(Mis)adventures In India

I recently was asked by my employer to travel to India for some training and to support a development project.  As this was a once in a lifetime trip I figure I should share my experiences.  I waited a few weeks to write my thoughts down because as you'll see, I needed some time to process my feelings.

It's... complicated

Originally my trip was scheduled for the second half of February, then due to some delays it was moved to the first half of March.  Then it was delayed again to the second half of March at which point my wife said, "Hey, if you're going to India over spring break, let me come too!"  Then guess what? It was delayed again.  And again.  I eventually made the two week trip in the second half of April.  Being stubborn we decided my wife would come anyways.  We asked some friends and family to watch the kids and made the trip.  We are very grateful for all the support we received in the community around us, they really stepped up and the kids were able to continue to attend school and sleep in their own beds which really is a wonderful luxury!

Hot (defined): 105° outside this ancient stone palace filled with thousands of tourists

I don't want to understate how stressful these scheduling delays were.  Every day I went to work I was hearing different things about when the trip would be.  At home, we basically couldn't plan anything because at any moment I was going to have to buy tickets and fly out, maybe this weekend?  I know this is expected with some people's professions, but I don't work one of those kinds of jobs.  In the end I was to fly out on April 14th but was not given permission to purchase tickets until the 10th.  Which meant my wife purchased slightly over priced tickets for the second week I was there.

Obligatory ugly PDX carpet photo

In preparation for the trip I had to make multiple trips to the doctor.  I got immunizations for Typhoid (wait, I thought that was Medieval Europe, is Typhoid still a thing?), Hepatitis A+B, a bottle of antibiotics "just-in-case" (do not drink the water!), and a bottle of "Malarone" with instructions to start taking it daily, twenty-four hours before landing and continue taking it seven days after departure, because the brand of Malaria endemic to Bangalore is resistant to all the other stuff.

Finally, the day of my travel arrived.  I had packed my bags a few days before, attempting to compensate for travel anxiety I had been experiencing for months at this point so we tossed everything into the car and headed to the airport a few hours early.  Flying from PDX to AMS meant I should be there three hours early (international!) but of course, I never go that early.  I mean, seriously, every time I've been three hours early for an international flight I spend two and a half hours in the boarding area.  We get to the airport, I open the trunk and... the zipper on my suitcase has failed the contents are spilling everywhere.  The seam has ripped rendering a six inch section of the zipper worthless.  I am about to spend 20 hours on airplanes and go through four airports to get to my destination, I do not want to screw around so we leave the airport run to a nearby big-box store and buy a new suitcase.  I hastily transferred all my belongings to the new bag and smiled to myself, if this is my one travel disaster this trip I can totally live.  I was in for a surprise.

Aisle seat by the bathroom

The Royal Dutch Airways flight from PDX to AMS was wonderful, the assigned seat wasn't ideal but the flight was only half full so after takeoff everyone shuffled around and I got three seats to myself.  I took advantage of the free in-flight entertainment, sprawled out across my entire row and imbibed no less than four hefeweizens.  All-in-all, if you're going to spend eleven hours on a plane I could think of much worse ways to do it.

My experience of Amsterdam was limited but if the airport exemplifies the city I would highly recommend a visit

I had attempted to book a flight direct from Amsterdam to Bangalore, this would have been another eleven hour flight.  Unfortunately this cost a little more than going via Mumbai and the corporate tool refused to allow me to book.  So I was heading for a twelve hour layover in the great city of Mumbai.  I figured when I got there I might leave the airport for a few hours, check out the beaches, and grab a drink.  It all really depended on how tired I was when I got there.  My stay in Amsterdam was much shorter, after security and finding my terminal I had less than three hours to myself  and my stomach was bothering me.  Exhaustion, dehydration, travel stress.  Who knows, so I popped my second Malarone, sprawled out on one of the cushioned benches they have available all over the international terminals and took a nap.

The eleven hour flight from Amsterdam to Mumbai was much more crowded, and loud.  My shoulders are too wide for coach seats and my legs too long (did I mention my employer refused to book business class?)  By the end of the flight everything hurt, I did exercises recommended by my physical therapist but frankly those only get you so far, and my stomach was really bothering me.  I was so thrilled to be on the ground.

The Mumbai airport is everything the Amsterdam airport is not.  It is poorly organized, hot, and it smells.  There was a thirty minute walk from my arrival terminal to the immigration checkpoint.  During this walk I did not see any people other than those from my flight.  It was just one long, seemingly empty and abandoned passageway meandering through the airport in only one direction.  Immigration went smoothly, my employer had arranged for a six month work permit in advance.  Originally I thought this was overkill for a two week trip, but given their inability to commit to a schedule perhaps this made sense...

Of course, after passing through immigration and getting my photo taken I was sent to baggage claim and customs.  I retrieved my bag, followed the signs and eventually found my way to the domestic check-in lines at the front of the airport where I intended to check my bag and get my next boarding pass.  I figured I could do this, maybe grab a cup of coffee and decide what to do next.  Standing in line for my Jet Airways flight I started chatting with the woman behind me, she was also headed to Bangalore She was lamenting that her direct flight from Amsterdam to Bangalore had been canceled but she had been given an earlier flight from Mumbai to Bangalore, only a three hour layover compared to my twelve.  I guess it was a good thing I didn't book the direct leg.

Look closely, this plane's engines and wheels have been shrink-wrapped - seized by creditors

As we got closer to the clerk I started to notice a pattern.  The passengers approached the gentleman, handed him their identification and confirmation number.  He proceeded to enter the information into the computer, stare thoughtfully and tell them their flight has been canceled.  Continuing on to Hyderabad? Canceled.  Goa?  Canceled.  Finally my turn, guess what?  My flight was canceled.  "OK, well, I paid you to get me to Bangalore, what are you going to do to fix this?"  I'm directed to the travel agent outside the airport where I will get a refund I can use to buy a new ticket and... Oh wait, no we can't refund you because you've been booked on another airline leaving in forty-five minutes.  After waiting in line for half an hour the alternate airline insists I am not a ticketed passenger, this confirmation number means nothing and they have never heard of me...

I will save you a lot of headache and just summarize what happened here.  Jet Airways declared bankruptcy while I was in the air.  All of their flights had been canceled for the foreseeable future.  Normally in this situation travel vouchers exchange hands with other airlines and you end up on another flight but the Jet Airways financial situation was such a horrific mess nobody was honoring their vouchers.  Jet Airways refused to do anything else.  It took four hours of running around an airport screaming at people and I ended up just buying another ticket to Bangalore.  I will let my corporate travel agents haggle with the bankruptcy lawyers over a refund.  I had just under an hour to check-in, clear security and get to my gate.  Well, I guess no Mumbai for me.

I really hate the Mumbai airport.  This airport claims to be "announcement free", so you must find and watch the scarcely placed displays which do not have local time displayed on them.  The gate signage doesn't light up for the next flight until after boarding time begins (seriously).  There is no free internet unless you have a currently working and active Indian SIM.  This means international travelers, the folks who almost certainly need internet access the most, can not use the internet.  It's a complete mess and has obviously not been thought through by anyone competent.

By the time I got to the correct gate, attempted (and failed) to notify my hotel driver I would be five hours early, I was fuming.  I was angrier than is even remotely rational and my stomach was really bothering me which I knew was only fanning the flames of my anger.  I knew I couldn't go to sleep for a few more hours if I had any chance of adjusting to the timezone differences but I was really just ready to be at my destination.

Mumbai airport: Of course there's a line

The flight from Mumbai to Bangalore was fine, the seats were super small and cramped, the way only a small country with 1.3 billion people can do small and cramped.  It was literally the most turbulent flight I have ever been on.  Shaking so violent the seat-belt was necessary to stay out of my neighbor's lap.  At least there was breakfast, and it was only eighty minutes, which after two eleven hour flights felt like barely enough time to get settled in.

In my experience with international travel, the first thing you do when landing in a foreign country is stick your card in an ATM and pull out a wad of local currency.  Sometimes cab drivers won't help you without cash, you might want to grab food or whatever.  It just helps, especially if you don't speak the language.  When I landed in Bangalore I grabbed my bag, found an ATM and attempted to pull out a chunk of cash.  Declined. What?  This is an unlimited corporate card.  OK, I'll try a personal card and... Declined.  After fifteen minutes I grumbled some obscenities at the ATM and stumbled off to find a way to contact my hotel.  A gentleman at the cellphone store helped me and I was blown away by his friendliness.  He let me use his personal phone, helped me figure out how to dial my hotel (much more complicated than it should be).  After confirming my hotel couldn't get me for a few hours I found a cab driver who assured me he would take card.  He spoke enough English that I was certain he understood I don't have cash.  I have no cash.  We are very clear on this.  I am only going to be able to pay with card...

Guess what?  The road running from the airport to the city is a toll road.  A fact which nobody mentioned to me until we were sitting there at the tollbooth, with impatient traffic piling up behind us.  This tollbooth doesn't take international credit cards, not even American Express.  As a matter of fact it only takes Indian cards.  It takes what was probably only three minutes but felt like twenty, but finally the cab driver agrees to "lend" me the money, as long as I promise to find some cash when I got to the hotel.  Sure buddy, I'll try.

I find the juxtaposition of civilization and 3rd world in this image jarring

The drive to the hotel was astounding.  Traffic in this country doesn't seem to obey any pattern or structure I could deduce.  The constant stream of honking permeates every single moment, motorcycles sans helmets or any protective gear whatsoever, weave their way in and out of traffic.  On multiple occasions I saw families driving mopeds with two children sandwiched between parents.  Four people on a tiny dirt bike, no protective gear between them.  I tried to deduce a pattern to the honking, watching the behavior of my cab driver in relation to his fellow drivers.  After two weeks I came to the conclusion the honking communicates one the following three things:

1. Hey! You just cut me off, made me slow down, or in some other way impeded my journey
2. Hey! I'm going to cut you off, make you slow down, or in some other way impede your journey (just FYI)
3. I'm driving!
1. Seriously, I was out at nearly midnight one day, we flew down the roads at 45MPH with nobody else on the road and still the driver was honking!

The staff at the hotel were extraordinarily friendly.  They did the obvious things like carry my bag to my room and greet me kindly but their attitudes and smiles all seemed genuine.  I just felt like they were going above and beyond with their friendliness.  I asked about local SIM cards and free WiFi, and bottled water and they had answers for me at hand.  They even offered to draw up the legal documents required by the Indian government for an international tourist to get an Indian phone number while I settled in.

Cattle do not cause traffic jams. Irritated drivers are not honking at the cattle. The cattle are behaving correctly, it is the drivers who are failing to drive around the cattle. This was made very clear to me.

So that's what I did, I settled in and showered (twenty hours of airplanes had me stinking like you would not believe).  I setup my internet, left notifications with family and coworkers confirming my safe arrival and went in search of something to keep me awake for a few hours.  My stomach still hurt though I downed a ton of bottled water.  I thought I must just be tired.  I settled on finding a local prepaid SIM so I would be able to communicate while in the country.  The concierge directed me to a Vodafone store and the complimentary chauffeur drove me there.  Since I'd had a chance to reset I tried to take in the city and at its best Bangalore smells of curry and burnt rubber at its worst it smells of piss and dumpster fire.  I really do think you have to leave your sense of smell behind.  I suppose after a long enough period one must adjust to it.

The phone store salesman spoke enough English to get by.  I conveyed to him I would be in town less than one month so he said the easiest thing would be to buy a one month prepaid plan.  He gave me:

• Unlimited minutes (up to 1000 a week)
• That's 1000 minutes per week, buddy.  Not unlimited.
• 1000 SMS per day
• 1.4GB data per day

All for one month at Rs. 249 ($4.27 USD).  You read right, 1.4GB per day for an entire month.  A total of $4.27.  For the entire month.  Imagine, a phone plan which puts every single American phone plan in existence to shame for less than the cost of a cup of coffee.  Gods below we overpay for cell phones in the U.S.

This is of course the point where I learned about a key design issue with my LG phone, the SIM/SD card tray is very thin plastic pressed up against something very hot.  As it had, naturally, never been removed since I originally installed said SIM and SD card 18  months earlier, I was unaware of this issue.  Upon removal I discovered this tray had melted to the aforementioned hot component and therefore broke off when I pulled it free.  Luckily the SD card sits at the back of the tray next to the hot component so I was able to install the new SIM card, but unfortunately had to go the entire trip without my podcasts.  It seems like having first world problems in a third world country is a special kind of meta...

Indian snacks, provided by management so we had even fewer excuses to leave the office

I went back to the hotel, read my book, video-called my family when they awoke, I slept and awoke the next morning to crippling digestive discomfort and the news that my employer was canceling the project I was there to support.  I want to emphasize I'm trying really hard to find the positive here.  I know the things making me miserable are the results of phenomenally bad luck, but I could have screamed at this point.  I had left home less than 48 hours earlier and was miserable.  It really did seem like the universe was trying to get in my way.  Everything about this trip that could have gone wrong had gone wrong!  If you had offered me a plane home at that moment I would have gladly jumped at the opportunity and flown straight home.  I wanted to forget the whole thing and move on with my life.

Corporate cafeteria food!

Instead I went to work.  Naturally everyone at the office was in an uproar.  "Hey nice to meet you, what the hell do we do for a living now?"  I sipped on green tea and faked a smile as I shook hands with people I have only ever exchanged e-mails with.  I joked a few times my first, second, and third level managers all live in India, so while none of us know if we have jobs I figured the best place to be when not knowing if I have a job was right there, next to the people who were working on that very problem.

Lunch outing with my team at an American themed BBQ place.  It was hilarious to see a caricaturization of American culture through Indian eyes, and these guys were really quite hospitable!

The work was informative, I learned a lot and met some really smart people.  The food was delicious although I could only stomach small amounts at a time.  I love spicy foods, and none of the meals I consumed were close to my limit.  Even though our project had been canceled the company was still hoping to sell the IP (and expertise - us) so we worked grueling hours.  I left my hotel at 8AM and returned at 8PM every day for the week including my first Saturday there.  Sunday we got a reprieve, nobody had to go to work so I got in an Uber and did the tourist thing.

Government buildings!

The way it was explained to me is prior to the British occupation India was a collection of separate kingdoms.  These kingdoms were unified under British rule into India.  Those ancient dividing lines, more-or-less make-up the modern states of India.  The capitol of the kingdom of Karnataka was Mysore, but during the British occupation Bangalore became the capitol so, the things to see are downtown.  I took pictures in front of the capitol buildings, courthouses and the like.  I hired a rickshaw who spoke decent English for a guilt-inducing pittance of a fare and had a tour-guided morning.  After I spent far too much money on souvenirs and had enough of the sun he dropped me off at an overpriced restaurant where I ordered an Indian dish I'd never had before next to a local beer.

You would think they would drink my Indian Pale Ale's in India, they don't

After lunch I visited the Bangalore Palace, traditionally this was the summer home of the Maharaja, this one had been specifically built to imitate Windsor Palace.  I find humor at the thought of the royalty of Karnataka building a summer home to look like Windsor but I do tend to overthink these things.

Can you tell where I am?  England?  Bangalore?

I toured the palace, which it turns out only exists to encourage you to tour the palace in Mysore.  Every room, every painting, everything was annotated saying you should absolutely tour the palace at Mysore.  Mysore is bigger, prettier, better, and superior in every way.  Or so they say.

When I felt like I'd had enough heat and summoned an Uber back to my hotel.  I ordered dinner in the hotel restaurant, the waiter balked at my choice, warning me the plate was spicy.  I smiled and said I would be fine.  It was almost spicy.  My digestive discomfort continued throughout the week.  By Thursday I realized my violent bathroom encounters were occurring exactly eight hours after taking the Malarone and a quick Google search confirmed my symptoms were caused by the anti-malaria drug.

At the advice of some Googlers I cleaned out the pharmacy next door of their entire Imodium supply (8 pills for 85¢ US).  I ended up taking six in the next twelve hours.  The next day I consulted the Occupational Health Nurse on site at work, she scolded me, saying I shouldn't take more than two a day but supplied me with enough to last the rest of my trip.

The USB headset I used to make phone calls and attend conferences on my work laptop failed.  It simply stopped connecting.  I can't even make this stuff up, I was so jaded at this point I just laughed, tossed it in the trash and used the headphones I had brought for music and podcasts.

Pay no attention to that trash

My wife appeared midway through the second week.  I Ubered to the airport and met her there.  There are far fewer restrictions on who can and can't drive for ride-sharing services there.  In the US you can lose your charter for having a water stain on the backseat of your car.  Most of the Ubers I took in India had windows which wouldn't roll up, the stereo had been stolen and the AC didn't work.  Sometimes the drivers were courteous and friendly, sometimes they were the worst human beings I've ever met.

At the urging of my colleagues we decided to book a hotel in the city of Mysore.  We grabbed an Uber early in the morning intending to visit the Ranganathittu Bird Sanctuary.  Naturally it had no AC and the drive was more than three hours.  By the time we got to the sanctuary we were already tired, hot, and deeply concerned about heat stroke symptoms.  We walked the sanctuary a bit, took some photos.  We gulped down water hoping to refresh ourselves.  We were unsuccessful.  Having barely taken in the sanctuary we summoned another cab and went to our local hotel.

 

A rather unique, tall tree

Mysore is definitely cleaner and smells slightly better than Bangalore, the sewage is (mostly) absent but this only reveals a hard to describe underlying odor. Maybe it's the dust? Maybe it's the halitosis of more than a billion people (95% of Indians have gum disease).

We recovered in the hotel for a few hours, had a lovely dinner at what I can only describe as a gluten free, vegan, organic Indian bistro.  The food was terrific, prices fair and the staff were kind and courteous.

It's hard to identify exactly what makes the tea so delicious, could be unpasteurized whole milk?  Copious spices?

The next morning we had tea in a tiny shop which also sold cigarettes and condoms, I'm pretty sure we overpaid at 20 rupees (the previous customer couldn't have paid more than 5) but squabbling over what amounts to a 20¢ difference hardly seems productive.

Speaking of economics, I can pay 1000 rupees for a 90 minute Uber ride but won't buy me a t-shirt (I have been told this is normally 6000). 1000 Rs. will also buy eight people all you can eat buffet and two alcoholic drinks each.  Food and transport are cheap, name-brand clothing compares to bargain prices in the US.  I am told most things in India are cheap although I found this to be hit or miss.  A lot of proprietors do not post their prices and so when you ask you have to trust your being given an honest answer.  I suspected this is not always true, something about our appearance gives us away as "rich westerners".  If one was prudent, one would have a local friend accompany them on shopping expeditions.  You will likely start price negotiations at a more acceptable place.

We made a friend.  We didn't feed him, or pet him, or anything.  He just decided he liked us and followed us around the city for hours

Sunday morning we toured the Mysore palace.  It's beautiful in much the same way as the Bangalore Palace.  Large, open spaces, elaborate art and architecture.  I was amazed to think these places are old enough that all the details would have been hand carved and painted.  Every floor and wall tile.

Sundays are apparently a bad day to go.  It was very crowded, 105° weather outside and it was a cool relief to step out of the palace so I can only speculate how hot it was inside.  It was busy enough we were essentially shoved through the tour, stuck in a moving throng of people unable to affect much change on our path or rate of travel.

Beautiful ballroom looking out over the palace gardens

After we toured the palace it was hot again, not wanting to have a repeat of yesterday's flirtations with heat stroke we decided to trek back to Bangalore early.  My first driver accepted our ride request then called me to say never mind, he had accepted an Ola request instead, would I please cancel?  The second driver, picked us up, saw our destination and promptly dumped us on the side of the road.  Then he proceeded to call me repeatedly begging me to cancel the ride request as he couldn't accept a new fair until I did.  I honestly tried to cancel it, but the app would not let me.  It serves him right for being a complete dick.  Eventually, when he realized I had the upper hand he drove us to Bangalore.  It was an awkward ride, but at least we got there unscathed.

A lovely meal with my lovely wife

The rest of our trip was fairly uneventful.  My wife's experiences confirmed my suspicions of Malarone, making new reservations after the airline kerfuffle meant I had to fly home separately from my wife - almost 48 hours later (You didn't think I would keep those reservations, did you?)  I feel I wrapped up a successful business trip which may have seemed destined to fail.  I met and learned from some interesting people.

The flights back home were thankfully uneventful.  I even sat behind the bulkhead on both of my long flights (legroom!), though this time my route was BLR -> BOM -> EWR -> PDX.  The Mumbai to Newark leg is just shy of seventeen hours.  There are very few things in life capable of making a seventeen hour flight fun.

I flew United, so I suppose I should be thankful I wasn't beaten and removed from the plane

Despite my grumbling I'm glad I went though if I was asked to go again I think the answer would have to be no.  At least now I know how much I disliked it.  I know there are things I could do to prepare for many of the issues I had, but I do think it will be a while before I'm willing to go through the effort of preparing for those issues.

I'm told the anti-malaria medication can take almost two months to adjust to and the symptoms I experienced were rather extreme.  Almost everyone feels off, but it sounds like my wife and I both won the genetic lottery here.

My work situation remains interesting.  In the most cynical sense of the word, though I see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Honestly, I was unreasonably happy to get that exit stamp