How to quit your job and travel around the world

Photo: John Jay public pool closed between 3 p.m. and 4 p.m. July 30, 2007.

When you live in Manhattan, the city has a way of making you feel extreme gratitude and petulance simultaneously. In the summer months, we residents are forced into inmate-tude, groveling to our gatekeepers who can grant or deny us the pleasures associated with warm weather. The public pools of the city are the perfect example.

Pool time is rare in New York, where the majority of natatoriums are dinky subterranean lap lanes in pricey gyms. Outdoor pool space is the golden goose. Today, hovering in the mid 80s, I thought I would try the John Jay public pool on 77th and York Ave, one crosstown bus away from my apartment.

A towel, a suit, a leftover Sunday paper. Not so fast. The pool has regulations. Lots of them. And about several dozen idling staffers to somewhat enforce them with mediocre politeness. For example, you can’t take a bag to the pool, so you must have a lock for the grotty lockers in the dressing room. You must be wearing a bathing suit; no street clothes in the pool area and they must also be locked up. You can’t read the paper at the pool; all reading material must be ‘bound.’ You can’t swim between the prime hours of 3 p.m. and 4 p.m. because that’s when the lifeguards and other pool personnel need their break time, forcing the question of why can’t they work in shifts? There seem to be plenty of them.

A second pool – beaming brilliant turquoise – is empty because it is the diving pool. It appears to open rarely with only one board out of the two actually functioning.
Normal pool rules – no running, adult supervision for young kids, swimming caps and showers before entering – are non-existent. However, the John Jay pool is pleasant and an enjoyable balance between the stress of the aquatic bureaucracy and the pleasure of swimming in hot weather. It is considered, after all, the premiere public pool of the city.

But for all the trauma of getting into the pool, truth is, you don’t come to swim. You come to sit outside with the possibility of swimming. Pool time, as we know, is mostly about relaxing near water. And this is where the gratitude of being a New Yorker comes in. There were no fewer than nine elderly stateswomen of John Jay, adorned in shower caps, earrings, lipstick and sunglasses conversating for hours at one end. There was a bearish and frighteningly tan man, keeping a keen eye on all the bikinis and shadow boxing with himself in the pool. There was a six-year-old girl with no teeth, purple goggles and an earth shattering scream to punctuate every splash. There were squads of middle-schoolers cannon balling and shy teenage girls who may or may-not know how to swim sitting on the side giggling. Lap swimming is a tricky business in these waters, leaving only one lone sporty 30-something woman. The pool had it all: ages 6 to 90, lily white to copper brown, goodwill swim shorts to Harvard baseball caps.

After my hour of sunbathing and quick dip were up, I strolled back into the locker room. I changed and walked cheerfully my M79 bus stop. My petulance had faded, and my gratitude grew again. In a city that prizes status and exclusivity, I felt not just refreshed from the pool but from the very fact that it existed and that it is free. I felt gratitude for the amazing social experiment that day in and day out Manhattan conjures. This is a great democracy and sometime it just takes a dip in the pool to remember that.

Photo: Players line up in shooting gallery at the Shoot the Freak game in Coney Island, July 21, 2007.

And all it takes is an errant clam. Many moons logged traveling in the far east, and one measly bi-valve from Nathan's on the Coney Island boardwalk sets me back a summer weekend. Ok, in any other country eating raw seafood on a dirty boardwalk would call for one of those special boxed notes the Lonely Planet is so fond of. But we thought...anyway, we went for our send-off of Coney Island As We Know It on Saturday. Earlier this year news came that the Manhattan condo-frenzy has spread to the once-sketchy shore of Coney. Fundraiser were had, Save the Freak show stories written, but it's going to close up after this summer. Some amusements will remain, the Wonder Wheel, the Cyclone, Nathans - but for the most part, the seedy underbelly of Coney is going bottom up. Call in the roller of big cigars...we started off the afternoon at the Siren Festival, really only to hear M.I.A - the Sri Lankan hip-hop (?) superstar. Then we cruised some rides: the Break Dance, Wonder Wheel, Thunder Bold and Saturn Upchuck. In lieu of the Cyclone, which is terrifying, we thought we might Shoot The Freak but it was just too discomforting to pump off several rounds at a Live Human Target for shits and giggles. So we watched other people do it instead. After a little siesta under the moonlight on the beach and listening to the murmur of the crowd we ate some raw clams and deep-fried frog legs at Nathan's, washed down with a two-foot long Pina Colada ($10). It tasted so good at the time...

I should mention that I also went to my first court house wedding. My dear friends Rebecca and Seth got hitched old-school style on Friday morning at 9 a.m. which was followed by the lovely reception of all 6 of us on the Brooklyn Promenade and mimosas. It was exceedingly great.

Wow. I actually managed to sort, edit and upload some of the
3,000-plus photos from the trip in record time. Check them out at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/64207697@N00/collections/

Ok, so I managed to get this down to like 300 photos for your viewing
pleasure. However, this still does not excuse me from not having made
a proper presentation of all my pictures from last year's trip. I
swear, on Ganesha's fat belly, that I will get those up soon. Please
leave comments on any of your favorites! I have a big blank wall in my
apartment that I would like to put some of the greatest hits on.
Enjoy.

Re-entry day. My friend David, who has been living in India and is blogging about it, recently posted some great thoughts on why we travel…I feel rather bored with myself to reiterate what he and Pico Iyer articulate so much better, so instead I am giving lots of thought to re-entry. Or re-re-entry as it were. As I have often said about New York, the best thing about it is leaving and then coming back.

I am the lucky New Yorker who is completely in love with my apartment. When I return, it feels (is) all clean and different again. Almost, but not quite, like someone else’s apartment. When I first get home I pretend it is either a hotel room or I am house sitting. I loll on my bed and stare at my radio, thinking “this person has such a nice radio!” and I notice that the dial is on a new station that I have never really listened to. The apartment smells different. Like other people (I have had friends stay here while I was gone.) Clean and well soaped. Slightly dusty and hot as the windows are nearly shut. I notice their habits – the small stool which I keep by the stove is now by the window. The container for holding cooking spoons is now by the sink, not the stove. What do they know that I don’t? Like a detective, I roam my new turf and take notes. Then after I have entertained myself like this for awhile, I make a nest. I would shred paper into a million bits if I had it, but instead I unpack in a fury. I eviscerate my luggage in the hallway. Bits of sari hanging out; sandal detritus; business cards from establishments in far away places.

After a good nap and some leftover juice from those Other People Who Have Lived Here Once or a bite of the Kozyshack pudding that I would never buy but find so delicious, I go into another type of frenzy. A pack-it-up-and-throw-it-out frenzy. So far: two jackets, unworn since college; too-tight running shorts and all the singleton earrings from my dresser. Make way for new stuff! STUFF! Let’s face it. We travel for ALL THE GREAT STUFF. Kidding! But really, my next big challenge is where to hang the resin-and-paper-mache Buddhist mask I brought home from Tibet. Sigh.

I told aforementioned David that I will try and approach New York like I have never been here before. Like I am still traveling! Last year I tried to pretend it was an old shoe that I had missed. But it wasn't. It felt all alien and weird. So this year, I will treat it as alien and weird. Huzzah. And dear reader, it's a win-win situation. If I have "never been" to New York, then I better keep blogging! Stay tuned for the continued adventures.

At the Lahore Fort with a family. Note the lipstick, which the woman insisted on applying to my mouth and as eyeshadow.










Guards waiting before beginning flag lowering ceremony at the Pakistan-India border in Wargah.









In one of my new saris!



We are back in New York City, which seems remarkably cool at 87 degrees after Karachi. This morning I decided to get some chicken and marinade it in yogurt now that I am all about All Things South Asian…so I flipped open my only Indian cookbook. It opened to the page for Lahori Chicken and the author introduces the chicken by saying that 1) you haven’t been 'born' if you haven’t been to Lahore (Check!) and 2) Lahore is ‘Paris of the East’ (which I thought was Beirut, but whose counting) … anyway, this reminded me that I have yet to write about our visit to Lahore.

Lahore in the summer is about a million degrees. That’s the most salient point. It is also beautiful in a way that Karachi (sorry) is not. While Karachi seems to be in a permanent state of being ‘dug up’ (there are seemingly hundreds of unfinished buildings, on account of land poaching,), Lahore is all polished and pretty, in an Indian way. Colonial architecture, a gorgeous mosque, havelis and the Lahore Fort are all pretty impressive. One amusing thing is that I was sort of an attraction myself on Friday – there were a lot of villagers at the fort and zoo, where we went on Friday, and all the kids wanted to shake my hand. One woman in particular, see photo, followed me around the fort and wanted all sorts of photos with me. She even went so far as to whip out her makeup bag and doll me up.

One of the most interesting/fun things in all of Pakistan is in Wargah, the border crossing between India and Pak. Part sports match, part political theater – the border guards go through this insane pomp every night to take down the flags. It’s all the more impressive because while Pakistan has lost every war it takes on with India, all the locals get rowdy like they have never lost a fight in their lives….there are two court jesters who vigorously rouse the crowd with chants of ‘Zindebad Pakistan’ (Long Live Pakistan) to the point where even I was whipped into a little chanting fury myself. The guards themselves are pretty much the biggest men in all of the country while on the Indian side, the guys are real pee-wees, which is sort of funny. They goose-step, snort at each other, glare, etc … it’s all very machismo and excellent.

A few final thoughts on Karachi…what the city lacks in scenery and cosmetic charms, it makes up for in sea breezes, eating and shopping. I brought home a whole new wardrobe. People devote serious time to running around to the tailor, the fabric shop, the embroidery shop, the sandal shop, etc…I love it. In between all of it, they eat! If you’re even in Karachi you must eat at BBQ Tonight, possibly the most delicious, succulent chicken you’ll ever taste.

So now we’re home, I am unpacking all my goodies….our flight from Dubai flew across Iran and Russia, so the scenery was new and interesting for me on the way home.

I swear it's not all donkey carts and camel rides. (Though it is deeply pleasing to see donkeys and camels enlisted into service everywhere.) Karachi is like no other place I have ever been - for starters, like I mentioned, there are fewer 'westerners' than any other place I've been. Certainly the security situation doesn't make tourism compelling. Also, I have never been to an Islamic country, so you can hear call to prayers multiple times a day, there is no alcohol allowed in the country (they have a heady list of mocktails most places) and more men and women than I expected are dressed either under a full veil or with a long beard and prayer cap. That said, wind down a tiny street and you'll find posh cafes or boutiques. Yesterday Anjum got his scruff shaved off at the local Marriott (multiple security and bomb checks to just sit in the lobby!) and then we did some shopping at the mall. I got pottery bowels from a women's collective and blinged-out sandals. Anjum's mom is also making me a sari and salwhar kameeze, so I got measured for that. I should mention the weather: revolting. Screw monsoon. Damn hot and sticky. We're making a ticket to go to Lahore on Thursday and Friday for some sightseeing.

The awesome, awesome Himals. This is an 8,000+ peak but I can't remember the name.

We stopped along the Friendship Highway between Lhasa and Gygantse to play in these sand dunes. As it's early summer there are wildflowers everywhere in Tibet.

Towards the end of our trek we came to a small village that was abandoned except for this small woman spinning wool on a stick.

This here is a Yak. He is carrying my backpack on our trek, which is much better than me carrying my pack.

With our jasmine and rose garlands at the house of Anjum's grandmother....and riding a camel down Clifton Beach. I was forewarned that I might "squeal like a little girl" when the camel got up from the sand, and um....well, let me explain that I am definitely the only foreigner who is riding a camel on the beach. And I screamed pretty loudly when the camel got up. So the whole thing was kind of a spectacle. Yes, very fun.

Labels: Karachi Karachi

I will let the photos do the talking ... I have retroactively added some photos to prior posts and here's a little something somehting from the last 24 hours: Kathmandu to Karachi. We said goodbye to our Canadian friends, Jill (American), Charlotte and Leanne after some nightlife (hot! sweaty! reminscent of Cambodia!)
Here I am eating cotton candy with kids at the Monkey Temple in Kathmandu. The little minxes befriended us as guides. We treated them to lunch - ice cream, coke and pizza (their choice). I winced only a little at the end when they put the full court press for money at the end (mother is sick, father isn't working, etc...)They were pretty sweet and taught me how to pray to Hanuman