Travel Hell Year or How I Stole a Car on an Expired License to Fetch D. from the Airport

Having been back in the Bay Area for three weeks, I'm setting off for Europe in a few hours after having combed the Internet for any evidence of French strike activity. Looks like things are on the upswing for me, though there's the matter of my suitcases, both of which need to lose a kilo or so. On the way here I happened to get caught again in the October 20th strikes, the second time this year (see here for February's sad EasyJet/Iberia saga). I certainly hadn't planned on going to Germany on that trip but ended up getting re-routed to Frankfurt, where, as if strikes weren't bad enough, I scored a weather delay. I can't believe they even let me on my re-booked flight to SFO; there was an extremely anal South Asian (who'd found the ideal rule-enforcing place on earth: Deutschland) just dying to deny me boarding. Showing up with 7 minutes to spare before an Airbus takeoff was, offensichtlich, nicht in Ordnung. I don't know why he changed his mind at the last minute and waved me on; maybe it was the range of emotions that must have flashed across my face, none of which included any anger or aggression. No, dear readers, I was at the mercy of the travel gods and I damn well knew it!

Things just kept getting stranger as I sat next to a happy baby who really wanted to play with me, while his barely more than teen-aged mother cried into his hair and wouldn't let him out of her clutches or even look me in the eye. Then on the other side of the world there was the guy just in from Manila who finally finished hitting on me on the BART, only to be replaced by someone who asked if I'd accepted the Lord God as my Personal Savior and whose response, when I said "I really don't want to talk to you about that right now " was, "Why, what happened?"! I suppose that these things have to be expected when one is living through a Wednesday that's something like 33 hours long, the vast majority of those waking hours, which seemingly will never end.

But hold on here, what I really want to write about is what happened 3 days later while I was still seriously in the clutches of westward jet-lag (always the worst for me). D. was only just getting back from reorganizing her mother's entire life in the space of 2 weeks after her diagnosis of Alzheimer's (D.'s mother's diagnosis, that is). I was determined to provide her with a calm, supportive home-coming (as I'm staying at her house). So, even though my license expired 2 months ago and I did NOT manage to get my Spanish driver's license which I really should have had in August or at the latest, September, but STILL do NOT have due to the exasperatingly dysfunctional inefficiency of, I sometimes think, the entire country, I was determined to risk driving the paltry couple of miles to the BART station to pick her up. However, her car was loaned out and I was told to drive the white VW loaner using the key on her dresser. It was a dark and stormy night but I spotted a light-colored Jetta across the street, which was unlocked so I got in and tried the key. No dice, it wouldn't even go in the lock. Damn! I got out and looked around, saw another light-colored car on the street, also unlocked (this is North Oakland west of San Pablo, for those of you who know what this means), but this time the key worked. Not a good sign, I suppose, that I couldn't get the windshield wipers to work or that the car groaned and screeched anytime the gearshift passed neutral. And definitely not a good sign at the one-mile point that I noticed the gas tank indicator was emphatically pegged at a point beyond empty, which is also not to mention that the brakes were definitely not what one would want them to be, even in dry conditions, but these were extremely wet. Well, I pushed through the rain, scrabbling around for some napkins I spotted in the space between the seats to wipe the windshield off, with my arm crooked out of the open window at the next stoplight. I got to the BART having seen only one set of flashing lights that fortunately weren't for me, only to find out from D. that that's definitely not her friend's car. Well, babe, I said, I don't know whose car it is, but I made it here, now you're driving back, and, BTW, there's no gas. So much for the calm, orderly welcoming committee of one; hell no, this was Kaos Katchita at her most inspired, but I have to say that D. is no shrinking violet, which of course is why she's my friend. After all, anyone who could do Nevada in '04, weekend after weekend (together with me in a big floppy hat, long Big Love skirt and big American grin) and still somehow survive to stay in this country for '08 and the disappointment that Obama has proven himself to be, is a better woman than me...

Well, I digress because I have to say that we returned without incident to her house, both of us imagining having to abandon an out-of-gas hot car, post-joy ride, by the side of the road OR any number of unknown hidden surprises the cops may have found inside that car if we were pulled over and searched. The upshot of it was we pulled it into the same parking place I had vacated 15 minutes before and the jalopy wasn't any worse for the wear other than the soggy napkins I'm now remembering are littering the driver's side floor. D. proceeded to tell the tale to her neighbors on either side of her who must have been expecting her and popped up like mushrooms in the middle of the cold rain, all of whom launched into descriptions of the numerous cars I could have easily and legally (or semi-legally, as that license is still and always will be expired) driven on my little jaunt to the BART.

Well as a little addendum to these tales from Travel Hell Year, I will add that that's not the only time I found myself driving illegally in California. The next time was (never mind dark, late-night West Oakland streets) in full sunlight on a glorious day on Interstate 80 heading back from Napa. With my comadre breast-feeding my very hungry and very insistent goddaughter. In the back. Out of her carseat. At any rate, the only flashing lights I saw were from a motorcycle cop who'd already snared his victim. Because as my comadre said, I'm sure a woman driving on an expired license with a child out of her carseat in the back would have really made his day.

Here's the little culprit, in her Halloween costume.

Biosmokes

When I first moved to Berlin two and a half years ago and discovered my favorite pool, the Europa Sportspark at Landsberger Allee, there was a cigarette vending machine right out front, all the better to get budding athletes hooked on nicotine as early as possible. I can't say exactly when it disappeared; perhaps it was a result of Berlin's smoking ban, phased in during the second half of 2008. But I'm happy to report I've found another one in the most unlikely of places -- Lehde, in the middle of the Spreewald bioreserve. Lehde is the cute little town about 2 kilometers east of Lübbenau via the footpath that winds through the various canals and wetlands. This was another pleasant day trip just before Easter and I highly recommend the canoe/kayak rentals. We only did the basic one-hour route but I definitely want to go back some other time for the longer two- or four-hour loop. It's simply too too precious!

Day Tripping

It seems I'm finally moving away from Berlin -- after two years and seven months I will abmelden (un-register) with the German authorities, as my Spanish residency will require me to register there. I'm feeling quite wistful about this, and as seems to have become quite a pattern with me, I don't seem to be able to make a completely clean break. I'm storing some winter things in the Lively German's cellar as I doubt I'll be able to resist coming back for the 20th anniversary of the Wall-Fall in November. That's how I justify it to myself, anyway, as to why I'm only planning on being in Spain for the next six months.

Another sign I may actually really be leaving, though, is I've gotten serious about doing tourist things I never bothered with as a Berlin resident. Over the last couple of weeks I organized two Toytown outings: Poland (I'd never gone, even though it's all of one hour away) and Spreewald southeast of Berlin (I'd been once years ago but hadn't allowed enough time to hang out). I've always kept my distance as Toytowners can be a snide, nasty bunch, but the Berlin-Brandenburg special train tix are really cheap when one travels in a group of five, and Toytown's the quickest way to round up the necessary bodies. Both times I was lucky to find some nice people; one very cool couple went along on both trips.

Poland was Szczecin (included, incredibly, in the Brandenburg ticket and accessible via several DeutscheBahn non-stops daily). This wonderful weather found us sitting at a café on the Oder river drinking Starka vodka and eating pierogis (a delicious food that for some reason I'd never sampled before in my life). The next time I'm in Berlin I'll either have to hop over to the Polish side of Frankfurt-an-Oder or find a good Polish ex-pat restaurant here in the city. These pierogies are not to be missed! Although Szczecin is said to not measure up to other cities a bit further into Poland, in addition to the river, it had a quaint, if small, old town and I was quite taken with the green ceramics decorating the red brick buildings. I found Szczecin to be a cheap and easy introduction to the country. The direct train back to Berlin was a peaceful two-hour ride, which I made with a bottle of Starka vodka nestled in the seat beside me. I'm leaving it here, untouched, to celebrate the Mauerfall anniversary.

Chameleon Days

In amongst the chaos that seems to have accrued to me after a mere 5 weeks in India (my stuff scattered across the city in the midst of a transit strike, no key forthcoming for my "pre-arranged " sublet, the Ed Ward Shower Fiasco, and my mother/sister canceling their visit next week on which I'd spent 500+ euros), I find myself slowly making peace with Berlin once more. It helps that today we had NINE WHOLE HOURS OF SUNLIGHT, as opposed to the average 2 per day! Between lugging suitcases down 3 flights of stairs and up 4 (yes, boys and girls, I'm on to my third sublet on the 4th floor), I had a bit of time to check out my new 'hood, Neuköln, considered one of the worst areas in Berlin, but so far looking quite nice to me. I hope I like it as much as my previous Kreuzberg flat in Graefekiez.

Intercontinental flights are nearly always emotionally difficult for me -- leaving one culture in preparation for another inevitably throws me into a sort of bitter-sweet limbo. This time I feel like I really cracked the hard nut that is India. No more getting ripped off by rickshaw drivers with dollar signs in their eyes; no longer the target of unscrupulous "touts"; and seasoned enough to mix-'n'-match any salwar/kameez. I experienced Indian hospitality at its best (and worst). I experienced a full range of being hit on, Indian-style (believe me, at 42, the fact that this still happens is very gratifying, particularly after the sexless wasteland of Berlin). I established that that oh-so-confusing shoulder-to-shoulder head shaking indeed means, as I had divined, both "yes" and "no". What's not to love about a country where a shake of the head can mean exactly what one hopes? For a Catholic girl, what could be better than yes meaning no and no meaning yes?!?

I used frequent flier miles for this trip (60K), and my account has only 40K left so it's not clear to me when I can go back. But I tell you, I'm dreaming of it. Forts, palaces, lakes, mountains, glaciers, sumptuous textiles, some of the most physically beautiful people in the world, and engaged/interactive/lively enough to give Nicaragua (the friendliest place on earth) a real run for its money. I think it's love...

Backside of India

Q: What's the very best way to direct a rickshaw driver who doesn't speak English to drive all the way around to the very back of a building?

A: Say "backside" emphatically several times!

This is a photo, not of the beautiful Mysore palace, but something more interesting that I saw on its grounds. Look closely -- can you see what caused the sound that I suddenly heard while snapping this shot, suspiciously like a fire hydrant unplugged?

Well, I can't say I'm happy about being back in Berlin, although I admit to having felt a tiny bit nostalgic for it, round about week 4 (and week 2 in Delhi). Must have been longing for indoor heating and bathing with hot water that didn't just come out of a bucket. I landed last night and my sublet was clearly not going to happen given a city-wide transit strike and the sublessor's inexplicable ability to find anyone with whom to leave the key for me. That's sorted out now, fortunately, so I am hoping my current rather extreme feeling of homelessness recedes soon. In the meantime I was able to check out Ed's new place and he was kind enough to let me crash on his comfy "new" sofa last night. Ed's the perfect person to hang with the first night back in Berlin when one is asking, "what the fuck am I doing back HERE again"? I treated him at his American burger joint but had to settle for a chicken club myself. After 5 weeks in India, I didn't see how I could possibly consume a half-pound of beef and probably the same weight of fries. But that chicken sure tasted GOOD, and even though the lettuce/tomato was hothouse bland, to my tongue, deprived of any fresh vegetables for 5 weeks, it was heaven.

To finish off a sadly truncated story, after Bangalore (Jan. 24th-29th), I was hoping to see H., the filmmaker I met, back in Delhi one more time before leaving. We were all set to meet the night of the 30th when he called to say his mother was seriously ill. I could recount another story about bizarre circumstances intervening with romance in India, but it involves R., years ago now, and I'm presently too peeved at him to want to reminisce. So H. set off for the Himalayas post haste and that may very well be the end of it because although he has my Email address, I can imagine that my memory will be lost in the sadness around his mother's illness and possible death. I'm left now with only an SMS he'd sent me in Bangalore, about the beautiful mind he can see behind my green eyes. OK, I admit it, I'm a complete sucker for such things.

My general feeling right now is that a mind is a terrible thing to lose (to loosely quote Dan Quayle attempting to quote the United Negro College Fund), but I'm working on some sort of plan for my future, and I have to say that no matter how hard I find it physically, I just have to spend part of my time somewhere in the 3rd world. It's so fundamental for me, I can't get along without that chaos, that energy, that bursting full-of-life feeling. It makes a whole different K. out of me, and one, frankly, that I like better! But I will say, "Berlinale, here I come!"

Santa Katchita

Thoroughly disgusted with the quality of the men I'd been dating (if it could even be said to have progressed to such an elevated level), in early October I entered my first voluntary period of celibacy since "losing my virginity" 24 years (can it be?!) ago. It was relatively easy to do knowing R. would most likely talk me out of that vow after arriving in India. And so he did, without too much effort, as we set out for a tour with his band toward Bengal. But, grrrls, I was quite peeved to discover, upon our return to Delhi, that he is virtually joined at the hip with the captivating young A. And when I say young, I mean 20. Mental note to explore: what makes men flip out so badly in their mid-40s, anyway?!?

They might as well be living together, and I was to stay at R.'s flat for 2 weeks plus the odd day here or there between trips within India. UGGGHHH, I have to say that I cannot bear couple friends. Doing things with the partners of my friends is fine on occasion, particularly if we hit it off. But something about this expectation that a long-standing friendship (over 20 years, in this case, meaning I've been friends with him since she was, like, 6 months old) between two people should naturally expand to include a third really sets my teeth on edge. And that leaves aside completely the awkwardness of the sexual situation, R. all of a sudden having erected some sort of forcefield (isn't body language so telling, really?) -- his unspoken message was quite clear.

In the two weeks I was in Delhi, R. went out with me alone, without the girlfriend, exactly once -- a sedate afternoon outing to Humayun's tomb. Fortunately I was able to move over to his dad's flat and stay there (it's been nicely renovated and has Internet and a woman who comes to cook delicious North Indian veg food). R.'s dad is one of those rarities, a truly sweet, gentle soul. And he has taken me out twice himself, not to mention interesting discussions over glasses of booze, staving off the cold of these Delhi winter nights.

So I have reached the point, my dears, in which I finally feel that I'm happier with my own company than putting up with THESE MEN.

Incredible India

I've criss-crossed the subcontinent from east to west, covering 4000 kms in the process, 3000 of those by land. I'm recuperating in Delhi, preparing to head south to the tip, but no more trains, buses, or autos; this will be only by air. In the meantime, this is captivating Rajastan.

Luxuriating in Desert Sun

Greetings from Incredible India where I'm currently in Western Rajastan. Since flying all day Christmas and arriving in India at 2 AM the 26th, I've been nearly all the way east to Kolkata (about 50 km from the Bay of Bengal) and nearly all the way west to Pakistan. I'm blogging from a dial-up connection in Jaisalmer, less than 100 km from the border. The drummer in R's band invited me -- he was going with his family in one rather large SUV so there was extra space -- it was really nice of him. They're going further, but this is as far as I should go; already I'm feeling a bit gun-shy, literally, as we passed several army training grounds and saw & heard the booms from tank shells being fired (directed away from the highway but freaky all the same).

I'm finding myself in a much lower tech situation than expected. R's new flat in Delhi is a bit primitive -- no hot water when I arrived (fixed, fortunately, as it's been getting down to 3°C at night and there's no heating in all of Delhi), no Internet, and the windows are pretty rudimentary which means cold, drafts and DUST DUST DUST. I will unfortunately not be in good contact during January. But I'm having tons of fun and lots of very interesting experiences, including interactions with men who show actual signs of life, well, shall we say a surplus of life! I will be pleasantly surprised if I manage to post this successfully, but no pictures I'm afraid -- that is beyond the technical possibilities here!

Moto Menorah

My ex was in town over Hannukah weekend which was particularly nice since I was feeling like rather a fraud lighting the candles by myself. I do like ritual, preferably involving sparkling lights and bright colors -- all that training as a Catholic. Of course he infused the proceedings with his usual off-the-wall sense of humor...

Christmas comes early this year

After the first snow a week and a half ago, the Berlin Christmas markets began sprouting like mushrooms. These are essentially outdoor brew pubs, as far as I can tell, that offer in addition some Christmas sweets. But most impressive are the amazing selections of grilled and fried sausages -- all of Germany's love affair with the pig seems condensed into the space of a square block or two, scattered throughout the city. However, there is something for beer-haters like yours truly: gluwein which is a very nice warm spiced wine and it does take the bite out of the cold! It's been getting below zero (celcius) at night every now and then. The picture is of the nicest Weihnachtsmarkt in the city, at Gendarmenmarkt. This is the place to go if you want nice German Christmas handicrafts and gifts to send back home.