Coming Home and Signing Off

After a few days at my parents' place on Staten Island, I'm back home in New York City, jet-lagging but grateful for a wonderful trip. Not solely because I got to see and do some pretty cool things, but because writing to all of you made traveling alone a lot more fun and interesting. Actually, it made it feel like I wasn't traveling alone. So thank you.

Some people deserve individual shout outs. Madhuri, Jenna, Emily, Sherif, Sona, and Janet come to mind, for their quick replies to emails when panic set in and I feared becoming a social pariah. Devoted readers Dharshan and Corey (and Amaya) also deserve mentioning. My family in India and Clive and Margaret in South Africa, for being gracious hosts. The friends who either entertained or rescued me: Braian, Jony, Arno, Fatima, B.J., Manmeet, and Anu, to name a few. And of course, most importantly, my most devoted readers and cheering squad, my parents, for making this possible and for not freaking out.

I will be sending some of you links to photos as soon as I can (I think I might have left the CD at my parents' after a photos, beer, and Mom's food binge on Friday night). And I promise to stay in touch better than before, even though school is starting and my books are plotting to take me hostage.

With much love,
Minal/Minny

Taxonomy of Leering

I'm back in New York and wide awake at 4am with either jet lag or insomnia (one never knows), so I figured posting here would be a good idea. After traveling the world, I feel qualified to say that lecherous men are omnipresent, like Oprah and schizophrenia, and their predatory nature is in need of an international classification handbook. This is by no means a taxonomy of men worldwide (I met wonderful ones along the way as well), but of a particular breed or species, so to speak. So, here it is:

Argentina: Overt staring, even if eye contact is made, but coupled with mute behavior. Occasionally staring may be followed by a suggestive raising of eyebrows.

South Africa: By far the sketchiest interaction, whereby a man stood behind our tour guide to simple stare at me. When the tour guide turned around and asked what he wanted, he smoothly replied a cigarette, and then continued to stand there and smoke it while staring at me.

Dubai: Judgmental staring by every man from Kerala with a mustache and a smattering of Emirates. I know from a reliable source than it is not simple staring or ogling, but a quick survey of character and judgment that is passed as to whether the prey (woman) is chaste or easy. I do not know which one is more desired by said predators.

India: Baseline ogling, much like New York, where men check out all women that walk by in direct proportion to how fair they are. However, unlike Argentina, they will look away if you make eye contact, thereby making offense the best defense (i.e., they can't leer at you if you're actively checking out every man). However, occasional Dubai breed also found here.

Kuala Lumpur: Unaware of being ogled at, but I was only there for 7 hours. More field research required.

Bali: Most lecherous of oglers, especially towards Indian women, all of whom are a poor man's substitute for Aishwarya Rai. Physically nonthreatening due to short stature and malnourishment, but somehow I felt most disgusted by being prey to this particular brand of leering. International tourists and ex-pats may also engage in leering due to beach culture previously noted.

Hong Kong: As international as New York, therefore having a wide variety of both lecherous and non-lecherous men. For example, group of Indian boys that sat on a bench while I walked into a store in order to extend their predatory time. Hong Kong native with no social skills asked for my number in the middle of the subway. Middle eastern guy spotted with nice eyes, but traveling in a pack, which therefore made him more threatening. American guy that apologized when he bumped into me, and who I later leered at while pretending to shop. Like I said, like New York.

Well, there you have it. But, this is by no means exhaustive and/or authoritative, so please feel free to add and amend as you see fit. Like a Wikipedia for single women worldwide.

PS- Shout outs are due for people who supported and encouraged me this whole time, and so I will make one more entry about coming home in the next day or two.

Hot Hong Kong Nights

Hong Kong is hot. Hot and humid like New York, where the asphalt radiates heat like coals and the exhaust fumes from passing buses sticks to your skin. It's bright and busy and open 24 hours. Basically, New York in Chinese with English subtitles. And it's good to be back in a city, After Bali, I've realized I'm not that into beach culture. Funnily enough, I picked up a copy of the International Herald Tribune on the plane yesterday, and the NY Times columnist David Brooks had already satirized beach culture in his column mcuh better than I ever could (you can find it at http://select.nytimes.com/2007/08/31/opinion/31brooks.html. For my friends that don't have access, email me and I'll send you my ID and password).

I've also realized that there are good things to be said for cultural imperialism and globalization. Now I know Jenna and Madhuri and possibly a few others of you will shower me with tirades about vanishing cultures and individuality, and I would probably agree with all your very salient points. But, after a long flight, there is a sense of relief and gratitude one feels when one sees a Starbucks, knowing that a cup of tea (with milk) is to be found and caffeine can be safely ingested so as to avoid getting lost, ripped off, or pickpocketed on the way from the airport to the hotel. There is childlike joy in eating gelato while waiting in 90-degree weather to see Hong Kong's famous light show. And, given that my stomach is like a Manhattan apartment (there is only room for the things I need and like), and I'm not the biggest fan of East Asian food, there is comfort in finding Pizza Express with it's margherita pizzas and penne al pomodoro.

In case you should start to think that I've become a predictable American tourist, I did do some very Hong Kong-y things yesterday, like visit the Temple Street night market that is open from 4pm to midnight, and spontaneously bought a chess set that has intricately carved Asian figures as chess pieces (I have no idea how I'm going to fit this thing into my suitcase, but I've been wanting a nice chess set ever since I had to learn how to play chess last year in order to treat one of my verbally-challenged patients). I also went to a temple this morning where you supposedly get what you wish for. If you have any doubts, there are fortune tellers lining the walls, waiting to read your palm.

Of course, no visit would be complete for me without a forced interaction with a sketchy man. So, anecdote du jour: I got on the subway, and this man started peering at me from behind someone so intently, I was convinced I had a button open or doing something wrong. Perhaps it's rude in China to lean across somone to hold onto the strap as to avoid falling over in the train. He then gets up and starts the oddest conversation:
Him: Are you Helen?
Me: Sorry?
Him: Are you Helen?
Me: No. Sorry.
Him: Oh. My friend introduced me to a woman named Helen.
Me: Sorry. I'm not Helen.
Him: Are you Indian or Pakistani?
Me: Yes, but I live in New York.
Him: Oh. I want to go to New York to study there. Are you a citizen?
Me: No.
Him: Oh. You're not a citizen. But you live in New York. Can I have your phone number?
Me: No.
Him: Oh... (pause) no?
Me: No.

Here's how that conversation should have gone:
Him: Are you Helen?
Me: Of Troy?
Him: Sorry?
Me: No, I'm not Helen. Are you Bill?
Him: Pardon?
Me: I don't speak English.

If only I was as witty in real life as I am in my head.

What would you do?

In a moment of confusion, I ended up giving my cylcing tour guide in Ubud my email address (I was making plans for other trips and I thought he needed it to book a trip). Here's the email I got two days ago:

Hi Friend, can I sharing bad new to you.I loss my mother on August 27 2007 on 9.30 pm.She is very old, 79 years old. She is not sick, but the problem only old, with nine children and 23 grandchild's.On august 28 2007 we carried it to cemetery for buried and then on August 2008 will be cremation ceremony.Followed our rules in my village.Sorry I am late to tell you.I am sad and was crying but now I must return to work for my family and try to find more money for cremation ceremony.Thanks for your attention.Are you still in Bali, please reply...Best regard
W#####+family

How would you respond? Would you respond?

And Jenna, the circumstances are not anything like those in the book you gave me. Quite the opposite.

Religious musings

For those of you who don't know, Bali is a Hindu island within Muslim-dominated Indonesia. Hinduism was brought here sometime in the 11th century (I think), making Balinese Hinduism a very different version of what I know.

The three gods, Shiva, Visnu, and Brahma, dominate here, but are said to be the gods of wind, water, and fire, respectively. Black and white gingham cloth is omnipresent on the island, supposedly representing the balance of good and evil. They have imported the caste system, although it seems than anyone can make an offering at the temple. However, they have also imported that favorite misogynistic practice: not allowing women in the temples if they are menstruating. Now, out of respect for another culture, I don't mind being asked to observe that practice, but every male Balinese tour guide takes it upon himself to ask every female tourist if she has her period instead of just stating the rules. (The first time I was asked this, I was initially shocked until I figured out why they were most likely asking; for someone unacquainted with Hinduism, I assume it's quite intrusive.)

Combined with importing my least favorite practices of Hinduism, the Balinese also make animal sacrifices at their temples of cow, pig, and chicken. They even have cock fighting. It's been odd witnessing all this; I can't help but think that their religion is mainly superstition and that must be how Westerners view India (although even Vivekananda said most of India is practicing superstition). And though they have artistic depictions of the Ramayana and Mahabharata, I have not heard one mention of the Gita, Vedas, or Upanishads. It seems that Indians forgot to export the best part of Hinduism.

On a slightly different note, I've also been thinking of a book I read on Tenzin Palmo where another Buddhist nun said that the emphasis on renouncing desire and selfishness is a spirituality more geared for men, and that for women, the challenge is more in renouncing comfort. We women need, she said. I was skeptical when I first read this months ago, but after my sojourn in crappy hotel accommodations, I'm inclined to agree. But fear not friends; just as no one would expect a 30-year-old man with no intention of becoming a monk to give up sex, I have no inclincation to give up my comforts just yet.

On the Move

I'm leaving Candidasa tomorrow morning.

After one day, I decided that there is no way I can get peace in this town. Although the town is idyllic and beautiful, every man is either leering at me or trying to rip me off. Here are the highlights:

1. Though I have a budget hotel room, it has a beautiful canopy bed and outdoor bath, which I quite liked. Until I pulled back the sheets and saw, though clean sheets had been laid, the mattress padding had a palm-sized faded blood stain in the middle of the bed. Now, the thought that a woman might have been menstruating and slept here didn't bother me. It was the other thought--that a woman was in pain because some fool didn't know what he was doing--that disturbed me. The next day, they changed the mattress padding and sheets and left a hibiscus in the middle of the bed, which I thought was sweet until I picked it up and noticed it was covering up a small hole in the sheet. I don't know whether to applaud their cleverness or distrust their chalu-ness. Is it too much to ask for clean towels and sheets for $30/night? I think the Rough Guide and backpackers the world over have made traveling into an experience for students or the super wealthy. What happened to clean, safe, budget travel?

2. My first night here, I received a flyer for happy hour and dinner at a local restaurant with legong, or traditional Balinese dancers. After a comical dance lesson in Ubud, I thought it would be good to see what legong actually looks like, and since I had just arrived, it was an easy decision for dinner. The restaurant had 5 dancers perform, the first one being 9 1/2 years old and increasing in age. After each performance, the children/teens would come to each table to "shake hands" (i.e.- see if you will give them money). When I asked the first one if she's in school, the waiter says yes, but she dances every night. So when does she study? In the morning, from 7am to 12pm. Homework time? Well, her mother and father don't work, ever since the bombings in Bali. This information then confused me since the socially conscious tourist in me is against encouraging children to make money over going to school, but the trauma psychologist in me want to support a family trying to recover.
But then, the last performer (who was a young woman) began dancing, and was technically quite good, until she randomly picked up a scarf to drape around an old Australian man's neck and bring him up to the stage, for some combination of Balinese and belly dancing. Let me back up and explain that legong is a dance akin to bharatnatyam and is performed in the temples for auspicious occasions. At no point is it supposed to be cheap, tawdry affair to satisfy tourists who want a Polynesian temptress. Until now.

3. The hotel had arranged for a tour yesterday of the surrounding area, which included the oldest village in Bali, water palaces made by the former king, and a temple on the top of the tallest mountain. In all fairness, these were beautiful places. But the tour guides conspired to irritate me as much as possible. I don't mind if they asked for a fixed price for giving a tour, but they don't and then ask you for more money no matter how much you give them, saying, "Thank you, now I can buy my children rice tonight." Cha-lu. Not to mention that when I get back from one of the tours, my driver is talking with a throng of other drivers, and they all unabashedly stare at me in the most lecherous way possible. When I asked the driver, "Can you tell them not to stare?," he just laughs. Which makes me think that he was party to a frat-like conversation about me. (I admit that this thought is a bit paranoid, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong.)

4. Although it cost 35,000 Rupiah to get a taxi from Ubud to Candidasa, and the hotel in Kuta tells me it will cost 50,000 Rupiah for a taxi from Kuta to the airport, the hotel manager here tells me it will cost 300,000 Rupiah for a taxi from Cnadidasa to Kuta tomorrow. Now, 300,000 Rupiah is about U.S.$30, which is not bad, but how can a trip that takes 2 hours cost six times as much as one that takes 1 hour. Then the manager and his sidekick tell me I can go find a taxi elsewhere. But here's the problem when you travel alone as a woman: there seems to be no regulation of taxis here (people who have vehicles offer a ride) and is it really advisable for me to get in a car with a strange man? So, I will suck it up and pay the exorbitant fair, though I bargained them down to 250,000 Rupiah. (I've found that saying I'm Indian helps in haggling since they then know that I'm not a clueless Westerner only thinking in dollars. I also heard that it's better to think of it as hiring a driver rather than catching a cab.)

Now, I admit, I should probably be more open-minded about my experiences here. Perhaps good service is not culturally expected here, just like yelling isn't really yelling in India, or how in Mongolia, people don't wait in lines but just rush to get what they want in throngs. Perhaps, using your children to emotionally manipulate tourists into forking over money is considered a good business tactic. Perhaps, leering at women and offering coconut massages is a compliment. But, my friends, I have hit my limit of cultural understanding. So I will go to Kuta and be surrounded by Australians and surfers. At least I'll know when to be offended and when not to over there.

PS- For my non-Hindi-speaking friends, chalu can most closely be translated at guileful, but encompasses a measure of manipulation and cleverness that no English word possesses.

Traveling in Bali

I've moved from Ubud in central Bali to Candidasa, a small town on the coast. After traveling for 5 weeks, I thought this would be a simple transfer of hotels, but Bali is conspiring to try my patience. For the first time last night I had mosquitoes in my room, biting me all night. I think this was because I turned off the AC since all of Bali is the perfect room temperature for me. Then, this morning, I thought I had an tour of an NGO that is trying to preserve ancient Balinese dyeing and cloth-making techniques (at least that's what the receptionist told me). At 9am the place wasn't open, and at 10am, the clerk told me that there are no tours today of the shop. Then, I waited in the usual spot for the hotel shuttle to come pick me up. The 11:20 shuttle didn't show, and an hour later, neither did the 12:20. I finally haggled a taxi driver into driving me back, and found out that, starting yesterday, the hotel has changed their drop off and pick-up point in town. They've notified people taking the shuttle into town. Except, I took a taxi early in the morning for my nonexistant tour. Humph. Inefficiency. The one thing that always makes me impatient and cranky (most likely the reason I am always annoyed at Fordham).

After an hour-long drive, I've reached Candidasa, and settled into a nice but much more budget hotel. All is going well, except that I'm in desperate need of cash and a bikini wax. The receptionist tells me that the ATM is 30 minutes away and that one of the staff members will take me on his vespa. The spa is closer, so he takes me there first, only to find out that apparently all of Bali is unaware of the concept of waxing (this was a problem in the hotel in Ubud, too). I think it may be because the Balinese don't seem to have hair. But they are obsessed with Hindi films, so you would think they could accomodate a Punjabi girl. No go. So we head off for the ATM. Without helmets. Which makes me a bit nervous, until I remember how many times my parents fell off scooters in India. Thankfully, my father has taught me how to stay on a motorbike without holding onto anyone, because guy who drove me had a scent that made me want to keep my distance unless my life depended on it. And even then, I may take a minute to deliberate.

To top it off, being Indian here is a bit like being blonde in America. I attribute my newfound pseudo-celebrity status to Bollywood films. Normally I would rejoice in the advancement of Indians, except that it is leading to comments from leacherous men. The most offensive being an offer from an old man for a coconut massage; the most comical being that I look like Aishwaria Rai's younger sister and questions as to why I'm living in New York and not an actress in India. If only they could see my cousins and my girls back home in New York.

Kuala Lumpur and Bali

Photos from Kuala Lumpur...

The Kuala Lumpur Twin Towers. Not a postcard shot, but it proves I was there.


Little India in KL.


My desperate attempt to evade the lingering scent of bird poop with mogra.

Rescued by my new favorite hairdresser.

As for Bali, it is too beautiful for words...


Thinking of my mom, who would like the flower, but reprimand me for not wearing earrings.


The Resort at which I am staying, located on a hillside. The huts seen here are private cabanas for spa treatments.


One of the stops on my cycling tour of Ubud, next to the cave temple pictured below.

Balinese girls coming home from school. Today was a festival because of the full moon, which is why they are in traditional Balinese dress. The locals here are incredibly friendly, running out of their yards to say hello and kids holding out their hands for you as you ride by.

Lotus flowers.

Cooking class. I think I'm rolling a spring roll. I doubt I will ever do this again.

Cycling tour across rice paddies of Ubud.

Cave temple in Ubud. I think the guy insisted on being in the photo.

The scented oil and rose petal bath I got to take tonight. I've decided that every woman should know what it's like to have rose petals cling to you as you come out of a bath.

More tomorrow. Miss you all immensely.

Lay-overs and beauty tips

So, I've mainly been writing about countries I've spent more than a day in, which makes sense, I suppose, but leaves out some cool excursions in Dubai and Kuala Lumpur. Between South Africa and India, I was laid over (that always sounds so vulgar) in Dubai for 12 hours, so I left the airport to take a tour and have a facial (which, by the way, was the single best idea I've had while in transit-- it was 100 times more relaxing and refreshing than any other facial I've had). Anyway, my digital camera was dead, so my photos of Dubai are all on a disposable camera. However, the old city of Dubai is beautiful-- stone fortresses and colorful river boats. Most of the city has been developed in the past 15 years, so there's a lot of skyscrapers, but really the old city and spice market are the best parts.

In contrast, Kuala Lumpur has a nice mix of old and new, and even their Twin Towers are more aesthetic than skyscrapers anywhere else I've seen. It's a bit like the difference between a Trump tower and a building designed by Frank Lloyd Wright: they're both expensive and impressive, but only one is actually pretty.

I have photos that I will try to upload sometime soon, but in keeping with my Dubai beauty ingenuity, I decided to get my hair washed and blown out in KL (after seeing the major sights, of course). This is mainly because while waiting in line to enter the airport in Bangalore, a bird shit on my head. My mother and some Italians standing in line behind me told me this is good luck, but funny, I don't remember learning that when I studied in Italy. I used as much soap as I could in the Bangalore airport to scrub it out, but still fell gross (I think more so because it was brown, not white like pigeon poop). I was able to buy jasmine wreaths in an attempt to cover the scent I was convinced was following me in little India in KL (apparently India's biggest export is people and I keep finding them on this trip- I forgot to mention all the Kerala men with mustaches that were staring at me in Dubai). But then, serendipitously, in the main train station (akin to Grand Central) I found a salon. Now, I admit I had my doubts; concerns about lice and bleached highlights ran through my head. But the receptionist was a transvestite named Diva, and I am willing to bet on the talent and taste of tranies the world over. So, my friends, my hair is sleek and shiny and my advice to you is this: lay-overs are the best time to get pampered and beautified. It may also lead to other lay-overs.

My India

It's been 4 years since I've been in India, and I'm not sure whether it has changed a lot or if I have. I don't think I could have managed taking auto-rickshaws everywhere a few years ago (granted Bangalore is much easier to get by in using English than anywhere else). And although I still think you can't know India until you know it's smells and noises, I know the smells bothered me a lot more as a child, and now the noises do. But, overall, it's nice to finally have an India of my own...

Lalbagh Botanical Gardens:

Kodagu

Some of you know that I am from Coorg (officially Kodagu). Well, half of me, at least. Some of you couldn't find Coorg on the map. So, after a brief visit yesterday, here's are some pictures and a brief tutorial.

Coorg is in Karnataka, about a 5 hour drive south of Bangalore. Wikipedia has a decent explanation of the countryside and history at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coorg
And my aunt and uncle have a gorgeous bed and breakfast there that I think you should all visit: http://www.berry-lane.com/

But without further ado, here are the photos...

Out of Africa

Although I didn't get to see any lions of leopards, photos at last...


Sunset

Rhinos

Sunrise and our campsite

Me with rhinos in the background

Winter lilies

Giraffes

Elephants in the mist

Elephant

Monkey

Peacock

Cast of Characters

It's still going to be a day or two until I can post photos from the safari trip, but here's the cast of characters that accompanied me to Kruger National Park:
Storm: White, blonde South African driver to Kruger. Seriously, his name was Storm. When he told me, I nearly burst out laughing, it was so cliche, but then thought I should stay on the good side of a man who could leave me abandoned in the wild.
MJ: Girl in car with Storm. Most likely, girlfriend. Possibly racist, along with Storm.
Emily: Appeared to be normal American girl who stayed at the same hotel. Young 20s and still looking to impress the world with her intelligence. Reminded me of how annoying I must have been at that age. Reaction to subtle racist comments by Storm and MJ: "I think that's par for the course, here."
TJ: Big, white South African tour guide. Imagine Hurly from Lost with blonde dreadlocks. Blatantly declares that he does not smile. Has been camping and sleeping in a tin trailer for 3 1/2 years.
Suze: 40-something divorcee with 5 kids between 8 and 23. Lots of fun after six pack of beer and 1/2 bottle of wine each night. Possibly heard her purging after breakfast, but circumspect.
Derek and Lee: British-Irish engaged couple. Little known since they were in blissful coupledom, although that may also be because they were both accountants. However, Derek was useful, having memorized the conversion table from metric to English measurement.
Me: Was newly resolved to move out of the US after I get my degree. Now reconsidering.

Women's Day

I have arrived (safely) in South Africa on a national holiday, Women's Day, which I thought was a rather good sign for me, the occasional rabid feminist. From what I could gather from the cab driver, it appears that Women's Day is the South African version of Mother's Day where husbands and children should take care of the women they know and buy them stuff. The day also turns out to be loaded with irony; I unexpectedly got my period as soon as I landed, and will be camping in Kruger Park for the next two nights. Plus, thought the hostel I'm staying in is nice, they don't provide towels, which was a surprise to me for reasons that seem rather presumptuous now. So, Women's Day became a trip to the mall, just like Mother's Day in the U.S., with the hope that some store is open. Thankfully, some fancy linen store was, and I have paid more for a towel here than I ever would back home. And then impulsively bought other items, like an alarm clock, back-up disposable camera (the battery has been dying inconveniently in mine), and of course, a book (by J. M. Coetzee).

I don't think I'll have much Internet access over the next 2-3 days, so I might have to wait until I get to India to upload photos. But thank you all for reading. It's a bit weird writing without knowing exactly who is reading this (other than my parents, who are consistent beyond measure), so thanks to everyone who has been posting and emailing me, as well.

Fleeting thoughts before leaving Beunos Aires

My flight to South Africa is later tonight, but here are some final photos and thoughts before leaving BA.
1. When you order coffee or tea, they give you a shot of soda water with it. I don´t know why this idea hasn't caught on in Europe or the States yet.
2. If you click on Emily's blog on the left, she has a nice analysis of the pros and cons of the seated throne versus the squat toilet. I think the bidet deserves an equally eloquent ode, especially since a crudely exposed tap and plastic pitcher await me in India.
3. The men in Argentina have no shame is staring at a woman, and it's unlike anything I've ever experienced. I mean, the men in New York will, usually, try to be discreet, and in Italy they'll tease you, but the men here simply stare. Occasionally, it's flattering, but often I want to channel the drill Sargent from An Officer and a Gentleman and shout, "Why are you eyeballing me, boy?"
4. After meeting a bunch of really nice and really beautiful women, I have decided that we all have the same problems with men and most of us are under-appreciated.
5. To be fair to men, I've also so met some really kind and generous ones who have showed me the city and given me some of the best compliments. My favorite was when one suddenly grabbed my hand and said "you're such a nice girl!" No one in New York ever compliments anyone on being nice or kind. Beautiful, yes. Smart, maybe. But never nice. Which is a shame; it's really my favorite one.


The patio at my hotel.


El Caminato in La Boca.


La Boca.


Eating Indian food at Bangalore, which was oddly designed like an English pub.

Ashrama

It turns out that there´s a Ramakrishna Center in Buenos Aires. Of course, I had to go check it out since I can´t think of any other instance where I would hear bajans sung in Spanish and see Vivekananda´s Karma Yoga written in Spanish. The center (they call it the Ashrama) is located about an hour and half (by train) outside of the main city, so it´s a beautiful sprawling property. (Unfortunately my camera battery died Saturday night, so I don´t have any pictures.) I think I was somewhat of a novelty there since the Argentinian devotees were really excite to meet a real-life Indian. (By the way, one of the things I haven´t written about is how in Spanish, Indiano is actually a really pejorative term for Native Americans, and so Indians have to refer to themselves as Hindu; I´m not sure what an Indian Muslim would do).

Anyway, it was a really interesting and fun experience to hear readings and Sanskrit words in Spanish. Plus, their songs are much more fun than the songs at the center in New York. They´re also much more laid back and Latin American about the whole affair, starting whenever they please and kissing everyone hello. I´m sure Swami Adishwarananda in New York would have a fit. There´s also an Argentinian swami who´s much too good looking to be a swami; if he starts taking on disciples, they´re going to jump off of cliffs like lemmings for him.

LNA to make my friends and brother proud

Pictures speak louder than words...

In love again

The sun shone today for the first time since I arrived on Monday, and I am in love with Buenos Aires again. It may have helped that I had a tango lesson this morning, and am now addicted. Or that I have wonderful friends at home, who quickly responded to my advice-seeking email with reassurances that I am not a social pariah. Or, my Spatalian is getting better (one shopkeeper told me I spoke Spanish like a Brazilian, which, despite my limited knowledge of Brazil, flattered me since there´s nothing worse than sounding like an American).

I´ve finally figured out how to post photos from my camera, so here´s a few- just random street scenes. Thank you all for your posts and reading this blog; it´s made traveling solo much more fun.

What to do on a rainy day?

So, it´s official, if you´re going to do Buenos Aires, do it in the summer. It rained all day today, and it´s so cold, even the tourists don´t want to go out.

That being said, it´s also perfect museum weather. I went to the MALBA, the big modern art museum here, akin to MOMA (Funny how modern art museums like their abbreviations). Like most modern art museums, somethings were nice, but others were just weird. Just because it´s art doesn´t mean it´s good.

However, lunch in the museum cafe was spiced up with the arrival of a French/Luxembourg man who spoke English! (Yes, I have become an obnoxious American tourist who demands everyone speak English to me. If the British made my ancestors accommodate them, I figure the rest of the world should accommodate me. By the way, does anyone know what people from Luxembourg are called?). He then steered me towards the Museum of Fine Arts, which was amazing. It had collections on top of collections of the European masters, from Monet to Pissaro to Renoir to Picasso. There was a Van Gogh painting there that I had never seen in any art history book of mine.

I was too cold and tired to go out after returning from the museum treks, so I ordered in, which turned out to be a great idea since I got to eat dinner with one of the staff members and his girlfriend, Martin and Barbara. It´s much easier to learn about a country by eating dinner with locals than by reading guidebooks or going out to bars. And more enjoyable, in my opinion. Plus, I´m feeling sick and need to save up my energy for tango lessons tomorrow!

One last thing, for my dad: Yes, the toilets do flush clockwise. I checked three different bowls.

Around the town

Dear Sherif,
You have a black tongue like my grandfather and I hate you for it.
Love,
Minal

It´s freakin´ cold here. There´s no way for me to romanticize it and make this sound like a charming travel log. I had to buy a wool hat and polartec gloves, which I think I will be sleeping in if the nice buzz I got from wine at dinner tonight wears off.

But, despite that, I got to see most of the city today. BA has a city greeter program much like NYC, and my guide, Mauricio, took me all around the city in his warm car to show me the touristy and not-so-touristy places. Granted, some of the places you had to imagine in the summer, like the park planted with at least 100 different types of rose bushes. Before any of you start getting ideas, Mauricio is about 70 with grandkids. But, he is also a practicing psychologist (Argentina has the highest number of psychoanalysts per capita) who set me up with tango lessons this weekend with his friend´s son. And incredibly kind and eager to show anyone BA for free.

For some reason, Buenos Aires seems to remind me of Florence. That may be because that was the last time I was traveling alone for an extended period of time, or because it looks like Italy with its green "farmacia" signs every 2 blocks, cobblestone streets, and 1970s pre-fab structures rudely interrupting a row of stone facades. It smells like Florence, too- a mixture of wood burning stoves and exhaust fumes, I think.

Fortunately or unfortunately, globalization makes an authentic Argentine experience hard to come by. The Simpsons movie is being heavily promoted here, as is Harry Potter and Ocean´s 13. McDonald´s is not as ubiquitous as it is in India and France, but present nonetheless. I think I saw a "Big and Tall" store on the way home tonight, and know I saw HSBC, Citibank, and ads for Yoga classes. I guess America is America, even if it´s South America.

My private BA

It´s winter in Buenos Aires, and my mother and Jenna somehow convinced me not to bring my winter coat, which seems to have absolutely no effect on how much I am loving BA. It´s a sleepy town, and I´m not sure if that´s because it´s the low season for tourism or if that´s just how it is. But it´s a perfect retreat from the noise and demands of New York living. Plus, I´m staying in the most charming Bed and Breakfast, where my room looks like a whitewashed version of a Van Gogh painting. I can´t remember the name, but it´s the painting of the room with one of everything--one bed, one desk, one chair, one lamp, one window, one pitcher, one glass, one mirror. Imagine that in all white, and somehow, less depressing, possibly because the window looks out upon an enclosed garden and patio. The only things in multiples are two framed drawings and a number of books on the bookshelf, including The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Kite Runner. The minute I entered the room, I had a fleeting idea to retire here next year to write my dissertation.

Since I only arrived today, it´s been a slow day of walking around and trying to get my bearings. And trying to remember my Spanish and not answer in Italian. I don´t know how my friends (you know who you are) could remind me to bring q-tips and condoms, but not my Spanish phrasebook, the latter of which would have been infinitely more useful. Honestly. When the taxi driver asked for the address of the hotel, for 1779, I said "uno, sette, sette, noche" or "1-7-7-night." Excellent.

But, I was able to order wine in a cafe and sit and read Borges for 2 hours, uninterrupted, which seems to be what I would want to do even if I was fluent in Spanish. I know my mother is reading this and appalled by my solitary scholarly pursuits, but fear not, Mother! I have a tour guide taking me around the city tomorrow. And I will be buying a coat to make up for the one you and Jenna confiscated.

Itinerary

Hi everyone!
So although I'm flying solo this trip, I'm determined to make this blog interesting enough to make you want to join me. For those of you spontaneous enough to buy a last minute ticket, here's a brief version of my itinerary:
30 July-8 Aug: Buenos Aires
9 Aug-13 Aug: South Africa (Johannesburg)
14 Aug-25 Aug: India (Bangalore & Coorg)
26 Aug-3 Sept: Bali, Indonesia
4 Sept-6 Sept: San Francisco
6 Sept: NYC
See you all soon!