San Diego Marathon

This past weekend, I completed my 18th marathon, this time venturing down to San Diego for the Rock 'N Roll Marathon that they hold down there, joning around 15 thousand other runners.

The weekend began with a flight out of San Jose, a place that I rarely fly out of and was reminded of why. It's a horrible airport. :-) With about a million people in San Jose, you'd think they could put together an industrial strength airport by now, especially with the construction that's been going on for ages. After I got my ticket, I tried entering what I thought was the security line, but a uniformed man told me, "ahh, line is back there". Oh. Sorry. So I took a marathon-sized walk back to the stairs that lead down to baggage claim at the end of a line that barely seemed to be moving. It wasn't too long before the line extended behind me to another county. Oh well.

As I waited in the "C" line for the Southwest flight (they have a brilliant free-for-all seating plan, where you feel like you're trying to find a seat on an overloaded school bus when they get to the "C" group), I noticed a ton of Team in Training folks and secretly wondered whether any of them would be running the marathon (please excuse my humor...of course they were all running the marathon, but whenever I've seen them "train", it's a nice leisurely walk, like they've been cautioned not to break a sweat). Actually I shouldn't joke because they are a very strong organization, raising money for a great cause and getting people who would not normally engage in marathon-type activities in, well, marthon-type activities. Good for them.

Walking to my Hertz rental car, I noticed these electronic boards that flashed renter's names with an arrow pointing to their car (pretty cool). As I tried to find my spot, I saw the name "Dan Fouts" of all people. For those of you who don't know, there is a Dan Fouts who used to be a star quarterback for the San Diego Chargers and is now a fairly successful color commenator for ABC. The chances of coincidence are pretty slim, I think. I was almost tempted to hang out for a little while and see if he came by, but I had an expo to go to.

Speaking of the expo, I punched in the address to the "Never Lost" system and let the Never Lost lady lead the way to the convention center. Traffic became bad as I rolled closer, eventually coming upon this convention center, which was enormous, seeming to span the length several football fields. Speaking of fields, Petco Field was right across the street from it, home of the Padres. Petco field just doesn't seem to have the majesty of the name "Jack Murphy Stadium", which I think was what it was once called, unless this field is relatively brand new (not sure). But what team would be shaking in their spikes going to Petco Field?

After sitting in traffic for what seemed like forever (I kept looking at my watch and saying, "There's still plenty of time to get my packet"), I finally parked and took a b-line for the expo. This thing is big enough that they actually had 3-4 different things going on, independent of the marathon proceedings. It was interesting to see the different groups, especially the contrast between the laid-back runners with their plastic goodie bags and people in business casual carrying around brief and laptop cases.

Having done 17 marathons previously, I know the drill by now.

1. Find the line where my number falls into the range serviced (1000-2000 this time) and get my bib
2. Get my chip and test it out ("Are you Mark Taylor?"..."Yep")
3. Get a goodie bag
4. Get my t-shirt ("Extra Large?"..."Yep")
5. Get some GU and Body Glide (Somewhere in my apartment are 10 sticks of Body Glide, probably right next to 100 pens)
6. Graze (i.e. Eat and drink some of the sample stuff they have out)
7. Get the hell out of there

Seriously, there's not much more to it than that. I do the same thing practically every time.

Back at the rental I punched in the hotel address, which was the Sheraton in Mission Valley. Of course the Never Lost lady had no idea that Old Town San Diego (the area near the convention center) was under construction, so she kept re-calibrating my route as I tried to figure out where to go. Eventually I did get there, arriving to the hotel in a fairly urban sprawled part of town. I wasn't planning to see a lot of San Diego, even though I had never been there, but wanted to leave my exploration for the race and post-race.

Heeding to that thought, I drove across the overpass from the hotel to the urban sprawl strip mall and had my choice between a Fuduckers and Gordon Biersch. I almost convinced myself that a cheeseburger the night before a race has actually worked in getting me P.R. before, but better judgement came to my rescue and I opted for Gordon Biersch (Fudrucker's would be my reward). Taking my better judgement one step forward and resisting an order for beer or anything exciting on the menu, I opted for a simple pasta dish. Damn I was being good.

I then b-lined back to the hotel and pretty much spent the rest of the evening and night in bed, watching Dirk Nowitski take the Mavs to the NBA finals, which I think will lead to an interesting series with Heat. I then watched Star Wars episode III, which I hadn't seen since the big screen and enjoyed watching again, if at least for the great fight sequences. Kinda fun.

I had a hard time sleeping due to the warmth in the room. It turns out San Diego doesn't cool down at night like the SF Bay Area does, so I ended up cranking down the tempurature a bit. I awoke at what seemed to be every hour, which is indication that I was a little hyped up for the race. I finally caught some z's that were rudely shut down by my mom's call at 4:15 AM. "Hi Honey...are you awake...ok...Don't go back to sleep now." Of course I did go back to sleep only because I had a second wake up call coming from the hotel at 4:30. Some times you need two, and those 15 extra minutes were wonderful.

I jumped out a bed finally and hit the shower. I put on all of my running gear and started taking the elevator down, so that I could make the 5 AM shuttle. I was starting from the 12th floor and the elevator stopped at every floor down to the lobby to pick up another runner or two. By the time we hit "L", we could hear some unsettling creaking.

Soon enough we were on the shuttle and I was staring like a zombie at the seat in front of me. Why are races always so early? My trance was broken by a girl sitting beside me, who asked, "Have you done a marathon before?". After letting her question break through the fog I was in, which was similar to all of the fog hovering around outside, I sheepishly replied, "I've done a few, actually. How about you?" "Yes it is", she replied, "Do you have any tips?" I said, "Don't let the adrenaline of being in a race make you go out too fast, or you'll pay for it. Walk through the aid stations. Make sure you're drinking. Pour water over your head." I just blurted everything out that came to mind. It turned out that 18 miles was her longest run to date, not having ever ventured further. I told her to be careful out there, because the mileage can catch with you in a hurry. We both memorized each other's bib numbers so that we could check up on each other.

After a trip to the port-a-potty, I entered Corale #1,which was just behind Corale E (elite), which was filled with lean, fast-looking runners. I wondered how I had found my way into this bunch, but them remembered that I had said would be going for a 3:15 time. Oh yeah.
A pace runner carried around a 3:10 sign and I warned myself to stay away from that group. There would be another race to catch that breed of runner.

The national anthem was sung by an African-American woman with a beautiful voice. About mid-way through the song I remembered to remove my hat, which is probably due less to lack of memory and more to lack of patriotism. I'm always torn between standing there with some semblance of respect and just standing there as the person I am. I'm not exactly proud to be an American, but perhaps that's a little too black and white.

An army sargeant said a few words to us, wishing us luck and so forth. A gun went off and soon afterwards, I was running. Here we go again.

The first mile came by at 7:37, which is a little slow, though the 3:10 group was only few steps away and there was no way in hell I was going pass them. The second came in at around 7:19, evening out to the pace I wanted to be at. I was starting out at just the right stride and felt like I was comfortabley holding back.


Probably turning point for me was after completing the 10th mile. I had forced myself to use the bathroom just before the mile 9 marker, just to give my legs a little rest and lighten my overhydrated load a bit. I came into mile 9 at 7:48, which wasn't a bad recovery, considering the break. But then I was surprised to see my mile 10 turn out a time of 7:32 after I thought I had pushed myself a little bit more. I was wondering if I was just having a bad day and was feeling discouraged, but then thought to myself that if I wanted to P.R., I had to take some risks. I had put in the training and had lost weight, so I was ready. I had to stop pampering my legs and give them some hell.

Mile 11 was the perfect mile to start, with a pretty good down hill. Crossing the marker, breathing a little heavier, I read 6:34 on my watch. Too fast, but it brought a smile to my face. Mile 12 was up hill and I rattled off a 7:40, which was good for the incline. I followed with a 7:13 into mile 13 and was sitting at 1:37:30 at the half way mark, an almost perfect half for what I was trying to do. I was making a race out of it.

Mile 14 was a solid 7:32, but the important thing was that I was feeling pretty good, which hadn't been the case in my few previous marathons. What would end up being a pleasant surprise was that I would I be under 7:30 for every remaining mile, except for mile 20, which was also at a respectable 7:32 (something special about that number?), afterwhich I got a little faster. All the hard work I had put in was paying off.

I cruised through the remaining miles, barely noticing them, just pushing as hard as I could. As I reached a sign that said "1/2 mile to go", I felt something that I hadn't felt in a race for a good while: Rage. I ran the remaining half with a furrowed brow and furious anger. I wanted blood. I knew that I would P.R., but I wanted to squeeze out every second I that I could. No one passed me in this last stretch as I went by runners that seemed to be almost standing still. I felt awesome.

I crossed the finish line at 3:14:24 and heard the P.A. blare out my name "Mark Taylor from Mountain View". P.R., everyone. Finally, after a few years, I had P.R'd again. What a wonderful feeling. I pumped my fist and walked over to receive my medal. I felt high.

Here's the breakdown of my splits (yes, I'm anal when it comes to tracking pace) :

Mile 1 7:37
Mile 2 7:19
Mile 3 7:23
Mile 4 7:01
Mile 5 7:18
Mile 6 7:35
Mile 7 7:27
Mile 8 7:32
Mile 9 7:48
Mile 10 7:33
Mile 11 6:34
Mile 12 7:40
Mile 13 7:13
Mile 14 7:32
Mile 15 7:21
Mile 16 7:19
Mile 17 7:28
Mile 18 7:29
Mile 19 7:26
Mile 20 7:32
Mile 21 7:23
Mile 22 7:23
Mile 23 7:24
Mile 24 7:25
Mile 25 7:29
Mile 26 7:26

I found what really helped me were the 5K markers that they put on the course. I put myself in the mindset that I was going to run 4 strong 10K's, which is what I did with these splits:

1st 10K: 45:45
2nd 10K: 46:15
3rd 10K: 46:06
4th 10K : 46:13

Like all P.R.'s that I've had in past marathons, I ran a very even race, which is going to be my prescription for future ones.

The rest of my time spent in San Diego included a well-deserved trip to Fudruckers, followed by a traffic jammed trip to the northwest part of San Diego, where I found a nice overlook of the beach. "Nice" might be over stating it a bit. I have to admit that the beach itself looked really ugly to me, being a bit overcrowded and with some sort of dried up seeweed-looking stuff splattered all over the place. They also had horse shoe stakes all along the shore with plenty of people using them. It just didn't have this peaceful, wide-open feel that I like on a beach.

The residential area above the beach was more to my liking. It reminded me of Santa Cruz, seeing a lot of simple homes and condos and people carrying a care-free attitude around with them, along with their beach towels and surf and boogie boards. It felt so much more relaxing than the sandy shore that was a few blocks below.

It wasn't too long before I was sitting on the plane back to San Jose, trying not to keep my aching leg muscles in one position for too long, otherwise they would have had to pry me out of my seat. It seemed like such a long time ago that I had pulled myself out of bed to put the wheels in motion for a marathon. Even with the proof of painful legs and my finisher medal in hand, there's something surreal about running one. Was I really out there?

So that was the San Diego Marathon. I'm extremely encouraged by my time and now I have my sites on Boston. After recovering for a month or so, I'll be ready to train hard again and have high hopes to trim off those few remaining (and challenging) minutes from my time and perhaps some more pounds from my physique (I still have a Krispy Kreme layer that could go :-)) There's some work to do, but I have a rendezvous with Boston.

Oh yeah, about the girl on the bus. She ended up ignoring my advice completely and just tore up most of the course, running at close to an 8 minute pace before crashing in the last 5 miles, which she did at 10 minute pace. Despite going out too fast, she qualified for Boston, coming in at 3:40 and change. Incredible. :-)

Movie Review: Brick

I'll be writing more about my trip to India, but in the mean time, I wanted to do a quick review on a movie I enjoyed recently called "Brick"

Brick is a fast-paced and mesmerizing journey taken on the coat tails of the main character Brendan, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (Yes, that Joseph Gordon-Levitt). The movie begins with Brendan in a catcher's stance, overlooking the limp body of his ex-girlfriend Emily who's found lying next to the shallow stream of an aquaduct that leads through a dark tunnel. The movie is much like this dark tunnel that Brendan moves through, covering suprises that leap out at him and the audience yet leaving much to the imagination as to what will happen next.

The movie's setting is in high school in a California-like area complete with coastal drives and ocean-splashed sunsets. Brendan is an outcast by preference who has distanced himself even further from the teenage society that he loathes after being dumped by Emily who has entered a shady counter culture ruled by sex, drugs and muscle.

He fearlessly returns to this world after receiving a cry for help from her on a pay phone, in the form of a confusing yet angst-filled conversation that is riddled with terms and characters that he must then decipher against the clock. Enlisting the help of his only apparent friend, a coke-bottle-glasses-wearing savant named "Brain", he follows a path that leads him from one seductress in the drug ring, another ex-girlfriend named Kara, to another named Laura as both girls perhaps represent the models that Emily aspires to be.

He trusts no one on his quest aside from his gifted side kick who provides him information on all of the the "players" in this deadly game that he joins in on. He takes multiple beatings and even an attempt on his life, narrowly dodging fatal blows and using his cunning to avoid a ticket out of the high drama that he has partaken in. Though Emily finds him disenchanting and refuses to recriprocate the feelings that he has for her, its these feelings that empower him in an environment that at first seems out of his league. Though he is by far the most clever character on the school campus and its shady outskirts, he must rely on his guts to move forward.

His progress takes him to "The Pin" a character played by Lukas Haas, one who is at the center of the ring and protected by a testosterone-filled and muscle-bound thug named "Tugger" played by Noah Fleiss. Both characters take Brendan into their inner circle as he avoids their suspicions, using his cool demeanor and quick-working intellect. He finds that Laura has also found her way into this same circle most likely by using similar traits along with her seductive charm. Brendan immediately finds her to be the most dangerous of the three as he understands his own lack of immunity against her sexual power.

The movie is beautifully done and filled with wonderful dialog, using some slang that will require some translation (I included a glossary provided through IMDB). I enjoyed the conversational warfare between Brendan and the bad guys as well the banter that he shares with the Brain. The words are very cleverly written and have somewhat of a rhythem to them. All of the main characters are intense and very intriguing. There's a great early scene in the movie in which Laura delivers a piano-accompanied soliloquy that's very easy on the ears (as she is on the eyes). I saw this movie twice, which gives you a sense of how much I enjoyed it.


Glossary:

Blow - to leave, depart
"Did she blow last night?"

Bulls-Cops; can also mean to turn over to the cops
"What first, tip the bulls?";"I bulled the rat".

Burg-Town, City
"He knows every twobit toker in the burg".

Copped-Stole
"She copped the junk"

Dose - To take drugs
"He dosed off the bad junk and it laid him out."

Duck Soup - Easy pickings

Gat - Gun

Heel - To walk away from (and show your heels to)
"I'm not heeling you to hook you".

Hop;Junk;Jake - Drugs

Pick - A ride in a car, (As in pick up)
'Did she get a pick?"

Reef Worm - A stoner (variation of reefer)
"he's a pot skulled reef worm with more hop in his head than blood."

Scape - a patsy to take the blame (scape goat)

Scrapped - Begged off of, cadged from
"Ask any dope rat where their junk sprang and they'll say they scraped it off..."

Shamus - A private detective

Shine - To wield (as with a weapon)
"He shines a blade"

Sprang - Orignated.
"His gat sprang from Tugger's gang."

Take a powder - To slip away
"Why'd you take a powder the other night?"

Yeg - guy
"They'd probably find some yeg to pin it on."

The never ending first weekend in India (final part)

Trust me, this weekend that I’ve been writing an inexhaustible amount on does have an ending. After our tour of the Hindu temple in Halebid, we headed to a neighboring town called Belur a place with the temple which supposedly is more beautiful on the inside. We arrived to more soap stone carvers, giving us the same lines that we had heard in Halebid. They must teach a class for these folks, letting them in on all of the tips and tricks for suckering the tourists into giving up some rupees for trinkets of questionable value. They got me in Halebid, I wasn’t budging in Belur, even though I have to admit that these trinkets looked a little nicer (damn it!).

Again we went through the same song and dance of removing our shoes and socks, this time a little more gingerly because our feet were cooked to at least medium rare. The temple was surrounded by a 15-20 foot stone wall, and centered inside a good-sized court yard. The distance from the shaded entrance to through this wall was quite daunting given the 4 PM sunshine baking the soap stone to a scalding temperature. We saw a red mat that led up to the temple, but there was still a lot of stone to cross and the mat didn’t offer that much relief. We basically ran to the mat, then skipped up the steps to the cool greeting that the inside of the temple offered.

I walked in one of the main entrances and was greeted by a seven-headed snake, a statue of one, that is. I was finding that snakes tend to be help up as sacred animals in the Hindu culture, which is a contrast to the Christian, which equates this creature to Satan. In fact I’ve heard that a lot of cultures hold a snake in high regards, perhaps because of its seemingly dual nature. It has the ability to move like water, yet its tongue draws analogies to fire. Even if you look at the symbol of the medical profession, its two snakes wrapped around a staff.

I have to admit that I didn’t pay the inside of the temple much mind, given that I was dragging a bit at the time and it was actually pretty dark in there. Even after standing for a while, my eyes couldn’t quite adjust to the light (or lack thereof), making it difficult to see what was going on in there. A tour guide that appeared to speaking in Hindi perhaps was shining a Bat-signal-like spot light on some areas of the temple. I wish I knew what he was saying.

The outside of the temple was much like the one I had seen in Halebid, with layers of animals representing respected qualities of human and animal kind. Again I was distracted by my baking feet, which were probably moving on to medium, with medium-well not too far away. I was ready to get to back into the air-conditioned car with my shoes and socks back on.

The ride back home had most of us in a trance with heavy eyelids. We stopped a truck stop called “Kamat”, which is apparently a chain in the area. It wasn’t quite like an American truck stop. It didn’t have a bar, or bake potato special or any travel-worn truckers to speak of. It was actually a nice little sit-down restaurant with about 8 people ready to serve us (ok, it was more like 3). We had the paneer tikki masala and some naan, which turned out to be pretty good. We saw a couple families come in for dinner after us. It just didn’t have that trucker feel to it, not that I minded.

And so that was Saturday…Sunday was a little more relaxed, with golf being the only thing on the agenda. I had made some reservations at Eagleton golf club at the advice of an IBM co-worker back in California. He told me I could play 18 with a cart, a caddie and a seven-course meal for around 40 bucks. He was just about right on that. That’s about what it costed me, though we had to settle for a lamb burger at the club house after getting through 18.

Speaking of those 18, what a beautiful course. After driving through the dry geography of southern India, it was nice to be able to see some green grass, fir trees and little ponds (though they also serve as water hazards). The course was a little longer than average length, with plenty of fairway to play in. It still didn’t prevent me from losing a few balls, which kinda pisses me off now because the ones I lost had “Eagleton Golf Club” printed on them. I still have the other ones I purchased which are just some “EV” brand.

It took me a while to get used to having a caddie. We had one for each cart, of which we had two, for the four of us. The caddies road standing up, hanging onto the back. I kept putting my own clubs back and reaching for the next one as my caddie, a 21-year-old named Ravi, shook his head and kept saying, “Let me do that sir” (man I hate being called “sir” – makes me sound old!). The kid claimed to have a 2 handicap, which is excellent, and I believed him. He gave me a lot of instruction that improved some of my shots and he seemed to read the green very well. He was brutally honest with me though when I had some tough holes, saying, “You’re not playing so well right now”. Thanks Ravi.

The temperature rose to a scorching 103, making some of the irons in my bag a little hot actually (first time I’ve seen that). But it was a dry heat and I liked it. It reminded me of playing in Las Vegas with a bachelor party. Everyone else seemed to be losing steam as we played, but I just kept pounding water and wore a hat and plenty of sun screen. I felt great.

Probably the prettiest area of the course was one with the goddess Shiva in the back ground. One of the holes (maybe 15 or 16), I’d call the signature hole. It had Shiva way off to the left and a beautiful dog-legged 5-par strolling right into it. It’s also where I probably hit my best shot, a 4-wood (that’s the biggest lefty club they had) I blasted it about 250 yards. The great shots were few and far between, but I liked that one.

We finished up and rewarded our loyal caddies with a good chunk of rupees (600 or so, each). I wondered what they usually made. I also wondered what the future held for them. I got the impression that Ravi wanted to be a professional, which is a one-in-a-million type of move. Would he still be a caddie there if I returned to that same course in 10, 20 years? If he could live off of the tips and money he made there, which is probably pretty slim, it wouldn’t be a bad life.

As promised, the weekend did end…I finished up Sunday with a jump into the hotel’s pool on the roof, which was actually a lot of fun. The view included the IBM and Microsoft buildings, which are talked about in the beginning of the book, “The World is Flat”, still something I need to finish.

I say that about a lot of books…and writing. ;-)

Weekend in India (part 2)

Let me begin this post by finishing up on last weekend. I was leaving the town of Srvana Begola, having visited the world's largest monolith, feeling like I had seen something pretty cool already. Rhagu wasn't happy when we entered the car, saying that we were a half hour behind. Who hired who? Regardless, the point he was trying to make is that we ain't seen nothing yet. This wasn't the main course.

We continued our travels to Halebid, to visit the Holysaleshvara Temple (say that 3 times fast). We continued on through a few towns, some of them somewhat modern looking. I say "somewhat" because I continued to see sections of what I would classify as something just a notch above a ghost town. Without the people walking around and inside these dilapitated, shack-like store fronts, I'd take them for abandoned. However, where my use of "modern" comes in, is that not too far away from these straw-man shops, I'd see beautiful, glass-windowed businesses. Sure they still had a dirt walk way up to them, but they looked just as nice as most small town, American stores. What was interesting is that most if not all of these places that seemed to have 99% of the town's investment in them were selling motor cycles and scooters. I guess the market for these two wheelers must be practically larger than life in some areas. I did happen to see a fair amount of bill boards in Bangalore, showcasing motorcycles as well. If you want to be cool in this country, you'd better own one.

As we came through Halebid and into the rural outskirts of it, I noticed several people breaking up rock into big piles, using wimpy-looking sledge hammers and other primitive-looking implements. They were not just men, but also women in bright-colored saris, breaking their backs in the sweltering heat. My only guess was the rock would serve as the foundation for the dirt road we were traveling on. It seems that they're building this country one swing at at time, using whatever players are available.

A large temple came into view. We saw several men by a fence and small open gate, with a dirt area that served as a parking lot. Rhagu casted them a glance as one of them raised their hand and gestured for us to park. He ignored their invitation at first, continuing to drive, but we eventually ran into a dead end in the form a large locked gate. We U-turned and decided to take up the man's offer to park afterall.

Again before leaving the car we were surrounded by post-card vendors and this time, soap stone craftsmen, who had carved up mostly small stone elephant figures, a representation of Genesh, one of the Hindu gods. "5 rupees mister, please...Look at these carvings. This took me 3 days to carve. What will you give me for it?". I put my hands in the air as they followed me through the small gate. "How about later?"..."Maybe"..."Great, my name is...".



After dealing with the vendors, we made our way down a dirt path towards the temple, snapping some pictures of two statues that flanked our way. The one on the left appeared to be one of a horse and warrior. The one on the right was of Ganesha, part man and elephant.

We came to the temple's shoe depository. Again we would need to tour with our bare feet, which would prove to be quite a challenge as the hot sun began to bake the dirt and the soap stone that we would walk upon. It only took a few steps up the stairs before I could feel a blister form on my right foot. My soles were getting cooked.

We entered the temple to find darkness. There was no artificial light used inside, which caused me to think that they had to have at least used candle light. A young woman in a blue sari approached and asked if we wanted a tour. She had a name tag with something official written beneath, like "Government of Karnataka". She said the tour would cost 200 rupees (~ 5 bucks) and we agreed. How can you beat that?

She told us that this temple in Halebid was known for its beauty on the outside, wheras the temple in Belur was vice versa. There were a few fenced off door ways that she took us to, with small rooms used as shrines. Inside was what looked like a decorated drum. She claimed these were idols, representing Shiva. We couldn't tell if these were the idols themselves or if the idols were underneath, protected from whatever elements there were. We didn't get a chance to ask as she continued on.

Moving outside of the temple, back onto the scorching surface, we quickly moved to a red matted carpet, which absorbed much less of the heat. It circled the temple that we would walk around, but contained several gaps that we would have to run across to avoid being burned too badly. Desipite the hot feet, the weather felt pretty comfortable to me. It was a very dry heat.



Our tour guide continued to point out the various features and carvings on the outside of this hindu temple. The amount of detail in her words and on the temple itself was mind boggling. Each character or group of characters told a story as we wound ourselves around the beautifully ornate building.






Like a lot of Hindu temples we've seen, you typically see layers of the same carvings starting from the bottom (right). The very bottom was composed of elephants, supposedly 1428 of them in all. They symbolized stability. The next layer consisted of lions, symbolizing courage and in the next we saw the horses, which symbolize beauty. The next layers were varying in their characters, often displaying some story, such as a war or a god getting out of some predicament, like Shiva going inside of an elephant to avoid being killed by it (left).

As we continued the tour around the building the soles of feet were cooking to a nice consistency. It become a ritual to brace ourselves for the red hot surface as we ran from old rug ending to new rug beginning, which was some times 6-7 running steps away. At certain points, even the rug itself was practically unbearable to stand on as the sun was unrelelentingly blaring down upon us. Our tour guide asked us if she was boring us, to which I said, "No, this is wonderful". Our attention was diverted by the heat.




My ears perked up though, when she mentioned a section which depicted a battle with Arjuna (bow-carrying guy, above). I've read a little about him in a yoga book I have. He's the main character of an important Hindu text, The Bhagavad Gita. He basically plays a warrior hero who is faced with the quandry of going into battle against men who are his friends and even his relatives. The Hindu god Krishna offers to be his charioteer (cab driver) in the battle, but ends up being much more as he takes him on a magical ride of self discovery. An American book which resembles the Bhagavad Gita is "The Legend of Bagger Vance", which is about a golfer named Runulph Junah (R. Junah) who is pushed by his home town to take part in a gold tourmament against two golf greats, Walter Hagen and Bobby Jones. I definitely enjoyed the read and highly recommend it. If you've seen the movie, that's not enough. The book is different and hundered million times better.

I'm missing a lot of the details of the tour, but the final stretch of it brought us to a section of the temple dedicated to the Karma Sutra, another Hindu text that's mainly known for the sexual positions it depicts. Our guide told us that this section was not meant to just depict a holy Hindu text, but was also meant to be educational. As my eyes passed over this scholastic wall, I found it pretty funny to think of couples approaching it to get some ideas of what they'd be trying out that night. :-)

We completed our circle around the star-shaped Hindu temple and took a b-line to our shoes. The baked bottoms of our feet were well done. We gladly paid the care taker a few rupees for them and quickly laced up. We then took a bit of a walk about the grounds, taking in a pretty view of a lake that stood nearby.

We left the grounds, battling soap stone trinkets held in front of our faces as we scanned the area for Rhagu. The salesmanship intensified as we drew nearer to the saftey of our car and their desparation heightened. "How much would you give me for these three?", one of them said. I had know idea what to say, so I thought a bit of what was in my wallet and said, "200 rupees?" "The person who asked sighed deeply, feigning the look of being deeply insulted. "I worked on this for 3 days". I entered the car and he put his arm, with the trinkets into door. "I'm going to have to shut the door", I said. "Ok, 300!"...and like a sucker, I dished it out. Sale closed.



Tidbits

One thing that is driving me nuts when I go to a restaurant, even the one in the hotel, is that waiters (and I mean plural) hover around you, watching your every move. As soon as put down a glass or a fork, they are right there filling it up or putting more food from the serving dish onto your plate. It's almost as if every resturant has hired a few too many waiters, because I don't think it's just the fact that they want to provide unbelieveable service, I think it has do with the fact that these guys have nothing to do. They just stand there, waiting to be useful. When I go to breakfast in the morning and find a table, someone is there waiting to pull my chair out for me. When I go to get my cereal from the little buffet table, someone insists on pouring milk into my bowl for me. This isn't all of the time, but if you give these guys enough time to figure out what you're going to do, they're all over it. I feel like saying, "why don't you go lie down in the back and I'll let you know when I'm done"

HOT HOT HOT...so the other night, I went out venturing with Mike to Nhandi, a restaurant he had tried with a local IBMer and enjoyed. It was actually pretty fun to take a walk there because one, I generally get driven everywhere and two, there was a neat little street we went down that was filled with shops and these obscure looking little restaurant/bars with food items pictured on their surrounding walls that we had no idea what they were. But anyway, I digress...So we go to Nhandi, this semi-upscale looking place, where they have like 5 waiters per table (no exaggeration) ready to blow your nose for you. We look at the menu and have no idea what these things are, but decide on some prawn dish and these "fried crispy corn" things (sound harmless, which they were). So we order, and the waiter says, "You need to order a gravy dish too, those two are both dry"..."How about this one...is it spicy?"...."Yes, very spicey"..."Ok, pick one for us that's not"..."Let's try this one". So they bring us our orders and lop it all on our plates. We get through the corn and prawns ok, though the prawns tasted a little funky. But then we get to the gravy dish,which is this chunk of vegetables drowned in this orange curry sauce and garnished with these long, hot red peppers that I know not to eat. So I take a few bites, and it's right at my tolerable limit for spiciness...I feel a little sweat, maybe the sinuses acting up, but not bad. Then I take a bite into this green bean and all hell breaks loose, inside of my mouth that is. I imagining smoke coming out my ears as this happened. So I take some water, which makes it worse, and I'm thinking, "No way am I going to swallow this thing." So I get up and go the bathroom to spit it out. But I get to the bathroom and the #2 area (can't call it a toilet, because they just had a hole) door is closed. There is no garbage can and they have no paper towels. I'm screwed. So ended up using the only thing I could use, which was the urinal. Sorry Nhandi, but you're gonna find a wad of bean next to the urinal cake. Enjoy.

Weekend in India (part 1)

Six AM came quickly the Saturday, with some beers from a happy hour the night before still lingering with me. I was excited to get a chance to explore beyond the realm of the Royal Orchid hotel and IBM Bangalore. Our driver Rhagu arrived promptly on time, though we were lagging a little bit behind. He had insisted on leaving early because of the many hours of traveling ahead. Remember how I had scoffed at the idea of sitting in the car for 5 hours? Well, I had a change of heart after all.

We pulled into a gas station soon after leaving the hotel. An attendant was there to fill us up and afterwards one was there to fill our tires. One thing I’ve noticed in India is there are always seems to be several people waiting to serve you in some small way. I suppose with a nation of this size and the impoverished population being so high, people will find any slots they can to earn a rupee.

Finally we were rolling and I felt like I was getting my first taste of what Bangalore was really like. The road quality and the amount of traffic was rising, along with the count of characters out on the road and along the streets. We saw many rickshaw drivers, which are these three-wheel, buggy-like things that server as second-rate taxis. They almost seem to be on the bottom of the food chain as Rhagu almost hit a few of them as he was passing by. Their lack of size and speed seems to translate into a lack of respect by the surrounding traffic.

Speaking of the traffic, the driving is absolutely insane. I noticed that lanes started to become marked as we drove through some of the more “modern” areas of the city. I don’t think anyone takes these markings seriously though. Often times you see more vehicles than lanes driving parallel to each other. They leave very little space between each other and if there is any, some motorcycle or scooter will try to claim it.

It gets even scarier though as you head out of the city and hit two-lane traffic. People seem to think that passing lanes can be used as driving lanes. There were several instances where I was ready to push the panic button as I saw two vehicles coming at us from both lanes, not more than 50 yards away. Some times it would be two buses, even. Rhagu showed now sign of urgency though. If things got too close for comfort, he’d drive onto shoulder. I guess that’s what it’s there for. He forced a couple people over there himself with his pass-happy style of driving, keeping two wheels of our car in the right passing lane most of the time.

Rhagu asked us if we had breakfast and whether we’d be interested in stopping before leaving the outskirts of Bangalore. “No” and “Yes” were our answers. He pulled into a lot before a place called “New Agarwal Bhavan” and warned us that we would need to stand and eat. No problem.

The place seemed to be more of a bakery than a restaurant, with several Indian sweets resting behind a glass counter. I had eaten some of the edible tin foiled ones before, though I have no idea what they were called. The restaurant was shaped like a backwards capital “L” with the glass counter of to the left and in the fore front and pick up counter down the other leg. A cash register stood at the intersection.

There was no menu to speak of, so we had no idea what to do, even as Rhagu said, “Go ahead and place your order…”. “We don’t know what we can order. We need some help.”, Mike said. “Get some cho cho ba”, I think I heard him say, but I have no idea. “I think you’re going to have do this for us, Rhagu”, Mike said. So he did. Three cho cho bas for here. I tacked on a tea to his order. I wanted to get my first taste of chai.

Soon enough, our orders were at the pick up counter, so we carried the plates to some small round tables. One these plates were two mounds of what I would describe as being like corn meal. One was sweet and the other salty and ever so slightly spicy. Rhagu advised us to mix the two mounds together, which we did and began consuming. We were eating a tasty breakfast, like Indians would. My chai came soon afterwards, in what I would call a metal shot glass on top of a metal dish. It reminded me of an espresso shot. I sipped from the container and found it quite satisfying to the taste, being quite a lot of milk and sugar drowning out some tea in there.

The locals didn’t seem to pay us much mind, perhaps a few looks here and there. As we walked out and entered our car, a woman that was as thin like a skeleton approached our back window with her hand outstretched. “Please”, she said, “Please”. Rhagu paid her little notice and started the engine. As we rode off her hand was still held out to us.

As broke the city perimeter and rode into the country, I noticed several people walking along the passing shoulder that we were using for an emergency lane. They must’ve been walking to or from the towns they resided from. Several people carried items on their heads, like a basket of laundry, a large pot full of pots and pans, or a bundle of firewood. Most of these people were women and I was impressed with the amount and size of items that they carried. Even more impressive, some of them didn’t have to use their hands, walking with perfect posture to carry their load.

Seeing the families walking reminded me of an Italian paseggia, a time when people all take a stroll through town, usually in the evening after dinner. It seemed to be a common act that they were sharing with each other, many of the woman dressed in beautiful saris. It was an explosion of color.

Again I was awestruck by the lack of infrastructure found in the towns that we passed through, along with the overwhelming poverty. I guess they probably go hand in hand. The communities seemed to be obliterated by some natural disaster or war, but I know it’s just the slow speed at which they’ve gotten to this point. There were a lot of cement businesses lined up in practically every town, which would seem to be a lucrative business to go into because of the enormous need for that material. It seemed a luxury for anybody to just have a sidewalk in front of their house or business, even if it was broken up and uneven.

We arrived in the town of Sravana Beloga, home of the world’s tallest monolith that we had seen several billboards for. We arrived at gate that led to the heart of town, which a guard opened for us. One curious thing that I’m noticing in Bangalore and some of the towns we’ve visited is they have these guarded gates. We, including Rhagu, have yet to interact with the guards though. They just open it for us. Is it because we look like tourists?

Even before getting out of our car, several people were waiting at all doors, holding post cards, ready to sell. I was warned that we would probably get “attacked” by these folks, looking to pull a few rupees from the tourist-types like us. “10 rupees for these post cards, mister? Mister, please look at these post cards. Ok, how about later? My name is…” This is similar to what we heard from a few of these people. Mike remarked that these sellers were not nearly as bad as he had seen. They seemed to take “no” for an answer, at least for the moment, while others he had seen, followed them for several hundred yards before surrendering.

500 feet of stairs awaited us as we deposited our shoes and socks at a nearby counter. No shoes are allowed up the stairs and into the temples that we would climb to. As we began our ascent, we observed there were a couple people taking advantage of a transportation service that was offered. They have these single chairs supported by two long wooden poles that four men take the ends of and haul to the top with willing riders. I scoffed at the idea of doing this, always looking forward to most climbs, but I could see the value in the ride, seeing several elderly people getting a lift.

It wasn’t too long before the views became breath-taking, even a third of the way up. I am a huge fan of vistas and the preview I was seeing all around me was spectacular. Though it’s their dry season here, it was fairly green and somewhat mountainous terrain around me, not what I would expect in India. The only down side is that it’s fairly hazy, which I think is a result of the smog which I don’t think we left behind in Bangalore. The views are still pretty awesome, but are taken in with a slightly cloudy lens.

There was a bit of a rest stop before the summit, with stairs leading to a temple off to the side. I paid a visit before continuing my journey to the monolith, climbing the steps and stepping inside. It was dark and mysterious. My eyes took a few moments to adjust to the light. On three sides of the room there were blocked off entrances to small rooms that contained metal status of what I gathered to be Hindu gods. People were bent forward and chanting with smothered faces in the floor. It felt very peaceful inside.

Each god had a charity box before it and some water in a metal dish that I perceived to be holy water. People were dipping their hands in it and touching their forehead. I did not do the same, but did take a 10-rupee bill and place it in one of the charity boxes, a very meager donation to keep an echanted place like this alive.

I left the temple and noticed my companions continuing along to the monolith. I joined them, winding up a small set of stairs to the top. It led to a building that was surrounded by scaffolds, seemingly keeping the infrastructure in place. There were many people trying to squeeze through a passage way with a metal rail in the middle. I hurdled another metal rail and patiently followed.

What emerged was the monolith, a gigantic statue of the Jain icon, Lord Bahubali, also known as Gomatesharawa. The tradition is that people climb stairs up to the top of scaffolding that rises above this goliath and pour four different liquids on top of his head in sequence. The first is holy water. The second is coconut milk. The third is a yellow liquid called “haldi” (Tumeric) and the fourth is a red liquid called “kum kum”

I learned this from a couple gentlemen who waved me over to sit with them and their young daughters in the shade on some straw mats. “Come, sit with us”, they said. I took them up on their offer and was happy I did, as it was cool and comfortable and I felt at peace. These men were excited to be engaging with a foreigner and encouraged their daughters to shake my hand. They were beautiful young girls, probably seven or eight years old, a bit tentative at first to be interacting with this strange American.

I asked them their names, which I’ve already forgotten, probably due to the fact that I had trouble pronouncing them. They did not seem to posess the ability to speak English as their fathers did, which surprised me. I was just thinking about how easy it is for children to pick up languages. I asked one of the more fluent of the fathers if the girls went to school. It took him a few seconds to comprehend and when he did, he shook his head almost with an expression of what I took as shame. I wondered what kept these girls from being educated. Was it their sex or caste or both? They were wearing pink toy cell phones around their next, which made me think they were well off enough. But perhaps this was the extent of their wealth.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed their company and I believe they felt the same. I joined them in applause as we saw the four liquids being dropped over the monolith. There was music being sprinkled into the air as well, creating a pleasant atmosphere. I felt like I was in the holy place that it was.

I partially enjoyed the view again as we began our descent, taking heed of the steep steps in front of me. A foursome carrying a rider brushed passed me after signaling me with a “hello”. Boy those guys can move. There were several people on their way up, wiping their brows and breathing hard. It was a pretty good climb on a warm day.

When we reached the bottom, we were bombarded with post card sellers, trying for our business again. We held them off for a moment as we went to retrieve our shoes. When we had those on, the beggars came out. An amputee was dragging himself along the pathway to the shoe repository. He outstretched his leather clad hand to me, which was more like a claw. I gave him a 100 and suddenly a few women came out of the wood work. I gave one a 100 and a couple 10’s to some other others, but it wasn’t enough for them. A small girl patted her stomach and said “la la la” to get my attention. A mother was with a baby, whom she outstretched its tiny hand to me. “For the baby”, she said. I had given her 100 and said, “but I gave you some rupees”. She continued. I’m always at odds at how to deal with beggars, especially these people whose situations are much more dire than what I’ve seen. I was giving, but it was so little.

We left the village of Sravana Beloga with vendors and beggars still practically attached to our car. Rhagu was slightly annoyed at how long we had spent watching the statue. He expected us a half hour ago, though we didn’t agree on a time. Chill out, homes.

And with that I end this blog entry until next time when I write on our travels, that same weekend believe it or not, to Halebid and Belur as well as our adventures on the Eagleton Golf Course.

Until then, ciao my friends…

Ready for an Indian weekend

I am just finishing up on my first week of work here at IBM India and am ready for an action packed weekend. The time has flown by, actually, even though I've spend most of it in either IBM's walls or the Royal Orchid's.

Food seems to be the main topic of my India blogs, so I'll continue. I had some good stuff at the Indian food court today, this time going for something called chicken jhakta paratha. The best way to describe it is by comparing it to a chicken quesadilla, without the cheese. It came with two dipping sauces, one lentil based and one yogurt based. Along with the naan and the water I bought, it came out to about 72 rupees (~1.75), which is the most that I've spent on a lunch thus far. Again though, my favorite pet peeve to complain about came up again. I gave the cashier a 100 rupee bill and he gave me back 3 10's, then asked me for 2 rupees back. Of course, I've yet to see what 1 rupee looks like, much less 2, so I just shrugged my shoulders again and said, "I don't have anything under 10" (Why don't you just give me 2 10's and 8 rupees?) Then I got the ol' "You can pay me 2 rupees next time" routine. I think by the time I leave here, I'll owe every vendor in this place, 2-3 rupees each. I swear, 1 rupee coins are like gold around here.
Anyway, the food was very good actually, though it seems like I always run out of naan to soak up all of the sauces. I notice that Indians are quite adept at eating with their hands and have no conscience in diving into what is usually a very soupy meal. I'm not quite there yet.

Along with my rupee peeve, another unexplained phenomena that I've encountered here is in the bathrooms of IBM. The urinals are very similar to what I've seen in the states, but instead of stalls, they have what I would call closets with toilets inside. Perhaps Indians enjoy their privacy. What has been a mystery up to this point, however, is that in each of these closets, along with the toilet, is a 5 gallon bucket, a 1 pint pitcher and a hose connected to the side wall. Some times the buckets are slightly filled with water. The first thing that came to mind is a make-shift bidet, but these hoses spray quite a bit of water, which would give the user quite a shower. Mike sheepishly shook his shoulders when I asked him and like me, he's been embarrassed to ask any of the Indians. Do they use these items to clean the toilet? What's the pitcher for? As of now, these questions are unanswered.

So that's all I got: Chicken, rupees and make-shift bidets. I'm heading out for the weekend, where I'm hoping for some fun and new adventures...will come back Monday with mucho text and photos.

Until then, ciao my friends...

India Continued - Work, Eat and Sleep

Barking dogs have been waking me up at 4 AM the past two mornings. They're serving as my pre-wake up call. I'm not sure if this is when they usually wake up and are telling the world that they are alive and well or what. I think my internal clock is allowing them to wake me though, because I'm still feeling fairly wide awake at that time.

Breakfast has been my favorite meal time thus far because it's buffet-style and has a lot of foods that I'm used to. The Indian food that I have tried hasn't been bad, but I'm sure I haven't tried the best yet. We've paid a visit back to the local food court again and had some naan with a couple of sauces, one lentil-based and one cheesey-tomato based. It was good, but I found myself feeling pretty hungry afterwards.

Today we tried the IBM cafeteria, which, believe it or not, is much worse than the IBM Silicon Valley Lab cafe. It almost looks like a bazaar of some sort, with carts spread out on cracked concrete and aluminum dining tables placed haphazardly all around. Ordering proved to be quite interesting. Mike and I picked a cart that didn't seem as crowded and we waited there while, watching two gentlemen prepare some wraps. They were frying tortilla-looking things and laying down various ingredients. The only one I could recognize was onion. The sign had two little menus, one veggie and one non-veggie (chicken) with prices ranging between 20 and 30 rupees (~50-75 cents) . Mike and I waited their patiently while they prepared food for a grouping of 5-6 people. Soon a few more people showed up and handed money to one of the vendors. Mike finally stepped in and said, "Can I get one with chicken" After a while of acting as if we weren't there, the vendor looked up and said, "non-veggie is on the other side". So we walked a couple feet to the other vendor, who gave us the same routine, barely acknowledging us. One guy came around and tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Two veggie". I guess we need to be a little more aggressive in this country. Mike poked his head in and repeated, "Can I get one with chicken". Again, this ridiculous hestation happened and the dude said, "We don't serve chicken" Hello? Mike tried another option, which seemed to be available, but the vendor tried to get him to try something else. "We have paneer", he said. Paneer it is. He started cooking Mike's, while I waited a little more.

I had had enough of that cart though and walked over to counter where I saw bags of potato chips. Ahh, good ol' wholesome American junk food. Now you're talking. At the counter I saw a menu for three wraps, "Veggie", "Paneer" and "Chicken". Let me try chicken again. "We don't serve chicken", he said. Hmmmm. "Ok, let me have a paneer". Whatever that is (I think it's a fried cottage cheese). "We have veggie and paneer". Yes, I can see that. "I'll go with paneer". "Paneer?"..."Yes". Finally, my order was placed and I did receive it, a little wrap with some paneer in it. I splashed some red sauce on the plate that everyone seemed to be using and gave it try. Not too bad, actually. The red sauce, whatever that was, was somewhat sweet like ketchup and surprisingly not spicy. I added a bag of potato chips to my order and it came out to a grand total of 33 rupees (~75 cents). The chips seemed less greasy than American chips, but they went down pretty well.

Probably the most interesting and exciting part of my days so far has been the ride to and from work. Granted I haven't done a whole lot outside of work thus far, but I can't get over the cast of character that we pass by and almost run over during the mile-or-so journey that we take both ways each day. Last night we drove by this sidewalk where there was a guy standing beside some fixture that was on fire that we thought may have been burning effigy. People walked by semi-curiously, trying to avoid the flames. Some of the buildings that we drive by are barely more than shells of their former selves and peeking inside of one as we drove by, I actually saw what looked to be a family sitting on a rotted couch, looking towards something. Was it a TV? I wouldn't have believed that electricity could still be flowing there, but who knows. Regardless, the poverty I'm seeing is a thousand fold of what I see at home in the homeless that I encounter on the streets of Palo Alto at times. The conditions that these people seem to be living in is shocking.

Meanwhile, I carry on within the safe and friendly confines of IBM. I'm impressed with how friendly people have been and the sense of humor that they display. I think the resounding quality that I'm witnessing, is patience. There seems to be a zen-like calm within the corperate walls.

The only thing I have found bothersome is a few security nits. You need to a badge to get into any closed off area and despite getting access to my building the first day, this doesn't mean I can go everywhere that says IBM. Three times now I've had to ask for clearance to enter another area where I've had to go for meetings and presenations. The other weird thing is that some doors that require a badge cannot be left open for more than 5-10 seconds before a siren goes off. The cubicle room that I go to can barely get more than 3-4 people in or out before that happens. So sometimes, that zen-like calm is disturbed. :-)

The last few mornings I've been hitting the treadmill, which has left me absolutely drenched in sweat due to the heat and humidity in their workout area. They have these high-end machines with live TV's on the console, which has been great because I can watch the news every day. I've been watch the BBC, some sort of world news, which has been interesting to me. I'm generally not a news watcher, but it's been fun to follow some of the stories, such as labor protests coming from the youth in Paris and people protesting the election of the prime minister of Belarus. They also bring up our wonderful president George Bush, speaking about the fact that he's denying that civil war is occuring in Iraq. Sure, W. So it's been a good way to start my morning, a good run and some news.

So that's about all for now...Nothing too exciting to report because a good portion of my time is spent at IBM, at the hotel and in cabs, fearing for my life as I take in this show called "Bangalore". More text and pictures (I hope) should come as I get to the weekend.

Until then...ciao my friends.

tidbits -

It's been difficult to buy things from smaller vendors (e.g. coffee counters, food carts) due to the odd demoniations that they use and due to the fact that ATM's only tend to give out 100 rupee bills (~ $2.50). Even 50 rupee bills seem to big for some people. For instance, on Wednesday when I bought my paneer wrap and chips, the cost was 33 rupees. I figured I could just give him a 50, but then he gave me two 10's back and asked me for 3 rupees (ahh, I just have a couple 50's and all 100's, dude). He ended up saying, "You can pay me 3 rupees another time" Thursday, getting a "chicken kabob roll" from a coffee/sandwich counter in the food court, that was a wopping 15 rupees (~35 cents), they told me they wanted something smaller after I took out the 50. They weren't even that pleased when I gave in and showed them two 10's, but comprised as well and gave me a 5 rupee coin. PEOPLE OF INDIA: How am I supposed to get smaller denominations when you won't let me use my bigger bills? I think I'd better find a way of getting smaller bills or I'm going to be out of the market quickly.

Welcome To India

And so it began...

I was traveling to India, a place of intrigue and mystery to me, a place which brings up images of extreme poverty, yet enormous tech boom. As I waited in the United Airlines check in line, I wondered what India I would see more of and how I would react. I wondered I how I would be received, as yet another American looking to exploit the cheap labor, or as another faciliator to their growth as a country. Would they be able to understand me, and I them? Sure I had worked with people of Indian descent in the past, but these were people who had been fairly Americanized. How would they compare to the people that I would encounter?

The trip itself was fairly uneventful, given that it was 21 hours long with a stop in Frankfurt. A younger Israeli man was sitting next to me on the way to Germany and warned me that Indians are essentially "liars" in nature. He also told me that German girls are easy and that though Israeli woman are conisdered to be some of the most beautiful in the world, this was probably an invention of their own making. Thank you for the global advice.

Coming through the Frankfurt airport, I noticed an ad saying "Die Andere IBM" (The other IBM), basically advertising our business consulting division. I guess IBM is everywhere. Like the Heathrow airport that I had been through before, Frankfurt's aiport was partly like some bizarre mall, selling hard liquor and expensive jewelry. One difference I noticed, is it had an area devoted to slot machines. So maybe it was more like Vegas. Adding to its uniqueness, was the part of getting to my gate. Unlike what I'm used to, they were checking people's tickets before letting them into the seating area for the gate. What was strange is that the guy barely looked at my ticket before letting me through and when they called us to board, nobody was even checking tickets or doing the whole "people seated in rows x through y may come aboard" thing. We just all got in this huge line and walked onto the plane. Yeah, that's secure. I guess maybe they run people through the ringer before getting to that point, but I felt as if I could have gone to India as long as I had a ticket to somewhere.

Regardless of how I or anybody got on, I was impressed with the Lufthansa plane. They had plenty of leg room in economy class and I lucked out by having nobody sitting next to me. Not that I was feeling entirely anti-social, but it's nice to be able to stretch out in all directions, especially when you've been sitting on a plane for 21 hours and grogginess was beginning to settle in. I dozed for part of the flight and watched an Indian movie called "Deewane Huye Pagaal". It was a complete ripoff of "There's Somthing About Mary", which was probably the intent, but it was entertaining due to its over-the-top nature. There were these outrageously elaborate dance scenes that were amusing to watch and everyone seemed so melodramatic. I couldn't get over how high everyone's voice was though, even from the men. It seemed somewhat unmasculine to me.

We descended, which gave me a nervous and excited feeling as Bangalore came into view. Rather than the continuous speckle of lights that would expect from big cities, there were large patches of light and dark. I noticed some areas with colorful, bright and blinking lights coming off of buildings. They reminded me of the outside of strip clubs and casinos, two types of business I wouldn't associate with India for some reason, but who knows what they had going on there. I also noticed a house or building that seemed to be completely covered with what looked like christmas lights. I felt like I would be seeing a lot of things that may be left unexplainable, if not a little strange.

Coming off the plane and into the airport, it seemed as though I was venturing through a place that was under construction. The carpeted and clean sterility that I have grown to expect from airports, was replaced by dirty tiled pathways through a wooden, rusted and smeared glass infrastructure with mosquitoes buzzing all around me. The thought “Third World” came to mind as I followed a long queue of people just wanting to get their bags and be gone.

There was one rickety baggage claim belt that had suitcases scattered all over the floor around it. I scanned the area for my black suitcase, hoping I would come up a winner. People prodded and pushed their way through the maze of luggage and that led to immigration and customs, while I kept my eye on the belt which seemed like it could start smoking at any moment. Not too long in waiting, it appeared and I felt relieved and somewhat lucky that my suitcase and I had reunited, in India of all places.

Next on the agenda was getting through the bureaucracy as I entered the long line of travelers wishing to pass through immigration. There were roughly nine to ten desks of people, all men, taking people’s passports, visas and other paper work and giving them their stamp of approval. I received that same stamp after little ado, thank you very much. Welcome to India.

I felt a little nervous passing through the exit, having been insulated by air travel for the past 22 hours. No longer could I count on signs and itineraries to keep me occupied and on task. I felt as if I’d be on my own now. That changed very quickly; however, as I was approached by suited man who asked me what hotel I was staying at. “The Royal Orchid?” I replied and he brought me to another man who had a list with my name on it. Hooray! “Welcome to Bangalore sir, let me take you to your driver”. Another man took my suitcase (much division of labor here) and we went outside and down a ramp that was flanked by two rails that were absolutely ringing with people. I would have to estimate that there were between 150 and 200 people there with signs displaying mostly names of people and some with names of hotels. I felt like I was at a political rally.

The gentleman took me to the side of a road, where a car eventually pulled up and they loaded my luggage. The man from the hotel gave me his card and advised me not to use the taxis because they can easily try to charge up to 60 dollars for a ride that will some times be the wrong place. I’ll stick with the hotel rides.

Entering the car, I noticed that the steering wheel was in the wrong place. Oh yeah, they drive on the left side. The driver settled himself in on bead-covered seat and we were rolling. He honked as he passed a truck from the right-hand side. There were no marked lanes to speak of. A few people were still out roaming the street at this small hour of the night, seemingly unaffected by any oncoming traffic. My driver just weaved passed them, unaffected himself. Several stray dogs were scattered on the street as well. Battered houses and buildings passed by, with an occasional high-tech-looking building. I’d say of the area I’ve seen so far, there are about 8-10 beat-up-looking buildings to ones that seem well kept and modern.

A bell hop took his turn with my suitcase as I checked in at the Royal Orchid. Even though it was a little after 1 AM, I still felt relatively awake, though a bit travel weary. We made our way up to my room on the third floor, which turned out to be rather nice with a hard wood floor and a comfy bed, which is all I really needed. It wasn’t too long before I was settled and battling my California-ized internal clock, which was telling me it was lunch time. Time for a run and some food, not sleep!

The morning came fairly abruptly. I wasn’t sure about how much sleep I had gotten. The anticipation of seeing this country in the daylight kepts some of the sleep away I'm sure. It reminded me a bit of my first trip to California, which I had come in at 1 AM as well and had awoken to a landscape that had been hidden by the night and was now exposed and wonderfully and unexpectedly different than I had imagined. The view out of my window exposed a scene where people, some barely dressed, were working among the ruins of a damaged city. It almost appeared as if I was witnessing a war zone undergoing the beginnings of reconstruction.

My first breakfast at the hotel was fairly westernized, seeing items like corn flakes, scrambled eggs, toast and pastries. There were some interesting items like lamb croquette (kind of a fried potato pocket type of thing), which I gave a try (and enjoyed) and other Indian-looking dishes that I wasn’t quite ready to venture a try yet for breakfast. I’d have plenty of opportunity to test my taste buds and stomach. It wasn’t too long before my old buddy and co-worker Mike MacDonald appeared at the cafe door. I hadn’t seen him in a few years since he returned to IBM Toronto. It was nice to see a familiar face.

We enjoyed some breakfast together and soon afterward jumped into the car of someone that had become his “personal driver”. Apparently he was affiliated with the hotel and had given Mike his cell phone. He was at his beckoning call.

The ride to IBM consisted of some maneuvering through pot-holed streets and construction along with wandering people, bicycles, scooters and cows (yes, cows). We eventually came to an intersection which seemed impossible to negotiate, given the sheer amount of traffic that was coming from both directions. A car in front of us was patiently waiting, which is probably what I would be doing, but our driver would have none of it. “He should be able to go”, he said. Really? A few honks later, sure enough, he merged onto the ongoing chaos and we followed. Like most lines in India, it’s just a matter of putting your nose in there. Don’t mind the fact that you may get killed.

The IBM site itself consists of three four-story buildings that look like palaces compared to the rubble that surrounds them. Microsoft is here too. In fact, we both share a building. What the world needs now is love, sweet love…oh, never mind. I checked myself in at security, where they took my badge, ran it through a scanner a few times and said I was good to go. Mike was jealous that I could now use my IBM badge to get into the building, whereas he was using some green temporary thing. I’m global, my man.

I was led up to the fourth floor through a maze of cubicles to a room with the sign “Software Lab of India” on one of the windows out front. Inside I’d find my work home for the next few weeks, a quiet cubicle among many. As I walked to this room and to my cubicle, I noticed quite a few heads turn. Perhaps it is due to my overly handsome looks, which could very well be the case. But it was proably due to my newfound minority status among this Indian culture.

My first day flew by fairly quickly, working from about 9:30 A.M. to 8:00 P.M. I had my first Indian lunch at around 1 PM, taking a walk with some co-workers to the food court that stood among the building blocks. While standing in line at one of the main counters, some of the Indian folks I was with advised that I try the “Cheese Uttappam”, so paid for this and a liter of bottled of water. The price: 50 rupees, which is barely over a dollar. Again, waiting in line for my food (they give you a number once you’ve paid) proved to be an exercise in jostling and nudging ability. People don’t seem to mind being bumped and likewise, bumping you. You’d think that with a system where they call your number that you would just hang back and wait, but it doesn’t quite work that way. I noticed some people getting their food despite not hearing their number called, others, like me gave them their slip and were told that it would be ready any minute.

Eventually, I did receive my cheese uttappam, which turned out to be a piece of what looked like pita bread, smothered with a light-colored cheese. It was served on a steel tray that looked like it could have been used back in the 1930’s and had indentions that contained some dipping sauces for the uthappam. One was a red, tomato-based (I think) sauce and the other was a creamy, spicy green coconut sauce. I noticed the Indians that were with us would eat with their hands and use the lone piece of silverware, a large metal spoon, to ladle the sauces on the bread. I gave Mike a hard time for eating with his left hand, which I read is not what people are supposed to do. The right hand is meant for eating and the left is meant for the toilet. Being left-handed myself, I couldn’t eat for very long without being clumsy, so I switched back at the expense of being a hypocrite.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful as I tried to stay awake in my office chair. That was a challenge. By 8 PM, I surrendered and called the hotel for a ride back. Mike’s driver showed up, and suddenly he was my driver too. He told me to plan a trip on the weekend to a place I can’t remember the name of, but remember he said it would be a 5 hour drive. I nodded, but was thinking, “I just spent 21 hours sitting on a plane. I think I’ll stick with Bangalore for a while.”

I tried staying up a little longer to adjust further to the Indian time zone, but it was no use. I thought I’d just lie down on the bed for a few minutes, maybe get something to eat, but a few hours later, I awoke to the week hours of the night. I was done.

So that’s my intro to India…Nothing entirely exciting, but somewhat interesting I hope…Will have more to say as I experience…

A couple more tidbits:

People's cell phones go off at work all of the time with all different kinds of ring tones and they carry on with these pretty public conversations. The funny thing is that nobody's bothered.

I'm finding that I need to remind myself to stay to the left when walking around and especially up or down stairs. I've gotten some wayward glances along with polite smiles as I've tried to stay right. "Silly American".

Movie Review - Munich

Eric Bana delivers a wonderful performance as Avner, a man who is assigned the task of leading a team of four men set to avenge the eleven Israeli athletes that were executed by a Palestinian terrorist group known as "Black September". Arguably the most revealing line in the film comes from the father of a man whom Bana employs to help hunt down the parties responsible for the massacre. This father asks Bana, a talented cook, to help him with the family dinner and requests to see his hands. He remarks that Bana's hands, like his own, are too thick to be a cook's and that they both "posess butcher's hands, but gentle souls". This line describes the dichotomy of the two men, who share an aptitude for violent means, but also a love of family as well as a fancy for culinary arts. This line can also be used to describe most of the central characters of the film whose alter egos to their cold-blooded killers, would seem barely capable of harming a fly.

Spielberg brushes each of the characters with broad strokes of personality, exposing the audience and eventually Bana to the human qualities of these men that performed inhuman acts during the dark time of the '72 Olympics. Bana is driven by the haunting images of these executions that play out in his mind in operatic fashion, but the calculating style that he employs to complete his missions eventually gives way to hesitation as he connects personally to his assigned targets. These men are not monsters, but perhaps "gentle souls" like him, resigned to the simpler elements of their lives despite the horrific acts they have committed.

The story is yet another chapter of the unending cycle of bloodshed between the two peoples, as the hunters become the hunted, all inspired by an "eye for an eye" philosophy and quixotic dream of completing a genocidal game plan. Bana's character becomes deeply infected with paranoia as he realizes that his "righteous" actions are not without consequence to his own life, but rather induct him into a targeted fraternity that consists of the men he has disposed of. He is forced to live out his life on borrowed time, no longer able to afford the comforts of a night's sleep and conscience-free engagement with his family. Adding to this inner turmoil is the realization that he has been duped, being brought on as a blind-folded player in a strategic game played by the Mossad who has employed him, rather than being assigned a quest to bring justice to the evil doers that were responsible in Munich. As the story progresses, it is only the loyalty that he feels for his small team that drives him as he begins to see less relation between his manufactured memories of the '72 Olympics debacle and the targets he has set out to destroy.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. It had a great mix of suspense and drama and I felt connected to the characters. Led by a rising star in Eric Bana, I felt they carried themselves with a sense of nobility and purpose, but often questioned the things they had to do. Some of the smaller elements of the film that caught my attention were the gigantic feasts that Bana prepared for the others. When asked why he was made the leader, one of the men replied, "because he makes the best brisket". I enjoyed the scene where he is taken out to see the employer and father (mentioned in the first paragraph) of Luis, a resourceful French character that is able to track down the whereabouts of the men that Bana is looking for. This father immediately loves Bana as he can see similarities to himself and ideals that he once possessed and wished he still had. Finally, I tend to enjoy films that are shot in a lot of locations, especially in Europe as this one was. There was something very appealing about the international scavenger hunt that Bana and his men were on, though I could not imagine doing the things that they had to do.

Moving in the right direction

On Sunday, December 4th, I ran the Cal Internation Marathon, making it my 3rd time for the race itself and my 16th overall. I wish I could say that it was my sweet 16th, but that would have meant running a sub 3:11 or at the very least getting a P.R. But I won't go down that path. My time was a few minutes faster than the one I posted in New York (3:35 vs 3:38), so I feel that I am moving in the right direction.

Enough about time though, let me talk about the race itself. We (my running buddy Chris and I) awoke bright and early, ("bright and early" seemingly always linked to races) gathered our running stuff and jumped on the shuttle which we could practically see from our motel room window. I had slept pretty well that night, feeling fresh enough to try another marathon. The air was you-can-see-your-breath cold and I was thankful that I decided to use the sweats bag for once, which allowed me to bring some additional layers to the start.

The bus was filled with bundled up runners, some looking blankly ahead while others were chatting away. I sat next to someone who fell into the former category, while the two women behind us fell into the latter. I overheard them talking about the pace they were going to run and even talked about future races. "After all of this training, it would be a shame not to use it." one of them said. Good point.

We rolled into the starting area in Folsom, where it was still dark outside. One of the coordinators had entered the bus and told us that we were welcome to stay on to keep warm, which is not quite what I wanted to hear. Still I ventured outside of the bus, not wanting to just sit and stiffen up, though I could argue that the cold can have a similar effect on leg muscles.

A large group of runners had found a temporary home inside a nearby gas station where they could both stay warm and stand and stretch before the race. We followed suit. Before entering the gas station we witnessed a runner tripping on a concrete divider that stood a little higher than a curb and was about as wide as one. He went down like a ton of bricks and was down for several seconds. He wasn't responding to questions of "Are you ok?", but finally did get up with some friends overlooking him. He was holding his shoulder and grimacing in pain. What a way to begin a race.

As we lined up at the start I moved my way towards the pace groups, seeing the "3:10" sign first, one which I would have loved to have hung with, but knew my legs would have something to say about that. I ended up looking back and forth between the "3:20" and "3:30" signs, wishing "3:25" were there to split the difference. For once before a race I decided to use logic. I had crashed badly in New York trying to run a 3:20 pace. Adding the Quad Dipsea race the week before, I was foolish if I thought that I could run that pace. I had to settle for 3:30, which would end up being a challenge for me to stick with anyway.

At about a minute after 7 AM, we were off. Several "pings" were sounding as runner's chips crossed the red mats which captured their true start times. My right achilles tendon feeling tight was the first that that I noticed as I transferred into "marathon mode" a time when you just need to zone out and start piling on the miles. Perhaps the tightness was a lingering effect of the Quad Dipsea, which I had run the weekend before. It would eventually go away, but still caused some concern.

It's a treat to run at sunrise, when the air is frosty and your body is starting to generate some heat from your pumping legs and palpatating heart. I always love the start of a race, when the adrenaline is still thick and body still fresh. You can feel the energy of the stampeding herd which is probably enjoying those same feelings.

After trailing a bouncing 3:30 sign for a few miles, I got a little ambitious and decided to run 10-15 seconds ahead of it, to see how that felt. The mile markers came by me at times of 7:50ish, which was about what I wanted to hit. The course was flanked by the fading fall colors as we passed through folsom and fair oaks. Having run this course twice at racing speed, I decided to look around a bit and enjoy what I was running through. It wasn't as if I was on a stroll through the park, I was still pushing as best as my legs would take on a marathon, but the pace didn't feel so break neck.

As I twisted through town on Fair Oaks avenue, I noticed the little town dentist off to the right of the course. There was a time that I was dating a fellow runner that lived just down the road from that dentistry and even worked there when she wasn't taking the prereq's for dental school. Two years ago she had met me just outside of her apartment and paced me for a mile as I was trying to take a crack at Boston. My ego swelled when she said that she could no longer keep up with me after a mile's worth of running. I felt like superman and it kept me going.

I returned to the present, marching forward through miles 11 and 12, trying to find a port-a-potty to stop at. Surprisingly, every one I passed was occupied until I hit mile 12 and was able to stop for a break after I saw a guy leap out of one. When I re-entered the race, the 3:30 group was a few seconds ahead of me and I decided to hang out with them for a while as we passed the half way point at around 1:44:50.

I thought I could feed off of the energy of the group, somehow using their motivation to fuel my own. It seemed that there was a lot of spirit among them as they chatted with the lead pacer as he trotted on with the sign. I found after about a mile or two that I preferred my own space though and dropped off a few seconds behind, still keeping the pace sign in view.

My my mind was wondering all over the place, which is typically a sign of a tough day. I feel that my best races are ones I do with a focused mind, thinking of mile splits and eating and a sense of how I'm feeling. Everything else is zoned out. For the Cal International there were points in the race where I almost forgot that I was racing, then I'd come back to earth and realize that I had a bunch of miles to run. Doh!

As I ran into the 20's, my focus returned while my legs tired and slowed down. My mantra for many of the remaining miles was "Break 9, Break 9", which meant trying to get under 9 minute miles in my splits. In New York, miles 24 and 25 had me coming in at 10 minute miles, which feels like a snail's pace when I'm fresh, but grueling when my body has been trashed. My goal before entering this marathon was to not end that way, to be able to keep some decent pace at the end. I was able to do that for the most part, hitting 8:40's on miles 22 and 23, then 8:50's on miles 24 and 25. Then I finished very strong.

As I rounded the final turn on mile 26, which I had done in a little under 8, which I was happy with, this older dude clipped me on my right elbow, cutting in front of me from behind. For a few seconds I was really irritated, but then got my revenge by turning on the jets. I was planning on coming in nice and easy, but this guy lit a fire under me and I can't describe how satisfying it felt to blow by him. It was almost as if I was taking all of the little annoyances I felt during the race out on that final stretch. I was almost tempted to turn around and yell out, "Ha!!!" But now in my 30's, I'm a little more mature than that. :-)

After getting my medal draped around my neck, which always feels like I'm being decorated after coming back from some war, and the chip on my shoe clipped off, I took a b-line to the food, then to the sweat bags to pick up my stuff. All I could think about was a hot shower back at the hotel. Unfortuantely, after I grabbed my stuff, I started moving in the wrong direction, noticing the letters on the street signs were going up when I needed down. Thank goodness I noticed right away.

After getting my bearings, I decided to cut through Capital park, a grassy stretch of memorials, gardens and benches, (which I was tempted to sit down on, but knew I'd have a hell of a time getting back up). What caught my eye was a pretty rose garden. In front of each rose bush was a posting of a poem by an elementary school student, describing their thoughts on the subject of "peace". I don't remember what they said, but I was impressed with what these youngsters had written. I think one said, "If everyone loved other countries as much as their own, the world would be at peace" As I walked through, I wondered what Bush would think if he read these (that is if he can actually read). Would he be touched at all by what these kids had said? Is he affected at all by our country's opposition of the war? I just wonder what goes on in his head at night. What about Schwarznagger? Has he had a chance to read these poems? If not, what a shame.

I found some peace walking through this garden. It was a nice way to detach from the marathon and wind down especially since there was hardly anybody walking around there. I like to break away from the crowd and detox.

Walking back to my hotel, passing several people along the way that seemed to have no association with the marathon, I felt as if I was coming back from a halloween party and still had my costume on, all decked out in running gear, a silver cape and a medal. I felt like some super hero who had crash-landed and was headed back to the bat cave in broad daylight.

I hit the shower hard in my hotel room, standing there for several minutes, hoping that Chris would not return soon and find himself waiting there for my deliberate self. As I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed the room was still empty, waiting for his return. I was hoping he was not lying down in some first aid tent receiving an IV or something along those lines.

I stepped out of the room and leaned out onto the railing that overlooked the street and there he was, moving slowly, but moving back towards the hotel. When he saw me and drew nearer, he flashed two hands at me, showing all 10 fingers. 3:10!!! He had met his goal of hitting that Boston-qualifying time. What a thrill. Mission accomplished.

On the way home we spotted a sign for an IHOP, which seems like an almost perfect post-marathon place. Pancakes were going to hit the spot, big time. We whipped through our meals faster than he was running that day. Chris's plates looked as though they had been run through the dish washer practically without a spot of food on them.

And that was my Cal International Marathon 2005. It was not exactly the speed that I would normally hope for, but I'm moving in the right direction.