Easy Come, Easy Go

If you were sort of hired to do a job but then, through no real fault of your own, you don't ever actually do the job, does that mean you can't put it on your resume?

I'll have to cancel my business cards because I'm not going to be the Marketing Director of any company. Liam came over on Tuesday evening (the third Tuesday I was supposed to start) and said that because I do not have a working permit on my Visa, they wouldn't allow me to come work. I guess they've had some problems in the past with people working on the wrong Visa's or something. He apologized for "mucking around" with me and said he really thought they'd be more flexible. I suppose it's ok since he had mentioned that he works in an industry that is not well-respected and has some questionable policies. But would have been fun to try something different. Easy come, easy go, I guess.

It was probably going to interfere with my busy social life anyway.

I spent yesterday with my new American friend Karen. She wanted to go look at carpets and jewelry for her three nieces. Since she's new, she's been relying on her driver to take her to places he knows. She really trusts him and values his judgment. Since they were going to a place I've never been, I decided to take a ride with them. As soon as we walked in, we were bombarded by four employees asking where we are from and how long we stay in Bangalore. It was a typical tourist type shop with everything from carpets to carved wooden elephants to pashmina's to jewelry. She immediately went to jewelry and I browsed the rest of the store careful not to trip over the women who had attached herself to me, pulling down anything she thought I was looking at for more than three seconds. Despite her insistence that everything would either look beautiful in my home or on me, I told her I was not interested in any of it and walked into the room with the jewelry. But she would not take no for an answer. She told me that as the first customer of the day, I would get 20% off whatever I chose. After showing me my precious and semi-precious birthstones in earrings, pendants, rings, bracelets and any other place you could possibly put stones, I finally thanked her for her attention and went into a side room where Karen was seating looking at a stone she was holding with a set of tweezers under a spotlight.

The tallest Indian I think I've seen was sitting across from her flipping through little bags filled with all sorts of gems. I sat down next to Karen and learned a thing or two about gemstones. Emeralds are an expensive stone and should never appear perfectly clear. You should always see some darker spots as they come from mines with the highest concentration of coals. Rubies really look more pink. They pick up the tones from your skin but if they appear too red on the shelf, they are probably not real...and they are heavy. One of the heaviest stones. I learned other things but apparently didn't deem any of that knowledge worthwhile as I can't remember what it was he said about sapphires. He did mention, on several occasions that he received his degree from Boston University and has done post-graduate work in gemology. (Also learned that there is post-graduate work in gemology.) He told us he had a 100 year old sapphire and said if we could find another authentic one for less than what he was asking, anywhere in the world, he would give us his for free. He and his family have been in the jewelry biz for four generations which he told us and later showed us the shine to the deceased members of the family. He repeatedly tried to calm our suspicious minds but reassuring us what an honest business man his was and how we shouldn't trust any of the Kashmiri shop owners because they will all try to rip us off. For every price he quoted, he mentioned the modest profit he would make from the transaction and explained that if he gives us a good deal, then we will come back and buy again and tell our friends. The cynic in me, lost faith in how honest he was everytime he made a point of trying to convince me. But the optimist in me, wants to believe that this is just a tough business and he just wanted to be sure we knew he was being genuine. She bought some earrings, I walked away with a promise to come back.

On the way home we passed a cow who was walking down the middle of the street, mooing, loudly and consistently like he was staging his (or her) own personal protest against some atrocity. They do usually keep to the side and I've never heard them moo. This one had his head held high, kept a steady pace in the dead center of the road and kept yapping away like we could understand what he was saying. I've wondered this before, but haven't thought about it for a while, what happens if a cow stops getting milked? Do they only produce milk if they are consistently being milked by someone or a calf? If this particular cow wasn't protesting say, the fact that people put their leftovers in bags making it difficult and dangerous (they often choke) to naw on the bag to get to the goods. Then perhaps he was merely begging for someone to milk him?

Kerala: Part II

After lunch on Saturday, we got back in the van and drove another half hour to a roadside stand. There were Indian men standing at tall tables drinking tea and a few more just hanging around. We got out of the van and watched the driver go to the men and hang out for about 10 minutes before finally telling us to follow him. We walked behind him on the side of the road unsure if we were walking to one of his buddy's houses or through the jungle for another nature lesson or to China. After about five minutes we were on a dirt path that lead us down to the waters where we got on three smaller boats and headed out for the "back-back waters." These were much narrower and much more shallow waterways that weaved through small villages but seemed a million miles from civilization. Our guide stood at the back of the boat and steered with one long stick, gondola style (but without the singing).

As we slowly moved through the water, it almost felt like a more authentic experience on the other hand, being literally closer to nature and the natural habitat where these people lived. But on the other hand, it sort of felt like we were on some really well-crafted Disney ride, gawking and snapping pictures while people went about doing their normal chores. We saw a few women washing their clothes with a bar of soap against a rock, chickens clucking about in small yards, and kids gathered at the edge of the water pretending to take our pictures by looking through their hands in the shape of a square yelling, "click, click." But we saw young pineapples growing in trees and an iguana moving stealthily through some tall grass and rumors of a snake (it hid after the first boat, which we were not in, passed).

We stopped at one point and eagerly got out, realizing only after we nearly lost Sir to the water, why the guide kept repeating, "one at a time" (too many at once causes the boat to tip). We walked up a few feet to a small clearing where there was a wheel and two women standing opposite the wheel, holding large piles of what looked like some type of thin hay, in a front pouch. They were making rope out of dried coconut shells. They took the piles of coconut "hay" that were about 5 inches long and twisted them together. Once they twist together, they become surprisingly strong. The wheel does the twisting, the women just feed it with the coconut until the rope becomes thick enough. It is a very quick process. They probably finished five long ropes in 10 minutes. They sometime weave the rope together to make those itchy welcome mats as well as a million other different things I'm sure.

We went a little further down the water to our last stop which I think was the coolest. We got to see a guy climb a fifty foot (or so) palm tree, with his bare hands and feet, and chuck down coconuts for all of us to drink from. We got off the boat and had to walk through a field that was guarded by a big, black, mean, bull. He was tied to a tree but not happy to see people walking on his turf. What's worse, the tough guys on our boat tried to provoke him by talking to him and staring him down. This only further heightened my fear of wild beasts. After making it passed the monster, we walked up to another small house, almost completely blocked by a tall fence. We waited in a dirt clearing in front of the fence while the guides (from all three of the smaller boats) chatted with the people in the house. We then followed about seven Indians around a small green pond to a very tall palm tree. There was some more discussion among the Indians until it was clear they had decided on something. One of the guys wet two pieces of rope in the pond and twisted them together so they formed two small rings. One ring went around his ankles and the other, he held in one hand, wrapped it around the tree and grabbed the other end of the rope with his free hand so he was hugging the tree. He then raised his hands and pulled the rope tight around the trunk of the tree and jumped his feet up so the rope between his ankles was also tight around the trunk of the tree. He shimmied up the tree, very gracefully and surprisingly quickly, first moving his hands then following with his feet. Once he reached the top, he threw the coconuts down. When he collected all he could from that tree and we all applauded with the appropriate awe, he did it again. The second tree was slightly smaller but still impressive. We were then treated to fresh coconut milk which if you've never had, could be second to Bitter Gourd juice on the "worst drink ever" list. A guy with a small machete held the coconut in one hand, raised the knife over his hand and rather forcefully came down and lobbed the top off the coconut. They they stuck a straw in it and passed around the warm, clear and almost bitter nectar. Some of the Europeans seemed to like it. After you're done drinking it, the guy with the machete gets back to work and cuts it open so you can eat the flesh of it. It was rubbery and about as tasty as the juice.

After that we headed back to where we first set off, walked back to the van and headed back to Fort Cochin. Saturday night could be the night I was poisoned so we'll just say we went to a seemingly nice restaurant, in a hotel, lovely outdoor dining area, large crowd eating with us, we both got the tuna. I asked to send mine back to the kitchen so they could cook it more, which I think I've done about zero times before, after eating a couple bites and deciding raw tuna might not be the best idea. Maybe it wasn't the tuna at all but the un-sweet, hot coconut juice or the "fresh" water mussels but in any case. That was dinner on Saturday.

Sunday, we had one last area we wanted to check out on the outskirts of Fort Cochin - Jew Town. Some say that the first Jews who fled Jerusalem and ended up in Southern India were the Myuchasim ("black") Jews who left after Nebuchadnezzar occupied Jerusalem around 580 BC but others say the first Jews to arrive in India came in the eleventh century BC as traders in King Solomon's court. Either way, they lived a peaceful and profitable life up until the Portuguese arrived. The raja of Cochin gave the Jews some land that connect to his palace and protected them from the Portuguese who were not kind to the rest of the Jewish settlements along the coast. The Dutch and later the British were more tolerant than the Portuguese and allowed the community to continue to thrive but once the establishment of Israel was final, nearly all the Jews left India and now they say only seven families remain. So aside from an old Synagogue and some gates adorned with the Star of David, there is not much left of the traditional Jewish heritage. What we saw was a large community of Kashmiris who eagerly (and aggressively) tried to entice all of the tourists to buy their products (knowing that the guy next door is selling almost the exact same things). And of course, they all have deals with the rickshaw drivers so that the drivers will bring them to their shops before the others and if we buy, presumably they both take a cut.

I wanted to buy a lovely hand-carved armoir (even though I have no home to put it in) but Common Sense Sir convinced me it might not be the best purchase. (This was after he laughed at the helpful salesman who said he could ship it to the US for $250.) We looked at lots of other Indian crafts but ended up emptied handed. So, when we got back to Fort Cochin, we walked backed down to the stands by the shore and bought his and her skirts. Mine is a pretty green striped wrap around and Sir's is an orange Kalili. He hasn't actually worn it yet but I'll be sure to take a picture when he does.

One the ride back to the airport, we had the Chack Inn arrange for a taxi. He showed up about 20 minutes early but we were ready so we left. We drove about 15 minutes before he pulled over at a small intersection in a neighboring town. He made a phone call and we waiting. The Ma'am and Sir of October '07 might have been worried/surprised/frustrated by this but the Jan. '08 M&S, simply shrugged our shoulders and sat back. Sure enough, five minutes later, two other men appear on the passenger side of the car and give us a friendly hello. They introduce themselves and both hop into the front seat. One of them ends up half on the hump between them and the driver. They chatted all the way to the airport.

The flight back was uneventful. The Kochi airport is lovely. The seats were like living room chairs and we didn't see any mice. And since we didn't check any bags, getting off the plane and to Chandan was our easiest walk through the Bangalore airport yet.

So, after only three days, I do have a newfound love of India. It is a beautiful place. Not because it has clean, modern resorts, well manicured roads, crystal clear water, and a neat organized system of getting around but because it doesn't have any of these things and doesn't make any apologies for it. India isn't trying to be anything other than India. As we were driving around the area on Saturday, with the men in their Kalili, the women going about their chores and the fisherman flashing the widest, not-so-bright white smiles in the peaceful backwaters, there was a rhythm to the pace of life like they were purposely trying to resist the impending changes of a nation on the rise that is gone from Bangalore. They still wear their traditional clothes. They still drive their traditional cars. They still let cows roam free. They still see shoes as optional. They still eat the same foods they've eaten for thousands of years. I want Bangalore to be clean and modern but at the same time, it was eye-opening to see India raw and see why modern and "clean" don't always equal beauty. So now, I don't know.

I recently met a women who was born and raised in Bangalore but then moved to the US and hasn't been back in 20 years. She and her husband had moved back, thinking they would stay here for good but they were so disappointed at how dramatically Bangalore has changed, they are only going to stay 2 years. She said "it used to be so green and quiet and clean and lush but now...I don't recognize it." Maybe that's just progress but when/where does it stop? Where is the line between progress and preservation and how wide is it or should it be? "God's Own Country" sounds so much nicer than "Capitalism's New Frontier."

Phew...tomorrow will be much less dramatic. I'll tell you about my short lived career as a Marketing Director, buying gems in India and...I'm not sure what else.

God's Own Country

Well, we came back from our trip to Kerala on Sunday but I couldn't blog yesterday because I thought I was dying of some rare Indian parasite. But I woke up feeling better today so I think I'll survive. But despite the evils of stomach issues, after our weekend in Kochi, I have a newfound love for India.

Thanks to my frugal skills as a travel agent, we woke up around 3:45 am Friday morning to meet Chandan in the garage at 4. My father always said the best time to travel is between 4-6 am, nowhere is this more true than in Bangalore. We zipped straight to the airport and through check-in with plenty of time to stand around and watch the mice play in the corner by the microphone where they announce arrivals and departures. We were then bussed out to our little propeller plane and were in the air by 5:45.

We arrived at the Kochi airport, which seemed cleaner than the Bangalore airport though much less crowded, and got a taxi. I was more than a little happy to see that all of the taxi's from the airport are the old Ambassador cars. I've been waiting and waiting for the chance to drive in one just because they are so...Indian. (I can now tell you, my excitment was a bit uncalled for. It's just a car.) Driving into town, some of the land scape looking like Bangalore, with run down buildings and dusty roads and a few sections with high rise buildings. But most of it was very rural with men strolling down long streets with nothing but a few roadside stands. The area of the left of this map, Ernakulam is the "city" section of Kochi (or Cochin) with lots of high rises, shops and restaurants. The island in the middle, Willingdon Island with nothing but a really nice hotel and lots of buildings used for "defence" according to the tourist desk. On a tip from the OWC crowd, we stayed on the far island, Fort Cochin (good tip).


We were in the middle of the red part on the coast of the Arabian Sea. (Kerala is the state, Kochi is the city).

I was surprised by the number of tourists that we saw once we arrived in Fort Cochin although I have no idea why considering their main livelihood is tourism. Once the capital of the European spice trade, there is a huge influence of the Dutch, Portuguese and British.

Since we arrived bright and early, we went straight the the hotel in the hopes that they would take pity on us and let us check in early. We stayed at a place called the Chackupurahkal Inn (luckily it's also known as the much easier to pronounce "Chack Inn"). From the outside it looked like quite the impressive Greek revival type building with columns on either side and a huge fountain statue of swans in the center garden as you walk in.

The outside didn't really match the inside which was much more sparse. But it was clean, there was hot water and a picture of Jesus hanging on the wall by the reception desk with blinking Christmas lights strung around the length of the frame, so we had no complaints. They showed us a room where we could take a nap before moving to our real room and heading out for the day.

We realized that everything on our map was actually closer than it appeared making it very easy to navigate and see everything. We immediately noticed the difference in dress between Cochin men and Bangalorean men. The men in Cochin wear "Kalili"(or "lungis" as they are called in northern India) which are basically sarongs that they either keep ankle length or fold up to knee length. We could also feel the relaxed atmosphere of being in a coastal tourist town. It was definitely the type of place where you are more apt to see hippie backpackers than yuppies. We spent most of Friday just exploring Fort Cochin, careful to steer clear of not only the stray dogs, but also the stray goats that crowded the streets trying to find anything at all to eat including posters plastered on a cement wall.

We started at the Santa Cruz Cathedral which was built in the twentieth century and looked like your standard cathedral from the outside. On the inside however, it was decorated with lots of vibrant colors - it looked like Jesus blessing one giant Easter egg. From there we went to the first church built by Europeans in India and was also the final resting place of Vasco da Gama for a time (until his body was removed and taken to Portugal). The Church of St. Francis was built sometime in the sixteenth century and was Protestant (when it was under Dutch rule), Anglican (under British rule), and is now affiliated with the Church of South India. It was much more drab than the flashy Santa Cruz. (The rest of the pictures are linked.)

After spending some time with the Lord, we took a walk down some narrow streets filled with lots of shops selling clothes, jewelry and trinkets of all kinds, to the coastline to see the most famous site of Cochin, the Chinese fishing nets. They are these huge nets attached to wooden poles and raised and lowered by ropes weighed with stones. They were supposedly introduced to India by traders from the court of Kublai Khan. It takes about eight men to operate them. Five in the front with the nets and three in the back with the weights. After they catch the fish, they bring their catch a few feet up to the shore and sell it. You can buy it directly from them and bring it to the local restaurants who will cook it for you. But we also saw an impromptu auction take place as well. Some fisherman brought a bag of fish to this one stand, a guy at the stand called out something and within a minute, a small crowded had gathered, the fish were emptied from the bag and the bidding began. Trying to play it safe so we didn't get sick (ha ha), we opted not to buy the fish as we had nowhere to keep it and had already had lunch (but were not yet ready for dinner).

Later that afternoon, we took the 15 minute ferry ride over to Ernakulam. We were a little disappointed when we stepped out of the docking area into the noisy and crowded streets with lots of cars and buses zooming passed us. We walked for a few blocks until we reached MG Road, which was very much like the MG Road in Bangalore with some Western stores and some Indian stores, coffee shops and convenience stores. We decided we definitely made the right choice to stay in Fort Cochin and after about an hour, paid our 5 rupees and headed back.

For dinner, we wanted to find some place on the water and had read about a restaurants in one of the fancier hotels . We arrived early for a drink and watched the sunset beneath the water, then moved 20 feet away to the restaurant. We were not too surprised when we were the first to arrive because that's nearly always the case. A very nice waiter, who looked all of 16 told us we had our pick of tables so we picked one in the corner on the dock over the water. We ended up having dinner by ourselves in the small outdoor restaurant with the attentive service you can imagine comes with being the only people in the restaurant. We probably could have had a much cheaper dinner had we opted for the "you buy it, we cook it" but the atmosphere, the service, and the food was worth every rupee.

We got up early again Saturday morning for our day cruise on the backwaters of Kerala. We arranged for a tour through the tourist desk and they were to send a van to pick us up around 8am. We then took about an hour and a half ride up (or down, I'm still not sure where we were exactly) the coast before taking a turn down a road that probably doesn't see many cars (except the tourist who come probably everyday for the same trip we were taking). We drove down the dirt paths, making turns I was sure we wouldn't clear, with branches scratching the car windows until we finally reached a small clearing with a small hut and boat in the water. Our van-full got in the boat where some others were already sitting while we waited for the last few people to arrive. We headed out with about 15 other people and an Indian crew of three.

Once we set out on the water, our guide introduced himself and took the time to individually greet each of us. We cruised along the waterways for about an hour an half passes lots of men in their Kalili and small boats, some of them standing rocking a stick back and forth in the water. They were fishing for mussels and eager to wave to the tourist passing by. We also passed a few houseboats where we could have stayed. The quiet peace of the water, the sun and the breeze was such a contrast from the pollution, noise and dirt of Bangalore.

We stopped at a village and got off the boat where we were treated to quite the nature lesson. First we were told all about the wonderful qualities of the fresh water mussel. Our very mild mannered tour guide spoke English with a very thick Indian accent and after he kept repeating the same things over and over - Mussels are very high in calcium which is good for your teeth and bones - I began to wonder if perhaps the only English he knows is what he has memorized for his tours. In addition to learning that we should eat mussels for strong teeth and bones, we also learned that they take the shells and crush them to make calcium carbonate. They then make pills from the powder to send up north where they don't have fresh water mussels but do have weak teeth and bones. We were told if we wanted to try a traditional Kerala dish with fresh mussels, we could fork over 75 rupees and would have them when we returned to the boat. We then moved a little further inland and watched a man climb a palm tree and show us how they take sap from the branches. They cut the branches a few feet away from the stem, bang on the stump, then rub it with this oil (that looked more like mud). They let it sit for a few days before coming back to collect the juice.

At this point, our tour guide left us (to cook us our mussels?) and we were left in the hands of one of the other men from the boat. He appeared to be all-business and I'm not sure if he had a specific time period to fill or if he was just that serious about what he does but he showed us every tree and shrub in a 10 foot radius and explained what the leaves were used for. He might have heard that straight lecturing just bores people to death so instead, he tried to make interactive. He would first show us the tree and ask if anyone could identify it. When we all said no, he would repeat the question incredulous that no one knew. Then he would pull some leaves off and ask if we could identify the tree by the smell, look of the leaves. In the beginning, we were somewhat enthusiastic and threw out some guesses. He seemed somewhat pleased when he stumped us and got to reveal that it was Tamarind that we were smelling. If you remember that British game show that was popular a few years ago with the very stern host (there was a catchphrase but I forget it), this was somewhat reminiscent. At one point, George guessed something was aloe and the Indian guide laughed in disgust at his weak guess. As we moved from tree to tree, our guide became more adamant that we all have a chance to smell the leaves and would not reveal the name until he was sure each and every one of us had a good sniff. He also became increasingly displeased with us as we stopped trying to guess and just gave up.

We were basically walking through one of the villagers yards. There was a small house with two women preparing vegetables and a couple of kids kicking a ball around with a small puppy. Amidst the militant nature quiz, a stray dog had coming running from out of the woods and joined our group. It was about this time that I acknowledged my fear of animals. He seemed mellow enough at first but with all the people and the puppy and the kids, he ended up nipping one of the people on the tour (enough to draw blood but not enough for anyone to really give him much sympathy). Once the dog joined us, I was more concerned with keeping myself as far from him as possible then what leaves were what. So in addition to tourism, the spice trade still seems to be going strong in Kerala. For this, and because it is gorgeous, Kerala is known as "God's own country."

After our jaunt through the jungle, we went back to the boat and were handed what looked like a small green burrito. It was the mussels, mixed with some chopped vegetables wrapped in a banana leaf folded and pinned with a toothpick. I didn't care for the mussels but I don't like saltwater mussels either. We headed back out on the water for another 45 minutes or so and ended up where we first took off. While we were docked, we were served a traditional lunch with rice and tomatoes in some type of light sauce, mixed vegetables in a tamarind sauce and some sort of carrot salad. It was very good and much less spicy then we typically eat in Bangalore.

...Well, you know how draining these illnesses can be. I'm going to stop here and I'll finish up the trip tomorrow. Check back for the pictures.

The World Keeps on Turning

Stock markets are going crazy, young Hollywood actors are dying, the bird flu has hit Bengal, and yet the OWC moves forward with tea, biscuits and planning charity balls. The world keeps on turning.

Not that I have much invested in the stock market or follow it all that closely but still, it makes me nervous that everyone is so nervous about the US going bankrupt and taking the whole world with them. The US dollar may be weak but at least we are not letting news of all that economic nonsense get in the way of the really important news in the US - like Britney Spears and Heath Ledger.

Today at lunch, Sara, my friend from Finland, was talking about how she spent most of yesterday on the internet first reading all about Heath Ledger and then later confessing she was reading all sorts of Hollywood gossip. She has a very thick accent and often has to stop to think of a word. "So, do you know what it is Heath Ledger died from. It was his..." she paused and looked up to the sky hoping the word might fall from the heavens but discouraged, starts making a gesture like she is now massaging the heavens to gently coax the word out of the clouds. I try to look encouraging but am at a loss. My French friend, Juliette steps in, "his masseuse? Who found him, you mean?" Relieved that someone understood her, Sara repeated, "Yes, this is true? It was his masseuse who found him?" Juliette and I both nodded and said that's what we had heard. Sara turns to me and says, "So, do you know anything more? No...because you are from US. It's just that I don't know if I am on good website." (Whenever she tries to clarify what she means, she starts with "no." Like, "no, what I mean is..." but she leaves off the "what I mean is...") She often gets embarrassed by her English, which really is quite good, so it makes me embarrassed that she would think I am judging her because she might stumble over a word or two when I couldn't even tell you hello or goodbye in Finnish.

But anyway, this started a discussion about American and international celebrities and the perception foreigners have of Hollywood and America in general, and the perception Americans have of foreign celebrities, movies and music. It is very difficult to speak on behalf of 300 million people. They think it's sad that everyone around the world knows so much about Britney Spears but at the same time could understand why that is with constant attention she gets. "How can you not be interested?" They said that celebrities in their respective countries get just as much attention domestically. But still, when people are talking so much about people in your country and what your country does and the image of your country and you can't exactly reciprocate, it makes you feel a little...strange. Not exactly embarrassed but not exactly proud. Obviously France and Finland are tiny relative to the US so I'm not sure that Americans have any real "perception" of Finland. Which led me to wondering...is America self-absorbed? As arguably the most "powerful" nation in the world, can you be anything less?

As I sat thinking these things over on the way home, we passed a restaurant (which was not more than a counter and a couple of chairs) called "Kentacky Chicken." Not to be confused with the numerous KFCs in Bangalore, no one can accuse Kentacky Chicken of false advertising. Based on the chipped and ramshackled sign out front, there is no mistaking that the chicken at Kentacky's is definitely not from Kentucky. Not that anyone should be eating chicken here anyway these days as there has been reported cases of the bird flu in Bengal. The papers seem to suggest that we, in the south, are at no risk and that authorities have got a good handle on keeping the outbreak contained to Bengal. Authorities in the north claim that the "situation is under control" but still, I don't plan to be going back to chicken anytime soon...much to the surprise of the maid-girl.

The maid-girl came the other day and started going about her business, washing the dishes, then sweeping. She tends to talk rather loudly and not in the way that people who are afraid you don't understand them speak loudly. I think she's just a loud talker. She still likes to smile wide and yell things that I pretend to understand. I will respond either by trying to mimic what she says or by what I think makes sense. We use alot of hand gestures but I sometimes wonder if that just confuses things more. She started talking and I thought she was talking about what we had for dinner last night so I just started talking about the rice and vegetable we ate. "No chicken?" I think she got that I was a vegetarian but she seemed very surprised because she thought Americans always eat chickens. (At least, I think that's what she was saying.) She started laughing and I'm still not sure if she was laughing because I don't eat chicken or because she thought that Americans always eat chicken. But I laughed too and she went back to her sweeping and I went back to checking my email and the days news. When I sit at the computer my back is to her but I can hear her puttering around as she can hear the tip-tacking of the computer keys but we cannot see one another. After a good fifteen minutes of silence, she starts burping - just as loud as she talks. I have no idea if she picked up on the sudden stop of my fingers on the keyboard and me trying to stifle my laughter but she seemed to just go about mopping. Three minutes later, she lets out a solid string of 3 or so more burps and I couldn't help but kind of turn around to see if she was at all embarrassed but it was like she was totally unaware that she was doing anything other then her job. Finally, a little later when I had gotten up from the computer, she was burping again as she was coming out of the bedroom. She just pointed to her stomach and kind of smiled. Maybe it was too much spicy chicken?

We are off to Kochi at 5:30 AM so no post until Monday.

Did you even notice there was no post yesterday?

Perhaps you thought the lack of a post yesterday meant that I was working? (Or perhaps you hadn't even noticed?) While I thought that I might be starting my new gig, when I still hadn't heard from Liam as of 9:30 Monday night and had unsuccessfully tried to reach him all day, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be starting yesterday. I called his office yesterday morning starting at 8 and finally around 10:30 spoke to someone who said they would leave him a message that I called.

About 1:30, the doorbell rang and it was Liam. He hurt his back and was on the way to get some X-rays. He apologized for not getting back to me sooner and said that the "finance department" was still trying to figure out how to pay me. I am hoping they will just decide to pay me under the table but they are concerned if I were to get hurt at work. I asked what the likelihood of that might be thinking it's probably about the same as being attacked by a cow in the road but he was sort of vague and said that he was sure they'd work something out. Then he told me to check out two websites about marathons and ultra-marathons. Since I was right at the computer, I looked them up as he was standing over my shoulder. While they were flashy and told of one man's quest to "run around the world," I couldn't immediately see the connection to what I thought I would be doing for him. Rather bluntly, I asked, "so what does this have to do with your company?"
"Well, nothing really...yet. But the CEO is interested in marketing some of these events."
If I were a cartoon, my eyeballs would be two question marks as I still didn't understand how a company that organizes conferences for high level executives would now become a company that helps market athletic events they seemingly have no part in organizing. Before I could ask for more clarification, he told me to just "poke around" and see what I thought about the websites.

I really have no idea what I'll be doing if and when I ever start.

You still might be asking yourself, if I wasn't working, what else did I have to do beside blog about not starting my job...I found some ex-pat writing contest that I've decided to enter but I've got to come up with 1500 poignant words by Jan. 31. There's a whole $150 at stake (as opposed to $0 for blogging).

So while I did stay close to home (the computer more specifically) yesterday, I went to the little grocery store in our complex to look for some water, tomatoes and Diet Coke (struck out on all three counts). On the way out, I stopped to watch some of the kids in our apartment playing by the playground. I guess I've known this for some time but kids are kids, whether they live in the desert, the mountains by the beach, rich or poor. The smaller kids play by the playground area while the older boys play cricket. Occasionally, Sir and I have stopped to watch them. There is usually one or two kids you know are pretty good and a few that you know are really not - just by he way they throw the ball or run. You can usually pick out the leader, the peacemaker, the bully even watching a game you don't understand and hearing them easily jump from English to Hindi. They could be playing basketball in Connecticut or soccer in England or rugby in Australia. Most of the kids at the apartment have cricket bats and balls and some of the really lucky ones have the wickets that stand behind the batter and the leg guards the batter wears. But running around our neighborhood in the morning, we pass a couple of different playgrounds. One is usually crowded with barefoot kids, partially dressed using anything from a stick to broken and discarded cricket bat. Sometimes they have a real ball, sometimes they improvise with anything that is sort of round but they always seem to have just as much fun as those with all the official gear. So I'm wondering if this is a trait of the poor - learn to make the best of what you've got - or a trait of the young - the ability to make anything, including a barren dirt field, fun?

Almost everyday, we pass one particularly busy street (not just because of the cars, buses and scooters in the road but also because of the ox carrying a wagon of steel bars, and the cows, goats and roosters hanging around the sides of the road). More often then not, there are groups of kids that find a space in between the livestock, people walking and moving vehicles and they'll be gathered in a circle with what looks like small rocks or pebbles. They are playing some sort of game and even though I couldn't tell you what it is, they always seem to be have a great time for themselves. Occasionally someone will make some move that causes the rest of them to break away from the circle and fall into fits of laughter.

In stores, kids pull at their parents hoping to get a treat (a ghee sweet or rubber ball) just as they might in Stop & Shop or Toys R Us. They ride freakishly fast on training wheels as daredevil kids sometimes do, thinking they are immune from getting seriously hurt. And they argue over who has to go chase a rogue ball that has bounced out of bounds. Of course, that's not to say that some kids, like the street beggars, are exploited and forced to contort themselves through small hoops and do cartwheels to entice people to give them money so that they can turn around and give it to an adult who steals the money for themselves. But given the freedom to just be kids, there is something universal about the experience of childhood - having your day revolve around when you can go out and play, when you eat and when you sleep.

So I'll leave you with this question: what's the difference between being a kid and being a lady of leisure?

Oh and the strike is off. We're back to the yellow plates but Chandan was kind of quiet today so I didn't get much more other than the strike is over.

Happy MLK Day

We had a lovely and relaxing weekend. I took Sir to a part of town where the ladies and I sometimes lunch but he doesn't often get to visit. We browsed some art galleries looking for distinctive Indian art, we found the largest Nike store in Bangalore which only meant that it was more than 200 square feet and we had lunch outside at a restaurant called "Little Italy" which you wouldn't guess by the name but had a selection of Mexican offerings (as well as Italian). It's all the same in India I guess. We had a lovely candlelit dinner out on the balcony of an Indian restaurant we've been meaning to try and started reading up about our trip to Kochi, Kerala this weekend. We passed a small parade, complete with a small truck decorated in purple and white flowers playing Indian music, some men in white uniforms with big, tall white hats playing drums and lots of students at the front looking like they'd rather not be leading some parade. I assume it was for a politician as there were large posters of a man on the front and back of the truck and not everyone who was marching was in white (like for a funeral).

So our biggest story for the Monday morning blog is that Chandan is on strike.

When he picked me up this morning, he told me he had to change his license from the yellow plates to the white plates. (I hadn't noticed.) He said he had to act as a "private" driver because taxi drivers, buses and trucks are on strike because the government is implementing a 60 kph speed limit. In the city this isn't really a problem but once you travel between cities on the "open roads" it is more of an issue. (Although, from the little driving I've done outside the city and from what I've heard, the roads outside the city aren't that great so I can't imagine anyone is really getting up much past 70. But then again, I can't say that with much confidence.) I think he was saying that they have new speed radars to catch those over the limit but I'm not sure I heard him correctly. If they didn't have the radars, no one would really care. Of course, I tried to get more clarification in the paper but that's about as clear and informative as secret messages from Mars.

Since he doesn't work directly for Hertz he can supposedly skirt the whole issue. (He works for a company who contracts him out to Hertz, I think.) He also said that there is a stipulation that says those who drive to call centers and some IT firms are exempt from the strike because it would be too disruptive for big business (which I thought was kind of the point of striking). But from what I gather, driving Sir to his IT firm does not count. They have also decided to allow "lorries" carrying essentials like milk and vegetables to continue to make delivers but all other trucks, buses and taxis are supposed to be off the roads. Government run buses are allowed. According to Chandan, the strike is to last until March 31st but the paper said "indefinitely." Chandan said that Hertz sends him stickers that he is supposed to put on the car but he refuses because apparently, this is not the first time transportation workers have called a strike. I asked him if this means that he will not get paid by Hertz and his response was, "They told me I could drive at my own risk. It was up to me." I asked him if he was nervous about getting pulled over or caught and he said, "no ma'am. I tell them I am private driver." So as far as I can tell, it affects us in that we now drive in a car with white "private" plates instead of our usual yellow plates.

You might also be interested to know that the United States of America, land that I love, is getting a bad rap in India. On the front page of the paper is an article about a Duke University graduate student who was found dead in his apartment in Durham. He is a native of Kolkata (Calcutta). The first line of the lead story in TOI, "Yet another Indian doctoral student has been shot dead - the third in a month - on a US university campus raising questions about the safety of the American academic environment." The article goes on to talk about how distraught his family is and how he was such a polite and kind young man. Police can find no motive but apparently he was shot multiple times and suicide has been ruled out. The other murders were at Louisiana State where two Indian men were also found shot dead in their apartment. Again, police and the university say it could've been a break-in gone wrong but they are sure. There were two deaths at Texas A&M in May of last year. The Indian students were found dead in a swimming pool and police ruled it as an accident but "suspicions linger." They also cited three deaths in the Virginia Tech massacre last April. The parent's of the most recent victim said their son once spoke of some "minor harassment" by teenagers but never conveyed any serious concerns for his life.

The general tone of the article is that of suspicion and caution. The mother of the most recent victim never wanted him to go to the U.S. and while never directly criticizing the U.S. or any of the universities, the general question they raise is "how safe are U.S. universities"? A valid question.

As you sit in silent remembrance of MLK today, ask yourself what might he have to say about our country and the state of the world today?

Go Giants!

Why it's bad to be a girl and other tales from B'lore

I wasn't kidding when I said I was going to do some more research...there are lots of factors working against women. The reasons girls are bad:

• Sons protect the families lineage and inheritance.
• Sons contribute to the families wealth by learning profitable skills.
• Sons provide for their aging parents.
• Daughters contribute to the families expenses because of the dowry system and the expense of weddings. Once married her family has to continue to give gifts to the groom's family at every Hindu festival.
• Daughters require an ear piercing ceremony when they are infants that can be expensive.
• Most Hindus believe that a son lighting his parent's funeral pyre ensures that their souls will go to heaven.

There are some instances where the government has tried to step in and stop the practice by not allowing ultrasounds to show the sex of the baby and in rarer cases by offering monetary incentives. In one state, if a family has two daughters, the government will give them monetary aid through the child's schooling and at the age of 20, gives the girl a ring that can be used as the dowry. But there has been no uniform response by the government and infanticide is not on the list of priorities of most state governments. There are some NGOs that are working to teach girls skills to help contribute to the families income and to educate parent's about the value of having girls. Some organizations are also trying to work on the international adoption laws in India. India currently has some of the strictest adoption laws for non-Indian nationals. But still, there have been no recent studies to see if the problem is getting better or worse.

I think that in terms of looking at a society's values, you can't always judge them because you'll always view them with your own biases and impressions of what is "good" and "bad." Even if you can understand the history and culture of a place, you can't really evaluate their values as a neutral outsider. No matter how impartial you may think you are, you'll always have unconscious biases. (I think anyway.) It's like trying to evaluate one religion against another, even if you consider yourself atheist (or agnostic). You still have ideas about religion that influence your thinking. So I hate taking the attitude that our Western values are "better" than others but in this case, it's hard to defend this practice even if you can understand why they might do it.

It's tough trying to be a lady of leisure and trying to change the world.

But that's enough for my lecture today. On a lighter note...guess who I bumped into a few days ago? My boy Alvin. I was walking up from the convenience store in our complex and he said, "Well, hello Kathleen."
"Hi Alvin. How are you?"
"I'm good. The turkey didn't make you fat."
"Excuse me?"
"You were home for your holiday, yes? You ate the turkey?"
"Oh, yes. We were home for a couple of weeks but I didn't have any turkey."
"Oh. I thought that's what you do on Christmas. How was your trip?"
"Excellent."
"You did some shopping." The only reason I knew he no longer talking about my trip home and shopping Stateside was because he was pointing to the bag I had from the convenience store.
"Yes, just picked up some drinks and bread."
"Great. Well, I'll catch you exercising some time."
I sure hope so.

I saw him again on my way up to the gym. Luckily he was on his way out and just gave me a "hello, enjoy your workout."

Sir is supposed to be home early today. He has to leave work early to go to the bank so that they will cash our rent check. He finally got Indian checks and wrote it out to the landlord who had the maid pick it up one afternoon. This was probably two weeks ago. But they've been sitting on the check for a while. The maid came the other day with the check in hand. He gave it to me and said, "Rajat explain." He pulled out his phone and began dialing Rajat the landlord. Rajat explained that the bank would not cash the check because the signature on the check did not match the signature on the paperwork George filled out to get the checks. Rajat asked that I have George resign the check making it look more like the signature he originally used. The maid came back the next day to collect the check that now had two signatures and George's phone number on it (figuring if the bank still had a problem, they could call him directly). Apparently, it was the landlord who called George at work yesterday to say that the bank would still not cash it. Rajat gave George the number of the bank and asked him to call. According to Sir, when he finally got through to someone at the bank, he had to answer a litany of security questions from his date of birth to his shoe size but still, they wouldn't cash the check. So now, he's got to go to the branch office to straighten everything out. Perhaps they will ask him to sign his name a couple hundred times to verify he is who he says he is. I suppose we should be thankful that they are tight with the security but seems a bit ridiculous, no?

A Typical Thursday

I got my official "greeter" badge this morning. I think the next step is an OWC business card. I can't say that acting as a greeter really changed my Thursday morning experience. In my first attempt at "looking friendly," I met a Russian woman who has been living in Australia for over ten years. She has two kids and was talking about how she decided to keep them in the Mastery School (where I went for that wacky interview way back in September) while others pulled them out. Not sure if I mentioned before but the couple that "founded" the school up and left in November and rumor had it they stole funds and were either living in Europe or Dubai. Not sure how much of that is true but it caused quite a stir among the OWC mother's circle. According to the Russian/Australian, the new administration at the school is wonderful and she is happy with her decision to keep her kids enrolled. About this time, an IBM wife rolled up and as the eager greeter, I introduced them. As it turns out, they are like BFFs and didn't need any "greeter" to facilitate introductions/conversation.

My subsequent attempts were more successful.

Back story: In early December, I was on the treadmill at the gym in our apartment when a fellow white guy interrupted me asking how long I was going to be in Bangalore. I told him through the summer and gave him a "why do you ask" sort of look. He explained that he had just come to Bangalore from California and his wife and two kids would be joining him in January. It would be great to introduce them to another American and have someone to help them adjust. We exchange contact information and by Jan. 3, there was an email from Mary asking if we could meet up. So I have befriended this Mary and told her she should come to the OWC meeting today. She called me on Tuesday in a slight panic because she had read in the paper that there were going to be major road closures throughout the city today due to the visit of the Turkish Prime Minister. One of the roads that was supposedly going to be closed was the road out to the Leela Palace (where the OWC meeting is) and what was I going to do and did I think there would be any announcement or cancellation. Oh, what just a few months of life and Bangalore will teach you. I was rather cavalier about the whole thing and told her that if there were in fact road closures, they would probably not be the same streets or times as listed in the paper (especially if listed days in advance) and that I was planning to go at the normal time, taking the normal route. I told her about the time I had read a small blurb in the paper about water being turned off for three days all over the city so I promptly went out and bought extra bottles of water to be prepared, only to find that the water was not turned off, not even for an hour. Still, she decided not to send her kids to school for fear that they would not be able to get there.

So, when she arrived today with her two kids in tow (a big no no at the Thursday morning teas) I introduced her to some of my friends and other women I know with kids. (And how we laughed that there were no road closures.) My greeting duties completed.

I also found out that my Finnish and French friends are both pregnant. They will have their children in Bangalore but were very upset to learn that it is illegal to find out the sex of the baby before it's born. Apparently when they go for ultrasounds, the mother has to sign a document saying that she has not asked the doctor what the sex of the baby is nor has she made an attempt to look at the ultrasound and see for herself. The doctor has to sign a document saying they did not tell the sex and they blurred the ultrasound so that the mother couldn't see for herself and a witness needs to be in the room and sign everything as well. All because girls are still not as highly regarded as boys. How progressive. Obviously, this is more of an issue in rural communities but it is a law so they have to abide by it even in cities and with foreigners. According to the 2001 census, the ratio of females to males in India was 927 girls to 1000 boys, against a world average of 1045 women to 1000 men (from a 2003 story in The Hindu). Based on my not so extensive research, there seems to be conflicting reports as to whether the gap is getting wider or improving. But the fact that it is even an issue in the 21st century is disconcerting. Based on the fact that I see lots of women riding their scooters, going to the college down the street, on TV, dressed in business clothes and doing all the same jobs as men (except driving rickshaws - but then you never see a female driving a NYC cab either), I have to believe that attitudes about women are changing and the incidents of infanticide are decreasing rapidly. Perhaps I'll do some more extensive research...

Did I say I was starting my new job today?

Looks like my debut into marketing will have to wait a few more days. Liam called yesterday and said he had just arrived back in Bangalore so why don't I start next Tuesday. He's also still trying to figure out how to pay me since technically I'm not allowed to work on my Visa. So instead, I've be working as an independent travel agent, planning our next trip. (We're going to go to Kerala on the Southwest coast of India in two weeks.) But Liam is supposed to have some resolution on the payment issue today.

I couldn't talk to him too long yesterday because we were on our way to the movies. There is a very large theater at the mall with different "classes" of seats - Gold Class, Classic, Cinema Europa. Of the 15 or so theaters, 12 are usually Hindu movies and the other 3 are either American or European. So it's not often that they are showing something we really want to see. Still, we've been told that sitting in the Gold Class is an experience even if the movie isn't great. Back in Oct./Nov. we had tried to see The Bourne Ultimatum but every time we went to buy tickets, it was sold out. You can buy tickets online so we would try to buy them a couple of days in advance but even then...sold out. (It wasn't until we visited our DVD supplier that we finally got to see it.) When we got back last week though, we saw that National Treasure with Nicholas Cage was playing. Not a movie we would regularly see in the theater but when you don't have many options, we decided to get tickets. Our first attempt ended much like our previous attempts - sold out.

Monday I went to see if I could get tickets for Tuesday. After waiting in line for 10 minutes at the most obvious looking ticket window (big sign above the ticket window read "tickets" and two lines had formed), I was told that I had to go to the "Gold Class" ticket line to get tickets for that theater. Of course. Why would all tickets be available in one place - the ticket counter? But as I make my way to the other side of the mall, I see two additional, smaller windows, one for Cinema Europa and one for the Gold Class cinema. I step right up to the Gold Class ticket counter and talk to the three gentlemen behind the glass. I tell them I want tickets for a 4:30 showing of National Treasure on Tuesday. One of the them starts typing in his computer as the other two hover over and watch. One of them tilts the monitor so I can see and he says there are four tickets left but they are all in the front row. On the monitor is a picture of all the seats in the theater with the four seats in front colored yellow while the rest of the seats are colored blue. I ask them if we will be watching the movie with our heads looking straight up and all three of them start talking at the same time, assuring me that they are still excellent seats and that watching will be "no problem." I say I'll take them. From the picture on the monitor, it looks like the front row is far enough away and after all, it is the Gold Class. I expect to hear that they will be about 400 rupees based on the sign I read at the other ticket counter. "Thirteen hundred ma'am." I think I might have asked if he was serious and am reminded that these are the best seats in the house. While I fumble for the extra cash, they make small talk with me (where am I from, what is my name, do I live in Bangalore, etc.) and tell me the tickets are worth every rupee. I was hoping by engaging the lads, I might be able to "negotiate" a better price seeing as the best seats in a movie theater are never in the front row. But I knew this was not the place for bargaining and really, they were comparable to what you would pay in the US, I just expected they'd be less.

Yesterday we arrived at the movie theater a little after 4 and had to go through security and get padded down. They opened my purse, saw my camera and told me camera's are strictly prohibited. I tried to reason with them and told them I understood why they are not allowed but promised I would keep it off and am not going into the movie pirating industry. But, rules are rules. They sent me downstairs where there are lockers for my bag. They did not say that the lockers are actually outside in the parking lot. By the time we made our way back into the theater, it was about 4:20 and the movie was supposed to start in 10 minutes. After successfully making it through the security check the second time, we entered into what looked more like a bar/lounge than a movie theater. There was a bar on one side and red leather couches and chairs and black "coffee tables" opposite the bar. Beyond this area was a small set of stairs leading to the actual theater. We headed right for the theater to get our seats but were told that we could not get in yet because the last movie was just finishing up. We took a seat in the lounge area, admired the red and black decor and took a look at the menu. Included in the tickets were 150 rupee vouchers to be used on food. They had salads, sandwiches and a couple of appetizers to choose from but couldn't order until we got into the theater. Ten more minutes pass and we started wondering if even movies operate on "Indian time" (which from experience I've learned is anytime within a 48 hour period of scheduled time). Shortly after 4:30, they tell us we can go take our seats. We are ushered to the front and I can immediately see why the tickets were so expensive. We each got to sit in red lay-z-boy chairs that really reclined with a foot rest. It was also immediately clear why the tickets are always sold out. Because the chairs are so big, the theater only holds about 20 people. A waiter came around and took our order and we watched some commercials and India propaganda about democracy and government. We also saw about 5 different photocopied documents from the Indian film board verifying the inspection of movies and theaters. Once the movie started, our popcorn and sodas came and we even got a bathroom break when the movie abruptly stopped for "intermission." All in all, I would definitely pay US prices to see a mediocre film just to have the Gold Class experience.

The holiday that allowed for Sir to lounging around and go to a movie at 4:30 on a Tuesday (and the reason I had my camera) is called Makar Sankranti (or Pongul). Most holidays have different names in the north and south. According to Chandan, it's an "agricultural holiday" and not really celebrated in the city. According to the "I Love India" website: "Pongal is a three-day festival. On the first day, Bhogi Pongal, celebrations are confined to the house. Evil spirits are driven out of the home and burned in bonfires, and the house is whitewashed." If only I had known...I would have asked the maids to help coordinate. "The second day, Surya Pongal, honours the Sun god. Members of the family wear new clothes and cook - on a new stove and in new pots - a dish with the newly harvested rice, jaggery and moong dal. The third day is Maattu Pongal, honouring cattle. Cows and bullocks are washed, decorated, and worshipped for their role in ensuring a good harvest." For an image of a decorated cow, think Santa's reindeer with bells and red bows and perhaps a string of flowers around the neck. Chandan said that his family back home will celebrate but he didn't get into any of these details. What I do know, is that the same temple by our house has been busy celebrating by playing music and decorating with lights, banana leaves and chalk drawings on the ground. Here are a couple of shots by day and night (I have not seen any animals on the premises save for the usual mangy, stray dogs who are not decorated or honored as far as I can tell):



This is down at the end of the street as you turn into the side street where the temple is. It is also one of those corners where you can stop if you need a new tire or repairs to your two-wheeler. The yellow entry way is for the holiday.







This was taken without a flash. It was almost as bright as day. Surprisingly, this did not worsen the power problems that regularly plague us.

A Run on the Runway

Last week when I was running with my early morning friends, they told me about a "race" on Sunday out at the new airport. (They belong to a group called "Runners for Life" (RFL) that organizes runs around Bangalore every other week.) We didn't have any big plans for the weekend so I said I'd like to join them. Then they told me they were leaving at 5 AM. Before sunrise on a Sunday morning? I immediately thought of a series of excuses but said I would let them know later in the week. Finally on Friday, I figured why not? I could nap the entire day if I needed to.

So, the alarm went off at 4:30, I fumbled around in the dark not so gracefully, had some toast and headed out to the gates to wait for Sunil who was driving me, Benaazir and Leona. At 5 AM, the new airport doesn't seem as far as people have been complaining about. Our trip was only delayed because of some of the thickest fog I've ever seen. It felt like we were driving through clouds so thick, they literally slowed the car down - like trying to walk through murky water. The funny thing about fog is that while it wafts in and slowly surrounds you, it disappears almost immediately. When we arrived at the entrance a little after six, the fog had lifted and we were able to see faint shades of purple along the horizon.

At the entrance, we waited for Marcel, who works for the Swiss company in charge of the airport construction. (Marcel also happens to be an RFL member.) The airport is a public/private business venture and I would venture to guess that the fact that it still seems to be on target to open for the March 31st deadline is due to the fact that private companies are financing a large chunk of the construction. As we waited for Marcel, other cars started to arrive and finally a bus that was organized by the RFL. We all got out and registered (meaning we paid 100 rupees, got bib numbers and wrote them next to our names). Then we got back in our cars and drove the last 5km to the terminal building and the actual grounds of the airport.

We pulled into a dirt area that is to become the parking lot and parked again. Again we got out and they announced that anyone who still needed to register, should go to one corner. About half the people followed the man making the announcement. Why these people didn’t register at the first stop is unclear. But still, we waited another half hour or so for people to get their acts together in the chilly “winter” air. (From what I can gather “winter” in Bangalore is marked only by the cool mornings. By the end of the run it was back to summer weather.) The wait wasn’t too bad though because being outside of the city, there was a clear view of the horizon past the almost endless view of brown and patches green grass and shrubs. During this half hour, the sky changed colors from purple, to reddish/orange, orangish/yellow, pale yellowish to blue – like the sky was drawn in chalk and someone smudged the colors together.

Finally, Marcel and the head of the RFL made an announcement that they would not be timing the race but that one full loop down one runway and back on the other was about 10 km. Because some people are running the Mumbai marathon this weekend, they wanted to give people the option to run longer or shorter if they wanted. We made our way to the tarmac and took off. Sixty or so Indians (and foreigners) running down the empty runway on a clear, cool January morning.

After the run, we got to climb up to the top of the control tower and got a tour of the new terminal building. There was security on the premises but we were given special access because of Marcel (and two other Swiss guys who are working on the project who also came to run). I was home by noon and I’m pretty sure I’ll never have the opportunity to either rundown the runway at an airport or climb to the top of a control power so I’d say it was well worth my 100 rupees.

And to think, I almost didn’t go, especially after staying out late with the night before. We went to this bar/restaurant called the 13^th Floor with a group of our friends. I always thought it was generally understood there are no 13^th floors in tall buildings but maybe that’s just a Western superstition. Anyway we sat on the patio outside overlooking the city which looks very different 13 floors up and at night. We knew two of the couples that were there but Adele said she was inviting some other people that we did not know. We were the third couple to arrive and Adele introduced us to Helen and her husband Tom. Shortly after we sat down, the next couple arrived. These people looked familiar…now how is it we know them? Oh yeah, they were the people we had words with at the airport on the way home in December.

Because Sir’s firm graciously allows us to fly business class, we have access to the Air France lounge at the Leela Palace hotel in Bangalore. The hotel and Air France have worked out a deal where you can check in at the hotel and they will provide a bus to the airport when it’s time to start boarding. Great for us and our fellow business class travelers. However, when we arrived at the airport and were ushered up to the front of the line, you can imagine the frustration from those who had been waiting in the long line behind us for who knows how long. One of those frustrated passengers happened to be the guy who arrived at the 13^th Floor. At the airport, he happened to pick our Sir (and then others) to vent some of his frustration. “Excuse me, you cannot just cut this line!!!…I’ve been waiting and waiting!!!…I don’t care if you’re with a group!!!…get behind me!!!…” It escalated from there and he tried to yell at the security guards for allowing us to go ahead. He remained behind us in line as we went to security and boarded our flight. Luckily they were flying Lufthansa.

But of course, George and I make the connection almost immediately but were sitting a couple of people apart. But we both knew we were thinking the same thing – “that’s the guy who was yelling at the airport.” He and his wife must have remembered us as well but neither of us said anything even after we realized they are perfectly decent people. I really like Jane and we talked for a long time. Hopefully they realized we are not a couple of snobby jerks who like to cut lines because we only fly business class.

(I feel I should tell you I'm beginning a name change policy. For a variety of reasons, I will be changing the names of the people I meet.)

Tomorrow is a holiday so there may or may not be a post. But today’s seems extra long so hopefully it will tide you over.

I didn’t think to bring my camera on Sunday morning but luckily some others did. Here are
some pictures.

Pretty morning. Nandi Hills in the background.
This is the side of the terminal. Taken from parking lot.
It got foggy again as we started to run.
An usual sight on a runway.
Airport and tower from runway.
The control tower.
Climbing up the tower.
Looking out other side of tower.
In the control tower.
View from the tower.
The new terminal. So modern and slick!
This will take all the "fun" out of traveling to Bangalore.

Just when I thought it was back to the same old, same old

Bangalore is missing some of its buzz today - literally. The rickshaw drivers are on strike so the very distinct sputtering of their tiny motors is noticeably absent. They are demanding higher fares citing rising gas prices as a key reason. But even though traffic was flowing a little more smoothly and pollution was down, I wouldn't say it's all that quiet either. In addition to the rickshaw drivers union, the KRV (which I think is the Karnataka Railway workers) are protesting today because of recruitment practices. According to TOI (Times of India) the workers would like "fresh recruitments to Group D jobs by according priority to Kannadigas." Whatever that means, I'm sure the supposed offense committed is outrageous. In addition to the rickshaw driver and railway workers, farmers are also holding a protest today to demand a hike in sugarcane prices.

I've been curious about the rickshaw drivers for some time. I knew that they belonged to some sort of union but I wasn't sure if they owned their vehicles or if they rented them from some company or if they returned them every night to some company owned parking lot. So Chandan told me traffic on the way to yoga would be light because of the lack of rickshaws. I took the opportunity to ask him about the rickshaws. I learned the following: Each drivers owns his or her own ride; they park them at their houses; if any were caught on the roads today they would have to pay a 500 rupee fine (about $12.50); each rickshaw costs 5 lakh to buy ($12,500 - I think that math is correct...); most drivers lease their rickshaws from someone else; some drivers are not part of the union and could be on the road today; Chandan estimated that 90% were a part of the union; Chandan thinks the fares will increase but not as much as the drivers are asking for; the strike is only today. (Maybe the Hollywood writers should try the one day strike...)

As if a change in rickshaw prices wasn’t enough…

Yesterday when I arrived at the marble doorway of the Leela Palace hotel and headed out to the OWC coffee, I was stopped by an Asian woman as I walked in looking past her for someone I know. She told me I had to sign in and make out a name tag. Sign in? Name tags? I felt like I was going to a convention. They also bought in a microphone for the President to make her announcements. Usually she just yells but I guess they feel we are growing and growing and now name tags and microphones are necessary. My friend Mei asked me if I wanted to be a “greeter.” I get a nametag with the official OWC logo and my name and I’m supposed to mingle and talk to people who look “lost.” I told her I wasn’t sure if I would be the best at it but she insisted. “Oh, there are like 20 of us…it’s no big deal.” So as of next week, you can refer to me as Marketing Director and official OWC Greeter.

But change is good. At least that’s what my yoga teacher said today after she confirmed that she was canceling class (sort of). The current teacher is no longer teaching at the same place. She lives out by the gated communities and it takes her over an hour to get to class so she is turning the class over to someone else who is only going to teach on Tuesdays at 10. I’ll be working on Tuesdays so that doesn’t work. But the current teacher is still going to be teaching additional classes closer to our apartment on Mondays and Wednesdays at 8:30. Mondays I should be able to make work but Wednesday that drag of a job conflicts. But I’m not the only one trying to sort out all this change in the routine.

When I got in the car after yoga today, Chandan says, “Um, ma’am, yoga is moving?” He had apparently heard from the other drivers that the current teacher was moving class. (I think the drivers like to share notes about who goes where and when. There have been other times when he’s asked if we are going to a certain place that he’s heard about from other drivers.) I told him that the location of class was moving as well as the days of class. “But Ma’am, Monday is our shopping day.” I told him we were going to have to change the routine. “Oh, ok.” I haven’t told him about my new job yet because I didn’t want to confuse him with all this change. He’s going to be all thrown off next week.

B204 is officially a bug free zone.

The exterminator came at noon yesterday. I was expecting a bit of an entourage but it was just one guy who might have been 18. All he brought with him was what appeared to be an oxygen tank complete with a long tube attached. He looked like a cross between a Ghostbuster and an emphysema patient. He took his shoes off, handed me a bill and just kind of stared at me. I took this to mean he didn't speak English. So I showed him the little ants in the bathroom and told him we also found a dead cockroach. He then pointed to the bed and the bedroom floor and said something I didn't understand so I just gave him the head bob. I then showed him the other bedroom and bathroom and he got to work.

At the end of the tube attached to the tank was a nozzle that sprayed a white, milky liquid in a heavy stream. He started in the bathroom where the ants were visible and I asked him if I needed to move the rug, the tissues and various toiletries on the counter. He just stared at me and kind of smiled. It was more of a "leave me alone" smile than a "I'm trying to understand you" smile so I moved the hairbrushes, toothbrushes and my contacts case and left. When he had moved into the other room about 5 minutes later, I went into to survey the damage. The white liquid was all over the floor, on the carpet and in the sink. I had some bottles of lotion and shower gels that he took care not to spray over but didn't bother to move either. He sprayed around the floor in the bedroom but didn't bother to move carpet. (Perhaps I should have?) When he was done in the second bedroom (with no carpet), he came and stood out by the kitchen. I pointed to the kitchen to have him spray there as well. He started on the floor but then went about four inches up the cabinets (that are between the counter and the floor) and then went back to spray by the washer and dryer (that still doesn't work). He even sprayed the wall outside on our little balcony. (Why not just spray all of India while you're at it?) When he was done, he just came back inside and stood there. I asked him if and when I could wash the floors and cabinets and he simply replied, "Hindi Ma'am." I told him I would love to speak Hindi but I don't know how and laughed. He forced a smile and a laugh but was not nearly as pleasant as my maids who always smile and laugh with me even when we know we don't get what the other is saying. I took a rag and made like I was going to wash the floor and he said, "Three hours." I repeated, "I can clean in 3 hours?" He responded with a "yes, yes, no problem. Three hours."

Pleased that we were on the same page, I handed him the bill and the money. He had me sign a receipt then walked over to the kitchen cabinets and said "cockroaches." No longer sure we were actually on the same page, I looked at him and said, "yes, you sprayed for them?" He responded, "I come back." Totally confused I just repeated him, "you come back" and he shook his head. I tried to clarify, "you'll come back to spray for cockroaches?" Again he shook his head and pointed at the bill, "call." I wasn't sure if this meant I should call if I see them or call to have him come back. But on the bill there was a box following the word "treatment" where someone had written in "bugs, bed, bath." So I decided that he probably meant I should call if I see any and they would come back. I said, "I'll call if I see cockroaches?" He gave me an enthusiastic head shake which I think was his attempt to make me think he really understood but we both could tell he was getting as frustrated as I was and just wanted to leave. He took the money. I signed the bill, thanked him and told him I'll call if I have any problems. I'm sure he left thinking he would tell his boss not to send him again if the white lady calls again.

Fifteen minutes after his arrival he was gone and I was left with white liquid all over the floors, rugs and cabinets and an overwhelming smell of toxic fumes. I opened all the windows and went to read my book by the pool.

As if I had planned it, almost exactly three hours later, the maid boy showed up. By this time the white had dried clear so I tried to tell him that he needed to do an extra thorough job mopping the floors because we had had an exterminator come. I'm pretty sure all he got was maybe "mopping." Yes, ma'am. I mop.

Oh and the gecko did survive the fumes. Before going to sleep, George announced that the gecko was off to a better place. He saw him in the back bathroom and he "jumped" into the toilet. I asked for confirmation that it was the same one and Sir said it was the same one with the clipped tail. I was also assured that he wanted to go and since his is amphibious, he would survive the flush and is now off to the clean, clear waters of Bangalore's plumbing system. Poor little gecko. Maybe I should get a tank or something. Can you keep pet geckos?

Got to reconnect with the OWC crowd today...big changes at the Thursday morning tea. (Ok, not that big but I'll tell you about it tomorrow.)

Bugs be Gone

In addition to the tiny ants that are racing around - in the bathroom mostly - we've also had another run in with the gecko. They are sort of cute (for a member of the lizard family) when they are on the floor or the wall. But, when they manage to make their way on top of your bed, it's hard to remember that you once called them cute. Such was the case the other day when I went into the bedroom in the afternoon and saw the little guy just hanging out on our bed. Paralyzed in fear of the two inch creature, I yelled for Sir. Mimicking the moves of the dearly beloved Steve Irwin, he grabbed a hanger, told me to open the window and he would shoo it out. Shoo it out the window 3 feet from the bed with a hanger - a solid plan. What you may or may not know is that despite their size, those little legs can move! Every time I went for the window, Sir would move the hanger and the gecko would scurry (very fast) in a different direction causing me to jump ten feet. It was clear the plan was not going to work but we got the gecko to the floor where it disappeared between the bed and the nightstand/closet next to the bed. Sir announced that he thought he'd injured it and it probably wouldn't come out for a while. Even though I didn't want it around, I didn't want it hurt either and I felt bad.

On the other hand, due to the gecko incident and the tiny ants, I have been tossing and turning at night convinced there are tiny bugs and creepy crawlers in bed with me which has caused Sir to wake up multiple times to assure me there are no bugs in the bed. You can imagine how happy this makes him when he has to get up for work, still jet lagged in the morning. But reaffirming my fears (and my concerns that the gecko should necessarily be "exterminated"), I did see the gecko again the following morning (with what looked like a clipped tail) on the bathroom floor and tried to get him to crawl in a bucket. But again he was too quick and disappeared under the sink. So as I wait for the exterminator (now an hour and a half late), I am hoping the gecko will show its face so I can free him before he gets poisoned and hope that he just won't come back to the toxic territory. But I'm not sure how to coax a gecko out from under a sink and surprisingly no one has asked this question on Yahoo Answers.

While I think Chandan is a good Hindu who never swats at mosquitoes in the car but rather kindly brushes them out the window, I'm not sure asking him how to save a gecko from an exterminator is really a question I'd ask him. I'm still a little disappointed he didn't give us a big hug on Saturday afternoon. True to his very professional demeanor, he did greet us with a warm smile and "happy new year" and we're still getting back into the swing of things. We didn't see him Sunday but on Monday we went to the grocery stores and to pick up the bowl I painted before Christmas at the "Doodle Den." Knowing that he sometimes gets confused if I tell him too many things at once, I waited until we were done with the grocery store before I told him we had to make another stop. I told him we had to go back to the place on Curlee Street in Richmond Town. "The place we struggled to find?" Yes, we had struggled. It was one of the instances where he had to get out and ask where to go. We start driving and pass Commercial Street which I know is not in the same direction but wonder if we're not taking some alternate route to avoid traffic which we often do. We keep driving and I am 90% sure we are going in the wrong direction so I gave him the piece of paper where I had written the address. He takes the paper and nods but does not turn around and I am trying to find some street sign to figure out where we are. After a couple more turns, I see we are on Pottery Street which is by Adele's house where we got lost headed to her party in December. I tell Chandan I think he is thinking of the wrong place so we stop and he says, "Yes, ma'am. The place we went with the family?" I wanted to laugh when I realized he was talking about Vivian and Liam (who we had taken to the party). Fearing he might think I was laughing at him, I just said, "no not the place with the family. You took just me during the afternoon..." I apologized for not speaking up sooner (pretty much knowing from the beginning we were going in the wrong direction) and he apologized for not going the right way. But it still makes me chuckle to think of Chandan telling his friends and family that he drove Ma'am and "the family" around and around a 2 km radius looking for some party.

Although it was completely out of the way, the drive did give me the opportunity to see a large truck slowly backing up, half on the sidewalk and half on the street, taking with it the jumble of electrical wires caught on its roof. There must have been fifteen guys watching, some in the front of the truck and some in back, all yelling at one another and at the driver who seemed aware that he was doing something worthy of yelling but, not too concerned as he neither stopped nor sped up. One by one wires started to snap and fall causing the men on the street to jump around like popcorn kernels heating up. I also saw two men literally hanging onto two other men who were hanging on to the railing of the bus doors. The two men on the end were barely standing on the last step dangling in the wind.