(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

News: Rant and Blog Changes

I recently read about a phenomenon called the "quarter-life crisis".  Basically people in their late twenties and early thirties are suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness.  The pressures of reality as an adult start to press in on them and people seek companionship by getting married or having children (or both).  I did the kids and a wife thing pretty early in life so I think I skipped that bit, I am many things but I don't feel alone.  I have stress and problems in my life that can at times seem overwhelming but I always know I'm not going through them alone.

I work a lucrative 9-to-5 at a large high tech company. I consider myself fortunate, I can pay my bills, I have money to save for a rainy day, my retirement, and kids' college. I have very little debt plus a mortgage with an interest rate lower than inflation. I run my budgets tight, with lots of money being funneled into savings accounts: I don't want to work a day longer than I need to. This means, even though I do well, I don't have much disposable income. We have a little, but we keep it to primarily essentials. I'm about 3 years into a 5 year plan to take care of some medium-term savings goals (no credit cards, foundation college savings for the kids), some unforeseen circumstances will probably push that out another year or so.

I live in a high cost of living area. To put it in perspective, national inflation rate in 2016 was about 1.7%, the Cost-of-Living index in my county went up by 3.1%, we're definitely above average here. My employer had their best year ever and I think I did a really good job as a tiny cog in a massive machine. I did my job, and I did it well. Well enough I was expecting a decent raise, 5% would have been good, but frankly I would not have been surprised if it was closer to 10%. At least enough that I could loosen up our budget a bit, take my wife out to dinner once a month, maybe add something frivolous (Hulu?) to our monthly expenditures.

This was particularly poignant considering my employer has started scaling back some of our benefits. They've ceased HSA contributions which were worth $750 to me in 2016 and our insurance premiums crept up 10% . This on the back of my wife and daughter both being diagnosed with chronic autoimmune diseases and my daughter and I both participating in immunotherapy for our chronic hay-fever, I was looking forward to a small influx of new cash.

I can't overemphasize, I busted my ass last year. I wasn't expecting something for nothing, I went above and beyond, and ended up receiving a raise that my boss insisted reflected the "corporate average". My raise was 2.4%. Keep in mind CoL in my area increased 3.1% and they've cut other benefits that were worth cold hard cash to me. As far as I'm concerned, I took a pay-cut. A sizable pay-cut that stings all the more considering my corporation's record breaking revenue year.

I'm not quite ready to leave, but I'm on the precipice. These past few years I've become disillusioned with the integrity of the company I work for. About five years ago I had a particularly hostile manager who went out of his way to insult, berate, and harass his subordinates. When we complained, HR simply shrugged and said "he's a dick, get over it." (Read: "He committed no crimes, so you can't sue.") I was pretty shaken by the experience, I'd made my job a part of my identity. It was a valuable lesson and pushed me to separate myself from my work. When I walk out of the office I forget what I do for a living, and don't think about it again until I get to work again tomorrow. I have to or I'd go crazy. I've considered going somewhere else, where I might be better appreciated and compensated. Next year I'll be eligible for an 8 week paid sabbatical, and I'll be damned if I walk away before I get to cash in on that, a little family-time is worth more than any pay raise.

This brings up another question, do I like what I'm doing?  I mean, how did I end up writing software for a living?  If I think back I sort of fell into it.  After I graduated high school, I went to college.  I'd always been pretty good with computers and so when I started school my stated major was going to be in Computer Engineering (a rather unique amalgam of Computer Science and Electrical Engineering my university offered at the time).  This being a science degree I took a variety of science classes, I knew even then I couldn't spend forty hours a week staring at a computer screen.  I thought maybe I'd become a manager of geeks or something, working in technology seemed like a sexy career path and I thought if I could use my technical prowess in conjunction with some soft skills I'd be on the path to success and career bliss. Realistically, I was taking the other science classes to see if anything else popped out at me.  I was looking for some other career path to pique my interest.

My parents brought up four kids on a middle class income, so my college savings was embarrassingly small considering the mountain of cash it took just to attend public state schools in 2005 (yes, I know, it's 300% worse now).  I begged for grants, scholarships, loans but came up completely empty handed.  Being a middle class non-minority male meant getting laughed out of banks and my applications for other forms of financial aid went to the bottom of the pile.  So naturally, the money ran out.  Fast. After less than two terms, I was so stressed about where my next meal was coming from I couldn't do homework, stopped attending, failed my classes and finally dropped out.  This was a very dark time in my life, one I don't care to revisit.  So I called some people I knew in high tech, got a job paying a little more than minimum wage and tried to figure out my next steps.

At that point the plan was something along the lines of working for a few years, saving up money and trying to go back to school, but you know what they say about fate and plans.  I fell in love with my wife and daughter, and the rest is, as they say, history.  I threw myself into my career when I wasn't working I was studying my field, learning and improving to get better at what I do.  I tinkered and experimented at home.  I worked temporary contracts, got raises, laid off, denied job applications, (because of my non-minority status), but finally I did it!  I landed a steady job in corporate America.  Hooray.  At this point I took a look around, looked at my salary and those of my peers and said, why go back to school?  I could spend $100K on an education and it would increase my lifetime earnings by maybe 5%?  It just didn't make financial sense, so I settled in, and tried to make the best of it.

My plan for life by the time I turned thirty was for one of two things to be true: I'd love what I do for a living.  Or I'd be independently wealthy (hey, a guy can dream).  I'm a realist, I didn't expect both to be true and if it was the latter then I could quit, and do something I actually love.  The reality is neither of these is true.  I thought I liked working on computers, but if I learned anything about myself after the experience with the sociopath manager it's I'm only doing it for a paycheck.  I like being successful at what I do, and I'm successful at this, but I don't like it.  I'm not improving the world in any way that I can say I'm proud of.  Currently I make life easier for developers who are trying to improve the cell signal on your smartphone.  Who gives a shit?  I'm not making the world a better place, I'm not going to lay on my death bed and look back thinking "Wow, I'm so glad I helped developers make 5G internet a reality."

I look around at my peers and some of them have been stupendously successful.  I know a few people who invested big in Bitcoin back in 2011, and are independently wealthy.  My adult life experiences have made me severely risk averse, so I passed on that particular investment opportunity.  (Hindsight bias has me regretting that choice right now.)  If I had been able to complete college, what would I be doing for a living?  I have two wonderful children and a mortgage to pay for, I can't afford to quit and go back to school.  I looked into online/night classes at the local community college and was told in no uncertain terms by admissions, these were not offered at that school.  A story I've heard contradicted numerous times since them. (Seriously, she couldn't understand why I wouldn't quit my 6-figure salary to attend community college full-time, it was in the top-five most bizarre conversations I've ever had).

I don't know what my next step will be, but I'm working on it.  I'm sure something will come into focus as it always does.  In the meantime my wife and I are running some side projects. She has a Lifestyle blog for natural DIY projects and things of that sort called "A Crunchy Lifestyle". Obviously Google AdSense is one place she's hoping to make a bit of money there (this blog as well!), but the Amazon links are a part of their Amazon Associates program, if you click a link and make a purchase, we get a commission.

I've created a Patreon for my fiction. I think I'll continue to post my fiction stories here but on a delay, preferring to leverage them for a bit of cash first. We'll see how it all works out.  To help resolve our more immediate financial concerns I've also signed up to drive with Uber and Lyft and have been driving on the weekends. It's not great money but it's pretty easy to make $20/hour, so it'll help finally pay off a credit card I've been fighting with since my contract days.

Analyzing the nature of my existential conundrum, I'd say (tongue, firmly planted in cheek) it more closely matches the definition of a mid-life crisis than the quarter-life crisis I missed.  Existential doubt and confusion, a need to change course to grant meaning to my life and an overwhelming desire to buy a muscle car...  I'm just doing it about twenty years early!  I suppose that's a good thing, by asking these questions early in life I have that much more time to enjoy any changes I decide to make.

Camping: Metzler Park

When we made our reservations for Memorial Day Weekend we knew it was not going to be quiet.  We’ve done enough camping to know that any pay-sites are going to be crowded and loud on that particular weekend, so it was no surprise when we pulled in and saw every site filled with tents and cars.

Our site was large for the four of us, one of these eight person sites in the middle of a bunch of smaller ones.  Since it was only four of us we had plenty of space to set up and stretch our legs while staying clear of our neighbors.  The grounds are beautifully kept, the sites are clean, fire pits in good working condition, gravel roads are smooth. There was a port-a-potty next to our site and it was ripe by Sunday afternoon, but we couldn’t smell it at all from camp.  Overall, I’d say the staff here do great work.

Friday night was noisy, cars coming in, loud greetings and reunions.  The general hustle and bustle of air mattresses being filled and camps being setup.  We quietly set down our roots and made dinner.  Turned in a little early and crossed our fingers Saturday would be quieter.  Dear Gods, were we wrong.

My wife and I awoke multiple times Friday night to unreasonable noise.  I’m not talking about laughter and drunken debauchery, I mean car horns and blood curdling screams.  At one point, about 3:00 AM I seriously wondered if a serial killer was working their way around the camp and viciously murdering the parents of children under two.  I considered all the other options and determined that was the only reasonable explanation for the cacophony.

Saturday morning we sucked down our coffee, ate pancakes and bacon, cleaned dishes and went in search of the hikes advertised on the county website.  We wandered, let the kids burn off some energy at the playground.  I checked the bulletin boards for information about where to find the trail heads.  They were covered in county-wide maps with ambiguous markings.  I read the directions at the head of each and they indicated 20-30 mile drives from some address that is completely meaningless to me in a place without cell reception.  Odd, I can’t exactly define those as local trails, but OK.  Camp hosts are very busy and can’t be found, oh well, we aren’t in any dire need.  We’ll just walk down to the creek and let the kids and dogs splash in the water.

As could probably be expected the watering hole was not peaceful, several groups of people had setup picnics and beers and were loudly enjoying the water.  OK, we had fun, we’re not particularly social, but everyone picked their own stretch of the creek, and stuck to themselves.  When it started to get really crowded we left, headed back to camp and started working on dinner.

We did our s’mores and said goodnight to the kids.  My wife and I both secretly hoped that the first night was a fluke.  When both our children were little the first night camping was always the worst.  After they got adjusted things went well.  Being wrong was becoming a pattern for us, the child neglect returned in full-force Saturday night.  Perhaps these children are being raised by some nocturnal animals, and they were left unsupervised for the evening while the wolves went and gathered food?  I could imagine that would be a tough gig. For the wolves.

Sunday morning we stumbled through breakfast cereal and coffee, my wife discovered a camp map cached on her phone with much more information about the trails.  They’re actually here, in camp, not 30 miles up the road.  Would it kill them to stick a copy of this map up on the information board?  So we went for a hike.  They were short trails along wide paths, about a quarter of mile of natural beauty then the next thing we knew we’re walking along the backs of people’s campsites.  Huh, This isn’t nearly as isolated as it could be.  Oh well, we fed the kids some salmon-berries and returned to camp.  The kids spent every free moment at the campsite adjoining ours, playing with some like-aged children who were celebrating a birthday (opposite direction from the murder-orphans) and today was no exception.

My wife and I took advantage of the quiet camp to try to get a nap, she put in earplugs and I dozed off into a light nap.  We were awoken by the kids of the deaf parents singing and clanging pots together. You can't make this stuff up.  Well maybe I’m exaggerating, the clanging may have been a game of horseshoes fifty meters from our campsite.  The clanging just happened to be (mostly) in time with the shrill singing.  No, I’m certain they were banging rocks against the fire grate.

Sunday night was quieter, many campers headed home later in the evening, apparently intending to use the holiday as a recovery day.  Perhaps a third of the sites emptied out, people lingered long into the evening, eating dinner and chatting around their fires.  The cars, trucks, RVs, and their horns finally died off around 11:00PM.  Far later than I would have anticipated considering the gates are supposed to be locked at 10:00.  A casual stroll around the park revealed tents and bags being packed by my favorite neighbors.  We secretly rejoiced and stayed up that last night, nursed our final beer and burned the last of our wood.  At about the same time we decided to turn in for the night, the crying started again.  There went the entire weekend.

Tales of Slackstar & Raelynn: Damsel in Distress

Slackstar gulped down his beer and slammed the mug down on the counter.  “Another” he barked at the tender, then wiped the foam off his face.  The chubby man grunted and slid the beer across the counter to him.  The beer sloshed across the lip of the glass when he caught it, there was more head than beer.  Slackstar didn’t care, he grimaced, tossed back his head and drank.

“Having a bad day?” a voice next to him asked.  Slackstar turned his head noticing for the first time the man sitting in the stool next to him.  He was thin, hunched over, unshaven and dirty.   His eyes were bloodshot and dark, his clothes looked as though they hadn’t been washed during this Emperor’s reign.  Perhaps longer.  Slackstar shook his head as he swallowed the swill.

“Need liquid courage.” he winked playfully at the patron but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Another!” he called to the tender.

“Gold first!” the bartender held out his hand.

Slackstar rolled his eyes but produced a large gold coin, seemingly from nowhere, and slapped it into the dirty hand.  It was enough to buy the entire tavern.

“Keep them comin’”.  The bartender’s eyes widened slightly, he stuck the coin between his teeth and bit down.  Satisfied, he poured another glass and slid it across the counter.  Slackstar lifted the glass and toasted silently to no one in particular.

“It’s a woman.” the voice interjected again.  Slackstar turned and looked at the man around the upturned glass.  “I can see it in your eyes.  She must be something special.”  He chuckled as he looked Slackstar up and down, “funny how women can sap the courage out of even the strongest of us, eh?”

Slackstar slammed the mug on the counter, there was a sliding sound and the dull thump as Slackstar caught the replacement glass against his open hand.  “It isn’t her that terrifies me so much as her present company.”

“What’s her name?”  The man nodded, hesitant understanding forming on his face.

“Raelynn” he spoke her name to his glass.  How could she have gotten into this mess?

“You steeling yourself to woo her away from her man with your musical charms?” he glanced meaningfully at the lute strapped to Slackstar’s back.

“Ha!” Slackstar took a big swig from his glass, “I wish! That’d be far simpler.”  He involuntarily glanced down at the sword strapped to his hip.

“She’s in some kind of trouble then.”  He was dripping the last dregs from Slackstar’s empty mugs into his own.

“You could say that.” he finished the mug and slammed it down.  Slide, thump.

“Haven’t seen you around here before.  You new in town?” Slackstar nodded as he came up for air.  “You better be careful stirring things up, the Magistrate of this town doesn’t take too kindly to troublemakers.”

“Then the Magistrate should take care who he places those filthy eyes of his on.” Slackstar cast a dark look at the drunk with the desired effect.  The man shrank away and returned his eyes to his half empty drink.

“Forget I said anything” the man said to his glass.  Slackstar laughed and slapped him on the back jovially.

“Whiskey for me and my friend here!” he called to the bartender, two glasses and a bottle promptly appeared before them.  Slackstar poured two generous portions and raised a glass.  “To women!” he winked again, and swayed slightly on his feet.  He downed the whiskey and slammed the glass on the counter.

“To women!” his companion chimed in with uncertainty.  Slackstar guffawed and slapped the man’s back again.

“You keep the bottle, I’d better get going.” and like that Slackstar was out the door.

The town outside was hot, and sticky with humidity.  The sun was just beginning to set, but the air would not cool significantly until just before sunrise.  The streets were empty, people had already gone home for the evening.  They’d wake just before the sun and get most of their business done before the hottest part of the day.

He untied his and Raelynn’s horses and guided them through the streets, preferring to walk rather than ride.   They’d only meant to ride through this town, stop a day or so for food and supplies then be on their way.  That was three days ago.  Raelynn loved this town, she said she found something in the air intoxicating.  Slackstar thought it was alright.  He wasn’t a big fan of all the sand, but the greenery was nice.  He didn’t like ocean towns as a rule, he felt trapped, with fewer escape routes.

They’d got swept up in some local festival, lots of drinking and recklessness.  The next thing Slackstar knew Raelynn had caught the eye of the Magistrate, a man who takes what he wants and offers no apologies.

Slackstar’s quiet questions and covert bribes had revealed that the Magistrate liked to keep his ‘acquisitions’ in a tower at the north end of town.  It was likely she was chained up there, being beaten or tortured as a part of some strange and bizarre mental conditioning.  He shivered just to think of it.

The tower was guarded day and night by an entire battalion of soldiers.  It seemed the magistrate was a favorite of the Emperor’s and consequently had a disproportionately large amount of gold at his disposal.  Slackstar wasn’t concerned though, his strength lie in the shadows.  He could slip in and out past ten thousand men completely undetected.  At least, he was pretty sure he could.  He’d never actually tried it.

The town was starting to thin, the tower was a bit further along, but he could already see it peeking out through the trees.  The air seemed chill here.  He tied up the horses near the road but out of the way where they wouldn’t be seen, and began creeping through the bushes towards the tower.

He eventually came to a line in the brush, the tower was surrounded by a courtyard and a fence barred his approach.  He quietly circled the tower, using the shrubbery as cover, and saw no guards posted outside.  He chuckled to himself, all these guards and gold, and he can’t even properly secure a tower.

Careful to stay out of direct view of any of the windows and arrowslits he ran to the fence and quickly scaled it.  Just as quickly he found himself huddled against the wall of the tower beneath a window.  He shivered and rubbed his bare arms then cursed under his breath for not grabbing a warmer tunic first.

He crept around the building, low and tight to the building keeping a constant eye on the forest surrounding the him.  He couldn’t help but feel something was off, something wasn’t quite adding up.  Where was everyone?

He slipped on the ground, landing hard on his hands and knees, he cursed again as small pieces of ice on the blades of grass sliced into his hands.  It had been so hot only a few moments ago…

Before he could finish his thought he heard a sickening crack and looked up in time to see the tower shiver.  It started leaning towards him, bending about halfway up, as though sketching a bow.  Slackstar jumped to his feet and ran, ran harder than he remembered running in a long time.   He ran towards the tower entrance, and away from the path of the falling stones.  When he got to the doorway a blue corpse exploded through the wooden door.  It had been pierced hundreds of times by little icicles, they steamed in the dusk twilight.

He pulled out his sword and glanced around nervously, looking for someone to fight.  The top half of the tower had finished crashing to the ground, the broken edges glistened icy blue and billowed steam.  Water vapor boiled through the entrance to the tower, and Slackstar could not see anything in the darkness.

“Filthy mage!” a desperate cry sounded from the darkness.

“I don’t really care about your religious perversions,” a woman’s voice, calm and cool.  “Just go get your master, he and I must have words.”  The rustle and thumping of a struggle.

Eventually the first voice squeaked, “yes ma’am.”  A few moments later a tall, muscular man came scrambling out of the tower, glancing behind him as he rushed towards the road.  He squealed, startled when he saw Slackstar but kept running.

“What took you so long?” she purred as she stepped out of the wrecked tower.  She was short and pale skinned, with crisp blue eyes.  Her hair shimmered blue, as though strung up with beads, but Slackstar knew it was ice and would melt once she was done fooling around.  She clung to a icy blue short sword, it steamed in the warm air.

“We’ve gotta go!” Slackstar spat at her, with perhaps a touch more impatience than he had intended.

She raised an eyebrow at him and wagged her sword back in forth in his face.  “Didn’t you hear me? I have some things I need to say to this magistrate.  He’ll be here in just a minute.”

“You don’t actually think he’ll come alone, do you?”

“Of course not” she winked.

No sooner had she uttered the words than Slackstar heard the hurried clatter of an incoming army.  Bellows and horns surrounded them as the soldiers poured into the courtyard and circled the tower.  Hundreds of them, they rattled swords and notched arrows.  The white and gold of their uniforms matched the frosty white ground in the diminishing light.

Slackstar sighed and sheathed his sword, and brought down the lute from his back.  He began strumming a sullen ballad.  His soft voice carried easily through the thin, frozen air.

“Twas once a fool, his heart adrift,

No one denied him what he wished.”

Raelynn smirked and raised her hands above her head, as though in surrender.  “Where’s the magistrate?” she called out.

“I’m here, my love.” he shouldered through the soldiers and took a few steps.  He gestured around, “why don’t we talk about this, hon?”

“One day his heart, a maid did steal,

She loved him not, what an ordeal!”

Her grin grew wider as she brought her hands down to her sides.  In response to the motion, the forest around them exploded, leaves, needles and branches frozen solid and encased in ice came flying at them from all directions slicing and piercing soldiers indiscriminately.  It was chaos incarnate, the soldiers screamed and yelled as they swung their swords and shields seeking invisible assailants and in futile attempts to shelter their soft bodies.  It was over in seconds, the battlefield was nearly silent except for the hissing and cracking of melting ice.  Only three people remained alive then, Slackstar, Raelynn, and the Magistrate.

“The jealous fool locked her away,

In his prison, she did not stay.”

“Yes, let’s talk, sweetheart,” the last word dripped with venom.

“W-w-we can work something out.” the nobleman stammered at her as he stood up from where he had cowered on the ground. “Y-y-you are clearly not happy.  N-n-name anything you wish, I-I-I will do anything in my p-p-power.”

“I want your death.”

“C-c-certainly you jest, my dear!” he glanced around hesitantly, clearly not fully digesting what had just happened.  “If you truly wanted me dead, surely I already would be.”  His confidence was growing, he stood taller.  It was almost comical to watch him naively believe he had some upper hand in this confrontation.

“Evil deeds he wrought on her mind,

She was not docile, he would find.”

Raelynn wasted no more time with chat, she lunged at him, sword swinging wildly, leaving blue streaks in the air.  Slackstar winced at the awkward show, she’d left herself open, but luckily the magistrate hadn’t taken the bait.  She had always been terrible with a blade, and today was no exception, but luck was with her as she had caught her foe by surprise.  There was genuine shock on his face, and he barely fended her off in time.

“Twas a great battle in the ice,”

The magistrate seemed to be at a loss for how to fight against her, it was all he could do to block her haphazard and random thrusts and parries.  He kept stepping back from her, trying to gain some footing and didn’t notice the puddle of ice behind him until it was too late.  He fell onto his back and dropped his own sword in the shock.  Raelynn dove on him, blade first, ready to slam it straight down into his chest.  The magistrate caught her just in time, his hands trembling with the effort of holding her at arm’s length, the blade quivered meer inches above his chest.

“My dear,” he grunted out, “you are overreacting.”  His face was red with exertion, sweat beaded on his face.

Raelynn screamed wordlessly, rage and fury pouring out of her as she drove down harder on the sword but it did not move.

“...That day she skewered his heart twice.”

The magistrate looked at Slackstar, as though finally noticing the song’s lyrics.  He looked profoundly confused and terrified.  Realization of the futility of his situation appeared to dawn on him.  The air around them grew very cold and Raelynn’s sword began to steam strangely, instead of wafting away from her icy blade it was as though the blade absorbed the very moisture from the air around it.  The tip began to grow, slowly at first then faster and without moving her hand the ice grew straight into his heart.

“You bitch” the magistrate spluttered his last words then went limp.

“That was a terrible song,” Raelynn turned towards him leaving the sword in her captor’s chest.

“Thanks, I thought you’d like it.” Slackstar grumbled, returning the lute to his back.

“I mean, ‘what an ordeal’? What were you thinking?” she winked at him.

“It’s been a long day, and I needed something to rhyme with ‘steal’.” He glared at her mockingly.  “And I’d like to see you do better!”

She laughed and spread her arms wide, after a deep breath she exhaled hard, as though relieving herself of a great burden.  The entire courtyard filled with steam, the air was warm and wet again.  After the cool winter-like evening it felt like stepping into a kettle of boiling water.  “Where to next?” she asked when she finally opened her eyes.

“Are we done with this town?” he asked, hope bleeding into his voice.

“I think that would be best, don’t you?” she glanced around at the steaming carnage.  “I would like to stick to the coast for a while though.  I like the humid air, it’s a nice change from the dry desert.” She smiled at him and nodded towards the entrance.