The things I do for my country

So America Week was a success. I got another chance to see a performance by a great NGO, Rupantar--which spreads important public service messages using song, dance, and painted scrolls, so the songs can be understood by the blind, deaf, or illiterate. They always look very colorful too:


But during this musical performance and others over the last week, I was faced with one of the truly most difficult things about the Foreign Service: the diplomat head bob.

I tend to be a very passive audience member. I don't naturally have a lot of rhythm (James will vouch for this fact), so I usually just sit still and soak things in during musical performances. But when you are a diplomat sitting in the front row, you feel like you have to go one step further than just not looking bored--you have to look positively engaged and thrilled to be sitting in that audience.

So I start to feel like my normal mode of listening doesn't properly convey how diplomatically thrilled I am. At which point I start to engage in the dreaded diplomat head bob--attempting to bob my head in rhythm (NOT EASY) to show how engaged I am. It sounds like I am trying to fool people, but the truth is, I was already enjoying the performance--I just felt the need to try really hard to share that fact with others.

Foreign Service Officers: we live in tough places, we face hardship and danger, and we bob our heads vigorously, whether we are rhythmically-inclined or not--ALL FOR AMERICA.

Woohoo!

"And we want to send a signal to all kinds of young people who may be thinking about the Foreign Service that they are going to be critical in terms of projecting not just America's power, but also America's values and America's ideals."

-President Barack Obama, speaking at the Department of State last week

Back from Barisal

Where I was doing this... and boy, am I exhausted. However, I think I'll sleep a lot more soundly tonight without constantly waking up, afraid of finding another giant roach in my room. Maybe more on it later, depending how I'm feeling.

Anyway, I was reading this entry at the fabulous Go Fug Yourself and was amused by this quote:

"It reminds me very much of a bridesmaid dress that Marisa unwisely repurposed because the bride told her she could someday. (Never listen to the brides, people. They are crazy. They are trying to make you feel better about spending all the money on the dress that you only wear for one night, and in a fog of self-consciousness and stress and possibly a sugar high from all that cake-tasting, they're also trying to convince themselves and everyone else that their pick really IS so awesome that you'll want to wear it again, thus making them way cooler and more fashion-forward than every other bride in the world.)"

It made me giggle and also made me want to take a straw poll of my bridesmaids to find out whether, more than a year later, any of them have managed to reuse their dresses (which I thought were simple enough to maybe, maybe work in another context???). But I feel like that would be rude, so I am just going to silently hope they will read this blog entry and respond of their own volition. A picture of the dress, for your reference--it's deep purple, v-neck, knee-length:


In other excellent news, The White Tiger is one of the funnest reads ever. Acquire it immediately. Okay, maybe I am biased living in South Asia and living its observations every day... but I am pretty convinced it's awesome no matter what.

Naipaul

I finally finished V.S. Naipaul's A Bend in the River. I re-read Irving Howe's 1979 review of it in the New York Times... I think he puts his finger on what bothers me about this book. IT IS GODDAMN DEPRESSING. But so good. But without any of the humor, levity, or sense of redemption that found their way into A House for Mr. Biswas.

"Beyond this, Naipaul offers no intimations of hope or signals of perspective. It may be that the reality he grapples with allows him nothing but grimness of voice. There is a complicated literary-moral problem here that cannot be solved in a few sentences, if solved at all. A novelist has to be faithful to what he sees, and few see as well as Naipaul; yet one may wonder whether, in some final reckoning, a serious writer can simply allow the wretchedness of his depicted scene to become the limit of his vision. Such novelists as Dostoyevsky, Conrad and Turgenev, also dealing with painful aspects of political life, struggled in some ways to "surmount" or "transcend" them. Naipaul seems right now to be a writer beleaguered by his own truths, unable to get past them. That is surely an honorable difficulty, far better than indulging in sentimental or ideological uplift; but it exacts a price.

I raise this question with much uneasiness, since the last thing I want to do is to badger Naipaul (a writer not easily badgered) with requests for facile tokens of "positive" belief or value. Perhaps, given the subject that grips him and the moment in which he lives, there is no choice. Perhaps we ought simply to be content that, in his austere and brilliant way, he holds fast to the bitterness before his eyes."

Big day out of Dhaka...

We had a Public Affairs office picnic about an hour and a half outside of Dhaka, at the training center for the NGO Proshika. The place was kind of pretty, though it was a kind of foggy, gloomy day:


I learned that Bangladeshis have a deep appreciation for Musical Chairs and Hot Potato (which they call "Pass the Pillow").

On the way back, we stopped at the National Monument in Savar. The fog made my photos not the best:

But as usual in Bangladesh, we became the main event. The place was crowded, and groups of mainly men stared at us incessantly--kind of disconcerting. I don't normally get that upset when people stare, but this time felt extra creepy. Plus, people kept taking camera-phone pictures of us:


And I witnessed my first Bangladeshi protest! Usually RSO tells us to avoid them, but we didn't know this one was happening, and there we were. Anyway, it looked peaceful:


I think I could have happily seen the monument from the road, since it looked pretty much the same up close. Oh well. Today Charlotte and I got lunch at View 211, which had tasty kebabs and naan, plus interesting views of DIT 2 circle, which I unfortunately couldn't photograph since I forgot my camera.

One night in Bangkok

Or three.

Unfortunately, my camera was almost out of batteries, so I was skimping on the photo-taking a bit. Of course, I got some requisite shots of the Grand Palace/Temple of the Emerald Buddha:




So other than the Grand Palace, which I can never seem to properly capture in photos (I had forgotten how shiny and stunning it is in person!), we visited Jim Thompson's house, which is what I wish Foreign Service housing actually looked like:


We did some shopping--I especially enjoyed Suan Lum Night Market, where interesting up-and-coming housewares designers had stalls. Plus, the beer garden with the cheesy cover band was pretty special too.

All in all, a fun long weekend away. There were certainly more creature comforts than I'll enjoy in my next jaunt, for work, to the south of Bangladesh next week.

Starch contrasts

Something has always struck me as the tiniest bit off about my housekeeper's cooking, despite the fact that it is generally very tasty. And today I think I put my finger on it: mismatched starches.

For instance, tonight she made me a very tasty shrimp cooked with tomatoes and zucchini and spices... very tasty, and it would have worked fabulously with some of the couscous I have in the pantry. Or even a side of pasta would have fit with the Mediterranean flavors.

But alas, it was not to be. I got potatoes instead. Now, I love potatoes... but they just didn't feel quite right. And I feel like this happens a lot.

However, she reads English and is great at following recipes--so if I just get my act together to make suggestions, all is well and delicious.

Purchases I am oddly obsessed with

I just can't get enough of this picture frame I bought at the Suan Lum Night Market in Bangkok. It is resin with leaves in it. It has given me new decorating inspiration--I am on a resin kick, but the cool clear plastic chairs don't quite fit in with the colonial furniture the government issues. So this is sort of a transition item...

Ode to Broccoli

Of all the things I expected to enjoy and savor about life in Bangladesh, I hardly thought broccoli would be one of them. In fact, I hadn't even eaten much broccoli since arriving--most of that I did eat came from a freezer at the Commissary.

But my cook announced the other day that it is now broccoli season. "Cauliflower now finished, madam," she explained. My thought was, oh dammit, does that mean that now you'll just make broccoli for four months straight, like you did with the cauliflower?

But after tasting it, I wasn't sure I would even mind. This was so nice! So much flavor, and yet so subtle. It tasted like the freshest, purest broccoli ever. It was the Platonic ideal of broccoli, if you will.

So, while I have never been one to celebrate vegetables as much as I should, I now say, broccoli, I salute you.

Link love

Back from Bangkok--more on that soon.

This posting on travel advice a Japanese tour company gives to Japanese tourists planning to visit the U.S. is fabulous.

I also really, really enjoyed looking at the photo gallery of Obama's team put together by the New York Times. When you look at all the photos and descriptions of such talented people, it is hard not to be impressed by how young, brilliant, diverse, and energetic they seem on average to be. It is crazy to look at the photos and see people who are 26 or 27 years old with such important roles in the new administration. Clearly, at the age of 24, I had better get to work or I'm going to be way behind :) Also, one of Obama's Deputy Chiefs of Staff is a former FSO.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Have you ever thought this blog would be better with a bit more bacon?

Yeah... me, too. Relax, Bangladesh, it's only virtual bacon--totally halal!

The welcome mat is now out

To all my potential visitors and, of course, to my one, lone, intrepid confirmed visitor:

My guest room is ready! After the first bedspread I bought got lost in the mail and I spent three months arguing with the store about getting a refund, I am finally ready for the eager hordes who've just been waiting for this moment to descend upon Dhaka.

Eager hordes? Hello? Cue the eager hordes?

I really can't make this stuff up

From a flier for a newly-opened Baskin Robbins franchise here in Dhaka (which I am pretty sure is a real franchise--they have all the right equipment and logos, and the ice cream tastes roughly normal):

Baskin Robbins of USA: The Sublime and Benignant ice Cream in the City

Concoction of Artisan and Aberrant ice Creams

Baskin Robbins is a glorious perennial,
inexplicable American ice Cream.
The esthetic brands aggrandise
The mouthful taste and harmony of
heavenly enjoyment with a beauty of
Refreshment for all ages

It's like poetry! I feel like "Aberrant ice Creams" sound potentially threatening, however.

The boringest update ever

So James left tonight. That is not good. On the plus side, I will probably be a better blogger while he's away... Let's see, what's been happening?

Despite the elections we were all waiting for being over, work is still busy. Very busy, actually. We'll see how it all turns out, I guess. Now that James is gone, I may be filling the void in my life with some quality time at the office. I should be getting to travel around Bangladesh a bit this month--stay tuned. Plus, I'm going off for another mini-vacation this next long weekend.

I guess I am a bit down right now. With the situation in Gaza unresolved and the economic crisis in full swing--and James gone!--it just doesn't seem like there's much to be cheerful about. Also, I am sleepy. And I feel a bit off after having eaten too many brownies. So you know, all problems of roughly equal magnitude.

I think it's time to just cut off the whining and go to sleep...

Baking brownies

I interrupt this post to go bake some brownies. James tells me I should take pictures and post them. But that is a fail. No one would care. Anyway, the end.

A hole in the narrative

My blog seems to be missing something lately, and that is anything about Dhaka or Bangladesh.

I don't know... somehow the craziness becomes part of your life, and you barely notice it anymore.

Today, I barely noticed that on the way to work I passed an entire community of people living on the sidewalk, cooking over little street fires, shivering in the morning chill. I barely noticed that people tapped on my car window to try to sell me Indian Vogue, maps of Dhaka City, and pirated copies of Barack Obama's memoir. And unfortunately, I think I barely noticed the people tapping on my window, showing off their disabilities and begging for money (it is easy to say that you won't give money since they are all controlled by pimps who take their earnings; it is not easy to wake up after six months and realize you just look past your fellow humans in need).

James gets upset that I barely notice the mist on Gulshan lake in the mornings, when he tells me it is really quite lovely. Maybe, after six months, it is time to wake up and notice again.

James is here!

FYI... so I haven't been so much writing in the blog. Things I've been doing instead:

1) Drinking wine... just a given. This is a fantastic value for an affordable Cabernet.

2) Following the elections in Bangladesh. All is well and peaceful, hooray!

3) Cooking! I hate to cook for only myself, so I didn't cook often when James was away. But now I am enjoying it. Today I made some putanesca sauce for pasta, and yesterday I made this fabulous dark chocolate mulled wine sauce that we ate with ice cream.

4) Celebrating the new year. Well, New Year's Eve was sort of a bust, but all eight of us who showed up at the American Club that night totally made it work... totally. The next day was pretty busy with brunch and a Wii tournament though.

5) Eating out--today we tried Bukhara in Banani, which had pretty fabulous Indian food. We also checked out the Heritage last week, which was founded by Bangladesh's only celebrity chef, Tommy Miah. He was born in Bangladesh but grew up mostly in London, where he opened a number of successful Indian restaurants. Now he's come home, and his place is delightfully over the top, with a herd of deer roaming the property. The manager took our picture, so who knows, maybe we're going to be in their promotional materials. Actually, the food was quite good. Also, Tommy Miah facts are sort of like Chuck Norris facts (or Rahm Emmanuel facts, because they're true?): for instance, Tommy Miah is in the Guinness Book of World Records for cooking the world's largest curry, big enough to feed 10,000 people. Take that, world! Bangladesh wins!

6) Sitting at home? That's awesome too. While sitting, we watched Good-bye Lenin!, a fantastic movie. And I continue my endless slog through A Bend in the River.

So all in all, you can see how busy and important we are. Go us!

More funny things...

Okay, wrapping up thoughts on Singapore.

It is hilarious how many controls and checks are put on people there. For example, in taxis, a dinging noise starts going off when the driver hits 100 km/hr. Or take this Christmas tree, which was already roped off--still, people clearly needed "Danger - High Voltage" signs to warn them not to get too close:


And yes, that tree was in one of the fifty bazillion malls in Singapore. It took us several days to realize we could walk to the metro stop above ground--we thought we had to cut through that mall to get there. Once we stopped getting distracted along the way, the walk became much faster.

Another excellent moment: when we realized that Singaporeans celebrate Christmas Eve more along the lines of how we celebrate New Year's Eve--a countdown, spraying of silly string, wearing Santa hats and... devil horns? It was pretty special. Witness the chaos:


All in all, we loved Singapore. We were worried it was going to be dull and culturally not that interesting. But the mix of different cultures, the fabulous food, and the incredibly friendly and helpful people made it worthwhile. We didn't even shop that much--there was too much else to do.