Sweathog

Well…I’m back in Lucknow. You know how when you step out of a well-air-conditioned place into a hot, summer day it’s almost enough to make you rue air-conditioning? Not that you will actually avoid air-conditioning; but I’m just saying that the contrast makes a hot day seem worse.

Nainital was amazing. I finally got some good monkeypictures and video that I will try to load whenever I find the bandwidth. I met a cute puppy and fed him cake.

Now that break is over I’m back in sweaty, old Lucknow. But school is good. I feel I’m starting to make good progress. Harry Potter is in theaters. There’s only a month or so left until I get to see you all. So I really can’t complain.

Hill Station Blues

Don’t worry. I’m having a wonderful time on break; I just can’t resist employing lame wordplay when coming up with post titles.

I’m in a cyber-cafe in Nainital writing this post. I left my computer in Lucknow so that I would have less stuff to worry about on the train. Our train arrived in Lucknow about three hours behind schedule so we all got to sit on the dirty, smelly ground at the station for a while until benches opened up. There were dogs and cows pacing up and down the platform which were fun to watch. It took us a while to find our berths, but once I had my things situated and had lain myself down I fell asleep and remember little of the next nine hours.

I awoke to the sound of the chai-wallah selling morning tea. My friends Allen and Jessica who were nearby also got up. We enjoyed a light snack with our chai and talked with our new friend Ahmet. When we got off the train at Kathgodan Ahmet helped us negotiate a good price for a car to Nainital. The train doesn’t even go up here because it’s too high in the mountains. We enjoyed an amazing drive up the winding road through forests of greenest green and an alarmingly small amount of  honking.

Nainital is a hill station, nestled at the foot of the Himalayas, where people from Delhi and surrounding areas like to come to escape the hottest part of the year. It’s very busy from March to June, but as far as I’m concerned, now is the time to be here because prices are good and the mood is laid-back.

Allen & I are on a budget but we’ve found lots of fun stuff to do on the cheap. One can simply walk around and appreciate the lake, the low-lying and misty clouds, or walk around the hilly streets. We spent yesterday morning taking a cable car up to a hotel/tourist trap area but then busted through a fence and hiked around for a bit. The terrain was intensely steep and slippery so we mostly hewed to a mountain road nearby and climbed several kilometers (how many hectares in a kilometer, again? We may have only traveled a hundred yards) toward some beautiful peaks with views of the Himalayas. We ended up on a very quiet peak and enjoyed the silence for a while. One can reportedly see China from where we stood and I’m inclined to agree just because that means I can cross China off my list of travel plans. What more is there to see, really?

One can even find basketball in Nainital. There is an area called ‘the Flats’ next to the lake which was leveled by an earthquake and never rebuilt. It serves as a park and sporting complex for the city. There are kids playing football (soccer), cricket and basketball. Allen & I have been putting on a sort of roundball clinic for the local kids and they’ve been correcting our poor Hindi. Too much fun.

This place has wonderful fauna as well. The dogs and cows here, as ubiquitous as they are in the rest of India, seem fatter and happier than other places I’ve seen. There are lots of cats, too. Best of all, though, are the scores of monkeys I’ve been able to see. (The monsoon has brough a lot of monkeys out in Lucknow recently but nothing like this.) The first morning at our lovely hotel I though someone was banging on our door. When I woke up I realized what it actually was: a team of monkeys jogging and jumping from rooftop to rooftop running along the tin roof of the hotel. —If you come to Nainital the Hotel Bengal will give you a room for about 6 dollars a night; worth every penny.

Today we’re having a mellow day. It’s rained most of the morning and we have work to do. Allen & I decided to split up so that we can avoid speaking English as much as possible.

We leave for Lucknow on Sunday evening. I’ll try to post again there to let everyone know how the trip went.

Taj India…mmm…Taj India!!!

Sorry for the Simpsons reference (too soon?) and the fact that this is a blog post I composed on the drive back from my trip to Agra last Sunday.

So I think I just saw some type of mini riot just outside of Agra.

A group of students from the Institute organized a weekend trip to see some of the amazing stuff around Agra and I managed to tag along. I’m really glad that I did even though it’s been exhausting and expensive…Hindustani-expensive, not Amriki-expensive. Our hotel rooms for 18 people for two nights came to about seventy dollars.

The drive out here was an adventure. The highways actually have helpful signs every now and then letting you know what cities you’re driving toward and how far away they are. Unfortunately, when said highways hit towns they just kind of stop being highways and become main drags, prone to roadblocks and buffalo herding.

We got to Fahtepur Sikri, a smaller town next to Agra, late on Friday night and everyone passed out immediately. The next morning we had planned to get up early and be off to the Taj Mahal by sunrise. The hotel employees warned us that the Taj doesn’t open until 9, but I’m starting to think that that’s just what they say so they don’t have to serve breakfast early. “Koi baat naheen.” No problem. We all needed a good night’s sleep anyway.

Saturday morning we didn’t get out until almost ten and didn’t get to the Taj until an hour later. My opinion on the Taj Mahal: it’s both amazing and kind of disappointing. Its beauty is undeniable, but it’s image is so ubiquitous that I almost felt like I had seen it before. The inside, where photography isn’t permitted is something one has to see. (Update: I looked it up and there are some pictures of the inside that don’t really do it justice. Just go see it.) The marble is translucent and the guides inside will show you with a flashlight and then hint that a tip is in order.

The best argument I can make for visiting the Taj is the fact that it’s so close to several other amazing sites of Mughal architecture. The Agra Fort rivals the Red Fort in Delhi and Akbar’s Tomb is another thing entirely. The tomb is a little bit outside the tourist belt and consequently less maddening. The fee to get in is cheap, too. There were lovely grounds inside with shaded seating from which one can enjoy watching peacocks and some type of deer frolic. The trees were full of green parrots and songbirds. The highlight for me was taking pictures of monkeys outside the Tomb and then paying the guy that has tamed them for some food that they would eat out of my hand.

A day in Agra is doubly exhausting because, being a tourist center, all of its citizens appear to be engaged in some type of hustle to separate you from your money. If you go, anyone who strikes up a conversation with you A) loves America B) thinks you are a nice man/woman and C) comes from a village with amazing handicrafts. Everyone across the region is selling exactly the same crap and something about it makes me think factories are involved; but at the end of the day I really had to admire the Glengarry Glen-Taj—Mahal spirit permeating the city.

We ate dinner at a bizarre multi-ethnic buffet restaurant that had a sign at the entrance advertising tomorrow’s “Kitty Party.” I’m not sure if that was a mis-spelling or truth in advertising. Don’t think I want to know, really.

Today we woke up earlier and walked to the Fahtepur Sikri site right next to our hotel. It was an amazing place but not as well-maintained as the ones in Agra-proper and chock-full of the high-pressure-sales-wallahs. I ended up buying two trinkets for a decent price and tried to just give money to some kids, but they demanded that I take some low-grade postcards in return. (Spoiler alert: I now have postcards!) I decided to walk back to the hotel, our rendezvous spot, rather than get bombarded with handicrafts; thereby missing an entire section of the site. One of the kids, Salim, walked back with me. We paused right outside the hotel to talk and look around for my school chums. I saw the hotel proprietor walking up and was about to ask if he’d seen any of the others when he swatted Salim extremely hard with an open hand in the back of the head. It was clear that Salim has grown accustomed to a certain amount of head-slapping because he neither blinked nor ran away. It took another slap to the head before he ambled off. I neglected to mention that the only people not trying to sell you stuff are the cops and business owners who try to separate westerners from nuisances with varying degrees of ruthlessness.

(OMG. As I’m writing this our driver is about 6 inches off the back bumper of the car in front of us as we are driving at 90 kmh.)

When I heard that there was another part of the Fahtepur Sikri complex I decided that I was touristed-out and would rather stay out of the sun and relax before the drive back.

Then, just now, we got into a traffic jam. We could see police cars at the front of it and assumed that there was some kind of accident. In our trips between Agra and our hotel I’d seen the same abandoned, banged up Land Cruiser on the side of the road. It looked like it had been there a while so I was beginning to wonder how long it would take to clear the road when I saw a huge mob of people mobbed across both sides of the highway. Great, I thought, they’ve enlisted vast amounts of manpower to deal with this situation. Turns out it was a protest or strike about something. There was a big picture of Uttar Pradesh Governor Mayawati so they were either for or against her. She’s a pretty unpopular figure in Lucknow; I’m assuming the protest was against her. Mayawati is a very important political figure and one of the most successful low-caste politicians in India. She rose to power on a populist platform but has turned out to be crooked by local standards, which is saying something. While families live on sidewalks and naked babies frolic next to open sewers she’s building a horrific monument to herself. When I say monument I don’t mean a little plaque or something. Imagine if the governor of your state built a mini-Washington Mall in his or her own honor.

(Update: as of today Mrs. Mayawati is expected to be prosecuted for corruption in the near future. This country deserves to be governed well.)

The rest of the ride back was pretty intense. I think our driver had a hot date or something. I was happy to get home… But when I got home my landlady (Aunties, we call them) had moved another boarder into our living space. He was very nice, but the fact that our already-cramped quarters were getting cramped-er without any input from me didn’t sit well. My friend had mentioned the very nice, air-conditioned room with good plumbing available where he lives so I jumped at the chance. I’ll tell more about the new place soon.

A Note on Photography

I have taken a million pictures here, but they all seem to be poorly framed, out-of-focus shots of tourist attractions. I have to apologize for that.

The poor picture quality I chalk up to the fact that when you are among a large group you don’t want to become the guy that wanders off or lags behind causing everyone to look for him, throwing off everyone’s schedule, etc. So many of my pictures fall into the category of “scenery-in-action”; a category I may have just invented. “Look at my picture of what the Taj Mahal looks like when you run past it!” Great, Lars.

Add to that the fact that loading things up to Flickr is difficult…well, let’s just say that I will have some great stories when I get back but you may be looking forward to a very boring slideshow. Start thinking of excuses to get out of it now before it’s too late!

The reason I never really take pictures outside of tourist zones is because no matter where you point your camera in this country someone is pretty much living right there. I feel like I’m invading people’s privacy just walking or riding down the street. If I see a neat building, a pretty cow, or a wily dog I always reach for my camera but then notice that in the background there is a family sleeping on the sidewalk, a group of kids sifting through piles of trash for something (I dare not ask what), or some other scene that kind of makes photography seem really frivolous.

Kid Qawwali

I went to see a Sufi shrine in a little town outside of Lucknow called Kakori today. The people there were wonderfully nice and inviting. We all had a good time listening to them talk about their religious tradition and warmly answered our questions about philosophy and culture.

After our discussion time we drove to a house nearby to eat some of Kakori’s famous kabobs and mangos. This town is famous for its Sufi shrine, its kabobs and its mangos. It was beautiful to boot and the people we met were amazing. I really liked it there.

We then went back, well fed, to the shrine to see more of the buildings and then to hear a Qawwali group. Qawwali is a musical form closely associated with Sufi thought. There is percussion, melodic accompaniment, clapping and unbelievable singing. The style of singing is plaintive, with several men fading in and out as if urging each other to greater intensity. Overall, I was reminded of the first two albums by “the Band” and the way the different members would cut their way into the songs creating a conversational, improvisational mood. While my conscious mind was occupied with determining which Qawwali singer reminded me of which member of “the Band” another, deeper part of myself was lost to both time and space.

(All the best Qawwali videos I found blocked embeding, so here’s a link.)

Midterm Resolutions

Wow. So it turns out I’m a bad blogger. I have resolved to be better. One key will be just giving up on the notion of being able to put a lot of pictures on this blog as I write it. Perhaps one day I will have enough time and/or an internet connection fast enough to load up pics to Flickr, but today is not that day. I vow that I will blog at least four times a week for the remainder of this trip.

Here we go.

This has been an amazing experience and I can’t believe it’s almost halfway over. I think I’m learning a lot but it’s still frustrating to speak at such an elementary level. My other new resolution is to spend as much time away from my fellow students as possible to help myself immerse more fully into the language. When students go out into the community to study it’s more intimidating for people to approach us for conversation. I went out to the neighborhood where one can find lots of computer stores to buy a surge protector and a headset for skype-ing. It became a wonderful exercise in language. The concepts and vocabulary I had to use were on the simple side, but I had to continuously repeat and improve upon my dialogue while expecting unusual responses from the “dukandars” (shopkeepers). This is how we learn.

Presented in RICKSHAW-SCOPE

So I realized I left out an entire strata of Lukhnavi traffic: the motorcycles and scooters. These guys are kind of the wild card of the traffic game. They glide in and out of all orbits, belonging to none. But look out Mr. Scooter-man! Here comes a car that wants to share a lane with you. How nice.

Now, enjoy this video I shot after watching Wolverine in Hindi. My friend and I met up to catch a cycle rickshaw. We haggled with the wallah for a while even though we had no idea where we were going. It ended up being very far and during the hottest part of the day so I went ahead and gave a little more than he asked. (The haggle is an important cultural/linguistic ritual but worrying over less than a dollar for some serious labor strikes me as unneccessary.) After that, the wallah loved us and waited for us to come out. When he saw I had a camera he mugged for it and slowed down at all the sights.

It speaks! (A Lot)

Well… where to begin​? First off I’d like to apologize to anyone freaked out by the “homelessness” status update on Facebook. I was trying to capture the sense of chaos around me as the Institute’s amazing staff tried to find me a new host home (more about that later) but there was never a chance I’d actually be out in the street. Secondly, I’d like to apologize for not posting for so long. If you remember the “fire triangle” from school you know that fuel, oxygen and a spark are necessary for roasting marshmallows; with a blog one needs a computer, the internet and electricity… all at the same time. (That word, time. One needs time too.) Basically I’ve not had all of these puppies lined up once since I flew out of Reagan.

I’ve been jotting down notes and impressions for a while and I will present a version of them now. Unfortunately, I’ve gotten settled in and now my writings will not reflect the utter shock I felt my first few days. In fact, I’ve been forced to redact some of my earlier statements because their provincialism now embarrasses me.

(We begin on the 14^th of June)

We flew into Delhi last night. That makes it sound pretty casual. It took about 24 hours, though to get from one hotel (in DC) to the one I woke up in today. I feel like I’ve been robbed of a day.

I think that either my nerves or the malaria drugs have been upsetting my stomach. The worst of it came right as we were heading to the airport. We spent an eternity in a traffic jam. After getting out of the bus I felt tremendously better. Our flight to Chicago was perfect; and O’Hare is the best airport in America in which to have a layover. We were all keyed-up and anxious to get on a plane but mindful that the next 14/15 hours would not be fun. Our Delhi flight was running about 45 minutes late by the time we boarded.

I suppose there are worse ways to spend 14 hours than sitting in a padded seat, watching television and napping. But, when you are forced to enjoy these activities because you are hurtling in a tin box 40,000 feet over Greenland it’s not so relaxing. The only thing that could make that worse is if the seats were so close together such that a 5’11” man would quickly lose feeling in his lower extremities. Luckily our airline industry would never let something like that come to pass…

(Bright spots: good veggie curry for dinner, episodes of 30 Rock and the film: Confessions of a Shopaholic. More bad news: Fine films like Speed Racer. Bride Wars and the International; inexplicable presence of alfredo sauce on omelet with breakfast.)

The Delhi airport was another opportunity to wait. Lines to tell folks in masks that you don’t have swine flu. Lines to clear customs. Then a wait for baggage from the carousel. I didn’t have checked bags so I used that time to exchange some dollars for rupees. Outside the gate, the enthusiastic and friendly staff of the AIIS was waiting to escort us to our hotel. Indira Gandhi airport lies in a part of sprawling Delhi that is undergoing a lot of public works and a lot more of the area seems to be half-constructed but forgotten.

Our hotel, the Residency Resort, is in a fenced compound– common practice here– that makes me feel like I haven’t quite arrived in India yet. (Okay. This is me speaking from the present now. The fenced compound thing is extremely Indian. Everybody here who can afford to do so lives behind a gate with an armed guard.) There are touches of India here; the lizards scrambling up the walls of the hotel lobby, the peacocks being chased by the canny stray dogs in the courtyard, and, yes, the bathrooms.

(The next day…)

After a good nights sleep on a firm mattress spirits were high. We took a bus an embarrassingly short way to the gated compound next door where our orientation was. They plied us with good food, freezing air conditioning and more rupees (to compensate for visa fees; thank you yankee taxpayers!).

After that we finally got to venture out into the city for an excursion. There was a choice: shopping/craft fair at Delhi Haat or to see the famous 15^th century Muslim architecture at Qutb Minar. I chose the second because we have another flight tomorrow morning and I don’t want to carry more than I must. I’m glad I did. The drive was the first I saw of the city in daylight. Cows! People! Signs!

The attraction was beautiful and our guide was very knowledgeable. For the most part, though, I felt like our group was the main attraction. Wherever we went people hovered around us, stealing glances. Only the children took the chance to strike conversations. I had my longest organic Hindi/Urdu to date with a little girl whose father pushed her toward me despite her fear. She was so shocked by my language proficiency (or because she thought I was about to die from sunstroke) that she didn’t want to answer any questions. Her father whispered appropriate answers into her ear.

When we got back to the hotel most of us took a nap before dinner. Did I mention that they’re plying us with good food? Would you believe me if I told you that something called Manchurian Veggie Balls might be good? Now that I’ve had dinner, I’m still tired. Plus we have a 5:30 bus to the airport for our flight to Lucknow so I should take off now.

Okay. So that’s some stuff that I wrote. Now, having looked at my notes I think I will just rewrite everything up to now. My perceptions were so warped by the horrific drive from the Lucknow Airport to the city that it took me a few days to unwind.

Before the drive to the airport came the flight. We took a lovely Indian Air jet for a quick 45 minute hop from Delhi to Lucknow. Despite the brevity of the trip we were served a delicious breakfast. I flew from Salt Lake to DC and didn’t get a bag of peanuts. This country is nothing if not hospitable. Even better, the drink service only offered chai, instant coffee (Nescafe, Urdu for coffee) or water; because of this the air hostesses can whip up and down the aisles without the bulky cart blocking the way.

Lucknow Airport is adorable. You walk down steps to the tarmac and then take a bus to the terminal which you pretty much can have to yourself.

Now that we have that out of the way let’s talk about Lucknow traffic. Hmmm. What to say…? Oh, let’s start by saying that the drive from the airport to the city was without a doubt the most frightening experience of my entire life.

Lucknow traffic is based on a hierarchy of status. Pedestrians are furthest to the left of the street, but not on the sidewalk, if there is one, because that would be where cows defecate. The next strata belongs to the cyclists and cycle-rickshawallahs. The bicycles are uniformly black and in various states of decay. The rickshaws are uniformly multicolored and also have seen better days. After them come the auto-rickshaws. They are variably green-topped or yellow topped. The green ones are cheaper and are sort of like city buses; following fixed routes and shared by as many riders as can squeeze inside. The yellow are more expensive, unshared and remain a mystery to a cheapskate like myself. Superior in rank, and therefore closer to the median are cars. Suzukis, Tatas and a few Toyotas are always present; but trumping them in sheer style and horn volume is the Ambassador, king of the Indian road… Well, king if there are no buses around. Buses can destroy all in their path.

Most vehicles stay in their natural orbit unless something in front of it is going slower; in in which case they whip around on the right side of the offending laggard…even if that means moving into oncoming lanes of traffic. Much like a basketball hoop can fit two basketballs side by side, two lanes of traffic on a street can apparently contain three cars, two motorcycles and a cart laden with fruit. I know this now.

Oh yes. The other rule of the road is that, just in case everyone didn’t know that every street is packed with humanity and vehicles, anyone in arm’s length of a horn should blow it every three seconds. That way people know you are behind them. (All side mirrors are folded in because you never know when you may need to share a lane with a bus. Every inch counts.) After reading this you can go straight to the Lucknow DMV and take the test. There are NO OTHER RULES.

I didn’t know any of this when we left the airport. I thought, “Wow! An air-conditioned car. This will be pleasant.” The ride began. Why, I asked myself, will no one pay any consideration to the lanes painted on the road? Why are there no signs, lights or traffic directors? Will I die today? These were all valid questions. (My friend Allen swears that he saw a dead body next to a crushed bicycle on the side of the road. I may have missed that when I was trying to develop telekinetic powers to make the car fly back home to America.)

Having had some time to reflect I think that the roads here in town are generally quite safe because it’s impossible to generate any speed in an automobile (exception: see road from airport). Plus, everyone is so engaged while traveling on the street they are completely ready for the unexpected. Cows milling? Trash fire causing visibility issues? Children wandering sans pants? Actually none of those things count as unexpected. The only things that can cause distracted driving would probably be gigantic, redheaded American dudes. Everyone turns to gape at those.

Once we got to the American Institute of Indian Studies’ campus we had a brief meeting and then went and checked into the hotel down the street. The hotel was a little bit creepy and, really, we all were tired of transience and wanted to just settle in somewhere. Due to problems in the past the Institute has decided to put students up in a hotel for the first night and to have them meet their host families before moving in.

My assigned room mate, Azim, and I went with two other students to meet our assigned host. The place was lovely other than the initial shock of seeing what at first glance appeared to be a queen size bed in the room we were to share. It turns out that pushing two double beds together is common practice in the Indian boarding-house industry. It does make the room seem more spacious, but Azim and I were both a little taken aback.

We decided to take the place when we discovered that there were, in fact, two beds.

The next day at school we heard that our host home fell through because the host never cleared the arrangement with his landlord. Sigh.

We got sent to the Sharma Guest House for the night along with some other lost souls. It’s an amazing colonial mansion with beautiful grounds and a courtyard. All the same it wasn’t home and I was running out of clean, unwrinkled clothes. The good news was that our group of castaways included some experienced India hands as well as the use of a driver for the night. We decided (they decided, I tagged along) to go to a neighborhood called Ameenabad and get dinner at Tundaay Kebaab, a popular local eatery. After another Knight Bus-style drive we arrived in the real, old, Muslim Lucknow. We’d eaten nothing but vegetables since arriving in country so the delicious meats and biryanis were impossibly perfect. After that we wandered around and looked for the famous Dinesh Mahal Bookstore. Once we found that great trove of Urdu letters I picked up a copy of “Intikhabe Tilisme Hoshruba”. Sort of a “Lord of the Rings” for the Persian world which was passed on in oral tradition but was then adapted and made famous by Lukhnavi storytellers. Trust me, I was excited.

The next day classes began with a placement test. (I thought I did a lot better than I did. Still placed solidly in the intermediate group.) I was very distracted by the drama surrounding housing, laundry and backpack living. Hence, I fired off a poorly considered Facebook status update that seemed very dire. Transient would have been a better word than homeless.

By that afternoon I had found a place. I live with a couple, the Jacobs, their son Dheerage, and their dog Portia. I share a room with another student. The Jacobs family has a dormitory for students at nearby Lucknow University on the property as well. They have several staff members, too, but I’ve only met the guys: Bishnu and Rangeet. It’s not easy to adjust to living with so many people around after enjoying so much privacy in my American life.

… Okay. This is where my notes end and I have to just list some random impressions. Not that anyone could still be reading at this point.

There aren’t a lot of pictures right now of Lucknow itself. I’ve been trying to play it cool and blend in as much as is possible…which isn’t much but I’m trying. Whenever I pull out my camera I get a few hostile looks, but the real problem is that I become a huge magnet for jovial people who want to become my new best friend. I think I will take more pictures when I’m out with big groups because anytime more than four Westerners go out together in this town it’s always a zoo. Most of the things I want to capture (architecture, cows, etc.) will be here the last few weeks before I go and when I will be so tired of studying that some photo expeditions will be welcome.

Speaking of hostile looks, I don’t think that’s the right word, Most visitors to India remark upon the “gaze”; a sort of intense, heat-ray stare that about all Ferengis must withstand. Blonde hair, red hair or bicycle helmets also stand out tremendously.

The rickshawallahs are absolutely unbelievable. They are wiry little men who have left their home villages to live and work out of carts pulled by bicycles so they can send money back to their families. They know every nook and cranny of the city. They say little and they’ll pedal your super-sized, American keister up hills you wouldn’t want to imagine. I always haggle over the price but when we get to our destination (especially in this 45-degree-centigrade heat) I always give them more. It always comes to less than a dollar.

I made the mistake of trying to take pictures from the back of a rickshaw and the wallah decided that I wanted to go at a snails pace so I could get good pictures… preferably with him posing in front of local scenery.

I just wanted to let you all know that I’m doing great. School is demanding but not excruciating. The food is amazing– although my craving for Mexican food is such that I’ve taken to folding up Indian food in the roti-bread like some kind of subcontinental taco. The people are amazingly nice. Finally, while I’m making the most of this and having a good time, I miss you all and can’t wait to get back.

Guest Post from the “amazing wife”…aww

Just thought I would pop in and say that Lars is indeed alive and in India.

His original housing arrangements fell through, so he’s currently without any substantial Internet access. Much, much to my chagrin.

But, he’s hoping to get his housing squared away today and his Internets dilemma resolved very, very soon.

He assure me that he’s been keeping notes on Tiny (his netbook), so when he does finally post here again, it will surely be loquacious (and hopefully pictureific).

He misses you – probably not as much as he misses clean bathrooms, but – it’s something, right?

Me? Well – our car overheated, so I ain’t sweating it either.

L’Enfant Terrible

I really never get tired of appreciating the architecture of Our Nation’s Capital© but I always have to wonder why they drained a swamp to build here. Couldn’t they have found a spot less like a sauna? As a bonus, the steets were laid out by some twisted cabalist of a Frenchman.

Most of the day was spent in the air conditioned “Potomac Room” of the Renaissance M St Hotel. We had an orientation to impart valuable information about our trip. The best part was having more opportunity to get to know the other participants I’ll be travelling with. They’re all very driven and intelligent; I’m positive they’ll be great traveling companions.

I took some rather lame pictures on a break from my orientation. After dinner I went for a walk and found some rather amazing sights that I hoped to capture in the misty (did I mention the humidity) dusklight. When I pulled out my camera: no battery. Sigh. I’m charging the battery now so I can’t load pictures to flickr. This blog may be picture-free through 2010.

Tomorrow begins the great trek. I’m sure I’ll have great things to say about spending fifteen hours on a plane. Keep reading!