Our new home

At long last we have arrived at our new home. We are living in a great little neighborhood in Secunderabad - the twin city of Hyderabad. I am pleasantly surprised by it's beauty and comparative serenity. Our apartment is on the 3rd floor of a "family house" - not an apartment building as I mistakenly called it - each floor is one apartment. It is a brand new construction, so we are the first to live here.

We are already surrounded by new friends. There are children everywhere, and colleagues, friends and family of Dr. Shrama have come out of the woodwork to meet us. Sudha, Dr. Sharma's wife, our kind hostess, feeds us non-stop and everything is incredibly delicious. While we are greatly enjoying her hospitality, I am anxious to stock up on supplies and get settled.

In the meantime, here are some pictures of our apartment:

Our front door is on the left. The door on the right, in Hindu tradition, is supposed to be left open during the day to allow prosperity to come into the home.

This door leads to the Puja Room - found in all Hindu homes. Puja means prayers or offerings. So this room is meant to be a temple within the home. Being the foolish western that I am - I thought it was for the washer. Turns out the washer sits outside on the back balcony - of course.


The kitchen with propane operated stove top and combination microwave/convection oven. We also have a water service and milk is delivered every morning at 6:30 am. Very cool!

Evan's room. He has his own bathroom.

Our bedroom. Love the color! It was as though they knew I was coming. We have a/c and our own bathroom with "European flush" (I'll explain another day) and a hot water shower - very rare, and very appreciated.

Before our arrival the house was blessed - as indicated by the turmeric puja marks by the doorways. We see the swastik a lot here. I have been unable to get a satisfactory answer on what it means in Hindu culture - it appears to me to be a welcoming symbol. I do know that it has none of the negative implications of Nazism.

Monsoon view from the back balcony - where of course, the washer sits.

View from the front door.

Chandni Chowk

Back in Delhi. With the Orientation behind us we went out today to do some sightseeing in Old Delhi. After a quick tour of the massive Red Fort, we crossed the street (approximate crossing time: 5 frightening minutes) to the Chandni Chowk shopping district.

Street after street of shops and stalls, food vendors and hawkers. Chandni Chowk is an intense experience, offering a true assault to your senses. The crowds. The smells of cooking food mingling with incense and diesel fumes. The heat. The calls of vendors beckoning you from the street over the bells of passing bicycle rickshaws and the ever present honking of traffic. The dizzying array of goods for purchase - bangles, books, fruit, gold jewellery, shoes, textiles, electrical gadgets, sweets, saris. If you can name it is probably for sale.

We choose a random street - one of many - to wander down. Even more chaos. Should we bring the boys down here? It is loud and crowded... and hot. Neither of them seems to mind. Evan is sitting comfortably on his father's shoulders taking in all of the action. Eli rides, as always, in the Bjorn carrier turning his head side to side while wiggling happily, then falls asleep. At the end of this street, hot, thirsty and overwhelmed we head for the nearest auto. We make a half hearted effort at haggling our fare - the potential 50 cent savings not worth the trouble.

Driving in India

Driving in India is not for the faint of heart. Let me rephrase that: Riding in a vehicle in India is not for the faint of heart. Driving in India should be left only to Indians. It is an organized chaos that must be experienced to be believed. Like an intricate dance, cars, buses, rickshaws, mopeds with entire families on board, fruit carts, camel drawn wagons, and cows all share the road. The painted lane markers are largely ignored - you drive where ever you can go the fastest. The yellow divider line is merely a guideline - if you can more efficiently and easily pass by moving into oncoming traffic, by all means cross over. The horn is used constantly - alerting whomever or whatever is in your way that you are coming through. Adding to this confusion for me is the fact that Indians drive on the left side of the road. Somehow it all works - almost beautifully.

Our first day in India started with a 3 hour car ride - talk about baptism by fire. It was our first glimpse of India in the daylight and it was riveting. The sights, the sounds, the pollution. It was overwhelming. Despite the fact that we were all tired from our journey no one could close their eyes. There was just too much to see. It was like a never ending movie playing out side our windows. Everything was new and fantastic. The sheer volume of people lining the streets, the countless fruit vendors, the colors, the cows, the remarkable traffic pattern. Everything new, everything unbelievable and exciting.

We've been in country for 2 weeks now and each time we travel by auto (local vernacular for auto rickshaw) it is like the first time all over again. Hair raising excitement as we weave effortlessly between buses and trucks often passing with mere inches to spare. Evan loves riding the autos. He sits mesmerized occasionally pointing out tractors, cows and trains. Eli too seems to enjoy these rides. He rides silently in the Bjorn through all of the excitement and honking, often falling asleep. How anyone could sleep through an auto ride is beyond me, but I guess living with Evan has been good training for India.

This is a video Pat shot from our moving car, which he also posted on his blog. It is a mere glimpse of the excitment of riding in India.

The long awaited elephant ride

For months Evan has been talking about taking 2 airplanes to India to ride an Eph-a-nant. I too had been anxiously awaiting this opportunity. Despite the fact that I was concerned about the animal's treatment and care, I checked my bleeding heart at the door and climbed aboard.

I wish I could say that it had been "Awesome!", but instead I will say it was kinda fun. Evan was whining endlessly while we waited in line. We tried our best to distract him, but to little avail - he didn't want to wait in line.

When we finally boarded the beast and made the 10 minute journey up the hill to Amer Fort we were seated side saddle on a large pillow topped platform. It was not terribly comfortable and I got splashed with some elephant pee, but I can't say I didn't enjoy it. Evan came around half way through and enjoyed seeing all of the other elephants around us.

Before we were allowed to disembark, the elephant driver(?) informed us we needed to give the elephant a tip - despite having paid for the ride. Once we were on the ground we actually had more fun watching the dozens of elephants make their way through the court yard. Sadly we do not have any pictures of the four of us on the elephant but we managed to get a few nice pictures of the countless other elephants.

Our Elephant Driver

The ride up the hill

The Littlest Ambassadors

The people of India are exceedingly warm and gracious and their love of children cannot be overstated. Our experiences at the Taj have not been isolated. Everywhere we go people smile and approach us. They ask the same questions: "Boy or girl?; or in many cases just "Girl?" - as boyish as I think my children look, Indians always guess that both boys are actually girls - and then of course they want to know their names. These questions are punctuated by a stroke of Eli's cheek and an attempt at patting Evan's head - which he hates. Everyone from doorman to bathroom attendant to hotel manager shares in this ritual.

Travelling with children as young as ours has been one of the most difficult and simultaneously rewarding experiences of my life. Much like child rearing itself. You make many sacrifices - in our case, a limited stay time sight seeing, many missed photo opportunities, and a few meltdowns in very public places. Despite these relatively minor set backs they have made our experience thus far richer in so many ways. Most especially in allowing us to connect with Indians in a deeper, more meaningful way.

Just yesterday, at the stunning Amer Fort in Jaipur I saw two women clad in magnificent red saris each balancing a large bowl of mixed concrete on their head, they were peeking through a doorway at Eli and me smiling broadly. I smiled and bowed a greeting before I approached. They spoke almost no English, they were lower class laborers bare foot but still adorned in bangles and nose rings and somehow immaculate in their appearance despite their work. They touched Eli's cheek and nodded when I said "boy". Through sign language and broken English I came to understand that they were mothers too. As we stood together their faces were radiating a warmth and happiness, the depth of which I lack words to describe. It was a very quiet, yet powerful experience for me. I would have loved to have taken their picture and wished I had the camera at that moment. But, in the end it was about more than the visual souvenir I could have had, it was a shared connection between mothers of very different places and means. It was beautiful. I will keep their image in my mind for years to come.

Evan enjoys the elephant carvings at a Hindu temple just outside the gates of the Amer Fort

Delhi Belly

Our first full day in India was magnificent, spectacular; it was… ahem… the Taj Mahal of days. It will be a day I will never forget. The amazing drive to Agra, the majesty of the Taj Mahal, and Evan falling asleep on his menu at dinner – all wonderfully exciting and new.

Our second full day in India was much, much less glamorous and will also likely be a day I will never forget. Pat woke first with some intestinal trouble. I woke feeling nauseous and dizzy, and poor Evan started his day by vomiting on his father. Although, after he was sick, he promptly asked for breakfast - which we took to be a good sign. Pat took Evan down for food and I crawled back into bed until it was time to leave. Little Eli was the only one of us unperturbed by the adventure thus far. His smiling face reassuring of us of happier times to come.

Pat and Eli standing out at the Mosque at Fatepur Sikri

Once we were in the car everyone seemed to have perked up a bit, although the very thought of eating made me queasy. Our first stop was Fatehpur Sikri a beautiful, abandoned, royal city, a bumpy one-hour ride from Agra. It was hot, but there was a nice breeze blowing through the monument so it was bearable. Unfortunately shortly in to our tour I was overcome once again with a wave of nausea. Evan too was getting restless so he and I went back to the air-conditioned car to lie down. Pat went on to have a wonderful experience touring the rest of the city and the beautiful mosque while Evan and I napped. Later when I was feeling better I was a bit jealous of what he experienced, but at the time I was grateful for the chance to lie down. By the time we left for the excruciatingly long and bumpy four-hour ride to Jaipur I was feeling worlds better.

Evan however, was sick again just an hour later. I hate to see him sick. I had been worried for months before this trip began about him getting ill, and here he was suffering from a mild case of Delhi Belly and I found myself calm about the whole thing. I knew we had done everything right. I had watched him like a hawk since we landed – making sure he didn’t touch anything dirty, that his hands were washed and sanitized, and carefully monitoring everything that went into his mouth. He wasn’t running a fever and he didn’t have the runs, so I knew it wasn’t that serious. My hunch was that it was just his immune system running in overdrive.

Sure enough, by evening he was swimming in the pool and downing an entire pizza (thank goodness our hotel offered western choices – the thought of anything spicy today made me uncomfortable). For our part, Pat and I soldiered on, our discomfort of minor consequence when your baby is sick.

Evan, feeling better, sleeping off a long hard day.

For more pictures of Fatehpur Sikri click here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/43788174@N00/sets/72157601703908239/show/

The Taj Mahal

At breakfast this morning we were served Taj Mahal Tea. The tab on the tea bag had a tiny picture of the Taj that I showed to Evan. I explained that it was like a giant sand castle and it was very beautiful and that we were going there for a visit. He kept the little picture in his pocket and told all of the Indians we encountered that we were going to see the “Zhaj Labal”. But I digress…

Everyone says that if you’re coming to India you must see the Taj Mahal. My expectations were high and I had a nagging fear that I would be disappointed. Like everyone else in the western world I had already seen dozens of photographs and I was familiar with at least some of the history. Was it really going to be as spectacular as everyone says? But, when I walked through the North Gate and the whole building came in to view, it literally took my breath away. Even from the gate it was majestic. Photographs seem to do little justice to the splendor of this magnificent structure.

As we stood near the gate listening to our guide I became aware that someone was standing beside me. I turned to find a woman in a beautiful yellow sari just inches away posing for a picture beside me and Eli while her family stood by giggling. I did what any good Yankee would do – I pretended not to notice, despite her proximity I did not want to embarrass anyone.

Not a minute later a group of young men came along. They stopped several feet away staring and laughing before one of them came over to stand beside me for another photograph. Admittedly I was slightly annoyed, but I just pretended not to notice and we moved on.

As we progressed, however, it became apparent that people were very, very interested in us. Everyone we encountered – and there were thousands of people – stopped, smiled, pointed, and nudged those around them. Soon people were approaching us to touch the boys – this is not a taboo here, Indians love babies and they are not shy about showing it! Those that could speak English would ask “Boy or Girl” and “Name?” There were more pictures. More introductions. I found myself standing with whole families smiling for photographs. And the children… the Indian children were awe struck with Evan. It was like he was from the moon. The children crowded around him each just wanting to touch him. It was very surreal to see his little white face surrounded by a sea of Indian children. Evan handled it with grace, although towards the end I think he was as overwhelmed as I. So this is what it’s like to be a rock star? No wonder the guidebook recommended dark glasses.Here we were standing before one of the Seven Wonders of the World and for a brief period it was as though our children, not the Taj Mahal, enjoyed this title. I thought surely these people have seen Westerners before, until our guide reminded us that people come from all over India – rich and poor – to see the Taj, and some may not have ever seen “our kind”. Of those that have I’m sure they’ve never seen a redheaded baby in Bjorn carrier on a blond woman before.

On our way back to the car, the armed guards and souvenir hawkers all stopped to gawk and elbow their neighbors as we walked by. It suddenly became apparent that our children were going to give this journey a unique richness that can't be enjoyed by other tourists. They are going to open doors and make connections that Pat and I could not our own.

For more pictures of our trip to the Taj click here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/43788174@N00/sets/72157601608978740/show/

Namaste from India

As the plane made it’s final approach in to Delhi, we were able to catch our first glimpse of India. It didn’t look like much… just a sporadic patchwork of orange lights twinkling through the haze interrupting the otherwise dark of night. There were none of the familiar lights of highways or buildings visible. The air quality in the plane suddenly became very poor, the smell of India reaching us before we even touched the ground. I was suddenly overcome with fear. Instead of butterflies I felt as though I had a swarm of hungry locusts with hard edges writhing in my stomach. Tears filled my eyes. What on earth are we doing? Why am I bringing all that I hold dear to such a foreign and exotic place? Will we get sick? What will I do when the children get sick? It’s too late to turn back, and quite honestly even if I could I would not.

Happily, as soon as we were on the ground my fears of this unknown place seemed to melt away. Despite the dreariness of the airport and the filth of the bathrooms, I was suddenly excited to be in India. India! …At last.

Once we left the airport and were on the road the sounds and activity of Delhi began to take shape around us. Despite the late hour the streets were teeming with activity - cars, trucks, buses, rickshaws, mopeds, cows, everyone was out. It was then that I realized that this is a journey of a lifetime, one that will change my life in ways that I cannot yet imagine. While Eli will never know where he has been I hope that Evan will take a few fuzzy memories home with him. I am already grateful that I did not let my fear of the unknown diminish this opportunity.

On your MARKET, get set, GO!

"On your market, get set, GO!" Evan screams for the 100th time in an hour. He has decided Amsterdam is a great city for racing. This despite, the narrow streets, the even narrower cobblestoned sidewalks, and the multitudes on foot and on bicycle. He took a couple of good spills - one of which resulted in a skinned nose, but even this could not deter him from his game. I don't mind this game too much since a) it wears him out quicker b) he moves faster when he is racing and c) he quickly learned the difference between sidewalk and road and always stops to hold hands when we cross the street. The problem with this game is the sheer volume of pedistrians and cyclists. He is more interested in going fast than staying out of the way. Which makes me very nervous.














When he is not racing, he is asking to be carried. "Mommy, Carry you?" - meaning, of course, carry me. We've walked all over this beautiful city, and we've encouraged Evan to walk as much as possible. But there are times for safety, or efficiency that it is easier to carry him. He has walked more than his share though, and after a while I know he gets tired. If he didn't weigh close to 40lbs this really wouldn't be such an issue. By the end of the day we're all tired not just from walking but also from carrying these two giant children.

Other than racing, Evan also enjoys looking for sharks in the canals, crossing bridges, and best of all watching the public train, which he calls Thomas. We've actually ridden the train a couple of times just for fun. As silly as that may sound, if you could see the excitement on Evan's face you would understand why it is worth the ride.

Overall Evan has been very good, albeit a bit wild at times. There have been a few meltdowns, but largely (and thankfully) this is in the privacy of our apartment. He rarely misbehaves in public, save one or two tantrums. Publicly he is usually just guilty of not controlling the volume of his voice, not watching where he is going, and occasionally walking painfully slow so he can touch each and everyone of the traffic barriers -which are short poles spaced two feet apart all over the city. On the grander scheme of things these are minor inconveniences, but they can be frustrating to his parents. We have done our best to encourage him to be quieter, or slow down, or speed up - and we switch children often, sharing the load (both in weight and discipline). Sight seeing with such small children is a totally unique experience. Once upon a time Pat and I would have set a break neck pace, taking in all of the museums, churches, markets, and ahem coffee shops we possibly could. These days we are content just to be able to be out side walking in the city. And we were both delighted with our fragmented hour at the Rijks Musuem. We each had the opportunity to spend 30 minutes admiring the art of the Dutch Masters, and 30 minutes of riding the glass elevator with Evan. Somehow it was enough, and Evan had his thrill. Someday the boys will be old enough to enjoy the history and beauty a city like Amsterdam has to offer, but for now I am content to enjoy the antics of a 3 year old racing the streets of Amsterdam.

Boat Ride

Since Amsterdam is a city of canals, and Evan is a lover of water, it seemed only fitting that we should take a boat tour of the city. This is probably not something I would have done without children, and probably not something I'd rush to recommend to others. But as usual Evan made it enjoyable. He absolutely loved riding the boat. He stood on the bench with his head out the window with all the wonder and innocence of a three year old.

For those who have never ventured to Amsterdam, she is a city of water and thus by default, of bridges. 1200 bridges to be exact. Evan loves bridges, this of course is old news. He has always loved to go over bridges but now he also loves to go under bridges. Of Amsterdam's 1200 bridges I think it is safe to say we sailed under about 50 of these canal bridges. As we approached each bridge Evan would stick his head back into the boat, hold Pat's face in his hands and with a big smile declare: "Daddy. Another bridge." Yes, for every bridge. All 50 of them. Somethings just don't loose their magic.

The journey begins...

After weeks of often stressful preparation for this journey we are finally on our way, and boy does it feel good. It occurred to me at dinner that I had nothing to do and no where to be except here in Amsterdam enjoying the city and my family. Finally! After weeks of cleaning, packing, stressing over passports and visas and various other details I can sit and relax.

Our neighborhood in Amsterdam

The plane ride to Amsterdam went amazingly well. All of my anxious worry was for naught - at least thus far. Evan could not have been more thrilled to go to the big, giant airport in Boston and ride a big, giant airplane.

Because of fog our takeoff was delayed by 30 minutes... a very minor inconvenience. As soon as we were allowed to board we got to take an escalator down to the sky walk. This was a tremendous thrill and seemed only to enhance the excitement to come. As soon as Evan was in his seat he started asking: "Now Mommy? Is it time to take off now?"

"Not yet. We have to wait until everyone sits down in their seats and puts on their seat belts."

"OK." .... pause .... "Now Mommy?"

I'm sure he asked us 20 times. When we finally did take off he was very excited - giggling and grinning from ear to ear. It was fun to watch him experience what he had looked forward to for so long. After enjoying his pretzels - one of his favorite treats - Evan settled in to watch a movie. Could life get any better for a three year old? We didn't hear a peep from him until we declared bedtime. He then laid down across the extra seat and slept for about three hours. Could life be any better for Mom and Dad? Eli for his part was also a perfect angel. He has become quite the little busy body. So he fidgeted and chewed and sucked on whatever he could get his hands on, until at last he fell asleep for most of the remainder of the flight - at least 4 hours. And there was no crying.

I was the only one who didn't get any rest, and I was not feeling too hot when we landed. I was consumed with exhaustion, but Evan was ready to take on the world - on just 3 hours of sleep. A good 2.5 hour nap perked us all up, and we hit the town the town running - and I do mean that literally.