Round 2, Delhi–Fight! India part 9 fin.:

June 4, 2006 at 10:38 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | 1 Comment

Know that this post was deleted, before it could be typed, and thus has been retyped.

I arrived in Delhi from McLeod Ganj early (6:30) Saturday morning. The bus left the same time the previous night. I was seen off by Kimiko, Chie, and Javid (manager of my guest house). Javid warned me, "When you get to Delhi your rickshaw should only be about twenty rupees to your hotel. (I had a booked a hotel in advance). If you can take a cycle-rickshaw for only ten rupees, because auto-rickshaw will drive you all over in circles before they take you to your hotel, and then you will have to pay more." It was a bit sad to leave Kimi, and Chie. They got me a Tibetan travelling shawl, which is a simple white silk shawl that ensures safety when travelling.

On the bus I was patently cramped. And wasn't able to sleep much, as my legs simply do not fit in the space provided. Herve, a wonderful Swiss gentleman whom I ran into in every city I stayed, was also on my bus, although far in the back and I was up front. He would be continuing on to Benares by train from Delhi.

Our bus had two stops in Delhi: one near a Tibetan colony, and one in Connaught place. Both Herve and I would be getting off at Connaught place. At the first stop most of the passengers got off, and waiting for them like midnight bugs to a light were the auto-rickshaw drivers. As soon as the passengers were off I never saw them again, they were eaten alive by overpriced fares to places not far away, and Pan(a type of Indian chewing tobaco that stains the teeth and aliva red)-stained teeth. And then like pups in search of another tit to draw milk from, the rickshaw drivers started shouting onto the bus, this is your last stop.

Of course we all knew that it wasnt, but one girl (and her boyfriend whome she ordered aroudn) of lesser will than I and those who remained, crumbled and suffered the same fate as those who had gone before her. The rickshaw drivers started to grow hungrier, and one came onto the bus, "This is last stop. Next stop is closed." "The stop cant be closed, its a street in Delhi," came the zinging response of a female passenger. I applauded here in my mind. But they didn't stop, they kept coming. I started to get aggravated, and told them, "You are not my bus-driver, and you are a liar. You are trying to cheat us, and I do not believe you." It was like my wrathless Holy Spirit, whenever they began to talk I unleashed its fury upon them; you shall have no meal upon my back heathen!

Surely enough our bus soon departed for the next stop, but it would not be Connaught Place as intended, instead we were dropped at Bhagat Singh Market. As I stepped off of the bus and into the evil that is rickshaw I was recounting what Javid had told me, but I was not in Connaught Place, and I did not know how far Bhagat Singh Market was from my hotel. I told Herve he could come to my room to hang out, and shower, since his train to Benares would not be until the early evening, so him and I arraned a rickshaw. The driver said eighty, and we got him down to seventy (no great feat).

When we got into the rickshaw the driver's friend joined him up front. At this point the story takes a strange twist, as the fool turned the meter on. This was the first time that I had seen a meter being used in India, and needless to say, I was surprised. A mintue into our ride the driver stopped at a rickshaw pool and shouted in Hindi to his vermin brethren. I cannot be sure of what he said, but based on his 'up up' hand-motion, I assume that he was alerting him to the tourists around the corner who could be (up up) overcharged for a rickshaw ride. The ride continued for only a few more minutes, and when we arrived at the hotel the meter read: 2km, 12.5 rupees. I whispered to Herve and we agreed to go by the meter–Duh.

This is the secene as it unfolded in front of the hotel when we got out. I did most of the talking, being as I was quite angry, and willing to let my temper fly on this scumbag a bit, with Herve occasionally interjecting that the meter said 13 rupees:

Zachary: (hands rickshaw driver twenty rupees, speaking with reserved aggravation) Do you think I'm stupid?

Rickshaw Driver: (smiling) Cost is seventy rupees.

Z: The meter said thirteen rupees, be happy that I'm giving you twenty rupees. 

Rickshaw Driver's Friend: (resets, and turns off meter) Meter is Crap!

RD: You pay me Seventy Rupees!

Herve: Ze meter said sirteen rupees.

Z: No, I pay you twenty rupees. You drove us five minutes, it was two kilometers, and the meter said twelve and a half rupees…

RDF: Meter is Crap! 

Z:…Keep this up and I'll take my money back and give you nothing.

RD: You pay me seventy rupees now!

Z: (points index and middle finger into RD's averted eyes, and then his own, becoming enraged) You look at me! I'm not some stupid fucking gringo. The meter said twelve and a half rupees…

RDF: Meter is crap!

Z:… I'm not paying you seventy rupees. You are a liar, and you are trying to cheat me. Either get lost or I'll go call the police.

RD: You want police? (motions to rickshaw) Come on I take you police.

Z: (eyes widening with anger, assesing whether RD, and RDF pose a physical threat) Fuck you. You're lucky I'm paying you at all. We're leaving now.

(Herve and Zachary walk into hotel. RD and RDF remain, angered and somewhat dumbfounded.)

In India if you are resolute, you get what you want, when you what want, for the price that you wish to pay. At any point on my trip I could have stolen, refused to pay, or bargained prices down further, but you have to measure money (which is quite cheap) against morals, and patience (which do not exist in a universe of price.)

Inside the hotel Herve and I partook in the buffet breakfast which was outstanding. I helped myself to countless bowls of fruit, and glasses of watermelon juice. I arranged an earl check-in, and we went up to the room. I showered, shaved (with a razor) and then napped, while Herve showered and then read.

When I woke up we walked over to Rikhi Ram music shop. Rikhi Ram sold instruments to the creme-de-la-creme of Indian classical music. He also sold George Harrison a sitar. There are countless pictures on the wall. Rikhi Ram is dead, but his son runs the shop now, and he is no less mixed up in the Indian Classical music scene, and whatever foreigners it attracts. I purchased a Benares Dayan (the wooden drum), and what looks to be a Delhi Bayan (the metal drum).

When we returned to the hotel we watched t.v. for a bit and I napped again. When I awoke herve said that he would leave for the train station, so I walked him downstairs. I spent the rest of the night relaxing, and had a wonderful buffet dinner that was capped off with Italian chocolate cake, mango brulee, mango tart, gulab jamun (an indian dessert), and a cup of green tea.

My time in India has been something quite remarkable. I never could have imagined a place quite like this, and I am lucky to have been here.

I miss Kimiko and Chie. I dreamt that they came to visit me at the hotel. My flight leaves tomorrow morning at 2:10 AM. I leave from the hotel tonight around 10:00 PM. I miss you America. See you soon.


Tibetan Reggae covers, global village, and beggars India part seven:

June 2, 2006 at 05:07 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | 1 Comment

Last night I heard the sounds of live music blasting out of the opposite side of the valley that I am in. I looked out mf window and determined that it was coming from "Chew and View", a restaurant situated on said cliff. The music was quite loud, and it was the first time that I had heard a trap kit since my arrival in India. the music continued for arond two hours, and at one point shifted from Tibetan intoned rock music, to Bob Marley covers. It was surreal, and humorous to hear the Tibetanly pronounced lyrics of this Jamaican masthead. Bob Marley is quite popular here, perhaps because of his peacable message?

Today is my last day in McLeod Ganj, I will leave for Delhi by overnight tourist bus at 6:30 Pm. THe bus arrives at 6:30 AM, which I am not terribly excited about, and I can check into my hotel room at 12:00 PM. I am hoping that they have running hot water showers–rinsing my soap off without a cteady stream of water, and having to use one hand to pour the water, and one to rinse, is a bit difficult. I made the mistake of bringing a soap that does not rinse easily, and the hard water here does not treat my showers kindly.

Of course, I will have lunch at Lung Ta again.

The other day I bought milk for a shoe-shine boy.  He had a sob-story, that may or may not have been true, about how his father takes all the money that he makes shining shoes and spends it on alcohol. The sob-story didn't even register, as it is impossible to tell if the begging children are valiant liars, or in fact afflicted misfortunates. The boy tried to convince me to buy the largest powdered milk that the store had, which costs eighty-five rupees–eighty five rupees is a few cents short of two dollars. I refused, as this was a rather brazen proposal on his part. For me to buy him the milk that he asked for–aside from being against my personal dietary philosophy–would be the equivalent of a homeless person asking me to take them to the cheesecake factory, and me agreeing. I wound up buying him one quart of milk, despite his pleas that it would only last one day. Over the course of my milk-purchasing a crowd of beggars gathered around me, and as I turned to leave the shop they all assailed me for money, one young girl grabbed my arm. There are three different kinds of beggars: the ones who cannot work, the ones who do work, and the ones who can work but do not. The girl that grabbed my arm was capable of working, and my reaction to her was rather harsh–I yanked my arm away and shouted.

It is a bit of a struggle trying to sort out how to deal with beggars here. You cannot give to everyone, so you have to meter who you give to. I, almost exclusively, give to the lepors, it is clear that they cannot work–most have no fingers, or toes, and if they do they are certainly not functioning digits. The same people are out on the streets everyday touting light skinned people with, "Hello. Namaste. Hello Sir. Hello. Hello…" and when you don't give they usually say something in Hindi afterwards.

I gave to a man on crutches in Manali, and he started complaining to me, in Hindi, and gesturing to give him more money. I told him, "Fuck you, you punks-ass bitch." He definitely didn't understand what I said, and he went on to harass another person in the same manner as hed had me. The abiity to use language like that is a strange thing. 

 On the topic of language: English in India is a strange thing. The notion of grammar and spelling that exists here is some notion of hearsay and conjecture.

 I spent a good deal of time yesterday in a Thanka shop. For thos of you who do not know, Thankas are Tibetan Buddhist paintings that depict either deities, or meditation/prayer mandalas. The symbols used are born of a rich vocabulary that resembles high-art cartoon illustration. I learned yesterday that Buddhism was brought to tibet by a monk, who's name I cannot remember, who overpowered the traditional practice of witchcraft and superstitious vampirism, et cetera. This explains the existence of the dark/ferocious/evil deities depicted in Thankas. The shop owner and I talked about the state of India, and he lamented how most of its rich culture is devalued to such a degree by its inhabitants, that the "cream of the cream" has to leave to other countries in order to survive off of their skills/trade. He feels that the West is getting a lot of the good things that India has to offer: music, yoga, painting, philosophy, et cetera, but India is only getting the bad things: sex, nudity, bad music. I think if you asked a younger generation they would disagree with him. For his generation the West has little to offer that is of any value, because he is justly, and appropriately affirmed in his notion of life within India. However, for the youth life begins with the notion of the West through its presence, and they seek for more of it because it is new and different. On some level I can agree, as I noted in an earlier post, India's classical culture is beautifu, but its modern culutre is likened to a pubescent boy in high school as it tries to fit into a global culture.

No one’s dogs, India part eight:

June 1, 2006 at 04:58 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | 1 Comment

The last couple of days have been quite nice. Although my stomach virus has not subsided I continue to champion local eating efforts.

I have been frequenting a local vegetarian Japanese restaurant that serves tasty, authentic Japanese food. The atmosphere is great, as people lounge about long after they have finished eating. The restaurant–Lung Ta–has a sizeable library of books available for reading (although they are in Japanese). They also have Bancha–roasted green tea–which is a much welcomed addition to my day, it is difficult to find decent tea in India.

I went to another concert last night, but didn't really enjoy it. I was feeling quite antsy, and couldn't get comfortable, but I managed to sleep through a good deal of the concert–one of my favorite pastimes.

About the local dog packs:

Dogs are everywhere roaming about, eating things, pooping, and peeing. In keeping with the rest of India the dogs are a bit weary of people, as many people hit dogs. However, the dogs here in McLeod Ganj seem to be treated quite well in comparison. During the day they are out and about, but not too active. As soon as it gets dark out they start to go nuts; darkness coordinates with the withdrawal of the majority of human presence, as there are no street lights. So, once the people leave the dogs start being dogs: rummaging through trash or piles of discarded produce *interesting/disgusting side note: There are five or six produce vendors on the main street in town. They all sell the same stuff. At the end of the day they take the plastic crates that their produce is stored in, stack them up, put tarps over them, secure the tarps, and go home. Cows and dogs inevitably try to get into the crates with no success. The gross thing is that I saw one of the produce vendors using his produce-cutting knife to pick dirt out of his toenails.*, running a muck, and lots of barking. Bed time is always ushered by an unfaltering drone of distant barking. I can only imaginge the fun that the dogs have when the people are sleeping. I have spotted two boss dogs that seem to do whatever they want. One Golden retrieverish dog (they are all mutts of some degree) wandered into a concert and approached several people insisting on being scratched and petted, putting its paw out in a request for affection. Another dog, white with black and brown spots on the face and posterior, wandered into a restaurant and sat down at my feet insisting on being scratched. I scratched the dog and then it just sat quitely at my feet while Kimi, Chie and I ate dinner. At some point it was captivated by something, let out a loud bark, and ran out the door. It shortly returned and plopped right back down under our table. I have seen both of these dogs chase after cars, and motorcycles barking in a "Get the fuck out ma hood!" manner. No one feeds the dogs, or pays them much attention aside from the occasional "get lost" smack.

I still miss lettuce, and I also now miss beer, and wine. We really have it good in America. 

Not much is new. I leave tomorrow night on an overnight bus for Delhi, where I will spend one night in a hotel. After that I wake up on Sunday, try to get  a late checkout and leave my bags at the hotel, fart around for a few hours, take a taxi to the airport on Sunday night, and fly home at 2:15 A.M. on Monday.

Enjoy your day. 

Eat/shit, India part six:

May 30, 2006 at 08:08 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | Leave a comment

So I've had a bit of a stomach virus for the last couple of days, but this is the end of it. It wasn't so bad, because I could still eat no problem.

Here is a list of things that you might not realize to bring with you if you travel to India:

1.) Small Flashlight. Why you ask? Because there are no street lights, and if you are walking around at night, you need to see where you are going–mainly to avoid holes, and poopoo.

2.) Extra pair of sandals or sneakers. Why you ask? Well, this only applies to those who wear a size 9 or larger, as these 'big size' shoes are quite difficult to come by. So, just in case you should have some kind of mishap with your shoes…as I said.

3.) Duct tape. It's just stupid to travel without duct tape.

4.) Chopsticks. Why you ask? If you eat with chopsticks you will have a hard time finding them here.

Some things that are easy to find that you might not think would be:

1.) Toiletries of any kind.

2.) Internet cafes with card readers (for digital cameras).

3.) Places to have digital photos developed.

4.) ATMs.

I had another tabla lesson today, and when I picked up my bag to get money to pay my instructor there was a tick on it–not a happy thing.

I have been drinking three or four papaya juices, or papaya lassis everyday for the past three days in lieu of my stomach virus.

I had Thai food yesterday, and it was better than any Thai food that I have eaten in the United States of America. Today I'm having Japanese food for lunch.

I watched Broken Flowers yesterday at one of the three local movie theaters. It was a good movie, but perhaps I am partially biased towards anything that Bill Murray does because I find great pleasure in his comedic style.

I am still enjoying McLeod Ganj. My only gripes are the incessant beggars, who don't remember that you've told them "no," one hundred times, or given them money one hundred times, and the abuse of car horns, which happens to aggravate me for some reason.

I have five days left here, and it certainly 'flew by'. I am excited to start school, and see some of my special people before I leave for New York.

So wet, India part five:

May 28, 2006 at 07:00 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | 2 Comments

Yesterday was mostly uneventful, until Kimiko, Chie, and I ventured out for a oncert fof North India classical music. Just as we were about to leave it started pouring, and then hailing. After the hail stopped we decided to start walking towards where we thought the concert was taking place. Much to our dismay our five minute walk became a thirty minute walk, and the drizzle that we had left under didn't hesitate in becoming a downpour with more hail.

By the time we arrived at the concert hall we were all thouroughly soaked, and quite cold. Upon arrival we were told that the concert was cancelled, but we were invited into the hall to rest since we were soaked and had come so far. Thankfully the performers did arrive, and we were treated to three ragas, two with flute and tabla,  and one jugalbandi with shenhai, sitar, and tabla. The music was certainly nice.

We had to leave the concert a bit earl so that we would be able to eat food, as it was late at this point and restaurants were beginning to close. We wound up eating at a less than decent restaurant, where I ordered falafel and hummus with pita. When the waiter brought food out he dropped my pita on the floor, and in a thinly veiled attempt to fool me into believing he would get new bread he went into the back and returned a moment later with bread that was toasted, but not too warm. I didn't complain, at that point I was so wet, and my shoes were so soaked that I didn't feel it was too important to fuss over some drity bread.

My shoes are still wet, and I have to go and look for some place to dry them. there was hail as big as strawberries, or grapes. 

Emphasis on eagles, altitude, and clouds, India part four:

May 27, 2006 at 03:55 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | Leave a comment

I don’t know if I can stress the immaculate wonder of the place that I am currently staying. The altitude repeatedly leaves me thoughtless every time I look out across the mountains:

1.) Pink House is a three story–with accesiable roof–guest house situated on a slope within the Himalayan mountain range. It is surrouned by other guest houses which are situated in the same format. The wonder lies in accessing the roof–when you are on top of the roof you are at the same height , or a bit lower, as the flight path of the local birds (eagles, large crows, various finches, and other birds that I cannot identify). This morning I had a pot of tea on the roof and there were eagles flying around no more than thirty feet from where I was sitting. I am perpetually awed by this.

2.) If I look out–I think to the West, although I’m not quite sure–I can see the ridge of a nearby mountain, but beyond that there is zero visibility. The reason why I cannot see past the mountain is because of clouds. I am so high up from sea level–Florida–that I am where the clouds are, this concept is mind-boggling.

It has been quite difficult to find a decent pot/cup of tea here in India; chai abounds, but for those of us who prefer the fidelity of a fine full leaf brew there is little accomodation. As luck would have it though, my guest house serves a peculiar full-leaf green tea. They call it Kashmiri green tea, and it has notes of cinnamon, clove, and corriander in the bouquet, as well as up fropnt in the palette. It finishes with a subtle notion of warm clove.

I have decided that going out in mid-afternoon here is a bad idea–traffic is at its peak, thus exhaust fumes are as well. This wouldn’t be so bad if walking didn’t put me within inches of every vehicle, and its exhaust pipe; havoc for the lungs and the body.

I went yesterday with Chie and Kimiko to try and make arrangements to meet with the Dalai Lama, but we had no luck. Next time.

Last night I went to a concert of Tibetan folk music that was certainly taking place at some degree of fantastichood. The concert was a solo recital, and began in the dark because the power went out. After two songs with a two-stringed folk violin–that is quite similar to the chinese er-hu–the fellow performing proceeded to treat us to performances on two different types of lutes–one small with a low dynamic, and high pitch, and one large with a beefier dynamic, and lower pitch– coupled with singing, as well as two different flutes, and more violin songs. The concert took place at the local school in a concrete room, where we sat on faintly raised platforms, and watched our entertainer play before a wall painted with mountains and clouds, and adorned with a shrine for the Dalai Lama.

Of considerable import are the many colors and varieties of yak, and sheep hair socks–all are considerably well-colored and come in a variety of shapes, including one with a toe sleeve for use with sandals.

Prolifity increases, India part three:

May 25, 2006 at 13:08 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | Leave a comment

I am now in Mcleod Ganj. Commonly referred to as Dharamsala, because its in the same vicinity, Mcleod Ganj is home to the Dalai Lama and many things Tibetan. The scenery here is nothing short of spectacular, being that I am accustomed to a flat Florida panoram. On my way to the internet cafe, that I am currently typing from, I saw the snowy crest of a distant mountain peeking out from behind a closer mountain.

There is Tibetan food everywhere, and I had what may have been my best meal yet in India–a simple vegetable, tofu, and noodle soup. The wonderful thing was the fresh greens–spinach–which seem to be impossible to come by. It is probably difficult to imagine how good leafy greens taste when all of your meals have been quite oily and dense for the last 2.5 weeks. A common Tibetan food that I have become quite fond of is momos. Momos are the Tibetan version of dumplings, plain and simple.

I will be spending the next eight or nine days here in Mcleod Ganj at 'Pink House'–my guest house. I've been practicing tabla regularly, working on a few small drawings, and reading at a terribly slow pace.

Yesterday when I was at the bank:

Me: What time is it?

Indian Security Guard: It is eight twenty o'clock.

Language makes itself into a wonderous thing.

The drums, and the snakes,India part two:

May 24, 2006 at 08:54 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | Leave a comment

Yet again I wrote a lengthy post that failed, so this is a truncated version of my recent past:

1.) I am now travelling with two wonderful young ladies from Japan: Kimiko, and Chie.

2.) I am currently in Vashist, which is quite “up there” in the Himalayas. From my guest house–and the rest of the town–Everest is clearly visible. Vashisht has snake charmers, and every time the cobra charmer asks me if I want to see the cobra I give a flustered “No,” and mutter that someone is gong to die.

3.) Tonight we leave to go to Macleod Ganj, the largest Tibetan community in India, and the home of the Dalai Lama.

4.) A glass of fresh fruit jiuce costs only twenty rupees (fifty cents).

5.) There are many different bargaining styles here, you have to figure out which one is going to work best, and then milk it for every rupee you can have discounted.

6.) All of the restaurants in these tourist areas serve Chinese, Italian, Israeli, and ‘Continental’ food. Some serve Mexican, all do it Indian style.

7.) Men are always acknowledged first in a restaurant.

8.) Marijuana grows on the side of the road like a weed.

9.) India is a lot like the U.S., but with less roads, and more people. And cows everywhere. Other than that it’s exactly the same. People of all types of social class are out and about making a living, having a vacation, and just enjoying themselves. Perhaps one difference is the result of being poor, in the U.S. being poor is a gravy train compared to what poor people here deal with every day (the labor they toil in, and the conditions they live under).

10.) The contemporary Indian Aesthtic–in all forms from fashion, to architecture–is attrocious. It seems like the classical Indian style had so much character that was expertly crafted, and finely tuned, but all of the attention and skill is lost in its ability to adapt to the contemporary world. I liken contemporary India to a pubescent child, in a global sense–it is struggling to fit into the world, and take part, but it can’t figure out how to make what is distinctly ‘India’ work within this context. For example, sex is fashioned everywhere in India, however it is practiced only between married couples. To have sex before marriage is not acceptable, but the image that is presented is not one of an abstinent place.
11.) I’m having a great time, doing a lot of contextualizing, and learning. Sorry I haven’t written more often.

It aint a shower, it’s a bucket (India part one)…

May 14, 2006 at 14:11 | Posted in from within the "India"!? | 5 Comments

India premier:

Because I already wrote an extremely lengthy post about India–which did not load, and was lost–this is going to be a numbered list event.

1.) I am met at the airport in Delhi by Shiv Sahai, he takes me back to his apartment where he lives with his wife Vijnay, his mother, and his father. Shive Plays tabla, his dad plays sarangi–a type of Indian violin.
2.) I spend my first two nights, and three days in Delhi.
3.) Shiv’s across the hall neighbor wants me to take her beautiful niece back to America with me–sorry.
4.) Delhi is about as safe as the Bronx at 3 A.M. in a klan hood, mad skeezers.
5.)Shive takes me to buy a tabla in some beat-ass alleyway. The tabla maker’s ‘shop’ is a hole in the wall that is literally filled with dayan (the wooden drum).
6.)The roads in India are insanity. This is what is on Indian roads: cows, cars, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, auto rickshaws–covered three wheel scooters, cars, buses of various sizes, people walking, and people hauling all kinds of overflowing carts. The roads outside of Delhi that I travelled on are two lanes wide, and it takes forever to get anywhere.
7.) On driving the roads in India: welcome to Mad Max. The only law that is obeyed is stopping at red lights. Driving on the opposite side of the road is totally fine. Horns are measured in disuse, as they are used for spatial indication, thus horns are always blaring.
8.) Shower=bucket of water that you pour over yourself. Toilet=porcelain hole that you squat over. I must admit that both of these are not bad, although it took me a bit to get over the stigma of wiping my butt with my hand (I didn’t poop for two days).
9.)I saw no other light people in Delhi.
10.) I poopoo Delhi.
11.) Rishiskesh is full of foreigners, but not many Americans. There are lots of European hippies here. In my opinion they are filthy–cigarette butts everywhere, trash everywhere–but I supose that thye fit right in.
12.) You thought that the Ganges was a holy river? So did I, but that doesn’t stop the literal mountainside of garbage that flows into it.
13.) I thought cows were holy too, but that excludes the times when people are hitting them, sometimes with sticks.
14.) The staff at the guest house where I am staying is amazingly friendly, and enthusiatic.
15.) American capitalism is a wonderful thing, because my hard-earned dollars go quite far. One night in a guest house=120 rupees=three dollars. I can drink two glasses of fresh pineapple juice for a little less than a dollar.
16.) 95% of signage is handmade. Margaret Kilgallen would have shit herself.
17.) If I don’t have your address already please email me. Conceptual postcards mailing tomorrow.
18.) It is wonderful here please do not worry for me, I am wishing you all the best while I am abroad. 

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