Hi,
Have been busy. Busy is good. Keeps your mind from turning into a devil's workshop. It's Navaratri (nine nights)/Dussehra season. Ends tomorrow with Vijayadashami, an auspicious day for new beginnings. A day of gratitude toward those who have been a source of wisdom in your life, particularly teachers.
An interesting article in today's New York Times about web cast lecture by a moral philosophy prof at Harvard(where else;-). Check out: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/26/arts/television/26sandel.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=Professor%20Sandel&st=cse.
It's interesting how when we talk about morality we talk of extreme cases (E.g. Torture. Most examples in the professor's lecture deal with extreme cases). My dilemmas are really not at this level. They are much more mundane. In fact, faced with what's right and wrong, where is the dilemma? Yet, even if we do the right thing (e.g. being there for someone who needs your assistance on an ongoing basis) how committed are we? To me this is where I face a sense of guilt. I've never been faced with a situation where I needed to decide if I must torture someone to get something in return for this. I general, I find more people needing help on a more mundane level and this is where most of us are baffled and do not always do the right thing. Ponder a bit, my friends. You'll see what I mean.
All right, moving on, and backing up B & I went to the city to check out the conclusion of New York-400 (New York's City's 400th birthday). It was September 13 and a picture perfect day. One of the attractions was a mini Dutch Village selling Dutch wares, cheese, et al. The princess and prince made an appearance. We got to see them up close. Seem like nice folks:) In 1609 The voyage to Mannahatta (renamed New Amsterdam) by the Dutch by Henry Hudson (an Englishman) under the auspices of the Dutch East India Company.
The village and the Windmill were on Bowling Green Plaza and this allowed me to visit my old haunt nearby when I used to work at 55 Water St. Nothing had changed and it felt like just yesterday that I used to be there. One bug change, however: lots more eating places in the alley across from Goldman Sachs.
It's interesting how the Jewish Rosh Hashanah followed by Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) coincides with Navaratri almost every year. Interesting that Hinduism with its prevalent belief in karma doesn't seem to have a day of atonement. In other words once you commit a paapam/paap (sin), that's it. There is no redemption other than taking another birth (this in fact is the punishment) and do enough good karma to nullify the paapam. Interesting how each culture defines sin and atonement.
Got to go now.
Ciao!
Ro.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Racism, Movies, Nicole Beharie, India has got talent
Last night I went to see "American Violet," a powerful docu-drama on racism set in early 2000 (think election), in Melody (original name of place: Hearne), Texas. The main character's name was Dee Roberts (real-life persons' name: Regina Kelly) portrayed by the beautiful actress, Nicole Beharie (http://womenandhollywood.com/2009/04/17/interview-with-nicole-beharie-star-of-american-violet/comment-page-1/#comment-4336. I hope the movie gets to be seen by people in the millions. What a shame so many dud-movies are blockbusters while meaningful movies like "American Violet" could languish. I hope not. It's directed by Tim Disney (Walt Disney's grandnephew)
A moving e-mail landed in my inbox. Here it's (if you understand Hindi, you'll appreciate it more): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq_NoGhvnsM. I was blown away by it mainly because of the background of the participants and of course the quality of their work. All the pettiness in the world evaporated in one stroke at the end of this video.
I don't want to post so infrequently. So even if it's just a few lines and nothing too profound, I plan to post more regularly.
Ciao.
Ro.
A moving e-mail landed in my inbox. Here it's (if you understand Hindi, you'll appreciate it more): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq_NoGhvnsM. I was blown away by it mainly because of the background of the participants and of course the quality of their work. All the pettiness in the world evaporated in one stroke at the end of this video.
I don't want to post so infrequently. So even if it's just a few lines and nothing too profound, I plan to post more regularly.
Ciao.
Ro.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Summer 2009, Recipes, Water Melon, Cape Cod, Philly
Gosh, it's been so long since I posted. Summer gets to be too hectic, although this year summer has been a joke so far. Even the flowers did not bloom as they should have. A very half-hearted attempt just like the season itself. The last few days have been the dog days of August (this never fails) which was preceded by rains of biblical proportions. Even the grass had said, "Enough already!"
August is when half of New York seems to be a in lock-down mode. Very few business transactions seem to take place except for hiked up (than usual) real estate deals. A New Yorker is too aware of the soon-to-arrive winter (yes, before one knows it, it's November in New York), so like a destitute at a banquet, in August, New Yorkers set aside everything else and lap up the fading summer glory in its every facet.
I too took in my share. For the July 4 weekend we made our first trip to Cape Cod with a day trip to Martha's Vineyard. The picture perfect day was nothing less than heaven. We spent time mainly at Oaks Bluff and Edgartown (recommended by a fellow lodger at the B&B we stayed in in Hyannis). Like we had done before, too, on our way back we took the ferry from New London, CT to Orient Point, Long Island, NY.
On long trips I too tend to read (especially on road trips, while my hubby drives I catch up on the New York Times Sunday Magazines reading out some of the more interesting pieces to hubby also) but on my boat trip I realized more was happening around me than what I could have ever found in books, which anyway I could catch up on later. Nothing can beat the real-life stories in real time. One of the funniest things was a little boy---no more than a year-and-a-half old---the way he was cussing at his mother: f*** you, his setting totally oblivious to him.
It was another picture-perfect day and of course, the drive back home from Orient Point is something I love. Particularly the stopover in quaint Greenport. A cup of Hershey's ice cream (lotsa of my favorite caramel in it) capped my weekend binging.
On July 26, we drove to Philly, yet another beautiful place that I am very fond of and just two hours from home. It was another gorgeous day when life looked and felt like it could be perfect. It was a nice outing for dad who doesn't go out much these days. Yet another ferry ride between historic Philly and Camden (an aquarium is an attraction here; we had gone to the fabulous Mystic, CT aquarium on our way back from Hyannis to New London), NJ on the Delaware river made the trip a richer exp. Before summer is officially over, perhaps one more trip somewhere close by may be nice. Will have to see.
Met a couple of interesting people in July, one, a father Charles (http://www.gnana.info/) from India who was visiting St. Joseph's Parish in Kings Park for a year. He went back today.
Accidentally learned watermelon smoothie from a recipe in the New York Times. The timing was perfect. Here was this huge melon cut up into five large pieces like a dismembered body and tucked away in the crisper and slowly disintegrating. The recipe came in real handy. Here it is: melon slices plus sugar to taste plus lime/lemon (I used lemon) juice. I felt adding fresh ginger would make the drink more delicious. I was right. I tried both with and without the ginger. With is amazing! Throw them all in together into an electric blender and puree them. I grated them first mainly because of the ginger pieces.
Got to go now.
Ciao!
Ro.
August is when half of New York seems to be a in lock-down mode. Very few business transactions seem to take place except for hiked up (than usual) real estate deals. A New Yorker is too aware of the soon-to-arrive winter (yes, before one knows it, it's November in New York), so like a destitute at a banquet, in August, New Yorkers set aside everything else and lap up the fading summer glory in its every facet.
I too took in my share. For the July 4 weekend we made our first trip to Cape Cod with a day trip to Martha's Vineyard. The picture perfect day was nothing less than heaven. We spent time mainly at Oaks Bluff and Edgartown (recommended by a fellow lodger at the B&B we stayed in in Hyannis). Like we had done before, too, on our way back we took the ferry from New London, CT to Orient Point, Long Island, NY.
On long trips I too tend to read (especially on road trips, while my hubby drives I catch up on the New York Times Sunday Magazines reading out some of the more interesting pieces to hubby also) but on my boat trip I realized more was happening around me than what I could have ever found in books, which anyway I could catch up on later. Nothing can beat the real-life stories in real time. One of the funniest things was a little boy---no more than a year-and-a-half old---the way he was cussing at his mother: f*** you, his setting totally oblivious to him.
It was another picture-perfect day and of course, the drive back home from Orient Point is something I love. Particularly the stopover in quaint Greenport. A cup of Hershey's ice cream (lotsa of my favorite caramel in it) capped my weekend binging.
On July 26, we drove to Philly, yet another beautiful place that I am very fond of and just two hours from home. It was another gorgeous day when life looked and felt like it could be perfect. It was a nice outing for dad who doesn't go out much these days. Yet another ferry ride between historic Philly and Camden (an aquarium is an attraction here; we had gone to the fabulous Mystic, CT aquarium on our way back from Hyannis to New London), NJ on the Delaware river made the trip a richer exp. Before summer is officially over, perhaps one more trip somewhere close by may be nice. Will have to see.
Met a couple of interesting people in July, one, a father Charles (http://www.gnana.info/) from India who was visiting St. Joseph's Parish in Kings Park for a year. He went back today.
Accidentally learned watermelon smoothie from a recipe in the New York Times. The timing was perfect. Here was this huge melon cut up into five large pieces like a dismembered body and tucked away in the crisper and slowly disintegrating. The recipe came in real handy. Here it is: melon slices plus sugar to taste plus lime/lemon (I used lemon) juice. I felt adding fresh ginger would make the drink more delicious. I was right. I tried both with and without the ginger. With is amazing! Throw them all in together into an electric blender and puree them. I grated them first mainly because of the ginger pieces.
Got to go now.
Ciao!
Ro.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Egypt--The Place and the People
Since I’ve posted enough visuals including a slide show, I’m going to summarize the trip at this point one or two areas of interest (place, people, shopping, food, any unusual experiences, et al.) at a time.
First, here is our itinerary:
http://www.oattravel.com/gcc/general/default.aspx?oid=220541&linklocation=search (price varies depending upon the month one picks to travel).
The Place:
Living in New York, the only time I feel the need for a longer break from my familiar surroundings is in February. Wanting to get away from the dead of winter for a few days is probably the biggest reason to take these annual trips to a warmer clime. But this precludes cold places and I’m running out of warm places in winter. Anyway, for now, I don’t plan to travel anywhere too far for a while.
In February, Egypt is very pleasant during daytime although Cairo (during the open-air sound and light show in Giza I had five layers on inclduing a down vest and my bra) being in the north is chilly at night. I took only cotton clothing (very light to fairly thick) with me that could be layered if need be, a wind-breaker with a hood and three light weight Pashmina shawls, that served a purpose both as a fashion statement/a cover for the cooler weather. People who wore shorts were not always comfortable. Familiar with conservative mores, I had chosen not to wear shorts while in Egypt and so did no take any. B did and he wore it in the warmer clime of the southern part (Upper Egypt).
It’s in the south of Cairo that one finds the land more verdant. More greenery is visible. However, overall, the dry heat and dust (Egypt is mostly desert—duh!) do leave a mark on you both literally and figuratively.
Being in this very ancient land with a very ancient civilization that obsessed over life after death, one’s thoughts about such things are more pronounced once you return home. A sense of awe does take one over while visiting the various temples, the valleys of the kings and the queens, and witnessing the remnants of the continuous dynastic history of the place that is and will be its draw forever.
During one’s entire visit to Egypt one cannot help but feel that almost every human endeavor’s seed was sown in this ancient land. Mythology, the numbering system, the calendar, astrology, astronomy, religion, fashion, just to name a few. Now I could see why Egypt is called the cradle of civilization.
The People:
The people are very friendly and helpful. Though it feels and looks like everybody understands English, this can be deceptive. If they only nod their head as if they understood what you said, but do not speak much, you can assume that no real communication has taken place. Regardless, one feels very welcome in Egypt. It's almost as if the people here would like for you to stay here forever. In fact, our program director, in his e-mail after we reached home said that we "had arrived as strangers but left as a family. " I was very touched by this. In a way, this was to be expected I guess when you spend two weeks with people you have never met before but during the trip forge bonds that feel long term.
All the Egyptians I met feel very comfortable under their skin. While friendly nobody tries to impress you except maybe the modern generation in a big city like Cairo where I felt that the host’s son we met wanted us to think his generation was very American.
Talking of the young generation, the nineteen-year-old girl engaged to be married we met in Kom Ombo, the Nubian village we traveled to on camel back from St. Simeon monastery (7th Century A.D.) ruins in the middle of the desert there, left quite an impression in me. Her kohl-lined eyed were unusually expressive. What she could not convey through language her eyes communicated and what they could not, her smile revealing a slight gap between her two front teeth supplemented.
She was dressed traditionally including the hijab covering her head. She apparently had some commercial degree but had chosen not to work. Her family seemed to be comfortable middle class though their home was a two-story traditional mud house. The grandmother wore several gold bangles (I noticed on the plane back to New York, too, a Nubian woman with a lot of gold on her) and they served us a mouth-watering cabbage role dish and Egyptian falafel (basically same as south Indian aamai vadai) made of fava beans, an Egyptian staple and of course, the customary hibiscus juice.
The young woman (I forget her name) looked older than nineteen and so I was curious why she was not married yet. This is when I was told that she was engaged. Whoever marries her can be sure that she would make for an excellent mother and manager. She would expect her man to make a good living, provide for her and her family adequately and in return she would keep a tidy home and her kids would be neat and well behaved.
After serving us the snacks and drinks, she did henna painting on some of the women in the group. The designs were from a notebook she showed. They were small flower patterns and her hand moved dexterously while drawing the designs on the women’s hands. It cost $4 a pop. She was efficient and quick.
Thinking the knickknacks I saw on the walls were for sale, drawn to a Nubian mask, I asked for its price. Though she hardly spoke any English she understood my question and said the price was 100 Egyptian pounds and said something to the effect the mask was made of camel leather. I said that I’d pay $10 and after some resistance she agreed, but when her grandmother came in and she told her about the transaction, the grandmother (a minor celebrity because of the fact her picture had been included in a book about Nubian Women by an African-American professor many years ago, which in a beat up condition she brought out and showed to us) said no. The mask was taken back from me and hung back. Later I came back into the house to check out a duplicate of an item a fellow adventurer had bought. At that point the girl’s aunt was around. She tried to sell me a different basket, which did not interest me. Nor did the other one. But I decided to use the opportunity to revisit the mask. The aunt sold it to me for $12 after settling on the price all through hand gestures.
As we were finally ready to leave, at the exit several locals were milling around who I thought had out of curiosity come to see us foreigners but we were told they were beggars. We were instructed to walk past them. We did. On the way to our ship, at the riverbank we saw several galabeya-wearing vendors selling the same mask I held in my hand over my face. Surprised to see several replicas of what I thought was a unique piece, I held out my piece to the vendors and said "how much?" One said, $8 and another $5. I felt stupid that I had just paid almost double. B said possibly the vendors’ masks were not leather. Later the tour guide said that I was really not supposed to buy anything at the Nubian house and secondly, the vendor might have said $5 just to make me feel bad. After all, he didn’t really sell it to me, did he?
After this incident and the book incident, I was beginning to feel that I didn’t have the right instincts when it came to pricing an item. From then on I became tight-fisted except at the Papyrus factory in Aswan and the Albaster factory in Luxor where we bought three items we knew we would cherish. One was a sultry looking Nefretiti on papyrus and the other two were a finely crafted owl made of basalt and with a certain personality and a regal looking onyx parrot in soft shades of pink and white with a black beak and eyes and an impressive crown to boot. He sits majestically in my living room showcase next to the onyx in light green and pink shades toucan one third the size and price of the parrot I got from Chile in 2008.
Ciao!
Ro.
First, here is our itinerary:
http://www.oattravel.com/gcc/general/default.aspx?oid=220541&linklocation=search (price varies depending upon the month one picks to travel).
The Place:
Living in New York, the only time I feel the need for a longer break from my familiar surroundings is in February. Wanting to get away from the dead of winter for a few days is probably the biggest reason to take these annual trips to a warmer clime. But this precludes cold places and I’m running out of warm places in winter. Anyway, for now, I don’t plan to travel anywhere too far for a while.
In February, Egypt is very pleasant during daytime although Cairo (during the open-air sound and light show in Giza I had five layers on inclduing a down vest and my bra) being in the north is chilly at night. I took only cotton clothing (very light to fairly thick) with me that could be layered if need be, a wind-breaker with a hood and three light weight Pashmina shawls, that served a purpose both as a fashion statement/a cover for the cooler weather. People who wore shorts were not always comfortable. Familiar with conservative mores, I had chosen not to wear shorts while in Egypt and so did no take any. B did and he wore it in the warmer clime of the southern part (Upper Egypt).
It’s in the south of Cairo that one finds the land more verdant. More greenery is visible. However, overall, the dry heat and dust (Egypt is mostly desert—duh!) do leave a mark on you both literally and figuratively.
Being in this very ancient land with a very ancient civilization that obsessed over life after death, one’s thoughts about such things are more pronounced once you return home. A sense of awe does take one over while visiting the various temples, the valleys of the kings and the queens, and witnessing the remnants of the continuous dynastic history of the place that is and will be its draw forever.
During one’s entire visit to Egypt one cannot help but feel that almost every human endeavor’s seed was sown in this ancient land. Mythology, the numbering system, the calendar, astrology, astronomy, religion, fashion, just to name a few. Now I could see why Egypt is called the cradle of civilization.
The People:
The people are very friendly and helpful. Though it feels and looks like everybody understands English, this can be deceptive. If they only nod their head as if they understood what you said, but do not speak much, you can assume that no real communication has taken place. Regardless, one feels very welcome in Egypt. It's almost as if the people here would like for you to stay here forever. In fact, our program director, in his e-mail after we reached home said that we "had arrived as strangers but left as a family. " I was very touched by this. In a way, this was to be expected I guess when you spend two weeks with people you have never met before but during the trip forge bonds that feel long term.
All the Egyptians I met feel very comfortable under their skin. While friendly nobody tries to impress you except maybe the modern generation in a big city like Cairo where I felt that the host’s son we met wanted us to think his generation was very American.
Talking of the young generation, the nineteen-year-old girl engaged to be married we met in Kom Ombo, the Nubian village we traveled to on camel back from St. Simeon monastery (7th Century A.D.) ruins in the middle of the desert there, left quite an impression in me. Her kohl-lined eyed were unusually expressive. What she could not convey through language her eyes communicated and what they could not, her smile revealing a slight gap between her two front teeth supplemented.
She was dressed traditionally including the hijab covering her head. She apparently had some commercial degree but had chosen not to work. Her family seemed to be comfortable middle class though their home was a two-story traditional mud house. The grandmother wore several gold bangles (I noticed on the plane back to New York, too, a Nubian woman with a lot of gold on her) and they served us a mouth-watering cabbage role dish and Egyptian falafel (basically same as south Indian aamai vadai) made of fava beans, an Egyptian staple and of course, the customary hibiscus juice.
The young woman (I forget her name) looked older than nineteen and so I was curious why she was not married yet. This is when I was told that she was engaged. Whoever marries her can be sure that she would make for an excellent mother and manager. She would expect her man to make a good living, provide for her and her family adequately and in return she would keep a tidy home and her kids would be neat and well behaved.
After serving us the snacks and drinks, she did henna painting on some of the women in the group. The designs were from a notebook she showed. They were small flower patterns and her hand moved dexterously while drawing the designs on the women’s hands. It cost $4 a pop. She was efficient and quick.
Thinking the knickknacks I saw on the walls were for sale, drawn to a Nubian mask, I asked for its price. Though she hardly spoke any English she understood my question and said the price was 100 Egyptian pounds and said something to the effect the mask was made of camel leather. I said that I’d pay $10 and after some resistance she agreed, but when her grandmother came in and she told her about the transaction, the grandmother (a minor celebrity because of the fact her picture had been included in a book about Nubian Women by an African-American professor many years ago, which in a beat up condition she brought out and showed to us) said no. The mask was taken back from me and hung back. Later I came back into the house to check out a duplicate of an item a fellow adventurer had bought. At that point the girl’s aunt was around. She tried to sell me a different basket, which did not interest me. Nor did the other one. But I decided to use the opportunity to revisit the mask. The aunt sold it to me for $12 after settling on the price all through hand gestures.
As we were finally ready to leave, at the exit several locals were milling around who I thought had out of curiosity come to see us foreigners but we were told they were beggars. We were instructed to walk past them. We did. On the way to our ship, at the riverbank we saw several galabeya-wearing vendors selling the same mask I held in my hand over my face. Surprised to see several replicas of what I thought was a unique piece, I held out my piece to the vendors and said "how much?" One said, $8 and another $5. I felt stupid that I had just paid almost double. B said possibly the vendors’ masks were not leather. Later the tour guide said that I was really not supposed to buy anything at the Nubian house and secondly, the vendor might have said $5 just to make me feel bad. After all, he didn’t really sell it to me, did he?
After this incident and the book incident, I was beginning to feel that I didn’t have the right instincts when it came to pricing an item. From then on I became tight-fisted except at the Papyrus factory in Aswan and the Albaster factory in Luxor where we bought three items we knew we would cherish. One was a sultry looking Nefretiti on papyrus and the other two were a finely crafted owl made of basalt and with a certain personality and a regal looking onyx parrot in soft shades of pink and white with a black beak and eyes and an impressive crown to boot. He sits majestically in my living room showcase next to the onyx in light green and pink shades toucan one third the size and price of the parrot I got from Chile in 2008.
Ciao!
Ro.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Travel, Egypt, Cairo, Aswan, Abu Simbel, Edfu, Esna, Luxor, Karnak, Vacations
Enjoy! A picture is worth a thousand words, a video . . . a million pixels. Video by B, editing by Ro.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2406259326561768269&hl=en (23 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2298218742280305115 (40 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5583186422736651868 (26 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3010289004800089016 (26 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2369360184184741460&hl=en (55 Digital Slides--9 minutes long)
Ciao!
Ro.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2406259326561768269&hl=en (23 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2298218742280305115 (40 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5583186422736651868 (26 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3010289004800089016 (26 minutes)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2369360184184741460&hl=en (55 Digital Slides--9 minutes long)
Ciao!
Ro.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Travel, Egypt, Cairo, Vacations
Continued from March 5 post . . .
That night we went to Nadia’s house in what Ahmed called the upscale part of Cairo. On the bus, Ahmed informed us that Nadia’s family was upper middle class. Her husband owned several businesses. She did not speak English but her son Karim who would be there that night spoke good English.
Ahmed in general described a family like Nadia’s. Apparently, such families in Cairo owned three or four cars. The hefty SUV usually belonged to the son along with a motorbike, the shiny car to the sister, the older car to the mother and the rickety old one to the father.
It was night time, yet we could see that it was a chic part of town as evident from the bright lights, many fancy stores and foreign car dealerships in the neighborhood. We walked a few steps from our bus, weaving through the parked cars and other vehicles in front of the building, we went into the lobby and then into the elevator whose limit was ten people. Ahmed said that it was a new building and this was evident from the marble and granite dust in the lobby and some loose slabs lying around. Nadia and her family had been there just a few months.
The apartment was expansive with the sitting area and the dining area separated by some low chairs, the style that represented almost all the furniture in the space we were in. On one side of the living area, all were such chairs and on the other side was a sofa flanked by two chairs. There was a lot of similar-looking furniture and a lot of seating for a moderate-sized space.
As soon as we entered the apartment, the first thing we noticed was the home-remedy bandage on Nadia’s forearm and hand and a small nick on her upper lip and a tiny bump on her nose which I didn’t think was something that was acquired. Well, the narrative was she had felt dizzy and fallen down on the street that morning and had hurt herself. Later, someone in the group wondered if she was on drugs and if this is why she fainted. My speculation was she had not eaten. She did look famished though she was by no means light weight. She had not gone to the hospital yet because of our visit. Nadia was dressed traditionally in a galabeya and head scarf, seemed like a religious woman who prayed five times a day and kept house.
Nadia had this dignified posture and a round face sporting a Mona Lisa smile on a short frame and she spoke no English. We all sympathized with her condition. Soon we took our seats and a woman (maybe hired help, maybe a friend, it wasn’t too clear; she wore similar clothes like Nadia but displayed a different social class) brought the ubiquitous hibiscus juice in clear glasses neatly arranged on a tray. Like the mint tea in Morocco, hibiscus juice is the ice-breaker in Egypt. You just can’t escape it. The best version we had was in the tent in Edfu when we went to see the temple of Horus there.
Sporting tight jeans and a close haircut the son showed up soon. He was 24 and spoke good American English and kept saying that the youngsters in Egypt did the same things that American youngsters did, going to night clubs, etc. He had a girlfriend but till they got married, they returned home to their own separate beds. So much for his knowledge of the American culture!
Members in the group chimed in that 50 years ago that’s how things were in America. I guess we were more Arab back then.
Karim talked a lot partly because many questiosn wer asked of him. One question had to do with service in teh Egyptian army. He said that he was in the army but would be getting out within year because of some rules he was able to bend to his will because of his dad's connections. He was chubby and gap-toothed and it was clear that he hung around mainly to be there for moral support for his mother. He was a bit Teflon-coated, I thought. He showed us a copy of the DVD of the TV hit show "Desperate Housewives" he had got for his girlfriend. A young woman in the group mocked him for his taste and asked why he couldn't have found some better fare. When i asked what she would suggest, I didn't get an aswer.
The help brought out the food to the table. The food was amazingly delicious. Egypt is a vegetarian’s paradise. Nadia had made (I assume she made them but with one arm?) about six dishes. Potatoes, okra, eggplant, onions and tomatoes dominate Egyptian cooking. There is an extra zing to their dishes which seems to be the result of the tang in their tomatoes grown most likely naturally without any artificial coaxing we seem to do in the US. Maybe it’s because of the Nile water but the vegetables and fruits were very tasty.
I filled up my plate and one member wondered how possibly could I eat so much. Later I was told by another member that because I am small (on the first day of my trip I was indeed wearing a 6 petite) it’s legit for people to wonder how I can eat so much and still be petite.
I must confess though that when I travel abroad most of the times not expecting much vegetarian food, when I see it, I do behave like I had never seen food before nor will I see it again for days on end. Also, because non-vegetarians eat both kinds of food, I feel that there may not be much left for me if I am not alert. Hey, we all have our anxieties.
Knock on wood, since childhood food has been aplenty in my life yet we all know that fears are most of the time irrational. Anyway, after the first couple of days I slowed down and my total weight gain after the 2-week bingeing has been about six pounds. Not bad in my opinion. It’ll take ten-12 trips to the gym to burn the extra pounds I think.
Between dinner and dessert (Karim left during dessert), Nadia drew my attention to some fabulous crochet work visible on a low table and on a chair where a few of them (most of them black) were stacked up. Through sign language she communicated that she had made them. You could tell she was very proud of them. I picked them (most of them shawls and tablecloths) up and displayed them for the benefit of the others. Everybody went "ooh" "aah," etc. I asked Nadia if she sold them. She said no, they were made for the family. This is when we also asked about the people in the numerous photos on the wall and on the credenza top. In the wedding picture of Nadia’s parents the mother looked like a movie star. If Nadia were a bit lighter, her features and beauty would come through better too.
Soon our attention turned to the three desserts on the table. One of them was baklahva, which I avoided throughout my trip (just looked too syrupy and I get enough of it right here in NY) and some kind of pudding I think and the third one was a dish with lots of fresh strawberry slices in a pink, milky liquid. I tried this first, was blown away by its taste and stuck with it for the next ten minutes going at it like I’d never find this dish ever again in my life. Hardly anybody else went for it. No complaints here from me, though. I found out that the liquid was sweetened yogurt. I plan to make it at home one of these days when the strawberry season begins.
Later, a couple of us in the group (one in her early 30’s) obsessed a bit about the possible weight gain running our fingers beneath our pant waistline every few minutes. So when we saw a gym in the hotel we were happy and in fact did work out a couple of times the next two days we were there. I had taken my smallest size but had reduced enough before I left to make room for the inevitable expansion during the trip.
Visit to Nadia’s home (on our way out, many women in the group took a peek at her kitchen which looked very modern and neat) was on the 4th day of our trip and 3rd day in Egypt. On the third day of our trip and 2nd day in Giza (west side of the Nile) we went to see the pyramids. What impressed me more than the pyramids was the very looooong solar boat (http://www.solarnavigator.net/egyptian_solar_boat.htm;
http://www.egyptvoyager.com/museums_solar.htm) that some claim was used to carry the pharaoh’s mummified body from the east (where the sun rose) to the west (where the sun set, hence bodies were buried here) bank of the Nile.
Half of Egypt seems to be nothing but tombs (Dr. Hawaas of the Supreme Council of Egyptian Antiquities is employed for life), a constant reminder of our temporary sojourn on this earth. Later the theme gets repeated through the book of the dead, the balancing of the feather with the dead person’s heart and if the heart weighed more than the feather, then heaven was not for this person (http://www.si.umich.edu/CHICO/mummy/Afterlife/Gods/Godstextx.html).
I like constant reminders of our mortality and the need for us to be aware of our judgment day. It seems that the ancient Egyptians were obsessed with this concept and with the desire for a better after life.
At night the optional light and sound show covering the three pyramids and the Sphinx was wonderful.
More to come in the days ahead.
Ciao!
Ro.
That night we went to Nadia’s house in what Ahmed called the upscale part of Cairo. On the bus, Ahmed informed us that Nadia’s family was upper middle class. Her husband owned several businesses. She did not speak English but her son Karim who would be there that night spoke good English.
Ahmed in general described a family like Nadia’s. Apparently, such families in Cairo owned three or four cars. The hefty SUV usually belonged to the son along with a motorbike, the shiny car to the sister, the older car to the mother and the rickety old one to the father.
It was night time, yet we could see that it was a chic part of town as evident from the bright lights, many fancy stores and foreign car dealerships in the neighborhood. We walked a few steps from our bus, weaving through the parked cars and other vehicles in front of the building, we went into the lobby and then into the elevator whose limit was ten people. Ahmed said that it was a new building and this was evident from the marble and granite dust in the lobby and some loose slabs lying around. Nadia and her family had been there just a few months.
The apartment was expansive with the sitting area and the dining area separated by some low chairs, the style that represented almost all the furniture in the space we were in. On one side of the living area, all were such chairs and on the other side was a sofa flanked by two chairs. There was a lot of similar-looking furniture and a lot of seating for a moderate-sized space.
As soon as we entered the apartment, the first thing we noticed was the home-remedy bandage on Nadia’s forearm and hand and a small nick on her upper lip and a tiny bump on her nose which I didn’t think was something that was acquired. Well, the narrative was she had felt dizzy and fallen down on the street that morning and had hurt herself. Later, someone in the group wondered if she was on drugs and if this is why she fainted. My speculation was she had not eaten. She did look famished though she was by no means light weight. She had not gone to the hospital yet because of our visit. Nadia was dressed traditionally in a galabeya and head scarf, seemed like a religious woman who prayed five times a day and kept house.
Nadia had this dignified posture and a round face sporting a Mona Lisa smile on a short frame and she spoke no English. We all sympathized with her condition. Soon we took our seats and a woman (maybe hired help, maybe a friend, it wasn’t too clear; she wore similar clothes like Nadia but displayed a different social class) brought the ubiquitous hibiscus juice in clear glasses neatly arranged on a tray. Like the mint tea in Morocco, hibiscus juice is the ice-breaker in Egypt. You just can’t escape it. The best version we had was in the tent in Edfu when we went to see the temple of Horus there.
Sporting tight jeans and a close haircut the son showed up soon. He was 24 and spoke good American English and kept saying that the youngsters in Egypt did the same things that American youngsters did, going to night clubs, etc. He had a girlfriend but till they got married, they returned home to their own separate beds. So much for his knowledge of the American culture!
Members in the group chimed in that 50 years ago that’s how things were in America. I guess we were more Arab back then.
Karim talked a lot partly because many questiosn wer asked of him. One question had to do with service in teh Egyptian army. He said that he was in the army but would be getting out within year because of some rules he was able to bend to his will because of his dad's connections. He was chubby and gap-toothed and it was clear that he hung around mainly to be there for moral support for his mother. He was a bit Teflon-coated, I thought. He showed us a copy of the DVD of the TV hit show "Desperate Housewives" he had got for his girlfriend. A young woman in the group mocked him for his taste and asked why he couldn't have found some better fare. When i asked what she would suggest, I didn't get an aswer.
The help brought out the food to the table. The food was amazingly delicious. Egypt is a vegetarian’s paradise. Nadia had made (I assume she made them but with one arm?) about six dishes. Potatoes, okra, eggplant, onions and tomatoes dominate Egyptian cooking. There is an extra zing to their dishes which seems to be the result of the tang in their tomatoes grown most likely naturally without any artificial coaxing we seem to do in the US. Maybe it’s because of the Nile water but the vegetables and fruits were very tasty.
I filled up my plate and one member wondered how possibly could I eat so much. Later I was told by another member that because I am small (on the first day of my trip I was indeed wearing a 6 petite) it’s legit for people to wonder how I can eat so much and still be petite.
I must confess though that when I travel abroad most of the times not expecting much vegetarian food, when I see it, I do behave like I had never seen food before nor will I see it again for days on end. Also, because non-vegetarians eat both kinds of food, I feel that there may not be much left for me if I am not alert. Hey, we all have our anxieties.
Knock on wood, since childhood food has been aplenty in my life yet we all know that fears are most of the time irrational. Anyway, after the first couple of days I slowed down and my total weight gain after the 2-week bingeing has been about six pounds. Not bad in my opinion. It’ll take ten-12 trips to the gym to burn the extra pounds I think.
Between dinner and dessert (Karim left during dessert), Nadia drew my attention to some fabulous crochet work visible on a low table and on a chair where a few of them (most of them black) were stacked up. Through sign language she communicated that she had made them. You could tell she was very proud of them. I picked them (most of them shawls and tablecloths) up and displayed them for the benefit of the others. Everybody went "ooh" "aah," etc. I asked Nadia if she sold them. She said no, they were made for the family. This is when we also asked about the people in the numerous photos on the wall and on the credenza top. In the wedding picture of Nadia’s parents the mother looked like a movie star. If Nadia were a bit lighter, her features and beauty would come through better too.
Soon our attention turned to the three desserts on the table. One of them was baklahva, which I avoided throughout my trip (just looked too syrupy and I get enough of it right here in NY) and some kind of pudding I think and the third one was a dish with lots of fresh strawberry slices in a pink, milky liquid. I tried this first, was blown away by its taste and stuck with it for the next ten minutes going at it like I’d never find this dish ever again in my life. Hardly anybody else went for it. No complaints here from me, though. I found out that the liquid was sweetened yogurt. I plan to make it at home one of these days when the strawberry season begins.
Later, a couple of us in the group (one in her early 30’s) obsessed a bit about the possible weight gain running our fingers beneath our pant waistline every few minutes. So when we saw a gym in the hotel we were happy and in fact did work out a couple of times the next two days we were there. I had taken my smallest size but had reduced enough before I left to make room for the inevitable expansion during the trip.
Visit to Nadia’s home (on our way out, many women in the group took a peek at her kitchen which looked very modern and neat) was on the 4th day of our trip and 3rd day in Egypt. On the third day of our trip and 2nd day in Giza (west side of the Nile) we went to see the pyramids. What impressed me more than the pyramids was the very looooong solar boat (http://www.solarnavigator.net/egyptian_solar_boat.htm;
http://www.egyptvoyager.com/museums_solar.htm) that some claim was used to carry the pharaoh’s mummified body from the east (where the sun rose) to the west (where the sun set, hence bodies were buried here) bank of the Nile.
Half of Egypt seems to be nothing but tombs (Dr. Hawaas of the Supreme Council of Egyptian Antiquities is employed for life), a constant reminder of our temporary sojourn on this earth. Later the theme gets repeated through the book of the dead, the balancing of the feather with the dead person’s heart and if the heart weighed more than the feather, then heaven was not for this person (http://www.si.umich.edu/CHICO/mummy/Afterlife/Gods/Godstextx.html).
I like constant reminders of our mortality and the need for us to be aware of our judgment day. It seems that the ancient Egyptians were obsessed with this concept and with the desire for a better after life.
At night the optional light and sound show covering the three pyramids and the Sphinx was wonderful.
More to come in the days ahead.
Ciao!
Ro.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Travel, Egypt, Cairo, Vacations
Continued from March 4 post . . .
Since Riba behaved like he was my long lost cousin, I asked him where we could find some vegetarian meals. He quickly pointed toward a corner restaurant and took us there. The joint looked okay and we decided to venture in. We thanked Riba and he left.
B & I went to the 2nd floor of the restaurant. There was bathroom in the back, which was reassuring in case the food we ate did a number on our stomach.
We were greeted and seated by a young, smart looking maitre de. He brought us the menus and the moment we saw Pizza we felt very lucky. The vegetable and cheese pie we wanted was 18 E. Pounds. We asked the maitre de if one pie would be enough. He clasped his hands together to form a circle to show us the size of each pie and said that we would need two. Sounded reasonable. The pie he formed with his hands was about 5-6 inches in diameter suggesting it was like the Pizza Hut personal pizza. So we ordered two pies.
Soon we got more comfortable in our seats, began sipping the diet coke and beer we had ordered and the pies arrived. It was immediately clear that we had over ordered.
We began digging into one pie and also beckoned to the maitre de to come back to our table. We said that we wanted to return the 2nd pie as it was one too many. The size he showed with his hands was much smaller than the nine-inch size that we had before us. He said in broken English something that to me translated to mean that Egyptian men ate a whole pie in one sitting. I said that he had misrepresented the size and that he must take the 2nd one back. He said he’d get the manager and did so.
Soon an important- but not a very impressive-looking man in a suit showed up and the maitre de in rapid fire Arabic said things to him holding a defensive posture. The manager listened to him and looking somber uttered a couple of words to the maitre de, who was still in a defensive posture and then looked at me. I got the feeling that I had been persuasive enough and that I could return the 2nd pie.
Actually, I could have doggy bagged it but we were to have a heavy dinner with a host family that night. Anyway, hoping that I had read the manager’s intention correctly, I said shukran as he left. Then when I looked at the maitre de’s face to get a confirmation to my read, he said, "Manager say no."
I kept insisting to the maitre de that he had misrepresented the size and had made us order more than what we needed. He tapped on the table close to the 2nd pie and gestured that he could doggy bag it. I said, okay but that I’d pick it up later after I finished my shopping in the market. He didn’t quite understand but eventually, after some violent gestures back and forth, I made him understand.
As we waited for the bill, I scanned the dingy room. At one large table, there were several young and noisy girls (all of them with a head scarf) and boys trying to order. When the maitre de came back with the doggy bag I asked, "Won’t these kids be ordering pizza?"
My intention was to have him sell my 2nd pie to them. He said, "no, no," his eyes wide open in a way that seemed to tell me to behave myself.
My next option was to give that pie to the staff at the hotel. Then I thought that I’d give it to my cabbie (he was supposed to pick us up at 2:30 p.m.). He seemed like a nice guy. The pie would be his tip although in Egypt tipping a cabbie had not been suggested to us in our instruction list from our tour operator.
Finally, the bill arrived. When I looked at the amount it didn’t seem right. It looked like 70. I asked B to do the math. No, it didn’t add up to 70. When I asked the maitre de about this, he said that the 7 was actually a 6. So much for Arabic numbers I thought. When we converted the 60 E. pounds to dollars and were ready to pay he refused saying, "only Egyptian pounds." We had very limited time, not enough pounds and didn’t know where we could convert our dollar to pounds.
Earlier, a few tables away from us, I had noticed a medium-sized, angular- and mean-faced and tight-jawed American woman chewing and spitting out her words while talking to her companion, a burly American. The only option I felt I had was to go to her (though my instinct told me not to but I was feeling desperate) and ask her to convert my dollars. I approached her and asked her nicely if she would mind doing this. She gave me a dirty look and barked out a nasty "no." Her personality did suggest she was not a very charitable person (other than if her charity would get her some photo opps; yes I am quite good at judging people from their face and body language) yet I approached her for a favor. My stupidity!
My husband who rarely gets ruffled other than by my own ruffled behavior was digging into every single compartment of his wallet to see if he could come up with enough pounds. No such luck! I told the maitre de that we would give him dollars and he could give me back 55 pounds, which he’d owe me. No, he won’t. Instead he brought someone in a chef’s cap who looked like a butcher because of his bloodied apron, to take us to a bank across the street to get pounds. B went with him while I went downstairs and stumbling upon someone who looked like the accounts guy for the joint asked him if I could pay in dollars and he could return the change in pounds. He seemed amenable but the butcher had already escorted B to the bank.
I came out of the restaurant, and began walking back toward the spot where we were to cross the street later, and a waiter followed me presumably because he was afraid we’d leave without paying. The doggy bag was in the kitchen. A few feet from the restaurant was Riba watching the ruckus. He came up to me and asked how the food was. I said that they won’t take pounds (he said he’d have helped us out. I said that B was already at the bank getting the pounds) and that we had been made to over order. He said that I could give the extra pie to a poor person. I looked around and asked, "Where can I find one?"
Without blinking an eyelid Riba replied, "I’m poor." I said, "Then why don’t you take it?" thinking "OMG, how stupid I was to ask in the middle of a poor section of Cairo where I could find a poor person."
Riba answered that, yes, he could and would. I told the waiter who was still hovering around me to go get the doggy bag from the kitchen. Once it arrived, I handed it over to Riba who was very happy and taking it he said that he was going to give it to his spiritual mother. I looked in the direction he pointed toward. Behind a stall of souvenirs and other knickknacks was an old woman in a black galabeya. Riba offered to introduce me to her, I said, no, I was in a hurry. By now B had settled our bill and joined me. We both crossed the street under ground to get to the Khan el Khalil market (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmwzaJzOOvY). Note: I stole this video at random from the Web.
At this point, B told me told me that the 60 was actually a 65; apparently, earlier we had not noticed a hook somewhere in the number, which made it a 5 and not a zero.
Once at the market, we just strolled through it taking in its sounds and sights. In the market, yes, the vendors tried very hard to get us into their store, but this is part of the territory called adventure and travel and our saying no to them is part of their age-old experience.
Anyway, soon we returned to the spot where we had been dropped off a couple of hours earlier and almost immediately the cabbie and we spotted each other though he was parked several yards from us.
I dozed off in the cab because I was beat or I was experiencing jet lag. Either way, the power nap helped, and I was fresh again when we got off. B wanted coffee. We walked over to a gas
station mini-mart nearby where he had bought a cup the previous night after dinner at the hotel and had received a two Chiclet pack in lieu of the 25 piastres the cashier owed him at the end of the transaction. The 2nd time too he got a pack of Chiclet in lieu of change.
Travel is so much fun!
More to follow in the coming days.
Ciao!
Ro.
Since Riba behaved like he was my long lost cousin, I asked him where we could find some vegetarian meals. He quickly pointed toward a corner restaurant and took us there. The joint looked okay and we decided to venture in. We thanked Riba and he left.
B & I went to the 2nd floor of the restaurant. There was bathroom in the back, which was reassuring in case the food we ate did a number on our stomach.
We were greeted and seated by a young, smart looking maitre de. He brought us the menus and the moment we saw Pizza we felt very lucky. The vegetable and cheese pie we wanted was 18 E. Pounds. We asked the maitre de if one pie would be enough. He clasped his hands together to form a circle to show us the size of each pie and said that we would need two. Sounded reasonable. The pie he formed with his hands was about 5-6 inches in diameter suggesting it was like the Pizza Hut personal pizza. So we ordered two pies.
Soon we got more comfortable in our seats, began sipping the diet coke and beer we had ordered and the pies arrived. It was immediately clear that we had over ordered.
We began digging into one pie and also beckoned to the maitre de to come back to our table. We said that we wanted to return the 2nd pie as it was one too many. The size he showed with his hands was much smaller than the nine-inch size that we had before us. He said in broken English something that to me translated to mean that Egyptian men ate a whole pie in one sitting. I said that he had misrepresented the size and that he must take the 2nd one back. He said he’d get the manager and did so.
Soon an important- but not a very impressive-looking man in a suit showed up and the maitre de in rapid fire Arabic said things to him holding a defensive posture. The manager listened to him and looking somber uttered a couple of words to the maitre de, who was still in a defensive posture and then looked at me. I got the feeling that I had been persuasive enough and that I could return the 2nd pie.
Actually, I could have doggy bagged it but we were to have a heavy dinner with a host family that night. Anyway, hoping that I had read the manager’s intention correctly, I said shukran as he left. Then when I looked at the maitre de’s face to get a confirmation to my read, he said, "Manager say no."
I kept insisting to the maitre de that he had misrepresented the size and had made us order more than what we needed. He tapped on the table close to the 2nd pie and gestured that he could doggy bag it. I said, okay but that I’d pick it up later after I finished my shopping in the market. He didn’t quite understand but eventually, after some violent gestures back and forth, I made him understand.
As we waited for the bill, I scanned the dingy room. At one large table, there were several young and noisy girls (all of them with a head scarf) and boys trying to order. When the maitre de came back with the doggy bag I asked, "Won’t these kids be ordering pizza?"
My intention was to have him sell my 2nd pie to them. He said, "no, no," his eyes wide open in a way that seemed to tell me to behave myself.
My next option was to give that pie to the staff at the hotel. Then I thought that I’d give it to my cabbie (he was supposed to pick us up at 2:30 p.m.). He seemed like a nice guy. The pie would be his tip although in Egypt tipping a cabbie had not been suggested to us in our instruction list from our tour operator.
Finally, the bill arrived. When I looked at the amount it didn’t seem right. It looked like 70. I asked B to do the math. No, it didn’t add up to 70. When I asked the maitre de about this, he said that the 7 was actually a 6. So much for Arabic numbers I thought. When we converted the 60 E. pounds to dollars and were ready to pay he refused saying, "only Egyptian pounds." We had very limited time, not enough pounds and didn’t know where we could convert our dollar to pounds.
Earlier, a few tables away from us, I had noticed a medium-sized, angular- and mean-faced and tight-jawed American woman chewing and spitting out her words while talking to her companion, a burly American. The only option I felt I had was to go to her (though my instinct told me not to but I was feeling desperate) and ask her to convert my dollars. I approached her and asked her nicely if she would mind doing this. She gave me a dirty look and barked out a nasty "no." Her personality did suggest she was not a very charitable person (other than if her charity would get her some photo opps; yes I am quite good at judging people from their face and body language) yet I approached her for a favor. My stupidity!
My husband who rarely gets ruffled other than by my own ruffled behavior was digging into every single compartment of his wallet to see if he could come up with enough pounds. No such luck! I told the maitre de that we would give him dollars and he could give me back 55 pounds, which he’d owe me. No, he won’t. Instead he brought someone in a chef’s cap who looked like a butcher because of his bloodied apron, to take us to a bank across the street to get pounds. B went with him while I went downstairs and stumbling upon someone who looked like the accounts guy for the joint asked him if I could pay in dollars and he could return the change in pounds. He seemed amenable but the butcher had already escorted B to the bank.
I came out of the restaurant, and began walking back toward the spot where we were to cross the street later, and a waiter followed me presumably because he was afraid we’d leave without paying. The doggy bag was in the kitchen. A few feet from the restaurant was Riba watching the ruckus. He came up to me and asked how the food was. I said that they won’t take pounds (he said he’d have helped us out. I said that B was already at the bank getting the pounds) and that we had been made to over order. He said that I could give the extra pie to a poor person. I looked around and asked, "Where can I find one?"
Without blinking an eyelid Riba replied, "I’m poor." I said, "Then why don’t you take it?" thinking "OMG, how stupid I was to ask in the middle of a poor section of Cairo where I could find a poor person."
Riba answered that, yes, he could and would. I told the waiter who was still hovering around me to go get the doggy bag from the kitchen. Once it arrived, I handed it over to Riba who was very happy and taking it he said that he was going to give it to his spiritual mother. I looked in the direction he pointed toward. Behind a stall of souvenirs and other knickknacks was an old woman in a black galabeya. Riba offered to introduce me to her, I said, no, I was in a hurry. By now B had settled our bill and joined me. We both crossed the street under ground to get to the Khan el Khalil market (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmwzaJzOOvY). Note: I stole this video at random from the Web.
At this point, B told me told me that the 60 was actually a 65; apparently, earlier we had not noticed a hook somewhere in the number, which made it a 5 and not a zero.
Once at the market, we just strolled through it taking in its sounds and sights. In the market, yes, the vendors tried very hard to get us into their store, but this is part of the territory called adventure and travel and our saying no to them is part of their age-old experience.
Anyway, soon we returned to the spot where we had been dropped off a couple of hours earlier and almost immediately the cabbie and we spotted each other though he was parked several yards from us.
I dozed off in the cab because I was beat or I was experiencing jet lag. Either way, the power nap helped, and I was fresh again when we got off. B wanted coffee. We walked over to a gas
station mini-mart nearby where he had bought a cup the previous night after dinner at the hotel and had received a two Chiclet pack in lieu of the 25 piastres the cashier owed him at the end of the transaction. The 2nd time too he got a pack of Chiclet in lieu of change.
Travel is so much fun!
More to follow in the coming days.
Ciao!
Ro.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Travel, Egypt, Cairo, Vacations
Hello! I’m back in case I was missed.
Whew, what a trip to Egypt we had! B & I left New York on February 14 (the passenger sitting next to me on Egypt Air was also from the town where I live and we had common friends; what really are the odds of this happening?) and returned on February 28. Just getting away from New York in the dead of winter is a welcome relief not to mention a blessing (this is when I can truly relate to migratory birds) but on top of it to walk the land the Pharaohs, Nefretiti, King Tut, and Alexander, Julius Caesar and Mark Antony and Cleopatra VII and Napoleon walked! This was truly awesome. Among the places I visited (Cairo, Aswan, Abu Simbel, and Edfu and Esna briefly and Luxor) Luxor was my favorite and turns out it was a lot of people’s. Watch out for my Egypt videos to be posted shortly.
Two books that I bought cover it all for me and make it easier for me to keep my blog short. Here are the titles:
Egypt, History and Civilization—Text: Dr. R. Ventura, Chief Photographer: Garo Nalbandian (I overpaid for this book; I bought mine at Abu Simbel tourist shop for 100 Egyptian pounds at 5.5 ponds to a US dollar and later on the ship---only 16 cabins total and two decks---I found it being sold for 13 US $; there was just one cop and I told a fellow passenger about it and they bought it). I saw a total of three copies one at each of three locations—Aswan Airport, Abu Simbel and the ship. Apparently, it’s a best seller.
2. Traveling through Egypt: From 450 B.C. to the 20th Century, Edited by Deborah Manley and Shara Abdel-Hakim.
The first leg of our trip was spent at the Le Meridian Pyramids in Giza (the Oberoi-owned and run Mena House Hotel on the other side of the street is a must see). I’d have preferred a hotel in Cairo where access to street life and shopping would have been much easier. Then again, I might be dead by now (the bombing in Cairo occurred three days after we left the area). There is no point in my echoing what everybody says about the pyramids like how awesome it was! So I won’t. All that we 21st century denizens have got are much more awesome! So, there. Let’s move on.
We had an amazing tour guide (Ahmed Anwar), young, jubilant and very knowledgeable with a four-year accredited college degree in tourism, and we were 14 of us in our group. B & I were mistaken for Egyptians by many locals. I guess with the ease and alacrity with which I greeted them pronouncing my Salaam Alekkum like a native made me pass for one. I also say shukran (thank you, which I mastered when I went o Morocco many years ago and it is a cousin of Hindi shukriya) and gameel("good" in Arabic) like a native. I could have mastered a lot more words but did not have much time to do this beforehand. Only now, the Spanish words I tried mastering when I went to south America two years ago are gelling. So I used my fledgling Spanish in Egypt. Just kidding.
In Cairo, B& I decided to discover things on our own, which we enjoy doing on our trips before we chose to do many of the group activities. Not knowing Arabic is not a problem in Egypt. Many speak English and even those who don’t give the impression they do. Their inability comes to light only at the end of a conversation because the results are totally disconnected to what you thought was going to happen.
In Cairo, one gets the feeling one is in Delhi, that is, until one sees the galabeya-clad (the long neck to knee robe) men and women. Women wear so much black that it feels like one is in a land of perpetual mourning or in Manhattan, New York, USA.
B & I went to see the Citadel (http://www.touregypt.net/featurestories/citadel.htm) after walking along the River Nile in Cairo for a few miles and then taking a taxi as we were told by a well-dressed woman with a scarf around her head whose car had broken down and was being fixed that it was not that close. But the taxi from the point where we took it brought us to the Citadel within three minutes and we paid him 10 E.pounds. It looked like if we didn’t volunteer to pay, we’d have got a free ride. I think I was mistaken for a Bollywood star as Bollywood looms large in many Egyptians’ minds. Anytime we were recognized as Indians, names like Amitabh Bacchan and Hema Malini sprang off their tongues at us like water shoots from a water gun.
Their thumb upright, a glint in their eyes and much glee in their voice the name Obama tumbled out at other times. I get such a kick when I am mistaken for so many different nationalities. In south America I was Spanish, in Portugal I was Portuguese and in Greece I was Greek. Go figure. I’m waiting to be called the Queen of England one of these days.
After visiting the Citadel we took a cab driven by a smart looking cabbie very comfortable with English to the famous Khan el Khalili market, which is where a bomb exploded a few days later. Here, once we got off the cab, we were greeted by a very cheerful and pleasant young man (mid-30’s?) named Riba. In Egypt, men (sometimes even children of both genders) you have just met and will never meet again in life ask you your name and then introducing themselves extend their hand to shake yours.
The first thing Riba said to us the moment he saw us, was for us us to go to the mosque that was just a few yards away. We were in search of lunch more than God at that point, so we declined. He spoke very good English, and looked educated. I asked him, "Who are you?" He said he was an accountant. I asked why he was not at work. He said that the accountants were on strike that day. I translated this to mean "unemployed." Toward the end of my trip I came to know that a few days earlier accountants were indeed on strike. Anyway, after Riba introduced himself, animatedly he also went on to explain his name to us. It meant satisfied. It had something to do with when he was born, his mother told God, no more kids, please, I’m satisfied now. At least this is what I understood from that hurried conversation.
More tomorrow! Stay tuned. An interesting episode follows.
Ciao!
Ro.
Whew, what a trip to Egypt we had! B & I left New York on February 14 (the passenger sitting next to me on Egypt Air was also from the town where I live and we had common friends; what really are the odds of this happening?) and returned on February 28. Just getting away from New York in the dead of winter is a welcome relief not to mention a blessing (this is when I can truly relate to migratory birds) but on top of it to walk the land the Pharaohs, Nefretiti, King Tut, and Alexander, Julius Caesar and Mark Antony and Cleopatra VII and Napoleon walked! This was truly awesome. Among the places I visited (Cairo, Aswan, Abu Simbel, and Edfu and Esna briefly and Luxor) Luxor was my favorite and turns out it was a lot of people’s. Watch out for my Egypt videos to be posted shortly.
Two books that I bought cover it all for me and make it easier for me to keep my blog short. Here are the titles:
Egypt, History and Civilization—Text: Dr. R. Ventura, Chief Photographer: Garo Nalbandian (I overpaid for this book; I bought mine at Abu Simbel tourist shop for 100 Egyptian pounds at 5.5 ponds to a US dollar and later on the ship---only 16 cabins total and two decks---I found it being sold for 13 US $; there was just one cop and I told a fellow passenger about it and they bought it). I saw a total of three copies one at each of three locations—Aswan Airport, Abu Simbel and the ship. Apparently, it’s a best seller.
2. Traveling through Egypt: From 450 B.C. to the 20th Century, Edited by Deborah Manley and Shara Abdel-Hakim.
The first leg of our trip was spent at the Le Meridian Pyramids in Giza (the Oberoi-owned and run Mena House Hotel on the other side of the street is a must see). I’d have preferred a hotel in Cairo where access to street life and shopping would have been much easier. Then again, I might be dead by now (the bombing in Cairo occurred three days after we left the area). There is no point in my echoing what everybody says about the pyramids like how awesome it was! So I won’t. All that we 21st century denizens have got are much more awesome! So, there. Let’s move on.
We had an amazing tour guide (Ahmed Anwar), young, jubilant and very knowledgeable with a four-year accredited college degree in tourism, and we were 14 of us in our group. B & I were mistaken for Egyptians by many locals. I guess with the ease and alacrity with which I greeted them pronouncing my Salaam Alekkum like a native made me pass for one. I also say shukran (thank you, which I mastered when I went o Morocco many years ago and it is a cousin of Hindi shukriya) and gameel("good" in Arabic) like a native. I could have mastered a lot more words but did not have much time to do this beforehand. Only now, the Spanish words I tried mastering when I went to south America two years ago are gelling. So I used my fledgling Spanish in Egypt. Just kidding.
In Cairo, B& I decided to discover things on our own, which we enjoy doing on our trips before we chose to do many of the group activities. Not knowing Arabic is not a problem in Egypt. Many speak English and even those who don’t give the impression they do. Their inability comes to light only at the end of a conversation because the results are totally disconnected to what you thought was going to happen.
In Cairo, one gets the feeling one is in Delhi, that is, until one sees the galabeya-clad (the long neck to knee robe) men and women. Women wear so much black that it feels like one is in a land of perpetual mourning or in Manhattan, New York, USA.
B & I went to see the Citadel (http://www.touregypt.net/featurestories/citadel.htm) after walking along the River Nile in Cairo for a few miles and then taking a taxi as we were told by a well-dressed woman with a scarf around her head whose car had broken down and was being fixed that it was not that close. But the taxi from the point where we took it brought us to the Citadel within three minutes and we paid him 10 E.pounds. It looked like if we didn’t volunteer to pay, we’d have got a free ride. I think I was mistaken for a Bollywood star as Bollywood looms large in many Egyptians’ minds. Anytime we were recognized as Indians, names like Amitabh Bacchan and Hema Malini sprang off their tongues at us like water shoots from a water gun.
Their thumb upright, a glint in their eyes and much glee in their voice the name Obama tumbled out at other times. I get such a kick when I am mistaken for so many different nationalities. In south America I was Spanish, in Portugal I was Portuguese and in Greece I was Greek. Go figure. I’m waiting to be called the Queen of England one of these days.
After visiting the Citadel we took a cab driven by a smart looking cabbie very comfortable with English to the famous Khan el Khalili market, which is where a bomb exploded a few days later. Here, once we got off the cab, we were greeted by a very cheerful and pleasant young man (mid-30’s?) named Riba. In Egypt, men (sometimes even children of both genders) you have just met and will never meet again in life ask you your name and then introducing themselves extend their hand to shake yours.
The first thing Riba said to us the moment he saw us, was for us us to go to the mosque that was just a few yards away. We were in search of lunch more than God at that point, so we declined. He spoke very good English, and looked educated. I asked him, "Who are you?" He said he was an accountant. I asked why he was not at work. He said that the accountants were on strike that day. I translated this to mean "unemployed." Toward the end of my trip I came to know that a few days earlier accountants were indeed on strike. Anyway, after Riba introduced himself, animatedly he also went on to explain his name to us. It meant satisfied. It had something to do with when he was born, his mother told God, no more kids, please, I’m satisfied now. At least this is what I understood from that hurried conversation.
More tomorrow! Stay tuned. An interesting episode follows.
Ciao!
Ro.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Luck, Chance, Randomness
On Friday, there wan an interesting discussion on chance, luck and randomness. Below is an e-mail I sent to WNYC.org, based on a recent experience I had had that involved all these three mysterious elements that we all confront almost at all times in life.
Program Notes: From superstition to simple probability, luck has different meanings in different cultures. We’ll find out why whether that lucky charm really can help you win the lottery. Richard Wiseman is a psychology professor at the University of Hertfordshire and author of the book The Luck Factor. Jeffrey Rosenthal is a professor in the Department of Statistics at the University of Toronto. His book is Struck by Lightning: The Curious World of Probabilities.
"I didn't want to miss any part of the show, so I didn't bother calling. I may not have gotten through either, perhaps. Ah, on the other hand, had I thought I am a lucky person, period, I might have.
Returning to the discussion about luck, chance and randomness. On Wednesday morning, feeling positive (having made the decision to only think positive from now on only the previous night) I was driving at less than 30 m.p.h. on a well-traveled road, though at that time of the day there was very little traffic. As I was traveling south on this road, suddenly I sensed an object approaching me from my left. The object turned out to be a Ford mini-van whose driver in a hurry (later I found out that she's a woman with four kids---two of them twins) chose to skip the stop sign. Quickly assessing the accident waiting to happen, I tried to minimize the impact. Yes, the driver hit me, but though the car incurred sever damage to the tune of $7000 (estimate), I walked away unscathed. So did the other driver, thank God.
After many minor incidents involving no living objects luckily, I've learned that being in a hurry is a costly proposition. Now research too including my own accident this morning proves this. So let's slow down just a tiny bit, just the time it takes to halt at a stop sign long enough to let those with right of way pass.
Dr. Wiseman talked about chance (something we have no control over---e.g. my accident) and luck (something we can make through our general outlook on life---e.g. my walking away unscathed from a situation that had the potential to kill me if not at least maim). I also believe that my staying fit by going to the gym five days a week and my daily meditation had helped my mind stay very focused and I did all that was right to do just before the accident happened and thus helped minimize the impact. I would still call this luck (yes, something we make).
In life, we only need to finish strong, no matter how chancy the journey maybe. This means we have to keep going thinking our lucky breaks will one day come.
Just my two cents.'
Program Notes: From superstition to simple probability, luck has different meanings in different cultures. We’ll find out why whether that lucky charm really can help you win the lottery. Richard Wiseman is a psychology professor at the University of Hertfordshire and author of the book The Luck Factor. Jeffrey Rosenthal is a professor in the Department of Statistics at the University of Toronto. His book is Struck by Lightning: The Curious World of Probabilities.
"I didn't want to miss any part of the show, so I didn't bother calling. I may not have gotten through either, perhaps. Ah, on the other hand, had I thought I am a lucky person, period, I might have.
Returning to the discussion about luck, chance and randomness. On Wednesday morning, feeling positive (having made the decision to only think positive from now on only the previous night) I was driving at less than 30 m.p.h. on a well-traveled road, though at that time of the day there was very little traffic. As I was traveling south on this road, suddenly I sensed an object approaching me from my left. The object turned out to be a Ford mini-van whose driver in a hurry (later I found out that she's a woman with four kids---two of them twins) chose to skip the stop sign. Quickly assessing the accident waiting to happen, I tried to minimize the impact. Yes, the driver hit me, but though the car incurred sever damage to the tune of $7000 (estimate), I walked away unscathed. So did the other driver, thank God.
After many minor incidents involving no living objects luckily, I've learned that being in a hurry is a costly proposition. Now research too including my own accident this morning proves this. So let's slow down just a tiny bit, just the time it takes to halt at a stop sign long enough to let those with right of way pass.
Dr. Wiseman talked about chance (something we have no control over---e.g. my accident) and luck (something we can make through our general outlook on life---e.g. my walking away unscathed from a situation that had the potential to kill me if not at least maim). I also believe that my staying fit by going to the gym five days a week and my daily meditation had helped my mind stay very focused and I did all that was right to do just before the accident happened and thus helped minimize the impact. I would still call this luck (yes, something we make).
In life, we only need to finish strong, no matter how chancy the journey maybe. This means we have to keep going thinking our lucky breaks will one day come.
Just my two cents.'
Friday, February 6, 2009
Vacations, Spain and Portugal
Wintry February is the time to think about vacations in warmer climes.
Spain and Portugal Vacation Slide show and Videos
Enjoy!
Ro
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4133410636967498588&hl=en (Slide show)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5702546126400716281&hl=en (Spain Part 1 Video)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1362931519178042919&hl=en (Spain Part 2 Video)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3481928728411729579&hl=en (Spain Part 3 Video)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-6553817523432586990&hl=en (Portugal) Note: Ran out of battery at the top of St. George's Castle in Lisbon. So no video of Porto the other fabulous city we visited.
Spain and Portugal Vacation Slide show and Videos
Enjoy!
Ro
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4133410636967498588&hl=en (Slide show)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5702546126400716281&hl=en (Spain Part 1 Video)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1362931519178042919&hl=en (Spain Part 2 Video)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3481928728411729579&hl=en (Spain Part 3 Video)
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-6553817523432586990&hl=en (Portugal) Note: Ran out of battery at the top of St. George's Castle in Lisbon. So no video of Porto the other fabulous city we visited.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Islam, U.S. Foreign Policy in the Middle East
January 25, 2009 Monthly Salon
Topic: U.S. Foreign Policy in the Middle East
Highlights:
I kicked off the session with the following statements:
At the salon, the question related to Mr. Obama’s statement was, should we not extend the same freedom to other nations? Was not going into Iraq the latest illustration of our double standard? Of course, Senator Obama had voted against the war in Iaq.
The group agreed that yes, there is seeming double standard in U.S. dealings with other nations and this doesn’t serve the U.S. well in the long run. Only fair and balanced foreign policy will make the U.S. a nation that deserves the world’s respect. Here is a good link on the subject: http://www.iht.com/bin/print.php?id=5838976
Topic: U.S. Foreign Policy in the Middle East
Highlights:
I kicked off the session with the following statements:
"We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents . . ." –Lifted from Mr. Obama’s inaugural speech.
Does the West practice a double standard in its treatment of nations (democratic exceptionalism?)—a question on BBC’s January 24 broadcast of the January 18, 2009 Doha debate (http://www.thedohadebates.com) organized by the Qatar Foundation. E.g. Islam is the ideology for their country for both Iran and Saudi Arabia (SA). Yet Iran is considered a threat and not SA.At the salon, the question related to Mr. Obama’s statement was, should we not extend the same freedom to other nations? Was not going into Iraq the latest illustration of our double standard? Of course, Senator Obama had voted against the war in Iaq.
The group agreed that yes, there is seeming double standard in U.S. dealings with other nations and this doesn’t serve the U.S. well in the long run. Only fair and balanced foreign policy will make the U.S. a nation that deserves the world’s respect. Here is a good link on the subject: http://www.iht.com/bin/print.php?id=5838976
Other points that covered included:
Everybody, including the Muslims wish to lead a "normal" life.
With regard to the point about conflict resolution needing to be taught from a very young age, which was suggested by one of the participants as being done at Baldwin Schools, another speaker voiced the opinion there are some in this world who just don’t want conflicts resolved. To this, yet another speaker said that some do not think confrontations are avoidable. Not that they don’t want conflicts to be resolved.
The perception being Israel enjoys special relations with the U.S. can the U.S. be perceived as an effective mediator in the Middle East?
The following document was shared at the meeting. It evoked some discussion and care was taken not to ruffle anyone’s feathers:
A German's View on Islam
By
Dr. Emanuel Tanay, a well-known and well respected psychiatrist.
A man, whose family was German aristocracy prior to World War II, owned a number of large industries and estates. When asked how many German people were true Nazis, the answer he gave can guide our attitude toward fanaticism.
'Very few people were true Nazis,' he said, 'but many enjoyed the return of German pride, and many more were too busy to care. I was one of those who just thought the Nazis were a bunch of fools. So, the majority just sat back and let it all happen. Then, before we knew it, they owned us, and we had lost control, and the end of the world had come. My family lost everything. I ended up in a concentration camp and the Allies destroyed my factories.
We are told again and again by 'experts' and 'talking heads' that Islam is the religion of peace, and that the vast majority of Muslims just want to live in peace. Although this unqualified assertion may be true, it is entirely irrelevant. It is meaningless fluff, meant to make us feel better, and meant to somehow diminish the spectra of fanatics rampaging across the globe in the name of Islam.The fact is that the fanatics rule Islam at this moment in history. It is the fanatics who march. It is the fanatics who wage any one of 50 shooting wars worldwide.It is the fanatics who systematically slaughter Christian or tribal groups throughout Africa and are gradually taking over the entire continent in an Islamic wave.
It is the fanatics who bomb, behead, murder, or honor-kill.It is the fanatics who take over mosque after mosque.It is the fanatics who zealously spread the stoning and hanging of rape victims and homosexuals. It is the fanatics who teach their young to kill and to become suicide bombers.The hard quantifiable fact is that the peaceful majority, the 'silent majority,' is cowed and extraneous.Communist Russia was comprised of Russians who just wanted to live in peace, yet the Russian Communists were responsible for the murder of about 20 million people. The peaceful majority was irrelevant.
China's huge population was peaceful as well, but Chinese Communists managed to kill a staggering 70 million people.The average Japanese individual prior to World War II was not a warmongering sadist. Yet, Japan murdered and slaughtered its way across South East Asia in an orgy of killing that included the systematic murder of 12 million Chinese civilians; most killed by sword, shovel, and bayonet.And, who can forget Rwanda, which collapsed into butchery. Could it not be said that the majority of Rwandans were 'peace loving'?
History lessons are often incredibly simple and blunt, yet for all our posers of reason we often miss the most basic and uncomplicated of points: Peace-loving Muslims have been made irrelevant by their silence.Peace-loving Muslims will become our enemy if they don't speak up, because like my friend from Germany they will awaken one day and find that the fanatics own them and the end of their world will have begun.Peace-loving Germans, Japanese, Chinese, Russians, Rwandans, Serbs, Afghans, Iraqis, Palestinians, Somalis, Nigerians, Algerians, and many others have died because the peaceful majority did not speak up until it wastoo late.As for us who watch it all unfold, we must pay attention to the only group that counts; the fanatics who threaten our way of life.
A response from an Indian-American Muslim: It is true that overwhelming majority of people including Muslims are passive, they mind their own business since they do not want to draw attention to themselves or their families. And that in turn allows only the voices of the extremists to be heard.
At the same time the ordinary people Muslim and Non- Muslim alike, also do not protest or take their leaders to task for the inhumane policies of their Governments in their own country and other parts of the world . Also they sit idly by when atrocities are committed towards innocent people by Governments supported by their Governments ( 60 years of Israeli aggression against innocent civilians of Palestine is just one example). Just like the terrorists brainwash it's recruits, the people in power brainwash ordinary people to give tacit support for it's military incursions ( Iraq war is just one example ).
The ordinary people sit idly allowing the economically and militarily powerful nations to use small vulnerable nations as pawns to achieve their agendas (Training and arming the people of Afghanistan as a proxy for the U.S. against Russia is just one example). The ordinary people allow their Governments not to recognize democratically elected parties in their own and other countries just because they are at odds with them (trying to undermine the elections in Algeria, crippling economically the people of Gaza for electing Hamas are just a couple of examples).
The ordinary people also are silent when for the sake of their way of life, they allow their governments to colonize and humiliate citizens of other countries for the sake of resources (colonizing and creating divisions in numerous African countries, as well as giving tacit approval for Saddam Hussein to invade Iran - the war lasting 8 years which killed about 1million Iraqis and Iranians are a couple of examples ). Where was the outrage?
By not standing up for what is morally right, the ordinary people including the author and myself ( especially those of so called Democracies ) have abdicated our right to speak up against terrorists who also use what is in their means to address their grievances and try to get what they want.
It is true that at this point in History, Islamic terrorism is very virulent. But to chalk it all up to fanatics is being in denial and is not going to help us combat it.
I have used the examples of many recent events in the Islamic world, since the author was mainly concerned about Islamic terrorism. Does that mean the Muslims do not do these things? Of course, they do! Are the ordinary Muslims sickened by the ineptitude, corruption and arrogance of the rulers of Muslim countries ? Of course, they are! Are the Muslims themselves embarrassed and saddened by the degradation of the populations in Muslim countries? Of course, they are! But they stay silent, out of fear and embarrassment, JUST LIKE A VICTIM OF DOMESTIC ABUSE ! Why are they not doing anything about the Terrorism perpetuated in the name of their religion? Just like all the other groups they have lost their moral authority!
Even though the vast majority of Muslims hate what the terrorists are doing to their religion, a part of them understand their actions due to the sheer hypocrisy of the West and the total contempt the west shows towards Islam. (In the name of free speech, Prophet Muhammed can be ridiculed and humiliated.......but a politician will have to apologize or resign if he says anything negative about gays or lesbians, just to give an example).
Also, the a double standard makes the Muslims not to take the West seriously. In 2002, more than 1000 Muslims were massacred in Gujarat, India, due to the fundamentalist propaganda of the chief minister of the state. Did the vast majority of Hindus protest or stay silent? Did the educated, enlightened Hindus in North America utter any objections when he was invited to be the key note speaker at major ethnic conventions in the U.S. (human rights groups petitioned the State Department and successfully denied him the Visa )?
Also, the IRA fought the British violently many many years on the basis of religion, but no one called them Catholic fundamentalists or fascists. On the other hand, prominent Irish Americans were donating money to the cause.The minority Tamil liberation tigers popularized the suicide attacks way before the Muslims in the 1980s against Srilankan majority in their own country and assassinated Prime minister Rajiv Gandhi of India, but no one called them Hindu fundamentalists. The Israelis who keep talking about the Holocaust had no qualms bombing King David hotel full of foreigners in 1948 as well as committing other terrorist acts during their war to get their homeland. Menachen Begin, Ariel Sharon etc. who were involved in those acts later became their Prime Ministers and defence Ministers. But of course, the Palestinians who are fighting for their land (which is being looted right before our very eyes in the form of Israeli settlements, road constructions and security wall with the blessings of the past many successive U.S. governments ) are terrorists!
All these years we were not even ashamed that we gave the Israelis 3.5 Billion dollars in U.S.military aid each year to suppress mainly the rock throwing youth. The powerful American Jews pressing for it did not worry about the consequences to America . We did not have the wisdom to understand that with that kind of unconditional support, the Israelis will have no incentive to reach a compromise. Now we do not have the guts to admit to ourselves that when a people lose hope and dignity and are on a free fall, they will grasp at anything to survive?
Also, we are still not showing maturity or wisdom if we keep repeating the same Mantra that 'they hate us because they hate our way of life'. Majority in the Muslim world like our way of life, that is why they want to come here! The ones who do not want to come here out of choice, like their way of life! Just like my family, many other Indians came to the U.S., not because we did not like our country or our way of life, but to look for better educational and economic advantages.
Majority of us love the U.S. and are proud to be citizens and we want the U.S. to overcome the challenges facing her and succeed. Now, in a Global economy, some young Indians and Americans are going to India looking for the same opportunities that brought my family here. Does that mean they are leaving because they do not like the way of life here? So aren't we being arrogant to think that our way of life is superior or is good for everyone?
The citizens of other countries who love their country and like their way of life, do not like us preaching to them, getting involved in their affairs and using them as pawns for our benefit. We certainly do not like others doing the same to us! But, if we decide to continue to use our military superiority to subjugate and humiliate others, is it shocking then that Iran, North Korea, Syria etc. would like to have that kind of power? We teach our young children that actions have consequences but we are outraged that our misguided and arrogant actions are not making us safe and want to put the blame on someone else!
I hope that we seek the guidance of God with humility so that we are able to hold high the ideals that made U.S.A. the country that millions of people from everywhere wanted to be the citizens of! And I hope ordinary people everywhere will find their voices to uphold fairness in our dealings with one another.
God Bless!
Returning to the salon's other highlights:
Some published letters to the editor were also shared and commented on: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/09/opinion/l09mideast.html?scp=1&sq=Hanan%20Watson&st=cse
Here are a few other links (the hard copy articles were provided by a participant):
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/25/weekinreview/25bronner.html?scp=1&sq=The%20Bullets%20in%20my%20in-box&st=cse
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/25/opinion/25atran.html?scp=1&sq=How%20Words%20Could%20End%20a%20War&st=cse (A must read)
Others not accessible online anymore.
At the salon it was felt the special relationship that the U.S has with Israel perhaps increases its vulnerability in the region even more. But it was also agreed upon that this special relationship is required but care must be paid to make sure the world understands this is the case.
What I took away from the salon was: Israel is vulnerable and U.S.'s avowed support for it is necessary. The world has to be made to understand this, but given the recent actions by Israel in Gaza, Israel's image may be bruised. The middle east situation is much too complicated but the world must keep trying to forge peace in the region. U.S Foreign Policy is flawed as are many other countries'. Mr. Obama must correct the mistakes of the past, and try not to make mistakes of his own.
It was an amazing coincidence that, that same evening 60 Minutes on CBS aired a segment on exactly the topic we discussed. Since President Obama has made it his priority to resolve the Arab-Israeli conflict let's hope that soon things work out to everyone's satisfaction, although the segment on CBS didn't sound very optimistic. We can only hope the seers are wrong.
Ciao!
Ro
Friday, January 23, 2009
Passive-aggressiveness, Freudian slip up's
To me it looked life a face-off between two former enemies. Initially, when things didn’t go smoothly during the oath of office, it looked like it was Mr. Obama who couldn’t keep up with Chief Justice Roberts, which, of course, surprised me. For a second I even thought that like John Paul Stevens, associate justice of the Supreme Court did when he swore in Vice President Biden, Mr. Roberts too should have split up the longer sentences. Ultimately the oath of office ended on "faithfully." Of course, I didn’t know the exact wording in the Constitution, but grammatically, it could go either way, though "faithfully" before "execute" sounded more elegant after having been exposed to this order since moving to the U.S.
Anyway, after things were sorted out, the president was sworn in, and later I learned that Justice Roberts known as a textualist made the mistake of putting "faithfully" in the wrong place, even in terms of what the Constitution dictates, this was my gut reaction: damn it, the guy wanted to trip up the president. Apparently, he also said "President to the United States" instead of "President of the United States." Oh, yes, one more thing. He also said, "So help you, God," which of course, Mr. Obama thoughtfully changed to "So help me God."
To be filed under passive-aggressiveness, I can see why Mr. Roberts’s perceived goof-up might have been intended to "test" Mr. Obama. Going beyond Republican versus Democrat pettiness, Mr. Roberts would never forgive Senator Obama for voting against him for Chief Justice, especially in light of the fact Mr. Obama is president now, which Mr. Roberts not in a million years could become.
One thing I have noticed about people who succeed beyond anyone’s wildest dreams (e.g. Mr. Obama) is they have an edge over those who can go only so far, especially those whose rise to power has a lot to do with favoritism (e.g Mr. Roberts?) in terms of their humanity. The more I observe Mr. Obama the more I see his humanity stand out the most about him. For instance, had he been in Mr. Roberts's shoes he would have never tried to trip up even his enemies.
I know that my trip up theory (though some people did label Roberts's slip up Freudian) about Mr. Roberts can never be proven, but I have seen passive-aggressive people indulge in more than their share of petty acts, which possibly Mr. Roberts too indulged in. Mr. Obama’s way of getting at the enemy, perhaps, would be to go along with the mistake, let others point it out so he himself comes across as sterling silver. I recognize this sort of a person too quite easily because I’m married to one!
Ciao!
Ro.
Anyway, after things were sorted out, the president was sworn in, and later I learned that Justice Roberts known as a textualist made the mistake of putting "faithfully" in the wrong place, even in terms of what the Constitution dictates, this was my gut reaction: damn it, the guy wanted to trip up the president. Apparently, he also said "President to the United States" instead of "President of the United States." Oh, yes, one more thing. He also said, "So help you, God," which of course, Mr. Obama thoughtfully changed to "So help me God."
To be filed under passive-aggressiveness, I can see why Mr. Roberts’s perceived goof-up might have been intended to "test" Mr. Obama. Going beyond Republican versus Democrat pettiness, Mr. Roberts would never forgive Senator Obama for voting against him for Chief Justice, especially in light of the fact Mr. Obama is president now, which Mr. Roberts not in a million years could become.
One thing I have noticed about people who succeed beyond anyone’s wildest dreams (e.g. Mr. Obama) is they have an edge over those who can go only so far, especially those whose rise to power has a lot to do with favoritism (e.g Mr. Roberts?) in terms of their humanity. The more I observe Mr. Obama the more I see his humanity stand out the most about him. For instance, had he been in Mr. Roberts's shoes he would have never tried to trip up even his enemies.
I know that my trip up theory (though some people did label Roberts's slip up Freudian) about Mr. Roberts can never be proven, but I have seen passive-aggressive people indulge in more than their share of petty acts, which possibly Mr. Roberts too indulged in. Mr. Obama’s way of getting at the enemy, perhaps, would be to go along with the mistake, let others point it out so he himself comes across as sterling silver. I recognize this sort of a person too quite easily because I’m married to one!
Ciao!
Ro.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
2008, New Year. A recap of 2007. Loss of friends.
It’s been nearly a month since I posted anything. Anyway, now it’s a new year, so a quick recap of last month if not last year would be appropriate. On a personal note, someone I had known for several decades, along with his wife and two children got killed in an accident in July 2008 when he was on a pilgrimage in India. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/07/24/AR2008072403593.html. Donations to the Pavan and Sairam Soundararajan Fund can be sent to SunTrust Bank, 9812 Falls Rd., Potomac, Md. 20854.
I miss Raju dearly, particularly today because every year on the 1st of the year he’d phone me or I’d phone him to wish him a happy new year. He was a remarkable human being who had overcome nymerous hurdles in life, to, finally, live a middle class life, and also share beyond his means. God had blessed him with a divine voice, and looks becoming of a movie star. When he sang, it sounded divine--his raga aalapanais were effortless and flawless--and when he talked he sounded so kind because he was genuinely a kind man, who was always eager to help. What I found most exciting about him was, despite life's distractions, he lived life on his terms.
He had come to the U.S. in the 1970’s as an Indian diplomat’s cook. He made the most exquisite dishes. Because of my musical inclination and the fact I sang, he gave me several reel-to-reel tapes of some master singers. After I left Maryland, I lost touch with him, though through the grapevine I heard that for whatever reason, his wife left him taking their baby daughter Padma with her. Today 28-year-old Padma is a lead singer in a band in MD, and she plans to take care of her 12-year-old half brother afflicted with cerebral palsy, while her other surviving autistic half-brother, will be in an isntituion. Raju's diplomat-employer returned to India but Raju stayed back.
After a few years, we Raju and I reconnected and when Raju got remarried, and brought his wife back to the U.S., he wanted me to meet her. So he broke his journey in New York en route to Washington and they stayed overnight at my place. I’ve so many memories of him and I’d never ever forget them. He had qualities that one would want to emulate.
Another person close to me for the last several decades was Dr. Robert Dentler, my mentor and former dean at Boston University. http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9A0CE6D8123DF934A35757C0A96E9C8B63.
In April, along with my husband, I went to Bob Dentler's Memorial Service held at the Universalist Unitarian Church in Lexington, MA, where the Dentlers lived. Bob Dentler's distant relative, and my well-wisher from decades ago, Hap Harris was also there. He had traveled from Maryland. Out of the blue, Hap asked me to speak at the Service This came as a surprise but I managed to say the right things and also keep it brief. Only recently, I had gotten comfortable calling Dr. Dentler, Bob. I wept silently at the Service. I knew that I'd miss Bob dearly, an unusual giant (both literally and figurativley) of a man. Had our paths not met, how different my entire life might have been!
Originally, I had met Bob at Hap’s son Doug’s first wedding when Doug was just 18.
On December 14, 2007, Bob’s wife, Helen too died. A year earlier, she had been diagnosed with cancer which went into remission in November and I was supposed to pay her a visit on Dec. 20. On December 8, her son Robin phoned me and said that she was in the hospital because she had developed some complications after her return to Lexington from her Thanksgiving visit with her other son in California and so she didn’t want me to visit her on the 20th.
On Monday, December 15th morning, there was an e-mail from Helen. When I opened it, it turned out to be a death announcement from Robin. My heart broke. Over the years, Helen and I had become friends, too, and she would appreciate every little gift I’d take with me for her every time I went to their house.
She was a Hosmer, a fact her husband felt very proud of. Bob was the son of German immigrants, and Helen’s ancestors had traveled on the Mayflower and in the Concord Museum there are whole sections devoted to the Hosmer family’s accomplishments and their contributions to the then new nation over the centuries.
A week after Helen's demise, I got a call from her daughter Deborah. Deborah wanted to make sure I knew about Helen’s death. She saw on Helen’s calendar that I was supposed to visit her on the 20th. I found out from Deborah that the house had already been put up for sale. Call me creepy, but I did wonder what would happen to the few little things I had given Helen over the years? None of the surviving family would even know who they were from, what special meaning they had for Helen, or even what to do with them. Oh, yes, in November, I had found out from Helen that Bob and I shared the same zodiac sign: Scorpio, and the birth month. Bob’s fell on November 16.
Year 2008 has left a bad feeling in other ways, too. What has shaken me the most is the out-of-control violence in the world with no end in sight. Right now what’s going on in Gaza only increases my fears.
On the positive side, last year, dad had to be admitted to the hospital twice and both times he returned home healthier. The first time was in April when, one afternoon, seeing his face sapped of all color, drooping and angular I called the ambulance. Later we found out that dad had experienced a heart attack. Then in May, on a Saturday morning, my husband, not seeing dad around for a prolonged time checked the bathroom where dad had gone in for a shower earlier . . . much earlier. There, dad, a slightly-built, wiry man, was curled up unconscious on the shower floor. Once again, the ambulance came and he was rushed to the hospital. His sugar level had dropped. Way down.
At the kitchen table, mom in her monotone characteristic of a person who’s going through prolonged, post-angioplasti depression had kept asking where was dad? My husband in his own quiet way had responded to her murmur when the rest of us were "yaking" away.
It’s only the 4th day of the new year but so far it’s been pretty good. The first good news has been to do with dad again. On the 2nd, his pace maker procedure was a success and feeling good, he’s home now.
Hope the year is filled with a lot of good news . . . for all of us.
Ciao! Ro
I miss Raju dearly, particularly today because every year on the 1st of the year he’d phone me or I’d phone him to wish him a happy new year. He was a remarkable human being who had overcome nymerous hurdles in life, to, finally, live a middle class life, and also share beyond his means. God had blessed him with a divine voice, and looks becoming of a movie star. When he sang, it sounded divine--his raga aalapanais were effortless and flawless--and when he talked he sounded so kind because he was genuinely a kind man, who was always eager to help. What I found most exciting about him was, despite life's distractions, he lived life on his terms.
He had come to the U.S. in the 1970’s as an Indian diplomat’s cook. He made the most exquisite dishes. Because of my musical inclination and the fact I sang, he gave me several reel-to-reel tapes of some master singers. After I left Maryland, I lost touch with him, though through the grapevine I heard that for whatever reason, his wife left him taking their baby daughter Padma with her. Today 28-year-old Padma is a lead singer in a band in MD, and she plans to take care of her 12-year-old half brother afflicted with cerebral palsy, while her other surviving autistic half-brother, will be in an isntituion. Raju's diplomat-employer returned to India but Raju stayed back.
After a few years, we Raju and I reconnected and when Raju got remarried, and brought his wife back to the U.S., he wanted me to meet her. So he broke his journey in New York en route to Washington and they stayed overnight at my place. I’ve so many memories of him and I’d never ever forget them. He had qualities that one would want to emulate.
Another person close to me for the last several decades was Dr. Robert Dentler, my mentor and former dean at Boston University. http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9A0CE6D8123DF934A35757C0A96E9C8B63.
In April, along with my husband, I went to Bob Dentler's Memorial Service held at the Universalist Unitarian Church in Lexington, MA, where the Dentlers lived. Bob Dentler's distant relative, and my well-wisher from decades ago, Hap Harris was also there. He had traveled from Maryland. Out of the blue, Hap asked me to speak at the Service This came as a surprise but I managed to say the right things and also keep it brief. Only recently, I had gotten comfortable calling Dr. Dentler, Bob. I wept silently at the Service. I knew that I'd miss Bob dearly, an unusual giant (both literally and figurativley) of a man. Had our paths not met, how different my entire life might have been!
Originally, I had met Bob at Hap’s son Doug’s first wedding when Doug was just 18.
On December 14, 2007, Bob’s wife, Helen too died. A year earlier, she had been diagnosed with cancer which went into remission in November and I was supposed to pay her a visit on Dec. 20. On December 8, her son Robin phoned me and said that she was in the hospital because she had developed some complications after her return to Lexington from her Thanksgiving visit with her other son in California and so she didn’t want me to visit her on the 20th.
On Monday, December 15th morning, there was an e-mail from Helen. When I opened it, it turned out to be a death announcement from Robin. My heart broke. Over the years, Helen and I had become friends, too, and she would appreciate every little gift I’d take with me for her every time I went to their house.
She was a Hosmer, a fact her husband felt very proud of. Bob was the son of German immigrants, and Helen’s ancestors had traveled on the Mayflower and in the Concord Museum there are whole sections devoted to the Hosmer family’s accomplishments and their contributions to the then new nation over the centuries.
A week after Helen's demise, I got a call from her daughter Deborah. Deborah wanted to make sure I knew about Helen’s death. She saw on Helen’s calendar that I was supposed to visit her on the 20th. I found out from Deborah that the house had already been put up for sale. Call me creepy, but I did wonder what would happen to the few little things I had given Helen over the years? None of the surviving family would even know who they were from, what special meaning they had for Helen, or even what to do with them. Oh, yes, in November, I had found out from Helen that Bob and I shared the same zodiac sign: Scorpio, and the birth month. Bob’s fell on November 16.
Year 2008 has left a bad feeling in other ways, too. What has shaken me the most is the out-of-control violence in the world with no end in sight. Right now what’s going on in Gaza only increases my fears.
On the positive side, last year, dad had to be admitted to the hospital twice and both times he returned home healthier. The first time was in April when, one afternoon, seeing his face sapped of all color, drooping and angular I called the ambulance. Later we found out that dad had experienced a heart attack. Then in May, on a Saturday morning, my husband, not seeing dad around for a prolonged time checked the bathroom where dad had gone in for a shower earlier . . . much earlier. There, dad, a slightly-built, wiry man, was curled up unconscious on the shower floor. Once again, the ambulance came and he was rushed to the hospital. His sugar level had dropped. Way down.
At the kitchen table, mom in her monotone characteristic of a person who’s going through prolonged, post-angioplasti depression had kept asking where was dad? My husband in his own quiet way had responded to her murmur when the rest of us were "yaking" away.
It’s only the 4th day of the new year but so far it’s been pretty good. The first good news has been to do with dad again. On the 2nd, his pace maker procedure was a success and feeling good, he’s home now.
Hope the year is filled with a lot of good news . . . for all of us.
Ciao! Ro
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
