The Bucket List

Perhaps it’s because I am 70 years old at heart, but I have had a bucket list since a young age.  Perhaps I am even older than 70, because most of it centers around ancient sites (or maybe I have been reincarnated a lot).  I have gotten a good start at this in the last five years: Stonehenge, Coliseum, Parthenon, Great Pyramid.  Most recently, I went to one of the most amazing of my bucket list locations: The Great Wall of China and the Forbidden City.

Complete with dorky touristy panda hats, we explored these ancient sights (sorry: I had to have a shot with these hats- they are so cool, right?  I started making the analysts at work wear the hat when they were bad.  I call it the "panda hat of shame"). 

The Forbidden City is just across from the stark Tiannamen Square.  I really appreciated the city for its use of red and forbidden-ness.  I always like going places where I am not supposed to be (rooms with "Do Not Enter" on them, my sister's bedroom, etc.).

Someday I want a red house with my giant picture on the front.

Token artistic shot

The Great Wall: it was majestic.  There are actually three different “Great Walls” in the section I visited; in case the Mongols got over one, there were another two to go.  It stretches infinitely in each direction, zig-zagging like a giant rocky snake through the country side.  I could almost see the Mongols trying to climb it, with no one but Mulan to stop them.  Or me.  Hi-yah!

Look it how tall it is...or how short I am.

Let me show you how snakelike I can be....

Is that your mother or your sister?

When you hear those words in regards to your mother a few thoughts shoot through your head.  First thought is always: good lord, yes it’s my mother: how old do I look?!  Followed immediately by the slightly shallower (yes, I can get shallower):  please God don’t tell me that my mother looks prettier than me again.  And finally, the rationalization: at least this bodes well for my future years.  I have gone through all of this particular thought loop several times, one for every time my co-workers saw my pictures from China.

I traveled to China two months ago to visit my Mom.  She was in China for a business trip so we decided to attach on a “Bushy Women Hit Asia” tour for four days at the end of it.  We arrived at Beijing Airport within an hour or so of each other and then we were off!  Here are some fun facts from the beginning of the trip:

My Mom eats literally everything.  I mean she ate jelly fish...how gross is that.  She was even up for eating these scorpions at a fair we went to, but I jumped in and prevented her.  Because really, scorpion breath?  That can't be good.

My Mom and I both rode the short bus...at least in China.  We needed to hold cards out to point to our destinations (written so nicely by the St. Regis hotel staff): point to this for your hotel, this for the Forbidden City, etc.  We might have felt pathetic, but it got us where we wanted to go!

Here are we are at the Summer Palace.  This was renovated by the Dragon Lady, one of our favorite historical characters.  This woman ruled the country for 47 years through weak-willed men.  Her story is quite inspiring: beware weak-willed men of the world, here I come!  As for the marble boat in the background, our tour guide joked that Confucius once said that the emperor and his people are like a ship and the ocean: the ship needs the support of the ocean to stay afloat.  In response, some emperor built a marble boat that can stay "afloat" on its own.  Aw...snap.

We played a game of steak, steak, duck (very similar to duck, duck, goose) for our three "Chinese" dinners.  Yes, people, I still don't like Chinese food so props to us for the trying the Peking duck (as Mom chows down above).  End result: I liked the steak better.

A day at the races

A few weeks ago, I traveled back to the exciting city of Bombay to hang out with a group of Bainees who were flying in from New York (including two Princetonians).  Yes, this is the fourth time I have been to Bombay, the third in five weeks.  But really, they have the only key lime pie in India.

Anyways, I digress.  I have decided to become faux upper-class in India, and what do faux-upper class people do?  Well, other than look down on middle class people.  They go to the races!  Sometimes you can really tell that India is a former British colony ("u" and "s" used too often in words, obsession with cricket, etc.), and this is one of those times.  We did the whole thing, got dressed up, headed down to the track in Bombay, and made bets saying ridiculous things like "Queen of Sheba looks really good today."

 Even more exciting, I was on TV!  Yup, I can now say "I am famous in India."  See below for the clip, look for the girl in the orange skirt clapping wildly.  Aren't you excited you can say you know a TV star?

A rockstar visits India

There have been but a few brave friends who have ventured to the far-off land of India to visit me.  This is the story of one of them.

Ms. Maureen O’Hern, “vixen in red” the international rockstar and woman of mystery, visited me for a week at the end of February.  She was quite the sensation in India.  I have never had so many pictures taken by strangers: we posed with tourists, families, and large groups of young men.  You have never seen anything like it.  We attributed it to our allure as SWFs (single white females), Maureen’s original hair color (they don’t see it much in India), and the hats.  A little bit more on the hats….

Hats were definitely the theme of our trip.  Maureen is even more Irish than me and thus has beautiful, fair skin.  The sun is her #1 enemy.  Since the sun is so strong in India, she decided to bring a nice black hat to protect her face from the sun.  I, to support Maureen in her endeavor, decided to wear a nice orange hat.  From the moment we put those hats on, it was like we were possessed.  We wore them everywhere, took pictures with them in everything.  Other people were also possessed: we counted 19 photo requests by the end of the trip.  Here are a few (I think we look very “day at the races”—don’t you?)

As to what we did, we explored Bombay with our local tour guide Ruchi, traversed the Taj in Agra, and hung out in my “home town” of Delhi.  See some pictures below:

Maureen and I overlooking Bombay from Air bar at the Four Seasons

Maureen at the temple caves of Elephenta Island, just outside Bombay

At Red Fort in Delhi

 The rockstar at the Taj

Mackenzie's First Pilgrimage

People (especially business school interviewers) constantly ask me about the differences between India and America, between Indians and Americans.  One of the biggest differences I have noticed here is the level of spirituality in this country.  I think India is one of the only places I have ever been where saying "I am going on a pilgrimage this weekend" will not elicit laughter.  Several of my analysts have taken 20km+ hikes to reach famous shrines with their families, even with their friends, on weekend trips.  It's something I can barely get my head around.

I have been told several times by my friends that I am "the friend most likely to be struck by lightning upon entering a church" so they would be shocked that I agreed to go on a pilgrimage of sorts with my co-workers.  A group of 20 or so of us from work decided to head northwest of Delhi to the Punjab region a few weekends ago.  Our destination: Amritsar.  Amritsar is known for two things: the border ceremony with Pakistan and the Golden Temple.

The border ceremony is an intriguing spectacle-- half sports event, half changing of the guard.  The ceremony takes place in Amritsar on the Indian side and a bit outside of Lahore on the Pakistan side.  People pack the stands on both sides to watch, each country cheering their soldiers on.  Then the soldiers have a mirror-image dance-off.  Okay, it's more of a ceremony with some high steps; but it certainly looks like a dance-off to me.  Dressed in uniforms with flamboyant helmets, they do these crazy marches with their legs flying way high in the air (another thing that is different between our countries: Indians are better dancers than Americans).  Each side sings chants in support of their country and their guards.  I think the Indians won...though I am biased.  I am still debating who would win in a US border dance-off: I think we could out-dance the Canadians, but I am not certain about the Mexicans.

The Golden Temple is the most holy site of the Sikh religion.  It's also the most beautiful man-made site I've seen in India.  That includes the Taj Mahal in case you're wondering.  We visited really late in the evening when they were putting their religious book to bed.  We stepped into the complex (shoes removed and heads properly covered, of course) and there in the middle of a moat stood the temple, gold emanating from its roof and sides, reflecting off the water around it.  It was awe-inspiring.  The worshippers were extremely friendly, welcoming us, sharing the special sweet they give to all worshippers, and teaching us about the holy complex.  I have never felt spirituality more, between the wonder of the temple and the devotion of its worshippers.  Perhaps India really is getting to me....

How to Dress for Success (aka "How to Snag a Maharaja")

I had so much fun at the first wedding I attended in India that I leapt at the chance to go to another.  So when I was invited to two more, I was psyched.  When I found out that they were the same day, I was a little bit less psyched.  Oh well, at least it was efficient!

And like any princess invited to a ball, I needed something fabulous to wear.  Two of the analysts from my previous team volunteered to help me out with the purchase.  Best of all, they brought in a ringer: one of their moms—very helpful for price negotiations.  They declared that nothing but a trendy sari would do for the event and had me meet them at a sari shop in north Delhi one Saturday (yes, my analysts are THAT nice!). 

Now the sari dressing buying process is not like picking up a dress for a formal in the United States.  No, no, no…that would be too simple.  Here’s how it goes:

The first step is going to the dress shop.  The dress shop is completely owned and operated by men (for some reason), but filled with women.  There are hundreds of different fabrics stacked on all the walls and the women sit across from them as the men display them: “yes or no?”  It’s quite an experience, involving tea/coffee/water and some eye for fashion (which I don’t have) and price (which I do).  In the end, my crew chose 4 or so patterns for me to be draped with.  Next step is standing in front of a mirror while the guy wraps the sari fabric around you to see how the color and style go with your complexion.  See below for some of the results.

I voted blue, but was out-voted by my fashion contingent (2 analysts plus 1 smart mother).  Pink is not normally my thing, but it seems very popular in India.  Also popular right now: the sheer fabric of the sari.  Again, not my thing (read: I did sit-ups every morning and evening until the wedding to prepare), but popular in India. 

So I bought the fabric, but the sari shopping experience does not stop there!  Then you need to give the dress shop more time as they dye the material for the petticoat and re-sew and adjust the long piece of fabric.  Following that, you need to take the fabric to a tailor who then makes the top and petticoat for you (I mean cut out a pattern, sew it together, etc.).  Yup, they measure and fit it right to you.  The whole process of buying a sari takes over a week at minimum.  The good news: it still costs the same as a US semi-formal dress despite the extra labor.

The final act in this story was the wedding preparation itself.  My friend Karan’s Aunty took the time to dress me in the sari (can you believe she only used 2 pins) and even stuck a matching bhindi (the “third eye”) on my head.  What do you think?

The Jungle Book

Have you ever had a sudden epiphany about something you once believed when you were a child and carried into adulthood without question?  I remember clearly (my college roommates won’t let me forget) watching Aladdin freshman year and quoting the genie saying “Wake up and smell the homeless.”  My roommates looked at me in shock—Michelle explained “he doesn’t say that.  He says ‘wake up and smell the hummus.’”  I did not let it go without a fight: “But Aladdin is homeless so he probably smells…remember the flea scene.”  More horrified stares.  Looking back, I guess hummus made more sense; it is a children’s movie after all.

Now, I had another such moment in India in November when I went to the Ranthambore National Park in Rajasthan, about 7-8 hours west of Delhi.  The safaris there advertised creatures like monkey, snakes, sloth bears, and tigers.  I thought to myself: that sounds like the whole crew from the Jungle Book.  It took me a few minutes to connect the dots (no comments, peanut gallery): Rudyard Kipling lived in India…he must have been writing about the Indian jungle!  All of a sudden Mowgli’s animal friends made a lot more sense…as did Mowgli and his Indian-looking girlfriend.  Wait, all of a sudden Talespin made more sense too.

Alrighty, enough with epiphanies and onto the jungle.  I am going to spoil the ending for you—we did not see a tiger…and it was all my Bain male co-worker’s fault. 

Here’s the long and the short of the tiger story.  We saw many animals at Ranthambore, including jackels, deer, wild boars, owls, snakes, and monkeys, but the tiger remained elusive during our first two trips into the jungle.  On the third and final trip we got into our safari jeep determined to see a tiger.  We tracked one deep into the jungle, seeing his footprint and hearing his roar.  Alas, he never came out of the trees, and we were forced to return home defeated.  The three boys I traveled with were so disappointed that they decided to make a pit stop to use the er outdoor restroom and let the jeep behind us pass us by.  I sat dejected in the van.  And then from ahead, I hear a roar.  The tiger passed right in front of the other jeep!  Sadly, by the time the boys joined me and the driver in the jeep again, the tiger was gone.  Some may say that the boys were brave to have gone the bathroom outside the jeep with a tiger on the loose; I, however, knew better.  Life lesson: never go tiger hunting with men.

 Baby crocodile

 Monkeys!

Bambi?

A footprint is as close I ever got to a tiger...thanks boys.