This is HUGE news in India, and rightly so: Delhi Court Overturns Gay Sex Ban.

While doing housekeeping around here, I found a couple of really old posts (from Brazil, circa 2007, and Peru in early 2008) that I started and for some reason never published. It’s kind of too bad, because it doesn’t really make sense anymore and I can’t figure out how to publish it in between the posts of whatever month it was originally written. I don’t know if that’s even possible, and I guess it would kind of go against the point of a blog, but it would fit much better in context. But I’m publishing them anyway (for now), because my last post was kind of lame and short and I’m too tired/lazy to write another one at the moment. I’m guessing the one on shopping holidays was written in April 2007, but I really have no idea. Posts below the fold.

1: Shopping Holidays (2007)

Today is another public holiday. I’m not quite sure which one it is (considering it’s the 3rd or 4th public holiday this month, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that nobody’s really keeping track). Brought up as I was in the hallowed traditions of Memorial Day sales and Labor Day back-to-school shopping, I tend to forget that if you’re anywhere but the States (maybe Canada as well?), the concept of a “shopping holiday” is confusing at best.

Even a shopping weekend is kind of a weird idea in most places. When I was in Mozambique, a friend who had spent a couple of years in the States told me that during his first week in the US he made sure to move in and stock up on everything he’d need before the weekend. When Sunday rolled around, he went to visit a friend and was amazed to see that all the stores were open. It’s not a funny story unless you’ve ever woken up on a Sunday and realized you forgot to buy milk at the store. But anyway. Not only is shopping on a Sunday a little bit weird in most of the world, even a full uninterrupted day of shopping is fairly unusual. Aside from in the very biggest cities (and sometimes even there), the siesta is alive and well. If you’re eating lunch and need an aspirin in any city from Arequipa to Quelimane, you’d better hope your headache or heartburn or whatever it is can wait until 3 in the afternoon. In many places, they’ve managed to maintain the tradition of the “floating siesta,” which basically means that they shut the door in your face at noon on the dot and open back up when they feel like it.

This actually has very little to do with Rio — the siesta is practically non-existent here, things stay open late, and “flexible” (read: unscheduled early) closing times are rarely a problem unless there’s a game on. Shopping holidays, though, haven’t really caught on. How do I know this? No comment. Is it true that this knowledge was the hard-won result of a loooong bus odyssey out to the huge malls in the Barra da Tijuca suburbs on a perfect-for-shopping holiday, only to find out to my dismay that the stores didn’t open until 3pm? I SAID, no comment.

Anyway, happy random Brazilian holiday.

2: Memo to Miraflores (2008)

You may have noticed that Lima doesn’t get a lot of rain. In fact, I believe that it is what is known in common parlance as a “desert” (Desert, n. a place like Lima, Peru, that only gets 5 millimeters of rain a year). There are large portions of the city that don’t have any running water, and even larger portions that have polluted and overused the water supply that there is to within an inch of its (figurative) life. Therefore: please don’t water the grass in the parks at noon when it’s sunny out. And TURN OFF THE FOUNTAINS.

That is all.

I’ll start back up with an understatement: it’s been a while since I’ve written anything here. Long enough that starting to blog again feels incredibly awkward, and I wouldn’t be doing it if I could think of an alternative that didn’t involve either those weirdly cheery mass emails or spending literally my entire life on the internet. But as terrible as I am about staying in touch, I do really miss you all — so back to blogging it is.*

I split the first month of the summer between Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo on a law-school-sponsored exchange program. Since I will probably never get around to writing about it in detail, I’ll just say that Brazil was, as always, totally fabulous, and thanks to the heroic scheduling efforts of the Brazil cohort, the program way exceeded expectations. I left Brazil on the 20th and arrived in India on the 25th after a stop in New Haven to repack my bags, do laundry, and lie on the couch with a fever. Probably due to the fever and a persistent cough (sincere apologies to all my seatmates), the trip itself was extremely unpleasant. I’d be trying to forget it entirely were it not for a three hour stopover in Dubai, where the huge and shiny buildings rising out of the desert haze and flashing (oil?) trucks were enough to fascinate me out of my overmedicated and under-rested travel coma. In any case, I arrived in the Bangalore airport at 3am, exactly a week ago today. After some tense moments at the swine flu checkpoint — I was seriously worried I’d be sent back to the States, but luckily, my fever had disappeared somewhere over the Mediterranean — I sailed through immigration, retrieved my badly-smashed suitcase, and stepped outside to a cool, dark, and silent early-morning Bangalore.

*But still send emails! I swear I will answer them eventually.

Don’t get your hopes up: the chances that the blog will make a comeback are not very good. But on the other hand, the compromise I promised myself — that I’d make up for not blogging by answering all my emails within 24 hours — has been a total disaster.

I don’t think I’ll be blogging again regularly. But I decided that I’m going to do a “week in the life” feature that will answer the questions about what I’ve been up to. It will likely be interesting only to the true believers. But if you’re still checking here after 6 months of total radio silence, you’re probably someone with whom I don’t want to lose touch.

Fact: May Day is exponentially cooler than its US substitute. For one thing, it is not based solely on hysterical anti-communism. For another thing, it is actually a holiday.

As many of you already know, I’m looking for a sublet in San Francisco this summer from the beginning of June to around mid-August. [Related plea: anyone know of apartments that will be available during that time? I've lived in enough places over the past few years that I'm not really that picky anymore, I just want somewhere I can chill when I'm not working.] So far, not so much luck. Here’s a conversation I had with a prospective landlord the other day:

Me: Hi, I’m calling about the sublet you posted on craigslist

Landlord: Oh hi, great. So, where are you calling from? You showed up as zeros on my caller ID.

Me: Right, I’m in Peru.

(pause)

LL: Peru… wow… say, I have another guy that called me from Spain. Peru is pretty close to Spain, right?

Me: Um.

*10 seconds later*

LL: Hey, the people in Peru are really dark, right?

Until now, I didn’t even consider myself that much of a snob about this — I’ll admit that extreme geographic ignorance bothers me a little, but I can’t really be a purist since I do occasionally get mixed up about parts of the world I haven’t traveled to. But those 2 questions coming right on top of each other left me flailing for a response. I mean, seriously: if we’re talking on the phone and I say I’m in Peru, that’s what you ask before anything else? Or better yet, that’s the only thing you ask?

Reiterating plea: if anyone has any apartment-hunting leads for this summer, let me know. I’ll be eternally grateful — and see what you’ll be saving me from?

Here’s something random, and possibly obvious, that I’ve been thinking about since a conversation with my flatmates the other day: spelling bees are really, really weird. For a number of reasons, I guess, but the reason I have in mind is that it seems like English is one of relatively few languages (Roman alphabet-based languages, anyway — Chinese would be a different story) in which the written version is complicated and counterintuitive enough that spelling things is actually a challenge. It goes without saying that all languages have quirks, but in many cases if you know the basic rules, hearing someone correctly pronounce the word will give you a good idea of how it’s spelled. Spanish, for instance: b and v are pronounced very similarly, and s can sound like c and z, depending on where they are in the word and whether you’re in Spain or Latin America. But once you get the hang of that, you’re pretty much in the clear. The idea of studying a dictionary, learning words individually because they defy any standard rules, and practicing over and over for a spelling contest is profoundly odd. I’ve never minded English spelling (except when I embarrass myself by mispronouncing a word that I’ve only ever read, or failing to connect the correctly pronounced word to its written form), but I’m very glad I didn’t have to learn it as a second or third language. When people here ask me how to pronounce a word they’ve seen, I often have to admit I don’t have a clue.

On a related but tangential note: I used to love the board game version of Clue, but for a long time I imagined that “lead pipe” meant that it was first among many — in other words, LEED as in leader rather than LED as in metal. I never bothered to figure out why the pipe had so much status, and eventually I saw the movie and understood that I had been pronouncing it wrong. What’s the term for words that are spelled exactly the same but pronounced differently? Like lead (meaning to be in charge, or the metal), read (present tense, past tense), close (meaning proximity, or to shut the door), desert (as in dry places, or well-deserved reward)…

I guess this whole thing is probably pretty obvious, but it had never really occurred to me before. Maybe learning one of those consonant-filled Eastern European languages, or trying out a language that has traditionally been taught orally would cure me of thinking that spelling should be easy.

Something that fascinates me: the current discussion about the opening of the CERN large hadron collider. From the NYTimes:

The world’s physicists have spent 14 years and $8 billion building the Large Hadron Collider, in which the colliding protons will recreate energies and conditions last seen a trillionth of a second after the Big Bang. Researchers will sift the debris from these primordial recreations for clues to the nature of mass and new forces and symmetries of nature.

But Walter L. Wagner and Luis Sancho contend that scientists at the European Center for Nuclear Research, or CERN, have played down the chances that the collider could produce, among other horrors, a tiny black hole, which, they say, could eat the Earth. Or it could spit out something called a “strangelet” that would convert our planet to a shrunken dense dead lump of something called “strange matter.” Their suit also says CERN has failed to provide an environmental impact statement as required under the National Environmental Policy Act.

I am obviously not qualified to even begin to understand the physics involved here. Maybe that’s why the idea of getting sucked into a black hole doesn’t bother me. But I think part of it is also that, well, it would just be such an absurd — and quick, right? — way to go that I almost don’t think I could be angry even if it were to happen. I mean, part of me might be like, OW, that’s a lot of gravity. But then the other part of me would be like, but isn’t this interesting? And I’d have to agree that yeah, it actually kind of is.

I am, as you may have noticed, a big fan of travel. Well, not the actual act of getting from place to place, especially if I have to do it by airplane coach class after standing in line for three gazillion hours to check in and then almost missing my flight because airport security insists that I remove my rubber flip-flops for screening. But I like going places, and I like figuring places out, and all in all I really respect people who are willing to take risks and experience things outside of their everyday orbit.

Which is why I kind of hate to bust up people’s image of me as a crazy, savvy world traveler, and a little bit sorry to break the news to anyone who doesn’t already know: Lima is not a city that you need a PhD in Adventure to explore. Especially if you stick to the fancier areas — which, admittedly, are not at all representative of the rest of them, and certainly not representative of the rest of the country, but which are really the only ones most foreigners will ever see. My apartment here is newer and nicer than anything I’ll be able to afford for the foreseeable future, and if I ever get a craving for good old-fashioned American fast food, I am within walking distance of every US chain in existence. The supermarkets are new and nice, the streets are clean, the lawns are green (look, I rhymed!), the earthquake fortifications apparently secure… basically, Miraflores irritations are:

1. Traffic

2. That’s all I can think of.

I’m telling you this because one of these days, I will get around to posting my thoughts on the traffic situation here, and you’re going to say, Grace, this is ridiculous. You’re in PERU, for crying out loud, and you can’t find anything more interesting to post about than the TRAFFIC? But that’s the thing. I live in a city. Cities have traffic. I don’t like traffic, and since Lima traffic is wretched, that’s what I like to gripe about in my spare time (everyone needs something).

What I’m really hoping, though, is that one of these days, if I keep talking about traffic for long enough, people will start to get it: big cities are big cities. There are lots and lots of kinds of big cities, but in many ways it’s more variations on a theme than huge distinctions. There are (of course) very real cultural differences and unique local quirks in every place, and the differences seem bigger when you compare cities in different countries or continents. I don’t know how to explain this. I love traveling, and I’m not saying that it’s bad to notice differences–I think it’s the opposite, actually; really noticing and trying to understand differences can be incredibly broadening. But I’m not comfortable with “exotic”, because it lumps people together who are totally different (ever heard people talk about “Africa” as if it were a country instead of a continent?) and separates people who are a lot more similar than they realize. Part of understanding things that are foreign is taking them off of that pedestal and getting rid of the idea that differences in fact are symbolic of differences in humanity.

So that’s why I’m trying — somewhat ineptly — to explain that the way people live in the nicer areas of South America is not that different from the way they’d live in the States (which is not to say that this is at all the way they live in the other areas… but at least let’s try to separate poverty from culture). And on that note, here’s an embarrassing confession: I went to Starbucks the other day. Yeah, I know. And I bought a chai latte for EXACTLY the same price it would have been in the States, which is just absurdly overpriced here. Yeah, I know. Seriously, who pays 10 soles for coffee? (The Starbucks was full.) I was using the free Wifi there to catch up on my email (Yeah, I know), and decided to write a blog post. So I typed:

Peru is great. I’m in Starbucks checking my email and looking out at the big traffic circle in Miraflores. Let’s see, there’s a Papa John’s Pizza, a TGI Fridays, a Chili’s… oh yeah, and the movie theater is playing all American movies except one. Also, there’s a Domino’s and a Pizza Hut and Burger King and of course McDonald’s down the street.

And then I stopped.

Okay, no more confessions. Seriously, or the kids in the audience are going to start believing that any fool could do this. Which is CERTAINLY not true. Children, it takes a very brave person to sample the INDIAN CURRY chicken patty at McDonald’s in Lima, Peru. Also, children, said Indian curry chicken patty is definitely not worth the trip to South America.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been to Peru — J and I came in 2005 and spent about 3 weeks doing the standard tourist circuit of Cuzco, Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca, Pisco, and Arequipa — but it’s the first time I’ve spent more than a day or two in Lima. I didn’t have much to say about the city last time I was here. Actually, all I really remember is that I was 1) appalled by the unrelenting grayness of the city, and 2) disproportionately pleased that I could get slightly defective American-brand clothes for extremely low prices.

I find it a bit embarrassing that that’s all I really remember. So I guess it’s lucky I have a chance to take a second look, and even luckier that this time around I’m missing the winter permafog. Lima in the summer is sunny, cheerful, and cosmopolitan, with beautiful views from the cliffs overlooking the ocean and unfailingly gorgeous sunsets. It’s no Rio… but what it lacks in spectacular beaches and crazy Brazilian jeito it makes up for in safety, relative cleanliness, low prices, and welcoming people.

I’m nearly 4 weeks into my 3-month internship with an NGO that does randomized control trials of poverty programs, mostly microfinance, and so far I love the work and the people. Through them, I also found a pair of great housemates — one Peruvian, one Spanish — and have my own room in a beautiful part of Miraflores near Parque Kennedy. Honestly, I don’t know Lima all that well yet, since I work during the week and have been going to the beach about an hour away on weekends. But so far I like what I’ve seen. And my Spanish? The good news is that since I live with native Spanish speakers, I get a lot of practice. The other good news is that I finally got over my compulsive perfectionism and am now willing to massacre as many words and verb tenses as necessary to get my point across. The bad news is that apparently, I just don’t have the brain space to keep two languages as similar as Spanish and Portuguese clearly separate in my head. The first few days were particularly bad: for example, the Portuguese word for “what?” is “oi?” — which happens to be pronounced exactly the same as “hoy”, the Spanish word for “today”. This led to several very frustrating conversations while I was apartment hunting:

Me: “What time can I look at the apartment?”

Them: “Does tomorrow at 7 work?”

Me (not understanding): “Oi?”

Them: “No, not hoy, tomorrow.”

Me: “Oh, I mean, como?”

Them: “Tomorrow”

Me: “No, I heard that part. I meant oi, not hoy, or, well, never mind… what time tomorrow?”

Them: “Oh, you want to stop by today?”

My Spanish has recovered a lot since then, but that in itself is a bit of a weird sensation — I swear that every time I remember a word or phrase I used to know in Spanish, I can literally feel the Portuguese equivalent being forced to the trash compactor of my memory. It drives me crazy to know that all those words that I spent so much time learning are now sitting there gathering dust, next to the scrap heap of my calculus skills and the joke that I always get halfway through telling before I realize that I no longer know the punchline. But I guess it’s a small price to pay. I get to spend 3 months in a city where I don’t even need to own an umbrella (take THAT, San Francisco downpour, Midwest floods, and Boston sleet), hemisphere-hop from summer to summer, and meet a ton of amazing people while attempting to get the travel bug out of my system before I settle down for what seems like an impossibly long 3 years of law school in the States. All in all, I’m not going to complain.