The Life of 2ME

Ho Ho Ho from the Holiday Market!

2009-12-03T05:39:00.001-08:00

OK, I know I haven’t been blogging lately and the reason can be summed up in two words: Union Square. Actually four words: Union Square Holiday Market. The biggest holiday market in NYC and an event that Maruska (my business partner) and I have been gearing up for for the last year. So the past 6 weeks have been filled with papier mache, sewing, printing shirts, more sewing and general planning for this big event.
The Union Square Holiday Market is a month-long market in the style of a German Christmas market. Little booths with lots of interesting stuff to buy and eat. There are a lot of designers and artists who sell unique items perfect for any Xmas wish list. It may cost you a little more, but it’s definitely worth it since most of things you find here are a) one of a kind and b) handmade by local people (like myself). Resist the mind-numbness of mall shopping and get your ass to this market or one like it near you.
We opened a week ago and so far it’s been pretty good. A little slow but that’s to be expected (as the veterans have been telling us). They say the last two weeks will be really crazy so that’s what I am getting ready for. Maruska and I have one of the most welcoming and colorful booths in the market loaded with great stuff—t-shirts, pajamas, quilts and blankets for babies, Diva Kitties, original art, ornaments, and so on. My latest animal, the tiger is looking to be a hot seller for me. Next week, I’ll be debuting a giraffe design which should be fabulous.
What I love about the market is that it’s like a little village full of friendly people that you get to see every day. I know many of the vendors around us from other markets and those I don’t know, we are already buddies. Besides Belle, the jeweler and Jensen the textile designer, there’s Sister Kristina from Belarus selling Russian laquer boxes, ornaments and matroshki for the monastery where she works. Of course she and I blab in Russian all day. She’s not a real nun but works at the St. Elisabeth monastery in Minsk. They sent her because she personable and knows English. Actually I’ve been speaking a lot of Russian at the market. Besides Kristina, there’s Azamat and Hamid, two young students from Tajikistan selling Pillow Pets. Oh those Christmas jobs! All the Russian speaking opened up a door with Lisa who sells jewelry across from us. Turns out she and I lived in Russia at the same time. Small world huh? She and I ran in different crowds. I was more in with the Russian students who came over to find work and she was more corporate, working for Saachi and Saachi, a high-falootin’ ad agency. Still we have good reminiscing time when it’s slow. On the other side of us is the Viking cuisine and Dezign Mind booth. Run by Klaus and Tina, the Viking cuisine is basically hearty food like meatballs with potato salad, rice pudding and little hamburgers. Klaus is the showcase of that booth, where he and his girls cook up a storm all day in the Viking hats. Dezign Mind is Tina’s booth full of things from Bali: toys, ornaments boxes, masks, etc. The biggest draw is the wooden frog toy that you make rabbit by stroking its back with a stick. So besides the smell of meatballs all day, we hear croaking frogs too. We’ve already grown accustomed to it all.
Besides working at the market all day, I’ve still been teaching ESL two nights a week at Brooklyn College. Monday, I’m having my students come to the market to do a Scavenger Hunt, using their English skills to find out information and to have a chance to get out of Brooklyn. They belly ache about taking the subway and all, but I assured them that they’re going to have a good time—and they will, once they get here.
So here it is a Thursday morning, the beginning of the second week for us. Before I know it, we’ll be finished and resting at home on Christmas Day. The weather has gotten quite warm today, in the 60’s, so that should bring out the shoppers. Look out for more pictures and news from the market in the next weeks!

The October Missive

2009-10-14T06:19:00.000-07:00

Jackhammers somewhere off in the distance provide a steady beat to the usual morning sounds of birds chirping, cars moving up the street and classical music from my bedside clock/radio. They jackhammerers are far enough away to not be annoying. Thus opens another Tuesday in the life of 2Me here in Brooklyn. The cats have been fed, the tea has been poured and after a few weeks, it is time to blog.
Papier Mache has taken over my kitchen table this morning. Since the temperature has dropped, I figured it’s best to have my projects dry in the warmth of the kitchen instead of the chill of the art studio. I’m making ornaments and big collage hearts and cat heads for the Union Square Holiday Market. In addition to my line of shirts, I’m whipping up some hand made things to sell. This week I’m working on papier mache, next week is tie-dying and then I begin to sew. By November 25th ,when the market starts, I’ll be all set with a wide array of merchandise to sell.
I really enjoy this creative time I have right now. No rushing around to different jobs (just one and a few subbing gigs) and I’m focused and getting things done. Not a lot of distractions and I’m feeling very productive. May this feeling last!
It’s good I’m home at this time because they have begun gutting the house next door to me and I can keep a close eye on the work to make sure they don’t trash my house in the process. Here in Brooklyn we share walls—a single row of bricks and a layer of plaster is all that separates us. One too many bangs on the wall and we could have trouble. They’ve actually already done some minor damage and loosened a wall cabinet in my 3rd floor apartment. I’m still waiting for them to come over and fix it. The owner isn’t a jerk so I don’t want to be a jerk—yet. The put up scaffolding in front of the house and by law have to go 5 feet on either side which means half of my house is covered by scaffolding. This would send some people I know into a tirade but I look at things in a more positive light—I’ve got a front deck! The scaffolding comes up to my living room window so I can go out and enjoy the sunsets al fresco now. My friend Stuart and I tested it out the other day by having tea out there. A little wobbly but it worked. Who knows how long it’ll be there but come Christmas and that thing is getting decorated. I’ve made friends with the Mexican workers who are gutting the place. A good thing to do, especially when you have junk in your basement you want to throw into their dumpsters. They let me throw away some old doors that have been cluttering up the basement for years. In return, I buy them beer. They plan to extend the house another 24ft which basically means my patio will be boxed in. Not too bad really, I’ll grow a trumpet vine up it which will make it less ugly. They say they’ll be done in 4 months but I doubt that. Winter is coming and how much work will get done? We’ll see.
So my secret mission to Canada was a big success and not so secret anymore so I can talk a bit about it. Amazing trip! It was so good to see all my former students, well the 20 or so that came out to the Afghan restaurant where we met up. They look and try to act like mature people but deep inside they are still young kids navigating their way through this new world. Despite the fact that they snuck away from the program I work on, and I did tell them that it upset me, I’m impressed how they are making a life for themselves in Canada. It’s not easy to be a teenager and have to rent an apartment, go to school (many are still in high school), do all the domestic stuff that they aren’t used to (cleaning, cooking and shopping) but together, they are surviving. I got some good footage and interviews with some of the kids on camera with the intention of making a film but on second thought, this would make a better book so a book I have begun to write. It’s a story I think I can tell well because these kids trust me and will open up to me about things. They also know that I would never do anything to put them in harm’s way or exploit them. I just think they have fascinating stories to tell and it could make for a compelling book. That said, I’m on page 12 of the book and it seems to be just writing itself. Another trip is planned for January! That’s all I can say about that for now.
OK, t-shirts at Friedman’s await me and I must go pick up my big order for the Christmas line. Also need to look through my book of designs and see which new designs I will be printing. But first a stop at Lindo’s with Pete for some breakfast served up by Denise—the sassy Puerto Rican waitress at our breakfast spot.

Reflections on weeks past in LaGuardia

2009-09-27T08:56:00.000-07:00

Another airport, another destination. Nothing exotic or faraway, just Canada. Seems like once I get home, the blogging slows down and only picks up when I’m in an airport or on my way to somewhere. I suppose NYC life gets me on my hamster wheel, spinning around and around and I just get time to blog. Or maybe you just don’t want to read about the mushroom omelette I had for breakfast or that my cat who is dying of cancer is doing great. Well either way, I’m gonna write about it.
Let me start with the entertainment review. Been catching up on my movies and Broadway since being home and here’s my reviews:
District 9: Fantastic! Can’t wait for the sequel that Peter Jackson does so well.
Julie and Julia: Is there any role Meryl can’t do??? A goddess, a legend, brilliant actress!!! The Julie part of the movie was rather blah but it did inspire that mushroom omelette I had this morning.
The September Issue: Great documentary on Vogue, Anna Wintour, and best of all Grace—the creative director of Vogue. New found respect for the Prada-wearing devil, and the fashion world in general, from me. Made me want to watch “The Devil Wears Prada” for the 500th time.
Bye Bye Birdie: still in previews on Broadway, starring Gina Gershon and John Stamos, but was I back at Point Loma High watching a Zeiger musical?? Sure felt like a high school production. They better work on it before opening night. Bill Irwin stole the show though. Is there anything good left on Broadway or have we descended into schlock for the throngs of teenagers who don’t know better and women with those colourful knitted sweaters and bad hair?

So on the home front here’s what’s going on. We have boycotted going over to Eddie’s since last Friday. In a drunken tirade he told Pete and I what lousy friends we are and then rambled on to the others at how cheap I was. At that moment, I got up and left the party. I have more important things to do with my time than sit around and be put down by some miserable, self-hating drunk. It tapped in to some of those bad memories of my alcoholic father, memories I don’t desire to revisit at all. Let him stew in his misery alone. I did go over twice (when he was sober) this week to say hi and see the progress on his demolition of the living room. He probably didn’t remember what he said to us, but to date hasn’t apologized. Maybe my lack of enthusiasm with going over to see him will make him see the errors of his ways. Probably not.
It fascinates me that in New York City, the center of the Universe, there are so many miserable people. Tap into these old neighborhood people and you get so many layers of negativity, unfulfilled lives, cynicism, and unhappiness. Neighbors live all their lives next to each other holding grudges and always fighting back and forth. Well that’s Eddie’s world but the block is changing. Thank God for neighbors like Pete!

Now that my 45th year is upon me, it’s time to get busy. Who knows how it will unfold but I do know two things: I’m going to start getting my body in shape and attempt to find a boyfriend. The exercising part is crucial since I’ve gained weight and my cholesterol ain’t great last time I visited the doctor. I’ve already begun working on the health part by biking every morning in the park—a good 3mile ride around the Prospect Park loop. With my new job at Brooklyn College, I will soon have access to their fabulous new gym and really get going. As for the romance, there’s a few guys I have my eyes on and my eyes remain open and looking. The only point though is there aren’t a lot of gay men in NYC that make me go WOW! But I don’t rule anyone out at first glance. Maybe it’s time to seek someone younger than me. Instead of a new car, get a twenty-something boyfriend. Ah we’ll see.

Toronto. Why Toronto? Well it’s sort of a secret mission that I don’t want to divulge too much about but all I can say it has something to do with my Afghan kids from years past who have fled up there. I want to make a movie about them so I’m going up to find a story. With video camera in tow, I hope to do some filming of the students while I’m there for a few days. I want to hear their stories: why they fled, how their lives are, what are they doing, did they make the right choices, etc. I don’t know who will want to work with me but I do hope a few will step forward to tell their stories. I know I can’t get it all in one weekend but this may be the beginning of many trips to Toronto in what could turn out to be a fascinating journey.

Summer Epilogue

2009-09-15T04:18:00.001-07:00

What day is it? Where am I? Can’t I just go home?? One quiet day in San Diego before boarding my plane home to New York tomorrow. Since last writing I’ve been from Delhi to Dubai to DC to LA by plane. From LA, I drove up to surprise my brother for his birthday in the Eastern Sierras (Mammoth to be exact) and yesterday drove all the way down to San Diego, where I now sit in a Peet’s Coffee doing what I like to do most—write, email, etc. on my computer in a café. Call me old fashion.
Spending time with my family is always a fun time. No drama, lots of laughs and good food, kids running around—the way it should be. I feel sorry for people who don’t like spending time with their families. With us, it’s like we don’t want to leave each other at the end of the trip. So bully for us Toomeys.
It was quite a contrast going from India to the 10,000 ft heights of the Sierras in California. It took me a few days to get accustomed to the switch from in charge of 10 Afghans to being one among the family clan. I showed my family the camp slide show so they had a visual to put with the descriptions what I told them. Somehow not all of them get what I do every summer so maybe the slide show helped. Now maybe I can get them to remember where the countries are that I go to—is that asking too much?
Camping out for 2 nights was fantastic. I can do the rustic outdoor thing just fine. Eating at the Whoa Nellie Deli (my brother’s restaurant) on Sunday night was a great reward for 2 nights in the woods. I relished the pork tenderloin and wolfed it down. After two months of no pork, it was heaven!
Now all I want to do is get on a plane and go home...

The Taj Mahal Experience

2009-08-27T21:55:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls!! May I present to you the Taj Mahal Exploitation (uh Experience)!!
After mentioning it so much, we finally made it to THE one thing everyone has to see in India (and I think something on a list of things you need to see before you die)—The Taj Mahal. The 3 hour drive down took about 5 hours due to traffic and getting a speeding ticket but we made it down to the #1 tourist attraction in the country. Like any major tourist attraction, it is structured so you’re exploited in so many ways that by the time you reach said attraction, you in no mood to see it. From the souvenir hawkers to the aggressive rickshaw drivers to the over-inflated foreigner priced entry fee—it’s a lot of work to get into the place. One cannot just buy a ticket and stroll into the Taj Mahal. Park a kilometer away, then take said electro-rickshaw to the ticket booth, buy tickets and get your complimentary bottle of water (makes you feel better about paying $5 compare to the $.40 Indians pay), get back in rickshaw and zoom up to the road block, walk past souvenir shops with hawkers trying to lure you inside, finally there is the gate where you go through security and are almost free to see the Taj. But there’s one more hurdle—the professional photographers who will take your picture with the Taj in glossy 8x10. I actually love these so that’s the one thing I insist on. Santosh has hired a guide (UGH!) who goes almost ignored by the kids because all they want to do is take pictures of each other. I have to stop them now and then to listen to the guide.
Despite all the hurdles and annoyances that come with most tourist traps around the world, it still is a great experience to be at the Taj Mahal. Seeing it through the gateway is breathtaking. It appears as a tiny little building but grows in size as you walk through the gate into the grounds. There it is in all its glory, glistening white in the sunshine. People grapple for the best spots to take pictures, the professional photographer lines us up to get a nice group shot of the Terrific Ten and their Kaka Toomey with the Taj. By the time we finish our tour, he will have 12 8x10 glossies awaiting us—my gift to the Terrific Ten. Our guide Ravi gives us the historical low down of the Taj (a lot of this we already know since it was an on-line assignment from yours truly). There is a mosque on the grounds so the boys go off and pray while Ravi takes me and the girls inside the tomb. Visiting the Taj Mahal isn’t so much about seeing everything, it’s more about just being there. Sititng on a park bench in the shade looking at the giant, white monument to love, walking the length of the fountain which is perfectly aligned with the gate and the tomb itself. One doesn’t need to spend all day here but you can. It’s a very peaceful place to be. After thousands of pictures taken, we make our way out to get, our 8x10’s waiting and the souvenir shop owners drooling as we make our way to the exit and into their clutches. No sooner are we out of the gates than we are bombarded with Taj Mahal books, postcards, keychains, t-shirts. Ravi takes us to his friends amrble shop where we see the artisans making inlaid marble table tops and what not. The same technique of inlaying white marble with lapis lazuli, jasper, malachite, etc. that was used in the Taj Mahal. Of course there is the showroom with all sorts of things for sale (another part of the tourist exploitation). All of it is way too expensive for the kids so we make our way out onto the street of cheap souvenir shops. I guide the kids in what to buy their host families (no glittery snow globes with the Taj please!) while simultaneously trying toswat away the boys shoving crap in my face to buy. It’s such a desparate business and part of me feels sad but it’s late and I haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky. I’m also cranky because I am the tall, white guy and ergo I must have the most money. I think I do have more than the kids but I’m not in the mood to spend it all there. I do manage to plop a chunk of rupees down at one place to finish my souvenir shopping, then sit in a little café drinking water while the kids shop. Still I’m hassled and actually wind up buying two pairs of sandals from a show seller next door. When it’s time to go, I walk straight to our electro-rickshaw, ignoring all the stuff shoved in my face and the desparate pleas and prices going lower and lower. There’s one more souvenir shoving match as we get on our bus to go home. We manage to get out of that one fast and before you know it, we are saying “Goodbye Taj Mahal!” and on our way.
We decide to take a break from Indian food and stop at the McDonald’s down the street for a late lunch. It’s connected to a mall which the kids wanted to explore in great detail but I nixed that. We downed our Chicken Maharajahs (the Indian version of the Big Mac) combo meals and zoomed back to Delhi in record time. NOW we are ready to say farewell to India and head to America. Today is the big day. I can’t believe I’m finally leaving India. It’s been a great time but it’s time to go home.

Closing Up Shop

2009-08-27T21:26:00.000-07:00

Don’t tell my mother that I’ve been riding on the back of a motorcycle without a helmet in India. Oops! I forgot she reads my blog. Zooming down the road into Hoshiarpur on the back of Ramjit’s Bullet motorcycle, I feel all the weight of this program off my shoulders. Cars, buses, trucks, bicycles, cows and other motorcycles whiz by us as Ramjit navigates his motorcycle down the streets of Hoshiarpur, honking most of the way. People glance and stare at us as we make our way down the bustling streets. Finally after a month of planning other people’s schedules and escorting kids around, I get to be free and alone from all of this. Plus I really haven’t seen much of the town so it was nice just to bike around, holding on to Ramjit’s big shoulders as we bounced along. I needed to get some souvenirs for people back home and wound up with some pretty fabulous bracelets and bangles for the ladies in my life (Yes Mom you’re getting bracelets). Who knows what the guys get, guess they’ll have to wait til I get to the Taj Mahal.
Ramjit is one of the hot and sexy staff members here. A body builder and champion Bangarah player (that’s a type of drum) he has been taking care of us since day one. He’s a sweetheart of a guy and is always there to assist whether it be taking me souvenir shopping or pouring gin and tonics. The kids love him too and call him Brother Ramjit. We’ll miss him when we go.
So as we barreled down the Dasuya Road into town, wind in my hair, whizzing past the small village before getting into town, I’m taking pictures mid-ride of Ramjit and I. Holding the camera out at arms length, I snap away, telling Ramjit to smile as he keeps an eye out for oncoming traffic. He wants to stop but I tell him no, the fun is in the picture while driving—makes for a more interesting picture. I finally get the shot I want and show it to Ramjit at one of the few stops we make. He approves. We wind our way into town past all the traffic into the narrow streets of Kashmir market. I’m a quick shopper so don’t need to walk around eternally. One-stop shopping for moi. We wind up in a bangle store which is also a drug store so I can find everything I need from bangles, to batteries, disposable razors for the boys and some aloe vera gel for my newly burnt leg, I accidentally tapped it on the extremely hot muffler (or silencer in the local tongue). The store is owned but the uncle of a man I met in the Jain temple a week before. He comes over to say hello and offer me a cup of tea. I decline for I want to save my afternoon caffeine buzz for Café Coffee Day, the new coffee house which opened up a few weeks ago that has been eluding me for weeks. How I wanted to have Ramjit drop me off there for an hour so I could just relax, alone, in a café. But no, everything is a production here, so I wound up going with Mr. Gil and Mr. Santosh (my assistant) chauffered in the Land Cruiser. Mr. Gil, an avid photographer, takes a few shots of me drinking my cappuccino and posing with the sign outside. A girl coming in recognizes us, she’s a Woodlander celebrating her birthday with her family at Café Coffee Day. They all come over to say their Namastes to us. She and her brother stare in awe at us, that look of disbelief that students give their teachers when they see them outside of school (yes we do have lives and we don’t live at school). Despite all the production, the coffee was great. A nice reminder that life was slowly returning to normal. Soon I won’t have any Afghans to worry about, they will be someone else’s worry in the US. It’ll be sad to leave them but all good things must come to an end. A door closes and a window opens somewhere. Until then, we’ll enjoy our few days left together.

On the Road to Somewhere

2009-08-23T02:46:00.000-07:00

The Waiting Game

2009-08-23T02:22:00.000-07:00

It has been over a week now that we, the Terrific Ten and I, have been playing the waiting game at Woodlands. There’s always a catch to this program. It never ends or starts on time, I wind up running it in two different countries, visas aren’t ready, bureaucracy---it’s always something. This year it’s because we can’t find placements for these kids. The State Dept. (who runs this program) makes us place them in school first. Many schools have early deadlines for accepting exchange students (May/June). In May/June we usually don’t have US visas for many of the kids. So you can see where my problem lies. I keep delaying my departure for the US because the more time I spend with my 10 Afghans, the less I want to leave them here all alone. Eventhough I have a family vacation to get to, three cats and a house to give attention to, and a mourning neighbor to help grieve, I must stay with my kids.
Kaka Toomey is what they call me. Kaka means uncle in Dari. They see me as their uncle, who will take care of them, not abandon them to strangers here in India. I won’t leave them until they get through customs in the US. Plus I promised them the Taj Mahal—our last thing we need to do here in India before we leave. That’s all next week, yes exactly two weeks from when the others left. My dedication to the program has paid off—I got upgraded on the long leg of the flight to the US and a ticket ot the west coast out of it, saving my colleagues in DC time and money having to send someone over here to escort them to the US. Nope, we are a family us 11 and we’re sticking together until Dulles.
So what do you do with a bunch of Afghans for two weeks? You make them study and write and read and keep on studying until they beg for mercy. Ramadan started today so now they are begging for mercy since they declare they have no energy during the day to study. I’m not falling for that one. Tomorrow I’m giving them an easy day since we’re leaving on Monday. We were talking about Ramadan today in class (they had to write a persuasive essay why fasting is good for you) and they had some interesting thoughts on it. So interesting that I may just fast with them tomorrow to experience it.
Besides studying, we took a few excursions outside of Woodlands in the area. Last weekend we went to Science City and Wonderland. Science City has a planetarium, science exhibits, a dinosaur park and oodles of fun stuff to see. First time for any of them to see such things and they had a ball. They especially liked the IMAX movie and the flight simulator. After Science City, we went to Wonderland, an amusement park not too far from SC. There we had a blast, riding all the rides, getting queasy on the spinning rides, laughing in the lame haunted house, getting wet on the water slide. It was so nice to see these teenagers be kids and have fun. I think of where they are from and what they have been through and so happy to see beaming smiles on their faces, all of them laughing to their hearts delight. Their Kaka is pleased.
Now the end is in sight, the light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter. Early Monday morning we are out of here, on the road again to Delhi. Stopping over there and then heading to Agra on Tuesday and finally on Wednesday blasting off to the US. For this week I thought that I’d be stuck here forever, but that is not to be. As much as I’ve enjoyed being in India, it’s time for a change of scene.

A Religious Experience

2009-08-20T03:54:00.000-07:00

Happy Lord Krishna’s Birthday and Happy Independence Day. India is a country so full of festivals and celebrations that it’s amazing anything gets done here. This year Krishna’s birthday falls on 14 August, one day before Independence Day so the town of Hoshiarpur is rocking. The temples are all lit up, blaring music from giant speakers, tableaux set up depicting scenes from Krishna’s life and thousands of people coming to pay their respects. Quite the show.
Our afternoon was a rather spiritual one yesterday. My Terrific Ten, as I call them, and I went to meet a guru of the Jain faith. Jainism is one of India’s 360+ ancient religions. Their core beliefs are non-violence in any form (yes that means no killing of ants and flies), truth, non-stealing, non-possession and celibacy. They are strictly vegetarian. They also wear all white 100% cotton toga-like outfits and cover their mouths with a white cloth so as not to breathe in any bacterias or microbes. Their symbol is the swastika, much maligned by Hitler, and it was a little jarring to see it all over their temple. The coloured mirror tile they used for it made the swastika more a reflection of ancient Indian religion than 20th century dictatorship. There was a visiting guru who came to speak to us. He sat on a raised platform and we on the floor trying to understand his words through his mouth mask. Flies buzzed around my feet and it took all control not to kill them in front of the guru. The kids listened attentively and asked great questions (I was so proud). Afterwards we were invited downstairs to the dining hall for a free afternoon tea. We were served a cool drink of cumin water and some nibbly vegan things. The kids hated the tea but I loved it. Sounds gross, but I must protest—it hit the spot. They have a rule that you must eat everything on your plate (did they grow up in my mother’s house?) which was a challenge for us. The bigger challenge was fighting off the servers who kept throwing stuff on our plate. Indian hospitality can be deadly, let me tell you! One of my more creative students stashed the food in his pocket and trashed it later—gotta love it.
Post Jain temple, we stopped by the one mosque in town for evening prayer. I was warned that the imam here is rather ornery and fortunately he wasn’t there, so the kids could pray in peace. After two religious experiences, we needed to worship the modern God of consumerism and went shopping at a local mall. Give the kids an opportunity to shap and they’ll be there forever. Hey, what do I care? It’s a weekend and let them have their fun.
We saved the best for last—visiting the Hindu temples around town. All decorated up like Christmas trees, the temples were jam packed with believers coming to pay their repsects to Lord Krishna on his birthday. They had manger-like tableaux set up depicting Krishna as a baby and throughout his life. Instead of a crèche, little blue Krishna sits in a cradle which you can gently rock back and forth with a long floral draped cord. It’s all rather fun, sort of like Christmas without the commercialism. People visiting, songs beng sung, free food, bell ringing and lights galore. One temple we went to had a giant Star of David (just a star to them) and a swirling swastika aglow next to it. What do symbols mean anyway? In the US you would never see this but here it’s all part of the celebration. Indians have celebrations almost everyday and they relish in them. What brings them the most joy is sharing them with others as was shown by a man at one of the temples. He grabbed my arm and wanted us to come eat dinner with him at the temple. We had dinner plans but he insisted with such force my arm was almost pulled from my arm socket. Such enthusiasm can be a bit overbearing but appreciated.
After all these religious experiences, we made our way home in our minibus in the dark. We had a homemade dinner of bolani-Afghan pies stuffed with potatoes. It was a family affair, the girls rolling out the dough, boys frying up the bolani and French fries, others making doh a delicious yoghurt drink with cucumbers. All of us together and having a fun time in the middle of the night.

And Then There Were Ten

2009-08-13T19:04:00.000-07:00

Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom. That damned drum calls the Woodlanders to the courtyard for their morning rally (well assembly, officially). It’s difficult to sleep in here due to that loud thumping, followed by the shrill “Attention!” Just as annoying as that damned bus horn we had last week. Oh well, four more days of it, and we’re out of here. Today I let everyone sleep in until 9 but so much for that with that banging drum. Prior to the drum, I was awoken by a fly that keeps flitting about on my face, hands, nose and bed tea. That was enough to get me up and start my day.
Now many of you may be wondering why I don’t post pictures of any of the kids I’m working with. The reason I don’t is because I’m not allowed for their security. Who knows who may see my blog and recognize any kids and do harm to them and/or their families. That’s the official reasoning so there.
Anyway, we are down to 10 students now here at Woodlands--10 students and me. The Terrific Ten, as I call them, haven’t received placements yet so according to US State Dept rules, they can’t enter the US until they get that. The other 28 left the other night in a flood of tears and I stayed behind to keep the other 10 occupied before I have to head off myself. I am teaching them every day just as they would be but they are a bit lazy and unmotivated and preoccupied with getting a host family. It’s not an easy position to be in but whaddyagonnado? I’m actually considering hosting one of the kids myself, there’s one boy who has driven me nuts but has grown on me at the same time. It would be a big adjustment but maybe that’s what I need in my life right now. We’ll see. The main thing is if we can get him into a school. He could go to the Muslim school down the street but what’s the point of coming to the US then. We’ll see how it all pans out. I have to leave in a few days and I hope I can take my Terrific Ten with me. I don’t like the prospect of leaving them here alone and it won’t play well on their psyche. I’m trying to arrange a trip to the Taj Mahal for us before leaving. That would make them really happy.
It is a long weekend here in India due to two holidays—Independence Day and Lord Krishna’s birthday. The school is closed so no banging drum today. The last two days they’ve had performances at the school to celebrate these two holidays. They definitely put the shows at my school back in NYC to shame. It’s like a mini-Bollywood film, with all the costumes and fabulous props. There were tableaux of Krishna’s life mixed in with a depiction of British rule in India and how independence came about. I loved the mini Gandhi who comes and kicks them out. At the end, with the “Britishers” as they are called here gone, all Indians can rejoice in their independence in a giant dance number with flower petals and coloured powder thrown on the audience. The festivals here in India seem to be everyday and life comes to a halt for a bit to celebrate. No wonder the Indians are such happy people.
My bed tea has just come so I guess I have to get up and start my day. We are going to see a guru of Jainism this morning and talk to him about their beliefs. A nice little break from the classroom. The kids will want to do some shopping as well so I must steel myself for that. If it’s one thing I hate to do with Afghans, it’s shopping. But hey maybe today it will take their minds off their worries for a little while.

A Trip To The Golden Temple of Amritsar

2009-08-06T18:29:00.000-07:00

The skies are clearing after a night of monsoon, crows cawing, other birds singing, flies buzzing around me, the pressure cooker letting off steam in the kitchen, a microphoned voice chanting somewhere off in the distance, the cat-like cry of a peacock nearby—that’s how I am starting my Wednesday August 5, 2009. I wonder how long this peace will last and this ultimate joy of being alone to write. Camp life is always hectic and there’s never time to sit quietly and write. Usually I can find time somewhere outside to be at peace with my thoughts but then someone comes up and wants to know what I’m writing or just wants to talk. Not always welcomed. Therefore, I’ll type fast.
One more week of camp. Next Wednesday, I will be on a train to Delhi with Chynara and Batma, after sending the kids down by bus the night before. We have a lot going on between now and then and I hope it all goes off without a hitch. Still it is India and you never know what will happen.
The heat and humidity has been building these past few days and last night’s monsoon rain was a welcome relief to the thick, heavy air. The humidity is so thick you can cut it with a knife and spread it on a chappati. Now I suppose we will go through another round of humid build up culminating in another rain storm. The heat can be very unbearable here. There have been a few times where I’ve overheated due to being out in the sun. Last Saturday, we went on a picnic and it was so hot that I had to take a shower after a hike. I guess I’m a mad dog or an Englishman to be going out in the midday sun like that. I’ll learn one day.
Sunday was a big day for us—a trip to the Golden Temple in Amritsar. A mere 3 hours from Hoshiarpur not too bad but we were driven there by the horny Sikh bus driver (see above posting) so the drive was nerve wracking. We started out early to avoid the heat of the day but the strong sun still found us. The Golden Temple is the Vatican to the Sikhs—a solid gold building that holds their holy book. It is surrounded by a giant pool of water, “nectar” they call it, where the true believers come to bathe themselves to purity. In the midday sun, this complex of white marble shone blindingly, the gold structure shimmering brightly in the middle of the pool of nectar. The important part of a visit to the Golden Temple is to wait in line with the devout to get a glimpse of the big book, handwritten by the first Sikh guru, that sits shrouded in a gold cover, watched over by guards and a group of people who sing prayers from the good book that can be heard throughout the complex via loudspeakers. Those waiting in line sing along. The line was an hour long of pushing and shoving, lurching forward every so often. Fortunately, the Sikhs care about us and had giant fans with misting water under the great canopy to keep us from expiring from the heat. Many Sikhs had offerings of halwa—a sweet Farina-like substance, in a bowl made out of leaves. They would leave this at the offering stand before they entered the temple. Upon entering, one is met by the big book and the singing men and women. The Sikh guards with their turbans, long beards and big javeline-like poles wave their hands to keep the crowds moving. No stopping for too long. A quick glimpse of the book and you’re done. Some bow down and you find yourself stepping around or over them to keep the flow going. Upon exiting onto the terrace with a view of the pond and the complex, you must touch to threshold and touch your hand to your forehead as a sign of respect. Same idea as the Catholics and their holy water, but you’re touching the floor instead of dipping into some water.
The other must do at the Golden Temple is to eat in the community kitchen. A delicious free meal that is one of the most organized dining events I’ve ever seen. You go in with the other hundreds of people, volunteers hand you a spoon, a plate and a bowl and in you go to the giant hall to eat. You sit on the floor and men come by with big buckets of vegetarian offerings and slop it in your plate. This dining experience may be a bit scary for the Western traveler who is always fearful of food poisoning but these Sikhs run a very clean kitchen. Even the water is safe to drink. So, sitting on the floor, these men come around and slop, slop, slop a variety of delicious things on your plate. A man comes around with a basket of fresh chappati which you must ask for with two open hands together. Another comes around to fill your bowl with water. The idea behind this is that we are all equal before God, that’s why you must sit on the floor with a bunch of strangers. Great philosophy and food together! One of my students and I were asking for seconds and thirds, before we were shooed away big a man with a bucket of water and another with a mop, cleaning for the next seating. Upon exit from the grand dining hall, your spoon is taken by someone and the plates and bowls are whisked out of your hand by another and sent down a chain of Sikh volunteers who wash and clean the plates for future diners. You can eat breakfast, lunch and dinner there if you want—all are welcomed.
The Sikhs believe in a universal acceptance so visiting their holy place was a wonderful experience for all of us. Many of the pilgrims talked to our kids and wanted to know where they were from. Since many of the kids understand Urdu, which is close to Hindi, they were able to speak with the locals. In the temple, one man brought some of the kids close to a copy of the holy book upstairs to explain it to them. Outside, the kids mingled with the locals and found a common language eventhough they are from different faiths. The trip was a great experience for our Afghans, a lesson in respect for differences and appreciation for other ways of thinking. Despite the heat of the day which zapped us, it was worth the effort.
After our visit to the Temple was over, we made a quick visit to the Amritsar Massacre site, just down the street. This is the infamous site of one of the worst chapters in British colonial history. General Dyer had his men kill Indians who had peacefully gathered to protest some new laws back in 1919. In a enclosed plaza with nowhere to run, the British soldiers calmly fired at the protesters who tried to scale the walls only to be shot down. Many jumped into a well to flee the shooting only to be crushed by more people. In all, they killed about 1,500 people. Today the site is a beautiful garden, peaceful, with a memorial, eternal flame and remnants to mark this horrific event (bullet marks on the wall and the infamous well).
Outside the peaceful garden, we pushed our way past tour guides and souvenir sellers down narrow streets with whizzing motorcycles, bikes and rickshaws to our horse and buggies awaiting to take us back to our bus. They close off the center of the city to bus traffic so we had to take horse and buggy rides to the Temple which was a nice reprieve after three hours of bus honking. Now rumour had it that a Walmart had opened up in Amritsar a few months ago and the plan was to stop and shop at this temple of American consumerism (to balance out our religious experience). To our astonishment the place in question was not a WalMart but Best Price, a wholesale shopping mecca ala Costco. Without a membership, we couldn’t get in so we piled back on the bus with our disappointed Afghans eager to spend all their rupees and carried on to our home away from home. “Life is a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get” I told them to ease their disappointment. I assured them we will find time in the schedule to do some shopping next week. As a consolation prize, we stopped at a roadside café to get chips and drinks. That seemed to calm the spenders in them all.
India is a lot of work. Traveling around, shopping, going outside the walls of Woodlands takes effort and stamina. The heat, the noise, the crowds can wear one down tremendously. After a weekend of a picnic and the Golden Temple, I think we are all a little shell-shocked. The trips were needed but now I think everyone is happy to go behind the gates of Woodlands for a few days to reenergize. We will be making trips outside on the weekend but now we will focus on our studies and finishing up the final week in style and grace.
The flies are buzzing about me, driving me crazy. Kabir, one of my students sits quietly in the gazebo with me doing his homework. A prayer is still being chanted at a nearby Sikh temple. Woodlands is quiet today due to the Rakhit holiday. It’s just us Afghans today. Hump Day.

Indian Horniness

2009-08-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

Welcome to India, the horniest place on earth. I’m not talking about libidos, I’m talking about driving. The rule here is that when you pass on the road, you honk instead of signal. Everyone is in such a rush, so they’re always passing and always honking. Whether it is a truck, a car, a motorcycle, a bike, a water buffalo, you honk. Trucks have fancy coloured signs saying “Blow Your Horn” egging a driver on to pass it. So you can imagine how noisy it is to drive in India. The other day our trip to Amritsar was one of the horniest trips I’ve ever had. To the Indian or Afghan ear, this may be tolerable but for the American ear, it is too much. Especially since the bus horn was rather shrill. We weren’t even 30 mins on the road when I already had a headache from the honking. Our pleas of “Bas, bas” (Enough) to the quirky, thin, leathery Sikh driver went unheard. Sometimes it seemed as if the driver was honking at nothing at all, maybe just to annoy us. Well the video below explains it all. Enjoy!

Routines

2009-07-29T22:02:00.000-07:00

Well, we’ve had a bit of a reprieve from the monsoons today thus far but you never know what Mother Nature has in store for us little humans down here on earth. The Woodlands campus was quiet yesterday. School was cancelled due to heavy rains predicted (they never materialized) so we had the place to ourselves. Let me tell you, when it rains heres, it pours. Not just pours, but deluges. The grounds of Woodlands are underwater in minutes and turns into a raging river. When it happens, I just put on my Crocs and go right through instead of staying stranded somewhere like many of the students. The other day we used a bus to transport our kids from one building to another because of all the water. As soon as the rain stops, the water miraculously disappears into the earth and life returns to normal.
School is in session today. I can tell because the morning drills are said over the loud speaker “Right, Center, Left, Center” to promote coordination. This is followed by the national anthem which starts by the announcer giving a shrill “Attention!” that goes right to my inner ear bone. Our first official day of camp with the kids started with an outdoor assembly with a morning prayer, mass exercise and the national anthem. It was sort of an Indian version of a Nazi rally, so regimented and official with the kids in straight lines standing at attention, then at ease, listening to Mrs. Gil speak. A bit too rigid for me but that’s the routine here at Woodlands.
Speaking of routines, we have all settled into our daily routines here, alongside the national anthem and hand eye coordination exercises. Laps in the morning before breakfast where I can chat up the handsome swimming instructor Razhpur. Santosh, my 70 yr old assistant, gets up at 5 am for his daily walk around the grounds. The sun rises around 5:30/6 am and the school slowly stirs to life. The grounds staff sweeping and cleaning, making things tidy for the 1,500 students who inhabit this place from 7:30-1:00 Monday through Friday. The kitchen is next to my room and the smells of fresh chappatis or paranthas waft in through the windows. Today there was a rhythmic pat-a-pat-pat meaning we were having something like potatoe patties or some sort of fresh baked flat bread. Santosh and I share a room and by 6:30 he is busy at work at the computer and I’m still rousing from my sleep. Razhu the cook brings us bed tea and I lounge in bed drinking tea and watching CNN until it’s time to greet the children and the day. Another routine I have is the daily game of “Where did the cleaning ladies put my things today?”. If you leave things lying around in your room, they make it their job to put it away in a place they feel is appropriate. Usually that place is not appropriate to me so I spend 5-10 mins walking around the room, digging through drawers to find out where they put my cellphone, papers, eyeglasses, a stapler and so on. It can be a little annoying but I embrace it as one of the quirky details of life in India.
Breakfast is always something interesting and unusual to my New York palate. Today it was tomato and cucumber salad, flat bread, a stew with garbanzo beans and another with potatoes. Spicy and delicious, a different way to start the morning. Goes well with coffee or tea. Not the typical breakfast of coffee and ponchiki at Kashka Suu but just as delicious. After breakfast and before class we have Morning Song and announcements. Each day the students learn a new American song. Today was “Bicycle Built For Two”, in honor of the monsoons the other day we did “Singin’ in the Rain”. “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”, “Home on The Range”, “Oh What A Beautiful Morning” are just a few others we’ve sung. Any suggestions? Let me know. Classes go on all morning, just like in an American high school with students switching classes every hour. In the afternoon we continue with studying until 4:30, then club time after a 30 min. tea break. Each week the students choose a different club: sports, swimming, art, drama, debate, computer—we have a great variety of fun things to do. In the evening, many go off to the study hall after dinner to do their homework before bed. Like Woodlands, we have a rigid routine as well, getting these Afghan kids ready for American routines. Many complain about being tired, not getting enough sleep, too much homework to which I say “Tough—get used to it.” This is their first time away from their parents, making their own decisions and managing their time. If they stay up half the night talking with their friends instead of studying, tough. They made that choice. My main goals for this camp is that they learn personal responsibility and time management—two important values in the U.S.
Besides running this camp, I have taken on a new responsibility once I get back to the States. We’ve placed one of the students in New York City and I will be her local coordinator. That means I will be doing various activities with her, providing support to her and her host family (who I’ve already met), and solve any problems that may arise. Should be an interesting experience indeed. Another thing I’m thinking about doing when I get back is to go to Canada and meet up with some of the students who fled to Canada while on this program. I’d like to make a documentary film about these kids and see how their lives have changed since they made the leap over the border. I’m in the process of seeing who would be willing to speak openly about their life in Canada. Stay tuned for more details.
Speaking of Canada, the Canadians have changed their policy on people from various countries seeking asylum in Canada, entering from the US. Afghanistan is on the list and it says if Afghans seeking asylum in Canada, entering from the US will be turned away. They will have to seek asylum in the US. Good news for us, this will help deter any kids making a run for the border.
The cleaning ladies have finished their cleaning of the room, so now starts the game of where did they put my things. After 4 days, I found my underwear that they washed. So happy I was down to my last pair. A black pair worn under my kurta pajamas; the traditional outfit men wear here. Doesn’t show over the layers, thank God. A few more hours until lunch and then I’m on for teaching reading and art club. Let me post this and carry on with my other work.

They are here, They are here!!

2009-07-27T09:53:00.000-07:00

6:45 am Friday, morning tea, monsoon weather. Usually I’d be up by now and in the pool doing laps but this rain and the thunder make me want to just stay in bed. I can go swimming later when the monsoons stop and the sun comes out to steam us like a bunch of broccoli. Our 37 Afghans arrived late Tuesday night to Woodlands. As they piled off the bus, they stared at us and we at them, both parties sort of not believing that after so much planning and getting ready that the time has come to start camp. A mish-mash of Afghan faces, some scarved, some not, shy, excited, friendly, bewildered, tired, happy standing around in the dark wondering what to do next. Up they went to their rooms with their suitcases, the toads fervently hopping to get out of their way (the toads come out at night here and hop all over the place). Beetles and bugs getting crushed under foot as theparade of Afghans headed to the third floor. Like cattle herders, my crew and I guided the weary kids from their dorms to the bathrooms to the dining hall for a quick 1 am dinner afterwhich the students all went to bed as did we.
The first official day of camp came just a few hours later with breakfast at 8:30. Many of the kids were up early to pray or never went to bed, excited to be in India. I got up early to make sure they knew where to take showers and help solve problems. Also I wanted to catch a glimpse of the solar eclipse from the roof. Mr. Gil provided welding masks for us to view this rare event. We caught the tail end of the eclipse, missing the peak of it about an hour earlier. Sorry rare event but I needed my beauty sleep.
That was two days ago and life here has been a blur of activity; working through problems, getting settled in, starting routines, laying down rules, getting to know the kids, and so much more. The Gils complain they don’t see us anymore but I reassure them that this is just temporary. There is the delicate balance of doing our job and interacting with the people around us. A balance I must find these next few days. It’ll happen. The camp is run pretty much the same but now that it’s in a new place we have new challenges to face, new people, new ways of working with people. Everything is very well organized and I like the fact that when there is a problem or need, it gets taken care immediately. Not like Afghanistan where you give someone a list of needs and then they lose the list or in Kyrgyzstan where there’s always a delay or reason why something didn’t get done. Not in India. Things run like clockwork here, efficiently and with little delay. Rather strange for me, but I’m getting used to it quickly.
Despite the continuing downpour outside, I must get up and start my day. There’s schedules to make, classes to prepare for, morning song to sing (the way we start every day), budgets to work through, and so much more. Not only do I direct the camp, but I teach in the afternoon. So before that, I have a morning full of work—let me get on with the day.

The Calm Before The Storm

2009-07-27T09:16:00.000-07:00

It’s monsoon season here in the Punjab and after a few days reprieve and a sweaty build up, we are deluged in rain this Monday morning. Just back from yoga with a master teacher of Pranayamma (sp?) yoga. A lot of lecturing today and a bit of exercise but sititng in situ position for an hour was rather invigorating. We’ll see what he has in store for us tomorrow. I associate yoga with monsoons because he was supposed to come last week but there was a big monsoon. Today we started out OK on a giant mat in the middle of the school courtyard but then the black skies came closer and the winds picked up and BOOM we were running for cover to continue our lesson. I rather wanted to stay under the elements and embrace the heavy downpour and wind but our yogi had much to lecture on.
Tomorrow the Afghans finally come and after a week of bonding, prepping, and seeing the local sites, we are ready to start what we all came here to do. Our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Gil, the couple who run this school, have been so hospitable, taking us out to various rest homes in the jungle, a visit to their farm, all complete with drinks on the terrace, some fabulous meal and dancing til the wee hours. We joke that when the Afghans get here we’ll leave directions in the classroom and head off to the jungle for fun. Seriously though, we are all set for the job.
I didn’t know what to expect from India and I still don’t have any real expectations, but I am enjoying and embracing everything that comes my way. It seems like a place where there is an order to life and everything is balanced. Although I can’t generalize for the whole country, this is what I see and feel in my little corner of the Punjab. India is a lot of work though and can tire a person out quickly.
We went for a shopping trip to Hoshiarpur the other night and that took a lot of energy. Jalandhar, a bigger city an hour away, was a little less congested when we visited on Saturday. Maybe it was that everyone was inside for the afternoon to escape the heat. That was a nice trip with all of us, the Gil boys, Endar and Ikrash, and their German host sister Christine. My favorite part of the trip was a visit to the Prakesh Bakery, eating gelato in the dining area and watching the locals shop, buy cakes and pastries and assorted breads in the vast shop. So far that has been my best impression of India—just sitting and watching real life happen. No Taj Mahal or other stereotypical impressions of India but the real India—a mother picking out the best birthday cake for her child, a father picking up bread with his son, couples having some ice cream and talking before continuing on with their day, families having a Saturday outing. Life in balance. Outside the beggar children and women swarm us as we try to maneuver through them down the street—the other end of the balance. They hovered like vultures in front of stores wherever we went but when they figured out we weren’t giving anything, they went away. Mary Lisa was feeling a bit sorry for them but I warned her that if she gives one rupee away, she’ll be inundated with outstretched hands pawing at you for more.
Across the street from the bakery was the Chat House where Sonya, our trusty guide and organizer, insisted we try a local delicacy, gol gappe. A puffed little dough ball with potatoe and some spicy sauce put inside and consumed in one gulp, sort of like a shot of vodka or an oyster shooter. I took one, saying the prayers to the Stomach God that it all go down and digest normally, and rather enjoying it, took another. Actually I was eating the ones for some of my American and Kyrgyz colleagues who were more hesitant to take a chance. Afterwards we plied the local dress shops for more Indian outfits. While the girls were in one store, Santosh, my assistant, and I went to a men’s store across the street to check things out. I found some wonderful Indian outfits but they were too expensive. Then the salesman told me they were 50% off and I bought away. The girls then came over and found some chic Indian wear for themselves. We tore apart the store but left more than enough rupees. We returned home at sunset, happily with full bags.
The sun is very strong here and although pleasant to be out in the sun, one forgets how much it can take out of you. The humidity doesn’t help either. Chynara and I are the biggest sweaters in the group. I put on a shirt and within minutes it’s all wet. I can go back and forth around campus, then feel very tired and need to lie down. That old sun just zaps my energy. Well it should—it’s over 95 degrees everyday. We have fans and AC which go in and out but somehow we manage. With bottled water always at my side, I think I can get through this month just fine. After a lull in rain, it has started up again, just when I want to go into breakfast. Got my Crocs and an umbrella and should be just fine.

Settling in, in the Punjab

2009-07-23T21:35:00.000-07:00

You can call me Your Majesty if you want. Blogging in bed, I have my morning “bed tea” beside me, served to me by our loyal chef Razhu. Gently bringing it on a tray, he places it on my nightstand ever so quietly as I stir from my slumber. That’s how I start my morning here at Woodlands. Chynara will kill me if she knows that Razhu served me “bed tea” with me actually still in bed for she is in love with our chef and wants to take him home to Kyrgyzstan. I guess I won’t tell her that at breakfast today.
I better be careful. I may get used to this life and stay here forever. That’s how life has been for us these past few days; waited on hand and foot, pampered by the staff and our hosts Mr. and Mrs. Gil, the administrator and principal of the school. We are of course working very hard getting ready for our Afghans, and enjoying the quiet before the storm so to speak. Swimming in the mornings, yoga, evening drives with the Gils, shopping in Hoshiarpur. We are having a great time. The work we will be doing is important but it’s also important for us to come together as a group and also get settled into our surroundings before we start work. Once the kids come, there will be little time for us to enjoy India so we might as well enjoy it now. Our second night here, the Gils took us out to their farm, a gorgeous spread not too far from school. A small house with a manicured lawn and garden surrounded by citrus groves which they planted a few years ago. We had drinks and dinner al fresco as the sun set behind the eucalyptus trees in the distance. Their staff waited on us hand and foot and we talked and got to know each other better. Two nights ago we went shopping in the very congested city of Hoshiarpur. Narrow streets with bikes and motorcycles whizzing by, horns honking—the antithesis of Strasbourg, France indeed. The girls were set on getting saris made for them and plied the fabric stores for the right cloth to make them look fabulous. Martin and I bought kurta pajamas so we would fit in with the locals. Similar to the Afghan shelwar kemize, it’s loose pants with a long shirt over it but a bit more fitted than the Afghan version. Last night we went to a rest house in the jungle for the evening. A lovely little house set deep in the jungle (that’s Hindi for forest FYI) built over 150 yrs ago by the British as an escape from the heat of the city. Actually it was just as hot out there last night as the city. The humidity was thick in the air and I was sweating like a pig. We hiked up a nearby hill to watch the sunset over the jungle and Hoshiarpur in the distance. Afterwards, we hiked down and had drinks and snacks on the lawn outside the house. The highlight was the sucking mangoes. Curious to know there are many kinds of mangoes and each one is used in different ways. Mr. Gil taught us how to eat this small variety of mango. He had them chilled in a big bucket of icy water which made them all the more refreshing to eat (or suck I guess). Basically you make a hole at the top and squeezed out the pulp, sucking it as you go. Chynara and I ate the most, savoring the delicious sweet nectar of the small fruit. Just thinking of them makes me want another one right now. They were delicious. I think this evening we again will be leaving Woodlands for Jalandhar, the big city about 30 miles from here. Who know what we will find there.
Everyone here has been so kind and hospitable to us, it’s really great. We have really clicked with the Gils and Sonia and are slowly branching out to meet the staff and children of the school. Yesterday we did professional development workshops for the teachers which went over well. Also we had a fantastic performance by the Bhangra group here at school. It’s very impressive how all these young kids and dance and sing. After the performance, the children came up single file and touched our feet, a traditional sign of respect from young to old and a way of getting our blessing. India is filled with fabulous people, interesting traditions, delicious foods, and so much more. I look forward to embracing more of it as the weeks roll by.

What's Gotten India?

2009-07-18T18:14:00.000-07:00

I can’t believe I landed in this fabulously hot country just four days ago. It seems like a lifetime away! So much has happened. Hello dear readers! Greetings from the campus of Woodland Overseas School in Hoshiarpur, India!! After arriving in New Delhi for the 6th time in my life, I finally got to set foot outside the airport. The previous 5 times involved a 12hr + sentence in the Transit Lounge on my way to or from Kabul. But this year, things are different. The Afghan program I run was moved to India for a variety of reasons, mainly logistics of moving kids from point A and point B, so here we are in the Punjab a mere 10 hr bus ride from whence I arrived.
My teaching staff, Dan, Chynara, Mary Lisa, Martin, Batma and I all met up in Delhi. Chynara and Batma flew down from Kyrgyzstan, Dan, also a NYC-er and my neighbor on my block in Brooklyn, arrived a week early to check out a bit of India. Mary Lisa, Martin and I all met up in Frankfurt for the flight to Delhi. Despite the 6 hr flight from Frankfurt and the wee arrival time of midnight, we were all excited at last to be together (again for some of us) to start our work with the Afghans. By the time we got through passport control and customs and to the hotel, it was 2 am. At 4 am we started our long 10 hr bus ride up north to Hoshiarpur. I barely slept a wink before hitting the road, preferring to stay up and not taking a little nap. But the hotel shower was divine. Heading out of Delhi with the sun slowly rising in the east was rather exciting. After so much emailing and planning, we were all finally here. The fact that most of us have already worked together makes it all the more fun too.
The trip up north to Hoshiarpur was long, yet interesting. Whizzing past villages and towns, fields and farmers, water buffalos and rest stops, wedding halls and little shops—here is India in all its splendour. We talked and laughed between naps along the way. Halfway through we stopped at a roadside oasis with shops, cafes, a restaurant and a fabulous display of local Punjabi culture with authentic furniture, musical instruments and life-sized mannequins on display. Sort of like the Epcot version of India. I partied it up with the fiberglass musicians and dancing lady. After a yummy, spicy breakfast of breads and chickpea stew (and a prayer to the Gods that it all digested properly) we were back on the road to Hoshiarpur. The reason for leaving so early is to escape the brunt of the sun. Even at 4 am the heat is rather stifling but not as bad as 12 noon. I now get the saying “Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun”. The rhythm of life revolves around the sun, so people are up and going about their business at 4 or 5 in the morning, stopping midday to hide from the 100+ degree heat, coming out again in the early evening for a few more hours of work.
At 2pm, almost like clockwork, according to Santosh’s (my assistant) schedule, we pulled up to Woodlands Overseas School, our home for the next month. As if we were high government officials, we were met by the school staff with traditional garlands of marigolds, bouquets of flowers, red dots with a few rice kernels on our forehead
and flashbulbs flashing. It was a bit overwhelming but very heartfelt and pleasant to be met with such warmth. After all the formalities, we settled in to our rooms and went on to the first of many delicious and healthy meals. The food is minimal but oh so good. We then toured the school and the places they designated for our use. Sonia, our point person, has overlooked no detail and every request is fulfilled with the snap of a finger.
By the time we arrived, the school was quiet, the children had left for the day. School is cut short 1 hour due to the heat. We spent the afternoon lazily, nothing demanding, all of us needing a good rest after all the traveling. After all the running around and going over details with Sonia, it was nice to finally put my head down on a pillow and sleep.

In The City of the Petit and Dead

2009-07-12T07:20:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Strasbourg everybody where everything is tiny and the streets are deserted. You can lay in the middle of the street for hours and not even come close to being run over. Here sits the Council of Europe--this is an international hub. There should be tons of people running around from important meeting to important meeting, and tourists galore. I don't think I've seen 10 people total since I've been here. For the locals this is normal since it's vacation time in France and everyone is in the country but for a New Yorker it is just weird. The quiet is killing me! The lack of people outside is making me crazy!!
But in all serious folks, I'm rather enjoying this tranquil setting before a month of hot, loud, crazy India. I haven't slept so well and seen such vivid dreams in a long time. Getting out of the craziness called NYC has been good for me. So why did I schlep to Strasbourg on my way to Delhi? That’s easy—Sveta. Sveta and I go way back, 17 years to be exact, to Ekaterinburg, Russia where we worked together for CARE and the American Councils. Besides counting humanitarian aid at warehouses, we traveled all over the Urals and Western Siberia recruiting high school students for a US-government exchange program (the same type of program I’m working on now with Afghan kids). Anyway, she’s decided to be a single mom and is having a baby in less than a month. I decided to make a stopover and help her get ready for the big event. She’s just moved into a new apartment and needed help fixing up the baby’s room, moving furniture around, putting stuff in storage, etc. I even stocked her freezer with homecooked meals to enjoy when she’s too tired to cook. The least I can do for my pregnant friend. I’ve been hoping that she’d give birth to “Motya” while I was here but as the sun rises on this Monday and my bus back to Frankfurt is in just a few hours, I don’t think it’s going to happen. Sveta doesn’t want it to happen, she’s not ready. But you never know when a kid is going to make its grand entrance into the world. When the cake is done, it’ll pop out of the oven I always say.
Back to Strasbourg. It’s a quaint little town. Little is the city and little is the way people live. Their lives are regimented routines and they seem to like it that way. It’s as if you stirred up their little routines, they’d freak out entirely and think the world was coming to an end. Practical, regimented, on the straight and narrow are words I’d use to describe life here. In other words: B-O-R-I-N-G! Quite the opposite of the US where things are lived larger. Well who am I to judge? Not judging, just making an observation. Anyway, my favorite observation here has been the nun who sits in the garden of the old folks’ home and knits in the afternoon. I watch her from the window, probably her time to relax and unwind away from her routine. It must be nice to take joy in such simple pleasures.
The sun rises on this quiet city. Singing birds are the only thing I hear from the city. Tomorrow is Bastille Day so many took advantage of a long weekend to spend time outside the city. I will spend my Bastille Day arriving in Delhi and, after 5 times arriving in Delhi, finally leave the airport and catch a glimpse of the loud, colourful, massive, hot, exciting, noisy country that is India. What a switch from Strasbourg, I hope I can handle it!

On The Road Eastward

2009-07-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

12:30 pm in Frankfurt. OK readers now the blog gets interesting. As per usual, I’ve left my NYC abode for a month of work with the Afghans. This time we’re doing the program in India which is rather exciting. After flying through Delhi five times, I finally get to leave the airport! But first, a stopover in Strassbourg, France to see Sveta, my very pregnant friend/former assistant from my Russia days. She’s decided that at 36, with no marriageable men in sight, she’s having a baby by herself. I’ve decided to give her a few days of pre-birth prepping before dealing with the Afghans. I think she’s going to have me paint the baby’s room and arrange furniture around her new apartment she just moved into. She doesn’t have many people she can rely on in Strassbourg so it’s the least I can do for her.
I left the cats in good hands with my friend Sam from Minnesota. He is the other half of Jeff and Sam, the high school sweethearts who used to live in NYC but moved back to the Twin Cities to buy a house three years ago. Sam had an itching to spend the summer in NYC so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse—take care of my cats and house for a month rent free. Mama Suly’s cancer has subsided a bit thanks to Dr. Wen’s magic herbs, so I go to India with not such a heavy heart. Crossing my fingers and saying my prayers that she (and the other two) will be just fine for the month.
Leaving my house wasn’t as crazy as it usually is. Maybe because I had a friend staying and didn’t have to clear the closets, throw stuff in the basement, clean the house from head to toe. Sam’s easy going which made the departure less stressful. I even had time to hang out with Eddie and take a dip in his pool before heading to the airport.
Rather nice to be leaving later than usual and not going to Afghanistan where I while away my time waiting for something to happen. I managed to squeeze in a 4th of July weekend drive up to Maine for the wedding of Tim and Tana, two of my teachers from last year’s program. They insisted I come for the wedding and how could I say no. I didn’t want to sacrifice my personal time to swelter away in dusty Kabul. I’d rather go to a wedding in Maine! What a fun time it was despite the rain and mud. The very simple ceremony was held at Tana’s stepmom’s house out in the boonies. It had rained all week so the ground was well saturated and the roads rather muddy. I managed to find a somewhat firm place to pitch a tent for the night. The rain held out for the quick ceremony on the proch then we all went under a tent for the reception and dancing. A great time had by all. I was decked out in my Afghan garb which caused quite a stir. My line for the night was, “I’m the one that dragged them to Afghanistan.” Open your mouth about Afghanistan and you never stop answering questions. I was talking about it all night. The Justice of the Peace thought I was a Catholic priest in my robes. Boy does he need to get out of Maine more often!
The ride home was long and contemplative. I do my best thinking on the road. It was a chance to clear my head and prepare for this coming month in the Punjab with my staff and darling kids. I wasn’t alone on the trip, I bought 4 live lobsters to come down with me. We ate those up on Monday night out of Pete’s deck. Deeeeelicious!!!! Ah the Punjab, the program. So far none of the kids have visas to go to the US thanks to the 49% run-away-to-Canada rate this past year. We’ll see how many come to camp. Even if none show up, we are ready with a great teaching staff. Who knows what awaits me in the Punjab. In the meantime, I have a bus to catch to Strasbourg.

End of June update

2009-06-25T05:23:00.000-07:00

Swine Flu missed me. Yet the eyes of suspicion and semi-paranoia were upon me though at PS42 as I told everyone about my trip to Mexico. A flu went through our school for a few weeks causing mass hysteria and low class sizes. Any kid with a fever was out of there. One fourth grade class had 9 out of 30 students present one day. Rather crazy May it was. Now we have this mysterious Fifth disease that is going around. It gives kids red cheeks as if they’ve been slapped around. Seems to always come around this time of year so as to add some fun to the end of the school year. I’m amazed that being HIV+ I haven’t contracted one of these ailments from the kids and croaked. Guess it has to do with sturdy genes—thanks mom and dad and all the generations before them.
Felix sits and stares at me as if he wants to tell me something. I think he’s just figuring out a way to snuggle between me and the computer. Forget it cat, it’s blog time. I have been more attentive to my cats’needs than my blog needs as of late. Speaking of cats, Mama Suly’s cancer has ebbed in the back of her mouth thanks to Dr. Wen’s Chinese herbs. I can’t believe that a dire diagnosis in January of 3 months to live has come and gone and now it’s 6 months later and here she is snuggling on my arm on the couch. Guess she has tough genes like me. Suly and I have been taking 1.5 hour drives out to Speonk on Long Island every two weeks to see Dr. Wen and track her cancer. One treatment didn’t take, another didn’t either and her mouth was inflamed red with the spreading cancer. The third and last protocol of herbs worked and we’ve kept the cancer down and her mouth looks a healthy pink colour. With a month-long trip to India in my future, such news makes me happy and relieved. Now I can go to India with not such a worried soul. Hampton Vet in Speonk is a great place. Everyone is so friendly and loves Suly (what’s not to love), the other petowners and I strike up conversations about our “kids” and how fabulous Dr. Wen is. I feel pangs of parent-ness when I ready the car for Suly and make the drive out there. Some think it’s rather excessive but she’s worth the time, gas, and money.
Rain, rain go away! How much water can we have? My garden doesn’t really mind it but after weeks of it, come one!! Puts a damper on all the outdoor barbeques I want to have and of course weekend street fairing. Luckily it hasn’t affected the weekends too much. Money is still being made. A new flea market has opened up near my house, the Park Slope Flea Market, which I’ve doing on Saturdays. It’s rather dead right now but slowly it will be a happening neighborhood event. I’m trying to get other local artists and designers down there to make it a fun market and get the cheap crap out of there.
Last week was Brooklyn Pride and after a day at the market (cut short by a rain storm) I decided to be prideful and go watch our little parade strut down 7th Ave. Haven’t been in a few years so I decided to get in touch with my gay side and do my civic duty as a homo. The Brooklyn Pride parade is so tiny that if you blink, you’ll miss it. Still it is compact, neighborhoody and full of pride. Being an election year, it was full of wannabe politicians pressing the flesh for the gay vote. In between were the various gay/lesbian groups, Dykes on Bikes, the Queer Cheer Squad, churches, fire and police departments, and of course the pro marriage brigades. I haven’t been to a gay parade in years and it was nice to go hang out with friends and show our pride. Things sure have changed since I came out years ago. Coming out doesn’t seem to be a big deal now, being gay isn’t such a shock to people, it’s more accepted. Still there are things to struggle for: equal marriage rights, HIV and AIDS is still a problem among the young gays. Where do I fit in to all of this? Is it enough to help run a monthly contra dance at the GLBT Centre? Should I be doing more in the community? Probably. I have some ideas on how I can be involved but we’ll table those until September. Right now I have to focus on my summer in India with the Afghans.
India with the Afghans? Well, if you know anything about me, you know that I go off to Central Asia to work on a US-funded high school program for students from Afghanistan. Things have been rather crazy the past few years with a large portion of students running off to Canada, still the State Dept. doesn’t cancel the program. Today the kids who are in the US now will be going back home after their year in the US, so it will be interesting to know how many get on that plane. About half of this year’s kids left for Canada (about 16 out of 37) so far, we’ll see what the final tally is when the plane takes off later today. In any case, I’m looking forward to going to India. After 5 times flying through Delhi, I finally get to leave the airport. Who knows how many kids we will have this year (so far 40 are planned but the US embassy in Kabul hasn’t issued one visa), in any case I plan, hire teachers, get the curriculum together, buy supplies—I’m ready. Leave in about two week’s time and much to do before that. House stuff, bills to pay in advance, classes to finish, a wedding in Maine to go to, a few more street fairs, maybe a dinner party…it just never ends. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Chilling on the Isla

2009-05-07T05:38:00.000-07:00

Cold, grey, rainy New York looms outside my window. The beginning of May and we are a water logged city. Can I click my heels, snap my fingers, blink my eyes, anything to be back on Isla Mujeres?
SNAP! BLINK! CLICK! Aaah Isla Mujeres where the only worry seems to be whether you want to swim or snorkel. 20 minutes ferry ride from resort hell and there you are on this little island where the Mexicans go to relax and the foreigners who like the local pace come for some R&R from their hectic other lives.
Brooks and I got a room at the Posada Del Mar hotel right across the street from the beach for a few days of relaxation. The hotel is more quaint on the website but they’re making it bigger so there was construction going on all around us. Old pictures can be foolish. Still, the hotel was full of people from all over who make an annual pilgrimage to the Isla who were happy to be there despite the mess and banging of builders.
A lot can happen in 3 days in sleepy little place like Isla Mujeres. Lots to do: snorkeling, scuba diving, boating, driving around on a golf cart, paragliding, the list goes on. But I was happy just making my way across the street to the beach and laying under an umbrella all day reading a book. So that’s what I did. Now and then I’d jump in the water to cool off in the turquoise blue sea.
During the day, the Isla is crowded with obnoxious tourists coming over from their resort hells on big katamarans or party boats. They swim, do lunch, drink, shop and (fortunately) go back from whence they came by the end of the day. The rest of us take naps, sip drinks at sunset on the beach and then run into each other on Hidalgo, the long pedestrian street with all the restaurants, bars and shops. Despite the small size of the island, one could still remain anonymous if they wanted. Being inconspicuous and anonymous has always been hard for me so by day 2 we knew half the town. Daniel from Denver, Mindy from Minnesota, Rob and Jennifer from Buffalo, a hot black mama from Atlanta (I called her Boney M), Jill from Ft. Laud, a couple from San Francisco. We were all escaping our regular routines, getting off our merry-go-rounds and doing something totally different for a week or so.
A bright, colorful little place full of friendly people, Isla Mujeres has been able to stave off the resort hell-itis that plagues Cancun across the sea. Though some of that ugliness has popped up here and there around the island, it still remains a haven of peace and tranquility. One day an ugly family from Long Island caused quite a ruckus on the beach and were sent packing back to Cancun. Bad energy is not welcomed here!
My three days here helped suffice a long held dream of going away to Tahiti, laying on a beach reading a book under a palm tree and not having to know anyone or do anything. Tahiti is still a dream but seems so far away compared to a 4 hr flight to Cancun. Will Isla Mujeres be my new Tahiti? Could be.

Lazy Sunday in Merida

2009-05-07T05:18:00.000-07:00

On Sundays in Merida, close off streets, open up the Zocalo to the pedestrians and have a ball. A market is set up on the square with lots of interesting things to buy: hats, wuipas, ceramics, paintings, jewelry, etc. All around the outside of the Zocalo are delicious food stands selling all sorts of great food. The locals and tourists linger at tables, eating, socializing and enjoying a quiet Sunday. In Santa Lucia park, a band sets up and people come to dance the afternoon away. Mostly older couples, these people can really cut a rug! All dressed up in their finery, they come to socialize, strut and court the ladies, flirt and coyishly refuse the invitations to dance (until finally saying yes), fan themselves and gossip, to see and be seen. Families ride bikes up and down the Prospect Mejor which is closed to traffic, artists sell their paintings all up and down the wide boulevard. What better way to spend a Sunday right? Brooks and I enjoyed this happy Sunday until we had to get on our bus to Cancun and then to Isla Mujeres.

I'm Ruined Part 2-The Road Trip To Uxmal

2009-05-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

My $19 a day rent a car suddenly tripled due to insurance (hey better than getting in an accident and sitting in jail) so I figured I might as well use it to its full capacity while I had it. Saturday morning, Brooks and I were up early and on the road to Uxmal (pronounced OOshmal for all you rubes) another one of the many Mayan ruins that dot the Yucatan peninsula. About an hour from Merida, Uxmal is in the hilly part of the Yucatan and a hidden gem of a place. Definitely my favorite of the ruins I saw. Not only for its lack of tourists but for its layout and preserved state. Plus the legend that it was created over night by a dwarf scorcerer adds to the charm. Once again I walked around agog and thinking, boy did the Spanish fuck things up. For a civilization to plan and execute building on such a massive scale, and that most of the buildings still remain intact is just a wonder. Many of the buildings at Uxmal have intricate designs on the facades and amazing bas reliefs. How they pieced this all together to make it last so long is amazing. Brooks and I wandered the ruins in awe, stopping now and then in the shade to rest and drink some water on this very hot day. The grand pyramid loomed before us as we entered. Behind that were three courtyards of rather large scale which were quite impressive. Unlike Chichen Itza, Uxmal doesn’t have any echo tricks so no one was clapping (Thank God). We meandered through the courtyards, down to the ball court (smaller than the one at C.I.) and up a massive staircase to the Governor’s Palace. Perched on a hill, the governor could keep an eye on all his people as they went about their business. I wondered what the inside must have been like in its heyday for now the interior was a cold, damp, stinky, dark place with bats. You could hear them squeaking as you glanced inside. The smell of guano and mildew kept you out though. After climbing the steep stairs of the grand pyramid, the mid-day heat was beginning to get to us so we made our way back to the entrance for some cold water and our AC-ed rental. Being the Yucatecan food connoisseur, Brooks knew of a restaurant known for its Poc Chuc--pork marinated in sour oranges and achiote and cooked to deliciousness. El Principe Tutul-Xiu in Mani was THE place to go for Poc Chuc so off we went down the road to Mani. Driving through small towns, we got a glimpse of everyday village life: big churches on main squares, houses in vivid colours of pink, turquoise, yellow and sky blue, men on 3-wheeled bicycles carrying goods or people, children playing in the streets staring and waving as we drove by, dogs lazily asleep in the shade of a tree. When we got to Mani, the place was dead. Lunch time siesta was in full swing, everyone inside hiding from the blazing sun. All the action was at El Principe Tutul-Xiu as far as we could see. We got a table in the shade of a giant palapa and ordered up some Poc Chuc, Relleno Negro (turkey cooked in a black chili sauce which looks like motor oil) and beers. The Poc Chuc was amazing, the Relleno Negro good too but not fantastic. Tutul-Xiu has a branch in Merida but this is the original restaurant and definitely worth the drive down to take in the local flavor and savor this amazing pork dish. Besides Mayan ruins, the other thing to do here is go swimming in a cenote (that’s se-NO-tay for the same rubes). After our lunch we drove off down a country road, through more villages to a cenote that was recommended to us. Instead of taking the main road, we decided to take a little two laned road in the middle of nowhere, twisting and turning through the countryside. I didn’t know if we were on the right road but I knew we were going in the right direction. Now and then we’d meet another car coming from the opposite way so we knew we must be going toward some sort of civilization. Mexican maps aren’t always clear, nor are the signs so you have to ask people to make sure you’re going the right way. Lo and behold, we ran into our cenote place almost by accident. In a small town that used to be a booming henequen plantation, it’s main allure now is the cenote tour. The small town is dominated by a crumbling hacienda and factory where they processed the henequen (an agave-like plant used for making rope—big business here back in the shipping days). There are a set of mini train tracks that lead out into the fields where henequen was grown. Back in the day, they would load up the henequen on horse-pulled carts and transport it to the end of the line at the processing factory. Nowadays, this rail is used to take avid swimmers to the three cenotes on this vast swath of land once owned by some mighty rich person. Brooks and I piled onto our little cart driven by a man and his son, pulled by a skinny little horse who seemed unenthused about making another trek to the cenotes. It’s a single track so when you meet someone coming the other way, the drivers figure out who is going to take their cart off the track. Once it is figured out, you get out of the cart, the driver pulls the cart off the track, lets the other one pass, then plops your cart back on the track and away you go. The carts are really big sleds on rail wheels, not heavy at all. I forgot to tell you what a cenote is—an underground pool. The Yucatan has many a cenote to visit and they make a nice swimming reprieve to a hot day of touring. This tour was special because you got to go to three cenotes to swim. Turquoise pools of water underground in caverns dotted by stalagtites and beams of sunlight shining through, the cenotes are a little scary but overall a great place to swim. The first one was rather deep (about 70 feet) and dark in the corners so Brooks and I didn’t enjoy it as much as the second or third. Descending down wooden stairs or ladders in some cases deep into the earth we took cooled down from a long hot day of touring in the cool waters of the cenotes. The second one was my favorite, the third was the most treacherous, climbing down a ladder into the dark unknown, trying to keep your grip on the ladder and towel and not slip off. Along the way we would meet other swimmers, families of all sizes having a ball swimming underground. I imagined ladies of the hacienda taking rides out here back in the day to be
lowered down into the pools, swimming in Victorian era bathing suits, making an entire day of it. In our case we only had about 1.5 hour to see all three as the sun gently began its descent into evening. The ride back was magical, the clopping of the hooves, the golden sunset behind us, the gentle rumble of the rails and swaying of the cart. I can’t tell you where this place is, but I can show you on a map. Brooks knows the name of the place—we’ll ask him. Never a dull moment in Merida, we headed back into town just in time to get dressed and head down to the square for the Saturday night concert. More dancers, singers and musicians, food stalls serving up fantastic food: elotes, tacos, tamales, esquites, marquesitas, sopas, and much more. A fun night for the whole town. Women sang along with the singers, children ran around or sat obediently with their parents watching the show, families ate and listened to the music. We Americans have such a skewed vision of Mexico which is a real shame, because here is the real Mexico and it’s so much like us. Too bad more people can’t get passed the stereotype. Or maybe it’s a good thing, why bring narrow-minded people here to this fabulous party and ruin it. My final night in Merida was coming to a close. Tomorrow, Brooks and I were heading to the beach at Isla Mujeres—a gem of an island off the coast of resort hell (Cancun).

The Swine Flu Proviso

2009-05-01T04:41:00.001-07:00

Just to let you know readers, I write about my Mexico trip from the comfort of my Brooklyn kitchen. With the swine flu raging around the world, I wanted to let you know that I left Mexico the day before all this flu madness began. No illness to speak of yet (knock on wood).

I'm Ruined Part 1-Road trip to Chichen Itza

2009-04-28T17:56:00.000-07:00

When one is on the Yucatan Peninsula, there’s two things they must do—go to the beach and the ruins. Chichen Itza is the granddaddy of all the Mayan ruins and about an hour down the road from Merida. There are various ways of getting there and I decided to rent a car. After the 4 hr journey from Cancun, I wasn’t in the mood to hop on another bus. Plus I like the freedom a car brings. Online I found a really cheap rate but after the insurance and taxes, it wasn’t that cheap. Oh the price of freedom huh? Better pay more than sit in a Mexican jail.
I wanted to get the car early so I could get to Chichen Itza before the heat of the day. Of course being Mexico that wasn’t going to happen. Instead of an 8:00 start, it was more like 9:00. The Hertz girl was late, so I went to eat breakfast, we had to wait for the car to arrive from another location, and so on. I kept my inner Brooklyn at bay and repeated the “This is Mexico, go with it” mantra and was just fine. Worse comes to worse I just add more sunscreen and drink more water. So by 9:00 I was on my way to the famed ruins of Chichen Itza.
Speeding down the highway to the C.I. turnoff, there’s not much really to see. The drive is through flat, drab scrub land. Occasionally there’d be a fire for the locals like to burn plots of land for some reason. Maybe for farming or to promote new growth. Besides being nothing interesting to see, there’s no roadside stops or gas stations either. As the gas tank edged closer to empty, I hoped there was a gas station near Chichen Itza or I’d be walking home. Fortunately in the town of Pisto near the ruins I was able to fill er up.
I had a bit of trepidation going to ancient ruins after my four-day trip to Angkor Wat so fresh in my mind. Would they all blend together like an ancient civilization milkshake in my mind? Would I be underwhelmed by Chichen Itza? There was only one way to find out. I pulled into the parking lot and made my way through the tour buses and crowds to the ticket booth. The entrance to Chcihen Itza is like a circus; groups of tourists waiting, Mayans protesting the exploitation of their ancestral home, a big souvenir market. I ignored it all and just walked up to the ticket booth, got my ticket and went inside. No need to be with a tour guide, I have an aversion to them since my Russia days. If I needed information, I’d buy a guide book inside (which I did).
Part of getting in to the place is wearing a day-glo wrist band that says “Chichen Itza” on it. Branded like a calf with my temporary accessory, in I went to view the ruins. There it was smack in my face upon entry, the famed pyramid that is familiar the world over. I expected it to be bigger but still was impressed by its construction and the fact that it’s still standing strong after all these centuries. Bummer that you can no longer climb to the top of it. A rather daunting task, given the tiny steps and the steep grade. I’m sure many a tourist has fallen from those stairs. Groups of tourists from Cancun were all there for the day, each nationality easily spotted—the Brits, the Germans, the French, the Italians, the Americans (always the fattest). Moving about in clumps with their guides, I would sometimes sidle up to listen for a bit before moving on. Chichen Itza is very impressive. As I walked through all the ruins, one thought kept going through my head: “The Spanish really fucked things up”. Well they did. If there weren’t so narrow minded and embraced this pretty advanced culture, things would have turned out so much better for the Mayans and their culture would probably have still been around prominently today. Instead they had to destroy their buildings, books and force the locals to convert to Catholocism. Well, there’s no way to turn back time now. I was impressed with how advanced the Mayans were. The had an observatory to study the stars, a school of philosophy, written books, a code of hieroglyphics and an interesting outlook on life. If they could’ve just given up the more barbaric things like human sacrifices and beheadings, I’m sure they get along just fine with the Spanish.
At the pyramid and the ball court (my favorite spot) the guides tell people that if they clap, it will echo 7 times. So as you walk around the ruins, you a trailed by a cacophony of clapping, so much of it that you never do hear an echo. Rather funny. Chichen Itza is more than just that big pyramid—a sprawling complex of interesting buildings and temples. I toured all of them until the mid-day sun zapped me of all energy and interest in Mayan ruins. So after a cool drink in the shade and a walk through of the souvenir market, I hopped back in my car and headed back to Merida via Izamal, a small colonial era town known for its convent and yellow colour.
I always believe in taking a different road home so instead of getting back on the toll highway, I took the backroads which proved to be more interesting. Sleepy little towns with brightly coloured houses, gardens, palapas (Mayan houses of wood and thatched roofs), people lazing about in hammocks, children riding bicycles waving at me as I passed. For the most part, there wasn’t much life going on in many of the villages. Being mid-day, everyone was inside out of the heavy rays of an unforgiving sun. I’m sure closer to evening the little villages come alive again but I was not going to see that today.
Izamal didn’t underwhlem me in the least. A gorgeous little town of yellow ocher buildings surrounding a big convent/cathedral on a hill in the center of town. I don’t know whose idea it was to paint the town yellow but it works. It’s especially impressive with a blue sky as a backdrop. Izamal too was rather quiet, with a few clumps of tourists to be seen walking around the convent. To my dismay, my camera batteries died in Izamal so I wasn’t able to snap away as I would have liked. Still I got osome pictures of the church and yellow buildings around it. After my little tour, I sat down to lunch in the marketplace across the street from the convent in a little café Los Portales for a carne asada lunch and a grand view of the square. The lunch was very good, I loved the homemade hot sauce of habaneros and sour oranges—two local staples in a lot of the cooking here. As the sun began its descent toward the west, I followed it through more quiet towns on country roads back to Merida.
After leaving Brooks all day to work inside, we decided to take advantage of the car and drive to Progreso, a town on the coast 30 mins away from Merida for a swim and dinner. When in the Yucatan, apparently, one must go to Progreso for fried fish. So after a swim in the warm Gulf of Mexico, we dined on whole fried fish, washed back with cold Victoria beer at Flamingos (one of Brooks’ Progreso eateries). We strolled along the promenade post dinner among all the locals who were hanging out as we were doing, past the marquesita and elote sellers, past the carnival with the Ferris Wheel all aglow, past the excited children with their parents. We drove home around 10, back to a Merida just coming alive with activity. A long day indeed for me but oh so enjoyable.