Pizzeria Night was the highlight of many weeks last spring, and now it's year-round. Here is a photo of our first pizzas of the year. Notice the "special" pizza of the week was fiddlehead fern! Yum! They are in season here, and I haven't had any of these in a long time.
One of the simple pleasures here at Woodstock is Pizzeria Night! One of the extra-curricular clubs the kids can participate in is Pizza Club. We order via email during the week. The kids make the pizza from scratch. Dough, sauce, veggies, and meat (if you lean toward non-veg). Then, on Thursday night, we go to the Dining Hall, confirm our order, and get the best pizza in Mussoorie. Since this is a boarding school, this is as close a most of our students get to having a job. It's great experience for them, and, you know, a great dinner for us (that I don't have to cook).
Pizzeria Night was the highlight of many weeks last spring, and now it's year-round. Here is a photo of our first pizzas of the year. Notice the "special" pizza of the week was fiddlehead fern! Yum! They are in season here, and I haven't had any of these in a long time.
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I don't often ride up to the school on the motorcycle. I've been trying to get to the gym 3 mornings a week, so I've been leaving early. Today was only the third day I've ridden up with Tim. The first time, the clouds lifted and we saw these glorious mounains in some rare morning sunshine. The second time, the clouds surrounded us the entire way, but we did see several small landslides,and more than a few men defecating openly by the side of the road. That morning commute was really special because it had begun with a monkey war outside our house, which got completely out of control and the big male monkey chased us back into the house until the chowkidar (security guard) came down with his uniform and slingshot to chase them off. I don't know if I can handle the excitement of the morning commute more often than once a week. Today we saw two Himalayan jackals. At first, when I saw them on the road, I joked about them being chupacabras, thinking that they were dogs. When we passed them, we thought they were foxes, but later on, one of the more experienced hikers on staff suggested they might be jackals. We looked it up, and sure enough, these are jackals. I was a bit nervous, so the photos aren't that great, but at least I had my trusty camera to capture the moment! This is the story of a dog. A dog who is both our dog, and not our dog. A dog with many names, and a dog with no name. We call her Goose, but then again, she is not our dog.
Goose first appeared in the fall of last year. She was a young pup, and she was hungry. Her visible bones pained us, so we fed her. She belongs to someone in our "neighborhood", most likely an employee of the school. Two young Indian girls appear periodically and call the dog "Scooby". The language barrier prevents any real conversation, but once we think they asked us if we wanted to keep "Scooby". By the end of the school year, the dog we call Goose was coming in routinely to eat and sleep. She can sleep for hours at a time, and very deeply. We began to think that it was only in our house that she could fully relax. Last year she began to follow us up as we hiked to school. We discouraged her, partially to keep her off the two roads we must cross. She made the acquaintance of Mr. Barkey and Cocoa, the two dogs that live in the house above the first road. Soon, she would only go half the way to school, and we considered that a victory. We worry about her when we are gone on vacation. When we came back from our summer break, she appeared to have been hit by a car. Her left hip is wonky and she rarely puts weight on it. She still barks at monkeys and any men who dare approach our house, but she has changed. She is no longer goofy. Her happy-go-lucky exuberance has been tamed. She is an Indian dog, and most dogs here do not fare well, at least to the eyes of soft-hearted, dog-loving Americans. It's just one of those days that I miss home. It's beautiful here today in a melancholy monsoon kind of way. We are enveloped by the clouds everywhere. I rode up to school on the motorcycle with Tim today and we could barely see 20 feet in front of us. On these days, you could easily believe that the mountains and the valleys don't exist because when you look in any direction, you only see the dim grey light. The immersive cloud experiences will continue for another couple of months. I could use a dose of sunshine, but I don't want to be in the Texas heat!
We are going to hike to Top Tibba on Saturday. It's one of the "Seven Summits of Mussoorie". If the clouds allow for it, there will surely be some terrific photos! Look for updates! School started last Thursday, so we are officially back in the groove. Cassidy is in high school! That seems crazy to me, but my mother tells me I'm getting to "a certain age". Our summer seems to have faded quickly into the background, but it was so wonderful! Just being at home with family and friends was so comfortable, and as you might have guessed, living here in the foothills of the HImalayas might be beautiful, but it isn't comfortable. I've taken to describing it as "glamping". If you, gentle readers, were involved in any way in providing us shelter, food, beverages, laughter, trivia, field trips, coffee, or conversation, you made our summer a spectacular one. Thanks!
Now we are here in the land of clouds and monkeys, simultaneously planning our school years and our breaks. Both Tim and I have remarked on how much easier it has been for us this year. We know the people and the students. We know some of what to expect, so we hope it will be less of a rollercoaster than last year. Of course, I am regretting teaching 3 AP classes right now, but I love them all, so it will be fine. I have a pretty large AP Human Geography class, and those kids seem excited about learning about the world, which makes me happy. I start my own study of HIndi on Thursday. I'll have a tutor once a week, maybe two if my schedule allows. That should be interesting. Thanks for following along with us on this adventure. |
AuthorTrish grew up in Texas, but has never owned a pair of cowboy boots. She enjoys a wide variety food, hobbies, locations and people. She also silently judges your grammar. Archives
October 2015
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