Tonight I encountered my first illegal immigrant in California. He snuck in from England, lived here for near 15 years before getting a green card, and is surprisingly a white Anglo Saxon. Very interesting night, starting off with meeting some friends at the Spaceship Galaxy. There was an exhibit of T-shirts made by local graphic artists, a bar, and one of the most entertaining small venue bands I have ever seen. If you can picture a stereotypical scene in this city, tonight would have been it.
After I smuggled in my affordable beverage and started chatting people up, a fellow from a party recognized me and my friend upstairs in this venue. A native Californian, who grew up an illegal immigrant from England in this city since he was 5, he immediately shared a shot of whiskey with my friend and, once initial rapport was established. Just like everyone in this city, he had his own story, and it turned out to be a very interesting night, as we ended up kicking it with his friends in the tenderloin, talking politics until 4:30 am. Turns out, he does some of the best graffiti art I have seen first hand, as he has taken a childhood pastime and sculpted it into an art form he can profit from. As I establish future businesses, I think he might be the guy I turn to to help design a logo.
On a side note, I have never heard anything as impressive live, as this 6 minute medley of every popular song in hip hop, 80s hits, and any other song that brought back distinct college memories put together with utter genius. This band was phenomenal, and made the experience in the city tonight it. I love this city...
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
stay clear of north of 24th and mission
These were words of wisdom given to me at the 3300 bar tonight. My roommate and I decided to get familiar with our new neighborhood and check out the local bars. I am clearly the more Spanish-looking of the two of us, but Ariel has mastered the Spanish language, which proved to be of some value as we began our journey. After initially breaking plans with MIT girls going to the Financial District for an 8pm Happy Hour (due to delayed timing on our end), we strolled down the Mission, stopping in every bar on the way, until we got to 23rd street (we live on Randall).
The first place we went no English was spoken, which meant I remained mute. The bartender gave us a very large lime with our beer that clearly couldn’t have been squeezed or put into our cans. I was very confused about what to do with the fruit, so I wrapped it in a napkin, hoping not to insult our hosts. She proceeded to attempt to seduce me by bending over the bar and promoting an opening between her shirt and her chest, which led to an awkward 20 second stare-down from the regulars and prompted us to move to a new bar. Just as I was beginning to feel less threatened by a beating from local drinkers, we entered a bar that required a pat down from the bouncer. Why everyone else that entered this bar was left untouched remains a mystery to me.
I attempted to speak a bit of Spanish at this place, but received more disturbing looks of aggression from some very tough looking men, and so decided "less was more" and kept my mouth shut at the place called Malibu. I did enjoy the live band and the salsa music being played enough that I will certainly return someday, with a deserving girl who will let me step on her toes on the dance floor.
We then made our way to this lame bar passed 24th street. The bartender was incredibly rude and spoke far too proper English for what I was used tonight. She decided to check our ID's after ignoring us for 10 minutes. I proudly displayed my Michigan Identification, and ordered a water on the rocks. And then I left. Forget that attitude. I was gauging her response to the water request, and decided that my money would be best spent elsewhere.
2 bars later, I ended up at 3300 place, where I was advised not to go north of 24th street. Zoe, a very intellectual bar tender took a great liking to us, gave us martini glasses and free beers for the road, nicknaming us the FNG's (f*&^*$# new guys). Had a crazy conversation with Tom, a bartender at BAR at 23rd and mission, about a family who was forced off-road into the snow in the mountains of Oregon. The Father, after 9 days, went out to look for help, and then 3 hours later a helicopter rescued his wife and 2 daughters. He had burned his tires to keep his family warm, layered clothes and left a trail of clothes to mark where he went, making it miles from the car. Unfortunately, he did not survive the cold, and was found frozen by the rescue team. I found out from Tom and Dawn at the 3300 bar that this man had been my neighbor in my new apartment on Randall Street. I had no clue how close these people were to me. This really hit home hard, and captured my thoughts on the tonight. It was a mixture of culture shocks and eye opening stories, and I am thankful for the experience. Too many days go by with my eyes being neglectful of real life.
I enjoy both the north and south of 24th street, and my lack of red clothing will no longer be an issue, as I plan on buying a red track suit in the near future to wear around my neighborhood, mafia style. I plan on ordering less water at bars, too, but only from servers that aren’t bloody rude.
The first place we went no English was spoken, which meant I remained mute. The bartender gave us a very large lime with our beer that clearly couldn’t have been squeezed or put into our cans. I was very confused about what to do with the fruit, so I wrapped it in a napkin, hoping not to insult our hosts. She proceeded to attempt to seduce me by bending over the bar and promoting an opening between her shirt and her chest, which led to an awkward 20 second stare-down from the regulars and prompted us to move to a new bar. Just as I was beginning to feel less threatened by a beating from local drinkers, we entered a bar that required a pat down from the bouncer. Why everyone else that entered this bar was left untouched remains a mystery to me.
I attempted to speak a bit of Spanish at this place, but received more disturbing looks of aggression from some very tough looking men, and so decided "less was more" and kept my mouth shut at the place called Malibu. I did enjoy the live band and the salsa music being played enough that I will certainly return someday, with a deserving girl who will let me step on her toes on the dance floor.
We then made our way to this lame bar passed 24th street. The bartender was incredibly rude and spoke far too proper English for what I was used tonight. She decided to check our ID's after ignoring us for 10 minutes. I proudly displayed my Michigan Identification, and ordered a water on the rocks. And then I left. Forget that attitude. I was gauging her response to the water request, and decided that my money would be best spent elsewhere.
2 bars later, I ended up at 3300 place, where I was advised not to go north of 24th street. Zoe, a very intellectual bar tender took a great liking to us, gave us martini glasses and free beers for the road, nicknaming us the FNG's (f*&^*$# new guys). Had a crazy conversation with Tom, a bartender at BAR at 23rd and mission, about a family who was forced off-road into the snow in the mountains of Oregon. The Father, after 9 days, went out to look for help, and then 3 hours later a helicopter rescued his wife and 2 daughters. He had burned his tires to keep his family warm, layered clothes and left a trail of clothes to mark where he went, making it miles from the car. Unfortunately, he did not survive the cold, and was found frozen by the rescue team. I found out from Tom and Dawn at the 3300 bar that this man had been my neighbor in my new apartment on Randall Street. I had no clue how close these people were to me. This really hit home hard, and captured my thoughts on the tonight. It was a mixture of culture shocks and eye opening stories, and I am thankful for the experience. Too many days go by with my eyes being neglectful of real life.
I enjoy both the north and south of 24th street, and my lack of red clothing will no longer be an issue, as I plan on buying a red track suit in the near future to wear around my neighborhood, mafia style. I plan on ordering less water at bars, too, but only from servers that aren’t bloody rude.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
I Left My Heart In San Francisco
Its been 4 months since the last update, and not much has happened. I now have a college degree, a good paying job, and pay my taxes to the Terminator himself, as I am a Californian resident. Ive spent years dreaming about moving to California, but waking up and seeing the ocean every day has become routine these past 3 weeks. My office is right on the Bay, with an excellent view of the city from the south side, and my house is no less than an hour and a half train ride on BART public transportation system.
I am living with a single father and his son, temporarily until I can find a place in the city. It is a very unique set up, and I feel like Uncle Jesse from Full House at times, but has proved to be an addition to the good decisions I have made since graduating college. I am certain this roommate and I would have been long time college buddies if we went to school together, and have never had such a great living situation as I do now, besides the commute. I certainly miss my friends and family back home, but I am adjusting to the lifestyle out here, meeting interesting people and being less reserved in my effort to get to know them on a personal level. I have like 15 stories I would like to insert in here, but will hold off for the time being, and update in the weeks to come.
A preview to my recount of the past few weeks, in a few sentences; Meet girl, go to Red Hot Chili Peppers concert, Almost get mugged coming home from Oakland, Wild night in the city, Wild weekend in Santa Cruz at the beach, Troubles with the BART, the asshole in me is exposed, entertaining conversations with my roomate, my take on digital download technology and the future of the film industry(which i will be very involved with the next few months) crazy stories of fraud/robbery/and infidelty back home which Ive heard about, and others....
Cheers
I am living with a single father and his son, temporarily until I can find a place in the city. It is a very unique set up, and I feel like Uncle Jesse from Full House at times, but has proved to be an addition to the good decisions I have made since graduating college. I am certain this roommate and I would have been long time college buddies if we went to school together, and have never had such a great living situation as I do now, besides the commute. I certainly miss my friends and family back home, but I am adjusting to the lifestyle out here, meeting interesting people and being less reserved in my effort to get to know them on a personal level. I have like 15 stories I would like to insert in here, but will hold off for the time being, and update in the weeks to come.
A preview to my recount of the past few weeks, in a few sentences; Meet girl, go to Red Hot Chili Peppers concert, Almost get mugged coming home from Oakland, Wild night in the city, Wild weekend in Santa Cruz at the beach, Troubles with the BART, the asshole in me is exposed, entertaining conversations with my roomate, my take on digital download technology and the future of the film industry(which i will be very involved with the next few months) crazy stories of fraud/robbery/and infidelty back home which Ive heard about, and others....
Cheers
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Mediocrity
My biggest fear is a life limited to mediocrity. Everyday I see successful people, hear their stories and picture myself in their situation. This attitude which I have had in years past I now realize is a drawback to my own success. Every success story is affected by so many variables outside ones control, it is nearly impossible to emulate. To think otherwise, is just another "get rich scheme" that will end in disappointment. I am not saying that there is a different plan for everyone, which is predetermined, however we are limited in the choices we make. With that in mind, as I try to avoid settling for anything in my life, while being risk adverse at the same time, I realize that my success will come from smart moves that only I can decide. This frightens me, because I am realizing that the advice which I have followed for years from people I hold at a high level of respect, might be useless in my situation. My situation (from now till I am old and gray) is going to be determined by so many factors outside of my control, that advice I get today from an intelligent person might be useless 5 years from now when the unexpected changes arise. Am I gonna blame my advisor then for a missed opportunity? Clearly not. I am just going to be a mediocre, ordinary soul with a pessimistic perspective of the world. A pawn that gets sacrificed to protect the noble.
I don't understand why the thought of being a pawn scares me so much. I have met thousands of these types, people with good hearts and a high quality of life. I have met succesful people who end up sacrificing their own lives for one reason or another. My eyes have told my heart so many times that money is useless, but yet my mind thinks otherwise. Maybe this is the reason my heart no longer helps my mind write music. Disappointment is a lonely road that I find is leading me to my biggest fear. The more disappointments I have had, whether it be in people who were once close to me, my shortcomings, or this world, the lower my expectations are. To me there is a strong correlation between expectations and the degree of disappointment. With that in mind, I cannot understand why I am so scared of mediocrity. Deciding that I would try to avoid disappointment, one would think that I would lower expectations of myself, or in other words accept mediocrity and the positive qualities that come with it from my experience with other people. But doing this would be kicking myself in my own nuts, which is physically impossible.
Therefore, after all this rubbish, I have made a few conclusions. First, In order to avoid my fear, I need to be less disappointed when expectations are not met. This involves sometimes ignoring the opinions of other people, even those of who I have tried to impress.
I don't understand why the thought of being a pawn scares me so much. I have met thousands of these types, people with good hearts and a high quality of life. I have met succesful people who end up sacrificing their own lives for one reason or another. My eyes have told my heart so many times that money is useless, but yet my mind thinks otherwise. Maybe this is the reason my heart no longer helps my mind write music. Disappointment is a lonely road that I find is leading me to my biggest fear. The more disappointments I have had, whether it be in people who were once close to me, my shortcomings, or this world, the lower my expectations are. To me there is a strong correlation between expectations and the degree of disappointment. With that in mind, I cannot understand why I am so scared of mediocrity. Deciding that I would try to avoid disappointment, one would think that I would lower expectations of myself, or in other words accept mediocrity and the positive qualities that come with it from my experience with other people. But doing this would be kicking myself in my own nuts, which is physically impossible.
Therefore, after all this rubbish, I have made a few conclusions. First, In order to avoid my fear, I need to be less disappointed when expectations are not met. This involves sometimes ignoring the opinions of other people, even those of who I have tried to impress.
Friday, March 10, 2006
A shout out to my indian brothers
Since the last post, I have started interviewing for a full time job, grown a beard (somehow got called back for a second interview regardless) got back in touch with an old friend of mine, who I haven't talked to in quite some time, and have had concern from a professor about my overall lack of sleep, and trying to make up for some of it in her consumer behavior class. Tonight is a big Indian bash at Wayside for this kid CJ's birthday. I used to have a pet peeve of Indian's changing their names to sound more American, but it no longer bothers me, since the other day when an Indian girl found out I was Indian, and wanted to know what my Indian name was, not believing that in fact Jason was a name given to a Indian boy. I look forward to the day when I wont see foreigners in this country try to Americanize themselves, losing their unique cultural aspects, just to win over a few white friends. This one Indian guy, a little older than me cracked my shit up yesterday, when I read about how he posed an auction on EBAY, having people bid on trying to convert him out of being an atheist into a christian. The winning evangelical spent half a grand to save this young Desi's soul. It later turned out that the Christian wanted the atheist Indian to attend 15 church services, and critique them. I think i might post something similar on EBAY, to make a quick buck, but i might have to change my name to a more Indian sounding name to succeed, such as Ja-dhabi.
Monday, February 13, 2006
A Consumed Consumer
Its 12:01 AM, and I'm at coffee works, attempting to study for this consumers behavior exam. Ive come to the realization, while reading this nonsense about getting in the minds of consumers that in the course of my 4 years in college I've bought into something I never thought I would. I am a consumed consumer. I'm on course to get a "real job" in August, to set myself up to be at a position in 5 years which society defines as successful, an corporate MBA who is a provider, buying the quarter million dollar house, saving for retirement, paying ridiculous amounts or taxes,gradually losing the health care/dental insurance year by year, and possibly, dare I say getting married. 4 years ago, I was a musician trying to grow sideburns like the rest of my band mates, an aspiring film maker struggling seeking inspiration to someday write a masterpiece screenplay, fearless of the law, anti-establishment, and trying to create something that has yet to be dreamt.
A mentor told me that people choose 2 paths in life, to either be a provider, working to provide for a family, or an artist, willing to survive on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the hope to someday be satisfy their passions, even if its short-lived. I have not accepted this as truth as of yet, but as Ive grown older, and more conditioned to disappointment, I can see where this mentor was coming from.
I recently found a tape recording aged 7 years, the first recording my former band attempted, on a little boombox in my former best friends basement, and i was taken aback, while listening to covers of Rage Against the Machine "Bulls on Parade" amongst others. Now I'm playing Paul Simon covers on an acoustic guitar.
I'm not unhappy with the direction in life I have taken. In the past year, Ive come to the realization that family is the most important thing in life. My grandmother sold me on this, when I was in India and asked her about her proudest accomplishment in her 75 years. She told me she measures the success in her life by her children, and her grandchildren.
I usually wouldn't give her response much thought otherwise, however she made a solid point, in saying that when someone first meets you, they don't ask you how much money you have in your bank account, but instead how many children you have. If I can have 10 children, and pass on a legacy to a generation like she has, I will have considered my life a success. Maybe that is why I have begun to choose this path as a provider, since I did hear that having children these days was expensive. I guess if I have a son that becomes the next Tarrintino, or Bob Dylan, then my life will have meant something. Who knows though, maybe I'll become unconsumed for a couple years and do something great, or even better, achieve success as both a provider and an artist. For now, I will get back to studying consumer behavior.
A mentor told me that people choose 2 paths in life, to either be a provider, working to provide for a family, or an artist, willing to survive on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the hope to someday be satisfy their passions, even if its short-lived. I have not accepted this as truth as of yet, but as Ive grown older, and more conditioned to disappointment, I can see where this mentor was coming from.
I recently found a tape recording aged 7 years, the first recording my former band attempted, on a little boombox in my former best friends basement, and i was taken aback, while listening to covers of Rage Against the Machine "Bulls on Parade" amongst others. Now I'm playing Paul Simon covers on an acoustic guitar.
I'm not unhappy with the direction in life I have taken. In the past year, Ive come to the realization that family is the most important thing in life. My grandmother sold me on this, when I was in India and asked her about her proudest accomplishment in her 75 years. She told me she measures the success in her life by her children, and her grandchildren.
I usually wouldn't give her response much thought otherwise, however she made a solid point, in saying that when someone first meets you, they don't ask you how much money you have in your bank account, but instead how many children you have. If I can have 10 children, and pass on a legacy to a generation like she has, I will have considered my life a success. Maybe that is why I have begun to choose this path as a provider, since I did hear that having children these days was expensive. I guess if I have a son that becomes the next Tarrintino, or Bob Dylan, then my life will have meant something. Who knows though, maybe I'll become unconsumed for a couple years and do something great, or even better, achieve success as both a provider and an artist. For now, I will get back to studying consumer behavior.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
somebody gonna get a hurtin real bad
Today is Muslim festival day of Eid, when they slice the throats of goats outside, in sacrifice. It is a sight to see, and something that would never take place in the US outside, in let’s say, the parking lot of Jefferson Commons. The Islamic people here also have Addan, which is a prayer offering made throughout the day on a loud speaker. It is something that always catches me off guard here, but something I get used to eventually during my stay. I really appreciate how passionate people here are about their religion. Of course, it can always be a starting point for conflict, but people here seem to respect each others worship practices, at least at the present time.
This city is full of different religions and you can see visual representation of all of them, whether is a crucifix, sardojee (guys with turbans) or traditional Islamic dress, with the women covered and the men wearing the white robe and hat, which I'm not sure what they are called. I wish there was more tolerance for other religions in the US, even though were supposed to have separation between church and state. People in general are just closed minded about faith I think, and a lot of misconceptions are held by the ignorant.
Last night was my cousins wedding, and it was one wild night full of boos, dancing, fighting, and more drinking. I would like to describe my movement on the dance floor, similar to Vince Vaughn in "The Wedding Crashers" and I suspect a few ladies in attendance would agree. My first time "jiving" and swing dancing, and I think I've got it down to a science.
Unfortunately, some guys took the movie too seriously, and decided to try there luck gate crashing and making moves on the younger girls at the reception. One of the girls happened to be my 15 year old cousin and ended in a bloody fight between my uncles, and these idiots. I heard stories about how tough my uncles were in their youth, and how they were over protective of their 6 younger sisters, but last night I saw this first hand, and the guys that messed with their daughters will spend a few weeks contemplating their mistake while their wounds heal from getting punched, kicked, and smacked. My uncle from Australia, who is probably the hot head of the 4 had this guy by the throat when I got there to help, and was saying "why did you touch my daughter" and smacking him in the face over and over. My uncle Ozzie, who’s about 5 ft 3, but as touch as nails gave some guy a pounding, and I had to pull him off because his daughter begged me to, out of fear that he would kill the guy. It was extremely intense, and I've never seen anything like it.
I had mixed feelings about the fight. I was proud that my uncles stood up for their daughters like they did, and I would hope to do the same if put in that position someday, but I felt bad for the married couple to have such a thing happen on their wedding day, after so much preparation. The night ended on a good note however, with the custom festival songs played, more traditional Goan dancing and a few whiskeys with my uncles to close out the bar. . It was good to see most of my D'Mello family at the wedding toowe had a blast during our time together yesterday as well.
Tonight is the 3rd and final celebration for the wedding, and will be a final party, with our family and Jassir, the groom’s family. (The first night was just our family, the second was the wedding) I am expected to entertain everyone with a few songs on the guitar, and have selected the song Mr. Jones as my encore.
"Someboy gonna get a hurtin real bad" is from the India comedian Russell Peters stand up act on comedy central. I highly recommend seeing this guy, he is hilarious.
This city is full of different religions and you can see visual representation of all of them, whether is a crucifix, sardojee (guys with turbans) or traditional Islamic dress, with the women covered and the men wearing the white robe and hat, which I'm not sure what they are called. I wish there was more tolerance for other religions in the US, even though were supposed to have separation between church and state. People in general are just closed minded about faith I think, and a lot of misconceptions are held by the ignorant.
Last night was my cousins wedding, and it was one wild night full of boos, dancing, fighting, and more drinking. I would like to describe my movement on the dance floor, similar to Vince Vaughn in "The Wedding Crashers" and I suspect a few ladies in attendance would agree. My first time "jiving" and swing dancing, and I think I've got it down to a science.
Unfortunately, some guys took the movie too seriously, and decided to try there luck gate crashing and making moves on the younger girls at the reception. One of the girls happened to be my 15 year old cousin and ended in a bloody fight between my uncles, and these idiots. I heard stories about how tough my uncles were in their youth, and how they were over protective of their 6 younger sisters, but last night I saw this first hand, and the guys that messed with their daughters will spend a few weeks contemplating their mistake while their wounds heal from getting punched, kicked, and smacked. My uncle from Australia, who is probably the hot head of the 4 had this guy by the throat when I got there to help, and was saying "why did you touch my daughter" and smacking him in the face over and over. My uncle Ozzie, who’s about 5 ft 3, but as touch as nails gave some guy a pounding, and I had to pull him off because his daughter begged me to, out of fear that he would kill the guy. It was extremely intense, and I've never seen anything like it.
I had mixed feelings about the fight. I was proud that my uncles stood up for their daughters like they did, and I would hope to do the same if put in that position someday, but I felt bad for the married couple to have such a thing happen on their wedding day, after so much preparation. The night ended on a good note however, with the custom festival songs played, more traditional Goan dancing and a few whiskeys with my uncles to close out the bar. . It was good to see most of my D'Mello family at the wedding toowe had a blast during our time together yesterday as well.
Tonight is the 3rd and final celebration for the wedding, and will be a final party, with our family and Jassir, the groom’s family. (The first night was just our family, the second was the wedding) I am expected to entertain everyone with a few songs on the guitar, and have selected the song Mr. Jones as my encore.
"Someboy gonna get a hurtin real bad" is from the India comedian Russell Peters stand up act on comedy central. I highly recommend seeing this guy, he is hilarious.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Namaste
It’s my 4th morning watching the sunrise in Bombay, India, and I have to admit, this city has beaten me to it consistently. I’m not certain if my unusually early wake in this city is because of the jet lag, from being 12 hours ahead of the US, or from my excitement for what each day has to bring out here. Unlike the people on the street, I'm fortunate not to have routine to stick to, but on the other hand, I’m not the one trying to get by in a once exploited third world country soon becoming one of the top global nations of commerce.
Even at 7 am you hear the traffic starting to develop, and car horns honking and motorcycle engines purring. There aren’t any defined traffic rules here, and a lot of the cars don’t have side mirrors, since they will often pack a 2 lane road with 5 vehicles wide, scratching the sides of cars and breaking of mirrors. Drivers depend on sounds of horns to let them know if they are getting passed. Crossing the road in traffic is also an experience, as you just walk and hope that the car will stop like it has every time before. If you don’t, then you will be standing for quite along time. oh, and the cars don't usually have brake lights or anything like that either, because the taxi drivers think things like that will use more of their fuel in the cars.
These people will find each and every way to make a buck in this city, and are quite successful at it. Even the street venders, selling pirated DVD’s and Rolex’s are incredibly street smart, watching and observing each of the thousands of people that walk by every few minutes, and approaching the ones most likely to buy their ripped of, inferior products. Once contact is made, it goes straight to bargaining, which I find ridiculously hilarious. So much theatrics and emotions go into this part of the interaction, yelling and walking away, coming back, throwing arms in the air, it’s really peculiar to watch. And the amount bargained for, could be converted into a mere US$.50 cents. It’s just how things are done over here; even my ailing 75 year old grandma will do this to the venders that come to sell her stuff in her flat. She screams at them, threatens to get up and whack them, even though she can hardly stand, all for a few extra shrimps for the same price. You gotta be tough to survive in this city.
At the very micro level of my experience so far here, I am touched by the humbleness and sincerity of the people I have been with over here. They are generous beyond belief with the few possessions they have. (This is ironic considering the bargaining that they do otherwise) They are willing to accommodate up to 20 people, in these little 1 bedroom apartments. I have been honored to sleep on the floor in these peoples homes; they treat their guests like royalty with what they have to offer. My Aunt made crabs the other day for dinner, and I was having a tough time eating them, because of the shells, and my younger cousin cleaned all her crabs from the shells and gave it to me upon seeing me struggle. They are very affectionate people. We all walked this same cousin to her school, which is an all girl’s catholic school where they have to wear uniforms and wear their hair in pigtails. Even though I did everything possible to embarrass her in front of her school friends, in which I would have run away red in the face at her age, she was so proud to have me there.
To take a bath in these homes like my grandmother's who I call Nana, you have to boil a pot of hot water, put it in a bucket, fill up the rest with cold water from the tap, and use a mug to wash yourselves in a tiny bathroom with no bath or shower curtain. Each person gets a limited amount of water, and must be very conservative in using it. When you go to the "chemist" (which is like a convenient store) and order a coke, a little boy will follow you around until you finish the drink, to collect the bottle and bring it back to the store to get the deposit for it. When you eat out in a restaurant, or buy clothes in a store, there are 5 people serving you during your visit.
The wedding is in only a few days, and today is the "Rose" which is a pre-wedding tradition for both sides of the family. We poor coconut milk and break eggs on the bride and maid of honor, and sing and dance all night to festive songs here. I am learning how to jive and swing dance, so I won’t look like an idiot at the wedding, which unfortunately has happened a few times at parties here so far I fear. Even when you amongst family here, in a small living room, these people will get up, put there favorite songs on, and start dancing, jiving, singing and enjoying life. It’s a totally different experience than I’m used to, and am damn glad I’ve been exposed to it. Its now time for breakfast, since the bread man has just arrived. Still much more to talk about.
Even at 7 am you hear the traffic starting to develop, and car horns honking and motorcycle engines purring. There aren’t any defined traffic rules here, and a lot of the cars don’t have side mirrors, since they will often pack a 2 lane road with 5 vehicles wide, scratching the sides of cars and breaking of mirrors. Drivers depend on sounds of horns to let them know if they are getting passed. Crossing the road in traffic is also an experience, as you just walk and hope that the car will stop like it has every time before. If you don’t, then you will be standing for quite along time. oh, and the cars don't usually have brake lights or anything like that either, because the taxi drivers think things like that will use more of their fuel in the cars.
These people will find each and every way to make a buck in this city, and are quite successful at it. Even the street venders, selling pirated DVD’s and Rolex’s are incredibly street smart, watching and observing each of the thousands of people that walk by every few minutes, and approaching the ones most likely to buy their ripped of, inferior products. Once contact is made, it goes straight to bargaining, which I find ridiculously hilarious. So much theatrics and emotions go into this part of the interaction, yelling and walking away, coming back, throwing arms in the air, it’s really peculiar to watch. And the amount bargained for, could be converted into a mere US$.50 cents. It’s just how things are done over here; even my ailing 75 year old grandma will do this to the venders that come to sell her stuff in her flat. She screams at them, threatens to get up and whack them, even though she can hardly stand, all for a few extra shrimps for the same price. You gotta be tough to survive in this city.
At the very micro level of my experience so far here, I am touched by the humbleness and sincerity of the people I have been with over here. They are generous beyond belief with the few possessions they have. (This is ironic considering the bargaining that they do otherwise) They are willing to accommodate up to 20 people, in these little 1 bedroom apartments. I have been honored to sleep on the floor in these peoples homes; they treat their guests like royalty with what they have to offer. My Aunt made crabs the other day for dinner, and I was having a tough time eating them, because of the shells, and my younger cousin cleaned all her crabs from the shells and gave it to me upon seeing me struggle. They are very affectionate people. We all walked this same cousin to her school, which is an all girl’s catholic school where they have to wear uniforms and wear their hair in pigtails. Even though I did everything possible to embarrass her in front of her school friends, in which I would have run away red in the face at her age, she was so proud to have me there.
To take a bath in these homes like my grandmother's who I call Nana, you have to boil a pot of hot water, put it in a bucket, fill up the rest with cold water from the tap, and use a mug to wash yourselves in a tiny bathroom with no bath or shower curtain. Each person gets a limited amount of water, and must be very conservative in using it. When you go to the "chemist" (which is like a convenient store) and order a coke, a little boy will follow you around until you finish the drink, to collect the bottle and bring it back to the store to get the deposit for it. When you eat out in a restaurant, or buy clothes in a store, there are 5 people serving you during your visit.
The wedding is in only a few days, and today is the "Rose" which is a pre-wedding tradition for both sides of the family. We poor coconut milk and break eggs on the bride and maid of honor, and sing and dance all night to festive songs here. I am learning how to jive and swing dance, so I won’t look like an idiot at the wedding, which unfortunately has happened a few times at parties here so far I fear. Even when you amongst family here, in a small living room, these people will get up, put there favorite songs on, and start dancing, jiving, singing and enjoying life. It’s a totally different experience than I’m used to, and am damn glad I’ve been exposed to it. Its now time for breakfast, since the bread man has just arrived. Still much more to talk about.
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