Summer 2019 was the trip of a lifetime. We left our lives in Bangalore behind us and set off to make the transition to our new old lives in Portland easier. It worked out better than we ever could have imagined. Now, looking back on that vacation one year ago, it seems like different life. We went from seeing some of the most amazing things we have ever seen to living a life of Covid-inspired isolation, from living larger than we have ever lived to having the smallest lives we could ever imagine. For now, we can reminisce fondly and dream about trips to come.
Almost accidentally, every step last summer was just a little more Western. Armenia is in the process of defining themselves as their immense diaspora returns home in what is still very much the post-Soviet era. In the meantime, it is a country of lovely people and an ever-evolving landscape. Most of Georgia is trying like crazy to become more European while many in charge are still courting Russia. Georgian cities are cosmopolitan, and the villages we experienced in the countryside are holding tight to some very traditional, idyllic lifestyles. While Bulgaria is the poorest European Union country, the sense of national identity and pride is palpable at every turn. Sofia is highest on cities to which we intend to return. Then there’s Italy and France. What can be said about these beautiful, delicious countries with art and history at every turn.
We loved the parallels among the differences between the cultures we experienced. We went to public markets in Yerevan, Telavi, Varna, Pisa, Squamish and Seattle. We ate cheesy flatbreads in Armenia, Georgia, and Bulgaria, which isn’t even counting pizza in Italy, France and everywhere else we had more than one meal. We visited archaeology museums, art museums, and ridiculous tourist attractions everywhere we went. Most importantly, we came across warm, wonderful people all across our travels.
Some of the things that made living in Bangalore difficult started melting away. Cars stopped for pedestrians and drove in lanes. Stores were stocked with the things we needed for our meals. We didn’t have yell at someone to get what we needed. And we used clothes dryers! In the meantime, the things we loved about Bangalore started feeling way too distant. We missed the wonderful friends we grew to love in the two years. While we were experiencing rich and vibrant cultures everywhere we went, we found ourselves longing for the warmth and beauty of the Indian street.
Portland started feeling closer and closer. The unknowns about both of our job situations started looming. The work it would take to reestablish our home was feeling onerous. The need to remember the steps we wanted to take to make our lives better than they were before we left started feeling urgent. Also, our little nieces and nephews and sisters and brothers and mother and motherly and fatherly figures and friends of all types we have loved for so long were starting to feel within reach.
Some of our stats on the summer:
- Nine flights
- 14 airports
- Six trains
- Vehicles traveled in: tuk-tuks, planes, cars, buses, metros, ferries, horse, trains, gondolas, funiculars.
- 606,963 steps = 258 miles walked (Tom)
- 738,803 steps = 321 miles (Melissa)
- 18 museums
- Tom added four in Paris when we split up for an afternoon
- Untold gallons of wine
We built this trip around wine. Three of the countries we visited have legitimate claims to being the birth place of wine — Armenia, Georgia, and Bulgaria. Our favorite detail in this conflict was in an archaeological museum in Varna, Bulgaria, where they proclaimed that of course everyone knows wine was made in Bulgaria 7,000 years ago but the best evidence comes from 6,000 years ago. It just so happens that Georgia and Armenia both claim to have made wine 6,000 years ago, too.
For being such ancient wine regions, the wine industries in all three countries are relatively new. The Soviet Union used the Bulgarian wine know-how to supply its entire country, so quantity became much more important than quality, and they are still emerging from that backward priority. Armenia in its still relative infancy as a nation is developing the industry and making some interesting if young wines. Georgia is a completely different story.
The Georgian wine tradition is as proud as the French and Italians. Georgians still make wine in the ancient manner; the entire fermentation process is done in kvevris, clay pots that are buried in the ground and sometimes coated in beeswax. Families make their own wines the same way their families have made it for generations, so what is new to Georgia is the idea of producing enough of it to sell to others. Also, the kvevri adds a distinct flavor to the wine that people used to the French method of wine making are not used to, so they have started using oak barrels for at least part of the process for some of the wines.
Wine in Italy and France were of course incredible. We didn’t visit particular wine regions, so we didn’t get quite the great deal you get when you go to the source, but everything was so crazy delicious.
We finished the summer on the West Coast of North America. We flew from Paris to Vancouver (springing for super fancy seats!) where we were greeted by our friend Sean who took us to their home in beautiful Squamish where his wife/our friend Karen is the mayor. They tolerated our jet lag graciously while taking us on adventures around their amazing community, including hikes and the amazing logger sports celebration.
Finally, we reunited with our beloved friends and family at Hood Canal, Seattle and Portland. It was an incredible way to end a two year adventure that changed our lives. We were unendingly aware how lucky we were to have the chance to experience India, and to explore as much of the world as we did. Now, as we wait helplessly for the world to be safe for us to leave the three mile radius around our house, we cling to these memories with all we have. It’s cliche, but it’s all a reminder to live in the moment. When you have the chance to have new experiences, do it; don’t wait until tomorrow.
The past few months are also a reminder that no matter how big our lives, we have a microscopic understanding of the lives people lead. Every opportunity we have to experience someone else’s lives and listen to other people’s stories helps us understand our own privilege and blind spots. Understanding the smallness of our experiences opens us up to imagine the unimaginable and a world where our privilege is universal.
Our best meal was one we had on our tiny balcony of our Airbnb. We had a small view of the Mediterranean Sea as we dined above the tourists making their way through our little pedestrian street. We found sauce and fresh ravioli at 
We spent a couple of days exploring. One day we went to The Matisse and Chagall Museums. The Chagall definitely left us wanting to learn more about his work. Another day we climbed to the top of Castle Hill overlooking the city where there archaeologists are in the process of learning more about the fort that was there.
The biggest chunk of our time in Paris was spent in the many incredible museums. The Louvre was of course incredible. We planned ahead enough to get 9:00 am tickets; we hightailed it to the Mona Lisa before the crowds became unmanageable. We spent time in the Islamic Art collection before finding our other must-see pieces — Liberty Leading the People, Winged Victory, and The Venus de Milo. Then we just wandered through the many galleries, getting distracted by whatever caught our eye, appreciating the many ways people experience the art, and being generally overwhelmed by the splendor of the building and its contents.
We also loved l’Orangerie with its stunning permanent installation of Monet’s Water Lilies, as well as the Orsay and its late 19th to early 20th century art, including of course the Impressionists. Rodin is one of our favorites, and of course Parisians love their own. Tom also took a spur-of-the-moment trip to a museum set up in Eugene Delacroix’s studio.
We also of course went to a few of the countless incredible cultural sites around Paris. Sainte Chapelle’s stained glass windows are incredible. We mourned the loss of post-fire Notre Dame. While Melissa took a shopping day, Tom saw the eerie Conciergerie where enemies of the revolution were condemned to the guillotine, and he also saw two Holocaust memorials — one specifically remembering the deportations from France and the Shoah Memorial. He also ducked into the Opera house to check out the Chagall ceiling we read about in Nice. Our favorite view of the city came from the top of Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre.
Speaking of Montmartre, we took an enjoyable food tour of the neighborhood with 
As we settled in to lunch, our guide happened to mention that they were piloting a wine tour the next day and wondered . . . “YES PLEASE!” we and the couple from Seattle answered before the end of the question. The next day we went on another walking tour of Montmartre, this time hearing about the history of wine in the neighborhood. There is still a small vineyard on the shady side of the hill producing a truly terrible wine. We drank wine and ate cheese at a variety of outlets. It was delicious, and all we had to do was answer some reflection questions about the tour itself and be interviewed for a marketing video.
landsldes? “Alcohol” was the answer of one of our new friends), arriving in Shenako, a Tusheti village. On the way, our driver stopped to introduce us to our guide, which was the first we learned of having a guide at all, and explained that our luggage would be carried on horseback. Irakli was a giant with a sweet smile and warm handshake, but no English at all. With our lack of Georgian, communication was pretty limited for the next few days.
Khachapuri is a kind of stuffed cheese bread that varies from region to region, all of them delicious. Adjarian khachapuri is a boat-shaped yeasted bread filled with a cheese mixture, then topped with a soft egg yolk that is stirred into the cheese while eating (Melissa preferred hers eggless). Throughout Tusheti, Imeretian khachapuri looks kind of like a big round quesadilla stuffed with a mild sheep’s cheese and fried in lots of oil, and in Telavi it is similar to Imeretian khachapuri but is somehow less greasy and more cakey.
Khinkali is a stuffed dumpling, mostly stuffed with meat (one fellow traveler described with ecstasy sucking the juices out of a mutton khinkali he had recently enjoyed) but we were able to find vegetarian versions almost everywhere we went. We have a theory, that one could write a pretty interesting book about flatbreads around the world, because flatbread seems to be found in every culture we have been exposed to. It is becoming increasingly clear that dumplings would make a pretty interesting book, too. Georgia’s version are large, plump, you eat them with your fingers, and they are delicious. As as added bonus, we were treated to a khinkali forming lesson in Shenako by our wonderful host Daro.
Lobio is a bean stew that can be cooked until nearly the consistency of refried beans, and is served with corn bread and pickled cucumbers, carrots, and herbs. Yum.
The wine is made differently here in qvevri which are large clay vessels lined with beeswax, generally underground with just the top of the vessel accessible. Our first tasting was a little alarming, when we didn’t particularly like any of the four wines we tried. We weren’t ready to give up, though, and visited a different place the next day where we enjoyed them all, and found one we really liked, called Mukuzani. It was a little telling when we learned that Mukuzani is made with the same grape, saperavi, as the more overwhelming wines, but aged for some time (different for each wine maker) in oak barrels, what they called the European method. Our favorite stop on our wine tour outside of Telavi was Shumi winery, partially because they make some very good wines, but it was also simply a beautiful and relaxing place to be. Georgia is famous for its amber wine (which we call orange wine in the US). Our favorite amber wine was made by our host at our guest house in Telavi. It was lovely.
and her desire to return. When Madlene and her family moved to Armenia and Melissa moved to Portland, they remained connected through Facebook, and Madlene’s photos of her beautiful city and stories of the 2018 Velvet Revolution fueled our desire to visit.
We made a few very good choices, mostly thanks to Madlene and her family. They spent a day showing off the city they love, including Vernissage, an amazing market of everything from traditional crafts to Soviet-era antiques to rugs from every region surrounding Armenia. They even took us on our first Metro ride to the train station to buy our tickets for our trip to Tbilisi a few days later. While there, Madlene showed us around an old Soviet train union building a friend of hers is rehabbing into co-working space, a cafe, and a general gathering place. The bulk of the day was spent at their summer home in Garni, a village just outside of Yerevan, that had belonged to the family of her husband, Arthur Ispiryan, for many generations.
He and Madlene and Arthur’s mom are also incredible hosts. Two other families were visiting from LA, so they threw all of us a wonderful party at the summer house in Garni where Arthur’s mother lives full time during the summer. We ate apricots from nearby trees, three kinds of cherries from their trees and those next door, and drank rose juice that Arthur’s mom makes from the roses in the yard. After some time relaxing in the yard, we visited Geghard, a 4th century monastery carved from the cliffs. Being with Arthur meant an amazing treat – a quartet was there for another event, but wanted to sing for him in the cave room known for its amazing acoustics. It was impossible not to tear up while witnessing such beauty. After a return to the summer house for a fabulous dinner, we visited Garni, a 4000 year old Hellenistic temple. When Armenia became Christian in the 4th century, all of the old pagan temples were destroyed and churches were built in their place with the exception of this temple at Garni because the local princess asked to keep it as a summer residence. It was a powerful sight even visiting in the dark. The Armenians with us were all awe-struck and filled with pride for their heritage.
We were joined by more diaspora Armenians on our big tour day. The 14 hour tour included a lot of bus time interspersed with incredible sights. We saw the beautiful Shaki Waterfall, the 9th century Tatev Monastery with an even more ancient 5th century church on the grounds, the incredible views from the Wings of Tatev (the longest reversible cable car in the world), and Karahunj (Armenia’s 6,000 year old Stonehenge). We tasted wine in the region where folks recently discovered an ancient winery, also 6,00 years old. Throughout the day, we were treated to views of the beautiful scenery of Armenia – high desert, dense forest, towering mountains, and wildflowers everywhere. It was a long and delightful day.
On our last day, we visited Tsitsernakaberd, the Armenian Genocide Memorial Complex which was built in 1967 in response to Armenia’s agitation with their Soviet overlords. The memorial is truly moving, bringing many visitors to tears. In 1995, a museum was added which powerfully tells the story of Turkey’s incredibly brutal efforts to completely eliminate the Armenian people. Turkey seized the chaos of WWI to advance their plan, only stopped by the end of the war and Russian intervention. With a powerful need for protection in their vastly weakened state, they agreed to join the Soviet Union which dominated life there for the next 70 years. 
Along the way, we had all kinds of good food, including traditional Armenian at Lavash and snacks at sidewalk cafes that line the streets and parks. We also celebrated Melissa’s mom’s birthday at India Mehak, our first Indian food in nearly a week! It is such a beautiful city, we mostly just enjoyed walking around gaping at the various styles of buildings, old Armenian, Soviet, and modern. Madlene confirmed what we had noticed about the streets of Yerevan, that they are really safe. Adolescent children, including her adorable sons David and Shahen, roam freely without a worry, and have done so since they were 9 years old.
We left Armenia so aware of all the things we didn’t get to do, but so grateful for the things we did. This beautiful, charming, welcoming city is one we can easily imagine living in, and would certainly love to visit again.
worldly cosmopolitan sensibilities. It is color, color, and more color from the flowering trees to the painted houses to the vivid sarees 
craftsmanship that produces anything from filigree jewelry to inlaid wooden tables to carved marble using the same techniques that have been used for countless generations. And the food! Oh, the wonderful food!
reasons. Some are here because work brought them or their partner here. Some are here because they fell in love with someone whose home is here. Some are here because their Indian heritage summoned them back. Some have always been here because Bangalore is home. I love hearing stories of lives so different from mine, and finding those common threads that connect us.
Bangalore, and now beloved friends. Farrah introduced me to Shanti Bhavan and was my co-manager of the OWC North Region. 
Kaveri taught me more about culture and India than I ever imagined understanding. Together, they have given my time here joy and meaning, and it has been such an honor to get to know them while getting to know this big, crazy city.
auto/rickshaw/tuk-tuk (names are interchangeable) with a driver who miraculously steers through crevices in traffic that feel smaller than the vehicle.
thick branches and abundant shade
and some just tiny structures housing deities next to trees wrapped with ribbons.
happy elephant-headed Ganesha; maybe a flying Hanuman, the monkey god, flying from the rearview mirror; maybe an ornate Lakshmi, the goddess of abundance, blessing the day’s work.
patterned kurta over chartreuse leggings in an opposing pattern with yet another color or pattern introduced in the dupatta, a scarf draped over the front of the body and trailing down the back; a red and gold saree draped beautifully around a woman while shopping or working; a wild rainbow of color whenever passing by a bus stop.
Hinduism is a far more complex faith than I ever imagined, even taking into account that it is a religion involving thousands of gods. Doniger’s central thesis is that any explanation of Hinduism depends on whom you ask. There are a few central tenants, three primary gods, and common ancient texts, but she draws a picture in her readers’ minds of what she calls the “Zen Diagram,” a play on a venn diagram made up of countless circles, all interlocking with each other but with no central connecting piece on which all circles agree. When the monolithic Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism started to make inroads in what became India, the many branches of Hinduism came together into what the rest of the world now sees as a unified faith.
The largest group of people who have been “othered” for a long long time are the lower castes, the dalits, formerly known as “untouchables”. When one of those dalits, B.K. Ambedkar, wrote the constitution in the late 1940s with the caste system expressly written out of official Indian culture, there was hope that perhaps the divisions of the country based on the social standing of the family one was born into would no longer determine one’s future opportunities. Just as slavery and Jim Crow were outlawed a long time ago in the US but the racist social structure that persists keeps African Americans from realizing every opportunity, the caste system in India is still very much a reality, unofficial as it may be.
This is where I have to admit that I am biased. Melissa and I (mostly Melissa) have had the opportunity to meet and get to know Shilpa. She is a wonderful, gracious young woman who knows how lucky she is to have the opportunities she has and is dead set on making sure she spreads those opportunities to as many people as she can. When she spoke to a group of our very privileged kids at CIS, she enthralled them. The thing that my students told me most grabbed them comes back to Shilpa’s honesty; she truly answered their questions rather than repeating canned answers. We had the honor of going to the Shanti Bhavan graduation for one of our last weekends in Bangalore. Shilpa was a gracious host and tireless organizer. We are excited for her as she heads to Hofstra University on Long Island, New York to start her PhD program.
A year ago I wrote about what I had learned in 
Raghunathan frames the question around game theory of economics, particularly the Prisoner’s Dilemma. Two suspects in a crime have the opportunity to lighten their sentence. If both suspects betray each other, they will receive two year sentences each. If I betray my partner, but my partner remains silent, I will be set free while my partner will receive a three year sentence. If both of us remain silent, we both serve one year sentences. Simple behavioral economics points to the easy answer: By remaining silent, the total number of years served in prison is either two (split between us) or three (served by only one). The worst case is both betraying each other for a grand total of four years split between us. So both should know to remain silent, right? But what if my partner doesn’t know to be silent? Then I’m screwed. Raghunathan posits that the “I’m screwed” part is primary in his fellow Indians’ decision making. Corruption makes life more difficult for all of us, but if others are doing it and I’m not, then their lives are easier and, say it with me, “I’m screwed.” If we trusted each other to do the right thing, then we could all be better off, but the right thing seems to happen so rarely that I’m going to do what’s right for me and my family right now. The negative long term consequences aren’t for me to worry about right now if ever, so I’m not going to worry about them.
I expected Raghunathan in Games Indians Play to at least bring the self destructive behaviors he describes back to the Raj, the period of time that Britain ruled India, because it is an easy connection to make. He doesn’t do that, though, for good and bad. It is a convenient excuse which sometimes feels like a cop out, but he also fails to look for any of the underlying causes of the acceptance of these behaviors. Tharoor, in the engaging, brilliantly written and researched book Inglorious Empire takes a different tack. He looks in detail at what the Raj did to this country while challenging Indians to see history as a way to identify the cycles at work in Indian society that need to be broken in order to go forward and not use past crimes of the Raj as an excuse. Tharoor lays a foundation for figuring out how to make India a global superpower again, but it involves coming to grips with the fact that many of the social structures that Indians hold dear are holding India back and were designed by the British to do just that.
Speaking of heartbreaking and corruption seemingly designed to keep the masses down, Behind the Beautiful Forevers. Boo describes life in Annawadi, a slum near the Mumbai airport. This is a story of people simply trying to survive. They occasionally make decisions that feed the stereotypes that allow the haters to point to them and “other” them, but they are really simply trying to survive. She follows a few families over the course of a few years, painting a picture of their tiny victories that are completely swamped by their crushing everyday lives. Every hope they have that something might change is quickly extinguished by the ubiquitous corrupt self interest, from the neighbor just trying to keep her family afloat to the city planners that allow the slum to happen in the first place.
I figured I had to read at least one piece of fiction, and this was on my Kindle. How’s that for a high bar? This was an OK book. The patriarch was able to make his way up in the Indian Civil Service, a system the British put in place to curry favor with some Indians who were then treated with privilege not afforded others. Along the way he bought in to that privilege and thought pretty highly of himself. There are a few characters to cheer for — the cook, his son, the niece — whose lives are hard.
I mentioned above that soon after arriving in India, the Supreme Court overturned Section 377, the British colonial law that banned acting on one’s homosexuality. One of the first conversations I had with who became one of my most dear and trusted colleagues pointed to the silence in which the law and cultural norms around homosexuality forced our gay students to live. The confluence of these events made it a subject I was interested in but had a hard time finding the right avenue for learning. About the time a grotesque act of homophobia at school inspired a profound symposium around working to embrace all people, Dube released An Indefinite Sentence, his memoir of growing up gay in India then working in the United States, India, and several global institutions as an advocate for gay rights, for sex worker rights, and to help stem the AIDS crisis.
so different from what he had seen last year on his 
We arrived at midday at the Pahalgam Hotel, started by Ramneek’s great-grandfather on the banks of the Jhehlum River Tributary. With Ramneek’s nephew involved in the business, they are now into the fifth generation with this lovely hotel, and it is clearly treasured by everyone, family and staff alike. Our room had a separate bedroom, two bathrooms, and glorious views from every window. We were in heaven.
Given our general sleepiness, we had an early dinner, once again absolutely delicious. We were quite taken with the kalari cheese, a local delicacy that looks like a flat disc, tastes a bit like a combination mozzarella and halloumi and is served fried until crisp. Similarly, we found that the Kashmiri paneer is also more mozzarella-like with a sort of chewiness that we had never before had in paneer. Yum. That night we slept in the total darkness and perfect silence never experienced in Bangalore. We woke early with the birds, which is a very pleasant way to rise. Tea was served to us in our room and we enjoyed some time gazing at the gorgeous view while sipping our tea and easing into the day.
After tasty idli, sambar, coconut chutney (made from dried coconut since we are now far from palm tree country), and the local morning bread called lavasa, we drove up toward Aru. The original plan had been to have tea with a Gujjar family in this stunning area high in the Himalayas, but the woman we were to meet had gone into labor the night before. We mentally sent her good wishes while stopping to photograph this amazing area with flowing glacial streams, wildflowers, and the ever-present snow-capped mountains. With a few more days in Kashmir, we definitely would have done some amazing trekking. As it was, we reluctantly turned the car back toward Srinigar.
with a roof. We journeyed across the lake and ended up at the beautiful 
carving intricate patterns into walnut and pine, making chests, stair railings, and table tops among other things. We couldn’t resist a big carved mortar and pestle. Now we’re 
lunch, seated on the floor in their dining room with food arranged on a cloth on the floor. Everything was delicious and it was a pleasure to sit with the family. Some of them joined us even though they were fasting, but a couple of the men were eating because of health conditions. After lunch, we were taken to a room where we could see all of Maqbool’s finished products. Wow. Just, wow.
stunning Mughal garden. This one is high in the hills with a very steep terrace and strong retaining walls that are almost fortress-like. Each of the seven levels has a different feeling, all of them beautiful. We finished the day at a tea house where the walls are covered with a mural painted by Maqbool Jan. There we sampled Noon Chai, a popular salty tea in Kashmir to which you add crushed, dried corn. We enjoyed it more when we thought of it as soup.
in his new custom suit and Melissa in her Sri Lankan jewelry, and go to celebrate kids that Tom has taught for two years. The ceremony itself was relatively short and quite lovely with a notable address by a very accomplished 2014 graduate who came from Canada to talk to the graduates about important things like kindness and gratitude. Plans for dinner under the stars were altered for rain (which one can expect nearly every evening at this time of year) so we sat in the cafeteria which was all dressed up with tablecloths and centerpieces.
the Leela Palace to use after we move out of our apartment was not going to serve us since it can only be used on a weekend. Realizing that this was our last free Saturday night, Tom quickly called the hotel and got us a reservation for that evening. After our visit to the farm, we went home, hastily packed an overnight bag, and went straight to the Leela where we were upgraded to the exact room that we’d stayed in for 
Wellserton Wanderings 