Tennis Anyone?

February in Delhi is actually a really nice time to be here.  While most of the world suffers through 3 feet of snow and sub-freezing temperatures, we in Delhi are enjoying 75 degrees and less stink than usual.  The city turns out in droves to the parks and other public areas to enjoy the weather.  This, combined with a clean bill of health, has prompted my wife to get me back into tennis.  

Now it has been many years since I picked up a racket.  The last time I ventured on to the court was at the French Lick Springs Hotel in French Lick, Indiana some 9 years ago.  After a few rounds, I chased a ball into a divider net, lost my balance and had a full-scale yard sale into the next court's net crank.  I was so badly injured that I needed to be rushed to the hospital in the back of an ambulance.   God help me if I had taken up badminton, I may have died.

So we ventured over the club to which we belong and took our places on the court and were greeted by our ball boy.  Apparently, the theme of not doing a damn thing for yourself in India even extends to physical exercise.  We batted the ball around the courts and Sandeep continued to chase them and throw them back to us.  At one point, I even stopped trying to get to the hard shots knowing that a little yellow ball would be rolled to me in a moment.

"Hum", I thought to myself, "this is the way tennis should be played!"

Medical Tourist - The Results

I woke up Wednesday morning feeling a little anxious about the day’s activities.  Somewhere in my mind, I just knew they were going to find some rare and unpronounceable disease with a great deal of consonants in the spelling and a support group based out of Darfur.  I reluctantly got dressed and headed out for the news.

We had to go to the clinic to get the results rather than the hospital, since apparently, this is where my new doctor is based.  I arrived 15 minutes early and sat in the waiting room awaiting my, now familiar, medical consiglieri, Jian. The clinic was actually pretty nice with a small pharmacy and food kiosk (called Whole Foods) and some comfortable chairs in the middle.  An attendant approach me (apparently, I did not blend) and when he discovered I was part of the "platinum" package was very apologetic for having me wait with the "normal" people.  I was registered and rushed to the special VIP waiting room upstairs.  

This room was much nicer. It had a TV, a large soothing fish tank and a buffet.  It reminded me of a first class airport lounge in a small, developing country.  There were a few other gentlemen in the room and one by one they left and came back on the familiar blue hospital scrubs of the prior week.  I assume they were partaking in one of the less intrusive health packages. Smart guys.

Anyway, Jain arrived and we were escorted to the Doctor's office for the final results.  The Doctor was a pleasant Indian gentleman who tried hard to get my jokes and make the delivery of the news less boring and more relatable.  I appreciated this.  He began with the general tests which were surprisingly good and worked his way through the MRI, ultra-sound (still not pregnant), and ended up with the Angiogram.  Good, good, and good!  Lastly, he reviewed my Lipid Panel which is the measure of all things relating to cholesterol.  Apparently my bad cholesterol was OK, but my good cholesterol was in the red zone, but he felt this was weight related.  

So in summary, I paid $1500, was poked and prodded for two days and suffered a melt down while being stuffed into a torpedo tube all to be told I am fat.   Shit, my wife tells me that every day for free!  In the end, at least I now know I am not dying of some freak disease and, as a bonus, I got a handy parting gift of all the film and DVDs from all the tests to keep with me in case they ever do find something.  Who among you can say you carry around your MRI and angiogram recordings? 

I guess that alone was worth the price of admission!

Indian Valentine's Day

How do Indians celebrate Valentine's Day?   

Nothing says be my Valentine's day like a huge, furry, flower-filled heart on a 2 foot stand!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Traffic, Elevators and a Bowl of Food

A lot has been said about driving in India.  The traffic is indisputably debilitating.  Much is said about the lax rules, the poor city planning and the livestock in the streets, but Indians never criticize the real root cause of all the traffic – the Indian Driver.  And once you know the reasons, you will know India.

There is absolutely no forethought into anything an Indian driver does.  For instance, lets say that you need to turn left.  In civilized society, somewhere between the time you realize this and the actual left turn, one would slowly make their way to the left side of the road.  Not here!  Indians will drive in the far right lane of a three lane, busy road until they are parallel with the left turn and at the last possible moment, push their way across all lanes.  To compound the problem, no one will actually let the car cross they road, so the violator ends up blocking parts of at least two lanes as other cars push around it.  The lack of forethought combined with the absolute inflexibility to yield conspire to catalyze a minor inconvenience into an hour-long traffic jam.  There is absolutely no give and take.  Everyone just simply keeps moving forward eating up every available inch of pavement until the entire road is gridlocked and at a standstill.

Today I went to the bank which is on an access road along one of Delhi’s busiest roads.  The access road is under construction and the one lane of the street is dug up.  As we were leaving, two cars met head on in the narrowed section.  This, in any other country, would have been rectified in seconds by one car backing up while the other went through.  Not in India.  They sat honking at each other while cars now began to build up behind each motorist effectively blocking their reversal.  To make matters worse, cars began to come up the opposite side of the road blocking any chance of a compromise.  What you had in less than 10 minutes was two lanes of cars, numbering 30, facing each other across a 20 foot one lane road.  We choose a different route, but it was not without coaching my driver whose natural inclination was to add to the melee.

This is absolutely a microcosm of how Indians behave in every situation.  There is no common good, only their own.  You will see this in every interaction you have with them from business dealings, to the grocery store, to a common elevator ride. The when the doors open, the people waiting push in and gridlock the people trying to get out.  It slows the process to a standstill, extends the time needed on each floor and generally frustrates all the foreigners aboard.  No one thinks through the problem!   

I remember many years ago in a psychology class, the professor explained an experiment by a famous behaviorist (the name escapes me).  A dog was tied to a stake and the rope was just long enough to reach a bowl of food set in front of the dog.  Another stake was put in the ground and the rope was routed around the second stake that made the rope slightly too short for the dog to reach the bowl of food.  For days, the dog simply barked at the bowl of food mere feet from his nose, but it never occurred to him to reverse himself around he second stake and take the most direct route to the food. 

This is India.  Absolutely no one thinks through the problem and everyone is in such a hurry to take what they believe is theirs, whether it be the last inch of pavement on the road, the space in the elevator or part of the estimated $14 billion that went toward corruption on last years Commonwealth games, that no one every stops to think how much they could really get if they just thought through the problem and developed a mutually beneficial solution.

It is a shame, because they had such a bright future!

Medical Tourist - The Final Day

It was a long and cold night and I needed a good night's sleep.  I climbed in to the military cot around 10:00pm and after waking up an hour later unable to move my neck and shivering like a wet dog on a winter morning, I figured some changes needed to be made ... but I did the calculation that all expats in Delhi do and concluded that I would never get what I needed and would really only waste two hours in the process, so I suffered through the night dozing in and out of sleep and bitching in between.   

I woke up, brushed my teeth, re-donned my stylish, hospital scrubs and was whisked off to have a CT Cardio Angiogram.  I had, once again been fasting since the night before, so I was feeling tired, cold and hungry which is a lethal combination when combined with ambiguity and large needles, but I got myself focused and took my place on the table.  For those of you that do not know the details of a CT Cardio Angiogram, it is a scan of your heart. Simple, right?  Eh, not so much.  Firstly it is a scan, but they need to inject you with a solution, so they can actually see how well your heart is pumping the blood through your veins.  The nurse through out a few warnings during the orientation speech such as “if you feel discomfort" or “if you feel itchy.”  I heard, “if your heart explodes” or  “if you have a fatal reaction the solution.”   Anyway, apparently my pulse never got below the required limit, so they sent me back to the waiting area where several potent drugs were administered to slow my pulse rate and relax me.  They certainly did and the rest is pretty much a blur.  Where the hell were these drugs yesterday for the MRI – Would have gone a lot smoother, this I guarantee!  The only thing I really remember is when they injected me with the solution, I was convinced I had just either been immersed in a warm bath or pee’d myself.  None were true, but the sensation was pretty surreal.  You could actually feel the solution move through your body warming it from the inside out as it flowed.  Luckily, I was as drugged as Martian Sheen on a Friday night, so the experience was more of a cool new sensation, than disturbing.  I finished the test and was sent to the suite for observation for another 30 minutes in case there was a reaction to the solution.  They fed me breakfast, though, so I all was good!

When I finally sobered up, I was sent on another barrage of short and less traumatic tests including bone density, dental, hearing and penultimately an eye exam.  Finally, we reached the last stop on the whistle tour.  I was returned to my room for a consultation with the nutritionist who told me to eat less and more healthily.  Really?  I am so glad she could use her degree from the University of the Obvious (Punjabi Campus).  I finished my nutrition discussion, signed a few papers, called my driver and ended the odyssey.   All that is left now is the consultation with my assigned doctor next Wednesday morning where I will be told the results.

In retrospect, it is actually a pretty good program.  The room was decent and they got me through a lot of medical work that in the states would have taken a month and a bag-load of money.  Indian hospital workers are not as warm and personable as you would expect and they find little humor in sarcasm.  They do, though, try their level best to attend to your every need.  The best part of the deal was it was all really at your pace.  You have a comfortable suite from which to conduct all of your excursions throughout the hospital and a personal consultant to organize all the appointments before you get there.  You never had to recover in a waiting room and if you wanted anything from water to tea to snacks, they brought them to you ASAP.  Best of all, you always butted the line when you showed up regardless of how long others were waiting.

On the other hand, it as still a hospital and an Indian one at that, so do not think I was hanging out at the spa at the Fairmont Scottsdale for two days.  It is a place of medical business, so there were all sorts roaming around and the smells that follow.  As well, it was neither comfortable, not quiet to stay the night.  If I did again (will hell actually freeze over?), I would keep the suite, but go home at night to sleep. 

As I said, I get my results on Wednesday, so until then, keep your fingers crossed that it is a clean bill of health!  

Medical Tourist - Part II

Today was one of those days that was meant for blogging! I mean, I actually spent the day in a developing nation turning myself over to their healthcare system. This ranks right up there with my trip to Kashmir or sailing across the North Sea. In retrospect, I actually believe there was less risk with the last two.


I arrived at the MAX Super Specialty Hospital (or MSSH to those in the know) right on time with samples in hand – well, they were actually safe in their plastic containers. Anyway, I arrived never the less. It has been a while since I have actually been in a hospital, but this one seemed pretty well appointed with several restaurants and a feel that was more hotel and less medical. I introduced myself to reception and after some discourse, I was led to registration.


Although the environment seemed well thought out, the registration process quickly brought you back to where you were – India. I sat in at the registration desk for 15 minutes while the guy behind the desk talked on the phone and oriented himself to the job at hand. He finally handed me my form to fill out and I set about completing the usual irrelevant questions about my father’s name, blah, blah, blah. Then I was told I need to pay for the privilege of registration. It was only a couple bucks, but it is the principle of it. Really, I’m dropping a couple grand in your hospital and you are not going to wave the registration fee? Ah, India.


I was then led to my suite. I can say that for a hospital it is comfortable and roomy and I honestly cannot complain, but it hardly lives up to the hype on the website - a tad over-marketed, I would opine. It has two rooms, one sitting room and one bedroom, but the bed is simply a hospital-gurney style bed without a real mattress or blankets. We will see tonight how comfortable it is.

My bedroom - note the WWII cot style bed - Comfy!

My livingroom

Within a few minutes of arriving in the suite, several nurses showed up with carts of equipment. The first crew needed to draw blood, 7 vials to be exact, and the second ran an EKG. Apparently, I am still alive. Soon after I was detached from the machine, my consultant arrived. He was a young guy and I detected he had not been in this line of work for too long. He laid out the day as best he could and we were off to the Ultrasound.


The Ultrasound is exactly what it sounds like. You lay on a table and they lube up a mouse-like thing and rub it all over your belly and chest. We did learn that I am not pregnant which was a huge relief to me and a bigger relief to Olga. We did learn that my liver is slightly fatty, which means I means I need to cut down on non-vegetarian items. After wiping off the gunk left by the test, we were off to the Nuclear Medicine Department.


Again, I do not have too much experience with this, but do we call it nuclear medicine in the US? I had never heard of it, so I was feeling very intimidated. They put one of those permanent tubes in my arm that you can attach a syringe to at anytime and injected me with irradiated isotopes. Again, I assume this was OK as no one was wearing big, white radiation suites. I was then set to the treadmill. I was hooked up to a very large machine and set about walking at increasing speeds like a gerbil. As my heart rate hit its maximum level, the nurses tried to inject me with next dose of isotopes. Now, this sounds easier than it was. I am on the treadmill walking as fast as I could without jogging and the nurses are trying to connect the syringe to the tube hanging out of my arm. Not a good situation. In the end, all went well and I finished the test with my arms intact.


After the test, I was finally allowed to eat. It was 11:00am and this was a milestone I was anticipating since the 6:00am poop sample collecting event. The “breakfast room” consisted of one table and a small buffet of rice, two bowls of unidentifiable Indian crap, and bread. I choose the bread, but I had it toasted as a special treat to me. Two minutes later, my toast was delivered to the table and the two other Indian men eating looked on as if I had lost my mind for passing up the bowls of crap. I ate my toast amid the neighboring cacophony of open-mouth, gum slapping chewing and escaped as fast as I could.


After breakfast, we returned to the Nuclear Medicine Department for my first scan. This was the thallium scan and consisted of two large slabs with a table that slides underneath. I set myself on the table and the two slabs slowly rotated around me. It took 20 minutes to complete the revolution and we were off to the next place.


The next few hours were filled with a blinding cornucopia of tests and consultations which I either cannot recall or have intentionally blocked out of my memory. The only thing I can recall is that I was starving and had so many things attached to me, I could barely walk. I still had the tube firmly taped to my arm for injections and I had four electrode pads still stuck to my chest. This was my low point, well almost, but we’ll get to that.


We then went to the Cartiography Department where they did another ultrasound, but this time for my heart and throat. The doctor had the gentle hands of a sasquatch and pressed the tool so hard into my chest, I actually bruised. After that beating, I had to go back to the Nuclear Medicine Department for another injection. It is a wonder I am not glowing tonight with all the freak’n isotopes injected into me today.


Finally, it was lunch time. We returned to the room and I waited anxiously for the lunch to be delivered. It was actually pretty good, but they could have wrapped my stool sample in a pita and it would have been good at that point. I then got a few minutes to myself and used it to call Olga to share the misery. I’m a giver!


The second part of the day was dominated by me being slid into, around and through machines. With the earlier injection of isotopes, I needed to have another scan, so we were back to Nuclear Medicine for a 20 minute turn with the scanning machine. This, though, was nothing compared to the MRI.


Firstly, I have never been in an MRI and had no idea what to expect. The movies portray the MRI experience as you relaxing on a super comfortable table in a huge climate-controlled lab as you are gentle and quietly inserting into the roomy machine for basically an hour nap. NOT THE CASE! First of all, the machine is neither quiet nor roomy and the table, well, we will get. The colossal machine sat in a brightly lit, freezing vault. The machine was huge, incredibly noisy and the opening long and very small. Very Small! Anyway, they lay you on the table and then lock you in place by strapping huge slabs of plastic over your entire body from head to toe - even your head and neck are clamped down with these plastic torture devices. I was OK with all that, but when they completely immobilize my arms to my side, I had a minor panic attack. Yep, a panic attack! First time in my life I have ever had one, but a panic attack none the less. I made them undo all the entire get-up (which took them 20 minutes to assemble) and give me a moment to collect myself. I am not proud, but it is what it is. I eventually convinced myself to spend 60 minutes in the tube, but I can tell you it was not easy. I pray I never need another MRI. That thing scares the hell out of me!!


Luckily, it was the last test of the day and I was able to retire to my room to recover, eat dinner and share my shame with the world.


Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Medical Tourist

People come to India for many reasons: they come to find spirituality in the many ashrams; they come to find peace through yoga; they come simply to see one of the oldest civilizations on the planet as just plain tourists.  The fastest growing tourist industry, though, is medical tourism.  Yes, medical tourism.  You simply fly half way around the world, check yourself into one of the many 5 star hotels hospitals and let the good times roll.  

Well, I have done yoga and I have seen the civilization, so I thought I would take a crack at being a medical tourist myself.  I have decided to take advantage of the low cost, alleged high-quality, luxury health care that is offered a mere stone's throw from my front door.  I am going for a physical, but not just any physical.  I have signed up for the MAX Platinum Comprehensive Health Screening which is billed as the one of the most comprehensive health examinations on the planet.  And I begin at 8:45am tomorrow!  

One of the reasons I am writing tonight - other than to keep my mind off of the potential nightmare that is tomorrow - is to lay out my perceptions of what I think will happen tomorrow and then we can all have a collective laugh at my expense when I regale you with the reality.  

As I said, at 8:45am, I will show up at the MAX Super Specialty Hospital (that is the real name) ready for my comprehensive health screening.  This, though, is not where my journey will truly begin.  I have some homework.  I must collect a urine sample and a stool sample tomorrow morning.  The urine sample, I understand - hold the cup out in front and pee.  Not too complicated.  The stool sample I am still grappling with.  The jar is small and the lid has a tiny little scoop attached to it, but this provokes more questions than it answers. I cannot eat anything after 8 tonight, so what if I do not have to poop?  Do I only need one scoop or do I need to continue to dig at it until the cup is full?  Can the sample have touched the water and if not, how to you get a dry sample if the toilet is full of water? Hum?  I am sure there is an easy way to do this, but I will be up all freak'n night developing a block & pulley system to get this done, no doubt.  I will probably not tell you how it went.  

With samples turned in successfully (hopefully), I will be introduced to my personal health consultant, Mr. Ashish Makkar and he will escort me around for the cavalcade of tests I will endure.  The tests are as follows:

Blood Samples (Fasting Samples)

* Blood Investigations

* Cardio Vascular Panel

* Hormone Panel

* Cancer Markers

* Infection Screen

* Nutrients Estimation

ECG

PFT

Stress Thallium

*History

*Injection Administration

Ultrasound Whole Abdomen

X-Ray Chest PA view

Thallium Scan

Consultations:

•               ·      Mental Health

•               ·      General Surgery

•               ·      ENT

Musculoskeletal Evaluation

Blood Sugar - PP Sample

Thallium Scan (TMT)

Thallium Scan

MRI Whole Body Scan

Carotid Doppler

Echocardiography

Somewhere between the Thallium Scan and the consultations, I will be served breakfast.  It is scheduled for around 11:30am which may be a problem if I have not eaten since 8:00pm the night prior.  I can get a little grumpy on an empty stomach, so it may not be the best time for me to have my mental health consultation.  Lunch is scheduled for 2:30pm, but not without another Thallium Scan.   I have no idea what a Thallium Scan is, but apparently they give these out like lollipops.  I pray it does not involve a large needle and my spinal fluid.  We finally wrap up around 6:00pm at which time I am scheduled to have tea with my consultant.  I have a feeling, though, I am really going to need some alone time at this point, but we shall see.  

The next day we are back at it by 9:00am for the following appointments:

CT Coronary Angio with Calcium Score

Bone Densitometry

Dexa Fat Estimation

Audiometry

Consultation - Dental

Consultation - Ophthalmology

Nutrition Consult

Again, I assume somewhere in there we have a breakfast and a lunch, since we are not scheduled to finish until 3:00pm, but who knows.  I do hope that I don’t have lunch with the Nutritionist, as that would be simply awkward.

A few days after, I will have a follow up consultation during which they reveal to me all the things they have discovered. I am truly hoping they tell me that they have found nothing that is not correctable with a little more exercise and a little less butter.  As I write this, I am not sure if it is the battery of tests that scares me more or the potential results.  I suppose it is better to know now then from the coroners' report!

Gas Line

Apparently, they are installing a gas line in my neighborhood.  I was initially overjoyed to hear this news, as we currently have to get the gas for our stove in cylinders and each time we run out, we need to replace the cylinder.  Now, this is India, so by "we", I mean the watchman, Gupta Ji, so it is not like it is traumatic.

Anyway, as I said, I was excited until I looked out of the window today and saw this.

Now, I have so many issues with this process, I have no idea where to start.  Firstly, if my observations are correct, I believe the two plastic tubes crossing the trench are the gas line.  Who lays a plastic gas line without insulation or protection and then covers it with dirt?  Who is the guy in the chair and could he maybe help out the frail women with the shovels?  Thirdly, look at the guy in the trench chipping away at the manhole access tunnel - dude, if you want in, just lift the cover next to you and climb down.  

I have been in India for roughly 8 months and have learned that there are some things you just are better off not knowing - like any food preparation.  It is just better that way. The installation of a gas line, I believe falls into the category.  Each night, I now will go to bed wondering if today is the day the line will spring a leak and some knucklehead will walk by smoking a cigarette.  

Boom!

New Furniture

As you know, my wife has become the social center of our existence in Delhi.  She has impressively joined a few expat groups and made some very nice friends with whom we can spend time complaining about India, Indians and all things sub-continent.  The biggest benefit from all this socializing, though, has been gleaning the years of experience from the other expats that would have taken us a decade to accumulate.  I have written about a few of the finds, such as the beef place and other grocery related discoveries, but the latest find is more Indian - a furniture maker.

On Saturday, Olga and I trudged down to the aforementioned furniture maker to see what we could see.  I had allocated about 30 minutes, because we were scheduled at the Italian Embassy's restaurant for some pizza and pasta (another find from my socialite wife) and I wanted to maximize my Italiano time.  The "store" was located in a district mainly known for textile factories in the 1970s, but had degraded into a makeshift residential / industrial area full of broken streets and rubble.  The place looked like Baghdad without the glitter and sophistication.  The actual furniture place which consisted of two 4 story buildings separated by a city block, so to get from one building to the other you had to navigate the pock-marked streets, dodge traffic and under-supervised children (not a great combination).  Both building could have used a street-appeal make-over, but it is all about what is inside.  

What we found inside was a treasure trove of furniture, both old, new and a mixture.  There were hideous Hindi pieces from the 1970s next to beautiful antique trunks.  The real finds, though, were the new pieces that had antiques incorporated into them.  These were armoires with ancient temple doors, there were coffee tables with intricate caved windowsills for sides and TV stands with a variety of fronts on them.  We pursued room after room and floor after floor for well over an hour and found some really unique items, but nothing that we could not live without or needed to get the measurements.  In the last room, as we were leaving, we spied this little gem.

You can see the figures of women on each side

We had been looking for something unique for the drawing room (living room) upon which to place the TV and TV related items, but nothing really seemed interesting enough.  Our usual bland wood tastes get lost against the massive white walls of the apartment, so finding something unique, with a bit of the right colors has proven difficult.  This piece is the front of a very old dowry box which would be given with the women to the men's family before the wedding and the cabinet is built from teak to match the distressed feel.   The combinations of green, yellow and red match our furniture and the carpet, so we were quite happy and made the impulse buy!


The place has some very unique items and I am sure that this piece is simply the beginning.  I am told that he makes furniture upon request and we need a few more pieces to fill the apartment.  The only question will be how to get them home?

Jodhpur - The Blue City

I had been looking forward to going to Jodhpur since the trip was schedule.  Jodhpur is one of the cities in Rajasthan you see in all the brochures of India with all the huge palaces and forts.  Finally, I was going to see the India that everything thinks is India, rather than the open sewer, stinky India in which I live my daily life.  

We left Kerala early.  The airport was small and with the typical ridiculousness, we boarded our plane to our connection city of Mumbai.  We arrived a little late, but this was a minor annoyance compared to the circus that was the security in the airport.  We stepped off our plane and had to immediately go through a security checkpoint to enter the airport.  We walked about 100 yards and had to be rechecked to enter the Departure Area.  It was exactly 30 feet from that security point to the door leading out to the plane at which, you guessed it, we were checked again.  We walked to 50 yards across the open airfield to the plane before, yep, being check one more time before being allowed to board.  The best part is that every one of the checkpoints was clearly visible from the other.  Apparently, airport security has the same level of confidence in their people as I do.  ZERO!  

Anyway, with that behind us, we arrived in Jodhpur around noon.  It being a holiday, we were unable top work, so we put on our tourist caps and went to see what there was to see.  Jodhpur is a less traveled city than the more famous Jaipur, so there were not too many people milling about.  The city sits in the middle of basically a flat, beige desert.  In the middle of the city a huge mesa rises from the desert floor and it was around this that the first kings decided to build a city.  Of coarse, they kept the strategic mesa for themselves and built a massive fortress on top in the 15th century.  

The mesa rising from the desert floor

Before we went to the fort, though, we decide to stop at the Maharaja's Residence.  The mansion was built in the 1920's when apparently the Maharaja thought he had endless funds.  Turns out, with Indian Independence came financial independence of the local subjects on which he depended and the Maharaja now lives in a small section of the former residence.  Most of the house is leased to the Taj Mahal Hotel Chain and the remaining is a museum documenting his family. Quite sad, actually, as when it was built, it was the largest private residence in the world.  Oh how the mighty have fallen.  This is not to say that the Maharaja is living on food stamps, but the days of living at that level have gone for all, but the Saudis and dictators.  

The Maharaja's Residence

The fortress is huge and very vertical.  I would have to say that if I were leading the attacking army, I would have given up before the battle began and gone home for some chicken tikka.  You have to drive up a mountain just to get to the entryway and then it really get steep.  They ought to put defibrillators every 20 feet or so for those of us who may not be as young as we once were.  When you finally reach the interior, though, it is well worth the climb.  These guys were defiantly living well.  The other amazing thing is the view.  The fort sits 400 feet above the desert below and commands views in all directions.  You can even see another foot on another mesa over 125 miles away.  

After arriving at the top of mesa, we had this to look forward to

These intricate windows are all carved out of stone

More stone construction

The commanding view of the city below

An old cannon protecting the walls
In the distance is the Maharaja's Residence

The blue city of Jodhpur

The back side of the fortress

Anyway, we spent the afternoon tooling around the fort and then swung by the local market below which sits in the shadow of the fortress.  It was very reminiscent of the old city in Delhi.  There were alleyways and stores of all sorts selling everything a good Indian would need to maintain the perfect Indian household.  They, were, though, a little more accustom to tourists and were quite forward in trying to get you to shop in their store.  This, you really do not see in the backstreets of old Delhi.  My foreign colleagues went about the business of buying all things Indian in the market, while I observed the locals bartering for onions and fixing shoes. The mixture of the people, the noise and smells were really mesmerizing. Since I live in India, I have realized that I have the luxury to observe life in the markets rather than participating.  If I need anything, I can always come back!

The market in the shadows of the fortress

Goods and people are still transported by horse & wagon

The busy and crowded Clock Tower Market

Locals flooding the streets to get their shopping done

After a few hours, my colleagues tired of the market and we decided it was time for dinner. We had been told about this great dining experience a few minutes outside the city and decided to try something unique.  We arrived at an old horse stable that has been transformed into a hotel (apparently it was the Maharaja's stables and he still owns the property).  Across from the hotel, there were tables set up in a field and an outdoor kitchen working feverishly over an open fire pit.  The tables were spaced fairly far apart, because each table had a huge fire bowl next to for warmth to combat the chilly night air (it was around 15 degrees Fahrenheit) and the only light was an oil lamp placed on the table.  There was no electricity or gas of any kind.  Welcome to the 15th century!  The meal was cornucopia of meats and vegetables piled high and grilled to perfection.  Fantastic!  

The next morning, we were back to work and by the end of the day, I was back in Delhi snug in my own bed!

Another Business Trip

I have just returned from my second business trip in India.  This time, though, it was through southern and central India and lasted for a week.  We all know how enamored I am with the Indian airport system, so I will skip the usual diatribe on the ridiculousness of having to show you itinerary to get into the airport or the incompetence of the India airport security and move right into the trip itself.  I will say that however ridiculous Indian airport security is on a typical day, traveling during a national holiday takes the idiocy to new heights.  

This trip we flew from Delhi to Chennai in the state of Tamil for a few hours of meetings and then jetted off to Alleppy in the state of Kerala in the evening.  Kerala is considered one of the gems of India (It is actually referred to as “God’s Own Country”) and I have been conspiring for a trip there for many months.  We only have one vendor there, but I figured that in order to be the most effective at my job, I have to visit every region and industry - right?

Kerala is located in the southwest corner of India and is unique in many ways.  Firstly, it is the only democratically elected Communist government in the world.  This makes doing business a unique experience, since the state does own a great deal of the process.  Secondly, it has 100% literacy which is great, but in a country like India, it is extraordinary (although business people in Kerala joke that there is such thing as too much literacy).  Lastly, the geography is made up of a beautiful Indian Ocean coastline complement by an extensive river system called the backwaters (not the best marketing name).   It is this river system that is the real attraction to the area.  You can rent a boat for the day, a week or a month and simply cruise the backwaters.  They have all types from small cruisers to super luxury houseboats made from converted rice barges.  It is very cool!

As you know, I rarely write about business specifics, but our visit to Kerala warrants prose.  We were visiting a vendor that makes coir mats.  These are the super thick, super rough doormats made from coconut husks that you get for your front door.  I have a very nice one that my sister Wendy sent me complete with my last name with on it.  Anyway, I wanted to see the entire manufacturing process, so after seeing the factory where they print on the mats, they took us to where they weave them. 

I was told the process was very simple.  Firstly, the coconuts are cut and the soaked for a very long time in salt water to make the fibers weavable.  Then, the fibers are spun the same basic way all fibers are spun and then woven into rugs.  Hum?  Pretty straightforward and since I have been to garment, towel and sheet factories in India that hugely automated and boring, I thought this was going to be your run-of-the-mill (bet you never thought you would see that phrase actually used in its original context?) production.  Oh, how wrong I was!

After a short drive into the pages of “Heart of Darkness,” we stopped on an empty road in the middle of the jungle.  There was a small house set back in amongst the palms, but it was hidden by the extensive and uncut brush.  The soil was white sand, but this was no beach.  Behind the diminutive main house, there was a long metal covered hut without walls. It reminded me of bars & restaurants that dot the tourist spots in Florida that try to give you the rustic, south pacific feel.  Here, though, there were no mojitos, just hard-working mat makers.  Under the metal-roofed shelter, there were several ancient, wooden weaving machines based on a design and process that had not changed in 150 years.  When they say their mats are hand made, they are not kidding. 

(There is something hinky with the videos, so you may need to move your mouse around the area of the play button.  It is like the actual place to click and the button are slightly off)

The grounds of the house with the workshop

The process of making these mats is actually quite simple.  The coconut fiber is introduced to the weaving process not as yarn, but as small bunches.  It is tucked underneath the yarn that is already in position.  It is then pounded tight and cut to size.  This makes the thick, strong and rough mats that prevent mud being tracked on your new hardwood floors.  I suppose everything is harder than it looks and I am guessing this work really becomes difficult as the summer temperatures crest 120 degrees.

These are the weavers making the mats.  

(Please note the ever evolving blogging talents - I have discovered how to put music to video.  

Skills I image every 6 year old in the world has mastered)

The finished mat

Behind the looms, there was another metal-topped shelter, but this one did not have any equipment under it.  There was a small motor at one end and the rest of the hit was for walking. This was the spinning area.  The woman would attach two strand of the coconut fiber to a wheel that spun in a circle and would walk backwards feeding more short strands while the spinning wheel combined the short strands together to make one long one.   Then she would put the two long fibers in a type of skate and combine them into one larger stronger strand - All done the way yarn has been spun since man began to spin yarn.  The most interesting part of this is that they were not showing us the remnants of a declining industry, but truly how the majority of coir mats are made.

The spinning of the coconut husk into yarn

We left this small operation, to see how coir products are made on a larger scale. Being a communist state, there are Cooperatives that combine the power of several families into one larger operation.  These Coops are where larger products are made that would not be cost effective or efficient to make in the home production.  Here we saw huge handlooms being run by two people using levels of dexterity usually reserved for the circus.  The two workers in an aerobatic dance ensured that the weave was perfect and the skate continued to shoot back and forth without interruption using all limbs.  I was thinking of turning this into the next big exercise phenomenon.  Pay me $1500 a week to come to my compound and make mats and I guarantee you will lose 30 pound in one month (and I will make a lot of money on both you and the mats!). 

After a day a trudging around the jungle and other assorted factories, we decided to unwind with a backwater cruise.  Through our local guy, we were able to arrange a houseboat, some snacks and some beers and spent a few hours cruising through the river system of Kerala.  There is a lot said about this region, I mean “God’s Own Country” is a pretty strong recommendation, but I can say that it absolutely lived up to the hype.  Motoring slowly through the canals and lakes of Kerala is as tranquil as it is interesting.  The shore is dotted with small settlements, as well as huge rice fields.  The water is calm and there was a cool sea breeze that floated over the evening air.  If you ever get India, this is an experience not to be missed.  I can’t say I would want to spend a week doing it, but a few days would rejuvenate for sure.   

A view of the backwaters from my hotel room

A beautiful evening on the Kerala backwaters

A large lake onto which our tributary spilled

Fishing the traditional way

Green, lush rice fields

The evening commute

Traffic on the backwaters

Working hard in India!

The next morning, we scurried to the airport for an early flight to Jodhpur, the blue city.  It was Republic Day, the day that India was officially declared a republic, and that made for an interesting flight.....