Diet Cokenhavn

Today was my first full day at the Bella Center, where the Climate Conference is being held. I'm not attending any of the actual agreement negotiations, but the side events have been interesting. If you're interested in what's going on in the important people rooms, the NY Times has a good summary page of discussions and the conference in general.

Here is me at the Climate Conference today:

Judging by my smile you'd never know the deep sense of disappointment and betrayal I'm feeling. Why? I'll tell you why. Diet Coke costs $5 in Copenhagen. Not five krona. Five American dollars, people. Not a normal 20 oz. bottle, but one of those crummy half liter ones. Not only at the conference center, where you'd expect crazy prices. Nay, at the 7-Eleven down the block from my apartment. I'm just hurt, you know? They knew I was coming and it's like they did it on purpose. That's cool, Denmark.

Velkommen til København

Hello five people who read this blog!

I'm finally out of the country again and my travel blog is back. Do people still blog anymore? Should I be tweeting this?

I arrived in Copenhagen this afternoon and, if not in love yet because we only just met, am definitly in deep like. Here's the view from my apartment. The building with the green top is the Carlsberg brewery. I see a tour in my future. Also the Danes invented Legos. I will find their museum and build myself an apartment with a dishwasher and a real bedroom. I'll do it, so help me!




Our apartment is very sweet. Its only major setback is that it's a five floor walk up, which I believe is the travel gods' way of telling me to not pack the entire contents of my life into suitcases. I have also never been so grateful to be a former smoker.

Before I go to bed, I leave you with perhaps the greatest artistic achievement of the century, as viewed from the streets of Frederiksberg. In the window of a harmless looking hair salon is this piece of work that would make Tim Gunn weep magical tears. Now think hard. It's in the window of a hair salon. It's made of yes and good night.

Old Dhaka

Today two colleagues and I decided to be renegades and break from the office/hotel routine. Since my last time here, I'd been hoping to check out some more of Old Dhaka, since all I'd seen was Sadarghat.

First we headed to Ahsan Manzil, the Pink Palace. We got there just as the gates had closed but were shuffled in and allowed to walk around for a bit. I'm embarrassed to say that we were allowed in despite the fact that several Bangladeshis were lined up outside. I didn't feel very good about it, but figured that it very well may have been my only opportunity to see the palace. Walking around the grounds and seeing the view of the Bariganga River from the top of the steps was worth a little American guilt.



Per my Lonely Planet guidebook....in 1872, it was built on the site of an old French factory by Nawab (Prince) Abdul Ghani, Dhaka's wealthiest zamindar (landowner). Depicted here wearing a jazzy feather hat...


Lord Curzon, the Viceroy of India, stayed in the palace whenever he was in Dhaka. Here he is looking very British...


Next we headed to Bangsal Road, also known as "Bicylcle Street," where the wallahs buy the art that adorns their rickshaws. We wound our way through the narrow streets and walked through a major rickshaw traffic jam - a total cluster-you know what. There seems to be no "you go, then I go, and so we all have a better chance of making it across the street in one piece." No no. Everyone inches up on each other so rickshaws end up in a tangle and no one gets anywhere. Anyway, we made it through there after asking someone every several yards "Bangsal Rd. kotai?" (where is Bangsal Rd.?) and finally made it. I picked up some fantastic pieces that I have nowhere to hang, but damn it they're cool.

Back to Dhaka and a Bengali Wedding

So I just figured out that in my rush to pack, I forgot the little jammy that lets me transfer photos to my computer. Awesome. Bear with me as I try to paint you the picture without any of my photos until I get back -- might try to grab a disposable camera and get some photos on CD.. we'll see.

I arrived here at 2 AM Monday morning, and just missed some excitement at Zia International where there was a two hour power outage - http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=20992. Very happy to have missed that! A colleague had to feel for her luggage in the dark.

My first night here, a friend in our Dhaka office invited me to attend a wedding ceremony with her and her son. I was so excited to go and do something social! Working out here often involves being shuttled between the hotel and office, and I can start to feel a bit like a caged bird. Anyway, the wedding was held at a huge hall on the grounds of some sort of police force - I think the border police. The whole outside of the hall was decorated in beautiful strings of white lights. The guests were just amazingly dressed - the women wore bright, elaborately beaded saris and amazing jewelry. I was excited to have the chance to wear the red silk salwar kameez I had made in Kathmandu, but I had nothing on these girls.

The ceremony was the last in a long series of events that started several months ago, I think, with the arranged engagement. The bride was wearing an amazing pink sari that my friend told me can weigh as much as 10 pounds. The bride and groom received their guests from a couch on the stage - the poor things had to sit there for hours while they had their picture taken with every guest (including me!), and then shared a meal together with close family and friends. There were so many other guests that there were several seatings for dinner and the guests rotated to and from the tables.

My favorite bit of the ceremony was the end. After finishing dinner, the bride and groom sat back on the couch together and were surrounded again by friends and family. They each took turns looking in a mirror, that was tilted at an angle so that they saw the others' face. Then they shared a glass of juice and some rice, to symbolize all that they'll share during married life. It was very sweet and I felt very lucky to be there.

"Ugh, Heathrow Terminal 4."

Seriously, Heathrow. Seriously.

We need to have a talk.

You are not nearly as charming as I remember you. Then again, I was 15 the last time I saw you. Young and foolish, perhaps my bright-eyed enthusiasm about my first trip to Europe clouded the fact that you are an absolute crap place to hang out.

You don't have a nice comfy place for weary travelers to rest while they wait for their gate to be posted. This is especially annoying when your gate has not been posted. ::ahem::

You force your security personnel to wear the most horrible green and black polyster shirt creation I have ever seen. Is that why they're so slow? Is it a work slow-down in protest of bad clothes? They're so slow that you felt the need to hang a sign asking people to not attack them. No "threats, verbal assaults, or violence." There's a story there, I'm sure. Or maybe several. Have you looked at the airport in the mirror lately and asked "What can I do to prevent people from flying at my employees in a blind rage?" I doubt it.

Also, you charged me .20 GBP extra to "eat in" instead of "take away" my almond croissant.

And to add insult to injury, your bathrooms are way below par.

Ugh, Heathrow Terminal 4. Ugh.

Homeward Bound

Here are some photos I took while hanging out in Durbar Square yesterday and Pashupatinath last week. Some cool things I saw that I did not take pictures of out of respect and/or it was illegal

• The Kumari - the virgin living goddess. She's about 8 years old and lives in a little house in Durbar Square. Her feet aren't allowed to touch the ground and as soon as she starts puberty, she's replaced. There are a bunch of signs (that I have little info on) that lead to the next Kumari being chosen. She came to the window while I was there and looked bored and pissed off, frankly. Apparently, there's a curse on the Kumaris that leads to the death of any sons they bear, so they rarely get married. I'd be pissed too!



• Funerals at Pashupatinath. Pashupati is a huge temple in which only Hindus are allowed. You can walk up a hill, though, and overlook the temple and the bank of the Bagamati River (which is connected to the Ganges and, therefore, sacred). Bodies are brought to the edge of the Bagamati and the whole family participates in preparing it for the pyre - purifying it with water from the river, applying the tika (the circle of red powder on the forehead), etc. Then the body, wrapped in a sheer-ish white cloth, is brought to the pyre. **Queasy stomachs read no further** It's the eldest son's job to make sure the skull cracks open in the fire - as that's how the soul escapes the body. Apparently it needs to be helped along sometimes.

I have a ridiculously long layover in Bangkok until tomorrow night - so hopefully I'll be able to do something touristy (and cheap) before heading back to the US.

Kathmandu Pics

I have, once again, neglected my blogging duties. I'm jamming on work (sadly this is not a sightseeing trip), but here are some photos I've managed to snap in the times I haven't been glued to my laptop or stuck in Kathmandu traffic.

Headline: "B'deshi (Foreigner) Gets Mendhi on Left Hand - Most Exciting Thing to Happen All Day!"

Holy Monkeys Batman!

Good Craic in Kathmandu

Baby Karate at Pashupatinath