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Monday, February 28, 2011
Celebrations and Congratulations; India style
We have only lived here a short while, but have been lucky enough to develop some lasting friendships. The news of our engagement was a joyous occasion for many and a perfect excuse for a celebration. The parents of my students surprised Seth and I with a party in the class. Sixteen of the seventeen mothers attended. There was cake, gifts, and cards. Pretty special.
Dorcy, bless her heart, took it upon herself to organize a fantastic event to be held outside of school hours, on the rooftop of our apartment building. Over 60 people attended. There was plenty of alcohol, tasty food, and dancing. Our good friend, Priya, also took it upon herself to do a bit of organizing of her own. The Indian attire in the photos is Priya’s influence; something I can’t thank her enough for. We never would have dressed the part without her enthusiasm and navigational skills; a must when shopping in India.
A few weeks prior to the event, we made friends with a local photographer. For a small fee he was hired to take photos. It’s amazing what a skilled photographer can capture when equipped with a functioning camera and a quality lens. I am sure you will feel the same after viewing the Smilebox.
The next day I went to my scheduled appointment with the endodontist to have oral surgery and remove the infection around the root of my front tooth. Thank God the medical world here operates NOthing like the rest of the country. I was in good hands. The infection was removed and a bone graft performed. I left stitched up, swollen and feeling nauseated. Some people can handle the dentist. I’m not one of them. I may have been numbed up, but my hearing was superb. Not only did I have to listen to the play-by-play of what was happening (yes, in English), but I also heard the grinding, cutting, drilling and whatever else. Blech.
As I type this, it’s been 3 days after the party, Monday, and I am home from school. I made a gallant attempt to attend work, but one look at my swollen face had people questioning, “What happened? Why are you here? You need to go home.” Somehow I needed to hear this from my colleagues. For all those teachers out there reading this, you will know exactly what I mean!
Dorcy, bless her heart, took it upon herself to organize a fantastic event to be held outside of school hours, on the rooftop of our apartment building. Over 60 people attended. There was plenty of alcohol, tasty food, and dancing. Our good friend, Priya, also took it upon herself to do a bit of organizing of her own. The Indian attire in the photos is Priya’s influence; something I can’t thank her enough for. We never would have dressed the part without her enthusiasm and navigational skills; a must when shopping in India.
A few weeks prior to the event, we made friends with a local photographer. For a small fee he was hired to take photos. It’s amazing what a skilled photographer can capture when equipped with a functioning camera and a quality lens. I am sure you will feel the same after viewing the Smilebox.
The next day I went to my scheduled appointment with the endodontist to have oral surgery and remove the infection around the root of my front tooth. Thank God the medical world here operates NOthing like the rest of the country. I was in good hands. The infection was removed and a bone graft performed. I left stitched up, swollen and feeling nauseated. Some people can handle the dentist. I’m not one of them. I may have been numbed up, but my hearing was superb. Not only did I have to listen to the play-by-play of what was happening (yes, in English), but I also heard the grinding, cutting, drilling and whatever else. Blech.
As I type this, it’s been 3 days after the party, Monday, and I am home from school. I made a gallant attempt to attend work, but one look at my swollen face had people questioning, “What happened? Why are you here? You need to go home.” Somehow I needed to hear this from my colleagues. For all those teachers out there reading this, you will know exactly what I mean!
Delayed Planes, No Trains, and Too Much Time in an Automobile
Seth and I flew North in pursuit of the Taj Mahal, officially one of the New 7 Wonders of the World. We returned home exhausted, after what can safely be defined as a typical Indian experience, and wondering how this country functions at all?
Domenic had already been to the Taj, so he stayed with some friends for the weekend and had what I am positive was a restful and relaxing weekend if compared to our fiasco. We were scheduled to depart on a 2.5 hour flight to Delhi, Friday night and return Sunday night; a simple weekend jaunt, or so we foolishly thought!
We arrived to the Chennai airport on time, but that didn’t mean the flight departed on time. Flights to Delhi are notorious for being late. As we sat in the most boring of airports world-wide, we read our itinerary more thoroughly and noticed our return flight was at 6:30 AM, not 6:30 PM like we thought! So much for reading military time. Super.
The time had come to finally board the plane. After waiting, and waiting, and waiting…..it was our turn. “Sorry, you cannot enter. The tag on your laptop bag is missing a stamp.” Off I ran to stand in a line for a magical stamp that would allow me to stand in another line for approval to enter the line for the shuttle which would take us to the final line, the steps leading into the plane. The flight was pretty much par for the course and a foreshadowing of the weekend.
“Would you like something to drink?” questioned the friendly flight attendant.
“I’ll have a Sprite.” (NO alcohol served, darn)
“I’m not sure we have Sprite. I’ll have to check.” (Check means after everyone has been served and if she remembers. They never remember.)
“How about a Coke then?”
“I’m not sure we have Coke. I’ll have to check.”
“Okay, can I have a cup of black tea?”
“That would take a very long time.” Of course it will.
Since the beverage cart was toppling over with bottled water, I decided to make it simple.
“Can I have a bottle of water please?”
“Sure!” But true to India style, pulling a bottle off the cart right in front of her was just too simple and efficient. Out she shouted to the front of the plane for a miniature bottle, containing about a half-cup of water. Insufficient to quench the thirst I had worked up just trying to get a drink.
The beverage cart pushed on and I headed toward the restroom in the rear of the plane. As I was walking back to my seat I saw what was sitting on everyone’s tray table, Coke, Sprite…Coke, Coke, Sprite, Sprite, Coke…… Grrrrr
The plane was descending and the wheels on the plane still bouncing off the tarmac when we heard clicking, the result of hundreds of seatbelts unsnapping. Now all of a sudden everyone is in a hurry. While the plane was roaring down the runway, several passengers took it upon themselves to open the overhead bins only to be greeted by luggage cascading down (luggage that may have shifted during the flight-duh).
The next morning we headed to Agra, home of the Taj, and naïve to what awaited us. From Delhi to Agra is 203 km or 126 miles. It took us 6.5 hours to get there. Terrible. Eventually we rolled into town, and picked up our tour guide who sadly notified us, “The Taj has just been closed for the day!!!”
I looked at Seth and said, “For the first time, I hate this country.” Foreign Ministers and heads of delegations of the Least Developed Countries were in town; perfectly acceptable reason to close the Taj Mahal on a moments notice, after all, this is India, a country void of rules and regulations.
Now what? Our luggage was back in Delhi and we were scheduled to leave at the crack of dawn. I told Seth that I was absolutely NOT leaving without seeing the Taj Mahal. I refused to go home having only seen the back seat of a taxi, and the bathrooms along the way; dusty shrubs on the side of the road. We went to a local travel agent, booked new tickets to return Sunday night and a hotel room in Agra. After a very nice dinner at the Oberoi Hotel, we retired for the night, sans toothbrushes, make-up, fresh clothes and clean underwear.
We awoke to crisp clean air and a nice sunrise. Straight to the Taj we went and into the long queue for security clearance. There were two lines, one for men and one for women. The men’s line was advancing at lightning speed while the women’s line seemed to be moving backwards. I cut in front of about 120 people in a fruitless attempt to reach Seth, but nothing could slow the men down and I figured risking injury by cutting in line a second time probably wasn’t a good idea. It took about 25 minutes before I was finally patted down. “My turn” couldn’t have come soon enough. I was about ready to strip down to nothing just to avoid another minute in line. Finally, finally, finally, we got to see the Taj. Was it worth it? ABSOLUTELY!!
To view this structure up close and to walk on the premise was breathtaking. After getting our fill, we journeyed back to Delhi. We must have gotten lucky because this time it only took 5 hours to travel 126 miles. Next time we will take the train. Oh wait—I vowed there would never be a next time.
It was a long and exhausting weekend, but our mission was accomplished. I think it’s safe to say we spent the same amount of our net worth seeing the Taj Mahal as the Shah did building it. Phew!
Domenic had already been to the Taj, so he stayed with some friends for the weekend and had what I am positive was a restful and relaxing weekend if compared to our fiasco. We were scheduled to depart on a 2.5 hour flight to Delhi, Friday night and return Sunday night; a simple weekend jaunt, or so we foolishly thought!
We arrived to the Chennai airport on time, but that didn’t mean the flight departed on time. Flights to Delhi are notorious for being late. As we sat in the most boring of airports world-wide, we read our itinerary more thoroughly and noticed our return flight was at 6:30 AM, not 6:30 PM like we thought! So much for reading military time. Super.
The time had come to finally board the plane. After waiting, and waiting, and waiting…..it was our turn. “Sorry, you cannot enter. The tag on your laptop bag is missing a stamp.” Off I ran to stand in a line for a magical stamp that would allow me to stand in another line for approval to enter the line for the shuttle which would take us to the final line, the steps leading into the plane. The flight was pretty much par for the course and a foreshadowing of the weekend.
“Would you like something to drink?” questioned the friendly flight attendant.
“I’ll have a Sprite.” (NO alcohol served, darn)
“I’m not sure we have Sprite. I’ll have to check.” (Check means after everyone has been served and if she remembers. They never remember.)
“How about a Coke then?”
“I’m not sure we have Coke. I’ll have to check.”
“Okay, can I have a cup of black tea?”
“That would take a very long time.” Of course it will.
Since the beverage cart was toppling over with bottled water, I decided to make it simple.
“Can I have a bottle of water please?”
“Sure!” But true to India style, pulling a bottle off the cart right in front of her was just too simple and efficient. Out she shouted to the front of the plane for a miniature bottle, containing about a half-cup of water. Insufficient to quench the thirst I had worked up just trying to get a drink.
The beverage cart pushed on and I headed toward the restroom in the rear of the plane. As I was walking back to my seat I saw what was sitting on everyone’s tray table, Coke, Sprite…Coke, Coke, Sprite, Sprite, Coke…… Grrrrr
The plane was descending and the wheels on the plane still bouncing off the tarmac when we heard clicking, the result of hundreds of seatbelts unsnapping. Now all of a sudden everyone is in a hurry. While the plane was roaring down the runway, several passengers took it upon themselves to open the overhead bins only to be greeted by luggage cascading down (luggage that may have shifted during the flight-duh).
The next morning we headed to Agra, home of the Taj, and naïve to what awaited us. From Delhi to Agra is 203 km or 126 miles. It took us 6.5 hours to get there. Terrible. Eventually we rolled into town, and picked up our tour guide who sadly notified us, “The Taj has just been closed for the day!!!”
I looked at Seth and said, “For the first time, I hate this country.” Foreign Ministers and heads of delegations of the Least Developed Countries were in town; perfectly acceptable reason to close the Taj Mahal on a moments notice, after all, this is India, a country void of rules and regulations.
Now what? Our luggage was back in Delhi and we were scheduled to leave at the crack of dawn. I told Seth that I was absolutely NOT leaving without seeing the Taj Mahal. I refused to go home having only seen the back seat of a taxi, and the bathrooms along the way; dusty shrubs on the side of the road. We went to a local travel agent, booked new tickets to return Sunday night and a hotel room in Agra. After a very nice dinner at the Oberoi Hotel, we retired for the night, sans toothbrushes, make-up, fresh clothes and clean underwear.
We awoke to crisp clean air and a nice sunrise. Straight to the Taj we went and into the long queue for security clearance. There were two lines, one for men and one for women. The men’s line was advancing at lightning speed while the women’s line seemed to be moving backwards. I cut in front of about 120 people in a fruitless attempt to reach Seth, but nothing could slow the men down and I figured risking injury by cutting in line a second time probably wasn’t a good idea. It took about 25 minutes before I was finally patted down. “My turn” couldn’t have come soon enough. I was about ready to strip down to nothing just to avoid another minute in line. Finally, finally, finally, we got to see the Taj. Was it worth it? ABSOLUTELY!!
To view this structure up close and to walk on the premise was breathtaking. After getting our fill, we journeyed back to Delhi. We must have gotten lucky because this time it only took 5 hours to travel 126 miles. Next time we will take the train. Oh wait—I vowed there would never be a next time.
It was a long and exhausting weekend, but our mission was accomplished. I think it’s safe to say we spent the same amount of our net worth seeing the Taj Mahal as the Shah did building it. Phew!
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