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Guyanese food is very difficult to make if you are a newbie. It takes years and years of practice and acquired intuition to get a dish perfect on a consistent basis, and even then, one person’s way of doing things may be completely different than another person’s.  As the recipes on the Guyana cookbook are more guidelines than instructions, I’d like to offer some cooking tips that can help put you on the straight and narrow when it comes to Guyanese food.

Don't let your roti turn out like this!

Top Ten Tips for Making Roti

1. Use WARM to HOT water when making the dough. I don’t understand the physics of it, but it makes the dough turn out better than using cold water.

2. ALWAYS keep dough covered while you are working with individual pieces to keep it from drying out. I like using a damp paper towel. Nothing is worse than working with dried out dough.

3. WOODEN rolling pins are better than marble. Something about the grainy texture provides the right amount of traction but no stick. (Beer bottles can be used in a pinch if you find that someone has stolen your rolling pin for unknown purposes, or if your significant other/children/ayi put it in the wrong cupboard and you just didn’t find it in time)

4. TIE UP YOUR HAIR (if you’re a girl with long hair)- stray hairs in the dough just isn’t appetizing

5. Use ONE hand to mix the dough, that way you’ll have a clean hand to turn on  faucet to refill your water cup without getting flour all over the sink

6. Instead of rolling and oiling and refolding individual rotis, save time by rolling just-made dough into a LARGE RECTANGLE, about twice as long as it is wide. Spread oil and sprinkle flour across the surface like you would in the recipe instructions for individual rotis, and then starting from the long-end, roll the dough up like you would a yoga mat. Then pinch off into balls, twisting the ends closed and pressing them in.

7. Individual roti balls should be about the size of a TANGERINE

8. DON’T roll roti too thin, or else it won’t rise and separate. Optimal thickness is 1/10 of an inch, the thickness of a 5 cent coin.

9. Make sure the Tawa is HOT HOT HOT before you cook. Water should sizzle and evaporate immediately when sprinkled on the surface.

10. Only flip 3 times! Any more and the roti will become tough.

I hope these tips help!

After living in China where you don’t need an ID, wait in a line, pay a cover, nor even really look nice to get into a decent club or swanky bar, the exclusivity and judging atmosphere of some clubs in DC are rather off-putting. I know that the perception of exclusivity is a good business strategy for clubs, as it attracts well-dressed, well-moneyed clientele who will make the club look good and spend lots of money, but to me it just seems oddly counter intuitive to create an unwelcoming atmosphere for customers. I’ve personally never had an issue getting into a club (being young, female and reasonably attractive is certainly an advantage), but it does make me distinctly uncomfortable to enter a place that has dozens of large bouncers standing around doing nothing but hogging floor space.
My biggest problem is with a club called Lima, which has a salsa night on Mondays that I regularly attend. There is always a relatively good showing for it being a Monday (there are plenty of salsa enthusiasts in DC), but nothing extraordinary, it’s certainly not packed, and as most people have to work the next day, no heavy drinking occurs to incite rowdy shenanigans. Yet despite this, there are always four to five big guys in suits standing around the club watching the salsa dancers do their thing. It is really hard to dance well and be carefree about it when there is a guy just a foot away watching you. Of course, I know that he is surveying the whole room, and not just watching me and internally critiquing my dancing skills (although he could be), but it is still an odd feeling. It’s MONDAY, and people are there to salsa dance specifically, not a scenario that would call for 5 bouncers to be in the room. I can’t imagine how many they would have for a typical Friday or Saturday night, but then again, I probably wouldn’t go to Lima if it weren’t for the salsa. I’m not a “there to be seen” type of person, and it is certainly that type of club. Get me back to Beijing where I could go to a club in my PJs and dance without anyone looking twice!

While in Washington (the State), I had a discussion with my family over potentially dropping my first name, as my parents (and consequently the rest of the world) have always called me by my middle name. My parents were against the name drop -they did give me my first name for a reason after all- and so I have decided to join the ranks of F. Scott Fitzgerald and E. Annie Proulx and officially become C. Devi (It’s on my new business cards, that’s what makes the change official).

Now that’s been decided, it is my new goal to embrace the C. In addition to my two concrete New Year’s Resolutions -stop biting my nails and write more blogs- I have three abstract goals for the new year which I have deemed the “3 C’s:” 1) Become more Cultured, be more Culinary, and Contribute more to my community (if Contributive were a word, I would have used it, but it’s not).

Be more Cultured

I am lucky enough to live in a city rife with history, art, events, galleries, museums, artifacts, architecture and all sorts of other culturally uplifting things, but until yesterday, I had not taken advantage of it once in the four months I’ve lived here. School and internships and friends do take up a lot of time. Yesterday, however, I ended my uncultured streak with a trip to the National Portrait Gallery with my sister and a couple of friends. It is amazing how much high school history I have forgotten; names like Cotton Mather, William Henry Harrison and Chester Alan Arthur were all distant memories. I also learned a lot of interesting things at the museum that I could use to trick people into thinking I was an American history buff, such as the fact that the first Bible printed in America was in the Algonquin language. Which begs the question, were Algonquin Indians even literate? I can’t imagine that reading was a useful skill for Native Americans back then. In any case, it is for little tidbits like this that I would like to visit more museums while I am here in the heart of DC.

Be More Culinary

I love to cook, but alas, school and internships and friends again have hampered any culinary conquests more adventurous than pasta, curries from a packet, and fried rice. With all the new kitchen gadgets that I received for Christmas -one slap n chop, a rocket blender, an olive oil mister and 2 slow cookers (one large, one small)-I’d like to start being an adventurous chef again, that is if other people’s diets don’t get in the way of my culinary genius.

Contribute More to my Community

In high school, volunteer work looked good on your college applications. In college, it looked good on your resume. Neither of those matter for me any more, but after living in China where altruism is rarely seen, and after benchmarking Corporate Social Responsibility reports as part of my internship duties for Vz, I’ve come to realize how important social responsibility is. Altruism is a beautiful thing, and I’ve decided that I’ve gone too long without doing anything that didn’t directly help myself. I’m still on the lookout for ways to volunteer my services and skills in the DC area, if you have any good ideas, let me know!

Compared to many Americans, I do not drive very often. This is due to the fact that in DC there are many incentives for not driving (parking is expensive/unavailable, DC meter maids are the most vigilant in the world, and public transportation is cheap and abundant). Plus, my time in China has led to a strong preference for biking, and any car transportation needs are easily provided by family members. As such, I only drive about once or twice a month, which keeps my driving skills and emergency know-how at a persistently rusty level. This makes any unforeseen car problems all the more difficult for me to handle. Luckily, there are the Michelle Obamas of the world that are there to offer help.

As I was driving back to Maryland from DC today, I stopped at a traffic light as per usual traffic regulations. When the light turned green, I hit the gas to find that my car suddenly wouldn’t move. Confused, I check everything and discover that the car’s engine had inexplicably shut off. Thinking it was a mere stall, I turn the ignition once, twice, thrice…nothing. The ignition was turning, but the engine would not catch…my car was dead in the middle of the road. Cars started to honk behind me (I was in the left lane of a two lane road) and I realized the desperation of my situation. I was by myself, obstructing traffic, and completely unsure of what to do. I decided that since I couldn’t move the car by myself, my best option was to turn on the hazards, call my dad, and sit there pathetically until help arrived. Perhaps if I looked miserable enough, other drivers wouldn’t be so mad that I had created a traffic jam. So, I sat there. After five minutes, a cop pulled up and asked if I had called a tow truck. I told him that my dad had called one, and the cop told me that he had a round to make, but that if I was still there after he made his round, he would help me push the car to the side. Thinking that he was just going to loop around and be back in a few minutes, I waved off a taxi driver who stopped on the other side of the median and asked if I needed help. 10 minutes later, I was still in the middle of the road, when a figure suddenly taps on my window. It was a well dressed, middle-aged African-American woman in high heels and a fur coat. She first asked me if I was okay (which I thought was an interesting, but kind way of inquiring why the heck I was stopped in the middle of the road), and I tell her that I am fine, but the car is not. She then takes command, telling me to put the car in neutral and turn off the parking brake, and without any further ado gets behind the car and begins to push. I might also add that it was freezing cold out with high winds. A passing biker, probably shamed that a middle-age woman in high heels was pushing the car by herself in freezing weather also stopped, and together they got the car off the road. I thanked them profusely, and they both left. At this point, my parents and tow truck were on the way, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

But the altruism of the Michelle Obama look-alike didn’t stop there. Apparently she had gone back to get her car, which meant she was not a passer-by as I had previously thought, but had specifically pulled over to help me out. Then she came back for me, and offered to give me a ride to a Starbucks or the metro station so I wouldn’t have to freeze in the car. Talk about kind-hearted! I was about to take her up on her offer when I got a call from my mom that she and my dad were only 15 minutes away. Thanking the woman, I told her I would be rescued soon, and with a cry of “Happy New Year!” she drove off. If there was such a thing as a New Year’s Fairy, it would be that woman. Thanks again First-Lady-Look-Alike!

If you wanted to compare two strikingly different things, try comparing an auditorium full of well-heeled, well-connected DC-ites sitting comfortably in the plush seats of the Sydney Harmon Opera house to a group of malnourished, poverty- stricken people of Sub-Saharan origin having giant parasitic worms being pulled from festering boils on their skin.

Quite a contrast, don’t you think?

Yet this was the dichotomy presented at a Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation event that I attended as a VZ representative this past Tuesday. The event was a multi-media presentation entitled “Living Proof,” an awareness campaign that health care investments and initiatives in developing countries are working, and that there should be more.

 The presentation was more like a theater production, complete with auditorium style seating at an opera house, complex lighting sequences, projected stage back drop, and of course the stars themselves, Bill and Melinda Gates, who gave the presentation. There were video clips, photographs, moving charts, lighting gimmicks, dumb jokes, even a singing performance by an African a capella group “Vocal Motion” to complete the performance effect.

 While I don’t mean to disparage the importance and solemnity of the subject of health care in developing countries, nor pretend that I was not moved by the touching video clips and human stories presented that night, the high tech and “performancy” nature of the presentation was more distracting to me then impacting. Perhaps I’m the only one though, because I wasn’t expecting it. Perhaps the congressmen and the common, the former with power over funding, the latter with the power over public opinion, need high tech gimmicks in order to have a lasting impression, and therefore motivation to act. Perhaps with my theater production experience, I was distracted by the obvious tricks of the performance trade. I saw Bill and Melinda reading from prompters, I admired their tag-team performance, I wondered if it was worth it to pay for the travel, lodging and stipend of five African singers for a two minute performance. I couldn’t stop trying to calculate the budget for this production, er presentation, in my head.

 I did learn a lot from the presentation, but it registered to me as a show, not as a serious issue that needs government and popular support. Hopefully I was the only one who felt that way, because the issue of health care investment in developing nations is indeed critically important.

 I learned that diseases like smallpox and polio have been almost completely eradicated from the planet as a result of global health investment and initiatives. Child mortality has dropped by more than half since 1960. Vaccinations are the ultimate prevention tool, and more diseases can be eradicated through the development and distribution of vaccines. I learned that there is still a lot that needs to be done. For example, maternal and newborn health has not had any significant improvement in the past few decades, and 4 million newborns and .5 million mothers (during childbirth) still die every year.

There is no need for a song and dance routine to convince me of the importance of something, but perhaps it is necessary for others.

I first apologize to all readers for the woeful dearth of blogs. I have in the past four months transitioned to a completely new life and lifestyle, and have not yet managed to revamp my blog to match the changes in my life. I do hope to change this.

The major adjustments in my life are threefold: I have moved back to the U.S after 3 years in China, I have started a Masters program at GW’s Elliott School of International affairs in DC, and I have entered the high-power corporate world that is the ICT industry, telecoms specifically, as intern for Verizon Government Relations.

Like my new neighbor Barack Obama has promised, I have experienced change. So far the change has been mostly positive. I am thoroughly enjoying my studies and classes, I love living in the beautiful city that is DC, I am thrilled with my position at Verizon, I’ve made a great new group of friends, and I have begun a couple of new recreational activities- salsa dancing and frisbee.

The only negative change is that I’ve had to say goodbye to my boyfriend, who is still in China doing a year long bicycle trip. My fingers are crossed that he will join me in DC next year.

I hope to change the nature of this blog to coincide with the changes in my life. I will still write about China within the scope of my studies, but more likely than not, my blog will be about life in DC, just as I had written previously about life in China. Hopefully this will still be interesting to readers!

The title of this post may be a bit dramatic for the present condition of Xinjiang, but “armpit” is the inevitable, if unfortunate, direction that Chinese leaders are taking this once culturally rich, stunningly beautiful and majestic land.
Our trip through Xinjiang lasted two weeks, and during that time we went to most of the “glories” that Lonely Planet bothered to write about. We arrived in the capital of Urumqi, but were told by everyone to get out of that city as fast as possible because it was nothing but a Han (Chinese) dominated dump, which was close to the truth. So, after staying less than 12 hours in the city, we got on a train going south to Kashgar. Kashgar is really all that is left of “majestic” Xinjiang. The culture at least, was still visible, and exploring the Old Town was a trip back in time, despite the Chinese graffiti everywhere, and by graffiti I mean the character “Chai,” which was spray painted across most buildings in Old Town like festering sores. “Chai” has often been the scourge of old Beijing, and means to raze. Every building with the character “Chai” written on it is destined to be torn down at a moment’s notice, on the whim of government developers.
What made it so paradoxical was that every tourist billboard in Kashgar advertised Old Town as a “tourist zone,” and they obviously recognize its worth as a tourist money maker (if not its worth as home to hundreds of thousands of Uighers), but they still are intent on knocking it all down. Apparently Old Town is scheduled for demolition within the next few years, and we had seen it just in the nick of time.
From Kashgar we took a 3 day journey to the Southwest, nearing the borders of several Stans – Pakistan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan. We visited a glacier lake, Lake Karakul, which was beautiful, but the whole experience was ruined by local thugs who extorted money out of us by refusing to let us leave until we paid an exorbitant “entrance fee” to see this lake. From there we went to the Chinese border town of Tashkorgan, which aside from the ruins of a Stone City, unique dress of the Tajik people and beautiful views of snowcapped mountains, was just another Han dump town like Urumqi.
From there we took a drive to the China-Pakistan Border. The drive itself offered breathtaking views of snow-capped mountains, and when we arrived we had the thrill of stepping into Pakistan, under the close supervision of the Chinese border patrol who were a little overly zealous about keeping you in China. The three Pakistani policeman that were there didn’t care whether you walked five feet or five feet 3 inches into their country, but the Chinese sure did, and would shout at you to come back into China if you went just an inch too far.
After that we went to the base camp of the third highest mountain in China, Mount Moseque Ata (spelling is wrong I’m sure), where we camped overnight. That is a story in itself.
Weary after our camping experience, we went back to Kasghar, and from there hopped on a bus to Hotan. Hotan is meant to be the most Uigher of all cities, not as overrun by Han conquerors as elsewhere. This of course meant that communication was a little more difficult, but we still managed just fine. While in Hotan we went to the Sunday market, which was quite the cultural experience. You can buy virtually anything you would ever need if you lived in Xinjiang, sheep’s wool, silk headdresses, carpets, bed frames, goats, cows, donkeys, skull caps, etc. We had an interesting time at the Livestock Bazaar, where there were thousands of sheep, some cows, and donkeys. The only camel we saw in there, however, was a decapitated one. We also visited the slaughterhouse, where they sold every part of the animal except for the head, which lay in piles on the ground. It was a little sickening because I kept imagining that they were human heads!
We left Hotan and took a bus through the Taklamakan Desert, which was an interesting but very long ride (24 hours). The story of how we got on the bus is also an interesting one, which I will leave for later.
Our destination was Turpan, the second lowest spot in the world and also the hottest place in China. It’s famous as a grape growing area, and they certainly could make delicious wine if Muslims drank alcohol. As it is, the Muslims simply dry the prodigious amounts of grapes and make raisins of them. The small wine industry that is there is controlled by the Han, and as you can imagine, the wine is terrible. Most pedestrian paths in Turpan are covered with lattices laden with grape vines, and all over the countryside as well, making Turpan a beautiful city to stroll through. In fact, I would rank Turpan as the most beautiful city in Xinjiang.
From Turpan we went back to Urumqi, which was the start off point for a 4-day Chinese tour that we joined because it was super cheap. The tour took us to the North of Xinjiang, to Lake Kanas, which borders Kazakhstan and Russia. The Kanas area was actually a “Nature Reserve” but the definition of a nature reserve to the Chinese is vastly different to Western perceptions, to put it as tactfully as possible. To get into the reserve you have to pay a steep entrance fee, and then you have to pay just as steep a “transportation fee” because in order to get around the 25 kilometer reserve, you have to take a gas guzzling passenger bus. And then, once you are on the bus, the tour guide stops off at three designated “scenic spots” in which you get off the bus for five minutes, take pictures, and then get back on. Yes, the area was beautiful and pristine, but it was all beautiful and pristine. Only the Chinese like to pick out the best spots, label them as “scenic spots” for photo taking, and that’s it. That’s how the vast majority of Chinese tourists enjoy nature. To top it all off, there was a lot of construction within this so called nature reserve. They were building fake Swiss-style resort cabins, and even a mini city, within this protected reserve. It was a little disgusting what they were doing to this truly beautiful spot.
But, aside from these negative aspects, the areas away from the construction and tourist zones was incredibly beautiful and pristine. The first day Andy and I found a back entrance to the path leading up to Guanyu point, a mountain peak that afforded stunning views of the lake, mountains and forests. Normally you would have to pay an additional 40 kuai just to climb this mountain, but as we snuck in through a back way we didn’t pay. Plus, there was absolutely no one else on the path, so it was like our own private mountain path that we were climbing. The second day we walked several kilometers along the Kanas river, which was beautiful, and for the most part we didn’t see any other tourists (because they just visit the designated “scenic spots” and don’t go anywhere else), so it was tranquil and pleasant, and so so beautiful.
After that we went back to Urumqi to spend our very last night. We went to the night market, which was very fun, and had the most interesting meal of our trip. We had our own little grill on our table, and cooked all our own meat and vegetables (wearing aprons to prevent grease splatter). It was an enjoyable last night. A visit to see the 1500 year old “Europoid” mummies unearthed in Xinjiang was the last thing we did in Xinjiang before we got on a plane back to Beijing, where it was such a relief to sleep in my own bed and shave off two weeks of hair growth (Sorry if that was too much information).
In all, my impression of Xinjiang was that it was like a cake that has been sitting on the counter for a week and then dropped on the floor. When it was fresh, it was absolutely delightful and delicious, beautiful and tantalizing. Then it started to decay, and then through mishandling or mismanagement was mangled even more. You may still want a bite of that cake knowing that it may have lingering sweetness, but there is only a short time until it is absolutely rotten and you have to throw it away. You either need to refrigerate it now to preserve what’s left, or completely begin again. Hopefully my thoughts on this matter don’t get me kicked out of China!

In the musical “Aida,” the pharaohess begins her narration with the line “Every story is a love story.” In China, I would have to argue that “every story is a sad story.” In the course of my East Asian Studies classes, I have read several translated Chinese novels by such famous authors as Lao She, Mo Yan, Lu Xun, and Ma Jian, and I am now embarking on a new adventure, reading my first Chinese novel in Chinese. It seems that all of these writers love to embrace the tragic. In fact, most Chinese authors I’ve read, including the celebrated Chinese-American author Amy Tan, describe the most extreme of sorrowful situations… horrible deaths (such as drowning in a vat of feces), social or political injustice, suicide, abuse and beatings, mothers drowning babies, starvation and dire poverty, even cannibalism. Needless to say, there has been a lot of cruelty, injustice, and suffering in the course of human history, no matter what civilization, that deserves attention. What I don’t understand is that I have not once come across a Chinese novel that is not absolutely tragic. The book I am reading now is called the Age of Tattoos. I have only read the first 12 pages, but this is what has happened so far: Pregnant woman falls through frozen lake on her way to night shift at a Lime factory. Somehow she gives birth in the icy water and manages to save the infant before she dies (by page 2). By page 5, that infant, who is now nine years old, is hit by a train and has his leg amputated. That nine year old’s older brother is partially responsible, and the father beats him relentlessly. Older brother decides to take revenge on father, has his gang of friends beat up his own father. Then the brother’s gang gets in a fight with another gang, and the older brother is stabbed multiple times until his intestines are falling out. He dies.

Anyway, that’s as far as I have read, and I’m almost afraid to continue. It can only get better from here, right?

My theory is that in the West, we love to live vicariously. Watching people on TV with lives better than our own is a way of gaining a little bit of pleasure. I feel that in China it is the reverse, watching or reading about characters with lives much more miserable than your own is a way of making you life seem relatively good. I’ll have to test out this theory.

In the meantime, enjoy your feel good movies and books!