"You are Very White"

I am? No!

That comment was made to me in Kolkata by a drunk, middle aged Indian businessman who was gorging on the hotel buffet with his fat friend.

Giggling like little school girls, they were downing beer after beer and chain smoking. The skinnier (relative term here) one started to chat with me, asked me what I thought of India, etc. Then he made the "you're very white" comment! I just looked at him and said that my people had come from a place where people were, well, very WHITE and that I didn't tan very well. I always considered myself more of a pinkish color, but whatever. I was so tempted to say something along the lines of "You are very fat" or "You smell like you ate a nicotine bush," but I really didn't take his comment as offensive.

Just stupid.

Mother Teresa

Some people are selfless. Some are selfish. Most of us probably fall somewhere along the line between the two.

While I was in Kolkata, I had the chance to visit the Missionaries of Charity facility. It is where Mother Teresa lived, served and offered love to people who had nothing. Nothing. Not "I don't have an iPod/color tv/filet mignon." Nothing. Maybe a set of clothing. Maybe not. Maybe teeth. Maybe not. Maybe the ability to speak. Maybe not. Maybe the ability to read. Most likely not. You get my point.

To see poverty in the way that it's thrown in front of you here can be a shock. I sat in front of her tomb and read the inscription "Love one another as I have loved you" and thought, wow, here lies the remains of someone who will likely become a saint, who lived in a room smaller than most of our closets.

Not to be overly preachy, but I would hope that more people would be thankful for what they have, and not upset over what they don't have. If you need a lesson in this, come visit the sisters who run this place.

One last thing. As I've visited temples around India, I've usually been confronted with the demand to pay for everything. Check your shoes? Money. Enter the temple? Money. I was ready to start handing out notes as soon as I walked in the door here. But you know what? Not one single request. Not a sign, not a hand thrust in my face, nada. It was refreshing. Of course I made a donation as I left, and I'm sure they end up collecting far more from people because they don't ask.

Oh! Calcutta!

Since I've never seen the movie or Broadway show "Oh! Calcutta!" I'd always assumed it was in some how connected with the city and/or India. Turns out I was wrong.

Also finally learned what the "Black Hole of Calcutta" was. You'll have to go look it up, as it's way too long to describe here. Only thing you need to know: it's not here anymore.

I spent this past weekend in this former British colonial capitol. When I told people where I was going, they all, I mean all, looked at me like I was some kind of a freak. “Kalkota? Do you know anyone there?” or “Kolkata? It is the dirtiest city in India.” I insisted that my goal was to see as much of India as I could, and that Kolkata was on the list.

I arrived a little late – hey, it’s India – and headed to my hotel. The airport is located in Dum Dum. Great name huh? Dates back to the fact the British invented the “dum dum” bullet here or something. I noticed the huge numbers of cows as soon as we left the driveway of the airport. I’ve seen cows all over India, but they were everywhere here. I later found out that the area around the airport, although developing quickly, is mostly comprised of agricultural villages.

We drove thru Salt Lake City on the way. Yes, they have a SLC here too. It is home to many software and tech companies, and there were lots of people on bikes. However, I didn’t see any Mormons and the only temples were Hindu. When I told my driver we too had a Salt Lake City, he seemed surprised.
I took a blitz tour with my driver of the sites of the city. Victoria Memorial, some bridges, the Ghats, lunch at a hotel, a very ill conceived walk thru the New Market where I was joined by my very own “coolie” who insisted that I need not buy anything, but I had to look. Only problem is if you make any eye contact with a shop owner, it’s nearly impossible to get away from their grip. So throwing manners aside, I simply ignored everyone, including the man who tried to use the age-old “I know you” line. I said “You do? What’s my name?” Much like my friend in Phuket who I threw off with my “I’m from India” line, this poor sap just looked at me and smirked. Phew, dodged another store full of crap I will never put in my house, but some of you may get as Christmas gifts!

After I escaped the market, my little helper, Afjal (Badge #64), insisted that I put his name and id number into my cell phone, in the event I come back to shop. I did just that, and now I’m putting Afjal's name out on the web for the entire world to see. So if any of you ever find yourself in Kolkata and in need of a dose of shopping, please look out for Afjal. And to steal a line from Dave Chappelle, “Afjal, your famous, biotch!”

One aspect of Kolkata that just punches you in the face is the poverty. I had one woman, holding a small baby, follow me through the entire market saying “I’m poor, no husband, baby food.” She wouldn’t take the “no, sorry” from me and kept following until she finally realized I wasn’t going to give her anything. It’s not that I didn’t feel bad, it’s just that as soon as you give anything to anyone here, there will be 50 more right behind them. I did give a donation at the Missionaries of Charity though, so stop muttering those anti-Republican, heartless bastard comments about me. I'm a big believer in charitable causes, I just know I can only do so much when confronted by such a big need.

The area around the New Market is the ground zero of the tourist trade. And it’s also one of the last cities in the world with human pulled rickshaws. There are about 18,000 of them employed around the city, most earning less than 50 INR a day. Most of the pullers I saw were barefoot, and walking around barefoot here is a dangerous proposition. I tried to get a good picture of one, but this is all you’ll get.

Last comment – for some reason, as we drove down Sudder Street, some insane man decided I’d offended him. I hadn’t done anything, was merely looking out the window of my car. He had long, scraggly hair, and I swear I saw him in Berkeley about 15 years ago. He just started screaming “F you! F you!” and staring insanely at me. I did what came instinctively to me – I smiled and flipped him off.

A few more pictures for you. Random heard of goats walking around the market area. And a picture of some men bathing at the Hooghly Ghats.

Chilly Powder And Other Stuff To Leave At Home

I took another side trip this weekend up to Kolkata. I got to the airport a little too early and had loads of time to read the paper and people watch. I noticed a very large digital scrolling sign above the Indian Airlines x-ray machine that was listing the things allowed/not allowed on planes. It was pretty funny. I would have taken a picture, but it's illegal to take photos inside of some Indian airports. I didn't want to test the system to see if Hyderabad was one of them.

I wrote this down exactly as it appeared:

Welcomes. Indian airlines limited x-ray scanning of registered baggage.
Banned items – Guns/revolvers/pistols of any types and replicas items these ammunition/bullets of any kinds, knives of any size or type except kripan with 6 inch blade and 3 inch handle, brass knuckles/explosives of any type/disabling chemicals or gases/large heavy tools (wrenches/pliers/crow bar/axes/ice pick/power drill/saws/fire extinguishers/box cutters/screw drivers/darts/bows and arrows/mace/martial arts devices/pool cues/hockey sticks, baseball bats, golf clubs, cricket bats, ski poles, gas lighters, cork screws, razor blades, straight razors, scissors exceeding 5 inch lengths, chilly powder, household cutlery, knitting needles.

Permitted items – passengers are permitted to carry cash. Jewelry/Gold. Valuable documents etc in their handbaggage only. Permitted items in the handbag: walking sticks, umbrellas (folding type). Feeding bottles. Shaving kits excluding razor blades and straight razors. Medicine required during flight like asthma inhaler etc. Laptop. Cell phones one piece of cabin baggage.

Oh, I better go retrieve the bag I just checked! I left 2 gold bars, my passport and 50,000 rupees in it!

I was surprised to see the ban on baseball bats, as no one I’ve met here knows anything about the sport. And I find it very amusing that a religious dagger (kripan) is ok to bring aboard, as are 4 inch scissors. Getting stabbed by 4 inch blades feels so much less deadly than those 5 inch bastards.

And they made me check my contact lense solution! Watch out, I might spray you with some saline if you piss me off!

Good to see common sense is dead over here too.

Public Peeing

One of the first things you'll notice around India, is that some men will simply take a piss wherever they are. Driving down the road on my first day here, I looked out the window and saw a guy pissing on a wall. Painted on the wall was a painted sign that said "No Urinanting" in English and Telagu. He apparently only read French.

I was beginning to think no one cared, until I picked up today's paper. On page 5 was a story detailing how the Municipal Corporation of Hyderabad had conducted a series of inspections and slapped 150 people with fines for urinating in public. The best (worst?) part is they simply went to areas with public restrooms and nabbed people who were too lazy to walk inside. The fines were Rs 50 (a little over a dollar) or Rs 15 for those unable to pay the full amount. The funniest part of the article has got to be the accompanying picture showing an inspector standing behind a man pissing on a wall and pointing at him. I'm sure the man was startled and turned around and pissed on the inspectors leg.

The Elections: An Indian Perspective

The way the Indian press has covered the mid-term elections in the US, you'd think Bush was President of India. The headline shown here is just one of many that blanketed the various newspapers across India following our elections.

The average Indian businessman/student is much more aware of our poltics than many of our own countrymen. They may not understand it well, but they're paying attention. And for some reason they all think the Democrats are more friendly towards India Inc. than the Republicans. I don't think they understand the protectionist wing of the Democratic Party.

Do any of you remember seeing much press on the last Indian elections? I doubt it. Our newspapers seem to only pay scant attention to world politics - even to an emerging ally and stable democracy. That's why I subscribe to the Economist. At least they give in depth coverage to real news. And if you aren't paying attention, the Prime Minister of India Dr. Manmohan Singh.

And since you all know my political leanings, I do want to point out something that seems to be missing from the international coverage: The Dem's didn't blowout anyone. Yes, the House is theirs and they did surprise me and take the Senate. Was it because they offered a vision for anything? No. Was it because many of us were fed up with Iraq and the general sleaze of Washington? Yes. Are there many of my kind of Republicans left? Sadly, no.

And I won't bore you with the sixth year averages for a sitting president, but even with his low approval ratings, Bush still, some how, managed to suffer a little less than his predecessors.

And aren't you glad we got about a 5 minute break before the press started talking about whether the D's could keep their majority in 2008? Or who would prevail in the presidential bloodbath?

Good god, go on a freaking vacation Wolf Blitzer!

Mom Always Said Don't Play Ball in the House..

Or to light fireworks off indoors!

So I was at an early Thanksgiving dinner hosted by someone from my firm. Nice group of people, lovely house, lots of good food and plenty of libations.

Everything was great. Until the not-so-smart guy showed up. He's actually very smart, but apparently not in possession of much common sense. He was showing off what appeared to be large firecrackers, and proclaiming he was going to light them off during the party. I said something like "Be careful, you can't trust the quality control of an Indian fireworks factory." He just laughed and said "Sure, sure. I know."

So about five minutes later, as I was having a nice conversation with a fellow Angeleno about the merits of Tommy's chili cheeseburgers, the room exploded in a bright light and very LOUD bang. Greg Brady had lit a firecracker with the intent to throw it out the open door. Unfortunately for all of us, the fuse burned really fast and it exploded in his hand. It also managed to burn three other people and cause some hearing loss, at least temporarily, in a few of us.

The reaction was swift and angry. Two guys, who didn't know the culprit, ripped into him. One was yelling about suing him (and I was trying to convince Mr. Litigation to relax) and getting him fired. The other called him all sorts of names and and was acting like a silly school girl. The whole scene was absurd.

After my hearing returned and I'd check on the burn victims, we all returned to good conversation and some Indian margaritas. Mr. Firecracker was hiding out in the corner and belatedly apologizing to everyone.

Moral of the story? Don't invite morons to your party - either the one who blows up stuff, or the ones who react like hysterical schoolgirls.

And did I mention the prior Friday was Safety Day at our office here?

Do You Speak Any Indian?

During my last trip here, I was watching some television show called "The Great Indian Wedding" (yes, I was watching it because a) it was in English and b) I was tired of watching the same loop of news on CNN International) when the ignorance of my fellow Americans jumped out at me. The show focuses on some obscenely rich Indian and their wedding festivities. This particular episode featured a wealthy Sikh who lived in Delhi and New York, and was supposedly an actor. He invited all of his 1,000 friends to the 7 day party. One friend was an older American socialite who proclaimed at the end of the ceremony: "It was beautiful, I just wish I spoke Indian so I could have understood what they were saying." Duh!

The second moment occurred back in DC, when I was asked the "Do you speak Indian?" question at a bar. The person asking assumed everyone spoke Indian and wasn't aware that there is no such language. Double duh!!

So the purpose of this lesson is to educate the six of you reading it about the complexities of language here in India.

First off, not everyone speaks Hindi or English. As a matter of fact, only a minority of Indians speak Hindi. 337 million to be specific, out of a population of about 1.1 billion. Did you know more Indians speak English than Hindi? 350 million can speak English (keep in mind bilingual/multilingual skills are far better here than in the US). The way I figure, the largest English speaking country isn't the US - it's India.

There are many "official" languages here. Many of the boundaries of Indian states were actually layed out because of language. The list is long: Hindi (337 million), Telugu (80 million), Tamil (74 million), Bengali (70 million), Marathi (60 million), Urdu (43 million), Gujarati (41 million), Kannada (44 million), Malayalam (30 million), Oriya (28 million), Maithili (25 million), Punjabi (23 million), Bhojpuri (23 million), Assamese (13 million), Gondi (2.1 Million), Sindhi (2.1 Million), Konkani (1.7 Million), Meitei (1.2 Million), Nepali (1 Million), Kashmiri (0.5 million), and Sanskrit (<0.1 million). I didn't even know anyone spoke Sanskirt anymore.

Other significant languages found here include: Angika (0.7 million), Kokborok (1.3 million), Wagdi, Halbi, Marwari (12 million), Chhattisgarhi (11 million), Magahi (11 million), Awadhi (0.5 million), Tulu (2 million), Kodava, Dogri, Persian, French, Portuguese, Bodo, Santhali, Sikkimese, Dzongkha, and Dakkhini aka Deccani (11 million).

Is your head spinning? Mine is.

Another Name Bites the Dust

Greetings. I'm back in India after a brief stay back in the States. Can't you just feel my excitement?

The trip over was uneventful, with the exception of the clutz sitting across from me on the Frankfurt to Hyderabad flight. Not once, but twice, he managed to trip over the guy sitting across from him and send glasses and papers all over the floor. He either was wearing clown shoes or was drunk. Either way he woke me up both times. Moron.

Ok, so some of you may be familiar with the city name changes that have taken place here in India over the last ten years. In an effort to shed the last remnants of colonialism (and drum up political support for local politicos looking for a wedge issue), Bombay became Mumbai, Calcutta became Kolkuta, and Madras became Chennai (side note, has anyone seen my Chennai shorts?).
The name changers struck again yesterday. This time their target was Bangalore. Yes, perhaps you've heard of it? It's the center of the IT job boom that has pulled the Indian economy roaring into the 21st century. So it's a billion dollar brand name. The new name? Bengalooru! Loosely translated, it means "City of cooked beans" in the local Kannada language. Pretty catchy, huh?

My guess is the name will only be used in official circles and by localists intent on preserving whatever it is they're preserving. The rest of us will still call it Bangalore or maybe I'll just call it Beanbai.

I'm Back!

Ok, so I've been absent from this spot for a bit. I was busy seeing new parts of Italy and then trying to get some work done at my house before heading back to India.

I'm planning on writing about the Italy trip, so check back here often because you never know when I'll actually write something witty.

Here are some random stories:

After coming home on 9/11, I quickly turned around and flew back to Europe. I get onto my flight to Frankfurt and quickly discover that my seat has no working audio, video or overhead light. I've come to expect this of United, since they seem to be postponing their inevitable demise. I made a point of telling the flight attendant, who summoned the purser. What the hell is a purser anyway? Just reminds me of Gopher from the Love Boat. She was nice and said it'd had been reported but clearly not fixed. She offered to move an employee who was flying in Business, but I said no need. I was going to sleep and never listened to the music they offered. Mainly because it usually sucks. United did surprise me by sending me a $400 travel voucher for my inconvenience. Nice effort, but maybe you should spend the $$$ on fixing up your planes.

I lost my boarding passes (with the paper tickets attached) in the Rome airport and had to pay 100 euros to get it reissued. I think I've only had paper tickets two times in the last ten years, so I wasn't concerned about sticking the boarding passes in my rear pocket. Of course they fell out and we couldn't find them. I made sure to stick the tickets in my front pocket after that.

I then had a nun, a nun!, cut in front of me in the security line. What was I supposed to do? I ended up helping her load her bag into the xray machine. She said "God bless you" and I thought to myself "Sister, if you only knew..."

The connection in Frankfurt was supposed to be more than enough to accommodate the flight to DC. Of course Lufthansa kept us sitting on the plane in Rome for an hour without explanation. When we landed in Frankfurt, it was a mad sprint to the terminal, two security checks, and our plane. I was shocked that United was holding for us, but there were.

When I got home, I met friends at one of our local watering holes. As I left that night, the valet said "Last time you were here you tipped me in rupees. Rupees don't help me here." I asked him how much I'd given him and he said "500 rupees." Now that is about $11, so I told him I overtipped! I did offer to trade him some US dollars next time I stop by. He still didn't seem all that happy, but I wasn't going to tip him twice in the same night and still not get my rupees back.

A New Name & A Big Vacation

I've had great fun writing about my India trip, so I've decided to just turn this blog into my travel blog. I will provide updates from the road as I travel the globe (and the US). So we'll just call this blog "Travel Rant" and see where it goes.

I left India on 9/11 and flew home via Frankfurt. After getting felt up by security, I made it to the United Red Carpet Club, where I was promptly told I couldn't use the showers. Apparently during my six week trip, they'd changed the rules. Now only passengers coming from the US were allowed to use them. I explained to them I'd just flown in from the other direction on a code share flight, but they said "sorry." I told them to stick it (I really did) and said that Lufthansa let their passengers use the showers.

So the rep comes in about 10 minutes later and says "Mr. Fox, if you'd like to go back and use Lufthansa's lounge, you can." I glared at her and said "Go away. I'm not walking 1/2 mile and subjecting myself to security again for that." She scurried away and they avoided me the rest of the time. You wonder why United is in trouble? Let's see, I paid for a code share flight that apparently got me no benefits. Next time I'll just fly Lufthansa the whole way and avoid United.

I am now off to Italy for two weeks of wine and food. See you in Sicily!

Ciao.

My Last Side Trip

Repeat after me: Mamallaparum. Say it! Say it! I couldn't pronounce it until I got there. People kept asking me where I was going and I said "Mamalamamnotgonnaworkhereanymore." I'm sure you're now asking yourself "Where?"

Like this pic? I did. More about it later.

I was joined on this trip by two co-workers/friends from the US. I had arranged everything for the jaunt, and assured them it was going to be fine. It didn't start out that way. We arrived at the airport in Hyderabad to catch our flight to Chennai (aka Madras), where we'd get picked up and driven to our little beachfront resort. Only problem was our flight had been cancelled. Air Deccan, the worst airline in India, is notorious for being late or simply not flying at all. They told me they'd called me, but the only thing I had were v-mails with dead silence. I told the agent that perhaps they could hire staff who were able to speak, that way we'd have known. We were able to rebook on another airline and arrived about 30 minutes late. Only problem was our driver had left. He'd shown up at the airport and discovered our flight was cancelled. I suppose they didn't expect us to show up on another airline, but we did. After finding our driver 30 minutes later, we headed out of Chennai.

A little on Chennai. Mmmm, that's it. Nothing to write about. It's hot and humid and from what I saw, not worth much of your time. Oh, and no one was wearing Madras shirts or shorts. Freaking ripoff.

On the way south to Mamalaporno, we had been told to stop at the Alligator Farm. Our driver knew exactly where it was - hell, I could have found it since it was on the only road south. After paying a nominal entry fee of 20 rupees each, we walked around and admired the huge variety of Gators and Crocs they'd assembled. As usual, we were the only non-Indians there, so I kept smiling and waving at people when they stared at me. I felt like a celebrity. That picture above was hilarious, because I'm sure many of the "prisoners" in the farm would love to eat the Indians who visit there. We saw one family of very fat people sitting on a huge gator whose mouth had been taped shut. I was hoping he'd break free and then drag their fat asses into the water. Unfortunately they just sat there smiling away as their equally fat friends took pictures. Steve Irwin clearly had never visited this place.

After failing to see any human sacrifices, we hopped back in our car to head to the hotel. As I started to open my door, a woman appeared from out of the blue and started gesturing to me to give her money. I also noticed she had a monkey on a string with her. The monkey didn't look very happy and I was again imagined what this monkey would do to her if he was ever let off of that rope. I offered to buy the monkey from her but she refused. Instead I gave her a few rupees for her time, and because I feared the monkey would end up biting me.

The resort was small but very nice. It's called the Ideal Resort and is located right on the beach. They had my name on a sign in the lobby along with "Lufthansa Crew" and some other random people. The fact that the Lufthansa crew who fly into Chennai stay all the way down here only reinforced my impression that Chennai is a wasteland.

We ventured into town that evening for dinner. The restaurant had been totally destroyed by the tsunami and there was a red spot about 9 feet above our heads marking the high water mark from that storm. I don't know how many people realize that India was also heavily damaged but sustained far fewer deaths. Most of the villagers here had been out to sea fishing and returned home to find their town fairly intact.

The next day we took a day trip to Pondicherry. I'll write a separate entry for that trip.

Sunday we visited the Shore Temple. It was build about 700 AD and has managed to survive even though it is located about 50 feet from the ocean. It's an impressive temple.

Phuket

After Singapore I hopped a Silk Air flight to Phuket, Thailand for a short weekend.

The hotel I picked (merely on the fact I'd earn Starwood points) turned out to be very nice, but was also hosting a Southeast Asia/Asia Pacific regional meeting focused on security issues. So the hotel was full of Asian parliamentarians. Now that is a party!

The hotel had a private beach, which allowed me to walk on the sand without having to fend off people selling random things. I also asked a bartender about damage caused by the tsunami, because it appeared as if nothing had happened there. He pointed to the bottom of the 2nd floor rooms and said "Water was up there" and then explained how the poolside bars and restaurants were all new. At that point, I was glad my room was behind the pool and up a few floors.

The highlight of the weekend (mainly because I overslept and had no other options) was an afternoon trip to visit some elephants and see how the Karan people (from Northern Thailand) live. After a ride up a mountain on the back of an elephant - I think my elephant's name was Gigi and she was 35 years old - we hopped off in a little village. They sold baskets of fruit for people to feed the elephants, who all clearly loved the treats. We then watched some elephants paint, play soccer, dance, etc. The rest of the day included "learning" how to cook Thai food (I'll stick with Old Siam), tap a rubber tree, train monkeys to pick coconuts, etc. All in all it was pretty cool.

Saturday night I decided to venture into the Patong Beach area. Another brilliant idea! I had visions of finding some fresh lobster and drinking a cheap beer (at least cheaper than the hotel). Instead I found a street crowded with Aussie and British tourists, hawkers trying to sell everything you could imagine, scores of dodgey restraurants and pubs, and about 100 tuk-tuk drivers offering to take me to "best massage in the world." I pointed out to the watch salesmen that I already had one. Told the tuk-tuk drivers I'd take a pass on the offer of a ride. Took a pass on that lobster dinner, mainly because the smell from the fish display was so strong I knew it would lead to a dose of Cipro. Basically just walked up and down the stretch for about 15 minutes and escaped into a pub.

One humorous story was my encounter with a tout from a suit shop. If you haven't been to Hong Kong or Bangkok, you might not appreciate this. Picture in your mind a street crammed full of "best quality" tailor shops. In front of each one are 2-10 guys whose job it is to drag tourists into the shop where they can be sold "custom" suits and shirts. The prices are dirt cheap and the quality is usually a step below Wal-Mart. The guy approached me with the usual line "Hello boss" (or the equally popular "Hello mate") "where you from?" I immediately asked him "Where are you from?" And he said Nepal. I said "Great, I'm from India." He was clearly not expecting that answer from me, so he pressed on "So you speak Hindi?" and I snapped back "No, they speak Telagu where I live. Do you speak any Telagu?" Of course I speak neither, but he didn't know. I then told him if he could guess where my shoes were from, I'd buy a shirt from his store. He had no idea and didn't even guess. I think he was still too confused by my original answer. As I walked away, without a new shirt, I could hear him telling his friends "That guy said he was Indian..."

Moral of this entire story? If you go to Phuket, stick to the hotels and avoid Patong Beach. Unless of course you're in the market for a hooker and a cheap suit.

Escape from Chaos

After five weeks of navigating the food, traffic and hustle in India, I found myself ready for a break. And ready for a steak! So off I flew to Singapore for a quick stopover on my way to Thailand.

After an overnight flight (only 4 hours) from Hyderabad on Singapore Airways, you find yourself at Changi International Airport. This really is a high end shopping mall posing as an airport. And Singapore Air is really a top notch carrier. Their economy service is better than most domestic first class service I've had in the U.S. They still give you a hot towel that is actually made of cloth and serve free French wine.

First thing I noticed about Singapore was I picked the first day it'd rained in weeks. Second thing was how clean it was. The taxi had a working, digital meter and a friendly driver. The roads weren't filled with potholes and cars actually stopped at red lights. I was shocked.

I walked around town and visited the famous Raffles Hotel, home of the Singapore Sling aka Fruit Suicide. You can drink 2-3 of these and not realize you've just consumed a bottle of booze. Very dangerous. They also let you throw peanut shells on the floor, which in Singapore is a big deal. You might get a heavy fine (or caned) if you littered outside, so I think locals drop by here just to throw a little caution to the wind. The bar also hosts a number of birds who just fly around and eat the crumbs off the floor. Not a bad life for those birds.

Singapore is a former British colony that became independent about 40 years ago. The population is very diverse, with big populations of Chinese, Arab, Indian and expats from the west. Two sites worth a look are Arab Street and Little India. Arab Street because it is cleaner than any part of the Middle East, and Little India because it's more orderly than any part of India. If you haven't figured it out yet, Singaporeans like order.

I capped the day off with a visit to Morton's. Yes, the chain has found its way here and serve the exact same menu. Exactly the same the exception of the prices. And it is not cheaper here. Gorged on steaks and salad (first one in five weeks) and had a hilarious, if deceitful server. She explained to us that bankers were crappy tippers and that they didn't charge a service fee (a built in tip). So when the bill came - and this was after the GM gave us free glasses of port - I didn't even look at the details. Gave her what I thought was a generous tip and left. Only later did I look at the details: Service Charge S$46! So she managed to get me for a total tip of over S$110.

Apparently bankers are bad tippers, but American consultants are just stupid.

Hitler Update...

After my worldwide protest movement (yeah right), the moron restauranteur in Navi Mumbai has caved into pressure and announcement he was renaming it. He seriously said "I didn't mean to offend, I thought it was a good name" and then proceeded to take a massive bong hit and stick his head back into his arse.

Also have an ugly American story to go with this. There was a woman in the hotel who I will simply call "Idiot" for her rant on the swastika. She was explaining to me and two others about how offended she was at seeing the "swastikas" displayed in temples here in India. One of the other guys, a French dude from Sonoma, kept trying to explain to her that Hitler swiped a symbol that had been in use for thousands of years and represents good luck. She was either just stupid, drunk or stupid drunk and kept saying "I don't care, it just offends me" and then would proceed with some more inane comments. She then compared Bush to Hitler and I promptly had the bar cut her off and toss her. Ok, I didn't. But she was a good example of why you just don't get bombed and rant in bars because you'll look like a fool.

Ganesha and the Ganapati Festival

My travels to India have coincided with two major events - Independence Day and now the Ganapati Festival. Since the festival started yesterday, I thought I'd give you some info on the festival and on Ganesha.

First, let's talk about Ganesha. Shree Ganesha, or Ganapati as he is also known, is one of the most well-known and venerated representations of God (Brahman) to the Hindu faith. He is the first born son of Shiva and Parvati. You'll have to look them up to get a better understanding of the relationship.

As you can see, Ganesha is depicted as a big bellied, one tusked elephant and is often either sitting atop a mouse or accompanied by one. Ganesha is a much beloved and frequently invoked divinity, since he is the Lord of Good Fortune who provides prosperity and fortune and also the Destroyer of Obstacles of a material or spiritual order (for more info consult Wikipedia). I've noticed several of my friends have a Ganesha sitting on the dashboard of their cars.

The festival started yesterday and will culminate on September 6th with the immersion of countless Ganesha statues into bodies of water all over India. The statue pictured above is the largest in Hyderabad. We were told "It's crowded and crazy, don't go" by the hotel staff, but I was joined by two fellow Americans who were determined to see it. So we hopped in an auto and cruised over to the area. It was packed. And we were the only three non-Indians in the crowd, so were greeted with smiles and a few odd stares of curiosity. After wading into the masses, we stopped to pay our respects to the statue, took some pictures and headed down a side street.

Now you might be asking about that immersion thing. There has been much discussion about the idea of putting tons of statues into already polluted waters and they've tried to address the problem. All of the statues have to be degradable. I don't say bio-degradable because clearly the paints and lacquer they use aren't good for any fish who might be living in the lake or ocean. On the 6th, the road around the Hussein Sagar will be packed with people watching the cranes lift the Ganesha statues and submerge them into the water. I've already been warned that I shouldn't go due to the crowds. So I'll just watch it on one of the 11 news stations I can choose from.

Ok, back to my story. After the visit to the statues we stopped in front of a small temple. We could see the lights and hear the music from inside. Out of the blue, an older gentleman appeared on the street and said "Please come in. This is a JainTemple and you are welcome." So off went the shoes and we joined the devotees in song and clapping. Well we clapped and listened, but did not attempt to sing. It was a fun experience.

After finding an auto driver willing to take us back to our hotel, we decided to head back. At that very moment, the skies opened up with torrential rains. Now the hotel has a strict rule about letting autos (rickshaws) past the front gate. They're simply not allowed. But given the rain, we told him to just ignore the rule and that we'd pay any fine the hotel tried to hit him with. The security guard at the gate tried to stop us, but when he saw it was three stupid Americans, he waved us in. As we rolled up to the front door, right behind a very nice Mercedes, the hotel staff took one look and just laughed.

Good times.

I Really Should Listen to My Own Advice

I always preach about the importance of agreeing on prices when you travel BEFORE you hire a guide or take a cab. Well, for some reason I decided my advice was bunk and I was going to just wing it for a day in Mumbai. Bad idea.

Started off with the cab ride. Hotel cars are expensive, so I opted for a regular taxi. I'd been told it was about 100-150 rupees to get to the Gateway of India, where I planned to catch a boat to Elephanta Island. When we got there, he said it was 250 rupees. I disagreed and he said "I'm hotel taxi, more expensive." I pointed out the obvious similarity between his black and yellow taxi and the other cabs parked around us. I asked him what the difference was and he replied "I have card" and he handed over a laminated price sheet. The sheet had two columns, one for non a/c and one for a/c. The price for a/c was indeed listed at 250 rupees, however his car didn't have a/c. I finally just paid him 200 rupees and told him no need to wait for me, as I was never getting in his car again. My guess is that he may still be waiting.

Buying the boat ticket was easier. 120 r's for an express boat, 80 r's for the slower one. Only problem - there were no "express" boats. I paid the 10 rupee roof surcharge and climbed up top. I was then visited by a series of vendors trying to sell me postcards, water (even though I already had a huge bottle in my hand), necklaces, chips of some kind, and again necklaces. Thank god the boat finally left port. After a painfully slow cruise, I finally reached the island. And the real fun began.

I was immediately greeted by a guide who walked me up the long flight of steps up to the temple. He had grown up on the island and lived there with his wife and two sons. He told me about the tourist season being later in the year, and how they all relied on that time to earn enough money for the rest of the year. At that point, I should have stopped and asked his price. I didn't. I was in a hurry though, as I had a flight to catch at 6:20 p.m. He showed me the temples (quite interesting) and walked me to the top of the hill to see the old WWII cannon the British had installed as defense against whomever tried to attack. Saw some monkeys, a bull, and some women with milk jugs on their heads who tried to take a picture with me (50 rupees). After the tour we headed back to the dock to grab a beer and wait for the next boat back to Mumbai.

The restaurant was clearly owned by one of his buddies. The menu said beers were 90 rupees for a big bottle, so I figured I was going to be buying him a beer and the cost was reasonable. Also ordered some chicken dish (60 rupees) and he ordered some peanuts. After he chugged his beer he ordered another. And then another. Then I got the bill. 610 rupees! I asked him why it was so high and he said "Oh that includes tax and tip." Right. Sure it does. Tipping isn't a very common thing here, and I can guarantee I was just being charged the ripoff price.

This is the point where he also said his fee was 1500 rupees for the tour. 1500? Say it ain't so Babu. I said no way, and we bickered over the price. He came down to 1100 rupees and I thought I should just cut my losses and run. Big problem though: after I'd just paid his overpriced beer tab, I was sitting there with only 550 rupees left. I told him if I'd know that I wouldn't have bought his damn beers and probably would have just walked the temples by myself. I don't think he quite understood me when I told him I only had that much cash, because he insisted he could take US money. And I forgot to mention he'd paid my entrance fee to the temple (250 rupees). He mentioned I could use a credit card, so we walked to the end of the pier. Then he asked for his money, and I reminded him again that I only had about 550 rupees and that he'd said I could pay with a credit card. He said "Oh, we have to walk back up there for that" and pointed to the top of the 126 steps we'd come down about 20 minutes prior.

This is where my Irish temper blew up. I yelled at him and said something to the tune of "I told you that I didn't have any cash. Why did we just walk all the way over here?!?" Off we went back up the hill to a store that had a credit card machine. The owner tried to call to get authorization but the line never picked up. Clearly seeing the smoke coming out of my ears, the guide finally caved and said he'd take what cash I had. But now I'd missed my boat and had to wait for the next one, which happened to be the same slow one that I'd come over on.

We finally docked at about 4:30 in the midst of a torrential downpour. I saw a taxi and asked him if he could take me to the ITC Grand Sheraton. He said "Yes, ITC" and we drove off. Remember, I have no money and my flight leaves in an hour and half. Taxi man starts to make a turn where I know he isn't supposed to, so I told him he was going the wrong way. He listened but still had no clue where he was going. I knew I was in serious trouble at this point: Me giving directions to an Indian cabbie.

After driving me around in the middle of a very crummy part of town and stopping four times to ask for directions, we finally made it to the hotel. It was now 5:40. I ran into to check out and get him some money. He tried to tell me it was 300 rupees for the ride and I said "You got me lost, I'm going to miss my plane and I'm not paying for the extra kilometers you racked up because you didn't know where you were going." The hotel staff intervened on my behalf and told me to pay him 100 rupees. I felt bad, so I gave him 200. He wasn't happy, but whatever.

Oh, and I missed my flight and had to stay another night in Mumbai. Lovely.

Hitler: The Restaurant?

Ok, you know the old Mel Brooks movie The Producers? Spoof musical on Hitler with the classic song "Springtime for Hitler and Germany." Well apparently some enterprising moron in Mumbai thought it was a good idea to name his new restaurant "Hitler's Cross" and decorate it with swastikas and pictures of Hitler. Nice. Only problem is he isn't saying it's a joke or a spoof. He's serious!

I swear to god the guy was quoted in the local paper saying "Hitler conquered Europe, and we're going to conquer your taste buds." Yeah, Hitler killed people. Lot's of innocent people. Maybe he's just warning people that you'll get so sick from his food that you might die?

What a great idea! Let's name a happy, lively restaurant after him! How about "Pol Pot's Cambodian Kitchen" or "Stalin's Russian Tea House" as a few other ideas slick? You could branch out and corner the market for obscenely stupid restaurant names.

And the freaking mayor of Navi Mumbai (New Mumbai) came to the opening! As did some Bollywood star who was quoted as saying "I've not read much about the man, but I find the use of his name amusing" Huh? Amusing? Clearly you've not read a book written in the last 60 years. Another example of why film or music stars, regardless of where they're from, are complete morons. And I don't think Hitler was including the people of the Indian sub-continent in his definition of a master race.

As a matter of fact, Hitler and his buddies were equal opportunity murderers. They killed Jews, Ukrainians, Russians (Civilians & POWs), Poles, Yugoslavians, Gypsys, Spaniards, Czechs, Americans, Brits, Nepalese, Greeks, the disabled, Jehovah's Witnesses, Boys & Girl Scouts (huh?), Priests, and even other Nazis who disagreed at times. I'm sure there were Indians in there too.

Can you imagine doing something like this in the west? Hell no. The tiny Jewish population of Mumbai is up in arms. Any rational, sane person in the country should share their outrage. Imagine if someone opened a bar that either mocked or insulted Nehru or Gandhi? The owner would be dead and the place torched in minutes.

My point? Everyone should be greatly annoyed with this guy. I need to go find a local Girl Scout troop to help me protest.

You say Mumbai, I say Bombay...

Ok, it is now known as Mumbai but some of the locals I met still call it by its colonial name of Bombay. Either way, I just spent the weekend in this huge, chaotic and cosmopolitan city.

Started off fine. Flight was only 45 minutes late and my car was waiting for me. As we left the airport, I quickly realized the stark contrasts I was about to encounter. As you depart the domestic airport (they have two airports separated by 6-7 kms) you drive through what is supposedly the largest slum in Asia. It was packed and there were school kids in uniforms walking home, commerce of every kind taking place on the streets and an unimaginable collection of garbage everywhere.

The hotel I had picked was beautiful but in the worst location possible for my meeting and for being close to the tourist spots. This distance from tourist spots will be featured in its own post - I can't wait to share that experience with you. The ITC Sheraton Grand Central was just that: grand in luxury and central in location (central Mumbai that is). I checked in and realized I was running a bit late for my meeting. I hired a hotel car and realized I had to go back past the airport and then some. I was late. I can't tell you the name of where I was, but it was nice. All new buildings with Greek-inspired architecture, smooth roads and swanky shops. I also saw my first non-scrawny dog here. Of course as soon as we left the meeting and headed back, we were right in the middle of another rutted road.

On Saturday I headed out for the Gateway to India monument and some siteseeing. The cab driver ended up being my tour guide for the next four hours and showed me around the southern part of the city. Much of the area is made up of colonial era British architecture and most of those buildings could use a good power washing. I wanted to call up the tourist board and tell them they had architectural gems just sitting there, waiting to be exploited.

The Gateway to India monument was built in the early 1900s in honor of the King's visit to Bombay. It's now a prominent symbol of the city and a gathering spot for locals, beggars and tourists. Saying "No" will get you nowhere here - just ignore anyone who is talking to you and go about your business.

Across the street from the Gateway is the famous and elegant Taj Palace Hotel. Built by Indian industrialist JN Tata in 1903, this places screams "money!" and has room prices that most of us couldn't afford. The story is he built the hotel after being snubbed by a European hotel for being a "native." Tata is now one of the biggest India companies and has their fingers in everything. I'm sure the ancestors of that European hotel owner now operate a chip shoppe in some backwater English village. I strolled through the hotel and had an overpriced beer in the bar. With security tailing me, I quickly left the premises and headed to less costly environs.

Next up was the University of Mumbai campus (pictured at top of this page). Built in the 1850s, it could have been plucked from England and dropped here. I was pleased to see some major renovation taking place on the Convocation Hall and no one seemed to mind it when I rolled through the Library on a book cart.

The rest of the tour consisted of Marine Drive, Chowpatty Beach, Mani Bhavan (where Ghandi stayed while in town), the Jain temple and the Hanging Gardens. Also drove by the Haji Ali Mosque and got some pics from afar.

My plans to go out with friends of friends were quickly dashed after I met a crazy American I will call Okie and his German friend "Sideshow Klaus" in the hotel. We ended up staying at the hotel and closing down the bar (which is easy since they close at 11:30).

Next up: Why I should listen to my own advice, Indian style.

Independence Day!

I love holidays. Time to hang out with friends and family, grill a steak, drink some good wine/cold beer, and just relax. So when I found out I was going to be here for August 15th (Indian Independence Day), visions of a day spent at the pool sipping a Kingfisher flashed before my eyes.

Oh was I disappointed.

Turns out we did get the day off, as the offices are all closed. (Sidebar: If you open your office, you run the risk of the police dropping in and giving you a citation) . So I had that going for me, which was nice.

The real disappointment was that Independence Day is also a dry day. Yes, dry. No beer. No wine. No Listerine. Nothing. And of course I couldn't grill anything for fear of burning down the hotel and that little detail about no beef. So I opted for a lamb pizza and a bottle of water. Woohoo!

The day is a big deal here, as it marks the founding of modern India and the exit of British colonial rule. Prior to Independence, India was really a collection of 130+ separate kingdoms. So forging a national identity to tie the very diverse population together has been important. I'll give you more about that diversity in a future post.

For those of you thinking "No way he let a simple law get in his way of having a drink," I capped off the wild day with a card game in my room chased down with two overpriced bottles of wine we'd bought from the bar the night before. Thank god for planning - and being tipped off by a very smart bar manager who knew an easy sale when he saw one.

I wonder if I'll be able to find turkey here on Thanksgiving?