Last night Sylvia, Jeff and I gathered around the stove and re-created the prawn dish mentioned in an earlier post (see below), only we used frozen langostines from Trader Joe's, which I highly recommend if you can't get fresh prawns. All I can say is, I wish you all could have been here to savor the experience with us. Lord knows we made enough for a crowd. We used fenugreek, tumeric and curry straight from a spice shop in India and the flavors literally burst out of the pan, but I'm convinced that even with ingredients from your local store, this dish will please. As temperatures dipped into the teens last night and the drafts found us through the cracks and crevices of our windows and doors, we were warmed from the inside by this wonderful dish, which sits somewhere between a soup and a stew. I've converted the metric measures from the earlier recipe and I've multiplied the amounts, enough to serve six. So enjoy!
(Oh, and by the way, if you make it, share with us your insights by leaving a comment.) Prawns Moily 5 oz. of prawns (or frozen langoustine tails from Trader Joe's) 3 T coconut oil 1 t fenugreek 1 large onion, sliced into rings 6 large cloves garlic, sliced 4-inch piece of ginger, julienned 1 large green chili pepper, seeds removed and julienned 1 t Indian curry powder (I like the Pereg brand) 1 t tumeric powder 2 t salt 1 cup water 1 14-oz. can light coconut milk (or regular) juice of 1/2 lime 1 large tomato, cut into julienne strips Heat the oil in a sauce pan and add the fenugreek seeds. When warm, add the garlic, ginger, green chili, onions and curry powder and saute until transparent. Add the turmeric powder and water. Add the cleaned prawns (or langoustines) with salt. When the prawns look cooked (or the langoustines heated through), add the coconut milk and continue heating, being careful not to allow the broth to come to a boil. Finish with lime juice and julienned tomato. Serve over basmati or rice of your choice. Can be accompanied by Naan bread to soak up the broth (fresh or frozen Naan can be bought at Trader Joe's, too). Before we went to India we heard all kinds of opinions from people who'd done the trip before us. Many said they were glad they'd been there once, but wouldn't go back -- too much destitution and too much filth. Some said they preferred the north of India, others said they loved the south. People were split on whether it was worth going out of the way to see the Taj Mahal on a relatively short trip. Others said it was an absolute highlight not to be missed. So, for those of you who are considering a trip to India, here are my two cents, or rupees. I think Jeff, Sylvia and Ben would agree with me. First of all, I'm so glad I went and I would go back again. The sites are otherworldly, the people warm, hospitable and soulful. There's a large and growing middle class in evidence everywhere, and they're proud and excited to share their country with foreigners. Yes, there's squalor and noise, but they are part of the tableau that has to be experienced by all five senses and can't be conveyed by the limited dimensions of film and radio -- or even a multi-media blog -- as good as those depictions might be. As Americans we can't possibly know what it's like for the developing world without standing in the middle of it, and even then, we still can only imagine what it's like to live in the shoes of the more than a billion have-nots in the world. We loved the richly-spiced food and though we ate heartily, we all found we had shed a few pounds by trip's end. If you're a woman, bring scarves and tunics, leggings and long skirts, because you'll want to blend in as much as possible. But buying colorful local clothing was easy and inexpensive, too, and supported the local economy, so pack lightly and indulge.
Two weeks is not long enough to cover both the north and the south. If you have the luxury of a month, then go for it, and spend a little more time in each place than we did, adding a few more stops to the southern route to cover the technology centers in the southeast. But if it's two weeks you have, then we'd suggest sticking to the north and adding, perhaps, Varanasi and/or Jaipur and Rathambore National Park. Instead of early January, I'd suggest waiting till it warms up a bit in February and there's less morning and evening fog -- especially if you want to be sure to see the Taj Mahal at its best. We got lucky. And speaking of the the Taj Mahal, you have to see it with your own eyes. It's magical. Don't miss it. One of my mother's well-traveled friends, Rita, who has a great eye for art and beauty, said if she could only visit one sight in the whole world, it would be the Taj Mahal. And Ben, who has seen many of the natural and man-made wonders of the world in his travels, is inclined to agree. So go, and enjoy. And don't hesitate to contact me if you have any questions. As you no doubt have gathered, I've always got a lot to say! I can't say what's going on in people's homes, but from what I can tell from the hotels we frequented, conserving energy and reducing carbon emissions is on the minds of people in tourism and commerce in India. Every hotel we visited encouraged the reuse of towels, had exclusively florescent bulbs, power outlets with on/off switches that prevented energy loss from “phantom loads,” and master key switches at the entry doors that cut off all power on exiting the room. And even some of the smaller accommodations like the Brunton Boatyard in Fort Kochi and the Wilderness Camp in the Thar Desert sported spanking new solar panels and solar hot water heaters. We even saw small solar arrays on the houseboats in Kerala! While these energy saving improvements seem minimal, it’s more than I’ve seen in many of the American hotels we’ve visited in recent years. Aside from the hotel efforts, there was evidence that solar-powered rickshaws are coming soon to the traffic-choked streets. Ironically, we got a glimpse of what the rickshaws might look like in the workshop at the vintage car museum. While there were plenty of trucks hauling goods, there were also bicycles and pedal rickshaws piled high with deliveries. Ride sharing is a way of life. Several of the stores and stands we visited packed our purchased items into shopping bags made out of recent newspapers rather than plastic. What struck me most, though, was what I saw – or didn’t see – every time we took off in an airplane for another city. Even over the biggest metropolises of Delhi and Mumbai, the number of glimmering lights was a tiny fraction of what I’ve seen over even small and medium-sized cities in the West. With India growing at its current staggering rate, an increase in the number of lights is, of course, inevitable. We can only hope that the lion’s share of them will someday soon be powered by renewable energy sources. A few of you have asked me how I managed to update this website while keeping to such an ambitious itinerary. The answer is, I wrote most of the copy while in transit from one city to another and it helped that my past work experience was all about daily deadlines. We tended to get back to the hotel most nights by 10:00, which was way before my usual bedtime, as some of you may know. So after some reading and catching up on news, I would fire up the internet connection and get to the business of uploading material. This was a pretty tedious process until I figured out how to compress the photos into a manageable size without compromising their quality. A few hotels had pretty iffy internet connections and now and then I lost data, but on the whole, India lived up to its reputation as being technology central. All in all, I have to say, inventing and maintaining a website isn't as challenging as I thought it would be. I hardly had to know a thing about programming or code, thanks to the website creator I used. It's funny; about 20 years ago, when we were applying my son Alex to kindergarten, my husband Jeff raised some eyebrows by asking the head of one school why she was making such a big deal about teaching kids computer programming language when they'd grow up to have any application they needed right at their fingertips. Well, I thank god that someone out there was taught enough computerese to make it possible for someone like me to whip up a website on the fly. Alex, by the way, didn't get into that school. But he has dreamed about writing computer code for applications he needs that don't exist. So there you go.
I was on the streets of New York City during the Friday evening rush yesterday and was struck by the relative quiet around me. The sensation was like the one you have when emerging from a loud rock concert and feeling like you've got cotton in your ears or like you're in a scene where the soundtrack is missing. Here's a sample of what we've been listening to constantly in India for the past two weeks. It's not an exaggeration. Trucks bear signs on their rear ends imploring tailgaters to honk. It seems to be the only rule of the road that is universally obeyed. In our two weeks on the traffic-choked streets and byways of India, our drivers amazingly only collided with two motorcycles and one boat. And while some terse words were exchanged, no one was hurt. Good thing, too, because in the book Sylvia was reading on the trip -- based on a real life story -- a taxi driver was dragged from his cab in India and beaten to death after causing a traffic pile up! On our last day, we stopped for a little while to watch the activity at a motor vehicle driver licensing test site, where we learned that Indians really are trained to thread their two and four-wheelers through needles. The test course consisted of figure eights and a kind of "slalom" course with tightly spaced gates. But as we have learned, technical "proficiency" doesn't necessarily translate into vehicular order on the road. Regional and local authorities are trying to do even more to educate the populace on safer driving habits. In Delhi and Agra, a new helmet law had gone into effect for drivers of motorcycles and scooters. Many male drivers actually wore them -- although virtually none of their female passengers did, many of whom rode side-saddle, and sometimes with a baby in arms. In Mumbai, I saw a poster for a day-long festival dedicated to road safety, featuring a performance by a troupe of dancing traffic cops! In Kerala, Jeff saw an article in the local newspaper announcing that with the opening of a new stretch of divided highway, there was going to be a public education campaign to teach people to actually adhere to the formal rules of the road: to observe lane makers and stay within them, to drive only in one direction in each lane, to obey traffic signals, to use rear-view and outside mirrors to confirm the road is clear before pulling into traffic, to use headlights at night and to not stop or park a car smack in the middle of the road. These things are second nature to us here (and virtually everywhere else we've been in the world), but let's just say we hope the rules actually catch on sometime soon in India, where motor vehicle sales are expected grow by the millions in each of the next several years.
Note: to check out day-by-day "India Diary" posts with pictures, click this link :/days-13--14----cruising-the-backwaters-etc.html Ben and Jeff attended a cooking demonstration at our hotel here in Kochi, southern India and Sylvia and I got there just in time to have a taste. It was a local dish called "Prawns Moily." How delightful! The preparation was so simple, but the flavors complex and so, so fresh. And like everything we've eaten for the last two weeks, all the ingredients were locally sourced. The prawns, for heaven's sake, were from about 100 yards away! The coconuts practically dropped in our laps here and their oil, juice and milk are used frequently in cooking in this region, called Kerala. Don't be scared off by the use of coconut oil. I've been using it for years and its reputation as a bad oil is undeserved. Quite the opposite. If you make sure you use the unprocessed, organic "extra virgin" brands of coconut oil, you'll reap benefits too numerous to mention here, and I promise you, you won't get fat and your cholesterol numbers may improve. Here's the recipe, chock full of great Indian spices we've come to love and will be bringing home with us because you just can't get them as fresh at home. Sorry for the metric measures. I don't have the time right now to convert them. (Meanwhile, check "India Diary" for more info and pictures of Kerala: /days-11--12----tropical-kerala.html ) Prawns Moily Preparation time: 10 minutes; Cooking time: 15 minutes Prawns 20 grams Coconut oil 30 ml Fenugreek seeds 1 gm Onion (in rings) 100 gm Garlic (in slices) 10 gm Ginger (julienned) 10 gm Green chili (slit) 12 gm Curry leaves 2 sprigs Tumeric powder 1 gm Salt to taste Water 60 ml Coconut Milk 100 ml Lime Juice 10 ml Tomato (sliced) 75 gm Heat the oil in a pan and add the fenugreek seeds. Add the garlic, ginger, green chili, onions, curry leaves and saute until transparent. Add the turmeric powder and water. Add the cleaned prawns with salt. When the prawns look cooked, add the coconut milk and continue heating, but be careful not to allow the broth to come to a boil. Finish with lime juice, garnished with curry leaves and slices of tomato, cut into small bites. Chinese fishing nets, where prawns and other fish are caught. These land-tethered contraptions are found almost exclusively in Kerala. These were only 50 yards from our hotel. In 1991, Jeff and I traveled to Budapest, just after Hungary came out from under the USSR's thumb. No one spoke a word of English. My French and Spanish were of no use. Cab drivers didn't even know the English word "hotel." So we relied heavily on a city map and our walking shoes to get us around. The problem was, we could never pinpoint our location on the map. We were sure we were standing in front of a certain landmark, but the street name never matched the map. Perpetually lost with no one to ask for help, we took to wandering aimlessly around the city -- stumbling on interesting, albeit, decaying points of interest like the zoo and a palace, and marveling at bullet damage still evident on building facades from World War II and various political uprisings. It wasn't until our visit was almost over that our friend, Rob Bata, who'd been raised there, explained to us that the reason our map was of no use was because the streets all over Budapest were being rapidly renamed to purge all memories of communist repression. Even if the maps were being updated, they'd have to be re-printed almost daily, since the transformation of the city was happening, literally, overnight.
So what's the point? Well, India has recently undergone an overhaul of its city names and nothing is familiar anymore, if it ever was familiar to a foreigner in the first place. Fortunately, the maps seem to be up to date. But the people haven't always conformed. Some still call Mumbai, Bombay and Kolkata, Calcutta, Chennai, Madras. I'm sure in a few years the new names will fly off our tongues, the same way Beijing and Sri Lanka and Tanzania are the new norm. But it has already been 15 years since Mumbai and Chennai were introduced and almost 10 since Calcutta, so the process of undoing Anglicanization is a long one. For all we know, New York City is really Mannahatta again, but most of us just didn't get that memo. It's a good idea when you go to a new city -- especially one where prices are subject to change on a whim -- to familiarize yourself with the fare system before you board your vehicle of choice. We didn't take that advice. But fortunately, we were paying in rupees and not in Euros. Sylvia and Ben paid 20 rupees (50 cents) for a rickshaw ride that cost me and Jeff 100 rupees ($2) for the exact same route when we mis-read the meter. We thought it was a bargain to pay 200 rupees ($4.50) for a five-minute cab ride to Victoria Station, until we found out it was supposed to cost 16 rupees (35 cents). Oops! Imagine accidentally paying $100 for a $10 cab ride in New York City. The fare for the first class train to the seaside suburb of Bandra was $1 each, and we actually paid the right amount this time. But there wasn't a single ticket-taker on the 20-car train, so for everyone else, it was free! Oh well, any which way, we made some hard-working people very happy that Sunday afternoon. And we enjoyed the pretense of traveling like real Indians and blending in with the crowds. Check out other Mumbai experiences and photos at "India Diary:" /days-9--10----mumbai.html
Okay, as usual, I overpacked. Who doesn't? But in my own defense, how can you pack lightly when you have to bring layers enough for temperatures that range from 45 to 85? I will say, though, I have a packing system that should be taught at the university level. The cornerstone is a collection of velcro-sealed "envelopes" that keep clothes compact and organized. Inside the envelopes, the clothes are rolled, not folded, which keeps them wrinkle-free and crams 40 percent more in the same space. Believe me, I've done the comparison. When you're moving around a lot, like we are, you can just keep everything in their pallets and move them from suitcase to drawers and back. Simple! Not to be too graphic about it, I put laundry in one of those roll-up vacuum bags that compresses everything and keeps it hermetically sealed off from the rest of your stuff. I recommend microfiber underwear, which washes and dries in no time. And If you're a traveler and you don't own a pair of wool socks, you need to listen up. I know this sounds gross, but you can wear a pair of quality all-wool socks for four, five, even six days, unless you're slogging through the Amazon or running marathons. I like the Smart Wool brand, which come in all kinds of colors and styles for women and men. And no, they're not a sponsor on my website, though if they want to make me an offer, I'm all ears. I like to think that when airport security opens up my suitcase for a look, they whistle in awe at the neat puzzle inside and, out of respect, just close it back up, undisturbed.
By far, the most modern and impressive buildings along the main roads here in northern India are not the tire, farm machinery and electrical equipment factories, they are the schools. Education is big here and it is serious business. Between Delhi and Agra, interspersed between farms and giant plants, we saw at least a dozen for-profit universities, each offering undergraduate and graduate degrees in, you guessed it, business, engineering and computer science. The students come from the grimy, bustling towns nearby and after graduation, many must feed directly into the factories right along the way, but I imagine many also move on to other sections of the country and beyond. The other morning I watched students, all of them young men by the way, sitting on the back of motorized rickshaws careening down the road in near-freezing weather with text books open. As we passed by them in our van, I could see them looking over math and engineering problems.
Take the Sri Venkateswara Group of Educational Institutions. Its motto, which I read in one of the regional business magazines routinely supplied in our hotel rooms, is "Come, Learn, Flourish." (I wonder what that is in Latin.) Like all of those I've seen, the school boasts accreditations by various state and national boards that mean nothing to me but must mean something to them and the school's students. And like all the factories here, Sri Venkateswara also advertises that it strictly adheres to international quality standards, including those famously administered by the International Standards Organization, headquartered in Norway. "ISO 9000 certification" is supposed to confirm that an organization, after many labors, has perfected its processes and zealously reviews them to weed out quality problems on an ongoing basis. In the educational context here, it is surely intended to connote pedagogical perfection -- though almost certainly through devotion to rote learning. This is not all bad, as many education reformers in the US, concerned about curriculum consistency and teacher training, will tell you. But, as you know from reading Susan's entries, most things here in India are rough not only on the surface but also below it; to wit: the magazine ad for Sri Venkatewara proudly announces that the university is ISO 9000 "ceretified." Oops! (Note: click on "Previous" below for earlier posts.) Here in Northern India, garbage is a constant blight. For 120 miles from Delhi to Agra, a river of discarded snack wrappers, plastic bags and paper runs almost uninterrupted along the roadside, punctuated frequently by large mounds where stray dogs and sacred cows scavenge. Somehow, I've never once seen anyone throw refuse from a car or even from the endless array of food stands that are everywhere. But there it is, in inorganic heaps and I can't imagine how such a problem could ever be brought under control. Still, frequently I see billboards or signs on buses boasting of a green and clean New Delhi. That must be some parallel universe I haven't seen yet. In the meantime, maybe my daughter Sylvia and her colleagues at the environmental studies department at Brown can devise some way for people in places like this to turn the garbage into harmless building materials or fuel that magically doesn't pollute or something!!
It's hard to know where to begin. But my overwhelming impression is one I've heard mentioned again and again with regard to India: the contrasts in this country are startling. Rich and poor, squalor and grandeur, graciousness and indignity. It all hits you full force after only a short exposure. I've been in many crowded spaces in my life -- Times Square during holidays, Japan, China, and New York City subways -- and I've seen my share of vehicular traffic. But there was an orderliness to those spaces that doesn't seem to exist here. Yes, people will line up in neat queues to file into a monument, but on the streets there seem to be no rules of personal space. Humans and animals rush in every which direction; cars, rickshaws, trucks buses and bicycles wander all over the road in a chaotic rush like particles in entropy looking for order. Everyone surely gets to where they're trying to go, but at the same time they appear to be going nowhere.
At this time of year, the landscape is dull and dry, the skies mostly gray, but the women are wrapped in rainbow colored scarves and the men in bright sweaters and hats , which gives almost every scene a vibrancy that can put a smile on your face. Still, nothing can take away from the grimness of the conditions here. In the city it's filth and want for even the most basic things. In the 40-degree nights, people go barefoot and lack shelter. They sleep under tarps and in their rickshaws. Everywhere you go, you see the smoke from small campfires along the roadsides, men and dogs huddled around them in tight circles. These fires fill the air with a smog that spreads far and wide and reaches into your throat as a constant reminder of the poverty that is everywhere. But the people are resourceful, piling 18 to a rickshaw that comfortably seats six, and four to a scooter. They collect cow dung, dry it and fashion it into bricks for their huts. And they sell you whatever services they can: a chance to take a picture of their monkey or the offer of shooing away the people crowding the background of your family picture at the Taj Mahal. It can be heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. That's India in a nutshell. Before I try to say anything else about our travels, let me say this: what we are seeing here so far is indescribable, in words or even in pictures. The depth of the humanity here -- the sheer numbers -- doesn't relate to anything I've experienced ever before. It reminds me of trying to wrap my brain around the idea that there are billions of universes that are out there in the vastness of space. You just can't imagine it. But I'll do my best to translate the experience here in this blog. In the end, though, you'll have to come here and see it for yourself, if you're not faint of heart. And if you do, we have a great guide in New Delhi. His name is Manoj.
Here we are, 7400 miles from home, and on our first day, among the 1.2 billion Indians, Ben runs into three familiar faces in a shop in New Delhi.! It's a family he met while on a community service mission in the Peruvian Amazon two years ago, during his gap year. New Jerseyites, Rick is a gastroenterologist, his wife Trini and their daughter Natalie -- all of them close friends of our dear friend Jeanette Grauer, the dentist who organized the Amazon expedition. The next day in our hotel, Ben bumped into one of his classmates at Wharton, Sachit, visiting his family in India. So it is a small world sometimes.
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