India 2015 Photos

Sunday December 20 2015

Hey everyone. I am home recovering from Jet lag and a 13 1/2 time zone change. Tomorrow is not only the first day of Winter, the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice - it is also the day I have to shake off the jet lag and get back to normal life.

If you stayed with me throughout the whining and crying and bitching and moaning. Thank you. If you gave up after the second day, I understand.

I went through the pictures I took during the trip and picked between twenty and thirty to represent what I saw and hopefully give you what I was seeing between the complaining.

Here are the pictures - 2015 India photos

Again Thanks for coming along -

Assholes and airports

Paris – December 17 2015

Nine down, thirteen to go. At CDG with a transfer to LHR where for some reason I need to fiddle with my checked luggage. Two hours between fights, means hour and twenty realistically. New (to me) airport. I'm starting to stress already.

I got a few hours of sleep last evening before the flight. Gave it the three hour prior to departure treatment and did I need it. The kiosk and checking the luggage was a snap, it was that darned security screening and then …. immigration. To complete those two tasks took over and hour. I just wanted to leave. The immigration officer was older than dirt and just putting in his time until he either died from boredom or retired. I handed him my passport with a hello, followed by a How are you? Not even a blink. So I said, Did you sleep well? Doing anything special for Christmas? How's the wife and kids? - Absolutely nothing except for a point to the camera to take my exit photo. I saw the officer in the adjoining booth almost cracking up. At least that was something.

Then it was to the gate for a few minute wait. People started to make a line and when it got near six people in line – do you hear that? In line in Mumbai ? – I decided it was time to join the throng. Everyone had the same idea as I did and immediately there was a line behind me. You could tell the gate agents were just about to start embarking passengers, when the overweight tall European walked along the line and stepped right in from of me.

What the heck, Dude?

I was down there. (pointing to the part of the line near the gate)

So, you were down there, and now you are here?

Yes, do you want to fight about it? (French accent, and booze breath)

I could probably take you. (He was big, but his coordination was a bit off)

Ya, you could try.

We wouldn't be having this if you could hold your liquor.

It went downhill from there. He remarked he wouldn't sleep with me, I told him good because I didn't want to throw up. A few more exchanges and then I asked myself was it really worth it matching wits with a drunk asshole and decided to let it ride. All the rest of the time in line he kept trying to start things again, and I let it go.

As he got to the ticket agent he handed his passport and boarding pass to the agent with his right hand, and reached into his back pocket with his left hand and pulled out an index sized card bearing the image of two hand guns and held t up behind his head for me to see. I sure as hope he wasn't armed, and I sure as Hell hope he wasn't a sky Marshall or whatever Air France uses. Reflecting back on it, now I am a little worried.

The flight was gross. In India I few IndiGo airlines four times. IndiGo is a no frills “Turn and Burn” airlines. Charge a low fare for the flight and then add soft drinks, a low luggage weight, with high overage cost, that sort of carrier. One thing they did have more of than this particular Air France flight, using the same equipment (Airbus 320), IndiGo had more leg room. Knees n the back of the seat pocket to behind with, then the guy reclines to the full extent, then he puts his feet on the seat in front of him and pushes. I was worse than a for year old, kicking the back of his seat. Some unintentional, and some not so much.

Got off the plane and found that the next flight was reasonably close, so after security again, I am now at the gate waiting for the next short hop from Paris to London.

London Heathrow – 1146 am – 3:36am Seattle.

Only twelve more hours, until the land of Starbucks on every corner.

The flight from Paris to here was short. I child who had never heard the word 'No' was traveling solo behind me. The fight attendants had to tell him three ties to buckle his seat belt, and three additional times to leave the damn tray table up. Then it was as I would expect, crash, clang, thump, bang, etc. When we landed the flight attendants told him to stay in his seat and they would escort him off the flight. He slipped into the crowd and ran down the aisle. Too bad there wasn't any duct tape available.

I am a little worried about my checked luggage. I packed everything in there in because I didn't want to carry anything more than absolutely necessary. I was told in Mumbai that I had to check my luggage again once I arrived in London. That would necessitate going through Immigration and Customs, finding my bag (maybe – maybe it would have stayed in the guts of the airport and gone on to Seattle without any intervention – maybe not) rechecking it in then back through at least Immigration and find the boarding gate. I stopped at the Delta desk and she clicked some computer keys and said it was all fixed. I'm hoping. Other than dirty clothes, the few gifts I found along the way are in there. Those are the items I worry most about losing.

I am staying in Seattle, courtesy of Radisson's frequent fliers club. 30 hours between beds and add in a bus ride home is more than I want to do. I'll spend the night in Seattle on Mr. Radisson's dime and then catch the bus home tomorrow.

The flight from London was totally flawless, except for the 9 hours. I think I've watched every movie made in te last 2 years by now. Luggage showed up and Customs didn't arrest me.

So back in the states, take a shower and get some bed time.

Mumbai December 16 2015

Wow, eleven and a half hours and I'll on my way home. Back to decent coffee, sensible driving rules and spicy food only when you ask for it. I could add a few more, but I only have eleven and a half hours left.

I ad some good times and saw some spectacular sights but nothing has really changed my outlook from my past visit. If you want to survive you have to watch out for yourself and only think of yourself at all times and I don't find that a manner I like to find myself in.

This morning I slept in since I needed to kill time before check in to my new hotel. I had an appointment with yesterday's taxi driver for 11 am. So I piddled around the room, drank a big mug of coffee, checked email and Facebook at a nice leisurely pace. Over breakfast I wrote a review of the hotel, it was mixed. Room good this time, staff not so much.

At check out I knew I should have gotten the price in writing that the 'duty manager' quoted me. He said a price including taxes. I though this was an odd price, since with taxes the price increases by at least 20%. At check out, the taxes were included. There was no negotiation and no time since the taxi was waiting. I had her exchange a Benjamin for Rupees and later I discovered one of the 500's had a burnt corner which made it a near ten dollar souvenir. I've tried to pass it three times and failed 3 times. I'll give it to Kalwath back home, he's pretty crafty. He'll get rid of it next time he goes to India.

First stop was Churchgate station. This is where I went to on that first Sunday only to find out that people don't eat lunch on Sunday. Well today is a Wednesday and people apparently do eat lunch on Wednesdays. A rain pulls in and people explode from the doors and flood the platform. Then the porters and Dabawallahs. The Dabawallahs are unique to Mumbai, and so the rest of the world. For 150 Rupees (about $2.50) a Dabawallah will stop by your home in suburbia and pick up a home cooked meal for you. When I say home cooked, I mean – your – home. Mama or wifey cooked up a warm fresh meal and put it into Tiffin tins. Think of Tiffin tins as stack able, seal able metal Tupperware. Some of the tins are wrapped in insulated bags and some are not. The neighborhood Dabawallah takes his load to the train where another Wallah takes over and puts the tins on a long wooden stretcher affair. At the station he toss this board with twenty, thirty maybe more tins on his head and dashes outside where the tins are sorted into geographic areas. Then taken to a different location where they are again separated and tied to bicycles and delivered directly to your office. I don't know if they return the Tiffins or not and my waiter's English is not that strong. What is most remarkable about this process is that only one in a hundred thousand? Million? Go astray. All this with a bunch of minimally educated men and some bicycles.

I shot a lot of photos of this process, me and my closest other tourist friends. The only think on this tip that I shot more were hotel rooms for TripAdvisor.com. Hopefully one of the pictures tells the story well.

Next stop was Crawford Market. A market place still in heavy daily use that was there in Rudyard Kipling's fathers time. After crossing the street and doing a good job of not pee'ing myself I came to the gate. I was about to enter when this small man points to a sign.

No spitting – Okay I'm good there.

No smoking – Okay I'm good there, this trip

No Dogs – My last dog is now living in the Dog Taj at a friend's home.

One other 'No' that I forgot – didn't pertain to me.

Please use the licensed porters – I'm not buying anything so that is meant for someone else.

The little guy shows me his metal porter's license and tells me e has to go with me. I know the sign means don't pick up hitchhikers who will carry your bags. Use the honest licensed human tote bags. I was too beat down and too close to leaving the dust of India in India to fight it.

The main difference between a licensed porter and any number of hangers on at most markets in developing countries is the licensed ones have a card, and the hangers on are honest about steering you to their favorite shops. It was a tour given by Captain Obvious. “Here are some apples, that pomegranate”. “You want to see bird market?” as were are standing next a cage of Budgies, across the aisle from a pen of chickens, bunnies and a couple kittens. Jewelry? Silk? Pashmina? Spice? I did get to see the fountain that Mister Kipling Senior designed. Full of whimsy and mirth with almost cartoon like animal heads ringing the fountain. I can see the inspiration his son got for the Jungle Book.

Then came the walk past the spice seller. I was directed to this particular one, like a cow to a killing chute. I was persuaded (I won't say forced, but there really wasn't an option.) to smell 92 Masala with 92 spices in it. Saffron that was packaged in little plastic boxes that smelled like plastic boxes. Tea better than could be found in Darjeeling. I escaped with my cash and credit card intact.

I slipped my gnome a few Rupees and he slipped away. I dodged traffic and survived back to the taxi.

Next stop the J.W. Marriott at the airport. Past the undercarriage mirror check and the sniffing dog into the welcoming arms of a 5 star plus hotel. They couldn't find my reservation. I had it saved on my iPhone and showed it to him. He said it was the Courtyard by Marriott, not the J.W. I didn't care what it cost, how much for a room and can you call the Courtyard and cancel it for me? Click-click-click. I am sorry ma'am we are oversold by five already. We are fully booked.

I had a chance to have a nice chat with the bell boy while I waited for another taxi. Dad recently passed away from a heart attack. Mom was a caregiver in Israel until dad died and she had to come back to India. He used to work at the Holiday Inn and got a place in the new J.W. when they opened in March. A much better gig, and $225 a month.

The Courtyard is a bit further from the airport that I had hoped, but still far closer than down town. It is now 5 pm, think I'll go pull some curtains and set the alarm for 10pm.

Too fat, too hot, too many steps

Mumbai December 15 2015

My last full day before heading home. Tomorrow is a 24 hour day, but the flight leaves at 2:30am and I plan on taking it light and easy in the afternoon. Pack my luggage in the taxi, go to Churchgate Station and catch the Tiffin Wallahs, take a look at Crawford market and then head to the Marriott for the evening and checking out a little before the witching hour. Since it is only 10 minutes from the airport an ideal place to pre-plane.

Today started at the crack of 7:30. I had expected to be up before that, so I didn't set an alarm. I had an 8:30 date with a taxi to go caving. I got showered and everything in record time, made it downstairs for breakfast and was on the front steps by eight twenty.

I had made arrangements last eve for a taxi to drive me out here, about 25 miles from city center. About a 2 hour drive. The traffic was pretty light going out, but looking at the traffic going in it was the morning rush hour, times 2.

We drove past the now familiar landmarks. Terrorist fishing village, Chowpatty beach, Haji Ali Juice bar – next to the Haji Ali mosque, the sea bridge and the billionaire’s two billion dollar house.

After the airport my eyes were seeing virgin territory. It was all new to me. Not much new from the rest of the roadway I'd been looking at for the past two weeks. But a change is a change. Then we were pulling under an archway announcing a national park. This wasn't the place. We were still in the city. Surrounded by apartments and shops.

Seems I was incorrect.. This was the place. Right smack dad in the middle of the city sat this huge park, not Central Park huge, New York city huge. As soon as the taxi stopped there was a guy at the open car window telling me all the wonders to be seen from the comfort of his vehicle. I vetoed the tiger zoo and the Gandhi memorial for the Jain Temple and the caves.

His opening price was 1200, I countered with 7 and he said his last and final was 850. We agreed on 800, him of the sour face. Me wondering if I could have gotten it for the 7.

Then the wait. As quick as he was to leap through the window, he made up for it with tortoise slowness in getting the car to the gate. The car needed to get gassed up first. Like, Duh! They didn't know that it might need gas for the day? I read every sign the gateway had to offer, that were in English. Memorized the map (Not To Scale) of the park. As I ran out of things to read the vehicle arrived. A small something or other. With doors made out of Coke cans and an engine that rattled and shook if we got over 20 miles and hour. With my knees under my chin and nose pressed close to the windshield we drove to the Jain Temple.

The only thing I remember from World's Religion class in college is that the Jain's are a gentle form of Buddhism and the extreme faction of them have been known to walk with a broom and sweep as they walk. This is so that they don't inadvertently step on an insect.

As with all temples the rules for this one were no shoes, socks okay. A tall spire greeted you on entering the grounds, with glass frames covering 4 inset carvings. It was made out of rock and why the carvings needed the additional protection was beyond my ken. With shoes off I climbed the steps to a large open marble floored area. There were three people worshiping at the time I was there. One woman in the center of the floor facing the three tall statues of nude men. It didn’t appear that they were cold.

The other two worshipers were off to the left under a covered area in the shade. A grandmother or great grandmother type and a young man in his twenty’s. I was about to take a picture of the Tres Penes, with the men attached when the grandmother “Tsk!”ed me and waggled her finger. I didn’t remember seeing any No Photos signs, but I could have missed it. The young man said I could take all the pictures I wanted. I wanted one.

Further on were Buddha upon Buddha upon Buddha. Each had his own niche and each looked to my untrained eye to be exactly the same as the previous one. Buddha on a pedestal with some Sanskrit and a golden circle under him. Each worshiper would walk past the Buddha's in order, make a quick bow. More a exaggerated head bob while moving on to the next one without stopping, slowing or breaking stride. I lost count at 25. Then suddenly near the end of the line of Buddha's was a break. Instead of white, white marble (or plaster) there was a solid black one and his one had a fan of what I thought were feathers behind his head (I found out later it represented Buddha's enlightenment under the Bodhi tree). This statue had silver (well shiny) cups and bowls set before it. The nodding Buddhists might have nodded a centimeter deeper when they passed this one.

I saw a couple other shrines off to the side, in among some greenery that I thought might hold some photographic interest so I whipped the lens cover ff and glanced over my shoulder for grand mother and fired two or three pictures in quick succession.

Back to the car where I pulled the door a little harder than necessary (muscle memory told me that car doors should weigh so much) and nearly flipped us over. We then drove back to the main gate of the park. I hope to Hell he isn't going to try to charge me for this, because the cps will be involved before I do. Then I notice a lone white female walking towards the car with Mr. Window. She pops into the backseat, the engine complains and we are off to I hope the caves.

We drive through verdant forest, and I occurs to me that the map at the gate was absolutely, completely not to scale. What was a two minute drive, became a 10 minute trip. In the trip we exchanged the usual traveler requirements, residence, occupation, reason for travel and length of stay. She was from J'berg South Africa, an architect by training and strategic planing by employment. Two weeks in India on a yoga retreat and departing tomorrow. I liked her, she seemed a traveler that too it as it came. I did ask what she was charged and she said 800. She said the guy said 800 and she took it. That disappointed me a little, bargaining is one of my favorite tourist way to pass the time, and she took the first price offered ?

We got to the caves, to pay an additional fee to enter the cave area, plus 30 cents more for my camera. Cell phones with cameras are not cameras, I gather. The caves were used by Buddhist monks in the monsoon season, when it was generally impassable to move around the countryside in the 7^th and 8 th centuries. The guide book said there were five or six significant caves, the first three among them.

One of the caves reminded me more of the Anasazi cliff dwellings of the American southwest, the others if they had the cross instead of the Buddhas could have been dumped in the middle of Turkey and been totally at home. Some way with hand tools they were carved out of (the guard said Basalt) it looked to me ore an amalgamation of rocks pressed together, but picking at it with my thumb nail was impossible. One of the early cave temples was staffed with a security officer who explained some of the tinge and pointed out small things that I would have overlooked. I slipped him a buck and he was ready to give us a tour of the entire complex. Our tin can pilot had given us and hours deadline, so we declined the offer of a personal guided tour.

As soon as we left the shelter of the first three caves the sun was at it's near apex and there was no shade. The steps were cut into the rocks at some odd heights and depths. The depths might work well with bare monk feet, with modern hiking boots the steps were not deep enough. The lasting effect from last year's fall in Bangladesh is that I do not want to repeat it. I was struggling with the heat, the climb and the lack of shade. After seeing one of the other important caves, I had had as much fun as I could stand. I told her to trek on and take her time. We'd meet at the car.

She looked around a little more, I really expected her to dig deeper into the cave system, but it was a bit overwhelming in area and the allotted hour wasn't anywhere close to what would have been necessary to do the system properly. Give me a hat, a big bottle of water and an earlier start next time.

I found the temple of Coca Cola and had just sat down before it was time to ride back. We made a stop at the Jain Temple for her to view it. She came back to the car with a shrug.

On the way back I foisted off a torn 100 that had been rejected several times by numerous vendors. I don't know what is is with a bill having rip being unusable, it wasn't like it had been taped after being torn asunder. Then the driver asked her, what she was charged 7 or 8. I waited a heartbeat before saying 700. He He, my small victory for the day.

Back as were being discharged at the gate, Mr. Window the car herder asked if we had tipped our driver. I explained the math of 800 and 700, minus 1200 equals big tip already and he backed off with out a whimper.

We took the long way home, past the Bollywood studios, sent in the hills outside of town. Past a

The stepped building at the end of the street

famous actor and director (in India) homes. Both neither as plush from the out side as I would have imagined. But neither was the billionaire’s 10 or 15 story home. For his wife, his son and himself. He probably has a nice guestroom though. She does have a little help around the house with the laundry I suppose, with 140 employees for the house alone.

Back at the hotel we agreed to meet late tomorrow morning for a sightseeing trip to Crawford Market, designed by Rudyard Kipling's daddy and a stop at Churchcrossing train station to see the Tiffin Wallahs. I think ironic is the word. When the last thing I expect to see as a tourist is the first thing I tried to see as a tourist.

Then off to the Marriott for a few hours of bliss, before flying back to the USA.

Round and round it goes

Mumbai December 14^th 2015

After paying for the two most expensive drinks I've ever had and a good night's sleep I was refreshed from yesterday's travails and ready to take on Mumbai again.

The upgraded room came with breakfast in our own private dining room away from the huddled masses. Me and my computer and a guy with his computer were the only two people in the room except for the server. The food was plentiful and good. He best part was no one searched me and I didn't get shoved once.

Checkout and in a taxi to my next hotel. One that much closer to the center of the city, than the airport. It was the same one I had stayed at before. Not as plush as the Radisson Blu or the Hilton, but the price was right. I booked three nights through the hotel's website. Could have booked through Booking.com, but I know they charge about 12% to the hotel and I'd save them that.

The taxi was a nice air conditioned one I generally ride in the front seat, because the view is better, but this on had one of those flat front ends with no crumple zone, except for your shins in case of a collision. The back seat for me this time.

One thing I had noticed before but not really noted was the pride in ownership people have for their cars in India. I am always seeing someone with a rag and a bucket washing their car or dusting it off. The only time I can remember seeing a dirty dusty car was in Darjeeling and that is because the roads are in such disrepair. He more expensive the mid priced car the greater pride as well as protection in ownership. The Mercedes and BMW’s are all I good shape. It is the SUV's that show how much they like their cars. In Australia I think they are called Roo Bars, Brush bars on the 4x4 set in the US, and Push bars on the police cars. I don't know what the are called here, maybe Pedestrian bars. Big chrome bars on the front of the SUVs. They kind of remind me of braces on teeth. The back bumper is also augmented with a chrome horizontal pipe, I guess in case you need to back over someone.

We passed the posters advertising for the right to vote for 18 year olds. As well as the fishing beach where the terrorists came ashore in 2008. The police tower is a new addition since then.

In between two buildings there was a mini Six Flags. A Centipede roller coaster that didn't go up, just around with a couple small bumps. As it was it looked dangerous enough without the climb and dive. I truly wish I hadn't packet me camera, because the Ferris wheel there looked exactly like the advertisements I saw as a child for Erector Sets. Seeing it from the roadway was as close as I wanted to get to it.

Once at the hotel was where the wheels came off the bus today. Passport photocopied, and credit card handed over to have on file. Pretty routine until he wanted my to sign the preauthorization slip. It didn't happen this way last time I was at this hotel or any hotel ever. It was his way or the highway so I initialed it. I really hope it doesn't come back to bite me.

The ride from the airport took an hour and a half. My plane leaves at 2:30 am on the 17^th. That means an extra hour and half to a 24 hour plane ride, not to mention check in, Customs and getting home from Seattle. Thirty hours from start to finish is a real possibility. I decided to cut this hotel stay short by that half night and take one at the airport.

I went to the front desk to let them know and was told that I had booked a non refundable price for three nights. No if's and's or buts. F-A-D and not in a good way this time. If I had used Booking.com it would have been reasonably simple to change, now I had this guy telling me it was a special rate. It might have been a rate, but it was a rate for each night, and each night was a different price. We went round and round. I looked him in the eye and said “Fix it!”, he said he couldn't. I asked for the Manger. He said he was the Manager. I asked for his business card and it read “Duty Manager”, meaning lead receptionist. A few of the staff who remembered me from the last time came over to find out what the hubbub was about. Eventually we settled on a price that was more per night than I had booked the room for and less than he wanted. I could see if this was a mom and pop independently owned property, but it is the largest chain in India and their prices are not rock bottom to begin with.

I caught a cab down to the Gateway of India for something to do. Wandered around looking for a good angle to photograph and really couldn't find one. I was about to leave and someone called to me, a man and his wife who wanted my picture with them. Then another. And then three girl of high school ages, each in turn shaking hands. I hope it doesn't break the contract I now have with that modeling agency.

I found a shady place to sit and watch the world go by. Almost no western tourists, but tall Sikh men, three Asian monks, women in jeans, saris and veils all passed in front of me as I sat there.

I crossed the street to the Taj Hotel to have a coffee and a piece of cake for afternoon snack. I don' think it would be possible to be a good tourist to come through Mumbai and not at least experience what a hotel where the cheap rooms start at $200 a night and then go up to the sky from there. It is every bit as plush and swanky as the Plaza in New York.

Caught a taxi back to my hotel and started talking to the taxi drivers hanging around the outside of the hotel property. Down at the Gateway there was an aggressive tour operator who for $80 was willing to take me 25 miles out of town tomorrow to see some monk caves. With a lot of talking and some negotiating, I have a taxi waiting for me tomorrow at 8:30 for half that price.

The pictures I took today are just variations on ones I have already uploaded.

It started out bad, stayed bad and then got better

No whiners allowed !! Shut up !! I'm going to whine if I want to, but I''ll end on an up note.

I don't generally drink for the sake of drinking. I am in the lounge having a vodka tonic.

Last night after dinner I was in the room and reception or bookkeeping or someone called. I had booked the first night through Booking.com and the next two nights via Radisson's website. I used a different credit card for each. The Booking one wanted a credit card to hold the room, and the Radisson on wanted prepayment to get the good rate. What should have been an easy, “Keep the room on the card, I'll pay cash for the incidentals” Turned into a 20 minute ordeal at checkout this morning after speaking to two people last night. I'll probably be double billed by the hotel and Radisson.com for those two nights. This was all before 6 am.

The plane was scheduled to leave at 8:30 so I gave it the two suggested hours prior to departure check in. After getting my checked luggage x-rayed and zip sealed, the woman at the counter tells me the plane will be delayed --- until noon. She said I couldn't check my luggage until 10. I guess the policy changed because she came over later and said I could get the luggage checked and a boarding pass.

Missing Radisson's wonderful breakfast and clean western plumbing, I finished a book. Personal and hand carried luggage security check. Was the usual pain in the brain. You know that the lack of personal space in something that makes me most wacko about this country. Men, women, grannies and the infirmed have all touched me in places I haven't been touched in years and that is just walking through the market. But every time a woman undergoes wanding for security you go into this little screened in cubby to hold out your arms and have another woman pass the metal detecting wand around your body. You can touch me, but you can't see me with my arms out ? What a crazy country.

At noon, while waiting at gate 5 for the plane, it is announced that we must now go to gate 3 downstairs. As the line got shorter and shorter I noting most people are walking up to the ground team and walking away. Everyone is carrying a small white box. In the box was a vegetable loaf, some cashews and some cookies. Then we are told to go back upstairs to gate 5.

12:30 comes and goes and finally at 1 pm we got on the plane. I stood for most of the last hour, because no matter where I sat, Typhoid Barry was around me. Lung throwing hacking cough and runny nose and no thought of covering his mouth or turning his head. I had some alcohol wipes on me and tried to bathe in them when I quit sitting near him.

I got on the plane and found my window seat. I like to think I am pretty efficient getting on and who sits on the aisle (No not Barry) Grandma. She site there with all here worldly possessions in her lap and is astounded when I don't step over her. Then she realizes you can put your stuff in the overhead compartment. I sit down and put on my seat belt. She finds the buckle half and doesn't realize she's sitting on the tab half. She looks around a bit and mimes “Well this seat didn't come with both halves” I make her get up and flop the tab half over the arm rest for her to find. Then she tries to plug the tab into the back of the buckle. I do my best Flight attendant and using the middle seat to show how it goes together and then tightens and then how to unbuckle it. Later in the flight she is nodding off and I showed her how to recline the seat. When she deplaned she gave me a big smile and a wave.

Once n Mumbai everyone crowed as close as possible to the baggage belt, so no one and reach their luggage without shoving past you. Two feet back and everyone could see their luggage and it would just take a step to pick your off the belt.

I got to the prepaid taxi stand, told her where I wanted to go. The Hilton at the airport. The driver took me to the International Terminal. I lost it, I threw the receipt and said I'll get out here and find a taxi that will drive me the 6 blocks to the hotel, all the while he is talking a mile a minute, like I am supposed to understand him. I have enough trouble understanding the people here when they do speak English. Certainly not Hindi. So he enlists the help of a passerby who tells me I owe him for the taxi, and then interrupts me when I am explaining it is a prepaid taxi. Booth he and I know that the other is an idiot. Finally the driver drives away and then points to the Hilton and says “There?” – yes

We pull up to the Hilton and one of the greeters says “Welcome back”, this is as I'm stepping out of the taxi. Of course I couldn't enter without getting wanded, in my private booth. He wand beeped at my iPhone, the change in my pocket and the metal in my bra, and I as waved directly inside. I feel so much safer now.

For some reason I am the “Customer of the day” and deserve an upgrade. The room is on the executive floor, very large and really a sweet deal. I am wondering if it has anything to do with my last TripAdvisor review on this hotel when I blasted it. My TripAdvisor account in in Dorothy Macaw’s name, but I wonder if they put the two together.

So two vodka tonics and life is back closer to an even keel.

Silken elephants

December 12 2015 – Guwahati

Over dinner I wrote reviews for TripAdvisor on the two previous hotels. I couldn't find a place to review the Sunderbans excursion and residence. One had no hot water, one had 2.5 gallons of hot water at a time and one had lots of hot water, but you needed a snowsuit to eat there. Now the Radisson Blu. Lots of everything that was missing on each of the last and more, plus my ass is getting slightly chapped from all the kissing.

At dinner I tried to order the Tomato Mozzarella, Basil salad. It seemed the safest bet. Ever since one salad in Ethiopia I really have shied away from leafy vegetables. The salad was not available. That was totally unexpected. So I gritted my teeth, girded my loins and checked my Imodium and ordered the Caesar Salad. Other than it not being Romaine lettuce, but Iceberg instead It wasn't too bad. In any respect.

I've had the sniffles for a while not. Not sure if it is Rhino-virus (sp?)a cold)) or allergies. I am leaning towards allergies though. My nose runs like a faucet in my room. Yesterday I left 50 Rupees in the handle of my coffee cup for the maid, about a dollar. When I returned there was a new coffee cup (I hope), the 50 was gone and the daily newspaper was on the counter. The room hadn't been touched otherwise.

The housekeeper came in later and I asked her if she had come in earlier and replaced he cup and picked up the 50. She said she hadn't. I started thinking, it was probably the guy who checks the mini bar.. Sucker took the money due the maid. Okay. I handed the maid a 100 and thanked her, and left so she didn't have me hovering over her shoulder while she cleaned.

When I came back there was a really nice towel Elephant on the bed. Everything of mine had a towel under it. I had 3 not 2 bottles of water and one was at bedside with a glass. There were flowers on the towels in the bathroom, my brushes were on a hand towel and that was lined with flower petals. There was a large yellow blossom on my India guidebook. – I wonder if those flowers are what is making me sneeze in the room.

Today when I left I did not leave a 50 in the coffee cup's handle. When I returned the room had been untouched, except the newspaper was on the counter. The dirty coffee cup was still there, the wrappers for the Starbucks Instant and sugar were still there. You see, I think I outfoxed him. This time I drew a happy face on a piece of note paper, put the 100 on that and put that under my pillow. It was out of greedy harm's way and left no doubt that I just didn't leave the money laying around.

Today was another tourist day. The hotel rented me a car and driver. I had spoken to the concierge yesterday and told him what I wanted. He said he could call a taxi for me, but the driver would just do that – drive. If I used one of the hotel's cars and drivers they would know the area I wanted to explore and I'd get a better time. It might cost little more but a better experience.

Shortly after nine the white van with the words Radisson Blu stenciled on the side was waiting. I was not too thrilled with this, let's drive out in the countryside and advertise that I am staying at a hotel that costs 3 months salary a day. (really). Why couldn't we have had a little white clean car without the logo? Today's driver was just regular insane. No big chances and minimal amount of horn work.

This area is much more what I was used to in Cambodia and Bangladesh. Lots of wide leafed banana plants and palms. More the machete and pith helmet type of jungle than the open Savannah most of India had shown me so far. We even passed an elephant on the way. Right there on the shoulder of the road, while cars and trucks sped by with horns screaming. The Mahout was on his back and the elephant was calmly pulling branches down to munch on.

The town I was to visit was well known for it's silk manufacturing. For some reason the silkworms of Assam's product was of a golden color instead of the regular white that we associate with silk.

We got to the town in about 35 minutes. It was fifteen before 10, so most everything was still shuttered. The driver pulled to the shoulder, turned the engine off and waggled his head, as if to say “Here we are”. We were on the town's main street lined with closed shops. Hmmm.. I was getting the feeling that the concierge did not follow through on getting someone who knew his way around this town. I looked at him and said “Silk factory?”

He looked at me as if to say, “Huh! Good idea, glad you thought of it!”. He then pulled out his phone and made a phone call. Kind of a long call. Ten he was back the motor was running and we were on a dirt road through the backstreets of the town. Bouncing over potholes and dodging, kids, chickens, ducks and the occasional cow we pulled up in front of a small house with the name of the silk factory over the gate. Obviously this was not quite the industrial sized factory I had expected. It was a large mom and pop operation. In the front yard under a blue tarp was an area the size of my living room covered in silk coccoons. Next he walked us to the place where an Auntie was boiling the cocoons in a medium sized wok. The was then pulling one out and winding the thin hairlike fiber onto a spool.

Then he escorted us to the loom area. The room was not well lit. Not gloomy, just lit by the small windows at the top of the walls. Four women sat operating the looms. All peddle and shuttle, nothing electric in the room except for the fans. The loons were putting out some very intricate designs. The software for these were wooden panels about the size of a small notebook with holes drilled into them I different patterns. They were linked together perhaps twenty to thirty feet long. It first one was inserted, and worked until the last one was done, then the first one was picked up and fed back into the loom and the whole process started anew.

Next stop was the room where the men operated the machinery to put the chemically dyed silk onto spools for sale and export.

I thanked him for the tour and offered some money “for the children” and was told it was unnecessary, and he was firm with that.

We drove out and when we hit the main street I pointed to the nearest silk shop and my driver pointed down the road to a different one. There we found the manager of the silk factory, who had ridden over on his motor scooter. The fabric was really nice, all packaged up in three pieces of cloth. Each piece of cloth enough for one garment. Top, shirt and pants (probably not American sizes). They were sod as a bundle and could not, would not be broken down for individual sale. I made a purchase of the plain silk with a design on each end. It should be enough for a sleeveless shell.

We got back in the van and the driver said “Hotel?”. I said “There must be more to see out here, what do you suggest?”. He didn't understand a single word, he just smiled. Ookkkaayyy ……. “Show me an Elephant!”. I got that there were no elephants out here. “Okay, hotel.”

You know when you rent a horse from a stable for a joy ride, how the horse plods along, trying to rub you off on the trees ? Then as soon as you turn around, suddenly the horse is alert and prancing ? That was the feeling I had with this driver. We suddenly didn't have a single obstacle in out way on the way back. Like water down a river we flowed through and around traffic. We passed a stand of trees and the driver pointed and said “Elephant.” and kept on driving I said “Let's go see.”. He kept driving. I said “Turn around!” He looked at me, with again that, “Wow ! What an idea”, look.

This wasn't your clean and pretty circus elephant. Not on of those with colored chalk designs on them for the tourists to ride. This was a dirty, working animal. Dirt on his face from lifting logs and branches. I took a few photos and tried to communicate with the men around, they were all ready to make the elephant do what it did best, but I told them to let the creature rest. At least we got that much across.

The rest of the drive was straight back to the hotel, no deviation.

When we got back I went up to my room and made reservations for a flight from here back to Mumbai tomorrow. There are a few places left to explore around the city, and I've done as much locally as I can here. I logged onto IndiGo to get the reservation and go to the payment part and my credit cards were where I was expecting them. I didn't think they had been stolen, but I searched all the pockets and places I could think of. I took each piece of luggage and dumped it o the bed and went through each piece Finally I found the pouch in the bottom of my camera bag. Why I put it there I have no idea. I then realized I have enough cash to make it through the rest of the trip and then some, but without credit cards, hotel reservations and plane reservations would be nearly impossible without the help of a travel agent. Aarrgghh.

It is now two in the afternoon. A little earlier than I had hoped. I'll arrange things in my luggage for the trip tomorrow I guess.