I'm a Great Auntie


Not just because I'm mostly fabulous (when I'm not flipping off piggy drivers who tick me off, or some other lame thing), but because my neice gave birth to a beautiful baby girl last night! We don't know her name yet so I'm calling her Pinky. She was 8 lbs. 10 oz., 21" long, and delivered via C section. This makes my sister a grandma!...she must be MUCH OLDER than me.

Oh So Pretty...

...and such a Big Fat hassle! Okay, so we left the in-laws house last night at 6:30 for our 9:10 flight home. It's about a 45 minute drive, a two hour flight at the most (1 hour 40 with a tail wind), and 20 minutes from the airport here to our front door. The taxi dropped us home at a couple of minutes before 3 a.m. this morning! It took us FOUR HOURS to travel the 34 miles from the in-laws to the airport. Makes one feel not-so-affectionate about snow. It also makes one feel oh-so-thankful to wake up to bright sunshine outside my window this morning...so good to be home!

But back to last night, cuz I'm not quite done bitchin' about it yet....So those four hours?--3+ of them were spent crawling or at a standstill on the freeway, because you see Seattle does not know how to do snow. It doesn't happen often enough to necessitate a fleet of snow removal equipment, nor for people to learn how to operate a moving vehicle under such conditions--Buffalo it ain't (and thankgawd, or I would NEVER go there). We passed many cars abandoned at the side of the road, and one, come to think of it, abandoned right in the middle of the interstate, plus an articulated bus jackknifed and another off in the ditch. We listened to the traffic reporting on the radio as we crept along, and they were saying things like "the worst traffic situation in a decade." Sweet.

Ready for the wacky end of the story? We still made our flight! It was like angels delayed it just for us (or maybe it was the snow). We checked in past 10:30 for a 9:10 flight, and still made it...as we were approaching the gate they were announcing the "final call" for flight such and so. On we went and squeezed ourselves into two of the only-remaining middle seats. They de-iced the plane, and off we went.

Home is a good thing. And this would NOT be the time to ask if we are traveling again at Christmas. If you insist on asking such a thing I will run screaming from the room with my hands clamped firmly over my ears--think "The Scream" in motion.

My New Passion: painting!

Guest Room

Here are some shots of our current guest room occupants, Scott and Hilary. They are family who are also friends.

More Shanghai scenes.

HOLY COW
street scene from India

"There's nothing clever about dying young."


I don't know who said that, but it is certainly true. It is fresh on my mind because a week and a half ago a friend of mine took her own life at 30-something. Some think it was accidental, but either way, she swallowed some stuff and never woke up. No note. Very un-clever. Devastating. Incomprehensible. I want to believe it was accidental. That would be much easier on everyone, especially her parents. Your child taking their own life must be the worst thing ever. Ever. EVER.

So today was the viewing. I went, partly in order to believe she's actually gone. Almost immediatley upon entering the funeral home, tears sprang up, taking me by surprize in their early arrival and abundance. It's not like we were best friends; we had only known one another for a year or so...we bonded over shared battles with depression. I guess I cry easy, especially around something so frickin' SAD. She tried so hard.

One of her sweet aunties was there, greeted me almost as soon as I entered, and was so kind. She took my arm and steered me to the Dad, who gave me a big bear hug though we'd never met, then auntie said "Amy's back here" and led me down the hall to the chapel room where she lay. There she was, looking like herself. Except she wasn't there. I kept expecting to see her move her hand, or see her chest rise and fall with breath. But the breath is all gone. We don't notice the movement of life until it isn't there. She was still. Completely still. There, but gone.

Look closely in the mirror of this auto-rickshaw we hired in India.

Another scene in India.

More images from Bangalore, India.

The Great Wall of China, Badaling section.

Houhai lake in Beijing

Our guide Jackie said this is a "typical" home for Beijing.

The rules of this bar are clearly posted outside...and it was full of westerners.

America exports only the best to Beijing.

It seemed to always be this crowded in Shanghai. Perhaps it is because there are 17 million people who live there?...and then people like us who are visiting. Yikes.

Knock offs in Shanghai are not limited to watches and purses. Craig thinks "The Colonel" looks like The Chairman (Mao).

Culture Shock
...and yet, after the initial "discomfort" it actually isn't so bad...it eliminates that desire for seat covers anyway.

Oops, double posted the same photo...here's one you haven't seen yet (hopefully). Night shots of Shanghai from our hotel window.

Craig and me sweating in Shanghai

HOME AT LAST

Yesterday morning (local time) we arrived safely back at SFO. Oh, home sweet home. I have only so much travel equity in me, and mine was spent, and then some. On our bodies, it was the wee hours, so I climbed in my bed at 11:00 am, and mostly stayed there, save a few wanderings out for peanut butter on bread, until 8am this morning--Saturday.

I wanted to post much more frequently during the trip, but in India and China I was not allowed much access to blogspot...oh well. I'll be posting more in the next days, showing pix from our adventures. Thankful to have gone, thankful to be home safe.

True street art.

Partial view from our hotel room.

He granted permission...for a small donation.

Sweet comfort in a green tea frapaccino.

The ladies gave permission for this photo, then surely made fun of me for wanting to take it!

Pins at a small shop.

Craig and me in Shanghai

SHANGHAI

Think Manhattan times a thousand with heat like Singapore. It is incomprehensible, really. Skyscrapers further than the eye can see in every direction. Yesterday Craig and I did some of the typical tourist things---saw the cool double-sphere tower, went to the largest mall in Shanghai (by accident, we were just looking for a place to get lunch with air con), and went to Shanghai Old Street. At one point I caught myself thinking "we must be in Chinatown" then realized it's all chinatown...duh.

In the tourist areas we were constantly being approached with greetings such as "Hello, watch, purse, Louis Vittion, Prada, many, right here" while being shown laminated flyers picturing various purses and watches. So far I've resisted the street solicitation, but when they say "Coach" I begin to drool. I'm at war with myself, because I don't believe in knockoffs, but, much like some women are seduced by shoes or the perfect boot (my shout out to Hilary), and men by a beautiful woman, fabulous bags can make me weak in the knees and willing to abandon (almost) all principle.

After the tourist destinations, we wandered around and quickly found ourselves in the other Shanghai. Places screaming to be photographed, but requiring much restraint as Craig also described on his blog. No one wants to be treated like they are in a "zoo." We tried to be respectful, and asked permission to photograph when appropriate. I was refused only once, by an elderly woman. The mops at the front of her home were beautiful in their way, but she shook her head.

I will try and post some photos, but have had some difficulty, so we'll see if it works.

India

Well, where to begin? Immediately after getting off the airplane it was obvious we were not in Singapore. So I'll start by saying the Singapore airport is the nicest I've ever seen. It has much to offer including kiosks with free internet access, napping areas, free foot-massasge machines, live orchids and other tropical plants and flowers everywhere, spa like shops where you can get foot or back massages, retail stores such as Burberry, Salvatore Ferragamo, and Coach.

Now we enter Bangalore International airport. Dirty linoleum, haphazard paint jobs, missing ceiling tiles, piles of construction (destruction?) rubble, two (that i noticed) plate glass windows broken with huge shards in place and nothing to prevent someone from entering there. In one area of baggage claim I counted 7 ceiling fans, 2 of which were operating, and one tiny shop selling candy bars and chips.

Then we walk outside and the real adventure begins! There is no order to the parking. Or the driving. A car was waiting for us courtesy of the hotel, so we didn't have to endure the gauntlet of drivers wanting to take us. As we entered the haphazard crush of vehicles exiting we first experienced the Indian form of lane demarcation: go wherever you will fit (one half inch clearance is plenty) and announce yourself all the while with your horn.

We arrive at our hotel, both of us a bit shaken by the reality of Bangalore. The hotel is lovely, and we settle in for the night. Next day we ask the concierge for advice, and he suggests we hire a taxi to take us to various sights around town. This sounds fine, so off we go. The traffic and driving habits are astounding. It seems a requirement to use the horn in direct proportion to how much the gas pedal is used. OK, but are a lot of people staring in the windows at us? Why is that young girlchild doing gymnastic tricks on the corner and then tapping on our window? Doing tricks for money? Oh.

Our driver takes us to the Bull Temple, fine, interesting, a big bull carved from one stone, why not pray to a rock? Next he pulls into a driveway, stops and we are ushered into an apparent rug showroom complete with highly detailed demonstration, high pressure, lengthy, tea-is-served sales presentation. Right, well we're not really in the market for a several hundred dollar silk or wool rug. No, not the carved stone elephants or the semi-precious jewellery (that's how it is spelled here) or the pashminas, or even the lovely hand painted paintings. No. Really. We're leaving..."Kumar! we're ready!!"

So we get in the car, gently tell Kumar (not making it up) that was a bit too high presssure for us, please don't take us to any more places like it. So we drive past the library, through a park, stop at a large government building, all the while being stared at in and out of the car. Then we are delivered to another shop! The kind where the lights weren't on until you arrived, and now everyone is scurrying around, turning on lights, manning their stations. Please, sit down, allow me to show you the turquoise...the one I like is $600 dollars american? Ya, not so much...just a bit out of my souvenir budget. So I try and gracefully look at the scarves and ties. But the ONE that Craig likes is dusty, soiled. "This one is a bit dirty...do you have another? "Madam, I assure you all of these are new. It is against the policy of our shop {implied: and i am HEARTILY offended that you would suggest such a thing] to sell anything which has been worn." Silly me. But it is dirty. KUMAR!

Next we are dropped on a narrow, busy, crowded retail street. Shops full of dusty stuff we don't want. And we are beginning to recognize the Indian style of customer service: stalk the customer. They just come and stand right by you, and stay close wherever you go. I was this close to taking out some restraining orders! And the crowds and the garbage and the honking and the crumbling buildings---which we still can not tell if they are being built or being torn down. If they are being built, start praying to the bull right now that there is never an earthquake...or a loud clap of thunder.

By this time we were shell-shocked, and asked Kumar to honk our way back to the hotel. Wow. Ok, so fast forward to the next day: Craig had work meetings all day, and I literally did not leave the hotel room until he returned at dinner time. I just didn't have it in me to venture out into that wild world.

But today, off we went, Craig and I. This time on foot---no more high pressure sales destinations for us! But we did experience more of the customer-stalker mentality, and boy do i hate it. Get the f**k away from me. In one shop it seemed there were literally 12 stalkers for every customer. Two young men practically came to fisticuffs trying to convince me the handbag they had shown me was the better one for me. Aaaaaaaack.

From that western-ish shopping area, we set off walking some more, and ended up having the best time we'd had yet...wandering the streets, taking photos. We were so off the tourist track, if there even is one, little children in front of their homes were calling to their siblings inside to come out and see the white people! I can't swear that is what they were saying, but they saw us, called inside the house, and more faces peeked out at us. We waved and smiled. Not all the grownups were so happy to see us, however. Or maybe smiling at strangers isn't culturally acceptable, except for children. After getting ourselves thoroughly lost, and finding our city map incomplete, we did our most adventurous thing and hired one of the 3 wheel, 2 stroke engine vehicles to taxi us back to the hotel. OMG, imagine Space Mountain or the Raiders of the Lost Ark ride at Disneyland, without any of the safety precautions! Wild, fast, hair raising, white knuckle adventure! And just as we were delivered to our hotel, a monsoon rainstorm let loose. Such fun.

After today, I think I actually prefer India, stalkers and all, to Singapore. At least it feels real here, and not so freakishly hot. Even with men peeing indiscriminately at the side of the road, and moms taking their toddlers down the block to poo on the sidewalk not quite right in front of their own home (a park shared with cows and at least one goat). Watch where you walk. And smile at the children.

Another cool tile from the Melbourne plaza.

This photo is of a tile in a plaza in Melbourne. Mostly nonsensical, yet containing a sentiment most of us carry somewhere inside. I found it sweet, and the placement interesting: on the ground.

My favorite sign from the trip so far. It was in Melbourne, Australia.

SINGAPORE

August in New York City. Now add a thousand degrees, ten trillion people, a minimum of two shopping centers per block and you've imagined Singapore. Do I sound a tad cranky? I'm sorry to be so, and yet have trouble being cheery when every pore of my body is like a faucet left on. I haven't been this miserable from weather-related causes since, let's see...oh ya, that 2 weeks in August of 2002 that we spent in Manhattan.

Day before yesterday we went to a local indoor market in the section known as "Little India." It was like four floors (thankfully air conditioned) of knock-offs and glorified dollar store merchandise. It provided my biggest incident of culture shock: the restrooms had no TP (or towels) but rather a handy hose in each stall. Yes, a HOSE. So you get to clean off your wet parts with water...don't even THINK about going number two.

The heat has not prevented us from venturing out, but it has limited our wanderings. We frequently duck into an air conditioned space for respite, and that's where those ubiquitious shopping centers come in handy. We suspect this is how many Singaporeans spend their time---wandering the malls. Guess it's just another thing they have in common with the US.

LOVE, SYDNEY


A mere 17+ hours on a plane ("Holy butt cramp, Batman!"), and voila, here we are in another hemisphere, a different continent, the middle of winter. Same language though, so that's brilliant. Craig is off to lunch and a meeting today, and I might shower and go exploring some more on foot. We did a fair amount of that yesterday in order to make ourselves stay up until at least 7p.