Just a quick note to let everyone in blog land know that I have been up in the state Rajistan the last week or so, about as far away from the coastline and the areas of India hit by the recent tsunamis as possible. So far away that I haven't been close enough to a computer to make a post.
The news came as a bit of a shock, especially so because we had no idea until I got back to the hotel in the evening and happened to switch on CNN. We had spent the day wandering the forts and city of Jodphur and hadn't seen any groups of people gathered around televisions or any of the other behaviour you would expect to see in a country in the midst of a natural disaster of this scale. A little disturbing actually. Since the earthquake, the topic hasn't come up at all when I've been talking to Indians, only other travellers.
So all in all, all is well.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
The India Diaries: To hell with numbering and order... I'm spending New Year's at the Taj!
I've found a nice friendly Canadian (aren't they all?) who wants to spend New Year's eve in Agra so I have someone to brave the crowds with. I wasn't too keen to go it alone. So... yay!
The India Diaries - Part 9: An Indian resturant in India and how to dress like an Indian woman without even trying
Okay, so I just had dinner here in Pune at the Resturant Hydrabad. The food was absolutely awesome, the service wonderfully attentive, but thats been my experience since I've arrived. What struck me was that we were eating in a themed resturant. Hydrabad is a city in the east, and from what I could tell from the incredibly opulant and Hollywood-like decor of the resturant, it is a city renowed for very good lamb marsalas, tiny mirrors everywhere, massive coloured glass chandeliers, and tassels, lots of tassels, even on the menus. So this was an Indian themed resturant, in India. Huh.
One thing that has struck me, particularly in Pune, is the variation in the way the women dress. Pune (pronounced Poona) is a very modern (by Indian standards), medium-sized city (around 4 million people) with an awful lot of universities and therefore an awful lot of students. For the most part and with only a few exceptions, the men wear western-style trousers or jeans, and untucked buttoned shirts or t-shirts. The women vary far more drastically. There seem to be three distinct styles and classes that go with them.
About half the women are in sarees and within this group, there are two sub-groups: Those that drape their saree in the traditional Majherasta style that kinda makes the skirt of the saree look a bit like a very long diaper are usually the peasants and construction workers (yes, there are an awful lot of woman working on road crews). Not terribly graceful, but a bit more practical. The other group wears saree in the style of southern India with the skirt pleated and left long. It is a very graceful way to drape saree and it seems to be the middle and upper class more traditional/conservative women who dress this way.
Then there are the women who wear chorta. Chorta is a set made up of loose trousers, a long tunic slit up the sides, and a scarf or stole. Very graceful, and also very comfortable. The women who wear chorta seem to be the professionals. Doctors, accountants and politicians all wear chorta. I bought one last week and have worn it out a few times. After a bit of confusion over seeing a western woman in traditional dress, I find I get very good service and am respected and generally treated well.
Then there are the young women, mostly students, who wear typical wester-style clothes. Jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, but nothing very low-cut and nothing shorter than mid-calf.
In some parts of the city, I felt very conspicuous in my whiteness and jeans and t-shirt. I'm starting to get used to the constant stares and groups of teenagers asking to have their photo taken with me but it does feel a little strange. I do like that my culture is as fascinating to them as theirs is to me. I felt like if I could dress like they do, I would blend in a little. So I am sitting in an internet cafe right now in the very young and trendy Koregan Park district wearing chorta, and feeling a bit out of place amongst all the girls in jeans and t-shirts. Contrast and contradictions, that's what I will take away from this place most clearly.
One thing that has struck me, particularly in Pune, is the variation in the way the women dress. Pune (pronounced Poona) is a very modern (by Indian standards), medium-sized city (around 4 million people) with an awful lot of universities and therefore an awful lot of students. For the most part and with only a few exceptions, the men wear western-style trousers or jeans, and untucked buttoned shirts or t-shirts. The women vary far more drastically. There seem to be three distinct styles and classes that go with them.
About half the women are in sarees and within this group, there are two sub-groups: Those that drape their saree in the traditional Majherasta style that kinda makes the skirt of the saree look a bit like a very long diaper are usually the peasants and construction workers (yes, there are an awful lot of woman working on road crews). Not terribly graceful, but a bit more practical. The other group wears saree in the style of southern India with the skirt pleated and left long. It is a very graceful way to drape saree and it seems to be the middle and upper class more traditional/conservative women who dress this way.
Then there are the women who wear chorta. Chorta is a set made up of loose trousers, a long tunic slit up the sides, and a scarf or stole. Very graceful, and also very comfortable. The women who wear chorta seem to be the professionals. Doctors, accountants and politicians all wear chorta. I bought one last week and have worn it out a few times. After a bit of confusion over seeing a western woman in traditional dress, I find I get very good service and am respected and generally treated well.
Then there are the young women, mostly students, who wear typical wester-style clothes. Jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, but nothing very low-cut and nothing shorter than mid-calf.
In some parts of the city, I felt very conspicuous in my whiteness and jeans and t-shirt. I'm starting to get used to the constant stares and groups of teenagers asking to have their photo taken with me but it does feel a little strange. I do like that my culture is as fascinating to them as theirs is to me. I felt like if I could dress like they do, I would blend in a little. So I am sitting in an internet cafe right now in the very young and trendy Koregan Park district wearing chorta, and feeling a bit out of place amongst all the girls in jeans and t-shirts. Contrast and contradictions, that's what I will take away from this place most clearly.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 8: Heading North
India is such a place of contrasts and contradictions. I am sitting in an internet cafe (finally!) in Pune, just east of Mumbai. I'm surrounded by young, western-looking university students who are chatting, working on assignments, and just bumming around on a Saturday night. Down the street are cafes, resturants, and the place has a typical young Saturday night feel, although a little tamer than in the west. But across the road, a mangy dog and an old woman in a pale green saree are rumaging through a dumpster and less than a block away, children sleep with their parents on the sidewalk next to the most filthy stretch of river I have ever seen. The contrast is simply amazing.
I wish I had more time to spend posting updates but voluteer work with Rotary has kept me very busy and moving around the state, nowhere near an internet-connected computer. I've been keeping a written journal though, and will transcribe it when I get the chance. Photos to come too, I hope.
For now, its up to Ragistan for some desert trekking and a week at a meditation centre in Jaipur before starting the journey home.
Namaste!
(Namaste means both hello and goodbye in Hindi - like I said, a land of contradictions.)
I wish I had more time to spend posting updates but voluteer work with Rotary has kept me very busy and moving around the state, nowhere near an internet-connected computer. I've been keeping a written journal though, and will transcribe it when I get the chance. Photos to come too, I hope.
For now, its up to Ragistan for some desert trekking and a week at a meditation centre in Jaipur before starting the journey home.
Namaste!
(Namaste means both hello and goodbye in Hindi - like I said, a land of contradictions.)
Monday, December 13, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 7: First Impressions
Sitting on a balcony in Pune listening to the neverending noise on the streets below and thinking what a truly magic place India is, in all its noise and smell and dust.
How do I even begin to describe this place? Seeing it as I am through my wealthy western eyes, India is a place of devastating poverty, disease, disfigurement, and filth. Looking closer, there are brilliant smiles, woman in sarees and churtas of every imaginable colour, and an order and grace to a place that at fist glance is the very epitamy of chaos.
When I arrived in Mubai on Thursday afternoon, exhausted from almost 36 hours in transit, the first thing that struck me was the uniquness of my whiteness. It is such an interesting sensation after a life as part of a majority to suddenly find myself painfully aware of my minority status. Somehow I had carried with me to India a mistaken assumption of multiculturalism.
Rather than go into the day by day details of what I have been doing, I want to record my impressions of this place. I spent the day yesterday assisting in a camp being run to perform corrective surgeries on children disfigured by muscular dystrophy, polio and conjenital defects. Attempting to write what is was I was able to witness is so difficult. These children came through the door on hands, feet, knees and whatever else they could use to allow them to get around. After the doctors spent a few minutes with each to establish what could be done, I helped the nurses soak and wash their gnarled legs to get through the layers of dust in preparation for surgery. They were so nervous and afraid but all I could do was smile at them in lieu of any shared language. The smiles on these kids were so amazing, even as scared as they were, they smiled right back at me.
Later in the day I was helping remove the plaster casts from kids who had been operated on a few weeks earlier. There was one beautiful little girl with polio who's father spoke a little English. He was able to tell me that when she came in for surgery, she was only able to crawl and shuffle about on her bottom (her father did a great imitation of this to get the point across!). After we took her cast off, she slipped off the gurney, grabbed her fathers hands, and walked out of the room. She had been calling me Aunty Katta.
The people here are so very beautiful.
How do I even begin to describe this place? Seeing it as I am through my wealthy western eyes, India is a place of devastating poverty, disease, disfigurement, and filth. Looking closer, there are brilliant smiles, woman in sarees and churtas of every imaginable colour, and an order and grace to a place that at fist glance is the very epitamy of chaos.
When I arrived in Mubai on Thursday afternoon, exhausted from almost 36 hours in transit, the first thing that struck me was the uniquness of my whiteness. It is such an interesting sensation after a life as part of a majority to suddenly find myself painfully aware of my minority status. Somehow I had carried with me to India a mistaken assumption of multiculturalism.
Rather than go into the day by day details of what I have been doing, I want to record my impressions of this place. I spent the day yesterday assisting in a camp being run to perform corrective surgeries on children disfigured by muscular dystrophy, polio and conjenital defects. Attempting to write what is was I was able to witness is so difficult. These children came through the door on hands, feet, knees and whatever else they could use to allow them to get around. After the doctors spent a few minutes with each to establish what could be done, I helped the nurses soak and wash their gnarled legs to get through the layers of dust in preparation for surgery. They were so nervous and afraid but all I could do was smile at them in lieu of any shared language. The smiles on these kids were so amazing, even as scared as they were, they smiled right back at me.
Later in the day I was helping remove the plaster casts from kids who had been operated on a few weeks earlier. There was one beautiful little girl with polio who's father spoke a little English. He was able to tell me that when she came in for surgery, she was only able to crawl and shuffle about on her bottom (her father did a great imitation of this to get the point across!). After we took her cast off, she slipped off the gurney, grabbed her fathers hands, and walked out of the room. She had been calling me Aunty Katta.
The people here are so very beautiful.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 6: The Singapore Chapter
Okay, so not even a full 24 hours into my adventure, and I've already had to talk myself out of having to spend the night wandering the streets of Singapore, had problems with my tickets (StudentFlights are really bad at issuing correct tickets, that actually take a person ALL the way home, not just leave them stuck in Sydney), and been woken up out of my 3am nap by a very friendly woman police officer flanked by three very friendly male police officers with very large semi-automatic weapons strapped to their chests. Just a routine passport check, but what a way to wake up!
You meet some very cool people in transit bars at 2am. It was fantastic to sit in the outside balcony bar surrounded by so many different languages and accents. Makes me realise how much I miss the whole multicultural tapestry that is so missing in dear old Brisbane. I really hope that nice Canadian girl who was on her way back home from teaching English in Jakarta made her flight. She asked me mid-beer what time it was and I told her 11:45. "Shit!" she said "My flight boarded at 11:30!" and promptly dashed off, although not before a last gulp of her beer. I didn't see her back at the bar, so I presume she made it.
All in all, Singapore seems like a great place. Next time I visit, I would like to make it out of the airport cause if the airport is this much fun, man, the city must be fantastic!
Next posting: Somewhere in India...
You meet some very cool people in transit bars at 2am. It was fantastic to sit in the outside balcony bar surrounded by so many different languages and accents. Makes me realise how much I miss the whole multicultural tapestry that is so missing in dear old Brisbane. I really hope that nice Canadian girl who was on her way back home from teaching English in Jakarta made her flight. She asked me mid-beer what time it was and I told her 11:45. "Shit!" she said "My flight boarded at 11:30!" and promptly dashed off, although not before a last gulp of her beer. I didn't see her back at the bar, so I presume she made it.
All in all, Singapore seems like a great place. Next time I visit, I would like to make it out of the airport cause if the airport is this much fun, man, the city must be fantastic!
Next posting: Somewhere in India...
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 5 1/2
Okay, so I managed to make it as far as the Brisbane international airport before finding myself in front of a computer again. Yay Qantas club! And to those of you who doubt that I could pass as a 50 year old Australian woman, hah! I say to you... hah! For that is exactly what I have done. Thanks mom, for letting me use your old membership card : )
So going through customs was frighteningly easy until I heard, "Excuse me ma'am. Could you step this way please?" Hmmm... I thought, do I look like the kind of person who would be carrying a bomb? Apparently so. So this guy showed me a laminated card that explained (in several languages) that I had been randomly selected to be screen by a chemical detection machine (it had a TLA but I have forgotten it already... damn acronyms). To this I responded "Cool!". Said man looked slightly taken aback, and replied that I was the first person to have responded to him with said exclamation. He then proceeded to touch my pockets with a small plastic wand with a bit of sticky-tape on the end of it. The sticky-tape was removed and put in a machine that "Heats up as hot as, well, probably as hot as the sun." according to Sticky-Tape and Wand Technician. A few beeps, and the machine told me I was clear to go. Now, not that Sticky-Tape and Wand Technician wasn't a nice enough guy, but I still reckon sniffer dogs are cuter.
Tasty Qantas club snacks beckon, so my next post will be from Singapore Airport, land of free internet access.
So going through customs was frighteningly easy until I heard, "Excuse me ma'am. Could you step this way please?" Hmmm... I thought, do I look like the kind of person who would be carrying a bomb? Apparently so. So this guy showed me a laminated card that explained (in several languages) that I had been randomly selected to be screen by a chemical detection machine (it had a TLA but I have forgotten it already... damn acronyms). To this I responded "Cool!". Said man looked slightly taken aback, and replied that I was the first person to have responded to him with said exclamation. He then proceeded to touch my pockets with a small plastic wand with a bit of sticky-tape on the end of it. The sticky-tape was removed and put in a machine that "Heats up as hot as, well, probably as hot as the sun." according to Sticky-Tape and Wand Technician. A few beeps, and the machine told me I was clear to go. Now, not that Sticky-Tape and Wand Technician wasn't a nice enough guy, but I still reckon sniffer dogs are cuter.
Tasty Qantas club snacks beckon, so my next post will be from Singapore Airport, land of free internet access.
The India Diaries - Part 5
Only 6 hours to go before I wing my way off to the great unknown. While I have promised a few people that i will try to make regular posts, complete with photos, I don't know how available free internet access will be. The TCP/IP (Transfer by Cow Protocol/ India Protocol) connection could be busy holding up rush hour traffic in the middle of Delhi. However, I will be spending the night tonight at Singapore airport, voted best airport to sleep in 8 years running by Lonely Planet - what I want to know is, who has been sleeping there for 8 years running? (bud-um ching!) - and the free internet access there is world-renown.
Had Christmas drinkies with work folk yesterday afternoon... What a wonderful way to spend my last work day for 5 weeks, having tasty, disease-free food, safe water, and overdosing on that unique blend of humor and punnage that I have grown to love in my collegues.
And now, after months of researching, reading, planning, and getting stabbed by needles, I am almost on my way... yay! Next post will be from.... somewhere that is not here.
And for some cool insight into Indian culture, check out http://www.indax.com/trculture.html
Had Christmas drinkies with work folk yesterday afternoon... What a wonderful way to spend my last work day for 5 weeks, having tasty, disease-free food, safe water, and overdosing on that unique blend of humor and punnage that I have grown to love in my collegues.
And now, after months of researching, reading, planning, and getting stabbed by needles, I am almost on my way... yay! Next post will be from.... somewhere that is not here.
And for some cool insight into Indian culture, check out http://www.indax.com/trculture.html
Thursday, November 25, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 4
Ahh India. Land of sacred cows, amazing tradition, call centres vegetarian McDonald's. Oh, and plenty of "2-star magnificent luxury hotel". Makes you wonder what a 5-star is described as.
Only 13 more sleeps... yay! And gah! So i've started getting slightly nervous. I've traveled a lot in my young life, but never to a place where my language isn't the first language of everyone else (despite the funny Aussie accent, its still English... kinda), and where I'm afraid the scale and strangeness of the place will overwhelm me. The funny thing is that 5 years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated or felt the slightest inkling of apprehension at traveling alone in a very foreign country. Now, it scares the crap out of me. Is this something that happens with age? And if so, will it continue at this rate for the rest of my life? Will I end up at 40 too scared to leave my house or talk to the delivery guy from the Thai place where I will order all of my meals? This is very much not like to me to be feeling this nervous. I'm not the type to shy away from a challenge or something that scares the crap out of me... but the malaria-ridden mosquitoes in my stomach just won't settle down.
And in other age-related news, my father doesn't know how old I am. This disturbs me a little, especially as he stated quite clearly in an email that I am 2 years younger than I actually am. He should know when I was born, right? He was a main contributor to the event.
Only 13 more sleeps... yay! And gah! So i've started getting slightly nervous. I've traveled a lot in my young life, but never to a place where my language isn't the first language of everyone else (despite the funny Aussie accent, its still English... kinda), and where I'm afraid the scale and strangeness of the place will overwhelm me. The funny thing is that 5 years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated or felt the slightest inkling of apprehension at traveling alone in a very foreign country. Now, it scares the crap out of me. Is this something that happens with age? And if so, will it continue at this rate for the rest of my life? Will I end up at 40 too scared to leave my house or talk to the delivery guy from the Thai place where I will order all of my meals? This is very much not like to me to be feeling this nervous. I'm not the type to shy away from a challenge or something that scares the crap out of me... but the malaria-ridden mosquitoes in my stomach just won't settle down.
And in other age-related news, my father doesn't know how old I am. This disturbs me a little, especially as he stated quite clearly in an email that I am 2 years younger than I actually am. He should know when I was born, right? He was a main contributor to the event.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 3
Seeing as things are starting to take shape, I figured I'd post a status report on my India Trip:
Immunisations done: Ow - I mean, Yup
Flights booked: Yup
Flights paid for: As of yesterday, yup :)
Passport renewed: Still waiting for the new one to arrive
Visa arranged: Dependant on above
Backpack bought: Yup, and it's HUGE!
Leave booked: Yup... total balance remaining: 0.26 days
So with just over a month to go, things are coming along quite nicely. Yay!
Immunisations done: Ow - I mean, Yup
Flights booked: Yup
Flights paid for: As of yesterday, yup :)
Passport renewed: Still waiting for the new one to arrive
Visa arranged: Dependant on above
Backpack bought: Yup, and it's HUGE!
Leave booked: Yup... total balance remaining: 0.26 days
So with just over a month to go, things are coming along quite nicely. Yay!
Much fun and very little sleep
I've just returned from the craziness that was the Asia Pacific Blackboard User Conference. Much fun and very little sleep was had by all. It was really really great to get to meet other Blackboardians, as well as the vendors themselves. The conference was at a resort on the sunshine coast, and it had a bar. With karaoke. Not good.
It was also really great to get positive feedback on the presentation I gave, as did another person from the Griffith team. I'm generally not nervous about public speaking but my stomach was doing all sorts of crazy things on the morning of my presentation. My hands were kinda clammy, my mind was whirring, and I more or less figured I would completely suck. I have been to many conference presentations where I've kinda felt sorry for the person speaking because of either their speaking style, a really irrelevant topic, or copious amounts of waffling.
I am very very afraid of being one of these people. I have a theory about why I was nervous about this particular presentation. I have spoken to large groups of both academics and students on different topics related to flexible learning before without even a fruitfly (let alone the monstrous butterflies that were zipping around my stomach for my conference presentation) making an appearance. I've spoken in meetings with pretty senior people from other professional areas. My theory is this: I am perfectly comfortable talking to large groups on topics I know more than them about. It's when I'm talking to people who probably have more knowledge/experience/awareness of the topic that I freak. My margin for bullshit is smaller in these situations.
But, despite feeling like bolting out of the room as soon as the slide with my name came up, an amazing thing happened. I sounded like I knew what the hell I was talking about. All the words and ideas that had been cycloning around my head came out of my mouth in a way that made sense, and people were actually interested in what I had to say. They learned something new too. Yay me!
So my presentation further added to my already growing fame due to the tech day I organised earlier in the week. It's a little frightening to introduce yourself to someone you have never met and have them tell you that they know all about you already. Kinda exposing. I had a few people approach me with compliments about the session, and few people approached my director as well, including Blackboard staff. He took the compliments a little differently was a little firm in saying that they couldn't hire me away from Griffith. He's still a littl touchy over the woman who was in my position before me going to work for Blackboard. I must tell him he has nothing to worry about tho. There is no way I could keep up with the Blackboard guys. I don't think any of them went to sleep before 3am they entire conference. With jetlag from the flight from the US to Australia earlier in the week and 6am starts each day, I'm amazed they were able to function at all. So untill I am able to live on 3 hrs or sleep a night, and drink a lot more than I am currently able, I don't think I'll be going to work for Blackboard.
It was also really great to get positive feedback on the presentation I gave, as did another person from the Griffith team. I'm generally not nervous about public speaking but my stomach was doing all sorts of crazy things on the morning of my presentation. My hands were kinda clammy, my mind was whirring, and I more or less figured I would completely suck. I have been to many conference presentations where I've kinda felt sorry for the person speaking because of either their speaking style, a really irrelevant topic, or copious amounts of waffling.
I am very very afraid of being one of these people. I have a theory about why I was nervous about this particular presentation. I have spoken to large groups of both academics and students on different topics related to flexible learning before without even a fruitfly (let alone the monstrous butterflies that were zipping around my stomach for my conference presentation) making an appearance. I've spoken in meetings with pretty senior people from other professional areas. My theory is this: I am perfectly comfortable talking to large groups on topics I know more than them about. It's when I'm talking to people who probably have more knowledge/experience/awareness of the topic that I freak. My margin for bullshit is smaller in these situations.
But, despite feeling like bolting out of the room as soon as the slide with my name came up, an amazing thing happened. I sounded like I knew what the hell I was talking about. All the words and ideas that had been cycloning around my head came out of my mouth in a way that made sense, and people were actually interested in what I had to say. They learned something new too. Yay me!
So my presentation further added to my already growing fame due to the tech day I organised earlier in the week. It's a little frightening to introduce yourself to someone you have never met and have them tell you that they know all about you already. Kinda exposing. I had a few people approach me with compliments about the session, and few people approached my director as well, including Blackboard staff. He took the compliments a little differently was a little firm in saying that they couldn't hire me away from Griffith. He's still a littl touchy over the woman who was in my position before me going to work for Blackboard. I must tell him he has nothing to worry about tho. There is no way I could keep up with the Blackboard guys. I don't think any of them went to sleep before 3am they entire conference. With jetlag from the flight from the US to Australia earlier in the week and 6am starts each day, I'm amazed they were able to function at all. So untill I am able to live on 3 hrs or sleep a night, and drink a lot more than I am currently able, I don't think I'll be going to work for Blackboard.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Thanksgiving Dinner 2004 - Day of Death for turkeys everywhere
My annual forcing of my Canadian traditions upon my unsuspecting friends went off sucessfully last night. The turkey was golden and tasty, the stuffing was yummy and full of currants, and the pumpkin pie, oh the pumpkin pie! Jolyon, Lesley, Alex, Colin, Jocelyn, Megan, Sean, and Maddie all joined me in giving thanks for good food, good friends, and good wine. Well, maybe I gave more thanks for good wine than the others. Here, for your viewing pleasure, are the photographs deamed suitable enough for public viewing. Enjoy!
Your charming hostess for the evening
Le pie d'resistance
Le pie ready for le close-up
Table millings, outside because my appartment is too small and poorly laid out to provide sufficient space for dining indoors. Good thing we weren't in Canada. Brrr!
Colin and Jocelyn. Awwww!
Okay, who hid the forks?
Here they are!
Jolyon pontificates, while Colin ponders, and Jocelyn tried to hide
Jolyon pontificates some more
Jolyon breaks down upon realising the mass slaughter of innocent turkeys which happens every year on the holiday of death (aka Thanksgiving)
Maddie, Sean, and Lesley discuss the finer points of english literature. Who says my parties aren't high-brow!
Shiny happy people
More shiny happy people
Shiny unhappy people
Kudos to Lesley and Jolyon for providing a wind-proof lighting scheme, and pretty too
Spycam... See what lurks in the kitchens of unassuming suburban homes
"What's your toy's name Maddie?"
"Puppy."
"And what's Lesley doing to Puppy?"
"She's killing him! Mwaaahhhh!"
I come to carve zee turkey
Turkey time!
Mmmm... golden brown and full of turkey-fat goodness
Everyone got pretty hosed
Either Colin or the bread is evil... I'm pretty sure its not the bread
Colin Wuz Here
Death to Le Pie!
The consumption of Le Pie
Damn! That's good pie!
Colin gets comfy as the sleep-inducing effects of the turkey tetraheda... tetrahama... tetrahooha... turkey stuff kicks in
Up...
Down...
Ow.
Same time again next year?
Your charming hostess for the evening
Le pie d'resistance
Le pie ready for le close-up
Table millings, outside because my appartment is too small and poorly laid out to provide sufficient space for dining indoors. Good thing we weren't in Canada. Brrr!
Colin and Jocelyn. Awwww!
Okay, who hid the forks?
Here they are!
Jolyon pontificates, while Colin ponders, and Jocelyn tried to hide
Jolyon pontificates some more
Jolyon breaks down upon realising the mass slaughter of innocent turkeys which happens every year on the holiday of death (aka Thanksgiving)
Maddie, Sean, and Lesley discuss the finer points of english literature. Who says my parties aren't high-brow!
Shiny happy people
More shiny happy people
Shiny unhappy people
Kudos to Lesley and Jolyon for providing a wind-proof lighting scheme, and pretty too
Spycam... See what lurks in the kitchens of unassuming suburban homes
"What's your toy's name Maddie?"
"Puppy."
"And what's Lesley doing to Puppy?"
"She's killing him! Mwaaahhhh!"
I come to carve zee turkey
Turkey time!
Mmmm... golden brown and full of turkey-fat goodness
Everyone got pretty hosed
Either Colin or the bread is evil... I'm pretty sure its not the bread
Colin Wuz Here
Death to Le Pie!
The consumption of Le Pie
Damn! That's good pie!
Colin gets comfy as the sleep-inducing effects of the turkey tetraheda... tetrahama... tetrahooha... turkey stuff kicks in
Up...
Down...
Ow.
Same time again next year?
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 2
Itinerary is now set, after a few last minute changes. I will have to make part of my trip on Sahara Airlines, which scares me a little. Saharia Airlines is a domestic Indian Airline, yet: "Sahara Royale has a unique concept of customised meal offer. The passengers have a choice of Thai, Mexican, Italian, Chinese and continental cuisine. Health food is being incorporated in the special the plan." What, no Indian?
I am displeased
Cursing ever asking for a company cell phone. Cursing inconsiderate academic who is under the impression that 8am-6pm means 24 hour support. I am happy to be contacted at 8pm if the entire system has fallen on its proverbial arse (well, far from happy, but at least understanding). I am NOT happy to be contacted at 8pm because one student can't install a Java plug-in. I know its cold, and I know I should be a caring, supportive, compassionate public servant, but dammit, ONE STUDENT! Grrrrr....
Monday, September 27, 2004
The India Diaries - Part 1
I've been spending an awful lot of time wandering the internet in preparation for spending a month wandering northern India at the end of the year. So many people have been sufficiently taken by their experiences on the sub-continent to write about it. In detail. I am hoping my experiences will be similarly inspiring. In particular, I've read the travelog of a young British woman who has been trekking for almost four months now. I have across her site after reading a post made on the Lonely Planet forums by her very distressed father. It seems she had not made any contact with her family back home or posted in her log for over 3 weeks and they were getting quite worried. As it turns out, she was just in the northern part of Uttar Pradesh where you'd be lucky to find a working toilet, let alone a computer with internet access.
But reading her travelog and looking at the photographs she had posted, I started to get very enamored of the whole idea of living in an ashran, shaving my head, and spending weeks on end in silent meditation. I've been imagining myself arriving in Delhi and being completely swept into the mayhem and mysicism of India. I imagine myself finally getting caught up in spirituality, meditation, and something bigger than myself. I imagine the email I will write to my friends, family, and coworkers telling them I have found home in the monasteries, ashrans, and temples and won't be coming back. Give my regards to Boris and Griffith University. Then reality comes back into play and I see myself enjoying the experience of a culture so unlike my own and of the opportunity to help people through the clinic. It is just a holiday after all. "Annual Leave" from an ordinary nine-to-five life. I wonder if I would even have the courage to leave all that I have worked for behind. We shall see.
But reading her travelog and looking at the photographs she had posted, I started to get very enamored of the whole idea of living in an ashran, shaving my head, and spending weeks on end in silent meditation. I've been imagining myself arriving in Delhi and being completely swept into the mayhem and mysicism of India. I imagine myself finally getting caught up in spirituality, meditation, and something bigger than myself. I imagine the email I will write to my friends, family, and coworkers telling them I have found home in the monasteries, ashrans, and temples and won't be coming back. Give my regards to Boris and Griffith University. Then reality comes back into play and I see myself enjoying the experience of a culture so unlike my own and of the opportunity to help people through the clinic. It is just a holiday after all. "Annual Leave" from an ordinary nine-to-five life. I wonder if I would even have the courage to leave all that I have worked for behind. We shall see.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
The Aussie Bloke, and other cultural wonders
I've decided to keep my posts to one topic per post, so as to keep some semblance of order to the place (hey, I'm just that neat), hence the second post in one sitting.
I've spent the last two Saturdays helping out at a local charity bookstore. Being surrounded by library books which for whatever reason have been discarded by Brisbane City Council libraries is actually rather peaceful, although it does give a frightening insight into the kinds of absolute crap people in this city are reading. If I see another full-to-the-brim box of Mills and Boon romance novels (and I use the term 'novel' very loosely) I think I may retch. How nice to know that this wonderful series, which consists of well over 600 volumes is conveniently categorised into regular, historical, and ahem, medical romance. Medical romance? The last thing that comes into mind when I've been in hospital is thoughts of candlelit dinners and romantic walks down the hospital isles with my surgeon. Grrr... but I digress. Aside from the wonders of travelling to a depressing little suburb called Nundah to sort and shelve chick lit, sci-fi, far too many diet books, I have discovered the wonder that is the Aussie Bloke.
Now, since arriving in this wonderful country almost 5 years ago, I have met many Aussie Men, Aussie Guys, and Aussie Boys, and while I thought I had encountered a few Aussie Blokes in the singleted, beer-drinking folk I encountered when I ventured out of the city, I have now realised, that an encounter with a true Aussie Bloke is charachterised by a sense of wonderment and amusement, tempered by an overwhelming feeling of horror. You see, this charity bookstore employs a number of people who are carrying out community service. Some are lovely people. And some are Aussie Blokes. Over the course of the day, I was amazed to meet 2 Blokes in particular who really personified the term. As I listened to their conversation (and attemped communication myself), I heard the topic of women being dicussed in ways that really did make me want to retch, as though the romance novels weren't enough.
"Ain't no chook gonna make me chase after her."
"Yeah, me missus can suck the balls off'n a bullock."
Over the illustration on the cover of a romance novel: "Yous don't see chicks lookin like this anymore, huh. Nice jawline. Good range."
"Could never go for a coloured chook myself, but would be nice to nail one up!"
There was more, but I think my mind has blocked it out to protect me from further damage. Really, the level of detail these two went into on the topics of women, gay men, asian-australians, and Aboriginals was absolutely disgusting and beyond anything I had ever heard before. The really scary thing is that while I've always associated racism, bigotry, and horrific views of woman to be the domain of ignorant old men too embedded in their fear and hatred to change their views, these two men were in their twenties. They had grown up in the same generation of equality, anti-discrimination legislation, and integration, yet they still hold these twisted views of the world.
It makes me sad and angry that these men could be tolerated and even encouranged by a civilised society. But what could I do? I sent them off to sort the childrens' educational books. Hopefully the bright colours and large text will stimulate them to read something, anything, and maybe learn a little about the world outside of the mind of an Aussie Bloke.
I've spent the last two Saturdays helping out at a local charity bookstore. Being surrounded by library books which for whatever reason have been discarded by Brisbane City Council libraries is actually rather peaceful, although it does give a frightening insight into the kinds of absolute crap people in this city are reading. If I see another full-to-the-brim box of Mills and Boon romance novels (and I use the term 'novel' very loosely) I think I may retch. How nice to know that this wonderful series, which consists of well over 600 volumes is conveniently categorised into regular, historical, and ahem, medical romance. Medical romance? The last thing that comes into mind when I've been in hospital is thoughts of candlelit dinners and romantic walks down the hospital isles with my surgeon. Grrr... but I digress. Aside from the wonders of travelling to a depressing little suburb called Nundah to sort and shelve chick lit, sci-fi, far too many diet books, I have discovered the wonder that is the Aussie Bloke.
Now, since arriving in this wonderful country almost 5 years ago, I have met many Aussie Men, Aussie Guys, and Aussie Boys, and while I thought I had encountered a few Aussie Blokes in the singleted, beer-drinking folk I encountered when I ventured out of the city, I have now realised, that an encounter with a true Aussie Bloke is charachterised by a sense of wonderment and amusement, tempered by an overwhelming feeling of horror. You see, this charity bookstore employs a number of people who are carrying out community service. Some are lovely people. And some are Aussie Blokes. Over the course of the day, I was amazed to meet 2 Blokes in particular who really personified the term. As I listened to their conversation (and attemped communication myself), I heard the topic of women being dicussed in ways that really did make me want to retch, as though the romance novels weren't enough.
"Ain't no chook gonna make me chase after her."
"Yeah, me missus can suck the balls off'n a bullock."
Over the illustration on the cover of a romance novel: "Yous don't see chicks lookin like this anymore, huh. Nice jawline. Good range."
"Could never go for a coloured chook myself, but would be nice to nail one up!"
There was more, but I think my mind has blocked it out to protect me from further damage. Really, the level of detail these two went into on the topics of women, gay men, asian-australians, and Aboriginals was absolutely disgusting and beyond anything I had ever heard before. The really scary thing is that while I've always associated racism, bigotry, and horrific views of woman to be the domain of ignorant old men too embedded in their fear and hatred to change their views, these two men were in their twenties. They had grown up in the same generation of equality, anti-discrimination legislation, and integration, yet they still hold these twisted views of the world.
It makes me sad and angry that these men could be tolerated and even encouranged by a civilised society. But what could I do? I sent them off to sort the childrens' educational books. Hopefully the bright colours and large text will stimulate them to read something, anything, and maybe learn a little about the world outside of the mind of an Aussie Bloke.
I think, therefore I blog... I think?
First post in my first blog... yay! I am so glad that technology has now afforded me the opportunity to publically air my previously private ponderings (mmm... alliteration).
Thing is, I've kept a journal on and off for the last few years. I have always enjoyed curling up with an odd little notebook of some sort and joting down what happens to be in my head at the moment. I also enjoy going back through old entries and reading what was in my head at that moment. I have found I tend to be far more elequent in my writing than in my speech and the process of putting to paper (or to screen) a muddled medly of thoughts and emotions has a way of clarifying them and providing perspective onto an otherwise murky situation. I take advantage of this phenomenom as often as I am able.
So that is why I write. As for what I will write in this forum, I prefer to keep my most private ramblings just that; private. So instead, in this space I will confine myself to ponderings more suitible for airing in public. While I don't expect that this blog will be wide-read, I'd like to think that it will at some point be read by someone and I'd prefer not to scare that someone with exposure to the purple goo of my innermost thoughts.
So... onwards!
Thing is, I've kept a journal on and off for the last few years. I have always enjoyed curling up with an odd little notebook of some sort and joting down what happens to be in my head at the moment. I also enjoy going back through old entries and reading what was in my head at that moment. I have found I tend to be far more elequent in my writing than in my speech and the process of putting to paper (or to screen) a muddled medly of thoughts and emotions has a way of clarifying them and providing perspective onto an otherwise murky situation. I take advantage of this phenomenom as often as I am able.
So that is why I write. As for what I will write in this forum, I prefer to keep my most private ramblings just that; private. So instead, in this space I will confine myself to ponderings more suitible for airing in public. While I don't expect that this blog will be wide-read, I'd like to think that it will at some point be read by someone and I'd prefer not to scare that someone with exposure to the purple goo of my innermost thoughts.
So... onwards!
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