My So Called Strife

The Glyndebourne Identity

2010-06-22T05:41:00.007-04:00

Glyndebourne. It's not in Afghanistan or Vietnam or India or Africa or anywhere else I usually travel, but I mention it because it is an experience I am most likely never to have again. It is in the southeast of Britain and renowned for its opera "festival" (or in opera terms, its "season"). The story goes that years ago a Lord, married to a woman who fancied herself a soprano, built her a venue to sing in. He would bring in tenors and supporting cast so she could star in her own operas. They would invite their closest friends and soon word spread that this was something that one absolutely must go to. Over the years, the venue has rebuilt and rebuilt to accommodate the overflow of opera lovers to what it is today. The snag? It is set in the idyllic British countryside which is victim to the most onerous of criminals: British weather. Imagine these black-tied guests, whose butlers have set up picnic tables replete with table linens and silver candelabras and crystal flutes, having to run for shelter when the weather turns (it's actually kind of hilarious). This means jumping over quickly forming puddles (and sometimes sheep) to get to some shelter. Then there is the problem is having to sit through the opera with wet and muddied shoes and clothes. But nothing is worse that having to deal with either a boring show or snoring seat mate (my apologies to my seat mates!).

Roughing it

2009-11-27T08:07:00.009-05:00

I admit that after living in Afghanistan, the idea of roughing it in the wilds of Africa slightly concerned me. After all, I had promised myself at least a 5 year reprieve of sleeping in a sleeping bag and using ad hoc toilets. Then I got to Ishasha Wilderness Camp. The area of Ishasha is known for tree lions which are really just regular lions who like to climb trees. Most lions do it, but this area has the best trees (acacia and fig) for the lions to rest in.

The camp has nine tents and can handle between 20-25 people. The only rule is once the sun sets and it is dark, you need to be walked back to your tent with an armed guard and stay in your tent until daybreak. It is the price you pay for sleeping in the wild. This said, the staff wakes you in the morning with free brewed coffee (tent-service) and the caretakers of the camp (a lovely Rhodesian/Zimbabwean couple named Dave and Karen) made the most delicious walnut cookies I have ever tasted. You have to use bottled water for everything and the idea of internet is laughable. Although, as an aside, a few months ago, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen stayed here with his posse (they arrived via helicopters), and for the two days they spent here, they wired most of this tiny portion of Uganda. Their helicopters also scared off the elephants for nearly two weeks after their departure. As for the accommodations, I will let the pictures speak for themselves (needless to say, I would do more camping if more camping where like this).

Plus, it's Africa, so it was too hot to need a sleeping bag.

It's not UGAYnda

2009-11-25T02:46:00.009-05:00

Uganda recently passed an anti-domestic violence bill which (finally) protects women from their abusive husbands. On the heels of this progressive move, Parliament also drafted a bill which would criminalize homosexuality. Not only would homosexuals be fined, jailed or worse (and how do you go about proving it?), but their family members would also be held liable for accepting them. This draft passed Parliament and is heading to the President for his sign off. Should he agree with the draft, Parliament would officially draw up the measure and presumably vote it through. What seems counter intuitive to me about this measure is that it is perfectly acceptable to see grown men holding hands with one another as they walk down the street, so I assume the government doesn't mind if "friends" do it, they just don't want it to be boyfriends or girlfriends. Why can't we all just be friends and call it a day?

Gorillas in my midst

2009-11-25T02:15:00.013-05:00

I travelled to the Congo-Uganda border to penetrate the Bwindi Impenetrable Forrest. Uganda says that they have the most remaining mountain gorillas in the world and most of them live here at Bwindi. For years, and as Dian Fossey found out the hard way, mountain gorillas were poached, but not for anything collectible. The mountain locals (many of whom are pygmies) killed them either for bush meat or killed them because they are a symbol of "bad luck." While the government of Uganda continues to try to get its act together, the one area that they do seem committed to is the preservation of the mountain gorilla. They only allow 24 permits a day to visit Bwindi and of those visiting, you have to clear a doctor's check list in order to go (as gorillas can contract any number of human diseases). If you are turned back, you have travelled however thousands of miles, see no gorillas, and only get a 40% refund of your permit fee. Bottom line, don't get sick!

We began our trek up the dense mountain in the morning after learning what we needed to in a pre-trek briefing (most of which you can read about in a previous post). There were 8 people in my group, along with various porters (who help carry your bags and push you up the mountain), two mountain guides and two armed men from the Ugandan Army. The Army personnel carry AK-47s in case something bad were to happen (if a tourist is killed by a gorilla, the feeling is that business will suffer), but they have been trained to first shoot in the air to scare off the impending attack.

My porter was Milton and he is 24 years old and has lived in Bwindi his entire life. I didn't really think I needed a porter, but once I saw the grade I would be climbing, the muddied and overgrown path (and because it helps out the local economy for a price of $15), I relented. A few hours before we started our trek, two trackers went up before us to visit the last place this gorilla group was. We were going to find a family of 19 gorillas with one silverback. Recently there were two silverbacks, but they got into a fight and one ran off with a couple of females to start his own group. After about 3 hours of hiking we heard via walkie-talkie that the trackers had the family in their sights and we made a bee-line through a swampy area to get to them. I am finding it difficult to put into words how amazing it is to see these animals just hanging around being a family together. Babies rough housing and rolling around together and then scampering off into their mother's arms, females tending to the mighty silverback (who never looked directly at us but you could sense he was aware of our every move), and younger males eating pounds of leaves. Gorillas will consume anywhere from 130-170 pounds of greenery each day.

After staying with the gorillas for an hour (the max one is allowed), and through a rain storm (gorillas do not frolic in the rain, but prefer to wait it out in the thick underbrush), my group made its decent. It truly was a once in a life time opportunity and I am grateful I got the chance. I am almost embarrassed to be blogging about it as I can do it no justice. Forgive me.

Gorilla etiquette

2009-11-23T12:08:00.009-05:00

When faced with mountain gorillas, here are a few things to keep in mind:

Never look a gorilla directly in the eye.
Never mimic a gorilla. You don’t speak their body language and something as simple as an arm raise, might signal something more menacing.
If you are sick, you shouldn’t visit with gorillas. They are so similar to us genetically, that they can contract our diseases and spread them rapidly throughout their family group.
Don’t ever piss off the silverback. He’s in charge and will charge you if he feels he, or his family, is being threatened.
Don’t approach gorillas using walking sticks as poachers once used them as spears, and that has remained in their collected memory. (Walking sticks by the way are highly recommended when tracking the gorillas as they tend to congregate is hard to reach (and very muddy) areas.)
When filming gorillas, do not use flash as the bright flashes freak them out, and could anger the silverback.
If you have already forgotten, don’t do anything to piss off the silverback. Think of the silverback as the most ornery, senior member of your family who believes that everything revolves around them. Now add a few hundred more pounds, a ferocious growl, razor sharp teeth and that’s your silverback.
Don't wear eyeglasses (or sunglasses) that you care about. Gorillas are known to take things off you.
Try to wear muted colors. Gorillas apparently don't like yellow, but as far as I can tell, this is only speculation.
I mentioned the silverback, right?

Killer instincts

2009-11-23T11:18:00.004-05:00

Should you decide to go on safari while in Uganda, or visit some of its more remote places, there are a couple of important animal facts you need to keep in mind. The number one killer of humans on land, is the buffalo.* While it won't eat you, it will impale you and toss you around like a rag doll. It is best to lie flat on the ground should you encounter one, and wait it out.

The number one killer of humans in the water, is the hippo. While these portly beasts don't look scary (with their mouths closed), they are exceptionally fast. If you visit Queen Elizabeth National Park (one of Uganda's biggest), you will see lions and leopards and crocodiles, but keep in mind that it's not the animal with the biggest teeth you need to fear the most. And for goodness sakes, stay out of the water!

* mosquitoes are technically the number one killer of humans.

Yummy?

2009-11-23T11:08:00.002-05:00

One of my favorite Ugandan foods also appeals to my childish side. It is called doodo and it tastes similar to dandelion greens. It can be sauteed, baked, or fried, but my preference? A big, steaming plateful of doodo.

Survivor training

2009-11-17T12:33:00.007-05:00

Coming to Uganda during the rainy season means sudden, but short, downpours, overcast skies, muddied streets, and time for their delicacy: grasshoppers. You can either buy them fresh (yes, still hopping) and prepare them on your own or you can opt for the ready-killed-and-ready-to-eat from any number of street vendors. They are generally priced by the cupful, but considering I am a novice, I asked for a spoonful (cost 50 cents). Fried in oil, generously salted and dusted with onion powder (to help disguise the smell of the bug), they taste remarkably like stale movie theatre popcorn. Even the irritating sensation of getting a kernel lodged in a molar is replicated, but this time, it's with a leg or tentacle. As I picked my teeth afterwards, I tried to refrain from thinking too much about it.

Dog-free Uganda?

2009-11-16T07:59:00.003-05:00

One of the most startling observations I have had since arriving in Uganda are the lack of dogs. In most of the up-and-coming countries I have traveled to, dogs are everywhere. They tend to follow the trash, and despite Kampala's efforts to "Keep It Clean", trash is easy to find. But the dogs are in hiding. Except for one local supermarket where I am still a little unsure of whether "dog meat" is meant to feed man's best friend, or if it is the reason I can't find any dogs around.

Uganda dining 101

2009-11-16T02:06:00.009-05:00

Admittedly I have only been here a few days, so I am no expert, but for those of you considering traveling here, I have a few dining pointers. The currency is the shilling which is basically 2000 to 1 USD. You will want to make sure you have a bunch of small bills as most places (at least the ones I go to), don't have change for anything upwards of $20 USD. The cost of a meal at a nice restaurant is approximately $8 USD, but you can easily eat meals for less than $3 USD. The "rich people's" diet consists of very starch and carbo-heavy items (e.g. rice, beans, mashed plantains, white bread), so if you want a balanced meal, it is best to stay to a poor person's diet which is where you will find your vegetables. If you are a mzungu (like me), the assumption will be that you will want your meats fried, but stay with what the locals do, and go for the grill instead. Word of warning here ... you might not want to do a "grill sample" unless you really like offal. My suggestion is to stick to the pieces of meat which are recognizable. Most people speak English, so asking questions isn't a problem, but learning a few basics like "thank you" in Luganda will get you props (and perhaps an even bigger smile). There is a sizable Indian population because many relocated here when the railroad was being built, so samosas and curries are readily available. As a side note, I have been told that we are currently in the height of "cricket season" so I am off to find some tasty morsels before I leave on the gorilla trek.

A bird of a different color ...

2009-11-16T00:39:00.006-05:00

One of the sights you will get used to seeing in and around Kampala are birds, but not your ordinary bird. Imagine a bird you see everyday (a pigeon or a chicken perhaps) and now make it stand three feet stand and be able to look you in the eye. Add to it some disgustingly phallic features and that is what perches on the street corners here. On the good side, I have yet to see many ne'er-do-wells loitering - perhaps because of these unsightly creatures. Perhaps everyone has mistreated a bird in their past life and they collectively fear that these birds have returned to exact revenge. It is really the first time in my life that I have been less fearful of bird droppings, and instead am worried that I am about to be mugged by one of these feathered felons. The polite name for this bird species is Maribou Stork. Sounds so much nicer than some of the names I gave it!

Into Africa

2009-11-15T02:46:00.002-05:00

I have arrived in Uganda and am preparing my mzungu (non African) self to hit the streets of Kampala. This evening is a little extraordinary as I am going all out and staying at the Serena Hotel (one of Kampala's nicest). The last time I had anything to do with a Serena Hotel, it was in Kabul where the ex pats would go on Saturdays to enjoy electricity, brunch and a brief respite from the fact that we were in Afghanistan. That hotel was subsequently bombed, and there went our oasis. I am hoping for a better future for this Serena ... at least while I am here!

Ecuador's rain forest

2009-09-24T10:03:00.006-04:00

About a two hour drive north of Ecuador's capital of Quito lies a rain forest. The drawback? The rain. It really isn't rain but more of a constant mist that leaves everything damp. The humidity is so high, that a measly aspirin doesn't stand a chance and actually splits itself open. But aside from this, it feels very untouched which is hard to find the more globalization takes hold. This is a place where a simple walk can lead you towards pristine waterfalls. Where people care enough about co-existing with the natural inhabitants, that they create shelters for toucans to rest while they recuperate from a run-in with a puma or monkey. This is also where I learned a new life lesson: if you get an infection after falling, don't eat fish. It might sound like a Ecuadorian wives' tale, but trust me when I tell you not to risk it.

The Peruvian Amazon

2009-09-21T10:42:00.013-04:00

I have trekked to some of the highest points in the Andes and decided I needed a good dose of low land to level me out. Next stop: Puerto Maldonado in the Southern Amazon. Actually, to say I went to Puerto Maldonado is slightly inaccurate. I was there, but only to get on a boat to go up the Madre de Dios river to get to a reserve where I hiked 2 miles through the jungle, which brought me to a lake where I then canoed for 30 minutes which finally brought me to my final destination: Sandoval Lake. The natural inhabitants of Sandoval are thousands of birds, snakes and insects, endangered giant river otters, and the rare black caiman (crocodile). If you want to fall off the grid and land in a place of extreme humidity, limited electricity, and surround yourself with a symphony of animal mating calls, this is the place! In between gorgeous sunsets, jungle hikes, and channeling Tarzan, I also found time to rest my weary legs.

Andean pet food

2009-09-21T07:39:00.005-04:00

Perhaps I was inspired by Anthony Bourdain putting odd things in his mouth, or maybe it is that my taste buds are shot from over-spicing, but I have tried a good number of traditional Andean foods and enjoyed them thoroughly. First up, cuy or guinea pig. I had hamsters as a child, but never a guinea pig, so perhaps this made it easier. Cuy is generally roasted and tastes like a tougher or gamier quail. You can also get it breaded and fried, but since I didn´t see anyone eating a Cuy Parmesan, I avoided it. Another favorite was anticucho or cow hearts. It definitely helps to only eat a small portion (I would never order it as my main dish, but sharing it as a appetizer works great). It also helps that they prepare it in strips that look familiar versus cutting it out in the shape of a heart. I also found that Alpacha is good for something other than just their hair, but then again, if you slathered enough butter on a cashmere sweater, I'd probably enjoy that too. (no animals pictured were actually eaten).

The secret of Machu Picchu

2009-09-18T08:00:00.006-04:00

Machu Picchu, the lost Incan city is amazing. Breathtaking. None of my pictures can capture its glory in the dawn hour. None of my pictures can capture the narrow and steep trails that take you to the most spectacular vistas (but from what you see above, I tried to give you a glimpse). But what I have chosen to share with you instead about Peru´s national treasure is a secret of sorts; one that few guidebooks tell you about. Peru´s most atrocious beast lives within the walls and steps of Machu Picchu: the sand fly. These little buggers feast of your skin without you kknowing it. After just a few minutes of exposed leg skin, welts will begin to form. In fact, in the area of Aguas Calientes (where overnight tourists stay), you will see a parade of welty legs. If you are lucky, the bite will become itchy, welt up, and disfigure you for a few days. View it as a badge of honor. The unlucky ones will be snacked upon, but instead of welting up, small pin prick dots will litter your skin. Those dots will stay with you for 1-2 months. The best advice I can give is to wear long pants, tucked inside socks, and spray deet over your entire body. You won´t win any beauty contests, but it will make for a more pleasant few days. While the legs are favored, if your arms get close enough to the ground (which happens if you climb the steep Wanyapicchu), you will be devoured in the upper region too. This warning applies only to Machu Picchu and not along the Inca Trail. There, lama dung is your greatest threat. But honestly, if you can´t hack a little dung, perhaps you want to consider a cruise instead.

The pre-trek

2009-09-17T06:40:00.004-04:00

Disregard my earlier posting about high altitude immunity. After a 8 hour trek (which should have lasted 5 hours), I am clearly not immune to the high altitude.

In fact, when I heard that a typical Andean custom was to mummify the dead in the fetal position, I was only too happy to take a "time out" of trekking to show how the dead would be wrapped.

Immunity

2009-09-11T08:19:00.002-04:00

I think I am immune to the effects of high altitudes. Perhaps it is my years of living with lofty goals that have prepared me for life at 3326 meters. While I should be extremely tired, short of breath, light headed and have no appetite, I have been the complete opposite: energized, alert and ravanous. I have been drinking cocoa tea by the bucket loads so you´d think my frequent bathroom sprints would tire me out, but not yet. I am readying for a pre-trek trek to Saqsaywaman (say it in a way that sounds like a sing song version of "sexy woman"), where I might find out that my immunity to the high altitude is in fact fictious. But whatever happens, it had better not stand in my way of trying my first alpaca-burger!

Harvest season

2008-08-03T08:10:00.000-04:00

Friends of mine decided to up and move from city life in Paris and invested in farm life in Tuscany. They bought an old home and have spent the past two years learning how to be olive oilers. Wine harvest season is generally in October, but for olive growers it is generally in December. It is believed that by December, olives are ripe and juicy enough to fall naturally from the trees, thereby producing the greatest amount of oil. [btw: nets are laid down in late October to start catching the olives so you can avoid all the hand picking.] The December time frame is for everyone BUT the people who live in Tuscany who espouse the virtues of a blended oil (ripe olives are mixed with some of their greener brethren.) This is an example of supreme rationalization. Harvesting olives in December (at least in Tuscany) means wearing winter jackets and gloves and standing out in the cold for hours. Harvesting in November means light jackets and sunny days. This is probably why I could never be an olive oil tycoon. I imagine no one would want to buy an olive oil that was harvested in September (when I would still be wearing shorts!)

The hunt for tartufo

2008-08-02T09:50:00.000-04:00

I headed to Alba, the epicenter for Italian black and (when in season) white truffles. I was fully prepared to get knee deep in muck following pigs around as they snorted down the delectable fungi, but I didn't have to do much mucking around. It seems that the Italians have found a cleaner (and less smelly) way to find the tartufo. They use dogs. The pigs, it seems, act as pigs do and while they snort, they also tend to mangle. Dogs, on the other hand, are daintier and less prone to trample the rare mushrooms which can cost a (caution: hyperbole ahead) gazillion dollars an ounce. In the end, I found it was easier to find the truffles without the help of any animal and just walked in to a store.

No Country for Old Cows

2008-07-29T02:32:00.002-04:00

For a place where eating meat and cheese are national pasttimes, I have seen only two cows. The rolling hillsides are perfect for uddered animals, yet none roam. It seems that, in Italy, cows do not get put out to pasture as land is at a premium (better suited for growing grapes or olives). While the thought of cows living their lives indoors unsettles me, I seem to quickly forget my qualms as I drown my breadstick in tallegio. I guess I will never be a spokesperson for PETA.

Spineto Scrivia

2008-07-27T08:04:00.005-04:00

This is your typical Piedmont region town. The church stands in the center of the piazza, there is one bar/cafe where the town people (350 of them) meet to gossip and have their morning espresso. The land around it is filled with vineyards, bee keepers, and fruit agriculturists, and everyone stops what they are doing between 12:30pm and 3pm to enjoy what life has to offer them.
At night, parents frolic with their children in tow, and when it gets too late .. well, kids are resourceful!

Highlights from the Emilia-Romagna Region

2008-07-27T04:47:00.009-04:00

Parma. Land of parmesan cheese and parma ham. You cannot help but fall in love. If you are a vegetarian, you might feel differently as the smell of cured ham hangs heavily over the city. It is also one of the few places in north-central Italy I have traveled to where I saw non-tourist non-Caucasians.

Castell Arquato is a medieval town tucked between the rolling hills that this region is known for. The town is small and all roads leading up to the castle are steep and cobble stoned. I wonder what happens to the people who live here when it rains. Perhaps they all head to Casa Benna.
Casa Benna attracted my attention because unlike most things in Italy, it says that it is open all the time. Imagine, a place you can get wine at all hours. I have found heaven on earth, and its tour guide is Maria Benna. Who wouldn't want to sample wine from this lady ... in fact, I was ready to buy before she opened the first bottle (actually I opened the bottles as her hands looked like they have done enough wine uncorking and pasta rolling for three lifetimes!)

How to not look American when ordering Italian coffee

2008-07-26T16:04:00.003-04:00

You might think you are a whiz at navigating through the Starbucks size system, and you might have firm opinions on whether to freeze or not freeze your coffee beans, but for all your java mojo, you will look like a jerk if you come to Italy and order an Cafe Americano. But the problem is, sometimes you just want a plain cup of black coffee. Here is how to get it done without revealing your national identity. Order an espresso, wait a beat and then pretend to remember that you also need some hot water (maybe you are one of those types who drink their water hot). Give the motion for another, bigger cup (in case your Italian is not up to snuff, this is where charades comes in handy) ... for all the waiter knows, you might be ordering the hot water for someone else who might be joining you. Once all is said and done, take the bigger cup, pour your expresso into it, pour in a healthy splash of the aqua caldo and viola: black coffee without looking like an American goofball.

Miracle Mud?

2008-07-24T09:10:00.003-04:00

You will be hard pressed to find Montecatini in tour books, but it world renowned for its miracle waters and muds. The waters are for bathing or drinking (depending on your condition), and the mud is for slathering. I figured when in Montecatini to do as the Montecatinians do, and got slathered. Isabella generously glopped at least 5 pounds of local mud on my face and left me facially weighted down for 20 minutes. When my time was up, she returned with her pail and shovel and dug me out. A mini hose filled with thermal water was then used (at full pressure no less) to make sure I didn't walk away with any miracle mud as a souvenir. Little does Isabella know that I swallowed some before she rinsed me off. Hey, you never know when you need a little miracle.

Who shops here?

2008-07-24T07:12:00.003-04:00

I don't want to pass judgement (I prefer instead to infer), but this mannequin spoke volumes to me. Imagine if every shop showcased their clothes to fit the sizes they were designed for. I wonder if people would shop less? Perhaps this is why the Italian economy is doing so poorly.

Under the Tuscan Sun

2008-07-23T03:19:00.010-04:00

Forte dei Marmi is a small(ish) beachside town in Tuscany. There are relatively no tourists and most people travel around on their bicycles or on foot. The local wines are better than some of the best wines I have had in the states and the alcohol volume is far greater.

The older woman stand knee deep in the water discussing the virtues of frutti di mer in white versus red sauce, while the children play made up games of kadima in a sandbox versus halo. For all the reconfigured food triangles and attempts to revive the antiquated U.S. physical education system, perhaps we should just force American youngsters outside with nothing more than their imaginations.

Georgio where are you?

2008-07-21T04:17:00.005-04:00

Lake Como, Italy is known for many things, but of late it has become synonomous with the place where George Clooney summers. So, I went in search. Lake Como sits at a mountain base (views of the Alps are visable), and razor-thin roads lead you around the lake from the bustling city of Lake Como to the more serene village of Domaso. The midway point is Bellagio (which, for those of you following along, is my B for this trip. Botswana took more planning.) Along the way, I found roadways built for one car, but used by two; homes so grand, yet whose entrances are marred by the scars vehicles have left by trying to squeeze past one another; ubiquitous gelato bars; fashion-forward residents, but no George. So long as he is not off filming Oceans 14 ...

Meet Marco

2008-07-20T05:04:00.003-04:00

There is this Italian guy who we will call Marco (because it sounds Italian and because it is his name), and we got to know one another through this very blog. He stumbled upon my yearning posts from Afghanistan where there was no red wine to be found. It is easy to write about many disastrous things in Afghanistan, yet I chose to focus on the lack of red wine as after a hard day of AK-47s and burquas, all I wanted was a nice of vino rosso. Anyway, Marco wrote to me and told tale of his home in the Piedmont region of Italy that overlooked vineyards and where there was an abundance of red wine. He said I was invited to stay at his guest villa once I safely returned from Afghanistan. Well, a year later (and many exchanged emails), I took him up on it. So here is the first picture of new new e-friend Marco and his wife, Carol, as we enjoyed as much red wine as Italy had to offer. I look forward to sampling even more!

The Orient Express it isn't ...

2008-01-04T07:19:00.000-05:00

You haven't truly experienced India until you've taken a commuter train. There are no reserved seats, there are no limitations to how many can fit on a seat, and the bathrooms? Well, unless you are skilled at relieving yourself through a small hole in the ground as pebbles, dust and other debris comes flying up at you, let me suggest you refrain from eating or drinking a day before you take the train.
While the "rule" is to always let women go first (meaning, as a woman you can actually cut to the front of the line), the rule doesn't apply to train travel. As soon as the train is seen coming in to the station, men, women, children start to run alongside, grabbing on to the bars and swinging their bodies on board. It is like watching Spiderman training. The theory behind the grand grab is if you are not on first, you won't get a seat. I didn't know this is how it worked. So I waited. Amazingly, the door stopped right in front of me. What a stroke of luck! I couldn't have been more wrong. The ensuing mass of people crushed me towards the train; squeezing me against the people who were trying to exit. It was a stalemate, until I realized I was starting to levitate. I looked around and began to see the crowd below me. All I could see was the torso and legs of a woman directly behind me. I didn't know if she was an old or young woman. I don't know whether she was fat or thin. All I knew was a headless woman had hoisted me on her shoulders to get me out of the way and on board more quickly. Once on board, the continuing crush of people pushed me towards a seat. The best analogy I can think to give is imagine you are swimming in the ocean and you've just gotten tagged by a wave. Instead of fighting it, you have to let it bang you around, drag you down to the ground, and trust that it will eventually release you. You might have pounds of sand in your bathing suit, but at least you made it. This is what getting on board a commuter train was like. Minus the sand in my pants.

The Manipulative Monkey

2008-01-03T23:26:00.001-05:00

The thief approaches and signs "I'm hungry."
He does his best to appear demure.

Once I find a granola bar to share, the hairy monster reveals his true size and unfurls his nasty tail. More, More .. he says (in body language). I was no match for him. He wiped me out. Took the last of my snack. All without a thank you. Monkey bastard!

The best little drive-through in Mumbai ...

2007-12-27T07:41:00.000-05:00

I don't think Big Daddy's (the English name) is on Zagat or Michelin's food radar, but I think it is one of Bombay's best eats. The "restaurant" is comprised of parking spaces and curbside carts that grill up the most delectable meat/vegetable kebobs and tikkis. The preferred "tables" are car hoods which are leveled by glass bottles (see picture). The seats? Well, this is a standing room only kind of place where the napkins are the clothes on your (or your dining companion's) back. If you want to find this gem it is behind the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in the Colaba section of Mumbai.

Gem scammed

2007-12-26T09:12:00.000-05:00

There’s warning to travelers in the Lonely Planet about various gem scams in India. The scam essentially works like this: you get befriended my a nice Indian man (or two) who offers you fantastic hospitality at no cost to you (perhaps free beers or dinners or tours of the city). When they have you were they want you, they will bring up a business proposition that has you agreeing to carry a bagful of precious stones back to your country where you will meet with a gem person, sell the bagful of gems you have been toting, and get a stake in the profit. First you will need to leave some money for “good faith” since presumably you will have hundreds of thousands of gems. The scam is that these gems are worthless, and the money you put down in good faith, is never returned to you. I knew about this scam before traveling to Jaipur so I was prepared. What I wasn’t prepared for was how slick the operators really are. In my case, I met two brothers, Samir and Sabir. Sabir had an “official” tourist car, and he and his younger brother split driving duties. They never brought up costs, they treated me to chais (tea), they even invited e to attend their family Eid celebration. I was hooked on this family. But then they introduced me to their friend and boss, Tony Ali. This was what he called himself at least. Tony lived in a house the size of an India city block. He spoke six languages flawlessly. His family, he said, was in the jewelry trade and had been for years. He also owned a disco and some hotels. Wouldn’t I like a VIP-treated night at his disco. Wouldn’t I like some whiskey? After I said “no” a few dozen different ways, he finally said, “I have a business proposition.” Here it came. He was going to try to scam me. It clearly wouldn’t work as I was on to him. What did work, was that I got conned into thinking these twp brothers were nice and honest people. Maybe one of them is. But I know that the bond between Indian brothers means nothing goes unsaid and if one of them is working to find marks, the other is in on it too. So my scam story doesn’t end in loss of money and fake rocks, but it ends with an abrupt severing to a once promising, albeit short, friendship. It felt awful. Not because I felt I had been "had", but because I started to feel cynical to other offers of hospitality. Here is where I have a choice: close up and don’t trust, or let myself be open on the chance I will meet another truly lovely person. Thankfully, I believe in taking chances.

Shopping Secrets Revealed

2007-12-26T09:01:00.000-05:00

Almost everything in India can be haggled. From the price of food, to taxis, to hotels; the set price is never the set price. The one exception is entrance fees to monuments or shrines. But the fact that haggling exists isn’t a secret. What doesn’t get shared often is when the best time to shop really is. It's been my experience that you can get far greater deals and have much better bargaining success if you shop in the morning. Most Indian shopkeepers subscribe to “luck.” They believe that as long as they make that first sale of the day, they will be blessed with more sales throughout the day. At one point, a shopkeeper went even lower than my “last and final offer” because he was so scared he was going to lose out on his luck if I walked away. Now that's buying power. (the photo is of a typical shopping center at night. The second best time to shop).

Cinema Paradiso

2007-12-22T23:33:00.000-05:00

Jaipur is home to one of India's biggest cinemas, the Raj Mandir. It is an art deco monster from the outside, and the inside looks like you have been swallowed by a whale. No Bollywood experience would be complete without a hefty amount of audience participation. Babies cried. Children danced in the aisles. Men whistled and women shrieked with glee. The audience was actually better than the movie, "Aaja Nachle", translated to "Let's Dance" for those who would like to Netflix it. It didn't matter that the film was mostly in Hindi and I got lost on a couple of relatively important plot points (e.g. why did they want to dance anyway?). What I found interesting was that the film focused on a strong, sexy female who overcomes odds and obstacles (plot spoiler: she "wins" in the end) in a culture where women are often disregarded. What was neat was how the audience seemed to eat it up, so perhaps India is ready for a little female love and respect after all. Oh, and for all of the sexual tension that existed, there was no on-screen kissing. Blast!

Ranthambore National Park

2007-12-22T23:21:00.000-05:00

Ranthambore is the only place to spot wild tigers in Rajastan. Much has been written about the countless seekers who have gone home disappointed after not seeing a single tiger. That is not my story.

On a lark, I went in search of a tiger. I booked no tickets for the safari (which usually is booked weeks in advance), and took my chances that I would get on one of the 20 seats that are released day of. My chances paid off. Big time.

After seeing monkeys (who goes on safari in India to see what you can see on the the streets?), some crocodiles, and an owl, we came across three lounging tigers. Three. Did I mention people hope to see just one? This picture cannot do justice to what I have only seen behind bars at a zoo. The beauty of the beasts are matched only by the Taj Mahal. The difference is that my pictures of the Taj came out less fuzzy.

Sisters

2007-12-22T23:03:00.000-05:00

This is Puja and Sandoori. They live at the train station in Jaipur because that is where they said goodbye to their mother one month ago. Their mother went to Dehli in search of work and they hope she will come for them. So they wait. Puja is 12, but looks more like 7. She takes care of her baby sister who is one. I watched as Puja begged (sucessfully) for chipati (bread) and fed it to her sister. Puja says she doesn't get cold at night even though I have been chilled despite wearing two layers of fleece to bed. Sandoori has lesions all over her body. The kind that look like bed sores, but (considering their environment) is more likely to be some type of flesh eating bacteria. There doesn't appear to be a shelter of any kind for homeless children in Jaipur (a city of 3 million). With so many charitable people in the world, I am surprised that little has been done for the countless homeless girls who have been forgotten on India's streets. Perhaps it is because the charitable people don't ride India's commuter rails where these children are found. This is why I introduce you to them. They deserve a second glance. And Puja, in Hindi, means prayer.

Top Ten things to know before visiting India

2007-12-21T07:48:00.000-05:00

There are a few things you need to be okay with when visiting India. If any of these things repel you, your visit will be unpleasant. Might I suggest Florida instead.

1. you will never hear nothing.
2. the smell of urine is everywhere.
3. you have to share sidewalks and roads with cows and what cows leave behind.
4. children will follow you, with a "hello" refrain, until you give them a couple of rupees.
5. monkeys will follow you, until you wave a stick, growl, stomp or feed them something. (if you feed them, be prepared to hightail it out of there before word gets out in the monkey community).
6. everyone has a store they want to take you to.
7. everyone knows someone who has a store they want to take you to.
8. there will never be toilet paper or towels in your room unless you ask.
9. the sound of phlegm working its way through the body and spitting is rampant.
10. other bodily function noises share in the harmony.

Once you get over this, your visit will be divine.

Cremation 101

2007-12-17T09:02:00.000-05:00

In Varanasi, at the 'burning ghats', people are publicly cremated. The rules for cremation are as follows: you can be cremated so long as you are not a child, pregnant woman, leper, or have been bitten by a cobra. Your class decides what type of wood will be used to burn you (sandalwood is for the elite). If you are a young woman, you are draped in red, a young man is draped in white, and old people are covered in gold. The pyres are lit from an "eternal flame"; an area where logs are kept burning 24/7. A holy man will light straw from the flame and bring the burning straw to the pyre. Before lighting, he will walk around the body five times to symbolize the five elements: earth, wind, fire, air, and water. The smoke at the burning ghats is heavy. The ash and embers blow around. You are never quite sure what (or who) you are breathing in, only that you have witnessed something that feels voyeuristic. I am still coming to grips with the notion that I watched a young man, a young woman, and an elder burn before me. I do not know their names or their stories. I only know their class because of the wood that was used.

Monkeys

2007-12-17T08:42:00.000-05:00

I think back wistfully to the first monkey I saw in India. It was in the distance and I grabbed by camera, zoomed to the max, and got a blurry shot of something that looked like a cat. That was then. Now, they are everywhere. Things cannot be left on balconies, or windows left open, otherwise the mini-humans (or, more appropriately, thieves) will creep away with what belongs to you. Or worse, they will attack. I heard a story of a man getting beaten to the ground and bitten by one of the region's bigger monkeys. Yes, they are cute when they sit with their young strapped to their undersides. They appear harmless as they carefully (almost delicately) root through garbage, but when they beat you up and take your crap, well that's just like New York City in the 80s. And here I am without my mace.

Varanasi

2007-12-14T08:10:00.001-05:00

Varanasi, India’s holiest and oldest city, is also septic. The city is built along the Ganges River and is comprised of 80 different ghats (or areas with steps leading into the river). Ancient (feeling) architecture hugs the shoreline while smoke billows from pyres from the cremation ghats. The river, so filthy now, houses those generations past sins. Just imagining the sheer volume of people who come to this river to cleanse themselves of actual or spiritual impurities suffocates me. It grabs hold of my chest like a punch to the solar plexus might leave you gasping for air. But even still, children play in these waters. They still take advantage of what the river is giving them. It has been the most obvious showing of a word so often maligned: Faith.

The Hunt for Bhut Jolokia

2007-12-12T07:53:00.000-05:00

It is known as the spiciest chili is the world (in fact, Guinness ranked it as such), and it can be found in one area in India. It's apparent white color gives it the nickname "ghost chili;" I just hope it doesn't disappear before I can get to it. Imagine a thumb-sized chili having the same sense of awe and adventure as the Holy Grail.

Nearly honest

2007-12-10T07:26:00.000-05:00

There’s a bartender in Patnem name Brahma who left his family a year ago to come southward. He was trained as an electric engineer, but didn’t like spending days in a lab. So he packed up his things and left. All he had was the belief in himself that he was a “people person.” Speaking with him is how I imagine a conversation with Confucious would be. He says things like “There is no profit in lying.” And quickly follows that with “I only lie to my father.” There is humor and sadness is this. Much like how I imagine India to be.

Medicine Man

2007-12-10T07:21:00.000-05:00

This is Ayrgun. He is a medicine man from Karnataka. He "diagnosed" my health and considered me to be of "medium-bad" health. I asked what that meant and he said I had too much fire. Then he promised to cure me for $40 USD with an herbal mix that I would take 3 times a day for 2 months. I said I couldn't carry around all of that powder with me while I traveled. So he shrugged and said, "ok, 1 month and you get less medium."

Ayurvedic Massage

2007-12-10T07:17:00.000-05:00

I was a little scared. First of all, it is a massage I could hardly pronounce, secondly, they wanted me to strip and lie down on a wooden table that resembled a torture device (I was given a loin cloth for cover). Next I knew, two people were rubbing and pulling me simultaneously. This, to help circulation as the belief is that poor circulation is the root to poor health. Herb-scented hot oil is poured over your body and as you get tugged, you also start to slide around the table (thankfully there were no splinters!). What amazed me most was that the lead masseuse (the one who sets the pace for the other masseuse) knew within 5 minutes that I had problems with the right side of my body. Sure the bowling ball-sized knots probably gave it away, but he was able to narrow down that my problems emanated from my cervical spine. For those of you who know me well, this is the moment you should go “ah hah!” For those of you just getting to know me, your “ah hah” will come.

The Un-India

2007-12-10T07:12:00.000-05:00

Patnem is south of Goa and is the place to go when you want to be in India, but feel like you are someplace else. Here drinking is allowed, as are tank tops and even bikinis. It is rebuilt every year after the monsoon season shreds the make-shift huts apart. Everything is make-shift. Mattresses are yoga pads, toilets are holes, but there is nothing like showering with a bucket of cold water under the stars with the occasional frog hopping through.

Ingenious

2007-12-08T09:29:00.000-05:00

Kids in Mumbai seem to spend much of their free time roaming through the streets of Chor Bazaar with home made metal detectors. It is basically a stick with a magnet attached to one end that they drag through the littered dusty streets. After just a few minutes of watching a group of three young boys, they all came up lucky. I recall being given a store made metal detector to help pass the time on the beach as a 7 year old. I have no idea what it cost, but I am pretty sure the junk I found never made up for it. Home made has its advantages.

India's rail system

2007-12-08T09:19:00.000-05:00

It is said that to truly understand a culture, you have t spend time on the rails. With this in mind, I navigated my way through the Victoria Terminus to get a ticket for a 12 hour train ride southward to Goa. Upon my arrival, a man was being run through the terminal on a stretcher. He had apparently fallen off the train and was run over. I assume this as I cannot fathom another reason why his leg would have been bloodied and dissected. (apologies for those of you eating while reading). I was told that this happens quite frequently as people cram themselves on to the commuter trains. While I had hoped to experience the rails the way the locals do, I also decided it was probably best for me to get a reserved seat so that I wouldn't have to fight to stay on the train. After getting on three of the wrong lines, I finally got my ticket to Goa. 6am departure time. This is clearly not a vacation.

Afghanistan revisited?

2007-12-08T09:12:00.000-05:00

I thought I had already gone to the amputee capital of the world when I was in Kabul, but Mumbai is giving that metropolis a run for its money. As I approached Chor Bazaar, I was greeted by a triple amputee on a roller board. His one arm moved him along, and once he gathered enough velocity, he aimed himself for me and was able to wrap his one and only arm around mine. I understand why Mother Teresa spent so much time in these parts. There is heartache a plenty.

No Thank You necessary

2007-12-05T21:19:00.000-05:00

I was out to dinner with a seemingly polite, young Indian man named Amand and he let me in on a little secret. Apparently "please" and "thank you" are considered condescending in India. I didn't believe it at first until I watched how the locals ordered their food and never used the common pleasantries. Could this be? Miss Manners must have never travelled to India. ((A note from linguist Noam Chomsky: politeness is actually built in to verb endings.))

Welcome to Mumbai

2007-12-05T21:06:00.000-05:00

You know you have reached Mumbai when the sounds of life are downed out by a relentless orchestra of car horns. You know you have reached the city's vibrant center when the aroma is that of an flooded sewer. You know you are a tourist when the written cost of something is "X", but you get charged "X" plus "Y" and "Z". But I am here in India's southern capital and couldn't be happier. Plus, on my very first night, I was approached for a massage. What I couldn't discern; however, as I stood on the sandy stretch of Chowpatty Beach, was whether I was being asked to give or receive one. In any event, I kept my hands to myself.

Things that make you go ewww ....

2007-08-31T06:44:00.000-04:00

On the boat ride to Vung Tau, a popular beach resort south of HoChi Minh City, I stumbled upon this notice to passengers. The boat is very old and I think the English signage is a throw back to when the American War (what the call the Vietnam War) was happening. One part struck me as odd. It made me wonder if what happened in Vung Tau stayed in Vung Tau.

Green Guys

2007-08-31T06:31:00.000-04:00

No, they are not environmentalists. They are street crossers. They assist the elderly, the young, and the tourist in negotiating HoChi Minh City’s traffic patterns. These green guys generally hang out around hotels and major points of interest in HCMC (so “tourist walking” is where the big business is), and they wear all green to indicate that they are “official.” But who are these green gods? They are from the city’s Youth Volunteer Brigade, and they know what it takes to cross the street safely. So the next time your travels take you to Saigon/HoChi Minh City, don’t let someone dressed in another color walk you across the street ... who knows where you’ll end up if you do.

Desperately Seeking Noam Chomsky

2007-08-30T05:31:00.000-04:00

I am really trying to communicate in my version of Vietnamese. It hasn’t been going too well. A sample:
ME: (in Vietnamese) “How do you say ‘lemon’?”
Waiter: (in English) “Lemon?”
ME: (in Vietnamese) “Yes, how do you say lemon?”
Waiter: “Lemon.”

The Rice Fields

2007-08-29T08:03:00.000-04:00

The next time you sit in front of a bowl of rice, I ask that you give a silent shout out to the people who farmed it. I tried to pretend I was one with the paddies, but the walk out through the the swampy rice stew alone tired me out. Plus there is that fear that you might stumble upon some one's ankle, hacked off in their frenzy to cut the rice down for milling. The poorer farmers do not have the electric miller that you see in these pictures; they hack down the rice and carry it to ground where they beat it with rocks to get the grains out. And the process I just explained is just one in a series. There's the planting of the seeds, the agitating of the seeds (I think that means they tease them), the milling, the husking, and the polishing (for white rice). So if you don't want to eat brown rice for health reasons, do it so that these good people have do one less thing to worry about. Oh behalf of all freelance rice farmers, I thank you.

Meet Linh

2007-08-28T06:29:00.000-04:00

Pham Thi Thuy Linh is 13 years old and is waiting for an operation that will remove the hump from her back. She is scared of the operation, but she understands that weight needs to be taken off her spine so that she can live without pain. Most days the pain is so bad, she cannot walk. Linh is probably a victim of Agent Orange, but getting designated as such is more difficult now that the US and Vietnam have mended fences. Clearly it is not in the US’s interest to admit their wartime chemical continues to plague this country, and Vietnam doesn’t want to push the issue.
Linh was born without arms and has beautiful teeth. She is religious about her oral hygiene, and holds her toothbrush with her foot. She opens doors by using her head and chin and wears only elastic pants so that she can shimmy up and down bathroom walls to use the toilet. Linh lives in a “village” created by the Tu Du Hospital. She is one of 60 children who were born with defects and abandoned by their families. But she doesn’t want to go home even if her parents came back for her because she is happy and she loves her brothers and sisters. Linh spends most of her free time listening to pop music; she says she doesn’t dance … at least not yet.

My Chuchi Experience

2007-08-27T20:52:00.001-04:00

Enough as been written about the Chuchi Tunnels so instead of regurgitating the history behind the vast and complex VC tunnel system, I thought I'd give you the highlights from my experience. First off, you need to understand that the Vietnamese have no problem in stating the obvious. If you are plump, you will be called “big man” or “big lady,” so hope they don’t characterize you this way. Before getting to the tunnels, everyone in my pack was lined up, and the guide went down the row pointing to people on which tunnel they could see. Tunnels have been recreated a littler wider for westerners to act like VC. Down the line they went: “big tunnel .. big tunnel .. little tunnel”; the closer they got to me, the more I wanted to be labeled “little tunnel.”
They pointed to me, sent me in with the smaller people, explained that we would be going down 8 meters into the ground and tunneling across 100 meters. There were “air holes” at 50 meters and the guide smiled and said “no problem, let’s go.” I was trying my best to remember metric conversions .. wondering how far and long would I be underground? What was this about an air hole? Does this mean I can’t breath before then? Suddenly I wanted to be fat.
The photos are of me getting in to the tunnel (you cover up with a door the way the VC did), and tunneling.

Unesco Schmunesco

2007-08-27T20:45:00.000-04:00

Halong Bay (in the northeast of Vietnam) has been designated a UNESCO site. It is an area littered with limestone jetties/mini islands. Most of these spots have caves and through those caves there are lagoons. Parts of it are breathtaking, but then there is the part that most of the day tourists see. Gone for them are the emerald waters that Halong Bay boasts of in its brochures, instead its main part .. the one most visitors now see, is littered with junk boats which have now turned the waters into a dozen shades of brown. Ten years ago thee were 40 junk boats (flat-ish bottomed, wooden boats that chug their ways through the bay allowing visitors to overnight in a relatively tranquil state). Now there are over 400 of these boats. It is not the boats that are ruining it, but the disorganization of it all. Most of us adopt a “we want it when we want it” mentality, but that wicked side of our psyches should not be catered to. Amidst the frenzy, there is a certain amount of order. If only that order was applied to restricting of number of boats out at one time, or the locations where they could putter, this would remain a UNESCO site for much longer. Note: you can see Halong Bay in its glory if you spend two – three days there (which I recommend). The photos are of the conjestion at the docks and a more traditional Halong Bay beauty shot.

Sweat Swiper

2007-08-25T20:34:00.000-04:00

It is summer in Vietnam and it is hot. Nevermind what you think of as hot; this is hotter .. and more humid. They don’t even dicker around with “real feel” temperatures because it would probably indicate that we are boiling. Given these circumstances, I don’t think it is shocking to admit that I sweat. Especially when I am in the jungle. Vietnamese (at least those from the northern mountains) don’t sweat. They get warm, but they don’t melt. So there I was, melting, when a young Vietnamese woman came up to me and swiped my sweat! She didn’t jar it or do anything really strange, but she came up, looked at my glistening (or is it glowing) arms, and ran her own palm along mine to draw off the sweat. She stood there looking at my body juice on her hand and I stood there thinking “she must actually think this is my body juice!” There weren’t throngs of screaming fans, or people fainting at my feet, but I kind of know how Elvis must have felt.

Ho's Great Adventure

2007-08-25T20:25:00.000-04:00

HoChi Minh is a rock star here. People line up for hours to go through his Mausoleum (actually, it is just the Vietnamese people who have the long wait; visitors have no more than a 20 minute pause). The government has turned his house on silts, his palace and yes, the ice block in which he lies, into Hanoi’s version of Disney Land. Streets are lined with vendors hawking “I (heart) HoChi Minh” T-shirts, embroidered pillowcases of Ho at various functions, and ice cream are among the big sellers. I couldn't find any funnel cake so I guess there a limits to what you can sell in a sacred place.

2 very different Hanoi Hiltons

2007-08-22T06:58:00.000-04:00

This has nothing to do with Paris. I promise.

The “Hanoi Hilton” aka Hoa Lo Prison (aka Maison Centrale), once home to Senator John McCain, is a tourist attraction. Kind of in the way that the Tower of London are: people like torture stories. The interesting side note to the prison is how nice they make it out to be. They show the harshness of being confined here, but when it comes to the telling of the way the soldiers of the “American War” were treated, they showed smiling soldiers, pictures of them cooking in the kitchen, pictures of them receiving presents from their families. All with the disclaimer that “they came here to kill us, but look how well we treated them.”
You would think that the last place the Hilton family would want to build a new hotel would be Hanoi. Sure there’s the name recognition, but would you want to go to a Camp Auschwitz? Right off the banks of the Red River, and next to the historic Opera, a new Hilton stands. I held my moral ground and didn’t go in. Even though there was a ladies night special.

Life is like ...

2007-08-22T01:22:00.001-04:00

I am out in a jungle. I meet some people on a tour and follow behind. Inside the group are two English speakers, they happen to be American. They happen to live in New York, better yet, in Brooklyn. One of them looks familiar, and we begin the process of figuring out how our faces have been seen before. She mentions she is “in cheese.” I mention I love cheese. She says she works as a muckity muck at one of NYC’s greatest cheese shops. I ask whether she was ever a counter girl. I tell her I can picture her in an all white uniform with shorter hair. She nods, is contemplative, and asks me whether I like “stinky cheese.” Bull’s eye! So here in the jungle, I meet someone who 4 years ago served me up some excellent stinky cheese. Forget the box of chocolates; life is like an excellent cheese aisle.

Ling Squared

2007-08-21T21:14:00.000-04:00

Two young girls approached me and asked whether I would mind practicing English with them (as far as I knew, my English didn’t need the work, but you can never be too overconfident). I heard the stories of people getting swindled as young girls ask innocuous questions while their counterparts pick every pocket available. I wasn’t going to be that easy, but they were so cute and young and honest looking so I agreed. After they practiced their English 101 questions (how are you, how old are you, where is the library), they loosened up and spoke of how beautiful they believe Vietnam to be .. the most beautiful country, second only to Singapore. When I asked how many times they have been to Singapore, they giggled and admitted to never being out of Vietnam.
They introduced themselves as Ling and Ling, mentioned they were both in high school, Ling #1 wanted to go into hotel hospitality, Ling #2 wanted to be a clothes designer, although she has never touched a sewing machine.
Their big reveal came when I asked them what Vietnam needed to do to compete with a Shangri-la like Singapore. Without missing a beat, they said that Hanoi needed to purge itself of the men who play chess in the streets. Now, I’ve been here less than a week, but I haven’t seen the kind of rampant street chess the Lings believe are taking their city down.

Hanoi's road rules

2007-08-20T00:39:00.000-04:00

This is a typical street scene on a calm day. Thousands of mopeds share the road with cars, bicyclists, and the hapless tourist. Forget all you think you know about crossing the road. Don't bother looking both ways; if you wait for green, you might be waiting forever; and if you presume the pedestrian has the right of way in the cross walk, you'll do the rest of your presuming from a hospital bed. Here is the best way to cross the street: take a deep inhale, step off the curb, and walk. Walk in a direct line, walk slowly and deliberately, and walk preferably with someone larger than you acting as a shield. Once you are over, I suggest taking a taxi to cross back.

Lost With No Translation

2007-08-19T05:43:00.000-04:00

Tokyo, Japan is reminiscent of New York City in a variety of ways. Neighborhoods are classified as the shopping, eating, drinking, dancing, etc. district, and there are subways that move people between those districts. But what it lacks is a real second language. Purists might think, “Great! All the better to get submersed in the culture!” I thought this ... for all of 10 seconds (the time it took me to be thoroughly confused when trying to buy a subway ticket).While most of the signs and instructions are in Japanese, there are key English words to sucker you in to thinking you might actually be able to get somewhere in conversation. Those key words are: Lunch, Soup, Sale, and Sexy Girls. These pictures show a typical restaurant scene: plastic food plates designed to attract customers in, and a sign with some English, but all the key details are withheld behind the Japanese word fortress.

The best advice I can give to anyone seeking time in Tokyo is to let it all just happen. Walk into that restaurant, point at anything on the menu and see what happens. For the adventure traveler, be sure to try this gastro-blindness at one of Tokyo's many sushi spots. If worse comes to worse, you can always find a sexy girl to keep you company as you pray to the porcelain God.

A 10 second voice over

2007-03-28T09:46:00.000-04:00

This morning I hear a network newscaster report that a bomb exploded in the heart of Kabul killing 4 civilians. The next story was the latest hair style of that awful "American Idol" contestant. Granted I have opinions on each story, but the lack of information coming out of Afghanistan is quite troubling. I know I am in the huge minority, since most Americans do not know anyone who is over there, but I do, and believe I bear some responsibility to introduce you to some regular people.
Manizha is worth knowing. She is an Afghan-American who has lived all her life in Queens, New York. She moved to Kabul about six months ago to launch for a non-profit that protects women. She is well spoken and brave and put a safe life behind her to ensure Afghan women are afforded certain rights (i.e. to be educated, to not be raped, to not be forced in to marriage at age 9, etc.). Well Manizha happened to be in the car right ahead of the attacked police vehicle. She was driving alone. Her tires all blew, the rear window shattered, and blood (other people's) splattered her car. Apart from extreme shock, she is alright. And knowing her, even though just a bit, I bet she will continue to stay put and continue to do the job she set out to. I share this story with you to give you a little more information than the 10 second voiceover you might hear.

re-entry

2007-03-04T09:01:00.001-05:00

It has been three weeks now since my return to normalcy – one of those weeks was spent warming up in the central pacific coast of Mexico .. and while a banana daiquiri was no replacement for red wine, it suited my needs nicely.
I now toil in Atlanta, a relatively benign place that has electricity, fine dining, all the red wine I could drink, and tornados …. Reconfirms my stellar ability to choose a location during the worst of its weather season.
I have yet to go to an americanized Afghan restaurant to show off my limited Dari. An ex pat once told me that the first thing he does when he arrives home, is eat at a sushi restaurant, the second is to go to an Afghan one .. he feels a sense of responsibility to speak to the transplanted afghans and tell them how life is like as many of them cannot communicate with their loved ones. This said, his dari is far superior to mine, and I fear I would only irritate people by going through my 20 minute “good morning .. how are you .. I trust Allah is taking care of your body .. thank you thank you” routine

Scar tracker

2007-02-13T11:36:00.000-05:00

In my first week in Kabul, I had 5 new burns from poor bukhali lighting. As the weeks wore on, I became quite adept at igniting the little bastard. Positioning the wood in such a way to maximize flamage; lighting with a candle instead of a simple match (you can get your hand further in this way); and using the Afghan version of toilet paper as an accelerant (it is this stretchy paper which is probably not too good for your nether regions, but lights magically nonetheless.) This all said, the total count of bukhali burns is 12. I look at it as a free souvenir ...

Some information for foodies

2007-02-05T11:41:00.000-05:00

A normal Afghan lunch will cost about $1.50 per person; an expensive one will cost about $6. If you have a fancy/expensive one, you will normally get: a soda, some soup (lentil puree, dollop of yogurt, and a generous amount of mutton fat), bread, and a mixed platter including grilled chicken and mutton, pilau, wilted salad, mantu (Afghan style dumplings with minced meat and yogurt on top), and chips (potato slices fried in mutton fat). Another typical food (not pictured) is boulanee which is a greasy crepe type dough filled with lentils or potatoes or a spinach-type vegetable. How the boulanee is cooked, depends on where in the country you are: in Kabul and along the eastern side, it is made on a griddle with a lot of grease, towards the interior and along the western side, it is baked more than greased. Whenever tea is served, you are normally offered something sweet to go with it, either a cake or some candy. This might help explain why there is so much tea drinking in Afghanistan (or, at least, why I kept accepting tea when it was offered).

Your daily bread

2007-02-03T11:25:00.002-05:00

Bread (or nan) costs about 20 cents. You can buy it on nearly every street, and once made, it is hung by hooks inside the shops walls. The dough is stretched and slapped onto the interior wall of this clay oven/fire pit contraption which gives it its elongated shape When you buy it, the bread maker will take it off its hook, and put it on a clay buchali-type oven to warm it. This bread is fantastic when warmed. The bread shops are basically just store fronts (or perhaps even the front rooms of the people’s homes), and the choices are: long shape, round shape, and (only in certain places) with seeds. Each morning I will see men on bicycles bringing back stacks of breads to their families, or boys carrying them wrapped in papers to the local restaurants. The bread shop storefronts are local meeting and gossiping places, the way barber shops typically are/were in the US.

The truth about nuts

2007-02-03T11:25:00.001-05:00

There is a lot of nut and dried fruit eating here. In fact, dried fruit producing is a viable way to earn a living (especially for women since it can be done at home). At the office, the staff likes to snack on bowls of dried chickpeas (or something like it) mixed with raisins, or other dried items like figs or dates. But here is what I have learned about nuts: in the wintertime, you should eat nuts because it keeps the body warm. In the summer, you should avoid nuts, because they will give you pimples. Now I have been eating a lot of nuts and still haven’t gotten any warmer; I hope that means I am not in store for a pimply summer!

I guess it can be a religious experience ...

2007-02-03T10:09:00.000-05:00

Every day I would see men kneeling against the wall outside of my office window. The wall is to the west, so I had assumed that it had to do with prayer. The wall is actually a toilet wall and since men here squat when they use the loo, what I thought was them praying, is actually them peeing. There aren’t any signs to indicate that it’s a good spot to pee, I think that it is advertised by word of mouth.

Guess who's coming to tea

2007-02-03T09:49:00.000-05:00

Her Excellency, Minister Ghandafar, requested my presence to give me some presents. She has been trilled with how the new Directorate is coming together and wanted to show her appreciation; it is common in Afghanistan to give gifts for the slightest of things. I received a carving of Afghanistan with the country’s flag intertwined with the American flag. The thing weighs a ton! I also got a felt, heart-shaped box with lapis (the country’s gemstone) jewelry. I thanked her for opening her house to me and I offered to host her for tea in my house should she ever make it to NYC. On the way out, her senior advisor told me that I needed to give him all my information as they are, in fact, planning a trip to the US soon. Uh oh.

Some lessons learned

2007-02-01T02:17:00.000-05:00

If you don’t ask for something, the chances of you getting what you want are 0%. If you ask for it from the Director of the Department that handles said request, the chances of you getting it are 5%. If you want even the smallest thing done; it requires an official letter. Even if you don’t think you need an official letter, you do. Don’t sit too close to the window when you are in a car; the bumpy roads will knock you against that window and it will hurt. That flower you are admiring … it is fake, so don’t bother testing. Oh, and the most important lesson: don’t use the squat toilets if no one else is using them - there is a good reason for it.

Thrill Ride

2007-01-30T07:06:00.000-05:00

I experienced a first in Kabul – I took an elevator ride! There is a new ex pat “rooftop” lounge in one of the hotels and by rooftop I mean the 7th floor. Once my fawning over the electricity stopped, so did the elevator! There I was, trapped in the dark, with a voice beckoning to me from the elevator intercom. The problem was that it was all in Dari and for all I knew I was being told to “get down get down the elevator is about to plummet!” I started to laugh (funny how fear will do that to you) and kept repeating “hello, how are you .. hello, how are you” in my best Dari. It was all of ten minutes (feeling more like hours) before the electricity was back on and the doors opened. I walked the rest of the way up. ((the photo was taken against the mirrored wall of the elevator .. I was in total darkness which will explain why it is not some of my best photographic work)).

Ashura

2007-01-30T00:27:00.000-05:00

For all of the build up and the security warnings about staying away from certain Shi’a zones (I live in the middle of one), the day was quiet. The occasional low flying aircraft buzzing overhead, the louder than usual calls to prayer, the waving of the Shi’a flag were common sights and sounds, but otherwise the day was marked by bright sunshine and a group walk to Kabul Coffee House for lunch (4 blocks away .. the girls all shrouded). The din of the “spring offensive” does put a damper on the warming weather, but I’m excited by the prospect that we might actually have running water again soon! As adept as I am getting at scoop showers, I’m looking forward to not having to work as hard to get clean.

Not a banner year ...

2007-01-30T00:25:00.000-05:00

To understand the challenges faced with the launch of the Media & Communications Directorate, is to understand the type of people who used to run the Ministry's “image". Last year for International Women’s Day, banners were written with a message designed to empower women. These banners were paid for by donors (what we call the government and NGOs who assist in funding) … anyhow the man in charge with Ministry PR changed the banners at the last minute without notifying anyone. On International Women’s Day, banners were hung with the message “A woman’s virginity is the jewel in he husband’s crown.” People were outraged .. soon after the Minister was ousted (though told that there was no relation to the events) …but, and here’s the kicker, the man responsible for the banner change is still in place and still doing the job he couldn’t do. This year, that same man suggested the Afghan proverb of “A woman’s silence means her consent” Even in America, if a friend of the president fails so obviously in their job, they get fired .. eventually.

Are you chicken?

2007-01-28T03:02:00.001-05:00

We had a visitor to the office; a French woman who is making a documentary on Afghan women. She came at the conclusion of the staff’s English lesson, and I introduced her to the group as “so and so from France who is here making a documentary.” Harkening back to their first English lesson when they were all animals, I said to the staff that she would have come in time for their English lesson, but she didn’t want to be a chicken. (insert a roomful of giggles here). One of the staff members (who believes their English to be far superior than that of her colleagues) turned to the visitor and asked “are you from Chicken or from France?” I assume Chicken is next to Turkey.

Spring offensive

2007-01-27T00:33:00.000-05:00

We keep hearing about the spring offensive that the Taliban is readying to launch. People want the snow to stop and the weather to warm, but with every day the degree notches up, the closer we get to the threatened offensive. I have never seen so many people conflicted about the weather’s changing pattern (save for Al Gore). The plus side to the warming weather is the streets get very muddy. The goopy kind of mud. The chances of someone being able to run in to a crowd with a bomb is practically nil. There is no running through Kabul mud (and there is no getting it off either!).

Doughnut aid

2007-01-26T23:26:00.000-05:00

There is a small café on the outskirts of Kabul in the area called Karte-sei I didn’t see any Krispy Kreme doughnuts for sale, but the staff were big supporters (that or they received an “aid package” full of the paper hats.)

This is no chicken dance

2007-01-26T23:20:00.000-05:00

The religious observance known as Ashura is nearly upon us. If you are Shi'a (and that’s roughly 10 % of the population, with Sunni making up the rest), this is a very serious time of year .. it is the time when the Prophet Mohammed’s grandson Hussain was killed. For Shi'as, they mark this 10 day period with prayer and self flagellation. On the 10th day, the observances spill out of the mosques and in to the streets. There has been violence on this day in years past when gawkers (or non-Shi'as) make fun or ogle them during the flagellation. Now that you are up to speed on Ashura, I can explain the dance. My intrepid interpreter is Shi'a. On a recent afternoon, he began singing ; a very sweet sounding tune in a very high key. I was impressed by his ability, and to spur him on (and show him I was a fan), I started faux-dancing. Since I was still in my chair, I moved a little to the left and little to the right, all while moving my hands and arms (the way you would if you had maracas). Everyone in the office stared at me. Their eyes were wide, their mouths were open .. all in that “wow! You’re something special!” kind of way … it turns out the song being sung was the main song of Ashura, and I was getting stared at by my staff because the little seated dance move I was doing with my arms looked like I was whipping myself (if you try this move the way I have explained .. move your arms and turn side to side, you’ll see what I mean .. trust me). So here is this very important day where the key is to not make fun of people whipping themselves, and what do I do? I dance. Kind of. Thankfully I found the error of my ways before Ashura ..since doing this same supportive dance could have lead to an international incident.

I don't know what is worse ...

2007-01-24T23:26:00.000-05:00

... getting an email like the below, or having to figure out what all the acronyms are!
(fyi #1: Laghman Province borders Kabul)
(fyi #2: RCIED stands for Remote Controlled Improvised Explosive Device)

1. ANSO EAST - INCIDENT REPORT –RCIED Found–Laghman Province, Mehtarlam District, Mehtarlam City, Behind the Women Affairs Department,

Location: Laghman Province, Mehtarlam District, Mehtarlam City, Behind the Women Affairs Department

Incident type: RCIED Found, Date/Time: 24th January 2007 1015hrs, Report status: Confirmed

Information: Information received indicated that ANP discovered an RCIED packed in a bag and placed behind the women affairs department building in Mehtarlam city. Further information received indicated that the area was cordoned off by ANP while an ISAF EOD team defused the device. A controlled explosion was carried out on the device at 1315hrs with no injuries reported. No arrest has been made in connection to the incident thus far; however a police investigation is ongoing in the area.

Casualties: Nil, Arrest: Nil

Assessment: The ER has experienced an upsurge in IED activity and incidents of this nature can be expected in the future.

Advisory: ANSO east strongly advises NGOs to adopt a low profile while deploying staff to the above mentioned district.

Let me hear your body talk

2007-01-24T00:51:00.000-05:00

This has nothing to do with that Oliva Newton John relic .. this is about how in Kabul, people aren’t afraid or embarrassed to let their bodies talk. At first I thought it was reserved for burping, but then I saw/heard it was no holds bar when it came to other sounds. For a country full of bean eaters, it can be quite a noisy place after lunch, and there is no hint of shame. It isn’t done with pride either .. it is more a fact of life. It is actually quite liberating, once you get over the oddness of it happening at meetings and you are the only one giggling.

The Hunt for Red .. Wine

2007-01-24T00:48:00.000-05:00

I always thought it would have been cool to have lived through Prohibition.. I loved the idea of a whole underground world. A world full of secret revellers and real entrepreneurs (and yes, a few mobsters thrown in for good measure). I can now say, unequivocally, that prohibition sucks. The ex-pat community is up in arms over the lack of red wine and if you happen to stumble across a bottle, it is something you want t keep to yourself rather than share (and that’s not a fun party). The way liquor is procured here is either through an Embassy contact (and from what I hear, it is the Embassies who are to blame for the red wine shortage ..let’s just say foreign relations are made over hearty cabernets and not fume blancs or an “in” with someone who runs a restaurants. Yes, while most people pick up food for carry out, all over Kabul there are liquor bottles hidden in doggie bags! The shortage of the more desirable grape drink is a hot topic at any ex-pat gathering .. it tops even comments about the weather. “Did you hear so and so has a red wine connection?” “Really .. who is it?” “So and so won’t say.” “Bitch!” Yes friendships are made over a bottle of red and many a friendship has been broken as well. I imagine if I stayed a few more months, I would turn in to one of those people .. for me, I still enjoy the hunt of it.

My virtual refrigerator door

2007-01-23T05:17:00.000-05:00

My staff issued their first press release today. The statement is a condemnation of the murders of two women (one, a policewoman who was mutilated by an alleged member of the Taliban, the other, a midwife, who was allegedly murdered by her husband), and I am very proud of them. The writing is stilted, they added this weird sentence about how "women are the most fragile community of Afghanistan who have no authority to protect themselves, so we see violence against them,"
and it took them over a day to get it together, but like a proud parent who puts their child’s scribbles on the refrigerator door, I want to frame their first statement. Who knows whether any press will actually pick it up, but at least they finally tried to be proactive.

Bukhali dangers

2007-01-23T00:13:00.000-05:00

My little bukhali. We have a love/hate relationship. It burns me nearly every time I put my hand in to stoke the fire, yet it is the only thing that keeps me warm. These little dears are really just cleverly disguised death traps. The exhaust "system" is a series of pipes fitted together which eventually makes its way into a hole in the wall. The pipes are ill fitting and there are gaps between the connections .. sometimes you get lucky and the smoke flows freely out of the room .. and sometimes you have happen, what happened to me last night. The exhaust back up was so fierce that it actually knocked the pipe out from the wall … the pipe arms then started spinning around the room spewing ash … I didn't know whether to duck and run or try to grab hold of it and stick it back in the hole. I tried fixing the problem myself (unsuccessfully) and then ran to the guard house doing my best bukhali-pipe-spinning-around -the-room-on-fire impression. Sharif (who has saved me once before) came running behind me and like a monkey grabbed hold of the pipe and put it back in to place. The photos are of the bukhali's exhaust system, the aftermath, and my hero.

The news that didn't fit the print ...

2007-01-22T00:27:00.000-05:00

In case you didn’t see it, the New York Times travel section featured Kabul in its January 21 edition. There are a few things the article didn’t mention, that you might want to know before booking your adventure vacation here. If you only have one to two weeks to spare, you can sufficiently see Kabul in 2 days. Spend the rest of your time in other parts of Afghanistan. The reason being is that Herat (border city with Iran) is a far more beautiful and well-kept city. It offers all of the cultural charms that Kabul does minus the muddy streets, lack of electricity, and open sewers. You will also want to spend a few days in Bamyan in the center of the country. This area is famous for having the huge Buddha statutes that were blown to smithereens by the Taliban during their rule. Bamyan is also full of natural beauty with mountain lakes and air that has been described as crystal clean. The travel author also neglected to mention what it would be like for a woman to visit Kabul. Unless you don’t mind being gawked at, pointed at, rushed, or have your photo taken by hundreds of strangers, a woman does not engage in a “walking tour” of Kabul unless she is Afghan or in a burka. The author writes of the beggars, but what is worth noting is that Afghanistan is probably in the "top 10" in number of amputees (due to years of civil wars and use of landmines), so many of those beggars are coming at you on rollerboards outfitted with steering wheels. A few other notes .. the author mentions “Cabul Coffee House”, which is a fun place to hang if you want to be around expats, but what was not mentioned is that the coffee shop was started by Debbie of “Beauty School of Kabul” fame. She is an American who came to start a beauty school (still in operation and soon to relocate in to the posh Serena Hotel) and a documentary was done of her school by the same name. The restaurants that are mentioned in the article, are all tasty, but are all for expats only. Meaning you must show your passport to get in and you cannot bring any Afghan friends in with you. Also, the restaurant Red Hot Sizzlin’s bathrooms are in a house not attached to the main restaurant, so you have to put on your jacket if you want to use the loo. To create the allure of warm water, a heating element is submerged into a tub of water which creates this dry ice, foggy type of setting which is cool for a disco but not for a bathroom .. after all, a bathroom is not the place you want to feel your way around in! Finally, should you decide to visit Afghanistan, I would recommend coming in the spring or fall as the summers are stifling (allegedly) and the winters are harsh (at least in the capital city). And pack sunglasses (although Afghans don't wear them) as the sun shines brightly when it is not barfing.

International Women's Day (IWD)

2007-01-20T01:14:00.000-05:00

One of the big campaigns I am gearing my team up for is IWD, and one of my main objectives is to get them thinking of innovative (by Afghan standards) ways to reach their audience. For example, Afghans love to print up pamphlets and posters or to put up billboards. Here’s the problem: over half of the country is illiterate. On top of that, it is estimated that at least 30% of the female population is shut-in; meaning their husbands/fathers control what they see and listen to and forbid them to go out without an escort (usually themselves). By the way, all numbers are estimated as Afghanistan hasn’t had a census since the early 1970s. Most of these figures come from the various province heads (of which there are 34), and there is no organized media measuring organization here so you have to trust that when a TV or radio group says they are the most listened to, that they are. Trust isn't something you do easily here.
Back to the way we are going to reach our audience. In the first brainstorming session, the staff came full of ideas for posters and billboards. When I asked them about how we reach the illiterate they looked perplexed. Since I am here as a capacity builder, I should not be plying them with ideas, but rather guiding them on how to get their own (so they can function without me). All I wanted was for one of them to think of radio as a means to reach the audience, but since they kept coming back to print, I had no choice but to offer an extreme suggestion to nudge them to a middle ground. I brought up “Afghan Star”. It is the hottest show on TV and when it is on, all work in Afghanistan stops. It works like “American Idol”, with people calling in their votes. I suggested we, in conjunction with a radio or TV station, run a version of the show, but call it “Afghan Mother Star” for the most inspirational mother. It was at this point that my plan backfired. They loved the idea. They put all things on hold while they sussed out which TV or radio station would be the best to work with on it. And here I was just hoping they would come to the realization that perhaps billboards weren’t the most effective use for our marketing campaign. Since I cannot stomp on their enthusiasm and I given them a few days to think about it and t talk to their friends about it. Standby. Afghan Mother Star might be coming to a cable channel near you.

(this is a photo of the press office. Going from closest to furthest from the camera: Yari, Abbas, Hasseb, and in the background Gity and Solma)

A civil servant's salary

2007-01-19T03:12:00.000-05:00

Because my group will need to work longer hours than the other departments, I am negotiating with one of our project’s main donors to give them what is commonly referred to as a super salary. The highest paid person on my staff currently makes $230 a month. The lowest paid, makes $80. It is believed that anyone who works for the Government supplements their meager salaries with kickbacks, but at the Ministry of Women’s Affairs, there is very little in the way of kickbacks. Rent inside Kabul proper ranges anywhere from $50-$300 depending on what type of housing needs you have (i.e. number of rooms), but if you want luxury items like running water, or the occasional use of a generator, that monthly rent rises. Those prices are for Afghans only. For foreigners, Afghan home owners have found a good way to make a living. They rent out their larger homes and charge thousands of dollars in rent. For example, my compound which has a generator (occasionally), running water (unless it it too cold), 12 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms and a guards shack, costs $4000/month. The owner is allegedly holed up in some nice place in Germany, and lives off what he makes in rent. The typical Afghan meal of rice (pilau), beans, some meat (normally mutton), cauliflower, and a whole lot of oil, typically runs about $1.00 depending where you eat (that is usually from street vendors which is where most locales get their food). A bottle of water will also run about $1, so it is easy to see why everyone drinks tea instead. It is easy to understand why so many children are in the streets yelling “bakshish” (give me money), or for some of the more enterprising youth, they’ll yell “bakshish! Dollar! Euro!”

A local cure

2007-01-19T02:51:00.000-05:00

Regular readers might recall that I have mentioned problems with Afghanistan’s water filtration process (there isn’t one), so it should came as no surprise that I was hit with yet another round of Massoud’s Revenge (so named for the national hero Massoud who was the leader of the Mujahedeen who helped topple the Soviet occupation and lead the fight against the Taleban .. he too was a war load, but I don’t mean to disparage the dead) .. anyhow, as I lay sick in bed, between bouts of sweats and chills, Sharif, the sweet guardsman of our compound came in to my room offering a local cure. Please keep in mind that as a good Muslim, Sharif should not be alone in a bedroom with a woman who is not his wife (for fear of angering Allah), so he was risking his soul to help me. Also keep in mind that Sharif’s English is about as good as my Dari, so in order for us to communicate, it involves a lot of charades (which when you are sick, you don’t really feel like playing). Here is the cure for a stomach bug: a third of a cup of sugar (unrefined because who has time to refine anything here), 3 lemons (pictured above .. these lemons have paper thin peels and are a hybrid of limes and lemons), and tepid water. Mix it all up and drink it down … BUT make sure that before you take this potion, you are done with your retching.
It has been 12 hours since my first potion and I am feeling much better! I do hope Allah forgives Sharif.

When I return home, I will NOT:

2007-01-18T00:59:00.000-05:00

Eat lamb for a year.
Drink black or green tea for 2 years.
Sleep in a sleeping bag under my bed covers.
Wear a hat to bed (unless I am camping).
Wear three layers of underclothes (unless I am camping).
Go camping.
Stoke or start any fires.
Eat semi dried grapes-raisins.

The big barf of 2007

2007-01-18T00:42:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning and didn’t feel that great. I pulled back the curtains to see it was barfing again … big time.
The pictures are of the compound where I live, my driver and one of the guards trying to put chains on tires (this would help explain why Kabul’s roads are as bad as they are), and why my clothes never seem to get dry!

Bubakhshin (pardon me)

2007-01-17T05:25:00.000-05:00

No one blows their nose in public. To do so is considered offensive. On any given day, you will hear a symphony of sniffling. Also considered offensive: wearing colorful hats (and not scarves) as an adult. whoops.

It's barfing

2007-01-16T01:53:00.000-05:00

The Dari term for snow is "barf". I'm not kidding. It hasn't barfed here since the big barfstorm on Christmas because it has been too cold. But there is still plenty of barf on the ground. This morning, it was barfing. Not big barf but sprinkly barf. I guess I should be happy that the temperature is warm enough for it to barf .. maybe winter is finally coming to an end and I can see another season.

Nightlife

2007-01-15T00:41:00.000-05:00

There isn’t a huge nightlife scene in Kabul. The bars are attached to restaurants (of which there are 8), and there’s one disco (kind of hard to get your groove on to Afghan music), so most activities take place at private compounds (that word makes it seem grander than it is .. really it is just a guesthouse with an unarmed guard on duty). In order to occupy our time, there are a number of “game nights” to choose from. Typically the hosting house provides the liquor (if there is any to be found), and participants bring the snacks and mixers (things like Pringles but they are made in Pakistan so they are called Ringles). Here is a sample of my social calendar: Monday is trivia night, Wednesday and Sunday is low buy-in Texas Hold ‘Em night, Tuesday is big buy-in poker night (I don’t go to this), and Saturday is Scrabble night. The rest of the week gets filled in with the occasional restaurant outing and plenty of DVD watching (since we are so close to China, we get newly released movies very quickly .. although you have to watch them with Chinese subtitles). The above picture was taken at one of my regular poker nights, and “buy-in” refers to how much it costs to get a seat. The big buy-in night is $100, the low buy-in night is $10 (otherwise known as piddly poker).

Media Monitoring

2007-01-14T01:38:00.000-05:00

One of the things I am training my staff to do, is media monitor. What this means is that they are to go through published/aired reports from TV, radio, newspapers, magazines, and the internet and compile a comprehensive report to give to the Minister on a daily basis. I told them they are to look for important stories about women. Here is a sample of what I got:
Day 1 of media monitoring: stories about Nancy Pelosi and Hillary Clinton. I explained that yes, these are women and they are important women, but that I want them to look for stories that are important to women HERE.
Day 2 of media monitoring: a roundup of headlines from the US. They assumed that by “here”, I meant in the office (and since I am an American, they assumed I wanted them to give me stories affecting me) . So, again, I learn that translation is key and that unless you want them to take you literally, you have to explain everything.
It is now Day 6 of training and they have improved. They backslide occasionally, but for the most part, their selections are now more Afghan-centric.

Poppy for dummies

2007-01-14T01:26:00.000-05:00

I have not tried poppy/opium, but it is one of the most available drugs in Afghanistan. The poppy trade has financed many a war-load, and here, there are many. It is illegal to grow, sell and/or use, but it’s unclear how strict the fines are. Users, sellers, and farmers were sent to jail (regardless of the quantity) during the Taleban regime, which is weird considering most people really got hooked on it when the Taleban were in charge.
Poppy comes from the poppy flower. A special sickle looking knife is used to cut the stem and collect the back tar like substance that is in the stem. That tar/ash thing is the actual drug. If you rub it between your fingers, it will look like you have been handling black ash. There are a number of ways to use it, but the preferred method seems to be mixing it with your tea. Here is the catch and why I write (for those of you considering trying it) … if you mix it with warm water, you have to drink only warm liquids for a good 8 hours afterwards. If you have something cold, your stomach will distend and it will (allegedly) feel like your stomach is trying to disassociate itself with the rest of your body. I am told this is a horrible feeling. Many Afghans do use poppy regularly during the winter months, but a very small amount. While it is still a narcotic even in small quantities, it (again, apparently) makes your body feel warm. Having gone through an Afghan winter, I can attest that feeling cold sucks.

Afghan dryers

2007-01-13T01:42:00.000-05:00

To the untrained eye, the following pictures might look like a shoddy art installation. If you take a closer look, you’ll see that these are some of my freshly line-dried clothes. The drying process is actually 7 steps. Line dry to ensure the requisite amount of Kabul dust is embedded, take off line and place near the bukhali, flip once one side seems dry and less stiff, flip again because the first side invariably soaks up the wetness released from side 2, flip again (for the same reason mentioned previously ), turn clothes inside out and flip twice … at this point, your clothes should be warm enough to wear (although strangely still not dry enough).

The French Resistance

2007-01-13T01:38:00.000-05:00

L’Atmosphere is one of the more popular spots in town for ex-pats. It might be because it serves alcohol at all hours (for those 3 martini lunch types), could be that it has free WiFi, or that in the summer it opens its in ground swimming pool and people actually saunter around in bikinis. It has been put on many organizations “not cleared” list because it attracts foreigners and is a good spot for a bombing and/or kidnapping (although neither has been attempted there to my knowledge). You can’t tell it is much of anything from the outside. Like most of the restaurants in Kabul, it is fairly inconspicuous from the outside .. aside from the guard station that usually houses 3-4 men wearing Kabul’s favorite accessory: a kalashnikov. But once you walk through a series of doors and around a private backyard, you get to the oasis. It is also my housemates’ home away from home where they can speak French, chain smoke cigarettes, drink, and say things like “put it on my tab” (which gets settled at the end of each month). I’ve also dubbed it the French underground since that is where most of the Frenchies go when they are hiding from work.

Hameed

2007-01-13T01:28:00.000-05:00

Hameed is 10 years old and is one of the most charming people I have met here. He has been studying intensive English for 2 years and relished the chance to practice it on real English people. He caught my eye as my group stood in front of a kiosk buying water. He came up to me and said “It is too cold for water. You should have tea.” He is the only one in his family who speaks a language other than Dari and his dream is to go to Canada (I guess the Canadian tourism board must have done something fantastic here). Hameed spends the winter months (like many other Afghan children) playing with friends, flying kites, and trying to make a few extra afs by doing odd jobs (like polishing shoes, carrying your inner tube up a snowy hill,etc). Since most of Afghan’s schools are outside (or in tents), children only go to school in the warm months and have their winters off.