Time for another outing with the Delhi Road Trip Group! And a 6am Saturday morning rendezvous! This time, I was very conveniently picked up from my apartment.

We hung out at the nearby Durga Temple (one of many, many “Durga” temples as I found out trying to Google it), and got some looks from the locals while we munched on some surprisingly good packaged cookies and waited for all 10 of us to arrive.

What religion couldn’t do with more blue statues?

Soon enough, we were off to Rishikesh! There is only one major road between Delhi and Rishikesh, so it was familiar to me, being the same one we took in March. It must be noted that if and when they finish / improve this highway, the drive will take a fraction of the time.

We stopped at a road-side food court that included a large Haldiram’s and a large McDonald’s. And the longest bathroom lines ever in both places (at least for the ladies room.) But I was totally all over the attendant to re-fill that toilet paper, which she did, mostly thanks to the people who translated my request. Incidentally, I don’t like the system where you pick a stall door to wait behind. There should be a single line for all stalls. Just sayin’.

McD’s in India

For some reason, we decided against Haldiram’s. So this marks my first actual Indian McDonald’s meal. I had an Egg McMuffin with Cheese and a Hash Brown thing. It was actually very tasty. My co-worker from Colorado, John, who was able to join us at the last minute, ordered a Sausage McMuffin. Based on the sign, I have to assume it is made of chicken…

The drive was, again, long and interesting, though I found that I was less riveted than I was the first time as I’ve gotten used to many Sights of India. We again passed through the Muslim town where all the women were in burqas. The traffic was as crazy as ever, I lost count of the number of close calls with trunks and buses we had. The Major kept us occupied by pouring us all a glass of mango juice, pointing out the mangoes on the trees everywhere (it is clearly mango season!), and having everyone do a self introduction.

What I enjoyed most about the drive up was the chance to practice my Japanese! I sat in the back with a woman about my age from Japan (who also had lived in New Zealand) and stumbled over words that came much easier eight years ago. Still, it was fun to meet someone who knows what “Trivia No Izumi” is (best show ever) and we bonded over how some of our loved ones asked us “WHY India?” And since no one else in the car could understand what we were saying, I didn’t worry that I was accidentally being offensive. Though they assumed I was singing a Japanese song when I imitated the “Hey” button from the trivia show and wanted me to sing it. I thought I might try to sing a Japanese song I knew anyway, but I could not even remember one full lyric of any of the half dozen songs I used to be able to karaoke. Ah, well.

After we passed Haridwar, which looked nearly as crowded as last time, we took a different turn and headed up to Rishikesh, but on the other side of the river, and soon started the ascent into the foothills.

View from the back seat

The road up into the hills was one lane, so naturally it was used by vehicles going both ways, speeding around blind corners, swerving, and honking. The view was beautiful – stunning – even if I could only capture it from a moving vehicle (as there was no place to pull off really. Not safely at any rate.) I also discovered as I looked at the city below that there are not one, but two iron footbridges spanning the river. I kind of wished we had a chance to visit the other one as it looked just as nifty as the one I visited last time.

Overlooking the temples of Rishikesh
(from a moving car)

We drove along the Ganges, then turned inland following a road along a tributary until we saw the sign for our tent site: Rainbow Jungle Camp, then turned down a four-wheel-drive road to get to the entrance.

Our Griswold Truckster

Let’s be clear. We were not camping. A “tent” was comprised of two twin beds with frames and sheets (though oddly, no pillowcase) and an electric light within. Full flush toilets (with sinks WITH SOAP) were across the lawn. And lunch – a surprisingly tasty buffet with standard Indian staples like paneer curry, naan, sliced cucumbers, a potato dish, and bitter yogurt – was being served in the nearby building.

Our “camp site”

As we got set up in our tents, we found out that the other vehicle had not taken the correct turn at Haridwar and had ended up on the wrong side of the river. While we waited, we kicked back and relaxed at the lovely site. We had earlier stopped along the route to buy liquor (since both Haridwar and Rishikesh are dry) and the Major handed it out. However, after just a few sips, one of the staff approached John and said, “Please hide your drink. It’s not allowed.”

John wrapped his beer bottle in a bag and that seemed satisfactory to them. I kept to the lemon mystery drink they served me.

Beautiful camp site locale

We decided we would check out a nearby temple, so we piled back into the Innova, went up the four-wheel drive road, then kept going further up the hills following a wooden sign to a temple dedicated to Shiva. Apparently Rishikesh is Lord Shiva’s old stomping grounds, so the city and its hilly surroundings are quite holy.

There are also goats.

Toward the top of one hill was the temple. The driver parked as close as he could and we walked through a whole bunch of gift shops and places selling roasted corn on the cob to get to the temple.

I decided to turn down the opportunity (?) to take off my shoes and wait in line to pay my respects this time. Instead, I wandered nearby and found…

A temple monkey!

And the hills beyond

On our way back, we found out that the other car, who had eventually turned around and found a bridge (there are very few!) had taken another wrong turn into the ashram neighborhood. We stayed in the car and drove back down the mountain to meet them.

We were back in the same neighborhood of ashram I visited almost three months ago, driving down a road I had once taken a curious photograph up into. Last time we were here there was a Yoga Retreat. This time, it was a gathering of people who wanted to Save Ganga (the Ganges) from pollutants. We watched for a bit, finally seeing our companions near the statue on the platform.

Devanagari numbers

While John and I waited at the car for the Ganga ceremony to be finished, we were approached by a group of women and girls who seemed absolutely fascinated by us. Many of them said “Hello” or “How are you?” as if they were trying out phrases they had learned in school and I returned the greetings and shook hands with them. One of the older women offered me a kulfi (a milky ice-cream-bar-type thing.) I took it. Luckily, just then, everyone had returned and I was able to surreptitiously wrap it in a napkin in the car because I didn’t really want to eat something I wasn’t sure if a stranger had licked or not. John was a good sport and ate his, though.

By the time we got back, it was dark. Tables were set up in the main lawn and speakers were blasting music. The other guests at the camp had clearly already finished dinner. I was bummed that we missed a meal (though I did have a fresh kulfi the Major handed me on our way out), though someone managed to wrangle up some very tasty appetizers. The Frenchman brought out his wine again – no one seemed to care about the alcohol bottles anymore – and I had some in a plastic cup.

Some guys from the other camp site groups were dancing and I watched the synchronous close-quarters movements in fascination. (Men would just not DO this back home.) Being exhausted after all the hours in the car, the wine really did me in. At 9pm, I decided to go to bed just as I was told dinner would be served around 10pm. I figured if I was still awake, I’d have some. But despite the loud music, nonstop conversation outside my tent, slightly-too-hot-to-be-comfortable temperature, and the idea of bugs (I had already seen one very large ant), I crashed, but not before setting my alarm for 6:15am for the river rafting excursion the next morning!

There had been hints the previous day that we would eat breakfast *after* we returned from the 3-hour rafting trip. I strongly objected. If I don’t eat within one or two hours of waking I get grumpy and light headed. Granted, I get not wanting a huge breakfast before being jostled on a raft, but I have to have something, even if leftover car munchies. Don’t get between me and my morning meal!

Luckily, the Major assuaged my concerns and convinced the staff to make us mini sandwiches before we set off. Not sure what was in them? Tiny cubed cucumbers? But, with the hot chai, it was perfect.

Crossing over the Ganges, a preview of the water we’d soon be rafting over

We drove down the twisty roads a bit until we came to a bridge that looked like it had once been meant for cars, but no longer for whatever reason (maybe that it was not quite flat.) So we crossed it on foot – with a guide from the camp – and piled into a truck on the other side, the 10 of us (the Major sat this one out) barely fitting. We then continued upstream on the other side of the river for a while, crossing a vehicle bridge to get back, then getting ourselves a raft at one of the many rafting booths set up.

(totally stole this map)

Our rafting trip had no rapids graded higher than a “3+”. We started at Butterfly on the map above and hit the remainder. Our camp was at Shivpuri, in the middle.

At our take off spot

We reached an elaborate camp along the river and got ourselves set up. It was efficient and confidence-inspiring; the equipment seemed to be in good condition and I geared up tight. Although I was nervous, I also had a smile plastered on my face so I was excited to get started.

Our group before the rafting

I liked our guide. He seemed competent, my main judging factor for a guide. After his intro, rowing demo and safety check, we got into the raft. We practiced rowing forward, stopping, forward again, back, and only once with different sides doing different directions. “Back” and “Relax” kind of sound the same when shouted… maybe that’s why he sometimes said, “Stop.” Though Relax has a nice ring to it.

I was impressed with the Major’s wife. In her 60s, unable to swim, but in love with the water (and married to someone who is not) she was very excited to come along. We sat her in the middle where she could hold on to the rope attached to the raft with both hands. (John advised her that, during the rapids, she should hold tight to the rope with her left hand, raise the right one up in the air and whoop.)

I remember the first and only other time I had been river rafting (in Colorado), I was terrified, sliding to the middle of the raft during the bumpiest parts. I was not nearly so nervous this time for some reason, though we had some large waves and good, big splashes. Lots of rafters were enjoying the same rapids – apparently, this is high season. We had rafts in front of us, rafts behind us, though managed not to bump into any (unless it was on purpose. We followed our guide’s every call, even as he directed us right into his buddy.)

At one point, we reached a calm spot and our guide said we could get out of the raft if we wanted. I climbed out into the water.

BRRR!!

I immediately asked to get pulled back in. The gray-haired Frenchman had to pull a few times, but he did it. The fellows were having a grand time, though.

At some point, we realized only the girls were left in the raft. Luckily, John taught me some basic pulling-people-up-into-the-raft techniques and the skinny Dutchman said I could try him first since he was the lightest. Amazingly, I managed to do it in one try.

We prepared for the upcoming rapids, all in our same positions on either side.

I soon understood how Roller Coaster got its name but it was the deceptively mild-sounding Golf Course where things got bad… for the raft in front of us. I had been thinking to myself, wondering if we were going to topple as the raft bent up and down through the water when I saw that the yellow raft in front of us upturned completely.

We saw at least two people appear, floating down the river. I kept wondering if someone was under the upturned raft, but I never found out. John was amazing, reacting immediately, even as I had not a clue what to do. As we got near, he pulled them closer with the backs of the oars, then pulled them up quickly into our raft, even in the fast water. Soon, we had both of them in the middle of our raft. They looked a little shaken up and the Japanese girl was kindly comforting them.

I don’t know how many people were on the raft, though there was some shouted conversation in Hindi between other raft guides and our guide, perhaps determining who had whom. Eventually, we pulled off to the side and the two transferred to a different raft. Then we continued on.

We rafted by some people jumping into the water from a high rock. Shortly after that, we pulled up on the shore where the guide said we could go jump off the rock, too, if we wanted.

Jump!

I hiked up the busy shore, full of other rafters and people selling noodles and beverages, until I came upon the rock people were jumping off of. The other two Americans had already jumped a couple times each. It was actually a wet climb to get up to the top of the rock and I’m surprised I made it without slipping. There were a whole group of people on top of the rock. I have no idea what they were doing. We speculated later that they were working themselves up to jumping. (I had done that once at a water park – freaked out at the top and waited for other people to go by until I found my nerve.) The nice dudes welcomed me up, though. I peeked off the edge and the water was indeed further down than I had expected. Well, there’s nothing for it.

One, two, three JUMP!

I think my initial “whoo!” may have turned into an actual “whoa!” along the way, then I was suddenly shooting down into the very chilly water. The life jacket propelled me back to the top and I swam for shore. Whew! Ganges Dip Part Two. This time, with adrenaline.

Street food… along the river

When we walked back, everyone was eating hot noodles. Now that I had jumped, I accepted the offer and was soon served instant – but delicious – noodles on a plate so hot that they also gave me a piece of cardboard under the plate to hold it with as well as a plastic fork.

It was only as I was nearly finished that I realized where they washed the dishes. In the river.

The noodles – which we call top ramen back home – are called maggi here, like the woman’s name. So if you ever see a sign for Maggi, it means ramen (not necessarily instant.) Though this was the “2 minute” variety and we then referred to the place as “Maggi Point.”

I had been looking forward to the “floating alongside temples” like the advertisement suggested, however, our tour ended before we reached Rishikesh proper. (I actually thought our guide was joking at first when he said it was finished, but I guess it means it was a good experience if all I wanted to do was keep rafting!) We got off at the beach and climbed up the hill to the road where the car was waiting. The major’s wife described the trip to her husband as we drove back up and pointed to various spots along the river.

There was only one shower in the camp and I figured I’d want to properly shower later so I settled for brushing out my hair (which took a while and required a lot of space) and changing into dry clothes. I realized I had ripped the seams in my blue pants while rafting, which I was a little bummed about, but I guess I can always get more pants (and I had brought plenty of changes of clothes with me.)

We were set to hike a mile or so up to a waterfall, but when I finished changing clothes and out of my wet sandals into dry sneakers (yep, two pairs of shoes for an overnight trip), it had turned into another drive.

Holy Swimming Hole

I was asked if I was interested in swimming. As it was the first time I had been dry all day, I declined, but enjoyed the playful splashing of the nearly-nude Indian guys.

Also, at the waterfall:

Monkeys!

I managed to convince the Major to let the guide we brought lead us back to the camp on foot (at least those of us who wanted to). It was an enjoyable walk through the valley, though the sun came out which made it quite hot. Us blondes picked up a nice sunburn. It was the only time I didn’t bring the hat I brought (that I had bought specifically for this trip.)

Guided into the valley

The valley looked to be full of mini farms and had narrow irrigation canals running through it that also doubled as sidewalks (we even stepped aside for some locals). Like a scene from an old movie, I saw a woman leading her cows with taps of her stick back to the animal shelter attached to the house made of stacked stones.

“Indian” Corn

And that was the last excursion of the trip. We were served an identical lunch to the previous day (which was perfectly fine with me as it was fresh and quite tasty) and hung around the camp a bit.

The drive back was long. First, we squeezed three extra people in the car during the twisty road back to Rishikesh, then we spread out a bit, with one in the front, two in the back seat and two in the way back. I offered to sit in the way back as I have short legs, but no seat stays comfortable when six hours stretches into seven stretches into eight when we hit weekend traffic.

Notably, though, after we dropped off one of our party at the Haridwar railway station, it was the first time there were no Hindi speakers in the car to talk to the driver. Luckily, the driver understood enough English to pull off at our request to the same food court for dinner. This time, we opted for Haldiram’s. I had the chole batura (which they are known for) and it was decent enough. We ate so fast, the driver was not there when we returned and I had to text the Major and ask him to call. I felt kind of bad, but I think we all just wanted to get going.

I was first to get dropped off. Even then, we were nearly at midnight. We had left the camp at 2:30pm, so yep, 9+ hours. 150 miles should not take that long. Indeed, Google maps puts the drive at under 5 hours. Whatever the equivalent is of the Indian transportation bureau really needs to improve this highway.

(You might have noticed that a lot of these photographs did not have large versions. That is because many were borrowed from other folk on the trip who posted their pics to our Road Trip site (behind a login) which has a size limit. I also tend to not show full-sized photos of people besides me. No blackmail here.)

As a parting picture, I wanted to show this car I saw everywhere. (The one on the right.) The first time I saw it, I was like, how nostalgic! Then I saw two dozen of this same car pass. Someone explained that one of the original car companies in India (called Hindustan Motors or something) made that model of car… and hadn’t changed it in fifty or so years!

Also. Monkey!

Amazing the difference humidity makes

My shining, wet face probably looked less attractive to the friendly clerk at “Needs” that asked if I lived at Orange County and if I was single. On reflection, probably not a bad thing. I bought lemon juice and sugar (I had to ask where both were, but luckily the people who work there are very helpful) and a pitcher, though they did not have any measuring cups, and made myself some lemonade when I got home. I’m going through the ice cubes in my little built-in ice cube tray duo almost faster than I can refill it. All it takes to empty it, though, is turning a lever. None of that twisty-breaky action. Yay for lemonade!

I must have been in a generous mood today. I gave the bicycle rickshaw driver almost a buck for my foray down the street several blocks (an easy walk in pre-May temperatures) which I knew was probably too much. Proven by the fact that he actually waited until I was finished and took me back. At least I’m pretty sure it was the same dude. So he did pretty well before 10am. Then I gave money to some beggars, which I almost never do as a rule. I think it’s the ones at tourist places that are more likely to be doing it as business (forced or otherwise) and I think the old woman/young woman/baby trio here were actually just poor. Still only helping the symptom not the problem, though. There are a lot of barefoot children in this area that I am realizing must be children of the construction workers who live in the site’s shantytown.

The organizer of Delhi Road Trips has officially cancelled the Srinagar-Leh-Manali road trip due to lack of interest, turning it into a possible Leh-only week trip by plane. I have until tomorrow to decide what to do. Flight vs. Road trip using a different company (I have been talking to the organizer of one, actually.)

I have broadband!

My broadband setup

It only took the combined efforts of four of my coworkers talking to three different representatives of Airtel (one of the largest telecommunications companies in India), but I have it! And they were able to install it on a Saturday! One dude came for the phone line, another came for the router and software. It appears to be fairly speedy – it is supposed to be 8mbps – and how nice it is to not have to sit at an awkward angle, trying to aim my 3G data card out the window. I can sit anywhere in my apartment in any other not-good-for-my-back position I want!

However.

One noticeable drawback. When the power goes out… my router goes out too. And I lose internet. Before, with my 3G data card, the power going out was a non-issue. The main issue was just it randomly deciding it was not on 3G anymore and switching to 2G. Now, the power going out has replaced the reason I switched in the first place! The randomness is just as inconvenient. Next step: buy a UPS (Uninterrupted Power Supply) which will keep my router on for a little while during the power blips. This is what we have at work. The Major just suggested I could get a Power Inverter which would do the same thing. Hmm. Need something, either way.

So, let’s talk about power outages.

Delhi National Capital Region

The above is the best map I found online to describe how everything fits together. The red-shaded part (if you are not colorblind) is Delhi. The little yellow circle in the middle is New Delhi which is within central Delhi. The blue cities surrounding it are part of Delhi NCR (the National Capital Region) but are technically in different states. I live in Ghaziabad just north of the border with Noida and a handful of metro stops from the border of Delhi.

Map with both city and state boundaries.
(that I also totally stole)

I was talking with my co-workers about all the power outages and water outages. (There was another 5-minute disappearance of water this morning, right as I was about to do my dishes. I decided Sunday is a non-maid day so I get to do my own dishes today. I both wanted to give my maid a day off and also have a whole day where no one comes to my apartment.) Anyway, so one of my co-workers looks at me and says, “we never have any power outages where I am.” Then he goes on to explain the hierarchy of power outages. In short: Delhi proper gets its power from everywhere else so rarely goes out (the politicians wouldn’t like it if the power went out all the time). The places around it go out according to their infrastructure weakness. In order of Most Outages, it goes about like this:

• Ghaziabad (me)
• Gurgaon
• Noida
• Delhi

Looking toward Ghaziabad from Noida
(in other words, home from work. My apartment is next to the buildings with cranes)

A word about the bureaucracy. India has the reputation of having Very Slow Government Services. Most of the paperwork I’ve filled out for various things (my PAN card, FRRO, and for private corporate things like my phone, bank account, and internet) so far is a lot, but seems reasonable for a place that has to diligently protect against fraud. Granted, I’ve said before that I’m lucky with the FRRO because I live in Ghaziabad. For those living in Delhi, getting a foreign registration card is like…

The Postal System of Doom

So I went to the post office yesterday for the first time since I’ve been here. The one other time I have sent non-courier mail, Chris went in my stead, so I did not hear much about it, other then it is hard to find. And it is hard to find. You have to know it is there (which I knew, thanks to my neighbor) because the logo above you can only see behind a closed gate if you look at just the right angle.

No hours are posted anywhere except for within the post office itself where it describes (in Hindi only) what services are available when. I got there at 8:50am on Saturday. There was a pretty big crowd outside the gate. Someone helpfully pointed out the letter box, but I can’t put letters in the box without a stamp (and if there is a place to buy stamps here except at the post office, I do not know about it.) Luckily, one dude spoke English and explained that the post office opened at 9am, but I may or may not be able to actually get a stamp until 10am. Ick. I waited in the shade (me, a bunch of guys, and one other woman.) When the gates opened at 9am, everyone poured in, but the English-speaking guy told me that the great majority of people there were buying train tickets (or something) and the post office part of it was mostly empty. He kindly pointed me in the right direction.

The post office building was a small, concrete building with no air conditioning and four ceiling fans. The one above where I needed to stand was the only one not working, and not for lack of trying. They kept flipping the switch on the fuse board, but it kept shorting out.

There were two men in front of me and two people behind the desk. But no one was being helped. At about 9:10, four more postal employees (I assume) appeared behind the desk. Five minutes later, one of the men in front of me was finally helped. Then, gradually, the other. And I waited. Then two more customers came in. An old guy walked right up to the desk (instead of standing in line) and I was like “hey, I was here first.” He said something that, by the tone, sounded like, “but I’m only here for xyz” and I said, “I’m only here for stamps.” He backed off, but the person behind the desk handed him something anyway.

Around 9:25, it felt like one of the six people behind the desk took pity on me, poor confused foreigner sweating up a storm, and told me to walk over to his side, asking what I wanted in okay English. I gave him my letters and postcards. There was still a little confusion – maybe people don’t send many postcards here – and one of the other customers, trying to help me, asked, “Sprekenzie Deutch?” Unfortunately, I can’t sprekenzie that.

It took another ten minutes and the assistance of three other employees, but they finally stamped them and charged me. Okay, sure, in the end 35 minutes is not an unreasonable amount of time to wait in the post office. But in the States, I see individual employees helping individual people and things moving along in an orderly fashion, slow or not. I would not call this chaos, as there was at equal number of employees as people who needed to be helped. I just had no idea what the heck everyone was doing back there and what was taking so long and why, when someone finally did help me, it felt like pity.

Also, very notably, I have been sent four pieces of mail (including three packages) from the States by regular mail. I have received one. ONE.

Moral of the story: don’t have anything sent to you in India by regular mail. Shell out the freaking *fortune* to send it by courier instead. Courier is very reliable. Indians so rarely use regular mail here that if you say the word “mail” people immediately assume you mean “e-mail”, which has caused two brief misunderstandings for me already. The letters I sent with Chris all did make it promptly to their destinations and I’m expecting these to as well, so I guess sending letters/postcards from here is doable, as long as you are willing to spend the time. I heard packages can be a different story, though, especially if they contain valuables.

On an unrelated note, I’ve decided to not go on the plane trip to Leh, instead shoot for my original dream trip, the road trip up the Himalayan passes to Leh.

I went out and bought a UPS! Now I have a Happy Internet Experience in my 3G-challenged and power-continuity-challenged apartment. I went to Croma (the electronics retailer where I bought my rice cooker) and they directed me to the computer shop in the same shopping center called “Zed Computers.” I walked in. Some guy who I thought was a customer approached me and I told him I was looking for a mini UPS for my computer. He reached to the side, took a box off the top of a pile and said, “like this?” Weirdly convenient, but that works! He told me the price ($50) but there was this unnatural pause between the time I said “I’ll take it,” and the time he actually took my money and wrote up a receipt.

Maybe he was waiting for me to bargain?

He seemed confused that I was like, “yep, sounds good.” It was the price I was expecting and considering it saved me a hot journey down the road to try to find one (thank you Buddy for informing me that all computer shops will carry the little ones) it was well worth it.

Yay for UPS!
An Uninterruptible Power Supply (unless the power is out for more than 20-30 minutes, and it has only gotten close to that once)
Manufacturer? “American Power Conversion (India)” Okay, sure. Made in India. Like most things here.

It has already worked twice. Power goes out. Router stays on. Lovely. Now I need to somehow attach my cable to it so I don’t lose the channel I’m on during these brief outages. Two nights ago, I missed a key scene in a very silly movie called the Sorcerer’s Apprentice which was only really worth watching because Nicholas Cage was having such a good time. And had good hair. Last night, I missed a couple blips of The Lion King which is okay, because I have it memorized. Tonight, though, I managed to see most of “In Time”, a clever sci-fi concept where time really is money and the amount of time you have left to live counts down on your arm. Have you ever noticed that when you miss the beginning of a mediocre movie (concept was clever, execution was cliched), the movie often becomes much better because you fill in the gaps yourself?

Have you ever noticed that when I have a short post with nothing much to say, I start babbling about movies?

Now it’s time for…

A Toothpaste Update

A single tube of Tom’s? Lasted 143 days. Go Tom! In the competition between the individual timings of chapstick, floss, toothpaste, and deodorant, I never expected the deodorant to win! Should be any day now. I know the suspense must be killing you.

I was told tonight that the monsoons would start early this year, evidenced by the recent increase in humidity. Ugh. Ugh because it means mosquitoes. I hate mosquitoes a way I hate nothing else in the world. I could never been a Jain. The ultimate non-violent religion. Wiki excerpt: “[Jain’s] rarely go out at night, when it is more likely that they might trample insects.”

I have in arm’s reach the Tennis Electric Racquet of Insect Doom and I’m not only unafraid to wield it, I’m eager.

And now I can plug it into my UPS to recharge. Insects at night, beware.

I’m declaring it official. I waited a few days before posting to be sure, but yep. The temperature has dropped about 15 degrees, the humidity has risen, and it has rained every day since this day, Thursday, after just about no rain for a couple months. And locals concur that although it is a bit earlier than usual, monsoon season has begun.

So I’ve started taking my malaria pills.

It was also recommended to me that I should go vegetarian during monsoon season… because the moisture makes meat even less hygienic, apparently.

It’s not wild and crazy rain. It’s not even constant. But I had chai in the drizzle for the first time and I’ve taken my umbrella out of the plastic for the first time (and we also got charged triple by the very smart auto drivers.)

Notably, whether summer, winter, monsoon, every season is cricket season.

I was watching some YouTube videos recently and the commercials are Indian! For some reason, that amuses me because I thought the ads were related to the video – or person posting. But several unrelated U.S.-based videos in a row have shown commercials I would have seen here.

And from the Fun with Hinglish department…

My co-workers were conversing in Hindi at the table during lunch. I understood almost none of it, but I always pick up the English words interspersed in. I heard “(hindi, hindi, hindi) top three American mistakes (hindi, hindi, hindi).” After a lull in their conversation, I turned to him and said “So what are the top 3 American mistakes? That’s the only part I understood.” He looked at me funny. “We’re comparing our favorite Bollywood actors. I didn’t say that.” Then he thought for a bit and said, “Oh! I said, ‘top three Aamir Khan mistakes'” and we got a laugh out of that one. I never realized those sounded the same.

In related news…

Pretty hot stuff. And the desert, too.

Aamir Khan is on my list of personal heroes. A lot because of the this talk show he did last year that brought a lot of taboo issues India is facing out into the open. I found an English subtitled version of whole and parts of episodes here and have watched almost all. I can’t remember which episode featured my favorite bit, where he spoke with some charismatic people with disabilities, but all of them have been terrific.

The Khan’s are a famous actor family in Bollywood… apparently there are three brothers. My co-worker called Aamir for the “classes”, another for the “masses”, and the third just “for stupid people.”

At my office, they have a Fun Committee. One of many things I love about my company is the emphasis on the social nature of work. And, presumably, happy employees are more productive.

All the emails that went out about our week of fun called it the Summer Mela. Mela is a useful word in Hindi (so useful, it has its own Wiki entry) that means a meetup, fair, gathering, etc. I see it used all the time from national festivals to sales at the supermarket. The first Summer Mela event at work was very well attended. It was a Tug of War. In Hindi, it is still called “Tug of War”.

Techies Participating in a Physical Contest

They did a good job with the rules – like making sure there were exactly 10 people on each side with at least three women and that there was enough room to move forward and back – which I always appreciate. Screams, yells, and cheers echoed all over the office, making it difficult to work, if indeed you were still trying to. An exciting afternoon.

A quieter event the next day was Tambola. Similar to Bingo. Everyone gets a little slip with random numbers on it from 1 – 100. The blank squares are free and the object is to get the five numbers across any of the lines. Then a blackout at the end. The very first time I played Tambola, I actually won! (I said “Bingo!” loudly and then I asked my amused co-workers what I was supposed to say. You say the line number like “Line 1!”) But it was for charity that time, so I didn’t actually win anything. I wan’t even close to winning this time around, but it was fun.

A Lack of Bingo

I am glad that they said the numbers in English. I think they might have anyway, even if I wasn’t there. I think, at the moment, I’m the only Westerner in the office, though a lot of people from other offices around the globe come and go. A lot of meetings are conducted in English, though I can never be sure, in those cases, whether the English is entirely for my benefit or if it is used because it is the “language of business.” I’m told, in some other offices, people use English exclusively.

Later in the week, they had a “balloon burst” race. Teams of four would walk awkwardly across the room one at a time while holding a balloon in between their knees. (If it fell, they would have to pause and wait for a team member to help.) At the end, they had to stomp on their balloon to pop it. Another loud event, though this one was off to the side. Later, there was arm wrestling. I only saw a crowd of people and heard the occasional rising level of cheer, then silence again.

The final event on Friday was a talent show. I am always amazed at these kind of things (we had one back home too) how talented my co-workers are.

Office Talent Show

The woman in the photo sung the only song I knew. Rolling in the Deep by Adele.

I took that photo from pretty close to where I sit. Which was unfortunate because I had a problem I really wanted to get solved before I left for the day. I might have ignored the bug and enjoyed the show, but then the comedy started – all in Hindi – and I didn’t understand a word anyway. I probably should have just given up on trying to work because apparently I have the funniest co-workers known to man; the people around me were bursting out laughing every few seconds. Also, the microphone was turned up really, really loud.

Speaking of loud, one of the books I read about foreigners living in Delhi joked that most Indians must be partially deaf (due in part to the many wedding celebrations which involve drums so loud they can be heard blocks away followed by music turned way up at the celebration.) The volume of the amps for this event, the volume of the music whenever there is a dancing event, and most of all, the volume of people’s cell phones, which always make me jump like my alarm clock is going off, make me wonder if this isn’t true.

Either that or I’m getting old and crotchety.

Not just the fun committee, but the co-workers on my humble team of about a dozen also know how to have a good time. It was two people’s birthday in mid-June, so someone bought a cake, ordered pizza and we had a little celebration in the office canteen.

Yay for Junk Food!

India Domino’s > American Domino’s.

Yep.

Finally, from my Videos Of Things That Are Not That Interesting series comes this: Going to work.

Now, to be precise, this isn’t really my morning commute because I usually take a taxi. But due to some alternate taxi driver pick-up location misunderstanding one morning, I hailed an auto instead. I decided a minute or two in to start filming it with my camera. You can see the auto driver looking in his rear-view mirror like, ‘What is she doing?’ The auto driver missed the final turn (more accurately, I don’t know in which “block” my office is, just which “sector”, so I had to correct my instructions) at which point I stopped filming.

My morning commute is very short (the video is not all that long). My office is practically in walking distance, if the weather were nice and there were not a narrow tunnel followed by the Road of Doom in between. (You can’t really feel the Doom crossing the intersection in the video… but I’d be afraid to cross it on foot during rush hour.) I tried to focus in on the people playing cricket on my route. Same place we played cricket earlier in the year, when I could stand to be outside for more than 15 minutes in row.

If you are using Internet Explorer to view this page… well, stop that. It’s the bane of my existence, that browser. Also, you won’t be able to watch this video unless you are in Firefox or Chrome. Notably, if your internet connection is slow, the video is probably not worth the download anyway. Though if the streaming isn’t good, you can right-click and download for later exciting viewing.

So I’m part of another group, started by the “Road Trip Group” organizer’s daughter called the “InterNations New Delhi Women’s Group”. For our first outing, we went to Barbeque Nation, an Indian chain, for lunch. I just read in the Wiki article now that, “Every table has embedded grills giving customers an opportunity to try out their culinary skills with the three-fourth cooked vegetables and meats.”

I, um, totally did not realize the meat on skewers over the grill was 3/4 cooked. I thought it was fully cooked and ready to eat. Maybe the few minutes over the grill were enough? It certainly tasted yummy and I didn’t get ill or anything.

Even a place with “Barbeque” in the name caters to vegetarians. You get skewers with veggies or otherwise vegetarian items on them instead of chicken or fish. And those items have a green handle instead of a brown handle. I’ve said it before, India is a great place to be a vegetarian. I mean, even the commercial for candy makes a point of saying “Snickers is vegetarian” in case of confusion.

Worldly women bonding over barbecue

The gathering was quite diverse. I met women from Iran, Mexico, Switzerland, Russia, and finally another American from Texas. English was our comon language. I feel like, in every other work or leisure group I’m part of, I’m always in the minority, either being a woman or a foreigner or both. Not the case here!

I guess the managers of Barbeque Nation must have thought we were a nifty gathering as well, for they presented us this cake at the end.

“Nice Group”

The restaurant was at Saket mall, so I hung out there for a bit after lunch, had a coffee shake, did some reading, and bought some DVDs. This is the only place I’ve found that sells DVDs in Delhi. Neither of the malls near where I live sell DVDs, though plenty of places sell DVD players. I looked around on the internet and found this site that does a conglomeration of ratings for various recent Bollywood movies, so I picked four and bought ’em. They were $6 each and rated for “All Regions” so maybe they’ll play back home, too? I bought “OMG”, “English Vinglish”, “Barfi”, and “Kahanni”.

Images that do not look like central Delhi

I found this flag, but could not find the Haagen Dazs again.

Waiting for the metro

So a trio of security guards blew their whistles at me when they saw that I was taking the above photograph. They were at the bottom of the stairs, just out of the shot. I don’t think they realized I’d already taken it by the time they whistled, so maybe they thought I was quickly complying. They didn’t follow me or anything to check my camera. I’ve been trying to figure out why they whistled. Maybe they think I could plan something sinister by studying the metro layout? No idea. My camera is not all that fancy. And everyone’s phone has a camera and there are a million people around. I was just being obvious about it.

I did a Google image search of Rajiv Chowk metro station. Yeah, my photo is nothing special.

The several days of heavy rain earlier caused flooding across northeast India.

I caught a hint of it trying to walk several blocks down to Shipra Mall. I almost could not make it on foot because of the lack of dry pavement. The cars, rickshaws and people were all sharing the not-flooded edge of one street. I almost hailed a rickshaw. I’m thinking the suddenness and severity of the several days of rain is part of why the streets got flooded so badly, but the sewers may also have been clogged with the garbage I often see on the side of the street. (And likely the sewers were built before this city grew to its current gargantuan population.)

The Yamuna River that runs through Delhi is at the highest levels it has been at in thirty years. There is a pretty significant flood plain, though, so only the people who live there are displaced.

The biggest news comes from further up in the mountains along the Ganges.

Rishikesh, where I was at just a couple weeks ago, is seriously flooded. Towns further upriver have been completely destroyed.

Rishikesh photo from the news

From 18 June, the Times of India writes:

“NEW DELHI: While the entire country is happily bathing in early monsoon showers, now at 40% in excess for the time of the year, torrential downpours have sent mounds of earth crashing into homes, toppled trees and buildings and overflowing rivers have swallowed vast swathes of north India, leaving at least 50 people dead and thousands homeless in the muddy aftermath. Nearly 20,000 people are still trapped in various places because of landslides and wrecked roads and bridges.”

That is the major thing on the news right now. And more rain is in the forecast. (Though Delhi has not seen much rain since the first few downpours.)

We had a team movie night mid-week.

Several of us at work left a bit early and headed over to a nearby theatre to see a new comedy called “Fukrey”. Any resemblance to a curse word in English is purely coincidental.

The title is a slang word without a clear definition.
Co-workers called it that in-between-high-school-and-college funk. One site defined it as “jobless” or “money-less”.

And although this was our second team movie, I forgot again: Movie theatres do not allow cameras. They take that rule Very Seriously. (Though phone cameras don’t seem to matter at all for some reason. Maybe separating people from their phones is un-enforceable.) Anyway, being in a foreign country, I always have my camera on me. And, unlike the other movie theatre we went to last time, this one had no baggage booth (like most stores, supermarkets, and places with similar rules have.) They really searched more of my purse than they usually search. And so one of my co-workers had to miss the first five minutes of the movie to go put my camera back in his car.

Ugh.

The movie itself is apparently very funny, judging by the amount of laughter around me. I understood bits and pieces (the story basically revolved around four people getting in and out of trouble while trying to find enough money to secure a spot at a university), but the funniest stuff was in the dialogue, which I got almost none of. I am baffled that they don’t subtitle movies, especially since Hindi, despite being a national language, is only one of many, many native languages in India. English is more unifying language than Hindi, at least according to what I’ve seen. I got some explanations from my co-workers during the perfectly-timed intermission and after the movie. I have a feeling a lot of the humor wouldn’t translate, but it was still pretty entertaining to watch and guess.

I kept hearing this Hindi word over and over. Matlabh. Apparently, it just means “means”. There was a subplot about interpreting a dream, so that makes sense. New word of the day.

There were not many song and dance numbers in this one (sort of half of one, if that) and so the movie came in at well under three hours. It seems like comedies are not usually musicals? I haven’t seen enough to be sure.

In one scene, one of the characters was wearing a shirt that said, in the style of the “Puma” logo, “Coma” with the puma cat draped across the letters. That was pretty funny. Though I think I spent a lot of the movie trying to figure out how that guy’s turban stayed on and why he wasn’t wearing the usual Sikh turban. The Internet gave me a kind of answer.

According to Wiki, Sikh turbans can be different styles depending on age, religion, region, caste, if it is a special occasion, or if you are playing sports.
(I see the green-styled one in real life all the time, but only see the white-styled one in movies.)
The white-styled one… does not seem as dignified to me.

During the intermission, one of my co-workers ordered soda and popcorn for everyone, which they *delivered* to us at our seats once the movie was going again. Nifty!

As soon as the credits started rolling, everyone immediately stood up even though they were still showing new footage behind the credits (of the four characters finally going to college. And the one guy changing to wear the above green style Sikh turban instead.) The girl next to me said “It’s over,” as if I wasn’t sure what credits meant. I was looking at the screen saying, “but there’s still movie going on.” Besides, I’m a credits person. I always stay to the end of the credits. Apparently even less people do that here than in the U.S. As I’m not going to make people wait for me, I left with them. Then they all paused at the exit doorway to watch the end of the new footage anyway. Ha.

I really have to remember, though, to leave my trash in the theatre. Because there are very few public trash cans. I was lucky to find one. I worked at a movie theatre cleaning up trash after movies so I know it is not a huge deal to clean up, actually. Just my habit to not leave trash around.

On the way home, we took the main highway, saw all the tents along the river for flood refugees. Got stuck in rush hour traffic. And saw a cool sunset over the temple. I figured, I better take photos to make the camera hassle worth it!

Traffic and the Sun over Akshardham

So we went out to get a cup of chai from the street market after lunch…

…and there was no street market! Just billowing bits of tarp and bricks.

“There must be a raid today,” my co-workers explained plainly. “The street market is actually illegal,” they continued, “so the owners of the booths pay 6,000 rupees every month to the police to carry on and 4,000 to the municipal guy to warn them of raids.”

“I had no idea,” I said. “How often do they do these raids?”

“Whenever the city needs money for something, like equipment.”

This photo is hard to see clearly, but that large vehicle has an ice cream stand on it, that was illegal, and it carting it off to apparently be destroyed. The fact that it was probably someone’s livelihood was hard to overlook.

Anyway…

When I returned home from work, there were several sheets of paper rolled up on my door. On everyone’s door. I picked them up. Even though it is written in Hindi, it is not too hard to guess from the words interspersed in English (just like in spoken Hindi) what it means.

The words in English in the opening paragraph are: “Dear fellow residents”, “committee members”, “miss management”, “orange county”, “maintenance amount”.

Other than the misspelled phrase that made me imagine a society Miss Management Pageant where lady bosses strut their stuff, I figure some tenants are not happy about the way their pre-paid funds are being used.

Everyone pays a maintenance fee that covers electricity, backup electricity, water, backup water, the club house and gym, security guards, and the upkeep of the complex. So far, I’ve been paying around $130 – $160 a month. (The base fee plus usage.) Whether that is reasonable and whether that is being mismanaged is not something I have enough evidence to have an opinion about. (Since I cannot read the rest, I have no idea what the call to action is, and my neighbor who translates everything for me hasn’t been home since.) What I do have an opinion about about is the lack of consistency and warning surrounding this fee.

Because, within hours of your account running down to zero, they will shut off your electricity.

Like they did tonight.

Also when I came home from work, I heard the beep of my UPS as if the power was out. Then I kept hearing it. Then the UPS itself ran out of juice. Since that also knocked out my internet, I checked the balance of my maintenance fee from my phone. It was at -920.

What makes this particularly frustrating is that I was on top of it this time. I had been checking the balance every other day. Yesterday evening, it was at 1,200. So somehow, $40 worth of fees was used up in one day when the daily average should be closer to $5, if that. Ugh.

Construction dudes

Speaking of first world problems…

Why is it so hard to find large garbage bags in India? One of the supermarkets I frequent had the size I needed once. Once and never again. I keep going back different days of the week to check (and there is a difference depending on the day of the week) but they only sell the small bags used in toilet garbage bins. The other supermarket’s clerk found some large-but-not-quite-enough bags that will do in a pinch, but seriously.

My co-worker laughed at me when I asked him about this. He says, “Why would you buy something you are just going to throw away? Especially when you get grocery bags from the supermarket every time.”

I apparently like my bags to fit my bin absolutely perfectly.

I’m also slightly concerned because both supermarkets stopped carrying the brand of milk I buy (“Nestle”, believe it or not), the brand that does not require boiling.

(imagine a Guido photo)

Baby Guido’s back! Several weeks ago, I caught him scurrying out my front door and under the neighbor’s door. Since that neighbor is out of the country, I figured B.G. was in a happier place without some crazy giant human always starting conversations with him. But he’s back!

Though in my desperation to get a photo of him, I scared him right down the curtain and under the wardrobe. I got a very cute photo, though.

Then I discovered that I CAN delete every photo on my camera with one command.

Sigh. Luckily, I had just backed up everything; I only lost the Guido photo.

I got an email inviting me – and any American Citizen – to the July 4th party at the U.S. Embassy on Saturday night. (One perk of registering with the embassy before moving, I guess. At least I assume that is why they have my email address on file.) They had some security restrictions. The worst was no large objects including umbrellas. So… your outdoor party during rainy season in the middle of an expansive neighborhood… has No Umbrellas Allowed? What? Luckily, it wasn’t raining when I woke up this morning.

The same day was our company’s badminton tournament in Noida. So I decided to give my taxi service some weekend business and headed down to Sector 21 on Saturday morning to play.

A Place to Play Sports and Stuff

From the Department of Redundancy Department

I don’t count the number of years it has been since I played badminton, I count decades. I played it a bit during “Raquet Sports” in high school and at the occasional backyard barbecue, but have never learned how to properly play.

Though that is not the case for the people here. When I arrived (after I wandered the complex, got barked at by a scary dog when I trespassed on what was apparently the dogs’ lawn, and finally found someone I knew, since I never would have found the door on my own) I was talking to one of my co-workers and he told me that badminton and table tennis were hugely popular here. I had no idea. Speaking of which, that is what Kathryn, my new co-worker from the States, calls “Noida”: “No idea.” Can’t believe I’ve never thought of that. Anyway, there was a whole giant court with four permanent badminton courts on it, so they must take this seriously here.

The gameplay did not take too long to pick up, actually. The switching sides when serving confused me a bit, but they had someone from the office reffing each game and explaining the details. At first, I was completely inept, missing completely or hitting the birdie against the stem. Then I got the hang of it, hitting it fairly regularly and managed a few good volleys (rallys?) during my first game. Everything following that, however, could be defined as Fail, horrible Fail. The only game I won was mostly because it was mixed doubles where I took the front, he took the back, and therefore I let him take most of the shots. I still had a lot of fun despite that the humidity that was so intense, even the locals commented on it.

It was a good, sweaty workout, that was for sure. And I loved how organized everything turned out to be. I’m very impressed that a committee at work manged to put together all the brackets, reserve the space, figure out who was playing when, and get the couple dozen of us a small lunch – a stuffed pastry and juice box – from the one concession area all in their spare time. And they wore matching shirts to boot.

Luckily, I managed to find someone to lend me their racquet for each of my games – everyone brought their own of course, because who doesn’t own a badminton racquet? I actually tried to purchase a racquet at Shipra Mall the previous night. Nope. Nada. So I bought The Worst Jeans ever instead and found out at the register that I did something I have never done before in my entire life: I lost my debit card. Luckily, I had a very clear memory of using it two days ago at the ATM in the basement of the office. Out of all the places to leave it, apparently that was a good choice because my card had not been used since then. I suddenly love that my bank sends me a text message every time my card is debited. After the most roundabout “Press 1 if” loop ever including one that, no joke, said, “Press 3 3 to report a lost or stolen card” and I had to just keep pressing that 3 until the next recording or it wouldn’t take, I managed to cancel the card. Now I have to wait until banking hours (i.e. Saturday) to get a new debit card. Bleh.

And because I know you are curious: The are the Worst Jeans Ever because they FALL DOWN. I know many people have pants that slide down their body as they walk. It’s a common problem, right? I mean, why else would someone invent the “belt”. But me, with ginormous round hips and thighs have never had this problem. Never in my entire life, no matter what style jeans. Until now.

So I went to pick up Kathryn (yay, a new American buddy just in time for July 4th) and we walked together to the metro station, about ten minutes in the heat and humidity. Seconds, SECONDS, after we entered the metro station it started pouring!

Whew. We were nervous about how wet it would be on the other side, though. With no umbrellas (sigh) we watched from the windows as the rain poured down on everyone, down all over the visitors to Akshardham, the people entering at each stop more and more soaked. We switched to the Yellow Line at Rajiv Chowk, this part all underground. At Race Course Station, we asked the man at the exit which gate was the closest to the U.S. Embassy. He said, “This one, but it’s raining outside.”

Tentatively, we went up the escalator. If it had been that bad, we figured, there would be more people in the covered part here, right?

Right! The rain had turned into a drizzle by the time we exited and found an auto to take us the rest of the way. Best Timing Ever.

The Program

I told my co-workers during the week that I was coming to this party tonight. The asked me if they have parades on July 4 in the U.S. And… I had no idea. Do they? (Hangs head in shame.) They said that India has both Republic Day, honoring the constitution (when they have a super big parade right through the middle of Delhi) and Independence Day, coming up in August. They said they hadn’t quite sorted out what to do on Independence Day. After all, it has only been sixty or so years from their independence from Britain (whereas as Americans have had 230 years to figure out something.)

Stepping into the Surreal

Our passports were checked, we were stamped, and we went through security that, compared to all the security I’ve already gotten used to in Delhi just to get into the metro station or the mall, did not seem so terrible. They started a little late and I learned later that the sudden rainstorm had completely ruined their preparing. But they did a great job setting everything back up. I couldn’t tell there had been a horrible storm just a half hour ago.

The party actually took place in a baseball field (!) You can see it right there on Google Maps. Again surreal. They had one smallish indoor area that I was happy to see just in case that rain came back. There they also had what was, according to Kathryn, the Nicest Public Toilets ever. Good to know for, you know, next time I visit? At the party, which had a pretty good amount of folks, but not nearly as many as I was expecting, I also ran into the one other American I know in Delhi, Megan, who I met at the Women’s Group (the Barbeque Nation entry.) Cool coincidence!

I’m standing in a baseball field, surrounded by American Flags, American accents, and people in shorts. In the middle of Delhi.

Overall, I liked the party. They kept the speeches and ceremony aspects short and sweet. Some marines marched to the stage with flags and rifles that were not fired. Then someone sung the national anthem. Then it was back to the nostalgic cover band playing Country Road, Sweet Home Alabama, and, for some reason, YMCA. They buffet was full of All-American food like burgers, fries, hot dogs, nachos, potato salad, quesadillas, fried chicken, corn on the cob, and believe it or not, a “Philly Cheese Steak”.

Be an Arrogant Bastard for only $10

The one disappointment was cost.

It cost $6 just to get in. The cheapest beer was $2 and went up from there, though it was pretty cool that they had Dogfish Head 90 Minute. (Apparently, getting this specialty beer in was not easy.) I had a $4 glass, er cup, of a wine called ONA which, despite looking like grape juice, was quite good. But you did not buy the food and drink directly, you bought coupons. Except the coupons only came in booklets of 200 rupees ($4). I asked the man at the coupon counter how much the buffet dinner was and he looked at me, confused, and said he wasn’t sure. How does the guy at the food and drink coupon counter not know how much the buffet dinner is?? Then he pointed to the paper inside my program which I now realized was a menu. With prices. With every single item charged separately. (And none were in increments of 200 rupees. The cheese steak was 280, the chicken was 220, the apple pie was 80. Seriously?) I know it is “special food” but seriously? I’ve never paid for a buffet dinner at a party in India ever, let alone be charged separately for each item. Incidentally, I declined braving the beef.

An American Indian?

The best part: fireworks! It was a short show, but yay! Fireworks are pretty commonplace here. Every other wedding has them – I often see fireworks out my window, but I still enjoyed them.

There was a raffle drawing after that, full of a bunch of useless prizes. A trip to Jaipur, where I’ve already been and probably will go back to, a trip to Agra, where I’m planning to go to later, or a trip to America, which I wouldn’t be able to take for tax reasons. Whew, didn’t win though I was nervous for a second because the person who won was also named Melissa. Wish they would have had free food instead. After that, they had a DJ who played a techno remix of Somebody That I Used To Know, some other new songs that I did not know, but one song that I also hear at Indian parties: Gangnam Style! Kathryn pulled me up to do the Cupid Shuffle. Then my regular taxi driver came and picked us up.

Now I have to go dig out my American debit card to pay for all these extraneous taxi rides…