Weihnachtsmarkt Frankfurt-am-Main

Nothing says German Christmas Market more than hot, fragrant alcoholic beverages...

...and Levi's Mexican Food Hut.

Prune people with walnut heads.  A Frankfurt Christmas tradition.  No, I'm not being sarcastic (for a change).

We were already shiveringly aware of how cold it was, but the frozen snow globes brought it home.

No Chance

Sophie was five years old and had built up quite a large population of imaginary friends, including an entire country with its own culture, customs and language.

One morning, while we were riding on the train from Raynes Park  to Waterloo, she was talking about the doings of some of the naughtier members of the community and getting quite irate about their bad behaviour.

Her high-pitched little girl voice and the frenzy she had worked herself into, switching from one imaginary character to the next at high speed, were a bit more than my overworked, under active brain could handle (obviously, I hadn't taken her advice on eating fish for breakfast).

We had reached Clapham Junction, when she paused for a few seconds. In my exhaustion, I grabbed onto the relative silence and heaved a deep inner sigh. Alas, too soon, as she immediately piped up again.

I snapped and said "Sophie" much too loudly and sharply for her happiness, or for the happiness of the people sitting near us. I now had a cross five-year-old glaring at me with several strangers backing her up.

In her most indignant (and very posh London) tone, she said "What?" and lifted one eyebrow at me.

I thought as quickly as as I could and suggested we play a game. "Let's see if you can get from this stop to the next without saying a word."

Sophie looked out the window at the platform, thought for a few seconds (during which my hopes soared), and then turned back to me and announced, simply and firmly, "I can't," and continued her story at the point where she had been so rudely cut off.

To make matters worse, not only did I not get the few minutes' respite I so desperately craved, I also had all of the previously glowering strangers now laughing at my expense.

When will I learn?

Brain Food

It was early on a Saturday morning and I'd been working hard all week, so I was exhausted.

Sophie was about four years old and at just about her chattiest level, telling me what her multitude of imaginary friends had been up to and trying to teach me some of her made-up language.

I finally begged for mercy by saying "Mommy's brain has a hard time waking up in the morning".

Did I really expect mercy? Did I honestly believe I would be given even a moment's peace?

My lovely daughter instantly replied "Well then maybe you should eat fish first thing in the morning.  It's brain food, you know".

Picture It...

I had just had a shower and was stepping out of the bathroom, adjusting my towel, when I noticed that the front door was slightly open. At the same moment, I heard a low growl coming from the right side of the room, followed by a hiss.

I looked to the right, just in time to see my two girl cats, Billi with her back arched (making the hissing noise) and Baby crouched down in pounce position (making the growl). There was then a high-pitched screech and a local male cat came whipping out from somewhere, headed for the door. In his haste, he ran into the bowl of dog food, knocking it and its contents flying across the floor. The commotion startled him further; he leapt into the air and landed on Masti, to the left of the room.

Masti, who had up to that point been snoring happily on her mat, jumped up with loud yelp, twisted around, saw the male cat (Billi and Baby are tolerated, but all others are to be chased) and lunged at him. Her tail, which is so curly it reminds me of a cinnamon swirl pastry, got caught in the curtain hanging from the window over her mat.

In the meantime, Billi and Baby converged at a point between where I was standing (with my mouth hanging open) and the male cat by the door, and were both making yowling noises, seemingly at everything in the room.

Masti, discovering that her tail was wrapped up in the curtain, spun around making further yelping noises, and attacked the curtain. The male cat took his chance to run out of the room, smacking his head into the door on his first try, yowling loudly, and then making his exit on the second try.

Billi and Baby ran to the doorway, hissing and screeching at him. Masti spun around to try to follow him and tripped over the laptop cord, causing further crying noises out of her.

At this point, Billi was standing guard at the door, keeping a look out for the return of the male cat. Baby was eating the dog food from the floor and Masti settled back down on her mat, but not before making a few biting motions at the curtain.

It took me several seconds to regain the ability to move, at which point I walked over to the door, shut it, got dressed and then dealt with the mess.

There is definitely some Girl Power going on in my flat, I’m just not sure if I’m a participant or merely an observer.

My Romantic Soul

After two weeks’ driving, climbing and exploring, I slept heavily and long on my first night home. When I did finally wake up, I just lay there with my eyes shut, letting my brain work things out in peace.

A little while later, I felt Tukesh roll towards me, gently touch my hair and whisper “You are so beautiful when you’re sleeping.”

My response: “Why? Because my mouth is shut for a change?”

Indian Change

Coins are scarce in India, so you will often be given a small sweet in place of 1 Rupee for change. I'm used to it in shops and restaurants, but now we're getting it from a government organisation?

This is our change from a toll booth; a 2 Rupee coin and two sweets. At least these are nice ones. They often aren't.

If we have coins, we use them. We usually don't have them because so few people give them. Sometimes, people will just tell you to keep the difference. If it's a shop you use regularly, they might keep a running balance - lose a rupee one time, keep an extra next time. It's incredible how much detail can be kept accurately inside one head!
I've tried paying with sweets as small change, but it doesn't seem to be acceptable that way around

Ants and Aunties

On my first trip to India, I spent a week in Lucknow with the mother of one of my friends from London. I was told to refer to her as Aunty, a general term used when speaking to older women in India. She was an elderly lady, frail in body but not in spirit; lively, entertaining and commanding.

Lucknow Aunty (as I have since come to think of her) had a home full of people, with a cook and her family, a driver and six hearing-impaired children that she housed and tutored. Nevertheless, I was given a nice room on the top floor, with plenty of space and peace.

I enjoyed her company so much that I wanted to visit her again on a subsequent trip to India. I called to make the arrangements and was told that she would love to see me again but that she had turned the upstairs into a rooming house for single men and that it would be completely inappropriate for me to stay up there with them around. Instead, she arranged for me to stay with her brother and his wife, who also lived in Lucknow.

Since I was heading to Lucknow in Andhra Pradesh from Chandigarh in Punjab and Haryana, I thought it would be nice to buy a box of Punjabi sweets to take for the children – a treat that they would probably never have, otherwise. I bought 2kg of Punjabi sweets, which were placed in a big, cardboard box, held shut by two thin rubber bands. I packed the box carefully in my backpack, surrounding it with soft items to keep it from getting too crushed, and left for the train station.