Dear Miscreants,

Please do not try to mislead me by dropping some currency notes.  And please, don't tell me that my money has fallen down.  I know better than that.  Miscreants may be rampant in Chennai, but I'm from Delhi.  We're wise to your game.  We've seen it all before.

I enjoyed myself last weekend; my middle school girls soccer team played well in their tournament.  But please-dropping some currency notes?  And trying to tell me that my money has fallen down!?  Give me a break!  Like I would let you steal my valise from right under my nose.  It would never happen.

The warm climes of tropical Chennai might lull some into a hazy blur, but not us Delhites.  Miscreants are a dime a dozen up here, my friends.  We will not be misled.

Your jig is up,
jason

Dear Uttarakhand,

Thanks for hosting me for two great weekends this past month!

For some, the prospect of an early morning train ride from Delhi to Dehradun and the return trip the next day didn't sound very promising.  Six o'clock AM?  Six and a half hours?  Coming back the next day?  Seems crazy.  But when I started to explain the reason why, the tone changed.  "You see, there's an independent filmmaker," I said.  "He's filming a movie about Indian ice hockey and he needs a 'Canadian' team to play against the Indians."  With that simple sentence two years of my Indian dreams started to come true.

You see Uttarakhand, I started playing hockey in Korea and fell in love with it.  Then I moved to Bangladesh where nothing is frozen.  Ever.  When I moved to India, I heard stories of an outdoor tournament in your northwestern neighbor Kashmir, I began to crave it.  My first two years, I wasn't able to go.  Another unfulfilled craving was my desire to be in a movie.  In the land of Bollywood, it seems that almost anyone can be in a movie.  Several friends were in Eat, Pray, Love, but I missed that too.

Then it all came together.  A call from the director to the Canadian High Commission, an email appeal for players, a solicitation for a goalie, a train ride to the mysteriously built rink in Dehradun and bam!  A two-fer.  But hey Uttarkhand, why did you build a full-sized ice rink that nobody uses anyway?  Seems weird.  Maybe Delhi.  Even Leh, in Kashmir where Indians actually play hockey.  That would make sense.  But I digress.  We arrived, goofed around, shot scenes for four hours then it was back to the hotel, and back to Delhi the next morning. Whirlwind, but totally worth it.  Thanks for the rink, maybe I'll be back.  You're a wonderful northern state, known as the Land of the Gods, but to me you'll be the land of my film debut.

Getting ready for my close-ups.  To all directors-Yes, I am available.

Wow!  Looks like I just saved the day!

Film secrets revealed.

So yeah, that could have been enough to make me love you Uttarakhand.  But just three weeks later, I was coming right back to you.  This time it was another whirlwind trip.  The transportation was classed up as we flew to Dehradun.  The fifteen minute flight from Delhi was exhausting, but luckily they served a snack.  Then it was an hour in the car to Mussoorie, The Queen of the Hills.  As I'm sure you know Uttarakhand, Mussoorie was a British Hill Station, and it was the entrance point into the Himalayas.  Thanks to our friends Jake and Kelly we had a place to stay while we explored another of your fine cities.  Although we were only there for one night, we still enjoyed walking(!) around, goofing off with other Indian tourists, taking chai breaks, riding the cable car and taking in gorgeous views(when the fog lifted).  You know Uttarakhand, my reputation from Dehradun must have preceded me because we also took part in a pretty important photo shoot.  Here are some of the best shots.

  


 

When I took this photo, the man behind me said, "Old is gold."

So anyway, thanks for some great times Uttarakhand.  I hope to visit with you again soon.

Tourist-ily yours,

jason

Dear Algae,

Wow, you really know how to ruin the party.

I was so excited for the annual staff retreat at Neemrana this year.  Visions of years past flooded my memory as I drove the two hours to arrive to the 700 year old fort palace.  As I whizzed the Opel Corsa past cows, donkeys, auto rickshaws, giant trucks, tiny motorbikes and other cars hellbent on getting out of Delhi, I was reminded of the trip undertaken in years past.  Such a gauntlet was necessary, perhaps, to enhance the peacefulness of the Neemrana property.

I knew that upon my arrival, I would be greeted with the white glove treatment-hot towels, cool drinks and all of the accoutrements of five-star service.  Then it would be off to the pool for drinks, card games and socializing with friends old and new!

Oh the pool! What a treat on those hot, hot Rajasthani days.

But you algae, you had other plans for us, didn't you?  You were so desirous in your pursuit of photosynthesis that you didn't account for the 60 or 70 of us that were interested in cool, clean, blue water.  "Blue water be damned," you screamed from the murky depths of what had previously been the Neemrana Fort Palace pool!  Algae, you had different ideas.  Perhaps your  green sheen should have reminded me of stories of envy and humility.  Perhaps I could have accepted Neemrana's inability to keep a pool clean.  Instead I was reminded of the dark green hue of the Incredible Hulk, indicative of the rage that was growing inside of me, ruining my weekend.  Had you been yellow instead of green, you may have inspired me to make lemonade, but instead algae, I was left with pea soup.

At least I have a story.

Hulked out,
jason

Dear Murphy Lake,

There goes the neighborhood.

Your new neighbor,
jason

Dear Grandmother,

First of all, thank you. Thank you for everything. It's hard to explain all of the things that I'm thankful for, so I'll try reverse chronological order.

Thank you for waiting for us. I know you were in pain for a long time, and I knew you were ready to go, so thank you. Thanks for enduring it for a bit longer until we arrived to see you this summer.

Thank you for winning the last game of cribbage that we got to play. I thought I was hot stuff when I beat you two days before that, but in classic Nancy Ann fashion, you were tough till the end and put me in my place. I always loved that about you. You could dish it out and you could take it. You calmly listened to my trash talk, then creamed me the very next game. I should have known better than to think that I could best you in cards.

Thanks for getting email. It was fun to send you letters from abroad and getting replies asking when I was coming home. I loved imagining the giant pile of free AOL discs on your desk that you kept to keep your Internet running.

Thanks for throwing me to the wolves at the Fon du Luth Casino. Those old ladies taught me the hard way about taking the dealer's ten.

Thanks for imprinting crazy images in my head like the "Grandma Nancy Ash" and "Lil' Toot."

Thanks for full cookie jars, Sunday dinners, trips to the races and humoring my imagination at the Lester Park Greenhouse as I pretended to be a jungle explorer.

Thanks for the pumpkin story and for exposing me to AM radio and true country and western music as we drove around town on one crazy adventure after another.

Thanks for not believing me when I broke my leg (kidding, i'm over it) and thanks for spoiling me rotten when I was the only grandchild.

Thanks for everything Grandmother, Granny, Gram, Fancy Nancy... I love you and I'm going to miss you more than I realize.

Gratefully yours,
jason

Dear Taking a Shower in America,

You are so awesome!  This is going to be a gushy love letter, but I just have to say it out loud.  Taking a Shower in America, you are so dreamy! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 


I love the way I can turn your hot water on and it comes right out of the tap!  I love your water pressure!  But most of all, I love how I can let the water wash all over me and swallow up mouthfuls without fear of typhoid, giardia or cholera!  What a treat!


Squeakily clean,
jason
xoxo

Dear Turkish Bath,

First of all, thanks yet again for a fantastic experience.  I'm so glad that you don't meet the stereotypical view of what many must think you are.  You did not feature a swarthy, mustachioed Turk twisting and contorting me into a world of pain.  You did not feature a room full of sweaty, dodgy men with eyes darting to and fro.  And you most certainly were not a gateway into Istanbul's dark world of hashish and crooked deals.

On the other hand, you were everything I hoped you would be.  I'm glad that we trusted your out-of-the-way location behind Suleymaniye Mosque.  It contributed to the privacy and peace we were looking for.  I'm grateful that your staff was kind and helpful.  The wooden slippers you gave us to help us from slipping on the marble floors of the hammam were well-intended, even if I thought they would cause me to topple over and meet my doom, rather than slip.

The 100 degree temperature in the hammam was just right, as we let the stresses of the year sweat out of our bodies.  Laying on the heated marble for forty minutes may have just a bit too long, but nobody passed out.  When the scrubbers came in a greeted us with a cascade of freezing cold water and a friendly laugh and smile, we again knew we'd chosen the right place.

And then we got down to business.  A great exfoliating scrub, hard but not too hard.  A luxurious, foamy soap down and massage, again hard but not too hard.  Another rinse, a quick dry, wrapped up like burritos and an apple tea to relax and it was over.

Hard to believe that ninety minutes had gone so quickly, but when we left, we were rejuvenated, happy and ready to continue our exploration of a great city.

Scrubbed and happy,
jason

Dear 1,000,000 miles,

I don't know exactly how to say this.  When you first came into my life in March of 2010, I never thought this would be the result of our relationship, but I now I find myself sitting here alone in my apartment without you.  I want to be angry, scream and shout about how you left me, but I know that wouldn't be fair.

It's not you, it's me.

I mean we had some fun times.  Some really incredible time, actually.  When that email came into my inbox asking for 3 reminder dates to send flowers and I'd have the chance for you to enter my life, I was skeptical.  I already had so much junk mail in my life at that time, I was nervous to let you in.  Against my nature, I let you in and you changed my life.

1,000,000 miles, when I think about that first summer together, I still get a huge smile on my face.  You gave me two Around-the-World tickets from Delhi with stops in Seoul, Tokyo, Minnesota, New York, Athens and Istanbul.  That would have been enough for anyone to be happy and fulfilled.  But, you went the extra step.  You also gave me a fourteen day car rental, two hotels in Athens, a hotel in Istanbul and an incredible hotel in a fairy castle cave in Cappadocia, Turkey!  I felt like John Travolta in Grease; summer lovin' indeed!

That autumn you just kept on giving.  A hotel room in Kuala Lumpur for a long weekend, a dodgy hotel room in Mumbai on the way home from our first safari in South Africa and two flights to BALI with a stopover in Bangkok!

Spring flowers blossomed, the birds started singing and we had two tickets booked to Krabi, Thailand.  We had been together for almost a year.  Maybe that's when I should have paid more attention to you, 1,000,000 miles.  I had taken you for granted.  You were slipping from my hands and I didn't even notice.

Now it's May, 14 months later and after a violent day of summer bookings (two Delhi-New York roundtrips, a sixteen day car rental and one last hotel room) and you're gone.

Thanks for everything, 1,000,000 miles.  We had a great run, but it's over.

Wistfully,
jason


Squirrel Nut Zippers - "It's Over"
Buy it here.

Dear Fever-Induced Roadhouse Facebook Status Live Blog,

Thanks for making me feel better.

On the mend,
jason

Dear Delhi Traffic,

I think you get a bad reputation.

Yesterday all of the eighth graders in our school went on  field trips to support the work they're doing on their integrated capstone project.  The group we took went to North Delhi to visit a rehabilitation center for bonded child laborers and a medical facility in a low-income area.

Beyond the obvious, interesting nature of the projects we were visiting, it meant that we had to face you, Delhi Traffic.  From school, the journey to North Delhi would last 90 minutes.

That would make most people cringe, but not me Delhi Traffic.  I think you're great.  Anywhere else in the world and that much time in a bus would be boring, but you have so much going on that it's like watching a movie.

The ninety minutes went by in a flash as we traveled and you kept me entertained.  Thanks!

But...your next segment really showcased your double-edged treachery, Delhi Traffic.  A 45 minute jaunt changed into a TWO HOUR delay.  Did you disappoint?  Of course not.  In that one hundred and twenty minutes (and 15? kilometers), you gave me centuries-old tombs and forts, three weddings, a flood, ox-carts, water buffalo, innumerable cows, the buzz of street life and one of my most favorite recent photos.

Like I said before Delhi Traffic, I think you get a bad rep.

Awestruck,
jason

ps.  Here are some pictures of your traffic-caused entertainment to send your family.

Dear Holy Cows,

I was just in the kitchen getting more coffee when I saw one of you pass by my window.  You know what Holy Cows, it never gets old.  I crack up every time I see you.   I know that I should be used to it, but every time I see you, I think to myself, "Wow! There's a cow!"  I'm smiling right now, just thinking about it.

In my backyard, in the streets, at the mall-you're everywhere.  Awesome.   Here's to you Holy Cows.

On the way to work

My first Holy Cows, 2006

Getting close and personal

Orchha

Bovine-ily yours,

jason

Dear Colorful Indian Lamps,

You know what, Colorful Indian Lamps? I think you're great.

When I first saw you in 2006 in Varanasi and took two of you back to Korea with me, I thought you were great. I mean, how cool?  Exotic Indian lamps in my apartment in the ROK.   I was so excited for you to be on the porch that I took the door off in order to allow you join us in the living room.

(Those doors were heavier than they looked.)

People always asked about you when they'd come to visit and I'd brag about finding you in India.  They loved you; I loved you.  But, I should have taken better care of you.  You would often fall to the floor and I would get lazy about putting you back up.  After one such fall, combined with a party mishap, you took a bad hit.

(Pictured: Colored Indian Lamp Staining Agent)

At that time, I figured that was it.  You'd be stained for life and I'd never have a chance to replace you.  Little did I know that I'd end up living in your homeland.

Since moving here, I've seen you hundreds of times Colorful Indian Lamps.  I've admired you, thought about that day in Varanasi when I bought you and all those times spent on the porch in Korea.  But, I haven't replaced you.  You're still sun-faded and wine-stained in a drawer.

Today, I went to the Surajkund Mela and you were in your full glory!  You were everywhere and I couldn't take enough photos of you.

But I still didn't replace you.  I'm not sure why I haven't taken you out of your drawer, or added any more Colorful Indian Lamps to my life.

Do you know what?  Maybe I should.

Vibrantly,
jason

Dear Indian Republic Day,

First of all, thank you soooo much for happening on a Wednesday this year. That was really cool. You changed Monday into Thursday, Tuesday into Friday, Thursday into Monday, but really the new Monday/Thursday was still Thursday so Friday was Friday. Which obviously made for two really short work weeks.

Even though I didn't get to go to your parade because there weren't any tickets left at the Ashok, I probably wouldn't have wanted to battle the masses for the seven a.m. arrival just to sit around and wait for the 9:30 start time. Also, since you wouldn't have let me bring my camera any way (security/schmcurity), I probably wouldn't have been that happy.

I did watch your parade on television though and as usual your pomp and circumstance was sensational. I loved the tanks, the fly-overs, the bands and the floats, but the stand-out this year was by far the float that showcased the Chemical Explosion Response Team. The giant papier-machee man with gas mask being escorted out of the chemical factory was cool. But because this was Indian Republic Day, you went over the top and had people on the float reenacting the whole scene live. Now, while some may say that showcasing an exploding chemical factory may be unsettling, I know that it's even more reassuring to know that if when it happens, the response team will be there.

Indian Republic Day, thanks for the day off. And thanks for the parade. But let's get to the main event. Thank you sooo much for barbecue in Malcha Marg.

Wowsers. A day off is great, but when the weather in India changes from the dismal winter cold to the beautiful (but short) spring, it's really great! To celebrate the weather (and Indian pride) we headed to the roof to cook some meat and enjoy the company of friends.

And just when it couldn't have gotten any better, it did. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the upswell in national pride or maybe it was the desire to eliminate carbs, but the conditions were perfect. We decided to go chemical explosion float and take it over the top.

I'm talking of course about the brotdog.





Indian Republic Day, without you, the brotdog wouldn't be blowing minds right now. I owe you one.

Deliciously over the top,
jason

Dear Strangest Hotel Experience Ever,

When we arrived at 8:30pm to your hotel, the Merisess, we thought we'd drop our bags and head out in search of some classic Bangkok street food. Then we'd settle in to your elegantly simple boutique hotel bed and drift off into sleep.

But, on that night, in that exotic city there was a mystery afoot.

We managed to slip right past you with our clever use of American Airlines frequent flier miles; your email receiving capabilities were tested to their limits. What to do? I maintained that we had a reservation and you maintained that you had a full hotel. The game was on! The way you made us wait for an hour while you picked up your magnifying glass, played your best Dr. Watson, scoured my voucher and your computer system for our reservation was truly captivating. And just when we started to question ourselves, you called in your Mr. Holmes, the Sherlock of the Sukhumvit. He encouraged you to check your "other email account" and sure enough, the mystery was solved. We had, in fact booked a room. But what to do? How to solve the mystery? The rooms were full!

Well luckily Mr. Holmes, the owner of the hotel, had another property across town. We were whisked into a taxi, the driver was told of the secret route and we were given the number of Mr. Mike.

Ah, Mr. Mike. The associate of our great problem solver. "Meet Mr. Mike in front of the Starbucks, which will be closed. He will take care of you from there." I have to admit, Strangest Hotel Experience Ever, at this point the scene from Pulp Fiction did creep into my mind. "Take care of us?" Were you planning on icing us? Or were you just going to put us into another hotel? When we pulled up in front of the 50+ story State Tower, I had the feeling that it would be the former, and not the latter. The State Tower IS NOT a hotel.

In his best Peter Lorre impression, Mr. Mike informed us that we would be staying in the boss's apartment that night. We were brought up to the 44th floor, given a key and entered a giant, furnished apartment. It was nice to look at, and had a great view, but it was very unsettling to see two bottles of water, hotel soap and cheap hotel towels on the counter. Our fears were not assuaged when you told us the the room was kept by the hotel for "emergencies" and that the "boss sometimes slept here." Your parting words of, "if you need anything, just go down to the front desk and ask them to call Mr. Mike" left us wondering just how exactly are you connected to our Sherlock Holmes? And also, how exactly does one become a Mr. First Namer? And what exactly was this place that you decided to send us to? The "emergency" apartment?

After checking every room, cabinet and closet to ensure that we weren't about to be killed, we wandered out to the balcony and looked down on the Shangri-La Hotel where we had first met. Fitting, just days after our one-year anniversary. And just then, fireworks shot up from a barge on the river. Huh. Strange.

After locking, dead-bolting and security bolting the door, we went to sleep. We woke up anxious to check in to the real hotel and called Mr. Mike. He asked us if we were comfortable during the night, we weren't sure how to answer the question and we headed back to the Merisess. Mystery solved, another success for the Great Holmes and Watson. We figured you'd be waiting with apologetic eyes, a fruit basket and a room ready. But that would have been too predictable, wouldn't it? That's not the way you do things. You slyly took the upper hand and had us wait for 30 minutes until the room was ready. Thanks for that.

Awkwardly uncomfortable still,
jason