Walking a straight line

The most important circle in Boudhanath – the one I walk clockwise as I do korwa – continuously separates worlds that couldn’t be more different.

The right-hand world evokes devotion, focus, surrender. The left-hand world offers a garland of merchants patiently arranged like vultures awaiting their chance to feed. And the path I walk carves a line between these worlds. 

Right and left, clean and dirty, Shiva and Shakti, Yang and Yin, masculine and feminine.

Maybe to do korwa is to constantly fall towards the right, while the leftward pull prevents a catastrophic plummet to the center (where you would surely be incinerated).

Perhaps on this path, the only straight line to be found is in the absolute present moment. 

Stateless

For the next two days, I’m stateless. Each waypoint on this journey has felt like living in a tiny, isolated town.

In San Francisco, for six hours, I was a temporary citizen of the Air France LoungeTown. My world narrowed to the chair I sat in, the counter I sat at, the window I stared out of, the water dispenser I drank from, the buffet I ate from, and the bathroom I washed up in. LoungeTown was a collection of transients, with its population growing and diminishing in waves, as citizens arrived and departed. All the characters you would expect to see in a town showed up at one time or another: the grumpy old man, the boisterous town drunk, the harried young mother, the unruly child, the kind-hearted server, the leering middle-aged man. Whenever a citizen who held a role departed, another one would eventually show up and assume the role just vacated.

The next town I moved to was KAL-Flight26 Town. This town does not like wanderers. It enforces this preference using an army of identically dressed, kind-but-firm women. They all wear implements in their hair that could be transformed into weapons against a citizen uprising. With this town, my world narrowed even further. I had my own little bed, customized with whatever I packed to make my little corner bearable for 12+ hours. I had kind neighbors – one woman in particular often smiled at me, and she did yoga after sleeping. Maybe she would be my new single-serving best friend, if I hadn’t been so tired. This town does not grow and diminish in waves – it is a steady-state town with a chaotic beginning and an abrupt ending, where everyone leaves together in an anxious rush.

Sometimes, the journey between towns is exciting and energizing. I don’t recall a lot about my transit to my current town. The memory is a haze of bureaucracy, stale smells, and fluorescent lights. Now I am in KAL-DarkLounge Town. When I arrived at 5 AM, the existing citizens had already demonstrated how this town rolls: all the lounge chairs were pulled together to create replicas of the bed I had in KAL-Flight26 Town. There was one more set of chairs left in the darkest corner, so I dutifully fashioned the expected configuration – added earplugs, my alpaca wrap, and my pillow – and was able to get a few more hours of sleep. This town is drowsy and resigned. Outside of this town is a humming lounge full of exhausted people and mediocre food. I think I’ll stay in this town for a few more hours and then go explore the airport.

In my experience, the more I have worked with my mind, the easier it has become to travel long hours. But a side effect of this work is a strange sense of disconnection, as I effortlessly become a citizen in the towns along the way. I feel as if it’s been weeks since I was home.

How I learned about the travel bubble

Just to be really clear: I adore Poland. It's beautiful. The people are also beautiful inside and out. Milan was not so fun for me. India, however, was awesome. What's the difference? I think it is all about constructing the proper "travel bubble."

In India, I had Lokesh who was at first my driver, but became my friend (find him in earlier posts). We went all sorts of places together, and he was kind to me and helpful. And, frankly, he protected me from the bad guys.

In Milan, there was nothing and no one standing between me and the grumpy Milanese. (Perhaps they were grumpy due to the rain?)

 In Poland, I was back with friendly people. (In fact, they were friendly IN SPITE OF the rain.) I met up with Paul the night I arrived and we had dinner. The next day, teaching at the PB office, I met Robert, Pawel, Magda, and Robert - and others. And they were so funny, and smart, and kind.

They became my "travel bubble." We laughed together, went to dinner, shared lunch, shared ideas. It was fun and safe, and made me want to return to Poland again. So, lesson learned for me?  Make sure I always create - or pack - a "travel bubble."

The fashion capital of the world

Saturday was marvelous. Yesterday was awesome. Everyone was mistaking me for Italian and starting every conversation in that lovely rattle-and-flow language of love. I was failing utterly to dredge up any Italian whatsoever (but I could read and understand it!).

And then? Today.

Today? Marvelous? Not so much. What changed, you ask? As far as I can tell, I made Three Little Mistakes.

Let’s start with the city’s advertised raison d'être:  Fashion. Milano is (at least in the Milanese hearts and minds) the fashion capital of the planet. Paris would likely argue this – and win – but never mind. Let’s just run with this one.

Mes amis have a way of regularly reminding me (recent thanks to Jeremy) that I dress like a girl geek. Par consequent, I should have thought twice before stepping a sandal-clad foot onto the cobbled streets of Milano. Did you know that sandals are decidedly sans de rigueur in Milano. No? Where have YOU been?

No one would actually TELL you this key bit of information. Not even the trusty Interwebs.  It’s so much more fun to have a super-secret code! (But wait! Looking like you are having fun is another super-secret no-no in Milano. Unless the fun is to be had at the expense of un touriste.)

                                 

What’s a girl to do?

Maybe find a small, out of the way café and sip a cappuccino. Served by a hot Italian guy. That’s it. That’s safe.

Ah HA! Touriste. (Can you say that French word with a Milanese sneer?) It is après-midi! Never, ever order a cappuccino in the afternoon in Milano! (You idiot.) Oh. Did they serve it to you with a cute little heart inscribed in the foam? Have you even READ  La Lettre Écarlate du Touriste?  

So far as I am aware, these were my two mistakes. Oh yes. And wearing purple. Don’t wear purple.

As a result of these three mistakes, there were precisely three people who were friendly to me. One introduced himself to me as a massagio. I am pretty sure that was super-secret Milanese code for the more common word, gigolo. The other two? Well, Milano is consistent, if nothing else.


Is this the real reason foreigners go to Milan?

Conclusion? Milan and I are not soul mates. Take your trendy little stiletto and dig into any aspect of Milan you like – and I am probably not all that into it. 

Verona, on the other hand. I would go back there in a minute.  

Swimming in Milan

A pool is an excellent place to contemplate. Especially when you have the pool completely to yourself.

Try sitting in a pool and holding very very still. Watch the water calm to the mirror point. Now, flip your visual consciousness. Merely view a glass floor, and you are stuck halfway through it. Don't breathe. Be still. Let go of your habits of mind. Twist your body consciousness. Feel the ungiving surface press against your chest. Now reconcile your hearing and smelling consciousness with the other two. Can you? Let's not try anything with taste consciousness.

Got it? Now watch.

Imagine the beautiful man walking up to this beautiful mirrored surface, and not able to know any better, softly stepping onto it, freezing forward in mid step, inch-by-inch tipping until he is swallowed. 
Solid glass waves wash over you. Think: "that makes no sense at all!"  And then the world explodes around you as he thrusts upwards, failing to find purchase on what was a perfectly solid glass floor. Up and out. Watch him walk away, shaken.

The solid glass-waves shift to water-consciousness.  Hold still. Invite the mirror to return. Steady.

Now, trust the beautiful man. Gently move. Watch the waves flow forward. See them fly!  Then ... Lose interest. Flow elsewhere. Catch yourself and return to the waves reaching the other side of the world.  No surprise? Then why do we feel surprised when we find that days after swimming past someone, they are still reeling from our waves?

60 hours of life, 6 hours of sleep

In the past 60 hours, I have had a total of 6 hours of sleep. It has been chasing me across the Atlantic and through Il Duomo. It caught me somewhere between a glass of red wine and a small serving of gelato limone. Going to bed without any help from Ambien.

Okay, Some Background on the Trip

Some helpful background on this trip. Originally, I had big plans for this time. They consisted of finding a perfect body of water, and then parking myself next to it for about a week. With a margarita or some umbrella drink in hand.

That was the plan. Then everything got interrupted when I was asked (last minute) to go teach in Poland. Well, have you ever researched what there is to do in Poland? There has got to be a lot to do. I'm sure of it. But most of it is drowned out by posts on drinking (a lot) and visiting the former Nazi death camps. This just didn't seem like a reasonable competitor for beach-sand-margarita.

When walking this dilemma through with my friend, Nate, he brought the obvious to my attention. No one said I had to actually vacation in Poland. I just had to teach in Poland. Then he left the exercise of figuring out the right place to adjust to the Polish time zone to the interested listener. (There's only one timezone in Poland, right?)

I built a mind map of all the airline gateways to Krakow, and Milan bubbled up the list. So, here I am until Tuesday. I arrived this morning, and must be doing a pretty good job of adjusting, because I have already been out to Duomo and shopping at Piazza Duomo. God, I love Zara!

Now I have yelped a reasonable pizza place and am going to track down a bottle of local red wine. Then I will sit down, sort through my photos, and make this blog more interesting.

Ciao ciao!

On My Way to Milan!

In order of appearance, this episode includes: Shoes. Rocket Pop. Ranch, The Tell. The Inquisition.
Yeah. It's random.

SHOES

Sitting on the tarmac at JFK, ready to take off for Milan. Let me just say:

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. I am going to Milan!! (Oh my god, will I be able to muster the same enthusiasm for Poland?)

I hear that for the oh-that-is-so-yesterday Milanese, fashion is high on the list. So I will spend time focusing on shoes. A fashion Mecca should have OUTRAGEOUS people wearing RIDICULOUS shoes!

I should walk the aisles right now.  Surely there are
SPECTACULAR shoes somewhere south of row 45. Unless the Milanese are practical travelers. How boring would THAT be? (God, is this the blog of the CAPS LOCK key?) Seven minutes to take off. 6 minutes to a glass of champagne (oh, never mind … it just arrived). This blog is about 2 inches from becoming a self-indulgent crawl of you-had-to-be-there observations. I better have another drink. You probably should too.

ROCKET POP

The world is your rainbow-striped rocket pop when you are suspended thousands of feet above the clouds continuously falling across the Atlantic. You just have to tilt your head south and squint. Right now, I want a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I want that snap second where I borrow someone’s eyes and really see.  No preconceptions. No habitual “oh yeah the one I’ve known-seen-done-been for going on half a century.”  What would I see? What would you see?  A middle-aged woman? Sure. If you looked close, would you also see the fourth-dimensionally off-centered I’ve-got-a-secret look winking out at you? No? Then you are NOT paying attention!

RANCH

I am going to Italy, where I will be force-drowned in vats of oil and vinegar by hot Italian waiters. So, for a switch, I ordered ranch. Channeling Kansas 32,000 feet above the Atlantic.  If I ever had the chance to travel with Mitt Romney, I would order ranch dressing.  I would! You just watch.

THE TELL

You can tell who flies first class all the time. They are the ones who dutifully rattle free their Ambien,  put on their monogrammed eye shades, turn down all offers of booze and food,  and go to sleep, dammit. Then there is the rest of the cabin. The ones who are probably flying on someone else’s nickel. They look forward to each interruption like a kid looks forward to Christmas. What? Oh, of course I would like a hot towel! Champagne before take off? Yes. Please! By the time dinner is served, they could give us a fucking Birdseye frozen dinner and we would be absolutely delighted. Yes we would.

THE INQUISITION

The only thing more painful than getting hotel internet to work at the Grand Visconti Palace, is probably the techniques used at some time in the past 1000 years during a time charmingly called The Inquisition.

Ravinder came through - and the awesome traffic of Noida

Ravinder (pictured right) got the machine and we will deliver it tomorrow to the orphanage. More tomorrow. In the meantime, some awesome footage from traffic in Noida/New Delhi. One is going to work in the morning, complete with a typical intersection experience. Entrance to the corporate park was preceded by a host of backpack-wearing IT guys ... very interesting. Other video shows the obligatory cow that was ambling along the road and ends with arriving at Radisson to be inspected by bomb-sniffing guards. I am singing "That's Amore" .. well, really just humming it. Dunno why. It seemed the right thing to do at the time.

Quicktime video of India Traffic - Who Needs Traffic Lights?

On the way back - catch the cow on the right as soon as the video starts!

Food. Check. Soap. Check. Medical equipment. Check.

Thank you to everyone who added some funds into the communal pot. We have a surplus, so today Ravinder arranged that I meet with a New Delhi physician associated with the hotel. He has arranged, with the help of the Ravinder Rawat to purchase a suction machine for the newborn intensive care at the orphanage. Tomorrow Ravinder Rawat will negotiate the purchase and bring it to the orphanage. All for the amount of money I would spend taking the family to see Real Soccer. How broken is that?

Friends with the Chef

So, turns out that I have become friends with the Chef at the Radisson in Noida. I've been asking for recipes from time to time, and people have been copying them for me. This time, when I asked, the chef himself came to visit during a break in the class, and introduced himself to me. He asked what other recipes I wanted, and I asked him to just give me a few of his favorites.

He came back with three hand-written recipes! It was sweet!

I will post them at some point - but one follows (too awesome to omit). Until then, my battery is running out. So I shall instead put a picture of breakfast up. Mr. Taj, the chef's name, spent 8 years "cheffing" in Vienna. Amazing.

Hand-made croissants, pan au chocolat, and blueberry danishes. No supermarket box routine here!

Indian breakfast mixed with bacon, curry chicken, hakan noodles, and hand-made chicken sausage. The Indian part of it (lower left in particular) has earned the name "magical substance." It's real name is bhaji. I have the recipe. Yes, I do. Oh, and did I mention the rosemary potatoes? No. Too good for words. Hamilton, if you are reading this, Dan, you too, ... the bacon is divine. My breakfast inclinations are permanently altered.

Now, all I need is a picture of Mr. Taj.

And, yet, I have lost weight in India. I believe that big Indian-leaning breakfasts, with a lot of turmeric and cardamom are key. Planning to test that notion upon return to the US.

Recipe for Bhaji - the magical breakfast substance:

100 gm cauliflower
100 gm carrots
1 potato
20 gm ginger/garlic paste
2 tomatoes
salt to taste
5 gm turmeric
10 gm green chillies
50 gm butter
10 ml lemon juice

Boil and blend cauliflower and carrot. Add oil to frying pan with cauliflower and carrot. Add mashed potato and ginger-garlic paste. Add chopped tomato. Add seasoning. Add butter and lemon juice. Feeds two people.

Yum. Breakfast. Never goin' back to granola. Nope. Never.

Evening at the Orphanage

Last night, we visited the orphanage. Ravinder Rawat, the concierge supervisor, did a lot of shopping on my behalf. Ted Rivera (shown right, while in the New Delhi outdoor market), Lokesh Kasana (shown in previous post), and I spent Sunday shopping for supplies (previous post). After class yesterday, we drove over there. Ted and Lokesh were unable to join us, but had contributed greatly in effort and money. The Radisson hotel in Noida donated the car service to get over there.

There is no way to convey the experience of visiting the orphanage. Several children were blind or partially blind. One was adverse to any physical contact. They all mobbed me and Ravinder. Some were more reticent, almost hanging back with eyes that said, "can you see me?"  It was sad and joyful and overwhelming. We stayed for an hour.  Fifty children, all of whom simply wanted to be touched and seen and heard.

Ravinder and I spent the entire time there holding the small children, and finally I found myself sitting on the ground outside on the grass, and just letting them crawl on me and play with my hair. The girls took out my hair clips and put them in and out and in - styling my hair. One little boy kept cupping my face in his hands and looking closely into my eyes. They wanted to practice their English (a lot of pointing at body parts and laughter). We handed out juice boxes, and then carried in a ton of food stuffs, detergent, clothing, toothpaste - even a cricket bat and some balls. One girl showed off riding a bike around the perimeter. How much these children just want to be seen and held! I particularly wanted to take home the girl who was 11 or 12 (she didn't know her age exactly). So smart (shown here).

The total cost of this excursion was 11,400 rupees - or about $228 dollars. The most shocking moment to me came when I saw the newborn intensive care unit they had set up in a small room. There was an incubator and a light box to help reduce bilirubin.One caretaker named Elsi is a nurse. She said they are trying to raise money to buy a machine for suctioning children in the NICU. Cost? 10,000 rupees. About $200. Ravinder is investigating this on my behalf and looking into a purchase.


Here are some pictures. What can I say? Words really can never do this experience justice. I regret I didn't ask Ravinder last time for help in escaping Disney India. If anyone is interested in contributing to this cause, please let me know.

Here is the big group of older children who spent the next hour climbing all over me. The caretakers were vaguely appalled that I was outside sitting in the mud. But, oh well .. I have access to hot showers and laundry service, right? What's more important, anyway?

There were probably 8 cribs containing from 1 to 3 babies and small toddlers. The boy on the right had just turned five months old and could not stop exercising his newly found ability to smile and smile.

Ravinder in the midst of children. Can you find him?

Here is my favorite 11- or 12-year-old girl. She was just all over me. (Hint: she has the word "Girl" on her t-shirt.) The girl to my right who is looking at me was also very interactive, but when I went to pick her up, she was very scared. The little boy in blue was the one who kept touching my face. The caretaker was the one who was unsure of this crazy lady sitting on the ground with the children. The child in the orange dress in front was the girl who wanted to ride her bike for me.

The children called me "Dee-Dee," which I found out meant "Sister." I asked if it was a Catholic orphanage and was told it is non-denominational. Ravinder was very pleased they called me this - it felt like an honor to me to be considered their sister.

Here is a child that could not stop smiling - I am holding her in my arms. The caretakers were very worried because she had wet her diaper - but come on - there is probably bigger risk lurking in the fruit bowl at the hotel than there is in holding this child. Notice in the lower area of the photo: that child is completely blind and has been for six years of her life. I also spent a lot of time holding her close. It was a gift to be with the children. Thanks for following this entry through the entire thing.

Trying to Give Back

The past three days, I have been working to bring together an act of charity. There is an orphanage near the hotel called Welfare Home for Children in New Delhi. It houses about fifty children and is off the beaten track. The concierge, Ravinda, knows of it from doing charitable work with them. I told him I wanted to see "real" India - not just Disney India, and he suggested I visit the orphanage. I suggested that they could use a donation, and he came back with the idea of bringing food and clothing instead of money.

Hence, Sunday, Ted Rivera, Lokesh Kasana, and I went on a trip to shop for the orphanage. We picked up probably 70 pounds of rice and lentils, as well as a large bag of clothes.

Battery is dying .. here is a quick picture of shopping for goods - me and Lokesh, our driver (out of uniform at my insistence). More later.

Tomorrow Collaborative Leadership

It was a tiring day today. We taught the second day of Agile training: Estimating and Planning, Business Value, Value Stream Mapping, Stakeholder Feedback.

Favorite comment on the feedback form from today:

Question: Who would you recommend take this class?

Answer: Ted and Christine

Physician, heal thyself?

Overall reviews were good, though. With only one outlier who had nothing good to say. But it was a QA person .. .and those guys NEVER have good news, right? (kidding, Jake.)

Tomorrow is Collaborative Leadership day, which means I am on deck the entire day.  I hope Ted will take it easy.

Otherwise, too tired to write. Too tired to talk.

I want a big glass of wine and some mindless entertainment. Maybe a snickers bar.

Unrelated poolside thoughts

For the first time in my life, I saw a perfect feather spiraling down from the sky.

Learning to swim is a metaphor for being human.

Are pigeons in Noida happier than those in Salt Lake City? They are thinner. Doesn't thin equal happy?

Enough about you ... Let's talk about meeeeeeeeee

What is wrong with these people? Why is it that the server waits for 15 minutes before bringing me my wine? The other table was served in 10. What about me?

And how about the guy ... you know the guy ... who is like that piece of toilet paper you just can't get off your shoe ... the one who is practiced in the art of the meaningless verbal filibuster. What about that guy? Doesn't he know it is all about me?

I walk down the hall from my room to the elevator and descend two floors, having been intercepted by four loving hotel employees ... their faces beaming, as they uniformly say "good morning, m'am." Ahh. But Ted had six intercepts. Don't they know it's all about me? 

The annoying butler. Yes, him. HE keeps bringing me things. Do you think he has that intuitive, deep sense that it is, in fact, all about me? Wait, he brought me dessert when I hadn't asked for it, interrupting my evening viewing of the Season 1 Rome finale. Maybe he DOESN'T realize it's all about me.

When did everyone stop thinking about me? What is WRONG with this planet? You want me to focus on you? Okay. What about you? ... ... ... Okay. Good. Uh huh. Now .. enough about you. Let's talk about ... mmmmmmm  ... mmmmeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Live Footage from Inside the Space Ship

Gotta run off to breakfast and then teaching ... so since I didn't write anything last night, I put together a quick greeting from India:

The Butler is Back

Here's my room. It is cavernous. It's found behind a wrought iron gate and armed, bomb-sniffing, beret-wearing guards, a full-blown airport luggage scanner, a keyed elevator, a keyed vestibule, and finally a keyed door. It all works like clockwork, except for the keyed door. But I have a butler to rescue me from the inconvenience. Each night he invites me to share a drink with him in the private lounge, and each night I disappoint him.

I think he invites everyone. As butlers go, he's fairly socially promiscuous. I think I prefer my butlers to be more stern and disapproving.

There are disturbing chairs guarding the keyed vestibule. 

This one must be six feet tall. Who would ever sit in a chair like that? Who would ever buy one? The other one must be six feet wide. The same questions come to mind.  Is there significance to the facts that the white one protects the entrance to the vestibule and the orange one oversees the exit? Skinny when you enter; fat when you exit? Seems New Delhi's municipal water would have something to say about that.

My colleague, Ted Rivera, writes: "My hotel room in India is thoughtfully stocked with four movies: the Ben Kingsley version of Ghandi, Ben Hur, Inception, and Children of the Corn IV. You can't make this stuff up."

Mine is stocked with Blood Diamond, You Don't Get to 500 Million Friends Without Making a Few Enemies, and Jerry McGuire. Some guys get all the luck.

Credit Card Karma

Transport yourself back in time - before the just-described Air India adventure - to when I just arrived at the Salt Lake City airport.

Of course, running a little late, I was quite distracted. I took out my ID for my ticket, and forgot for a moment about my wallet. When my attention returned to the fact that my ID had come from a wallet, there was no wallet to be found. Flight was leaving in less than an hour, so I made a decision: I have my license and my passport, so I can figure out anything from Chicago.

I started running with Chris Matts' real options. I called texted and left messages for David. I called Tim and asked him to figure out options for getting cash in Chicago and New Delhi. I called Pollyanna and asked her about generating options for the AMEX card and cash as well. Then, I found an airport cop, filed a report "we'll report this as larceny, m'am" and boarded the plane.

Before I got on, Barbara and Pollyanna were looking into getting me an AMEX in Chicago. I got hold of David, who began looking into Credit Union options for cash. Tim was actively researching Western Union. Officer Jones was filing a report and keeping an eye on the lost and found.

I got off the plane in Chicago, and Barbara and Pollyanna had called ahead to the hotel to ensure my room was covered. David had cancelled all my cards. (Yes, I committed to that option early, but I knew why: debit cards are very painful to recover from fraud.) The AMEX was set to be picked up in New Delhi on Tuesday. I just had to get through a few days without cash and card. But, Ted, my colleague was arriving in New Delhi mere hours after me, and I could survive on his plastic until then.

Luck followed me, however, and my wallet appeared (lost and found, someone found pity on me and got it to me in Chicago). It was amazing!

And the only things missing were my debit card and some of the cash. A transit tax, perhaps?

I was able to unblock my VISA card. The debit card was blocked, courtesy of David. And AMEX is Fort Knox: no unblocking cards - pick it up in New Delhi, thank you very much!

Out of this, some observations:

I have some very dear friends and colleagues, who really went to bat for me. I am lucky to have them backing me up. It was because of my trust in them that I was willing to hop on the plane anyway, and just fly to Chicago and on to New Delhi.

Next, behavior has such wide ranging and unintended effects. If I had taken the time to slow down at Salt Lake City airport, I would have been much more mindful of my wallet. But, because I didn't exercise the self care to slow down and be mindful, Barbara, Pollyanna, David, Tim, Officer Jones, Eric (the Holiday Inn Express guy), the AMEX people, the credit union people - all of them spent time on this problem on behalf of me. Probably 24 hours of time, all told, was spent on this problem. Talk about a vivid example of karma! The smallest choices have big consequences.

Finally, in some ways, we do make our own luck. Running a lot of options while I was in the air gave me the best possible outcome. But I could not have done it without having built the relationships that enabled me to run those options. (No, not Machiavellian - just a fact of life.) So, take care of your people, people!

And to those people: Thank you to all who helped. Sorry for the karmic backlash. I'll be more mindful in the future.

Last thought: isn't it ironic that I almost became a real life case of a common email scam, after having almost become a victim of it myself once!

Now in Noida

Okay, so traveling here was an unholy mix of chaos and awesomeness. First, you have to know that due to the vagaries of airline schedules, I had to leave on Thursday evening to stay over in Chicago. You see, I am flying Air India this time. Some would call this brave. I call it smart.

But before you can declare something smart, you have to determine the criteria by which "smart" is asserted. So, in descending order of importance, here is what I care about when traveling to India:

1. Cost.
2. Flat sleeping surface.
3. No bad smells.
4. Silence.
5. Time in air.
6. Food.
7. Amenities.

You would think that Cost would cancel out practically everything below on this list. And if you were flying American Airlines, you would be right! But, it turns out that First Class on Air India is in fact cheaper than Business Class on American Airlines (when tickets are purchased only two weeks ahead of time).

So, I achieved Cost pretty effortlessly.

Flat Sleeping Surface was taken care of by the fine seat shown here.And then No Bad Smells and Silence were taken care of because there was NO ONE in first class (yes, this means no smelly neighbors who like to take their shoes off and stow them right next to you.). Next photo shows the whole first class cabin. All four seats of it.


As for time in the air, Air India had a more favorable schedule for the dreaded 11.5 hour time difference than did American Airlines, for the same amount of time in the air. And thus, it all fell into place like a clattering stack of dominoes. Until, that is, you get to the food.

Peruse the menu shown - it looks AWESOME, right? Well, no. Appetites among the first class in India, and among all classes in the West, must be enormous. I ordered the salmon. What was I thinking, you ask? Well, I wasn't. I tried to get the flight attendant to tell me the best thing on the menu, but she probably took one look at my pasty white face and determined (likely from years of experience) that only the salmon would do. So salmon it was.

TWO salmon steaks. Not one. And, to make it worse, TWO BAD salmon steaks. Salmon and air flight do not mix, unless you are talking about whole salmons sitting in ice for transit to your local horribly expensive fish market. This wasn't that.

Quick tip when flying Air India: stick to vegetarian. The salad was good and the Indian appetizers awesome.Breakfast? See below.  Chicken nuggets for breakfast? And the eggs had more cream cheese than eggs. No wonder that obesity is beginning to take over the entire planet.

Regardless of the food, the flight was amazing. I arrived in New Delhi feeling as if I had been beaten by sticks, rather than bludgeoned by two-by-fours.

More soon. Gotta start getting ready for tomorrow.

Next blog: the amazing experience of driving through New Delhi with incongruent music blaring from the car stereo. It was surreal.