The Belgian was forgotten in an instant when Pierre held out a forkful of his chocolate travollta..
08/04 [Rainbow journal is so getting a ton of use - longest post for the next few days I think]
This day was the one that marked a definite change (at least for a couple of days) in my stay in Delhi.
I woke at seven, even though I had fallen asleep just after three, and grumbling all the while, I reluctantly went upstairs to get something to eat. Because my stomach was oddly churning at the thought of well...practically everything, I settled on corn flakes with bananas and milk tea.
A banana slice orgy rather, as there seemed to be more of them than actual flakes. And me being fanciful/bored/exhausted as I was, I had this little video in my head of banana slices launching an invasion on the corn flake box (complete with camoflauge face paint) before finally attacking and attempting to wrestle the corn flakes into submission. I was not sure which side was winning by the time I waded into the battle, but I came out the victor. See...bored/tired/goofy.
I was nearly all the way through my breakfast when a woman asked if she could sit across from me. I agreed quickly, hoping she would be half as interesting as Lily, or have crazy stories of her own clumsiness like Tina. She was not, and she did not. I am not saying this to be rude, or derogatory, she was pleasant...in an abrasive I-know-far-more-than-you school marm way. I nearly feel sorry for her students, as she is a K-12 teacher back in Denmark (third Dane in nearly as many days, I was surprised).
We said our goodbyes not long afterwards, notably not sharing email addresses, as the encounter was one that made due for the moment but was not memorable in any way. And I headed back down to my room and computer, listlessly relegating myself to another day of pretending to be in a vegetative state under the air conditioning. Instead, there was a flurry of knocking about a half hour later, which I attempted to ignore. It refused to stop, my a/c even being flicked off and then on twice, and I (proving my Naval heritage quite brilliantly by turning the air the color of polished aquamarine) got up, redressed and answered the door.
No one was there. Or, at least, not directly in front of the door. Suddenly, Lily popped up out of nowhere, startling me into a jump of at least two inches. She apologized and quickly informed me that she had not changed hotels after all, that she was staying two more nights! I was excited.Turning around, she gestured to the two people who appeared behind her, weighed down like packhorses with their massive bags, and introduced them.
Gwen (who now has my username for this blog, and wants to read it...HI GWEN!) who was this tall, earthy kind of pretty I had always attributed to Frenchwomen. You know, distinct French features, russet curls cut short. Quiet, but seemed nice.
Pierre, tall and thin, scruffy. I did not get any real impression of him right off, just that he was decent looking, and haunted forest silent.
Lily told me that they were going to drop some things off in her room, check out the net (I had given her my pass to the wifi) and then head out for shopping and other things. And then asked if I wanted to go. I nodded excitedly, my listlessness and tiredness washing away as I bounced happily at the thought. It took about an hour, but soon we were off, first to the bank.
Getting a rickshaw for four people was easy, as we just shoved four full grown 20-22 year olds into the tiny motorized rickshaw, the difficult part was just keeping Lily (balanced as she was at first half on the guardrail) from falling over and out of the vehicle. She moved up to sit beside the driver and we were fine, poor Pierre with his massive duffel smashing him. The trip there was harrowing, as usual in Delhi streets, but over quickly, so we were able to cross a street (I dearly miss sidewalks, I do) and get to the indoor atm at the chic bank building in Connaught Circle.
You can always tell an upscale business from its competitors by the near freezer-like qualities of their air conditioner. Each time it is a near physical blow, the cold, but you appreciate it. That much I will tell you. We milled about the tiny room packed with four atms and a computer that proudly announced '24/7 internet banking' (that did not work). There was some drama as the atms only allowed a max of 2000 rupees (about $50) withdrawal at a time, and Gwen needed more (because she and Lily are both living in India for the year, you see, not a few days like me or Pierre). But it all worked out, somehow.
Next it was on to Costa Coffee, and you have to know that the words, 'Just like Starbucks' never sounded so good after drinking the sweet jet fuel this continent prefers. All we had to do was recross the crazy street, and walk about a block over to get to it. Air conditioning, ahhhh. There were gooey chocolatey things on display, coffee smells filling the air, and American music piped out from the nearby speakers. I ordered a mocha and an apple thing with vanilla ice cream, and we headed to four plush chairs set around a table. Ahhh..squishy chairs.
Then we started talking, at first it was a maelstorm of French, with me looking on wide-eyed but used to the whole foreign-language-swirling-around-me thing. Then Lily sent an apologetic smile my way and switched to English. Soon they were darting back and forth between the two languages, mostly in French, with Pierre or Lily leaning over (they were on either side of me, with Gwen sitting across) explaining haltingly in English what the joke was. Our food and drinks arrived, and we dug in. I have got to say, I love eating with French students a bit more than Nepali students as a whole. Because they do the same talk-eat-talk thing I love to do, while Nepali culture dictates that eating should be done quickly and silently, food was not to be lingered over and punctuated with stories of 'orrible English gone awry.
Pierre offered a forkful of his chocolate travollta, gooey and topped with a bit of melting vanilla ice cream. I grinned, and told him that I was not the kind of girl who turned down chocolate, making him grin back. And yeah, I started crushing a little on the guy. He was funny, cute and offered me chocolate. And the accent did not hurt in the least either.
What is it with me and cute, funny guys offering me chocolate in French accents lately? Pierre was the second this week (and I admit, second this year at least...the last French-accented hotboy to offer me a sweet was not a chocolate and it was two years ago).
Anyway, I sung along to Katie Perry's song blaring (softly) over the sounds of people talking, as Gwen and Lily got into a complicated story in French, which they then translated for me. About how the Indian men all stare at the white women who they see, and are creepy and rude about it (I described it as making you wonder if they wanted to kill or screw you...or some combination of the two, to put it crudely). Eventually (at least a hour or two later) we decided to go off and do something else, gathering up our things to leave.
Much wandering was done around Connaught Circle, and eventually that we decided that we needed to go the Underground Market. A literal market, underground, which made me wide-eyed. There was so much to see (and buy obviously) and the first thing I needed was a watch (really, all I needed at the time) so we went into a shop. I got to try my hand at negotiating and bargaining for the first real time, and it was exciting. 350 rupees for this knock off? I don't think so ::cracks knuckles and goes to work:: I was grinning like a jack o' lantern, except with far more (and far whiter) teeth, when I finished. Paying 150 rupees for the delicate dark silver-toned timepiece. Gwen wanted a watch too. 750 rupees?! You have to be kidding me sir! She paid 200.
It turns out that between two groups of people, whose second languages are both English, the best interpreter is a native English speaker who can sift out the accents. I felt competent, and in my element, a feeling quite rare for me on this side of the world. Where I am usually lost and floundering, but hiding it to a decent extent.
My grinning did not stop when she said I was 'very good at this,' and proudly was showing my prize like a dork to Pierre. Who said it was pretty and wanted to get one later for his sister. Inspecting other shops, Gwen and Lily decided they wanted more harem-style pants, and we set to playing the bargain game there. I was looking at the stitching at the hems as if I knew what I was doing (I know some about sewing, so I had enough to BS my way through everything else), which was hilarious as I kept making comments that they were pretty, but not long-lasting. Therefore not worth what the merchants were charging, pretending to leave in a cloud of sadness, we were instantly called back. The price dramatically lowered, to just the number we wanted to pay.
We were down there for another hour or so, until our stomachs were growling for our attention, and while we were giggling at Lily announcing to a merchant that the belt she 'wanted' should be real silver to spark her taste buds, we left. Of course the belt buckle in question had been this horrid, tacky thing that no one would buy. Pierre suggested McDonalds, because apparently Micky D is uber expensive in Europe, a single meal costing 10 Euros (about 15 dollars I'm told). But since I had just gone a couple days before with the Belgians, I voted for Pizza Hut. I do love their crusts.
Of course, first we had to find Pizza Hut. And Connaught Circle is massively huge, so we were wandering around for quite awhile. I preferred to stick to Pierre's side, rather closely, because besides the obvious (he's cute) I have this instinctive urge to hide behind/beside the nearest friendly/protective male when in an unsettling area. Especially after dark. Pierre: "Don't worry, I'll protect you." I neglected to mention that he was about the hundredth or so male to tell me that, instead joking that I hoped he had Jackie Chan moves. In all honesty I wanted to say 'Van Damme,' but I recently found out that he is Belgian, so it would have sounded weird. He just grinned, and I grinned back, until the next creepy guy on the street stopped and stared at us, and I stepped closer to Pierre.
Eventually (and I do mean eventually) we found Pizza Hut, and were happy to step out of the dark and sticky night into the heavily refrigerated restaurant. I cannot decide whether or not it is weirder for McDonalds to have a delivery service, or for Pizza Hut to have auniformed maitre'd. It made me think of Demolition Man, where Taco Bell won the Franchise Wars and was now the only restaurant left. Like Stallone, I was flummoxed. Although I received a good deal more food.
I do not know where people get this tripe that the French eat sparingly. I got a personal size pizza and was the only one to, as the other three ordered mediums and easily polished them off. From what I've seen (the Belgians included) no one is skimping and going hungry. Which was comforting, as I always see in like Sex and the City where the women in the episode where they go to Paris, all the women drink champagne and don't touch their food. But I was a foodie among foodies. Chatted about nothing and everything, leaning over to hear Pierre better when the girls left us alone to go smoke (calm down Parentals, I was wearing a comic book tee, no cleavage involved), and did my best not to yawn.
Did not succeed. But I really had not slept well in awhile, and we had been rushing all over the place. So when I apologized, Pierre just smiled and shook his head. Ignore the love struck schoolgirl tone, I'll try to reel it back, lol.
Next we had to meet Pierre's sister (and her horrid boyfriend) so that Pierre could go with them. It only took quite a bit more wandering through half-lit streets, me practically clinging to the Frenchboy walking beside me. Sadly he had to go, but waved as he went passed, and I swear I wanted to do a dorkish flip when he shouted, "ByeAlycia!" as their rickshaw left. Instead I just grinned and waved madly. Gwen, Lily and I walked to the metro station nearby, paid our 6 rupees and barely made it to the train in time to make it the one stop back to the hotel. We spent a bit of time in my room on the internet, on two seperate laptops, and then they said goodnight. Gwen and I made plans to hang out the next day, then meet up with Lily after her class for mani-pedis.
I closed my computer, grinned and made sure that the slips of paper with Gwen and Pierre's emails were safely in my address book.
This day was the one that marked a definite change (at least for a couple of days) in my stay in Delhi.
I woke at seven, even though I had fallen asleep just after three, and grumbling all the while, I reluctantly went upstairs to get something to eat. Because my stomach was oddly churning at the thought of well...practically everything, I settled on corn flakes with bananas and milk tea.
A banana slice orgy rather, as there seemed to be more of them than actual flakes. And me being fanciful/bored/exhausted as I was, I had this little video in my head of banana slices launching an invasion on the corn flake box (complete with camoflauge face paint) before finally attacking and attempting to wrestle the corn flakes into submission. I was not sure which side was winning by the time I waded into the battle, but I came out the victor. See...bored/tired/goofy.
I was nearly all the way through my breakfast when a woman asked if she could sit across from me. I agreed quickly, hoping she would be half as interesting as Lily, or have crazy stories of her own clumsiness like Tina. She was not, and she did not. I am not saying this to be rude, or derogatory, she was pleasant...in an abrasive I-know-far-more-than-you school marm way. I nearly feel sorry for her students, as she is a K-12 teacher back in Denmark (third Dane in nearly as many days, I was surprised).
We said our goodbyes not long afterwards, notably not sharing email addresses, as the encounter was one that made due for the moment but was not memorable in any way. And I headed back down to my room and computer, listlessly relegating myself to another day of pretending to be in a vegetative state under the air conditioning. Instead, there was a flurry of knocking about a half hour later, which I attempted to ignore. It refused to stop, my a/c even being flicked off and then on twice, and I (proving my Naval heritage quite brilliantly by turning the air the color of polished aquamarine) got up, redressed and answered the door.
No one was there. Or, at least, not directly in front of the door. Suddenly, Lily popped up out of nowhere, startling me into a jump of at least two inches. She apologized and quickly informed me that she had not changed hotels after all, that she was staying two more nights! I was excited.Turning around, she gestured to the two people who appeared behind her, weighed down like packhorses with their massive bags, and introduced them.
Gwen (who now has my username for this blog, and wants to read it...HI GWEN!) who was this tall, earthy kind of pretty I had always attributed to Frenchwomen. You know, distinct French features, russet curls cut short. Quiet, but seemed nice.
Pierre, tall and thin, scruffy. I did not get any real impression of him right off, just that he was decent looking, and haunted forest silent.
Lily told me that they were going to drop some things off in her room, check out the net (I had given her my pass to the wifi) and then head out for shopping and other things. And then asked if I wanted to go. I nodded excitedly, my listlessness and tiredness washing away as I bounced happily at the thought. It took about an hour, but soon we were off, first to the bank.
Getting a rickshaw for four people was easy, as we just shoved four full grown 20-22 year olds into the tiny motorized rickshaw, the difficult part was just keeping Lily (balanced as she was at first half on the guardrail) from falling over and out of the vehicle. She moved up to sit beside the driver and we were fine, poor Pierre with his massive duffel smashing him. The trip there was harrowing, as usual in Delhi streets, but over quickly, so we were able to cross a street (I dearly miss sidewalks, I do) and get to the indoor atm at the chic bank building in Connaught Circle.
You can always tell an upscale business from its competitors by the near freezer-like qualities of their air conditioner. Each time it is a near physical blow, the cold, but you appreciate it. That much I will tell you. We milled about the tiny room packed with four atms and a computer that proudly announced '24/7 internet banking' (that did not work). There was some drama as the atms only allowed a max of 2000 rupees (about $50) withdrawal at a time, and Gwen needed more (because she and Lily are both living in India for the year, you see, not a few days like me or Pierre). But it all worked out, somehow.
Next it was on to Costa Coffee, and you have to know that the words, 'Just like Starbucks' never sounded so good after drinking the sweet jet fuel this continent prefers. All we had to do was recross the crazy street, and walk about a block over to get to it. Air conditioning, ahhhh. There were gooey chocolatey things on display, coffee smells filling the air, and American music piped out from the nearby speakers. I ordered a mocha and an apple thing with vanilla ice cream, and we headed to four plush chairs set around a table. Ahhh..squishy chairs.
Then we started talking, at first it was a maelstorm of French, with me looking on wide-eyed but used to the whole foreign-language-swirling-around-me thing. Then Lily sent an apologetic smile my way and switched to English. Soon they were darting back and forth between the two languages, mostly in French, with Pierre or Lily leaning over (they were on either side of me, with Gwen sitting across) explaining haltingly in English what the joke was. Our food and drinks arrived, and we dug in. I have got to say, I love eating with French students a bit more than Nepali students as a whole. Because they do the same talk-eat-talk thing I love to do, while Nepali culture dictates that eating should be done quickly and silently, food was not to be lingered over and punctuated with stories of 'orrible English gone awry.
Pierre offered a forkful of his chocolate travollta, gooey and topped with a bit of melting vanilla ice cream. I grinned, and told him that I was not the kind of girl who turned down chocolate, making him grin back. And yeah, I started crushing a little on the guy. He was funny, cute and offered me chocolate. And the accent did not hurt in the least either.
What is it with me and cute, funny guys offering me chocolate in French accents lately? Pierre was the second this week (and I admit, second this year at least...the last French-accented hotboy to offer me a sweet was not a chocolate and it was two years ago).
Anyway, I sung along to Katie Perry's song blaring (softly) over the sounds of people talking, as Gwen and Lily got into a complicated story in French, which they then translated for me. About how the Indian men all stare at the white women who they see, and are creepy and rude about it (I described it as making you wonder if they wanted to kill or screw you...or some combination of the two, to put it crudely). Eventually (at least a hour or two later) we decided to go off and do something else, gathering up our things to leave.
Much wandering was done around Connaught Circle, and eventually that we decided that we needed to go the Underground Market. A literal market, underground, which made me wide-eyed. There was so much to see (and buy obviously) and the first thing I needed was a watch (really, all I needed at the time) so we went into a shop. I got to try my hand at negotiating and bargaining for the first real time, and it was exciting. 350 rupees for this knock off? I don't think so ::cracks knuckles and goes to work:: I was grinning like a jack o' lantern, except with far more (and far whiter) teeth, when I finished. Paying 150 rupees for the delicate dark silver-toned timepiece. Gwen wanted a watch too. 750 rupees?! You have to be kidding me sir! She paid 200.
It turns out that between two groups of people, whose second languages are both English, the best interpreter is a native English speaker who can sift out the accents. I felt competent, and in my element, a feeling quite rare for me on this side of the world. Where I am usually lost and floundering, but hiding it to a decent extent.
My grinning did not stop when she said I was 'very good at this,' and proudly was showing my prize like a dork to Pierre. Who said it was pretty and wanted to get one later for his sister. Inspecting other shops, Gwen and Lily decided they wanted more harem-style pants, and we set to playing the bargain game there. I was looking at the stitching at the hems as if I knew what I was doing (I know some about sewing, so I had enough to BS my way through everything else), which was hilarious as I kept making comments that they were pretty, but not long-lasting. Therefore not worth what the merchants were charging, pretending to leave in a cloud of sadness, we were instantly called back. The price dramatically lowered, to just the number we wanted to pay.
We were down there for another hour or so, until our stomachs were growling for our attention, and while we were giggling at Lily announcing to a merchant that the belt she 'wanted' should be real silver to spark her taste buds, we left. Of course the belt buckle in question had been this horrid, tacky thing that no one would buy. Pierre suggested McDonalds, because apparently Micky D is uber expensive in Europe, a single meal costing 10 Euros (about 15 dollars I'm told). But since I had just gone a couple days before with the Belgians, I voted for Pizza Hut. I do love their crusts.
Of course, first we had to find Pizza Hut. And Connaught Circle is massively huge, so we were wandering around for quite awhile. I preferred to stick to Pierre's side, rather closely, because besides the obvious (he's cute) I have this instinctive urge to hide behind/beside the nearest friendly/protective male when in an unsettling area. Especially after dark. Pierre: "Don't worry, I'll protect you." I neglected to mention that he was about the hundredth or so male to tell me that, instead joking that I hoped he had Jackie Chan moves. In all honesty I wanted to say 'Van Damme,' but I recently found out that he is Belgian, so it would have sounded weird. He just grinned, and I grinned back, until the next creepy guy on the street stopped and stared at us, and I stepped closer to Pierre.
Eventually (and I do mean eventually) we found Pizza Hut, and were happy to step out of the dark and sticky night into the heavily refrigerated restaurant. I cannot decide whether or not it is weirder for McDonalds to have a delivery service, or for Pizza Hut to have auniformed maitre'd. It made me think of Demolition Man, where Taco Bell won the Franchise Wars and was now the only restaurant left. Like Stallone, I was flummoxed. Although I received a good deal more food.
I do not know where people get this tripe that the French eat sparingly. I got a personal size pizza and was the only one to, as the other three ordered mediums and easily polished them off. From what I've seen (the Belgians included) no one is skimping and going hungry. Which was comforting, as I always see in like Sex and the City where the women in the episode where they go to Paris, all the women drink champagne and don't touch their food. But I was a foodie among foodies. Chatted about nothing and everything, leaning over to hear Pierre better when the girls left us alone to go smoke (calm down Parentals, I was wearing a comic book tee, no cleavage involved), and did my best not to yawn.
Did not succeed. But I really had not slept well in awhile, and we had been rushing all over the place. So when I apologized, Pierre just smiled and shook his head. Ignore the love struck schoolgirl tone, I'll try to reel it back, lol.
Next we had to meet Pierre's sister (and her horrid boyfriend) so that Pierre could go with them. It only took quite a bit more wandering through half-lit streets, me practically clinging to the Frenchboy walking beside me. Sadly he had to go, but waved as he went passed, and I swear I wanted to do a dorkish flip when he shouted, "ByeAlycia!" as their rickshaw left. Instead I just grinned and waved madly. Gwen, Lily and I walked to the metro station nearby, paid our 6 rupees and barely made it to the train in time to make it the one stop back to the hotel. We spent a bit of time in my room on the internet, on two seperate laptops, and then they said goodnight. Gwen and I made plans to hang out the next day, then meet up with Lily after her class for mani-pedis.
I closed my computer, grinned and made sure that the slips of paper with Gwen and Pierre's emails were safely in my address book.