Old Friends

Last month we went on a cruise to Nassau. "We" are a gang of women who have been friends since we were 1 year old, more or less. One was a late-comer, showing up in our lives around first grade. This cruise was a celebration of our 60th birthdays, which we will all celebrate in 2011. The photo is out of focus, thankfully -- an old Hollywood trick to disguise wrinkles! The waitress who took the photo probably didn't know that, tho.

Two of the gals in the photo are sisters whom we were thrilled to have along. Left front: Jill, Sherrylou, Holly, Sherry (June's sister) and the back row is Kimberly, Leigh (mine) and June. the Magnificent Seven. I don't think we have laughed so hard in forty years. Old friends -- we know each other's mother's maiden names! We can close our eyes and walk all the way through each other's houses, through the attics even! We know exactly what the others' Christmas mornings consisted of. We know our fears and our strengths, and we know exactly where each came from. We can walk through our yards, we can describe the climbing trees. We can see the huge granite rocks we played on by the water, each crevass we jumped, the "horse" rock. We knew all the parents' sleeping styles, from separate bedrooms to double beds to two twins pushed together, to a king. We never really knew what the Dads did, but we knew the moms like they were our own. All but one of the moms is gone now. When we turned 50, we went to visit one of them, rang her bell and then yelled "TRICK OR TREAT!!!" and she said "Oh for god's sake, when are you girls gonna GROW UP!!??" Man it was funny!

Sherrylou was the first to turn 60, which happened on the ship. We had a great party at the table, with party favors and wonderful little gifts for everyone. Remember the toy that was a cardboard guy and you used a magnet to move iron filings around to make a beard, or hair? We had masks and whistles and those blower thingies...we probably looked like fools, but we preferred to believe everyone was envious. There was chocolate from Stowaway Sweets in Marblehead; there were ornaments and bags full of penny candy like when we were little. There was a fabulous journal, each one containing photos and mementos from childhood.

The Magnificent Seven have endured so much in our lives. Divorces, infant death, murder and a disappearance. We have held each other and cried until our hearts would break, and we have laughed until our sides hurt so bad. We all carry baggage, and we all know where that baggage came from. How lucky are we, to have a whole team who knows us and loves us through tragedy and joy. It don' get no bettah.

Our Mini Amazing Race

Two photos from our Mini Amazing Race, called the Citychase. These races are held all over the world, sponsored by Tmobile and Blackberry. My friend C and I had an absolute blast! There were about 600 participants, and I was impressed with how the clue sheets were handed out. Instead of making us all line up for a copy, they announced a list of scavenger hunt items we had to bring back in order to receive our clue sheet. Fortunately for us, the start was directly across the street from my sister's condo, so we just zoomed up there and picked up everything we needed! Still, even with that auspicious beginning, we found ourselves falling quickly behind many other teams. Each clue had a time-consuming challenge attached to be completed before moving on to the next. On our very first challenge, C had to accost a total stranger and ask him to kiss her, to exchange shirts with her, and to do a cheer she would teach him, all while I photographed it with a Blackberry loaned to the challengers. Done, and with a VERY willing stranger I might add, upon re-reading the instructions I saw I was supposed to video them, not still photograph them. The stranger was quite game (C is gorgeous!) and did it all a second time while I tried to figure out the stupid Blackberry! It was hilarious. The next challenge was to kayak down the Confluence, over rocks! C had never been in a kayak but we totally rocked it and headed to the next, pictured above on the right. Yes, we had to ride a mechanical bull! C rolled a pair of dice and we had to stay on for as many seconds as she rolled. Lucky for us she rolled a 6; unlucky for me I went first; lucky for C I stayed on for FIVE WHOLE SECONDS!!! I begged the guy to set the speed for Senior Division but he said he couldn't. Fortunately the bull was surrounded by a giant air mattress, so when I fell off I didn't break a hip! Ha ha!!

We didn't finish all ten challenges, but we had a great time and would do it again in a New York minute!!!

Pueblo Lake State Park

We just spent two nights camping at Pueblo Lake. As you can see by the photos, it is plains camping; a very far cry from mountain camping! The terrain is almost pure clay, which, when wet, sticks to everything and sucks your feet down into it, making mounting the shell a real challenge. You can see our "private" beach, but a view of the whole lake really doesn't translate well into these tiny photos -- it is HUGE, and the week before Memorial Day almost completely devoid of other boaters! That made this novice sculler very happy, as I always worry about crashing into someone, or being crashed into by someone who can't see my narrow, silver boat.

This was only the second time we'd gone tent camping in probably 15 years. We (actually, I) used to make it all so complicated; trying to be green, I'd bring real plates and cups, and would have to wash dishes after every meal. Burgers, steaks, side dishes -- those, along with the real plates, went by the wayside. Our menu the first night was boneless chicken breasts grilled at home, and a bag of frozen veggies and rice. We put it all in a pot of boiling water to heat it up, (the chicken in a ziplock) and it was delish! (Next time we'll bring a steamer basket and won't have to use so much fuel boiling the water). Of course s'mores for dessert, but instead of the Hershey bar that never melts, we used Nutella -- yum!

Breakfast was equally easy -- bacon cooked at home (who can deal with all that bacon fat when you're camping??!), scrambled eggs, cheese all in a whole wheat wrap. Lunch was sandwiches made with those same wraps (so much easier than packing bread, which always seems to get squished). Fruit for snacks. We went to the marina one afternoon for ice cream.

The tent campsites were deserted except for one other tent. The RV sites had a few more people in them, but were far away from us. The silence at night was profound, and the birds in the morning were too numerous to count! When I woke up at 5 and stuck my head out of the tent, I couldn't believe how beautiful that water was, and was thrilled to get on my shell after so many weeks without rowing. A bit out of shape from winter, I only lasted about 45 minutes. Later in the day, when there was too much wind for rowing, I took the kayak out -- that thing is so stable and so much fun to paddle around in! Where the shell is a shark, the kayak is a flounder, but it gets me where I want to go. No matter what vehicle I choose, on the water is the best place in the world.

Religion

I don't pretend to know anything whatsoever about the religions in India. As a matter of fact, I really wish I'd read up on them in order to understand the people better. But a couple of things stood out. Please know that I am only writing about what I experienced -- I am not generalizing about the religions or the religious people themselves.


The Sikhs were the least likely to swarm us or to cheat us (as far as we could tell). They were serene and elegant. Amritsar is their spiritual center, where the Golden Palace is located. In order to enter the grounds, you must remove your shoes, wash your hands and feet, and cover your hair (both men and women). Once inside the temple (after a long wait in line) there were seven or eight maharajis chanting prayers inside a small, beautiful and very hot room. Visitors would simply sit themselves down anywhere (including in line) and start chanting with the maharajis, which was a little disconcerting. One woman was scolded by a guard when her headscarf slipped off.

The Taj Mahal is a Muslim mausoleum, but of course is visited by people of all walks of life. We heard the Muslim call to prayer while we were there, but did not see anyone step out of line to pray. As a matter of fact, there were "line police" specifically there to keep people from mobbing the crypt.

Several times when money was exchanged, whether in a rickshaw, buying bananas at an outdoor market, or paying our hotel bill, we saw the recipient gently waving the money in front of an icon, bowing, and moving his hands in some way, giving thanks for the blessing of having made a sale, I imagine. Many many businesses had incense burning in front of a painting of a god or goddess. Even some rickshaws had a tiny makeshift altar with incense burning!

In McLeod Ganj, where the Dalai Lama resides, was a Buddhist temple where several gods were depicted in statues or paintings. The altars had offerings laid on them, mostly boxes of foods such as Oreos, Ritz crackers, Chips Ahoy. Personally, that detracted a great deal from the solemnity of a religious altar, but being an athiest myself, I simply thought it lacked decorum. Believers would prostrate themselves in front of these altars, so we had to avoid stepping on them as we passed. There was a sign upon entering the temple warning us to watch that our shoes don't get stolen. Hmmmm, how do we do that?

The People

We flew to India on Etihad Airways, the national airline of Abu Dabi. Besides our plane being delayed in Chicago for 24 hours, it was a nice flight. On the TV screen were a million choices of entertainment but when that all got old, I would leave the map on. Slightly different from other airlines, this one showed the time, temperature, miles flown, miles remaining, and miles to Mecca. Before takeoff and landing a prayer was spoken in Arabic and not translated. (I know this because my seatmate was Arab/American and he told me).

I got an Ayurvedic massage from a very old woman in Varkala. She spoke no English but laughed a lot; strongest arms in the world and a great massage--VERY different from any I've had here -- no partial coverage with a sheet, no body part left un-massaged. It started with me sitting in the buff on a stool, and the masseuse pouring several ounces of oil on my head. Took quite a few tepid showers to get all the oil off!!!!

Waiters were a trip. I believe every restaurant we went to had only one burner in their kitchen, because every meal came out one at a time. If there were six of us, waiters gave us 3 menus; if there were three, they gave us one. In one breakfast place (very western-looking, imitation Starbucks) the waiter took our order, left and came back with a half liter of milk, brought our coffees. Left again, came back with two yogurts (which Mags and I had ordered). Brought our yogurt, muesli and fruit; left again and came back with bananas for Michael's porridge. The whole shindig took 35 minutes; no, not to eat; to just get served!

At every train station we were swarmed by taxi drivers, touts and beggars. In the very first moment after meeting up with Maggie I was getting into the taxi and shutting my door when I saw this hand reaching in! I looked down to see a man with no legs, whom I almost killed with the taxi door! (In most of the towns, at the train stations there is a little booth staffed with a police officer whose job it is to find out where you want to go; then he tells you how much the taxi costs, you pay him and he gives you a voucher. This is for the traveller's protection from getting ripped off by the taxi driver. Twice Maggie paid the policeman with a 100 ruppee bill, took her eyes away for a nanosecond, and there was the policeman with a 50, claiming that was what she gave him. So much for protecting the well-being of the traveller!!) Once, I got so frustrated with the gang swarming us that I just yelled out "WHY do we have to have 12 people around us every time we want to do anything??!!" and a tall, handsome, elegant man dressed in the white tunic and white pants, with the embroidered pill-box hat and a beautifully trimmed gray beard, said, "Madame?! This is India!!" Of course I had to laugh. Yes, that is definitely India.

Shopping In India

Shopping in India was a trip in itself! No one would give us a firm price, of course, so all our time was spent drinking chai and trying to agree on a price for whatever little goodie we were trying to acquire. Most prices started at least twice as high as what would be considered even ballpark. The first couple of weeks, this pastime was kind of fun, but after a while it just plain got stupid. Instead of telling us a price, the vendor would pretend to figure out the very best price and show it to us on his calculator. I never figured out why he would do that, so I finally pretended I couldn't see it and he would have to tell me out loud how much he'd come up with.

One of the most interesting vendors we saw we didn't snap a photo of -- it just seemed too invasive for some reason. He was an ancient old man sitting on the road surrounded by a sundry assortment of empty bottles he'd found -- a liter of Smirnoff, a ketsup bottle...He had a plastic bucket with a honeycomb in it, and was filling these found bottles with honey and selling it. No, I didn't buy any, if you were wondering.

We went into a ginger factory. There was a large courtyard completely full of drying ginger. Inside an unlit, windowless room were two women standing next to a shoulder-high mountain of ginger, shaking a screen box full of the stuff; the air was full of tiny pieces of flying ginger, which made our photos come out with strange star-like spots on them. Of course they asked for money after we snapped photos, which we were happy to give them.

In Delhi we stayed in Pahar Ganj, a wholesale neighborhood where people from all over India come to sell their wares to reps from the tourist shops. They had rock bottom prices, but of course I'd already fallen for the silk sari in a totally tourist ripoff store, and had bought plenty of scarves. I fell in love with a bangle bracelet but was required to buy 12 due to it being wholesale. We went to another wholesale district, Sadar, where yarns and threads were sold to weavers; that was quite a learning experience, as there was no real wool, cashmere, linen or silk yarn to be found anywhere, even with an escort from one yarn shop taking us through the labyrinth of dead end alleys full of other yarn and thread wholesalers. We were educated by a vendor who said all the silk products (scarves, shawls, etc) in India were actually made from "authentic imitation silk." It is a viscose rayon, spun into a fine yarn and woven by hand (mostly) into these sumptuous items. It is a beautiful fabric, and the yarns hold dye marvelously, but, alas, it is not silk. Too bad we learned about this on our last day!