I'm a U.S. citizen
In all my travels throughout the world, I've never visited my U.S. embassy ... and being almost three weeks in Calcutta ... why not!
By the way, there were a few subdued moments over the New Year after hearing news of Saddam's execution. I received a state department email advising us to be cautious, but wasn't sure what to expect. In reading the Indian newspapers (who's to say how accurate they are for the everyday Indian), there was page after page of articles critically venomous towards the US for their insensitivity in allowing his execution on Id al-Adha eve (the holiest of Muslim days). And not to forget, my guest house is in the Muslim community. My New Year's Day morning walk to breakfast is surrounded by hundreds of Muslims in their white garb, marching, praying, chanting, carrying what sort of looked like an effigy of something (you better believe I did not whip out my camera for that photo opportunity). What is happening here? I'm walking head down, ducking away from the main streets.
The next day I thought it best to continue the low profile, and what better than a dimly lit cinema. Yeah, it was partly Hindi and English, with English subtitles for the Pakistani words ... the ticket collector assured me I could follow along ... Kabul Express. Uh oh ... I might be in trouble here ... scrunching down in my seat ... being the sole token westerner in the theatre ... the movie starts with footage of the World Trade Center attacks, followed by words about the US attacks on Afghanistan and the Taliban. This has every possibility of not being a good thing! No worries, all turned out OK! The movie's quite good ... a sad, but moving, story of friendship between an American, two Indians, Pakistani, and Afghan. Whew! I must see the movie again after I get back to the states ... this time complete with subtitles.
Anyway a few days later, I'm off to the U.S. Embassy and dutifully join the queue ... immediately an embassy employee comes rushing over to see how he can help (that is after looking at my passport) and graciously whisks me inside. Magic words: I am a US citizen! Obviously western trained, he even called me by my first name (it's a while since that's happened). Security? Wow! Hefty doors that felt like solid lead ... bullet proof glass everywhere ... bag checks ... many passport checks. Doors after guards, after doors, after guards, after gates, after more gates. This is after the police kiosks and cement blockades in the street. No way you're getting into that compound if you're not meant to. 
What a little slice of home ... everyone so friendly. I register my Indian trip with the receptionist ... wander over to the main area and the consul, Paul Fermoile, comes out to visit with me. We chat for almost an hour, talking about everything ... he has been stationed here for 15 months. He said I was likely OK over the New Year's holiday, albeit with my low profile since Americans rarely backpack in India. On a lighter note, he even suggested some great places to eat (and me-oh-my, they were good).
US Embassy tidbit ... did you know (I sure didn't) what the first thing you should do if you ever end up under a doctor's care in any foreign country ... call your consulate. They obviously can't give you money or medical care, but they always visit and talk to your doctor (even arrange for translation services if needed). Something to tuck away in my memory banks and hopefully I'll never have to avail myself of their services.
He suggested a visit to the American Center not far away, an equally well-guarded building and with good reason. About five years ago it was bombed, killing five guards on duty outside. But I make my way inside to the lending library upstairs and hunker down in the comfy chairs reading a month old edition of the New Yorks Times (yet another of the many things I so miss from the US) ... and I read every word!
Gads, can you believe it's less than two weeks until I return home ... so much I look forward to in returning the states ... yet so much I will miss about wondrous India.
By the way, there were a few subdued moments over the New Year after hearing news of Saddam's execution. I received a state department email advising us to be cautious, but wasn't sure what to expect. In reading the Indian newspapers (who's to say how accurate they are for the everyday Indian), there was page after page of articles critically venomous towards the US for their insensitivity in allowing his execution on Id al-Adha eve (the holiest of Muslim days). And not to forget, my guest house is in the Muslim community. My New Year's Day morning walk to breakfast is surrounded by hundreds of Muslims in their white garb, marching, praying, chanting, carrying what sort of looked like an effigy of something (you better believe I did not whip out my camera for that photo opportunity). What is happening here? I'm walking head down, ducking away from the main streets.
The next day I thought it best to continue the low profile, and what better than a dimly lit cinema. Yeah, it was partly Hindi and English, with English subtitles for the Pakistani words ... the ticket collector assured me I could follow along ... Kabul Express. Uh oh ... I might be in trouble here ... scrunching down in my seat ... being the sole token westerner in the theatre ... the movie starts with footage of the World Trade Center attacks, followed by words about the US attacks on Afghanistan and the Taliban. This has every possibility of not being a good thing! No worries, all turned out OK! The movie's quite good ... a sad, but moving, story of friendship between an American, two Indians, Pakistani, and Afghan. Whew! I must see the movie again after I get back to the states ... this time complete with subtitles.
Anyway a few days later, I'm off to the U.S. Embassy and dutifully join the queue ... immediately an embassy employee comes rushing over to see how he can help (that is after looking at my passport) and graciously whisks me inside. Magic words: I am a US citizen! Obviously western trained, he even called me by my first name (it's a while since that's happened). Security? Wow! Hefty doors that felt like solid lead ... bullet proof glass everywhere ... bag checks ... many passport checks. Doors after guards, after doors, after guards, after gates, after more gates. This is after the police kiosks and cement blockades in the street. No way you're getting into that compound if you're not meant to. 
What a little slice of home ... everyone so friendly. I register my Indian trip with the receptionist ... wander over to the main area and the consul, Paul Fermoile, comes out to visit with me. We chat for almost an hour, talking about everything ... he has been stationed here for 15 months. He said I was likely OK over the New Year's holiday, albeit with my low profile since Americans rarely backpack in India. On a lighter note, he even suggested some great places to eat (and me-oh-my, they were good).
US Embassy tidbit ... did you know (I sure didn't) what the first thing you should do if you ever end up under a doctor's care in any foreign country ... call your consulate. They obviously can't give you money or medical care, but they always visit and talk to your doctor (even arrange for translation services if needed). Something to tuck away in my memory banks and hopefully I'll never have to avail myself of their services.
He suggested a visit to the American Center not far away, an equally well-guarded building and with good reason. About five years ago it was bombed, killing five guards on duty outside. But I make my way inside to the lending library upstairs and hunker down in the comfy chairs reading a month old edition of the New Yorks Times (yet another of the many things I so miss from the US) ... and I read every word!
Gads, can you believe it's less than two weeks until I return home ... so much I look forward to in returning the states ... yet so much I will miss about wondrous India.
posted by CECILIA at 3:28 PM
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