India - the Prequel - Part 5 - 12/05

As I write this I’m peering through the fog on my computer screen generated by bringing it down from the air-conditioned hotel room to a bench on the hotel’s front plaza. We had many problems the first two weeks with power outages and A.C. failures due to the continuing cyclones and monsoon rain that is usually over in late November. We left the US on November 29th in fact hoping to have avoided the worst of it but we’re in the middle of a record-breaking time. We’d wake up at 2 a.m. every night to find we were sweating buckets and the power had gone out again. I would cover everything and move it all away from the walls, which had started to sweat copiously on their own due to the condensation. The generator would kick in and slowly things would get back to normal. The first time it happened I ended up in the bathroom drying out all the books and the computers with the hairdryer so they wouldn’t mildew. All is well now. They’ve had the equivalent of their water and power people working on it. Rain here - as I may have said - is not your Seattle rain. It pounds down, it soaks in and it finds you no matter what shelter you are under. It would rain so hard against the balcony windows that puddles and rivulets would seep in under the doors and we’d have to get lots more towels from housekeeping. Speaking of rivulets - even though I’m getting used to having my own running down my front and back from walking in the heat, I may start naming them after major tributaries if the promised heat wave comes next week. Meanwhile they keep turning off the restaurant A.C. because it is so “cold” now. I live for my hand fan…

I took a walk down the Promenade along the beach (our hotel is named after this walk) past the statue of Gandhi this afternoon. The usual drum, flute, wooden snake and backgammon sellers followed me most of the way but eventually peeled off when there was absolutely no sale. One snake seller (wooden toy) stuck with me because he was dying to come into possession of a coin - any coin - from the USA. I couldn’t oblige him as I’d changed everything to Rupee coins. He was very curious about the States as all young people are. Later I was standing at the wall overlooking the ocean and 3 women were next to me covertly trying to figure out what I was knitting. I had a ball of yarn in my pocket and was knitting away on a wrist warmer. When I saw them looking I handed it over and we had a pleasant sign language conversation about what it was for and how I made the purse I wear (woven). Hospitality and charm are everywhere here. I pass women in the street constantly that often look at me a bit askance, but once I smile they give me radiant smiles in return and head nods. Then there are the ice cream sellers. They must all be part of a business because the company name is Mewad. Or else Mewad is ice cream. That in itself would not be off-putting but often the sellers are all pulled over to the side of the street hawking major loogies onto the sidewalks - Mewad taking on a whole new meaning. There is a pub further on called “Between our Lips.” There is a guy who cooks bread and other fried goods from a cart and lets customers know he’s out there by making big ringy dings and clangs with his metal spoon in the iron pan. I don’t begrudge him his living but that particular sound outside my window is painfully loud. I’m tempted to pile up a little stash of wood chips or water balloons on the balcony to bomb him when he goes on too long. The cotton candy guy has a bell like the old school bells teachers used to ring. Goes onnnnn, and onnnnn and onnnn. There are some very elderly women who carry baskets of what look like gnarly roots to sell to people - I guess you chew on them but these women never seem to get many takers.

I must say that there is a general Alzheimer’s thing going on in hotel staff and perhaps the entire population, because as soon as someone has listened to your request and promised faithfully to do it immediately if not sooner with the utmost charm and happiness, the fog of forget happens and you never hear about it again. When you ask again, it either never happened or is already PERFECTLY FINE NOW madam! It’s very cute and I’ve learned when to ask and more specifically WHO to ask.

Remember that I mentioned how much children are treasured here. The fastest way to make people happy is to wave to their baby or to pretend you are calling the baby on your cell phone. No English is necessary - the whole family groups around and everyone takes turns getting the baby to shake hands with you, blow you a kiss and even kiss your cheek. The waiters, bus women and hostesses in the restaurant grab up all the babies and toddlers as they come in and carry them around, showing them off to other patrons and practicing blow kiss and shake hands with everyone. The parents relax and have their meal, knowing the children are being distracted and well-looked after.

At lunch today I was admiring a grandbaby of an Indian diner. The woman introduced herself and asked where I was from. She then introduced her daughter and son-in-law (also Indian) at the same table who are visiting Chennai and Pondy and who live on Capitol Hill in Seattle and take the 520 to work at Microsoft every day! Amazing! Most of the Caucasians we see are French and German and it’s only now that we are running into other Americans. There seems to be a conspiracy of white tourists I’ve noticed - not to acknowledge each other. Seems to have to do with appearing to be a cool world traveler, or to the idea of why would they want to speak to another whitey when they have come to a non-white country. I have passed so many confused white tourists on the road looking over their maps. They see me - and many are American - but darned if they will ask for help! Apparently I am very un-cool and need a more remote and sneer-like countenance. Guess I’ll work on it.

Smells - such a big part of the landscape here. Lovely flowers, less than lovely piles of human and cow poop, warm sandalwood, fennel on everyone’s breath as a digestive after meals, cardamom - even in cleaning substances - smells great when a floor has just been mopped. Things are either a warm wet smell or a warm dry smell. The wet smells are often walls sweating and getting old in buildings. As many dogs as there are running around I never smell them and they often pass quite close, even tho most of them don’t interact with humans.

It’s so incredible to visit Lakshmi - the temple elephant - and stand less than a foot from her. She has light amber eyes, big eyelashes, ears that have old scars and man-made holes for decorations. Silver bracelets with tiny bells are around her ankles (size gigantorama) and her huge toenails are clean, neat, and well pedicured. Some days she has a huge necklace like a Hawaiian Lei of brightly colored flowers. She has a very cute tail with fringe at end that is very bristled - like her eyelashes. They have shortened her tusks. Her tongue seen from the side is the shape of an anvil and helps hold things in place that are still on the way down the hatch. She has SUCH a long long trunk that she rests it on the ground between treats and bonking people for a blessing. Many women and children are very scared of her even while they are getting the blessing bonk. She’s so careful - the mom gets the regular weight bonk and the kids just get the lightest touch. She shifts about from foot to foot - to relieve the weight I’m assuming. Once in a while she’ll spray out a fine mist of – er - something. Perhaps cleansing the palette? Her trunk is striated with horizontal creases and very heavy and sturdy. Her head has the human equivalent of a fine layer of peach fuzz only in black and spaced further apart. She flaps her ears forward and back fairly often to keep cool. She is so beautiful! I haven’t found out how old she is. I seem to have developed a routine now of going to the Ashram most days to sit for awhile, and then back to visit her.

Yesterday I was on my way to cruise by some stores until it was Lakshmi’s time to come out. I met Asha, one of the wait staff women from the hotel restaurant. She was in a lovely Salwar Kameez that was pale spring green and blue. It was nice to see her with her hair down and out of uniform. At the restaurant everyone with hair past their chin wears it up in a bun and wears a short-sleeved black pantsuit. She immediately invited me to the apartment where all the female wait staff live and where one of the other young women was home sick with a sinus infection. I hated to come in on them unannounced but she insisted. 17 of them all work at the hotel and live in two rooms with a linoleum floor and a bathroom. They pile sleeping mats in the corner and get them out to sleep on with blankets at night. They are up two floors and have a small balcony with doors that open up for a breeze - no air conditioning. There were only 8 women home as they all work different shifts at the hotel and its two sister properties. I tried to say I’d leave them to rest on their day off but they piled up two mats and had me sit. In two seconds there were three little plates of sweets and fruits all neatly cut up and presented to me. They didn’t touch a thing having just had lunch. We all chatted and asked lots of questions of each other. Some things were hard to explain but everyone’s English was very good and I have no other language unfortunately except HORN. The concept of divorce and being married more than once is very foreign. One of the 17 is Christian, one a Muslim and the rest are all Hindu. They are all 17 or 18 years old - very very sweet and bright. They are all from Bombay and have moved down here to work and live together. They only get a home visit every 3-4 months. I found out from them happily that all the tips on the tables are shared equally among all the men and women working in the restaurant. The men take the food orders and deliver and the women act as bus persons, clear tables, poor tea and water. Many people don’t leave tips or leave almost nothing. That doesn’t sit well with us and we do our usual healthy tips. Most of these young women hope to be married to a suitable man that their parents will choose from negotiations within the next year. Some hate the idea and want to put it off as long as possible. The intended must be from the same caste, religion and have their horoscope cast beforehand to determine lifetime compatibility of the marriage. This seems like the young women’s chance to get away from home and see something of other cities before they settle down to marriage and children. They all have cell phones and talk to their parents a minimum of once a day. Despite what sounds like minimalist living conditions, the hotel group treats them well - providing uniforms, all meals, health care, sick pay, and transportation to and from their home towns on leave - which is a long distance. The men who work at the hotel always walk or drive the women home if it’s dark and no chances are taken. The men that work at the hotel and its properties have their own male residence like the women if they are from out of town. More of them are actually from Pondy itself and commute in daily. They are all very curious but only ask questions if some friendliness is indicated by the customers. Everyone made me promise to come back and to visit them at their respective locations for dinner. I will indeed. We brought a book of all Seattle pictures so I can show them what it’s like. These young people are mostly from middle-class or higher families, even though the apartment I described seems very spartan. They all went through a short college course in restaurant management to be able to take this type of training job in another city. It may be their first (and last) experience of being away from their parents and seeing how many different people live.

I roamed back to the Ashram to sit for half an hour before I went to see Lakshmi. I usually meditate and don’t look around me once I sit, but that day there was an older man who walks around to make sure silence is maintained by everyone, only he was muttering and standing in front of me. The crows were extra chatty this afternoon and I swear some of them had been learning English. This man was going to have silence at all costs and I looked up to see him with a home-made slingshot in his hand. The Samadhi - or stone tomb of the two founders is in the middle of the courtyard where we sit. Above us - forming a canopy over the entire courtyard - is a huge frangipani tree. There is a large semi-transparent cloth hung over the tomb (which is covered with flowers in arrangements that look kind of like the floats in the Rose Parade) so that the tree will not drop leaves directly down on the stone. Presumably it keeps crow poop off too, but the crows were up above and he was taking aim. What killing crows has to do with a practice of compassion toward all beings I don’t know but the handles of the slingshot were old and well-taped so it had definitely seen some service. He couldn’t get a good bead on them so he finally gave up and moved off thank goodness. I love crows, ­.whether they are getting punchy and chatty or not.

One vendor in particular near Lakshmi’s temple knows me now as I have bought some beads from him. We haggled a bit on some sandalwood beads at one point and when I was all done paying, he came running after me with one more type I’d been asking him about that he thought he was out of. We agreed on price and it was everything I had except for 5 rupees, meaning I couldn’t hop on an auto rickshaw for the ride home. I wasn’t sure I had enough so I was counting out carefully. Another vendor came over to watch the action as well as the pesky drum seller and a beggar. Soon it was like “The Price is Right” with all of them counting out loud with me. “20! 40! 60! 70! 80! 85! 90! 100! Like I’d hit the jackpot. Waiving 5 rupees (about 10 cents) I said he’d taken all my money and I was headed for home. Everyone saw. Everyone understood. Nevertheless, the drum guy, the beggar and an auto rickshaw guy followed me for two blocks with the sales pitch just in case I was a lying foreigner and had a special new stash of bills to bring out if the patter was clever enough. No cigar. 5 rupees pretty much won’t get you anything!

I’ve been using Cling Film (British for Saran Wrap) wound around the display of my cell to keep too much grit from getting into the face. I’m thinking of doing it with the display of my laptop as well since I sit out on the main front area of the hotel to wait for David each day and the breeze from the ocean gets quite strong at night, blowing many a bug and bit of this and that onto me and mine. I did mention that I’m the queen of the run-on sentence didn’t I? It’s tempting to encase my legs and ankles in it as well on rainy days - as walking around in the rain here is a funky business and there’s no knowing quite what has washed up on the sidewalks and on- or into your shoes. Think it would be noticeable if I used it on my face for a bit of a lift? We foreigners probably already look weird so it might pass - ya think?

The Indian nod is not really a nod. It’s like the word for snow among Eskimos or Aloha in Hawaii. The head tips from side to side rather than front to back, and can indicate “sure, I understand,” or “maaaaybe, but maybe not," or “I don’t reaaallly want to answer that question,: or (with a somber face) “I understand what you said but I don’t have to like it.” The men also do an abbreviated version that’s just a quick tilt to the side and back that seems a greeting and sometimes seems like a “hey, you’re swell with me kid” kind of affirmation. When listening to you some people slowly shake their head back and forth as if not agreeing with you. This was a bit disconcerting for awhile but I have the hang of it now. It just means they are marking your conversation and taking it all in. David and I are already head wobbling at each other when the answer could swing either way.

I have not made any friends at the bank! I go to the cash machine first to get 500 Rupee notes (about $10 US). I then go to the bank next door to change them into smaller denominations to keep up with tipping and small purchases. Same teller every time. Same look of disgust that he doesn’t try to hide. He chastised me the first time because I’d come in on payday and I was taking all his small bills. One would presume they have a VAULT for more such bills, no? Now I go in the mornings on alternate days and deliver many thank yous. No cigar. Maybe I’ll send him a congratz card with a copy of my exit plane ticket when I leave. There is a guard that sits near the front door who holds an aged rifle. I saw a chain hanging from the stock and never figured it out until the other day. The other end is chained around his waist so no one can grab and go with it. I never see another white person in the bank so maybe Mr. Intimidation has scared them all away?

I’ve noticed there are many advertisements on billboards on how to lighten skin here and obvious favoritism for light-skinned babies. In stores there are many lotions guaranteed to turn skin lighter for both adults and children. The Indian women in magazine ads are always very light-skinned. I know this conflict exists in African-American culture but was surprised to find it here – my ignorance. Is it exposure to Caucasian cultures or did it develop on its own?

India - the Prequel - Part 4 - 12/05

When is a bite not a bite?

A mysterious thing happened at dinner last night - while we were waiting for our dinner companions to arrive - I started feeling like I had 7 or 8 insect bites on my legs. They were itching like crazy all through dinner and on the ride home. I didn’t feel the actual bites happening before the itch - which you certainly do with mosquitoes. I envisioned Malaria et al but calmed down enough to try and figure out what they were - maybe fleas? Those guys are so fast you never know they’ve been until you start to itch. I am more prone to insect bites than most people - always have been since a child. So I went over this batch with antiseptic wipes and turned in. Presto change-o, next morning, no welts, no bites and no more itching, at all! I’ve heard about hysterical blindness and hysterical pregnancy - can one get hysterical mosquito bites?

The occasion for the dinner was to bid farewell to a coworker of David’s that is leaving the company for a new job and to move back to his wife’s home town of Trivandram in Kerala. George and his wife Bhuton were to join us with their two boys named Vibin (3yo) and Sibin (1yo). Sibin had been feeling sick earlier in the day so we didn’t know if they’d be able to come or not but they soon arrived with both boys. Sibin was dressed for snow with a Polar fleece jacket and pants and a balaclava. Locals are chilled during this weather and she was taking no chances. I had a constant river of dew down the front and back the whole time as we were eating on the roof of the building. It’s truly amazing what a difference a ceiling fan can make when there is no air conditioning. For me it’s the difference between swooning and remaining upright. We exchanged gifts and had a very pleasant time.

Everyone seems to adore and cherish all children; the parents, the wait staff, everyone! Sibin was pretty cranky and still not feeling well until they brought out a plate of chips for the boys - then they both transformed under the mystic aura of potatoes that has so many of us in thrall. I cut up chicken and shrimp so Bhuton could grab the occasional bite between bouts of walking little Mister Fussy around until his food came. Both boys were adorable and really good once they relaxed. Parents put a little silver bracelet (or two) with tiny bells around the ankles of their children at the one and two-year points - I don’t know if it goes beyond that. They are terribly cute and the little ones all love the tiny bells tinkling while they walk.

When the going gets tough - the tough go shopping.

The husband gives me a few errands every day - send in the laundry - check on some matter at home in the U.S.; get brochures from the Tourist Office - nothing onerous. Today I failed utterly Dear Readers. My only assignment was to find a bank and stop in to change bigger bills for smaller ones so we’d have tip money on hand. I set out and was turned away at the first bank (they didn’t do change) with convoluted advice as to where they next one was located. I started to walk there - honest I did! Then I passed by a shop selling shawls, scarves and miscellaneous tablecloths and bedspreads. This is the first shop selling fabrics I’d actually seen close to the hotel so I wandered in. Three men and a woman were sitting around a table in back and as soon as they noticed me they all jumped up about a foot in their seats and leaped up as if they were busted in an illegal gambling den. They rushed toward me and surrounded me. As I walked from pile to pile if my eye or my hand lighted on anything it was immediately whisked out of its plastic wrapper with five or six of its brethren for handy contrast. I started being more careful where I looked so I wouldn’t encourage dewrappering and flourishing as much. I saw some pashmina and silk scarves and must have let a bit of drool slip from one corner of my mouth as they owner took over with an assistant and everything else faded into the background. They must have whipped out 30 scarves in the time it took me to sit down on the handy chair provided. They would drape a scarf over a wrist and then keep adding up to their neck and down the other arm so I could see how they looked. I asked the price and with a “special discount” it was 360 Rupees. Sounds like a lot doesn’t it? I’ve had to memorize various levels of Rupees as math has never been my friend and I can convert on the spot. These scarves felt lovely on and the colors were wonderful. Plus, they way they are woven, the colors all reversed on the back. They were insisting one side was the “Monday” scarf and one side was the “Tuesday” scarf. I never know if prices are fixed or if you are expected to bargain and where it’s considered normal. I picked out seven and was asking if there was any further discount when I realized. 360 Rs. Is about $7.35!!!! Of course that meant they were definitely not pashmina but they felt great! I may have to go back tomorrow.

SO - that took care off all the big bills that I’d been given to change. Go home? Nah! I decided to be more courageous and tackle the downtown shopping area. I wandered up through the shops, running the gauntlet at each and every intersection. I’ve tried a new tack. I position myself as close as possible behind a shopping matron and when she sets foot off the curb, I am her shadow. Even though I speak Horn, only a local understands if the various vehicles really will back down and we will live to shop another day. Occasionally I felt a total melt-down coming on and I’d dive into a tea shop and order bottled water. I finally found a shop that sold lots of plastic things; bins, tubs, totes, etc. I went in and assembled my pile of plastic tubs to organize things in the hotel room (no dressers - they are doing Hi-Trendy) and hangers (we were given three - we’ll be here two to three months) and a shopping tote. The total came to 385 Rs. Having shot my (his) wad on the scarves, I now found I had only 285 Rs. Ooops! And he’d already written it all up. And I’d already asked him jokingly if he’d called me a silly woman in Tamil after I refused 2 or 3 of the attempts to find me the right bins. I was ready to leave the lot if he’d hold it for the next day but he insisted I give him only 240 Rs. And I could take everything with me except for one set of hangers which he would hold hostage for my return. What a prince!!! Off I went with 25 Rs. - the amount I knew I needed to grab an auto rickshaw for the ride back to the hotel. One found me and I told him I only had 25 (a normal fare but best to agree beforehand) and would he take me for that? “Let’s GO!” he said. Now I’m waiting for himself to come home so I can beg more money to race back to the Prince’s store and pay off my debt - and then confess over dinner to having sold out my errands to soft shiny things.

India - the Prequel - Part 3 - 12/05

Dress

Being a huge color and pattern and texture addict ─ as are all you fiber-lovers and artisans/
craftspeople - I was just agog for the first 3-4 days at the amazing clothing of the women here. Every conceivable color and pattern combination are worn and they are so beautiful and graceful! I used to think “sari” and figured it was a lovely silk garment with yards of cloth draped around the body ─ all the same way. I was in the ballpark at least. Every region in India is known for different styles of sari and different ways of draping them. Are the pleats horizontal or vertical? Does the shawl piece come from front to back or back to front? Tons of subtle differences…..TONS! Besides the sari, another popular garment is the Salwar Kameez. This consists of a pair of pants that are baggy around the hips and close-fitting around the ankle (the Kameez). Over the top is a very long tunic (the Salwar) which can have short sleeves, ¾ sleeves, or be sleeveless. Short sleeves seem to be the most common. The tunic falls below the knees and often has slits on the sides to make movement easier. The completing piece is a shawl/scarf piece called the Dupatta. In current styles the Dupatta is scarf width and very very long. It’s worn front to back in reverse of the way we wear scarves. As I may buy one of these I was terribly relieved to see that some ladies pin their scarves in place on their shoulders to keep them on. I was picturing a death by Bugati thing where the long end gets caught in a passing wheel of whatever’s going by and they have to mail me home as checked baggage. The Salwar Kameez are very very comfortable and about a quarter or a fifth of the women here wear them. I think they are much more popular in the North of India, but Pondy is considered a much more traditional town. I couldn’t figure out how all these women walked around, took care of children and did everything they have to do and still the pleats are in place and they look immaculate at all times! Once I started going into the shops to look at the fabrics, I was told that there are three main fabrics. A high percentage of the Saris and Salwar Kameez are made of nylon for every day. All the drape and none of the wrinkle. Even women I see in semi-construction jobs breaking up rocks and bricks and carrying the rubble out in bowls on their heads look great in saris with not a pleat out of place! The next type is silk – usually done in stripes or large plain areas bordered with stripes and a few patterns. These glow in beautiful subtle ways. In Salwar Kameez ensembles, the fabrics are coordinated so that the pants are one pattern, the tunic a closely matched pattern and the scarf a third coordinate. In the shops you will see the three fabrics lined up next to each other and grouped as they’ll look in the final outfit – ready to be run up to fit your size. Similarly with saris – coordinating fabrics for the under blouse, the skirt and the over piece that drapes over all. It’s just mind-boggling that there are so many beautiful combinations. I walk down the streets behind groups of women and my eyes never get higher than the shoulders of these petite women (unless I’m trying to avoid death by traffic) because I’m constantly studying them. The third type is cotton. The cottons are so fine that they often look like silk. Often embroidery of all types is added to the borders or the front bodices of the tunics and under blouses. The men I’m sad to say are a big disappointment. Men in business wear suits or white shirts and slacks. The majority of men are wearing plaid or checked shirts and plain pants. Since we’re not far from what was Madras, I’m assuming a lot of these are traditional plaids but colorful they are not. Plain pants and sandals completed the outfit for them. Other men wear the shirts with dhotis ─ long lengths of fabric wrapped around like a sarong and then tied up to form something the length of shorts…..sorta. I’m not seeing a lot of men in Kurta – the long long shirts that look like tunics with a Nehru type of collar. Perhaps not popular in this region? Footwear….most people of either sex wear sandals or flip flop/zorri things. Very few shoes and socks on men. Women have lots of pretty slip-on shoes that we would term mules, that are embroidered or decorated in some way. Perhaps they are for dressing up as I don’t see many women wearing them but I see them in store windows. Realize that I am just scratching the surface of Indian dress and culture here and I may be only seeing something that is particular to Pondy. Many many men, women and children go barefoot, regardless of style of dress. In Chennai, I saw countless people driving on bikes, scooters and cycles barefoot. I couldn’t tell from the clothing on women or men if this was an issue of choice or poverty. The saris on many women who seem as though their circumstances are impoverished still look very pretty, clean and dressy to me so I don’t have enough understanding yet. For families that are living on the street or in little palm frond tents or doing manual labor, sitting or sleeping on dirt or concrete is just the way it is. It would seem to me way too hot to lie on concrete in the sun instead of in the shade of a park, but people are often stretched out with nothing to pad them on the ground.

Today I bought a shawl that is made of viscose – the feel is as if it’s silk and pashmina. Many expat women living in this area will wear loose clothing but not necessarily of Indian origin ─ then they’ll top it off with an Indian shawl. Each region has their own specialty of pattern, weaving, color, style….it’s just amazing. Did I mention I’ve always been a fool for paisley?

Jewelry

In Northern India, women wear a necklace called a Mangalsutra ─ given to them by their husbands on the wedding day. This is the jewelry symbol of a married woman rather than a ring as Americans wear. They may be given a ring too but it does not indicate marital status. The traditional Mangalsutra in the North is made up of small alternating onyx and gold beads with a gold pendant of some design at the bottom. The pendant is often religious in nature but can be purely decorative. I made one to wear before we left and have been wearing it here. The necklace is not so bad but I couldn’t locate an appropriate pendant. As I’ve never succeeded at keeping a wedding ring on, I decided to make one to show my martial status while here. Thanks to Dear Reader Anita, I had a fairly good idea of where to start. The state we are staying in is called Tamil Nadu. The primary language is Tamil, not Hindi. Often Tamil people are Muslim, although because of Pondy’s origins, many of them are now Catholic. The traditional necklace for a Tamil woman is called a Thali (not to be confused with the Thali platters of different foods that Americans are often served at Indian restaurants). The necklace is made of a heavier braided gold chain and the pendant design is definitely religious and almost has a small reliquary quality to it. Women in other regions also signify their marital status by colored bangles of a particular style. I’m leaving the whole bindi (red dye mark on forhead) and dye in the hair parting alone for now as I don’t understand what’s what very well. Women here mostly wear their hair either in one long braid down their back or with the braid folded and rolled up underneath into a kind of braided chignon. They buy a length of jasmine flower buds that they attach to the top of their braid vertically. As they wear them the heat from their head opens the buds and they have this lovely-smelling jasmine bouquet on their hair at all times. I see women sitting in the streets with bowls of tiny jasmine buds and a roll of string, tying one to the next until they have a double rope of them that they sell for the hair. I don’t know if they last one or two days or if they have to buy them fresh each day. Many women wear silver ankle chains with tiny bells. A surprising amount of people go barefoot. This is not always connected to poverty as the poorest people on the street seem to mostly have sandals ("Chappals"). The barefoot thing is scary as there are so many people relieving themselves in public places and it gets swept into the gutters and the street. I'd be barefoot at all times if it was possible - but not here.

India - the Prequel - Part 2 - 12/05

Weather

The first thing you cannot help noticing is the amount of humidity – tons and tons! As soon as you get off the plane or leave any air conditioned space it’s as if you are a plant who’s just had its scheduled misting with very warm water. Monsoon season has gone on much longer here this year than normal and has been pretty severe. It’s surpassed anything on record. So much so that in our hotel room the rain had forced its way in under the balcony doors and warped the wood floors quite a bit. They apparently mopped and wiped up many times a day to no avail. The strength of the downpour was too much. The hotel has only been open a month and a half so you can imagine it must have been something! It was overcast and raining the first couple of days so that helped us ease in a bit. The temps at this time (winter) are in the mid-to-high 70’s. This is very cool to people here and some have an extra cloak on or bundle up their children. With 95% humidity the 70’s feel like a steam bath. Most days it may be a little hazy but the sun is out all day. Our hotel is right across the road from the beach and we are getting the benefit of wonderful breezes every day. Beach is a bit of a misnomer because there is actually a rock retaining wall and the water is deep, so no beach! The road is called Beach Street and is constantly busy early morning until late evening with people walking the Promenade with their families, or walking to work and home again. Some Indian ladies carry umbrellas against the sun, but very few. I have one but prefer sunscreen. I tend to take my forays in three-block segments, hide in the shade, gasp awhile and then soldier on. I have S.A.D. but it’s the summer version. Same symptoms, same problems, only in reaction to sunshine and heat rather than overcast and rain. As the regular S.A.D. people are starting to perk up in spring, I start the long descent into the depression of living through the sunshine and hiding out behind sunglasses and in air conditioned rooms with the blinds pulled. In September, just as the regular S.A.D.ers start their decline into winter depression and get out their light boxes, I get tremendously happy and energetic. India is definitely a challenge, but also a privilege to explore, and I’m happy to be here. Besides, when the going gets tough, the tough put on shades and go shopping, right?

Hotels and Water

DH (Dear Husband) stayed at a hotel on the opposite end of town in January (‘The Ananda”) when he came to India for the first time. No ocean breezes, right in the middle of a heavy traffic area day and night, and heavily pesticided. We had dinner there last night so I could see what it was like. They have anti-pest machines that emit fumes constantly in all the rooms. I could smell it as soon as we went in. It’s a very pretty place - modern building but old-world-style furnishings. We’re both chemically very sensitive so we shouldn’t have stayed for dinner, but we did and paid for it later with headaches. Our current hotel (‘The Promenade’) is very new and considered quite trendy. We have a seaward-facing room and 3 big floor-to-ceiling windows that open like French doors. They have wooden doors that cover the windows and that can be opened like Dutch doors for cutting out as much light as you like. They are not expecting people to stay more than a few days so there are no dressers and a just a few hangers in the half-high closet. We’re making do with some plastic bins and extra hangers I’ve bought at the equivalent of the dollar store. There are a lot of leather decorations on the walls and in the elevators. “Hi Design” owns the hotel chain that ours is part of and they use colored leather liberally throughout. There is a huge statue of Gandhi across the street above the retaining wall, wearing only a loincloth as he often did, conveniently dressed for a swim! Even though I’ve been hand-spinning in public (HIP), most locals seem pretty confused by it and do not connect it to Gandhi spinning on a Charka wheel. The major hotels all have Western style toilets, which is a wonderful thing. Rather than a bidet, they also have equipment for the Indian way of doing things, which is having a spray hose nozzle mounted next to the toilet and a drain underneath. Indian toilets are a hole with boards or steps to place your feet on either side. I don’t know how people with arthritis or bad knees deal with it but they are used to it and must make it work. When you are done, instead of toilet paper there is a jug of water which you splash along the area in question using your left hand to make sure you are getting clean as you splash. In the hotel, you can do your thing on the throne there, and then use the handy spray nozzle to accomplish the next steps. My understanding is that if you are Indian, running water is considered a much more sanitary way to clean yourself, both in toileting and bathing. You then treat your left hand as persona non grata at mealtimes and only touch food with your right. Sitting in a tub of water to bathe in is thought of as dirty - the water must be free-flowing, as in poured or splashed over you the way it would be under a waterfall or as in the moving water of a river or ocean. Most major hotels now have a bath and shower as well as the aforementioned toileting conveniences. Speaking of water, it’s necessary to drink only bottled water and brush your teeth with it as well. Pondicherry (called Pondi or Pondy by locals) has a very high standard of water – it’s one of the best around. The problem is the pipes the water comes through to bring it to you. So the bottled water we get is actually bottled right here in Pondy. To be sure of the water, you must order it and have it brought to your table and opened under your watchful gaze each time. Some less scrupulous places will refill the bottles and try to pass it off and you just can’t take the chance. Thus endeth the boring but truthful accounting of the basics.

Traffic

Whoa! Oboy! Geeze! As DH had told me after his first trip, traffic signs, lights, rights of way, etc. are merely “suggestions” in the Indian traffic system. There are some private cars, but most of the vehicles are buses, trucks and work vehicles. Everyone else is on a motorcycle, a scooter, an auto rickshaw (picture a VW bus put in a vise and squished horizontally from front bumper to back. Then, then take out the sides where the doors would be and put in a soft top. They are called “autos” for short. They are not cars. Only cars are cars. Others are riding in a cycle rickshaw (more like a traditional rickshaw in Asia but the driver is cycling, not pulling it by hand) or a bicycle. Everyone is out there creating lanes where there were none before, 2-3 vehicles sharing a lane, everyone looking for that opening that will let them shoot ahead of the pack. What is scarier is when a couple trucks are occupying the same lane space at the same time and they are coming toward you in YOUR lane instead of their lane. This is all considered legit. No one ever stops completely - they just slow down and maneuver, all speaking HORN. I was rather pleased to hear this because besides English, HORN is the only other language I speak fluently. DH has inhibited my use of HORN greatly in our home town of Seattle, but I am still very fluent. In fact, due to several areas of great challenge to Seattle drivers (using that little stick on the side of the wheel to indicate a TURN and MERGING onto the freeway) I am often highly motivated to engage in HORN with other drivers and teach everything I know about the language. I immediately understood what everyone was HORNing about in traffic here and it made me feel much more relaxed and less likely to die. Very few cars drivers and truckers actually lean on the instrument to make a prolonged obnoxious noise. These people are expert and very much acquainted with the subtleties and eccentricities of the language. I understand why they do not rely as much on signs and lights. With the correct type of tap or toot (and most people DO just tap or toot) so many messages are conveyed. The basic rule is simple. The biggest size has the right of way. Size totally matters. A few of the more common phrases in HORN:

Passing on your left, shove over please.

Passing on your right and I’m MUCH bigger than you so MOVE it.

I’m going out in front of you to cross this intersection first. Don’t even try it.

I’m really big, I’m moving fast, and you won’t win this one Bubba - so shove OVER.

I’m going first - no debate. Oh you want to debate? FOOL!

If you moved over a couple of inches I could slide through this minuscule space on your right and make it to work on time and you’ll have done me SUCH a favor. I’d let YOU in if I was you……­..not!

You are bicycles, I am car, there is no contest. Now move it!

You may THINK you are double-dog-daring me to crash into you if I want to cut you off but you haven’t a chance.

I’m just giving you a friendly mild toot to let you know I’m here and not to try any sudden lane changes if you value your life.

I’m coming around this blind corner and I sure hope none of you are coming around from the other direction – it’d be a real shame if we both crashed!

I'm next! Oh you don't like it? Go suck a tailpipe!

You there! Dog! And you goats and you cows too, don’t change direction or you’re lunch! You rats though – c’mon right out here, we’ll take out as many of you as we can. We don’t like you very much…

And so much much more. This is merely the tip of the iceberg. Animals understand HORN perfectly well and SHOULD, since they are all in the middle of traffic with everyone else!

Then there is the wonderful tenor and sound type of all the sacred instruments. Cars and trucks are mostly the boring old basic horn sound - except when they are backing up and suddenly play an entire popular song at top decibels to let you know. Some cars sound like a French ambulance and beadle beadle beadle along. Auto rickshaws are the most fun. About half sound like Uncle Scrooge on a really crotchety day. Others sound as if they have reached out and grabbed the plumpest bird they can find, giving a firm sudden squeeze for the maximum sound of birdie outrage. Some sound like grasshoppers on steroids and others sound… well…. ­.like various rude body noises. There is one that I laugh at every time I hear it - it sounds like an outraged seagull who someone has just cut in line in front of. What a squawk! The motorcycles all have a variety of horns as do the scooters and bicycles and they are more persistent with their toots. If one is meaningful, more must be better. I sort of get it - the rickshaws are harder to see and their chances of arriving home each night slimmer so they work it more. Helmets? None! Some of the braver Indian ladies drive scooters or motorcycles. They sometimes wear a Plexiglas face plate in front that is attached to a kind of headband so they don’t have to suck in pollution. Vehicles have no pollution controls on them so is does get pretty miasmic. Ladies who are walking frequently take the front fold of their saris and hold it over their nose and mouth. Whole families ride together on the motorcycles and scooters. Husbands, dads, brothers and uncles drive; woman ride side-saddle on the back holding onto the edge of their seat rather than the person in front of them. Often there will be one or more children in front of the dad or on the mom’s lap and sandwiched between the mom and dad. Did I mention there are no helmets? There are NO helmets! The motorcycles and scooters weave, bob and dart through traffic constantly taking what to me are hair-raising chances, but no one falls off, slides around, has their posture disturbed or any of their sari’s folds disarranged. Amazing! Same all around for people on cycles. The motorcycles are mostly Hondas and have names like Esprit, Passion, Valor, and many other testosterone-ish names. The scooters names are more tame, like Speedy and Scooty Pep. It’s hard to describe the flocks and flocks of people on these vehicles that are all moving to their own agenda at the same time. Pondy is considered a small town with a population of (only) 200,000. It’s much less spread out than Seattle so traffic is always congested. Walking is also a very exciting experience. I have a long and checkered past as a proud jaywalker in various cities where it’s very popular - New York, San Francisco, and London to name a few. Here I find I am a rank amateur, In fact there is no such concept in India. The point is very simple. Get where you’re going and live to walk another day. People are masters of the bluff on wheels. Everyone acts as though they will not stop for any reason whether it was your turn (always debatable), you’re much bigger than they are, or you are just as brave (cracked in the head) as they are. Only by entering the fray and showing you mean business and out-bluffing are you to finally make your way across as a pedestrian. At least once each day on my walks I have a private revelation of “Oh yeahhhh, this is IT! I’m gonna die for sure, yep yep! I have taken on a new tack! I find the most businesslike shopping matron and become her shadow. When she moves, I move. When she crosses the street I am practically gum on her shoe I am so close. It’s working!

Time

An interesting subject in India. First there is the mental computation of what time it is on the West Coast in the USA. India is 13.5 hours ahead of Seattle. Therefore I must wait until late night or the crack of dawn to call and catch anyone. It also involves subtraction and addition. Math has never been my friend. If the husband wasn’t inconveniently working during the day I could ask him - as his watch is still set to Seattle time. The concept of ASAP here is quite different as well. Many times when you call down to reception to see if something can be done or brought to you, by the time you are replacing the handset in its cradle, there is a knock on your door. Other times it could be that you seemingly didn’t specify what DAY your request was for and everyone plans accordingly. As DH said, no matter what the response or lack of response, it will never be the same on any given day, even if it is very cheerful! People tend to eat later at night, arrive at work later to start, and just work around the heat and what comes up. Stores always stay open late at night because it’s such a lovely cool time to shop and everyone shuts down for siesta time in the heat of the afternoon. I can’t separate heat of the afternoon from any other heat of the day!!­ By about 7 p.m. heat is no longer HEAT for me, but the rest of the time, heat is just as hot as it always was. You might think that being hot all the time would make you barely notice such things as a menopausal hot flash. Sorry to report that’s not true. A hot flash is just hottier heat than you had before with a sudden onset and a slow fade.

Animals

Many cows wander on roads out in the countryside, and sometimes a small herd will be wandering through towns here and there. Some are owned, some are not. The Brahma cows that are the really big guys pull carts. They have long horns that curve inward a bit at the tips. Often their horns will be painted - one red and the other kind of verdigris green. Huge melted raisin eyes, long graceful faces and very short dun-colored hair. They look amazingly patient without looking long suffering. Tons of goats in the villages and in town being herded by people. Goats in the city arrive in little groups from surrounding villages. They are very obviously milk and meat goats - not kept for fiber. They have very short hair in black and white, grey and brown. The other day on the beach rock wall there were a little group of them, cropping grass, keeping their babies in tow and working their way along the Promenade. Dogs are everywhere. They are mostly loaners and I haven’t seen them run in packs – seems so un-doglike! I can’t call them strays because that implies they strayed FROM someone or somewhere and these are all born on the street. They rarely approach people for anything and know not to try to get into buildings or vehicles. None are spade, and the only groups I see are of puppies who’ve stayed together for awhile. Being a huge dog fan it hurts to see them get mange or injuries and know they’ve just got to deal with it without help from vets or human companions. I think they live mostly off garbage, although some school kids will pet and feed the cuter cleaner ones. I did see a sign at the gate of a compound that said “Attenti al Canem” (beware of dog?) with a picture of a Doberman’s head below it. The next night I saw a Dobie with unclipped ears riding a cycle rickshaw. Perhaps on his way to relieve the night shift? Couldn’t figure out where he carries his Rupees either. Tonight we’re going to a vegetarian restaurant that has a greeter dog that DH has been to before. Finally! A doggie fix! I’ve been told not to touch any of the dogs on the street (because of disease and parasites) which is killing me. This is not to say that people don’t have pets. There are shows on TV about people raising purebred pets and there is a veterinary hospital in town for them. We’ve only seen one cat and a couple chickens. Squirrels seem to be a special ultra-petite variety. Lots of cute lizards. Snakes are around but I haven’t seen them yet. I saw a hotel employee carrying something straight-armed out to his side the other day. It wasn’t a dripping something so I was puzzled. As he grew closer I could see it was a trap with a very robust dead rat hanging down out of it. The area we are in is the old French side of town (Pondicherry was a French Colony for many generations) and pretty open and clean. However, there is no way to keep away rats when so many poor people live in tiny shelters on the streets and refuse is everywhere. Except for the snakes of course! They live for this very thing and are hot on the job! There are crows everywhere with the same body style as Seattle crows, but the feathers just around their neck and upper breast are a brown color against the rest of the black body. It’s like they are wearing a little collar. Could these be ecclesiastical crows?

India - the Prequel - Part 1 - 12/05

Because connectivity was in it's infant stage at the hotel we stayed at two years ago - I did long emails until I could get the blog up. There's a ton of first impressions and trip info in these so I've decided to add them to the blog. Remember that this is my trip two years ago - that way I won't have to retype all that info this time and can go from there. These are very long with no pictures so feel free to skip them. They do however give a pretty good picture of how India first hits a Westerner.

The Trip Over

22 hours of flying with a scant 2 hours of running in between connections for the next flight. Very tiring, but nice to get it all out of the way in one swell foop! We flew from Seattle to Chicago, had 45 minutes to drag carry-on bags waaaaay over to the next gate, flew to Frankfurt, Germany; then had another 45 minutes to race-walk around the huge terminal (again dragging bags that seem to have mysteriously doubled their weight by now) to the flight to Chennai, India. It’s truly amazing that flights were all on time and that we made all our connections. A moment of panic when we reached the gate for the Chennai flight and most everyone had already boarded but we actually had plenty of time. For $3,000 more we could have given ourselves more breathing room between flights to make sure we’d make each one, but 3k is 3k and we decided why not chance it. Just before the end of the Chennai flight, an attendant gave us the glad news that my large checked bag had not made it onto the plane with us and that we’d have to fill out forms in the lost baggage section before proceeding through Customs. This was just as David discovered that something in the Business Class menu had violently disagreed with him and that staying close to a W.C. - ANY W.C. - was a prudent measure. (I have to say that flying Business Class the entire way was a wonderful luxury. Seats that recline a LOT, great food - except when it ganged up on DH and very friendly and efficient cabin stewards.) So, off we went to Passport Control, DH with a faint greenish tinge to him and dealing with the sweltering heat that hits you the second you’re off the plane. I’d forgotten what it’s like in a country with a huge population, i.e. everyone has a much smaller personal space bubble around them and are used to waiting (and shoving and muttering) in long lines. We were way too slow for everyone even though we weren’t dawdling… the others in line… the officials who were waving us on with fairly fierce expressions… and the customs guys (REALLY fierce expressions). We found our baggage pretty quickly and I queued at the lost baggage desk after finding a rolling cart for the heaviest items. Keeping an eye on DH’s color, I inquired where the nearest bathroom was. Seems it is outside the airport! No chance to go until you’ve collected everything and passed through everything. Half an hour and 3 sets of triplicate forms later we waited while they handed me off to part of Customs so I could collect 8,000 Rupees (about $165 US) in compensation for the inconvenience of not having my clothes from my missing bag for the next several days. Oooooo, shawl purchase money! Not that I wouldn’t have bypassed the cash in a hot minute to save DH the extra agony of desperately clamping down on all orifices until we cleared the airport and got to the hotel. Little did they know that we’d both packed extra undies and a change of clothes in our carry on bags, and also another change of each other’s clothes in our checked bags. So I had 2 day’s-worth plus extra underwear at a minimum. Didn’t proclaim it to the world and turn down the money however. By the time Customs handed us the Rupees they were sick enough of us hanging around that they waved us right through with nary a question.

We had a hotel driver scheduled to pick us up in Chennai and he was there among the several hundred other drivers waiting for passengers with a large easy-to-see sign with DH’s name on it. Whew! We drove for about half an hour to reach the hotel, checked in, and DH could let go of everything at last in a lightless bathroom while I tried to figure out the lights and air-conditioning (you take the card that opened the door and insert it in another slot the opposite way to make the lights and power work. We were in Chennai (formerly known as Madras) for the night and were to be picked up the next morning to drive to Pondicherry - our final destination. DH felt pretty wretched and yet so tired he dropped right off. The room had nice cool tile floors as many of them do in hotels here. I became more acquainted with their benefits after dropping an empty club soda bottle that shattered into mostly teensy bits. DH slept on and I worked my way around the floor with a wet towel getting up all the bits. Nice and cool on the knees! AND, I found a one Rupee coin under the bed. Oboy! $8001 Rupees to spend on shawls! Rupees by the way are abbreviated as Rs. 49 Rs. equal roughly a dollar.

Our driver was right on time the next morning and miraculously DH felt like a new man. We debated whether to take the inland route (a bit slower but more “safe” and freeway-like) or the coast route. The company had told the driver to take the inland route as it’s less scary to the tourists, but he was willing to take the coast route as DH had taken it several times. They consider it scary for us because the introduction to Indian traffic and driving is indeed scary and totally overwhelming. I sat in the back of the (blessedly) air conditioned car and DH sat in the front so he could stretch his legs. Every once in a while he would turn to me and say, “Sooooo­..? What do you think?” I’d say WOW and he’d give me a “C’mon, give me more” gesture and I’d peep out another “Wow!” After a while he gave up, faced front and just let me absorb it all. It took another 45 minutes to negotiate our way out of town to the coast route as it was rush hour. Rush hour means inching along 2-3 cars per lane (at the same spot! The bravest gets the biggest part of the lane), with an amazing mix of cars, trucks, buses, rickshaws, motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians, cows, and goats all trying to get where they’re going­­..without getting dead. Our driver was excellent and not chatty - which I loved because my mouth was hanging open while I tried to take it all in, and loosen my death grip on the nearest handle I could find. Once we were out in the country it was much more relaxing.

Where are we?

Pondicherry is on the SE coast of India facing the Bay of Bengal along the Coromandel Coast. Isn’t Coromandel a pretty word? Wouldn’t you like to name your next dog or cat Coromandel? Except in no time it would be Corry or Mandy and you’d lose the whole romance of the thing.

Chennai is the city we flew in to. Chennai was formerly called Madras and is where the big Tsunami of ‘05 hit when it bumped up against India. Pondicherry is about 2.5 hours South of Chennai and escaped much of the devastation because the city has a 17-foot rock seawall that kept much of the Tsunami at bay (pun intended). The fishing fleet was devastated unfortunately and it’s just now that seafood (for which the city is famous) is once again in all the restaurants. On the way down the coast route we saw many small refugee villages with houses made from woven palm fronds donated by various charity and fraternal organizations. It’s hard to get used to the idea that North is on the LEFT as you face the ocean. Being on the East Coast means that you never have the evening sun cooking you for dinner when your room faces the ocean - a huge plus to my temperament.

Pondicherry was French until finally relinquished back over to the country in the forties. Much of the architecture and historic houses are French colonial. People born in Pondy can actually vote in French elections and people from both countries can live and work in either without restrictions of any kind. There are many Catholic cathedrals here and a lot of Catholics in the Indian population. When I see other Caucasians around town I tend to assume they are American. It’s a silly-of-me generalization as it turns out. They are almost all French and German. I won’t go into a lot of history because you can look it up and I’m already in danger of being booted off the Net for the Longest Catch-Up Blog Entry in the history of the World!

Pinocchio's Blog

That's me, Pinocchio, as I keep saying I'll show works in progress... My nose is now propped on the keyboard as I type. The hands are having a bad week with inflammation so I'm just inserting a few pre-typed chatty bits.

I’ve long been a fan of the free online magazine “Knitter’s Review” by Clara Parkes. Just go to the site to sign up for the email notifications of new issues. Clara does a fabulously thorough job of testing yarns through all stages – swatching, washing, beating them up in SO many ways to see how they pill and stand up to abuse. Clara has just published her book, "The Knitter's Book of Yarn," which is the result of her years of research.

For all of us local Judith MacKenzie McCuin fans, there are some very nice pictures of her here plus a bit of chat about one of her classes that Clara attended at SOAR (Spin-Off’s Autumn Retreat) here – scroll about half-way down the page. I went to SOAR one year and would love to go back – it’s well worth it to a spinner to go at least once. There are in-depth workshops with wonderful teachers, a tantalizing market and tons of camaraderie.

Can I make just a little fun of the 3-hour baked potato rage among bloggers? Y’all are SO young Darlins! How is it you think we baked those potatoes before microwaves and restaurant steamers came along? Why in the oven, at 350 degrees, and we didn’t have time for them to take 3 hours cooking! We wrapped them in foil (or not) and basted them unwrapped during the last half-hour or so. The scary thing is what we may have basted them with! In some cases it was Crisco (I know, don’t gag) or a bit of lard. The whole olive oil thing didn’t come in ‘til much later unless you were lucky enough (as I was) to have a mother who was half Italian and used it for everything. There was a fad to hurry up the cooking time in the oven by pounding in a big spike so it would cook from the inside out as well. It worked too! Apparently this idea hasn’t gone away completely and you can still buy the spikes. However, a Google and eBay search did not readily come up with them. I used to get mine from the hardware store. Just make sure it’s made from a metal that can take heat (avoid aluminum for health reasons - in my opinion), thoroughly cleaned, and doesn’t have some weird coating that will smoke in the oven and melt off into your potato. In the “old” days of baked potatoes, we even had to get up off our pre-gravity-ravaged behinds to walk to the TV and click the round knob through the 13 channels we were allotted to find something to watch while they were cooking. Update! For some reason most sites don't tell you that you must always pierce the potato with a knife or long fork before baking - no pierce - exPLODE-o potato. Same goes for microwaving too. See Elaine's hilarious comment!

Scarlet - waking up with me in the knitters' hotel room at a retreat...

Gossipy Knit Chat

I'm far from the first to post about Evelyn Clark's new site, but it's very exciting. She has all new patterns on her site and has made it very easy to order. Evelyn is a wonderful person besides leaking talent from every pore, and because she dislikes direct praise and for people to go on about her, I'll stop here and hope she'll speak to me again when next we meet.

Evelyn's new Sock Monkey pattern is very cute and some local knit buds have already adopted it for our next group project at some of the retreats we attend together. I suggested a group leftover knit bits swap so we can have fun sorting colors into Ziplock bags for the monkeys. I'm betting this pattern is just right for friend Lynne, the Socklady in Canada - who rivals friend Mary B for the most socks knit in a year. Obviously neither of them bothers with sleep at night. Don't worry, Mary's arm is in a sunspot in this picture, she's not catching fire.

If you click on the link to Lynne's blog - Sockladyspins, you won't be disappointed - gorgeous pictures of all types of socks she and friends are knitting. Of course Rebecca has put herself in the running with her mind-boggling collection of socks mostly knit since mid-July. Dare I say that when the divorce gets tough, the tough get knitting?

Other exciting news is in the latest issue of Vogue Knitting - it's the Holiday 2007 issue with Paulina Porizkova on the front. If you are at all into Fair Isle knitting, you might be thrilled to hear that Alice Starmore has the pattern for her Oregon Cardigan in this issue. Scroll down on this link on her site to read all about how the design was developed and then click on the pictures to see more views. What she doesn't mention on the site is that the original vest pattern in one colorway was published in the soft-sided book called "The Scottish Collection," which now goes for $400 or more regularly on eBay. That's just one reason why it's so wonderful to be able to purchase the pattern via the magazine. It has long been a very popular pattern, and - after starting her new site - she updated the pattern by adding sleeves for a cardigan version and added a new wonderful fall colorway - which is the colorway used in the Vogue version. Told you I was Queen of the Run-on sentence. The other boon to those of us who are larger than most patterns will deal with - is that she has sized this pattern up to a 56" bust. Zowee! The sleeves are picked up and knit downward from steeks so you'll be able to have them exactly the right length for you. Alice's Hebridean yarn is lovely. The carefully blended colors have tremendous depth and the yarn is softer than Shetland, and blooms even more after it's washed. I have purchased from her before (if you couldn't guess) and she's a super prompt shipper. If only the dollar were in better shape! By the way, if you go to Alice's site, you'll note all the measurements are in centimeters. The husband showed me how easy it is to do the conversion - that is, to let Google do it! Just type into the Google search box "convert 140.5 cm to inches," press enter, and Bob's your uncle - it's the top item in the list. Laziness has never been so rewarding!

I was gnashing my teeth in anticipation of Fiona Ellis's book - "Inspired Fair Isle Knits." I went to check it out but didn't buy it after all. My mental jury is still out on how I feel about it. Check it out at your local bookstore and see what you think. Here is a link that introduces the book.

Usually I'm a picture-heavy poster. Next post - I swear - will be a catch-up on my own knitting and fiber doings. There is always time for a cute doggie picture or two tho. The first is a picture of TMK and Ryan's Frankie from the last Dulaan party. Frankie may be the first spoonbill Pembroke Corgi on the planet. The second picture is the ever-inquisitive Trixie, wondering if I've finished my latte yet so she can lick the foam in the cup.

If you like birds, and animal antics make you as happy as they do me, go here and watch a cockatoo named Snowball dancing on YouTube - unless your at work in a public place of course. It's terribly cute.

Back from the Dead and Ready to Party!

Sorta... At least I'm back from the dead!

At this point I suppose I should give a warning/reminder that I'm a very heavy picture poster and also reigning Queen of the Run-on Sentence. That much has not changed. I don't seem to have all the spacing issues down since I'm back so your patience is appreciated.

What can I say? What a long strange trip it's been? Nah - boring and mundane life and health struggles. When we went to London on the way home from India in 2005, we both got the flu and the dear husband had some long-term stent problems. I stalled and sputtered to a halt, blog-wise. Always good not to bore the reader with these struggles until post-angst humor makes them more readable - or unless you can do it with cute pix.

One of the biggest changes was losing my darling Cardigan Corgi "Miss Scarlet" in April to Lymphoma. She was a darling girl and I miss her every day... See her little cute pod feet below. Pembroke feet are more like little tree trunks.

Now for comfort and companionship of the doggie variety - I am left with "Trixie," a Pembroke Corgi and a fear biter. TMK and Ryan's "Frankie" and some of Frankie's furry friends are Pembroke Corgis - without the biteage part. A Corgi without a tail (Pembrokes have the vestigial teeny bit docked soon after birth) you might think would just ignore the whole idea of a tail to save face. But no... Trixie chases the missing tail just as if she had it - wiggles the stump of bone where it should be located when happy, and all in all acts as if it's not really gone. Fear biter dogs - if you're not familiar with the term - bite and get aggressive out of fear rather than being naturally aggressive. They are often especially submissive to avoid any confrontation that makes them nervous. When they feel cornered, they turn into Cujo and it's not pretty.
Scary - ain't it? Fortunately these are rare occurrences and she is mostly a very sweet and loving dog. Adores licking the leftover foam from my latte, doesn't mess with dropped yarn balls, waits patiently for accidentally dropped morsels, and is very affectionate.

Pretty much the only biting behavior is when we're all settled in bed and asleep. All is well until one of us has the NERVE (or the bravery) to turn over. She is instantly awake and sure that there are demons under the covers who are coming to get her. She jumps up barking, chomps at whatever body parts are making the highest hill under the covers, and jumps off in a snit - not to return for hours - when it starts all over again. It's quite the wake-up call I can tell you. Why don't we keep her off the bed? Sometimes we do, but she's very sweet and the snuggling part is sometimes worth the inevitable chomping part.

So about the almost-2-year dead zone of blogging. I have lots of pictures from that time so I will fill in here and there with posts-o-the-past bits fit for publication. This is mainly a fiber blog, with travel thrown in - so the next post will be all about the fibes.

Dear huz and I will be leaving for India next month for another 3-month stint. I didn't go last year - due to Scarlet's health and other things. This time we'll be staying mostly in Chennai (formerly called Madras). Chennai is a couple hours north of where we were last time - in Pondicherry. India is having so much fun changing the names of cities that they just can't stop themselves. Bombay to Mumbai, Calcutta to Kolkata made sense - they went back to the original names that that the more English names were derived from. Madras to Chennai? Not so much. Now they are changing Pondicherry back to Puducherry. Enough already! Fortunately you don't have to feel guilty about using the old names for everything when most of the residents can't be bothered to use the newer names. I'm hoping we'll get to travel North to Delhi this time and see the Taj Mahal and some very famous temples. BFF Natasha will hopefully coming to visit with the last of her inherited Frequent Flyer miles. (Who knew you could inherit FF miles!?!) Much romping with a fiber-oriented friend will enhance the trip a great deal.

It will be great to see Lakshmi again in Pondicherry. Remember Lakshmi? Visiting temples where there are elephants to give blessings for donations is a high point for me.

Always wondered how much time temple elephants have to spend in the makeup tent before they come on for their shift. They put on lots of jewelry too. The Husband found out on his last trip that they are absolute fools for cucumbers.

Glad to be back, and hope to stay back!