Love Among Trash
I found this white board sitting on top of a trash heap over the weekend, just waiting to be picked up and carted off to an even larger trash heap. As I snapped a photo of it, though, I couldn’t figure out why the person who wrote the “hubby list” as they so lovingly called it, not erase it before tossing it to the street? I still don’t understand.
Pink Sky Over Brooklyn
The sunset in New York City was amazing last night.
Flowers and Lights (at Grand Central)
A Light at the End of the Grabage Tunnel
Glove Floating in Dirty Water Around Reflected Buildings
Self-Portrait Made By the Sun
I’m soaking in the view of New Delhi high atop a hotel that drowns out the noise below. it’s my last day in India. I’m sad that my vacation is over, excited to go home, and just really happy that i had the opportunity to see another part of the world.
Tuesday was delivery day in the New Delhi spice market called Khari Baoli. Walking up and down the dusty, cart-filled street packed with buyers, sellers, tea purveyors, spice experts, and anyone looking to sell just about anything, I dodged men carrying burlap sacks of food, leaves and yes of course spices, to local shops. I bought a canvas bag from a man on the street and proceeded to fill it with dry good that I’m carrying back home with me.
India is bright and colorful, but it’s also disturbingly sad and completely heart-breaking.
India is the most colorful country I’ve ever visited. After nearly two weeks here, I’m still stunned by some of the sarees that I see women and girls wearing on the street and riding on the back of mopeds and scooters. You won’t find black and white here, but deep purples, blinding orange tones and lush greens. The sarees aren’t just beautiful, they’re gorgeous and no two are alike, making them stand out even more in this country where I’d expect to see copycats (there are a billion people in India after all).
Like many New Yorkers, I have a small apartment, I spend more than I save and, oh yeah, the most common thread among us: I wear a lot of black. In the past year, though, I’ve been making a conscious effort to wear more items that run the gammut of the color wheel, not just black jeans, sweaters and dresses that fill my closet. It’s a habit and, like any habit, breaking it is hard to do. Relapses happen, and it certainly happened to me - probably in a J.Crew fitting room when faced with a pair of black jeans that made me say “oh, just one more pair won’t hurt.” India, with all its rich, vibrant colors, seemed like a good place to jump back into the clor spectrum, so as I was packing for my trip, I thought I’d bring along a little flair of my own with some fun bright shoes and colorful scarves. I’m not trying to stand out here, but just trying to blend into the colorful surroundings that are anything but black and white.
Greetings From the Taj Mahal
I arrived in Agra late last night with the hope that Monday would be cloudless and beautiful for a day at the Taj Mahal, India’s crowning architectural achievement among many. I couldn’t sleep; partly because of the chanting going on outside my hotel window, but mostly because I was too excited to finally see the Taj Mahal in front of me. When I woke up, a thing layer of haze covered this small city, but by 10am blue skies were overhead and I was touching the marble facade of the Taj. It was a day I’ll remember forever.
India Travel Style, Part 1: It’s About Time
I recently started to wear a watch again after a long hiatus of bare wrists and relying on my cell phone and the kindness of others to get me places on time. For trips, though, especially ones that take me across the globe and over several different timezones, sporting a watch is an absolute necessity. In preparation for India, I knew I didn’t want to bring my shiny new watch that has been reintroducing me to the world of timepieces outside digital clocks, so I dug out an old Swiss Army one that I haven’t worn since high school. When I found it, the battery was dead, but a shoe repairman named Boris replaced it in his tiny shop near my office while making small talk with me, his only customer that afternoon. He even gave me a new leather band; I chose a brown leather one. The face of my old Swiss Army watch is scratched and chipped. It doesn’t light up, have pogrammable bells and whistles and it’s not particularly fashionable. But this forgotten classic tells time just fine and on a trip like this that includes multiple flights and long train rides, having time on your side (and on your wrist) is what really matters.