Carolime Time

Yesterday was the first time I’ve gone grocery shopping in Dubai. Previously, I’d quickly grabbed snacks at Spinneys and stopped off at the Carrefour for necessities, but nothing more. And, though Spinney’s is apparently good for meats, the rest of the items are overpriced. So we headed onwards to Lulu Hypermarket and started picking at the oh-so-many goodies there. I was literally salivating in the fruits and vegetables section. Read the rest of this entry »

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I visited the MOMA (Metropolitan Museum of Art) today and wandered around this massive building for almost three hours. We started with Egyptian art and mummies, moving on to the Byzantium period and then European art. We were not so into these exhibits, not till we reached, maybe,  the European Renaissance section.

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Hey!It is Christmas Day and I’m writing a blog post! A lot of my loved ones and friends live in India or are visiting this winter, so I am reminded of my past travels to this region. I don’t wish I was there, but do remember good times spent on the streets of Mumbai, beaches of Goa and boats of Cochin. I don’t lay claim to being a pro on India, but these are the basic recollections I gathered about a month ago after a friend asked for suggestions on his trip. It’s about time I posted it on my blog!!!

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Those of us who wait for the first glimpse of sun are quick to shed the boots and coats and head to our favourite Toronto patios for sangria and calamari. Don’t pretend you don’t do it. I know when we saw the the light a few weeks ago, my friends and I started our lengthy wait in a line up at Black Bull, near Queen and Soho, for 20mins. It was OK for the first little bit, ordering water indoors as others manned the lineup..but we got restless and left the Queen West hood for Little Italy. Our crowd of 4 quickly turned into 6 and then 8. Larger groups are harder to manage but more fun at the end of the night:) Read the rest of this entry »

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There are parts of Dubai that have been left to the hands of suspended disbelief, a figure of development, capitalism, juxtaposed against a backdrop of browns, greys, and unending streams of men with the glaze of hard work on their faces. Read the rest of this entry »

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We went on a little bit of a Sunday adventure today. I introduced a dear friend to the Distillery section of Toronto, and came across a Scotsman along the way. This friend is a bit anti-social and I like to surprise him with all the little tidbits of the city he hasn’t been exposed to. I like taking part in someone else’s discovery, and I especially enjoy watching his expressions of delight when happening upon something new. Luckily, the weather was friendly to us and our whole day was blessed with that crisp autumn air that I favour so.

We met at the corner of Yonge and College and hailed a cab. I sorta jumped out of this particular cab’s way as it came damn near careening in my direction. I do think it was speeding, and the whole ride sorta sped past us in a haze. Honestly, I’ve grown used to talking to Toronto cab drivers and homeless people and all those other ‘characters’ you meet in a city, on a bus or at a bar. You know the ones I’m talking about, with the painful and similarly curious stories you carry around with you the rest of the day and reference when you think of every indigenous native’s plight and every new immigrant’s struggle. I know; we all have our stories.

Anyway, this cab driver was a wrinkled, rosy-faced Scotsman. In fact, he referred to himself as ‘The Scotsman’ on his business card, which matched the red tweed print of his hat. I don’t know how he managed it, but he finagled a conversation out of me! (ha ha?) He started telling me how he quit drinking 30years before, and I found myself sympathizing with him, throwing in my own family associations with alcoholism. At the same time, I wondered why he’d confide in me so easily.

He was quite the talker, and moved into less personal talk. One story just led to another, and eventually he was telling me about his marvelous life as a confectioner of chocolates, and how he spent his youth going dancing and wooing the ladies with his chocolate-making skills. I really did feel like I was sitting at my grandfather’s knees, pushing him to tell me more. And I imagined this Scotsman from Glasgow, spinning young lasses in frocks around a dance floor, plucking his suspenders as he flirted with them and boasted of the different éclairs he could make with fresh cream. Yes, I did ask him if he regularly had fresh Devon cream with hot scones and jam!!! (I’ve never tried this and really want to) Apparently, in apology for a drunken spat at the fish and chips shop following a night of intoxicated Glasgow partying, he once traded a pound of chocolates for five pieces of fish from the lady of the shop. It was apparently the source of laughter for all his friends. Yes, before I knew it, we’d arrived at 55 Mill St. and the bricked pathways of the Distillery. It was at this point that he slipped us the business cards and I tucked it away in the safest place I could find in my wallet. Next time I’m lonely, I want to go for a drive with the Scotsman. We hopped out of the cab and my friend just shook his head at me, ‘cause of course, I’m a sucker for storytellers and characters.

For those of you who haven’t been to the Distillery Historic District, it’s an enclosed area just south of Front St. and east of Parliament, in Toronto. It is known as the Distillery District because of the grand Gooderham and Worts whiskey distillery and mill that once contributed hugely to Canadian industry. A couple of years ago, this was my favorite area of Toronto. It is great for tourists and taking friends for a short history lesson and stroll through a less-accessible side of Toronto. Less accessible only because it’s not on the subway line and not near many regularly visited sights. I’ve always liked the late Victorian-era architecture and small laneways. The Distillery is never too busy (unless you’re heading there for Nuit Blanche), and very accommodating to the common spendthrift. I can’t promise much activity, though. There are a number of theatres, including the ever-active Soulpepper Theatre and Young Centre For the Performing Arts. Cute cafes, restaurants and shops pour onto the pathways. The reason for my visit on this day? The Boiler House Restaurant! A review of this restaurant is to follow:)

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I really didn’t expect to like Las Vegas. Sin City, “Whatever Happens in Vegas…”, “Vegas Baby”
really aren’t the sort of things that typically woo me. I was expecting a dirtier Dubai, something akin to Amsterdam on ecstasy.
But I think it’s the people here that have captivated me. They’re all really crazy, freespirited, ruthless and charming. They talk the talk and walk the walk, everyone knows ’someone’ who knows someone. They’re not moved by celebrities, and they talk to anyone that speaks their language. Oh and what a language it is. Filled with dollar signs, nods, and concealed handshakes.

Poolside at the Mirage, “Pool Bare”, I watch a girl prance around in a sparkly bikini, popping her foot in the air behind her and laughing at something a friend says a few feet  away. She glances around her mischievously, and checks to see if anyone is watching. Of course, someone is always observing, besides me. Behind her, a woman sits with a group of men and fondles her visibly hard, rock solid breasts while sipping on a mojito. My friend and I exchange a glance of certainty on the question of implants. She is the only topless woman at the pool, which welcomes nudity, and I am the only one in shorts and a t-shirt. We all do something to stand out. The sun is beating down on us, and the DJ plays on behind me. The transitions are smooth, I’m loving every song as he spins Red Hot Chilli Peppers mixed with Kaskade and the guy across from me flexes his chest muscles to the bass, hiding behind his sunglasses with a smirk.

This is Las Vegas, where anything goes, and where glamorous movies find their muse. Every conversation is laced with inflated status, and nothing is offered for free or out of the goodness of ones heart. The warm, inviting promoters get $50 a head for each person they bring into the club, and they shamelessly request your phone number after looking you up and down without noticing you. Thinking that they way to your heart is through flattery, they spin words around your head, perhaps dazzling you on the first night…but that’s why you need to stay in Vegas about 5 nights. Everyone says, leave after 3 nights. I suggest 5 nights–the 4th night, you meet the people you’ve only introduced to. The 5th night, you digest.

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My friends and I are trying to figure out the best place to go camping in Ontario.

We’re not against the idea of crossing into Quebec, since half our friends are coming from Montreal.

But really, we need to make it something halfway between Toronto and Montreal.

Anyway, last year we went to a camping ground near Lancaster, in Ontario.

This year, our options are:

Charleston Lake
Bon Echo
Sandbanks
Sharbot Lake
Petroglyphs

I’ve driven through the Sharbot Lake area, I find it very quaint and secluded as a town..And their forests seem thick enough..then again, how does one gauge an idea of ‘a good camping site’? what makes a good camping site? i’d say clean air, not too many people, and a nearness to water…a personal favoured aspect of CAMPING is WATERFALLS!!!!! I would love to sleep near the waterfalls:)

Anyway, I am embarrassed to tell you how few times I’ve actually gone camping, but I can tell you that I’m an avid cabin/cottager and the requirements are similar..ideally, you want to be as far away from the city as possible..I’ve been to a lot of cottages in Ontario, though. My family used to be really into the fishing thing. My big dream, at one point, was buying a nice cottage.

Anyway, I’m not up for going to Sandbanks..just because it has so many camping sites and I don’t know if I want to be in an area where there are 500 other camping sites set up:)

That being said, Bon Echo camping area seems really cool. There are petroglyphs, paddling, hikes, cliffs, etc!

Let’s see which we choose…can’t wait!

Oh, and LongSault park is looking good too.. all of these are pretty much in  eastern Ontario.

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I was sitting at the corner of Queen and Yonge today waiting for Mutton to meet me for dinner..it was rush hour, everyone was leaving work and I was reading the paper on a bench. Truthfully, I couldn’t concentrate, as there were too many fashionable clacking heels passing amidst the streetcars and out-of-place bicycles. I need to take notes on what’s in! Not to mention I was wearing sunglasses and I’ve not grown accustomed to the accessory, let alone a dark shadow on my print.

For those who aren’t familiar with this hood, it’s a bit of a crossroads. Walk a little north, and you hit Toronto’s attempt at Times Square–Dundas Square, where flashing lights and fountains run the show. This is also where the main downtown mall is situated, the Eaton Centre.
Take a stroll a bit south, and you’ll hit the financial district, where Blackberrys and speed-walking mark the territory. You’ll also cross paths with some young lawyers and old ones that will swallow you with their eyes.
East and west are a little trendier, but haven’t formed enough of a consistent identity for me to comment on, or rather, are in such transition these days that labels such as ‘vintage’, ‘boho’, and ‘yuppy’ would not suffice.

I noticed these two women stop beside me. One was in her mid 50s and the other was in her 20s probably. They didn’t look at me, even though I was yakking away on my phone about all the hot suits that work in my building. Not that my conversations are so important they should eavesdrop, but I was sitting right beside them. They didn’t really talk to each other, and I figured they were taking a rest from shopping, or working. I went on with my mundane chatter, and a friend I hadn’t seen in about 3years happened to recognize me, even incognito in sunglasses and prep wear.

The friend and I reunited, chatting for a short bit about what we’d been up to and how our lives are progressing. We were distracted, with him noticeably pacing at the thought of his departing train and myself, wondering where the hell Mutton was and when I’d be eating.

As D turned to leave, I glanced to my right and saw that these two women were sitting cross-legged at the core of the city, with eyes closed and fingers poised, pressed together in the direction of the sky. I was stunned. I hadn’t even noticed them. Their expressions were blank, but full. They were withdrawn, but present. I am convinced they were in a space so quiet that no one could wake them until the time was right. Theirs was a peace I don’t envy, but would rather achieve, master, and recreate.

Mind you, theirs wasn’t the attention-grabbing religious activist sort of prayer. It was private, not shy but natural.

If two people can sit with traffic blaring,
honking,
lights,
cell phones,
smog,
talking,
screeching,
laughing,
the brush of bodies on the street,
the groan of trucks and transit system
under their feet…

Then there is little we can denounce in faith of the purest kind, and sincerity of the most congested mind.

I was stilled. Quiet, so quiet I wouldn’t dare speak in their presence. I had to walk away to exhale, and I had to lower my voice to a hush as I told my boyfriend what I’d just witnessed and not been able to take part in. In fact, I couldn’t even tell him the details as I was afraid of breaking the spell. I didn’t watch them, I only saw them.

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i am treading through ‘the secret’..my godfather’s wife has raved about it, and she’s one of the most optimistic people i know…not to mention some businesspeople i know who seem to love it..

it was one of the leading books in india…every bookstore i went into (and i went into A LOT) (hence the 14kg overweight;)) had “The Secret” at #1…
Whenever kids would come up to my rickshaws selling books, the main three were…The Secret, Kite Runner, and A Thousand Splendid Suns..

Anyway, I think there’s a trend in India surrounding motivational thought and literature. Even as I read magazines and statements from celebrities, all their quotes and ideals are based on these laws of attraction, in a way…And I’ve noticed people are really into passing along inspirational quotes and sayings…either via text message or through email…It’s one rupee a text message, so technically the Indian text message costs more than the Canadian…yet, no one sends me inspirational text messages?! You know, it really did mean something to me..to wake up and re-read it..added a little light to my day..HINT HINT..SEND ME POSITIVE MESSAGES!!!…

okay so i gotta tell you something…i have three days left to write…after that, i cannot blurt out anything more under the pretense of ‘traveling’..for i will be back in toronto..
the question is, do i write my ass off, or have i written enough..
is it quantity, or quality, in this case?
i’ve done some facebook lurking, and people have come home with a lot of wonderful pictures, photos from their winter extravaganzas and adventures….
i did not use my camera once on this trip.
The camera. my archnemesis. my possessive ex lover, confidante, my wanderlust and vanity, all in a little hand held contraption that has never quite made sense to me.
broadcast journalism classes consisted of me, fiddling, often calling an old friend just to make sure i had the FPS (eh??) and white balance right..auto focus or manual? am i overacting? should i wear makeup? what’s that trick you mentioned that would make me look skinnier? ahh, yes…that one..

i am thoroughly anti-camera. i’ve reluctantly embraced this phase for the past couple of months, almost veiled myself in it. every passing urge to capture a moment with a lens has been followed by a pebble in my throat..why do i want to use my camera, i ask…so i can have a zillion shots of the same thing from different angles? because digital is cheap? so i can look at it immediately afterwards?..this is what the camera has come to mean to me..it’s sad, because i know there’s more to it than that…am i really much of a photographer, though? i want to know, how many people develop photos these days? why does blacks’ photography have so many frames on display these days?

i don’t carry my camera anywhere anymore. when another pulls it out, i am first arrested by how the camera might spoil this moment–my own defensiveness– and then reminded that i don’t have a pen to write this moment down and they have their camera, to write it down for themselves.

some people do it really well, as i’ve seen. and the colours, the vibrance, there really is the possibility of quality with a camera. i just can’t do it.
i have been at war with the camera for some time. I think it’s because I’m still transitioning, 1.5yrs later, into acting for film. If only I could tell you how I feel about this comfortable, emotionally abusive lover of mine, these days..i’m so attached it hurts..

There are some things i am dying to take a picture of. i wanted the red paan spray on the streets, like graffiti on a wall..though people apparently spit it on special property, like a scar..not so sure about uninvited scars. My cousin said it can get really bothersome to the point of…VANDALISM? but i think paan juice could be useful in self-expression…kinda like that vomit on canvas art fad..but vomiting on someone else’s art, not so cool..

so there, did i just take a picture? does that count? is writing way more revealing than photos?

here’s the thing. my friend once told me she didn’t take pics with any of the people she met on her trip to israel. me, i have decided not to take pics of any of the things i’ve seen. so far, i’ve gotten a lot on paper/screen. and people take pics of me with groups of others, or on my own.

i’ve had a lot of thoughts, asked a lot of my silly questions, and done a lot of things. i consider my writing my photo album. i wouldn’t have felt comfortable taking out a camera to take a picture of vadaes, and it’s difficult to aim a camera at the steam rising off the top of a cup of tea, i don’t think my camera’s good enough to catch the stain on the side of a glass or the fingernails and dry skin of that woman’s day, nor could i quote, with a camera, the things i’ve heard around me, that make me wonder and think twice..and since i’m on a mission to ‘focus’, i decided to use one medium and not the two..

i am feeling a lot better..

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