Day Six

The day began as usual, and Pipa, Aneesa and I wandered down the street to catch a rickshaw. Unfortunately, we had a hell of a time finding one that actually was willing to take us. We finally found one and after some spirited bartering, managed to get him down to a price that was only a tiny little bit short of highway robbery. (Of course, I realize I am fiercely haggling over what is about 50 cents to me, but it is the principal of the thing.)

The rickshaw driver took us on the longest route ever and actualy stopped for petrol in the middle, forcing us to sit in the rickshaw and look profoundly uncomfortable while everyone for blocks around came to stare. (Including the guys at the Chinese restaurant.)

We did manage to get there, and I got back to my CD reviews - a good blues review featuring Leadbelly and Art Tatum (weird to listen to in India), John McLaughlin, and oddly enough, Cypress Hill. I wouldn't be suprised if they're big around here, to be honest.

Went for lunch at Beijing Bites, a rather posh but inexpensive Chinese place near the office....vegetables with tomato-chili sauce (actually spicy!) and the neccesary for survival diet coke. The restaurant was empty and the servers looked at me with interest as I chewed, but one gets used to that when dining alone overseas. Really.

Met Steve, another employee here, when I returned. I mentioned I lived near San Francisco and we got into a discussion about how crazy people in Berkeley are. (Very crazy.) He also gave me a granola bar, so I suppose that means I have been accepted into the tribe or something.

Pipa wanted to cut out early since she was changing placements, so we left together (I was pretty much tapped out for the day), stopping in for coffee at the curiously good and nicely decorated Coffee Day cafe. After yet more bargaining, I returned to the Katari Villa and read a little before dinner, which was characterstically good: tandoori chicken, paneer cooked with green peppers and onions, daal, and raita. Apparantly the people staying at Shirley's nearby are getting fed tiny amounts of poorly cooked lentils and must endure a padlockd fridge, which makes me feel lucky indeed. (But sorry for them.)

We decided to go check out yet another lounge, this one called H20 and located along an unusually wide freeway a ways from where we stayed. It was pretty damn cheesy inside, a nice example of Indian new-money chic - white leather furniture, tables made of goldfish tanks, giant crystal glases. It was Special Corporate Night, which meant progressively boozier business men were everywhere, including a fat, jubilant white guy (he kept on clapping.) The place was also a restaurant, and packs of well dressed Indian families circled through to hit the buffet and drink tremendous neon daquiries.

I had a tiny little sniff of brandy (they really don't do so hot on the portion sizes here), and stopped, enjoying the people watching more then anything. There was a cool open-air rooftop lounge above, so we may return.

After yet more rickshaw negotiations (a part of daily life here), we headed back to the villa. We did see an incrediby huge dead rat in the road. Chris wanted to throw a rock at it to see if it was really dead, but I was fairly certain that was a bad idea. And then we went to bed.