And traffic came to a screeching halt.
Rain.
Not snow, not even hail. Fuckin' rain.
It's amazing to me that San Franciscans completely lose the ability to drive if moisture appears on the pavement. Want to throw an SF driver into a tizzy? Just drop a Slurpee in front of their Prius and they'll go into hysterics thinking there's been an avalanche.
Bunch of bitches. Makin' me late for work and shit..
Beth and I just got back from a 2 week visit to Buenos Aires. My answer to the simple question "How was the trip?" has been "Amazing, wonderful, frustrating, angering, amazing, wonderful". In fact, that was almost the chronological arc of the trip.
Pics of the trip are here. We did a lot of eating, a lot of sightseeing, a little of everything else: saw live music a couple of times, went to a few bars, some shopping. It was a full trip full of many "Wow's", "WTF?", and some more "Wow's". I highly recommend visiting Buenos Aires; it's a remarkable city with great people and a complex history and rich culture.
The porteños (inhabitants of BA) are characterized as equally proud and pessimistic. Considering the country's long crazy history from it's colonial occupation, the genocide of indiginous people, and unending political turmoil (how about 4 Presidents in a span of 11 days in Christmas 2001?), this pessimism is understandable. Even with the recent encouraging stretch of stability and growth, its citizens are not ready to trade in the doubt and mistrust with which they've been comfortable for several generations. So while we could hear and see the pride in their culture and beautiful city, it was just as clear that they weren't ready to acknowledge any form of prosperity. 40% of Argentinians live below the poverty line and 3 in 5 will apparently accept a bribe.
The city is enormous: 3 million people in the city proper and another 9 million in the metropolitan area. It consists of several dozen neighborhoods (barrios) fanning out from the city's center, the port. We spent our time mostly in the Eastern side: first half in Recoleta, a beautiful tree-lined neighborhood just a couple kilometers from the city center and the second half in the quieter, hipper Palermo area. Each of the many neighborhoods we visited their own very distinct personality and offerings, and I was happy to be able to spend significant time exploring each on foot.
I have many thoughts and reflections from the trip but here are some of the things that stuck out:
1. Empanadas: My friend Christen from work who lived in Buenos Aires for 6 months told me that "Empanadas are the best food ever." and I have to say that while I was down there, I agreed with her. We had a few of these delicious stuffed pastries almost every day. My favorites were the ones filled with spicy ground beef and the ones with sweet corn.
2. Beef: The Argentinian beef is legendary and rightfully so. Every form of beef we had from the ground beef in the empanadas to the rib-eye steaks was unbelievably good. It caused me to wonder whether cows get rub-downs each day or some sort of regular spa treatment. While dining at La Cabrera, one of the finest steak houses in Argentina, I asked our server why the meat is so good and he revealed that they take care to cut the meat closer to the bone, bringing out the flavor more. All I know is Argentinians really have a bond with their beef, it's consumed daily (60kg per capita per year) and everywhere. We were at a shopping mall downtown and down at the food court there were shoppers going full-on eating steaks -in the food court.
3. Malbec: Every glass of Malbec I tried was fantastic: earthy, full-bodied, well-balanced. Regardless of whether I was at a parilla (traditional Argentinian restaurant), a cafe, or a high-end modern restaurant, the Malbec didn't disappoint. There is something special about the Malbec grapes and their communion with the Mendoza region.
4. Gelato: I had read that the gelato in BA was better than in Italy, a statement I found somewhat dubious. I mean the people in Venice and Florence seriously threw down with their gelato skills so how could Argentinians improve on that? Well, they did. The gelato was amazing; smooth, rich, and delicious and, like their beef, gelato is fully integrated into the porteños' life style. They have Starbucks there but those cafes aren't ubiqitous like they are here -but Freddo's are. These gelaterias are everywhere, and they have an absurd assortment of flavors and sizes to choose from, just like Starbucks with their coffee.
6. Bread - Argentinians have not discovered this thing called "yeast". It makes bread rise and gives it some air, some lightness. The bread we had, across the board, was terrible. Even at high-end places where everything else would be fantastic, we'd get something that resembled Wonder Bread. It was doughy, dense, and flavorless and was such a stark contrast to the otherwise solid food we enjoyed throughout the trip.
7. Driving/Traffic: The first day I think I was killed almost four times crossing the street. Pedestrians do not have right of way as I quickly discovered. And this would be OK if the people driving exhibited the same politeness and grace we encountered from them regularly off the roads. But they didn't. They drive like aggressive, road-raged maniacs -but surprisingly no one actually exhibits any rage otherwise. There is rarely a honking horn and I never heard another driver complain when someone cut him off again and again. They just accept it as the way things are. And after a few days, we did too.
8. Milión: There were many sleek, stunning bars we checked out in BA but one that stood out as especially unique was Milión in Recoleta. Milión is a mansion that has been converted to a stylish, contempory lounge. It's an incredible blend of classic architecture with striking 20-foot ceilings and modern twists such as cutting-edge art hung and visuals projected against these tall walls. We had a nice evening people watching the young urbanites mingle while sipping on cocktails and nibbling on some small plates. The food was less than inspiring but it really wasn't about the food, totally about the vibe. It reminded me a lot of Thievery Corporation's Eighteenth Street Lounge in DC which itself is a converted 250 year-old townhouse.
9. Out late: We were constantly being reminded that Argentinians go out late and stay out late. Dinner crowd usually assembles no earlier than 9 or 10pm and there's no bar/clubbing of any form that begins before 2am (and they stay out until dawn). After one especially long day of exploring the city on foot, we were walking home at 1AM thinking that we had started to adapt. But then we spied a group of senior citizens having gelato at a Freddo like it was 4 in the afternoon. And there was another time we were leaving a trendy bar in the city center and saw a pre-teen girl come in with what I guess must have been her Mom. Great. We can't even keep up with the seniors or pre-pubescent kids here!
10. Mullets - Business in the front, party in the back. Mullets are still going strong here. But they're less trailer park and more futbol player-style. Pretty much every guy under 50 has some form of mullet. It was weird.
11. 80's - I thought the 80's resurgence here in the hipster scene was disturbing. I had no idea. The 80's are STRONG in Buenos Aires right now: tiger prints, pastels, tight jeans. I had looked forward to some cool shopping in BA but was roundly disappointed. Everyone from teens to thirty-somethings are kicking fierce 80's style. And 80's music was everywhere: restaurants, cafes, malls, retail stores, everywhere.
12. Change - The entire friggin' country is out of change. Cab drivers grimace if you hand them anything bigger than a 10 peso (~3 $US) bill. Retail store clerks look at you like you're a madman if you try to pay in cash. Apparently, it costs more to print the smaller bills than they're worth so they're in short supply.
13. Dinner at El Bistro - One night we went to El Bistro for dinner. It's one of the finest restaurants in the country apparently, featuring a 10-course modern Arentinian tasting menu. It's also in the Faena hotel, one of the most luxurious in the city. The level of opulence was off the hizzle. And it was also bizzare. Beth described the design aesthetic as "Cinderella & Cocaine". The restaurant looks exactly like it does in the picture: all white leather furniture, walls, and floors with touches of red. And oh yeah, the unicorns with the red eyes. So we're sitting there enjoying this lavish meal in this elegant-extreme setting and there's the music: 50 cent, Ludacris, and other mainstream hip-hop being piped in loudly over the speakers. Finally, it stopped but only to be replaced by the sound of a live 80's hair metal band playing next door: Whitesnake, Poison, etc. now begin to literally rumble and shake the dining room. It was the strangest dinner I've ever experienced and so typified much of what I experienced in BA!
I really loved Buenos Aires but also was happy to come home; it was an exhausting trip. San Francisco seemed so peaceful and idyllic upon my return compared to the hustle and bustle of such a large, dense Latin American city.
Like our dinner experience at El Bistro, there were so many strange juxtapositions I experienced. For example, on one city block, you'd see classic Western European-style architecture from multi-century old buildings oddly adjacent to jutting glass and metal sky-scrapers. In the neighborhoods out from the center, you'd see run-down tenaments next to chic, ultra-modern bars and restaurants.
Buenos Aires seemed to me like a city gaining its footing in this new unfamiliar era of prosperity and stability. It'll be interesting to visit in several years to see how they figure things out for themselves as they learn to blend the old with the new..
Last, below are a list of my favorite BA restaurants and bars from the trip:
Restaurants
Cade Dadá - Tiny little cafe/restaurant in the city center. Enjoyed the Lomo Dada pictured above; a delcious filet mignon on a bed of potatoes au gratin bathed in a creamy sauce. So good, I went back and had it again a week later.
647 Dinner Club - Sleek, loungy uber-hip place in San Telmo - We had the most amazing oxtail ravioli and dessert here; really good modern Argentinian cuisuine. And the aesthetic was just jaw-dropping.
La Vineria de Gualterio Bolívar - Small, almost hidden place in San Telmo that provided one of the best meals in my life: an 11-course tasting adventure in modern Argentinian cuisine with 5 generous wine pairings for a fraction of what you'd pay in SF. This is where I had the realization that, for me, heaven is an endless tasting menu with wine pairings.
El Bistro - located in Puerto Madero, mentioned above.
Cumaná - Our first meal in Buenos Aires, some amazing empanadas. Modest place in Recoleta.
La Cabrera - The best steakhouse we tried in BA, amazing cuts of meat. These guys are pros. Located in Palermo Viejo.
Bars
Thelonious - Jazz club in Recoleta, saw a great show mid-trip here but it was actually more folk pop than anything else. Cool vibe, good sound, so-so drinks.
Le Bar - Cool, loungy bar in the city center, great design.
Milión - mentioned above
La Cigale - Divy, unpretenious bar in the city center. Saw some interesting electronic music here.
On November 4th 2008, Barack Obama was elected the 44th President of the United States of America.
I cannot tell you how many emotions come up for me when I type those words. Early the morning after the election, I read every possible newspaper, scanned every news web site; anything that would reinforce that it really happened, and that it was not being taken away.
I did this because I know his victory means more than an African-American serving in our nation's highest political office for the first time. While that is incredibly significant, even more meaningful to me is how it will inspire an entire generation of minorities to know what is possible for them in this country even if they still have to swim against the current of racism. They will grow up with this realized possibility as an actual part of society, not what society should be or what we hope it could be. And in that, they will achieve far more than what we have even projected onto Obama himself.
But while I celebrated this momentous victory in the battle for equality as a huge step forward for this country, I was deeply saddened by the passing of Prop 8 which took us a step back.
My friend Steve from high school was visiting this past week and we dug up writings of ours from almost two decades ago. I found an editorial I wrote for my college newspaper in 1991. It was in response to a motion led by a Christian conservative student group who was trying to cut school funding for the Gay & Lesbian student group. As you can imagine, there were several student groups on campus such as Asian, African-American, Latino, etc. But the groups lobbying for the funding cut argued that gays and lesbians weren't really minorities and didn't deserve the associated funding.
The original editorial from 1991 is below and in reading it over again, I felt sad to see that we're still having this debate of whether gays and lesbians should have the same rights afforded to them as everyone else. I truly hope the generation I wrote about is not too far away.
Last week was a pretty powerful week.
Friday before last, I got a call from my Mom about my grandmother; "Accha". In Singhalese, the affectionate and respectful name for grandmother is Accha, like grandma. Accha had contracted cancer a couple of years and had been fighting it quite well since then. But this Spring, she took a bad turn and then began to deteriorate quickly. A few weeks back, at age 80, she entered Hospice care. My mother was calling me that Friday to let me know the Hospice nurse had advised her that she only had a few days left.
A couple months back, I went to visit her in Maryland when I heard that she wasn't doing so well. Her short-term memory was gone by then and she was quite frail but she was flowing with stories and smiles. She remembered things about me that I couldn't remember. I sat and stuffed myself with rice 'n' curry and just listened to her share her these precious memories.
When I got the call that Friday, I booked a flight and flew back to Maryland that next day. I went straight to my aunt's house where she was. My sister was there, 7 months pregnant, with my niece Ava of 6 years along with my mother, stepfather, aunt, and cousin Avi. I went straight upstairs to see my grandmother.
She was lying asleep peacefully in a room bathed in warm amber light, the light hum of a fan barely audible as it stirred the warm air. Pictures of family and friends adorned the wall next to her. I sat with her for a few hours and read a Hospice booklet on the stages of dying.
I read about how there are many stages in how the mind, body, and spirit let go in different ways. And as I sat with her, I was amazed to see how much of my dear Accha was still there. When I spoke to her, sometimes I would get a murmur, sometimes a movement of her foot, and sometimes a squeeze of my hand. She was there and she definitely could hear me. I did not expect this.
As I read more and sat with her on my own, I realized how important it was for me to say goodbye to her, to let her know what she meant to me, that I would be OK, that it was OK for her to go. I sat and meditated next to her, opening myself up as much as possible. I felt her love, her pain, and sensed her fear.
I stroked her brow and told her I loved her, that I appreciated the things she did for me, and that when I was younger I did not but that I see how much she tried to do for me then. And I told her I was OK, that the family would be OK, and that it was alright for her to go, to not be scared. And when I was done, my grandmother had not moved at all but there was a single tear flowing down her cheek.
Later, in the middle of my night, my cousin woke me to let me know that Accha was "awake". We all rushed up stairs, gathering around her bed. My grandmother's eyes were only half-open but she was much more alert than I could have imagined; she knew we were all there. My mother, aunt, sister, cousin, and I all sat around her, joining hands with her and one another. We recalled our memories of her to her, shared our love and affection, and let her know it was OK to move on, to say goodbye to us. It was one of the most powerful moments of my life.
After that night, I resigned myself to not disturb her again. As the Hospice nurse echoed, she was walking down a path and every time she stopped to talk to one of us, it made it harder to return to that path. Once I had said my goodbye to her, I knew she had to finish that walk on her own as scary as I knew it may be for her to do.
The Hospice booklet said that we die as we live. And my grandmother was a strong woman who put so many other people ahead of herself. (To the surprise of the nurse and all of us,) She lived for five days after that night and passed away gently late last week after we all had returned home. She never wanted to be a burden to anyone.
Saturday the 13th would have been her 81st birthday. That also was the night of my birthday party, I turned 36 on Monday. Surrounded by so many wonderful friends, I reflected on my blessings and my Accha.
Accha was a registered nurse in Sri Lanka, and it was quite unusual for a woman of her era to be involved in medicine at all. More inspiring was that in her mid-60's, she became a RN again in the U.S. She studied for all of the classes and passed the necessary exams, I remember tutoring her in the Math classes back then. She worked as a RN again here for several more years before stopping work only in her mid-70's. She spent the rest of her life giving away the money she had saved all those years. She helped relatives in need, she helped built medical clinics and homes in the poorest villages in Sri Lanka, she helped people she didn't even know that she knew needed some assistance.
Now, I have to state that my family is far from anything idyllic, we have had more than our fair share of dysfunction permeate our lives. But when I reflected on my grandmother's life and that evening where we all sat around her, I saw so much of that melt away. I saw the shimmering thread that runs through all of us; my Accha, my sister, mother, cousins and now niece, through four generations. It is compassion.
Whether is naive or not, all of us believe in the good that can happen when we believe in one another, when we give something of ourselves to someone in need and that it will be paid forward many times over. I was so proud to realize this about my family, and my culture.
My birthday party was hella fun. Records, drinks, crazy friends, the cops coming to shut us down -the usual. But most of the night and the next day, all I could think of was my family and my Achha and that I wished we could celebrate our birthdays together one more time.
I miss you, Accha. Thank you.
I didn't get a chance to call my Dad on Father's day. Or more honestly, I forgot.
Beth and I were traveling back from LA that day and after we got back, I just forgot to phone him. And then Monday came and I got busy with the work week. By the end of the week, I just felt like a schmuck and let it go entirely.
I got to see him a couple weeks later when I went to visit my ailing grandmother (on my Mom's side). My grandmother has been fighting a form of bone cancer the past couple of years and has been going through a hard stretch recently. She is 81. She is staying with and being taken care of by my aunt (my Mom's only sister) right now, splitting time between the two daughters since she got sick.
My aunt made a lavish Sri Lankan rice 'n' curry lunch for us, with a myriad of dishes. My father was there with my grandmother -the mother of his ex-wife of 25 years. As we ate, I heard from my grandmother and aunt how my Dad would come visit my grandmother regularly, bringing her fresh mangoes, other Sri Lankan fruits, and mild curries. He would sit with her and talk as she ate (if she had an appetite that day), keep her company for hours. This as you can guess also provided some relief for my aunt.
When I was growing up, I was very close with my Dad. After my parents split up when I was 8, I would do the weekend Dad thing with him. I remember watching Peter Sellers' movies on TV with him on Sunday afternoons (a shared love) as he sat preparing pomegranate berries for me. This picking of the tiny seeded berries from the husk was a painstaking task and he would do this delicately for several minutes, providing me in the end with a bowl of pristine, delicious pomegranate berries. He would only take a few for himself, and only when I offered it to him multiple times. He was the same when he cooked curries for me or took me out to a favorite restaurant, he would always wait until I ate.
As I grew into my teens and my awareness developed around the dysfunction in my family, things changed. I started to see my Dad as a very uncommunicative person, unable to express his emotions. I also found myself wishing he was more accomplished, more successful like my friends' fathers. All he seemed to want to do was work as little as possible and play golf the rest of the time. I remember arguing with him that he always saw things too simply, that things were more complicated than he assumed.
I was unaware then that my attitudes were very typical of assimilation anxiety felt by most first-generation Asian immigrants; straddling two very different cultures while growing into adulthood.
By the time I finished high school and left for college, I had withdrawn much from both my parents but felt especially distant from my Dad. We seemed like we were from different planets by that time.
Through most of my twenties, as I gained my own footing in the practical world, I began to worry about my father. He had entered his 60's, had been smoking since he was 15, had not saved any money for retirement, and had lots of debt. This anxiety began to consume me and only manifested itself in angry outbursts with my Dad whenever I felt he was being irresponsible. I don't remember any warm memories of us during my twenties, our spare phone conversations never ended with a "I love you" like they did when I was a kid.
About 5 years ago, I sat. I sat and dedicated myself to the practice of meditation. During one of my early sittings, the angry feelings around my father came up. And as I grew accustomed to discovering in those sittings, inevitably those angry feelings melted away to reveal the fear and concern I had for him, sitting alongside the feelings of a hurt and lonely little boy.
When my father first came to visit me in SF about 4 years ago, I was resigned to tell him all of this. He was visiting for over a week but as each day passed, I had not told him. I only found myself growing tense and angry, again being sharp with him at certain moments -and then angry and disappointed with myself for being so with him. On the last day, just hours before his flight, I called him into the living room. Feeling like my heart would burst out of my chest, I began to talk with him.
I told him how much I loved him, how I always had. I told him that I was worried about his health and that I wanted him to take better care of himself. I told him that I wanted him to consider moving out West so I could be close with him. I found myself saying this and more, and some of these things surprisingly, as tears flowed from my eyes and I began to cry deeply, the dam of emotion breaking open.
As I looked up after gathering myself, I saw my father sitting silently, his hand rising to wipe some tears away. It was the first and only time I've ever seen my father cry.
After that day, the tone of our relationship changed. We talked on the phone regularly, and the conversations always ended with a warm "I love you." He quit smoking and now watches his diet. I also learned that much prior to that, he had begun to pay off his debt and save some money for retirement. But all these things seemed smaller in my mind compared to the bond that had been reforged, I did not worry nearly as much.
I no longer saw my Dad as someone who could not express love. I realized that every time he plucked a sweet pomegranate berry from that difficult, coarse husk, he was telling me loved me. I realized the tenderness this man carried within him along with the pain and difficulty he also endured being one of 13 children growing up in a village in Sri Lanka many decades ago.
So when I heard my aunt and grandmother talk about how he brought so much fruit and food that it would sometimes go to waste, I just smiled. How can an abundance of love ever be of waste, I thought to myself. If only they could see what I saw.
My father is not simple-minded as I thought he was when I thought I had it all figured out. He is simple, but not simple-minded. As I've gotten older and achieved career and financial success, I don't know if I've actually gotten happier. I seem to long for less work and more time to play records. It seems my Dad had already figured this out a long time ago. He wants to live simply; just enough money to pay for his essentials and nothing more. And he is happy. How can you argue with that?
So when I found myself worrying that I had forgotten to call him on Father's day, I realized later that I worried in the same way I had in the past when I felt there was something being lost, something broken between us. But there wasn't. He was there as he always had been.
I just needed to open up my eyes and see.
The Volley:
This second business-related exchange somehow involved a reply. The first mail was about some earnest young Sri Lankan chap looking for a job at the other Saminda's firm.
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My reply:
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Dear Janaka,
Thank you for your correspondence, I am pleased to hear
of your interest of a role within our company. In regard to your
stipulations:
- Products: Yes, I am sure you will be able to
sell our products though I should mention that our focus has shifted
from Softwares (thanks for noting the proper plural form of software as
we do have several different softwares) into a different realm:
industrial-strength lube packaged for normal household consumption. As my associates have come to know, I have developed a strong affinity for lube
in all its forms in my personal endeavors and have convinced senior
management to change our company's charter to focus on bringing lube in large tubs to every home that we can muster. Trust me, once you have an industrial-strength vat of lube
in your home, you'll be surprised at how quickly you'll go through it.
And that consumption rate is accelerated for pet owners.
- Salary: I believe we can accommodate your salary requirement if
you are open to more flexible manner in which we manage our finances
here. Janaka, as you know lube doesn't grow on trees (well, not yet but maybe someday..) and purchasing several thousand tons of lube has a cost. So we have exhausted our capital and cash reserves and no longer can pay our employees actual money -only lube. You will receive
1.25 metric tons of lube each month as your standard salary, with additional bonuses and commissions also paid -in lube.
While I am excited at what you and I can do with lube in the future, Janaka, I have to express one reservation. Several times in your cover letter, you refer to me as "u". What the fuck is that about? Is is that much trouble to spell out two other fucking letters "y" and "o" in a request for employment? Are we fucking chatting on-line like were BFF? Have you even seen my myspace page? I don't think we're that friendly yet, Janaka. But the lube can change all that. It can change everything..
Please contact my assistant tomorrow to schedule an appointment. I usually emerge from my molten lube bath around 9am and have all orifices empty by 10. I look forward to meeting with you.
Regards,
Saminda
p.s. "..N Best Regards"? Jesus..
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And his!:
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Janaka
Yeah. Unbelievable.
That's it for now. I haven't been the other Saminda for a while but we'll see..
The First Time:
So after resisting the pull of my cyber-doppleganger throughout his college years, I decided to engage once I saw he had entered the working world. I received the following email sent to other Saminda regarding the transfer of some land.
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Dear Saminda,
Further to the telephone conversation I had with you on Friday 16th March 2007 ,please note that the following have to be attended to finalise the checking of title of the land at TB Jaya Mawatha-:
1.The tree mortgages in favour of Union Bank to be cancelled
2.Extracts from the Land Registry covering a period of 30 years to be submitted. What has been submitted to us start from 1981
3.The endoresement on the plan to be corrected
4.The local authority certificates to be in the name of the company
regards,
Sepali
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I replied with the following:
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Dear Sepali,
Thank you for your correspondence. Further to the
telephone conversation I had with my wife on Monday March 19th, please
note that I must attend to the following matters before finalising your
affairs:
1) My wife has alerted me that she has been having an affair with
our servant Nalaka for the past 18 months. She advised that my tongue
was a "useless instrument" and that Nalaka "does her right". In light
of her discovery, she has posited the following:
- She has asked me to move out of our house with all of my
belongings but requested that I keep behind the large industrial size lube I purchased for her and her special toy "Mr. Wonders"
-
She has requested to keep both the cars, the coupe and the sedan, because
she sometimes likes to feel "sporty" and sometimes feel "classy"
2) My boss has informed me that I am being dismissed on
charges of embezzlement and fraud. He has pointed to recent
unsubstantiated purchases on company credit I have made including:
- Several vats of "Make the O-Face Lube"
- Brand-new Mercedes Benz sedan and coupe
(He also noticed all the cash from the company safe has been emptied and replaced with chocolate gold coins)
Currently, I am in the process of acquiring large amounts of kerosene so I can burn down my house, the cars, and belongings. I thought of using gasoline but I wanted a slower-burning fuel and something that would mix better with the lube to create more of an amber glow.
After I attend to these matters, I will be going away for a long, long time Sepali so I won't be able to finalise your affairs. It's probably a good thing because I would have just embezzled any shadow profits from the acquisition anyway. Yes, Sepali, I'm a bad man and I also like to pee on people.
Regards,
Saminda
p.s. I stole your watch during lunch.
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I didn't receive a reply.
The Setup:
So about five years ago, I registered for my gmail address. I decided in the process to embrace my full Sri Lankan first name and abandon my "slave name". Yay.
And for the first year, things went swimmingly: normal mail from normal people I knew. Then one day, I got a mail from someone clearly Sri Lankan that was trying to reach another Saminda, the content of the email involving some college-level classwork at a Sri Lankan school. I politely replied back that they had meant to email another Saminda, letting it go as an innocent mistake.
But then over the next couple of months, I got similar school-related emails from others. I realized the other Saminda had been giving out my address as his and seemed to be continuing to do so without any intention of stopping. I continued to politely respond, requesting they let the other Saminda know.
But it didn't end. Even as I added folks to my spam list, I continued to get more mails from new people trying to reach the other Saminda, some of which extended beyond school work. I got one with, well Sri Lankan porn images, and it wouldn't have been so bad except that Sri Lankan porn is -well, really crappy apparently. Damn, step it up, my people!
Anyway, at a loss at fight it, I decided to go with it. So this is the story of how I became the other Saminda..
Todd took me & Shahid on an epic hike in Yosemite a couple weeks back. It was my first time in this enormous park so I was already in disbelief being surrounded by so much natural beauty but I was truly in awe when we reached the summit of our hike.
It was ~10 mile trek with a 1/2-mile vertical ascent up to the very top of Yosemite Falls. It took us about eight hours round-trip and my legs were in agony for several days after but I don't have any regrets. We ended our hike with possibly the best hot shower I ever had and then suited up for a lavish meal at the Ahwahnee, a fine dining gem nestled right in the valley.
While my hamstrings would take difference with me, I express my thanks to Todd for coordinating an amazing weekend, I had so much fun with him and Shahid!
Some (pretty amazing) pics of the hike and entire weekend are here.
A couple weeks ago, I was lucky to spend about 8 beautiful days in Costa Rica with my friend Keri. Our goal there was to do as little as possible -and we achieved that goal.
We split our time between two gorgeous beach towns, Samara and Montezuma (pictured below) on the Pacific coast.
Samara was really sleepy, its season winding down and the town empty most of the time except for a handful of locals. We spent our days there in a wonderfully familiar routine of first having breakfast served to us by the pool outside our luxurious little villa (equipped with both a blender and hammock to Keri's delight), then walking a few steps to the beautiful crescent-shaped beach and enjoying fruity rum drinks and food at a beach-side cafe before finishing our afternoon frolicking for hours in "Drunk Ocean".
Note that as the trip moved on, Keri and I devolved into one (mildly retarded) entity who communicated by a blend of implicitly understood facial expressions and catch phrases. I laughed so hard sometimes that my stomach literally hurt.
We finished our trip in the town of Montezuma. This was a much livelier town than Samara but that wasn't all together better. The food was quite good and there was some "nightlife" (there was one bar that everyone -and I mean everyone- went to each night and listened to reggaeton) but it all seemed at a cost of a town paying the hidden tax of developing their economy around tourism. The older Costa Ricans seemed genuinely polite and gracious, appreciative of the patronage provided by foreign visitors but the young people (late teens into 20's) did little for the tourists but expected tips for that meager service, that itself speaking of a sense of bitterness in having to serve tourists (who spoke little to no Spanish) to make any real money in their native country. It was also not uncommon to see the kids who led your boat trip earlier in the day coked out of their minds at night at the bar later that night. Drug dealing sadly seemed a common side business for many of these young people. I also learned that there was a tremendous spike in sexual assaults and violent robberies of tourists in the beach towns closest to Montezuma, targeted at Europeans and Americans who had bought land there. Coke + Poor Economy + Rich Tourists = Crime Wave.
So the country overall leaves a strange impression upon me, filled with rich bio-diversity and stunning natural beauty but seemingly undergoing an awkward painful transition in its culture, economy and infrastructure. Nothing hammered home this strange juxtaposition more than when after Keri and I had hiked to these secluded water falls near the town and, in the span of a hour, I was offered the sale of coke -twice. There were a total of maybe a dozen of us there. Yeah. bad.
That all said, I had an amazing time and highly encourage anyone to visit. My heart just aches a bit for land that seems to be losing its innocence. Some pics my trip are here.
