My Mom and I met with Dr. Rosenbloom to hear how the surgery went at around 1:30. He told us to stay in this large waiting area until my Dad had been fully transferred to the ICU. About an hour later, my Mom and I became anxious. Were we even in the right place?
I walked up to the nurse’s station and asked them for some information. They pointed across the hall to where my Dad was and said he could be seen in a few minutes. I asked if it’d be OK to just peak around the corner. Though my Dad appeared somewhat corpse-like, it was a huge relief just to see him.
Within a few minutes, I was standing around my Dad’s bed with my Mom and Grandmother. My Dad was so doped up on pain killers that he couldn’t do much of anything. He also had this giant tube in his throat to assist his breathing. After standing by him for a bit, the three of us went down to grab lunch.
By the time we got back, the tube was gone and my Dad was semi-responsive. His entire body was swollen from the surgery and the pain medicine caused him to slur when talking. It created quite the scene. For the next two hours, I felt like I was at a comedy club with some drunk up on stage. At one point, he wanted some ice chips to relieve his dry mouth. After consulting with the nurses, we informed him that he couldn’t because the tube had just come out of his throat and they wanted to monitor it. “Well, if they had taken that tube out when they were supposed to, I’d have a damn cocktail by now.” My Dad claims he has awareness of being funny, but you sure couldn’t tell it from his expressionless face.
We returned on Thursday morning and my Dad was alert and talkative, sitting in a chair. His progress over the next few days was remarkable. The original expectation was for him to be in the ICU for two days and a regular hospital room for eight days before being released. Instead, we had full conversations and competitive games of Scrabble for four days before he was discharged from the hospital entirely. Walking my Dad into the pharmacy to drop off his new prescriptions today, ninety-six hours after open heart surgery, was surreal.
Fittingly, my Dad scored the 50 point bonus on his first word in his first post-operation game of Scrabble. The word was HEARTIER. The remarkable recovery is a testament to both the surgeons’ skill and my Dad’s healing abilities. He still has a few weeks before he’s back to full strength. But, the progress so far is beyond what anyone could have imagined.
Walking into the ICU on that first night, I passed by a family. Half of them were in tears; the others were consoling the first half. The anxiety leading up to my Dad’s operation seems like a lifetime ago. It’s weird to think how much different this week could have been.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Good News
We just a call from a nurse down in the operating room. He said they were able to successfully repair Dad's mitral valve and replace his aortic valve. That was the best possible scenario.
They've got another hour of sewing him back up, but the hard part is over. We'll meet with the doctor once they're done.
It's certainly not over, but that call from the nurse was a big relief.
They've got another hour of sewing him back up, but the hard part is over. We'll meet with the doctor once they're done.
It's certainly not over, but that call from the nurse was a big relief.
Different Strokes
My brother and I have been handling my Dad's surgery... well... differently.
When I first heard that my Dad might have surgery, my immediate response was "let me know when it is and I'll buy a ticket." Perhaps I'm especially sensitive to the situation given my recent health issues. But, I think it's really important to care for and visit people who are in the hospital. It's a vulnerable time.
I had visions of my whole family sitting in the waiting room for a few hours and, eventually, sitting with my Dad by his bed. Maybe we'd watch a movie together in his room or sing some songs to cheer him up; there would definitely be balloons.
Oops. This is the Goldberg family. We value individuality, autonomy, and dysfunction. We've never had family dinners. Why would a hospital visit be any different?
Sasha just started a new job. He's up in Massachusetts and isn't planning on coming down until this weekend. This was largely at the encouragement of my Dad who didn't want to interfere with the new job. Sasha has routinely been in touch over the phone and I think would have likely come down had it not been for Dad's prodding.
Grandma, my father's mother, was not around Monday or Tuesday and still hasn't shown up at the hospital. She's waiting for my Mom's friend, Beth, who's racing down from Long Island to help out in any way that she can. I think that will largely entail chauffeuring Grandma around. Almost predictably, her car broke down on the way.
But, I understand why they're not here. I'm having a much harder time understanding my brother's behavior.
Let's rewind to last week. This was before I arrived, so it's second hand. My parents just had a patio installed in the backyard. They needed to move the picnic table onto it. My Mom asked for BB's help. BB asked my Dad to help. My Dad, who's had a hard time lifting heavy things, said he couldn't. BB screamed: "You wuss! C'mon and pick up the table!" I suppose BB was having a heard time believing that his father could be having heart problems.
BB used to routinely have lots of friends over to drink and be loud. It was very stressful for my parents. They eventually prohibited him from having people over. Yet on Monday night (after months of being "better"), he had about thirty people over at around 11pm. Mom and Dad got visibly stressed; Mom went to bed. Fortunately, the guests left by midnight. Dad and I kept playing Scrabble which eventually calmed him down. But, why would you chose two nights before Dad's surgery to throw a big party?
Last night, Mom, Dad, and I had just finished a delightful dinner and were getting ready to go to bed before the surgery. Somewhat surprisingly, my Dad fell asleep by around 11:30. My Mom and I sat up talking about our anxieties for a bit. At around 1am, my phone rang; it was BB. "Come pick me up," he said. He was stranded in Philadelphia. Though I offered to just pay for a cab, my Mom and I eventually drove into the city to rescue him. We picked him up on a street corner. The entire ride home, he talked about the exploits of his wild partying. We got home and BB showed no respect for Dad's rest, failing to use his indoor voice. "I won't wake Dad; I'm not an idiot," he said. Dad woke up. Mom and I tried to pack in as much sleep as we could over the next two hours.
This morning, BB didn't come to the hospital, in large part because he had a job interview. I talked with him after the interview, but he didn't seem to have any interest in coming to the hospital. I told him I'd let him know when we had news. He was interested in that.
I think BB's having a hard time with the thought of Dad going into surgery; I think he's having a hard time with life. He's also not very good at expressing himself. As a result, he tends to pull away from and lash out at others. He has definitely expressed concern for Dad. But, BB's actions convey a blatant disregard for his feelings. I find it a bit hard to deal with.
When I first heard that my Dad might have surgery, my immediate response was "let me know when it is and I'll buy a ticket." Perhaps I'm especially sensitive to the situation given my recent health issues. But, I think it's really important to care for and visit people who are in the hospital. It's a vulnerable time.
I had visions of my whole family sitting in the waiting room for a few hours and, eventually, sitting with my Dad by his bed. Maybe we'd watch a movie together in his room or sing some songs to cheer him up; there would definitely be balloons.
Oops. This is the Goldberg family. We value individuality, autonomy, and dysfunction. We've never had family dinners. Why would a hospital visit be any different?
Sasha just started a new job. He's up in Massachusetts and isn't planning on coming down until this weekend. This was largely at the encouragement of my Dad who didn't want to interfere with the new job. Sasha has routinely been in touch over the phone and I think would have likely come down had it not been for Dad's prodding.
Grandma, my father's mother, was not around Monday or Tuesday and still hasn't shown up at the hospital. She's waiting for my Mom's friend, Beth, who's racing down from Long Island to help out in any way that she can. I think that will largely entail chauffeuring Grandma around. Almost predictably, her car broke down on the way.
But, I understand why they're not here. I'm having a much harder time understanding my brother's behavior.
Let's rewind to last week. This was before I arrived, so it's second hand. My parents just had a patio installed in the backyard. They needed to move the picnic table onto it. My Mom asked for BB's help. BB asked my Dad to help. My Dad, who's had a hard time lifting heavy things, said he couldn't. BB screamed: "You wuss! C'mon and pick up the table!" I suppose BB was having a heard time believing that his father could be having heart problems.
BB used to routinely have lots of friends over to drink and be loud. It was very stressful for my parents. They eventually prohibited him from having people over. Yet on Monday night (after months of being "better"), he had about thirty people over at around 11pm. Mom and Dad got visibly stressed; Mom went to bed. Fortunately, the guests left by midnight. Dad and I kept playing Scrabble which eventually calmed him down. But, why would you chose two nights before Dad's surgery to throw a big party?
Last night, Mom, Dad, and I had just finished a delightful dinner and were getting ready to go to bed before the surgery. Somewhat surprisingly, my Dad fell asleep by around 11:30. My Mom and I sat up talking about our anxieties for a bit. At around 1am, my phone rang; it was BB. "Come pick me up," he said. He was stranded in Philadelphia. Though I offered to just pay for a cab, my Mom and I eventually drove into the city to rescue him. We picked him up on a street corner. The entire ride home, he talked about the exploits of his wild partying. We got home and BB showed no respect for Dad's rest, failing to use his indoor voice. "I won't wake Dad; I'm not an idiot," he said. Dad woke up. Mom and I tried to pack in as much sleep as we could over the next two hours.
This morning, BB didn't come to the hospital, in large part because he had a job interview. I talked with him after the interview, but he didn't seem to have any interest in coming to the hospital. I told him I'd let him know when we had news. He was interested in that.
I think BB's having a hard time with the thought of Dad going into surgery; I think he's having a hard time with life. He's also not very good at expressing himself. As a result, he tends to pull away from and lash out at others. He has definitely expressed concern for Dad. But, BB's actions convey a blatant disregard for his feelings. I find it a bit hard to deal with.
Trauma Alert
Sitting in the waiting room is nerve racking. Every time the elevator opens, I check to see if Dad is emerging with his new heart... or maybe the doctor with some news. I'd swear that many of the patients are actually my Dad (after all, they share the same shade of white hair).
Promised that we'd have periodic updates, Mom and I sit wondering why we haven't heard anything yet. Is no news good news? Or are the surgeons too preoccupied with the catastrophes at the operating table? We can only imagine.
My Mom finally got up and asked a receptionist if we'd be getting an update. She punched a few buttons to dial into the operating room and reported back, "everything's fine; the doctor is still working."
Phew.
Minutes later, we hear over the loudspeaker: "TRAUMA ALERT! Emergency personnel to the helipad."
Is that Dad? Are they rushing him off to Penn after realizing that Dr. Rosenbloom can't handle this and Dr. Baveria is indeed the best surgeon?
As I'm writing this post, my phone rings. It's some unknown number. Perhaps Mom's friend, Beth? Perhaps the receptionist is trying to reach me? An automatic voice message answers: "This is a very important message regarding..." (::gasp::) "...your Best Buy reward points."
As beepers go off signaling news about some surgery, phones ring all around the waiting room, and elevators constantly ding because someone has arrived at our floor, I can't help but wonder, "why the hell does nobody else seem to be as freaked out as Mom and I feel?"
Maybe they're just hiding it better...
Promised that we'd have periodic updates, Mom and I sit wondering why we haven't heard anything yet. Is no news good news? Or are the surgeons too preoccupied with the catastrophes at the operating table? We can only imagine.
My Mom finally got up and asked a receptionist if we'd be getting an update. She punched a few buttons to dial into the operating room and reported back, "everything's fine; the doctor is still working."
Phew.
Minutes later, we hear over the loudspeaker: "TRAUMA ALERT! Emergency personnel to the helipad."
Is that Dad? Are they rushing him off to Penn after realizing that Dr. Rosenbloom can't handle this and Dr. Baveria is indeed the best surgeon?
As I'm writing this post, my phone rings. It's some unknown number. Perhaps Mom's friend, Beth? Perhaps the receptionist is trying to reach me? An automatic voice message answers: "This is a very important message regarding..." (::gasp::) "...your Best Buy reward points."
As beepers go off signaling news about some surgery, phones ring all around the waiting room, and elevators constantly ding because someone has arrived at our floor, I can't help but wonder, "why the hell does nobody else seem to be as freaked out as Mom and I feel?"
Maybe they're just hiding it better...
The Waiting Room
Well, it's been about six months since I last posted to my blog. I'm here posting again with some health issues, though this time about my Dad.
All of his life, my Dad has had a faulty aortic valve. He had surgery when he was a child. At the time, he was told that, at some point, he'd have to have the valve replaced; that time has come.
Right now, I'm sitting in the waiting room at Cooper Hospital in Camden, NJ, having just seen my Dad off to pre-op. The surgery is scheduled to start in just over an hour, at which point my Mom will have to join me, and should last about five hours. Until it's over, we'll play the waiting game.
It's all a bit weird, the whole thing. On the one hand, I feel really confident in the surgery. Statistically, the odds are great that everything turns out well as something like 99% of these surgeries go smoothly; the likelihood of success is even higher when you consider that statistic is skewed by patients who are not in good health (and, as I said, my Dad's having this done before there are signs of heart deterioration). And after meeting him on Tuesday morning, I have a lot of confidence in Dr. Rosenbloom.
But, at the same time, there's always that chance. While in college, I played a lot of poker. If I had a 99% chance of winning a hand, there is no doubt that I'd bet everything I had. But, working at Amazon has caused me to look at failure rates instead of success rates; if we fail to process 1% (or even 0.01%) of all orders, that's a lot of customers who aren't getting their stuff. We strive to build systems that succeed in excess of 99.99% of the time and, even then, build in mechanisms to handle failure gracefully. I can't help but look at a 99% open heart surgery success rate as a 1% failure rate with no real recovery options in the case of failure; that's a lot of people who don't make it. And there's a big difference between my Dad's life and an anonymous customer's order (not that I don't care about every order placed on Amazon ;-).
This whole process has forced me to think about my Dad's mortality in a way that I haven't ever had to before. In the back of my mind, I've always known that someday, my parents won't be around. But, to think that day could be today is a bit surreal.
When I got home on Monday morning, it became very clear to me that my role was to "be there" for my Dad. We ran some errands, played a lot of Scrabble, and talked about a variety of things; mostly, we just tried to keep his mind distracted from the approaching Big Day. I also tried to stay very positive. My Dad tends to be rather obsessive and negative thoughts would just churn in his mind.
I think my approach was helpful for him. However, it left me unable to talk about my own anxieties. My Mom suggested that I say something like, "I know everything will probably be OK, but I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me." But, even that seemed to show doubt, something that would have surely played in my Dad's head. So, I ended up trying to show him what I wanted to say by being supportive during our time together.
Ultimately, I had to say goodbye to him as he left for pre-op in a wheelchair without being able to vocalize everything I felt. I just hope I'll have another chance. For now, I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
All of his life, my Dad has had a faulty aortic valve. He had surgery when he was a child. At the time, he was told that, at some point, he'd have to have the valve replaced; that time has come.
Right now, I'm sitting in the waiting room at Cooper Hospital in Camden, NJ, having just seen my Dad off to pre-op. The surgery is scheduled to start in just over an hour, at which point my Mom will have to join me, and should last about five hours. Until it's over, we'll play the waiting game.
It's all a bit weird, the whole thing. On the one hand, I feel really confident in the surgery. Statistically, the odds are great that everything turns out well as something like 99% of these surgeries go smoothly; the likelihood of success is even higher when you consider that statistic is skewed by patients who are not in good health (and, as I said, my Dad's having this done before there are signs of heart deterioration). And after meeting him on Tuesday morning, I have a lot of confidence in Dr. Rosenbloom.
But, at the same time, there's always that chance. While in college, I played a lot of poker. If I had a 99% chance of winning a hand, there is no doubt that I'd bet everything I had. But, working at Amazon has caused me to look at failure rates instead of success rates; if we fail to process 1% (or even 0.01%) of all orders, that's a lot of customers who aren't getting their stuff. We strive to build systems that succeed in excess of 99.99% of the time and, even then, build in mechanisms to handle failure gracefully. I can't help but look at a 99% open heart surgery success rate as a 1% failure rate with no real recovery options in the case of failure; that's a lot of people who don't make it. And there's a big difference between my Dad's life and an anonymous customer's order (not that I don't care about every order placed on Amazon ;-).
This whole process has forced me to think about my Dad's mortality in a way that I haven't ever had to before. In the back of my mind, I've always known that someday, my parents won't be around. But, to think that day could be today is a bit surreal.
When I got home on Monday morning, it became very clear to me that my role was to "be there" for my Dad. We ran some errands, played a lot of Scrabble, and talked about a variety of things; mostly, we just tried to keep his mind distracted from the approaching Big Day. I also tried to stay very positive. My Dad tends to be rather obsessive and negative thoughts would just churn in his mind.
I think my approach was helpful for him. However, it left me unable to talk about my own anxieties. My Mom suggested that I say something like, "I know everything will probably be OK, but I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me." But, even that seemed to show doubt, something that would have surely played in my Dad's head. So, I ended up trying to show him what I wanted to say by being supportive during our time together.
Ultimately, I had to say goodbye to him as he left for pre-op in a wheelchair without being able to vocalize everything I felt. I just hope I'll have another chance. For now, I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Que (Mala) Suerte
So, I've had probably the luckiest and the unluckiest things happen to me within three days of being in Peru.
Let's start with the good. I began my travels with my dear friend Kathleen. Kathleen has a friend who studied abroad in Cuzco about five years ago. Her friend put us in touch with her family.
We were picked up at the airport by them and immediately put up in their house. We've had great homemade food. We've celebrated New Years with one of the daughters and her friends in some hole in the wall bar that her boyfriend owns. Kathleen and I have felt as an immediate part of the family. It's also been a great opportunity to practice our Spanish.
Now for the bad news. I woke up New Years Day to have lunch with Kathleen and our Cuzquena Mother. By the way, at this point I still had a bunch of lentil in my pocket from the previous night, a superstition that is supposed to bring good luck. During our conversation, I slowly start having a lot of trouble concentrating and coming up with the words I want to use. All of sudden, my eyes roll back in my head, I fall to the floor, and have a seizure.
Kathleen and the mother rush me to the hospital where I come to like forty-five minutes later. It turns out that I had some respiratory infection -- unclear whether it was pneumonia or bronchitis -- that probably got into my bloodstream. That coupled with the very high altitude in Cuzco and the effects of a hard night of drinking (and standing in the rain for a while) and I had to spend almost seventy-two hours of my vacation in a hospital bed in Cuzco.
Going back to my good luck though, I don't know how I would have gotten through this without Kathleen and my new Familia Cuzquena. They all visited me for every hour that they could, brought me all kinds of goodies, worked out the bill for me (which you have to pay in cash by the way), and talked with the doctors to get the ball moving on my treatment. The father, a dentist, called his friends in the medical field and asked their advice on the diagnosis and even had them come in and look at me. Kathleen (whose vacation I feel like I ruined) called her father, a doctor, for advice and was so helpful in communicating with my parents (with whom I had no way of getting in touch with). Her father even talked with my parents to assuage many of their fears and offer advice.
The end result of this? Well, I am unbelievably grateful for my family and friends, both old and new. It's really amazing what people will do when you need them. It's also pretty awe-inspiring what my family here was willing to do having only known me for two days.
I'm also afraid that I'll be cutting my trip short. As much as I feel better now and am taking medication that we're fairly confident in, it just doesn't seem like the prudent thing when you consider I'll still be traveling at high altitudes, but will be by myself (and already have way too many people worrying about me). So, on Monday I am getting on the phone with American Airlines to see what I can do (despite not having bought their insurance that protects against stuff like this). Hopefully, I'll be able to return to work early too and recoup some of those vacation days for my next attempt.
Anyway, I hope I'm not getting anyone worried with this post. I'm doing very well now and am in good hands and I should be back in the States within a few days. Just wanted to share the major events of my trip, explain why I haven't posted yet, and let everyone know how amazing Kathleen, her father, and our new Familia Cuzquena have been.
Let's start with the good. I began my travels with my dear friend Kathleen. Kathleen has a friend who studied abroad in Cuzco about five years ago. Her friend put us in touch with her family.
We were picked up at the airport by them and immediately put up in their house. We've had great homemade food. We've celebrated New Years with one of the daughters and her friends in some hole in the wall bar that her boyfriend owns. Kathleen and I have felt as an immediate part of the family. It's also been a great opportunity to practice our Spanish.
Now for the bad news. I woke up New Years Day to have lunch with Kathleen and our Cuzquena Mother. By the way, at this point I still had a bunch of lentil in my pocket from the previous night, a superstition that is supposed to bring good luck. During our conversation, I slowly start having a lot of trouble concentrating and coming up with the words I want to use. All of sudden, my eyes roll back in my head, I fall to the floor, and have a seizure.
Kathleen and the mother rush me to the hospital where I come to like forty-five minutes later. It turns out that I had some respiratory infection -- unclear whether it was pneumonia or bronchitis -- that probably got into my bloodstream. That coupled with the very high altitude in Cuzco and the effects of a hard night of drinking (and standing in the rain for a while) and I had to spend almost seventy-two hours of my vacation in a hospital bed in Cuzco.
Going back to my good luck though, I don't know how I would have gotten through this without Kathleen and my new Familia Cuzquena. They all visited me for every hour that they could, brought me all kinds of goodies, worked out the bill for me (which you have to pay in cash by the way), and talked with the doctors to get the ball moving on my treatment. The father, a dentist, called his friends in the medical field and asked their advice on the diagnosis and even had them come in and look at me. Kathleen (whose vacation I feel like I ruined) called her father, a doctor, for advice and was so helpful in communicating with my parents (with whom I had no way of getting in touch with). Her father even talked with my parents to assuage many of their fears and offer advice.
The end result of this? Well, I am unbelievably grateful for my family and friends, both old and new. It's really amazing what people will do when you need them. It's also pretty awe-inspiring what my family here was willing to do having only known me for two days.
I'm also afraid that I'll be cutting my trip short. As much as I feel better now and am taking medication that we're fairly confident in, it just doesn't seem like the prudent thing when you consider I'll still be traveling at high altitudes, but will be by myself (and already have way too many people worrying about me). So, on Monday I am getting on the phone with American Airlines to see what I can do (despite not having bought their insurance that protects against stuff like this). Hopefully, I'll be able to return to work early too and recoup some of those vacation days for my next attempt.
Anyway, I hope I'm not getting anyone worried with this post. I'm doing very well now and am in good hands and I should be back in the States within a few days. Just wanted to share the major events of my trip, explain why I haven't posted yet, and let everyone know how amazing Kathleen, her father, and our new Familia Cuzquena have been.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Theme of the Trip
I'm definitely not a planner. When I travel, I've always liked to wing it. Flying by the seat of my pants is arising as a definitive theme of this trip.
Let's break down the rough itinerary: fly into Lima with my friend Kathleen, travel with her for a week, travel by myself for three, fly home. You may notice I left out from where I'm flying home. I have a ticket out of La Paz, but only recently discovered that I need a Visa to get into Bolivia. I'm going to try to obtain one while in Peru, but I may end up having to figure out another way home.
I met up with Kathleen in Miami Sunday afternoon. We had a six hour layover there in which we finally decided to plan our week together. We decided that best option was to spend it in Cuzco. So, we looked for tickets from Lima to Cuzco for Monday after we arrived in Lima. No luck either online or at the airline agencies' ticketing booths. So, we waited until getting to Lima.
Upon arriving, we found out that there are no tickets because everyone is heading there for the holiday. We bought tickets for tomorrow, but were told that we could wait in standby as there would be a "mountain of people" who canceled last minute. After waiting for a few hours, a more straight talker informed us we had no chance and should just come back in the morning.
Making the best of the day, we grabbed a taxi, found a hotel in Lima, and have been exploring the city. Retrospectively, I couldn't be happier. Having only visited one other Latin American city (San Jose, CR) and having just spent a month in Hyderabad, I had low expectations for Lima, especially considering most travelers skip it. It's actually a very nice city, with little traffic or pollution for a city its size. Kathleen and I spent the day just meandering through Miraflores, one of the nicer districts of the city where our hotel is also located.
So, I'm safe and sound in Peru. I've had an awesome afternoon bumming around Lima. And I'm headed to Cuzco tomorrow. From there? Well, if you´re curious, you´ll have to stay tuned...
Let's break down the rough itinerary: fly into Lima with my friend Kathleen, travel with her for a week, travel by myself for three, fly home. You may notice I left out from where I'm flying home. I have a ticket out of La Paz, but only recently discovered that I need a Visa to get into Bolivia. I'm going to try to obtain one while in Peru, but I may end up having to figure out another way home.
I met up with Kathleen in Miami Sunday afternoon. We had a six hour layover there in which we finally decided to plan our week together. We decided that best option was to spend it in Cuzco. So, we looked for tickets from Lima to Cuzco for Monday after we arrived in Lima. No luck either online or at the airline agencies' ticketing booths. So, we waited until getting to Lima.
Upon arriving, we found out that there are no tickets because everyone is heading there for the holiday. We bought tickets for tomorrow, but were told that we could wait in standby as there would be a "mountain of people" who canceled last minute. After waiting for a few hours, a more straight talker informed us we had no chance and should just come back in the morning.
Making the best of the day, we grabbed a taxi, found a hotel in Lima, and have been exploring the city. Retrospectively, I couldn't be happier. Having only visited one other Latin American city (San Jose, CR) and having just spent a month in Hyderabad, I had low expectations for Lima, especially considering most travelers skip it. It's actually a very nice city, with little traffic or pollution for a city its size. Kathleen and I spent the day just meandering through Miraflores, one of the nicer districts of the city where our hotel is also located.
So, I'm safe and sound in Peru. I've had an awesome afternoon bumming around Lima. And I'm headed to Cuzco tomorrow. From there? Well, if you´re curious, you´ll have to stay tuned...
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sign of the Times
I went to the mall yesterday to do some last minute shopping with my dad. There was no traffic on the way there; no fight for a parking space; no crowds to elbow your way through in the store; no lines at the checkout counter. It felt like any normal day at the mall... except it was Christmas Eve. Really shows you how hard this country is being hit by the problems in our economy.
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Good Ol' US of A
I made it back to Philly yesterday afternoon after another ~20 hour flight. Again, I somehow avoided any serious jet lag.
It's kinda strange to be back home, though. It's certainly nice to see my family. But, I miss Hyderabad. People drive so orderly here. There's no honking. I'm forced to use my knife because of "etiquette." I understand what people are saying to me. They don't understand me when I nod my head from side to side. It's all a bit boring.
It's kinda strange to be back home, though. It's certainly nice to see my family. But, I miss Hyderabad. People drive so orderly here. There's no honking. I'm forced to use my knife because of "etiquette." I understand what people are saying to me. They don't understand me when I nod my head from side to side. It's all a bit boring.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Final Thoughts
Well, my four week trip is just about over. I leave for the airport in about fifteen minutes.
It's been an amazing experience to come out here. Though Hyderabad wasn't the most pleasant place to stay, it was a very thought provoking city. I learned a lot about Indian economics, politics, and society staying here.
I also learned a ton by being in the Hyderabad office. There are a lot of challenges here that you don't necessarily realize being in the Seattle office. I think I was able to make a pretty good contribution here and certainly feel like I've taken some important things away that can help our Seattle team work better with people out here.
The best part of the trip was the people here. Everyone at Amazon was so warm and welcoming, reaching out to me and making sure I got the most out of my trip. Being on a business trip, one thing I didn't expect was to forge the relationships that I did. But, after spending four weeks laughing over cafeteria food, having thought provoking conversations over delicious kebabs, and dancing in completely empty discotechs, I feel like I'm walking away with new friends.
It's been an amazing experience to come out here. Though Hyderabad wasn't the most pleasant place to stay, it was a very thought provoking city. I learned a lot about Indian economics, politics, and society staying here.
I also learned a ton by being in the Hyderabad office. There are a lot of challenges here that you don't necessarily realize being in the Seattle office. I think I was able to make a pretty good contribution here and certainly feel like I've taken some important things away that can help our Seattle team work better with people out here.
The best part of the trip was the people here. Everyone at Amazon was so warm and welcoming, reaching out to me and making sure I got the most out of my trip. Being on a business trip, one thing I didn't expect was to forge the relationships that I did. But, after spending four weeks laughing over cafeteria food, having thought provoking conversations over delicious kebabs, and dancing in completely empty discotechs, I feel like I'm walking away with new friends.
That Guy
I've been meaning to post about this guy for a while. There are posters plastered all over Hyderabad of Brother Anil Kumar, advertising his Jesus Christ Blessing Festivals. Though about two percent of the country is Christian, it's always a bit surprising to see anything Christian in India. But, the scale at which Anil Kumar is being promoted is bizarre.
So, who is this guy? Well, it turns out that he travels all over the world giving talks about his experience with his faith. It also turns out that he's the son in law of Y.S. Rajasekhar Reddy, the chief minister of Andhra Pradesh. There are two reasons why this is significant.
For one, the elections for the state are coming up in early 2009. An article I read suggested that Anil Kumar is actually being used as a tool by Reddy to appeal to the Christian vote.
Additionally, there has been wide speculation that the funding for this promotional campaign has not been legitimate, pulling from state money in some way.
There's probably some truth to both of them. Regardless, this guy has sort of become the face of Hyderabad to me... for better or worse.
So, who is this guy? Well, it turns out that he travels all over the world giving talks about his experience with his faith. It also turns out that he's the son in law of Y.S. Rajasekhar Reddy, the chief minister of Andhra Pradesh. There are two reasons why this is significant.
For one, the elections for the state are coming up in early 2009. An article I read suggested that Anil Kumar is actually being used as a tool by Reddy to appeal to the Christian vote.
Additionally, there has been wide speculation that the funding for this promotional campaign has not been legitimate, pulling from state money in some way.
There's probably some truth to both of them. Regardless, this guy has sort of become the face of Hyderabad to me... for better or worse.
 |
| From Q4 In Hyderabad |
Friday, December 19, 2008
Street Crossing 101
Here's a little demonstration of how to cross a street in Hyderabad. Lesson 1: Just go for it.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
One and Done
I've been trying to get in on a cricket match my entire time here. This morning, I finally got my chance. I had to wake up at 6:00am to head out with some people from work.
We played in this barren field that had pitches consisting of a few stones and a well worn path. When we arrived, fog covered the field giving it this otherworldly aura. Eventually, it lifted and we were able to play.
After a few warm-ups, I felt confident that I could compete in this game. After making some decent plays in the field, I eventually got called in for as the batsman.
I ran to the crease, excited to show off what I could do. I settled in, running over all of the tips I was given. The first pitch came in and, as it approached me, I could tell the pitcher took a little bit off of it to give me an easier time. With this perfect pitch coming right into my wheelhouse, I took a big cut. But, the ball was popped straight up and it was over. With my head down and a bunch of the players chuckling, I walked back out to my post in the field.
I guess cricket's not my game.
We played in this barren field that had pitches consisting of a few stones and a well worn path. When we arrived, fog covered the field giving it this otherworldly aura. Eventually, it lifted and we were able to play.
After a few warm-ups, I felt confident that I could compete in this game. After making some decent plays in the field, I eventually got called in for as the batsman.
I ran to the crease, excited to show off what I could do. I settled in, running over all of the tips I was given. The first pitch came in and, as it approached me, I could tell the pitcher took a little bit off of it to give me an easier time. With this perfect pitch coming right into my wheelhouse, I took a big cut. But, the ball was popped straight up and it was over. With my head down and a bunch of the players chuckling, I walked back out to my post in the field.
I guess cricket's not my game.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Rock the Vote
Delhi recently voted for its members of parliament. This sparked a conversation at lunch about elections in India. Apparently people approach elections much differently here. What struck me most is that just about everyone at my table said that they don't vote.
Many of the educated youth in India are leaving their home states, which is a dramatic departure from how the country has historically operated. Getting back home is a hassle, a hassle that seems to be worth it to visit family, but not to vote. Especially, when you consider that voting means you'll have to wait at least two hours in a queue.
This seems the reverse of how it works in America. The educated tend to be in wealthier districts and thus have well funded voting stations. As a result, waiting times are dramatically lower. I know I spent about five minutes at the voting booth this year. But, those in poorer districts end up spending much more time waiting in queues. And they're exactly the ones who can't afford to take that time off. In India, where you have so many uneducated people with not much to do, waiting in line for a few hours seems irrelevant. It's the more privileged who can't afford to take time off of work to go wait in a line.
I asked them why they didn't vote absentee or change where they were registered. While both are possible, they're apparently very long and complicated processes. This seems to be mostly because the government doesn't track people well in India -- for example, there is no SSN -- so there are all of these extra hoops to ensure that if you change your voting information, you're not doing so fraudulently. I think it's also a reflection of the disorganization in their government.
But, people tended to lament the fact that they don't vote. It's just too difficult and not worth it. They just don't think it'll make a difference. A big part of this that there's a general perception that all politicians are corrupt here. They shared a bunch of stories. For example, there was this one education minister for the hometown of one co-worker. He bought all of this land and then encouraged these colleges to set up shop there. Once they did that and the value of the area sky rocketed, he sold the land and made a ton of money.
They also talked about this one good leader from Bihar. Bihar seems to be widely agreed upon as the worst state in India. This happens to be where most Indian politicians come from. Anyway, this lone non-corrupt leader had emerged from there. But, he was shot. Few other decent politicians have emerged.
In section 49.0-0 of the Indian constitution, there's a clause that gives citizens the right to not vote. There is a movement here that is advocating a policy change that counts these non votes as an objection to all candidates. If there are sufficient non votes, they want all candidates currently on the ballot to be removed and a new election be executed with a new set of choices. People seem to want this as it would provide an option to block corrupt leaders from getting elected. The problem is that no politicians want it so there's no way it'll get passed.
I think that America has got a lot of problems. Our electoral system is far from perfect in picking the best leader. But, I think we take for granted how well it actually works. Listening to my peers here in India talk about how they don't vote because they don't think it'll make a difference and it's not worth the hassle puts it into perspective. Especially this year.
Many of the educated youth in India are leaving their home states, which is a dramatic departure from how the country has historically operated. Getting back home is a hassle, a hassle that seems to be worth it to visit family, but not to vote. Especially, when you consider that voting means you'll have to wait at least two hours in a queue.
This seems the reverse of how it works in America. The educated tend to be in wealthier districts and thus have well funded voting stations. As a result, waiting times are dramatically lower. I know I spent about five minutes at the voting booth this year. But, those in poorer districts end up spending much more time waiting in queues. And they're exactly the ones who can't afford to take that time off. In India, where you have so many uneducated people with not much to do, waiting in line for a few hours seems irrelevant. It's the more privileged who can't afford to take time off of work to go wait in a line.
I asked them why they didn't vote absentee or change where they were registered. While both are possible, they're apparently very long and complicated processes. This seems to be mostly because the government doesn't track people well in India -- for example, there is no SSN -- so there are all of these extra hoops to ensure that if you change your voting information, you're not doing so fraudulently. I think it's also a reflection of the disorganization in their government.
But, people tended to lament the fact that they don't vote. It's just too difficult and not worth it. They just don't think it'll make a difference. A big part of this that there's a general perception that all politicians are corrupt here. They shared a bunch of stories. For example, there was this one education minister for the hometown of one co-worker. He bought all of this land and then encouraged these colleges to set up shop there. Once they did that and the value of the area sky rocketed, he sold the land and made a ton of money.
They also talked about this one good leader from Bihar. Bihar seems to be widely agreed upon as the worst state in India. This happens to be where most Indian politicians come from. Anyway, this lone non-corrupt leader had emerged from there. But, he was shot. Few other decent politicians have emerged.
In section 49.0-0 of the Indian constitution, there's a clause that gives citizens the right to not vote. There is a movement here that is advocating a policy change that counts these non votes as an objection to all candidates. If there are sufficient non votes, they want all candidates currently on the ballot to be removed and a new election be executed with a new set of choices. People seem to want this as it would provide an option to block corrupt leaders from getting elected. The problem is that no politicians want it so there's no way it'll get passed.
I think that America has got a lot of problems. Our electoral system is far from perfect in picking the best leader. But, I think we take for granted how well it actually works. Listening to my peers here in India talk about how they don't vote because they don't think it'll make a difference and it's not worth the hassle puts it into perspective. Especially this year.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Word to the Wise
This is a Dhaba.
On our way to Chennai from Pondicherry to catch our flight on Sunday, our taxi driver unexpectedly pulled off in the middle of the highway proclaiming, "I need tea." This was my first time to a Dhaba.
Here's what my travel guide has to say about them:
"Dhabas (snack bars; literally 'wayside eateries') are oases to millions of truck drivers, bus passengers and sundry travelers going anywhere by road. The original dhabas dot the North Indian landscape, but you'll find versions of them throughout the country. The rough-and-ready but lip-smacking food served in these happy-go-lucky shacks has become a genre on its own known as 'dhaba food.'"
As we drove down this idyllic highway, on our way back from a wonderful weekend in Pondicherry, and pulled over for our driver's tea, I think the delusion of a roadside oasis was a bit too much for this carefree traveler. I hopped out of the car, skipped up to the dhaba, and ordered a cup of chai and some snacks that looked and tasted much like hush puppies.
I think I'm feeling the effects today, sporting an upset stomach, no appetite, and a pained look on my face. All of my co-workers respond with some variation of, "Oh, I wouldn't touch that food myself."
 |
| From Q4 In Hyderabad |
On our way to Chennai from Pondicherry to catch our flight on Sunday, our taxi driver unexpectedly pulled off in the middle of the highway proclaiming, "I need tea." This was my first time to a Dhaba.
Here's what my travel guide has to say about them:
"Dhabas (snack bars; literally 'wayside eateries') are oases to millions of truck drivers, bus passengers and sundry travelers going anywhere by road. The original dhabas dot the North Indian landscape, but you'll find versions of them throughout the country. The rough-and-ready but lip-smacking food served in these happy-go-lucky shacks has become a genre on its own known as 'dhaba food.'"
As we drove down this idyllic highway, on our way back from a wonderful weekend in Pondicherry, and pulled over for our driver's tea, I think the delusion of a roadside oasis was a bit too much for this carefree traveler. I hopped out of the car, skipped up to the dhaba, and ordered a cup of chai and some snacks that looked and tasted much like hush puppies.
I think I'm feeling the effects today, sporting an upset stomach, no appetite, and a pained look on my face. All of my co-workers respond with some variation of, "Oh, I wouldn't touch that food myself."
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Goa a No Go
So, we didn't make it to Goa. Turns out that the only flights into and out of Goa are in the middle of the day, meaning I could be there for under 24 hours or miss a day of work. Neither was appealing. I think it was a good move not to go.
Under the recommendation of some people in the office, Lorne (a co-worker and friend) and I went to Pondicherry. Amazing.
Located on the Bay of Bengal, Pondicherry is this former French colony, now beach town that's one of the most unique places I've ever been. Most of the city is decidedly Indian, with busy streets, auto-rickshaws, trash, and everything else I've come to expect.
But, there is a 5x20 block area that has wide cobblestone boulevards, French architecture, and crepes. What makes it especially surreal, is that there is barely anyone on most of the streets, which is quite the contrast from the rest of India. Walking around, it really feels as though you're in this abandoned French town that a few Indians stumbled upon and thought, "hey, this would be a nice place to live."
On the very eastern end of the city, there's this promenade that runs along the water. All day, there are just people parading up and down. It's especially cool around dusk when what feels like half the city is just hanging out there. People of all different age groups take evening strolls, stopping at various street vendors to get snacks. We got a hotel that had a private balcony overlooking it. Amazing.
The city also has a huge emphasis on yoga. There's this Ashram, founded by Sri Aurobindo and this French woman referred to as "The Mother." People come from all over the world to study yoga at this place, resulting in a fairly large non-Indian population in town. The Ashram has people streaming into it by the dozens all day, coming to pray on the tomb of Sri and The Mother, meditate right next to the tomb, and then move on to buy stuff in the gift shop. I don't quite understand how you can find inner peace in such commotion, but I guess some do.
On Saturday, Lorne and I decided to rent scooters for the day. May be the best investment I've ever made. For about 3 USD, we got to fly around town, go out to a bunch of beaches, stop and grab coconuts on the side of the road, and just enjoy the tropical weather. It was so much fun. Being mobile like that really helps you see more of the area in a way that you can't on foot or in taxi. Oh, and driving in India is out of control.
I'm really glad I didn't go to Goa. While it would have been nice to relax in tropical paradise on a beautiful day and then party all night, I don't think it's quite my scene. And I would have missed out on the amazing city of Pondicherry.
Under the recommendation of some people in the office, Lorne (a co-worker and friend) and I went to Pondicherry. Amazing.
Located on the Bay of Bengal, Pondicherry is this former French colony, now beach town that's one of the most unique places I've ever been. Most of the city is decidedly Indian, with busy streets, auto-rickshaws, trash, and everything else I've come to expect.
But, there is a 5x20 block area that has wide cobblestone boulevards, French architecture, and crepes. What makes it especially surreal, is that there is barely anyone on most of the streets, which is quite the contrast from the rest of India. Walking around, it really feels as though you're in this abandoned French town that a few Indians stumbled upon and thought, "hey, this would be a nice place to live."
On the very eastern end of the city, there's this promenade that runs along the water. All day, there are just people parading up and down. It's especially cool around dusk when what feels like half the city is just hanging out there. People of all different age groups take evening strolls, stopping at various street vendors to get snacks. We got a hotel that had a private balcony overlooking it. Amazing.
The city also has a huge emphasis on yoga. There's this Ashram, founded by Sri Aurobindo and this French woman referred to as "The Mother." People come from all over the world to study yoga at this place, resulting in a fairly large non-Indian population in town. The Ashram has people streaming into it by the dozens all day, coming to pray on the tomb of Sri and The Mother, meditate right next to the tomb, and then move on to buy stuff in the gift shop. I don't quite understand how you can find inner peace in such commotion, but I guess some do.
On Saturday, Lorne and I decided to rent scooters for the day. May be the best investment I've ever made. For about 3 USD, we got to fly around town, go out to a bunch of beaches, stop and grab coconuts on the side of the road, and just enjoy the tropical weather. It was so much fun. Being mobile like that really helps you see more of the area in a way that you can't on foot or in taxi. Oh, and driving in India is out of control.
I'm really glad I didn't go to Goa. While it would have been nice to relax in tropical paradise on a beautiful day and then party all night, I don't think it's quite my scene. And I would have missed out on the amazing city of Pondicherry.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Pictures
I finally figured out how to get Picasa's desktop application on my work laptop so that I can upload pictures in bulk. All of my pictures are now online, though without any real explanation for what they are.
http://picasaweb.google.com/goldberm/Q4InHyderabad
http://picasaweb.google.com/goldberm/Q4InHyderabad
Trust
On Saturday morning, Brian and I got up and went out for breakfast. My travel guide recommended a spot around the corner that had delicious dosa, a South Indian specialty. About half way through our meal, a guy who had sat down at the table beside us leaned over and asked where we were from. This launched into a lengthy conversation where we covered our thoughts on India so far, what cities we were planning on visiting, his love life, the differences between India and American marriages, what he did for a living, and more topics I can't even remember now. It was really nice to sit down and talk with someone, especially having a conversation with more depth than just "welcome to India."
As we were finishing up breakfast, this guy mentioned that there was a travel agency next door that could help us get to Agra, a reference to the fact we were considering visiting the Taj Mahal. We decided to take his advice and go check it out. He followed us in, helping us initiate the conversation with the agent. After we heard the price and the time it would take to get there, Brian and I decided to opt out of Agra and just spend time exploring the city of Delhi. We told the travel agent that we'd think about it and come back if we wanted to go.
Outside, our new friend mentioned that he wanted to take us by his store (he had told us at breakfast that he sold carpets, scarves, and other fabrics to people in the US), which was a few metro stops away. Eager to get on our way and a little annoyed now, Brian and I politely declined. He asked us where we were going and, as it turned out, he was headed in the same direction. At this point, Brian and I were starting to get the point and asked him to just leave us alone.
In Delhi, it seemed like everyone was trying to take advantage of us. In Hyderabad, you've got auto-rickshaw drivers and merchants trying to jack up prices. But, in Delhi, everyone seemed to be steering us towards some shop so that they could make a commission off us.
On Saturday night, we asked our auto-rickshaw driver to take us to this restaurant "Spirit." He must have stopped in front of about a dozen restaurants on the way, telling us how nice they were and that we should go there instead of the one we had picked. We ended up liking ours just fine.
One auto-rickshaw driver who we asked to take us to India Gate, told us we couldn't go there because there was a big parade and it was closed. We took the auto-rickshaw behind him. Turned out there was no parade.
We asked another drive to take us to the National Museum. Despite his warnings that it was closed because the Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh, was using it for special meetings, Brian and I asked that he take us there anyway so we could see the building. I guess there was some confusion as it was actually a different Singh who was giving a speech about art there.
There were also plenty of people on the street who approached us, trying to steer us towards this shop or that.
Most of these were pretty overt. I can take that. I had a lot of fun with it, giving them various comical (at least to me) responses.
But, some of them were much more subtle. For example, one rickshaw driver picked us up at Gandhi Smriti, a beautiful memorial to Gandhi at the location of his assassination, and took us to the Lotus Temple, a marvelous Bahai temple. On the way, we got into some conversations, much more interesting than those that we usually have with our drivers. He pointed out things around town and provided us background for a bunch of the monuments or areas of town. When we got to the temple, he offered to wait so he could drive us back. Having just forged this relationship, we took him up on it.
When we got out of the temple, we were a little pressed for time as we had to grab dinner before catching our flight back to Hyderabad. Our driver told us that he wanted to take us to a few monuments on the way back, but we politely declined. He took us anyway. In particular, he took us to this crafts shop and insisted we just look around for a minute.
I find forging relationships with people, however small or insignificant, to be a very rewarding experience. But, there's an element of trust that goes along with that process. You have to trust that the feelings that person is conveying are real. When that trust breaks down, it's very easy to detach from others and remain very guarded. The way people, especially the guy from breakfast and the driver who took us to the temple, constantly tried to take advantage of us left me feeling that way. I found it to be a very embittering experience.
As we were finishing up breakfast, this guy mentioned that there was a travel agency next door that could help us get to Agra, a reference to the fact we were considering visiting the Taj Mahal. We decided to take his advice and go check it out. He followed us in, helping us initiate the conversation with the agent. After we heard the price and the time it would take to get there, Brian and I decided to opt out of Agra and just spend time exploring the city of Delhi. We told the travel agent that we'd think about it and come back if we wanted to go.
Outside, our new friend mentioned that he wanted to take us by his store (he had told us at breakfast that he sold carpets, scarves, and other fabrics to people in the US), which was a few metro stops away. Eager to get on our way and a little annoyed now, Brian and I politely declined. He asked us where we were going and, as it turned out, he was headed in the same direction. At this point, Brian and I were starting to get the point and asked him to just leave us alone.
In Delhi, it seemed like everyone was trying to take advantage of us. In Hyderabad, you've got auto-rickshaw drivers and merchants trying to jack up prices. But, in Delhi, everyone seemed to be steering us towards some shop so that they could make a commission off us.
On Saturday night, we asked our auto-rickshaw driver to take us to this restaurant "Spirit." He must have stopped in front of about a dozen restaurants on the way, telling us how nice they were and that we should go there instead of the one we had picked. We ended up liking ours just fine.
One auto-rickshaw driver who we asked to take us to India Gate, told us we couldn't go there because there was a big parade and it was closed. We took the auto-rickshaw behind him. Turned out there was no parade.
We asked another drive to take us to the National Museum. Despite his warnings that it was closed because the Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh, was using it for special meetings, Brian and I asked that he take us there anyway so we could see the building. I guess there was some confusion as it was actually a different Singh who was giving a speech about art there.
There were also plenty of people on the street who approached us, trying to steer us towards this shop or that.
Most of these were pretty overt. I can take that. I had a lot of fun with it, giving them various comical (at least to me) responses.
But, some of them were much more subtle. For example, one rickshaw driver picked us up at Gandhi Smriti, a beautiful memorial to Gandhi at the location of his assassination, and took us to the Lotus Temple, a marvelous Bahai temple. On the way, we got into some conversations, much more interesting than those that we usually have with our drivers. He pointed out things around town and provided us background for a bunch of the monuments or areas of town. When we got to the temple, he offered to wait so he could drive us back. Having just forged this relationship, we took him up on it.
When we got out of the temple, we were a little pressed for time as we had to grab dinner before catching our flight back to Hyderabad. Our driver told us that he wanted to take us to a few monuments on the way back, but we politely declined. He took us anyway. In particular, he took us to this crafts shop and insisted we just look around for a minute.
I find forging relationships with people, however small or insignificant, to be a very rewarding experience. But, there's an element of trust that goes along with that process. You have to trust that the feelings that person is conveying are real. When that trust breaks down, it's very easy to detach from others and remain very guarded. The way people, especially the guy from breakfast and the driver who took us to the temple, constantly tried to take advantage of us left me feeling that way. I found it to be a very embittering experience.
Monday, December 8, 2008
A Little Bit the Same. A Little Bit Different.
Having been in Hyderabad for two weeks, it was refreshing to go to Delhi. There are a lot of similarities, but a lot of difference.
The first obvious difference is the way the city is built up. The infrastructure is dramatically better. You still get loads of congestion and crazy driving, but not nearly at the level in Hyderabad, which I think is in large part due to better roads.
Delhi is also set up very differently than Hyderabad. Other than Old City, Hyderabad is essentially a big corporate office park and a downtown that's so polluted I couldn't breath. Not really a place for city life.
Delhi is basically split into two sections: Old Delhi and Central Delhi. The former is not too unlike Old City in Hyderabad, though a little less market focuses -- people seemed to just be going on about their days. I found it a little more manageable because of that.
Central Delhi, however, is unlike anything in Hyderabad. The area has chic bars, coffee shops and green space scattered about. People walk around in very stylish clothes (by Western standards). The area is the center of the national government. A long walkway between India Gate and the President's Estate has the feel of the Mall in Washington (except people play cricket instead of softball).
Hyderabad is not a pleasant city. It's dirty. There's trash everywhere. You can't breath well in downtown because of the pollution. And it's a town that's very much divided. There are the unbelievably rich, who section themselves off in Banjara Hills, and the tech industry, who protect their office buildings by putting up gates with guards and not even allowing restaurants to be built inside.
There's something different about Delhi. Sure, there were still vendors and auto-rickshaw drivers trying to overcharge us. And the sound of horns was at times annoying. And the poverty level was unbearably high.
But, it's got an ecosystem, much like what I've been saying could be built up around Hitech City. To be clear, there are obvious divisions in the city. But, it functions as an entity in a way that Hyderabad can't.
The first obvious difference is the way the city is built up. The infrastructure is dramatically better. You still get loads of congestion and crazy driving, but not nearly at the level in Hyderabad, which I think is in large part due to better roads.
Delhi is also set up very differently than Hyderabad. Other than Old City, Hyderabad is essentially a big corporate office park and a downtown that's so polluted I couldn't breath. Not really a place for city life.
Delhi is basically split into two sections: Old Delhi and Central Delhi. The former is not too unlike Old City in Hyderabad, though a little less market focuses -- people seemed to just be going on about their days. I found it a little more manageable because of that.
Central Delhi, however, is unlike anything in Hyderabad. The area has chic bars, coffee shops and green space scattered about. People walk around in very stylish clothes (by Western standards). The area is the center of the national government. A long walkway between India Gate and the President's Estate has the feel of the Mall in Washington (except people play cricket instead of softball).
Hyderabad is not a pleasant city. It's dirty. There's trash everywhere. You can't breath well in downtown because of the pollution. And it's a town that's very much divided. There are the unbelievably rich, who section themselves off in Banjara Hills, and the tech industry, who protect their office buildings by putting up gates with guards and not even allowing restaurants to be built inside.
There's something different about Delhi. Sure, there were still vendors and auto-rickshaw drivers trying to overcharge us. And the sound of horns was at times annoying. And the poverty level was unbearably high.
But, it's got an ecosystem, much like what I've been saying could be built up around Hitech City. To be clear, there are obvious divisions in the city. But, it functions as an entity in a way that Hyderabad can't.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Despite The News
Imaging waking up in the morning, in a country that just had a terrible bombing, having a flight that evening to Delhi, and reading headlines like "Airports turn into fortresses" and "All steps taken to ensure air passenger safety."
Brian and I were scheduled to head to Delhi and all of the papers were talking about attacks at airports. They mentioned Delhi among three airports for which the Indian intelligence had information about a potential attack. And this is all happening a week and a half after Mumbai and on the 16 year anniversary of the bombings at Babri Masjid. Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out on Friday morning.
I got into the office on Friday and started asking around, getting my co-workers' opinions. Uniformly, everyone said we should go anyway. There's a lot of hype, but you need to go on living your life. I agreed, but was still a bit anxious about the whole thing.
Security at the airports was pretty crazy. There were guards walking around with rifles and semi-automatic weapons. In Delhi, on the way home, there was a guard sitting in a truck with a gun pointed at the crowd of people walking into and out of the airport. I was probably more scared of him accidentally slipping and pulling the trigger than I was about terrorists at that point. As I walked in front of his truck and in front of his gun, I couldn't help but take a deep breath.
Delhi itself had pretty tight security, too. I obviously haven't been there during other times to make a comparison, but every place we went had armed guards who frisked us and searched our bags.
On Saturday, we went to Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque. There was a group of people standing in front of the mosque rallying passerby. Behind them, news clippings and photos from the bombing at Babri Masjid covered the fence. The mosque was beautiful, but it was hard not to feel like it was a potential target as I walked through it.
In general, I felt really safe on the trip. The chances of anything happening are so slim. And most of Delhi just seems to be moving on as if there's nothing to worry about. But, the level of security in Delhi certainly makes you think twice.
Anyway, I guess my co-workers were right.
Brian and I were scheduled to head to Delhi and all of the papers were talking about attacks at airports. They mentioned Delhi among three airports for which the Indian intelligence had information about a potential attack. And this is all happening a week and a half after Mumbai and on the 16 year anniversary of the bombings at Babri Masjid. Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out on Friday morning.
I got into the office on Friday and started asking around, getting my co-workers' opinions. Uniformly, everyone said we should go anyway. There's a lot of hype, but you need to go on living your life. I agreed, but was still a bit anxious about the whole thing.
Security at the airports was pretty crazy. There were guards walking around with rifles and semi-automatic weapons. In Delhi, on the way home, there was a guard sitting in a truck with a gun pointed at the crowd of people walking into and out of the airport. I was probably more scared of him accidentally slipping and pulling the trigger than I was about terrorists at that point. As I walked in front of his truck and in front of his gun, I couldn't help but take a deep breath.
Delhi itself had pretty tight security, too. I obviously haven't been there during other times to make a comparison, but every place we went had armed guards who frisked us and searched our bags.
On Saturday, we went to Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque. There was a group of people standing in front of the mosque rallying passerby. Behind them, news clippings and photos from the bombing at Babri Masjid covered the fence. The mosque was beautiful, but it was hard not to feel like it was a potential target as I walked through it.
In general, I felt really safe on the trip. The chances of anything happening are so slim. And most of Delhi just seems to be moving on as if there's nothing to worry about. But, the level of security in Delhi certainly makes you think twice.
Anyway, I guess my co-workers were right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)