The crotch of your pants must not sit higher than your knees.
When the waiter brings you your menu, ask for a flute instead. You know he has one. If not, try the tabla.
A bongo is your perfect accessory.
Poi is the highest form of dance.
All health issues can be solved by reiki, ayurveda or deep-breathing techniques.
Grooming must be limited to dreadlock-maitenance and keeping up your suntan.
Have you rediscovered your birth memories yet? Well what are you waiting for?
If it's not an earth-tone, it's not a colour.
Children are meant to be naked. Period.
-Amelia (Ben, will add to this, I'm sure).
Friday, January 18, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Those darned kids with their video-whatsits and their i-dingys!
Alright, another handful of pictures have gone up on my facebook, so you know what that means ladies and gentlemen: ask those pesky rapscallions that you call your offspring to show you what a facebook is.
And no chastising comments on my captions, I can only be so tame. Just trust me when I say that yes, I know what I'm doing, and no I am not in fact an idiot and I am not, contrary to popular belief, an irresponsible young man/and or hooligan(It's not popular belief mom don't worry, all my friends' parent love me, mostly, I was just making a joke.). So chill out, do whatever it is that you do to relax, and enjoy the pictures.
I hope you like em'.
Edit:
This is the lnk to the album for all of you without facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=82340&l=af0ef&id=531255270
And no chastising comments on my captions, I can only be so tame. Just trust me when I say that yes, I know what I'm doing, and no I am not in fact an idiot and I am not, contrary to popular belief, an irresponsible young man/and or hooligan(It's not popular belief mom don't worry, all my friends' parent love me, mostly, I was just making a joke.). So chill out, do whatever it is that you do to relax, and enjoy the pictures.
I hope you like em'.
Edit:
This is the lnk to the album for all of you without facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=82340&l=af0ef&id=531255270
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
where love was more intense because it seemed like a shipwreck
Flashback to Mumbai, since I never got around to telling you about the Bollywood fiasco that Jo and I got ourselves into. It goes something like this:
All tourists who come to Mumbai head to the same city district, Colaba, mostly because of the multitudes of not-so-expensive hotels, English style pubs, and the chances of meeting your own kind. But they also come with the hopes of making it into the background of a high-budget Bollywood movie, happily doing their part as the token white person. Now really, if you're not Indian, all you have to do is walk down the street (and be at least marginally good looking) and you'll be snatched up by some agent trying to make his quota of blonde haired girls for the big party scene that's being shot the next day.
So the three of us are shoe-ins. We were "spotted" and agreed to do a day of extra work at one of the main Bollywood studios. 9:00 am- 6:00 pm, five hundred rupees, free water, meals and transportation, plus a chance at fame.
When Jo and I both woke up with oozing bowels (sorry, but it's true) on the morning of our shoot, we knew the day was doomed. We tried to weasle our way out, but the agent guilted us into coming by saying that his job was on the line. This may or may not have been true, but we got our act together and waddled out of the hotel in great pain.
This is when he dropped the bomb on us -- in fact, it was only the first of many bombs -- that only Ben was needed in the Bollywood movie. So instead of the star-studded fame we had envisioned, Jo and I, along with two girls from New York, were to be shipped off to a smaller studio, where we would play small parts in an Indian family sitcom. It was a big disappointment, but we went along with it. I have a feeling one of us probably spouted that most optomistic of phrases, "Well, at least it's an experience!".
It was a good hour's journey to the lot, and the place looked exactly like you imagine a TV studio to look. Kind of like a big warehouse, but furnished inside like a expensive, modern condo. They used the entire room for the set. Each wall looked like a different part of the house. It's easy to see how a TV show can trick your eyes into thinking they're actually shooting the footage in a real house, just by moving the camera from place to place and blocking off the stuff they don't want you to see with fake walls.
We were basically dropped in a room with zero information and told to wait for however long it took to get to our scene. We had no idea what we would have to do, what our characters were or what kind of show it was. After a good two hours had passed, we got bored of the waiting room and decided to go watch the shooting. I don't know how many of you have seen any Bollywood films, but all of the acting is exaggerated. They overdue the hand gestures, facial expressions, even their heads bob in a way that normal Indian people would never move. On top of that, every line is dramatically enunciated, to the point where the people look like total cartoons. So this show was one of those slapstick family comedies -- kind of like something you'd watch on a UPN weeknight-- done up in Bollywood speldour. Absolutely horrifying.
The actors flip back and forth between Hindie and English on set so that bit by bit we started to piece together the plot: an American cousin was coming to visit the family. This didn't exactly explain where we came in, but we still had faith that SOMEBODY would be giving us some information soon. In fact, a short while after that we were fitted with pencil skirts and blouses (that were completely see-through HELLO), which just confused us more. Secretaries...?
Fast forward, oh, a good 7 hours. We still have no fucking clue why we're even there, the studio is sweltering hot, we haven't been fed since about 10:00 am and every time we bring up these facts, some crew member goes, "No, no. You're scene next. Five more minutes." This same line was repeated to us God knows how many times until we realize that it's 7:00 pm, an hour past when we were told we could go home. I'm sure you can imagine how frustrated we were by this point. We asked one of the actors when the shoot would end, since he seemed to be the only honest person in the building, and he told us that we'd be lucky if shooting finished by 10:00 pm.
This is when we attempt to walk out. The director flipped out saying that it was totally unfair for us to leave since we had agreed to do the work, which I argued into the ground because we had NOT agreed to stay that long and we had been totally ignored all day. So of course they pull out the whole, "Five more minutes" line again, which I just laughed at -- and then, in a moment of brilliance, demanded more money. So my bartering skills kicked in and they finally agreed to pay us an extra 100 rupees for every hour that we had to stay overtime. Not much money, but still a victory. The crew was effing pissed.
Okay, so this is how it went. Our two scenes were shot last, at about 9:30. We would be wearing our street clothes for the first scene and the business suits for the second. We were never told what our characters were.
We walk on set, absolutely clueless, as the director shouts our only stage direction: "Seduce That Boy!"
He's pointing at the actor who plays the teenage son, an Indian version of Jonathon Taylor Thomas -- who's looking as excited as Augustus Gloop before he falls into the river of chocolate -- and in the total mute, shock of the moment, we don't have the gall to say no, having been so worn down by the 14 hours of hell, and reaffirm every Indian myth about how all white girls are big, big sluts. Now thank God it's India, because there's no kissing in Bollywood, so it was all very tame. Just a lot of cooing and stroking of hair and googly eyes and TOTAL HUMILIATION while the entire cast and crew watched, barely stifling their laughter. I got delt the worst hand. I had to actually nuzzle around with this kid acting like I fucking loved it.
Okay. Breathe. The worst part of the story's over. The next scene involved us -- bafflingly dressed in office clothing -- massageing the feet of the youngest daughter and feeding her chocolates. Still terribly embarassing, though nothing compared to the earlier situation.
We were the generic white girls in the two children's dream sequences about how awesome America is. If we had known what we were in for, we never would have come, but it's a testament to the power of surprise that we didn't just walk off set when we were given our first direction.
Not a fun day. Good to laugh at now. Hopefully a fun story to tell the grandchildren.
And we'll NEVER EVER tell the name of the TV show. So don't ask. As funny as it would be to watch, I'd rather not see myself act like such a dolt.
Ben SO got the better deal.
All tourists who come to Mumbai head to the same city district, Colaba, mostly because of the multitudes of not-so-expensive hotels, English style pubs, and the chances of meeting your own kind. But they also come with the hopes of making it into the background of a high-budget Bollywood movie, happily doing their part as the token white person. Now really, if you're not Indian, all you have to do is walk down the street (and be at least marginally good looking) and you'll be snatched up by some agent trying to make his quota of blonde haired girls for the big party scene that's being shot the next day.
So the three of us are shoe-ins. We were "spotted" and agreed to do a day of extra work at one of the main Bollywood studios. 9:00 am- 6:00 pm, five hundred rupees, free water, meals and transportation, plus a chance at fame.
When Jo and I both woke up with oozing bowels (sorry, but it's true) on the morning of our shoot, we knew the day was doomed. We tried to weasle our way out, but the agent guilted us into coming by saying that his job was on the line. This may or may not have been true, but we got our act together and waddled out of the hotel in great pain.
This is when he dropped the bomb on us -- in fact, it was only the first of many bombs -- that only Ben was needed in the Bollywood movie. So instead of the star-studded fame we had envisioned, Jo and I, along with two girls from New York, were to be shipped off to a smaller studio, where we would play small parts in an Indian family sitcom. It was a big disappointment, but we went along with it. I have a feeling one of us probably spouted that most optomistic of phrases, "Well, at least it's an experience!".
It was a good hour's journey to the lot, and the place looked exactly like you imagine a TV studio to look. Kind of like a big warehouse, but furnished inside like a expensive, modern condo. They used the entire room for the set. Each wall looked like a different part of the house. It's easy to see how a TV show can trick your eyes into thinking they're actually shooting the footage in a real house, just by moving the camera from place to place and blocking off the stuff they don't want you to see with fake walls.
We were basically dropped in a room with zero information and told to wait for however long it took to get to our scene. We had no idea what we would have to do, what our characters were or what kind of show it was. After a good two hours had passed, we got bored of the waiting room and decided to go watch the shooting. I don't know how many of you have seen any Bollywood films, but all of the acting is exaggerated. They overdue the hand gestures, facial expressions, even their heads bob in a way that normal Indian people would never move. On top of that, every line is dramatically enunciated, to the point where the people look like total cartoons. So this show was one of those slapstick family comedies -- kind of like something you'd watch on a UPN weeknight-- done up in Bollywood speldour. Absolutely horrifying.
The actors flip back and forth between Hindie and English on set so that bit by bit we started to piece together the plot: an American cousin was coming to visit the family. This didn't exactly explain where we came in, but we still had faith that SOMEBODY would be giving us some information soon. In fact, a short while after that we were fitted with pencil skirts and blouses (that were completely see-through HELLO), which just confused us more. Secretaries...?
Fast forward, oh, a good 7 hours. We still have no fucking clue why we're even there, the studio is sweltering hot, we haven't been fed since about 10:00 am and every time we bring up these facts, some crew member goes, "No, no. You're scene next. Five more minutes." This same line was repeated to us God knows how many times until we realize that it's 7:00 pm, an hour past when we were told we could go home. I'm sure you can imagine how frustrated we were by this point. We asked one of the actors when the shoot would end, since he seemed to be the only honest person in the building, and he told us that we'd be lucky if shooting finished by 10:00 pm.
This is when we attempt to walk out. The director flipped out saying that it was totally unfair for us to leave since we had agreed to do the work, which I argued into the ground because we had NOT agreed to stay that long and we had been totally ignored all day. So of course they pull out the whole, "Five more minutes" line again, which I just laughed at -- and then, in a moment of brilliance, demanded more money. So my bartering skills kicked in and they finally agreed to pay us an extra 100 rupees for every hour that we had to stay overtime. Not much money, but still a victory. The crew was effing pissed.
Okay, so this is how it went. Our two scenes were shot last, at about 9:30. We would be wearing our street clothes for the first scene and the business suits for the second. We were never told what our characters were.
We walk on set, absolutely clueless, as the director shouts our only stage direction: "Seduce That Boy!"
He's pointing at the actor who plays the teenage son, an Indian version of Jonathon Taylor Thomas -- who's looking as excited as Augustus Gloop before he falls into the river of chocolate -- and in the total mute, shock of the moment, we don't have the gall to say no, having been so worn down by the 14 hours of hell, and reaffirm every Indian myth about how all white girls are big, big sluts. Now thank God it's India, because there's no kissing in Bollywood, so it was all very tame. Just a lot of cooing and stroking of hair and googly eyes and TOTAL HUMILIATION while the entire cast and crew watched, barely stifling their laughter. I got delt the worst hand. I had to actually nuzzle around with this kid acting like I fucking loved it.
Okay. Breathe. The worst part of the story's over. The next scene involved us -- bafflingly dressed in office clothing -- massageing the feet of the youngest daughter and feeding her chocolates. Still terribly embarassing, though nothing compared to the earlier situation.
We were the generic white girls in the two children's dream sequences about how awesome America is. If we had known what we were in for, we never would have come, but it's a testament to the power of surprise that we didn't just walk off set when we were given our first direction.
Not a fun day. Good to laugh at now. Hopefully a fun story to tell the grandchildren.
And we'll NEVER EVER tell the name of the TV show. So don't ask. As funny as it would be to watch, I'd rather not see myself act like such a dolt.
Ben SO got the better deal.
A day in the life.
Oh beach culture, how I love thee.
I am so relaxed right now I could attain enlightenment. And no I'm not on drugs, I just have nothing to do, and it's incredible. If Arambol, Goa is a drug then I'm high as a kite. I think I made a post like this last year when I was on Koh Lanta in Thailand. I don't think it was received very well because of the jealousy if prompted from reader((s) I hope there's more than one of you). And since I don't really care about your feelings, and I'm really happy with where I am right now, I'll explain an average day in Arambol:
I'll usually wake up around 11ish, and Amelia is just leaving to go get breakfast. I'll lay in bed and ponder awhile(Often about nothing in peticular because I can) and maybe scratch at an ant bite or two before making the great and exhausting journey that is getting on my feet and out of bed.
Joanna is still asleep, and I take my time putting my day bag together:
One Journal, check. Malaria pills(I know, I can't believe I'm taking them either, but they cost almost nothing, so sue me.) check. Discman, headphones, mini speakers and batteries, check check check. A very torn and raggedy looking Issue of Time magazine, my Drum tobacco and rolling papers, sunscreen for the beach and mosquito repellent for sunset and I'm done.
I'll usually remember to brush my teeth and pee at the last minute, just when I thought I was home free. At which point I'll choose to be a little more Trypsie(trip gypsies) or a little more Ben, depending on whether or not I choose to be hygenic or not. But who am I here to impress? forget it, I'll pee in a bush and brush my teeth with my eggs and bacon.
There is a Dutch owned restaurant across the road from the tattoo shop two minutes down the "main" road called Double Dutch(I say main, because it's no more than 10 feet wide and lined with restaurants and shops on both sides) where we like to eat breakfast. The food is a little more expensive, but you can actually get bacon, sweet salty, fatty bacon. Having bacon on the menu is like giving you a chritmas gift every morning with breakfast. I've been Vegetarian almost the whole trip so far, but it's Bacon and eggs! I can't resist it, and wouldn't anyway. At Double Dutch They have long picnic-like tables set up, so the amount of new people you meet and talk to is huge. I ended up talking to a couple of Sweedes yesterday for two and a half hours after breakfast. I love just listening to people talking around me, and trying to count how many different languages I can hear being spoken, there are usually more than 4 at least. I'm fortunate that english is my first language, because most everyone here can speak it, so I don't have to worry about dusting off my non-existent Sweedish or Hebrew to have a conversation with someone I meet.
After breakfast the choice is up to me, I can go back to sleep, hang out on the internet, go lie on the beach and swim, maybe head over to the "sweet lake" down the beach where the river meets the ocean. Play some pool at Bohi beach side restaurant near our hotel, or just sit and read at a random cafe and have some more Masala Chai(Indian tea). What I do not want to do is exert myself, unless it's to go swimming and body surfing, which is a lot of fun. I guess I could make a trek past the sweet lake and hang out with some sadduhs(those holy dudes) in the forest at their little camp under a massive mango tree and hang out the the trypsie elite, but I think today I'll save myself from that spiritual journey today.
I settle on a little Mexican cafe to read through the rest of that weathered Time magazine I've been carrying around since Mumbai a week ago. Vladimir Putin is on the cover and he's Time's Person of the Year(really interesting stuff if you're interested, I would highly recommend it). I shy away from the Mexican food on the menu because I know better, but maybe for dinner I'll risk it, but right now I just want some fruit juice and maybe another glass of chai. I finish reading the magazine cover to cover, rip out some book and music reviews I'd like to remember to look up later, throw the magazine away and head down to the beach.
Joanna's been on the beach for awhile now, and she's trying to get the tan her Scandinavian heritage has been refusing to give her for the last few days. We hang out and go swimming periodically, and when the sunlight begins to get cooler, we move off of the beach and into that beach side restaurant I was telling you about for some(more) food and drink. Amelia will meet up with Jo on the beach before I arrive, or afterwards at the restaurant or hotel room. We hang out and talk for a bit before heading back to the hotel to wash off the salty, sandy water that covers us head to toe. We won't however wash our hair, because beach hair is something to relish and hold on to, like a bar of dark chocolate you paid far too many rupees for.
At night there are beach parties, and different restaurants to try out. Arambol is a small enough place, that if you meet someone on the beach or in a cafe, chances are you'll see them later on, so we always manage to find people to hang out with. The night ends whenever it ends, and maybe we'll go on the internet for another hour at 1am before heading back to the hotel. I've been learning songs as we go along so I'll just play around and hum along as we chill, and if we're not too lazy, bring out the hookah I bought in Mumbai for some shisha before we turn out the light.
If I managed to entertain and hold your attention this far without offending you too much with my pretentiousness, I've done my job. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Now if you'll excuse me, all this writing is making me awfully tired, I think I'll go and have a nap.
-Ben
I am so relaxed right now I could attain enlightenment. And no I'm not on drugs, I just have nothing to do, and it's incredible. If Arambol, Goa is a drug then I'm high as a kite. I think I made a post like this last year when I was on Koh Lanta in Thailand. I don't think it was received very well because of the jealousy if prompted from reader((s) I hope there's more than one of you). And since I don't really care about your feelings, and I'm really happy with where I am right now, I'll explain an average day in Arambol:
I'll usually wake up around 11ish, and Amelia is just leaving to go get breakfast. I'll lay in bed and ponder awhile(Often about nothing in peticular because I can) and maybe scratch at an ant bite or two before making the great and exhausting journey that is getting on my feet and out of bed.
Joanna is still asleep, and I take my time putting my day bag together:
One Journal, check. Malaria pills(I know, I can't believe I'm taking them either, but they cost almost nothing, so sue me.) check. Discman, headphones, mini speakers and batteries, check check check. A very torn and raggedy looking Issue of Time magazine, my Drum tobacco and rolling papers, sunscreen for the beach and mosquito repellent for sunset and I'm done.
I'll usually remember to brush my teeth and pee at the last minute, just when I thought I was home free. At which point I'll choose to be a little more Trypsie(trip gypsies) or a little more Ben, depending on whether or not I choose to be hygenic or not. But who am I here to impress? forget it, I'll pee in a bush and brush my teeth with my eggs and bacon.
There is a Dutch owned restaurant across the road from the tattoo shop two minutes down the "main" road called Double Dutch(I say main, because it's no more than 10 feet wide and lined with restaurants and shops on both sides) where we like to eat breakfast. The food is a little more expensive, but you can actually get bacon, sweet salty, fatty bacon. Having bacon on the menu is like giving you a chritmas gift every morning with breakfast. I've been Vegetarian almost the whole trip so far, but it's Bacon and eggs! I can't resist it, and wouldn't anyway. At Double Dutch They have long picnic-like tables set up, so the amount of new people you meet and talk to is huge. I ended up talking to a couple of Sweedes yesterday for two and a half hours after breakfast. I love just listening to people talking around me, and trying to count how many different languages I can hear being spoken, there are usually more than 4 at least. I'm fortunate that english is my first language, because most everyone here can speak it, so I don't have to worry about dusting off my non-existent Sweedish or Hebrew to have a conversation with someone I meet.
After breakfast the choice is up to me, I can go back to sleep, hang out on the internet, go lie on the beach and swim, maybe head over to the "sweet lake" down the beach where the river meets the ocean. Play some pool at Bohi beach side restaurant near our hotel, or just sit and read at a random cafe and have some more Masala Chai(Indian tea). What I do not want to do is exert myself, unless it's to go swimming and body surfing, which is a lot of fun. I guess I could make a trek past the sweet lake and hang out with some sadduhs(those holy dudes) in the forest at their little camp under a massive mango tree and hang out the the trypsie elite, but I think today I'll save myself from that spiritual journey today.
I settle on a little Mexican cafe to read through the rest of that weathered Time magazine I've been carrying around since Mumbai a week ago. Vladimir Putin is on the cover and he's Time's Person of the Year(really interesting stuff if you're interested, I would highly recommend it). I shy away from the Mexican food on the menu because I know better, but maybe for dinner I'll risk it, but right now I just want some fruit juice and maybe another glass of chai. I finish reading the magazine cover to cover, rip out some book and music reviews I'd like to remember to look up later, throw the magazine away and head down to the beach.
Joanna's been on the beach for awhile now, and she's trying to get the tan her Scandinavian heritage has been refusing to give her for the last few days. We hang out and go swimming periodically, and when the sunlight begins to get cooler, we move off of the beach and into that beach side restaurant I was telling you about for some(more) food and drink. Amelia will meet up with Jo on the beach before I arrive, or afterwards at the restaurant or hotel room. We hang out and talk for a bit before heading back to the hotel to wash off the salty, sandy water that covers us head to toe. We won't however wash our hair, because beach hair is something to relish and hold on to, like a bar of dark chocolate you paid far too many rupees for.
At night there are beach parties, and different restaurants to try out. Arambol is a small enough place, that if you meet someone on the beach or in a cafe, chances are you'll see them later on, so we always manage to find people to hang out with. The night ends whenever it ends, and maybe we'll go on the internet for another hour at 1am before heading back to the hotel. I've been learning songs as we go along so I'll just play around and hum along as we chill, and if we're not too lazy, bring out the hookah I bought in Mumbai for some shisha before we turn out the light.
If I managed to entertain and hold your attention this far without offending you too much with my pretentiousness, I've done my job. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Now if you'll excuse me, all this writing is making me awfully tired, I think I'll go and have a nap.
-Ben
Friday, January 4, 2008
the scent of bitter almonds
Ben just posted some pictures of us on Facebook. If you don't have facebook yet, get with the program. There are 30 million of us over there, and we know you'll give in one day, so why not now?
We're on the beach now, and what with the fresh fruit juice, white sand and lazy atmosphere, we have very little motivation to blog. Be patient.
-Amelia
We're on the beach now, and what with the fresh fruit juice, white sand and lazy atmosphere, we have very little motivation to blog. Be patient.
-Amelia
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