Seat of Our Pants

No matter how many new countries, individual cultures and amazing people we meet, I still can’t let go of the consumerist in me. I feel like a bad commercial when I say this, but sometimes I just need to shop.

Granted, the shopping is done in local bazaars and the products are often one of a kind relics. But still, it’s shopping nonetheless. Why is this a bad thing, you ask? Well, it won’t be, once we get home. But we’re far from home. So every once in a while (when our bags will no longer zip closed) we have to pack it all up and ship it home.

We’ve mailed two packages home so far. Our third was mailed here in Leh, where we were met with a rather interesting request by the postmaster. The following is (as close as memory serves) the description I received from the lady behind the post office counter:

“First you must go to a shoe store and ask for a box. Then you put all your items in the box. Take it to a tailor (huh?)and have him stitch it closed like this one (she held up a shoe box that had literally been tightly stitched into a fabric sheath). Bring it back here and we will mail it.”

So, off I went. The shoe boxes I was given for free. I found a tailor down a dusty road off the main drag. He agreed to do the job for the equivalent of $3. And for added fun, while Martin and I were waiting, we were run off the road by a huge heard of newly sheered sheep.

 
Tailor made parcels and spray painted sheep. Just another day in the life of the Engstroms.

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