Monday, October 29, 2007
There Have Been, In My Long Life, Many Times When I Have Been Like: "I Really Need a Spring, and Goshdarnit, I Have No Idea Where to Get One."
I failed to capture three important things about the Modern Spring shop: 1) several shops on this street also only sell springs. 2) next there are shops that sell only ball bearings, only bumpers, only gaskets, etc. 3) The horn shops and horn repair shops are not nice places to hang out. way less peaceful than a good ol spring shop.
On a serious note, I want to say that I really hate videos that just shove a camera in people's faces and start speaking to them in a language that they don't understand. If some Hindi speaker came up to me on Mass Avenue and started speaking to me in Hindi on camera I would come off as a confused fool. Anyway, despite my qualms with my own interviewing skills, I just wanted to make all you people back home aware of just how easy it is to find what you are looking for here. These markets kick our Wal-Mart's and hardware store's asses.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
A lot of Traffic on Poster Street Today
The Bazaars of Old Delhi are perhaps the most bustling, chaotic, interesting markets I have ever seen in the world. Every type of thing is available at these markets. The other day, I got completely lost in the area for electronics and just wandered around for an hour unable to find anything other than kiosks with specific electronics items. For example, one shop sold only LED light bulbs. Millions and millions of LED light bulbs. All types, sizes, colors, shapes, etc. But only LEDs. Nothing else. For example, if you want an LED light power source, or switchboard to attach your LEDs to, you have to go way down the street past the other LED stores to the LED power source and switchboard stores.
Today I headed to the train station to investigate a ticket for next week, but got completely distracted on the way through a market that sells books. Books indoors and posters outdoors. This video is of the main street through book/poster market. Every little alleyway off this streets has many more stores selling books and posters.
The big stacks you see at the side of the road are posters. Also, I should note that Old Delhi's main bazaar (this is one area of the main bazaar) is closed on Sundays. you will notice that 3 out fo 4 shops are closed, with their metal grates pulled shut. Tomorrow i am going to go check this place out when it is "open" how crowded can one street get? Also on my mind: how many posters can one person, one city, one country truly feel the need for?
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The missing videos:
forget blogspot videos. Here are the links on YouTube. Good suggestion, Justin.
Here are two prospective apartments:
Gupta's:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7WOBqGeOvs
$1100 rent for the whole house:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srcqqvLKVPA
Neither of these places are anything like where i am going to end up living but both are entertaining I think.
Here are two prospective apartments:
Gupta's:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7WOBqGeOvs
$1100 rent for the whole house:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srcqqvLKVPA
Neither of these places are anything like where i am going to end up living but both are entertaining I think.
Friday, October 26, 2007
The FRRO and the RamaKrishna Puram Small Market
Today was my third trip into the happy circus of Indian bureaucracy called the FRRO – Foreigner Regional Registration Office. This is the office that Indian officials have established to punish people for being foreign.
After two prior trips to this office (and Delhi Apartment Search Boot Camp, which has readied me for many of my new life's particular challenges) I knew how to handle myself today and managed to acquire my residency permit.
First let me explain: the FRRO is set up much like Kung-Fu for original Nintendo. Instead of levels, there are long lines to negotiate. Instead of bosses to slay at the end of each level, there are paper-pushers at the end of every line whose signature, stamp or stern no of approval you must win over with valiance and ninja skill. The object is clear: you need to move your way across the levels and beat the boss of that level without being killed and sent back to the start (which happened to me on Monday and Wednesday for not having some necessary documents). Along the journey, there are all sorts of opponents that are only defeated with the proper maneuvers.
So like I was saying, today I knew the drill (just like when you master the early levels of Kung-fu from having been killed in the later levels so many times).
The first line is the one that you have to beat in order to get a number that equates to your position in the second line. I immediately sauntered in and cut to the front of this line and starting shouting at the guy behind this desk. I threw in a little nudge to the Asian guy beside me, hip-checked an Arabian fellow who was front right, and reached completely over top the Indian woman with the British accent in front of me at the counter. I started waving my papers in the official's face with a made up story about why I needed a new number. Poof. Level one complete.
For the next line, the bum rush strategy does not work because you must win the favor of this official or risk being sent to all sorts of other lines that have no purpose whatsoever. I devised a strategy. I waited until the right moment and then asked a guy who had just been called (by a pointed finger and not an actual number calling) what his number was. He reported "19." Excellent. I was 24 so this would be OK. The previous time I tried this I was 35 numbers away from first in line. I politely got the official to acknowledge the accuracy of the current number and even got the bonus points "24? OK, you come back in two hours." This seemed like an awfully long time for 5 numbers but that was fine. I could leave and get some food.
I got some food outside at an Indian Pastry shop (these are amazing by the way) and still had 1:45 to kill. So I started to walk. I wandered through the maze of government buildings that cover most of this enclave of Delhi and made my way out onto the main road and towards a fruit market area. The fruit market made way to a furniture making area. This I loved. The furniture area is wide open and sunny. Most of the work takes place outside under the sun. 6 or 7 tin garages form a semi-circle and loosely define the area. Out in the open, guys were sawing, gluing, nailing etc. In each of the garages, which are dark and extremely cramped, there are all manner of stored materials and sleeping people.
I stopped for a nice chat with one of the sawyers (wow... thank you to spell check for that informative word suggestion). Of course, without any shred of common language, I learned very little. But we both had a nice time and it made me want to build some stuff.
So I continued beyond the furniture zone into a long alleyway of activity. This alleyway, like markets all over Delhi, has it all. The actual road/walkway is only about 8 feet wide on average and tall buildings are built on either side so it almost feels like you are in an enclosed arcade. All sorts of activity bubbles from alleyways like this one.
I perched up on a ledge and just watched this microcosm world for about 20 minutes. About every second a few people walk by, every ten seconds someone bicycles by, every 30 seconds a motorbike zips past swerving and honking and about every ten minutes a delivery mini-truck goes by. Animals are mixed in – dogs, pigeons, cats, and yes, of course, the occasional roaming cow. In front of one stall, a chapatti baker is pounding dough balls flat and reaching down into the tandoori to slap the flat dough onto the walls of the oven. Behind him, in the stall, an assistant kneads the dough and makes it into the balls. Behind him, an assistant’s assistant mixes ingredients to make the dough.
Everything is going on in concert. It reminded me of the scene in “Beauty and the Beast” where all the animated pots and pans and furniture are working together to prepare a feast (“Be our guest, Be our Guest put our service to the test”).
People are carrying all matter of things. Boys are playing stick ball/cricket. Little girls seem to always be running errands for their mothers, carrying bags of sugar or an egg, etc.
As completely cliché as it sounds, there is a sublime choreography to a place like this. It makes you so conscious of shared space. Every person, machine and animal’s action causes some reaction. The delivery mini-trucks passing through are the best. Kind of like a interlude to the clamour of the alley. With three wheels and rough dimensions of a minivan, these delivery trucks are just about the same width as the alley itself. This means that as they move down the street, all other activity has to stop to let them pass. The guy making chapattis pushes the oven in a little, the stickball/cricket game pauses, loaded bicycles are wheeled into shops against the owner’s will. People stand with their backs to the wall. Then the little truck passes and behind it is a little procession of people trying to walk or drive or ride the same direction down the alley but unable to pass. Then once the truck has passed, life goes back to normal, the concert continues.
Anyway, back to the story: After a while, I navigated my way back to the FRRO to check the progress. I walked up to the counter and asked the official what number he was on.
“19.”
OK, so now we have a problem. My strategy wasn’t working. I interjected politely to get some guess about why the numbers had not moved since I left two hours prior. The response: “I already called you.” So we settled, and I sat down right in front of this counter and waited. I waited for a while, talked to some other expats about life in Delhi.
To make a long story short, I eventually got called and made it through level two. I eventually got to the front of line/level three also plenty of pleading, explaining and arguing along the way, (mostly with other foreigners who were still trying the bum rush strategy).
Boss three. This was the farthest I had ever made it in the process and I was feeling good (“will this be the day that I finally beat this game!?”). And then, just like that, he started stamping! Stamps for my passport, stamps for my visa, stamps on my letters, papers, photocopies, and just like that, a stamp on my residency booklet. He looked up at me. My heart was pounding. I thought I was finally done.
Him: “Now you must go to in charge.”
Me: “What? Am I done?”
Him: “No, go to in charge.”
Me: “who is ‘in charge’?”
Him: [with a pointed finger] “Sir.”
I swung around and sure enough in the far corner of this crowded room through all the mayhem and past the waiting area was a little bespectacled man sitting at a little desk all alone. Above his head a sign dangled from the ceiling: IN CHARGE.
I grabbed my papers, and slowly approached Mr. In Charge. After greetings, he looked me up and down, started to thumb through my papers. Then there was silence. He looked deep into my eyes. More silence. Somewhere the theme song from Unforgiven was playing in the background. More silence as the tumbleweed tumbled past. This was it, the final boss. I was ready to spring to fighting action at any slight indication. More staring, more silence. And then:
“OK.”
And with that, he handed me my little residency permit booklet. And placed my papers on top of a large stack of other papers on his desk.
I am now a resident of the Republic of India.
After two prior trips to this office (and Delhi Apartment Search Boot Camp, which has readied me for many of my new life's particular challenges) I knew how to handle myself today and managed to acquire my residency permit.
First let me explain: the FRRO is set up much like Kung-Fu for original Nintendo. Instead of levels, there are long lines to negotiate. Instead of bosses to slay at the end of each level, there are paper-pushers at the end of every line whose signature, stamp or stern no of approval you must win over with valiance and ninja skill. The object is clear: you need to move your way across the levels and beat the boss of that level without being killed and sent back to the start (which happened to me on Monday and Wednesday for not having some necessary documents). Along the journey, there are all sorts of opponents that are only defeated with the proper maneuvers.
So like I was saying, today I knew the drill (just like when you master the early levels of Kung-fu from having been killed in the later levels so many times).
The first line is the one that you have to beat in order to get a number that equates to your position in the second line. I immediately sauntered in and cut to the front of this line and starting shouting at the guy behind this desk. I threw in a little nudge to the Asian guy beside me, hip-checked an Arabian fellow who was front right, and reached completely over top the Indian woman with the British accent in front of me at the counter. I started waving my papers in the official's face with a made up story about why I needed a new number. Poof. Level one complete.
For the next line, the bum rush strategy does not work because you must win the favor of this official or risk being sent to all sorts of other lines that have no purpose whatsoever. I devised a strategy. I waited until the right moment and then asked a guy who had just been called (by a pointed finger and not an actual number calling) what his number was. He reported "19." Excellent. I was 24 so this would be OK. The previous time I tried this I was 35 numbers away from first in line. I politely got the official to acknowledge the accuracy of the current number and even got the bonus points "24? OK, you come back in two hours." This seemed like an awfully long time for 5 numbers but that was fine. I could leave and get some food.
I got some food outside at an Indian Pastry shop (these are amazing by the way) and still had 1:45 to kill. So I started to walk. I wandered through the maze of government buildings that cover most of this enclave of Delhi and made my way out onto the main road and towards a fruit market area. The fruit market made way to a furniture making area. This I loved. The furniture area is wide open and sunny. Most of the work takes place outside under the sun. 6 or 7 tin garages form a semi-circle and loosely define the area. Out in the open, guys were sawing, gluing, nailing etc. In each of the garages, which are dark and extremely cramped, there are all manner of stored materials and sleeping people.
I stopped for a nice chat with one of the sawyers (wow... thank you to spell check for that informative word suggestion). Of course, without any shred of common language, I learned very little. But we both had a nice time and it made me want to build some stuff.
So I continued beyond the furniture zone into a long alleyway of activity. This alleyway, like markets all over Delhi, has it all. The actual road/walkway is only about 8 feet wide on average and tall buildings are built on either side so it almost feels like you are in an enclosed arcade. All sorts of activity bubbles from alleyways like this one.
I perched up on a ledge and just watched this microcosm world for about 20 minutes. About every second a few people walk by, every ten seconds someone bicycles by, every 30 seconds a motorbike zips past swerving and honking and about every ten minutes a delivery mini-truck goes by. Animals are mixed in – dogs, pigeons, cats, and yes, of course, the occasional roaming cow. In front of one stall, a chapatti baker is pounding dough balls flat and reaching down into the tandoori to slap the flat dough onto the walls of the oven. Behind him, in the stall, an assistant kneads the dough and makes it into the balls. Behind him, an assistant’s assistant mixes ingredients to make the dough.
Everything is going on in concert. It reminded me of the scene in “Beauty and the Beast” where all the animated pots and pans and furniture are working together to prepare a feast (“Be our guest, Be our Guest put our service to the test”).
People are carrying all matter of things. Boys are playing stick ball/cricket. Little girls seem to always be running errands for their mothers, carrying bags of sugar or an egg, etc.
As completely cliché as it sounds, there is a sublime choreography to a place like this. It makes you so conscious of shared space. Every person, machine and animal’s action causes some reaction. The delivery mini-trucks passing through are the best. Kind of like a interlude to the clamour of the alley. With three wheels and rough dimensions of a minivan, these delivery trucks are just about the same width as the alley itself. This means that as they move down the street, all other activity has to stop to let them pass. The guy making chapattis pushes the oven in a little, the stickball/cricket game pauses, loaded bicycles are wheeled into shops against the owner’s will. People stand with their backs to the wall. Then the little truck passes and behind it is a little procession of people trying to walk or drive or ride the same direction down the alley but unable to pass. Then once the truck has passed, life goes back to normal, the concert continues.
Anyway, back to the story: After a while, I navigated my way back to the FRRO to check the progress. I walked up to the counter and asked the official what number he was on.
“19.”
OK, so now we have a problem. My strategy wasn’t working. I interjected politely to get some guess about why the numbers had not moved since I left two hours prior. The response: “I already called you.” So we settled, and I sat down right in front of this counter and waited. I waited for a while, talked to some other expats about life in Delhi.
To make a long story short, I eventually got called and made it through level two. I eventually got to the front of line/level three also plenty of pleading, explaining and arguing along the way, (mostly with other foreigners who were still trying the bum rush strategy).
Boss three. This was the farthest I had ever made it in the process and I was feeling good (“will this be the day that I finally beat this game!?”). And then, just like that, he started stamping! Stamps for my passport, stamps for my visa, stamps on my letters, papers, photocopies, and just like that, a stamp on my residency booklet. He looked up at me. My heart was pounding. I thought I was finally done.
Him: “Now you must go to in charge.”
Me: “What? Am I done?”
Him: “No, go to in charge.”
Me: “who is ‘in charge’?”
Him: [with a pointed finger] “Sir.”
I swung around and sure enough in the far corner of this crowded room through all the mayhem and past the waiting area was a little bespectacled man sitting at a little desk all alone. Above his head a sign dangled from the ceiling: IN CHARGE.
I grabbed my papers, and slowly approached Mr. In Charge. After greetings, he looked me up and down, started to thumb through my papers. Then there was silence. He looked deep into my eyes. More silence. Somewhere the theme song from Unforgiven was playing in the background. More silence as the tumbleweed tumbled past. This was it, the final boss. I was ready to spring to fighting action at any slight indication. More staring, more silence. And then:
“OK.”
And with that, he handed me my little residency permit booklet. And placed my papers on top of a large stack of other papers on his desk.
I am now a resident of the Republic of India.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Gupta's Prayer Room
A whole lot has happened since I last posted. I have begun to understand the personality of Delhi -- its neighborhoods, its traffic, its culture, its dangers (for example:). The last three days I have continued in my frenetic apartment hunt. It has been tiring and annoying at times but also has been a complete blast at times because I have met some real characters. The craziness of my search really has less to do with the particulars of Delhi as it does with my determination to live in the perfect place. I have 10 different agents working for me at the same time and for the last three days I have left the hotel at 10am and spent until 7pm just looking at more and more apartments all over the city. Its kind of like the Amazing Race around Delhi. Two different apts have been snatched up before I could act on them now so I am honing myself into a lean mean apartment hunting machine.
Tonight I let the cabby who has been driving me around for the past few days introduce me to one of his friends, reportedly a real estate broker. This is generally speaking a terrible idea as time is precious and these types of friend-of-friend arrangements are usually a huge waste of time. Anyway, this time I agreed to meet with the friend and sort of hit it off with the guy -- Mr. Gupta.
Mr Gupta is an older fellow, he only had one apartment he wanted to show me and although it isn't really a possibility, it was definitely worth the visit. He brought me up the stairs to this quite beautiful house and explained that we couldn't see the actual unit but we could see the identical floor plan one story below where his friend, the landlord, Mr. Gupta lived. Turns out Gupta's Gupta was even more of a character. We had a hilarious exchange, the three of us. We drank whole lot of orange Fanta and just chatted -- mainly about the immoderate decor of the apartment's prayer room (see video). Mr. Gupta, Mr. Gupta and Mr. Waxman: three peas in a pod.
[10/25: the damn video wont upload over this connection. nor will pics...I will post them in the future...for now you can just imagine a 200 square foot bedroom and attached bath without an inch of wall or floorspace left uncovered by flashing, sparkling, chirping and over-the-top gaudy tributes to hindu gods, bollywood actresses and Bambi. including in the shower]
Tonight I let the cabby who has been driving me around for the past few days introduce me to one of his friends, reportedly a real estate broker. This is generally speaking a terrible idea as time is precious and these types of friend-of-friend arrangements are usually a huge waste of time. Anyway, this time I agreed to meet with the friend and sort of hit it off with the guy -- Mr. Gupta.
Mr Gupta is an older fellow, he only had one apartment he wanted to show me and although it isn't really a possibility, it was definitely worth the visit. He brought me up the stairs to this quite beautiful house and explained that we couldn't see the actual unit but we could see the identical floor plan one story below where his friend, the landlord, Mr. Gupta lived. Turns out Gupta's Gupta was even more of a character. We had a hilarious exchange, the three of us. We drank whole lot of orange Fanta and just chatted -- mainly about the immoderate decor of the apartment's prayer room (see video). Mr. Gupta, Mr. Gupta and Mr. Waxman: three peas in a pod.
[10/25: the damn video wont upload over this connection. nor will pics...I will post them in the future...for now you can just imagine a 200 square foot bedroom and attached bath without an inch of wall or floorspace left uncovered by flashing, sparkling, chirping and over-the-top gaudy tributes to hindu gods, bollywood actresses and Bambi. including in the shower]
Sunday, October 21, 2007
the beginnings of
Today I went to see this movie. The movie was so incredibly entertaining for me. Yes, the whole thing is in Hindi sans sub-titles. but to be honest, it really didnt matter. Indian cinema is done in a style that American cinema abandoned a long time ago. Realisticness is really not the point. These are big, loud, super-duper melodramatic productions complete with singing, crying, dancing,
heart-exploding love, torturous loss, climactic revenge. The movie was 3.5+ hours with an intermission. A true epic about two sisters in search of what it means to be a "modern Indian woman" (with a dive into a sup-plot reminiscent of Pretty Woman). I did have a little help from a friend sitting next to me, but by and large the whole thing was completely understandable without the words.
I am about to become quite obsessed with Bollywood. (Sarah: you called it!).
heart-exploding love, torturous loss, climactic revenge. The movie was 3.5+ hours with an intermission. A true epic about two sisters in search of what it means to be a "modern Indian woman" (with a dive into a sup-plot reminiscent of Pretty Woman). I did have a little help from a friend sitting next to me, but by and large the whole thing was completely understandable without the words.
I am about to become quite obsessed with Bollywood. (Sarah: you called it!).
Friday, October 19, 2007
(aka Highlights Magazine)
Can You Find The:
1) Ferris Wheel
2) Bhuddist Temple
3) Sleeping Dog
4) The correct number of people in the Red Jeep
This is a major intersection in Old Delhi. Old Delhi refers to the neighborhoods of the north that are pre British rule (many of the structures date way, way farther back than that).
1) Ferris Wheel
2) Bhuddist Temple
3) Sleeping Dog
4) The correct number of people in the Red Jeep
This is a major intersection in Old Delhi. Old Delhi refers to the neighborhoods of the north that are pre British rule (many of the structures date way, way farther back than that).
Sundar Nagar continued
Just as one would expect, morning light made Sundar Nagar a lot friendlier than the 2am Wednesday morning version my flight-addled mind first encountered. Yesterday morning I woke up at dawn (jet lag) and went for a jog. Actually not really a jog, something more along the lines of part jog, part curious walk, part dodgeball game only replace the balls with speeding autorickshaws (India's name for South Asia's ubiquitous three-wheeled half-taxis). First I made the loop around the neighborhood. Sundar Nagar is a peaceful, picturesque place. At 6am many older folks are out getting in a morning walk and chit chatting in the street. The houses are large and the gardens beautiful -- and these are just the visible grounds as most of the properties have walls or fences around them. The shadowy enclaves that spooked me a bit the night before turned out to be mostly manicured hedges and tropical flower beds. The morning was misty and pleasant. Actually, the weather all day for the last 48 hours has been quite nice. Thick, but cool.
Once I finished the Sundar Nagar neighborhood loop, I was feeling a bit grounded and headed out to the gate (remember this is a walled-in neighborhood). I headed out onto the street and, looking up, i immediately saw a towering fortress ruins, then instantly upon looking forward I realized there were at least 15 different vehicles from 15 different directions threatening my life beyond the next 1-15 seconds. horns are honking, children are running, rickshaws are zooming, bicycles are creeking by with 100,000 orange flowers loaded onto them so that the driver is actually behind the bike pushing it while walking. Ridiculous busses too ... there is a donkey, here are ladies trying to sweep under my feet. What is that new smell and will that strap really hold that thing on there much longer?
Over the course of my run outside the Sundar Nagar walls, I made it to not one, but two archeological areas, both very imopressive. Inside the first old fort, i came upon a father coaching three kids to put (golf) on the lawn. Delhi is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities on the planet and as such, boasts many interesting historical sites from many different eras (and with a variety of current uses -- including golf practice apparently).
So, I have spent most of yesterday and today looking for apartments with brokers. The process is similar to any other big metropolis, lots of places to see, plenty of competition to snatch the good places, and lots of picky-choosey. I have been here only two days now and already am anxious to move into a place soon. Really the whole India thing remains quite surreal and removed because I am so focused on the move.
Once I finished the Sundar Nagar neighborhood loop, I was feeling a bit grounded and headed out to the gate (remember this is a walled-in neighborhood). I headed out onto the street and, looking up, i immediately saw a towering fortress ruins, then instantly upon looking forward I realized there were at least 15 different vehicles from 15 different directions threatening my life beyond the next 1-15 seconds. horns are honking, children are running, rickshaws are zooming, bicycles are creeking by with 100,000 orange flowers loaded onto them so that the driver is actually behind the bike pushing it while walking. Ridiculous busses too ... there is a donkey, here are ladies trying to sweep under my feet. What is that new smell and will that strap really hold that thing on there much longer?
Over the course of my run outside the Sundar Nagar walls, I made it to not one, but two archeological areas, both very imopressive. Inside the first old fort, i came upon a father coaching three kids to put (golf) on the lawn. Delhi is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities on the planet and as such, boasts many interesting historical sites from many different eras (and with a variety of current uses -- including golf practice apparently).
So, I have spent most of yesterday and today looking for apartments with brokers. The process is similar to any other big metropolis, lots of places to see, plenty of competition to snatch the good places, and lots of picky-choosey. I have been here only two days now and already am anxious to move into a place soon. Really the whole India thing remains quite surreal and removed because I am so focused on the move.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Sundar Nagar....and Roquefort
I have been on the ground for about 4 hours now. Clearly i cant sleep even tough its around 2:00 am.
The night outside is so thick: humid, smokey, and full of smells -- sometimes fragrant and sometimes putrid. About two hours ago, I stepped out of my guest house and looked both ways down the street. its was amazingly dark around considering it is just off of a busy avenue. almost hard to see. a big wall runs along the opposite side of the street and drooping willow-like trees reach out over the roadway. There was not a single car on the road except of the ones parked head-in to the wall with the bare feet of their sleeping drivers poking out of wide-open back doors.
Way down the street there was a neon lighted area and i saw people on the street so i started to wander that direction. It felt pretty uneasy. so dark and unknown and lots off people sleeping in corners and against trees. So i was keeping my wits about me. I finally got to the lit area and found a large fenced-in park. shops, cafes and restaurants surround the park but everything was closed (it is late at night here). several skinny dogs were wandering around and a few people were milling about in the shadows looking at me. then, at the far corner of the park, i reached a single open establishment -- a glitzy glass-fronted italian restaurant...hmmm. I walked in and was greeted by three friendly host/hostesses and proceeded to the dinning room which was really nice. Very hip and very modern and very fancy by any western standards with down-tempo/lounge electronica playing over big party-ready wall-mounted speakers.
So i have just now arrived back to my little room from Baci, modern italian restaurant. I am full of delicious Fusili and Heineken and have learned from my bar tender, Anand, that the wall i was walking along was actually the wall around the neighborhood "Sundar Nagar" were my guest house is located. it is a "prestigious" neighborhood and reportedly is completely safe. the people i thought were milling about and who initially made me a bit wary, are actually "security."
I think India is going to be like the best stinky, moldy roquefort cheese. off-putting at first smell and sight. Wonderful, complex and addictive once you take a bite.
I just thought of that myself folks...roquefort cheese...haha...goodnight from india.
curious to see what this area is like in the daylight.
The night outside is so thick: humid, smokey, and full of smells -- sometimes fragrant and sometimes putrid. About two hours ago, I stepped out of my guest house and looked both ways down the street. its was amazingly dark around considering it is just off of a busy avenue. almost hard to see. a big wall runs along the opposite side of the street and drooping willow-like trees reach out over the roadway. There was not a single car on the road except of the ones parked head-in to the wall with the bare feet of their sleeping drivers poking out of wide-open back doors.
Way down the street there was a neon lighted area and i saw people on the street so i started to wander that direction. It felt pretty uneasy. so dark and unknown and lots off people sleeping in corners and against trees. So i was keeping my wits about me. I finally got to the lit area and found a large fenced-in park. shops, cafes and restaurants surround the park but everything was closed (it is late at night here). several skinny dogs were wandering around and a few people were milling about in the shadows looking at me. then, at the far corner of the park, i reached a single open establishment -- a glitzy glass-fronted italian restaurant...hmmm. I walked in and was greeted by three friendly host/hostesses and proceeded to the dinning room which was really nice. Very hip and very modern and very fancy by any western standards with down-tempo/lounge electronica playing over big party-ready wall-mounted speakers.
So i have just now arrived back to my little room from Baci, modern italian restaurant. I am full of delicious Fusili and Heineken and have learned from my bar tender, Anand, that the wall i was walking along was actually the wall around the neighborhood "Sundar Nagar" were my guest house is located. it is a "prestigious" neighborhood and reportedly is completely safe. the people i thought were milling about and who initially made me a bit wary, are actually "security."
I think India is going to be like the best stinky, moldy roquefort cheese. off-putting at first smell and sight. Wonderful, complex and addictive once you take a bite.
I just thought of that myself folks...roquefort cheese...haha...goodnight from india.
curious to see what this area is like in the daylight.
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