Not that I'm normally into quoting David Brooks...

But this piece had some interesting data in it:

"If the relationship between money and well-being is complicated, the correspondence between personal relationships and happiness is not. The daily activities most associated with happiness are sex, socializing after work and having dinner with others. The daily activity most injurious to happiness is commuting. According to one study, joining a group that meets even just once a month produces the same happiness gain as doubling your income."

Tara, I DEFINITELY want to be in book club now.

Also, I really didn't need a scientist to tell me that Dhaka traffic makes me unhappy.

Traffic, 1,456,201; Katie, 1.

Okay, so good Dhaka stories have been a long time coming lately. But ooh, ooh, I've got one!

Today the traffic was particularly awful at the intersection in front of the Embassy--it was all stop, go, hit the brakes, no one letting you in, and plus, I was ravenous, and lunch was closing in ten minutes. So I got out of the van I was riding in and, in my suit, in the 90-degree heat, DIRECTED TRAFFIC (to the delight of my Bangladeshi colleagues). It was pretty awesome in that all the cars totally listened to me (it helped that I was standing directly in front of their vehicles). And plus, I got to lunch in time to order my tuna sandwich, so victory! Joy Katie, if you will.

There you go, folks--your tale of wacky antics in the course of life abroad for the day.

Bhutan wrap-up

Okay, last post on Bhutan. Wrapping up... there are so many cool 17th-century fort-like buildings around, it's not even funny. Witness the one they turned into the National Museum:


And the Paro Dzong, still used as an administrative center and monastery (avec moi!):


The obligatory photo of Bhutanese children, who, I am totally convinced, are the cutest children in the entire world:


And lastly, I couldn't take any photos right up close at the famous Tiger's Nest Monastery because I felt like I was going to DIE on my way up. Considering that every ten steps I had to sit down on a rock and put my head between my knees (nausea ughhhhhhhhhh), it's really a wonder I made it to the cafeteria/lookout point. But James soldiered onward and got the money shot:


So that's all, folks. A big thank you to all those who made the dream trip possible. To USAA, where I opened an account after Bank of America wouldn't let me make the wire transfer to pay for the trip ("You have to come into a branch and sign a form first." "But I live in Bangladesh." "You need to a visit a branch." "In Bangladesh?" "I'm sorry, ma'am." GREAT.), and where the lovely customer service reps didn't find it at all sketchy that I was wiring a large amount of money to Bhutan immediately upon my account becoming active. To the delightful folks at All Access Bhutan for arranging the trip. And perhaps most of all, to Mr. Sluyter, my total hippie Buddhist high school English teacher who showed us a news segment on Bhutan and its "Gross National Happiness" (and it was relevant to American lit. how?), making me totally obsessed with visiting.

A decade later, I can say it was just as cool as I'd always hoped.

Hot Cereal FAIL

Today, wandering around the Commissary (I went hungry--always a mistake), I saw the boxes of Cream of Rice. Yum, I thought. So comforting, so reminiscent of weekend days during childhood when my mom and I would make a big pot between us. I grabbed it and got so excited that I determined I would have it for lunch because I couldn't wait for the next day's breakfast.

And then I got home, opened it up, poured the dried cream of rice into a 1/4 cup measure, and out came... lots of bugs. Live ones. Causing me to shriek and demand that James take the entire box outside the house IMMEDIATELY to ensure they did not go forth and multiply.

Yuck. Guess it's Special K for me this week--presuming that the rest of the cereal aisle was not also affected.

Thou shalt not

While I adored Bhutan, it was sometimes sort of Singapore-ish in the way it kept its pristineness by forbidding, well, just about everything. No modern buildings, no non-traditional dress in government offices, no smoking, no killing animals (all meat is imported from India), no fishing (same with the fish), no washing your car in the river (our guide informed us of this one after we saw people doing it). And even the labels on water bottles could be fairly officious:


"As this water has higher spiritual significance than an ordinary mineral water, we request everyone to treat this product with respect."

I have no idea what not treating one's mineral water with respect looks like, so don't ask me.

Still, the attitude seems to work. You get gorgeous, untouched mountainscapes that look like this:


In the distance you can see Jomolhari, Bhutan's highest peak (the one that's all snow-capped-like). This was a view from the Drukgyal Dzong, outside of Paro--not originally meant to be on our itinerary, but James protested finishing our day of sightseeing so early, so that gained us one more glorious stop. Definitely worth it and one of my favorite spots.

Here we are with Yeshe in front of the old fort, which was built in 1649 and caught fire from a butter lamp in 1951. It was featured on a National Geographic cover in the early twentieth century.


Note the argyle sweater. Argyle is HUGE in Bhutan. No clue why--actually, it is more popular on knee socks (which all men wear with their robes). Don't even get me started on how much I love a culture that appreciates some good knee socks... Bhutan has that in common with circa 1995 Los Angeles, as portrayed in Clueless.

The Long Telegram

Sometimes, when I'm bored, I try to think up a concept for a band that uses language from State Department cables. Our first album would definitely be called "There Will Be No Signed Original." Still not sure of the band's name: Reftel? EmbOffs? The Department?

Stuff

Sometimes I feel so lucky in every aspect of life that I feel that something must now go terribly, terribly wrong so that I can end up as an example to the world--pride cometh before the fall, and all.

Also, sometimes I feel like my mind makes up weird problems just because I don't have anything else to worry about. Exhibit A: crazy fear of flying.

Also, lately I want to hear the song "Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes" all the time. Every day.

People say she's crazy
She got diamonds on the soles of her shoes
Well that's one way to lose these
Walking blues
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes...

And she said honey take me dancing
But they ended up by sleeping
In a doorway
By the bodegas and the lights on
Upper broadway
Wearing diamonds on the soles of their shoes

The land that Simon Cowell didn't forget

In Bhutan, tourists must all go through licensed tour companies and have full-time guides. This means your guide plays a huge role in your experience of the country. We were very lucky with Yeshe, seen here in his traditional robe (called gho) and what he called his "Bhutanese cowboy" hat, with James:


We first met him right outside the airport, and he took us to a restaurant to rest and have some tea. While we drank our tea, we had a conversation that went something like this:

"Where are you from in the U.S.?"
"New Jersey."
"Isn't there a basketball team there?"
"Um... maybe?"
"My favorite sport is football. My favorite team is Manchester United. Do you watch American Idol?"
"Sometimes."
"I love American Idol. My wife and I watch every episode. We also watch many American movies. My wife is crazy on Hollywood. Have you seen Avatar?"
"No..."

So much for the land of quiet isolation. Yeshe ended up being great fun--he was our age ("You are the youngest tourists I have ever seen"), and he humored our silly requests to experience Bhutanese discos, to keep sightseeing even after the itinerary said our day was over, to take another break on the climb up to that monastery (okay, in that way I definitely more resembled the groups of senior citizens who make up the average tour group in Bhutan).

Speaking of that disco? Yeshe swore that at 10pm the place would fill up. And yet here is James in an empty disco:


He claimed that by 10:30pm it would DEFINITELY be full. Not so much, alas. Instead, we found a fun bar filled with a mix of Bhutanese and expats that was nice and relaxed. The nightlife still managed to beat Dhaka's by a mile... you never would have guessed it, huh?

High flying

Back from Bhutan. Fabulousness. So beautiful, so charming, so cute, they all wear Jedi robes, wonderful.

Flying in was not nearly as terrifying as I expected, though we definitely were pretty close to the mountains. Something about the Bhutanese inspires confidence though, and they have two nice, well-kept-up Airbuses as their fleet. In fact, here I am with both of them:


And of course, as soon as you get out of the airport, it's this:


The entire country is breathtaking.

LOVED: the Jedi robe outfits; schoolchildren picking up litter on the weekends; the adorable children generally; the clean air; the fact that they have discos and bars and that Bhutanese people are pretty cool and fun in addition to being something like fairytale characters; the fact that all buildings are required to be in traditional style, and the traditional style is beautiful, so even ordinary people get to live amidst beauty.

Maybe the only thing I did not love was the food. Boiled vegetables and rice... not my favorite.

More later.

AAAGHHHH!!!

Last night I had my first migraine, and my life will never be the same again. I feel like I've been to hell and back. The amount of pain was so completely horrifying and completely precluded even a moment slipping by unnoticed in rest or sleep. Ugh, shudder. Thankfully I had some high-dosage painkillers on hand, and the whole situation was totally over within two hours. BUT THAT WAS TWO HOURS WAY TOO LONG. Seriously. When people told me they got migraines, I never really understood what that meant. And now I am so sad that I do understand.

Okay, now that we've gotten past the trauma that was my life last night... we need to pack! Excited for the trip this weekend... less excited for the in-flight maneuvers required to get us into the valley to land. Katie losing it--oh, it's coming.

Reading The Men Who Stare at Goats--amusing, but so far not even close to living up to Them: Adventures with Extremists, Jon Ronson's laugh-till-your-stomach-hurts-and-then-laugh-some-even-though-the-joke-is-about-terrorism first effort.

Not much out-and-aboutness in the past few days. Mostly inside-under-the-covers-ness instead.

Addendum

I feel like I left people hanging a couple posts ago, wondering what magical, fantastical things I would do upon actually leaving my apartment. I reread that entry and decided that I really needed to take the speculation down a notch.

I had brunch at a friend's (hi Tara!). I will not say this was an unmomentous occasion, as this friend happens to be the most amazingest cook of brunch food I have ever encountered, but for the purposes of my blog readership, this was perhaps not the result merited by such build-up. I also got a haircut. So did James, which is actually an incredibly rare event, not to be undervalued.

What else? Tonight we went to Ideas Manzil, which I have written about before, but if anyone new to the blog and new to Dhaka hasn't heard, it's awesome--go right now. Well, not right now since you have to order 24 hours in advance, but, you know, soon.

Depressing news

A consulate employee and two family members of consulate employees killed in Ciudad Juarez. Awful.

In my A-100 class, those least happy with their assignments were the ones going to Juarez--and, it seems, with good reason. We all sign up to be "worldwide available," and we are. But of course, it is only natural to hope that worldwide won't ever take in certain places for the purposes of oneself. In a place like Juarez, I am sure it's easy to watch the news about Afghanistan and Pakistan and Iraq and wonder if anyone is even paying attention to the daily sacrifices and risks faced in the volatile border region.

I am not sure where this is going except this is sad, and I care, and I am reminded constantly how brave the people working in embassies and consulates are, just in their daily lives. And I don't mean this at all to glorify myself, because I see how everyone around me takes things in stride, working hard, accepting hardship and not overthinking things. While I, of course, lay awake shaking in my figurative boots (because I don't actually wear boots to bed) about earthquakes/carjackers/airplanes/snipers/dengue fever/that speech I have to write/that ache in my ankle that I swear, really, could be the beginnings of dengue fever.

Not much going on, filling space

Things I can't really believe: this time next week we will be in Bhutan. I still have trouble thinking of Bhutan as anything but a fairytale kingdom. I am still not sure I believe that you can actually go there. Plus, we are clearly not really prepared for the trip, as just evidenced by James freaking out about not having hiking boots. Oops.

Today was mainly filled with work (boo for work on a weekend! Yes, Friday is the weekend here), but at least I got to sleep late and do it at my own pace, interspersing working with blog-reading (no, State Department overlords reading this, I am not claiming overtime or comp time for the work done at home today, precisely so that I could do it interspersed with blog-reading). Anyway, now I am free. And you know what that means--Elle Decor and BBC productions of Trollope novels.

Tomorrow should be a more eventful day in terms of, you know, leaving the house--I will post once it has happened!

Trash talk

I know I should really have a thicker skin, but... I get so sad and upset when people make mean comments about State Department employees in the comments section of articles like this one:

Report Warns of Overwork, Low Morale at U.S. Embassy in Afghanistan

Is that weird? Do I just need to grow up?

A lovely Dhaka day

I sort of vaguely meant to do work today, but I was pleasantly swept into fun activities and didn't manage to do anything of the sort. It was a good day.

First, lunch at Dhaba with some newcomers to Dhaka--the restaurant is a perfect introduction to the most beloved local snacks, usually sold on the street... better to have them in the restaurant, where you're less likely to become ill afterward. I love the fuchka and bhel puri. Yum. And of course, an obligatory stop at Cafe Gelato across the street. The Ferraro Rocher gelato there is probably in my list of top ten best things about life in Dhaka... maybe top five.

Then we got a call from our German friend, Celine, inviting us over for coffee and cake. Do I ever say no to cake? We had amazing cherry streusel, and coffee turned into gin and tonics, as happens from time to time :)

This is such a busy week. Somehow every week has felt like a very busy week for months and months and months now. I am taking the maximum leave I can this summer (two months!), and I am pretty sure I will have earned it by then.

Dhaka days

Today I went on a trip organized by CLO (that is the Community Liaison Office, for all non-FS-types... it is the office responsible for morale, family, school, etc. issues) to Dhanmondi. We hit many of my usual favorites, like the hidden respite that is Cafe Mango:


(It's back there!)

But one new store we visited (well, new to me) was Bibi Russell Productions, founded by the Bangladeshi-born supermodel-turned-designer. It was totally worth a visit--gorgeous silk and cotton scarves, fun bangles, well-designed tops, rickshaw art-styled trays and coffee tables... all well priced. I will definitely add it to my Dhanmondi rotation.

We also visited Bengal Gallery and saw the new exhibition that opens tonight, by Indian artist Dipali Bhattacharya. The artwork focused on the city of Calcutta, combining maps , images of colonial buildings, and portraits of women acting as personifications of the city into mixed-media pieces evoking the city's spirit. It made me want to visit again.

Now I'm tired! I think it will be vegetarian chili and corn muffins for dinner tonight... we've eaten out the last three nights in a row, which really isn't typical for us here. It's time to reconnect with the kitchen :)

Can you tell I just figured out how to play with photos?

I've received a request for more on the walking tour in Old Dhaka. Okay, I am not sure I can produce more words right now as I may be out of them and plus I am about to leave for some delicious (okay, fine, mediocre) sushi. But here are some photos to whet the appetite:


Whoa yeah, I've gone artsy on you. This whole saturation control thingy is fun:


Haunted house?

Musings on daily life

I find it very easy to write about what I do each day. I have certain patterns, and any longer-term readers likely know about them: going to work, being lazy on weekends (with occasional good-faith efforts to hit the gym), reading, cooking, eating out, sometimes making excursions. When I am only writing about these things, I marvel at people who complain they don't have the energy or the discipline to blog--to me, this is a simple matter of narration and a good distraction from doing other, more productive things.

I find it much harder to step back and observe what I see every day... which may be of interest to readers not living in Dhaka, since they don't see what I see here every day. My main daily brushes with Bangladesh as it exists outside the Embassy walls are the drive to and from work and the local staff in our office. This doesn't mean there isn't much to observe, though.

Actually, driving in Dhaka and around Bangladesh is rarely boring (except, of course, when it is). The road here is more like an obstacle course. Rickshaw, auto-rickshaws, people, stray dogs, crazy puddles/potholes, bicycles, motorcycles, carts carrying construction supplies, furniture, etc... the list goes on. Plus, there are all the beggars and street vendors who come up to your car for a little personalized interaction.

Obviously, one feels bad for the beggars. It is a nasty sensation to feel yourself taking their existence more and more for granted as you live here longer. I used to also feel bad for the street vendors I never bought anything from, but then the book sellers started selling Mein Kampf and lost my sympathy.

I would need much more than the space of one post to talk about the local staff in my office. I will just say that I was going to work every day thinking of them as normal co-workers... but one day I woke up and realized that I will miss them very, very much once I leave. In an insular, family-oriented culture I have found tough to break into, they really have been my connection to the world outside the diplomatic area, outside the Embassy, even outside myself on days when I just want to curl into a mental ball and not interact at the office.

My departure date... suddenly that feels frighteningly close. I am very excited to go back to the U.S., see my family, and, frankly, enjoy some comforts of home, but I also realize that I am bizarrely change-averse for someone whose job it is to always move around. So yes, I will freak out at some point before leaving. Just FYI.

Nostalgia train?

Today is my two-year anniversary in the Foreign Service. I wouldn't have remembered this fact except for the timely facebook postings by my more mindful A-100 colleagues. I am not sure what momentous thoughts I have for this occasion.

I guess it is incredibly shocking how quickly two years have gone by. I keep thinking that anything that's happened since I arrived at post must be really recent, but um, no--that vacation was 18 months ago, that program I worked on was more than a year ago, that person who just left hasn't been here for eight months. A-100 feels like it can't have been more than a year ago.

Of course, my two-year anniversary of getting to post is also known as my transfer date. Well, actually, I'll leave a week earlier than I arrived, so I'll be toasting to two years in Dhaka back in the States.

So... yeah. No big thoughts to think tonight, I'm afraid. Why mark the date at all? I guess because the Foreign Service is such a lifestyle (and not just a job), it feels like two years since my life turned upside down. In a good way. Or exploded? Got shaken up?

Who knows... I'm sleepy.

La la land

I have been reading delightful things. First, The Hours. I had seen the movie; the book, so far, is not exactly a masterwork, but Cunningham's talent for approximating the way Woolf writes (but at the same time making it more accessible) makes for a fun read.

Also, the new issue of Elle Decor that just got to me, weeks after dedicated American readers have already picked the issue apart.

We also started watching the super old school BBC-produced miniseries of Trollope's Barchester Chronicles. Sweet.

Can you tell I am in the mood to live in fictional worlds (or in beautiful showcase rooms)?