Sunday, December 5, 2010

C'Sted

































I finally remembered to bring my camera to Christainsted, the biggest city on the island. I mean, it's HUGE, maybe, six, seven square blocks! Check out that nice danish architecture. The water drains through canals in the side of the road, we call them "guts" here. Also the birds here are kind of funny looking. The pictures are pretty self explanatory. The boats float in the water; that stone cylinder thing is a sugar mill. Basically a wind mill that the danish used to grind sugar. The fan part of the windmill has broken off over the years, and that sugar mill has been turned into a bar. I went to Fort Christain, which is the other Fort on the island. It was nice. I saw a whipping post, if you're into that at all... I also pretend to shoot evil Portuguese pirates from the cannons. There was a dungeon. Finally, I got a new bumper sticker for the Shoravmobile. The sign that says King's Ally, well that hotel has been involved in a ridiculous litigation that has eaten seven hours of my life so far. I hate lawyers. I wish I didn't know any.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Here in my car, I feel vulnerable in my car. I can lock all the doors but the unemployed teenagers can break in.

Driving on STX is, in a word, stressful. Potholes, deer, goats, cows, sheep, HORSES (yes, fucking horses), mongooses, and iguanas are just a few of the wild animals who can fuck up your day. Aside from that, cliffs, potholes, the fact that your steering wheel is on the left side and you DRIVE on the left side. And by potholes, I mean giant freaking craters that can eat your damn car. Oh, did I mention the island is beautiful? Finally, for an island, people drive like jackasses.

To get to work, I go down the hill, through a long dirt road that is a river when it rains, up a mountain, down a mountain, through a rain forest, past a school, past a goat farm, and then I make a left to my office. When I get my car at night, I hear cows mooing on the other side of the fence.





Thursday, November 11, 2010

Washed Away

I've never seen rain like this. Natural. Effing. Disaster. The entire island is flooded, a lady got washed into the ocean while in her car. Dumpsters are floating down the street and crashing into things. This is really, really, terrible. I barely made it up my road yesterday, and by the time the rains were done last night, my road was completely impassable for my 4-door sedan. You need 4 wheels or an SUV to get in and out of here. The rain messed up the plumbing in my cottage, which I spent the evening working with my landlord to fix. I took a lot of pictures of the damage but, i need to clean myself up because I haven't had running water for about 18 hours. In the mean time, check out these youtube videos.





Pictures from the newspaper

Friday, November 5, 2010

Comments

Why isn't anyone commenting on my blog? Am I boring? Would you like to see more written pieces about my experiences? Would you like to see more pictures? What can I do to make this blog more interesting? Help me, reader. Help me pique your interest.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Robot Cruzan

No, my office is not really like this.

Something completely different...

So, I’ve started going on 6am runs along the north shore of the island. It’s hard to stay in shape here, believe it or not. So, beach running at dawn for me. It could be worse, I could be in the city that I was born in. I think it’s pretty easy being Indian these days. It’s rare that I see myself caricatured on a syndicated comedy, and, so long as they completely ignore their heritage, brown men and women can become governor of states that I would never deign to live in. Anyway, I was born in India, Alwar, actually. Western Rajasthan, my dad worked for the accounting department of a synthetics manufacturer in the early eighties. When he got the chance to come to America, he made his boss promise to keep his job available for a year, in case he couldn’t find work in the USA. About five years ago my dad’s old boss came to the States on a business trip and asked my dad if he still wanted his old job. So, you know, American dream and whatnot.

I love India. It’s great, things are improving, they really, really are. One thing that always bothered me, and still does, is how Indians ignore each other. Specifically, the haves ignoring the have-nots. I know it’s easy for an American to wonder how you could walk past skinny children, bones sticking out, empty eyes, shoe-less, and walk right past them at the train station. Indeed, if I walked past kids like that at Grand Central, I’d probably stop, at least I like to think I would.

I have some rules about giving to beggars. A development blogger (Blood and Milk, recommended, by the way) described them. Set a budget for how much you can donate per week, never give to kids (they should be in school), and a few other ones.

Two theories, I think. The first being the system of caste hierarchies that first developed about 5000 years back. I’ll spare this discussion to a possible future post. The second theory: there is so much fucked up poverty in India…it’s probably easier to just ignore it. Otherwise, how could you possibly be okay with yourself as a person? They do that at my families’ houses. Servants sit on the floor, little cousins won’t associate with little poor kids. India is getting better, and so are these situations. They really really are.

My family is from a small, small village. Camels, women in burqas, probably doesn’t look much more different than a similar sized village in Afghanistan. My house was built in 1982 on land that my great grandfather purchased from a Muslim family who moved to Pakistan during partition. The Masjid is behind my house, since we technically live on the border of the “Muslim side” of town. I always that it was weird that Hindus and Muslims live side by side just fine in my town, but inter-caste relationships still have some improving to do. By the way, Caste, that’s a white man’s word. It’s Jaathi, which means birth. What were you born to do? When my dad was a teenager he worked for the Indian Census one year and had to go to the leatherworker section of town. They messed with him, offered him tea, because they knew that he would say no. Anyway, just some stuff I wanted to write about, thanks for reading, I know pictures are more fun.

I am tired and I need to be up in 5 hours to get my jogging on.

The article that got me going today: http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Global-Issues/2008/0611/one-mans-mission-to-rid-india-of-its-dirtiest-job

Finally, FUCK THE BRITS, FUCK EM IN THE QUEEN.

p.s. I didn't edit this post at all, like, it's a free write so, please excuse the likely numerous spelling, grammatical, and structural errors.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Fort Frederick
















There are two Danish Forts on this island. The one on the western shore is Fort Frederick. It is in the city of Fredericksted, which is Danish for Ferderickville, which is french for Frederickburg, which is German for Ferderickpur, which is Hindi for Frederickbad, which is Urdu for Fredericktown, which is English for Fredericksted, which is the name of the City where the fort is located. I saw a copy of the check for a cool $25 mill that the USA used to purchase the Virgin Islands from the bloody Danes. When you visit, you can pretend to shoot boats from the Cannons, you know, if that's your thing...