Wanderlust Heaven!

Back in Boston now. Head still spinning from an eventful – and quite rewarding – reunion weekend in Virginia. Now I’d have a week to spend with my family and friends in Boston – it looked to be a hectic stretch of time.

My Dad and stepmother got ticket to the Red Sox game on Monday, which was Patriots Day. One of the very best days to be in Boston – besides the fact that there’s a Sox game that day every year at 11:05 a.m. (and not a minute earlier), the Boston Marathon is run that day…and this year the Celtics and Bruins were also playing that day. Boston sports junkyism at its zenith. My dad’s friend Dave Wolf got us the tickets, a couple years ago he did the same. Dave’s probably my father’s funniest friend. Of course, the only time I see him is when we’re sucking down beers at Fenway; still, I’ve gotta go with what I see.

After the game, which we won handily, we went over to Kenmore Square to watch the marathon. The front-runners had already finished, but it was still good to watch the pack coming through Kenmore, close to the finish line. I recalled the 3 marathons I’d run in Boston, how brutal they were, and wondered if I’d ever do another. My father is vowing to walk the course next year…one of these years when I can see that far ahead, I’ll train and run another. It is a signal accomplishment in life, methinks. The only real hitch, aside from the demands of training and actually running the race, is that old Japanese saying about climbing Mt. Fuji: climbing it once is glorious, climbing it twice is stupid. There’s something to that.

Two guys running the marathon were dressed as huge beer cups. My father laughed like crazy when he spotted them – I did the same. I don’t know how those two ran 26 miles to that point – I complained during one race that my sweat-soaked shirt was too heavy.

A fine day in Boston, one of the best in years. Boston is a pleasant place and while it’s not New York in all its mad glory, there are things going on from time to time.

When I’m home I have a lengthy set of things to take care of. On Tuesday I started tackling that list. First up: my annual physical exam, the last of which was, of course, two years ago. That went fine, no issues. My doctor was far more interested in hearing about my travels and (lack of) plans than in the usual battery of tests. And I was happy to chat if he was – I had pulled up to a metered parking space outside the office, and when I looked at the meter I found it still had two hours to go. Cool – I could preserve my precious quarters for later.

Read in Wired magazine that Dungeons & Dragons rule set 4.0 is about to come out. D&D was a teenage obsession of mine, until girls and beer took over. The article mentioned founder Gary Gygax, a name I hadn’t heard in many moons. I wonder how D&D is doing in our wired age…when I was in high school there was already a game, Wizardry, which attempted with some success to be a computerized D&D. These days there must be some incredible offerings – but I wonder if they’re as simple and playable as the games of yore. As I think I’ve written in earlier posts, I would love to get my hands on some old games like Castle Wolfenstein, Archon, Borg, and the Intellivision sports games. I heard about a store in NYC called Video Games New York on East 6^th Street, and wanted to pop in there, but didn’t have time this trip. More on this a bit later in the post…

After watching the marathon, I felt inspired to go for a run myself – I’ve been a bit lax in the past month or two. Went for my usual run through Newton Center and back. Had my iPod Shuffle cranked as I plodded up the hills, looking every bit as spent as those I’d just seen in Boston, they of course having been through 20+ miles while I’d just put in a couple. A car pulled up on the other side of the road and a girl leaned out and shouted something; as I passed by I only caught a couple words, ‘where is X?’ I looked at her with supreme malice and contempt and, as she was in moving traffic, she had to drive on. I continued plodding along, shaking my head. Did this girl really want me to give her directions? A girl, in moving traffic, shouting to a visibly exhausted runner with headphones on. Perhaps I misinterpreted what was happening, but I doubt it. Americans must be getting more stupid – every time I’m home I gather more evidence.

Went over to my sister’s family’s house the next night, to spend a couple days/nights with them. My brother-in-law and nephew were home when I got there, and we spend an hour or so listening to the songs on his new iPod, while my nephew danced joyously around a table. I think I’ve called my brother-in-law, Dave, a human iPod in past entries, and it continues to be true – you never know what song he’ll be cueing up. He’s taught his son, my nephew, a bunch of songs and the little guy can actually sing along with some of them. It’s pretty cool to see him dancing around singing. As for me, well, I’m pretty much confined to karaoke parlors out East…

That night we watched the returns from the Pennsylvania state primary for the Democratic nomination for US President. Hillary Clinton won and lived to fight another day. Talk about a complex and shifting situation – even though the campaign is already 15 or so months along and occasionally in danger of getting annoying, it is fascinating to step back and see where we’ve been and consider what might happen next. I have absolutely no idea who will be our next President of the three candidates remaining. Regular readers know I’m a fan of Obama’s, but it’s by no means in the bag. A year ago I thought Hillary was a shoe-in and that didn’t happen. I wonder what the online market-prediction websites are saying these days?

While we were playing on the couch my nephew asked me ‘do you have a home?’ I thought that was pretty random/funny/fascinating…how perceptive of the little grommet. Once in a while I hear from my brother-in-law or sister that my nephew saw a TV program on, say, Australia, and he says ‘Uncle Mike!’ But I really had no idea he had any semblance of a narrative about me in his head. I didn’t bother to explain my various peregrinations to him, not yet – but at this rate he’ll be able to absorb my peculiar sort of story soon enough. Well done, little guy.

Wasn’t able to get online using my laptop and their Ethernet plug, but with Dave’s help I found that the Holliston Public Library had wireless. Drove over there – and it worked like a charm. This library’s network was one of the fastest I’ve come across – I ripped some CDs onto iTunes and also bought a few albums, and everything downloaded in a couple minutes or less.

Went with my sister to watch my nephew take a swimming lesson at the YMCA. He’s making solid progress – until recently he didn’t like getting his head wet, now he’s jumping off the diving board.

After that, went to the Hopkinton Library, close to my sister’s house, and they also had a good wireless setup. I silently thanked the public library system – before today, I hadn’t been in a (public) library in years, and would have told you that they were an anachronism. Now I feel differently – besides my emergency wireless gig, I saw folks in there reading magazines and the newspaper, kids borrowing books, and small-town life in general.

Had dinner that night with the boys – Dave, my nephew, and my father. Went to a family-style steak place, Bugaboo Creek, with the requisite massive portions that have contributed to our national obesity epidemic. That night I was famished and happy to partake in the gluttony. But a meal like that wipes me out – I almost never eat steak, and although I enjoy it I’m ready to lie down right afterward, hands clasped over my gut, sleeping like a mummy. Not the sort of mummy from The Book of Dave, mind you…

Got my teeth cleaned the next day – got a clean dental bill of health. Worked on getting an absentee ballot for this November’s presidential vote – managed to find an online form and sent that in. We’ll see whether the timing of my mail actually allows me to receive/send the ballot on time.

Had dinner with a former colleague. We’ve managed to meet each time I come to Boston; I enjoy catching up with him. We usually meet at pricey restaurants and drink our fair share of booze. We met at Sorrelina’s, where we met last time. This place is very chi-chi, has a beautiful bar (and bartenders), and my friend’s a regular so he knows everyone there. We devoured a great veal chop and drank Maker’s Mark (well, I did) and some nice wines. The restaurant section was pretty empty – one of the waiters who knew my friend told us the recession was hitting them hard. A couple female friends of his stopped in – they work in the restaurant biz and are oenophiles/cognoscenti – lots of fun to talk to. One asked me what I was reading – I told her I had become a huge Salman Rushdie fan since finding ‘Midnight’s Children’ in my cheapie hotel room in Hanoi. She mentioned the fatwa that Khomeini put on Rushdie way back when…we talked about that for a while. She asked us if her jeans made her look fatwa – hence the title of this slog entry. Promises are promises…

Next day, awoke with a significant hangover, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Had to go to a lab to get my blood and urine tested, a standard follow-up to the physical I’d had earlier. I wondered how the Maker’s Mark and red wine would affect my readings…but I didn’t really care. Another chore to tackle and it was soon done.

Also had to see my accountant again – this time, to complete my 2007 taxes and sign the forms. She told me she had some bad news – I owed a good chunk of change this year, due to some capital gains from Asia. Ugh. I guess it’s not truly bad news, I made a lot of dosh from those trades and paying 15% tax on them isn’t armaggedon. Still, last year she only asked me for US$20, so this was a rude surprise.

Went to the New Balance outlet in Brighton. Got a great pair of running shoes for $50 and was out of there in 10 minutes. Male shopping at its best.

Got home. The phone rang, my stepmother got it. The caller asked for me…my stepmother asked who it was. The caller was evasive, but it turned out she was from the Church of Scientology. Random. My father was in the room, and we all had a good laugh over that. Where the bejesus did the Scientologists get my name and telephone number? Tom Cruise and I haven’t hung out in years…

That night, met some college friends at Crossroads Pub in Boston. This place is an old standby and I’ve been going there for 20+ years. They refurbished the interior fairly recently, but unlike some other joints I’ve seen, they didn’t overdo it and it retains a pleasantly pedestrian feel. Low overhead, my man. Had a great night catching up with the boys – they don’t seem to get together that much when I’m not in town, so I feel like I’m performing a public service by forcing them all into the same room. Moved on to Match bar after that, a far different sort of place where people dress up and pay substantially more for the same drinks. Market segmentation, indeed.

I didn’t quite drink my fill, as I had to get up early to play golf with my dad. Got to sleep around 2:30 or so, got up at 7:30, and felt alright. As usual, I’d had 5-6 glasses of water before bed and that does it for me.

Had a good round of golf. My dad and I are about even, so the pace isn’t strained. As usual, I intersperse a few nice shots with a bunch of pathetic ones. But it’s nice to be outside, the weather was cool and clear, and it was good to spend time with my dad.

My uncle and aunt came to visit us that weekend. Hadn’t seen them in a few years – they look good. Went out that night with them, my sister’s family, and some of my stepmother’s relatives, to Legal Seafood, where I consumed a massive bowl of clam chowder and a plate of grilled mixed fish. Dad picked up the bill – that can’t have been fun. But the dinner was excellent and it’s (usually) nice to get the gang together in the same room.

My week at home was drawing to a close. Had to do a few final tasks, including backing up my computer and smartphone data. Turns out the external hard drive I leave in Newton only has 60 gig capacity, I had thought it was 80 gigs. So I moved some old crap onto CDs and that did the trick…the only issue is that moving the files took a couple hours and that screwed up my morning. Oh well. I had enough time to take care of everything. Made a mental note to buy a couple huge hard drives during my next trip home – now they’re so massive, and so inexpensive, that it makes sense to buy ‘em.

Dropped some stuff off in my storage room, then came back home. Dad and Ellen had a BBQ for us, my sister’s family, and my aunt (Dad’s sister) and uncle. Huge meal – lots of meat – very drinkable Aussie shiraz. I swear I’ve had more meat since I got home than I had in my entire 5 months in India. The volume has been a bit of a shock to the system, but I must admit my carnivorous (omnivorous, actually) nature and I’d have a tough time enjoying life as a vegetarian…

Dropped off my rental car in Boston that night. Owed nothing – my AMEX Membership Rewards coupons took care of the whole bill. I’m very glad to still have loads of these points remaining – they really soften the pain of large car rental and hotel bills.

Caught up with another former colleague and his wife, at Beantown Pub on Tremont Street. They’re from Manila and we had lots of RP stuff to talk about. I’m going back there shortly to see a young lady and do some diving – they’re staying in Boston another year. They originally came intending to stay for one year, but now it looks like three. Anyway, they’re enjoying it – Boston and Manila are pretty different places – and getting a lot out of it professionally. His wife is a doctor and is working on a clinical trial in Boston.

Took the train back to Newton that night. Saw a girl reading ‘Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ‘72’ by the dearly departed and greatly mourned Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. Made a mental note to liberate my Thompson books from storage on my next visit home. I’m actually still working through a backlog of books accumulated during my years in Tokyo – this time I’m taking 7-8 back to Asia with me, and I think my next trip (assuming I don’t order more books) I can polish off the rest. Amazon.com, I both bless and curse ye…

On Monday morning dad drove me to South Station in Boston. Got on a train to Bridgeport, Connecticut to see my business school friend Jan. He collected me at the train station, showed me around his family factory/HQ, and then we drove to his new house to see his wife and baby daughter. Had a couple glasses of wine, shot the breeze with them, and then Jan drove me to the train station so I could continue on to New York, where I’d spend a night before flying to Hong Kong.

Dropped my stuff off at old friend Bryan’s pad in Tribeca. He’s in the process of moving to a much larger place, but for now he and his wife are crammed into a studio. They were gracious enough to let me crash on their (soft) couch. More than sufficient. I went out to Half King Bar on 23^rd Street to see my cousins and a couple old friends I hadn’t seen in 10+ years. Large drinking ensued. I wound up at some bar in Tribeca at 2:30 a.m., having a good heart-to-heart with Bryan, who had his own tales to tell. I’m glad he and I have remained close over the years. To be accurate, though, we had a stretch where we weren’t very much in contact – perhaps it was because we were such good friends at college and got tired of each other, I don’t know. Anyway, a few years ago we both seemed to have realized that we enjoy each other’s company and have so many old war stories to share, and now we’re good friends again. Life is long.

Crashed on the couch – Bryan told me the next day that I fell asleep within seconds. I was flying to Hong Kong that afternoon, but in my usual fashion I’d crammed a morning meeting in. An old manager of mine wanted me to meet a consumer trends guru named Faith Popcorn, and I trust my old manager completely, so I had set up meetings with Faith and her director of consulting. Put on my white oxford and, after breakfast with Bryan (also not working – I think we help reinforce each other’s baser tendencies), I took a cab to the Faith Popcorn Brain Reserve offices in midtown. Had interesting meetings with Faith and her colleague – they are thinking about expanding into Asia and need someone to take that on for them. They understand my current situation, which precludes working more than 17 minutes per week, but we’ll stay in touch and perhaps create some sort of low-intensity model. It was interesting for me to reflect on my performance in these meetings – I don’t have many business meetings anymore and occasionally wonder if I’m losing my edge. I tend to doubt it – I still have lots of conversations, and some of them, in odd lands, require a decent degree of mental acuity. So the brain isn’t winding down, at least not yet.

Got on my Cathay Pacific flight to HKG. Not a full flight, so I got an entire row to myself. Cathay is a brilliant airlines, I wish the US airlines were so pleasant and efficient. Worked through my pile of New Yorker magazines, then tackled my Lonely Planet Mongolia guide. I’m planning (after a few weeks spread across HKG and the RP) to visit Mongolia with a former colleague who’s now based in Shanghai. Mongolia is truly out there, not an easy place to pop into and get a quick sense of things, so some research is required. But it should be quite an experience – I’ve always wondered what the hell Ulaan Bataar, the capital city, is like. Mongolia has 3 million people and is 2 or 3 times the size of France. I can’t wait.

A guy across the aisle turned out his laptop. He started playing a computer game that looked familiar - it was Lode Runner, a game I used to play on my old Apple II+ back in the late ’80s. My old roommate, codenamed Dr. Bol, used to play it on my computer for hours on end - he had lost his job and had nothing to do. I think he got through something like 65 levels of the game and was nearing the level of Lode Runner god before he moved to Washington and found work. They’ve evidently created a version that works on modern computers - and back to my earlier point, I’d love to find versions of other classic games. Next time I’m in NYC I plan to visit that games store - but if you have any idea where these games still exist, let me know. I do have a bit of time on my hands. Over and out.

I had a couple more days and nights in Cebu before heading off to the States. I quickly found myself missing new girlfriend Marnely, who had taken good care of me in Dumaguete. It looked pretty likely that I’d be back that way before long, so I didn’t fret – just had some lascivious daydreams.

While I rode in a taxi from the ferry boat to my hotel, I saw a guy dressed like Santa taking a shit behind a pile of garbage. That warranted a second look…my eyes weren’t deceiving me. I told you that Catholicism in the Philippines was entirely different from our version…

The larger point, though, is that the country is poor, Cebu has lots of beggars, and while it’s easy to stay within the walls of your hotel or airconditioned shopping mall, the true story is to be found on the streets. You may not want to confront reality 24/7, but you should make sure to do it every day for at least a little while. Keep it real.

Did my usual slew of errands during my one full day in town. Went to the two big scuba shops – ScubaWorld and White Tip. Picked up a coil lanyard for my underwater camera case, and also a little compass that might come in handy one day – below or above water. Did some laundry. Reconfirmed my flight bookings. Made a hotel booking for my next trip to Cebu. Finally, washed my backpack thoroughly, with soap and sponge – I tend to do this right before I head to the States, so that what I bring home isn’t too grungy. It’s surprising how clean my pack still looks – I guess I’ve been good about washing it off regularly.

Was staying at the Kiwi Lodge, a great hotel I’ve often frequented. The only drawback is that it’s not that easy to go for a run on the surrounding streets, but it’s possible and tonight I went for it. It was godawful hot and I wilted pretty quickly. I probably only ran a couple miles before slowing to a walk and hoofing it back to the hotel. Still, it was much better than nothing and keeps me in the game. I figured that a couple weeks in the States would fatten me up and I wanted to start the process in decent shape.

Of course, my internal inconsistencies immediately posed obstacles. I went to Our Place for a few beers and to see who was holding court there. Fell into a long conversation with the owner, Eddie, a Belgian rake who’s fathered 13 kids and claims to be in close contact with them all…and to help support all of them as well. That sounds like a lot of work. Noticed a New Hampshire state license plate hanging on the wall – ‘Live Free or Die’ is the state motto and I’ve always laughed when driving behind people from NH.

Took a cab back uptown. Watched people along the way, and smiled at a few. Filipinos might look at foreigners like they’re crazy, but give them a smile and they smile right back…unlike many Indians. In India you come to feel that you actually might be the crazy/weird one, but in the Phils. it’s a fleeting sensation…

Popped into El Gecko, where my friend Lyte used to work. She’s not there anymore, but there are usually a few characters sitting at the bar and a few cuties behind it. Tonight was no exception…I wound up having an in-depth talk with a homely Japanese girl who was studying English at one of the local English-for-foreigners schools, which are big business in Cebu.

We both agreed that the Koreans who come to Cebu are a joke – they take their father’s money to study English, but never go to class, instead hanging out in the casinos and girlie bars. Which, to be honest, is a lot more fun than going to any class I can imagine. But still, it’s hard to put these Korean ‘students’ in a positive light – even in the bars and casinos, they’re zero fun. They keep to themselves, aren’t able to banter, and smoke incessantly. And they all wear eyeglasses – are contact lenses unavailable in Korea? Instead of signing up for English class, I think a short course in style might be in order…

Hopefully that didn’t sound overtly anti-Korean – there are lots of cool Koreans out there. It’s just that the ones who I come across in Cebu need some work.

I had fun chatting with the Japanese girl – as I mentioned, she wasn’t much to look at so I was able to focus on actual topics. I told her I lived in Tokyo for a few years, spoke some Japanese to her, and apparently demonstrated substantial knowledge of her country, because she constantly made a very Japanese exclamation – sort of like a lengthy ‘mmmmmmmm.’ I like getting that noise – like most people, I suppose, I like to have broad knowledge and to get confirmation of that from people who actually know what they’re talking about…

Walked over to a nearby go-go bar, Lone Star. This place is usually good for a laugh or two – the bartenders are a riot and the onstage talent is OK. Tonight the place was full of horny old geezers who were all over the dancers and held ‘em in near deathgrips. Poor girls. Poverty indeed makes people desperate.

Noticed the owners/managers from the Kiwi Lodge at the bar – waved to them. Then I took off – had to get up, do a few things, then fly to HKG in the late afternoon.

The next day, I asked for my bill and when it came there were some odd charges on it. Turns out that last year, when I left my charger at the hotel and the owner, Dick, couriered it to Manila for me, he just put the charges onto my account, which was still in his computer system. I had meant to repay him this time round but he didn’t seem to be around. Anyway, this was a good way to handle it, and as I paid my slate was wiped clean. I hate having outstanding debts and loose ends.

Made a flight booking for a few weeks down the road. Had some Filipino street food for lunch. The street food is actually not half bad here – basic, but generally tasty. The stuff you find in restaurants is often less appealing – I guess the food doesn’t really translate well into a more upscale/formal dining experience. Sitting on a stool on a street corner shoveling rice and pork adobo into your mouth can be an enjoyable experience, as long as you don’t do it every day…

Hung out at SM Mall for a couple hours. I had checked out of Kiwi Lodge and had some time to kill. I despise that expression, frankly, and rarely find that I have ‘time to kill.’ If I have a book to read, that’s time well spent. But right now I was between books, I was checked out, and I had no pressing errands before my flight. So aimless mall wandering was it. Had a buko (coconut) juice shake and people-watched for a while. Looked in my daypack for my passport, which I hadn’t used in a couple weeks; wanted to make sure it was in there. It was not in the usual compartment, and that concerned me. I had a vague memory of shoving it into another part of the pack, and looked there. No dice. Finally, I emptied out the main part of the pack, took out the plastic bag lining, and there was the passport at the very bottom. Whew. I had already started to mentally cycle through a trip to the nearest US consultate, passport photocopy in hand – and I’d possibly have missed my business school reunion in Virginia, the driver of my US trip. Disaster averted. I really do need to be better about handling my passport…

Here’s why I love the Philippines: in the taxi to the airport, I made some small talk with the driver, who didn’t seem that chatty or proficient in English, for that matter. Then the song ‘It’s Not Unusual’ came on the radio. The driver turned to me and said ‘Is Tom Jones still alive?’ I replied ‘yes’ and grinned. Sometimes the Philippines is the twilight zone and funny little things happen to you there.

Noticed at the airport, while checking in, that the desk agents don’t ask you the old post 9-11 questions anymore. ‘Did you pack your bags yourself?’ and ‘Has anyone had access to your bags since you packed them?’ Etc. The questions were always stupid – the bad guys wouldn’t spill the beans, right? I always thought the questions were only designed to remove as much legal liability from the airlines as possible. Now they ask no questions – we can only hope that security measures have improved to the extent that there’s less bullshit and more screening.

As I waited to board my flight to Hong Kong, I noticed that the television in front of the waiting area was showing the end of that day’s Red Sox-Yankees game. I had already read about it online, so knew that the Sox won…but I still was happy to watch it and see for myself. Our relief pitcher, Okajima, got a couple tough outs…then there was a long rain delay, which the station skipped over, and finally our closer Papelbon struck out the reigning MVP, Rodriguez, and we won the game. I wasn’t the only interested party, either – scores of Filipinos were crowding round the TV watching the tense end-game. Again, the country is like the twilight zone and sometimes you feel like you’re back home, but surrounded by slightly different people…

Already another baseball season. Didn’t seem that long since I’d watched the final World Series games from last season, from the comfort of my (pricey) Apollo Hotel room in Mumbai. Come to think of it, baseball is a pretty helpful way of marking time for me – I don’t have that many true milestones and matching up my meanderings with the baseball season and its own highlights is an interesting methodology…

Got to HKG on time. Rode the train into town, then got in a cab to my hotel – a place I’d never heard of, called, bizarrely enough, Mingle on the Wing, booked for me by friend/financial advisor Yuhin. The cabbie was deeply clueless and it took a while to get to the proper place – I had to make him call the hotel eventually. I dropped off my stuff in the tiny room - still priced at nearly US$100, despite the room being cozy by even Japanese standards. Then went out to meet old colleague Torsten for a few beers. It was nearly midnight, Sunday, but Torsten was still keen to meet and so was I.

I love dropping into big cities and meeting friends – the enormity of the world and our ability to navigate it rapidly are both apparent in these situations. I suppose that I’ll always have a tough time staying in one place – you might recall that towards the end of my 3+ months in Goa, I was getting antsy. The best antidote is a good road trip and a few beers with an old buddy…so Torsten and I spent a couple hours spread across bars in Lan Kwai Fong and Wan Chai. We had a good chat and updated each other on near-term plans. I finally stumbled back to my hotel around 3 a.m., needing to get up in 3-4 hours to catch my onward flight to New York. This was just a quick night (or half night) in HKG, but I knew, as always, that it’s one of my favorite places and I still miss it.

My flight to NYC on Cathay Pacific was surprisingly comfortable and enjoyable. I was in coach class, but the seat was large and spacious, nobody was in the adjacent seat, and the selection of on-demand movies was excellent. The flight was almost 15 hours, but it went by quickly and was probably the best trans-Pacific flight I’ve ever taken. Kudos to CX for providing a good experience.

Watched a bunch of movies en route, including ‘The Diving Bell & the Butterfly,’ by a French editor who had a stroke and became ‘locked in,’ i.e. he was almost completely paralyzed except for the ability to move/blink one of his eyes. He was able, under the care of an innovative speech therapist, to communicate by blinking, dictated a book, and died 12 days after it was published. Now it’s a movie, and quite something – really makes you think about what you’ve got and what you don’t need.

Landed in JFK. The place looks a little better each time, and they seem to be a bit more welcoming. Clearing Immigration was quick, the bags took some time but I got out of there within 40 minutes – not bad. Got into Manhattan, dropped my stuff at friend Todd’s apartment, and went out.

Maybe this is a case of ‘if I didn’t believe it with my own mind, I never would have seen it,’ but it seemed to me that there were quite a few austere, hangdog faces on middle-aged suits in the city. Employees of Bear Stearns, or other banks waiting for their turn to come? Perhaps. I was thankful not to be in that game, at least not right now – it must be very ugly.

Went down to J&R Music World and bought a new Treo 680 smartphone. Not cheap for an unlocked version, but worth it. I spent another couple hours setting it up – between different versions of Palm software and Windows Vista, it was a near-disaster. Thankfully I had backed up all my data on a memory card, because the installation of new Palm Desktop software erased what I had backed up on my laptop. I despise setting up new devices – there’s always some hitch. Why can’t vendors get their act together and be in front of new OS launches? I don’t think it would be that hard, and their customers would appreciate the support. No wonder Palm stock is way down, and Apple is eating their lunch. The only reason I stick with Treos is that the switching costs/pain of getting my data over to a new system would be even more painful than upgrading within the Treo line itself. Ugh.

One of the best things about the USA these days? Mennen Speed Stick, only $2.99.

Went out that night for buffalo wings with old friends Ray and Bryan. Had some good laughs with them – Bryan and I wound up staying out fairly late and I knew the next day I’d feel heinous. Three hours sleep in HKG, three in NYC. Something had to give, despite my infamous energy.

Todd, my host, couldn’t join us, but I saw him first thing in the morning, before I went to catch my train to Boston. He works for Morgan Stanley, and has some tales to tell. I think he’d be better off retiring and becoming a sports agent or something like that.

In a cab en route to Penn Station, I saw a huge pile of horse shit on the street. Probably police horses. Was I already back in India?

Before I forget…my USA trip was prompted by my 15^th business school reunion, and by my desire to see my family. It had been 8 months since my last trip home, and that’s a fairly long time. So here I was, checking back in.

The train ride to Boston was about 4 hours, and I spent nearly all of it reviewing the entire set of photos I’ve taken since I started this journey in May 2006. I got rid of some duds and dupes, and was flooded with memories from places like Burma and Oz. It’s not that natural a move to go back and review all the photos, or blog entries, but I should make sure to do it once in a while so that I maintain perspective.

The Amtrak train was significantly more comfortable, and hygienic, than its Indian counterparts. That was a relief.

Got to Boston, got my rental car, and drove home to Newton. Talked with my step-mother for a couple hours – she recently had surgery, but has recovered remarkably well and if I hadn’t known about her situation, I wouldn’t have been able to notice any difference at all.

Took it easy that night – my lack of sleep, enthusiastic drinking, and jet lag proved a lethal trifecta. Had dinner with Dad and Ellen and caught them up on things. Then I collapsed around 11 p.m. and slept till 7 a.m. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.

The next day I did a round of errands. Storage room – got some clothes for my reunion. REI – bought some near gear for traveling. Noticed a Sikh (gurdwara) temple right next to the storage facility I use. Sikhs in Milford, Mass. – unreal. And kind of cool.

I drove to Hopkinton to see my sis and nephew. Spent a couple hours hanging out with them – got covered in chalk and bubbles courtesy of my nephew. Kids are messy creatures. And my sis has a baby girl on the way, so in a couple weeks it’s double trouble at her house.

Had dinner again that night with Dad and Ellen. Lots of different meats – steak tips, roast turkey, and briscuit. Haven’t consumed that much meat in memory – it was damn good. To work it off, I walked into Newton Center to see my old classmate Alex. He’s looking for some contacts in healthcare and I know a few people. I’d much rather help him find a job than get one myself!

That was a long enough day. Slept well again, and got up to pack for my trip south, to Washington and then Virginia. Flew to DC and rented a car, then drove out to Great Falls to see my old buddy Blaze. Had fun catching up with him; we also called a couple fellow fraternity brothers and shared war stories. Blaze is one of most accomplished and switched-on friends and I wish I could see more of him.

Slept chez Blaze that evening, under the influence of some strong malt liquor. Drove the next morning to Charlottesville, Virginia, home of the Darden School. I graduated Darden 15 years ago, and haven’t missed a reunion yet – despite having to traverse some serious distances to get there every 5 years. I’d actually been to Cville 2 years before, just before I got on the road, so it hadn’t been too long.

Sent a text to my classmate Ed, who lives in Cville – we decided to head to the Bellaire Deli to eat one of their brilliant Keswick sandwiches. This deli is part of an Exxon station, and the standing joke is that no other Exxon serves such great food. The Keswick is on a baguette, and comprises cured Virginia ham, lettuce, tomato, cheese (I forget which type), and a honey mustard dressing. Perhaps my favorite sandwich in the world. Old housemate Ray (who I had just seen in NYC) and I used to compete on who could eat more over the course of the year – we kept a chart on the fridge at our farmhouse second year. I think we tied that year…but he blew off this reunion and now I’m way ahead.

I stopped at Bodo’s Bagels before the Bellaire to grab some coffee – I was starting to flag and needed the energy to keep up with a few of my hardier classmates. I also stopped at the Court House Tavern for a beer – just to be sure. My old law school girlfriend and I used to drink at this place back in 1991-2, and I’ve always had fond memories of it (and a few of her too).

The reunion weekend was absolutely terrific. Not a great turnout, but enough good people. And the lack of turnout made it realistic to catch up with nearly everyone in a substantial manner – helpful because I hadn’t seen some of these people in 15 years. We all met for dinner at Vivace, an Italian place, then went over to old fave The Biltmore, where the pitchers were flowing freely. From there, it got a bit ugly – I believe we went across the street to Coupe de Ville’s, then to the White Spot for a few Gusburgers (burger with fried egg on top). Chris and I each ate two – not a wise move. Somewhere along the way, Meredith had picked up an undergrad girl and she was insane enough to hang out with us for a couple hours. I won’t release the more incriminating photos (there are a few dodgy videos as well), but here are a few photos from the pub crawl:

The next morning was a bit hairy – even more so for classmate Chris, who evidently didn’t drink his RDA of water before going to bed and had a brutal headache. I had made sure to 1) call my lady friend in the Philippines, and 2) drink about 7 glasses of water before passing out. I don’t recall much of the phone call, but I made it and as Woody Allen likes to say, showing up is 80% of life.

After breakfast I drove over to Darden to hear the Dean speak, and to see Barbara, the former Director of Student Affairs who now heads the MBA for Executives program. Barbara and I hit it off very well in my first year – I think at parents’ weekend she and my dad were talking, he found out she’s from New Hampshire, and that got things going. Anyway, she and I have stayed in touch and I always try to catch up with her when in town.

The Dean’s speech was fine, nothing earth-shattering. On our way out of the auditorium I ran into classmate Joe – last time we’d met was at our 10^th reunion. Joe and I once went on a major league canoe trip in Ontario with 3 other guys, and we still laugh about the craziness of that trip today.

Chris was still stumbling around, hungover. Poor guy.

Noticed at one point that I no longer had my camera. Torture. Looked around…went back to the auditorium…no dice. I wasn’t super-worried, given the affluent nature of the crowd. Still, the thing is worth a bit of scratch and I wanted to locate it pronto. Went to the reunion reception area and it was right there, waiting to be claimed. Bravo.

That night our class had dinner with two professors – Spekman and Eades. They were probably my 2 favorite profs back in the day, and they’ve maintained a connection with our class. They caught us up on school gossip, I gave a short speech given my history as class comedian/newspaper humor editor, then the dinner concluded and we went to the party outside. They put on a good fireworks show, then we hit the bar and did a little dancing. Chris had his camera out and was showing everyone some fairly compromising shots of me and others from our pub crawl the night before. I got a lot of shit from classmates, even though I hadn’t really been that naughty. I would have preferred more naughtiness and more ribbing, honestly…but it was all in good fun. And I was loving life – I wouldn’t dream of missing one of these reunions, to me they’re an important part of life. Seeing old friends, taking the time to assess where you are in life, sharing stories – why else are we here, anyway?

Took it relatively easy that night. Next morning Danny and I went to our farewell brunch, then I got in my car and drove west. I wanted to pay homage to a few places: my second year residence, the Yule Farm…Crozet Pizza, home of some fine pizza pies…and finally to the little town of Batesville, where I’d never been. Barbara at Darden had told me that my old professor Cid owned a general store in Batesville, and I was semi-desperate to go see him.

Backstory: Cid was the head of the Analysis & Communications team at Darden, and taught us public speaking and critical writing. I was a former journalist and thought myself a great writer – but I learned a lot from Cid nonetheless. So did everyone else, and he was consistently voted a top prof by his students.

The administration felt differently, and after he had made a few rogue comments he was unceremoniously ousted. A huge student-administration fight ensued, but the school won the battle, including the lawsuit that followed. Cid faded into the woodwork, probably bitter that his favorite students didn’t do something radical like quit the program. I signed petitions and spoke my mind, as did others, but we wanted to get our degrees and not torpedo our futures, so we were limited in our responses and actions. I gave our class’s commencement speech, and had reviewed it with Cid beforehand. He had wanted me to insert some comments about him – even just a veiled reference to a ‘Jewish socialist writing professor’ or the like. I considered doing so, but given the likely audience of 2,000 people and what I thought they deserved to hear, I kept the vitriol and politics out. I don’t know if he heard the speech, but ever since then he’s been incommunicado. I’ve sent emails…two years ago I left a voicemail…no reply.

So now I’d heard that he was operating a store in Batesville, ominously enough, and I hoped to swing by and see him. Wasn’t at all sure how he’d react, but I played a few rounds in my head and felt confident I could handle nearly any response. I walked in just after noon, when they opened the store, and saw Cid – naturally looking 15 years older – behind the counter. I didn’t identify myself right away, I perused the merchandise and chatted generically with him, giving him a few indirect openings. He didn’t bite. I finally asked him if I looked familiar – right away he said that I did. I told him my name, that rang a big bell, and we shook hands. He did ask me if my class was ‘the one that got him fired,’ and I just said I was 1993. The previous class and my class probably shared any culpability, although his comments back then were unbidden and I don’t see how we’re actually guilty. Anyway, he opened up and was friendly, and seemed happy enough that I stopped by. I think that, like most people, Cid welcomes attention, but if it’s via email or voicemail it’s not that real – you have to see him in person for him to really warm up.

I have to say that this was a therapeutic experience for me. Cid had a real impact on my life and how I communicate, then he ‘went away’ and rejected me (and other Darden students and faculty, of course), and for years I’ve had an empty space where he once stood. I had pretty much given up on ever seeing him again, but now, unexpectedly, we were hanging out together. We talked about other classmates and about our lives. He and his wife bought the store a few years ago and have done a great job – it’s a beautiful place and obviously run with TLC. I’m not surprised. He asked me to tell another classmate, Ed, to come by – perhaps Cid is finally coming to grips with his past and the importance of keeping some of that period alive. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself. I don’t know. All I know is that seeing Cid made this reunion the best one yet, and gave me a bit of additional faith in humanity. I’ll send him an email sometime soon (he gave me his biz card). Not sure if he’ll reply…either way, next time I’m in Cville I’ll drive over to Batesville to see my old professor. I’ll take whatever he can give – I’m not greedy.

My life has lots of different pieces – and most of them keep me on my toes. They’re often hard to fit together, there’s often a lack of synergy, but I like having a lot going on. Seems like that’s likely to continue. See you next week. Over and out.

This is my 100^th post – welcome to it and to my odd world. I suppose I should be deeply reflective at this milestone…but I’m not really in the mood, and I’ve just had a great week that I’d rather describe in some detail. That will be much more interesting – and even profound, but don’t hold your breath – than my dimestore philosophy.

I left India under the cover of darkness. My feet were covered with the dust of the land…my sweaty handkerchief jammed in my shorts pocket…a feeling of some relief mixed with a touch of sadness at departing this wild place, potentially for quite some time. I transited through Kuala Lumpur – not the most exciting waystation, but the fine airport has a Burger King and a Starbucks. Any sense of homeboy shame was dispelled when the Whopper’s grease dripped into the Coke and onto the fries…clearly any notion that I had outgrown my DNA and origins was incorrect. And then I got on my flight to Manila.

Back to the RP – not part of my original overall itinerary, but given the overheated nature of the Indian economy no frequent flyer flights could be had out of that country, and I was able to get one to the States out of Cebu. The prospect of returning to the Philippines and spending 10 or so days there had me licking my lips – the RP is in many ways the perfect antidote to India. And my expectations were met immediately. Manila’s Ninoy Aquino Airport, an old unimpressive facility, was absolutely spotless compared with Delhi’s dreary offering. I could have eaten off the floor at Aquino. And at Immigration, the agents smiled at us – perhaps it was due to some charm offensive that seems to have been instituted lately, but it didn’t seem to be a huge stretch for these folks. Good luck trying that in India…

The RP looked better than ever after my stint in India. I do think the country is gradually getting its act together, but the contrast was what got me. I’d never considered the RP particularly clean or calm, but it sure was now. Satisfaction equals performance minus expectations, and I came in with medium expectations which were easily exceeded. Is this why I travel – to gain insight and power from the contrasts??

Filipino English – the phrasings and the lilt – were wonderful to hear again. And during the cab ride into town, we were surrounded by old jeepneys packed to the gills with passengers. Old 70s tunes were playing on the radio – ‘You Belong to Me’ was one I hadn’t heard in ages. If you’re into classic rock (or nearly anything popular, for that matter) don’t waste your time downloading the songs on the web…go to the Philippines and live the music all over the place.

Hit a few of the Makati City bars that night. Went to my old fave, Mogambo, and played jenga with the bargirls there. Lost 3 straight games…old friend/colleague Eric from Manila would have been deeply disappointed with me. Years ago, we sat there (with his wife, a person of supreme forbearance/patience) and I won 7 straight games. The girls were chattering in Tagalog and Eric told me they were getting pissed off at me. My jenga skills have deteriorated and the girls have little to worry about any more.

Tourism is supposed to be the world’s #1 industry…but that gets me wondering how they define the categories. I imagine ‘tourism’ includes transport, lodging, food & drink on the road, etc. Sounds like a composite category to me. If you break it down to more streamlined areas, I would hazard a guess that bars are one of the top industries. At least that was from my field research that evening…

Spent the next couple days seeing friends and doing errands. Had dinner with Bettina at People’s Palace, a superb Thai place in Greenbelt Mall – the kind of place nearly impossible to find in India. Bettina’s managing a team training for an upcoming triathlon in Bali – nice one, Bettina. She’s been going up to Subic Bay regularly to hang out with the team. She invited me to participate, but given my weird movements (travel, not bodily – actually, both) I regretfully declined. Dinner was good fun – she brought along some other folks, and it felt like a real feast.

Went over to Ermita to walk around the Robinson’s Mall there. One of my favorite clothiers, British India, is there – or was there. The storefront was gone and replaced with some sporting goods store. Torture. I was in need of a shirt or two. Got on my Treo’s web feature and found that the larger, newer SM Mall of Asia (also in Manila) had a British India store. So did Glorieta 3 Mall. Manila has no end of malls. Went to both of those over the next couple days, and bought some cool shirts. Cost me a bit of dosh but well worth it – I am a bit fussy about my clothes, believe it or not.

While at SM Mall, also picked up my preferred cologne/aftershave, not always easy to find out here. And I saw the movie ‘Semi-Pro’ with Will Ferrell. Pretty funny – deliberately campy and over the top, but a decent take on 70s pop and sports culture. Ferrell seems to have carved out a real niche there – hoops, ice skating, and car racing. He’s probably painting himself into a corner…but given the mentality of American culture these days, it’s quite possibly a smart move. At least he can milk it for a long, long time and make a bundle…

Watched part of the movie ‘Munich’ in my hotel room that night. Geoffrey Rush has a great role in the movie, he’s an Israeli spymaster who’s very concerned with having all his agents give him ‘full receipts for everything’. Rush can really act – he’s not Jewish (at least I think he’s not), but came across flawlessly.

Got an SMS from friend Steve in Dumaguete, an upcoming destination. Apparently our mutual friend Mike’s boat sank. Mike owns a diveshop in Dumaguete and we planned to dive with him on Apo Island. I felt badly for Mike, but he’s an operator and I figured he’d get things together sufficiently by the time I turned up in a few days.

The only real sight-seeing I did in Manila was a short trip to the American Military Cemetery in Fort Bonifacio/Global City. En route I noticed that my camera battery was completely shot – ugh. Still, I wanted to see the place, I’d meant to go last year but never got around to it. Quite impressive – they keep the place up well and it’s sobering and dignified. There are some 17,000 bodies buried there, and partial/unidentified remains of perhaps 30,000 others. Right in the middle of a burgeoning part of Manila – a real history lesson set amongst the malls and subdivisions. I mean to return there at some point to spend more time. I looked at the names inscribed on the walls; one thing I often do in these places, probably to make it seem more real, is to look for deceased with my last name, or close to it. No ‘Slone’ on these walls, but I did find a ‘Harry Sloan,’ a ‘Max Sloan,’ and a ‘Sloat.’ As I said, a sobering place.

My next destination was Cebu, a city I’ve come to love over the many years. It’s hard to say precisely why – it’s not a beautiful city, there aren’t that many sights, the restaurants are only OK – but there’s a feeling in Cebu which is laid-back and friendly. And I now know the place so well that it feels like a second skin. My flight was late, of course – Cebu Pacific is a decent discount carrier but is rarely on time. Anyway, what was my hurry?

Touched down at the airport – negotiated a decent fare into town. My cabbie was a dimwitted young fellow who was nevertheless a huge Boston Celtics basketball fan and was well aware of Kevin Garnett’s latest statistics. The Celts seem to have a serious following in the RP – even more so than the Lakers. That’s the source of some satisfaction for me – in the States the Lakers, whom I detest, seem more popular, because of LA’s size/spread and because they’ve usually had a showtime style of hoops that is more appealing to the boobosie of America than the more cerebral style of the Celts. At least that’s how I see it…

Cebu is looking a bit better each visit. This time they finally got rid of an abandoned second-floor building near Fuente Osmena that used to house a Grand Majestic Chinese restaurant, and turned it into a new hotel. There are live music houses up and down Maxilom Avenue, and the streets seem cleaner than ever. Of course, street urchins still chase you down for change, but that’s OK. It’s a far lighter touch than you find in India.

Saw some old friends that night…ate at Larsian, a field strewn with barbecue/grill joints. You just walk around and point at what you want – there are fillets of blue marlin that are just succulent, along with the usual manok (chicken) and baboy (pork) skewers. You can eat and drink your fill and get out for US$5 or less.

Read the Cebu Daily News the next morning. Saw an editorial about the Kerouac book ‘On the Road,’ one of my formative tomes. The editorial extolled the virtues of travel while also counseling against expecting to find travel the antidote to all earthly ills. Balanced and sensible.

Bought a ferry ticket to Dumaguete, where I’d soon see some friends and go diving. Then had dinner with my friend Lyte and her sister (of course). Had a good chat – she’s a funny one, even if everything’s going well in life she can find something to harp on. I suppose I used to be that way – then I stopped thinking so much and started going with my internal groove.

Went back to Larsian that night, late night, after having a few drinks around town. Met a very cool young lass named Maria in one of the bars. Had a great time chatting with her for a couple hours. Maria was fairly quick to mention that she’s a virgin. A real badge of honor here in the RP - but I’m never too sure what to make of that information. I usually just smile and nod my head. Our cocktail waitress was named Annabelle, that was the name of my maternal grandmother. I told the waitress that and she seemed happy to stand in as my Filipina grandmother (although she’s probably 45 years old, at most). Quite a random night – I’d missed this kind of nighttime fun.

At the risk of sounding like a dirty (40 year) old man, I was delighted by the presence of so many lovely women simply walking around the malls, the streets, and hanging out in bars, coffee joints, and restaurants. You just don’t get that in India. And they’re so friendly and unafraid – perhaps a bit timid, but there just aren’t many places in the world where you can drop into a department store to buy a singlet or t-shirt and walk out with the mobilephone # of a cute 23-year-old saleswoman. I recall the very first time I visited Manila, for work, and checked into the plush Shangri-La Hotel in Makati. Even at that paragon of luxury, there was a feeling as I stood in the lobby that nearly anything could happen immediately – a coup attempt, a fight, an assignation. And the country as a whole has that feeling of possibility – even when you’re buying a coffee, you may be getting more than you bargained for. I suppose being a foreigner heightens that sense and reality – we are somewhat exotic and in demand, at least those of us not sporting a huge gut – but even the locals seem to have lives full of random events and trysts (and pregnancies). Pacific Catholicism, indeed.

I’d had a red patch on my leg for a few days, and it didn’t seem to be going away. Finally went to the nearby clinic and the derma there told me it was a minor fungal condition, brought on by the heat and sweat. She prescribed a couple meds that I went and got at the pharmacy. I was surprised how expensive the products were – no cheaper than you’d get in the States. I thought back to the small effort my friend and I made in 2007 to investigating ways to lower medicine prices in the country – and how valuable that would be. I’m keeping that in my pocket and might pull it out again one of these days…

Met Maria for lunch – I’d enjoyed hanging out with her the previous night, and wanted to keep that iron in the fire. We went over to Gaisano Country Mall and had some Pinoy food at Lighthouse. Then we walked around Ayala Centre Mall for a couple hours – nice to get out of the heat. I don’t love sweating to death in front of cute young women.
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Checked my email after forgoing the pleasure for a couple days. Saw some random ones in there – one from my old girlfriend Mayuko, and a handful from friend Virginia’s mother. Apparently Virginia, mom and perhaps another person are soon to visit India and had read my postings on said country…but also wanted a bit more info. Hadn’t been in touch with Virginia’s mom in ages – many years ago we’d all spent a Thanksgiving together in Maryland and I remember walking around a telling jokes all day. Nice to have that old memory brought up for air…to me, that’s the best aspect of the Internet and all of these social networking sites.

Also heard from old colleague Vicky, who’s had some medical challenges over the past few years. Had sent her an email months ago, and she was just now getting back to me. She’s fine and I was relieved to hear it – was about to use a back channel to check on her. All of these emails from out of the blue – it’s odd how our various timings don’t match up, I might want to check on you right now, and you don’t reply for months, whether you’re busy, or lazy, or whatever. Then all of the ‘hanging emails’ seem to come back at ya at the same time – and it’s hard to reply quickly, not that you really owe it to the sender to do that.

Finished up my 3 days in Cebu, and headed to the port to take a ferry to Dumaguete, on Negros Island, perhaps my favorite RP island. I’d spent a month in Dumaguete in ’07, and had visited a couple times before. Last year, after my month in town, I rode around Negros on a motorbike, dodging storms and crazed truckers, and reveling in the proximity to everyday life that riding a (motor)bike affords. That was one of the best weeks of travel I’ve had yet – although it was punctuated by a return to Dumaguete in which I found that my laptop had gotten wet at the hotel and nearly destroyed. Oh well – minor disaster.

Was very pleased to find that there’s a second company plying the Cebu-Duma route – Weesam Express. OceanJet had a monopoly (or was the only company who bothered), and it showed – crowded ships, not on time, etc. And their ferry left at 6 a.m. Not my style. Weesam left at 7 – somewhat more palatable. And their boat was neat, uncrowded, and orderly. Hopefully one of the two won’t drop the route and bring us back to the dark ages…

Was met at the Dumaguete port by Steve, a Bostonian now living in Dauin, just south of Duma. Steve and I met in ’07 through Mike, the diveshop owner/friend, and Steve and I had hit it off well. Well enough for him to come get me at the port, and bring along a couple young ladies who he’d recently met. These two were interested in meeting me – talk about an embarrassment of riches…and a nice pimping job by Steve. We rode his Toyota van down to Dauin, where he has a nice spread right on the beach, with a great dive reef just out in the bay.

As I wrote earlier, my entire RP trip was opportunistic, driven by the desire to travel cheaply from India to the States. And the Duma part of the trip was even more opportunistic – I could have gone anywhere else in the country. But I’ve come to love Duma and always have fun there – I have a bit of a network in town. And the next three days were nearly perfect. I already mentioned the female companionship – that got better and better. As soon as I got to Steve’s, we had a huge lunch of Filipino food – fish, rice, vegetables, fruit, a couple San Miguel beers. Then we went diving on what I affectionately call ‘Steve’s House Reef.’ Then we came back and got massages from Gemma, a local who gave me a massage last year and who has the hands of a magician.

After that, a quick nap, then a round of karaoke on Steve and Tina’s videoke machine upstairs. A few neighbors came over, and the room was full of people clowning on the mic. A couple hours of that, then we had a fantastic dinner, including some tasty chicken meatballs. If there’s any bird flu on Negros these days, well, I’m at risk.

The girls (the ones Steve brought to the port, as well as his wife’s sisters, cousins, and various helpers) were keen to go out that night. I think my presence shook things up a bit – Tina is very pregnant, and Steve doesn’t drink, so they’ve been homebodies lately. I wasn’t about to stay home and watch TV, and didn’t need to work too hard to get everyone into the van to head into town. We went to Hayahay, an outdoors music joint, where we met friend Mike and his family. Had a couple drinks there, then moved on over to the Why Not Disco, where Steve and I watched the girls (I think we had 6 in tow) go wild on the dance floor. Apparently some/most of them don’t get out that much, so this was their time to shine. I went out and danced for a few minutes, but the disco’s aircon was very weak and I was soon plastered in sweat and retreating to the table where Steve awaited. Great night.

The next day we again dove Steve’s house reef. After submerging I realized it was my 100^th dive – perhaps fitting that I write about in this, my 100^th post. There you have it – all things converging for me. There’s my analysis for the week. A pretty straightforward dive – saw a huge grouper and a few big turtles. At one point noticed Steve lying on the ocean floor, at about 18 meters. Watched him there for a while – he wasn’t moving, and not many bubbles coming from his mouth. Started to descend to check on him – I was quite worried that he’d narc’ed out or had some other mishap. Just as I was about to tap his arm, he started moving and breathing again. Whew. Every diver’s nightmare, having a friend (or yourself) face disaster on a basic, everyday type of dive.

Went back to Hayahay that night – it was the Wednesday Reggae Night bash at Hayahay, probably Dumaguete’s biggest weekly get-together. Steve was beat and didn’t come, but Tina did, along with all the usual (female) suspects and I. Met Mike again at the bar…stayed for a couple hours and enjoyed the music. Sent in a request to the band – for The Mighty Mighty Bosstones ‘The Impresson That I Get’ – and it got played, much to my surprise. The band had a small horn section and they gave me ‘the impression’ they could do the Bosstones tune, but it was still pretty random when they started it up. They did a decent job of it, too.

We then piled into the van again, and went to the Why Not Disco for a recap. You can probably sense that Duma is a small place and there aren’t that many places to go – still, you can have a great time if you’re with the right crowd. And Steve had set me up nicely, I was surrounded by fun women.

Late night – got back to Steve’s around 3 a.m., and had to get up next day at 7 or so to go diving with Mike at the sensational Apo Island. Got a couple hours sleep – had some company so didn’t get more than that. Woke up very groggy and had to get all our gear together for the ride to the boat. Somehow managed to get to the dock on time. Steve and I were joined by a couple of the lasses – we nicknamed them Steve’s Angels.

I finally broke out my waterproof camera case, which I’d bought last August but hadn’t yet used. Apo would be a good place to take some underwater shots and I was annoyed with myself for not using the damn thing earlier…not that I’d gone diving that often, but there had been 2-3 opportunities. Anyway, it was about time to take the plunge, literally.

The camera case did the trick – no leaks, and all the controls are on the outside so you can do nearly anything you want underwater. Took some good shots – not yet great, am still learning how to take good shots underwater. Anyway, the camera stayed dry – a key consideration – and I’ve added a new facet to my photography portfolio. Here’s a few of the better/more interesting shots I took that day and the next, at Steve’s reef in Daiun. Note the shot of Mike (Feeney, not Slone), sans mask.

With this move into underwater photography, I hope to silence the periodic importunings from friend Johann to get going on this.  He bugged me for ages to get an underwater casing - and then I got one and carried it around, unused, for half a year.  One more task addressed… 

Checked my email, saw a note from old friend Lisa. We’d met and hung out in Sunapee, New Hampshire when we were teenagers. Lisa moved to Chicago a while back, and we’ve been only in sporadic contact. Apparently out mutual Sunapee friend Kathy went to Chicago recently, caught up with Lisa, and told her about my slog. Lisa started reading it, wasted a few hours at work the other day slogging through it, and is a new fan. Again, the power of email and the Internet to reconnect – I love it.

Did my final Dumaguete/Dauin dive this morning, with Steve and a few other guys. Had lunch with Steve and one of Steve’s Angels at Mike’s diveshop/café, then hopped on the ferry back to Cebu, where I’ll spend a couple days before flying first to Hong Kong, then onward to New York. A fine, fine week spent here in the Philippines – I hit all the high notes, and a few low ones too. And as it turns out, my frequent flyer ticket takes me back to Cebu (via Hong Kong, where I could stop and get off if I so desire), so I may well do another 2-3-week stint around Cebu/Dumaguete after my US trip. I have some time to think that over, but given how much fun this past week was, it’s likely I’ll want another dose. Stay tuned…and get your Philippines travel plans in order, friends. Over and out.

My final week in India (for now) was yin and yang, or whatever the Hindi equivalent of that is. Yin: Kolkata (Calcutta). As soon as I got off the train I was mobbed by taxi-wallahs, whose initial quote was 300 rupees. My hotel had told me 80-100 was fair. No surprise here. Got the driver down to 100, and off we went. We got good and lost, though – he didn’t know where my hotel was and seemed pretty clueless in general. I don’t think they make Kolkata cabbies learn ‘the Knowledge’ – they probably just pay a bribe and get their medallion.

It was only 7 a.m., and my room wouldn’t be ready till 11 or noon, so dropped off my bags and had a look around town. At some point I wanted to see the city’s famous spots – the Victoria Memorial, the Indian Museum – but I was much more interested in vestiges of ‘lost worlds,’ so to speak. Calcutta once had a thriving Chinatown and about 80,000 Chinese residents. After the 1962 war with China they were mistreated and many left – there are only about 2,000 left. I took a cab to Chinatown to walk around and see how Chinatown looks today.

But, of course, it wasn’t so easy. The cabbie drove for a while – I double-checked that he was taking me to Chinatown. Affirmative, sir. Got there – and there were a fair few Chinese restaurants and signs evident, so I got out and paid him. I tried to find a few landmarks – the 1924 Nanking Restaurant, now abandoned but perhaps still a grand sight. Chinese temples, too. Found nothing. Saw an old Chinese guy smoking outside a restaurant – asked him where I was. Turns out this is a newish Chinatown…the ‘old Chinatown’ is in the heart of the city, a ways off. Ugh. He walked me to a cab and told the driver where to take me. Funny hearing a Chinaman speaking Hindi/Bengali…anyway, he was very helpful, unlike, say, my guidebook, which mentioned nothing about old Chinatown and new Chinatown.

We drove for a good half-hour, got back into the city, and then the driver got lost. He asked around, not much help. Man, does time obscure the past. We finally asked some Chinese folks in front of a restaurant (an emerging theme) where the famous Nanking Restaurant was – they knew, and pointed it out. I was very happy to get out of the taxi. And very thankful that the local Chinese residents were 1) still around, and 2) so helpful.

I was sad that the ‘real Chinatown’ was so decrepit and hard to discern. There were just a few spots with kanji – I found a couple Chinese temples, now schools, and a few gateways of Chinese design too. But the highlight was the old restaurant, obviously abandoned and in sad shape, but still impressive. If Kolkata were a normal city, this place would be either refurbished/inhabited, or torn down and replaced. But Kolkata ain’t a normal city – it seems half the buildings are falling down and most are assuredly full of squatters. I could imagine the squalor within – hundreds of people huddled around little hot plates fueled by cooking oil, grinding and grilling chapattis. I won’t even mention the makeshift latrines…

But I really didn’t need my imagination, people, because right outside the restaurant , building there are huge piles of garbage – with people living inside. That’s right – people have burrowed holes and reinforced them with god knows what, and built tunnels/hovels within. And against the side of the building there’s an endless row of lean-to’s, makeshift housing for the poor. Needless to say, I was besieged by beggars as I walked down the path next to the building. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a degree of hopelessness and squalor – at least not since arriving in the city of Pathankot at night back in ’92 and having our bus rushed by hundreds of beggars and lepers.

India is perhaps the most exasperating country on the planet. The experiences you have here are hard to replicate anywhere else. I’m not only talking about the negative…the word ‘exasperating’ has a flip side as well. But let’s start with what makes India so trying.

I’ve been to lots of other poor countries – Mozambique, Namibia, the Philippines, Vietnam, Nepal, and I’d put China in that category, still, too. None of them manages to revolt the senses quite like India. I’ve seen lots of people with deformities in my travels – many with heartbreaking cases. But I’d have to say that of the worst 100 cases I’ve seen with my own two eyes, India had 99 of them. Really. In Kolkata I came across beggars with legs twisted in nearly unbelievable ways…with stumps that resembled desert Joshua trees…it beggars (no pun intended) the imagination. Truth is stranger than fiction here.

Intertwined, of course, is the general poverty. I’ve never seen so many beggars and people sleeping rough as I have in Kolkata. I had people chasing me across the street, touching my shoulder, yelling to me as I walked. My first morning I changed a 20 rupee note into coins to hand out. They were gone within an hour.

And the dirt, and grime. Not just in this city, of course, but all over the country. If I didn’t remember to wash off my Tevas before going to bed, I was tormented the next day by the pong. One afternoon in Kolkata I was walking to see the Howrah Bridge, reputed to be the world’s busiest. Millions cross it every day. At one point, I looked down and noticed that my left big toe was completely red. I panicked – was my toenail gone and I hadn’t noticed? No – it was simply that someone had spit paan (betelnut/tobacco mixture, resulting in crimson streams of sputum) on the ground and nailed my foot. Wonderful. As I was looking at my toe, a bicycle-wagon came careering around the corner and nicked the front of my sandal – missing the red toe by a centimeter. Might have take off the toe, or at least crushed it. I took a deep breath, walked on for a minute, and was nearly dive-bombed by a bird coming to ground, looking for some food. Missed me by a couple inches. A couple minutes later, as I was looking at the bridge, a bug flew right in my eye, and stuck there – took me 5 minutes to clear my eye. Every minute here can be fraught with peril. Whenever I leave India I’m thankful I still have all my body parts…and my sanity.

But India has its rewards as well. After my Chinatown travails, I walked a few minutes to check out two old Jewish synagogues. As with the Chinese, there were once many Jews in Calcutta, and they built some opulent houses of worship. Now there are only about 35 Jews left in the city, and they only use one of the synagogues, and that one only for the high holidays, or so I was told. Who told me? The Muslim caretaker of one of the synagogues, who found the keys and let me know. The interior was beautiful, Baghdadi in design. There are still two Torahs inside, and various plaques commemorating the leaders and important temple members.

This is what I love about India. The Muslim caretaker of the Jewish synagogue, doing his job faithfully and without a drop of malice. The general tolerance of the country, despite occasional bursts of communal violence. And the tint of history, too – India has seen pretty much everyone and everything, and captured a piece of each in its crazy fabric.

I was a bit sad about both Chinatown (there’s barely such a thing in Kolkata now), and the synagogues. Both represent a world of the past – our world today is a place where most people live in their own ‘homeland,’ and the fabric is much more orderly. Europe went through the same thing – before World War 2, nationalities and ethnicities were all over the place. It’s a form of segregation, in my opinion, and I don’t like it. I dislike the fact that Kolkata no longer has a real Chinatown…I really enjoyed seeing the Chinese faces in the city, and the few remaining establishments. I find that so interesting and rich. Imagine the old days. And I wish there was a large Jewish community still here…I disagree with the movement, and associated organizations, which focus on bringing Jews from 3^rd-world countries to Israel. I believe I touched on this topic after my trip to Rangoon, which has one remaining synagogue. I’m sure it’s not easy being a Jew in Iran, for example; but there are drawbacks from having all the world’s Jews in a few Western(ized) countries. If there were no Jews in Iran, it would be even easier for that country’s leaders to demonize Jews. If we’re all mixed in this world, we learn about each other and learn to get along, for the most part. And if there are flare-ups from time to time, well, we’re just animals anyway.

Took a cab back to my hotel to check in. We drove by a small street, and I glimpsed a plaque which stated that William Thackeray, the author, was born there in 1811. Random. I hadn’t known Thackeray was born in Calcutta, and thought that was cool. Back to my point on ‘reverse Balkanization’ – it’s boring if every Brit is born in Britain. I’d rather have some born in India, in the States, in Africa, etc.

Some Kolkata yang: it has very good restaurants, and even a bit of nightlife. I found a great eatery called Peter Cat, which has large metal flagons of beer and chelo kebabs. After the heat of the morning, I needed beer and meat to revive me. Afterward, walking back in the heat, I realized I needed a couple hours’ sleep in my airconditioned room, so lay down and passed right out. Kolkata is brutally hot these days, it’s over 30 Celsius / 90 Fahrenheit every day, and the nights are hot too. On one hand, heat, beggars, and dirt – on the other, glimpses of history, good food, and aircon. Which wins in the end?

Found some nearby pubs that evening, the Park Hotel has a number of them. And Park Street itself (a far cry from Boston’s version) is quite good – perhaps the nearest thing in India I’ve seen to a high street, with posh shops and good restaurants lined up. That was good to see – only in Bangalore do you seem to get any concentration of decent establishments, in Mumbai and (to a lesser extent) Delhi you need to cover some ground to hit all the good spots.

One pub, Someplace Else, had a band that played English classic. ‘Rocky Mountain High, Colorado’ sang the Indian vocalist. I had a couple Kingfishers, chatted with a local guy sitting at the bar, watched a stupid Western girl sweep in wearing a salwar kameez and dupatta (I hate foreigners who pretend they’re Indian – are they supposed to be enlightened?), and left around midnight. Apparently the bar stays open till 2 a.m. Incredible India, indeed…

Next day, hit the big sights, not my usual weird ones. The Indian Museum is a massive structure full of crusty exhibits and some decent paintings. I quite liked some of the fossils on exhibit – there was one of a stromatolite that’s supposedly 3.2 billion years old. Surely the oldest thing I’ve ever seen in my travels – older even then some of the paan spit stains on the Kolkatan streets!

Went over to the brilliant Victoria Memorial. Lonely Planet describes this place as a cross between the Taj Mahal and the US Capitol building, and they’re right. Impressive structure, and the interior galleries have some great paintings/photos and exhibits on the history of the Raj and the city. Well worth a visit.

Took a cab to BBD Bagh, fka Dalhousie Square. This square has many of the old British buildings, but many are crumbling and in general the place has an air of neglect. That saiud, it’s bustling – the General Post Office is right there, and thousands of folks congregate there. I walked in and saw some dudes sitting on the floor, wrapping parcels, writing letters (probably for the illiterate to send to their families in the villages). The GPO was built on top of the old Fort William, the site of the imfamous ‘Black Hole of Calcutta,’ where a bunch of British soldiers were imprisoned and died during the 1857 uprising.

After the GPO I walked to the nearby Postal Museum, which had a bit on the Black Hole, and lots on the history of the Indian postal system. Better than it sounds - the museum, not the Black Hole.

Walking down the street I saw a guy whose face was all made up – he looked a lot like the protagonist from the movie ‘V for Vendetta.’ Friend Alan likes that movie, hopefully he’ll see this post and then go to Kolkata himself to look for this fellow…

It was my final night in Kolkata…I was fried from the experience. So many beggars – so much heat – awful hygienic conditions. I was tempted to stay in my hotel all night, but finally decided to go out for dinner. Heard about a Begali place called Kewpie’s, figured it would be crowded but got in a can anyway. Cabbie got lost, naturally, and we had to stop and ask directions about five times. People were quite helpful, though – and bemused to see a foreigner sitting in the back seat. The cabbie was hating me – he thought he’d get an easy 80 rupees for a short ride, but it turned out to be a good half hour and I was actually happy to make him work for his rip-off fare.

Some of the ‘good Samaritans’ didn’t think much of the cabbie and his poor English, and I could see them shaking their heads as they walked off. What sort of impression was this cabbie giving foreigners, they must have been thinking. And I felt the same way in a sense…but also sympathized with my cranky, thieving cabbie too. What was his situation and who was I to judge him from a few minutes of observation?

Finally got to Kewpie’s – it was nearly empty. Depressingly so. Anyway, sat down and ordered some specialties – including a river prawn that was huge and tasty (usually shellfish taste is inverse to its size, perhaps it was the sauce in this case).

Had a beer at a pub, then back to my hotel. Read in the newspaper that there were some highway shootings in Virginia, where I’ll be in a few weeks for my 15^th business school reunion. One shooting was in the little town of Crozet, near Charlottesville. I used to go to Crozet all the time – Crozet Pizza, a tiny little restaurant, has some of the best pizza I’ve ever eaten. Gotta go back there in a few weeks – hopefully the shooter will be behind bars by that point!

Kolkata/West Bengal State is ruled by the Communist Party (Marxist), by the way. There’s a Ho Chi Minh Street and various other left-flavored places around town. It’s hard to say how much blame for the city’s condition can be apportioned to the Commies – it’s true that they spend most of their time bothering landlords and the upper castes, but at the same time no government could deal with the huge influxes of refugees that entered the city in 1947, during Partition, and 1971, when East Bengal became Bangladesh. Kolkata could probably comfortably accommodate 6-7 million people – but now has 15 million.

Finished the book ‘A Fine Balance,’ by Rohinton Mistry. Possibly the most shocking, depressing conclusion I’ve read. Not the usual sense of justice or fairness – no satisfaction rendered. Just the timelessness of the Indian village ways. Mistry has a real gift for weaving countless plot threads, then bringing them together and closing the circle. Perhaps the best aspect of coming back to India this time has been the discovery of writers like Rushdie and Mistry – I can’t think of better novelists these days (although David Mitchell from the UK gives them a run for their money, and I do like China Mieville on the sci-fi side).

My last act in Kolkata was to go see ‘Motherhouse,’ Mother Teresa’s mission house/museum/residence. Good experience. Mother Teresa was certainly cut from a different cloth, no pun intended. The little museum is very cultish, though – and I had forgotten how fervently she fought against abortion rights. There’a a photo with her and the Reagans back in the 80s, when they campaigned together against Roe v. Wade. I suppose this stance was consistent with her overall philosophy – and I can appreciate her going against the grain and holding up human life, in whatever awful form, as the ultimate experience – but I certainly draw the opposite conclusion, i.e. it’s wrong to bring a child into the world if it isn’t wanted/can’t be cared for. I’m no Mother Teresa, just a cranky ex-businessman.

Kolkata – lots of yin, a bit of yang. Much like India herself. And so on to Delhi, my final stop in my 5+ months of hanging around in Hindustan…

Delhi, at least this time, was a far better mix – mostly yang, some yin. I was actually surprised by this. Read on…

I’d been to Delhi a few times previously, including a couple brief stops in late 2006. Both times, I hadn’t been able to revisit the major sights, which I’d seen back in ’92. I was keen to go back to these places and, in a sense, bring myself back in time as well. Delhi is not an easy city – it’s a mix of several old cities and the British-designed new city, and seems to attract the country’s worst touts and frauds. Other Indians warn against Delhiites, although I seem to see the same behavior spread across the entire country.

When I first came to India, in 1992, I was 24 years old. My mother was still alive. I had my whole life still in front of me, and was awed by the prospect of spending a few months in such an exotic place. Coming back this time, for my longest stretch ever in the country, gave me perspective that’s generally hard to acquire. And that’s probably the top reason for my strange attraction to India. I’m put off by many things here – the squalor and poverty, the lack of hygiene, the lack of culinary choices, the touts and rip-off artists…the yin. But the yang is just enough to keep me interested – there’s the thread of India throughout my life, from the age of 24 to my current age of 40, there’s the sheer range of destinations here, Himalaya to oceans, and the color of the country is hard to match. When I return here after some time away, I realize how much I’ve missed the smells in the air – sure, you get terrible sewer stench in some places, but the incense, flowers, and other random scents give the country a life that is missing in the West. Is that enough to keep me coming back here? I’m not sure, at least not right now.

Back to Delhi. My flight was fine. And Delhi’s Indira Gandhi Airport (yet another gripe – naming everything after the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty, particularly Indira, who was often a real monster) has gotten better. There’s a very orderly prepaid taxi rank, and the cost of going into town is less than 200 rupees. Hallelujah. I was cranky when I got to Delhi – a few minutes later, I was in a cleanish cab and hadn’t yet gotten a ridiculous proposal to part with my rupees. Maybe the air had shifted?

My hotel, the Godwin Delux, was near the infamous Paharganj area, near New Delhi train station. The hotel was pretty good – another surprise. Unpacked my stuff, then went out for a bite. Walked around Paharganj for an hour – the place is a warren of streets and vendors, one of the world’s great tourist ghettos. Well worth a visit. Then went to Nizam’s Roll House in Connaught Circle – this place has great kebab-style rolls and is hugely popular. Hadn’t been there in 16 years, it was still there and still has long lines. Devoured a chicken and egg roll and was happy. A real cross-section of India was inside the café – Muslims eating mutton, Hindus eating veg and chicken, a few foreigners…and ‘Oh, What a Night!’ was playing on the sound system. So far, Delhi was proving easy to take.

Spoke with my old girlfriend that night. My original plan was to meet her in Delhi – not in Nagaland, where she lives, as her work plans would bring her to the capital. But work again intruded, and she got stuck in Nagaland. Oh well. I had wanted to see her, it’s been 10+ years since we last met…but I’d have time to go see the sights and kick back a bit. There’s lots to do in Delhi and it had been a long time since I’d been around the place.

Walked by a TGI Friday’s restaurant in Connaught. Looked inside. The waiters were wearing Texan hats and ridiculous cowboy outfits; one watier was a Sikh so had his do-rag on instead of the hat. Only in India.

After walking off my Nizam’s dinner, took a rickshaw back to my hotel. For some reason we started talking about terrorist groups and intelligence agencies - I told him I was with al-Qaeda…no, Jemaai-i-Islamiya…no, Pakistani ISI, no, USA CIA. Must have been drunk. If this happened in the States the cabbie would probably have reported me to the police…but this is India, where such bizarre humor is second nature.

The next day was my big sight-seeing blowout. I had carved out the entire day to see the major attractions. Started in Old Delhi’s main street, Chandni Chowk. Walked down the length towards the Red Fort. Stopped at Jalebiwallah’s for some jalebi – scrumptious. Syrup all over my face, I grinned like a little brat. Visited the massive Red Fort. A bit lonely, this place – the Army vacated in 2003. Back in ’92 it was bustling and had a sense of purpose. Still, the scale is impressive and it’s a good hour’s walk around.

At the entry gate the soldier-guards spoke to me in Hindi, I replied as best I could. That made them laugh. They had to inspect my bag – I told them I wasn’t a terrorist. Then they really laughed. We stood there and joked for a few minutes – I think they get bored frisking dour old Indian matrons all the time…

On that topic, another annoying bit about India. Why is it that so many older, middle-class women waddle around with their flesh dripping over the sides of her sari? And I do mean ‘waddles’ and ‘dripping.’ It’s off-putting, particularly when they strut by a starving beggar. I understand that showing some fat is a sign of affluence in India, but it’s so fucking primitive. I’m not proposing that they go and join a gym – that would be a bridge too far. But have a little respect for others – sometimes I feel ill when I see one of these ducks waddling by. I’d be perfectly happy to let the younger, cute ones show some flesh, but no – they’re swaddled head to toe in their sari. India.

Inside the Red Fort I saw an Indian guide speaking Japanese to a tour group from that country. Funny to hear an Indian speaking Japanese…even funnier than hearing a Chinese speaking Hindi. And this guide was doing all the usual Japanese mannerisms – bowing, murmurs of agreement, etc. Classic.

Walked to the brilliant Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. This place is stunning, really – here’s a photo but it (and my poor photography skills) can’t do it justice:

In ’92 I’d gone up the tower with b-school friend Craig. It was during monsoon, so cloudy and rainy…and we were up there with a Muslim fellow who looked fierce. We thought he might push us infidels off the tower, to our deaths. Now, 16 years later, I climbed the tower again. Now it was sunny and crowded. And still superb.

Walked for a while and came to Raj Ghat, a park with cenotaphs/memorials to Nehru, Mahatma Gandhi, Indira Gandhi, and her sons. The Mahatma memorial was peaceful – took a walk around and thought about the man.

Visited other historic spots in the city. The Gandhi National Museum had tons of information on his life and teachings, and the clothing he wore when assassinated in 1948. Then went to Gandhi Smriti, the house where he was actually killed. His final steps are marked on a footpath. Finally, to Indira’s former house/office, full of memorabilia about her and her son Rajiv, a later PM. Both Indira and Rajiv were assassinated. Indira’s last steps, just outside, are marked – she was shot in 1984 by her own Sikh bodyguards. Rajiv was the victim of a suicide bomber in Tamil Nadu in 1991 – his kurta and shoes from that day are on display here. Seems Rajiv was wearing high-top sneakers that day – random. But actually, it’s quite interesting – so many Indian men walk by and look at my footwear, as if they’re checking my status or something. Usually I’m wearing Tevas, so I can’t imagine they conclude much…although the Tevas are probably far more costly than their chappal-sandals. Anyway, Rajiv’s sneaks were something that grabbed my eye.

Also visited Janpath, the road between India Gate and the President’s House, Rashtrapati Bhavan. A bit like Pennsylvania Avenue, or, more accurately, the line of sight between the US Capitol, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial. Walked the entire way and was worn out by the end. Near the President’s House are the Secretariat Buildings, and also the Parliament House, where in late 2001 a suicide bomber squad attacked. Lots of security these days, as you’d imagine. This area seems to have been designed along the lines of Washington, DC – or perhaps Canberra, Oz (which was inspired by Washington).

This was certainly a top 5 lifetime sight-seeing day – I was moving from 8 a.m. till 4 p.m. or so, with no real breaks. Still had a couple more things to visit next day, but I felt pretty happy I’d hit the high notes.

Read that Dith Pran died. He was a Cambodian photographer who survived the Khmer Rouge and went on to inspire the film ‘The Killing Fields.’ I’ve mentioned him in earlier posts. When I was at Tufts I saw him speak at the Fletcher School, and will always remember his story, which was only becoming clear at that very time. Moving stuff.

On a perhaps lighter note, also read that Al Copeland, the founder of Popeye’s Fried Chicken, passed away. I have a weakness for fried chicken, and Popeye’s is my favorite brand. There you have it – Dith Pran and Al Copeland, two important figures for very different reasons. Is that lowbrow enough?

One more day free in Delhi. Did some errands in the morning – first, stopped in the classic Imperial Hotel to get my onward flight confirmed, to take in the ambience, and to ask about a reputable chemist/pharmacist. Then, on the hotel’s recommendation, visited Apollo Pharmacy to stock up on various pharma products at super-cheap prices. Anything you want, no questions asked…although I did invoke the holy name of Harsh’s medico, Dr. Shetty in Bangalore.

Then tortured myself voluntarily by going to the States Shopping Emporium and buying a few gifts. Went into the Kashmir state store – sounded exotic enough. But I hate being in these places – obsequious sales reps, plus my own lack of knowledge about pashmina shawls and the like. Bought some small gifts and got out, sanity barely intact.

Had two more sights still to see, and decided to take the new-ish Delhi Metro (subway) to the first. Not easy finding the metro station. And when I entered, first impressions weren’t great. It was clean enough, I suppose – but the glass enclosures where the advertisements go were blank, and showed only the bulbs that serve to illuminate the usual ads. Tawdry. Walked on to get my ticket. Easy enough, not much queue-jumping. Got on my train – only one guy sitting on the floor, and no food or paan. Plus there was aircon. Getting better, much better. As I got off the broadcast reminded me to ‘mind the gap,’ as it does in London. Overall, surprisingly good metro system from what I saw. In India they can certainly build well – there’s lots of evidence of that over the centuries. The bigger issue is maintenance – a few years on, everything seems stale and degraded. I hope they keep up the metro, otherwise it will deteriorate into a scary shithole. I think they’ll devote resources to keep it tidy.

Was going to the Purana Qila, the ‘Old Fort’ built by Humayan and Sher Shad in the mid-1500’s. Huge place, quite nice. Not sure I’d been there in ’92. Spent an hour walking around, marveling at the scale and at the exquisite structures, some of which are still in good shape. Then took a taxi to Humayun’s tomb. Humayun was the second Mughal emperor, and his tomb served as the inspiration for the Taj Mahal, built about 100 years later. I had seen this in ’92, and it’s still stunning. Reminded me of the splendors of the Mughal Empire and its accomplishments. There really aren’t many places in the world quite as spectacular. Here’s the tomb:

That was it for sight-seeing. Went back to my hotel to kick back and check emails. Surprisingly, I can get wireless in my room for free – the hotel has a network. Not sure if I should be paying someone, but I think I can get away with it.

I’m leaving India late tonight. Five or so months here this time. Granted, 3+ months were spent in Goa, which is the easiest place in India - but still.  Another set of experiences, lots of yin, but also plenty of yang. Delhi served to refresh and revitalize me – didn’t expect that, but I certainly needed it after the shock of Kolkata. Leaving on a good note will make it easier for me to return someday. I have no idea when that will be…but I do think I’ll be back at some point.

India is a tough place. Everything seems to take place at the margin – people’s very existence and sustenance, that cycle that just misses your toe, the guy hanging out of the bus door. It’s certainly tiring, but sometimes energising too. Then there’s the juxtapositions – the fat lady waddling around in her sari, the skinny polio-ridden beggar on the ground. How can they allow scourges like polio to still exist in the 21^st century?

The smells – half sewer, half agarbati (incense). Everything exists on the margin here, and there are no vacuums; everything is full, and pushed to the margin. I’m happy to get out of India alive, and in one piece, given all my experiences here. But I might need to return, too, because for some strange reason this place is a critical link in my past, to my memories. It’s endlessly infuriating, but still, each evening as I wash the crap off my feet and shoes I feel some affection for the place.

Last night, as I sat in a rickshaw taking me back to my hotel, I saw a heart-shaped balloon bouncing around, down the street. It was a child’s toy, and had obviously lost a critical load of helium – or perhaps never had much to begin with. It kept bouncing, buffeted by vehicles and people, all moving around it in constant flux. I thought that made a perfect metaphor for India – always on the move, always busy, with an inscrutable mix of joy and sadness. I wish there were more joy, less sadness – but that’s a project far larger than any one of us. Over and out.