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...