there's no place like home!
I've been singing that for days. That and every Christmas carol I know. Brad and I can't wait to be back in Iowa! We leave tomorrow morning, so with stops in Dubai and Dallas and an overnight in Frankfurt, that puts us home at 5:30 Sunday night. Iowa time.
And as a special early Christmas present to you all, Brad and I have an announcement (and no, it's not a baby). We have firmly decided that after our two years in India are up we are going to move back home, for good! And then maybe have some babies :)
The knowledge that we will soon have years in Iowa makes the piddly two weeks seem less tragic. It's a short amount of time, but I plan to use it well. Get ready.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Old Delhi
On Thanksgiving we had professional development at school. As if that isn’t bad enough, Brad and I were still both feeling sick. My version of the disease ended with a rash all over my body and Brad had only gotten over his fever the day before. He had to go to the hospital and get a shot in his butt. So, it wasn’t with much enthusiasm that we boarded the plane to Delhi.
We perked up, though almost right away. Delhi was COLD, and it was great to feel freezing. But I can’t say the air was cold and clear, Delhi is green, full of parks and trees, but it is so polluted. I guess you can expect that in a city of over 12 million.
We spent Friday touring Old Delhi. We hired a taxi for the day, thinking that’d be it, but our taxi pulled up to the gates of the old city to have a quick chat with another guy and before we knew it we were on a cycle rickshaw. I swear, we don’t plan these things, they just happen. So there we were, being peddled through the streets of Delhi where I saw things I thought I’d only ever see in magazines: a man with elephantitis of the foot, kids stuffed into little cages being pulled to school on a bike, severely crippled beggars, barbers on the street. And that’s just what we saw. At one point we drove past what we think might have been a prison and heard horrific screaming coming from inside. And then there were the smells, oh the smells….
Our first stop was a mosque, the largest in India. They were getting ready for Eid, so there were pray mats being laid out. It was a big, peaceful place.
After the mosque the rickshaw driver wound around through all these really tiny streets. The streets were just packed, and really colorful and loud. I told Brad it was like Merle Hay Mall at Christmastime, but of course, it was unlike anything I've ever seen.
At one point the driver stopped and told us to go see the Jain temple, so we did. Inside we weren't allowed to take pictures, or wear shoes or leather. Also, menstruating women were prohibited and we had to wash our hands and mouths before going in. I wanted to be respectful, but there was no way I was going to put Delhi tap water in my mouth, so I only just pretended. I can't really explain what went on inside, because I was kind of in a state by that time, like I'd fallen asleep and woken up on some other planet, some really weird, loud planet with lots of ringing bells and chanting....
Anyway, we eventually left the temple and made our way to the Red Fort, built by the Mughals in the 15th century. Like the other undertakings of Shah Jahan, the Red Fort is impressive and opulent, full of arches and marble and precious stones. We walked around for a quite a while, but we were still pretty tired from the illness so we decided to head back to the hotel for naps.
We perked up, though almost right away. Delhi was COLD, and it was great to feel freezing. But I can’t say the air was cold and clear, Delhi is green, full of parks and trees, but it is so polluted. I guess you can expect that in a city of over 12 million.
We spent Friday touring Old Delhi. We hired a taxi for the day, thinking that’d be it, but our taxi pulled up to the gates of the old city to have a quick chat with another guy and before we knew it we were on a cycle rickshaw. I swear, we don’t plan these things, they just happen. So there we were, being peddled through the streets of Delhi where I saw things I thought I’d only ever see in magazines: a man with elephantitis of the foot, kids stuffed into little cages being pulled to school on a bike, severely crippled beggars, barbers on the street. And that’s just what we saw. At one point we drove past what we think might have been a prison and heard horrific screaming coming from inside. And then there were the smells, oh the smells….
Our first stop was a mosque, the largest in India. They were getting ready for Eid, so there were pray mats being laid out. It was a big, peaceful place.
After the mosque the rickshaw driver wound around through all these really tiny streets. The streets were just packed, and really colorful and loud. I told Brad it was like Merle Hay Mall at Christmastime, but of course, it was unlike anything I've ever seen.
At one point the driver stopped and told us to go see the Jain temple, so we did. Inside we weren't allowed to take pictures, or wear shoes or leather. Also, menstruating women were prohibited and we had to wash our hands and mouths before going in. I wanted to be respectful, but there was no way I was going to put Delhi tap water in my mouth, so I only just pretended. I can't really explain what went on inside, because I was kind of in a state by that time, like I'd fallen asleep and woken up on some other planet, some really weird, loud planet with lots of ringing bells and chanting....
Anyway, we eventually left the temple and made our way to the Red Fort, built by the Mughals in the 15th century. Like the other undertakings of Shah Jahan, the Red Fort is impressive and opulent, full of arches and marble and precious stones. We walked around for a quite a while, but we were still pretty tired from the illness so we decided to head back to the hotel for naps.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
happy late Thanksgiving
Happy late Thanksgiving! I hope you all had a great day and lots of good turkey. Brad and I spent the Thanksgiving weekend in New Delhi and Agra. The main purpose of the trip was to see the Taj Mahal, which was spectacular. And we have finally recovered from our horrible disease, whatever it was.
I am going to try to get pictures up soon, but it's going to be a busy week. I am going to Sri Lanka on Thursday with the soccer team, which could be fun, but there is only one place I want to be right now. Being sick made us really REALLY homesick and I can't wait to be back in Iowa.
I am going to try to get pictures up soon, but it's going to be a busy week. I am going to Sri Lanka on Thursday with the soccer team, which could be fun, but there is only one place I want to be right now. Being sick made us really REALLY homesick and I can't wait to be back in Iowa.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
fever
I am writing this to you from the grips of a tortuous fever. It's been three days now, three days of aches, chills, sweats and splitting headaches. My whole body hurts, even the tops of my feet are sore. The worst part is that I made Brad sick too. I started to feel sick on Thursday morning, he went down about 12 hours later.
We make a pretty pathetic pair, you would cry if you saw us, curled up on the couch, huddled under two blankets a piece in 80 degree weather. The only thing that seems to bring any relief is a hot shower, but that requires standing, and that takes a lot of effort.
The other sad thing, and this might really make you cry, is that we had to miss the early Thanksgiving celebration, going on right now. There's a ham there, and I haven't had pork in months. Months! I was so looking forward to that ham.
Instead I'll have what I've been eating for the past 7 meals, water and toast. Maybe I'll find the strength to make a cup of tea...
We make a pretty pathetic pair, you would cry if you saw us, curled up on the couch, huddled under two blankets a piece in 80 degree weather. The only thing that seems to bring any relief is a hot shower, but that requires standing, and that takes a lot of effort.
The other sad thing, and this might really make you cry, is that we had to miss the early Thanksgiving celebration, going on right now. There's a ham there, and I haven't had pork in months. Months! I was so looking forward to that ham.
Instead I'll have what I've been eating for the past 7 meals, water and toast. Maybe I'll find the strength to make a cup of tea...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Hash House Harriers
I have many ways of embarrassing myself. But I discovered last night that fainting and then puking in front of 50 strangers is the most assured way of reaching total embarrassment. Let's see, where do I begin this story.....
The Hash House Harriers call themselves a drinking club with a running problem and there are groups of them all over the world. They meet to do two things 1. run 2. drink beer. We'd heard about the Harriers before, but I always assumed it was just a running club, which of course, made me stay away. When I saw an ad in the ever-so-informative Chennai expat magazine that promoted "an hour of running/walking followed by infinite fun and beer" I decided it'd be worth a try.
Now, I've never been a runner. I'm actually really not good at it at all. But I did a lot of treadmill running to get in shape for the wedding and I've been beating the middle school girls in their soccer practice warmups, so I was feeling up to an hour run.
Brad didn't begin this new adventure enthusiastically, but as soon as we got going he was having the time of his life. Not so much because he's a naturally talented runner (and he is) but because there was a group of college girls who took a strong liking to him.
The idea of the Hash House Harriers is that two to four people, the hares, set a trail and the rest of us follow them. Last night the trail was supposed to be marked by chalk, but most of that was washed away by the monsoon, so I always just followed the biggest pack of people, which often took me off course. All in all we did about 8 kilometers through neighborhoods, fishing villages and along the beach. Along the way I encountered naked kids, who ran with us for a ways, drunk men who tried to fondle me and got shoved and kicked, a big-ass rat and lots of bewildered, but smiling faces of people who came out of their houses to smile and wave at us, bare-legged, naked-shouldered, pale people, running for no apparent reason.
After the run I felt great, and felt even better when someone handed me a bottle of beer. There was a little ceremony for "the virgins" where Brad and I sat on a big block of ice while people sang a song and we chugged yet another beer. Then dinner was served, and that's when I started to feel a little fuzzy. I turned to Brad and told him I thought we should go, but it was too late. The next thing I knew I was waking up from a nice long sleep with Brad's face just inches from mine shouting, "Sarah, look at me!"
Apparently, I'd fainted dead away, legs crumpled under me, eyes staring. Brad was terrified and did what the movies had taught him to do: grab my upper body up off the ground and shout, "Sarah, NOOOOOO!" I shouldn't tease, he really was scared, and told me that there is nothing funny about this what-so-ever, but it's the day after now, so I think we can all have a good chuckle.
Anway, it gets worse. Brad took me to a chair and everyone was trying not to stare, but couldn't help it, and that's when I started throwing up. And it was really, just mortifying.
Eventually, we made our way out to the car, but not before everyone stopped me with a piece of advice, drink water, carry candy with you, go see the doctor... but I'm pretty sure it was just a small case of dehydration. What I'm not sure about it whether or not I'll be able to go back and show my face again. Once you become a real Hasher they give you a name, White Wolf, Lord Krishna, something like that. And I just can't stop thinking about what they'll try to name me.
The Hash House Harriers call themselves a drinking club with a running problem and there are groups of them all over the world. They meet to do two things 1. run 2. drink beer. We'd heard about the Harriers before, but I always assumed it was just a running club, which of course, made me stay away. When I saw an ad in the ever-so-informative Chennai expat magazine that promoted "an hour of running/walking followed by infinite fun and beer" I decided it'd be worth a try.
Now, I've never been a runner. I'm actually really not good at it at all. But I did a lot of treadmill running to get in shape for the wedding and I've been beating the middle school girls in their soccer practice warmups, so I was feeling up to an hour run.
Brad didn't begin this new adventure enthusiastically, but as soon as we got going he was having the time of his life. Not so much because he's a naturally talented runner (and he is) but because there was a group of college girls who took a strong liking to him.
The idea of the Hash House Harriers is that two to four people, the hares, set a trail and the rest of us follow them. Last night the trail was supposed to be marked by chalk, but most of that was washed away by the monsoon, so I always just followed the biggest pack of people, which often took me off course. All in all we did about 8 kilometers through neighborhoods, fishing villages and along the beach. Along the way I encountered naked kids, who ran with us for a ways, drunk men who tried to fondle me and got shoved and kicked, a big-ass rat and lots of bewildered, but smiling faces of people who came out of their houses to smile and wave at us, bare-legged, naked-shouldered, pale people, running for no apparent reason.
After the run I felt great, and felt even better when someone handed me a bottle of beer. There was a little ceremony for "the virgins" where Brad and I sat on a big block of ice while people sang a song and we chugged yet another beer. Then dinner was served, and that's when I started to feel a little fuzzy. I turned to Brad and told him I thought we should go, but it was too late. The next thing I knew I was waking up from a nice long sleep with Brad's face just inches from mine shouting, "Sarah, look at me!"
Apparently, I'd fainted dead away, legs crumpled under me, eyes staring. Brad was terrified and did what the movies had taught him to do: grab my upper body up off the ground and shout, "Sarah, NOOOOOO!" I shouldn't tease, he really was scared, and told me that there is nothing funny about this what-so-ever, but it's the day after now, so I think we can all have a good chuckle.
Anway, it gets worse. Brad took me to a chair and everyone was trying not to stare, but couldn't help it, and that's when I started throwing up. And it was really, just mortifying.
Eventually, we made our way out to the car, but not before everyone stopped me with a piece of advice, drink water, carry candy with you, go see the doctor... but I'm pretty sure it was just a small case of dehydration. What I'm not sure about it whether or not I'll be able to go back and show my face again. Once you become a real Hasher they give you a name, White Wolf, Lord Krishna, something like that. And I just can't stop thinking about what they'll try to name me.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Chennai Chicken Center
Yesterday it was an almost cold 70 degrees and I was in the mood for white chicken chili. I've been able to find frozen, packaged chicken breasts a couple of times, but the grocery store by our house doesn't always have them in stock and yesterday they were out. Faced with a half hour car ride to the grocery store that always has chicken in stock I mustered my courage and headed down the street to a place that I'd only seen through a thick cloud of flies: the Chennai Chicken Center.
Even though the chicken center is just steps away from our house, I never knew what went on there. To really see this place you have to get right up in front of it. From there you can peer over the plywood barrier seperating the store from the street and see a man holding a rusty blade, a couple of buckets and ten or so chickens, clucking around in the back.
I would have turned around, made a bean chili instead, but our driver, determined to be helpful, was already placing an order. I told him I wanted white meat and he just gave me a quizzical look. "You have a knife?" he asked.
"Here?"
"At home."
I could only just reply with a little head bobble because my mind was racing, "A knife? What the hell?"
My worst fears were put to rest when the man behind the plywood pulled an already dead chicken from a big bucket on the floor.
Again the driver turned to me, "One kilo, 100 rupees. Ok?"
I wish I could say that I handled myself with complete composure, but really I just stood there, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, "Sure, yes. Ok."
A few strokes of the knife later I had my chicken, stuffed into a tiny plastic sack. I held it out in front of me a ways and took the ten or so steps back to the house. Once inside I checked the recipe, which called for 3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cooked and cubed.
Hmmm, how about a chicken that's been pulled from a bucket and hacked to pieces with a rusty blade?
My rationale against all the illness and disease I was up against was threefold:
1. I can't imagine conditions are any better in the slaughterhouse where the frozen breasts come from
2. I've already come this far
and
3. I want chili
So in to the frying pan it went, but just to be safe, I cooked the shit out of that thing.
Even though the chicken center is just steps away from our house, I never knew what went on there. To really see this place you have to get right up in front of it. From there you can peer over the plywood barrier seperating the store from the street and see a man holding a rusty blade, a couple of buckets and ten or so chickens, clucking around in the back.
I would have turned around, made a bean chili instead, but our driver, determined to be helpful, was already placing an order. I told him I wanted white meat and he just gave me a quizzical look. "You have a knife?" he asked.
"Here?"
"At home."
I could only just reply with a little head bobble because my mind was racing, "A knife? What the hell?"
My worst fears were put to rest when the man behind the plywood pulled an already dead chicken from a big bucket on the floor.
Again the driver turned to me, "One kilo, 100 rupees. Ok?"
I wish I could say that I handled myself with complete composure, but really I just stood there, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, "Sure, yes. Ok."
A few strokes of the knife later I had my chicken, stuffed into a tiny plastic sack. I held it out in front of me a ways and took the ten or so steps back to the house. Once inside I checked the recipe, which called for 3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cooked and cubed.
Hmmm, how about a chicken that's been pulled from a bucket and hacked to pieces with a rusty blade?
My rationale against all the illness and disease I was up against was threefold:
1. I can't imagine conditions are any better in the slaughterhouse where the frozen breasts come from
2. I've already come this far
and
3. I want chili
So in to the frying pan it went, but just to be safe, I cooked the shit out of that thing.
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