Eye of the storm

One of my best friends who lives in Georgia recently sent me a link to a potential beach house rental along the gorgeous Florida Gulf Coast where we (family and friends who are now family) have vacationed over many summers.  Man, would we slay a vacation right now!  But over the past few days, the invite really got me thinking about the country and how different our lives can be depending on who we are and where we live.  In every day life, how regional is reality?

Spare tires and a note on 2nd Avenue

As of today, the US of A is experiencing rising coronavirus cases in 20+ states.  And the thought occurred to me to ask my buddy: if I had invited all of you to come to NYC in April or May for a beach vacation, would you have considered it (assuming all things being equal: affordable flights, accommodation, good weather)?  NYC was the world's epicenter of coronavirus at that point, and I regularly got worried messages from loved ones making sure we were safe.  And thankfully, we were and are (knock wood).  NY leadership has relied upon information from specific data, scientists, and health care professionals to guide the state throughout this crisis.  Cuomo and De Blasio, love 'em or hate 'em, held daily press conferences to advise all New Yorkers across regions, and 100+ days later, the state's numbers across the board have continued to steadily decline.  And now NYC, the country's most populous city, is slated to enter Phase 3 of reopening on July 6th.  For me, my main job could reopen at half capacity as of Phase 3 but has chosen to stay closed through the fall.  Summer was usually the slowest time, especially August...so, I'm bummed and gotta spruce up my resumé, but understand.  But back to my point, Big Apple to FL oranges, is it a good idea to head into the eye of the storm for a vacay?  And also, is the rest of the country and world as worried by the recent spikes elsewhere as we are up here?

With other states now witnessing spikes like those the tristate area endured starting back in March, in a sad twist of fate, the governors of NY, NJ, and CT recently decided together to place quarantine restrictions on travelers from many of those states (Florida included).  Thinking about a possible vacation then made me wonder, do people in other cities not see this virus as a real and serious threat?  I remember and likely wrote about how strange it is to fear something that remains invisible.  No one in my immediate circle had been impacted in the beginning.  But resources started to become scarce, businesses closed, everyone wore masks up here, and stayed home.  Reports on the news were devastating, makeshift morgues built in hospital parks under tents.  Asymptomatic spreading only making the virus more elusive.  And then a few friends and co-workers started to talk about symptoms, and then positive test results, ushered by more symptoms for most.  One friend works for the Air Force and had been on international flights.  Another had also flown a bunch.  And another's significant other is a Corrections Officer (who also tested positive).  They all recovered at home, glory be.  And talking with friends and family who work in health care...surely, they have PTSD from what they’ve seen fighting this disease over months.  Watching people die in total isolation with no comfort, kind words, even hugs from loved ones in the last moments.  Day after day, hour by hour.  And having vowed to help, and yet unable to, ill-equipped, overworked, and desperate for relief themselves.  With no cure in sight, talk about a no-win situation.

It got me thinking more broadly about reality.  Is this pandemic one of those things that people only believe once it's happened to them, their community, their city?  Are firsthand accounts of this disease's carnage from other impacted regions insufficient to believe it's real and can hit anywhere?  Across the country, there are reports of people referring to this as a “scamdemic.”  So, how much does where you live impact what you hear about what's happening and where?  What are my friends across the country hearing from their states' governors, health officials, and media?  And more so, as this virus is devastating communities, and with cases to spiking in Florida particularly, wouldn't it be risky to rent a house (who knows who's rented it previously, who cleaned it and with what safety protocol?) with friends from different states (obviously us included) who have not quarantined together, if quarantined at all?  And then I looked into how we'd even get to Florida with NY IDs.  Would we have to be smuggled?  Wink, wink.  We have had such good times on these vacations over the years.  But then, I got a little pissed at myself for trying to figure out how we'd swing it.  Right now, is taking this vacation smart?  Is it wise?  Is it...appropriate?

In addition to the health crisis, the world is also in the throws of a massive cultural uprising, with many people referring to the continued murders of Black people in the US as the pandemic within a pandemic.  And with video capturing George Floyd's murder having been shown in every living room, it's as if America and the world have finally chosen to do something about the fact that, while it is stated that "all men are created equal," clearly, not all are treated equally.  I'll never forget watching a grown man calling out for his mother as a police officer choked the life out of him.  I'll never forget urine trickling down the concrete, watching with horror the realtime evidence that this man had lost bodily function and died.  How do you explain this?  How do you justify the murder we all just saw?  And George Floyd is the latest victim in a long list of the names of only those we know were murdered.  Scary to think about what happens when there are no cameras.  Insult to injury, African American communities have been hardest hit by coronavirus.

And another mitigating factor that is further impacting the nation and world...?  Unemployment.  The US unemployment rate the highest rate since the Depression, millions have lost their livelihoods.  As of March 2020, this college-educated, 40-something, white woman who had been working three jobs in NYC found herself unemployed from all of them because of a pandemic, and uninsured because health care benefits were through her employer.  COBRA premiums to extend health coverage would have eaten almost a third of my monthly unemployment (I get the maximum allotment, which ain't enough).  After subtracting out my Manhattan studio apartment monthly rent, I'd have $188 to live on monthly.  My monthly electric bill usually exceeds that amount, especially now that I'm always home.  Never mind food.  So, shout out to Obama for the Affordable Care Act.  NY state runs its own Health Care Marketplace, a regional reality, and I was able to enroll in health care coverage for a modest premium.  I don't want to get political...oops, too late...but, as of last night, Trump filed to have the Supreme Court put an end the ACA.  In the middle of a pandemic, this man's priority is to get rid of health care that covers millions of Americans?  Wow.

Live long and prosper, Dr. Fauci!

So, in the midst of a deadly, global pandemic, a global Black Lives Matter movement further incensed by video of George Floyd's murder by cops, the highest unemployment rate in the country since the Depression, and the potential loss of health care for millions, the thought of vacation is, from one moment to the next, the last and first thing on my mind.  We've all earned a break after the changes 2020 has ushered in thus far.  But more than that, this year's consideration of a beach vacay speaks to what a privilege it is to be able to even contemplate it during one of the country's most devastating and trying times. 

All things considered, I think I'm gonna wait.  I'd rather all of us still hunker down, and ride this storm out a bit more before we, including our most vulnerable, venture back out into the world.  But, again, I can't help but admit that my opinion is shaped by what's happened regionally up here. I want to hunker down still because that's what has been effective in New York, at least so far.  Aside: while writing this, Pence is speaking at his first coronavirus task force briefing in months.  And he claimed the tristate's decrease in numbers as a victory for the White House.  Sorry, bro.  No dice.  The tristate area had to fight tooth and nail for any and every bit of support.  Remember the phrase "blue state bailouts"?  Heaven forbid red states now finds themselves in need.  As the federal government continues to abdicate responsibility, states will further be left to fend for themselves.  So, as much I'd love a return to the annual beach vacation, for now I have to pass.  We could be risking our health to travel to states where cases are only rising.  More so, we could be risking everyone else's health on vacation with us (as well as anyone else we encounter along the way) if we traveled.  And I’m definitely too scared that me traveling could negatively impact someone else.  All in all, I'll keep trucking, wearing my mask, washing my hands, and trying to think good thoughts.  For all regions and (most) realities.

Friday nights in

It's Friday night and I'm listening to "Louder Than Bombs" by the Smiths on my airbuds streaming through my phone, while typing on my computer. Device mania over here! This album transports me to another time in my life. Way back, people.  It was my album of choice the summer of 1988, I think.  My waterproof walkman and foam headphones in toe, a bunch of weird singer kids and this gal had the insane opportunity to tour the winding roads of France and Belgium. Twenty eleven and twelve year-olds on a European tour?  Obviously magical.  I remember being kicked out of hat shops in Paris and refusing to eat patè for dinner.  Or for any meal (I like patè a lot now).  I still have a photograph from the top of the Eiffel Tower.  I took it with arms extended out looking straight down on to what else...a soccer field.  We even got to sing in Notre Dame, which still seems unfathomable to this day.  Paired with another young singer, we also did home-stays. All I recall is rocking out to Blue Oyster Cult on the turntable and this odd breakfast treat called "Craquinette." It was like a puffed rice cracker filled with chocolate.  No, I'm not kidding.  And them thangs were my saving grace in a sea of baguette, butter, and jam for brekkie. Another odd detail: all the water was carbonated and citrus-flavored.  I hated it then, and still do.

My Friday nights lately would involve shaking hella cocktails, running up and down stairs for fancy bottles of wine, restocking the bar with garnish needs or buckets of ice, delivering food to hungry diners excited about the "weekend." Funny because my weekends start on Sunday nights, when most others are dreading their ensuing work week.  But in quarantine and on unemployment, it's easy to slip into a state of timelessness where every day is Friday.  Or Saturday. 

And while I am doing my best to enjoy the time away from work and be productive in other areas of life, I am praying that returning to a new normal is on the horizon. Will restaurants reopen at all? And will there be patrons if so? Over the years I've worked in Hospitality, there has always been the notion that once you've done it in New York, you can do it anywhere. And once this virus is vanquished (fingers crossed), all of us in the industry are hoping that what we'd believed was guaranteed work, even potentially worldwide, will again be the case.  I have gotten jobs in this industry from one day to the next.  Even been hired on the spot.  It can be that easy to get as a seasoned and sociable barkeep.  But with the entire industry shuttered, I find myself yet again rethinking this as a "career."  It has suited my life in so many ways.  I have been able to travel for extended periods of time thrice thus far in my life.  I got to spend invaluable time exploring countries and countryside, growing and learning, challenging my own notions of courage and stupidity.  I was even able to travel with both my parents in Asia and spend extended time with them on one of those getaways.  What is work if you cannot enjoy at least some quality time away from it?  I know you're supposed to do what you love in order to never work a day in your life.  But like all things, you gotta keep some balance.  Work hard, vacation hard, I say.

Tears my dears

I don't know about you, but Lady Gaga got me last night with the One World: Together At Home concert with Global Citizen and the WHO.  She is so boss and talented.  I loved the Rolling Stones performance, too.  I don't think I've ever seen Taylor Swift perform a song, so that was kind of interesting.  And all the vignettes they showed of medical professionals and workers, fine, I'll admit it, I cried...!  Sometimes ya just gotta.  Impressive show and way to bring light to and rally behind organizations and all the people in need of our support!

Catch-22

For all of us enduring this time at home, there seem to have emerged two schools of thought. It's either: what all have you been able to accomplish with this forced home time?  If laid off, have you launched a new app or company yet?  Explored your true passion and found a way to support yourself doing just that?  Or, on the flip side, how much of a couch potato have you become?  Are you taking care of yourself in the ways you never could when working full-time?  Have you added in yoga, meditation, and quiet moments?  Self-hugs?  These approaches to this downtime seem to mimic traits of Type A and B personalities.  Sure, I have cleaned my apartment, reorganized closets and cabinets, dusted and disinfected more than usual. I have rekindled a passion for this goofy, little blog. I'm riding my bike daily, weather permitting, and we have been enjoying some hilarious indoor workouts in this tiny studio apartment.  Some days, it feels like we are rehearsing an act for The Two Stooges. But don't get me wrong...I am also maintaining a healthy relationship with my sofa.  All in all, I'm doing whatever makes me feel ok day by day, trying to stay positive, active, healthy, and sane (tomato, tomahto).  And some combination of both these attitudes and outlooks seems to be the key.

Because really, this pandemic is gut-wrenching no matter where or how you look at our new reality.  While I am itching for outdoor time, not to mention socializing; again, I'm conflicted.  I want to volunteer and help out out there.  My job has an opportunity to help prep foods and organize the weekly grocery pick ups.  And I cannot emphasize enough how thoughtful and generous it is of the company to donate groceries to any employee who signs up for them.  It is a gift.  Most recently, they changed the pick up location to the spot where I had been working. So, it would super easy to help

Memorial and warning at Tompkins Square Park

in a space where I already know the lay of the land.  At the same time, I am quarantined with my significant other (thank heavens), and don't want to expose myself to anything (obvi).  But also knowing I would most certainly expose him adds another layer of caution and fear of the unknown.  It's a catch-22 no matter the situation.  And imagine the sich for essential workers.  A few of my buddies fall into this category and have only seen more work during this time.  None has tested positive for this virus, which is a blessing.  I can only imagine the catch-22 they face.  Is it better to be exposed to the virus, stay home and get better (fingers crossed), and get it out of the way?  And then hopefully be able to face any other waves with antibody immunity...?  Or simply hope and pray that you never get it?   But with negligible symptoms in some, others fall ill and die, with little rhyme or reason, across all age ranges.  It's a lot to take in.  And then there are the conspiracy theories.  And the updates.  Cuomo, De Blasio, the "President."  I discovered a jigsaw puzzle app the other day.  Talk about saving grace.

Think good thoughts

Another beautiful spring evening, I went out again tonight for a bike ride. We have been in self-quarantine now for 3 weeks and a day, heading out only for essentials or exercise. A full moon had just started to rise, as I pedaled along, and fewer people seemed out. I'm glad I went out a bit later today. Folks are still abiding by the distancing rules and most of us had faces covered.

Facing such scary times, I have been focusing on the positive efforts and stories out there.

A full moon above a Brooklyn
building across the East River

While biking tonight, I saw that residents on the top floors of a building across the river in Brooklyn had coordinated their windows to form the shape of a heart. Impressive and appreciated. Every single person on the promenade stopped to snap a picture of the full moon shining brightly above their show of love. Every night at 7pm, people hop outside, on their stoops, roofs, and fire escapes, and hang out windows banging pots to show support for essential workers. My neighborhood has a robust supply of (illicit) firecrackers and the neighborhood kids have also been setting those off every night in support of those still working. In this sea of confusion and uncertainly, these daily reminders to show love, support, and kindness are crucial. Stay safe out there!

Schwinning

I rode my sweet Schwinn today for the first time since the ribs incident back in November.  I usually ride to and from work, but the ribs and winter had the bike indoors.  I believe the vernal equinox was March 20, but it's officially spring for me!  Carried the bike down the steps with no issues.  And off to the races! 

The East River Promenade and surrounding parks were abustle today.  Lots of folks looking for a bit of sunshine outdoors.  All walks of life, and all keeping a distance, some masked, some nude faces.  The track was the most concentrated space with lots of runners and soccer players.  I rode up to the bandstand and saw a family who looked like they were finishing homework together.  I always loved when class was outside.

Day 18 of Home Time

Today has been a blessing in many ways, and scary still in others.  My guy found out that one of his best friends tested positive for coronavirus and is dealing with some symptoms.  He lives with his wife and daughter, and they are all wonderful people.  We spoke this evening and everyone is doing ok, but I can only imagine how frightened they must be.  This whole situation is maddening for so many in so many different ways.  But he is healthy and strong. And we will all get through it!

We left the house today to venture out for groceries. Huge shout out to the company I work for: Happy Cooking Hospitality. The owners and management team, many of whom I'd be in the trenches with today at work, have created Happy Cooking Grocery to help feed employees during this difficulty. One of the spots used to be a grocery, so there ya go. And once a week, employees can come pick up a chockfull bag. For FREE. Today we got fresh cauliflower, apples, oranges, grapefruit, avocado, eggs, limes, cucumbers, bread. And we have for safe-keeping marinated chicken (too late, it was DELICIOUS!!!!), rice, pasta, green lentils, TP (!!!!), and paper towels. Not only is it beyond generous but it also helps rekindle our community. I saw a few co-workers I would normally see daily and haven't seen in weeks. Oh, and I forgot to mention that my boss handed us masks the moment we walked up! The latest news indicates that this thing can travel on someone's breath. So, thank you, Ed!!! Which, side note, wearing a mask for the first time, I was not delighted with the scent of my own breath. As a plaque that still hangs somewhere in Dr. Granade's office suggests, "You don't have to floss all your teeth. Just the ones you want to keep." We also stopped by Trader Joe's wine shop for what we like to call the Neapolitan: a box of white, one of rosé, and one of red. We ain't fancy!

Broadway @ Astor Place...
no cars or humans

While New York City is the epicenter, the city is still chugging along.  Just at at least six-foot length from others. Encountering people walking on the sidewalks, it is a regular occurrence for one person to walk in the street. With so few cars on the streets, getting hit isn't really an issue. We counted maybe 5 taxis on our walk from East to West villages.  We did hear the subway rumble below us on a few occasions.  And I saw a slew of buses pass, but they were mostly empty.  I am relieved to see that most New Yorkers are taking this situation to heart and STAYING HOME!  I read an article about how Detroit is handling this crisis...grim, indeed. The Chief of Police tested positive and so one of his captains is in charge. And the captain was quoted in the article saying that you basically have to commit murder to get arrested.  And, what do ya know...supposedly, murder is up in Detroit 50%. And let's not even go into the state of prisons there...

I texted with some friends today, doing my best to stay optimistic.  I also spoke with my mom briefly tonight about all this happening around us. Reach out to your loved ones, people. You have no idea how much they may need it, and in return, you'll find you probably did, too.

The Early Bird

I woke up early this morning and couldn't get back to sweet slumber without having attempted to find ground turkey.  Yes, the ever elusive runner-up for America's national symbol, a true original native of America, at least according to Ben Franklin.
 

The flower section at my local supermarket

Ground beef and pricier cuts of steaks have been the only options lately at most supermarkets at the hours I have visited.  These are funny times indeed.  So, I snuck down my street and weaved the two blocks and two avenues to Key Food, my local.  There are a few Trader Joe's in walking distance as well, but that seemed too overwhelming.  My little local will suffice for today's tactical mission.  I waited in a short line outside, mindful to keep the requisite safe distance from others, and three minutes later, bee-lined to the meat section.  Eureka!  Ground gobbler goodness!  This early bird is thankful to find another bird early.

Sightseeing

Freedom Tower

I decided to take in the sights as best I could today.  For a nice burst of exercise and sunshine, I headed to the roof of my five-floor walk-up.  With 100% of non-essential services getting the kibosh today, I was also curious to see how many people were out on the streets.

Con Edison stacks in the distance

I live on the back of the building, so it's generally quieter, which I like.  My veranda (aka fire escape), therefore, is also on the back of the building.  So, I am forced up to the roof for any sort of street view.  We have a courtyard in the back, which I also like.  Green space in this city is a treasure.

I did see a number of folks outdoors.   It was a beautiful spring day with temperatures in the 50s and clear blue sky.  I also saw the bus that runs down Avenue C today.  So MTA is still chugging along.

Empire State

My street also has a connecting foot bridge to the East River Park, meaning we are often overrun with joggers.  Today seemed like business as usual from my perch up on the roof.  Just me, the pigeons, and NYC sights.

Freedom Tower through the trees

As many of you know, we have been facing difficulties for years living in this building in NYC.  Those of us who are "rent-stabilized" anyway.  The latest situation seems crueler than usual.  The owner has changed the intercom service from a buzzer intercom to some app-based nonsense.  First off, this begs the question that every tenant has a smart phone.  Second, this new system requires tenants to take up space on their personal phones, download the app, and provide all personal info to this random app.  Third, the reviews of the app are shit.  Fourth, it is contrary to the NYC building code.  So, that will be another fun topic to tackle with the owner, our lawyer, and city and state agencies.  But more than that, it is especially disheartening that the owner would impede anyone's access to delivery services right now.  Heartless.

Day 6 of Home Time

Hello, Hello!
Happy to see you here on another edition of Home Time. I'm sure my mom is the only one reading this, if anyone at all! And if you are reading, thanks, Mom!

I am doing my best to stay thankful in these scary times. Sharing a tiny NYC studio apartment with my wonderful boyfriend of 5 and 1/2 years has its challenges, but we have not yet lost it. We are in good health and spirits for the now. We've been cooking daily, making new recipes, reading a lot, and yesterday, Victor and I began Day One of Boot Camp. We are both sore today and I, for one, am happy about it! Having cracked two ribs back in November of last year, I have to work out and strengthen to fully repair. And during my usual work week, I was not accomplishing what was needed to heal and restore. This break seems to be causing a lot of us to reevaluate whether what we've been spending our time on has been worth the time committed.

While thankful for a bit of time away from work, on one hand, on the other hand, I am missing the productivity, the schedule, and the friends I have the joy of annoying throughout the usual workday. Hospitality is an especially social industry. It's quite likely that I have made more phone calls in the last week than I have in all the weeks of this year so far combined. I imagine the combo of social distancing and the need to connect has caused a surge in calls worldwide. It's funny. I remember back in the 80s when we only had a landline, and even before caller ID, when you had no idea who was calling. I used to race to answer the phone for the sheer joy of the surprise as to who was on the other end of the line!  The culture with cell phones is definitely to text.  So it's been fun to reach out even if the person knows who's on the other end.

Walking home from a grocery and liquor run yesterday, a man and his son were walking the other way down my block. The man had a speaker and was playing the Temptations' song "I Can't Get Next To You."  I laughed the rest of my walk home.  Add that one to the list.

Should I stay or should I go?

Hello, family, friends, and whoever else may be reading this. Remember me?!?  I haven't written much creatively in years (neither in a journal or online, shameful!) until this very moment. I have written plenty of other things, just not the fun stuff.  What prompted such a return, one may ask? Turns out it was COVID-19. Like many of us, this outbreak has forced me and my guy into some unexpected time off from work. And as we are all on lockdown in many different places in this world, I figured I'd reach out and send warmest regards from NYC. I've got time on my hands, that's for sure.

In preparation for what would become serious social distancing, starting Friday and through the weekend, I hit the supermarket and got essentials before and/or after work. Then Sunday, my job closed. That day, a 93 year-old woman came to the bar with another woman who had to be her daughter. They both sat and enjoyed a glass of Friulian Sauvignon Blanc, and as they were leaving, the younger woman revealed the elder's age. I thought to myself, "Damn, you should not have her outdoors! Wish I'd carded her (because that's always fun) and refused to serve her (which is never fun)..." For her own sake. I surely hope both ladies are ok. And they bring up the very issue we are all talking about. Should I venture out into the world for a glass of wine and a slice of normal life, or does venturing out make me a total idiot?  Or worse, despite no symptoms or fever, in heading outside, am I endangering others?? It's maddening.

While I have already faced facts and have to tighten my belt, I am relieved that Gov. Cuomo shut down as many systems as he did, including bars and restaurants. Honestly, I think the city and state had to close doors because of how many people were out over the weekend celebrating St. Patty's Day, clearly not abiding by the social distancing recommendations. For me personally, I work in a hotel bar these days. We share a locker room with all hotel employees (Front Desk, Housekeeping, Room Service, everyone) and three other restaurant/bars. You want some protocol for all these disparate groups, but nada!  I hoped they'd take temperatures of each employee before entering the building, but ended up closing most services altogether.

This pandemic definitely has many panicked but NYC seems to be holding on for now. The subway is still up and running last I checked. Even though I have not left the apartment today, other than to throw out the trash, I spent the afternoon cleaning this tiny apartment. It's truly shocking how much dust can accumulate in such a small space!

Oh, shoot!  I'm late for Jeopardy! All in all, we are here, hoping for the best and hoping to avoid the worst. Ciao for now!

Ok, back for a minute, just to say "Happy St. Patty's"!

Back on the train gang

I love when people share. It just warms my heart. Last nigh the couple in our alcove of this train shared their dinner. Ladyfingers, which is what we call okra, and roti, and chilis! So in Indian culture, you have to decline the offer of food at first.

The host will offer again, and if you really don't want it, it's ok to refuse. But it's also cool to accept at second offer. Katie and I declined as proper, then the rest of the family was served, and it came back to us again. We partook. I offered our peanut butter and crackers, twice, but was informed that it was too high in cholesterol. Oh, sweet peanut butter. You're such a devil!

Also, before bed, the gent removed his turban. Given how full his beard is, I expected a quaff. To my surprise, he gathered the few tiny strips of red hair from all over his head and tied them into a speck of a bun on the top of his head. Like, head gear rubber band small.

So off the train at maybe 5:30 am, Udaipur. Wake up! You're in a new city. Stumbling out of the train headed to the taxi stand, we were greeted by a petite, bald Indian man in a plaid snap shirt, dark pants, and cowboy boots. He told us he'd drive us to our hotel. I told him that we'd be fine on our own and kept on to the taxi stand. The man called out that it wasn't open yet. But I, of course, persisted. Again, the man, "I am not lying to you. I cannot lie." So I asked him how much. Sixty-four rupees. I laughed. When I booked the hotel the day prior, they quoted eighty/ninety rupees. So, instead of charging a buck fiddy, this guy is going charge us $1.27. What a trip. Oh, and just so you know, the taxi stand gate was down and locked. I checked.

In the cab, technically auto-rickshaw, Jamil showed us his book as is often the case in tourist spots. Notes from travelers all over the world written to Jamil for Jamil. Endorsements. Pages of them.

He got us to Jaiwana Haveli. just fine, and as we got out, he told us to pay him later. Wow. Twenty minutes

in and we've already started a tab! Our room not yet ready, we headed to the rooftop cafe for some breakfast. Talk about views. Udaipur is breath-taking. Hills of white houses, hotels, temples all looking out over a huge lake. Fresh air, blue sky...if ever there were a place for lovers...Oh! And James Bond! Octopussy was filmed in Udaipur. And there are nightly rooftops showings dotting the hills. The posh Lake Palace Hotel floats in the middle of the lake.

A palace built in the 1700s, it is a destination. At least, we can see it from our hotel window. Our hotel is nice. Nothing fancy, but nice. The rooftop cafe and terrace is such a bonus. Oh, and the fobs for our room keys are small brass elephants.

Bridges

Up before sunrise this morning, we opted for another boat ride out on the Ganges. Before setting out,

though, we watched two workers in bright yellow pennies with reflective strips use long sticks to dislodge the body that had floated by our boat the night before. They nudged it out into the middle of the river and let it go its course.

The captain on our rowboat this morning is Ravi. He enjoys speaking in English and takes pride in his work. Cruising along the shoreline, he stops at the main bathing spot in Varanasi. People of all kinds come for a morning shower, to clean themselves and their clothes. And in the same water where dead bodies are released to heaven. The belief in the healing powers of the Ganges (the Ganga River, as it is called) is so strong that people wash in it daily to cleanse their

spirits and be closer to the gods.

Ravi gave us details about the wood-burning pyres versus the newer electric pyre. Those who have money can afford to cremate their loved ones with wood. Those with less have to resort to electricity. We rode by both. And while neither is particularly glamorous, there does remain something romantic about a wood funeral pyre. Maybe it conjures up

Star Wars images in my mind, or maybe I'm just a fiery soul. But to have to cremate your loved one on an electric fire seems all the more tragic. There is another option, however, for those without the money for the electric ghat. They just dump the body into the Ganges and hope that the soul reaches Nirvana.

Back to the hotel after our morning ride, the man at the front desk with whom we had arranged both boat rides asked what our plans were for the day. We had only the one day to spend in Varanasi, given the agenda of the wedding back in Delhi, and in mentioning our agenda, the man became infuriated. He said, "You cannot see all the Varanasi has to offer in one day?!?" We scurried back to our room, gathered our things, and planned our check-out escape. While we only had a day to take in as much as we could, we felt that a day was better than none. And in leaving, it seems Varanasi is a contradiction in terms. The place where the holiest of holy acts occurs is rife with touts looking to make a buck off of others' grief. In a place where everyone wears white to reflect a purity of soul, the streets are full of cow manure, dirt, garbage. At our hotel which overlooks a cremation site, the man behind the desk did all he could to bully us into seeing the gold brocade saris of Varanasi. While one would hope the emphasis of the town would be on cleansing the spirit, surrendering to what is sacred, more often than not the focus turned to the basest of human behavior. So saddened to admit, we lamented at finding ourselves calling it 'Very Nasty'.

In any of the photos I have posted, however, please look closely. There is one phenomenon about

Varanasi that no one seems to talk about. The kites. The city's roofs are full of children flying kites of all colors. Soaring in the skies toward the heavens, the children dance with their kites all along on the rooftops throughout the city. Mesmerizing, it makes one wish there were bridges from rooftop to rooftop such that one could travel and traverse the city through kites, clouds, and souls ascending to heaven.

Varanasi

In my travels over the years, it seems that a few interests in particular, or curiosities about humanity continue to recur.

Of course, I enjoy cultural exchange and want to experience the human condition from place to place overall, but in reviewing my photos over the years, I think I may be preoccupied mostly by three things: laundry, graffiti, death. How we keep ourselves clean, how we express ourselves on a street level, if at all, and how

we care for our dead. On that note, I have had a particular interest in visiting Varanasi (also called Banaras) while here in India. Katie and I found an affordable ticket, so today we embarked on the hour-long flight to Varanasi.

Out of the airport, we took a fifteen-minute cab ride to the cobblestone hills of Varanasi that rest on the banks of the Ganges. It can be a difficult thing at times being a tourist. I am thankful and lucky, don't get me wrong. But you stick out. Especially in a place where people have come to cremate their family members, with steadfast hope and belief that being spread to rest in the Ganges sends the departed straight to Nirvana.

Different cultures view death in distinct ways. For many, death is about grief. For others, release. For others still, the focus is on celebrating life more than mourning the end of it. Curious, but respectful, I hope to remain here.

Cars cannot pass through the small streets of Varanasi, so our cab left us as close to our hotel as he could. If you don't pay attention in Varanasi, you can easily get lost at first. There are no street signs, but painted tags and signs on the walls at intersections and pretty much anywhere else. After a long walk through the maze of streets, among cows, cow droppings, dogs, temples, restaurants, tourists and

locals alike, we made it to Hotel Scindia. Having checked into our room, we quickly realized that the burning ghat was one building away from our hotel. All hours of the day, smoke billows up from the funeral pyres. Also a stone's throw from the Ganges, the temple in front of our hotel has been sinking into the river for years. After settling in and booking an evening boat ride with the hotel, Katie and I strolled the streets for some lunch. Standard Indian fair and some beers in us, we headed back to our hotel, taking the route in front of the burning ghat.

As we approached, two of our countryfolk, dressed both in tank tops and shorts, passed us and warned us about the touts surrounding the ghat. Now, I know I should have brought something white to wear in Varanasi, as white clothing is customary for Indian cremation. But I at least have covered my arms and legs. Imagine showing up to a funeral States-side dressed like an 80s Price Is Right model. Even odder, they were the ones offering us advice. Out of respect for the ritual and the families, no photography is allowed at the ghat.

Our evening ride started well enough. Our guide did not speak much English, so we all stuttered through conversation. And then, Katie and I both saw it. A

body. Wrapped all in white, it floated right past our boat. I have never in my life been so close to a dead body. And while it had already undergone cremation, I think, its form was still somewhat in tact. Freaky. It set off a flurry of questions in my mind. Who was it? Male? Female? Who will take care of it? Or will it just be left to decompose? I guess I should have expected such a scenario, but through the years of this curiosity, I have never been so confronted with such a situation. And then I thought about what else might be in the water in the river...

The Havan

Surrounded by family and friends, Rukhein and,

specifically, Kristy were officially welcomed into Rukhein's family home today at a Hindu ceremony called the Havan. Twenty or so of us sat on blankets across the floor. And as we walked in, I caught a glimpse of Rukhein's uncle, dressed in all white against a white staircase, sewing together a lei of marigolds.  One thing I'll never forget about India is the color. Splashes of such rich fabrics, iridescence, and shimmers everywhere. Kristy and Rukhein joined last, with a pundit, stopping at the

threshold of the house for several blessings from both the pundit and from Chinky. As much symbolic as literal, the bride enters the home and becomes the woman of the house. The Havan also invokes the god of fire to symbolize the couple's commitment to each other. As the pundit led them through the rites and rituals, he blessed them

with good fortune and health. He spoke in Sanskrit prayers to a range of gods, Lakshmi, Shiva, Vishnu. Those were the only words I could recognize. Flowers given unto the gods, money tied between the couple, and the fire pit in the center, we were all bore witness to their commitment to each other. Throughout the ceremony,

each of us gave an offering to add to the couple's fortune. The pundit approached each of us, giving us a blessing and tying string around our arms to signify the bond of the day. Toward the end of the ceremony, we were given an offering of sandalwood and nuts (it resembled mulch and granola) to throw bit by bit into the flame with each of the pundit's blessings. The ceremony was finalized with Kristy cooking this traditional confection for the family. Given that the home is still under serious

renovation, Kristy cooked over a kerosene tank.

After the ceremony, we shopped. Jackie and her husband arrived from Kenya last night and found a sari for her and traditional Punjabi dress for him on our first stop. That evening we dined at Chinky's friend Amita's house for dinner. Her German Shepard Google was skittish around our motley dozen.

The Taj Mahal

We woke up today at 5am to grab a cab to the train station to Agra and the Taj Mahal.

Katie and I boarded the train in car D7 with seats next to one another. There are benches three seats wide technically, although the locals pack 'em in as much as possible. The windows slide closed with a metal grate or vent and for the life of me, I couldn't help but feel some sense of doom.

We weren't shoved in like cattle, but the train has a well worn in feeling. Used. Not like a good shoe, but stiff, uncomfortable, outdated. Nothing fancy at all.  I haven't noticed much graffiti in India.  Not on the trains, or the platforms, not on the building as we rode today.  I guess spray paint is a luxury.

And the smells headed south along the track. Rank stench. Not immediately upon entering the car, but as we traveled south of Delhi and passed through slum after slum, I had to cover my nose and mouth with my scarf. I began to understand what others had warned me about. We have been sheltered, Katie and I, so far. Quite sheltered and comfortable.

Trash is piled everywhere, not bags of trash like on the sidewalks of New York, or like you chuck into your garbage can at the curb. But mounds of it. All arrays of colors, picked over countless times. And piled next to people's one room dwellings, three-walled shanties with a blue tarp ceiling if lucky. Cows pick through the garbage. Goats. Humans. Children.

Men defecate in the grass 20 yards from the train tracks as the trains pass, in full view of passengers, standing up and dressing when finished.  Sanitation is lacking at best.  And rain water washes waste into pools in gullies, glowing green at times, radioactive swirls among a murky, dark gray, flies aswarm.

The family of three across from us ate breakfast on the train, tossing each piece of trash out the window as its contents were consumed. A juice box, aluminum foil, a chips bag, and so on.

The only one with any qualms about doing it was the son. It's old hat for his parents. I imagine their rationalization, "We don't live among the rubbish, so what's the big deal?" It makes me wonder what Indian prisons are like. Do they have the overcrowding that we do? And how come certain crimes don't receive trash pick-up as punishment? Then again, I'm not sure that all the criminals in the world on trash duty could remedy India's problem.

A boy who looks like he's five, but is probably a malnourished eight, just passed through the aisle. He has a coal mustache drawn on his lip, what looks like charcoal for eyeliner, and cheeks painted red. His partner in the show follows him beating a drum. The first boy is wearing a beanie with a string attached with a lead sinker at the end. He claps his hands, swings the beanie putting the weight into orbit about his head, and strikes a pose. For his next trick, he climbs into a ten inch metal ring and wriggles his entire body through it, then raising above his head. He's so thin, it's not as impressive a trick as it is sad. After the show, he walks around with a pan for donations. Next come the ladyboys. Dressed in saris, one leans onto the men across the aisle from us, teasing and joking with them. I'm not sure whether services are being offered and denied or appointments are being finalized. Three pass through the car. Their ruse: give me money or I'll show you something you really don't want to see. They exited the train at the next stop, and I watched as the last of the three "women" handed some portion of her earnings to every beggar she passed. Robyn Hood. Peppered into the aisle's mix are also an endless procession of chaiwallas, a monk-type selling useless noise-makers, coffee hawkers, and purveyors of all sorts of snacks. It's quite an affair. Everyone undertaking his daily business on the train for his daily naan.

When we were boarding the train in Delhi, a Chinese dude walked up to us to confirm that this was in fact the train for Agra.  And then once in Agra, he and his friend found us again and asked if we wanted to share an auto-rickshaw to the Taj. Why, yes. He and his buddy Andres discussed a few things (in SPANISH!) and off we went. Talk about psyched!

Now we could discuss things, what to pay, general feelings about India, what to tip, all of that escondido (read, hidden). So many people speak English here and stare at you such that you can only assume they're eavesdropping. Meanwhile, they can turn to each other and talk about you in Hindi, so it was relieving to be able to chat with no one else listening or understanding. Not that I have anything to hide. It's just comforting to be able to have a private conversation among the throngs of people.

The Taj Mahal is huge.  Gleaming white with pools

and gardens surrounding it, it is imposing and yet somehow subtle.  Flanked by buildings of red sandstone, the Taj hovers, even glows on the horizon. A hallucination.  The sky today was hazy.  We had a brief shower but clouds remained and the Taj seemed to float among them.

Katie brought her polaroid camera and took each of our photos.  As we walked toward it, we watched as the Taj emerged in front of our eyes, and then watched it come to life again in each of the polaroids. Built out of love, the Taj Mahal appears and presents itself in the same way, with a grace and subtlety all its own.  

While we weren't able to catch it at dawn or dusk as most recommend, I am thrilled to have witnessed another wonder of the world.

The remainder of our day was spent touring Agra.  Our driver gave the four of us, Katie, Yang, Andres and me a personal tour of their fort in town, and then pushed local artisanry on us. We visited a marble shop, a hand-sewn clothing and sari shop, and a silver shop.  We finished with lunch and some brews.

Our train back was delayed, as is apparently often the case in India.

So we opted to hop on Yang's and Andres' train. And then their train was delayed as well. "Dang, Yang!" was pretty much our tag line for the day.  So the four of us hung out and chatted while waiting.  We added a German girl into the mix as well, Suka from Hamburg.  Birds of a feather... Two hours later, all five of us boarded Yang's train, despite the fact that each of us ladies had a ticket for another train and train company.  When the conductor came to gather tickets, thankfully Andres flashed his, which proved enough evidence for the rest of us. Phew!

The poverty and the struggle one born with nothing has to overcome in India seems almost insurmountable. I cannot imagine a life of begging.

While waiting on the platform for the train, one girl, maybe seven, spotted the five of us and approached hand out, sad-faced. When her little sister (I assumed) came over to us as well, the older sister beat her away, pushing her to the ground. Half playful, half rebellious, the little one continued to approach us, suffering greater wrath from her sister. The last time the little one approached us, the elder chased her off for good, and returned to us hand extended. I looked at her square in the face and said, "If that's how you treat those you do know, how can you expect any kindness from strangers?"

Poop Sari!

Ever imagine what it's like to lead a group of eight women through the downtown streets of Old Delhi? Chaos doesn't even come close! I felt like a kindergartener again today, holding hands through the overpacked streets. Weaving like a snake through the crowds, I have no idea how we made it in and out alive. And all for some serious sari shopping! I have never experienced anything resembling what it's like to

shop for a sari. You and your crew walk into a storefront. Often ushered upstairs or into the back into a room with a padded floor, an entire room of fabrics is opened up to you and your mates. Every color in the spectrum, fabrics of all kinds and expenses unfold at your feet. Men come over to tie you into the saris with safety pins and velcro. It's just incredible. With the bride, obviously, the most important, the men took to Kristy first. Traditionally, brides in India wear red and are bejeweled, bedazzled and decorated with henna. There are two traditional styles of dress for women at weddings, a lehenga, a combination top and skirt, or a sari, one long piece of material that covers a petticoat and short blouse.  We visited three shops to knock out the wedding wear for six of us.  The bride, mother of the bride, sister of the bride, the groom's aunt, Katie, and me.  The bride chose a gorgeous lehenga, the rest of us saris. The mother of the bride's in particular has a sparkly leopard-like material. Meow!

The majority of us got our saris at a place called Roop Sari. The bag however, once folded seemed to read otherwise. Another good giggle for the gals. Oh, I almost forgot to mention betel nut!

Much like the cocoa leaves chewed at Machu Picchu, here in Indian people chew betel nut. Wrapped up in a leaf, you chew a mixture of the nut and other leaves. Used in Ayurvedic medicine, or just for a quick boost, it's clear who's chewing it. It turns your mouth and tongue bright red. Also thanks to Katie for this pic!

Gringa tax world-wide

Today I learned that the "gringa tax" also applies in India. Having run to the liquor store to grab a bottle of wine with the newest guests who arrived at Chinky's house today (the mother and sister of the bride), we learned that we had, apparently, gotten swindled. Back at the house with the bottle, everyone asked how much it cost. Paying $30 US for a bottle of wine?!? What!! Oops. I didn't know. Should have known.

So, I called Chinky who was at the market just down from the liquor store, and she said, "Yeah, bring it back. We'll have a good fight over it." Oh also, I neglected to mention that the four bottles of Kingfisher I had bought two days prior at the same liquor store, two of which I had already drank...? Yep, expired. Back in June! So I, turned right back around, met Chinky at the market, and we headed to the liquor store. She looked at me and said, "Roll up your sleeves..." and we stepped up to the counter. Turns out, they'd only overcharged us $5 US for the wine, but still. And they replaced the beers, apologizing, realizing their error and, worse, my humiliation and frustration. Note to self: look before you leap? Nope: bargain!  You'd think I'd have learned this lesson by now.

Back at the house for another lovely dinner, the house has filled with good energy and people.

Rukhein and Kristy, the bride and groom, Kristy's mother and sister, Rukhein's mother (Chinky) and sister (Ruhi), and Chinky's sister who lives in Little Rock (Minnie), we all having sat down and enjoyed butter chicken, ladyfingers (which is what they call okra), and dahl. Delightful. And don't let me forget Rushtam! The menacing puppy of the house. Everyone in India has dogs. According to Aunt Minnie, Minnie Bubby as she's called, cats are inauspicious. India is helping me to remember that people are people. And there are a lot of good ones in this world. Thankfully!

One for me, one for my homey

Jet lag sure has a hold on me here in India. I'm in bed by 10 pm and up by 4 am. I'm gonna have to start looking for early bird specials! Our morning breakfast consisted of an offering from an import/export friend of Chinky's. Nearing any Hindu holiday (in this case Diwali), it is custom to curry favor with the gods by sending offerings to, say, a hundred friends. Showing not only your generosity and fortune, but also your honor and respect of the gods. I am fortunate. Let me pay it forward to others, so that fortune shall continue to shine upon me.

Let's also discuss some of the preconceived notions of India. First, I was told that pretty much from the moment I stepped off the plane, the smells of Delhi would smack me in the face.

Maybe New York is dirtier than I have ever realized, but Delhi hasn't offended nearly as much as I expected. Then again, much like New York, I can only imagine what Delhi smells like in the summer, in 130 degree weather or more. Alas, it is winter. Only 90 degrees in the day and 70 at night. Women wear saris and punjabi dress in such beautiful colors with bindis on their foreheads. Some women wear full veils. Others are in jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts. Indeed, the full spectrum. Most do, however, cover their arms and legs, as is custom. It's interesting to note that you are welcome to expose a full belly in India, but nary a shoulder. A full belly indicates that you are rich enough to eat well, that, in a way, you enjoy some abundance in life, and don't skimp. While preparing for this trip, I packed no shorts or short skirts and worried about bringing leather goods. In a place where the cow is revered, will I offend if I'm wearing leather shoes? And my only good travel bag is leather. In the city at least, leather has yet to prove problematic, and is quite commonplace. Cities world-wide take all kinds.

On the other hand, three days in, plenty of things are a total shock. I have seen people of all sorts begging. Babies holding smaller starving babies. The maimed, the blind, all in need. Children selling useless balloons at major highway intersections, dirty, hair never having seen a comb, half-naked and barefoot. Along the highway, there will be a stretch of shops, furniture, bank, liquor store, and then a collapsed fifteen-story building. Pockets of huge single family homes flanked by business centers, and then three streets over slums.

In Chinky's neighborhood, there is an ironing lady on the corner. She loads charcoal into the iron and presses anyone in the neighborhood's clothes. Outdoors. I imagine that those who have live-in help, however, don't have to patron the ironing lady on the corner.And a man comes by on a bicycle rickshaw every morning to gather the trash for the neighborhood.

Pushpa, the live-in cook, resides in her own quarters upstairs on the roof/terrace. She has worked for Chinky for a year. There are two cleaning ladies for the house, and yesterday a repairman came to fix one of the geysers (pronounced geezer) which provides hot water in each of the five bathrooms. We have been encouraged to lock up important belongings, just in case. The floors in the house are all marble. Balconies extend off every room and screened-doors provide a great cross breeze. Each bedroom has a ceiling fan. Katie and I have our own room for now upstairs, and sleep on roll-out mats. We have our own bathroom and a sitting area.

There is a kitchen upstairs that we can use as well. The water in the house is all filtered. And for the majority, in-house meals are all vegetarian. I should also mention, this house is only a rental that Chinky has moved into while her home is undergoing major renovation. I feel so welcome here. So comfortable in a city where so many have warned me of its dangers. I don't know if it's because of my prior travels or the overwhelming generosity and care we've been shown that India has not yet been so shocking or unsettling. We, I suppose, shall see. And shout out to Chinky!

Old Delhi

I woke up this morning at 4 am and could not get back to sleep. Katie also suffered the same fate so we opted for some mindless television. The stations here show a variety of Indian shows, from music videos, old movies, and kids' shows, to crime dramas, cricket matches, and who would have guessed, Doogie Howser!?! Neil Patrick Harris...score! We did also enjoy an India mafia movie...

Awake for many hours after the sun came up, we finally got some slept, maybe 4 hours. At 10:30, we ordered a room service breakfast and organized our luggage for the recommended check-out. Once settled in at Chinky's,

she and Ram dropped us off at the Green Park Metro station with explicit instructions to see Old Delhi. The real hustle and bustle. A cow feeding in the street, surrounded by bicycle rickshaws, motorcycles, the occasional car, motorized rickshaws, the streets of Old Delhi are packed. Everyone, except the cow, fights and jockeys for a spot closer to the front. An Indian oil delivery man pedals on a bicycle in front of us with 8 huge canisters of oil behind him, often having to dismount to walk it through traffic jams. We paid a bicycle rickshaw 30 rupees to take us to the Red Fort,

a facility that was completed in 1648 had been actively used up until 2003 by Indian forces. Built in the traditional octagonal structure of the Moghuls, the site is full of artifacts of Indian wars, struggles, and ultimately Indian independence, and was named a UNESCO World Hetiage Site in 2007.  The architecture and intricate handiwork inside also represents the Moghul period showcasing Indian gems and stonework used in construction of the period.

The Red Fort seems to be the museum trip for local schoolchildren. I'm not sure how many people, children and adults alike, took our photos today. But Katie and I started fighting back, taking everyone else's photo to boot. When you show other people how ridiculous their behavior is by simply replicating it, you get to witness their half-humiliation, half-laughter at themselves. And more often than not, it prompts a conversation, a true interaction. With a bunch of school-girls, anyway, the moment Katie and I behaved exactly as they did, taking their pictures, gawking at them, they wanted to know why we were behaving that way and actually started talking to us. One girl wanted to know whose watch we thought was the cutest.

We are all curious. We all want to know what makes another different, maybe just to find that we're all the same.

Directly next to Red Fort is a huge bazaar with five ferris wheels. An unexpected juxtaposition of past and present, war and utter amusement.

At Chinky's recommendation, we also visited Paratha Wali Gali for lunch. Paratha is a deep fried bread or patty filled with your choice of yummies. While fresh foods and, of course, tap water are absolutely off limits in India, anything deep fried should be safe, right?

According to Chinky, if it's been deep fried, all the bacteria has been killed. So, they prep and cook the paratha on the street front and have small booths right behind the cooking in each "restaurant." You have to be sneaky, well, flat out pushy at times in Old Dehli. And be prepared for the occasional grope. Katie and I got seats, and ordered one carrot paratha and one potato. The paratha comes with a variety of dipping options.

Vegetables in a variety of sauces, peas, potatoes, and a few chilis on the side. Delicious. Before paying our check, I glimpsed a man behind a curtain squatting over a bucket of dark brown water washing dishes. He was wiping down the very same type of trays we had just eaten off of in that water. It looked like swamp water. Hmm. Disconcerting.

Against every single bicycle rickshaws suggestion and offer, after lunch Katie and I walked back to the metro station. One foot in the packed road, the other on the bustling sidewalk, we weaved in and out of shoppers and shop-keepers. "Silky things, scarves, punjabi dress, silks...?" This being my first encounter with Delhi, I wasn't sure what to expect, thus did not engage. After a half-hour metro ride back to the neighborhood, having reviewed our day with Chinky, she responded, "What awful tourists you are! You bought nothing?!?" Wink.

Ruhi's treat nights are Friday and Saturday. So she made a pizza for herself. We had green beans, dahl (so good), and chipati. Oh I also had two big Kingfishers...lites albeit. And fell asleep watching Cake Wars, a show I've never once watched States-side.