Dateline: January 29, 4704

Happy Chinese New Year!

Red is THE color for New Years. Homes and businesses throughout the country get decked out with festive lanterns.

By the Chinese calendar this is the beginning of the year 4704. Talk about Auld Lang Syne! With one billion people on the invite list - nearly one-fourth of the world’s population – China's typical New Year's celebrations make Y2K hoopla look puny. So bang the gong! Beat the drums! Set off the fireworks! The sun has set on The Year of the Rooster and it’s time to ponder Who Let the Dogs Out.

We’re going to the Dogs

According to the Chinese Zodiac 2006 is the Year of the Bow-wow. I personally do not understand or buy into the glorification of a four-footed slobbering, snarling, homework eating, rug defacing beast. That’s right, I don’t like dogs. There – I said it. It doesn’t make me cold-hearted or unfeeling, as some of you have implied. Sue me – I can’t stand canines. And a whole year of mushy dog crap is not something I relish. Eeooo, that sounded icky. According to the Chinese Calendar, Rabbits such as myself are suppose to get along with Dogs. Sounds like Chinese torture to me. Dogs and Rabbits are natural enemies, right?

Speaking of dogs, we assume a don't ask attitude toward food in China. We love Peking Duck but I wish I had never learned how it is prepared. Notice I said prepared, not cooked... don't ask


You Dirty Rat!

Next year will see the end of the 12 year calendar cycle with The Year of the Pig. Unlike western horoscope signs, there is a definite pecking order to the Chinese zodiac. Legend has it the 12 animals argued over who should be first in the line up. The gods ordained the winner would be decided by a race across a river. When the race began, unbeknownst to the dumb Ox (humble apologies to my yolked breathren born 1949, 1961 or 1973), the Rat jumped on his head. Just as the Ox was reaching the opposite shore in first place, the Rat jumped off and beat him. Kinda interesting to learn that a Rat is a rat even in Asian culture (my deepest regrets to my Rat buddies born 1948, 1960, 1972 or 1984). The 12 animals of the zodiac are always arranged in the order they placed in the race. The lazy Pig came in last (my personal swine friends born in 1947, 1959, 1971 or 1983 of course being the exceptions).

I love the whole idea of the Chinese hot-pot. It's very social and at least you get to see what goes into it.


I haven’t seen you for Two Tigers!

The Chinese Zodiac is not just fortune-telling fluff. It has several practical applications. Even if you can’t read or write you can still keep track of the years using the Chinese calendar. Saying something happened “three Dragons ago” is easier than working the date out mathematically. Many seniors have trouble remembering how old they are. I can relate! The years are going by so fast - it seems like it was just Goat last week. It’s much easier to remember that you will graduate next Snake or that you were married the Dragon before last than remember some meaningless number. I like that idea. By the way - Rabbits Rule!!


Nothing says party-hardy like standing on your head spinning plates. Scene from the legendary Chinese Acrobat performances


Here are some interesting Chinese New Year Traditions I found:

Start the year fresh and clean by scrubbing your house from top to bottom before the New Year dawns. Sweeping or dusting should not be done on New Year's Day for fear that good fortune will also be swept away. That sounds like something a husband would make up. “Oh honey I would love to sweep but..”

Out with the old - on the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve, open every door and window in your house to allow the old year (and hundred’s of dollars of heat) to go out.

All debts should be paid by this time. Nothing should be lent on this day, as anyone who does so will be lending all the year. I hope my kids and the current administration read that one.

Refrain from using foul language and bad or unlucky words on New Year’s Day. Negative terms and the word "four" (Ssu), which sounds like the word for death, are not to be uttered. Sshut, that’s gonna be a hard one for me to remember to keep.

If you cry on New Year's day, you will cry all through the year. Therefore, children are tolerated and are not spanked, even though they mischievously misbehave on purpose and you want to kill them.

Red clothing (but please god not those red hats) is preferred during this festive occasion, particularly if it is your year. Red is considered a bright, happy color, sure to bring the wearer a sunny and bright future.

So put on your red dress mama!

Don't wait until Pig's fly to leave a comment. You dog, you.

Understanding Chinese Characters


There are over 6,000 characters in the Chinese language. After three trips to China, I recognize about half a dozen. Here’s a couple of very useful ones.

This is the character for North (Bei):

It reminds me of a mirror image of a lower case ‘t’.





This is the character for Capital (Jing):

To me this looks like a child’s drawing of a one-legged man wearing a hat.



Put them together and you spell Bei-jing.
The Northern Capital of China





Can you tell where this taxi is by looking at the Chinese characters?











Sometimes different fonts make it hard to decipher the characters - can you spot Beijing?


You probably understood the Chinese on this coffee mug but I’ll bet you a cup of Joe you misread the English. There is a huge trademark infringement lawsuit in China right now over the opening of over 60 Starbuck’s look-alike stores.



The written Chinese language is beautiful and many consider it art and hang it on their wall or as in the case of our son Jeff, tattoo it on their backsides. While the symbols for Beijing are some of the few that I recognize, neither is my favorite Chinese character. For that, read on.

Calligraphy in the park is a common activity for seniors. They write with a giant “pen” using a mixture of mostly water and a little ink. The characters (including the people) all disappear by the end of the day.

I met my favorite Chinese character in a tiny 4th-floor walk up apartment in central Beijing. Chris and I were there on assignment to take his picture. It would be used to illustrate active Asian seniors using our client’s health care products. Neither he nor his wife of 56 years spoke a word of English but it was clear they were a happy couple, enjoying retirement. We set up a series of lifestyle scenes showing them cheerfully cooking and gardening before wrapping up the shoot. When we had our equipment cases all repacked and ready to go, we were offered tea and fruit. Although our schedule was extremely tight, I knew it would be extremely impolite of us to refuse.

This is one of the pictures we will deliver to our clients. Is it just me or does he bare a striking resemblance to Chairman Mao?

We all crowded onto the tiny sofa as the wife peeled tangerines and bananas. When I admired a family picture hanging on the wall, he produced an old album of black and white photos and shyly offered it to me.

I held in my hands the illustrated story of his entire life. Flipping through the crumbling pages, I saw him first in his elementary school uniform, then in a stiff formal ‘professional’ shot of him with his whole family dated sometime around 1920, and some adorable candid shots with him and his young blushing bride. She was looking over my shoulder and would alternately sigh or giggle at the turning of a page. She blushed anew at whatever sweet remark he made when her picture as a girl was seen.

Next there was a whole series of shots of him in a military uniform. In some he was obviously trying to look macho, but in most he was having fun, being goofy for the camera with his Army buddies. It made me think of the photos my son Dan has shown me of him and his Army pals. Just guys being guys, it's the same all over the world.

When I asked about it, our interpreter told us that our gracious host had been a captain in The Army of The People’s Republic of China. That’s Chairman Mao’s Army. He had fought against Chiang Kai-shek. I was having tea with an honest-to-god card-carrying Little Red Book reading Red Army Communist. Wow. I was shocked. This was the sweetest little old man you would ever want to meet. How could I, and the rest of the western world, have so hated and feared the likes of him?

I hate bananas. But we have endured much weirder food for the sake of politeness here, including goat stomach and jellyfish tendrils. I wasn’t about to refuse!

They asked us to stay for lunch which sounded great. They were preparing homemade steamed dumplings. What a great chance to learn about and taste authentic Chinese food. But no, we had several more locations to shoot that day. I hated to leave. I wanted to hear more about what it was like back in the late 40s when Mao Tse-Tung came to power or during the 50s when nearly all of China was starving or during the Cultural Revolution of the mid 60s or what he thought about the student protests in Tiananmen Square in the 80s. There was so much he could have told me and so much I wanted to hear from someone who had really been there and done that.

I can’t stop thinking about him. I hate that part of my job – I get just a tantalizing glimpse of people’s lives and then must hurry off. Which is what I must do now!

More later down The Silk Road,

Suzanne


A CHRIS-MESS STORY


Happy Holidays from The Salvos in Asia. It is very bizarre to be in a non-Christian country at this time of year. Chris is doing his part to keep the holiday spirit alive in a strange land by impersonating Rudolph - he is sporting a giant red zit on the end of his nose. It is impossible to ignore. My eyes are drawn to it like a magnet and I giggle every time I look at him. The hell with guiding Santa’s sleigh, with his handsome oversized Roman proboscis shining, he could guide a covey of 747s. He is not amused by my musings. Which only makes me think about it more:

Even though I said it very politely, he snapped at me when I asked him to put his hands on his head like antlers and do the Reindeer Dance. So I told him he was a Rude Rudolph and had better watch out or I was going to report his behavior to his boss, Santa. He didn't laugh. In fact I could tell he was getting mad but I couldn’t help it. It was starting to get good to me and I was really laughing hard. I didn't want to make him angry, but at that point I couldn't stop. Pretending to make amends, I said how glad I was we were together for Christmas - because the weather forecast was calling for fog. Through fits of now uncontrollable giggles I told him if he didn’t lighten up there would be no Reindeer Games for him tonight.

At that, he got huffy and started doing what I recognize as The Chris is Mad Stiff-Legged Walk. I thought he was being overly sensitive so I told him to quit prancing around. That went over like a ton of reindeer poo. Realizing things were getting serious, I tried to surpress my outward glee, causing me to snort everytime I inhalded, which of course made me cackle even harder. I really really tried to stop laughing and apologize but every time I looked at him all I could see was his nose and I would breakout in renewed giggles. After about 30 minutes of this I put my hands up and said OK, OK, I promise to quit. With a straight face I looked him sorta in the eyes and said I was sorry I used to laugh and call him names. He was so mad he didn’t get it.

For those of you who haven’t read it:

And to All a Good Flight

It was almost 12:00 Christmas night. By some weird twist of faith (OK, I’m greedy and couldn’t bring myself to turn down the job) I found myself on a nearly empty airplane, bound for an icy spot on the map located some 300 miles inside the Artic Circle. We were headed for the legendary oilfield known as the Alaskan North Slope. For the map-heads out there, look for the town of Deadhorse, Alaska (population 47) near Prudhoe Bay. There lies the headwaters of the modern marvel called the Alaskan Pipeline - the stuff oilfield dreams are made of. Our assignment: bring back dramatic photographs of the people and operations in this harshest of harsh locations.

I had been jumping up and down excited when we got the job a month or two back. Outside of the North Sea, there is no other place on the planet with a meaner reputation for inhospitable working conditions than the North Slope of Alaska. Temperatures regularly drop to 40 and even 50 below zero Fahrenheit – that’s 50 below ZERO, not below 32, freezing. In December, it’s always nighttime with a maximum of 2-3 hours of twilight per day. You will not actually see the ball of the sun appear above the horizon until sometime in the spring. Completion of an artic survival training course is required before you are allowed to travel to the slope. We would pick up our very necessary personal artic survival gear in Anchorage before heading up.

Sitting in my own warm little home in south Texas back in October, it all sounded like jolly high adventure and an opportunity to put another new dot on my travel map. I’m afraid that vanity also played a role in the decision to go. To say you had worked the North Slope could raise your standings a rung or two in the eyes of anybody who knew anything about the “awl biz”. I confess that in the weeks leading up to the trip I spent a lot of my spare time concocting elaborate daydreams about my imagined daring frozen photo exploits.

Some of these flights of fancy involved me casually mentioning my North Slope experience while in the company of macho oilfield roughnecks. I’m referring to the condescending jerks I run into from time to time who look down their (usually broken) noses at me and like to call me “little lady” or “darlin”. In my fantasy scenario, I see the smug look on their faces turn to shock and finally to begrudging respect and maybe even a little envy.

Sadly, I’m not above such conceited and boorish thoughts and behavior. In fact if I were totally honest, I’d also admit that being able to SAY I’ve done something is about as important to me as actually doing it. Like most everything in life, the experience itself is short, but the memory (and the tales) last forever, right?


Me and Chris at 50 below zero!

Back to the plane: I was dangerously tired and my back was throbbing like a bass speaker at a rock concert. We had been on the road continuously for weeks and weeks and I was not having fun anymore. Adventure my butt, this was more like torture.

Hubby Chris was crashed out in the back of the plane (that man can sleep anywhere) and the 6 or so other passengers (I had to wonder who in their right mind flies to Alaska in the middle of winter?) were all asleep as well. I was feeling forlorn and as the French would say, full of ennui. What a sorry way to spend Christmas night! No family, no presents, no joyful carols - I was the host and the only guest at a rip-roaring pity party.

Running true to form, things took what I perceived at the time as a turn for the worse. The pilot announced we were making a brief unscheduled stop, all the while assuring us it would only delay our flight about 30 minutes. Great, just what I needed – another couple of chances for a FPC (Fiery Plane Crash) and a delay in what was already an insanely ridiculous late arrival time. I was not amused.

Despite the frightening weather conditions, the pilot made an incredibly smooth landing and, true to his word, we were back in the air in less than 20 minutes. No one disembarked, in fact no one even woke up, and only one passenger got on.

Why does this always happen to me? With a whole big empty plane for him to choose from, the new passenger sat down right next to me. I think I have a “pick me!” flashing sign on my forehead visible only to psychos and weirdos.

I took him for an old oilfield hand - he certainly was built like one. He had one of those giant beer bellies that you see so often on old petro-chem guys. “Suffering from Dunlap Disease”, my west Texas cousins would wink and say if they saw him. “His belly done-lapped over his belt”.

Also right in character, he hadn’t bothered to change out of his big black work boots before boarding the plane. AND he was dirty. His 1960s style long white hair and beard were wind-blown and matted into tangled wild peaks and spotted with ashes and soot – probably from leaning too close to the fireplace at the last bar he had visited. He had the overly rosy cheeks and nose of a man who had spent way too much time with a drink in his hand – another dead give away that he was an oil worker.

His carry-on bag was slung over his shoulder as he walked toward me, and as he placed the bag in the overhead compartment I couldn’t help noticing how empty it appeared. I thought to myself, what the heck was he doing carrying an empty bag on board?

It was then he spoke, turning to look me straight in the eye. “It’s not really empty, you know. There’s something in it for you.”

I would have jumped out of my seat and ran, except something in those eyes and the tilt of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He smiled knowingly at my reaction and when he smiled, his whole face came alive. There must have been some trick reflection from the Northern Lights visible outside the plane window, because the twinkle in his eyes was like fireworks.

He chuckled softly from deep down in his belly. It was really more of a hmm, hmm, hmm, than a ho, ho, ho. Seeing my confusion and slack-jawed amazement, he reached over and patted my hand reassuringly.

And suddenly I felt that everything was right with the world. I forgot about my aching back and how tired I was and just relished how great it felt to be alive right then and right there. I remembered how lucky I am to get to see and do things out there in the wide world. I thought about how truly blessed I am with friends and family and a loving husband that is the best on the planet. I felt peaceful and wonderfully warm and relaxed.

I must have drifted off, for the next thing I knew, Chris was patting my hand and telling me we were about to land. I sprung from my seat with such a clatter I nearly knocked Chris to the floor. My midnight seat companion had vanished and was nowhere to be found. Where was he? Where had he gone? No one else had seen him aboard the plane.

Was it a dream? I prefer to think not. I can’t prove a thing, of course. But I like to believe it all happened exactly the way I’ve described it to you. Because you see, that Christmas night, on a plane bound for somewhere near the North Pole, I received a very special gift designed especially for me. Did it come from that seemingly empty bag of his? I can’t say for sure. All I know is how I felt in my heart when he touched my hand.

I was given the gift of thankfulness. And with it, peace and a renewed spirit – exactly what I had needed most in the world.

And while I plan to hold tight and cherish my Christmas present, I also want to share it with each and every one of you. God bless you for being a part of my life.

Merry Christmas to all, wherever you may be, and to all a good flight.

Suzanne


There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed.

We have been back in Houston for two weeks but have made three State-side trips since we’ve been here. We seem destined to live life on the move. After a four month hiatus I expected some improvement in the horrible Houston freeway construction traffic. Unfortunately it hasn’t changed that much. What has changed is me. I’m suffering from intense reverse culture shock. Everything in America looks so big and everybody here sounds so loud!

Our poor neglected Houston abode remains, outside of a trailer in the middle of the Bolivian jungle, the worst place we've stayed in. Motel 6 is more luxurious and better maintained. But more importantly, every time I look out the window I see the same thing.

I’m hopelessly addicted to global roving. The more places I go, the more places I discover that I want to go to. The world is still filled with unexpected, surprising, wonderfully unique places. And you just never know what you are going to find out there.

I know I'll often stop and think about them.



Walking on the Top of the World

Norway: When they tied us together in a rope chain, handed us our ice picks and strapped the crampons on our boots we knew we were in for an adventure. But we had no idea our glacier trek would include a 1,200 foot climb and leaps over almost bottomless crevices. We had somehow joined the advanced hikers’ trek instead of the novice group or even the sub-novice group where we belonged. The part mountain goat Norwegians made it look easy but not so for a South Texas gal who’s only other experience with traversing ice was (once) at the rink in the Galleria. The ice landscape with eerie blue color (covered with a thin layer of blown-in dirt in places), precipices and small streams of VERY COLD, clear water was one of ‘those’ moments. When Chris dropped a lens cap in the fast running stream on top of the glacier, he could have saved it, but he would have dragged all 12 of us tied to him down! Instead we bit our tongues and just watched it float off.

School House Rock

Chad: Located in central Africa Chad is the third poorest country on the planet. Part of our assignment there was to shoot scenes of the local culture. Culture? These people lived in grass huts and bathed in ditches. I could never have predicted the scene in this one-room school house or my reaction to it. They sang songs for us and proudly showed off their lesson in English – written on old-timey chalk slates.

The Orient Express it Ain’t

We love the sights of colorful India. But travel in-country can be difficult for the unininitiated. Even on our third trip there we were astounded by the time-warp that was the Mumbia train station. You could have filmed an Indiana Jones movie there without changing a thing. Fascinating!

All these places have their meanings.



Goodness gracious – Great Wall of China!

After seeing the incredible Great Wall and the Xian Terracotta Warriors in China, Chris and I ventured WAY off the beaten path when we hired a local fisherman to pole us down the Li River for a day. We ate the fresh fruit he offered, peed in the pig sty (unbelievable!) and were stared at like we were alien space creatures in the tiny villages we stopped in. We shocked several local farmers by hiking through their fields on our way back.

You had to be there
On a rare day without language class, architects or bureaucracy we played tourist in our adopted town of Acqui Terme. Everyone else on the bus was Italian. On the way back this hysterically funny old man commandeered the mic to tell jokes and sing.

In my life, I’ve loved them all.


I can’t wait to see what happens next!
More later down the road.

Our Big Fat Monsoon Wedding


Chris and I are recouping from the three-day wedding we attended in Chennai. Talk about a party! One India friend described it as, “You never really know what will happen next. It’s more or less total chaos that somehow manages to come out alright.” I agree!

Day One: Bobbles, Bangles, Bright Shiny Beads

The first night we attended the Mehndi at the home of the bride’s parents. This is traditionally a girls night where the bride and her friends lounge on giant floor pillows and have their hands and feet decorated with henna tattoos. We were then ‘bangled’ to match our outfits. My hands were so much bigger than the India girls that I had to slop lotion over my knuckles to help them slide on. Oh, did I mention the fortune telling and his parrot? He was spookily accurate with his assessment of me!

He told me:
• My life was normal until I turned 30, then suddenly became different. (True! That’s when I met Chris and EVERYTHING changed)

• My life was ruled by travel (duh, but how did he know?). He said that would continue. (Good news!)

• He said I had just bought a new house and it would be much better than the old one. Actually he said: “Madam, you’ll be having a new home now shortly in the future time. This new house very good for you, very good. Old house not so good, Madam. You should be leaving it. Take the new one and don’t bother with the other.” (Good advise?)

• He also knew about a recent health scare (my thyroid?) and said: “It will be coming no problems. No worries for you, Madam. Good health for long time, long time now will be yours.”

What a great prediction!

Day Two: Everybody gets into the Act

The next night the festivities where held at the Taj Hotel – The poshest of posh venues. There was an open bar for all 600+ guests, and a fab but (for Westerners) dangerously spicy huge buffet. After nearly two weeks here, our tastebuds have become accustomed to the heat, or have been killed off, I’m not sure which, but Chris and I both loved the food. All the ladies were colorfully attired in magnificently embroidered saris – what a treat for the eyes. In the west formal usually means black but not here. In fact we were warned that wearing black was very unlucky for a Hindu wedding. Our friend Bish, the brides father, was gorgeous in a salmon colored tunic and pink scarf. After Bish’s welcoming speech, there was more than 2 hours of non-stop dancing entertainment plus uproariously funny skits – all performed by friends and family members! Some dances were beautifully traditional and some, performed by pre-teen boys, were modern. One dance, a real production number, included the bride, the groom and about 10 other participants. They had been rehearsing for weeks. All were surprisingly very good. Bollywood watch out!

Can you image all this taking place at a wedding in Middle America???? With my predilection for costumes, forcing family members into plays and productions and let’s not forget the Queenvention - I think my Indian blood might be Eastern Indian, not Cherokee!

Day Three: The Moment

A Hindu holy man sets the date and time of a Hindu wedding. The families have little choice in the matter. The actual marriage ceremony is referred to as The Moment. Pity the bride (and the guests) who’s Moment must be 3:00am! Traditional northern India grooms arrive on horseback decked out in maharajah splendor. The groom is accompanied by the Indian equivalent of a drum pounding mariachi band, along with dozens of bearers toting flower draped lanterns on their heads to light the way. And just in case that didn’t get your attention, giant fireworks are set off every couple of meters. Surrounding the groom are HUNDREDS of his kin and friends singing, laughing and dancing nonstop. My god! Marti gras can’t hold a candle to it.

Later EVERYONE posed for pictures with the bridal couple – it took hours – but they endured smiling throughout. Then Misha changed clothes for the service. Can you image having to have two complete bridal outfits? Throughout the evening events there was live music performed, children raced around playing while other people stood talking and/or eating. It was so unlike the quiet, formal and (I think now) too solemn western marriages. It was fascinating and way to much fun.

Western weddings seem so ho-hum now!

We Had a Ball at the Taj Mahal



Some say it is a palace. Some say it is a tomb. But everyone agrees it is The icon of India and one of the most recognizable structures on the planet. But for me and many others, it was also a powerful spiritual experience.

The approach to the Taj is a masterfully crafted reveal. Driving through Agra (an action/adventure ride more thrilling and scary than anything Disney could dream up) you are teased by quick, partial glimpses of it’s shimmering white dome. Then it disappears all together as you get close to the grounds. Not until you park, run the gauntlet of beggars and souvenir hawkers, and walk through one of the massive
and beautiful in their own right gatehouses do you get to see the Taj – suddenly and in whole, all at once - framed perfectly by the ornate archway. It’s a startling, breathtaking, mind-blowing, stop-you-in-your-tracks, major-tourist-traffic-pile-up, can’t-take-your-eyes-off-it, pickpocket’s dream come true. WOW.

I was not the only one to fall under the spell of the Taj’s magic. Everywhere I looked there were people stopped in their tracks, mesmerized by the view, all overcome by the same indefinable sensation. Young couples clung to each other, oblivious of the hordes swirling around them, gazing at the miracle that is the Taj. I saw older couples, their eyes glued to the vision, blindly and spontaneously reach for each other’s hand. Rambunctious children were brought to a standstill and could only stare and point. I saw an unshaved, rough-looking backpacker lean against a wall, sigh heavily and brush tears from his eyes. Nobody who comes to the Taj is immune.

And it’s big. Much bigger than most people (including me) image it. 213 feet tall and 58 feet in diameter. In photos, due to it’s perfectly proportioned architecture and the harmony of its design and ornamentation, it gives the illusion of a beautiful little jeweled box. And that’s not far off from the truth. All of the decorations on the shimmering white marble are made of inlaid semi-precious stones. Intricate flower patterns and passages from the Koran cover the entire structure – inside and out!!! The letters and flowers gradually increase in size higher up on the walls. The decorations at the top are nearly twice as big as those at the bottom but appear to be the same dimensions. An amazing optical allusion!

Beautiful and Dutiful

And the story behind it is equally beautiful. Most people know the Taj Mahal was built by an Indian Mongul king to be the tomb of his beloved wife. But there is much more to the story. In the 1600s in India it was the custom for rulers to have four or more wives along with a harem of 100 or more. Don’t even get me started on that. But not Shah Jahan and his beautiful and dutiful wife, Arjuman Banu Begum At a time when it was even more unusual than now for couples to stay faithful, they did - through life and beyond. At 37, as Arjuman lay dying in childbirth, she knew her husband, out of loneliness and despair, would soon follow her into death. To prevent this she had him make a deathbed promise to her that she knew he would keep. She asked him to build a magnificent tomb in her honor. Charged with such a last request from his beloved, he could do no less than live and work many long years, employing 22,000 workers for over 20 years, lovingly creating a show-stopping last expression of his devotion.

The Niagra Falls of India?

Today young Indian couples flock to the Taj Mahal to bask in its spirit of love and faithfulness. It’s India’s number one honeymoon destination. Likewise long-married couples come to the Taj to renew their vows of togetherness. The place is just dripping with sentiment. It’s in the very air surrounding the Taj. You just can’t help but feel the love!

All Roads Lead to Roma

I’m feeling particularly European right now. I recently re-visited the picture-postcard perfect town of Portofino with my carissima sister, Teresa, who was here in Italy for a visit. In the morning we drove to Alessandria so Chris and I could finally complete our Permisso di Soggiorno (foreigners’ permission to stay documents). It was our fifth trip there and the culmination of a 3-month beaurocratic ordeal. Things here are not all vino and la dolce vida! But we now have the OFFICAL legal papers. Meno male (thank goodness)!

Once out of the clutches of the Questura (police/immigration office) T and I trained down to the quaint coastal town of Santa Marguerita and from there we took a boat into the incredibly beautiful harbor of Portofino. With sisterly giggles we joked about our 20-minute, $5 Mediterranean ‘cruise’. The weather was PERFECT – cool temp accompanying sunny blue skies with a few happy white clouds overhead – the perfect backdrop for Portofino photos. We hiked up to the lighthouse located on the point and enjoyed a café macchiato con panoramic vistas of the Italian Riviera. It was breathtaking! We then strolled most of the way back to Santa Marguerita (5K) along the boardwalk that hangs over the Med. We arrived back in Acqui in time for a great dinner (with live musica) at a local restaurante. A picture-postcard perfect day!

For our next adventure, T and I trained to Genoa and flew to The Eternal City of Roma. WOW. We managed to work in mega-shopping along with mega-sites that included the Vatican Museum (Sistine Chapel), Roman Forum (my fav), and The Spanish Steps. We both gave THE Coliseum an enthusiastic thumbs up. But the high point (literally) was lunch on the Piazza Novena on our last day. We sat with a front-row view of the Four Continents (Belinni) fountain and an endless parade of great people watching. We ate a really good pizza washed down with really bad wine. The wine was so bad we had to order a second pitcher to forget the first one. All the while we were serenaded by two adorable young boys playing accordions and singing. They were great musicians. At least at the time we thought they were great. When we got back to Acqui and replayed the lunch video, we laughed until we cried at how BAD they really were!!

T’s visit was over all too soon. We dropped her off at the airport on our way to an assignment in Milan. So it’s officially time to get back to work – yikes.
We leave for a grueling work schedule in India tomorrow night. UGH. But we will manage a free day or two to see the Taj Mahal and other sites.

More later down the road.

SALVO WEBCAST A HUGE SUCCESS!


Salvo Webcast a Huge Success!

Thanks to everyone who tuned in to our first live telecast from Asti, Italy. I can’t tell you how much we giggled and laughed our way through the whole thing.

Besides our cyperspace audience, everybody in the Piazza San Secundo was witness to our performance. What you could not see was everybody in the immediate area staring giant holes in us, wondering what in the hell we were doing.

I don’t think anybody in Asti knows the webcam exists. It's a tiny camera located on a light pole in the corner of the square. Every time we waved to the camera, one or more people on the other side of the square waved back, with a puzzled expression on their faces, thinking we were waving at them and trying to remember how they knew us. That of course made us feel even more ridiculous and giggle even more.

We were hoping one of you would pick up on the fact that I was wearing Green, Chris was wearing Red (he forgot to take off his pullover for the reinactment photo) and Hayley was wearing White - like the Italy flag. But nobody did so we will keep our surprise prize until next time.

What fun. Thanks for watching. We promise more shenanigans in the future.

Cyperspace Cathedrals



Ciao amici,

Ever heard of Asti Spumonti wine? It’s an Italian sparkling wine, their answer to French champagne. It has a rather dubious reputation in the States. Most Americans know it as the bubbly slightly sweet liquid you pour over fruit when you have company over for dinner. It transforms an otherwise boring bowl of berries into something interesting and alcoholic.

But no American wine devotee would ever consider just drinking the stuff! At least not the Asti Spumonti that is exported to the States. As you might guess, things are different here…



Our new home is about 30 minutes from the legendary wine town of Asti where the beautiful bubbly was born. And believe me, nobody turns their noses up at Asti Spumonti here, it’s delicious!

Besides being a major wine center, Asti has a weekly open market that is colorful, huge and tons of fun to wander through. It draws hundreds of area farmers and merchants who cram together in booths on Asti’s gigantic central square. As is typical with town markets in Italy, you will find the freshest and cheapest produce, plus a jumbled array of housewares, clothing, furniture and shoes - lots and lots of shoes.


Italians buy new shoes like we buy lettuce. As near as I can figure, last week’s shoes wilt or go stale and must be replaced. My translation of a conversation overheard in the market - “Let me have a bunch of bananas, a loaf of bread and a couple pair of those fresh stilettos, per favore.”

The Asti market is located in the piazza where every fall the spectacle called Il Palio is held. The Palio of Sienna in Tuscany is much better known, but the Palio in Asti is less touristy and therefore more authentico. Palio literally means flag or banner. Il Palio is a pageantry competition between rival local townships. It’s sorta like a medieval Italian version of Westside Story . Rival gangs of really good-looking guys dressed in tights but somehow looking macho leap around the piazza waving giant flags. It’s a synchronized, costumed male dance-off! It’s been a very big deal here for centuries prior to Bernstein’s rip-off musical version. It’s like Broadway production values meet Italian pomp and circumstance – personally I can’t think of anything more entertaining. The winner takes home the coveted Palio attached to his giant Italian pole (yes, you should giggle here).

Below is a link to the Community of Asti homepage which includes a live image from a cyberspace webcam. The camera is located in the ancient Piazza San Secundo, a lovely little square where Chris and I have picnicked on those benches and/or taken a coffee at the café you can see on the right of the image. The scene of the cathedral and benches you will see is real-time, updated every 7 seconds.

Tune in on Monday, October 24th at 9am USA CST to see THE SALVOS LIVE FROM ASTI. You can access the webcam from the link under my profile or the link below.

Email us afterwards and let us know what you thought of our cyberspace performance. God, I love technology. And cyberspace photos of us from Italy with ancient cathedrals in the background is just the best! Set your alarm, we promise to be entertaining.

Baci (Kisses)!
Asti Webcam

Salvo in Cyperspace: I am a Bloggernaut

Here it is! Thanks to the help of Hayley AnnE, the first Salvo bloggernaut in cypersapce and Chris, the cutest IT department in all of Salvo Photography - Salvo at Large is launched!

My goal is to post at least once a week, so keep checking back for new stuff. I also plan to finally add pictures to some of my old stories so look for that, too. And please add comments, I love hearing from everybody.

Top Ten Italian Words and Phrases

HO UNA CARTA E IL SO COME FARE
(I have a credit card and I know how to use it).

Have I mentioned in the last 10 minutes that I love it here in Italy? Last night we were invited to dine at the home of some Italian friends. I’d say it was absolutely fabulous food, but in this part of the world that goes without saying and you are probably getting tired of me talking about eating stuff you can’t get. But Mio Dio! It was superb and I’m hoping Wilma will take me under her wing and into her kitchen for some instructions. We are finding it is very easy to make friends here, despite the language differences. Even though Carlo and Wilma speak less English then we speak Italian, which is to say practically none, we had a great time together.


TOP TEN PLUS ONE WORDS AND PHRASES
TO LEARN BEFORE VISITING US THAT WILL MAKE
YOU SOUND AND FEEL LIKE A REAL ITALIAN

1. Lo prendo (Low PRINdo): I’ll take it.
This is the single most useful Italian phrase I’ve learned. I use it all day long. For example: I’ll take that new scarf or I’ll take a chocolate pastry or I’ll take the train to Venice or I’ll take a nap, etc.

2. Tutt’e due (TOOT-tay DEW-ay): Both.
This is not a word, it’s a magical solution. Use it in conjunction with numbers 1. and 3. as in Lo prendo tutt’e due (I’ll take both). It’s one of Chris’ favorite words because it’s easy and fun to pronounce.

3. Saldi di scarpi (SAWL-dee dee SCAR-pee): Shoe Sale.
Imelda Marcos was a light-weight compared to even the average Italian. This phrase has been known to cause severe injury due to stampeding Italian women. You only have to look at the shape of the country to understand. Italy is not just a boot, it’s a high-style stiletto-heel over the knee sexy boot. Style is a way of life here and shoes are taken very seriously. Please don’t embarrass me (and yourselves) by wearing jeans and white tennis shoes over here - you might as well tattoo a tacky American flag on your forehead. Red or gold tennies, yes– but only if you are under forty.

4. Ho fame/sete (Oh FAH-may/SAT-tay): I’m hungry/thirsty.
Italians are so hospitable that merely mentioning in passing that you are hungry or thirsty will probably garner you an instant invitation home for dinner or at the least some tomatoes out of their veggie garden.

5. Si, con piacere (See, con pee-ah-CHAIR-ay): Yes, I’d like to.
Be ready to follow up 4. with this phrase.

6. Un po’, grazia (Oon poe, GRAHT-zee-eh): A little more, thanks.
I’ve never regretted saying this. If you leave an Italian dinner table hungry, it’s your own damn fault. There is always way too much food offered.

7. Meno male! (MAY-no MALL-eh) Thank goodness!
Another one of Chris’ favorites. When I don’t understand what’s being said, which is often, and there is a break in the conversation where everybody is looking at me and I’m obviously suppose to respond, I throw out this phrase and it almost always works.

8. Cin-cin (Chin-chin): Cheers/Salute – a toast.
If I get blank stares after trying 7., I raise my glass and use this one, a sure-fire winner.

9. Salve (SAL-veh): A neutral, not formal, not informal goodbye.
As friendly as they appear, Italians practice a strict code of etiquette particularly in speech. It is a crude mistake to say “Ciao” to someone you aren’t acquainted with. Use “Arrivaderci “ with people you don’t know at all, like shopkeepers. Say “Salve” to anyone you’ve seen more than once or spent any amount of time with. But ALWAYS say something! It’s considered very rude to enter or leave a store without acknowledging the shopkeeper.

10. Basta! (BAAHS-tah): Enough!
When I first heard this word being yelled constantly between rambunctious Italian teenagers on a local train outside of Venice, I thought they were calling each other the offspring of unmarried parents. In reality it’s meaning is more like the American “Cut it out”, or “Quit it”. Basta is also used to signify you’re finished with a meal or the equivalent of saying “When” to the amount of vino in your glass.


11. Secundo me (Say-GOON-dough May): If you ask me.
In truth no self respecting Italian ever waits to give a personal opinion on anything from the weather to politics to fashion, but they preface their belief with this phrase as a warning. I’m trying to teach Chris to say this one…

More later down the road,

Suzanne