The light at the end of the Chutney

Wow, it has been two weeks since I posted anything on this. Time flies when you are not isolated in a third world country clocking 16hr work days. I am writing now from my friends apartment in India. I incidentally moved apartments today and perhaps because of karma, even my new apartment does not have internet, an affliction shared with my old apartment. I have two more days before I am done here and just writing that is eerie. It is almost as surprising as how familiar it felt when I landed here from the US for the second time a few days ago. Could it be that our intrepid protagonist has conformed to this foreign wasteland? The answer is oddly "yes". For all I have mentioned and for as unsettling as much of this experience has been it has jarred me enough that I think differently now. This was most evident when I landed in Los Angeles, my first taste of Amedika in months. For the first few days I was in Balki Bartokomous mode.

(Before I go on I want to mention that I am going to retroactively add some posts to this because I want to have a full account of my jaunts before I close this nerdonic blogging chapter of my life)

It actually took me by surprise how much India had affected me when I was home. Just seeing our American way of life in person after much time in drastically different settings was a unique experience because I felt like I was a visitor now, even in places I had seen before a thousand times. It was like I had to reconsider many things in my life one would think are settled upon for life. Not sure if that made sense but let me try to explain. So my first meal back was Mexican food at a restaurant. Traditionally this is a joyous event. Natalie and i had a great meal and the food was just what I wanted but it was somehow not the same for me to be there. First of all I could not eat that much (I found out later that i lost 15lbs while I was out here) because my stomach was full about half way. When you are in a familiar setting and feel like its your first time is a rare sensation. Looking at the other tables, I couldnt get over how much people were eating and how much was left over to be thrown away. I was not shocked at all this, in fact I expected to feel it, and its not like I was in rural Africa starving for three years, but It was a really interesting feeling. Even paying brought on the sensation because he meal was a good price for Los Angeles but I was even taken aback at that point because I kept thinking how much the equivalent would purchase in food in India.

Driving around LA is a trip no matter where you come from but the same odd sensation was present while in a car too. The cars, the people, the streets, the shops, the scale of everything had new meaning. And how much money invested in all of it too! This may all sound weird or over-dramatic but what I kept thinking was do we need all of this?

Another week, another migraine....

So somehow it is Friday and i havent even loaded in my BKK (Bangkok) stories yet(wrote them into my bberry and they somehow went into the abyss). I am pretty exhausted right now, from that trip, this week, and this whole experience. Getting to work at 4am and leaving at 7 has taken its toll. Getting anything done here at times is like pulling teeth. Through your ear.

Luckily, I am going home, or rather homish. California is close enough for me right now. Even though i will be working I cant wait to speak english, know what people are saying, eat red meat, breath in are without smelling garbage, and swim in an ocean without fear of disease. Only twenty hours of flying between me and my oasis. But does that mean our intrepid hero is done with his venture? Is he leaving us with only a quip of a goodbye?

The answer is no, I will be coming back to India (in what promises to be a hellacious trip around the world - literally - in twelve days. Tonight is India to Germany to Los Angeles. Then San Francisco. Next Saturday San Fran to NYC. 50 hrs later NYC to India.) and that will be the end. next time I sit in front of this thing I will be filling in the blanks I have left so far because I want it to read smoothly and so far it does not encapsulate everything I have been through (and this is not even the good stuff).

bombay to bkk

i got back from bombay a few hours ago and now I am headed to thailand for the weekend...

stay tuned.... :)

Best work day of my life

This is not a forum for talking about work but I have to write this down. Yesterday was the best day of my professional life. Part of my job developing the team here is to announce what we do within the Indian market and yesterday we hosted a marketing event held in Bombay for a few hundred businesses that are potential clients.

I expected it to be casual and kind of underwhelming but our company rolled out the red carpet almost literally. There were signs fifteen feet high, a staff registering people in, a buffet for hundreds, and a 500 seat theater with a stage set up with lighting and huge screens. So basically I presented on what our company can do for them, what this team can do, and my experiences doing what I do for like 45 minutes and took questions for an hour afterwards. Being on stage like that was like lightning. making a conservative crowd of people who don't know you laugh like that is something special.
This was easily the most vivid emotion and real feelings i have ever felt from working.

In the rest of my life I have surpassed it countless times but i am never going to forget that. It is going to be a turning point for something i hope.

So to celebrate, since fun and wildness is not allowed in this country, i went back to my hotel and ate like a viking with room service; 5 entrees, 3 pots of tea, and a toblerone bar.

warrior sleep good.

Places I've been in the world

So this is a map where you can add all of your visited countries. I thought it was kinda cool. Check it out. As I was checking off my countries I was ready for it to be added proof of how worldly & dashing I am but instead it proved only one thing:

I hate Africa.

Whoever said the Taj Mahal is...

...the most romantic place on earth, or even romantic at all, clearly smokes opium

Elissa

Elissa: Hi

Travis: Yp
yep?

Elissa: You went to the Taj!

Travis: yuuuup
it is dope
but it was the entire weekend that i really liked

Elissa: An incredible story
I mey
Met an indian man recently who said there is a great film about it

Travis: is it an adult film?

Elissa: One of the most popular in indian and they've made an english version
Haha

Travis: or are you serious and this is not a joke?

Elissa: Nice

Travis: oh
u were serious

Elissa: Yes
The story about the taj mahal

Travis:
the surprising thing about the Taj
and India too
is the lack of basic social structures
and lack of organization
for example, within the gates of the Taj
who is an official employee and who is just some dude trying to make a rupee off you
is indecipherable
its really a challenge to get accustomed to

Elissa: I felt that in most of the countries I visited...it would break my heart when a child would appear to befriend and then the next minute expect money

Travis: that is only because you arent used to dating women

Taj Mahal

I just went to the Taj Mahal this weekend and the trip was spectacular. It was easily the best mahal I have seen in a long time. The place reminds me of my friend Austin Lee because despite its largeness it is the gleaming whiteness of it that is so amazing. Now the Taj may be made of countless tons of pristine marble tirelessly fixated to create the nations most recognizable attraction but Austin is from Idaho, and that is just about as white as it gets.






To get there you do not just step off a plane. It is a 4 hr car ride from Delhi to show up and doing that each way brought me through more of India than I have seen my whole time here. Once again, to get to the majestic here you pass an ocean of the desperate. The drive was mostly on a straight 6 lane highway that reminded me of the highway during the Gulf War that contained hundreds of burned vehicles rushing out of Kuwait. This was no war zone, it just seemed similar because the area alongside was rather desolate and even when full of people just looked very impoverished.

There are no children here

Life is so damn beautiful sometimes you tear right up.

All day today I was focusing on work challenges and getting plans together to go visit the Taj Mahal this week. After work I got one of our drivers to take me down to a shopping area where I was going to pick up some shirts from a tailor and traffic brought us to a standstill about ten minutes into our drive.

So as the car is stopped on the crowded street like the ones you can see in the videos on my previous posts I look out the right side window, the grass covered median sandwiched between 8 lanes of traffic a few feet from the window glass.

Now you learn immediately in Hyderabad that poverty is real, it is common, it affects all ages, and it is just as sad as you had hoped it wouldn't be.

Frankly, it is a huge moral dilemma that I need to share with you at length another time because it has been tugging at me every time I am around it. I only bring this background up now for the purpose of telling that what I am about to write is coming from someone with two straight weeks witnessing tragic examples of poverty.

Well outside of my car are about nine little children on and around the two foot high median. Now the oldest child had to be 6 or 7. Two were babies, one was in the arms of a tiny girl, no more than 5 herself and this little girl carried this baby with the familiarity of your aunt who has carried all of the kids in the family a thousand times. Amidst a crowd of children so small and vulnerable that you wouldn't consider them safe together inside a parked minivan for twenty minutes, it was the second baby that took my heart with her.

Before I took this trip I would easily point to a crying naked child as the icon of third world poverty. But one part of that image is inaccurate and made for an American audience. You see the commercials that show a crying child want your empathy, and to your typical frumpy suburban housewife in Des Moines that calls the 800 number, the visual of a lil brown kid from a far away land crying in tattered rags on some decrepit street tugs at her heartstrings and frankly, I am glad because the group she sends the check to will make better use of the pennies-a-day donation than the typical array of Hot Pockets her money normally funds. But we are sympathetic because we know a child cries when they are upset, scared, or hungry so it registers quickly that impoverished children should be distraught and commercials depicting this resonates well with that reasoning.

Now I can list a thousand reasons why that little girl should have been balling. This is a helpless young life amidst perilous conditions; standing unclothed and dirty, with no foreseeable future other than to continue meekly begging from motorists like the children surrounding her, teetering on a patch of concrete at night in the middle of a city street with no supervision. This was her life.

Real tragedy is the child who is not crying because this is her reality.

You are cool...

...if you can cite what band and what songs were cited in the final paragraph of the last post...

Adjusting

It has been roughly two weeks here and I am settled in to the point where I am familiar with how to go about my day without confusion. I know where the ATM it, how to call drivers, the phone numbers for Dominos and Pizza Hut are on speed dial...There are still some regular things like where to get a haircut and a good grocery store that I am not aware of but that will come easily when I need to know. At this point I am adjusting to life here without the sensation of novelty I had when I landed.

So far, mostly so good. I really love being in such a different world and am thankful for the lessons it is teaching me. The work has been arduous and the hours at the office are many which, while tiring, is what I wanted; the chance to prove you can do something bigger. There are some elements of interacting with the people here that I have yet to adjust to and some I see now will never be my favorite aspects.

The part which I do not like right now is how people communicate. The differences between here and home are both subtle and omnipresent. Outside of the office, merchants, waiters, people working in stores, seem to be working with a set of rules on how to talk and act that I dont understand or agree with. Eye contact is not always used. Speaking clearly is not either and replaced with mumbling. The way people show they are agreeing is not a head nod, instead a side-to-side motion is used like a bobble-head doll. Perhaps the most glaring difference is that when someone agrees they sometimes say softly "No, no, no, no..."! Where am I???

There were fun facts when I got here but now they can be frustrating because for me basic parts of talking to someone are confusing. I don't know why but it is usually men that frustrate me. I can't hear what they are saying and even if I could I would not be able to make sense if they mean "yes" when they say "no". It's like I am trapped in man-hating episode of Oprah, only the guys are tiny, dressed in rayon, and have hair like Alan Thicke.

Luckily, this does not really take place at work which is fortunate since the purpose of my visit is professional and I simply spend a great deal of time with the team I am helping build here.

I could ramble on about the communication breakdown but in the light of the context you find yourself less tolerant of other things. For example, the fact I am a foot taller and 80lbs heavier than most people here, or whatever else makes me stand out, is not lost on the local Hyderabaddians (Hydericans? Hyderabodies? Hyderabadites? -dites...ha...I kinda like the last one) and people stare at me like I am the missing link or King of Bollywood.

We'll see how I feel later on but for now I'll order a medium Chicken BBQ pizza till I figure it out....cuz at least now I am past the hour conversation with the Dominos guy that involved several attempts to recite my local number, me discovering the closest pepperoni available was in Africa, two mis-dialed numbers, and a mixed bag of Hindi and English profanity.

Holy Tandoori! I just rode a camel

We went to this pretty dope medieval military fort today, and then outside, walked by three tiny kids were a group of camels. Haggled the lil streetrats down to 50 rupees and then this happened...



Would you LOOK AT THAT THING? It was like riding a dinosaur. I was higher than the roof of a passing bus. I am going to adopt that guy.

Always signal when making a lane change...

Yesterday I got to actually see the surrounding area as we had a weekend off. We have drivers here and you have to drive everywhere so my friend Zack (who also is new here) took a long ride to go check out this cricket game. As you can see from a few posts ago I found out how to load video clips into this thing and I am going to do more of this since my illiteracy and rampant dyslexia s probably frustrating you by now. Plus, some of these scenes are too viewable to miss.

So driving around goes a lil sumthin like this:

Movie Review: The Break-Up

I finally got a hold of some DVDs and I just finished watching my first movie here The Break-Up with Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughan and boy did that strike a chord with me. Most people I've talked to about it did not enjoy it that much or said that it was a rough movie for couples to watch. Well what do you expect? Do you want it real or do you want it sugar coated? Ill say this, when they were arguing it was like they took a snapshot of me 6 years ago. That is how relationships are, easy to dissect on the outside but tough and hard at times to live through...man i relate like crazy to his character cuz I have been uncompromising, stubborn, and bullish. I never play video games and I am not a turd but I definitely do things my way. Whenever I used to get into a fight with girlfriends I would apply my quickness and argue my way out of it and I would verbally steamroll them because I could. But the problem with steamrolling a girl is that she will just bury the emotion and weeks later it will come out in some way and then i will be confused as hell because my girl starts freaking out over something that is mundane (but really she was mad at how the original argument played out). Now ladies, this is what makes us think you are crazy because when you blow up over something that has been bothering you for weeks it is a complete surprise to us. We think that conversation is dead.

If you truly want to get through something with women you have to figure out what is hurting them and most of the time they dont use words to tell you. (Read; we dont speak the non-verbal language well and don't be surprised when we don't pick up on things quickly). It can be confusing as hell for us but it doesnt matter, if you want the riches of being with a woman then you have to work with them and be there for them. Cuz let's face it, we aint perfect. In defense of Aniston's character, and any girl I am referring to, they were frustrated with what felt like complete lack of reciprocated effort. That is a valid frustration and even though I have dated great sane-ish women, they reach their breaking point without us really seeing it approach that level. *Dangerous: Sweeping generalization up ahead* What typically is the case is that women work to improve a relationship (like an architect they envision what something could be and want to get there together) and men check in from time to time (think of how we barbeque; if it was cooking fine the last time we checked, why mess with it). I thought The Break Up touched on both sides. I imagine if you saw it in the theater it would be a big conversation afterwards with your date.

In real life it was frustrating cuz I made the mistake of approaching arguments with girlfriends the same way Vaughan did which is how I approach disputes everywhere else in my life. And Vaughan's strength, as often is mine, is that he could out talk his opposition in an argument. Logic tells me this should work with girlfriends. But logic isn't always invited into love. And life taught me that women are great reminders that there is always more to it.

Your girlfriend can not be your opposition; even when she is crazy to you you got to understand she adores you. This movie is dope because it shows that problem being a talker (even though it worked wonders for me in many parts of my life) is that you can't hear anything when you are the one making noise....and a man aint gonna win by trying to force his girl down....when she is upset dont tell her she is wrong, realize she wants you to help her through it even though it looks like she is acting crazy and unreasonable the whole time.

And the ladies can stand to learn that despite what you think is ample evidence that you are trying hard to make things better, he likely has no idea. I know I know, he is being an insensitive jerk and it seems like he doesnt care at all. That he has no idea may sound crazy to you but for you, men are great reminders there is always more to it. We are not masters of the implicit. Our whole lives we are encouraged to NOT master the implicit, in fact. So if you want something, speak our language which is to say it explicitly. Bitching to your girlfriends isnt gonna help. If we still won't work with you after that, then break-up. Otherwise, just say you want 12 lemons and baby will get what she wants in the first place.

Birthday: Part 2

For your birthday in India you are asked to dance or embarrass yourself...



...so I did both.

Its my birthday...

...and like most kids I am ecstatic to be spending it in southeast India. What is even awesomeer is that I am in the office at 5AM for a project I am running that requires me to deal with companies in other time zones. What more could a kid ask for? Oh yeah, I remember! I was taken out to dinner last night and drank until a few hours ago! ...YAAAAAAAAAYYYY!

My curry. My curry. My curry & me!

There are few things I love as much as food. In India this love may be in peril.

First of all, most of you reading this probably rank Indian cuisine low on the list of food favorites, or more accurately, prefer to never allow Indian cuisine to make it on your list and are content in your culinary prejudice and plan to pass this hatred on to your children. That is fine. The rest of you probably have tempted toilet fate at your local Baluchi's or Mc Curry's, liked one or two items, strayed from the mushier selections, patted yourself on the back for trying ethnic fare, and then announce to your friends whenever relevant that you "love tandoori chicken. It is, like, delish!"

Regardless of where you fit in, you suck. I've eaten Indian at home and while not my favorite I was under the impression I had a gauge for what would be served here. Stupid ferungi.

Allow me to share. There are always many options with Indian food. You can choose from a handful of rice-types. Multiple breads are common . And then several dishes are available, which are easily distinguishable from each other because they are served in separate aluminum vats, they come in a wide variety of browns, tend to have vegetables, and a few contain meatish pieces. The cooking method for most of these dishes is very intense and takes a few hours. The process involves slow-roasting at least 7 pounds of the national spice, hotas$%it, which is then sprinkled with other ingredients to create a unique tongue-burning experience unique to each particular dish. It is not uncommon for this spice to be coupled with hotas&*ck, a North-Indian delicacy (a practice more prevalent after the British regime was lifted).

The majority of you will begin to laugh at this point, and I would too, so enjoy. My indigestion is here for your pleasure. Real Indian food has harsh flavors that you won't recognize and comes in portions a fraction of what you are used to.

It is ancient Hindi custom, interestingly enough, to follow strict dietary guidelines that depart greatly from what the lions share of western nutritionists define as "healthy". If embracing a culture through its cuisine is your cup of Chai then let me help you :) Here your meals focus on key ingredients like breads soaked in motor oil and then fried, butter, vegetables cooked until the nutritional value is nil, and weapons-grade sugar for dessert.

I guess this is the reality of living in a third world country. Protein is expensive apparently and fresh vegetables may as well be caviar. And the portions we are accustomed to are like platters here. The truth is the quality of the food is just a few steps down and you notice it. But what I am still shocked at the selection. There is so much oil and fried options. And not in the good way like a greasy cheeseburger. Now I come from a long line of iron-stomached Pfeifers and Benedicts. And proper doctor recommended food choices have not always been a part of my life* but I am still floored by what you have to eat here.

One more point that throw me for a loop; the American snacks they import and serve in the office. So its clear that your standard Indian meal isnt going to abide by South Beach standards, right? That's fine and there are 3X the number of people here than in America so you will live eating this stuff. In my mind, if I were in charge of the company budget for food and my local choices were what I have outlined then I'd probably reach elsewhere for quality snacks or produce.

Well I'd be wrong. Instead you'd think fuckin Chester the Cheetah and Willy Wonka are running the show...I dont think I've seen so many god damn Pringles in my life! And hundreds of candy bars. My hips don't lie! It is ridiculous. And this is the white guy talking! I feel like I am alone on an island out here! Its bad enough that when people order a sandwich here the ingredients are butter, cucumbers, and spices... but then when I am starving you offer us a fat 8yr olds fantasy meal? Don't get me wrong, beggars can't be choosers and you don't complain about a free meal (though it's not like I can run out to Baja Fresh down the street) but it is just perplexing. Daddy needs a steak or else I'm going to end up looking like the smelly big kid in physics class that handles lighting in theater and plays Magic in the B-wing hallway after school.

In short, when you are hungry here you help yourself to a bowl full of curried heat and wash it down with two bags of Oreos, single-stuffed cuz the man wouldnt give us double.

*You are dealing with a man who polished 14 Krispy Kreme donuts off at one sitting not long after eating lunch that day. I held the title of King of El Camino in Palo Alto, CA in college after an afternoon juggernaut-eating spectacle where I downed 3 cans of tuna, a heaping 3-item takeout at Mr Chau's (can't beat 1.2lbs of chinese food for $4.19), a Ten Tacos for Ten Bucks meal at Taco Bell (a 2001 promotion made to target collegiate defensive tackles and families of 6. The sanctioning body for this competition was comprised of myself, fat Samoan Anthony Gabriel (my competition), hyperactive linebacker Matt Friedrichs (a flyweight at 238lbs), and short-but-lazy cornerback Ruben Carter who didnt have a car), to drink: 32 ounce Hawaiian Punch soda and most of the refill, and half a box of Lil Debbie Oatmeal Cookies. Life at 280lbs involves a caloric commitment.

my blog sucks

Ok so I am already noticing that blogs are only cool if the author is a prolific poster, a phrequent photographer, and wildly witty. These things are perishable like milk and teenage relationships.

This nerd stuff takes work....i need to add some pictures...

Random for Blog

Random for Blog

Durian fruit: mother nature's scrotum

One notable element of the weekend requires separate mention as the hard-working nation of Malaysia does not need to be implicated.

After finishing a great meal Saturday evening at a posh Malaysian restaurant we surprised one member of our group with a birthday dessert; a slice of cheesecake flavored with a common south pacific fruit and adorned with your standard birthday candle. The candle was blown out, forks were passed around and the birthday boy took a healthy bite before sliding it over for the rest of the group to taste. Little routines like this make you feel at home. Any time waiting staff eeks out the "Happy Birthday" song you can't help but feel this could be taking place at the local AppleBees. Familiar scenes are comforting away from home. And as the cheesecake was passed down to me I was ready to dive into a sweet mouthful of childhood memories. But this did not happen. All comfort was ripped away once I tasted feet mixed with donkey vomit. One second I am in my happy place and the next I question if I have a sewer rat in my mouth. This was not dessert. I let out a sound similar to what the new guy in a men's prison would make. The rest of the group answer my pleas suggesting what I am tasting is the fruit ingredient. But fruit normally does not make me curse.

How bad could it be, you ask? Give me the Pepsi challenge with this pungent flavor vs. a urinal cake and well...lets just say it tasted so bad I had an emotional outburst. People tried to calm me by telling me how it is banned by airlines because of its pungent smell. Stories don't help when I am tasting rancid garbage in my mouth. It was so bad that now when I think of Satan ordering a fruit smoothie I imagine that orange juice is not involved. Not bananas nor a single berry of any kind. When Lucifer goes to Jamba Juice he instead looks forward to 32 ounces of only one item; Durian fruit.

Taking a bite of this crapcoction was a godless experience. It was so bad the next time I see my friend Dorean, I will be angry with him because his name sounds too similar to this awful substance. Anyone reading this knows that I love food of all races and creeds so it should mean a lot to know that I would not take the 500 ringgit bet placed from the group for me to eat the remaining portion of cheesecake. While I went off about how much I hated that thing someone quickly looked up pictures on the internets. This damn thing even failed the eye test. They are big and resemble a spiky brown volleyball. The meat of the fruit looks similar to an animal organ you would see on a butcher table. This is fitting since nothing about its scent suggests it is genetically similar to the strawberry. It is fleshy in nature and when cut open, coupled with the aggressive shell, looks like intestines stuffed in a sea urchin. So this was a Malaysian birthday cake that boasted the rich flavor of rotten moose spleen in every bite. My AppleBees never served this.

Given this fruit as an option I would take Fear Factor happy meals any day of the week. Joe Rogan, take me away.

This is a premature statement but malaysia, from what I saw, has to be one of the cleanest countries I've seen.

http://www.cnn.com/2007/TRAVEL/02/07/malaysia.push.ap/index.html

You must kill the Malaysian Prime Minister!

Kuala Lampur is the capitol city of Malaysia. You know its major landmark if you've seen the movie Entrapment. No site of Catherinze Zeta-Jones on my trip though. We were only here for a weekend and I am happy with what I did; shopping at chinatown for trinkets, swam, bargained for items in a crowded street marketplace (as if a dollar amount can be placed on a red tshirt with "dog" in Chinese characters in gold lettering...undeveloped nation indeed), tried food at that same marketplace (risky but it was a dessert Jeff recommended), hit a few clubs (I think the dj spun the playlist from Carondalet's '98 Sadie Hawkins dance), toured those towers ( taller than the empire state building), and dined at a lush Malaysian restaurant.

I can't say going to Malaysia has ever been of any interest to me. Conversely, now that I've been I am not the biggest fan nor do I plan to speak about this visit often. So for most intents and purpose this trip will never be mentioned. Still it is not a waste because for me a spontaneous and quaint jaunt has a badassedness to it. During lunch on the final day, which was at California Pizza Kitchen of all places (I know that reeks of irony!), I mentioned to everyone how being around un-rich young people that think nothing of traveling to countless destinations is new to me. For most of my life I was part of a high profile team where everything is taken care of. A grown man in many respects, here I am inexperienced and unpolished and I'm ecstatic that I have the chance to grow.

I have but one regret. Three days in Kuala Lumpur and I had not a single bite of Koala.

Weekend

So I am just over jet lag. Still no cell phone. I am tired and ready to relax.

But instead I am flying to Kuala Lampur, the capitol of Malaysia with some folks I met last night. I will sleep when I am dead. Like Zoolander I am headed for the prime minister of Malaysia!!!!

So that week I talked about...

Natalie is all types of beautiful but the thing that gets me is she is just inexhaustibly good. Of her many traits that keep me compelled; her smile, her laugh, the fact she is a performer, she is tough, she can stand up for herself and show aggression if necessary, her thoughts, it is that she represents what a woman should be to me that makes me want to be better than I am...

Are we gonna wear suits?

Deep thoughts

It's only until an hour into my Mumbai flight that I realize what was so peculiar about the chaotic scene at the Delhi airport; there was no chaos to it. There is no anxiety here. All the motion and all the crowds bother no one here and I simply have never seen that. Given this scenario Americans would be bothered, offended, perturbed, confrontational, etc. There is not a hint of any such reactions reactions and it stunned me. No one cares about the countless homeless (I am guessing they are homeless) strewn about, no one is upset others are cutting inline, no drivers are really that bothered that people and motorcycles weave inches in front of them, even the pedestrians seem unbothered by the cars which miss them by inches. New Yorkers would flip if any of this happened. Screaming would ensue, fights would start because someone is offended and many birds would be flipped.

So why are we so different? What underlying trait do we have that causes us to get offended easily, or be likely to be bothered, or more easily angered? I think it is our ego. We feel no one should bother us because we feel important. Perhaps no one here thinks of their importance in the same way. Here is seems like no one cares about personal space, or getting cut off, or anything like that.

Perhaps after years of me not having to worry about if I am going to eat, or where I am going to sleep, my focus moves on to other things. And perhaps these other things are not basic because all the bases are covered and we only have everything else to be concerned about. I believe it is a human trait to be concerned about something so in the face of security we choose symbols of status as our objects of concern. One could argue we make ourselves status symbols. What other country holds physical appearance in such a light? Of the others nations that do, most participants probably are in similar positions.

Think about this we go to the dentist for cavities but also to get teeth whitened. Plastic surgeons make over $1M annually in private practice, among the highest salaries in the medical industry, on par with neurosurgeons and anesthesiologists(I guess our boobs are as important as our brains...to say nothing of our lives). Hair is highlighted. Eyebrows are plucked. I think we eventually became selfish and prissy as a country because life has been relatively good for so long. Since our basic needs are taken care of we proceed to interpret our luxuries as needs.

Now let me make an important point here because this looks to head down some bleeding-heart path. Not me; life is not resolved by self-loathing. I dont feel any guilt about this because its a natural reaction (most people in the world just dont get the chance). I just want to get across how apparent it is that none of that self-importance resonates here and it is amazing. Seeing thousands of people comfortable in an environment where you feel discomfort is a cumulative epiphany. I'm feeling like in India there is no room for your own ego and American anxieties can't exist because worry is reserved for only the direst of circumstances. Here you don't have the right to be bothered by the little things.

Delhi to Mumbai

For anyone who is curious, an evening flight from the US puts you in India the following evening. That is where I am at now, my first time in India. Stepping off the plane and into the airport I am hit with my first taste of the country. Reality quickly tells me that in almost every basic way of life things will be different than what I am used to. The ceilings are a little lower, I'm feeling humidity and it's January, there are rows of houseplants in the airport walls, even the pastels colors seem random, and somehow the 'feel' of being in an airport is not there. I don't sense any urgency.

There was a mishap with my bags so I have to go back and forth to find them and doing so requires that I leave baggage claim and go outside. Walking past security and up a gradual and wide ramp I am surrounded by maybe three hundred people pressed up against the guard rails. Men, women, and families are packed sold-out-U2-concert tight and I feel like Hulk Hogan walking out of the tunnel except my hulkamaniacs are just peering quietly at me. Keep in mind that it is nearly midnight on a Monday so Im not sure why such a crowd has formed. What is everyone doing here? Am I missing something? At the end of the ramp I reach even ground with the gathering and the relative size of these people becomes apparent There is a distinct possibility that in a nation of 1.1 Billion people there is no one else like me. Some of the adults must weigh as much as my leg. Most people look like they weigh a buck-ten and everyone looks at me like I am Shrek.

But the sheer QUANTITY of people is the crazy part. If there truly is wisdom in crowds than the Indian people are geniuses. I feel like I'm on a movie set with a thousand extras hangin out between takes. The cars are small as hell, of unknown models, and honking every two seconds. Between the countless cars are motorcycles and these three wheel thingies that look like motorized rickshaws. In order to make my next flight, which is to Mumbai (used to be Bombay - you think Bombay Company is pissed??), I must walk through this area. It is where you pick people up or drop them off and frankly a lot of each is happening. The commotion of the scene in front of me is similar to what would take placelike a nationwide evacuation was just called. If I ever had a fetish fantasy to feel like Godzilla this would be my heaven. All the signs of chaos are in front of me (except these signs are in 0.8 the scale) but something about this scene is missing from what chaos should feel like and that missing element is making me more antsy.

Life Lesson #2

When I land in Mumbai this trek is sadly far from over because this flight was 3 hours delayed and now I need to find a new flight to my destination in Hyderabad. To keep things interesting neither my cell phone or blackberry can make calls. Text messages to cell #s in the US work, as if that was worth 3 rupees to me now. Walking to multiple desks and attempting to communicate with several security guards (at about 80lbs and 4" I am not sure who or what they are capable of securing...but I digress) I find that I need to take an unnamed bus to another terminal where I am to find the next flight. How to go about any of this seems as simple as learning how to urinate Pepsi. I am so uncomfortable I can taste it. Luckily the Air India guy has written on the back of my boarding pass "IC 617 9:00" in blue bic pen and pointed East. Fantastic. Again, with limited communication available, I am on the opposite side of the world with my sole chance of reaching my final connecting flight resting with a tiny man's shorthand on the back of a boarding pass.
One more oompa loompa guard's approval and a healthy rat running across twenty yards of of open floor in the terminal towards a random exit lead me towards the tarmac (look it up Jason!!) where a bus is sitting. Not the Air India bus, not even a bus driven by a guy with an Air India uniform, there were just a few dudes wearing Ross's 97 winter line standing around a bus. I say fuck it, thank the lord that I have trained half my life to use my body as a weapon because this is uncertainty on a new level, and I grab a seat in the second row. Stragglers and randoms fill in to while I pray for hope. The bus is actually similar to the game buses at Stanford when we would get police escorts into the stadiums on Saturdays. The reassuring feeling I get from that quip is destroyed the moment the driver turns the ignition.

Life Lesson #2: ALL INDIAN DRIVERS SECRETLY COVET DANGER AND WERE TRAINED SINCE BIRTH TO DRIVE LIKE A FORMULA 1 RACE.

The bus accelerates like we are trying to lift off. When a few guys up ahead walked infront of the bus's path they got only a headlight flash by the driver because apparently, a few human lives are not worthy of a honk, let alone the brake pedal. Next up ahead a tractor, yes tractor, pulling some baggage carts wondered in front of us. This was honkworthy but not enough for brakes so we bank right to avoid it. The driver of the tractor seemed accustomed to our 12 ton vehicle in close proximity because hell this is India!. It is important to remember that we are on the tarmac and within a few hundred yards of landing and departing Boeing 767s so I assumed one's driving would be how should I put this; risk averse. Instead we are cruising at about 50mph and with a purpose.

I learn immediately that in this culture abiding by lane lines and overall caution is disrespectful to all civil engineers who designed roads, and 5000 Hindu gods, respectively. We were joined in paying these respects by many others including trucks, pedestrians, and more tractors all of whom felt it appropriate to make blind turns by crossing over dividers into opposing traffic lanes. Driving schools in India consider looking over one's shoulder while making a hard right turn to be a great insult to other drivers, especially large and speeding buses. The theory of signaling while you turn is treated the same way you and I think of people believing the world was flat; so out of place we laugh at the notion.

This experience is not new to the world as it was gracefully depicted in the movie Speed, and while that thought made me comfortable for a nanosecond, I quickly realized my driver looks nothing like Keanu Reeves. He did have flowing black hair though; flowing because the bus doors have been open the entire time. We careen on a hard left through a tight turn only to pitch right partially onto a dirt embankment to avoid three creeping vehicles on the right lane and the whole maneuver is so dangerous I am impressed. Dale Earnhardt Jr would be aroused. This should be on a promotional video touting the handling ability of 90-passenger buses.

There is relief in site, or perhaps a 'pitstop' is the right word. A gate is up ahead and there are way to many people crowded about even for us to make it and I am excited for the reprieve. When we slow to a stop and inch through the crowd I see dozens of security guards about with machine guns. Great. Just when I thought it was going to get boring for twenty whole seconds. India is not done welcoming me. So to recap we have a speeding bus, a third world airport, and heavily armed militia. With this I realize I am not flying to Hyderabad to work but instead trapped inside a Jerry Bruckheimer wet dream.

Its go time

I am writing this already 25 hours into a trip that is far from over. Basically last night I took a 13.5 hr flight to Delhi, India. From there I will connect to Mumbai where I will connect again to Hyderabad. Though I am just over the hump now, too much has already happened to not share...

Life Lesson #1: DON'T GET A RIDE TO NEWARK INTERNATIONAL FROM SOME GIRL YOU ARE KINDA FRIENDS WITH AND HOOKED-UP WITH A FEW TIMES A FEW YEARS AGO AND TAKE A CAB YOU IDIOT!

Yeah, I am all for being good to people and maintaining friendships but the rewards of a free ride (which is expensable) and being nice do not compare to the risk of missing a flightyourcompanyispayingfor which spans two days and five time zones. Now for the readers at home unfamiliar with New York allow me to paint a picture: a ride from mid-town Manhattan to Newark Airport in New Jersey on a Sunday evening should take 50 min max. Flight is at 8:50pm. Its my first international flight from this airport so let's be safe and arrive 2hrs early. I ask her to pick me up at 6pm (read: should give me 2+ hrs at airport).

So this chick shows up late, all smiles, and already my gut tells me to grab a yellowcab but the ingrained-to-be-nice-to-all-people-no-matter-what-quality-drilled
-into-me-by-my-parents prevails and I get in her crusty Rav-4. In all fairness to Christina, who I have not seen for over a year and turned down several of her attempts to meet-up cuz she just didn't seem to score to high on sanity aptitude tests, she did offer to give me a ride as means to catch up. Turning down nice gestures is not my style as being kind is very important. But why do I get myself in situations like this? No answer comes to mind so like most New Yorkers, I blame my mother. Shortly into the trip I notice we are headed to a tunnel that doesn't seem to be one that will bring us closer to my destination. Travis does not like this.

At this point she overlaughs at some tepidly witty comment I make and in that instance four notions flash in my mind:

1)This girl wants another chance
2)The traffic into this tunnel is like a parking lot
3)What the hell am I doing in some girl's car less than 12 hours after Natalie left from her week long visit (more to come on Natalie and this point soon)
...and loudest of all...
4) You are a dumbass for this.

I have to make this flight. So as Christina yapps about her dream of law school had to be postponed for her dream of producing film (which didn't explain why she just took a part time job in a data management role that allows her to work at home and requires her to call 4 software programmers who also work at home, an effort she is quick to identify as "managing". The job was given to her by her friend because he didn't like to see her "not being productive in her life". I am not omnipotent nor-a self made millionaire but when a person reveals they work from home I think they are generally on the slow track to success and tend to live in a world of bullshit. All of the reasons I stopped taking this girl's calls a while ago are becoming crystal clear. Damn her sexy Latina vibe and broad smile! Sub life lesson: people without W-2s are not good choices to get you to important flights) all I can think of is the time. My eyes are locked on the dashboard clock and I don't like that it is now 7:04.

I interrupt "Should we be taking the Holland Tunnel?"
"Don't worry tiger"

Tiger! Tiger!?! Woman, you never came close to qualifying yourself as someone worthy of giving me a pet name and who the hell are you to tell me when to worry!? I graduate from the schools I attended. I start my work day before 1pm. And this Tommy Chong attitude isn't getting us any closer to my plane!

7:22. Even for a domestic flight I would not want to be here. It is go time. The look and comment I gave her worked because one illegal u-turn later and this Dominican bohemian morphed into Mario Andretti.

Then she reminds me why some people shouldn't talk by adding "Don't worry, I know a few people that work at Continental in Newark"

The fact your fat cousin Chulo is a baggage handler at an airport that employs over 3000 people does not calm me!

Soon we are flirting with 93mph on the NJ turnpike and I feel the pangs of karma. Karma that tells me that I will die at the age of 27, on a freeway with someone meaningless to me because I used questionable judgment in picking transportation methods and let some dumb chick think she has a shot at the title.

Somehow I live. Lesson 1? Learned.