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.
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