Who doesn't love word games?

So the trunk show was a bit boring. It wasn't really an OWC event - it was just hosted by two OWC members. It was at a fellow American's house and there were only about 5 people there when Vivian and I arrived (and maybe 7 by the time we left). There were of course, finger sandwiches, some cookies, fruit and cheese and a couple of racks of clothes. There were no saris. It was Western clothing with an Indian flair at Western prices. Still I found a reddish/pink bag that was cute and reasonably priced so I didn't walk away empty handed. For someone who did not like carrying a purse a year ago, I'm building quite the collection. We just sat around for an hour or so talking about where Liz (the host) had bought some of her furniture and where she got her pictures framed, then left. I suppose a bag and some hot tips on home decor is not bad for a boring afternoon.

Have seen nor heard for either of the maids.

The internet is back. It came last night.

Spent 15 minutes on the phone trying to tell the phone company that we do not pay the bill, it's taken care of by our landlord. He kept repeating that "Maya" (the women who actually owns the apartment) owes 7000 rupees. Finally, I told him I would give him John Paul's number, none of which I'm sure he understood but when I started giving him the number, he repeated each one after me leading me to believe he at least got that he could call someone else. Haven't heard back so we'll assume all is well until we discover there is no dial tone.

Saw a white horse on the sidewalk today with no other animal or person in sight and not tied to anything. It was just standing there, no blinders, no saddle, just wagging it's tail. You don't see many horses around here unless they are pulling something - cart of fruit, cart of metal rods, cart of long sticks...

Finally got a good look at the makeshift tire repair area that is at the corner of a mosque. I always see lots of tires and metal parts but there are always people crowding the corner so I assumed it was some sort of stop but didn't quite realize what an operation it was. There were about 5 men working on two bicycles (but I think they take care of scooters too). There is no sign that says they repair anything or any type of hut or tent. They just sat on the curb and in the road surrounded with various tools and tire rims.

Saw some sort of demonstration or rally and asked Chandan what was going on. He just said, "for politician ma'am." There were a few men standing in the doorway to some building in front of a mob of people clapping and shouting. The building was decorated with those triangular flags that hang on a string in rows attached to trees and there was a loud speaker going that sounded alot like the Muslim's call to prayer. But I've given up on trying to follow politics here. With headlines like, "JD(S) not to take oath with BJP: HDK Elected JDSLP Leader; No DyCM yet," I'm finding it all a bit confusing. Indians love the acronym. They are always shortening not only names, but places, events, ATCBS. So you'll be reading about how someone wants to have a meeting to talk about Bangalore's traffic problems, thinking you understand when SSA is in the MOTS. They even include PITA. After a few more paragraphs of ATN, you JDWTR anymore.

HAGW. GEFCB. SOFBC.

(Whoever guesses all the acronyms correctly gets a toy snake!)

Another First...

The water has been out in some parts of the city but our neighborhood has been spared so that’s good news. Our broadband connection is still down so that’s not such good news. But I think the maid situation will work out so more good news than bad.

One maid really likes to throw out our papers but the other maid seems to have quite an aversion to this. One maid likes to lay all the rugs down on the wrong side so the tags are sticking up (I say this like we have a lot of rugs – there are only three small ones). The other maid likes to flip our comforter so the top of the blanket is at our feet and the bottom is at our heads. (I think it’s pretty clear which end is up, not only because of the design but also because of the buttons on the duvet cover.) One likes to keep all the curtains closed, and the other always leaves them open. They both put our utensils and pots and pans in different spots making it fun to try to guess where they are. I actually like to keep our one pot and one pan on the burners because the drawers still seem dirty to me and I don’t have the stomach to really clean them. So I bought a utensil holder yesterday which hopefully makes it clear where they can put our four forks, four spoons and four knives. So between the three of us, I hope we can manage to keep a clean apartment.

The maid girl did bring Sir’s ironed shirt back – neatly folded in a bag. I think I have to give them to her on a hanger. Although, for 3 rupees, maybe ironing and then folding is how they do in India, no matter how counter-intuitive I think that seems. I asked her not to come again until Tuesday. After five minutes of trying to run through the days of the week without actually saying, Monday, Tuesday, etc. I think we got the days she will come sorted out. I won’t bore you with the entire conversation but it went something like, not tomorrow, not tomorrow, tomorrow, not tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…Interestingly, the week days seemed to confuse her but she knew Saturday and Sunday (the most important days, I suppose.) She left me her number and I think her name is Donnalakshmi but she couldn’t write it for me so I am basing the spelling on her pronounciation – Donna-lock-shmee.

Abrupt transition:
When we moved in, one of the locks on our door didn’t work. So they fixed it and gave us two sets of keys. However, only one set worked though on both locks. After trying, multiple times, to get a duplicate key that works on both locks, three months later we still only had one key that worked on both locks. This week, I finally asked Chandan to take to me to get a duplicate key. So after yoga, we drove to an intersection where I saw a sign that said “duplicate keys” (no catchy name needed). However, Chandan did not pull in front but turned the corner to reveal the land of the duplicate keys. For as disorganized as Bangalore can sometimes seem, this is actually quite common. There are entire streets dedicated to one “industry.” There is a street for furniture, spare car parts, a separate street for tires, and apparently duplicate keys. Chandan told me I could go to any place so I picked the store with no one there. I walked up to two guys sitting in two chairs, surrounded by small walls decorated with rows of keys. I held out my key and asked for one copy. One of the guys stood up, turned around and walked to the machine behind him. Two minutes later he handed me my old and new key and asked for 60 rupees. It was the quickest transaction I’ve ever had in Bangalore. I can only guess that this was so difficult for the landlord because he either doesn’t have a driver as smart as Chandan who knows where this street is, or he doesn’t have the time to wait for 2 minutes like a lady of leisure. When I got back in Chandan asked how much I paid and said they are normally 40. I had considered fighting the guy at the shop but in the end decided a little over a dollar was not really worth negotiating.

In a cruel twist of irony, today was the first time I locked myself out. The maid was here when I left and I was running around making sure all our valuable possessions were safely locked away and I was preoccupied with worrying about if it was ok to leave the new maid alone. But as she came recommended from Vivian, I just asked that she lock the door behind her, not giving my keys another thought until I was in the elevator on my way back up. Back down to the parking garage where Chandan had taken off his white Hertz shirt and was in an orange and blue t-shirt and was chatting with another driver. I told him we needed to go to IBM because I had locked myself out. There are many times, when I forget why I ever complained about this apartment simply because it is close to Sir’s work but today I was particularly happy we chose this place. Fifteen minutes later Chandan had dropped me off at the lobby, changed back into his Hertz ensemble and we were on our way home with Sir’s new key.

Today is Thursday, so of course I was coming home from my tea with the ladies. It was a bit chaotic however, because all of the Christmas Bazaar committees were having their meetings to be sure everyone was ready for Saturday. As it turns out, I might be the MVP of the Sound, Lights and Power committee. It consists of me and Edith. Edith assured me that I wouldn’t be wrapped in lights, looking for power cords or generators to combat the frequent Bangalore power outages while the Christmas carolers sing for no one to hear. They have hired the same company they did for the past few years, to take care of everything. Although Edith did leave me with the always ominous, “don’t worry, we’ve never had a problem before.” I think all I really have to do is stand there and watch the Company they hired do their thing.

We also got our OWC monthly newsletter/magazine with an article by yours truly. A while ago, they asked for some volunteers to write and/or edit so I had to report on the Diwali fiesta in October. It was all of 300 words but maybe this will be my big break. I can add to my resume that I’m published in an exclusive newsletter for the discerning readers of the overseas women of Bangalore.

I’m going to some “sari trunk show” tomorrow. Maybe this will be my next “assignment.”

A Momentous Day

Well, alls quiet on the Southwest Asian front. The water is running, the maids are busy confusing me, the internet isn’t working and lots of strange people having been ringing the doorbell. But still, a momentous day.

No more word about the water situation and since it’s running in our apartment, we’re not asking too many questions. But most establishments – stores, as well as restaurants – seem to be operating as usual. Although at the cool ex-pat pool party, we did meet one girl who lives in a part of town that has a water shortage so she actually has to call her landlord anytime she needs water to tell him to turn it on. My list of all I am thankful for just keeps growing.

The new maid-girl showed up again today at 8 so I said, “aren’t you supposed to be at Vivian’s – the other Madam?”
“Oh, yes, Madam. I come at 10.”
“Actually, why don’t you just come tomorrow,” I said drawing an arch with my index finger hoping this is a universal sign for tomorrow.
“Today. 10?”
“No. Tomorrow.”
“Ah, ok, ok. Tomorrow. 6?”
She obviously doesn’t know that ladies of leisure do not get up at 6. “No, 10 tomorrow is good.”
“Tomorrow. 10.”
“Yes.”
“Ah, ok, ok. No problem, Madam.”
She hesitated then said, “Ironing?”
Vivian also uses her for her cleaning and ironing needs and I had said we might be interested in that. She outsources to someone else but she only charges 3 rupees per piece (I’m not sure if she gets a commission on that). I think 10 rupees is about 25 cents so you do the math. Ironing is more of an issue here because when we get his shirts back from the “dry cleaner,” they are folded and in a brown paper bag which makes us question if they are really “dry cleaning” or just washing them. When we first arrived I asked Chandan if he would take me to one of the hotels for dry cleaning but he kind of laughed and said that that was “very expensive.” He said that there is a place by IBM where he will take them and since then, I give him the shirts and a few days later, he hands me the paper bag with a shirt in need of ironing. So I gave her a shirt and we’ll see how it goes.

Shortly after she left, the phone rang. It was someone saying what sounded to me like, “Bernard Cook.” When I repeated that he said, “Cook. Cook.” I repeated in question form, “Cook? Cook?” This went on for a minute or two before I said I was sorry and he hung up. Not long after that, the doorbell rang and it was the man from the phone, “Bernard Cook.” I told him I was sorry but I didn’t understand. He then moved to the atrium of the building and yelled something to the guard who sits at the entrance. All I could make out was “204” which is our apartment number. He repeated “cook” a couple more times and I did my best to try to decipher, “do I need a cook? You are a cook? Bernard Cook has a package for me? You’re a relative of Captain Cook?” But in the end, he just smiled and walked away.
About an hour after that, the doorbell rang again, this time it was one of the security guards holding a clipboard and pen asking me for my car number. Obviously he didn’t realize that ladies of leisure get driven around. They can’t possibly remember license plate numbers. I told him, “I don’t know the number.” But he must have heard, “I don’t have a car,” because he said, “no. Car downstairs.” I repeated that I didn’t know it but I could get it for him later. That was too much for him and he too, just walked away. I must be getting quite the reputation around here.

The maid-boy came about 4 today and I’m wondering if he is suspecting he’s got competition on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Although, even if he knew, I’m not sure he’d think of it as “competition.”

Sir had a meeting today in a different building with the head of all of IBM India. If Sir is kind of a big deal, this guy must be a really big deal so I didn’t mind too much that he monopolized Chandan today. What we ladies of leisure have to put up with sometimes is just awful. Imagine - stranded without a driver! But really I didn’t mind because it marked a very important day – my first solo trip in a rickshaw. I’ve always been with Sir or Vivian but today I had to do all the navigating and negotiating by myself. Both my drivers however, used the meter so I didn’t have to negotiate. Better yet, it was almost the same price going both ways. There are supposedly people who check the meters (and who can potentially issue hefty fines) but I’m convinced there are plenty of autos out there with faulty meters. Coming home though is always tricky because we can’t really pronounce our street – Taverekere. I tried it with multiple pronunciations before giving up and asking him just to take me to the Forum Mall. From there, I just walked the rest of the way home. Looks like they are fixing the sidewalk and they recently paved one of the side roads. It’ll be a completely different city before we leave. You better book your flights now before it becomes just like New York.

Two is Always Better than One

Our internet is down again today. It still saying suspended for non-payment so who knows what the real story is. Sir sent a message to the landlord and I sent one to John Paul so hopefully we’ll hear something by tomorrow. But I am wiser now from the last go-round with the internet and will only log on to post this.

But this is the least of our worries right now…there was an article in the paper over the weekend about how they are going to be working on the cities water supply and were planning to shut it off for three days starting today. Of course, the article listed all of the areas of town that would be effected (but I think listing the areas that would NOT be effected might have been the easier thing to do). They said work would be starting this Tuesday but the article wasn’t entirely clear exactly how residents would be effected. It did not list times of day that would be dry or if the entire project would take three days but each neighborhood would only be effected for a day.

So what to do when you are confused about something in Bangalore? Ask Chandan. He must wonder where I get my information because he had no idea what I was talking about. Considering the impact this would have on say, Hartford, this would probably be more than just a blurb on page 4 so I figured if no one else was worried, why should I be? And sure enough, there was nothing but cold water for Sir this morning. But in today’s paper, there was another short paragraph on page 2 about how they will be turning off the water starting tomorrow. There was no explanation as to why they said Tuesday last week and Wednesday this week but this time they listed the areas that would be “hardest hit.” Maybe some people will get a trickle from their faucets? Our part of town was not in that list so we may be spared. Otherwise, I may try a tactic I saw last week where I guy was on the roof of a tea shop, covered by a three feet high piece of metal (like construction material) with his head covered in what looked like it could maybe a hat or wig but I knew it was neither. We were stopped in traffic so I was able to watch for a good 5 minutes. After the man spent some time staring out at the traffic, he bent over and raised a bucket of water over his head and the suds glided down. He then started scrubbing his arms. Who says you have to be at the beach for an outdoor shower? This was a main road, mind you – out to the airport.

George didn’t get his two minutes of warm water this morning because our new maid turned off the hot water switch yesterday. When Vivian and Liam came over the other day, Liam commented about how our maid seemed a bit lazy. (I think that’s the polite way of saying even with a maid our house is messy.) Vivian has been telling me for weeks now that I should use her maid so I decided it was time. She came yesterday morning and immediately got to work on the dishes. She did a better job of organizing our things and putting them away – shoes, old newspapers, papers. I know these things create clutter but truth be told, I was still a little leary about putting things in our empty closets and drawers fearing their might be critters (or worse) inside.

But she cleaned everything out and cleared most of the clutter. She used a rag, instead of a mop, to clean the floor which made me think it was getting cleaner and she seemed to do a thorough job in the bathroom. Her English is about as good as the maid-boys so my attempts at, “We only need you on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” got lost in translation. She goes to Vivian’s at 8 am so I said she should come down when she finishes there. She kept repeating, “ok, ok. after Madam. No problem. No problem.” So I thought we were making some headway but last night the bell rang at about 6:30 pm and she was taking her shoes off ready to come in. I told her I didn’t need her in the evening but she should come tomorrow morning. “Oh, ok ok. Tomorrow 7.” I shut the door not knowing if we would see her bright and early or for dinner.

Sure enough, at 8:10 this morning, she was at the door. “Hello, Madam. Sorry, sorry. Late.” I let her in and again she got straight to work. About halfway through cleaning the floor, her phone rings. “Oh, hello Madam. Yes. Yes. Ok. No problem.” She turns to me and says, “Madam. It’s Madam,” holding the phone out to me.
“Vivian?”
“Yes, the maid is with you?”
“Yes. She hasn’t been to see you yet?”
“No, I was wondering where she is.”
I apologized and told her I assumed she had already been in touch. So we hung up and I said to the maid, “You have to go to Madam first. You come here later.”
“I know. Late. I have key,” she says, pointing at the ceiling.
“No, clean Madam (and I’m pointing at the ceiling) then here. Me 10 o’clock.”
“Oh, yes Madam.”
So she finished what she was doing but then left to go upstairs. I think she was trying to say that she could go to Vivian’s whenever because she has a key to her place but she needs to be here when I am here. She said she would be back at 9:30 but by 9:45 she still wasn’t here and I had to go to yoga. So I called her and tried to tell her she could finish this afternoon but that proved too difficult and we settled on tomorrow. I think at 10 am but who knows. The maid-boy will probably decide to come early tomorrow then I’ll have the two of them here at the same time. That will be fun.

We were going to try to squeeze one more trip in (in India) before we come home but with our busy social lives, we won’t have time. This weekend is the much anticipated Christmas Bazaar and the following weekend we got tickets for the India v. Pakistan test cricket match here in Bangalore. (Defer questions about what a “test match” is to Sir.) The game still totally confuses me but we’ve been wanting to go for the experience so it should be a good time. The new captain is from Bangalore and the players all get treated like celebrities so that’s enough to peak my interest. We have a BBQ to go to after the match to celebrate everyone’s December birthdays and the holidays. The third weekend we’ll be busy buying everyone carved elephants and gold and marble Ganeshes. Then we’ll be fa-la-la-la-la-ing all the way home.

But our 2008 travel calendar is already filling up. In mid-January I think I will finally get to go to my first Indian wedding. George’s co-worker is getting married outside Mumbai somewhere and it sounds like it’s going to be quite the affair.

What do you get when you have two eager maids but no water for them to clean with? I’m not sure either but maybe I’ll let you know tomorrow.

Our "cool" expat friends

I was going to have another poll that asked: How many people spent Thanksgiving weekend lounging by a pool? But considering the success of the first poll, I figured the responses might be too overwhelming. Aside from maybe Mimi and Paul, we'll assume the other three would say they did not go to a pool. (So we came up with another question...)

Anyway, it's not often that we've had the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving weekend lounging by a pool, so why not in India? There is another "ex-pat" club that we had read about before we got here called the Bangalore Ex-pat Club (BEC) billed as the place to make "cool ex-pat friends." With that as there tag line, Sir and I weren't really sure if we were cool enough because they actually make you apply to join! I'm okay with paying for friends like the OWC but to apply and be judged by just a questionnaire? I didn't want to go through the rest of life feeling uncool, but we met some other people who were members and they said the "application" was just a formality. Still, we have been slow to go to any of their events (also because the couple that told us about it didn't really fit our impression of "cool" but I suppose it's all relative). Anyway, they were having a pool/spa party at one of the hotels that have recently renovated their facilities. The forecast called for a cloudless sky so we decided lounging by a pool is a delightful way to spend a Saturday.

We arrived around noon and there was one other guy lying with a towel over his face so he did not notice (or chose not to look) when we sat in the chairs beside him. We were there for about 45 minutes before the next few people, who all knew one another arrived. One women, who I later learned has recently taken over with two others in running the club, came over and introduced herself but did not say much beyond, "nice to meet you." Now, I've learned that when I go to these events where I really don't know anyone but I want to make friends and have a good time, I really have to get myself in the mood to be...social. I wasn't really there Sat. Hard to believe, but it's not really my nature to be outgoing and charming. When we first got here, I was in survival mode but now that I have some friends, maybe I'm getting snobby. So my initial reaction was that everyone there (except Sir and I) knew everyone else and no one was really that friendly. But to be fair, I wasn't overly friendly either.

But we had lunch with a girl from California who was quick to tell us she graduated from Columbia and now prefers New York to L.A. She does "public health" and is here on a fellowship. She was excited to learn that the 4'11" guy with leather boots and scooter helmet (who walked in with a 5'11" woman) is the guy from L.A. doing improv here in Bangalore. She had been trying to get in touch with him for some time seemingly interested in the Bangalore improv scene. We also ate with an Indian-American from Texas who is here doing interior design. If that's not a leap in design, I don't know what is - from cowboys to Indians. There were quite a few Europeans there in all there Speedo-licious glory. One guy apparently didn't even really see the need for a Speedo and just stripped down to his boxer-briefs and dove in. But Sir got to throw the football around with some of them so in some small way, it was kind of Thanksgiving-y.

Sunday we went to brunch at the restaurant where we went for "quiz nite" a while ago. We had won a gift certificate and it expired at the end of the month so we decided to try it. I made a reservation for noon and off we went. We were the first people there and the dozen or so employees that we saw were still busy setting up. A few of them were working on the stage area playing the music entirely too loud, a few of them were putting out menus. Most of them were standing around but we were told that the buffet was ready.

The buffet was not ready. There were a few plates out and tins with Saran Wrap over them but there was no real food out yet. So we sat back down and ordered some drinks. About fifteen minutes later, our cocktails arrived and our waiter said it would probably be another 5 or 10 minutes. This is India time so that translates to about 20-30 minutes, real time. So we sat back and enjoyed our cocktails and tried to shout to one another over the music. I think it was about 1 before we were actually able to get some food and by that time the restaurant started to fill up. All in all, not a bad lunch considering it was free.

An abrupt end to a late post for today because I was out all day and trying to make dinner now. Tomorrow I'll tell you about our new maid, cricket and I'm not sure what else but sure to be exciting...

A Multicultural Thanksgiving in Bangalore

Happy Black Friday and happy belated Thanksgiving. Hopefully you're all all still full on turkey and mashed potatoes and football. Or perhaps you got a good nights rests so you could get out there bright and early and welcome the commercialism and materialism that is the Christmas season.

Our Thanksgiving was not very traditional (surprise, surprise) but was very memorable. It's not every year that you sit down to give thanks for your opportunistic ancestors who raped and pillaged the Native Americans so that you could live in the land of the free and home of the brave, with a Singaporean, 3 South Africans and 3 Australians.

Remember that restaurant I wrote about way back in August called Sunny's? No? Let me remind you. It was the place where the rat almost grazed my tootsies. It is a popular place with the posh ex-pat crowd so I tell myself that rat was obviously lost. No woman who lives in Palm Meadows (the ultra-exclusive gated community outside of town where the botox crowd lives) would eat here if it was infested with rats. If it's good enough for them, it's certainly good enough for me. So, we have been back since the "scare" because the food is very good...we just always make a point to say we want to sit indoors.

Anyway, Sunny's was having a Thanksgiving special with a set menu chock full of "traditional" American Thanksgiving favorites like salmon spring rolls and Parmesan salad. But surprisingly, it also included pumpkin soup, turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans and pumpkin pie. Unless, of course, you are completely un-American and are a veg. Then you had a choice of a delicious risotto, some sort of pasta or a pizza. I never go for the risotto but figured, it's Thanksgiving, why not? Good choice on my part. The turkey was flown in specially for the occasion with reports they came from Chennai, a coastal city about an hour (by plane) east of Bangalore. However, as it is a coastal city, for all we know, the turkeys may have come from Thailand, Australia or Connecticut.

Adele gave a lovely toast and we answered lots of questions about what really happens on Thanksgiving and why we celebrate it anyway. We did not gloss over the harsh reality of the pilgrims actually killing the Native Americans, destroying their way of life and bringing them horrible diseases but Sir reminded them that now they have their casinos so we're probably even. Adele then confessed that she's actually never eaten turkey before (never in her whole life) and a couple of the Australians confessed they were sure it was a religious holiday. They were incredulous that people actually wait in line at 5 am for stores to open the following day. Sir insisted that everyone hold hands while he said grace. As it turns out, he might not be cold and dead on the inside as it was a lovely speech. Our reservation was for 7:30 and we ended up shutting the place down close to midnight so I think a good time was had by all. We certainly had the most fun table in the restaurant.

Sadly, I of course forgot the camera so you'll have to conjure up your own image of our multicultural Thanksgiving in Bangalore.

Oh, and we were very thankful there were no rat sightings.

Is it Almost Thanksgiving?

We decided we were going to have grilled cheese sandwiches the other night. If you want anything other than paneer, finding cheese can be somewhat difficult. There are a couple of places that will stock cheddar cheese and mozzarella if you are lucky but then they might not have fresh vegetables or fruit. But a new store has opened up about a month ago now that is like a real supermarket. It's called Spar and when we were in Ireland this summer, we were first introduced to the chain only there, they were small convenience stores. This is beyond a "super" market - it is a "hypermarket" according to the sign on the front of the building. It's three stories and has everything from major appliances to toys to sheets to cheddar cheese AND it has parking for Chandan. I am thankful for the Spar.

It has become my one stop grocery store and for as much as I like live like a real Bangalorean and go to the street market, it's sometimes a welcome break to have all the prices set and not have to haggle over 25 cents. So armed with a list that included scotch tape, wrapping paper, tomatoes, cheese, bread...I make my way through the hypermarket. I get to the cheese aisle and much to my dismay, there are packages of "processed cheese slices" (they don't even say what type of cheese they have attempted to process), and small blocks of Gouda and Gruyere. But you never know what might have gotten mixed up in the packaged blocks of cheese so I start digging a little deeper. Toward the back of the pile, I find a package that looks like it's been opened and then repackaged and the sticker on the front looks similarly mangled. n pen, someone had written over the faded typing, "cheddar." So, I started thinking of Plan B for dinner when I turned around and noticed the glass case with big blocks of cheese - like a real deli only, there was no meat in the case, just cheeses. I see the prices are listed per 100 grams. Having no idea what 100 grams of cheese looks like, I ask the man behind the counter, "how much is 100 grams?" As soon as I said it, I knew it was probably not the best way to phrase my question. I could hear his answer, "it's 100 grams." But he seemed to understand, pulled out the block of white cheddar and moved his hand about a half an inch in making it clear I was not going to get slices. He took out a large knife and started cutting and I ended up with 200 grams of broken pieces. Then he and another employee, together wrap my package in paper then saran wrap. Then a third employee joins them as they put the package in a foil bag. Two of them then put the bag on what looked like a paper cutter and the third employee moved a lever that sealed the bag for freshness. There were a couple people waiting behind me but still only one asked for the next persons order while the other two stood on standby to assist (instead of helping the next people in line). I am thankful to always have more help then I could ask for in any given store in India.

I was looking for tape and wrapping paper because I went to a "wrapping party" yesterday at Mei's. The OWC has been collecting gifts for some of the charities we support and a group of about 10 of us got together yesterday to start wrapping the gifts. The children's gifts we are giving to a couple of different orphanages and the adult gifts (including fun things like toothbrushes, soap and sheets) are going to a Hospice-type organization and a couple of homes for mentally and physically challenged adults. I was able to find tape but the wrapping paper was more difficult to come by - and not just Christmas wrapping paper but even birthday or generic paper is only sold in a handful of stores. (The hypermarket had gift bags but no paper.) But the veteran OWCers knew where to go so the party was not a bust. I am thankful I don't have to wait for Christmas for soap and toothpaste.

Having spent a good part of the day there, I realized that my maid-boy(s) may not be perfect but I'd prefer to have them come for an hour rather than hang around the house all day. Mei had a huge house and, like most maids in Bangalore, her maid spends all day "helping" out. Most of the day she just stood hovering around us waiting for someone to hand her an empty tea cup but around lunch time, she busied herself cooking rice. When she was done with that she cleaned the dishes and then continued just to creep around doing not much of anything. Everything about having a full time maid is awkward to me. They know they are your "hired" help so they act inferior and only speak when spoken to so it's not like you are really hanging out with a friend. Most of the women are surprised (if not appalled) to hear that we have a maid-boy - "Your maid is male (gasp)!" - and that if he spends an hour, he's been here a while - "He's not a full-time maid (look of utter confusion)??" I did meet one other women yesterday though who shared my view and is happy not to have someone else always lurking about the house but we are few and far between. I am thankful for my maid-boy (although, I am still mad at the one who tried to steal and then lied about it).

But anyway, it's the day before Thanksgiving and with the 70 degree, sunny days and lack of any reference to turkey, football, the Christmas season or Thanksgiving sales, it doesn't feel much like a holiday. And seeing as we don't have an oven to cook a turkey (even if we could find one of those) or a pie or baked good of any kind, we will not be doing much cooking here at the apartment. But don't despair, we are going to celebrate tomorrow by going to a restaurant that is serving a traditional Thanksgiving meal with our non-American friends. We have a group of 8 that will join us to help celebrate. We'll see how "traditional American Thanksgiving dinner" translates in India. We might even get a football game on ESPN Friday morning. You never know. I am thankful for my new friends to help us celebrate.

Oh and yes, we've been hearing alot about the cyclone in Bangladesh as well but it's really nowhere near us. (Well, closer to us than say, you in Connecticut) But it's still at least the distance from Connecticut to Florida, if not (and probably) farther. So they were attributed some of our "cold" weather to the storm but other than that, it hasn't effected us. But it does seem like the news about the storm is just getting worse and worse and feels like we should be doing something more than just talking about a "cold front." I am thankful we are in Bangalore and not Bangladesh.

So, yes, it continues to be all about me.

A New Friend, Tapeworm and the Sacred Cow

Well, after all that whining yesterday, all was not lost. Most of my message had been saved but still frustrating to be kicked off every five minutes. (And I'm really not exaggerating. At one point, it would disconnect, literally, a couple minutes after it would connect.) John Paul the manager called at 4 to see if it was working and promised to call back in a half hour. He called back around 6 and it still wasn't working but he said he paid the bill Sunday and would have it up in another half hour. And here we are today with a working connection.

So anyway, I got an email from Saras of Belaku Trust (the charity with the village women...) looking for help with a crafts fair where they would be selling some of their products. Since we were in town this weekend, I said I could help out for a few hours in the morning/early afternoon. Saras then called to confirm and asked if I could come from about 10 to 1. I said, I would be there from 10-1. I got another call on Friday from a women named Rachel saying she knows I had said I would be there from 10:30 - 12 but could I come in the afternoon instead. Now, I probably could have come in the afternoon. Technically, I didn't have any real "plans" but Sir and I had talked about meeting for lunch somewhere. It's not like I really need the afternoon to rest from the long work week or anything but still, I exercised my "I'm just a volunteer" muscle and said that I would be happy to stay a little later - 1 or 2 but couldn't stay to the end of the event at 6. Rachel said that was fine, she just thought they might be a little short on afternoon help but she would be there in the morning with me and would see me then.

The event - billed as a Christmas Fair was organized by the Bangalore Community Services Organization and was held in a room at one of the hotels in town (it was no Bazaar - I bet there wasn't even a Sound and Lights Committee). When I arrived, most of the tables were still setting up and there was nothing that appeared particularly Christmas-y about it save for the small, Charlie Brown, artificial tree in the corner and a few tables selling specifically Christmas items - pillows, wreaths, table clothes, etc. I walked around for a minute before I saw the Belaku table with an Indian man and a white women, on the phone, behind the table. I introduced myself to the Indian man and said I was there to help out. He said hello and smiled politely but said nothing else. When the white woman hung up, I said, "you must be Rachel." Rachel is from Dublin but speaks Scottish Gaelic so she explained that her accent is not truly Irish nor is it really Scottish (although she sounded more Scottish to me).

She explained that Gautam (the Indian man) would really be running the show because he was most familiar with the prices and speaks excellent English and that two women from the village were on their way and we were there in case they needed a couple of extra hands. There was a paper with all the prices listed and a notebook where you were supposed to write down everything that was sold and the price. She said, "I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, but we're a little disorganized and it's really important Gautam keeps track of what we're selling." Rachel also said, "honestly, I think Saras likes to have a couple of Westerners on hand because other Westerners seem to be more comfortable talking to us. I know that sounds horribly racist but I think it's true." I had to agree (both that it probably is racist but also true).

Rachel is here with her girlfriend Kay, who works for Microsoft. Besides working part time for Belaku, she does a "little bit" of writing but really wants to get into English radio in India. I meant to ask her more about English radio in India but never got the chance. I didn't know if India was the place to break into the English radio scene. She was very easy to talk to but we kept getting interrupted by those pesky shoppers and lose track of what we were talking about. She arrived in Bangalore about the same time that I did but Kay had already been here for a few months. Apparently after about a month, Kay found someone on Facebook, who then introduced her to the gay community in Bangalore. Rachel said, "there wasn't supposed to be a gay community in India. That's why I wasn't worried about Kay coming on her own. When I heard that, I thought, 'right, I have to go now'." So here she is.

How long they will be here turned out to be a trickier question because Kay has "fallen ill." Apparently, she had a seizure a couple of weeks ago so they took her to the hospital and found out she has tapeworm in her brain! Ironically, there was a story in the paper that very morning about how to protect yourself from tapeworm - don't eat pork or contaminated food. (I guess I'll just go around asking the guys at the veg market if anything is contaminated with tapeworm.) Kay was in the hospital for a week or so and was on medication but then had a reaction to the medication and was back in the hospital. She is back out of the hospital and on new medication but I guess they were having problems with her insurance and she's been out of work so they might have to leave earlier than they planned. Saturday also happened to be their anniversary which is why she couldn't stay through the afternoon either - although I'm sure tapeworm of the brain would put a damper on the celebration.

But by 11 am, there was the two of us, Gautham, two women from the village, another man that work with Saras (doing "miscellaneous" tasks) and Saras' driver who brought the two women. And it wasn't overly crowded so I actually felt like there were too many of us. So I stayed long enough for everyone to get lunch and left at about 1. I got harrassed into buying raffle tickets and bought 5 tickets for about $2. In the car, on the way home, I got a call from Rachel. I won a lunch for two at a restaurant in town. She picked up my gift certificate for me and I'm meeting her later to get it.

Saturday evening we met a co-worker of George's who arrived a week ago and is here for another 3 weeks. She lives in Danbury (CT) but is originally from the mid-West. She does something with executive recruiting and is here to help teach the Indians how to do "5 minute drills." She said this as if everyone knows what 5 minute drills are so I just went with it and didn't ask. She seemed a little uncertain of Bangalore but claimed she wasn't really a city-girl anyway. She is going to Delhi and Agra for Thanksgiving and had alot of questions about what to expect. We told her after our weekend, returning to the chaos of Bangalore felt normal.

Sunday I woke up feeling not quite right and was convinced I had the tapeworm. It seemed perfectly reasonable that somehow I contracted it by talking to someone who lives with someone who has it. But I'm feeling ok now so I'm pretty sure it wasn't that.

But with my fear that I had tapeworm, it meant that we didn't go to the gathering at the Palace Grounds to honor the cow. (The Palace Grounds is also where the Black Eyed Peas concert and one of the Oktoberfests were held.) Apparently it was mostly females who gathered and lit candles promising to protect the cow. But there were thousands who gathered. I can't figure out how to paraphrase this so I will quote directly from The Times of India: "A sea of humanity assembled at Palace Grounds in response to a call from Sri Raghaveshwarabharathi of Ramachandrapura Mutt, who has been on a mission to protect cattle. Pontiffs of other top mutts, politicians, industrialists and others also participated in Sunday's event - Koti Neeranjali." Not sure what a mutt is but I think it's funny the mutts are going to protect the bovine. The article goes on to talk about how the event was an effort to give a voice to the voiceless and that without the cow's milk, Indians would not be strong or live full lives, not to mention the integral part the cow plays in the agriculture industry. In addition to the lighting of candles, there were short skits, "drama" and song recitals at the event - you'll have to use your imagination. Holy cow, indeed.

P.S. I appreciate all the newfound flurry of comments. We're all friends here...it's ok to share your thoughts...this is a safe place.

We're in the IT Capital of India but It's Still India...

Very, very, very, extremely, incredibly, awfully, exceptionally, exceedingly, especially, dreadfully, extraordinarily, very frustrated with our internet today. (I used a thesaurus). Our home connection is down due to non-payment (I swear we did make nice with the landlord) and these wireless cards we bought are useless.

Seeing as there were no Negro spirituals in our plans, I was writing all about our not-so-exciting weekend, when my window just closed. Well, Microsoft said they would send an “error report” but one click and all my words were gone. But those crafty engineers at Blogger have included a feature that automatically saves your work – as soon as you type something new. So I thought I was ok. I just had to reconnect and I could continue. Well, reconnecting has proved impossible and yadda, yadda, yadda, I think my work was lost.

I'm considering myself lucky to even be able to cut and paste this from MS Word before I lose my connection AGAIN. Thank you, India. If you don’t see anything posted tomorrow. You can assume our landlord is still holding a grudge and not paying our bill.

Vote Early and Often

New feature alert!!!

I added a poll to the right there -->

Rock the vote.

(Laura, you don't have to participate.)

Fact: The Electric Chair was Invented by a Dentist

Tea with the ladies ended up being an all day affair. So no post yesterday. Everyone is getting "all geeked up" (as Sir would say) about the OWC Christmas bazaar on December 1. With the recent cold front that has gripped the area (it's a frigid 60 degrees), everyone seems to be getting into the holiday spirit. I'm pulling my weight on the Sound and Light Committee. (Read: I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing but I figure I'll just show up and figure it out.) I'm sure it will be the social event of the year, at least that seems to be what all the buzz is about.

I did however also see one of the women I met my first time at the OWC meeting who is Australian but had lived in the UK for the past 20 years or so. I remember her as the round, friendly woman who talked alot and was looking forward to getting her sons to move to India. I didn't really get the chance to ask her if they've moved because like a torando, she literally bumped into me, apologized and continued with whatever story she had begun before bumping into me. "And Pondicherry...well, it was just gorgeous!" She gave me a double take, I think realizing she was now talking to someone else and said, "Oh, I was telling Anne about my latest trip to Pondicherry," at which point Anne claimed she had to go catch someone else and left us. Luckily it wasn't too long before Adele saw me vacantly nodding my head at this woman and called me over.

After tea, Vivian, a French women whose name neither of us could remember and I went for lunch at a Japanese restaurant that everyone raves over. I got the $6 set lunch menu that included vegetable egg rolls, a soybean steak, salad and miso soup. The vegetable egg rolls were more egg than veg. - literally like a mini omelette cut up with some herbs. The tofu was good but hard to eat with chopsticks and the salad was a very mushy potato salad on a bed of brownish lettuce. The soup was good though. And there was some sort of pickled seaweed salad that tasted like salt water. I'm not sure what the fuss over this place is. We did get to sit on pillows on the floor and it was only $6. We saw my yoga instructor there, who is also French and happened to know our nameless French friend. I think she called her Ellen so I have a new French friend whose name may or may not be Ellen.

After our mediocre lunch, we went to the Contemporary Arts and Crafts store because there was some OWC event there that included 20% off everything in the store and wine and hors d'oeuvres all afternoon. The first floor of the store had mostly the "arts and crafts" - handmade vases, frames, serving dishes, wall hangings, etc. The second floor was a clothing store with a small empty room where they set up the wine and hors d'oeuvres. There were a fair number of OWC people there but also a few Indians - but none that I could really make friends with. We ended up staying there for a while...free wine on a Thursday afternoon, why not? They had couches and chairs spread out and my girls were there.

I did buy a shirt but also realized how cheap I've become now that I am getting better at bargaining on Commercial Street. Thirty dollars for one shirt? That's outrageous. At one point, I had about 10 things in my hand but put them all back because I was sure I could find similar things for half the price elsewhere (with the exception of the shirt I did buy that I convinced myself was better quality and a one-of-a-kind). They did have shoes but my quest continues. We ended up spending some time with a Malaysian Muslim who was clearly not a very strict Muslim as she was making herself very comfortable by the "bar" and claimed she drinks white wine like it's water. In fact, she said her friend usually dilutes her drinks with water because she drinks so much. She was in a celebratory mood though as her birthday is today. She was with her husband who was working hard and cleaning up the pate and crackers and also drinking his fair share of the wine.

I was telling Adele that I wanted to start trying to make Indian friends and she mentioned that her one Indian friend was in a "show" on Saturday. She was pretty vague on the details but said tickets were only 200 rupees ($5) and we could have dinner afterwards. She said she would email me the details and I could ask George. Later, when I got the email and realized it was a choir concert, I thought maybe I could convince Sir this would be fun...until I scrolled a little further and saw "a selection of Negro spirituals..." Botanical gardens are one thing but choir music including Negro spirituals was too much to ask of Sir (and I was really only going to feel cultured) so we decided to take a pass. Adele confessed she wasn't really sure what to expect either but she promised her friend she'd go.

Fact: Five weeks from today, we'll be on our way home.

Everyday I get text messages from our mobile phone provider that are "Facts." A few of my favorites...
Fact: It is impossible to lick your elbow.
Fact: Women blink nearly twice as much as men.
Fact: There are 2 credit cards for every one person in the United States of America.
Fact: Stewardesses is the longest word typed only with the left hand.
Fact: Wearing headphones for just an hour will increase the bacteria in your ear by 700 times.

What to do with all this newfound knowledge?

Getting to know the maid-boy

I haven't seen the maid-boy who tried to steal from us since "the incident." I told John Paul, the manager, to only send the new guy 3 times a week. It started to seem a little silly to have him come everyday and slap the furniture with a rag. I think he would call this "dusting." And I'm not sure what he does in the bathroom because I find I have to re-clean it once a week. Still, even if he's sweeping and mopping three times a week, it's got to be doing something. So we've gotten into a routine. He comes later in the afternoons, we exchange hellos and he gets to work silently and without music. The "stealer" used to wear some sort of old Walkman and turn it up way past the proper 45 decibels.

The other day I ended up with some creme filled cookies in my grocery bag (Actually they were from one of my first traumatic trips to the grocery store and I had just thrown them in the back of the cabinet as they were a cruel reminder of cornflakes with no milk.) Anyway, the picture on the front of the bag made the cookies look almost as appetizing as the hanging carcasses at the ghetto butcher shop down the street, so I've been meaning to get rid of them but seemed such a waste to throw them out. So, seeing as I didn't get the maid-boy anything for Diwali, I tried to offer him the cookies. I suppose I really should ask his "good name" but I haven't yet, instead I just look at him and start talking.
"Would you like these cookies? We don't like them and will not eat them."
Smiling, he gives me the sideways head bob. In this case, I take it to mean, "I have no idea what your are saying." So with the unopened cookies in hand, I extend my arm to him. With this I get a look that is 75% confusion, 25% panic. Perhaps he thinks the American ma'am who accuses the house staff of stealing from her is now trying to poison him.
I try again with, "I'd like to give these to you. Happy Diwali."
"No good? Diwali?" He is pointing to the garbage bag so now I'm thinking he thinks I want him to put them with the rest of the garbage.
"No, they are good but you eat them. Bring them home with you."
"No problem, ma'am." And he left with the garbage bag in one hand and his helmet and cookies in the other hand. Who knows where they ended up.

So today, he came with Sir's credit card that we had given to pay the rent. Dutifully, he immediately handed me the card and two copies of the receipt and simply said, "signature." As he was fumbling in his pocket for a pen, I said, "Can I have my husband sign it tonight and I'll give it to you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow, ma'am?"
"Yes, last month he signed it and I gave the other maid the receipt the following day."
"Signature," he said a little louder.
"My husband's signature. He will sign tonight. I give to you tomorrow."
"No tomorrow ma'am, signature."
I could tell this wasn't going anywhere but I decided to try one last time. "My husband will give signature. But can I give to you tomorrow?"
"Yes, signature." He was nearly putting the pen and receipt in my hand and I gave up. I just signed for Sir.

I suppose it is for this reason that I have not asked him his good name because I fear that conversation will just exhaust us both. (Most Indians have two names - a pet name that is reserved only for family and their "good name" that is for everyone else and goes on official documents and records. They never just ask for your name, they always ask for your "good name.") But the good news is, after much back and forth between Sir and the landlord, we (he) has done some renegotiation of the lease but we're going to stay where we are. We got him to lower the rent a little (though we're still getting ripped off) and we only need to give them a month's notice before we leave. So perhaps Friday, I will ask his good name.

With our newfound resolve to stay put, I was also finally inspired to actually buy curtains for the kitchen. It is smaller than standard windows so I was having trouble finding ones that would fit and realized I would have to get them cut to size. Last week, Vivian had taken me to this "plaza" that had some shops but also a market area with stalls selling everything from jewelry to clothes to shoes to housewares. There were at least 5 different places selling curtains but I didn't have the measurements of the window so I decided to go back today with the measurements. I found ones that would work and asked if they would cut them to size. "No problem, ma'am." They cut them right on the spot and after 10 minutes I walked out with curtains cut to size, with neat hems for a total of $8. Ten weeks and the place is really starting to come together. I also bought a $5 shirt and a bag for $4. Still no new shoes though...

On the way there, I passed two grown men on one scooter with closet door sandwiched between them. The guy on the back had the door resting vertically on his lap, obstructing the view of anyone behind him. I've seen people carting some strange things on their scooters (stacks of books, large boxes, glass windows) but I think this was the strangest. (Of course you should also realize that it now seems perfectly normal to see two men riding together, passenger with his arms around the waist of the driver.)

Tomorrow is tea and cookies with the ladies...

Deep Thoughts on India...

There have been a lot of articles in the paper recently about the new international airport currently under construction in Bangalore. Because of all the recent growth here in the past few years, the need for a larger airport that can handle more traffic became a necessity. Makes sense - if you need a new airport, build one. They picked a location where there would be plenty of space for a new modern building and plenty of massive Boeing jets. In a metropolitan area, where are you most likely to find that kind of space? ...Right. Outside the city. So they started construction on the new Bangalore international airport outside the city - 68 km north of the city(that's 42 miles). I think they measured this 68 km from the point furthest south in the city (a neighborhood called "Electronic City") . The problem, if you haven't already guessed, is they have included no plans for getting people to and from the airport and with the traffic they are estimating a four-hour drive from Electronic City (yes, four hours to go 42 miles). There is no tram, no train, no boat, no cow to get people to and from the airport.

Coupled with these reports are those that discuss the influx of new cars being registered. The number of "two-wheelers" is slowly decreasing while the number of cars is rapidly increasing so it is suspected that traffic is only going to get worse. There is also talk about one of the huge companies here, Tata, making a new, very affordable car that will just add to the already clogged roads. The airport is scheduled to open in 150 days and while there are "plans" for a railway link and an "express" highway, neither of those will be completed for another 4 or 5 years - or so they estimate. They ran another article that chronicled 4 or 5 different trips out to the new airport from various points in the city. From every point, it took over two hours. The two people that traveled during peak rush hour, took close to 4 hours. So, the solutions they are proposing are: give yourself at least two hours to get to the airport (depending on where you live) or hop a flight from the old airport to the new one (although they think this could only be an option for business and first class passengers), or pack lots of water and snacks and be prepared to get out and stretch during traffic. In the same article, a few paragraphs later, they said the old airport was scheduled to close all operations as of March 28. So, I'm not sure how you would get a flight from there to the new airport and they didn't address the inconsistency which leads me to the point of all this...

There is all this talk of India being on the edge of becoming a world superpower. There are billboards about this initiative they have begun called "Lead India" which, from what I gather, is a committee of elected Indians from all sorts of backgrounds (IT leaders, doctors, politicians, engineers, etc.) who are supposed to be leading India to become a dominant power in the world. What they are actually doing, I'm not sure. There is usually at least one editorial or article a day about how advanced India is becoming and how much they influence the world's economy and how quickly they are growing. The other day, someone was siting his trip to McDonald's as evidence of a "new, advanced India." His argument was that the McDonald's in India have developed a quick and efficient system of getting people through the line with their order in mere minutes. He went on to say how service in India, across the board - airports, banks, retail stores - has seen tremendous improvement and so India can and should become a leader. I'd like to believe that all that is true but my trips to the airport, banks and retail stores have been slightly different (see posts 1-55). I'd say all these reports about an India ready to compete in the first world are inconsistent at best. When the power goes out at least twice a day, you pass people with buckets of water to wash themselves and you see roads in disarray with no viable plan to fix them which only further compounds the out-of-control traffic problem, which is reeking havoc on the environment, I just don't think India is quite there yet. I'm not sure I know enough to say whether I think they will ever get there but based on one American housewife's observations, I'm not sure India will get their as quickly as the papers might have you believe.

But I also need to mention that the current "human interest" story that's been running for the past few days has been the story of Lakshmi, a two year old girl who was born with four arms and four legs. She was separated from her parasitic twin in a 24+ hour surgery last week and is currently sitting up and smiling. The rare surgery was performed at a hospital right here in Bangalore and completed ahead of the 48 hour surgery they planned for. Because they had planned so well, the very complicated surgery went smoothly. (Lakshmi's parents are poor farmers and did not pay a single rupee for the surgery. They haven't mentioned who is paying for it but let's assume it's taxes.) So on the one hand, they can't figure out how to get people to an airport, but they can perform miracles in some state-of-the-art hospital at no charge to the patient.

Since we've been here, we've already seen a half dozen or so new buildings completed and everyday there is new construction beginning all over the city. I think Sir said they hire something like close to 100 new employees a day - but I don't know how they can sustain that growth when they don't seem to be thinking much further than the next day. "Let's just build an airport and we'll worry about getting people there in 150 days." "Sure, we can hire more new people. We don't have anywhere for them to sit but we'll worry about that tomorrow." But then again, maybe I'm just a foreigner that's only been here a couple of months and I'm the one who is failing to see the big picture.

I Need More Indian Friends

We had a blast of a weekend. The crackers started early last week. After Thursday night, we thought we might have heard the worst of it for a variety of reasons. Vivian banned Liam from buying anymore, technically the holiday was over and there were already reports in the paper of kids being brought to the hospital because of eye injuries. But it got worse on Friday. There were a few booms in the morning, a few more in the afternoon and by 8 pm, we were shouting even though we were sitting next to one another. I know what you're thinking...it couldn't have been that loud. Oh, but it was. They were setting them off right outside our window and all over our apartment complex. At one point, I thought the building was actually shaking.

In the paper the following day, there was a riveting investigative report on not only the obvious dangers of crackers but also on the noise pollution. They sent reporters to different areas around the city to record the decibel levels as the crackers were going off and then listed ways to protect yourself from the noise. Supposedly, you should not expose yourself to noise above 45 dBA but according to The Times of India, when a cracker explodes the noise is 115 dBA. In some areas, they recorded up to 125 dBA - and this was recorded past 11 pm. They suggested shutting your windows, playing soft music and/or wearing ear plugs. I'm not sure what good soft music does when you can't hear it but ok. But shutting the windows? Why didn't we think of that?

Still, the first hour of crackers was fun and seeing the place all decked out in lights was cool. This is a picture of a 'rangoli' they drew in our lobby (I think it's supposed to be Lord Ganesh) and a picture of some of the lights they put up in the courtyard.


Chandan had gone back to his "native place" for the weekend so poor us, we were without our driver. Like Chandan, most other Bangaloreans also went back to their native places so walking around on Saturday was actually manageable. Sir is still upset with his phone and looking to upgrade so we did some looking at phones. We stopped in to see our local DVD supplier who wished us a happy Diwali and insisted we eat some of the nuts he produced from somewhere behind his tiny counter. We went to the Airtel store to pay our phone bill and waited in the line to pay the bill but when we asked about switching to automatic debit withdrawal, were told we had to wait in another line. The man who collects money cannot answer any questions about matters relating to anything other than paying your bill. (Although, I think this is a mobile phone, not an Indian, phenomenon. Speaking from previous experience, visiting a Verizon Wireless store can be equally frustrating. They don't actually do anything at the store other than call the customer service line and then give you the phone to discuss your problem with someone not in the store.)

But it was really in the mall, where we noticed the lack of people. It was merely crowded, not crowded like the week before Christmas in mid-town Manhattan, crowded. So, when the mall maintenance worker started plowing down the center of the aisle with his cumbersome mop/sweeper (like a small Zamboni) it was only mildly annoying. Normally you're trying not to trip over the cord that is powering the mop while dodging through mobs of hand-holding men, careful not to step on the end of anyone's sari. But since there were less crowds, all you had to concentrate on was the cord. Another funny thing about India, no matter what day of the week or how crowded a store is, they think nothing of mopping/sweeping around you (and sometimes over you if you don't move or lift your feet). I don't think I've actually seen them dust into a dust pan or squeegee the mop but still, I appreciate the effort. Actually, our maid-boy does this as well...I'll be sitting at the desk and he never asks me to move or pick up my feet he just gets in my personal space and mops like I'm a piece of furniture (usually I move when I see him coming).

Saturday night, Vanessa invited us to a barbecue at her friend Tiki's house. I've met Tiki so I didn't feel all that awkward but I had no idea who would be there or what kind of affair it would be. We mourned the absence of Chandan, called a taxi and made our way to Tiki's. The address was "140 Defense Colony" so I wasn't sure what kind of barracks we were going to be in but it actually was a very nice house with lots of character. You walked into the lobby with stone walls and stairs to the right, then through a stone archway into the living room. You actually had to walk a couple of steps down into the living room which was next to the dining room. The kitchen (and a bathroom) was off of the dining room. She had all kinds of interesting dishes and pictures in bookcases and on shelves. Not at all like our apartment with ugly masks and cheap pictures of Indian women holding fruit. But the best part was the small patio that led out into their yard. They had an actual yard with green grass and shrubs. I suppose when you have two kids, a yard becomes a bit of a necessity.

When we arrived Vanessa was already there but her boyfriend had gone away for a "boys weekend" with some of their Aussie friends. Another Swedish couple, Jessica and David, with their 5 year old, Rupert walked in with us. A few minutes after us, Anne Lee, the Asian Norwegian, arrived. She kept referring to her boyfriend but I don't think we ever found out why he wasn't with her. Tiki and her husband have 2 girls, Tina who is 3 and Lulu (or was is Lola?) who was 1 and half. So, it was a smaller group than I expected but still fun. Tiki's husband, Phil works for AOL so they lived in Virginia before coming here and his parents live near Mystic. He told his daughter that George and I are from "the place where we (they) get lobster." She didn't seem too impressed though. She was more interested in Rupert. We later learned that Phil's mother grew up in India so they (his parents) have been over a few times already to visit. And Tiki is German but grew up in Japan, studied in Australia and somewhere along the way met Phil and ended up in Virginia. The Swedish couple had lived in Milan for 5 years before coming to Bangalore and also seemed to be quite the globetrekkers. Anne Lee, the Asian Norwegian, spoke with an American accent and has been living in Bangalore for 3 years - long enough to have bought a scooter. (That alone is reason enough to be her friend.) I wasn't quite part of the conversation when she told how it is her family ended up in Norway but her parent's fled from some war - maybe the Korean (although she looked more Chinese than Korean) so maybe the Chinese civil war? But they fled and went to Norway. Why she has more of an American accent than Norwegian, I still don't know but she too, seemed very well traveled. So then it came time for George and I to share our backgrounds. In case you hadn't guessed, "We're American, both from Connecticut," is kind of a conversation killer after all that. But David was very interested in asking George about the rules of baseball which led to a discussion about other sports including one only played in Scandinavia which is like field hockey but played on ice. Anne Lee used to play.

I also learned from Jessica, that the school where I went for the "interview" is floundering amidst scandal. Apparently, the guy who opened the school was some American with little to no experience in opening schools but was not happy with the education his child was receiving at another international school in Bangalore and decided to open his own. They have run into all sorts of problems with money and making promises they couldn't keep - understaffed, facilities not completed - and he just up and left and went back to the US. I guess he sent all the parents and email apology saying that for legal reasons he had to leave but that the school would still be in operation. Glad I didn't get mixed up in all that! And I know smoking is a filthy, disgusting habit but with her red, curly hair, glass of Chardonnay and Swedish accent, there was something very sophisticated about Jessica - especially with the cigarette dangling from her fingers.

It was a fun time but it made me think I should work on getting more Indian friends. It was a dinner party that could've been in Mystic, Milan or Melbourne. Our international friends are great but I'm not learning much about Indians hanging out with them. I would like an Indian friend to take me to their native place or explain the fascination with crackers and why King Rama was exiled in the forest and then returned and now is celebrated as Diwali. There is a friendly Indian women in our building but I don't think she speaks much English, other than "hello." I don't think our maid-boy or any of the random maintenance people are really the friends I'm looking for... I think the answer to most of my questions would be "no problem." I think my best bet is going to be some of George's co-workers. Or, maybe if I do some more work with those villages (although again, English will be a problem). Or, maybe it's the motivation I need to finally get around to contacting this school I have been meaning to visit/volunteer.

Last night we had dinner at a restaurant that is meant to look like the inside of an old train car. (I think I've written about it before but we've never actually sat in the train car part.) It really did feel like we were on a train, complete with fake luggage in overhead compartments. It inspired us to plan our trip to Mysore (about 3 hours south of here). We're going to take the train in a couple of weeks.

But by last night, the holiday weekend was coming to a close. The lights around the apartment were gone and only black marks dotted the pavement - the remnants of the crackers had been swept up and only a few stray booms went off all night. And Chandan is back. Now it's time for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Happy Diwali

It's Diwali today - the holiday I wrote about a while ago (the festival of lights). Although if you live in the north, they will celebrate it tomorrow. From what I can tell and based on what George's coworkers have said, the number one way to celebrate is to light fireworks or crackers. The number two way to celebrate is to eat these horrible, gooey sweets made from ghee (clarified butter). These sweets are like those gross dense, grainy candies usually flavored with some sort of fruit and nuts. The number three way to celebrate is to hand lights anywhere that's not lit - trees, balconies, streets, the front of stores, cars, yourself...Most of the stores are having Diwali sales and there is a generally festive feeling about the city. In our lobby they are making rangoli drawings on the floors. I think "rangoli" is the name for any artwork used to decorate houses/temples but most of the artwork seems to be in the form of flowers draw in chalk.

But I think years after leaving Bangalore when I think of Diwali, what I will remember are the crackers. Since last week, the number of snap, crackle and pops has steadily increased along with the number of roadside tents selling them. And since it only comes around once a year, why wait until it gets dark to set them off? Why not just light the crackers at all hours and make the mangey, stray dogs even more skittish? After all, it is an activity the whole family can enjoy. What better way to make memories that to give you five year old a stick of fire and tell them to put it on the ground and run before the fire goes out. When they get to the responsible old age of 10, why not send them out with their friends and a supply of crackers big enough to keep them occupied for hours and tell them to be careful.

Liam (Vivian's mate) bought a small stash of crackers the other night and set them off near the basketball court in our complex. On the way back to our apartment we passed three other groups all lighting crackers. Two were unsupervised groups of kids (no more than 10 years old) with piles of matches and crackers. One group was supervised but still it was the kids who were doing most of the lighting and holding of the fireworks. This really shouldn't be all that shocking after seeing the way they drive with their kids crammed onto scooters, shoeless and filthy but still. The paper has been running "Cracker Safety Tips" all week. The lists include things like, "don't keep crackers in your pocket," "be sure to step back after you have lit your cracker," "be sure to supervise children," and my personal favorite, "don't wear loose clothing." All they wear are loose fitting clothes - long, flowing saris with dangling scarves and big, loose shirts on the men.

But alas, I decided to do my part to celebrate and finally try to find some new shoes. After browsing through countless stores, I finally found a pair that I decided I would at least try on. The uber-attentive salesmen had been on my heels (ha! - get it? I was in a shoe store...) since I opened the door and after suggesting some of the ugliest shoes in the store, asked if I would like to try the plain black pair in my hands. "Yes, but I don't know my size," I said. "That's ok. Sit down and I will measure you," he replied. I sat down and looked around for the foot measurer as I slipped off my flip flops. He looked at my foot, told me to lift my leg (so he was looking at the sole of my foot) and said, "you are a 38." And he was right. He called up to the man in the ceiling who went to retrieve my shoe in my size and climbed halfway down the latter leading from the ceiling into the store and handed the salesman my shoes. The size was perfect but he had given me a pair of beige shoes. I wanted black. "Oh yes, ma'am. I just wanted to check the size." He called back up to the ceiling and another box descended into the store. The salesman pulled out one black shoe and tried to put the other beige shoe on. I quickly tried to remember if I've ever seen anyone with two different colored shoes walking the streets of Bangalore. Because he was so attentive, he must have recognized this look of momentary confusion and said, "he is looking for the other black shoe." He pointed to the ladder going up to the ceiling as he got up to help another customer. There were 2 employees for every 1 customer in the store, yet I was left alone, wearing one black and one beige shoe wondering if I really liked them or was just desperate for a new pair. Two other women bought shoes as I waited and waited. Finally, I made eye contact with the salesman who said, "Ma'am, we can't find the other shoe. You can take the beige or give me one half hour's time and I'll get you another black one." I told him I didn't want the beige and he took my name and cell phone number and said he'd call back in a half hour. About three hours later, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize but had already left the shopping area and decided I'm just not meant to get new shoes.

But all was not lost, I did see my first Indian transvestite. A very muscular man was wearing a bright yellow and pink sari with bright pink lipstick and his hair pulled up into a severe bun. There was no mistaking, this was definitely a man. I went back to the same part of town today with Vivian and we saw him/her again.

I've also been having a recurring dream but unlike a regular recurring dream, time is actually passing in my dream. I'm in high school and a few weeks ago, I was not going to my math or science class because I simply just kept forgetting to go. Then a few days (or weeks) later, I dreamed that I had started to realize that I had missed all these classes and assignments and was failing and had gone to my math teacher to see what I could do to pass. Then the other night, I actually started going to my math class and was getting back on track but my science teacher wanted to know when I was going to come to science. Is this normal or do you think I have some sort of super-dream power? We were thinking the malaria medication was the culprit but I haven't taken it for a few weeks (not to worry, we've heard we don't really need it in Bangalore).

Sir is home from work today and would like to wish you all a very, happy Diwali. He also would like to let you know that we'll be home 6 weeks from tomorrow and is waiting to hear about all of the big welcome-home bashes you have planned for us. We've got a very busy social calendar.

A Well Oiled Machine

With the ease and convenience of email, I haven't really had much need for the Post Office but with Christmas just around the corner, I decided to get my cards out ahead of the rush. I told Chandan I needed to go to a Post Office and he said, "any branch?" I told him all I really needed were some stamps (although I was thinking I'd really like to get some envelops too but why push it). Off to one of the branches in Koramangala (area where we live) we go. We pulled up to a small beige building with a small dirt driveway next to it and a sign that said "Post Office" and "Government Building."

I walked up the dirt path to a door that was open. Inside, to the left were two long "buffet" tables with chairs on either end and a chair in the middle of them. There was a women in a dirty green sari sitting in one of the chairs and a man in dark brown pants and a light brown shirt in another one of the chairs doing nothing more than sitting and staring ahead. Opposite those tables were two counters. One had a sign above it that said, "stamps" and "passports" underneath. The other counter had a sign that said "foreign papers" and some acronyms I could only speculate on their meaning like - W.H.U.P (Wait Here for Unnecessary Paperwork) and D.R.P. (Documents Requiring Photos). Behind the counters were about 6 other people. Four of them were sitting at small desks (the size of school desks) facing the opposite wall (with their backs to the counters). The women at one of the desks, with piles of papers stacked on the floor around her, was typing on an old typewriter. There was a man a few feet away from her, also with a stack of papers on the desk next to a notebook he was writing in. There were two woman at the third desk, who I think, were doing some filing. They had two boxes by their feet and smaller, long boxes on the desk that almost looked like old card catalog drawers. There were two men just standing and talking between two of the desks, plus one man behind the line that wasn't for stamps. A line of 4 or 5 people had formed behind this counter but there was no one in line for stamps or passports and no one who appeared eager to help with stamps or passports.

So I lingered around the stamp line and when no one behind the counter moved, I waited in the line I knew I shouldn't be in. I can't decide which room was drearier - the post office or the baggage claim area of the airport. Both had dull fluorescent lights, greenish walls and fans that turned crookedly and looked like they might come crashing down any minute. I think the Post Office was a tad drearier because there were bars on the one window by the "buffet" tables. And, in addition to the two people that were just sitting by these tables, neither looking like workers nor customers, there was also the occasional person who walked in, would look around and either leave through a side door (a few feet away from the barred window) or would turn around and go out through the front entrance. A man in line, a few people ahead of me, got waved to the next counter while the man behind the counter yelled to one of the girls doing the filing. So I followed him. He was looking for a passport application and was given what looked like 3 identical copies of the same application. A lengthy discussion followed where the man called his friend (who was by the door) over for consultation. They waved their hands alot and raised their voices to the women but ended up leaving with all three copies of the application.

Finally, it was my turn. I told the women I needed stamps to send some letters to the US. She looked at the envelops in my hand, told me it would be 48 rupees, and explained I would need to put two stamps on the envelop and one stamp on the postcards. I gave her exact change which she put in an unmarked, rectangular change purse. I'm sure that money is going straight to the government. I moved to the side and affixed my stamps and looked around for a mailbox or any pile that looked like it had other stamped and addressed letters, but didn't see anything except the strange mix of people that had been waiting with me. The women who had sold me the stamps had gone back to her filing so I said, "excuse me, where can I drop these off to be mailed?" She came over and looked to see I had followed her instructions with the stamps, took them out of my hands and chucked them into one of the boxes on the floor by her friend's feet. "So, those will go out in the mail today and make it to the US?" And with a half smile she gave me the typical Indian, sideways head bob that can mean anything from, "yes, no problem" to "of course" to "I guess" to "I'm not sure I really understand." I'm not sure why I would've ever thought the Indian Post Office would be nothing short of a well-oiled machine.

Like the versatile "no problem," we've tried to just adopt the sideways head bob as an easy answer to whatever question you might be asked. I think it's improving our communication. I'm sure my letters are on their way to the US even as I type.

By the way, those of you who believed the part about getting my Christmas cards out early, you don't know me at all.

Out of India: The Finale

After Friday's frustrating trip to some of the shops on Orchard Road, after a good night's sleep, we decided to venture out again to the far end and try our luck. George wanted to go to the Manchester United store he had read about on the internet and I was determined to find something. Anything. So we went to mall where the Man. U store was supposed to be and walked and walked and walked through the maze of stores and food courts until we couldn't walk any further and again found ourselves in a hotel lobby where the concierge informed us the store had closed. We should've read this as an omen but Mary Sunshine here insisted that today would be the day all of our materialistic prayers would be answered.

I think I was thinking I was going to get some crazy bargains but when I would see something I liked, I would realize I had just picked a $300 shirt and then I would talk myself out of getting it. Nobody really needs a $300 shirt - especially with our Boeing 757 washer. Or I would see something but tell myself I would have nowhere to wear it. Or I would walk in to a store and just feel like there was too much to even know where to begin. As a Lady of Leisure, aren't I supposed to have a personal shopper? I'll have to get Sir on this...

We stopped for lunch along the river and were treated to a series of boat races. Five boats would line up at a time and then race from one bridge to another. I don't know how many people row in another crew boat but these seemed unusually long. Instead of shouting at the rowers, the coxswains banged on drums to get the boat moving. Most of them just had a slow rhythmic - thump, thump, thump but the really good ones had quick melody going. Most of them had uniforms but it was unclear what they were racing for but still fun to watch.

Not one to be overly dramatic, after lunch I declared there was nothing for me in the entire country of Singapore. We were passing by another blur of stores when I slowed down outside one place and Sir said, "you don't even want to go in?" It was there that I found the one sweater I bought in place where others have to buy extra bags to carry all of their new things home in. Nearly lost in a shut out, this find also gave me the right to wave my white bag with my new sweater and declare "game over." We celebrated the defeat with a refreshingly cold beer at the Paulaner Brewhaus and watched some more of the golf and the tourists. Singapore is definitely cleaner and more organized than Bangalore but for the first time in 10 weeks, we also felt like we blended in. We did not get the stares we do in India and there were not constant reminders that you were a foreigner. We definitely enjoyed just being part of the crowd but there was something strange about Singapore that I couldn't quite put my finger on until George came home from work yesterday. He was talking to one of his coworkers who commented that Singapore was very "antiseptic." And I sort of agree. It was definitely a welcome break from India but there was something very fabricated about the city - not that that's a bad thing but I think I was expecting a little more "character." Maybe we should've spent less time in the malls.

Sunday, I dragged Sir to the Botanical Gardens and it was not just us and 50 year old British ladies...it was us, 50 year old British couples and families with small children. But the area was huge and quiet and very green and we got to see the largest display of orchids in the world. (I don't know why this isn't one of the 1000 Places to See Before You Die but it didn't make the list. The Raffles Hotel did so we can cross one place off our list.) We also went to the "cool house" which simulates the climate of the Rainforest where we got to see carnivorous plants. Sadly, I don't think this includes rats otherwise I might consider importing some to India. Actually, for as neat an clean as Singapore is, we actually did spot a rat running across the street amongst the crowds of pedestrians. Even still, it looked like a cleaner, neater rat.

Shamefully, we did break down and go to a place called Billy Bombers American Diner. Sir needed a hamburger and I had one of the best chocolate milkshake ever. I know, Anthony Bourdain would be cringing at the fact that we were not eating ethnic street food or stinky Durian fruit as our last meal in Singapore but sometimes you just need a burger, fries and a milkshake in a red booth looking at pictures of Elvis, Marilyn Monroe and The Beatles (England is American, right?)

India welcomed us back in typical fashion Sunday night. We again got stuck in nearly the last row on the plane so nearly the last in line at immigration. Sir picked a seemingly short line but we soon realized we got the extra-efficient immigration officer who was clearly taking his time to inspect every last detail in the passports. We were 2 of the last 4 people in immigration...not that it really mattered because when you walked out to the chaos known as "baggage claim," there were only about 4 bags that had made it onto the one belt that was moving. I think there was our flight plus one other that had come in so there were at least 500 people all pushing and shoving to see if they were one of the lucky four whose bags were touring the dreary place. Even those not pushing and shoving still stood on top of us totally unaware that there is even the concept of personal space. What felt like 2 hours later (but was probably 30-45 minutes - still too long) our bag made it through, unharmed.

I think I forgot to mention that to top off our trip to Delhi a few weeks ago, when our bag came bouncing down the belt, it was missing a wheel. The bag that we bought just before coming to India and had only made one journey, from New York to Bangalore. Sir promptly brought it to the Jet Airways counter where we filled out about 10 forms and were told someone would come by to pick it up for repair. Maybe there is something to excessive amounts of paper work because they did come on the day they said they would and returned it - looking like new just before this trip.

I'll attach the rest of the pictures. They are mostly of flowers so if it's that's not your bag, might be kind of boring. (Hope you enjoy though, Nana.)

Out of India

There are lots of differences between traveling within India and internationally but I think the difference can best be summed up upon the return to Bangalore - the noise, dirt and chaos a familiar and welcome or the noise, dirt and chaos jarring and unfamiliar. For as much as we have become comfortable in Bangalore, after 4 days in Singapore, we were reminded that even though we have made ourselves comfortable, it it is still very different.

We had "checked-in" online Wed. afternoon thinking we might save some time but there were no "online check-in" kiosk anywhere, just 4 lines for check-in for Singapore Air. One of the lines was for First class, and one for "Raffles" (business) class and two for Economy. So we got in the line for Economy and waited. And waited. And waited as they changed the signs at the front of each line so that we were then in the "Raffles Class" line. Hoping they realized that "Kind-of-a-Big-Deal Avery" should only fly Business or First class, we waited until we got to the counter. But it seems that the signs didn't really mean anything and we got assigned seats in the very back of the plane and checked our bag. By the time we passed through security, our flight was boarding which is too bad because we didn't have time to spend in any of the high class shops including a Cafe Coffee Day and a currency exchange counter nor did we get to watch the television from 1981.

We arrived in Singapore around 6:30 AM and walked into the air-conditioned, carpeted, clear airport walked down the travelators to baggage claim where our bags were already on the belt waiting for us. We then followed the well marked signs to the Taxi stand where the driver used the meter and didn't try to tell us we had to pay anything extra. We drove in one lane and he used a signal when he switched lanes. There was no beeping, no cows/dogs/goats, people stopped at red lights and pedestrians walked on sidewalks and crossed at the intersections. Most intersections actually had pedestrian overpasses or underpasses.

We walked into Chinatown on Thursday and were delighted to be walking around even if it was 30 degrees Celsius (= "really hot" Fahrenheit). We walked through an Asian street market and instead of being lured to buy mini-chess sets or toy snakes, we were tempted with massages and hand bags. From Chinatown, we made our way to an area on the waterfront called Boat Quay where we walked along a street of restaurants along the waterfront - all promising you the best seafood in Singapore. We kept walking to another row of shops and restaurants at Clarke Quay where we found a place called Beerwerks where Sir could finally have something other than a Kingfisher.

We had heard from Vivian and Liam and a few others about this "Night Safari" at the Singapore Zoo that was supposed to be good. I don't think either of us would consider ourselves huge "zoo/animal" people but, we decided to check it out anyway. We figured the four hour guided tour, starting at the hotel and including a "Creatures of the Night" show was a bit much and instead just took a taxi there and opted for the standard hop-on/hop-off tram. I think we were both pleasantly surprised by the set-up and had gotten there just early enough to beat the crowds. They had tiki-torches lit all along walk ways that led to an open area where there was a gift shop and a stage with skantily-clad men impressing the tourists with their tribal song and dance with fire routine. We watched as they took long sips from water bottle than spit the liquid out and set fire to it to create huge plumes of smoke and fire as if they were actually breathing fire. They pulled some lanky white guy up with them, made him take his shirt off then laughed and danced around him with their torches of fire and bottles of lighter fluid - using said lanky white guy to do some tricks with them. The crowd loved it. (It's taking everything in me to not lie and pretend that said lanky white guy was Sir - that would make for a better story...) But we decided to jump on the tram before we were plucked out of the crowd.

For being a night safari, it was actually easier to see the animals than you would think. They had soft lights in the woods strategically placed so you could see the tigers resting by the rocks or the zebras grazing beyond the roadway. They let the more docile animals graze quite close to the road and give you a simple, "keep your hands in the vehicle" warning and as the victim of a rare but frightening encounter with a vicious wild turkey, I was not about to tempt the animals. Some of the animals did get quite close but most stayed well beyond the road. We also noticed that none of the animals seemed very far from one another yet none of them mingled with other species which made us question how big the zoo actually is and remark how clever to run the safari at night so the tourist can't see the cages and fences that keep the animals locked in.

About halfway through, they bring you to an area where you get get out and follow the walking trails. Before you get to the walking trail, you have to cross through the outdoor restaurant and bar area (although we didn't see anyone actually stop for food or drink). We were told we could see flying squirrels, bats or leopards. Call me crazy but walking around with bats and squirrels flying overhead didn't seem like a ton o' fun so we set off in search of the leopards (wrestling with a giant leopard - now that's fun.) We followed a short path to a gate and walked another 10 steps before reaching another gate that would not open until the first gate was shut. I'm not sure how keen Sir really was on the Night Safari to begin with so you can imagine the looks I was getting as the gates slammed shut behind us. We saw some larger slithering otters and beavers and came to another set of gates. Beyond the gates was a fork in the path that had arrows pointing to the restaurant bar, one to the leopards and the other to the bats and squirrels. We take the path to the leopards. I was in the lead being careful to watch what was in front of me and listening to what was in the bushes and trees on either side of me, mostly crickets. But then I saw a flash and heard a flapping by my ear. I turned around and literally ran into George yelling, "Bat, bat, bat." I don't know if he didn't believed me but I think he said something like, "we'll be fine. Just go quickly." But there was no way I was going first so he steps aside and starts walking (with me VERY close behind holding on to his shirt). We hadn't moved more than 2 steps when a heard a loud yelp and feel him double over with his hands waving wildly protecting his head, trying to run in this position. We didn't have to go very far until we came to some more lights and a small clearing and we burst out laughing. I still laugh when I think about the yelping from George and the two of us trying to fend off a bat in the middle of a zoo in Singapore. We found the leopard who was behind a piece of glass probably with no more room to roam than a cow stuck in the middle of Bangalore traffic. We decided to spend the rest of the journey on the tram and were happy to be able to take a taxi back and not have to stick around for the show.

Friday morning we got up and headed over to the island of Sentosa because it was the Barclay's Singapore Open with notables such as Phil Mickelson, Vijay Singh, Ernie Els, K.J. Choi and others I'm forgetting and tickets were easy to get. It was hot and I got sunburned but still fun - even if you're not much of a golfer. There was no one there so we were able to get pretty close to the players. A couple of them hit the ball out of the fairway, inches from where we were standing. Of course, these were players I've never heard of but still it was fun to see them swing right in front of you. Adam Scott, reportedly one of the most eligible bachelors on tour, was there and when he got to the hole where we were standing I told Sir to step away like we weren't together, but still, he (both Sir and Adam) paid me no attention. In person, I thought Phil Mickelson seemed thinner, Ernie Els taller and Vijay exactly the same. But like I said, I'm not much of a golfer.

We only stayed at the golf tournament for a few hours and left there to do what all good tourists who go to Singapore (especially those living in India) do - shop. For those who don't know, I am not much of a shopper but every now and then, especially if I have not bought anything in a while, I can put in a good couple of hours. So when my Singaporean friend Vivian said, "you must go shopping on Orchard Road," I was picturing a place like Quincy Market in Boston or maybe 5th Avenue in New York but certainly not all the malls of New Jersey on one street. I like to have a couple of things in mind that I am looking for and go to a couple of stores. A couple of stores in Singapore is the equivalent of the largest mall in whatever town you live. I've never seen anything like it - massive complexes of stores, food courts and movie theaters, on top of more massive complexes of stores, food courts and bowling alleys. In addition to not being a huge shopper, I also find malls terribly confusing. I'm always getting turned around and can't remember if I just passed Nine West or was it Aldo and wasn't I supposed to be coming up on a Gap? To make these malls more confusing, they (Singapore) decided to connect them all with halls in the basement or a walkway on the second floor or with no real marking at all. One hallway in the Orchard Plaza mall becomes the hallway of the Orchard Hotel Plaza. We were in one mall, thinking we were going to come to more stores and ended up in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel. At least there were no bats.

So, it was too much for me. George seems to think there might be a flaw in my DNA - aren't women supposed to go crazy for all that shopping? I'm not worried. I would challenge even the worst shop-a-holic to a full day on Orchard Road and I promise you, Orchard Road would win. We had come to Singapore with high hopes of buying all the goods we can't seem to find here - me a decent pair of shoes that aren't flip-flops or sneakers and Sir, cheap electronics and sporting goods, but sadly walked away with only cheap key chains. (Well, I also bought a sweater - for those chilly Bangalore evenings.) You'll be happy to hear though, the Christmas spirit of remembering the birth of the baby Jesus, is alive and well in Singapore. As of November 1, most of the malls were decorated with white garland, purple bows and ribbons and gold stars and the streets were decorated with gold and red bows and wreaths.

Friday night, we went out for sushi. Another thing we have not touched in Bangalore, is fish. Considering it is difficult to find cold milk in a place where there are an over abundance of cows, eating fish in our land-locked city just doesn't seem like a good idea. We were both eager to get a fish-fix. We went to a place that looked like a regular cathedral but behind it there was a large enclose area with at least 20 different restaurants and shops. After walking the entire way around, we still had not found the restaurant where we had booked a reservation and headed downstairs. We asked the nice lady who was trying to sell us on her restaurant if she new of the sushi place we were looking for and she directed us back up and escalator where we finally found our place. Just like finding your way around the malls - easy. It was about this time that I realized I left my favorite black sweater in the cab. So, after a rough start to the evening, we were greeted by an enthusiastic Japanese women in a kimono, socks and flip flops who immediately served us with very small dishes of potato salad. We realized we were in a legit sushi place when we saw only one other white couple and had an entire book of sakes to choose from. The food did not disappoint. We're not sure if it's because we had been craving it for so long or because the fish was actually flown in daily from Japan but it was simple and delicious.

After dinner we went to the world famous Raffles Hotel and followed the large crowd of fanny-paks into the Long Bar to get the equally world famous, "Singapore Sling." They had peanuts in shells you could throw on the floor so it was all bad - just an overpriced tourist trap. The average age in the bar was probably 68 and Sir thought I was being a tad snobby when I said we should go. There was a lovely bar, next to our hotel that served Guinness. So following my sage advice, we left and had more fun at the Irish bar with a live band whose lead singer was being harrassed by a man with an un-tucked shirt and tie on. He claimed we were all listening to the best singer in Singapore.

But it was getting late so we left the BSS just as it's getting late now. I need to sign off and will finish the rest of our scintillating (as I'm sure you have already found it) trip to Singapore tomorrow.