Heaven on Thailand

It's actually been a month since Bret and I came back from Thailand, but we're already wondering when we can go back. While Thailand was amazing for the beaches and food and helpful service, at four months into our stay in India, more than anything Thailand was everything that India is not:
We swam in clean (!) ocean water, drank imported Belgian beer, walked through streets without piles of trash burning, wore a bikini on a beach without having to deal with ogling men hovering nearby -- well I did, at least-- ate seafood every night without the fear of being violently ill the next day, enjoyed customer service from waiters and staff who were actually nice and helpful, and were offered a cheap Thai massage every time we left our bungalow (no, this does not happen on my way to work from Visantha Valley).

As you can probably guess, as my trip is winding down I'm getting more and more excited for everything that places like Thailand -- and California! -- have to offer. I can't wait for sushi, burritos, big salads from the Google cafes, fresh air, clean water, quiet streets, paneer-free meals, bagels, really good coffee... okay still another month to go-- I really shouldn't get carried away.

Good reads on India

It's been fun to read fiction that takes place in or somehow relates to India while I've been here. Here are some recommendations -- a few I read before I left but are great. I left off the worst book related to India I've ever read (thanks to my book club!)-- The Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard. Avoid that one, but read the others! This is also a chance for you to check out Google Book Search, which is my new favorite distraction...

• A Fine Balance
• The Reluctant Fundamentalist
  
• The Inheritance of Loss
• The God of Small Things
  
• The Translator
• Midnight's Children
• Interpreter of Maladies
• The Namesake

Lenhart ladies invade India

Apologies for my delinquency in posting, but we've been busy over here. Last week, my mom and Colleen visited and got to experience India first hand. My mom loved commenting on her 'over-stimulated olfactory, auditory and visual senses.' We had a great all-day tour of Delhi by Nigel, an 87-year-old former British officer who guided us through obscure corners of the city with (sometimes questionable) historical significance. We wandered through the biggest cremation site in Delhi and watched bodies get doused with water from the Ganges in preparation for the funeral pyre.

At a large Sikh temple, they handed out bright orange kerchiefs to the foreigners who arrived without a turban or scarf to cover their heads in the Sikh tradition. In Old Delhi, it was entertaining to follow my mom through the winding alleys trying to capture every single cow, basket of spices, pile of trash, smelly latrine and shopkeeper with her camera.

Taj Mahal

Colleen looking glamorous in front of the most famous monument to Love; Bret and my mom amazed by their moonboot shoe covers enforced at the Taj Mahal to protect the white marble.

Hanging in Hampi

Last month, Shannon, Ashley, Allison and I ventured out on an overnight train for an all-girls weekend. We spent time at the the very holy (and consequently completely dry) town of Hampi. However, the town's dry status didn't stop us from smuggling in some red wine and jamming the cork into the bottle to drink it. The town feels magical -- it sits on a river among green hills scattered with huge boulders. Hampi is poor (not necessarily more so than the rest of India), but seems to be surviving thanks to a steady stream of tourism from both foreigners and Indian pilgrims. The guest houses and restaurants all proclaim 'Recommended by Lonely Planet!' in paint on the sides of the buildings. Our weekend consisted of visiting about a dozen temples including a couple world heritage sites, drinking lots of masala chai from the roof top of our 'bring your own toilet paper' guest house and wandering around the surreal landscape.
Another highlight was watching the local temple elephant get her daily bath.



I also spent a lot of time playing with Jemina, the 10-year-old girl who was employed by our guest house to help cook, clean, collect water, and run all the errands for the owners. Not surprisingly, they didn't flinch during my lecture to them about child labor. 'Her parents across the river send her to us. What can we do?' was their reply. I thought about checking out right then just to demonstrate my disapproval, but realized a better option was to just distract her from her work-- we danced to the Lion King on my ipod, counted to ten in Hindi and drew pictures in my journal.

Happy Birthday Dad

We need some grinders in India!

Wedding finery

Last night Bret and I broke out our nicest saree and kurta respectively for the wedding of our friend Rahul. The ceremony itself was at 11:29pm on a Sunday night, which the families' astrologists deemed to be the auspicious time for the occasion. The event began a few hours before that so that there would be enough time for the 700+ guests to eat several servings of veg South Indian food. As there were no utensils available, we ate the proper local way and dig into the rice, curd and dal with our hands.

Cuisine: Mexcon

Okay as Ali has told me, it's not very reasonable for me to make fun of the housestaff's kind efforts to please us with ethnic food. They are relentless in their attempts to keep us happy by making food they think expats like (even though we keep praising their Indian dishes to encourage them to stick to domestic food).

This meal stemmed from my visit last week to Q-Mart-- a small, expensive and dirty grocery store whose only redeeming value is that it's one of the few places in Hyderabad to find things like gouda, Old El Paso salsa and Skippy peanut butter. I came home with a bag full of food I had been missing: flour tortillas, cheddar cheese and salsa. The very next day, I saw the title of our dinner menu-- 'Cuisine: Mexcon' and found these two plates in the fridge: squashed burritos (one filled with breakfast potatoes, the other with a curry-chicken-veg mixture) and creamed corn. The housestaff definitely aims to please.

No monsoon; Yes dahi poori

Okay I guess this shows that I'm really not a local yet. Last week I reported that the monsoon had arrived in Hyderabad (see below), but I read in today's paper that those brief rainstorms were only a taste of what's to come. Apparently it will really be pouring and so I'll know the monsoon has come when it comes. Sorry for spreading false information.

In lieu of the monsoon, I'm bringing you a video of the preparation of my favorite chaat (Indian snack, usually street food). Dahi Poori is native to Mumbai, but this one is being made right here in Hyderabad. It's an incredible mix of salty, sweet, tangy and spicy flavors. The chaat is made on the spot while you wait, and you stuff the whole poori in your mouth immediately, so the flavors don't mush together. You taste each one on your tongue at a different moment and it's amazing! Spicy boiled potatoes and chickpeas are pushed inside a light and flaky fried ball and then the whole thing is topped with plain yogurt, tamarind chutney and a freshly ground roasted spice topping.


This is Arjun, my colleague on the product specialist team (we're a two-man team here), Scott and Sarah, my roommate, all enjoying some dahi poori before dinner.

Karma

I'm at home in Hyd this weekend and really enjoying the downtime. Going back in time a few weeks ago, Bret and I visited Mumbai and were lucky to have a friend from the office, Nachiket, volunteer to show us around his hometown since he happened to be visiting his family at the same time. We spent the day walking around the city learning little known facts from our expert guide.







One of the highlights was visiting this quaint neighborhood in the western part of the city that seemed like more like a rural village than a pocket of the fast and hip Mumbai. We meandered through windy streets down a hill until we came to a rectangular pool of water surrounded by steps that led right up to the front doors of modest homes and a couple of temples.

Only then did Nachiket reveal that his uncle and aunt lived nearby. He gave them a call, and they were quick to invite us over. They ended up living in one of the cute houses that looked right over the pool of water, called the Banganga Tank. It was late afternoon and we had been walking in the sun all day, so all of us had sweat dripping down our faces when we arrived. We left our shoes outside and Nachiket's aunt greeted us with a tray of iced waters.

Bret, Sarah and I shared the same thought simultaneously. Drinking local tap water would be a death wish, but we had to react appropriately to the hospitality of our hosts. Despite being parched, I took a few tiny sips of the water, exaggerating the motion of taking the glass to my lips but never really swallowing much.

Luckily Nachiket's uncle had a son living in the U.S. and could speak enough English well enough to carry on a conversation. Everything was going well until Nachiket's aunt entered again, this time with a tray of glasses filled with ice and a fuscia-colored liquid. Bret, Sarah and I shared another look of dread. At this point, we knew we couldn't keep up our tiny-sip strategy. 'I give in,' I thought. I'm going to drink this, it's going to taste good, it's going to make the situation less awkward, it's going to make Nachiket's aunt happy, and I'm going to be up all night puking. I looked up at Bret and Sarah and it was clear they had made the same decision. We downed the salty, sweet, syrupy drinks in less than a minute. It was super-refreshing, but I couldn't help thinking about how miserable our flight that night would be, each of us taking our turn to run to the bathroom.

After some more chit chat about comparing life and work in India to the U.S., etc. we got a tour of the house by the man of the house. As there were only four rooms, it only took about four minutes. The kitchen was last. As we walked through the cramped cooking area, I spotted a disproportionately large water filtration system. Salvation! I felt a massive wave of relief in realizing that I would not have to hover over the toilet in agony for the next three days. This must have been karma.

RAIN

The monsoon season has officially begun. It's been raining off and on for the past three days, and it's amazing! The temp dropped from over 100 to 80-something, and last night I slept with the AC off and the windows open for the first time. It was nice, but as soon as I woke up I was reminded how the air outside always seems to be somewhat smelly (it's the burning trash). I think the monsoon might also be to blame for my recent sore throat, but it's worth it considering the loud thunder and dust-free streets. Tonight we are heading out to celebrate the monsoon with a nice dinner and dancing, as there will be rain and (kind of) cool weather here on out for four months!

Training Team Offsite Dinner

For our quarterly offsite, the training team visited a posh new restaurant called Tandoor. We took over an entire room and warmed up for dinner with some singing and dancing Bollywood favorites.

Fab India

Yes, fab is a description of what I think of India, but it's also a really great store in Hyderabad that I finally visited last week. It could be an Indian version of Anthropologie but with much lower prices -- the kurtas (longish tunics), salvars (drawstring bottoms with super tapered legs), and churidars (wide baggy bottoms) cost about $8-15. I bought enough to go through an entire work week dressed locally. Besides the price and the fun colors, the best part is that everything is incredibly comfortable (light linen and drawstring everything). Here I'm modelling a kurta and chiridars. The other photo shows the ridiculous shape of my hot pink salvar. Fab!

More on where I live

I've heard some requests for more details about our sweet pad in our gated community, 'Vasanta Valley.' The constant foot traffic (cooks, cleaners, security guards, house managers, etc.) in and out of the house at all times prevents any opportunity for privacy, but besides that, it's a very pleasant place to live.

Check our wide variety of American-style snacks, all ready upon our arrival. (We imported the coffee beans and beer coozies.)

On Coffee

My first day in the office, I discovered the only way to make coffee is with one of the automatic machines in every breakout room. It seemed like a reasonable, though not ideal, alternative to our individual brews and espresso machines in Mountain View. I pressed 'espresso' and out came... a full cup of half milk, half coffee with lots of sugar. I thought it was a mistake, so I put this cup aside and tried again, careful to press only the button that was clearly marked 'espresso,' and got an identical concoction. I was embarassed to be causing this much waste, but at this point was even more determined to get my single shot of espresso. I dumped the first two cups of sweet milky coffee and tried a third time, only to see the exact same liquid sputtering into my cup. I gave up, and asked some people sitting around the breakroom if the machine was broken. Even more embarassed now, I learned that espresso in India does not equal espresso in the US. Espresso is coffee with milk and sugar. My mistake.

However, last weekend in Mumbai, I visited Barista, a hip coffee shop chain that rivals Cafe Coffee Day. [The two companies seem to take their competition to a new level of immaturity-- if one of the two already exists on a particular city block somewhere in India, its counterpart wastes no time in building a new franchise next door.] On the menu, I looked for espresso and saw their explanation, which explained that unlike normal Indian espresso, Barista espresso is served without milk. Finally! And only three weeks into my life in India. My espresso arrived in a neat little shot glass-- free of milk and sugar as promised. I sipped it as we watched the sun go down on the beach. A lovely end to the weekend.

Mysore: palace, kids, head bobbles, zoo

Bret, Ronnie and I spent the weekend in Mysore. It's a lovely small city with an unfortunate name. There's a beautiful and well-kept (no shoes allowed inside!) palace, a colorful market, and a great zoo. We spent lots of time in the market, where Bret and Ronnie tested out dozens of perfumed oils while I hung out with some cute kids and scolded them for not going to school.

If I give you a pen, will you go to school on Monday?

After a long day in the sun, we headed to Parklane restaurant. They let us in the doors two minutes before opening time; when we looked around at 11:30pm and realized we were the only table left, we headed home in an autorikshaw.







Since the guys were jealous of how well I've mastered the Indian head bobble, they tried to work on their skills, but with only a little success:

Cheers to Beers

Happy Birthday to Erin!

Find me in India

My Maps is a supercool feature in Google Maps that will let you track my progress in travelling around this amazing country! Check out Where I've been (it's only been 3 weeks, I have a lot more to explore). Then create your own.

Mandar's Wedding

Mandar was kind enough to invite me to his wedding along with hundreds of his other closest friends and family. We spent the entire weekend preparing as if it were for prom: we bought saris, had blouses stitched, bargained (not very successfully) for bangles and sandals in Charminar, found sparkly necklaces in Shilparamam, and had henna painted on our hands and feet.



We found a site with instructions on how to wear a sari but in the end we definitely needed help. The woman who cleans our apartment came over and dressed us, put flowers in our hair and bindis on our forehead. Our security guard commented 'Now you are real Indian women!'

On Stray Dogs

I love the fact that I live close enough to the office to walk home, but after dark, I take a driver on account of all the gross stray dogs in the streets. There have been four notable attacks by stray dogs in India, and the topic is all over press. Scary!
++++++++++++++++++++
An update from today ... So I tried to take a picture of one of these dogs on my way to work today. I wasn't satisfied with the first, so went for another... and then nearly got attacked. Can you see the look in his eyes and the ready-to-pounce stance? It's blurry because I screamed and started to run. I will never take a picture of a stray dog again.

Kerrie, Gulls, Char in Kerala

The three of us met up in Fort Cochin and had a fun time people-watching along the boardwalk. I had no idea the Christian influence was so strong in Kerala. We arrived on Good Friday when the city was unfortunately dry but as a bonus got to observe several processions around the town with solemn Christians carrying crosses. We even caught a glimpse of the largest Pieta in Kerala.


The next day we took off on a boat ride and landed at Coconut Lagoon, a posh resort surrounded by water. We were greeted by fresh coconut milk and later on in the weekend enjoyed Ayurvedic massages (more on that later), did yoga (more like a nap), observed a cooking demo, sat around the pool and generally felt like we were very far away from India. The highlight was a leisurely and educational boat through the backwaters. Our guide pointed out the local birds, flowers, rice paddies and lobster and duck farms.

Early Monday we headed up scary twisting roads into the hills of Kerala. We drove through beautiful tea platations (Tata estates) and the temerature dropped the higher we went. Our hotel was a lovely spot with its own cardamon and coffee plants and a great view. r

Where I live

My bedroom here is bright, spacious and always very clean (I get some help with that). Our house has four bedrooms and bathrooms, a big living room, kitchen and dining room.

My Tuesday morning

So here is my blog. Namaste!

I’ll start with my typical morning. Let's take today. I wake up at the luxuriously late hour of 7:15 and snooze a bit before getting up. I get dressed: today, I break out some linen pants that haven’t been worn since the summer I bought them in Rome. I brought a bunch of cute summery skirts that I thought would be perfect for the office, but it’s just too cold. Even in jeans with sandals on, my feet are blue by lunchtime because of the excessive AC.

Breakfast is waiting for my downstairs. Today, there's couscous, sliced kiwi and apple, and a mango shake. Lovely!

I skim through the International Herald Tribune and say good morning to the security guards and other random people coming in and out of the house. It's still a mystery to me what all these people are doing-- I know there's a chef and also cleaners and a house manager, but there always seem to be new people wandering around as well-- a little strange.

Then I walk-- WALK! -- down the street to the office. I've effectively cut my commute time from up to 90 minutes each way to 10 minutes. Even though it's brief, I love the chance to be outside in the morning when it’s not too hot yet and the streets are relatively empty.

Two minutes into my commute, I exit our very nice half-built gated community. To the left are several large heaps of garbage, in some areas mixed with ashes from being burned the night before. Skinny stray dogs are picking through the trash looking for leftovers. Just beyond all the debris, there’s a make-shift shack selling some sort of hot breakfast food. There are five men sitting around on the ground or on pails chatting with the vendor. On the right side of the road, a man is peeling limes and stacking them onto his cart to make fresh lime juice. I’m tempted to buy some but the pitcher just seems a little too grimy. The symptoms of what Lonely Planet fondly calls ‘Travelers Diarrhea’ haven’t struck yet, and the juice doesn’t look appealing enough to risk it.