Mary Bellamy

Pushkar is on the backpacker circuit, but I didn't notice this many special lassi shops last time. There's one on every corner. No, I have not partaken. I'm too busy eating Israeli food and dancing. We had a 2-hour khalbeliya dance class today, and will be doing another 2 hours tomorrow. Raki has asked us to come to her village for dinner tomorrow night, and then we must sadly leave Pushkar. Brighton heads home while Terri and I head out to Bhuj.

• Date and cumin pickle is delicious.
• Also delicious: hot ginger/lemon/honey drink
• No westerners seem to take the government Bundi-Ajmer bus, judging by the level of stares we got.
• A health care worker chatted us up a bit, then gave us her bangles as she got off the bus.
• My super-awesome Devanagari skills helped me identify the Kota-Ajmer bus and the Pushkar bus. Score.
• This hotel in Pushkar has special lassi. And special juice. Special juice sounds gross.
• The last rickshaw in Bundi was playing "Barbie Girl."

We made it to Bundi. Not going to lie - sleeper class overnight from Agra was not great. We did get some sleep though, and all survived. The only casualty was Brighton's sleep sack, which apparently got left on the train.

Bundi is, so far, pretty amazing. We've seen more westerners than we did in Delhi, which is strange. The fabric shops are great, and I've already bought two lengths. I may or may not locate a tailor before we leave. Great restaurants, too, and a very relaxed vibe.

I also finally bought my first sari of the trip. A green, blue and white one called my name. When I saw the choli piece was green and white polka dots, I was done. Terri has asked me to force her to buy fabric and get a salwar kameez set made before we leave. I guess shopping is my gift.

After an eventful morning, we left Delhi and took a train to Agra. The hotel seems to have gone downhill a bit since my last trip here. Tomorrow we check out, and then I will spend the day lounging around while Terri and Brighton do the tourist thing. I'm not paying to go back to the Taj Mahal. Then it's on to Bundi, via an overnight train. Sleeper class. Um, yay?

Last night I told my husband I hadn't bought any new clothes yet. It wasn't a lie. However, on my way to dinner, I got distracted by a shop and ended up ordering two custom salwar kameez sets. It was a very good deal - less than $20 for custom-made pants, top and scarf. I picked out the two prettiest fabric sets they had.
After visiting the Red Fort today, we went back to Paharganj to pick them up. They are gorgeous. Brighton ended up ordering a set for herself too. I'm amazed that Terri hasn't decided to join in on the action yet.

We decided to go to a show called Dances of India tonight. After haggling, we got into an autorickshaw. The driver turned on the radio and started blasting some Bon Jovi. Normally I might be offended at the assumption that I wanted American music, but I couldn't resist singing along with "You Give Love a Bad Name" at the top of my lungs. Sadly, the dance show closed down a year ago, but the rickshaw ride remains a memorable part of the evening.

Tomorrow we take off for Agra. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we'll only be there for one night this time.

We arrived in Paharganj last night. Unlike the last trip, our hotel actually sent a driver, so we could avoid taking a taxi from the airport. Hotel is ... acceptable. Spent the day shopping in the bazaar with Terri and Brighton. I saw a knee-high Ganesh statute. I didn't purchase it, but only because I don't fancy hauling it around India for a month. Lord help us all if I find one in Amritsar on the last leg of our trip.

A shopkeeper has already informed me that the problem is that I'm too big for pants. Thank you. Thank you very much. I've been restrained in my shopping thus far. Brighton's ATM card won't work, so I'm playing sugar momma for her during the trp, and she can repay me later. We plan to just rotate the water and TP purchases.

On a sadder note, I was informed today of the suicide of a Fairbanks friend. Rest in peace.

Just in time for the end of my last set of India posts....

It's only 8:30 at night, but I'm getting ready for bed. My friends Terri and Brighton are at my house in Anchorage, also getting ready. Tomorrow morning, we will head to the airport and begin a journey to Minneapolis, Paris and then Delhi. We'll be on the road for 4 weeks, traveling through Rajasthan, Gujarat, Punjab and more.

I'm excited to be traveling again, excited to return to India, excited for another chance to absorb the country. I'll miss Beau, Nibbles and my bed. And cheeseburgers.

Namaste, bitches. We'll see you in Delhi.

Worst title pun ever. You'll see.

We got ourselves an early morning bus out of Mount Abu, headed to Jodhpur. As previously mentioned, the bus got down the hill a LOT faster than it went up it. Perhaps a bit too fast, as evidenced by the child puking out of the window constantly in front of me. His father kept wiping the puke off his face with the bus curtains. I promptly traded seat with Beau and took the aisle seat. I'm not touching those curtains. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

The city view ain't half bad.

The bus arrived in Jodhpur, pulled to the side of the road and unceremoniously kicked us out. Not at a bus station. Oh, no, that would be too easy. No, we were on the side of the road, with two other white girls (one of whom had actually been bitten by a stranger in Mount Abu. At least I only puked my guts out.). All that whiteness made us look like a giant pile of rupees, and the touts were all over us trying to get us into their rickshaws. Fortunately, our hotel had said they would pick us up, so I called them. Unfortunately, I had no idea where we were. I started walking down the road, trying to describe what I saw, to no avail. Beau and the two girls trailed behind me, with the rickshaw drivers following them. I was the majorette in the world's most demented parade.

Finally, I came upon a woman selling cigarettes on the side of the road. I marched up to her and handed her my phone, much to her confusion. After some pantomiming, she took the phone and finally told the hotel owner where we were. We sat by the side of the road to await his arrival, and most of the rickshaw drivers gave up. The owner finally pulled up on his motorcycle, which seemed a questionable choice of vehicles for transporting people back to his hotel. It turns out that his plan was to find us and then bargain for some rickshaws. However, the two drivers that were still waiting near us said they had called dibs and refused to be bargained down much. Beau and I squeezed into one rickshaw with one of the girls while the other hopped on the back of the motorcycle. I suspect that her friend was wondering if that would be the last we ever saw of her.

He hates this picture.

We arrived at the haveli and checked into our room, which had a swing. Yes, I chose this place because of the swing. You would have too. Since there was no restaurant, we wandered down to the marketplace to find some food. And this, weeks into the trip, is when we had our first brush with truly sketchy behavior. As we walked down the road, I became aware that there were several men around us who were walking at our exact same pace. I pulled Beau to a stop and immediately began a fake argument with him. It doesn't really matter what you're saying if you're gesticulating wildly and raising your voice, so I may have screamed and poked him in the chest and crossed my arms a lot as I told him what was going on. The group of men had all pulled to a halt by a car a few yards down the road and were waiting, so we carried on for a bit until they gave up and left. We were far more cautious as we proceeded to dinner, and I gawked at all the shiny things in windows on our way back to the hotel.

Hello, fort.

The next day we took a rickshaw up to the Mehangarh Fort, which towers over Jodhpur.

Giant spikes are great elephant deterrent.

Audio tour, in English. Score.

It's got lots of history and all that, but I wanted to go there for one reason: ziplining.

There I go!

Who can resist flying through the air? Who can resist flying through the air over a fort in India? Not me!

Incoming Beau.

Seems legit.

It didn't even matter that the zip line seemed to be held together with duct tape.

Beau, showing excellent tucking form.

WHEE!!!!!

After we were done, we headed had a late lunch at the fort and headed back into the city. We had not showered in Mount Abu because of the cold temperatures and open window in the bathroom. We were determined to shower. The hotel had other plans. First, we couldn't get the shower to work. No combination of turning various knobs would get any water to come out. We finally called in help, and the owner's mother shuffled in and spent 10 minutes fiddling with knobs. She got the water working and told us to wait for hot water. It finally arrived, and Beau hopped in for a shower. When he got out, he sadly announced that the water smelled like pee. It was true. I may have wiped myself down with baby wipes after my shower.

We wandered through the market again so that I could gawk at shiny things. I got drawn into a sari shop and allowed Beau to pick out a banjara sari to purchase. Best of all, I found a fixed-price shops. Items with prices listed on them! No need to haggle! I bought a few items, most notably a set of wrist-to-elbow bangles. I desire to look as peasanty as possible.

The next morning, we tried to get breakfast in the hotel. We went up to the roof restaurant, which was empty. The owner came up and asked us what we wanted, then brought up a tray. It was pretty obvious that they were just giving us their food. We sat on the roof, at the base of the Mehangarh, eating toast and jam, looking over the blue city, pondering the great mysteries of this country. Like, why do all the cats look so raggedy? Beau said they look like Snake Plissken. That's why I love him, folks.

I think this view is worth the $20 spent on an afternoon of zip lines.

Up next: An Alaska reunion in Pushkar

Because smoking is the worst of your health issues in India.

My ego requires at least three pictures of myself per post. Quota met.

India never ceases to amaze with its intricately carved buildings.

After leaving Udaipur, we hopped on a bus and headed to the hill station of Mount Abu. My dear friend Rachel had recommended this as an excellent place to visit - more popular with Indians than with tourists. Sold! The bus ride there was mostly pleasant until we hit the base of the hill. It's a long, winding road up the hill. It took us more than an hour to get up the hill, yet only about 20 minutes to get back down when we left a few days later. By the time we got to the top of the hill, Beau's stomach was unsettled from the twisting and turning. We arrived at the Shri Ganesh hotel, and I took care of business while he rested. Signing the guest register, I noticed that the people who had checked in right before us were from Fairbanks. Small world!

Rather than subject Beau to food smells while he was feeling ill, I went to the roof to order lunch. The man sitting at the other table was sporting a Yukon Quest hat, so I rightly assumed that he was from Fairbanks. He and his girlfriend had just arrived to India, so I spent some time writing down some numbers and a few key phrases in Hindi for them. Back in the room, Beau was still ill. I took full advantage to snuggle up to him and steal his body heat all night long. Those hill stations get cold!

The next day, he was feeling much improved, so we headed out to view the Dilwara Temples, a complex of Jain temples carved out of white marble. They were amazingly beautiful. They banned all photography inside the temples, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Or check it out here.

Not the Dilwara Temples.

On the way back to the hotel, we passed the Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University. If you're ever in Mount Abu, do stop there. It's like Hinduism, explained in dioramas designed by someone who has enjoyed one too many bhang lassis. After the side trip, we decided to go on a sunset hike. The hotel owner promised it would be easy, even for someone with a knee brace. Perhaps climbing up giant boulders is easy for other people in knee braces, but I found it a bit challenging. After enjoying the view, we headed back down to the hotel, where I checked my e-mail and confirmed that I had a job interview set up via hotel telephone in Jodhpur for the following night. Beau and I retired to the room to enjoy some television.

I liked this guy best.

Sometime that night, I woke up to a rumbling in my stomach. I tried to find my way to the toilet room, but the light switches didn't seem to be working. I pounded at them in frustration, and Beau said he'd take care of it. Now, I don't want to get too graphic, but when you're traveling in India, you do a constant self-analysis. Is this it? Do I have Delhi belly? Is it just regular diarrhea? Well, I'm happy to report that when you finally have Delhi belly, you KNOW you have Delhi belly. I was still in the tiny toilet room, in the dark, when it became clear that I was going to be sick. There's no way I was going to be sick in that room in the dark. Beau was still trying to figure out the lights when I ripped open the door and came crawling out on my hands and knees, heading for the bucket under the sink. Once my stomach was fully empty, I crawled back to bed while Beau prepared the first of many cups of Alka Selter. When you're traveling, ALWAYS bring Alka Seltzer. It settles your stomach, delivers painkillers and helps to rehydrate you, all in one fell swoop. (Not a paid endorsement, but Bayer should totally get on their game and mail me a box or something.)

By the next morning, it was obvious that we weren't going anywhere. Beau went to town to find me painkillers, and came back with sweetened lemon juice, salted biscuits and a topped-up sim card for our cell phone. I informed UAF that I would need to do the interview via cell phone, and we setlled into the room for the day. You might think that we were lucky to get sick in one of the few hotels that had a television in the room. You might think that we were even luckier that one station showed a lot of English-language shows. But they only showed Wipeout and Cris Angel: Mindfreak, and I certainly didn't feel lucky after watching back-to-back episodes for a few hours.

At 11:30 pm, I was coherent enough to answer the cell phone and begin my job interview. We only got cut off once, which seems a bit of a miracle, and then I crawled into bed. Since I'd been sick (and thus a furnace) the second night, Beau had taken advantage of my body heat. This night, we hid under four blankets to stay warm. Being sick has its advantages. We had to get up early for a bus ride in the morning.

Bundle of bones and flesh plus floating red breast = human being.

Sadly, not many pictures exist from this leg of the trip. We weren't allowed to take photos in the Dilwara Temples, and I may have killed Beau if he took pictures of me huddled in bed, watching Wipeout.

I have no idea what is going on here.

Next up: Zip lines and sketchy showers in Jodhpur

After the trauma of getting out of Agra, we were prepared to be extra-impressed with Udaipur. And boy oh boy, Udaipur did not disappoint. The city is built around a lake and was the setting for much of the James Bond film Octopussy.

New Year's Eve view from our balcony. Cue the fireworks.

Due to the Gujjar strikes, we arrived on New Year's Eve and found our way to our Dream Heaven Guest House. As the daylight drained from the sky, we settled into an amazing room with a lake view and a balcony. Although our bathrom had two showerheads, I opted to steal the first shower all for myself and washed away the grime of a 20+ hour bus ride. I wandered onto our balcony while Beau showered, and watched with joy as hotels around the lake began setting off fireworks. I called to Beau to hurry up and join me. The complete bliss of being in India, being with the man that I love, watching fireworks light up across a lake...it just all added up to perfection. I wrapped my arms around Beau and started telling him how much I loved him, but all I could think about was my knee. Why was I thinking about my knee at a time like this?


Well, I had to figure out which knee to kneel on so I could ask Beau to marry me. And when he said yes (or rather, when he asked, "Does this mean we're really engaged now?"), we celebrated, and then he asked if we needed to buy a ring. That's when I directed him to my neck pillow, and he discovered that I had ordered a ring before we left and been carting it around the whole time.

Engaged! I ordered a thali for the special occasion.

We went up to the rooftop restaurant for dinner. Hotels all around the lake were having parties and competing to blast their music as loudly as possible. This was especially amusing, given that they all seemed to have the same cd with just a few American songs mixed into it. Thus, "I Got A Feeling" by the Black-Eyed Peas was the theme song of the night and has somehow become "our" song. I would have guessed that "My Humps" would have been most likely Black-Eyed Peas song to represent our love, but you can't argue with what the universe throws your way.

On New Year's Day, we set out on a walk across the lake to wander through the shops. We found a music shop, and since we'd been talking about Indian musical instruments for a while, we decided to look inside quickly just to see if there were any prices marked. The shopkeeper quickly hustled over from across the street and started showing off his wares. Bablu came highly recommended, so I had some trust in the guy to sell quality instruments. Having been engaged for all of 12 hours, I was still developing my psychic connection to Beau. So when Bablu showed us two different sitars, I started trying to set up a mental connection to figure out which one Beau wanted. Duh, of course he wanted the electric sitar.

Is very good bargain. Good for you, good for me. Very good.

I set to work bargaining, and Bablu whipped out his calculator and started trying to figure out if I was ripping him off. We went from Rs25,000 to Rs20,000, which is good, but not quite good enough for me. Bablu told me that I was his first customer of the year, so he was offering me his very best deal so that he would have good karma all year long. Bam. There was my edge. "First customer, first SALE of the year, very good karma all year long!" With that, we shook hands on Rs19,000 and Beau was the proud owner of an electric sitar, plus a fiberglass carrying case, all the accessories and replacement parts he'd ever need, and a few lessons with Bablu to boot.

We wandered back across the bridge and decided to check out the cafe next to our hotel for lunch. Dubbed "Soul Meet Cafe," it featured a cushion-covered terrace with numerous lounging backpackers and a sound system that pumped out a constant stream of trance and/or reggae music. Therefore, it was no surprise to find Special Lassi on the drink menu. For any police officers or my mother, I did not get it. Mostly because the waiter told me they didn't have the "stuff" to make it. A special lassi is also known as a bhang lassi, and is made with a liquid derivative of marijuana. It's legal in many parts of India, and Rajasthan has many licensed bhang shops where one could partake. But, as I stated, I did not get it. Because they were out. They were also, it would seem, out of food, and their chef had gone for food but hadn't come back, so we left and got lunch elsewhere.

Lassi of unknown origins.

Later that night, we decided to get dinner. On the way to dinner, we stopped at the Soul Meet Cafe for a pre-dinner drink. Don't judge. My special lassi arrived, and to be honest, it tasted pretty gross. Down the hatch it went, though. As I was drinking it on the terrace, I heard a huge rustling in the trees, and suddenly a monkey landed on our table and ran across it. Not knowing how strong the special lassi was, I asked Beau if that really just happened.

Monkey. Great in theory, until you're tripping balls on a special lassi and it decides sashay across your table.

Yeah, that really just happened. For the record, it took a while for the lassi to kick in. Then I wanted to lay on the bed and listen to music (The Doors and the Grateful Dead, mostly) and talk about foreign policy and investment strategies. Then I suddenly wanted to stop talking and go to bed. An interesting experience, but not one I'm likely to repeat.

The restaurant roof was bliss.

We spent the rest of our time in Udaipur relaxing on our hotel roof, taking boat rides, trying to get pants made (my Hindi may not be great, but the guy clearly called me "jumbo" in English), having a mild breakdown after trying to get pants made, getting pants made at another tailor, and buying bus tickets for our next leg. For the record, India is hard on pants. Nearly every pair I had developed holes, probably from the vigorous laundry techniques.

Up next: Mount Abu and then some more Mount Abu

This city is just so damn gorgeous.

The views from the roof were amazing.

The rooftop dining situation. Get the muesli for breakfast.

 

Private balcony off our room. Also known as the drying rack for my laundry.

I call this one "Study of a Pensive Man."

Going on an obligatory boat ride around the lake.

This? I said I'd marry this?

This hotel was one of our favorites on the trip.

When last we left, Beau and I had been stuck in Agra for days. We finally broke down and bought overpriced bus tickets just to get out of that festering hellhole of touts. I kid. Agra was lovely. (Seriously, try to do it in a day trip or skip it entirely. That place sucked.)

As we were heading back to the hotel, our rickshaw driver started offering to take us to shops. We kept saying no, and he kept offering. Finally I busted out the Hindi and told him "No, take us to the hotel." He got excited that I knew some Hindi, and we started talking Bollywood. When he found out we had been stuck for a few days, he told us he could get us bus tickets for Rs600 each. Good deal, but first we had to get our money back for the overpriced tickets.

The driver dropped us off around the corner from the travel agent. As we approached, I took Beau's arm and started trying to look weak. We told them I drank bad water and we couldn't travel. Sensing that we wanted a refund, they seemed to suddenly not understand English. With a bit of arguing, they peeled off some money and gave it to Beau. Some money, not all of it. Beau told them he had paid Rs900 each. Someone pointed to the back of the tickets and said that there was a 70% refund policy.

I started getting irate (but still acting sick) and asked them how we were supposed to read devangari script. The grumpy man in charge told us to sit down and wait. So we sat and waited. And waited some more. And it started to rain and we were still waiting. My mind started to turn. I asked Beau for his water while we waited and took a few sips to soothe my "upset" stomach. I got a good mouthful of water, gave the bottle back and waited some more. Suddenly, without warning Beau, I got up, ran across the travel agency and stood on the edge of the patio, dramatically heaving until I let the water flow from my mouth. As I stumbled back to Beau, wiping the fake vomit from my mouth with my scarf, I could see him trying not to laugh. Instead, like any good boyfriend, he wrapped his arms around me and asked if I wanted to try to get on the bus that night since I seemed to be feeling better. Bam! Full refund.

I've got a golden ticket. Not to the chocolate factory, but to get the hell out of Agra.

Ignoring the bad karma that lay in wait in my future, we headed back around the corner to our rickshaw driver and went to get our tickets. Rs600 each, we had tickets. And yes, if you're doing the math, I fake puked to save $12. It wasn't the money, it was the principle.

We showed up at the new travel agency at 6:00 for our 6:30 departure. And we waited. 6:30 came and went. 7:00 came and went. At 7:30, we saw our original bus drive by. Finally, at 7:45, our bus pulled up. Right on time (for India).

Bus! Freedom!

We were on a bus. We were on our way to Udaipur.

Things got a little crazy. What happens in the double sleeper berth stays in the double sleeper berth.

Most importantly, we were leaving Agra. Beau was clearly giddy with excitement. We had a double sleeper berth, and we settled in to sleep. Which would have been easy to do if the bus wasn't slowing down for speed bumps every kilometer or so.

And then some time passed and it was morning and we were still on a bus. It turns out that taking a bus to circumvent Gujjar roadblocks means taking the scenic route. The very long, actually-not-so-scenic route. And even that route didn't entirely avoid the Gujjars, as we discovered when our bus came to a stop and was surrounded by yelling men with big sticks. Beau tried to look out the window to see what was going on, but I yanked him inside, hissing that he'd better keep his honky face hidden. After some terse negotiations, the bus was allowed through the roadblock to drop off a few locals, then promptly turned around and sent off to find another route. We were back on our way to Udaipur. Nothing could stop us!

We attempted to slyly take a picture at first.

Until we came to a stop on a hill. The bus had run out of gas. Undeterred, someone jury-rigged a funnel system and attempted to put a few liters of gas in from a plastic bottle. After many attempts, the driver got the engine started, and we were back on our way to Udaipur. Nothing could stop us!

At this point, we just balatantly took pictures.

Until we were a few hundred feet up the same hill, when we ran out of gas again. You really can't make stuff like this up. This time, they sent someone down the hill in a rickshaw, and brought back an open bucket full of gas. They set up a more complicated system using tubes and gravity to fill the tank. It took several more tries, but we were back on our way to Udaipur. Nothing coul---oh hell, let's just jump to the chase. We finally got to the top of the hill, where we pulled into a gas station, and then turned around without getting gas and started going back down the hill to a different gas station. Really.

Finally, FINALLY, we got to Udaipur, got a rickshaw, and got to our hotel. The night did not end there, but that's a story for another day.

Beau is back. Technically, he came back almost two months ago, but I've been selfishly keeping him all to myself. I even skipped yoga for weeks just to spend time staring at him and hoping he wouldn't wake up to find me staring at him. Creepy: You're doing it right!

We did not, however, slack on house hunting. I moved into a ghetto apartment (but it's cheap!) right before his return, but a one-bedroom will never be enough for us. So he arrived in Alaska at 6 pm on a Thursday. At noon on Friday, we were meeting with a mortgage banker. By Monday, we had met with our realtor and handed her a list of eight high-priority houses and 14 medium-priority. Yeah, we had some spreadsheets going. Don't judge.

Next week, we will close on our new house and move in. There will be pictures. And 10 days after we close, I leave for a month in India. It will be Beau's turn to miss me and stare at me while I sleep after my return.

You can blame Google and a name change. I had to change my email address after I got married, and ran into amazing problems trying to access this old blog. It got to the point where I gave up for a bit. Then a few friends told me they were sad I'd taken my blog down. Nope, Google took it down for me. It seems someone was trying to break into my old e-mail (which was still the main account for this blog), and they shut me down as a security precaution. The good news is that they fixed a lot of the Blogger issues in the interim, so I think I'm back.

A few quick and minor updates:

• Beau and I spent a month in Hawaii for our honeymoon. For part of that time, we slept in the back of a cargo van. That was my idea, and it was awesome.
• After 4 months, 2 speeding tickets and at least 6,500 miles put on my car, I got my yoga teaching certification.
• Beau graduated from UAF with a degree in Computational Physics. It's kind of like majoring in Nerdology with a minor in Geek Sciences.
• After graduation, Beau deployed to Afghanistan for 4 months.
• To fill up my time in his absence, I quit my job, put my house on the market and moved to Anchorage.

See? Nothing major. No biggie.

One of these days, I will finish posting all the tales from India. Since it’s been almost a year, those stories are long overdue. Instead of glorious stories of vomit both real and fake, I’m checking in with an update.

Beau and I decided to spend Thanksgiving with family. The nearest family we could find was 10 hours away, but that didn’t deter us. We took a quick overnight rest break in Anchorage, and arrived in Homer around 1 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day. His father and stepmother built a house there and finally moved into it in the fall. One of his sisters was there with her family when we arrived, and we had the traditional holiday meal.

On a side note: I’m not sure if I just try too hard to be an iconoclast, but the trappings and finery of holiday traditions bore me. Given the chance, I try to ignore them. I tried to avoid Christmas by going to New Zealand one year, though we ended up at a strange hostel party regardless. That same year, I also hosted Bollywood Thanksgiving, as a way to honor the other Indians. We made a Ganesh in our Lite Brite coffeetable. And last year, India proved an excellent way to dodge Christmas, as no one even blinked an eye on December 25.

While in Homer, I did my best to support the local economy by visiting a winery, brewery and meadery. It was a trifecta of alcoholism. Beau and I also met up with an old friend from Fairbanks for a drink, and watched far too much television. There’s a reason why I don’t want cable. On the drive back to Anchorage, I picked out the spot for our dream retirement house and we discussed architectural features and long-range timelines for making retirement happen.

On Sunday, I had a hot, sweaty date with a yoga studio. I spent 90 minutes in a dimly lit room, contorting my body and sweating more that I thought possible. There’s a reason why that studio has showers for its students. The class was the culmination of a personal 30-day yoga challenge I had set for myself. For a solid month, I did some form of yoga every day. I had my regular hot yoga class through UAF. I attended the Saturday community yoga group. I dropped in on yogalates, Kundalini and restorative classes at a local studio. I practiced at home. I stayed consistent.

One doesn’t just enter into 30 days of yoga lightly, and I had a goal in mind. I was testing out the waters, and I decided to take the plunge. This spring, I will be getting my yoga teacher certification. It’s not going to be easy: The nearest training is in Anchorage, so I will be driving down there for 9 weekends spread out over 4 months. So on top of the cost of certification, there will be gas and hotel expenses. Still, I’m confident this is a good move for me.

I got an extra hour over the weekend. It's not that I'm a time-traveler or that the universe likes me best. Everyone who observes daylight savings also got an extra hour, but I'm pretty sure most people I know used it to sleep. Or play Minecraft. Not naming any names. (Beau)

After popping out of bed all bright and chipper at 8 a.m. (technically, 7 a.m.) on Sunday, I had to figure out what to do with myself. When you're a morning person living with a night person, you spend a lot of time figuring out what to do with yourself. I'm certain that our relationship will improve once we buy a bigger house so that I can move around in it without making too much noise in the mornings. But on Sunday morning, I decided to mosey down to the fabric store and buy myself some supplies. Once I was suitably equipped, I returned home and set myself to learning to knit.

I sew. There's no secret there. I made my own wedding dress (technically, I made two of them). I sew my own clothes frequently. But knitting is not a skill I ever acquired as a youngster. And while it's true that we'll be able to steal lots of sweaters after the apocalypse, eventually the never-ending supply of haute couture will, in fact, end. And then what will we wear? So I was going to learn how to knit.

It couldn't be too hard. I mean, I had bought a book. And yarn. And needles. Easy-peasy. Sort of. But line drawings in books don't accurately convey the complexities of the knit or the purl stitches, so I turned to the Internet. A few YouTube videos, and I was good to go. I seemed to have picked up some pretty advanced techniques, because after just a few rows, my 20 stitches had become 23. I'm now working on what is sure to be the world's ugliest scarf. Every time I decide to try a new pattern, I just hop right in. It's like I have yarn-induced ADD. On the bright side, my husband is contractually obliged to wear anything I make him.

The "winning" in the title has nothing to do with knitting, however. Yesterday I got a suspicious e-mail telling me I was a winner. Instead of being from a Nigerian widow, it was actually from the writer of a finance blog I read. A few weeks ago, the blog hosted a contest, and I idly posted a comment to enter. Ka-ching. $50 Amazon gift card. They already sent me the code, so now I'm carefully assessing my multiple wishlists, trying to figure out how to best spend this windfall. (Where was this two weeks ago when I ordered a bunch of books?)

I'm pretty sure one of the things I order will be this book. I've been half-heartedly meaning to give canning a try, and surely buying a book will propel me into action. (See above, re: knitting) Plus, canning is just another way to build that post-apocalyptic survival skill set. As I told a friend,

I've never been one for pictures, probably because I've never really liked what I see in them. You can call it typical female angst if you'd like. After all, isn't the yo-yo dieter a female stereotype? Are women forever doomed to be Cathy, eating chocolate ice cream and yelling "Ack!" at the scale? Regardless of how active I've been in my life, I've still never been entirely pleased with the way I look. In high school I endured a traditional upper-middle class eating disorder and still felt I was fat. In college, my activity level dropped off dramatically and I took a shine to carbs, thus altering my physique. Even getting an intestinal parasite in Central America in my early 20s didn't do the trick. Oh, sure, I dropped to around 110 pounds and you could see my ribs along the line of my sternum, but still I felt fat.

Partly, I blame my father. It's not that he ever told me I was fat or made me feel bad about myself. To the contrary, he's always been very accepting of me. However, he did give me half of my genetics. And in the gene pool lottery, I somehow missed out on my mother's skinny legs and instead inherited the functional Haley thighs. Yes, I also lucked out and got a small waist, and I've certainly read the research telling me that pear-shaped women are statistically much healthier than apple-shaped women. But still, when I look at pictures, I zero in on the lower half of my body and sigh.

As you may know, my lower half caused me even more consternation last year when I tore my ACL. I went from being a very active dancer and hitting the gym about four times a week to laying in bed and watching four season of Star Trek: Enterprise. I drowned my sorrows in cookies and went into the hospital for two procedures to try to get my knee functional again. I endured more than a year of physical therapy (which my insurance is still refusing to pay for, but that's another story). I was getting stronger, but then I got laid off, went to India and ate my weight in paneer curries for a month. Needless to say, after months of inactivity, I don't really like to look at pictures from India. My goal for the trip was to get Delhi belly and get skinny. I was only 50% successful.

So, without much fanfare, I decided it was time to Do Something About It. It's worth noting that many times in the past I decided to do something about it. But this was different. This time I decided to really Do Something About It. And I did. And I have been Doing Something About It for months. This week marked a milestone. A milestone best represented with a graph.



The graph you see represents my real weight vs. the weight listed on my driver's license. You can clearly see the slow and steady upward creep of my weight since I arrived in Alaska. You can see the point in 2008 when I had to renew my license and decided to be a little less dishonest about my weight. And you can also see how the two numbers never matched up. But you can also see that this week, for the first time in almost a decade, I weigh LESS than my driver's license. Less than the number I made up a few years ago to soothe my vanity.

This is cause for celebration, right? Like with a piece of rich gooey cake! Just kidding - I ordered new shoes instead. And I finally feel ready to tackle my stash of fabric and vintage patterns that I've been hesitant to sew for more than a year now.



And the kicker to all this is that even as my weight has been dropping, my activity level has stayed low. I think the last time I actually exercised was July 29. I've been pretty busy with dance, but I don't really think that counts as exercise. My theory is that all the stress of renovating our house and trying to plan a wedding reception was helping with the weight loss. Yay, stress!

So maybe I don't like looking at the pictures from India. (And maybe I'm trying to only put up good ones of me here.) But I do like pictures like this.

And Beau and I have our tickets to Hawaii for this winter. We'll be island-hopping for three weeks. I'm sure to like some of the pictures from that trip.

Our wedding reception is in 8 days. The wedding reception that we will be holding in our backyard. The backyard of the house that was supposed to have two simple renovation projects this summer. The house that currently has only half of the walls up in the living room, and a bathroom that has a bathtub in it (but not hooked up) and nothing else.

My husband is 350 miles away. Still.
Thanks to a sharp utility knife on Monday, I have one functional hand and 5 stitches in my left hand.
And somehow I have to finish a LOT of the house projects on my own. Because Beau (bless his pea-picking heart) has lofty beliefs that he will arrive Monday night and the house will be completely ready by Friday.

Oh, and I should probably find time to make all the desserts for the reception. And there's that 3-hour workshop and performance this weekend. But I'm not stressed at all.

Google does not make it easy to change your name. This is the problem with picking a username like jane.doe instead of something like teddy_bear1234. Since my name is in my username, when I changed my last name, I had to set up entirely new accounts. I'm going to have to start sharing access to this blog with myself so I can get in here easily to post.

I'm tired. Home renovations have worn me down. Beau is coming into town this weekend, and we are going to spend 4 solid days working on the house. Our wedding reception is being held here at the beginning of September. It's time to get some stuff done. Right now there is nothing in the bathroom but walls and a floor. The living room needs drywall everywhere.

I'm taking a rare night off from work on the house. I investigated the linen cabinet a bit, but it looks like I'm going to have to remove it entirely. I don't feel like starting that project. It's 8:30 pm, and the skies are a clear blue with lots of sun. I want to get on my bike and go for a ride, but I'm too tired. I haven't ridden in weeks, and I've been slacking on running the stairs for a few weeks, too. I need to get back in the game.

I know it's shocking that I posted more the blog whilst abroad than I have since my return. If I could get pictures off my camera (note to self: buy card reader), I could show you a progress report of the summer. Of bike miles ridden and things torn out of my walls. Of things put back in my walls, and other things torn out of other walls. There's an empty spot in my bathroom where a tub used to be. It now rests against the fence outside, and I'm trying to figure out how best to put in a new crossbeam for bathroom floor support so that the rest of the bathroom work can progress. I've left the toilet hooked up in a doorless room stripped to the studs. It's still slightly better than an outhouse, so we've got that advantage over many Fairbanksans.

Partly my work has been stymied by the lack of a truck. We hired someone to install the windows, and he was kind enough to dispose of the bathroom walls, which had ended up on my back porch. But getting stuff to my house hasn't gone as well. Tomorrow I plan to rent a U-Haul truck and go grab the rest of what I need. I may not be able to start until I get that crossbeam in place, but at least I'll have everything here.

I've started a massive purge of my closet. I've got 27 dresses and 19 shoes ready to go away. I'm debating using them to barter help with construction. I figure they're used, but the value is actually higher because they're curated from my personal collection. It feels liberating to be getting rid of some of my stuff, shedding some of my baggage. My life isn't getting too minimalist, though as 28 pairs of shoes remain.

I don't know if it's the getting old bit or the (sadly sub-par) Indian food that Nancy, the twins and I biked out to tonight, but I feel the itchy feet again. I've got the urge to travel, to see a new place. We still need to book tickets for our honeymoon, and maybe that will help me. Or maybe not. Maybe I need to crash a wedding in El Salvador this winter or show up on my friend's new doorstep in Jakarta suddenly. I just feel the urge to be in a crowded marketplace that jars all my senses.

Or maybe I should just rebuild my shower.