New Orleans

I was recently in New Orleans for the first time, and I am not the first person to realize that it is the most culturally interesting and unique city in the United States. I am hard-pressed to find another American city that can lay claim to as diverse a food profile as New Orleans. It has beignets, coffee with chicory, Po-boys, Sazerac, muffuletta sandwiches, creamy pralines, gumbo, jambalaya, red beans and rice, crawfish, and many other things. And let’s not forget its architecture—I loved walking through the leafy streets of the Garden District admiring the imposing mansions, and would never tire of looking at the shuttered and filigree cast iron balconies in the French Quarter, and the shotgun houses and the creole cottages spread through rest of the city. New Orleans is also the birthplace of Jazz and the city of Mardis Gras. It is sadly also the city of Katrina, has been ranked as one of the dirtiest cities in America, and is known as the ‘Murder Capital’ of the United States. Why must beauty and charm come with so much dilapidation, trauma, and neglect?

The Colors of Autumn

 

The Fall season is one of my favorite times of the year. I tend to get excited whenever the seasons change, but the autumn months are undoubtably some of the most pleasant in New England. The beginning of Fall is also a secondary new year for me, given the academic calendar, so with it come all the fresh starts, or at least one’s hopes for them. I love the faint nip in the air, and am completely obsessed with the cozy-socks-warm-drinks version of Fall, and try my best to recreate that fantasy.

Of course, Fall is so-called because this is when the leaves fall off the deciduous trees that are going bald in preparation for winter. But before they detach, the green leaves take on beautiful and wondrous hues of red, yellow, orange, and pink, as if to compensate for the forthcoming brutality of the black-and-white snow season. And, luckily for me, the fall colors in the New England region of the US are one of the most brilliant in the world.

View from the French King Bridge

In Massachusetts, the colors are at their peak typically around early to mid October. So, this past weekend, a friend and I decided to drive through the Mohawk Trail to view the fall foliage. The day was unusually cold and windy–in fact, we encountered the first snowflakes of this season in an ironically named town, Florida–but since we (not me!) spent a lot of it driving, it was manageable.

View from the Bridge of Flowers

We ate a hearty lunch at a lovely place called, Hearty Eats. Given that we were in the Berkshires region, it wasn’t too surprising that the restaurant reminded me a lot of Ithaca, by which I mean that it serves local, organic, vegetarian-friendly, globally influenced food that is free of gluten, dairy, sugar, peanuts, GMOs, or artificial ingredients; has a huge collection of teas; and is located right next to a pottery studio :-). Cheekiness aside, it was great and I highly recommend it!

At our lunch stop, Hearty Eats, in Shelburne Falls

We only spent about 30 minutes or so at the Mohawk Trail State Park in Charlemont, mostly because the sun was about to set and we wanted to make one more stop on the trail before it got dark. But, if you are interested in looking at Massachusetts’ largest surviving patch of old-growth forest of maples, birch, beech, and ash, this is the place for you. This forest also houses the tallest tree in New England—a 171 feet high white pine—though its exact location is apparently a secret; we were too cold to look for it.

Mohawk Trail State Forest, Charlemont

Our last stop on the trail was the Hairpin Turn (it is basically a sharp U-turn with a lookout point) in North Adams. After taking way too many photos of the northern Berkshires, you can park here and get a drink and a bite to eat at the Golden Eagle Restaurant. We had hot toddies, pumpkin pie, and strawberry shortcake, and they were all surprisingly quite good.

View from the Hairpin Turn, North Adams

The entire trip did take an entire day, but it was totally worth the time. I am ready for winter now.

The Tin Hau Temples of Hong Kong

Last year I visited Hong Kong, a tiny metropolis with a big personality. It’s the kind of city I like–boisterous, crowded, diverse. The food is excellent and there is no dearth of green spaces, although the humidity can be overwhelming. I am sure I’ll post again about some of these aspects, but today I want to share some photos of the Tin Hau temples.

These temples are dedicated to the Chinese patron goddess of seafarers, Mazu. Since Hong Kong is a harbor city—in fact, Hong Kong means “fragrant harbor”—it makes sense that it has more than a hundred Tin Hau temples. Similar temples exist in other coastal areas in China and neighboring southeast Asian countries. Apparently, there are around 1,500 Mazu temples in 26 countries. A popular goddess, indeed! Perhaps that’s goddess Mazu below with the two guardian generals known as “Thousand Miles Eye” and “With-the-Wind Ear”?

One of the striking things about the temples in Hong Kong is how they visually contrast with the surrounding monochromatic city life. It’s such a pleasant surprise to chance upon an old incense-laden courtyard with its red lanterns and turquoise roofs, right in the middle of those ubiquitous skyscrapers.

Something amazing that I first saw in these Hong Kong temples, and have subsequently noticed elsewhere in southeast Asia, is these huge spirals of incense hanging from the temple roof. Do you see the round plate underneath each spiral? That’s meant to catch the ash as the incense burns away; neat, right? Imagine standing in an old dark cool room with hundreds on these fragrant spirals burning on top of you, enveloping everything in a smoky haze—it’s truly mesmerizing.

The priests didn’t speak any English, but they very kindly let me peek at everything and take as many photos as I wanted. Here’s a register where they record the donations. It reminded me of the bahi khata registers used by shopkeepers all over India.

They also have several fortune-telling devices inside the temple, e.g., these wooden nibs, each of which is inscribed with a message; you are supposed to pick one out and then the priest deciphers the message for you! I did try it out, but can’t remember now what the priest told me (with the help of a fellow temple-goer who kindly acted as a translator).

Most temples I visited had an in-house shop that sold incense, beautifully colored candles, oil, bundles of auspicious paper that is meant to be burnt, and several other items that are needed for various rituals and ceremonies. They are quite similar to the Hindu temples in this regard. I am mostly an atheist, but I do enjoy these paraphernalia of worship.

But my favorite part, by far, was the walls full of tiny photos—they are shrines of love and memories, where people come to offer flowers and fruits and sweets and drinks to their ancestors as a way to bridge the unfathomable gap that separates the living from the dead. What a wonderful way to remember the ones we knew and miss! These small rectangular pieces with a stick-on photo serve the same purpose as a tombstone does in cultures that bury their dead, giving people a specific place to “visit” and commemorate their departed. When you lose a loved one, what you miss is their physical presence. And something like a public shrine offers you a substitute—a poor one of course—that feels a little more grounded in the face of impermanence.

So, if you are in Hong Kong and need some respite from the sensory overload of modern life or a break for your tired feet, I highly recommend a contemplative hour in one of the Tin Hau temples. It doesn’t matter if you are religious or not. Really, what could be nicer than sitting on one of these chairs under a lush green tree on a hot afternoon?

Mishmash

This post is going to be a scatter-plot of thoughts. It’s either that or no post at all, so I figured this is a more desirable outcome for everyone involved :-).

First, a list of some recent likes:

(Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston)

• Spinster by Kate Bolick: literary history, contemporary commentary, and useful advice for all the single ladies.
• Limetown: if you love mysteries and thrillers, check out this new podcast.
• Blue Tokai Coffee: for single estate arabica coffees from farms across India. Thanks to PJ, I am currently enjoying their Kalladeverapura Estate coffee.
• An adorable baby prankster! Aren’t children just amazing? Things we take for granted, such as the ability to joke, are in fact a developmental milestone for the little us.
• The Moon Song.

(A church in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)

And, in my weekly dose of grief-talk:

One of the many terrible consequences of losing a family member is the dismantling of “family” as you knew it. Suddenly, you are not sitting on a plane with assigned seating and fixed roles as hosts, pilots, and passengers. Instead, you have crashed and are scattered in the unpredictable ocean, hanging on to the floating bits of broken wings from that erstwhile plane of yours.

Have a good week, everyone! xo

A Turkish Tea

As some of you know, Boston is my new home. It’s been a couple of years since I moved here, so technically it’s not “new” anymore, but it still feels that way as I’ve spent most of last year in India. What makes a place home for me is always its people. I was lucky to form a close friendship with the wonderful T as soon as I arrived, and my circle of people has slowly expanded since.

One of the things I’ve done with some regularity during these years is to have tea with a lovely group of women called Ladies Who Tea—of course, we gave ourselves that title :-). More often than not, this now-ritual gathering has taken place at the beautiful home of G, who, besides being an economist and a painter, is an excellent host. Tea at G’s is no light matter. She has so thoroughly spoilt us with the never-ending spread of food, the ever-flowing supply of tea and coffee, and the long-lasting conversations in her colorful home, that I now find other tea ceremonies, such as the one at the Boston Public Library, a bit underwhelming.

G is Turkish, and that explains a lot of her enthusiasm for tea. And by tea I don’t mean just the drink, but the entire ritual associated with tea-drinking. Turkish culture, like so many others, understands and appreciates the value of communing with a group of friends over slow sips of a hot beverage. Like the Swedish fika and the Bengali adda, Turkish tea is meant to be savored with others, always accompanied by lively conversation and often with delicious food.

A turkish tea-kettle, çaydanlık, looks like a double-boiler; the lower compartment is used to boil water and the top for brewing concentrated tea. In Turkey, tea means sweet black tea, drunk without milk.

First, water is boiled in the lower part of the kettle. Next, loose black tea leaves are added to the upper compartment and boiling water is poured over. Then the tea is allowed to steep to the desired concentration in the top half that is placed back on the bottom half. The still-hot lower portion keeps the top kettle from going cold. Gradually, more hot water is transferred from the bottom to the top as tea-drinking reaches full-swing.

Sugar cubes are optional and non-Turks like me also get away with the addition of milk.

And that’s about it for a perfect cup of hot Turkish tea. Repeat infinitely, throw in lots of good food, a group of chattering women, a warm Boston afternoon, and you get a special moment worth cherishing forever.

Thanks, G. Already looking forward to the next one!