Communicating In India

PINK PALACE IN JAIPUR

Yesterday I went to Citi bank and was able to get enough money to tide me over. So there is no  longer any reason for me to feel stressed.  It was a communication mistake somewhere, that's all.

Remember I told you about using an internet fast key in Rome? Well, it didn't work very well, especially after the first week. I have been here in India for two weeks, and the data key, as it is called here, works like a charm. Even in my room which has no window to the outside world.

The problem is you need to know someone to attain such a key. Here unlike in Europe you cannot just go to the store and buy a telephone or a data key. You need to go through a whole series of background checks, and you need to live here. Some people borrow a friend's cell and data key and  pay the usage.  If you are here on business, of course, your office will give you whatever you need. Not so for the tourist.
  
You can bring your own phone and your own data key, but that is pretty expensive, whether it is from the states or from Europe. It would cost me $2/minute to use my phone here. I have a vonage number, and I have used that. But the reception is not as good as I would like.

There are computer places you can go to and get on line.There you must show a pass, and the owner takes down all of your information. Where you are staying, the address and telephone. This is understandable, because of the fear of terrorism. I am not against it, I actually agree with it, but it makes your life a bit harder to tour or live here.

Be sure to consider these problems before you come. If you are touring and it doesn't matter whether  you have a cell phone, that is great. You can go to the computer place and keep in touch online. But if you are coming on business, be sure the funds are there to cover your phone expenses.

It seems strange to me now that I think back. When we first came here there were no faxes, no cell phones, no computers or internet. The telephones never worked and messages had to be sent with the driver in order to communicate in Delhi itself. We waited for a letter in the post with great anticipation, in order to know how our family and friends were. It doesn't seem possible that we were so disconnected. Now if I don't call my husband everyday, he is upset. At that time, if I went out of station, he might not hear from me at all for weeks. How small the world has become.

THE SACRED AND THE SACRED WANNA BE

 HINDU GODS FOR SALE AT DIVALI

India is a very religious country. I have often been bewildered by  the intensity of their beliefs. Even the well-educated follow holy men. I don't mean to say that educated people can't be religious, but it is the intensity of the following that amazes me.

When we lived here in the 1970s, I used to joke that if I wore a blue sari and rode a donkey from Delhi to Agra, I would have a large following and be considered a goddess by the time I reached my destination. That is not so far from the truth.

One year in the early seventies a professor of philosophy spent a year in India teaching at the university and to groups outside the university. Some friends asked if he would give them a photo of himself and, being flattered, of course, said yes. A few years later, when he returned, he found that he was being worshipped and his lectures were now booklets to read when his followers needed guidance. Admittedly he was shocked.

William Dalrymple relates in his new book Nine Lives that outside Jodhpur a man was killed in a mortorcycle accident and an Enfield Bullet Motorcycle was placed as a memorial to him at the site. Since then the cycle has become a shrine, and pilgrimages of truck drivers from all over Rajasthan come to this site looking for miracles. Many claim to have increased their fertility after the pilgrimage.

During our stay here, Dick became sick with yellow jaundice and spent many weeks in bed. After the illness, I went on a five week vacation to Europe to see friends.When I returned I found small photos of me cut out in different parts of the house with rice and oil and a candle in front of the pictures. I knew they wanted me to return, because Dick could be difficult and I ran interference. But-- frankly-- finding these sites unnerved me.

Rejected

I don't how many of you remember Joe in Lil Abner, who always had a black cloud that followed him. That is how I feel today. I'm beginning to think I should hide out in my bedroom that has no windows. Actually  I am just feeling sorry for myself.

I went to the ATM and my card was rejected. Now I suppose you think I forgot to leave enough money in the account, but no. I went back to Mohini'to look on the internet and sure enough more than $5000 in the account. So I sent a ripper of an email to the bank. But Dick is in Madison and will take care of this. I hope so anyway.

The thing is my head went into fourth gear. How would I take care of this, who would I pick to save me this time.  Yes, things like this have happened before. But then it was caused by my own stupidity like ripping up the wrong airline ticket. But not this time. I had enough money in the bank and I told the bank that I would be in India during this time. So I don't know what their problem is. Anyway, I'm sure everything will turn out well.

 Well it is a few hours later and I called the bank. There are no holds on my card. So the problem is on this end.  I don't know what that means, but I will be off tomorrow to try a number of ATMs in the city. If it doesn't work I have figured out an alternative or two. So I'm not too worried.

Out on the town

Today I called the driver and with his taxi went shopping. You know when you have a list in the west, it is not uncommon to finish the list before the day is over. Not here. If one thing on the list is completed you can feel you've had a successful day. Well, nothing today on the list was completed. But I did buy some presents for my grandchildren.

I went to buy a doll for Mohini. She wanted to give it to her electrician, who has had a baby girl and is so excited. But do you think I could find a hand-made doll, a rag doll, or any such thing. No!! Only dolls you put on the shelf and look at. I think Indian children play with dolls just like any other children, but there were none I would consider acceptable. So I have to go again tomorrow, because I refuse to be defeated.

I wanted to get presents for the young women in my family. I have 3 daughters-in-law, 1 ex daughter-in-law, who is nevertheless cared about, and a daughter. Only one of them does not like jewelery and prefers money, so that's fine. One should give what is desired, right? The jeweler, I have known for more than 20 years, had moved and when I finally found  him, he wasn't in the shop.

You can't just go into any jeweler and buy jewelery. Here you have to establish a relationship with the jeweler so he doesn't want to cheat you. I could never buy from his son, daughter or anyone else in the shop. I don't know them and I don't trust anyone in India I don't know well. That's the way Indians do things and when in India do as they do.

So I bought some cute little outfits for my two youngest grandchildren who are going on two.

This is Rina, with her dark hair and brown eyes. She is quiet and contemplative.

This is Chiara, who is three months younger. She is anything but quiet, and like  her father crawls up, over and into everything. She has brown eyes as well, but her hair gets blonder every month.
As Wisconsinites, we are all Packer's fans, we who watch football.

For Rina I bought a light green outfit. She is dark and this would make a lovely contrast.

This is the detail embroidered on the front.

This is the detail around the neck.  Also embroidered.

This is Chiara's outfit, to go with her light hair.

This is the detail on Chiara's outfit.

The detail on the neck.

Than I bought an elephant and a horse they could play with.

These were all bought at the Cottage Industries on Janpath.  This is a store where you can depend on quality, and is frequented by those interested in crafts. These crafts will be dying as the country progresses. Sad, but inevitable.

Food into Eternity

I have to write this, because it is shocking.  Well maybe shocking is an exaggeration. But I am always overwhelmed by the amount of times one eats in India.

We start at 6:30am with coffee and two little cookies to prepare our stomachs for our medicine or our vitamins. Then at 8am comes breakfast, with toast, egg, cornflakes and fruit. At 10:30am coffee or  tea with milk and/or sugar are served and something to snack on. At 1pm lunch is  served, which includes 2 vegetables, dal, rice, chappatis and yogurt. At 3pm again coffee or tea and maybe a little snack. At 6pm, a drink, snacks or a bowl of soup and pappadam. At 8pm is the big meal. Dinner is served, which includes 3 vegetables, dal, rice, chappatis and yogurt and a sweet afterwards. I am never hungry when it's time to eat and I'm sure I am blowing up like a balloon. When I decline the tea or a snack, I am asked, "Aren't you well?" "Don't you like the food?" I'm terrified of going into a sugar coma at any moment.

When I return home, I will wait until I feel the pangs of hunger before I eat. Ah, one never realizes how good that can feel.

Walking the walk.

             HOOKAH

I found this photo at www.democraticunderground.com

Yesterday I was taking my daily, well almost daily, walk and walked down a lane I have never walked down before. There sat a dozen old men in white cotton hats, white pyjama type outfits, sharing a hookah. I was a bit surprised with all the fear of swine flu, but there they sat, chatting and sucking away as only good friends can do. I didn't have my camera, because my battery had run out, but maybe this evening they will let me photograph them.

India is a mass of contradictions. When we lived here in the 1970s, the streets were filled with bicycles, three wheeler taxis, horse drawn carts, and black and yellow Indian cars.  One could always see a jet flying overhead, just to prove that somewhere modernization had taken place.

The populace used to talk about the spirituality of India and Indians. Well, I guess that was important, because they had no roads worth driving on, only one real hotel in Delhi, and very few restaurants.

Dick was beside himself trying to buy goods here, because Indian businessmen were not used to meeting quality controls or delivery dates.

When anyone left India for a trip abroad they were given a long list of things to buy from their friends and relatives: buttons that didn't break, zippers that actually zipped, jeans, t-shirts and food stuffs. We couldn't get corn flakes that weren't full of bugs, peanut butter that could be eaten without stirring, cheese, sausages, pasta among many other things. But India had the most beautiful fabric I have seen anywhere, and tailors would come to your house and make clothes for the whole family and all the servants for $2/day.

People were starving all over the country, and fewer than 7% of the populace made enough money to pay taxes.

I'm amused when someone tells me they can't find the right kind of chocolate chips, or a certain kind of cake mix. I say nothing, knowing that their problems are as important to them as ours were to us. But I smile inside and murmur sympathy.

The country has taken off and not in a stable easy going way. The country is changing at jet pace, and though good things are happening, there is stress everywhere. Change is difficult at the best of times, and change this drastic will cause as much upheaval as happiness.

Scenes from our balcony

I am having trouble putting a lot of photos on this page.  So I guess I will just begin talking to you, those who are listening, if anyone is.

I stay with friends, Mohini and Rama. Mohini I have known since 1971 when she became my Hindi teacher.  Since then we have become more than friends. I consider her my Indian mother.

 She lives in an urban area outside Noida, a newly built city across the river from Delhi. We can stand on the balcony and watch at least part of the world go by. These photos are a part of that world.

Everyday the vegetable wallah comes and all the ladies gather to buy their veggies for the day. There is a lot of bargaining, loud voices and frantic gestures.

Across the street, if you can call it a street, really a lane, is a small building.  There Muslims from the area come and pray.  This man is the caretaker. On Islamic holidays, huge pots of food are cooked and placed on fires and everyone comes to eat. Different bands play, everyone sings and there is a great joy. However, the neighborhood, which is predominantly Hindu are not so excited. In the interest of communal peace, no one really complains unless it goes on for more  than 24 hours. One night without sleep is not too big a sacrifice.

Every Thursday all the children from poor families line up for sweets at this little mosque. It matters not whether they are Muslim, Hindu or Christian, everyone is given a piece of candy or a cooked sweet.

Back in Action

The title makes me sound like I was off and running.  But I wasn't.  I had the taxi pick me up, my old standby driver, Omvir.  He stutters a lot and drives through Delhi traffic while talking on his phone. For those of you who have never been here, that takes a lot of magic, a lot of talent or a lot of plain stupidity. He MUST wear his seat belt, but he has removed the seat belts in the back seat, because they are not required by law. So I figure angels are watching over me as they always have in the past and relax. What else can one do when his or her life is in constant danger, but has no way of controlling the situation? Either relax or have a heart attack. Reading books are good in these situations.

I went to the Delhi Network, a woman's organization.  This is the organization women from all countries come and connect to swap stories, complain, help newcomers and set up travel destinations for the group.

It is better than the American Club, because the American Club has segregated itself to only American women. I like the idea that we are able to see the problems women from other cultures have in India. Because many of the problems are the same, it breaks down racial, ethnic and cultural barriers.

Men can come too, if they are stay at home dads. But they tend to be a bit suspect, if not by  the women, then by their husbands.

However, the language in common for all these cultures is English, and today I met a woman who speaks no English. She was raised behind the Berlin wall and the second language they were expected to learn was Russian. Luckily I speak German so I suggested we get together a few times before I leave. But she will have to learn English if she and her husband decide to stay in India.

It must be tough to be in a foreign land and have to learn a language that is also foreign to the majority of the inhabitants. That does not mean to say that Indians don't speak English; the educated do certainly and those who want to work internationally. The rest speak a few words, learning only what is necessary to do their job.

Living in Noida

 

These are my grandchildren in Gujarati dress.

The last two days have been used getting over jet lag.  I don't know how many of you have suffered this disease, but the good thing about it is it goes away by itself after a few days. India is 11 1/5 hours difference between Chicago. The half hour?  The Indians couldn't stand to be on the same time zone as Pakistan, so they stuck  a half hour in there somewhere. I don't understand it, but rivalry can even cause nations to do irresponsible and inexplicable things.

Anyway, back to the jet lag. For those who haven't had this fun, your body is out of sync with the outside world. When everyone else eats, you aren't hungry, but you wake up at 2 am feeling as if somebody had ripped out your belly lining, and usually you have to search the refrigerator for anything, and I mean anything that might be available, an old slice of bread, a banana. And if you aren't in your own home, you are searching your host's kitchen for these things, which can be embarrassing if they catch you.

Then your sleeping pattern is topsy turvey.  The sun is up. you desperately want to go to bed. Every bone in your body is screaming, "LET ME SLEEP!!!" But slowly things will return to normal. And when you return home, the same thing occurs all over again.

Traveling to India by air.

I know I have complained a lot about airlines and the flights. They are on the whole pretty awful, but I was surprised to find the last flight to India quite pleasant. The food was nothing special, but then they were feeding more than three hundred. However, the service was good on both flights, the one to Paris and the connecting one to Delhi.  The plane was more up to date, at least the one to Paris and everyone was polite.  So give two thumbs up to Air France.  

I slept most of the way on the connection flight, so I wasn't totally destroyed when we arrived. Our wonderful friend met me as he always does and took me to my friend Mohini's, who had a sandwich and a tea waiting. Yes, It was pretty nice.

Leave Home for O'Hare

 This is Home

Traveling is hard enough these days without being irredeemably stupid.  I couldn’t do a thing last night, so I went to bed at 8:45pm, took a pill and slept like a baby until 4am.  I know. The birds aren’t even up at that time, but what to do? I love to watch the sunrise.

Today it was more important to finish packing and try to pick up the house. So a shower and dress. Oh no, all the clothes are in the dryer.  So I go dripping wet down the stairs to get them. Then a sandwich to stop my stomach from eating its own lining.  I finish packing my bag. That wasn’t too difficult, because I basically washed everything I used in Rome and put it back in the  bag. Added a couple of t-shirts in case it was hot and that was that.

I usually have two bags: a backpack with my computer and cords, and a bag that rolls. If I decide it's too dangerous to check one of them, then I unpack my purse and put it in the bag and its contents in the backpack.  But I decided to risk checking the bag, because I have enough clothes left there to wear in India, if the clothes don’t come.  I stay with friends and leave a bag there.

I noticed that the screen on my computer is beginning to deteriorate. Well why not? It is almost a year old. Exactly the same thing happened to my last computer. I know what you’re thinking. I must be hard on my computers. Maybe, but it is packed in two bags to protect it. The only redeeming factor is that this computer only cost $200. I didn’t take the insurance, so of course it began to deteriorate. If I had paid big bucks for the insurance, it would have held on until the day the insurance ran out. That’s Murphy’s law!! I would like to get my hands on that Murphy guy.

Annie Oakley--the sweetest dog

I was done by 9:45 and needed to be off by 10. So now was the time to take our sweet little dog, Annie, to the kennel.  She loves the kennel, because the staff loves her. But I still feel a little bad, leaving her for such long periods of time. And now it is getting so expensive, it might be cheaper to take her with us. I will have to look into that.

So I packed the car and dropped her off. Then it was time for my morning coffee and I went to the local coffee shop to buy a big coffee latte. Then I dumped the entire cup into the front floor of the car.

Okay, another cup and a few towels and we are on our way. I get to the bus station just in time to buy the ticket and grab the bus, when I realize I don’t have my backpack.  How could this have happened?  What do I do now?

I called my friend Tina but she was too far from the house to be of help. So I decided to drive back and get it, and found the car doors locked—naturally. Since Dick was picking up the car I had locked my keys inside.

I went to the woman in the bus terminal and she called a friend who could break in. It worked like a charm. Do you have any idea how easy it is to break into a car? Literally two minutes.

But then I was off, but too late to get the backpack and get back in time for the next bus.  So the ticket lady suggested I go to Rockford,a place in Illinois which has a clock tower on the highway. . Another bus would stop there and I could leave the car. Ah, yes, but on the way I ran into construction. And guess what they were repairing. You got it. The exit to the Clock Tower.  Oh well ,off to Ohare.

So I am now here, checked in, even got my aisle seat and waiting for the take off. Until tomorrow.

Beware When Arriving in India

ONE FORM OF TRANSPORT

For the novice, India can be a difficult place to maneuver.  Arriving at the airport will feel as if you've left planet earth and ended up in some very crazy place. Outside of the arrival area, crowds are overwhelming.  People are shouting, everyone is trying to get your attention by waving signs. Just take a deep breath and you'll be fine.

If you can, have someone pick you up. If you  must take a taxi to your hotel or other destination, there are a few rules to follow:
           1. Change only as much money at the airport bank as you will need for one day . ATMs are better places to change your money.
           2. There is an office in the arrival  lounge where you can get a taxi voucher for your destination. Take that route. Not everyone shouting "taxi" is really a taxi driver. Taxi drivers will over charge you if they can. You need to know how much it really costs.
           3. A person outside will guide you to your taxi.
           4. If there are two people in the taxi, ask the second person to exit. Do Not get in until the second person gets out. As in many places in the world, everything is fraught with some danger. One to one is better than two to one.
            5. If the taxi driver tells you that your hotel is not good, full or any other thing to discourage you from going there, beware. He gets a percentage if he takes you to the hotel of his choice.
            6. When you arrive at your destination, give the cabbie the voucher.  If you want to tip --- fine, but it is not necessary.

India is a wonderful place, but it is often exasperating.  You will enjoy it more if you know what to expect. I will tell you more as the days go by.

Getting Ready for India

Taj Mahal

I have seen this more than 100 times. It never gets boring!!

Am I a glutton for punishment or what?  I leave the day after tomorrow for New Delhi.  I try to go every year. I have a few friends whom I love seeing and I love the country.  It is exasperating, but it is also exciting. So after the hated flight I will be happy I'm there.

Traveling

Railway station in Rome at 6am

Have you ever had a day so bad you wish you could scratch it from history?!!! Well yesterday was one of those days.

There was a time when traveling was a joy. Wow, that's hard to remember. You know, when the airline food was actually edible, the seats were big enough to get your fat bottoms in them, and you could walk down the aisles without bumping into everyone sitting on the aisle seats. Of course those were the days when the stewardesses were young, and most of the time very pretty. Pretty may not be important, but they had the energy to make it from departure to arrival without looking as though they'd been through a hurricane.

What we need now is a portal where we dial in our destination and "Beam her up, Scottie" would occur.  It would be worth $800 to not have to deal with all the hassle we have today. And yesterday was one those highly hassle days. (Not good English I know, but the stress was unbelievable.)

I hardly slept the night before I left --afraid the alarm clock wouldn't work or I wouldn't hear it. I had to get up at 4:30 in order to be ready to walk at 5 to the railway terminal.  So I packed my bag and bathed the night before and went to bed already dressed. When I heard the alarm it was 4:45am and I shot out of bed. I looked in the mirror and my eyes peered out of two black caves. I decided to ignore it.  I drank some water, and left for the terminal, dragging my suitcase wobbling,bobbling over the cobblestones. On the way I hoped a taxi would go by and I could hail it, but, alas, there was none to be had.

It was chilly, but I tried to move quickly through the dark streets and began to sweat. Now my children will tell you that my "quickly" is a snail pace, but I blame it on them. After all I walked their pace when they were just learning to walk. And I had babies for 14 years. You can get into bad habits after that many years.

About halfway there a man stepped in beside me.  "Going to the terminal?" he asked. I nodded. "That's a heavy load," he said. I nodded and thought, 'you could help me,' but said nothing. He stopped when I stopped and watched me while I tried to get my breath and wiped the dripping sweat from my face. I wondered what the hell he wanted. He didn't look homeless and didn't act like a thief. So I finally said, "why don't you go on ahead, I have to stand here awhile." And he did. Then I could put my bag down look for my inhaler, which I affectionally call my breather.

I reached the terminal in time for the 5:52 Express, but it wasn't an express. Actually it wasn't leaving at all. So another half km to the other train which was supposed to leave at 6:22. With a little time to spare, I bought a caffee latte and punched my ticket in the little yellow box. ( I often wonder why they even bother with a conductor.) Then we, because by now a crowd had formed, waited for the doors to open. The Leonardo express was dark and forbidding, a little creepy really.  By now I was cold and wet from the long walk and wished I could huddle inside.  At 6:20 the doors opened and everyone rushed to get in.

I went into a compartment followed by a couple and waited. At 6:35 there was a jerk, a cough, another jerk and then stillness. Like an old car that needs a push, the train started slowly down the track and we all sighed in relief. "Always late," the blond lady said. "Italians--no discipline." "you're not from Italy?" I asked. "Oh, yes," she said, "but I am not Italian.  My husband is." "Where are you going?" I asked.  "My wife, she goes to Russia," The man blurted out. "Kiev," she said.   "I was a little puzzled. "Isn't Kiev in the Ukraine?"  She burst out laughing, "Yes, my husband always says Russia." And we continued our conversation about nothing in particular.

We reached the airport about 7:15.  Al'Italia expects you to be there 3 hours in advance, for what reason I don't know, but when I reached the gate, I was the only one checking in.  Now I have more than 2 hours to wait. The departure time is 10:10.  None of the stores were open and the only food was found at the coffee stall. Brioche that were burned and full of cream, coranettos and doughnuts. These things lie on my stomach like a brick, so I ordered another coffee latte and rearranged my bags for the plane.

At 9:00 I went to the gate and everyone was in line.  I rushed over, thinking we were leaving early.  But, unfortunately, that flight was going to Casablanca, which I noticed just before I turned in my ticket. Unfortuately, the Chicago flight was leaving much later. It could have been a disaster getting on the wrong plane, but that wouldn't have been the first time I've made that mistake.

There were some announcements, but they were garbled at first. Finally I heard, delays will occur for assembly. I looked at the guy next to me. What was assembly?  No one knew.  At 10:15 we all got on the bus to border the plane.  While we stood there, a cart went by with a lot of luggage piled high.  One piece fell off and lay next to the runway where trucks and carts were flying back and forth at top speed. Everyone was pointing, wondering whose bag it was, but thinking it could have been theirs.  While we waited no one picked it up. Now we know another reason why bags get lost. And with all the traffic, why bags arrive busted and smooshed.

Finally we drove to the plane and settled in our seats. "I must apologize," the captain said. "Our flight is delayed because the ground crew is momentarily on strike."  (Ah, that is the assembly and why do we need the ground crew.) "We are hoping the truck will come soon and push back" the captain continued. (Push back ? Another term I didn't know. )  And why did we need a truck?  It soon became clear. The truck was supposed to push us out of the dock.  Stupid me didn't know that planes can't drive in reverse, they need a tug boat just like ships do.  How did I miss that? I've been flying since 1964. After another 2 hours on the runway we took off.

The food was served immediately, I think to cool everyone's temper. The food, at least mine, was excellent. An Indian vegetarian dish.  The man sitting next to me wasn't so lucky. He ordered lasagna and when he opened it, the pasta looked like cream.  He stood up and shouted, "Is this lasagna?" The steward ignored him.

For ten hours we flew, watching one film after another in total silence. I couldn't use the ear phones, because the number ll seats were out of order.  No ear phones, no a light to read by and no way to call a steward. It was a sorry business.

It was almost time to begin getting ready to land when the stewards burst forth with the last bit of food.  I don't know what they were doing in the back, but there were as many men as women. So one can imagine.

We arrived at Chicago only one hour late. Not bad, and if we had only been 15 minutes earlier I would have caught the early bus. But I took it at 5pm, picked up my car in Janesville at 7:15 and arrived home, beat, at 8:40. 

Most flights are pretty miserable now. Traveling is not fun anymore, but it is nice once you arrive.

Leaving for the States

Tomorrow I have to catch my flight on Alitalia back to Chicago.  Dick wanted me to take a taxi to the airport, but there were too many difficulties in getting a taxi. So I have bought a ticket and will leave my apartment by 5am to walk up to the train station. There is a train at 5:52 and one at 6:22, so I can take my time.  I reach the airport by 7am, and my flight leaves at 10:10am.  We arrive early in the afternoon in Chicago, so I can catch a bus to my car and be home by dinner.  I think I'll eat out.

My daughter Clio is meeting me at home on Tuesday afternoon.  I am meeting a friend in the morning and taking care of problems with Kamala, my other daughter, and her house. On Thursday evening I catch a flight to India.  So it will be a full week. 

The Pink Panther

Dick scanning the menu at the Pink Panther

The restaurant we enjoyed most was the Panthera Rosa.  The food was good, and the wine was better.  It's an interesting place because it has fairly simple food, but the wines range from 2 or 3 Euros to 400 Euros a bottle. For example we had a Nippozana which cost 10 euros, but there was a another bottle from the same vineyard selling for 120 euros.  With the exchange rate as it is, the ten euro one was fine. It was delicious.  We thought of our son Reed, daughter Clio and son-in-law John while we were drinking it. We toasted all three of you. And secretly thought, we would have bought the 120 Euro one if we could have split the money.

The great thing was that I could eat. I happen to be a vegetarian, who eats fish on occasion. Here Dick could fill himself with meat to his heart's delight and I have a huge choice of food from the vegetarian fare. 

It was a great evening.

We have friends from India who are strict vegetarians and said they coudn't find vegetarian food in Rome. I think it was the language that was the problem. There is plenty of vegetarian food. Of course it is made in the same kitchen with non veg, but outside of India you couldn't eat anywhere.

Instructions on train traveling or getting around Rome

This will be a very boring but informational blog. 

How do you go about getting tickets on the train?  In whichever termini you happen to be, you must find the machines which spit out the tickets once you have paid.  Naturally it isn't as easy as just standing there. First pick your language, then pick ticket, then a bunch of places will bounce up. Naturally you don't want to go to any of those places. Well maybe you do, but let's pretend. You look at the bottom of the window for other destinations and another window pops up with a typing facility, which means you have to type in the destination. Then it will ask for first or second class, tell you how much it costs and, when paid, spits out the ticket.  Some machines take cash and some don't.  Some only take credit or debit cards. If you have a problem, a homeless person will come up and help you.  You get your ticket and he/she gets one or two euros for whatever drink desired. 

There are signs everywhere: BEWARE OF PICK POCKETS.  Pay attention!  Ladies and young girls should keep their purse straps over their heads. Men and lads should put a rubber band around their wallets and keep it in the front pocket.  I know from personal experience that gypsies and their children are experts at getting your money.

You want to see Rome by bus, street car and metro.  You either get your tickets by going to the machines in the metro station or go to the tabacs.  A whole day costs 4 Euro but can be used on any and all transports.  For just one ticket, it costs one euro and that is for one trip. Tabacs close on Sunday, so get your tickets in advance or walk to the closest metro station.

Leaving Rome

I am not a planner, but Dick is. I don't know if we are stupid or what. But as luck will have it, even if you plan things in advance, that doesn't mean they will work out.

Today Dick's flight for Denmark is scheduled at 12:25pm.  So we bought the ticket for the Leonardo Express in advance and were ready at 8am to get a taxi and go to the Railway station. We went to the local bar to call the taxi, which we had set up in advance, because our cell phones don't function here. However, the bar man could not call the taxi because his cell phone wasn't charged. So since there is no taxi stand in the area, we set off by foot for the station. It is only a kilometer and even at  my slow pace we can get there in 15 minutes. We were there by 8:30.

The day before we'd asked the ticket man where to catch the train for Fiumicino Airport.   "It is always on track 25. It never changes."   

Never believe anyone who says that!!! We went straight to track 25. There stood the Leonardo express but it wasn't going anywhere. I assume it had broken down, but no one was going to tell us.

"Go to track 23," said the ticket man. That means dragging your luggage down 30 steps and then up 30 steps. When we reached track 23 we only had 2 minutes to catch the train and it was at least 5 minutes down the track. So we missed it.

Okay, we still had time. Now what to do, the next train is at 9:23. This time we went back to the arrival point and  watched the postings. Sure enough the next express would be on track 23. Finally Dick got on the train and is now hopefully underway.

Now one might think that this happens only in Italy. But it's not true. I remember when I was traveling  with my oldest son in Switzerland. He was about 8 months old and I had all of our luggage and had to carry him.  I went to the track specified in the departure sign and got on. The lady across from me asked me where I was going and when I told her she said they had just then changed tracks. Take down the bags, and carry Richy to the next train with about three minutes to spare.


I love European trains, but they do have their disadvantages and finding the right track is one of them.

Wrestling with Problems in Rome

Roman Sun

Dazzling and spectacular sun!!!!! I could hardly keep from shouting. So we went to the Piazza di Trevi. The sun has shown on this fountain better, but we take what we can get.

We found the metro, which was closed yesterday because of a strike.  So we took a taxi, because I hadn't figured out where the buses run from or where they go to.  We went to the Spanish Steps, but couldn't get close enough to take a photo. They were preparing a music program, because the Berlin Wall fell 20 years ago.  The rain was pouring down and I felt sorry for anyone who would be performing or watching the show.

On the way back to our apartment we stopped at our little bar, called the Budha Bar.It looks more like a real American bar, but it serves coffee and pastries as well as sandwiches and antipasti in the evening.

After work people stop by for wine, whiskey or martini (which is only vermouth, sweet and dry) and eat something.. I drink caffe latte, which only costs 1 Euro 20, about $2.  Today we went to Piazza Bernini and the same drink costs 5 Euros.  Quite a difference. You see how these Italians, as all others in the world, screw the tourists?

Today we met two Americans in a bar where they serve food. It was fascinating. He does medical research and has traveled the world and was not happy with the health bill that passed the House. 

Tomorrow we begin the walk around the Roman wall.

We begin here at  San Lorenzo.

Shocks around Rome

We lived in Florence 23 years ago. Wow, that sounds like a long time, and yet it seems just yesterday we lost our beloved bird, Dave. Actually the boys called it Shittin' Dave, but I think I will call it Diarrhea Dave. In any case, we lived for more than 8 years in Italy and thought we had seen everything the country has to offer. But shock after schock has happened on this trip.

For a moment I thought I was in Germany. I stepped off the curb and every car stopped on a dime. From my recollection, the cars would swerve and miss you but never stop. Then I regally crossed the street, bowing and throwing kisses, because I couldn't believe my eyes. No longer can I say that the Italians are undisciplined.

Then number two shock. No one and I mean not a single person smokes inside bars, restaurants or any other public buildings. I was sure that would never work here. But then I thought. I bet I know why it worked. MaMa!!! When the youngsters complained, she insisted they follow the rules. Well, that's how I think it must have been. No one else has as much influence. But that is my perspective.

Shock number three: Dick was addressed with the familiar. "Voi pagare?" We found out last night why. This is the San Lorenzo area and workers live here as well as students. So with his white hair and chubby belly, they looked on him as one of theirs.

Number four: the amount of food is American style. Last night I order Pasta et ceci and the amount of soup would have served four of me. I ate about a third, because I was awaiting my scormeze, which was also twice the amount. But that was really good.

Then a couple came into the restaurant and sat down. We tried to guess where they came from. They were elderly and blond. So not Italian. They ordered salate verde so not Danish. Maybe they were French, but no the face was wrong. Dutch or German was the decision. So as they were about to leave I asked them. Sure enough, they were from Berlin. He was schauspieler (actor) and she was lehrerin(teacher) . Now they are retired. Their son makes documentaries. The actor always wanted to be an opera singer. But when he realized it, it was too late. He was 35. So old. We hit it off, so tomorrow I will telephone them (their request) and we will meet again. It isn't often that one meets a couple and seem to have a lot in common from the outset. But then who knows, maybe it was the wine talking.

My cold is almost gone and if I take care I don't get heartburn. So much fun. Dick groans daily. When I asked why, he said he has pains. Who doesn't?

Around Rome

I was taught not to feel sorry for myself, but I guess I did. I would wake up and it was dark, no windows, and decide to go back to sleep. The problem was I had no one to talk to, no one to share my misery with. Then Dick arrived and I felt a lot better. I hate to admit I miss my husband, but on occasion, I guess I should face up to it. In any case, he came looking for via degli equi 8 and kept walking up and down the steet. I finally came out and saw him staring at a number across the street.

We dumped his luggage and went across the steet for dinner. I didn't realize it was a fish restaurant. I guess I thought such a thing didn't exist, but that is what it was. He had risotto alla scampi and I had spaghetti alla olio, aglio, peperoncini. It was great.

Dick laughed when he saw the apt. It is a fortress, first the door at the road. If my kids remember, we had a big door at our apartment in Firenze. This door is the same, but there is a tiny door that one uses to enter. Then there is a long hall to the garden, a trip through the garden and turn left to open another big door. Once in, you go to the end and take the door to the right and unlock it. Then go straight and turn to the left and the door on the right is our apt. It is interesting. My question is how would you get out if there were an earthquake?

Tomorrow I will tell you about the new things in Italy.

Living in Rome

Yesterday, the sun peeped out for about an hour or two. I ran out and basked in it then went for lunch. Big mistake. When I left the restaurant it was pouring.

I felt sorry for myself all day, watched TV and read my book. So when I went to bed, I decided to get off my fat bottom and do something in the morning. That was great, but during the night I had a wonderful dream. I was supposed to die. Everyone was waiting for the moment, standing around watching me, and Dick said he was leaving because he couldn't do anything anyway. I kept trying to find my check book, but it was nowhere to be found. I said I wanted to die in India, but that meant money. Finally in desperation I said I am not dying now. And woke up.

Today, the sun again disappeared, but I was able to buy some things needed to live in this apartment. Lots of salad stuff, kleennex, etc. Lots of carbs to eat in the restaurants in Italy, good carbs, but carbs nonetheless.

I walked to the railway station to get a newspaper. What a waste. It was yesterday's news. No wonder the newspapers are dying. Tomorrow I relearn the metro system. Good night all.

Finding Money

Today I woke up at 1pm and thought my watch must be off. 15 hours I'd slept. Though I must admit I awoke around 5am and saw how dark it was outside, so thought I'd sleep an hour or two more. Finally someone was pounding in the upstairs apartmennt and it woke me. But it was still dark outside. Unfortunately it was raining, and in this apartment you can't hear a thing. Unless someone is pounding with a hammer.

I got dressed and thought I'd wait for the rain to stop. At four in the afternoon, I gave up and went searching for a bank to change the $1800 I had strapped to my waist. The bank told me that they no longer changed money and I had to go to the railway station. So I tromped off in the rain with no umbrella, because I couldn't find mine. Halfway a man came up selling umbrellas and I was able to buy one for 5 euros. I thought he must be an angel until I was approached buy half a dozen more men selling umbrellas.

While waiting for the men in front of me to change his money, I began to read the fees connected to changing money. Getting money by credit card or bank notes will cost 14.90%. I almost fainted. But I needed the money, so I took the loss. I received 919 Euros for $1800. After paying for the apt and the internet fast key, I am left with 150 euros or there about. So the only way to change money is to use the ATM.

Don't forget that all museums and many restaurants are closed on Monday. I had to walk quite a distance to eat. Since I didn''t have breakfast and had a bowl of cereal for lunch, I went to a ristorante which is open all afternoon and evening. Then I walked back.

The apartment is situated near the Roman wall. Always walk on the outside of the wall in the evening, because the inside is pitch black and the outside is lighted by all the piazzas.

I came back to the apartment, changed out of my soaking wet clothes and went on the computer. At least the internet fast key will get enough use.

Arrival in Rome

It was not a pleasant trip on Alitalia. The plane was ancient, still in the style of the 1980s without smoking. The departure card would lead you to believe that smoking was possible. On my card there was a burning cigarette in the corner, without the prohibition sign.

The seats had so little room that my knees touched the seat in front of me and I'm only 5'3". I wondered how the tall people managed. The only other time I have seen so little room was on Apple air going to Jamaica.

The food was inedible. If someone flew Alitalia thinking they were going to get a good Italian meal they would be very unhappy. If they had never had a meal in Italy they would also have a bad impression of the food, if the only experience they had was on this airline.


The plane departed more than an hour late, making everyone nervous about making their connecting flights. Luckily I didn't have that problem.

I took the train to the Rome central train station, which cost 12 Euros. A cab costs 40 rupees and 3 people can travel at that rate, but you have to pay one euro each for your luggage.The shuttle costs 25 euros per person.

Then I needed to make a call in order to get the keys, but my phone didn't work, and neither did the telephones at the railway station. Now I know what you're thinking. Maybe you just didn't know how to use the telephones. Ah ha. I asked two people to help me and they couldn't get it to work either. Finally I asked an elderly man if I could use his cell and paid him what it cost him.

I broke down and took a taxi from the station to my apt. Wow. The apartment is really nice. But a bit too big for me and my hubby. And I am alone for a week. The bathroom has a six foot tub. I laid in the water and felt like I was in a pool. There is a bar to sit at and have breakfast. There is a table that pulls out and sits eight. There is a tv with only BBC as the English station. I can watch Italian stations, and I even get most of it. But I was so tired today that I sat and watched the race in New York. It is sort of like watching paint dry.

I wanted to eat lunch, but I thought I'd take a short nap. Needless to say I slept until the restaurants closed for the afternoon. I did go for dinner this evening. My meal was simple: green salad, spaghetti with clams and really small muscles in white wine. (a favorite of number 2 son.) Two glasses of wine and a sorbet al limone. The sorbet was so cold, that my tongue stuck to the spoon. It cost 15 Euros. I will try a few more dishes before I recommend the place.

I am really tired, so I think I will go to bed.