God Bless the U. S. 'n A.!!

Alex holding up "American food." We prepared this salad for one of our elegant dinner parties. Canned tuna and boiled eggs served in only the finest tupperware.

"Could I interest you in a block of tasteless cheese on a plastic plate?" Only the best for our guests. The ancient brown box is not a torture device, it's our rented air conditioner with a few gaping holes.

As Independence Day in America approaches, we’ve been feeling particularly patriotic. Without getting political, let’s just say that we understand that “morale” may be “low” (unnecessary air quotes) back home thanks to we-won't-say-whose monkey face ... but let’s not let that someone-someone keep you down! We’ve put together this blog to inject some good ol' patriotism back into your soul. After you're through, you may feel compelled to once again stand up tall and proud, roll up your sleeves to display your bald eagle tattoo, and sing (all together now): "I'm proud to be an 'Merican! Well at least I know I'm free..."

God Bless the U. S. and A. for the U.S. Postal Service!!
With all due respect, the Indian Postal service may be the most frightening governmental institution around, rivaling the former East Germany's Stasi. It all started off harmlessly, when we shipped ourselves some supplies from home prior to our departure to India. We knew it would take longer than promised, but somehow 6-9 days turned into 3 months, and a box with square corners turned into an amoeba (see below). That was just the beginning of our travails with the Indian Post, and we haven't been the same since; friendly messages alerting us to look out for goody-laden treats in the mail now give us anxiety-induced chills and diarrhea over what Indian customs will reduce our packages to.

Friends and family have sent numerous packages, almost all of them rifled through, many with items missing, some entirely vaporized, and some containing the contents of someone else's packages. Once, we were horrified to find what looked like a dried fetus stuffed into a dirty plastic receptacle sitting in one of our packages. Too frightened to open it alone, we brought it to a neighbor's home, hovered around it, and finally discovered it was a chopped up plastic baby dinosaur complete with membranous parts, in a plastic egg. Why would customs allow this fetus look-alike through, and seize our chocolate and sweets as contraband? We now understand that customs has nothing to do with regulating the entry of goods into the country, and has everything to do with regulating the entry of tasty treats into their bellies. But thank goodness, sometimes one man's trash is another's treasure. We were relieved when they delivered our shipment of crack cocaine untouched. (Crack in the form of "24" on DVD, that is.)

At times it's funny to think of the guy in customs staring curiously at the dinosaur egg, then deciding his son has no use for this potential present from dad, forgetting where he stole it from, then chucking it randomly into our package. Other times, it's infuriating to think of the customs guy twirling his mustache in pleasure as he drinks our Vermont maple syrup, or to think of him wiping our chocolate from his mustache. Finally, the only way I can overcome my ire is to convince myself that there is an Indian customs agent out there wearing my brand new St. Tropez bikini with bamboo rings to work. (Why on earth would you steal a bikini??? We may never know the answer.)

Exhibit A: the amoeba. The state in which we receive many of our packages. How in the world does this happen? We've stopped wondering and just accept the tough realities of livin' in India.

Are we supposed to laugh or are we supposed to cry?

The latest casualty. Paige, this one was from you. We couldn't figure out if they had the donkey give birth on it first and then they smeared it in poop, or if they smeared it in the poop first. Or was monkey vomit somehow involved?

This one looked more promising. Triumph -- after a lot of hand-wringing, our friend Heather's package finally arrived after a 2 month wait. The self-satisfied smirk quickly disappeared when we discovered the fetus-like dinosaur egg inside; some poor kid must be pissed that he never got his toy.

God Bless the U. S. and A. for Donuts!!
We aren’t big consumers of donuts, but being so far from home, we sometimes get the craving for something a little risqué, like donuts. Alex spotted some in Vellore, and brought a donut home one day for an extra special treat. “Yum! But why is it so heavy?” This donut looked like a donut, but it was packed with an extra-special punch, an ogledy-dogledy trans-fat punch that is! It was sopping wet with grease, super sweet as if dunked in syrup, weighed 5 pounds, and had the caloric content of a Pizza Hut cheese-injected-crust pizza topped with a bucket of Chicken Poppers. So in retrospect, the donuts back home aren’t so bad ... in fact, these here donuts make the Boston Crème look like Lipitor.

Speaking of donuts, Alex and I found the source for the jelly in jelly-filled donuts. It's the Indian brand Kissan's strawberry flavored "jam." This ain't jam. It's a jar of Dunkin Donuts' top-secret-recipe jelly donut filling!!

God Bless the U.S. and A. for Personal Space!!
Ever get that feeling that someone's watching you? Here, chances are, they are. Sometimes we look around the bus to find that every man woman and child is unabashedly staring at us. When we make eye contact, there's none of that turning away and pretending they're not staring ... they just keep staring.

Like many other countries, that's just normal. No boundaries. Pushing, shoving, picking noses en plein air. When Alex and I went to Pondicherry, I got a massage. Much to my surprise, that meant a boob massage ... kneading, mashing, squeezing, the works. It ended with the masseuse karate-chopping the top of my head. Different strokes for diff'rent folks.

God Bless the U. S. and A. for the FDA!!
We have a hunch that Indian products aren't always rigorously tested for consumer safety... take the product below, for example. Desperate for an agent that would satisfactorily clean our filthy black concrete countertops or un-enameled toilet bowl, I turned to "Lyra Sparkling Cleaning Acid". Sure, "Cleaning Acid" sounded a bit harsh, but I was desperate. Also, I was lured by the image of a sparkling clean toilet on its label. As soon as I poured it into the toilet bowl, a chemical reaction took place that caused a visible cloud of acid fumes to rise up from the bowl and singe my nasal hairs. My eyes started tearing, and as thoughts of Alex coming home to find my body collapsed on the floor with half of my face eaten away by a gaseous cloud of acid, I ran from the room. The sensation of my nasal hairs being singed elicited painful memories of pre-med Chemistry lab. I haven't thought of such things in years, but there was a vague recollection of things such as hydrogen ions, normality, and molar concentrations; all I can say is that this solution of acid is a billion more moles than should be allowed for an over-the-counter cleaning product.

Of course it's the "Best Stain Remover" ... it removes a layer off of whatever industrial surface you're trying to clean.

You may be abe to discern the cloud of acid gas hovering above the toilet. Toileting immediately after acid application would be a grave mistake.

God Bless the U.S. and A. for Water Treatment and Sanitation!!
There may not have been a research project in acute diarrhea if the situation here were otherwise, but as the old adage goes, it's best not to mix business with pleasure.

Another one bites the dust. Alex after an all-night gastroenteritis marathon. Who knows what the culprit was this time, the dung on our produce or the spoiled yogurt? Pooped from the excitement of the prior evening, he recuperates in bed.

And another one down! The following week, I try to block out the world as I suffer from my own ailments.

Crazy Tasty! Our friend Fran gave us a can of Spam as a joke. We didn't find it to be funnt -- we found it to be delicious. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Made in America? We'll take it. Mmmm ... sodi-yum!

God Bless the U. S. and A. for Toys That Don't Induce Crying!!
“Crikey! Stop torturing me!!” we often find ourselves thinking when face to face with Indian toys, or unintentionally frightening and bizarre plastic creations that are meant for children’s pleasure, but instead give us chills up the spine. Shrieks of delight or shrieks of raw fear? You decide.

Oh, how you torment me so with your Restylane lips and Botox stare! This specimen possesses that creepy "je ne sais quois" characteristic of toys we've encountered here.

Egads! I know they say to pluck, but you kind of scare me with those Joan Crawford eyebrows.

Baby or a monster? The bottle and proportions say “baby”, but the hole in the head and Frankenstein feet say “monster”.

"My hair, skin, clothes, and vehicle are the same jaundiced yellow for your child’s monochromatic enjoyment."

God Bless the U.S. and A. for Technology for the Common Man!!
Back home, you may imagine that technology has swept India like a monsoon, radically changing the everyday lives of millions. Outside the high walls of the largest cities' exclusive I.T. campuses, however, it seems nowhere to be found, and light years from benefitting the common Indian man. Even here, at the top ranked hospital in India, it is difficult to find a computer that accepts a flash drive. Alex has reverted to working in the ways of Mr. Brady on the Brady Bunch -- with real blueprints! It is the first time I have ever seen him with one. And of course he works topless thanks to the legendary Indian heat.


God Bless the U.S. and A. for Personal Injury Lawyers!!
"This country would be safer if people sued each other." Thoughts on the morning commute on the overcrowded and tilting bus as it careens into women and children on the street and plays chicken with other overcrowded and tilting buses on the road.

Oh la la, Pondicherry!

Nostalgic of our travel to the Far East and yearning for a culinary change from spice and coriander, we jetted to the coast for a brief weekend in Pondicherry. Although it's name has officially reverted back to Puducherry (meaning new village in Tamil), many still call it by its old name. One of two Union Territories in India (Delhi being the other) Pondicherry enjoys status similar to a state allowing it to pass its own legislation such as legal consumption of alcohol. Our state of Tamil Nadu is dry, depriving us of a cold beer with a red hot curry. Pondicherry is best known for its French culture; this territory was ruled by the French for almost 300 years. For that colonial period, Pondi served as the capital for all of French India. Although not as expansive as the British holdings here, the French were able to focus their attention and design a picturesque and well organized city. The cobblestone streets and pastel colored homes speak more of Nice or Cannes than Vellore. And the food? Well, no self-respecting Frenchman would come here without their baguettes and cheese. Fortunately, their culinary knowledge persists and great food can be found throughout the town. Enjoy.

Orientation.

Historic Map of Pondicherry.
The only city we have visited in India with a regular grid of streets.
What a relief!!!

Jeeyung enjoying a stroll on the paved brick streets.
What's missing in this picture?
Throngs of honking rickshaws and buses clogging up the road.

Local residence with French style street sign.

Bougainvillea.

Entry to l'Ecole Francaise d'Extreme Orient.

Court of l'Ecole Francaise d'Extreme Orient.

Pondicherry Maternity Hospital.

We stayed at the Hotel Dupleix. Named after the French Governor of the territory, this hotel was designed by a French architect taking over 4 years to renovate. A blend of historic and modern,
all of the old details were carefully constructed in the colonial
style including the use of crushed eggshells for the interior plaster finish.

View of porch outside one of the rooms at the Hotel Dupleix.

View from the lounge at the stair landing.

Ashram students taking a break from their studies. The Sri Aurobindo ashram is located in the heart of Pondicherry and owns a large majorities of the buildings in town. All of the their structures are easily identifiable: painted gray with white trim. At first this can seem rather oppressive, but it actually brings a level of visual continuity to the town that is rarely found in the haphazard chaotic urban spaces throughout India.
Although smaller, the Pondicherry Museum bears great resemblances to its older sibling in Kolkata (see earlier blog Black Hole of Calcutta Redux).

I was not allowed another morsel of French bread until I memorized correctly all of the beach sands of Pondicherry. Unfortunately, I kept getting them wrong because the vials were so dusty.

Assortment of Auroville Cheeses (Emmenthal, Mozzarella, and Cheddar),
French bread, and organic red and white rice.
Jeeyung had a fresh vegetable sampler with a carrot mousse and mushroom ravioli. This presentation may not impress you, but see below for what we have typically eaten for the past 5 months.

Tiffin meal on a banana leaf. This is our typical fair in Vellore and is a mixture of rice, dal(lentils) and vegetarian curries. To find out more about the fascinating tiffin delivery system in Mumbai please click this link.

Pondicherry also boasts some sick 80's mixes. At different hotels, we kept hearing the same mixes over and over. Can you guess who is who in the following pictures? Band: Toto. Song played: Africa.

Artist: Chris de Burgh. Song played: Lady in Red.

Artist: Richard Marx. Song played: Right Here Waiting.

Pondicherry also has its fair share of celebrity look-alikes. If you weren't able to guess the above artists, perhaps you know who this man resembles?



We visited the ashram of Auroville, 20 minutes outside of Pondicherry. It is an experiment to 'realize humanity in diversity'. The commune holds approximately 2000 long term believers, many of which are non-Indian. During our visit, we saw a lot of Europeans with pony tails toting their barefoot children on the backs of mopeds. This place belongs to another era. Jeeyung felt so peaceful there that she wanted us to stay for the rest of our lives, but I told her that there was no way I could meditate inside that damn golf ball.

Although Auroville is well known for its experimental architecture and sustainable living strategies, we particularly appreciated their fine cheeses. We stocked up on the way home with parmesan, goat, and yak cheese. Yes, the yak attack is back by way of Nepal. This is one of the stinkiest cheeses I have ever consumed (second only to a French epoisse). You almost have to eat it with gloves as the yak odour stays on your hands for half of day. The yak has been officially banned from our household.