Prague, or The Prettiest City You Ever Did See

Prague was golden, beautiful, picturesque. It was also unbearably cold, which certainly put a damper on my sight-seeing abilities. But it's small; it's manageable; its subway system is so easy to use that it's almost child-like.


The thing about Prague that you realize soon after arriving is that it's One of Those Cities Where You Can't Find the Things You Want.

Let me explain. Since eliminating words from my vocabulary like "developed/developing" and "Third world country", I've had to find a new way to explain things. And it's all come down to questions like "Can I find the biscuits I want in your grocery stores?", "Is there a chance I might get sick if I eat in your restaurants?" and "Do you have authentic Indian food?" (Note: In India, the answer to the last question is a resounding yes, but don't be fooled -- it's still One of Those Places).

In Prague, the answers to these questions were "No", "Yes", and "Well, there's one place."

One thing you can find in abundance is coin-slot-faced babies. That's right. They're everywhere. Crawling up the TV tower, lounging in Kampa Park -- these sculptures by Czech artist David Černý were my favorite part of Prague.

Berlin, or The Search for the Perfect Christmas Market

Five Christmas markets. Four days. Three sausages. Two indefatigable travelers. And one creepy, creepy tower.


Our adventures began at Potsdamer Platz, where the Christmas market was laid out in one long row, 2.5 magical kilometers, making it easy to navigate and appreciate. This was the perfect introduction. Highlights included seeing pretzels in their natural habitat, some tasty little donuts, and a lone little boy riding a carousel to the strains of "It Must Have Been Love."

The next afternoon, Rachel and I trekked through the Heart of Darkness into the depths of West Berlin to visit the market at Schloss Charlottenburg. I bought some delicious organic nougat, Rachel bought some lebkuchen, and we took the U-bahn back to Alexanderplatz due to sub-zero temperatures.

But we hadn't had enough Christmas market for one day. The advantage of the Alexanderplatz market is the feeling of being constantly watched by the TV Tower, arguably my favorite public monument of all time. I can't really explain why I love it so much, except for the fact that it's always there. Watching. Waiting.



Gendarmenmarkt was probably the best. Even though they charged 1 Euro admission, they more than made up for the cost with all of the free samples. Foods and crafts were fancier here, but they were missing traditional Christmas market staples like wurst and gluhwein.

On our way home, we swung by the Opernpalais Christmas market for a last hurrah. I ate a Langos, the ordering of which allowed me to speak my longest German sentence to date: "Ein langos mit zucker und zimt, bitte." I was so proud.

The thing about German Christmas markets that makes them infinitely more bearable than American craft shows isn't just the Christmas spirit, the fairy lights, or the novelty I experience as a foreigner -- it's the lack of repetition. Sure, each Christmas market has the same stalls. But there's only one of each stall at each market. You see the wood crafts, the lace doilies, and the scented candles -- and then it's over. Kitsch is kept to a strict minimum in order to concentrate on what's really important: Food.

That inPhamous post

Amidst the recent flurry of emotion and controversy at Wellesley, I intercepted the following e-mail from the Honor Code Council and the Wellesley administration, sent to a certain special somone.* (For those of you who don't go to Wellesley, or would just like to read a nice summary of the whole situation, see here -- it's funny, concise, and contains direct quotes.)

"Dear Jeremy Pham:

It has come to our attention that you have written an expletive-laden commentary displaying sincere disrespect for the members of our community and women at large. We are disappointed that you hold such opinions and at the way in which you chose to express them. Wellesley College has a long and proud history of feminism and women’s solidarity. As such, we cannot simply ignore your actions. Obviously, recourse is necessary, and we have debated long and hard about an appropriate punishment for you.

Hence, please put a dick in your mouth straightaway. If you cannot find such an appendage (we know it's hard on this campus), we can provide one or link you up with someone who can. You have until Tuesday, December 1, 2009 to complete your punishment. Please fill out the attached form and have the possessor of your mouth-dick sign it.

Sincerely,
The Powers That Be"


*This is a lie.

Amelia's Guide to Living Cheaply in London

1. Attend every meal served in your hall, even if this means getting up at 8:30 every morning. You might lose out on sleep, but you’ll get a free breakfast (even better – a breakfast you’ve already paid for!).
2. Don’t eat lunch. Lunch is not a meal served in your hall. Save some fruit from breakfast and eat that. If you feel hungry in the middle of the day, just sleep it off. I promise it works.
3. Go to Borough Market at 5 pm on the weekend, just as it’s closing. Collect the jars of jam that have been sitting out all day as samples. There will only be a small amount in each jar, but that’s okay. If you have really low standards, you can mix them all together.
4. Drinking is expensive. Sobriety is cheap. Do you really need a drink?
5. Start going to lots of museums just because they’re free. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never even liked art before. It doesn’t.
6. If you sit in the Tuns for a couple of hours beforehand, you can get into any party in the LSE Quad without paying the cover. (Note: This will only be useful until you realize that you never want to go to any party in the LSE Quad.)
7. Accept that printing your readings for classes is no longer an option, even if it helps you retain information better to highlight things. Develop the skill of squinting at a screen in the library and scribbling the main ideas in your notebook.
8. Stop using public transportation. You can walk anywhere in central London. If your destination is outside Zone 1, walk to Zone 2 and take the tube from there. It’s cheaper. If it’s late at night, walk confidently. The foxes will run from you, and they’re probably not rabid.
9. Consider becoming a freegan. Think about dumpster diving. Think about what happens to all of those sandwiches every night when the cafés close.
10. If you top up 10 pounds a month on your mobile phone, you get unlimited text messaging. Never call anyone again. Ever. If you miss a call from someone, just wait until they call you back.
11. Attend any event that advertises free drinks, free food, or free anything. When you see the LSE Christian Society’s stall on Houghton Street, go up to it and pretend to be interested in their message so that they will give you a free cup of tea.
12. Lend people small amounts of money. When they pay you back, it will feel like you just got a gift.
13. If you live in intercollegiate halls, it costs money to have an overnight guest. Limit yourself to having sex between the hours of 6 am and 12 midnight. Or, just limit yourself to having sex with people who live in your hall.
14. Finally, and most importantly, remember that it’s all about how you feel, not about numbers or a weekly budget. If you don’t feel deprived, hungry, or unhappy, you’re probably spending too much money.

T8, ur gr8.

On Saturday, I went to the Tate Modern with some friends. I didn't go into any of the special exhibits because I didn't want to pay for them, and I've never really even liked modern art, but this was wonderful. I promise, Melissa, it will totally live up to all of your expectations.

We found some great little chairs for viewing the artworks and carried them around with us. I know it's what they're meant for, but you look like such an asshole when you unfold a small seat in front of a painting and just plop yourself down for a few minutes, effectively blocking the access of everyone around you. It does make for great photos, though.


For me, the best part of the Museum was Jill Magid's exhibit, Authority to Remove, in which the artist documents and interprets her experiences after being commissioned by the Dutch Secret Service to create art for them. After spending months researching them and becoming vetted herself, Magid shows them the document/novel that she has written, Becoming Tarden, and it is returned to her with many of her thoughts, memories and feelings censored out. The Organization (as Magid refers to them) then suggested that she put the book on display under glass in a one-time-only art exhibit, effectively turning it into a sculpture piece, after which she would return it to them along with all of her rights to the document. This is that art exhibit.

Magid ripped the spine out of the book before displaying it, an act that demonstrates her compliance with their wishes and their disregard for the dignity and autonomy of her artwork. Only the Prologue and the Epilogue are available to read now, but you can read them online via the link above.

I found the entire exhibit poignant and thought-provoking, especially the way that it explored censorship and the way that the act of censoring something often serves to imbue it with more power and meaning than it would have had otherwise. If she hadn't been censored, Magid's artwork would have been far less interesting, and her awareness of this fact gives her works even more depth. As the subtitle of the exhibit says, "The secret itself is much more beautiful than its revelation."

Here's another nice piece from the exhibit that refers to the ability of one agent to reveal the identity of another:

Outrageous Policies & Ridiculous Rules

Today marks the one-week anniversary of my arrival in London. I'm living in an intercollegiate residence hall, with students from various colleges in the University of London, not just LSE. We have breakfast and dinner available downstairs (but only from 8 am to 9 am and 6 pm to 7 pm). There are limits on the amount we can eat, and we don't have the luxury of eating both vegetables and salad -- we have to choose one. This morning I got into an argument with the cafeteria lady about whether or not I could have cereal.

We are encouraged to have guests over, at the low price of a pound and a half per night -- but they've got to be signed in before 11 pm. If you have a guest who isn't staying the night and you forget to sign them out before midnight, you get fined 10 pounds.

Every morning around 10 am, a jolly, non-English-speaking cleaning lady unlocks the door to my bedroom without knocking and empties my garbage can. We are forbidden from putting our garbage cans outside our doors, and the handbook informs us that "do not disturb signs will be ignored".

There appear to be no committees or forums for complaint or discussion. Remember 'taxation without representation'? Well, I don't think my hall does.

Today I went to the British Museum, which is free and holds all of the spoils of the centuries of British empire. I saw the Rosetta Stone, pieces of the Pantheon, and all sorts of mummies. English people don't seem to have any qualms about touching art and artifacts in museums -- I saw a child climbing a stone sarcophagus and a number of people leaning on statues as they posed for pictures or listened to a museum tour. It was horrifying.

In brighter news, I have a mailing address! Here it is:

Hughes-Parry Hall, Unit 1014
19-26 Cartwright Gardens
London, UK, WC1H 9EF

Pumpkin Pleasures

Readers, it's fall. There are only a few things I like about fall, and one of them is pumpkin. Pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread, spiced pumpkin drinks, etc. In theory, I'm also a fan of "sweater weather," but in reality, I can't remember the last time I was cold enough to wear a sweater that I didn't opt for a t-shirt and jacket instead.

Last fall, I bought a Sprinkles cupcake mix on clearance from Williams-Sonoma in the flavor of pumpkin. This fall, I decided to make it.

Sprinkles claims to be the first cupcake bakery ever, and "the progenitor of the haute cupcake craze" (what?), so I wanted to try one of their mixes. The pumpkin cupcakes turned out delicious, but the real star of the show was the Cinnamon Cream Cheese Frosting that I made using Sprinkles' recipe.

Intermission.

Right now is my in-between time. I've returned from India, and I haven't yet left for London. I'm neither here nor there. In fact, I'm in Buffalo, my personal purgatory.

As I write this, I'm sitting in Wegman's, arguably the best grocery store ever, using their free wireless because I haven't any in my house. I got my hard drive replaced on Saturday, and I'm picking up the pieces: uploading photos, downloading applications, extracting music, and resetting settings.

I haven't much to do here, so I'm going to try to make a few batches of cupcakes and try some new recipes. For my first batch, I stuck to the classics and made some vanilla cupcakes garnished with evening glories from my front garden.

Untitled.

Angie's boyfriend, Pete, volunteers at Little Stars School. One of his main responsibilities is to solve English workbooks because, for the most part, the teachers don't speak English well enough to know the correct answers.

Today he found a gem of a sentence inside of Seasons - Class 5, and I just had to share.

Exercise C: Your teacher will read out some sentences. Spot the error in each of them.

2. We loved her soft pussy fur and wet licks, but what we loved most was her bark.

Pete just crossed out "bark" and wrote "meow" instead.

"And how was it, madam?"

In my latest adventure, I decided to treat Stephanie to a back massage before she left India as a way of saying thanks for all the help she's given me in settling in. I found a shop called "What Women Want", or "W3", and it seemed clean enough, with reasonable prices, so I made reservations for 2 back massages.

From this experience, I learned two things:
1) A good businessperson never makes a good masseuse.
2) In India, when they say "full body massage," they really mean "full body massage."
Let me explain.

The woman that I made reservations with spoke good English, and seemed professional and businesslike. I liked her right away, because you don't meet many people like that in Varanasi. She was also wearing jeans, which means she is modern and liberal. I think she was the owner of the shop.

When we arrived for our appointment, we were shown to a tiny room upstairs with 2 small beds, but only one masseuse. I was confused. I thought to myself, "I hope this one lady doesn't just walk back and forth between us." But then, suddenly, who should appear but the owner from downstairs? "Lay down please, madam," she said.

Because of her aforementioned professional, businesslike nature, she convinced us that we should have full body massages. It would only cost a little bit extra, and it was worth the value. Okay, whatever.

The lady then proceeded to rub my back with oil for a while, and roll a very squeaky massage instrument up and down my body. She asked if she could take my underwear off, but I graciously declined. I was trying very hard not to laugh the whole time, which probably just left me with a creepy smile pasted across my face.

I don't think that this woman was formally trained in the arts of massage, because she only used her thumbs once during the 45 minutes. Mostly she just moved her oily palms all over me. Imagine my surprise when she asked me to roll over, and then proceeded to palm my bare chest for a while. Just when I thought the massage couldn't get any more awkward, it did.

I never thought that a touch could be so impersonal, so perfunctory. At the end of the massage, she said to me, "How was it, madam? Did you like it?" I wasn't sure how to respond. "Oh, yes. Very nice," I mumbled.

As we walked out, Stephanie asked me if I felt like I had just paid someone to molest me.

Total Eclipse of the Heart

This morning, there was a solar eclipse around 6 am. Have you ever seen a solar eclipse? I doubt it. This was my first.

I took a boat out on the Ganges with some friends for the best viewing experience possible. Solar eclipses are considered very auspicious events, so there were lakhs (Indian word for 10,000) of people who came out from all over to see it and bathe and pray and whatever else they felt like doing. The shores were crowded with Indians and foreigners alike. Because Varanasi is such a holy city, tourists from other parts of India came here to watch the eclipse.

I took loads of pictures, but I can't upload them now because I'm using an internet cafe. Unfortunately, my computer is still broken, and now Pierre's is too.

All I can say about that eclipse is that I completely understand why everyone thought the world was ending when they saw them a long time ago. They look very eerie, and everything just goes dark suddenly in the middle of the day.

You're not supposed to look at the sun during a solar eclipse (something about the darkness tricking your eyes so that your pupils contract, leaving your corneas unprotected), but I just couldn't resist, and now I'm afraid I'll go blind someday. I kept sneaking peeks and then looking away very quickly. Pray for the the quality of my vision, alright?

Pierre's Palace

Here in Varanasi, I live in a fancy apartment with an older Dutch man named Pierre. Pierre's interests include classical Hindustani music, interior design, and the color green.

We have marble floors, a glass table, and an air conditioner (which works when the power is on). The apartment isn't really finished yet, so there isn't any furniture other than the table, but that's okay. I've been sleeping on a foam mat on the floor in the main room because that's where the air conditioner is.

Other amenities include a water filter, a gas hookup and burner, a detached shower head, and a Western-style toilet. Amen.

Brains and chains and watch parts.

I just looked through my friend Laura's Etsy shop, and I was so impressed that I had to post about it because I think lots of people should want to buy her stuff. She sells mostly jewelry, along with some original paintings and drawings, and they're all super awesome.

http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5977619

She uses a wide variety of materials, including antique watch parts, old hardware, old keys, and fishing tackle. My favorite items are the screw earrings and the Flygradd necklace (which has a real dead fly in a vial on it!). Additionally, she's a really talented photographer and a clever writer, so the pictures and descriptions are a joy to view.

Laura, I'm so proud of you.

Step 1.

Today, The Supreme Court in India ruled to overturn a ban on gay sex. Sweet.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/03/world/asia/03india.html?_r=5&hp

There's so much more to do, but this is a great first step.

Well, it's July. My goal was not to get sick at all until July. Aside from a cold, I thought I was in the clear, but then I got food poisoning. On June 30. Stephanie says that India is trying to tell me I am not the boss.

I just thought this was funny.

Especially imagining that he was going to Michael's craft store.

http://www.passiveaggressivenotes.com/2009/05/06/ill-have-u-know/

I'd also like to take this opportunity to urge anyone reading this to become a follower of the blog (see left). It makes me feel good to know that people are reading.

Today was a good day.

When one is in a foreign country and mainly dependent on the kindness of others, it is very satisfying to do even the most basic things on your own.

Today I went to the Central Library at Benares-Hindu University (BHU), where I examined the past six months of issues of Economic & Political Weekly, and read the articles relevant to rural women and agrarian employment. Then I went to Vishwanath Temple across the street and bought some postcards. Afterwards, I walked to the Women & Development Library, but I couldn't find anything, so I just left. Then I took a rickshaw home and found the way all by myself. I felt very accomplished. It has been by far the most productive day I've had since arriving in India.

In other news, I have a cold, and I made myself a delicious slice of French toast this morning. I didn't have anything to put on it, but it was still so good. Here is my recipe (Amy Sedaris-style):

an egg
some milk
1 slice white bread

Beat the egg and milk together in a bowl. Soak the bread in it on both sides. Fry the bread in a pan (both sides). Serve and enjoy.

What.

http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=CNG.a263b3b0a90b3db7df0ca33948d697d6.81&show_article=1

Here is an article about women being banned from wearing jeans at colleges in Uttar Pradesh, the state I'm living in now. Supposedly, it's to protect women from sexual harassment, but really, it's the men who should be punished, not the women.

I've seen some girls wearing jeans here, but definitely not as many as in Delhi. Sexual harassment in India is called "Eve-teasing." One night in Delhi, we happened to be running late getting back to our hotel, and we were walking through the streets a little after 10 pm. We probably got at least 5 comments from the men around us, but I couldn't understand because they were said in Hindi. We're not supposed to go out alone after dark. I will follow this rule because it's safer and smarter, but it still makes me angry.

If the responsibility for sexual harassment is always put on women, how will it ever end?

Clothes Hopping.

While in Delhi, we each had a few suits custom-made or tailored. We're wearing suits for several reasons: more practical in the heat, better for blending in, and we'll probably get more respect if we dress conservatively.

Suits have three parts: 1) salwar. loose, drawstring pants. 2) kurta. long, tunic-like shirt. 3) dupatta. large, long scarf. The only rules for fashion are that the salwar and the dupatta should match each other.

It's really awesome to pick out some fabric and then have it made into a suit just for you for about $3. Above is a photo of me in my new favorite outfit, and a stack of fabrics in the store where I bought it.

Mehndi.

I got mehndi done on my hands in Delhi. In India, they put the henna on your palms rather than the backs of your hands. I think that this creates a much nicer effect, but it makes it impossible to touch anything for hours.

On trains.

On Thursday, we took an overnight train from Delhi to Varanasi. I was hoping that it would be just like the Darjeeling Limited.

It was not like the Darjeeling Limited.

On the train, we each slept on our very own ironing board. I am reminded of my time on the farm in Panama, mostly because it also inspired me to use outlandish metaphors. In Panama, nights were psychotic episodes while days were devoted to working in a giant litterbox.

I like the way people start to get a little hysterical when living under harsh conditions, like in Panama. It's very hot here. Last night, as we lay awake sweating, Angie said, "I wish I were very small so that I could live in the refrigerator." I think that this is a perfect example of the desperation heat brings.

Namaste.

"Namaste," the traditional Hindi greeting, literally translates to, "I recognize the self in you." This is one of the most beautiful things I've heard in a while.

My computer crashed just before leaving for the airport. Let's hope I can get it fixed in Delhi, where I believe there is no official Apple store. Ironically, it crashed while I was attempting to back it up on an external hard drive in anticipation of just such a crash (or loss or theft).

Today we heard a presentation from the President of Operation ASHA, which is a public health organization that fights tuberculosis in India. As we left her house, the President hugged me and told me that I had a face just like a sweet little baby.

Today I also saw seven people riding one motorbike.

Welcome to my blog.

Reasons for blog:

1) Anna deserves to have more friends with blogs. (See also: See Also)

2) I'll be in and out of the country (but mostly out) for the next year or so, and I'd like a way to convey my particular brand of humor to the masses.