Catholic school reminiscing

So last week, this was making the rounds on Facebook.

It made me laugh. I definitely relate to all of these, except the one about an all-girls school, because St. Louis School wasn't all girls, and the one about not being chosen to play the part of the Virgin Mary. I did get chosen once, so I can cross that off my bucket list. It was for our Christmas pageant, I believe.  I was in 1st grade, and Sister Eloise Marie was my teacher. She was upset with us that day because all the girls wanted to play the part of Mary, naturally. What girl doesn't? So she yelled at us, then started at the back corner of the room, giving out parts as she went around. Because I was sitting in the back corner, I was given the part of Mary. By the time she got to the front of the room, all the good parts were gone, and those students had parts like "shepherd" or random barn animals. Someone in our class had a Virgin Mary costume. I have no idea why. It seemed normal at the time.  So I got to wear the costume and carry the Baby Jesus doll. My day had come! While this was obviously the starring role of the Christmas pageant, it was especially good for me because it didn't actually involve any speaking. I was the kid in kindergarten who didn't speak, ever. By 1st grade, I'd gotten a little better, but I still preferred to not talk to people who weren't in my immediate family. And speaking in front of the entire school and their parents? Forget it. 

Number 1 on the list was a must do following Ash Wednesday Mass. 

And number 16 on the list-I absolutely did. I think I made up sins every time I had to go to confession. 

And because I like any and all excuses to share old pictures, here's kindergarten, next to the prayer table. I'm not in uniform because that didn't start until 2nd grade. I would like to point out that my mom made my outfit here. 

Floating

One thing on our to do list in Varanasi was take a sunrise boat ride on the Ganges. So we decided to get that crossed off the list on our second morning there. So at 5:30 AM, we found ourselves climbing into one of the dodgy boats that I'd been admiring from the safety of the shore for the past few days. Our particular boat was one string quartet short of looking like the Titanic a few hours after she hit the iceberg.
My mom signed me up for several rounds of swimming lessons when I was a wee lass. At the time I hated them because it meant I'd have to talk to adults who weren't my parents, but now I am thankful for them because I've been a strong swimmer for most of my life. So it wasn't the fact I was getting in a boat that was already full of water that made me uneasy. It was the knowledge of what was in the water that I didn't like. A friend of Anya's took a dip in the Ganges, and ended up getting a horrible infection that turned the skin on his arm black. At this point in the trip, I'd been picking at massive mosquito bites for 4 weeks. Plus, I'm fairly careless and my arms are always covered in scratches. Open sores + bacteria = Bad.  So in the interest of not picking up an organism that would cause my flesh to rot away, I'd decided my goal for Varanasi was to not let Ganges water touch my skin.
I carefully climbed into the boat, doing my best to avoid putting my feet into the pools of water covering the bottom of the boat. As we sat down, a young girl climbed onto our boat, selling prayer candles. I think she said they'd bring good karma. I really wasn't wanting to spend any more money. But this girl was only around 5 or 6 years old. It was 5:30 in the morning, and she was walking along the river, trying to make money. How could I say no to that? Plus, doesn't everyone need some good karma? So Anya and I got our candles.

The candle on mine went out before I could set it afloat. That's probably some sort of bad sign.

Other people had success though. 

And I don't remember the exact chain of events that happened next, but it was something along these lines- Anya had her camera on her lap, as she leaned over the edge of the boat to set her candle in the water, the camera rolled off her lap into the several inches of water in the bottom of the boat. She quickly picked it up, but it was too late. Her camera had been baptized with Ganges water. And I'm not talking like a Catholic Baptism where they dribble a little water on a baby's head. This was like a baptism at one of those nondenominational churches where they load up new converts into a van, drive to a pond 45 minutes away and dunk them in backwards. It was soaked. It also wouldn't turn on. So much for the prayer candle bringing good luck. 

Later that day, the camera made a miraculous recovery. Being that this all happened on Easter Sunday, a few references to the camera rising from the dead were necessary. It was a good day, because my homegirl takes ridiculously beautiful pictures and it would have been heartbreaking if she'd lost her pictures from this trip. However, because she'd spent most of our boat ride worrying about/drying her camera, she asked if I minded taking another boat ride the next morning. It was one of the most amazing things ever, so my answer was a resounding "HECK NO I DON'T MIND!" We ended up taking 2 more 5:30 AM boat rides. The sunrise each morning was stunning. The light was perfect. The mornings were refreshingly cool. The 3 boat rides were definitely one of my favorite parts of the trip. It felt like a dream. 

Each morning the locals flocked to the river to bathe. Who needs Listerene? In addition to washing their bodies, I saw people take mouthfuls of river water, swish it around like mouthwash, and spit it out. Gag. 

I saw people doing laundry. I saw people washing what were obviously hotel linens in the river. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. 

I saw a tourist on another boat drop his camera into the water. I am not sure how it happened, but I saw him stand up in the boat and throw his shirt off in preparation for jumping in after it. Luckily someone else in the boat talked some sense into him because, dude, it's gone. Let it go to its watery grave. I was sad for him though. Anya and I frequently referred to this as the trip of a lifetime. I got the feeling most tourists there felt the same way. I'm not super into pictures or nice cameras, but I'd be beyond devastated if I'd lost all my pictures from India. I can't imagine how someone with a nice camera would feel.

I saw some cremations. I've always heard burning human flesh is one of the most sickening smells.  But I never smelled anything besides burning wood. I guess they use a lot of oils to prevent burning flesh smells. I could see the shapes of bodies, but they were always covered in cloth. We floated by the two main burning ghats. They were littered with fire remnants. Seeing this bothered me. It felt weird and disrespectful. Boats full of people were gawking at funerals. I had to remind myself the fires I saw were not tourist attractions. They were people, who had had lives, jobs, hopes, etc. This was someone's mother, father, son, daughter or friend. And the people standing around were family, mourning their loss. I didn't take any pictures of the funerals, though I did find a postcard that was a picture of one of the burning ghats, with three fires burning. I suppose that's slightly hypocritical of me, because someone is making money from that postcard exploiting Hindu funeral traditions. But I couldn't pass it up. The cremations were so much a part of Varanasi. 

And my quest to not let any water from the Ganges touch my skin was a failure, twice. The river is full of boats in the morning. None of them are going super fast, so at times we'd run into other boats, like bumper boats. Our boat got right up next to another boat, and as the guy rowing the other raised his oar out of the water, it splashed all over my arm. The other failure was when we saw our driver from the car tour of Varanasi, finishing his morning dip. Soaking wet, he ran over to shake our hands. 

So here's a whole lot of pictures from the three morning boat rides. I tried to narrow it down, but I couldn't, even though a lot of them are basically the same picture, just a different day or a different angle. It was seriously the coolest thing, ever. Ever. EVER. 

 I couldn't leave India without at least one picture of a guy peeing wherever he felt the need. 

The river was always full of the prayer candles. It felt more touristy than spiritually significant. Thankfully I've never been one who is overly bothered by lot of touristy stuff. So I thought it was pretty cool. 

Men, getting their morning cardio on

 There were stones set up a few places along the river, for washing clothes...and hotel linens. 

purifying 

Some tourists were much braver than me. If I had to guess, I'd say they were Australian. All the Australians I've met while traveling have been mostly insane. 

Rowing

Wanna talk about me!

I realized sometimes this blog is like a Christmas letter. I use it to keep people informed on the happenings in my life, which admittedly haven't been overly exciting lately. And I can talk about myself as much as I want. Who doesn't love talking about themselves? But, while I started this to update other people about life in Bordeaux (hence the redwineandshellfish name), and I do try my best to keep it PG so as to not offend anyone, I've kept up with this blog for myself more than any other reason. I like to look back at it, and see what I was doing on a particular date. Ah, nostalgia.


Here are some updates.

Zit happens.
Wearing makeup is the pits, but I've mostly kept up with it. Before, especially in the summer when I don't have to worry about my hair freezing if I leave before it's completely dry, I could be ready to go somewhere in about 20 minutes. Now, not so much. And (though it's probably not the fault of the makeup because I'm now doing much better about washing my face that ever before but I blame the makeup anyway) my skin has never looked worse. The left side of my jaw looks like one of those 3D terrain maps of the Western United States. If these things get any bigger I'll have to claim them as dependents on my taxes. Acne at age 31, what every girl dreams about! Of course, there are much worse problems I could have, so I'm not overly bothered by a few pimples on my chin. I'm not turning cartwheels about them, but it's no biggie.


I like cats.
I deleted my Plenty of Fish account. I'm not looking for a husband. I'm not looking for a serious relationship. I thought I just wanted to casually date. Guys messaged me. Some of them were trolls. Some of them I'd actually be interested in if I met them out and about. However, when they'd ask me for my number, I'd suddenly become not interested. I realized in addition to a husband and a serious relationship, I also have no interest in dating, even casually. I'm sure when I've moved somewhere, am more settled, am moving in a serious grown up direction, I'll feel differently. But until then, sorry gentlemen, I'm not interested.


Gotta run run run!
This weekend was wonderfully springish feeling. Saturday I ran 4 miles and yesterday I ran 7. I'd never win any awards for speed, but considering it was my first run in 6 weeks, I was pretty happy with how easy it felt. Saturday was a little tricky because the roads were still covered in ice. But yesterday was great. I actually felt like I could have gone a few more miles. There's no way I could do 13 miles yet, but I think it'll be no problem by May. And for a little cross training action, Joni and I are taking an 8 week Latin fusion dance class. First class is tonight. Yea buddy! It is supposed to get way cold in the next few days, so it looks like it'll be me and Shaun T again. The 45 degree weather was nice while it lasted. My diet's been pretty good, too. I've forgotten a few times and had some rye chips at work, but otherwise I've had no gluten in two weeks. I've also done fairly well with cutting way back on sugar. Sad.

Wanderlust stop!
I'm trying, like really trying, to be a serious grown up. I look at for jobs. I look at graduate programs. But blarg, yawn, snooze. I've got traveling on the brain. Bad. Why can't I be like a normal 31 year old who is content to get a job, get married, and have a family? I don't want that. I want to want that. But...nope. Sometimes I try to imagine myself with a kid, and the first thing that pops into my head is "If I have to pay for things for a kid, I wouldn't have any travel money left." Often times when looking for a job I'm sidetracked by GoOverseas.com, travel blogs, or random people's travel vidoes on Youtube. The world is such a cool place. The more of it I see, the more I want to see. That's normal, right?

Facciamo cuocere!

Since last spring I've been tutoring an Italian girl living in Princeton. I use the term "tutoring" loosely though, because we don't really do any studying. When I first agreed to meet with her, I'd prepare lessons, but it quickly became obvious she was not looking for help with studying, just someone to talk to. She's not having the best experience in Princeton, and I can't say that I blame her. She moved here because her husband works for an Italian company that has a small branch in Princeton. I don't know why, but they do. She is not overly confident in her English. Her husband works all day. She doesn't know a lot of people. I think to myself what it would be like to move to a town of 7,000 people in the middle of Italy, not speaking Italian very well, having to leave my job, not knowing many people, etc. Actually, that sounds great. When can I sign up?
Anyway, she is clearly not thrilled to be here. She talks to me about how much better things are in Italy, how Americans are like Homer Simpson, and so on. I try to be understanding when she starts being negative, because it would be a very lonely year, and she hasn't had the best experience. I've never been to Italy, so I can't say that things are for sure better there. But she wants me to come and stay with her and her husband after they return home later this year. I guess if I have to...
She also told me that one of her neighbors is an American girl who married an Italian, and she hopes that I will do the same so that I can stay in her town forever.
One huge perk of this set up is that she gives me edible gifts her family sends from Italy. A few months ago she gave me a bottle of balsamic vinegar so thick it was like syrup. Two days ago, I sadly used the last few drops of it on a salad. A tear or two rolled down my cheek as I emptied the bottle. She also gave me a jar of jam that her aunt made. I have no idea what kind of jam it is. It's not as sweet as jam here, just fruity and delicious. For Christmas she gave me a massive brick of Parmesan.
She is always showing me recipes that she likes. I don't speak a lick of Italian, so the only words in these recipes that I understand are the ones that resemble their French counterparts. So a few weeks ago when I arrived at her apartment, she had a cookbook sitting out, and said she wanted to give me the best recipe for ragu sauce. If I had to go the rest of my life without eating macaroni and cheese, I'd be pretty sad. Otherwise, I'm indifferent towards pasta but I feigned excitement over the recipe anyway. We stumbled our way through translating the recipe anyway, including switching it from metric.
So the other night I decided what the heck, I'll make this ragu. Wow oh wow, it was life changing.

Ragu-4 servings
2 big spoons of olive oil
1/2 lb of ground beef or sausage (I used beef)
3 pieces of bacon (the recipe called for 2 ounces of pancetta, but the roads were not passable the other night, so I didn't want to venture out to find pancetta)
1/3 an onion
1/2 a carrot
1 stalk of celery
1 clove of garlic
1 bay leaf
4-5 oz of red wine (not sweet, but otherwise I think any works)
14.5 oz can of petite diced tomato, with the juice (the recipe called for 10 1/2 oz of fresh tomatoes, but again, we didn't have that in the house, and the canned worked fine)
1-2 spoons of tomato paste
salt
pepper
1 ladle of beef broth

Dice the onion, celery, carrot, and garlic. Heat olive oil in pan and add diced vegetables. Add the bacon and bay leaf, and saute. Add the hamburger and increase the heat. When the meat is brown, add the wine and stir constantly until the wine is gone. Add the tomato and tomato paste, stir. Then add the broth, salt, and pepper. Cook slowly for 2 hours, stirring occasionally.
When the sauce had about 30 minutes left to cook, I found a Parmesan rind in the fridge. I decided to throw it in as well. Waste not, want not. But it'd be fine without that.
I cooked some polenta to eat with it, but I'm sure if you like pasta it'd be just as excellent with that. And of course top it with loads of grated Parmesan.


Unrelated.
Dennis Rodman, you'd better check yourself. If I drink too much wine, then am asked about someone I don't like, I sound pretty much just like him. "Listen, she's just...dumb...you don't understand what she did...in this country...illegal...she's horrible...these people with me...they're my friends"
But really man, what gives? I know KJU is your "best friend" but he just had his own uncle killed.  Stalin was supposedly really into poetry and I'm sure there were some people in his inner circle that thought he was pretty okay, but that doesn't mean Uncle Joe wasn't bat sh*t crazy and responsible for the deaths of millions of people.
Dennis Rodman's gone from eccentric in a slightly charming way to straight up insane.
Dennis Rodman, Amanda Bynes, or Lindsay Lohan-who would be your first choice to babysit your children?

Varanasi 1

After sitting for what felt like a long time at the rooftop restaurant, our room was finally ready. When I was a kid, the highlight of my summer was the Bureau County Fair. I remember clearly how I'd feel once my admission was paid and I'd walk through the gates. "WHAT TO DO FIRST???? TILT-A-WHIRL? FOOD? GAMES? BURLAP BAG SLIDE? VISIT THE BABY ANIMALS? SO MANY CHOICES!!!" As the key clicked open the door to our room, I suddenly felt like a kid at the fair again. Of course I was exhausted to the point of being nearly delirious, but I could hardly stand the excitement. "WHAT TO DO FIRST???? BRUSH MY TEETH? SHOWER? GO STRAIGHT TO SLEEP? CHANGE MY CLOTHES THEN GO TO SLEEP? SO MANY CHOICES!!!" Needless to say, our first afternoon in Varanasi was a wash. The hotel (Ganpati Guest House, if anyone is planning a trip to India, I definitely recommend it, just don't count on them to pick you up from the train staion) was right on the Ganges, so we didn't have to stray far from the hotel to see lots of action, which was good because neither of us had the energy that first day to stray very far.
And before I go on, I'll answer the question that's on everyone's mind-No, I didn't see any bodies in the Ganges. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, but it was still plenty filthy.

Kind of blurry because my cheap Thai camera doesn't zoom very well. But you get the idea- dodgy boat overloaded with people. Typical. 

Each place we stayed, we shared our room with some of the locals. At any given time, there were at least 2 of these guys in our room in Varanasi. 

Cows get in on the Ganges action too

I'm generally not much of one for taking pictures of hotels, but Ganpati had character...

Lots of character, this was the lock/key to our room

Our first night there it stormed. There was pouring rain and a gorgeous lightning show over the river. The electricity was also off and on, but I'm not sure if that was because of the storm or just India in general, because it happened periodically the rest of the time we were in Varanasi. 

We decided to take a car tour the next day. We'd met a woman named Melissa at our hotel. I'm not always a fan of splitting. If it's something like dessert, forget it. Nothing bums me out worse than splitting dessert. But a 3-way split of the cost of the tour was a win, so she came with us.  Melissa was from Portland and was just finishing up an extended volunteer stint in India. I don't remember what she'd been doing (something with women, maybe), but I do remember her stories reminded me to never complain about anything, ever. 

Our driver was a friendly young fellow, who led is through the labyrinth and out to where his car was parked. Like all the other drivers under the age of 40 that we'd had, he played some Indian tunes for us, and we were off. 

First he took us to some temples. They were cool, but no photographs were allowed.  I'd seen so many temples the past month, so the memory of these undocumented ones is quickly fading.  He also drove us through Banaras Hindu University. If there was a place in India where I was able to forget I was in India, it would be here. The campus was pristine and beautiful.  It's weird how college campuses all seem to have a similar feeling to them, and they all make me slightly homesick for the Ilstu.

Then we went to Ramnagar Fort. Indians love their forts. This particular one was especially old and run down. By this point in the trip I must have been forted out, because I can't find any pictures I took of it. Actually, that's a lie. The back of the fort sat right on the Ganges and I remember liking the view. I'm not sure why I can't find any pictures of it. I was probably having camera issues or in a bad mood and didn't feel like taking any pictures. It happens.  

We also went to Sarnath, a Buddhist village outside of Varanasi. Sarnath is where Buddha gave his first sermon. 

It was overrun with Buddhist monks. I desperately wanted to take more pictures of them, but it felt kind of wrong. I'm not sure why. I had no problem taking pictures of them in Thailand. 

Spotted along the side of the highway, sound advice. 

I haven't felt my toes or fingers in a few days now. I haven't left the house since Sunday morning when I went out to do some shoveling and plowing (I learned to use the snow plow!). I have been wearing 3+ layers of clothing since I got home from work Saturday night, which took me well over half an hour because it was snowing so hard and the roads were untouched by the plows.  I had no idea where the road even was. So I hate myself a little bit for what I'm about to type. But...heat is exhausting. Usually when I'm traveling, especially somewhere like this, that isn't a place I'll get to go again any time soon, I want to do and see as much as I can. I don't like down time. This was not the case in India. By the time afternoon rolled around, I was usually wiped out, hot, tired, and in need of a cold beverage and/or a nap. So when our car tour ended, I was perfectly happy to sit around, eat pakora, and do not much else the rest of the afternoon and evening. 

Ice

One thing on my lifetime to do list is to run a marathon. I've tried before but have been plagued by knee issues when I regularly run more than 8+ miles a day. But I'm hoping with various stretches, cross-training, way healthier eating, and Biofreeze, this will be my year. I'm secretly super competitive, and when I see posts from random people on FB about completing the Chicago Marathon, I think "If they can do it, there's no reason why I can't!"
The plan is to start with a half marathon in the spring. I'm not overly worried about that one. I've ran 13+ miles many times, just never in an actual race. It's been a few years and I definitely have to work up to it again, but I'm confident that I'm more than capable.
Aside from my knee, the other hurdle I face is the weather. On a normal year, I run from around April until October. I'm a wuss and hate the cold. So I either do workout videos or go to the gym (if I have a membership) from Novemberish until spring. This year was no exception. I ran the Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving, and haven't ran a step since then.
I know that if I'm going to be ready for a half marathon by spring, I need to suck it up and continue running at least a few days a week during winter. I have thermal tights, warm socks, lots of fleece, etc. Now I just need the drive. I was pumped, ready to do it...until I saw the forecast for the next several days. When did we move to Siberia? For three or four days next week, the warmest it's supposed to be is -2? Lows in the -20s? Wind chills of -50? What? I can't run in that. I don't want to get out of bed when it's like that.
I assumed this winter would be a rough one when I was wearing a sweater in August and it was snowing by October. But I had no idea it'd be this much of a cruel joke from Mother Nature. Call me weak, but my running will not resume until it's warmer than 20.
Forget all that "science" nonsense about climate change and extreme weather. There is actually a very simple reason why this winter is so bad. Two years ago, I bought a Jeep. I hadn't driven in winter weather for 4 years. I was kind of nervous about it and I wanted something with 4 wheel drive. I used the 4 wheel drive once, for about 1 mile, to get the car up a hill during the one snowstorm we had that winter. By summer, the gas on the Jeep was killing me. I bought a Volkswagen but the Jeep stayed around here. I was gone for 2 1/2 months last winter, but while I was home, I still had the Jeep available in case of snow. We had a blizzard or two, but they happened when I was gone. I never once turned 4 wheel drive on last year. This winter, the Jeep has a new home, so it's me and my Volkswagen. It's pretty light and relatively easy to push, which is lucky because I've gotten it stuck twice already. It's not meant for snow or ice. I'm sure if I still had the Jeep, baby leaves would be popping out of the trees already and I'd be wondering which pair of shorts to wear today. That's how things work, non?

My dad helping free my car

You have no power over me!

India is crowded. Indians love their trains. Indians don't seem to mind taking ridiculously long train rides in ridiculously crowded trains.  So I knew we were in trouble when along our way, whenever a local would ask us about our itinerary, they'd nod approvingly...until we'd get to the "from Udaipur, we'll go to Varansi" part. Then their expressions would change. They never came right out and said "you ignorant crazy Americans should look at a map before making these plans! Even we wouldn't do THAT journey!" but I felt it was implied.
From the time this trip was in the "Should we do this? Shouldn't we? Let's do it. Maybe." phase, Anya had been studying her copy of Lonely Planet India. She had also been given some solid advice and a loose itinerary from a coworker who used to take groups to India, or something like that. We knew Varanasi was a long way from Udaipur, with no great way to get there. I didn't want to skip Varanasi, because aside from eating lots of food and seeing the Taj Mahal, seeing the Ganges was the only other thing on my India to do list. We spent a lot of time looking for buses, cheap flights, trains, etc. But there wasn't much. We looked for something worthwhile to stop and see between Delhi and Varanasi.  Again, there wasn't much, plus since we already had our flights home, our departure date was concrete, and an additional stop would mean less time in Varanasi. We decided our best option was suck it up, and take a train from Udaipur back up to Delhi, then from Delhi we'd take a train straight to Varanasi. Here's a map, in case your knowledge of Indian geography isn't up to snuff. I drew lines to help you out.

So we got on our train in Udaipur in the early evening. After a night's sort of sleep, we rolled into Delhi a little after 6 the next morning. I have two requirements for morning. Requirements. Not things that would be nice to have. These aren't guidelines. Requirements. Coffee and a teeth brushing. I don't care about breakfast. I don't care about clean clothes. I don't even really care about an immediate bathroom stop. But I need coffee and clean teeth. These requirements were triply important after spending 12 hours on a train. I'd purposely saved the last bit of water in my bottle so that I could brush my teeth. After we got off the train, we found the nearest trash can and brushed our teeth. I'd been to this particular train station while waiting for the train to Agra. I'd made the mistake of walking into the bathroom. The smell still haunts my nose to this day. Therefore the trash can in the middle of the station was a more desirable spit receptacle than the sink in the bathroom.  We got some stares from people standing around, but at least we had clean teeth.
We had a 12 hour wait in Delhi before our next train, which happened to be leaving from a different train station. We decided to try and see some more sights in Delhi, and the best way to do this would be to rent a taxi for the day. This was not a problem, as we were bombarded with drivers as we left the station. Several of them tried to grab our bags and take them to their taxis. They were bees and we were the honey...cranky, sleep starved, honey.
We finally picked one, agreed on 8 hours, and were off. He asked us what we wanted to see. Coffee was my answer. He took us to a park with a hefty admission fee. He seemed miffed when neither of us wanted to pay to see this park, or whatever it was. We got back in the van. Coffee. Please. He took us to a Gandhi memorial park something or other. It was cool, but didn't do much to feed my caffeine addiction. We asked again. He stopped at a dodgy looking Nescafe stand along the side of the road. Normally I'm all for street food. But in India the rules are different. The guidebooks were pretty specific about making sure the water we consumed was filtered, bottled, or boiled. This place looked as if they got their water from a tarp on the roof during rain storms. He said it was too early for anywhere that served coffee to be open (lie), and took us to a slightly better than the Nescafe stand along the side of the road restaurant. They didn't have coffee, but I got chai and a pastry. At least it was something. Then he took us to something else, which I still have no idea what it was. He didn't seem to understand that we were paying him, and all we (I) wanted was coffee. Then we went back to the Lotus Temple.  By this point we'd realized arguing with him was useless. He had an agenda for us. We were tired, dirty, and not in the best of moods. But we had to laugh at the irony of our repeat tour of Delhi. Several times throughout this trip, we'd ask ourselves "When will we ever be here again?" For a few sites in Delhi, the answer to that question turned out to be two weeks later.
Finally, around lunchtime he brought us to a restaurant. It was expensive and obviously geared towards foreign tourists. But by this point neither of us cared. It had been well over 24 hours since we'd had any real food, and going on 24 hours since we'd had access to a bathroom that wasn't a hole in the floor of a moving train. After lunch he finally took us to one of the places we actually had asked to go, the Gandhi Museum (Mohatma, not Indira). I'm pretty sure I wrote about it already, forever ago, in my first post about Delhi. So I'll spare you the pictures of it. But I will say again it almost brought me to tears. I'm not entirely sure why, but I was definitely fighting a lump in my throat.
Next, the driver tried to take us to another site we'd already seen. At that point, despite having time left on our 8 hour tour, and several hours before our next train, we decided to just go sit at the train station. We found a crowded restaurant, and passed the time counting how many men we saw peeing in the middle of the busy parking lot. I don't remember where I wrote down my tally, but it was well over 40.
Finally it was time for our train, and 14 short hours later we were in Varanasi. We had arranged for the hotel to pick us up at the station. We waited and waited and waited, which is exactly what a person wants to do after spending 36 hours on the road. While we waited, the creepiest crazy woman I've ever come across would not leave us alone, and taxi/rickshaw drivers wouldn't either. When it was obvious the hotel wasn't coming for us, we agreed to hire a taxi to drive us there. All was going well, until the driver pulled over and said "You get out here." Ummm...okay? It turns out surrounding the ghats is a maze of extremely narrow alleys. They are barely wide enough for two people to pass each other. Cars? No way.
He grunted and halfheartedly gestured something we assumed meant keep going straight when we asked him where our hotel was. So, carrying our bags, we set off. We didn't enter the alleys, but kept going straight, along the outside of it. After walking what seemed like forever, it became obvious we'd missed it. We were lost. Big time. All along the way, we were harassed by men, asking if we needed a rickshaw, a tour guide, had any spare change, wanted to look in their shops, etc. We headed back and into the alleys (which I later learned were called galis). I immediately felt like Sarah, in Labyrinth. I had no idea where to go. I had no idea who was trying to help me and who was trying to trick me. It smelled like the Bog of Eternal Stench. It was slippery because sidewalks (if you can call them that) in Varanasi are perpetually wet. It's best not to think about what they're wet with. Finally, we found our Hoggle, who led us to the hotel, which we otherwise would have never ever ever found.
Of course our room wasn't ready yet. So we made our way to the rooftop restaurant. The hotel was right on the river, so as we sat down at a table, we got our first glimpse of the Mother Ganges. For a few seconds, I forgot that I hadn't showered, changed my clothes, or really slept in over 48 hours.

NYE Grinch

Bitter waitress rant.

So New Year's Eve sucks. I'm pretty sure I've written that before. But my feelings towards this day haven't changed, so I feel it's okay to repeat myself. In fact, I hate NYE so much, I'll say it again. New Year's Eve SUCKS.
While getting ready for work yesterday, I was trying to figure out why I hate NYE. Initially, I thought it was because I always work. Then I thought more and realized I haven't actually worked at NYE since 2008, when I was home from France for a few weeks and decided to pick up some hours at le restaurant. I had a trip to Morocco to pay for, and my assistant's earnings weren't going to cut it.

I go to bed laughably early and alcohol gives me headaches (except for Ricard, which keeps you wonderfully hydrated as you go). So naturally a holiday centered around boozing it up and staying up late wouldn't be my favorite, but is that cause for so much hatred? Nah.

NYE is cliche and overhyped. Fact. Thanks, cheesy movies and TV, aside from the 2011 classic New Year's Eve, which was painfully overlooked by the Academy. I can't help but roll my eyes when I hear about people getting engaged on NYE. It's as cheesy as a Valentine's Day proposal. Way to take your proposal ideas from Romance for Dummies. Two years from now I fully expect to see you announce your pregnancy via posing with a jar of Prego. Am I unromantic and bitter? Possibly. Is that the reason for my NYE hatred? Nah. I felt this way even on NYEs when I wasn't single.

I love Christmas. Love love. Love love LOVE. NYE is the end of my favorite time of year, and the start of 2 months of gray, cold, depressing weather and blah. Is that the reason why I hate it? Maybe. I'll let you know after I move to Thailand and don't have to worry about cold gray Januaries and Februaries.

Regardless of the reason, the fact remains that I hate NYE. Yesterday afternoon, I was trying to gear myself up for a long night at work. I thought people would be feeling generous since they were out, having fun, while I was working, waiting on them. Boy, was I ever wrong. The story of my night? $5 tips on $60+ bills, over and over and over again. The exception? One table which left me nothing. Thanks guys. I knew it was coming when they were having to count out change to pay for part of their bill, but it still makes me mad. And it wasn't my service. As much as it's so not what I thought I'd be doing at 31 years old, I am a fantastic waitress. I suppress all my antisocial tendencies and am very charming. I wish people understood that tipping is part of the expense of eating at a sit down restaurant. If you can't afford to leave a decent tip, grab some fast food. Or better yet, stay home. My income isn't provided by the restaurant. The restaurant provides me with a means to earn the income, which is provided by the customers, in theory. The $4 an hour I'm paid by the restaurant all goes to Uncle Sam. Literally, all of it. My paychecks are $0. When I'm president, working in food service for at least a month will be mandatory. The worst thing to ever happen to anyone working in customer service? The customer is always right. Other "facts" with the same amount of truth: Unicorns always mate in the summer. The tooth fairy hates the color orange. Kim Kardashian earned her fame. Mermaids are vegetarian.

So the other day, I was driving home from the Koch family Christmas, when I got stuck in Peoria because the roads became not drivable due to freezing rain. I counted 10 accidents in a 1 mile stretch of road. I had left first thing in the morning, hoping to avoid the bad weather, but instead I was right in the middle of it. I shopped a few sales but wanted to wait longer to give the salt trucks a chance to make their rounds.  I decided to get my nails done. As the lady was finishing up, she looked at me and said "You need eyebrows waxed./?" She was Asian, and as often the case with non native English speakers, the cadence was different than my own. I couldn't tell if she was saying it as a question or a statement. I'm going to assume question, in order to protect my pride. Though, I'm surprised she didn't say anything about waxing my ladystache, as I was sporting a wicked 5 o'clock shadow.

Insert obligatory 2014 well wishes here.

And just to show I'm not a complete and total New Year's Eve Grinch, here's a picture of Ivy wearing her party hat. I originally made the hat for Clarence but because he is a complete and total New Year's Grinch, he drew blood from me when tried to put it on him.