Traveling Monkeys

Utterly butterly delicious

Sun, 26 Feb 2012 10:30:47 +0700

Utterly butterly delicious

One of the reasons we are living in different cultures is to...

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 11:33:04 +0700

One of the reasons we are living in different cultures is to understand how they are changing. Ever-increasing access to media, consumer goods, and the internet is homogenizing certain aspects of different cultures, especially for the younger generations. Language and communication is a great example.

This photo is from a funny article in today’s Times of India describing “Teenglish” or “slanguage”, the lingo-laden vocabularies of Indian kids and their parents’ and teachers’ utter befuddlement. How about a crash course? Some of the examples obviously come from American media or the internet, e.g. ATM, bromance, tranny, emo, cheddar, wired. Some seem distinctly Indian, e.g. iFinger: “a finger kept clean for the purpose of managing touch-screen devices.” (relevant in a culture that loves snacks and eats with their hands), infy: infinite, funda: fundamental, etc. Some we have no idea: askhole, overchicked, altered?

Prasoon Joshi, an Indian writer, expressed a sentiment we’ve also heard back West: “Writers and poets are worried about youngsters’ language, which seems to be purely transactional and lacks charm or romance. All they are doing is finding abbreviations, which doesn’t call for too much creativity. I think soon their exchanges will lead to a hybrid language limited to SMSes, Twitter and Facebook alone.”

ROFLCOPTER!!!!!

Food, folks and fun

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 19:51:00 +0700

Here’s a look at some of the highlights of week two in Mumbai. I’m lovin’ it.

A Rajasthani Sturbridge Village filled with camel cart rides (to rock your spine), Rajasthani hand-spun pottery (pssst, don’t mind the motor), tightrope walking, doll and bangle shops, Rajasthani dance and a fire breather, puppet theater, Indian-style carnival attractions (apparently the world over this involves shooting things) and even a palm reader (who, not surprisingly, gathered the longest lines). After our tour, we went inside for some Rajasthani fare - thick curries, kichiri, chole, thick roti, and halva that the waiter even fed to each guest.

We visited friends of my dad’s Lata and Parag at their house in Dadar, near where my father grew up. Of course this meant a trip to his favorite sweets shop. Just look at those colors.

Parag and Lata have an awesome home, built in the 1936, equipped with some choice technology from the early 20th century. Our favorite antique was these switches.

Parks have good lighting, don’t they?

We see these guys almost every day, chillin’ in the park.

Street shade.

Ambulance.

Uhm, person crusher.

Where you get your gum and cigarettes.

This woman was so excited by seeing the camera, she asked Matt to take a photo of her. This is her winning “I’m posing” smile. Once the photo was done, she promptly walked off.

Chaos.

An Indian minivan, capable of seating five.

Tea time.

Happy time.

Kenny made a jacket for my mom based on an old one she’s loved almost to tatters. Kenny really liked Matt. He called him brother and tried to touch his crotch to “illustrate” a stitch he’d been suggesting for the design (which could only be found on the bottom of the zipper of Matt’s jeans).

Sanjay Gandhi National Park.

Mom - who is terrified of exposed heights - took a tour up this janky tree house. We were very proud, so we took a photo to prove it.

And here’s to prove she made it down all on her own.

The highlight of Sanjay Gandhi National Park.

Breakfast!

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 13:32:16 +0700

Breakfast!

Sweets for all

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 14:00:05 +0700

We traveled to the local sweet shops Nagrik and Krishna Sweets today to get my brother an edible souvenir. That also meant buying a whole basket of other sweets and snacks that we’ll need to eat before they spoil in the heat. What?! The samples we tried were just so good.

Matt has been diligently sampling all manner of sugar and milk since our arrival. There are so many sweet shops in Bombay to choose from, but many of them don’t go through their products fast enough to keep them fresh. Knowing where to go can be the difference between a melt-in-you-mouth milk treat and a hard, gritty piece of something that tastes like old butter.

In such a social culture, people are always stopping by each other’s homes for chai, snacks, dinners, celebrations, etc and bringing little gifts. And - arguably more importantly - people also need the freshest possible offering to bring to their local temples. So it’s doubly important to know how to find the best pedas around. No one wants to be the one who comes along with an offering of a little pink box of rancid butter.

Sezwan, Szechuan

Conflex, corn flakes

How do they line up those cashews?

All that silver and milk! We learned recently from a geologist that silver has antibacterial properties. Those little foils are both pretty and clever.

Pedas.

Master salesmen at work. As Matt said, for a culture where they like snacking, the best strategy is to let you sample everything.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy.

One green square

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 10:03:05 +0700

We love this little oasis of a park that’s an 8 minute walk from Mohana’s. Yes, you have to brave rickshaw traffic, maneuver around exposed piping, cross three rather heart-stopping intersections and one big gross, trash-heaped mud puddle, pass through another park of sorts, and then head down a lane with stray dogs, but it is 100% worth the effort.

It’s a wonderful enclave of big, old trees and - most fortunately - a padded track loop of ground up old tires, 8 laps of ‘em to a mile. We love to come in the morning after breakfast and watch all the women in saris and salwars except for their tennis sneakers, power walking in small groups. A group of older men congregate there most days, all in white cotton, chatting away. And dotted here and there are students or professionals taking in the clean air, reading a book or practicing some pranayama. It’s only a little green square in this massive, bustling dusty city, but it’s obvious the people who come here thinks it’s pretty great.

We also think their exercise illustrations are pretty great…

Arm exercise

Leg raise

Leg stretch

Jogging trak

Keep your park clean

A new neighborhood, an old feel

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 01:12:00 +0700

The effect in the photos below reminds me strongly of photos my mom took on her first trip to India in 1979, six months after my parents were married. Most of them depict my cousins and Mohana, food, painted trucks, street scenes, water buffalos, and travels she and my dad took by train from Delhi to Agra to visit the Taj Majal. You know, things that would fancy a 32 year-old, blond Philadelphian newlywed traveling to a completely foreign place to visit her brand new in-laws. On that trip my mom famously - for the benefit of my dad, her future offspring, and anyone who has eaten at our house in the last 30 years - sat on the floor in Mohana’s kitchen and wrote down all the recipes that were whizzing by. This was mostly done based on hand gestures, sight and smell.

The photos themselves are beautifully aged and muted in their color scheme; mostly everything takes on a warm, yellow glow. The India depicted feels like the quiet dream of a distant land, equally familiar and exotic.

Whenever I looked at those photos, even after I’d traveled to India many times, I wanted so desperately to go to the India my mother had visited that first trip. I wanted to feel the excitement of doing simple things in a totally foreign place, giddy and awkward and wanting it to feel like home. Well here I am, two years younger than the age she was then. While I have traveled to India seven times and visited my family many times, in some ways it feel like I am seeing my surroundings for the first time. Both city and culture may be changing at a dizzying pace, but every day I get a quiet thrill just walking down the street.

Four generations connected via Skype.

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 22:44:35 +0700

Four generations connected via Skype.

Brahmasthan

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 17:08:00 +0700

So y’all know I meditate, right? Twice a day. It’s a practice called Transcendental Meditation (TM) that my dad and mom have been practicing since ‘71 and ‘72 respectively. It’s a simple, mantra-based technique, but it differs from quite a few out there in that it’s not concentration-based. That means, you don’t sit around and stare at the wall, trying to bore a hole through it. And that’s not to say it’s less intense. The Maharishi teachers out there would say it’s “effortless.”

For me, meditation keeps me grounded and balanced while giving me clarity of mind and emotions. Sometimes my meditation can feel like a super power and sometimes it just keeps me from feeling utterly exhausted. It ebbs and flows as life does, and supports whatever I may need at the time, whether it be release from stress, deep rest, or solving life’s challenges and supporting the opportunities. It took me a long time to come around to meditation, I won’t deny. I even opposed meditating until my brother took the rigorous course to learn to teach and then I realized I was being an *sshole. It’s such a powerful tool to have in one’s life.

This weekend we traveled to the Brahmasthan (the geographical center of India) to a village called Karondi, 2 1/2 hours from Jabalpur in Madhya Pradesh (center state) to hear 1,331 Maharishi pandits (Brahmin scholars trained in the ancient Indian texts, the Vedas) perform a yagya (a chant) called Ati Rudra Abhishek (the highest offering). Let’s try that again. We traveled to about as central in India as you can get, in the countryside, to hear 1,331 Brahmin men of varying ages, trained in the art of chanting, give a performance for world peace. [I know, I know, Michael Jackson’s “Heal the World” just popped into your head. And that’s terrible, you should be ashamed of yourself. It’s more like Gregorian chanting, but then again, not really. We will put up the clip we recorded for your enjoyment soon.]

My father has been working on a program for the Maharishi Vedic University to install pandits at the Brahmasthan to chant every day to instill peace in the world. If you think about the presence of positive and negative energy, this is like a whole lot of positive reverberations being sent out into the world. The program’s goal is to have 9,000 pandits, in smaller groups, performing three times every day. The aim is to do enough performances to raise the level of world consciousness. Think about that one for a second.

Well, we were able to witness one performance on Saturday, in the presence of the Shankaracharya of Jyotirmath (you could consider him the Pope of the North, if there were five). It was an incredible experience, and in scale maybe the largest organized performance we’ll witness in India, pulled off expertly based on the hard work of many, many people.

Earlier in the day we gave offerings to the Shankaracharya, who then came to watch the yagya. We sat in comfortable armchairs in front of rows of 15 pandits each, all dressed in white cottons and silk. After a puja (an offering to the tradition of teachers), they began chanting and continued, spectacularly, for four hours. Some were young men, some old, and some didn’t look to be more than 10.

Sometimes their voices came together like a breaking wave, sometimes a swarm of bees; at times is was harmonious, at times chaotic. At times I found it easy and it washed over me and at others it felt like an assault and so I hid under my shawl. But there was such nuance to the sound, all those voices and beings. All that energy in one room. It was by far the largest, and one of the most powerful displays of the human voice I’ve heard. [I asked Matt if that were true for him and he said he’d seen only one bigger… in his head.]

If you had asked me before hearing a yagya (this is my third) if I could have sat through one, I may have panicked. The thought of listening to sound, like human white noise, for hours on end, eyes closed but otherwise without distraction is overwhelming. It’s similar to the reaction I see in people that makes them squirm away from meditation. “I can’t possibly just sit there with my eyes closed… for 20 minutes!?” But there’s a whole world inside of those voices, those reverberations, regardless of your beliefs. It’s beautiful, all the way through. And there’s a lot of stillness if you just close your eyes.

I had an interesting vision on Sunday while meditating, that made me feel some strange peace. It was a visual of a room. A quiet, dark room with elegant wooden chairs covered in gold and purple silk all lined up. There was afternoon light streaming through a tall window at the back left of the room, casting long shadows over some of the chairs. There was a door at the back and another at the front. I don’t know where either went, nor what all the chairs were facing, but it was something of a bookshelf, cast in shadow. There was incredible stillness in that room, somewhat sad but calm and peaceful, like forgotten happy thoughts. I had the distinct sensation the room was inside my abdomen, quiet and waiting to be filled. Then I had the sensation - I often do - of my abdomen disappearing. It’s always a wonderful but sometimes slightly alarming feeling, like you might disappear and you might like it, just dissolve into your surroundings. Then it subsided. I don’t know if that was peace inside me, but it created a stillness I won’t soon forget.

Matt and I in our garb for visiting the Shankaracharya, me in my salwar kameez and Matt in his pajamas

The Shankaracharya’s chair

The Shankaracharya himself, sunglasses and all

His bus, designed for him by Maharishi

The newly constructed buildings that will house pundits in the future, but currently function as a hotel for visitors to the Brahmasthan

1,331 pundits performing Ati Rudra Abhishek, the yagya to instill peace and happiness worldwide

The Maharishi Vedic University is on a large plot of land near Jabalpur in Madhya Pradesh in central India. Some of the villages were leveled but some still stand. There are at least 3 campuses already constructed on the land. Near ours was a looping road that passed by fields of wild mustard, herds of cattle and goats and children playing on bicycles.

A local cattle herder

A local goat herder

These girls were excited to get their picture taken, but incredibly shy once we pointed the camera at them. I love this one with their unsure expressions and the long shadows of the mango tree in the afternoon giving them some privacy

An awesome tree with dangling roots was the only fixture in a field where children were playing cricket

Beautiful young girl

These girls were also excited for a photo but unsure how to express themselves. We took many of them laughing - Matt is a good clown - but I really liked the raw vulnerability of this one

Temple

A herd in the afternoon sun

A local gathering

Mango tree

Bamboo

This canal shows just how much water they get during monsoon. Those tunnels are about 25 feet high.

En route to Nagpur

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 16:12:00 +0700

While cabs come in all shapes in sizes in India, privately rented vehicles seem to come in two varieties: those where the driver uses A/C and those where he does not. Our trip last Friday from Nagpur to visit the Brahmasthan (meaning center, near Jabalpur in Madhya Pradesh) was of the latter type. We like the freedom of open windows. In the Indian countryside, though, there are a few setbacks to fresh-aired freedom. In addition to the burning sensation that travels from your nose to eyes to throat coming from the pervasive diesel exhaust, the dust is incredible. Our driver had smartly decorated his seats with cream-colored faux leather covers, successfully hiding the permanently caked layers of fine dust while also preventing us from ever being able to use our seat belts!

It’s remarkable just how much dust can exist while still providing sufficient moisture for life to survive. Here in Madhya Pradesh, it only rains a few months out of the year. Trees look scrappy and thirsty, their leaves shiny and hard like stiff paper.

On this dusty road, cars, trucks and motorcycles weave in and out of each other’s paths close enough to make you swear they will connect. Only at the last possible moment do they shift their trajectory enough to miss by what seems inches. Goats, dogs and cattle roam freely, innately aware of the flow of chaos around them and able to blend in seamlessly. If you could get a Tron view of the traffic from above, Indian traffic would probably look like endlessly curving threads in a rope, maybe one with a few knots or tight bits here or there. Traffic in the US would be long, straight lines moving in precise columns. Looking sideways it would appear like stepped terracing: distinct levels with occasional high slopes connecting them.

Trucks here seem to travel in packs, or at least they all get stuck behind one another. They are usually exceptionally brightly colored, with lots of tassels, reflectors of all shapes and sizes, chrome wheels (fastened to the side), and fun, bugley horns that play a three or four note melody. On the back they all say “Horn OK Please”, the OK seeming to be a separate sentiment injected in the middle. Every honk has a meaning, though usually it just means “Here I come better watch out.” At least once we saw a truck with mud flaps that said “good luck.” Another said “please use dipper at night. Wait for side.” Sometimes trucks have eyes painted on the front, and their grills are usually painted with geometric patterns in bright colors. It is said the trucks are expressions of their drivers, who will spend large portions of their earnings decorating them.

While trucks are definitely the largest beasts on the road, Indian drivers rarely show any sign of alarm or anger that they are about to be hit. It is presumably because they are used to constant near hits that they tune it out. Our driver, however, showed a small sign of aggression when a pedestrian crossing the street was looking the other way and did not notice us until we were almost upon him. As we were about to pass, our driver swerved the car toward him briefly as if he intended to hit him. We could only assume he was trying to teach the pedestrian a lesson.

As a passenger you feel like you’re barreling down a one lane road, cobbled together with dust and spit and old tarmac. You’re acutely aware of traffic, the alertness of your driver and any odd creaks the car may make (there are many). You pray the brakes will hold out as the driver pumps them vigorously, avoiding all sorts of street traffic along with one foot deep potholes. I think barreling is really the only way to describe it, and not because you’re going particularly fast or down particularly steep terrain. More because the road feels like an old washboard and when you take a turn everything careens from left to right - you, the lunch in your stomach, your luggage, etc.

So there we went, barreling down one long, dusty road. Our driver, in his 30s, was sporting cropped hair on the sides but very long on the top. He had it all slicked back so he sort of resembled a bird with long tail feathers. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a cowboy shirt. Considering his brave maneuvering, we felt his plumage and wild west attire were quite apropos. As he drove, it became quickly apparent that the Ganesha and Shiva trinkets he’d decorated his car with were permanently affixed to the dash, as they retained their god-like calm while the tassels on his rear view were performing some fancy figure skating.

Mohana had carefully packaged us a wonderful meal for our long ride - spicy chapatis studded with methi and sesame seeds and laced with some green chilis, with a pea and potato subji to accompany them. The subji was lovingly wrapped - like a bomb - in packing tape and tinfoil, threatening to explode unless handled just right. So with the driver busy avoiding school children, monkeys and moon-like craters in the pavement, one handed permanently mounted right over his merry horn, we gingerly undressed our lunch. This required swinging it this way and that to counteract the movements of the car, the way you might handle your coffee in a cab on a late day to the office. Then we went to work, passing the subji back and forth and attempting to gather some veggies inside a bit of chapati. Matt was probably more successful than me - he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, up to the knuckle. It was a delicious if delirious lunch, leaving us sticky-fingered and thankfully equipped with toilet paper. Only trouble was keeping it down long enough to finish our journey!

A bout of lag

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 11:20:00 +0700

When we arrive at our destination and meet with people, the question is always asked “What do you want to do?” Immediately, my type A kicks in and I ramble off all the categories of things we want to accomplish, beginning with language, culture, humanitarian efforts, etc. But after a moment I feel sheepish, as though I am justifying my endeavor with a busy-bee list of things. How do you explain that it is not the doing that matters so much in the beginning as the being, the observing, the participating, the exploring?

While many would arrive in a city and commence the onslaught of tourist destinations, in our first week in Mumbai we’ve visited a shop or two, had a wonderful time desiging a coat with a gay tailor, bought many boxes of pedas and had a few searches for the tail end of guava season. Hell, I even finished reading Team of Rivals, a whole single book that I accomplished the old-fashioned way, from cover-to-cover. I have performed what many would consider a great feat of nothing. By nothing of course, I mean something, something very good indeed.

Matt and I have been refining our modes of travel little by little, as we transport ourselves - sometimes barreling forward on wheels or wings or whatnot - from place to place. Our progression, our adaptation, moves much more slowly than our physical progress. Shall we call it progress, this movement from place to place, country to country, curb to curb? So we have learned to accomodate this precious process of settling in.

We like to call flying a feat of devilishness, a sort of time warp. What a few centuries ago would have taken months by boat - from New York to Mumbai - took us a matter of 25 hours door-to-door and a mere 16 hours in airborn travel. But while it’s technically possible to warp across the planet, physiologically it’s not so. It takes a toll on your body that you can feel from the hidden parts of your joints to your muscles, your eyes, and all your innards as you suffer from the lag. Lag as in you may think you’re in India right now, but half of you is very much lagging back where you came from.

This week we let be. We spent a few days rising at 4:30am (not a bad idea in Mumbai!) and passing out face down around 8pm. This was interspersed with lots of stories, drinking chai, cutting vegetables and taking mini walks around the neighborhood when our legs would carry us, sometimes maybe learning a new Hindi word or two. It was a happy dose of family, enabling us to sink into the ways of life here. While we may be half way across the world, we feel very much at home inside this little apartment building with my aunt, uncle and grandmother. Of course having my parents here for a few weeks helps immensely. Here we are in the chaotic megalopolis of Mumbai and we’re finding stillness in the simplest of places.

It’s given me time to enjoy all the wealth of sensory information India has on offer. Some things - like chili oil frying in a pan and the exhaust fumes outside - are so heady they overwhelm you (and singe all your nose hairs). Matt likes to say walking down the street in Mumbai is like sucking on a tailpipe. Yes, Mumbai especially, doesn’t give it to you gently. But even the most commonplace noises - the tin- and bugle-sounding horns of trucks and rickshaws - are musical. The colors and patterns of saris are so vibrant you catch yourself staring just as unabashedly at Indian women as they do at you. We have also spent a lot of time peeking our noses into the kitchen and watching my aunt, Mohana, cook breakfast, lunch and dinner in two hours over her three burner stove.

This is not to say there won’t be techno-craziness, mad travel all over the place, and many adventures to come. In fact, we are launching a redesign of this cozy little corner we call home. Yup, Traveling Monkeys is getting an upgrade. Just you wait. And we do have a good, healthy list of goals. But it’s important - crucial, even - to meld into your surroundings before you crank into high gear.

We are all of us, more so in the West than East, caught up in this incredible drive for productivity, this nonstop feeding on technology and overall sense of hair-yanking urgency for the next thing. So here’s to the little things, the pauses in between that give us all the energy and focus we need to get up and GO when we have to, but the presence to BE when we don’t.

Morning light

Indian colors

Okra, red carrots and cabbage

Starry-eyed okra

“Bread” brown rice for verum arisi adai, a fried Indian pancake made only of this buffed brown rice, water and salt, soaked overnight and topped with a dollop of ghee or freshly made butter

Matt shelling peas

Small Indian cucumbers, potatoes, peas and onions

Mohana making adai

Mohana’s molakaipodi

Sesame oil

Dosa w/ molakaipodi and sesame oil

Matt gittin’ ‘er done

Lunch

Coconut and lemon sevai with coconut chutney

Mohana’s street

Our “walking” passes, which took 3 days and 100 rupees a piece to make happen

Our walking passes in action

The awesome badminton court on our walk

Water truck

Only for ladies? What we could not tell.

Sweaters, rockets and old firefighters

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 08:55:25 +0700

We attended our first ugly sweater party on Sunday in honor of Papa, Matt’s grandfather, who died last year from cancer at the wise old age of 93. He was a wonderful, sweet man who valued family above all else. This photo with him and Grammy was taken in 1942. They were in their early 20s.

After a colorful hour in the local Salvation Army combing through many wooly options, we found some perfectly hideous ones. When Matt, Mama and I were in the checkout line a woman behind us growled, “I hope you’re going to an ugly sweater party,” which instilled new confidence in our choices. Matt brought home the prize with his “Home Sweet Home” number (see below).

Matt’s cousins (and cousin-in-laws) Joey, Jenny, Timmy and Nikki arrived around lunchtime - just in time to set off the rocket Matt got for me for Christmas. After assembling the pieces, we set her up in the backyard. She promptly skyrocketed, the parachute opened and she drifted slowly down, this way and that in a light wind until she got caught 20 feet up in a tree in the state park nextdoor. Oh well… so much for 75 uses. We threw rocks and sticks at her, but she was stubborn. We imagined Papa - a firefighter most of his life - would have had some helpful tips for getting it down. We decided our time was better spent with people than trees, so we ventured inside to play blocks with Gradon and Gabriel and have our fill of pasta and sundaes.

This morning we considered climbing a ladder and waving our fully extended tripod at the branch holding our rocket. Once out there with the ladder and still 10 feet short we thought better of our predicament. We like climbing, but we’re not firefighters. Sorry rocket, we’ll take India over you.

Miss you Mumma, was so good to see you.

On Saturday JoAnn took us on our last - sniff, sniff - bowling excursion for awhile. We made sure to take it all in, all those terrible things about modern bowling alleys that we love. The metallic smell of the aerosol shoe spray that greets you when you walk in; the grumpy, frumpy manager who’s always ready for a fight about closing time; the shockingly awful music and videos geared at testing your patience and skill; the grody, greasy scratched-up balls that don’t ever seem to fit your hands; the squeaky, over-waxed lanes; the disco lighting that makes you want to dance around in those ugly shoes all over the lanes, even the ones you didn’t rent. I love bowling. No matter how much they try to ham up the experience, you can’t help but have good, old-fashioned fun. We will miss you.

So long, t-shirt

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 07:41:00 +0700

So long, for now, t-shirt. Wow, I will miss you. I have worn you through many, many an occasion, whether appropriate or not. And you always made me look good. You’ve aged well, you lucky t-shirt.

Whenever I put you on, you would hug my shoulders just so, but allow for room to breathe. You were never the cause of any embarrassment, any uncomfortable wardrobe malfunctions. You rarely stained and did your best to come clean if you did. You stuck through… in thickness or thinness. You expanded effortlessly after countless good meals and likewise snuggled around a growling tummy. You gave me room when I wanted, to shimmy or shake, to bend or run. You were never scratchy when I went in for a hug or fell asleep in you. You always, always made grey look good.

We’ve been a lot of places together, haven’t we? We took a road trip together from New York to LA. You always looked good after a long drive or first thing in the morning. We went to Japan and you visited many izakayas with me. They were good, weren’t they? We traveled to South Africa and went on a long hike up a steep mountain. And recently you even braved the somewhat imperfect space inside my backpack to travel all around South America with me. Sorry for not washing you so much and using those huge, terrible industrial dryers. You did your best not to pill up or wear out.

I will miss you so. But I am traveling to India and China, places where showing your hips and your boobs is not as well accepted as the places we’ve been together. Or, rather, it may mean something a bit different if we’re seen together. People just won’t understand you, or our relationship. I know it’s silly. You’re not a loud t-shirt, you’re not real offensive. But I have only a bit of space to carry all my things, and I could not bear the thought of disposing you on the road if we couldn’t be seen together. So forgive me, will ya? We will reconvene when I return. Promise. Unless, of course, you sneak into my suitcase when no one is looking? And, well, we can always dance around the room together. XOXOX

For a visit

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 03:35:15 +0700

Seeing friends is the best part of coming home. Much love to Brian, Alicair, Fiona and baby Wendy. We’ll see you soon.

This means “I had a good birthday” in sleep speak.

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 12:32:06 +0700

This means “I had a good birthday” in sleep speak.

It's mah 40th birthday

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 09:56:00 +0700

Matt has decided since I turned 30 on the 31st, he needs an epic birthday. So today is Matt’s honorary 40th.

It was a good one, by all accounts, and he testifies to feeling nearly a decade younger. There was birthday cake for breakfast, men doing some hardcore tree climbing, a 2 1/2 hour wintry hike through People’s Forest (strangely there were no people to be found), and homemade free range burgers and sweet potato fries. Unfortunately we followed that up with Eastern Promises, which Matt somehow remembered as NOT being (bloody) depressing. Oh well, you can’t win ‘em all. We’re going to go get a pint to wash it away and then listen to the rain pitter patter on the roof.

Tomorrow we’re off to meet baby Wendy in Boston and then on Saturday Mama Arruda. In a few short days we’re off to India! Hellz yea.

You have a few more hours to send out a lil’ well wish.

A bombardier ride in Yellowstone

Tue, 10 Jan 2012 01:08:00 +0700

For one beautiful, clear day we entered Yellowstone from the West entrance in this bombardier coach, below. Under the expert guidance of our Irish coachman and guide, Mike, we drove south into the park around 10am. We passed elk grazing on the banks of rivers. We followed eagles - mostly bald - as they dove after swans, geese and Canadian ducks in the rivers, and waited until they’d perched on a nearby lodgepole to take a closer look. We passed by a few other bombadiers, everyone standing on their seats and peering out the sunroof for a closer look at a wild creature. We also visited a number of Yellowstone’s more permanent features - namely hot springs and geysers - throughout the park. Steam wafted off the boiling water, sometimes misting in our faces and making it difficult to see. What we did see of the algae and bacteria was a more wintry and cool color scheme - deep blues and greens - as opposed to the reds and yellows we’d seen on our previous trip. And of course we stopped by Old Faithful and spent those explosive 5 minutes watching the water spurt high up into the air.

Around the side of Old Faithful, Mike showed us the bones of a buffalo calf who had been knocked into one of the springs by a mother buffalo who was protecting her own calf. Next to it was Chinese Spring, where Japanese launderers from the nearby hotel used to wash the clothes with a wooden paddle.

As we exited the park around 6, the sun was slowly setting behind the hills, the lodgepole pines sticking up like stubbly beards on their ridges. We watched a herd of buffalo, like looming statues against the neighboring hills as their made their slow, circular process looking for grasses in the snow. We also stopped for a coyote as it padded slowly down the road and slipped into a snowbank.

The whole time Mike told us stories of life in Montana, his family and old tales of Yellowstone. We learned about the dumping grounds and old cabins from when the military ran the park. We also learned about the interplay between park employees and visitors - how the die-hard fans of springs and geysers help to inform the employees, who spend much less time with these features. He told us about the importance of bear spray when you’re in the backyard of grizzly bears (it saved his life!).

The coach itself made for an old-world feel as we tracked along, sometimes skidding and sometimes bumping on our front skis and rear metal treads. While we think the black-and-white photos below suit her shiny metal nicely, you can picture Kitty as she was, a nice candied apple red. Mike liked comparing her to his wife, also a fiery redhead.

It was as good a day as any, tracking wild creatures through Yellowstone in our bombardier under the big, winter sky.

Kitty.

Mike.

These poles are made for walking.

Looking at birdies.

Immature bald eagle. The eagles usually hunt fowl on the rivers, gradually moving upstream over the course of a day.

When we parked for a pit stop, a bunch of snowmobilers and other guides came up to take a peek inside our bombardier. They were so jealous, they slammed the door without saying hi!

Two important things when braving Yellowstone in winter: binoculars and blankets.

The blue shadow of winter light.

These white-footed trees were one of our favorites on our last visit. The white comes from silica being soaked up into the tree from the rhyolite lava flow, which is also responsible for forming geysers like Old Faithful. The silica replaces the wood, slowly petrifying it.

Steam coming off of a hot spring. Mike warned us about not getting our feet wet by telling a story of a group of guys who visited the spring. Their dog bounded out of the car and jumped in, so one of guys ran after it and jumped in. Then a second guy in the troupe followed suit to save his friend, but as he went to touch him, the first guy’s skin melted off. Both dog and first rescuer died, and the second was left with only one arm and no legs. Watch out! The bones of both guys were removed, but the dog’s remain.

Ice crystals over silica.

Hot spring. The bison like to come here to keep warm in the winter.

These pines sometimes can have males cones, female cones and female fire cones (pyro germinating ones). Needless to say, they’re pretty prevalent.

Partially melted and refrozen snow.

Algae awesome. In summer this algae turns brighter reds, oranges and yellows.

Old Faith—what?!

Fallen trees. Nature does not always pick up after herself.

Dusk.

Cruising on the way back, towards the West entrance.

So many things to see!

Coyote - in Wyoming, you don’t pronounce the ‘e.’ This little guy is preyed upon by the many wolves that have been reintroduced into Yellowstone. Researchers had projected that of the reintroduced wolf pack, only the Alpha dogs would breed in Yellowstone, based on a reintroduction program they’d studied in another state. But within 5 years in Yellowstone, A-E dogs in the pack have been breeding. Due to the large size of the pack, they’ve killed off all but 130 of the elk herd (originally numbering around 16k). Their original projections didn’t expect these kinds of numbers for another 45 years. Thanks, science.

Buffalo tracks at dusk.

Aus, with iPhone game in hand. Whatchu playing?

New Years in Jackson, WY

Mon, 09 Jan 2012 23:30:00 +0700

We spent the close of 2011 out in Jackson Hole. Since we were there in 2010 we’ve been hoping to return and see some of its wintry wonder. Our first foray in Jackson was brief, with a bison burger at the Cowboy and a night camping under the Tetons. We inappropriately fitted it all to the tune of Johnny Cash’s Jackson. Yes, yes, we know. This New Years my parents and Aus braved the cold with us - what?!, no beach in winter?! - and we continued on with the Jackson tune. Feel free to hum along as you read.

While we didn’t do anything outrageous like heliski, there were many reasons to pile on the snow gear and head out into the dry, chilly air. We took snowmobiles to Granite Hot Springs where we dunked our frozen mitts in the outdoor pool. We huddled under brightly-colored wool blankets on our carriage ride through the National Elk Refuge, a broad expanse against the hills with 2,800 elk roaming about.

We drove to Grand Targhee for some skiing in their fresh powder (Jackson had very little), and I outgrew my snowplow after some lessons on the bunny slopes. Matt, Aus and I felt we could almost reach out and touch Grand Teton from the top of the ski mountain; there were also views into the border of Idaho and off into Montana. Targhee is more of a locals mountain, and on the day we were there, it was filled with pre-schoolers fearlessly cruising around on their mini, 2’ skis.

But the real highlight was a day tour of Yellowstone in an old 1956 Bombardier snow coach named Kitty with our Irish guide, Mike. In addition to the gorgeous natural features of Yellowstone, we spotted elk, bison, bald eagles, and coyote through the coach’s two sun roofs - Dad is still holding out for a wolf! Mike also regaled us with stories of cowboys, brain-tanning and his red-headed mormon wife. He was a wonderful wilderness guide.

On our final day, we cruised slowly by Bighorn, nuzzling up against each other in fields outside the Elk Refuge, and took a drive into the Grand Teton National Park. When we weren’t picnicking, we made sure to get in some of the local steak, burgers, and river fish that Jackson has on offer. Some of our favorites were Trio, the Mangy Moose (in Teton Village) and Rendezvous Bistro. We’ll be posting the Yellowstone photos next. Enjoy!

The view at dusk from outside our suburban-style cabin at Spring Creek Ranch.

Snowmobiles en route to Granite Hot Springs.

Granite Hot Springs. Matt had to hop onto my snowmobile after his wouldn’t start and we had to — gasp — leave it at the Hot Springs. There was also the one hour debacle in the packed parking lot of the trailhead where Matt attempted to park the ginormous trailer we had rented while having no space to turn around. A couple of burly Wyoming men finally came by and helped unhitch and turn the sucker around by hand! But it was all worth it for that dip in the outdoor pool as the snow was just coming down.

Tree tunnels on our ride back.

Birthday wishes at Rendezvous Bistro.

Harvey chillin’ on the 1st.

Frizz head.

Elk Refuge carriage ride with some beautiful draft horses.

A path through the Refuge.

Good antlers; bad antlers.

Whatcha looking at?

A wintry sky.

View from above the National Wildlife Museum. It was an incredible display of wildlife art, including a whole room of Rungius and an exhibit on George McLean.

Bighorn sheep.

The majestic Amangani Resort.

Snake River.

Big sky.

We’re going to Jackson (Hole) and we’re taking...

Fri, 30 Dec 2011 23:18:18 +0700

We’re going to Jackson (Hole) and we’re taking Harvey with us. As a PI he’s accustomed to traveling in stealth.

Merry Christmas!

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 06:49:00 +0700

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, or whatever strikes your fancy. Also, welcome Harvey, our newest - muppet - family member. He’s a PI from Fort Lauderdale, Fl. He adores cabaret and shrimp cocktail. He’s watching you.