An "Awesome" wedding

Hey everybody,

It's been a while since I had a year where I sent out two posts.  I think that's a good sign... it means I've done stuff that I think is worth sharing.  Whether you'll actually enjoy it is another story but this is about me ok?

Best Wedding Invitation Ever

Some of you might remember my old roommate Sean from when I lived in the Mission in SF or, as Jason and I used to call him, "Awesome."  Why did we call him Awesome?  You'll just have to ask Sean next time you see him, but I guarantee the ensuing storytellng and visuals are :chefkiss:.  Anyhow, back in the spring out of nowhere I got an invitation to attend his wedding in India, to which I, of course, replied "Fuck yes."  That wasn't actually one of the options but I did write it in.  I'd never been to India before and had always thought that when I finally did get a chance to travel there I'd take 3-4 months to really get a feel for that enormous country and its people and culture.  Fate intervened, however, and I only had 10 days of vacation left from work after my recent trip to England which meant I had to make do.  I decided to split the trip into the wedding part and then the relax part:  Beaches in Goa.

 

I'll spare you the gory details about my flight into Bengaluru other than to say that it was canceled on the day I was supposed to fly out and I spent 3 hours on the phone trying to negotiate another flight with Air India.  The wedding took place at a resort in the Nandi Hills about an hour outside of Bengaluru.  By the time I arrived to the hotel it was 4AM and the only person at the front desk was the executive chef which, yes, also seemed very strange at the time.  Unsurprisingly, about 30 minutes of shenanigans ensued whereby I was told I didn't have a room, or that I needed to wait until the following day at 2PM or that they didn't have a reservation for me.  We finally straightened that last part out when I realized that my booking was under "Mr. Dhave."  I finally got into a room at about 5AM and crashed.  That's the thing about traveling... if you can get into a chill state of mind you can handle just about anything.  Don't be in a hurry, don't be tired, don't be hungry.  The tired one can be a challenge because sometimes it's out of your control, but if you've got the other two covered you're usually ok.  The don't be hungry one drives me bonkers though.  Have you ever hung out with anyone who warns you that "they get hangry" and then whenever they haven't eaten for a while they turn into an asshole?  And then think it's ok or that you shouldn't react because they're "hangry?"  Well fuck that!  You're an adult!  Pack a granola bar or a banana or something.  Your lack of preparation does not constitute an emergency for me.

 

I packed light and figured I could buy clothes for the wedding once I got there and a few others in the wedding party felt the same way.  Ryan (Sean's brother), Elaine (Ryan's wife), Kaleigh, Corey and I took a trip into a several nearby villages to pick up some super sweet outfits.  As has been documented in these annals I suck at bargaining and luckily India is relatively cheap.  I ended up with 3 different outfits so I could go through my Beyonce outfit changes as appropriate.  I don't know if this is only me but I think a couple years ago was the first time that I was putting on clothes and looking at the mirror and going "yeah that looks pretty good" and then I panned up to my head and was like "Aaah!  Yikes who is that crinkly guy?"  That's how I feel about most of my pictures nowadays.  I don't think it'll ever stop me from wearing the same clothes I always do, but it might be a weird look to see an 82 year old guy sitting on a stoop with a backward ballcap, shorts and t-shirt instead of a cardigan and slacks.  Oh well.

 

Nandana and Sean showered by rose petals

Now to the main event.  Conceptually I was thinking that a 2-day wedding would have downtime, or times where I'd be bored or have nothing to do but that was definitely not the case.  It helped that over 20 of Sean's friends flew in from all corners of the globe, or that there were easily over 200 people at the wedding roaming in and out over the course of the weekend.  And honestly, I really love weddings.  I've attended over 50 of them (I lost count about 10 years ago) and I've officiated three of them.  They are the one day that is filled with hope, joy, friends and family and should pierce the veil of even the most hardened cynic.  I say "should" because some folks out there are buzz-killing soul siphons but hopefully you don't fall into that category.  Anyhow, there were four distinct parts of the wedding that sort of blurred together over the course of the two days.  Every ceremony had a kaleidoscope of colors from flowers, wreaths, clothing and decoration.  Music and chanting were a constant presence, either featured or hanging in the background.  I was grinning ear to ear both days.  It was a very different experience for me, with so much pure joy and smiles from all who attended.  It wasn't stuffy in any way like some of the western shit.  I didn't understand the language but I could get the vibe; colorful and chaotic but with a purpose.  Even the ceremonies themselves were formal and yet not, with lots of laughing and informality even from the priests themselves.  I can't remember all the details but the actual wedding itself was at 4AM on the second day which was meant to be an astrologically auspicious time.  Nandana's mom and her sister Shilpa split their time between participating in the ceremonies and making sure all the guests were having a good time (and helping us understand what the hell was going on).  Shilpa even sent all of us a doc with an explanation of all the rituals that happened on the Saturday. I'll never forget the experience and I don't think words will do it justice.  Hopefully the photos will help.

 

After the wedding I wanted to spend my last few days in India relaxing by the water.  Ever since I watched the second Bourne Identity movie I've been captivated by the idea of the beaches in Goa which is where they're staying at the beginning of the movie.  Whenever I say that to somebody the first thing they say is "wait doesn't his girlfriend die in that scene?" to which I say "yeah ok but that's not the point.  That beach looks amazing!"  It turns out the beach in that scene is called Palolem and is where I stayed for my sojourn in south Goa.  Well Palolem Beach was a lot less crowded when Matt Damon was running along the shoreline back in 2004 but it is spectacular nonetheless.  It's crescent-shaped with a small island at its northern tip, surrounded by palm trees and with a hippie/backpacker vibe.  Whenever I take a trip to a beach location I end up going stir crazy after a couple of days and finding something different to do but that didn't happen this time.  Maybe I needed the relaxation time.  I planted myself on a chair, listening to a good audiobook, occasionally went for a swim, then rinse and repeat until evening.  There are anchor points that I usually have when I'm traveling if I'm going to stay in one place for a few days and I'm not sure what I'm going to do, like looking for good beer, or finding decent coffee, or taking a cooking class (which I did).  I also took a half-day drive inland with my new pal Suraj to look at waterfalls and take a tour of a spice farm where they grow betel nuts, nutmeg, mace, vanilla, bananas, coriander, coffee, peppercorns, piri piri peppers, cinnamon, turmeric and basil.  Every herb had a requisite home remedy and the guide was excellent at explaining their sustainable practices, for example leveraging the betel nut trees to grow vines of vanilla because the trees have no branches.  The whole "health benefits" talk track was slightly undermined by tthe decrepit old man who entered from stage left and looked like he could have been toppled by a light breeze.  I talked to Suraj a bit about India in general during our drive together; he's optimistic likes the development that's happening in Goa, though he's concerned that beer prices will eventually spike to Bengaluru levels.

 

The next day I decided to try my luck at an Emotional Blockage Chakra treatment at the World Happiness School.  For those of you that know me well you might find this puzzling, but I saw these fliers around town and said to myself "Self... when is the next time you'll be able to have your emotional chakras unblocked by the World Happiness School?" Also at this point maybe I had gone slightly stir crazy about the beach but I'm not gonna go back and edit the previous section.  Anyway, it turns out that the school is a wooden shack in a secluded alcove about 100 yards from the beach run by a tiny, bespectacled and very smiley Indian gnome but, you know, details.  As for the experience itself, I'm going to refer back to my notes I wrote immediately afterward and write them out for you verbatim:

• Spent 10 minutes examining my feet, toes, calves.
• Said I have too many thoughts
• I had conflict and anger when I was younger (stored in my left leg).  Repressed anger.
• Told me I have sleep issues.  If I fix them my knees will feel better.
• Said that something traumatic happened to me when I was 21 or 22 (?) 
• Most painful massage I've ever had by far (1 hour) 
• Super intense breath work for the last 10 minutes 
• Felt like I was vibrating for 10 minutes after. Light headed when I tried to get up.  Still in a daze 20 mins later. 
• Homework
• Soak calves in hot water with salt for 20 minutes every day
• No salad for a while.  Maybe during the day.  Raw veg no good for sleep.
• Nutmeg in milk.
• For anxiety, in the daytime block my right nostril.  At night, block my left nostril. 

It was a crazy experience.  That little guy really tore me up.  He was fucking strong!  I was lying on my stomach the whole time but I'm pretty sure elbows got involved and I think he was walking on me for a while. My calves hurt for two days afterward.  He really got in there.  As some of you may know I'm not unfamiliar with the power of breath work but maybe something about the combination of the massaging and the length of the breath work got me all high. I've got nowhere to soak my calves and I haven't tried the nostril thing, but I've avoided eating raw vegetables for a while (not sure it's helping with my sleep).  I can't really say whether the unblocking worked but I'll let you know if it does.

Anand 'n me

That evening I went out for a sunset paddle on a kayak and spent the evening listening to live music while eating dinner and drinking a couple of beers.  This is where everything went wrong.  Maybe it was the tandoori prawns, or the unexpected raw veg on the papadums, or I dunno maybe I was expelling toxins from my treatment but that night was the onset of a violent bout of food poisoning that (sparing you the gory details) took me out of commission for the next 36 hours.  I didn't crawl out into the sunlight until the morning of my departure.  I decided to find a barber to shave my face and head and see if it could energize me in some way.  Well, the open-air barber I found on the main street turned out to be full-service.  It was the best shave of my life; straight razor twice in both directions.  He gave me a head massage, a face massage and exfoliation.  I've never been told to take my shirt off by a barber but I decided to just go with it.  He rubbed some kind of cooling oil all over me and massaged my head, arms and back.  Then he used a weird vibrating machine that attached to the palm of his hand and reminded me of a plate compactor to massage my arms and shoulders.  Then he cleaned out my nose, ears and even trimmed my eyebrows.  I walked out of there after an hour feeling... resplendent.  The downside is that I felt pretty oily for most of the day, like a mackerel.  Because the "treatment" took so long I almost missed my ride to the airport with Anand, who is a friend of Suraj.  We talked for most of the ride to the airport and I learned that he's newly married, he's been driving in Goa for 20 years, he likes English and German tourists but not Russians or Israelis (he is indifferent about Americans).  I told him that I was pleasantly surprised to see so many Indian tourists on the beach in Palolem (at least half) and Anand said that it was a recent phenomenon from Covid-times... people rediscovering their own country.  He also told me that next time I shouldn't go on a tour with Suraj because he's only been doing this for a couple of years, and Anand will take me to Hampi temple which he insists is one of the best places to visit in India.  He's conflicted about the development in Goa although he thinks it will be good for most people.  He also invited me to dinner at his house next time I come to Goa and said his wife will make chicken.  We covered a lot of ground in an hour and a half.  When he dropped me off he took a selfie of both of us and texted me a couple days later to make sure I got home all right.

I still don't really feel like I can say I "visited India" because I only saw two small specks on a huge continent.  I loved my time there, though, and I will be back when I can wander for, I dunno, two months at least.  People were friendly, the scenery and the history are amazing, food was great (especially fish thali), it was easy to get around and affordable.  I could have done with fewer emergency shits in the morning though.

Here's a link to the photos:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/qu8uzuv68xVmtdYLA

Take 'er easy,

Dave

A long way to go for a pint

 Hey everybody,

Wow... it's been a while. A lot has happened the last few years but rather than bore you with the whole story I figured I'd call upon my old pal ChatGPT to help summarize it using the personality of a southern gentleman named "The Colonel."

Well now, gather ‘round, y’all, and let ol’ Colonel spin ya a yarn about Dave’s last couple o’ years—a stretch o’ time so full o’ twists and turns it’d make a Mississippi riverboat look like it’s sittin’ still. I do declare, it all kicked off with Dave hittin’ the big five-oh, and he didn’t let that milestone sneak by like a fox in the henhouse. No sir! He had a birthday shindig so grand, the echoes of laughter are probably still bouncin’ ‘round the rafters. Not long after, he moseyed down to Guatemala for his cousin Andrea’s wedding—a celebration finer than sweet tea on a summer porch—only to find himself in a showdown with a case of food poisoning so ferocious it near bout’ knocked him clean off his feet and left him with a hernia as a parting gift. What in tarnation, indeed!

But Dave’s tale ain’t all bellyaches and bedpans. Last year found him under the warm Thai sun, standin’ shoulder to shoulder with dear friends he’d made two decades prior when they built homes for tsunami survivors. It was a reunion of hearts and history, like findin’ a long-lost tune and hummin’ it in harmony once more. And this past year? Well now, suffice it to say, life’s winds done shifted mighty strong. Through a painful but mighty important change, Dave’s chartin’ a brand-new course, and wouldn’t ya know it, the horizon’s lookin’ brighter than sunrise on a rooster’s comb.

Why I do declare that ChatGPT did a mighty fine job with that summation!  Time for a mint julep!  But enough about that... let's get to the traveling.

As you may know I have a personal goal to travel to at least one new country every year and this year that country was Wales.  Why Wales you may ask?  First off, their flag has a fucking dragon on it!  That should be reason enough but in case you need more a) they have castles, b) the Welsh language is impenetrably weird yet strangely melodious, c) my buddy Mark, who lives in Liverpool, offered to play tour guide and d) my love for British beer is well-documented.  No finer libation has yet been created than a proper pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord.

The tour started in Liverpool:  Home of the Beatles, league champions Liverpool football club and scouse.  My buddy Rich flew out from Toronto and met up with us as well, and Mark took us on a whirlwind one-day tour of his home town.  We walked along Crosby beach to see a load of smoothed bricks from buildings bombed in World War II, a windmill farm out in the sea, and a bunch of naked iron statues of Antony Gormley.  We strolled along the Wirral promenade and stopped at a few of Mark's favorite pubs every couple of hours.  Ok maybe it was more like every hour.

The next day we drove to Ambleside in the Lake District for a couple of days of scenic hikes (and country pubs).  I first read about the Lake District in a book by Alain DeBotton that talked about it as a beautiful holiday destination and after visiting I have to concur.  There are loads of... well... lakes... in the district with multiple walking paths and roads linking the multiple villages in the region (there are 18 YHA hostels in the Lake District alone!).  With Ambleside as our base we hiked to Grasmere on the first day where we met up with Lee who had driven over from Derbyshire.  The walks are well-marked and not particularly strenuous and they take you along various hilltops with views of lakes wherever you go.    Rock walls and brambles surround you as you and occasionally you'll even find a small lake or pond on a hilltop all for yourself.  Mark took us to The Black Bull Inn in Coniston; one of his favorite pubs and home of the fantastic Bluebird Bitter.  The second day we hiked toward Langdale and ended up at the Old Dungeon Ghyll pub where I had a magical steak and ale pie.  We drove to Keswick to visit the Castlerigg stone circle: a neolithic megalith with fantastic views of the surrounding countryside.  Nowadays it seems like these views are mostly enjoyed by herds of sheep who like to leave lots of gifts for visitors making it impossible for you to leave with your shoes unscathed.  In two days we only managed to scratch the surface of the hikes and beautiful views you can experience in the Lake District.  I can see why it's such a popular destination and I can only imagine the nightmarish hellscape it turns into during high season with these tiny villages and one-lane roads.

We headed to Lee and Anna's place in Belper for the next couple of days and on the way I had a transcendent experience thanks to Gail's bakery in Buxton... namely the best sausage roll I've ever eaten. It was life-changing.  Juicy, crunchy, herb-filled.  It was the last sausage roll in the bakery so I can only believe it was my destiny to partake of its goodness.  I will long for this sausage roll in the years to come.  I ask you this my friends:  Is it better to have sausage rolled and lost, or never to have sausage rolled at all?

We visited Eyam village which, in the 17th century, completely isolated itself in order to prevent spreading the bubonic plague.  We visited Nottingham, home of Robin Hood and the oldest pub in England (Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem from 1189).  We toured the Criminal Justice Museum where we beheld a mock 18th century trial, viewed some truly horrific implements of torture/imprisonment and wondered how the hell you provide each prisoner one pound of meat per day on the journey to Australia.  We enjoyed a fantastic pint of Landlord at the Six Barrel drafthouse.  And we, of course, engaged in only the highest levels of discourse including gems like "Enough with the ruins Mark... let's limit the culture to 5 minutes a day tops" or Lee's "Don't get in a fight if you aren't prepared to bite someone."

And now we come to Wales.  At least once a year Mark meets a crew of friends (Kristy, Jo, Sara, Isabel, Fran, Jo and Simon) that he knows from nursing and they pick a destination in the UK, rent a bunkhouse and spend a weekend hiking and hanging out.  Lucky for me they chose Wales this year and, more specifically, the Gower peninsula in the southwest.  Everyone brought food and drinks to share and couldn't be friendlier.  We hiked along the stark and scenic coastline of Rhossili beach and on the second day from Worm's head along the southern cliffs.  It's one of those "I'm at the end of the world" type locations where not only are you looking out to an endless ocean but you also know that there's nothing to the west until Ireland and southwest you'd have to go all the way to Cuba until you hit land.  The UK is extremely hiker-friendly with well-marked walking trails and a "right of way" system where even if the trails go through farmland they need to be maintained.  One important note about southwest Wales that I did not realize is that it has fairly severe weather swings.  I *thought* I was prepared for it, but when you're in a t-shirt under clear sky one minute then the next minute bucketfuls of rain are coming at you horizontally shortly followed by hail that can come as a shock.  It was like that scene from Caddyshack where Carl says "I'd keep playing. I don't think the heavy stuff is gonna come down for quite a while."  I finally understood why our bunkhouse had a "drying room."  

 

 

 

Despite only having known me for a couple of days, Jo was kind enough to let Mark and I stay at her house in Bristol after we left the Welsh coast.  Bristol feels like one of those cities that's very livable, with loads of street art and murals, architecture, history, a good restaurant/bar scene and university vibes.  We crossed the Clifton suspension bridge designed by Brunel, walked along the harborfront and saw the SS Great Britain also designed by Brunel, saw loads of street art, went in a church, drank beer and ate shwarma.  After Bristol we stopped at Ludlow which has a nice church and a good brewery but honestly we need to talk about the hot roast pork sandwich I got there.  It had to be easily a full pound of pork plus stuffing plus applesauce plus crackling.  I never thought it was possible to suffer from pork overload but I can tell you that I did not eat anything for the next 24 hours.  From Ludlow it was on to Shrewsbury for the night.

 

The next morning we were off to north Wales.  On the way we stopped to go for a hike up to the neolithic Wrekin hill fort.  The hike through the forest was long and steep, and at the end you really have to use your imagination because all you can see are dirt mounds.  It's a spectacular 360-degree view, though, and it's easy to understand why people from a few thousand years ago would have wanted to build a fort in that location.  Plus we needed at least some daily exercise to offset the pints.  From there we were back in Wales for a quick visit to the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct which is a world heritage site.  My understanding is that it's one of the first major feats of civil engineering of the industrial age that involved building an acqueduct out of iron to create a waterway all across a valley.  When it was built it was used to transport goods but now the canal boats are mainly used for tours.  You can cross the acqueduct on foot and have amazing views of the surrounding valley, and you get a first-hand look at the kind of traffic jam that can happen when an acqueduct has only room for one canal boat.  

 

Conwy Castle

Our destination was Conwy for a couple of nights but before arriving there we had to stop in Llangollen to sample the culinary delight of the Welsh Oggie.  Apparently there is a rivalry between the Oggie and the Cornish Pastie, but the winner in this contest is my stomach.  Flaky pastry filled with wild game and potatoes... there is no way that can go wrong.  From there we stayed a couple of nights in Conwy where there is a world heritage castle that was built by Edward the first (the bad guy from Braveheart!) during his conquest of Wales.  The castle is in remarkably good shape and you can walk along its walls and scale the towers.  It's positioned strategically right on a river so the only way to siege it is by boat or through the main barbican.  Even though it cost a fortune to build, it didn't see much use by Edward or subsequent kings.  We drove up near Mt. Snowdon and had a pint in an in where Edmund Hillary stayed when he was training to climb Mt. Everest.  We visited the Bryn Celli Du neolithic burial mound.  Mark once again pointed out sites of "pivotal battles" which was a recurring theme during the trip, though to be fair all battles are pivotal to the loser.  Honestly Conwy would've been worth a visit just for pints at the Albion Inn where they serve Purple Moose on cask heh heh.

And now we come to Man Camp. Mark made me change my flight just so I wouldn't miss out on this yearly gathering of reprobates and degenerates.  This may surprise some of you that have met Mark... you think he's kind, generous, innocent... well nothing could be further from the truth.  It's well known among our tight friend circle that Mark may, in fact, be a serial killer.  When Mark bought his new station wagon one of his mates asked him if it had good drainage.  Now you understand why I had to sleep with one eye open the entire trip.  But back to Man Camp.  I think it was curiosity that made me agree to stay because all I knew was the title and Mark was really evasive about everything else.  I asked him who was going to be there and he said Elvis, Bertie, Johnny Cash and The Captain among others.  Every once in a while he'd throw out some ominous anecdote about shenanigans that had occurred at previous Man Camps which brought to mind visions of sweaty drunk, shirtless men unleashing primal screams so I had to be clear with Mark:  No circle jerks.  We can hang out in a square, or a triangle, a parallelogram or shit even a rhombus but if I see anyone starting to form a circle I'm making for the hills.

 

It turns out my concerns were unwarranted.  We met the crew at Ironbridge which is known for (duh) an iron bridge that was one of the heralds of the beginning of the industrial revolution.  A few of the fellas were already cracking open cans of Stella at 10am but we walked it off over the next 6 hours and 11 miles.  It was a beautiful hike through forest, up hillsides and along farmland.  The guys couldn't have been friendlier or more quick-witted.  The afternoon turned into an evening at the pub with just a bunch of middle-aged guys drinking beer and bonding over pop culture references and music from the 80s and 90s.  I did hear that Johnny Cash threw up in the car the next morning though so the legend of Man Camp continues!

 

Which brings me to the end of my trip.  What can I say about Mark?  I hope everyone realizes that I don't really think he's a serial killer (at least that's what I'm going to tell the judge if I'm ever called as a witness).  He drove us across 1200 miles in western England and Wales on a journey that he planned himself.  Mark's knowledge of British history and archaeology gave life and color to every site we visited. He incorporated me into two of his friend groups.  I never felt bored or annoyed, and we could easily have conversations for hours or even slip into comfortable silence for a while (like Mia Wallace and Vincent Vega).  I'm lucky to have him as a friend.

A few postscripts:

• We drove over 1200 miles
• We averaged over 8 miles walking per day
• We averaged 5-6 pints per day
• Why do so many British women dye their hair that burgundy color?  No one could give me an answer.
• British food gets a bad rap.  You can survive on beer and baked goods no problem.

A Sunday Roast for all of you

Here's a link to the photos:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/tAKGkAGAgf3yfgXi9 

 

Take 'er easy,

Dave