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About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I live in Austin, Texas, with my partner, Ray, and our child dog, Mocha. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

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Playing Around

Sunday, December 27th, 2009

One of the things on my Christmas list this year was a 50mm f1.8 lens for my camera.  It’s a fixed lens, meaning you can’t zoom in and out, which is new and different for me, considering the last lens I bought goes from wide angle to extreme zoom in one fell swoop.

I like it.  It’s forcing me to look at things differently.  Since you can’t zoom, if you want a wider angle, you have to walk away from your subject.  If you want to zoom in, you get up closer.

Rather than go into detail, I’ll just show you what I’ve done with it over the past few days.

My first bokeh

That effect with the lights is called bokeh, which is currently an “in” effect.  This lens is really good with bokeh, and I’m enjoying playing with it.

Me

We went to The Salt Lick, legendary Texas BBQ, to help celebrate a coworker’s graduation (she finished her M.A. in Linguistics).  At some point, the camera was turned on me.  I was … relaxed, shall we say, from the beer.

Water Tower

I went to shoot the Christmas lights in downtown Round Rock the other night.  This is the water tower that they turn into a big Christmas tree every year.  Like I said, I was having fun with various effects.

Old Bus at the Broken Spoke

My therapist’s office is in South Austin, which is the home of the Keep Austin Weird movement.  One of the landmarks down there is the Broken Spoke, an old-style honkey tonk with live country music and live dancing nightly.  After my appointment the other morning, I stopped off and took photos of the old bus parked next to it.

Hole in the Glass

I am, apparently, the only person in the universe who likes this photo I took of the busted window.  I keep trying to get more traffic to it on Flickr, but I guess it’s more boring than I think it is.

Antique Car

Up the street from The Broken Spoke is Maria’s Taco XPress, which has a rusted out old car in the front yard.  I got some photos of the textures.

Georgetown Main Square

Today, I had to go help my parents with the XM radio I bought them for Christmas.  On the way up, I stopped in downtown Georgetown and took some photos of the Williamson County Courthouse in the main square.

Georgetown Main Square

Georgetown also has a community theater, which we don’t have in Round Rock, even though we’re three times larger.  Georgetown’s has a nice art deco facade.

And that’s a little glimpse into my week.  How have you been?

LiveBlogging the Great Blizzard of 2009

Friday, December 4th, 2009

Given the extensive coverage the topic has received in major international outlets such as the Austin American-Statesman and KUT-FM radio, I’m sure that you are all aware of the impending blizzard that is set to descend upon the ATX later this morning (assuming the weathermen didn’t get it wrong, again).  In case you’ve been hiding under a rock, here’s the skinny: there is a 60% chance that we may receive up to an inch of snow today.

Naturally, this news has caused panic among some weaker willed individuals.  The University of Texas, for example, felt compelled to issue a pre-emptive notice yesterday afternoon reminding everyone that classes had not yet been canceled, but urged us to check the University’s emergency line before proceeding to work tomorrow for the latest updates.

As you know, here at ROHK we strive for journalistic and culinary excellence of a higher standard, and so, I am sacrificing my own well-being to bring you the latest news about the event that I am sure will be recorded in the annals of history as The Great Blizzard of 2009.

Do check back regularly for updates.

Friday, December 4, 2009

6:10 am: Wake up, get dressed.  In honor of the impending cold snap, I search for a clean sweater, and eventually discover one that my parents bought me for Christmas some years ago.  It was clearly purchased before they moved to Texas because, even before I lost the 10 pounds, it was still at least one size too large and makes me look like a mustard colored burlap sack.  However, today we are going with function above form, following the trend set by world-famous survivalist Jake Gyllenehaal in the documentary film The Day After Tomorrow:

jake-gyllenhaal-london-hat

See?  If Jake can sport an outfit that reveals no muscle definition whatsoever, so can I.

6:54 am: Sitting outside of Beverly’s house.  It takes her longer than usual to come out to get in the car this morning, because she is clearly working up the nerve to set forth in the malstrøm and dodge the sunbeams that are beginning to fall outside.

7:10 am: Realizing that I am driving too fast for conditions, I reduce my speed to 72 miles per hour (114 km/h).  This adds at least 2 minutes to my commuting time this morning, but it’s important to drive safe!  Arrive alive!

7:26 am: Walking from the garage to campus.  It is chilly this morning.  The guy who’s not homeless but wants everyone to think he is who usually sets up behind Einstein’s Bagels is nowhere to be seen.  I hope that he has managed to find a shelter for the not-homeless-but-wanting-others-to-think-they-are.

7:35 am: In the office.  It was a tough last sprint across the West Mall to my building, what with the grounds services golf carts whizzing by, but I did make it here.  Lisa has already begun prepping for the cold weather by cleaning out the oven, which has been left a mess by a previous user/staff member.  This is very wise of her — clearly we may need the electric stove as a heating device if the power goes out once the deluge has begun.

7:55 am: Typing these words.  Outside the window, I can see that it is cloudy.  This is clearly a very bad sign — much worse than it has been on every other cloudy day this week.

8:15 am: The men with the leafblowers are out in the pass-through between my building and the next (which once served as the setting for Café d’Amour in the first Spy Kids movie).  Clearly they have been apprised of the danger that can result from snow falling on top of leaves.  I’m not sure what it is, myself, but as landscaping professionals, it’s their job to know these things.

8:28 am: Discover that emergency provisions are already stocked in the front office: two bags of Chips Ahoy™ and one of Pecan Sandies™.  Skeptics may suggest that they are, in fact, left over from Professor E’s final-class-of-the-year celebration yesterday, but that’s just crazy talk.  Lisa continues preparation of baked goods for this afternoon’s Survivalist Training/Birthday Celebration.

9:14 am: Correction: Provisions are one bag of Chips Ahoy™ and two bags of Pecan Sandies™.  Please make a note of this. This is, of course, in addition to the banana bread that Lisa has made, along with the molasses cookies that are apparently on schedule to be made at noon.

Looking out the office window, I can see that we now have a lower cloud cover than we did earlier.  Possibly this is due to the impending snow.  Possibly this is due to the arrival of the alien/Snuggie™ vanguard that I described in yesterday’s post.  Will investigate further.

The Statesman is reporting that “some” snow flurries have been seen in some parts of Central Texas, and that San Antonio may see a light dusting.  I shall keep the brave people of San Antonio in my prayers.

9:28 am: Discover that #Austinsnow is now being hashed on Twitter.  I have to join Twitter to do this, but the feed is too damned amusing not to share:


10:07 am: Take a break from perusing postings about the first harbingers of wintery doom–is Skol preparing to eat the sun and invoke the long winter known as Fimbulvetr?–to notice that the clouds are looking far more sinister now than they did an hour ago.  At least a five on the Scale of Sinistry, up from a four and a half.

Kim suggests that the gravity of the situation requires that the word “aught” be worked into the title, and that we should refer to this as the “Great Blizzard of Aught-Nine.”  What say you?

10:15 am: Realize that I left my iPod in my car.  In the movies, the guy who goes back for something never, ever lives until the end.  (Well, except in the Final Destination movies, but then Death spends the whole movie trying to catch up.)  Not falling for it.  Take that, Law of Murphy!

11:13 am: Fear not, dear readers!  I remain as fervently committed to bringing you updates as they develop.

It has transpired that one of the bags of Pecan Sandies™ has been devoured by inconsiderate coworkers who do not realize the strategic value that they will play in our survival should the worst be realized and we become stranded in the building.  An investigation with possible court martial is under way.

According to #Austinsnow, the earlier rogue flakes have abated.  We remain poised for a resurgence.

It is very cold in my office.  Am contemplating putting on gloves.

11:32 am: Confirm with Ray that he made it to work safely.  Breathe sigh of relief.

11:47 am: Cabin fever has clearly set in amongst the staff.  Food is being anthropomorphised:

apple

Also, the Chips Ahoy™ are stale.  We will put them on the back burner for now.

12:12 pm: Hearing Christmas carols being sung on the West Mall.  Assume there’s irony involved in any song mentioning snow.  The Statesman is now claiming that the snow is “on the way,” downgraded from the “it’s already falling” that we got earlier.

Am off to dodge air molecules on the way to find lunch.  Pray for me.

12:26 pm: Back from acquiring food.  Bitter cold, grey skies, no snow.

There was, however, a young man in front of Goldsmith Hall wearing what is either a very large paper boat or a paper papal hat on his head.  Not sure what the purpose is, other than to make people stop and stare.  Which we did.

12:37 pm: Have met the first person today who claims to have seen at least several snowflakes.  There is much praising of his survival instincts.  He has clearly suffered emotional trauma (but not enough to get me to cancel the panel presentation in 23 minutes in which he is supposed to deliver a talk in Persian).

12:53 pm: Ray calls to tell me that it is “snowing heavily” in Round Rock.  The office moves to Defcom 2 in preparation for the snow to begin falling.

12:57 pm: SNOW!!!!!!  There’s at least 15 flakes out there.

1:05 pm: Photographic evidence that the onslaught has begun:

snow

It’s kind of hard to see, but you can definitely tell if you look under the trees.  There’s a small possibility that some of it’s dust on the window that I shot through, but some of it is definitely snow flakes.

1:47 pm: And now the sun’s out.

1:51 pm: The Statesman is now reporting that winter weather advisory that had been issued for today … has been canceled.

I didn’t even get to go out in it: I’m trapped in my office because there’s a lecture going on outside.  Poop.  On the other hand, it’s a nice sunny day now!  And I left my sunglasses at home.

2:43 pm: My journalistic efforts have been foiled by the final presentations of one of the Persian classes going on in the room outside my office, however, I assure you, I will continue to cover the story until my last breath.  Or until it’s time to go home for the day, one or the other.

2:56 pm: BREAKING NEWS: the baked goods that have been added to the stockpile of supplies in the office include banana bread, chocolate ginger cookies, and both Irish and English breakfast tea.

I have learned from this blizzard that the primary difference between Irish and English breakfast tea is that the former is caffeinated, the latter is not.  (At least, that’s according to the HEB in-store brand — I can’t help thinking that’s not actually correct, but I’m not a tea-o-phile, so can not confirm.)

I have also learned that the air filter on the LCD projector needs to be changed.  I didn’t know it had an air filter and that it could be changed.  Things our sales reps forgot to tell us.  I wonder if this will affect the quality of the breathable oxygen in the event that we become trapped up here.  There are at least two clouds that I don’t like the look of visible from where I’m sitting right now, and that’s before I turn my head too much.  I have a feeling this isn’t over yet, dagnabbit.

3:36 pm: I am startled to see that there is ice buildup on the roof of Goldsmith Hall, which I can see from my office window.  It’s blue and shimmery and … oh, wait.  It’s someone’s jacket.  In fact, now that I look at the photo I took at 1:05, I can see that it was there then, too.

Never mind.

4:07 pm: Whoa!  I’ve gone viral — 600 hits in the past two hours.  Who knew?  The pressure’s on!  (OK, I know I’m supposed to be all Ocean’s 11-style cool and act like this is so <yawn> boring, but I’m just a touch too neurotic for that).

In weather related news, we’re holding at 39 degrees F / 3 degrees C with bright, practically cloudless skies.  I do so hope that the roads have been plowed and salted before I head home–I’d hate to drive in unsafe conditions.  My palms get a little sweaty just thinking about it.

4:23 pm: Time to start powering things down and head out into the wilds.  I shall check in again once I have arrived in the wilds of Round Rock, across the moors of Pflugerville and the towering craggy peaks of Tarrytown.

Stay strong, fellow commuters!  Man shall always persevere over Mother Nature.  (I mean, just look at the Domain.)

4:35 pm: On leaving the building, I see the measures that my fellow Austinites have gone to in order to protect themselves from the blustery weather.  One young fellow is wearing a dark suit, but has elected for the protection of white athletic socks.  Clearly, desperate times call for desperate measures.  Later, I will see another young man so affected by the cold weather that he has had to pull his boardshorts down in order to cover his mid-calf, exposing a considerable amount of plaid boxer short above the waistline.  I feel for him.

4:50 pm: Apparently, the snow has caused a short circuit in the gate at the parking garage.  One poor woman sits there with a line of cars behind her, and is finally forced to back up and go to the pay station in order to make her ticket work.  It’s very sad that such desperate measures need to be taken in order to complete such mundane tasks.

5:02 pm: MoPac expressway.  Cars moving much slower than the posted speed limit.  Possibly due to the weather.  I can think of no other reason why traffic heading north out of Austin would be moving so slowly at 5 pm on a Friday afternoon, especially the weekend before the Red River Shootout in Dallas.  It just boggles the mind.

5:35 pm: I  arrive home and begin searching for things to cover the plants in order to protect them from tonight’s deep freeze.  I now have a basket full of habanero peppers (seriously, what am I going to do with so many habaneros?  I might have to make salsa for the office Chrismukkah gifts.  But, oh no, I’ve said too much.

5:45 pm: I send Ray out to Home Depot so that I can wrap the Christmas gifts that came in the mail today.  I hope they didn’t get wet.

6:03 pm: Gifts wrapped, Ray happily off at Home Depot, I sit in front of the television, open my laptop, and blog this, the last of my updates.  At 6 pm, the winter weather advisory has expired, and I, for one, am considering myself very lucky–very lucky indeed–to have managed to survive the Great Blizzard of 2009.

LiveBlogging has now ended.  Please remain seated until the vehicle has come to a complete stop.  Don’t forget to search under the seat in front and in the overhead bins of you for any belongings you may have brought on board, and have a nice day in town, or wherever your final destination may be.  Drive safe!

Man, it’s been a shitty month

Friday, November 6th, 2009

The stars need to realign, now, please. This is going to be a lengthy post. Grab a cuppa and sit down.

Let me recap the last week for you.

Thursday

Thursday afternoon, I went up to Dallas to go to a conference. We go to this conference every year, and it’s good for us on a business level.  It is, however, a clusterfuck year after year, because every year a new host committee takes over and there’s no continuity between the years.  In other words, there are no lessons learned from year to year, so if something goes wrong one year, it’s just as likely to go wrong the next.

We always have an exhibit booth.  The chair of the exhibits has proven, year after year, to be the least competent member of the team.  This year was particularly bad.  I don’t know why certain concepts are so difficult — send an acknowledgement when you get my check? — but they are.  The communication this year was a gem: every message from the exhibit guy started the same way: “Exhibitors: Dave here.  Checking in about things.”  Are we in the military?  Did DADT get repealed when I wasn’t looking?

So, we arrive at the exhibit hall to find that the extra table that I ordered wasn’t there, and that the actual exhibition company had no record of the order.  Neither did four of the five people at the exhibit booth have name badges, even though I sent them to “Dave” when he asked for them.  Interestingly enough, I had two name badges for myself, apparently in case I brought along my evil twin with the same name.

The actual conference itself went fine, once we learned that we couldn’t actually rely on the exhibit team for anything and learned to troubleshoot stuff ourselves.

Cut to …

Saturday

My session, which I was presenting by myself, was the last session of the day at a teacher’s conference … on Halloween.  So, I considered the 17 people who turned up a blessing.  It wasn’t my best presentation, but they seemed to enjoy it, so wah.  Natalie and I were driving back together — the other two members of our consortium had pulled rank because they have small children and needed to get home for trick-or-treating.  I packed up my stuff and left the room, wondering where Natalie would be, since I hadn’t actually arranged this in advance.  I found her standing at a table not far away, with her cell phone in her hand and a confused look on her face.

“I just got the strangest call from Sue,” she said.  “Neguinho just died.”

Neguinho do Samba was a musician from Salvador da Bahia, in northeast Brazil, who is probably best known in these United States as being the founder of the samba-reggae movement, and one of the founders of OLODUM, the drum corps featured heavily on Paul Simon’s album The Rhythm of the Saints and in the video for Michael Jackson’s They Don’t Care About Us.  (If you click through to the video, Neguinho is the guy in the green shirt with the white hat and long hair leading the drum corps.)  More recently, Neguinho founded Banda Didá, the first all-female drum corps in Salvador, which focuses its work among lower-class, black women (Salvador being the most African of Brazilian cities).

Natalie met Neguinho and his partner Viviam in 2004 when she took a group to Salvador for a month long seminar, and has been working with Didá extensively since then.  She brought them up for a residency a couple of years ago, and she’s been back to Salvador several times, always spending part of the trip with Neguinho and Viviam.  She was planning another seminar for the summer that would work more exclusively with Didá (and I had already invited myself along).

I met Neguinho once — literally, “Hi, nicetameetcha” — and I was shocked, to say nothing of Natalie and her friend Sue, both of whom have cultivated a close working relationship with Didá over the years. Sue had been contacted by a friend who saw the ambulance pull up at Neguinho’s house in the Pelourinho and heard the news from Neguinho’s daughter, who was with him when he died, and she had called Natalie right after with little more information than that.

I wound up driving home so that Natalie could make and receive phone calls from various people — and there were various people calling from as far away as São Paulo.

Cut to …

Monday

I took Monday off, partly because of the conference, but mostly because Mom had asked me to go with her while Dad had eye surgery.

Backstory: a couple of weeks ago, I called Mom on a night when (unbeknownst to me), Dad was back in Columbus doing a training session for a group up there.  She mentioned that she had had an ocular migraine.

“Oh, yes,” said I.  “I’ve had those.”

Lemme ‘splain if you’re not familiar: a migraine is a constricting of the blood vessels in the head.  The most common is the type that involves the constricting of blood vessels around the brain, which causes the massive pain that most people associate with migraines.  However, it can also happen in the eye, which tends not to involve pain.  Instead, you get a bright flashy light that devolves into a ring that looks like the “marching caterpillars” you get whenever you select something in Photoshop.  The ring usually widens out–now, here’s the tricky bit.  Until the migraine wears off (usually about an hour or so), you have only peripheral vision functioning, giving you the bizarre sensation of not seeing things that you’re looking directly at.

Over the course of this conversation, it transpired that she had been having these daily.  “Have you seen the doctor?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “my GP is on vacation, but I’m going to see the eye doctor again.”

Anyway, the reason this is relevant is that Mom wanted me around on the day of the surgery in case she had another one and wasn’t able to drive.  And, sure enough, while we were sitting at the house getting ready to leave for the surgery center, she had another one and Dad had to drive to his own surgery.

While we were waiting, I asked about the doctor visit.  “Well, my GP is still on vacation, but my eye doctor wants me to get an MRI.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” I said.

So we went back to the surgery center and we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Dad’s surgery was scheduled for 2, and it was supposed to take an hour.  At 4:05, Mom went to the front desk because no one had told us a bloody thing.

“Oh,” said the receptionist (who, I might add, had the sort of personality and work ethic that makes Amanda from Ugly Betty look like a superstar), “they’re in surgery now.  The doctor is running late.”

When we finally got to see the doctor (4:30), he apologized and said that the surgeon who had booked the room in the morning had overrun his schedule by 2 hours.  “They should have let you know that,” he said, “I gave them strict instructions.” — thus sending my opinion of the receptionist through the sub-basement.

We finally got out of there around 5:15, just in time to sit in rush hour traffic and take an hour to get them back home.

Tuesday and Wednesday

Tuesday morning I came in to work, started my e-mail, and realized that I wanted to leave again immediately.

I’m on a volunteer committee that seems to be as determined as possible to make things as complicated as humanly possible for no other reason than they can.  Furthermore, I’m not really supposed to be running it — I agreed to be co-chair this year with the idea of easing in my replacement, but somehow it still seems like I’ve done all the work.  So, there was that drama.

I’m also working on a project here at work that I’ve been co-opted into, that doesn’t particularly interest me, and that I’ve been dragging my feet on.  I’d been asked to comment on a working document, and every time I open it up, it’s the closest I think I’ve ever come to what some guys refer to as “thinking of nothing.”  I remind me of Steve from Coupling, trying to pick out sofa covers.  “I almost had an opinion about that one.”

And the annoying keeps on coming.  Budget cuts.  Everyone is tense.  People are getting laid off.  If I don’t have someone coming into my office to ask me how to do something that’s not part of my job (“I know, but you’re so good at explaining things.”), I’ve got someone wanting to know what I know about who might get laid off (absolutely nothing), and the occasional student who wants to stop by and have a lengthy conversation about life, the universe, and everything.  Normally I welcome all of this, but right now, I just can’t take it.

I’ve been working with my door closed a lot.

Thursday

Thursday continues much the same as Tuesday and Wednesday.  I’m running another exhibit booth next weekend in Atlanta, and the person I’m supposed to be organizing it with … we’re on the same page.  I think one of us is writing with charcoal, and the other is writing with one of those oversized clown pencils, though.

I finally escape from the office and get home with the intention of laying waste to the pork chops that I made Ray buy the other night.  I just got my Cook’s Illustrated annual, and I started laying out the stuff to make crunchy pork chops (they’re yummy).

I had meant to call my parents on Wednesday night to see how everyone was doing, but Mom doesn’t like it when I call from the car (my therapist is in South Austin, and the drive home takes about 45 minutes — it’s a good time for long phone calls to anyone except them), even though my new car stereo is now bluetooth equipped, meaning that it’s hands free in the truest sense.  I don’t even have to take my phone out of my pocket.

This was funny because when I called and Dad answered, I had the vent hood on the oven running and he asked if I was in the car.  I asked how he was, and my very literal minded father answered the question: he’s fine, the bandages are off, etc.  After about five minutes of the update on him, as I’m thinking the conversation is about to wind down, he says, “Your mother isn’t doing so well.”
“Why?” I ask.  “She had the MRI … yesterday?”
“Yes,” he said.  “It turns out she’s not having ocular migraines.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it seems that she’s had a stroke.”

?whatthefuck?

Long story … and, yes, this is a long story … short: she had a mini-stroke, and it has caused some damage to the part of her brain that controls the vision.  They’re trying to devise ways of keeping the vision problems from happeneing — and I’m unclear about whether she’s having occular migraines that are caused by the damage, or whether it’s something else altogether.  And apparently, as mini-strokes go, it was a mild one, and there is a possibility that she’ll regain function in the damaged part of her brain.

Needless to say, she’s freaked out.  So am I.

By the time I got off the phone last night, I was no longer suspicious — I know for certain: the stars are just aligned badly.  Everyone I know has had a spectacularly shitty month … and y’know what?  It’s time for this shit to be over.

And that’s been my week.  How was YOURS?

Borricua

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

“Horse,” Ray said.

We were driving down an expressway in the middle of San Juan on our last afternoon in Puerto Rico.  Instinctively, I slammed on the brakes.

“Why are you stopping?” Ray asked.

“You said ‘horse,’” I said.  “I thought you meant there was a horse in the road.”
“When have we ever seen … never mind, I withdraw the question.”
Frankly, by that point, a horse in the middle of an expressway in downtown San Juan wouldn’t have surprised me at all.  Not one bit.

I went to Puerto Rico for a conference, held at one of the glitzy five star hotels near San Juan Aiport in the Isla Verde area. Puerto Rico is, officially, part of the United States of America.  It’s a Free Associated State (Estado Libre Asociado), which is emblazoned on a number of license plates and bumper stickers.

Culturally, however, Puerto Rico is quite distinct from the US.  To begin with, the primary language on the island is a weird language that kind of sounds like Spanish, except that they use interesting words for things that I’ve never heard before.  A naranja (orange) is a china.  A frijol (bean) is either a gandule or an habichuela.  The letter j is pronounced as … well, as a kind of “zh” sound instead of the usual “h”, so the stickers on all of the doors say “hale” (pull) instead of “jale.”  Anything good is “chevere.”  (On the flip side, batteries are baterías, instead of pastillas, which is what they call them in Spain.  Pastilla also means “pill.”  I’m a little uncomfortable with the analogy.)

I’d heard that Caribbean Spanish is kind of the worst-case scenario for speakers of Spanish as a second language — now I know why.

I had a rental car.  This may have been a mistake–it’s hard to tell.  Taxis are expensive (one could literally walk from the airport to our hotel in about 30 minutes–a taxi is $12, flat rate), but free parking is both risky and hard to find.

The road signs are made to the American standard, but they’re all in Spanish.  Given that Spanish is the primary language of the island, that’s understandable.  What’s less understandable is this: speed limit signs are in miles per hour.  (Apparently just as a suggestion: I tried to slow down in a school zone once and … well, when the sign says “15 mph,” it apparently really means “40 mph.”)  However, distances are measured in kilometers, and gas is sold by the liter.  I gave up trying to figure that one out, and am much happier for it.

Traffic lights are hard to figure out, so when the light turns green, all of the drivers waiting for the light start honking immediately, to helpfully let the driver in front of them know that the light has turned green in case he’s fallen asleep or decided to get out and walk or something.

Cars in Puerto Rico are equipped with an archane lighting system.  There are four lights on the car: one at each corner.  They are connected to a lever on the steering column.  When you push the lever up, the two lights on the right side of the car light up and blink.  When you push the lever down, the two lights on the left side of the car light up and blink. Archaeologists are uncertain as to the original purpose of this lighting system.  Modern drivers simply ignore them.

The night we arrived, I woke up with a splitting headache at about 2 am.  It was the kind of headache that has physical presence: it was a third body in bed with us.  I tried to ignore it for a bit, but when I heard Ray stirring a little later on, I asked it he’d brought any aspirin with him.

“No,” he mumbled.  “Go ask at the front desk.”
I threw on shorts and a T-shirt (and no contacts, having left my glasses at home, naturally), and trudged down to the empty lobby where “The Girl From Ipanema” was clinking over the speaker system (of course it was “The Girl From Ipanema.”  Why wouldn’t it be?).

The concierge had no medical supplies, but I was helpfully informed of the existence of a Walgreens “5 minutes away.”

I’m supposed to walk to Walgreens at 3 am along a deserted street in San Juan?  Does this sound like a good idea to anyone?

I went up to the room and tried to go to sleep, but now my head was throbbing on a level that had me quesitoning whether I could remove my eyes temporarily to reduce the pressure.  Ray finally insisted that we go to Walgreens, and so, at 3:30 in the morning on our first night in San Juan, we strolled up the street filled only by us, the frequent passing by of the tourist police, and the bouncers at the clubs that never close.

Back to the horse comment.

On Friday morning, the day after my marathon four presentations at the conference, Ray and I decided to take a cue from the Lonely Planet guide I’d brought with me and drive to Loíza, the next town over.  According to LP, one could not wander around the town square without stumbling over makers of the vejigante masks.  We have a small collection of masks that we’ve bought on trips, and we’re always looking to add, so we got in the car and drove along the rambling road to Loíza.

There were, in fact, several horses along the way–although, to be fair, none of them were actually in the road.

To make a story that seemed longer at the time rather short, LP was an epic fail.  The town square was not where the guidebook said it was.  There were no mask makers.  We found a (singular) establishment — Centro de Cultura, Inc. — that had some (pretty ugly) examples on display, but when I asked the nice lady if one could find the artisans, she shrugged.  “Maybe on Sunday,” she said.

At some point, while driving around, we noticed that some of the expressways through San Juan were labeled with little icons.  There was one of a tree, one of a parrot, one of a coquí frog, and one of a horse.  We never found out what the icons stood for — they weren’t in the copious amounts of tourist literature in the hotel room (directed at the sort of tourist for whom money is not an issue, natch), nor was there ever any explanation in writing on the signs themselves.  At one point–possibly on the drive back from the Bacardi distillery in Caguas–we got giddy and started calling out “parrot!”  “Tree!”

And, the next afternoon, Ray called out, “Horse!”

As I said, by that time … the presence of a real horse in the road would have failed to surprise me on every level.

Would I go back to Puerto Rico?  Sure.  Just not sure I’d plan to drive there again …

Vignettes

Sunday, July 19th, 2009

I’m back home in Austin.  I flew home on Friday, a long day that involved a lot of nodding off in odd places.  I had to leave for the airport at 1 am, so there wasn’t any actual sleep (I tried to nap a little in my hotel room, but I kept jerking awake out of fear that I’d oversleep).

As usual, the Cairo Airport luggage cart mafia got the last word: As I was standing in line to go through security (in many international gateways, you have to go through X-ray with your luggage before you get to check-in), I was asked which airline I was flying.

“Turkish,” I said.
“This line is for Olympic,” he said.  (For the record: this is BS.  The ticket lobby is wide open once you go through security — there is no “this line is for this airline, and that line is for that airline.”)  I knew where this was going, but before I could stop him, he’d grabbed my luggage and started walking at an extremely fast pace across the terminal to the next checkpoint over.
“You give me money now,” he said.”  He wound up with 1 Egyptian pound and 1 US dollar — the last cash I had on me.

I may have mentioned this before, but it’s worth saying again: I hate Cairo Airport.  It’s a pit of snakes.

Fortunately, there were better moments on this trip.

Al-Azhar at Night

One evening, I suggested to a friend who hadn’t seen much of the city besides the campus where he was studying and the apartment where he lived that we visit the old city in the evening.  The snakes who run the Khan al-Khalili bazaar tend to be a little less venomous toward the end of the day.  Shortly out of the cab, I wandered over to the newly restored area between the Wikala and Madrassa of Sultan al-Ghori, which I hadn’t seen since the restoration was complete.  While looking at the new roof over the area, a man wandered over to us and struck up a conversation.  His English wasn’t the best, so the conversation took place primarily in Arabic.

It turned out that he was working on the restoration project, and after a few moments, he offered to show us around.  I’m normally leery of offers like this as they tend to end with a bill being produced, but he seemed pretty genuine and kept insisting that he wasn’t doing it for baksheesh.

For the next two hours, we wandered the back streets south of al-Azhar mosque.  Granted, he showed us a lot of craft workshops that made things neither of us were interested in buying, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

The only point where money entered into the conversation was when we went down to Bab Zuwayla, the southern gate to old Cairo that dates from 970 AD.  The mosque of Shaykh Moizz li-din Allah adjoins the bab, and for a little bribing, you can get the caretaker to let you up on the roof.

_MG_3752

As we were up on top of the mosque, with its view of the old city and the cliffs of Muqattam that border Cairo to the east, the muezzins began making the call to prayer (the azan).  From our vantage point, you could hear muzzein after muezzin chanting from the city’s four thousand mosques, the sounds echoing off of each other and weaving into a great chant that is, to me, one of the most quintessential sounds of Egypt: prayer, street activity, and traffic.  How Cairo.

As we descended, he asked us to make a donation to the mosque, which we were happy to do.  After that, it was back to the main street where he’d met us, with a handshake and a good bye.  I gave him a little Austin lapel pin that I had left over from the trip to Turkey, and with that we were on our way.

The next day, I returned to the old city on my own to wander all over creation and shoot some photos.  I came on my own deliberately, as I know my interest in architecture and little alleyways is not shared by many … OK, most … of my friends.  I’ve learned that it’s better to just come on my own.

There was a slightly ugly incident near Bab al-Nasir, one of the two northern gates of the city.  As I was passing a small food stall, the guy working the fry station practically threw a piece of ta’amiyya (Egyptian felafel — it’s made with fava beans instead of chick peas) at me.  The next thing I knew, I was being bodily pulled into the restaurant, made to sit at a table, and plates of food that I didn’t want were placed in front of me.  I just wasn’t hungry, and I wasn’t entirely comfortable, as I imagined that this exchange was going to end with an outrageous bill being presented.  I wasn’t wrong.

The conversation started off nicely enough, with the usual, “Where are you from?  What’s your name?” questions, and a bit of bizarre cross cultural communication took place when it was revealed that I apparently have the same first name as The Undertaker from WCW(?).  There was a moment of admiration of the bandana that I carry as a sweat rag.  This is nothing new, and I’ve learned to carry spares.  These were given out -  I had enough for all the guys in the stand, but then things got ugly.

“I’ve got a kid,” said one of the guys.  “What do you have for him?”
“Um … ” I looked in my camera bag.  To my shock, he actually reached in and pulled something out, and I smacked his hand, and snarled at him.  The phrase Leh keddah literally means “What’s this?” but said the right way it connotes “WTF, dude?”  I eventually parted with a hotel pen that I’d picked up somewhere in my travels, and then decided it was time to make my exit.  I was presented with a bill for 30 pounds ($6 – which is probably a 500% inflation over what a local would have paid) and then everyone started asking for a tip.  Fortunately, by this time, I was far enough outside the restaurant that they couldn’t block my way, so I pretended I couldn’t understand and walked away.

I was irritated by this experience, and kept trying to calm myself down by reminding myself that I hadn’t spent that much, when a woman wearing a niqab (the face veil with a slit for the eyes) came up to me, motioning with her hands.  She was a beggar.

The guys at the restaurant had taken all of my small bills, and I just didn’t have anything.  I did, however, have a bag of leftover ta’amiya and french fries.  “I don’t have any money,” I said.  “Would you like food?”

She looked at me, puzzled.  “You speak Arabic?”  (This was an odd comment, considering that I’d spoken to her in Arabic, but I’m used to it.  There’s something about looking the way I do and speaking Arabic that just causes brains to short circuit all over Egypt).
“Yeah.”
This was followed by the usual questions about where I was from, etc., and I gave her the food and headed off.  At which point she asked me if I wanted to take her photo — a bit of a startling question from a woman in a face veil!

I headed down through the Khan al-Khalili as quickly as possible and crossed the bridge to the relative safety of the other side.  My plan was to walk down through Bab Zuwayla and then down through the Khan of the tentmakers and through the neighborhood beyond.

This is an area that’s not frequented by foreigners, but if my presence caused any consternation, it didn’t show.  A couple of boys asked me to take their photo.

Boys

I’m ashamed that I don’t remember their names.

The only incident happened further down the street.  I stopped to snap a photo of a mosque, and the guy working at a street cart selling pots and pans, asked me, “What are you taking a photo of?  I don’t want any photos of me!”
“I took a photo of the mosque,” I said.
“The mosque?” he asked.  I showed him on the LCD panel on my camera, and suddenly the scowl was replaced with a big smile and a thumbs up.

And that was it.  So much for the seething anti-Americanism on the Arab street.

Even that night, when my friend and I came back to see the Sufis and visit the newly lit up monuments north of the Khan al-Khalili, it was a mixture of ignorance and cheerful questions.  And the monuments do look incredible at night.

Shari'a Moizz at Night.

And so.  When I got to Cairo, I remembered thinking, “How am I going to fill up this time?”  By the time it was over, it seemed like it went so quickly.

Which is not to say that I wasn’t ready to come home.  Probably the ugliest moment on the entire trip occurred the morning before I left, in the form of an e-mail from work.  Someone on the organizing committee of a conference I’m working on sent a message that was so ugly that it actually brought tears to my eyes.  By the time I saw the message, several others had weighed in, and there was a message from my boss asking me not to respond to it because, “I’ve already told her in no uncertain terms that this message is completely unacceptable.”   Even so, it put me in an absolutely foul mood, and my brain has been wandering back to it ever since (12 hour flights are great for stewing).  It was a nasty reminder of things waiting for me when I go back to work tomorrow.

And so.  I have vague memories of the plane taking off from Cairo at 3:30 am on Friday, and equally vague memories of the plane landing in Istanbul.  I found a bench to sleep for part of the 6 hour layover in Istanbul and conked out again for a good chunk of the flight from Istanbul to Chicago.  (The two bottles of wine served with lunch might have helped).

And now, I’m home where it’s hotter than it was in Egypt!  But I’m happy to be back with Ray and Mocha and not spending a lot of money all the time — Egypt has gotten significantly more expensive over the past couple of years.  The economic recession has not been kind there.

All the same … well, I’m not planning my next trip back yet, but it’s always in the back of my mind.  That’s just kind of the way I am.

 

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