You Know You've Just Come Back from India When . . .

I saw these people . . .

. . . outside the Prudential Center in downtown Boston.  My first reaction was, That's strange.  Why are they playing Holi?

Your correspondent was then informed that we were witnessing a zombie march.  These people are all zombies, and they spent the afternoon wandering through Boston terrorizing men, women, children, and Prudential shoppers.

Of course, that's exactly the opposite of what I first thought they were.  And? A little bit weird.  But who's judging?

From Sea To Shining Sea

Thank goodness for long weekends.

The American custom publishing editorial season is at its peak right now, given that we're three months before most universities begin the academic year.  Since coming home from India I've barely been able to come up from my desk for air, and unfortunately despite a happy few weeks of feeding the beer and pizza meter, it was about time for a long weekend.

It's apt that we're observing Memorial Day, because I've been planning a long afternoon of uploading four months of photos onto Facebook and catching up in person with neglected friends.  When I do stop to think about it, I'm not quite sure I have my feet on the ground yet - it's been a bouncy landing - so it will be nice to remember all of the wonderful things about the U.S. that I had been missing while abroad.

Last night, for instance, I was standing on the subway while a redheaded teenager sat on the platform playing the sitar.  Across from me was a girl my age wearing a headscarf, and behind her were a couple of college students in dresses and cowboy boots.  We all know that India is a wild and wacky place, but it's easy to forget the diversity in my own backyard.  I'm sure it's not the only spot in the world where a lot of different groups come together and share the neighborhood, but it's one of the rare countries where anybody can show up and find a niche and call themselves at home.

That's been the idea, anyway.  We're not perfect, and we're not always beautiful, but I now appreciate how it is after all a land of opportunity, if you can make the most of it.

Besides, how can you not love how Boston harbor looks at twilight.

You Call This a Heat Wave?

Headline on Boston.com: "Heat to hover near record levels."

For you, maybe.  Sigh.

Copley Square, Back Bay

Trouble Afoot

Wouldn't it be ironic if, after four months in India--a place where I fell desperately ill on a biweekly basis--my first attempt to pamper myself in Boston ends with raging infection?

Your correspondent is not usually the pedicure type, but down the road from her guesthouse in Delhi there was this teeny ladies-only salon.  Scalp massages (which were actually head, arm, back, shoulder, neck, shoulder, arm, back, and head massages and which could put a girl to sleep they were so good): $5.  Manicures and pedicures (accompanied by hand, arm shoulder, foot, and leg massages): $3.  Deep conditioning hair treatments (accompanied by head, arm, back, shoulder, neck, shoulder, arm, back, head massages): a hefty $5.50.  It wasn't a difficult habit to fall into.

Then there was the company trip to Thailand, where at 3 a.m. me and twelve other editors trooped into the cleanest massage parlor we could find on Pattaya's "Walking Street" and promptly fell asleep while our Thai masseuses gave us the most heavenly foot massages.  It was unfortunate that several of my coworkers happened to also be on Walking Street, and I look particularly goofy in every photograph, but sometimes you just have to take your lumps in the name of happy feet.

My patronage began to falter when the salon incrementally raised their prices from one day to the next, then pretended they had no idea what we were talking about.  As a result, the quality of my toes went strongly downhill.  A few weeks in the mountains rendered that last metaphor literal.  By the time I got home, I had only half a scrape of polish on each toe, and too many pairs of new $3 Indian sandals to let that fact go unremedied.

So, I made the difficult decision to continue the tradition when I was back in Boston.  I chose one of the salons lining Newbury Street, the fancy shopping area behind my office building.  Madame takes a few swipes at my toes and--whoops!  Slices me right open.

My trip to Asia was not in vain, however.  I went into immediate haggle mode and forced a discount on the poor lady (although I wasn't heartless enough to withhold her tip).  I am, however, sad to report that my pedicure days look to be over.

And For My Next Trick . . .

After editing under familiar circumstances for the past week, your correspondent has begun to sink back into U.S. office culture.  Every business is unique, but switching internationally adds just that little bit of spice to the transition.

The metaphor I've long used for development editing is spinning plates.  It's  that circus trick where the performer has a bunch of plates balancing on sticks, and the trick to keeping them all in the air is to make sure they all stay moving, just fast enough, all the time.  When one of them starts to wobble, you either immediately give it another little push or it all comes crashing down.  It requires a lot of attention, precision, and calculation.

For a million reasons, from the circumstances of their custom publishing division to plain and simple cultural differences, I found my experience in India to be nothing of the sort. That four months was more like a big game of dodgeball.  People would throw projects at me and I'd do my best to catch them and quickly toss them off to someone else, because meanwhile three more projects were coming my way and it took all of my skill to not get clocked in the head.  I found myself relying more on quick thinking, self-confidence, and a huge amount of flexibility.

I don't think I was unique in drawing this conclusion.  One of my expat friends had the job of recruiting, hiring, and training people to move into army bases and teach soldiers how to teach English.  The only problem was, by the time the criteria were set and the training was in place, any new hires would need to be stationed at their respective bases five days after the job interview.  Not only did they succeed in finding enough candidates, but last I heard the program was doing great.  That is one intense game of dodgeball.

All of this makes me appreciate how orderly and automatic the processes are for my home editorial team.  The only hard part is making sure I don't mix my metaphors and begin throwing plates.

It's Good To Be Back

Reading by the Charles river

Catching up with old friends

Boston as seen through the Mass Ave. bus window

From just outside my front door

Sharing the Road

A really exciting thing happened while I was abroad.  The city of Boston installed new bike lanes.

This is great news for those of us who enjoy a good cycle every now and again.  Granted, they installed bike lanes which require crossing two lanes of traffic to use, and Boston drivers are notoriously territorial and aggressive towards bikers, but in theory it's a welcome development.

It could be worse.  It reminds me of the time I noticed there were bike lanes in India.  On my commute to work, we passed by a set of rental bikes at the head of a bike-only lane set off from the main road by a small, raised median.

"Wow," I said to my American friend.  "How long do you think it will take for cars to start using that?"

I had barely closed my mouth when a little blue Tata hopped the curb, scattered a few cyclists, and went puttering away.

It's funny coming back to American traffic, because I've been so desensitized by the absolute chaos of Delhi roads. Yesterday, walking home from dinner, my boyfriend turned around to see what had been causing a flurry of horns.  I kept right on walking, without noticing a thing. Later, while crossing the street, I must have challenged some lady's assumptions about how much space is necessary for pedestrians.  As I waited by the curb, she stopped in the absolute middle of the intersection to glare at me.  I was apparently just enough "in the road" to be "in her way".  I don't think that honk I got was a friendly one.

I think it will be some time before I actually use the bike lanes in Boston.  Just to be safe.

Supersize Me

It's not always the first question, but it's invariably at least the third or fourth.  "How was the food?"

Well, here's a photograph of a dosa as long as my arm.

No, you do not share.

Action!

I had almost forgotten about this: when springtime comes in Boston, so do the camera crews.

Sure enough, I walked right past an entire movie set this morning on the way to my office.  While it's rare to ever see an actual celebrity, it's always hilarious to watch tourists gawk at catering trucks.  Occasionally, too, you get lucky--I once had a friend whose apartment was actually used in the filming of Bachelor Number 1, and rumor has it that in certain scenes you can see onto my old roofdeck.  I don't recommend the movie, however, because, regrettably, in other scenes you can see onto Dane Cook.

I, meanwhile, have been picking through my Shah Rukh Khan box set in planning a Bollywood-watching night with my girlfriends.  Being someone who has trouble sitting still long enough to watch an hour-long television show, I am amazed at Bollywood's ability to keep me entertained for hours.  (And I mean hours.  Minimum of three point five.  They literally need an intermission.)  Besides, the sight of rickshaws, saris, and salwaars helps to temper my India withdrawl.


It's nice to think that, while I can watch a Bollywood movie to be reminded of India, my Indian friends can now watch a Hollywood movie and get a glimpse of my backyard!

Same Same, but Different

My philosophy is this:  It's entirely unfair for me to go from scaling 18,200 foot "hills" to saying, "I am just too tired to sit at this desk," especially when American custom publishing is in its busiest season.  So, sure enough I was back in the office within 24 hours of my arrival back into the country.

How am I doing?  Well, it helps that on once we'd walked all the way to Everest Base Camp, my fellow trekkers and I celebrated heavily on the downhill, and got very little sleep in the process.  (Side note: Brits and Aussies are fantastic celebrators.)  Then, it took me almost 48 straight hours of flying to reach home.  "What time zone are you on?" I was asked several times this week.  God only knows.  The one where you're sleepy all the time.

How strange it is to be back, though.  Standing at the baggage collection in Boston Logan, my eyes must have been the size of dinner plates.  Everyone was so quiet.  No one jostled.  I had ... personal space!   It's insane to think that just a few days earlier I was sitting on the backseat of a motorbike, clutching the shoulder of a little old Nepalese man as he dodged the bustling traffic of Kathmandu.  It all seems ages away.

Still, I'm back in familiar territory, and the routines creep back quickly.  In some ways, it's like nothing has changed.  Until, of course, I find myself editing a math textbook which carries one photo of a rickshaw bursting with passengers, followed by a picture of a Sherpa traversing a crevasse in the Khumbu icefall.  Then, I glance at the souvenirs scattered around my desk and smile to myself, just a little.  What a world.  When can I go back?

Glug glug glug glug

As I have been saying for weeks, the first thing I did when I walked into my apartment in Boston was to drink three large glasses of tap water.  With ice.  Despite throwing chlorine into every glass of water I had in Nepal, I still caught two stomach bugs within the course of a week... One of them at 4,100 meters above sea level, one of them just before I caught a 24-hour long flight.  The tropical diseases seemed to want to save the best for last.  My glass of clean H2O came not a minute too soon.

Then, I reported into to work this morning and found this email waiting for me on top of the pile in my inbox:

Subject: Do not drink water order for Boston

Please be advised that due to a major water leak in Weston, communities
east of Weston have been impacted, including the City of Boston.  There
is currently a do not drink tap water order in the City of Boston.  We
will notify you when the ban is over and it is safe to drink the water
again.

Kate T

Director, Facilities - New England

Well, as the song goes: "Love that dirty water... Boston, you're my home."