I took my first steps outside the gates of my apartment complex this morning. A chilly morning with a bit of fog, kind of spooky. Closed shops, stray dogs, and a lack of sidewalk made me think I was going to run into a dead end. Also, when I stepped out to the seemingly empty street to walk along the side, I had to quickly step back as I was honked at by oncoming autorickshaws. Ack, they drive on the left in India, so I was looking the wrong way for cars without even thinking.

My co-worker (Best Co-worker Ever) picked me up and took me out to lunch. The waiter only looked at him to take both of our orders. Whether that was because I was foreign or a woman (which I’ve read happens), I do not know. Then he took me to a supermarket a block from my place, which was greatly relieving as it had nearly every item on my food and stuff-for-apartment list including pots and frying pans (but not a rice cooker; I guess Indians cook their rice in a pressure cooker, which I don’t know how to use.) They even had Nutella! I thought for sure Nutella would be on my care package wish list, but there was a big display. They had all sorts of honey as well. And even Tropicana orange juice, yay! Co-worker picked out some mosquito-repelling plug-ins and sprays for me, which I was excited about. The aisles were narrow, the items tightly stacked, and it was crowded with shoppers (who were too concerned with their shopping to notice the blond woman) and nearly one employee per aisle. But we only had a couple cart-jams.

I tried to ingredient check so I could attempt to keep to all-natural items, but there was a new class of listed items like “Acidity Regulator” in place for the usually unpronounceable chemicals. This is good in that I know why they added it, but bad in that what was actually added is a mystery. Either way, I probably want to avoid these if possible and if I hadn’t wanted salsa so much, I might not have picked up this jar, their only salsa selection. In any case, I suspect salsa will remain on my care package wish list.

Mmmm… Class II Preservatives

While my co-worker drove me around the streets of Noida, the traffic was the chaotic-but-cooperative I had expected. I watched, fascinated, as we managed to not run into anyone nor have anyone run into us during the whole trip. A motorbike went by with a man driving, a woman in a sari riding side-saddle behind him, and their son – maybe six years old – sleeping smooshed between them. An autorickshaw (a motorbike taxi with barely enough room for two seated in the back) went by without about six people crammed in and on it.

The most aggressive drivers I’ve seen so far are motorbikes with the acronym “PHD” on them. They swerve by, horns honking repeatedly, clearly in a hurry. I found out later what “PHD” means. “Pizza Hut Delivery”. They apparently still do the 30-minutes-or-it’s-free deal.

My co-worker, who visited Colorado, told me that horns honking here doesn’t mean what it does there. He said it is more like a conversation here. Perhaps that is why the four-way intersection with no traffic signal (and the occasional cow off to the side) on my way to work can be at all navigated. Horn-language.