Oliver and I created quite a stir in the Abu Dhabi airport. If you ever want to feel like stares could bore a hole straight through you, nurse your baby in an Arabian country. I was completely covered and in a corner but I felt we should have been hiding in a bathroom stall. Once that was over, Oliver and I drew a crowd as he played on the floor. Not only was he the fairest and youngest person on the flight, but he was the only person with blue eyes. Burka-ed women encircled us, speaking words I did not understand but in tones that were all baby-talk. His poor cheeks were red from all the pinching. Oliver had better prepare himself to be the star of the show wherever we go. I have even had women we have encountered on the road lift his arms up out of the Ergo and shake and kiss his hands. Boundaries with babies are not established here.
When we landed in Delhi, Andy picked us up with a driver. We rode to the home of Vikram and Sonya, two parents with children at Woodstock. I couldn't believe they would open their home up to complete strangers the way they did. They were so kind and fed us so well and gave us plenty of Whiskey. Turns out, this is not uncommon in India. We have been asked to dinner countless times and been brought dinner the past two nights. I am wondering if I will ever cook here. Indian hospitality seems limitless.
The next day we left for Woodstock with our driver. I am not joking when I say that there were several times when I thought we weren't going to make it. People on the roads lay on the horn and pass each other within a centimeter (like how I am using metric now?) of their lives. The narrow, child/cow/biker filled roads did not seem to matter; HONK HONK move it or truly lose it! So happy we will not be driving or biking ourselves here, don't think my heart could take it. Indian concern for others when it comes to the roads seems non-existant.
I am still processing what exactly we are doing here and where Oliver and I fit in. But my first impressions of this place make me think we are going to be just fine. Especially if we keep getting Dal delivered to our door every night.
When we landed in Delhi, Andy picked us up with a driver. We rode to the home of Vikram and Sonya, two parents with children at Woodstock. I couldn't believe they would open their home up to complete strangers the way they did. They were so kind and fed us so well and gave us plenty of Whiskey. Turns out, this is not uncommon in India. We have been asked to dinner countless times and been brought dinner the past two nights. I am wondering if I will ever cook here. Indian hospitality seems limitless.
The next day we left for Woodstock with our driver. I am not joking when I say that there were several times when I thought we weren't going to make it. People on the roads lay on the horn and pass each other within a centimeter (like how I am using metric now?) of their lives. The narrow, child/cow/biker filled roads did not seem to matter; HONK HONK move it or truly lose it! So happy we will not be driving or biking ourselves here, don't think my heart could take it. Indian concern for others when it comes to the roads seems non-existant.
I am still processing what exactly we are doing here and where Oliver and I fit in. But my first impressions of this place make me think we are going to be just fine. Especially if we keep getting Dal delivered to our door every night.
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