Jaipur Jai ho

According to wikipedia, "Jai ho" (the Hindi word popularized by the hit song by A R Rahman) means "Victory to You" or something in relation to victory. Our trip to Jaipur this past weekend was quite victorious. For our final weekend adventure, Kate and I headed to Jaipur for a 48 hour crash course in pink.

From Jaipur India June 2009

It's for good reason that Jaipur is known as the Pink City. The capital of Rajasthan state in India, the city was founded in 1727 by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II who apparently had quite an affinity for the color (which weathers over time to a more orange hue). Absolutely everything in the city is painted this way.

We left early at the pre-dawn hour of 3:30 AM. Kate insisted in traveling by train, and I had a great time acting like I knew what I was doing while we navigated the chaos of the Delhi train station. We were both too exhausted to thoroughly enjoy the passing scenery and the window was more translucent than transparent, but it was still fun.

A few highlights of the trip included:

Girisadan Home Stay - Captain Singh treated us like family. After an excellent recommendation for dinner, he treated us to Mango on Vanilla ice cream while we shared photos of his family's recent wedding.

From Jaipur India June 2009

A trip on Sunday to Amber fort - Riding an Elephant to the top of the fort was one of the experiences that really made me feel like "now I've done everything in India." With my impending return to the US next week, I feel quite accomplished in the places I've been, people I've met and memories I'll take home.

From Jaipur India June 2009

We stopped by Jantar Mantar - where I had a fantastic time thinking how clever I was while I matched Led Zeppelin lyrics in my head to the photos I took.

From Jaipur India June 2009

Albert Hall - A beautiful museum where I quickly found that I was a chief attraction. While taking photos of the exhibits, locals rushed to invade my personal bubble for a quick photo on their cell phone.

Leh

Pangong Lake Bound

The culmination of our trip began with a 6:45 AM departure from our hotel. We had risen early for the occasion, aided by some hot chai via room service, and left the hotel promptly to retrace our path East for about 40 KM before bearing North East through Chang La pass.

Within minutes, as we gained elevation, my body tensed. A few hundred feet above the fertile valley to the North West, I held on tightly and watched signs roll by indicating our elevation increase from 13,000 to 13,500 then 14,000 and beyond. The signs, which had seemed cute back in town, now carried a hint of realism that made me sweat.

"Better to be Mr. Late than Late Mr. - 13,594 feet" it read, and I agreed.

If it hadn't been for the astonishing beauty of the scene below, I might have been deterred, but looking up into the hills at what was to come, I could barely hide my excitement.

From Leh, India

At about 8:30 we arrived at base camp - 15,000 feet. Stopping to use the rest room, and get some Chai, Kate and I anticipated a quick break before continuing East on our journey to Pangong. An hour later, sitting along in the Jeep with snow falling outside, we began to wonder. Finally a large dump truck full of people arrived. I watched in awe as these people, exposed to the elements, were waved through the station and onwards up the meandering dirt road.

From Leh, India

Within 30 minutes, someone shouted something loudly in Hindi and all the drivers scrambled to their waiting vehicles and we were on our way again...

Monestaries in Leh

We visited two Monestaries on Friday. The first, called Thiksay Monestary, was massive.



The Monestary itself included a doctor's office, museum, restaurant, elementary school, dining hall and massive areas for prayer - not to mention accomodations built into he hillside which seemed to be able to accommodate hundreds.

On the roof, there were two small rooms. The first of which, a library contained many shelves of wrapped papers.


After a few minutes in the library, the beat of a drum and crash of symbols attracted me to the far Eastern most room. Inside, I ventured into a location clearly marked for Men only, to find a single Monk fully engulfed in an impassioned chant.

Taking a seat on the hardwood floor next to the window, I sat cross legged for a period of about 20 minutes in silence listening to the Monk sing his daily prayers.
Finally, as I re-emerged out onto the rooftop

I again paused to breathe in the moment before descending the ladder and meeting back up with Kate for our trip to Hemis Monestary.

Similar to Thiksay, Hemis was tucked high on a hilltop overlooking a crevasse created by thousands of years of snowmelt tricking through to the valley below. This time on the South side of the valley, looking East, Hemis was further away from town. To get there we traveled over a small bridge draped in prayer flags, up a meandering dirt road and into the lush green area made possible only due to the constant stream of water trickling from the snowcapped mountain tops above.

Hemis was again an incredibly picturesque setting where after exploring the innards of the structure and ascending to the rooftop for a panoramic photo, we retired to a picnic table where we laborously caught our breath (from climbing so many steps) before enjoying a cold Thumbs Up cola with our packed lunch from the Hotel Lasermo.

From Leh, India

From Leh, India

Shey Palace

On Friday, Kate and I woke up around 8 for our day of sightseeing through the monestaries to the East of the town of Leh. Though my neck was slightly stiff from the hard pillow and lumpy bed, my excitement for the day's adventure made it easy to rise.

Our first stop was Shey palace. Again situated high on a hilltop above a valley and looking East, this was another truly breathtaking location.

From Leh, India

In the same way that we'd learned on our first day, we explored the palace taking time to spin the prayer wheels and enjoy the view.

From Leh, India

After circumnavigating the roof, a Monk emerged from a small wooden door to show us into the prayer room centered on a massive 30-foot Buddha. I took a few pictures of the Buddha, and him before we headed on our way.

From Leh, India

Sightseeing In Leh

The first stops on our tour of Leh were relatively close by. In the center of town, Kate and I had quickly ascended a hilltop trail to find ourselves looking out over the rest of the valley. Hundreds of strands of Tibetan Buddhist prayer flags were draped from the corner of the building, across the valley to the other side of town spanning a distance of a few hundred feet. As the afternoon breeze whipped north up the valley, the flags stood at attention, perpendicular to the ground below.

Upon returning to town, our driver took us to Leh palace, which standing prominently above the city was a monument to at least a few hundred years of history in our present locale.

We entered the palace, which was deserted. I was shocked by the lack of security, tour guides and general freedom with which we were given to explore. As we walked further into the depths of the massive building, the 6-foot ceilings and lack of daylight gave off the impression of descending into an archeological dig straight out of the Discovery Channel.

We climbed staircases, explored dead ends, and studied the town below from tiny open-air windows. Finally arriving on the roof of the building, I took photos which I fully expected would never do the moment justice.

As we left, we passed a Monk (the first human encounter we'd seen in over an hour) who pointed us towards the door and donation station. On our way back to the car, we purchased tickets from the now-manned ticket booth for about $2 a piece.

We then proceeded to another location, higher and further West where we could watch the sun set called Shantistupa.

Kate and I again spent the better half of an hour pacing the large platform in front of the massive white monument, chatting and making funny poses (I did handstands until I attracted the attention of the local authorities who didn't appreciate my lack of reverence for the sanctity of the monument).

As the sun set, and we got chilly, we headed into the hilltop restaurant for tea and french fries before meeting our driver, heading back to the hotel and enjoying a quiet dinner.

Arriving Leh

When you arrive in Leh, you descend rapidly along the north side of the city passing within only a few hundred feet of rocky desert peaks below. I could literally feel the updrafts lifting the plane as we passed each peak in succession.

After banking hard to the south and aligning East, we descended rapidly and touched down. The plane threw powered down its engines lifted its flaps and applied brakes with force. As we taxied down the remainder of the short alpine runway and turned abruptly to the North before coming to a stop in a fenced in area surrounded by barbed wire and military barracks, the familiar Kingfisher red stairway rolled towards the forward door of the plane. As I stepped out, I joked to Kate than I was jumping out of a plane at 11,000 feet. As we descended the stairs, the hairs on my arms stood on end for the first time in months.

It was brisk, the air was thin and the backdrop was breathtaking. The peaks we'd flown over during our descent now towered over us in a 360 degree panorama the likes of which I'd never experienced. With Tibetan prayer flags flapping in the wind, we made our way towards the bus which carried us to the terminal.

We registered with the local immigration officers and signed a sheet of paper indicating that we didn't have any of the H1N1 flu symptoms before proceeding out the terminal to our waiting cab.

A short 5 KM from the airport we'd arrived at the Hotel Lasermo www.lasermo.in. As we walked in, traditional sashes were placed around my neck, the luggage was taken by the bell hop and I was escorted directly to the dining hall for tea and an omelet. Kate and I sat, "took rest" and acclimated to the altitude for the better half of the morning before returning for lunch and heading out for a walk into town.

Thursday afternoon I purchased a new wool hat, wandered the town and took pictures documenting the tiny city situated in an absolutely breathtaking backdrop.

We were in Mumbai, or Bombay

My Dual Life

After college, many of my friends traveled Europe in homage to the longstanding tradition of a post-graduate European tour. I've heard stories of hostels, meeting backpackers and seeing the countryside by train but I'd never left the US on my own for anything like that. I've never been much of a travel buff. In fact, I didn't even think I liked traveling. Living in Gurgaon for my corporate assignment has afforded me the chance to reevaluate this longstanding belief I've had about myself.

During the day I encounter an increasing amount of corporate structure. In the midst of a global management re-org, we share action items and best-practices, attend all-hands presentations and talk "the talk."

I'm living a dual life. After I leave the office, I return home to a place where global cultures collide. In our 10-bedroom apartment we share a communal dinner starting around 8 or 8:30 PM with at least the two "permanent" residents of our guest house (here when I arrived, likely to remain living here for the rest of my stay) and my expat assignment companion, Becky.

We're served homemade Indian food, we share a cold Kingfisher Strong or bottle of white wine from Megan's stash and gossip about the world's events.

When the guest house population swells, with visitors from Dublin, Sydney, Boston or Singapore, it creates a cocktail of personalities that never ceases to delight. Back home, I'd never have the chance to sit down with a group this diverse, share a multi-course meal and unwind. Here not only do I get this opportunity on a nightly basis, but we also share a common bond as a result of our being in India that I've never felt before.

I am starting to see what I've been missing by not taking the time to set out on my own European/global tour to travel, meet people and step outside my normal world.

Photos from Goa

Something about a beach-town

Angela, Reid and I stepped off our Kingfisher Red flight in Goa just after sunset. Warm and tropical, the humidity made my jeans stick to my legs as I walked. A small regional airport, Goa’s terminal reminded me of Santa Barbara municipal with its tiny terminals, quick baggage claim and palm trees lining our walk to the taxi stand.

An hour later, we were arriving at Paradise Village resort in Goa. We pulled into the gates, checked in, and rigged the A/C to stay on even after we left. (One detail about India is that the A/C only comes on when the keychain in hung on the inside wall. Personally, I can’t sleep very well when I’m sweating so I’ve learned that by disconnecting my roomkey from the keychain, I can leave the Keychain attached to the wall sensor while I’m out to dinner so that I can return to a cool room when I retire for bed.

We set out to Baga beach, where we ate at Brittos. The shack on the beach felt right out of a Jimmy Buffet song. We ordered some Calamari, Garlic Butter Grilled Fish & Chips and a pitcher of Kingfisher. Angela got something girly with melon and a slice of pineapple on the rim and I promised myself a Pina Colada for later. While waiting for our meal, I thought to myself that the Seafood at a beach-side shack like this would be good. When it came, it completely exceeded my expectations! In hind sight, this really became the staple meal of our trip, and we ordered the same thing 3 or 4 more times at various beach-side bamboo shacks up and down the coast.
After dinner, we ventured out onto the beach where I witnessed a new Indian juxtaposition. People (and a few dogs) were laying everywhere. I imagined that some of them (and certainly the dogs) might be homeless. I inferred that some were there to stargaze, while other young couples might be laying side by side with a burning desire to hold each other had it been socially acceptable to do so. I reflected briefly on the varying accounts of “love marriages” I’ve heard of and varying degrees to which it’s considered acceptable here in India.

We kept walking down the beach and closer to the next shack, a number of people sat in lounge chairs smoking hookah while American Hip-Hop blared at an empty dance floor and spinning disco ball. We stopped for a Haywards 5000 (a brand of beer I’d yet to encounter, and found to be a bit foul) before heading towards the local party spot where we could go to Mambo’s or Tito’s.

We befriended a bartender named Bubai at a bar where it was encouraged to leave your mark on one wall. Given it was the night before the BRUTE LABS Wine to Water event I took the sharpie pen from Bubai to write our URL on the wall and I took a picture to document the occasion.
The three of us then walked down to Mambo’s where Angela and I (a “couple” as defined by our white skin) got in for free, and Reid paid a $16 cover charge (single man tax)which we all later split.

The bar was empty until about midnight, but by 1:30 we were exhausted and decided to call it a night.

On Saturday morning, Reid and I walked down to the restaurant inside Paradise Village and had omelets. We then walked to the beach to take our first look at the ocean before heading back to shower and get ready for the day. Angela had gone out early to explore and discovered a shop down the road willing to rent us motorcycles. The price was $5 a day for a motorcycle or $4 a day for a Vespa-like scooter. We decided that since Angela was going to be my ‘biker babe’ and ride on back, I’d get the more powerful (150cc) motorcycle for $5 a day. We paid in cash for two days, told the shop-owner our room number at the hotel down the road, and she asked us for collateral of some kind. I reached for my wallet and she happily accepted the expired Student ID I presented to her.

As we got ready to depart, she scoffed at our request for three helmets (with working straps) before finally obliging. I figured that even going slowly through relatively deserted beach-town roads, a helmet was a must-have.

We had wheels! I felt like a sixteen year-old with my newfound freedom. After almost two months of being totally dependent on others to get around, riding the bike was incredibly liberating and the picturesque beach-town backdrop made it all the more satisfying.

A warm breeze blowing past us, Angela and I followed Reid’s lead towards old Goa to do some sight-seeing. We stopped to see a beautiful catholic church where the relic of Saint Xavier is held. Constructed in 1631, the church was a magnificent display of traditional Goan heritage. As evidenced by the annual parade that takes place around the church, it was a monument that locals took pride in.

We then followed Reid to the top of a hill above central Goa where we could see for miles. For half an hour or so the three of us took turns posing and taking photos with the lush fields of palm trees spanning into the distance in every direction, pierced only by a couple of church steeples in the middle of old Goa.

Sweaty and damp from the humid air, we returned to our bikes and rode back to Paradise Village. I thought to myself how lucky I was to have ended up here on the other side of the world in this little seaside oasis.

Back at Paradise Village, we decided to hit the beach for the sunset. We walked north for a half mile or so until we reached the first bamboo shack serving beers and Calamari. It was about 5 PM and we had two hours set aside to bask in the sun, sip a cool beer and enjoy the fresh fruits of the fisherman’s harvest. Then we met Veer.
Or I should say, Veer found us. “Hello Friend, Hello Friend. Hello FRIEND!” he called to us from three yards away. Two empty 1 liter Kingfishers sat beside him and the bartender brought over a third. Veer harassed another white woman, who was traveling alone and sitting a bit closer to him than we were for the better part of an hour before getting up to head home. Stumbling directly towards us I set my book down and looked up. “HERRO FRIEND” he slurred.
Veer insisted that he was “a good” and didn’t want anything from us except for our friendship. Given that he was too intoxicated to run, I figured we were safe in public, in broad daylight and with sobriety on our side so I indulged him in conversation. I felt Angela kick me and when I looked back, her digital camera was perched on her knee pointing directly at Veer and myself. I smiled knowingly and she burst out into laughter as she recorded the next 15 minutes or so of Veer’s slurring banter. We discussed traveling in India, and he bragged of the 11-12 beers he’d consumed since 10 AM. He asked about the United States and insulted Reid (inadvertently) by claiming that Reid didn’t look American, he “looks like an Asia”. A few more Indian locals ventured closer to Angela and I to pose by us while they took photos. We decided that we’d get their picture too and had fun posing for eachother and celebrating the mixing of our cultures.
As the guys left, Veer scolded us for being so willing to let them ‘take our snaps’. I apologized and because the Sun was low, I removed my sunglasses. This really got Veer’s attention.
My “cat’s eyes” as Veer called them (referring my eyes’ greenish hue), indicated to him that I could not be trusted. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I put my sunglasses back on, but Veer demanded, “remove your goggles!”. Reluctantly, I removed my sunglasses again wondering where this was going, and contented, Veer stared deeply into my eyes from 4 feet away.
We continued on like this until the sun had just dropped below the horizon on the west coast of India. We paid for our drinks and snack, and Veer got up and unceremoniously stumbled off. Angela, Reid and I returned to Paradise Village tired from the heat of the afternoon but tickled by the people we’d encountered and the harmless attention they’d paid us for so long. We definitely stuck out here and the day’s events had made this all the more apparent.

After a quick nap, I awoke to my cell phone ringing. It was Angela, whose voice had an air of concern. She had accidentally stepped on a large cockroach in her room and disgusted by the inch long carcass on her marble floor, my death-verification and body-disposal services were in need. A bit grossed out myself, I swallowed hard, grabbed a tissue and as they say in India, “performed the needful.”

That night, the three of us enjoyed another beach-side seafood dinner. Reid retired early and Angela and I headed to Tito’s. At Tito’s it was Bollywood, House and Hiphop night. At first we held out for some Hiphop but quickly the energy of the crowd had overcome us. I’ve never seen such an enthusiastic group of young people at a dance club. At the beginning of every song, the entire crowd came alive with a roar, hands in the air as they moved synchronously to the beat. Everyone was a fantastic dancer, but there was something strange about the entire scene. All the guys were dancing with eachother while the girls behaved the same on the other side of the dance floor. In fact, besides Angela and myself, there was only one other couple dancing together in the entire place! Now I’d grown accustomed to male displays of affection and friendship in public including holding hands and embracing but this still put me off. These guys were literally grinding on eachother! It was fine until Angela took a break for the rest room. As another guy moved towards me on the dance floor asking where I was from and invading my personal bubble by just the tiniest bit, I decided to wait for Angela in the lobby.
To be clear, the guys were not gay and in fact, homosexuality is considered taboo in India. As I forced myself to face this fact, I thought to myself how enthusiastically my Sociology professor in college would have commented on such behaviors when visiting other cultures.
Towards the end of the night I found myself standing in the lobby next to Kapil and his wife who were the other couple who had so patiently taught Angela and I a few Bollywood moves on the dance floor. He introduced himself and we chatted a few minutes before catching a cab back home.
On Sunday we set out for the beach. We traveled north towards Anjula beach where we walked through a small market. Noticing that the beach was a bit rockier than expected, I broke out my Google Phone and used the GPS feature to identify the location of the sandy beach about a half mile south of us. We got back on our bikes and meandered through the deserted dirt roads.
When the road became a trail, and as we began to pass sleeping cattle on both sides, we thought we might have taken a wrong turn. Stopping briefly to ask directions towards the beach, we headed down the right path which dead ended into another beach shack. “We found lunch!” Angela exclaimed as I parked the bike under the shade of a palm tree.
The three of us enjoyed a lazy lunch on our own private beach before heading slightly to the north where we swam in the bath-like water, read our books and soaked up some sun until it was time to head back to the airport.
All in all, Goa was my type of vacation and I’d definitely return. There is something about a beach-town I simply can’t refute. It reminded me of Santa Barbara; it’s a combination of the salty air, the warm breeze and the universal preference for flip-flops that makes it feel like home.

Yoga River Side

We awoke early, about 6:30 and headed down several flights of stairs.

The hotel we were staying in was built into the hillside overlooking the Ganges. It was sleepy out, but I thought that Yoga overlooking the holiest river in India was too cool to pass up.

Becky, Angela and I entered the tranquil studio. Incense burned and the Yoga instructor looked up at us before making a hand motion towards the main room. The windows were open and a light breeze flowed through the Yoga studio. The quiet rush of the Ganges was just audible in the background. For the better part of two hours, we stretched our bodies, practiced breathing exercises and enjoyed the serenity of the moment.

Time passed quickly. Leaving the studio, I felt invigorated on my way to breakfast. I was ready to tackle the day and anything India would throw my way.

Rafting the Ganges

We woke up early on Saturday morning well rested. After breakfast and chai, our caravan was waiting so we headed north up the river.

The Ganges (or Ganga) river is a holy location in India. Set in the Himilayan foothills, the scene is absolutely gorgeous. The itinerary for the day was to drive up about 30 KM upstream and take a river raft back down. The Ganges was a class 3+ rapid, but without much of a frame of reference, I didn't really know what we were in for.

The road to get to our boat was very windy and high along the cliff. We were excited that we'd get a chance to ride back down in a boat, rather than by car, to say the least.

Our safety briefing in preparation for launch included instructions on what to do when and if the raft flipped over. We made the mistake of asking how often that happens, and our guide Eddie replied nonchalantly "60/40, we usually flip".

We asked about his credentials, and when we learned he'd been rafting this stretch of river twice a week for 13 years without incident, I felt reassured. Eddie from DE N A (http://www.kayakhimalaya.com) was an incredibly friendly guy, with excellent English who'd been highly recommended by previous expats.

We pushed off into the brisk water (about 65 degrees Fahrenheit) wearing nothing but our life jackets, helmets, swim trunks (and flippy-floppies).

About 20 minutes downstream we stopped to pause just above the first major rapids, "The Wall".

Every bit as intimidating as it sounded, the Wall was a massive torrent of foaming white water. Huge boulders kicked 8 foot walls of water every which way. We stopped to plan our decent and spent about 15 minutes spotting the ideal line through the chute before climbing back into the raft. Kate and I were riding in the front of the raft, paddles in hand. "Forward all" Eddie said softly, as set the pace calmly towards the rapids ahead. "Relax" Eddie said, as we drifted towards the mouth of the rapids. "FORWARD ALL" he said, a bit louder this time, and Kate and I began to paddle hard straight into the middle of the rapids.

We headed straight down the center of the rapids and over the first "bump" as Eddie called it. It was massive! 8 feet tall, it sent our raft almost vertical before we came down the other side. We paddled again hard up the next wall of water, doing everything we could to keep the raft straight. Every time we approached another wall of water, they seemed larger than the last. Finally we all ducked and covered (as we'd practiced) for the final and largest "flipper" as Eddie termed it, but we didn't flip. The river shot us out into the calm pool below and we all cheered in accomplishment!

High fives were exchanged just in time to turn around and see another rafting group get dumped out upside-down into the Ganges just above us. We scrambled to pick up the floating bodies as they laughed hysterically. After everyone was collected and back in their respective rafts, Eddie calmly said "Forward All..."

Rishikesh Bound

This weekend, like most weekends, we set off for an adventure. We wanted to go with Amit, our normal driver, but he is off to his Shadi (wedding). Amit is soft spoken, and his English is admittedly poor. He's a pretty young guy but incredibly kind and patient with us foreigners. Amit taught me how quickly we latch onto familiarity, especially in a place like India where so much is foreign. Though communication was a challenge with Amit from the get-go, Becky and I both had immediately latched onto him as a source of great comfort.

With Amit gone, and with Rishikesh in my sights, I needed wheels. In India I'm like a 15 year old. I'm constantly making vapor plans and I'm totally dependent on an enabling third party to indulge my whims.

Kate and Angela have been staying with us this week. They're on the same assignment as Becky and I though they have been stationed out of Hyderabad for most of their trip to date. Their driver, Mahinder has a bit of a bad reputation. On their trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal the previous weekend, Mahinder's car had broken down en route. Though the fan belt's demise was out of Mahinder's control, I got the sense that he could have done a better job warding off the attention that Kate and Angela attracted once the vehicle was completely disabled.

We asked around, but under the circumstances, it was Mahinder or staying home.

Mahinder picked us up around 3 PM from work on Friday so that we could beat the Delhi traffic.

The drive was mostly without incident for the first few hours and because I had brought my iPod adapter, we were able to listen to some tunes.

We arrived at a railway crossing about half-way to Rishikesh and traffic was at a stand still. The gates dropped, and we were next in line. After two trains passed, the gates opened and a chorus of horns erupted. An oncoming bus lurched onto the train tracks blocking about half of the road. Meanwhile, a small Geo-metro like vehicle had attempted to cut in line around us and was sitting directly in the Bus's path. The scene that transpired was almost impossible to believe. The little car sat for five full minutes face to face with the bus, blocking traffic all around us. People got out of their cars, yelled, all to the tune of meep meep meep from every direction.

Finally the smaller car backed down, and allowed the bus to pass, leaving a momentary vacancy on the railroad tracks that everyone was quite excited to fill. Mahinder was no exception. As we pulled out onto the train tracks, and abruptly stopped with nowhere to go, the four of us started to get apprehensive. We sat here another few minutes before I noticed headlights from down the train tracks coming our way. After a brief expletive, we hopped out of the car leaving Mahinder alone in the vehicle. As we retreated towards safety, and the chorus of horns grew louder, people started to realize that it was time to move. Those blocking traffic drove into a ditch and got out of the way. Those next in line, were able to follow suit. Finally traffic had cleared, we hopped back into our Innova van and were back on the road.

With a sigh of relief and a bit of nervous laughter, we cranked up the tunes and thought fondly of the drink we'd share when we arrived in Rishikesh later that night.

My Hood

This is where I live & work! Zoom in and you can see a real Indian traffic jam just outside of Essel Towers where I do my AM U-turn on the way to work.

View Gurgaon in a larger map

Kerala Weekend

Kate, Angela and I arrived in Kerala via Air IndiGo. The flight was a relatively quick 2 hours from Hyderabad for the ladies and I'd been able to stay on the same plane from Delhi.

We spent the first night in Cochin before heading south a few hours to tour the Keralan backwaters.

To show some of the places we went, I created this interactive map. Double click to zoom in, or click the blue markers to expand them and see links to photos:


View Kerala in a larger map

On Sunday we did some sight seeing around Alleppey, headed north to Fort Cochin and finally headed to the airport after a wonderful vacation.

Taj Mahal

Talking Politics, Mr. Tambourine Man

Today I had the amazing fortune to tag along with Becky on another journey across India to meet more members of her new extended family: this time in our own back yard, Gurgaon. We left with our cab driver Amit and drove about 10 minutes to Sector 31 where we met Paranjoy Guha Thakurta. Though Becky has explained the relation to me twice now, I'm still a bit confused about the specifics as to how she will become related to him. That aside, we had a delightful time talking to Paranjoy. He's an accomplished professor, author and journalist. In excellent English he went to some trouble to describe to us the political system in India (the largest democracy in the world with 1.1 billion people), the changing face of India (increasing literacy, decreasing poverty and increasing newspaper readership as a result) and his opinions on a number of recent political events such as the recent "shoe incident" during the elections http://www.panthic.org/news/129/ARTICLE/4919/2009-04-17.html.

When speaking with him, I was struck by not only his scholarly brilliance (as he quoted politicians, cited various statistics and referenced major historical events) but also by his compassion for those around him. As we sat in the living room, he alternated bouncing his 5 year old son on his lap, dancing with his 7 year old daughter to the tune of the cassette playing in surround sound and educating Becky and I on the world we had now found ourselves in.

Though I could have sat there all day, eventually more family members arrived and we broke for lunch. We had sushi at a delicious Japanese place just across town. After some prawns, veggies, pork dumplings and rice we headed back to Paranjoy's place where Anshuman (who we'd stayed with in Hong Kong) played some Dylan tunes on his acoustic guitar while Paranjoy played the harmonica and Becky and I sang.

Before long, Paranjoy rushed off to Delhi to tie things up at the office, Anshuman to meet with his new girl "friend", and I was left to think about how lucky I was to have had such a wonderful Saturday afternoon in a small, cool living room, away from the heat, chorus of honking and general chaos outside on the streets of Gurgaon.

Wedding Crashers

The wedding was beautiful! The Indian people love color and aren’t afraid to show it. Saris of the most beautiful fabrics, made with gold leaf, red, pink or turquoise dye shimmered as the sun set. The wedding ceremony (which was just about to commence after 4 days of build up, prayer, parties and the like) began with the groom’s party arriving through the gates. There was music, dancing and much joy and everyone was still in the parking lot! As the groom (and his entourage) approached the hotel entrance, the bridal party blocked the entrance, teasing him and demanding gifts in Hindi. I was told that this tradition began when the sisters of the bride used to keep the groom out of the house before he came to take her away (to his family). The sisters could teased and bribed to comply with the groom’s heartfelt desire to meet his bride. An hour had passed and we were just now entering the building! The whole wedding followed the groom upstairs where another hour went by before the bride was brought in. In stark contrast to the groom’s gallant entrance, and as opposed to western weddings, the bride entered with her family and friends quietly and through the side door of the room. For her this day was to be a solemn one, as she was to lose her parents. Regardless of how she actually was feeling at the time, this tradition comes from the fact that historically most Indian marriages are arranged and little, if any, contact existed between the bride and groom before the wedding. As such, the bride would normally have mixed feelings about leaving her family to join a stranger known only to her parents.

This wedding too was an arranged marriage. Earlier in the day we’d been told that the mother of the bride was open to allowing her children to find their own match, but as marriage age had come for her, she had reached out and asked for help. The mother had networked within the community, and found a suitable Indian groom who also lived in New York and was of age. The bride’s and groom’s parents met and arrangements were made. Departing a bit from tradition, the young couple had met and had a chance to get to know each other before their wedding day since they are both living in New York. They looked excited, a bit nervous but quite committed to each other and whatever their future together would hold back in New York. We watched the entire ceremony, the exchange of garlands and the 7 revolutions around the fire. Most of the wedding was conducted in Sanskrit which had to be translated to Hindi for the crowd, bride and groom. When it was all said and done, we went back downstairs for the final reception, dinner, drinks and dancing.

Mom & Dad – when you read this, please don’t offer any traditional Indian “help”.

Vineeta's Place

Vineeta was the first one of Becky’s inlaws (to be) I had a chance to meet. After lunch we invited ourselves over early to wait for the rest of the family. A Chandigarh local, she’s been living there for several decades now. Saying that we were greeted warmly does not do it justice. The apartment was cool and comfortable and as we stepped in, I was introduced to Bua, the eldest living member of the family. Both of the tiny elderly women threw their arms around us and exclaimed how much they loved Becky, the newest daughter in the family, and loved me for having accompanied her safely on such a long journey. They doted on us offering snacks, water and a Coca Cola Light before sitting with us in the living room to hear of our day’s adventures, families back home and the travels we’d made.
As the rest of the family arrived, I had a chance to meet Auntie and Uncle Shankar (Auntie and Uncle being terms of endearment and respect in Indian families). Anshuman (who we’d stayed with in Hong Kong) was also here for the wedding and so the 7 of us shared a late afternoon meal as we joked in the living room. Auntie, Vineeta and Bua then let us know that they’d like to do a little ceremony to celebrate the engagement. If I didn’t feel like part of the family before this moment, I sure did then. Gifts were given and they prayed to bless Becky’s marriage while I snapped pictures. It was an incredibly warm, heartfelt ceremony and I felt lucky to be there!

Sight Seeing in Chandigarh

I woke up on Saturday morning and, remembering my weariness the night before on account of Becky’s bug experience, checked my limbs and face for bites. Finding them clean I sat up relieved and went for my first “Indian shower” as Megan had termed it late our first night in town. What she meant was that instead of a shower head like we’d be used to in North America, there was a bucket, a faucet on the wall and a drain in the corner. The water heater was off even though we’d asked to verify that it was on the night before. I’ve learned that sometimes “yes” is sometimes a polite way to say yes, no or ‘I have no idea’ in the event that something was lost in translation between English and Hindi.
I met Becky for breakfast where I was able to point to an egg in the fridge and have it hard-boiled for me to accompany my morning tea. Intent on finding some new accommodations, Becky and I packed up and put our things into the Tata Indica which we’d hired for the day (an Indica is similar to a ‘smart car’ in size but manufactured by Tata which is a massive corporation in India who makes just about everything). We went first to Sukhna Lake.
Chandigarh is famous for being the planned city of India. The urban scene reminds me ever so slightly of suburban California with its clean tree-lined streets, sunny skies and the feel of organization in the air. When Chandigarh was built, they demolished the entire are and started tabula rasa. In the process I understand a lot of waste was created and so was born the Rock Garden which was the next stop on our tour. A man named Nek Chand Saini who was fed up with the town’s wasteful behaviour decided to take it upon himself to make something of the waste that the government was creating. The resulting labyrinth through commandeered government land was ahead of its time. Now renowned as the second most popular tourist attraction in India, second only to the Taj Mahal, it stands as monument to recycling, art and represents another one of India’s great juxtapositions.
I told Becky that if I had one word to describe my experience so far in India, it would be juxtaposition. There are many things here that I’ve encountered in my life in the US but never within the context I’ve found them here. I’ve been shocked and tickled at times by the things that will show up in totally fresh places here in India.
Back home I’ve seen cows, but never on the freeway. I’ve seen children but never on the train tracks. I’ve seen families of four but never all riding the same Honda motorcycle. The Rock Garden of Chandigarh is a place where many everyday items have been meticulously arranged in ways that look out of place to the western eye. As such, I thought it quite appropriate that this would be such a celebrated national monument.
We procured tickets to the Rock Garden from a little hole in the wall for about 100 rupees each. We entered through a chest-high stone gate into the maze of pebbles, ceramics, glass, electrical components and volcanic pumice which together formed a 2-8 foot wide cavern. As we walked forward along the path, it was like tracing a dried up river bed which had slowly carved its way into the ground. The resulting canyon walls on either side of us varied in height from a few feet to well over 60 feet tall. Like a natural canyon, the decorated walls created a cross sectional view into Chandigarh’s history, preserving the materials that had made up the landscape of yesteryear for generations to come. I enjoyed making my way through the chasm, snapping pictures as I went, as we passed fountains, waterfalls and eventually thousands of miniature statues.
A sign pointed towards ‘phase 3’ which indicated to me that I’d just passed phases one and two though it wasn’t clear to me what the distinction was. Making our way to phase 3 involved ducking under several more chest high bridges and meandering around another magnificent waterfall before finally entering a wide open courtyard with 40 foot walls, a bounce house, an aquarium, a vendor selling cotton candy and soda, a swing set and a man giving some children rides on a camel. Another amazing juxtaposition! Far from what I’d expected to find around the bend, Becky and I enjoyed photographing the children running circles around us for the better part of an hour before retracing our steps toward the exit to greet our waiting taxi.

“Welcome to Chandighar”

In Chandigar, we stepped off the train into the deafening roar of barn swallows. The thousands of tiny birds who had taken up residence in the rafters above the train platform did not appreciate being so rudely disturbed by our train’s arrival and they had no qualms about expressing their discontent. As we walked down the platform, unable to hear one another, Becky and I scanned the crowd for signs or instructions. We started walking down the station and I noticed two well dressed, official looking men standing about 5’3” with their backs to us and signs displayed towards other disembarking passengers. Remembering our experience at Delhi international, I thought better than to ignore them and made my way around for a better look. Sure enough, our names verbatim from our passports, were displayed prominently on an 8.5X11 sheet of paper taped to a slightly larger piece of white cardboard. “Hello” I said, pointing to the sign. “Mr Bowman?” one of the Indian men asked. I smiled and said, “no, Mr. Powel. Nice to meet you.” “Welcome to Chandighar” he said.
They took our rollaway bags, turned and began walking south at a quick pace. Becky and I walked briskly to keep up, meandering our way through the crowded train platform. We hopped in our car and were whisked off to the guest house. Another “typical” driving experience in India, our driver laid on the horn more often than he let off it. When we arrived we were greeted by a staff of 3 who hurried to cook us dinner of Chicken, vegetables and rice which is becoming somewhat of a staple in my diet. At dinner, we were joined by a young thirtysomething named Sandeep who was also staying at the same guest house. Our bedrooms were part of a government audit building and Sandeep was staying there for a three month training. Again, since we were in town for a family event, Becky’s new in-laws took care of arranging the accommodations. The rooms were far from 5 star and Becky discovered a large bug on her pillow shortly before bed but at a rate of 100 rupees a night (about 2 dollars US) I figured you get what you pay for.

Northward on the Jan Shatabdi

As I’m writing, Becky and I are traveling north on the Jan Shatabdi train through the Indian countryside. Overall the train ride has been pleasant. We’re riding with assigned seats in an air-conditioned car which makes a big difference when the ambient temperature is 90+. The 2nd class commuter trains we saw when getting ready to leave from the Delhi train station were packed and I was concerned that our first attempt at booking our own train ticket might have yielded us more of an “adventure” than I’d signed up for. The commuter car was standing room only and the barred windows made the passengers inside look like prisoners as they hung their limbs outside grasping for fresh air. Even more concerning was the process by which excess passengers were literally pushed onto the train as it began to inch northward out of the station. When we made our way over to platform 11 and saw our accommodations I was much relieved. Now I’d say that our train is hardly luxurious by US standards, and on account of the roaches, I’d put it just below a greyhound bus in terms of luxury, but compared to what I’ve seen, I’m quite content with our current mode of transport.
As we pass through town, city, fields and then the next towns I’m struck by the cultural transformation that appears to be going on here. Juxtaposed I see industrial buildings with solar panels on the roof adjacent to rural fields of wheat where day laborers work tirelessly in the hot sun to harvest bundles of grain. Wheat is a huge part of the Indian economy and I was told that India produces much of the world's wheat supply globally.
At each train station we make a brief pause long enough to see the little heads of children bobbing past as they play or collect empty bottles on the tracks below the station platform. When the train picks up speed we pass through shanties with tarps draped over poles for rooftops and sari-clad Indian women walking barefoot along dirt paths. The train buzzes further and we pass a pool of filthy standing water where emaciated holy cows graze through multicolored human waste in search of nutrients. I find myself wondering why someone doesn’t take care to feed the cows, given their holy status in India, but I suppose mere mortals aren’t intended to intervene in such matters.
In many of the more rural fields there are two other types of man-made structures. What I think are clay or manure conical structures about 10 feet in diameter and 8 feet tall might serve as either storage, stoves or maybe even small residences. I’ll have to ask someone. The second structure is brick, and cube-like about 10 feet on all sides. The windows and electricity lines which characterize a percentage of these structures lead me to believe that these are likely to be residences.
Our fellow passengers in the first class car are quite friendly. Several coordinated in their best English to juggle assigned seats so that Becky and I can now sit together. They helped us to procure a cold Pepsi from the vendor passing through the cabin and watched to ensure we got proper change. The woman behind us truly represents the future of India. A middle aged woman, well dressed and poised, for the past 5 years has worked to help impoverished children get educated and to provide scholarships for as much as 10% of new enrolling classes in private school. She has also worked with an organization to improve the working conditions of many of India’s factories by encouraging companies to think long term about their employee’s health and improve air quality by installing systems to remove pollutants from the air inside the buildings. We enjoyed speaking together for some time but I figured I’d relax for the remainder of the trip and take some time to jot down my thoughts.

Old Delhi

Office Life

I haven’t written much on the office or the team here in Gurgaon to date but I’m quite amazed by the way that Google has been able to replicate the office experience here halfway around the world. Though from the outside things look different, there are many reasons to feel at home in the office.
Decor is the standard Google colors against a white canvas of drywall. The lobby looks like most other Google lobbies, and the cafe reminds me of the Namaste station in Charlie’s cafe in Mountain View serving up curries, naan and veggies. The most important similarity has to be the kindness and intelligence of the people. I’ve immediately felt at home, hitting the gym with Abhijit after work, going to lunch with a crew of 8-12 and attending too many meetings. It’s very Googley. I’m excited about the 12 weeks ahead but I’m already feeling the time crunch. There is a lot I want to share with and learn from the teams here and such little time to do it all in. I’ve worked this week to start setting up a calendar for myself to manage the many projects I’d like to accomplish.
There is a large mental shift going on in the office right now whereby management is moving from a top down focus on productivity to a new focus on revenue & proactive relationship building as initiated by the team members themselves. Having been through such a transition in Mountain View, I think that I can offer significant perspective and guidance on what it means to be proactive and how to succeed with such ambiguously defined roles. The challenge is that in some ways, top down instruction is pervasive in Indian culture. I’ll share an example from the office. There is a series of bathroom stall newsletters put out in North America called “learning on the loo” or LOTL for short, where best practices on a multitude of subjects are shared with the broader team. One example from North America might be how to more effectively use Gmail labels to organize your inbox.
In the Gurgaon office, the first example I encountered of the local rendition of LOTL described “how to tell a story” including a 4 step process to set the scene, personify the characters, give the details and finally the conclusion. When I saw this, I thought that a 4 step process to spontaneity seemed a bit ironic but also in some ways documenting characteristics that I’ve found successful is almost certainly a method I’ll implore here. That being said, my hope is that by focusing on the reasoning behind the decisions I’ve made during the past 2 years as a Relationship Manager rather than just the decisions themselves, I’ll be able to equip the teams here to cope with similarly ambiguous tasks in the future and achieve great things for Google and themselves in the process.

A Day in the Life

My first day in the office was almost shockingly productive. The office here is mainly concentrated on the 9th floor of the building with some spillover onto the 8th. The DCS (dedicated client service) portion of the team, which I am working closely with, sits on one half of the building and is only comprised of about 50 people from my best estimate. This is a stark contrast with the massive DCS team in North America spanning 4 offices & with far more people than one could meet.

On the first day I had a chance to sit down with my new manager Amarpreet, who's a quite nice, and a very charismatic guy. He's new to this role but not to Google & I think we'll have a lot to learn from each other.

I also met all of the account managers who work with teams in the US. There are only 7 of them - and this is the core team I'll be working closest with for the three months I'm here. Many of them I've met over video conference in the past, but it was amazing how much more I could learn (and teach) with a half hour of 1:1 time.

I still have yet to successfully post pictures to my picasa account, and because I've still got mild jet lag, I suspect that I won't get around to it for another day or two.

First Impressions

Gurgaon so far is amazing. I haven't yet unpacked or really gotten settled in but it's warm, humid, quite windy and sunny outside. Inside the 5 bedroom apartment is incredible. It's massive. My room is larger than my room at home, the floors are marble and ceilings are about 12 feet tall. Arif who is our staff manager is incredibly friendly. I had some chai tea this morning which was quite good!

Brunch in India is a bit of a ritual for the expats. We got in the car and headed to a place called AI which had all you can eat (and drink) with a live Jazz duo to provide the backdrop. We sat outside in the shade and I imagined all my friends and family sleeping on the other side of the world and how amazing it was that every night when I slept, across the world, someone was sitting at brunch in the sun just living the dream.

We then went to the market so that Becky and I could get traditional Indian formal wear for the wedding we plan to attend this coming weekend. Becky and Megan had quite a fun time trying on many brightly colored fabrics as the local shop owners doted on them while I took photos. Then we went to the open market so that I could get my outfit. I tried on a shirt and traditional outfit, priced at $1300 rupees (about $26 dollars) and satisfied with my find, I made my purchase.

We left and the market was bustling! I've never been to a busier place. Cars & motorcycles slowly pushed their way through the crowd of people, rickshaws, dogs, goats and cattle tooting their horns frequently as the moved. There were no lanes on the roads yet there seems to be a sort of protocol understood by the locals as to when one should yield, flash your brights, use your turning signals or beep your horn. I'm thankful to have someone else doing the driving though when I get back to the states, even NYC will be tame by comparison.

Arrival

We arrived after 2 AM local time at Delhi International. Becky is extremly 'well connected' as indicated by the fact that we had someone waiting for us with a sign as soon as we got off the plane to help us through security and to the baggage claim. Customs took 3 minutes, I waited about an hour for my bags to arrive, then as we exited, Megan Mackh (a 15 month Delhi veteran originally from the Mountain View office) and her driver were waiting for us.

We drove back to the apartments and though the roads were empty at 330 AM, I could tell that driving in India was going to be a different experience.

The Departure

The flight to Hong Kong was long. Becky and I had left San Francisco about two hours behind schedule. We sat near the back of the Boeing 747-400 and had isle seats opposite each-other.

When I went to Spain in 2006 I had debilitating jet lag for the better part of a week. While packing for my India journey, my roommate Wes advised me to stay up until I am synced with my new ‘local time’ since that’s how the ski racers do it. Knowing myself, I didn’t think that it was realistic to stay up for a day and a half, so I had decided that I’d heed his advice and try to think of myself on HK time as soon as I got on the flight.
Therefore, when we boarded at 330 PM PST it was already 630AM in Hong Kong.I figured it was already a ‘late night’, took an Ambien and conked out for about four hours. When I could sleep no more I stirred, watched four new releases on my personal seat-back entertainment system (thank you Cathay Pacific Airlines), listened to a CD, and after about 14 hours of travel time we were in Tai Pei.

Now, because of a combination of un-seasonally late ‘winter head winds’ and potentially because of a volcanic eruption in Alaska, we had to stop in Tai Pei to re-fuel. I was suspicious of the crew change and wondered why the Pilot would get off only an hour from our original destination, but decided that if I was too tired to drive, our pilot might be too.

The turnaround lasted about an hour and by 9 PM local time (6AM back on the west coast) we were on our flight again to Hong Kong. I passed out immediately and awoke to a relatively proud announcement on the PA system that our pilot had found a ‘short cut’ from Taipei to Hong Kong. I was relieved to be touching down.

After we got off the plane I was impressed by the efficiency with which passengers were herded to their connecting flights. A Cathay Pacific employee busily placed stickers on weary travellers indicating their connecting flight numbers. Since HK was my destination for the night, I was able to proceed unbranded to the next station where our temperature was monitored. I wanted to stop to take a picture of the ‘no hats’ sign, which I inferred was allowing the young Chinese man watching an infrared camera to spot sick travellers in need of quarantine.

While waiting to proceed through customs, I connected to the free wifi connection and sent home an email to my parents letting them know that Becky and I had arrived safely. The internet is cool. This was one of many moments I’ve already had when I’ve stopped briefly in awe to ponder our global community.
Anshuman was waiting for us as we exited baggage claim. I realized that this was the first time Becky had seen him since he had achieved the status of family for her; brother-in-law to be precise. Walking out into the massive terminal I was impressed by how English-friendly Hong Kong seemed to be. Signs for the train, even advertisements had massive English translations. Anshuman made me feel quite at home, a gracious host he jumped to grab us tickets for the 24 minute train-ride to down town from the airport and then escorted us to the train, lugging two of our massive, over-weight bags behind him.

The train was beautiful. Similar to the experience I’d had in Japan, the mass transit systems in Hong Kong are amazing. Made me really hope that Obama makes the type of infrastructure investments that I’ve been imagining he might. It’s a great experience when mass transit just works.
I was feeling quite good all things considered. Awake and relatively alert I stared out the train window as we made our short ride downtown. We arrived at Anshuman’s 55th floor apartment at about 11 or 1130 PM local time, changed, and went up to the rooftop to take some panoramic night images. I kicked myself for not having brought the manual for my DSLR but managed to take some mediocre images using ‘night mode’.

Then we went out. Man, Hong Kong can party! It was already after 1 AM local time when we set out walking to the bars. I wasn’t sure what to expect. As we walked I was impressed by the number of English speaking Caucasians we passed. Hong Kong is quite cosmopolitan and I had to remind myself that this was only a brief stop-over on our journey to India. We made it to the location where Journey’s new front man was discovered. There was live music there, but Anshuman told us that we could find a better spot. As we rounded the corner, the party literally spilled out into the street. It was standing room only and we were outside the clubs still! People were drinking, dancing and as we passed a group of about 15 people wearing togas I thought I might be in for a wild night. I was somewhat relieved when the club Anshuman had chosen to take us to, ‘insomnia’ was actually a bit tame in comparison. It was a tiny place, dark and smoky with low ceilings but as we walked past the bar, I could see that it kept going quite far back into the depths of the building. The stage was right next to the dance floor and as the cover band started to rock, everyone got up to dance. There was so much energy in the room that I barely noticed it get to be a bit after 3 AM.

The three of us stumbled home and back to Anshuman’s apartment where he graciously made us our beds. Given the time difference I had a chance to call home briefly and touch base with Dad while Becky got a ‘heart to heart’ talking to from Anshuman upstairs on the roof.

I really can’t say enough about how lucky I feel to be taken care of by such fantastic people. Our gracious host made this stay in Hong Kong not only comfortable & convenient but so much more. Though nervous when I departed, I’m feeling great about having taken the risk to set out on this adventure and the lasting memories I’ll have as a result.