Some nerd stuff

Our blog here is quite international. Take a peek at the snapshot below of recent visitors by location.


It seems pretty cool, until you realize how they're all getting here:


Wow... look at that bottom one. Somebody searched Google for "Corruption is government intrusion into market efficiencies in the form of regulation" and landed here? Who was that?


Hmmm... University of Michigan Law School. Telling.

Ramadan Resolutions

Kind of like "New Year's Resolutions", I thought it would be a good time to start the Republican strategy for my life:

1. Fiscal conservatism
2. Self-discipline
3. Jif creamy (As opposed to the Democratic strategy, Adam's Organic)

Look for many more absurd categorizations like this as we progress through elections season.

What I mean with regard to my resolutions is, you would think Ramadan would make it really easy to stay on the get-fit programme. Well, it's exactly the opposite. By the time you get home from work starved stupid, you're liable to run to the grocery store and cram any kind of rapid-preparation food you can find into your face. For example, top ramen, and/or butter crackers with butter. Not exactly the apex of a nutritive diet. This is where self-discipline comes in : exercise some restraint for 10 minutes and make yourself a salad, or some rice.

Then there's the fiscal conservativism. It's downright tempting to order Gyros every night of the week - but that would be highly imprudent. It is much more cost-effective (and time consuming) to go buy salad ingredients, and cook rice.

Then there's Jif - this is a combination of self-discipline and fiscal restraint. Adam's costs 3 times as much, and Jif is highly portable, making an excellent sneaky-bathroom-snack at work and supporting the continuation of healthy eating habits later into the evening. Yeah yeah there's some transhydrogenated fats in Jif, but I've been skydiving before. It's not like I think I'm never gonna die.

Ramadan Day 2

The second day of Ramadan went better than the first, since I now have groceries and packed myself a lunch.

I've been following a bit of the news about turmoil in Thailand - last week some protesters forcibly shut some airports and this week the PM declared a state of emergency in response to some kind of sustained unrest. The dissolution of parliament in the near future also, apparently, seems likely. South Korea and Singapore are urging people not to travel to Thailand, but Norway still seems to think it's fine, which is encouraging. I'm mainly interested because Stanley and Emmo will be traveling to Thailand soon. The positives? The exchange rate on the Baht should become more favorable between now and then, and after checking Expedia, I see that the roundtrip ticket I recently paid $800 for has only dropped to $640, not $0.75 like I feared.

I'm Hungry

Today was the first day of Ramadan, and it passed without incident, except that I got home from work starving. I forgot to buy anything to pack a lunch with so I grabbed a nutri-grain bar on the way out of the house, thinking that would tide me over. Well, Dan-O accidentally spent his last 30 dirhams on gas, and for some reason is keeping his ATM card in storage at the central branch of HSBC, so I gave him my bar on the way to work, thinking that at least I get to go home after 6 or 7 hours instead of 9 like him.

With no breakfast, no water, and no lunch on the horizon, I was having psychosomatic starvation pangs at about 11:30am. Luckily, I found an old half-eaten box of tic-tacs in my desk drawer which I gobbled down after locking myself in the upstairs staff bathroom for privacy. Then later I got home and found a kitchen full of exactly 1/2 the ingredients needed to cook almost anything. I've got pasta, but no sauce. I've got peanut butter, but no bread. I've got frozen peas, but no chicken, a-la, or king. This is a case of Bad Planning. Peanut-pasta-peas? No. In the end, I settled for some instant coffee and butter crackers with butter. I think I must order in a lot more often than I thought I did.

Americans in Dubai

From NPR.

Let's Talk A Little More About How Great UAE Is

There's this awesome gyro place right by our house that delivers fresh hot gyros and yummy fresh-cut french fries directly to our door. I think I'm gonna get some tonight for sure. Sometimes I tried to get a gyro-style pita from Pita Pit in Portland, and it was always a darned good pita, but nothing compares to that yummy juicy gyro meat in a fresh hot flatbread. MMMM! To be fair, I don't think I can credit the UAE for this - I 'm pretty sure I have to send my props to Greece.

And Another Thing

As long as I'm ranting, and being irritated at the lack of quality of certain female VP candidates, I think I'll address women's issues in the UAE.

Here's all I'll say: If I ever have kids, I'm definitely having them here, and not in the States. Why? Because in the States, I can use up my 2 weeks of vacation for maternity leave, and after that I'm rushing back to work as fast as possible because my family needs the income. Yeah yeah they'll hold my job for up to a year; big deal with a mortgage to pay. Here? I'm on Fully Paid Leave for 4 months, 1/2 paid leave for another month after that, and only after That am I concerned about rushing back to work for income, although I've got another 5 months that I can take unpaid if so desired. This is a policy that says: women's full participation in the workforce benefits everybody. And when mothers stay home longer with their children, everybody wins. Is this bad for business? Are women having trouble finding jobs here? No, and no. In this middle-eastern bastion of capitalism, we're competing with Finland on progressive work-family policies for women. Write your congressmen. That's all I have to say.

Obamadan

Before we get started, let's address some of the exciting American election news that has come about of late. I'm speaking of course, about Senator John McCain's pick of one Mrs. Palin as his running mate. The reaction from this voter is decisive: I'm all in favor of having a woman sit in the veep's chair the next four years, but I am NOT all in favor of that woman looking better than me. So, without much hoo-ha, the gig's up. Sorry, McCain/Palin, you've lost my vote.

NOW: Will I cast my ballot for Obama/Biden, or will I abstain? This issue remains undecided, until I hear directly from Obama how his administration plans to address the needs and concerns of the under-25 homeowner iPod-listener expatriate female cat-lover voting block.

With that out of the way, let's move on to the cultural phenomenon that is Ramadan. During Ramadan, many muslim families in UAE with the means cook meals for their entire neighborhoods every night of the month. Some people set up Ramadan tents on street corners and feed people as they pass. Mosques feed THOUSANDS, and run every single night, all month long. People donate money to help the poor. The government forgives loans and promotes charity. It's a whole month out of the year when observers focus intensely on God, spirituality, loving thy neighbor, etc etc, through both physical and mental exertion. Is this not the most noble thing you've ever heard of? Opportunities abound to join with the nation in this observance; anyone can sign up to "fast with a family" and join them in their home for the evening meal (breaking the fast). My co-worker (non-religious) said that last year her Muslim neighbors left her a complete feast-to-go wrapped on her doorstop every night, along with everyone in their whole complex. Do we ever hear about the remarkable charitable month of Ramadan in the US? Never. I learned to sing "dreidel dreidel" and fabricate Kwanzaa costumes in public school around Christmastime but never did anything for Ramadan or any Muslim holidays. I'm getting an education now.

On the job learning

So, I just realized that my teaching capacity is 6-9 hours a week, and I had already scheduled myself for 20 hours in one week. Learning, learning.

Mall and a Conference, two bits

Yesterday we went out with F. to see Tropic Thunder at Mall of the Emirates which, I have to say, was pretty dang funny. The funniest part was probably Tom Cruise playing a fat, bald, egomaniacal studio exec. But before that, we got some great food at Japengo and did a little shopping for boys. We tooled around a variety of shops looking for men's shirts: Dan and F. both walked away with slick selections, I walked away empty-handed, but happy to be able to contribute to the cause. F. seemed like a newcomer to dress shirts. We explained to F. that, in America, when you tuck your dress shirt into your jeans, you look like a cowboy.

We got home around midnight which allowed me to get just enough sleep to spend all day eating fantastic food and watching indoor fireworks displays at a work-related conference. You want to know where the good party's at? Follow a sheikh, any sheikh. We couldn't find a regular taxi home after the event, so we asked the nearest hotel and they provided us with a Lexus. Sometimes I think life here is so over the top.

Tonight we'll head out to Blacklist again for the last night before they shut down for the month of Ramadan, and on Friday we'll have to stock up on any wines/liquors we want to consume during the month before the shops shut as well. I ate way too many cookies today, so it's time to get some ibuprofen and offset the sugar headache.

My New Job

Big news: I've got a new job. I'm working at the same place, but I'm no longer a public services & ops librarian. Now, I'm a teacher-librarian. Sea change!

My new job makes me responsible for the information literacy instruction of the largest academic department in the college, full of fresh high school grads who are (hopefully) eager to learn both English and the finer points of catalog searching. How did I end up with this job? I don't know, but my bosses sure think I'll be good at it. Pass the crackers, Jack, I'm going for a ride.

Axis of Evil

Need a diversion? Enjoy...

Dubai Is Schizophrenic
Iran Calls America
Persians vs. Arabs

Salazmeyer leaves home

A couple more snaps of our trip to Abu Dhabi. : Top: Emirates Palace. Below: Sheikh Nahyan and Emirates Palace. Below that: Arabian cartoon characters on Sheikh Z Rd.Below that: our neighborhood in Al Qusais.

Stanley failed to mention that, apon arriving at the Emirates Palace gate, we were provided with a letter of invitation on heavy cardstock with a custom die-cut border which explained in no uncertain terms that this invitation gives us access ONLY to the art gallery, and that's it. For permission to make a reservation in one of the many fine restaurants, a phone number was provided. We actually drove by this place the first time and had to turn around and come back, because we thought it was the presidential palace and not a hotel.

Blacklist (Again) and Picasso

So Wednesday we went to Blacklist again. In all honesty, I really have no great love for the "metal" genre, it's just a fun thing to do with an evening, so you can all stop worrying (those of you who have been worrying) about me growing my hair out and buying black shirts adorned with band names that are depicted as dripping with blood. Ok? Ok.

A couple more people from AUD came along this time: A guy from India, a guy from Pakistan and a couple of Americans (a Dartmouth student and a Johns Hopkins student, respectively), good people all of them. Our Iraqi friend was our once again the lead metalhead among us, and acted as our bridge to the strange crowd which, as before, welcomed us with open arms. Among the new initiates there were a couple of conversations wherein I was nervously asked, "Uh, so, do you listen to this kind of music a lot?" Uh, not really, but the energy of the place is infectious and the true aficionados of the genre are a friendly and passionate bunch that one can't help but enjoy being around.

In a nice transition from the beautiful chaos that is "Blacklist: Savage Metal Night", we made the long anticipated trip to Abu Dhabi for the Picasso exhibition at the Emirates Palace Hotel. First, it was nice to test our little Ibeza on a longer trip (about 2 hours) and determine that, yes, this car is worth at least the 4000.00Dhs we paid for it. I love that damn car. I can't even help it.

Second, Abu Dhabi is a beautiful city: Set on a narrowly separated island in the gulf, populated with shining buildings, and surrounded by crystal-clear water, it's a nice change from the "unfinishedness" of Dubai's crane filled cacophony. Make no mistake... Dubai is superior in many ways: The people are more cosmopolitan, the finished buildings are nicer, it's just generally, I don't know, a little more "2009"...but Abu Dhabi is a nice place to visit.

Third, Emirates Palace is gorgeous in a way that only that rare combination of unlimited capital and tasteful design (think Vegas only classier) can create. The bathrooms alone create a sense that this place was built for people with whom I have never associated: People who find the use of paper towels beneath them and require a cloth hand towel taken from a neatly stacked tray decorated with several fresh rose blossoms near the deep marble sink in which one could bathe a two-year-old.

Finally, the paintings turned out to be fantastic. Beyond anything we'd hoped for. A massive collection from each stage of Picasso's life. You look around for awhile until all of a sudden you find a painting that you can't fully understand, but it makes your heart beat a little faster and you find it hard to tear your eyes away and move on to the next work of genius, but finally you do and in a couple of minutes you're glued to the floor again. And did I mention it was free? It was free. Unbelievable. Afterwards we hit a nice Italian restaurant where we made up for the cheapness of the day going all-out on fantastic pasta and then rolled home. No speeding tickets, no breakdowns, no getting lost, and it was not even necessary to use my A.K.. I'd have to say it was a good day.

Scared Straight

May Nom Es Alicia. Work is getting better. Today I went to "personality dimensions" and discovered I'm "green". That means I should have chosen engineering as a profession, I have no tolerance for emotional outbursts, and I take a loooooooooong time to make decisions. I can't wait to show Dan my score, so that he can better understand why I take a half-hour to choose between two brands of kitchen towel.

I also watched a great video on plagiarism that the college shows all the students and makes them sign that they have viewed and understand. The main crux of the plot is that a young, abaya-clad student shoos away her conscience (here embodied as her angelic self clad in a white abaya), cheats on a paper, and watches her future unravel as she is dismissed from college, the news media reports it to the whole city, her parents express their shame and disappointment, and no one will agree to marry her, after which her father dies of a heart attack. It's really very dire, and would scare the sh*t out of me if I was even THINKING about cheating.

Are those Euros?

Alicia here. We picked ourselves up an 11-dirham version of Monopoly at Lulu's the other day after a 15-year hiatus thinking that surely there would be some kind of 'reminder' about the rules included in the box. We were sorely mistaken! Thank God for the internet.

It also turns out that a $3 version of Monopoly includes a cereal-box quality cardboard game surface and barely enough paper money for two people to make change after landing on Community Chest and drawing a $15 school fees card. Nonetheless, with plenty of determination and gin, one can have a great time with this game.

Just out of curiosity, is that in fact a $15 school fees card, or a 15-Euro school fees card? Or is it 15 British Pounds? The game includes Arabic translations for everything from "Go to Jail" to "Trafalgar Square", but the currency used is clearly not intended to be a dirham or a riyal or a gold bullion. I am absolutely fascinated thinking about some regional product developers at Parker Brothers sitting around in a board room somewhere making these kinds of decisions.

In related news, the new librarian at work taught me some Afrikaans today: My Name Is translates to May Nom Es (spelling uncertain), and with a few more lessons, I'll be well on my to complete and utter confusion with Spanish, Arabic, Malayalam, and Hindi and will subsequently suffer a complete mento-linguistic purge of all the English I once knew.

Reality Check

Alicia here. OK so, I'm back at work now, and it kind of reminds me of the first day of school after summer break. It's like, all exciting in theory, but then you get there and remember that you're going to have to do homework and stuff, and your friends are there and all, but they'll have to do homework too, and you discover that your favorite liaison department got yanked from you and given to someone else, which is sort of disappointing. And, as hard you try to give the new people a good impression, you have to listen to other people all day tell them how much the traffic/bureaucracy/weather/taxis/insert-complaint-here sucks in Dubai. Which, FYI, it doesn't. There are some people who just, I think, get some kind of bizarre camaraderie feeling out of group-complaining about targets that can't respond. So, my balloon is a little deflated. I hardly have the energy to sit through another day of it, really. So, I'm just going to have to bury my nose in my homework and try not to be bothered by that which I cannot control.

Countdown!!

Alicia again. I am SO excited to go back to work tomorrow. You should see my Outlook calendar for the next couple of weeks - first, welcome back breakfast. Then, team lunch. Then, pizza party. All the while discussing how to better deliver educational and information services to our constituency. It's gonna be great! Until then though, we're gonna watch rented movies from the nameless movie-rental place by Spinney's on the basement level of Sahara Center. We've walked by this place a thousand times thinking it was just a DVD *sales* outlet. Turns out it's a rental place. They merely require that you leave a 100-dirham deposit for every movie you rent. This is a revelation, really. We've been idly waiting for the neighborhood door-to-door DVD man to come knock and sell us some cheap movies, and that strategy hasn't exactly been working out real well.

Blacklist

Stanley here. I met a guy at work from Iraq, ("The Fifty-First State, he calls it) and one thing lead to another, we started discussing music over lunch in the cafeteria, I found out quickly his musical tastes run the gamut from "Metal" all the way to "Death Metal", and before I know it Alicia and I are joining him and a few of his friends at a local bar for "Blacklist" the local metal night at Touch (a club at the Four Points Sheraton - Wednesday nights - free before 10). We showed up early, tossed back a few scotches, got introduced to the members of a local Metal band, quietly sighed with relief that we'd trusted our instincts and worn black, hung out with the group for awhile, drank numerous tequila shots, swore we'd go to their next show, and basically enjoyed being part of the "Dubai Metal Scene" for the night. Surprisingly (or not surprisingly, I guess) it was a freaking blast.

Getting to Know the Neighborhood

Alicia here. This morning Dan and I went to Festival City to do a little "Come Look My Shop" (note; I can now read the name "Festival" in Arabic, and it's spelled "Festifal"), and on the way home, brilliantly decided to try to take the airport tunnel instead of the Al-Ittihad freeway. It worked like a charm. In an ideal world, nobody ever has to go to bed hungry, and nobody ever has to take the Al-Ittihad.

We took a walk after sunset down the road and discovered a fantastic Chinese restaurant called Lotus Garden. It's on Baghdad street near NMC specialty hospital in Qusais. The place had great interior ambiance, fantastic won-ton soup with lots of ginger, and hospitable service. The complete price tag for two including tip came to a mere $21.70 US. Plus, they deliver. I see many pieces of crispy chili chicken in my future. We kept looking around starstruck and musing that this place was "awesome". I think we're still suffering from comfort-shock being back in Dubai.

Dan also successfully booked a week-long trip to Thailand w/ Emmo this morning for early October. Me? I'll be rolling the dice trying to get sevens on the time off and an affordable ticket by the time I can get the time off. We'll see what happens. All in all, an extremely positive weekend. The only negative thing I can think of has been my complete and total failure to locate a single kaffir lime leaf in this city. I've scoured at least three supermarkets in both the fresh and dried sections; I'm pretty much running out of ideas. I *know* people cook Thai food here. I know it! I've just got to think harder.

Alicia Gets Bored

Today, I updated the blog and added some widgets.

Ways and Means

Alicia here. The other day I went out to lunch with my gal pal to India Palace which dishes up fantastic Indian fare in exchange for a reasonable number of dirhams. She generously bought my lunch; as we were settling the bill and getting ready to leave, the waitress brought me a comment card and asked me to leave my valuable opinion of the restaurant. Conspicuously, my friend was not invited to leave her opinion. Now, I find my friend much more highly qualified to speak on the issue, since she is actually from India. So I was surprised that the restaurant seemed more interested in my opinion.

Later that day, she told me a story of being at the movie theater here in town with her sister, when a British lady ahead of them in the ticket line became irritated, barked something unintelligible at both of them and stormed off. The sister, surprised and confused, followed the woman to the popcorn line to ask what the problem was. Instead of answering, this woman waved her hand in the sister's face and turned away, and her newly appeared male companion pressed himself against her front-to-front and demanded, "Is this polite?" We infer from this act that the woman had been offended because she felt that my friend and her sister were standing too close. Well, shit really hit the fan after that. The sister called security and the theater manager and demanded the uncooth Brits be ejected. After getting a lackluster response from all parties, she demanded, "Would they be ejected if he did that to an Arab woman?" And, shockingly, the security and the theater manager admitted that yes, actually, he probably would be on his way to jail right now if she were an Arab woman. And, with that fact out in the open, the authorities concluded that it was only fair to eject them. The Brits eventually persuaded the sister to drop the charges if they apologized, which she did, and they did, which is good. But the whole incident just reminds me how racially charged things can be around here sometimes.

What's Up Now, Etisalat?!

Alicia here. I finally got myself hooked up with Yahoo voice, which means a lot of you can start expecting annoying phone calls soon. For the last six months, I've been enslaved to the monopolistic telephonic services company Etisalat due to lack of market competition, which charges me some kind of outrageous rate to call the United States. (I think it's somewhere in the neighborhood of $1.71 a minute or something). My modus operandi thus far has been to send a mysterious two second ring to the person I'm trying to reach, click off before they pick up, and then cross my fingers and hope they realize it was me and call me back by way of a competitive, affordable US-based communications service. You can imagine I just haven't spoken all that often with the folks back home. Well, this little dance, while fun, is now over - the miracle of PC-based calling is now connecting me to my friends and enemies for a mere 1 US cent per minute. That's right - the same currency I use to loosen flathead screws and see exactly how long an object has to fall to reach the bottom of this 16-story tower can buy me a full minute of talk-time. This morning I left my mom on hold while I went and answered my doorbell just to spite Etisalat, actually. They've still got one on me, though - I can't get a technician to come out and move my internet connection from one room to another over the phone. I have to visit their office in person and apply for "internal shifting." Grr.

Our Indian Roadmap

View Larger Map

Home again, Home again

Alicia here. We've made it back to Dubai, and BOY does it feel luxurious to have air conditioning. Not only that, but every single bathroom I attend, public or private, is stocked with toilet paper. Not only that, but the electricity stays on 24/7 and the tap water is potable. What kind of wonderland is this, exactly?? This, friends, is what 7 weeks on the road in India will lead you to appreciate.

I went to the college today to pick up my mail and check out the library, and, with a full week of vacation left yet, fully relished the opportunity to look in the new books delivery and bug the HR department about the impending arrival of our new librarians. Yessir, I've got two whole entire librarians coming to join me on Sunday, and I'm so, so, SO glad, because I really wasn't ready to die yet, and I really would have had to kill myself if I was facing the prospect of being the sole librarian again. God bless my boss, she really tried to keep us offering full services with only 33% staff. Have you ever tried to do 3 full-time jobs in under 55 hours a week? It's actually impossible. For those of you in the library biz, can you imagine trying to be a public services manager, and a collection development librarian, and a teacher-librarian, and a reference librarian, all at the same time? I am soooooo glad to get some help.

I'm newly resolved to start teaching myself Arabic and have already learned 11 letters and all the vowels and can recognize them on paper. Dan and I are gearing up to take the GMAT and see who gets a better score. Place your bets now, friends, he's going down on the quantitative AND the essay. It could be closer on the verbal.

One Lap Around India and Back to Where We Started: Kochi

Stanley here. As of yesterday morning, we're back in Kochi. After four lovely nights looking at the crashing surf of Mamalapuram from the balcony of our 12.00 per night hotel while eating fried fish (served whole) and washing them down with semi-cold Kingfishers (due to the intermittent nature of the electricity supply in Tamil Nadu "cold beer" was a relative term), we took a cab to Chennai and an overnight train to Ernakulum Junction. We are now resting, once again, in the comfort of Priya's house in the friendly neighborhood of Kasturba Negar.

Surprisingly, everyone was exited to see us and could not wait to hear about our travels in the limited vocabulary required for understanding. Our friend, Mr. P. D. Jose, (one of the nicest people in the world) took us down to the local Kwiki-mart last night where we reconnected with many of our acquaintances from the neighborhood and from our backwater excursion six weeks ago. Mr. Jose did not find it difficult to round these people up. Apparently they can be found most evenings in front of the Kwiki-mart where they congregate to shoot the shit and eat peanuts and drink tea. It may surprise many Americans, as it did me, that the fine people of this neighborhood (and I assume many Indian neighborhoods) routinely make their way around to five or six of their neighbors' homes most evenings or set aside time to congregate in the most arbitrary of places (really? the Kwiki-mart?), simply because they value and enjoy interaction and contact with those in their community. Who knew?

I'm not quite ready for it to be over. I feel right now that I could make another lap, hitting different places this time around, and then we could see if I felt ready to stop. I'm not tired of life on the road, not by a long shot, but work and obligation beckon from Dubai and tomorrow I'll be catching a plane back to a place that I'm just now beginning to think of as home. Ah well.

Bargain for your Supper

Alicia here. Ah, the joy.

"Welcome to our fine beachside restaurant," the waiter says, setting glasses and napkins on the table. "Would you like to try some lobster or prawns?"
"Maybe. How much are those prawns?" Dan inquires.
"900 rupees for ten big prawns." Says the waiter.
"900? That's crazy!" Dan scoffs.
"Sir, these are very big prawns. Like this, this big. (He hold out a thumb and forefinger). Very fresh. 10am this morning they are coming."
"I'll give you 450 for those prawns." Dan states dryly.
"Sir, 900 for two people. Big prawns! Coming with veg rice, chips, everything. Today for you, special price - 800."
"With everything? Rice and chips for both? Maybe. Still, that's a lot to spend on lunch. I'll give you 600."
"Salad too sir, this is very good price. Those people there paid 2000 for 15 prawns this size." He gestures at a nearby table.
"I don't care what those people paid for their prawns. Those people are rich. I'm not rich."
"Well sir I give you 700, last price."
"700? With everything? .....OK."

Official Damage Count

Alicia here. Incidentally, I didn't acquire any bloodborne-diseases from the mosquito attack. But a thorough inspection did reveal my previous estimates to be woefully low - in fact, I suffered a precise 72 bites on the left leg and 60 on the right, for a total much higher than I could have originally imagined. But, by now the bites are fading and I don't feel so bad rolling my pantlegs up to dip my toes in the ocean in front of the Frenchies. "Look at ze styupid Amerhikan," I imagined them saying. "She sinks zat she eez immune to sufferhing? Zat she eez above zee bug sprhay?"

Je Ne Se Pa?

Alicia here. We're in Mamallaparam (on the bay of Bengal) and enjoying the beach and the sunshine. Yesterday we chased a Chameleon around the room and caught it in a pillowcase where it turned white. Last night we ate a fresh tuna fish and took a walk on the beach where I spotted a perfectly intact spiny seashell and a few dead sea anemones, and half of a large red crab. Due to a limitation of options, I'm acquiring a taste for light lager. We met some kiwis who are racing from Chennai to Mumbai in an autorickshaw to raise money for charity. Sounds like fun to me - but I'm sure enjoying being lazy on the beach. We've got lots of fresh seafood around here and very few mosquitos. I set the alarm this morning to try to wake up for sunrise, but couldn't pry my eyes open once it rang. I'll try again tomorrow.
Everybody here is French, and a barman told me it's French holiday time right now. None of the French people make eye contact or speak - I've been plainly blown off after a friendly "Hello!" at least 10 times. But I did manage to engage in exchange with an inquisitive little french girl with a shaved head who spoke a few meager words of English. Due to our repoir, her father gave me the time of day, although he seemed to roll his eyes after learning I was American. "Bonjour!" I called to them in departing, offering a two-fingered salute. "Au revoir!" The father corrected me. "Au revoir!" I called back. "Au revoir!" They waved. If only I could find the words in French to tell them that I hate freedom fries and love crepes.

Monkey Monkey Monkey

Le Pondicherry

Alicia here. We're in Pondicherry now, which is a lot like the South of France, a place I've never visited but have heard is something like Pondicherry. Last night at dinner on the rooftop of a pseudo-French cafe with great prawns stroganoff, I swatted away a few large clumsy mosquitos before they could bite and made fun of them this morning when I woke up. "What a dumb bunch of mosquitos!" I laughed, examining the corpses of several more of the same specie laying flatly against my mosquito net. "They're too fat to land on me without my noticing. They fly right in front of my face. They're not very stealthy." Har har har. Dumb mosquitos! How does their species even survive? Then I rolled over and was aghast to see what looked like a horrible tropical disease, or scientific experiment gone wrong, or biochemical rash, on the left side of each of my legs. I've got at least 75 big fat mosquito welts melting into each other all between the ankle and knee of each poor, stricken extremity. It's sooooo ugly! From the right side, knee-down, I look like a normal human being. From the left, Bride of Frankenweenie. That's what I get for wearing shorts. I can only imagine they must have been dive-bombing in from the left, or North side of the patio during dinner - under the table, undetected. So slick, so stealthy were they, that I was actually making FUN of them, so sure I was that they were too stupid to get at me. I'm sure the few I swatted away were just kamikaze distractors, part of an elaborate, intricate, well-planned and expertly executed strategic attack intended to lull me into a false sense of security. The whole episode just makes me glad that Dan-O insisted on a mosquito net late last night.
Aside from the mosquitos, there's an active dragonfly colony hovering in the street outside our totally awesome hotel, and a gang of bats swooping around the buildings after dark. It's almost like being on a Safari, and serves to distinguish our location from the South of France. Pondicherry is a pretty sweet beach town, and we're staying in a pretty sweet place with lots of warm colors, funky printed sheets and pillows and fascinating wall decor (the poster in our room is an advertisement which reads: "All black rice removed by Japanese Technology! Number One Super Rice!"). I'm not SO sad about becoming food for mosquitos, as long as it doesn't translate into any bloodborne disease.

Notes about life on the Salazmeyer Indian Roadshow

Stanley here. We're in Pondicherry now after a 42 hour train ride (wherein we learned that all 2AC train cars are not created equal) and it's a relaxing place to be although not as pleasantly cool as Darjeeling. The food is excellent so far and our accommodations are funky in the best possible way.

So far this has been a fantastic trip. I keep looking out the window of the cab or out over the darkened city from my hotel balcony and saying something along the lines of,"Damn. I love this." I find this funny because a couple of people in Dubai told us it would be awful. One of them told us that it's a very difficult place to travel but we'd love it if we went with the right attitude and the other told us we should pick someplace else to go. Everyone else just told us our itinerary was too aggressive and we should scale it back. As it turns out, it's not all that difficult to get around (except in Delhi) and it's far from awful. However, I must admit that when I look back over the blog I realize that we've offered a slightly sanitized version of the wonders of India. The truth is, it's a developing nation that's very densely populated and so it doesn't always smell good and it's not always clean and there's a lot of poverty. I assume our readership already knew that, but I figured I should mention it in the spirit of full disclosure. Still, it was the perfect destination for us this summer. It's huge and strange and diverse and different from anyplace I've ever been before. We keep saying things like, "This reminds me of Latin America." or "This reminds me of China" but it's only vaguely like those places and really it's not like anything besides India.

Ten things I've figured out thus far:
1) Call ahead for accommodations about 24 hours in advance.
2) If there's a mosquito net, use it.
3) Incense chases bugs away.
4) Walk in the street, not on the sidewalk. (Strange but true.)
5) Always have an idea how much things should cost.
5a) If you don't know, always say the first price is "crazy".
6) Western levels of bathroom cleanliness are a bourgeois affectation.
7) Wherever you go, people are generally helpful and generous.
7a) except in Delhi.
8) Trust your instincts. If you think you're getting hustled, you probably are.
9) The food from man who works for himself and runs onto the train at the platform is better than the food from the man who works serving food for the railroad.
10) The world is a rich freaking tapestry.

Two more nights, please

Alicia here. Since arriving in Darjeeling, I've kicked a sickness, gotten tons of exercise walking up and down hills, and revitalised my enthusiasm for the revolution by watching the Gorkhas stage daily protests in effort to achieve the sovereign state of Gorkhaland. It's been a physical and spiritual renewal - I even hopped a fence to get into the botanical gardens on strike day and shared some peace pipe with a fellow traveller. I've got a full bowl of tibetan noodle soup in my belly and I'm not even scared of those freaky monkeys anymore. It's cold, damp, full of evergreens and large spiders and colorful beetles, we're totally socked in and can only occasionally catch a glimpse of the other side of the hill, and we're drying ourselves out every night and morning with hot coal fires and freshly brewed tea (or in Dan's case, whiskey). After two nights here we asked the man for three more nights, and on coming up on the third night, we decided we better ask for two more. Hell, I'm not sure I'll ever leave at this rate. The streets are full of monks and puppies and kittens and baby monkeys, cars can't even drive on most of the roads here, leaving the air fresh and misty-clean, and plastic bags are completely banned. Even though I can't see it now, I know that there's a spectacular Himalayan mountain panorama just through the clouds. Is this not the best place on planet earth? Let's hold Darjeeling up in contrast to what I've firmly decided is the rank left armpit of the world, Delhi. Can two places so far on either end of the spectrum really exist a mere 26-hour train ride and 2.5 hour jeep ride away from each other? It seems they can, and they do. I'm just glad we made it here. At this point, is there something else in India, or Nepal, or Bhutan, to lure me away? I couldn't think of one this morning, so by default we had it: two more nights.

Monkeys and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Darjeeling

"It is better to travel well than to arrive" -Buddah

That may be true, and traveling well is always a good goal, but I feel as though we've arrived. Stanley here. This town is beautiful. It loses none of its charm on the second day. Our accommodations are supurb, the food is cheep and delicious, and the clouds that wrap this mountain town seem to cast a hush over all of it's inhabitants so that you feel like whispering, even on the busy streets. In short, life is good and we'll be staying awhile.

India: We're on Strike, and the Chicken Burger is Not Available

Alicia here. After dodging the touts at the rail station, and finally, FINALLY procuring a rail ticket to New Jalpaiguri from Delhi, we this morning disembarked from a stunningly comfortable first class-AC, 26 hour train ride and caught a share jeep up the foothills of the Himalayas to cool, clean, refreshing Darjeeling in the Commie hills of West Bengal. What a relief.
A couple of funny things happened last night on the train. First, there was a huge awesome lightning storm happening for miles over the flatlands out the train window. It lit up the sky somethin' fierce in the middle of the night. I sat up to watch streaks of jagged electricity strobing between clouds and clouds and between clouds and ground. I asked Dan what would happen if the train was struck by lightning, and he said nothing would because the train is grounded, so that set my mind at ease. But, then he said he was just kidding and not to touch the metal frame around the window, so after that I didn't know what to think. The second interesting thing that happened was that I was woken up by a lot of shouting and banging out in the hallway. (In a first class train car, you have 5 "coupes" or "rooms" housing travellers, and a hallway running the length of them). I figured the people next door were just rowdy, as well as rude, and eventually fell back to sleep with the vague perception that the train was stopping. The next day, Dan told me that they threw somebody off the train. In the middle of the night during a bathroom run, he told me there was some guy and a kid with all their luggage next to the train car door talking to some authority figure, and none of them looked too happy. Que misterioso, no? I do wonder what offense could be committed in the middle of the night to have you thrown off the train. None of our attendants or caterers spoke a lick of English, so I couldn't glean much about anything from them.
Before getting on the train, we spent about 22 hours on a bus tour of important sites in and around Agra, including the Taj. I'm not usually impressed by important sites, and particularly large or fancy buildings, but this one really lived up to all the hype. Exceeded it, even. I was amazed to find that truthfully, there are some things that the best photography can't capture - and the sheer size and scale of the Taj Mahal, the intricacy of every tile on that massive structure, the symmetry, the hollow ghostly singsong sound of the inner mausoleum winds, its position reigning over the bend of a still and glassy river - is one of those things.
We spent most of our time chatting up an American kid from Duke who had been conducting malaria research in Orissa for 2.5 months and an older New Yorker who couldn't help but reveal his inner-communist after coming face to face with the millions of destitute and poverty-stricken in this country. I hope I still have things to learn when I'm that old. Lord knows I seem to know less every day. After our long discussion about economics, wealth, fairness, poverty, the human condition, etc etc, our day today consisted of checking into an absolutely fabulous hotel and splurging on the really sweet room for an extra $7 a night. What does it all mean?!

The Taj Mahal and Other Wonders.

"Someone should do something about all the poverty. They need to somehow redistribute the wealth or something." - Al (A wealthy Republican businessman we met on the bus to the Taj. Cool enough guy all in all.)

Stanley here.

I was stunned by the above statement. I tried to explain to Al that a) this is easier said then done, and b) that this sentiment is exactly the type of thing that the Communist Party of India might have on their business cards. He seemed confused. Al is an MD, a businessman, and apparently a millionaire, i.e. I don't think he's a complete idiot. He's here on business and he just figured he'd stop at the Taj Mahal on his way out of town. I still don't know what to make of this exchange. SOMEONE SHOULD DO SOMETHING ABOUT ALL THE POVERTY! Stated like the man came up with the idea, and now it just needs to be implemented. Then there was a list of social programs and the statement "These people are destitute and it's not even their fault!" It made me want to kill him or hug him. And yet, good for him right? To realize that? And what have I done for anyone lately?

The Taj Mahal was by far the most breathtaking building I've ever seen. We're in Darjeeling now and it's a wonderful place to be. Mellow, misty, and not a jacker in sight.

Hustle and Flow

"The Game is out there. It's either play or get played." -Omar (The Wire)

All right, so we got played a little today. Did I say Mumbai was full of hustlers? I lied. Welcome to New Jack Delhi. Where every swinging joe in the street will offer you unsolicited advice and a taxi ride but seldom help you to your destination. I'm glad I read The Trial if for no other reason than because I am now able to describe the "Delhi Experience" as Kafkaesque.

You are met at the train station by a man. He says he has a cab. You need a cab. You follow him. He says you have to go to his booking counter to prepay. You know there are prepaid cabs so you follow him, but in the back of your mind you wait for it: Lonely Planet told you about this. He's on commission trying to steer you to book your hotel through his agency. As soon as you're through the door you see it's true and tell him to get lost. You race out the door past his objections and find an autorickshaw who takes you to three different hotels before the one you told him, insisting no matter how often you interrupt him that these are better. You take a ride to the gigantic, beautiful mosque, but everyone wants to stand next to you. Have a few words. Give a little sage advice. And of course, steer you into a minor scam, relieve you of a few rupees.

After dinner you decide to book your train ticket. This is apparently almost impossible if you don't know exactly where the booking office is. You get in a cab. "Train Station" You tell him. You haggle on price. He asks if you need the booking office. "Yes." You tell him. He takes you to a travel agency explaining that this is the only place in town approved by the government to sell you advanced tickets. But you know this scam as well. So as he shouts his objections you walk in the direction you know the train station to be. On the way there, no less than FIFTEEN different individuals, with varying degree of subtlety and cunning directs you to various other dead ends and travel agencies. Sometimes someone will approach you and someone else will come "Save You", telling you to beware of shady characters and then direct you to his favorite travel agency which he swears is the only place to book a ticket. A man follows you across the parking lot explaining where you need to go. "Why are you following me?" You ask him. And he stops. Finally you find your way back to the train station (from which you have already been lead away once) and you manage to fight your way past various tricksters who jump in your path shouting "It's not that way! It's over here!" and you've found it: The Promised Land. The Foreign Tourist Ticket Counter. After a wasted afternoon you book your ticket out of this funhouse.

We'll hit the Taj Mahal tomorrow with a tourist group along with various other sights. Looking forward to someone else directing my travels for a day.

Alicia here. Turns out the Buddhist Cave Art was more centered around Hindu mythology; the main cave being dedicated to Shiva with lots of cool wall relief panels. And even better, there were bats in the cave. (Cool, but slightly stinky.) The caves were at first home to travelling Buddhist monks, but later were applied in new and different ways. I was surprised to learn that these caves were entirely carved out of the rock - as in, there weren't any caves there before the people arrived. Wild! What a lot of work. Carving a cave without using modern tunneling equipment seems like an extremely laborious endeavor.
Our boat to the island broke down or something in the middle of the harbor, and as we stood dead in the water sloshing around like a bath toy, I wondered whether I would be able to swim to the nearest tanker. Just as we were about to drift right into the side of some kind of giant ship (perhaps an oil tanker)? They started the engine back up and it was back on course. Very exciting.
Today it's R&R in Mumbai - the train leaves for Delhi at 4:00, and this time we're riding in style - A/C car.

S.I.R.- Mumbai

Stanley here. Just a quick commentary on life in Mumbai. We've managed to find nice expensive cocktails twice and a guest house with a working bathroom once, and bars filled with expats and backpackers many times since arriving at this teeming jungle 2 nights ago. We've visited a contemporary art gallery, took a ferry across the harbor to some Buddhist/Hindu caves with beautiful ancient statues, and lounged in various bars and eateries.

One thing I've noticed: The further we go north, the more I distrust and avoid my fellow man. Perhaps this will change as we leave the tourist hubs behind. In Kerala, where backpackers and western tourists are rare, were constantly approached by people on the road. "Hello! What Country you from?! Can I take a photo with you!?" It was always out of genuine fascination and interest. People were just blown away that there were American tourists in their towns. In Goa we were less frequently approached: junk jewelry sellers on the beach and a time share salesman on the road. In Mumbai it's constant: "Hello my friend! Where are you from!? Taxi? Giant Rice Paper Balloon? Guided Tour? Hashish? Drum? Pashmina?" When someone approaches you in this town you don't smile and politely answer getting to know you type questions. You stare straight ahead and tell them to get the hell on with their business and find some other sucker. It's quite a transition. The world truly is a rich freaking tapestry isn't it?

Quick update

Alicia here. Things have gotten steadily more dodgy the closer we've gotten to Mumbai. Now in Mumbai, and really fully learning just exactly how clean our bathrooms back home really are.
Stayed in a guesthouse last night with 5'9" ceilings (yes, one really was required to stoop at all times, like the 7th and a half floor) and discovered good proximity to high quality pub. After spending a full day on the train and depositing our stuff into the shoebox, felt desperately in need of some relief, so predictably visited the most expensive bar in town at the Taj Mahal hotel where we paid 900 rupees per scotch on the rocks and had a nice chat with a grandfatherly old bartender and watched the hustle and bustle of the Gateway to India (port) through the window. After a good night's sleep, burning incense and leaving the TV lights on to ward off cockroaches, we're off for a full day of sightseeing feeling refreshed and optimistic.

One Night in Panjim

... makes a hard man humble. Or, makes an Alicia reminisce about her days in Latin America. This town looks almost exactly like a town somewhere in say, Guatemala, probably because of the distinct Iberian-peninsula influence that both places share. We've been here a single night and today are shipping out to Mumbai. We went to visit the basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa and checked out the tomb of the incorruptible body of St. Francis Xavier. It's a miracle! His body never decayed!

Reading Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek last night really tainted that visit for me. Ordinary things around us everyday are so deeply miraculous, I can't help but feel it is absurd to look for "miracles" anywhere else - be it a piece of toast or a tapestry of roses or an embalmed evangelist. Like Annie says, think about how improbable it is that something as ridiculous and horrific as a praying mantis would ever come to exist; or that while we fall in love over sunrises and mountains, our world is simultaneously spinning at imperceivable speeds and rock is shifting beneath our feet and stars who exploded and died a hundred years ago are still appearing in the sky overhead and quadrillions of ants are quietly recycling the world's organic matter over every square inch.

This kind of contemplation makes it difficult for me not to find the incorruptible body of poor St. Francis a laughable matter. Like a joke, I peer into his tomb and feel like giggling. Of course, this is wrong. I refrain. Just not in the right state of mind, I guess. Any other day I might appreciate meditating on the things that St. Francis believed in and stood for.

The other thing I quickly noticed about the Bom Jesus basilica was an altar whose front clearly depicted Jesus with disciples John and Matthew. My first thought was, "what does it say about the type of Christianity practiced in this church that Luke and Mark are conspicuously absent?" I started coming up with theories about Christ the Spirit vs. Christ the Man and the church's stance on aggressive evangelism. Then I saw them around the edges on the sides. Ah, of course. All in all, I think my reactions to this church describe me as ... too skeptical for Catholicism. In Mumbai we'll visit some ancient Buddhist cave art, see how that goes. :)

Hello Moto

Alicia here. Spent some more time putzing around dirt lanes and winding paths through some Indian jungle on the motorbike today. Yesterday while swimming in the sea, Dan experienced a sharp circular pain about the ankle which he feared might be a jellyfish. Today, about a mile North, we wandered along the beach and saw about 50,000 dead jellyfish washed up along the shore. In retrospect, I think he got off lightly. It looked just like this:

Which, so far as I can tell, is a portuguese man-o-war. But the ones we saw were all pretty small, and man-o-war's are supposed to have an average tentacle length of 3 feet. So I feel like it couldn't have been those. But... maybe they were. Either way, I think we'll stay out of the water for now.

Salin the Martial Arts Master

Alicia here. Dan and I caught the train up here to Goa in second-class sleeper style, which means: open air train car, crowded 6-berth bunks, grotty toilets, and good cheap coffee in paper cups. I had prepared myself for a wholly uncomfortable experience, but, wouldn't you know - it was actually pretty great, compared to flying on an airplane. You can actually stretch out and lay down, which is nice, and the chapatti and curry they come around selling is pretty darn tasty. There's a constant fresh-air breeze from the window which keeps it from getting too hot, and our bunk-mates on this particular journey were not at all inclined to rob or molest me and were much more inclined to make interesting conversation. This guy Salin on the top bunk (I had middle, Dan had lower), noticed the distinct silhouette of Bruce Lee on Dan's tee-shirt and started chatting him up about martial arts. Salin, who also happened to be dashingly handsome and athletic, had apparently been studying Indian martial arts since he was 7, and was now on a mission to go to China and become a Shaolin monk. He kept saying to Dan, "of course I'm sure you know more about it than me", perhaps he mistook Dan for a martial artist as well. But he's a merchant marine and will be sailing around the world, hitting Vancouver and New York, among other places, before taking 6-7 months off for hardcore training before going to audition for the monks in China. I sure hope he makes it.

After arriving in Goa we took advantage of the beach bar and today are recovering mightily by motoring around the area on a rented scooter-bike. Will head up the beach and see what there is to see. Caught a replay of the Nadal-Federer final on the telly yesterday morning - WHAT a MATCH. I'm glad Nadal won; and I still can't understand how Federer looked so put together at the awards ceremony after 5 hours of tennis.

S.I.R.- When in Rome...

Stanley here. So it's always interesting adapting to a new culture, trying to be polite when you're not always sure what polite means. For example: Most people eat with their hands here. But only the right hand. It's a bit tricky at first. Especially curry and rice. And your left hand is always trying to sneak in and help with stuff like tearing naan. Another thing that people do here apparently is throw all their garbage out the window of the moving train. I would have thought that was rude if my co-travelers weren't throwing everything (paper, plastic, aluminum) right out into the night without even bothering to be sneaky about it. Instead of being appalled I joined right in. What else could I do? What would Jesus do?

Another thing people do here that I felt I should experience is get Ayurvedic Massage treatment. I'll let you Google its benefits if you are interested. Basically I just thought it'd be fun. Let me tell you: You truly have to leave your inhibitions at the door.

It works like this. You go in. A strong Indian man tells you to hang your clothes in the corner. You strip naked, at which point the man comes over and girds you with a g-string like contraption. You lie down and the man firmly and repeatedly rubs every square inch of your exposed flesh with special Ayurvedic oil very thoroughly for 45 minutes. You leave feeling relaxed, refreshed and oily, and maybe just a bit weirded out by the intimate time you've shared with the strong Indian man. Hey, when in Rome....

S.I.R.- Munnar Chapter

Day something, hour something. After the bus strike fiasco we hired a driver to drive Priya's car the 4 hours of winding bumpy roads to our accommodations (call me a sissy but I'm not into driving here and the driver costs $6 per day). Rolled into the "hill-station" (town on a hill, I guess...) of Munnar at night in the driving rain and wind. Finally realized what they mean by "rainy season." Ordered room service and hit the hay. Woke up the next day to fabulous weather, sun and scattered clouds. Spent 3 relaxing and breathtakingly gorgeous days cruising around the stunning mountain roads overlooking miles and miles of tea plantations that blanket every slope. We hit a few parks and animal sanctuaries, saw some monkeys and elephants and rare mountain goats, took a couple of pictures, but I'm telling you, the best part was staring at those hills all day. No way to describe them and pictures do them little justice.

Back in Kochi now and killing a day and a half before we head to Goa. Let me be honest….Can I be honest here? We’ve been a little pampered so far. P.D. Jose, our friend and neighbor, has insisted on arranging practically everything for us. We’ve kind of been along for the ride, getting the best of everything with no real effort. That all changes when we board the Second Class Sleeper Car (we’ve heard things….bad things) of the train to Panaji and proceed to hack out our journey north as the mood takes us. I’m looking forward to this change in structure the way an 18 year-old looks forward to going off to college. There are certain to be setbacks, but we're psyching ourselves up by saying it's all part of the fun. As a man once said and I’m fond of repeating (a little cheesily, I admit) “Buy the ticket, take the ride.” We’ll keep you posted.

Salazmeyer Indian Roadshow: Kochi Chapter

Day something something now, sometime in the early afternoon. Two days ago: visited a Catholic death commemorative with neighbors, followed by feast complete with Indian whisky. Chatted in English/Malayalam pidgin with crazy uncle. Visited Ashram; might go back to stay. Dragged around in forest for a little while with Aunt/Nun - pointing out the fruit trees and the vast expanse of land which now belongs to the children since Dad died (2 years ago exactly, per commemorative event).  Stopped at elephant reserve and monkey zoo on the way home. Surprised to learn monkeys can freely exit cages. Not too fond of their sharp teeth, otherwise cute. Elephants quite entertaining taking bath in river. Lots of ants near the river. Note to self: watch for ants near the river.

 

Yesterday chartered a houseboat with a group of locals to explore Keralan backwaters, again with Indian liquor but this time Brandy. Excellent with soda and 15 types of Chilies. Food extremely tasty - taste buds more or less stoned for the next week. Spent most of the trip providing utter fascination to small children dazzled by pasty skin. Taught one to dance. Took lots of photographs. Perfected use of English/Malayalam pidgin; successfully communicated many complicated subjects, such as, "we love you people too!!!" Stopped somewhere along the water to a small shack producing coconut toddi, a mild intoxicating juice produced from the flowers of coconut trees. Purchased some for the ladies who were not interested in brandy. Us? Stuck fast to the old college mantra; "Brandy before Toddi, very Naughty". Ultimately refrained on the advice of whichever sages coined that one. Took a canoe ride; didn't sink. Success!

 

Today trucked it down to catch a bus onward at 6:30 am. Learned of bus strike in destination town. Returned home discouraged, but not downtrodden. Working on hiring a private car to make the trip. Will press on.

Ahoy India

2:21PM Friday. Alicia here. Day 2 in India (or Day 3 if you count landing day) and we're successfully eating, drinking, and moving about. We've taken a rickshaw, munched on chapatti, and withstood a couple of brief monsoon downpours. Also taken a liking to tea with milk and cardamom. Further dispatches sure to be brief and damp.

The American Medical Conspiracy is Similar to the American Mechanical Conspiracy

Ok I don't really believe there is an American mechanical conspiracy, I really do believe full well in the power of capitalism to bring me the best products and services at the lowest prices, and I simply acknowledge that I've never been able to have my a/c serviced for less than $150 before and yesterday at the petrol station it cost me (along with replacement of a high side service valve) a mere $45. The American medical conspiracy, on the other hand, is less like an orchestrated conspiracy and more like just a generally bad system that nobody has the power to change. Why are we required to pay $1500 an hour to see a doctor who will grant us access to the 600-milligram ibuprofen? Nobody knows. What I do know, though, is that the gas-station garage a block from my house is going to be a God-send.  They say: bring us the parts from the Seat company, and we will fix your car. AND, we'll charge you almost nothing for it!  Successfully getting your car repaired in a foreign country is really a great thing; it provides a feeling of well-being and general competence, as well as reassurance that you really LIVE HERE NOW. 

Prescription? How Quaint.

Alicia here. We've been gearing up to enter some low-to-medium risk malaria areas (according to the WHO map, left) and so for weeks now I've been saying to myself that I need to call a doctor and visit a travel clinic and get some antimalarials and perhaps a few other precautionary medicines to take along. But, wouldn't you know, I blinked and it was suddenly the weekend before departure. So, knowing full well that a full evaluation by a doctor was not going to be an option, we headed down to the local pharmacy to see if we could at least stock up on ibuprofen and rehydration salts.  Before I could even say, "don't be ridiculous", Stanley asked the pharmacy man for some antimalarials, Lo and behold, he presented us with 4 fully functional boxes of Lariam for a mere 34 dirhams apiece. Encouraged by this success, we further requested a general antibiotic and were given a box of real-live genuine amoxicillin, marked right on the package with GlaxoSmithKline, at 154 dirhams. Bing! Some more over the counters; salts, DEET, immodium, and, ah yes, the dreaded 600-milligram ibuprofen tablet. Some of you may know that, stateside, the 600-milligram ibuprofen tablet is a controlled substance. You let that out on the shelves, people will kill themselves with it. It's just far too convenient to let the people have access to 600 milligrams at once.  Only the most intelligent of a given population can figure out the workaround: I've been shoveling a six-count of OTC 300-milligram ibuprofens every time I get cramps since last year. But now? The good man at the pharmacy has released this coveted product into my eager hands. I'll only have to take 3 of them at once - nobody tell the FDA. 

Politics, Pride and Two Descriptions of Lebanon

Stanley here. I work in an office with 3 women. Two are from Lebanon (Nat and My Boss The CFO), one is from The Philippines (Polly), and one is from Argentina (Silvana). I’m getting to know them a little better as the days go by. A couple of anecdotes:

Nat asks me, “Do you like The States?” I reply, noncommittally, “There are definitely good things and bad things. I like the city that I’m from.”

She follows up, “Are you proud to be an American?” It’s worth noting that I’ve always been slightly disturbed by the notion of “pride” at being from a particular place. I never really know what it’s supposed to mean. I’m not proud like when I sink a tricky pool shot…and I’m not proud like when my sister publishes an article on her latest research…and I’m not ashamed…except of George Bush.

So I shake my head and reply, “No.”

“Ah,” says Nat. “So you’re a terrorist?” I laugh. She still feels she should make it clear she was only joking. Frankly, I’m impressed with her knowledge of the black and white sentimentality that many Americans have on this subject, and her ability to joke about it in English, her third language. Polly and Silvana join the conversation. Everyone agrees that George Bush is awful.

The next day we discuss Beirut. I’ve heard several students, both here and at HCT sing its praises. The beaches, the mountains, the cafés: The Paris of the Middle East. It sounds fantastic. Nat talks about the smell of the air and her morning coffee. She nostalgically recalls the “cache”. “You know this word, cache?” She asks.

“I understand what it means.” I say. I decide I must see this place. “Next summer.” I say.

My Boss The CFO stops by to use the copy machine. She tells about her time in Lebanon. In an animated, pleasant way, she tells about driving in to work, during the war, listening to the shelling that was being described on the radio as they drove towards it, while they all yelled, “It’s OK! It’s OK! Just Go!” She follows that up with a story from after the war, told in the same pleasant, almost happy voice, about watching from her porch as a truckload of bombs was removed from the house next door. The truck was having trouble getting up the hill and everyone was watching to see what would happen.

She explains, “It slowly dawned on everyone, ‘What are we doing?! We should get out of here!’ A half an hour later the truck exploded and destroyed the empty building, and my apartment.” She laughs. “After that, I'd had enough. I moved to Canada.”

Dubai Tiger Beat

Ok here's the scoop. I totally, TOTALLY locked eyes with Sheikha Hind, wife of H.H. Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid al Maktoum vice president of the UAE and ruler of Dubai, when she shook my hand. She was soooo beautiful!!! And she had this GORGEOUS ornate jewel-encrusted gown on. I didn't know I was going to get up close - but I did!!

Now I can say I've touched royalty. I won't wash my hand for a week.

In other news, the graduation ceremony was great but kept me up late. The students all were equally decked out and looked absolutely fantastic. By the end of the night I was falling asleep on my feet but maintained a healthy level of enthusiasm (in part via the consumption of six or seven juice boxes) in order to support what was clearly a grand moment for many of them. Smile smile, mabruk mabruk, congratulations, mashallah! your hair! Gorgeous! 

Dubai Celebritology

Our graduation ceremony tomorrow is going to be attended by Sheikha Hind, senior wife of H.H. Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid al Maktoum, ruler of Dubai. Sheikh Mo is below left, Ms. Hind's photo is remarkably hard to come by. On the other hand, Jr. wife Princess Haya of Jordan, right, is quite readily accessible in the media. They just had a baby in 2004. Out of Sheikh Mohammed's first 7 male and 10 female children, one has been named crown prince of Dubai: H.H. Sheikh Hamdan, below right. The ladies love him. How could you not? Just look at that face. In order to go see Hind and the graduates tomorrow, I've been issued a gown. It's just like when I graduated college!! No cap, though. I just hope she speaks in English, otherwise it'll be a wash (for me).

In other celebrity news, I read an article in the paper yesterday (the local paper, mind you), saying that Michael Jackson might be starting a Vegas show. I mean, I guess you've got to pay the bills somehow, but seriously. I hope, for the sake of everything good and true, that this plan doesn't come to fruition. 

Book Review

Alicia here. I just finished reading The Corrections and it was pretty good. I think I'd recommend it to a friend. The story is about a series of characters who are connected in a dysfunctional family and follows the twists and turns of their sometimes tragic lives. One of them is a semi-famous chef, one is a success story/family-man, one of them is a deadbeat fired ex-professor and wannabe screenwriter, one is a dawdling old father and crappy husband quickly descending into an infantile dementia, and one is a sadly pathetic old mother putting up with her husband's nonsense and trying to make up for a life of non-fulfillment by pulling her whole family together for one last Christmas at the homestead as if to prove that maybe life isn't so loveless and forlorn (fat chance). The whole thing is really just a series of tragedies with a few farfetched, humorous episodes and characters interspersed, which I like because it adds contrast and makes the desperate seem that much More desperate.

Apparently, judging by the cover of the book, this was also an Oprah's Book Club Book, which I don't exactly understand. I know that Oprah tries to pick serious literature, but I just can't picture the Oprah audience enjoying something so DEPRESSING. But, she did also pick "A Million Little Pieces", so maybe I'm just totally misjudging the Oprah audience.

Thanks, but no thanks....

Stanley here. You know what the funniest thing about Arabia is? It’s the little differences. I mean they got the same stuff over here that we had over there, but here it’s just a little different. My favorite recently has been the standard inanities that begin a conversation with someone you’re just getting to know. In The States, when the conversation eventually arrives at “So…kids?” and I say “No, thank you.” People just laugh and put you off with something patronizing like, “Oh, you say that now…but wait till you get a little older….” Here it’s a little different. The conversation begins the same, but when I get to the part about not wanting to have kids the reaction varies slightly, usually beginning with an open mouthed look of horror and shock at the very concept of opting out of what would seem to be the only reason to be live, work, or marry. This is usually followed by questions tactfully designed to skirt around the fact that I’ve just admitted a major flaw in my humanity. Maybe there’s some medical problem? So maybe kids are annoying to me? It’s a cultural thing I suppose. I explain to them that it’s unusual, but not all that rare in The States to opt out of child rearing. But I’m thinking of starting to tell people that I want to have as many kids as possible, just to avoid damaging their concept of order in the universe.

Graduation Day

Alicia here. Last night, I celebrated my final working night of the academic year - the last night that I had to stay until 8pm to keep the place open. For the rest of the year, it was going to be smooth sailing - in at 7:45, out at 4:45. Then today, I learned that we're all required to stay late for next week's graduation ceremony.  So, I guess I'm learning never to celebrate too early.

Not that it will be bad, since around here when we say "graduation ceremony", we really mean... Fashion Show!!! It's a women-only event, and it's really lovely and everything to see these young ladies getting to enjoy the culmination of all their hard work and move on to the next phase in life, but the really fun part is going to be the gowns (lets not kid ourselves). They'll be dressed to the nines; and chances are, we'll get some less-than-stringent abaya coverage in order to fully appreciate those gorgeous get-ups.

There are no cell-phones, no cameras, and absolutely no photography or sketching of any kind allowed, so I'll have only my razor-sharp memory to rely on. Recap pending.

I Got 99 Problems But A Visa Ain't One

A here. After all that trouble at the Indian consulate, they delivered our visas in short order directly to my place of employment without a hitch. The visas look like the one to the right. Another very important piece of documentation which I acquired recently is my "Alcoholics" license, which apparently had been sitting at the liquor store for weeks, and I simply failed to answer the phone when they tried to call and let me know.

Stanley and I went down to the MMI the other day to make use of said license, and picked up (against my instincts) a 12-dirham bottle of gin, along with some more Beefeater. "Does it have alcohol in it?" I asked, sceptically surveying the label. Right there on the bottle, 48.5%. I still wondered if it was a joke. A 12-dirham bottle of gin? Later on, during a blind tasting, I discovered that the 12-dirham bottle actually tastes better than Beefeater in a gin & tonic. This won't come as a surprise to some smarty-pants out there, like Emmo, who have always said Beefeater makes a bad G&T.   But moreover, it gave me a healthy high-quality buzz, unlike some other cheap trunk gin I've had in my day. 

This is all a highly important scientific discovery, as my license restricts me to 750 dirhams worth of alcohol per month. If I were to spend that all on Beefeater, I'd be stuck with just 7 bottles. They don't even give you an extra allowance for the months with 31 days. But on the cheap gin? Sheeeeeeit, that's 62 bottles. I could even share with friends, especially in February.

Arabian Review

Alicia here. The academic year is winding down, I'll be leaving the country in a couple of weeks, and the pending shift is scenery is causing me to reflect a bit on how I've changed over the last few months.

I can identify a few things that I never, ever thought I would do, that I have now done:

1. Listen to live recitations of the Quran. 

This is because my car is a hoopty with no CD player and not even a functioning tape player. The cigarette lighter feeds power to an iPod adapter but cuts out every time my hoopty ride rolls over a bump in the sand, so that leaves me with basically two options: Virgin Radio, or the Quran. But I must say, the Quran is highly zen in a traffic jam.

2. Enjoy Nescafe.

Yeah, I said it.  You heard me. This morning, I microwaved a nice hot cup of bottled water, and stirred in some Nescafe GOLD granules with a healthy heap of dehydrated creamer.  Mmm mm good - and timesaving. Now that I'm waiting for Dan-O to drop me off at work in the morning, I don't have time to spend 20 dirhams on a latte and a fruit salad every morning at the campus coffee shop.  Can I still call myself a Northwesterner? If I couch my low-grade coffee-consumption into a Northwest homage every morning (I'll hum Nirvana or something with each sip) can I avoid the special level of hell reserved for product traitors like me?

3. Lose a $40,000 falcon.

I knew when I turned 13 that I was going to be a master of falconry - which is why I convinced my Dad to sell his car and take a credit advance to buy a starter falcon this winter. I knew that I would eventually win the admiration of falconers the world over and be able to compete in tournaments and exhibitions with the Pros. I dedicated myself to constant practice - and when I took my $40,000 falcon out to the desert for the first time, and flung him off of my arm without a string to perform a simple loop-return command, and when he never came back, that's when I knew.... Just kidding. This didn't happen to me! But thinking about how it didn't happen to me gives me a whole new lease on life.

The New Proud Owner of a Seat

Alicia here. That's SAY-OTT, not seat. I had to sit through 5 hours of queues and insurance purchases and emissions testing and whatnot, but hey, that's Dubai. Below is a picture of what the waiting line for the emissions test looked like:

And now I am a car-owner.

Visa Adventure

Alicia here. Yesterday I had Dan drop me on his way to work down on Bank street in Dubai near where all the embassies and consulates are located so that I could visit the Indian consulate and procure entry visas for the two of us for our pending trip. Needing to be at work by 11am, I figured that starting at 8am would give me a nice healthy cushion to get back in time. Wrong, and wrong. 

I was lost for nearly an hour, wandering the same neighborhood back and forth, convinced that I had to have been tripping right over the top of the consulate the whole time. When I finally found it, escaping from the 100 degree heat in exhaustion, I was pleased to find that the consulate provided a ladies' queue, where I was told I would have to wait in a different queue behind 45 men to get my paperwork approved. The point of the ladies' queue? Not sure.

After securing a ticket number at 9am, I discovered that the ATM at the Indian Consulate was in disrepair, which meant I wouldn't be able to pay for our visas. So, it was back out onto the blacktop to truck down to the Sudanese consulate in search of a functional ATM. Although gorgeous, non-crowded, and guarded by a handsome and helpful Sudanese military man, I was disappointed that the Sudanese consulate had no ATM at all. Lucky me, I was able to flag down a taxi outside and convince him to drive me to three different banks until I found one where my ATM card worked, and then take me back to the consulate.... where I saw that the consular ATM had been repaired. No point crying over spilt milk, though, right? I responded calmly and rationally by walking directly to the vending machine and purchasing a Snickers bar and an oversized bottle of water.

At 11am, my number was finally called and I was able to get my paperwork stamped and approved in room 105. Then I was directed to get my paperwork stamped and approved in room 102. Then I was directed to submit and pay for my paperwork in room 101. At 12 noon, after finally having been able to submit my applications for entry permits, it was time to hit the pavement once again to get a taxi back to work.  Being an hour late already, I was not too happy to discover that calling for a taxi wouldn't work (dispatch center: "No taxis are accepting your job...") Accepting? No taxis are accepting? Can't you just assign someone? What if you tell the drivers I'll pay triple? No luck. Wander wander wander. Up to bank street - all the taxis are full. Down to reef street - dead as a horse's toenails. Back around the British Embassy, up Sheikh Zayed road, and through the same neighborhood I had been wandering before 9am. At 1:30, I arrived back at the Indian consulate, delusional and suffering from heat-induced hallucinations. Convinced that I would be doomed to stay at the Indian consulate forever, to live there, to sleep in room 101 with the cranky huddled masses for the rest of my days, I became desperate. And just as I was about to press the gleaming ball point of a fresh metallic blue pen into my jugular, an empty taxi pulled up to the curb in front of me.