All posts by Deirdre Straughan

Woodstock 150th: Dinner at Sharon & Steve’s

Midlands was lit up like a landing strip for aliens.

shot Oct 28, 2004, 0:19 min

Oct 28, 2004 – evening

In the evening, the class of ’81 and others close to us in age were all invited to Sharon (’79) and husband Steve’s house for a dinner party.

But first we took a walk to Jabarkhet…

…for tea, of course! Only for tea!

Then we hiked off in the other direction, past the school and up to Stoneledge. Huffing and puffing, most of us. Good company, an excellent dinner, and much drink awaited us.

Amy W.P. & Arjun S. (’83) – Amy & Lauri W.

Arjun, Lauri, Deepak, Vinita’s daughter – Deirdré

Lauri & Vinita

Manoj & Deanne (’79)

Neeraj Manchanda (architect) & Arjun

Vinita, Jeet, Neeraj, Anushka

photo by Fiona

Some members of the group partied on quite late, but I had only had about three hours’ sleep in two days, and was glad to get back to Hanifl and collapse into bed.

Oct 29 morning at school

Woodstock 150th: Travel to Mussoorie

I arrived in Delhi just after midnight on Thursday, October 28th, on a fully-packed Lufthansa flight. In my eagerness to GET THERE, I was one of the first off the plane and through immigration – and one of the last to receive my suitcase. So much for impatience.

Reliable Uday Tours was there to meet me, in the form of a man holding up a sign with my name on it, at the end of a long corridor of similar men holding similar signs. We stood outside and chit-chatted for a few minutes til the car (summoned by cellphone) arrived from the parking lot.

The drive to the Park hotel at Connaught Place seemed quick, maybe 40 minutes. I got checked in, then barged in on Fiona, who was (understandably) sound asleep. In deference to the late hour and other hotel guests, we didn’t squeal, though we were meeting for the first time since graduation – 23 years. We talked for half an hour or so, I had a shower, and we both went to sleep til 5:30 am. We had to be ready for a 6 am car to the railway station to catch the Shatabdi to Dehra Dun.

Lots of broken image links to fix… when I have time. Meanwhile, you can see the full gallery here.

photo by Fiona

At the station we met Amy W. (’83, Lauri’s sister), and Sara A., who was travelling with us. The train was already packed with Woodstockers. Soon after we left Delhi, we learned that Tom Alter was in the next car with some of his family. I hadn’t got around to going down there to say hello when another visitor from that car appeared: Sunita, arrived for the reunion with her sister Vicky, Vicky’s daughers Shashi (’83?) and Nina (’85?), and Shashi’s two daughters.

I was completely floored (and delighted!) to see Sunita, having tried for so long to get in touch with her. She apparently didn’t know about the class reunion because my mail had not been reaching her, and was planning to stay in the bazaar with her family. (That plan soon changed.)

photo by Fiona

The five and a half hour train trip passed quickly in catching up with so many old friends. Upon arrival in Dehra Dun, we located a car that had been arranged for us by Sharon Seto. Sara called Yuti on her cellphone; a big gang of people had arrived the evening before with Sanjay (by bus), and were all eating at Tavern (for old times’ sake – someone later told us that the food was terrible). We decided to eat at the President Hotel in Dehra Dun; by the time we got to Mussoorie, the others would have finished lunch anyway.

After an excellent lunch of tandoori and other goodies, we piled back into our taxi (Sara, Fiona, Amy – stuck in the middle of the backseat with nothing to hold onto – and me) and headed up the hill. Mussoorie wasn’t much changed since my last visit (in 2002), except for some spiffy new railings along Tehri Road. They didn’t look strong enough to stop a vehicle going over the khud, though.

At the school gate we saw Rohit and his significant other, Susie (whom I recognized from photographs), and piled out to hug them. I managed to bash my head hard on the way out, raising a bruise that stayed with me all week; I had forgotten how low the doors are on Ambassadors. Then we piled back in and drove on to Hanifl Center (formerly Ashton Court), and got our luggage up to our dorm room about the time the rest of the gang was trickling in from the bazaar. Much squealing, hugging, and even tears ensued.

The bunch of people who had arrived with Sanjay Wednesday night spent the day visiting some old haunts in Mussoorie.

photo by Fiona

Woodstock 150th & Class of ’81 Reunion

in memoriam, Diana Biswas – photo by Fiona

photo from Sharon Seto

Attendance and where we arrived from:

  1. Durjoy – Minneapolis
  2. Deepak – Mumbai
  3. Fiona – Mississauga (near Toronto)
  4. Lauri – NYC
  5. Sanjay – Mumbai
  6. Anne – Afghanistan, by way of Mumbai, she’s now home in Scotland
  7. Margaret – St. Paul
  8. Deirdré – Lecco, Italy
  9. Chris – Hyderabad
  10. Denise – Louisville, KY
  11. Sara A. – Ahmedabad
  12. Jenny – Liberal, KS
  13. Teeran – Germantown, MD
  14. Marilyn W. – Forestville, CA
  15. Vinita – on her way to Bahrain
  16. Yuti – Mumbai and Mussoorie
  17. Rohit – Yorba Linda, CA
  18. Deepu – Mumbai
  19. Pinder – Naivasha, Kenya

Not pictured:

  • Jeet – St. Bart’s
  • Sunita – Columbus, OH
  • Alan Howard – Woodstock staff

Near-misses:

  • Rachana (above) was in Mussoorie the day before everyone arrived, but couldn’t stay.
  • Bharaty was in Delhi, on a very brief visit to her parents, but couldn’t come up to Mussoorie, nor could we track her down in Delhi.
  • Nitin couldn’t get away from his duties with the president of India. We hoped to see him for dinner in Delhi afterwards, but he had to go to Abu Dhabi for the funeral of the head of state there.
  • Nina: Sanjay and I thought she was coming, but she never turned up. ???

With us in spirit:

  • Susy S.C. sent a PowerPoint presentation with pictures and narration of her family – 10 kids! It was a fun way for her to share her life with her classmates; I look forward to receiving similar efforts from others whom we haven’t seen in person recently.

We had the second-largest class turnout for the Woodstock 150th celebrations; the winners, naturally enough, were the centennial class of ’54. But the class of ’81 had the best parties. <grin>

travel and arrival

Home Ownership in Italy: Garbage and Sewage

Living in a villetta a schiera (townhouse or row house) is quite different from living in a condo apartment building. We learn something new every day.

Garbage is an endlessly complex question. We can put out the umido (wet waste) three times a week, but that can’t include garden trimmings. The comune will supply 150 biodegradable bags per year, free of charge, but we have to go to some particular office during a particular two-week span each year to pick ours up. We haven’t figured out yet whether they will also supply the sacchetti viola andtrasparenti (violet and transparent bags) that we need for recyclables and general waste – it would be nice, as these cost about 20 cents each (perhaps that includes tax?). General waste goes out twice a week, and the sacchetto viola (however many you have) only once. We’ve been giving the recycling guys plenty to do, but are now finally getting rid of the last of our moving boxes. By next week we’ll probably have our outside portico finally cleared – now that the weather’s too cold to use it.

We had to buy a new stove top and oven to fit into the spaces in the kitchen that had been built-in by the previous owners. We learned that gas ovens are going out of style in Italy; 99% of the built-in ovens available are electric. Which could get horribly expensive if you use the oven frequently, as electricity is costly here. For this reason, and because I prefer it for cooking, I insisted on gas. Our plumber, who is well-versed in the ever-changing laws regarding these things (as he must be, since he certifies his installations), learned that the law about gas appliances and air circulation does not even address built-in gas ovens, presumably because they have become so rare. So our set-up is probably legal in default of an actual law about it.

Our new home includes a bit of garden (a lot of it vertical, but that’s okay – we can plant those nice flowers you see growing out of walls all over Switzerland). The lawn has been neglected for years, and is lush with dandelions and some other kind of low-lying weed that chokes out the grass. If you’re keen on lawns, you might think there’s nothing worse than a lawn covered in weeds. Well, there’s one thing that’s infinitely worse: a lawn covered in weeds covered in sewage and toilet paper. Yes, we had a problem with the plumbing.

The previous owner conveniently forgot to mention that anything was wrong, but we learned all about it when, by sheer coincidence, we ended up calling the same sewage guys who had already been here twice in six months. So they suspected that the problem is not ours alone – it’s the main pipe for the whole complex (four families), which has bent, probably due to earth slippage. Since our connection to this pipe is the lowest of the four, we’re the first to suffer when it blocks – I had noticed a foul-smelling burble of liquid coming up through a hole in the concrete manhole cover in our yard. This manhole turned out to cover a drainage reservoir, about half a cubic meter, from which stuff is supposed to drain immediately into the sewage pipe. When we opened it, it turned out to be completely full. (No, I didn’t take video of that.)

Unblocking the mess required inserting a hose as far as possible and squirting in water under high pressure. On the first couple of attempts, from our manhole, this merely caused a backup and overflow, proving the sewage guys’ thesis that the problem was further down. I wish it had not taken spreading disgusting stuff all over our yard for them to determine this.

They then dragged their hoses down to the neighbor’s yard where our collective pipe connects to the city line, and proved, as suspected, that the block was there. Fortunately, they did not spew sewage all over the neighbors’ carefully-manicured lawn, which would have been far more tragic than what they did to my weed collection.

Eventually the line was cleared, and they washed as much of the yuck as they could back down the hole, using the high-pressure hose. But my weeds were furred with toilet paper and the general smell was not pleasant – I’m glad this didn’t happen in summer!

So I spent a couple of hours digging up weeds (something I needed to do anyway), which also removed a lot of the toilet paper (I wore gloves). I hadn’t realized gardening was such backbreaking work – my right arm was so painful from unaccustomed exercise that I couldn’t sleep that night.