Ambulances

We've been puzzled for awhile about ambulances.  When we first came to India, nary an ambulance was in sight let alone sirens.  Then about 10 months ago the government began to populate the city with ambulances, and there were sirens aplenty.  The ambulances were from a family of vehicles known as a Tempo Traveller - about as big as ambulances in the USA.  However, recently we have been seeing little ambulances scurrying about.  Digression: a bunch of years ago, Dodge marketed a little van called an Omni; these ambulances were from the Asian lineage of the Dodge Omni.  EndDigression.

Well today the confusion was cleared up, it was not an ambulance we were seeing, but rather an ambulette.  Now, I'm not entirely positive that it was named for its size - it could be a gender thing, but it certainly was a petite ambul.

I would've thought this was obvious!

I saw this sign the other day and spent about three minutes thinking, "DUH, does this REALLY require a traffic law?". About that time, a bus turned from the outer lane right in front of us, doing just what the sign said not to do. We almost caught it broadside. Perhaps the law IS needed. FYI: The sign indicates the fine is 100 Rupees (a little more the $2 U.S.)

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Because if you're hanging upside down by your feet, alive, on the back of a motor- cycle, you don't really have a choice.

The Garden City

Singapore is what I imagine Bangalore aspires to be when it calls itself the Garden City. I feel sad for Bangalore and it's penchant for self destructive behavior. It is a city that has grown unchecked during the past decade with seemingly little regard for the future. Magnificent trees are mown down with apparent incomprehension of the treasures being destroyed haphazardly. The city has boundless potential but only if nurtured.

I look around and wonder whether anyone is thinking of their children and the city they will inherit. Will it simply be a concrete jungle? Or will someone stand for the trees and give them a chance to enhance the lives of the next generation with their green grandeur? Do people not realize it takes generations to grow those stately giants? It is so unfortunate to see the beauty of Bangalore lost to greed and lack of foresight. -Allison

Larrie ready to "Move It, Move It, Move It" at Universal Studios, Singapore

Jessi has resumed her equestrian studies

Larrie's Sunday bike ride east of Bangalore, India

Breakfast Biking in Bharat - redux

Those of you who remember One Daddy Stuck in the Paddy will be interested in the re-creation of that same ride 16 months later.  The official report went something like this:

All righty then, when we first did this ride in April 2009, Christopher labeled it as epic, and today that label still seems appropriate.  Six of us went on a six hour thirty minute ride / trudge covering 47 km (Palm Meadows gate to gate), which included three punctures, two broken chains, everyone was out of water, one rider ran into an auto outside Whitefield mall, and the most important fact was that I did not fall into a rice paddy this time proving that old dogs can learn new tricks.  The intrepid six were myself, Arun, Siva, Alan, Vallari, and Niraj.  And, lest I forget, we had originally planned to do this ride as Alex's last ride on July 12, but it was too wet that day.  Since Alex is now back home in MSP, we can only say "this one was for you, dude".

It started out as a wonderful day for a ride, and we were all enjoying a glorious morning replete with a Kingfisher (the bird, not the beer), blooming lotus pads in a couple of ponds, when at ET (elapsed time into the ride) 1:19  our first disaster struck.  Slogging through some thick forest trying to find a trail, Arun's chain broke.  Luckily, I had a chain tool on my handy dandy, but never previously used, bike tool thingy, and even more luckily Siva had the knowledge to use the tool.  So, after 20 minutes of repair and despair Arun was two links short of a full chain, and we trudged forward.

At about ET 2:44, Siva reported a puncture.  Pretext: Siva announced early on he was riding without a spare tube, which just meant that the gods had him in their cross hairs awaiting the moment for a lesson in humility.  While repairs were made, I attempted to scout the path because another issue with the ride was that 16 months had passed since we originally made the GPS recording, and we found that the trail disappeared in several places for various reasons.  As I have noted many times, for all we think nothing changes in India, change happens constantly.  Several new fields have appeared, and the trail has been plowed and planted.  The sluice boxes in the sand pits are active, and none of the fun trails we rode a year ago exist today.  Anyway back to Siva's puncture.  Repaired with Alan's spare tube, Siva got 50 m before announcing another puncture; so back to the shade of the eucalyptus for another repair marathon - this time including some nifty, no glue required, patches Arun supplied. More on punctures later.

Then at ET 4:34 time took another bite out of Arun's chain in the middle of a rugged sand pit.  Now handy with the repair tool, Siva had Arun up and running quickly, but Arun was now four links short of a full chain.  I attempted to explain to Arun that it was not time for a new chain, but rather, a new bike.  I think he is opting for a new chain.

This was a complex ride track.  It crossed over itself several times, and I had broken the GPS track into two pieces just so I didn't get the group overly lost trying to follow the looping characteristics of the track.  Even so, we had many false starts, only to turn around and find the proper trail.  Another interesting attribute about this ride was that while we have encountered trail obliteration due to farming and such, we have not yet encountered trail atrophy.  Several of the trails were over grown and unused, which made them hard to find and follow.

I have used the term "trudged" several times in this report, and that is with purpose.  The original trail had been obliterated in several places due to farming activities, and to navigate these changes in attempt to preserve the crop, we trudged along the edge of the field. [Note: The soils are predominately sand / clay mix, and when recently tilled, you ride through about four inches of loose sand, which is a really hard slog; so, we trudged.]  Also, the sand pits have changed, and in a few places, trudging seemed the appropriate (safe) thing to do.  And, I almost forgot, in several places the forests were being harvested, and the debris of harvest required yet more trudging. However, even with all the false starts, the trudging, the on the road repairs, we did complete the ride pretty much as planned.  

On the sights inventory, we passed two old wells - both dry, and the kingfisher, and the tree full of bats.  It was a little hard to remember the particulars on epic journeys.  Siva started the ride worried about weather, but by 9am old Sol beat down upon us, and the water drained quickly from our bags and bottles.  Vallari was hoping to be home by 10am as she had luncheon guests arriving at noon, and she had a function happening in her home at 5pm; however, as the hours ticked away, and 10am came and went, and we were only half way through the ride, well, needless to say, Vallari had to draw on deep philosophical experiences to maintain presence of mind.  Late in the ride, we cut a couple of loops out hoping to save time and get Vallari home to her responsibilities.

While Vallari was searching for the philosophical teaching for the events of the day we happened upon a couple of farm people who where spraying a crop, seemingly with a insecticide.  Vallari commented that she did not need to know that the plentiful natural foods we enjoy here in India are laced with insecticides and other chemicals.  Alan quickly posited "you do realize that a tomato is just a bunch of chemicals in a skin, don't you", and a friendly debate ensued with both agreeing to disagree on the topic.

On the happy side of the early part of the ride, Siva sniffed out a tea stall, but on the darker and later part of the ride, he was only in search of drinkable h2o.  So, it's a mite hard to report on the visual sights when you are withering under the sun with punctures, shortened chains - well, you get the picture, eh?  And speaking pictures, Siva was testing his new iPhone 4 full HD video support, and he posted this video of the ride.  Thanks to Siva!

The ride came to an end as it started with all of us crossing the stone bridge carrying our bikes.  At the end of the ride the Sunday wash group was on the bridge, which required us to carry our bikes while stepping over piles of laundry being beat on the two foot wide granite bridge.  Traversing successfully, we headed down the familiar track to civilization.  However, the last event was to come.

Halfway back to Palm Meadows from the stone bridge, Niraj rides up to me to ask if his tire was going flat, which it was.  Using my tire pump, we pumped it up hoping he could get home before it was totally flat.  While I was stowing the pump, Niraj took off in order to get home.  I headed towards home as fast as my tired muscles would allow.  Upon reaching the Whitefield Main Road, I turned left into the midday Sunday traffic for the last sprint home.  As I was passing the Whitefield Mall I noticed Niraj up ahead, and thinking he needed more air, I stopped to assist.

It turned out that Niraj had clipped a auto rickshaw and scrapped off some paint, and he and the auto wallah were having a rather animated discussion regarding the missing paint.  I walked up, asked Niraj the circumstances, concluded it to be just an accident - no fault of anyone according to Indian road rules, and I told Niraj that we should get on our bikes and leave.  Well, the auto wallah thought different about that action, so I puffed up my chest, straightened my back, walked over to him and explained that the little bit of missing paint did not come anywhere near to the major scrapings and dents already present on the vehicle.  Giving a pretty good glare, I turned, got on my bike and rode off.  I suppose there is an auto wallah out there with my picture on his dash; oh, well.

I caught up to the group in front of Arun's complex where the coconut vendor is.  Vallari needed a coconut, and since my smallest money unit was a Rs. 100 note, we enjoyed two each - the vendor would not accept Rs. 100 for two coconuts.  I guess she had some high ethics to live up to.

And with that, we disbursed to our respective homes and activities.

The trip GPS of the ride is at MapMyRide for those who want to get a sense of the ride..

And the epilog to the official report:

A bit of news from Alan - Alan is retiring in November and returning to the UK.  2010 will also be his 60th, and he his hoping for a geeser ride sometime in Oct.  After hearing this, Alan and Arun exchanged ages, and as I am 58, it seemed to me that the geesers did the ride today having survived yet another epic journey into Bharat, and what started as Alex's last ride (in absentia), could possibly be labeled the geeser glide, but that would be a misnomer as today was not anything like a glide - it was a trudge.

Also, I need to amend the official record with the number of punctures.  I woke up Monday morning to a very flat rear tire, which I repaired while servicing my chain to avoid future linkage losses.  By afternoon, the tire was flat again, and repaired again.  I also fixed a couple of punctures in my "spare" tubes.  By evening, I was loosing air yet again; so, this morning I have patched the tube in the tire, and two others I thought I had patched on Monday.  So, Siva, I would say that you were lucky Arun and Alan were along on Sunday, just as Arun is lucky you and Alan were along.  At the moment, my puncture repair abilities are being challenged; perhaps, because I did not imbibe the tea!

"A Mother Died Wednesday" or "Hang Up and Drive": A true life story

Seeing the rake, the basket, and the thoroughly worn pair of sandals lying askew on the street corner was a poignant reminder of the tragedy that happened the day before.  A woman, a mother of three, was taking a little break from yard work when a distracted driver took the corner a bit too wide jumping the curb.  The car was going slow.  After all, this is a quiet, gated community with plenty of speed bumps.  What so many fail to realize though, is how briefly a distraction can take place and how slow a car can be moving and still kill somebody.

 

That young mother had multiple broken backbones and a cracked open skull.  She died less than 24 hours later.  Three children have lost their mother and undoubtedly the driver's family's life has been changed irrevocably too.  He is in jail.

 

Please, hang up and drive.  No telephone conversation can possibly be more important than somebody's life.  You think it won't happen.  But, it does; in an instant that can never be reclaimed.  This week it happened right across from my house on an average street, on an average day, in an average neighborhood.  It could have been you.

It'll Only Be 10 Minutes, Sir...

Friday, Aug 6, Allison was ill with a bad case of Bangalore Belly from something she ate on Thursday.   The good news was I had access to the car for the day, and after having been homeward bound for the week, decided to go looking for furniture while she slept.

We ran into some beautiful wood, called North Indian Rosewood, at a restaurant recently, and we thought it would be nice to take home a small square table and four chairs made from this wood.  So, a new quest was commissioned to find somewhere in South India, in Bengaluru to make, sell, import, whatever, a table and chairs.  The wood is also known as Seseme or Sheesham, and it is only available in North India.

So, Imtiaz and I set out in search of said table and chairs.  The plan was to visit some furniture dealers on Ring Road towards Manyata, and then to go towards Commercial Street to see if a vendor in the furniture district handled this wood.

As soon as Imtiaz heard we were going to Commercial Street, he indicated that he wanted to go to the beef market - "it'll only take 10 minutes, sir".  Ok, no problemo, not realizing what the beef market was, and having been there I'd be willing to bet that the majority of the ex-pats have never been there - with the exception to Tom Murphy who was everywhere.

Friday is the holy day for the Muslim community, and Commercial Street are has 4-5 mosques in close proximity, and this day was the last Friday before Ramadan begins, which makes it especially important.  Needless to say, finding a parking spot took a long time, and by the time we got parked at Russell Market, and hoofed the 100 meters over to the beef market, we were into "lunch hour" and everything was shut down.  So, we needed to kill 30 minutes.

The beef market is an old brick building with two entrances, which lead to rows of stalls on either side of the entry way.  The stalls are constructed of elevated granite platforms, and each has a large (24" diameter x 20" tall) log that is the "butcher block".  Not all stalls have vendors, and you really are thankful that the whole place is dimly lit so you cannot see what might be living in the abandoned stalls.  The vendors display their meat on a wooden platform facing the walkway, in the open air.  There is no refrigeration. This is not a clean place, and at least one stall had a very mangy looking cat sitting at the feet of the butcher.

Outside, the entrance to the market is protected by a corrugated cement roof overhang, which keeps out the rain, but I am at a loss as to why that would be an issue.  It could be that it's true purpose was to keep the 200 or so Pariah Kites from snatching the beef from the display areas.  And the overhang seemed to provide at least one sleeping cat a spot in the noontime sun.

Next to the beef market is the "pet market", and this is about as vile a place as the Western mind can imagine.  Kittens, puppies, pigeons, parakeets, rats, bunnies, you name it, they've got it, are all housed in wire cages pending sale.  I cannot imagine the health conditions for the cage inhabitants.  I suppose if they do not live through the experience, they become the evening meal for the kites who inhabit the roof tops waiting for the butchers to toss the leavings onto the ground in front of the beef market.

We took a walk through the vegetable market and then trough the textile market and looped back around to the beef market, which took about 30 minutes.  All the while each of the mosques loud speaker systems were blaring out the days sermon and pilgrims were scurrying about, and one middle aged lady in a Saree meditating with her back to the lamp post in the center of the circle, her eyes closed with her face and hands held high as if reaching to heaven, with the traffic swirling about her.   As we walked, two wheelers and three wheelers were all vying for space on pathways barely wide enough for foot traffic. It was a very busy place.

By the time we got back to the beef market, the doors were up, and business was underway.  Entering, Imtiaz was immediately accosted by two butchers claiming to have the freshest beef.  I still did not know what Imtiaz wanted beef for, so I stayed out of the interaction as I was pretty sure this beef would damage my fine tuned Western intestinal tract.  The butcher cut some meat, and had his assistant, probably his son, cut into smaller chunks.  Then the kid put it in a bag and disappeared.  He reappeared about 10 minutes later giving the bag to the butcher, who was now thinly slicing some other meat for Imtiaz.

It turned out that the kid took the meat to the grinder to mince it, which  I cannot even visualize that after witnessing the market - I do not want to know.  And it turned out that the plan Imtiaz had put in place that morning was to make a fresh batch of beef kabob for me as a gift.  Upon our return to the house many hours late, he set about mixing the ingredients he had acquired into beef kabob mix.

I tried to cook over a charcoal fire on kabob rods while Imtiaz went to Manyata to fetch another ex-pat and return them to home, but I could not get the rod hot enough to cook the inside of the kabob.  Upon his return, I explained this to Imtiaz, and the importance of cooking this mixture well to avoid E.coli, whereupon he set about frying little kabob patties in oil on the stove.  These were well cooked, and they were quite tasty.  I'm am now waiting to see if there are side effects.

So, if anyone wants some very fresh beef kabob mixings, c'mon over, I've got some, and like I said, it is very fresh batch.

It takes fresh laundry to get restful sleep!

Ti being "catatonic" on some newly laundered, but not yet put away, clothing

Anyone up for trying the Macho Man Beauty Salon?

I’m not sure about that business model…

Bamboo ladders: Eco friendly & apparently safe to lean again electric lines