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Pictures of Bangalore

You can see my pictures of Bangalore here:

Bangalore, India

Home, Sweet Home

So we are home from Bangalore, and I have to say, I appreciate every single little thing about our beautiful slice of heaven here in the Bay Area.  If I ever whine about not having enough of this or wanting more of that, somebody, stop me please.

The trip home was hellish, 9 hours to Frankfurt and another 11 to San Francisco.  It was the most painful 24 hours of my life (2nd to labor of course), and I was prepared to kiss the Peninsula ground as soon as we touched down. 

We are giving it a week to make a decision about whether we will move or not, I really need some distance to be able to think clearly and not just respond emotionally (in which case I would say Hell No) about the challenge of moving to the other side of the world (figuratively and literally).  We did decide, however, to have the baby here, a decision I am very comfortable and happy with.  Now to decide, a home birth or back to the hospital.  Ah, isn't life wonderful, so full of complex choices.

I will post a link to all my pictures which turned out just ok, I really didn't have the time to compose shots like I would have liked.  Some of the best came from the Russell Market, a produce and meat market that is bustling and smelly and piled with foot long okra and tiny eggplant.  Really, a sight to behold, I'll write about that soon.

Finally, a warm thank you to everyone that has sent me words of support and love, even just to hang in there, it helps to know I put all this out there and people do read it, it helps to know that even though I am so very far away, my people are still right next door.  So thank y'all.

Invisible

When I was young, I would hate it if I felt invisible, like no one was noticing me, when no one gave me attention.  As I have gotten old and wise, I have realized that I don't really need to be boisterous and loud to get the attention I need; now I desire it from friends and family, not from strangers.  Bangalore has taught me that invisibility is a luxury.  Everywhere we go, we are stared at.  Men, women, children stare, and I'm not really sure why.  We surely are not the first Westerners to be seen in Bangalore, I know that for a certainty, however when we leave the sanctuary of the Oberoi Hotel (where at least half the faces look like mine), we can guarantee that we will not walk down the street, or be able to take pictures, or go to  he bank or a shop, without being stared at by every person we see.  It gets old really fast.

Not only does everyone stare, they will not acknowledge or smile at me.  I can say "Hi" or "Good Morning" or nod my head at them in a greeting, and nothing, not a waver of the stare, not a glimpse of the person behind the wall.  I hate it, I really have come to just hate it, not being able to go about my day without feeling like a circus freak.  And, according to ex-pats, this does not change and is really hard to get accustomed to.  We have found the friendliest people are those trying to sell us something, at the shops and at the market, and really, I'll take that, a smile and "Hi Maam" feels like home, even if they just want my money.  I'll buy that friendliness for $1.

I hear so many people say that Indians are the friendliest people on Earth.  Where are they?  When does this friendliness kick in?  I have started to walk with my eyes downcast, just to avoid the empty eye contact.  What I would give to be invisible, to stand on the side walk and look around at all the amazing sights without the constant watchful gaze of every citizen, to walk through the market without being yelled and pointed at.  I'm starting to understand more and more why people come to less integrated places of the US and never learn the language or leave the comfort of people like them.  It sucks to always be reminded that you are different.

Home is Where the Oven Is

Friday we told Anita, our Relocation Coordinator, that we had no desire to see anymore high-rise apartments, we only wanted to see villas in the "layouts", basically residential communities, that are outside of town in an area called Whitefield.  While the apartments we had seen were actually nice inside, the emptiness of the grounds, the sense of loneliness, the proximity to the city and the reality of India just outside the guarded gates was just too much for us.  The conflict always exists, even in the Bay Area, where to live.  Close to the  City and all the great restaurants and shops, or out in the suburbs where you can go for a walk in peace and play in the park.   Having kids sort of answered that question for us, and so it is in India for us as well.

The layouts that were on our list had the names of cemeteries or golf courses, Palm Meadows, Water Woods, Skylark Greens, and one that sounds wonderfully sci-fi, Prestige Ozone.  All of these layouts are a turn off the main road through Whitefield.  When I had first pictured this area, I thought it might look something like Pleasanton or Livermore, a newly developed town way out of the City, with lots of open space and new construction.  But this is India, and the drive from our hotel in the city to Whitefield was just as shocking as the drive through the city.  Because it doesn't end, the people, the storefronts, the dogs and cars and cows and garbage, but mostly the people, it just doesn't end.  For about 10 miles, it is solid people people people, doing what they do here, milling, working, standing, sitting, eating, cooking, visiting friends, shopping, you name it.  Off this busy street, lives the people in these residential layouts, gated communities yards away from the the poorest poor.  I supposedly will get used to this.

Palm Meadows is the most developed and lived in community of those we saw.  Almost all of the villas are occupied and there are a lot of ex-pats who have been living there for a couple for years.  The landscaping feels finished and the clubhouse is apparently very nice, and also contains a store (invaluable I hear) and a Baskin & Robbins (yes, surreal).  But Palm Meadows is also the most expensive place we saw, as it is in high demand exactly for the fact that it is competed and feels like an actual community.  We are not even sure if we would have the budget to live there, but it would be our first choice.

Prestige Ozone is down the road a bit and is brand new development, we were told that the occupancy is 50%, but we saw no more than 5 people outside their homes that looked like they lived there, the other 50 people we saw were construction workers, housekeepers, etc.  The villas are nice and new, and the grounds are open with a lot of walking area, but the whole place feels empty and lonely.  The landscaping consists of grass and some palm trees, so very little shade.  We visited Chris's friend Bob and his wife Heather there last night.  Bob and Heather were fortunate that they landlord furnished their place very nicely since he was planning on living there, we would likely not get such nice furnishings and we likely wouldn't be there long enough to bring our own furniture.  They even have an oven, the only one that I have seen anywhere.  Guess people here don't do a lot of baking.  Anita did tell us that all these things can be negotiated with the landlord once we make an offer on a place, so maybe we'll get lucky. Before dinner, we went for a walk to see the grounds and met a couple from Minnesota that are living there for 3 years, they have 3 kids and seemed content, so at least we were able to see how families feel about Ozone.   After dinner, around 8:30, Bob and Heather got a shipment of patio furniture they had bought.  The door was open for 5 minutes and in that time, the interior of the house was completely swarmed by mosquitoes.  I have never in my life seen so many mosquitoes, young, fresh, hungry, I was totally freaked.  So we left, I just couldn't stay there.  Another Western moment.

Water Woods is very close to Palm Meadows and has town houses instead of villas, but the town houses are HUGE.  3000 square feet, 3 bedrooms on the top floor, another room on the main level with a massive living room and kitchen, 4 bathrooms and servants quarters, marble floors (every place we have seen has marble floors) and a rooftop patio.  Really a great space, but no community to speak of, and basically no where to walk or go except out into India.  I have resigned myself to the fact that if we live in any of these places, we will spend a lot more time indoors.

Skylark Greens looked the most developed, but it is oddly under-occupied.  We looked at two villas that have never been lived in, but clearly this place has existed for quite a while.  The landscaping was the nicest we had seen, green and lush, shade trees and a large variety of plants, it is amazing what a difference this makes.  But the villas weren't that exciting and the place just felt empty, a feeling I am finding common and depressing.

So those are our options, and we are going to come home (tomorrow!) and make our decision when we are a bit removed from things.  I just can't wait to see Ivy.

The Cradle, Bangalore

Expectations are always my downfall.  I try to go into a situation with an open mind, I promise myself that I will listen and try to balance my opinions with those of others, I tell myself to expect nothing...but I often fail.  This would be the case at our visit to The Cradle.

A little background.  I first read about The Cradle in a blog written by an ex-pat woman living in Bangalore, who is expecting her baby sometime soonish.  While we had many differences in our childbirth philosophies, it sounded like we were looking for many of the same things when it came to having a baby in India.  I checked out The Cradle's website, and was impressed with their mission statement and seeming commitment to a different standard of care for mothers and babies than perhaps in other popular labor and delivery clinics.  While I knew that I was not going to be able to duplicate my amazing experience birthing Ivy (bless you Michelle my doula and Hokmah my midwife and Homestyle Midwifery in general), I was hoping for something more "Western" than what I had been reading about on the internet (mostly personal stories of women in Bangalore).  By Western I mean open to doing it differently than the current medical standard in India (shaved, enema, epidural, episiotomy, induction, pitocin, labor flat on your back, 60% c-section rate, etc...and here I must say that these things are all offered in American, and often used, however I was looking for a model of care where I could refuse all of the above and still be treated with respect by the medical staff).

The sight of The Cradle from the street filled us both with relief.  A sanctuary of modern glass and steel, gently landscaped and complete with the usual army of security guards, we were both happy to see that the facility was as new and modern as we had read.  The Cradle has been open only since January 2007, so it definitely still has that new car smell, sparkling halls, friendly, quiet staff, a cafe, a maternity/baby shop, 13 pristine luxury rooms (large, clean, room for dad, private, sanitized bathroom - with toilet paper, thank you), actually better than I have seen in the Bay Area, 4 luxury suites (take the luxury suite and add an extra whole room for dad, huge and amazing), an operating theater, and 2 delivery rooms, which The Cradle terms the LDR (labor-delivery-recovery) rooms.  For any women coming from the US, this can be a bit confusing.  To me, a room where I labor, deliver and recover, is the only room I expect to be in for the duration of my stay.  At The Cradle, the LDR is the place you go to literally labor (active labor/transition, etc), delivery (baby comes out), recover (cord is cut, getting stitched up, baby gets checked by a pediatrician, baby gets cleaned up, etc) then out you go back to your luxury room.  I was confused by this on their website, "Thanks to the LDR, the expectant mother is no longer required to be moved from one place to another and can experience an uninterrupted birth process by remaining in the LDR room for the duration of the mother's labor, delivery and recovery period."  I guess it all depends on your definition of LDR.

I had made an appointment with a very highly regarded and prestigious OB at The Cradle, and after registering and waiting for 10 minutes (and paying 400 rupees - $10! - for 15 minutes of consultation time), Chris and I were led in to meet the doctor.  And here is where expectations get hammered by reality.  We started out by explaining our situation, I am 22 weeks pregnant, Chris's company wants him to move to Bangalore, we already have one duaghter, etc. and we are trying to decide if we should have the baby in Bangalore or at home in California.  He instantly, dismissively and patronizingly in my opinion, assured us that there is no difference between there and the US, and in fact, The Cradle was better than anywhere in the US, and we should not worry and we should just do it there.  The End.  When I told him that my concern came from the many first hand stories I had heard from woman who had delivered in Bangalore with less than satisfactory results, he dismissed me as generalizing about something I knew nothing about, about not understanding that doctors are different, about listening to the wrong people, and on and on, and we should trust his 35 years experience, we just should, The End.

I think we probably spent another 10 minutes "discussing" my estimated due date (EDD) and his opinion about how I don't really know my EDD, how sonograms are incorrect at estimating due dates (my 20 week sonogram calculations estimate my due date around November 25) and that I should only go on his calculation based on the first day of my last period (making my EDD November 19), and that the sonogram technicians all do the scan so differently so they are not reliable.  I expressed that I felt they were quite reliable, and that maybe where I lived they were just done differently, and when he defensively asked where I had it done (Answer: Stanford), he really had nothing to say.  Am I crazy here? Am I too negative?  Should I have accepted his professional opinion, no questions asked?  Not if you've ever met me, just not my way.  By the end of the conversation I was deflated and done, Chris took over the questioning, I had no more energy to try to discuss my thoughts and feelings on the birth of my child, because they were not considered important to that doctor.  In the end, I could likely have the birth I wanted, basically to be left alone unless an emergency were to arise, but I would have absolutely no trust for the doctor and I know now that trust is possibly the most important factor for me in making my decision.

The Cradle would deliver my baby and the baby and I would be fine, and healthy and taken care of.  There is no doubt in my mind that they are professional and accredited and capable.  This place, and as a consequence Bangalore, is just not where I will have Boomin Newman #2.  I need to have a relationship with the doctor where I experience mutual respect and trust, and I don't see overcoming those major obstacles at The Cradle.

All that said, I have heard nothing but recommendations for The Cradle, and one very pleased mom of a 2 month old, the facility is nicer than anything we have (that I have seen) in the US, so anyone considering it, should really take these things into consideration.  There are also around 10 OBs to choose from, so I imagine that there are many options in terms of doctors, and the best neonatal (and post-natal) care available, possibly in all of India.

So I guess my decision has been made, no move to Bangalore until after the baby is born, and I'm relieved, I admit, to know my decision and even look forward it.

Not A Good Day

The title of this post was going to be "A Western Moment" referring to a moment we had today that reminded us just how Western and sheltered (and lucky) we are.  But everything after that moment earlier today just made it worse, so Not A Good Day sums it up better.

We started out the morning by meeting with the relocation company that Cisco uses to help move its employees to Bangalore.  The woman went through all the 14 properties she was going to take us to, and gave us a folder of information about moving to Bangalore, how to deal with culture shock, how to use the phones, where to shop for furniture, etc.  Looking at the list of properties I could tell right away that it was going to be a very long day, with the appointments backing right up to the 4:30 consultation we had scheduled with the doctor at our best-bet-birthing-clinic, The Cradle.

So off we go, the 30-45 minute drive ran about as usual, me staring out the window from an air conditioned car, wishing I could lean out the open window instead and take pictures of the cows eating garbage, the litter strewn rivers, the colorful school children getting out of class, the motor-scooters stacked with two adults and two kids.  When we arrived at the first property, a series of high-rise apartments allegedly inhabited by ex-pats and returning Indians (from the US and the UK), my first thought was "No way", but trying to keep an open mind, we continued on the tour.  Our first stop was at the clubhouse, which is a feature that is mandatory for ex-pat living quarters but which are not necessarily  created equal.  This "clubhouse" was empty and grim.  This was my first experience with a bathroom outside the hotel, and this was my first Western moment of the day.

I have heard some horror stories about the public toilets, and though this was far from that awful, it still was a shock compared to what we are used to.  I first noticed: no toilet paper.  Not that they were out, but that there was no place for a roll to hang, it just wasn't an option that was even offered.  Next to the toilet was a hose and spray contraption (exactly like that which you have on your kitchen sink, Katie), which I assumed was for cleaning the bathroom because it laid on top of a drain in the floor.  Later Chris informed me that that sprayer was what was used in place of toilet paper in many places in India.  Apparently paper is expensive.  Less surprising, but equally worrisome, no soap and no towels.  Again I thought, "No way."

The apartment was sad and furnished with droopy, broken down built-ins and bed frames.  All the floors are marble here, so that was the best feature by far, but still, not enough.  The apartments all come with "servant quarters", which consists of two closets next to each other, one in which the servant is expected to live, sleep, etc. and the other is the bathroom.  And here comes grim toilet experience #2 of the day.  Picture a toilet seat, stuck over a hole in the floor and voila, you got yourself the servant's toilet.  I gather this is civilized for India as well, that this servant is lucky to have this, as the poor have no running water, no toilets and use whatever is available outside.  The landlord assured us that we would never have to use this bathroom, that this was for servants only.  What he didn't understand was that to a Westerner, that didn't help the picture at all.  How could I hire someone to live in my house, be around my children, cook, clean for us and then treat them like a person that doesn't even deserve a proper toilet?

We moved on to an apartment in Koramangala, the property where one of Chris's co-workers lives with her husband.  Once through the gate, we found the property to be quite nice, groomed grass and plants (and signs requesting that we do not "pluck" the flowers), the clubhouse here was simpler and nicer, a gym with a spartan set of equipment, a clean room with a pool table, another with card tables, generally nothing fancy but clean, bright, welcoming.  I didn't venture into the bathroom this time, though I probably should have.  The apartment was huge, three levels of marbled-floors, three bedrooms (with a fourth one baby-sized), decent bathrooms and kitchen, a large roof top patio, and the same servant's quarters.  This was more like what we were used to, but still, could I see Ivy running around here?

The third property was off a dirt road, which is no indication of the quality of the property it seems.  The roads are littered with piles of stuff - garbage, rubble, brick and dirt piles, plastic bags filled with who-knows-what - and peppered with holes dug by 8 men standing around one guy doing some road work, women buying brightly colored plastic dust pans off a street cart, and dogs, always dogs, roaming, sniffing, looking sad and weak and forlorn, and starving to death.  And oddly, no cats, no cats anywhere, we have not seen even one.  I really do not want to know why there are no cats.

So the next apartment wasn't bad, much like the second, two levels with marble floors, huge bedrooms, clean and decent kitchen, roof-top patio.  Nice clubhouse, nice pool (that warns "ladies/girl" to always wear a swim cap), but another surreal location behind a guarded, gated entrance which I could never consider walking out of to take a stroll with my kids.  It is just not done, you don't take walks outside of these properties, you drive out and get dropped off at the door of another gated, guarded property.  I had no idea how trapped I would feel living in Bangalore.  I fear I would never leave the apartment.

The woman taking us around has promised us lunch, and had the driver take us to a restaurant in Indiranagar called BBQ Nation.  She just dropped us off and told us to eat there, when we invited her to join us (really hoping she would join us and be our shield from the mysterious food and customs I had yet to experience), she declined and said she had to go to her office.  We walked into the restaurant and were told that we would have eat outside because the inside was all reserved.  So sitting down at a table, we were both experiencing a bit of shock at being left here with no information about this place, was it safe for us to eat at, do they cater to Western stomachs, can we drink the water, can we eat the yogurt, sauces, meat?  I really wasn't that hungry and neither was Chris, and after an unsuccessful attempt to get an unopened bottle of bottled-water (we were told to always crack the seal ourselves), we told the server that we were leaving.  We called the organizer and the driver and said we were done for the day, and we were going home.  So we stood on the corner of some random streets in some area in Bangalore, with no idea where we were, if we were safe, me all pregnant and hot and on the verge of tears, and Chris trying to locate the driver before his wife melted down completely, with endless honking and beeping and swerving cars and buses and rickshaw and scooters, endless noise, and exhaust fumes, and people milling about, some staring at us, some ignoring us, all on the go to somewhere, and all managing to live everyday in this city where I can't even manage to leave the protection of the car and the hotel without feeling lost, vulnerable and alone.

So yeah, the Western moment was upon us, spoiled, privileged, unaware of our richness and fortune, living in luxury beyond most of these people's dreams.  What we make in a day, many don't even make in a year, and though I have heard that comparison before, there is no way to really get it until you see it.  My $1 tip is an incredibly large amount for many people here, for us, we lose that much in change in the seats of the sofa and don't think a thing about it.  I guess this would fall under culture shock, it took 3 days though, I'm told I'll get used to it, but I'm not sure that I want to.

We got back to the hotel, ate lunch and rested, and despite really not wanting to go back out there, we had an appointment at The Cradle at 4:30.  More on that tomorrow.

It is currently raining heavily and the sky is bright with lightning and thunder.  It is beautiful, in the way that lightning storms are, and the rain sound is soothing.  I hope I can sleep at some point and wake up to a new, and hopefully better, day.  Only 11 properties to go...

Contrast

Our first foray out into the city was a trip two blocks away, down to the bank, and it was bizarre.  The sidewalks are crumbling in huge blocks of concrete, and in some places, the sewer is visible.  The traffic and honking and beeping is never-ending, cars, buses, auto-rickshaws and motor-scooters compete for space and signal each other noisily when they are centimeters away from contact.  People, mostly men, are everywhere.  This is the single most alien thing about India: the masses and masses of people milling about all day and night.  Some are presumably going to or from work, some are likely going to or from shopping, but the rest?  I constantly ask Chris "What do you think they are all doing just standing around?"  He has no answer because there is no way to know.  I am truly fascinated by this difference in my organized, sanitized home and this vibrant, chaotic new world.

We decide to take our life into our own hands and hop on a rickshaw to go to Commercial Street.  The auto-rickshaws are two-stroke motored, covered, two seater rickshaws that go no faster than 35 mph (mostly due to the amount of traffic).  I am fine with the slow pace, as being a passenger in a vehicle with no doors in Bangalore is a bit nerve wracking.  There is truly no regard for traffic laws, street lights, lines and signs are merely a suggestion of courteous and responsible driving.  The street signs are wonderfully ironic, "Safety first, speed second", and no one heeds their advice.

Commercial Street is a bustling area of town packed tall and wide with clothing, trinket and jewelry stores.  Staircases and alleys lead to dark, hidden shops advertising the finest Pashminas and cheapest wireless access in town.  The sidewalks in front of the stores (sidewalks is a very generous description) are blocked by pedestrians, cars, motor-scooters, beggars, racks of bracelets, mangy dogs and water running from hidden sources.  If you stray too far out toward the road, you risk getting clipped by one of the numerous motor-scooters vying for a few more inches of pavement.  I am overwhelmed, anxious, and thrilled.  I had been trying to take as many pictures as I could but I found it hard to locate a safe place to stand still for 5 seconds.  I ended up just holding the camera away from me and pointing and shooting a few times, hoping to capture some of the craziness without losing the street-feel.

We ventured into a couple of stores, one that Chris has gotten a "deal" on a necklace at, and haggled for 20 minutes for a bracelet for Ivy and a Pashmina for me.  The second place we visited was staffed by a very skilled salesman, and after nearly breaking my will, we walked out with the bracelet and shawl for 2500 rupees (about $65).  Chris is sure we got a deal, I am sure we got screwed, no American walks into any of these stores and gets a deal, I am sure of that.  But we like what we bought, we would likely have spent more in the US, and we got a good story to tell Ivy one day.  I find haggling stressful, I really just want to pay and get out or walk away empty-handed (which we tried to do a number of times and kept getting pulled back by the talented salesman).  I was too tired and saturated to keep shopping, so after a rickshaw ride (50 rupees = $1.25), we went back to the sanctuary of the hotel to have lunch.

Bangalore: The Arrival

The first thing I noticed when we got off the plane in Bangalore was spices, I smelled spices.  In the air, from the people, I have no idea what the source but it was such a welcome smell after 24 hours of airports and airplanes.

After 20 hours of flying, a chaotic trip through the airport - immigration line, security line (where our whole flight's carry-on bags were scanned by one guy who never looked at the monitor and the metal detector went off for every person that went through but no one checked the reason why), baggage claim, customs and then the mad rush of "trolley retrievers" (basically baggage handlers looking for a tip) to help us with our bags.  Actually, to help Chris with his bags, I was completely ignored, despite being American and pregnant, I guess a woman struggling with a 50 pound bag and a 20 pound backpack doesn't tip well enough.  Well, as it turns out, neither does Chris, because as soon as the trolley retriever asked for a tip, Chris said no.  Maybe next time he'll help the pregnant wife.

My first sight upon walking out of the airport doors - a stray dog missing a foot running around the crowd gathered waiting for passengers.  Welcome to India.  We quickly found the driver sent from the hotel, and, with a much appreciated offer of bottled water, got whisked away in the car.

The drive from the airport to the hotel was amazing - I wished I had more sets of eyes just so that I could take it all in.  Nothing was familiar, everything was new, and I wanted to take much more time to really see it all.  Gated and walled buildings lined the streets, inside of which I caught a glimpse of rambling structures and green gardens.  Men of all ages were out sitting on low walls, curbs and standing around street corners, for no apparent reason, since I saw no open bars of restaurants.  It was late, 1:00 a.m., so the traffic was light, but still there was the ever-present honk and beep of cars, auto-rickshaws and motor-scooters.  Take driving on the wrong side of the road, add a complete disregard for traffic laws and signs, and you have a driving experience that I will not soon take part in.  I now see why I will be so glad to have a driver.  By 8:00 a.m., the honking and beeping in the distance is almost non-stop and continues pretty much through the day and night.

We are exhausted but were barely able to sleep, even after a shower and despite a comfortable bed.  Hopefully the jet lag doesn't last the whole trip.  I was up at 6:00 starving and excited to look outside our shuttered patio doors.  Who could sleep when a whole new world waits outside?!  After a delicious breakfast of papaya, pineapple, fresh mango and watermelon juice, Idli and Sambhar, and Bhatura Cholle (one of my favorite dishes at Viks in Berkeley), we toured the hotel gardens, which are beautifully maintained tropical grass, trees and plants, and visited the pool and spa, and we are back in the room waiting for the day to start.  We just realized that it's Wednesday and that we completely lost Tuesday so we better get on the ball and start touring hospitals and potential homes.  Unfortunately we can't get started right away but have to wait for the city to wake up.  Apparently, shops, banks and businesses don't open until after 10:00, so we just wait and rest. 

More later and hopefully pictures...

Bangalore or Bust

So a short trip to India has been calendared - it looks like we will go in the middle of July (the coolest time, right?) for about a week.  And we decided to take Ivy.  After much deliberation (on how much easier it would be to leave her at home and how much happier everyone - her, Chris, ME, the passengers of Lufthansa Flight 401 - would be), I decided I just couldn't leave her for an entire week.  Mommy separation anxiety kicked in.

I'm also nervous about her touching everything in the country, especially since she is too young to get certain vaccines.  She's at an age where everything on the ground must be picked up and inspect, sometimes with her mouth.  And then there's the mosquitoes.  Do I sound like a nervous Mom or what?

Our main goal will be to see if we can even live there, or will I be like, "Oh Hell No", the second we deplane (great word, deplane).  We also want to visit the places people like us live, us being expatriates with families and sensitive stomachs.  There are supposedly whole suburban paradises set up just for us types.  I mean, who would want to go to a country and actually LIVE there, amongst the people?  Well, me for one, but everyone assures me that I will want to be in one of these suburban compounds, especially with little kids.  The adventurer in me resists but knows it's probably true.

And then there will be the daunting task of trying to interview doctors and visiting hospitals so that we can make a decision about having the baby in Bangalore.  Though I know more babies are probably born in India daily than in any other place in the world, I am very set in my ways about what KIND of birth I want to have, and from what I have heard, the childbirth practices at the 'modern' hospitals are very different from the US (especially the Bay Area)...like 60% Cesarean Section rate (YIKES), automatic shaving and enema upon entering the hospital in labor (YIKES YIKES) and sometimes having to share labor rooms with other women.  I have done a lot of research and have found a couple of highly recommended places to visit, we'll just have to see how it goes, and how comfortable I am after the trip.

At least it won't be boring, and what is life without adventure?