I know some of you are eagerly awaiting trip reports and photographs of my recent travels in Turkey. They are coming soon, I promise! It's just that I've been running at full tilt since I got back from the trip and I've not had the chance to do the necessary editing and uploading of photos, let alone writing of prose. To tide you over, here are some sneak previews of the photographic splendors to come -- all products of a panoramic stitching program (since I do not as yet have a real wide-angle lens for my camera, this will have to do).
First up, the Hagia Sofia (or Aya Sofia). It used to be the largest church in the world for a thousand years. I...have a hard time wrapping my head around it -- it's so large, so old, so beautiful. It's one of those places that makes you gasp and then go quiet when you walk inside.
Next up, a view of the square in front of the Spice Market (that's the building in the center), with my mother prominently featured. The Spice Market is a colorful, crowded, noisy place, and though there is plenty of tourist tat to be found inside, it has things locals would want to buy as well -- spices (duh), fresh produce, and the like.
Skipping to our two days in Cappadocia, a place that every serious photographer should visit at least once, here's one of a valley that we went hiking in. You should definitely click on this picture (and then click it again) to see the larger image in its glory -- what a stunning, stunning place.
Hello dear readers. My mother and I have been in Istanbul for a little over 24 hours, and I have to say, this city is totally amazing. I'll save all detailed posts (and pictures) for later, but I am happy to report that so far, I am loving the atmosphere, giving my camera a good workout, and eating myself silly. In short, I'm totally digging Istanbul. A full trip report is coming after the week is done, but to tide you over, observe this crazy awesome picture of the underground cistern near the Hagia Sofia.
Oh yes. More of this to come...
So I'm in Belfast at the moment, on my sabbatical, doing research, etc. It's been going alright -- slowly, slowly, slowly -- but going. I am filled with new respect for the people who are involved in massive survey projects like the American National Election Studies project and the decennial census because, whew, my little survey is EXHAUSTING. I knew it would be quite a lot of legwork and involve a lot of face-to-face contact because the topic, the research subjects, and the logistics all require it. I won't get into the details here, because this is a frivolous blog, not a place for discussing serious work in a serious way (I've got an actual work site for such things). But let's just say that every single survey response requires considerable up-front investment in building relationships and trust with different groups of people. It might take one respondent about 30 minutes to fill out the survey (or answer my questions verbally), but to get to that respondent in the first place and persuade him/her to participate requires hours and hours of time on my part.
One of the ways in which I've been trying to involve people who might otherwise not be willing to participate is to work through the main community organizations serving the minority ethnic community, including the Chinese Welfare Association, the Indian Community Centre, and the Polish Association of Northern Ireland. These groups have been unfailingly generous with their time and their support, for which I am deeply grateful. They also tackle incredibly difficulty and important challenges facing the minority sector in Northern Ireland, and I am amazed and humbled by all that they do.
Last week, I tagged along with one of the welfare rights workers from the Chinese Welfare Association to a meeting of a cross-cultural friendship club at the Annandale Flats, an area where Chinese, Polish, and "locals" live side by side. (By the way, I put "local" in parentheses because I find its usage very curious. People from a minority ethnic background who happened to be born and raised here still seem to use it to refer to people from the two dominant communities, but not to themselves -- as if to imply that you can never be a local if you happen to be of minority ethnic heritage).
Anyway, Annandale just recently started up a weekly friendship club where residents can meet, get to know more about each other, have some tea, chat, etc. It's only been up and running for a short time, and it's a modest program at present, with 5-10 people turning up somewhat regularly. I sat in on a session and found it to be really interesting. We talked about Halloween and different traditions involving it (Halloween is Celtic in origin, so Ireland sort of claims it as its own), which led to a conversation about carving pumpkins (which apparently is an American bastardization of the actual tradition: carving turnips. Yes, that's right, turnips.) Pumpkins led to a conversation about eating pumpkins, which eventually got around to the subject of pie. Specifically, pumpkin pie. Everyone present expressed interest in this very odd notion of making a sweet pie out of pumpkins. That's how I came to volunteer to come to the next meeting of the Annandale Friendship Club bearing a pumpkin pie to share.
Here's the problem: you cannot buy canned pumpkin in Belfast for love or money. It simply does not exist. There are fresh, whole pumpkins for sale (aforementioned bastardized carving object), but they are not culinary pumpkins and would make a poor main ingredient for pie. Canned (or "tinned" if you're trying to sound like a local) pumpkin used to be stocked in one gourmet food store -- at least, I was told it was. But even though the store in question carries esoterica like wild boar meat and ostrich sausage, and an odd smattering of American supermarket classics (Betty Crocker cake mix, Aunt Jemima syrup, Green Giant canned vegetables, and Reese's peanut butter cups among others), they don't carry canned tinned pumpkin. CURSES!
Eventually, I fell on a backup plan: butternut squash pie. Sweet potato pie would have worked too, but I saw a butternut squash before I happened upon sweet potatoes, so that's how I went. I basically just subbed in the squash puree without making any other adjustments to the recipe, and fortunately, it turned out rather well. Several people asked for seconds, and they seemed pleased to experience this very classic American autumnal dish.
Roasted Butternut Squash Pie
1 medium butternut squash
2 eggs and 2 yolks
3/4 cup whipping cream
1 1/4 cup light brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (adjust to taste)
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger (adjust to taste)
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg (adjust to taste)
1/4 teaspoon ground clove (adjust to taste)
pinch of sea salt
pinch of cayenne pepper
prepared pastry crust
1. Cut the squash in half. Scoop out seeds and fibers with a spoon. Place cut side down on a baking sheet and bake at 350F for about 45 minutes, or until soft and cooked through. Cool, and then scoop out the flesh. Run through a food mill or food processor until smooth.
2. Prepare the pie crust (I used refrigerated dough on this occasion, though your favorite short crust recipe will do). Line a pie pan with the dough, crimping edges decoratively. Prick all over with a fork. Add pie weights or beans and bake according to box (or recipe) until lightly golden brown (not fully cooked, but not raw dough).
3. Mix the filling ingredients together until well blended. Note: I added more spice than the quantities specified here, but that's because I like fairly assertive flavors, including a punchy kick from the cayenne. You can do what suits you, including skipping the cayenne altogether, though I dig the addition. Pour into the hot crust (I used a sieve to strain out errant lumps of squash). Bake in a 325F oven for about 25 minutes -- watch carefully so it doesn't burn. The edges of the filling should be firm set, but the center should still wiggle a little when you shake the pan.
Best served warm, with a dollop of cream, and eaten with friends, old and new.
I was in the Marks and Spencer foodhall the other day. Well, I'll come clean: I'm in the Marks and Spencer foodhall many days. It's kind of like crack for the likes of me (so many interesting things to consider! So many tempting things to buy!). And it's located tantalizingly close to the place where I catch the bus to go home from the city center. It's like the universe WANTS me to spend my hard-earned cash buying lovely, delicious things.
Anyway, I was in there the other day and came across an intriguing fizzy drink, the likes of which were completely unknown to me: dandelion and burdock soda (traditional since 1937, claims the can). It's served up in green aluminium can with a slightly retro-looking depiction of what I think is supposed to be some dandelions. I don't think it shows any burdock though (burdock looks sort of like thistles, and I believe it is the root that is used). Now, I've eaten dandelion greens in salad, but never considered dandelion as a drinkable substance. And I can't say I've spent even 30 seconds thinking about burdock. All in all, a rather unexpected soft drink option.
So, of course, I had to buy it.
The report: i
t tastes like cream soda, with a healthy dose of anise thrown into the mix. Slightly creamy tasting, with hints of vanilla once you get past the licorice/anise notes. Full disclosure: I don't like anise. And so this is not my all-timefavorite thing to drink. But even with my dislike of licorice-tasting things, I have to admit, it's interesting in a good way. And if you like anise, you'd probably like it a lot. And if you think you might like it and have a garden full of dandelions making you feel thirsty (and you know where to get some burdock root). here's a little recipe so you can make some yourself -- quite handy, especially if your bus stop is nowhere near the Mark's and Spencer foodhall.
Ugh, late autumn in the UK is not my favorite. It's damp(er), gray(er), and windy(er). There may be snatches of sun. Perhaps even quite a lot of sun on some days. But mostly, it is a palette of Pantone 421. It makes everything *feel* so much colder, even though it's a good 20° warmer here than back home.
I do quite a bit of writing by hand in my daily life. I am a fairly compulsive list maker, and though I can (and do) make dozens of lists online (thanks to this site here), most of them are written on actual paper. In addition to that, I often write lecture notes by hand (I have this theory that my lectures are usually better, more lively, and sound more spontaneous when I base them off handwritten notes, though I have never performed a controlled experiment to establish whether this is actually the case) and despite my geeky attempts to use technology to make grading less of a chore, I usually mark papers by hand as well. To say nothing of the dozens of other scribbles and notes--all of which multiply when doing research or conducting interviews.
Since I started working at Carleton, I even re-developed a small callus on the middle finger of my right hand, exactly where I rest a pen when writing. It's not pronounced, but I haven't had a callus there since high school, which is the last time I wrote so much by hand. It's more or less gone right now, since I have no grading to do while on sabbatical (hooray!), but I suspect it will reappear next fall.
All of this led me to think seriously about investing in some nice pens because, let's face it, a nice writing instrument makes writing so much more pleasant. And writing with a nice pen makes my handwriting significantly better to boot. It slopes more evenly, looks more elegant, and is just more pleasing to the eye. I'd like to think I have pretty good handwriting (that C I got in elementary school handwriting aside). Sure, I am capable of total chicken scratch that even I can't decipher, but that only happens when I'm in a rush. Otherwise, I think my penmanship is not bad. I mean, it's not calligraphy, and it's not even as beautiful as my father's handwriting, which is truly pleasing to the eye, but it's not bad. My dad, by the way, totally bucks the stereotype of doctors having appalling penmanship.
I favor pens with pretty free-flowing ink and I prefer nibs/points that are not fine (the wider, the better). I hate (HATE!) rollerball pens because I find them too scratchy. I won't write with a Bic pen (or any disposable) if given a choice. And if you are a staunch supporter of the pencil, well, really, I have nothing more to say to you, though I will make special dispensations for mathematicians and primary school teachers. No, what I want to write with, if given a choice, is a fountain pen. Preferably one with a medium or wide nib and some kind of unexpectedly cool color.
The other day, I was wandering past this lovely pen store in the Belfast city centre, and I decided to stop in and try out a few pens. I wasn't actually planning on buying anything -- just the pen equivalent of taking a bundle of clothes to the dressing room and playing. Of course, just trying out pens is a dangerous business if, like me, you easily fall in love with a pen and decide it must be yours. Fortunately for me, I didn't go near the Mont Blancs (I have no business owning such a pen. Not until I win the lottery), so the damage to my wallet was contained. Instead, I happened onto Lamy's line of pens. Lamy is a German penmaker, and I'd never heard of them before even though they've apparently been around for a long, long time. They aren't hugely expensive (their lowest price point option is somewhere in the $20 range), their replacement nibs and inks are well-priced, and best of all, they write beautifully -- smooth, free-flowing ink, nice heft and balance. The pen I bought is the one above (though mine is blue rather than this brushed steel. I like the brushed steel better, but it wasn't in stock in the store, and the blue is nice too). I've been writing with it nonstop and it adds just that little bit extra joy to the endless lists I make for myself every day; Add utterly delightful inks in the most gorgeous colors and I'm just in heaven. Lamy, I'm sold on you, utterly so,
Yesterday was Diwali and today, the Belfast Indian Community Centre had a cultural program/celebration. It was quite a massive event, with entertainers from London, fireworks, and food. I was distributing my survey there, and generally helping out around the place, so I had lots of short little conversations with people as I manned the main welcome table, including one with the current Lord Mayor of Belfast, and the new American consul in Northern Ireland. Nifty!
I also had three interesting conversations with people about where I'm from. For the record, both sides of my family are Indian (Bengali to be precise), I was born there, was an Indian citizen until 1994, spoke Bengali before I spoke English (not like you'd ever know that these days), but grew up in the US. With that context, please read on.
Conversation #1
Other person: Sorry, what did you say your name was again?
Me: Devashree. Devashree Gupta
Other person: Oh. But that's an Indian name.
Me: Yes, well I am Indian.
Other person: Oh. I did not realize.Conversation #2
Other person: Sorry, what did you say your name was again?
Me: Devashree. Devashree Gupta
Other person: You're Bengali?
Me: Yes.
Other person: I thought so. You look Bengali.
Me. Really? People don't tell me that very often.
Other person: That's surprising. I mean, you look Bengali, and your name is clearly Bengali. Even your sari is very typically Bengali.
Me: And yet, people don't think I am Bengali.Conversation #3
Other person: Oh, hello again!
Me: Hi, nice to see you.
Other person: You are looking very Indian today in this sari. Well, I mean, you look like an Indian from America.
Me: Um. Thank you?
So there it is. I apparently can look (a) not remotely Indian, (b) totally, typically Bengali, and (c) Indian, but a thoroughly Americanized one all at the same time. I am quite the chameleon! And, for the record, the picture to the left, my new profile picture? That's what I was looking like today, so you can decide for yourself who is correct.
I will confess something not-that-secret to you: I have mild shopaholic tendencies. Nothing out of control, and certainly nothing that leads to massive credit card debt and crying, In fact, I am well below average when it comes to things like credit card debt, so there's no need to stage an intervention into my shopping habits just yet.
I tend not to blow money on huge, luxury purchases, unless you count travel, in which case: guilty. In the last week, I booked six nights at an apartment in Istanbul, a two-day side trip to Cappadocia, including one night at a cave hotel (HOW COOL does that look??), two tickets for a sunrise hot air balloon ride, a special, hands-on Turkish cooking class, and tickets to see whirling dervishes. My credit card, he is very tired right now.
That's why I'm giving the little plastic guy a bit of a break for a while, though the little travel gremlin is singing his siren song directly into my ear, telling me to book a cheap return ticket to Geneva for one of my other free November weekends. I tried to swat him away, but he's a persistent gremlin, as gremlins go, plus he knows my heart isn't really in it. That gremlin really has my number.
Still, I'm trying really, really hard not to give in to my other big craving right now. These beauties over to the right. Lovely, pumpkin-colored Hunter wellies. Perfect for jumping in puddles and walking around Northern Ireland on an average day. And with a special thermal sock that you can get in complementary colors, perfect for trudging through Minnesota's snow and sleet in toasty, high-traction comfort. Plus, you can clean them off with a hose!
I will, however, resist. For starters, they weigh a ton (solid rubber, friends!) and take up a lot of space, so unless I'm prepared to wear them on the plane ride home (which: no), getting them from the UK to the US would be a pain. I could ship them, but I'm already shipping enough stuff, and it will be expensive as it is, so I guess I'll just have to satisfy myself by gazing at this picture for the next few weeks and nothing more.
Until I'm once again within easy reach of Zappos, and then all bets are off.
Normally, I write little blog posts on foods I've eaten that make me happy. Today, sadly, that is not my task. I just ordered some Chinese takeout from a restaurant that came fairly highly recommended. Their salt and chili prawns were pretty good, so I had high hopes for their hot-and-sour soup (one my favorite things to eat when feeling slightly chilly and slightly blue). Unfortunately, their hot-and-sour soup was a DISASTER. The uneaten bowl is sitting right here next to me as I type this. I keep pausing to stare at it sadly because: YUCK.
I'm actually fairly hard to please when it comes to hot-and-sour soup. It's almost never hot enough, or sour enough for my liking, Hotness levels can be doctored up fairly easily in restaurants; I think they are unsurprised when someone asks for more chili. The lack of sour -- well, that's harder to rectify unless you carry bottles of vinegar around with you. Maybe I should start, because my tastebuds require a fairly intense vinegary jolt to be happy. The point is that I'm not surprised anymore by bland hot-and-sour soup. If that's what the delivery guy had brought me, I would have been totally fine with it and compensated with a goodly pinch of pepper and a few splashes of vinegar from the pantry.
That's not what he brought me, though. This hot-and-sour soup was SWEET. I mean, sweet to the point that I think sugar was added by the spoonful. Blech. I remember when visiting a grad school friend in China hearing that in Cantonese-speaking regions of China, they like their food sweeter than in other parts of the country. And most of the Chinese population here in Northern Ireland is from Hong Kong (e.g., Cantonese speakers). But I refuse to believe there is a place in the world where people honestly believe that hot-and-sour soup should be sugary sweet. Maybe there was some comical accident in the kitchen whereby salt and sugar were switched around unintentionally. Or perhaps I should heed this warning and just wait until I can eat at a proper Sichuan restaurant before ordering my beloved hot-and-sour soup again.
Postscript: this soup was probably just slightly better than the appalling version I ate in London, Ontario while driving from Chicago to Ithaca, NY. That disgusting version was neither hot, nor sour, and seemed to be derived from Campbell's tomato soup. I'm not knocking Campbell's tomato soup. I like it just fine (with lots of pepper and a grilled cheese sandwich, of course), but Campbells' tomato soup is not, nor should it ever be, a base for hot-and-sour soup. At least tonight's soupy horror was a clear soup with off flavors, as opposed to a lurid, opaque red with off flavors. Oh Little Szechuan, how I miss you.
I know you've probably played that little mental game of imagining what you'd do if you ever won the lottery. Pay off bills, put some away for a rainy day, donate a bunch to charities -- yes, most everyone I know would do all those things. Most everyone I know would also blow a pretty serious chunk of it on travel, because I tend to know people for whom travel is a serious delight. I know it is for me. If I couldn't dust off the passport and head off someplace interesting every now and again (and hopefully more often than that), I'd be thoroughly bummed. The weirder the destination, the better.
Of course, I'm not into weird for the sake of weird, and there are some places in the world where I simply won't go. You know, like the Congo. Or Papua New Guinea (seriously, Port Moresby, what is your deal?). And of course, there's no way in hell I'm setting foot in Guam; if you have a serious snake phobia, like I do, don't even bother clicking on that link. Let me cut to the chase: you will not like Guam. And, come to think of it, I'm pretty certain I never want to hang out in Branson, Missouri, either.
That still leaves a lot of the world left to cover, and while I've been very, very lucky to have traveled as much as I have (28 countries as of this writing; in a month, that will increase to 29 with Turkey, and possibly 30 if I can figure out a free weekend to go to Switzerland), the world is a vast place and there a so many intriguing places to see.
Enter the AirTreks website. This isn't a website I actually use for my real-life travel needs (for that, may I recommend my newest favorite toy, SkyScanner? It's rather brilliant, and I love the flexibility and open-endedness of its search options. And its clean, uncluttered interface). No, AirTreks is for flights of fancy, and for plotting improbable round-the-world itineraries and seeing how much they would cost. Just now, I decided to plot an around-the-world trip with two limitations: I could only travel in an eastward line (though with plenty of north/south bopping around), and apart from starting and stopping in Minneapolis, I couldn't go anyplace I've already been. The constant easterly direction turns out to be a bit tricky of a constraint if you don't want your route to look like just a series of jagged peaks and valleys, and I ended up with it looking like an erratic EKG line in Asia anyway (mostly because I refuse to leave out Mongolia in a dream trip around the world). I still ended up leaving out lots of places I would totally love to visit (Rwanda, Angor Wat, and Siberia for example). Other places that are extremely high on my personal places-to-see-before-the-end aren't even options due to lack of airports (Galapagos Islands) or pesky travel restrictions (Cuba). So, this is an incomplete dream trip at best. Still, I think I cover quite a lot of ground:
Now for the fun part. This around-the-world itinerary (which is totally impractical for various reasons) prices out somewhere between $21,000 and $28,000. Well, frankly, that's peanuts once I win the lottery. And it prices out to between $750-$1,000 per country. That's actually quite a bargain considering none of these countries are particularly cheap to get to (well, maybe some of the Latin American countries. But certainly not Sao Tome and Principe. Or Kyrgzstan. Or Bhutan). Ah, well -- until I actually win the lottery, I'm not in a position to pay $21,000 to go traipsing around the world. But it's sure fun to think about it. Try building your own dream itinerary on AirTreks when you've got some time to kill -- how much does your dream itinerary cost? And where would you go?
