tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1593639260808987822024-03-19T05:00:25.430-04:00What I LikeWhat I like to do, what I like to eat, what I like to read, what I like to buy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger416125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-33780642796147295272011-09-03T10:28:00.000-04:002011-09-03T10:28:55.943-04:00The Age Old Problem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Given how eventful this summer has been it seems odd to say that it has passed quickly. A month ago, dragging myself around the streets of New York in the most extreme heat the city has ever seen, it felt that autumn would take ages to arrive. But, I blinked and it is now just around the corner.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Having been out of town more weekends than not of late (mercifully, I evaded the drama of Madame Irene by basking on southern California beaches last weekend), I could not be more thrilled to have three whole days to putter around the city.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I figured I'd kick it off with a visit to the new Laduree store on the Upper East Side, the arrival of which I've been hotly anticipating. The popularity of macarons has left the city vulnerable to a flood of awful imitations, and it is high time to push back with the real thing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Jojdl5H8Qp9hyphenhyphenpcPH1NUFl0I8W2cr9TOZEGkP7VclbK8Rt9eARI9KE0AZ0QfgnarQdfIBWERZ5kV1BGLAENpRC4LD6GDZQKvt5ToV2x09ES7QhHcRaMNM2AUFeATYjI42LSH5dl1L04/s1600/_Device+Memory_home_user_pictures_IMG00078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Jojdl5H8Qp9hyphenhyphenpcPH1NUFl0I8W2cr9TOZEGkP7VclbK8Rt9eARI9KE0AZ0QfgnarQdfIBWERZ5kV1BGLAENpRC4LD6GDZQKvt5ToV2x09ES7QhHcRaMNM2AUFeATYjI42LSH5dl1L04/s320/_Device+Memory_home_user_pictures_IMG00078.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sadly, I was not the only one with this idea.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzG3tKGDp7GL307RVi1WOu9ihFlMW0BcU0MokBeJPdlHqrWSTTZLFQEe9OsJtD53nnDF8Tn9keXpJoOAm3Q-t5gjG6fAXN7IgCIY4raOTG9-t2MDL1Set3Gn2eKspOiJtEEznYh1WMZA4/s1600/IMG00077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzG3tKGDp7GL307RVi1WOu9ihFlMW0BcU0MokBeJPdlHqrWSTTZLFQEe9OsJtD53nnDF8Tn9keXpJoOAm3Q-t5gjG6fAXN7IgCIY4raOTG9-t2MDL1Set3Gn2eKspOiJtEEznYh1WMZA4/s320/IMG00077.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Ah, New York. Each time I think I've got a unique notion, you remind me that I'm actually just following the crowd.<br />
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Another attempt shall be made today. Let the Labor Day puttering begin!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-55371015618086120732011-08-23T19:48:00.000-04:002011-08-23T19:48:35.514-04:00Great Beauty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">In theory I wholeheartedly believe in routine maintenance, regular tune-ups and preventative care. Look at any woman of a certain age who has taken care of herself over the years vs. one of the same certain age who has not and the benefit is clear. <br />
<br />
But even in the face of undeniable proof my commitment to a <i>regime</i> seems to wax and wane. In large part this is owing to the fact that I have no idea if my regime is correct. I mean, I won't see the results for another ten or twenty years, so how am I to know if sticking with it is really going to do any good? And if it doesn't, why bother with my multi-step, multi-product process? <br />
<br />
So time and time again I revert to cleaning my face twice a day religiously (this seems like an obviously good thing to do), using sunscreen on my face and hands daily as every dermatologist will tell you to do (I will forever be devoted to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eltamd-UV-Shield-45-85-Gram/dp/B000PHUKEE?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Elta MD</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B000PHUKEE" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />, which achieves the unachievable by being non-toxic yet sheer) and throwing on some moisturizer when my skin is screaming out for it.<br />
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But those sad, aimless days are over my friends, because I have found an oracle to navigate the beauty jungle for me.<br />
<br />
After reading about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eva-Scrivo-Beauty-Techniques-Knowledge/dp/1439164711?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Eva Scrivo's book</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1439164711" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /> in the New York Times one day, I picked it up from the library just to see what the fuss was about. The fuss was about a hugely successful hair stylist, aesthetician and makeup artist sharing every secret she's got. And did I mention she herself has aged spectacularly well?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5nfIXwb1cgRCvMPGpS2vq09T0Hq_Y1EUK-Udtt5BI0Z0-Xvs7O4HsjRZa9_7CGgsiE5-BYK46Af8KjdXnJEt-mdtICDQzzJQ9XcG-XDlx2F08_9gmBse_Odl2_dI_VBKBPlOdpV2aE4/s1600/evaoctnew3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5nfIXwb1cgRCvMPGpS2vq09T0Hq_Y1EUK-Udtt5BI0Z0-Xvs7O4HsjRZa9_7CGgsiE5-BYK46Af8KjdXnJEt-mdtICDQzzJQ9XcG-XDlx2F08_9gmBse_Odl2_dI_VBKBPlOdpV2aE4/s320/evaoctnew3.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br />
I can't be sure, but based on her references from her childhood included in the book, I can only assume she's in her late 40s, possibly early 50s. So basically 10-15 years older than she looks. Which means I'll follow her advice to the letter.<br />
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Normally I can't stand <i>reading</i> beauty books. I look at the pictures, sure, but read them? So boring.<br />
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Not this one. I pored over it in rapt attention, taking in every tip and bit of advice she had to offer. Wear a terry cloth headband when washing your face to avoid frizzing up those hairs around your hairline? Of course! How brilliant! Layer liquid eyeliner on top of a pencil for your everyday look? I would never have thought to do so, but I look much more glamorous for it, and it got me over my fear of liquid liner in no time. Use a little of many products, on both hair and skin, in layers because one never does all of the jobs you need for it to do? Genius. My hair is looking much better for it. And as soon as all of my professional sized Yonka products arrive from ebay, I'm sure my skin will be too. <br />
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I'm so looking forward to stashing a box of skincare products in the refrigerator and bringing it out every night, just as Eva's impossibly glamorous mother apparently did, to slather the stuff on in pursuit, nay, in furtherance (now that I know the regime works) of everlasting beauty.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-402341281572019762011-08-03T22:31:00.000-04:002011-08-03T22:31:23.165-04:00Ripe Summer Tomatoes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Walking through the Greenmarket this time of year, you can't help but realize that tomato season has <i>arrived</i>. The big gleaming beefsteaks are everywhere, and the heirlooms are just now making their noble debut. Despite the fact that the vendors are actually selling these things, as I stroll through the stalls I somehow feel as though I'm the lucky recipient of a bumper crop, and thus grab at the bounty indiscriminately, thinking of the money exchanged only after I find myself lugging pounds and pounds of tomatoes home.<br />
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So once home I must think like an Italian mama during the summer harvest season. What to do with the red orbs taking over the kitchen counters? Tomato sauce, quite obviously. But it's been so obscenely hot in New York lately that I can barely bring myself to turn on the stove, so long, slow cooking has been out of the question. I was in a bit of a quandary. How long would these things last before exploding all over my countertops? Could I stand being in the equivalent of a sweat lodge while they simmered down into sauce on the stove?<br />
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Turns out, thanks to John Tuturro of all people, I didn't have to make the hard choice. Upon reading his <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424053111903999904576467950999147140.html">recipe for pasta with raw tomato sauce</a> in the Wall Street Journal last weekend, I knew I had found the recipe that would save me and my overrun kitchen.<br />
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The sauce is once of those stunningly simple but amazingly delicious things that Mediterranean cultures do so well...skinned and seeded tomato chopped finely (I know blanching and peeling tomatoes can be fiddly, but I always do it as I cannot stand tomato skin in sauces), mixed with some grated garlic, basil leaves, salt (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Maldon-Salt-Flakes-ounce-Boxes/dp/B001XVW3DC?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Maldon</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B001XVW3DC" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /> is perfect here) and olive oil and left to macerate for as long as you have (I usually give it at least a half hour).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifr39eeh1TuMzn9SkTw89mGjHwPF035u_KmYucytjlY7IxT3Bkiy950A8ba2Atwd5EJEm5213O2wjAfQdwX0gkGRto9eIG4E-msEieMQYdgn43ehvkG2X8ByyMX6UaVUoR_ml86rk0zSk/s1600/IMG_6596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifr39eeh1TuMzn9SkTw89mGjHwPF035u_KmYucytjlY7IxT3Bkiy950A8ba2Atwd5EJEm5213O2wjAfQdwX0gkGRto9eIG4E-msEieMQYdgn43ehvkG2X8ByyMX6UaVUoR_ml86rk0zSk/s320/IMG_6596.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And then throw in some hot pasta, stir, et voila.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicICBTejYGwDANybA4kQNbnpcxxyRtRJwzV5cDGwX0PcNhv-jSu9Q-rWB932R4QiFKrsPJZP92M_DyhyEcdKRer8tqxiKaO2d-B_Ed837GaxlK-40frn7RCQS1jSkiyz9mBKkG2xahSGM/s1600/IMG_6599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicICBTejYGwDANybA4kQNbnpcxxyRtRJwzV5cDGwX0PcNhv-jSu9Q-rWB932R4QiFKrsPJZP92M_DyhyEcdKRer8tqxiKaO2d-B_Ed837GaxlK-40frn7RCQS1jSkiyz9mBKkG2xahSGM/s320/IMG_6599.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Summer in a bowl.<br />
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Luckily the heat has broken for a wee moment so the remainder of my stash is, as I speak, bubbling away cheerfully on the stove with a chopped onion and a few basil stalks, as the tomato maven Paul Bertolli suggests in his <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cooking-Hand-Paul-Bertolli/dp/0609608932?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">cookbook</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0609608932" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />, which has become a favorite of mine. Given that his is the only tome I've seen thus far that devotes and entire chapter to tomatoes, I'm prepared to follow his lead in the area. I'm even thinking a few jars of <i>conserva</i> are next...one needs diversity after all.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-30307379036385921272011-08-01T21:39:00.000-04:002011-08-01T21:39:18.817-04:00The Great Bram<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Am I the only one completely obsessed by earthenware vessels? Cheap and cheerful <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rustic-Cazuela-Clay-Pan-inch/dp/B0019ZOY48?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">cazuelas</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0019ZOY48" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />, those incredibly elegant and tasteful covered serving dishes from <a href="http://www.heathceramics.com/go/heath/">Heath Ceramics</a>, and even <a href="http://www.benpentreath.com/shop/antiques/wedgwood-platter/prod_1464.html">this platter</a> from Ben Pentreath, they all appeal to my love of the kitchen hearth. Something about them just screams "delicious food eaten with good friends".<br />
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But it wasn't until recently that I stumbled across a website that is entirely devoted to my obsession. <a href="http://www.bramcookware.com/index.php">Bram</a>. Doesn't it just sound sturdy and warm and useful and rustic and simple and elegant, just like earthenware itself? I initially fell hard for the <a href="http://www.bramcookware.com/index.php?cPath=4_40">spouted mixing bowls</a>, and then those gorgeous <a href="http://www.bramcookware.com/product_info.php?products_id=525">rectangular baking dishes</a> (perfect for the big <a href="http://nymag.com/restaurants/articles/recipes/lasagnabolognese.htm">lasagnas</a> I make for friends to eat while they watch boxing matches at our apartment). But then I came across this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zUSshADGAlShV3FGCmBFs4AH_p6oxSoX-WtzFYwe0upgQSwFVkhQlLIfYaHdwCdseqNCUH38FIRafD0DhyKLXyrRJ6XBoxnva9COmsrqbePVl6nUCJJlPMPrz7C5zU2Ptq9LUY8H6nc/s1600/BR26TC-GI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zUSshADGAlShV3FGCmBFs4AH_p6oxSoX-WtzFYwe0upgQSwFVkhQlLIfYaHdwCdseqNCUH38FIRafD0DhyKLXyrRJ6XBoxnva9COmsrqbePVl6nUCJJlPMPrz7C5zU2Ptq9LUY8H6nc/s320/BR26TC-GI.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and I was slain. I mean how perfect a representation of the spirit of earthenware is this thing? I'm seeing lots of gratins, braises, breads, cakes and pot pies in this lovely dish's future. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-38033694357269477452011-07-26T23:06:00.000-04:002011-07-26T23:06:18.701-04:00The Grand Tour: Mumbai aka the End<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Luckily our flight up from Kerala to Mumbai was considerably less traumatic than our flight down there from Delhi. IndiGo was a serious upgrade from Air India. Brand new plane, cute flight attendants and a delicious samosa en route.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzpqnmNY2VlFEXZGynD16pNgjiNU_Ug4N3alWN1aWtM1Pf9RbTt3Z5j1xuYoyOSdN5NQRyBT_8JuoqJVQZ3MfsjXf3jAHRcdGdJoMzGzWqQ3sN8il-xe6B73s2Egfms9UNLJkwjlNARc/s1600/IMG_4067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzpqnmNY2VlFEXZGynD16pNgjiNU_Ug4N3alWN1aWtM1Pf9RbTt3Z5j1xuYoyOSdN5NQRyBT_8JuoqJVQZ3MfsjXf3jAHRcdGdJoMzGzWqQ3sN8il-xe6B73s2Egfms9UNLJkwjlNARc/s320/IMG_4067.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Upon landing it was straight in a cab to the Taj. Or rather, not so straight. The traffic is just as epic as everyone says. But we did make it eventually. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzlC7bJmH1ZuTJYfA40_32VltDLRdMRui5gu5A97Wdu72BYrZATt9PXlzf8m5KC9MgLpE83iFGRKMpo7D2xIb7o7Gno9Rz_1OHu9q2aV7TphZekqGAddVr7NrI4LhtDCCQAVB3KjhQS8/s1600/IMG_4128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzlC7bJmH1ZuTJYfA40_32VltDLRdMRui5gu5A97Wdu72BYrZATt9PXlzf8m5KC9MgLpE83iFGRKMpo7D2xIb7o7Gno9Rz_1OHu9q2aV7TphZekqGAddVr7NrI4LhtDCCQAVB3KjhQS8/s320/IMG_4128.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDd0DJPU5roJBDih_NhR8GKTiiSNThhVaqVl-Faof8WWpp2J06t-SpRec11G65vpNoyz8rSHVlFcnZEjV6ph32ZQ7sEkCvdShG9Cn6pw2q3AmK5IXT6Dzv8GELuA7rPQ-9phyoG7ELzaw/s1600/IMG_4139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDd0DJPU5roJBDih_NhR8GKTiiSNThhVaqVl-Faof8WWpp2J06t-SpRec11G65vpNoyz8rSHVlFcnZEjV6ph32ZQ7sEkCvdShG9Cn6pw2q3AmK5IXT6Dzv8GELuA7rPQ-9phyoG7ELzaw/s320/IMG_4139.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Hot and rather tired, we dragged ourselves into the lobby<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8eTF9_aIS46ByyOLkuI3rP29tC88aabBTKkdRdYThx2MqD-vBnnOVZOj8g6t4Rc2CgyZOsV9V9izIcmQ_mn3FM9G-p5wkt2yfZTVHSvQ8V98XucGyPiEX8dOphb0j_Ezh-K4S6_zTPDs/s1600/IMG_4079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8eTF9_aIS46ByyOLkuI3rP29tC88aabBTKkdRdYThx2MqD-vBnnOVZOj8g6t4Rc2CgyZOsV9V9izIcmQ_mn3FM9G-p5wkt2yfZTVHSvQ8V98XucGyPiEX8dOphb0j_Ezh-K4S6_zTPDs/s320/IMG_4079.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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and were met immediately by a lovely woman who whisked us off to a cool, dark lounge where we sank into a leather chesterfield sofa, enjoyed some sweet lime juice (it would become my favorite juice ever) and let the myriad staff members do the work of checking us in.<br />
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We ascended under the rotunda,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMoa0hkM3irWrBxt-8yGPTt1pzdjm8skkRKyFyQMzF6V7pIc26vJsQ5dvi1-rkkbxVhlpcFtCQ7dhx3s_hg9cyzE9b30JjlVgwXFA7ARaR2-GZvfhUNQdRuBbdK-EYtLGvRFgQeWO9Tg/s1600/IMG_4101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMoa0hkM3irWrBxt-8yGPTt1pzdjm8skkRKyFyQMzF6V7pIc26vJsQ5dvi1-rkkbxVhlpcFtCQ7dhx3s_hg9cyzE9b30JjlVgwXFA7ARaR2-GZvfhUNQdRuBbdK-EYtLGvRFgQeWO9Tg/s320/IMG_4101.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
up through the palace, <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGOLlfhWLZw1U318hB478YAdo_LOAFhyoaP7AHiz4zcmbneOqKg9hIGOvbtiSCffuXx5GHRXN8pXDr4lY4n5xOSOXHybyV9DS4Ko9Tx0xS9Ab12ReHwOrX8EmFQ47QKAk0O8IUQp8wvs/s1600/IMG_4089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGOLlfhWLZw1U318hB478YAdo_LOAFhyoaP7AHiz4zcmbneOqKg9hIGOvbtiSCffuXx5GHRXN8pXDr4lY4n5xOSOXHybyV9DS4Ko9Tx0xS9Ab12ReHwOrX8EmFQ47QKAk0O8IUQp8wvs/s320/IMG_4089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
to our room where our baggage met us.<br />
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And then our butler stopped by. He seemed rather confused that Paul wanted an iron, <i>to do his own ironing</i>, but obliged nonetheless.<br />
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After checking out our incredible view,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MsKbbvIbuf50X5eGal1xlZnsKPHdekqaEffa5VJHqudpLtQJN5aiVrwstRDadU0EjevrmLq7c5XPrSlCO1mF_3UXuUcvbxH9KBuHrQ3qHbWFM6tcmPwyJ56xAzKRRAfX0F8sX3M63rk/s1600/IMG_4070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MsKbbvIbuf50X5eGal1xlZnsKPHdekqaEffa5VJHqudpLtQJN5aiVrwstRDadU0EjevrmLq7c5XPrSlCO1mF_3UXuUcvbxH9KBuHrQ3qHbWFM6tcmPwyJ56xAzKRRAfX0F8sX3M63rk/s320/IMG_4070.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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luxuriating in the incredible shower, the incredible bed, and the incredibly quick internet (we had been dealing with something akin to dial up to that point), it was time for dinner. Our criteria was fairly simple: it had to be within two blocks of the hotel.<br />
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First we headed down to the lounge to take advantage of the free canapes and drinks.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bgHLKtCfLMimUWHCJvD4uLQH8ZxUGf2cOaM6i_t6FHnwo-2H59Mroch8QHdsaAqT028q86KLQtoP99qYMPV96twNSOKe4jD2zAI78Q2TkRV4XqAdsIpg8R5nWrSuYtlRrcv1bSWU6jY/s1600/IMG_4080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bgHLKtCfLMimUWHCJvD4uLQH8ZxUGf2cOaM6i_t6FHnwo-2H59Mroch8QHdsaAqT028q86KLQtoP99qYMPV96twNSOKe4jD2zAI78Q2TkRV4XqAdsIpg8R5nWrSuYtlRrcv1bSWU6jY/s320/IMG_4080.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And then it was off to Indigo, where we are apparently very important (or at least Paul is).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8iJR9c_vQfddfGU-kdwN3CoStCc5xC5NL2SETxwU9ozE-K7Z_wHvvFGSfvfRBcI1k9QpIhVIlNQxpAstFLm3SeCO5GShol3NIVTnRIRe6mK_VBrlm5CE_FkXUE4-zNnzNWGiVCpyhV8/s1600/IMG_4085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8iJR9c_vQfddfGU-kdwN3CoStCc5xC5NL2SETxwU9ozE-K7Z_wHvvFGSfvfRBcI1k9QpIhVIlNQxpAstFLm3SeCO5GShol3NIVTnRIRe6mK_VBrlm5CE_FkXUE4-zNnzNWGiVCpyhV8/s320/IMG_4085.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />
We had the loveliest meal in the most refined, relaxing setting. Indian influenced food rather than Indian food. It was exactly what we were in the mood for.<br />
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We came back to this<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6Vl3_tnFXbJnLHhoVG93hGRQSJ3cERxl8gl33nn-POf2rm0J8Ounhodfx8jX13oLXuC-TDoNuE1R5JbIFqIX_2uO8-Dg3mijRsFpI069edU9XVAhFw0H3aW75wHGg4TrC6v1_EoShTs/s1600/IMG_4090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6Vl3_tnFXbJnLHhoVG93hGRQSJ3cERxl8gl33nn-POf2rm0J8Ounhodfx8jX13oLXuC-TDoNuE1R5JbIFqIX_2uO8-Dg3mijRsFpI069edU9XVAhFw0H3aW75wHGg4TrC6v1_EoShTs/s320/IMG_4090.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and after a few gleeful bites (there is something so indulgent about eating from a whole cake with a fork rather than from a slice) we stuck it in the mini fridge and fell into our favorite bed of all time.<br />
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We awoke the next morning fully refreshed, and yet not wanting to leave our perfect cocoon of a room.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdk0xXBjD8eZiQcnUlmw36GsiQZDKoj_03ncksKOD7fwx3Fex1z8UOWsdvdH44TeFYKLlcXbI7SmscTnnvrf3n1qQTTTf-zIdYXVpELljBFlHqaAr6mU-8EVsFwYrD08VgGJLFonsJoZE/s1600/IMG_4095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdk0xXBjD8eZiQcnUlmw36GsiQZDKoj_03ncksKOD7fwx3Fex1z8UOWsdvdH44TeFYKLlcXbI7SmscTnnvrf3n1qQTTTf-zIdYXVpELljBFlHqaAr6mU-8EVsFwYrD08VgGJLFonsJoZE/s320/IMG_4095.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
But upon looking out the window,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeUtiqYbCqV1ZdJ-AbkEhgtfMmR9of53WESDTBbVTLIKrLcBByC9fgA4ZtgYT7E_36gpU-j-Qt2ZqGNZ8pZ-ssQSDsA6aWNEL-uz1e9VF_t49JqvADFrXTv9ANyzk7moSuqGzuQDmPu4/s1600/IMG_4103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeUtiqYbCqV1ZdJ-AbkEhgtfMmR9of53WESDTBbVTLIKrLcBByC9fgA4ZtgYT7E_36gpU-j-Qt2ZqGNZ8pZ-ssQSDsA6aWNEL-uz1e9VF_t49JqvADFrXTv9ANyzk7moSuqGzuQDmPu4/s320/IMG_4103.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I couldn't help but be drawn outside. High on my list that morning was shopping. Paul opted out and stayed in bed with his laptop catching up on news, gossip and the like. So after we ate breakfast overlooking the ocean (I love a good buffet),<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlT89F95g68zppCRYRfDA2PMqofX68emIQjgbBhaWnvY09jAyGw0PkTAi5A3mmaxDY7CAp160Mi8lI8hOVu1Lv1O_kBPgDgnbMWDVSTQXtGDp5Ln-rRLE4SWkzSjupNfL3RIfxTnsbkM/s1600/IMG_4100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlT89F95g68zppCRYRfDA2PMqofX68emIQjgbBhaWnvY09jAyGw0PkTAi5A3mmaxDY7CAp160Mi8lI8hOVu1Lv1O_kBPgDgnbMWDVSTQXtGDp5Ln-rRLE4SWkzSjupNfL3RIfxTnsbkM/s320/IMG_4100.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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off I went down the street to <a href="http://bungaloweight.com/comingsoon/">Bungalow 8</a>. Contrary to what the name implies, it is not, in fact, some far flung outpost of Amy Sacco's. No, it is actually THE BEST STORE EVER. And named after the owner's childhood address.<br />
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Four floors of chic home items, jewelry and clothing, I yearned for nearly every item there. Had I had room in my suitcase I definitely would have brought home a few giant urns, but as space was limited I ended up with a vase and a bunch of salad tongs. What can I saw, in the face of such abundance I panicked. I mean really, salad tongs?!! What was I thinking? I am waiting with bated breath for the day that their website goes live and I can order things from my apartment in New York.<br />
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I wandered around a bit more, but really none of the stores could compare, and as I was anxious to get out and see the rest of the city I headed back to the hotel to pick Paul up. On the recommendation of a friend we went to Leopold's, a tourist trap/neighborhood institution for lunch.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dOVEKsSXJyiW5k2-hbWj3xv6EKJpFcZy4X77XXFllhLOPyPC5ynWe3Gx423KJJk6fVGuAeFt3qvjCtjQYRx2jJSTI1e7vP765HISCLgWNCiKDMGxCqLqnrvbbcX3b5TmZY4t4hN1ZFk/s1600/IMG_4106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dOVEKsSXJyiW5k2-hbWj3xv6EKJpFcZy4X77XXFllhLOPyPC5ynWe3Gx423KJJk6fVGuAeFt3qvjCtjQYRx2jJSTI1e7vP765HISCLgWNCiKDMGxCqLqnrvbbcX3b5TmZY4t4hN1ZFk/s320/IMG_4106.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzHQmvZ5CTXVcNmwCzJBhEhzJncH359EsbywWRe0aehzkr79UQ_j2Z9OhonTNE82v9rvB51cnHYygLJV303TgzLliwDoImdGm2PUIm3EK8ccJ24bLVv0gfPttu0cT_5kH7Sgb8boEftM/s1600/IMG_4109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzHQmvZ5CTXVcNmwCzJBhEhzJncH359EsbywWRe0aehzkr79UQ_j2Z9OhonTNE82v9rvB51cnHYygLJV303TgzLliwDoImdGm2PUIm3EK8ccJ24bLVv0gfPttu0cT_5kH7Sgb8boEftM/s320/IMG_4109.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
But we enjoyed our food, and I particularly enjoyed my mango juice.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4aYlB6_tHqqZstad3WVgVKIT2fv6_-7tNxuHDn1lTVJYvGkK_0PpwkdIxNdvm3J5u4jLlPlOFqW9DI374jKbBGDc0rBG94X3bsM8_XJtjUciO6OfI0aQFx2kGYTbyYOU0CEiaP0HS1FU/s1600/IMG_4110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4aYlB6_tHqqZstad3WVgVKIT2fv6_-7tNxuHDn1lTVJYvGkK_0PpwkdIxNdvm3J5u4jLlPlOFqW9DI374jKbBGDc0rBG94X3bsM8_XJtjUciO6OfI0aQFx2kGYTbyYOU0CEiaP0HS1FU/s320/IMG_4110.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then we just set off wandering. Unlike Delhi, Mumbai is a very walkable city, which we were surprised by given its reputation as a heaving mess of humanity. But the streets and sidewalks are wide,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrxGl873K5yXNH4MBbkSAF3QV49zVamwoxvm0ITKzglWeU2Bp2zzi7rJBPoFVvvfo44-GVmBfC6i0DsD1sWB9dsW8vtXdE94UQmDxxdQBr_XVjBHkwYI8Vy128uJyDTwzDfPj9qYOitQ/s1600/IMG_4124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrxGl873K5yXNH4MBbkSAF3QV49zVamwoxvm0ITKzglWeU2Bp2zzi7rJBPoFVvvfo44-GVmBfC6i0DsD1sWB9dsW8vtXdE94UQmDxxdQBr_XVjBHkwYI8Vy128uJyDTwzDfPj9qYOitQ/s320/IMG_4124.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> the trees are abundant</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_mIr8xJqSq4rRX8nevxx2I4Oo0I1WAAQx5u5T8Xu_TfjE_u-k6UYG0-GXAO2TjPgxBgS0xMwo6Z-VRYtkhIBJpwhO8-5DcupGu0jCOudWhy1ujCjEoCMCMU8THJsJAI6N7pJHS3-HG0/s1600/IMG_4111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_mIr8xJqSq4rRX8nevxx2I4Oo0I1WAAQx5u5T8Xu_TfjE_u-k6UYG0-GXAO2TjPgxBgS0xMwo6Z-VRYtkhIBJpwhO8-5DcupGu0jCOudWhy1ujCjEoCMCMU8THJsJAI6N7pJHS3-HG0/s320/IMG_4111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">the architecture is beautiful</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSfXIrLtdHQjMESELeenN3eyXaJoy7xhr-j33ESHw-j2G_qp0r-U8LEsVdUycMAd-vC_jwEoLqZaC8fge5g2aOaZyqGNprwWVMTaiosKAmdMCKQ5vwjvPLhQr1ALTqZcyeFsh6eFdiYM/s1600/IMG_4117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSfXIrLtdHQjMESELeenN3eyXaJoy7xhr-j33ESHw-j2G_qp0r-U8LEsVdUycMAd-vC_jwEoLqZaC8fge5g2aOaZyqGNprwWVMTaiosKAmdMCKQ5vwjvPLhQr1ALTqZcyeFsh6eFdiYM/s320/IMG_4117.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>and the street life is vibrant.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDU6FG4HsNugrnNskUpDSodeHnj4UVniFIePCSYJItusAimpwlb0_FTNG9yf2G-2rfHmgXU5rmO66aLuXLjEmNPhjH5Cs4LkbNGnF-KvIULN5toTouOQYMpJZt_lJMnb0pS68Wq87y0M/s1600/IMG_4118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDU6FG4HsNugrnNskUpDSodeHnj4UVniFIePCSYJItusAimpwlb0_FTNG9yf2G-2rfHmgXU5rmO66aLuXLjEmNPhjH5Cs4LkbNGnF-KvIULN5toTouOQYMpJZt_lJMnb0pS68Wq87y0M/s320/IMG_4118.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLq6X-kg-1hER3pnRTpW511lygLpunnn4iYQ4K4ka_HPbdtmZ32_opirJi7LJstDdzr3X5EwvGDcYoFQNpOfrJuyAOcmbILJnxgaf2A_l4smu9DFu_QYQ9p9RhfQWSSbx-6IdxtOY_pD8/s1600/IMG_4120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLq6X-kg-1hER3pnRTpW511lygLpunnn4iYQ4K4ka_HPbdtmZ32_opirJi7LJstDdzr3X5EwvGDcYoFQNpOfrJuyAOcmbILJnxgaf2A_l4smu9DFu_QYQ9p9RhfQWSSbx-6IdxtOY_pD8/s320/IMG_4120.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And as was the case in the rest of India, the people were absolutely lovely. We were even stopped by a man who simply wanted to point out a beautiful flowering tree that is apparently the symbol of Mumbai. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We stopped by an art gallery, walked around some gardens and ducked into a clothing store that has been around since Victorian times, and which supposedly was the first stop of all of the memsahibs back in colonial times. Paul bought a few shirts, and I bought a few caftan type things that I've been using as loungewear ever since I got back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was late afternoon and we were eager to take advantage of the beautiful hotel pool. So we headed back to our room to change, where we were greeted with this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSiDjHuRb9F1AEAvBjHyUrbg7ZbyWmUr0rwh6GEFlKSI7dfDWrq-UcYb480kvUTKgO0TbMzP8xrDrnwY5194l6ZuHgbQ-uFqnAbdsa3-Rwuqx4um3C05m5lDPkmU0ndQiwyPx4jrbtbDs/s1600/IMG_4135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSiDjHuRb9F1AEAvBjHyUrbg7ZbyWmUr0rwh6GEFlKSI7dfDWrq-UcYb480kvUTKgO0TbMzP8xrDrnwY5194l6ZuHgbQ-uFqnAbdsa3-Rwuqx4um3C05m5lDPkmU0ndQiwyPx4jrbtbDs/s320/IMG_4135.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Aren't the Taj staff members such romantics?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Down by the pool we lounged in a cabana</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gIpFFWJ8X_JfHG74t9VqbWQiZIuMjjf6rNNN5cdVpJ5hcL2tdJsar4Kc5ERh8kgBq__ORY-GdY3b7NtyGUMfpnjlQBdkqYo7qkShO1pu6et0pHLz9mA6pCe4eE4UI6yVqT3uPmFVcG0/s1600/IMG_4140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gIpFFWJ8X_JfHG74t9VqbWQiZIuMjjf6rNNN5cdVpJ5hcL2tdJsar4Kc5ERh8kgBq__ORY-GdY3b7NtyGUMfpnjlQBdkqYo7qkShO1pu6et0pHLz9mA6pCe4eE4UI6yVqT3uPmFVcG0/s320/IMG_4140.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and then retired to our room to rest up before dinner. We were off to meet our friend Vijay in Bandra, which we were told was the cooler part of town. It also happened to be the other end of town, so we opted for the commuter rail rather than braving the traffic in a cab.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We asked for some advice on train routing down in our favorite lounge (with free drinks and canapes) and the hotel staff were somewhat horrified that we would brave the train. "Oh no sir, not for you, please let us get you a cab." "No, really, its fine, we're from New York." "No, it is very very very crowded." "Really, we'll be OK." And we were.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We got a first class ticket.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh5-uHtHkanrA51RzZ7euR8WzsFHnWX2QW3tANqW5W-PZhGCbzZlDHKTLe7N1m9M9ZtB45n5cldhS8myG6WXMQ65LARgvf0XzOShH2rD37R3CWFxrYcNJ9hp38zpL9bRd0sAKTnruNHc/s1600/IMG_4145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh5-uHtHkanrA51RzZ7euR8WzsFHnWX2QW3tANqW5W-PZhGCbzZlDHKTLe7N1m9M9ZtB45n5cldhS8myG6WXMQ65LARgvf0XzOShH2rD37R3CWFxrYcNJ9hp38zpL9bRd0sAKTnruNHc/s320/IMG_4145.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And rode in comfort the half hour out to Bandra.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9aVrA2AFXxv8R6ZhpUGhEdjiLMXtyuHi_RxROvuRU7qGUHTnls23TMOfFD1Bw7b12GofNBIGuXpTd_w8ZnvL0FVoJ4Xt8lpaVtM9FZba2XP1d2f4A0B7FKxMcven4kFPfb8QttxdO1g/s1600/IMG_4144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9aVrA2AFXxv8R6ZhpUGhEdjiLMXtyuHi_RxROvuRU7qGUHTnls23TMOfFD1Bw7b12GofNBIGuXpTd_w8ZnvL0FVoJ4Xt8lpaVtM9FZba2XP1d2f4A0B7FKxMcven4kFPfb8QttxdO1g/s320/IMG_4144.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have to say I like that Indian trains only kind of slow down at the station but don't come to a total halt. The doors are just left open and people jump off an on as need be. Keeps the delays down. Hello MTA? Take note.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One rickshaw ride later,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_TpvOuLvKzkhqEDb_KE04kELNjlojDDyMP1CjG56-3Zm0xiNfECCIqeRj9or3Y1l5nxDkLPCD9_CfRhPpeD5lG2BXOMS2zTDQY-rzWHUBBW3q_aVsnSiRKmg-YNgl4UbC9FPL3uFb_4/s1600/IMG_4147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_TpvOuLvKzkhqEDb_KE04kELNjlojDDyMP1CjG56-3Zm0xiNfECCIqeRj9or3Y1l5nxDkLPCD9_CfRhPpeD5lG2BXOMS2zTDQY-rzWHUBBW3q_aVsnSiRKmg-YNgl4UbC9FPL3uFb_4/s320/IMG_4147.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were at Vijay's offices. It was at this moment I truly felt that India will overtake American in no time. On a Friday night at 8:30, the office was buzzing. People were working, hanging out, sharing the odd beer, and just generally seeming to like their jobs. The vibe was simply electric. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgNPhOplPposgMRzmWroIu2vbZFQQJp0K2Po7djIzMuCWVtJhhNTMNICGQutkaF9N8z3AovZVcsQ0WilbFNoCKeSN5h7HZryDpJcD0asC7aoIkJ-LiHNiVgu8qgFz9atv3jR8w2xstfJc/s1600/IMG_4148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgNPhOplPposgMRzmWroIu2vbZFQQJp0K2Po7djIzMuCWVtJhhNTMNICGQutkaF9N8z3AovZVcsQ0WilbFNoCKeSN5h7HZryDpJcD0asC7aoIkJ-LiHNiVgu8qgFz9atv3jR8w2xstfJc/s320/IMG_4148.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After watching the most charming bit of documentary of Mumford & Sons traveling around Rajasthan, it was off to Todo's.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS-yWx-SNbyYkG2G9xNjorKBHKqC_VkyVgaZ7_OxSvEHUV4TMda2TP8BtHexUyeLQAhqth1qisIkQWWKFkMAoQ-yYRUYTWEmzSBJDxN07e9E6dfxrWeNnMOdMjIJ1t-SP8p9SjffO67c/s1600/IMG_4150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS-yWx-SNbyYkG2G9xNjorKBHKqC_VkyVgaZ7_OxSvEHUV4TMda2TP8BtHexUyeLQAhqth1qisIkQWWKFkMAoQ-yYRUYTWEmzSBJDxN07e9E6dfxrWeNnMOdMjIJ1t-SP8p9SjffO67c/s320/IMG_4150.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Where there is half a Volkswagen Bug nailed to the wall and the bartenders wear mechanic's overalls. Manesh and Bobby were in charge of ordering the beers, and they did very well indeed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiamKf1w8o3xU8VIyn4H9W9tvUHrXPpdKKSBkn7NvkmPSGKVnx4Iz0j9BskUYvwGowEByhW8emiOfSwedVlORf2vRc7FMl3PyUUYzzX2K2H9op94SGkdkBvzwaSsNZUWKUlk5gvYlGfVik/s1600/IMG_4151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiamKf1w8o3xU8VIyn4H9W9tvUHrXPpdKKSBkn7NvkmPSGKVnx4Iz0j9BskUYvwGowEByhW8emiOfSwedVlORf2vRc7FMl3PyUUYzzX2K2H9op94SGkdkBvzwaSsNZUWKUlk5gvYlGfVik/s320/IMG_4151.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And the girls drank whiskey.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then it was off to dinner, a meal which would rival that in Delhi for best Indian food ever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had the mezzanine of a hole in the wall restaurant to ourselves, and Bobby took care of the ordering. We discovered the man is an ordering genius.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcRlbi4EyHxRupxW9x5RH_6CyyKBTN-Y0Km_bS-B2xVB2jN_2UGLzKv7gwUKqm0NAZVUZXR3fE_49x_K_X6t694IV3xRBue1OWUJx5bjeBo9HWaNucqgsIxdGODdyQE90ryyARGLts78/s1600/IMG_4153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcRlbi4EyHxRupxW9x5RH_6CyyKBTN-Y0Km_bS-B2xVB2jN_2UGLzKv7gwUKqm0NAZVUZXR3fE_49x_K_X6t694IV3xRBue1OWUJx5bjeBo9HWaNucqgsIxdGODdyQE90ryyARGLts78/s320/IMG_4153.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And we indulged. Oh did we indulge! Black daal (stunningly good), weird yogurt drinks, curries, biryanis, the list goes on. By early morning we were stuffed to the brim.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2-SCPLgFDmTFsqNwKZ3_AGzjasyeIY0IBRmbzFYBcvmqfVvFqKJJ3y85FLJ01BJKT0OwSJLb304fQpp19wrXmMJJr4eKAjbUcpEJKVlEjl-RVrcYPldDT-3PT5Ad8QpyCqUzLgJrrt4/s1600/IMG_4154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2-SCPLgFDmTFsqNwKZ3_AGzjasyeIY0IBRmbzFYBcvmqfVvFqKJJ3y85FLJ01BJKT0OwSJLb304fQpp19wrXmMJJr4eKAjbUcpEJKVlEjl-RVrcYPldDT-3PT5Ad8QpyCqUzLgJrrt4/s320/IMG_4154.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The girls went back to work (!) and Paul and I said our goodbyes to our amazing hosts and hopped in a cab back to our palace by the sea.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And arrived to find this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGrEydkUM4y7SOq-DGE0rYsKVlbTvgdP4BQXk3N-tHLD0Mt5HpLJnYA84jwodX-WDmkzvvpmzEHjLPJ0BMP647cifMOmuC5v9ONm4ztcpPMllaboKSZmpYthz1THrdb-lHhmgO_cqOoc/s1600/IMG_4157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGrEydkUM4y7SOq-DGE0rYsKVlbTvgdP4BQXk3N-tHLD0Mt5HpLJnYA84jwodX-WDmkzvvpmzEHjLPJ0BMP647cifMOmuC5v9ONm4ztcpPMllaboKSZmpYthz1THrdb-lHhmgO_cqOoc/s320/IMG_4157.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After marveling at how one could create a swan out of a towel, we pondered how best to move them so as not to destroy all of the hard work and so as not to strew rose petals around. Finally, after a careful relocation, we dove into our infamous bed. Tragically, it would be our last night in said bed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">And the last night of our amazing view.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClnE75yj-Op6CSpIJ0gMwfF51AFoErc2bD44_gxxoEQiGSFekjSesO1atUhXzI_9vNkzOg6huU0PZHsYv-o3oIygtac-JquVH27HslLkY8HqHpntC5Yu3bcGzSu46Itx6JasQZ8OoyZE/s1600/IMG_4093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClnE75yj-Op6CSpIJ0gMwfF51AFoErc2bD44_gxxoEQiGSFekjSesO1atUhXzI_9vNkzOg6huU0PZHsYv-o3oIygtac-JquVH27HslLkY8HqHpntC5Yu3bcGzSu46Itx6JasQZ8OoyZE/s320/IMG_4093.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our last night of Mumbai! We loved the city and were devastated to have to leave so soon. The people, the scenery, the food, the energy...it was all just too good. We vowed to return.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We awoke the next morning, heads fuzzy, and after a quick stop for some croissants from the lounge of free food and drink, headed outside to get in our cab to the airport. We would endure a crazed drunkard on our flight to London, meet a lovely college student on that same flight, enjoy some traditional English fare at Heathrow of surprisingly high quality, and then come back to our beloved apartment, happy to be in New York, excited to be married, but missing Mumbai terribly (and our bed and butler at the Taj). Real life would take some getting used to.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-68695940607510820992011-07-20T22:25:00.000-04:002011-07-20T22:25:38.443-04:00The Grand Tour: Plantation on a Hill<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">After our night on the water, it was time for a few nights on a hilltop. After disembarking from our houseboat, another nice clean cool car took us for a drive along the water, and then up through the lush green hills to <a href="http://www.malabarhouse.com/serenity-kanam-estate/index.html">Malabar House at Kanam Estate</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxf_5lvgyzE_p-tkGc7gm_h8MNhIxaDEIyVcZZCtUlswk1SEw70jW99DsIdnH6GV505k46HeyaeSBsOP1h3vsUiblQYrQWL3O_lGf7w1peHTPRj4qCRLOEIklbanjdJ8ZDQtmKO1-Hjc/s1600/IMG_4009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxf_5lvgyzE_p-tkGc7gm_h8MNhIxaDEIyVcZZCtUlswk1SEw70jW99DsIdnH6GV505k46HeyaeSBsOP1h3vsUiblQYrQWL3O_lGf7w1peHTPRj4qCRLOEIklbanjdJ8ZDQtmKO1-Hjc/s320/IMG_4009.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The lovely retreat, an old plantation house, is located on a hill and surrounded by loads of rubber trees. We got out of our car, took a deep breath of the cool, clear air and grinned at each other. We were in the middle of nowhere! A beautiful nowhere! With nothing to do!<br />
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We were greeted by the loveliest woman, who immediately offered us fresh fruit juice (I settled on watermelon, but would go on to try all of the myriad options over the next three days). We lounged in the relaxing front room as she checked us in, taking in the peace and quiet.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3E0e-hxg2NnTL8qyr82S78i_LDcpRCHshTtPCvvvA-4R6i41oTN-19WUd6AcTvoygYfkwseqR5-4W6Mo7kCBr7_xBm8nSMx0_fOSzq6_SRs69xcPANmyXe3s6RzPS1Je1BzKKntj4ZSc/s1600/IMG_4064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3E0e-hxg2NnTL8qyr82S78i_LDcpRCHshTtPCvvvA-4R6i41oTN-19WUd6AcTvoygYfkwseqR5-4W6Mo7kCBr7_xBm8nSMx0_fOSzq6_SRs69xcPANmyXe3s6RzPS1Je1BzKKntj4ZSc/s320/IMG_4064.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
In no time I was in the pool (that's me at the end).<br />
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Paul was feeling a little under the weather, so I took my lunch at a table in the back garden while he rested.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1Zu2FPx0NPGjPRxiwwDsKjAuu714RT2saZcmQu-r1bAx_Je0Aa3V9avnAfXz2GG6SgFBm1ErD0VBDpCGze0Nx3jsCq_dg_0zGnA13U3F2_H7hUkPBOtyAQLjlUHZERRrZP4TKB7YMK0/s1600/IMG_4015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1Zu2FPx0NPGjPRxiwwDsKjAuu714RT2saZcmQu-r1bAx_Je0Aa3V9avnAfXz2GG6SgFBm1ErD0VBDpCGze0Nx3jsCq_dg_0zGnA13U3F2_H7hUkPBOtyAQLjlUHZERRrZP4TKB7YMK0/s320/IMG_4015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Vegetarian thali was my choice that day, and it was a wonderful introduction to the food that I would enjoy for the rest of our stay. It consisted of many small dishes of light, flavorful and vividly colored foods, from beets to coconut to curry. Sitting under a market umbrella with a crisp linen napkin, a beautiful plate of food and the most perfectly helpful yet unobtrusive server, I felt classier than I had in quite some time.<br />
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I spent the next few hours sprawled out on the outdoor bed on our private veranda reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hilary-Mantel-Wolf-Hall-Henry/dp/B0031EDHQ6?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Wolf Hall</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0031EDHQ6" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP5NxKFAB45CSBhb0BW7k8luHQ2JxzR0bHmflvUN3IdRH7iVfiofphPeQKDapOKNKSTqOXp4CbmG0qRE3mI81zaG3XPCpkOYD9eT_l8DjybEo31JoQ5rujp4CoB41UlVrhNGQNl6UMIAw/s1600/IMG_4006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP5NxKFAB45CSBhb0BW7k8luHQ2JxzR0bHmflvUN3IdRH7iVfiofphPeQKDapOKNKSTqOXp4CbmG0qRE3mI81zaG3XPCpkOYD9eT_l8DjybEo31JoQ5rujp4CoB41UlVrhNGQNl6UMIAw/s320/IMG_4006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Paul and I each had an ayurvedic massage in the little hut just beyond the veranda. I found myself slathered in the most viscous oil I've ever come across and manhandled by a woman half my size. I was in heaven. And my skin felt amazing, even after soaping everything off in the shower just after the rubdown.<br />
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Post manhandling, we decided to adopt the ways of the retired folk and ate early, this time in the library. And then, after we closed the (seemingly) thousands of wooden shutters in our room, we snuggled up in our bed, surrounded by the soft sounds of nature on the plantation.<br />
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We awoke the next morning excited to ride the resident elephant. After breakfast in the garden, and some indulgent lazing around, we ambled over to meet Lakshmi.<br />
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We fed her some bananas, which she at as if they were nothing more than peanuts.<br />
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Then it was time to ride. Paul climbed up first.<br />
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And found the experience petrifying. It was too high up (he is afraid of heights), the elephant's movement too much and the prospect of going down a hill on the beast unsettling. So after a spin around the hotel, I hopped up.<br />
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Not to toot my own horn, but I really was a natural (although granted, it took some getting used to...an elephant's shoulders rock back and forth more than you might expect!).<br />
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We strolled along for a while, me on the elephant, her two handlers and Paul walking along beside me. We passed homes, children playing, parents socializing...I cannot tell you how white I felt riding around on an elephant as if I was surveying my domain. <br />
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But it was loads of fun nonetheless.<br />
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Presently we came to a stream, and it was bath time for Lakshmi.<br />
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It was stunning how quickly she cooled off after. The amount of heat she put off was truly amazing!<br />
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On the way back the boys picked up a snack for her...<br />
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...which she ate like corn on the cob and once she was down to the stalk simply discarded.<br />
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Before long we were back home.<br />
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And it was time for more rest and relaxation.<br />
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Tea on the veranda in a rainstorm became my favorite afternoon activity at Malabar House.<br />
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Or perhaps favorite only after my afternoon ayurvedic treatment. Paul and I both had oil poured on our third eye for an hour, which was surprisingly relaxing. I also ended up with a deep conditioning hair treatment out of the whole thing.<br />
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Our last night at Malabar House we had Indian scented pasta (curry leaves and tomatoes) for dinner (again the library), and were watched over by this little guy.<br />
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It would soon come time to leave, as we were headed to the heaving, pulsating metropolis that is Mumbai. <br />
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We said goodbye to the welcoming, gracious home,<br />
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goodbye to the amazing staff,<br />
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and headed off in the hotel's Land Rover through the jungle to the airport.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-9741236454577183722011-07-15T07:00:00.026-04:002011-07-15T07:00:12.198-04:00The Grand Tour: The Keralan Backwaters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happily ensconced in a brand new, air conditioned minivan, Paul and I were on our way from the Tea Bungalow to Alleppey, which was to be our jumping off point for a houseboat tour of the Keralan backwaters. As we drove through Kochi (now in the daylight), we were absolutely charmed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZBuJXxdu3SVQhp4awhp-CR4tKaji1avyjOcYbm1Qqc2rLh-X-tIDx2VdAQAK9BERLDCa8UINCIyr5pMleCPErnT7Gmf-ig7rFILMOxeUzXZ6Js6PMABp76T-lWz4Wa991L4nTDHDRqA/s1600/IMG_3880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZBuJXxdu3SVQhp4awhp-CR4tKaji1avyjOcYbm1Qqc2rLh-X-tIDx2VdAQAK9BERLDCa8UINCIyr5pMleCPErnT7Gmf-ig7rFILMOxeUzXZ6Js6PMABp76T-lWz4Wa991L4nTDHDRqA/s320/IMG_3880.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It was lush and colorful and seemingly prosperous. Paul wondered, do the people in North know about this place? I mean why wouldn't you live here?<br />
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</div><div>Aside from the excellent hospitality and lovely environs, Paul was also taken with the fact that the Keralan population seems to be accepting of somewhat plump movie stars.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Before long we arrived at the mecca of houseboats, and the folks at Lakes and Lagoons wasted no time in getting us onto our boat.</div><br />
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And I wasted no time in making myself comfortable. Nothing better than mango juice on a warm afternoon.<br />
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Paul was so relaxed he could do little but take in the serene water scenes that we floated through.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPnOh7iwAnVoWm2I_yv3MlpRHBNAAVA0Bbxthidb8Vt7S1l6idMKJPckM9YRR7uaqwgUNhn9MdtJb5NAL1wo_41jWqCuMEa_lnL9Yco_BThUhw9zIFBJi_6XmE53A6JeAOAwT_IfnS3g/s1600/IMG_3902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPnOh7iwAnVoWm2I_yv3MlpRHBNAAVA0Bbxthidb8Vt7S1l6idMKJPckM9YRR7uaqwgUNhn9MdtJb5NAL1wo_41jWqCuMEa_lnL9Yco_BThUhw9zIFBJi_6XmE53A6JeAOAwT_IfnS3g/s320/IMG_3902.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMETpIzIPvpRQhpBcCuW37KmrCw6rNAiomPeMpXgztNLiWoowWFcoWcf1edAMfxczQEKW3p8b5ky0Rxj8XqqGDZ8FQTBPlzh99xG_FHTw9fJi3q-0x3vDt5rhTFlLkwd8ILuSbNjBYZaU/s1600/IMG_3928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMETpIzIPvpRQhpBcCuW37KmrCw6rNAiomPeMpXgztNLiWoowWFcoWcf1edAMfxczQEKW3p8b5ky0Rxj8XqqGDZ8FQTBPlzh99xG_FHTw9fJi3q-0x3vDt5rhTFlLkwd8ILuSbNjBYZaU/s320/IMG_3928.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
An old cargo boat, our vessel was really quite spacious.<br />
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There was more than enough room for the two of us and our crew of three.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGV__Nx1egPHSZhB1gOFdIMYIFhR-eDxV5msCK_NOXUsjOaDzgRjMAVMnCeH6iWaFeNlQM6A6h7PnSg3tGUFeJALI0Ni1m380q8KggPtk-rT15x2K5jDfsvVZWKfTZQenoI_9TDARKHv8/s1600/IMG_3905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGV__Nx1egPHSZhB1gOFdIMYIFhR-eDxV5msCK_NOXUsjOaDzgRjMAVMnCeH6iWaFeNlQM6A6h7PnSg3tGUFeJALI0Ni1m380q8KggPtk-rT15x2K5jDfsvVZWKfTZQenoI_9TDARKHv8/s320/IMG_3905.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><br />
Luckily that crew included a cook, who soon brought us a gorgeous south indian lunch.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ah coconut, how I love thee.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuK9J08_rwpiQQ0lv17H9_OQfh-oEoI9d5VpDzosXjZOseWNodPa-wgF-qGcip320kjiG3TpedJ6FPbSywB_KmRJUnHsIQFczTyXoq9MN3TmRpTEYD4UetkARmeA7Nb0ceIbSf_K-MEIk/s1600/IMG_3925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuK9J08_rwpiQQ0lv17H9_OQfh-oEoI9d5VpDzosXjZOseWNodPa-wgF-qGcip320kjiG3TpedJ6FPbSywB_KmRJUnHsIQFczTyXoq9MN3TmRpTEYD4UetkARmeA7Nb0ceIbSf_K-MEIk/s320/IMG_3925.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And you too, whatever you are, I loved you too.<br />
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After lunch I retired to the cushioned deck, where I would remain for the remainder of the trip.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">During the first part of the trip, we had lots of company.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb63RkCb9SLIzpViqMN7hJnbOJFEKJKOEJw-li6etS39VioRuaZuah5R3nwmvfWg4b4WFgfGJSWLTosejrnqPLdrQPx708qSxrefzPJy_bgmW6QaVku8t8tsEk81g3VgZJdzCdihuEJAM/s1600/IMG_3898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb63RkCb9SLIzpViqMN7hJnbOJFEKJKOEJw-li6etS39VioRuaZuah5R3nwmvfWg4b4WFgfGJSWLTosejrnqPLdrQPx708qSxrefzPJy_bgmW6QaVku8t8tsEk81g3VgZJdzCdihuEJAM/s320/IMG_3898.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-40gsvn-R6rLJSk_ir5bfDNaJWVcGjKF-7Syjt19RNU33IZg6WTupzgPgEmvnaFadTSvu5FIj2ksHfrzLLBtcZetN-zeZ2drxqN9HwgPc_mmsOCi49dMTX5-8JrywKsNYr_rjYy-8gk/s1600/IMG_3933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-40gsvn-R6rLJSk_ir5bfDNaJWVcGjKF-7Syjt19RNU33IZg6WTupzgPgEmvnaFadTSvu5FIj2ksHfrzLLBtcZetN-zeZ2drxqN9HwgPc_mmsOCi49dMTX5-8JrywKsNYr_rjYy-8gk/s320/IMG_3933.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
But before long we made it out into the less populated canals.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxi5pwLG4R1663sfXgvHjKbvrq43_UbAt-atD2wjVI27bsaNRLu4dpFosvp5hdYl4q_V__9DK3A6bQR36Vho7oSXkRQ3NLkaNaZZtmCszxrJTdLXxBOk3pgZEFh9MxXGatoIhgp6yV7s/s1600/IMG_3927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxi5pwLG4R1663sfXgvHjKbvrq43_UbAt-atD2wjVI27bsaNRLu4dpFosvp5hdYl4q_V__9DK3A6bQR36Vho7oSXkRQ3NLkaNaZZtmCszxrJTdLXxBOk3pgZEFh9MxXGatoIhgp6yV7s/s320/IMG_3927.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And presently stopped<br />
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to pick up some giant shrimp for dinner.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That done, it was time for more relaxation. This time with a cup of tea.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zSO8OH6edFSn-DrdNPvrQVhozyY5BByo8KKJzLwSRmyfNFa3NqG2D3Q-EeDlaeXCJvPcazVqEeU8rMfFMfpPwuCebb0NKmvKGzC9OrXICExDiYln3Ie5-Ven4VeIXc3j-GhyphenhyphenWt4Mz8o/s1600/IMG_3947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zSO8OH6edFSn-DrdNPvrQVhozyY5BByo8KKJzLwSRmyfNFa3NqG2D3Q-EeDlaeXCJvPcazVqEeU8rMfFMfpPwuCebb0NKmvKGzC9OrXICExDiYln3Ie5-Ven4VeIXc3j-GhyphenhyphenWt4Mz8o/s320/IMG_3947.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eventually we came to a small town with a lovely church.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Ck3C0DwfNx0e2Tn-0OQo4gorrRy7jP8D57nWagyx1DGkiUQ5cLwWGr4dYHBRunKuVAd_ZhML-RLY7o2-r3MujFFKHW1wvze8u9mld-iGx32e_YtqL2wM0SvOsC0avj1kkIuFrMYSejM/s1600/IMG_3893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Ck3C0DwfNx0e2Tn-0OQo4gorrRy7jP8D57nWagyx1DGkiUQ5cLwWGr4dYHBRunKuVAd_ZhML-RLY7o2-r3MujFFKHW1wvze8u9mld-iGx32e_YtqL2wM0SvOsC0avj1kkIuFrMYSejM/s320/IMG_3893.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And we stopped off to take a closer look.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzWvpRIoYk6TWS6wEqiVdEaPgn5q9dtIwt4igOt37chBXCpD5QbcHcP9Nm1NklbdwPeoodyGLtA6oQzonYKi-Fnh3NjfFbte7xONIQbFDoh_tUzrsJYz6YAYkuqYWhbmiSZGtwoFZ7ag/s1600/IMG_3944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzWvpRIoYk6TWS6wEqiVdEaPgn5q9dtIwt4igOt37chBXCpD5QbcHcP9Nm1NklbdwPeoodyGLtA6oQzonYKi-Fnh3NjfFbte7xONIQbFDoh_tUzrsJYz6YAYkuqYWhbmiSZGtwoFZ7ag/s320/IMG_3944.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pn03Ni-WEy_y11jkN0o_zkrbBCjq9g6dlZypBnK44h905AfRalzbTjDrPG0e46X58dY78WKjg4N9Kih3FrcYPc4KWaiinnxURAzJXH3WbQUizxcyVT3GZ7DAujBNNJav6CAIbUyW_ss/s1600/IMG_3959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pn03Ni-WEy_y11jkN0o_zkrbBCjq9g6dlZypBnK44h905AfRalzbTjDrPG0e46X58dY78WKjg4N9Kih3FrcYPc4KWaiinnxURAzJXH3WbQUizxcyVT3GZ7DAujBNNJav6CAIbUyW_ss/s320/IMG_3959.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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And then stopped by the church's woodworking shop.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHC9hmyul0UqleQ3qhh1vt2VIz6OLWOKQcWZ5ViW-S91Is8LZGK_ItEzJP3h_8Q_xKpGMFYiAKKKBQJ-avhyyd5YBNMEi5eXvOfqcc55hyphenhyphenewYNWfu4YeFw-iXO9d4HBUKMmlwiZnxVk14/s1600/IMG_3950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHC9hmyul0UqleQ3qhh1vt2VIz6OLWOKQcWZ5ViW-S91Is8LZGK_ItEzJP3h_8Q_xKpGMFYiAKKKBQJ-avhyyd5YBNMEi5eXvOfqcc55hyphenhyphenewYNWfu4YeFw-iXO9d4HBUKMmlwiZnxVk14/s320/IMG_3950.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We watched the craftsmen work, and bought a few of their lovely pieces. A wooden statue of Ganesh which Paul could not live without, a wooden mesh platter that I couldn't live without (and now keep on my kitchen counter to keep my fruit close at hand) and a wooden bowl. We of course completely overpaid but the experience in the shop had been so lovely that we couldn't be too upset.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then back to the boat for more rest and relaxation.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflCFS1uu4YybXqb8Hhtn9HSjDnwX17wg41fzpI_dGtyfX1sOQgnqTj2sNSzcQhlkOIyDS8EgJerCedNcDsmahMRAnwpz0qTGm1b2uwRSqC_ObF2iONgZB09AFuctZBtEuxpxomiFVueg/s1600/IMG_3974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflCFS1uu4YybXqb8Hhtn9HSjDnwX17wg41fzpI_dGtyfX1sOQgnqTj2sNSzcQhlkOIyDS8EgJerCedNcDsmahMRAnwpz0qTGm1b2uwRSqC_ObF2iONgZB09AFuctZBtEuxpxomiFVueg/s320/IMG_3974.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And then the rains came.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZviioYVwUIRM4020g1JSplGuhfwKTY7AIMpcVcnTyJF-FaB_MLFJQ9udYT6KS9ulyCF44w5Pfun_jynkErc2e3XyJrzqHt3xfpUYHydF0w2XZgyX4AIGj-AJAwaTK2khJfzh1hQyGnw/s1600/IMG_3972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZviioYVwUIRM4020g1JSplGuhfwKTY7AIMpcVcnTyJF-FaB_MLFJQ9udYT6KS9ulyCF44w5Pfun_jynkErc2e3XyJrzqHt3xfpUYHydF0w2XZgyX4AIGj-AJAwaTK2khJfzh1hQyGnw/s320/IMG_3972.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As badly as I felt for the guys getting wet, I have to admit I love nothing more than a really intense, short lived rain storm.</div><br />
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We pulled to the side of the canal, battened down the hatches, and waited it out. And then this was our reward.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjpm3KhSVtl5hQ3OziK_CvbHYjv6mNiUVNX6yDbMGp3WKntHBqwCG6PdoVEqS03FSV-lwdM4LKgcTfTNp8awwTZEU-c3MhOH5MKzY3YeGAGAoaB6ATZjIo9VaYL9lDTMThLr2QOH1iKc/s1600/IMG_3992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjpm3KhSVtl5hQ3OziK_CvbHYjv6mNiUVNX6yDbMGp3WKntHBqwCG6PdoVEqS03FSV-lwdM4LKgcTfTNp8awwTZEU-c3MhOH5MKzY3YeGAGAoaB6ATZjIo9VaYL9lDTMThLr2QOH1iKc/s320/IMG_3992.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Darkness fell.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVhH7qjypaVTOHerK6WYiTgYjeu4QP2nWGY9e6PMj2_rER4tmh0-zB-sEhoMRt3wi9478JmCqnzumcnqLyvi8-zzQYg-huptk19x3vO-D639XG-tjqzcDWy681EdWKeEMhlEWnVxx2u0/s1600/IMG_3994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVhH7qjypaVTOHerK6WYiTgYjeu4QP2nWGY9e6PMj2_rER4tmh0-zB-sEhoMRt3wi9478JmCqnzumcnqLyvi8-zzQYg-huptk19x3vO-D639XG-tjqzcDWy681EdWKeEMhlEWnVxx2u0/s320/IMG_3994.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And then dinner came (see those shrimp?). Yum. Curry pastes galore, some more of my favorite coconut, and some lovely cold beer. Could life get any better?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocO-gp8GjTayLZJYv6nLh6Y87YYE0ViYYXslX5rfy_nefcQbwtbrdi1sbdeYZpt7GsoT20sloyWFUTDLnr-eFU50nZEUCiTu5quiFe_KB0MiTY9shsjqYGc2zLN4OZqetqhbbfNUrj-k/s1600/IMG_3996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocO-gp8GjTayLZJYv6nLh6Y87YYE0ViYYXslX5rfy_nefcQbwtbrdi1sbdeYZpt7GsoT20sloyWFUTDLnr-eFU50nZEUCiTu5quiFe_KB0MiTY9shsjqYGc2zLN4OZqetqhbbfNUrj-k/s320/IMG_3996.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After we had sufficiently savored the meal, we turned in early, and were lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of the backwaters.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-53708835721079208922011-07-13T07:00:00.034-04:002011-07-13T07:00:13.236-04:00The Grand Tour: Trains Planes and Automobiles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Although I was relaxing in a plush bed in a suite with a view of the Taj Mahal, I couldn't stop stressing about the fact that we were waitlisted on our train back to Delhi. Although we had seats assigned and the people at the hotel assured us we "would be OK", I had my doubts. So, on the theory that we could get to the train station and find someone to sort it out for us there, I made Paul leave the air conditioned comfort of our room two hours before our train was scheduled to leave.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We got to the train station,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXCXGQkRaGFuaeA2aeiElFqCPxkbzU_D9rrARtA_3LCzUA7ValTDNHtW0V8R8xYPgivSBP6TebfQgijXKQhG5hdEUBQHMUic8FS7PlCZoSQh5uxqnbmooEt4uyZSJ2AcZWuMTSkXkK1A/s1600/IMG_3845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXCXGQkRaGFuaeA2aeiElFqCPxkbzU_D9rrARtA_3LCzUA7ValTDNHtW0V8R8xYPgivSBP6TebfQgijXKQhG5hdEUBQHMUic8FS7PlCZoSQh5uxqnbmooEt4uyZSJ2AcZWuMTSkXkK1A/s320/IMG_3845.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and found the booking office...which, between the smell and the residents, neither of us could bear to step foot in. So instead we found our platform and waited. And waited. Standing up, because Paul wouldn't let me sit on the ground, as we "didn't know what had gone on there". But then he won't let me sit on subway benches in New York either for fear of bedbugs, so it's really nothing against Agra per se.<br />
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It was terribly hot, but the scene was, as usual, colorful<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpEExFxb6ZPgcZWx8pzlX3UFES9kaf67Wlv36FJLoxkyqIQwLmtE_wZkyLBUQeltGqQt3rdSZms4xrYGi3YmjPOmlCU-qGW8lFz5IFXpRCgyQq8IzJrKmVb76pl1msUApMoyT2KMDnEY/s1600/IMG_3846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpEExFxb6ZPgcZWx8pzlX3UFES9kaf67Wlv36FJLoxkyqIQwLmtE_wZkyLBUQeltGqQt3rdSZms4xrYGi3YmjPOmlCU-qGW8lFz5IFXpRCgyQq8IzJrKmVb76pl1msUApMoyT2KMDnEY/s320/IMG_3846.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and full of activity.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_4-PcjR_0sbSmXhld1UY-BBD-FbDkMq_vNO86QgPIK6h6OeL6ZYiRN3XrJ-KhJvf8fydBp0Hp24Uy3xlv2uW8MsxtVSK09rbFjynPZ-fnd80HXc-B7qiV-lqdPnlZ0rlFYld-XH5F6o/s1600/IMG_3848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_4-PcjR_0sbSmXhld1UY-BBD-FbDkMq_vNO86QgPIK6h6OeL6ZYiRN3XrJ-KhJvf8fydBp0Hp24Uy3xlv2uW8MsxtVSK09rbFjynPZ-fnd80HXc-B7qiV-lqdPnlZ0rlFYld-XH5F6o/s320/IMG_3848.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Presently our train arrived. After running up and down the platform at least twice in an effort to find where on earth second class A/C was, we clamored onto our coach. Now our train from Delhi to Jaipur had been lightly populated with passengers that appeared to be traveling short distances, so we were certainly not expecting this.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LysxfkCKIvknDw1LzxwdNZIL8m2jVQ6BktzFhI6maJOXHEIY1qvupS0XS-ogp3IIj-ROj3FtWthzZ0RJBzHPPU32lVjPpvYw-UHPXJsCduAUUucpOpyhsGlXjRvzK2HLw879wopRPnk/s1600/IMG_3854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LysxfkCKIvknDw1LzxwdNZIL8m2jVQ6BktzFhI6maJOXHEIY1qvupS0XS-ogp3IIj-ROj3FtWthzZ0RJBzHPPU32lVjPpvYw-UHPXJsCduAUUucpOpyhsGlXjRvzK2HLw879wopRPnk/s320/IMG_3854.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">This was a train on its way up from the south, and had been traveling for two days. People were settled in, to say the least.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We got to our (possibly) appointed seats, and found our berths full. One man moved off of the top berth to hang out with his kids on the other side of the aisle, and I hopped up.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjAGnb2HINfsb78hQBXT0WouPXZ_jv9pPRppRXwXaOXsMef-4yxYfBwvxfxdUnhgAPbG_9o4lHbeR6bFOoQIQOW1PQFfZfLS7Bh9qDCVEHlvticnQgNKSx8b8HvQRAfBvt55bRwhP39Q/s1600/IMG_3853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjAGnb2HINfsb78hQBXT0WouPXZ_jv9pPRppRXwXaOXsMef-4yxYfBwvxfxdUnhgAPbG_9o4lHbeR6bFOoQIQOW1PQFfZfLS7Bh9qDCVEHlvticnQgNKSx8b8HvQRAfBvt55bRwhP39Q/s320/IMG_3853.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The folks downstairs happily shoved up to allow Paul room to sit down. At this point we had no idea whether they were simply being nice or whether they were actually in our seats.<br />
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But we settled in for the supposedly three hour journey, which would get us to Delhi in plenty of time for our flight to Kerala. <i>Plenty.</i> We chatted a bit with our kind and friendly berth-mates and then spaced out, lulled by the train's rocking.<br />
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Soon the train slowed to a crawl. After twenty minutes of crawling, Paul popped up and said to me "this is going to be a problem. Don't you think?" I did, but never one to panic before it is time, I assured him it was all part of the scheduled trip time.<br />
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As the crawl dragged on we got into those conversations you always have with your fellow passengers on a delayed trip...what's going on? How long is it going to be? The most popular answer? Oh we're only thirty minutes late. Even the conductor said, oh, we're only thirty minutes late. No problem. We had allowed ourselves two hours to make the one hour trip from the train station to the airport. There was only one dissenter...an old rotund man with a massive grey bear and a turban looked at us and said, "Two hours". We all laughed him off as malcontent.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0W3TKf8-J-ttaC0M6kighLPhnpmjTpCHvrBOF3yQfL37lD5s30c2wf59j4-wZLJWn0XrPT7IEYfPSUnlTdMw-mNtB3hGFOXyvG4uBjoXCV4ZJlP4twXlKKy5MMyr4EmyylyynaeL2lcc/s1600/IMG_3855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0W3TKf8-J-ttaC0M6kighLPhnpmjTpCHvrBOF3yQfL37lD5s30c2wf59j4-wZLJWn0XrPT7IEYfPSUnlTdMw-mNtB3hGFOXyvG4uBjoXCV4ZJlP4twXlKKy5MMyr4EmyylyynaeL2lcc/s320/IMG_3855.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
As the trip dragged on we began to panic slightly. Still, we were "only thirty minutes" behind schedule according to our new friends, the soldier with a big gun and the conductor. The man with the turban maintained his original opinion ("India time, heh, heh, heh."). But eventually, with time short, we realized we hadn't even hit Faridabad, the last station outside of Delhi which, had the train be moving normally, would have been thirty minutes away. I was kicking myself for making the rookie mistake of traveling a long distance by one mode to the airport and flying in the same day.<br />
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By this time everyone around us was invested in whether we were going to make our flight or not. Should we get off in Faridabad and hope to find a cab? The soldier offered to have his friend pick us up there, for a fee of course. Dhruv, who we called in a panic for some advice, told us getting off was our only chance. The woman across the way, who acknowledged that making our flight by this point was a long shot, counseled us that finding a cab there could be challenging. <br />
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We finally arrived at the famed Faridabad and found it uninspiring. It was raining, dark was falling, the place seemed to be in the middle of nowhere and there were oil cans with fires in them scattered about the platform. Better to get stranded in Delhi than Faridabad, we reasoned. It seemed as though we could meet an untimely end in this place.<br />
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So we took our chances and stayed on our not so trusty steed. And as spent and stressed as we were, I couldn't help but be touched by the kindness of our fellow passengers. They called friends and cab companies and the like in an effort to help us out. None of their efforts really panned out, but it was lovely that they tried, and it did significantly lessen our despondency. And at about this time we also took a look at the passenger manifest, posted outside of the train. We were in fact not on it, so it seems our fellow passengers were kind after all in sharing their seats with us, rather than obliged.<br />
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An hour before our flight was scheduled to leave, we arrived in Delhi. Paul and I raced off the train, grabbed the first guy who said "taxi" and ran. He asked for an outrageous sum which Paul tried to negotiate for about ten seconds until we realized we had no option. The final deal was, get us there in thirty minutes and we'll pay you what you ask. This is an hour long trip mind you.<br />
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We raced off and soon entered a video game, one where you go sixty on city streets, swerve around the law abiding drivers, clip the bumpers of those in front of you at stop lights (it really was only dislodged a little in all fairness), all in the rain. And make it to the airport in thirty minutes. The man was literally the most skilled driver I have ever come across.<br />
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Paul and I rain into the airport, past the soldier at the front who was stopping people to check tickets (strangely he didn't come after us, I supposed we looked crazed but not crazy), and Air India, to their credit checked us in immediately. The clerk implored us to race to our gate, which we did, thanks to the fact that the security folks overlooked the eight liters of gels and liquids I was carrying in my case. Racing past Marks and Spencer and W.H. Smith, we arrived, sweating and breathless, at our gate, where the plane was boarding.<br />
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Neither of us could believe we had made it. After such an intense trip the only thing we could do was embrace one another.<br />
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Once on the plane, we lucked out and got bulkhead seats, and also lucked out and sat next to the loveliest, most interesting man who was running an NGO in Kabul.<br />
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We took off pretty much on time. And flew straight into a massive lighting storm. The pilot assured us it was miles away (it did not look like it). We had what was really a very good dinner (curry, of course) before the odd noises started. First one of the engines sounded strained. Then, the plastic cover that goes over the exit door release handle fell off. Paul was not pleased that the flight attendants tried to cram it back on (him: do we think it's a good idea to be pushing <i>out</i> on that door at 30,000 feet?). Then there was the big noise, and the big vibration. The man from Afghanistan said "That does not sound right." Coming from him, who had probably been flying in 50 year old Aeroflot plane for the last ten years, I was worried.<br />
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Turned out there was "engine trouble" and we turned around to go back to Delhi to change planes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkUMrrd7t1ebU5rjmCWUtT4Vz8_TA-TD2LGcpOmQOKkBr6n_ZoBtS-J3Y8GREhucsTWX-sTXtZTEwGfruzuuWAiwFzEuhMnFT6lGYAu3TaYMxvUmtvS8dWksay5OAKPBCZK0LGef5eCY/s1600/IMG_3858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkUMrrd7t1ebU5rjmCWUtT4Vz8_TA-TD2LGcpOmQOKkBr6n_ZoBtS-J3Y8GREhucsTWX-sTXtZTEwGfruzuuWAiwFzEuhMnFT6lGYAu3TaYMxvUmtvS8dWksay5OAKPBCZK0LGef5eCY/s320/IMG_3858.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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The next plane didn't sound all that much better, but it got us down south to Kochi in one piece. At 3 am. All I can say is, thank god for the <a href="http://www.teabungalow.in/">Tea Bungalow</a>. We had never been so happy to see a bed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzXsRBNKWGUs9T6Ao37XTeBkT9QsgXWagMjXJirhN8osuUVcnXYX20NcfKHEcA3-aalD2HJCaX0L3XEj8bEqiVIqjWkCd9FZSaJWaVViMs0VSWDBrjExPFjaHTp8Bup9Q8MUQpwJ0-2E/s1600/IMG_3879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzXsRBNKWGUs9T6Ao37XTeBkT9QsgXWagMjXJirhN8osuUVcnXYX20NcfKHEcA3-aalD2HJCaX0L3XEj8bEqiVIqjWkCd9FZSaJWaVViMs0VSWDBrjExPFjaHTp8Bup9Q8MUQpwJ0-2E/s320/IMG_3879.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><br />
We awoke the next morning,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQ4fpaFM6c9AgDaaQRL8c4gQH8AUXsKudGc1o72t25yKzHGD5QzTxO7Vj0MrFJZy_9MLb4E6yWZQZFs_pP0euf4c4hEmf_h4EXymPptUTRXMASC6R_aF5Ku6xW_R_tgM1q5tY0FmnqEY/s1600/IMG_3860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQ4fpaFM6c9AgDaaQRL8c4gQH8AUXsKudGc1o72t25yKzHGD5QzTxO7Vj0MrFJZy_9MLb4E6yWZQZFs_pP0euf4c4hEmf_h4EXymPptUTRXMASC6R_aF5Ku6xW_R_tgM1q5tY0FmnqEY/s320/IMG_3860.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
to this.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMo6cBJTE1imOxHGuUMkxZRqwcFlW5UTDHIGPQXhky2ErTHUw5rDzCLMjDy6K2bfYUjaNlG1nj5yCJUio8jQyb5q_53uky0LX0Bcx-3d6k38Cnz9dm_7Gl0nngDoRFRPvdMvGcHZ77To4/s1600/IMG_3862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMo6cBJTE1imOxHGuUMkxZRqwcFlW5UTDHIGPQXhky2ErTHUw5rDzCLMjDy6K2bfYUjaNlG1nj5yCJUio8jQyb5q_53uky0LX0Bcx-3d6k38Cnz9dm_7Gl0nngDoRFRPvdMvGcHZ77To4/s320/IMG_3862.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Paradise.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNFnlJ-fGtlWlQZl6iMKE30OcMgoVteS-wxZkAshjjccmCiE0UYxdsSA-gsF1N0FGbc9qIiBplq3tKtUsXwWaW33Di-ee4JruUBjGzIU7tRZTXKWYdlFxcs1LG7iXtiolTLQBAPegv4Y/s1600/IMG_3863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNFnlJ-fGtlWlQZl6iMKE30OcMgoVteS-wxZkAshjjccmCiE0UYxdsSA-gsF1N0FGbc9qIiBplq3tKtUsXwWaW33Di-ee4JruUBjGzIU7tRZTXKWYdlFxcs1LG7iXtiolTLQBAPegv4Y/s320/IMG_3863.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We loved the bed, the air conditioning, the amazing, amazing shower, the insanely good breakfast by the pool and the cool decor.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhNr3z2N_ga4GATOREuUZGVw3bGq0gQ0Zq5y3eq4NwjslKD-8Upp9mo0Miei4eTky4Rw3AeirLkbIaaHEajipgLwwXNnsW__iL07XOf96CoENH4pagPqRhistw-Cdr5w7VGPI1Mzj4928/s1600/IMG_3876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhNr3z2N_ga4GATOREuUZGVw3bGq0gQ0Zq5y3eq4NwjslKD-8Upp9mo0Miei4eTky4Rw3AeirLkbIaaHEajipgLwwXNnsW__iL07XOf96CoENH4pagPqRhistw-Cdr5w7VGPI1Mzj4928/s320/IMG_3876.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And the staff was beyond great. We had never been so reluctant to leave a place in our life.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7GOH0HRSvy6bBeO9ATeDso7C5vhbQg4aYWeH5fi2dzvYeqH-94TcTi8ss_ppaiK2Qgc8LetB9XedloeZOAaSMIG9GCKyqimjxCkvang92OPNG3WqRrKKaTxdKZkhM5O1hmK9HkmAqRE/s1600/IMG_3864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7GOH0HRSvy6bBeO9ATeDso7C5vhbQg4aYWeH5fi2dzvYeqH-94TcTi8ss_ppaiK2Qgc8LetB9XedloeZOAaSMIG9GCKyqimjxCkvang92OPNG3WqRrKKaTxdKZkhM5O1hmK9HkmAqRE/s320/IMG_3864.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Farewell, sweet bungalow, we'll be back one day!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnXOSwPJg7fzieaWU15pxb7uErto4Sdluj8jFqyN-FNdhGU3cByIln90qGsWybBIEILfuhaCFj1zKbd0jVVWiv0LC9X2psYeaEk9GpoueCDmb1ueprs1t7q_RjrqP7duNF2wKpl2mw50/s1600/IMG_3871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnXOSwPJg7fzieaWU15pxb7uErto4Sdluj8jFqyN-FNdhGU3cByIln90qGsWybBIEILfuhaCFj1zKbd0jVVWiv0LC9X2psYeaEk9GpoueCDmb1ueprs1t7q_RjrqP7duNF2wKpl2mw50/s320/IMG_3871.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Luckily, the relaxing part of our trip was about to begin.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-70733755846620948152011-07-11T07:00:00.158-04:002011-07-11T07:00:07.370-04:00The Grand Tour: Agra<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After our day of sighseeing, Paul and I awoke the next day with grand plans for the morning, as we would be leaving for Agra in the afternoon. He planned to relax in the Diggi's courtyard, and I planned to explore Jaipur's glorious textiles on a shopping trip. We did not, however, understand how long it would take a book a train ticket from Agra to Delhi on India Railways' baffling website on excruciatingly slow internet. Two hours, if you are wondering. And after toiling away we realized that we had somehow bought two waitlist spots on the train. We didn't even know what that meant, but were so sick of the whole undertaking at that point that we didn't even care. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After scouting out the public transportation options from Jaipur to Agra, we decided that hiring a driver was our best bet, unless we were in the mood to take a bus with no air conditioning. So Ajay sent his "brother" over to drive us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We piled into the clean, air conditioned Toyota minivan and were soon on our way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We waved goodbye to Jaipur...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfB4KZDJrcATnaMkNd_moM5Gl38cOYGfnZeMTllR81onTAKR6W2pZi8PI_2hoii_D5GcslkPThHTWD97vXujStbsuNLZWt8akxOwq3JBeIKMK34lPhAUeDeFY106RKVTW1QRezofTbIqQ/s1600/IMG_3769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfB4KZDJrcATnaMkNd_moM5Gl38cOYGfnZeMTllR81onTAKR6W2pZi8PI_2hoii_D5GcslkPThHTWD97vXujStbsuNLZWt8akxOwq3JBeIKMK34lPhAUeDeFY106RKVTW1QRezofTbIqQ/s320/IMG_3769.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
...and in no time were on the open road.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlckBeG5yjCEgBHCGKDFk4qEO8mkG8M2qq9OO2Y-kj65Q1wjLhv47FDax3KHd6YZsafn_6B2i6lIBP7sSsrt_wsqNim-NQJ4rnDTkmpQaANHjL1D2Y2q-RRl7GexZzetWhKmk_7RHF7U/s1600/IMG_3771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlckBeG5yjCEgBHCGKDFk4qEO8mkG8M2qq9OO2Y-kj65Q1wjLhv47FDax3KHd6YZsafn_6B2i6lIBP7sSsrt_wsqNim-NQJ4rnDTkmpQaANHjL1D2Y2q-RRl7GexZzetWhKmk_7RHF7U/s320/IMG_3771.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I have heard horror stories about Indian drivers, but I have to say I found them to be overblown. Drivers there are skilled, it's just that the traffic rules and conventions are somewhat more...flexible, shall we say, than they are in the US. For instance, it was not unusual to be driving down the highway and suddenly be faced with oncoming traffic, a phenomenon that our driver always handled calmly and with great aplomb. The trick is just that as an American you should never try to drive in India, as your expectations of road conditions can never come close to conforming to the reality, and as a result you will be the bad motorist on the road.<br />
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After a longer drive than we had anticipated, we arrived in Agra as dusk was falling. We had been warned that the city was a cesspool (hugely corrupt state apparently, and as a consequence no money is ever spent on infrastructure) and that was as apt a description as there could be. The traffic in town was epic, more people were barefoot than shod and the air quality was stunningly bad. We were staying in a hotel that no one seemed to have heard of (everything else was booked, and this was low season!) so it took ages to find our destination. By the time we arrived we were bone tired and ready for a quick dinner and bed.<br />
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The hotel staff met us with the foulest smelling drink I've ever encountered, quite literally the aroma of a stinkbomb with a taste to match. We sat on a couch in the lobby, just thrilled to be out of the car, and waited for the staff to check us in. One hitch, they couldn't find our reservation and the hotel was booked. Paul roared, I cried, and miraculously they found a suite to put us in. The room, about twice the size of our New York City apartment, was quite nice in the end.<br />
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After dinner (although Paul had a curry, I opted for corn soup and a springroll...after the day we'd had I just wanted something bland and easy) we headed down to the cafe in the lobby to watch some soccer and share a banana split. Then bedtime.<br />
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We arose at 5:15 the next morning, eager to see the great Taj Mahal at dawn.<br />
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There were few people when we arrived, but we were greeted by a monkey eating an actual banana.<br />
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The wonderful thing about the Taj Mahal is that you can't actually see much of it until you are right upon it. It is obscured first by a great wall around the complex and then by this gate.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnZ6Pc6-RcWzOq0Y6e_xikFDFLdzKV-rnu6gfWb0akIk8AlkFIH3AsA11jnDZ_x8eGPL0692J78eysXUy6FUMLAfAav9VNVy6QlRieyI3Z4EZjCYR0LF4aVcr2FqYRt6QQBrZS8mR9_M/s1600/IMG_3777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnZ6Pc6-RcWzOq0Y6e_xikFDFLdzKV-rnu6gfWb0akIk8AlkFIH3AsA11jnDZ_x8eGPL0692J78eysXUy6FUMLAfAav9VNVy6QlRieyI3Z4EZjCYR0LF4aVcr2FqYRt6QQBrZS8mR9_M/s320/IMG_3777.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
But once through the gate it greets you with breathtaking grace and dignity. It is perhaps odd to call a building ethereal, but it truly was. It almost seemed like it was floating in mid-air. I've never seen anything like it.<br />
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As the sun began to rise, the hue of the Taj's white marble skewed pink. <br />
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It truly was a marvel to behold.<br />
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Facing the Yamuna River, the Taj Mahal (the tomb of a king's wife) was supposed to have been facing its onyx twin across the river, which would have been the tomb of the king, so the two might lay together in eternity.<br />
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But the king's son, alarmed by the bill the original tomb had racked up, ousted his father to prevent him from sinking yet more of the kingdom's money into his own tomb. Paul was despondent about the lack of the onyx Taj Mahal once he heard the story. <br />
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But not so despondent that he could ignore the human beauty on the site. I was so taken with this family that I begged him to snap a photo. <br />
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Our tour, given by yet another fantastic tour guide, was now complete, and we were escorted out.<br />
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We headed back to the hotel for breakfast,<br />
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and a stroll. At 9:00 the heat was already stifling,<br />
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so we headed upstairs for a snooze before our train back to Delhi.<br />
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Our tour of the Golden Triangle was nearly complete.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com133tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-84611040507844907262011-07-08T07:00:00.010-04:002011-07-08T07:00:00.548-04:00The Grand Tour: JaipurDespite our apprehensions about traveling second class on an Indian train (first class was sold out, apparently one has to book these things in advance), our trip to Jaipur was quite comfortable and relaxing. We took a snooze on our berths, took advantage of the chai wallah's sweet, steaming offerings and stared out the window for ages, taking in the dry, dusty landscape, which was stunningly punctuated by brilliant bits of vivid color in the form of saris and marigold garlands.<br />
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We arrived in Jaipur after dark, and were met on the train platform by Ajay, the man who would be our driver during our stay. Dhruv, appalled that we had not called him to sort out a driver in Delhi, insisted that we have one in Jaipur and we were glad to be bullied into it.<br />
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Ajay took us to the <a href="http://www.hoteldiggipalace.com/">Diggi Palace</a>, which would prove to be a welcome, if quirky, refuge from the frenetic city outside. In the dark I could not see much,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadaFrD6vOCGpBtkUVVDwDQy_NNgC1tsdod4gaTuYNcKeMOTyRA7mtw4isj8ZbS44LQGCiI18Ic5xBfP27mb644gcZrNNnHLWMzmwi3pt-zPenbEU6_AojyzL5GvqxQBd4XFVxw_AuZaE/s1600/IMG_3763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadaFrD6vOCGpBtkUVVDwDQy_NNgC1tsdod4gaTuYNcKeMOTyRA7mtw4isj8ZbS44LQGCiI18Ic5xBfP27mb644gcZrNNnHLWMzmwi3pt-zPenbEU6_AojyzL5GvqxQBd4XFVxw_AuZaE/s320/IMG_3763.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
but I could see an expansive courtyard, walls surrounding the little oasis and the welcoming manager, which was more than enough for me. After dinner at the Handi Restaurant in town we fell into our ornate bed and snoozed deeply and happily until morning.<br />
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We awoke to this.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpiDvhPJfRTHg91MOitNgun1ssJ-idxzNCy4aD7EJ67JkQ_ULkUNEEo9hhfG1ewDkhvtpPRoSRBp33q4VMSdHppRTH6vUlW_COielDB7HnNfdWxjTFQoz0TYWsZPg7N0lglpxz41P0l1Q/s1600/IMG_3661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpiDvhPJfRTHg91MOitNgun1ssJ-idxzNCy4aD7EJ67JkQ_ULkUNEEo9hhfG1ewDkhvtpPRoSRBp33q4VMSdHppRTH6vUlW_COielDB7HnNfdWxjTFQoz0TYWsZPg7N0lglpxz41P0l1Q/s320/IMG_3661.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and this<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035J9ijCgcMQYimOCQGBVXWE7fTVOxESOB6rPRXBIch5POTjUWKQJ7zykwy1wSL8eZimm0CmNy8gJzrKyE8UEpHfM2ygCIdIy1UiUV0ktqZIoW9U9fKUltqLJDAt9brHEwr7fh73PL6o/s1600/IMG_3665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035J9ijCgcMQYimOCQGBVXWE7fTVOxESOB6rPRXBIch5POTjUWKQJ7zykwy1wSL8eZimm0CmNy8gJzrKyE8UEpHfM2ygCIdIy1UiUV0ktqZIoW9U9fKUltqLJDAt9brHEwr7fh73PL6o/s320/IMG_3665.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and this.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoM78z-wP03lv-Z-GfsmzCm1LvUJ9oWgIG397UgUXvU52TtYHAV6jyMz5PkdCqqxjIipMIx2lk1xvjeyRkTutYd9YlNETmip6aJQmfCczxqCsTFur9gkJli1mWGimp9cWWSJfx7w7mjC0/s1600/IMG_3664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoM78z-wP03lv-Z-GfsmzCm1LvUJ9oWgIG397UgUXvU52TtYHAV6jyMz5PkdCqqxjIipMIx2lk1xvjeyRkTutYd9YlNETmip6aJQmfCczxqCsTFur9gkJli1mWGimp9cWWSJfx7w7mjC0/s320/IMG_3664.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We loved the Diggi, and loved it even more so after a delicious breakfast in the courtyard spent musing over our experience thus far. Paul: Where are all of the snake charmers? Isn't India supposed to be full of snake charmers? Me: Oh babes, don't be ridiculous, that's just in the movies.<br />
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Presently, Ajay arrived to take us to see the sights. First up was the Amber Fort, in the town of Amber, just outside of Jaipur.<br />
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We drove up mountains,<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReh15mrDUmezPhiMN0QP-tXz7zptbrgR_2Q_8Sg301nCK7aiYBWAbFWHEoMd_GF8g4tK1jWoWR9kzHPK4ldkX20G5C-KxYxB5a-irSl49SZc-MNEeb_5MVsYkFXh_tqzcflHC1gYxgt8/s1600/IMG_3686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReh15mrDUmezPhiMN0QP-tXz7zptbrgR_2Q_8Sg301nCK7aiYBWAbFWHEoMd_GF8g4tK1jWoWR9kzHPK4ldkX20G5C-KxYxB5a-irSl49SZc-MNEeb_5MVsYkFXh_tqzcflHC1gYxgt8/s320/IMG_3686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
passed hauntingly beautiful ruins,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfQg9m16fZVPexviqnvw3UtVqlKi6evb9EE3_RT3q2ba8duF4LSGfKnXTrqU139GBRhToxjlWwTb_qzbr1RrSXQ812eTGbi4vqNlxgn9ch-8DJXvUaCPSpEv9B2I0gu4Hv5qqBDG_ojDo/s1600/IMG_3687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfQg9m16fZVPexviqnvw3UtVqlKi6evb9EE3_RT3q2ba8duF4LSGfKnXTrqU139GBRhToxjlWwTb_qzbr1RrSXQ812eTGbi4vqNlxgn9ch-8DJXvUaCPSpEv9B2I0gu4Hv5qqBDG_ojDo/s320/IMG_3687.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
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a smattering of wildlife,<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMcJjUZAiMv1uBt6CLQCSfVmd95NrxhL8IIxGnivEEP4ZcMKu81c3ze8DyzWLLX3lwvQLcsqJOHw8KOCF9aRfT4yc_uaRqTguPv9p4cFXl-D28FJc8h_YTgsMwxG9u9sOpGgdAPn3LsM/s1600/IMG_3672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMcJjUZAiMv1uBt6CLQCSfVmd95NrxhL8IIxGnivEEP4ZcMKu81c3ze8DyzWLLX3lwvQLcsqJOHw8KOCF9aRfT4yc_uaRqTguPv9p4cFXl-D28FJc8h_YTgsMwxG9u9sOpGgdAPn3LsM/s320/IMG_3672.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><br />
(tragically we didn't get a photo of the magnificent elephant with a mosaic pattern painted on its forehead which we came upon after a hairpin turn)<br />
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and drove through the town of Amber<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyujdb7qx9fzkYK3ZZV5e5UUPxsZ4Y_FTfvAWWnc72zdEYGlxBtLdGcRZr0No11nOF_uJE7TlXDCjbi_qmZCK_2TTVQIfDq3MQo5CinpG0h9d_OaZVoNpTQHVIMrOQ_63vyyR6xZ5Ffsk/s1600/IMG_3670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyujdb7qx9fzkYK3ZZV5e5UUPxsZ4Y_FTfvAWWnc72zdEYGlxBtLdGcRZr0No11nOF_uJE7TlXDCjbi_qmZCK_2TTVQIfDq3MQo5CinpG0h9d_OaZVoNpTQHVIMrOQ_63vyyR6xZ5Ffsk/s320/IMG_3670.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>before coming upon the glorious Amber Fort.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTIY2W9CXX0ffLQbs1RfWJnSzz8dmf-bPQKTCvogF5kx4wPSTBzyLmjJv_1GhLj8h-DCQpD5UHUQW3NzY_tgwIUKehga1IDw_enNmHVWy9XrJl5dPpkVxtNScqw7jI-_uRP1j6sXtvvY/s1600/IMG_3705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTIY2W9CXX0ffLQbs1RfWJnSzz8dmf-bPQKTCvogF5kx4wPSTBzyLmjJv_1GhLj8h-DCQpD5UHUQW3NzY_tgwIUKehga1IDw_enNmHVWy9XrJl5dPpkVxtNScqw7jI-_uRP1j6sXtvvY/s320/IMG_3705.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><br />
We were approached by a tour guide, whose services we reluctantly accepted, half expecting a cursory tour for an inflated price. But we needn't have worried. The man was an exceptional guide (or at least an exceptional story teller) and a lovely person to boot.<br />
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He took us in<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYorrINAah9LBbVZ0S7RD3LMvNDOKA7yG0zFLNiwJrY9pAIJatVE8HW2p6QOwU7IOd2YsutrTwErj7RxWgRE6OFu8XsWrD0lXk2hJXtoySyZ3kTtC3623JZ_bBRJWhqqwOj82XI-7GEY/s1600/IMG_3674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYorrINAah9LBbVZ0S7RD3LMvNDOKA7yG0zFLNiwJrY9pAIJatVE8HW2p6QOwU7IOd2YsutrTwErj7RxWgRE6OFu8XsWrD0lXk2hJXtoySyZ3kTtC3623JZ_bBRJWhqqwOj82XI-7GEY/s320/IMG_3674.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and presently took us to the most magnificent palace within a place.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7mHrH2m9eiLoW7DFCPvJ0pjElm70RlC3hxW0dJoSaPGdy0TFCVaEsIIS-wuvj195wPsO8o81OQOfNx_GgU2ZN0qFl3FEKPQIN12VFtJwT1m20UrDWsxvvUrVHYTlfcuO2NmorB23pYo/s1600/IMG_3676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7mHrH2m9eiLoW7DFCPvJ0pjElm70RlC3hxW0dJoSaPGdy0TFCVaEsIIS-wuvj195wPsO8o81OQOfNx_GgU2ZN0qFl3FEKPQIN12VFtJwT1m20UrDWsxvvUrVHYTlfcuO2NmorB23pYo/s320/IMG_3676.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Once through that we came upon the Mirror Palace. As one might expect, the whole place was inlaid with mirrors, which we were told make the whole place sparkle in the evening when candles are lit within. I would kill to see such a scene one day.<br />
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Overcome by the incredible room, Paul and I were so distracted that we acquiesced to a classic tourist shot. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we moved further through the fort, we learned more about the family that lived in it. The more ostentatious part had been built by the <i>nouveau</i> son, the older part by his powerful father. The father seemed more concerned with providing accommodations for his wives (you'll notice from the vantage point below he could survey each of their rooms...funnily enough the wives couldn't go between each other's rooms, the only way in to each accommodation was from above, so the king could see them whenever he wanted) than with ornate decor.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllTTiQ1DmyJXo1dokQ_Re7a5MPEzNVeeTkPHcr6FSDeCGAEVeJjiNF_e9AvIblzD7QrRHgxo5nrW1A5f8oZiUnrltB2sY-N_JaGaP_QYqAuTW6cixvp_38lS9Jl9zclRghKaJsBeiK9c/s1600/IMG_3694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllTTiQ1DmyJXo1dokQ_Re7a5MPEzNVeeTkPHcr6FSDeCGAEVeJjiNF_e9AvIblzD7QrRHgxo5nrW1A5f8oZiUnrltB2sY-N_JaGaP_QYqAuTW6cixvp_38lS9Jl9zclRghKaJsBeiK9c/s320/IMG_3694.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Ironically a blind dating show was being filmed in the very courtyard the wives used to inhabit!<br />
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After a quick refreshment in the cafe, we stumbled upon these fine fellows on the way out.<br />
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Snake charmers indeed. Paul is still upset with himself for not buying the instrument the guy on the left is playing.<br />
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We took a quick spin through the Jaigarh Fort just up the hill from the Amber Fort. Far more minimalist,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4piGoaISn1IQBbT-hqBW7wEmJWvYKe394STYmng2yCFFFJLr0Y_F05Yibd_GrGjqfmiXF2QVBSzQTTL85hIBDp8xehYVXoe9serJfTsegx5lI12Ts60RLmyW4VxfyWTBUOWXivWA_tg/s1600/IMG_3713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4piGoaISn1IQBbT-hqBW7wEmJWvYKe394STYmng2yCFFFJLr0Y_F05Yibd_GrGjqfmiXF2QVBSzQTTL85hIBDp8xehYVXoe9serJfTsegx5lI12Ts60RLmyW4VxfyWTBUOWXivWA_tg/s320/IMG_3713.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
there was something about its rugged, simple vibe that I really enjoyed.<br />
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And the garden clinched it for me. Who could resist this much greenery in the middle of a desert? <br />
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Apparently loads of Bollywood films are shot in this garden, and really I can't blame them. There's something terribly romantic about those mango trees.<br />
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But enough culture for one day, it was high time for a cocktail. We headed to the Rambagh Palace for some true luxury.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXQ-EeWdArs1ftSe47Zf6VHl0MZ2hrWHYt_C7HIZ5tDdvu6SiJz-Ns1eBghz9QLPCCP-l_uqy9od77kYf9cQUmnXl2sl3AUxGCgPOh9QCRgGtyOt7wAUe_MK6QuxS2QqUMTL1uJFLjNU/s1600/IMG_3739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXQ-EeWdArs1ftSe47Zf6VHl0MZ2hrWHYt_C7HIZ5tDdvu6SiJz-Ns1eBghz9QLPCCP-l_uqy9od77kYf9cQUmnXl2sl3AUxGCgPOh9QCRgGtyOt7wAUe_MK6QuxS2QqUMTL1uJFLjNU/s320/IMG_3739.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Sitting out on the terrace overlooking the grounds, I couldn't help but feel a bit royal. I asked Paul, what do you think it would have been like to be a colonial English person back in the day here? <br />
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Gazing over the perfectly manicured lawn with a cool drink in hand, he replied "it would have been amazing".<br />
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We had actually considered staying at the Rambagh, but our friends in Delhi had, upon hearing that we would be at the Diggi, exclaimed "oh fucking lovely! Such a vibe, man!" Me: "We were thinking of maybe the Rambagh?" "No! Yes, it's luxurious, but it's all about the Diggi." Given that the Rambagh costs about five times what the Diggi does I was all too happy to follow their advice. And when I came across this scene in front of the hotel, I have to admit I was glad that we did.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1pgqz_kLBQzejhlGKFBdwzfdmBf6Zqfd82hs8KrnXc0K5JWwnSRunFzMggLsOXChdKmuU5FyuUvuUh5vLoNGSizLk6WbV-Oa_S-3ra9_uu8RFXM6tAPkJdsAUavznx2Ik-uulX1lKts/s1600/IMG_3755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1pgqz_kLBQzejhlGKFBdwzfdmBf6Zqfd82hs8KrnXc0K5JWwnSRunFzMggLsOXChdKmuU5FyuUvuUh5vLoNGSizLk6WbV-Oa_S-3ra9_uu8RFXM6tAPkJdsAUavznx2Ik-uulX1lKts/s320/IMG_3755.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Waiting for Ajay to pull the car around, we heard a thunderous roar of a crowd. Turns out the cricket grounds were just across the street, and the famous Rajasthan Royals were playing that night. A true sports fan, Paul immediately suggested we head over to check it out. There was a bit of miscommunication at the front gate...we asked where to go to buy tickets, but instead got waved around to the VIP section. Despite our lack of passes we made it into VIP parking.<br />
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Paul, who is quite skilled at talking his way into places, was drawn to the challenge. After all, he reasoned, he'd talked his way into concerts in New York for which he didn't have a ticket (nevermind that he knows a few people in the music business and absolutely no one in the cricket business). <br />
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After five minutes of name dropping at the entry gate, he was politely but firmly rebuffed. Alas there would be no cricket for us that night. A pity, because the energy was absolutely electric.<br />
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We headed back to the Diggi to relax. We were so relaxed, in fact, that our plans to hit the Oberoi for dinner were scrapped in favor of dinner under the stars in the Diggi's courtyard. The food was fabulous, and we discovered Kingfisher Blue, a delicious variety of beer that we would seek out in vain for the rest of the trip.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After watching an amusing display by a british couple next to us who were busy spreading out loads of textiles that they had bought that day on the lawn, trying to decide which would look best in their house in Essex (I admit they all looked the same to me), we turned in. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next day was a big one, as we would be traveling to Agra to see the famed Taj Mahal.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-55592067669290615422011-07-07T07:00:00.182-04:002011-07-07T07:00:01.452-04:00The Grand Tour: Delhi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">BAM! <br />
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That is pretty much how Delhi greets you. The place hits you from all sides, in all of your senses, over and over and over again.<br />
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Rickshaws....the very definition of sensory overload. <br />
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We found them thrilling, but probably because we didn't think too hard about what would have happened had things not gone exactly right on those one way streets we were driving the wrong way on.<br />
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Mopeds...the men always seemed to get the helmets, the women added color to the whole operation.<br />
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</div><div>Bicycles...not one of them was without a precarious load.</div><br />
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</div>Vehicles...they all would put the occupants of American carpool lanes to shame.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOj0Li8es1Luc9wl5qfEN4mbGeW_CFyY87BlcskZXKpwdvoZVgd2dhwyNQgzM-ugBmk8IlHBXO5Z0LYZiGCMe2LqUTEzBSRSCHSAoexS0k7Y8K2FR5lqe8THLd5Nb36EpJpq6Zfs1ek1o/s1600/IMG_3627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOj0Li8es1Luc9wl5qfEN4mbGeW_CFyY87BlcskZXKpwdvoZVgd2dhwyNQgzM-ugBmk8IlHBXO5Z0LYZiGCMe2LqUTEzBSRSCHSAoexS0k7Y8K2FR5lqe8THLd5Nb36EpJpq6Zfs1ek1o/s320/IMG_3627.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Animals...finding the oddest places to be comfortable.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And people, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSC9N5JjrY20-doa5bShoUHPngyGjaBfNO_vfyKfKRQs5bTYtj5SC267QwO_o6OuaCMj2c11cdYNmrza6ApbU07nSu0K0qd7i4mxMFZEL1usTp-X_xy-5ieaQCtkyagW3FkAYMZd2Gko/s1600/IMG_3580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSC9N5JjrY20-doa5bShoUHPngyGjaBfNO_vfyKfKRQs5bTYtj5SC267QwO_o6OuaCMj2c11cdYNmrza6ApbU07nSu0K0qd7i4mxMFZEL1usTp-X_xy-5ieaQCtkyagW3FkAYMZd2Gko/s320/IMG_3580.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
people, everywhere.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mnQWmfBD5Q-gcV5OJj8jWjCkpfOxUPUJtz6YPKniDArBvZp5ykwARQebfKZUdPu-tjcer3jHjy7xBo-EGjg6I9dvCx6yZnDEikk2sqfCOqzhpUBcwK6mcMcpWFzJpi-Gf5WLAz3uNLs/s1600/IMG_3596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mnQWmfBD5Q-gcV5OJj8jWjCkpfOxUPUJtz6YPKniDArBvZp5ykwARQebfKZUdPu-tjcer3jHjy7xBo-EGjg6I9dvCx6yZnDEikk2sqfCOqzhpUBcwK6mcMcpWFzJpi-Gf5WLAz3uNLs/s320/IMG_3596.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
After a moment spent getting our bearings, we asked a rickshaw to take us to Karim's Hotel, a restaurant (not, I think, a hotel) that just about any publication you look to will tell you is not to be missed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitaV8dH25pxMWXUKv3z0ESmT2U5k6UHs5x5Ie5eQ6bUEKURgSUwZD_U9GvxUGn7fuTpWQVtj0RN5BDQQVdDJ-44cn76lvMSPasJqpCWsNxMOTNJXMfJzxL5ClpafSINXtqcGah-VG3O_M/s1600/IMG_3586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitaV8dH25pxMWXUKv3z0ESmT2U5k6UHs5x5Ie5eQ6bUEKURgSUwZD_U9GvxUGn7fuTpWQVtj0RN5BDQQVdDJ-44cn76lvMSPasJqpCWsNxMOTNJXMfJzxL5ClpafSINXtqcGah-VG3O_M/s320/IMG_3586.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And it is not. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHf-xiUYIlz_5wfGQZWBxPtVqC_98818yuFuhGPIA1MxSJaDzcoQe_axDkYc-5GzWWVvSIZu0Zl3F0BdHh_IxkNIpyvC4aamsEHTwluJPDQwoFRVpcYk4Q19WkQyEusqTSlfq-IP7xTdQ/s1600/IMG_3585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHf-xiUYIlz_5wfGQZWBxPtVqC_98818yuFuhGPIA1MxSJaDzcoQe_axDkYc-5GzWWVvSIZu0Zl3F0BdHh_IxkNIpyvC4aamsEHTwluJPDQwoFRVpcYk4Q19WkQyEusqTSlfq-IP7xTdQ/s320/IMG_3585.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Upstairs on the mezzanine, Paul and I contentedly drank our cold sodas and devoured our redolent, restorative food. We at that moment felt, for the first time during the trip, that we were really in truly in India, and it was just as we hoped it would be. <br />
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Suitably fortified, we decided to take a stroll around Old Delhi. Although perhaps not as picturesque an experience as we had anticipated (it turns out that, contrary to just about every other city I've visited, the old part of Delhi is not, in fact, really where you want to be) it was fascinating nonetheless. Everyone's an entrepreneur! We saw bookbinders, car engine refurbishers, butchers,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2bQdiDJImDiVm6F7kb4KeGUrIjsDrDj3pQC3aQ-svYMOiAqifiy1Hf5TsQZKVB7rFOymOXGKsi3WnDg0n9afWJoSFANPqp1HIvv8OvqUG1wD5kW69WyGbFmqmMA7fvA7Ingsr5UM6i0/s1600/IMG_3592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2bQdiDJImDiVm6F7kb4KeGUrIjsDrDj3pQC3aQ-svYMOiAqifiy1Hf5TsQZKVB7rFOymOXGKsi3WnDg0n9afWJoSFANPqp1HIvv8OvqUG1wD5kW69WyGbFmqmMA7fvA7Ingsr5UM6i0/s320/IMG_3592.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
poultry raisers,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaKZ8VbI6t-TotE5E185M8c4WEQ8ky2H_ZBpcCOa1WvUjOOlgtaBKDKLXMnZK0_Yzle16EF5ogPsU9eXWoQIXx8TYEvbJ6-ShB7VSFZvKDgF5XaEO882rxRcMNVn_9GAZwyNjfwTueAU/s1600/IMG_3578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaKZ8VbI6t-TotE5E185M8c4WEQ8ky2H_ZBpcCOa1WvUjOOlgtaBKDKLXMnZK0_Yzle16EF5ogPsU9eXWoQIXx8TYEvbJ6-ShB7VSFZvKDgF5XaEO882rxRcMNVn_9GAZwyNjfwTueAU/s320/IMG_3578.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>toastmakers (?)</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaQPDgyD3dfIph0x-uXy-OOK87pwaIFyGr1guQmP5ECpeTbOkAeMSS9hyhpkHoviSl12vd3fAH5HQCfSvfviiTiT3h7lKJqVMt37bQA5SICedVdQcCfEawncwPnvdu3jo8dXER8N3jos/s1600/IMG_3599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaQPDgyD3dfIph0x-uXy-OOK87pwaIFyGr1guQmP5ECpeTbOkAeMSS9hyhpkHoviSl12vd3fAH5HQCfSvfviiTiT3h7lKJqVMt37bQA5SICedVdQcCfEawncwPnvdu3jo8dXER8N3jos/s320/IMG_3599.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
and others literally every place we looked. You can't help but be inspired by the ingenuity and initiative that the community collectively represents. Is this what America was like 100 years ago I wonder?<br />
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The rest of the afternoon was spent sightseeing, first the Red Mosque which, although we were made to view it barefoot and draped in mumus, was quite impressive.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVE6f0bdeTJG6xRMl414k30PKL6j6MxzXwccqlQkUwrwO80C83b1YvsJvsam3bCfKoAS-_l4s2XKht-RimxysZAkbskzCrFZD577rByeLxRiJugSiP8R8VlNZJnmJo5nGYlOgKjbh1_iY/s1600/IMG_3605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVE6f0bdeTJG6xRMl414k30PKL6j6MxzXwccqlQkUwrwO80C83b1YvsJvsam3bCfKoAS-_l4s2XKht-RimxysZAkbskzCrFZD577rByeLxRiJugSiP8R8VlNZJnmJo5nGYlOgKjbh1_iY/s320/IMG_3605.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
It's held up decently well over the last 350 years, no?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pvk__dGvd52SMnDBd5e0C8X24JsQoRNZpThUs-aul8sy6y9OVM3w_W7RwTJr1ysz03kAe0n04Y5OAy7qWTiVsMMKjpH89Lu2-rkxaJ7LngZH4GT-DvYmK1xpU5v3zqIDYqMygKLqSCo/s1600/IMG_3602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pvk__dGvd52SMnDBd5e0C8X24JsQoRNZpThUs-aul8sy6y9OVM3w_W7RwTJr1ysz03kAe0n04Y5OAy7qWTiVsMMKjpH89Lu2-rkxaJ7LngZH4GT-DvYmK1xpU5v3zqIDYqMygKLqSCo/s320/IMG_3602.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then, eager for red tourist site number 2, we headed over to the Red Fort. After walking down a dodgy thruway and taking our lives in our hands by crossing a six lane road at rush hour, we were elated that we'd made it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCuzdCvpEuEl1w4Z-stIlsLbByxsD9Cc-neZGsXIEJNFRdIAiJzQwCAE7JJ6hMn4IvNt3EUPgeukjefqZpZIBPkwzrWkGTLfpd7R2RUlsLDePH2_jOnGkhbCIqb46bGzCEECrqiRcD10/s1600/IMG_3609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCuzdCvpEuEl1w4Z-stIlsLbByxsD9Cc-neZGsXIEJNFRdIAiJzQwCAE7JJ6hMn4IvNt3EUPgeukjefqZpZIBPkwzrWkGTLfpd7R2RUlsLDePH2_jOnGkhbCIqb46bGzCEECrqiRcD10/s320/IMG_3609.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We walked and walked,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNR48NBdsXJ9kFlXQyFZd0dRFxpl9YkGMKF-nOOBLQ16QzPUPtYdulCw11JzAmm_ubQaiTR4u2-ZthQf3X_T5pcvxWV2yaIJqmYQAhbWcQc5CZU21xn-uMuK4Iqe2XSfOrlazxstQ0RkU/s1600/IMG_3612.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNR48NBdsXJ9kFlXQyFZd0dRFxpl9YkGMKF-nOOBLQ16QzPUPtYdulCw11JzAmm_ubQaiTR4u2-ZthQf3X_T5pcvxWV2yaIJqmYQAhbWcQc5CZU21xn-uMuK4Iqe2XSfOrlazxstQ0RkU/s320/IMG_3612.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and finally, after what seemed like hours, found the front gate...just as closing time was upon us. So back to the hotel it was for a quick nap and a shower before dinner out with friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were incredibly lucky to have been introduced to two wonderful guys in the music business in India. Happily, they happened to both be in Delhi at the same time we were and took us out for what would be one of our two best meals of the trip (the other would be the meal they took us to in Mumbai).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These kind gentlemen picked us up at our hotel and ferried us to a place that will live in infamy (in our minds at least)...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVfo67pQy6hzeYEzm1EktoI9qclwYNPr8rJ59HPYzwXpHjCFymht_2HdeJSBpVVtAi0jdxZhiMWJQ0evgsjRfH_4tL44MNSOHmnLp9NcALZYsxRDHL03O-LglJ4bzfFWoMRdXC3qEW_k/s1600/IMG_3616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVfo67pQy6hzeYEzm1EktoI9qclwYNPr8rJ59HPYzwXpHjCFymht_2HdeJSBpVVtAi0jdxZhiMWJQ0evgsjRfH_4tL44MNSOHmnLp9NcALZYsxRDHL03O-LglJ4bzfFWoMRdXC3qEW_k/s320/IMG_3616.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Lazeez Affaire. Oh how I miss your biryani!<br />
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Dhruv and Vijay were our fabulous dinner companions. Young, fun, brilliant entrepreneurs, these guys also happened to be epic orderers. God what a meal.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wBS-PoldQgDG7IjxW0ZUuYDPQhJBXiV1RcqmnljA6SumKmIbM7c9udsi1Xmz9c7oCWIlCiexNNc8P9ZeNhtV1RTnxcue-tlpdEDwmDyaWXgdpi6GD6wBeGYTD-ju6y9mJFt3PhfKQEU/s1600/IMG_3615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wBS-PoldQgDG7IjxW0ZUuYDPQhJBXiV1RcqmnljA6SumKmIbM7c9udsi1Xmz9c7oCWIlCiexNNc8P9ZeNhtV1RTnxcue-tlpdEDwmDyaWXgdpi6GD6wBeGYTD-ju6y9mJFt3PhfKQEU/s320/IMG_3615.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After dinner they drove us through what I can only assume is the Beverly Hills of Delhi. Wide open boulevards, lush vegetation, massive homes which Dhruv assured me go for no less than $60 million (yes, that is dollars, not rupees), I think it is safe to say there is some significant power and wealth concentrated in that city. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After such a fabulous evening Paul and I decided that, assuming we had a driver and hooked up with some locals first thing upon arrival, a return visit to Delhi would definitely be a good time. Sadly, as we had been advised by friends in States to get in and get out of Delhi as quickly as possible, there would be no time this trip to explore the city further, as we were scheduled to go to Jaipur the following day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bright and (sort of) early the next day, we headed to the Old Delhi Train Station (one of many train stations in the city...clearly the influence of the British methinks, given that London has three or four times the number of train stations that New York does).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzicX6g9tMCPu4HLfR9wkfwV31A5wiN0oni_1SExsyG-y3AYIwIHYK_nDEIUlGJj6ktfnILybY5ams1gwIIihaZwDWzqkycn4X_MGW4n_0BblEOx9l9zteNM3WQIOZsY9BBrl2PPIS3yg/s1600/IMG_3632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzicX6g9tMCPu4HLfR9wkfwV31A5wiN0oni_1SExsyG-y3AYIwIHYK_nDEIUlGJj6ktfnILybY5ams1gwIIihaZwDWzqkycn4X_MGW4n_0BblEOx9l9zteNM3WQIOZsY9BBrl2PPIS3yg/s320/IMG_3632.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We were a tad confused about where to go at first,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tejgp20tGtgLfN2TIIxMygmSEV5aPFbQpI1UnXQKpjFzaiFNhe0J0TliljJPfrPKK24NLa5IplQKneLjXtG61TMdr-vgScdu1_o7ZqrkmORDUlsv8FynJTTxkLJXej6gpLEnnAliER4/s1600/IMG_3631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tejgp20tGtgLfN2TIIxMygmSEV5aPFbQpI1UnXQKpjFzaiFNhe0J0TliljJPfrPKK24NLa5IplQKneLjXtG61TMdr-vgScdu1_o7ZqrkmORDUlsv8FynJTTxkLJXej6gpLEnnAliER4/s320/IMG_3631.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
but eventually found our bearings.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihiyy3uAE22vxd5Gpn7VNzra4WDgMIwiFKU95O7Ia7Hiitp3llDoGiBlhvcZ5RK9a5bh3-Mp_x7P_oirCp8VPCfSdTfmvZZfnkowJHZXt0Cx52V6nDBAIuRwDSsQ7VxwzfuCyjR8Sjerk/s1600/IMG_3638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihiyy3uAE22vxd5Gpn7VNzra4WDgMIwiFKU95O7Ia7Hiitp3llDoGiBlhvcZ5RK9a5bh3-Mp_x7P_oirCp8VPCfSdTfmvZZfnkowJHZXt0Cx52V6nDBAIuRwDSsQ7VxwzfuCyjR8Sjerk/s320/IMG_3638.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Delhi was soon behind us.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-24476329628372553022011-07-06T07:00:00.003-04:002011-07-06T07:00:01.146-04:00The Grand Tour: Getting There<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">After a wonderful matrimonial weekend with all of the people we love most in the world, Paul and I were ready to jet to India on a two week honeymoon. After bidding our families goodbye, we headed out to JFK, clutching a wad of wedding gift cash and our carry ons. <br />
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The trip started off marvelously when the kind folks at British Airways upgraded us to business class. After changing our wedding dollars into rupees, Paul and I went to the business class lounge to take advantage of the comfortable chairs, nice buffet and free snacks. I loaded up on said snacks to Paul's great bemusement...tacky perhaps, but who knows when a giant ziploc bag full of crackers and granola bars will come in handy? Piece of evidence number one that I'm turning into my parents I suppose.<br />
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Soon we were happily ensconced on the plane, taking full advantage of our flat beds.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqolj6OJs63oAOEmeXzBRuBYx6QfynIC_NBYxL36x0aZBc-OuGEWF5et9ksWMVd9GYyupckPNVlCV7E5oL0ayxKQitTtThGfhOITzb4Er7ErvAipnWOwJUFpWU7wvh_H0cVqDu4r00fik/s1600/IMG_3550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqolj6OJs63oAOEmeXzBRuBYx6QfynIC_NBYxL36x0aZBc-OuGEWF5et9ksWMVd9GYyupckPNVlCV7E5oL0ayxKQitTtThGfhOITzb4Er7ErvAipnWOwJUFpWU7wvh_H0cVqDu4r00fik/s320/IMG_3550.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>Before we knew it, we were landing in Delhi. Reading our guidebook on the airplane we discovered that it is in fact illegal to bring rupees into the country, so after a moment of total panic we divvied up our cash between hidden pockets in my purse, jacket and Paul's pants. The security guards in the spanking new Indira Gandhi airport didn't seem to care about our contraband and we left with our driver without incident. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Exhausted after the flight, we fell into our bed at the serene <a href="http://www.tablethotels.co.uk/The-Manor-Hotel/New-Delhi-Hotels-India/103614">Manor Hotel</a> and slept through 'til morning.<br />
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Having blown our plan to "get up early and see Delhi" (ha!) by sleeping in, we instead lazed around the hotel...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrdU_Cec6fqhDxIQ0oVo0z3QqgWz0ai7MxvN21tPTiC5T8Rsbm327uAD2937a8jvUJT4DLdZDLNeZa_alcAvDGBJMmdZjF6GLYKT_vVJLhkzgbpA4N72yFNnu-pwaf3Fg0E0mQ4qyJMY/s1600/IMG_3551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrdU_Cec6fqhDxIQ0oVo0z3QqgWz0ai7MxvN21tPTiC5T8Rsbm327uAD2937a8jvUJT4DLdZDLNeZa_alcAvDGBJMmdZjF6GLYKT_vVJLhkzgbpA4N72yFNnu-pwaf3Fg0E0mQ4qyJMY/s320/IMG_3551.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
...took a walk around the genteel Friends Colony neighborhood...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmiB1YBFmL5OzvDrSWU-N9BEzlPBsXcbWOx9QniOugLxYJXL7grJc_k0uTeMrJTS-SLoiFzTEUeIGg4PJLjJlW-Pb5bdUXBFtjRA7kNkjC2hl2yDW7vtjP4bjei3kM-1AVAiuXOi8eWI/s1600/IMG_3554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmiB1YBFmL5OzvDrSWU-N9BEzlPBsXcbWOx9QniOugLxYJXL7grJc_k0uTeMrJTS-SLoiFzTEUeIGg4PJLjJlW-Pb5bdUXBFtjRA7kNkjC2hl2yDW7vtjP4bjei3kM-1AVAiuXOi8eWI/s320/IMG_3554.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
...while heeding some excellent advice...</div><div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ywCY-gCwePEfHJMiBEXqRXh-vcirgJURAnEEKLmEz2UtZF-uqBm_8QDrliqDggsTfAPb7d58Atag2UHM40wzaVDI5vEa3LsWaeLMs5x8N1XwRRC1_5Wa-AilqmC4CN_A-erHpZavbjQ/s1600/IMG_3555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ywCY-gCwePEfHJMiBEXqRXh-vcirgJURAnEEKLmEz2UtZF-uqBm_8QDrliqDggsTfAPb7d58Atag2UHM40wzaVDI5vEa3LsWaeLMs5x8N1XwRRC1_5Wa-AilqmC4CN_A-erHpZavbjQ/s320/IMG_3555.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
...and then returned to eat a breakfast so flavorful and delicious that three months later I still think about it with longing. Paul declared it the best Indian food he'd ever had. The trip was off to a good start.<br />
<br />
After partaking in many glasses of gorgeous fresh fruit juices and basking in the incredible hospitality of the hotel staff, it was time to head into town and check things out. Our chariot awaited.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9siJPRJJ_plL8OWV7PnjqLN2Bnjoa9_Ald9Uo_T4cHIUTnN9AiB_olWIPREnMJ1Os7ua7BoBgT6UB9vCa6IcOgLnCE3jUjCtzcaE6OoQyli_fT8Po0HfQ-Sofkyutim40-et8TKUo-24/s1600/IMG_3556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9siJPRJJ_plL8OWV7PnjqLN2Bnjoa9_Ald9Uo_T4cHIUTnN9AiB_olWIPREnMJ1Os7ua7BoBgT6UB9vCa6IcOgLnCE3jUjCtzcaE6OoQyli_fT8Po0HfQ-Sofkyutim40-et8TKUo-24/s320/IMG_3556.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-64988567528373133502011-07-05T07:00:00.077-04:002011-07-05T07:00:06.646-04:00Back From the Abyss<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Well that was certainly a longer break than I'd expected to take! Getting <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/10/fashion/weddings/10KIRSCHBAUM.html">married</a>, going abroad and then a series of small trips out town completely upset every routine I had (possibly the reason the whole thing has been so fun, everyone needs a break from themselves now and again, no?), blogging included, and it's taken me this long to get back into the grove.<br />
<br />
You are perhaps interested in a few wedding photos? As am I my friend, as am I. But alas, our photographer is still working away on them, so you will have to wait just a bit (I hope) longer to see me and Paul in all our glory (and we were indeed glorious) in front of the altar of Old Saint Patrick's Cathedral.<br />
<br />
But to tide you over, tomorrow I'll start to fill you in on our Indian honeymoon, which, for those in possession of a Y chromosome, is probably the more interesting part anyway.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, a few things I'm borderline obsessed with these days:<br />
<br />
1) My new <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cuisinart-ICE-21-Frozen-Yogurt-Ice-Sorbet/dp/B003KYSLMW?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">ice cream maker</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003KYSLMW" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX16xJJ4Cf9J8vn9J4ZoN0oHYKyCrS2_XKX7K2f1GOgqISmR0zm3VAXpeiMe4xY2GyGQD9nRfOQ7vjFO-5ltvnrk68aHcQWFktdWC3W4htp-LL_GUGH5i9FbmfeKlMPC7mzyFcXi6kgAw/s1600/Cuisinart-ice-cream-maker-460x407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX16xJJ4Cf9J8vn9J4ZoN0oHYKyCrS2_XKX7K2f1GOgqISmR0zm3VAXpeiMe4xY2GyGQD9nRfOQ7vjFO-5ltvnrk68aHcQWFktdWC3W4htp-LL_GUGH5i9FbmfeKlMPC7mzyFcXi6kgAw/s320/Cuisinart-ice-cream-maker-460x407.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
A birthday gift from my parents, it has become my new favorite toy. Small and compact, easy to use, it gives me fabulous frozen treats in less time than it takes to run to the good supermarket in my neighborhood. I'm particularly partial to Darina Allen's recipe for yogurt ice cream, which is a dead ringer (but better and far cheaper...how is this stuff $5 for a small serving!) for the tart frozen yogurts that seem to be taking over Manhattan. 2 cups of yogurt, 3/4 cups of sugar (or to taste) and a teaspoon of vanilla whisked together and thrown in the ice cream maker for 30 minutes is just about the best thing you can hope for on a hot day.<br />
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2) <a href="http://www.toms.com/">TOMS shoes</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rxy_ZS24yYqtURz_1z_BfvDXsJgb_MI2sw1DnoEZSBnZCdGgzId1FsyM3A1M6TPPgWmMnAkCLrFuVlbgmh69Q8kPyfKPdY0ZrgdIF8YCYa5VnStCitShGKn-zbBscZhVi8YIs5dK97o/s1600/TOMS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rxy_ZS24yYqtURz_1z_BfvDXsJgb_MI2sw1DnoEZSBnZCdGgzId1FsyM3A1M6TPPgWmMnAkCLrFuVlbgmh69Q8kPyfKPdY0ZrgdIF8YCYa5VnStCitShGKn-zbBscZhVi8YIs5dK97o/s320/TOMS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I have to admit I always looked at these shoes with a bit of a smirk. I mean it's admirable that for each pair sold a shoeless person somewhere else gets shod, but it was all a little too hippie for me, plus who wants to wear canvas slippers around all day? But in a flurry of buying activity in the few hours between our wedding and our flight to India, I grabbed a couple of pairs in Whole Foods. I needed some comfy shoes for the trip that wouldn't make me too hot but also wouldn't expose my delicate feet to the mean Indian streets, and these were the best thing I could come up with. Turns out there's a reason these things are so popular. Super comfortable! Surprisingly supportive! And not as ugly on the foot as you might think!<br />
<br />
3) Popsicles<br />
<br />
OK, not a newfangled thing I realize, I mean my mom was making these for me and my sister twenty years ago. But they seem to be having a resurgence and I predict they will follow cupcakes and french macarons as the next old/new hip thing. After tasting Fany Gerson's pineapple lime popsicle from a stand on the Highline recently, I cannot wait to get my hands on her <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Paletas-Authentic-Recipes-Mexican-Frescas/dp/1607740354?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">book</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1607740354" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDioLNVerHZ3vaXv8vh_fPsXbdhRZ13sassOT_TbhhG77_fnZVbpyPh47GVy1-XvI0hHDh_6w1X3hiuyWfzS8LiD9oaFkz14TQvsTdL_jpaGX59fnGSSGRfWIUgneW2ySxU1ibj9MdwY/s1600/paletas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDioLNVerHZ3vaXv8vh_fPsXbdhRZ13sassOT_TbhhG77_fnZVbpyPh47GVy1-XvI0hHDh_6w1X3hiuyWfzS8LiD9oaFkz14TQvsTdL_jpaGX59fnGSSGRfWIUgneW2ySxU1ibj9MdwY/s320/paletas.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br />
Anyone know of a good popsicle mold I could buy? Or maybe the recipes would work as sorbet if I dumped them in my trusty Cuisinart?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-57669802941981226822011-03-06T22:49:00.000-05:002011-03-06T22:49:42.148-05:00I Am Still AliveContrary to what you might think given the paucity of posts lately, I have not in fact perished, nor have I become suddenly incapacitated. Rather, I've been taken unawares by how much of a time suck wedding and honeymoon planning can be. I've spent quite a lot of time mocking those brides-to-be who run around like chickens with their heads cut off attending to the minutiae of the big day, but I have to admit, as simple and low key as our wedding is going to be, getting it together is still a stunning amount of work. Ideas for posts come into my head, but by the time I have a minute to sit down the idea has left me and I am face to face with a blank screen. And lately my cooking has consisted mainly of bought rotisserie chickens from Whole Foods and some variation on the cream/ham/pea/pasta classic (occasionally adapted to accommodate the contents of my freezer...edamame is quite a nice stand in for the peas) so I have no particular culinary inspiration to share. Hence the great silence.<br />
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I won't pretend that I'm coming to you today with anything ground breaking, but there are a few things I've been enjoying lately that perhaps bear mention:<br />
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<i>Internet Wandering</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Do you know <a href="http://www.svpply.com/">Svpply</a>? If, like me, you enjoy vicarious shopping, this website is your dream come true. Various users tag items that they like, providing a glimpse into the tastes of those with more taste (or perhaps more time) than I. Those users with whom you feel a particular kinship can be "followed", like a chic version of twitter. Through this borderline stalking behavior I've developed an unhealthy obsession with the following fantastic yet superfluous items:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoikeVP3mP_iIrfNRi_XfHzF8KTREOI7Kv2JF07QYOC_J6HmHBEczurAcYisZ_I_FfZVhOO5Zc6k89CmihVGgX_IVstDWa8KvwuWSQhVVxLmwwPm_hbLBdh_1X64LGB12F80NizIg__KE/s1600/287240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoikeVP3mP_iIrfNRi_XfHzF8KTREOI7Kv2JF07QYOC_J6HmHBEczurAcYisZ_I_FfZVhOO5Zc6k89CmihVGgX_IVstDWa8KvwuWSQhVVxLmwwPm_hbLBdh_1X64LGB12F80NizIg__KE/s320/287240.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3nUqlHEB1cAG7xl7LXMWJs5O8GqTtDCOyrpG5puSwOan5X4fO2ZSRvPSwfSAMo2a8MJLtR_BcVx1UcJGi7phR4syfoyMQQcWY5pkYXHaWTkggolVXg4rI_7kwyXhePijEc9MCaek2i8/s1600/105766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3nUqlHEB1cAG7xl7LXMWJs5O8GqTtDCOyrpG5puSwOan5X4fO2ZSRvPSwfSAMo2a8MJLtR_BcVx1UcJGi7phR4syfoyMQQcWY5pkYXHaWTkggolVXg4rI_7kwyXhePijEc9MCaek2i8/s1600/105766.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN-1Kcsj3SVXm3IwjW_A8vI02OGNYGNFZwUg3-ewSMatpcSGBg82jyP9AzcipphnJDGVcYhp3VWH9rF5tu87TmBh6dAVGzvsfZ9_fiLfFgYiOzcKoNM6ocJEiWvbzmm_Msihq-8soKhgo/s1600/294547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN-1Kcsj3SVXm3IwjW_A8vI02OGNYGNFZwUg3-ewSMatpcSGBg82jyP9AzcipphnJDGVcYhp3VWH9rF5tu87TmBh6dAVGzvsfZ9_fiLfFgYiOzcKoNM6ocJEiWvbzmm_Msihq-8soKhgo/s1600/294547.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHuw3RnfJujtdF5sJ3XEnoytJfEh0BR9rqpxZfNO5XdoOx89h01gBVtzH6piR6kPpdKiMzZKTZCa_gUn_Ik0ylHkyRZe5JuJISLtdxDCJC5KBxXDKOq6kfhCcxD9ButVc3ZlNXEixIu4/s1600/327805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHuw3RnfJujtdF5sJ3XEnoytJfEh0BR9rqpxZfNO5XdoOx89h01gBVtzH6piR6kPpdKiMzZKTZCa_gUn_Ik0ylHkyRZe5JuJISLtdxDCJC5KBxXDKOq6kfhCcxD9ButVc3ZlNXEixIu4/s1600/327805.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTfupI24-4b0Tl2r_8pSV95gXMF5EMfB6Ia3dwcQ-C65_21pHz8W8dnorZ9tcuS-TuHo6M8SF2gFsXVpeE9HFUezLqhGjVqarnBqVb37_LaLYAtwycpnM8Xq3jU7UQV4nYtoQYxyh-xA/s1600/328394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTfupI24-4b0Tl2r_8pSV95gXMF5EMfB6Ia3dwcQ-C65_21pHz8W8dnorZ9tcuS-TuHo6M8SF2gFsXVpeE9HFUezLqhGjVqarnBqVb37_LaLYAtwycpnM8Xq3jU7UQV4nYtoQYxyh-xA/s1600/328394.jpg" /></a></div><br />
From the looks of it, I'm in the mood to sit down in the sun and enjoy a little romance.<br />
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<i>OK, I Am Cooking Just a Little</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
I'm working out these days, consistently, for the first time in ages, and am making an effort to match my eating habits with my new regime. So no cookies, no pastries, but I have to have a little something sweet. So I've been snacking on Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Breakfast Cheesecake, a lovely cake made of oh so healthy cottage cheese. Mix 650 g cottage cheese (or cream cheese, goat cheese, or whatever you fancy at the moment) with 75g unsalted butter, 3 tablespoons of semolina or wholemeal flour, a pinch of salt, 100g sugar, 2 eggs, zest of 2 oranges, 1 tablespoon orange juice, 3 tablespoons of raisins and combine. Bake in a springform pan at 330 degrees for 25 minutes, or until reasonably set, and voila, a gorgeous, not terrible for you snack.<br />
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<i>And I Am Eating Out Quite a Bit</i><br />
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</i><br />
A new crush...I'm always enamored with dark restaurants with lots of wood and good prices. Bocca di Bacco has got all of those in spades.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfL__Oa9OfrWQz7ebp9yhcZXNu3LebnM4f9o733HMWUx1r2FueZ3GhdK2-47CVaX8-Szs5wMesA8IicLEfxadl8_MQCfGQU8v2ulsAPrP5_yzSdWKpg2ch58eHMOtIayhZM_CujsreN74/s1600/buca+di+baco+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfL__Oa9OfrWQz7ebp9yhcZXNu3LebnM4f9o733HMWUx1r2FueZ3GhdK2-47CVaX8-Szs5wMesA8IicLEfxadl8_MQCfGQU8v2ulsAPrP5_yzSdWKpg2ch58eHMOtIayhZM_CujsreN74/s320/buca+di+baco+room.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
After a mirth filled dinner there with some of my favorite people the other night I'm sold. Too bad it's in midtown. But then again no one's perfect.<br />
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Revisiting an Old Favorite...back in the day when Paul used to work in Soho, we and the posse of the day spent half of our time at the bar Toad Hall chowing down on those lovely bowls of party mix and quaffing beers, and the other half at Lucky Strike right next door. Opened in 1989, it was an early addition to Keith McNally's retro french bistro empire, and it has stood up to the ravages of time quite well.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJfc8g4uOyI2rCp30bsgUL0pv81LihwadKFPXz0G6lOUDsWfYgax6uOKyf6C3iKg0uuBwOV-tb_aAEyHRXJ6_yrgMjiMlqmTu2bFB-9Ae44k-BiBp0CHORHp6KDvVGMKEDsQBQLdNaNoo/s1600/12070472_9584794e46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJfc8g4uOyI2rCp30bsgUL0pv81LihwadKFPXz0G6lOUDsWfYgax6uOKyf6C3iKg0uuBwOV-tb_aAEyHRXJ6_yrgMjiMlqmTu2bFB-9Ae44k-BiBp0CHORHp6KDvVGMKEDsQBQLdNaNoo/s320/12070472_9584794e46.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had nearly forgotten about the old dear until Saturday evening, when I attended a birthday dinner there, but oh how happy I was to be reintroduced. Festive without being obnoxious, warm, comfortable, good but reasonable food (I mean where else can a girl get a steak with roquefort butter for $18?), it's everything you want in an evening out. I promise, dearly Lucky Strike, not to be a stranger anymore.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-77937396012737243302011-02-16T22:25:00.000-05:002011-02-16T22:25:05.469-05:00The Great FunkTalk to just about anyone in New York at this time of year, and they'll tell you that they're sick of everything. Three months of cold and snow will get a person down. In fact, this is probably about the only time of year when 9 out of 10 New Yorkers will tell you that they would happily move to L.A.<br />
<br />
I am not immune to the great funk, I admit. As much as I rhapsodize about the seasons, the end of winter is not my favorite time of year. I drag myself around, living my life, going through the motions, but by the end of the day I have very little interest in much of anything but the TV and the couch. And when Paul is out of town, as he is now, that tendency is only amplified.<br />
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Sadly, this means that food becomes a bit of an afterthought. For all of the talk one hears of wonderful winter braises, I have no interest in initiating such an undertaking these days. But at the same time, takeout somehow only makes things more pathetic, so some sort of a compromise is called for, and that compromise is miso soup.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLCO4zb2Z17vpV3FhnhEG4TFkPtgYhc9OyWoytHJMPyYHMLDZw5wim2mnFmonlImpeA4pEvo1Ixd_G6U5_rVuKYQIHpge8FrFyw1R5pIJdVqpg2dwYeuK9cQfLsY2rCYQgspPiRDx23Q/s1600/IMG_6571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLCO4zb2Z17vpV3FhnhEG4TFkPtgYhc9OyWoytHJMPyYHMLDZw5wim2mnFmonlImpeA4pEvo1Ixd_G6U5_rVuKYQIHpge8FrFyw1R5pIJdVqpg2dwYeuK9cQfLsY2rCYQgspPiRDx23Q/s320/IMG_6571.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It requires so little effort I'm not even sure it could be called cooking, but I enjoy it immensely just the same. Just boil a couple of cups of water, add a tablespoon or two of miso paste (the amount varies wildly depending on the miso you use, taste as you go), perhaps some soy sauce if, like me, you ended up with some organic miso that has almost no salt (rookie mistake, obviously) and you have your base. Throw in whatever you've got in your refrigerator next. Chicken, tofu, mushrooms, I absolutely must have some sort of leafy green...and then, most importantly, the noodles. I find it critical to have those crinkly, guilty pleasure ramen type noodles, but this is a highly personal decision, so I leave it to your own good judgment to choose your carb.<br />
<br />
And then, after no more than five minutes of effort, I once again sink into the couch, in front of the TV, with a steaming bowl of goodness, contently waiting out the cold.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-30393898031430384312011-02-13T09:03:00.134-05:002011-02-13T09:03:00.532-05:00RevelationsAfter weeks of spending most of my energy working and trying to avoid the cold, yesterday, which I spent out and about since the weather had relented a bit, felt like a reawakening.<br />
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After my customary poached egg and toast with a steaming mug of PG Tips in the morning and a lazy perusal of the newspapers, I was off to try a new exercise studio on the upper east side. Now over the years I've given just about every yuppie workout regime in the city at least a cursory try (save for spinning, it scares me just a tad) so I can say with some level of authority that <a href="http://www.refinemethod.com/">The Refine Method</a>, aka my new find, is one of the best, if not the best, exercise options in New York for the spandex-clad, body conscious set.<br />
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After an hour class, I was completely worked out...strength, cardio, the perfect level of sweat and fatigue. And I love love love the teacher/owner. Hilarious, quick and absolutely no bs, exactly my kind of girl. She's so great I don't even hate her for her incredible New York City Ballet body. <br />
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And upon reading her <a href="http://www.refinemethod.com/blog/">blog</a> I am even more obsessed with her. She has done her research, let me tell you! Read about how crunches screw up your back, how the idea that stretching after working out makes your muscles long and lean is ridiculous (obviously, now that I think about it) and how "dancer" workouts will never get you to Natalie Portman in the Black Swan. And somehow I even love that the studio is on an out of the way street in the basement of a church. Basic, no frills, exactly how exercise should be. And happily, the no frills aspect is reflected in the pricing. Also as it should be (but rarely is).<br />
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After class, on a wave of endorphins, I floated over to <a href="http://whatilikenyc.blogspot.com/2008/10/superlative-cappucino.html">Via Quadrono</a> on 74th and Madison for a quick cappucino. I have to admit, as much as I used to adore this place, I had abandoned it of late. The wait for the tables became too long, the prices too high, and the other coffee options in this city have become so great, but I was in the good mood and figured I'd give it a shot. Happily, there was a space at the oh-so-Italian bar to stand and drink, so that is what I did.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzukDaQMeIQZTv0n2ifdWrSiKs7Dej3SI2IgKNIowYaF8VHCMo-PgWtTC8wbUzPXcED4omwzGKu05D1JE7Ml2FYXbW0XUAGreRbgevL5ZNRcgMmfFSgW1D_7KosVDL8eMurwwEmCFm2Hk/s1600/IMG00063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzukDaQMeIQZTv0n2ifdWrSiKs7Dej3SI2IgKNIowYaF8VHCMo-PgWtTC8wbUzPXcED4omwzGKu05D1JE7Ml2FYXbW0XUAGreRbgevL5ZNRcgMmfFSgW1D_7KosVDL8eMurwwEmCFm2Hk/s320/IMG00063.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I may have had a cookie or two as well...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTA2HWv5Wc56kO5o9UlvZnSm74G3p1yO7QcP4IrZSlq8wB_GNOAvqKohCmgQmUQTIUnMO_Sf0uN8qYyhxuGTYkt_oxb4j-QHwjTyW5elJvhM0OwQe213dlp4yHuvsSLF2djr8rLhc0SHw/s1600/IMG00061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTA2HWv5Wc56kO5o9UlvZnSm74G3p1yO7QcP4IrZSlq8wB_GNOAvqKohCmgQmUQTIUnMO_Sf0uN8qYyhxuGTYkt_oxb4j-QHwjTyW5elJvhM0OwQe213dlp4yHuvsSLF2djr8rLhc0SHw/s320/IMG00061.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
...which I nibbled on as I admired the gorgeous sugar dispensers that surrounded me. How many coffee shops do you run across that have just barely tarnished silver vessels for crystals both raw and refined? Even Stumptown, my current favorite, doesn't go that far.<br />
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After my midday snack I was off to the Met, inspired by my mother to see the new Cezanne exhibit. It was in fact wonderful, although a bit more brief than I had imagined it would be. I guess there aren't nearly as many "card players" paintings as I thought. But no matter. As I always do when visiting the museum, I headed upstairs to check out the photography and impressionist galleries. And it was there that I came across the most fabulous exhibit...<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId=%7BEC47F3BF-9FEB-444B-BBF6-E81E4748C49F%7D">Stieglitz, Steichen and Strand</a>. STUN-NING. Stunning. The photos of the New York of old were my favorites. Some haunting,<br />
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some with that angularity and color contrast that so perfectly conveys "metropolis". <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J0Pdr8Ulr-BcRClI9d40QZEjXZ7foEiYT7Iu7XSbIKWcaieN-xYsmafnVlRLigINyCGYlvJdyLaaA3hnAzlXhiuBxw2sEkL7CGYZ78RSfMNdD7beImsgXRT8XPoUafhCd6HWoU-ZU-s/s1600/DP233000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J0Pdr8Ulr-BcRClI9d40QZEjXZ7foEiYT7Iu7XSbIKWcaieN-xYsmafnVlRLigINyCGYlvJdyLaaA3hnAzlXhiuBxw2sEkL7CGYZ78RSfMNdD7beImsgXRT8XPoUafhCd6HWoU-ZU-s/s320/DP233000.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><br />
Exactly the style that I was trying to emulate as an undergraduate photo student when shooting in west Philadelphia, and only partially succeeded in.<br />
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After the photos I felt that my museum experience could only go downhill, so I decided to head back out to Fifth Avenue, stopping only for a moment to admire the always-wonderful flower arrangements in the front lobby (cherry blossoms that day).<br />
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My stomach was gnawing at me a bit, and so I headed over to the nearest food truck that didn't have the word "Sabrett" on it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0x1VDPpUD70Qpx0KMGb7oK2r1ROlDE8ZbDNcAZcuRQKVFDJbTsfrdzDKycpVDqDSb39ct6gnR_B6FAzRS_60s2D6uYirV49tFUnOBbiFVn1Ql5vkAoZtfMFzDblH6WNG7eSDrc3iAUxY/s1600/IMG00066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0x1VDPpUD70Qpx0KMGb7oK2r1ROlDE8ZbDNcAZcuRQKVFDJbTsfrdzDKycpVDqDSb39ct6gnR_B6FAzRS_60s2D6uYirV49tFUnOBbiFVn1Ql5vkAoZtfMFzDblH6WNG7eSDrc3iAUxY/s320/IMG00066.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Now normally I wouldn't touch a pretzel truck in New York with a ten foot pole. All of them insist on those horrible giant heavy pretzels with too much salt that I swear must be stored in warehouses with rats running through them just before the vendors reheat them for our eating pleasure. But this one looked different.<br />
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Jalapeno pretzels, garlic and thyme, feta and olives...could it be? Is New York finally catching up to the gourmet food truck trend that so many others adopted years ago? It seems that the community near the Met steps is. My feta pretzel was warm, tender, tasty and just the right size.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2X0VIHCaLhF476kjNmA8lMoT7Md5_FZkHLXITJoQ9FNm9sLy52jZKJtDIy7Qgd0-y3LFZgljkkecwcuS44L5s-5wAnrgMLYhkG0Cx-AVDaJyHjB3s4kba6DqmUiLuaiEvd77wIQuGfOw/s1600/IMG00067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2X0VIHCaLhF476kjNmA8lMoT7Md5_FZkHLXITJoQ9FNm9sLy52jZKJtDIy7Qgd0-y3LFZgljkkecwcuS44L5s-5wAnrgMLYhkG0Cx-AVDaJyHjB3s4kba6DqmUiLuaiEvd77wIQuGfOw/s320/IMG00067.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The perfect ending to a revelatory day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-58485342565841914542011-01-31T22:39:00.000-05:002011-01-31T22:39:53.640-05:00Genius in Tomato<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiw5VCUT4VHNyy-A5hPTYxdz9wktn3ssu_uI8GbWvqBIO8-25ezk2mxX-hDifvson4ZSel9_5POh0r0Lh02nW1KVZJuuwiS-W6XCyXbeKGE4OFuop5P6rhAJk-YdyosUIVncYLefWMJw/s1600/IMG_6561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiw5VCUT4VHNyy-A5hPTYxdz9wktn3ssu_uI8GbWvqBIO8-25ezk2mxX-hDifvson4ZSel9_5POh0r0Lh02nW1KVZJuuwiS-W6XCyXbeKGE4OFuop5P6rhAJk-YdyosUIVncYLefWMJw/s320/IMG_6561.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Wall of passata at Eataly</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">When it comes to home cooking, there's not much new and different to discover. It's all pretty much been done by the many generations that came before. Of course, the Microplane changed everyone's life for the better a few years back, and the rice cooker was quite a revelation for me once I got over my snobbery and finally took it down out of the cabinet to try it out, but these are rare occurrences. Usually as a home cook I just go along, happy to find nothing more than a new cheese that I enjoy melting on toast.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But the other day I came across something new and exciting enough (to me) to put a bit of a spring in my step. Have you heard of passata before? Usually packed in tall thick bottles, it is essentially tomato puree. I don't know if the puree is a more pleasing texture or taste than what you normally find in cans, or if I just like the packaging better than a can (love being able to dump out a few tablespoons here and there and reseal), but I'm absolutely obsessed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">A recipe calls for a few ripe tomatoes in the dead of winter? No matter, throw in a bit of passata. It gives the color and taste of tomato without having to deal with those hard specimens at the supermarket or that unpleasant texture that canned tomatoes often have if you end up biting the wrong part (am I the only one totally grossed out by the remnants of tomato skin and stems?). It's like summer in a bottle. And at this time of year, we can use all of the fortifications against winter available. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-72955980304750479592011-01-23T21:12:00.002-05:002011-01-23T21:14:11.028-05:00This Time of YearI seem to forget each year how utterly exhausting January can be. After lounging around in California for a week and a half at Christmas, working here and there but by no means all day, and taking a few days off back in New York with my beloved for New Year's, spending a full day in the office and then going out for evening activities is terribly difficult. And somehow every year the days are busier in January than you ever expected they could be, and everyone wants to "catch up after the holidays" so evenings are booked solid. <br />
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But at the same time it's bitterly cold outside and all you really want to do is hunker down in cozy clothes under a cozy blanket, eat cozy food and watch movies or perhaps bad wedding reality shows on the WE channel. Perhaps emerging only if properly dressed to do some outdoor activity in a pristine location as we did last weekend when we went snowshoeing up at the <a href="http://www.mohonk.com/">Mohonk Mountain House</a>.<br />
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There's a very unique culinary feeling about January...I'm not in the mood for anything elaborate, just satisfying food with few ingredients that can simmer away, untended, as I snuggle down on the couch. But at the same time, after the excesses of the holidays I'm not looking for anything as serious as braised short ribs or cassoulet...I want something cleansing and nourishing and light.<br />
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It is this unique need that develops at specific times of the year that has made me fall in love with Nigel Slater's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Kitchen-Diaries-Year-Nigel-Slater/dp/B002BWQ5EA?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Kitchen Diaries</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B002BWQ5EA" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /> (I have already fallen in love with all of his other books after all).<br />
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My parents bought it for me some time ago as a gift and I had periodically flipped through it in a rather cursory way, knowing that I liked the book but not really understanding why.<br />
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But now that I have pulled it off of the shelf in a more serious way, I see that Mr. Slater's diary about what he ate throughout one year of his life (and the accompanying recipes) is wonderful to cook along to in real time. Just as I yearn for something hearty yet easily digested on the first day of the new year, so does he, and he provides just the recipe to fill that yearning (an indian scented pumpkin soup in case you are wondering).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bILOge6bnOXyL8EySjlL5v3uaNWRygh4E7FhVSuor4SDzG5NE8ZinaTjOj0qvpT1jWJ-kWXZPH4q_TKaMBXun2hzsFcuQ5Mi80MQjJIhOr2eYFxsANu41dV62XsAsdK-mnmB3zNP9nU/s1600/IMG_6557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bILOge6bnOXyL8EySjlL5v3uaNWRygh4E7FhVSuor4SDzG5NE8ZinaTjOj0qvpT1jWJ-kWXZPH4q_TKaMBXun2hzsFcuQ5Mi80MQjJIhOr2eYFxsANu41dV62XsAsdK-mnmB3zNP9nU/s320/IMG_6557.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
One evening when I was looking for something hot (not an unusual desire at this time of year) but easy and clean, I took his lead and threw together a pot of thai scented mussels and was absolutely sated.<br />
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The other night I even transgressed and wandered a bit into February to make some chicken (in my case pork, as I could find no reasonably priced ground chicken) patties in broth (served over rice in my case) which were delightfully easy and delicious and homey.<br />
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And this evening, in addition to the bulgar with eggplant and mint that I made for dinner tonight and for lunches this week, I was in the mood for something aromatic and sweet, so I immediately flipped to his ginger cake.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1xel-LAW5VlCg6Uri13mZ2roKOIzq69qqZQLAd3l0h8no2V6OQ1uIqG67_ew2qDkPE9PwWe9ywWXGfYdIO4dpOIdOpdj2WbMGp62bJ1LvmvTcFJj21MpSpetD8AHLLtRStJgcelFCJw/s1600/IMG_6558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1xel-LAW5VlCg6Uri13mZ2roKOIzq69qqZQLAd3l0h8no2V6OQ1uIqG67_ew2qDkPE9PwWe9ywWXGfYdIO4dpOIdOpdj2WbMGp62bJ1LvmvTcFJj21MpSpetD8AHLLtRStJgcelFCJw/s320/IMG_6558.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
And came out with this<br />
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which I will not be, as Mr. Slater suggests, letting mature for a day or two. Rather, I'll be cutting into it in short order, reveling in it's warmth and spice and January-ness.<br />
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This cooking alongside a seasonal cook thing may be a full-year endeavor for me...or perhaps when the sun comes out and the warmth comes rushing in I'll lose interest entirely? I certainly hope not...I'd be missing out on loads of excellent and appealingly easy recipes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-17710082643397153692011-01-03T23:20:00.000-05:002011-01-03T23:20:36.183-05:00Holiday Lessons LearnedWell well well, there was quite a bit of snow in New York last week. I of course experienced next to none of it as I was <i>"</i>stranded" in California where the weather was mellow and warm. Thank goodness Continental couldn't get their act together and I got stuck there for three extra days.<br />
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During my enforced vacation I learned quite a few things:<br />
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The Black Swan is actually not a lovely movie about ballet, but a terrifying horror movie. Still I enjoyed it, despite yelping audibly in the theater. Perhaps it was the makeup that won me over in the end. That or Natalie Portman's gorgeous performance.<br />
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The King's Speech is just as good as everyone says. If I was in a poncy movie reviewer mood I would say something about it being an elegant portrait of a troubled but deeply good man, and something about the touching friendship that forms between two strangers. <br />
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</div>But I'm not so I won't. I'll just say that Colin Firth is absurdly good and Geoffrey Rush is fabulous as always.<br />
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I also learned that Up is an adorable movie, perfect if you are in need of a pick me up. Who couldn't be charmed by an old man who attaches thousands of balloons to his house in an effort to move it to South America?<br />
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Other lessons? <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/15/dining/15appe.html?_r=1&ref=agoodappetite">5 Hour Lamb</a> is delicious for Christmas dinner, although 4 hour lamb might be even better. 4 month old nieces are very cute and lots of fun to play with. There is nothing quite like a slightly dying fire, when the hearth is warm and the fire is not raging so much that one can't sit in front of it.<br />
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But most important lesson learned? Home is the best place to be for the holidays.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-70761039189047218642010-12-19T22:37:00.001-05:002010-12-19T22:56:07.049-05:00Getting in the SpiritI absolutely adore Christmas, but this year you'd never know it. The holiday has barely registered with me. I've been preoccupied with work so my kitchen has been cold for an uncommonly long time, the holiday parties I've attended have been fun but oddly devoid of Christmas decor, and although I've been haunting the department stores in search of a wedding dress it's the massive shoe sales that have caught my eye rather than the holidays windows.<br />
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But somehow this weekend the tide turned. I'm headed to California on Tuesday, so now that I'm preparing for the trip it's really feeling like Christmas. I spent the weekend running about doing last minute shopping, and taking full advantage of the very serious sale at <a rel="nofollow" href="http://www.katespaperie.com/" target="_new">Kate's Paperie</a> and a considerably smaller one at the <a rel="nofollow" href="http://www.conranusa.com/default.aspx?language=en-US" target="_new">Conran Shop</a> which has the cutest gift tags ever. I spent Sunday morning wrapping presents with my loot from the shopping trip<br />
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and appropriately enough, Nigella's Christmas special was on at the time. <br />
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Now that is a woman who knows how to do Christmas.<br />
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In addition to her be-lighted and be-boughed townhouse, she's preserving dried fruits in booze,<br />
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roasting prime rib,<br />
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icing cookies (I was absolutely jealous...I barely even have bread in the house now)<br />
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and entertaining her sparkling circle of friends effortlessly.<br />
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After watching that show I was well and truly on the holiday bandwagon.<br />
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Now that my Christmas spirit has been ignited, my gifts are in order, my laundry done, my apartment clean and my work in hand, I'm free to revel in the holidays on the fairer coast with my family. I'm looking forward to that roaring fire, the scent of the tree, the <a rel="nofollow" href="http://whatilikenyc.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-morning-confections.html" target="_new">poppyseed bread</a> on Christmas morning and that lazy time with my nearest and dearest. <br />
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I can't wait! Happy Holidays to you all!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-36463412662836141602010-12-12T18:35:00.000-05:002010-12-12T18:35:47.624-05:00It's All Coming Together...Sort OfAfter months of inaction, Paul and I have, in the last month or so, made a lot of progress on our wedding planning. A church has been secured, a restaurant rented and I've narrowed down the choices for the party venue. But that said, there's a fair amount left to do. Finding a dress, for instance. After four hours of shopping today at just about every spot worth visiting in midtown, I'm perhaps a centimeter closer to finding something than I was when I woke up this morning.<br />
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But one thing that I have no worries about is the invitations. <br />
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I was never someone that dreamed of a very specific wedding day from the time I was a wee thing, but I did have ideas about certain, relatively random things. Flowers for instance. I've loved <a href="http://www.saipua.com/">Saipua's</a> relaxed, wildflower vibe for as long as they've been in business. So I booked her early. And after a quick spin through the world of wedding invitations I realized I hated just about everything, so I pleaded to Sarah from Saipua for help. And did she ever come through.<br />
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She pointed me in the direction of a young illustrator named <a href="mailto:asheley.wilson@gmail.com">Asheley Wilson </a> who works in fabulous flower stores all over town (and Brooklyn). Paul and I met her for coffee and were utterly charmed. She was positive, open to our ideas, totally non-judgmental about our modest budget, not to mention cute as a button.<br />
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Since we have more out of towners than in-towners coming to the wedding, we wanted sort of a vacation, destination wedding vibe, since for most of our guests it will be. Asheley was all over it and came back with this:<br />
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A postcard...brilliant!<br />
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Paul was thrilled because it was colorful, I was thrilled because it was un-frilly but fun. And we were both thrilled with the speed with which she pulled it off.<br />
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She's drawing away now on actual invitation ideas...I'm waiting in breathless anticipation to see what she comes up with.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-16898188675776760932010-12-08T22:13:00.001-05:002010-12-08T22:15:09.154-05:00Favorite Appliance EVERNew York has fallen under an arctic chill, far more extreme than is normal for early December. And I have fallen under a mountain of meetings and work from which I have only barely emerged. A weekend of fabulous parties, the best of which was the beautiful engagement party that Zenia threw for me and Paul, left me a tad depleted. And a semi-late night out at the Bowery Ballroom last night only compounded the drain.<br />
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But luckily, tonight I can laze around watching TV and reacquainting myself with the miracle appliance that is my rice maker. Paul left for England today so I'm free to have the kind of odd, ad hoc dinners that one has in complete single-girl solitude.<br />
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Since Chief didn't eat any of the items on their rider at the Bowery Ballroom, and Paul is loathe to let anything go to waste, I have two pounds of cold cuts and one pound of swiss cheese sitting in my refrigerator. And a rice cooker just itching to make use of them.<br />
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After cooking the rice and throwing in a few vegetables and black vinegar (I was out of soy sauce so it was the next best thing), it was time for the turkey.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihuuv5CxqNzcRrQKm9DsjpGrAlufmNLH_kLJAC241zDInT48x9cjEhaGY-TkPC0NojgNIjDqrx2z-eF56BfRexasjUsQlPwhv_4cvk48BTmPTrxrQO4ACCKYtM1Gk11fYsYRgYzgW1XTc/s1600/IMG_6526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihuuv5CxqNzcRrQKm9DsjpGrAlufmNLH_kLJAC241zDInT48x9cjEhaGY-TkPC0NojgNIjDqrx2z-eF56BfRexasjUsQlPwhv_4cvk48BTmPTrxrQO4ACCKYtM1Gk11fYsYRgYzgW1XTc/s320/IMG_6526.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And then time for the cheese<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaVx4L5HIOAa3yfN0LhQzsjSQo_6TdL_eYZvsr4C1FWilINZee9arCZaLbfqRK5_ePvZ4Jd1JxBkadP5vumfuQ0_GQKCxx6cvqyStW1dASvXH1cFhn_dDeiMxptUcY3d_PxkO7GS-g5w/s1600/IMG_6534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaVx4L5HIOAa3yfN0LhQzsjSQo_6TdL_eYZvsr4C1FWilINZee9arCZaLbfqRK5_ePvZ4Jd1JxBkadP5vumfuQ0_GQKCxx6cvqyStW1dASvXH1cFhn_dDeiMxptUcY3d_PxkO7GS-g5w/s320/IMG_6534.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
And then it was time for dinner eaten out of a bowl on the couch while catching up on Dexter with a big glass of red wine at hand. <br />
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I first got the idea for this melted cheese with rice and veggies and soy sauce from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eat-Me-Philosophy-Kenny-Shopsin/dp/0307264939?ie=UTF8&tag=laurakir&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Kenny Shopsin</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=laurakir&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0307264939" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />, and I amended his recipe to make use of the rice cooker rather than the microwave. How fitting that the ultimate "I don't care what anyone thinks of me eating this low down dirty dinner" recipe comes from the ultimate <a href="http://whatilikenyc.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post.html">"I don't care what anyone thinks about me at all" guy</a>.<br />
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I'm already thinking of random delicious things to throw in it tomorrow night...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-4913966272548632502010-11-28T19:05:00.001-05:002010-11-28T19:05:57.962-05:00Grateful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sadly, I didn't make it back to the homeland this year for Thanksgiving. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As alluring as the prospect of the holiday in California is, the airfares were verging on offensive this year, and between the travails of traveling at the same time as 100 million people and the fact that I'll be home in a few weeks for Christmas, Paul and I opted for a staycation this time around.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With all of the downtime the lack of travel afforded us, I had time to reflect, tritely enough, on those things in my life that I'm grateful for. Tying for first place are my smart, hilarious and soulful boyfriend, my family who I like so much (love is a given with family, like is not always) that I miss them terribly when we're not together at the holidays, and my wonderful friends, a second family that more than fill in when the first one can't be around.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm also grateful for all of those cocktails in living rooms on Thanksgiving day, for the dinner at <a href="http://www.fivepointsrestaurant.com/">Five Points</a> that we eventually made it to that night (especially that baked oyster appetizer), and for the apple pie that Paul brought home Wednesday evening so we could approximate leftover nibbling in the days after Thanksgiving.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm grateful that Paul and I get to throw a party for our nearest and dearest in a few months, that we get to go on a honeymoon to a faraway land together (any India travel suggestions by the way?) and that we get to come home afterwards to a comfortable home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I'm grateful for those of you who come here to listen to my ramblings, to exchange thoughts, to show me new ideas, new links, new concepts. My life is so much richer for it. Happy Thanksgiving.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-89690321571998975872010-11-21T20:16:00.000-05:002010-11-21T20:16:36.072-05:00Down in the NeighborhoodWhen I first moved to New York there was nothing I liked better than trying every new restaurant and bar that I could fit into my schedule. But now that the "new" places feel less new to me (everything seems to recycle itself eventually) I'm becoming increasingly attached to places that I consider neighborhood spots, that one can become a regular at. <br />
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Paul and I have lived above <a href="http://leshalles.net/brasserie/" rel="nofollow" target="_new">Les Halles</a> for years, and for us it is the ultimate neighborhood joint. Cheap (sort of) and cheerful, I know the menu by heart and always order one of two things - moules mouclade (with fries, please) or merguez sausage. And the desserts never disappoint. For those nights when something more casual is in order, we can always count on the Roxy Diner across the street for a good grilled cheese.<br />
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But for the longest time I went without a regular spot near my office. Perhaps because in past jobs I didn't go to lunch much, perhaps because office districts often have uninspiring dining options. But now that I work in one of the most culinarily exciting spots in the city and my job performance is improved considerably when I know all of the gossip, which is most effectively gleaned over a good plate of food, I have no excuse not to find a place to make my own.<br />
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<a href="http://www.novitanyc.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_new">Novita</a>, a mere three blocks up Park Avenue from my office, has become my home away from home during the lunch hour.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxszdTjuMa18NJAMyHZnCVUkW6S725uFWzmPtOsiWIetFMYpCwtSD3tDYmMNacFyrmZFhsWydOOkxIYHrlJYesCosJgVPwTUdY4icxvpMwB3cqE-dq2dpGuUm2OnKxWaVeqnOVZ_mW6s/s1600/novita-not-so-cool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxszdTjuMa18NJAMyHZnCVUkW6S725uFWzmPtOsiWIetFMYpCwtSD3tDYmMNacFyrmZFhsWydOOkxIYHrlJYesCosJgVPwTUdY4icxvpMwB3cqE-dq2dpGuUm2OnKxWaVeqnOVZ_mW6s/s320/novita-not-so-cool.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It is a perfect place to bring new acquaintances, as Italian food goes over well with most everyone, and can accommodate most every food idiosyncrasy that might present itself. It is a perfect spot to gossip since it is quiet enough to hear and be heard, but lively enough that the table next to you can't eavesdrop too easily. The crowd is decorous but not stuffy, and you do not get the feeling that the place was conceived of with expense accounts in mind.<br />
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The pasta is superb (as winter approaches I will be indulging in the fabulous lamb ragu more and more often), the fish is fresh and uncomplicated, and stalwarts like the veal milanese please even the fussiest of eaters. But perhaps most refreshing of all, the portions are normal, not nouveau. You order monkfish and you get hunks of fish, not medallions. You order a pasta and it is a meal portion, not a pre-entree portion. And I have never been presented with an up-selling waiter, encouraging me to order a multi-course lunch when all I want is a brief bite. In fact, the same lovely, welcoming man waits on me each time I set foot in the place. As it should be at your local.<br />
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And now that I've discovered that Mario Cuomo is a regular as well, I feel all the more smug having designated myself as one...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-159363926080898782.post-913669864934830932010-11-18T23:03:00.000-05:002010-11-18T23:03:14.559-05:00GiftingI love giving gifts. When I've hit on the perfect item for someone, I know it and I get joy from it. I'm not someone who shops for Christmas all year long or anything, but I do put quite a bit of thought into each gift giving occasion and each gift recipient.<br />
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The first gift I remember getting for Paul was a rare-ish Tom Waits poster that I had noticed him admiring at Amoeba Records. I picked it up for his birthday. It was a tad more than I was used to spending on gifts at the time, but I've never seen someone appreciate a present more, and to this day it occupies a prominent spot on our living room wall, and I love it nearly as much as he does. <br />
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And last Christmas, I recalled that my dad was having a Richard Avedon moment, as he had visited the Avedon exhibit at SFMOMA not once but twice, so I chased all over town trying to grab the last copy of a gorgeous Avedon book, which brought me to a Barnes & Noble in Brooklyn in the end. And he loved it, and I didn't mind the quest because he loved it.<br />
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Now I don't want to imply that I <i>always</i> hit it out of the park. There have been some rather big misses along the way. I once knit my sister a hat covered in silver paillettes for Christmas, which she found in my suitcase and mercilessly mocked, thinking it was mine. And then there were the tiny metal bird feet that I thought were so fabulously gothic and got for <i>everyone</i> one Christmas, and <i>no one</i> got them at all. I got a lot of, "oh, I think perhaps we're missing a piece?" type questions.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqUUc4WJ5KhUx5hVsCXxU3oQejsdjxagKIYjbv0RUFWltVRYpkRWBL8TmYE93CEzUASmKtKxKXT32y7u1v73EEjWtWkwk9afak5Hnk8zdTbjNPZXNYx2CRC7cniiLIPkskZzj_5dCXP0/s1600/DSC_9327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqUUc4WJ5KhUx5hVsCXxU3oQejsdjxagKIYjbv0RUFWltVRYpkRWBL8TmYE93CEzUASmKtKxKXT32y7u1v73EEjWtWkwk9afak5Hnk8zdTbjNPZXNYx2CRC7cniiLIPkskZzj_5dCXP0/s320/DSC_9327.JPG" width="220" /></a></div><br />
But it really is weddings that I think are the ultimate gift giving occasions. Marriage is a fabulous thing, and the love of a couple is something that should be celebrated with a lovely gift that can be cherished for years. I have a rather bad habit of eschewing the registry...I can't ever imagine that people really want the casserole dishes and bar ware, so I usually go off script, probably to slightly mixed results.<br />
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I've given everything from cases of wine from <a href="http://www.sherry-lehmann.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_new">Sherry Lehman</a> to cookbooks with cards listing my favorite recipes from each to cash, if that is the preferred option. I often go to the wedding before purchasing the gift, as sometimes I get an idea of what to give from the speeches or party somehow.<br />
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But at the last wedding I attended I was stumped, absolutely stumped. Which was odd, as the groom is quite a good friend of mine so I in theory should know what he likes. But I had no idea what the <i>two</i> of them would like, you see. So I did what any sensible girl does in a pinch...I called my mom. And she, always a favor of practical, high quality gifts, steered me in the direction of a Japanese knife store in Berkeley.<br />
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This probably sounds like an odd idea, but I assure you, a really good knife is one of the more ultimate luxuries around, and in that respect a really good knife makes a wonderful gift. So I went on the website of <a href="http://www.hidatool.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_new">Hida Tool</a>, and began to browse. And browse. It took me a good couple of days to make up my mind actually. I was so baffled by all of the choices that I went purely by looks. So I ordered a sashimi knife, a chef's knife and a small petty knife, all gorgeous.<br />
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So I placed my order, and they called me to confirm it and get my credit card information. I found myself speaking with a man who sounded old and Japanese, and by the time I had gotten off the phone with him I had a much more appropriate set of knives than what I had chosen originally, and was spending less than I had planned. He talked me out of the sashimi knife (do they make sushi he asked? No. Don't get the knife then) and suggested I upgrade the chef's knife to a model that he seemed nearly to revere. Such service! Doesn't happen much these days.<br />
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Shortly thereafter, I received two incredible knives in the mail, which I promptly wrapped up and dropped by the new couple's apartment. I was happy that they would have a good home, but highly depressed that I wouldn't be able to enjoy them and their oh so sharp blades and polished wood handles. I simply must make a trip to see Mr. Hida when I'm home for Christmas.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5