Manjari's Wedding

The Wedding
Originally uploaded by Jane Rubio.

I can't believe I got to spend three days in a castle in the middle of Rajasthan for my friend's wedding. It's too hard to explain how cool it all was. Check out the pictures at www.homepage.mac.com/janerubio/PhotoAlbum14.html.

Note my cool outfits.

It was a serious five day affair, with multiple receptions and ceremonies. Beyond the coolness of henna staining our hands, Rajasthani village women singing and dancing with their faces covered, slathering yogurt all over Manjari's face and hair, dancing in a circle with the women, visiting a Jain temple, singing Girl Scout songs and hits from The Sound of Music on the bus from Udaipur, I got to meet and hang out with some amazingly warm, sweet, and fun people.

Manjari's family is the bomb. After spending two nights with her parents in Mumbai, I felt like an adopted daughter. (They kept telling everyone I was Indian.) Her cousins and brother-in-law's family were all so welcoming and FUN. I can't really stress how hospitable they all were. From the moment I stepped off the plane, I didn't have to worry about anything. Manjari made sure all the accommodations and transportation were taken care of, along with time to do the touristy stuff and participate in all the wedding events.

The were a bunch of us internationals. The gang included: Kaniaru (a Kenyan living in the U.S.), Piu-Ying (a Hong Konger living in Ireland), Akiko (Japanese living in Korea), Soojung (Taiwanese living in Korea), Jo (American living in Manilla), Sue (Korean living in Hong Kong), her godmother (Korean living in . . . .Korea), and me (American/Venezuelan/Colombian/Indian living in Katy).

These are pictures of us hanging out in Bombay and Udaipur-- www.homepage.mac.com/janerubio/PhotoAlbum16.html.

Beggars, Bargaining, and Other Blunders

Mumbai
Originally uploaded by Jane A Rubio.

I got scammed on Colaba Causeway. . .bigtime. Here's how it went down. A woman came up to me holding a baby, asking me in English if I would buy some milk for the baby. (I later found out she was 12, but she looked like a woman.) I remembered how this happened all the time when I was here eight years ago. I started talking to her and then told her, sure, let's go to a store. So she told me she'd take me to a place. Along the way, it became 2 cans of milk, 2 bags of rice, and cooking oil. I agreed to all of it. When she had her bag packed and was leaving, the guy showed me the bill, over 1,000 rupees. It was my second day in Bombay, but I still knew that was ridiculous. I told the guy that was way too much. But then he went through it, said it was fixed prices, and by then the girl had left. I decided to say screw it, busted out my credit card, and paid it.

At some point, I decided to stop stressing or caring about paying too much for things when I'm in poor, third-world countries. When I was 20, I would be a really obnoxious bargainer and show off that I paid 70 cents for a cool shirt. If Pastor Timothy approved of what I paid, I felt so proud. It was all about my pride. But a couple years ago, I decided it was just too sick for me to be proud of myself for saving a buck, when that buck meant a whole lot more to that person spending all their time on the street trying to move their stuff.

And I guess I just feel disgusted with myself when I get the salesperson to bring down their price so much, highlighting their desperation and my power. It makes me sick. And I just don't want to fight. . .So what did I do? I paid it. But that was dumb too. Because it was WAAAAAYYYY too much.

This time in Bombay was not as stressful or as traumatizing as the first time. Lots of foreigners hate Bombay. They have a bad experience. Yeah, it's not cool when cute little kids ask you where you're from and what you're name is. Then they start asking you where you're going, and then they sort of show you the way. And then after a while, they'll ask for money. Yeah, it's disturbing when the old women and maimed people just stick out their hands and mumble and beseech in a language you don't understand, but when the little kid is speaking in English (and Spanish and French and German and Italian and whatever other language) and becomes your buddy, it's worse. And then just the sheer number and constant presence of people asking you to buy stuff or to take advantage of their services. It's overwhelming.

I wasn't giving money to beggars, just because of the sheer inconvenience factor. A million people pop out of nowhere and ask and then sometimes you literally can't move. That is also pretty traumatizing. Especially when the kids start to fight amongst themselves. But today walking around, I just said no, or even better, ignored them. But what's even better was a Gulf Arab woman, fully dressed in black, who was approached by a kid. She lifted up her arm and started yelling at him in Arabic. Something to the effect of "What the hell are you doing? Leave me alone. Go away." And it worked. The little kid ran away. Hey, who would have thought? I should just get pissed off at the kid for bothering me. . . Hmmmm. But ignoring them also worked.

Either way, it's all really crappy. Jesus says to give to everyone who asks. And if someone takes your cloak, you should offer them your shirt. I just don't think that would work so well on Colaba Causeway. Besides the fact that these kids don't see the money you give them. They're run by pimps, who maim them too, just to get more money. That doesn't mean you can't buy them food. And I should have been doing that for all of them, right? But I didn't. I just ignored them.

Living in Caracas and Sao Paulo and Rio is stressful because people are worried about random violent crimes, like muggings and car jackings. Living in Bombay is a different kind of stress. The number of people. The number of kids. The number of maimed bodies. And they live right there on the street. There's no section of town where they are confined. There's no section of town that is sanitized of them. Everyone is all together. It's unbelievable.

There's no way to do this right. People who live here develop strategies. I just have to keep asking God for forgiveness and have faith that His kingdom really will come.

On Arriving to India

Manjari shopping for a sari
Originally uploaded by Jane Rubio.

A Japanese tourist--that's what I've become, at least according to Manjari. As soon as we got to the car leaving the airport, I asked if I could do the super-obnoxious thing of taking out my video camera. It was midnight, so there wasn't too much going on. But still I wanted to film.

When I arrived to Mumbai eight years ago, it was a completely different scene. After a seven hour lay over in Rome, the other 12 Americans and I were tired. The heat and humidity hit us like a wall. One kid's nose started bleeding. Then of course our bags weren't there. (But I had an extra underwear and T-shirt with me.) The ride into the city was more than intense. There is a huge swastika on the building facing the incoming traffic. (A swastika is a Hindu symbol often accompanying the OHM. The Nazis appropriated it for the Aryan connection.) Little kids, many half-dressed, would come up to the car with their hands outstretched, saying "Uncle" and "Please" and other things I didn't understand.

The three taxis dropped us off at the Apollo Guest House, a two star hotel on Colaba Causeway. The street was packed with vendors; we couldn't see the door. And we were immediately surrounded by all kinds of people. I'm sure we were an interesting spectacle.

My arrival into India the first time was a complete assault. It was all overwhelming--the heat, the noise, the masses of people--all compounded by being with 12 other Americans, many of whom immediately shut down. People I had known for years morphed into something different. I was more scared by their reaction, than anything else.

This time was chill. Manjari was waiting for me. We hopped in the car. I busted out the camera.

The bigger assault had come from flying Air France and the stopover in Paris. They say Americans are hyper sensitive to smell, and that we spend far too much money on deoderants, air freshners, body lotions, and the like. Well the French obviously don't, not even the flight attendants. . .But the food was really good.

It's raining here, a lot. Yay, monsoon season. Yay, Internet access at Manjari's.

You can see the photos from my first trip to India at www.homepage.mac.com/janerubio/PhotoAlbum15.html.

High School Reunion

Reunion
Originally uploaded by Jane Rubio.

This weekend was the 10th year reunion of James E. Taylor High School. On Friday, I picked up Denise from the airport. Denise was my best friend growing up. She lives in Taiwan, and I haven´t seen in her in at least two years. Shilpen also flew in. I´ve known Shilpen since I was 6, I think. We went to the same daycare.

So how was the reunion? Of course, it´s a surreal experience. But I at least had some experience with that from the year before, at my college 5th year reunion. A lot of my friends from high school didn´t come. I still knew it would be worth it for the people I haven´t kept in touch with or haven´t even thought about. People were chill and cool, and it seemed that everyone had a great time. You can check out the photos at www.homepage.mac.com/janerubio/PhotoAlbum12.html

Brian Horton and I managed to put together a booklet of Craig's writings to distribute. We posted it on line. You can go to www.geocities.com/craigs_writings for the link. It's a project that has been on my mind for the last six years. A lot of people came up to me and told me that they really appreciated it. I hope people e-mail me with feedback.

Colombia

La Candelaria
Originally uploaded by Jane Rubio.

What a beautiful country! I took some really amazing pictures from the plane. The landscape is a patchwork of different shades of green spread over mountains. You can check them out at www.homepage.mac.com/janerubio/PhotoAlbum7.html.

After arriving and waiting a couple hours at the airport, I successfully met up with my friend María, who flew in from Miami. Two of her aunts were waiting for us at the airport. They were super nice. As we were driving into the city, I was struck by how calm the place seemed. It´s hot in Caracas right now, and the city is crowded, dirty, and completely loco. Bogotá is high up in the mountains with cooler air. The buildings are shorter, and they have this old, colonial style to them. It´s a big contrast to the modern concrete jungle of Caracas (though Caracas isn´t anywhere near as ugly as Manhattan or Sao Paulo). Also in contrast to Caracas, the city police seems to work. People obey traffic laws because they actually have to pay heavy fines.

When we got to Tía Ilva´s place, she offered us tinto, a little cup of black coffee. It was a bit strong for me. The next morning, her aunt Amparo took us up to Montserrate, the famous church on the mountain. It´s lovely, but unfortunately I started feeling sick. For some reason, I wasn´t really thinking about the altitude, and it wasn´t until I got back that I realized that I got the sorroche real bad. I now know that the symptoms of altitude sickness include nauseau and vomiting. I thought I had eaten some bad tuna in Maiquetia, the Caracas airport.

So unfortunately, I couldn´t eat very much the first couple days, which is pretty tragic for me. I wanted to be eating all the cheeses and the desserts they make with this pre-cheese stuff and candied pears and other fruits. I still had a little arequipe (a kind of dulce de leche) with brevas (prunes). But after the first two days, I was back in business. I ate ajiaco, a soup with lots of yummy stuff in it, and partook in a bandeja de gallina. When we went to Gaivota, I ate hot chocolate with white cheese in it, almohabanas, rolls made with cheese, chicha, a fermented corn drink similar to chicha in Peru, but totally different from the chicha in Caracas. At the market, I tried granadilla, a fruit that you open and has seeds in this gooey stuff, what Pili and her cousins used to call mocos de elefante, elephant boogers.

As for the safety issues. . . I felt just fine. Actually much more relaxed than in Caracas. People say the situation is fine. They can travel on highways. Yes, there is still a war going on, but the situation is completely different than what it was in the early 90´s. But it was interesting having to open the trunk of the car to have it searched by armed security guards to use the parking lot at one of the nicer malls.

And everyone was so nice. María´s family is so welcoming. She has tons of cousins and we visited them around the city. One night, they threw a party for an aunt who had arrived from the U.S. She hadn´t been back in 15 years. A trío came to the house (the Colombian version of mariachis--and I didn´t sing Cielito Lindo with them, but I did sing along to La Bamba, it was about the only song I knew). Friends and family were there to welcome her. I felt really grateful to be part of the celebration.

I got to meet Liza´s family. Her dad came by with Ponchys, her little 8th grade brother, and took us around. We met her grandmother, who´s super cute. And we met up with Oscar´s brother, Pablo, in La Candelaria, a historic district of colonial buildings. We also met Oscar´s former roommate, an American missionary, who showed up 4 months ago in Bogotá, is studying Spanish, and moves around like a pez en el agua in Bogotá. I felt so welcomed by all the family of my friends. They all really wanted to pick me up and show me around.

Colombians are very proud of their country. They should be. I had some contact info of my grandfather´s family who my aunt and grandma visited 20 years ago. None of the names or phone numbers worked. I didn´t have time to go knocking on doors. I was just there for 5 days. But I plan on going back next summer. Since I have to go back to Texas for my brother´s wedding, I´ll continue to work on the family history research in Colombia and Venezuela.

Chavez

Bush Terrorista Del Mundo
Originally uploaded by Jane Rubio.

On August 15, Venezuelans are going to vote in a referendum on whether to kick President Hugo Chavez out of office. A vote for Sí is for him to go; a vote for No is for him to stay. The city is filled with little green Sí and red No posters. Many right on top of each other. The referendum is practically the only topic of conversation.

So what's going to happen? It's really hard to tell. The media is straight-up anti-Chavista. They are constantly insulting the president, instilling fears of a future that his primo-hermano Castro might bring, talking of his ties to the Colombian guerillas, and showing melodramatic, tear-jerking clips of mayors and other politicians who have been incarcerated. Of course, Chavez speaks in cadena everyday for hours, where the only thing on the radio is his voice. Anti-Chavistas say he spends too much money buying out certain TV channels and of course stashing away money for himself and his friends. (Like that's anything new.) But as my family (practically all anti-Chavistas) ask, If oil has been at the highest price ever, why hasn't the country seen the money?

Chavistas respond that it's the fault of the esqualidos--the rich minority who run PDVSA (the state-run oil company) and the media channels. From December 2002 to February 2003, they instigated a paro, a national strike. The country stopped producing oil. No businesses could stay open. People had to wait in line all day to fill up their cars and to get groceries. The economy crashed. The streets are now filled with buyoneros, people who had other jobs, but are now selling whatever on the street.

Many claim the rich didn't suffer during the paro. My cousins knew about the paro before it happened. So they went to Macro, the equivalent of BJ's or a Sam's Club, and stocked up. They had vats of gas in their garage to fill up their cars. And they took their money out of the country much earlier. Since it's in dollars, as the bolivar falls, they get more and more rich, as the people just get more and more poor. That's how Carmen sees it. She's the Colombian woman who's the servicio (as they call it) in my aunt's house.

My family claims that the poor people didn't really suffer during the paro because Chavez was helping them out, sending them food and gas. Gas stations in the west of Caracas were supplied, but not in the east. And either way, foreign investment has fled. The economy is BAD. There is no work. Everyone agrees with that. The point of contention is: Who's fault? The rich say Chavez. The poor say the rich elite who run the country.

According to a taxi driver, a hard-core Chavista, Chavez has done a lot of good for the country. He has started educational missions in the barrios where people of all ages can learn to read and write and get their high school diploma. He's established the Universitaria Bolivariana, which allows anyone to get a university education, without paying. In the barrios are now modulos de salud staffed by Cuban doctors. He can now see a doctor for free, and he knows people who will be flown to Cuba to have a special eye operation. Chavez set up Mercantiles--markets in the barrios that sell food at a lower cost. He's provided low-cost plane tickets so poor people can travel around the country. The anti-Chavistas say he's just buying the people. It's working.

The anti-Chavistas say the Universitarias Bolivarianas have no standards. The public hospitals don't even have cotton and syringes; people have to bring them in. And on 11 de abril, about 12 people were shot in the streets. Chavez is a murderer, they say; and by keeping all these people preso, he's committing human rights abuses. But his supporters say it's the local politicians, the esqualidos, who have kept money from the public hospitals. It's the local police that shot the people in the streets. That it's the murderers and law-breakers who have rightly received justice who are now in jail.

It seems that the race is neck and neck. If Chavez wins, the opposition is going to say it's a trampa (bogus, cross reference Florida 2000). If he loses, apparently he can just run again. International observers, including Jimmy Carter, will be there. But no matter what the referendum decides, until foreign investment returns and more jobs are created, politics will be el único tema in Caracas.

You can check out the pictures at www.homepage.mac.com/janerubio/PhotoAlbum11.html.

Family in Caracas

Tia Carmen
Originally uploaded by Jane Rubio.

I'm in Houston now after spending three weeks in Caracas and a week in Bogotá. I went to do some research about my family history. My grandma has two sisters who are still alive, and they both live in Caracas. I stayed with my Tía Carmen last summer, and this summer I stayed with my Tía Hermy. From talking to them, I got some juicy stories, and found out that I have over 50 second cousins, almost all of whom live in Caracas. I hung out with some of them--went to the beach and a river where I did some cliff diving!!!, tried going on the teleferico (it was closed), and got some drinks at the super-chichi, very architecturally impressive Centro Comercial San Ignacio.

This time I was really struck by how sad and even ugly the story of my family is. People hold grudges--big time. There are so many stories of siblings fighting and then not talking for years, so cousins never see each other. Most of my cousins do not know about their other cousins, who live in the same city. I go there as the American and know more of them than they do. The work is just starting; I plan on going back next summer.

Here´s my Tía Carmen cooking me lunch--arroz, pescado, papas, caraotas. . .Yeah, I ate well.

Change of Plans

Dear family and friends,
I decided to set up a blog to keep you all posted of my whereabouts and random musings. As some of you know, I signed on to teach at the American School in Gaza after attending a job fair in February. In late May, however, as the political situation continued to deteriorate, I decided to change my plans. So starting in September, I will be teaching for the same people, but at another school-- The Universal College of Aley, Lebanon. The school is 16 km outside of Beirut on the Damascas highway. The following year, I will be in either Cairo or Gaza. I'll decide that later. One of the best things about this change is that now people can come visit me! So I want you all to know that you have an open invitation to the Middle East. You can check out the schools's website at www.ucalebanon.com.