Motherhood: A Tale of Two Cultures

Last week, my good friend Rose and I were invited to another non-working spouse's home for lunch. It is important to note that Rose is American, from Minnesota, and of course this Midwestern heritage  bonded us immediately. The woman who invited us is Indian and her husband teaches at the school. She has two little girls and couldn't wait for me and Rose to bring our sons over to play with them. This is a woman I see almost daily on the road as she walks her daughter home from Pre-Kindergarten and I walk Oliver to school for lunch with Andy. She is overwhelmingly sweet and very kind towards both me and Oliver. For weeks now she has been saying I should come for lunch "anytime".  To me, this was not an invitation per se, just a thing people say. An Indian friend told me I should actually just stop by someday for lunch. Without calling first? This idea mortified me. What if she had no food in the house, or the girls had ransacked the place that day or she hadn't gotten out of her pajamas yet (It happens)? Any number of situations that would mortify me if someone showed up with her child to my place unannounced and seeking lunch. My friend assured me this was not the case and that this woman would gladly whip up some food; "Of course she has food in the house! Why would anyone not have food, Lindsey?" (Please do not come to the Cooper house unannounced-you may be served soda water and scrambled eggs!) Even so, I could not bring myself to just show up. That seemed so unfair to do to a mom with two young kids.

An official invitation was offered at school as Oliver rolled around in the sandbox and her daughter stood obediently at her side (she was told she couldn't play today because she would get her tights dirty). She told me to bring Rose and Ennis and that she would make south-Indian food. I couldn't wait.

Rose and I showed up with our boys and right away I knew I wasn't in Chicago anymore. There was a bike, a big-girl bike, with training wheels in the living room. Things the mother alluded to made me pretty sure the daughter is only allowed to ride inside the house. Oliver and Ennis made a bee-line for it with Oliver screaming "Auto! Auto!" (These days, if it moves, it's an "auto"). Our host was very worried that the boys would injure themselves but Rose and I supervised as the boys pushed it back and forth along the floor, overjoyed at the chance to do so. Our host promptly put a piece of cake in Ennis' hand and said "Eat! Yummy cake!" Oh boy, I thought, here we go. I deflected the cake and explained that Oliver had not had lunch yet, maybe later (there would be no cake, he's 15 months old, he's sweet enough). Rose and I exchanged looks. Then we were offered Coke, which she also offered to the boys. "He only drinks water" was what Rose and I said. Soda? Rose and I watched as her daughters gulped it down. I guess caffeine and sugar are not big no-no's for kids here. Lunch was served and it was fantastic. She is a tremendous cook. Her maid scurried around in the kitchen cleaning up as we delighted in all the south Indian flavors that are not common here in the north. Amazing chutney and curries and even the dal (lentil) tasted different. Oliver and Ennis dug in. The girls were upstairs watching cartoons. They came down every five minutes for another piece of cake, another glass of soda. Our host wanted Ennis and Oliver to go upstairs and watch cartoons too. Oliver does not watch television, nor does Ennis, so Rose and I explained we wanted the boys were they could see them.
At one point, Oliver toddled over to the bike and pushed it down. Our host yelped and nearly hyperventilated and asked if he was hurt. Oliver looked like he was near-melt down watching her reaction as I walked over and said "It fell over, let's pick it up" and we righted the bike. I heard Rose say, "Looks like you're okay, Oliver." Keep calm and carry on...it's not just a saying used for British propaganda during WWII, it's the motto of every American mother I know with a toddler. If we react, the kid will too. Rose and I kept calm and carried on with lunch, but our host wanted to check Oliver for scratches and give him an ice pack.

Rose left soon after as Ennis came off his cake-induced sugar high so they could make it home for nap. Oliver and I had another thirty minutes we could stay. Oliver raced to the staircase (he is obsessed with stairs, we don't have any in our house) and climbed them to find the girls.  He and I followed the sound of cartoons to the girls bedroom. Our host came up and placed Oliver on the bed. She said I could leave him there and we could go down and have tea. On the bed? He can crawl right off! On the second floor, with no gate at the top of the stairs? He will fall down! I was perplexed. Was this person the same one who nearly fainted at Oliver pushing over a bike really willing to leave him on a bed, at the top of a staircase? Just then her youngest daughter (she's 2) started to whine so my host reached into a drawer and pulled out a jar of nail polish and handed to her. I was dumbfounded. Is she just going to look at the bottle? Surely this little girl can't possibly...she opened the jar and quickly went about painting her toes. I couldn't believe this was happening. On the same bed that Oliver and I were sitting, this two year old was making quick work of her pedicure. She moved onto her fingers. One nail she disapproved of and she wiped it off on the bed sheet.  Her mother was there, next to us and playing with Oliver, aware of the scene. The girl placed the open jar on a windowsill and went to her sister's bed to jump. She jumped and jumped getting toe polish all over the comforter. What is happening? I kept wondering. Then the girl made fists and got her finger polish on her palms. She looked like she was bleeding. This got a reaction. "Oh no, you are so dirty! Look at your hands. Look at your feet! How are we going to clean this?"

We decided it was best to bring the two year old and Oliver downstairs so we could watch them while having tea. Oliver noticed the neighbor's dog in the backyard (we just love this dog and visit him often as we walk by) and wanted to go see him. I brought him outside and and we sat in the grass and rubbed the dog's belly. The two year old came after us a few minutes later, which caused her mother and her maid to yell out the backdoor at her a semi- stern message in Hindi. The mother looked at me sheepishly and said, "Sorry, she is not allowed to play outside today...she is in a dress." So, nail polish on the bed is okay, but walking around in the grass in a dress is forbidden. I am still trying to wrap my head around this contradiction.

A few days later, I was invited on a Friday afternoon, to a child's birthday party...the following afternoon. The parents were passing out official invitations just 24 hours ahead of time? Everyone accepted them as if it was the natural thing to be doing, but I was a little perturbed. I hadn't been planning on going into the bazaar that day, how was I going to get this boy a gift? I can't just jump in my non-existent car and run to the non-existent Target and pick something up. A bazaar trip into the toy store and back is a four hour commitment. I didn't have four hours. We went to the party, gift-less, and I marveled at the catering and the decorations. How much time did this family give themselves to plan this party? Was 48 hours too much notice to give the attendants? This is so common in India, the no-notice party. I once was left a voice mail by one of Andy's classroom parents saying that Oliver and I should "come to school to help celebrate their daughter's birthday" and "could [we] be there in 15 minutes?" It takes me and Oliver at least 15 minutes to get ready to leave the house, so we can never get anywhere in just 15 minutes.  In America, I would never consider giving our friends less than three weeks notice to come to a party. People need to plan babysitters, or shuffle activities or plan what to bring (In India, you are never asked to bring anything, only a gift if it is a birthday); never are these a consideration here. You drop what you were planning to do and go, no questions asked.

You many be thinking that these mothers and stories are "crazy" and to tell you honestly, I have a hard time thinking any different myself. But Americans are just as crazy...sometimes more so.

One day I was running errands while in my third trimester with Oliver and the mother behind me in line at the store asked, "Have you chosen a stroller yet?" Was this something I should have given tremendous thought to? She asked as if she was inquiring as to what I would be majoring in in college: all business, but excited to know. When it told her what we had registered for she responded, "We have friends that are very happy with that line of stroller." Umm, thanks? I feel reassured? We picked our particular stroller because it folded easily and came in orange. Was there more to consider? This woman made it seem as if a poor choice in a stroller now would impede Oliver's future success somehow down the road. This would never happen here. If you are lucky enough that the store has what you are looking for that particular day, you buy it. If not, you don't. This includes strollers.

The clearest proof I have to offer of our crazy parenting/child rearing in America is the concept of
gifted kindergarten. Gifted five and six year olds...really? As an early childhood teacher/developmental therapist I can honestly, in full confidence tell you there is no such thing. There are the children who grew up in homes with books and conversations and experiences and those who did not, but that does not qualify someone to be "gifted" at such a young age. I am rolling my eyes even writing this. I have yet to hear a single Indian mother brag about how many words her child knows, what guided reading level they are at, or how much they are capable of writing.  This is not a bragging point here. It will be later when their child gets accepted into college and/or gets a job that pays a lot of money, but it's nothing to brag about at this stage. There are no infomercials selling you products that will teach your BABY to read (ugh). There are no products labeled "Einstein", no flash cards, no "workbooks" pretending to be a coloring book. None of this exists here.  I was looking at some websites of private preschools in America yesterday (as possible future job placements for me down the road) and several boasted that their two year olds have a "pre-literacy" curriculum. The only  pre-literacy a two year old needs is to be read to and talked to and sung to. Those babies had better not be given worksheets and sight words to study, but nothing would surprise me at this point. Mothers here do not seem to care at what age children walk, get teeth, talk. Mothers in America can treat these as competitive sports; "Oh...he's not walking yet? Well, don't worry...I think there's still time." I promise you, there is still time. A friend of ours was explaining how concerned her mother in law was over the fact that at 14 months, her child still had no teeth. The mother in law kept asking: "What if something is wrong? If he isn't developing teeth, what else will be late to develop?" Oy. Insert eye roll here.

Mothers here worry that their children will get dirty if they play outside, while mothers in America worry that their children are not stimulated "enough" outside. I have witnessed many American parents following their child around the playground labeling everything they are doing: "You are on the swings! Good Job pumping your legs! You are climbing the jungle gym! You are going down the slide...weeee!!!" When it comes to food, Indian mothers feed their babies whatever is on the table, even if it is loaded with sugar and caffeine, while some American mothers practically have a heart attack if there child puts a store-bought cracker in their mouth.

I am trying to find a balance. I am an American, raised by Americans, planning on returning to America. My parenting culture is American, there's no way around it. I have two degrees in early childhood education and child development that supply me with some background, but I am winging it most of the time. I survive on coffee and lots of hopeful thoughts that what I am doing, saying, feeding and encouraging is good for my child. I know what feels "good" or "right" to me and what doesn't. I am very thankful that this particular year we were away from America. Oliver is not on any preschool waiting list, nor is he taking violin or Mandarin lessons. He is able to explore and engage with India in a way that Indian children cannot because he has an American mother. We climb the mountain weekly and get quite dirty looking at rocks and moss and playing in the sand box. Never is 'getting dirty' a reason not to do something. We have both been free of any constraints put on us by our American culture and also by the Indian culture. Indian mothers do not give me advice, they know I do things differently, they seem to just stand back and watch; marveling at how Oliver eats vegetables over chocolate cake, tastes the rocks he picks up, and how he goes to bed nightly at 7:30, not "when he chooses to." It has been very liberating for me. Though I wish we had more places to go: museums, parks, lakes, downtown areas...I have been able to construct the environment that I want him to have, with no questions asked.

In a nutshell

There was one singular experience on our trip that I keep recalling on a near-daily basis. On the train from Jaisalmer to Delhi, Andy and I purchased our dinner from the attendant. It was a box containing roti (bread), rice, dal (lentils), mutter (peas) and paneer (cheese). Simple but quite tasty. We had the box and it's contents to deal with once we finished. I remembered seeing a garbage sign at the end of our train car so I took our containers in that direction. I realized once I got to the end of the car that I had been mistaken and that the garbage container was at the other end of our train car. The train doors were open at this end and the attendant was standing in front of them because we had just pulled away from a station. He smiled to me and made a motion for me to toss my garbage out the open doors. I smiled back and said, "No, it's alright. I can walk this to the other end and throw it away." He made the motion out the doors again and I said "No really, it's alright. I just can't litter so I'm going..." He took the garbage from my hand and threw it out the open doors. He smiled once more and brushed his hands together as if to say "that takes care of that!" I was dumbfounded. I was going to walk the 30 feet to the garbage can and think very little of it and he thought that was ridiculous and a much better option was to throw the cardboard and plastic out onto the tracks. Out of sight, out of mind. Done. Sheesh.

During our three week tour Andy came up with several new slogans for the Indian Tourism Bureau whose current slogan is: Incredible !ndia (yes, with an exclamation point!).
Our favorites are:

• Accidental India
• Roll the Dice with India
• India: A Real Piece of Work
• India: We Mean Well Enough
• India: Growing On You Since 1947
• Catch! India
• India: We're All Here (my personal favorite)

My only contribution was 

• India: You'll Be Thankful You Wore Closed-Toed Shoes

It's incredible here, to be certain, but let's call a spade a spade. It's time to have a more honest and straight-forward slogan so that people can have an inkling of what they might be stepping into (literally!) as they step off the plane here.

Wrecked

It wasn't the ending to our vacation that I had been planning for. How could it have been? Somehow, I managed to get out of bed and get dressed and get in the van to the airport. Aching and freezing (in the tropics!), we made it to Singapore without incident.  I was feeling like I had made some progress. I kept saying, "I'm at 50%, I'm going to be fine." For the next 24 hours, Andy got to go out one last time with Mark and I got to lay down and try to get over whatever it was that had a hold of me.  I would have moments where I was good, I could take Oliver outside to play and moments where I would call to Andy because I was too exhausted to change a diaper. When we said goodbye to Mark the next day (Sashka was in the US), I reassured him that we would be fine, I was getting better all the time. I lied. Things went downhill once we got to Delhi. I woke up the next morning in searing pain. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were on fire, it hurt to move, I couldn't bear weight. All that was on my mind was getting to a hospital, any hospital. I was getting scared. I knew I needed help but was I really about to subject myself to an Indian hospital? What if this was Dengue? An embolism? What if they couldn't help me? What if they made it worse?

Not so luckily for us, we were in the most precarious place for any outside communication.  We had to call our insurance company and we had to get an internet connection to see where a semi-decent hospital was located. Andy was on the move, he ran to the internet cafe (of course, our hotels's was not working that morning...nor was their phone?????) and made the calls, looked things up, paying for each minute and frustrated that he couldn't find out more. I sat on the stoop of our hotel trying to breathe, holding back tears, and shielding my face from the over-curious eyes bearing down on me.
When Andy and Oliver returned, we had a plan: a good hospital was only five blocks away. The ride over in the rickshaw was excruciating. Every bump sent a stab of pain to my lungs. I was sobbing, what was awaiting me? Would I receive quality care? Would I be waiting around for hours?
When we first walked in the hospital doors, we saw a sign that read "casualty viewing." Andy assured me that this was just a waiting room and the translation was bad, but I was panicked. Two steps into the hospital and I am thinking I just passed the morgue. We're off to a great start!
Barely breathing, I check in and give a brief history and am directed to a bed. There is blood on the sheet. Fresh. I make them change the sheet. I get eye rolls. It just keeps getting better. The pain overwhelms me and I start crying again. My nurse comes over and assures me, "We will take good care of you. Stop crying! Nothing bad will happen! You're not going to die!" If you say so lady... did you see that sheet? The man at the reception desk was taking video of Oliver on his phone and showing it to everyone that walked by. I got upset. Are patient privacy laws not a "thing" here? Is he allowed to video anyone that comes in? That's my kid! I don't want him on your phone! Andy told me to relax and my doctor just shrugged his shoulders. Fabulous.

I got hooked up to an IV and am given pain medication. What kind? Who knows! Will it be alright to nurse my baby? It should be just fine! Fantastic. I was given oxygen and told they were ordering a full blood panel, EKG and a chest x-ray. Wonderful, let's get this show on the road; I was pretty sure the woman next to me had Tuberculosis. The EKG looked like something that dated back to Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman's time. They put clamps that looked like jumper cables on my ankles and wrists. I joked, "You're not going to jump start me, right?" My tech said, "Yes...yes." Oh boy.  It was normal.
I got wheeled to the x-ray room and I am pretty sure the tech in there did not stand behind anything as my x-ray was taken. That seemed safe. My x-ray was normal too. I got wheeled back into the emergency room and put in between two different patients. This time, I was sure the person next to me had Tuberculosis and I sent Andy and Oliver outside; this was no place for a baby. My nurse came around to recheck my IV and take blood for the panel. I made her change her gloves. She wasn't going to and she had been seeing every patient down the line. When I told her she had to change her gloves before she touched me, she rolled her eyes. I guess Universal Precautions aren't a "thing" here either. Wonderful.

I tried to breathe and rest all the while staying vigilant for clean gloves. If whatever this was wasn't going to kill me, I wasn't about to get some blood-born illness that would do the job. My fever was 104 and I was told to wait four hours for my blood work to come back and that I could check my results online. I was given fever reducing pills, pain medication, the website to check my results, and a bill for $20 American dollars for three hours of care and the tests. We paid and left. I slept mostly soundly for eighteen hours back at the hotel. Opening my eyes required so much work. That night when I finally did open my eyes, we checked the website for my test results during one of my awake moments and they were not in yet. I fell back asleep and Andy cancelled our overnight train tickets and booked plane tickets (thank goodness). We woke the next morning and I felt haggard. I couldn't even carry Oliver to the car. Somehow, we got to the airport and on a plane and made it to Dehradun. It's still a blur, I don't remember the flight at all. When we got home and got the bags in the house I only had the energy to sit. We checked the website again, maybe they meant twenty-four hours? Still nothing. I had the doctor who comes to the health center at school read my results when they came in (four DAYS later) and she said I clearly had a virus. They can come on fast and strong and linger for days. I had a fever for five. And still did not feel one-hundred percent one week later.

So, that's the end of the five week adventure. It wasn't an easy or painless one, but it had to come to an end. I learned that tropical viruses are no joke. When I look back at those five weeks, the fun and positive memories are what stand out; not the sick and frustrating ones. I would do it all again in a minute (well, maybe leave out Jaisalmer) because beyond all the adventures and the food and the fun, I learned so much about myself and how I respond to stress and how much reshaping my outlook will benefit me and my family. That alone was worth every rupee spent.

Ahhh...Thailand

I just reread my Singapore post; it's interesting what I chose to write about (my haircut) and what I didn't (the fear of a corrupted population that runs so deep that anything "corrupting": alcohol, the casino, r-rated movies, get so heavily taxed and edited that you either can't afford them or can't stand them). Oh well, what's written is written. On to Thailand!

Thailand is heaven. Truly. Shear bliss. The energy, the food, the views, the water....it's all paradise. I feel like we saved the best for last with our vacation. I am so grateful we had eight days to relax, decompress and lay in the sand.

We spent five nights on Koh Lanta, a small island south of the mainland, and three nights in Phuket, on the mainland. Koh Lanta was perfect for us. Dubbed the "family-friendly" island, there were kids and babies everywhere. Oliver was in heaven. He had so many playmates (a dramatic change from our first four weeks of him being the only baby anywhere) he was able to "socialize" at his level again. It seemed we were the only non-Swedish family on Koh Lanta. Everyone at our hotel was Swedish and they all seemed to be either retired or taking their government-sanctioned eight weeks (!!!) paid parental leave. When we asked our new Swedish friends about why we only heard Swedish being spoken as we walked down the beach they explained that Thailand is very popular for the parental leave (no kidding!) and that everyone in Sweden speaks highly of Koh Lanta as a great place to get away to Thailand, but still be able to have your countrymen around you. Personally, it was fantastic to be surrounded by Swedish women, mothers in particular. They were very warm and welcoming and so confident with their mothering and their bodies; it really did my heart such good to talk with them. No matter their shape, they all wore bikinis with their heads held high, such an un-American thing to do. They thought it  was fantastic that Oliver was eating fistfulls of sand and running around bare-bottomed (after he pooped through all his swim diapers one day).  I felt a renewed sense of beauty and confidence as a mother in a way I have yet to feel in India. They all complemented each other and praised everyone's children. I kept thinking that this is how it should always be: a mother-hood. A sisterhood that supports and embraces and encourages. Never points fingers, makes accusations (never once did someone tell me Oliver looks cold), or belittles. It was refreshing. I fell in love with Swedish people as I fell in love with Thailand.

The food was out of this world. There was a couple of years in college when I would try to get out of ordering dinner with friends if it was Thai food. Ugh, not again. I really don't care for this. I rediscovered my love of Thai food in Chicago and then fell head over heels for it this trip. I swam through bowls of Tom Yum soup and waded through Thai green curry on a daily basis. Andy and I gorged ourselves on the fresh seafood and discovered that Oliver loves all things from the ocean. Since a growing portion of what he eats comes from our plates he would *scream* and point at our plates when they arrived at dinner and then sign "EAT! EAT! EAT!" until we would cut up a prawn, or a piece of fish or give him a spoonful of green curry (he loves it as much as I do). The three of us indulged at every meal leaving the table with round, happy tummies. Andy and I drank fruity drinks and lounged in the hammock outside our bungalow or napped next to Oliver in the sand. We discovered lemongrass margaritas are our new favorite drink (to my great dismay, you cannot buy lemongrass here) and had several. I would go back to Thailand just to eat and drink, the meals were a vacation themselves.

I had a Thai massage on the beach and ran barefoot from one end of our beach to the other every morning, my knees never hurt once. Andy went birding while Oliver and I built sandcastles and swam in the ocean. I didn't want to leave. But I got on the ferry to Phuket anyways and I am so happy I did. Our view of Phuket is exactly what our view of Koh Lanta was, the ocean and our hotel. We never left our beach. We didn't have to.

Our hotel in Phuket was quite tranquil, perfect for our last few days. We made some friends from Pittsburg, expats living in Singapore, and hung out with them during the days and nights. We again ate and drank everything we could get our hands on. We all slept soundly at night and Oliver would play until he fell asleep on a lounge chair by the pool. We were relaxed.

On our last day in Phuket, I very quickly came down with something. I was in the pool with my expat friend and suddenly was covered with goosebumps and my hands went numb. I got out and sat in the sun but couldn't stop shivering (it was only 92 degrees out).  I tried laying down on a lounge chair but couldn't stop shaking. Everything hurt, from my scalp to my toenails, I just ached.  I went to the room and fell asleep. After a few hours I woke up and started having hallucinations: I thought the Buddha statue on our porch was Andy. I thought I saw Oliver flying. I thought I was hearing things. I was freezing and in horrible pain. I know Andy and Oliver came in and out of the room. I know at some point Andy put on the movie "My Fair Lady" (one of my favorites) for me and I heard Audrey Hepburn's voice drift in and out of my consciousness. I had no concrete thoughts other than being scared. I had never felt so incapacitated. Not after my abdominal surgery; not after my cesarean; not after being depleted by Colitis; I was a shell and a barely conscious one at that. We had to leave the next day to go back to Singapore. I wasn't sure how I was going to get out of the bed let alone survive a plane ride. I drifted in and out that night alternating freezing and baking under the covers. Andy found our reserve antibiotics and I took the first round and hoped everything would be better in the morning.

Singapore, a safe place

Landing in Singapore felt like being wrapped up in a warm, humid blanket. Ahhh...the tropics.
The first thing you notice upon leaving the airport is how clean everything is. When I say clean, I mean clean. Sanitary, polished, almost sterile...a complete 180 from the desert town we were just in. I felt my shoulders relax into place, my brain stop swimming with concern. We made it out of India, and we can touch, eat, drink, lick, and sit on any surface...without wiping it down first! It felt like a reprieve...you can relax now, Oliver will be just fine here.

We stayed with our friends Mark and Sashka in their fabulous rented condominium. Mark and Andy met in college and we met Sashka two years ago on a trip to NYC when I was about six weeks pregnant. Mark is on a two year contract to help establish the Singapore office of his multi-media advertising company. Sashka, like me, is a trailing spouse. We talked at length about what it is like to follow your partner around the world and not have a professional life for yourself. Sashka and I had "therapy" sessions everyday in the workout room. We got it all out. All of it. We were both struggling with being so far from home, not having a professional life, dealing with our husband's successes while we had no external reward for moving...it was fantastic to be able to have this time with someone who really gets what I am saying, and understands through her own experience, the struggle. It was heaven. After three weeks with three Cooper boys, I really needed some girl time. We all went out to eat, shopping, touring, walking, drinking. It was so great to be with people who knew us before we came to India. We could speak short-hand and they understood. Seeing people from home was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Singapore is a police state, but you don't ever see officers. I asked our friends about this and they explained that the officers are in plain clothes; all the better to arrest you for spitting in. You feel the pressure to stay within the lines every time you walk outside. It's different from Japan, the country I previously had associated with following the rules so well. In Singapore you feel scared to step out of bounds because someone might pounce on you. In Japan, it was societal pressure that kept people in line: Don't litter because we want clean streets! Don't listen to loud music so we all can enjoy the train! Don't smoke unless you are near a designated trash can because others may not want to breathe in your exhaust! But in Singapore it's more scary: even consider stepping out of the rule zone and you will be Punished! Severely! Painfully! You get the sense that everyone is aware of this at all times and they walk around the city with an undercurrent of fear pulsing through them.  It was bizarre, eery, especially coming from a country where you never see officers either but that is because they just can't be bothered to enforce any rules.

Singapore has many nicknames: Asia-light (More like Diet-Asia to me), Disneyworld with the death penalty. It was hard to get a sense of the culture, even though we were there for an entire week. I kept wondering, What do people do? What do they like to eat? With what traditions do they raise their kids? What is important to them? I couldn't get a read on it. Singapore is a new country, self-governing since 1959 and independent since 1965 and you feel that newness still. All the buildings are new (we saw a building getting demolished that was built in 1987! Our friends said it "looked too old") the cars on the road can only date back ten years and then must be replaced, the newest buildings look like they are from the future...nothing  said "restored" or " traditional" in the least. New new new. There is cultural influence from Malaysia, of course, but also China, Japan, India and America. There were so many American expats in Singapore to nobody bothered to even glance at us, let alone ask for our picture (which was fantastic!). People from all over the world move there for work since Singapore is the the second freest economy in the world (behind Hong Kong). There is a huge blending of cultures in demographics; but it feels as if none of it is cohesive. It feels quite separate; as if people save their traditions for home at out on the streets everything is a very homogenous....diet Asia.

Capitalism is alive and well in Singapore and I have to admit, though I am embarrassed to, I missed it. , Just a little. What I really miss is the resources, abundant and right at my finger tips. You could buy anything you want or need in Singapore, for a price. Since everything gets imported, you notice just how much taxes, levies and logistics factor into pricing. Vitamins were $85.00! (A Singapore dollar is about 1.25 for every American dollar) One morning Andy had some stomach issues so I went to the pharmacy.  After seeing that the remedy was $45.00, I told him he needed to ride it out. Once Sashka and I walked for two blocks and in those two blocks I passed by two Chanel's. Because it is so hard to walk to the Chanel two blocks back? Crazy. Yes, I shopped and was happy to do so. I only bought a couple of things but since western clothes are not available/not attractive in India, I wanted something new that I could wear in my own style. People seemed happy to shop, happy to pay what was asked. If there is a culture in Singapore, it's a mall culture; the common thread can be found at the malls.

I had told my friend that one of the first things I had to do in Singapore was get my haircut. I needed a change and I needed someone who knew how to cut curly hair. When I arrived at the salon my very sweet, young, flaming stylist took one look at my hair and gasped, "What have you DONE?" I meekly replied something about how hard the water in India is...how much I am trying with my limited product availability to keep moisture in my hair. He shook his head and said that I MUST get the $325 deep conditioning treatment. "Nope, I just want to cut it off." We agreed on three inches. He was adamant about not going shorter (a commandment for those of us with tight ringlets, 'thou shall not have hair above your shoulders!'). One he had done the trimming and blew out my hair into a nice, straight look I said, "Go shorter." He shook his head no. "Yes, please, you don't understand how badly I need a change!" He said he couldn't possibly. So I very kindly, but very directly said that if he didn't take two more inches off I wasn't going to pay the full price and I wasn't going to come back (he didn't need to know that I wouldn't come back anyway). He very nervously went after those two inches. His brow was sweating but his hands were steady. In the end, even with five inches gone, my hair rested comfortably below my shoulders but I felt like a completely new person.

By far the hardest thing for me to get my head around in Singapore was that there was never anyone swimming in the ocean. There are so many merchant tankers in the surrounding water, waiting to get into port that they leak oil into the water so there is oil at the beach. I just don't understand how you can live on an island and never be able to swim in the water around it. Isn't there a solution? The tankers wait further from shore? Cleaner tankers? There must be a way to still get the goods in (there goes that capitalism, ruining the oceans...I told you I was embarrassed for missing it!) yet keep the ocean's clean. I just don't know the answer.

After a week we were off to Thailand, where I could have stayed, happily, in the ocean all day.

Jaisalmer

Jaisalmer, home to so many things: the Thar desert, the Jaisalmer fort, more camels per capita than any other city I have ever been to, my emotional breakdown...

Here's the thing: I had an entire post written about the challenges of Jaisalmer and of traveling around India in general and how I was handling it all...and I think I just needed to write that for myself. I erased it and feel like all that really needs to be said is that this was a good trip for me. Really. The whole thing.

Jaisalmer, with Jaisalmer fort in the background.

In the moment, so many things can challenge and upset you. But when you step back and get some distance, you realize that it's all great. You did it. You made it. It's okay.

I have to remind myself sometimes that I chose to come here. I could have said no, put my foot down and remained in Chicago, but I wanted an adventure. I needed an adventure. I needed to get away from my routines, my lists, my comfortable existence and shake things up. Get uncomfortable, get proactive, get scared, get shaken. And I did. Get shaken. Jaisalmer brought out all the things that make me most crazy about India (obnoxious men, feces and garbage in the street, general filth) and put it in front of my face, and my feet daily; and it was so difficult. It brought me to my knees. In the moment, I had a complete emotional breakdown at the rooftop restaurant of our hotel. In the moment I felt it was over a lack of coffee, frustrations with my travel companions, camel poop...but now that I have some space I realize I needed that breakdown in the worst way. I had been moving forward, keeping the pace, staying vigilant and I was tired. Exhausted in my bones. I needed to breakdown so I could rebuild, start over, and start enjoying.  

In the moment, this was not clear. In the moment, I was a hysterical, under-caffeinated westerner weeping as if the tears would never stop. But now...much later...it's all great. It's all going to be okay. This is my adventure, I wanted this. So it isn't *exactly* what I wanted it to be; it's exactly what I need. I wanted to get uncomfortable, India said "Okay, deal with this!" I wanted to get shaken, India responded with force. I wanted to get away from my routines and lists and India has thrown every diversion, lack of resource and challenge at me it can muster. And it's all going to be okay. Really, it will. Hear me, and  really listen, because I spent countless dollars and hours needing a therapist to assure me of this: it's all going to be okay. 

I have four more months here and I intend to make the most of them. Sure, I will still roll my eyes at the men and the car horns and get frustrated when my grocer does not have a single item that I need, but it's all going to be okay. I really needed some India in my life and boy, I have it. I got the message, loud and clear. No matter what, it's all going to be okay. And honestly, because I have gotten some space from it all, the big picture is so clear: I am having the time of my life. 

Udaipur

If Jaipur was the beginning of me questioning why we came to India, then Udaipur was a breath of fresh air. Built around a lake (you all know how I love my cities built around lakes!) it has palaces, temples, roof top restaurants and not a single busy road because it is such an old city that it does not have multi-lane roads in the city center. The roads are only wide enough for one car or rickshaw to pass through at a time. Udaipur's claim to fame is that "Octopussy" was filmed there. Several restaurants show it nightly so as you walk down the street at night you hear James Bond flirting with women and shooting guns and leaping from building to building.

Udaipur at sundown; view from a rooftop
Lake Palace in the distance

There were more visible tourists in Udaipur as well, as most chose to stay in the center of the city. This meant I met a few women I could actually talk to. After traveling for nearly two weeks with three generations of Cooper men, I was sorely missing some girl-time.  Anytime I heard a woman speaking English, I would strike up a conversation with her, "Talk to me!  PLEASE!" Great coffee was abundant and so was great food. I took a cooking class and learned how to make four different curries, masala chai, roti, parathas, and dal. Yum.  We found a rooftop restaurant with fabulous food (and minestrone soup for Chuck) that looked over the lake and had a very large cushioned area to sit and eat at on the floor, which was ideal for Oliver because he could move around (highchairs aren't a thing in restaurants in India). I really enjoyed being able to go up on a rooftop, several floors above the street and enjoy a quiet meal with a great view.

Walking around Udaipur was fun. There were many attractive things to look at and all were easily visible as we walked along the narrow roads. The only issue I took with walking these roads was that I was constantly being yelled to by shop owners who were quite forward; "Beautiful woman! Come into my store!" "Madam, you need ______!" "Pretty mother and baby, you like? Come in!" We stayed just four buildings down from a great cafe and I would count dozens of shouts as I walked for coffee each day. I get it! You want business! I want coffee, so it's not going to happen right now!  An owner of a tailoring business even tried to sell me the jacket I was wearing. "I can make your jacket for you! Good price! Come in and get measured!" When I asked him why I would want a jacket made exactly like the one I had on, he was so perplexed. "Then you would have two!" Oh, got it. Maybe next time.

We took long walks around town and across the lake. Toured the city palace and took a boat ride, which was Oliver's first and he LOVED it. We shopped and drank and enjoyed the atmosphere.

City Palace

There were no camels that we saw, but there were hundreds of cows and Oliver was thrilled to "Moo" at them everyday.

When we were in Jaipur I asked Chuck for his input, as it is his vacation too. I asked him, "What would you like to see while you are here?" He responded, "Old stuff." Andy and I howled with laughter and it became a running joke between the three of us. We would pass by an old temple, "Look Chuck, 'old stuff'!" Or an old, dilapidated building, "Old stuff!" Even an elderly cow, "Old stuff!"

Udaipur satisfied the needs of all three adults and Oliver. Water, a more quiet energy and great food for me; Great art, temples and walking for Andy; "Old stuff" and minestrone soup for Chuck; and plenty of cows for Oliver to admire. It felt like a very special place, a place we were very fortunate to see. I truly enjoyed my time in Udaipur. Now we had to prepare ourselves for two overnight train rides in the next forty-eight hours as there is no direct train from Udaipur to Jaisalmer. We headed back to Jaipur on an overnight train and stayed at our former hotel for the day. Then at 11:00 p.m. we left Jaipur for Jaisalmer. I was beyond exhausted, feeling depleted and ready to stay in one place for a while. But staying in one place was not on the agenda.