Some tidbits from my work diary:
11/8/09
9:00 AM
Workers are currently re-decorating the area outside of my office. They disconnected our internet in the process, making it very hard to work on a Sunday morning. Hmmmm…work...
3:00 PM
Working in a co-worker's office. The workers are using a blow torch in the crawl space in my office. It smells like plastic melting. Not in the mood to be in the path of an explosion.
11/9/09
The drilling, sanding, and sawing continues. As a co-worker said, the construction noise is now in stereo! The building going up outside my window has now almost completely obstructed my view of the palm trees--my one spot of green in this concrete landscape. Soon I will be in darkness. The only good thing is--once they finish the building next door, the pounding will stop…right?
Monday, November 9, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Bangladeshi Burritos
No, we don't have tortillas here in Bangladesh. But we DO have parathas--a sort of flat bread. And our friendly neighborhood grocer Mr. Moonshine (yes, that is really his last name) provides us with kidney beans and olive oil. I get Australian colby cheese at Khulshi Mart grocery store. And the cukes, onions, garlic, and tomatoes are widely available in veggie markets here.Here's the recipe for "Bangladeshi Burritos":
- Saute some chopped garlic and onions in olive oil, then add canned kidney beans (with liquid).
- Add some spices (coriander, chili, etc.) and some salt and cook for about 20 minutes. Add water if necessary.
- Meanwhile, throw some ready-to-heat parathas in a toaster oven (I like the Tava brand at Khulshi Mart. DO NOT USE frozen parathas--they will only melt and make a big mess). Cook at 175 Celsius for about 5 minutes (until they start puffing up).
- Chop up the cukes and tomatoes and shred the cheese.
- Throw it all together and ENJOY!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Wash Day
I took these photos back in August while on a field trip. This was alongside a very busy and dusty road.
Look at those bright whites!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
When it rains in Bangladesh... it floods
Friday night we had torrential rains. The monsoon season came late this year, and is still reminding us that it is not finished yet. I woke up to lightening and thunder and thought I was back in a classic Kansas storm.
Fatema Haque, Access Academy teacher, took a photo of the aftermath at our temporary university campus around 8:30 Saturday morning:
Fatema Haque, Access Academy teacher, took a photo of the aftermath at our temporary university campus around 8:30 Saturday morning:
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Fair Trade Reunion in Mumbai: A Visit to MarketPlace Handwork of India
It’s not often that a job places you in Bangladesh, halfway around the world from home (Kansas, USA). Even rarer is the chance to visit face-to-face with the women in Mumbai, India who make up a grassroots organization that you have admired for years. Add to this the alignment of your vacation dates with the visit of the organization’s founders, and your good providence provides you with a trip that is fun, educational, and inspiring.
I first learned about Marketplace Handwork of India (MPI) in 2001 as a Women’s Studies student at Kansas State University. Inspired by the organization’s mission and model, I volunteered with a women’s weaving cooperative in Guatemala. Upon graduating, I joined Equal Exchange, a fair trade worker-owned cooperative near Boston, Massachusetts. Over time I met and maintained contact with Pushpika Freitas, founder of MPI, seeing her at fair trade events and interviewing her for an article in 2007. Reading, thinking, and writing about a pioneering group, however, cannot compare with visiting the organization itself, as my sister and I did this past September.
We caught Pushpika a few days into her Mumbai trip. She was the most gracious of hosts, despite lingering jet lag and a hectic schedule. Delphine and Nooreen of SHARE managed our visit details, arranging housing, transportation, and activities—leaving us with the sole responsibility of showing up. What an amazing team!
Travelling by auto rickshaw to Pushpanjali, we passed slums, high rises, and large trucks belching diesel fumes; the noisy traffic forced our conversation to something akin to screaming. All the same, we enjoyed chatting about Mumbai, Marketplace/SHARE, and our respective work. Arriving at the Pushpanjali collective, we were greeted by over 20 smiling women. We were offered chairs, but opted to sit on the floor like everyone else (a gesture that would leave our American bodies rigid within an hour or so!). A group member applied tika with red and ochre powder to our forehead, and we were given a rose and served hot tea and biscuits.
Meeting with members of the Pushpanjali collective
Prajakta translated as we explained our visit and the women answered our questions about their lives and work. The majority of women have two to three children and live in a room about 10 x 10 feet with their family. Before joining the collective, many women were afraid to leave their homes; now they can travel across town on their own. While many husbands resisted their wives working, the women persisted in showing up at the workshop, sometimes beginning work at 10:00 at night. With Marketplace, the women learned about women’s rights, domestic violence, and have gathered the courage to voice their concerns. One woman mentioned that she now feeds her children—girl and boy—equally.
View of the neighborhood from the Pushpanjali collective
In the afternoon, Katrina and I visited two other collectives with Hasinaji. We weaved between two story houses with narrow walkways and walls jutting out (us tall Americans had to watch our heads!). In the Nirmaan collective, women sewed in a tiny room on the ground floor while on the floor above them, more women embroidered; in the last tiny space available, children had class (and got to practice their English on the visitors!). The Sahara collective required ascending a steep ladder to the second floor, where we were greeted with more smiling women who were delighted to find that my sister shares the same first name as a Bollywood actress.
Children at the Nirmaan collective
Katrina with members of the Sahara collective
Every collective we visited, we were greeted with big smiles and small, sincere gestures of hospitality. Since learning about Marketplace years ago, I’ve dreamed of meeting the women in person. Visiting the groups, it’s clear to see that this organization is truly about empowering women. When asked how their lives had changed since joining Marketplace, one artisan had said, “We have our own money now.” After our visit, however, it is clear that personal income is only one among many benefits that these women gain; in turn, they had so much to share with us.
Nooreen and Katrina join the Dandiya dance (during Navratri Hindu festival of worship and dance)
***
I first learned about Marketplace Handwork of India (MPI) in 2001 as a Women’s Studies student at Kansas State University. Inspired by the organization’s mission and model, I volunteered with a women’s weaving cooperative in Guatemala. Upon graduating, I joined Equal Exchange, a fair trade worker-owned cooperative near Boston, Massachusetts. Over time I met and maintained contact with Pushpika Freitas, founder of MPI, seeing her at fair trade events and interviewing her for an article in 2007. Reading, thinking, and writing about a pioneering group, however, cannot compare with visiting the organization itself, as my sister and I did this past September.
We caught Pushpika a few days into her Mumbai trip. She was the most gracious of hosts, despite lingering jet lag and a hectic schedule. Delphine and Nooreen of SHARE managed our visit details, arranging housing, transportation, and activities—leaving us with the sole responsibility of showing up. What an amazing team!
To begin our visit, we headed to the main workshop space in Santa Cruz with Pushpika. The empty space was soon bustling with designers, fabric dyers, and SHARE employees—all ready to prepare the spring collection for production. Katrina and I were happy to stay out of the way as everyone got down to work. Soon Prajakta, SHARE Program Manager, arrived and we headed off to the Pushpanjali collective, some 40 minutes from the Santa Cruz space.
Pushpika discusses embroidery with Meeta and Dipika (embroidery supervisors)
Pushpika discusses embroidery with Meeta and Dipika (embroidery supervisors)Travelling by auto rickshaw to Pushpanjali, we passed slums, high rises, and large trucks belching diesel fumes; the noisy traffic forced our conversation to something akin to screaming. All the same, we enjoyed chatting about Mumbai, Marketplace/SHARE, and our respective work. Arriving at the Pushpanjali collective, we were greeted by over 20 smiling women. We were offered chairs, but opted to sit on the floor like everyone else (a gesture that would leave our American bodies rigid within an hour or so!). A group member applied tika with red and ochre powder to our forehead, and we were given a rose and served hot tea and biscuits.
Meeting with members of the Pushpanjali collectivePrajakta translated as we explained our visit and the women answered our questions about their lives and work. The majority of women have two to three children and live in a room about 10 x 10 feet with their family. Before joining the collective, many women were afraid to leave their homes; now they can travel across town on their own. While many husbands resisted their wives working, the women persisted in showing up at the workshop, sometimes beginning work at 10:00 at night. With Marketplace, the women learned about women’s rights, domestic violence, and have gathered the courage to voice their concerns. One woman mentioned that she now feeds her children—girl and boy—equally.
View of the neighborhood from the Pushpanjali collectiveIn the afternoon, Katrina and I visited two other collectives with Hasinaji. We weaved between two story houses with narrow walkways and walls jutting out (us tall Americans had to watch our heads!). In the Nirmaan collective, women sewed in a tiny room on the ground floor while on the floor above them, more women embroidered; in the last tiny space available, children had class (and got to practice their English on the visitors!). The Sahara collective required ascending a steep ladder to the second floor, where we were greeted with more smiling women who were delighted to find that my sister shares the same first name as a Bollywood actress.
Children at the Nirmaan collective
Katrina with members of the Sahara collective
Nooreen and Katrina join the Dandiya dance (during Navratri Hindu festival of worship and dance)***
I was struck by the key support that SHARE provides for Marketplace artisans. My visit allowed me to witness the organization’s commitment to grassroots development and women’s empowerment, and I wholeheartedly recommend supporting SHARE through a monetary donation:
http://www.marketplaceindia.org/MPI/Content.aspx?src=Donations.htm
Check out the MarketPlace blog!
See photos at: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis/MarketPlaceHandworkOfIndiaVisit92609#
The article I have written about MarketPlace Handwork of India is titled "'Women Who Needed to Earn a Living Yesterday': Challenging the Global Economy Through Home-based Labor" and will appear in the forthcoming Gender Parties, Global Markets, edited by Dr. L. Susan Williams and Dr. Michelle Bemiller.
Check out the MarketPlace blog!
See photos at: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis/MarketPlaceHandworkOfIndiaVisit92609#
The article I have written about MarketPlace Handwork of India is titled "'Women Who Needed to Earn a Living Yesterday': Challenging the Global Economy Through Home-based Labor" and will appear in the forthcoming Gender Parties, Global Markets, edited by Dr. L. Susan Williams and Dr. Michelle Bemiller.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Meet my Former Roommate
This is my former roommate.She took up residence in my shower back in July.
She was moved to another bathroom by a brave soul.
Two days later she reappeared in my bathroom.
Then she mysteriously disappeared from my room a few weeks later.
I can't really say that I miss her. But I do wonder to where she has wandered...
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Thailand Part III: One—er, Two (more) Nights in Bangkok
Thailand: August 14-21, 2009
So, for our last full day in Bangkok we had a hearty breakfast of beloved porkers, and headed out to see the Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho. We decided to take a boat taxi, rather than work off our breakfast by walking, or by haggling with a tuk-tuk or taxi driver. The boat taxis—or ferries, or whatever they call them—are cheap and run on a pretty regular basis. Although some only stop at certain stops, and we had to catch one back to our stop.
So, for our last full day in Bangkok we had a hearty breakfast of beloved porkers, and headed out to see the Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho. We decided to take a boat taxi, rather than work off our breakfast by walking, or by haggling with a tuk-tuk or taxi driver. The boat taxis—or ferries, or whatever they call them—are cheap and run on a pretty regular basis. Although some only stop at certain stops, and we had to catch one back to our stop.
Big toes of the reclining Buddha
I had no idea how big this Reclining Buddha was—it filled a couple of rooms and was at least 2 stories high. It was awesome! I enjoyed all the Thai schoolchildren who were visiting—each one in a faded red top, matching black shoes for girls and brown shoes and socks for boys. A few said “hello” and waved—for the first time on my trip, I felt like I was getting a lot of attention—I felt like I was back at home!
Kat and I headed down to Chinatown where we found a huge area with stores selling lots of things we didn’t need. Then we headed to the Royal Barge Museum. That took a while—ok, about an hour—to find. We couldn’t figure out our ferry stop, then we followed a sign for “museum,” but it turned out to be for a hospital museum. We finally hailed a taxi—metered, to be sure—and he knew where to take us. He was pulled over after an illegal U-turn. He continued haggling with the traffic cop after offering him 20 baht ($0.75). A matter of principal, Katrina and I mused—the cop won’t take bribes! Not so—50 baht did the trick and we drove on. It still took a while to follow a winding, narrow path route to finally find this big building with royal long boats.
One highlight involved food, of course. I walked by a street vendor selling what appeared to be fuzzy bean pods. When this sigh registered in my brain, I asked outloud “Edamame?” and went back to inspect. The vendor gave me a sample. No, it was not edamame, but it was the closest I had come to it in 2 ½ months. So I bought a baggie of it and had a nice, healthy snack. Kat also bought a bottle of coke, but the vendor wouldn’t let her walk away with it. She gestured to a tiny plastic bag, Kat nodded, and dumped the drink in with some ice and a straw. Truly “take away!”
Close encounters of the edamame kind...
"You want that to go?"
Our last supper in Bangkok involved entering a restaurant/hotel from the back: walking down a dark alley, up a set of metal stairs, walking through a second floor lobby--and arriving at a swank spot. The food was fantastic: cucumber and tomato salad, falafel, hummus and chick peas, and baba ganoush. I was happy breaking away from the paad thai...but sad to break away from our Thai vacation the next day.
Fabulous Middle Eastern in...Thailand!
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis/ThailandAugust21282009#
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Thailand Part II: No shoes...no shirt...no problem.
Thailand: August 14-21, 2009
We heeded the call of the sand, surf, and sun and headed to Ko Samet island. We took a transport package deal, as it was just a little more than hassling with local transport would have been. It took about three hours by bus, a half-hour by mini-bus, and half hour by boat. We had no idea where to stay, so we ended up walking for a while with backpacks in the heat of the sun. While the ocean and palm trees provided a lovely backdrop, hostel shopping was back breaking! Kat and I settled on a little place called The Lost Resort—set back in the hills, about a 5 minute walk from the beach. Kat was happy with A/C and tv. I was just happy to get rid of the backpack.
Kat and I ate lunch at Naga Restaurant—the BLT on homemade whole wheat bread was a welcome addition to our bellies. We walked the beach, swam a bit, and enjoyed the sand in our swim suits. We encountered Matt and Jalene on the beach, and pigged out at dinner at Pudsa Bungalows. They had discovered a little place a bit down the beach with cheaper bungalows, and a practically abandoned beach.
BLT baby!
I took a picture of our dinner too late! Here's what's left of onion rings, grilled beef, paad thai, fried calamari, and green curry.
The next day, I hiked over to the Wonderland Resort to secure a bungalow. It took a while to find, hiking the dusty road with very little shade. It took even longer for someone to show me a room for 500 baht ($15)—I insisted that my friends had secured a bungalow for that price the night before. What I was shown was a musty, dirty place. I got a bit of a sinking feeling, but rather than give up, asked to see something closer to the beach. The place I saw looked much better—a/c, double bed, no grandma’s attic smell. So I bargained the proprietress down to 700 baht a night. (I came to find out later that whoever had bargained with Matt and Jalene the night before wasn’t there and that 500 baht a/c room was a hoax). I had to pay 2 nights to get the special deal—but I didn’t have enough cash. So I had to hike over to the next beach to find an atm. That took a while, and I had to have my coffee break in the meantime. Finally, I paid for the room, and walked back to where Kat was to transfer her over to our new place. All that walking and bargaining was rewarded with a beer and a swim in an ocean almost all to myself.
While staying at Wonderland, I concerned myself only with eating, drinking, swimming, and procuring a massage. I took seriously my co-workers’ orders to RELAX! I spent a lot of time filling my tummy with good food and drink. While all the food on the island was around double the price of the same thing in Bangkok, we ate heartily all the same. The deep fried squid was amazing. (I really hope it was the squid we saw a fisherman catch earlier that day. I just get paranoid that they feed the tourists the frozen stuff!)
The view from our bungalow--not bad!
I was sad to leave the island, but also ready to exit my relax coma and start using my brain again. Our minibus driver gave us the ride of our lives (I think he’d had a few too many Thai iced coffees that morning)—Kat said she saw the speedometer hit 140 km/hr at one point. I couldn’t see it, but apparently he ran a few red lights. Driving back into Bangkok for 2 nights…I already felt like I was back in Bangladesh traffic.
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis/ThailandAugust21282009#
We heeded the call of the sand, surf, and sun and headed to Ko Samet island. We took a transport package deal, as it was just a little more than hassling with local transport would have been. It took about three hours by bus, a half-hour by mini-bus, and half hour by boat. We had no idea where to stay, so we ended up walking for a while with backpacks in the heat of the sun. While the ocean and palm trees provided a lovely backdrop, hostel shopping was back breaking! Kat and I settled on a little place called The Lost Resort—set back in the hills, about a 5 minute walk from the beach. Kat was happy with A/C and tv. I was just happy to get rid of the backpack.
Kat and I ate lunch at Naga Restaurant—the BLT on homemade whole wheat bread was a welcome addition to our bellies. We walked the beach, swam a bit, and enjoyed the sand in our swim suits. We encountered Matt and Jalene on the beach, and pigged out at dinner at Pudsa Bungalows. They had discovered a little place a bit down the beach with cheaper bungalows, and a practically abandoned beach.
BLT baby!
I took a picture of our dinner too late! Here's what's left of onion rings, grilled beef, paad thai, fried calamari, and green curry.The next day, I hiked over to the Wonderland Resort to secure a bungalow. It took a while to find, hiking the dusty road with very little shade. It took even longer for someone to show me a room for 500 baht ($15)—I insisted that my friends had secured a bungalow for that price the night before. What I was shown was a musty, dirty place. I got a bit of a sinking feeling, but rather than give up, asked to see something closer to the beach. The place I saw looked much better—a/c, double bed, no grandma’s attic smell. So I bargained the proprietress down to 700 baht a night. (I came to find out later that whoever had bargained with Matt and Jalene the night before wasn’t there and that 500 baht a/c room was a hoax). I had to pay 2 nights to get the special deal—but I didn’t have enough cash. So I had to hike over to the next beach to find an atm. That took a while, and I had to have my coffee break in the meantime. Finally, I paid for the room, and walked back to where Kat was to transfer her over to our new place. All that walking and bargaining was rewarded with a beer and a swim in an ocean almost all to myself.
While staying at Wonderland, I concerned myself only with eating, drinking, swimming, and procuring a massage. I took seriously my co-workers’ orders to RELAX! I spent a lot of time filling my tummy with good food and drink. While all the food on the island was around double the price of the same thing in Bangkok, we ate heartily all the same. The deep fried squid was amazing. (I really hope it was the squid we saw a fisherman catch earlier that day. I just get paranoid that they feed the tourists the frozen stuff!)
The view from our bungalow--not bad!
"Hey, wasn't this on a postcard somewhere?"
I was sad to leave the island, but also ready to exit my relax coma and start using my brain again. Our minibus driver gave us the ride of our lives (I think he’d had a few too many Thai iced coffees that morning)—Kat said she saw the speedometer hit 140 km/hr at one point. I couldn’t see it, but apparently he ran a few red lights. Driving back into Bangkok for 2 nights…I already felt like I was back in Bangladesh traffic.
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis/ThailandAugust21282009#
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Thailand Part I: A Kansan Fit to be Thai'd!
Thailand: August 14-21, 2009
Katrina and I decided to jet off to Thailand for a week. (Well, it wasn’t that simple. I had to get leave approved. Then we had to get tickets. Then we had to travel from Chittagong to Dhaka by tiny plane, stay the night at a guest house, then fly to Bangkok the next day. Whew!) We were on the same route as fellow universitarians Matt and Jalene—and they offered to show us around. Seeing as neither Katrina nor I had planned anything, we took them up on the offer.
We stayed at a nice guest house, Baan Sabai, in the touristy—but not crazy touri
sty (Kaosan Road)—area. We celebrated our vacation with a beer and some Thai street food. Thus began my obsession with paad thai—thai noodles. I have eaten at least one serving of this a day here. Matt suggested the other day that I break out of my paad thai shell. I said “Why? I know what it’s gonna taste like, and it’s almost impossible that it’s not gonna be good.” Thus far, I have enjoyed every paad thai—“same same, but different.”
Matt took us that first night to a blues bar—and it was great. Jalene made up a drink years ago using saeng som (Thai whiskey), coke, and menau (lime) soda. Unfortunately, the third ingredient was missing, but the drinks were great all the same. Nothing like hearing “Bad to the Bone” in Thai!
Sleeping in the next day was golden—a theme for the day. After spending some gold on coffee at a Starbucks knock-off, and visiting the Golden Arches, we headed over to the Grand Palace where lots of buildings are doused in gold. Now, a quick word about what I just said—yes, I went to McDonald’s and I ate a Big Mac in Thailand. I hate McDonald’s. But living in Bangladesh for 2 ½ months does strange things to an American.
The Grand Palace is the resident of the king and queen—and the one place every tourist must visit in Bangkok. Before entering, one has to cover their shoulders and legs. Celebrating my being out of Bangladesh, I had on mid-calf capris and a tank top. I had taken an orna (remember that thing I have to cover with in Bangladesh?), but the guard said I couldn’t wrap it around me to cover my bare shoulders. (This is while other people were being allowed in wearing cap sleeve shirts with v necks to their belly buttons, and Thai students with mini skirts on. But the guard was not having anything to do with my mummy wrap). So rather than wait in line for an hour to borrow a t-shirt, I went into the gift shop and paid 280 baht ($9) for an ugly, thick t-shirt. I call it my “forced souvenir.” Either way, it got me in.
As for the Palace itself, it was beautiful—and blazing hot. Although we didn’t see the king and queen, I feel like I know the pair quite well after a week here. Their images are everywhere here in Thailand. Reverence or propaganda—who knows. They seem like nice, quiet folks—who look great in portraits 20 feet tall and 10 feet wide. Wish I was that photogenic…
Me and my t-shirt and a big golden structure
The guard was not amused...
"Matt, we're surrounded!"
After all that walking and sweating, we headed to the MBK Mall. Matt and Jalene really wanted to watch a movie. G.I. Joe was playing. (As most of you know I am not a big movie person—unless it is a poignant, non-tear inducing film that makes me think, but not too much.) Kat and I politely declined and instead strolled the seven stories of a/c and stalls with clothing, food, trinkets, entertainment, and bling. Stuff wasn’t cheap, and I really didn’t need to buy anything anyways. So I was ready to get out of there when Matt and Jalene’s movie was done.
We had dinner at the street vendor we ate at the night before. I think I had a target on my head; my chair took the first hit. The second time, the bird hit my shoulder. The Italians next to us got a kick out of it--cattivo birdie!
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis/ThailandAugust21282009#
Katrina and I decided to jet off to Thailand for a week. (Well, it wasn’t that simple. I had to get leave approved. Then we had to get tickets. Then we had to travel from Chittagong to Dhaka by tiny plane, stay the night at a guest house, then fly to Bangkok the next day. Whew!) We were on the same route as fellow universitarians Matt and Jalene—and they offered to show us around. Seeing as neither Katrina nor I had planned anything, we took them up on the offer.
We stayed at a nice guest house, Baan Sabai, in the touristy—but not crazy touri
sty (Kaosan Road)—area. We celebrated our vacation with a beer and some Thai street food. Thus began my obsession with paad thai—thai noodles. I have eaten at least one serving of this a day here. Matt suggested the other day that I break out of my paad thai shell. I said “Why? I know what it’s gonna taste like, and it’s almost impossible that it’s not gonna be good.” Thus far, I have enjoyed every paad thai—“same same, but different.”Matt took us that first night to a blues bar—and it was great. Jalene made up a drink years ago using saeng som (Thai whiskey), coke, and menau (lime) soda. Unfortunately, the third ingredient was missing, but the drinks were great all the same. Nothing like hearing “Bad to the Bone” in Thai!
Sleeping in the next day was golden—a theme for the day. After spending some gold on coffee at a Starbucks knock-off, and visiting the Golden Arches, we headed over to the Grand Palace where lots of buildings are doused in gold. Now, a quick word about what I just said—yes, I went to McDonald’s and I ate a Big Mac in Thailand. I hate McDonald’s. But living in Bangladesh for 2 ½ months does strange things to an American.
The Grand Palace is the resident of the king and queen—and the one place every tourist must visit in Bangkok. Before entering, one has to cover their shoulders and legs. Celebrating my being out of Bangladesh, I had on mid-calf capris and a tank top. I had taken an orna (remember that thing I have to cover with in Bangladesh?), but the guard said I couldn’t wrap it around me to cover my bare shoulders. (This is while other people were being allowed in wearing cap sleeve shirts with v necks to their belly buttons, and Thai students with mini skirts on. But the guard was not having anything to do with my mummy wrap). So rather than wait in line for an hour to borrow a t-shirt, I went into the gift shop and paid 280 baht ($9) for an ugly, thick t-shirt. I call it my “forced souvenir.” Either way, it got me in.
As for the Palace itself, it was beautiful—and blazing hot. Although we didn’t see the king and queen, I feel like I know the pair quite well after a week here. Their images are everywhere here in Thailand. Reverence or propaganda—who knows. They seem like nice, quiet folks—who look great in portraits 20 feet tall and 10 feet wide. Wish I was that photogenic…
Me and my t-shirt and a big golden structure
The guard was not amused...
"Matt, we're surrounded!"After all that walking and sweating, we headed to the MBK Mall. Matt and Jalene really wanted to watch a movie. G.I. Joe was playing. (As most of you know I am not a big movie person—unless it is a poignant, non-tear inducing film that makes me think, but not too much.) Kat and I politely declined and instead strolled the seven stories of a/c and stalls with clothing, food, trinkets, entertainment, and bling. Stuff wasn’t cheap, and I really didn’t need to buy anything anyways. So I was ready to get out of there when Matt and Jalene’s movie was done.
We had dinner at the street vendor we ate at the night before. I think I had a target on my head; my chair took the first hit. The second time, the bird hit my shoulder. The Italians next to us got a kick out of it--cattivo birdie!
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis/ThailandAugust21282009#
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Our New Roommate
We have a new roommate. He eats a lot, poohs in a box, and likes to bite people. Doesn't he sound pleasant?
His name is Vincent the kitty. He was found by Nicole Santamaria at the bottom of our apartment building stairs. She gave him a few baths to get rid of the fleas, fed him a lot of food, and made him a happy little cat.
Nicole recently went back to the US (we miss you, Nicole!) and Katrina and I were first on the kitty adoption list.
Originally Vincent was called "Disco." Nicole named him that because she found him next to the building elevator, the inside of which is wall-to-wall mirrors. Indeed, it is the closest we will ever get in Bangladesh to a dancing palace). I didn't like that name and I saw that his eyes were blue--so I wanted to call him "Frank". (ala Sinatra). Then Zelda (nine years old) said she thought that was dumb ("...and who is Frank Sinatra anyways?"). She said the cat should be called "Vincent Van Playful." So, you can see how
this has all come about.
While Vincent may be having an identity crisis, he's loving the food and attention. And we, in turn, are grateful to have a spunky stress reliever.
His name is Vincent the kitty. He was found by Nicole Santamaria at the bottom of our apartment building stairs. She gave him a few baths to get rid of the fleas, fed him a lot of food, and made him a happy little cat.Nicole recently went back to the US (we miss you, Nicole!) and Katrina and I were first on the kitty adoption list.
Originally Vincent was called "Disco." Nicole named him that because she found him next to the building elevator, the inside of which is wall-to-wall mirrors. Indeed, it is the closest we will ever get in Bangladesh to a dancing palace). I didn't like that name and I saw that his eyes were blue--so I wanted to call him "Frank". (ala Sinatra). Then Zelda (nine years old) said she thought that was dumb ("...and who is Frank Sinatra anyways?"). She said the cat should be called "Vincent Van Playful." So, you can see how
this has all come about.While Vincent may be having an identity crisis, he's loving the food and attention. And we, in turn, are grateful to have a spunky stress reliever.
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