Keep 'em coming!
How well do the people there speak English? Is everyone educated in our language? As I mentioned briefly in an earlier post, English comprehension is what defines the class divide here in Pakistan. I would say all (not most) educated people speak both English and Urdu fluently -- in many cases, better than your average American. I asked my cousin Eman yesterday which of those two languages he would consider primary, and he said that he's equally comfortable in both (this may be a bit of an anomaly since his parents lived in the US for quite sometime and his siblings are all citizens, but it gives you an idea). In fact, lots of people here speak a combination of both English and Urdu in daily life, combining words from both languages. Government business is often conducted in English -- in addition to its overall prevalence, this is probably a holdover from British colonial days.
However, it's another story when you go out and about and comingle with people of different social classes. The servants at my Dad's house have varying degrees of English comprehension -- some no more than a few words, and some with basic understanding. When I lived here with my mom and sister, I'd say that our house staff understood more English than average out of necessity. Yesterday, at Sunday Bazaar, most of the vendors knew some English words but we'd have been out of luck without Rafia Phoophoo. It's good to know Urdu if you're planning to make a life here.
The home that your Dad and his family currently live in...is that the home that you were in during your Karachi time? No, it's not. I lived in two different houses here, and we've driven past both of them during the trip. My Dad's house is the most modest one we've seen (he occupies the bottom half of a duplex), although Nick and I did take a tour of the place the Niazi family is moving to in early 2009, and that's on par with many of the nicer homes we've seen. We have a short film tour saved on our videocamera that we'll try to post from Dubai.
You mentioned you avoided veggies and fruits that were unpeeled. Why? Unusual bacteria and viruses for travellers? Or something worse, like typhoid and cholera? All of the above! I'm actually not sure about cholera, but I do know that my mother contracted typhoid from drinking unpurified water in carpet shops and had to spend ten days in the hospital as a result. Mostly, though, people were concerned about a lack of built-in immunity on our part leading to Montezuma's Revenge -- which can obviously translate into other things, like dehydration, etc. I don't want to get too graphic on the blog but let's just say that our experience with paan left both my husband and I with a taste of good ol' Montezuma. I blame the leaf the paan was wrapped in.
One of the things that Nick and I have marveled at on this trip is the amazing hospitality we've been shown, and the fact that it's even extended to our upset tummies! When we were both sick (a span of about two to two and a half days) we'd be visiting with relatives and the state of our stomachs was [seemingly] a point of national concern. Literally EVERYONE was asking "How are you feeling? What are you taking? How's your digestion?" It was hilarious (and yet also so nice). I can't imagine having a serious discussion back home in the US with family and/or close friends about the current state of my bathroom habits but hey, there you go.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Less than 48 hours to go...
Everyone else is in bed, and I'm about to hit the sack as well. We have a full day tomorrow (Monday) capped off by our reception, and then we'll pack and hit the road on Tuesday afternoon.
With that in mind, the Pittses are seeking requests from our blog audience. Anything we haven't written about that you're dying to know? We'll do our best to squeeze in what we can between here and the Dubai airport (gotta love that free wireless!).
With that in mind, the Pittses are seeking requests from our blog audience. Anything we haven't written about that you're dying to know? We'll do our best to squeeze in what we can between here and the Dubai airport (gotta love that free wireless!).
A bit of a wedding backlog
When we first arrived in Karachi, everyone (ourselves included) was pumped to tackle two weeks of weddings. We quickly learned that the excitement starts to peter out after a few days of back-to-back events. It's common here to invite a very extended group to such functions -- including in-laws, near and far family friends, colleagues, etc. -- so lots of folks have multiple stops on the docket in a given night. In fact, Cousins Saira and Farrah were relating stories about their own weddings, which I attended as a young'un, and one of them had 250 unforseen guests show up at the last minute (=1,000 guests, total)! I take back everything I said about Nick and I having a big 'do last summer...160 is peanuts.
Anyway, it's hard to keep your enthusiasm up when you've got so many late-night events to attend, and as a result I missed out on Cousin Samia's shaadi (I think this is the word), or reception. (To be fair, I bowed out for a few reasons, one of which was an upset tummy. I'll leave it at that.) As in a Hindu wedding, one of the main events of the reception was the theft of the groom's shoes by the bride's relatives. The groom then has to negotiate a price to pay for retrieval of his footwear, ostensibly to reward the bride's family for the work they put into their event.
So OK, I missed the shaadi. But one thing I was very much present for, along with Cousin Alishba's family, was the exchange of gifts between the bride's side and groom's side. (Please don't accuse me of being a blog-slacker, but the name of this particular tradition is escaping me at the moment.) On the first night, we [bride's relatives, including my hubs] took baskets of gifts for relatives of the groom over to the family home. These ranged from Coach products to the outfit the groom would wear on the day of the nikkah. After delivering the gifts, we stayed and visited with Abbas' relatives, giving everyone the opportunity to get to know each other.
On the second night, the groom's family reciprocated by stopping by for chai, snacks, and to drop off (among other things) Alishba's nikkah outfit. (Attention married American ladies: can you imagine trusting the selection of your wedding gown to someone else? Eeek!)
The gifts arrived wrapped in brightly-colored tissue paper:
We unpacked everything once Abbas' family departed. Here are Alishba's nikkah clothes and jewels -- oh, the jewels:
I particularly like this tradition (even though I can't remember what it's called) because among other things it gives the families a chance to get to know each other better. Family is just HUGE here, and this only reinforces that notion.
And, drawing a parallel for a moment, my in-laws are best friends with my sister-in-law's parents. Although I don't think formal exchanges like these were involved before Leigh and Greg's wedding, it all goes back to the same point.
Anyway, it's hard to keep your enthusiasm up when you've got so many late-night events to attend, and as a result I missed out on Cousin Samia's shaadi (I think this is the word), or reception. (To be fair, I bowed out for a few reasons, one of which was an upset tummy. I'll leave it at that.) As in a Hindu wedding, one of the main events of the reception was the theft of the groom's shoes by the bride's relatives. The groom then has to negotiate a price to pay for retrieval of his footwear, ostensibly to reward the bride's family for the work they put into their event.
So OK, I missed the shaadi. But one thing I was very much present for, along with Cousin Alishba's family, was the exchange of gifts between the bride's side and groom's side. (Please don't accuse me of being a blog-slacker, but the name of this particular tradition is escaping me at the moment.) On the first night, we [bride's relatives, including my hubs] took baskets of gifts for relatives of the groom over to the family home. These ranged from Coach products to the outfit the groom would wear on the day of the nikkah. After delivering the gifts, we stayed and visited with Abbas' relatives, giving everyone the opportunity to get to know each other.
On the second night, the groom's family reciprocated by stopping by for chai, snacks, and to drop off (among other things) Alishba's nikkah outfit. (Attention married American ladies: can you imagine trusting the selection of your wedding gown to someone else? Eeek!)
The gifts arrived wrapped in brightly-colored tissue paper:
We unpacked everything once Abbas' family departed. Here are Alishba's nikkah clothes and jewels -- oh, the jewels:
I particularly like this tradition (even though I can't remember what it's called) because among other things it gives the families a chance to get to know each other better. Family is just HUGE here, and this only reinforces that notion.
And, drawing a parallel for a moment, my in-laws are best friends with my sister-in-law's parents. Although I don't think formal exchanges like these were involved before Leigh and Greg's wedding, it all goes back to the same point.
To market, to market
We've been looking forward to today's activity since our arrival. Last Sunday, we were consumed by a slew of wedding-related events but we cleared our calendar this afternoon (remember, no one leaves the house before noon here) for the one and only Sunday Bazaar! This is a weekly event, and there are actually three such markets in the city. It's a haggler's paradise, featuring every product you could possibly imagine -- from groceries to clothes to pets -- and we set out today with great anticipation and plenty of rupees in our pockets.
As you can see from the photo, even the parking lot was packed, with cars parked lengthwise between the regular rows of vehicles.
Our crew was lucky enough to be accompanied by Rafia Phoophoo ("Aunty Rafia"), my dad's second cousin [who's actually more like a first cousin or sister]. Many of you may remember her from our wedding last summer. Sidebar: she's incredibly well-traveled, splitting her time between California (primary residence), China (secondary residence/site of her husband's business) and Pakistan (where most of her family lives). Rafia's presence was critical, since neither my sister, Nick nor I know enough Urdu to bring our best bargaining A-game. Not to mention, Rafia Phoophoo has nerves of STEEL, which was critical to the haggling process.
At its core, Sunday Bazaar is a seething mass of humanity, all in search of The Elusive Bargain. We spent about two hours and about US$95 there, and came away with loads of goodies. I can't spill exactly what was in our shopping bags (presents anyone?), but it was well worth it and we left happy and exhausted. This stuff is hard work!
As you can see from the photo, even the parking lot was packed, with cars parked lengthwise between the regular rows of vehicles.
Our crew was lucky enough to be accompanied by Rafia Phoophoo ("Aunty Rafia"), my dad's second cousin [who's actually more like a first cousin or sister]. Many of you may remember her from our wedding last summer. Sidebar: she's incredibly well-traveled, splitting her time between California (primary residence), China (secondary residence/site of her husband's business) and Pakistan (where most of her family lives). Rafia's presence was critical, since neither my sister, Nick nor I know enough Urdu to bring our best bargaining A-game. Not to mention, Rafia Phoophoo has nerves of STEEL, which was critical to the haggling process.
At its core, Sunday Bazaar is a seething mass of humanity, all in search of The Elusive Bargain. We spent about two hours and about US$95 there, and came away with loads of goodies. I can't spill exactly what was in our shopping bags (presents anyone?), but it was well worth it and we left happy and exhausted. This stuff is hard work!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Knock wood
Today was the 1-year anniversary of the death of Benazir Bhutto, a revered political figure in Pakistan and also the country's first and only (to date) female leader. She was assassinated at this time last year, immediately prior to a national general election. Her husband, Asif Zadari, rode the aftermath of her death into office and is now the President of Pakistan.
There was much discussion over the past few weeks about what today would be like, and although everyone always hopes for peace we all know what can happen. I'm pleased to report that, as of 8:00 p.m., all's quiet in the city. It was a federal/bank holiday and most shops were closed, although restaurants and a few other places remained open.
But if it's not one thing, it's another -- if you read the paper, you likely saw this. The belief here is that these events are happening for one of two reasons: (a) because it needs to -- i.e. there are legitimate intelligence concerns precipitating the troop move, or (b) because Pakistan may be trying to show the West what happens when its soldiers aren't guarding the Afghan border (open floodgates!). I think it's safe to say that Nick and I both feel at ease here, and that things in Karachi are normal for now.
I bring these things up not to scare anyone, but to try and demonstrate the strange paradox of life in Pakistan. Everyone has to proceed as usual, because otherwise 150 hardcore terrorists hold a nation of 165 million people in the palms of their hands. At the same time, one's usual day can be interrupted at any time with some sort of crazy news. Being here, it's easy to see that I take my normal American life for granted.
And, to give you an idea of population, here are a few quick Google stats:
*Population of Karachi: estimated to be between 17-19 million.
*Population of New York City, America's largest: 8.3 million (excluding the wider metro area).
*Population of Pakistan: approximately 165 million.
*Population of the state of Texas (comparable in size to the nation of Pakistan): 23.5 million
*Population of the US: approximately 301 million.
Not surprising that things get stirred up quickly here, eh? Lots of people in close quarters can make for some interesting surprises.
There was much discussion over the past few weeks about what today would be like, and although everyone always hopes for peace we all know what can happen. I'm pleased to report that, as of 8:00 p.m., all's quiet in the city. It was a federal/bank holiday and most shops were closed, although restaurants and a few other places remained open.
But if it's not one thing, it's another -- if you read the paper, you likely saw this. The belief here is that these events are happening for one of two reasons: (a) because it needs to -- i.e. there are legitimate intelligence concerns precipitating the troop move, or (b) because Pakistan may be trying to show the West what happens when its soldiers aren't guarding the Afghan border (open floodgates!). I think it's safe to say that Nick and I both feel at ease here, and that things in Karachi are normal for now.
I bring these things up not to scare anyone, but to try and demonstrate the strange paradox of life in Pakistan. Everyone has to proceed as usual, because otherwise 150 hardcore terrorists hold a nation of 165 million people in the palms of their hands. At the same time, one's usual day can be interrupted at any time with some sort of crazy news. Being here, it's easy to see that I take my normal American life for granted.
And, to give you an idea of population, here are a few quick Google stats:
*Population of Karachi: estimated to be between 17-19 million.
*Population of New York City, America's largest: 8.3 million (excluding the wider metro area).
*Population of Pakistan: approximately 165 million.
*Population of the state of Texas (comparable in size to the nation of Pakistan): 23.5 million
*Population of the US: approximately 301 million.
Not surprising that things get stirred up quickly here, eh? Lots of people in close quarters can make for some interesting surprises.
Social butterflies
One of the things we've really had to adjust to here is the pace of the day: mornings start off slow and late, and people generally don't eat lunch until midafternoon (1:00 p.m. is considered early; we ate at 2 today and the restaurant we were in didn't begin to fill up until 3). And when I say the mornings are slow, I mean it: there have been plenty of days where we've woken up before 6 due to jet lag, and yet somehow I can't seem to make it to a shower until 10:00 a.m. or [very often] later. So it's now 7:30 p.m. local time, and here's a recap of what's behind/ahead of us today:
We've already had lunch with Niazi cousins Alishba and Eman (see photo below; we also lingered over post-meal chai with them for a few hours and treated Nick to some childhood reminiscing). After the Niazis headed out, we then hosted my Dad's cousin, Ali Mahmmadi, his wife and four kids here at home. We're about to push off for dinner (at 8:30 p.m.!) with the Hameed family and will then find said Niazi cousins again to hang out at Alishba's friend's house. So it's evening time and we've still got half a day's worth of activity to go. Good thing this culture is nap-happy.
Although our mornings are lazy, our afternoons and evenings are much fuller now than they were at the beginning of our trip. This is due in part to the fact that we're trying to cram a bunch of activities into our final days here, and also because most weddings are wrapped up by now and peoples' schedules are freer. Why are the weddings finished, you ask? Because December 29th marks the start of Muharram, and I've been led to believe that this gets kicked off with 10 straight days of mourning (no music, dancing, etc.). And yes, our reception falls on the first night of Muharram -- meaning, no chicken dance for us!
We've already had lunch with Niazi cousins Alishba and Eman (see photo below; we also lingered over post-meal chai with them for a few hours and treated Nick to some childhood reminiscing). After the Niazis headed out, we then hosted my Dad's cousin, Ali Mahmmadi, his wife and four kids here at home. We're about to push off for dinner (at 8:30 p.m.!) with the Hameed family and will then find said Niazi cousins again to hang out at Alishba's friend's house. So it's evening time and we've still got half a day's worth of activity to go. Good thing this culture is nap-happy.
Although our mornings are lazy, our afternoons and evenings are much fuller now than they were at the beginning of our trip. This is due in part to the fact that we're trying to cram a bunch of activities into our final days here, and also because most weddings are wrapped up by now and peoples' schedules are freer. Why are the weddings finished, you ask? Because December 29th marks the start of Muharram, and I've been led to believe that this gets kicked off with 10 straight days of mourning (no music, dancing, etc.). And yes, our reception falls on the first night of Muharram -- meaning, no chicken dance for us!
Friday, December 26, 2008
It would be ridiculous to fly back just for haircuts, right?
With only a few days left on this side of the world, we're really kicking things into high gear (read: shopping!) before we go. But Jalayne, Rabia and I were able to take a time out before hitting the streets yesterday afternoon...with a trip to the beauty parlor!
Going back to the whole cheap-labor thing for a moment, it's very reasonable to have salon services performed here. All the more reason to treat yourself, right? We emerged after 2-1/2 hours having received the following:
*3 pedicures;
*2 manicures;
*3 conditioning hair treatments, complete with 20-minute scalp massages;
*1 eyebrow threading session;
*1 haircut from the owner of the salon;
*2 blowouts (dry/style).
Total cost? $130. Not to mention, this is the best haircut I've ever received -- which means I'm forever ruined on American pricing.
Going back to the whole cheap-labor thing for a moment, it's very reasonable to have salon services performed here. All the more reason to treat yourself, right? We emerged after 2-1/2 hours having received the following:
*3 pedicures;
*2 manicures;
*3 conditioning hair treatments, complete with 20-minute scalp massages;
*1 eyebrow threading session;
*1 haircut from the owner of the salon;
*2 blowouts (dry/style).
Total cost? $130. Not to mention, this is the best haircut I've ever received -- which means I'm forever ruined on American pricing.
Instructive photography
This is a picture of the pool area at the Boat Club, the site of both our Christmas-Day lunch and the reception being held in Nick's and my honor. I'm posting it because:(a) it's gorgeous;
(b) male and female members are allowed to swim there; nonmember female guests are allowed to swim there; nonmember male guests are forbidden from swimming there; and
(c) Nick got in trouble for snapping this -- no photos allowed!
In sum: beautiful, but the rules give you an idea of some typical Islam-influenced restrictions.
Ode to paratha
Not only is all of my food here in Karachi made for me, but I've been reintroduced to some old favorites during our stay. One of these is so amazing it deserves its very own blog post. Heaven, thy name is paratha.
Paratha is simple yet delicious: pan-fried flatbread. Oozing with yumminess (ok, grease), it's best enjoyed with jam or honey -- but let's face it, it's delicious no matter what you decide to spread on top. When I first got here, I was scarfing them at the rate of two per breakfast but have now scaled back to only one a day. Truly, there is nothing more delicious that parata's layered, flaky goodness.
And what's a post without eye candy? So I present to you: my new-old favorite food, as well as some of my breakfast-mates. Jalayne's lucky I didn't scarf her paratha right off her plate.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Not so much a white Christmas as a brown one
It's actually already the morning of the 26th here, but we had a great (albiet nontraditional) Christmas. We were treated to a huge lunch complete with turkey and cranberry sauce at the Boat Club, which is a members-only place here in Karachi. My Dad, Rabia, Malika, Mohammed, my sister, Nick and I were joined by some of my favorite people: my cousin Alishba and her family, along with the Hameeds. (Hameeds:Niazis::Solomons:Pittses)
My Dad has known Pervaiz Hameed since [seemingly] the dawn of time, and he and his amazing wife, Aneesa, have two married daughters (and now, two grandchildren!). Jalayne and I pretty much grew up bouncing around with the girls at all times, and their family has now bloomed into this crazy international mishmosh of characters. The parents split their time between London and Karachi; Sadia, their youngest, has settled in D.C. with her Iranian husband; and Gheela, their eldest, is married to a Brit and lives most of the year in Christchurch, New Zealand, with side jaunts to Africa to support Richard's work as a cultural anthropologist. Crazy, I tell you!
So anyway, a very nontraditional Christmas for the Pitts family, but a day spent with loved ones regardless. Merry Christmas, all.
My Dad has known Pervaiz Hameed since [seemingly] the dawn of time, and he and his amazing wife, Aneesa, have two married daughters (and now, two grandchildren!). Jalayne and I pretty much grew up bouncing around with the girls at all times, and their family has now bloomed into this crazy international mishmosh of characters. The parents split their time between London and Karachi; Sadia, their youngest, has settled in D.C. with her Iranian husband; and Gheela, their eldest, is married to a Brit and lives most of the year in Christchurch, New Zealand, with side jaunts to Africa to support Richard's work as a cultural anthropologist. Crazy, I tell you!
So anyway, a very nontraditional Christmas for the Pitts family, but a day spent with loved ones regardless. Merry Christmas, all.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Dressing the part
After spending most of our first week in Karachi being lazy during the day and partying it up, wedding-style, at night, we're now headed out and about much more in the second half of our trip.
Labor in Pakistan is incredibly cheap (but since no one will discuss salaries with me, I can't pinpoint exact numbers), and this has a trickle-down effect on all aspects of life. For example, upper-class households have multiple servants. My dad's home is quite modest, and yet he has a chowkidar (guard/watchman), driver, cleaning/laundry lady and a cook. Not too shabby.
You can also get incredible deals on raw materials over on this side of the world, and the 1-2 combo with inexpensive labor means that, among other things, it's a snap to have custom clothing made on the cheap. This is how my aunt, Rubaba, ended up with a closetful of beautiful handmade shalwar kameez that she let me borrow for our slew of wedding functions last week.
My grandmother is being kind enough to host a reception for me and Nick on the night before we leave -- a "Meet the Newlyweds" type of deal. We're both having custom outfits made (mine's done and just needs altering) and Nick's paid several visits to a very swank tailor shop since our arrival for fittings and the like.
His clothes are being made at Moosajee's, a place with a great reputation here in Karachi. As you can see, fabric abounds. I asked, and they have nine floors of the stuff. Nice.
In this photo, Nick is being fitted for a sherwani, which is essentially a tailored top (it looks a bit like a long frock coat, only made of lighterweight material) one would wear over shalwar trousers. This is for our reception. Don't be fooled by the white collar -- this isn't a priest's robe! It'll be replaced with black fabric in the final version.
Not being one to miss out on an opportunity, my dad suggested Nick also have a Western-style suit made here. 100% wool, imported from Italy, at the low low price of $30/yard.
Labor in Pakistan is incredibly cheap (but since no one will discuss salaries with me, I can't pinpoint exact numbers), and this has a trickle-down effect on all aspects of life. For example, upper-class households have multiple servants. My dad's home is quite modest, and yet he has a chowkidar (guard/watchman), driver, cleaning/laundry lady and a cook. Not too shabby.
You can also get incredible deals on raw materials over on this side of the world, and the 1-2 combo with inexpensive labor means that, among other things, it's a snap to have custom clothing made on the cheap. This is how my aunt, Rubaba, ended up with a closetful of beautiful handmade shalwar kameez that she let me borrow for our slew of wedding functions last week.
My grandmother is being kind enough to host a reception for me and Nick on the night before we leave -- a "Meet the Newlyweds" type of deal. We're both having custom outfits made (mine's done and just needs altering) and Nick's paid several visits to a very swank tailor shop since our arrival for fittings and the like.
His clothes are being made at Moosajee's, a place with a great reputation here in Karachi. As you can see, fabric abounds. I asked, and they have nine floors of the stuff. Nice.
In this photo, Nick is being fitted for a sherwani, which is essentially a tailored top (it looks a bit like a long frock coat, only made of lighterweight material) one would wear over shalwar trousers. This is for our reception. Don't be fooled by the white collar -- this isn't a priest's robe! It'll be replaced with black fabric in the final version.
Not being one to miss out on an opportunity, my dad suggested Nick also have a Western-style suit made here. 100% wool, imported from Italy, at the low low price of $30/yard.
More on traffic
Building on Nick's last post, we wanted to share a few stills of Karachi highway driving. The car was moving slowly enough that most of these are NOT action shots!
A semi-crummy photo of a rickshaw (3-wheeled taxi alternative):
Eco-friendly transport options abound:
It's common to see people riding on the roofs of buses -- or hanging out the sides:
Another bus shot:
Drivers hang these black rags on their vehicles to ward off the evil eye. "Road rage" has an entirely new meaning for me after this trip. I'll never complain about I-94 again!
A semi-crummy photo of a rickshaw (3-wheeled taxi alternative):
Eco-friendly transport options abound:
It's common to see people riding on the roofs of buses -- or hanging out the sides:
Another bus shot:
Drivers hang these black rags on their vehicles to ward off the evil eye. "Road rage" has an entirely new meaning for me after this trip. I'll never complain about I-94 again!
Yes, that's my arm. Reaching out the car window. Touching the truck next to us. While in a moving vehicle.
Travelocity
Today was the first day I experienced the heart and soul of Karachi. Up until this point, we had been shuttled back and forth between weddings and other related family funtions held in glamorous homes and decked out tents. I've felt completely at home since our arrival. Well, today made me realize just how far from home we really are.
Aliya's stepmother Rabia took Aliya, my siblings-in-law and myself to the family beach hut, located a stone's throw from the Arabian Sea. The drive to the hut from their house normally takes a good 50 minutes. Our trip took about an hour and a half due to heavy traffic (to say the least). As we prepared to enter Karachi's downtown area, close to the harbor, Rabia warned us to be ready for the "real" Karachi. I didn't know what she meant by that until we finally arrived at our destination over an hour later.
It was amazing to see so many people and different types of vehicles on the road at the same time. Having never experienced this type of environment before, my mind quickly attempted to associate my current surroundings with something I'd experienced before to eliminate my fear of the unkown. Here's what it came up with:
At first, I felt like we were heading to either a major sporting event or a concert during rush hour traffic since the streets were heavily lined with semis, cars and SUVs. Pedestrians were also crossing the road whenver they found a gap. Some gaps were bigger than others. It was a FRENZY. Every man was for themselves. Drivers were honking their horns and cutting other drivers off as if an announcement had been made that the parking lot at Miller Park would no longer except tailgaters in the next 10 minutes.
I became comfortable thinking of my surroundings in this light until, of course, a donkey shows up along side of our car. Ok, scratch the Brewer game idea. No wait, someone could easily rent a donkey to take to the game as a joke, right? This was beginning to work. Still, I was in awe seeing donkeys and camels next to semis and other vehicles on the HIGHWAY. This was Karachi. Comingling the old with the new. As you can see in the video, sometimes older is more efficient.
After 40 minutes of almost being sandwiched several times between large vehicles, we found open road along the seaside. It was a blessing we made it out alive. I'm sure it wasn't that dramatic to Rabia, who had driven us through that traffic jungle like a pro. Still, it was all overwhelming for someone who has never been to Karachi. We pulled up to the beach house and slowly removed our fingertips which were deeply embedded into the sides of our seat cusions. We made it just in time for sunset! It was worth it.
Monday, December 22, 2008
The aforementioned ugly
In our first post, we promised to bring you "the good, the bad and the ugly." We've had a great trip so far but it hasn't been without its bumps! So here's a little sample of the not-so-smooth sailing one might find on a visit to Pakistan:
*Don't drink the water. People in private homes purchase H2O by the tankerful (as in, the truck comes to your home and pumps water into a system that distributes it throughout the home) and said water is unsafe to drink. Water is boiled to remove impurities and then stashed in the fridge. However, at the insistence of 99% of my relatives, Nick and I have been chugging only the bottled stuff since our arrival.
*Watch out for fruits and veggies. For a visitor, eating salad here is a HUGE no-no and all fruits must be peeled prior to consumption.
*Keep a candle nearby. Short power outages are incredibly common in Karachi. It's generally not much more than a bit of an inconvenience, and many people own generators. We've averaged between two and four outages per day since our arrival.
*Stay covered. For women, it's considered improper to wear anything shorter than capri pants, and even then trousers are a safer bet. Sleeveless (not tank) tops are OK, but a shawl or scarf over the shoulders is encouraged. Again, not a huge deal, but something female travelers should be aware of.
That's all I can come up with for now -- not too bad overall, but these are all things I take for granted back in Racine.
*Don't drink the water. People in private homes purchase H2O by the tankerful (as in, the truck comes to your home and pumps water into a system that distributes it throughout the home) and said water is unsafe to drink. Water is boiled to remove impurities and then stashed in the fridge. However, at the insistence of 99% of my relatives, Nick and I have been chugging only the bottled stuff since our arrival.
*Watch out for fruits and veggies. For a visitor, eating salad here is a HUGE no-no and all fruits must be peeled prior to consumption.
*Keep a candle nearby. Short power outages are incredibly common in Karachi. It's generally not much more than a bit of an inconvenience, and many people own generators. We've averaged between two and four outages per day since our arrival.
*Stay covered. For women, it's considered improper to wear anything shorter than capri pants, and even then trousers are a safer bet. Sleeveless (not tank) tops are OK, but a shawl or scarf over the shoulders is encouraged. Again, not a huge deal, but something female travelers should be aware of.
That's all I can come up with for now -- not too bad overall, but these are all things I take for granted back in Racine.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
U Can't Touch This
After topping Alishba's nikkah off with a six-hour snooze, Nick got his first taste of a Pakistani mehndi. This is a racous, celebratory event that, so far, has borne the most conceptual resemblance to an American wedding (music, food, dancing). The rest of it blows our weddings right out of the water.
As with their nikkah, Samia and Jawad's mehndi was held at Samia's parents' home. We walked in the front gate and were totally blown away by the setup: a huge purple velvet tent with Chinese lanterns and lush seating arrangements taking up their entire yard. [Nick says: Brendan, Bill, Damian and I could have knocked it out, GR-style, in two days -- but it would not have been fun.]
The lamp? Made of fresh flowers. And there were easily a dozen inside the tent. MADNESS!
Before the mehndi (usually the preceeding day), the bride, her friends and female relatives will have henna applied to their hands and feet. Here's a shot of Samia. This work took five hours, and is done entirely freestyle without templates or guides. [Nick to Brendan: Could you have done this?]
After dinner, the center of the tent is cleared and everyone sits down for the main draw of the night: a good old-fashioned Justin Timberlake-style danceoff between the bride's side and the groom's side. The groups will hold dance practice for roughly a month, and although we saw the groom get dragged out onto the floor a few times, it's all for the newlyweds' entertainment.
After about an hour of choreographed dancing (note to self: bring the video camera next time!), the entire gang got in on the fun. We recognized lots of Desi remixes of American songs, including Pretty Woman and My Love.
And of course, the requisite family photos -- since we all underwent costume changes!
L-R: Nick, cousin Farrah, niece/2nd cousin Raiza, cousin Saira, half-sister Malika and stepmom Rabia.
As with their nikkah, Samia and Jawad's mehndi was held at Samia's parents' home. We walked in the front gate and were totally blown away by the setup: a huge purple velvet tent with Chinese lanterns and lush seating arrangements taking up their entire yard. [Nick says: Brendan, Bill, Damian and I could have knocked it out, GR-style, in two days -- but it would not have been fun.]
The lamp? Made of fresh flowers. And there were easily a dozen inside the tent. MADNESS!
Before the mehndi (usually the preceeding day), the bride, her friends and female relatives will have henna applied to their hands and feet. Here's a shot of Samia. This work took five hours, and is done entirely freestyle without templates or guides. [Nick to Brendan: Could you have done this?]
After dinner, the center of the tent is cleared and everyone sits down for the main draw of the night: a good old-fashioned Justin Timberlake-style danceoff between the bride's side and the groom's side. The groups will hold dance practice for roughly a month, and although we saw the groom get dragged out onto the floor a few times, it's all for the newlyweds' entertainment.
After about an hour of choreographed dancing (note to self: bring the video camera next time!), the entire gang got in on the fun. We recognized lots of Desi remixes of American songs, including Pretty Woman and My Love.
And of course, the requisite family photos -- since we all underwent costume changes!
L-R: Nick, cousin Farrah, niece/2nd cousin Raiza, cousin Saira, half-sister Malika and stepmom Rabia.
Another version of the nikkah
It's 2:45 a.m. local time as I write this -- thanks to a six-hour "nap" this afternoon (I feel weird calling it that; as you can tell, we're not doing a very good job of fighting jet lag), Nick and I are wide awake and waiting up for my sister to arrive.
Although we managed to squeeze in a few zzz's, we had a jam-packed day of wedding events for two relatives: Samia (whose nikkah you saw in a previous post) and Alishba (whom many of you met at our wedding). We'll start with Alishba, since her event was first in the day.
Alishba is an American citizen, lives in New York and works at Bank of America. Because it takes a lot of planning to secure a US visa, she and her fiance, Abbas (who is not a citizen), planned their wedding functions to take place in two stages: their nikkah was today, which means they are now legally married and can get his paperwork rolling back home. The remainder of their events will take place in the summer of '09.
Alishba's nikkah differed from Samia's in venue (this one was held at a local hotel), timing (brunch), and some of the ceremony elements (many of the declarations were made in public, vs. Samia's which were in separate spaces). The event was held at the Carleton, and the view from the event room was pretty spectacular:
The bride's family arrived first, and formed a receiving line to greet the groom's side. Without taking anyone's eye out, we threw flower petals in welcome -- and Abbas and his parents received huge flower garlands as a sign of honor. All of this was a little more formal than the nikkah we attended earlier in the week.
While the groom's side of the ceremony took place, Alishba was hidden away in one of the hotel's guest rooms. Walking in and seeing my baby cousin (because we grew up together, this is totally how I think of her -- even though she's a grown woman) almost brought me to tears. She looked GORGEOUS.
While I was upstairs with the bride and her relatives, Nick witnessed Abbas' vows with most of the guests. The prayers were sung in Arabic, and although he couldn't understand a word he found the ceremony incredibly moving.
Being a modern woman, Alishba had to check email one last time after saying her vows and heading into the main room. Bride loves her BlackBerry.
Alishba was escorted into the nikkah by a handful of relatives, including me and Nick. You'll see us towards the back, helping to hold up a dupatta owned by her great-great-great grandmother (!!!). It's over 200 years old, embroidered in solid gold thread, and is in impeccable condition. (Note: the guy in the photo next to Alishba, sporting the huge 'fro? That's my cousin Eman, her little brother. The last time I saw him, he was a mere seven years old, and now he's just come off his first semester at UVA. Insane!) We hold the dupatta over the bride's head to signify support from her family when entering the marriage. Since we can't all hang onto her arm, this is the next best thing.
The rest of the morning was full of family photos, gupshup (talking or gossip) and, of course, more food. Check out the outfits!
You'd know that couple anywhere, right? In the group shot, from left to right, are: my cousin Saira, me, my cousin Farrah, Saira's daughter Raiza, Alishba's mom Rubaba, and Rubaba's sister-in-law (whose name is totally escaping me at the moment, but her husband and Nick have become total BFFs on this trip).
It's all relative: Nick, me, my grandma and my aunt, Koko (dad's sister and Saira and Farrah's mom).
Although we managed to squeeze in a few zzz's, we had a jam-packed day of wedding events for two relatives: Samia (whose nikkah you saw in a previous post) and Alishba (whom many of you met at our wedding). We'll start with Alishba, since her event was first in the day.
Alishba is an American citizen, lives in New York and works at Bank of America. Because it takes a lot of planning to secure a US visa, she and her fiance, Abbas (who is not a citizen), planned their wedding functions to take place in two stages: their nikkah was today, which means they are now legally married and can get his paperwork rolling back home. The remainder of their events will take place in the summer of '09.
Alishba's nikkah differed from Samia's in venue (this one was held at a local hotel), timing (brunch), and some of the ceremony elements (many of the declarations were made in public, vs. Samia's which were in separate spaces). The event was held at the Carleton, and the view from the event room was pretty spectacular:
The bride's family arrived first, and formed a receiving line to greet the groom's side. Without taking anyone's eye out, we threw flower petals in welcome -- and Abbas and his parents received huge flower garlands as a sign of honor. All of this was a little more formal than the nikkah we attended earlier in the week.
While the groom's side of the ceremony took place, Alishba was hidden away in one of the hotel's guest rooms. Walking in and seeing my baby cousin (because we grew up together, this is totally how I think of her -- even though she's a grown woman) almost brought me to tears. She looked GORGEOUS.While I was upstairs with the bride and her relatives, Nick witnessed Abbas' vows with most of the guests. The prayers were sung in Arabic, and although he couldn't understand a word he found the ceremony incredibly moving.
Being a modern woman, Alishba had to check email one last time after saying her vows and heading into the main room. Bride loves her BlackBerry.
Alishba was escorted into the nikkah by a handful of relatives, including me and Nick. You'll see us towards the back, helping to hold up a dupatta owned by her great-great-great grandmother (!!!). It's over 200 years old, embroidered in solid gold thread, and is in impeccable condition. (Note: the guy in the photo next to Alishba, sporting the huge 'fro? That's my cousin Eman, her little brother. The last time I saw him, he was a mere seven years old, and now he's just come off his first semester at UVA. Insane!) We hold the dupatta over the bride's head to signify support from her family when entering the marriage. Since we can't all hang onto her arm, this is the next best thing.
The rest of the morning was full of family photos, gupshup (talking or gossip) and, of course, more food. Check out the outfits!
You'd know that couple anywhere, right? In the group shot, from left to right, are: my cousin Saira, me, my cousin Farrah, Saira's daughter Raiza, Alishba's mom Rubaba, and Rubaba's sister-in-law (whose name is totally escaping me at the moment, but her husband and Nick have become total BFFs on this trip).
It's all relative: Nick, me, my grandma and my aunt, Koko (dad's sister and Saira and Farrah's mom).
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Keeping it in the family
Even moreso that treating visitors like royalty, Pakistani culture places a tremendous value on family. This is probably due in larger part to the influence of Islam than it is to the values of this country, but many of those elements (although not all!) are interchangeable.
We've been innundated with family-centric thinking in our week here. My father's younger brother, Aamir (father of Alishba, whom many of you know) built a home about five years ago. Houses in Pakistan sit inside huge walls with gated driveways that keep their inhabitants protected. Inside Aamir's wall are actually two homes, built side-by-side and in the same style. His wife's parents live in the home on the right, inhabiting only the downstairs portion -- the second level is unfinished, as they don't need the space. (They may take care of that one day, either when selling the house or when they decide to perhaps rent out the upstairs.) Rubaba Chachee's ("Rubaba Aunt" -- Aamir's wife) parents are joined in their home by an aunt -- her dad's brother. So they all live peacefully in house #1, just ten steps from Aamir's family. House #2, at first glance, is fairly empty -- Aamir and Rubaba's three kids have all fled the nest for college or work in the U.S. But they're still home during holidays, and my grandmother (Aamir and my dad's mom) lives in House #2 with her son and daughter-in-law.
My own father is about to move to a new home in (I believe) late January of '09. When he does this, his 92-year-old Mahmoo ("Uncle" -- his mother's brother) will be taking up residence in their new house. Mahmoo, my dad's two children, my father and his wife will also be joined by Mahmoo's daughter, La Sania, who is unable to live independently. Even when my dad's family moves to bigger digs, this will still mean a very full house for them -- but this is simply what you do, full stop. Retirement facilities are not prevalent here, and are mostly reserved for those without families who can or will do the work.
Caring for the elderly is, no doubt, going to become a huge issue in the next twenty-five years since so many people my age have moved abroad in search of better opportunities.
The focus on family in this culture isn't limited to the elderly, however. This culture is all about taking care of your relatives in every way: whether you're hosting a distant cousin from abroad, sending food over to someone who's ill, or collaborating with a loved one to help them solve a personal or business problem. It's all about who you know, who you're related to, and how you can make their lives better. Most of you remember how shocked I was the first time I met Nick's humongous clan, but the values we're seeing here -- caring for your relatives, solving problems together, supporting each other in times of need -- are exactly the same as the ones at work in Union Grove, WI, some eleventy billion miles away.
We've been innundated with family-centric thinking in our week here. My father's younger brother, Aamir (father of Alishba, whom many of you know) built a home about five years ago. Houses in Pakistan sit inside huge walls with gated driveways that keep their inhabitants protected. Inside Aamir's wall are actually two homes, built side-by-side and in the same style. His wife's parents live in the home on the right, inhabiting only the downstairs portion -- the second level is unfinished, as they don't need the space. (They may take care of that one day, either when selling the house or when they decide to perhaps rent out the upstairs.) Rubaba Chachee's ("Rubaba Aunt" -- Aamir's wife) parents are joined in their home by an aunt -- her dad's brother. So they all live peacefully in house #1, just ten steps from Aamir's family. House #2, at first glance, is fairly empty -- Aamir and Rubaba's three kids have all fled the nest for college or work in the U.S. But they're still home during holidays, and my grandmother (Aamir and my dad's mom) lives in House #2 with her son and daughter-in-law.
My own father is about to move to a new home in (I believe) late January of '09. When he does this, his 92-year-old Mahmoo ("Uncle" -- his mother's brother) will be taking up residence in their new house. Mahmoo, my dad's two children, my father and his wife will also be joined by Mahmoo's daughter, La Sania, who is unable to live independently. Even when my dad's family moves to bigger digs, this will still mean a very full house for them -- but this is simply what you do, full stop. Retirement facilities are not prevalent here, and are mostly reserved for those without families who can or will do the work.
Caring for the elderly is, no doubt, going to become a huge issue in the next twenty-five years since so many people my age have moved abroad in search of better opportunities.
The focus on family in this culture isn't limited to the elderly, however. This culture is all about taking care of your relatives in every way: whether you're hosting a distant cousin from abroad, sending food over to someone who's ill, or collaborating with a loved one to help them solve a personal or business problem. It's all about who you know, who you're related to, and how you can make their lives better. Most of you remember how shocked I was the first time I met Nick's humongous clan, but the values we're seeing here -- caring for your relatives, solving problems together, supporting each other in times of need -- are exactly the same as the ones at work in Union Grove, WI, some eleventy billion miles away.
A question from the audience
We've heard from quite a few people that Blogger hasn't been allowing them to comment on this site. Boo! We've made some changes to our settings and hopefully this will open things up -- please let us know if you're still having issues.
In the meantime, Liz in Oz's mom sent us a question and we figured what the heck, why not answer it in public? (Thanks Susan!)
The wedding clothes are gorgeous! One question: do you understand or speak the language of your family in Pakistan? How long did you live there?
The language issue is a funny thing. The two most widely-spoken languages here are Urdu and English. All of the street signs, for example, are in English -- a hangover from the British Imperial days. Funny enough, I just found out today that my father, who speaks Urdu fluently, can only read it at a second-grade level! This totally amazed me, since he grew up in this country and switches flawlessly between English and Urdu at will. Although his wife and siblings can all read Urdu, his situation is apparently not uncommon.
I definitely don't speak Urdu, but I can generally understand about 80% of a conversation taking place around me (which has been a huge surprise). I think it's a combination of being able to follow the flow and tone of the speaker, while also knowing a fair amount of keywords (many of which have been rapidly coming back to me in our short time here). My extended family's doing a great job of speaking as much English as possible around us -- which is fairly typical for them anyway -- but, as in all languages, there are some words that simply don't translate easily. For example: Mashallah (ma-sha-la) broadly means "may you not receive the evil eye." My cousins Saira and Farrah are hilarious and honest tour guides, and explained to us today that the worst evil eye (i.e. the most harm) can come from an overbearing mother who loves her child too much!
More on language: Urdu is similar/related to Arabic, which is the original language of the Holy Qu'ran. Saira and Farrah, their three sisters and all of their children are able to read Arabic (and therefore the Qu'ran) but cannot speak or understand the spoken language. My dad has to read the Qu'ran in English, as a translation. Saira also told us that in her family (as is the norm), they all have a command of at least four languages: English, Urdu, written Arabic and Punjabi, which is the local dialect of their province. Pakistan is divided into four provinces, each with their own language: Sindh (where Karachi is located), Punjab (where lots of my cousins, plus my dad's sister and her husband, live), Balochistan and NWF (North West Frontier). Bordering Afghanistan, NWF is home to about 98% of the events covered by the Western media. It's also roughly 1,000 miles from Karachi as the crow flies.
So yes: four provinces, each with their own language. Insane. Although people from Arkansas and California may not feel as though they're speaking the same English, I have a feeling it's a lot easier than what's going on in Pakistan. We were told that general government business is often conducted in English, sometimes Urdu.
Whew -- this was not a short answer. But to address the second part of Susan's question, my family lived here for about 9-1/2 years. That meant age 3-13 (ish) for me; my sister was born in the US but lived here as well until 1993, when my parents divorced and we headed back Stateside with my mom.
In the meantime, Liz in Oz's mom sent us a question and we figured what the heck, why not answer it in public? (Thanks Susan!)
The wedding clothes are gorgeous! One question: do you understand or speak the language of your family in Pakistan? How long did you live there?
The language issue is a funny thing. The two most widely-spoken languages here are Urdu and English. All of the street signs, for example, are in English -- a hangover from the British Imperial days. Funny enough, I just found out today that my father, who speaks Urdu fluently, can only read it at a second-grade level! This totally amazed me, since he grew up in this country and switches flawlessly between English and Urdu at will. Although his wife and siblings can all read Urdu, his situation is apparently not uncommon.
I definitely don't speak Urdu, but I can generally understand about 80% of a conversation taking place around me (which has been a huge surprise). I think it's a combination of being able to follow the flow and tone of the speaker, while also knowing a fair amount of keywords (many of which have been rapidly coming back to me in our short time here). My extended family's doing a great job of speaking as much English as possible around us -- which is fairly typical for them anyway -- but, as in all languages, there are some words that simply don't translate easily. For example: Mashallah (ma-sha-la) broadly means "may you not receive the evil eye." My cousins Saira and Farrah are hilarious and honest tour guides, and explained to us today that the worst evil eye (i.e. the most harm) can come from an overbearing mother who loves her child too much!
More on language: Urdu is similar/related to Arabic, which is the original language of the Holy Qu'ran. Saira and Farrah, their three sisters and all of their children are able to read Arabic (and therefore the Qu'ran) but cannot speak or understand the spoken language. My dad has to read the Qu'ran in English, as a translation. Saira also told us that in her family (as is the norm), they all have a command of at least four languages: English, Urdu, written Arabic and Punjabi, which is the local dialect of their province. Pakistan is divided into four provinces, each with their own language: Sindh (where Karachi is located), Punjab (where lots of my cousins, plus my dad's sister and her husband, live), Balochistan and NWF (North West Frontier). Bordering Afghanistan, NWF is home to about 98% of the events covered by the Western media. It's also roughly 1,000 miles from Karachi as the crow flies.
So yes: four provinces, each with their own language. Insane. Although people from Arkansas and California may not feel as though they're speaking the same English, I have a feeling it's a lot easier than what's going on in Pakistan. We were told that general government business is often conducted in English, sometimes Urdu.
Whew -- this was not a short answer. But to address the second part of Susan's question, my family lived here for about 9-1/2 years. That meant age 3-13 (ish) for me; my sister was born in the US but lived here as well until 1993, when my parents divorced and we headed back Stateside with my mom.
Pants and paan
Another day, another 146 new things to chronicle.
My dad's cousin, Rafia (again, she was at our wedding) bought Nick his first shalwar kameez yesterday. We thought some photos might be instructional for all of our readers out there.
My dad's cousin, Rafia (again, she was at our wedding) bought Nick his first shalwar kameez yesterday. We thought some photos might be instructional for all of our readers out there.
Before you put on the pants, you have to thread them with either a piece of elastic or a long length of cotton cord known as a nara. Why, you ask? Because they're made to be one-size-fits-all in the waist region:
But once you get everything fitted, then presto! You have the perfect pair of MC Hammer pants.
We both feel the need to reiterate to our readers just how incredibly comfortable these outfits are. In fact, the only thing that's preventing me from buying shalwar kameez for everyone back home is knowing that most of our friends and family probably won't be sporting them for dinner at the Roma Lodge anytime soon. Still, girls can wear the pants around the house and the long tunics over jeans, so you never know...
Today also marked Nick's first foray into the world of paan. Paan looks like this:
Disgusting, right? It's actually a whole host of ingredients (seeds, spices, sweet candy bits) wrapped up in a leaf. Some varieties can contain tobacco or other, erhm, stimulants. [Nick: "I would describe it as chewing sunflower seeds and Winterfresh gum wrapped in spinach."] Clearly, paan has no American counterpart. It's consumed after meals to help with digestion. I think it's pretty cool, if only because the taste of what you're eating changes over time. It's like a cow and cud: chew forever, then eventually swallow it (you can also spit it out). Here are Nick and my cousin Farrah (an experienced paan enthusiast) taking part in this local delicacy.
Cross-promotion
If you just can't get enough of other peoples' world travels, check out Liz in Oz. Many of you will remember its writer as my friend who took the beautiful getting-ready photos at the Niazi-Pitts wedding last year. Liz and I were in London together at the LSE and she's been cavorting around the Land Down Under for the past few weeks before starting a new job in January.
Warning: her photos are AMAZING. You may be compelled to move to the southern hemisphere immediately.
Warning: her photos are AMAZING. You may be compelled to move to the southern hemisphere immediately.
Friday, December 19, 2008
A little sample
Here's what we've done so far today (and we're coming up on 12 noon local time):
*Woke up at 8:30 -- Nick and I were up until 3 (jet lag!), but set our alarms so we'd be out of bed at a reasonable hour.
*Talked to Nick's parents on the phone.
*Checked work and personal email.
*Lingered over a long breakfast (an hour-ish).
*Helped my dad address more invitations for our reception next week.
*Balanced the checkbook.
*Read a few magazine articles.
Nick is currently down for a nap. Our days are far from strenuous (as you can tell!) and most of the real activity -- visiting with relatives, attending wedding events, etc. -- doesn't start cranking until 3:00 p.m. at the earliest. If we're lucky, I may make it into the shower before then.
Although I think I'll be ready to go back to my normal routine when we leave here next Tuesday, I can't put into words how amazing it's been for us to completely disconnect from our responsibilities back home. We have input on daily decisions such as where/when/what to eat, who to see and where to go, but ultimately those final choices are made for us and we just go along with the rest of the gang. I'm not complaining one bit.
*Woke up at 8:30 -- Nick and I were up until 3 (jet lag!), but set our alarms so we'd be out of bed at a reasonable hour.
*Talked to Nick's parents on the phone.
*Checked work and personal email.
*Lingered over a long breakfast (an hour-ish).
*Helped my dad address more invitations for our reception next week.
*Balanced the checkbook.
*Read a few magazine articles.
Nick is currently down for a nap. Our days are far from strenuous (as you can tell!) and most of the real activity -- visiting with relatives, attending wedding events, etc. -- doesn't start cranking until 3:00 p.m. at the earliest. If we're lucky, I may make it into the shower before then.
Although I think I'll be ready to go back to my normal routine when we leave here next Tuesday, I can't put into words how amazing it's been for us to completely disconnect from our responsibilities back home. We have input on daily decisions such as where/when/what to eat, who to see and where to go, but ultimately those final choices are made for us and we just go along with the rest of the gang. I'm not complaining one bit.
Rush hour
I think you're probably tired of hearing from me by now, but Nick insists that when I write it's really "from the two of us." We're both pretty shocked by the number of people who appear to be reading this thing (careful, or we'll expect you to continue to follow the play-by-play of our home lives back in the Ray). So, thanks to everyone for all the comments and attention.
Today's post is going to be devoted to traffic. Yes, traffic. Because you've never seen people drive the way they do in Karachi! The city is home to between 17 - 19 million people (depending on who you ask) and boy, do they drive like lunatics. There really isn't any way to describe it -- maybe one day we'll videotape a stint in the car so we can show everyone back at home? Basically, it's a game of Every Car For Itself, which takes a number of different formats:
*There's the I'm Color Blind game. Red light? No one coming through the intersection from the other way? Then feel free to run it.
*Remember that old AT&T slogan, "Reach out and touch someone?" You can do that here. In the car. Lots of people like to play Let's See How Close We Can Get to That Other Vehicle While Driving -- and it can be from either side or while tailgating, your choice.
*Watch Out For The Pedestrian, because they really don't give a hoot whether you're driving 5 miles or 40 miles per hour.
*How Many People Can We Fit On This Motorcycle? So far, the highest count on this trip is 5 -- FIVE PEOPLE ON ONE MOTORCYCLE. Just stop and think about that for a moment. And of course none of them were wearing helmets. (This actually isn't funny at all. Can you imagine that happening in America? And yes, this usually means there are two adults and the remainder are children. Oy.)
*Whose Horn is the Loudest? Not to be confused with that other game, How Many Times Can I Beep Before You'll Illegally Proceed Through This Red Light? (See above.)
*My Truck is Fancier Than Your Truck. Every lorry [truck] and bus here is wildly decorated with mirrors and fancy colors and sparkly swirls. No joke. We'll try to get you some photographic proof. Also, people hang out the sides of buses or sit on top -- and I personally have no clue how riders figure out what route they're taking, since there are no signs or onboard annoucements indicating destinations.
*Which Way Will I Turn? This is best played at roundabouts. We came across one such intersection with at least eight streets feeding into the circular turn and it was madness. Every car just nosed out into traffic and then took their best chance -- there are no directions and no rules of engagement. Right of way? Fuhgeddaboutit.
*My Axle is Stronger Than Your Axle: Let's just say that some streets are better than others. They're actually trying to improve the sewer and drainage systems here and that means digging up the roads...and apparently leaving them be for a few weeks at a time. Most people here don't have SUVs, and instead they drive cars similar in size to a Civic or a Corolla. Said cars have to slow to approximately 2 MPH in order to clear the potholes we've got going on.
My Dad, being the funnyman that he is, asks Nick if he'd like to drive every time the three of us get in the car. So far, my husband has yet to accept. However, my sister -- clearly the bravest one of all of us -- drove when she was here last, so the hubs may indeed take the wheel before this trip is over.*
And now, we leave you with a photograph of local transport: this is the back of a rickshaw, which is commonly used in place of a taxi (to deliver people) or courier service (to deliver things). It's actually rained -- more of a steady drizzle, but still unique here in the desert -- over the past few days, so this poor guy is probably trying to avoid the tremendous, muddy puddles on the side of the road.
*Nick, reading this over my shoulder: "No I'm not, so don't say I'm going to." OK then. My sister wins.
Today's post is going to be devoted to traffic. Yes, traffic. Because you've never seen people drive the way they do in Karachi! The city is home to between 17 - 19 million people (depending on who you ask) and boy, do they drive like lunatics. There really isn't any way to describe it -- maybe one day we'll videotape a stint in the car so we can show everyone back at home? Basically, it's a game of Every Car For Itself, which takes a number of different formats:
*There's the I'm Color Blind game. Red light? No one coming through the intersection from the other way? Then feel free to run it.
*Remember that old AT&T slogan, "Reach out and touch someone?" You can do that here. In the car. Lots of people like to play Let's See How Close We Can Get to That Other Vehicle While Driving -- and it can be from either side or while tailgating, your choice.
*Watch Out For The Pedestrian, because they really don't give a hoot whether you're driving 5 miles or 40 miles per hour.
*How Many People Can We Fit On This Motorcycle? So far, the highest count on this trip is 5 -- FIVE PEOPLE ON ONE MOTORCYCLE. Just stop and think about that for a moment. And of course none of them were wearing helmets. (This actually isn't funny at all. Can you imagine that happening in America? And yes, this usually means there are two adults and the remainder are children. Oy.)
*Whose Horn is the Loudest? Not to be confused with that other game, How Many Times Can I Beep Before You'll Illegally Proceed Through This Red Light? (See above.)
*My Truck is Fancier Than Your Truck. Every lorry [truck] and bus here is wildly decorated with mirrors and fancy colors and sparkly swirls. No joke. We'll try to get you some photographic proof. Also, people hang out the sides of buses or sit on top -- and I personally have no clue how riders figure out what route they're taking, since there are no signs or onboard annoucements indicating destinations.
*Which Way Will I Turn? This is best played at roundabouts. We came across one such intersection with at least eight streets feeding into the circular turn and it was madness. Every car just nosed out into traffic and then took their best chance -- there are no directions and no rules of engagement. Right of way? Fuhgeddaboutit.
*My Axle is Stronger Than Your Axle: Let's just say that some streets are better than others. They're actually trying to improve the sewer and drainage systems here and that means digging up the roads...and apparently leaving them be for a few weeks at a time. Most people here don't have SUVs, and instead they drive cars similar in size to a Civic or a Corolla. Said cars have to slow to approximately 2 MPH in order to clear the potholes we've got going on.
My Dad, being the funnyman that he is, asks Nick if he'd like to drive every time the three of us get in the car. So far, my husband has yet to accept. However, my sister -- clearly the bravest one of all of us -- drove when she was here last, so the hubs may indeed take the wheel before this trip is over.*
And now, we leave you with a photograph of local transport: this is the back of a rickshaw, which is commonly used in place of a taxi (to deliver people) or courier service (to deliver things). It's actually rained -- more of a steady drizzle, but still unique here in the desert -- over the past few days, so this poor guy is probably trying to avoid the tremendous, muddy puddles on the side of the road.
*Nick, reading this over my shoulder: "No I'm not, so don't say I'm going to." OK then. My sister wins.
A taste of home
Thanks to Brendan and Lisa for this photo. We miss you guys! (PS: You're welcome to use the snowblower, you know.)
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wikipedia: Pakistani wedding
It's official: Pakistani weddings offer way better photo ops than American ones. I think this is because it's just so damn unique for Nick and I, but for now I'm going to try to show you rather than tell you what I mean.
Nick & my pops out in front of the house, pre-festivities.
Yesterday was my cousin Samia's nikkah. (For all of you Pittses in the audience, Samia is to me as Andy, Rob and Mike are to Nick: her dad and my dad are cousins.) Muslim weddings are rarely one-day affairs; instead, they're made up of a series of events that can be spread over a week or even a month. The night before the nikkah, Samia's family had hosted another function (the name of which escapes me at the moment) that was essentially an open house for the bride's side of the family to come over, mix and mingle (and, of course, eat food!).
The event was hosted at Samia's parents' home, which is built around an open courtyard. This is great, except for when it rains on your daughter's wedding day.
Their home also has a gorgeous walled-in yard. The compound was designed to mimic Samia's great-grandmother's family house.
At this point the bride and groom proceed to take 645 bajillion group photos with different sets of relatives (Mom's cousins, Dad's siblings and their kids, all the elders of the family, etc.). Samia is always hilarious, and by the end of the night she had me and Alishba in hysterics because she was so fed up with all of the picture-taking (sound familiar, brides?). Check out the guests' outfits!
Nick & my pops out in front of the house, pre-festivities.
Yesterday was my cousin Samia's nikkah. (For all of you Pittses in the audience, Samia is to me as Andy, Rob and Mike are to Nick: her dad and my dad are cousins.) Muslim weddings are rarely one-day affairs; instead, they're made up of a series of events that can be spread over a week or even a month. The night before the nikkah, Samia's family had hosted another function (the name of which escapes me at the moment) that was essentially an open house for the bride's side of the family to come over, mix and mingle (and, of course, eat food!).
The event was hosted at Samia's parents' home, which is built around an open courtyard. This is great, except for when it rains on your daughter's wedding day.
The nikkah is where the marriage contract is signed between the bride and groom, and is the most serious of the wedding events. It's hosted by the bride's family, and the entire groom's side arrives together. All of us -- Nick and I included! -- were part of the receiving line that welcomed the groom, his family and friends. The couple then goes to separate rooms, and the religious clergy asks each of them "Do you take this person?" three times (and they have to say "yes" three times) before they are revealed to one another. Men witness the groom's responses, and women witness those of the bride.
Can I get a witness? (Groom's edition.)
Can I get a witness? (Groom's edition.)
The bride is presented by her entire family, after which more blessings and rituals take place and then -- ta da!! -- they're married! Below, you can see Samia, the bride, in red. Her mother is in navy on her left and her sister Maryam is in white, on the right. Akram, Samia's dad, is next to Maryam and the two youngest siblings, their brothers, flank the outside.
At this point the bride and groom proceed to take 645 bajillion group photos with different sets of relatives (Mom's cousins, Dad's siblings and their kids, all the elders of the family, etc.). Samia is always hilarious, and by the end of the night she had me and Alishba in hysterics because she was so fed up with all of the picture-taking (sound familiar, brides?). Check out the guests' outfits!Our camera isn't the greatest, but hopefully you can get a feel for Samia's incredibly gorgeous bridal attire -- which, as much as I loved my own wedding dress, totally put it to shame.
Fun fact: the bride can re-wear her outfit to any formal affair anytime she wants. So much for preserving it in a box for her daughter to play with! And, a word on dressing up. The basic Pakistani outfit is known as a shalwar kameez -- a long tunic top and flowy pants. It's the same for men and women (different fabrics and cuts, of course) and can be as dressy or as casual as you like. Women also wear a dupatta, which is a long scarf that can be tossed over your shoulders, around your head, or worn as a shawl. I can personally vouch for the total and utter comfort of a shalwar -- literally, it's like wearing your jammies out to a fancy dinner. I have two words for you people: elastic waist. Americans need to get on this wagon, pronto.
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