Summer/Winter??

It is December 21. I am on my way to NYC to spend Christmas with my boys. One is already there and the other is on his way south from Montreal as I write. The Brit is already in Texas and will meet me in the Houston airport Wednesday am. As per usual in our family. We are four people in four different cities! But not for long. Tomorrow will will all be in the same area code. This might not sound like a big deal to many but to us it is a gift. Since we do not see each other nearly enough, every minute together is special. We hope to the lights on the tree at Rockefeller Center, the Christmas windows on Fifth Avenue, and maybe a Broadway show.

I am happy to leave the summer of the Southern hemisphere for the winter of the Northern hemisphere. I look silly carrying my coat here but I will be happy to have it on the other end!

Happy Holidays everyone. Be happy, healthy and safe!

Where am I?

I woke up this morning at 5:45am and my first coherent thought was that I had no idea where I was. The bed was big and comfy with lovely cotton linens. My sleep was fitful and my dreams were disturbing. Once I got my bearings I remembered that I was in a hotel room in the Mexico City airport. I was on my way to Playa Grande to spend time with my Canadian friend. I do not seem to get away from how small the planet feels right now. She left winter snowstorms in Calgary yesterday. I left a hot spring day in Buenos Aires. By this evening I expect we will be drinking margaritas and watching the sunset together.

On my second flight yesterday from Santiago, Chile to Mexico City (8 fun filled hours packed in like a sardine) I read a book from cover to cover. It was called "Secret Daughter" by Shilpi Somaya Gowda. I takes place in Mumbai, India and San Francisco, California. Lucky for me it allowed me to leave my cramped seat on Lan Chile and transport myself back to one of my favorite places. India. I went back four years ago to one of the most interesting, infuriating, upsetting and special times of my life. Below is an article from The Australian that says it all.


Living in India is like having an intense but insane affair, writes expat Catherine Taylor

TONIGHT, as I waved my high heel in the face of a bewildered taxi driver, I thought suddenly: I am absolutely nuts in India. It's a thought I have often. Someone or something is always going nuts, and quite often it's me.

I was trying to get a taxi driver to take me home, a mere 500 metres away, but it was pouring with rain and my shoes were oh-so-high, and it was late. He, of course, was having none of it; no amount of shoe-waving and sad-facing from a wild-haired firangi was changing his mind, when suddenly I remembered the magic trick - pay more than you should. "Arre, bhai sahab, 50 rupees to Altamount Road? Please?" And off we went.

I have lived in Mumbai for almost three years. It was my choice to come - I wanted offshore experience in my media career and India was the only country looking to hire - and I wanted a change. I needed something new, exciting, thrilling, terrifying. And India gave that to me in spades. In fact, she turned it all the way up to 11. And then she turned it up a little more.

To outsiders, living in India has a particular kind of glamour attached to it, a special sparkle that sees people crowding around me at parties. "You live in India? My God, really? I could never do that. What's it like?" The closest I have come to answering that question is that it's like being in a very intense, extremely dysfunctional relationship. India and I fight, we scream, we argue, we don't speak for days on end, but really, deep down, we love each other. She's a strange beast, this India. She hugs me, so tightly sometimes that I can't breathe, then she turns and punches me hard in the face, leaving me stunned. Then she hugs me again, and suddenly I know everything will be all right.

She wonders why I don't just "know" how things are done, why I argue with her about everything, why I judge, why I rail at injustice and then do nothing about it. She wonders how old I am, how much I earn, why I'm not married. (The poor census man looked at me, stunned, then asked in a faltering voice, "But madam, if you're not married then… who is the head of your household?") I wonder how she can stand by when small children are begging on corners, how she can let people foul up the streets so much that they are impossible to walk along, how she can allow such corruption, such injustice, such A LOT OF HONKING.

But she has taught me things. She has taught me to be brave, bold, independent, sometimes even fierce and terrifying. She has taught me to walk in another man's chappals, and ask questions a different way when at first the answer is no. She has taught me to accept the things I cannot change. She has taught me that there are always, always, two sides to every argument. And she was kind enough to let me come and stay.

She didn't make it easy though (but then, why should she?). The Foreigner Regional Registration Office, banks, mobile phone companies and rental agencies are drowning under piles of carbon paper, photocopies of passports (I always carry a minimum of three) and the soggy tissues of foreigners who fall to pieces in the face of maddening bureaucracy. What costs you 50 rupees one day might be 500 rupees the next, and nobody will tell you why. What you didn't need to bring yesterday, you suddenly need to bring today. Your signature doesn't look like your signature. And no, we can't help you. Come back tomorrow and see.

It's not easy being here, although I am spoiled by a maid who cooks for me, and a delivery service from everywhere that ensures I rarely have to wave my shoes at taxi drivers. I buy cheap flowers, trawl for gorgeous antiques, buy incredibly cheap books; I have long, boozy brunches in five-star hotels for the price of a nice bottle of wine at home, I have a very nice roof over my head … on the face of it, it would seem I have little to complain about. But then, I am stared at constantly, I have been spat on, sexually harassed, had my (covered) breasts videotaped as I walked through a market, had my drink spiked, been followed countless times. I have wept more here than I have ever in my life, out of frustration, anger, loneliness, the sheer hugeness of being here. But the longer I stay, the more I seem to relax, let go, let it be.

But I do often wonder why I'm here, especially when I'm tired, teary and homesick, my phone has been disconnected for the 19th time despite promises it would never happen again, when it's raining and no taxis will take me home. But then a willing ride always comes along, and we'll turn a corner and be suddenly in the midst of some banging, crashing mad festival full of colour, where everyone is dancing behind a slow-moving truck, and I won't have a clue what's going on but a mum holding a child will dance up to my window and point and smile and laugh, and I breathe out and think, really, my God, this is fantastic. This is India! I live in India! She hugs me, she punches me, and she hugs me again.

Yet I know won't ever belong here, not properly. I know this when I listen to girls discussing what colour blouses they should wear to their weddings - she's Gujarati, he's from the south, she's wearing a Keralan sari. I know when my friends give me house-hunting advice: "Look at the names of the people who already live there, then you'll know what kind of building it is." (Trouble is, I don't know my Kapoors from my Kapurs, my Sippys from my Sindhis, my Khans from my Jains). I know this when my lovely fruit man (who also delivers) begs me to taste a strawberry he is holding in his grubby hands and I have to say no, I can't eat it, I'll die… I know I will never belong because, as stupid as it sounds, being truly, properly Indian is in your DNA. I marvel at how incredibly well educated so many of them are, how they can all speak at least three languages and think it's no big deal, how they fit 1000 people into a train carriage meant for 300 and all stand together quite peacefully, how they know the songs from every Hindi film ever made, how they welcome anyone and everyone (even wild-haired, complaining firangis) into their homes for food, and chai, and more food.

I've seen terrible things - someone fall under a train, children with sliced-off ears, old, old men sitting in the rain nursing half-limbs while they beg, children covered in flies sleeping on the pavement, beggars with no legs weaving themselves through traffic on trolleys, men in lunghis working with their hands in tiny corridors with no fans in sky-high temperatures. I've read heartbreaking things, of gang rapes, corruption, environmental abuse. I've smelled smells that have stripped the inside of my nostrils, stepped over open sewers in markets, watched a goat being bled to death.

I've done things of which I am ashamed, things I never thought I would do. I have slapped a starving child away, I have turned my head in annoyance when beggars have tapped repeatedly on my taxi window, I have yelled at grown men in the face. I have been pinched and pinched back, with force. I have slapped, I have hit, I have pushed. I have screamed in anger. I have, at times, not recognised myself.

I've yelled at a man for kicking a dog, and yelled at a woman who pushed into a line ahead of me when I wasn't at all in a hurry. When a teenage beggar stood at the window of my taxi, saying "F… you madam" over and over, I told him to go f… himself and gave him the finger; once on the train I let a kid keep 100 rupees as change. I am kind and I am cold-hearted, I am fair and I am mean, I am delightful and I am downright rude. I am all of these at once and I distress myself wildly over it, but somehow, India accepts me. She has no time for navel-gazing foreigners; she just shoved everyone along a bit and made room for me. She has no time to dwell on my shortcomings, she just keeps moving along.

And then, and then. I've been to temples where I've sung along with old women who had no teeth, I've held countless smiling ink-marked babies for photos, I've had unknown aunties in saris smile and cup my face with their soft, wrinkled hands, I've made street vendors laugh when I've choked on their spicy food, I've danced through the streets at Ganpati, fervently sung the national anthem (phonetically) in cinemas, had designers make me dresses, I've met with CEOs and heads of companies just because I asked if I could. She hugs, she punches, she hugs again.

In short, I have been among the luckiest of the lucky. She keeps me on my toes, Ms India, and I have been blessed that she let me stay for a while. She wanted me to succeed here and she gave me grand opportunities and endless second chances. She willed me forward like a stern parent. She welcomed me. And when I leave, because I know I will one day, I will weep, because I will miss her terribly. And because I know she won't even notice that I am gone.

Still alive and well

I realize that is has been ages since my last post. Over 6 months. Where does the time go? In my place it seems to go on a plane. Since I returned to Buenos Aires from Mexico at the end of April life has been busy with friends and family. May took me to Houston and Calgary. Late August and September to Los Angeles and the Napa Valley. October to Newry, Northern Ireland and New York. I made gold status on Continental Airlines for the first time in my life. This means my backside spent waaaay to much time on an airplane seat!

I have crammed a lot of living in these past 6 months. The Brit and I attended a Gulf Canada reunion in Kannaskis Country. He had not seem most of them for over 15 years so it was a lot of fun catching up. From there to Calgary where it was supposed to be the beginning of summer. Not so much!! Early Canadian summer is downright COLD! We were able to spend time with friends that are like family so aside from the chill that was great. We even managed a quick trip south to Bigfork, Montana to visit with Curt and Jan who we had not seen in years. We really loved their home in the woods and the great food.

On to Los Angeles for what was often called "The party that ate LA" or my fathers 80th birthday party. I am very lucky to have a father that is 80 in years and decades younger in health, spirit and outlook. Over 100 people celebrated with our us. Family from as far as Chicago and friends from all over the state. A lovely garden and margaritas made for a festive evening! It is a rare and wonderful thing for our whole family to be in the same place at the same time right down to all 11 grandchildren.

We then put our boys on planes for Montreal and New York and Gary and I escaped to the Napa Valley. We enjoyed wine tasting and biking and even managed a hot air balloon ride over the vineyards. It was amazing. We then drove the 7 hours back to LA and had enjoyed dinners with friends there that we don't get to spend nearly enough time with. Thanks for all your hospitality. You know who you are!!

Home for a bit and then off to Northern Ireland and NYC. I had not seen the Irish relatives for 14 years so it was high time for a visit. We spent 4 days in Newry living with Aunt E. in the farmhouse where the Brit's mother grew up. The cousins could not have made us more welcome and as they say in Ireland "the crack was grand" and it was!! Aunt E.+cousins+ food+whiskey=fun! A quick drive around Dublin and on a plane again. The Brit to London for a few days and me to NYC with him to join me.

The Oldest has finally made NYC home and I went so to see where he is now calling home. He is out in Brooklyn right off the "L" train and doing fine. A new job, a new home and pretty much a new life. While we were there we walked the city from one end to the other, went to see Momma Mia on Broadway and a trip to the MOMA. I LOVE NY!!

More sooner rather than later...........hopefully!

Mexico, another word for paradise!

Mexico was amazing. When we bought a condo nearly two years in a moment of what can only be called madness, who would have thought it would turn out so well? Certainly not me!

It seemed like a good idea the time. It has always been on of my dreams to have a house on the beach. Preferably in the Malibu Colony. Since there is a slight (HUGE) chance that may not happen, we looked at other possibilities. An opportunity presented itself south of Puerta Vallarta near Barra De Navidad. Never heard of it? Me neither but did that stop me? Of course not! We sent a cheque and decided to take a chance. Eighteen months later we figured it was high time to see if we had made a huge mistake or a wise choice. Luckily it was the latter.

From our bedroom we could hear the waves crashing. What a wonderful sound to fall asleep to. In the morning when we were on our patio having coffee all is very peaceful. As the sun rises higher people come out to the pool and the beach. Lovely, friendly people. We could not have chosen a nicer group if we tried!! Yoga first thing in the morning on the sand was new for me but what a great experience. One day our teacher did not show up but did that stop us? Not at all. The six women out there managed to put together a great class. We took turns leading and if you have never done a sun salutation with the sun on your face I suggest you give it a try.

The sunsets were spectacular nearly every night. The show really began when the sun dipped down into the sea and sky turned shades of pink and orange. As we would enjoy one more cocktail it was entertainment you could not beat!


At dinner on the last night that Gary was at Playa Grande with me we had a shrimp dinner that was truly memorable. Coming from the land of beef in Argentina we truly appreciate seafood and fish. If it swam, we ate it!


www.goplayagrande.com Have a look at our little slice of paradise!

Still on the road

I left Buenos Aires on February 14. I am still not home. I am sure ready to sleep in my own bed. Stories of my latest adventures coming soon!

Superbowl XLIV

I used to be a person that had to be BEGGED to watch football of any sort. I remember years gone by when I read a magazine or gave myself a manicure during the game so I did not fall asleep. When I was a small girl my father used to take me to Los Angeles Rams games at the Coliseum and the high point for me was walking around the stadium looking at the souvenir stands and seeing what sort of junk food I might be allowed to eat. How things change!!!

It started in Calgary where we watched Superbowl with the same friends every year. It was usually snowy and cold outside but we would have a fire, drink beer and eat whatever treats Astrid had made for us. The game was almost always a blowout but the company made up for what was usually a crappy game! As we moved overseas, Superbowl was a reminder of home. We would find a Sports bar somewhere and join other misplaced people to cheer on our team of that year.

This year was a little different. Wonderful Australian friends invited us over for a BarBQ and to watch the game on their giant screen TV. They had no idea of the rules or anything else about American football but they joined right in and cheered for the Saints........and were they worth cheering for! I have been a fan of Drew Brees since I saw him interviewed awhile back. In the age of athletes that are "alleged" drug users, wife beaters and felons of all sorts, he is a breath of fresh air. He has is family man and cares deeply about rebuilding the city of New Orleans. He is also a man who puts his money where his mouth is donating to children's causes as well as other worthwhile endeavors.

Watching last night with two other good friends from the state of Louisiana was golden. They told us there was a time when Saints fans watched the games with brown paper bags over their head with eye holes cut out. They were referred to during those times as the "Aints" Not anymore! They are the Saints. The proud Saints. From the bottom of the NFL they have risen to the top. It took 43 years but worth the wait. The question "Who Dat?" has been answered......

WE DAT!!!

Friends near and far.

Moving as often as we have means that your friends are everywhere. When you move from a location there are always people that you "take with you". I sometimes realize that in a given day I might hear from an old friend in Adelaide, Australia, another one in Geneva, Switzerland and yet another now living in Singapore. The part of this that makes me laugh is that the one in Oz will soon be heading back to France. The one in Geneva is on her way to India for a wedding of a friend made in Argentina and another is in Singapore having just returned to that location from England.

My favorite blogs are written by people that I know from past locations. Some of my favorites are based in Trinidad, Ireland, Siberia and India. Reading about everybody's new adventures bring them closer. We are all separated by vast distances yet when we end of back together it is as if we have never been apart.

I left Canada nearly 15 years ago after living there for 12 very happy years. When I return to Calgary every summer it is just like old times. When we left Calgary we left the city but not our connections there. When you are far away from your family, your friends become your new family. I left Los Angeles over 30 years ago and it is much the same. I have been lucky enough to reconnect with old high school friends there and it has been great. I so enjoy meeting new people but there is something about the people that know your history. They just "get" you!

From what I have observed, getting older with your friends is not a bad thing. Especially when you consider the alternative!! Most of the women I know look and feel better than ever. Lots of us are enjoying our 50's way more than our earlier years. Many of us have semi-empty nests and are spending our time and energy on ourselves and our partners. I find though when my "chicks" return to visit are the best times of all.