Goa Weekend

Goa is to India what Ibiza is to Spain, Ayia Napa to Cyprus, and Cancun to Mexico, and Myrtle Beach to the U.S. East Coast. Beautiful beaches, well developed tourist infrastructure, and a laid back attitude have made it popular with hippies, backpackers, expats, and Indians seeking a more relaxed life.

It's a quick 45 minute flight from Mumbai and a popular weekend getaway, as well, since the beaches and sea in Goa are clean enough to swim in. We stayed inland at a bungalow on a river island, far away from the touristy areas and excellent for bird watching.

The highlight of the weekend was a trip to a spice plantation with a tour explaining the harvesting process for every spice imaginable.

This is a cashew 'apple'. The cashew nut is at the bottom of the 'apple' blossom - which smells delicious!

This man is rolling beads, Indian hand rolled cigarettes that sort of smell like cloves, but are just as disgusting. 

Sunday Thoughts

Some days Mumbai is amusing and some days it's absolutely infuriating.

To a large degree, that depends on whether or not you have something to get done. With no time restrictions on your day, you tend to pause and notice the little moments of life as you sit in traffic or wait for a train;  children's laughter, cricket games on the sidewalk, affection between young couples. But if you've got an appointment across town, or tickets to a show somewhere, it can seem like the whole city has organized against you to make you late and miserable if and when you ever get there.

Weekends, as opposed to weekdays, also tend to be less aggravating. When you've time to stroll the village behind your apartment, explore another part of town, or just pop over to a nice shop you've heard about, Mumbai can seem quite relaxing. Then the honking rickshaws, smog spewing buses, dirt tossing trucks, piles of stinking garbage, putrid cross breeze over the stagnant canal, and the demon pigeons sent straight from Hell to your doorstep attempting to kill you with their nasty feathers and feces pushes you to the brink of pure raging insanity.

I hate the pigeons.

But as you discover the rhythm of the city, and this takes time, things become easier.  You no longer wait in line for 20 minutes at the train station vending machine because you now know you can cut the line when buying first class. You now only take your wallet to the grocery store, not your whole purse, because you know you'll have to bag check it at security while you shop. You stop going to the apartment complex fitness club where they blast bass heavy music while yelling at you to get off the machine after 20 minutes or stop swimming because 'you're splashing water', and instead walk the circuit around the building complex with all the other residents.

Every now and then you need to step back and catch your breath, observe the steps for a moment before jumping back into the city. Only then, can you learn the dance.

Valentine's Day Lost and Found

While in the rickshaw on the way to school this morning, all dressed up for Valentine's Day, with homemade cupcakes for my advisory students and my cast kids who have rehearsal this afternoon, plus my usual giant bag of school stuff, I sent a quick text message to a friend having surgery this morning.

At lunch, I went to check my phone to see how things went with the surgery, but couldn't find it in my bag and by then I'd already been in four different classrooms, two office spaces, and up and down four flights of stairs. So I asked some colleagues to call my phone, asked the security if anyone had turned it in, and started looking around with no luck. I'd checked Find My iPhone, which said it was on campus, so I figured it would turn up sooner or later and went to my next meeting.

It did turn up...only it had been found by a student at another school down the road who happened to take the same rickshaw after me. She gave it to her brother who answered after the same number had called several times. (He most likely also saw the texts from my friend coming out of surgery). He arranged for his driver to drop it off at my school and it was delivered to me by the end of the class period. Little did I know that when I checked Find My iPhone I had it set to find ALL my devices...so I saw my laptop on campus, but didn't open the map wide enough to see my iPhone down the street!

They say St. Valentine was Greek and I have to agree, because today he was in cahoots with Agios Phanourios and my day was really sweet!

 

My World

Sometimes I wonder what work is like for other people. I mean, people who aren't teachers. People who go and sit at a desk with other people sitting at desks. Or people who own their own business or spend their day traveling to do more business. Basically, people who spend their days in the world of grown-ups. It's completely foreign to me.

What's it like to start your day without someone running up to you, hands waving, yelling, 'Oh my God!' Or to never have someone enter your workspace, slam down their belongings, and throw themselves into a chair in a huff. Or to go all day without having your concentration broken by someone falling out of a chair or over a bag or just over themselves for no apparent reason.

I spend my days in the world of tweens;  eleven to fourteen-year-olds;  middle schoolers. Kids who struggle every day to remember what's suppose to be relevant, such as homework and organization and manners, but that isn't necessarily relevant to them, like their friends and fitting in and having some control over their world while still feeling like someone is looking out for them.

It's a world full of running and shouting and laughter and often tears. A lapse in attention to instructions in class is quickly followed by a surge of panic leading to frantic whispering, or blurting out for clarification, while the answers are often right in front of them. They run to lunch, call dibs on seats, swap and haggle over desserts, then inhale their food while talking non-stop feeling totally free and independent, unaware of the adults all around them. They show up for class sweaty and out of breath. They ask permission for mundane things like going to the bathroom or turning off their cell phone or getting a tissue, then write all over their classmate's arm in permanent marker or turn a backpack inside out when no one's looking. They sulk and sass and whoop and cheer.

They jump right into an assignment they love and lollygag over anything seemingly tedious. They crack their knuckles before speaking to you, totally unaware that it's a prelude to assault. They race to sign up for turns yelling things like, 'Oh, I am SO going first!' or 'NO! Seven's my lucky number, I need to go seventh!'  They jump on each other, push and shove, or play with each other's hair and fawn over outfits. They're excited and shy and ridiculous and totally authentic.

My little corner of this world is tucked away in the drama studio, and I'm sure it would unnerve the most 'successful' of grown-ups as it keeps me precariously teetering on the edge of insanity. In and out of non-stop improv, my realities include finding a man asleep on the bed of my luxury hotel room, followed by my drowning of a zombie puppy in the fountain of youth. I firmly forbade my 6th grade puppeteers from exiting the room with eyeballs and poofs. I wrestled a child into a headlock,  then directed another to do the same in rehearsal. And for the last two weeks I've been surround by people reciting monologues to the walls.

When I'm old and my Alzheimer's kicks in, all my crazy will just be memories of my lesson plans.

I come home after a long day at work and rehearsals afterward and no sooner am I home do I start to hear what sounds like drilling. I don't think much of it, assuming someone in another apartment is hanging or installing something, no big deal.

But after 15 minutes of solid drilling noise, I become curious as to where it's coming from. It's not outside, or next door, or even vibrating any of the walls. So I open my apartment door to have a look and immediately face a cloud of 'dust'. So bizarre.

So I grab my keys, step into the hall and quickly shut my door behind me to keep the house clean. I follow the noise downstairs to discover to workmen sitting on the floor in the hallway with an electric band saw cutting wood like they're preparing to build an ark!

At this point, I'm having trouble breathing so I go back upstairs and into my apartment. I'm annoyed - at the noise, at the dust, at the...how can they cut wood in the hallway and then give me a hard time about bringing a plant up in the elevator?!!

So I decide to head over to the apartment society office, but while I'm waiting for the elevator the dust is overwhelming. I cover my face with my sleeve and get antsy that I might possibly DIE before it arrives!

Of course, when I get to the office the guy in charge is 'absent' today, the girls both tell me they don't speak English - they tell me this in English - then argue with each other in Hindi about who's going to listen. Seriously. Finally they decide and I explain.

"Oh, but work stops at 6pm."

"No, they're working right now."

"Work stops at 6pm. It's done now."

"No, they're still working. It's not so much the noise, but the dust."

"OK, come back tomorrow and file a complaint."

"No, you need to make them stop working now. It's hazardous to everyone's health."

A guard enters and says, "OK, you can sit here now." I'm already sitting.

"No, I have work to do. I need to go back to my apartment. You need to make them stop."

Guard: "You can go for a walk for 10 minutes then."

"Just please go up there and see for yourself. Make them stop...no one can breathe."

"No my building."

And it goes on and on like this for 45 minutes. Finally the bald head of security arrives, looks at me smugly, listens to the girls then saunters out without a word.

"OK, you can go back now," says one of the girls. So, I walk over to my building but I can still hear them sawing wood. I run into a work colleague and we stand outside chatting for 10 minutes about what's happening.

Then the bald head of security comes out, looks at me, bobbles his head and waves for me to go up. I ask what happened and he bobbles his head. I ask if that's allowed and he shakes his head no. I thank him and he bobbles his head and slouches away.

I think I just accomplished something...vaguely. 

Worli Fishing Village

Worli is neighborhood in Mumbai that was one of the original seven islands to make up the city. It's now a mix of upscale residential buildings, shopping, and restaurants, but the original fishing village dates back 600 years. The roads are paved, the homes are solid, and the people welcoming.

Here's a few photos.

The catch.

The sale.

Some vegetables for your fish.

Hopscotch.

Hindu Temple

Many people converted to Catholicism under Portuguese rule. This man is at a Catholic shrine.

Your friendly neighborhood five and dime.

Gossip corner.

Right Next Door

The Mumbai airport is less than two miles from my house and I can watch the planes land from my kitchen. It's also total chaos when departing or arriving. But hopefully, if all goes well, this project will be completed soon and make a huge difference. 

This program is a bit 'dramatic' and some of the clips of the city are actually canned shots from other cities in India, but if you like construction, you'll enjoy this.