Back from Bangalore…

Last week I had a last minute urgent trip to Bangalore.  This is a tough trip, generally a red-eye there and a red-eye back. Not sure why the Indian government makes it so hard for international flights to get in and out of India. I arrived in Bangalore late Tuesday night and left on the red-eye Thursday night. This is the Thai flight that lands in Bangkok at about 4 AM the morning after leaving Bangalore. At this time nothing in the airport is open and people have to wait at least an hour before little coffee shops open at 5 AM and two hours until everything else opens at 6 AM. My flight left Bangkok a few hours later and just before leaving I snapped this pic. The Thai plane is the one I was about to board. The Sri Lankan plane was waiting to taxi out to the runway. In the distance one can see the image of a plane just as it has lifted off the end of the runway. Considering how much I travel this is a familiar scene for me.

Since being back in Hong Kong I have been battling the GI infection circulating through our home but I am now getting back on course.

Planes against the clouds…

There's an eerieness in the middle of the night at 35,000 feet. Especially on long haul flights after the first meal's been served, passengers lulled asleep by wine, eyes heavy from watching bright movies on small screens. Window screens shut, sun down, lights dimmed, everything relatively quiet but for the background hum of the Rolls Royce engines. Those still awake find themselves at the effect of the vessel, drowsy and drunk from the white noise drone of the turbines.

Through the dark cabin creeps a faint glow dancing from various light fixtures: itty bitty No Smoking signs, the odd TV screen watched by a jet lagged passenger, even from the illuminated buttons on the personal remote controls. The light glow intoxicates.

Music is another drug of choice in the mile high mind muckers club. Inevitably some of your past favourites wait for you in the genre sensitive channels. The smart music directors once worked at Amazon, following an "if they like that popular song they'll love this uncommon song" philosophy. Thanks to that strategy I've discovered lots of audio treasures: Coldplay long ago when they first emerged, Katie Melue, Amy Bell to name a few.

Years ago I read a fantastic story about the Whitbread Round the World Yacht Race. The writer described how one night, sailing through the crazy life-threatening southern oceans, the crew listened to Rachmaninoff beneath a searchlight-bright full moon, the reflections of which danced like fire off the wind chiseled waves. I'd heard the composer but never got that piece of the story until Cathay Pacific added to their classical channel a heart-stopping, stunning version of Rachmaninoff. Then the picture was complete – fire, waves and all.

I wouldn't say it's a spa up here, obviously far from it. More like a memory time machine that uniquely plays on one's senses.  Yes, I've made many flights down the Reminiscent Runway. I've lost track because Tess & I started using our miles years ago, but if we hadn't we'd probably have over 3 million CX miles to our names. That's a lot of time on planes. Even Sebastian has a frequent flyer number!

I remember the first time I went around the planet in 1998. Hong Kong -> Delhi -> London -> Toronto -> Chicago -> Hong Kong. My first time on English soil I arrived just as the early dawn broke. I'll never forget the orange rays on the still quiet city as we descended on final approach into Heathrow, flying over Buckingham Palace. Those moments, high above the earth, are burned hard into my memory.

I recall years ago in the late 1990s on one of my many trips from India to Canada via London or Frankfurt, the US was starting it's second major assault on Iraq. That night was the start of the air campaign.  Security was a big issue since I was flying United Airlines and everything was buzzy at the airport. (CX wasn't flying to Delhi at that time.) Our flight path altered slightly to insure we flew clear of the trouble. But knowing we were so close to the action was odd. That night was eerie and there have been many similar occasions.

In late August 2002, as my CX flight flirted with the dateline on it's way to Canada via Alaska, my mother passed away. My sisters and father were at her side, while I sat in CX First Class (thanks to a very compassionate CX employee) listening to Robbie Williams' renditions of old classics at Albert Hall. I didn't know my mother had passed away, but then again, I knew. I knew all too well, especially after waking up from a light sleep, present to a deep, deep peace. I later learned that was right around the time she slipped away.

Knowing that I knew what I didn't know on that particular flight, and after the Rolls Royce engines' hypnotic hum settled into my sub-conscious, I wrote a tribute to my mother that I later read at her memorial four days later in Toronto. Tough task. There in the green glow of an oddly quiet but noisy aircraft, I entered words into my laptop in honour of my mother. Of course I wept, wouldn't you? Despite my discrete attempts to conceal my state, the radar-like green glow surrendered me, reflecting itself off the regularly escaping tears. Other passengers, and the crew, surely thought me crazy. I completed the tribute long before phoning Toronto during the Alaska re-fuel to confirm in the physical world what I already knew. My father, married to my mother for five decades, was more concerned that I was okay on that call than he was for himself. A flight I will never forget.

Another journey where the plane's spirit got its hooks deep into my mind was when Tess, Sebastian & I flew to Antigua in March of this year. Having recently achieved CX gold status I got bumped to Business. So we splurged, burning points for Tess & Seb upgrades to Business Class for the HK -> Toronto sector. We had to pull a few strings to get there, but CX complied.

This trip had a special place in my heart. For the first time in years the entire family was together except for my Mother. Our trip was one of her last wishes – a family reunion in Antigua. With no memories of Antigua (I had only been there when I was six months old) deep into the depths of my soul I knew I was in a sacred place. You can imagine the thoughts swirling through my head during those ten days in the West Indies, never mind on the flights to Toronto/back to Hong Kong as the slipstream played with my senses. Just as we have friends and family with whom we grow old, we also have constants like movie stars and rock stars who we watch grow old with us… well so do books, companies, and even airlines.

I am not sure why this environment makes me so introspective. Maybe something about looking out at the world from high above. Even on a recent trip as I flew out of Sydney and Melbourne, Australia, I was acutely aware how close I was to the Sydney-Hobart yacht race course: we  would have flown directly above the route for the race that started December 26. Punctuate that with the knowledge that while in Sydney I had a short glimpse of Ragamuffin, one of the favourites to win the Sydney-Hobart Race.

There's more to looking down on the southern hemisphere than just the Sydney-Hobart, for me anyway. That's also where the most daring of adventuring sailors find the Roaring Forties – a windy stretch of water that lives not only south of the equator but also in the dreams of many a venturer. Successful passage through the Roaring Forties places a rare star of Salty Dog Accomplishment on the lapels of not that many yachtsmen. Having the foresight to play Rachmaninoff would certainly enrich the already intense experience, too. Obviously, flying overtop doesn't earn anyone the ribbon, nonetheless there I was, just a stone's throw away from a lifelong dream.

Not surprisingly, sunsets and dawns regularly present a gorgeous array of colours at these altitudes. I remember flying out of Singapore en route to India in 2002. It was dusk. We ascended through gigantic, puffy clouds of all shapes, sizes and tones. I was already interviewing and planning my escape from Rockwell so everywhere I traveled I video taped.  I didn't know when I'd be back to India – amazingly in my first two years at Juniper I spent more time on the Indian sub-continent than 5.5 years at Rockwell.

As tough as long haul flights can be, especially the vast number I always find myself on, the environment plays tricks on the mind, provoking all sorts of introspective thoughts. Music plays a huge part, as do movies, towards the altitude poignancy. Nowadays I even plan my flights to be awake at the quietest moments when others are asleep. That's when I'll find some music, crack open my laptop or Blackberry, and write. Most of my writing is about the past but occasionally I look forward as best I can… trying to capture who I am to create a better future. I wish I could capture precisely what it is about flying that captures me, but like understanding life itself, it's a little illusive.

So we fly on, planes against the clouds, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

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Christmas Update

I promised I would write more about our magical Christmas. One of the best parts about Christmas – in addition to being around Tess and the kids – is that I didn’t have to think about work. (Although the Blackberry is always at arms length… recently read in the Wall Street Journal: "Blackberries are great because they set us free from the office, but trap us forever.”) Point is, my mind needs time away from work right now to get perspective. As I think I mentioned before, usually at Christmas and heading into New Years I have a gleeful euphoria as new beginnings approach. But oddly enough, not this time.

But the holidays were great… I like the feeling of knowing I don’t have to do anything the next day other than being around the family. I planned my shopping well enough in advance that I was home from work at a decent time on the 23rd and didn’t need to do any shopping on the 24th. Instead, on the Saturday Sebastian and I went for a ride across Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour, had a McDonald’s picnic next to the harbour and then returned home.

That evening the six of us headed out to Union Church (above at night) for a Christmas Eve dinner. Sela and Carys looked incredibly cute in their dresses and white capes. Everyone was remarkably well behaved, too. As we drove home, Hong Kong was ablaze in a sea of lights.

Sebastian was hilarious, resisting going to bed until, "oh, time to go to bed" he would say and just like that marched off to his bed. I settled in to listen to Christmas Carols as I wrapped a few presents and sipped rum & egg nog. Later that night I posted on the blog. Those last few hours were magical, in a strange fatigued way, as I got a chance to reflect on the season and years gone by.

Christmas morning we were awake at a decent hour. The trips are too young to understand Christmas but still appreciated opening a few surprises. Excited Sebastian was territorial about the gifts. All presents were his presents. The magical moment for Seb, is not watching him open the gifts, it’s his growing appreciation for the magic of Christmas.

For example, the other day while playing with the accompanying picture Sebastian said, "I love Christmas." This was long before the presents or stockings, and it was very sweet to hear.

Christmas Day we had friends (Dale & Steph) over from Church: mom and dad plus four boys between 1.5 and nine years old. They arrived about 4 PM and left about 10:30 PM. Pretty much the entire time everyone was racing at Mach 5. At dinner for the first time ever Sebastian prayed openly in public. With eleven people in front of him – ranging from 1.5 to 43 years old – he thanked God for dinner, his friends, Jesus and gifts. Maybe he didn’t say it quite as succinctly as that, but he still prayed. That was magical.

Dale and I had a cigar on the balcony. Finally, once everyone left, Sebastian headed off to bed… and THAT was magical, too. After saying his evening prayers, which were very short after the earlier investment in words, he started to softly sing Christmas Carols. Usually his songs are blasted out at the top of his lungs. But lying in bed with the triplets fast asleep in the same room, he very softly sang. For some reason I had the digital video camera in my hands. I placed it on the ladder of Seb’s bunk bed and turned it on, recording the sound of Seb’s soft, singing voice in the darkness.

I stood there for a few minutes in time, struck by Sebastian’s love for Christmas, his sweet, quiet voice, his innocence. That was when I wondered, "will this moment ever return?" Eventually the singing ceased, the camera faded from black to black, and we all said "good night."

A Very Happy Christmas…

A very Happy Christmas to everyone. Right now we are sixty minutes into Christmas in The Far East. The stockings are hung with care and everyone in the flat is asleep… even the cat. I am listening to John Lennon’s “So This Is Christmas” while sipping cognac and egg nog. I was hoping to write something poignant and poetic tonight, but I am just too tired to get that done. Instead, I leave you with this poignant picture and the promise of more words tomorrow, or the next day, or the one after that.

Hong Kong & the WTO Riots

We had a very interesting Saturday evening on the coattails of the WTO riots in Hong Kong. I arrived back into Hong Kong on Saturday morning from the US, and last night Tess & I went out to dinner with David & Ann. David is a lifelong friend – I’ve known him since I was nine years old in Toronto – and by coincidence we now both live in Hong Kong. Saturday was David’s 50th birthday. The four of us dined at Petrus on the 60th floor of Shangri-La Hotel on Hong Kong Island.

Tess and I took a taxi from home, not knowing we were in for a long journey to the Shangri-La. I only slept a little on the flight back from the US. Therefore, after feeling drowsy in the taxi decided to doze off to re-charge the batteries. Next thing I knew, I felt the taxi slowing and opened my eyes.

“Are we on the road to the Airport Express,” I asked Tess and after she confirmed this to be true I asked, “Why is he going this way?”

“No choice,” replied Tess, “the highway was closed.” Highly irregular for a main artery through Central to be closed. Something must be going on we thought.

We were stuck in a nasty traffic jam so I tried to call David & Ann to warn them we’d be delayed. No answer, but no sooner had I disconnected the call when I received an incoming call from David’s work’s switchboard line.

“CHARLES!” David exclaimed, “We can’t get out of here. Taxis are dropping off guests at our place but not pickling anyone up. We are going to walk but it will take us about half an hour.” We agreed everyone should just relax and that the evening would be a long, luxurious one nonetheless.

All traffic going into Central was being re-routed back through the Airport Express and out of the city.  Basically, imagine all cars driving into the city doing a U-turn and leaving. Everywhere we looked, streets in Central were closed with police everywhere. Finally Tess & I decided to walk from the Airport Express to Pacific Place. This was no easy feat for Tess who was in high heels. Fortunately since we’d spoken to David & Ann we knew we didn’t have to rush too much.

“Needo, needo!” we said to the taxi driver who popped open the door to let us out. The atmosphere was just like it was the night of the handover in 1997… spookily quiet for Hong Kong. The first thing I noticed was the sound of a helicopter – not a little one, a mighty one, like a Blackhawk. Both Tess & I heard it, but could not see it. We started walking towards Wan Chai, chatting about the best route to the hotel. We decided to walk straight along the Queensway to Pacific Place, then up the four escalators.

The Queensway was closed both ways, with police everywhere. By this point we had not heard about the riots, instead concluding that senior dignitaries must be moving about thereby causing the road closures. Then, as we approached Pacific Place we saw the hovering helicopter positioned overtop Wan Chai. Even thought it appeared to be positioned above and between the Conrad and Shangri-La Hotels, in reality it was probably a little further east. A helicopter hovered there the entire night. Later we concluded this must have been a command post in the sky.

The Shangri-La Hotel is a pretty lah-tee-dah place, often hosting big-ticket names from politicians to Hollywood stars. Therefore, we were not entirely surprised at the security when we entered. Our bags were passed through an airport screening machine, and we had to walk through an airport metal detector, too. Tess noted that despite the tight security, the hotel staff was incredibly gracious, as they are about everything.

Fortunately we arrived before David & Ann, and were able to insure we had one of the best window seats in the restaurant. (Pre-arranged in honour of David.) We had a bird’s eye view of Admiralty and Wan Chai. The place looked like a ghost town with all streets – major through fares and small side streets – closed. There were police everywhere. Flashing blue lights – police boats – littered the harbour.

We had a fantastic evening with David & Ann, with the occasional background sound of powerful rotors manoeuvring a helicoptor into position.

Shortly after midnight the head maitre d’ asked us if we were staying in the hotel or elsewhere. Reason being he explained, “you will not be able to get a taxi and the MTR closes at 1 AM. I am not trying to rush you, I just want to make sure you don’t find yourselves without a way home.” We agreed it was time to retire. Upon leaving we walked to the MTR – about a fifteen minute walk – and headed West, away from Wan Chai. While on the MTR we heard announcements that the Wan Chai station was closed. Very bizarre.

Waking up this morning, however, it all made sense once we read the news. WTO protestors clashed with police. After ten years in Hong Kong I have a tremendous amount of respect for the police, and not a lot of sympathy for the protestors’ methods. If you come to Hong Kong looking for trouble, then stir it up, the police will deal with you accordingly.

Tess had a remarkable comment about the seventy Korean farmers who jumped into Hong Kong harbour in an attempt to approach the Hong Kong Convention Centre from the water… “You mean they didn’t dissolve?”

Friends from Victoria, Canada

Last week, we had friends visit from Canada: Paul & Fran. Unfortunately, this was when the "spiking fever" and "new improved flu" was racing through our household and we weren’t able to spend as much time with them as we would have liked. Paul and Fran spent three weeks in China with friends, then came through Hong Kong. I know them from when I lived in Vancouver, Canada, and travelled each week for more than a year to Victoria on Vancouver Island to lead Landmark Education seminars. For almost the entire year Paul sat in my seminars, generating his own value (despite my abilities) and Fran attended a few sessions, too.

The weekly trip was always a wonderful escape often rich with irony or coincidence of some sort. I would be dropped off at the Tsawassen Ferry early afternoon. I typically spent the 1.5 hour trip in the dining room at the back of the ship watching the water float off behind us as I worked or read. Leading the sessions was energizing, too. One of the best parts of my weekly visits to Victoria was after each session, when the seminarians including Paul, and yours truly met at a local Victoria pub called Swans. On Wednesday nights Swans had a live band. One band in particular always reminded me of my brother-in-law, Dave Harris, who loves music – including bluegrass – and throughout his lifetime has jammed his way through many years, with many friends and a variety of bands. One night in Swans, after a uniquely inspiring bluegrass session, I drifted up to the ad hoc stage to compliment the group during one of their breaks. I got the shock of my life when I discovered the leader of the band was also named Dave Harris.

Paul & Fran’s visit brought back all these memories and we had a very special time in Hong Kong, albeit a bit short.  The afternoon before leaving they came to visit the whole family in our building’s playground. The weather was gorgeous and I suggested they walk back to town along a beautiful walking path that Tess & I love. When it came time to leave, I strapped Jasper into a small stroller and the two of us escorted Paul & Fran to the start of the path behind Queen Mary Hospital. There we said good-bye, which was very hard and I wish I’d handled it better or said something more poignant. In a moment all those months travelling to Victoria flashed through my mind’s eye, plus all the other times we’d seen each other upon return visits to Vancouver Island or their visits to Vancouver. Now Hong Kong had been added to the journey stretched out behind us. There were few words to describe that moment of seeing them walk away down the path while Jasper and I turned back towards home. How my life has changed. I try not to hold onto the past because I believe in the future.

The attached pics are ones Fran and Paul took on their visit.

How do you measure time?

Strange question? Perhaps, considering that we all know time is measured in seconds, hours, days and years. As balanced and scientifically accurate that measurement of time might be, the units we use to determine the passing of epoch are still man made. While we unassumingly march through each day, week and month, there are other milestones that mark the passage of time that have little to do with the units our wrist watches each measure. What are they for you?

Years ago I kept a journal. As ridiculous as it may seem, I started journaling in 1968 when my family took a seven month cruise from Toronto to the Bahamas. Having little understanding how to write about my feelings or interpretations of life around me – of which there was an amazing array of wonder as we sailed on our 28 footer – I mainly wrote about what happened… “today I woke-up, had breakfast, brushed my teeth, Daddy caught a fish.” I wrote silly things and a few years after the trip threw out that short, boring diary. Wow, do I regret that now.

No matter, about six years later at twelve years old, inspired by a very good friend, Bruce MacDonald, I put pen to paper again. Here the real writing began. As a teenager and young adult – and even my MBTI score today – I am an incredible introvert. Writing was a big outlet for me. From twelve to  twenty-seven I filled twenty-eight 300 odd page books with thoughts. As I progressed and developed my writing skills, each book took on a theme. Each book marked the passing of time. The assumption was this… if one volume represented a year of wisdom or living or experience, then three volumes in one year would represent three times the wisdom or living or experience. Volume 28, commenced in 1990 while I was on my first trip to Asia.  I was in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia at the time. The theme of that book was, “Going Global.” Volume 28 sits unfinished in my bed side table in Hong Kong. Time standing still?

Not for me… the events of my life have me acutely aware of the passing of time. Right now Tess & I are lazing next to the pool of the Bangkok Peninsula. Cool beer in hand on a warm, sunny Asian afternoon – another time marker similar to that late afternoon in KL when I commenced Volume 28. And yesterday, we had our Executive Health Check-Up at the Bumrungrad Hospital. Another time marker as it represented the second major physical check-up of my middle aged years. Fortunately, I passed with flying colours but wow, what a stressful day as we were poked and prodded. I hate when doctors stop, examine closer, frown and then report, “The doctor will update you at the end of the day.” As we left the hospital I was acutely aware that another “Health Check-Up” lay under my belt. Another notch on the tree of time.

What are other ways I measure time?

I used to measure time by the passing of school years. In fact, even to this day when I call into my mind’s eye the start of a new school year, it always "looks" like Spring despite starting in the Fall.

During the summers I attended sailing school at the Royal Canadian Yacht Club in Toronto, Canada. Each  summer represented another marker in time, towards what I was not sure and to this day have yet to answer.

Pictures are a big time scale for people… especially when rolls of film remain in cameras for a long time. How often have you picked up a freshly developed roll of film from the camera store and been surprised by hat you find inside… "Wow, I forgot about the pictures at the beginning of this role," people often say.

Music is another major time marker. I tend to equate eras of my life with music. During the mid to late 80s I was a big fan of New Wave and the British Invasion. I have tapes of those days that easily stimulate long dormant memories when played. If I were to single out one musical constant in my life it would be Elton John. He first appeared in the Charles’ screenplay when I was eleven years old – I bought my sister Carolyn "Good-Bye Yellow Brick Road" in 1973 for Christmas. We all wore that record into scratched oblivion and thirty-two years later Elton John remains one of my all time favourite artists. A few years ahead of me in time, I have often thought that the day Elton John dies will be an epochial  stake in the ground for yours truly.

This of course brings me to the ultimate measurement of time…dying. Years ago I ran a company in Toronto called BC Yachts Services. Every once in a while I hear of another elderly person in Toronto passing away, who years ago was a client. My friend, David, life long friend who now lives in Hong Kong, often says to me, "only a few people left and the grim reaper will start on our generation." Sometimes he is even more pointed and says, "we’re next."

Tess would roll her eyes at all this, of course. Much more practical than I, Tess wouldn’t care how anyone measured time as long as it didn’t cost much.  If I measured time by the production of writing (27.5) then Tess might measure time by the consumption of writing, in which case she’d be much further ahead, and no surprise, much more wise: Tess reads about 27.5 books per month!

Women measure time in different units than men. Therefore, it would probably seem ludicrous to Tess that I measure time with cars. Cars are far too expensive a time marker for Tess! Still, they represent the passing of time, especially for me. Long time ago my dad gave me some excellent advice:  "Always get a picture of yourself with every car you own. You’ll figure out why later."

The first weekend after we returned from Fintry (there is another time marker: visits to Fintry) I had a colleague from India visit Hong Kong. During his visit Tess and I took him to dinner at The Peak. Just as we parked the car the radiator ruptured. When the car came back the next week from Mr. Lau, the mechanic, I was very conscious of the fact there was still something very wrong with the car. It smelled expensive so I was better off investing repair money into another car instead of trying to fix The Blue Car. Therefore, I embarked on a project to replace The Blue Car. After a number of false starts I had pretty much given up on the project, resigning myself to drive The Blue Car into the ground. Then, on a whim and a prayer, The Silver Car came round the bend. The Blue Car is a 1994 Renault Espace. The Silver Car is a 2002 Renault Espace. Everything clicked into place and the transfer took place after returning from India on October 8th.

As most readers will know or suspect, Sebastian was a huge fan of The Blue Car. We had to build-up The Silver Car quite a bit to convince him that the change was a good thing. That afternoon Sebastian and I waited for Eddie to arrive from Triple Rich Motors. Seb pretended to drive The Blue Car while I tinkered around with some last minute clearing out. Once Eddie arrived we signed all the paper work. Then I asked, “Eddie, will you take a picture of Sebastian and I next to the car?” Eddie of course agreed.

I said to Sebastian, “Come on, Seb, we have to have one last picture with The Blue Car.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Always take a picture of every car you own, Sebastian. Trust me, someday you’ll figure out why,” I replied.

Eddie snapped the digital pic – we haven’t even touched on how the evolution of technology represents the passage of time – while Seb and I posed. As Eddie pushed the digital shutter button many images flittered through the back of my mind – 1975 Honda Civic… 1989 Honda Civic Si… 1984 Porsche 944… 1989 730i BMW. My mind floated back to the day I took possession of The Blue Car… the Terrific Trio lay in the NICU only a few days old. I was determined to drive The Blue Car as witness that every single one of them would live and someday we would drive as a family in the vehicle. Saying good-bye to The Blue Car was symbolic of the Terrific Trio growing up, entering a new phase in their vivid lives. Snapped out of my day dream, Eddie handed back the camera and crawled into The Blue Car. He accepted it as a trade-in, which was miraculous considering its condition. The Blue Car reluctantly started. Eddie eased away.

“Say good-bye to The Blue Car,” I instructed Sebastian.

“Bah bye, Blue Car!” Sebastian said excitedly as he waved.

The Blue Car slipped away and disappeared from our sight. Sebastian was somewhat oblivious to the event. In front of him sat The Silver Car – also known as The Silver Spaceship or the Tot Yacht – and there was plenty of driving and playing to be done. But for me, I was cognizant of the fact Father Time had conceded a little more as the Great Mechanic in the Sky punched yet another milestone in the time clock of life.

India’s Highway of Progress

I have been coming to India since November 1997. My first trip happened in my first week at a new company. Tess was between jobs and came with me. I was in Delhi for a week, Tess stayed with me, and then she went off to explore for another week while I returned to Hong Kong. This week I am travelling with my boss who spent two months in Delhi back in 1992.

India has changed a lot during the last eight years. Changes tend to happen quickly, too. After the government approved highway and road enhancements in Delhi several years ago, within a month construction began, progressing steadily to complete the project in a relatively short amount of time. Likewise, while Delhi used to be generally a very dirty city, in many areas (probably a very small proportion) big efforts have been made to make the city look better. Each time I return to a major India city, there are new buildings, improved roads, more trees and plants. Eight years ago old Indian Ambassador cars rambled down pot-holed streets. Eventually as affluence spread, more and more modern cars appeared like Hondas and Toyotas. Drivers are still crazy, though, often driving in oncoming lanes until the threat of dangerous collisions force them back onto their proper side. To avoid these inevitable mishaps more and more divides have appeared to separate opposing traffic. Yes, lots of change and generally a better looking life… for some.

India in many ways has also NOT changed and each time I visit, it’s a bit of a crap shoot what I’ll encounter. I am pretty lucky for the most part, typically having smooth sailing. But there is still a glaring desparity between those who have and those who have not. Bangalore is generally cleaner and efforts have been made to clean-up parts of other major cities but what hasn’t been cleaned up is a mess. I remember right before my first trip to India a colleague said, "if China is dirty, India is filthy." In many ways that still holds true plus poverty seems to be everywhere. The poverty is so IN YOUR FACE that some people, unsure of their abilities to cope with such frailties of life, have told me they’ll never go to India as a result.

In reality, poverty is not everywhere. Without a doubt Bangalore is the Silicon Valley of India and perhaps even Asia. The city is known for its highly skillled and motivated workforce who speak excellent English. India managers are also known to be excellent business professionals. Looking around the world you’ll find numerous ethnic Indians in very senior positions who started out in India. The business landscape is mixed with old and new mindsets. Often the paradox of progress pitched old mindsets hampers life going forward at the same speed as it does, for example, in China.

Take for instance one of the new aforementioned Delhi highways. The first time I travelled that highway… wow! By modern standards it was state of the art. I remember speeding down the highway, nervously sitting in the backseat because my car had no seatbelts, and feeling as if I was on a brand new piece of Highway 407 in Toronto. It looked the same, felt the same, flashed by the same. Amazing considering only minutes earlier I was driving down another major Delhi street that resembled a horrible slum!

The opening of this particular highway was atypical for old India. The first day everyone wanted to try it. Traffic was backed up a long way… rush hour in Delhi… just like Toronto! One truck driver sat in his big Indian truck, an official contributor to the Delhi Pollution Index, surveying the situation. The direction he wanted to travel was plugged solid. This would take him hours to get through. The other direction was deserted… no traffic at all!

I can just imagine what it was like that bright sunny morning atop the modern bridge stretching across the spanking new highway. As the truck driver jammed his truck into reverse black smoked probably billowed from the exhaust. Then he would back up to another ramp sporting an international "Do Not Enter" sign. Chug, chug, chug and more smoke as the truck’s gears noisily ground the beast forward, down the ramp, onto the empty highway… full speed ahead.

Do you think onlookers across the other side of the median, sitting in their traffic jam in the early morning heat, would have realised how perilous a situation the driver had placed himself and possibly others into? Or, would they have wished they were right behind him, driving the wrong way down the new highway of progress?

I am sure both mindsets prevailed when people first saw the speeding vehicle on the deserted highway but this is a peaceful, loving country – okay ignore Kashmir for the moment – who care deeply for the well-being of their fellow human beings. Therefore, no one would have liked what they saw when the truck turned the slight bend in the highway, slammed head-on into a modern Toyota or Honda, and instantly killed the mother, three young children and baby inside. Kid you not. True story.

In a panic the truck driver hopped over the guardrail and across a field… never to be found. His company, with hundreds of trucks and drivers, had no manifest of who was in what truck that day or any day for that matter! Management of the local transport company passively and bureaucratically resisted police long enough that the driver’s identity was never revealed. To give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe management never knew.

As much as I love India – and believe me I really love this country – the strange mindsets I often encounter, like the truck driver, are rich with peculiarities. This week we had endless problems with our flights. Resolving them tested everyone’s patience and emotions. At times we felt like the truck driver, innocently turning the bend only to find new collisions ahead of us. At times my boss felt that little had changed even though he knew that much had changed.

Alas, I have faith in India. This is a great country and worth visiting. That’s why I keep coming back, keep fighting for them in the corporate world, keep helping them find their way on the highway of progress.

Bangalore Walks

I have been in Bangalore since last Thursday evening. I had to be here both last week and this week for business. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, there was a three-day long weekend stretching between the two weeks. Monday, August 15 is Independence Day, marking another anniversary of India’s – you guessed it – independence.

Friday night was late… my company’s celebration of two years in Bangalore with an R&D facility (we have been in India since 2000 as a sales & support operation). During those two years (actually, now it is two years and three months, but whose counting!) we have grown from sixteen employees to three hundred employees. That was a lot of work. We needed a party. The founder of Juniper Networks came for a visit last week, spoke to the entire team on Friday evening, and a party ensued. We also ran a workshop for the sales team during the day.

Therefore, after the brutal travel to India (India is not an easy place to get in and out of, with flights arriving and departing at the weirdest hours,) plus the events of Friday, I was very tired. I ended up sleeping quite late on Saturday – to 11 AM, only the second time that has happened since the triplets were born. Saturday afternoon I went out exploring, shopping and walking. Saturday evening I did some work. Sunday I did a little more shopping and walking. Sunday afternoon I was sitting in my hotel room flipping through a Bangalore "What’s On" magazine called "City Info" when I found a little clip about Bangalore Walks. I read the clip, went to the web site, and decided to attend one of their walks at 7 AM on Monday morning. (Remember, it is a holiday today!)

I bounded out of bed early today, arriving at the designated starting area (Trinity Church, only five minutes from my hotel) just before 7 AM. A short while later a group of seven including our guide, Arun, began our walk. For the next three hours I learned things I never dreamt of about Bangalore, discovered some neat tucked away places – including parks and gardens – I had never seen but drove or walked by all the time. We ended up at a secret Bangalore restaurant for a private breakfast while the Independence Day Parade took place on the Parade Grounds nearby. The morning was fantastic. My only regret was I had never done anything like this before in Bangalore, however, Bangalore Walks have only been in existence for less than a month! At left: Looking up MG Road from the Trinity Church Terrace.

What I learned:

Winston Churchill was posted with the military for three years in Bangalore. This is where he wrote his first two books. Churchill attended Trinity Church, a gorgeous, military church tucked away in the middle of the city. The church became a civilian church in the 1960s. Today I climbed into the bell tower of Trinity Church. At left: the inside of Trinity Church.

Many of the historical figures I studied in school, who spent time in North America in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, also spent time in Bangalore. Therefore, it was fascinating to learn that places named after these people in Bangalore were also named after places I had visited in Canada! (Or the USA!) At left: two colonial buildings on MG Road, one restored and one not, contrast with each other. At right: "Monkey Tops," contribute to Bangalore Gothic, architecture unique to Bangalore.

Bangalore today is an international technical hub, with a labour force known for their superior technical abilities. This is not a recent phenomenon. As far back as two hundred years ago Bangalore was known as a technical hub, attracting the entrepreneurial to take advantage of local expertise. At left: many of us have been to "The Birthplace of Silicon Valley," the small garage where the HP founders started up. Meanwhile, 12,000 miles away we bump into the birthplace of modern technical Bangalore! This office building (next to where we had brunch) is where Wipro had their first office!

I remember watching "Saving Private Ryan" and hearing references to Bangalore Torpedoes. Sure enough, these explosive devices, usually used for clearing barbed wire, were invented in Bangalore. At left: the view down MG Road from another vantage point. Just beyond the tall buildings on the right you’ll find Trinity Church.

At left: The Independence Day parade takes place on Parade Grounds. This hardly scratches the surface of all the things I learned during the walk but I certainly am glad I took the time to discover Bangalore Walks!

Finding other like-minded people living and working in Asia is always an interesting experience. I recently discovered Sylvain Bouchard’s blog, "My Blog – Mon Blog." Sylvain is a French-Canadian English teacher married to a Vietnamese, living in Japan and studying online at an Australian university. Despite the fact it appears to be raining on Sylvain’s blog all the time, his regular entries are actually very interesting. Anyone wishing to learn more about Japanese culture, especially lots of anecdotal stories, then Sylvain’s blog is a good source as he adds his daily insights about teaching, eating and living in Japan. (Warning: pictures of the Japanese food dishes will make you hungry.) Sylvain seems to have a pretty good grasp of Japanese culture (not that I am the authority to assess such a thing) and that helps him catch Japanese cultural innuendoes in his prose.

Sylvain’s blog is linked to a main web site (NOTE: different link) that also links to an earlier blog Sylvain wrote. (Confused? So am I, but it’s still fun to read.) Be sure to have a look at Sylvain’s photo albums that provide another glimpse into life in Japan. Some terrific pictures of Japan many often don’t see. And if you’ve ever wondered what a fire truck looks like in Japan, you’ll find the answer deep in Sylvain’s photo albums.