The rest of my life so far...

In Bali!

2012-01-20T01:14:00.000-05:00

It's important to keep promises to yourself - especially ones that concern travel. And last year, when I was freezing and miserable in winter camp, trolling my facebook newsfeed (which was alive with pictures from Bali, Thailand, Vietnam and Malaysia) I promised myself the following:

Next winter, I will not be a chump.

In keeping with that, I booked a two week vacation in Bali! I am here now, arrived yesterday, and ready for adventure. Since I really haven't explored very much yet, I have very little to report except this: Bali is delicious. The air is warm and so are the people. The island is lush, and "rainy season" still has a brighter, bluer sky than I saw all summer in Korea. At the internet cafe where I am now, a little girl, about 7 years old, is sitting next to be at a computer that is turned off, watching me and pretending to type,too. This, after a morning time spent reading on a private patio enclosed by palms waving in the balmy breeze, and breakfast that included watermelon juice and mangosteins.

I love Bali!

Riding the bus to work

2012-01-12T20:44:00.003-05:00

Even ten minutes after, my heart is still pounding, my teeth are clenched and I am reliving the moment, the dreadrul anticipation in back-to-back, 5 second technicolor loops. I see his face, reactionless, blinking with molassas slowness. I speak my bit, mouth full of marbles, and look at the door. Will it open? Will it not? At this point, my tongue thick with nerves, my mind blanks and out restarts.

You're probably thinking that I did something terribly exciting, but the truth is, I was only riding the bus.

Taking the bus is, normally, a stress free affair. Of course, "normally" means after I learned how to read Korean and figure which bus to get on. And where to get off. And how to differentiate "this stop is" from the stop name. Those things down, riding the bus is a cynch.

When it stops for me.

There are convenient little red buttons to signal a stop, just like most city bus systems. But the stop is only as accurate as the driver. During mornings, rush hours, or other such crowded times, the bus drivers are moving, speeding every five feet and slamming the breaks every twenty seconds, trying to make their schedules. They listen to music, or the news. Sometimes on the radio, sometimes on headphones. They have to keep their eyes on the road to avoid the skipping school children and crooked old ladies who wander into the street with abandon.

That is to say, they are not always paying attention to the passengers.

When a bus driver passes my stop, all I have to do is ask him stop. Except, I live in Korea. Except, the bus drivers only speak Korean. Except, for the longest time, I could not figure out how to say "please stop the bus!" and ended up banging on the door despartely, pointing, saying the incorrect word for "stop", none of which was understood.

That added a few greys, I can tell you.

(although my hair isn't going grey, its going red, which is odd story for another time.)

Well, I finally learned how to say stop. After enough of this stress I asked for the phrase, the magic, the key that would let me be understood and released from the bus:

"Ee bohn-eh, Neh-riah-yo!"

"This is my stop!" when said clearly, releases me from the bus. But its a mouthful, and there's always a chance that I won't be understood, that the bus will keep rolling, that I'll be rocketing towards the end of the line while my school sails by the windows.

This morning, I should've known. The bus driver nearly mowed me down instead of picking me up. He was pumping the breaks so hard that I was snapped out of morning haze and thrown around in several accidental ballerina positions trying to maintain my balance. He was boppng to his headphones, completely tuning out the bus radio AND the bus TV.

I am, if nothing else, optimistic to the point of pure foolishness.

When my stop came, he opened the front door to let on new passegners, but not the back door to let me off. The bus started rolling, and the familiar panic set in.

"adjussi!" I said, but he didn't hear me. Too many people blocking his review mirror, too much sound in the air. I shoved through the passengers, tunneling to the front. I had a 5 second window before we ridiculously far away from my stop.

"ADJUSSI!" I was desparately shouting "sir" to get his attention. Finally, his head snapped my way. He blinked me into focus.

"Ee bohn-eh, Neh-riah-yo!" I pointed to the door. Time slowed like soup. I held me breath.

The door opened.

WHEW.

Five Golden Lings

2011-12-21T03:40:00.000-05:00

In the name of being a cultural ambassador (and getting out of dealing with the increasingly thin lesson material provided for the end of the year), I taught my 3rd grade students to sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas". It's a classic (at least from my childhood), and it can't be found on the Korean Top 40 holiday songs that seem to play all year round, including "Last Christmas" by Wham, and "Santa Baby", which routinely blast out of speakers in cell phone stores and coffee shops.

To keep the kids engaged all the way through 12 days - a daunting feat for this iPhone4/angry birds generation - I made a little dance to go with the song, and taught it in 3 installments.

It's pretty hilarious.

It's hard to keep myself from laughing when the kids say "golden lings", "tuttle dobs" and garble the word "partridge" out of the side of their mouths, but add in the fact that they're only 3rd graders, and tend towards all around silliness in general, and I decided it would downright grinchy not to film it and share the Christmas cheer.

I have LOTS to be cheerful about this season, because I am coming home! I will touch down in Detroit, Michigan for the first time in over a year, this Friday.

So here it is. From my classroom, from my students, to you.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Seoul: Lantern Festival on the Chunky-chunk (청계청로)

2011-12-12T07:06:00.000-05:00

There is a small river that runs through the center of Seoul. This river is called the Cheonggyecheong. But, through an odd brain quirk, I seem to be unable or unwilling to pronounce it, so I call it the Chunky-chunk.

It makes me laugh. Chunky-chunk river. Sounds like a cookie with chocolate and walnuts.

Mmm...walnuts.

ANYways. The Chunky-chunk was once paved over for a highway, then later uncovered and restored to a rather unnatural, paved, but beautiful flowing splendor. Now, it's a wonderful place for the brave to dip their feet in and cool off, or just sit next to and enjoy the company of friends. And in November, there is a brilliant lantern festival. Here are some pictures from my frigid night capturing the river lights.

Making a holiday

2011-12-01T21:02:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving started with everything being about an hour behind schedule. In true holiday form, my careful plan to cook, clean and present myself as the American version of June Cleaver posing for the Korea addition of House Beautiful was smashed into panicky "get out of my cooking space, I'm wielding a carving knife" mode by one malicious, unpredictable element:

Traffic.

In order to pull off my Thanksgiving ex-pat party, I ordered a pre-cooked turkey with trimmings from the Grand Intercontinental Hotel in Seoul.

Of course...I don't live in Seoul.

So after pressing myself with unexpected intimacy against the strangers stuffed in the subway more tightly the stuffing in a turkey cavity, and waiting 45 minutes for a friend to help me drag the 17.5lb turkey I order back to my apartment in Bucheon, I climbed into a taxi, expecting him to zip of to the nearest highway and whisk me home.

You're a smart cookie - you know that's not the way it went down.

Instead, the cab crawled through the city to another highway, took a scenic detour and finally slow dragged his plump and pissed off fare (me) to Bucheon, disgusted, seething, and late.

Don't get me wrong - the turkey? done. The mac & cheese? Done. The rest? Being brought by friends. What had me in a utter panic was that I had less than 30 minutes to pull together what I considered to be my coup-de-gras this holiday season: the appetizer.

I had my party completely mentally mapped. I would pull the roasted-tomato bruschetta out of the oven just as the first guests arrived. We'd crack the wine and conversation would flow, keeping everyone mellow until dinner.

The reality was much less elegant. I was still chopping when the first guests arrived. I had a friend in the kitchen being my sous-chef as I fixed my hair and make-up and had nearly outrageous fits of OCS whenver an unauthorized guest stepped into my cooking space. My guests popped on my laptop and played my music, which was completely embarrassing - who wants friends and guests to know that you sort-of-accidentally uploaded your Aqua CD onto your new laptop so that could dance around to "Barbie Girl"?

Thank goodness for wine!

We cracked open the first bottle and magic happened. People relaxed, stopped paying attention to me and my OCS antics - or "trying to help" as they put it - I served up my appetizer with a secret ingredient (bacon), and my friends tucked in with gusto.

Then the real food came out.

When you're living away from your family, the people you share the holidays with become a close substitute. So to see my friends comfortable, shoes-off, chowing down in true turkey day style was the best holiday gift, despite the fact that I wasn't nearly as coordinated as I had hoped to be.

Towards the end of the night, a guy who had tagged along as a friend of a friend pulled me aside and said:

"Thanks so much for letting me crash your party. I've been feeling really homesick lately, and I thought it wouldn't be possible to have a real Thanksgiving here. But you're an excellent cook, and an excellent hostess. You actually made Thanksgiving."

If I had to say what I was most grateful for, it was that moment.

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday!

Boracay: Frendz Resort - The place, the people

2011-12-01T06:43:00.001-05:00

The wonderful owner

The common area where they served breakfast, beer, and good times

my ever-sandy bed

The stairs o'death - WAY to steep for midnight bathroom trips.

Betty (from Singaore) and Jen from Korea

Rory from Hong Kong, Lisa and Maria from Korea

Stian from Norway, and me!

Coco Mangos - a scene of incredible infamy! Great party place on the beach, not too far from Frendz.

Boracay: Boat ride around the island

2011-12-01T06:26:00.001-05:00

Ice cream boat!

The off-coast island where we stopped for lunch.

Alex, me and Alice

lunch: grilled lapu lapu, pork chops, prawns, clams, and chicken

...and mangos! I asked them to grill a few. The shook there heads at me, but agreed. The result was a warm, mango pudding, scooped directly from the skin. AMAZING.

Our guide, Norman, who kept insisting that Boracay rum doesn't get your drunk. You check out his eyes, and guess why I wasn't buying that sales pitch.

off shore rocks where we went snorkeling.

Boracay: Welcome to White Beach Off-Season

2011-12-01T06:02:00.001-05:00

Wind guards had to be placed to keep us from getting sand-lashed during high tide.

These guys walked up and down the beach, selling a sweet tofu dessert. As you can see, has has no spoon, and no containers for distribution. I don't like sweetened tofu enough to discover just how you could actually eat it.

Pearl Sellers.

Teeny tiny sandcastle. My best handiwork since the 2nd grade.

Mmm...mmm! Ice cream!

Many of these little shops lined the beach, tempting me to buy a ukulele. Sadly, my suitcase was too small....

Manila: All the rest (Quezon CIty, Chinatown and Makati)

2011-11-06T22:14:00.004-05:00

Hi Blogtarts!
Now that the cold weather has officially set it, nothing better to warm you up than the rest of my pictures of Manila from this summer.

Ok, that's a lie, but...

Enjoy anyways.

I had coffee, tea, dessert, and breakfast at this place. It was easily my favorite spot in Quezon City. Friendly service, and real cake!

The best noodle restaurant in China town, famous for its fabulous, fresh noodles. If I had to be totally honest...it was bland. I am definitely wary of things labelled "famous" in Asia.

Chinatown

Zen Rock Garden exhibit at the Ayala Museum in Makati.

Taken outside of the Ayala Museum.

Catfish Adobe, Garlic Rice, and a Green Mango Smoothie at Sentro, in Makati. FABULOUS. A fun, hip restuarant for a group, but still friendly and welcoming for a single dinner like me.

(outside of Sentro)

The impractical Coconut Palace that so offended the Pope that he cancelled his visit to the Phillipines...so the president invited Brooke Shields to come and party instead. I was hoping to see the bedroom where she stayed (apparently, the room is furnished with coconut fiber sheets), but the palace is not open to tourists any more...as I discovered when I waltzed through the gate and was stopped by the guard hiding sneakily on the other side of the wall, just far enough out of sight to cause a hapless tourist a near heart attack...

I have no idea what kind of street food was being sold here - I was rushing through a subway station - but I couldn't resist a snapshot.

Subversive Filipino Cuisine - another delicious restaurant in Makati.

I almost fell face-first into this salad. I haven't seen a proper salad in over a year!

Spinach croque-monsieur

Red Horse! I saw many commericals that called this the "Strong" beer. However, it's only 7%/vol. I thought "pshaw".

Take it from me - don't pshaw this beer. It's a party.

I met some cool new friends in Manila, we shared some good times on my last night in the city. We still keep in touch.

Manila: Intramuros

2011-08-27T23:13:00.002-04:00

Casa Manila (Museum of a Spanish colonial-era house)

Mother Mary? I don't know, actually. Just a random statue in the area.

Yellow house! Red trim!

Yes, I need a trucktor driver, too. Whatever that is.

A tricycle. Took a while to get my courage up and get in one.

LOL.

In case you didn't read it, yes, this is a building for the KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS. Strange...

A random courtyard, covered in graffiti.

Manila: More proof that I am a knuckle-head

2011-08-22T23:51:00.000-04:00

I was told not to go to Manila. When I was making my summer plans, my co-worker informed me that Manila was "grotty", but that was just hearsay and besides, he's scottish, so everything he says sounds snobby. I thought to myself, "Am I the type of girl who follows the herd? Or do I blaze my own trail, make my own opinions, and discover the world?"

I have been called stubborn, hard-headed, a knuckle-head, and almost any other word that can be used to mean someone who refuses to listen to another's opinion. I have, time and again, learned things the hard way because I am hard-wired for independent verification. So I booked a 4-day stay in Manila to "discover" the hidden gems of a city that was so soundly denounced by all, and I have to say:

It was a dump.

I don't say that lightly. I love cities of all stripes, but my first impression of Manila was that it reminded me a post-rapture, post-apocalypse city you might see in a sci-fi movie: The airport is still functioning, but there may be flesh-eating zombies on the loose.

As I cruised down the 6 lane highway full of Jeeps, overcrowded with dust-covered workmen, motorcycles zooming head first towards fiery death, and drivers diving into every square centimeter of smoggy air, I alternatively watched my cabbie to make he didn't smirk TOO much as he drove me around in rather obvious circles, and looked around.

Manila 2011 looks a lot light Detroit, actually. If Detroit were hit by a grim bomb, and about 70% of its hope for life was sucked away. The structure of the city high looked a lot like the lodge, careening through the city and passed billboards advertising relief from backne and hot chicken sandwiches. Everything was in English - a surprise after being so long in Korea. And - shocker of shocker - I saw Halle Barry's beautiful face smiling at me from an ad, tempting me to purchase Revlon lipstick.

I arrived at my hostel one suspiciously expensive cab right later. I am shaking my head even now, as I think of that place. Strawberry Hometel was definitely a FAIL on my part. I should have been tipped off by the name "hometel", that things were not what they should have been.

I thought there were just being cute.

It turns out, the hometel was too quiet, too far away from the main drag, and had a horrifying bathroom.

But more on that, later.

Just to wrap up - when I arrived in Manila it was pouring rain, and I was alone. I stayed in Quezon City, an area with a lot of students. I sampled several restaurants. Most were chain-y, and a bit of a disappointment. If I wasn't so hard up for food flavored with something other that soy sauce and red pepper paste, it would have been a real drag. I did find a cute cake shop, and I camped out there every morning to make my plans for the day. I was able to get around on my own, but with difficulty - public transport is inconvenient, and I got hassled a lot my tricylce drivers.

The city does not really present itself as a tourist city. There is not much to see, and not much that's exceptional. For that reason, I would not recommend it. Most cities are, in some ways, unique. They have a feeling, a vibe, a flavor. Manila didn't have that - not really. There was nothing there that you couldn't get somewhere else, and get it better. At least, this was the impression I had while I was alone.

The people, though. Oh lord, I would move to Manila for them. After being in Korea, I was incredibilty sensitive to small courtesies like:

1) People look at you and smile.
2) Babies don't cry when they see you.
3) Filipinos speak English. Understandable, wonderful English.
4) People are friendly, and use friendly vocabulary words like: "are you single?" as opposed to "is your boyfriend a negro?"

You know, it's the little things.

So despite the lackluster surroundings, I was enjoying discovering pockets of Quezon City. And then my trip got even better - I made a friend!

Adventure Shoes in Manila, Part 1

2011-08-16T08:59:00.001-04:00

Pesos: looks like monopoly money

Tomas Morato Avenue

Mang Inasal - a chain restaurant, but the chicken was awesome!

A Street in Quezon City

Jollibee! Filipino KFC, as far as I could tell (no, I didn't try it)

Strawberry Hometel - not a place I would revisit.

Should've walked out as soon as I saw this sign.

I was amused and saddened that this sign exists.

Less-than-5-star accomadation

Cheesecake and tea and my favorite cake shop in Quezon City

Filipino-style breakfast: Dried, fried fish, garlic rice and a fried egg

Fishy close-up. I think this was called "danggit", from cebu. Can't remember, though. Anyways, it was tasty.

LOL.

Waiting for the train in the metro.

Street Lanterns in Manila City.

San Augustine Church

San Augustine. Or Mother Mary?

Bridesmaids in orange

Adventure shoes in the grotty street of Intramuros, Manila City

Travel update: The Philippines

2011-08-09T04:33:00.000-04:00

I just returned from an eye-opening adventure in the Philippines. Right now, before I claimed by post-partying exhaustion, I just wanted to say that I coming out of haitus for a few posts to share the shenanigans.

tap, tap, cough: is this thing on?

2011-06-06T05:34:00.000-04:00

Hello Blogtarts.

I'm sure that you've noticed the number of posts that appear here regularly has dropped. Ok, actually, I'm not at all sure that you've noticed. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea who reads this, as most of my followers have turned into silent, ghost-like lurkers.

So, to the lurkers who may or may not be out there, I say:

Um, who are you?

No, just kidding. As much as I would love a good "de-lurking", I actually wanted to talk about something different. Yesterday, June 5, was my blogoversary. The anniversary of my blog's birthday, three years ago!

And I totally missed it.

I was spending the day with a friend who just arrived in Korea, whom I haven't seen in over a year!

I have, after a wrench, decided not to write here for a while. Not because there is less to say about Korea - believe me, I come home with mouth fulls of words I want to publish everyday - actually, Blogtarts, I have decided it is more than time to commit to daily writing practice of fiction, in the interest of my future. This is my 575th post. If I had turned that same focus to a novel, I would be more than done by now.

I will continue to post pictures, and I'll write when I can't resist spilling the ridiculousness of Koren-ex-pat life. But other than that, lurkers...

Peace out, for now.

On the Wine Train to Daejeon

2011-06-02T00:49:00.000-04:00

Dear Korea: THIS IS NOT CHEESE

Cheese (another cheese) and baguette! Mmm!

They made us play rock-paper-scissors and put stickers on the loser. Clearly, I lost.

The bathroom rated #1 in Korea...

LOL.

At the winery

We all got the same red wine. I was perfumed with eau de nail polish remover. We drank the white instead.

I have no idea why this drum is here (I was in no state to recall details at that point). But look how big it is!

Voyage to India (part 4): The Bahai'i house

2011-05-21T01:12:00.000-04:00

In order to reach the Lotus Temple, you have to check your shoes. If you want to visit there, take my advice: go in the evening, when the sun is not burning with skin-frying intensity. I, along with everyone else silly enough to visit around 1pm, hopped up the path on a hot bamboo rug and literally burning hot stones. I barely held back the tears when I finally reached the temple, and stepped onto cool stones. The contrast alone was enough to make me want to stop and send up a prayer of thankfulness for the shade.

Tourists are herded inside of the temple in groups, and asked to be silent for the sake of those who would like to stop and pray.

I'll be you can imagine how well that went...

I was standing behind a woman who was having trouble controlling her daughter. And by "trouble" I mean she ignored the child, fawning over her boyfriend, until the girl started looking for ways to entertain herself, like trying to climb up the glass windows (not possible), or throwing small rocks in the small space between other tourists. When the commotion of this entertainment attracted glances of censure from Indian Aunties and Grandmas, the woman blushed with shame and began to smack the wayward girl wherever she could reach - the face, the leg, the arm. This little routine continued into the temple, with the slaps becoming sharper as the Mother's embarrassment increased.

I chose to sit far away from them.

The inside of the temple was beautiful - impeccable design on the walls and ceiling, with a beautiful alter in the middle. Unfortunately, (albeit understandably) photos were not allowed.

On the way out, I decided to visit the pools below. There were three pools were the weary and the faithful could refresh their feet. I desperately wanted to dip my feet in, but I tend to avoid bodies of standing water in hot countries where I have no medical coverage. For the sake of experience, I dipped in my big toe. Of course, I regretted that later that night, when I toe swelled painfully to twice its size.

Kidding. I was fine.

Voyage to India, part 3: At Qutb Minar

2011-05-20T01:11:00.001-04:00

After my valiant escape from the apartment, Mack's driver took me out of Gurgoan and into Delhi. The air was hot. The kind of heat that warms you all the way to your bones, then rapidly increases the temperature of your exposed skin to crispy roasting. Thank goodness for the air conditioned car, or my sun-deprived body would have given out from underneath me in about an hour.

Zipping along the highway, I was able to appreciate the scenery. Once I stepped outside to see Qutb Minar, I was asailed by another Indian treat: the smell. The air is too-full of everything: old food, old sweat, dust, pollution, refuge. The only smell more intense than the air was that of the men: the were strutting around riper than love apples. Despite my desire to be open-minded to culture and practice, I can to you honestly - I will not miss the smells.

At Qutb Minar, I paid the exorbitant foreigner entry fee (250 rupees, as opposded to 10 rupees for Indias), shook off a greasy, round man with a towel on his head who was determined to be my tour guide, and headed in. Inside, I listened to my audio guide and snapped pictures. It was all rather peaceful, surreal and pleasant. Two nearly toothless old women in saris, with buckets on their heads, gummed grins at me.

"Picture, picture!" They jerked their crooked fingers at my camera.

"You want a picture of me?" I was puzzled.

"No, no. Picture!" They pointed at each other.

"You want me to take a picture of you?"

The nodded enthusiastically.

"Ok." I focused my camera, and clicked. And no, I didn't realize I was acting like a tourist chump until after the shutter snapped.

"Money, money!" They held out their clawed palms. My face fell.

"Excuse me?"

"Money, money! Bucks, money!"

Giving money to strangers is always a tricky decision for me. Giving money for people trying to run a hustle on me, is not.

"Oh, I don't have any money." I looked around, pleasantly nonplussed. Try to trick me, will you? Tell me the price after the fact, eh? Well, two can play that game.

"Dollar, dollar!" They were not-quite-snarling. "Money" they clawed close to my purse.

"I only have a card." I made a swiping motion. "Card only. I'm sorry."

They looked at each other, and at me, with disgust. Too bad, should've talked money up front. They sauntered off to find other likely chumps, and I slunk around the backside of the ruins, to continue snapping photos in peace.

I had almost reached the gross-and-sweaty-head-back-to-the-car point when I was stopped by a young couple. I tried to step out of the way, assuming I was in the background of their photograph, when they spoke up.

"Can we take a picture with you?"

"With me? Erm...sure?"

Later, Mack told me this was a common occurrence. People love taking photos with foreigners. Being a person who hates shots of randos in my pictures, I can't relate. But I smiled nicely whenever I was asked.

Next up, the Bahai'i house.

Voyage to India, part 2: TRAPPED

2011-05-16T09:38:00.000-04:00

Friday morning in Gurgoan, I tried to recover from jetlag as Mack ran around the apartment, late for work. I stayed in bed, listening to the stream of the shower and thinking about my day. I had a full schedule of tourist stops in South Delhi to make, along with a scheduled lunch break where I was instructed to eat a Dosa, a type of Keralan cuisine that I have never tried.

Despite my innate chaffing at being given a schedule on a vacation, I was looking forward to the day Mack had planned for me. Once she left for work with her roommate, I began to prep, sluffing off the debris of travel and scrubbing my teeth in order to face the day. I dressed, picking out a skirt that may or may not be see-through (I have not being able to determine whether it is or not, despite having owned it for years). Maybe not the best choice considering the culture, but I didn't have many wardrobe options for hot weather. I packed my purse with rupees, a water bottle, and a breakfast bar from the kitchen. One deep breath, and I head for the door.

I toggled the handle. The door didn't budge.

I toggled again. Then looked down.

The door had a key lock from the inside and the outside.

I had no key.

UH-oh....

Arms full, mind boggled with disbelief, I stood their stupidly toggling the door. Let me out...let me out...LET ME OUT!!

I can't believe this.

I made it all the way to India just to get locked inside of Mack's apartment.

Ok, don't panic.

First, I texted her. When she didn't respond, I called. No answer. I texted again, increasingly alarmed.

"Hey, I'm locked in! Help!"

Nothing.

Ok, time to think of other options. Option 1) pick the lock. Option 2) jump down from the balcony.

I ran to the balcony, threw back the curtain. Oh my goodness...I'm at least 5 floors up. And there is no convenient staircase or latter going down.

Okay...now, to find a hair pin.

I ran to Mack's room, searched through her jewelry and assorted knick knacks, but couldn't find one. I took an earring with a long backing and returned to the door. It was starting to get warm in the hallway, which didn't help my rising aggravation as I tried to gently trip the lock mechanism without destroying Mack's earring. Years of watching people bust out of impossible situations with hair pins and credit cards proved to be inadequate education;

the lock was good and stuck.

Darn it!

Think! I called the driver.

"I'm locked in! Can you ask the guards if they have a spare key?" I asked.

"Yes, I come, Ma'am. Come down."

Hmm...that is not at all related to what I said. I switched to "talk to Susan" mode.

"The door is locked."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I have no key."

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"I cannot leave."

Pause. "Ok, Ma'am. I will ask to the guards if they have a key."

Phew! Successful communication. I paced by the door waiting. In about 10 minutes, the bell rang.

"Hello?" I pressed my face against the door that blocked the way to freedom and my vacation. Let me out, let me out please!

"Ma'am? We checked and there is no spare key, Ma'am."

Well...so much for that.

"Ma'am? There's a paper here for you Ma'am." His footsteps walked away.

Great. Ten minutes wasted, and all he has to say is there is a paper, on the other side of the locked door. As if I had any way of getting it! As if being on the other side of that door wasn't the whole problem. Sheesh!

I paced, disgusted at my inability to break out of the room. It takes 21 steps to get from Mack's bedroom to the dining room phone. It's 15 steps to get from the balcony to the front door. It's 5 steps to cross the entrance hallway. Let me out, let me out, let me out!!

Finally, after about 20 more minutes, Mack picked up her phone.

"Hey Mishi, what's up? I was in a meeting." she sounded too darn chipper.

"Yeah..." my voice dragged over the phone, "I'm locked in."

Pause. "OH MY GOD I'm so stupid!!"

"Also, I'm really hot in here."

Once I got Mack on the case, things happened rather quickly. The housekeeper was called, the driver was called, someone else's driver was set in motion, all on operation "Let Mishi Out". Mack told me where the AC was, and I chilled out for about half an hour more, before being sprung free by the housekeeper. Key in hand, I found the car. We zipped off, heading to South Delhi.

India: The Taj...and the last little bit of Delhi

2011-05-15T22:03:00.000-04:00

Gurdwara Bangla Sahib, Delhi

The Taj Mahal, Agra

footcovers that Mack and I were duped into buying for $10

Temple mosque, on a the right side

False mosque, on the left

India: toutisting around Northern Delhi

2011-05-15T21:33:00.000-04:00

The Red Fort

Purana Qila

Voyage to India, part 1: The plane

2011-05-12T22:42:00.000-04:00

Normally, I would not start a story about a trip abroad by dragging you through extraneous flight details. Only if, say, something drastic and important happened there would I stop to tell you about how I happened to get from Airport A, to Airport B, and whether or not there were peanuts.

But I must, in telling you about India, mention the indelible experience of Air India, so buckle up, babies. Here we go.

If you have never had the pleasure of flying with Air India, let me briefly describe for you my first experience with them. I took a flight from Newark to Paris during college, my first solo trip. The stewardess were shockingly, appallingly rude. They angrily ignored all pleas and concerns until meal time, when they went around punching the headrests to wake sleeping passengers and screaming, "You want lamb. LAMB?? LAMB??" which I accepted, groggy and cowering, only to have a hot plate of curry and a lumpy rock of mutton slopped in front my sleep crusted eyes. After being so roundly abused, I vowed to never again fly with them.

But when I went to book my flight to Delhi, they sucked me in by undercutting competitor prices by at least $300.00. I decided to sacrifice common courtesy for cash, vowed not to sleep until after the meal was served, and bring my own water, so that I didn't have to make any special requests.

But oh, Air India, you threw me a curve ball. Those tricky bastards did the one thing that would have made me reconsider my decision in a heartbeat.

They went on strike.

I sh*t you not. Less than a week before take off, I received a notice from Orbitz, letting me know my fantasy of sharing a coconut with a baby monkey by the side of the Ganges was about to be completely derailed by the suddenly, unexpected and un-refunded cancellation of my flight.

CRAP.

Re-buying the ticket was not feasible. Missing the trip was unfathomable. So I did the reasonable thing...fell into a slump, punctuated by bursts of manic flight status checking, and reading the India Times for updates on the strike.

The strike did not miraculously end, but my flight wasn't cancelled either. So I went to the airport, rigid with nerves. So far, so good. I checked before I left. Not cancelled. Not cancelled, thank goodness.

Except...

When I got to the airport, I found out that my flight was...delayed. By 2 hours. I was so nervous that I spent the extra 2 hours by the gate, debating whether or not to go grab a cocktail. I didn't, deciding that being sloshed couldn't possibly help the situation, so I just had to suck it up.

And then finally,

finally,

"Air India flight 317 to Hong Kong with service to Delhi is now boarding."

Sweet Mother of Applesauce. Thank you, thank you, THANK you.

Woozy with relief, I snuck on the plane amid the first class and business class passengers. I knocked back a few chapters on my kindle until slightly after take off when the pilot-performing-stewardess duties came around offering the most wonderful, amazing thing.

Spicy fried peanuts!

After nearly 10 months of being inundated with soysauce and red pepper paste, pickling all foods into the one flavor that is Korea, I crunched down my peanuts with pure enjoyment, blissfully unworried about whether my seat partner had a peanut allergy.

Curry. Peanut. Spice.

India, here I come.

India: South Delhi, after lunch (part 2)

2011-05-11T03:01:00.001-04:00

Humayan's Tomb site

graffiti inside the temple. Apparently, several people could not resist the "I was here" urge

Lodhi Garden (kind of reminded me of the Jungle Book)

The India Gate. Although, how a country so large could possibly be gated is beyond me.

The President's house...not open to the public. Probably a smart move.

Jantar Mantar (a large sundial/celestial tracker of sorts)

The requisite "I was here" photo.

India: South Delhi in the morning (part 1)

2011-05-11T02:48:00.000-04:00

Qutb Minar Complex

Ladies who tried to hustle me

Bahai'i House (Lotus Temple)

Lunch at Sagar Ratna; a Masala Dosa with a glass of Watermelon juice...mmm!

Letter writing fun with the 5th and 6th grade

2011-05-01T22:43:00.000-04:00

In school, my kiddies are writing postcards to students in Malaysia. I wrote them a sample, then spent a period with each class writing out drafts. When they shot their short-fingered hands up and shouted "FINISHI!", I went to check their work.

The majority just straight copy-pasted the thing, because they don't believe it's a real letter. Some of them wrote minor treatises on how they want to be interpreters for the UN Secretary General, how their pet hamster is at the vet, how they hope to meet Big Bang (a Kpop boyband) someday.

They wrote sentences like "I like bulgogi. It is beef. Hmm...I like many meats." and "I love this song because it is so rhythm!"

They described themselves with "I like art" and "I have big eyes".

And of course, there were some pretty hilarious grammatical errors. Past, present, continous, subject-verb agreement, plurals...most of these error I left uncorrected. It's slightly perverse considering that I am their English teacher, but the way they write is so darn cute! And besides, I felt like leaving the letters as is, as long as the message could be understood, preserved the authenticity of their voices.

But one, I had to correct.

"Teacher, I'm finish!" He thrust his English notebook at me, smiling. I picked up the flopping pages and began to read:

Dear Malaysia Kid,
Hi! My favorite song is "No More Heart". Do you like "No More Heart?" I like "No More Heart" because it makes me touch.

Stop the tape.

I BURST out laughing. This was one of many times I absolutely could not hold my composure, and chortled in a kid's face.

"Hand me your eraser" I said. I smudged out the offending sentence, then gave him back the book.

"It's touching" I said, indicating the blank space.

"Ah!" He nodded, grinning, "Thanks Teacher!"

A common occurance

2011-05-01T22:27:00.000-04:00

I slid out into the hallway between classes, only to see two boys pounding a third into the ground. I walked up slowly, eye brows raised. They saw me, little fists paused mid-sucker-punch.

"What are you doing? Are you killing him?"

"No, no teacher," they shook their heads, "he is punching bag."

The boy on the ground crooked his neck so he could look at me, and smile.

"Punching bag?" My brows went up even higher.

"Yes" they nodded, enthused. "He lost the game, so we punch."

"Hmm...." I often express i-am-not-happy-with-this-situation in monosyllables.

"Ok! Ok! No fight!" They scampered off, the previous punching bag pounding their over-sized skulls in retribution.