked my favorite parts of several different paintings and then invited the artist to visit our home.

Thinking Sarita Devi was coming, I was surprised to get a phone call from a young man asking, “Please tell me the landmark to find your house.” I tried to explain, but that phrase was apparently the extent of his English. Ultimately, I walked a couple blocks to meet him at a restaurant. Two men – early 20s, I guessed – approached me. “Are you …?” I didn’t want to plant the seed if these were just random men, but one of them finally finished my sentence. “We are from Mithila Madhubani Painting.” OK.
“So, are you the artist?” I asked one of the boys.
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you also an artist?” I asked the other.
“Yes,” he said.
I think I could have asked anything, and they would have said, “yes.”
“Umm… I thought Sarita Devi was coming,” I said.
“Yes, my mother,” said one of the boys, whose name was Neeraj.
At my house, Neeraj looked at the printouts of the paintings, and I showed him the wall to be painted.
Tony and I tried with minimal success to discuss the project with the two young men. We figured out Neeraj’s friend was along as a translator, but his English was only marginally better than my nonexistent Hindi. I couldn’t help wondering if these guys were actually just casing our apartment (expat paranoia often steps in to fill the void created by an insurmountable language barrier). Ultimately, we scheduled another visit for a time when my housekeeper Raji would be there. That visit turned out to be more fruitful. Raji clarified our expectations and helped create a schedule for the artists.

Sarita Devi, Neeraj, and usually two or three others crouched in our narrow foyer for up to 10 hours a day, sketching and painting the elaborate scene. One day I got an email from Neeraj asking if they could add some squirrels. Why not?

Tony and I loved coming home every day to see what they had accomplished. The whole painting took 10 days.
They did a great job working around this ugly light switch and the clunky doorbell.
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That’s Sarita Devi in the back, painting with her daughter.
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The artists pose with the finished wall. Sarita Devi with her three kids, Deepa, Ashish and Neeraj.
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This is what you see when you walk in our front door.
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One of the squirrels. Ha!
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Love the fish.
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The pink circles are nests, and the jellybeans are actually mangoes. “It’s a mango tree,” Neeraj explained.
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He pointed to this black bird and said, “Crow.” Pointing to the two fancy birds in the middle, he said, “Peacock.” When I asked about all the other birds, he pointed to each one and said, “Bird, bird, bird.” Ohhhhh … duh.
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The light switch practically disappeared into the scene!
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Sarita Devi signed the wall with her name, the date and … phone number.
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We know we can’t take this artwork with us when we leave India (although we have the mock-up painting on paper). However, every time we come home to our Delhi apartment, that crazy wall of whimsy makes us smile.

Daily Life, India

Celebrating 20 years with an imperial anniversary

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In an unprecedented splurge, Tony and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary this weekend with two nights at the Imperial Hotel in New Delhi. We relaxed, soaked up the decadence, and ate and ate and ate. I actually gained two kilos in two days.

The hotel brought a little cake to our room, but I never even took a bite. There were too many other yummy temptations!
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Friday night, we dined at Spice Route. It was named one one of the top 10 restaurants in the world by Condé Nast Traveler. All I know is the meal ranks among the top 10 in my life. Here’s the description from the hotel’s website. I really couldn’t say it any better:

Heralded as one of the top ten restaurants in the world by Condé Nast Traveler, The Spice Route is poetry in design. The renowned restaurant mesmerizes all your senses enrapturing you with its sensuous exotica. Designed by Rajeev Sethi, the celebrated cultural czar of India, The Spice Route reflects the journey of spices from the Malabar Coast in Kerala through Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Malaysia, and Indonesia to Thailand and Vietnam. The restaurant is an overwhelming visual depiction of the art and culture that travelled with the spices through these regions, presented in a folk, religious and cultural fantasy of the Orient. The Restaurant, that was seven years in the making, is completely hand painted with vegetable and flower dyes by mural painters brought in especially from a temple in Guruvayur in Kerala with a tradition dating back to 3000 years. Designed on the principles of Feng Shui, The Spice Route is a treasure trove of antiques and is divided into nine different sections, each depicting part of the journey of life. Besides the stunning décor, The Spice Route boasts a menu that ensnares the taste buds of a seasoned food connoisseur. The Spice Route Courtyard transports the guests to the wonderful world of Southeast Asia. Adorned with traditional Thai sculptures from the Chiang Mai region in northern Thailand, the Courtyard is a visual spectacle. A picture perfect water body with floating candles and thoughtfully strewn petals forms the center of the Courtyard. The far end of the pavilion has traditional Khantok seating for six under an Oriental pagoda.

I tried to take photos, but it was too dark. This photo is from the hotel’s website.
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Here’s a pic of the set menu we enjoyed. Can you spot the typo? Doh!
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On Saturday, we gorged at the stunning buffet breakfast. I was still so full from our late dinner that I couldn’t fully take advantage of all the delicacies on display. I skipped the fresh bread, soft cheeses and thinly sliced meats altogether! That’s not like me. To avoid a repeat of this poor performance, we planned our day accordingly. No lunch. Late afternoon high tea. No dinner.

In a vain attempt to burn some calories, we went for a walk around the neighborhood and stumbled on the Jantar Mantar. The name rang a bell, but I had no idea it was a collection of structures used as astronomy instruments in the 1700s. So fascinating! Right in the heart of the city. I love this kind of stuff.

Here’s the scoop on Jantar Mantar from the website Delhi Capital.

Jantar Mantar is also called Delhi Observatory. It is maintained by the Jaipur government because it was built by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II of Jaipur (in 1727). It is a remarkable structure which consists of fourteen geometric devices used for measuring time, forecasting weather changes, predicting behaviour of planets and finding extraterrestrial altitude. All these devices are fixed structures and point to a specific direction. The largest device or instrument is the Samrat Jantar which is 90 feet high and its shadow is plotted in such a manner so that is shows the exact time of the day. Any weather change or the onset of monsoons can be ascertained by the Hindu Chhatri, which is a small domed structure. The whole structure is made of stone and marble with each of then having an engraved astronomical scale. Jantar Mantar finally got the status of a national monument in 1948. It has always attracted architects, historians and scientists from all over the world. Maharaja Jai Singh was a fanatical astronomer himself who studied various works from Hindu, Muslim and European astronomy. He had the perception that the tables used by the pundits were deceptive and the actual planetary changes and predictions of eclipses would not have been possible through these measuring parameters. So he thought that he would find an improved and efficient means through which exact prediction could be made. It was his own inspiration and foresightedness that gave shape to such an instrument. He built other observatories at Jaipur, Ujjain, Benares and Mathura to have an exact calculation. It took almost seven years before the whole structure was fully operational because he wanted to be fully satisfied with the accuracy of the instruments at Jantar Mantar.

I also found an interesting pdf compiled by a Cornell University professor. You can link to it here.

I had to skip out for a few hours and snap back to reality: Middle School play practice. I’m one of the make-up crew coordinators, so I drove to school, did my part, and then zipped back to the Imperial, where the formally clad doorman with a handlebar mustache greeted me: “Welcome home, madam.” I wish.

Delhi’s temperatures continue to climb into the mid-90s, so Tony and I took a refreshing dip in the expansive blue-tiled pool. Lounging in the shade, we watched weary tourists climb out of their buses to snap photos of our historic hotel, making us feel even more grateful for the opportunity to stay there.

High tea was a highlight of the weekend. Sunlight flooded the hotel’s atrium, where we sat on wicker chairs with thick orange cushions and sipped sea from fine china. Elegant white vases with a single bird-of-paradise graced each table. The buffet featured mini muffins, scones with jam and clotted cream and typical teatime treats, but we also loaded up our plates with goat cheese samosas, bruschetta with prosciutto ham and artichoke hearts, mini sandwiches with chorizo, and other savories.
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Sunday morning’s breakfast buffet was bittersweet. We lingered as long as we could, but there was no denying the end of our fairytale weekend. Lately we’ve spent a lot of time pondering our 20-plus years together and marveling at all we have done and seen. Sometimes we start to reminisce about an adventure and it takes both our memories to fully reconstruct the experience. There have been countless ridiculous inside jokes, so much laughter, but also tears as we have leaned on each other in times of unfathomable heartache. Our travels have brought us closer together and oftentimes pushed us apart, but we always find our way home. I treasure our history together, and I happily add this Imperial weekend to my scrapbook of memories.

Daily Life, India

Juggling juxtapositions in Hauz Khas Village

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Time Out Delhi, a weekly magazine about the goings-on around town, ran a small story this week on a new gelato truck that parks in one of my favorite neighborhoods – Hauz Khas Village. I already enjoy poking around the HKV shops and checking out the trendy restaurants. Now there’s a gelato truck? Say no more. I had a plan for my Sunday afternoon.

After memorizing the google map, I felt confident I could drive there. (It’s just 15 minutes and two left turns from my ‘hood.) Katrina and Tony patiently rode along, gently encouraging me for the most part. Only HKV residents can park in the community, so we found a spot on the street and walked uphill into the jumbled mess of trendiness. I searched in vain for the gelato truck. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up!

At first glance, HKV looks more like a crumbling slum than one of Delhi’s most affluent, artsy, hipster destinations. Like mismatched stacked legos, the buildings rise up precariously and jut out into the path at odd angles. Electrical wires snake across the outer walls, meet in massive tangled balls and trail off in various directions. Tiny retail spaces wedge into dark alleys with haute couture boutiques side-by-side with ramshackle kitschy knick-knack shops.

Walking from the car to the restaurant, we passed the flagship store for one of India’s premier designers; tentatively hopped over a stream of sewage; trekked down a steep path lined with art galleries and hobbit-sized shops selling hand-made paper products, high-end baby clothes, jewelry, antique furniture and Bollywood posters; admired the graffiti in an empty lot full of broken glass and scrap metal; sidestepped a pile of dog doo (which some good Samaritan later covered with a piece of plywood); cringed when water dripped on us from above (… just assume it’s from at air conditioner …); and finally stepped in to the Grey Garden, a teeny eatery with room for 12 patrons and a little kitchen. Hard to believe such a nasty path could lead to such a cool spot.
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After a refreshing summer salad, thin-crust pizza and lemonade, we set our sights on some Hauz Khas history.
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Indeed, this funky metropolis overlooks the ruins of a medieval city. The area’s name – “Hauz Khas” in Urdu – translates to “royal reservoir” and stems from the large water tank first dug in the 13th century. It eventually dried up but was rebuilt by 14th-century Emperor Feroz Shah Tughlaq, who is also buried here.
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In 1352, Feroz Shah established a “madrasa” or Islamic university, which was staffed with “scholars of note” and attracted the brightest students. Today, students continue to flock here, but mostly just to canoodle in the ancient doorways overlooking the lake.
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Tony was too nervous to canoodle when he saw the drop-off.
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Climbing around above the reservoir.
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Katrina and I wanted to stroll lakeside a bit to see the ruins from below. To reach the reservoir, we could have jumped off a high stone wall and then climbed over a spiked gate (like many of the locals) or walked a little out of the way to an access path. We chose the latter plan, although it meant we had to edge along a narrow wall to avoid stepping in the sewage stream. Down by the water, we shot a few photos, dodged a few monkeys and then climbed back up the hill to meet Tony.
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After reuniting with Tony, we were heading to the car when something caught my eye and made me jump with glee. The gelato truck! We met Michael, the genius Italian guy behind Gelato Roma, and expressed our enthusiasm for his new business. We eagerly picked out our flavors – I had chocolate, roasted almond and lemon sorbet.
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Parked next to the gelato truck was another snack stand: corn. Ummm … no, thank you. I’m pretty sure this kid is saying, “Stupid gelato truck, stealing all my business.”
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For more info on HKV, check out these articles.
New York Times Travel, 2011
CNN-GO, 2011
Wikipedia’s take on the ruins

Daily Life, India

Art, tree talk, ancient ruins and laundry – strolling near Mandi House

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To kick off our 4-day weekend, I hooked up with my go-to gal for walking tours – Surekha of Delhi Metro Walks. Yesterday’s tour started near Mandi House, Delhi’s cultural hub. Surekha introduced us to an area of town that glittered with art, theatre and innovative architecture in the 1950s. We meandered down quiet shady lanes, making note of the many museums, art galleries, performance venues and other cultural attractions, many of which helped to bring Delhi into the modern era. My favorite spots on this walking tour were most definitely NOT modern, but I’ll save the best for last.

I bet you don’t think of scenes like THIS when you picture New Delhi! Wide sidewalks free of dogs, cows and monkeys – such a treat.
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Allow me a short vent about how frustrating it is that most Delhi cultural outlets do NOT have their own website. It takes a LOT of legwork to find out what’s going on at these places. Nevertheless, based on the walking tour, here are newly added items on my to-to list:
* Shriram Bharatiya Kala Kendra, a Delhi cultural institution, has staged the Ramlila every autumn since 1957, telling the story of Ram through music, dance and drama. According to the organization’s website, “The story of Ram has been handed down to us as ‘the conquest of good over evil’. Ram’s life consists of a multitude of episodes where his divinity and compassion come forth. It is time to lift the subtle but impregnable veil that lies between the divine and us, thereby making our own lives more meaningful.”

* Triveni Kala Sangam, a center for arts education, performance and exhibition, is housed in a historic building designed by American architect Joseph Stein. With several galleries and auditoriums, a sculpture garden and terrace cafe, it’s a place worthy of lingering.

* A Hindustan Times article from last year described the Shri Ram Centre for Performing Arts as “one of the most prominent cultural organisations of the Capital.” It offers up plays in both Hindi and English, so I’ll have to keep an eye out for an English-language production. The building, designed by Indian architect Shiv Nath Prasad, was inspired by the poured-concrete modernism of the West in the late ’60s and early ’70s and is considered innovative for its seemingly gravity-defying cylindrical base topped with an overhanging rectangle. Although not necessarily attractive, the performing arts center was especially meaningful for me in that Tony’s father was a successful architect in Kansas City during the same era and designed precisely the same style of buildings!

* Safdar Hashmi Memorial Trust honors Safdar Hashmi, a political activist and actor who was murdered while performing a street play in 1989. This organization actually DOES have a website: sahmat.org, which explains that SAHMAT promotes performances, exhibitions, book publications, posters, audio recordings, and so on to “uphold the values of secularism and cultural pluralism … and to underline the concept of unity in diversity of the Indian nation and the people.”

Surekha (and many of her groupies) love discussing the local flora, so she often pauses the walking tour to consult her Trees of Delhi book and share the wisdom. I know this is a genuine passion for many people, and I do appreciate the presence of so much green in this big city; I just don’t need to know the names of everything. I’d rather spend more time on the history and the culture. Anyway, here’s a cool tree we talked about. No, I don’t remember its name.
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OK, I have to admit this tree is pretty amazing. A wee part of me wishes I had paid attention when Surekha identified it.
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I remember that this one was the Sandpaper Tree, and sure enough, Kathleen said, “Its leaves feel sandpapery!”
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Another interesting stop on the tour was a former palace built by a Bahawalpur prince in 1937. Now home to the National School of Dance and other offices, the white-washed palace stands strong, but the once impressive gardens were sacrificed to the city’s growing metro system.
Katrina rests and enjoys a view of the metro construction site.
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Surekha shares the history of the building and efforts to conserve it.
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A cobbled-together Shiva shrine at the site.
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After an introduction to modern Delhi’s cultural scene, we walked through a gate and back in time for a rest stop at Agrasen ki Baoli, a 14th-century step well.
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Perched at the top of 103 steep steps, we enjoyed cookies and tea poured by the local chai wallah.
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Surekha explained that during her last visit to the baoli, she ran into her friend’s driver and asked, “What are you doing here?” He was flustered and clearly didn’t want to say. Then she noticed her friend’s son selling chai. He had apparently quit his job to start his chai business and then struck a deal with his mother’s driver – a ride to work in exchange for free tea. So Surekha struck her own deal – she’ll keep her mouth closed in exchange for tea breaks for her tour groups.

With Connaught Place – Delhi’s high-rise financial and commercial district – in the background, the historic baoli offered a beautiful juxtaposition.
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Our posse – Katrina, Nancy, me, Beth, Kathleen.
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Leaving the baoli, we had walked only a short distance when we started to see bed sheets and clothes drying in the streets.
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I knew we were getting close to the Devi Prasad Sadan Dhobi Ghat, an open-air laundromat where washermen – called dhobis – wash clothes and linens for local hotels, businesses and families. I had been looking forward to this all day!

Various styles of wash basins filled the courtyard. Some men bent over raised tubs, scrubbing with coarse brushes. Others stood thigh-deep in sunken tubs, swishing laundry through the soapy water. Others worked in elevated cubicles, flogging wet towels on concrete tables before draping them over a wall. Machines lined the perimeter, but these were unlike any washing machines I had ever seen.

This friendly dhobi stood by as bubbles poured out of his washing machine.
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This lady was cooking up something liquidy and white over the fire. I asked if it was food, but she explained (through an interpreter) that she was making starch from arrowroot powder.
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No electric dryer here.
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Ironing pile. Ugh. Women do the ironing here in this small dark room.
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Folding the sheets.
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Outside the dhobi ghat.
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According to the Hindustan Times (May 21, 2011), 35 dhobis work at the ghat. They charge 15 rupees (28 cents) per item. In an emergency, you can pay 20 rupees (37 cents) and have it delivered within four hours.

Leaving the dhobi ghat, we spotted this security guard getting a curbside shave. Surekha made us all pose around him for a photo! The barber got a good laugh out of it, but I think his client was unimpressed.
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