...that the stores put up their Christmas decorations the day after Halloween, the houses on my street have had their Christmas lights up for several weeks already, and that 97.3 EZRock plays Christmas music 24 hours/day.
I'm going to miss Christmas this year.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Perspecia Anne Hasley
Soooo...I went to the Indian Consulate today to get my Visa. It was my third trip, the first two were in vain as the Consulate was closed. No reason, just...closed. Are you thinking that I should have checked the website to confirm the hours? Yeah, I did that. I've visited that site so often that I could recite the content to you verbatim but there would be no point; the webpage is wrong, wrong, wrong.
I finished yoga by 8:30 and, knowing that the consulate doesn't open until 9:30, almost stopped to relax over a cup of coffee but figured that getting there early to line up couldn't hurt. Arriving at the consulate, I noticed a sign "Line-up here prior to 8:30", however, it was now 9:00 and there was no line so I proceeded upstairs where the Consulate had wisely constructed a barrier hiding the waiting room to the right as you enter the room. I proceeded to the desk and picked up my number, E83, and turned the corner to find a chair.
Up to this point, I was blissfully unaware of the chaos awaiting me on the other side of the barrier. The consulate wasn't even open yet and there were hundreds of people before me. 283 to be exact. Although I was number E83, the waitlist started at letter C and each letter had 100 tickets so I wasn't really number E83, I was number 283. I returned to the counter to ask about drop off procedures, a process which was in no way as easy as it sounds, but I won't bore you.
As per the instructions, I left the consulate, found a post office to purchase a prepaid priority post envelope, found a TD Bank to get a money order, found a stationary store to find another envelope to hold everything else and raced back to the consulate feeling somewhat optimistic. This might just work out. Clearly, it's been several years since my last trip to India - I really should have known better.
If the waiting room was chaotic at 9:00 it was pure, unadulterated, chaos when I returned at 9:45. I mean 3rd class, unreserved Indian train chaos. Surveying the line, now stretching out the door and down the hall, I kept my "Oh HELL no" thoughts to myself and allowed my travel instincts to take over. Ignoring the line, I made my way to the front counter where I planted myself - legs spread, arms extended so as to deter others from shouldering their way in & steadfastedly ignored the waving hands thrust past my fact to request forms, tickets, and grab attention. I also made friends with the well-dressed man beside me as they often have a way of making things happen.
And we waited. We waited 55 minutes to 'drop off' our forms. I waited so long that I became the Q&A person in absence of the real Q&A guy who had scurried away 35 minutes ago to 'get her' (I think he was just actually running away - the mob was getting ugly). We waited so long that the man beside me reached behind the counter, grabbed the ticket roll and began distributing tickets, beginning again at letter C, effectively ensuring even more confusion when more than one person responded to the letter/number called. After 40 minutes of waiting, 'the lady' came, spent 20 minutes forcing us all to line up in a straight line while, at the same time, fielding questions from those who bypassed the line which only led to the dissolution of the line she'd worked so hard to build and we would begin again.
The clock was ticking, there was no way I was going to be on time for work, and I was desperate to get rid of my passport - this little blue book that I usually protect with my life I was desperate to give to someone, ANYONE. I held my place and when it was finally my turn, was told that everything I had done was wrong. Prepaid envelopes? We don't accept those, I can't help you. Drop off? We don't do that, "Go away". And by told I mean yelled - the lady hated me. No matter, I shouted other people down, waved my hands, shook my head & finally got permission to leave my passport behind for pickup next week. Success.
Walking from the Consulate to my car, smiling to myself, I allowed myself to feel excited for the first time. I'm going to India. It's going to be chaos like the consulate multiplied many times over - a constant battle of wits against systems that run in flagrant disregard to logic, reason and efficiency - I can't freaking wait. It was only when I got to work that I noticed the name the mean lady, ignoring my clear, block handwriting, had written on my receipt: Perspecia Anne Hasley - now THAT'S going to be a problem...
I finished yoga by 8:30 and, knowing that the consulate doesn't open until 9:30, almost stopped to relax over a cup of coffee but figured that getting there early to line up couldn't hurt. Arriving at the consulate, I noticed a sign "Line-up here prior to 8:30", however, it was now 9:00 and there was no line so I proceeded upstairs where the Consulate had wisely constructed a barrier hiding the waiting room to the right as you enter the room. I proceeded to the desk and picked up my number, E83, and turned the corner to find a chair.
Up to this point, I was blissfully unaware of the chaos awaiting me on the other side of the barrier. The consulate wasn't even open yet and there were hundreds of people before me. 283 to be exact. Although I was number E83, the waitlist started at letter C and each letter had 100 tickets so I wasn't really number E83, I was number 283. I returned to the counter to ask about drop off procedures, a process which was in no way as easy as it sounds, but I won't bore you.
As per the instructions, I left the consulate, found a post office to purchase a prepaid priority post envelope, found a TD Bank to get a money order, found a stationary store to find another envelope to hold everything else and raced back to the consulate feeling somewhat optimistic. This might just work out. Clearly, it's been several years since my last trip to India - I really should have known better.
If the waiting room was chaotic at 9:00 it was pure, unadulterated, chaos when I returned at 9:45. I mean 3rd class, unreserved Indian train chaos. Surveying the line, now stretching out the door and down the hall, I kept my "Oh HELL no" thoughts to myself and allowed my travel instincts to take over. Ignoring the line, I made my way to the front counter where I planted myself - legs spread, arms extended so as to deter others from shouldering their way in & steadfastedly ignored the waving hands thrust past my fact to request forms, tickets, and grab attention. I also made friends with the well-dressed man beside me as they often have a way of making things happen.
And we waited. We waited 55 minutes to 'drop off' our forms. I waited so long that I became the Q&A person in absence of the real Q&A guy who had scurried away 35 minutes ago to 'get her' (I think he was just actually running away - the mob was getting ugly). We waited so long that the man beside me reached behind the counter, grabbed the ticket roll and began distributing tickets, beginning again at letter C, effectively ensuring even more confusion when more than one person responded to the letter/number called. After 40 minutes of waiting, 'the lady' came, spent 20 minutes forcing us all to line up in a straight line while, at the same time, fielding questions from those who bypassed the line which only led to the dissolution of the line she'd worked so hard to build and we would begin again.
The clock was ticking, there was no way I was going to be on time for work, and I was desperate to get rid of my passport - this little blue book that I usually protect with my life I was desperate to give to someone, ANYONE. I held my place and when it was finally my turn, was told that everything I had done was wrong. Prepaid envelopes? We don't accept those, I can't help you. Drop off? We don't do that, "Go away". And by told I mean yelled - the lady hated me. No matter, I shouted other people down, waved my hands, shook my head & finally got permission to leave my passport behind for pickup next week. Success.
Walking from the Consulate to my car, smiling to myself, I allowed myself to feel excited for the first time. I'm going to India. It's going to be chaos like the consulate multiplied many times over - a constant battle of wits against systems that run in flagrant disregard to logic, reason and efficiency - I can't freaking wait. It was only when I got to work that I noticed the name the mean lady, ignoring my clear, block handwriting, had written on my receipt: Perspecia Anne Hasley - now THAT'S going to be a problem...
Monday, November 7, 2005
you'd think i'd learn from past experience...
I leave for India in just over a month. I'll be excited in about 26 days. Until then I still have to get through work, the courseload for my Masters program, research papers, and finish next terms work projects this term. It's a bit much.
I finish that bit on December 7th and THEN I can be excited (and panicked) as I prepare for my month away in the 4 days I'll have at my leisure. I can manage all of that. What I've been thinking about is how to prevent the meltdown I'm anticipating on December 11th when I land in my 5th city in 2 days, sans sleep, sans destination, and facing the fantastic, full on assault that is India. It made me think of something I wrote in Peru last year:
Possible implications of travelling for 20 hours straight on a journey spanning 3 countries and 4 flights with the last connection allowing only 1 hour to land, clear customs and depart again:
In my case, all of the above. However, once the confusion settles people will be very nice, you'll receive a complimentary breakfast, have a chance to really relish your first Peruvian purchase - a coffee, the radio will play a selection from your own personal collection of favourite songs ranging from Radiohead to Bryan Adams to Bon Jovi, and you'll already know that you'll like travelling in Peru before even leaving the airport.
I finish that bit on December 7th and THEN I can be excited (and panicked) as I prepare for my month away in the 4 days I'll have at my leisure. I can manage all of that. What I've been thinking about is how to prevent the meltdown I'm anticipating on December 11th when I land in my 5th city in 2 days, sans sleep, sans destination, and facing the fantastic, full on assault that is India. It made me think of something I wrote in Peru last year:
Possible implications of travelling for 20 hours straight on a journey spanning 3 countries and 4 flights with the last connection allowing only 1 hour to land, clear customs and depart again:
- Your temperament will be clouded by absolute exhaustion as will your judgment promoting behaviour so rude and curt that it will be assumed you're American (not necessarily a good sign in International travel). You'll be too embarrassed to correct anyone.
- Your flight (the overnight one, of course) will be delayed 1.5 hours and you'll miss your final flight - the one with the nice driver at the end waiting to whisk you away to that place where the beds are.
- Although the clock tells the grim truth, you cling to the thought that you may make that final connection and undertake a coronary-inducing sprint through the airport obstacle course in a desperate effort to MAKE...THAT...FLIGHT (see point 1 re: clouded judgment)
- You'll forget your passport at one of the many checkpoints and have to frantically retrace your steps to find it. When you get there, you'll act as if it were their fault you left it behind.
- At the moment just prior to accepting that your passport is absolutely, positively NOT in your pack, your increasingly panicked digging will unleash your emergency stash of USDollars scattering crisp $20's and $10's at random. You'll have to scramble all over the floor to pick it up, no one offers to help because your behaviour up to that point has been appalling.
- You don't make the flight.
In my case, all of the above. However, once the confusion settles people will be very nice, you'll receive a complimentary breakfast, have a chance to really relish your first Peruvian purchase - a coffee, the radio will play a selection from your own personal collection of favourite songs ranging from Radiohead to Bryan Adams to Bon Jovi, and you'll already know that you'll like travelling in Peru before even leaving the airport.
Saturday, November 5, 2005
post-yoga euphoria
After rising early to meet I. for our Saturday coffee (where I learned that giraffes sleep 5 minutes/day) I returned home to clean, do laundry and work on a paper - but did none of those things. Instead, I ate my weight in food, made carrot-ginger soup, ate more, then watched a very bad movie before taking a very long nap.
I woke feeling heavy, lethargic, and depressed and decided not to go to yoga - I wasn't feeling quite right. Although my guilt propelled me to get changed, I never really intended on leaving the house; that I found myself walking to the subway in the rain is a testament to the pure power of guilt as a motivator. Once there, the train was late in coming (surely a sign that I should be back home wallowing on my couch) and when it did arrive I fell asleep (surely I must be coming down with something what was I doing dragging myself to yoga?). When I exited at Bathurst I half-planned on walking right past the shala to the Spadina stop where I would get back on the subway and go home where I belonged but my feet led me into the studio and up the stairs.
I stood at the front of my mat taking a few moments to ground myself. Feet rooting to the floor, crown of my head reaching up, spine lengthening, shoulders squaring back, chest opening and rising, hips falling into place and there I was - I found myself. This was my last conscious observation. The rest of my practice was a long, graceful prayer punctuated by fleeting sensations: chest opening in upward dog; the release of my throat, head tipped back, hands reaching to the ceiling in the sun salutations; the lower half of my body grounded and assertive while the upper half moved, open and reaching in warrior II.
Of course, I was anything but graceful but I don't care. I may have looked like a moth, heavy and clumsy, but I felt like a butterfly, light and floating. When I caught my expression in store window as I wandered through the Annex after practice my face was relaxed and smiling. I felt great, a sharp contrast to how I felt just three hours earlier: heavy, lethargic and depressed. It made me think about how closely tied my body and my emotions are, how 2 days without yoga turned me into a blob, and it scared me - what would I do if I were unable to be physically active? It made me think about North America, about living in a country where the mind/body relationship is pretty much ignored, and it made me wonder what this says about our psyche as a nation?
I woke feeling heavy, lethargic, and depressed and decided not to go to yoga - I wasn't feeling quite right. Although my guilt propelled me to get changed, I never really intended on leaving the house; that I found myself walking to the subway in the rain is a testament to the pure power of guilt as a motivator. Once there, the train was late in coming (surely a sign that I should be back home wallowing on my couch) and when it did arrive I fell asleep (surely I must be coming down with something what was I doing dragging myself to yoga?). When I exited at Bathurst I half-planned on walking right past the shala to the Spadina stop where I would get back on the subway and go home where I belonged but my feet led me into the studio and up the stairs.
I stood at the front of my mat taking a few moments to ground myself. Feet rooting to the floor, crown of my head reaching up, spine lengthening, shoulders squaring back, chest opening and rising, hips falling into place and there I was - I found myself. This was my last conscious observation. The rest of my practice was a long, graceful prayer punctuated by fleeting sensations: chest opening in upward dog; the release of my throat, head tipped back, hands reaching to the ceiling in the sun salutations; the lower half of my body grounded and assertive while the upper half moved, open and reaching in warrior II.
Of course, I was anything but graceful but I don't care. I may have looked like a moth, heavy and clumsy, but I felt like a butterfly, light and floating. When I caught my expression in store window as I wandered through the Annex after practice my face was relaxed and smiling. I felt great, a sharp contrast to how I felt just three hours earlier: heavy, lethargic and depressed. It made me think about how closely tied my body and my emotions are, how 2 days without yoga turned me into a blob, and it scared me - what would I do if I were unable to be physically active? It made me think about North America, about living in a country where the mind/body relationship is pretty much ignored, and it made me wonder what this says about our psyche as a nation?
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