As I’m sure is the case with most visitors to India, my first real impression of the country came on the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel; my first activities consisted of finding my way through the airport and getting my luggage; hardly an opportunity to stop and take in your surroundings.
I had heard countless times about the traffic and activity on Indian streets, but nothing can prepare you for what it is like.I’m in Bangalore on business, and I have been working with people from India for most of my professional career.In my experience, they have been intelligent and hard-working, but most notably, they have been very process-oriented.With this in mind, the complete chaos of Indian traffic is a paradox beyond comprehension.The only rules of traffic that I’ve been able to identify are (a) there is no incident small enough not merit the honking of a horn, (b) traffic signs and lights are for sissies, and (c) although the idea is that the flow of traffic is roughly split between left and right and, in general, one drives on the left-hand side of the road; lanes are meaningless.Even this last one seems to be more of a “guideline” than a rule, and there have been more than a few occasions where I was in the sole car going the wrong way through oncoming traffic because it was slightly more convenient for the driver.
As a pedestrian, the experience shifts from being nerve-wracking to utterly terrifying.I wouldn’t say that traffic tries to hit pedestrians; it’s more that it doesn’t really try to avoid hitting pedestrians.While it appears to be frowned upon, it doesn’t seem to be a major concern.My strategy is to shield myself in a crowd that I estimate is bigger than any driver is willing to hit.Twenty to thirty appears to be the magic number.
With the goal of having me survive my visit to India, my company has assigned me a driver, Murali, who drives me everywhere I want to go – day and night, 7 days a week – and who waits for me while I shop, or eat, or try to hopscotch my way across a street (and he probably also laughs at my ignorance, but he doesn’t get paid for that part).Murali’s charter includes showing me around Bangalore and the surrounding area, taking me to any kind of restaurant I like, and keeping me alive.
On my first weekend here in Bangalore, Michelle came across from Chennai by train.She arrived around 1:00pm, and after some minor confusion on how to meet each other, we met halfway around the world from where we’d last seen each other.
My driver took us around Bangalore, showing us some important government buildings and taking us shopping.Afterwards, he took us to a restaurant where we were going to have some drinks and dinner.
We arrived at the restaurant around 5:00pm, and were told that they won’t serve dinner until 7:00 because they had to fuck first, but we were welcome to have drinks while we waited.Michelle and I stood in stunned silence for a few very long moments while we tried to understand what the hostess could possibly mean.Finally we realized that they were planning to fumigate (fog, not fuck, apparently) the terrace to clear out the various flying nuisances that are common in the area.Relieved, we accepted and settled into a table and ordered some drinks.A few minutes later, we found ourselves in a suffocating cloud of DDT or whatever they fumigated with.Ever since, my elbow has felt funny, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m growing a second head there.Stupid DDT.
The next day, Murali took us to the city of Mysore, about three hours - 100 kilometers - southwest of Bangalore.On the way, we stopped at a Muslim temple where orphans were attending Karan school, we went to a Hindi temple where I was blessed by a holy man, and to a bird sanctuary where Murali arranged for a private, covered boat to take us around a lake where we saw a stunning array of birds and were much closer to crocodiles than I would care to ever be again.Oh, and we saw monkeys.
To recap: traffic is crazy, if you’re not honking, you’re doing something wrong, DDT makes my elbows feel funny, and monkeys and crocodiles are cool.
I mentioned to one of my team members the paradox of how process oriented the team is, yet how chaotic the traffic is. He laughed and said, “Yes, we are very process oriented only in the office. In traffic, we follow the Agile method.”
A new realm of possibility was opened up for Mack this weekend. We already established that Skyline Lake was the coolest thing Smackimus had ever seen, but there was one missing ingredient for the Total Awesomeness (TA) that Mack always knew existed: snow.
Anyone who has spent time with Mack knows that Semi Awesomeness (SA) is the baine of his existence. In any given situation, he is giving 110% to find a way to make it rule more. This usually results in him pissing someone off and Semi Awesomeness quickly becoming No Awesomeness, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop trying. At long last, Total Awesomeness has been found. It was established when Jim and I took Mack and Bromley backcountry skiing last weekend. Bromley was already well established in the backcountry ways, but this was a new one for Mack. While he had been snowshoeing with us in Minnesota, it lacked a certain element of speed. Backcountry allowed him to chase us at full tilt while jumping off cliffs into snowbanks.
The top two maneuvers that established TA were the following:
The End-O. There was a reasonably firm top layer of snow on some of the slopes we were skiing. Just firm enough for a dog to stay on top of, but not firm enough to hold the skiers. Jim and I figured out pretty quickly that the best way to manage the dogs (read: keep them from running into the path of a skier and taking a metal ski edge to the jugular) was to have Jim ski in front with the dogs chasing him, and have me ski behind, keeping the dogs between us. Mack was chasing Jim at full tilt, staying on the surface of the snow. Suddenly, he post-holed both front legs up to his chest and did a complete flip. He didn’t miss a beat and just kept on chasing.
The Huckleberry Dill. Jim witnessed more of this than I did, but I think I can convey the incident with some degree of accuracy. Mack was blasting through the woods and came to a small ledge maybe 8 feet high. Naturally, he hucked off the top of it, tucking his paws up under his chest for maximum aerodynamics. After a few moments, he stretched out his paws to ready for a graceful, feather-light landing into the snowbank below. The only unexpected element was that the snowbank was seemingly bottomless and Mack disappeared into to a puff of snow. Poof.
I’ve written about U2’s downhill trend before, and I don’t mind doing it again. The last album of theirs that I own features a song about beautiful days called “Beautiful Day” and another about elevation called “Elevation”. Despite the clever song titles, it has nothing on their 1987 release, “The Joshua Tree”, which had an entire National Park named after it.
Michelle and I were in California for the weekend, and if you ever have a chance to make it down to Palm Springs, make sure you stop by Joshua Tree National Park. We drove to the north end of the park and hiked the 49 Palms Oasis trail before driving from the north end of the park down to the south end. It’s an amazing place, with crazy wildlife. We were lucky enough to see some lizards and the guy from the Geiko commercials. He offered us pie and chips. For free.
The 49 Palms Oasis hike was crazy and led to an actual real-life oasis. You hike through the desert in stifling heat for a few miles and suddenly - out of nowhere - are all these palm trees, standing in pools of water. It’s absurd.
It was a beautiful day; we didn’t let it slip away.
Christmas time is here again. Its not the Christmas music playing everywhere that tipped me off; stores have been playing Christmas music since the middle of August. It’s also not because of all the Christmas cards that we’ve been getting with what appear to be stamped signatures and false wishes of warmth. Don’t get me wrong, there are certain Christmas cards I love getting; but the one from the car dealership in a state we don’t live in anymore wishing us a “profitable” 2008 seemed a little false. (Profitable for who, anyway?)
But we love Christmas Season. As Michelle puts it, it’s ChowDownTime plus Presents. That equals Awesomeness, for those of you who are weaker in the math department. In equation form, it’s
ChowDownTime + Presents = Awesomeness
In essence, it’s all the best parts of Thanksgiving, plus you get presents.
Since we celebrate Sinterklaas, the season starts for us the first weekend after the 6th, which is when we get a Christmas Tree. Every year, Michelle and I have the same struggle: she wants a Christmas Tree that is at least four feet taller than our ceiling and has a girth somewhere between two and three times what our house can accommodate. I have input on which trees I do and don’t like and Michelle does her best to find something that will fit in our place, but once Michelle has her heart set on a particular tree, my protests have limited influence. To be fair, I am easily swayed by a quick estimation of how much loot we’ll be able to fit under the bigger trees. Needless to say, Santa’s got his work cut out for him.
Due to our powers of self-restraint, we usually come home with a tree that’s only about two feet taller than our ceiling. The tree has to get shoved into a corner in our house between the front wall and our bookcase which houses our stereo. You can imagine how much fun it is to turn the stereo on or off, or to swap out records on the record player with pine branches poking me in the ass and going up my shirt. “Tree Hugger” doesn’t begin to describe it.
After pruning the tree from both ends and getting it set up in the house, the real fun begins. Michelle insists on having about 100,000 lights on the tree, with the trunk cloaked entirely in light so it glows from the inside out. (Don’t worry, we live near a fire station, and I’m told they’ve got our backs.)
Since I’m taller, I’m the one who “gets” to put the lights on the tree. This involves getting maimed by the tree’s branches and needles, and getting into a life-or-death struggle with the strings of lights which insist on tangling no matter how carefully I roll them up. I invariably fall into cursing fits, it’s part of my process. Michelle remedies this by buying me a bottle of Scotch of my choosing, which I get to bust open as the first lights go onto the tree. The downside of the deal is that I’m not allowed to swear once it’s open.
It’s that bottle of The Balvenie Founder’s Reserve that tells me it’s Christmas Season.
I’ve been back from the Netherlands for about a week now, but have been too busy to put together the photo album from the trip. Thankfully, I had some procrastinating to do today and was able to get right to it.
Apart from us both getting sick, we had a great time running around my home country. It is always a pleasure to be in Europe, but to have the chance to show Michelle my favorite places and spend time with family that we see all too infrequently was a real privilege.
Here is a high-level overview of our trip:
Day 1: After delayed flights and the usual confusion brought on by being in UnAmerica, Michelle and I finally met up at our hotel in Amsterdam. Thrilled to see each other, we popped out for dinner and enjoyed a nice bottle of wine. After dinner, I brought Michelle over to a Snackbar that I had spied with my little eye while trying to find a parking spot. Michelle was introduced to the almighty Croquette. And it was good.
Day 2: My cousin Jochem, who lives in Amsterdam, met up with us in the city center and took us around to his favorite places in town. Amsterdam is a wonderful city and, although it is a small city by many standards, it has so many distinct neighborhoods and such a diverse culture that it feels larger than it is.
Day 3: We traveled a sixth of the way across the country (about fifty kilometers) to Delft, my favorite city on Earth. We started the day by popping down to the market to score some fresh stroopwaffles. Michelle’s life will never be the same. After that, my Uncle Gijs and Aunt Vibeke took us to the Kinderdijk, which is a windmill museum in the province of South Holland. We had lunch in Schoonhaven before returning to Delft to have dinner with my cousin Barent in Leiden.
Day 4: We kicked around Delft and took Gijs and Vibeke out to dinner.
Day 5: We went to Amsterdam to meet my cousins Deborah, Folkert, and Coen and spent the day walking around town, visiting cafes, and shopping. The big event of the day was taking a boat tour of the canals in Amsterdam with a racist boat captain who was so thrilled to have actual Dutchmen on the boat that he spent the boat ride spewing racist jokes at us.
Day 6: We had a ‘rest’ day at my Aunt Doortje and Uncle Max’s house in Utrecht. My dad is knowns as a bit of an over-packer, and traditionally takes up a minimum of three rooms while repacking suitcases. Not one to disappoint family, Michelle and I arrived with the maximum number of suitcases allowed by the airlines, and proceeded to occupy the requisite number of rooms while trying to figure out how to get all our things packed into the right suitcases (this goes to India, this goes to Seattle, etc). My cousin Welmoed, who has since moved to New York City, Jochem, and his girlfriend Anette all joined us for a wonderful dinner in town.
the airport to the hotel; my first activities consisted of finding my way through the airport and getting my luggage; hardly an opportunity to stop and take in your surroundings. 
tries to hit pedestrians; it’s more that it doesn’t really try to avoid hitting pedestrians. While it appears to be frowned upon, it doesn’t seem to be a major concern. My strategy is to shield myself in a crowd that I estimate is bigger than any driver is willing to hit. Twenty to thirty appears to be the magic number. 
but we were welcome to have drinks while we waited. Michelle and I stood in stunned silence for a few very long moments while we tried to understand what the hostess could possibly mean. Finally we realized that they were planning to fumigate (fog, not fuck, apparently) the terrace to clear out the various flying nuisances that are common in the area. Relieved, we accepted and settled into a table and ordered some drinks. A few minutes later, we found ourselves in a suffocating cloud of DDT or whatever they fumigated with. Ever since, my elbow has felt funny, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m growing a second head there. Stupid DDT.
but there was one missing ingredient for the Total Awesomeness (TA) that Mack always knew existed: snow.
beautiful days called “Beautiful Day” and another about elevation called “Elevation”. Despite the clever song titles, it has nothing on their 1987 release, “The Joshua Tree”, which had an entire 
It’s also not because of all the Christmas cards that we’ve been getting with what appear to be stamped signatures and false wishes of warmth. Don’t get me wrong, there are certain Christmas cards I love getting; but the one from the car dealership in a state we don’t live in anymore wishing us a “profitable” 2008 seemed a little false. (Profitable for who, anyway?)
had some procrastinating to do today and was able to get right to it.
