I didn't think anybody was reading this thing, so I kind of dropped out for awhile, but after some encouraging words from a couple of people who said they enjoyed reading my travelogues, I decided to continue and conclude my trip to Indonesia.
Luckily I did not have any episodes with the porcelain god that night, I slept incredibly well. I woke up earlier than normal, and feeling quite well although I decided it would be a good idea to continue to be careful about what I ate for awhile, but that would prove to be difficult as the guest in a foreign country.
As is my usual habit, I skipped breakfast - I can't stand breakfast except for maybe a glass of juice - but I did stop and enjoy the gorgeous beach and watched the local martial arts group practice in the surf.
Today I was going to visit 3 factories and as luck would have it none of them were close to each other, they were scattered all over the island of Bali, and Bali is not as small as some people think. It is roughly 60 miles wide and 90 miles long at its furthest points. Unfortunately my agent, who hailed from a town near Jakarta, failed to consult anyone in Bali regarding our schedule, so instead of hitting all the factories in one area and then moving on we were hitting factories in 3-4 different areas every single day, which meant repeating visits to the same geographical areas over and over again.
The first visit was to a factory up in Tampaksiring, which is in the rice-paddy covered hills far above the hustle and bustle of Denpasar, the major city in Bali, and all the touristy areas down south. One thing you will notice quickly in Bali is the number of scooters and small motorbikes and the almost complete absence of sedans or any other 4-wheel vehicle that isn't a pick up truck or suv. There are few major roads in Bali with most roads, particularly outside of Denpasar and Kuta, being of the single or 2-lane paved variety. Once you leave southern Bali the island is very hilly and mountainous with winding narrow roads rising up into the hills surrounded by small villages and dotted with picturesque rice paddies. Those that could afford to buy a vehicle drove SUVs, I assume because of the hilly terrain and occasional absence of paved roads.
Tampaksiring is the handicraft center of Bali. There are numerous export showrooms and handicraft factories everywhere. Of course, calling them "factories" is a bit much, as most "factories" consisted of 20-50 artisans working in a single facility that more often than not was someone's modified house. I was told by my agent that this region of Bali was famous for its artisans, hence the prevelance of small export houses and trading companies. He said certain villages or families were famous for specific kinds of handicrafts - perhaps one village was famous for its stone carvings, another for wood, and yet another for decorative fabrics or metal working. You would find a family or village that excelled in whatever handicraft you were interested in selling or exporting and hire several of them to work in your "Factory". They would in turn refer their relatives and close friends to work with them, so it was kind of a unique experience, as many of the "factories" were simply extensions of one's family or village, with so many of the artisan(s)'s relatives and friends working with them. It is not uncommon to find "Factories" located in residential areas where the chief artisan and his family lived in the house at street level and simply constructed a second building behind the house for production. Imagine simply waking up, walking out your backdoor into the backyard, and opening the door to your workshop to work. It is not unlike some craftsmen we have here in the U.S., particularly those out in the country, who have built their workshops on their home property and simply work from there. People like my Uncle could relate. The only difference is that all the product manufactured in these cottage industries in Bali is for export.
The first factory we went to see was indeed an actual factory although located in a residential area. And it wasn't an industrial factory in the western sense, it was simply a small office with a large building in the back for production. Production consisted of re-working bamboo handicrafts by hand by roughly 20 workers, boxing them up and then sending them by truck down to Denpasar to be shipped out to Surabaya for transport via sea freight to the rest of the world. I was excited to see this factory as I had experienced numerous pleasant conversations and correspondence with the staff from this factory. Sure enough, they were as I expected, friendly as all get out and very genuine and serious about their business and their customers. It is always a pleasure to work with suppliers like this. Everything was fine and in order so we moved on.
We then had to travel all the way down out of Tampaksiring to another village that I think was located somewhere on the southwest portion of the island. The whole area was farmland dotted with the occasional home with a very busy road running through the middle of it. We did not see anything that looked as if some kind of production was going on. We must have driven up and down the same area 5 times before finally stopping in front of a locked gate - was this it?? My agent said it was. Nobody was there. We both speculated whether this was an actual factory or just a showroom, which was not acceptable for our purposes, we needed to see the actual factory. After waiting about 15 minutes a gentleman pulled up to the gate on a scooter and unlocked it. We drove into the driveway of what was obviously a private residence. My agent and I gave each other dubious glances.
Some other workers soon arrived and we were told we were waiting for the owner. We could not see anything that appeared to be production or storage of any kind. While no one appeared to live in the house, the rooms were set up like showrooms, with various products laid out for display. We began to question the workers - is this a factory? a showroom? or a packing/shipping facility? We got answers for all three, which only confused us more.
Finally an SUV pulled up and a young American guy roughly my age hopped out. He introduced himself and I suddenly realized that we knew each other. While we had never met in person, we had communicated with each other months ago regarding a number of factories in Bali. He was the previous agent in Bali, yet he was also one of our suppliers. I did not know this at the time, figuring he was only our agent.
He had been living in Bali for about 18 years. Like so many other stories I was soon to hear from other local expats, he came to Bali on vacation, a surfing trip with a bunch of his buddies. He liked the island, the people, and the culture so much that he decided not to go back. In order to make a living so he could stay, he started buying product from local craftsmen and would fly back to Hawaii and California to sell the products in flea markets. Eventually he got some regular buyers and then started hooking up with larger outfits in the U.S. He spoke fluent Indonesian although my agent said it was with a strong accent.
We finally got to the bottom of things. His company was strictly a trading company, they did not produce any of their own product. They sourced from several different local suppliers, did some minor re-work, and then packed and shipped things out. His previous packing/shipping facility was inadequate so he was moving everything to his showroom, which we were at. He was a nice guy and I had to admire him for sticking to his dream of living in Bali and finding a way to make it work.
Our third appointment was all the way back in Kuta, the crowded touristy area close to Denpasar and the airport. My agent was on the phone conversing hurriedly in Indonesian. He explained to me in English that the driver did not know where this factory was and the directions were too confusing so we were going to meet the owner of the factory at a recognizable location.
It was a freakin' McDonalds. Even in Bali you can't escape the golden arches and this location was very prominently located on a major road. Apparently we weren't the only ones meeting people there, as a number of people were standing on the sidewalk looking around for people they were supposed to meet. Because of the recent terrorist bombings in 2002 and 2005, there was considerable security at the McDonalds, since obviously many westerners dined there. Security was checking vehicles going in and out of the parking lot and I could tell the groups of people meeting others there made them nervous.
Finally a Jeep pulled up and a white woman with red hair rolled down the window and said something in Indonesian. I thought my agent was going to crap his pants. His jaw dropped to the floor as he stammered and stumbled his way over to the jeep. Apparently he had no idea that the woman we were supposed to meet was caucasian. He had been talking and dealing with her for months and never suspected she wasn't Indonesian thanks to her fluent skills in the local language. He told me her Indonesian was completely "native".
The owner of the factory was in fact a British National. When she was very young her father had gotten a position working near Jakarta on Java and worked there for many years. She ended up going to school in Indonesia. Eventually her parents moved back to the UK but she decided to stay in Indonesia. She graduated from high school in Indonesia and even gained her University Degree there as well. She had more Indonesian friends growing up than western friends. She basically grew up Indonesian and while she visited her family in the UK every couple of years she felt that Indonesia was more her home than the UK. She had been in Indonesia for more than 30 years, with more than 10 years in Bali. She had developed an interest in Balinese fashion and home decor and had developed her own export business.
We first went to lunch and they asked if it was ok if we ate local food, which I said would be fine, as a good guest does. We ate at an old-fashioned restaurant just steps from the water with open air rooms and all wood furniture. I had Nasi Goreng, which is basically a mixed fried rice dish containing shredded chicken, egg, fried pork crips, shrimp, a little fish, and some kind of green vegetable. It was absolutely delicious. The Balinese eat a lot of rice, breakfast, lunch, and dinner all consist of rice dishes.
After lunch we went to her factory which was - surprise - a house in a residential area with a building constructed in the backyard for production. The "factory manager" and his family lived in the house and the "factory" was basically a one room building with rows of sewing machines and a storage room for packing finished product. It employed about 30 people. The owner said in all the years she had been in business she had yet to fire anyone. Almost everyone was a relative or close friend of someone else and all were referred by someone else that worked there.
Everything was in order and it was time to head back to the hotel. My agent invited me to dinner that night and said he would pick me up around 7pm or so. So I had about an hour to check my e-mail and enjoy the waves and the view from the hotel.
To be continued.....
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
"Crucifix Day" at BA
Her union, the TGWU, insisted Miss Eweida had a right to speak out and was blowing the whistle on an injustice, while her MP condemned any attempt to intimidate her.
Miss Eweida, 55, of Twickenham, south-west London, is a Coptic Christian with an Egyptian background.
She was forced to take unpaid leave after refusing to remove the tiny cross on her necklace nearly four weeks ago. She is waiting to hear whether her appeal has been successful.
If BA uphold their ruling she is planning to sue the airline for religious discrimination because the airline allows Muslims and Sikhs to wear headscarves, turbans and bangles.
------------------------------------------------------------------------More than 300 BA workers have now signed a petition in support of Miss Eweida.
The airline's staff are planning a 'Crucifix Day' protest in solidarity, with air crews and ground staff wearing crosses on lapel badges and neck chains.
Good for them. BA dug their own hole the minute they made exceptions to their fashion policy for certain employees while restricting others. They should cut their losses before things get any uglier.
Voting: Mission Accomplished
I finally managed to complete ny absentee ballot for the 2006 California General Election. It's quite a lengthy ballot, particularly with all the judges you have to vote yes or no on. It was near impossible to get information on any of them, so that was what took up the bulk of my research time. But I finally managed to get it done.
With all the talk about left vs right, Republican vs Democrat, I'm right you're wrong, shouldn't it be time to excercise a time-proven strategy? Vote for the candidate whom you think will do the best job regardless of their party.
And rather than simply sit this one out or vote straight Democrat to punish the Republicans, punish the ones who have really done the damage in Congress - the incumbents, regardless of party. Both parties are despicable, both parties have done their fair share of damage. Rather than pick one side to blame the other, vote against the incumbents, or vote for a third party for once.
My ballot is a major party's nightmare, although more so for the Democrats, coming from a heavily Democratic district. I voted for 8 Republicans, 2 Libertarians, 1 Democrat, and a host of others in local politics from both sides of the 2 major parties. But what they mostly shared in common was that I voted almost entirely for challengers and not incumbents. Out of all the candidates on the ballot I voted for only 4 incumbents, 2 of them local candidates. All the rest were challengers.
So if you too are disgusted with the current state of affairs in Congress, don't blame the Republicans or the Democrats, don't try to choose which party you will punish - vote for the challenger, vote for the third party. Surely they can do no worse, and hopefully at least a little better, than the idiots we have now.
With all the talk about left vs right, Republican vs Democrat, I'm right you're wrong, shouldn't it be time to excercise a time-proven strategy? Vote for the candidate whom you think will do the best job regardless of their party.
And rather than simply sit this one out or vote straight Democrat to punish the Republicans, punish the ones who have really done the damage in Congress - the incumbents, regardless of party. Both parties are despicable, both parties have done their fair share of damage. Rather than pick one side to blame the other, vote against the incumbents, or vote for a third party for once.
My ballot is a major party's nightmare, although more so for the Democrats, coming from a heavily Democratic district. I voted for 8 Republicans, 2 Libertarians, 1 Democrat, and a host of others in local politics from both sides of the 2 major parties. But what they mostly shared in common was that I voted almost entirely for challengers and not incumbents. Out of all the candidates on the ballot I voted for only 4 incumbents, 2 of them local candidates. All the rest were challengers.
So if you too are disgusted with the current state of affairs in Congress, don't blame the Republicans or the Democrats, don't try to choose which party you will punish - vote for the challenger, vote for the third party. Surely they can do no worse, and hopefully at least a little better, than the idiots we have now.
Monday, July 24, 2006
2 Christians, a Muslim, and a couple of Hindus walk into a bar……
I was completely wiped out by the time I got back to the hotel. Not having eaten anything – except for water, a couple of cokes, and some dry toast - in nearly 48 hrs while being horribly sick pretty much saps your energy and health. I only walked around Legian village for about 2 hrs but felt like I had just run a marathon. I gratefully collapsed on my bed and watched a movie on TV. I wasn’t really looking forward to meeting my business contacts for dinner as I was still quite nervous about my stomach, but I hadn’t been able to reach them by phone, so I just had to wait.
Eventually my phone rang: it was reception, I had guests at the front gate, did I want to meet them? So I pulled on my shoes and made my way out past the sounds of the surf and a light ocean breeze coming off the sea. It was so nice I didn’t really feel like leaving and I still wasn’t up to solid food, but I was the “guest” of my associates and it would have been rude to turn them down for dinner. I was greeted by a very friendly, cheerful, stocky man in glasses who introduced me to two young women and a quiet thin man who was clearly the youngest of the group, appearing at least several years younger than myself. The cheerful fellow was the representative from my company’s agent in Indonesia and the other 3 worked for the local transportation provider. The two young ladies were from the local Bali office while the young man worked in the main office in Surabaya, which is the nearest major sea port for Bali.
We made introductions and then headed out to dinner. They asked me what I wanted to eat and I told them it was up to them to decide and that I could eat anything and preferred to experience local cuisine – in fact, my illness made me very nervous, but one of the lessons I have learned traveling around the world is that one of the best ways to break the ice and put your local counterpart at ease is to express openness in sampling local culture and customs, and one of the simplest ways to do this is to express desire to try local foods with gusto, even when they don’t particularly appeal to you.
They talked amongst themselves and decided we would go to some famous restaurant that was quite popular at the time. We piled into 2 cars and drove out of the hotel and immediately turned left into the very next driveway which was the entrance to the restaurant!! I teased them about driving such a long distance – maybe 100 feet – to get to the restaurant – couldn’t we have just walked? My colleague from our agent’s office was also giving them a very hard time, laughing loudly about how ridiculously close the restaurant was to the hotel.
Well, they must have decided that I wasn’t ready for local cuisine because the restaurant was very Western in appearance, in a glitzy club-deco atmosphere kind of way. It was an open air place with roofs to keep any rain off but virtually no walls or windows, with views of the beach and ocean from 3 sides. One half of the restaurant was exclusively bar with plush seating and pulsing dance music. We sat in the restaurant section which was decidedly quieter, but still very crowded. I looked around and almost all of the patrons were tourists or expats. Huh. So much for local fare.
The menu was quite expansive and I chose the safest thing possible for my stomach. Soon we all had our food and began chit-chatting to get to know each other. The two women who worked locally in Bali were both married, one of them with kids the other none, and they were both Balinese, which meant they were strict Hindus. My agent it turns out lived in a large mountain side town about 3 hrs or so from Jakarta and was Christian. The quiet, but pleasant young man from the office in Surabaya was Muslim. One of the women joked that if we only had a Buddhist and a Jew at our table then our party would be complete. Everyone laughed and I thought how cool it was that in this dangerous world we live in two Christians, a couple of Hindus, and a Muslim could all hang out for dinner, laughing and joking – in freakin’ Bali of all places, where only a short time ago hundreds had lost their lives to Muslim fanatics who decided a few well placed bombs in tourist-heavy Bali would assure them a place in Heaven. It just proved that once you get beyond the gloom-and-doom headlines and hype from various sides of the aisle that most people – notice I said most, not all - around the world just want to live life. They want to do business, work, make a little money, hang out with their buddies. Maybe go out to dinner or have a big dinner at home with their families. It was a lot of fun to just hang out and talk to these nice people and nobody cared who the other person was, it didn’t matter that one of us was Muslim or Hindu or Christian or that some of us were ethnically different than the other (there are several ethnicities in Indonesia, not to mention I am just a typical Caucasian).
When dinner was over I told them I would walk the few feet back to the hotel but they insisted strongly that they drive me. Which didn’t make sense to me but I figured they were just trying to be nice hosts. I said goodbye to the two locals as they would not be traveling with us to the various factories I had to visit but just wanted to meet me in person as they handled our business. The next day it would be me, my agent, and the gentleman from Surabaya to visit all the factories. I fell asleep quickly and looked forward to the next day.
Eventually my phone rang: it was reception, I had guests at the front gate, did I want to meet them? So I pulled on my shoes and made my way out past the sounds of the surf and a light ocean breeze coming off the sea. It was so nice I didn’t really feel like leaving and I still wasn’t up to solid food, but I was the “guest” of my associates and it would have been rude to turn them down for dinner. I was greeted by a very friendly, cheerful, stocky man in glasses who introduced me to two young women and a quiet thin man who was clearly the youngest of the group, appearing at least several years younger than myself. The cheerful fellow was the representative from my company’s agent in Indonesia and the other 3 worked for the local transportation provider. The two young ladies were from the local Bali office while the young man worked in the main office in Surabaya, which is the nearest major sea port for Bali.
We made introductions and then headed out to dinner. They asked me what I wanted to eat and I told them it was up to them to decide and that I could eat anything and preferred to experience local cuisine – in fact, my illness made me very nervous, but one of the lessons I have learned traveling around the world is that one of the best ways to break the ice and put your local counterpart at ease is to express openness in sampling local culture and customs, and one of the simplest ways to do this is to express desire to try local foods with gusto, even when they don’t particularly appeal to you.
They talked amongst themselves and decided we would go to some famous restaurant that was quite popular at the time. We piled into 2 cars and drove out of the hotel and immediately turned left into the very next driveway which was the entrance to the restaurant!! I teased them about driving such a long distance – maybe 100 feet – to get to the restaurant – couldn’t we have just walked? My colleague from our agent’s office was also giving them a very hard time, laughing loudly about how ridiculously close the restaurant was to the hotel.
Well, they must have decided that I wasn’t ready for local cuisine because the restaurant was very Western in appearance, in a glitzy club-deco atmosphere kind of way. It was an open air place with roofs to keep any rain off but virtually no walls or windows, with views of the beach and ocean from 3 sides. One half of the restaurant was exclusively bar with plush seating and pulsing dance music. We sat in the restaurant section which was decidedly quieter, but still very crowded. I looked around and almost all of the patrons were tourists or expats. Huh. So much for local fare.
The menu was quite expansive and I chose the safest thing possible for my stomach. Soon we all had our food and began chit-chatting to get to know each other. The two women who worked locally in Bali were both married, one of them with kids the other none, and they were both Balinese, which meant they were strict Hindus. My agent it turns out lived in a large mountain side town about 3 hrs or so from Jakarta and was Christian. The quiet, but pleasant young man from the office in Surabaya was Muslim. One of the women joked that if we only had a Buddhist and a Jew at our table then our party would be complete. Everyone laughed and I thought how cool it was that in this dangerous world we live in two Christians, a couple of Hindus, and a Muslim could all hang out for dinner, laughing and joking – in freakin’ Bali of all places, where only a short time ago hundreds had lost their lives to Muslim fanatics who decided a few well placed bombs in tourist-heavy Bali would assure them a place in Heaven. It just proved that once you get beyond the gloom-and-doom headlines and hype from various sides of the aisle that most people – notice I said most, not all - around the world just want to live life. They want to do business, work, make a little money, hang out with their buddies. Maybe go out to dinner or have a big dinner at home with their families. It was a lot of fun to just hang out and talk to these nice people and nobody cared who the other person was, it didn’t matter that one of us was Muslim or Hindu or Christian or that some of us were ethnically different than the other (there are several ethnicities in Indonesia, not to mention I am just a typical Caucasian).
When dinner was over I told them I would walk the few feet back to the hotel but they insisted strongly that they drive me. Which didn’t make sense to me but I figured they were just trying to be nice hosts. I said goodbye to the two locals as they would not be traveling with us to the various factories I had to visit but just wanted to meet me in person as they handled our business. The next day it would be me, my agent, and the gentleman from Surabaya to visit all the factories. I fell asleep quickly and looked forward to the next day.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Desperate times.
The bus to Legian village wasn’t a bus at all. It was simply a driver in an SUV. There was only 1 other person in the car with me from the hotel. In about 10 minutes we were in the heart of Legian village and the car dropped us off in front of a surf shop.
The place was dead. I mean it was quiet, nothing was going on. Legian village runs right into Kuta and both places are the most heavily populated tourist areas on Bali. The streets of Legian village are packed door-to-door with gift shops selling all sorts of wares and handicrafts as well as t-shirts and sunglasses, pirated DVDs and software, clubs, restaurants and bars. It went on for blocks in both directions. Everything was open and shopkeepers roamed the streets trying to entice prospective buyers into their shops. There were a few tourists like myself walking around, but it was mostly empty and devoid of any foot traffic. Restaurants were completely empty except for 1-2 token tables. Bars of all sorts advertised special prices and all sorts of incentives for travelers to stop in for a drink, but to no avail. The gift and souvenir shops were quiet, their proprietors sitting on the sidewalk outside or walking up and down the street trying to get someone, anyone, to buy anything. It was an odd sight for what used to be a crowded tourist trap. The terrorist bombings and travel warnings had worked – no one was coming to Bali anymore.
I hadn’t taken more than 5 steps when a gentleman introduced himself as “Billy” and physically tried to pull me into his shop, which was rather distressing. It is one thing to be accosted by hawkers and shop owners in the street trying to convince you to come into their stores, it is another to have a complete stranger pulling on your arm. Annoyed, I shook him off and glared at him. I felt bad for these people who were desperately trying to make a living now that the tourists were all gone, but grabbing people and pulling on them does not make a person view favorably on your establishment or business practices. It just pisses people off.
As I walked I was surrounded by shop owners who walked with me in step. “Change money, sir? Buy a souvenir? We have t-shirts, watches, DVDs! Looking for handicrafts?” It was impossible to discern who was talking to me about what nor where their shop was located. These were desperate people. I firmly shook my head and went straight to the pharmacy to pick up more medicine. I left the throng of followers outside and got my medicine and proceeded to walk down the street. Again, every store and every person tried desperately to convince me to shop in their store. I did eventually buy some T-shirts from a fellow who was friendlier and politer than most. If I had the money, I would have bought something from every single store I saw as it was obvious these people had gone a long time without any business and they were quite desperate. At the shop I bought the T-shirts from I asked the proprietor what it used to be like.
“Before the terrorist bombings you could barely walk down this street. Cars, motorcycles, and taxicabs filled the streets with traffic and the sidewalks were so packed with tourists you could barely move. Business was good and even though many of us sell similar items all were able to make a decent living. New restaurants, clubs, and shops were opening all the time. Now they are all gone. The newer places have already closed their doors, those planning to open have all changed their minds. Those of us who have managed to hang on are getting more desperate by the month. Nobody comes to Bali anymore. Everyone is afraid.”
It should be noted that Bali is a very unique part of Indonesia. While Indonesia as a whole is a secular Muslim country, Bali is completely different from the rest of Indonesia. Unlike the rest of Indonesia, Muslims make up a severe minority of the population in Bali. Over 90% of the population is Balinese-Hindu with less than 5% Muslim. The remaining population is mostly Buddhist or Christian. This makes the Balinese culture quite unique and different from the vast majority of Indonesians. They have little in common with their fellow Indonesian-Muslim citizens and strongly oppose the current Islamification that is rising in mainstream Indonesian politics and society. They fiercely oppose terrorism and make great pains to point out that the perpetrators of the terrorist attacks were not from Bali but had traveled from other parts of Indonesia to carry out the attacks. They hate the terrorists even more than we do, as the terrorists have succeeded in derailing the tourist economy which is the biggest money earner on Bali. Their entire economy is based on tourism and the terrorists destroyed that. Begin a conversation about terrorism and you will quickly be treated to a profanity laden tirade about how the terrorists ruined Bali and the various painful punishments that should be inflicted on them. As a unique side effect, the terrorist attacks have firmly placed the people of Bali against Jemaah Islamiyah, the fundamentalist Islamic organization believed to be linked to Al Qaeda and the Bali bombings. Just another proving point that terrorism’s worst victims are their own people and countries.
Further down the street I reached the spot of the 2002 terrorist bombing that killed more than 200 people. There is a memorial constructed where the building used to be with the inscribed names of all the dead and which country they were from. Across the street was an empty lot of rubble, all that remains of one of the businesses that was destroyed by the bombing. A tiny handful of tourists and locals was standing in front of the memorial reading the names of the dead. It was a sobering reminder of the terror inflicted on this once peaceful and beautiful island.
I took some pictures and then slowly walked back to where the hotel’s car had dropped me off. By this time I was feeling very weak and dizzy again and was looking forward to getting back to the hotel. Again, it was a struggle to walk back without being hassled by every shop or restaurant I passed on the street. I felt bad for them as they were only trying to stay in business and they seemed so desperate for anyone to buy anything. The driver picked me up and I went back to the hotel to rest.
I was supposed to meet our agent in Indonesia along with representatives from our freight company for dinner that night, but being sick I really did not feel up to it. I tried to call them, but no one picked up the phone and they were not replying to my messages. So I just hunkered down in my hotel room and waited for the inevitable call for dinner.
The place was dead. I mean it was quiet, nothing was going on. Legian village runs right into Kuta and both places are the most heavily populated tourist areas on Bali. The streets of Legian village are packed door-to-door with gift shops selling all sorts of wares and handicrafts as well as t-shirts and sunglasses, pirated DVDs and software, clubs, restaurants and bars. It went on for blocks in both directions. Everything was open and shopkeepers roamed the streets trying to entice prospective buyers into their shops. There were a few tourists like myself walking around, but it was mostly empty and devoid of any foot traffic. Restaurants were completely empty except for 1-2 token tables. Bars of all sorts advertised special prices and all sorts of incentives for travelers to stop in for a drink, but to no avail. The gift and souvenir shops were quiet, their proprietors sitting on the sidewalk outside or walking up and down the street trying to get someone, anyone, to buy anything. It was an odd sight for what used to be a crowded tourist trap. The terrorist bombings and travel warnings had worked – no one was coming to Bali anymore.
I hadn’t taken more than 5 steps when a gentleman introduced himself as “Billy” and physically tried to pull me into his shop, which was rather distressing. It is one thing to be accosted by hawkers and shop owners in the street trying to convince you to come into their stores, it is another to have a complete stranger pulling on your arm. Annoyed, I shook him off and glared at him. I felt bad for these people who were desperately trying to make a living now that the tourists were all gone, but grabbing people and pulling on them does not make a person view favorably on your establishment or business practices. It just pisses people off.
As I walked I was surrounded by shop owners who walked with me in step. “Change money, sir? Buy a souvenir? We have t-shirts, watches, DVDs! Looking for handicrafts?” It was impossible to discern who was talking to me about what nor where their shop was located. These were desperate people. I firmly shook my head and went straight to the pharmacy to pick up more medicine. I left the throng of followers outside and got my medicine and proceeded to walk down the street. Again, every store and every person tried desperately to convince me to shop in their store. I did eventually buy some T-shirts from a fellow who was friendlier and politer than most. If I had the money, I would have bought something from every single store I saw as it was obvious these people had gone a long time without any business and they were quite desperate. At the shop I bought the T-shirts from I asked the proprietor what it used to be like.
“Before the terrorist bombings you could barely walk down this street. Cars, motorcycles, and taxicabs filled the streets with traffic and the sidewalks were so packed with tourists you could barely move. Business was good and even though many of us sell similar items all were able to make a decent living. New restaurants, clubs, and shops were opening all the time. Now they are all gone. The newer places have already closed their doors, those planning to open have all changed their minds. Those of us who have managed to hang on are getting more desperate by the month. Nobody comes to Bali anymore. Everyone is afraid.”
It should be noted that Bali is a very unique part of Indonesia. While Indonesia as a whole is a secular Muslim country, Bali is completely different from the rest of Indonesia. Unlike the rest of Indonesia, Muslims make up a severe minority of the population in Bali. Over 90% of the population is Balinese-Hindu with less than 5% Muslim. The remaining population is mostly Buddhist or Christian. This makes the Balinese culture quite unique and different from the vast majority of Indonesians. They have little in common with their fellow Indonesian-Muslim citizens and strongly oppose the current Islamification that is rising in mainstream Indonesian politics and society. They fiercely oppose terrorism and make great pains to point out that the perpetrators of the terrorist attacks were not from Bali but had traveled from other parts of Indonesia to carry out the attacks. They hate the terrorists even more than we do, as the terrorists have succeeded in derailing the tourist economy which is the biggest money earner on Bali. Their entire economy is based on tourism and the terrorists destroyed that. Begin a conversation about terrorism and you will quickly be treated to a profanity laden tirade about how the terrorists ruined Bali and the various painful punishments that should be inflicted on them. As a unique side effect, the terrorist attacks have firmly placed the people of Bali against Jemaah Islamiyah, the fundamentalist Islamic organization believed to be linked to Al Qaeda and the Bali bombings. Just another proving point that terrorism’s worst victims are their own people and countries.
Further down the street I reached the spot of the 2002 terrorist bombing that killed more than 200 people. There is a memorial constructed where the building used to be with the inscribed names of all the dead and which country they were from. Across the street was an empty lot of rubble, all that remains of one of the businesses that was destroyed by the bombing. A tiny handful of tourists and locals was standing in front of the memorial reading the names of the dead. It was a sobering reminder of the terror inflicted on this once peaceful and beautiful island.
I took some pictures and then slowly walked back to where the hotel’s car had dropped me off. By this time I was feeling very weak and dizzy again and was looking forward to getting back to the hotel. Again, it was a struggle to walk back without being hassled by every shop or restaurant I passed on the street. I felt bad for them as they were only trying to stay in business and they seemed so desperate for anyone to buy anything. The driver picked me up and I went back to the hotel to rest.
I was supposed to meet our agent in Indonesia along with representatives from our freight company for dinner that night, but being sick I really did not feel up to it. I tried to call them, but no one picked up the phone and they were not replying to my messages. So I just hunkered down in my hotel room and waited for the inevitable call for dinner.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
First day in Bali
The plane landed smoothly at the international airport in Bali, a somewhat small airport surrounded by blue skies and beautiful ocean waves. The international terminal was an interesting mix of modern airport construction and traditional Balinese architecture. As we walked into the building we passed a gorgeous Balinese statue above a goldfish pond. It was obvious that the Balinese took tourism seriously and had taken steps to make the airport experience a pleasant one while simultaneously introducing visitors to Balinese life and culture.
The airport was pleasantly air conditioned, although the Balinese don’t particularly like cold temperatures, so it wasn’t the perfectly frigid air of Kuala Lumpur, but still much better than India. Everyone, including security, was pleasant and smiling, even the ones that did not speak much English did their best to communicate, always with warm smiles. While this tends to be a part of the Balinese culture – they are very friendly – I am sure it also was a result of a tourist-heavy economy. It wouldn’t surprise me if they also received professional customer service training by the airport authority or local government – something that some of our airport workers in the West need to go through!
The baggage claim area was small, clean, and orderly. Most of the luggage was already coming off the flight. I had to run to the bathroom – again! – but was happy to find clean, modern restroom facilities on a par with the airports back home in the U.S. (Sheesh, is this a travelogue or a critique of restrooms? – ed.) When I came out and went back to the luggage carousel, all the luggage was off the plane. I waited until only a handful of people were left. Still no luggage.
A couple of German ladies were talking to an ever smiling airport worker who was trying to inform them in English that their luggage had not made it. Needless to say, they were reasonably upset, probably having traveled thousands of miles to enjoy the beaches and sun of Bali only to find their luggage didn’t make it. All the while the airport staff were smiling, speaking calmly in soft tones, while guiding the passengers to the lost baggage claim desk. Again, simple customer service techniques that some of our airports back home could probably use.
As the two German ladies were led away, I began to get nervous about my own luggage. Sure enough, a pleasant looking airport worker with a smile asked me which flight I had arrived on and asked to see my luggage receipt. In the nicest way possible he explained that possibly my luggage too had been lost. He asked me for a detailed description of my luggage and showed me to a pile of unclaimed luggage from the flight, but I didn’t see it. I was beginning to really get depressed about this whole trip, first I get sick in India and now my luggage is missing. I felt terrible, although much better than the 12+ hours ago when I was at the Delhi airport, I hadn’t eaten in more than 24 hrs, was dehydrated, and felt like my legs were going to collapse at anytime. Luckily all the medicine prescribed by the doctor was in my carryon, although I was a bit distressed about clothing, as I had not showered in more than 36 hrs and was still wearing the same clothes after having sweated in the heat of Gurgaon and Delhi, India. I wearily began to walk towards the lost baggage claim desk, head down and dragging my carry on. At this point, I just wanted to get to my hotel and collapse, luggage be damned.
Just as I was about to reach the desk, I heard loud cries of “…sir, sir…wait…” I stopped and turned around to be greeted by the same kind gentleman running full sprint towards me………with a familiar looking green and black suitcase pulled behind him!! Sure enough, it was my luggage, he had found it in a pile of luggage that had been separated from another flight and was on another carousel. I thanked him profusely, a huge smile on my own face now as I finally realized that maybe things weren’t so bad.
Customs and immigration were a breeze and I walked outside to immediately be confronted by a smiling young man who asked if I was staying at The Oberoi hotel. Sure enough, my name was on his list and he quickly showed me to his car. The parking lot was small, but orderly and clean. There were plenty of people and cars at the airport, but just the usual hustle and bustle and none of the chaos as experienced in India. When I got in the car he handed me a hot towel refreshment and a cold bottle of water. I took the opportunity to down some more medicine and we were on our way.
Traditional Balinese music came from the car speakers, no vocals, just pleasant sounding percussions and flute-like instruments. It didn’t sound like anything I had heard before, but was somewhat peaceful and relaxing, sort of like the tumbling of water through a fast moving creek. Not quite loud, not quite soft, just constantly flowing and somewhat in the background.
The roads in Bali are well paved but narrow. There aren’t many multi-lane, wide paved streets, which is just fine as it keeps up appearances of that “quaint, resort town” look, even though roughly 3 million + live on the island of Bali, with more than a million (so I was told, correct me if I am wrong) in the principal city of Denpasar. Traffic was busy and I noticed that everyone either drove a motorcycle or an SUV. Rarely did I see any sedans. Even though traffic was busy, I rarely heard a horn, except for the taxicabs. We passed gleaming shopping malls obviously built for the tourists, touting the latest fashion from the top brand names and stores, all in English. We also passed a lot of surf shops, as surfing is a big sport in Bali, there were a number of international surfers on the plane picking up their surfboards from the luggage carousel.
What I found really interesting were the number of “farms” and rice paddies seemingly scattered intermittently among the shops and businesses as we traveled to the hotel. It was odd yet I found it made the city appear more….I don’t know, real. It’s hard to explain.
We passed through several traffic circles and the centers were usually constructed of large, beautiful Balinese fountains and sculptures. I wanted to take pictures, but we were traveling too fast. Needless to say, the exquisite detail and design took my breath away. And these were just traffic circles.
Soon we made it outside of Denpasar where the roads became narrower and the surroundings decidedly surburban, if not village like. Small, traditional Balinese homes dotted the roadside with the occasional restaurant or gift shop crammed in-between. Traffic became less congested and foreigners walked the street in sandals and shorts. Finally we turned around a number of curvy roads, passing numerous restaurants only to stop in front of a guard gate to a long driveway with a large Balinese sculpture off to the side that was just amazing. It looked like it could have been standing there for a hundred years but was probably only a few years old. When the driver rolled down his window to check in with security, I could smell the ocean and hear the waves. It was a pleasant sound.
Since the terrorist bombings in Bali in 2002 that killed 202 people and injured 209 (mostly tourists) and in 2005 that killed 23 people and injured more than 100, security at hotels and other tourist hot-spots has increased dramatically. The hotel I was staying at was located on the beach in Seminyak, far from the crowded tourist traps of Kuta and Sanur. Even though Seminyak has its fair share of tourists, it pales in comparison to the more populous areas of Kuta, Legian, and Sanur. Even more, the hotel I stayed at was pretty far off the beaten track, located on a less trafficked beach in a residential area far from the shops and noise of Legian village. The hotel was also a resort with rooms spread out over many acres of beachfront land with small thatched “villages” for rooms, making it an unattractive target for terrorists looking for mass casualty. Regardless, immediately after the 2002 bombing, the hotel management quickly hired additional full time security and installed a guard shack at the main entrance manned by 2 guards 24 hrs a day. All vehicles at the entrance must stop at the gate where the guards will thoroughly check the inside and outside of the car, including mirrors to check for explosives, etc underneath the car. They question each driver to verify they have business at the hotel and are issued a security pass. The pass must be returned to the guards before exiting. Logs are kept of each vehicle that enters, including license plate number, number of passengers, time of entry and exit, etc. While it certainly wasn’t Fort Knox, it did put one at ease knowing that not just anyone could get in, although I am sure a determined terrorist could find a way to get in. It just wouldn’t be as easy as it was before 2002, which is the whole point of deterrence.
We made our way down the long driveway to the main “entrance” which was simply a stone pathway past traditional Balinese buildings with thatched roofs that housed the gift shop and office staff which bordered numerous Balinese statues and fish ponds. The ocean was much louder and as I climbed the steps into the “lobby” I could see way. The lobby was basically a giant open air room with high ceilings that bordered the beach. Waves crashed on a beautiful white sandy beach less than 50 feet away. It was very warm, in the high 80’s, but with the breeze from the ocean and the pleasant atmosphere it just didn’t seem that hot. I was quickly checked in and then shown to my “room” which was very far away. I was taken away not only by the beauty of the hotel and the beach but also with how incredibly large the complex was. It took a good 5 minutes of fast walking to reach my “room” which was basically a traditional Balinese hut with thatched roof – and air conditioning of course. Hands down the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in, period, and again thank goodness my company was footing the bill.
I felt dirty and sweaty and tired and quickly took a nice long bath in the huge marble bathtub where I promptly fell asleep. I woke up a little while later only to put the “do not disturb” sign outside my door before crawling into bed. It was about 4pm.
I slept soundly and did not wake up again until the next afternoon. My eyes were heavy and my head groggy as I realized that I had been asleep for nearly 24 hrs. I opened the drapes and blinked in the sunlight and there were several messages taped to the door from management concerned that I had placed my room under “do not disturb” status for such a long period of time – was everything alright? Did I need anything? I quickly called them and told them I was just tired from traveling and needed the sleep, I did not mention that I was sick.
I got up and was immediately dizzy and light headed. I staggered to the bathroom where they had a scale and checked my weight. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’m not sure what I weighed before I left India, but according to the scale I had lost somewhere between 6-8 lbs in less than 3 days. I hadn’t eaten in nearly 3 days and had nothing to drink but water and 1 Coke. I slowly got dressed as I did not have any energy and my mind seemed to be working slowly. I realized that no matter how my stomach felt I better get something into my stomach. I also needed some more medicine and so I grabbed my camera and left my room.
I grabbed some dry toast (you don’t want grease, or butter, or anything else when you have a stomach infection) and ate it slowly. I also drank a lot of water. The hotel staff looked at me strangely, I am sure they rarely got requests for plates of dry toast with only water to drink. The “restaurant” is literally on the beach and I noticed 2 security guards at both ends of the beach standing watch. It was a public beach, but security would keep beach hawkers at a long arm’s length reach away as well as look for anything or anyone suspicious. I sat there for a long time, just eating slowly and soaking in the atmosphere, just listening to and watching the ocean. I finally felt good enough to take the shuttle bus to Legian Village, which was the closest area to buy anything. There were plenty of nice restaurants around the hotel, but other than the restaurants it was strictly residential. So I went out to the main entrance to wait for the bus to Legian.
To be continued…..
The airport was pleasantly air conditioned, although the Balinese don’t particularly like cold temperatures, so it wasn’t the perfectly frigid air of Kuala Lumpur, but still much better than India. Everyone, including security, was pleasant and smiling, even the ones that did not speak much English did their best to communicate, always with warm smiles. While this tends to be a part of the Balinese culture – they are very friendly – I am sure it also was a result of a tourist-heavy economy. It wouldn’t surprise me if they also received professional customer service training by the airport authority or local government – something that some of our airport workers in the West need to go through!
The baggage claim area was small, clean, and orderly. Most of the luggage was already coming off the flight. I had to run to the bathroom – again! – but was happy to find clean, modern restroom facilities on a par with the airports back home in the U.S. (Sheesh, is this a travelogue or a critique of restrooms? – ed.) When I came out and went back to the luggage carousel, all the luggage was off the plane. I waited until only a handful of people were left. Still no luggage.
A couple of German ladies were talking to an ever smiling airport worker who was trying to inform them in English that their luggage had not made it. Needless to say, they were reasonably upset, probably having traveled thousands of miles to enjoy the beaches and sun of Bali only to find their luggage didn’t make it. All the while the airport staff were smiling, speaking calmly in soft tones, while guiding the passengers to the lost baggage claim desk. Again, simple customer service techniques that some of our airports back home could probably use.
As the two German ladies were led away, I began to get nervous about my own luggage. Sure enough, a pleasant looking airport worker with a smile asked me which flight I had arrived on and asked to see my luggage receipt. In the nicest way possible he explained that possibly my luggage too had been lost. He asked me for a detailed description of my luggage and showed me to a pile of unclaimed luggage from the flight, but I didn’t see it. I was beginning to really get depressed about this whole trip, first I get sick in India and now my luggage is missing. I felt terrible, although much better than the 12+ hours ago when I was at the Delhi airport, I hadn’t eaten in more than 24 hrs, was dehydrated, and felt like my legs were going to collapse at anytime. Luckily all the medicine prescribed by the doctor was in my carryon, although I was a bit distressed about clothing, as I had not showered in more than 36 hrs and was still wearing the same clothes after having sweated in the heat of Gurgaon and Delhi, India. I wearily began to walk towards the lost baggage claim desk, head down and dragging my carry on. At this point, I just wanted to get to my hotel and collapse, luggage be damned.
Just as I was about to reach the desk, I heard loud cries of “…sir, sir…wait…” I stopped and turned around to be greeted by the same kind gentleman running full sprint towards me………with a familiar looking green and black suitcase pulled behind him!! Sure enough, it was my luggage, he had found it in a pile of luggage that had been separated from another flight and was on another carousel. I thanked him profusely, a huge smile on my own face now as I finally realized that maybe things weren’t so bad.
Customs and immigration were a breeze and I walked outside to immediately be confronted by a smiling young man who asked if I was staying at The Oberoi hotel. Sure enough, my name was on his list and he quickly showed me to his car. The parking lot was small, but orderly and clean. There were plenty of people and cars at the airport, but just the usual hustle and bustle and none of the chaos as experienced in India. When I got in the car he handed me a hot towel refreshment and a cold bottle of water. I took the opportunity to down some more medicine and we were on our way.
Traditional Balinese music came from the car speakers, no vocals, just pleasant sounding percussions and flute-like instruments. It didn’t sound like anything I had heard before, but was somewhat peaceful and relaxing, sort of like the tumbling of water through a fast moving creek. Not quite loud, not quite soft, just constantly flowing and somewhat in the background.
The roads in Bali are well paved but narrow. There aren’t many multi-lane, wide paved streets, which is just fine as it keeps up appearances of that “quaint, resort town” look, even though roughly 3 million + live on the island of Bali, with more than a million (so I was told, correct me if I am wrong) in the principal city of Denpasar. Traffic was busy and I noticed that everyone either drove a motorcycle or an SUV. Rarely did I see any sedans. Even though traffic was busy, I rarely heard a horn, except for the taxicabs. We passed gleaming shopping malls obviously built for the tourists, touting the latest fashion from the top brand names and stores, all in English. We also passed a lot of surf shops, as surfing is a big sport in Bali, there were a number of international surfers on the plane picking up their surfboards from the luggage carousel.
What I found really interesting were the number of “farms” and rice paddies seemingly scattered intermittently among the shops and businesses as we traveled to the hotel. It was odd yet I found it made the city appear more….I don’t know, real. It’s hard to explain.
We passed through several traffic circles and the centers were usually constructed of large, beautiful Balinese fountains and sculptures. I wanted to take pictures, but we were traveling too fast. Needless to say, the exquisite detail and design took my breath away. And these were just traffic circles.
Soon we made it outside of Denpasar where the roads became narrower and the surroundings decidedly surburban, if not village like. Small, traditional Balinese homes dotted the roadside with the occasional restaurant or gift shop crammed in-between. Traffic became less congested and foreigners walked the street in sandals and shorts. Finally we turned around a number of curvy roads, passing numerous restaurants only to stop in front of a guard gate to a long driveway with a large Balinese sculpture off to the side that was just amazing. It looked like it could have been standing there for a hundred years but was probably only a few years old. When the driver rolled down his window to check in with security, I could smell the ocean and hear the waves. It was a pleasant sound.
Since the terrorist bombings in Bali in 2002 that killed 202 people and injured 209 (mostly tourists) and in 2005 that killed 23 people and injured more than 100, security at hotels and other tourist hot-spots has increased dramatically. The hotel I was staying at was located on the beach in Seminyak, far from the crowded tourist traps of Kuta and Sanur. Even though Seminyak has its fair share of tourists, it pales in comparison to the more populous areas of Kuta, Legian, and Sanur. Even more, the hotel I stayed at was pretty far off the beaten track, located on a less trafficked beach in a residential area far from the shops and noise of Legian village. The hotel was also a resort with rooms spread out over many acres of beachfront land with small thatched “villages” for rooms, making it an unattractive target for terrorists looking for mass casualty. Regardless, immediately after the 2002 bombing, the hotel management quickly hired additional full time security and installed a guard shack at the main entrance manned by 2 guards 24 hrs a day. All vehicles at the entrance must stop at the gate where the guards will thoroughly check the inside and outside of the car, including mirrors to check for explosives, etc underneath the car. They question each driver to verify they have business at the hotel and are issued a security pass. The pass must be returned to the guards before exiting. Logs are kept of each vehicle that enters, including license plate number, number of passengers, time of entry and exit, etc. While it certainly wasn’t Fort Knox, it did put one at ease knowing that not just anyone could get in, although I am sure a determined terrorist could find a way to get in. It just wouldn’t be as easy as it was before 2002, which is the whole point of deterrence.
We made our way down the long driveway to the main “entrance” which was simply a stone pathway past traditional Balinese buildings with thatched roofs that housed the gift shop and office staff which bordered numerous Balinese statues and fish ponds. The ocean was much louder and as I climbed the steps into the “lobby” I could see way. The lobby was basically a giant open air room with high ceilings that bordered the beach. Waves crashed on a beautiful white sandy beach less than 50 feet away. It was very warm, in the high 80’s, but with the breeze from the ocean and the pleasant atmosphere it just didn’t seem that hot. I was quickly checked in and then shown to my “room” which was very far away. I was taken away not only by the beauty of the hotel and the beach but also with how incredibly large the complex was. It took a good 5 minutes of fast walking to reach my “room” which was basically a traditional Balinese hut with thatched roof – and air conditioning of course. Hands down the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in, period, and again thank goodness my company was footing the bill.
I felt dirty and sweaty and tired and quickly took a nice long bath in the huge marble bathtub where I promptly fell asleep. I woke up a little while later only to put the “do not disturb” sign outside my door before crawling into bed. It was about 4pm.
I slept soundly and did not wake up again until the next afternoon. My eyes were heavy and my head groggy as I realized that I had been asleep for nearly 24 hrs. I opened the drapes and blinked in the sunlight and there were several messages taped to the door from management concerned that I had placed my room under “do not disturb” status for such a long period of time – was everything alright? Did I need anything? I quickly called them and told them I was just tired from traveling and needed the sleep, I did not mention that I was sick.
I got up and was immediately dizzy and light headed. I staggered to the bathroom where they had a scale and checked my weight. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’m not sure what I weighed before I left India, but according to the scale I had lost somewhere between 6-8 lbs in less than 3 days. I hadn’t eaten in nearly 3 days and had nothing to drink but water and 1 Coke. I slowly got dressed as I did not have any energy and my mind seemed to be working slowly. I realized that no matter how my stomach felt I better get something into my stomach. I also needed some more medicine and so I grabbed my camera and left my room.
I grabbed some dry toast (you don’t want grease, or butter, or anything else when you have a stomach infection) and ate it slowly. I also drank a lot of water. The hotel staff looked at me strangely, I am sure they rarely got requests for plates of dry toast with only water to drink. The “restaurant” is literally on the beach and I noticed 2 security guards at both ends of the beach standing watch. It was a public beach, but security would keep beach hawkers at a long arm’s length reach away as well as look for anything or anyone suspicious. I sat there for a long time, just eating slowly and soaking in the atmosphere, just listening to and watching the ocean. I finally felt good enough to take the shuttle bus to Legian Village, which was the closest area to buy anything. There were plenty of nice restaurants around the hotel, but other than the restaurants it was strictly residential. So I went out to the main entrance to wait for the bus to Legian.
To be continued…..
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Welcome to Paradise…….
I don’t remember a thing from the plane ride to Kuala Lumpur except waking up often shivering in my thin airline blanket. The stewardess had to wake me up to let me know we had landed. The plane was already emptying. Bleary eyed, aching, and weak from not having eaten in nearly 24 hrs, I stumbled from the plane and into the airport. Just stepping into the airport was like a breath of fresh air. The airport in Kuala Lumpur is fairly new, I believe it opened in the last 5 years or so, although I could be wrong. I had never paid attention to the airports I had been to in the past, but when you just spent your last week in third world hell, having utilized transportation infrastructure from several decades ago, and then suddenly step into the modern world, you sit up and notice. As tired and sick as I was, I walked around with wide eyes, just soaking in the delicious, cool, 72 degree air conditioned interior. No crowds here. No noise. It seemed absurdly quiet having just come from Delhi airport. Everyone walked around calmly and seemed to know where they were going. The airport was spotlessly clean and just gleamed from all corners. It seemed massive and enormous after India and I just sat down for a minute and closed my eyes, soaking it all in. I felt better just being there.
I went to the restroom and had to peel the contact lenses from my red eyes, as I had been too sick to bother to remove them. They had been in my eyes for more than 24 hrs, which is a really bad thing for daily contact lens users. I spent a long time in the bathroom, thanks again to my stomach, but I did not seem to have a fever and the shivering and chills were mostly gone, although my body ached everywhere. Even though I had not eaten in more than 24 hrs I was not hungry and did not feel like eating anything. I did get a Coke and some water to keep me from getting dehydrated.
I laid down on a bench and closed my eyes, but the pain would not go away. I had about 1 ½ hrs before my plane left. Finally I got up to walk around because lying or sitting down just hurt too much. As I was walking, I saw a small shop that gave reflexology massages for travelers. Having experienced them before, I knew that they did wonders for your legs and feet and thought anything was better than just sitting in agony. I paid for a 45 minute massage. Boy, was I glad I did. By the time they were done, all the pain in my body was gone. I still felt awful, still weak and dizzy, but the body aches and pain were gone. It was money well spent.
I went back out to wait for the flight and they were finally allowing us into the inside waiting area. Kuala Lumpur is a bit different, even though you are already in the airport, they have a secondary waiting area before you enter the plane. You must go through a security check before entering the secondary waiting area. So everyone sits on benches and chairs outside the actual “gate” waiting for security to let them in.
Malaysia is an interesting country. It is multi-ethnic and multi-cultural, with many different religions. While ethnic Malays are the majority and control most of the government, the population has large ethnic Chinese and Indian populations. Hence, you have Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and Christians living side by side in relative peace and prosperity. While there are rising Islamic tendencies being reported by the media, for the most part Malaysia, particularly the big cities, is a working secular, multicultural society. At the security check at my gate, the guy in charge was clearly Indian. The 4 women manning the x-ray machines were obviously Muslim, complete with Muslim head coverings. 1 Chinese guy and 1 Chinese woman manned the handheld metal detectors. 2 other armed security guards, who appeared to be Malay, guarded the gate entrance.
When it came time for boarding there was none of the chaos that I had experienced in India. Everyone waited their turn calmly and quietly. Again, thanks to my company, I was flying in Business Class and allowed to board first. I quickly sat down before my weak legs gave out and again wrapped myself up for the flight to Bali. I was feeling a bit better after the reflexology treatment and so I didn’t fall asleep right away.
An American and his wife, clearly Indian, sat down across from me and when they mentioned Bangalore, India, I perked up.
“Did you say you just came from Bangalore? I just came from Delhi!” I asked him.
“Yes, my company moved me to India about 6 months ago for a 3 year temporary assignment. We were so excited to go, as my wife immigrated to the U.S. when she was only 7 years old and had not been back since. Boy, what a mistake!” he replied.
Turns out his wife was an American citizen and didn’t really consider herself Indian, having been in America for so long and having grown up there. He worked for some hi-tech company and when the job opportunity came up to work in India he and his wife thought “wouldn’t it be great to go back to India and live for awhile, give the kids a chance to learn about their mother’s native culture and country” and also his wife felt that it would be a chance for her to reconnect with her roots.
“Boy were we wrong. We have been there for 6 months and we hate it. And we still have 2 ½ years to go!” So much for enjoying India.
“Everywhere is so dirty and crowded, nothing works right and nothing is on time. Trash is everywhere, everyone litters. And because my husband is “white” everyone rips us off. They see a white face and they mark up everything.” Complained his wife. So much for reconnecting with her roots. “I don’t remember much of India when I was a child, but had I known it would be this bad I would never have wanted to come back.”
We traded notes on India and while some of their observations matched those of my own, clearly the things I had seen were much worse than what they viewed through their ex-pat softened eyes. While I generally agreed with some of their assessments of Indian life – the crowds, the pollution, the trash, everything running late or not working right – I had a hard time believing their life was so difficult living in multinational corporate sponsored ex-pat housing with private international school and a live-in maid. Still, one comment stuck with me.
“When we stepped off the plane into the Kuala Lumpur airport, it was like a breath of fresh air. We just felt better. We had never really paid much attention to airports before.”
I could understand perfectly.
Conversation finally ended and I settled back to sleep. Soon I woke up as we began our descent into Bali. Beautiful blue ocean waves formed white caps as we came closer to ground. Forests and perfectly formed beaches could be seen everywhere. Perhaps I would enjoy my business trip to Bali………
To be continued.
I went to the restroom and had to peel the contact lenses from my red eyes, as I had been too sick to bother to remove them. They had been in my eyes for more than 24 hrs, which is a really bad thing for daily contact lens users. I spent a long time in the bathroom, thanks again to my stomach, but I did not seem to have a fever and the shivering and chills were mostly gone, although my body ached everywhere. Even though I had not eaten in more than 24 hrs I was not hungry and did not feel like eating anything. I did get a Coke and some water to keep me from getting dehydrated.
I laid down on a bench and closed my eyes, but the pain would not go away. I had about 1 ½ hrs before my plane left. Finally I got up to walk around because lying or sitting down just hurt too much. As I was walking, I saw a small shop that gave reflexology massages for travelers. Having experienced them before, I knew that they did wonders for your legs and feet and thought anything was better than just sitting in agony. I paid for a 45 minute massage. Boy, was I glad I did. By the time they were done, all the pain in my body was gone. I still felt awful, still weak and dizzy, but the body aches and pain were gone. It was money well spent.
I went back out to wait for the flight and they were finally allowing us into the inside waiting area. Kuala Lumpur is a bit different, even though you are already in the airport, they have a secondary waiting area before you enter the plane. You must go through a security check before entering the secondary waiting area. So everyone sits on benches and chairs outside the actual “gate” waiting for security to let them in.
Malaysia is an interesting country. It is multi-ethnic and multi-cultural, with many different religions. While ethnic Malays are the majority and control most of the government, the population has large ethnic Chinese and Indian populations. Hence, you have Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and Christians living side by side in relative peace and prosperity. While there are rising Islamic tendencies being reported by the media, for the most part Malaysia, particularly the big cities, is a working secular, multicultural society. At the security check at my gate, the guy in charge was clearly Indian. The 4 women manning the x-ray machines were obviously Muslim, complete with Muslim head coverings. 1 Chinese guy and 1 Chinese woman manned the handheld metal detectors. 2 other armed security guards, who appeared to be Malay, guarded the gate entrance.
When it came time for boarding there was none of the chaos that I had experienced in India. Everyone waited their turn calmly and quietly. Again, thanks to my company, I was flying in Business Class and allowed to board first. I quickly sat down before my weak legs gave out and again wrapped myself up for the flight to Bali. I was feeling a bit better after the reflexology treatment and so I didn’t fall asleep right away.
An American and his wife, clearly Indian, sat down across from me and when they mentioned Bangalore, India, I perked up.
“Did you say you just came from Bangalore? I just came from Delhi!” I asked him.
“Yes, my company moved me to India about 6 months ago for a 3 year temporary assignment. We were so excited to go, as my wife immigrated to the U.S. when she was only 7 years old and had not been back since. Boy, what a mistake!” he replied.
Turns out his wife was an American citizen and didn’t really consider herself Indian, having been in America for so long and having grown up there. He worked for some hi-tech company and when the job opportunity came up to work in India he and his wife thought “wouldn’t it be great to go back to India and live for awhile, give the kids a chance to learn about their mother’s native culture and country” and also his wife felt that it would be a chance for her to reconnect with her roots.
“Boy were we wrong. We have been there for 6 months and we hate it. And we still have 2 ½ years to go!” So much for enjoying India.
“Everywhere is so dirty and crowded, nothing works right and nothing is on time. Trash is everywhere, everyone litters. And because my husband is “white” everyone rips us off. They see a white face and they mark up everything.” Complained his wife. So much for reconnecting with her roots. “I don’t remember much of India when I was a child, but had I known it would be this bad I would never have wanted to come back.”
We traded notes on India and while some of their observations matched those of my own, clearly the things I had seen were much worse than what they viewed through their ex-pat softened eyes. While I generally agreed with some of their assessments of Indian life – the crowds, the pollution, the trash, everything running late or not working right – I had a hard time believing their life was so difficult living in multinational corporate sponsored ex-pat housing with private international school and a live-in maid. Still, one comment stuck with me.
“When we stepped off the plane into the Kuala Lumpur airport, it was like a breath of fresh air. We just felt better. We had never really paid much attention to airports before.”
I could understand perfectly.
Conversation finally ended and I settled back to sleep. Soon I woke up as we began our descent into Bali. Beautiful blue ocean waves formed white caps as we came closer to ground. Forests and perfectly formed beaches could be seen everywhere. Perhaps I would enjoy my business trip to Bali………
To be continued.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The worst day
I had gotten up in the middle of the night with some stomach issues, but no pain, I figured it must be a minor problem otherwise I would be feeling some discomfort, but other than having to run to the bathroom now and again I felt fine. I tossed it off to something I ate the day before and tried to forget about it. I went ahead and ate a normal breakfast and checked out of the hotel.
Today we were headed to Gurgaon, which is a fast growing city that practically runs into Delhi. Gurgaon was probably the cleanest and nicest area I traveled to while in India, although that isn’t saying much considering where I had been. Sam explained that even 5 years ago Gurgaon was nothing compared to what it was now. Massive construction and development of new office buildings and multitudes of shopping malls and movie theaters had made Gurgaon the hot destination of choice for families and others escaping expensive, crowded, and confined Delhi. Wide, paved, multi-lane roads and highways were under construction everywhere we went. Tall, artistic skyscrapers that all looked brand new glistened in the summer sun. We saw familiar multinational names on some of the buildings such as IBM and Nestle. There were also a number of huge buildings that bore names I had never heard of. Sam explained that the companies that owned those buildings were the huge Indian service companies that ran the famous call centers for everything from customer service to tech support. He said inside the buildings are floors and floors of cubicles manned by English speaking support staff who work different shifts to cover the 24/7 tech support and customer support lines for a variety of American corporations. He said these were some of the fastest growing companies in the Indian economy.
As we made our way through the neighborhoods I also noticed a lot of brand new hotels and shopping malls. While still distinctly India – nothing could make you forget that – Gurgaon bore the closest resemblance to an industrialized major western city that I had seen so far. But once you got off the main roads and ventured further into the areas surrounding the major developments, it was just like being back in Jaipur or Jodhpur, although a bit cleaner and I don’t remember any large animals wandering the busy roads.
We took care of our first factory visit and about 1 hour into the visit I felt something go in my stomach – like my stomach had been holding a medicine ball clenched in its upper regions and decided to drop it. Luckily this was a fairly new building and the manager’s office had its own bathroom, so everything was fairly new and clean. Again, no pain, but some minor discomfort. Once again I dismissed it as a temporary problem, but popped an Imodium just to be safe.
We made our way to the next factory which was far away from the first, a good hour and a half plus, so we decided to grab lunch first. Sam decided to take us to a restaurant at the nearby Hilton, which was a gorgeous hotel, but I didn’t have much of an appetite and was worried about my stomach. Still, I didn’t want to be an impolite guest, so I ate lunch anyways and halfway through I got the medicine ball feeling again, so you know what that meant.
We made our way to the next factory and this place was a disaster compared to the other factories we had been too. We were warned that they were in the middle of a very busy production period, trying to complete a number of projects before a deadline, so the place was just chaotic. The poor guy showing us around looked like he hadn’t slept in days and seemed to be bothered just by us being there, but hey, we had scheduled the appointment 2 months in advance and then reconfirmed only 1 week before I arrived, so he had ample time to change the appointment if he wanted to. Once again I started having stomach problems and this time it hurt.
By the time we left I was feeling very tired and started to experience some serious pain. I finally concluded that perhaps I was developing a serious problem, but at least it was my last day in India and we didn’t have anymore factories to visit. That night I was taking a flight to Indonesia to spend another week auditing factories there.
We got back to Delhi and I finally got the chance to see Sam’s office where he worked, but I was getting light headed and dizzy and feeling sicker so I didn’t really enjoy it or really remember what it was like. I had to sit in on a wrap-up meeting with a number of his staff and was getting progressively worse throughout the meeting. The room was beginning to spin and every time I stood up I got dizzy and felt like I was going to fall over. They must have sensed something was wrong because they wrapped up the meeting quickly. I had a good 2+ hrs before I had to be at the airport. They wanted to take me to dinner or a café or something, but I knew I wouldn’t make it. So I asked them if I could just chill in their lobby. They said no problem but shouldn’t they keep me company? I thanked them for their kindness and told them to go back to work, I would be fine.
I don’t remember much after that. I leaned back into their sofa, my whole body in pain now, and was out in seconds. I was woken later by Sam, who was shaking my shoulder. My body must have fallen over onto the sofa in some awkward position because I was now lying down and my neck was sore. Sam had fear in his eyes.
“Are you ok?”
I told him I was fine, but I must not have looked it and surely didn’t feel like it. I can only imagine what I looked like, but it was dark out which meant I had been asleep for some time and my clothes were drenched in sweat, even though his office had AC and was kept nice and cool. My heart was beating so fast and hard it felt like it was going to pop out of my chest and I knew instinctively that I had a fever and possible had something very wrong with me, maybe an infection.
I assured Sam I was fine and tried to stand up, but almost fell over. I went to the bathroom and sure enough I looked just awful. My hair was sticking to my face from all the sweat and I just looked like death warmed over. I went to the bathroom, again, and splashed some water on my face. I put on my best “I’m fine” smile and walked out.
Sam was not convinced. He grabbed my arm and pushed me outside where a car was waiting. “We’re going to the doctor.” I was in no mood to complain.
I only had about 1 hour to get to the airport and the airport was a good 30 minutes away and we still needed to see a doctor. Luckily, we caught him leaving his office and he let us in so he could take a look at me. Sure enough, I had a fever, accelerated heart rate, mild dehydration, and the doctor diagnosed me with a stomach infection. He prescribed 3 different medicines for me and I took all 3 immediately.
By this time I was feeling even worse and at one point we were contemplating delaying my flight into Indonesia by a day to see if I felt better in the morning. But on second thought, I just wanted to get the heck out of Dodge and just felt like maybe I would feel better if I got into some new surroundings. I was sick of the excessive heat, crowded streets, bad air, crazy traffic, and incessant noise of India, not to mention the overall level of dirtiness and that impression that things just didn’t work right here. So I told Sam I would make it to Indonesia and if I had any problems I would call him.
They threw me into the car and told the driver to haul ass, but “be careful”. I don’t know how you haul ass and be careful at the same time, and I think this driver only heard the first part. He took off with screeching tires and immediately I had both hands on the door handle trying keep my body from careening around the inside of the car. He ignored stoplights, drove through gas stations and parking lots, and I swear we narrowly avoided instant death by mere millimeters several times. Pedestrians and bicyclists leaped out of the way as he honked and screeched his way through traffic. Anybody who didn’t get out of his way was subject to flashing lights, incessant horn honking, and tailgating where our bumpers were literally 1-2 inches apart while going 40-50 miles an hour. He turned 1 lane city streets into 2 lane freeways. How we never got stopped I will never know. Nor will I understand how we got to the airport in once piece. He turned a 30+ minute drive into about 15 minutes.
The international terminal was complete chaos. Traffic didn’t move. We only got as far as 4 cars deep from the curb. Like airports here, there was no stopping allowed except to drop off passengers, but there were simply too many people trying to get onto too many flights in an airport that was never designed to handle so much. We just stopped and got out and I wobbled my way between cars until I got to the curb. At the curb it was just a giant wall of people that hardly moved. You had to go through one of several entrances manned by guards with machine guns who were checking to see if you had a valid ticket. The reason for the crowds was too many people and not enough entrances, but especially because just inside they would scan your luggage through an x-ray machine. It took forever. I was so weak I could barely stand and kept sitting on my luggage waiting to get in.
Finally I managed to get in and get my luggage scanned and then I had to find Malaysian Airlines. Lines were strung all over the place, there simply weren’t enough counters for all the flights leaving. I finally staggered to a gigantic mass of people who had gathered near the Malaysian Airlines counters, realizing that this was the line. It was agonizingly slow. All the joints in my body were stiffening up and I was in severe pain. I had taken another pain pill but it wasn’t helping. I don’t remember much besides the waiting, but somehow I made it through security. It had taken me almost 2 hrs just to check in and get through security and I realized now why American Airlines had advised all the passengers on my arriving flight to check in at least 3 hrs before departure, they knew that Delhi airport was a mess.
Thankfully my company pays for business class, which allowed me pre-boarding rights and a good thing too. There was no place to sit, all the seats in the waiting area were full, people were sitting or lying on the floor and there was a throng of people pushing and pulling with each other at the gate entrance to the plane. A very cross gate agent was standing in front of the gate with her arms folded, just glaring at the people. Keep in mind, not a single announcement had been made about boarding. People line up all the time before boarding announcements, but I had never seen this many people do it and calling them a line would have given them too much credit. Not that I could entirely blame them – like I said, there was no place to sit anywhere, so where else were they going to stand? I just wished they could have been a bit quieter and not so unruly. When the gate agent announced pre-boarding for first class and business passengers, the mob rushed forward. One gate agent had to physically hold the people back while the other tried to pull the first class and business passengers through. I came around the side weakly holding my business class boarding pass in the air so the agent could see. She saw me and pushed her way through the mob to form a path for me to walk in.
When I got onto the plane I just curled up in my blanket and closed my eyes, wishing for sleep. I had to change planes in Kuala Lumpur before heading to Indonesia. I just hoped for a quick trip.
Today we were headed to Gurgaon, which is a fast growing city that practically runs into Delhi. Gurgaon was probably the cleanest and nicest area I traveled to while in India, although that isn’t saying much considering where I had been. Sam explained that even 5 years ago Gurgaon was nothing compared to what it was now. Massive construction and development of new office buildings and multitudes of shopping malls and movie theaters had made Gurgaon the hot destination of choice for families and others escaping expensive, crowded, and confined Delhi. Wide, paved, multi-lane roads and highways were under construction everywhere we went. Tall, artistic skyscrapers that all looked brand new glistened in the summer sun. We saw familiar multinational names on some of the buildings such as IBM and Nestle. There were also a number of huge buildings that bore names I had never heard of. Sam explained that the companies that owned those buildings were the huge Indian service companies that ran the famous call centers for everything from customer service to tech support. He said inside the buildings are floors and floors of cubicles manned by English speaking support staff who work different shifts to cover the 24/7 tech support and customer support lines for a variety of American corporations. He said these were some of the fastest growing companies in the Indian economy.
As we made our way through the neighborhoods I also noticed a lot of brand new hotels and shopping malls. While still distinctly India – nothing could make you forget that – Gurgaon bore the closest resemblance to an industrialized major western city that I had seen so far. But once you got off the main roads and ventured further into the areas surrounding the major developments, it was just like being back in Jaipur or Jodhpur, although a bit cleaner and I don’t remember any large animals wandering the busy roads.
We took care of our first factory visit and about 1 hour into the visit I felt something go in my stomach – like my stomach had been holding a medicine ball clenched in its upper regions and decided to drop it. Luckily this was a fairly new building and the manager’s office had its own bathroom, so everything was fairly new and clean. Again, no pain, but some minor discomfort. Once again I dismissed it as a temporary problem, but popped an Imodium just to be safe.
We made our way to the next factory which was far away from the first, a good hour and a half plus, so we decided to grab lunch first. Sam decided to take us to a restaurant at the nearby Hilton, which was a gorgeous hotel, but I didn’t have much of an appetite and was worried about my stomach. Still, I didn’t want to be an impolite guest, so I ate lunch anyways and halfway through I got the medicine ball feeling again, so you know what that meant.
We made our way to the next factory and this place was a disaster compared to the other factories we had been too. We were warned that they were in the middle of a very busy production period, trying to complete a number of projects before a deadline, so the place was just chaotic. The poor guy showing us around looked like he hadn’t slept in days and seemed to be bothered just by us being there, but hey, we had scheduled the appointment 2 months in advance and then reconfirmed only 1 week before I arrived, so he had ample time to change the appointment if he wanted to. Once again I started having stomach problems and this time it hurt.
By the time we left I was feeling very tired and started to experience some serious pain. I finally concluded that perhaps I was developing a serious problem, but at least it was my last day in India and we didn’t have anymore factories to visit. That night I was taking a flight to Indonesia to spend another week auditing factories there.
We got back to Delhi and I finally got the chance to see Sam’s office where he worked, but I was getting light headed and dizzy and feeling sicker so I didn’t really enjoy it or really remember what it was like. I had to sit in on a wrap-up meeting with a number of his staff and was getting progressively worse throughout the meeting. The room was beginning to spin and every time I stood up I got dizzy and felt like I was going to fall over. They must have sensed something was wrong because they wrapped up the meeting quickly. I had a good 2+ hrs before I had to be at the airport. They wanted to take me to dinner or a café or something, but I knew I wouldn’t make it. So I asked them if I could just chill in their lobby. They said no problem but shouldn’t they keep me company? I thanked them for their kindness and told them to go back to work, I would be fine.
I don’t remember much after that. I leaned back into their sofa, my whole body in pain now, and was out in seconds. I was woken later by Sam, who was shaking my shoulder. My body must have fallen over onto the sofa in some awkward position because I was now lying down and my neck was sore. Sam had fear in his eyes.
“Are you ok?”
I told him I was fine, but I must not have looked it and surely didn’t feel like it. I can only imagine what I looked like, but it was dark out which meant I had been asleep for some time and my clothes were drenched in sweat, even though his office had AC and was kept nice and cool. My heart was beating so fast and hard it felt like it was going to pop out of my chest and I knew instinctively that I had a fever and possible had something very wrong with me, maybe an infection.
I assured Sam I was fine and tried to stand up, but almost fell over. I went to the bathroom and sure enough I looked just awful. My hair was sticking to my face from all the sweat and I just looked like death warmed over. I went to the bathroom, again, and splashed some water on my face. I put on my best “I’m fine” smile and walked out.
Sam was not convinced. He grabbed my arm and pushed me outside where a car was waiting. “We’re going to the doctor.” I was in no mood to complain.
I only had about 1 hour to get to the airport and the airport was a good 30 minutes away and we still needed to see a doctor. Luckily, we caught him leaving his office and he let us in so he could take a look at me. Sure enough, I had a fever, accelerated heart rate, mild dehydration, and the doctor diagnosed me with a stomach infection. He prescribed 3 different medicines for me and I took all 3 immediately.
By this time I was feeling even worse and at one point we were contemplating delaying my flight into Indonesia by a day to see if I felt better in the morning. But on second thought, I just wanted to get the heck out of Dodge and just felt like maybe I would feel better if I got into some new surroundings. I was sick of the excessive heat, crowded streets, bad air, crazy traffic, and incessant noise of India, not to mention the overall level of dirtiness and that impression that things just didn’t work right here. So I told Sam I would make it to Indonesia and if I had any problems I would call him.
They threw me into the car and told the driver to haul ass, but “be careful”. I don’t know how you haul ass and be careful at the same time, and I think this driver only heard the first part. He took off with screeching tires and immediately I had both hands on the door handle trying keep my body from careening around the inside of the car. He ignored stoplights, drove through gas stations and parking lots, and I swear we narrowly avoided instant death by mere millimeters several times. Pedestrians and bicyclists leaped out of the way as he honked and screeched his way through traffic. Anybody who didn’t get out of his way was subject to flashing lights, incessant horn honking, and tailgating where our bumpers were literally 1-2 inches apart while going 40-50 miles an hour. He turned 1 lane city streets into 2 lane freeways. How we never got stopped I will never know. Nor will I understand how we got to the airport in once piece. He turned a 30+ minute drive into about 15 minutes.
The international terminal was complete chaos. Traffic didn’t move. We only got as far as 4 cars deep from the curb. Like airports here, there was no stopping allowed except to drop off passengers, but there were simply too many people trying to get onto too many flights in an airport that was never designed to handle so much. We just stopped and got out and I wobbled my way between cars until I got to the curb. At the curb it was just a giant wall of people that hardly moved. You had to go through one of several entrances manned by guards with machine guns who were checking to see if you had a valid ticket. The reason for the crowds was too many people and not enough entrances, but especially because just inside they would scan your luggage through an x-ray machine. It took forever. I was so weak I could barely stand and kept sitting on my luggage waiting to get in.
Finally I managed to get in and get my luggage scanned and then I had to find Malaysian Airlines. Lines were strung all over the place, there simply weren’t enough counters for all the flights leaving. I finally staggered to a gigantic mass of people who had gathered near the Malaysian Airlines counters, realizing that this was the line. It was agonizingly slow. All the joints in my body were stiffening up and I was in severe pain. I had taken another pain pill but it wasn’t helping. I don’t remember much besides the waiting, but somehow I made it through security. It had taken me almost 2 hrs just to check in and get through security and I realized now why American Airlines had advised all the passengers on my arriving flight to check in at least 3 hrs before departure, they knew that Delhi airport was a mess.
Thankfully my company pays for business class, which allowed me pre-boarding rights and a good thing too. There was no place to sit, all the seats in the waiting area were full, people were sitting or lying on the floor and there was a throng of people pushing and pulling with each other at the gate entrance to the plane. A very cross gate agent was standing in front of the gate with her arms folded, just glaring at the people. Keep in mind, not a single announcement had been made about boarding. People line up all the time before boarding announcements, but I had never seen this many people do it and calling them a line would have given them too much credit. Not that I could entirely blame them – like I said, there was no place to sit anywhere, so where else were they going to stand? I just wished they could have been a bit quieter and not so unruly. When the gate agent announced pre-boarding for first class and business passengers, the mob rushed forward. One gate agent had to physically hold the people back while the other tried to pull the first class and business passengers through. I came around the side weakly holding my business class boarding pass in the air so the agent could see. She saw me and pushed her way through the mob to form a path for me to walk in.
When I got onto the plane I just curled up in my blanket and closed my eyes, wishing for sleep. I had to change planes in Kuala Lumpur before heading to Indonesia. I just hoped for a quick trip.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Late arrival
Sam woke up from his nap and he left to ask the conductor when we would finally reach Jaipur station. He came back about 10 minutes later. “No idea” seemed to be the reply from the conductor. Great.
We finally started to slow down and I could see the shadows of buildings through the train window. Finally, we began to really slow down and Sam and I started pulling our luggage out from under the seat and getting ready to disembark. It was after 1am, more than 1 hour behind schedule and I was hot, dirty, sticky, and tired, not to mention a very uncomfortable stomach from holding my bowels for so long.
We got off the train in Jaipur and the station was packed with people either coming to pick up passengers or sitting glassy-eyed, having waited more than 1 hour for the train to arrive so they could get on, headed for Delhi which was the final stop. Once again, groups of young men accosted us, hoping to carry our bags for us. We ignored them and walked swiftly to the main exit where our driver was supposedly waiting.
We stepped out of the station and our driver met us. We had to carefully step over the sleeping bodies in the dark outside of the train station. As in Jodhpur there was a sizeable homeless population that actually lived at the train station. We got our luggage into the car, which was at least 40 years old, and finally started heading toward the hotel. Long story short, by the time I got checked into the hotel it was 2am and we had to check out and leave within 7 hrs!!! Not a recipe for a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t wait to get into my hotel room and use the bathroom. I took a cool shower that lasted a good 30 minutes to wash off hours of sweat and dust that had accumulated on my body over the long day. It felt wonderful.
All too soon the alarm went off and I was up and getting dressed. I was dead tired but nothing could be done about it as I had a lot of work to do. I didn’t eat much for breakfast and wearily met Sam in the lobby. He looked about as tired as I was.
We headed out for the first factory. Jaipur is a much bigger city than Jodhpur, I believe Sam told me around 2 million or so, I could be wrong, but it certainly seemed more metropolitan than Jodhpur, although traffic, like anywhere in India, was still completely insane, complete with wandering cows, the occasional camel, and pedestrians/bikers darting in and out of traffic in both directions. On all the major streets there were signs in the center divider proclaiming “Jaipur, the pink city, welcome to green” or something to that effect. They should have called it “Jaipur, the litter city, welcome to the brown” because that is mostly what I saw. While Jaipur is closer to Delhi and further inland than Jodhpur, it is still in Rajasthan and still on the border of the Thar desert. So the climate is rather dry, hence not a lot of greenery in the city. There were trees lining the roadways but everywhere else was dry and brown. And there was litter everywhere, every roadway, every alley, every street was strewn with litter. At least the commercial and industrial districts were slightly better.
I won’t bore you with the details of my factory visits, only to say that the factories in Jaipur were more established and organized than the ones in Jodhpur. Jaipur’s industrial area was a bit more in line with what one would expect in another country, although still not on a scale as one would see in a highly developed country. We met a lot of very nice people and got a lot of work done and then we went to lunch. We drove forever until I saw a shiny, gleaming building off in the distance. As we got closer I could see line upon line of motorcycles and cars parked around it. Eventually I could see that it was a shopping mall, a rather new one, complete with movie theater and a full line of restaurants. What was odd about it, though, was that there was nothing around it. I mean nothing. There were several main roads around the immediate area and some minor construction going on, but the land surrounding the mall was mostly bare dirt. Across one of the streets were a number of tents and tin shacks where people lived. It seemed incredibly odd and yet growingly familiar to see poverty slammed up against wealth, living side by side and across from each other. As we pulled up to one of the parking areas I could see people in the “tent city” as I liked to call it tending cows or chickens or washing clothes in the clearly polluted waterway that tumbled alongside the main road. And yet, just feet away, was this gleaming air conditioned mall which was clearly for the local wealthy and upper middle class, as could be judged by the model of car and shiny motorcycles in the parking lots. Just steps away from each other and yet both sides seemed perfectly content with each other as people from both sides seemed completely ignorant of the other.
We walked in and the first thing I saw was a McDonalds. I chuckled and commented that no matter where I went in the world, no matter how distant the country or remote the location, I always seemed to be stumbling into a McDonalds (or a Starbucks). Sam stopped dead in his tracks.
“You don’t LIKE McDonalds ?!?!?!”, he said.
“Um, no, not particularly, but if you want to go there that’s fine”, I replied.
“But all Americans LOVE McDonalds! I thought you would WANT to go there!”
I quickly realized that despite the plethora of interesting restaurants in the mall that Sam had fully intended to bring me to McDonalds: a restaurant I had not eaten in since I can’t remember (I am not much of a fast food fan and have never really liked McDonalds anyways) and where you can’t walk 10 feet in America without tripping on one, where I could go whenever I wanted. And yet here I am in Jaipur, India and my guide wants to take me there to eat.
I kindly explained to Sam that if he wanted to go there we could, but that I could eat McDonalds anytime of the week back home, so why don’t we try something else? He smiled agreeably and quickly chose a nice Indian restaurant nearby, seeming both relieved and surprised to find that I did not particularly favor McDonalds. Apparently he must have had different, welcoming reactions in the past from foreign visitors he had hosted in India.
In the afternoon we visited 2 more non-furniture factories and then it was off to the Jaipur airport to head back to Delhi. Jaipur airport was larger than Jodhpur, but not by much. There was one rather small check in area for the 3-4 domestic airlines that serviced Jaipur and a single gate for all flights. It only required 1 small board to display the handful of flights leaving over the next 4 hrs. Keep in mind this is for a city of more than 2 million people.
As we checked in the gate the girl behind the counter wanted to charge us like $50 for heavy luggage. Huh? We both had carry ons, that’s it. Turns out we were taking a propeller plane back to Delhi and so bags had to be extremely light – mine was 1 kg over the limit. But with some quick explaining and pleading in Hindi by Sam they let it go.
We then sat in the gate area waiting for the flight to arrive so we could leave. We had 20 minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave. 10 minutes later they announced the flight would be delayed by 5-10 minutes. By this time I was used to it. I knew that 5-10 minutes could mean up to 1 hour. Sure enough, nearly 1 hr later the plane arrived. We had to walk from the gate out onto the tarmac – no buses – and climb into the plane. It was a long walk. I forget what kind of plane it was, but it was definitely the smallest plane I had ever ridden in. Very tiny, narrow seats and I think the plane held only 30-40 people. Once again we sat on the tarmac waiting…..for what?!? There wasn’t a plane in sight.
Finally we took off and I was asleep before we reached cruising altitude. Sam nudged me awake not 45 minutes later “We are landing”, he said. We circled for what seemed like forever. Finally we landed, only 1 ½ hrs later than scheduled. Inside the airport it was complete chaos. We could barely move through the crowds to get our luggage. There were multiple flights being handled by the tiny handful of luggage carousels and mass confusion by passengers ensued as it was difficult to figure out which carousel was handling which flight. Bags and suitcases were piled everywhere as airport workers simply removed them and stacked them on the floor to make more room on the carousels. The heat and humidity and odor from hundreds, if not thousands, of crushing bodies was overwhelming. Outside was just as bad, traffic was like a parking lot, a cacophony of horns and angry drivers yelling at each other. Swarms of people milled about uncertainly, looking for their rides or buses. We found our driver who looked supremely relieved.
“I have been waiting for nearly 2 hrs. I asked the airport people when your flight was coming in. They told me they had no record of the flight. I argued with them and then they said they had no idea when the flight would land. I checked later and the new person told me that your airline didn’t exist, which is impossible as it is a major domestic airline. I must have talked to 10 different people, none of whom seemed to have the first clue what I was talking about.”
This was a major domestic airline with 2 daily flights to and from Delhi and Jaipur as well as at least a dozen other cities. And nobody in the airport seemed to have a clue.
I stayed in the same hotel as the first night, except this time they had a nicer room for me, much larger and plush than the first night and for the same price too!
I settled down for a nice long sleep, but my stomach interrupted me around 4am or so. Little did I know that my troubles were just beginning……
To be continued.
We finally started to slow down and I could see the shadows of buildings through the train window. Finally, we began to really slow down and Sam and I started pulling our luggage out from under the seat and getting ready to disembark. It was after 1am, more than 1 hour behind schedule and I was hot, dirty, sticky, and tired, not to mention a very uncomfortable stomach from holding my bowels for so long.
We got off the train in Jaipur and the station was packed with people either coming to pick up passengers or sitting glassy-eyed, having waited more than 1 hour for the train to arrive so they could get on, headed for Delhi which was the final stop. Once again, groups of young men accosted us, hoping to carry our bags for us. We ignored them and walked swiftly to the main exit where our driver was supposedly waiting.
We stepped out of the station and our driver met us. We had to carefully step over the sleeping bodies in the dark outside of the train station. As in Jodhpur there was a sizeable homeless population that actually lived at the train station. We got our luggage into the car, which was at least 40 years old, and finally started heading toward the hotel. Long story short, by the time I got checked into the hotel it was 2am and we had to check out and leave within 7 hrs!!! Not a recipe for a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t wait to get into my hotel room and use the bathroom. I took a cool shower that lasted a good 30 minutes to wash off hours of sweat and dust that had accumulated on my body over the long day. It felt wonderful.
All too soon the alarm went off and I was up and getting dressed. I was dead tired but nothing could be done about it as I had a lot of work to do. I didn’t eat much for breakfast and wearily met Sam in the lobby. He looked about as tired as I was.
We headed out for the first factory. Jaipur is a much bigger city than Jodhpur, I believe Sam told me around 2 million or so, I could be wrong, but it certainly seemed more metropolitan than Jodhpur, although traffic, like anywhere in India, was still completely insane, complete with wandering cows, the occasional camel, and pedestrians/bikers darting in and out of traffic in both directions. On all the major streets there were signs in the center divider proclaiming “Jaipur, the pink city, welcome to green” or something to that effect. They should have called it “Jaipur, the litter city, welcome to the brown” because that is mostly what I saw. While Jaipur is closer to Delhi and further inland than Jodhpur, it is still in Rajasthan and still on the border of the Thar desert. So the climate is rather dry, hence not a lot of greenery in the city. There were trees lining the roadways but everywhere else was dry and brown. And there was litter everywhere, every roadway, every alley, every street was strewn with litter. At least the commercial and industrial districts were slightly better.
I won’t bore you with the details of my factory visits, only to say that the factories in Jaipur were more established and organized than the ones in Jodhpur. Jaipur’s industrial area was a bit more in line with what one would expect in another country, although still not on a scale as one would see in a highly developed country. We met a lot of very nice people and got a lot of work done and then we went to lunch. We drove forever until I saw a shiny, gleaming building off in the distance. As we got closer I could see line upon line of motorcycles and cars parked around it. Eventually I could see that it was a shopping mall, a rather new one, complete with movie theater and a full line of restaurants. What was odd about it, though, was that there was nothing around it. I mean nothing. There were several main roads around the immediate area and some minor construction going on, but the land surrounding the mall was mostly bare dirt. Across one of the streets were a number of tents and tin shacks where people lived. It seemed incredibly odd and yet growingly familiar to see poverty slammed up against wealth, living side by side and across from each other. As we pulled up to one of the parking areas I could see people in the “tent city” as I liked to call it tending cows or chickens or washing clothes in the clearly polluted waterway that tumbled alongside the main road. And yet, just feet away, was this gleaming air conditioned mall which was clearly for the local wealthy and upper middle class, as could be judged by the model of car and shiny motorcycles in the parking lots. Just steps away from each other and yet both sides seemed perfectly content with each other as people from both sides seemed completely ignorant of the other.
We walked in and the first thing I saw was a McDonalds. I chuckled and commented that no matter where I went in the world, no matter how distant the country or remote the location, I always seemed to be stumbling into a McDonalds (or a Starbucks). Sam stopped dead in his tracks.
“You don’t LIKE McDonalds ?!?!?!”, he said.
“Um, no, not particularly, but if you want to go there that’s fine”, I replied.
“But all Americans LOVE McDonalds! I thought you would WANT to go there!”
I quickly realized that despite the plethora of interesting restaurants in the mall that Sam had fully intended to bring me to McDonalds: a restaurant I had not eaten in since I can’t remember (I am not much of a fast food fan and have never really liked McDonalds anyways) and where you can’t walk 10 feet in America without tripping on one, where I could go whenever I wanted. And yet here I am in Jaipur, India and my guide wants to take me there to eat.
I kindly explained to Sam that if he wanted to go there we could, but that I could eat McDonalds anytime of the week back home, so why don’t we try something else? He smiled agreeably and quickly chose a nice Indian restaurant nearby, seeming both relieved and surprised to find that I did not particularly favor McDonalds. Apparently he must have had different, welcoming reactions in the past from foreign visitors he had hosted in India.
In the afternoon we visited 2 more non-furniture factories and then it was off to the Jaipur airport to head back to Delhi. Jaipur airport was larger than Jodhpur, but not by much. There was one rather small check in area for the 3-4 domestic airlines that serviced Jaipur and a single gate for all flights. It only required 1 small board to display the handful of flights leaving over the next 4 hrs. Keep in mind this is for a city of more than 2 million people.
As we checked in the gate the girl behind the counter wanted to charge us like $50 for heavy luggage. Huh? We both had carry ons, that’s it. Turns out we were taking a propeller plane back to Delhi and so bags had to be extremely light – mine was 1 kg over the limit. But with some quick explaining and pleading in Hindi by Sam they let it go.
We then sat in the gate area waiting for the flight to arrive so we could leave. We had 20 minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave. 10 minutes later they announced the flight would be delayed by 5-10 minutes. By this time I was used to it. I knew that 5-10 minutes could mean up to 1 hour. Sure enough, nearly 1 hr later the plane arrived. We had to walk from the gate out onto the tarmac – no buses – and climb into the plane. It was a long walk. I forget what kind of plane it was, but it was definitely the smallest plane I had ever ridden in. Very tiny, narrow seats and I think the plane held only 30-40 people. Once again we sat on the tarmac waiting…..for what?!? There wasn’t a plane in sight.
Finally we took off and I was asleep before we reached cruising altitude. Sam nudged me awake not 45 minutes later “We are landing”, he said. We circled for what seemed like forever. Finally we landed, only 1 ½ hrs later than scheduled. Inside the airport it was complete chaos. We could barely move through the crowds to get our luggage. There were multiple flights being handled by the tiny handful of luggage carousels and mass confusion by passengers ensued as it was difficult to figure out which carousel was handling which flight. Bags and suitcases were piled everywhere as airport workers simply removed them and stacked them on the floor to make more room on the carousels. The heat and humidity and odor from hundreds, if not thousands, of crushing bodies was overwhelming. Outside was just as bad, traffic was like a parking lot, a cacophony of horns and angry drivers yelling at each other. Swarms of people milled about uncertainly, looking for their rides or buses. We found our driver who looked supremely relieved.
“I have been waiting for nearly 2 hrs. I asked the airport people when your flight was coming in. They told me they had no record of the flight. I argued with them and then they said they had no idea when the flight would land. I checked later and the new person told me that your airline didn’t exist, which is impossible as it is a major domestic airline. I must have talked to 10 different people, none of whom seemed to have the first clue what I was talking about.”
This was a major domestic airline with 2 daily flights to and from Delhi and Jaipur as well as at least a dozen other cities. And nobody in the airport seemed to have a clue.
I stayed in the same hotel as the first night, except this time they had a nicer room for me, much larger and plush than the first night and for the same price too!
I settled down for a nice long sleep, but my stomach interrupted me around 4am or so. Little did I know that my troubles were just beginning……
To be continued.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
GM has claws?
Found this originally by instapundit, but read on GM's own blog, which is fascinating. Seems the NYT printed a particularly nasty article regarding GM and such and really watered down GM's reply, to the point of GM basically saying, it's so far from what we want, just forget it. I'd love to link the NYT article, but subscription required, so that's the best you'll get (sans subscription, of course). You can find GM's rebuttal here, their frustration at the lack of commitment to printing GM's rebuttal here, GM's original rebuttal here, their edited version, here, and the emails back and forth from the NYT and GM, here.
What I find interesting is his point that the sooner GM gets acquired by Toyota, the better. Now I'm fully aware that GM has been working very hard at going out of business, and they can't even do that properly, but I do believe that the demise of GM and/or Ford would be very bad at best and disastrous at worst for our economy. The fact that GM has so many employees, and has such a vast and massive structure is a good reason to be wary of a giant such as GM failing totally.
GM has had some very rough times, and rightly so, they have made some disastrous decisions, but to hope for the acquisition of a domestic company by a foreign one is not really something I'd hope for. GM has had quality issues for years, but one thing they have always been very cutting edge on is technology. I look at my 1974 Firebird for examples of that, including inertia lock seatbelts (man I love those things), ice cold air conditioning (not working at the moment, due to previous owner's compressor removal), tough, robust transmissions, strong engines, tilt steering, and many other things taken for granted today.
They were one of the first to come out with 5 and 6 speed transmissions, though they never installed them in their own vehicles, but sold them to the likes of Mercedes and BMW for their vehicles. They were also messing with 4 speed overdrives before WWII. GM does have immense ability, but like the Goliath of the Old Testament, has arrogance and moves slowly. I see this changing, and hopefully it will pull them out of the brink of takeover. Let's hope, not necessarily for GM's sake, but for the US economy's.
What I find interesting is his point that the sooner GM gets acquired by Toyota, the better. Now I'm fully aware that GM has been working very hard at going out of business, and they can't even do that properly, but I do believe that the demise of GM and/or Ford would be very bad at best and disastrous at worst for our economy. The fact that GM has so many employees, and has such a vast and massive structure is a good reason to be wary of a giant such as GM failing totally.
GM has had some very rough times, and rightly so, they have made some disastrous decisions, but to hope for the acquisition of a domestic company by a foreign one is not really something I'd hope for. GM has had quality issues for years, but one thing they have always been very cutting edge on is technology. I look at my 1974 Firebird for examples of that, including inertia lock seatbelts (man I love those things), ice cold air conditioning (not working at the moment, due to previous owner's compressor removal), tough, robust transmissions, strong engines, tilt steering, and many other things taken for granted today.
They were one of the first to come out with 5 and 6 speed transmissions, though they never installed them in their own vehicles, but sold them to the likes of Mercedes and BMW for their vehicles. They were also messing with 4 speed overdrives before WWII. GM does have immense ability, but like the Goliath of the Old Testament, has arrogance and moves slowly. I see this changing, and hopefully it will pull them out of the brink of takeover. Let's hope, not necessarily for GM's sake, but for the US economy's.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Security India style and an interesting train ride.
The next morning I had a fantastic breakfast at the hotel. I wish I could tell you what I ate, but I have no idea what any of it was called. Mostly small, pancake-like flatbread thingies with bits of spices and vegetables cooked into them. Lots of fruits and a thick, warm drink that was some kind of yoghurt – not lassi, I know what a lassi is, this was different.
Two of the workers in the hotel restaurant were distinctly Chinese. I was surprised, not that there aren’t a lot of Chinese in India, but this was Jodhpur, not Delhi or Bombay, and I had not seen anyone so far who wasn’t Indian except for the small handful of Caucasian tourists and businessmen in my hotel. I motioned one of them over and asked her in Mandarin if she was from China. The minute she heard me speaking Chinese she quickly motioned her co-worker over and began excitedly to speak to me in bullet-fast Mandarin which, unfortunately, was a bit too fast for me. She said she had never met a foreigner (meaning a white westerner) who spoke Chinese before. She had been in Jodhpur since she was a young girl, apparently her father knew someone who referred him to work in Jodhpur, doing what I don’t know, so her family moved to Jodhpur many years ago. Somehow they convinced her friend’s family to move there as well and then she and her friend began working in the hotel industry in Jodhpur. She said she liked India, but it was too hot and she often missed China. I took it from the conversation that they didn’t get to go back too often. She said there more Chinese in Jodhpur than I thought, although they were small in number compared to the larger cities in India.
Sam came and picked me up and off we went to visit more furniture factories. The first factory we visited was very similar to the ones from the day before, but the second one seemed newer and was definitely more modern in its construction and style. Still no AC, but they had a very pleasant reception area with soft couches, satellite TV, and a fridge full of cold drinks. I was also surprised to find that they had a very high tech biometric fingerprint ID system for all their employees. Each employee’s fingerprint had been scanned into the system along with a unique ID number. When they entered, they had to scan their fingerprint where the computer would almost immediately verify their print and corresponding ID number. If it didn’t match, access was denied. Most companies I have visited, and even worked for, usually settled for the old ID badge on a lanyard or clip approach.
The person who was guiding us around the factory was the CEO. And he was very young, perhaps mid to late 20’s. My mom once came to visit me in Hong Kong many years ago and was amazed to find that “…all the young people are in charge….”, in her words. It has been a common observation of mine throughout my travels to Asia that it is not uncommon to find rather young people in relatively high positions within companies. The same was true of India. Most of the factories I visited I was meeting partners, CEOs, COOs, Directors, etc. In most cases, they were very young, usually mid 20’s – early 30’s. This factory was yet another case.
All the factories had hired private 24 hr security and had guard posts at the main entrance to each factory. These guards were always in uniform, usually long sleeved with high boots and hats. They worked in shifts, but it must have been horribly uncomfortable in the hot desert sun to stand there all day. At this factory, most of the security were ex-police. I asked the gentleman showing us around if he had procedures for reporting and investigating security incidents, a common question I ask. He said he would show me their documented procedures back in the office. I said that was fine, but wanted to know what would happen if an unauthorized person was found on the premises doing something illegal.
“Simple.”, He said. “First we would notify security on duty. Next we would apprehend him. Of course, we will call the cops and they will come. But first, we will beat him.”, he said with a wicked smile. “Nobody is foolish enough to try and steal anything from us. The police are poorly paid and stationed far away, so you might have to wait a long time for them to arrive.” He smiled again. I understood his meaning. Anyone caught stealing could be in for a long wait before the cops arrived and a lot could happen between the time they were called and the time they showed up.
We had lunch at the factory office and again I can’t say enough about Rajasthan Indian food. It is outstanding.
We hit one final factory in the afternoon which was also a furniture factory. I was amazed at all these furniture factories, which were making 100% wood furniture and was curious to know how much wood they were going through per day. I asked the manager who was guiding us around what the wood supply was like. He said it was getting tough to find good wood as the forests were getting decimated. But he said it in a way that sounded unconcerned. I asked him what he would do when there was no more wood. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and simply stated “then we will just use something else to make furniture, maybe metal or plastic or fabric”. He did not seem too concerned.
We decided we had enough time to catch one of the local tourist attractions, which is a giant old fort built onto a high plateau more than 500 years ago. So here I was, walking up steep hills and tall staircases to get to the top of this fort in long slacks and black shoes with a button down short sleeved shirt. We were in the sun most of the time and it was about 110 degrees. Sam bought two 1 liter bottles of water. It wasn’t enough and we had to get more. Basically, in the short 2 hrs that we toured the fort, I downed 2 liters of water – and never went to the bathroom even once. Our clothes were drenched in sweat and my digital camera was so hot in the burning sun that I had to keep switching hands because the metal was so hot. Every time I brought the camera to my eye it felt like the eyepiece was burning my skin. The fort was fantastic and I took a lot of pictures. In 500 years its walls had never been breached, the fort never taken. It was a fascinating place and hard to believe that they managed to build such a place on a high plateau with no modern equipment.
Finally it was time for us to leave. We got in our car and cranked the AC to full blast, which basically meant that the temperature inside the car dropped to about 90, but when you have been walking around in 110 degree weather, 90 feels pretty good. You are still sweating, but feel much more comfortable.
We had to take the train from Jodhpur to our next destination which was Jaipur, another city in Rajasthan, but much larger (about 2-3 million people) and a little closer to Delhi. We were originally supposed to fly, but the airline cancelled the flight at the last minute. So we were stuck with the train.
I had some expectation as to what traveling by train might be like having spent some time in China. The Guangzhou rail station is an experience in itself. So it wasn’t complete culture shock when I got to the station, but still somewhat unsettling. If I thought the domestic terminal at Delhi airport was bad, this was 10 times worse. The words “utter chaos” describe the scene outside the train station, although it also could have been due to the fact that the train was scheduled to leave in a matter of minutes and the next one wasn’t until the morning, so maybe it was last minute rush (which we were).
As we got out of the car Sam grabbed my cell phone. He told me quickly and quietly to bury it in my luggage. I wasn’t wearing a watch but Sam took his off and jammed it in his front pocket. He said the crime at the train station was pandemic and that thieves were very skillful and clever in relieving even the wary of their personal belongings. I decided to listen to him.
The train station was packed with homeless. People in some of our cities here in America are concerned about our own homeless problems. Compared to this, we don’t have a homeless problem. It was heartbreaking. These weren’t just homeless begging for some change before they moved on to something else. Most of the people actually lived there. There were dirty hunks of cardboard and newspaper that served as sleeping mats and what really hurt was seeing the women and children. There was nothing you could do. You wanted to help them all, but I could have emptied every dollar in my pocket and still not had enough to give something to everyone, even if I was only handing out dimes or nickels, not to mention the total riots it would cause if I did do something like that. It was a sad, overwhelming, helpless feeling.
Sam could see what was going through my mind and must have explained this before to virgin western eyes.
“You can only do so much. And don’t feel too sorry for these people. Some of them are here because they can make more money begging at the train stations than they can working the fields or farms in the villages they come from. So they leave their families and farms and prefer to live at the train station. Some of them are truly bad, they will dirty themselves and their children, hoping that the more pitiful they look the more money they will get. But yes, many of them are truly destitute and poor and this is their final option. We have too many people, not enough jobs, and the government does nothing.”
I didn’t have anything to add after that, I just felt helpless and remained quiet.
Once we entered the train station, hordes of young men literally attacked our bags.
“Carry your bag for you sir?”
“Where you going sir?”
“Let me help you sir.”
“You need someone to help you to the train?”
Sam physically pushed them off while I firmly shook my head and pulled on my luggage. Sam told me they will grab your bags before you know it and just walk off. He said most of them just want to earn an honest buck and will take your luggage to your car and load it in, expecting of course a big fat tip. But some of them are outright thieves and will disappear with your luggage faster than you can blink.
We finally made our way to the first class cabin, which is the only cabin with AC. Mercifully, the AC was halfway decent, keeping things right around 80 degrees inside the car. Unfortunately, the train looked like something out of a Soviet nightmare 40-50 years ago. Surely it wasn’t that old, but it sure looked it. Everything looked beat up, the colors were faded, and everything looked old and worn out, even if it wasn’t. And remember, this was the first class cabin.
We very carefully stowed our luggage as deep as possible underneath the seats far away from any wayward hands. Sam said sometimes thieves and even railway workers would sneak into first class cabins to steal things from people’s luggage. Hey thanks, that makes me feel much better.
As usual, nothing was on time. We sat and sat and sat. Finally Sam went and bought us a couple of magazines to read while we waited – it was a 5 hr train ride to Jaipur which meant we would be pulling in somewhere around 12am midnight.
We were the only 2 guests in the car until a third gentleman came in. So far all the Indians I met were big on greetings and chit chat and this gentleman was no exception. Business cards were exchanged, hands were shook, and soon we were all engrossed in conversation. This gentleman worked for the government, the forestry service to be exact and was working on arid research projects in Rajasthan. I asked him how he liked his job.
“It is a very interesting and challenging service. Everyday we are trying to manage the forests and environment in India, trying to find new ways of conservation and also learning how to grow in the deserts of Rajasthan. It is tough work, but I enjoy it.”
I mentioned to him about my conversation with one of the factories we visited, where the factory did not seem concerned about running out of wood.
He let out a long sigh. “Our job is very difficult. There are not enough of us and our budget is too small. It is difficult to preach conservation when the entire country is trying to develop itself.”
But what about renewable forestry practices? Tree farms? Planting projects?
“Yes, yes, we have all these things, but you must understand that it is all too little. Also, many of the people in the country are very rural, they still live the old fashioned way. They are not even aware of the laws, nor would they follow them if they knew. How can we tell them ‘you can not cut down these trees for your home or farm or fire because we need to conserve our forests’ when it is the only thing that allows them to survive? And there are many corrupt lumber companies who will illegally harvest lumber, rarely with any punishment. Of course, the biggest problem we have is apathy, some people just don’t care. Still, I am optimistic, as more people become aware of the damage we are doing to our forests they will take action and steps are progressively being taken to preserve our environment. I enjoy the work I do.”
Soon we were all feeling tired and conversation slowly ended as one by one we began to fall asleep. I needed to use the restroom, so I got up and weaved my way back and forth down the hall to the restroom.
Do you remember the scene in The Mummy Returns when the hero’s son is on the train in Egypt and needs to use the restroom? Do you remember the restroom? Picture it in your mind.
THAT, was my restroom. I entered a filthy room with a broken, dim light. No toilet paper, not even the obligatory can of water by the toilet. I lifted the lid up and the seat was a motley mess of dark colors, scratches, and deep grooves, with dark stains of who knows what that had been stained permanently into the toilet for who knows how long. I had to go, well, you know, the big one, but I was damned if I was going to even attempt it, especially with no toilet paper. So I sucked up and puckered up and held it all in, praying for a quick arrival into Jaipur. Sure enough, when you “flushed” the toilet a hole simply appeared where your business disappeared onto the tracks below which were flying by. Luckily the sink had its own water supply and anti-bacterial soap, but that was the only comfort.
I settled back into my seat rather uncomfortably as I was now holding in a day’s worth of spicy Indian food and just sweated it out waiting to arrive in Jaipur.
To be continued…….
Two of the workers in the hotel restaurant were distinctly Chinese. I was surprised, not that there aren’t a lot of Chinese in India, but this was Jodhpur, not Delhi or Bombay, and I had not seen anyone so far who wasn’t Indian except for the small handful of Caucasian tourists and businessmen in my hotel. I motioned one of them over and asked her in Mandarin if she was from China. The minute she heard me speaking Chinese she quickly motioned her co-worker over and began excitedly to speak to me in bullet-fast Mandarin which, unfortunately, was a bit too fast for me. She said she had never met a foreigner (meaning a white westerner) who spoke Chinese before. She had been in Jodhpur since she was a young girl, apparently her father knew someone who referred him to work in Jodhpur, doing what I don’t know, so her family moved to Jodhpur many years ago. Somehow they convinced her friend’s family to move there as well and then she and her friend began working in the hotel industry in Jodhpur. She said she liked India, but it was too hot and she often missed China. I took it from the conversation that they didn’t get to go back too often. She said there more Chinese in Jodhpur than I thought, although they were small in number compared to the larger cities in India.
Sam came and picked me up and off we went to visit more furniture factories. The first factory we visited was very similar to the ones from the day before, but the second one seemed newer and was definitely more modern in its construction and style. Still no AC, but they had a very pleasant reception area with soft couches, satellite TV, and a fridge full of cold drinks. I was also surprised to find that they had a very high tech biometric fingerprint ID system for all their employees. Each employee’s fingerprint had been scanned into the system along with a unique ID number. When they entered, they had to scan their fingerprint where the computer would almost immediately verify their print and corresponding ID number. If it didn’t match, access was denied. Most companies I have visited, and even worked for, usually settled for the old ID badge on a lanyard or clip approach.
The person who was guiding us around the factory was the CEO. And he was very young, perhaps mid to late 20’s. My mom once came to visit me in Hong Kong many years ago and was amazed to find that “…all the young people are in charge….”, in her words. It has been a common observation of mine throughout my travels to Asia that it is not uncommon to find rather young people in relatively high positions within companies. The same was true of India. Most of the factories I visited I was meeting partners, CEOs, COOs, Directors, etc. In most cases, they were very young, usually mid 20’s – early 30’s. This factory was yet another case.
All the factories had hired private 24 hr security and had guard posts at the main entrance to each factory. These guards were always in uniform, usually long sleeved with high boots and hats. They worked in shifts, but it must have been horribly uncomfortable in the hot desert sun to stand there all day. At this factory, most of the security were ex-police. I asked the gentleman showing us around if he had procedures for reporting and investigating security incidents, a common question I ask. He said he would show me their documented procedures back in the office. I said that was fine, but wanted to know what would happen if an unauthorized person was found on the premises doing something illegal.
“Simple.”, He said. “First we would notify security on duty. Next we would apprehend him. Of course, we will call the cops and they will come. But first, we will beat him.”, he said with a wicked smile. “Nobody is foolish enough to try and steal anything from us. The police are poorly paid and stationed far away, so you might have to wait a long time for them to arrive.” He smiled again. I understood his meaning. Anyone caught stealing could be in for a long wait before the cops arrived and a lot could happen between the time they were called and the time they showed up.
We had lunch at the factory office and again I can’t say enough about Rajasthan Indian food. It is outstanding.
We hit one final factory in the afternoon which was also a furniture factory. I was amazed at all these furniture factories, which were making 100% wood furniture and was curious to know how much wood they were going through per day. I asked the manager who was guiding us around what the wood supply was like. He said it was getting tough to find good wood as the forests were getting decimated. But he said it in a way that sounded unconcerned. I asked him what he would do when there was no more wood. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and simply stated “then we will just use something else to make furniture, maybe metal or plastic or fabric”. He did not seem too concerned.
We decided we had enough time to catch one of the local tourist attractions, which is a giant old fort built onto a high plateau more than 500 years ago. So here I was, walking up steep hills and tall staircases to get to the top of this fort in long slacks and black shoes with a button down short sleeved shirt. We were in the sun most of the time and it was about 110 degrees. Sam bought two 1 liter bottles of water. It wasn’t enough and we had to get more. Basically, in the short 2 hrs that we toured the fort, I downed 2 liters of water – and never went to the bathroom even once. Our clothes were drenched in sweat and my digital camera was so hot in the burning sun that I had to keep switching hands because the metal was so hot. Every time I brought the camera to my eye it felt like the eyepiece was burning my skin. The fort was fantastic and I took a lot of pictures. In 500 years its walls had never been breached, the fort never taken. It was a fascinating place and hard to believe that they managed to build such a place on a high plateau with no modern equipment.
Finally it was time for us to leave. We got in our car and cranked the AC to full blast, which basically meant that the temperature inside the car dropped to about 90, but when you have been walking around in 110 degree weather, 90 feels pretty good. You are still sweating, but feel much more comfortable.
We had to take the train from Jodhpur to our next destination which was Jaipur, another city in Rajasthan, but much larger (about 2-3 million people) and a little closer to Delhi. We were originally supposed to fly, but the airline cancelled the flight at the last minute. So we were stuck with the train.
I had some expectation as to what traveling by train might be like having spent some time in China. The Guangzhou rail station is an experience in itself. So it wasn’t complete culture shock when I got to the station, but still somewhat unsettling. If I thought the domestic terminal at Delhi airport was bad, this was 10 times worse. The words “utter chaos” describe the scene outside the train station, although it also could have been due to the fact that the train was scheduled to leave in a matter of minutes and the next one wasn’t until the morning, so maybe it was last minute rush (which we were).
As we got out of the car Sam grabbed my cell phone. He told me quickly and quietly to bury it in my luggage. I wasn’t wearing a watch but Sam took his off and jammed it in his front pocket. He said the crime at the train station was pandemic and that thieves were very skillful and clever in relieving even the wary of their personal belongings. I decided to listen to him.
The train station was packed with homeless. People in some of our cities here in America are concerned about our own homeless problems. Compared to this, we don’t have a homeless problem. It was heartbreaking. These weren’t just homeless begging for some change before they moved on to something else. Most of the people actually lived there. There were dirty hunks of cardboard and newspaper that served as sleeping mats and what really hurt was seeing the women and children. There was nothing you could do. You wanted to help them all, but I could have emptied every dollar in my pocket and still not had enough to give something to everyone, even if I was only handing out dimes or nickels, not to mention the total riots it would cause if I did do something like that. It was a sad, overwhelming, helpless feeling.
Sam could see what was going through my mind and must have explained this before to virgin western eyes.
“You can only do so much. And don’t feel too sorry for these people. Some of them are here because they can make more money begging at the train stations than they can working the fields or farms in the villages they come from. So they leave their families and farms and prefer to live at the train station. Some of them are truly bad, they will dirty themselves and their children, hoping that the more pitiful they look the more money they will get. But yes, many of them are truly destitute and poor and this is their final option. We have too many people, not enough jobs, and the government does nothing.”
I didn’t have anything to add after that, I just felt helpless and remained quiet.
Once we entered the train station, hordes of young men literally attacked our bags.
“Carry your bag for you sir?”
“Where you going sir?”
“Let me help you sir.”
“You need someone to help you to the train?”
Sam physically pushed them off while I firmly shook my head and pulled on my luggage. Sam told me they will grab your bags before you know it and just walk off. He said most of them just want to earn an honest buck and will take your luggage to your car and load it in, expecting of course a big fat tip. But some of them are outright thieves and will disappear with your luggage faster than you can blink.
We finally made our way to the first class cabin, which is the only cabin with AC. Mercifully, the AC was halfway decent, keeping things right around 80 degrees inside the car. Unfortunately, the train looked like something out of a Soviet nightmare 40-50 years ago. Surely it wasn’t that old, but it sure looked it. Everything looked beat up, the colors were faded, and everything looked old and worn out, even if it wasn’t. And remember, this was the first class cabin.
We very carefully stowed our luggage as deep as possible underneath the seats far away from any wayward hands. Sam said sometimes thieves and even railway workers would sneak into first class cabins to steal things from people’s luggage. Hey thanks, that makes me feel much better.
As usual, nothing was on time. We sat and sat and sat. Finally Sam went and bought us a couple of magazines to read while we waited – it was a 5 hr train ride to Jaipur which meant we would be pulling in somewhere around 12am midnight.
We were the only 2 guests in the car until a third gentleman came in. So far all the Indians I met were big on greetings and chit chat and this gentleman was no exception. Business cards were exchanged, hands were shook, and soon we were all engrossed in conversation. This gentleman worked for the government, the forestry service to be exact and was working on arid research projects in Rajasthan. I asked him how he liked his job.
“It is a very interesting and challenging service. Everyday we are trying to manage the forests and environment in India, trying to find new ways of conservation and also learning how to grow in the deserts of Rajasthan. It is tough work, but I enjoy it.”
I mentioned to him about my conversation with one of the factories we visited, where the factory did not seem concerned about running out of wood.
He let out a long sigh. “Our job is very difficult. There are not enough of us and our budget is too small. It is difficult to preach conservation when the entire country is trying to develop itself.”
But what about renewable forestry practices? Tree farms? Planting projects?
“Yes, yes, we have all these things, but you must understand that it is all too little. Also, many of the people in the country are very rural, they still live the old fashioned way. They are not even aware of the laws, nor would they follow them if they knew. How can we tell them ‘you can not cut down these trees for your home or farm or fire because we need to conserve our forests’ when it is the only thing that allows them to survive? And there are many corrupt lumber companies who will illegally harvest lumber, rarely with any punishment. Of course, the biggest problem we have is apathy, some people just don’t care. Still, I am optimistic, as more people become aware of the damage we are doing to our forests they will take action and steps are progressively being taken to preserve our environment. I enjoy the work I do.”
Soon we were all feeling tired and conversation slowly ended as one by one we began to fall asleep. I needed to use the restroom, so I got up and weaved my way back and forth down the hall to the restroom.
Do you remember the scene in The Mummy Returns when the hero’s son is on the train in Egypt and needs to use the restroom? Do you remember the restroom? Picture it in your mind.
THAT, was my restroom. I entered a filthy room with a broken, dim light. No toilet paper, not even the obligatory can of water by the toilet. I lifted the lid up and the seat was a motley mess of dark colors, scratches, and deep grooves, with dark stains of who knows what that had been stained permanently into the toilet for who knows how long. I had to go, well, you know, the big one, but I was damned if I was going to even attempt it, especially with no toilet paper. So I sucked up and puckered up and held it all in, praying for a quick arrival into Jaipur. Sure enough, when you “flushed” the toilet a hole simply appeared where your business disappeared onto the tracks below which were flying by. Luckily the sink had its own water supply and anti-bacterial soap, but that was the only comfort.
I settled back into my seat rather uncomfortably as I was now holding in a day’s worth of spicy Indian food and just sweated it out waiting to arrive in Jaipur.
To be continued…….
Sunday, May 28, 2006
We're back
Computer problems having been mostly resolved, though still minor nigglings, but internet is back up, blogging will resume shortly.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Industrial City
On the way to our first stop, Sam explained to me that Jodhpur was one of the newer industrial towns in India and that the city had established a relatively new industrial area that was improving the local economy. I kept looking for large buildings and warehouses, but didn't see any. Eventually we left the hustle and bustle of the city and were on a narrow 2 lane road, hurtling through rock strewn barren fields occasionally inhabited by poorly constructed tents and tin shacks or the occasional herd of camels or stray cows. As usual, piles of garbage would appear intermittently, I could only assume someone had dumped them out here in the middle of nowhere.
Soon we turned off the main road and started seeing some signs of life. We were still cruising through the barren wasteland, except large gated areas began to appear regularly. We turned down a side road and suddenly there were a number of large brown buildings. Rocks and litter covered the road and our driver took it slowly with great care. We turned down a tiny street and stopped in front of a large metal gate.
"Are we here?", I asked.
"This is it", said Sam.
Part of my job is about factory safety and security and I had come to ensure that this factory was compliant with our many safety and security procedures as they had claimed. The gate opened and the guard there checked us in.
The front of the building was a mixture of brown and black, brown being the color of just about every building I saw in the city and black from the kiln drying process they used in the wood there. I was ushered into the office.
The office was a large room with a long table, a number of plastic chairs, piles of paperwork, a couple of telephones, and a single ceiling fan barely turning about 10 feet above my head. The temperature inside the office was barely cooler than outside - somewhere between 100-110 degrees. And the factory manager was in LONG SLEEVES. He was dripping with sweat, as were we, but it didn't seem to bother him. I was having a hard time understanding how anyone could work in heat like this, since there was no AC to be seen anywhere, but when in Rome......
We proceeded to take a tour of the "factory" which was basically giant open rooms with plenty of ventilation and fans in a desperate attempt to keep things cool while various teams of workers assembled furniture.
I would quickly find out the main work to be found in the "industrial area" of Jodhpur was indeed furniture manufacturing. In fact, there is nothing industrial about it, really. In the outskirts of the town, which is just barren rock and sand, they have thrown up large buildings, thrown some equipment in there for sawing and drying, and started making furniture. For a city like Jodhpur, that is real industry, and employs thousands of workers from neighboring villages who would have normally been unemployed and struggling to feed their families. Small furniture manufacturers is not what we in the Western World would consider big industry, but for these people it was a big deal.
We left that factory for another factory right down the street which also made furniture. Again, no AC. This office actually had a computer covered in dark spots from too many factory hands working the computer. I found it hard to believe that the computer didn't crash often from the incredible heat. Again, it was about 100 degrees INSIDE the office.
By this time it was around 4pm and we did not feel we would have enough time to finish the next factory before they closed so my buddy Sam decided to take me to one of the old markets in town, where people had been buying and selling for hundreds of years. I took a couple of pictures, one of them of the old tower that had been there for who knows how long.
There were tons of shop owners trying to grab my arm and pull me into their shops, but Sam fended them off quickly. I eventually found a store with hand woven table cloths and table runners and bought one for my parents. The young gentleman who owned the store said he had a lot of American buyers. I expressed skepticism as it seemed that Jodhpur was not the hottest tourist destination in India, although I had seen a few tourists staying at my hotel. He said "no no, not tourists, eBay, eBay". He posts the items on eBay, shipping directly from India to the customers in the U.S. "I can make 2-3 times what you paid from eBay shoppers.", he proudly told me. "eBay buyers are the best because they often bid well beyond what we would already charge tourists and other foreign visitors." Other than a few nice fabric stores, the market was mostly for locals, selling fresh vegetables, grains, cooking utensils, etc. We decided to head back to the hotel.By this time it was 8pm and I was dead tired, not having slept hardly at all the night before thanks to jet lag. They told me to take a shower and get some rest so we could go out to eat around 10pm, but I told them if I took a nap I wouldn't be getting up again, so they laughed and left me alone, agreeing to meet me at 8am sharp the next morning.
To be continued......
Monday, May 22, 2006
Jodhpur - the beginning of the desert
Flying into Jodhpur all one could see below was a see of dark brown sand, interspersed with sparse settlements and the occasional cluster of green trees. Jodhpur is not actually the desert, but sits on the edge of the beginnings of the famous Thar desert of India. Kind of a no man's land between the moderate climes of eastern Rajasthan (the province/state that Jodhpur resides in) and the harsh western desert that borders Pakistan. Flying in kind of reminded me of flying into Las Vegas, where vast reaches of flat scrub land extend for miles before you reach the city.
Jodhpur is not a small town. More than 800,000 people reside in Jodhpur. Like almost all Indian airports, this one too was shared by the military. Soviet style fighter planes and helicopter gunships lay baking in the hot sun on the tarmac. We came in for a smooth landing, much to the relief of the other American passengers, and we taxied to a small 2 story white building with a single entrance. The ramp was thrown down.
"Is this the gate?", I asked Sam.
"No, this is the international airport of Jodhpur." He replied.
"No, I know this is the airport, but is this the gate? I don't see where the airport is."
"You don't understand. That building IS the airport".
This simple airport building, which was quite nice and appeared rather new, was THE international airport of Jodhpur. It had 1 main entrance out front, 1 "gate" to the tarmac, and 1 luggage carousel. Picking up luggage was easy, it was out of the plane and waiting for me by the time I walked into the building. In less than 60 seconds, we were outside and into the car. Hey! This is great, if only all airports were like this!
Travelling in the hot sun in Jodhpur I realized that Delhi was nothing compared to this. While in Delhi the temperature was at least 100 degrees it was a minimum of 115-120 degrees in Jodhpur. While I was pleasantly surprised at the number of thin green leafed trees in and around the city, anywhere there wasn't a tree planted was barren dirt and sand. The buildings, the ground, and the hills were all the color of rust, a deep reddish brown that seemed to reflect the heat back to you in ever greater waves.
Once again, honking was the preferred method of driving. But in Jodhpur we had to share the roads with camels, carts, bicycles, and pedestrians wandering the OPPOSITE direction of traffic in the middle of the road with total disregard for their own safety. Everyone drove too fast and too close together.
As in Delhi, trash was everywhere, only here it was much worse. Jodhpur is fast becoming an "industrial" city, although not the kind of industry you are thinking of, which I will explain later. Due to this, there is a lot of new construction going on and lots of open fields next to new developments. The fields and roads are often plagued by piles of trash left there by God knows who, and once again the desperately poor are living side by side with the rich and middle class. It is a clash of socio-economic levels, but apparently the locals simply accept it.
I had my first taste of Rajasthan Indian food and I must say it was some of the BEST Indian food I had ever tasted. Absolutely amazing. Spicy, full of flavor, and nothing like what I had eaten before in the states. They also often accompany their meals with a cucumber, onion, green pepper salad that was just delicious.
We eventually made it to the hotel and checked in with just enough time to throw down my bags before heading out to work.
To be continued.....
Jodhpur is not a small town. More than 800,000 people reside in Jodhpur. Like almost all Indian airports, this one too was shared by the military. Soviet style fighter planes and helicopter gunships lay baking in the hot sun on the tarmac. We came in for a smooth landing, much to the relief of the other American passengers, and we taxied to a small 2 story white building with a single entrance. The ramp was thrown down.
"Is this the gate?", I asked Sam.
"No, this is the international airport of Jodhpur." He replied.
"No, I know this is the airport, but is this the gate? I don't see where the airport is."
"You don't understand. That building IS the airport".
This simple airport building, which was quite nice and appeared rather new, was THE international airport of Jodhpur. It had 1 main entrance out front, 1 "gate" to the tarmac, and 1 luggage carousel. Picking up luggage was easy, it was out of the plane and waiting for me by the time I walked into the building. In less than 60 seconds, we were outside and into the car. Hey! This is great, if only all airports were like this!
Travelling in the hot sun in Jodhpur I realized that Delhi was nothing compared to this. While in Delhi the temperature was at least 100 degrees it was a minimum of 115-120 degrees in Jodhpur. While I was pleasantly surprised at the number of thin green leafed trees in and around the city, anywhere there wasn't a tree planted was barren dirt and sand. The buildings, the ground, and the hills were all the color of rust, a deep reddish brown that seemed to reflect the heat back to you in ever greater waves.
Once again, honking was the preferred method of driving. But in Jodhpur we had to share the roads with camels, carts, bicycles, and pedestrians wandering the OPPOSITE direction of traffic in the middle of the road with total disregard for their own safety. Everyone drove too fast and too close together.
As in Delhi, trash was everywhere, only here it was much worse. Jodhpur is fast becoming an "industrial" city, although not the kind of industry you are thinking of, which I will explain later. Due to this, there is a lot of new construction going on and lots of open fields next to new developments. The fields and roads are often plagued by piles of trash left there by God knows who, and once again the desperately poor are living side by side with the rich and middle class. It is a clash of socio-economic levels, but apparently the locals simply accept it.
I had my first taste of Rajasthan Indian food and I must say it was some of the BEST Indian food I had ever tasted. Absolutely amazing. Spicy, full of flavor, and nothing like what I had eaten before in the states. They also often accompany their meals with a cucumber, onion, green pepper salad that was just delicious.
We eventually made it to the hotel and checked in with just enough time to throw down my bags before heading out to work.
To be continued.....
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Welcome to Indian Time
The ride to the domestic terminal of Delhi was much like the one from the night before. My friend from my company's Indian agency - let's call him Sam - was quick to point out the parliament building, the US Embassy building, and other key landmarks. The embassy areas are very nice with tree-lined streets and green lawns dividing the road. With the exception of several grown men openly urinating on the walls, it was a pretty sight.
We made it to the airport in one piece, my knuckles white from gripping the door handles. If I thought the international terminal was a mess, I was in for a shock. The domestic terminal was 100 times worse. Again, for a city of over 13 million people, the domestic terminal had only 4 gates and one tiny entrance. The terminal looked like it had been built during the era of the Wright Brothers and was in bad need of repair, decay was everywhere. The sun was out and already it was over 100 degrees. Inside the airport it was marginally better, about 85. We checked in - our airplane tickets were not computerized, the airline issued HAND WRITTEN TICKETS - yes, that's right, hand written. When we got up to the check in desk - more like a badly beaten metal table with a circa 1982 computer on the top - the gentleman very kindly explained that my ticket had been "cancelled". A heated argument ensued between my Indian friend Sam and the airline agent and finally he accepted my ticket. He did not ask for my ID. We went through security. No one asked to see my ID. There was no place to sit down, all the broken and torn waiting seats were occupied. But luckily they boarded quickly enough. We went outside through one of the 4 gates and got into a bus which took us out on the tarmac to our waiting 737-200. The plane was easily 30+ years old. I looked for the manufacturer stamp which is a habit of mine when I enter into airplanes, but it has been wrenched off. Rivets were missing in certain places and the seats were worn and thin. Some of the plastic tray tables were broken. The inside of the plane was unbearable as we were still on the ground, at least 90 degrees. 2 other Americans were on the flight as well and they look terrified. Finally we taxied down the runway where we could see the second runway being built. They actually had women laborers carting sand and concrete in baskets on their heads! These poor women formed a giant chain of labor from the construction area to the supply area. No bulldozers, no forklifts, no machinery of any kind, it appeared that the entire paving of the new runway was being done by manual labor.
We got into position only to be told by the pilot that we were being delayed for 10-15 minutes. Sam smiled grimly and said "welcome to Indian time, where nothing is on time." We sat in the unbearable heat for more than 1 hour. Sweat streamed down my back and soon the entire plane began to smell funky. Finally we took off and the air conditioning was turned on mercifully. We received a warm sandwich (warm from sitting in the heat too long) which I refused to eat, but plenty of delicious fruit juices. The 2 other Americans on the plane kept looking around nervously, wondering if the shuddering plane was going to fall apart. I eventually fell asleep and an hour and a half later we landed.
to be continued......
We made it to the airport in one piece, my knuckles white from gripping the door handles. If I thought the international terminal was a mess, I was in for a shock. The domestic terminal was 100 times worse. Again, for a city of over 13 million people, the domestic terminal had only 4 gates and one tiny entrance. The terminal looked like it had been built during the era of the Wright Brothers and was in bad need of repair, decay was everywhere. The sun was out and already it was over 100 degrees. Inside the airport it was marginally better, about 85. We checked in - our airplane tickets were not computerized, the airline issued HAND WRITTEN TICKETS - yes, that's right, hand written. When we got up to the check in desk - more like a badly beaten metal table with a circa 1982 computer on the top - the gentleman very kindly explained that my ticket had been "cancelled". A heated argument ensued between my Indian friend Sam and the airline agent and finally he accepted my ticket. He did not ask for my ID. We went through security. No one asked to see my ID. There was no place to sit down, all the broken and torn waiting seats were occupied. But luckily they boarded quickly enough. We went outside through one of the 4 gates and got into a bus which took us out on the tarmac to our waiting 737-200. The plane was easily 30+ years old. I looked for the manufacturer stamp which is a habit of mine when I enter into airplanes, but it has been wrenched off. Rivets were missing in certain places and the seats were worn and thin. Some of the plastic tray tables were broken. The inside of the plane was unbearable as we were still on the ground, at least 90 degrees. 2 other Americans were on the flight as well and they look terrified. Finally we taxied down the runway where we could see the second runway being built. They actually had women laborers carting sand and concrete in baskets on their heads! These poor women formed a giant chain of labor from the construction area to the supply area. No bulldozers, no forklifts, no machinery of any kind, it appeared that the entire paving of the new runway was being done by manual labor.
We got into position only to be told by the pilot that we were being delayed for 10-15 minutes. Sam smiled grimly and said "welcome to Indian time, where nothing is on time." We sat in the unbearable heat for more than 1 hour. Sweat streamed down my back and soon the entire plane began to smell funky. Finally we took off and the air conditioning was turned on mercifully. We received a warm sandwich (warm from sitting in the heat too long) which I refused to eat, but plenty of delicious fruit juices. The 2 other Americans on the plane kept looking around nervously, wondering if the shuddering plane was going to fall apart. I eventually fell asleep and an hour and a half later we landed.
to be continued......
It's About Time
Via Yahoo, A quick post on the strong language that the new PM is using against the bombings in Iraq. I really believe that the new government and the work of the coalition forces will do wonders now. I imagine things to begin wrapping up there, though I may be overly optimistic.
good grief what next?
wow, between my compadre's visits to India, my computer's power supply having a meltdown last week, getting it up and running then being laid up with a nasty intestinal virus the next day, to finally feeling better than my new CPU crapping out and leaving windows hanging in the wind(damn you Bill!!), blogging has been far from stellar. My apologies to the loyal readers and visitors to the blog, I'm currently blogging on my wife's university system, as my computer now needs a reformat and re-install, and hopefully the seller will warranty the CPU. Anyone know how to extract the windows files on the hidden partition of an HP Hard drive? anyone?
Welcome to the Third World....
I have been travelling which is one of the reasons for light blogging. I am currently in Indonesia and spent the past week in Western India. This is the first in a series of travelogues which I hope you will find interesting.....
I arrived in Delhi about 9pm off of American Airlines direct flight from Chicago. Immediately coming off the airplane you notice some stark differences from other international airports: the walkway from the aircraft is in poor condition and there are dark stains marking the floors and walls. The international terminal is tiny considering the size of Delhi (13 million+ population) and compared to just about any other airport you have been to. The terminal is supposedly air conditioned, but you could have fooled me as the humidity hits you walking in and the temperature was at least 80 degrees. The bathrooms look like they are 50 years old. Mold stains, broken tile, and dirt spots are everywhere.
The Indian customs agents were extremely friendly and polite and quickly I was on my way to get my luggage. There was no one in the airport but those of us off of the AA flight. I asked one of the Indian passengers from my flight why that was. He said most of the international flights arrive late in the night, around 12-1am, only AA and CO arrive earlier. Once I got my luggage I went out to look for my ride, which had been prearranged. Sure enough, the driver was there with my name on a card.
We walked outside and WHAM! the heat hit me like an open oven. I guess the airport was air conditioned after all! It was humid and hotter than anything I could remember. Even hotter than when I was in Thailand in April 2005, and remember, this is 9pm at night! The air was thick with humidity, exhaust, and pollution from coal fired energy plants. You almost drank the air instead of breathing it. I remember from my travels in Southern China that burning, acrid smell from dirty coal fired energy plants that used to annoy me so much - the same exact smell was here in India, same as I remembered.
They call India a "developing country" but I think that's being a bit over-optimistic. There is extreme poverty everywhere, especially so in the big cities such as Delhi. Entire families, including infants, live on the streets. At every stoplight they rush the cars, banging on the car windows begging for money. You will see large, rich, Indian homes complete with Mercedes Benz and Lexus parked in the driveway and in the empty lot next door will be tents made of plastic garbage bags where the dying poor live. It is a crowded country where the extreme rich and extreme poor live practically on top of each other. While I am sure India has garbage collection services, they either don't get paid much or simply don't work very hard. Trash is everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Not just litter scattered here and there, I am talking mountainous piles of rotting garbage just stacked helter skelter. Sometimes you will see children or the elderly sifting through the piles - in bare feet - collecting scrap pieces of plastic and metal to sell to recyclers. Shiny new building structures stand next to broken decrepit buildings. Welcome to the third world.
The drive to the hotel was terrifying. In India it seems nobody obeys any traffic laws, signals, signs, or even lane dividers. Quite the contrary, as most cars simply straddled 2 lanes. Nobody looks or signals when turning or changing lanes, just flashing lights and horns. Horns, horns, and more horns. Driving anywhere in India is nothing but a cacophony of horns. My skillful driver weaved in and out of traffic, avoiding numerous near collissions and completely ignoring pedestrian rights. He cut through parking lots and gas stations with complete disregard in order to avoid traffic.
Finally we arrived the hotel, fully alert and awake thanks to the insane Delhi traffic. The hotel was beautiful - better be for $200 a night and thank goodness my company paid - and I settled down for a good night's rest before I had to work the next day. Unfortunately, my body was still on USA time and I had a hard time getting to sleep.
I woke up very early, got ready and went downstairs for breakfast. The food was wonderful. Fresh tropical fruits, including mangos, my favorite. Fresh squeezed watermelon juice, different kinds of Indian yogurt, etc. I quickly ate breakfast and checked out of the hotel, waiting for my company's Indian agent to meet me in the lobby. While we had been conversing via e-mail for many months, we had never spoken or met in person before. He was a friendly, but quiet man, all business which I preferred, and we were quickly on our way back to the Delhi airport for our first destination, the desert city of Jodhpur.
I arrived in Delhi about 9pm off of American Airlines direct flight from Chicago. Immediately coming off the airplane you notice some stark differences from other international airports: the walkway from the aircraft is in poor condition and there are dark stains marking the floors and walls. The international terminal is tiny considering the size of Delhi (13 million+ population) and compared to just about any other airport you have been to. The terminal is supposedly air conditioned, but you could have fooled me as the humidity hits you walking in and the temperature was at least 80 degrees. The bathrooms look like they are 50 years old. Mold stains, broken tile, and dirt spots are everywhere.
The Indian customs agents were extremely friendly and polite and quickly I was on my way to get my luggage. There was no one in the airport but those of us off of the AA flight. I asked one of the Indian passengers from my flight why that was. He said most of the international flights arrive late in the night, around 12-1am, only AA and CO arrive earlier. Once I got my luggage I went out to look for my ride, which had been prearranged. Sure enough, the driver was there with my name on a card.
We walked outside and WHAM! the heat hit me like an open oven. I guess the airport was air conditioned after all! It was humid and hotter than anything I could remember. Even hotter than when I was in Thailand in April 2005, and remember, this is 9pm at night! The air was thick with humidity, exhaust, and pollution from coal fired energy plants. You almost drank the air instead of breathing it. I remember from my travels in Southern China that burning, acrid smell from dirty coal fired energy plants that used to annoy me so much - the same exact smell was here in India, same as I remembered.
They call India a "developing country" but I think that's being a bit over-optimistic. There is extreme poverty everywhere, especially so in the big cities such as Delhi. Entire families, including infants, live on the streets. At every stoplight they rush the cars, banging on the car windows begging for money. You will see large, rich, Indian homes complete with Mercedes Benz and Lexus parked in the driveway and in the empty lot next door will be tents made of plastic garbage bags where the dying poor live. It is a crowded country where the extreme rich and extreme poor live practically on top of each other. While I am sure India has garbage collection services, they either don't get paid much or simply don't work very hard. Trash is everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Not just litter scattered here and there, I am talking mountainous piles of rotting garbage just stacked helter skelter. Sometimes you will see children or the elderly sifting through the piles - in bare feet - collecting scrap pieces of plastic and metal to sell to recyclers. Shiny new building structures stand next to broken decrepit buildings. Welcome to the third world.
The drive to the hotel was terrifying. In India it seems nobody obeys any traffic laws, signals, signs, or even lane dividers. Quite the contrary, as most cars simply straddled 2 lanes. Nobody looks or signals when turning or changing lanes, just flashing lights and horns. Horns, horns, and more horns. Driving anywhere in India is nothing but a cacophony of horns. My skillful driver weaved in and out of traffic, avoiding numerous near collissions and completely ignoring pedestrian rights. He cut through parking lots and gas stations with complete disregard in order to avoid traffic.
Finally we arrived the hotel, fully alert and awake thanks to the insane Delhi traffic. The hotel was beautiful - better be for $200 a night and thank goodness my company paid - and I settled down for a good night's rest before I had to work the next day. Unfortunately, my body was still on USA time and I had a hard time getting to sleep.
I woke up very early, got ready and went downstairs for breakfast. The food was wonderful. Fresh tropical fruits, including mangos, my favorite. Fresh squeezed watermelon juice, different kinds of Indian yogurt, etc. I quickly ate breakfast and checked out of the hotel, waiting for my company's Indian agent to meet me in the lobby. While we had been conversing via e-mail for many months, we had never spoken or met in person before. He was a friendly, but quiet man, all business which I preferred, and we were quickly on our way back to the Delhi airport for our first destination, the desert city of Jodhpur.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Joyyyyy
Got this for my birthday from the inlaws, a very good joystick for the money, if you go to the right places (i.e. not mainstream computer suppliers with stores(translation:Tigerdirect)), good response, and made my flying in Battlefield 2 much much better, once I relearned how to fly without a mouse.
Socialized Health Care
A linky from my counterpart, who, like I, has been rather busy. Regarding socialized medicine. Socialized medicine isn't good because it tries to guarantee too many things to too many people, and everyone loses. It simply institutes government power in places where it never should be, which is in the private, quiet lives of everyone in the sphere of control. You can't escape it when there's this much. Anyways, watch the video for more info. 56Kers beware.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Anti-Social
Here in Britain if they have a thing called "ant-social behavior orders", or ASBOs for short. Basically what they are is if you are a nuisance in some way or basically you get complained about you get one f these, more or less a restraining order, but far looser in the way they give them out. I'm against them being used at all, because it's obviously an admittance that the British have too few police and can't keep things under control so they do these to make it look like something's being done. Additionally, they can be abused so very easily. Well, here's the case of abuse. Yikes and Yikes
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