Just Peeking in Real Quick Like

Hey All,

Sorry for the disappearing act. I'll explain why I wasn't able to update all of you wonderful folks on how cool Sri Lanka was. Just wanted to drop in and ask you to wait another day or two while I catch up on some work I planned to do during my trip but wasn't able to, and no, it isn't getting caught up on Pinterest. Promise. Oh shut up, it's work. And partly Pinterest, so sue me.

Becky

Sri Lanka SNAFU

Mood: Rested

Listening to: Tron on TV

We were supposed to leave for Sri Lank this morning. We woke up early, ran around eating breakfast, packing last minute things and making sure our passports and tickets were in our pockets. The cab came on time and we drove the hour to the airport. When we got there, we were told that our flight was preponed and that we were too late to get on it. Wait, what? Tell me this, who prepones a flight? I’ve been flying all over the place my entire life, and I’ve never heard of preponing and flight. Our travel agent, Yatra, apparently was supposed to let us know about this change. Had they done that, we would have gone earlier to the airport. It was a big problem because we were supposed to fly into Chennai and then catch a connecting flight to Colombo.  The only flight available was at 5 pm, and then we’d have to stay overnight in Chennai, at our own expense. After about 4 hours of arguing on the phone, we arrived at a compromise that we would move our trip forward by 1 day.  Since we were flying into Chennai and then on to Sri Lanka , it wasn’t possible to go later in the day today.

I was rather pissed that Yatra tried to blame us for coming late and then wanted us to go some crazy route (through Mumbai!) and get to Columbo at 4 am. Um yeah, take some more crack lady, cause that ain’t happening. Where the hell is the logic there? Go north to Mumbai and then way back south. All so you don’t have to move our hotel reservations 1 day later. I love watching my husband take on people who try to pull this tom foolery. It’s the only time the Buddha man (albeing not a laughing Buddha, Daddy G is a toothpick!) gets worked up and yells at people about stuff. It’s sexy.

See, this leads to bad PR Yatra, very bad PR for you. People, be wary of Yatra. Traditional travel agents are a smarter idea, even if they are a little more expensive. 

So, it turned out ok, because I really needed the 3 hour nap I took after we went back home because I am a book junkie and stayed up late last night reading. Hopefully tomorrow morning goes more smoothly!

Becky

I'm Afraid I'm Going To Have to Punch the Tailor

Mood: Happy, in spite of it all

Listening to: Alien Vs. Predator

When my mother in law came to visit me last month, she brought me a sari. I was super excited because I only have 2, which I have worn many times, and can also drape my own saris now.  My housekeeper Indira recommended a tailor in our neighborhood, so we brought the fabric to have it sewn. Tailors here are typically men, even for the ladies.

When we walked in, the tailor was not very busy. He did however, give my mother in law a hard time and told her he only spoke Kannada (the local language in Karnataka, Bangalore’s state). He then refused to measure me to make sure the blouse he was going to sew would fit right. Tell me this – what kind of tailor doesn’t measure someone?  My mother in law measured me and read it off to him and he took notes. We also left a fitting blouse with him to assure he got the right idea. He told us it would be a solid month before the blouse was done. We both kind of shrugged because the sari really wasn’t a rush job.

1 month later, I took my husband to pick up the sari. For some reason, his shop was closed that day, so we went home. I returned the next day to find some boys tending shop. They told me the blouse wasn’t ready yet. When I questioned them, they told me the tailor was out and it would be best for me to come back the next morning.  I agreed rather unhappily. The next day, I returned to find the tailor in the shop. He told me unfortunately the blouse wasn’t done. Since this was the third time I had tried to pick it up, I gave him a bit of a hard time about it not being done. He assured me that the next morning it would be done if I came by. After asking him 3 more times if he was sure it would be done in the morning, I left.  My husband and I stopped by the next day on the way to my sister in law’s house to be told there was some problem. Could we wait a half hour? No we could not. My husband told him if it wasn’t done on Monday, we wouldn’t pay for it.

I finally got back there this afternoon and it was done. Cue the Hallelujah chorus.

I probably won’t go back to him again. After all, how will I measure myself? I also found it was funny that he spoke both Hindi and Telugu (the language of Andhra Pradesh where my husband is from) along with English just fine. He was just being a prick the other day. Ugh. I’ll find my own tailor, thanks.

In other news, the G family is headed down to do an oogling touristy trip to Sri Lanka. It is our big trip for the year and I am super stoked about it. Hopefully, since there seems to be some interest in my writing (!!!) I will be able to keep up with the blogging while on the move.

Becky

Husband vs. Cow

Mood: Happy – Sri Lanka in 2 days!

So the family and I have had a couple of encounters with the local wildlife here. Not all of them pleasant. First there was the incredibly angry hornet, then the attack pigeon (the same day as the hornet!), the monkey that tried to eat my daughter in Ooty,  and let’s not forget the stray dog that chased me down the street with my asthmatic cousin in law and 2 kids. The wildlife (meaning anything not on a leash) is better left alone.

Apparently we have not learned our lesson well enough. We went out to eat with my sister in law and her family last weekend. We went to New Shanti Sagar. It’s a great place to get Bangalore Breakfast food and South Indian coffee. Love it. Anyhow, on the way out, we passed 2 cows. One was a yellowish/tan color and had big horns, the other looked like your standard black and white milk cow. My husband’s brother in law warned me that the yellowish one was a Mysore fighting cow and that I should steer clear of those and not even walk close to them.  I thanked him for the info (I really had no idea). The black and white cow decided that the spot right behind our parked car was the best place in the world to be. So my sister in law’s husband decided to force the cow’s hand and back up very slowly to get it to move. Most of the time this is very effective – the cows just move out of the way. The cow just sat there with a bored expression (whatever that means for a cow – it looked pretty passive aggressive to me!), not moving an inch. 

I started encouraging the cow vocally to move it. Clapping happened. I was still not comfortable approaching the cow after the advice I was given. My husband walked up and tried to shoo the cow away from a close distance. The cow apparently had enough and swung its head around at my husband really fast. My husband is 140 lbs soaking wet; he is no match for a humongous cow. I was rolling with laughter as he jumped 3 feet back from the cow. We both just sat there trying to figure out how to get the damn cow to move. About 2 minutes later, it slowly moved on down the road. 

 Jeez. These aren’t your typical placid cud chewing cows like we’re used to in the US. Lesson learned. Beware of the cows.

Becky 

The Indian Spa or How to Spend 5 Hours Being Slathered With Every Single Cream You Can Think Of

Mood: Happy – Sri Lanka in 2 days!

Listening to: Alien Vs. Predator

I went to visit my sister in law last weekend. She decided that she wanted to do some girly bonding with me and that a spa was the perfect place to do it. Apparently, almost everyone goes to get their hair cut, get facials, get hair removed, etc.  She decided dragging her brother (my husband) was also needed. Her husband stayed home with both my two nieces and my two daughters – bless his heart!

We went on a Saturday afternoon, which meant it was packed. We only ended up waiting for a half hour, so it was ok.  I decided to get a haircut, a fruit facial, and a coconut oil hair massage.  I haven’t gotten my hair cut since we moved to India 6 months ago – I’m rather intimidated by going by myself and not being able to explain what it is I want done. This sounds silly, but I’ve actually had this happen at a Dominican salon in the US, so my sister in law was much appreciated reinforcement. Fruit facials are pretty self explanatory.  Coconut hair oil massages are also.

I went in first to get my hair cut. My sister in law explained what I wanted to the stylist. She cut my hair in 10 minutes flat (shortest haircut time evar), complaining the whole time that I was having hair fall. Hair fall is an Indian euphemism for your hair falling out, for whatever reason. This wasn’t news for me, I’ve been trying to get it to stop for a year now. I even saw a dermatologist in the US who told me it was a nutritional thing, but had no idea how to fix it. Gee, thanks.  I told her I knew about it, but she continued on about the whole time.

After that was done, my sister in law and I went upstairs to start our hair massages. They had us change into really loose tops that tied over our chests.  We both sat in chairs for a few minutes. The girls came in with bowls of warmed coconut oil and proceeded to massage the hell out of our heads. It was really intense sometimes, but absolutely wonderful. I loved it. I ended up looking like a greased pig, but it was wonderful. They washed my hair out later.

For our facials, we were asked to lay down on our backs on a bed that was covered with a big plastic sheet. It was a little odd, but that was how this salon was set up. She proceeded to smear this lotion/potion/hoodoo juice all over my face for the next 2 hours. IF you’re a person who is uncomfortable with a stranger touching you while you’re not fully dressed or don’t like too much touching in general, an Indian spa is definitely not for you.  After I was done, I was thoroughly touched out, but nicely relaxed.

4 days later, my skin has thoroughly exploded. Not sure what all junk she put on my face, but my skin does not like it at all.

Becky

The One in Which I Blush and Simper and Can't Believe You all Like Me, You Really Like Me

Ok, not really. I'm not much for carrying on. But. My friend Lady in Red has indeed popped my blog award cherry. Thank you so much! I'll refrain from making corny jokes about buying me dinner first, but trust me people, I'm barely holding it in over here.

^This right here is some exciting stuff^

Lady in Red writes here: http://abozosabbozzo.blogspot.in/ and you simply must check it out. She is a fellow non-Indian living in India and has great stories and pics. Share the love people, check her out!




Ok, let's see what else I can dig out of my blog list to share. 


1. A Beer for the Shower - I love these guys.  They have a totally kick ass cartoon blog that regularly has me rolling on the floor laughing. 


2. Confessions of a Corn Fed Girl - Johi is one of my favorite bloggers. She is always fun, sassy, and totally rocking who she is. Check her out.


3. Dogs on Drugs - In case anyone hasn't noticed, I like me some funny. This guy brings the funny. I absolutely love seeing a new post in my email. Love it.


4. Good Youngman Brown - This guy has mastered a mix of funny, snarky, and intelligently contemplative. Without being a douche. Check him out.


5. Mayor Gia - Another blogger who definitely floats my boat. Every time she shows up in my email, I end up laughing. She's the kind of chick I could share a bottle of wine with, or 3, we won't tell anyone the real amount.


There it is people. Read and enjoy.

This is the Way We Wash our Clothes, Early in the Morning

Listening to: Jesse’s Girl – Rick Springfield

Mood: Coffee.

Washing clothes is a little different for me in India. For the first time ever, the G family actually owns its own washing machine, rather than just using one from a landlord or funding a laundry mat. The machine is an LG and I would marry it if only it would wash dishes too. That’s right people, mechanical polygamy.

 I have finally gotten the idea of doing smaller loads every day or two rather than doing a mountain every 2 weeks. Go ahead mom, I’ll wait while you gloat and say I told you so! It takes me a while for common sense suggestions to sink in. The inertias, I am attached to it. Anyhow, we use our washing machine on a very regular basis.

However, some of my clothes are beyond wimpy and require coddling. My salwar Kameeze, my tunics from Fab India (because I really want them to last for a while) and my kids Indian clothes all have to be washed by hand. I know I have the tendency to Martha Stewart bomb the house when I am having company, but let me tell you people, I am not cut out for life without machines. If I were a pioneer woman, my Dutch/Viking genes would probably save me from cholera, but would do nothing to prevent me from dying of exposure when I got too lazy to hand wash my clothes for the 10 bazillionth time.

This morning, I decided the growing mountain of disgruntled, dirty clothing just couldn’t wait to be washed. My housekeeper offered to do this for me once (because girl is hustling and always looking for more ways to earn the rupees), but she seems to have a serious delusion about doing more work than she actually has time for. Which is totally not a big deal. This does however make me do the laundry early in the morning before she comes to our house; otherwise she bothers me to do it. Something about me doing any work triggers some guilt response from her.

So I busted out my gaucho pants (because there are few things on earth I hate more than having wet jean hems!!) and trusty plastic buckets, headed to the shower and got to work. One capful of handwash detergent to one bucket of water. Insert one piece of clothing at a time (because these clothes do not like soaking) and wet thoroughly. Crouch down and scrub away. The best way I’ve found is to just rub the cloth against itself. Very bad for the back and knees to crouch the whole time, but it beats bending over and standing up 80 times.  Rinse under the tap, which has by now switched randomly from cold water (the non-fabric-bleedy type) to warm water, which does turn the fabric all bleedy.

I haven’t quite got a handle on how the water in India works. During the winter, the water is ice cold and stays that way unless you heat up the geezer for an ungodly amount of time, and then returns to cold after you have used up the 10 available minutes of nice hot water. During the summer, if you only turn on the cold tap, the water will come out actually cold for 1 bucket of water. After which, it will turn a warm-ish temp for no reason. We often don’t use the geezer during the summer, because if the water is going to come out decently warm, why spend the money on heating the water anyways? Besides, who wants a hot shower when it’s hot and sweaty outside?? Not this Dutch girl. I like me some cold showers in the summer.

Anyhow, after thorough rinsing in which you worry that you will have a non-colored shirt when you’re done, throw into another empty bucket. When you have finished all the clothes, or filled the bucket, walk very, very slowly and carefully (think 80 year old type walking) across the stone tile floor so you don’t fall and break multiple bones because your feet are still wet and snails couldn’t even make this more slippery. Seriously, it’s dangerous.

Hang your clothes on very small, thin strings stretched out across your porch, cursing about why your husband won’t just buy you a clothes rack already. Re-tie 3 of the strings that decide they just aren’t feeling like supporting clothes today. Fuss that the strings are so stretched out your clothes rest against the porch that is covered in dust and pigeon detritus, in spite of your best efforts to clean it every day and chase those little bastards off. Worry that it will be windy again today and that you will have to chase your clothes all over the compound after they blow off of your 7^th floor porch. End up cursing the monsoon rains and hail that soak your clothes when they were 90% dry. Swear that you will never again hand wash the clothes.

There you are people, that is how laundry day is at our house. I’m having some serious white picket fence fantasies about clothes lines and washing machines in the US right now.

Becky