hello readers,

It's been a long time (20 days!) and for that I apologize. I have no excuse except that I was travealing in India and felt like all details should be saved for my work writing, since that's the reason I was going.

There is currently one article up on Petergreenberg.com on New Delhi here: http://www.petergreenberg.com/2007/11/15/off-the-brochure-new-delhi/

I'm not feeling all that confident about it, since I sent the link to most of my relatives, and so far have gotten one semi-compliment from a cousin, and another cousin is sort of mad at me for putting up some negative stuff. For the record, I maintain that it's not negative, it's just the truth as I see it on behalf of American travelers. Eh, can't please them all.

I'll put up another India article on Monday, and probably one or two more after that. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I traveled more than 30 hours to get back home to LA, wound up in the emergency room that night because Aaron had what we (and the doctors) thought was a heart attack, but turned out to be a lung inflammation that's totally harmless. Just horribly painful. So that was fun. By the time I recovered and felt like a normal person again, I was off to New Zealand.

And here I am in New Zealand. Again, it's one of those press trips that I feel like I should save for work writing, but I feel a little more freedom to share some of it here.

I'm in Christchurch, and just got back from the New Zealand Wine Awards, which was a super fancy award gala with innumerable bottles of wine being passed around, and food that was decent, but not the best I've ever had.

It was a pretty swank event, I have to say. I was seated between a wine expert who is on the panel of judges and decides what wines go on Air New Zealand. It was fascinating to watch him drink, because before each sip he would sniff deeply and swirl the glass around. His wife, who was this gorgeous, lovely woman, said it's just habit with him.

On my other side was Govind Armstrong and his fiance. Now, I never would have heard of Govind either, despite the fact that he's a celebrity chef who owns a totally hip and trendy restaurant in LA. But he was on Top Chef, and therefore he's on my A-list of chefs I wanted to meet, and it was more than thrilling to be sitting with him. And his fiance was this awesome chick, so that was kind of neat.

So I left the awards feeling kind of good. I had lots of high-end wines, was mingling with pretty swank people and I feel all sorts of love for New Zealand. I've never seen a country that has such national pride. Between its rugby team (which hasn't made its name into the U.S.) and its wine industry (which has), it's making its footprint on the world and creating a very distinct identity. It's a nice thing to see and to be a part of for a night.

Coming home from the event was sort of a different story. I feel like I saw an ugly side, which basically consists of very drunk kids wandering the streets. It was past midnight, and I decided to walk home from the event. It was pretty rowdy with drunk kids out and about. I was in my party dress and tripping along in my heels, but I kind of knew where I was going and felt totally sober, so I figured it would be no problem.

Somewhere along the way home I saw this completely plastered girl screaming "No" while being held up by what looked like two incredibly drunk boys. Feeling like a good samaritan, I ran across the street to help her. She was crying and holding her head, but could barely stand up. I ordered the two boys to let go of her and step back, and held onto her. I was like, "Sweetie, it's okay. Do you want me to call you a taxi to go home?" She said yes, so I tried calling the taxi number that was saved on my rented cell phone (I walked for like 45 minutes to this wine-tasting event this morning, lasted about five minutes and couldn't face the walk back, so I called my PR contact for a taxi number. And I remembered that in the heat of the moment. Very resourceful of me, I must say.)

The guys kept coming back to the girl--one was clearly her boyfriend, but she didn't want to be near him. The other guy I think was just someone who had stepped into the situation, trying to help, but he wasn't all that easy to understand. He swore he was sober, and it may have just been some wacky accent. I kept telling them to stay back and that I would deal with this, but I wasn't getting very far. The taxi number was busy, she was incoherent, and her boyfriend wasn't much better and kept trying to hold onto her, which would just make her fall down again. The supposedly sober guy wanted to call the police, and I just kept trying to call for a taxi. He had a car, and still swearing that he hadn't been drinking at all, offered to drive them home.

At first I refused that option. The drunk boyfriend couldn't articulate where the poor girl lived. The guy who offered to drive was having second thoughts, not wanting to go far out of his way. But the girl eventually started saying that she wanted to go with her boyfriend, the taxi line was still busy, and I didn't know what to do. I figured I would just wait with them until a taxi showed up. The line finally rang, and then I immediately was put on hold--and the theme to Taxi came on! I exclaimed that one out loud, but no one in this little motley crew saw the humor in that.

So finally the guy offered again to drive them home (they were already sitting in the back seat of his car at this point). He said I could go with him and he'd drive me back to where we were, which I had to laugh and say no fucking way. Finally I just let them go, just saying please be good to them. She and her boyfriend were basically passed out in the back seat , so I figured the boyfriend was in no shape to hurt her. I also figured that since she was with this big boyfriend of hers, the driver guy wouldn't be able to do anything.

Oy. So I continued walking home, uncomfortable even though I was wearing a long dress and covered in a shawl. I managed to take a wrong turn, and walked into a big scene of 8-10 policemen arresting some kids. Like reading them their Miranda rights and everything (I sort of had to marvel that they have the same Miranda rights in New Zealand).

I had to ask one of the cops for directions, because at that point I realized I was going the wrong way. He actually asked me if I was staying at a backpacker's lodge. I guess it's a valid question--I mean, I look young and therefore must be staying at a youth hostel, but for goodness sakes, I'm 31, decked out in a pretty nice dress and I was sober. When will I get the respect that my age deserve?

I think at some point along the way the cop drove by me as I was walking and asked if I wanted a ride. But it was either "Do you want a ride? or "Are you all right?" to which I answered, "Yep. I'm fine. Thanks!" Too bad, because at that point I really could have used a ride. It was just hella uncomfortable walking by all these drunk kids. I had to remind myself of when I was in college and getting drunk: If we got rowdy in a street, we were totally harmless and absorbed in being loud and obnoxious. Not attacking 30-something women in calve-length dresses and pashmina shawls. Still, I was thrilled to be back to the villa where I'm staying. And mildly disappointed because while I was avoiding any eye contact, I don't think a single drunk 20-something college boy checked me out. Hmph.