Left wing pundits and politicians frustrated with the continued inability and stubborn refusal of the American voter to understand and appreciate the accomplishments of President Obama and the Democratically controlled Congress, have turned to insult. This is apparently their last last ditch effort to get their message across before the November 2 mid-term elections.
Maureen Dowd in her recent op-ed piece in the New York Times "Making Ignorance Chic" whined that "Sarah Palin has made ignorance fashionable". Joe Klein in his Times op-ed was even more forthright. In his piece entitled "Ignorance As Authenticity" Klein writes that "there is something profoundly diseased about a society that idolizes its ignoramuses and disdains its experts". Even President Obama, in a much more moderate and temperate manner, blames his administration's failure to get through to the folks, on his politics, not his policies. In other words, the Administration has failed to dumb it down enough.
The American voter can perhaps be excused for disdaining its experts. After all experts have taken America into two wars, one of which is increasingly becoming out of control, a gzillion dollar debt and deficit, high unemployment, and a massive housing crisis. So why not try something new and completely different? How much worse can it get? At least that's what the unwashed masses must be thinking and with just cause.
In a recent speech to University of Alberta law students, Justice Thomas Cromwell of the Supreme Court of Canada told his audience that a lawyer's most important attribute is good judgment. Perhaps the same applies to politicians. Good judgment is what the American people are looking for in their politicians. It matters little to them whether their candidates can wax on about their favourite Supreme Court judgments, name the current leaders of other countries, or can draw a map of the world. That's the stuff for professors and advisers. If successful, the politicians will be able to afford to hire all the experts they need to educate them. They can learn all that important stuff from them once in office.
One might in fact argue that the problem with smart people is that they think they do not need to listen to or take the advice of others. Why should they? They know soooo much. I for one would rather be led by a person who knows what they did not know, than one who knows everything.
Joe Klein and Maureen Dowd provide excellent illustrations of my point about good judgment. Do they really think that being obnoxious is going to help their cause? Are the dummies out there going to be enlightened by the insults and change their minds about which politicians to support? Of course not. Anyone with good judgment will realize that this will only energize these folks and broaden the base. President Obama learned that lesson in the Pennsylvania primary against Clinton. I am sure he is none too pleased with the type of support he and his party are getting from the likes of Joe Klein and Maureen Dowd. As they say "with friends like these, who needs enemies".
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
WELCOME TO SIKKIM
IRENE'S FINAL E-MAIL FROM INDIA:
Afghanistan and Sikkim were two countries that I dreamed of visiting since
childhood. Afghanistan because of the book "Caravans" by A.J. Cronin (if I
remember correctly) and Sikkim because of the National Geographic coverage
when the monarch married an American, Hope Cook, around the same time that
Grace Kelly was married to Prince Rainer of Monaco.
It looks doubtful that I will ever make it to Afghanistan but Sikkim
remained possible. Sikkim ceased to be an independent nation and became part
of India in 1975. Sikkim is tucked into the northeast corner of India, in
the Himalayas, wedged between Tibet and Bhutan. On the map, it does not seem
that far from Calcutta.
Lewis and I had enough of car and plane travel for awhile. Our bodies were
still shaking for a long time after the 9 days on the roads of Orissa and
our wallet was a bit drained by the flight from Bhubaneswar to Calcutta. It
seemed that it was the perfect time to travel by train.
Our friend (and travel agent in Orissa) booked us 2 tickets on the
Kanchanjunga Express from Calcutta to Shiliguri... eight hours 2nd class *air
conditioned*. From Shiliguri we would need a car or Jeep. This sounded
a lot better than the train we took on our last
trip: Deradhun to Varanasi...22 hours, 2nd class non a/c!
The only downside to the train that I saw was that it departed Sealdah
Station, Calcutta at 6:35 AM. Even the driver who was going to take us said
that he didn't mind if we took a taxi instead. We packed our bags after
dinner, instructed the hotel staff to wake us at 5 and pretended to get a
few hours of sleep.
It was all remarkably easy. Sealdah Station was bustling even at 6 AM but
the electonic board displayed the Kachanjunga EXPRESS' departure at 6:35 AM
from platform 9A. We sat on the floor with the other travellers and waited
for the train to come. There is one thing that you can count on in India and
that is the railway system! The train arrived on time. There were crowds
jostling forwards and backwards but gradually a line seemed to form in front
of the 2nd class carriages non-airconditioned. Lewis and I pressed on
down the track looking for the telltale sign of a/c compartments - the
sealed
windows.
Sure enough, about 10 cars down, we saw a sealed window unit...and a
computer printout sheet listing passenger names and seat assignments. There
we were Klar, L and Klar, I in seats 35 and 36. How efficient is that! The
car began to fill up. There was a lot of movement on the platform of goods
being hauled, people bustling, hawkers selling foodstuffs but soon I felt
the train start up. I looked down at my watch: 6:35 AM.
There were lots of surprises on this train ride, some good, some not so. On
the good side were the sheets, blanket and towel provided to each passenger.
Lots of people toiled the aisle selling cookies, candies, chai, coffee so we
were not neglected and had entertainment to boot. The toilet stall
actually had a toilet seat, no toilet paper however.
The not so good part was that the train was scheduled to
arrive in Shiliguri at 6:15 PM making it almost 12 hours to travel 600 kms.
It meant too that we would arrive in the dark and have to decide whether to
go on the mountain roads at dusk.
Our neighbours on the train all said that it was best to find a hotel for
the night because there were no Jeeps at the train station and we would lose
time going to the right station.They had all sorts of worries, concerns and
lots of misinformation.
When the train finally arrived (on the dot) we were swarmed by touts
offering cars to
Darjeeling or Gangtok (Sikkim) . Within minutes we were installed in a Toyota
Qualis (similar to a small land cruiser) of questionable vintage. Our driver
was about 30, lean, and unusually silent. The drive was to take 4-5 hours
and according to the travel agent in Orissa, the roads were good (obviously
he has not made the trip).
The road was fine for about 45 minutes but then we began to gain altitude
and the road became steep and sinuous with tight hairpin turns and dropoffs
heading into darkness.
The growing nightfall made it hard to see the countryside but it was heavily
forested at times. The occasional roadside stall lit up with an electric
bulb but nothing in the way of towns to speak of.
Then after about 2.5 hours, the driver pulled over in front of a row of
stalls and said: Break. Want tea? It was more a statement than a question.
We got out and went into a small "restaurant'" , the term is used quite
loosely. We had been up since 5 AM and had only eaten a bit of leftover rice
from dinner the night before as well as some cookies I had stashed in my
bag. Who knew what would be open when we reached Gangtok. So we pulled out 2
red plastic lawn chairs and sat at the arborite table, swept away some of
the flies and ordered vegetable momos (Tibetan dumplings) and black tea.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep or lack of food but they remain among the
best momos we have had so far!
Back into the car we scrambled and back to the crumbling, twisting roads.
Many parts had rock piles occupying 1/2 the area, a sign of future
improvements. During the daylight hours, men would be using a sledgehammers
to break up the rocks. Women would load the gravel and sand onto baskets on
their head and saunter down the steep hillside to fill the potholes. At
night , the rocks were just another obstacle on the road.
The benefit of night travel on these roads is that the headlights illuminate
beyond the tight curves giving oncoming traffic a hint of what is to come.
Our driver was slow, steady and cautious. We were far from the fastest
vehicle on the road and I was quite grateful for that.
At 9:30 PM we saw the sign "Welcome to Sikkim" at one end of a small
bridge. At the other end was a levered barrier. We stopped at the gate
and handed our passports to the driver who handed them to the border
guard. He looked at them and barked :"permits!!". We pointed to our
Indian visas. "permits for Sikkim?!" Although the guidebooks mentioned
permits obtainable at the border as well as a variety of tourism
offices, we had been informed that they were no longer necessary.
..apparently we were wrong.
We asked to buy them at the border. I think that the guard had been
waiting his whole career to give us his reply because he seemed to
shout it with glee:"Shiliguri. Back to Shiliguri. Office closed.
Office open 8 AM!" He repeated Shiliguri with the staccato of a
machine gun.
What were we to do? We drove the 40 minutes back to the momo
restaurant. The row of houses and foodstalls were shut tight in the
darkness. We did the only sensible thing: the driver slept in the
front seat, Lewis in the middle, and I slept with the luggage in the
back!
We were awake early and got to the West Bengal/Sikkim border by 7 AM.
Our driver spoke to the border guard who suggested we go and have
breakfast at the Sikkim hotel right next to the border office. We did
just that. The restaurant manager went and arranged our permit for
Sikkim. We went back to the border guard with our passports and
permits at 8 AM and he called over the permit official --- the same
fellow who had wanted to send us back to Shiliguri.
He noted the permit numbers in a book and said something about last
night. I said we slept in the car...but why couldn't he have let us
stay in the hotel?? He replied: Office close 8 PM. Welcome to Sikkim.
The marriage didn't last. - the king and Hope Cook.
Afghanistan and Sikkim were two countries that I dreamed of visiting since
childhood. Afghanistan because of the book "Caravans" by A.J. Cronin (if I
remember correctly) and Sikkim because of the National Geographic coverage
when the monarch married an American, Hope Cook, around the same time that
Grace Kelly was married to Prince Rainer of Monaco.
It looks doubtful that I will ever make it to Afghanistan but Sikkim
remained possible. Sikkim ceased to be an independent nation and became part
of India in 1975. Sikkim is tucked into the northeast corner of India, in
the Himalayas, wedged between Tibet and Bhutan. On the map, it does not seem
that far from Calcutta.
Lewis and I had enough of car and plane travel for awhile. Our bodies were
still shaking for a long time after the 9 days on the roads of Orissa and
our wallet was a bit drained by the flight from Bhubaneswar to Calcutta. It
seemed that it was the perfect time to travel by train.
Our friend (and travel agent in Orissa) booked us 2 tickets on the
Kanchanjunga Express from Calcutta to Shiliguri... eight hours 2nd class *air
conditioned*. From Shiliguri we would need a car or Jeep. This sounded
a lot better than the train we took on our last
trip: Deradhun to Varanasi...22 hours, 2nd class non a/c!
The only downside to the train that I saw was that it departed Sealdah
Station, Calcutta at 6:35 AM. Even the driver who was going to take us said
that he didn't mind if we took a taxi instead. We packed our bags after
dinner, instructed the hotel staff to wake us at 5 and pretended to get a
few hours of sleep.
It was all remarkably easy. Sealdah Station was bustling even at 6 AM but
the electonic board displayed the Kachanjunga EXPRESS' departure at 6:35 AM
from platform 9A. We sat on the floor with the other travellers and waited
for the train to come. There is one thing that you can count on in India and
that is the railway system! The train arrived on time. There were crowds
jostling forwards and backwards but gradually a line seemed to form in front
of the 2nd class carriages non-airconditioned. Lewis and I pressed on
down the track looking for the telltale sign of a/c compartments - the
sealed
windows.
Sure enough, about 10 cars down, we saw a sealed window unit...and a
computer printout sheet listing passenger names and seat assignments. There
we were Klar, L and Klar, I in seats 35 and 36. How efficient is that! The
car began to fill up. There was a lot of movement on the platform of goods
being hauled, people bustling, hawkers selling foodstuffs but soon I felt
the train start up. I looked down at my watch: 6:35 AM.
There were lots of surprises on this train ride, some good, some not so. On
the good side were the sheets, blanket and towel provided to each passenger.
Lots of people toiled the aisle selling cookies, candies, chai, coffee so we
were not neglected and had entertainment to boot. The toilet stall
actually had a toilet seat, no toilet paper however.
The not so good part was that the train was scheduled to
arrive in Shiliguri at 6:15 PM making it almost 12 hours to travel 600 kms.
It meant too that we would arrive in the dark and have to decide whether to
go on the mountain roads at dusk.
Our neighbours on the train all said that it was best to find a hotel for
the night because there were no Jeeps at the train station and we would lose
time going to the right station.They had all sorts of worries, concerns and
lots of misinformation.
When the train finally arrived (on the dot) we were swarmed by touts
offering cars to
Darjeeling or Gangtok (Sikkim) . Within minutes we were installed in a Toyota
Qualis (similar to a small land cruiser) of questionable vintage. Our driver
was about 30, lean, and unusually silent. The drive was to take 4-5 hours
and according to the travel agent in Orissa, the roads were good (obviously
he has not made the trip).
The road was fine for about 45 minutes but then we began to gain altitude
and the road became steep and sinuous with tight hairpin turns and dropoffs
heading into darkness.
The growing nightfall made it hard to see the countryside but it was heavily
forested at times. The occasional roadside stall lit up with an electric
bulb but nothing in the way of towns to speak of.
Then after about 2.5 hours, the driver pulled over in front of a row of
stalls and said: Break. Want tea? It was more a statement than a question.
We got out and went into a small "restaurant'" , the term is used quite
loosely. We had been up since 5 AM and had only eaten a bit of leftover rice
from dinner the night before as well as some cookies I had stashed in my
bag. Who knew what would be open when we reached Gangtok. So we pulled out 2
red plastic lawn chairs and sat at the arborite table, swept away some of
the flies and ordered vegetable momos (Tibetan dumplings) and black tea.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep or lack of food but they remain among the
best momos we have had so far!
Back into the car we scrambled and back to the crumbling, twisting roads.
Many parts had rock piles occupying 1/2 the area, a sign of future
improvements. During the daylight hours, men would be using a sledgehammers
to break up the rocks. Women would load the gravel and sand onto baskets on
their head and saunter down the steep hillside to fill the potholes. At
night , the rocks were just another obstacle on the road.
The benefit of night travel on these roads is that the headlights illuminate
beyond the tight curves giving oncoming traffic a hint of what is to come.
Our driver was slow, steady and cautious. We were far from the fastest
vehicle on the road and I was quite grateful for that.
At 9:30 PM we saw the sign "Welcome to Sikkim" at one end of a small
bridge. At the other end was a levered barrier. We stopped at the gate
and handed our passports to the driver who handed them to the border
guard. He looked at them and barked :"permits!!". We pointed to our
Indian visas. "permits for Sikkim?!" Although the guidebooks mentioned
permits obtainable at the border as well as a variety of tourism
offices, we had been informed that they were no longer necessary.
..apparently we were wrong.
We asked to buy them at the border. I think that the guard had been
waiting his whole career to give us his reply because he seemed to
shout it with glee:"Shiliguri. Back to Shiliguri. Office closed.
Office open 8 AM!" He repeated Shiliguri with the staccato of a
machine gun.
What were we to do? We drove the 40 minutes back to the momo
restaurant. The row of houses and foodstalls were shut tight in the
darkness. We did the only sensible thing: the driver slept in the
front seat, Lewis in the middle, and I slept with the luggage in the
back!
We were awake early and got to the West Bengal/Sikkim border by 7 AM.
Our driver spoke to the border guard who suggested we go and have
breakfast at the Sikkim hotel right next to the border office. We did
just that. The restaurant manager went and arranged our permit for
Sikkim. We went back to the border guard with our passports and
permits at 8 AM and he called over the permit official --- the same
fellow who had wanted to send us back to Shiliguri.
He noted the permit numbers in a book and said something about last
night. I said we slept in the car...but why couldn't he have let us
stay in the hotel?? He replied: Office close 8 PM. Welcome to Sikkim.
The marriage didn't last. - the king and Hope Cook.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
A HOTEL IN CALCUTTA
IRENE'S FOURTH MESSAGE FROM INDIA:
Yet another report from India:
With memories of "City of Joy" by Dominique Lapierre in mind, we expected to NOT like Calcutta and were steeling ourselves to its onslaught. On the cab ride into town we commented to each other about how we seemed to like the city already! That was a surprise. The city seemed more intimate and manageable than either Delhi or Mumbai. In speaking to Indians about their cities, a number of them referred to Calcutta as a "city with soul" and a "laid back atmosphere".
Yes, there are still slum areas in Calcutta but we did not see the miles of shacks that line the airport around Mumbai. Apparently in the 1970's as East Pakistan was fighting to become Bangladesh, more than 4,000,000 refugees fled to Calcutta and completely inundated the city's infrastructure. There is still much poverty here and yes, there are people sleeping on the sidewalks, but many of the shantytowns and slum areas have been cleaned up.
Traffic is less of a nightmare as bus lanes and taxi zones are being created. Somehow, the city is more approachable than some of the other chaotic places we have been to.
The Fairlawn Hotel:
We tried repeatedly to book a room at the classic and inexpensive historied Fairlawn Hotel and our efforts paid off. We had read that it was a quirky place to stay and were looking forward to the experience. We did not know what to expect as our cab rounded the corner of the white classic India Museum and turned up Sudder St. The sidestreet was lined with a mix of storefronts and 2-3 storied buildings that left little space for sidewalk. There was a green iron gate in a wall. The driver honked and someone opened the gate. The cab turned sharply in to a little courtyard. At the back was an area obscured by high shrubs and what appeared to be a 2 story victorian house with an open veranda and entry. The Fairlawn Hotel has been owned by Violet Smith's family since 1936 - and I do not think there has been a thorough housecleaning or garage sale since!
We presented our passports and signed the usual registration while trying to read framed histories of the building! Our double room with a/c was 2800 rupees (app.$67.00) including breakfast and high tea. We followed the bellboy up the carpeted stairs past hundreds of framed bits of memorablia that lined the walls - photographs of notables, framed letters from Dominique Lapierre, posters of "City of Joy". photos of film stars and actors, family photos of Violet Smith, her parents, her children and grandchildren, framed articles from newspapers around the world about the hotel...one could spend hours just getting upstairs!
The upstairs contained several guestrooms, each door hidden behind a floral curtain, as well as a large salon with Victorian settees, armchairs, and coffee tables and a canopied square veranda which overlooked the "garden" (now a beer garden!). Off the salon was a walkway which led to a 2 story row of guestrooms behind the main house. The walls of the public areas were also crammed with framed memorabilia as well as glass-fronted cabinets containing everything from boxes of souvenir silver spoons to oriental tourist tchatchies and children's school projects!
Our room was large with a sitting area as well as a desk and armoire. Over the bed hung a portrait of a turbanned maharaja with an imposing mustache. There would be no tomfoolery under his watch! Even though the linoleum on the floor was peeling in several places, the room was spotless. There was a glass bookshelf with a variety of books left by travellers of all nationalities. We left a large volume on Indian Tort law that Lewis had acquired in Hyderabad and been lugging around as well as the memoirs that an academic had gifted to Lewis and we borrowed a guidebook for a few days.
We enjoyed meeting Violet Smith. Approaching her 90th birthday, she still is downstairs at breakfast to greet her guests and go over the books with her staff. She is more than eager to relate the story of the Fairlawn...I think she enjoys the notoriety of her age and tells you lots of details whether you are interested or not. There were a few details which made us bond with the hotel.
The land was acquired in 1798 and the house was erected in 1803 by a British family and served as their home for a generation. Then the building was used a a court house, a "sadar" in Bengali. This became distorted into "sudder" and became the name of the street, Sudder St. As Calcutta grew, the neighbourhood became a Jewish enclave and the home passed through a succession of Jewish owners. 1915 saw a flood of Armenians flee Turkey and move to India including Violet Smith's parents and the area around Sudder St. absorbed them as well. Today Violet Smith is one of the last of the Armenians and Mr. Nahoum who owns Nahoum's bakery down the street is the last of the Jews.
Violet's mother began the hotel and built the annex at the back. During the second world war, the Fairlawn was used to house Canadian troops and was called Canada House for the duration. After the war, the hotel was restored to its intended use. It is one of those places where locals as well as tourists enjoy the atmosphere.
We met a number of other guests there including a judge from Texas, a woman from Brussels who had spent 2 years volunteering in Bengal at a handicapped children's centre and a Canadian woman from Stratford who was about to spend her week in Calcutta volunteering at Mother Teresa's hospital.
I will not be getting a commission from the hotel but would readily recommend it to anyone heading to Calcutta.
Best,
Irene
Yet another report from India:
With memories of "City of Joy" by Dominique Lapierre in mind, we expected to NOT like Calcutta and were steeling ourselves to its onslaught. On the cab ride into town we commented to each other about how we seemed to like the city already! That was a surprise. The city seemed more intimate and manageable than either Delhi or Mumbai. In speaking to Indians about their cities, a number of them referred to Calcutta as a "city with soul" and a "laid back atmosphere".
Yes, there are still slum areas in Calcutta but we did not see the miles of shacks that line the airport around Mumbai. Apparently in the 1970's as East Pakistan was fighting to become Bangladesh, more than 4,000,000 refugees fled to Calcutta and completely inundated the city's infrastructure. There is still much poverty here and yes, there are people sleeping on the sidewalks, but many of the shantytowns and slum areas have been cleaned up.
Traffic is less of a nightmare as bus lanes and taxi zones are being created. Somehow, the city is more approachable than some of the other chaotic places we have been to.
The Fairlawn Hotel:
We tried repeatedly to book a room at the classic and inexpensive historied Fairlawn Hotel and our efforts paid off. We had read that it was a quirky place to stay and were looking forward to the experience. We did not know what to expect as our cab rounded the corner of the white classic India Museum and turned up Sudder St. The sidestreet was lined with a mix of storefronts and 2-3 storied buildings that left little space for sidewalk. There was a green iron gate in a wall. The driver honked and someone opened the gate. The cab turned sharply in to a little courtyard. At the back was an area obscured by high shrubs and what appeared to be a 2 story victorian house with an open veranda and entry. The Fairlawn Hotel has been owned by Violet Smith's family since 1936 - and I do not think there has been a thorough housecleaning or garage sale since!
We presented our passports and signed the usual registration while trying to read framed histories of the building! Our double room with a/c was 2800 rupees (app.$67.00) including breakfast and high tea. We followed the bellboy up the carpeted stairs past hundreds of framed bits of memorablia that lined the walls - photographs of notables, framed letters from Dominique Lapierre, posters of "City of Joy". photos of film stars and actors, family photos of Violet Smith, her parents, her children and grandchildren, framed articles from newspapers around the world about the hotel...one could spend hours just getting upstairs!
The upstairs contained several guestrooms, each door hidden behind a floral curtain, as well as a large salon with Victorian settees, armchairs, and coffee tables and a canopied square veranda which overlooked the "garden" (now a beer garden!). Off the salon was a walkway which led to a 2 story row of guestrooms behind the main house. The walls of the public areas were also crammed with framed memorabilia as well as glass-fronted cabinets containing everything from boxes of souvenir silver spoons to oriental tourist tchatchies and children's school projects!
Our room was large with a sitting area as well as a desk and armoire. Over the bed hung a portrait of a turbanned maharaja with an imposing mustache. There would be no tomfoolery under his watch! Even though the linoleum on the floor was peeling in several places, the room was spotless. There was a glass bookshelf with a variety of books left by travellers of all nationalities. We left a large volume on Indian Tort law that Lewis had acquired in Hyderabad and been lugging around as well as the memoirs that an academic had gifted to Lewis and we borrowed a guidebook for a few days.
We enjoyed meeting Violet Smith. Approaching her 90th birthday, she still is downstairs at breakfast to greet her guests and go over the books with her staff. She is more than eager to relate the story of the Fairlawn...I think she enjoys the notoriety of her age and tells you lots of details whether you are interested or not. There were a few details which made us bond with the hotel.
The land was acquired in 1798 and the house was erected in 1803 by a British family and served as their home for a generation. Then the building was used a a court house, a "sadar" in Bengali. This became distorted into "sudder" and became the name of the street, Sudder St. As Calcutta grew, the neighbourhood became a Jewish enclave and the home passed through a succession of Jewish owners. 1915 saw a flood of Armenians flee Turkey and move to India including Violet Smith's parents and the area around Sudder St. absorbed them as well. Today Violet Smith is one of the last of the Armenians and Mr. Nahoum who owns Nahoum's bakery down the street is the last of the Jews.
Violet's mother began the hotel and built the annex at the back. During the second world war, the Fairlawn was used to house Canadian troops and was called Canada House for the duration. After the war, the hotel was restored to its intended use. It is one of those places where locals as well as tourists enjoy the atmosphere.
We met a number of other guests there including a judge from Texas, a woman from Brussels who had spent 2 years volunteering in Bengal at a handicapped children's centre and a Canadian woman from Stratford who was about to spend her week in Calcutta volunteering at Mother Teresa's hospital.
I will not be getting a commission from the hotel but would readily recommend it to anyone heading to Calcutta.
Best,
Irene
Friday, April 30, 2010
THE INDIANIZATION OF LEWIS
HERE IS IRENE'S THIRD INDIA E-MAIL POSTING:
There was no reason to be shocked when Lewis came down to the hotel lobby barefoot for tea yesterday. He was initially skeptical as to whether we should be returning to India on this trip rather than heading to a new destination altogether. With every new movie we saw that was set in India and every news report from India, he remembered more and more the things that did not appeal to him in India. The country does indeed show some of the worst, ugliest, most revolting aspects of mankind but it also has the most exquisite, appealing and beautiful.
India somehow manages to seduce you. It works its way into your soul and permeates your being. It has been interesting to watch as India transforms Lewis. I think that the first sign was the head wagging! When an Indian person is following a conversation, the head inclines slightly and with moderate speed from side to side (ear towards shoulder). I would be relating something to Lewis and suddenly realize that his head was wagging!!
More inscrutable is the swivel. Think of nodding "no" but only turn your head slowly and go just half way....then stop. Is that a "yes" or a "no" or an indication of disinterest? I am still not sure but Lewis seems to be adopting that habit too!
Then, when I would tell Lew a story , he would start saying "aachaa" (the Indian version of "uh-huh"). He says it even when we are talking with Indians. It is now a part of his lexicon. The latest is "tee-kay" (okay, fine) which is stated frequently.
Before we left on the trip, Lew vowed that this trip would be easier than the last one...that we would not make it so hard on ourselves. We would stay in more upscale places and have reservations made ahead of time. I did reserve a hotel in Delhi for our arrival but getting a room at the lovely Hotel Ganges View in Varanasi was impossible so I booked us in at the basic Sahi River View Guest House next door(1200R or about $27). We went to make dinner reservations at the Ganges View and were told that there had been a cancellation. A room was available for 3100R. "Why on earth should we change! We have checked in already and why pay 3 times the price! What more do we need?" was Lewis' reaction. I can understand that- why live excessively in a country where so many lack basic necessities. I had not thought of Lewis as the new Gandhi.
Our carry-on luggage is now straining at the zippers and is increasingly hard to "carry on". Lewis has begun to collect "dhokra". I do feel badly for our kids because this new collection of primitive handcast metal sculptures will occupy a large space in the garage sale they will have to hold to liquidate our estate.At the tribal markets in Orissa Lewis was in full form negotiating for the figurines.
And the food....!!!! Usually Lewis complains about the food in India. All of that heavily spiced and sauced food! But now he has rediscovered his love of Indian Chinese food (Chindian, I call it). It is a bit sweeter, saucier and without the heavy soy base of the Chinese food we usually have at home. Chindian, chindian, chindian. He eats heartily and feels great. He also now maintains that he will stay a vegetarian....well with chicken....and maybe shrimp....fish perhaps...eggs definitely. Am I am losing him to India?
On our last day with car, driver and guide in Orissa, we stopped at a roadside dhaba (eatery) for a lunch break. Lew and I weren't hungry so we waited at a little drink shack at the side of the highway (another story there) and sipped our Thumbs Up (coca cola equivalent). " Just a minute". said Lewis and he got up. I looked over and there he was standing next to a pile of garbage and debris , his back to the road and with that unmistakable posture of a male marking his territory.
I think the Indianization of Lewis is complete.
There was no reason to be shocked when Lewis came down to the hotel lobby barefoot for tea yesterday. He was initially skeptical as to whether we should be returning to India on this trip rather than heading to a new destination altogether. With every new movie we saw that was set in India and every news report from India, he remembered more and more the things that did not appeal to him in India. The country does indeed show some of the worst, ugliest, most revolting aspects of mankind but it also has the most exquisite, appealing and beautiful.
India somehow manages to seduce you. It works its way into your soul and permeates your being. It has been interesting to watch as India transforms Lewis. I think that the first sign was the head wagging! When an Indian person is following a conversation, the head inclines slightly and with moderate speed from side to side (ear towards shoulder). I would be relating something to Lewis and suddenly realize that his head was wagging!!
More inscrutable is the swivel. Think of nodding "no" but only turn your head slowly and go just half way....then stop. Is that a "yes" or a "no" or an indication of disinterest? I am still not sure but Lewis seems to be adopting that habit too!
Then, when I would tell Lew a story , he would start saying "aachaa" (the Indian version of "uh-huh"). He says it even when we are talking with Indians. It is now a part of his lexicon. The latest is "tee-kay" (okay, fine) which is stated frequently.
Before we left on the trip, Lew vowed that this trip would be easier than the last one...that we would not make it so hard on ourselves. We would stay in more upscale places and have reservations made ahead of time. I did reserve a hotel in Delhi for our arrival but getting a room at the lovely Hotel Ganges View in Varanasi was impossible so I booked us in at the basic Sahi River View Guest House next door(1200R or about $27). We went to make dinner reservations at the Ganges View and were told that there had been a cancellation. A room was available for 3100R. "Why on earth should we change! We have checked in already and why pay 3 times the price! What more do we need?" was Lewis' reaction. I can understand that- why live excessively in a country where so many lack basic necessities. I had not thought of Lewis as the new Gandhi.
Our carry-on luggage is now straining at the zippers and is increasingly hard to "carry on". Lewis has begun to collect "dhokra". I do feel badly for our kids because this new collection of primitive handcast metal sculptures will occupy a large space in the garage sale they will have to hold to liquidate our estate.At the tribal markets in Orissa Lewis was in full form negotiating for the figurines.
And the food....!!!! Usually Lewis complains about the food in India. All of that heavily spiced and sauced food! But now he has rediscovered his love of Indian Chinese food (Chindian, I call it). It is a bit sweeter, saucier and without the heavy soy base of the Chinese food we usually have at home. Chindian, chindian, chindian. He eats heartily and feels great. He also now maintains that he will stay a vegetarian....well with chicken....and maybe shrimp....fish perhaps...eggs definitely. Am I am losing him to India?
On our last day with car, driver and guide in Orissa, we stopped at a roadside dhaba (eatery) for a lunch break. Lew and I weren't hungry so we waited at a little drink shack at the side of the highway (another story there) and sipped our Thumbs Up (coca cola equivalent). " Just a minute". said Lewis and he got up. I looked over and there he was standing next to a pile of garbage and debris , his back to the road and with that unmistakable posture of a male marking his territory.
I think the Indianization of Lewis is complete.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
DELHI UNDERGROUND
IRENE'S SECOND POST FROM INDIA:
At present, we are in the NE state of Orissa and we are visiting
the tribal area. It is fascinating and very far removed from the email
I had prepared when I was last at an internet facility. Nevertheless,
I will proceed in order of the voyage. Just to keep you well informed
our itinerary is Delhi - Varanasi- Hyderabad- Bhubaneswar (Orissa)-
Calcutta - Gangtok (Sikkim) - Darjeeling - Delhi (perphaps a change or
two as we proceed. We are still relatively healthy!
Lewis was to meet with the vice chancellor (dean) of law at the National Law
Unversity, Delhi. We had imagined going to an old British colonial building
in the heart of Delhi perhaps with a leafy green courtyard. Instead we were
told that NLU Delhi is located in Dwarka - a remote suburb not far from the
airport.
Delhi above ground can be a very challenging experience. As our friend
Suhail told us," Delhi is not as organized as Mumbai. In Mumbai they do lane
driving". In Delhi, road traffic is a free for all. I often feel that the
vehicle I am riding is a ball in a multi-ball pinball game and someone else
is pulling the pin and tilting the surface. Cars clog every available
opening between the curbs creating ever changing flows of traffic. Gridlock
is not uncommon. Vehicles fight for supremacy and priority. Suhail's sage
advice to us: "Take the metro". Lewis had been told that the law school was
"just opposite the metro station" so we decided to try our luck.
If we were dubious about Delhi aboveground, what chaos would reign below? We
venture out of our tranquil Golf Links neighbourhood and flag a passing
rickshaw. A brief negociation of fare takes place and we speed off to
Paligiri Maidans Metro station.It is surrounded by lots of rickshaws, cars
and buses at the entrance. We passed through, put our knapsack on the Xray
belt, Lewis walks to the "gents'" scanner and I to the "ladies". I received
a very timid frisking from a bashful young woman in a khaki uniform who
averts her eyes.
We proceed to the wicket to purchase our tokens - fare is the equivalent of
50 cents. We follow the signs to the platform to await our train. The
station is spacious and CLEAN!!! An LED display announces the time of
the next train. A prim voice announces its arrival in Hindi and then repeats
it in English. Should we be expecting something more sinister? Where is
India?
The train is quiet and modern. There are maps above each door and stops
illuminate as we travel along the 45 stop length. Announcements in Hindi and
English rattle off the various stops and ask passenger : "Please do not sit
on car floors"..., "Remember to yield your seat to the physically
handicapped, the elderly and ladies"..."Kindly refrain from spitting in the
cars or in the station". It seems that every stop elicits a new request!
The metro ride to Dwarka 14 takes over 45 minutes. We are amazed at the
expanse of Delhi. The metro runs below ground in central Delhi but soon
climbs its way above most of the buildings and we are treated to quite a
view. Endless buildings are punctuated by occasional squares of green. Only
one unpleasant slum on the way to Dwarka. Innuumerable temples, huge white
gleaming stupas or red sandstone pyramidal temple entryways with gigantic
painted cement Shivas, Durgas, and Kalis. And just before Dwarka stop is an
area with sheds and yards housing dozens of water buffalo. We cannot figure
out if it is the Delhi Dairy or a stockyard.Suddenly the buildings, by some
unheard agreement, disappear - there is an expanse of open undeveloped land:
Dwarka 14.
We descend from the spanking clean, steel and glass metro station to a
dusty, treeless, featureless development zone. A few bicycle rickshaws are
in a line across the street, their drivers sleeping in the heat.We can see
several cement blocks of buildings rising in the distance , a mile or so
away. We rouse a driver and we perch awkwardly on the narrow board that
masquerades as a seat. We are grateful for the rickshaw's awning as the sun
is now very hot. Our driver rises on his pedals, leans heavily, and we begin
our progress to the newest law school in India...by bicycle.
Looking over my shoulder, I marvel at the constant contrast of India: the
most modern hand in hand with the old. Leaving a clean efficient metro with
computer driven trains that run on time to catch a dilapidated bicycle that
will bring us to the campus of the law university! And we could not have
made it to Lewis' appointment without either.
Irene
At present, we are in the NE state of Orissa and we are visiting
the tribal area. It is fascinating and very far removed from the email
I had prepared when I was last at an internet facility. Nevertheless,
I will proceed in order of the voyage. Just to keep you well informed
our itinerary is Delhi - Varanasi- Hyderabad- Bhubaneswar (Orissa)-
Calcutta - Gangtok (Sikkim) - Darjeeling - Delhi (perphaps a change or
two as we proceed. We are still relatively healthy!
Lewis was to meet with the vice chancellor (dean) of law at the National Law
Unversity, Delhi. We had imagined going to an old British colonial building
in the heart of Delhi perhaps with a leafy green courtyard. Instead we were
told that NLU Delhi is located in Dwarka - a remote suburb not far from the
airport.
Delhi above ground can be a very challenging experience. As our friend
Suhail told us," Delhi is not as organized as Mumbai. In Mumbai they do lane
driving". In Delhi, road traffic is a free for all. I often feel that the
vehicle I am riding is a ball in a multi-ball pinball game and someone else
is pulling the pin and tilting the surface. Cars clog every available
opening between the curbs creating ever changing flows of traffic. Gridlock
is not uncommon. Vehicles fight for supremacy and priority. Suhail's sage
advice to us: "Take the metro". Lewis had been told that the law school was
"just opposite the metro station" so we decided to try our luck.
If we were dubious about Delhi aboveground, what chaos would reign below? We
venture out of our tranquil Golf Links neighbourhood and flag a passing
rickshaw. A brief negociation of fare takes place and we speed off to
Paligiri Maidans Metro station.It is surrounded by lots of rickshaws, cars
and buses at the entrance. We passed through, put our knapsack on the Xray
belt, Lewis walks to the "gents'" scanner and I to the "ladies". I received
a very timid frisking from a bashful young woman in a khaki uniform who
averts her eyes.
We proceed to the wicket to purchase our tokens - fare is the equivalent of
50 cents. We follow the signs to the platform to await our train. The
station is spacious and CLEAN!!! An LED display announces the time of
the next train. A prim voice announces its arrival in Hindi and then repeats
it in English. Should we be expecting something more sinister? Where is
India?
The train is quiet and modern. There are maps above each door and stops
illuminate as we travel along the 45 stop length. Announcements in Hindi and
English rattle off the various stops and ask passenger : "Please do not sit
on car floors"..., "Remember to yield your seat to the physically
handicapped, the elderly and ladies"..."Kindly refrain from spitting in the
cars or in the station". It seems that every stop elicits a new request!
The metro ride to Dwarka 14 takes over 45 minutes. We are amazed at the
expanse of Delhi. The metro runs below ground in central Delhi but soon
climbs its way above most of the buildings and we are treated to quite a
view. Endless buildings are punctuated by occasional squares of green. Only
one unpleasant slum on the way to Dwarka. Innuumerable temples, huge white
gleaming stupas or red sandstone pyramidal temple entryways with gigantic
painted cement Shivas, Durgas, and Kalis. And just before Dwarka stop is an
area with sheds and yards housing dozens of water buffalo. We cannot figure
out if it is the Delhi Dairy or a stockyard.Suddenly the buildings, by some
unheard agreement, disappear - there is an expanse of open undeveloped land:
Dwarka 14.
We descend from the spanking clean, steel and glass metro station to a
dusty, treeless, featureless development zone. A few bicycle rickshaws are
in a line across the street, their drivers sleeping in the heat.We can see
several cement blocks of buildings rising in the distance , a mile or so
away. We rouse a driver and we perch awkwardly on the narrow board that
masquerades as a seat. We are grateful for the rickshaw's awning as the sun
is now very hot. Our driver rises on his pedals, leans heavily, and we begin
our progress to the newest law school in India...by bicycle.
Looking over my shoulder, I marvel at the constant contrast of India: the
most modern hand in hand with the old. Leaving a clean efficient metro with
computer driven trains that run on time to catch a dilapidated bicycle that
will bring us to the campus of the law university! And we could not have
made it to Lewis' appointment without either.
Irene
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Mr. and Mrs. Magoo Do India 2
Hello Everyone:
I know it's been a long time. But the Pundit is back. Irene and I spent the last few months in India and Phoenix. While we were in India, Irene sent a series of e-mails to friends describing her experiences. They make for interesting reading. I thought that it would be a good, non-controversial, way to return to punditry by posting her India memoirs on the blog. So here it is: the first one. Hope you enjoy them, and if you do, pass it on.
The Sounds of Delhi:
I think of this trip as " Mr. and Mrs. Magoo Do India 2" . Our first trip, 4 years ago, despite everyone's warnings and dire predictions went so smoothly that we were perhaps deluded into thinking that travel in India was a piece of cake.
We have been here for over a week. Four days spent in Delhi and three in Varanasi and maybe we are indeed the Magoos but we find travel here to be easy to manage and ever fascinating.
Arriving at the modern Indira Gandhi airport was smooth...not even a line up at immigration. Having only carry-on luggage for the month meant we could immediate proceed to the "Prepaid Taxi" counter. We gave the address of our hotel and paid the required amount to the ticket seller. We brought our receipt to the first in line at the queue and our second trip to India was underway!
Our taxi was one of the typical Delhi fleet. The cars look like 1958 Vauxhalls or Holdens that have been bashed around, scavenged, and generally mistreated but manage to run on determination alone (not unlike much of the Indian populace).
After a few kilometers, the driver made a swift stop at a gas station. Drivers never seem to like investing too much money on fuel - obviously they are not confident that they will be able to find another paying customer among the 1.4 billion people here. In reality, they often rent their cars and rickshaws to use for a few hours in the hope of making a few rupees in that time. Obviously they do not want to leave too much fuel in the tank for the next renter.
We fueled up, asked directions to the Delhi neighbourhood a few times, and finally made it to the Ahuja Residency. The hotel is small - a converted house in a leafy residential and central neighbourhood, the Golf Links, near the Khan Market. It became our oasis in Delhi.
The area is completely gated and each block of the neighbourhood is built around its own small park.
On our first morning, I woke at 5:30 AM and listened to the sounds of our new world. It was as though a symphony was being created outside. First there was a distant staccato-a wavering musical teletype of a muezzin supported by a soft, far-off bass of a train. These sounds soon quieted and a swelling chorus of birdsong took over filling the airspace. Over a period of time the birdsong reached a crescendo and then lapsed as the sky gradually filled with colour and our day began.
Watching the birds from our rooftop terrace was a real pleasure in Delhi. We had forgotten the variety of species. There were green parrots thrusting into the air , squawking and flying in pairs from park to park; mynas hopping about; kite hawks soaring and crows and magpies gurgling from the branches, smaller birds warbled.
As we walked through the neighbourhood on our way to the market area, the cacaphony of traffic waited for us just beyond the gate. One step out and the honking of horns becomes relentless! Honks of cars, beeps of auto rickshaws, meeps of scooters, and bells of bicycles all colliding and assaulting eardrums. It seems as though the din will never diminish until at the end of the day, we again cross the threshold into our neighbourhood and the pastoral sounds take over.
With best wishes to you all from a world away,
Irene
I know it's been a long time. But the Pundit is back. Irene and I spent the last few months in India and Phoenix. While we were in India, Irene sent a series of e-mails to friends describing her experiences. They make for interesting reading. I thought that it would be a good, non-controversial, way to return to punditry by posting her India memoirs on the blog. So here it is: the first one. Hope you enjoy them, and if you do, pass it on.
The Sounds of Delhi:
I think of this trip as " Mr. and Mrs. Magoo Do India 2" . Our first trip, 4 years ago, despite everyone's warnings and dire predictions went so smoothly that we were perhaps deluded into thinking that travel in India was a piece of cake.
We have been here for over a week. Four days spent in Delhi and three in Varanasi and maybe we are indeed the Magoos but we find travel here to be easy to manage and ever fascinating.
Arriving at the modern Indira Gandhi airport was smooth...not even a line up at immigration. Having only carry-on luggage for the month meant we could immediate proceed to the "Prepaid Taxi" counter. We gave the address of our hotel and paid the required amount to the ticket seller. We brought our receipt to the first in line at the queue and our second trip to India was underway!
Our taxi was one of the typical Delhi fleet. The cars look like 1958 Vauxhalls or Holdens that have been bashed around, scavenged, and generally mistreated but manage to run on determination alone (not unlike much of the Indian populace).
After a few kilometers, the driver made a swift stop at a gas station. Drivers never seem to like investing too much money on fuel - obviously they are not confident that they will be able to find another paying customer among the 1.4 billion people here. In reality, they often rent their cars and rickshaws to use for a few hours in the hope of making a few rupees in that time. Obviously they do not want to leave too much fuel in the tank for the next renter.
We fueled up, asked directions to the Delhi neighbourhood a few times, and finally made it to the Ahuja Residency. The hotel is small - a converted house in a leafy residential and central neighbourhood, the Golf Links, near the Khan Market. It became our oasis in Delhi.
The area is completely gated and each block of the neighbourhood is built around its own small park.
On our first morning, I woke at 5:30 AM and listened to the sounds of our new world. It was as though a symphony was being created outside. First there was a distant staccato-a wavering musical teletype of a muezzin supported by a soft, far-off bass of a train. These sounds soon quieted and a swelling chorus of birdsong took over filling the airspace. Over a period of time the birdsong reached a crescendo and then lapsed as the sky gradually filled with colour and our day began.
Watching the birds from our rooftop terrace was a real pleasure in Delhi. We had forgotten the variety of species. There were green parrots thrusting into the air , squawking and flying in pairs from park to park; mynas hopping about; kite hawks soaring and crows and magpies gurgling from the branches, smaller birds warbled.
As we walked through the neighbourhood on our way to the market area, the cacaphony of traffic waited for us just beyond the gate. One step out and the honking of horns becomes relentless! Honks of cars, beeps of auto rickshaws, meeps of scooters, and bells of bicycles all colliding and assaulting eardrums. It seems as though the din will never diminish until at the end of the day, we again cross the threshold into our neighbourhood and the pastoral sounds take over.
With best wishes to you all from a world away,
Irene
Friday, January 15, 2010
I Have Been Golfing With Tiger
Some of you may be wondering where I have been. No posts for a while. I confess. I have been playing golf with Tiger on his yacht "Privacy". Hence no blogging. The yacht has a great course - bit long (7000 yards) - but then Tiger is a good driver (the golfing type). I played terribly. Kept hitting it into the water. Tiger and I made a pact. I would come out and blog again when he resumed golf. I broke the pact.
I am in Phoenix. We have had lots of guests over the holidays, and great weather, but now it's back to work. Reading tort cases on line. Who cares if it's sunny and in the 70's (sorry, in the 20's) outside. Nothing beats a good tort case, I say.
Lots have been going on of course that I could be commenting on. What's with the Conservatives, eh? I leave and they have a 15 point lead and three weeks later, all squared. I guess its that "proroguing" thing again. Worked last time for Harper. Pressed his luck I guess.
I get a lot of cable chatter here. Frankly, I am getting sick of it. The polarization in the media in the USA is over the top. Haiti of course is the big story. An unbelievable tragedy. Yet even that can be politicized. Nut bars like Rush Limbaugh come out with moronic theories about Obama being more concerned about Haiti than he was the underwear would be bomber because of race. Democrats praise Obama for his speedy response drawing negative analogies to Bush and Katrina. The cable networks boast about their complete 24/7 coverage of the tragedy running the same clips over and over. Health care debate seems to have taken a bit of a side line but it seems like it will happen. I guess the interesting race to watch is in Massachusetts Tuesday. If the Republican wins, that is big stuff. Might be bad for the health care bill.
Anyway, just wanted to say hello. Hello.
I am in Phoenix. We have had lots of guests over the holidays, and great weather, but now it's back to work. Reading tort cases on line. Who cares if it's sunny and in the 70's (sorry, in the 20's) outside. Nothing beats a good tort case, I say.
Lots have been going on of course that I could be commenting on. What's with the Conservatives, eh? I leave and they have a 15 point lead and three weeks later, all squared. I guess its that "proroguing" thing again. Worked last time for Harper. Pressed his luck I guess.
I get a lot of cable chatter here. Frankly, I am getting sick of it. The polarization in the media in the USA is over the top. Haiti of course is the big story. An unbelievable tragedy. Yet even that can be politicized. Nut bars like Rush Limbaugh come out with moronic theories about Obama being more concerned about Haiti than he was the underwear would be bomber because of race. Democrats praise Obama for his speedy response drawing negative analogies to Bush and Katrina. The cable networks boast about their complete 24/7 coverage of the tragedy running the same clips over and over. Health care debate seems to have taken a bit of a side line but it seems like it will happen. I guess the interesting race to watch is in Massachusetts Tuesday. If the Republican wins, that is big stuff. Might be bad for the health care bill.
Anyway, just wanted to say hello. Hello.
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