In which we lose Shiksha2 and Bob in the same day

First, an apology: I was not able to connect at the hotel last night, so this entry is a little late. Oh, how I do love technology, or as Les puts it: technology will only fail when you need it.

That's sort of the theme of the day, I suppose. Technology failure. I was supposed to be teaching using the web and the cd's yesterday morning which I certainly could have done, except for one teeny, tiny glitch. The brand, spanking new $1500 Proxima projector decided to act like a two year old and refused to cooperate. The tech guys tried everything under the sun, and finally found one laptop in the whole room that our miscreant projector would play nicely with. By then it was lunch, and I had spent most of the morning using a whiteboard and markers to get across the things I needed to do. Hey, it's all part of teaching with technology. Always have a backup plan, and it's a really good idea to have a backup to the backup, too.

After lunch (and I must say the food at the Palace Swasno Hotel is fantastic!), we thought we were good to go. The projector had had enough of a timeout, everyone's cd's had finally been coaxed into cooperation and the stars seemed to be aligned. Then, Shiksha 2 decided to also take a break. We have two wireless hubs, Shiksha 1 and 2. (Shiksha is the Hindi word for "Education"). Shiksha 2 had died on Monday afternoon only to be resurrected Monday night. By yesterday afternoon, she had gone on holiday again and we were down to practically no bandwidth. This really is not a recipie for succes when you are teaching technology skills. The folks were very patient and understanding, probably because this is India where the power goes out ten times a day and you can make an appointment with someone but must consider the power of IST (India Stretch Time).

Vicky and I had decided early in the morning that we wanted to do some shopping after class. The ladies in the class were very helpful and knowledgeable about places to go for the items we were looking for. We thought we could get Bob to drop us at the hotel, then wait 15 minutes while we changed shoes, then take us to the mall where we were told we would find the shops we wanted. Rememeber, Bob speaks very little English. We thought that we could get Gagan, one of the teachers here, to translate for us, and give Bob directions. 10 minutes and at least 4 people later, we were on our way.

Bob dutifully dropped us off. As I got my bag from him I gestured 15 minutes and he said, "Yes, 15 minutes." We changed and went downstairs eagerly anticipating a credit card exercise session.

No Bob.

No Bob's car.

The helpful doorman, after the three of us stood around for 15 minutes, said,"Oh, he has gone away. I saw him leave." He suggested we sit inside for a few minutes until Bob came back. We finally formulated a plan of attack on the bar for our "free" drinks (we get a new coupon every day). We informed the doorman that he could call us in the bar if Bob showed up. By this time, Bob was 45 minutes late.

We arrived in the bar, coupons in hand and throats parched. Now, we find that the coupon is good for a beer (size L) or a mixed drink (size Barbie). We went with the flow, ordered snacks and sat back to enjoy the evening. It was sometime into the second drink that one of the bartenders came to the table to tell Mr. Foltos that there was a phone call. Les came back to announce that Bob had been waiting for about a half hour for us. The doorman had called our rooms and when he couldn't reach us it seems that Bob called the travel agent who arranged his employment with us. She, in turn, called Gagan, who called the front desk of the hotel, who did a tiny little bit of sleuthing and found us in...the bar. Just where we said we'd be.

Will the food at Hotel Swasno continue to be fabulous? Will the travel agent show up to give us the plans for Agra? Will Vicky and Cheryl get to go shopping tonight?

Stay tuned for the answers to these and many more questions.

Our First Day of School

We did it. We made it through the first day. One down, 9 to go. That sounds more ominous than it really was. We're all tired, but it's a good tired.



Our nameless driver, whom I shall call Bob for want of a better name, showed up very
punctually at 7:45. Just as we had asked. You see, there's this phenomenon in India known as "Elastic Time," meaning you almost never do anything at the agreed-upon time. You think you have an agreement, but they will give you that funny little wag of the head they do, and you just never quite know. Anyhow, Bob showed up, drove us the three minutes (really) through the streets of Gurgaon to the training site. These are some typical street scenes on our route to training. The one picture I'm sorry I missed was one I would have called "Sanjay's Quality License Plates." It's a little roadside stand with about 30 license plates for sale. I'll try to get it for future posts.



Once Bob had gotten us to the Hotel Swansoo, he insisted on carrying our bags in for us. He really is sweet, just doesn't speak much English. More on that later.

We met our class, and before the learning began, there was a traditional Indian welcome ceremony, with dots of marigold pollen on everyone's forehead, and the presentation of marigold necklaces (leis) for everyone. It was pretty cool, I have to say!

Dinner tonight was probably our biggest adventure of the day. We decided to eat in the hotel because none of us felt like going anywhere. The hotel has been delivering free drink (beer or soft drink) coupons to the rooms for a couple of days, now, and Les decided to take them up on the offer. Last night, we had tried to go to the bar but it was closed for renovation so we had our drinks in the dining room. There's no way you will ever get a DUI from drinking in this hotel: it takes at least a half hour to get your order. Come to think of it, the bar was probably closed because they wanted everyone to listen to the band (Les claims they brought the 2 piece band in from Taiwan and paid them 25 cents to play. 25 rupees would have been too much.). Think the worst versions of "Annie's Song" and "Mandy," you have ever heard. Oh, and "Stand By Your Man," sung phonetically.

So, we were looking at the menus, had ordered something to drink, when this very solicitous hotel person arrived to tell us that we couldn't use the coupon in the restaurant, only in the bar which was now reopened. (Ed. note: last night, they didn't know when it would reopen). He practically dragged us out of our seats, promising us that our table would be reserved for us and that "they serve the same food in the bar." Okay, we thought, what do we have to lose? Not a smart strategy in India. When we arrived at the North Pole Bar (temp. 0C, hence the nickname) the solicitous man grabbed our drink order from the waiter who was up there filling it, and begged us to pick a seat. We asked the bartender if we could get food and Mr. S. informed us, "Oh, no, only light snacks." We finally convinced him that we really did want food and returned to our table in the dining room. The menus had been removed and, well, to make a long story short, at least it only took 45 minutes to get drinks, another 10 or so to get menus, another 20 or so to place an order, and a really, really looooooooong time before the food was served.

More tomorrow!

From Humayan to Haldiran's: Happy Holi!

We began the day fairly quietly, with the hotel breakfast (and coffee worthy of any teacher's lounge in the universe) and some time in a conference room getting our ducks in a row. Well, the ducks would've more orderly if we hadn't continually gone on "birdwalks" about a thousand other topics. Either way, Les had been told by our host that today, the last day of Holi, the Indian Spring Festival, would be a good day to take some time in the hotel, as the Hindu population spends the morning throwing paint at each other and drinking. Wise advice.

Around 2, we made our way to the concierge to see if he could arrange a car to take us on a sightseeing tour. He was very reluctant to do so, as he was worried about the paint-throwing thing and more to the point, the drinking and driving thing. We reasoned that a little alcohol wasn't going to make anyone in Delhi a worse driver, so we voted to take our chances. Les thought we should see the capitol and India Gate, so off we went.

Our driver agreed to take us to the sights Les wanted to see, and even parked very close to the India Gate so that we could walk up to this memorial to India's WWI dead. We walked around the park (very much like the Mall in DC)and watched many people enjoying a perfect weather day and one of India's biggest holidays. When we returned to the car, the driver suggested that we should see Humayan's Tomb. It is supposed to be the precursor to the Taj Mahal. It was stunning and we were all very glad we listened to the driver. We were greeted many times by locals wishing us "Happy Holi!" As we were climbing the steps of Humayun's Tomb, a boy of about 7 or 8 leaned over the wall and yelled, "Happy Holi!" When I wished him a happy holi, he said "What country are you from?" I told him we were from the US and that caused quite a stir. We could hear a lot of talking in Hindi and the word "US" several times. The entire family gathered at the top of the stairs to look at us.

Our main activity for the day was to go to the training site and meet with the folks who are putting things together. They wound up being probably a half dozen of the nicest gentlemen you could ever want to meet. Very eager to help in any way, very interested in what we are doing and very funny. I think this is going to be a good two weeks. Once we were ready to leave and have dinner, Les asked if there were any decent Indian restaurants in the area. The site is across the street (not as simple as it sounds)from a large shopping mall. Like any self-respecting mall in America, Indian malls, too, have food courts. TG, our host, gave us a list, suggesting a sit-down place called "Choke." I kid you not. Maybe it doesn't have the same meaning in Hindi. It was in the Metropolitan Mall. He also suggested a place in the Sahara Mall, Haldriman's, which he said was good if you could tolerate "hubbub." The mall is directly across somewhere between 8-12 lanes of traffic. Remember that in India, lane marks are put down to keep the Highway Department in work so the rule is that if you can squeeze your vehicle into the space, it's considered a lane. Traffic lights? They do make nice perches for pigeons, don't they?

Sorry for the birdwalk, back to the story. Our driver for the next 12 days is a very, very nice young man (we'll get his name eventually) who speaks almost no English. Two of our hosts left Les with their cell numbers so that if there is a language problem we can call and they can translate. We figured that we'd be fine for dinner because TG had given the driver the information about where we wanted to go. He dutifully drove us to the Metropolitan Mall because we had decided we wanted sit down more than we wanted hubbub. Mr. Driver drove us to the mall, couldn't find parking and just kept on going. We finally stopped outside some other place and when we finally made it clear that we would go across the street for hubbub rather than try to get back to where we wanted to go, he began backing the car out of the parking lot we were in. I kid you not, the back alarm makes a noise like a remote controlled fart machine for about 5 seconds and then begins playing some Indian music for 15 or so seconds. Fart, sing, repeat. I very nearly lost it.

We made it to Haldiram's. It's difficult to describe. I think it's India's answer to Old Country Buffet, only it's not a buffet. You make your choices, pay for them and take them to one of the serving tables where they spoon what might be the appropriate glop onto a plastic cafeteria tray or plate for you. Les wants us to kill him if he should ever suggest that we take a meal outside of the hotel. Mine wasn't that bad, but it wasn't that great either. But, hey, when in India do as the Indians do, and judging from the hubbub, a lot of Indians do Haldiram's.

And, finally, in a marvelous demonstration of Indian understatement, we give you this sight, which we came upon on the way into Delhi. If you look closely, the sign says "Showroom Shifted." I'd say they got that right.

What does it mean when the pilot says "Hopefully?"

We're here! We made it halfway around the world (over 8,000 miles to be almost exact). Vicky and I left Seattle at 6:30 PM Friday and arrived at 5:30 AM Saturday, Delhi time.

The first leg from Seattle to London was uneventful. We spent a couple of hours wandering around Heathrow because neither of us wanted to sit down. We'd just done 8-1/2 hours on a jammed 747 and knew we faced another 8-9 hours on another jammed 747.

As far as we can tell, the only boarding announcements at Heathrow must be made in the terminals your flight is not departing from. We knew we were at the right gate (the sign said so) and we knew 298 others thought they were at the right gate. We all knew we were 15 minutes late boarding and there had been no annoucement. Suddenly, people just started walking down the jetway and the British Airways gate crew seemed fine with it. So, we joined the others and boarded. Note to self: it isn't always a good idea to be among the first to board. As we got on, we both thought the plane seemed rather warm and close. Could be sharing a metal tube with over three hundred other souls, all exhaling and generating body heat, we thought. Then, the lights went out. The boarding stopped. The captain came on the intercom (how does that work if there's no power?) to say that the auxilliary power unit was in the tail, making it impossible to service and so the plane was plugged into power from the airport (must be one mighty extension cord!) and we'd tripped a breaker. Could it be that someone had tried to use the microwave, the hairdryer, and the 747 all at the same time?

After close to an hour of sitting in an increasingly stuffy plane with a whole lot of smelly people, they finally found the breaker box, the power came back on, and boarding resumed. As the last stragglers came down the aisle, Vicky and I realized that there was only one empty seat and it was next to Vicky. She thought we'd gotten away with not having to share our little slice of paradise with someone and she fastened her seatbelt. I felt that was tempting fate and I was right. Suddenly, a young man came bounding down the aisle and stopped right next to me. Wonderful. Once he was seated, we should've been able to depart, but we just sat there, still connected to Heathrow by that extension cord. Our seat partner explained that as he was getting on the crew was counting heads and trying to locate a passenger whose bags had been loaded but who hadn't checked in. That explained the urgent running up and down the aisle by the crew. Someone finally cleared us and the pilot came on to explain that we were ready to leave and hopefully we'd get a good departure slot and hopefully everything would go well and hopefully we'd make up some of the time we'd lost. That's a lot of "hopefullys" for someone who truly has your life in his hands.

All had gone hopefully well for about half the flight when the pilot came back on the PA. No hopefullys this time: instead he was announcing that some moron (my word, not his) had been smoking in the bathroom. He explained that there was a hefty fine involved and if it happened again, he'd be forced to have the police hold us and search the plane when we arrived in Delhi. You could just about see the anger of 299 people who had already been stuck on a plane an hour longer than they wanted to be. Anyhow, the juvenile delinquent (it takes a special kind of stupid to risk A)a $2000 fine and B) setting the bathroom on fire?) behaved and we landed in Delhi without further incident.

Vicky got through Immigration in about 15 seconds. The officer then turned his attention to my passport and wrote and wrote and wrote. I think he just liked writing my name. I finally got through, we collected our bags, changed some money and looked for our driver. We'd been told to looks for a sign with our names on it. Sure enough, the second sign said "Mr. Victoria, Mr. Wolotira (Coordinators)" Mr. Victoria could be anyone, but Mr. Wolotira? We took a chance and identified ourselves to the nice man.

Remember Luke Cabdriver from Korea? He not only has a brother in Delhi, I actually think he emmigrated to Seoul from Delhi. Our driver was relatively sane and he only blew his horn every minute or so, which may cause him some grief with the authorities. It is unlawful (we believe) and unsafe (apparently) to not lay on your horn from the moment you turn on the engine 'til you turn it off. We got to the Fortune Select Global Hotel safely, checked into our very, very nice rooms and spent most of the day either catching up on sleep or catching up on work. The hotel looks to be somewhere on the road to Jaipur, so not in Delhi proper. It is quite nice, quite comfortable.

Tomorrow: Les arrives from Cambodia and we get to see the venue. And, who knows what else?

A Word Before Departure

Just a little bit of explanation about the title: when Rob and I were having dinner tonight, he mentioned that he'd told someone at work about what the PSC 3 were going to be doing in the first weeks of March. To be more specific, he said that we were going to be teaching about technology. To paraphrase, his friend said, "In India? They're going to be teaching about technology in India? Isn't that like taking coal to Newcastle?" Rob said he clarified that we were going to be teaching professors of education about using technology in the classroom, but I thought that would make a catchy title for this travel missive.

I hope to make it as entertaining as the Korea travel log seems to have been. I have been assured by good friends who have traveled in India that India is far more foreign and entertaining than anywhere else in the world. I can't wait!