Day 1 and Hearing "No"

Namaste from Mumbai my little samosas!

I'm writing to you from my room at the YWCA International Guesthouse in "Fort," a neighborhood with some lovely old buildings that I hope to get a better look at tomorrow. My room is no frills but spic and span. As I opened the door to a gleaming white bathroom, I channeled my mother with a faint but audible sigh of "oh thank God."

It just occurred to me that this is the perfect place to spend a few days before I meet up with the rest of my classmates for our course on social enterprise. For one, the Mumbai chapter of the YWCA (the Young Women's Christian Association) seems to have created an income generating arm in this guesthouse. I need to learn more, but I suspect that the guesthouse provides a sustainable funding stream for the YWCA to carry out its social programs for women and girls. Secondly, the first YWCA in England was created to house Florence Nightingale's army of nurses in transit to and from the Crimean War. As I've learned in reading for my class, Florence was a tough bird and grandmama social entrepreneur who transformed the nursing industry. A very auspicious place to begin!

Other than general dampness from the monsoon rains and finding symbolism in my 20' x 10' room, my first day has been all about challenging my American notion that the customer is always right. So far, today's theme seems to be that the customer is probably wrong and/or doesn't quite know what she's talking about.

I landed at around 4 AM and after a long line for a prepaid taxi from the airport, made my way here by about 7. Check-in wasn't until 12:30 but I was told a room could be available by 11. I'd been hoping to skate in despite the later check-in (I've always thought of check-in times as general guidelines - the way drivers here think of traffic signals), but figured no bigs. While the thought of sweating it out in a room for four hours didn't sound heavenly, the lounge was equipped with chairs and I was equipped with something to put in them as well as a book to read. The "no" stung a bit, but you know, I get it. Maybe they were still making my bathroom sparkle like John Edwards' teeth. And after all, check-in time is check-in time. And then:

Cara: Is there a dining room?

Reception: Yes but it is for guests only. You may have your complimentary tea in the lounge. (**note dear reader, he had just handed me back my Visa card after charging me the Rs 6204 for my two night stay. )

Cara: Oh OK.

::whimper - shuffles back to lounge::

At home and with a circadian rhythm undisrupted by jetlag, I most definitely would have put up a fight. But my head hurt and the thought of additional talking made it hurt more.

Later that day...something like this...

Cara: Oh hello this is Cara Hayes- my internet password doesn't seem to be working.

:: we double check the numbers - still no dice::

Reception Person 2: OK please come down and get another number.

....

Cara: Hello I'm here for my new internet password.

Reception Person 2: You need to bring down your computer so I can check the password (Read: Hey dumbass, since you can't use your pointer fingers to hit numbers sequentially I'll have to do it for you).

....

Cara: Oh, OK. I'll just go back upstairs then. ::pause. whimper. shuffle back upstairs.::

For the record, he couldn't get the number to work either. Victory! (?)

Still later... goes a little somethin' like this...

Cara: Hello. I'd like a taxi to Leopold's please.

Reception 3: It's just a five minute walk around the corner. Just walk.

Cara: Oh, OK. ::pause. whimper. open umbrella. ponder fat drops of monsoon rain. shuffle out the door::

I was on my way to meet Krista, a friend from grad school who I was lucky to overlap with for one night here. After some fantastic conversation and paneer tikka masala at Leopold Cafe, we decided to get some ice cream.

Cara: We'd like some ice cream please.

Waiter: In this weather? (editor's note - hot, sticky and tropical) No. Bad for your throat. Have some cake.

I think my first (three) diet coke(s) in 24 hours gave me my mojo back, for I did not whimper nor did I shuffle. I politely responded that we really did want some ice cream please.

Per my development theory all-time-fave Amartya Sen in The Argumentative Indian, I think I may have just spent my entire day witnessing the cultural bedrock of Indian democracy. I am honored.

Tomorrow, I will sightsee 'til my heart's content and I expect to experience the best of the city. In my head, I walk out the door and it will go something like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zy9eftbGs0U.

Autopilot

It seemed strange that the 5A bus to Dulles had no driver.

End of trip kitchen sink blogs - Part 1

Public transportation in Copenhagen is kind of baller, as my friend Tara would say. It all runs so well, which contributes to the overall low-keyness and pleasantness of the city.** They run several smaller trains on an automated system, so your train is always arriving in 2 minutes or less. People don't crowd around the exits like they do in DC, which made me want to hand out Hershey's kisses to fellow metro riders as a small token of my appreciation. Here's a picture of my metro station in Frederiksberg, courtesy of WikiCommons.

The buses were also very nice and usually full of students or nice old ladies in very serious looking winter coats. I have chosen to forgive the one bus driver who took me to the central train station downtown rather than the metro. It was my fault too, sir. Here is me in happier bus-taking times waiting for the #18, which I took on my way to COP15 every morning:


Copenhagen is also an incredibly bike friendly city. There are bike lanes along what seemed like every street. Tons of residents, from kids to chubby old ladies, hop on their bicycles to get where they're going. Here's a whole blog about biking in Copenhagen if you're interested in learning more- http://www.copenhagenize.com/. In addition to the crazy number of bikes and the fact that I nearly got plowed over by a few after forgetting about the bike lane thing, I was struck by the fact that the vast majority of bikes are left unlocked. Since I didn't see anyone chasing any bike riders with raised fists screaming something like "Jö shtohl mi bikken!", I will conclude that bikes are rarely stolen. Here are some bikes outside of Frederiksberg metro station.


**Have I mentioned in previous blogs that Copenhagen is so nice that it's kind of annoying? Everything is just so... so.... g*d damn pleasant in a totally vanilla way - nothing is super great, but nothing is super awful either. The people are perfectly nice. Trains run on time. Everyone speaks English, making it really easy to navigate. Danish children resembling Precious Moments dolls waddle around in snowsuits. The beer and food are good. The buildings are lovely and very old world looking, but the architecture doesn't totally blow you away. Copenhagen is that polite, even-keeled friend that makes you want to shake them and scream "doesn't anything get to you???!!!"

Tivoli Gardens

Today we had the day off and went to the most magical place on earth which, as it turns out, is not Disney World. It's Tivoli Gardens. Tivoli is an amusement park in southwest of the city where there are rides, hot chocolate, cute Danish children in snowsuits, and employees who offer you free shots of mulled cider with rum. Also there are peacocks. Just in case it wasn't wonderland-y enough.

Here are some lovely pictures of rides and general wintry splendor:

And me on a carousel. Because I'm an adult.

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.