Flash snowstorm starting in the late afternoon.
The people at work freaked out and started leaving faster than the crowd at Yankee Stadium before the bottom of the ninth inning. Rumors about the metro failing and terrible traffic.
I got a ride home from a co-worker. It took a few more minutes than usual.
Snow in DC demands True Grit.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Winter of my Content
Still floating from a wonderful weekend. Highlights:
-L2 on Friday night. Think meatpacking district in a georgetown cavern, smaller, hidden, and sans ibankers.
-ben's chili bowl at 3am. Think chili dog at 3am.
-"True Grit" on Saturday night with B. Terrific. The best movie I've seen since Roman Polanski's Ghost Writer. Better, even. Those Coen brothers know what they are doing...
-sunday phonecalls with israel, botswana, and brooklyn. Oh, skype.
-monday post-work showing of "the way back" by Peter Weir (directed Witness, year of living dangerously, etc). Intense and hard to watch, numbing. Apparently Stalinism was extremely bad. Who knew?
-watched State of the Union with N and R and ate dumplings and french bread. Enjoyed the dumplings.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Seven Days Later: Happenings, reflections, misc.
It's my one week anniversary of being back in the United States. Here's what's happening:
-going out to Japanese food in Dupont Circle with V = incredibly comforting. Horde of Japanese tourists/ex-pats engaged in some sort of congratulatory ceremony with applause and flowers = endearing.
-party-hopping on Friday and Saturday night. Party #1 is international, bubbling, and diverse. I spend most of the time chatting up World Bank staff and a public sector consultant from L.A. V meets a lobbyist who represents fraternities: apparently the last three American Presidents were brothers. Trying to curry favor with the Washington insiders, I approach and note that some of my best friends have been in frats. He thinks I am saying lobbyist and asks which firm. Ensuing chaos.
-Chili Cook-off at the Raven at Mount Pleasant. No lobbyists here, but I do meet an incredibly friendly CNN producer who tells me I should consider a career in public speaking. Exchange pleasantries with a familiar hill staffer (Senate side) about the productiveness of the recent lame duck session and talk to a guy I know in Commerce about an upcoming trip to one of the Stans. Sample some chili. Encounter another New Yorker-in-exile.
-Birthday party at an uber-minimalist bar somewhere downtown. I spend thirty minutes talking to a skeptical bureaucrat about the philosophical/psychological underpinnings of boredom. Apparently Heidegger wrote 100 pages on the subject.
-Co-worker's black-light party in Adams Morgan. We are the oldest people in the room, possibly by three-five years. I talk to an affable but improperly attired med student of Southern origin and a hilarious financial consultant who lives with his parents in Westchester. There is a guy screaming unintelligibly at the top of his lungs. We stay for roughly thirty minutes. Extremely entertaining.
Am still jet-lagged and dehydrated, although the culture-shock is wearing off. Uh-oh.
-going out to Japanese food in Dupont Circle with V = incredibly comforting. Horde of Japanese tourists/ex-pats engaged in some sort of congratulatory ceremony with applause and flowers = endearing.
-party-hopping on Friday and Saturday night. Party #1 is international, bubbling, and diverse. I spend most of the time chatting up World Bank staff and a public sector consultant from L.A. V meets a lobbyist who represents fraternities: apparently the last three American Presidents were brothers. Trying to curry favor with the Washington insiders, I approach and note that some of my best friends have been in frats. He thinks I am saying lobbyist and asks which firm. Ensuing chaos.
-Chili Cook-off at the Raven at Mount Pleasant. No lobbyists here, but I do meet an incredibly friendly CNN producer who tells me I should consider a career in public speaking. Exchange pleasantries with a familiar hill staffer (Senate side) about the productiveness of the recent lame duck session and talk to a guy I know in Commerce about an upcoming trip to one of the Stans. Sample some chili. Encounter another New Yorker-in-exile.
-Birthday party at an uber-minimalist bar somewhere downtown. I spend thirty minutes talking to a skeptical bureaucrat about the philosophical/psychological underpinnings of boredom. Apparently Heidegger wrote 100 pages on the subject.
-Co-worker's black-light party in Adams Morgan. We are the oldest people in the room, possibly by three-five years. I talk to an affable but improperly attired med student of Southern origin and a hilarious financial consultant who lives with his parents in Westchester. There is a guy screaming unintelligibly at the top of his lungs. We stay for roughly thirty minutes. Extremely entertaining.
Am still jet-lagged and dehydrated, although the culture-shock is wearing off. Uh-oh.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Soundtrack for the Subcontinent
For navigating the fast maze that is the Frankfurt airport, Amy does it best. "You know I'm no good," Amy Winehouse.
"Hey Bulldog" by the Beatles for running in Mumbai.
When in Bangalore, try "Hip to be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News.
Ray Charles and Johnny Cash work well in Kerala. Makes a lot of sense, if you think about it.
Kovalam is a good place to read a book quietly.
For Gurgaon, Bono. "Stuck in a moment you can't get out of," U2.
Varanasi has its own soundtrack. Just listen*
Counting Crows' "Goodnight L.A." or "One Fine Day" by David Byrne + Brian Eno as the fields of Uttar Pradesh roll by on a January afternoon.
Music is not allowed at the Taj Mahal.
Indian Bus rides call for Nina Simone: "Sinnerman" from the Thomas Crowne Affair soundtrack. Particularly appropriate as you get leveled by a speed bump while attempting to move out of the way when fellow passengers move an elephantine sack over your leg. Where ya gonna run to?
John Mayer is soothing when recovering from stomach ailment and dehydration in the Reston Emergency Room. "Waiting for the World to Change."
*whistling the ewok victory song by John Williams is strangely satisfying after visiting the burning ghats.
"Hey Bulldog" by the Beatles for running in Mumbai.
When in Bangalore, try "Hip to be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News.
Ray Charles and Johnny Cash work well in Kerala. Makes a lot of sense, if you think about it.
Kovalam is a good place to read a book quietly.
For Gurgaon, Bono. "Stuck in a moment you can't get out of," U2.
Varanasi has its own soundtrack. Just listen*
Counting Crows' "Goodnight L.A." or "One Fine Day" by David Byrne + Brian Eno as the fields of Uttar Pradesh roll by on a January afternoon.
Music is not allowed at the Taj Mahal.
Indian Bus rides call for Nina Simone: "Sinnerman" from the Thomas Crowne Affair soundtrack. Particularly appropriate as you get leveled by a speed bump while attempting to move out of the way when fellow passengers move an elephantine sack over your leg. Where ya gonna run to?
John Mayer is soothing when recovering from stomach ailment and dehydration in the Reston Emergency Room. "Waiting for the World to Change."
*whistling the ewok victory song by John Williams is strangely satisfying after visiting the burning ghats.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
End of the Line
Made it to Delhi after a harrowing five-hour bus ride from Agra. Bus cost 150 rupees, which is roughly three dollars. Sat next to an IT student who interrogated me about the US/India/my marital situation until I told him I'd like to rest. Also met a lab consultant at a fertility bank, the interrogator's brother-in-law: took me a while to figure out that the word he was saying wasn't cement. Some nice banking students sat behind us and were very helpful. They asked me to come back to India soon.
From the bus station, my tuk-tuk driver took an hour to find the hotel in near-freezing weather, stopping three times to ask for direction. He then asked for more money. While I try not to show anger while in Asia (in Cambodia and Laos, this is unacceptable culturally and causes both parties shame), I find it's very effective in India when someone asks for something that is unreasonable.
My hotel is in the diplomatic enclave, on the outskirts of the city. It reminds me of Paris.
From the bus station, my tuk-tuk driver took an hour to find the hotel in near-freezing weather, stopping three times to ask for direction. He then asked for more money. While I try not to show anger while in Asia (in Cambodia and Laos, this is unacceptable culturally and causes both parties shame), I find it's very effective in India when someone asks for something that is unreasonable.
My hotel is in the diplomatic enclave, on the outskirts of the city. It reminds me of Paris.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Journey to the West
Two intuitively impressive Austrians and I are driven to Mughal Serai at 10:30pm, a journey that takes us onto a proper indian highway, which is not dissimilar to some of the scenes in Tron: Legacy. I fear for my life at numerous points, although the Austrians seem relaxed.
I am fearful of missing my train, which has been delayed an hour. As we approach the station, I get ready to run to the platform. The driver, in defiance of a previous agreement, begins to mutter something about 50 extra rupees for parking. He actually chases me onto the platform to remind me about the bogus charge. Fearing I'll miss the train, I pay him and ask for help carrying my bag. He walks away and the train is delayed by another hour. I watch some homely Irish play cards and finish reading Hermann Hesse's "journey to the east, " which the guest house has presented me with as a parting gift/loan.
The Magadh Express comes two hours late, ostensibly due to fog. The first class car is roomy, grimy, and wonderful. My cabin-mate is a young Delhi-based lawyer who pleasantly lectures me for an hour.
We depart into the night.
I am fearful of missing my train, which has been delayed an hour. As we approach the station, I get ready to run to the platform. The driver, in defiance of a previous agreement, begins to mutter something about 50 extra rupees for parking. He actually chases me onto the platform to remind me about the bogus charge. Fearing I'll miss the train, I pay him and ask for help carrying my bag. He walks away and the train is delayed by another hour. I watch some homely Irish play cards and finish reading Hermann Hesse's "journey to the east, " which the guest house has presented me with as a parting gift/loan.
The Magadh Express comes two hours late, ostensibly due to fog. The first class car is roomy, grimy, and wonderful. My cabin-mate is a young Delhi-based lawyer who pleasantly lectures me for an hour.
We depart into the night.
Another Shabbat
Cold. Fog. No power. Israelis. Kabbalat Shabbat. Candlelight. Hummus. Sitar. Varanasi. Sublime. Warmth.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
What's the North/Varanasi like?
-Cold and foggy. I was in four layers yesterday, am in three today. Slept with a space heater on, inside a sleeping bag with a blanket covering me.
-Dirtier/Poorer/less educated/developed: people speak less english here, the internet is slower, there are fewer modern technological accouterments, and the poverty has a more severe feeling to it. There are tons of people trying to extract money from me, who are not particularly charming or inventive. It is easier to bargain and I get lower prices.
-Religiously tense and possibly less diverse/pluralistic. I meet no one who isn't a hindu. There was a terrorist attack a month ago in one of the main public areas along the river, the trauma is evident. There are soldiers all around the main temple, although they seem bored. The closest analogy to walking the streets of Varanasi is wandering around the old city in Jerusalem.
-More culturally foreign. The backpackers and tourists I meet here feel like strangers in a strange landers. I have a nice dinner with a french pair of artists, am interviewed by a wandering Dutch journalist, and meet two friendly Austrians.
-Dirtier/Poorer/less educated/developed: people speak less english here, the internet is slower, there are fewer modern technological accouterments, and the poverty has a more severe feeling to it. There are tons of people trying to extract money from me, who are not particularly charming or inventive. It is easier to bargain and I get lower prices.
-Religiously tense and possibly less diverse/pluralistic. I meet no one who isn't a hindu. There was a terrorist attack a month ago in one of the main public areas along the river, the trauma is evident. There are soldiers all around the main temple, although they seem bored. The closest analogy to walking the streets of Varanasi is wandering around the old city in Jerusalem.
-More culturally foreign. The backpackers and tourists I meet here feel like strangers in a strange landers. I have a nice dinner with a french pair of artists, am interviewed by a wandering Dutch journalist, and meet two friendly Austrians.
Still Waters Run Deep
In of one of the final scenes of Return of the Jedi , Luke Skywalker burns the body of Anakin Skywalker, his father. This always seemed strange to me: most Jedis fade away when they die or fade away, but there is clearly something symbolic for in the burning, particularly since the helmet of Darth Vader is shown amidst the flames.
After two days in the Holy city of Varanasi, I have begun to understand the significance of the burning scene. The draw in Varanasi is the mighty Ganges river, which flows still and deep by a packed and dirty city in Uttar Pradesh state, in the northeastern central of India. Hindus come to Varanasi from all over India (from all over the world?) to observe a ritual of death. The body of a dead family member (father or mother, I think) is washed in the river and then placed on wood to burn, surrounded by the family.
Varanasi is a serious and tense place, not unlike the old city in Jerusalem. It's hard to tell if the Hindus and Muslims get along here and one senses that place and space are contested. Cows, goats, and dogs roam freely, even next to the burning bodies.
After two days in the Holy city of Varanasi, I have begun to understand the significance of the burning scene. The draw in Varanasi is the mighty Ganges river, which flows still and deep by a packed and dirty city in Uttar Pradesh state, in the northeastern central of India. Hindus come to Varanasi from all over India (from all over the world?) to observe a ritual of death. The body of a dead family member (father or mother, I think) is washed in the river and then placed on wood to burn, surrounded by the family.
Varanasi is a serious and tense place, not unlike the old city in Jerusalem. It's hard to tell if the Hindus and Muslims get along here and one senses that place and space are contested. Cows, goats, and dogs roam freely, even next to the burning bodies.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Gurgaon
Flew up to Delhi from Cochin on a Spicejet flight. One of the worst flights i've been on in my life, terrible service and worth avoiding.
Landing in Delhi from Cochin is like traveling from Southern Spain to Warsaw. It's cold and foggy and no one is smiling or relaxed in the airport. My attempt at conversation with backpacking Norwegians sputters out. Geography seems to be destiny. I change my clothing and refrain from making further small talk.
My taxi driver reminds me of an unpleasant cartoon character, Ren/Stimpy mixed with Beavis or Butthead. He tries to swindle me out of 10 rupees for a toll i've already paid for and I resist. He laughs viciously and turns the music up all the way, so that my eardrums are pounded. I smile and feign dancing. Then he gets pulled over by the police and they write him a ticket for not wearing a seat belt. He has no idea where the hotel is and I end up directing him by sight/intuition.
Am staying in Gurgaon, which is bizarre and reminds me of a dirtier and less developed version of Kuala Lumpur.
I have dinner with two friendly Americans, one of whom works for a renewables start-up here in Delhi. The dinner is heavy, full of meat, and finished with a delicious dessert called Kheer (sp?).
Landing in Delhi from Cochin is like traveling from Southern Spain to Warsaw. It's cold and foggy and no one is smiling or relaxed in the airport. My attempt at conversation with backpacking Norwegians sputters out. Geography seems to be destiny. I change my clothing and refrain from making further small talk.
My taxi driver reminds me of an unpleasant cartoon character, Ren/Stimpy mixed with Beavis or Butthead. He tries to swindle me out of 10 rupees for a toll i've already paid for and I resist. He laughs viciously and turns the music up all the way, so that my eardrums are pounded. I smile and feign dancing. Then he gets pulled over by the police and they write him a ticket for not wearing a seat belt. He has no idea where the hotel is and I end up directing him by sight/intuition.
Am staying in Gurgaon, which is bizarre and reminds me of a dirtier and less developed version of Kuala Lumpur.
I have dinner with two friendly Americans, one of whom works for a renewables start-up here in Delhi. The dinner is heavy, full of meat, and finished with a delicious dessert called Kheer (sp?).
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