Musings on Melba Toast

Feliz Navidad!

2010-12-21T04:23:00.001-08:00

At long last, the holidays are upon us! A chill is in the air and Santa is making the rounds in an antique fire truck, revving up for his big night on the 24th. However, in a departure from tradition, the happy Hall clan is migrating south to Costa Rica for the holidays.

You could safely say we got a head start on the day with a 4am wake-up call where we were greeted this morning by the last gasps of a lunar eclipse. We missed the moon turning it's distinctive red hue but did catch it with a big round missing from it's side.

Quite a sight to start the morning, soon seconded by a woman we saw in the airport at 5:45 am sporting python-print stilletos, snake-skin leggings and a fluffly white fur hat perched on her head somewhat resembling a marshmallow.

Plane is quickly filling up and doors about to close...will try to track our travels as we traverse Costa Rica over the next week and a half.

Wishing you all a very happy holiday season, wherever it may find you!

Location:Radar Rd,Newark,United States

Man Magnets

2010-12-17T23:57:00.001-08:00

Plane leaves in 9 hours, super shuttle is here in less than 7 and I have decided to take a break from packing (in truth, a breather before starting to pack) to pen a much-needed blog!

It will be short as the to-do list is lengthy but I was inspired to stretch my blogging muscles because the upcoming Hall family trip to Costa Rica will no doubt need to be documented.

And this brief entry is inspired by a recent blog I read about in the NY times called The Man Repeller. The author lives in NYC and has a sense of style that she jokingly describes as befuddling the opposite sex and in fact, repelling them. Select examples of such articles of clothing include harem pants, rompers, onesies, and my favorite - "birth control glasses" -or big Granny frames. You can see her in all her glory at www.manrepeller.com and I would highly reccommend it for a good laugh.

In contrast, while I do not own onesies nor floral, ruffled harem pants, the blog does remind me that what men do seem to comment on can leave a woman befuddled herself. Take the rainboots above. I fully admit they are mine - I think my mom got them for me for Christmas three years ago and I liked them but was never prepared for the compliments that would shower down whenever I wore them.

It would be a safe bet that well over half of the males in my acquaintance have said they are "cute" or "great." And just tonight, I was out for drinks amd sliders with two (very straight) guys from the office and one looked down and said - "I am sure I saw you in the office today and I know you definitely weren't wearing those fabulous boots. I think you should have - they are so stripey!"

Stripey indeed and I can only speculate what makes them so eye-catching. The contrast? The lack of color?

I just do not know but what I do know is that if you need a pick-me-up, get yourself a pair of stripey rainboots, splash through a few puddles and see what happens!

Location:Vallejo St,San Francisco,United States

Time for a Warm Up...

2010-07-05T15:43:00.000-07:00

Alas, my last post occurred in September 2009 and I am dreadfully out of blogging shape! However, time to stretch my fingers and dive back into this because frankly, I feel like I need it. Writing email after email at work can get dreadfully tedious and I think a creative outlet would serve me well. And, I am thankful to say that while I may not be globe-trotting, I am lucky to still have little adventures to write about so I think that now is the time to try my luck again at this...

...so I will begin with a brief post with a whirlwind tour of the globe - through the world of food trucks. I was first introduced to the concept of a food truck in Toronto when the shiny aluminum "roach coach" would stop by our house during the midst of renovations and the contractors put down their tools and took a break for lunch. I was somewhat fascinated by what came out of the roach coach but my parents made sure to me a healthy distance away.

My next run-in with food trucks was at Penn. They were scattered around campus and a handful you steered clear from but a select few had cult followings and lunch-time lines could stretch around the block as people waited for the vegetarian meatball wraps from Magic Carpet or the egg sandwiches from Bui's. Nevertheless, while I did sample a few, I hardly became an avid fan and preferred to stick to whatever basic nosh I threw together at home - which, as my mom would chime in, did not seem to consist of much more than some combination of sweet potato, deli cold-cuts, peanut butter, and carrot sticks.

Fast forward to 2010, and the food truck has been elevated to gourmet levels. San Francisco takes its food very seriously, and I think most would turn up their noses at the idea of a foot-long hoagie sandwich slathered in ketchup and stuffed with fried eggs courtesy of Bui. Food trucks are few and far between in the city, but they have now begun to congregate on a Friday evening at Fort Mason for an event called "Off the Grid."

While I think eating food from a truck with a cash register that charges sales tax does not quite qualify as "off the grid," I can't complain when food from all corners of the world converges in a gorgeous location under the gaze of the Golden Gate just over a mile from my apartment. And this past Friday, a friend and I headed their after work for dinner and oh my, did we enjoy ourselves.

It started with a Malaysian Mint Chicken Curry in a Crepe that was quite yummy - spicy with a wonderful aroma of mint every so often. And it was served in a lacy yellow crepe that was quite pretty. By the time we had enjoyed the crepe, the lines had considerably grown and we decided to split up. I waited patiently at Kung Fu Tacos for a $2 asian taco that we concluded was quite yummy although it did not come close to the finale - Chairman Bao.

Chairman Bao was by far the most stunning food truck of all. A dramatic departure from a basic silver roach coach, the Bao mobile is a brilliant red with wonderful swirls of stylized waves and an image of Chairman Bao himself - a big panda bear resembling a certain politician. And it had come up with some very creative fare - steamed Chinese buns with very creative combinations of stuffings. A traditional steamed bun has fillings safely hidden inside the bun, making it somewhat challenging to tell whether you are about to get a mouthful of barbecued pork or sweet lotus paste. However, Chairman Bao has transformed the bun into a taco-like cup that can then be easily filled with yummy combinations like red sesame chicken with bok choy and scallions, as seen below...

We wrapped up the feast with a few treats from La Cocina, a non-profit, shared use kitchen in San Francisco where entrepreneurs can start food businesses - a place close to my heart after my summer working at Nuestra Culinary Ventures, a similar organization in Boston that was the topic of my senior urban studies thesis and now, unfortunately, no longer with us! However, La Cocina - which I profiled in my thesis as a success story - continues to grow and bring us such delights as Kika's Treats and Clairesquares.

After all of this, we practically had to roll ourselves home but with at least one considerable hill between myself and home, a brisk walk back had me ready for one more bao ;)

Until soon - bon appetit!

Sea dogs and antifreeze

2009-09-26T00:04:00.001-07:00

After a few too many long days at work this week, my colleague and I took advantage of the need to get a letter to San Jose by the end of the day by taking a little road trip to the south bay. We broke out of the office around 1pm and we were on our way! After a successful drop-off of the letters and a little "solar site seeing" in a nearby town where we have done some work, the hot sun was leaving us parched so we went in search of water. I was on the look-out for a convenience store or even a "cigarettes and water" shop - an establishment I have only ever seen in California. But then, I caught glimpse of the words "tastee freezee" through some drooping foliage and I knew we had reached our destination.

We pulled in to the parking lot of what turned out to be a Weinerschnitzel, a chain of restaurants with a menu that leaves your mouth agape and a marketing scheme that makes your eyes spin.

The highlights of the menu are "America's Most Wanted Combos," including such delights as corn dogs, pastrami sandwiches, and my favorite, a sea dog. Said combo appears to be a fish finger shaped like a hotdog in a bun with tartar sauce. For the more adventurous, there is the "polish sandwich" that contains some combination of hot dogs, pickles, lettuce, mayonaise and relish sandwiched between two slices of bread. If this is what Americans are craving, heaven help us.

To compliment this array of tasty entrees, one may decide to add on one of their specialities as an appetizer if you may - does a chili cheese fries burrito strike your fancy?

When not looking at the menu, the decor itself was enough to make you scratch your head in slight bewilderment. A vibrant red and yellow color scheme with black and white photos on the walls of 1950's wholesome young pin-ups in letter cardigans and holding beach balls with "18 cent hot dogs" inscribed on the side. Then, perhaps in an attempt at being hip and cool, they had covered the letters "der" on the poster advertising their "under $1 menu" with an oval black sticker with "der" written on it, resembling the sorts of decals you might see on the bumper of a truck carrying three surfboards. However, they then got a little sticker-happy, which led to Weinerschnitzel proclaiming how "der-licious" it's limeades were.

And sitting on our table was a paper tent broadcasting what brought us here in the first place - a giant ice cream sundae topped with fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry with the words, "you just gotta want me." With such quality pick up lines, how could you say no?

Despite all of this, they did indeed have water stashed away in the back, as well as Soft-serv frozen dessert that, while probably more closely related to a rubber tree than a cow, was still pretty darn good...and left me in mood for a chili cheese topped sea dog wrapped in a burrito and deep fried. On second thought though, I felt it was better to save that culinary adventure for next time ;)

A Mountain of Many Names

2009-09-03T12:38:00.000-07:00

Still not quite done with Mount Rainier - or Mt. Hood as I mistakenly kept on calling the towering peak while we were there! I thought I would take just a few minutes as we wait for the sky to brighten to share a little more about this rather splendid volcano.

The first European to catch sight of the peak was Captain George Vancouver in 1792 and he named it in honor of his friend, Rear Admiral Peter Rainier - given that I don't believe he ever married and spent most of his 40 years circumnavigating the globe, one can only guess that Peter must have been quite a good friend indeed.

Mount Rainier is a volcano, one of the many belonging to the Pacific Ring of Fire, which is the string of volcanoes circling the Pacific up the coast of South America and then the Pacific Northwest and then around to Russia, Japan, and Southeast Asia. Mount St. Helen's, which can be seen from the foot of Mount Rainier, belongs to this infamous group and last erupted in 1980. While there is no clue of Mount Rainier erupting anytime soon, the visitor center did a very good job of capturing the extent of the destruction if it did - and giving us all nightmares in the process. As the most "glaciated" mountain in the lower 48, the heat from an eruption would melt the glaciers, sending a torrent of swirling water and debris hurtling down the mountain in a mudflow known ominously as a "lahar." As Seattle is only 54 miles away and such a distance is nothing when you are taller than K2 at 13, 210ft (4,030m)!

The mountain became the nation's 5th national park in 1899 and while the wilderness has been preserved impeccably, we were saddened by the lack of fauna! We kept our eyes peeled for the wooly white mountain goats (otherwise known as dodo mountain goats in our family when we learned from a smokie in the Canadian Rockies way back in 1993 when Duncan was in a pushchair and not the strapping 6 footer he is today that these goats are not known for their smarts) and black bears but we saw not a sausage. We then learned that as snow covers the area for 8+ month a year, only 4 months are left for the animals to get everything done - eating, courting, eating, breeding, birthing and then a little more eating! Our first thought - why bother at all? Thus, we concluded that they had moved to slightly warmer climes...except for the little rodent we found below on the hike our first day.

And while the fauna was sparse, the flora was not and wildflowers blanketed the subalpines meadows we hiked through, often clustering in dry river beds and cascading down the hills in waterfalls of purple, yellow and fuschia.

And with flowers undoubtedly come bees!

As the rain has now stopped and sky is brightening, it makes sense to wrap up as we begin to stir but here are just a few more photos of Mount Rainier to bring this chapter of our trip to a close!

View on Sunday on our drive to Paradise, WA

View on Monday from Panorama Point

Sunset on Monday evening

Sunrise Series

2009-09-03T11:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning before we drove off like a "herd of turtles" north to Olympia National Park where I sit now, gazing out onto a misty lake and, unfortunately, rather drizzley day, Mom and I woke up early to go catch Mount Rainier before sunrise. The morning was beautifully still and mountain looked stunning...

Yet, just a few hours later, a wispy cloud had seemingly caught on it's rounded peak like a blindfold...after this last glimpse, we were on our way to the Peninsula!

Perched on Panorama Point

2009-09-02T19:19:00.000-07:00

Perched on a rock at the base of Mt. Rainier with a stunning panorama of the Cascades round about us. Jagged peaks with patches of snow tucked away in recesses of the mountains with towering evergreens spreading out below in front of us while to the left are layers of hazy hills, growing bluer as they roll back towards the horizon. In the far distance is Mt St Helen's and Mt. Adams, rounded yet imposing peaks with fluffy clouds atop. And behind us is Mt. Rainier itself - a massive behemoth of greyish stone stritrated with dirty blue glaciers that I fear are disappearing before our eyes. The dull roar of water falls in the background as a cool breeze whispers past our ears. Not a bad place to be on your birthday!

Headed for Neverland!

2009-09-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

Seated now in 22F about to lift off on my way to Seattle for a family vacation to Washington! Very excited and the trip could not have to gotten off to a better start as my plane is plastered with an image of Tinkerbell...I'm off to Never, Never Land!

A Case of the Monday Mornings

2009-08-19T00:51:00.001-07:00

On Monday morning, my mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts as I walked to work, thinking of what the week might bring, but I was pleasantly jolted into a much more positive mindset after seeing the headline on the San Franciso Chronicle in a newsbox - "BART strike off." BART is the name of the Bay Area's train system and the main way for people to commute from the East Bay suburbs to the financial district. While meeting with my boss last Thursday, he thumbed through his Blackberry messages and sighed, "Looks like BART is going to strike...I wonder what I'm going to do on Monday." I responded rosily, "Ah, don't worry - they still have tomorrow to sort things out." He hardly seemed convinced but I promptly forgot about the possibility of a strike until Monday when I saw the newspaper. I couldn't help but smile when I saw it. After a few more blocks, I then walked past a man hawking Examiners sporting even better headlines - "Optimism keeps trains running." While I could hardly attribute the reversal of a strike to my own optimism, the hopes of the thousands of people who rely on the trains every day are no doubt a very powerful force of good to be reckoned with! And I couldn't help but be amazed by this beautiful example of a greater good operating each and every day in our lives on that foggy Monday morning.

French Toast for Fifty

2009-08-08T09:53:00.001-07:00

Ah, Saturday morning is here at last! Looking forward to a lazy weekend and no better way to start than with a slice of French toast with blueberries and bananas a top. I used the second to last egg I had and made a mental note to pick up another dozen when I next make it to "Whole Paycheck" - my closest grocery store where often your final receipt causes you to double take. Last time I contemplated returning the $8+ bag of cherries after I saw how much it cost in comparison to the number inside the bag! Cherries at the equivalent price per pound as caviar aside, the store always has something that makes me pause and this is the most absurd yet - whole ostrich eggs. I now must be on the lookout for unicorn milk and phoenix tears next time I'm there...

I've been a busy bee...

2009-08-02T19:31:00.001-07:00

My blogposts have been terribly few and far between of late but I endeavor to start posting more frequently. While work consumes a large amount of time, I do manage to squeeze in a few fun adventures that are worth writing about...but to start with, I wanted to share a cartoon I saw that reminded me of our lovely "cousins" and my loyal fan base at Moss Carrs!

Surfer Squirrels and Special Agents

2009-04-15T21:57:00.000-07:00

As little kids in their Sunday best scuttled around green golf courses in suburban New Jersey hunting for Easter eggs amidst the golf balls, San Francisco celebrated Easter with drag queen nuns with white makeup with names like Sister Flora Goodthyme (featured to the right) and Sister Meira-Meira Ondawall. While families carved the Easter ham, San Francisco cheered on the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence and the contestants of the Hunky Jesus contest.

However, alas, I did not make it to the riotous celebrations in the Mission, as I think it would have given my poor dad a stroke. Instead, we went on a road trip! After reviewing my taxes, we packed up enough snacks to last us a week and headed to the bright blue, big pimpin' Dodge charger that my dad had rented. We zipped on the highway - there never seems to be traffic in San Francisco - and headed south past nondescript office buildings housing every sort of start-up imaginable and then into the rolling hills about one hour south of the city, a lush green from the past week's rain. We drove past happy California cows and through Gilroy, the Garlic capital of the world, and then the Artichoke capital. According to my dad, we were only a few miles far from Salinas, the lettuce capital of the world. Fields of future caesar salad were not enough of an attraction to detour, however, and we didn't stop until we had reached McDonald's in Monterey.

Monterey is known for its gorgeous aquarium that my family visited when we all first came to Northern California (which is in reality more central as San Francisco is at about the middle of the state) 10 years ago. However, who needed to see wildlife in pools when you could see it bobbing right there in the ocean? We parked along the ocean and I leap out of the car because I thought I had seen an expired harbour seal. Well, turns out it was very much alive and he, as well as a bunch of his buddies, had wiggled their way onto the rocks in the water to loll about in the warm sun. We strolled along the water keeping an eye out for any sign of movement from the sleepy harbor seals but then headed back to the car as the day was young.

We then took the car on the 17-Mile drive, a beautiful road that winds among the golf courses featured in the Pebble Beach tournament and along the ocean. Here we saw sea lions, pelicans, harbor seals (including a mother and her baby!), and terrifyingly tame squirrels. As I tried to zoom my camera to snap a photo of one these beach rodents for a dear friend, it ran at me. Much to the amusement of everyone else enjoying the sun and the sea, I screamed and bolted in other direction. That's right, I don't mind West Philly but let loose a squirrel and I have a fit.

After I had had enough of squirrels trying to attack my ankles, we continued on to the town of Carmel-by-the-Sea, a quite nice town filled with nothing of use but countless shops selling $10 one-time use bath fizzie balls and $3000 paintings of cottages by the sea. We had lunch and ice cream - a must during any Hall family trip - before continuing even further south to Point Lobos State Reserve. It was a stunning place - a rocky peninsula jutting into the ocean with views framed by stony outcroppings and steep cliffs topped with wind-blown fir trees and eerily white skeletons of trees with wisps of moss hanging from their gnarled bare branches. As the clouds rolled in, the water went from rich greens and turquoises to a slick deep black-green. And bobbing amongst the kelp were countless otters, some playing and other floating nonchalantly on their backs rising up and down upon the waves.

Before we knew it, it was after 5pm and we knew we had to head home. We drove home along Highway 1, a road that winds along the coast, and we glimpsed the scorching red-orange sun appear beneath the cloud bank before sliding down behind the Pacific. We were getting hungry and after an unsuccessful attempt to try In-N-Out Burger, I decided to take my dad to a taco place in the Mission.

The Mission at night is a little seedy but I spotted an outpost of my favorite taco place - Cancun Taqueria - and we parked behind a beat-up maroon Saturn that kindly inched forward to let us in. We followed the Saturn's occupants into the restaurant - one was a short man with a cross on his lapel and the other a tall black man. The short man wished us a happy Easter and then started chatting to my dad in line. I've found that I get asked directions rather frequently, and people seem to love starting conversations with my dad, so before we knew it, we were invited to sit at their table for dinner.

As my dad gathered napkins for the table, the short man told my dad that his friend was a federal marshal for the government and was fully armed so we didn't have to worry - we were safe with them. You could have fooled me. I sat at dinner, wolfed down my supreme taco in minutes because I was so scared that the pair would leave with us after dinner, pretending to "protect" us as we walked to the car and then rob us at gunpoint. I tried to calm my fears but it was hard to tell where the truth ended and the bullshit began. The short man supposedly chauffeured around the Clintons when they came to San Francisco, and when special agent's cell phone ran during dinner, he pulled it out of his pocket and said, "Oh, I gotta take this - its Customs." They finished their shrimp burritos about the same time we were ready to leave so we walked out together and, praise the Lord, we got back in to our car without incident. Nothing like a little dose of adventure to end your day!

Photos coming soon, but must go fetch my laundry from the drier...more to come including a recap of my coming escapades in Los Angeles this weekend!

Red Plaid Pajamas

2009-03-07T22:20:00.000-08:00

Standing here in my kitchen as some tomato sauce bubbles away on the stove and waiting on a load of laundry to dry, I thought I would take advantage of the time to write a quick post. I've reached the six month mark for my job, and, according to a friend and colleague, that means we are now officially in a long-term relationship!

Tomato sauce is bubbling away because lots of friends and family are in town! Our dear family friend Joan who I visited just about a year ago in Milton Keynes on my trip round the world has ventured to my part of the globe for the next week. And my dad is arriving tomorrow for a few days and then my mom and brother are arriving just after he leaves for a few more days! And I'm dancing around to Jai Ho while cooking for a dinner party tomorrow night that must be meat and wheat free...in comes the eggplant and tomato gratin!

And I couldn't help but share an amusing story from today. I love living in a city for a myriad of reasons, but one of them is simply the chance interactions that can happen every day. On the eve of Chinese New Year's, a lady wearing purple hat and matching gloves struck up conversation with me on the bus heading out of Chinatown. She had taken a two hour bus ride to get to Chinatown to pick up the last few things she needed for the celebration. I asked why she didn't shop closer to home, and she responded that she had already bought as many things as she could from Costco but needed Chinatown for the rest! Reminds me of the tour bus that pulled up to Costco when I was last there, unloading a boatload of people for an hour's shop!

And today, I was sitting outside in the sun chatting to my little brother on the phone when a little lady in a black fur-esque coat and vibrant red plaid pajama pants sat down in the wire chair beside me. After setting her heavy shopping bags down, she sat for a few minutes to catch her breath before resuming her trudge home. When she got up to leave, the chair got up with her. Her pants had somehow wedged themselves into the wire and the chair was stuck to her. She seemed at a complete loss at what was happening so I tried to juggle my phone while tugging at the leg of her pants. Realizing I could not do both, I hung up the phone and tried to free her pjs from the chair with no luck. Soon another lady arrived on the scene and I held up the chair while the other woman pried the pants from the seat. Meanwhile, the little lady seemed at a complete loss. After a few minutes of struggling, we finally managed to free the lady from the chair. She thanked us and continued on her way...and I could not help but laugh!

Ok, about to lose an hour shortly thanks to daylight savings, clothes are probably about dry and the tomato sauce is about done but will be back with something more soon!

And the world spins madly on...

2009-02-12T21:13:00.000-08:00

Can't believe its already a month and a half into the new year...work has been a whirlwind and I joined the ranks of blackberry-toting businesswomen two weeks ago when I became an official employee - healthcare, 401(k) and all - and the little slab of joy arrived in the mail. Makes a bus ride unbelievable productive and Google at your fingertips is delightful...but I have to remember to leave it in the kitchen over night or else I can't fall asleep as I remember emails that I meant to send so I send them...and that's why they call is a "crackberry!" Sad but true. Anyway, headed off on a mini-break for a three day weekend to visit a friend in Austin, Texas. I'm sure there will be many stories to tell when I get back but until then - happy valentine's day!

Alphabeat, Part 2

2009-01-30T23:18:00.001-08:00

A continuation of my friend's fabulous taste in music. Here's Alphabeat with another quirky music video and catchy song...

It's Official: I am a California Popsicle

2009-01-25T21:13:00.001-08:00

This morning, it was in the 60s and the sun was shining brilliantly. In January. Last weekend, I drove to Napa with a friend and it was 84. In January. Most of this month has been warm and sunny - probably the longest stretch of sun that I have experiences since moving to San Francisco. And it's still January!

I still cannot believe how glorious the weather is here, but I have no problem enjoying it. Thus, I have become what it known as a "California Popsicle," defined by another friend as someone who doesn't like the cold. Nevertheless, I don't think I can ever stray far from my Canadian roots and I will always be able to cope with cold, snowy weather - however, I must admit that I don't miss it!

A lot has happened since my last entry, so allow me to recap. I went home to New Jersey for two weeks for the holidays, and a couple of the highlights were a day shelving Oreo cookies with a friend, a trip to the Frick Collection in NYC, a road trip to Washington DC to visit a friend from Penn, and an evening out courtesy of my little brother to the New Jersey Performing Arts Center for Video Games Live. The performance consisted of 2+ hours of the NJ Symphony playing the theme music to countless video games, covering everything from Halo to Super Mario, with swirling lights and a choir accompanying the violins and clarinets. My mom remarked that it smelled like much of the mostly-male audience had just emerged from their basements after several straight days of playing their new video games from Christmas. And the during the encore, the glowing cell phone screens were joined by several swaying laptop screens as true "gamers" must have played all through the performance. Overall, it was a fantastic night and a relaxing two weeks.

I headed back to San Francisco just after the New Year, and it has been all go ever since. After being so lucky to wake up every morning to see the Golden Gate Bridge, I actually walked onto it for the first time one Saturday. Then, a friend and I drove up to Napa one Sunday. Not only was it my first trip to Napa, but she introduced me to Taylor's Refresher, a Bay Area institution, for a late lunch of a delicious burger, sinful sweet potato fries, and a refreshing diet coke with a squirt of vanilla syrup. And the day continued to get better with a trip to the Mumm Napa Vineyard where we zipped by the wine-tasting lines to find a glorious Ansel Adams exhibit. A wonderful day and here's to many more "Baycations" to come!

And here's a fantastic music video to tie up this entry. Completely unrelated but I hope it makes you want to get up and dance!

Santa's on his way to SF

2008-12-20T19:02:00.002-08:00

Upon my return to San Francisco after Thanksgiving, I was immediately greeted by carols, holiday lights and Christmas trees. During the first week of December, I went on a trip down to San Diego. Snowflake-shaped spotlights giddily swirled on the front of the San Francisco Airport and the Golden Gate Bridge greeted travelers, constructed out of lights in the entrance.

And then when I got off the plane in San Diego, I just could not believe that I was standing, sweating in the heat, shielding my eyes from the sun while surrounded by palm trees and speakers blasting, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas." Look like Christmas?! I have yet to reconcile palm trees and balmy weather in the 70s with Christmas!

However, earlier this week, a cold snap hit San Francisco. Temperatures plunged into the 40s and a wintry mix of hail and freezing rain woke me up on Monday morning! The Bay Area was at a loss. People were sent rummaging into the their closets to find hats and gloves that hardly ever see the light of day here.

Well, this search for many seemed to only a yield a bright red, furry Santa hat with a white pom-pom on the end. This week I saw countless people going about their business in the financial district wearing Santa hats! Today, travelers at the airport were even more festive with several people wearing three-point velvet jester hats. I was thankful for a bit of humor after my flight home to NJ was cancelled and a gruff man told us all that there were no more seats until the 25th.

Thankfully, I managed to buy another ticket for the 7am from Oakland to Philadelphia for tomorrow morning, and I am looking forward to that crisp chill in the air that will surely remind me of Christmas! Need to go and repack more sensibly this time but more to come from Garden State...

Something's Afoot

2008-11-23T20:12:00.001-08:00

New Jersey allows teens to get behind the wheel at 16, starting with 6 hours of mandatory driving lessons with a professional instructor. However, as many of my friends can attest, much less than 6 hours is actually spent driving. Often the instructor will have sudden cravings for Dunkin' Donuts and command you to swing across three lanes of traffic so he can grab a coffee and crueller. In my case, the instructor would take me to Costco where we would graze Saturday's sample extravaganza. I still remember him telling me off sharply when I reached for a chocolate cheesecake bite - "STOP! Savory first. Dessert last." He then offered to buy me a drink from the food court. Slightly creeped out, I politely refused, but he just glared at me and repeated, "What would you like to drink?"

My instructor was even more terrifying on the road. On the first day, he nearly brought me to tears teaching me how to parallel park. And during my second session, I still remember him hollering, "Emma, stop looking at your hands and look at the road! You don't look at your feet when you walk, do you?" I sheepishly responded, "Well, actually, I sorta do look at my feet when I walk..."

Not the correct response, but still true. I'm alright on sidewalks but get me on the slightest uneven surface and I guarantee that I'm looking down. And today, as I walked to Trader Joe's, I couldn't help thinking how fun it is to be in a place for prolonged period of time (compared to the bouncing around of the last four years, 6 months is an eternity). It gives you the opportunity to revisit places and notice new things along the way. Including what's under your feet.

Then, this evening during some NYTimes trawling, I came across a post about a street artist in NYC called Aakash Nihalani. He sticks trompe-l'oeil boxes all over the city, and I think it's cool - simple, creative, and makes you pause.

FatBlooded - Following Aakash Nihalani from William Zoe FitzGerald on Vimeo.
And, speaking of NYC, can't wait to head back to the great NJ for Thanksgiving!

Down by the Bay

2008-11-19T22:00:00.000-08:00

Just a few photos from the past few months round and about the Bay. I still can't believe how beautiful this place is...its wonderful that even a walk to work can take my breath away (from the view - but the hills help too!).

Memories of a Maximum City

2008-11-17T21:29:00.001-08:00

M.I.A. PAPER PLANES.mp3 - Mia
I had a terrific weekend, and this past Saturday I went to see Slumdog Millionaire with my old friend who I met while working in Mumbai during the summer of 2006. She joined me at Aakar two weeks after I arrived and lived with me in our flat in Andheri East, providing a very welcome female addition to my four male roommates. After our time in India ended, we went our separate ways, but little did we know that we would be reunited two years later in San Francisco!

After eating too much naan, palaak paneer, and chana masala at an Indian buffet, we sunk into our seats at the movie theater. As soon as the movie began, though, my stomach began to churn and tears welled in my eyes as I saw Mumbai's slums and sewage flash across the screen. I felt ashamed, sitting there full while bombarded with the images of extreme poverty that I saw each and every day of my summer there. I was reminded of the colorful chaos of honking cars, humming rickshaws, and hurtling buses colliding with the crush of humanity, all making their way through the city. All that was missing from the sensory experience was humid heat and the city's unique aroma of exhaust combined with garbage and tinged with tuberose and sandlewood-scented incense. Yet, when I left, I couldn't wait to go back.

Before I ramble on too much longer, I have to say that the movie was fantastic. An inspiring story of a life unfolding with countless challenges along the way yet ending in true love's kiss, all beautifully filmed with a terrific soundtrack (including MIA). Can't get much better than that.

While on the topic of Mumbai, I can't help but include this article my mom referred me to in the New York Times last weekend. An incredible piece of journalism that captures the city in a page.

November 9, 2008
The World
Mumbai, Striving and Sinking
By ANAND GIRIDHARADAS

MUMBAI, India — This city, before it was a city, was a dusting of seven islands in the choppy brine off India’s western coast. Beginning nearly three centuries ago, it was gradually reclaimed from the sea, seven masses forging one, and claimed by the teeming country at its back. Dangling in the Arabian Sea, it has become Mumbai, India’s stock-trading and film-making capital and its window to the world.

But if the reclaiming was complete, the claiming never was. The city was tethered to the subcontinent by a land bridge in the northern suburbs, 20 miles from the upper-crust stronghold of South Mumbai, where mainland India felt remote. The rich were in India but not of it. When news arrived of distant floods and famines, malfeasance and malnutrition, they told themselves that theirs was a world apart.

Escapism was constant. In the 1960s, young elites observed the Western music hour on All India Radio like a religion. In the 1980s, wealthy women flew to London to avoid the steamy bazaars. Recent years have brought diversions like gelato, sushi, fashion shows with Russian models, velvet-rope nightclubs, restaurants that cook the ever-less-sacred cow medium-rare.

Here the highest social boast is that you “just got back” from abroad; the loftiest praise for a restaurant is, “It’s like you’re not in India.” Mumbai’s globalized class hungers for it to be a world city, and its leaders pledge to make it Shanghai-like by 2020; the plan is, to put it gently, behind schedule. The rich blush when Madonna dines at Salt Water Grill and Angelina Jolie drinks at Indigo: portents, they say, that Mumbai will join New York, London, Paris in that coterie of names emblazoned on the epidermis of boutiques everywhere.

Arriving from overseas, one encounters first this outward-looking city. But in the layers below, a strange truth is buried. If the elite live in virtual exile, seeing Mumbai as a port of departure, the city teems with millions of migrants who see it as the opposite — a mesmeric port of arrival, offering what the mainland doesn’t: a chance to invent oneself, to break destiny.

For the writer, the Dickensian lens offers an easy view of Mumbai: wealthy and poor, apartment-dwelling and slum-dwelling, bulbous and malnourished. In office elevators, the bankers and lawyers are a foot taller, on average, than the less-fed delivery men.

Luscious skyscrapers sprout beside mosquito-prone shantytowns. This is at once a city of paradise and of hell. But Mumbai’s paradox is that it is often the dwellers of paradise who feel themselves in hell and the dwellers of hell who feel themselves in paradise.

What you see in Mumbai depends on what else you have seen. For those who grew up in Westernized homes, the standard is New York. That comparison is hard on Mumbai.

To be sure, in my five years here, which are now ending, the city has inched toward world-city status. Restaurants began to serve miso-encrusted sea bass. Indian-Western fashion boutiques started to attract global jet-setters. The air kiss became as Indian as not kissing once was.

But it takes a muscular suspension of disbelief to pretend that Mumbai, which used to be called Bombay, is what its elite wishes it were. Residents will tell you that Mumbai is “just like New York,” before launching a tirade about why it isn’t: nowhere nice to eat, same incestuous social scene, no offbeat films, no privacy. There is a sense in this crowd of a city forever striving to be what it isn’t.

Still, minute after minute, migrants pour in with starkly different pasts and starkly different ideas of Mumbai.

They arrive from India’s 660,000 villages. Perhaps the monsoon failed and crops perished. Perhaps their mother is ill and needs money for surgery. Perhaps they took a loan whose mushrooming interest cannot be repaid from cow-milking and wheat-sheafing. Perhaps they are tired of waiting for the future to come to them.

They arrive by train and locate relatives or friends to help get them on their feet. They walk the streets asking building security guards if the tenants inside need a servant. They live in cramped rooms or huts in a vast slum like Dharavi, where one million people pack one square mile.

In these labyrinthine hives, spaces and lives are shared, card games last all night and rivers of sludge navigate the gullies. And the slums ever metastasize.

These dueling claims on Mumbai explain its mongrel look: like a duty-free mall in parts, in parts like a refugee camp. The wealthy complain that the surge in migration has strained public services, turned 15-minute drives into two-hour odysseys, rendered real estate into slum estates. They say migrants spit, steal electricity, commit crime, harass women, drain the public dole.

Perhaps this is why the affluent dream of New York.

But the migrants relish Mumbai, for they know other places. Places where tradition tells you to die where you were born and live as your parents lived. Places where a son of the leather-working caste with a scientific mind must let it atrophy. Places where unapproved love can bring murder.

And in these squalid acres they savor what the wealthy take for granted: the ability to get a job without “knowing somebody”; the lightness of being without roots; the possibility of reinvention; the dignity of anonymity.

Yet it is a strange, absentee dignity. They suffer the indignities of sleeping in shanties, on sidewalks, on the hoods of their own taxis in order to earn respect in villages they may never revisit.

Walking amid the polychromatic chaos of Mumbai, one might ask: What other city so concentratedly distills the human predicament, in the fullness of its tragedy, its comedy, its absurdity and its promise?

Mumbaikars, as they are known, cannot resist one another, cannot resist Mumbai. Those who crave departure could depart if they wanted. They are still here. The newly arrived could have stayed in the villages, basking in their certainties. They too, choose to invest themselves here.

Neither investment is total, unreserved. But Mumbai works on the agglomeration of these hopes: Because so many cast their lots here, it becomes a place worth casting lots. The longer you remain, the less you notice what Mumbai looks, smells, sounds like. You think instead of what it could be. You become addicted to the companionship of 19 million other beings. Surrounded by hells, you glimpse paradise.

Happy to Feel at Home

2008-11-10T19:47:00.000-08:00

I have now been living in San Francisco for over five months, and it seems to have gone by in a flash. About a month back, though, I began to feel a little homesick. It had hit me that I was probably going to be in San Francisco for awhile to come. But, I began telling myself, "How can I belong here? My family is on the other side of the country, and my closest friends are scattered around the world. Is this really the place for me?" Thoughts like these scrolling through my mind were hardly helpful.

Looking for a more optimistic alternative, I thought more about the concept of home. Home is not simply a physical place, but it represents love, good, and kindness. And these can be found where ever you are, but sometimes you have to make the conscious effort to recognize them.

After this realization, I headed to San Diego for Solar Power 2008 - a massive conference featuring every type of solar panel under the sun (please forgive the pun) and then back to San Francisco where I was faced with several busy days at work, preparing for a national training we organized. As I sat on the wooden seat of the cable car of a sunny Saturday morning on my way to the office, it struck me as the breaks screeched and the city lurched by that I felt at home.

Later that week, I was on the bus to work, clutching onto the hand rail while trying to prevent my laptop bag from whacking the little Chinese ladies on their way to Stockton Street to do the day's shopping. I looked out the bus window and could not help but laugh. There was a man rolling down one of San Francisco's steep sidewalks while his friend stood at the intersection, snapping away on his camera. Surrounded by stony faced commuters, I could not help but smile at this crazy place that is San Francisco.

And as my life here has progressed, so has the city around me. My new job is only a few blocks from my old job, which means that I have continued walking along nearly the same route from my apartment to work each morning. The week I started my new job, classes started and the sidewalks filled with grandparents leading little boys and tiny pig-tailed girls by the hand to school. Over the past few weeks, a parking garage has been demolished, and a car repair shop is being renovated. The aquarium containing a massive blue and gold fish that sat at the entrance, like at a Chinese restaurant, has been relocated - although hopefully not permanently to the kitchen.

My favorite change, though, has been at the corner of Stockton and Pacific. A little corner store with open doorways on both sides transformed within days from a bubble tea shop to a chicken shop. Freezer cases of red bean ice cream bars were replaced by pale, plucked chickens resting on ice chips. In the mornings, women swarm the shop, poking and prodding the poultry as the shrill soundtrack of Chinese opera sings in the background.

I am really looking forward to Thanksgiving in New Jersey in just two weeks to see family and friends, but I know that I will also be happy to return to Apt 505. Well, only as long as I've got a cell phone with thousands of minutes!

Wow!

2008-11-04T21:46:00.000-08:00

Cars honking, people hollering, fireworks crackling...Obama won!

My Favorite Proposition

2008-11-03T21:21:00.000-08:00

In addition to voting for the next President tomorrow, San Franciscans will also be voting on a boat-load of propositions covering everything from the rights of farm animals to the war in Iraq. My favorite, though, is Proposition R: Shall the City change the name of the Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant to the George W. Bush Sewage Plant?

Also wanted to add an excerpt from an email from a dear friend that I just opened. She is a million times more politically-savvy than I am and reminded me that I shouldn't brush off politics as much as I do:

Here is a little note I received from one of my buddies in Cameroon

"Hope u are are waiting to exhibite your right of voting tommorow.I
wish America the best for its CHANGE WE NEED.when America is good the
whole world is good too...so thus Africa and why not Cameroon."

Many people have a right to vote--only a small portion of the world's
population have the great privilege of exercising that right in the
most powerful country in the world.

Whoever you choose to vote for, vote thoughtfully, and enjoy the privilege!

Phonebanks and Politics

2008-10-27T21:41:00.001-07:00

Oh, can't believe that is has been nearly a month since I last posted. It doesn't feel like a month...more like 30 seconds. Work has been wonderfully busy but that's for another post. This one is about politics. Or as much as it can be about politics considering how embarrassingly little I know about the subject.

Yesterday, I met up with a friend from Penn who introduced me to another Penn'08er who has found herself in San Francisco. This '08er suggested we meet at an Obama rally downtown - it was sunny in a nice park so I thought "why not?" I missed the presidential candidates descend on Penn this past April so I figured it would be fun to get a taste of Obamania.

Once we arrived, I realized that the event was a "phonebank" where volunteers offer their time and cellphone minutes to call voters in swing states to make sure that they are voting for Obama. You are given a little spiel to read off but then you have to be ready to answer questions. One girl had already signed up for a slot that afternoon and the other couldn't wait to get started. On the other hand, I have not a politically-inclined bone in my body and I would have been the last (liberal) person the Obama campaign would have wanted fielding calls given that my entire body of political knowledge comes filtered through the likes of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.

If I had volunteered and a hypothetical person on other end of the line has asked me why should they vote for Obama, the best I could have done was refer them to this snippet from last week's Daily Show. I don't know about you but it certainly made my decision easy.

I think that the reason I have never been very interested in politics was simply because I find the cult of personality that springs up around candidates to be a little strange. They are just people after all, but many elevate them to superhuman status. A perfect example of this is the incredible art that has sprung up around Obama. Earlier this summer, I first noticed the "Hope" version of Shepherd Farey's portrait of Obama while walking to work through Chinatown, except that there were Chinese characters instead. And then just yesterday I came across a slide show about an art gallery in Paris hosting a show dedicated to Obama-art. While on one side this elevation of Obama to a sort of demi-god makes me uncomfortable, I also find it so inspiring to see so much of the world rally around him and the ideas of hope, progress, and change. I think we could all use a little of that.

Free Fallin'

2008-10-01T22:43:00.000-07:00

Free Fallin - John Mayer

Not much to say other than I really like this song and I love this photo that my brother took. It reminds me how I feel at the moment - blooming, blossoming and marveling at how beautifully life works itself out.

Bunty Aur Babli

2008-10-01T22:05:00.000-07:00

A week or two back, Bunty Aur Babli arrived from Netflix in my mailbox, and I finally had 3 spare hours to watch it this past Sunday night. I first heard of the movie when I was in Mumbai two years ago. I taught a cartooning class, and one of the visuals we used was a series of advertisements for Amul butter that played with the titles of popular films. My boss went through the advertisements for me, explaining which movie or cultural reference they alluded to. When we arrived at "Bun, tea or Butterly," my face still was completely blank, and he laughed, "What do you mean? You haven't seen Bunty Aur Babli?!" I had just figured out that the Taj Mahal was in India a few weeks before. There was no chance I had ever seen Bunty Aur Babli!

Finally, over two years later, I watched the movie and I truly loved every minute of it. It's a fantastic story with super music along the way, and I would recommend it to anyone. And I can't believe how a man the age of Amitabh Bachchan can look so good in a tight pair of jeans!

I couldn't help but dance when this song came on. Bear with me - it really gets going at the 2 minute mark and the clapping dance is infectious. English translation is here. The song is called Kajra Re, or "kohl-rimmed eyes."

I've been outsourced!

2008-09-26T22:16:00.002-07:00

An urgent assignment sprang up at work today - my supervisor wanted us combat "Death by PowerPoint" and create a slick and eye-catching slide deck to catch the attention of a group of venture capitalists this Tuesday. This didn't leave us much time. It needed to be done by end of the day on Monday, which at my company means 6pm...unlike another place I worked!

The look we wanted to achieve is similar to the slide show below. I would consider myself pretty good at PowerPoint, but this is light-years beyond my skillset.

Shift Happens

View SlideShare presentation or Upload your own. (tags: sociology future)

So what did we do? My boss said, "Hmmmm, well we need this done by Monday. All we can do is send it to India." INDIA! I couldn't believe that it was possible, but indeed it is. He pointed me to a website called Guru.com where freelancers can post their skills, ranging from website development to fashion design. I searched for PowerPoint gurus and companies from Ecuador to Sri Lanka popped up. I emailed 12 potentials with my assignment and within minutes, Linda from China had responded. And then Atul in Kolkata, Dinesh in Pune, and Manoj in Delhi. I hoped to get a response from Raymond at The 8th Element in the Phillipines who did stunning work, but no word yet.

I chatted first with Linda on Google Talk. There was a slight delay as she set up her microphone and waited until the neighboring school's recess had ended and the children filtered back into class. She spoke very good English, but she unfortunately was not available for edits on Monday because a major holiday began on that day and continued through the end of the week. I then chatted briefly with Dinesh before realizing that his skills were not quite up to snuff.

Than Manoj from Delhi emailed franctically and said he was ready to go. I checked out his website - www.indyahub.com - and was pleased with his work. As I was getting sleepy, I called him on Skype. He said his company had produced big posters on climate change for some Indian corporations, so he was excited to work on our project. But, then he had to go, but promised to be back in touch within an hour. He's got 15 minutes...and then I'm going to bed!

On Safari in San Francisco

2008-09-21T00:10:00.005-07:00

Oh! Is that a man I spy?

Spotting the elusive straight male in San Francisco is a sport. Add in single and the challenge has become as difficult as tracking down giant pandas in the bamboo forests of China.

San Francisco is very girly. Board any bus and I guarantee that women outnumber the men. And this is widely observed among the city's female population. A friend of friend has dreams of starting a dating service that would bring together female professionals with male computer techies from the South Bay - "San Francisco birds and San Jose nerds."

However, over the past two days, I was shocked to come across not one but two isolated populations of the species in the (mostly) straight variety. The first group appeared in the western frontiers of San Francisco wedged between the forests of the Presidio to the north and Golden Gate Park to the south. On the recommendation from a dear friend from Penn, I went to the 4 Star Movie Theatre in Outer Richmond to see Devil Music Ensemble play a soundtrack to a 1930s Chinese silent kung fu movie called Red Heroine. After the movie ended, I waited in the lobby as my friend ran to the ladies' room and watched the string of people leave the theater. An endless line of ...men! I laughed to myself, amused by the very fact that I would be so startled by the sight. Distinguishing features of this group included long ponytails and baggy t-shirts inscribed with Chinese characters. One bold individual even wore a multi-colored furry vest and matching top hat. A few minutes later, I got on the bus with a bevy of 12 girls all dolled up for a night on the town with two boys in tow.

Tonight, I came across another pocket of the male population at a "house-warming" party a few blocks away at the apartment of a few Penn grads who I had never ever met before. I was invited by a Penn friend who recently moved to San Francisco and knew them through yet another friend. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to meet new people, I tagged along and soon found myself outnumbered. The male hosts had graduated from Penn and Yale within the last two year and they were now consultants for fancy firms, which meant that most of the invitees fit the same profile.

Shoes were taken off at the door, and the apartment was immaculate. One of the hosts gave us a tour of the art hanging on the walls, which included an original Marc Chagall print. After a few minutes, I looked around the room and I was stunned to find myself a minority in a room full of men in their early twenties with receding hairlines and designer jeans. Thankfully, my new job provided some good fodder for conversation, but the turmoil on Wall Street was a hot topic. One guy even walked up to a trio of myself, my friend, and a Googleite and said, "So. Lehman. Discuss."

At about 11:30, the lights suddenly went out. And then, a voice called out, "Get out your Blackberries!" Immediately, glowing white screens of Blackberries and iPhones floated through the darkness, hovering around half-empty wine bottles and the platter of prosciutto-wrapped cantaloupe. Conversation then died to a lull as the guys began to frantically check their emails.

I did meet a few fun people though and a potluck at my apartment is in the works...for ladies only!

Cruising to Santa Cruz

2008-09-19T18:27:00.003-07:00

California - Rufus Wainwright

About three weeks ago, I turned 22 and celebrated the day with a road trip down the coast with two friends. We loaded into a Zipcar and headed down Highway 1 bordering the Pacific, stopping at beautiful beaches along the way. We reached Santa Cruz for a late lunch of "fakin bacon" and "tuno melts" at a vegetarian diner and then strolled along the boardwalk. After too much sun and shrieking kids, we climbed back into the car and drove north through a redwood forest, stopping in the boondock town of Felton for a caffeine kick and directions. We then hit San Jose for a a real, live drive-in movie! Surrounded by pick-ups and minivans, we huddled in the car and watched Tropic Thunder, scattering popcorn and melty m&m's all over the place. It was wonderful journey with a terrific soundtrack accompanying us along the way. Here's to another exciting year ahead filled with more love, laughs, and adventures!

Tallulah and Toothbrush

2008-09-14T16:45:00.007-07:00

After running down my cellphone battery a few times and baking zucchini bread, I joined my friend to take the delightful Tallulah for a walk yesterday. Tallulah is a pampered English Bulldog that my friend babysat while Tallulah's mom and dad were away for a long weekend. It's hard to look at her and not smile. Her tongue lollops out of her mouth, and she wipes her slobber all over your pants. When she gets excited and exerts even an ounce of energy, she begins to pant uncontrollably.

As we took her along the path by the Bay, overlooking the Golden Gate, people in their cars would look and smile at this happy little dog, waddling along. After a relaxing walk, we returned to an open grassy area where San Francisco's dogs go to be seen and be sniffed. Bichons in pink sweaters and chihuahuas in overcoats scamper between the legs of great danes as owners toss tennis balls for black labs and golden retrievers. We threw a tennis ball for Tallulah, quickly attracting the attention of a peculiar-looking dog. Outfitted in a Harley-Davidson studded black leather collar, he began to bay at the sight of the ball. Turns out he was a beagle-coon hound cross, and unfortunately the product of such a combo was a little out of proportion. Pudgy with a big torso and short legs. And to make matters worse for the dog, his name was Toothbrush.

After ignoring Toothbrush and the doggy water fountain, Tallulah seemed tired out so we thought it was about time to start heading home. The moment we snapped on her leash, she sat in the grass and refused to move. While small, she is a dense little dog and trying to pull her was like dragging a cinderblock. She had decided that she was not going anywhere, so I decided to pick her up and carry her. She flopped on her back in my arms, her head dangling with her tongue hanging out and legs sticking out in all directions. We looked completed absurd and caused a couple in a red jeep to nearly drive off the road they were laughing so hard. After carrying her three times, we finally made it home, and she collapsed on the couch and snored away the rest of the evening.

Lehman Brothers Goes Under

2008-09-12T22:52:00.004-07:00

As I ate a delicious turkey burger from "Bun Heaven" dripping with their special avocado cucumber walnut sauce today for lunch, I read a copy of Wednesday's Wall Street Journal. In a small column hidden among the ads, it presented several experts' predictions about where the economy would go next. More than one predicted that another major bank like Bear Stearns would go under. And what ironically happened the very next day? Lehman announced it was looking to sell.

On Thursday, I read "For Lehman Employees, the Collapse is Personal" in the New York Times, and here is an excerpt:

In scenes eerily reminiscent of the final days of Bear Stearns, the megawatt energy within Lehman Brothers has dimmed to a hum as employees focus on the fate of the firm and what it might mean to them. To make matters worse, pink slips for previously announced layoffs were being handed out this week.

And I found the picture above particularly haunting, in perhaps a very selfish way. There is no doubt that photos of Hurricane Ike's destruction make me shudder. However, I know I see the photos, but their weight does not sink in. I have never experienced such a storm, and I am grateful for that. I still recognize that the situation is rather dire but I move on, like most people do as they scroll through the headlines every morning online or page through the paper over morning coffee.

In this case though, the photo made me pause. I saw the row of bankers, dressed much like I was, lined up against the window eerily like they were in an execution line. They are the people who were told, "Work hard and you will succeed." They worked 100+ hours a week, only to be told in the end there was no choice but to lay them off.

When I worked at the real estate consulting firm, it hit me for the first time that the news hitting the headlines actually affected my own life. Rising foreclosures, falling home prices, the bottom far from sight...thankfully I found a way out. And, while I may not know any of the people in that picture, I know so many people like them. Intelligent, driven, young people with so much potential. While there may no longer be work for them at Lehman, I have faith that there is a place for each and every one of them.

4.0 Tremblor Strikes the Bay!

2008-09-06T10:07:00.005-07:00

Yesterday evening, I watched Four Weddings and a Funeral, relaxing after an exciting first week in the office. I was only there three days but wiped out at the end. By Friday of next week after a complete five days of working, I will be completely buggered. About halfway through, all of sudden, the room began to shake. I couldn't believe it - earthquake! It certainly left me rattled me, and while it could have been the neighbors engaging in some furniture rearranging fun, I swear that the earth kept on rumbling and groaning through the night.

Although I've seen it before, I remembered how super the movie is. Laughs, tears but fills you with so much hope at the end. I though though that the W. H. Auden poem read at the funeral was beautiful and I included my favorite part below. I love the line "Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun."

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

One Stop Shop

2008-09-01T19:40:00.003-07:00

While in England earlier this year, I marveled at the dual specialty restaurants offering both tandoori chicken and pizza - they must use the same oven! But, the above example seen on Kearny Street, is somewhat perplexing. Waxing and watch repair? Nail and key cutting? Suspicious.

Castro, Cole Valley and Chihuly

2008-09-01T18:50:00.006-07:00

Taking advantage of a flexible schedule before starting work in the office this Wednesday, I visited a new part of San Francisco this past Friday. After a short bus ride and a few stops on the subway, I stepped off the train and the first person I saw was a man wearing a snug, bright pink button-down shirt. As I rode the elevator to street-level, a perfectly coiffed man in white linen pants and a black shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal acres of evenly bronzed chest ran down the steps. My eyes caught sight of a flapping rainbow flag the size of swimming pool - I had reached Castro, San Francisco's "gayborhood."

I strolled by Crate and Barrel with its window displays of cream colored sofas scattered with brightly colored throw cushions and coordinating martini glasses, and then past Art of Leather, showcasing whips of various lengths and bustiers. After an unbelievably steep hill, I staggered to Stephanie's door and rested my legs before we headed to hippie Haight and then onto Golden Gate Park to see the Dale Chihuly exhibit at the deYoung Museum.

The glass was spectacular - swirls and bursts of every color imaginable, highlighted by perfectly positioned spotlights and a backdrop of dark walls and floors. However, we both agreed that sometimes it got a bit ostentatious - little flying "putti" (tiny flying babies that flit around Italian art) adorned beflowered vases, recalling something Tony Soprano might want in his house.

After walking through the exhibit, we joined a crowd to watch a documentary of Chihuly making his art. Well, actually, he didn't appear to make anything - simply sketch a vision with charcoal and add color to his drawing by grabbing a fistful of colored pencils and squiggling them across the page. And then he would command "Team Chihuly" (as emblazoned on their t-shirts) to create his masterpiece! It was very interesting to watch, but the subtitles proved more than a little distracting. Instead of writing what people said, the subtitles showed the lyrics of the documentary's soundtrack. Chihuly must have had a thing for Tom Tom Club, as songs included Wa Wa Dance ("Baby is terror/And baby is wise/Baby won't touch you/He won't tell you no lies/Wa wa dance/Do the wa wa dance"), Irresistible part Dip ("Who dipped into my party dip? Who? Who? Who?"), and Innocent Sex Kiss (no way I'm putting those lyrics up here!)

After entering the museum in blazing sun, we walked out a few hours later straight out into a bank of billowing white fog. Ah, San Francisco - you are so full of surprises! Lesson learned. Always carry a coat. As we left, we marveled at Andy Goldsworthy's, well, crack. He had "drawn" a fissure through the paving stones that led to the museums's entry courtyard and on through several large stone blocks. So simple, yet so cool.

Holy Guacamole! I'm Going Green!

2008-08-28T21:14:00.003-07:00

For more "avocado beauty shots," click here.

Little did I know that exactly three months after arriving in San Francisco, I would resign from the very job that brought me here. And even more surprising - that I would start a new job the very next day.

In early July, as the outlook for the real estate market grew gloomier by the day, I decided to check the Penn job listings website for any interesting possibilities in San Francisco. Amidst the postings for analysts and associates, one listing jumped out at me: Needed passionate superstar to save the planet. In downtown San Francisco, no less. And the job was in green energy, possibly one of the brightest spots in the current economy. I realized that I had nothing to lose in applying...and to my utter shock, they offered me the job this past Monday night. And I resigned from my job the following evening. I would not recommend resigning from jobs more than absolutely necessary - sends you into a state of shock and leaves your stomach tied up in knots although I'm told it gets easier with time. But, it was an opportunity impossible to turn down.

Tuesday feels like at eternity ago, and I start work in the office downtown on Tuesday. But before then, I really should think about fixing my leaky faucet...

Today is a special day...

2008-08-10T13:14:00.004-07:00

...I woke up before 8am on a Sunday, cleaned out the chemistry experiment that was by garbage can, trapped the dust bunnies hopping beneath my sofa, washed the bathmat, bought a pound and a half of ground coffee. It can only mean one thing - my family's coming to town! Their plane landed about 45 minutes ago in SFO and they should be rolling in any moment now. Just like the fog that is suspended just above the water yet just below the tip-top of the Golden Gate Bridge as I type. I can't wait!

Sun and Sorries

2008-08-04T21:09:00.002-07:00

I do not like to cause controversy, and I have never intended for my blog to be offensive to anyone. However, a post this weekend about my trip to southern California did make someone upset. I have never met this person but I apologize for what I wrote. I know I don't like it when people make fun of the Garden State (really, it's not that bad!) and I should not have jumped to the conclusions I did about the towns I visited. I deleted the entry, and I have certainly learned a lesson. I'm sorry - please accept my apologies with a bit of San Francisco sun (which doesn't shine as much here as it does in southern California!).

I've gone stir crazy...

2008-08-04T20:10:00.009-07:00

...and I just can't stop cooking. I find myself leafing through Joy of Cooking before bed and examining recipes in my Indian cookbook while eating breakfast. When work is quiet, I scan recipe blogs for ideas. I have a cubes of frozen cilantro chutney at the ready and recently spent a Saturday morning making a jar of tamarind chutney for chickpeas and chaats. On Thursday, I made mint spread for cucumber tea sandwiches that I served for a friend's birthday this past Friday after shallow frying zucchini and whipping up a cilantro mayonaise dipping sauce. On Saturday, I caught the cooking bug again and made mini quiches with guidance from my little brother, as well as whole wheat buttermilk biscuits for brunch with friends after church. And after a few weeks of various Indian curries for lunch, I decided to try my hand at Thai food and made a big bowl of pad thai-style rice. After one summer spent chopping vegetables at Crystal Lakes Camps, another learning to scoop up delicious Indian food with my fingers, and a third watching entrepreneurs whip up Somali sambusas and gourmet oatmeal cranberry coconut cookies at Nuestra Culinary Ventures, its so fun to have the chance to experiment a little in my own kitchen. Bon appetit!

You know you live in America...

2008-07-05T12:54:00.004-07:00

Sitting here in sunny San Francisco filling out the customer service questionnaire for the moving company that shipped my stuff across the country, I was shocked when I read this question.

Which of the following services would you be most likely to use in a future move?

And then amidst a number of options, there was this one:

Extend full-value protection to replace items from pairs/set, mechanical malfunctions, and Acts of God

ACTS OF GOD! Only in America could a company get away with using the term "Acts of God" in a questionnaire. I guess its meant to cover natural disasters? Tornadoes? Floods? Plagues? Can you imagine a moving truck taken down by masses of gnats, swarms of locusts, or hordes of furious frogs? I think not.

Sunset Series, 23 3/4

2008-06-24T18:56:00.002-07:00

Just last week, I was eating dinner and my jaw dropped as the sun began to set. While most nights, I find myself snapping away out my window as the sunsets, this was one of the more spectacular ones!

C is for Cookie!

2008-06-22T21:29:00.003-07:00

The best guest Stephen Colbert has ever had on his show! A guest who can stand up to his shenanigans and he's only a big blue puppet! Cookie Monster!

Movin' on MUNI

2008-06-19T22:24:00.006-07:00

Earlier this week, I overheard the boss's personal assistant discussing the recent bout of fickle weather here in San Francisco with one of the guys in the office. And the guy groaned, "Oh, I know. I just don't know what to wear in the morning. Is it hot? Is it cold? Do I need a coat? Should I ride a mastodon to the office?" It made my day and it wasn't even 9am yet!

MUNI is SF's public transport system.

And, mind you, the weather is really beautiful here. On a cooler day, it might be cloudy and in the 60s, and a hot day is sunny and the low 80s. We are really spoiled.

Peacin' Out in Pacifica

2008-06-16T21:50:00.006-07:00

This past Saturday, a church friend invited me to go with her and some friends to Pacifica for a picnic and a celtic music concert of a trio known as "Golden Bough" that featured a college classmate playing the violin. San Francisco alone has its quirks - for example, earlier that day, I saw a man talking on his cellphone and pushing his dog in a stroller! Whatever next...

And even though reality seems slightly skewed out here in San Fran, drive 20 minutes down the coast to Pacifica and you are in a completely different world. From a city planning viewpoint (you can't escape that when I'm in charge!), its a bit of messy situation. The San Andreas Fault cuts straight through the middle and emerges onto a beach, appearing rather innocently like a small landslide down the cliff before disappearing beneath the waves. And who knows what sorts of zoning regulations are in place but the one restaurant along a stretch of beach with stunning views of the ocean and surrounding hills was a Taco Bell!

We arrived at the beach and huddled in the whipping wind before retreating to the car to partake in picnic dinner. We then headed inland to the Pacifica Cultural Center for the show. We pulled in the parking lot in our hybrid car and an older hybrid pulls into the spot beside. And out steps a woman wearing a knitted woolen "fox" draped over her shoulders. That's right - while ritzy, aging New York socialites wear real fur fox pelts, out here in Pacifica, ladies knit themselves faux foxes out of white yarn!

We followed this couple inside and a rotund woman wearing a snug sludge green t-shirt with a fairy on the front told the looney lady how much she liked her "scarf"! And then fox lady gleefully squealed, "You know, I'm going to be published too!" and pulls out a garishly colorful paperback with the title Mrs. Tipperwillow's Afterlife Adventures. And this was only the beginning.

As we sat waiting for the music to begin, I began to notice who was in the audience. It was certainly the local community who had come in for the event, lending the whole event a very laidback and warm feeling. Once the music began to play, little kids ran to the front and jumped around. The violist's daughter shrieked "Mama!" periodically and waved her brilliant pink Care Bear. The jigging children prompted the sole male member of the band to say, "Wow, I think Golden Bough has the youngest mosh pit in the world." The jokes only got worse...Midway through, the lead singer announced the release of Golden Bough's latest album, Celtic Harp for Pets. Then the man chortled, "We plan to follow it up with Celtic Accordion for Pests."

In between songs, the lead singer (with a fiery orange head of hair fittingly Irish but only possible to achieve from a dye bottle) also produced little nuggets of knowledge. For example, the US Postal Service is voting soon whether or not to include a "Utilikilt," or a man skirt with lots of useful pockets, as a part of its uniform!

During the finale, the crowd cheered and a few stood up to shake around a bit and a man in the back was so moved that he leapt up and started doing an Irish jig! As the music ended and the crowd began to disperse, I noticed that more than a couple of woman had dressed up for the occasion in long flowing skirts, leather vests, and peasant tops...overall, looking scarily similar to the three sisters in Hocus Pocus.

Blaring Fog Horns, Bon Iver and a Bowl of Coffee

2008-06-12T23:09:00.004-07:00

Sitting here at my kitchen table, the tiny glittering white lights that mark the sweep of the Golden Gate Bridge are concealed for the first time since I have lived here, save for a small red light flashing feebly, sometimes there and sometimes not. Fog horns groan every ten seconds, marking the arrival of cloud and cooler weather.

I went out to dinner with two girls I have met since coming here, and as the evening got chillier, I couldn't resist a cup of coffee to warm me up. Well, little did I know that this place did not serve cups of coffee but cereal bowl-size buckets of coffee! The waiter claimed it was inspired by the French, but I think even a Frenchman would be aghast at the size of the basin brimming with cafe latte that arrived at the table. Hence, any signs of sleepiness are far off with so much caffeine pumping through me at the moment so I looked aimlessly through a few blogs, and I came upon a few fun ones.

Firstly, a hysterical website called Sorry I missed your party, showcasing some of the awfully embarrassing party pics that people post online.

Then, a woman's site showcasing her photography. She decided to take a picture of every day of her life for a year and couldn't stop after that. It's quite beautiful photography. And her best friend's name is Morgan!

And, lastly, a cool musician called Bon Iver. And I had to check it out because his album is called For Emma, Forever Ago. Very soft, folky sort of sound like Damian Rice with a slightly more ethereal sound. And some more upbeat tunes with horns like Beirut. Here's one for a listen:

For Emma - Bon Iver

Welcome to 505!

2008-06-08T15:36:00.005-07:00

I have been in San Francisco for nearly two weeks and I'm loving it so far. I finally got around to loading up some photos from the last little while so here are a few. My shipment did not arrive until last Sunday, so until then, I explored the city, went out to Berkeley for the afternoon and took my new red shopping trolley out for a spin to Trader Joe's. After loading up my basket with delicious food, I headed for the checkout and confronted my cashier who was not quite a girl, yet not quite a boy. I looked at her name tag for some guidance and her "name" explained it all: Tranimal!

Then, last Sunday, the moving truck arrived bright and early. Let the unpacking begin! Sunday was nonstop unpacking to try and finish as much as possible before work began on Monday. Thankfully, I managed to get most of it done and I took a few photos over the course of the day to plot my progress, although I did distracted by taking photos of packing paper.

And now, here are a few photos of my apartment today! And, you will be incredibly surprised but I didn't even have to tidy up much before snapping them. I seem to have found a tidier side of me since moving out here. I wonder how long that will last.. :) But, as I hope you can see, I've got room for guests so please feel free to come visit!

Peanut Butta Jelly Time

2008-05-29T09:48:00.001-07:00

Ah, not sure when I will actually be able to post this, but I am sitting here in my new apartment looking out over the white roofs of San Francisco towards the Golden Gate Bridge and the scrubby, brown hills beyond. If ever I am put under house arrest, I could be perfectly happy here for weeks on end. Although some furniture and internet would make the ordeal slightly more comfortable.

I landed in San Francisco yesterday (Tuesday, May 27) in order to get the keys to my apartment and be ready for the moving truck to arrive on Wednesday morning. As soon as the plane landed and businessman began to frantically turn on their Blackberries, I turned on my phone to find a message from the moving company, telling me that the truck containing my shipment was nowhere near San Francisco and that they hoped to get it to me by the weekend. Not the best news to be greeted with, but thank you, Mom, for sending me with a towel, a set of plastic cutlery, sleeping bag, and a blow-up mattress.

I took a taxi from the airport and waited outside the building in the beautiful sunshine until the building manager aka Polina aka my Russian Mother came to find me. She gave my keys to me and outfitted me with a pillow from her own bed, a chair, a thick sleeping bag, a sheet, a mug, a plate, a spoon, a fork and the ever-important saucepan that enabled me to boil water for tea. Can’t camp without tea and a pillow helps immensely!

After making myself a cup of tea and enjoying a delicious dense chocolate cupcake (recipe courtesy of Nigella Lawson and chocolate from our family vacation to Hawaii – still tasted great after three years in the cupboard!) that I had brought with me from home, I set off to explore the neighborhood and pick up a few staples, namely peanut butter and jelly.

And to my surprise, a great supermarket is only 7 minutes walk away! Hooray! I also found a great thrift shop where I eyed an ottoman for $10 and picked up a book entitled The Go-Girl Guide: Surviving Your 20s with Savvy, Soul, and Style. For only a buck, I couldn’t pass it up. And I also found a British food store where I struck up conversation with the owner. He asked me how my day was and I responded, “Well, I just moved to San Francisco today!” He asked from where and I told him I was from NJ. He said, “Funny you should say that as I’m going to New Jersey this weekend!” Not even out of New Jersey for 7 hours and I say what every other American not from NJ would say – “But, why are you going there?” Turns out he has a Bat Mitzvah to go to in Livingston, not half an hour from my house.

I returned home, passing on my way, a man riding down the street on one of those ancient bicycles you see in Victorian times with a giant wheel and a little wheel. This place is a little “on the edge” as my dad would say, and I can’t wait to see what other sorts of wackiness unfold! Once back in 505, I made myself more tea and a PB&J, and settled down with my California Driver’s Handbook to study for my test.

And then this morning, thankfully Polina caught me just as I left the building in an attempt to walk to the Department of Motor Vehicles, which I now know to be more than 3 miles away. She introduced me to Antonio, the jovial maintenance man, and they told me what to do with my trash and recycling. I asked about the whereabouts of a post office and a few other places, and Polina said she would ask a tenant who has been here for years, George. She ran his doorbell, and a little balding man with dirty slippers and a grubby navy blue robe shuffled to the door. Polina said, “I hope I haven’t woken you up.” And George replied, “No, you didn’t but I am listening to the BBC News and it’s the most important part of my day and I don’t want to miss it.” Disregarding his plea, Polina asked away. He answered gruffly and then disappeared back into his dark lair, which I suspect he pays practically nothing for thanks to rent-control rules.

I then asked Polina what bus I should take to the DMV, and she, “Let’s ask George!” So, she knocked again and he appeared at the door once again, mumbling about how he doesn’t like missing BBC news in the morning. We found out what bus, and then Polina told him that I would pick him up an application for a disability placard for his car while I was at the DMV. Upon hearing then, he brightened up immediately, vigorously shook my hand, and told me to tune into KLW 917 for BBC News at 6, 7, 8, and 9am!

I passed my test with only two questions wrong, but I am what the author was thinking when putting the test together. The questions were written cryptically and answers were complicated with just one word making the difference between a right and wrong answer. Even with a degree, I found the test difficult to understand – I can’t even imagine how tough it would be for someone who barely speaks a word of English! For example, here is one that really stumped me, although I managed to get the right answer in the end.

11. What is the difference between traffic lights with red arrows and those with solid red lights?

a. Red arrows are only used to stop traffic which is turning left
b. Red arrows are only used for protected turn lanes
c. You cannot turn on a red arrow, even if you stop first

Solution: C

C also stands for Chinatown where I am headed now in search of a shopping trolley, which will make me look incredibly cool as I bet George has one too ;)

(Title of blog inspired by a trip into New York City in January when my cousin Angus was visiting from Australia. We were sitting on the subway on the way from Ellis Island to a jazz festival when a lady’s cell phone started blaring a rap song with the words “Pea-nut butta jelly time, Pea-nut butta jelly time.” Immediately, her little boy leapt up from his seat and started stepping and break dancing around the car. Brilliant.)

Lift up your hearts and voices for the Royal Red and Blue!

2008-05-20T09:04:00.003-07:00

On this rainy morning in Mendham, let me tell you all about graduation this past weekend before I forget what happened!

On Friday, Dad and I drove down to Philly and went to a Phi Beta Kappa ceremony. As we sat in the auditorium, a man in a very monotone voice said, "Now, I'm going to read you the oath," and proceeded, "Do you promise to pursue knowledge uprightly..." followed by a string of gobbledy-gook. And then stopped and looked at us. All of the students were silent as we had no idea what to do. He hadn't told us to say anything, and it wasn't time to just start clapping and cheering. Clearly uncomfortable, the poor man murmured, "Ahh that was supposed to be a question." So, we then all start mumbling "Yes..Uh huh..Yep, ok." Just a bit awkward.

Then spent Friday with a friend and went for karaoke for the first time ever..and it was awesome. I highly recommend Korean Karaoke because you don't have to stand on a stage and sing by yourself, but instead you are in a room with your friends and there are two microphones with long cords. So, you can all just sit around and sing together if you wish or just lounge around and laugh if you don't. I like to sing despite my terrible voice, so I don't sing unless alone in the car with the radio blasting. But, karoake is a perfect excuse to sing terribly with a bunch of friends who, chances are, can't sing too great either. The group expanded as the night went on beyond the capacity of the one car we drove out to 69th Street, but the middle-aged Korean couple who owned the place kindly offered to drive a group of us home in their minivan. And they even said that they run a free "shuttle" service (in their minivan) back and forth to Penn - very enterprising indeed.

Saturday is another story, but Sunday was a whirlwind of ceremonies, starting with the Baccalaureate Service that brought a religious element to the whole weekend. Although religious myself, I never associated that part of me with Penn, so it was a funny feeling to all of sudden be bombarded with prayers and hymns by the university. But, the ceremony was really quite beautiful. Readings from the Qu'ran, the Bible, and some Hindu texts accompanied by music and a very inspiring speech from Sister Mary Scullion, a champion of rights for the homeless. And as a friend reminded me this morning that boundations among religions do not matter as its all just GOD! The University Chaplain closed the ceremony perfectly, quoting a song from Penn alum John Legend, with the words, " 'We are just ordinary people' capable of doing extraordinary things."

Then, we went onto to the Urban Studies ceremony where it was so wonderful to be surrounded by so many professors and students I have spent time with over the past few years. A huge downpour delayed the College ceremony in the evening, but my mom said that it would have started sooner but they spent forever drying off all 1600 wet chairs with a massive leaf blower! I expected to find a wet seat and even fished a (clean!) plastic bag out of the garbage bin to sit on. It was a very kind gesture and a nice surprise that we didn't have to sit on damp chairs for three hours on a chilly evening.

At the College ceremony, every person's name is called and you all file up to the stage by major to shake a few hands and get an envelope with a letter inside telling you that your diploma will arrive in the mail sometime in August. I was near the end of the line of Urbies (it wasn't alphabetical but that would have helped), and I waited until the attendant gave me a tap on the shoulder to tell me to walk onto the stage as she did for everyone else. But, the director of Urban Studies must have thought she had shaken the hand of every Urbie so as I was walking up the ramp, she turned around to go sit down! The whole thing was a bit of a blur, but I stopped and said something like, "Wait, Elaine! There's still more of us!" The Dean of the College caught her just in time, steered her back into place, and said, "We haven't forgotten you!" Then I shook the respective hands and went on my way, quickening my step to make up for the huge gap in front of me. Incredibly funny and even better because the whole thing was projected on a giant video screen for the entire audience to see!

Then, on Monday morning, we put on our goofy hats once again to march down Locust Walk and into Franklin Field for the University-wide Commencement. The whole experience was quite surreal. Walking along, people on either side clapping and cheering, cars honking as we crossed the 38th St bridge. Then, we reached the center of campus where the faculty, all outfitted in their delightfully silly-looking academic gowns in pinks, purples, and oranges with puffy hats and academic hoods that looked like, in the words of a friend, "dinosaur tails" hanging down their backs. They lined Locust Walk, clapping away, and one favorite professor even called out congratulations to me. It was surreal - made me feel like we had actually accomplished something and now we were being congratulated rather than graded!

The ceremony itself was very well-done as well, and it really made me feel proud of Penn and proud to be an alumni of such an innovative institution that trumpets "turning knowledge into practice" and "applying learning to solve real-world problems." Penn profoundly shaped who I am today and I will never forget that.

The Mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, was the Commencement Speaker and he did a great job. You can tell he is a politician because he sure knows how to please an audience, sprinkling his speech with Penn references and Ben Franklin quotes. He focused on what he feels we should demand of our country's leadership, which he believes are also the qualities of a good leader. Honesty, independence, accountability ("In God we trust, but give me the facts!"), and immigration. Last one left us a bit stumped, but he elaborated to say that immigration is the key to innovation and we need to foster it! Absolutely true.

After Commencement, we wandered back up Locust Walk and all the way across campus to the car, reaching it just as rain began to spit. We drove up to North Philadelphia to eat lunch at a beautifully-situated inn in the lush, green Wissahickon Park, a place we found during my family's first visit to see me during the fall of my freshman year. It was much nicer than the casual dinner we were looking for, but my mom promised we could come back when I graduated. And we did.

Hurrah! Hurrah! Penn-syl-va-ni-ah!

2008-05-19T21:18:00.003-07:00

Wow. What a weekend. It's after midnight and I'm having trouble sleeping because of all of the thoughts whirling through my head. This morning, I attended the University-wide Commencement ceremony. And on Sunday, I went to the Baccalaureate Ceremony, the Urban Studies Graduation, and the College Graduation Ceremony. And on Friday, I went to another ceremony for Phi Beta Kappa. After five months miles away from academia, I was tossed back in and it left me feeling a whole range of emotions from waves of elation to twinges of sadness and feelings of regret.

Elation - my thesis on Nuestra Culinary Ventures, the small business kitchen incubator I worked at last summer in Boston, won a prize for the best Senior Seminar paper. I tied with a cool guy who ventured to Cuba and captured billboard propaganda on film - darn awesome and tough to compare the two projects!

I hadn't thought much about my paper since I turned it in, but I just reread it and it makes me want to do more research. That, combined with seeing how happy all of the professors were as they congratulated us all at the URBS ceremony and clapped (For us! Couldn't believe that they were clapping for us! Bet their hands hurt by the time all couple thousand of us had processed past!) as we walked down Locust Walk towards Franklin Field for Commencement this morning. While I might have gasped in horror at the thought of joining academia in the past, the idea of going back to school in the future for a Phd sounds like it could be fun and incredibly rewarding. Studying what you love, interacting with interesting people, teaching students and watching them grow and develop - what's not to like? Of course, can't get ahead of myself, I can't wait to start work in only two weeks, but who knows what the coming years may bring!

Regret - did I take advantage of my time at Penn? Is there anything I should I have done differently? Nah! Can't let that bother me!

Sadness - dear friends are no longer just a quick walk or drive away, but on the other side of the country and across oceans. I'm gonna miss'em.

More details to come about this past weekend, but I am happy to say that the sun shone brightly at all the right times.

April Flowers Bring May Showers

2008-05-16T05:31:00.002-07:00

View of Philadelphia from Camden (April 2006 en route to Franz Ferdinand and Deathcab for Cutie concert)

Heading down to Penn in a couple of hours for a weekend of fun and graduation ceremonies...but the forecast calls for rain :(

Chased by a Great White Couch

2008-05-13T13:10:00.010-07:00

Last Sunday, Mom, Dad, Duncan and I were driving home from a nice dinner when we spotted two white couches on the side of the road, just left there for taking (I hope). They looked great to me as we whizzed past, so I urged Dad to drive faster to we could get home, jump in our SUV's, and go back to retrieve them before anyone else could! Mom and I pulled up first - the upholstery of smaller loveseat was in ruins but the larger sofa looked great. A little damp from the rain with a bit of an off smell but it appeared in quite good nick. Duncan and I stood behind the bushes, waiting for my Dad to walk up the street from where he had parked the car. Then, to our embarrassment, someone walked into the kitchen and started washing dishes right in front of the window. We hid behind the bushes, peering through the branches as darkness fell, until my Dad reached us.

In my usual wish-washy way of attempting to make decisions, I began to say, "Hmm, maybe not, I'm not so sure, do you think we should actually take the couch? Is it really worth it?" But in my dad's lightening-quick, let's-get-things-done-right-now mentality, he immediately said, "Ok, Dunc, got it? 1-2-3-Go!" And with that, with Dunc holding up one end of the couch and my dad the other, they ran down the street in their neatly creased khakis and collared shirts with the giant white couch aloft between them as I chased after them, laughing all the way because I found the whole situation absolutely hysterical.

The couch was too tall to fit in my mom's car, but it fit in mine...if you left the trunk door open with half of it dangling out of the car. With my dad at the wheel, I perched in the passenger's seat, facing backwards and gripping tightly onto the couch. My mom and Dunc trailed us in her car as we began the mile journey back to our house. The first part of the journey was largely flat but then we hit the infamous Snake Hill, a curvy, swervy section of road with some downs and huge ups. I held onto the couch for dear life as we strained up the hill, knowing that if the couch slipped, the first thing it would hit would be Mom and Dunc. Thankfully, we reached home without mishap and deposited the giant couch in the garage for inspection.

While I couldn't smell much of anything, Mom immediately noticed that it stank of a combination of cigarettes and dog crap. There was also some pretty big water stains crisscrossing the cream fabric. But, I was convinced we could do something with it so we did! Mom had the idea of painting the couch, so she looked online and found a discussion board post from a lady who had painted a very similar couch maroon. And so the grand experiment began!

First, I painted the couch with two coats of primer to seal in the smell and the water damage. Surprisingly, it worked. Mom and I then picked out a nice shade of blue paint, inspired by the pattern on a set of pillow shams that I picked up on my last full day in Mumbai in '06. I gave the couch two coats of paint, let it cure over this past weekend while I gallivanted down to Penn for some fun, and then rubbed on a layer of butcher's wax to protect the paint. I also rubbed on some dark slateish-navy blue paint onto the dark mahogany legs to update the look a bit. And I must admit that I think the final product turned out pretty darn cool.

Before:

After:

Mom also had an old jute rug that had been relegated to the attic after Queenie, a little black labrador puppy we babysat for a weekend, proceeded to pee all over it after her family assured us she was perfectly housebroken. So, I painted the fabric border with the dark bluish paint I had mixed up, then painted a light green border, and finished with a white center. Blue painter's tape separated the light green and the white sections, and when I lifted it off, the drab brown jute now appeared gold. Not a bad outcome for a stained rug. I didn't manage to take a photo of it before the movers had rolled it up and put it in the van, but here is a before and I will snap one in two weeks once I'm in San Francisco.

So the past two weeks since I got back to NJ have been pretty busy - packed with packing, painting, and preparing my stuff for the move. And I am incredibly thankful for all of the stuff that my parents let me gather up from around the house, including the all-important microwave...we are going out tonight in search of a replacement!

"Just Rape'n Drape'em, Man"

2008-05-13T12:34:00.006-07:00

At 9:15 this morning, Ed and his team of Shaheed and Rod arrived at our house to load up my boxes and get them going on their cross-country joy ride out to San Francisco. My blue couch really impressed them - all three of them asked, "Is that leather?" None of them could believe that just over a week ago, we had rescued it, stained and smelly, from the garbage truck. They like the painted jute carpet even more, and one asked if I was a fine arts student. I said, "Oh no, urban studies." And Shaheed responded, "Ahh I can see that - being resourceful!" What a cool guy - no one's ever made a connection like that before to urban studies! They only took about two hours to pack up a few breakables and "rape'n'drape" (Ed's phrase) my furniture in padded blankets, and the truck rolled down the driveway at about 11:30pm. Next time I will see that stuff will hopefully be in San Francisco two weeks from now!

Dark Chocolate Truffles and Raspberry Cordial

2008-05-07T19:51:00.005-07:00

One of my last entries before I left for my big trip round the world back in March ended with the famous quote from Forrest Gump, "My momma always said, 'Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.'" Until the very start of my trip, I had always focused on the second sentence, which basically conveys "life is full of surprises" - a point that a lot of inspirational sorts of quotes try to get across.

But, as I lay in bed at my grandpa's house (the first of 19 beds total over 6 weeks!), it struck me that he didn't compare life to something dull like my sock drawer or awful like a bin of sharp nails, but instead to a divinely delicious box of chocolates! Even though you might pick your least favorite chocolate from the box (for me, those fudgey, triple chocolate ones), it is still chocolate in the end and you enjoy it.

So, with that thought in mind, I set off on my trip, trusting that it would be full of surprises and all of them wonderful in their own way. And that is exactly what happened. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I had an unbelievable time, seeing so many old friends and family and meeting new people and relatives that I didn't even knew I had! And seeing new places and sharing those experiences with people I love was unforgettable. I have now been back in NJ for nearly two weeks, and I'm getting excited for the big box of chocolates waiting for me in San Francisco!

It's always sunny in San Francisco...

2008-05-01T20:32:00.005-07:00

...well, unfortunately, it's not always sunny in San Francisco but it was when I got there last week! I left London in gray drizzle, I departed from Tokyo in a downpour, and I set off from Sydney before dawn in the rain. But, the sun shone in San Francisco nearly every day I was there and I just couldn't stop thinking to myself, "Wow, I can't believe I get to live here!"

Last Wednesday, my parents and I set off on foot to find the different apartments for rent that I had scoured Craig's List to find. We walked up hills and down from one side of the city to the next, and our feet were more dragging more than a little by the end of the day. Standing in front of one building, I looked across the street and saw small sign on a building reading, "For Rent - Studio - Bay View." Good old Dad rang the number to set up an appointment, and we saw the apartment that afternoon. It was stunning. Most of the others we had seen were a little quirky. Some looked straight into brick walls or smelled of cat pee or both. One looked into a mossy, concrete wall with water seeping in the windows and the underside of the public sun deck outside. Plus, it sounded like the neighbor kept a Rottweiler next door (in a building where no pets are allowed) that was about the tear through the wall at any minute. But, for just about the same price, I could get a view of the bay in a studio on the fifth floor! So, I will be sleeping in the closet but at least there's a closet big enough to fit my bed!

We continued to look around, but turned in the application on Thursday. Just as we had finished looking at a place overlooking the entrance to a four-lane tunnel on Friday, I got a call that my application had been approved and we signed the lease that afternoon! I really couldn't believe it and I'm still pinching myself as I pack up my room, thinking that in less than a month, I will be moving to California and starting a proper job...it's a little daunting but I am excited for a new adventure!

And I know I will be far from home and my mom won't be able to just pop down to see me. But, my building manager is a wonderfully rotund Russian lady named Polina who promised to look out for me. I called to thank her for helping push through my application, and she just seemed beside herself with glee that I was moving in. She told me, "Now, tell your par-rents zat zey have naw-ting to vorry about. I am a Rahhssian mahzer and I will take care of you!" (please forgive the terrible Russian accent!)

The view from my window!

G'day Sydney!

2008-04-29T20:12:00.003-07:00

Ok, just one last more entry about Sydney! On the last day, Valerie, Angus, and I walked across the Harbour Bridge and then drove up to North Point, the exact place where they took my mom 21 years ago when she came to Australia on business! I probably took a photo in the same exact spot she did. And we managed to do it all before the rain came! We had one last dinner together at a delicious Indian restaurant called, coincidentally, Last Train to Bombay. I was so sad to leave Valerie at the airport, and I miss them all still...but, at least I will be much closer to Australia once I move to San Francisco!

Fruit Bats and Fondue

2008-04-29T19:36:00.004-07:00

I am now sitting on the plane to Newark, cruising over a brown, desolate part somewhere in the vast middle of the USA, and unsure of where to start this entry. So much has happened in the past week, but perhaps it would be easiest to simply start where I left off so that takes me back down under to Australia.

On Friday, Angus and I went into Sydney so he could show me around “the Con,” or the Sydney Conservatory of Music where he went to university. We then wandered through the Botanical Gardens and under massive fruit bats, dangling like dark lanterns from the tree branches, to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to check out this year’s award-winning Australian portraits and landscapes. We saw some very interesting pieces, but my favorite of the day was a 1991 sculpture by Lin Onus that consisted of a Hills Hoist (Australian invention for drying clothes outside) adorned with Aboriginal details and giant fruit bats!

In the evening, Valerie, Bernard and I left Tim and Angus to their own devices for the weekend and drove down to Canberra to visit Valerie’s younger brother Roger, his wife Julie and all of their family. More relatives – hooray! In the USA, we are far from our English relatives and even farther from the Australian branch of the family tree, so it was wonderful to connect with relatives that I had not met until now! And how did my family end up in Australia? I’m proud to say that they did not descend from convicts, but instead from my daringly adventurous “Uncle Jack,” my dad’s uncle on his mom’s side. According to my grandma’s stories, her older brother Jack was a cheeky devil. She remembered as a little girl looking around for her missing doll’s pram and finding Jack at the bottom of the garden frying an egg over a fire constructed out of the smashed pieces of the pram! When he was only 14, John Smith ran away from Jarrow in County Durham, England and worked on the steam ships crossing the Atlantic between England and Canada. He once visited us in Montreal where we lived back in the 80s and loved walking through the port, recollecting the days when his ships would pull into port and he would volunteer to clean the coal-coated hold for a box of fresh tomatoes.

Once the Depression took hold in the 1930s, work on the steamships dwindled and Jack looked farther afield for opportunity. His mother, Annie Gibson, had two brothers – one was an engineer and the other owned tea plantations in India. So, Uncle Jack packed his bags and set off. He came back to England at least once to marry Dorothy, my grandma’s best friend from teacher’s college. They lived in current-day Bangladesh, but what was then called East Pakistan. And when their two oldest daughters (Elizabeth and Valerie) were born, they crossed the border into India to reach the closest hospital at a mission. During World War II, Uncle Jack fought in the Indian Navy, but soon after India’s independence in 1947, they left for Australia with help from the engineer, Uncle Tom, and never left Sydney. He became captain of the largest ship in Australia’s merchant marine, and ran supplies up to soldiers fighting the Vietnam War. So far, this is all I have managed to piece together but I endeavor to keep sleuthing because it’s fascinating to find out more about your roots.

Fast forward to last week, and we were off to visit Roger, Valerie’s little brother who was born in Australia. Once we left Sydney, I was amazed that the highway just stretched on for hours with not a town or street lamp in sight. America’s wilderness is no comparison the vast spaces of Australia. Most Australians live along the eastern and southern coasts, but once you head inland, roads disappear and massive swaths of land are simply inaccessible. Most of our drive was through forests of the dark green gum trees, but the last stretch of the drive gave me a taste of what the Australian bush is like – dry, scrubby trees punctuating arid, yellow land. Harsh and hardly welcoming compared to Sydney’s beautiful bay.

Canberra is Australia’s capital, created to resolve Sydney and Melbourne’s squabbling over where the country’s capital should be located. Both felt they deserved it, but someone stepped in, shouted “Screw you both!” and built it halfway between the two cities. The name means “meeting place” in the local Aboriginal language, but Angus thought a better translation would be “Drive straight on through.” I must admit that it is not a place I would choose to live – it appears to be the seat of government and not much else. On Saturday, we went to an art exhibit of landscape from Turner to Monet at the National Gallery, and then wandered through the capital. A prime example of city planning on a grand scale, much of the place was laid out in the 1970s by an American named Walter Burley Griffin. And with no shortage of land, he planned the city with ample breathing room, so much so that it feels like it needs a bit of filling in.

The highlight of the day was a tour of the Parliament, an incredibly modern, white marble, wedge-shaped building cut into a hill and topped with giant silver tripod holing a giant, flapping Australian flag. The first thing I noticed was how little security there was in the building. A few security guards stood by their bikes outside, and the security check to go in was tame compared to the process in today’s airports. In the USA, intimidating men armed with guns patrol our national monuments and snipers stroll along the roof of the White House. In fact, Penn with its vast network of armored golf carts and security guards at every corner probably has more protection than all of Canberra combined! The new Parliament building was only opened in 1988 to replace an older building, and here are a few more interesting tidbits about the place:

- Australia’s national crest includes a kangaroo and an emu, both Aussie natives that can only move forward. Thus, they symbolize Australia’s constant movement forward into the future.

- The décor of the chamber for the House of Representatives is all done up in a sea foam green, inspired by the color of the gum tree. However, it reminded me of the pastel shade of green you might find in Floridian retirement homes. Coincidentally, Korean Airlines must have also liked the color scheme because the interiors of their planes look virtually identical. On the flip side, the Senate chamber is decorated in salmon pink!

- The public is always allowed to come in and view the day’s discussions in both chambers. However, you have to obey the rules and rule #1: you must be dressed! No bikinis, no swim shorts, no budgie smugglers…only in Australia would have to remind people not to wear their swimsuits on a visit to the epicenter of their nation’s government!

After the tour, we went to the grass-bedecked roof of Parliament for a spectacular view of the city. From the top, we could see the war memorial that the USA gave to Australia. In the area, it is commonly known as “Bugs Bunny’s ears,” but I think it better resembles a massive fondue fork stuck in the ground. Who’s in the mood for a chocolate-dipped strawberry?

Pretty please, Mum! May I have a puggle?

2008-04-28T11:57:00.002-07:00

I am now in the San Francisco Airport, heading home to NJ after an amazing, unforgettable 6 weeks. I feel a little guilty that I haven't done justice to my time in Australia as I still have more to add, but here is my account of our trip to the zoo over a week ago!

On Thursday, Valerie and I had a super time at the Taronga Zoo. I wasn’t expecting to have so much fun, but as soon as we got there, I joined the five year-olds oohing and aahing at the giant pelicans, cuddly koalas, and colorful birds. We watched a kangaroo brave the rain and bounce from one shelter to the next. We saw a duck-billed platypus madly dart back and forth in its aquarium. I always thought a duck-billed platypus was about the length of my arm, but its actually quite small and only about the length of a placemat. And guess what a duck-billed platypus sproglet is called? A puggle!

After watching a sea lion misbehave and lollop past his trainer into the stands (thankfully they had been roped off so no one was sitting there), we went in search of the elephants. They had just had their morning bath and were in the middle of the midday “meet-and-greet.” According to the keeper, they try very hard to keep the elephants entertained with different activities like painting and letting visitors pet their noses. As you might expect, their skin was very rough and leathery but also incredibly hot! We enjoyed watching feeding time at the gorilla pen and then found the chimpanzees where we saw not just one but two chimp mummies with tiny babies in their arms. “Awwww” was all I could say.

We continued on to find an orangutan, another primate relative of humans and let’s say the black sheep of the family tree. Anti-social and incredibly ugly, orangutans prefer to stick to themselves. When we caught sight of the orangutan, Valerie exclaimed, “Oh, it looks like an old hobo!” And there it was perched high in the enclosure on a wooden platform, hiding under a burlap sack. Give it a paper cup and it would look quite at home in parts of San Francisco.

The giraffes were one of the highlights of the day. While their pen overlooked the Sydney Harbour and Opera House, they seemed entirely focused on a bag of carrots propped outside of the fence. One giraffe also could not seem to keep his long, purple tongue inside his mouth. So, he let it loll around and occasionally picked his nose with it.

We concluded the zoo visit with a spin around the koala walkabout where we saw at least four or five koalas snoozing in the trees. We learned that they sleep 20 hours a day because the eucalyptus leaves they eat are incredibly low in energy and difficult to digest, so any energy goes towards digestion! However, we did catch one having a vigorous itch that probably sent him into hibernation for a good couple of days.

Our day didn’t end there though. Valerie and I then sped off in her adorable blue convertible to watch an Australian movie called The Black Balloon. The film told the story of a teenage boy moving to a new town, growing up, and coming to terms with his older autistic brother. The movie was fantastic, but it gave me the shivers all the way through. Before my last year of high school in the summer of 2003, my best friend and I volunteered at a day camp called Celebrate the Children, a camp for kids with communication difficulties as they put it. Some seemed quite fine if a little quirky, but others could not speak at all. Loud noises and bright colors could overwhelm them, and they would often shake their hands by the sides of their face, as if letting off some nervous energy. The movie stayed pretty upbeat all the way through and ended happily, but it brought back a lot of memories about the kids I met that summer and it was disconcerting to see how they might be when they get older.

Stay tuned for a bit more Australia and San Francisco!

I'm sorry, but I don't speak Australian!

2008-04-25T21:58:00.004-07:00

English is a wonderful language because it is so varied, taking on so many different words and pronunciations. I also like to think that English-speakers have “flexible” ears, more accustomed to and accepting of different accents that might at first make English sound like a foreign language! And, half the fun of meeting English speakers from other places is learning new words that belong in your own native language. So, here’s a list of a few I picked up in Australia.

The first I took note of was “Hundreds and thousands, ” or sprinkles. My cousin Tim would slather butter on two pieces of squishy, white sandwich bread (simply not the same with whole wheat) and sprinkle colorful hundreds and thousands all over both pieces. Then, he would smoosh them together to make a sandwich known as “fairy bread.” I tried this concoction and let’s say I can understand why it’s a favorite as kids’ birthday parties!

Now, moving onto a few associated with tea and coffee, both of which Australia does incredibly well and both of which my family wherever they seem to live in the world consume in tremendous amounts. Here are a few common terms, ordered in degree of milkiness:

Short Black = Tiny Espresso

Long Black = Big cup of black coffee

Flat Cap = Cappuccino with milk

Skim Cap = Cappuccino with steamed skim milk and froth, dusted with chocolate

Caffé Latté = Very milky coffee served in a glass rather than a cup and saucer like the ones above

While down under, I also encountered the “babyccino.” I can’t believe that Starbucks hasn’t come up with this, but it’s simply a thimbleful amount of steamed milk with a smattering of chocolate on top, made for kids so they don’t feel left out when they go with mum to the café. And, when visiting our cousin Roger and his family in Canberra, he asked me if I took my tea with “2sm.” And all I could think to say was, “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Australian!” Well, it turns out that it stands for “Two sugars and milk.”

Here are a few more that you hear in regular conversation:

Good on you! = Good for you!

How you going? = How are you?

Knackers = Tired

“Oh, I’m knackers!” Cue to collapse on couch and watch rugby.

Mackers = McDonald’s

“That’s the Mackers where I had a Big Mac last night.”

Chockers = Full

“The dishwasher is about chockers, so I reckon we can run it now.”

Stubby = Beer Bottle

“ Don’t make fun of the cape on my Batman stubby sleeve [neoprene insulated cup that you hold your stubby in].”

And one more that I just learned last night and the one I’m still laughing about – Budgie Smugglers, the slang term for a pair of Speedos!

A not-yet-smuggled budgie

[Just getting to posting this in San Francisco, but wrote this sometime en route from Sydney to Seoul - still must post about the zoo and much more!]

Ogling the Opera House, Part Two

2008-04-25T21:55:00.001-07:00

Last Wednesday, I took the bus into Sydney to meet Ziyu, a friend of a friend from Penn who is making the most of the laidback way of life down here while studying abroad at the University of New South Wales. And we went on a tour of the Sydney Opera House! I like to say that I "appreciate" music, but as I can barely tell the difference between a trumpet and a trombone, a proper performance at the Opera House would have been squandered on me. However, a tour about the history and construction of the world’s most recognized building was perfect.

While only been open for 34 years, two out of three people can identify of photo of the building correctly. It’s quite an enchanting building, but it has a tumultuous history. A Danish architect named Jorn Utzon was chosen to execute his design, and the opera house was expected to be finished in three years for $7 million. However, it actually took 15 years and $160 million! The white “sails” proved incredibly challenging to build, and Utzon was under increasing pressure to finish them up. He left in 1966 once the shells were complete, after nearly 10 years on the project, and an Australian firm took over to finish up the interior concert and opera halls. He was recently brought back on board and most recently designed nine new windows for one of the halls. However, he still has never returned to see the building since he left Sydney more than 40 years ago. Quite sad…

We went inside the Concert Hall, and my favorite part was an entertaining system of donuts hovering above the musicians that act as a false ceiling. Without them, music travels up to the real ceiling, and bounces back after a few seconds, confusing the musicians. Suspend a few clear, plastic donuts from the roof and problem solved! Bright pink cushioned chairs rimmed the hall, and they were actually designed by the surgeon who performed the first successful hand transplant. He also designs chairs for surgeons who perform lengthy, intricate operations. Comfortable enough to sit in for hours, but not comfortable enough to lull you asleep – critical for both life-saving operations and otherwise nap-inducing piano concertos.

A fellow American in a nylon, purple-flowered top stretched over ample girth provided an additional element of entertainment to the tour. She looked about 30 but toted around a mothy teddy bear covered in bald patches tightly under her arm. Occasionally, she would prop him in places to take his photo as her husband looked on. For example, she perched him on the royal purple-carpeted steps that Pavarotti detested because purple symbolizes death and stands for bad luck in Italy. Considering America’s reputation at the moment, I think it would be wise to contain such people safely within American borders.

And one last thing…I couldn’t believe my eyes when I walked into Macker’s (see above post!) for a vanilla soft serve cone to find that it only costs 30 cents!!! I thought the 1 might have fallen off of the menu board, but the man asked for 30 cents and I incredulously asked, “Is that all?” And he said, “Yep!” Delicious and what a deal.

Sydney-Seoul-Seattle-San Francisco

2008-04-24T22:27:00.002-07:00

Wow, it's been quite a whirlwind of a week! Left Sydney early on Tuesday morning in the pouring rain and then flew to Seoul. I was in South Korea for about 12.3 minutes as, little did I know, but my connection was "illegal" according to the lady who checked me as there should have been more time between my flights. So, I ran off the plane and was expecting to run all the way to my gate, but a man was there waiting to drive me there in a golfcart! I felt like one of those dangerously overweight people who must be driven to their gate - people kept on looking at me like "what the hell is wrong with her!" Well, thankfully I made it the plane just in time and my checked baggage somehow made it in the hold too, just before they closed the doors. Then, I had a flight to Seattle, then a 2 hour layover before flying to San Francisco. Altogether, about 24 hours in the air but I still made it to San Francisco at 6pm that same Tuesday! Now, reunited with me mum and dad, we have been walking up and down the hills of San Fran in search of an apartment. We have some good leads and hope to have something squared away by Sunday. I still have lots of stuff from Australia to post but that will have to wait - please stay tuned!

Cruisin' to Katoomba

2008-04-21T00:34:00.003-07:00

Oh gosh, I'm really behind on blogs about Australia but here's one more installment! Last Tuesday, Valerie and I drove out to the Blue Mountains for a short day trip. We got a bit lost on the way there, pulled into a petrol station for help, and just about everyone in the store contributed their input into how to get us back on the road in the the direction of Katoomba. We had some beautiful views of the Blue Mountains, reminded me of the green Grand Canyon, just before the rain and mist rolled in. After making a narrow escape from the downpour, we enjoyed "real hot chocolate" - we were each given a pitcher of steamed milk, a bowl of milk chocolate pieces, and a stylish chemistry class contraption that suspended a metal cup above a candle. Pour the milk in to the cup, add some chocolate chips with your metal spoon slash straw, stir and slurp! Very delicious.

Bolt from Bondi to Bronte and Back

2008-04-17T23:46:00.005-07:00

On Monday, Angus and I braved the rain to drive down to south Sydney and visit the famed Bondi Beach and walk along the cliffs. However, as our umbrellas turned inside out and our clothes quickly became soaked by the whipping rain, we decided to take a coffee break and hope that it cleared! We enjoyed a cup of coffee in a swanky bistro where the waiters looked rather nonplussed as we walked in, drenched to the bone, and even less pleased when we left big wet marks on their seats. But thankfully the rain did clear and the views were stunning - churning, turquoise waters topped with white froth crashing into eroded cliffs made of a stone that looked like the sunset - all stripes of oranges and yellow. It was beautiful. We're off to Canberra in a few minutes to stay tuned for a look into another part of Australia!

A Serious Take on Sydney with a Side of Waratah

2008-04-17T00:48:00.011-07:00

As the possum gallops around on the roof above my head, I am struggling with how to begin this entry. I have now been having a lovely time in Sydney for over a week, but
I what has struck me most about the place is simply how much its like home! Granted green parrots and giant white cockatoos with yellow crests don’t dart among the trees and perch on the telephone poles in New Jersey, but the overall feel and layout of the place, well, seems very American. Sydney, like New York, Boston or Washington DC, is mostly modern and surrounded by sprawling suburbs studded with shopping centers where the car rules despite trains and buses.

Even North Bridge where I am staying reminds me of Mendham. The town centers in both places contain few places of use – kitchen design showrooms, interior decorators, art galleries, salons, and gourmet food shops. Fun but in order to complete regular day-to-day tasks, you need to hop in the car and drive to reach a proper supermarket, restaurant, post office, etc. Actually, the use of “town center” is a stretch in both cases – in each place, a few stores line a main street but houses just spread every which way. I have always admired England’s compact, walkable towns, but the US and Australia do not have the same land constraints that England has, giving them the freedom to simply spread. And they have.

Furthermore, many of England’s towns formed centuries before anyone dreamt up the automobile so they were built with the pedestrian in mind. However, most development in the US and Australia occurred after the car. Thus, houses popped up with the understanding that families would have cars to drive anywhere, so there wouldn’t be the need to build schools and shops within walking distance. Now, I am sure you’re all bored to tears by now so I will stop with my town planning ramblings and tell you a bit more about the history of Australia…I promise I will be quick because there’s not much!

When Angus visited us in January, I took him down to Old City in Philadelphia where some of the buildings date back to the early 1700s. As we walked along the cobblestones in Elfreth’s Alley, the “longest continually inhabited street in America” as proclaimed by Disneyesque signage, beside the rows of wooden and window-shuttered houses, he exclaimed, “Wow, these are so old!” A Brit would scoff at this as they drive along old Roman roads and visit palatial 16th-century stately homes built while colonists struggled to construct a few measly log cabins. However, Captain James Cook didn’t even discover Australia until 1770, and the first boatload of convicts didn’t show up until January 26, 1788! Thus, America seems old to an Australian and England is positively prehistoric!

I learned more about Australia’s history in a visit to the Museum of Sydney last Friday where the story of the city was consolidated to a dozen plaques, augmented with models of sailing ships and fragments of chamber pots. While historians bicker over the reason for Britain’s colonization of Australia, the most frank explanation is that England needed a new place to dump criminals after losing America in the Revolutionary War (American version) or the War of Rebellion (British take on the situation). While 12,000 British ships plied the seas, only 11 shabby ships could be spared to found a new colony, and the fleet set sail in 1787. Filled mostly with convicts, the ships stopped to party in Rio de Janeiro and Cape Town before arriving on the southeastern coast of Australia in January 1788 after 8 months at sea. In order to make the trip more worthwhile, most of the ships dropped off their passengers and then bolted to China to pick up spices to bring back to England. And so began Sydney!

It would be an understatement to say life was a bit rough down under. And it was not until 1901 when the plague swept through Sydney that people realized that the place needed to be spruced up a bit. Speaking of 1901, the Commonwealth of Australia that we know today did not exist until January 1, 1901 when the six colonies decided to combine forces. Once again, I’m just hit with the fact that this is such a young place. And like the US where states like to keep some sort of independence from the federal government, the Australian states seem to have even more power and just about everything at the federal level is replicated at the state level. Incredibly wasteful, inefficient, and the source of much griping for Australians.

But, I have avoided an issue that has played a major role in Australian history: Aborigines. In the 1780s, a colonist commented, “The natives are far more numerous than they were supposed to be.” Indeed, they had been living in Australia for at least 400,000 years but that was of no matter. Coincidentally, I wrote a paper last term that included a bit about the Aborigines, so here it is:

A research report from the Horn Expedition of 1896 says that the typical Australian Aborigine was a“ ‘naked, hirsute savage’” with no religion, no written records, and no traditions. Indigenous peoples were simply “a loose bundle of named qualities” that could be conquered, exploited, and killed with little remorse. Thus, the Europeans reasoned that they could claim foreign lands because the territory was terra nullius, or land belonging to nobody.

Ouch. And so began a big social problem that Australia still struggles with today. Many live out in the middle of the bush with no schools and no jobs. They want autonomy but most have trouble supporting their families. The government writes checks but money can’t solve problems like that. Tricky, tricky. I imagine Native Americans face similarly thorny issues in the USA, but the press doesn’t pay any attention so the wider public doesn’t know what goes on and the Bush government could care less.

Oh, forgive me, but this post has been terribly serious. I can't end with such doom and gloom so here's something a little lighter.

Here are the Waratahs, New South Wales' Rugby Union team:

And here is a Waratah:

Slightly ironic that a team of beastly men who tackle one another is represented by a poncey pink flower...or perhaps not!

Ogling the Opera House

2008-04-15T05:39:00.003-07:00

On Sunday, we all went out for a delicious lunch at Cafe Sydney to celebrate Tim's 21st birthday. We sat outside with stunning views of the Harbour Bridge and glimpses of the Opera House, peaking out from behind a colossal eyesore of an apartment building known as "The Toaster." Food was absolutely delicious, and my dessert - vanilla, pear, and ginger cheesecake - was simply divine. Thankfully, the balcony was covered because it torrented down with rain for much of lunch, made even more exciting by crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning that illuminated the entire sky. Thankfully, the rain cleared in time for us to go for a walk around the harbour and enjoy the views of the Opera House, glowing against the dark storm clouds in the distance.

Day 5 in Sydney

Holy #$*& ! Stephen Colbert is at Penn!

2008-04-15T05:25:00.003-07:00

So just sitting here in Sydney, watching Monday night's Daily Show with my cousins and then The Colbert Report comes on and there stands Benjamin Franklin. And then Penn alum John Legend takes the screen to sing the national anthem, joined by Stephen Colbert! Then it hits me - he is at Penn! I literally start bouncing up and down on the couch, I'm so excited. Now, he's trying to pronounce "Schuylkill River"...I still have no idea how to say it properly after nearly 4 years there! How super - an entire week of Philadelphia and Penn broadcast around the world on The Colbert Report. I don't know if Gutmann was behind this in her "Making History" campaign but I don't even think she could have thought of something so perfect!

Don't Doddle! Go Swannies!

2008-04-13T01:45:00.005-07:00

On Saturday night, we took the train out to the Olympic Park, home of the 2000 Sydney Summer Olympics, to watch the Sydney Swans play the West Coast Eagles in a game unique to this island country: Australian Football!

Over 44,000 fans bedecked in red and white filled the stunning stadium to watch the Swannies easily defeat the Eagles 107 to 45, and it was probably one of the most enthralling sporting event that I have ever seen. The field is an immense oval, and there are four tall goal posts at each end. Each team has 18 players on the field, and their aim is to kick the egg-shaped ball in between the posts. If the games don’t sound quirky yet, it will now. If someone kicks the ball through the two center posts, the team gets one goal, which equals 6 points. But if they miss the goal but manage to kick the ball between one of the center posts and one of the outer posts, they get a “behind,” which equals one point! As a team tries to run the ball down the field towards the goal, a player may carry ball. He can then punt it to a fellow team member or volley it – hold the ball in one hand and punch it with the other. And he runs with the ball for a long time, he must bounce it on the ground every number of steps. And it gets better…

My favorite part of the game is that when the ball goes out of the field, the referee throws it back in, turning around and hurling it over his head! Tackles are allowed, but if things get too rough and there’s a foul, then the referee will either throw the ball into the ground so it bounces way up or simply fling it straight up into the air. We actually saw quite a scandal on the field. The Swans’ leading player Barry Hall punched one of the Eagles, giving him a concussion! I hope he’s not a distant relative – with his bald head, cup-handle ears, and protruding Neanderthalish-forehead, he looks more like one of the FBI’s most wanted! He played in the rest of the game until he ran into a metal railing, cutting his head and breaking his wrist. Regardless of this injury, he has been banned from playing for a good couple of weeks. In a post-game interview, he apologized for the punch and claimed he had a “mind explosion." It looked like he didn’t have much brain to blow up though, must have just short-circuited!

The game never seems to stop, which makes it really fun to watch. But, I admit that I occasionally got slightly distracted by the players’ tight tank tops and miniscule shorts. Come to think of it, Australian guys in general seem to like showing off their legs. The previous evening, we watched some Rugby League on “Friday Night Footie” and the giant guys were also wearing incredibly short shorts. And I have seen lots of guys on the streets wearing these skin-tight, knee-length shorts that no American guy, straight or gay, would ever wear!

The laid-back Aussie way is reflected in the tradition of “kick-to-kick” after the game when fans are welcome onto the field to play a bit of footie themselves! Unfortunately, the possibility of 45,000 people on the field meant that kick-to-kick wasn’t allowed this time, but that didn’t stop kids fooling around after the game, and we dodged flying balls all the way back to the train station!

Day 4 in Sydney!

Vegemite and Jam Drops

2008-04-13T01:01:00.002-07:00

I am now in the beautifully sunny Sydney, Australia staying with my dad’s lovely first cousin Valerie, her husband Bernard, and two of their three sons, Angus and Tim! Valerie picked me up from the airport on Wednesday morning, and we had a relaxing day, visiting Balmoral Beach and Manly Beach. Already, I could feel the place’s more laidback approach to life – lots of surfers fooling around in the middle of the days, people slowly strolling along the beach, and several very normal-looking people walking along the sidewalk barefoot! The vibe reminds me of California, and Valerie took me through downtown from the airport, and the city actually reminded me of San Francisco!

I had a very amusing day on Thursday helping out Valerie at the “kindy” (preschool) where she works as a teacher’s assistant for a class of 18 three-year olds…hold that thought, just as I was typing, a creature scampered loudly across the roof making a sound like someone running up the stairs. I had been warned to expect this – the backyard possum has awoken! This possum had taken up residence in their house, so they contacted the council to see what could be done about the intruder. The council retorted that regulations forbid the possum to be moved more than 15 meters from his chosen home, so the only solution would be to build the possum his own house in the backyard! So, the Gomms’ bought a possum house for $15 and thankfully, the new accommodations pleased their resident rodent and he moved right on in!

Now, back to the toddlers! I have not been around kids for a while, especially young ones, so it was a fun day, if also a bit tiring. The kids began to arrive at 9am and Val introduced each of them to me, saying “Matthew, this is my cousin Emma visiting from America.” They would reluctantly lift their heads to stare at me wide-eyed from underneath their wide-brimmed sunhats, often with the fingers of one hand wedged into their nostrils and mouth and the other hand clutching a grimy blanket or tugging at their undies.

Despite their initial shyness, they warmed up to me, and they were an incredibly cute bunch of kiddies. And it’s this cuteness that lets you forgive them when they get up to mischief! During indoor playtime, I sat with a group at the clay table. One little guy started to eat little bits of the bright purple play dough, and then retreated underneath the table to pick up a fallen rolling pin. Well, the clay on the floor proved too delicious and he stayed under the table to eat some more of it. I didn’t notice until a little girl pointed out what he was doing. I look under the table and there he is, lying tummy-down on the floor with slobbery mess of play dough on the ground in front of him with purple drool dripping from his smiling mouth. Then, another little kid started making play dough sausages, so they all joined in to roll out the clay. Soon enough, a blond boy who looked just like my brother Duncan when he was a little guy proudly held up his play dough and beamed, “I made a poo.” Fearing we soon could have a table full of doodoo, I quickly said, “Ok guys, let’s make pizzas!”

“Morning tea” followed “pack away” (clean-up) time and nearly every child had Vegemite! And if they didn’t have it on crackers for morning tea, then they certainly had it with butter on bread for lunch. Vegemite, or Marmite in England, is a thick, brown, salty paste made from yeast with a completely unique and indescribable flavor. Of all the foods that are “acquired tastes,” I think that this one tops the list. The kindy requires parents to pack their kids healthy food, and I was very impressed with the gusto that the kids devoured apple slices, grapes, rice cakes, and hard-boiled eggs. One little girl removed the second half of her Vegemite and butter sandwich from her lunch box and uncovered, much to her delight, three carrot sticks. She exclaimed, “Carrots! My mummy hid them unda my sandwich so I couldn’t see them! Silly mummy!”

After lunch, it was naptime and the kids laid out on little pads on the floor for a snooze. Some collapsed on their mats and fell asleep instantaneously while others needed some coaxing. So, we sat beside the finicky kids and stroked their back to calm them down until they fell asleep. Overall, I would say we did a pretty good job – 16 out of 17 eventually conked out and only one wet the bed!

As kids filtered out in the afternoon, I noticed a boy in another class wearing a shirt inscribed with “Relax, Mum will do it.” When I read that, I could hear my mom saying to herself, “Oh yes, I know the feeling.” The kids were fun for a couple of hours, but I don’t envy for a moment any of my high school classmates with babies of their own.

I went into Sydney on Friday, enjoyed Australian Football on Saturday and celebrated Tim’s birthday on Sunday so stay tuned!

Conquering Kamakura

2008-04-11T18:31:00.003-07:00

On the Monday, Caitlin and I braved the cold and rainy morning to venture outside of Tokyo to the town of Kamakura, known for its high concentration of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines. It took a bit longer to get there as planned as we got onto the wrong train and we were so busy chatting that we didn’t notice the train was headed in the opposite direction that we wanted to go until it reached the end of the line! After a bit of running around the station not sure what to do, we showed my ticket to the stationmaster and he simply pointed to another train, told us the name of the station we should switch at, and we were on our way!

The train emptied out as we came closer to Kamakura, and boys in crisp navy blue school uniforms replaced the stern businessmen. We stepped off of the train into the crisp dampness, so refreshing after a week of grimy London and Tokyo air. While the trip only lasted an hour, we arrived in a place completely different from Tokyo. People strolled along the streets at a leisurely pace, and tall hills flanked the road, which were covered in a dense patchwork of trees. The trees were all different sorts – fluffy, light green bamboo; dark, bushy evergreens; delicate, greenish-bronzey maples – that they gave the hills a unique texture and color scheme. Before visiting any temples, we enjoyed Kamakura’s culinary delights: purple sweet potato soft ice cream for starters (sounds strange but a delicious combo if you like both) and then soba (buckwheat) noodle soup just a bit farther down the road for lunch.

We then went to a big Buddhist temple and a massive Shinto (Japan’s own religion that existed before Buddhism arrived but the two now share certain aspects) shrine complex that appeared to be sponsored by Hitachi, the massive electronics company. In addition to washing your hands in special water and throwing coins into grates in front of various idols, people will often get their fortune on a slip of white paper. If they like the fortune, they keep it. However, if the fortune is less than favorable, its knotted onto a clothesline made for this very purpose. Ironically, it seems that the logo for Tokyo’s bid for the 2016 Olympics is this knotted, unwanted fortune…what a way to doom the effort before its even begun! And like hot green tea, cigarettes, sake and meal tickets, the fortunes are dispensed from vending machines for 100 yen!

We then walked through the center of town along a long path lined with cherry trees and paper lanterns. While the clouds were spitting rain and the blossoms were past their prime, it was still a wonderful sight. After a wander through the shops, we had dinner at another isakaya. We both ordered tea, hoping for something hot but it unfortunately arrived iced. Two glasses of cold green and oolong tea were the last thing we wanted, but Caitlin said she didn’t know what to say and that we should just accept the tea as it was. Food was good, but I was very skeptical of the bill when it arrived. It seemed to me that they had charged us for way more dishes than we actually ordered. So, I pressed the button to call the waiter (same system that you use in an airplane to call the stewardess!) and through lots of miming and pointing at the picture menu, the waiter told us what the charges were and they were indeed all legitimate. After we paid, Caitlin told me that it is very impolite to question the bill like that and it’s best to just let it go and trust its right. It is the culture for people to complete their jobs with the utmost care and attention to detail, and to do something like count your change or question a bill is considered offensive because being skeptical calls into question their job performance. A part of me felt guilty, but another part of me didn’t see what was wrong in wanting to understand the bill! But, I guess that’s what comes with trying to navigate through a completely different culture and one has to learn to just deal with it!

In general, Caitlin emphasized how reserved people are in Japan; they avoid confrontation at all costs and keep their feelings to themselves. Seems like a rather intense place…unfortunately, it’s not so surprising to me that suicides happen more often here than elsewhere. And while many signs are in English, virtually no one speaks English and that can leave you feeling even more isolated at times. I really admire Caitlin’s bravery and the ease with which she has settled into the city. I really enjoyed my couple of days in Tokyo, but I must admit that I was ready to leave on Tuesday morning, bound for a place a bit more like home: Australia!

I arrived in Sydney on Wednesday morning and its now Friday night, so I have to catch up on the events of the past three days – will post again soon!

Day 5: Tokyo and Kamakura

Do you like smo?

2008-04-10T02:14:00.004-07:00

On Sunday afternoon following church, I walked to the infamous Harajuku district where Tokyo’s stranger characters are supposed to congregate along a street called Takeshita-Dori. I bet you just laughed too when you read that! However, Caitlin told me that the correct pronunciation is, in fact, something like “Ta-kesh-ta” because the Japanese do not pronounce certain vowels after certain consonants. For example, while we call two big guys wearing diapers and fighting in a ring sumo wrestling, the Japanese actually call it “smo.”

I went to Harajuku hoping to see the Goths, punks and weirdoes dressed up as babies with massive pacifiers around their necks. However, it seems like the street has gone the way of South Street in Philadelphia – once a gritty neighborhood attracting unsavory sorts, but now simply a tourist spot with teeny boppers giggling in the sex shops and pouring over rows of brightly colored and wildly patterned accessories. One store though that caught my eye exclusively sold socks. And not just socks in different patterns and wild shades, but socks that just covered your toes, some that just covered your heel, some that looked like a brace that might wear if your twisted your ankle, and others edged in lace that you would wear with a pair of dressy flats or heels. I refrained from taking photos, but I wasn’t the only one amused by the amazing selection as I caught another baffled tourist snapping away at them.

So, I left Takeshita Dori after only spotting a few girls dressed up like dejected Little Bo Peeps to walk down to Shibuya once again for some shopping. However, on my way, I passed by a small store where a crowd was gathering. I suspected someone famous must be around, so I joined the group. The crowd consisted of Tokyo’s ghetto set – Japanese people who dress like tough gangster rappers with baggy jeans, colorful Nikes, and baseball caps. I can't imagine Japan has any ghettos, let alone many black people, but people here like to grab onto a stereotype and take it to the extreme. I noticed that we stood in front of a clothing store called the Billionaire Boys’ Club, and the name sounded familiar as an overpriced clothing line designed by a big music mogul. I asked a Japanese girl with cornrows who was inside and she said, “You know N.E.R.D.?” And, sure enough, he walked past the glass door inside! Now, I’m not expecting anyone much older than me to know who this guy is, and his music would make most people above the age of 30 ask, “Is that what they call music nowadays?” But, he does do some pretty cool stuff and he happened to be in Tokyo for a show the night before. The whole scene was rather entertaining, and I couldn’t help but wait for him to leave the store so I could try and get a photo too. He kept us in suspense but he eventually came out and the crowd swarmed in, but his towering bodyguard kept them at bay. Pretty easy task when you are 6 foot 6 solid mass of muscle and the average height of the fans is only about 5 ½ feet!

Dazed from my brush with fame (though probably more from the sun), I made my way down to Shibuya for some shopping, one of Tokyo’s favorite pastimes. After going into numerous “con-binis” (convenience stores) over the past few days, I began to notice how gracious and friendly the staff always were. In the US, you often see little post-its on cash registers to remind the cashier to smile at the customer and say hello. But, in Japan, I don’t think they needed any reminders! They would chitter-chatter away to me even though I didn’t understand a single word they said. All the while, their hands fluttered over the cash register with such a flourish that it looked like they were conducting the New York Philharmonic, even though they were simply ringing up my 100 yen ($1) pack of freesia mint – flavored gum. I would place my cash in a small plastic tray, and they would then return the tray to me with my change and a bow of the head. Many of these trays even had soft plastic bristles on the bottom so that it was easier for you to pick up the coins from the. And everywhere you looked, you saw people bowing their heads. I stopped in my tracks when I watched a Tod’s sales assistant accompany an older couple to the street, gave them their shopping bag with a bow, and continued to stand on the sidewalk and bow as the couple turned and walked away. She held the bow for a long time and then followed with slightly shorter bows. Their backs were turned and they would have seen none of this. It nearly seemed like she was bent over in prayer! Caitlin mentioned to me that in Japan, you are expected to be completely devoted to your job, regardless of whether you like it or not. This insight, coupled with the country’s extreme politeness, makes just going to the corner store a rather novel experience.

Before my laptop runs out of battery, I want to add one more thing about Tokyo. The city is immense with swarms of people - I think by some measures it is one of the biggest cities in the world. However, Tokyo is not even organized chaos, it is simply organized. Like traffic, people walk only on the left side of the pavement. There are often even raised, corrugated yellow lines down the middle of the sidewalks to separate the lanes of pedestrians. They are tricky to walk on and deter you from trying to weave into and out of people. Signs on the train platforms mark where the doors will be when the trains arrive, and people dutifully line up behind each mark before the train arrives. When it does pull in, everyone steps aside to let people exit before they climb in. It is frowned upon to cross a street at any point other than where the crosswalk is, and people will patiently wait for the little green man to light up before crossing, even if there are no cars in sight. I guess such social norms make daily life less fraught, and if I was stressed out and stuck behind a desk in a black suit for 12 hours a day, 6 days a week, I probably would appreciate this organization. However, sometimes a little excitement and uncertainty in life is fun, even if it is simply running across the sidewalk when, heaven forbid, the little man is red!

Battery nearly gone but still one more day in Japan to come!

Days 1 - 3 in Tokyo in Photos!

2008-04-08T00:06:00.003-07:00

Forgive the disjointedness of my entries about Tokyo, but my flight to Seoul has been delayed even more, leaving me with lots more time to mess around with my blog! Here are a few photos from my first three days in Tokyo - small slideshows and links to bigger photos! Still must cover two more days in Tokyo so please stay tuned!

Day 1 in Bloomin' Tokyo!

Day 2 in Tokyo

Day 3 in Tokyo

Saturday in Toyko with Pecori Sweat and Shibuya

2008-04-07T22:53:00.008-07:00

Flight to Seoul delayed due to rainy and windy weather in Tokyo so I will take advantage of the time and update my blog.

On Saturday morning, I headed for the subway and first ventured to the Tsujiki Fish Market. While waiting for the train, I examined the drinks available in the vending machine on the platform and one of them was a beverage called Pocari Sweat, a sports drink that promised "fast supply, keep long!" One more intriguing use of the English language... The fish market was a hive of activity with little men buzzing around on three-wheeled buggies hauling around giant tuna torsos as an assortment of Japanese tourists with a few Westerners thrown in wound their way over the puddles and around the crates of sea creatures. I walked into the market to find rows upon rows of stalls selling just about everything you could find other the sea...little fish, big fish, red fish, blue fish, things with lots of tentacles, things in shells, and things that appeared to have done nothing but sit on the sea bottom. As I passed by the bins of fish, I noticed that the place smelt surprisingly unfishy - I guess the catch was so fresh that it hadn't even started to smell yet!

I then hopped back on the train back to Ueno Park to see the cherry blossoms that I had seen in the dark the night before in their full glory under the brilliant sunshine. The pale pink petals had begun to fall, but the sight was still stunning. So stunning, in fact, that a Buddhist monk had ventured out in his bright saffron robes with matching wooly orange hat to capture the scene on video! I strolled amidst the picnickers and past a row of stalls hawking typical Japanese street foods. In the US, stalls like this would sell cotton candy, hamburgers, hot dogs, funnel cakes or, worse, corn dogs. However, in Japan, popular snacks include small dough balls containing a miniature octopus and entire smoked fish (scales and all!) on a stick.

I left the park, took a quick spin through a raucous street market, and went back to the hostel for a rest before meeting Caitlin in the evening at Shibuya, the “Times Square” of Tokyo, in front of the largest Starbucks I have ever seen. I’ve heard the intersection in the center of Shibuya is one of the busiest in the world with thousands of pedestrians crossing each time the lights turns. Times Square is tame compared to this place.

As I saw at Loft the day before, Japanese department stores are without comparison, and we made our way to another called Tokyo Hands, which sells everything you would ever need, more that you never thought you needed, and a lot that would never, ever need. As we climbed through the 8 floors, our jaws literally dropped when we entered the handicrafts departments. Most Japanese women are “homemakers,” and with the kids at school and husbands at work all of the time, it appears that they have some spare time on their hands. Judging from the contents of this floor, they have time not only for knitting, scrapbooking, and greeting card making but also metalsmithing and leather dying. One section contained shelves of untreated leather that one could color with any of the hundreds of dyes available in the next aisle. If pressed for time, you could also purchase pretreated hides ranging from dark brown cow to purple crocodile skin. The section of small animal pelts, furs, and tails might even tempt a few to try making their own fur coats rather than simply splurging on one at Prada or Dior.

We worked up an appetite gawking at the wares in Tokyo Hands, and Caitlin took me to a typical Japanese restaurant called an isakaya. It is like a bar, but people will go to eat as well as to drink (the Japanese really like their booze – you can even buy it from vending machines on the street). The menu consists of lots of small dishes, and you order a variety to share amongst the group. We enjoyed tuna sashimi (raw!), edamame, and this mystifying yet very delicious yam pancake topped with mayonnaise and a number of other mystery ingredients.

We then hopped back on the Toyko Metro to go an art opening at the Tomio Koyama gallery where her boyfriend Yu (pronounced like “you” which can create confusion at times) works. The art was, well, very contemporary. Some very nice, colorful paintings that we liked and a few interesting sculptures that left you scratching your head. I asked one of their friends what he thought of the art and he responded, “Well, I’m actually here to spot celebrities!” While I was completely oblivious, apparently some personalities had made an appearance including the translator for the French coach of Japan’s football team, the conceptual artist Joseph Kusuth, another artist called Maya Hewitt, and the director of the movie Kids who walked right past me as I asked Caitlin’s friend to point out any celebs if he saw them. Hope he didn’t hear me! I had no idea who any of these people were, but I'm sure they have made a name for themselves in certain circles.

It was getting late, and I needed to get back to the hostel by 11pm or else I would be locked out. I headed back to the station, glanced at my watch and decided it would be best to run to the station. Breaking more than few rules in the Japanese book of decorum, I sprinted down a long street, across a road where there wasn’t a cross walk (a big no-no in Japan!), through the station, onto the train, and then ran back off and up several long flights of stairs. I probably ran more than a kilometer in total but I thankfully arrived at the hostel with a few minutes to spare and fell asleep nearly instantaneously.

Days 1 - 2 in Tokyo!

2008-04-06T05:18:00.004-07:00

It’s Sunday night, and as an old lady floats around my hostel room in a pale pink kimono, it’s about time I start an entry about Tokyo.

I descended into the London Underground at 9:45am on Wednesday in the drizzle and stepped outside again, 19 hours later, into the blazing sun of downtown Tokyo after managing to navigate through the Shinjuku, reputably busiest train station in the world – thank god there were signs in English! Quite a change from England – I took at least five photos in the airport bathroom alone. Ever heard of the crazy Japanese toilets on TV with heated seats, water squirters, and sound effects? Well, they had them at the airport, complete with a little Pokemon-like character explaining how to operate the thing. I thought it was hysterical.

I arrived at the hostel in the early afternoon on Thursday and collapsed exhausted in the lobby. Tokyo is enormous, which means that the subway stations are immense and you often have to walk 300-400 meters to transfer from one line to the next within the same station. And these transfers often take you up and down stairs with not an escalator or elevator in sight. Other than the sheer distances you have to walk to actually get on your train, the system is incredibly clean with not a rodent in sight and very efficient with lots of maps and signs (I know the distance between lines because it says so!) and clocks telling you when the next train is due. So after pulling my bag for what felt like miles underneath the city after a rather sleepless night on the plane, a rest was in great need.

As I sat in a daze, a nice Japanese girl struck up conversation with me and I found out that she was leaving to teach in New Delhi for two years at the Japanese international school there. I frankly found Delhi terrifying and I was relieved to get out of there in one pieve, but I didn’t want to frighten her so I tried to highlight the place’s positives. Then, a Canadian girl showed up who had just spent a month in India and she held nothing back – “The whole place smells like crap…there’s no toilet paper…you’re going to get sick no matter what…” Oh, the look on the poor teacher’s face.

After a rest, I felt revived and headed out in search of cherry blossoms! I didn’t find out until after I had booked my ticket that I would be in Tokyo for cherry blossom festival so it was a great surprise! I wandered down to the Kitanamaru Park and came across the most stunning display of blossoms I have ever seen. Pale pink trees lined both sides of a curved lake, scattered with small boats paddling around. The soft fragrance of the flowers floated on the breeze, and I joined the line of onlookers snaking around the lake to get the full view. I snapped away at the scene, but my little point and shoot was quite pathetic compared to the cameras that the Japanese wielded. Lens as long as my arm were swinging around in all directions. A fun aspect about Tokyo is that you never have to feel awkward taking a photo because everyone else is taking one too.

After circling the lake, I continued through the park and came across a nice lawn covered in picnicking families. I sat down, and a family nearby asked me to take their photo. I happily obliged, and then they asked me to join them for their picnic! The group consisted of Grandma Sue, her three daughters (Amanda, Erica and one more), and three grandsons. It turns out that they were tourists from Taiwan. One was a gym teacher, and she had actually studied physical education in the US. I’m not even sure my gym teachers had degrees. And one of the sons was named Tiger. I said, “Tiger?” And his mom said, “You know Tiger Woods? Tiger is very popular name in Taiwan.” Whatever next. They were also quite impressed with my chopstick skills – thank you, Wendy!

Erica told me a very interesting insight about Japanese culture. The Japanese have a saying inspired by the sakura (cherry blossoms), “Live prosperously, die quietly.” The flowers burst into bloom suddenly, but then the petals fall off gradually so that you don’t notice the blossoms are gone until they actually are. Not sure what “prosperously” means, but perhaps it could be replaced with “over the top” or “excessively.” From what I’ve been told and what I have seen, it seems that people do things to the extreme here. Children go to regular school and then go to cram school in the evenings and on the weekends to prepare for exams that they must take at every stage of schooling to move onto the next level. It’s common for adults to work 12 hour days, 6 and even 7 days a week. Even this Sunday morning, the train was packed with men in black business suits. I hope that as I write more that you see that this place is slightly “over the top.”

On Friday morning, I went to Kishijoji and met Caitlin, another great friend who is like a cousin to me! Our parents have known each other for literally decades, and it’s great to visit her in her new home. Caitlin is teaching English here for a year, but seems to enjoy it so much that she might stay for two. We first went into a department store called Loft filled with so many adorable things, I cooed, “Oooo, that’s sooo cuuute,” just about every two steps. I think of the US as having a pretty good variety of consumer goods, but nothing compares to Japan. Instead of just silver paper clips in assorted sizes, we found paper clips in Loft shaped like penguins, giraffes, dogs, flowers, and butterflies. There was an entire aisle of charms to put on your cellphone, ranging from simple lanyards in all colors of the rainbow to glittery charms to stuffed pandas to plastic, half-eaten cookies and sesame crackers.

We then ate lunch at a noodle restaurant where you look at the displays of plastic food in the window, pick which one looks appetizing, remember the number that sits beside your desired dish, walk inside, slot your money into a ticket machine, punch in the meal you want, take the ticket that the machine shoots out and give it to the cook at counter. Your food then appears within moments, and you pay and take your food to the counter. Once you are done, you take your tray back up to the counter. Not a word needs to be exchanged in the whole ordeal – ideal if you don’t know a word of Japanese!

Caitlin and I then parted ways for the afternoon – she went off to teach some English and I went off to the Senso-ji Temple. Rather swarming with tourists but interesting to see…

After I had seen enough of the temple, I set off to Ueno Park because the Taiwanese family had told me the cherry blossoms were beautiful there, especially at night. On my way, I start passing stores stocked with all imaginable types of paper goods – cups, plates, takeout containers, etc. Then, I went by a store selling “Open” signs and another offering up the plastic food you see in restaurant display cases. I lost myself for at least an hour in a store selling china and porcelain plates. I was in the restaurant-supply district - not covered in my guidebook, but much more fun than any museum! I kept on walking, past a three-story tall chef’s head on top of building that marked the entrance to the neighborhood, and next came to an area with lots of shops selling wooden shrines that I think you would put in your house. Some stores sold them stained in rich mahogany and light maple shades, but others sold them unstained – I guess for the do-it-yourselfers out there! I finally reached Ueno Park at dusk and it was quite an exciting place. The main path through the park was lined by cherry trees in full blossom and hung on either side of the road were long lines of illuminated red lanterns. And, under the trees, sat black suits as far as the eye could see. Huge groups of businessmen (and women but not as many) sat on blue tarps in front of long makeshift tables constructed out of cardboard boxes and covered in food and booze. My guidebook tells me these are “boisterous hanami (blossom-viewing) parties,” and they sure looked like a lot of fun.

I think this entry has gone on long enough, but stay tuned for more Tokyo – including a mad dash through the subway after a art gallery opening and a celebrity spotting!

(Sorry no photos but this computer is not allowing them!)

I'm in bloomin' Tokyo!

2008-04-04T23:28:00.005-07:00

Must be quick because not much more time at the internet cafe so here's a photo of the cherry blossoms on my first day in Tokyo! More to come later...

London!

2008-04-04T22:52:00.010-07:00

It’s 5am in Japan, 9pm in London, and I’m awake on the plane flying over Siberia en route to Tokyo with 4 hours to go and my laptop balanced precariously on my knees. Thankfully, there won’t be any repeats of my accidental dropping of my computer, which blew the hard drive in January and entailed hours on the phone with Bangalore to install a new one, because it is tightly wedged between myself and the reclined seat in front of me. As long as there are no sudden movements, we should be ok.

I arrived in London on Sunday evening and left on Wednesday morning, and I think I can safely say that my stay was one long series of engaging conversations. No sightseeing really, I just enjoyed meeting up with old friends and family, punctuated with a few amusing interactions.

On Sunday night, I stayed with Janice, an old buddy from when I studied abroad at UCL who spent Christmas 2006 with my family up in Yorkshire. I managed to make it to her flat with the help of a 30-something guy who had been overlooking my shoulder as I typed up my last blog entry on the train from Penzance. He struck up conversation, and it turned out that he worked for Transport for London and that he had actually been to New Jersey to take a look at NJ Transit. Despite all of the Londoners’ grumblings, their transport system is pretty damn awesome, so I am not sure what lessons he learned from NJ Transit –perhaps what NOT to do?!

On Monday, I walked south through London with Waterloo Station as my final destination so that I could take the train out to see my aunt and uncle that evening. I stopped for lunch at a small (and cheap!) South Indian restaurant on Euston Road called Rasa Express, one of the few restaurants I tried when I was in London in 2006. I ordered, sat down, pulled out my water bottle, and this Indian guy at the neighboring table says, “I see you came prepared [for the spicy food].” He continued with a round of questions, then got up to pay his own bill, and before he left the restaurant, he said, “Are you on Facebook? I’ll facebook you,” and strode out. I couldn’t help laughing after he left – I guess 30 seconds of conversation is grounds for a friend request on Facebook nowadays. And, sure enough, I log on to email that night and there sat a request.

On Monday evening, I took a short train ride out to Epsom and had a wonderful stay with my aunt and uncle. We stayed up late chatting and Jane regaled me with tales of her family’s links with India. I knew she lived in “Rhodesia” (now Zimbabwe) as a girl, but I didn’t realize that her great grandmother ran Chapman’s Hotel in Rajpore, Dehra Doon – a town where people could break the journey up to Simla, a cooler holiday spot up in the hills. She stayed in India for nearly 50 years, but returned home to England penniless in 1947. It’s fascinating to learn more about your family’s history as you never know what you will find out…and I have more to share but that will have to wait until I get to Australia in a week!

Bright and early Tuesday morning, I came back to London and met up with Sabeen, another buddy from UCL, for lunch in Canary Wharf, a recent development of towering skyscrapers with the look of midtown Manhattan in east London. Quite coincidentally, her little sister had received an acceptance letter from Penn that morning! Hooray for the Class of 2012! And that evening, I had the pleasure to meet up with Taraneh, a super cool girl who I met while scrambling dozens of eggs in the Crystal Lakes Camp kitchen in Summer 2005, and her new Norwegian husband Morten. Wonderful to catch up as we’ve both come a long way since then...

After returning to Janice’s flat that evening, the architecture antics began! While I was at UCL, I spent a night brainstorming with Janice for her first-year project and we had fun coming up with a steam bath based on the idea of a “tagine,” a conical-shaped Moroccan cooking vessel. Janice is now finishing up her architecture degree at Bartlett, and the due date for her thesis looms. Her project is a butterfly garden beside St. Pancras train station in London, and she needed to take photos of her model in different lights – spring, summer, autumn, fall at 9am, 12pm, and 3pm. We found the angles (height in sky and distance away from the horizon) for the position of the sun at each of those times, set up a contraption (not quite rivaling the banana device in Bronte country but pretty close) involving paper, a contractor, ruler, and a desk light. I held the desk light in position while Janice snapped away, and the results were really cool…look out Norman Foster and Frank Gehry, Janice Wong is on the rise!

As the sky brightens and we near Japan, I want to take a few minutes to sum up a few things from England. “Reflections” might be a bit of stretch, so more like a motley list of things that I like about the place.

1. Curry Wednesday, Fish and Chip Thursday, and Suet Saturday

Every village has at least one pub, and they often have meal specials each night of the week. While you can’t get more English that Fish and Chips or Steak and Kidney Pie with Mashed Veg and Potatoes (the offerings on “Suet Saturday”), Curry nights represent the amazing diversity you find in the country. I also had a laugh when I realized why I saw so many joint pizza and tandoori takeaways around Leeds – they just use the same oven! Clever, clever.

2. Always look on the bright side of life!

Most people the world over associate rain and gloom with England, but the Brits don’t mind it and life moves along regardless of the weather. While the skies were gray much of the time, just a glimpse of a little patch of brighter gray would bring hope for a bit of sun and blue sky. I think there’s a lesson to learn from that, so I will simply quote Monty Python: “Always look on the bright side of life!”

3. Dogs

All too often in the US, pet dogs are simply left in the yards as lawn ornaments, but one gets the sense in England that people take very good care of their dogs. In the evenings, you see lots of happy dogs running after tennis balls and romping through fields. Some people’s love for the dog borders on obsession though, such as the couple making headlines before Easter who harvested their dog’s hair from the carpet, wound it into wool, and knitted themselves a pair of his and hers sweaters!

4. A more compassionate government

The US tends to be a “sink or swim” sort of place where help for struggling people is limited. The government is small and let’s people get on with their lives as best they can. However, higher taxes in England bring more government involvement in people’s lives. And this extends beyond the National Health Service into programs like “Befriend a Sex Offender.” You might think I’m kidding, but I am completely serious. Katy’s friend Hazel, in fact, volunteers once a week to meet with her child sex offender for coffee and a chat. In the USA, we have a website where you can find the name and address of any former sex offenders in your area. Some people have even wanted signs to be placed on sex offenders’ front lawns, I guess saying something like “Beware, a former sex offender lives here!” Meanwhile, the Brits are taking their criminals to Starbucks.

5. Complex and dense history

England’s history goes back so far that its difficult to comprehend how many things have happened in such a small place. The Romans, the Anglo-Saxons, the Celtics, rebellions, monarchies, civil wars, protests, two World Wars…the sheer depth of the country’s history is mind boggling. For example, Milton Keynes is technically a “new city,” built in the late 1960s with new developments including an indoor ski hill. However, houses and churches from before the Black Plague are scattered throughout the grid of roads. Furthermore, excavations for a new “Little Chef” road stop discovered an Roman service station that provided a full range of services to meet the needs of ancient travelers – a place to sleep, food, drink, and women! Not much has changed since then!

6. Silhouettes

In New Jersey, there are lots of trees, forests and hills, which does not leave much room to see wide expanses of sky. But, I noticed in England that when a place is relatively flat with just a sprinkling of trees around, you begin to see how beautiful a bare tree with twisting limbs and gnarled branches is silhouetted against the sky. Something you just cannot see with lots of other trees around.

Now, I have not had the chance to post this sine I wrote it on Wednesday, but it is now Saturday and Day 3 in Tokyo so let me begin another post!

Days 8-11: Clotted Cream in Cornwall

2008-04-01T03:31:00.008-07:00

It's 7pm on Sunday and I am still on the train to London. It would usually be dark at this time, but the clocks moved forward today. Glancing out of the window, I can see people walking along the public footpaths with their dogs running ahead, taking advantage of the longer evening and the surprisingly warm weather that greeted us this morning. But now, allow me to begin with my Cornish adventures!

After a dash through London, my 5-hour train ride west across the bottom of England began. As I watched landscape glide by outside of the train, it occurred to me how similar much of the country looks. The bus-ride from Leeds to Milton Keynes, the short ride from Milton Keynes to London, and then the journey from London to Penzance all took me past green fields and through little towns and villages. Even on the seaside at Whitby, farms simply came to an end on cliffs' edge and the sea began. It is such a pleasing and peaceful landscape, calming to the eye and so relaxing that I don't think I could ever get tired of looking at it. Forgive my tangent, but snow-capped mountains and deep canyons are striking, but perhaps they are also distracting. Meanwhile, England's scenery, coupled with a mild climate, provides a nice background for getting on with things. And, I think its wonderful that a country with so many people in such a small space can manage to have as much beautiful green space as it does...hooray for town planning and preserving the green belt!

I arrived in the evening, and Eleanor and Eric greeted me at the station. I had not seen them since they visited my family in New Jersey 10 years ago, and it was wonderful to see them again. They drove me along the sea to their beautiful gray stone Victorian home on top of a hill in Penzance. I stayed in a room with a view of the sea from my window, and the cream-colored duvet cover on the bed was identical to one I have back in NJ – I felt at home already!

On Friday morning, I went on a quick walk around Penzance before we set off to the old Levant tin mine where Eric volunteers every week. Cornwall is basically granite, and fissures along the coast have filled with minerals over the centuries, leading to fantastic mining. I admit that most of the engineering feats of the mine went completely over my head, but even I could comprehend that mining was really tough work. The poor guys walked 6-7 miles to the mine in the morning and then climbed down a seemingly endless ladder into the tunnels, which actually extended out under the seabed. And at the end of the day, they had to climb back out and walk home again!

After enjoying a traditional Cornish pasty for lunch (half moon-shaped pastry pouch filled with steak, onions, potatoes, and swedes that the miners ate because they could hold the crimped edge with their greasy hands while eating the rest and then throw away the crust – not me though, I ate it all!), Eleanor drove me to St. Michael’s Mount, a castle built on an island that you can only get to during low tide. The wind was fierce, sending streams of sand swirling down the beach and pushing me along with it. I ran back to the car after just 15 minutes with sand in my hair and my eyes tearing from the wind. Eleanor assured me that wind-tousled hair is acceptable in Cornwall as there is nothing one can do to avoid it, but I have a feeling I looked a little more disheveled than simply “tousled.”

Saturday morning began with gloomy forecasts of terrible rain and gale-force winds, but the day remained quite dry, if rather overcast and gray. In the early afternoon, we all caught the bus down the coast to a small town called Mousehole, but actually pronounced sort of like, “Mow-sle.” England's immense history never ceases to amaze me, and the Spanish actually attacked and burned down most of the town in 1585. In fact, the randy Spaniards were not only busy spreading their genes throughout Latin America, but they also enjoyed the company of Cornish women, and even today, I am told that people from Cornwall have a distinctly Spanish look. And it wouldn’t have been a trip to the sea without an ice cream. As we sat in the cafe, bundled in scarves and thick coats, Eric brilliantly observed, “One advantage of ice cream in cold weather is that it doesn’t run all over the place.” Quite right. Come wind, rain or snow, ice cream is probably something that I could enjoy 365 days a year.

After a stormy Saturday night, I woke up on Sunday to sunny blue skies and wonderfully mild weather. A popular destination in Cornwall is a town on the north coast called St. Ives. Beautifully situated on the sea with several crescent-shaped, sandy beaches (complete with surfers!), artists flocked the town and it has become quite an artists' mecca with a Tate gallery as its most recent addition. I did not think there would be time to go until the son of Eric and Eleanor's friends (who we had met for dinner the night before at a restaurant called The Meadery, a Cornwall institution where medieval wenches in peasant tops serve your food, eating with your fingers is expected, and the salad bar is contained within a giant stone fireplace) offered to take me up there for a wander round on the Sunday morning before my train in the afternoon! We beat the midday crowds, walked through most of the very charming town, and went to both the Tate and Barbara Hepworth's studio with time to spare for ice cream - all before noon!

After one last delicious meal with Eric and Eleanor (learned a very simple and healthy dessert too – peel a banana, cut it into pieces, put in bowl, toss in some orange juice and perhaps some ginger, bake or microwave for a bit, top with some yogurt or ice cream or heavy cream or clotted cream [chocolate sauce would be yummy as well], and enjoy!), they sent me on my way back to London, waving good-bye until the train was out of sight. As with so many good-byes, I was sad to leave them and after a few gasps of London fumes that night, I missed the fresh sea air too!

Days 5-9: Snow and so much more

2008-03-30T14:46:00.012-07:00

As I type, I am sitting in a train from Penzance in Cornwall back to London, traveling through rolling green hills covered in fields bounded by hedges, scattered with trees, and dotted with wooly sheep and their skipping little lambs. But, before I write about my trip to Cornwall to visit my moms wonderful friends Eric and Eleanor, I want to backtrack to cover a few things.

Firstly, Easter Sunday! And this was just not any Easter, it was a white Easter! We drove from Leeds to Wetherby through fields and hedgerows blanketed in snow. It was quite magical.

After church, we all then went to Moss Carrs (the Atkinsons’ farm where Katy lived until she moved into her swanky flat in Leeds and where my dad worked when he was in school) to enjoy the rest of the day. There were 11 of us in all – Bernard, Maureen, Phil, Katy, Katy's boyfriend Bob, Katy's friends and my newfound “cousins” Hazel and Sarah, Katy's aunt and uncle, my Grandpa and me. How Maureen cooked so much delicious food for us all, I will never know. As we ate, we could see Phil's snowman just outside the window, beginning to slump over as he melted. Although, it also looked like he was just feeling a big lethargic after eating a big Easter meal with not just one, but four puddings!

As dusk fell, we kept an eye out for a barn owl (in other words, Hedwig!) that had been flying around the farm, and we did get to see it gliding over the fields in search of its own dinner. Unfortunately, it was impossible for me to catch a photo of the owl, but I did take a few others.

And in the barn lives...

...lots of cows!

On Monday, Katy and I had a fun day in Leeds. We went for a wander around the shops, mingled with the footballers’ wives types toting around tiny, bug-eyed Chihuahuas in Gucci bags in the Harvey Nichols department store to sample different perfumes, and then enjoyed an absolutely heavenly Cadbury Crème Egg McFlurry from McDonalds (slight exaggeration but it was really good!). In the late afternoon, we made our way over to the National Armoury Museum and a bevy of medieval musicians greeted us at the door. If this is what my ancestors sounded like, no wonder I have no musical talent.

After about 12.6 seconds of looking at endless rows of armour, guns and swords, we headed off in search of a life-size model of tigers attacking an elephant. Unfortunately, we could not see this elephant due to construction, but we did find another kitted out in the only a suit of elephant armor that you can see in the world!

And nearby to the elephant we found three little tables with checkers boards. I'm not sure why they were there. Perhaps for the same reason they have comfy chairs for bored husbands and boyfriends in women's clothing stores, except in this case the checkers boards were for the women and kids. So Katy and I played checkers until the museum closed and the security guard said that we really did have to leave before our game was done.

On Tuesday, I went on down to Milton Keynes and on Wednesday, Joan, her son Adam and I went on a tour of the town. When I told people here that I was going to Milton Keynes, the general reaction was, “You're going where!?” Well, Milton Keynes is actually quite interesting if you're an urban studies freak like me! It is mostly a new city – construction began in 1967 and it is based on, of all places, a neighborhood in Paterson, New Jersey! It probably looks a hundred times better than anything you would find in Paterson, but I won’t bore you with any more details...

On Thursday, I left Milton Keynes in the morning and took the train down to London. I arrived in Euston station at 10am and, figuring my train from Paddington Station to Penzance was not until noon, I decided to walk. Considering I was carrying a backpack and a purse while pulling along a duffel bag with rolly wheels, it was a rather ambitious plan. However, I did make it with time to spare, even with a stop for tea with Liz at the Cornell-Brown-Penn UK Centre where I worked while studying abroad at University College London in Fall 2006!

After tea, I followed the route that I took back and forth from my dorm to UCL, past the creepy Scientology brainwashing center and Ooze, a restaurant with only risotto on the menu that I saw open while I was there. I smiled as I glanced at the menu of Gaylord’s Indian restaurant as the food is probably about 10 times more expensive there than at their downtown Mumbai location. I rolled on past the wholesale clothing outlets, the fancy kitchen showrooms, Selfridge’s avant-garde windows, and the homeless guy with a dog that he decorates according to the season (i.e. reindeer antlers for Christmas). I then made my way up Edgware Road, winding my way through the women in black burkas and past the halal butchers, bankers, and candlestick makers. After a few more turns, I came to Paddington and collapsed on the train, exhausted after my 50-minute power walk through London.

Finally, I have now come to my stay in Cornwall, but that will have to wait until another entry!

Days 3-4: Going Bananas in Brontë Country, Bingley, and Bradford

2008-03-26T23:59:00.012-07:00

On Good Friday, Katy, her two friends from uni, Sarah and Hazel, and myself set off in Sarah’s adorable little green car (nicknamed “The Pea”) to the town of Haworth, home to the famous 19^th century trio of writing sisters: Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre), Emily Bronte (Wuthering Heights), and Anne Bronte (Agnes Grey and one more that sounded rather scandalous). One thing that always amazes me about England is the fact that you can drive less than 45 minutes from home to a town that you have not only never been to before but that is also a fun place for a weekend away! Back in the US, many people drive 45 minutes just to get to the grocery store, and I don’t think many Americans would think of escaping for a couple of days to a place just down to the road!

After dropping our stuff off at the hostel, which was an old stately home on the top of hill, we headed out to explore the town, and the first Haworth highlight we reached was a steam train that huffed and puffed through the valley.

A "puff-puff"

We then made our way up Butt Lane and past Purvs Corner (I’m not joking about either of those names) to the cobbled street that climbed to a church on the top of hill and the Bronte home. While I had never come to Haworth before, I felt a little deja vu because my Anglophile 9^th grade English teacher named Mr. Salvas showed us photos from his own trip to Haworth to introduce Jane Eyre. I can’t imagine the place has changed much in the past 100 years, let alone that last 10 years.

We then went to the Bronte family home that has been converted into a museum, and I think the most interesting thing I took away was the fact that their lives were not as miserable as most people think. I remember being taught that the sisters had an awfully oppressive father who never let them leave the house. However, they did travel quite a bit as governesses for families in the area, and two of them even went to Brussels for awhile. The three all died on the youngish side (Anne and Emily were about 30, and Charlotte was 39), but they did a lot better than the rest of the population of Haworth. 40% of people died before the age of 6, and average life expectancy was only 25 in 1850.

After a quick lunch, we went for a little walk and spotted a few more trains before returning to the hostel for a rest. We were really pleased with our room as it had beautiful views of the countryside, but one of the windows was broken and incessantly slammed shut as freezing cold gusts of wind swept into our room. Something had to be done. So we fiddled with it for awhile, trying to tie it to the sill with hair elastics and wedge it shut with tin foil until we came up with an ingenious banana contraption, fashioned out of clothes hanger and a bunch of bananas. Brilliant.

Once we began to warm up, we started playing cards. Although we all claimed to not know a single card game, we managed to keep ourselves occupied for at least 3 or 4 hours, largely with a game I learned from my grandparents called Machiavelli. After a marathon game that lasted 55 minutes, we braved the cold for about 12 seconds and ran outside to the car to go down to the local fish and chip shop. The place was run by a couple of guys who claimed to be brothers but looked nothing alike, and they had accents that were a bit Bradford (a town in Yorkshire) and a lot Indian. As one wrapped up our take-away containers in paper, he looked at us inquiringly and asked, “Maki? Maki? Tee-kay? Tee-kay?” Preoccupied with the quality of the free ketchup, we were not quite sure what he said so we politely declined. It was only once we had piled into the car that we realized he had had been kindly offering to mark each of our dinners with our names. So, we returned back to the hostel, smuggled the food to our room in Katy’s backpack, and resumed playing cards...

On Saturday morning, we woke up and drove to the nearby town of Bingley where we went for a walk that took us past a river, over a golf course, into the woods and over a gate that left us in a place we weren't supposed to be. We found a way out over a wall, and thankfully the sign "Beware of Dogs" on the big gate leading to where we had just been had proven not to be true. Little snowflakes resembling beanbag pellets also showered down on us while we trekked, foreshadowing our white Easter the next day!

After enjoying the fare at the Bingley Food Festival (I was boring and had soup, but dishes like wild boar burgers and black pudding sandwiches were on offer), we drove onto Bradford to see the National Media Museum, where I made my debut as a BBC news reporter. My coanchor was a cheeky little kid who stuck his tongue out and gave me bunny ears.

We returned to Katy's flat in the late afternoon, enjoyed the cake that was left from her mum's wonderful baking, and watched the Keira Knightly version of Pride and Prejudice, closing a wonderful escape into the land of romantic period dramas with just one more.

And one last thing, we listened to a great mix CD on our travels, and one of the coolest bands was Guillemots. Here is a clip of their song we listened to a lot!

Day 7: Amazing Grace

2008-03-26T04:05:00.006-07:00

Hang on a minute! I know I skipped a few days but I promise I will go back to them...

I was sad to leave Katy in Leeds on Tuesday morning, but the bus dropped me off in Milton Keynes just before noon and I embarked on the next little chapter of my trip. A friend of my parents from Oxford named Joan picked me up and we drove to Olney, a cute market town dating back to 1205! We popped into the town's church and soon found out that this was the church where John Newton preached. Now, I would have had no idea who this guy was until watching the movie Amazing Grace this past Christmas, but John Newton was a slave trader in the 1700s, transporting slaves from Africa to the New World, but underwent a sort of "spiritual awakening" after his ship miraculously survived a storm and later became a minister at the Olney church from 1764 to 1780. His accounts of the awful conditions on the slave ships helped William Wilberforce pass legislation banning the British slave trade in 1807.

And, while preaching at Olney, he wrote the hymn "Amazing Grace" in the old vicarage that Joan and I had passed on the way to the church. One leaflet even said we could see the study if you made an appointment with the owners of the house. We left the church, and Joan turned to me and said, "How about I go have a knock on their door and see if we can look at the study anyway." So, we walked through the gate and knocked on the door. A lady in her 70s opened the door and Joan began to explain, saying I had come all the way from America to see the study, etc...and she let us in! I felt like Elizabeth Bennett in Pride & Prejudice, dropping by stately homes just to have a look. Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy didn't show up on the doorstep, but her husband took us upstairs to Newton's study and it was a pretty amazing experience. Very simple, with windows on either side of the room - one looking at the church and the other across the back garden to the home of his friend William Cowper, a famous poet. The inscription about the fireplace was put there by Newton, and it reads, " 'Since thou wast precious in my sight, thou hast been honourable' (Isa. xliii, 4) 'But thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondsman in the land of Egypt, and the Lord thy God redeemed thee' (Deut. xv, 15).

Quite unbelievable, and even more amusing as just a few hours later, we were in Bedford attending a talent show held in honor of International Women's Day, featuring dance acts done to the music of 50 Cent and Justin Timberlake. More on that to come shortly...

Day 2: Hairdryers, Hutton-le-Hole, and Haddock

2008-03-22T13:46:00.004-07:00

On Thursday morning, time turned back to 1975 when it came time for me to dry my hair. Apparently, this is the only hairdryer Grandpa had in the house...I decided to forgo the floral shower cap number and instead just use the vacuum hose. I was also slightly disappointed that the strap had gone missing sometime during the past 30 years so I couldn't sling it over my shoulder and sashay around the room. Despite its age, it worked surprisingly well.

Time then sped forward to 2008, and our dear family friends, Uncle Bernard and Auntie, took Grandpa and me out for a fantastic day trip. Our first stop was Hutton-le-Hole, a small village with a little museum consisting of historic buildings from the area. The oldest was a house from the 1200s where a family would have lived in the company of their cows and pigs. Apparently, the sheep that had been busy holding up traffic on the road to Harrogate, according to the morning's news, had made their way to Hutton-le-Hole and planted themselves beside the road and in several peoples' front gardens.

After our brief detour, we headed over the moors, covered in brown heather, to the seaside town of Whitby! Whitby is famous for a few things. One, Bram Stoker wrote Dracula overlooking the harbour. Two (possibly a result of #1) masses of "goths"- people dressed in black trenchcoats with dyed hair and dark eyeliner - like to loiter about the place. However, we only came across one little goth girl wearing a red, furry hoody with cat's ears trailed by her two very conservative parents, dressed in sensible walking shoes and tan rain coats. Three, I believe James Cook sailed from here on his journey to discover Australia and New Zealand (not positive if it was those places but he certainly set off from here).

We first had lunch at The Magpie, a famous restaurant where lines of people form around the block to get a taste of their fish and chips. Luckily, we walked straight in and had a delicious fishy lunch. The rain that had followed us all day stopped just in time for a bit of exploring, and Maureen and I then had a wander around the town and up to the ruins of an abbey on the cliffs above the North Sea. As the wind began to howl and the rain started up again, we climbed back in the car for our journey back to Wetherby. Then, Maureen drove me over to Leeds to stay with their daughter and my favorite Yorkshire cousin - Katy! Stay tuned for our adventures in Bronte country..

Whitby

Day 1: Roast Chicken Flavour Crisps, Suitable for Vegetarians

2008-03-22T13:40:00.002-07:00

After a wonderful time at home, I have now set off on a six-week trip that takes me right round the world with two weeks in England, about a week in Tokyo, two weeks in Australia, and one week in San Francisco. And first stop – Yorkshire!

I spent Wednesday visiting with my Grandpa in Wetherby, the town where my dad grew up. But, our roots here go much farther than that – after retiring, my Grandpa tracked down old records and discovered that his relatives lived in Wetherby as far back as 1663!

After not sleeping much on the plane, I was thankful to have a quiet day. There was the possibility of visiting Great Auntie Freda, my Grandpa’s older sister, who at the age of 99 has finally been forced to leave her home that she inhabited for the past 22 years and move into a nursing home, which she does NOT like at all. However, this trip would have entailed driving with my 93 year-old Grandpa behind the wheel. In other words, a death wish. So, I refused and tried to persuade him to take the bus, but he refused. He protested, “I have been driving for 73 years, and that’s much longer than your dad, and you drive with him!”

No point in arguing with him so I took a nap and woke up a few hours later to the strangest sounds of water wooshing through pipes followed by a vigorous flapping sound. It sounded like an albatross was taking a bath above me. And, in fact, it was! Well, maybe not an albatross, but my Grandpa said that birds do enjoy taking baths in the pools of water that collect on the flat roof of the bedroom. I just hope the roof doesn’t cave in on me tomorrow morning, deluging the room with frigid water and bathing birds!

In the late afternoon, we went “downtown” to the local supermarket. Even Willy Wonka would be impressed by the food chemistry behind England’s potato chips. Browsing the shelves of Morrison’s, we came across crisps with flavors like Prawn Cocktail, Sweet Cumberland Sausage, Smoky Bacon, Steak & Onion, and BBQ Ribs – all, ironically, “suitable for vegetarians!”

And the fun is not limited to just potato chips. English supermarkets have a wonderful variety of food that you could never find in an American supermarket - huge ethnic sections, wonderful baked goods, piles of produce, and aisles of freshly prepared foods that all sound delicious. Even my Grandpa has become a little adventurous, and he was nearly tempted to purchase a package of “four cheese and red onion tortellinos.” However, I was even more surprised to sit down to dinner that evening and find that Grandpa had put out a jar of mango chutney beside the mashed potatoes, boiled cabbage, and broccoli!

Wetherby

Here's a toast to dear old Penn!

2008-03-15T09:21:00.004-07:00

Just on Thursday afternoon, I was sitting on the couch, flipping through a new issue of Real Simple and reading an article about "7 Easy Ways of Decluttering Your House" (Wherever I am, it is inevitable my room is a mess!) when my mom announces, "Emma, I think your diploma arrived!" And, sure enough, I open up the brown envelope and out falls my diploma.

It's been fun coming to the realization that I am no longer a Penn student, but now an alumni (alumnus, maybe?). It started when I received my first issue of the Penn alumni magazine in the mail, and then an earnest young Penn student called my house to thank "Ms. Hall" for her generous donation to The Penn Club. In truth, I had only donated $5 - and just so I could get a free t-shirt! Then, "Candidate for" in front of "Bachelor of Arts in Urban Studies" dropped from my online transcript and up popped my final grades, GPA, and a graduation date of December 19, 2007. Indeed, I went back to Penn two weeks ago and my PennCard had been deactivated - I couldn't get into dorms, libraries, or the gym. But now, I am proud recipient of a BACCALAVREAE ARTIVM from VNIVERSITAS PENNSYLVANIENSIS - The whole diploma is written in Latin, but thankfully it comes with a translation!

So, I will go back to Penn in May for various graduation ceremonies, but I know I won't be sad that I left when I did. I have never, ever liked good-byes, and slipping out early in December let me avoid a lot of the tearful nostalgia. And a few months of freedom from the frenzy has been fantastic.

As a proud (but stingy) member of the Penn alumni network, here is a song from a cool band called Goldspot. The lead singer went to Penn and fits into one of the Penn stereotypes pretty well - Indian and grew up in New Jersey! They have a new album coming out soon and it should be cool.

Life is like a box of chocolates...

2008-03-13T08:41:00.010-07:00

I start this entry with a quote from Forrest Gump because my mom, brother (Alistair) and I just got back from a long weekend in Savannah, Georgia and Beaufort, South Carolina - the very places where the movie was filmed. However, we did not intend our trip as a pilgrimage to the movie set, but instead to see Susie and Bill, long-time family friends who retired and headed south to warmer climes.

We spent Saturday exploring Savannah, a very pleasing city built on a grid pattern punctuated with 21 squares. The streets were lined with very charming houses, yet there were surprisingly few people on the streets. And little did I know, but Savannah is home to the second largest St. Patrick's Day parade after New York. In honor of the day, they dye the water in all of the fountains green!

An interesting plant called Spanish Moss also hangs lazily from the branches of every tree, giving the place a rather dreamy air. Unfortunately, this moss is actually a parasite, preventing the tree from sprouting leaves and eventually killing it. It is unbelievably hardy and even Saturday's 20 mph gusts of wind could not dislodge this stuff from the trees. It is also looks quite soft, and people used it to stuff mattresses and Henry Ford even tried filling his car seats with the moss...until people started complaining of breaking out in itchy bites after sitting in his cars. Turns out that once it falls to ground, little red bugs called "chiggers" infest the moss and bite anything that touches it. So its use as a mattress filling didn't last long, but it did spawn the phrase, "Don't let the bed bugs bite!"

In our wanderings through Savannah, we went to a contemporary art gallery called the Jepson Center, and our favorite piece was by Devorah Sperber. She had recreated the Mona Lisa out of over 5000 spools of thread. The piece hung upside down on the wall and in front of it was a small sphere of glass that turned the image upright...very clever indeed and I just had to sneak a quick photo.

After a day in Savannah, we drove north to Beaufort to stay with Susie and Bill in the "lowcountry" of South Carolina. This area is known for its salty marshes that fill with water in high tides and then leave boats high and dry when the sea recedes. New housing developments are also springing up (well, not quite "springing" considering the state of the housing market at the moment so let's say "staggering along") and retirees from all over are flocking to the area. On Sunday, we went to the beautiful Huntington Beach - a big wide beach littered with live sand dollars and drift-trees (I'm talking not little pieces of driftwood but huge trees!) and bordered with a prehistoric-like forest of giant palmettos, all under bright, cloudless blue skies. It was stunning.

We closed our Sunday evening with a outdoors concert featuring Rhythm in Blue, a US Navy jazz band from Virginia. The retirees were out in full force, and one lady was particularly amusing. She weaved her way through the crowds of people, who were happily devouring piles of fried chicken, sweet potato pie, and other Southern specialties, chatting to everyone and stopping to groove around every so often. She even commandeered one young man who looked like a Marine let out for the night from nearby Parris Island (the basic training camp for all female Marines and all male Marines east of the Mississippi), and much to the dismay of his date, proceeded to swing him around and dance! The group also featured one woman as the show's singer, and I liked her boldness because while she was all kitted out in her uniform, her 3 inch black stilettos did not look Navy-issue!

On Tuesday, we volunteered at a Habitat for Humanity site in the morning with a very nice woman named Kathy. Turns out that wherever I go, something that reminds me of India is not too far away...while we were priming cedar planks, it came out in conversation that her son is marrying an Indian-American girl in April! So, I told her all about Pooja's wedding and tried to encourage her that she should really get mhendi done along with everyone else!

We arrived back in NJ on Tuesday night, and Al and I immediately cooked up a batch of chocolate-chip blondies using a recipe from Paula Deen, Southern comfort food-queen and Savannah native, to enjoy while watching Forrest Gump. What a great movie, so I leave you with...

My momma always said, "Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

Oh, the places we'll go!

2008-03-07T11:50:00.004-08:00

I came across an archive of columns from the "Modern Love" section of the New York Times yesterday. Most of the articles are wildly depressing, and I would recommend all but the extremely content to avoid reading them. But, I did happen to read one with an interesting quote that struck me.

" Maybe this is what we get in life, a few great loves: loves that return us to ourselves when we need it most. And maybe some of those loves aren’t people, but places — real and adopted homes — that fill us up with light and energy and hope at moments when we feel especially tired or lost. That is the beauty of love in all its forms. We don’t know when or how it is going to save us."

Places. The mention of places is what I really liked about it. Maybe it is just the effect of countless urban studies classes, but I really do like places and I believe that they can move you in wonderful ways. Places consist of peoples, cultures, buildings, noises, smells, cuisines, traditions, and nature - all interacting to give each spot in the world a unique feeling. Once you add to the energy of a place your memories and experiences linked to the space, emotions can run strong. Place is a simple concept, and it is tempting to think of it simply as a backdrop to our lives. However, it is more than just a stage set that we "act" in front of, but a dynamic reality that we interact with. The place where we are affects who we are and who we become. And like a conversation with someone you love can give you a newfound energy to keep on going, a visit to a special place can do the same.

Namaste Stephen Colbert!

2008-03-05T07:22:00.008-08:00

On Monday night, the one and only Stephen Colbert interviewed Shashi Tharoor, a former big guy in UN and author of The Elephant, The Tiger, and The Cell Phone: India, the Emerging 21st- Century Power. As Colbert put it, the book "is about the modernization of India - I wonder who they call for tech support." I thought the interview was hysterical. Enjoy!

Frankenfood

2008-03-04T17:07:00.005-08:00

Until today, I had thought Corporate America's perceptions of what consumers demand had reached the pinnacle of absurdity when Diet Coke Plus came out recently. According to its website, Diet Coke Plus "is everything you love about Diet Coke, plus several essential nutrients...15% of your RDI [recommended daily intake, I believe] for niacin and vitamins B6 and B12, and 10% for zinc and magnesium." Furthermore, Coke has launched a huge campaign called "Make every drop count" to stress the importance of staying hydrated...with, of course, Coca Cola Products!

However, the ridiculousness of Diet Coke Plus pales in comparison to the insanity of Snickers Charged - a Snickers bar with the added oomph of caffeine and taurine, plus a few B-vitamins thrown in for good measure! I hate to think of what they will come up with next...

Flashback: Tai O

2008-03-03T21:13:00.008-08:00

As I collect my thoughts about what I would like to say about my wonderful time down in Philadelphia and Baltimore, here is a fun story from my trip in May 2007 to visit my friend Wendy in Hong Kong.

Wendy needed to stay at home to take care of her poor mom (who is much better now!), so I headed off on a day of exploring to Lantau Island with a detailed itinerary and map in hand from her terrific dad. First stop was a trip on the Ngong Ping cable car (which closed less than a month later after an empty car fell and plunged 13 stories) to the top of mountain, capped with a giant Buddha.

I then took a bus along a narrow and winding mountain road to a small fishing village called Tai O. Many of the town's homes are built on stilts and hang precariously over the water, which has made Tai O a huge tourist attraction. However, I arrived in Tai O in a torrential downpour and ran for cover under an awning with a group of tourists from Mainland China.

My stomach began to growl after awhile, so I decided to go in search of sustenance. After nearly getting soaked through, I came across a restaurant with people inside, including a group at the back with an American-looking guy that I found comforting. I sat down and looked at the menu, but became increasingly wary of the adjacent table of older Chinese men. They laughed when I cleaned my chopsticks like Wendy had taught me, and asked me if I needed help. I quickly responded, "No." Then, one of them asked me where I was from and told me he was from Canada. They were beginning to creep me out, and I tried to ignore them. I was beginning to feel scared, so conscious that I was alone. After I had finished eating, the Chinese guy supposedly from Canada (let's call him Mr. Chung) came up to my table and said, "You come with me, I will take care of you!" Oh no! This guy looked like a real sleazeball - gold chain around his neck, yellow-tinted glasses, and a polyester shirt unbuttoned halfway down. I was so scared. But, then the American at the back of the restaurant quickly came to my table, interrupted Mr. Chung, and started talking to me. I was so relieved...Mr. Chung left and I paid my bill.

Before leaving, I decided to thank the American guy for "rescuing" me, and he invited me to join his table. Well, as most Americans are, he was loud and talkative, and I soon found out that he was a mechanical engineer from Florida, working on the rides at Hong Kong Disney. And it was in Hong Kong where he had met his fiancee - a Filipino nanny working for an Indian family in the city. They met the year before - I cared not to ask how - and they were now engaged and he was hoping to secure her a visa and move her to the US within six months! I tried not to cringe visibly. She was a complete tart - long, brown hair with brassy, blond highlights; a tiny tank top with bra straps hanging out; a short, flouncy denim skirt better suited for a five year-old; and bright pink platform flip flops. She was joined not only by her two teenage children who only glanced up from their Nintendos when beer arrived at the table, but also by her parents who spoke no English and seemed quite confused by the whole situation.

After I told the American that I was going to work in a kitchen for the summer, he promptly replied, "Well, you wanna see a Chinese kitchen?" I just said, "Well, ok" and he then just stood up and strode into the restaurant's kitchen, beckoning me to follow. I timidly walked after him as he stalked around, throwing open the fridge and the freezer and saying, "So you see, when a Chinese kitchen closes, they don't clean anything. They just leave it as it is and start up again the next morning. But, you know, everyone who eats the food is fine. They are thin and live a long time, so there's nothing wrong with it!" A guy washing dishes in the back room just gawked at us, and rightfully so, as we exited and sat back down at the table. He then concluded, "One thing I've learned in China is that you don't ask to do something, you just do it! So, if you want to see the kitchen, you just walk in and they will wave at you!" I really couldn't believe this guy...

After our adventure into the kitchen, who else should walk into the restaurant but Mr. Chung. The American invited him to sit down with us and proceeded to order a few massive bottles of beer. As the effects of the alcohol set in, Mr. Chung told us that he had been Tai O's police chief before moving to Canada and that he was now waiting for a call from his daughter. I didn't believe a word he said until his phone rang and his daughter walked into the restaurant. She sat down beside me, and I couldn't wait to say hello to her in hopes of finding someone somewhat sane in this place. And, what a wonderful surprise - she (Joan) was, indeed, from Canada and had just graduated from the University of Toronto! By this time, the rain had slowed down, and we decided to head back to the bus station. We had some time to spare, so I said I wanted to wander around a bit before leaving. But, Mr. Chung then said to me, "Well, you know that my daughter would be a great tourguide..."So, Joan and I set off on a tour around Tai O!

She told me about the history of the town and then took me inside one of the stilt houses where family friends lived. How they stood up, I have no idea - they were such a tangle of metal and wood, all bundled together with nails and huge lengths of twine. It was quite an incredible experience to walk through this house as the rain pounded on the metal roof just above our heads, but little did I know it was only going to get better.

We then set off down a long pier when her phone rang and she invited me to come for dinner at the home we had just visited. our hosts were Mr. and Madame Ho, and we were joined by Mr. Chung, their Indonesian maid, and a cousin somehow related to Mr. Ho. The food was delicious - fresh, boiled shrimp caught just that day; steamed fish; tomato and eggs; and a mysterious addition - cabbage with hot dogs! All accompanied by lots of Coke! After dinner was over, Joan and I headed back to the bus, and we traveled together all the way back to the shopping mall where I met Wendy and her dad that night (and she went way past her stop to stay with me). The whole experience was rather surreal, and certainly unforgettable...the kindness of strangers is really quite amazing.

Philly and Baltimore with a dash of Japan

2008-02-28T08:12:00.003-08:00

When I was studying abroad in London in Fall 2006, my friend Katy came down to visit and we came across an exhibit of the work of a Japanese photographer named Hiroji Kubota outside city hall along the Thames. And the exhibit started with this quote from him that I really liked and still do:

"Time is short, and we should live life to the fullest. That means different things to different people in different societies. But after more than forty years spent traveling the globe (and finally my own country), I am convinced that seeking out the corners of the earth even within our own nations, gaining a feeling for different cultures, and glimpsing the lives and values of people different from ourselves are invaluable experiences."

And this weekend, I am heading down to visit dear friends in two familiar, yet much-loved corners, of my own country - Philadelphia and Baltimore! Can't wait!

Facebook tackles life's most challenging questions

2008-02-26T06:39:00.002-08:00

Forgive the lapse in posts since returning from Peru, but I'm back with another on the great Facebook. Since joining way back in 2004, the site has evolved a great deal and much of its content is beyond me. I took me forever to even try to load up a photo album, and I had revelation last semester when I realized that to delete a message in your inbox, all you had to do was click the little X at the right. I had somehow managed to overlook that little detail for over three years.

The "applications" are an entertaining addition, and I enjoy sending friends little eggs that hatch the likes of yellow labradors with reindeer antlers, smooching penguins, and armadillos. Yet, I have been most amused by the quizzes that I get sent. It started with, "What color are you?" I took the quiz, grumbling to myself that I wouldn't pick any of these answers, and the results came back that I was "white"! Faced with this horrifying fact that I had been categorized as the most boring color in the world that is not even a color, I could not allow this application to grace my profile and rapidly deleted it.

I then started receiving quizzes that would allow me to discover "What type of fruit/flower/book/fragrance/kama sutra position are you?" Still rather harmless...and then applications began to arrive that promised to answer deeper questions like "What sort of guy will you fall for?" and "Are you intelligent?" I did not manage to complete any of them, as I never made it past the first page that would pop up, giving me a dizzying array of options (allow this application to access your information? put this application in your profile? give it an icon? tattoo the answer to your forehead?) that I never could sort through.

And then a request arrived that I simply could not resist. I could complete a quiz that would provide me the answer to one of life's most challenging questions: what color condom are you? I have stayed awake for hours pondering this very question, and like a gift from heaven, the means to an answer had arrived on my virtual doorstep. So, I persevered past the page with lots of check-boxes and then it commanded me to invite 20 friends to complete the quiz. I selected "skip," but you are not allowed to skip! You must invite 20 friends if you want to find out what color condom you are! I stopped - I did not want to subject people to yet another application request, especially as petitions circle calling for a ban of the "invite X people if you want your results" stipulation and other such inhumane practices. So, I closed the application, never to know what color condom truly represents me. But now, you must excuse me as I must get back to managing my hatching eggs!

A few last things about Peru...

2008-02-14T11:37:00.001-08:00

I am now back in the chilly New Jersey, but I just had a few things to add about the last days of my trip to Peru. Our last leg of the tour took us to the jungle where we stayed at a lodge with a group of four twenty-somethings from, of all places, New Jersey! We all took a boat for over three hours to the jungle lodge, and the guide gave us a each a little booklet with information about the lodge and helpful hints about staying in the jungle, such as don't leave clothes outside at night to dry or else the Botfly will lay its eggs on the wet clothes and the eggs will then hatch parasitic larvae on contact with warm skin! Partway into the trip, I overheard one of the guys from New Jersey say to his friends, "I was taking photos of every page until I realized we could keep it!"

I has always quite liked history, and I found it very interesting to see the effects of Spanish colonialism on the place, especially in contrast to British colonialism. I concluded that while the British were organizing and exploiting, the randy Spaniards were converting and procreating. Catholic churches are in every town, no matter how small. And most people in Peru seem to be some interesting combination of Spanish and native lineage.

A word I came across more than once in Peru was "syncretism," a term that I had never heard of until this past semester at Penn in a community development class. According to Wikipedia, it "consists of the attempt to reconcile disparate or contradictory beliefs, often while melding practices of various schools of thought. The term may refer to attempts to merge and analogize several originally discrete traditions, especially in the theology and mythology of religion, and thus assert an underlying unity allowing for an inclusive approach to other faiths." Well, the place is full of syncretism! Many homes in the Andes had a little model of a Christian cross between two clay bulls on the roof, symbolizing that the family practiced both Catholicism and the Andean religion focusing on "pachcamama," or mother earth. I found this rather interesting as we often worry about one culture dominating another, rather than thinking about what interesting, new things can come out of two different cultures mixing and mingling!

I am also pleased to say that the great cuisines of two of my favorite places have made it to Peru as well. On my last day in Lima, I came across "Dim Sum Express," offering up different combos of yummy dim sum from Hong Kong. And, the "sabores de la india" (flavors of India!) have also made it to South America in the form of the McPollo Junior CURRY!

And to close up this entry, here is a video I took of an Andean music group grooving away in the Lima airport at 11pm that sent me humming back to the good ol' USA!

Making it to Macchu Picchu!

2008-02-10T10:50:00.001-08:00

Picking up where I left off, the next big event was our trip to Macchu Picchu! This historic Inca city is nestled in the green Andes, and not much is known about it at all. One very notable fact about it is that the Spanish never discovered the city during their colonial conquests. It remained unknown to the outside world until an American explorer named Hyram Bingham found it in the early 20th century with the help of local people who had known about it all along.

The city consists of ruins built on top of an old hill (Macchu = old and Picchu = hill in Quechua, the native language of Peru) at around 2300 m in ¨cloud forest,¨ which sounds very magical until you realize that it means that Macchu Picchu is shrouded in cloud most of the time! When we arrived, clouds covered the city and surrounded the hill in a white wall. However, as the sun rose, it burned through the cloud and we had a couple of hours of perfectly clear weather with magnificent views of the surrounding green mountains, shaped like shards of glass. Then, the rain came torrenting down and we ran!

After probing our local guide Julio a bit, I discovered that Quechua is not a written language; thus, there are no records about the history of Macchu Picchu. And that allows the guides to be extremely creative when explaining the place to you! For example, Julio pointed out a square window with four pieces of stone protruding out at each corner. According to him, the corners of the square and the points represented the four seasons. But, for all we know, the Incas could have hung their curtains and propped up a window box on them! Regardless of the guide´s wild speculations, the Incas did do some magnificent stone work, fitting oddly- shaped stones together perfectly.

While the sun was shining, the Norwegians, Harry the British retiree, and I hiked up to the top of a neighboring mountain to get views of Macchu Picchu. Harry found the views so inspiring that he pulled out an Andean pan flute that he had bought especially for the occasion and started to play! The sound was reminiscent of blowing on partially filled glass bottles and he needs a bit more practice before he starts performing the Beatles cover songs that seem to follow us wherever we go, but he made sure that I captured it all on film for him.

Next up is our trip to the jungle where we came across a group of people from, of all places, the great state of Nueva Jersey!

Snow, Sunscreen, and the Lares Trek

2008-02-06T06:25:00.001-08:00

The past few days have been amazing, and I will do my best to remember as much as I can. Last Friday, we spent a day in Cusco. We all went on a city tour with a sleazy guide who forbid us to buy any souvenirs from the ladies along the route selling gloves and hats. Why? Because he ended the tour at a place supposedly selling authentic goods made with real alpaca wool where he got a commission off of everything we bought! None of us tipped him, but certainly we were embarassed when we encountered him a few days later on a train to Macchu Picchu...

However, I did encounter another example of Peruvian enterprise along the tour. As we were trailing into the first landmark (a Catholic Church built on Incan temple ruins) following our tour guide who was waving an umbrella in the air - a short man stood at the entrance, clicking away at us with an outdated camera. I concluded he had escaped from the looney bin, but sure enough, about an 1.5 hours into our tour and far away from the church, another man came running up to the window of the tour bus, brandishing personalized commemorative Cusco postcards - each with a photo of someone on the tour, taken only an hour or two earlier!

Later that evening, we ate dinner at a restaurant called Fallen Angel, which brought the concept of a theme (although the theme was not completely clear) restaurant to the next level. Papier-mache flying pigs hung from the ceiling, while our table was an antique, claw-footed bathtub covered in a glass top and filled with real goldfish, swimming around and eyeing the french fries above them.

On Saturday, the Norwegians (Ola and Martin) and I woke up incredibly early to start on the Lares Trek. During February, the Inca trail is closed for repairs and rain. So, we hiked an alternative trail called the Lares Trek with a guide named Julio. Among the many little factoids he supplied us with (I am not sure how many were actually true though), he mentioned that one can find 73% of the world's weather in Peru. I am not sure how he arrived at such a figure, but we certainly experienced all extremes during our three-day hike. Our van dropped us off literally at the end of road, and we started climbing up a steep green slope, shrouded in mist. Then, we entered a drizzle punctuated with periods of rain. Thankfully, we were armed with rain ponchos, and we all managed just fine. The hike was spectacular - we reached our first of three mountain passes during the middle of the day, reaching a height of 4415 m. We then worked our way down the mountain, past lagoons, waterfalls, and herds of llamas with swirls of white cloud billowing above us. We reached our campsite in mid-afternoon, leaving me with plenty of time to explore the area. Our tents were perched by a river, looking down a valley dotted with small, stone homes and surrounded on both sides by steep, verdant mountains. While I seem to have a knack for choosing to go places at their rainiest, at least I get to see them at their greenest!

The next morning, we awoke early to get a good start on the hike because our guide decided that we were going to hike the rest of the way in just one day, instead of two. The hike started well, but then the rain started to pummel down by the time we had reached our second mountain pass at just over 4000m. As we made our way to last pass, the snow began to fall, and we stood at the top of the final pass (4450m!), posing for photos with horizontal snow whipping past us! While the weather might not have been ideal, it was all part of the experience, and I enjoyed every minute of it. And luckily, the clouds cleared and sun came out during the last hours of hike, and we were blessed with wonderful views of another valley as we made our way down to our final camp site, finishing the entire trek of 26 km by 2pm in the afternoon.

As we bypassed our second's night campsite, we camped in a village of about 60 families on someone's front lawn. Our host was instantly popular with the Norwegians as the owner immediately set out 1.1 liter bottles of beer for sale the moment we set foot past his gate. After a nap, I heard the sounds of football being kicked around, so I got up and played soccer with two little boys, one dressed in a brightly-colored traditional poncho with a cute, little hat perched on his head. Once it began to get dark, I got out my flashlight and Ola joined us with his headlamp, and we dribbled the ball with the little guys until they were called in for dinner.

Getting very hungry ourselves, we went to investigate the kitchen where our chef (this was luxurious camping compared to what I have done before!) was preparing our meal. It was a small, smoky building filled with every knick-knack you might find tucked into a garage or garden shed, except for one thing - guinea pigs!! Along one side of the building, under a wooden bench and behind a propane tank, was a huge family of white and brown-spotted "cuy," scurrying around the dirt floor. While guinea pigs are kept as pets in most places, in Peru, they are eaten. The Norwegians were mortified (and they eat horse) at the thought of dining on cuy, and any place that considers Fuzzy, my 4th grade class pet, as food knocks their national cuisine down a notch in my book. Thankfully, guinea pig was not on the menu that evening!

Still more to write, but that will have to wait for the time being...but before I end, I have been following the American political scene for the past couple of weeks, and while watching a snippet of Bush's State of the Union address, I was struck by the fact that the USA is probably the only country where politicians greet their President with the same whoops and whistles that you hear at a Britney Spears concert!

Where's my gringo?

2008-02-01T06:56:00.002-08:00

I am going to start this post off with a topic I think most people can relate: exams! While eating lunch after arriving in Puno, we heard shouts, singing, and ringing cowbells. I thought to myself, " Wow! A strike! Or a protest!" I stood up immediately to see what the commotion was about, but all I saw was a small group of teenagers making all of the racket. They didn't appear too militant, so I asked my guide what they were up to. And he said, "Oh, it's exam time coming up soon. They are just getting themselves excited to take the big university entrance exams!" I know that that the Latin way of life down in South America is slightly more laid-back and fun-loving, but marching through the streets to psych yourself up for an exam - unbelievable! I have a feeling that the more relaxed approach to life also applies to studying because later in the day I saw a woman pushing a cart through the streets and shouting through a megaphone (in Spanish), "Exams for sale! Exams for sale!" She was selling last year's exam with the answer key for a bit of last minute cramming!

The highlight of our stay in Puno was our 2-day boat trip on Lake Titicaca. The lake was stunning - clear, blue sky spotted with big, fluffy white clouds reflected in the water and dotted with mountainous, green islands. Our first stop was at Amantani Island where we ate lunch with a 180 degree view of the lake, watching the anvil-shaped thunderstorm clouds make their way across the sky. As our guide gave us a talk about the island's people, three of delightful little children living on the island sat behind us on the ground, merrily piercing little beetles with wooden toothpicks and burying them alive in the dirt.

We then sailed to Taquile Island where, as romantically described by Lonely Planet, you can stay in the homes of the local basket-weaving families. Well, I have a feeling that once they realized how much money they could make off of tourists, they all gave up basket-weaving long ago. My homestay "Mama" had added an entire floor to her house - three bedrooms each with two beds - to accomodate visitors. One room even contained a mini bar with sodas and snacks! If that's not enterprising, I don't know what is! However, some people were not completely satisfied with the accomodations. As I stood on the balcony on my homestay with the Norwegians and Edgar the tour guide, an obnoxious Canadian guy from another tour group hiking up the hill behind his hostess called up to us, "Do you have low ceilings too?"

In another enterprising move, each homestay mama allowed us each to pick out a woolie hat she had knitted to wear while staying on the island. You could choose to buy your hat at the end of your stay, but we also wore the hats to help the homestay mamas identify us in the crowd from all of the other tourists - a game playfully called "Where's My Gringo?" (gringo = anyone not from Latin America)

After we returned to Puno, the highlight of the afternoon was a visit to a steamboat called the Yuvari. The Yuvari and its sister ship were built in England, sailed around the the western coast of South America, taken by train inland, and then each piece was carried by mule to Lake Titicaca where they were reassembled in the 1860s. The overland trip by mule alone took 6 years to complete! A British woman "adopted" the ship, and she is now trying to restore it to its former glory. Taking a break from sanding the floors and stripping paint, the captain of the ship himself gave us a tour. He was quite a character - he insisted he had chosen to remain single because the ship was his wife and his children were the four cylinders of her engine! The ship sailed for 10 days a year or two ago, but they are still working out the kinks and no definite timetable is set for when it will sail again.

After a long busride yesterday through amazing scenery that transitioned from rounded, scrubby mountains to more triangular, lush mountains as we crossed the Andes, we are now in Cusco. Tomorrow we are heading out on a three day trek and then seeing Maccho Picchu on Tuesday. Will post again soon!

Pet Alpacas and Miami Vice

2008-01-28T11:45:00.001-08:00

After finishing my last post, I noticed that an admission ticket to the Nasca Planetarium was substituting as a mousepad. The text on it was in both Spanish and English, but I think a few things were lost in the translation. Here is what it said:

" Welcome to Nasca - Patrimony Capital of the Humanity for it´s Atractives Tourists "

Something tells me that was not the point they were trying to get across...

I have been out of internet for the past couple of days so I warn you that this post might be a bit long! After our afternoon exploring Nasca, we went on an overnight busride to Arequipa, Peru´s second biggest city after Lima. The bus was comfortable, which made lurching around hairpin bends for 8 hours more pleasant than it might have been. The bus even had a ¨road hostess" who announced in the morning that if we wanted breakfast, we had to return our seats to the upright position. Well, I can tell you that breakfast was not worth moving your seat one centimeter! She handed each of us a shrink-wrapped, styrofoam plate with a bun and little packet of mayonaise inside. I had no appetite, but I couldn´t resist seeing what was inside of the bread. So I punctured the plastic and peaked inside of the bread bun to find a slimy pink hot dog! Ugh! And we think airplane food is terrible!

After arriving in Arequipa, I was not feeling 100% so I relaxed in the hotel and watched inordinate amounts of BBC World and Miami Ink with Spanish subtitles. The entire group then went out for dinner together and the highlight of the meal was when Ola, one of the Norwegians, started showing us photos of heavy construction equipment he had taken on his cellphone. Ola has spent the past 2 years building a huge new road in Norway, and if working 18 hours days in -15 degrees (in Celsius!) isn´t character-building, I don´t know what is! So, while some might show people photos of their family or pets, Ola shows off snaps of giant yellow Caterpillar backhoes and massive "dirt pushers" !

And while on the topic of amusing translations, when the Norwegians want to know what time is it, they ask:

" How much is the clock?"

After our day in Arequipa, we left early on a long drive to Colca Canyon. The journey was beautiful through scrubby, mountainous terrain dotted with llamas, alpacas, and vicunas! All of these animals are members of the camel family with big eyes, long eyelashes, and protuding lower lips that give them a haughty air. And just like Starbucks drinks, they come in three sizes. Llamas are the largest, alpacas are in between, and vicunas are smallest. Martin (the other Norwegian) really wanted to chase after them, but the guide begged him not to, pleading that they might spit his face! I don´t think Martin would have minded, but he managed to restrain himself.

The long drive took us past 3000m in elevation and we went over a pass that was nearly 5000m above sea level! Peruvians recommend drinking lots of coca tea in order to help your body get used to the altitude. Coca tea is indeed made from the same leaves as cocaine, but they insist its perfectly safe to drink. We stopped along the way for a very special brew at a rest stop where I was handed a mug of boiling water filled with a handful of coca leaves and few mysterious tree branches thrown in. Not sure if it helped me adjust to the altitude or not, but with a bit of sugar, it actually tasted pretty good.

After our long drive through llama land, we arrived in the bustling metroplis of Coparaque (population: 408) at the mouth of the Colca Canyon. The hotel was in a beautiful spot, looking over a lush green valley, criss crossed with dry stone walls, and surrounded by steep mountains, banded with terraces. The surroundings were stunning, but the highlight of the hotel was Manchas ("Freckles" in Spanish), the black and white alpaca who patrolled the property. He not only inspected each guest who arrived, looking over everyone with a very skeptical eye, but walked into the lobby to graze on the potted plants and to drink a bottle of milk in the evening before going to bed.

Hoping to update my blog, I asked the hotel manager if there was internet and she directed me to a bodega down the street, warning me that it was "very slow." So, I walked down the street and poked my head into the only open door to find a small store. Sure enough, along one wall were four computers. The shopkeeper motioned for me to sit down at one of the computers. As I sat, waiting for the internet to load, I noticed that I was sitting between a couple of little boys playing, of all games, Miami Vice! For those who are not familiar with this computer game, it involves patrolling the streets of Miami and killing everyone in sight - pleasant, isn´t it!? Looking around the store, I saw familiar American brands like Coca Cola and Oreos, and just outside, I had seen a door fashioned out of flattened vegtable oil cans given out by USAID. After 10 minutes of blank white screen, the shopkeeper came over and shrugged, "Nada." So, even though never managed to get internet that day, I saw evidence of globalization even in this tiny village in Peru, and unfortunately, not always the most positive forms of it.

We spent a full day in the Colca Valley, driving out to a point where you can spot condors, giant birds with 3m wingspans. We did see some, but they were more like condor spots. The scenery alone was unbelievable - the Colca Canyon is actually the second deepest in the world! Steep cliffs covered in green, falling down to a rushing river about 3800m below. In the evening, we went to a pool filled with special water from hot springs. Missing practices with the Penn Club Swim Team, I found myself in my element here and even taught our doggie-paddling guide how to swim freestyle/front crawl! When I taught swim lessons after high school, most of my students were cranky 8 year-olds, and it was refreshing to teach an attentive student who I didn´t need to bribe to keep in the pool!

In the evening, we joined every other tourist in a 20 mile radius at a restaurant showcasing traditional dances from the Colca Valley. The Norwegians joked that it would be a striptease, but considering how much clothing the women wear, such a performance would have taken hours! Its not that cold at the moment, but women still wear at least 5 or 6 petticoats, thick stockings, socks, sandals, multiple shirts, cardigans and shawls. All of this is topped off with a jaunty embroidered hat - one flower if they are single and two if they are married. We ended up seeing three traditional dances, and the best was the malaria dance, intended to ward off the disease. The boy was dressed as a mosquito and the woman as, well, a woman. Each had a rope and they would alternate lying down on the ground and being whipped by the other! Not sure how effective it was against malaria, and I am happy to just stick with my weekly pills.

I am now on the shores of Lake Titicaca and I will post again soon! Buenos tardes!

Bob Marley´s Ancestors and Pachamanka

2008-01-24T13:54:00.001-08:00

Day 4 started with a drive out to an ancient cemetary...I was not too bothered about the bones they had about but the setting was spectacular. While we were wandering around the tombs - open pits with preserved mummies sitting in the bottom - one of the Norwegians commented to Harry the Englishman, "Ach, it´s hot today!" And Harry replied, "Yes, quite curious that, isn´t it?" Considering that we were in the center of the desert surrounded by big mountains that blocked any wind or rainclouds from crossing the sandy plain in a country not far south from the equator in the middle of summer, I don´t think the heat was too surprising! But it was this dryness that helped preserve the bodies for 700 years, and they often had long hair wrapped into a sort of dreadlock. And as we wandered among the graves, the guide came up beside me and said, "Si! The mummies are Bob Marley´s ancestors!"

Following the cemetary, we headed back to the airstrip for a flight over the Nasca Lines. Alas, I did not learn much more about them, but they are big drawings in the land, such as a hummingbird and a tree, made by native people at least a couple of centuries ago. And I think the whole town relies on the tourists who come to fly over them! Well, as one of those tourists, I went up in the little plane but never again. The views were stunning but not worth the queasiness I felt afterwards!

After a quick trip to a pottery studio where they tried to sell us vessels with Kama Sutra-inspired sculptures on top, we went out to a special lunch called a pachamanka. All of the food - corn, potatoes, tamales, chicken, pork, broad beans - is cooked in a pit with hot stones for 3 hours. The pit is covered in dirt, and before the pit can be opened, a special ceremony must be performed. And I was chosen to be the "woman" - not a tough choice as there were only 2 to choose from. So I threw coco leaves on the dirt and then poured grape juice in the form of a cross...all the while the Norwegians are capturing the great event all on film and Nora is snapping away as her husband Harry digs up the first shovel-full of dirt. I had trouble taking the whole thing too seriously but the food was quite good...my favorite were the purple potatoes!

Hola from Peru!

2008-01-23T18:23:00.001-08:00

Well, the end of Day 3 is drawing near and the internet is free (I think) at the hotel, so I thought I should use this time to start up a blog! Just as a bit of background, I finished up at Penn a semester early, which left me with a few months before graduation in May to do whatever I wish! And on a bit of whim, I decided to come to Peru! So, I arrived late this past Sunday in Lima and sat beside to hysterical older Peruvian ladies on the flight from Houston, Texas - home of big hair and big cowboy boots - to Peru. I sat by the window, and the lady in the middle was rather round and wedged into her seat, which meant the only way I could leave my seat was if I climbed over her. So, after climbing over her twice, she struck up a conversation with me, and they gave me a very good introduction to Peru...here are two details that stand out:

1. When Peruvians were asked what they thought about other Peruvians, a majority responded that everyone is a thief!

2. It is a regular occurence for political candidates to run on platforms that entail killing the rich... and we despair our politicians are a bit slimy!

So, with this in mind combined with countless warnings to not carry anything around with you in Lima, it took some time to convince myself on Monday that it would be a good idea to leave the hotel. Well, I am glad I eventually did as I was in a nice neighborhood and the coast was pretty spectacular - big high cliffs leading down to beaches below. After exploring by myself for the day, I met up with my tour group in the evening, and we are a pretty funny bunch. Two young Norwegian guys named Ola and Martin and a British couple from Manchester named Harry and Nora in their late 50s. The Norwegians enjoy smoking, and when they are not smoking, they put little packages of tobacco between their teeth and upper lip. They have just begun a 6 month trip around the world. Harry and Nora wear hats that read ¨Retired and loving it!¨and they are 4 months into a 14 month trip around the world. All I can say is that I am happy with 3 weeks!

Now, as Day 3 is fresh in my mind, I will start there and perhaps backtrack later. This morning, we were supposed to get a boat tour to the Ballestas Islands - the Norwegians thought the name was hysterical and I will let you guess why - but there was too much fog so we headed off on a bus journey to our next stop, which turned out to be a vineyard where they grow grapes for a special Peruvian grape brandy called Pisco Sour. The vineyard guide´s grasp of English was somewhat limited and he described the machine that crushes the grapes as ¨the Big Squidge.¨He also enjoyed talking about ¨Pure Love,¨ a wine he claimed to be an aphrodisiac and judging from the number of kids running around, I think he´s probably right.

We then headed Huacachina...I was not sure what to expect but it turned out to be in the center of a sea of gigantic sand dunes! It was pretty unbelievable - towering, sandy yellow dunes rising up against the steely grey sky. The major attraction of the place is dune buggy riding and dune boarding. Buggy riding involves going at breakneck speeds hurtling up and down the dunes like a rollar coaster ride but with very poor seatbelts - sorry, Mom, I did do it and it was pretty awesome. We also went dune boarding - like snowboarding on sand. We weren´t given any instruction, just expected to strap the board on our feet and shoot down the dune. Thankfully, sand is soft to fall on, and I did manage to stand for some of the time...although I did end up with sand coating just about every inch of me.

At the end of the day, we got a preview of the Nasca lines. Again, not sure what they are, but we are seeing them tomorrow morning and I will be able to write a bit more about it then. But from what I can gather, they are these very large figures drawn into the ground that have been around for centuries but no one knows who made them or for what purpose...and with that I will finish up this entry, but I can assure you that there is more to come!