The Story of My Experiments With Truth

My first day in India started with Tim working furiously on his computer to squeeze in some work before fun.  Our guide was scheduled to pick us up at 10 a.m.  He was early at 9:30, assuring us to take our time. We were able to catch the tail-end of the breakfast buffet, which had a nice selection of Indian and western food.  I noticed that the juices are specifically labeled "canned," which I guess is the preferred choice for westerners trying to avoid drinking the water.  Every place we went had bottled water available.

 We were finally on the road by eleven.  We had booked a guide through the "Tours by Locals" website, which is a network of local guides all over the world who are screened to meet the ToursByLocals requirements.  Our guide, Shanoo, had a degree in Indian history and culture from Agra University, and has been a guide for twelve years.  He was a huge asset to the trip and made everything as easy as possible.  The guides are not allowed to drive in India, so we also had a driver for the duration of the trip, arranged by Shanoo.  They were a great team.  I would confidently recommend them to anyone thinking of making the trip.

Driving in India is even more outrageous than it is in Thailand, if you can believe it.  And Indian drivers love to use their horns, even in standstill traffic.  Vehicles of all kinds share the road: cars, trucks, tuktuks, rickshaws, ox carts, bicycles, motorbikes, you name it.  And they share the road with the sacred cows that are allowed to roam anywhere they wish, which they do.  It was not unusual to have a cow or two standing or lying in a lane of a busy highway, and people just went around them. Shanoo told us that the cows are very smart; they have owners, and always return at the end of the day, but are fed by the people at large during the day.  They return for milking time, and locals come daily to buy fresh milk.  The water buffalo (boo-FEL-lo) are not so smart and always have to have a human to guide them.  They are not sacred and therefore do not have the run of the place like the cows.

water buffalo kept close

This tuk-tuk's driver was saving gas
at a traffic jam by pushing his
vehicle forward by hand

The animal fun doesn't stop there.  We saw many wild monkeys hanging out on rooftops and under trees, much like you would see squirrels in the US.  They say little children have to be kept inside in the mornings when the monkeys are out looking for food - yikes.  The monkeys seemed to steer clear of the humans for the most part while we were here.  

The signage in India illustrates its diversity - the road signs are written in four languages: Hindi, English, Arabic and Urdu.  Hindi is the national language, though only since the end of World War II when India was no longer a British colony. 

 The Constituent Assembly adopted Hindi as the Official Language of the Union on 14 September 1949. Hence, it is celebrated as Hindi Day. (wikipedia)

Nearly every sign includes English and nearly everyone seems to speak English.  The influence of almost a century of British rule is evident here, especially in the New Delhi area, where the government offices and embassies are located.  This area is beautifully groomed with lush gardens on the center islands of the roads, and colonial-style buildings.  This is the first area we drove through, and for Tim it was a stark contrast to the India he sees when traveling for work, where poverty and unsanitary conditions are the norm.  We passed the home of Prime Minister Modi, as well as the president's house, which looks more like a palace.  I didn't realize that India had a prime minister and a president, but our guide explained that the president's role is more ceremonial while the prime minister wields the power.  Despite this, the president's house is much larger and more impressive than that of the PM.


At the end of a wide, majestic road is India Gate, a war memorial erected by the British after World War I, and is reminiscent of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.  It also marks the end of New Delhi and the beginning of Old Delhi, or Dariya Ganj.  They are like two different worlds: New Delhi is opulent, clean, manicured and majestic, and Old Delhi is crowded, noisy, dirty and teeming with people who face the daily challenge of survival.  It was in Old Delhi that we made our first stop at the largest mosque in India.

Jama Masjid was the first of several building we were to visit that was built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in the 1600s.  We had to get out of the car and walk along a busy road of vendors, beggars, tourists and worshipers, making our way up the front steps of the mosque.  "Jama" means Friday, and believers come together to pray here on Fridays.  We happened to be visiting on a Friday and were stopped at the entrance.  Tourists are not allowed in during prayer, and we were asked to return after 2 p.m. when prayers would be finished.  It was interesting to see the huge numbers of people climbing those 39 steps, removing their shoes, and entering the gates to pray together.

Our guide suggested that we might want to go have lunch while we waited for two o'clock to arrive.  We had just eaten a late breakfast, but his description of this famous Indian eatery led us to agree.  A "Best of Asia" issue of Time Magazine states:

...it is an unmissable landmark nonetheless often filled to capacity with the faithful. This drab roadside dhaba (for eatery)serves up the most authentic Mughlai fare in the city which is what you might expect considering who runs the place. Haji Zahiruddin comes from a family whose bloodline extends back to the chefs who conjured elaborate feasts in the courts of Mughal emperors. Generations of chefs honed their culinary wizardry in the nearby Red Fort until the last Mughal Ruler was toppled by the last British ruler in 1857. Returning to Delhi in 1911 after his family spent decades in exile. Haji Karimuddin, the grandfather of the present owner , setup shop in the same alleyway where his descendents now prepare their family recipes, each one a closely guarded secret. 

The narrow alleyway feels like a step back in time.  On one side of the alley is where men bake naan and roti in the underground tandoor oven, and on the other side is the tiny, dingy dhaba with a few flimsy tables and chairs where locals and tourists eat side-by-side.  Everyone warns westerners to go vegetarian while in India, as the meat preparation is often questionable.  One bad meal could ruin the entire trip for a westerner whose digestive system was not "up to the challenge," shall we say.  Yet Karim's is decidedly un-vegetarian: meat is their specialty.  Tim and I eyed each other warily as our guide explained the meat dishes he recommended.  I decided I wanted this authentic Indian experience, and signaled to Tim that I wanted to go for it.

the hole in the back is where the
the bread is baked

We were seated at a table where a young Indian family was already seated, and they eyed us as we sat down.  Our guide called "bhai" ("brother") to the waiter, and helped us order some chicken tikka and fresh-baked roti along with some vegetarian rolls for good measure.  After ordering, our guide said he would be back and promptly left us on our own.  We weren't particularly worried, as there were other tourists in the restaurant, but we sure hoped he was coming back.  We wouldn't have a clue how to find our way back to the hotel.  The waiter brought a small plate piled high with sliced red onions and a couple of less-than-sparkling glasses for our water.  The food arrived and was delicious - the chicken was tender and spicy and the roti was baked perfectly.  I was glad we went for it, and had no "issues" later.

Our guide returned (phew!), and took us walking through the alleys of Old Delhi. How to describe this area?  Tiny shops, unsanitary conditions, but vibrant with the energy of the people making their way through the busy streets.  Fruit vendors with colorful fruits piled high on their carts, many food vendors with flies defiling their wares, shopkeepers eager to make a sale, and rail-thin beggars squatting in front of dhabas hoping for a handout.  In one area several men sat or laid on the ground or on crates in the street; the guide said these were day-laborers hoping to be selected for work by the business owners who came looking for cheap labor.  He said many of them smoked weed as they waited and were often unruly and fought with each other.  We saw shops that sold perfumes made with oil, since alcohol is forbidden in the Muslim religion.  He showed us some shops that sold henna, which he said many men put in their hair to cover their gray.  We saw many examples of this odd, orange haircolor during our trip.

Another area had several shops dedicated to wedding services: tailors who created custom-made silk sherwanis with elaborate embroidery and jewels for the groom, others who offered fancy wedding invitations, some even including expensive boxes of dried fruits with the invites.  According to our guide, weddings are big business in India and people who scrimp and save for everything else spare no expense at wedding time.  It is not uncommon for people to take out loans to produce elaborate, days-long celebrations.  He shared the common philosophy that marriage is not for romantic love but is more of a business deal.  He said Indian men are smart because they have girlfriends whom they have no intention of marrying, and the girlfriends understand this as well. The caste system plays a huge role in who may marry whom.  He indicated that a good wife was one with no expectations, because "expectations lead to sorrow."  I found this quite telling, and yet another example of how different values systems can be.

We finally made our way back to the mosque, where believers where now streaming past us in the opposite direction.  Back up the stairs we climbed, removing our shoes outside the gate where a poor man collected tips for guarding your shoes.  Inside the gate I was impressed by the immensity of the courtyard area where prayer rugs were being rolled up and awnings taken down.  The ground was hot, red sandstone, and the soles of my feet burned as we crossed the plaza.  Photos were not allowed here, but our guide showed us a corner where we could snap a quick shot with our mobile.  The massive courtyard can accommodate 25,000 worshipers, and has raised platforms spaced out so that everyone can see when to kneel or bow.  The mosque is built of red sandstone and white marble, with two huge minarets, each five stories high.  Only later did I learn that this had been the site of two terrorist attacks, in 2006 and 2010.  Quite sobering.

After Jama Masjid, we made our way back to New Delhi to visit Mahatma Gandhi's Smriti (Gandhi's Rememberance), where he spent the last days of his life and where he was assassinated.  The compound was owned by the Birla family, wealthy Indian tycoons, who invited Gandhi to establish his ashram there. Gandhi is considered by many to be the "father of the nation" (although those currently in power are challenging that notion).  The museum is a very reverent, comprehensive look at Gandhi's life and philosophy.  The first floor has numerous quotes throughout, following the timeline of his life.  The second floor is a modern multimedia representation of his philosophy that is very artistic and detailed and would be very difficult to understand without the aid of a guide to explain all the symbolism.  Cameras were not allowed there, as is the case with many places we visited.

Behind the museum is the garden where Gandhi meditated and held court with his followers, and where he was ultimately assassinated.  It is simple and profound at the same time, allowing you to follow his last footsteps and see the bench where he often spoke and prayed.  It is recognizable to anyone familiar with the movie, "Gandhi."  The museum is located on Thirty January Road, named for the date of his assassination in 1948, seventeen days after my oldest brother, Tim,  was born.  Sadly, Gandhi's philosophy of peaceful resistance and equality for all religions and classes is difficult to find in today's divisive climate.

After that heady experience, we were about ready to call it a day.  Shanoo drove us around the city a bit more, stopping to snap a photo of the Lotus Temple, a modern Baha'i house of worship that was opened in December, 1986, three months after the birth of my oldest son, Tim.  Baha'i temples are opened to people of all religions, and this temple has won many awards for its design.  I think the sun and clouds in the picture add to its mystical quality.

Passage to India

The best laid plans... our hope was that on one of Tim's business trips to India, we would meet up for a long weekend in Delhi.  Unfortunately it would not work out that way.  So here's how it did pan out: Tim worked at one of the Ford India locations until late Wednesday, then flew overnight to Bangkok, arriving just before seven Thursday morning.  Our driver picked me up from our condo at 5:30 a.m. and we drove to the airport to meet Tim.  We then headed to a hotel near the airport.  The Suvarnabhumi Suites hotel was a pleasant little six-story hotel with a rooftop restaurant.  We arrived with just enough time to enjoy the breakfast buffet, then Tim was able to catch some Z's and get a little work done.  The hotel promptly shuttled us back to the airport at 6:30 p.m., and we were on our way to Delhi!  Where there's a will, there's a way.

This was in the hotel manual.  Durian is a popular fruit in Southeast Asia
that apparently smells awful but tastes good.  The hotel promised.

The flight to Delhi was just over four hours, a loaded plane with very little wiggle room.  Made me sorry for all the time Tim spends flying of late.  Jet Airways is one of India's major carriers, and the flight was adequate, but the flight "attendants" were not very attentive.

We landed in Delhi just after midnight, where I was able to obtain my "Visa on Arrival."  This is a fairly new option for tourists (the clerk said it's only been available for three months).  In the past, I would have had to make a special trip to Bangkok to the Indian embassy before our trip - that's what Tim had to do. With this new system, you apply and pay online, then bring your printout to India, where the Immigration personnel document your arrival, including fingerprinting.  In his heavy Indian accent, the agent said to place "forefinger" on the glass reader, so that's what I did.  He corrected me, holding up his "four finger" to indicate all four fingers go on the glass.  Oh.  It took three or four tries, as he would look at his screen and shake his head that it wasn't good enough.  At one point, he went to get some hand sanitizer for me to use, which made no difference at all.   Finally he pressed down on my fingers as he scanned them, and that seemed to do the trick.  Went through the same thing with the other hand, then the two thumbs.  He seemed a bit put out by all the effort.  Welcome to India.

Luckily our shuttle from the hotel was waiting for us and drove us the fifteen minutes to the Holiday Inn Delhi.  The hotel was nice enough, but the bed was too soft, giving the guests a free backache with each visit.  Hope this isn't a thing in India. Anyway, time for some shut-eye.

The Dubliners

St. Patrick's Day in Thailand??  Yes, indeed!  The annual St. Patrick's Day parade marched down Beach Road, with traffic zipping by on the outside lanes.  The newspaper said the parade started at 2 p.m., so I had Mick drop me at Central Festival around 1:15 p.m.  This mall is the midpoint of Beach Road, so I thought it would be a good place to hang out until the parade passed by.   Did a quick bit of shopping, then headed out into the steamy afternoon sun to wait...and wait...and wait. Workers were setting up stalls right in the road, filling the outside lane, and it was amusing to watch the motor scooters zipping along under the canopies of the stalls.  I watched a huge tour bus try to come out of a side street and couldn't make the turn with all the stalls set up.  It blocked all lanes of traffic as it tried backing up, inching forward, backing up...some of the workers finally came and moved some stalls out of its way, then put them right back after the bus had passed, as if that would be the only bus trying to make that turn!

By around 3:30, I was wondering if I'd gotten the time wrong.  I went back into the mall to cool off with a cold drink, then found a place out front where I could watch the street from the shade of the building.  Two fierce chess matches were taking place on the level below, so I enjoyed a little spectating.  Tim was back in India, and watching chess made me feel a little closer to him.  One pair of older farangs was playing with a chess clock, and I watched a young Thai woman challenge a second pair of old farangs to an intense battle.

Finally, around 5:15 p.m., the sound of a marching band drew me back to the road.  It was not your usual St. Patrick's Day parade.  Although I suspect farangs were the reason for the parade, nearly everyone in the parade was Thai.  Some wore green t-shirts or face paint in the colors of the Irish flag, but everyone was there for some "sanook."  Any excuse for a party in Pattaya. Several of the local Irish pubs were represented in the parade, along with some charity organizations.  Some of the resorts were in attendance as well.  It was a nice mishmash of smiling faces, colors and sounds.

I didn't hear a single Irish tune until a couple of drunk farangs wandered past, singing "The Black Velvet Band" at the top of their lungs.  I shouted to them that it was the first Irish song I'd heard in the whole parade, and they slurred, "God bless ya!"  Yep, you can find crazy Irishmen all over the world.

See the little one standing in front of the
driver?  Very common sight here.

One group of young Thais performed some hip hop dancing - not sure how that fit in with the theme, but they were very entertaining.  We were also entertained by some Thai dancers in their traditional garb.  Several pushy tourists from a particular unnamed country were jumping out in front of the groups to take selfies - when did this become so important to people??

I was contemplating following the parade down to it's terminus, where there was supposed to be music and dancing.  I asked Mick to drive past the school where the festivities were being held before he dropped me at the mall.  He kept telling me, "Madame, I think it's too far."  Well, by the time the parade finally made its way past, I was ready to head home.  I hated admitting that he was right.

I was back home in good time, heated up some dinner and listened to a little "Waking Ned Divine" to satisfy my craving for some good Irish tunes.  Erin Go Bragh.

Wishing a Happy Birthday to my Michael - I love you so much!

The Pastoral Symphony

A few weeks back I received an email from the restaurant where we went for our Christmas dinner. They were accepting reservations, not for the restaurant, but for tables at Pornprapha Gardens for the first ever appearance of the Thailand Philharmonic Orchestra in Pattaya.  I didn't want to pass up this opportunity to hear the symphony.  By the time I contacted them for a table, however, they were already booked.  But we could still attend the concert, so Tim kindly agreed to give up his Sunday afternoon and go with me.  Sunday is usually our driver's day off, but we were able to give him Saturday off instead.  And maybe best of all, the concert was free.  They would be accepting donations with proceeds going to Hand To Hand, a group that ministers to the underprivileged and at-risk children of Pattaya.

Mick had not heard of Pornprapha Gardens before, nor had any of his fellow drivers.  So I printed off a couple of maps (figuring out how to print the labels in Thai for him), and we were on our way.  He often uses percentages to describe the certainty of something, and said he knew the way "70%."  The venue was probably about 40 minutes away, the route taking us past the big, man-made lake called Map Prachan.  Soon Mick was "100% sure" when we saw the cars and buses pulling into a park not far from the lake.


The grounds of Pornprapha Gardens are beautiful - a large pond at the entrance is home to a dragon and flock of birds caught in midflight.

http://www.kingdomproperty.com/

A nice, paved walk lined with meticulously-pruned greenery lead to the small outdoor amphitheater where stone, tiered seats faced the stage.  We arrived early enough that we easily found seats on the shady side and settled in with a crossword while awaiting the concert.  Another multinational event, with many Thai and non-Thai in attendance, the seats filled up quickly.  Several plastic chairs had been arranged on either side of the stage with signs reading, "For the elderly or disabled."  They sat empty for the most part, so a few minutes before the concert began, a gentleman invited people to move down into those chairs if they wished.  We wished!  It was a nice location to enjoy the concert.

Before the concert began, a harsh woman with a dictatorial German accent took the mic, ringing a hand bell to get everyone's attention.  She said the concert would be starting in ten minutes, "so please take your seats now!"  She repeated her demands twice more over the next ten minutes, then gave a very long-winded and self-congratulatory explanation of how this event was brought to Pattaya.  Then, a gentleman she credited as the reason for their success took the mic and was equally long-winded.  We were sympathetic to the poor young lady who was trying to interpret their speeches into Thai.  Then the mayor came to the mic and she struggled to reverse-interpret for the farangs.  It made me appreciate the fact that ASL interpreters don't have to wait for people to stop talking before they can begin interpreting!

The mayor of Nong Prue and
the interpreter

Once the concert began, all else was forgotten.  The Thailand Philharmonic Orchestra is a young, 90-member ensemble made up of musicians from over fifteen countries.  They gave their inaugural performance in June of 2005, and their home is Prince Mahidol Hall in Bangkok.                                                                                                                           We enjoyed a wide variety of music, from Strauss waltzes, to operatic arias, some great jazz pieces composed by the King himself (no, not Elvis), and some popular musical numbers.  Some of the soloists were good, and a few were excellent.  One young man was ill-suited to attempt a Frank Sinatra classic.  I especially appreciated another soloist's performance of Largo al Factotum from the Barber of Seville and the two who performed the duet The Prayer.   The richness of the sound coming from the chairs on stage was what we savored most, and I am hoping this will not be their last visit to Pattaya.

The crowd was a bit rough around the edges for a classical concert, but I imagine this might have been a first for some of them.  People were frequently walking right in front of the performers during their songs.  One knucklehead in particular fancied himself a cameraman filming a documentary, and was practically in the faces of the singers with his camera.  He was quite rude and distracting, but we ain't in Kansas anymore, are we?  I found a few videos posted on Youtube from the concert, if you're interested.  You can see the yahoo I referred to in one of them (I guess he's a big Phantom fan.)

Youtube videos of the concert 

The concert organizers took the mic once again at the end of the concert, and we seized the opportunity to head toward the exit.  Mick pulled up with the car just as we reached the parking lot, beating the crowds, and we were quickly on our way.

We stopped for dinner at a little restaurant called Louis (I fondly thought of my newest great-nephew!)  The place had been recommended to us and it did not disappoint.  I had the set dinner, which included a delicious soup, a chicken and mushroom entree, and ice cream with fresh fruit for dessert for under ten dollars. Tim had a nice soup and salad.  Delicious food and excellent service put the exclamation point on a lovely day.

Flowers of Heaven

I continue to be  charmed by the Thai version of the Catholic mass.  It just seems to be able to cut out all the excesses we have come to expect in America and get back to the basics.  Weekly mass in an open-air church is so pleasant.  The church is fairly small and frequently needs extra seating, which is easily remedied by people pulling up plastic chairs outside while still feeling like they're in church.  The music is led by an enthusiastic group of Thais with a couple of guitars and an electric piano.  Ash Wednesday mass was at 6:30 p.m., which meant many people came straight from work.  At least half of the musicians were wearing the Ford uniform that all workers wear here, including management, so I am very familiar with it.  It was nice to see Ford so well-represented.

I mentioned before how the handshake of peace is replaced by the "wai" - hands pressed together under one's nose while bowing in the other person's direction.  Not only does this feel quite respectful, but it allows you to connect with a lot more people just by making eye contact and bowing.  And Holy Water is sprinkled on the congregation at every mass, no matter the season.  The altar servers start at a very early age, and are so enthusiastic.  One little boy in particular just sings his little heart out up on the altar - so cute.

The multinationalities of the lectors is also interesting - in addition to Thais who read English well, we have had lectors from England, Scotland, Germany, France, Australia, India and America.  This past weekend a gentleman got up for announcements and spoke at length in German to his fellow countrymen.  From what I could gather, a bishop from Germany was coming to say mass in Pattaya this week, and he was inviting people to attend.  I always enjoy the English pronunciations by the Thai pastor, too, which can be pretty creative.  But I give him credit for struggling through week after week for the sake of the farangs.

Switching topics, the gardens at our condo are just beautiful and so well-tended.  Every morning the gardeners are out pruning, planting, watering, etc.  Beautiful pink flowers encircle the swimming area, and some amazing trees add their vibrancy.  One tree that was bare a few weeks ago is now covered with fern-like leaves and bright orange flowers - I believe this is a Royal Pinciana or  Flamboyant tree.  Another tree at one end of the pool has the most amazingly-fragrant white flowers; it's like a reward each time you swim to that side.  It reminds me a bit of a gardenia, but I think it's actually a Plumeria or Frangiapani tree. I noticed an unusual tree between the pool and the beach, with the fruit growing right on the trunk.  I thought the fruit looked like mangoes.  But I learned that mangoes actually hang from branches, somewhat like apples.  If my research is correct, this is, in fact, a papaya tree.

smells like heaven!

this one reminds me of a giant poinsettia

Kitchen funnies:  We have bought ice cream from the grocery store a few times, and it always looks like this when we open it:

It's the most voluptuous ice cream we've ever seen - makes us giggle every time.




Also, I recently realized that my little condo kitchen has a stove top from the Spinal Tap collection - it goes to eleven!








Do you think I've got too much time on my hands?






P.S. My interpretation of "at lay the stolen goods?"  (See previous post.)  It occurred to me that someone might have used Google Translate for something like "for putting hot items."  Hot items = stolen goods.  That's just got to be it, doesn't it?  Can somebody give me an "amen?"