Impressions of Southern India (Day 14)
20090531 (Day 14)
Have I adjusted? I suppose I have a bit. It’s still very different (on the other hand, I’m tall by local standards, which is nice, I can only imagine how out of place my 6’6” colleague feels). I don’t think twice about taking the auto-rikshaws and I’m growing accustomed to arguing over the price. The drivers refuse to use the meter for Westerners, charging four or more times what locals pay for the same distance. It’s still inexpensive in comparison to the U.S. Went to MG Road (Mahatma Ghandi) today where the locals shop and the two “markets” cloth and fruits. The constant press of people is something I don’t think you can get used to in a few days.
Went to Mysore on Saturday. Formerly the capital of the kingdom and state capital under the British rule, it’s two and half hours from here. We took in a bird sanctuary/preserve, the palace tour and then returned to the palace at evening when the 96,000 light bulbs are lit. Amazing. I’ll upload the pictures soon.
Impressions of Southern India (Day 3)
20090519 (Day 3)
Bangalore is, I’m told, less populous, more sprawling, less polluted and- thanks to the IT and construction boom- more affluent than much of Southern India. English is spoken everywhere to some degree. The region is entering the monsoon which means it’s cooler than normal but humid and it rains each afternoon and some evenings. It’s very tolerable, they used to call it the “air-conditioned” city. This is also the wedding season and in the evenings little temples are lit up and there are celebrations and dancing spilling into the street. It’s an overwhelming culture shock. Weird juxtaposition outside the office where an ox cart stands next to parked cars in front of an advertisement for a website. My company is taking care of most of the details. This is a relief. I’m adjusting to the time zone better than my colleagues and don’t feel lagged but do get a caffeine headache at 4am.
The local cuisine is not as hot as you’d think, savory and spicy. They do have these little red pods that look like a dried currant but definitely aren’t- those are hot. Everything is settling well.
The hotel is a business apartment in a gated compound. Clean, slightly dated but adequately modern. Air conditioned and with amenities including 24-hour security (even a taxi driver mentioned how the extremists frighten everyone). I’m having trouble with hot water but it might just be the shower valve as my colleagues have it scalding hot. There are also random blackouts that last anywhere from a few minutes to an hour. I’ve already been caught once in the hotel elevator for five minutes of darkness and now take the stairs.
Impressions of Southern India (Day 2)
I recently spent three weeks for work in Bangalore. I’m hopelessly Western and middle-class. I’ve excerpted from some of my emails…
20090518 (Day 2)
Let me describe what it’s like here. The first thing was the flight in, it was pouring rain. I’ve rarely seen such a downpour. The landscape is beautiful, flat plains slightly muddy and then these ragged groups of mountains jutting 4000 feet up. It’s just before the monsoon season and the outskirts are caramel-colored dirt interrupted by green pastures and crazy quilts of two- and three-story housing. The airport, for all the reputed expense, is new and efficient but unimpressive after seeing Dubai International. The rain and lightning, I’m told, is unusually severe for this time of year. The monsoon hit early on the coast.
The drive to the hotel in a little white cab the size of a Ford Fiesta was harrowing. Sunday evening is a slow time but there is a veritable riot on the roads. It took me ten minutes before I realized they drive English-style on the left side of the road. Little cars squirming and jockeying five abreast on a three lane road, scooters and small motorcycles- many with their lights off- juking in and out of traffic. Some carry two or three passengers, legs outriggering, or are laden with makeshift bundles. A few have loads that obscure the bike and rider. Women often ride side-saddle behind their men. City buses and tall narrow trucks pepper the traffic. Autorikshaws- three-wheel, two-stroke death traps from the look of them- sputter along, crowding other vehicles, apparently ignoring the traffic, pulling 180 degree turns, jerking to the side to pick up or discharge fares all the while doing a smokey double-duty to keep the mosquitoes down.
The rain puddled and vehicles of every description are stalled on both sides of the road, hoods up, men crowded into them or sometimes just abandoned with lights flashing while a few meters down the road the owner walks. Bicycles and pedestrians go every which way.
The thirty minute cab ride to and from the office is more crowded still and I found myself wincing and flinching at the near misses. One of my London colleagues, quipped that a British cabbie would last two minutes here. Another can barely look out the window. If you imagine the arrivals gate traffic at JFK sped up to 35 to 45 mph, laced with the motos from Naples, sprinkled with an antique bicycle race and the foot traffic from Times Square you’d have a pretty good idea what the confusion looks like minus the stray dogs, indolent cattle and the occasional goat.
Ross Lonstein
