ChelSea to Sea

The Sad, Funny and True

2012-03-01T22:48:00.001-08:00

I may have started a picture factory. It started on Valentines Day. A little girl on my block gave me a picture and told me I was her valentine. I was so touched that I ran home and gave her my (automatic glow in the dark) yo-yo. The next day another girl gave me a picture. I gave her a tube of lip gloss. Today a little boy gave me a picture. I want to think that they are giving me pictures because I enchant them. I know it’s because I give them toys. But you know what? That’s ok with me. It’ll be the cheapest commission I’ll ever pay for some artwork. I plan to make a wall collage.

I’ve been going to Dhaka a lot these past few weeks. Dhaka’s great. Delicious restaurants, shopping, NORTH END COFFEE… But it’s also where all the crazies and limbless live. You’ll be sitting in an auto minding your own business when WAM some kid puts his arm stump against the cage right next to your cheek. Within seconds your car is surrounded by little kids, limping slightly, sticking their little hands through the bars.

It’s sad, of course it’s sad. But if you laugh, the kids start cracking up at their own act. The kid may start to wave his stump around in a little dance, the once limping girl may jump around mocking herself. I usually stuff fruits and leftovers into my purse to give out.

Then there’s the really sad. Young boys with heads too heavy for their shrunken limbs to support. Women with mutilated eyes, hands blindly out for money. Usually I pass on without looking at them. I say a little prayer to myself “I’ll work for you, I’ll spend my life trying to help you, but you may die before I can do it, and I have to move on from that.” And then I’ll go into a coffee shop so I can focus and do just that. And maybe get a cinnamon bun. Because they’re delicious.

I participated in my first conference! The Bangladesh Pediatric Association. I wore a fancy Salwar Kameez, and presented in front of over 100 important people. They cheered when my base station device went off when I submerged the turtle bracelet in a water bottle. I had more questions asked than any other speaker. On the program (and on my participation award) I was referred to as “Dr. Chelsea Solmo.” Lovin’ it.

Rebecca came with me to Dhaka last weekend and we decided to do the city up right. We went to a spa for massages, the American Club for salads, and we went to the Westin for drinks. I got a martini and she got a mojito and we sat in the lounge with old Bangladeshi men and a few white businessmen. The entertainment was two Thai girls in tiny miniskirts singing Lady Gaga. They were awful and consequently fabulous. We leaned into each other and giggled incessantly.

My hands are permanently stained with yellow dhaal.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Ho Hum Muh Oh

2012-02-21T09:52:00.001-08:00

So the thing of it is, it gets lonely here sometimes. Not devastatingly, I’m not devastated. But I miss you all. And I miss all of you I haven’t met yet. I want to meet new people and having thrilling new conversations. I want to hold someone’s hand and I want to flirt. But I’m not devastated.

I applied for a job today to be part of the Emergency Response Team for the International Rescue Committee. Be ready to deploy with 72 hours notice for 9 months out of the year. Absolute proof you don’t need to join the army to see the world and have adventure. You just need a $60,000 dollar education.

Maybe there should be a rule about updating the blog when I’m feeling morose? I don’t know, you tell me.

I find that I get scared about the safety of my family more here. Because there’s an ocean (or a few) it’ll be that much longer for me to get to them if they’re in hurt.

Ok one more thought circling my head while I drink this peppermint tea and write with my electric bat in one hand killing mosquitoes.

How in the HELL am I going to FIND A JOB? Because I’m looking and I’m trying and I’m not getting any hits. And the scary/exciting thing is, once I get a job, I’ll be going away for another few years.

Maybe I’ll just join the circus.

The Trial

2012-02-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

The IRB approved my project and I am now officially in the 3rd week of the trial. The days are long and I come back at 4pm caked in dust and eat my lunch. At first it was all very sexy. I would put on my helmet, get on the back of a motorcycle and travel into the village TO STOP THOSE BABIES FROM DROWNING!!!

If there were a ride of Bangladesh if would be on a rollercoaster shaped like a motorcycle. Speeding fast through the rice paddies AND QUICKLY SWERVE TO MISS THE GOAT and skidding on some mud/cow dung AND STOP SHORT FOR THE COW and drive fast enough so the children don’t jump on with you AND WATCH THE RICKSHAW.

One day I moved a little too much and Momotaz and I fell off the motorcycle. It was scary and a bit traumatizing but we’re fine and finished the day on motorcycle.

And don’t get me wrong, Public Health will always be romantic, but the trial has lost some of its shiny. The base stations we deployed are encountering all sorts of technical difficulties, making false alarms and discouraging the mothers from the bracelet use.

We pull up to a household. Coughing from the dust, covered in mosquitoes embedded in our clothes and take numbers and questions and observations from the mothers. But a lot of the mothers are not pleased with the intervention. Something I have worked on for 6 months. And who can blame them? Can you imagine working hard in the field all day, cooking dinner, finally putting the baby down and that stupid alarm that that girl from America installed goes off waking everyone up?
But I’m keeping my head up. It’s all science and this is what science is—messing up and re-doing and hoping to come out a winner.

In better news I went to India for half an hour today (visa issues), during which I bought some sweets, heard a Krishna band, and saw three transvestites in sarees.

Much love,
Chelsea

The Great Wall

2012-02-07T02:41:00.000-08:00

I may have paid $20 to get my underwear and socks dry cleaned. Communication was a problem in China.

On my last full day in China I went on a hired bus to the Great Wall. First we stopped at the obligatory Jade factory tourist trap. It was beautiful but extremely overpriced. I decided not to get any jade on this trip. If I buy too many wonders of the world I'm going to get jaded at 23. (see what I did there?) Better to savor one treasure per trip and this trip it was definitely my pearl necklace.

My group was 3 Canadians, two Egyptians, one Scottish and one Irish. And all of us were so excited to see one of the 7 wonders of the world. (This will be my 3rd wonder, but who's counting.)

The Great Wall was very long.

I hate to be a hater but that was my main observation. It took over 2000 years to build and every few meters there is a watchtower or a signal tower. Today with satellites and infrared technology we would never think of making such a rudimentary defense system. China built a wall to keep out a country. Millions died making the Wall and it didn't even work that well. It is beautiful though.

We head back to the city after 2 hours of climbing up and then down the Wall. At night I met up with the Scott and Irishlady and went to Hou Hai for a last dinner: duck of course. Hou Hai is an entertainment district with old chinese houses converted into bars. We settled in someone's upstairs living room, ducking under the roof beams and settled on a couch near the window. We were the only people upstairs. We drank White Russians and watched China pass by below.

Before leaving on my jet plane the next day I went to the Forbidden City. Mau's face loomed over the entrance 2 basketball courts high. I rented an audio guide and wondered around the rooms and hallways of the great palace. The halls had fantastic names: Hall of Literary Glory, Hall of Tranquil Longevity, Hall of Abstinence (which was right next to the courtesan quarters.) My favorite was the vast courtyard used for the strict morning meetings. I pretended I could see the Emperor addressing row upon row of rapt soldiers.

I ate one last lunch of dumplings and went to the airport. The Kunming-Dhaka part of my trip was cancelled so I would have to spend the night in Kunming. When I landed at 2am in Kunming no one knew who I was or how to take me to the hotel. Finally a bus came and drove me through a part of Kunming where police were posted on every corner and a homeless person was seriously perched over a garbage can fire. (An image I thought was made up for Broadway plays like Rent.)

The hotel had cigarette butts on the floor of the lobby, no elevator, people screaming at each other in other rooms, stains on the crumbling walls and most crucially no internet. No one in the world knew my flight was cancelled, no one knew where I was. I needed internet to reach people. No one at the desk understood me. I stood there at 3 am and started to cry. Got in touch with someone on the phone from China Eastern to pick me up again and take me to a hotel with internet. When the bus driver came all he kept saying was "You go to sleep now." And pointed at the hotel. I couldn't communicate and it didn't help that I was now laughing and crying at the same time. It was attractive. At 4 am I was in a new hotel and at 6 am got up to go to the airport to get on my flight. Rinse and repeat for 2 more days of cancellation.

I am now back at home in Bangladesh. Until next time China!

Beijing Acrobats

2012-01-29T04:15:00.000-08:00

I found a hotel in a good part of town checked in and head out. I took a metro and a taxi to the artist district. A whole section of town blocked off just for art. Galleries, sculpture gardens and coffee shops all crumbled together in a mass. It was a very grey dreary day and barely anyone was out. Most of the galleries and shops were closed and those that were open usually didn’t have a sign saying so. I wandered the warehouses, my hiking shoes sounding like heels beneath the echos. The art was good but nothing dared me to be unique. I settled in at a café and, the crime of a good book, allowed myself to be completely self absorbed and not in China.

The next day, just across the street, I ate breakfast in a dumpling house. I found this perfect table and the hot pipe on the wall fit just right into the crook of my back warming me up. Their Jasmine tea was perfect and in a big pot, the dumplings were cheap and amazing, and no one watched me as I sat and ate and read. I ate there for 3 more meals.

I went to the famous/infamous (?) silk market and got tossed around some more with pearls and heels. I went to the Xidan market and watched pretty Chinese girls fight over pink bunny t-shirts. Korean style is very chic right now.

At night I bought a ticket to the famous Beijing Acrobats show. I think I was the only person to go alone to the show in its history. Whatever. I had on my knee high black boots I had bought that day and a whole bag of popcorn to myself. Even better, the theater wasn’t crowded so I gave the popcorn its own seat. We made out a little. It was nice.

The show was unreal. The things people do with their body makes you feel like a waste of space. I saw 6 motorocycles speed around upside down inside a cage on stage without ever hitting each other.

On the way home, a taxi driver asked me where I was from. When I told him America he popped in a cd that started to play the National Anthem.

The Chinese Wedding

2012-01-23T08:09:00.000-08:00

Morning of the wedding, rolled out of bed, grabbed the guitar and Suki and I started to practice. We left just enough time to throw on our dresses and run down the hotel hall to Muzi’s room. Muzi’s room was decorated from ceiling to floor with balloons, sweets and relatives. Muzi was being poked and prodded by make up and hairbrushes in the bathroom. My make up artist decided to give me all ice like make up. Baby pink lipstick, soft blue eye-shadow—beautiful colors for someone with fair skin. On me it looked like a latina drag queen. The hairstylist choked when she was my hair. She started by trying to brush it and blow dry it and I saw that if I didn’t stop her my hair would be one big electrified poof.

We heard a knock at the door and it was our cue to start the bridesmaid games. The groomsmen knock and we say “you can’t come in unless you do what we say!” We made them: make up a song about Muzi, tell us 5 of Muzi’s nicknames, give us money, and do the dance from swan lake. When all was done, Muzi’s fiancé symbolically put on Muzi’s shoes on her and they head to the wedding. Oh wait, not before Muzi checked a few of her slides she would presenting at a science conference the next day.

The wedding was grand. There were 280 guests and millions of flowers. Although the ceremony was in Mandarin, the sentiment was obvious. I am so honored to be a part of it. People took turns making toasts to Muzi on the stage. When her dad started to choke and tear up during his, Muzi left her now husband and ran to his side hugging him. That’s when I lost it. Our song went fine. I’ll post it if I get the confidence to do so. It’s one thing to sing in front of 280 people who don’t speak English. It’s quite another to post it online. We’ll see.
Our job as bridesmaids was to stand behind Muzi and fill her wine cup so she can toast to ever single table. We filled her up with juice so she would remember the day. And it was such a day.

There were 5 courses of various Chinese delicious dishes and by the end of the day I could no longer feel my feet. We said goodbye to all of the guests, Muzi left to pack for her science conference in Rome THE NEXT DAY, and I head back to the hotel room to sleep off the excitement.

The night before the wedding

2012-01-21T08:15:00.000-08:00

And although last night played out like a long single note, I had to change gears and get my ass on the fast train to Beijing. Beijing is so crammed with cars and people that the last digits on the car license plate dictate on what days the car is allowed to drive.

I met Muzi who was as calm as jade, and just two days before HER wedding she took me to a department store to get ME shoes. We ate these sticks with little crab apple type fruit on them dipped in melted sugar. I stuck my nose in a few tins of green tea.

We met Muzi’s family for a special and symbolic wedding night dinner. It was Muzi and her parents, Muzi’s fiancé and his parents and…me. Even though only Muzi and her Fiance spoke English everyone hugged me and laughed at my, now honed, larger-than-life sign language.

We went to a restaurant that had the “best Peking Duck in Peking.” It looked like a hotel. Each room opened into a private dining area. Our room had a large circular table, a large lazy susan, and menus as big as encyclopedias. The tea was never empty. We ordered: duck heart, bamboo, duck feet with a mustard that screamed through my nose, pea shoots, duck bone soup and three whole ducks.

The ducks had been roasting all day. The chef cut them in front of us. The skin on the chest, the choicest part of the duck, was cut into little slivers and served to the VIP (Muzi’s father) with a side of sugar. The skin was passed around. You dipped one side into the sugar, and placed it on your mouth and let it melt. It was like communion—just as holy anyway. Then the duck was put onto a pancake with sauce, scallions and cucumbers. There was so much to eat. I really liked the duck heart which was smoky and tasted similar to chicken liver. The duck feet was crunchy and cold and nubbly and I chewed and swallowed as fast as I could.

The whole bridal party was staying on one floor of a nice hotel near the venue. No one wanted to risk the Beijing traffic interfering with the ceremony. The following day was the rehearsal. We had another huge lunch and head to the venue. The hall was magnificent and palatial. Whole teams worked together to set the table, create the flower centerpieces and set up the stage. Tables had candies, roasted chesnuts, wine, and cigarettes for the guests. A large blow up photo of Muzi and her Fiance at the Washington D.C. Cherry Blossom festival was the background of the stage. We practiced our line up. Muzi was led down the aisle in her jeans and UGGs by her father. But then the song came on—The Rose by Bette Midler and I started to cry. What would I do at the actual wedding?!

At night the other two bridesmaids and I piled into the hotel bathroom and did facemasks “to make our skin prepared for the make up tomorrow.” Everyone calls me “cute” in this country. Because my eyes are big “like a baby!”
Suki (another bridesmaid) and I would be playing the guitar and singing a song dedicated to Muzi and her Fiance at the wedding. In front of 280 people! We combined my song-I’m Yours~John Mayer and her Chinese song and learned the chords and practiced all night until our fingers went numb and we were scared we would fall asleep on the stage.

Jazz in Shanghai

2012-01-20T00:30:00.000-08:00

My first day alone in China was spent with an entire morning buried underneath the covers begging the heat to turn on so I could peek outside. I finally dared myself to tiptoe out of bed and to do something Chinese. I started by eating dumplings…again.

I decided to explore the famous Shanghai Pearl Market.

Four stories high, the pearl market was vast and glittering. I knew nothing about pearls. Had never even seen anyone in my family wearing them. So I started slow, asking each store for a bit more information about pearls so I could make an educated decision. I went around the entire store once, trying things on and feeling the pearls. I made several purchases for friends and family and picked out a 3 stranded pearl necklace with a Jade (the diamond of china) clasp for myself to wear at the wedding. It’s beautiful.

I was meeting a friend, Emma, for dinner. Emma and I met in college and she has since moved to Shanghai to teach English. We met at a bar and I got to order the first salad I have had in 6 months. And after two round of lychee martinis called it a night, said goodbye to Emma and head home.

The next day I was determined to make more of myself and time. I went to the Soft Fabric market to pick up my coat and dress fitted to me exactly. Took the metro to the famous Yuan Garden where I walked among gargoyles and paid too much money for a hand painted fan. I walked nearly across the city looking into fruit shops, laundry hanging above the streets out of windows and at men clinking beer bottles in steamy little restaurants. I went into a boutique alley lit from above with Christmas lights. There were lots of little photography shops and I went into a DIY teddy bear making gallery/restaurant.

I stopped at a restaurant called “Communism.” The walls were red and yellow and Mau was omnipresent. I chose from a wine from the Wine Democracy list and made friends with a few Australians that sat to my right. They were playing the Wind Cries Mary and I felt warm.

Warm enough to take a metro to the Peace Hotel I had been days earlier. Warm enough to pay the $20 for an entrance fee and sit at the bar and order a dirty martini (gin-with a splash of vermouth and tobasco). I sat like I didn’t have traveling clothes on and hiking shoes, but like I had a long red dress and Richard Gere across the room. The “Old Jazz Band” was so cute and old that I laughed out loud. They played strictly by the notes and charmed a room of Old Chinese with real money. No smiles allowed.

My red dress fantasy became more real with the more martinis I ordered. The next band came on and they were smooth. So smooth they lubricated the air. They were a young band from New York in Shanghai to live like Artists—but not the starving kind. I listened to them play and the Bangladeshi rice paddies seemed so far away. It was the kind of band that got the bartenders pouring in rhythm. I smiled when they started to rap Outkast. Wrinkles next to me didn’t get it.

During the break I met all the members. Listened to their short stories and large egos. When I listen to jazz, snapping fingers and nodding heads isn’t good enough for me. I asked the man next to me if he wanted to dance. And in Shanghai, at the peace hotel, I swang and swung and swooned.

The band closed up to a now empty room at midnight. The bartenders left their shifts and we all sat around a long table drinking free whiskey from the bar. I talked particularly closely to the saxophone player. He played like a young Charlie Parker and his kiss was almost as good as his playing.

Day of Dumplings

2012-01-17T06:58:00.000-08:00

Kiira and I woke up in a frenzy. It was Kiira’s last day in China and we were in one of those LET’S SEE THE WHOLE WORLD IN ONE DAY kind of moods. We packaged our bodies in clothes and grabbed some soup dumplings on the way to the metro.

Dumplings are hand-made and stuffed with pork or vegetables. They steam them and will often fry one side to make it crispy. Soup dumplings are dumplings filled with a pork mixture and a thin broth. When you bite into one, it explodes all over face and takes with it a layer of your skin. The only reason you do not scream in pain is due to embarrassment. I learned to take a little bite, sip some soup out, and then pop the whole thing into my mouth.

We went to Xiandi, the place where communism in China was born. Where radical young men and women…letsgetreal, men and men, got together in underground places to drool over Marx and write little red words in books. I saw where they first drafted important documents. Where they declared capitalism as the greatest evil. Of course now it’s next to a StarbucksNikeMcDonalds where you can get a light hightop no foam with a side of fries.

Then we went to this underground museum of old communist propaganda. It was in an apartment complex and the man who collected tickets was very very happy to explain all of the artwork to us. “See here! Truman with the big red nose! He’s saving the ugly old Korean. It says Americans are stupid!”

Most posters show Mau as a god like sun rising over the east to protect and nurture. I could not take any photos because there were guards everywhere.
For lunch we ate more dumplings, this time filled with red bean paste!

We saw an old Buddhist temple nestled between the skyscrapers. A massive Buddha made entirely of silver sits underneath an unbelievable temple made entirely of intricately carved teak wood. It was mesmorizing.

We rushed back to the hostel because Kiira’s friend was picking us up for dinner. He took us to Old Shanghai which was lit up in celebration of the New Year. This year is the Year of the Dragon. My year.

We ordered more dumplings for dinner. Soup dumplings with crab. There was a long long line to wait for them but they were worth it. I starting a little bit to look like a dumpling.

Then we went to walk along the Bund to watch the lovers look at the advertisements reflecting off the water and to watch the balloon candles float into the sky and explode in the stratosphere.

Zai Jian,
Chelsea

First day in Shanghai

2012-01-15T05:30:00.000-08:00

I woke up in China. I smelled the Chinese air and washed my face in the Chinese water and went downstairs to have some Chinese breakfast. Which meant bacon. Delicious non muslim bacon. I sat with a latte and read and wrote and waited for Kiira, a friend working in Nanjing to meet me at the hostel.

I was expecting her, but she was the last person I thought to see walk through the hostel doors in Shanghai. But she did, and me and the Blonde Baltimore Kiira went off on an adventure into the city.

We stopped into a delicious little place to have a quick lunch of rice, tofu, tomato and egg all scrambled together in a light and fresh but filling dish. We went to the Shanghai museum and saw a “knife with four holes”, a “blade with three notches” and a myriad of other age old treasures with English tags more amusing than their objects.

Like it’s literal English translations, Shanghai is a city which looks like it took an architects “make it look futuristic—modern, cutting edge” very, very literally. The skyscrapers are topped with flying saucers. Subways look like portals. The effect is mesmerizing and completely dwarfing. And I grew up in New York City. I was born in the Cup O’Noodles in sign in Time Square. But Shanghai is the kind of city that you look up and feel like you could fall backwards.

We went to the soft fabric market. In the middle of an industrial park, the “Shanghai Soft Fabric Market” was grey and 7 stories high. Each vendor had a stall and each stall had a style. Cashmere coats or wool dresses or silk suits, pashmina scarves, leather bags. The real stuff. You could get measured and have a complete outfit made for you overnight. It’s Chinese magic or
Idon’twanttothinkaboutwhatkindoflabor. Kiira and I were fitted for Cashmere coats. I ordered a black one modeled after an Armani Jacket Ah-thankyou. I had a wool navy dress made. And am officially ready to take over the Madison Avenue of Bangladesh.

When we got weary, we sipped on bubble tea-a concoction so sweet it would make Indian Cha taste bitter. It literally gave me heart palpitations.

At night we walked along the famous Bund strip. A clean brick strip with bright lights and sweets and smells and all sorts of good wholesome things. Chinese music was playing on loudspeakers and young men and women danced in the streets. I felt like I was in a propaganda clip waiting for Mau to rise over the buildings like the sun.

We went to a sweet market and picked out chewy sweets filled with red bean paste or black sesame. They also sold flattened pigs heads and pickled and assorted feet. We took our sweets to the Peace Hotel. A hotel made during the height of the Art Deco era. It was lavish and all kinds of sexy. We walked around and saw a dimly lit jazz bar filled with swanky people doing swanky things and I promised myself I would go there before I left Shanghai.

But tonight we were so heavy so we pulled up a chair at the bar downstairs in the hostel, ordered a round of beers and let them rock us to sleep.

Zai Jian,
Chelsea

I arrived in China

2012-01-14T06:23:00.000-08:00

I got to the airport three hours early. I could smell the beauracracy wafting out from behind the raised ticket booths. Lines made up lines around the China Eastern Airport. I made myself loud and clear but china eastern had not rebooked a flight for me, I was on standby. I made a friend. Then I got in. The connecting flight was no longer the same day so I would stay the night in a hotel in Kunming.

Frustration is adhesive and good leverage to start talking. I made friends with two girls from Canada who would be staying overnight in the hotel with me on their way to Laos. They just finished their MD residency and were taking the summer to travel the world. After the flight we found the shuttle to take us to the hotel, waited at reception for 1 hour, convinced the manager, no I could not double room with a random (probably male) stranger from the plane, got my room key and went up. The Canadian girls and I went out into the cold night exploring fruit stands and saying hi the stray…pug dogs. A man told me to get on his motorcycle. I declined.

We couldn’t find any food stalls open so we ordered room service and ate our bowls of noodles and watched fun Chinese game shows and bonded like a bunch of girls in a foreign country.

I arrived in Beijing and found Muzi with a large glittery purple sign that said “Chelsea!” We hugged and jumped in a circle for a bit and she gave me her mom’s big down jacket so I would never have to set foot in the bitter Beijing air without being properly swaddled. She also brought my bridesmaids dress which I tried on in a bathroom stall.

She fed me a Chinese noodle lunch and I was off again heading toward Shanghai on the fastest train in the world. The world went by so fast it made my eyes hurt. What should have been a 10 hour train ride to Shanghai took only 5 hours. When I reached my station the train warned me to “not leave any passengers behind or take any passengers by mistake.”

My hostel was voted the best in the world by Lonely Planet Guide. My double room had a pitched ceiling with intricate molding and rickety old wooden floors.
It was 10pm but I was starving. I followed a visibly smoky scent down the block and into a bare Chinese restaurant. The menu had pictures so I pointed and waited. My first night in Shanghai, alone at 10pm, I ate a big skillet of sizzling beef.

My hostel had a bar downstairs and I shared a scotch with some other travelers, ate some roasted chestnuts out of a brown paper bag and went to sleep.

Zai Jian,
Chelsea

The French Nuns

2012-01-13T05:20:00.000-08:00

My last day in Dhaka before heading to Bejing. Or so I thought. I had a million things I had to do. First of which was getting into an auto and going across town to find a cloister of nuns who make exquisite embroidery. The auto crossed the city and took me to a part of Dhaka I had never been before. Weaving through a residential area the auto stopped in front of a large gate where “Saletian Sisters” was printed on a tiny indiscriminate plaque on the door. I knocked on the large steel gate and a little French nun peeked over.

“Heello?” Her voice wavered in french mixed with Bangla but mostly old person’s accent.

She took me inside to a dark 3 story house. 8 nuns live there in simplicity since the 1960’s. There were crosses all over the wall and candles and smelled like old people. Upstairs was a large table surrounded by bangla girls leaning over their tiny perfect stiches forming vast tapestries. They took me to the table, opened the nearby cabinets and embroidery of different scenes and size poured out. Scenes of a hut on a river with women sifting through rice on the shore, a woman sitting under a tree combing her sister’s hair, flowers with stitching so fine you couldn’t see the edges. It was beautiful. I had made a little design of my own, showed the nuns and it will be made for me in April!

I said goodbye to the nuns and I hopped back into an auto, bounced and puttered across the city again to pick up my China Visa at the Chinese Embassy. Little did I know, today the closing time was 12:00pm. I arrived at 12:05. My hands were red and throbbing from the amount of pounding I did on the large steel gate. Maybe with enough pressure, my little hands would bore through?

Someone finally came over.
“Ma’am That’s not working.”

He pointed in the direction of a window to another entrance to the embassy.

“You came late. You cannot get your passport.”

I started to hyperventilate.

“But my sister, she’s getting married tomorrow.” Again.

“No tension!” They promised. And said to come back at 3.

Took another auto into the office, another auto to pick up my visa at 3, went to North End Coffee to soak in some caffeine then took a rickshaw to Nelo’s to get my hair cut.

I had to get my hair cut for Muzi’s wedding and figured the Bangladeshi’s would have a better job with my head than the Chinese.

4 women surrounded me clucking as they pulled and tugged my hair. My hair was a mess. My curls were revolted with all the plane rides and hotel beds and revolted by twisting themselves into a nest. The women did an impressive job and 3 snips later I have beautiful wedding ready hair.

I had time so I decided to explore the multi-story beauty complex I was in. On the top floor was Siam Oasis. The kind of place so serene it makes you shiver. I was escorted to the couch where I was asked about my pleasures and explained the menu of choices. I chose “java” a medium-strong massage. Then I picked my oil from a selection of smells. I was brought to a room out of a magazine with burning oils, and candles and massage table with fine sheets and a shower in the corner with multiple jets. A woman came in and for an hour she worked out all my muscles including those I didn’t even know I had.

I think I crave massages so much in Bangladesh beause of the lack of human touch. I’m not even talking about physical intimacy. Just a hug, or a tap on the shoulder. Nada. And it gets to this Brooklyn-Italian who accentuates her points by nudging the person she is talking to.

After the massage was done I was served green tea and got to take a shower in the cold, but jetty shower. I had dinner with Neelu at a fancy Indian restaurant and returned to the hotel ready to pack up my things and head to the airport for my 3am flight to China.

When I get there this is no one from the airline and barely anyone in general. Just me, my backpack and the mosquitoes that marched toward me, single file.

An hour passed and an airline representative came to inform us our flight had been cancelled. A group of us closed in on him making him repeat the cancellation over and over. In the pack was an elder Bangladeshi man and his younger daughter, both of whom had American passports and were pushy. I loved them. We bonded over our 3am dissatisfaction and swapped stories. When I told them I was working in Gaibandha they asked if I knew Shefa.

“Yes of course! I live with her!”

“She’s my neice!”

They insisted I come to stay with them. At 3am we crossed the city, once again, and took the elevator up the 18 stories he and his family owned. They showed me my room.

I had to step over the servants sleeping on the floor. I had several Eureka experiences because, it was 4am, and I was on an 18 story rooftop in Bangladesh. Something about height, rooftops or mountains, that clear me to the core.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

So Much Love

2012-01-04T04:15:00.000-08:00

I am so blessed to have so many friends and so much family and so many friends that are family, overseas thinking of me, writing me, skyping me, and sharing their life over the ocean.

This week I got two packages, one from my aunt and the other from my friends Ben and Milana. They made me cry.

Ben and Milana assembled a Christmas themed present: A stocking stuffed with gifts included: my favorite type of hair tie, gum!, cute little penguin, snacky snacks, christmas lights, LIGHT UP YOYO, book and movies I've been meeting to read/watch, and a USB drive filled with music Ben assembled. An absolute perfect perfect christmas miracle.

My aunt gave me a travel themed package because I can't seem to stay in one place these days. The package includes: Deliciousness from Trader Joes, STARBUCKS INSTANT COFFEE, all sorts of upscale travel sized products that you absolutely cannot find here, toiletry bags WHICH I NEEDED, and urban decay eyeshadow!!

I AM SO HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2011

2011-12-31T11:19:00.000-08:00

Last New Years I counted down on a beach in Key West. I kissed a boy who took my breath away and jumped into a freezing pool with all of my clothes on. I was 22 and a few years younger.

This year I stood on a 5 story rooftop in Bangladesh. I had a cup of scotch in my hand and looked over a candle-lit city. The family in a roof below me stretched out a blanket and sat in a circle sharing food, eating with their hands.

Bulbul and Neelu ran up just in time for the 30 second count down. We clinked drinks and drank to the new year and to being alive and to the countless times over the past 6 months we thought “Where am I?”

So that’s it for 2011. Nevermore.

I had my head down for most of the year studying in graduate school to finish successfully and to get a good internship. But I surfaced for a few times. In a deep red canyon in the Negev Desert in Jerusalem. On top of a mountaintop in Nepal. Seconds before salsa dancing for the entire school. Getting lost in a 3am romantic blizzard in NY. Singing on a rooftop in Baltimore with some of the greatest new friends. Pulsing and losing myself in a Girl Talk concert. These are the moments I felt awake.

I meditated, I ate sweets, I wrote down my new year resolutions and I sang Auld Lang Syne.

The greatest compliment anyone ever gave me was

“Chelsea, you know how to bring the sanctity to the commonplace and to create your own celebration.”

And that’s all I can hope to do for the rest of my life. I’m here in a country that doesn’t understand my traditions or celebrate my holidays but I’ve learned to observe them to myself.

Isn’t that the answer?

2012: Bring the happiness and holiness to ourselves because we’re the only ones who will be there until the end.

My new little friends

2011-12-31T00:51:00.000-08:00

I was walking home from work the other day and I realized I was being followed. 5 little girls were walking at short distance following my pace, giggling and looking away every time I turned back. They caught up to me.

"Hello. What is your name?"

"My name is Chelsea! What is your name?"

"Hello. What is your name?"

"Amar Nam Chelsea."

They followed me all the way home.

"Hello. What is your name?"

I ran into the house and got them all these little toys a friend shipped to me. They are tiny pills and when submerged in water turn into a dinosaur play thing.

I gave one to each girl and explained what to do with them in Bangla.

"Put it in water and wait. Then...magic!"

The next day the girls met me at the office rushing up and exclaiming
"Dinosaur! Rawwr!"

We are now very good friends.

"Hello what is your name?"

This is a video of me walking home from the office. You can see my little friends.

Package!

2011-12-30T06:52:00.000-08:00

My mom sent me a package! With twizzlers, swedish fish, party decorations, burts bees creams, and hair products!!

I'm still homesick. And scared. And a bit sad.

But tomorrow I'm going to wake up early, throw aside this cold I have, and go for a walk. Then I will work all day, even though it's a weekend, work out, and bring in this new year right.

Just watch me.

Oh, oh then suddenly you know you’re never going home

2011-12-26T22:08:00.000-08:00

I’ve been here for 6 months.

I’ve been working hard. Learning about myself. Figuring things out. It’s so simple to live out here. I feel simplified. But it can get very lonely.

I miss my friends and my family. I miss living in a place where I could say “Do you want to grab some dinner? I’ll meet you at the coffee shop. Let’s get dressed up and go dancing!” What I would DO to get dressed up in a little dress and heels and go to a bar.

On the other hand I've been to Nepal, just got back from Bangkok, and am heading to China next week...

And I’m doing something of substance. Thank god. I love my job and I love how I feel about myself and the woman I’m becoming.

But my family had Christmas without me this year. My ex-boyfriend has a new girlfriend. My room is being subletted by a stranger. And most of my friends overseas are now back in America.

I’m afraid when I go back that it’ll be like I’m from somewhere else, just visiting. That I’ve changed faster than the things I’ve left behind.

“Oh, oh then suddenly you know you’re never going home.”

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Christmas in Bangladesh

2011-12-26T00:23:00.000-08:00

Christmas in Bangladesh. A country I was thankful wouldn’t gag me with the Holiday but also a country who wouldn’t notice it. I would have to make my own sanctity.

Christmas Eve Day I set out into town to get into the festive spirit. It was a crisp day and I wore a wool hat. All along the road are used clothes lined out for sale. I looked through the piles skeptically. Most of the clothes you would need to burn before wearing, but I found a big sweater that could be of use.

I wound around the market looking for treasures. Really wanted a pair of warm slippers but couldn’t find any. Wanted to find a silver toe ring, but couldn’t find one. Not even in the silver market. I did however find: hair gel (I’ve decided to start doing my hair here instead of always throwing it back into a bun. Every time I leave my hair out the girls at work fall over themselves to tell me I look good. I get the point.),a pencil holder, a new water jug which I plan to decorate and give to the office (ours used to be pink and is now brown…).

I tried out my Bangla on this outing and I was surprisingly competent! So fun. All around me I heard not-so-soft-whispers “America…girl…america…” Rock star.

I went to the food market and found and purchased: 10 bars of Cadbury chocolate, 3 snickers bars, some ginger tea, sparkling apple cider, and a box of cocoa powder. A Christmas miracle.

For Christmas Eve dinner we had delicious fish curry and roast chicken masala.

I was invited to a Christmas Eve party at my mom’s house and at 7am on my Christmas morning I was skyped in and served an e-Brandy Alexander. It didn’t occur to me to change out of my pajamas because it was the first thing in the morning. But I soon realized that I was on the big screen at a party.

I was sitting up in bed with my headphone, earphone contraption. “Chel you look…kind of like Stephan Hawking.”

“No she kind of looks like Christopher Reeves.”

“Jesus Chel, couldn’t you have put on some clothes?” Said my sister.

It was kind of like showing up to a party naked.

Next time everyone is in their pajamas, I’m going to skype in and be wearing a wedding dress.

I was working Christmas Day but was simultaneously downloading The Holiday on my computer.

My mom and sister woke up and skyped me in for their Christmas morning. I was propped up on a table so that I could see Fiona open her presents. It was so crazy, like being there. I opened up my bottle of apple cider and celebrated.
I was expecting the worst this holiday. Many of my friends who were doing their internship and e-supporting me with their own experience have since returned to the US. It’s been tough losing those time zone comrades.

I really miss my family and “normalcy.” But a part of me felt like I was there for my family because of Skype. Skype: “The Whole World Can Talk For Free.”
For my own Christmas I made some hot chocolate with the cocoa powder and Neelu and I curled up with our heaters and watched The Holiday. Jude Law, you can be my Christmas present any day of the year.

My Christmas almost ended perfectly until Family Drama walked in and shook me around a bit. I’m still pretty dizzy.

It’s all good. Angst does wonders for my skin.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

This holiday was brought to you by Skype.

~Chelsea

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-24T09:25:00.000-08:00

A Day in the Life

2011-12-22T00:47:00.001-08:00

I decided to document a day in my life. Carried a pen and a little book around with me and wrote down my actions/thoughts as the day went on.

Morning starts with the bathroom shakedown. Brush my teeth, wash my face etc. all while shaking so the 20+ mosquitoes in my bathroom don’t land on me. I’ve gotten quite skillful at not poking my eye out when I try to put in my contacts.
Making coffee in the morning has to be done equally fast so the water being poured into the machine doesn’t catch a mosquito.

I wrap myself in several layers of clothing, a scarf, and a hat. It’s fifty degrees right now in Gaibandha and we live in buildings built to reduce heat in the sweltering summers.

I eat my breakfast, pack my coffee, and walk to work. The fog was so thick this morning that I spent a good portion of my walk hypothesizing why that was. Is it because it’s getting colder so the warmth of the life below is creating a faster condensation rate? Or are there more cook stoves going that release particulate matter into the air because people want more hot breakfasts during the cold? I almost fell into a pothole and decided to stop thinking.

I settle into work with my coffee, answer emails, read the news headlines and begin my day. A wave of nausea overcame me and didn’t leave for most of the day. So it goes.

Today I’m working on a paper about evil spirits. I’m reading through 3,700 infant verbal autopsies to find instances where mothers talk about the evil spirits that have killed their children. Thousands of detailed descriptions of the symptoms their children had right before they died. Gruesome examples of Shamans telling the mothers to beat the child to get rid of the evil spirit.

I can’t get through I’ll Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab without tearing up. Does anyone second that? I’ve disallowed myself to listen to any more sad music while reading these interviews. Only angry music like The Clash. Or Alanis Morisette.

During lunch I mix half a cup of cold water with half a cup of boiling water. This trick is the best thing that ever happened to me. I eat steaming hot vegetables and rice, a piece of fish and some hot Dhal I pour into a bowl and drink like soup.
I found a store that sells tootsie pops in Dhaka and I bought the man out. I keep them in my desk and every day after lunch I eat one. It’s the little things.

At 6pm I go home and meet my Bangla teacher. I use my cellphone to light the pitch black walk. My Bangla teaches me with stories and Bangla dramas. It’s incredibly effective. He always brings in a question to ask me before we start my lesson. “What does ‘beat it’ mean in the Michael Jackson song?” Today he asked me “What does ‘I’m a Barbie Girl in a Barbie World’ mean?”

I ate dinner and made tea and settled into my bed. I read my book interrupted every once in a while by the dance of the power outages.

Good night!

My Weekend in Gaibandha

2011-12-21T01:41:00.000-08:00

I stayed in Gaibandha this weekend alone. It was gorgeous. Friday morning I rolled out of bed, wrapped myself in 2 sweaters a scarf and a hat (it’s in the fifties here!), threw some hot water and grounds in my little camping French press and settled back into bed. I stayed there, mosquito net draped around me, the entire day. Like a little invalid. My aunt sent me some pesto and I found some Rigatoni during my last trip to Dhaka. So for my meals I sautéed garlic and onions and made rigatoni pesto. The rest of the time I drank my stash of whiskey and watched my new favorite show: Mad Men. I picked up my guitar and fiddled with it a few times. But the creativity side of my brain sat lazy and cold.

On Saturday I met Kumkum for a beauty outing. We went into the market to a beauty parlor to beauty it up. Beauty parlors are the same in every part of the world. Ladies gotta get prettied in every culture and that’s pure as poetry. This beauty parlor was a 12x12 room with 8 ladies getting their eyebrows done, hair treatments, facials and henna.

A Bengali drama was playing on a fuzzy TV in the corner. Bengali dramas are like American soap operas with more slow motion, zoom shots, and less sex.

I got my eyebrows threaded and henna on my left arm. Kumkum had her hair treated with a protein pack to help reduce hair fall. Many women have a lot of hair fall in Gaibandha due to the high iron content in the water. I could use a little hair fall.

The ladies gossiped openly and I joined in to talk about how how much I like apples, oranges, bananas, and mangoes! I am wearing pink! You look pretty in your hair!

I’m a keeper.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Last day in Bangkok

2011-12-17T22:02:00.000-08:00

I got up early. Because yesterday was a rainy bust and I had only one day left to do all I wanted to do in Thailand. I was a on a mission. First I took the skytrain to a boat. Got on the boat and sailed through Bangkok to the famous Wat Pho temple.

Right on the water was the Wat Pho temple. Cloisters rose high and majestic around a very large stone courtyard. Statues of Buddha sitting and praying were adorned with lotus flowers and sweets. The sun was beating down and I didn’t feel holy. It was beautiful but not resonating. Maybe I wasn’t in the right frame of mind, but I think it’s because the temple didn’t have a good story. There’s nothing like a story of sorrow and triumph to make you feel god.

The Reclining Buddha lay in a massive hall. At one time you could only see part of a head, the massive torso, or the stretching legs. We dropped coins into bowls beside the body. The hall was bouncing with the clinks. It was an enveloping sound.

I sat in one of the prayer halls looking up at a golden Buddha. Next to me were other white people deep in meditation. If you have read my other posts, I am on a personal quest to find a compassion in religion, for religion. I’ve meditated in the Kali temples in India, went to the holy sites for Muslim, Christian and Jewish religions in Jerusalem. Trying to understand it all.

The Dali Lama said “There are many different religions and cultures in the world and each has developed to suit its own people. Because of that, I always recommend that it’s best to keep the religion you were born into. In the West, most people are Christians, although there are also some Jews and some Muslims. For them, or for anyone, to change religions is not easy and sometimes it just creates confusion.”

I’ll meditate on that.

For now, I had to get back into the boat, circle around for a bit, realize I was on the wrong boat, get on another boat, head to the skytrain, and RUN to the India visa office to get my passport and some god willing get my Indian Visa.

A line of other US citizens were waiting in the embassy grumbling “India hates us, discrimination, disgrace, discrimination…”

My passport would have an Indian visa but I would have to wait 2 hours.

So I went to get another Thai massage. This one was better. But at one point the woman picked me up over her back and tried to do this cracking thing and my back injury came back in full force. I was hobbling for the rest of the trip. (Now I am better.)

I got my Passport with Indian visa BOOYAKASHA and went home. I was taking Naz out tonight on the town and had to prepare. It was a multi stage night planned to perfectly in typical Chelsea fashion. First we would got to Condoms and Cabbages for drinks. Then to Koi, a chic restaurant for dinner. Followed by drinks at Sax, a famous jazz joint.

In typical Indian fashion we were hours late for the plan. Naz brought his beautiful car and we rushed to Condoms and Cabbages. It was closing but we got the gist.

Condoms and Cabbages was a restaurant created by a public health activist to support sex education and safety. Now an establishment, Cabbages and Condoms is known for its eclectic art pieces. Condom dresses, furniture, Christmas trees decorated the lobby. Instead of mints, you took a condom on your way out. But it was closed, and it was 11pm and we were so hungry.

We made our way to Koi. A valet took our car and we walked into a restaurant out of NY magazine. Models lounged on the furniture and a DJ played steamy beats in the back. We sat down on one of the ridiculously low tables and opened the menu. There food was for ants. Nothing. Maybe a celery stick dressed with a salt crystal. Not enough. I feigned ill, and laughing and now leaning on each other for support we got back into the car.

Naz knew of a place. On the 80th floor of a hotel promised a buffet with an amazing view. We raced there. And it was closed. Naz turned into a turkey leg and the tables turned into cakes. We went downstairs to the café and ordered so much food.

We went up to the 80th floor and looked down at Bangkok, a red city blinking like stars. In four days I did a lot, but only caught a glimpse of this complicated city.
Naz took me home and I collapsed into bed, ready to wake up in the morning and leave.

Naz was truly a kindred spirit. I laughed consistently for 4 days. He called the airport and found my kindle and ipod.

I always rely on the kindness of strangers.

La Bangkok,
Chelsea

The Rain from the Train

2011-12-16T10:15:00.000-08:00

I woke up in a daze at 2pm. Where was I? What had I seen the night before? Who am I?

I had a headache from a hangover of sights. I could have stayed in bed for the next year. But I was in Bangkok. And I needed to get out and see stuff. I don’t know, because I have this little voice in my head always going “you’re missing it!”

I decided to go to one of the famous temples. It was raining outside. But this did not make Bangkok drab. The techni-colored raincoats, boots and umbrellas made the people on the sidewalk from the skytrain look like strewn skittles.
I decided to wait out the rain in a Japanese place with a big window. I ordered lots of sushi and green tea and looked out the window at everyone leaving the subway.

I was feeling really down because I had realized that I had forgotten my kindle and my ipod on the plane. Two things I used more than any other thing in Bangladesh. And there was a sentimental reason. My iPod was given to me by my family 5 years ago for my high school graduation. It is engraved, “We are so proud of you! Love Mommy, Lisa, and Fiona.” My parents are now separated. I couldn’t believe I could be so dumb to leave it on the plane.

The rain wouldn’t let up so I walked under the tarps of a streetside market. Tons of amazing shoes and shirts were laid out on tables. The thai have it going on with fashion. But all the clothes were made for such little people. And it’s not like I’m a giant. I couldn’t find anything that would even remotely fit me.
So I snaked back through Bangkok on the train and got back into bed.

At 9pm I woke up hungry. I couldn’t find my friend Naz so I decided to go out solo.
I went to this used furniture store by day chic restaurant by night called Tuba. I ordered a frozen daiquiri the size of my head and the Thai steak.

The thai food is very spicy. But it’s a different spicyness than the Bengali food. Bengali curries are a deep rich spicy. It reminds me of a belly laugh. The Thai spice is cutting and crisp at the tip of your tongue like a giggle.

So full, I crawled back into bed, for the last time.

I couldn’t sleep.

La,
Chelsea

Red Bangkok

2011-12-12T01:39:00.000-08:00

First thing’s first. I had to shave my alpaca body because I was in Thailand now and momma’s wearin’ a tank top dress. Significantly lighter I head to the Indian visa office to get an Indian visa. Thailand is colorful and bouncy. Even the cabs are pink. The people are small but the women all wear strappy, thick, colorful high heels.

At the Indian Visa office I was all business with a touch of James Bond. The line was out the door so I found an older used ticket and presented it to the counter. “My number was called but I didn’t hear it.” WAABAM. I’m in. “Ma’am we don’t allow multiple entry just single.” “Well what if I go to India, Bangladesh and then back to India?” “Yeah I guess that would work for a double entry visa.” WAABAM. “But Ma’am we don’t expedite visas, you’ll have to stay another week to wait for your visa/passport back.”

I was not crushed at this news because I was on some kind of mafia high and was ready to make them an offer they couldn’t refuse.

In the elevator an older, Indian man in a powersuit got on. I asked him if he worked for the Indian Embassy. He said no, he was the country manager for Kingfisher Airlines but he liked me and would walk me to the Indian Embassy and even though it was off hours he would get me in. Turns out he is a Bengali from Kolkata! My Bangla is finally paying off…in Thailand! We exchanged business cards and after some Indian head bobbing all around, he got me into the first gate.

The second gate was a bit tough. I tried to follow in some other officers but got stopped by security. “Oh no no, it’s ok, he told me I could go in.” “Who’s he?” “Oh you know, that guy…shoot forgot his name.” AND IT WORKED.

Third gate. “Do you have an appointment with the consulate?” “Yes.”

Assistants Desk: “You can’t see the consulate this is off hours.” “I know I know but I need this visa extended! My sister is getting married in Dhaka on the 11^th and I need to fly home!” “OH yeah, what does your sister do for a living in Dhaka?” “She’s in advertising. Works for Citi Color advertising firm.” “Oh I’ve never heard of it.”

The consulate walks out and I scramble for my papers. “Please sir, sister, married, expedite, please.” “Sure, sure.” He waved me off with a nod, his assistant put a sticker on my application that said expedite and WAABAAM.

I took the train for a victory lap and got off at the famous MBK shopping center. I was expecting it to be full over treasures and cheap bargains fleamarket style. Instead it was a 7 story pristine megamall. I walked around and saw hundreds of old ugly white men with very young beautiful thai girls many shopping bags in hand. But truth is, I’m a poor graduate student so this mall didn’t hold my attention for very long and I head back to the hotel.

At the hotel I met the restaurant owner, Naz. Naz was an Indian expat who most recently worked in West Africa. He came to Bangkok on vacation and never left. I was told by my professors, that if you are in Bangkok, you absolutely need to visit the red light district as it is the most famous in the world. Naz promised he would show me around later that night.

For dinner, I went down the block to a few street food stalls. The Thai ladies were cooking up something delicious but I had no idea what. I tried pointing and grunting but it was getting nowhere. Suddenly a Brazillian stepped up and ordered me what he was getting. I always rely on the kindness of strangers. He was a DJ in Bangkok that lived nearby. We ate dinner together: A papaya salad with pork and tofu pad thai. Freaking scrumptious.

At 11pm I was ready to go out into the red light district. My outfit was channeling: I’m-Not-A-Prude-But-I’m-Not-For-Sale. This was not a dark alley. This was the Disney World of Sex. As bright as Times Square, the red light district wound around and around. Prostitutes, as it was explained to me, were grouped. The Russian Prostitutes hung around the grace hotel, the Kazhakstan prostitutes on another street, and the Arabic prostitutes would not go home with you, no matter the price, unless you are Arabic. Then there are the Kathoey. Male-Female Transgenders. About 1/3 of all prostitutes I saw were Kathoey. You can generally spot them when you find a woman who is prettier than the rest. She is a he is a Kathoey. Many can’t afford the surgery and are transvestites.

Naz and I sat on a little table in the center, drank orange juice and looked around. The place was crawling with old british men with crooked teeth and hunched backs. With Arabic men and their sleezy facial hair. Many had a few girls at once around them. Most had on wedding rings. It was gross.

The girls were so young and beautiful. But they were not innocent. They barked their price at you and shook themselves in your direction. Naz and I were married for the night and were practically invisible.

I did go to a show. I will not write about it in this blog. I am saving all of you your virgin brains. You can email me for info if you must.

We left the red light district and went to the back packers paradise. Whities all on one block high as a kite. I stopped into a street spa and paid to have my feet dipped in a tank of fish that eat the dead skin cells off your feet.

I lowered my feet and the fish swarmed toward me, covering my legs and gently nibbling at my feet. It was horrible. I started yipping loudly and making a huge scene. “Keep your feet in, it gets better!” Naz had insisted. It didn’t. Never again.

I passed a food stall selling lizards, worms, cockroaches and scorpions. I didn’t stop.

The night ended with McDonalds French Fries at 4:30 am.

La,

Chelsea

I Arrived in Bangkok

2011-12-06T09:05:00.000-08:00

My visa is only good for 30 days at a time. My plan was, until that can be fixed, to skip over the border to India (only 2 hours away), have some tea, and then come back. But getting an Indian visa in Bangladesh is comically hard. So. I’ve decided to go to Bangkok to a) leave the country before my visa expires b) get an Indian visa from Bankok and c) have fun.

The day before I left I took a bus up from Gaibandha to Dhaka and spent the night in a hotel vomiting up my organs.

Luckily, today I am fine and left for Bangkok.

I arrived at 5pm and the sun was already setting. Everything around me is pink, blue and green. It’s like a lollipop world. People’s hair match their cars which match their cellphone and their 6 inch heels.

I’m staying in a “serviced” apartment. Which is basically a hotel that charges less. I had only a few hours of sleep between retching the night before and my eyes were droopy. But I was in a new country and I have to be fabulous. So I went next door from my apartment and got a thai massage. Only ½ hour into being in this country.

The massage was pretty epic. I felt immensely relaxed but I can’t say that it felt all good. In fact, a lot of it hurt. The woman was very good at finding pressure points and squeezing them. She moved my body around in all sorts of directions. I think at one point I was balancing on my head, my feet in a pretzel position next to my ear and my hands nowhere to be felt. But after, after. I felt glorious. I bowed profusely at my new goddess and head out for some exploring and food.

Thailand is strange. There were many shops dedicated to gamers. Large, plush chairs set up with whole families glued to computer screens watching their own avatars. There were some shops called “family” where I think people were playing games with video cameras?

Many many karaoke halls advertised “VIRGINS!” I guess virgins make good singers? The street food looked incredible. I decided on a buffet style BBQ. You get a tray, and pile what you want to cook onto it. There were buckets of meat, fish, noodles, soups anything you can think of. I chose a bunch of indistinguishable meat and some squid and some crazy half crab/half lobster mutants.

It may have been the most adventurous first meal I could have tried because on top of trying all sorts of things I’ve never seen before, I had to know how to cook it too. The waitress helped me get a snail out of its shell and how to eat my shell fish mutant. I had two dishes that were pre cooked and they were incredible. All the things I had to cook were weird and kind of gross.

But the good news is I found a fruit and nut toblerone at the 7/11.

Lā,

Chelsea

Going to Work

2011-11-30T21:30:00.000-08:00

I took a video going to work in Gaibandha. The video starts out with me climbing over construction outside the house and getting a rickshaw. The video takes place on a rickshaw so the video is a bit choppy and bumpy but you can still see the "Main Street" of Gaibandha.

Thanksgiving in Rangpur

2011-11-30T00:42:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving morning. I called my mom and sister in Key West to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. I was on the iphone on video phone and said hi to all of my relatives.

“We miss you Chelsea! We love you Chelsea! Come here and taste the turkey.” The phone was dipped down and a piece of turkey brought to the video camera. “Can you smell it?” Fiona, my 13 year old sister, kept showing me our dog. “Fiona, I really don’t care about the dog! Keep showing me the people!!” Ladles were brought up to the camera and the camera was put in all sorts of plates. I had to fight back tears and sound all cheery-like. Nothing worse than someone crying before the cocktails.

A trillion miles away, I started my thanksgiving bright and early. I would make: 3 roast chickens dressed with rosemary, lime juice, and sautéed garlic and onions, Garlic mashed potatoes, stuffing made with bread and lime juice and garlic and onions, Green beans and chinese mushrooms sautéed in soy sauce and lime juice, Roasted pumpkin with nutmeg and cinnamon. I would cook all of this with two gas burners, a microwave and a toaster oven.

You know what’s not so hard? Cooking a Thanksgiving meal with staff. I had two other cooks working with me to prepare the meal. Jahangir cooked other dishes, dhal and rice, goat curry, coconut egg curry. Lovely helped me cut garlic and mash potatoes with the bottom of a cup.

The kitchen smelt amazing. I set up my music, Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday, to create the perfect air of a casual 50’s thanksgiving. I lit candles on the table and the balcony, and people started to arrive.

Around 25 people showed. Drivers, cooks, children, cleaners, students and senior management staff set down at the long table and ate together.

Everyone brought flowers and mishti (sweets) and we got tipsy off of coca-cola.

I went into the kitchen and Lovely and Rani attacked me with a bag of glitter. Rubbing it into my neck and face they said “Happy Birthday” over and over. Then they took me out to a hallway where they had candles lit all over the floor.

Rani crouched down to me, picked up a candle, and held it under me circling her arm. “Ooooo.” Her voice was deep and scary. She was scaring the evil spirits away from me so I would have a positive year. It was more comforting than eerie. The Muslim prayers rose up from the night and I, for the millionth time this year wondered,

“Where am I?”

I received a lot of presents from everyone. Lovely gave me a clock shaped like a couple dancing, the drivers gave me a copper bowl engraved with “Happy Birthday Chelsea,” Jahangir gave me henna and a baby Barbie doll on a horse that wound up and moved (!!! BEST 23rd BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER), and my roommates bought me a mug and a shirt.

At the end of the night, we gave everyone food to take home, made the guards delicious plates, and cleaned up the kitchen. Shefa and I settled down into cups of tea in the conference room and worked on our important presentation for USAID the following week. It was fun. Work is always more fun than school. We quibbled over bullets and margins. Made proclamations about fonts. And at 2am called it a night.

I am thankful.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

What did you do when you were 22?

2011-11-26T04:18:00.000-08:00

I had a hard week. There was emotional drama, physical drama, and I was ready to call the whole thing off and run away to Rangpur for the weekend. I got into the back seat of the van and we head up. It was dark and no one in the front could see me back there. The windows were cracked open and the Bangladeshi air rushed into my seat. In such situations there is really only one course of action. I put on my headphones, turned on Beyonce, and rocked out, in silence, all the way to Rangpur.

When I got there, Shefa and Neelu were ready to party. They had bought chips, coke and Sprite and we were ready to dance. We played music videos in the conference room on the projector and danced full out.

At around 11pm Shefa had the idea to go up onto the roof to look at the stars. It was chilly and chillier when we lay down on the concrete floor. But who needs physical comfort when you have the Bangladeshi stars?

“So how was 22?” Shefa asked.

It was the year I started at Hopkins. Johns Hopkins. My dream school and what I had worked hard to reach for 21 years. It was the year I had a hard time dealing with my parent’s divorce and all the rippling it entailed. I met some absolutely amazing people. They will be with me for the rest of my life. And the friends already in my life proved to be larger than life. I dated a zookeeper, I learned how to play the guitar, and I went to Israel.

And now I was turning 23, on the roof, under the stars, in Bangladesh.

As it turned midnight, Neelu, Bulbul and Saijudin came up the stairs with a birthday cake lit with candles. It said “Happy Birthday, Chelsea! Khub Bahlo!” They put“Khub Bahlo” on the cake because it is my favorite phrase here (mainly because it’s one of the few phrases I know how to say) and it means “very good.”

I cried a little bit because I’m a cryer and blew out the candles.

I wished for a year as exciting and filled with love as the last.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

Day In and Day Out

2011-11-23T01:08:00.001-08:00

My turtle project is still rolling around on some desk in Dhaka. It’s rolling now, because it’s become such a large ball of paperwork tied together with red tape. It’s disgusting.

Howeverwho, I have loaded my time with other projects from Jiva. I’m working on an advocacy campaign which includes: website creation, maintenance and design, creation of the Jiva journal and the news briefs and research summaries that goes into it, and real-time archiving. I am on several working groups, and am writing two papers. Not to mention trying to crank out my master’s thesis so I can stop paying for tuition. (That’s how they get you!)

All in all my life tastes like a ripe papaya spritzed with lime juice. I’ve started doing P90X, continuing my goal to become a beefcake. I’ve started meditating which is right on schedule for my 5 month spiritual crisis (lasts for 3 days and then I get back to watching Arrested Development at night).

I signed up for Ok Cupid (A dating website) in Bangladesh. The responses I am getting could be a book of their own.

Ok Cupid in America: "Yo baby you fine. Hit me up."

Ok Cupid in Bangladesh: "Are you the Aryan princess destined to restore the glory of the Arya to the subcontinent? The Vedas did not foretell of this but by God I see it in you!"

True story.

And I'm just trying, every day, to live my life here, and not just bide time here.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

The Secret

2011-11-21T22:21:00.001-08:00

I have discovered the secret to living in Bangladesh. Have Rani come over to your house on a Saturday afternoon. You will lie down on a soft towel and she will make a homemade concoction of deliciousness in a bowl. Then, for an hour, she will massage your back with the sweetest oils and the softest hands. For $2.

Love

2011-11-19T22:06:00.000-08:00

The Most wonderful friends, Clarke Saylor and Meagan Petri sent me a package filled with love. Capri Suns, Cheez Its, quick read, glow bracelets, a puzzle (which I wanted so bad and couldn't find in Bangladesh!) and dinosaur capsules (yes Meagan I'll show the village children and make them think I have magic powers). Then they heard I lost my music and kindle and loaded up music, movies, audiobooks, comics and Photoshop onto a hard drive. This is unbelievable guys. You are unbelievable.

Nepal: Last Day

2011-11-18T10:24:00.000-08:00

Last day waking up to the mountains. From now on it would be a steady climb down back to Pohkara. My guide asked me if I wanted to take the 2 scheduled days to go down the mountain or to cut it down to one. I voted for one day and raced down the mountain. We ran through the jungle, jumping across brooks and across rickety bamboo bridges. I felt like Fern Gully.

But the sun was beating and I started to feel woozy. The stone steps flew past my face as I ran down the mountain feeling like I was in a dream. The steps became deeper and my legs started to wobble. An old woman was in the path ahead of me and saw me struggle. She went into the house and got me a walking stick.

My guide told me that she was heading in the same direction as we were and I begged her to join us. Her face was deeply creased but her smile was big. She stopped at all women in the streets selling oranges to buy some and share with us. She peeled my orange for me giving me the insides as we walked. I found out she was 72 and could fly down the mountain faster than me. She was visiting her daughter and grandson in Kathmandu and told me that I had to come stay with her. I refused but bought her lunch and a few candy bars.

I had to say goodbye to her when I got in the car to Pohkra. But damn, what an impression.

I hobbled around Pohkra trying to find presents for my family. I decided to treat myself at a romantic candle lit café. I ordered a glass of red wine, a steak the size of my head, a side of hummus, and a big thick slice of black cake. It was a meal to end all meals.

Last day in Kathmandu I ran around getting last minute presents. I was cold, wet, smelled unfortunate and my hair and caked together in a really attractive knot. On the flight back to Dhaka (which was delayed 7 hours), I made friends with a woman who told me she could talk to horses, a man who may be my future employer, and got lost in a sea of white gowns—men coming back from Mecca for their hajj.

Now I am comfortably back at home, in Bangladesh, swarmed with work and clean dry clothes. Thanks for tuning in for my vacation! Next up: China!

Namaste,

Chelsea

3,200 meters: Poonhill Day 5

2011-11-16T02:53:00.000-08:00

Donkeys were plopping down the mountainside all night, the bells on their necks clanging and ringing. I would have been grumpy if it wasn’t so damn magical.

I woke up at 4:30 in the morning and threw on every knit wear, pair of underwear and scarf I owned. My arms stuck out from my fleece-engorged body like some North Face obsessive homeless person. And in one hour hiked from 2,860 meters to 3,210 meters at 5 am in the frosty morning. It was a cruel climb, one that bit at your lungs and hung there. Not to mention I was sleep deprived and a bit altitude sick. Rosalyn and I fell to the back of the pack stopping and feeling nauseous. The only thing keeping us going was the time pressure of getting up the mountain to see the sunrise.

The question that kept running in my head was “Should I stop to look at the view on the way up and possibly miss the grand finale or should I keep my head down keeping on keeping on and catch the brilliant sunrise but miss all the beauty on the way up?”

Luckily my legs were fast enough and eyes slow enough to catch both and Rosalyn and I summated Poon Hill at 3,210 meters just in time to see the sunrise. The three of us pressed together and watched the sun creep in on the snow capped mountains. I felt like Heidi. We drank tea and breathed and stayed up there for 2 hours just drinking and breathing. I don’t believe in a God. But those mountains made me worship.

We wound slowly down to the mountain’s base, ate breakfast and prepared for our day’s trek. We went mainly through jungles where the threat

of seeing a leopard was the most exotic and sexy thing I could think about. “Could one beeee in there?” I would say pointing to each and every cave. I was more annoying than Dora the Explorer. I never did see a leopard. Guess that means I’ll have to go back to Nepal. Shucks.

I think if my eyes’ rods and cones could capture and store images, and then we could sell those eyes, my eyes would be invaluable for all the looking and seeing I do in such beautiful places.

The journey got longer when we discovered the jump shot. Directions: Stand in front of large canyon or mountain and jump into the air while someone is taking your picture. The more arm/leg flailing the better. I’m sure Paul loved our group.

We turned a corner and there was a ginormous bull. GINORMOUS. With horns, deep scowl and deadly eyes. We screamed and jumped into a bush (probably where there were things more dangerous to worry about) and I shakily took a photo.

We ended the day at Tadapani 2,630 meters. It was my last day with the group, tomorrow I’d be trekking alone. The girls and I cracked open a bottle of Jack Daniels I had gotten at duty free and each took a nip in declaration of our time together. (We didn’t want to overdo it because apparently drinking at a high altitude is a terrible idea.)

The girls on this trek were amazing and we vowed to meet in another lifetime/our next adventure.

Namaste,

Chelsea

2,860 meters: Ghorepani Day 4

2011-11-13T20:49:00.000-08:00

My first morning waking up on the trek and even though it was cold, I woke up early, crawled out of my mountains of blankets and stood outside to see the sun swoop over the mountain. I ate the strangest breakfast of toast, an egg, popcorn and a few boiled potatoes and bundled up for another day. My guide told me this was the most intense day as it was all up the mountain.

Most of the time we were not trekking on dirt paths but rather large stone steps built by the Nepali people for ease of getting their mules up and down with their supplies. The steps were steep and forever winding upward. It was easily the most intense work out of my life. My lungs burned and my fingers swelled to the size of sausages. Luckily I’ve always had pretty damn strong legs that almost felt disembodied, carrying me up even when my lungs felt like they were going to give out.

The first time I saw a snow peak over the brown mountains I squeeled so loud my voice bounced down the side of the mountain. We began chasing the peak, watching it grow.

We stopped only for a herd of sheep to pass.

At 5pm, we made it to our lodge.

Now we could see a full view of the snowy Himalayas. The lodge was packed with trekkers. A large fire stove in the center warmed people and wet socks. The girls and I settled into a table and ordered tea and chocolate cake. CHOCOLATE CAKE. I sat eating chocolate cake and drinking ginger tea looking at the Himalayas.

Are you beyond jealous right now?

It was absolutely freezing (30 degrees Fahrenheit) and I forced myself into a little slimy dark shell of a shower because there promised to be hot water. There was, and I was happy, until I got cold, and then I was not happy.

I ate the best chicken soup of my life for dinner. Read a little of my book (Infinite Jest does not promise to be a good trekking book when your brain is heavy and tired but I keep at it), and fell asleep at 8pm.

I was so proud of myself for today. It was so hard and I made it up a mountain people train to do. I had no idea I should be training for this trek, so I didn’t. But I made it up just the same.

Namaste,

Chelsea

1,430 Meters: Hile Day 3

2011-11-12T21:02:00.000-08:00

Again we got up at 5am. Ate breakfast in the shivery dark and piled into a car. We drove 2 hours to Nayapul (Alt. 1,070 meters), where we would finally start our trek. The car dipped between other cars dancing with the cliff edge. We drove in circles higher up the mountain. My training in public health filled me with statistics about Nepal’s car accident fatalities but there was nothing I could do. I relaxed and let go. Living in this continent has made me a lot less nervous because otherwise I would have no teeth or knuckles from gritting and squeezing.

We stopped at a tea stall, had our eighth cup for the morning, and the porters looped thick ropes around our bags, tying them expertly together. They made a head brace out of hemp to support the load and leaned into it. Unreal amount of weight. Before our guilt was too consuming we were explained that these men depended on our trips for their livelihood. They WANTED to carry our bags up the mountain…

Today would be a 5 hour trek ending in an overall altitude of 1,430 meters at Hile. Our walk started through Nepali villages. It was similar to Bangladesh except I swear the lifted air of repression was palpable. The smiles were bigger and the clothes were smaller.

The babies in Nepal are cuter than any babies I have seen anywhere. My new plan is to adopt one.

We passed so many waterfalls. The mountainside was green and divided into large steps for irrigation. Women and men bent over large areas of dried Millet beating them with sticks to remove the seeds.

It was a good group. Us three girls talked about our lives and difference and similarities in culture and Paul generally stayed quiet and led the pack.

No cars could go up the mountain so all loads were carried by Mules, Horses and Men.

Lunch was taken at a tea house on the side of the mountain and had an array of carb dishes we could choose from: veg noodles, momos, pizza, spaghetti, etc etc. Not to mention snickers. The girls and I craved chocolate so much on this trip that we tended to have a chocolate bar a day here.

We reached our hotel at 5pm. It was a series of rooms, insulated by unfinished pine boards, 3 small beds to a room. The shower was freezing and dark and damp and the toilet was a squat toilet in a shed. But the view.

Our little rooms looked out onto a mountain so green and clear.

It made our aching bodies relax at the sight. We ate dinner and drank tea and the girls

freaked me out for not packing a sleeping bag. The temperature was dropping at a scary rate. I asked for 4 blankets, piled on sweaters, hat and gloves and went to bed at 8pm.

Namaste,

Chelsea

1,700 Meters: Pohkra Day 2

2011-11-11T03:45:00.000-08:00

With my backpack loaded onto my back, I made my way through the dark light streets of Thamel, Kathmandu at 5:30 am. Shop owners were starting up their breakfast fires, a smell I’m really going to miss and crave back in the states. At the Trek Nepal Office, I met our group. There were four of us: Rosalyn, a 33 year old scientist from Ireland, Robyn, a 24 year old traveler from South Africa and Paul, a 52 year old economist from Belgium. We also met our guide, Brahmo, and our porters. Porters are staff hired to help carry your bags up the mountains. Don’t get me started on the guilt on my back felt from the load on their back. But they were definitely needed.

Today there would be no trekking. We got into a bus and made our way to Pohkra, a city nestled between mountains. The bus ride was 8 hours. We stopped for lunch at a small restaurant and I ordered the traditional Nepalsese meal: Dhal Bhat which is almost identical to the meals I have grown to love in Bangladesh. I started to eat the meal with my hands as I am accustomed and realized all the tourists were looking at me. Keep in mind I had on a full Salwar Kamise from Bangladesh scarf and all. I felt like a total I’m-a-local-see-look-I’m-eating-with-my-hands and soon stopped.

In Pohkra we unloaded into this quaint and dirty little hotel right off the main strip. Rosalind and Robyn and I bonded as quickly and tightly as anyone about to embark on days of extreme physical intensity. We took this as our “last night” and walked down little shops for our last minute necessities. The girls thought I was crazy for going on a 5 day intense hike with just sneakers. They made me buy hiking shoes. THANK GOD.

It was pouring rain outside and we popped into a cozy restaurant lit with circle fires. Corey (the Canadian) had to leave for Madagascar that day but the South African, Denmarkian, and Norweigian joined us in Pohkra for dinner. We drank hot totties until we were hot and tottered back to our hotel in the rain. Tomorrow we would wake for our trek at 5am.

Namaste,

Chelsea

1,400 Meters: Kathmandu Day 1

2011-11-10T07:08:00.000-08:00

It started in Kathmandu. I got off the plane at 3pm and was in a city that was teeming and pulsing with life. I could have been in Dhaka. But Dhaka high up in the mountains with a view that will take your breath away. Central Kathmandu, Thamel, is a mecca for expats of every flavor. You could feel the city’s release. Expats left their countries and NGOs to meet up in the city to share and sin. It was thrilling and intoxicating.

I head straight for my hotel. I had made reservations there a week ago but they had no record of it. I was so bummed, I had researched so much. Created excel sheets and price charts—this was the best hotel. Kathmandu was packed so the only hotel with an empty room I could find me was a gritty one in the center of the city. Up some dingy steps and I found my single bed. I didn’t care, I was just so excited to be here. I head immediately out to find supplies for my trek. I ate dinner in this place my guide told me about. Literally down an alley, Himali kitchen, was a local Nepali restaurant. It was brilliant. I was the only white person and felt so smug about it. I stuffed myself silly with momos. I think I prefer eating meals alone; more time to savor.

As I was leaving the restaurant I met four absolutely beautiful men from South Africa, Denmark, Norway and Canada respectively. I think they were the Adonis breed of their countries. I walked into their circle and asked where they got the marijuana they were smoking. (just a conversation starter, I don’t smoke.) They told me about the green heaven on the treks and invited me to join them for drinks and dinner. I like being alone, I really do. But I couldn’t deny their beauty. We ate together, then went to a bar. The Canadian (who currently works in Madagascar) and I split off and we drank and talked until 5am when I needed to leave to catch the bus for my trek.

Namaste,

Chelsea

An Update in Three Parts

2011-11-04T10:57:00.000-07:00

Part I:

11/2/11

A staff member’s daughter died from drowning today. She was two years old. Can you fucking imagine? 2 years old. And my project is still wrapped up in a red tape nightmare. Tragic irony. I need to get away. I need a break.

Part II:

11/3/11

Heading to Nepal today. Can’t wait. It’s a break I really need. Between the gravity of death and the more petty boy relationship problems I just want to see a mountain and have it suck the perspective back into me.

I got to the airport 3 hours early. As I was going through immigration I was stopped. The man looked up. “Ma’am, you have expired your visa, please come with me.” Visions of left forgotten in a Bangladesh jail flooded. I was taken to the immigration police. I was told that I had expired my visa by 66 days. Bloody hell. Even though my visa was good for a year, it turns out it was a year “30 days at a time.” MEANING I have to leave Bangladesh every 30 days. I missed my plane and called my Jiva contact in Dhaka. “Please Saidul I’m at the airport and I need help. Please come get me.”

Saidiul came immediately and we drove the 2 hours (10 miles with Dhaka traffic) to the country immigration office. I’m on the phone with a travel agent trying to rebook my ticket to Kathmandu. But all the flights are booked because this is a big national holiday and everyone is trying to leave the country to vacation. We make it the office, cut past all sorts of people and have a guard open the back door for us. I don’t know, maybe they thought I was someone important and not some grungy little blue collar through and through?

We go straight up the Deputy Visa director. She is yelling at us with a mouth full of Dhal, “she is free to go if she pays us $550 in cash. But the banks close in 10 minutes for the holiday so run.” I run to an ATM, and, being the grad student I am do not have that much in my account. I have to borrow some from our driver. But no time to “oi” because now we’re running back to the office. Signing documents, hands filthy with money, collecting signatures and panting.

6 HOURS LATER, I have my passport signed and stamped. I have my exit visa. I am free to leave the country within 7 days and then return. Now we race over to the Bangladesh Airline headquarters to see if we can get me a ticket out of the country. Make it just in time. With a few tears and a pledge that it is my (13 year old) sister’s wedding in Nepal on Sunday and I got a ticket to Kathmandu Saturday, the day before I leave on my trek.

Giddy, starving and exhausted, we get back in the car for the 3 hour (11 mile) journey back.

Part III

Becky invited me to go to the American club with her to unwind and offered up her guest room for the night. The American club was dizzying. I was swept up by soft white hands, handed a glass of red wine, a plate of eggplant parmesan and placed in a soft chair on a rooftop deck overlooking a pool. I lost track of the Dhaka honking, and the heat and dust and death and stress of it all and let the wine make my head heavy. The scintillating conversation and parmesan cheese carried me away and I didn’t feel one bit guilty about it.

Where Do the Children Play?

2011-11-02T03:00:00.000-07:00

I was leaving a restaurant in Dhaka and three little children started to follow me. Around 2, 4, and 6 years old respectively. The eldest kind of supported the youngest with her arm. Oh they were cute with big eyes and little tiny bodies. “Please ma’am please. Money please.” They developed a limp the farther they followed me. I gave one of the littlest girls a rose I had been carrying around with me. 5 steps later she threw it on the ground. “Please ma’am please some change.”

I had refused a beggar knocking his head against my taxi for money because he was limbless. I could refuse these big eyes. I started to cross the street and the little children followed me. Suddenly a huge truck comes careening down the dark street. I picked up one girl by the shirt and threw her in front of me and pushed the other two really hard with my remaining arm and leg. They were barely missed. I am still shaking.

They followed me for one more block, then turned around and head back into the dark street.

Sighs from a girl in Gaibandha

2011-11-01T00:59:00.000-07:00

There should be an expatriot match.com. A matchpat.com

Location: South Asia

Interested in: expat health worker, tall, tan, and speaks English with an accent.

Not interested in: backpackers, Christian aid workers, anyone over 30.

Current expat American living in rural Bangladesh seeks male to join in eating curry, going on long dusty walks and being excruciatingly sober. Must like cow dung.

Accident

2011-10-30T02:51:00.000-07:00

Today I fell off my motorcycle. I am fine.

I was following a member of my team and she turned quickly to the left off the main road. I was just about to follow and I saw another motorcycle creep up on my left, a rickshaw head straightt toward me and a bus to my right. I panicked, turned too hard, and fell off my motorcycle.

I tried to fall as far from my bike as possible and luckily the bike did not fall on me. Nor did anyone run over me or crash into me. I have scraped and road burn on my feet and they are a bit swollen. My knee is scraped up and also a bit swollen.

But I am fine. I was wearing a helmet and driving slowly and I am fine.

Packages!

2011-10-27T04:07:00.001-07:00

The beautiful beautiful package my mom sent me!! Tea, Chips, Dip, Slim Jims, Wheat Thins, Chocolate Biscotti, 4 magazines, jelly beans, two bags of starbucks coffee, skittles, ginger cookies, propel and altoids!!!!!!! I almost cried when I opened it.

The package my Aunt Lenore sent me! Granola bars, cliff bars, pasta, gnocci, boxes of licorice, graham crackers, pesto, tomato sauce, nutella and macaroni and cheese!!!

SO MUCH LOVE!! I AM SO LUCKY!

You'll Want to Join My Team When the Frogs Start Coming Down

2011-10-25T23:18:00.000-07:00

If you can’t beat them, join them. Or some saying that more appropriately fits my situation.

I’m spinning my position. My project hasn’t started but that doesn’t mean I have to sit around pulling my hair out waiting for it. I like my curls. I’ve decided to fill my time by continuing my goal to become a completely sustainable person come the apocalypse. I have:

Started to learn CSS and am making a new jiva website.

Wrote a song on the guitar and am writing the lyrics now.

Learning how to stitch pretty patterns in clothing

Teaching myself Spanish

For the song on the guitar I am going to make pile (see picture) to attach to my ankle for percussion. After work I went to the market to search. After crossing over some railway tracks I

saw a man crouched behind his blanket display of razors, mirrors, watches and little bells used to attach to cows necks! I picked up the little bells and started shaking them next to my ear. I tried combinations of bells again picking them up to my ear. It was getting dark and a crowd was forming around me. Men would reach over and pick up the bells I put down, bringing them up to their ear to shake, and then setting them down with a bewildered “I don’t get it” face.

The shop owner did get that I wanted what we had to sell and drove a hard price. We bargained a bit and he wrapped up my bells in plastic. Now dark, I ran over the train tracks, grabbed a rickshaw and head home to sew my bells onto a piece of fabric.

At dinner I got a fish bone stuck in my throat. It was scary and hurt a lot. The Bengalis at the table gave me rice to swallow whole to force the bone down.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

Waiting in Bangladesh

2011-10-23T04:37:00.001-07:00

It has been three months since I arrived in Bangladesh and the IRB still hasn’t approved my project. I’m trying to be strong. I realize that this is the reality of research. I realize that my situation is comfortable and I’m learning a lot regardless. But it’s hard.

Chinese Embassy

2011-10-21T09:31:00.001-07:00

I went to the Chinese embassy in Dhaka to get my visa to go to Beijing in January to be in Muzi’s wedding. The embassy doors were closed and a long line of Bengali people wait in the heat and flies until a guard called on a single person at a time to enter. It was very emerald city. An hour later I got in and the surly Chinese person looked at my documents and said “the website has the wrong application. Fill out this application.” And shoved my papers back at me. Then another hour later of waiting and I made it to the front of the line. This time another chinese man told me that my visa would only be good for 3 months. Not 3 months in the country, but 3 months starting today, when I would get my visa. Meaning it would expire before I go to China. So I have to go back.

As I left the embassy I saw a tall handsome guy with a New Zealand accent. He had long hair tied back into a bun, large headphones propped around his neck, and a Big Lebowski t-shirt. “Nice shirt,” I said, coyly flipping my orna over my shoulder.

“Thanks, but it’s not helping me get this visa,” he said.

Tee hee. Teee hee. TEEE HEEE. TEEE HEEEEEE. I think I batted my eyes so hard eyelashes fell off.

I’m so desperate for flirting in this Muslim country that I find myself winking at my stuffed turtle.

The girls and I have gotten into a delicious routine together. Breakfast together, coffee inhaling, leave for the office at 8:50. Work until 6:30, go home. We gather in Muzi’s room and do P90X. The world’s best workout video. Then dinner together, talking with tea and back upstairs to watch something mind numbing like sex and the city. I think I’m falling in love.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

Dhaka Part II

2011-10-20T04:47:00.000-07:00

The next few days in Dhaka passed deliriously with plates of good food, naps and shopping.

At one point, I was in the back seat of a car. My driver rushed around to open the door for me. I walked into the hotel with shopping bags lining my arms and a doorman took them for me to my room. I shooed him away with a limp hand, lit up, and called Bethany at the club for an afternoon spritzer. Or something like that.

The shopping was amazing. I felt like a villager visiting the big city for supplies. Which I guess is true…We went to 2 grocery stores. I stocked up on soups, pasta, pickles, tuna, Gatorade packets, olive oil and even some Parmesan cheese! Oh and boxes and boxes of herbal tea. (If you’ve ever been to my house and have seen my tea collection you’ll feel me.)

I went to two shops that sold handmade Bengali crafts. Beautiful pieces, pillows, and hand stitched tapestries with scenes from the village for such little money. Where I’ll be shopping for me friends/family presents for sure. For now, I purchased a few items to make me happy. A pillow, candle, face cream, pretty skirt, and of course, a stuffed turtle.

I was an addict at the movie store. The movies are all perfect quality and less than $1 each. I loaded up. Bought the entire PLANET EARTH CDS for only $3!!!! And a ton of wild life National Geo shows. PLUS tons of movies and I’m starting Psych (the tv show) upon recommendation.

Then I found it. My haven heaven. North End Roasters in the Industrial part of Dhaka. Their sign points down at you from 4 stories up. You climb some dirty little stairs with dirty little men smoking dirty little cigarettes. And then. AND THEN. You are in a coffee shop straight out of the Park Slope.

Blonde mothers gather on a couch with their children bouncing on their lap. They’re in a “play group.” A man tests his trillion dollar espresso machine and teaches the Bengali staff to take the temperature before serving the cappuccinos. The couple, from America, decided to open the café after missing coffee in Dhaka. The woman is a pastry chef and the husband is a barista from America. I ate a cinnamon bun that treated me better than a man. I bought an Ethiopian washed bag of coffee and a bag of decaf and lounged in working for three hours.

(above, eating a cinnamon bun in North End Roasters)

I ate sushi.

I had a fried pomfret with mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. The simplicity of cooking I craved. Not weighed down with spices that would have me pooping for the next hour. Just simple food. It tasted like nothing with a side of air. I think my tongue has turned Bengali.

I said goodbye to Dr. L. When he left 2 months ago I felt my throat clench. “Take me with you! Don’t leave in this country where no one knows my name or why I’ve came!” This time I was all “ok bye, nice trip, don’t get too cold and wet in Baltimore.”

I think I’m settling in.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

Long and Winding Road

2011-10-16T22:53:00.000-07:00

I never update enough when Dr. L visits. Too many things happen in too short of a time. Guy is a whirlwind of ridiculous serendipity. Not sure if he creates it or we’re all more aware of it when he’s around.

A group of us planned to go to Dhaka for some meetings and good times. It takes 10 hours by car to get there so we decided to take a plane. Dr. L had meeting until the last possible minute. The plane left at 5pm, the airport was 45 minutes away and we left at 4:30. Not allowing for enough time to get to the airport let alone go through security.

Bishu, our driver, got in the driver’s seat and stepped on the ignition. He didn’t lift it once. We sped through towns and highways weaving in between semis and rickshaws. Nehlee and I held on to each other for dear life, sheltering our eyes from the road ahead in each other’s curls. We got there and ran in to see the airplane on the tar mat ready to go. Dr. L put on his serious business jacket and ran out to stop the plane. It couldn’t be stopped no matter how important the jacket. We watched as the propellers turned and it flew away.

Ok no problem, let’s take the car. So we pile into the car, in the dark, making our way to Dhaka. At around 9pm, the car’s battery starts beeping. “No problem,” Dr. L said. But it was a problem. Slowly the car inched forward and the girls in the back inched toward the edge of patience. Dr. L surprised us all by pulling into a palace disguised as a hotel. 5 star suite hidden in Bogra. We’ll stay here for the night while the car is fixed.

We walk into the hotel with palatial ceilings and staff members oozing with bows and willingness to answer whims. We went into the restaurant and ordered ($12 a can) Heinekens. Oh my bloody goodness. Heineken!! AHHH. Never has a crappy beer tasted so good. We also ordered chicken masala, plates of naan, fried fish, shrimp oh my gosh everything. And retired plumpy and happy to our handsome rooms for the night.

In the morning the car was fixed and we continued our bumpy journey. We stopped for lunch at Bella Italia. A restaurant run by a Bangladeshi who studied in Rome, on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. Pinocchio and Michelangelo dominated the walls and it smelled like, I swear, a Brooklyn pizza parlor. We ordered two pies: an eggplant vegetable pie and an anchovy pie. I had two napkins: one to wipe my mouth and one to wipe my tears.

We finally got to the hotel, did a few hours of work, and head out to a Szechuan restaurant to have hot pot. Hot pot, is a ying yang of good and evil. White soup on the one side and a boilng red soup on the other. We cooked greens, fish,

mutton, mushrooms, and dumplings in the boiling pot. My face was red from the steam and spice.

Happiness, for me, comes on a plate.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

46

2011-10-14T05:09:00.000-07:00

Dr L is visiting and 3 more women are coming to join Muzi and I in Bangladesh! It’s like a public health sorority party estrogen bath happy good times. We eat, and talk, and work out together, and eat and talk and all work passionately all day. The three of them are extremely beautiful and smart.

Today Megan and I went into the field to witness a mother verbal autopsy interview. It was so interesting. The woman had extremely high blood pressure, renal failure and was swollen with water for about a month. Finally she went to the doctor who referred her immediately to a hospital in Rangpur. She took a bus the hour and a half drive and died the next day in the hospital of heart failure.

I’m glad we’re here doing what we’re doing but it is so daunting. And all I keep thinking is, maternal mortality is rare. 46 children die EVERY day in this country from drowning. 46. I really hope these little turtles work.

Poor baby couldn't stop crying during one of it's checkups:

Death

2011-10-12T05:07:00.000-07:00

We lost a staff member today. She spent 10 years of service with Jiva working to provide better maternal and infant care. She died at a hospital during childbirth from loss of blood during a c-section. There are no government Ob-Gyns in Gaibandha. The irony is devastating.

Progress

2011-10-08T02:25:00.001-07:00

At the end of today’s meeting, Dr. S stood up and asked the only woman senior officer, Kum, to wrap up the meeting because “the meeting had not heard from a woman.”

I stood up and clapped.

Cabin Fever

2011-10-07T09:12:00.001-07:00

I’m getting eaten by mosquitoes and the ants don’t want to play. My kindle is broken, my friends have nothing to say. I’m sick of TV I’m sick of computer games. Every day around here is exactly the same. My eyes will bleed if I read another paper, doing more work is no safer. My lungs hurt from harmonica, my arm hurts from crosswords. Staying in Gaibandha is for the birds.

My patience is climbing and I’m sick of rhyming.

Please give me an idea of what to do because I do not have a clue.

Turtle Training Session

2011-10-06T07:08:00.000-07:00

Today I held a training session. I made and printed out packets, made a schedule neatly organized into time segments and had all of my notes. Last night I couldn’t sleep. I’m not a teacher. How am I going to stand in front of these men and women, who are all over 30, and have them listen to this big haired 22 year old just out of grad school? That’s bad enough, now add the huge communication barrier. Is all they’re going to hear “waa waa waa waa turtle”?

I woke up in the morning dizzy from lack of sleep. Laid out all the packets, cleared off the white boards for fresh notes, tied my curls back into a serious bun, and waited for my team. I arranged for us to have tea and biscuits at 11am, lunch at 1pm and more tea and biscuits brought to us at 3pm. I brought my miniature French press with me to the meeting. I made everyone some precious American coffee as gesture of peace and bribery. They all sipped the bitter delicious drink and I’m sure all their lips puckered at the difference from their sweet and milky cha tea.

But let me tell you. Once I started, I started. It began by me slowly pacing and asking questions to the audience. Then it accelerated. Soon I was a cup of coffee short from jumping on the table having them ripping out pages from their textbook and having them call me Captain. I was on fire. At one point I was on the floor acting out what it would be like for a little child to drown in a bucket.

A little kid came in and we demonstrated what the turtle is like on him. He liked it so much he kept trying to steal it back when we took it off!

And the best part was they were really learning! They were answering all of my questions correctly! So rewarding. At one point, I swear to you, I almost started crying. I was so happy that I was good at this and this was really happening. Fuck yes I can do this! I AM doing this!

At the end of the meeting at around 3pm, I held a session wrap up and quizzed everyone from the meeting on topics we went over. They got almost everything right.

As soon as the Bangladesh IRB has approved this project, we got this.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

Durga Puja

2011-10-04T08:13:00.000-07:00

Tonight was Durga Puja. The hindu celebration of the 10 armed goddess Durga. Our cleaner’s name is Lovely and she invited Muzi and I to celebrate the festival at her house. I think Lovely is my favorite person in Bangladesh. She is always smiling and hugging us telling us that we are her sisters. An amazing woman. Her house was simple with tin walls and a bamboo roof. It was colorful and warm. All of the women in the nearby households were related to Lovely and we all piled onto the bed to braid one another’s hair and talk our women talk (it needs no translation.) Lovely set out a table and chairs for us and a beautiful meal of fish, chicken, rice, cucumbers and vegetables. We ate and ate and then stretched out on the bed and watched the younger girls practice dancing like the Bollywood stars on TV. They were a rambunctious lot and it made me miss my sister and her friends.

At night we walked to the nearby temple which was adorned in Christmas lights and puja offerings of flowers. It seemed like the entire town was there and they all gathered around us clapping their hands for us to dance. A hot drum beat started and a large circle formed around us. I could only demurely refuse their clapping twice before I jumped into the circle

letting my hips sway and hands feather about. I didn’t care about the men watching or the women cheering or the heat or being so far away from my friends and family. The drum beat was fresh and my feet were stomping. My hair came out of its bun and I let go.

Nomoshkar,
Chelsea

A day in photos

2011-10-02T01:12:00.000-07:00

Woke up in the morning feeling like P-Diddy. Went downstairs for breakfast of some super fly peanut butter on toast. Then Muzi decided she was going to cook today! So we asked Jahangir (the cook) to bring us to the market so she could pick out her needed items.

Muzi found a fish in the fish market larger than her head! Please examine for proof.

The fish market smelled awful. The floor was slick with blood and scales making a thick mud. Men squatted with their fish selection and butchered the fish right there for you. The fish was fresh, fresh, fresh.

A man bent over scaling a fish with a blunt, rusty hatchet. I found scales in my hair when I took a shower later.

The chicken section. Men sat on cages of clucking packed chicken. You pointed to your clucker in the cage and a man reached his hand into the hole and brought out your chicken to be weighed. You can see our lunch on the scale. I nearly fainted in here. The smell was overwhelming and we were surrounded by men ripping off chicken skin feathers and all. The thought of lying in the blood and feathers kept me standing.

Meat section! We only bought chicken so we didn't linger. It was delightfully horrific to walk through there and see de-skinned goat and cow faces staring at you upside down.

Muzi making a delicious delicious meal of heavenly mushrooms (she brought them dried from china) with our fresh chicken, chili, ginger, soy sauce, and mushroom broth. And another dish with more mushrooms (from China), sauteed cucumber, garlic and egg.

After our long week we really really wanted a beer. So we cracked open a $3 bottle of dusty 0% alcohol beer and enjoyed the sunset.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

Escaping Inwardly

2011-09-29T22:57:00.001-07:00

I used to dread the trip to Rangpur on the weekends. An hour and a half of unpaved roads, butt clenching close calls with speeding trucks, arm to arm, leg to leg with 11 other people in this Landcruiser. No kidding 11. The back is converted to have seats face inward for maximum person stuffage. Needless to say I tend to get brutally car sick.

Now I have found a way to actively look forward to these trips. The trick is to save all my most delicious thoughts all week for the car ride. Then I turn on my music, look out the windows, hold back the throw up and day dream.

My favorite day dream is to put on some hot dance number and imagine I am in the center of some club breaking down my sweet dance moves. Everyone goes “Who is that girl? Where did she learn to move like that? I want to meet her! How could ANYONE be that cool?!”

I like to imagine I’m lying in bed on a rainy Sunday morning, fingers sleepily tracing the body next to me, feeling like I would be happy to stay in bed forever. Luxuriating in happiness, warmth and love.

If all that fails, I put on an audio book. I’m currently working on Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris. Sometimes I crack up so suddenly that I wake everyone in the car.

The BMRC (Bangladesh IRB) application has become a monty python skit of stupid minute nit picky problems. It deserves its own soundtrack of prat falls.

Did the application but it was the old format so sent back to me changed it to the new format and it’s missing a signature so it was sent back to me but now our guy in Dhaka who is handling all these is in Gaibandha and we have to wait a week to re send it and then we can get the signature and send it in and then wait.

I’m thinking about going to Dhaka to handcuff myself to the office until they read and accept my application.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Where Have I Learned to Learn?

2011-09-27T23:08:00.001-07:00

Johns Hopkins Institutional Review Board has approved my project!!! Now I just have to wait for the Bangladesh review board to approve it…

In more important and relevant news:

I have embraced the ants. Ants on my skin? Little exfoliators. Ants in my hair? Make my hair seem alive. Ants in my teeth? One less trip to the dentist. I have mastered the gentle hand swipe of clearing ants off a surface without killing them.

A friend who is starting her MPH at Hopkins asked me what classes I found the most relevant now that I am in a public health job. I would have to say community trials. Because…this is a community trial and also because my PI taught the class. So it was more than relevant. Also, Water and Sanitation is so prevalent here. Completely useful information. The rest couldn’t be taught in school.

No one could teach me how to sit in a management meeting trying to foresee every single problem that we may encounter in the field. Or how to motivate a coworker to share a passion in a project. No one taught me how to breathe deeply and make a pretty hair tie out of the red tape thrown at me. In that respect, I appreciate that Hopkins had such a long internship period and rushed academic period. This is really where the learning is. The lectures just give you the language to understand it.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Jute Bag Adventure

2011-09-26T03:02:00.000-07:00

Muzi and I found a shop in the marketplace that sells jute handbags and rugs. They’re really fantastic. Jute is a vegetable fiber harvested, and then laid out in the sun for days until a thick, dried, fiber. It is then spun and threaded into bags and rugs. We went back twice now to get hand bags. (Right: The jute bags I have purchased. Left: A truck carrying Jute)

After the bag adventure I decided we should go try to find a music store. The marketplace was so crowded because we went after work…and so did everyone else. The power was out and we were just a moving, pulsing, sweating mass. We got stuck behind a traffic jam where a rickshaw was trying to carry 3 refrigerators and moving at the speed of an ant. While trapped, we made friends with a man who helped us find the music store. I kept slipping and falling in mud, which would be fine with me if the mud wasn’t a concoction of dung, fumes and garbage. We ran across the street in front of cars, and motorcycles when we saw the music store.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Actually I completely do. I wanted to find a little unique instrument that like a Lifetime movie I could ask a Bengali to teach me how to play and then I could go back to the states and win over the nation known as “the girl that plays that little unique Bengali instrument.” The music store sold Harmoniums and guitars. That was it. Harmonium is too big to bring anywhere and it’s hard to be amazing at an instrument every mother’s sister’s kid’s dog plays (guitar).

But now we were on the other side of town, in the dark, and we had the traffic jam to pass back through. We stopped by a store to have an ever pleasant 7-Up and made friends with a man who lived in the US for 5 years working at an Amoco station. Now he is a very influential market owner. His wife is applying for a position at JiViTA so maybe I’ll meet him again.

Back through the mess of town and we found a rickshaw to drive us home. He was the fastest driver I have ever seen/felt. He whizzed past cars and trucks and darted between traffic, in the dark. Every time I would scream “slow down!!” he laughed. Did I mention he was 100 years old?

I am happy to be alive. Even if I will never be loved by the world for my tiny unique instrument playing skills.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

Food Stuffs

2011-09-23T04:12:00.001-07:00

I was in a food slump. It got so bad I started to spontaneously rhyme. It was scary.

To fix this, Jahangir (our cook) made me an Italian dinner! It is: ramen noodles with egg and chili, beef curry meatballs with chili, and a hot spicy tomato ketchup. And I ate every bite.

Then I decided to get creative. Today I dug into the bowels of the marketplace. And look what I found! Total came to around $25 which is a lot but that's because it's all imported.
From left to right: Mango Bars-Delicous healthy bengali snack, I got a box!, Oatmeal!, Wrapped in paper are little cakes the store owner and his handsome son kept giving me because they were thrilled I kept buying expensive items, Thai garlic chili sauce, kraft canned cheese (I'm going to use to attempt to make macaroni and cheese), honey, Mango juice, Mayonnaise, Orbitz (!), Caramels, Grape cordial, peanut butter.

The grape CORDIAL is not juice. Thought it was. Took a swig of this syrup and now am feeling loopy.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Ode to the Food

2011-09-22T03:08:00.001-07:00

There are nights I dream of macaroni and cheese. Please oh please can I just have some cheese?

Or maybe a burger so juicy and round. Has anyone found a burger around?

How about some twizzlers chewy and sweet? Do you have a twizzler I can eat?

I would cry for just one pasta dish. I would trade a kiss for this, I wish!

A morsel of chocolate or snifter of wine. A small glass of red wine would be divine.

My mouth will water and my stomach will plead until I can feed on this food that I need.

I guess I’ll go eat some more curry.

Poops

2011-09-20T22:16:00.001-07:00

All ends of my body have been hugging my porcelain throne these past few days. I’m used to it. My toilet bowl and I are involved. I’m thinking of moving my desk in there to really nest.

I went into the field and saw a funeral procession. A body lay on a bed, toes up, wrapped in a white sheet. Men carried the body above their heads solemnly. No one shed a tear or made a noise. Call me old fashioned but I feel like there should be some outward grieving at a funeral. I plan to hire some wailers, some women who really know how to gnash their teeth, tear their hair out and make a soup of their makeup at my funeral.

The (hopefully not "a") Earthquake

2011-09-19T03:02:00.000-07:00

Late last night, at around 7pm, I was in a chair tripping off heat and mosquitoes, minding my own business. When suddenly a mammoth tractor size monster started rumbling outside making my room shake. The fan that was spinning above me looked like it could dip down and cut off my face.

That’s when I noticed. There was no tractor monster. The building started to sway from side to side like a jenga set with a loose brick. I was on the 4^th floor of this 5 story building. And as luck would have it, Bulbul decided to go home the day earlier and Muzi and I sent the cook home so he could take care of his sick wife. So it was just me and Muzi, and the sky was falling.

I immediately jumped into public health mode. I have such an unchecked hero complex. I ran to a doorway. “Muzi, are you ok?!” I said with the calm of a thousand Hindi cows. “Muzi go into a doorway.” “A what?!” “Come down here and share my doorway!” And Muzi and I stood in my doorway inwardly shaking at a counter rhythm to the building. When the swaying/shaking stopped my brain thought “news, facebook, call moms.”

Nothing on the news yet so I called my parents. They teased me about being a bad scientist and not leaving the building, warned me of aftershocks, hyperbolized about tsunamis and then both went on a news hunt. After about 10 minutes Muzi and I did feel an aftershock and ran downstairs to stand in the pouring rain. The guards laughed at us—which is nothing new, and gave us umbrellas. All the phones were tied up but when we got reach of some Bangladeshi’s they claimed it was the strongest earthquake in 50 years!

The earthquake actually hit Sikkim, India, near the Nepal border and so far has killed 48 people. It was a 6.9 on the Richter scale.

Shit.

I'm Staying

2011-09-18T01:11:00.000-07:00

So I was kind of sickish. And the past few days have been delightfully raining and grey. So I decided to take a break under my covers and not leave for 2 days. Hence lack of posting. But I’m not so sure if you would have cared about how soft the blanket was and how powerful the AC was and how the rain calmed my stomach. But it was/did.

Thanks for all the blog requests! It brings me comfort knowing so many people are reading! Thanks guys.

After the last entry I was feeling kind of lost. It’s one thing to be in a country and know your end date. To know your time period and to make the most of it. Once that end date was taken away, I got scared and went into a small slump.

I finally decided to talk to Dr. L. He told me that my project was flexible and I could make it 3 months instead of 5 which would make me leave at the same time scheduled previously. He also said, in his opinion, the longer I am here the better. It’s a unique opportunity that I may not have again.

So I told him I don’t want to cut my project, and I am going to stay until this thing ends. Be it March or April, I’m going to see it through. Officially.

Because really what’s my rush? I don’t have any more school, a job, a child, a boyfriend or even a freaking pet. Why am I rushing home? When will I be in this situation again?

Jiva is a very large scale trial and I am learning so much from it. In addition I am learning how to play the guitar, harmonica, speak Spanish, speak Bengali and am aiming to become a solid muscle. It’s all a bit baller.

Here are some small things I love about Bangladesh:

The way the pineapple tastes after it comes out of the cold refrigerator

When I shower I put my hair up in a bun and let the water trickle down my neck cooling me off for hours

At 4pm in the office a woman comes in and asks “madame, tea and biscuits?”

All of the open doors and porches that let in the breezes and rain and the occasional shrill crow.

If you freeze your water for a few minutes how it shocks your whole body which is not used to anything this cold here

The Rangpur rooftop sunsets

I’m lucky.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

'Round and 'Round

2011-09-13T09:26:00.000-07:00

The IRB came back with questions. Again. And Again. And again again. And I can’t start my project until they say “go” and then I have to submit it to the Bangladesh IRB. Which will take another few weeks. Although they are open to speedier turn around with some sweet lovin’. Unfortunately I don’t have any lovin’s to give. And all this waiting makes me feel like another white putz in a brown country without a purpose.

But secretly, the thing that really gets me: My project takes 5 months. And I haven’t even started yet. I was only supposed to be here until January. Now it’s looking like mid March. And who knows? I once knew a doctor who was supposed to be here for a year and stayed for 8. The fact that my plane ticket is “negotiable” scares me. Not in the melodramatic “will I ever leave this heart of darkness” type way but when it’s coming on Christmas and I’m not chopping down trees and instead I have 3+ months instead of the anticipated 1…

I called my mom to tell her of my frustrations and fears.

“I’m really frustrated ma,”
“Whaa?”
“It’s just I don’t like not knowing my future, it really scares me.”
“I can’t hear you. Speak Louder. You’re breaking up, some kind of background noise.”
“It’s just that—“ “WHAAA?!”
“Forget it ma.”

But for now I’m really enjoying it here. Muzi, Bulbul and I went up to the roof and split Chinese moon cakes and celebrated the full moon. I howled like a wolf. There was no reply.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Coffee's out. Pray for our souls.

2011-09-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

We just ran out of coffee and mango season just ended.

Oh lord ya’ll. Shit’s about to get real.

p.s. I just wiped my face with a towel that had a large cockroach on it.

Getting Our Beauty Did

2011-09-09T09:48:00.000-07:00

The IRB came back with 31 questions and comments for me to change and fix. Needless to say at the end of the week I was very ferklempt and pacacta and all those Yiddish phrases I am horribly misspelling.

Muzi and I decided to go to the Beauty Parlor down the block and become beautiful.

This is what a week of field work and paper pushing can do to two young women. It's a sin.

Muzi got her arms adorned with Henna art.

We both got 1/2 an hour massages. They dipped wash clothes in ice cubes and laid it on our backs. Then they rubbed us softly like they were petting a dog. A cold, wet, dog. It was unpleasant. Below are our massage tables.

I got my eyebrows threaded. Which means: a woman takes thread between her teeth and hands and pulls the thread tightly together around your hairs pulling them out of your head. This is the smile of a woman inpainbuttryingnottoshowitbecauseMuziistakingapicture.

Then we turned into Bangladeshi Princesses.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

The Field

2011-09-07T02:28:00.001-07:00

I went into the field with a clipboard by my side, went into the field makin’ sure these babies don’t die.

The field was so hot that the cow dung sizzled and my eyes fried. Our day’s maps were shoddy and we looped around rice paddies where every cow and crow looked the same.

I stopped into a Jiva field meeting where there was a casual baby on the floor. I picked this baby up hugging her and kissing her like a goddamn loon.

My team was tired but we kept on going on going on. Our respite was under trees trying to sway in time with branches to remain in the shade.

This is the work we work for and school for. Walking through the numbers and seeing their face. And it’s all good. But it’s as romantic as vultures picking at the sunset dead.

Musings

2011-09-04T22:02:00.000-07:00

I have so much time to think. In “real life” i.e. America, the thinking is scheduled and grouped into block times. And those deep thoughts remain on the periphery tapered by a quickened conclusion and resultant status update. But what do you in the thick heat of rural Bangladesh except think? It’s rich. I have come to the conclusion that I am loving the woman I am becoming. My life excites me and turns me on. How wonderful is that?

I went into the field and saw a very old man whose face was all cracks. He wore a shirt that said “You know you want me!”

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

The Rangpur Cookbook

2011-09-03T09:18:00.000-07:00

We basically have 6 ingredients in the kitchen: Egg, Sugar, condensed milk, bananas, flour, lemons. How do we satisfy all our cravings? Feast your eyes on our feasts. Presenting:

The Ranpur Cookbook

Crepes suzette with lemon garnish

Flour

· 2 Eggs

· Milk

· Make crepe batter thinner consistency than pancake batter

· Cook like pancake

· Sprinkle sugar, fold, squirt lemon juice

· Add lemon garnish when crepe is cooked

Banana cream cake/ with pinapple cookie crumble topping

· Mashed bananas

· Flour

· Baking powder

· Sugar

· Condensed milk

· Mix

· Crust: Butter, crumbled pinapple cookies, some bread

Hot pocket assortment of stuffing (cheese, spinach, and dal-chillies

· Dough with canned Kraft Cheese, Daal, Cooked Spinach or chillies

Beignets Banana

· Flour

· Mashed bananas

· Half teaspoon baking powder

· Couple tablespoons of sugar

· Egg or two

· Some milk

· Mix all together till globby not droopy

· If add too much water make funnel with plastic bag and make banana funnel cake

Rice Pudding

· Leftover cooked rice, add milk, condensed milk, vanilla, sugar and cook on medium heat for ½ an hour

Flapjacks with maple syrup with scrambled egg and caramelized bananas

· Eggs with milk

· Water, sugar, maple essence

· pancakes

· Caramelized Bananas: Oil, banana

Rangpur "Gin and Juice" with fresh pineapple-lemon juice

· Remainder of previous gin from duty free (Bangladesh is a dry country)

· Pineapple Lemon Juice

Hand-selected beef tenderloin in a rosemary cream reduction

· Go to butcher, cut off piece of meat you want from cow

· Make rue with flour and rosemary

Lemon Italian Ice (I was craving this for 2 days)

-Lemon, blended ice, sugar

And voila, you have all you could want to eat right here in rural Bangladesh.

Eid Muhbarak!

2011-09-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

Tonight was Eid. The festival ending the month long fasting of Ramadan. You know it’s time for Eid when the first crescent after the new moon is shown in the sky. Ian and I waited for the moon as the sun set. And among the gold and pink we saw it. An eruption of music and car horns saw the moon as well marking the beginning of Eid.

The next day we got dressed up and went to Dr. Barka’s for lunch. His whole family greeted us and brought us to a lunch of beef, chicken, expensive fish, vegetables with flan and cake for dessert. Dr. L advised us all to take small portions at first because they would expect us to take many servings. After three servings I could confidently take Dr. Barka’s wife that no, I couldn’t eat any more, I had taken three servings!

The afternoon past in a food funk and next thing you know we were expected at Dr. Hasmot’s for dinner! Dinner was served on the rooftop and even more splendid and plentiful than lunch. The entire family stood over us watching to make sure we were comfortable and enjoying the food. It was very awkward.

I made sure to proclaim loudly, again and again, how good “bahlo” the food was. At one point I started to have a panic attack and didn’t think I could eat any more than the small portion on my plate. I looked at Ian for help but he, at 6’5” had no sympathy for my small appetite. I just kept eating. And somehow, my stomach stomached it.

Many of the children entertained us by singing and dancing during our meal. It was wonderful. Whenever the power would go out, we would take an eating break to look at the stars and point at constellations with Dr. L’s laser pointer.

I’m glad we have a large family here right now in Rangpur. It would’ve been very sad to leave that warm large family otherwise. In the car ride home we saw men with loudspeakers in the street dancing in the moonlight. It was very pagan in an urban kind of way.

We all went upstairs with drums and a guitar and joined the music of Rangpur with our own homeland tunes. “Country roads, take me home…”

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

These Days Are Cow Days

2011-08-30T06:01:00.000-07:00

After a long day of meetings Dr. L took me to a nearby field so I could practice driving a motorcycle. The day's goal was learning how to stop fast and how to make quick turns. I learned with cows as my obstacles. Cows dotted the field and boys played soccer around them. I would approach a cow really fast and then stop short, saving its life. It never blinked. Or I would pick one and do circles around it. It wasn’t fazed.

Today for lunch Dr L, Muzi, Ian and I walked to the local butcher. (Below) The butcher is a few feet away from our house, and cows, goats, and chicken hang skinned, swaying in the heat and flies. Dr. L found his cow and slid his hand between the meat finding the filet mignon. He brought a knife with him and cut the filet off. People don’t differentiate cuts of meat here and the good cuts are often left unnoticed. Dr. L prepared our filet with a soy, chile marinade. We were each served a small sliver. Never have I ever tasted meat so delicious and flavorful.

Later I took a break from reading papers to go to the corner store to see if they had a nail clipper. Which they did. Coming back from the store, I was walking over a bridge, and a man holding onto to a cow with rope lost control. The cow started to walk fast toward me! People started screaming and men grabbed onto the rope to stop the cow. And I was saved. Good story, right?

I went up to the roof for the sunset. It is unreal. The sky bursts into flames and making the rooftops pink. I shared a mango with Ian and let the golden flesh cover my face and hands, matching the sunset, eating with my whole heart. I feel sinful with pleasure. There were no cows.

A picture of our filet with a blanc rue and chopped apples. A thank you. From left to right is our typical Bengali fare:

Rice, jarred chutney, chicken, daal, cucumber, fried vegetables.