Dad's Travel Journal

Here, in its entirety, is the journal Dad kept during our Dubai/Delhi/Chennai trip. I like comparing our notes; he wrote about the killer B.O. on the Kingfisher flight attendants which I had entirely forgotten about.

He has given me permission to post it. All statements and opinions are his.  :-) My only edits were for formatting and to remove names of J and C.

J & Bob, Dubai & India, 2011

Today at Chennai, India, at 12 degrees N. latitude, 80 degrees E. longitude, I dipped my feet in the water of the Bay of Bengal, part of the Indian Ocean. I’m a long way from home at 43 N, 83 W, in Ortonville, Michigan.

This was day 6 of a 10-day vacation with granddaughter, J, to India, by way of Dubai, to visit daughter, Jennifer, and her husband, C, who live in Chennai. Jennifer works for Ford Motor Company, and she and C live in a big, gorgeous, cottage style house, two houses from the ocean. The beach is beautiful and sandy, but largely unusable because the local residents, having no indoor plumbing, go to the beach for their morning business, so it can be smelly, and dangerous walking. They just scoop a hole in the sand, and when they’re finished, use the ocean water to clean themselves. They subscribe to the wash option, of the wash vs. wipe debate. We were lucky this day because the beach was clean from the pounding surf.

J and I left home last Thursday, March 31^st. A limo picked us up at home and dropped us at the Detroit airport at 4:30, for a 7PM flight to Washington D.C, Dulles airport. It was obvious as soon as we hit the airport that J is a pretty savy traveler. Navigating the ticket counter, and security, and the gates were no problem for her at all. She already has trips to Paris, and to Mexico under her belt. At security, while she sailed right through, I had to surrender a can of aerosol hair spray, a new bottle of maple syrup for C, and worse of all, a nearly new bottle of my favorite after shaft lotion. $55, and it was going to be put in the trash. I nearly begged the security agent to use it himself, or give it to someone else, but No! regulations you know. Later while having a sandwich and drink, we struck up a conversation with a woman from Denver, who was going home after visiting her parents. Her father was dying of cancer, and had only a few days to live, and she was really down, while telling us stories of sailing with him on the great lakes in her childhood. She needed a hug, but neither of us gave it to her. Damn! I held her hand for a few moments, and tried to comfort her a little. I don’t know what J thought. 

We caught our flight to Washington, and then at 10:20PM, our flight to Dubai. What a rotten flight it was. The seat rows were so close together I was miserable, miserable, miserable. I couldn’t sleep, and could hardly move my butt. We arrived in Dubai at 7:30PM on April 1^st, in the dark, 10 ½ hours ahead of Detroit time.  The car that was supposed to be waiting for us wasn’t there, so we took a taxi to Traders Hotel, where Jennifer and C were waiting for us in the lobby. What a nice greeting that was.

I see Jennifer every 3 months because she has to come to Dearborn for business meetings, then to London on her way back to Chennai. We hadn’t seen C since June 2010. He’s thinner now, and has decided to be a full-fledged vegetarian. From then until the end of our trip, we were totally in their hands. I didn’t make a decision, look at a clock, call a cab, or look for a gate at an airport. It’s pretty apparent to me that the authority and responsibility has passed from us, to them. They’re young and in charge, and we’re old and dependent. It’s the first time with my children that I’ve been aware of the torch being passed. It doesn’t feel especially good, but it’s a thrill to see them so in charge and capable. It’s like looking in the mirror, and seeing myself when I was younger.  

Traders Hotel was pretty darned nice, and J and I had a nice 4^th floor room with a city view. Jennifer and C had an executive level room, with access to the executive lounge, which they would have shared with us had we arrived earlier. She travels so much and accumulates points that entitle her to (everything). That everything spilled over to me J, so we were treated like junior executives. 

Jennifer and C had arrived in Dubai a day before us, so already knew the lay of the land. After settling into our room, we all met at the bar for a nightcap, and to talk about how the trip was unfolding for each of us, and to hear from them what our Dubai itinerary was going to be. This was going to be an early to bed night, what with the time zone travel, and the miserable seating condition on our incoming flight.

In the morning, April 2^nd, while lying in bed in the darkness wide awake at 4:30, I called quietly over to J in her bed, asking if she was awake too. “Yup, I’m awake grandpa”, says she. We agreed to turn the light on and read awhile, but by 5:30 we decided to get up and shower, and hit the street. There was no coffee available in the lobby for us early risers, and the restaurant didn’t open until 7, so we walked across a busy three way intersection to a gas station hoping we’d find a U.S. kind of place, and our morning fix. For me that’s a coffee, and coke for her. Sorry Pal, no coffee here. We did find out that attendants pump gas for you and clean the car windows. I wonder if they still will in 20 or 30 years. It was a nice gas station with snacks available, but nothing for us. The price of gas, while sold by the liter, converted to about $250 per gallon. Also, they drive on the wrong side of the road, like the Brits. The landscape is sand, sand, everywhere. We idled away an hour waiting for J. and C. to come down for breakfast, then we all went into the breakfast buffet. This was the first of many vegetarian meals to be eaten on this trip, and it was tasty. Pita, dates, Japanese noodles, hummus, Arabian cheese, and good American coffee.

After breakfast we took to the elevated train for a ride to the Mall of the Emirates, to see the indoor ski slope. That thing is way huge, with a chair lift, and beginners and expert slopes, snow board hills, and sled hills for the tykes. Snow covered evergreen trees grow between the slopes, and anything else that would be on an alpine ski slope is there. Shops sell all the latest skiwear and skis, fireplaces are roaring, and hot chocolate and schnapps are in abundance. This can all be seen from big windows looking out from inside the mall where it’s nice and warm, and the place was swarming with people who may never have seen natural snow.

Not to be forgotten is that Dubai is a huge shopping mecca, from the traditional souk, to the most expensive shop with anything and everything anybody would want or need. All the malls, and airports, and subway stations have prayer rooms, and the skyline is dotted with minarets, as well as construction cranes. Is there a worldwide shortage of cranes? For the whole length we rode on the elevated train, looking out the windows on both sides, there was never a moment when no construction was going on, with reinforcement rod sticking up everywhere out of partially completed concrete buildings.

The next stop was the Dubai Mall, the biggest shopping mall in the world. The attractions here were a huge waterfall with sculptures of wing footed nymphs diving into the pool at the bottom, a computer controlled fountain like the one at Bellagio in Las Vegas, with a spray show put on periodically, and a great big aquarium, that puts the one at Cabellas to shame. What can’t be done with enough money? Oh, I almost forgot, shopping is available here too. Getting here we passed that famous main sail shaped building, the Burj Al Arab Hotel. We didn’t go in to look around because it cost too much. $60 gets you past the doorman if you’re a non-guest. While at the mall we used the world’s tallest building, Burj Dubai, as a background for a picture of all of us. Of course all the building decorations are (Arab, or arabesque?)

We finished our train ride back toward the creek, (Dubai City is divided by a creek running East/West, by a creek coming in from the Persian Gulf) and took in the old spice souk, and the gold souk. The gold is the real deal, with matching prices, so none of us bought any gold. I wanted some cardamom from the spice souk because it’s so expensive here at home. It’s much less expensive there, but I don’t need a gallon, so didn’t buy it. We just wandered for a while taking in the sights of the boats on the creek, and the docks, and the people and smells. Then we took a cab back to Traders for a short R&R.

Lunch had been in the crowded food court at Dubai Mall with Persian vegetables, and other vegetarian selections. No matter the ethnic type of food, the flat bread is always delicious. For dinner we walked up the street to a small grocery store and picked up a few things to eat back in our room.

More dates, oranges, banana, bread of course, cheese, C's favorite catsup Pringles, and a good mortadella for a little break from vegetarian for me, a little chocolate, and coffee. Everyone was tired, and C was to leave on a 1:00AM flight back to Chennai, so we called it a night after saying our goodbyes to him. J and I were asleep shortly after that, and with the help of a sleeping pill from J, I had the best sleep in 3 nights.

The flight to Delhi for Jennifer, J, and me, was the next morning too, at 10AM, April 3^rd, so we all had to get around early. In the morning, Jennifer checked us out of the hotel, and we caught a cab to the airport for the flight check in. She tried to get us to the airports plenty early because we weren’t sure of how much time we would need because we weren’t familiar with them.

Our 4-hour Emirates Airline flight to New Delhi turned out to be much better than the United flight to Dubai. It was absolutely luxurious in comparison, with more knee room, nicer attendants, and better food. The flight was full of course, as all flights seem to be anymore, but it was immensely better than United. 

We arrived in Delhi at 3PM, and a driver was waiting to take us to a Hilton Hotel on the outskirts of town. What a ride it was. We were in a tiny little Tata car built in India that was just big enough for our luggage, and us, although we all were packing light. I swear, in the first couple of miles the driver turned 180 degrees at least 4 times. The road layout made no sense at all, but it must have made sense to someone. We rode for miles and miles past dirty, old looking, unpainted concrete. The traffic was controlled chaos, filled with rickshaws and scooters, blasting horns, buses, trucks, beggars, and oh yes, cows and goats too. The front of the Tata was so short it always looked like we would run into whatever was in front of us. The driver turned off the main road once, going underneath a concrete structure for an elevated train that hadn’t been put into service yet. We were on a narrow, dirty, dusty little street, like an expressway service drive, even more chaotic than the street we turned off from, with street vendors and little sidewalk food wagons, and trash, trash, trash. He apparently didn’t know exactly where the hotel was, so he turned around and got back on the (main) road, and after a few more miles, he turned off again, and passing back under the elevated train, turned into the hotel. The next scene happened time after time during our India time. We passed from the chaos and filth of India, to the regular, nice clean, ordered, world, of today. Just pass through the gate from one world to another world. There is nothing gradual about the change, but a jolt of sudden crossing from the one to the other.

Because of the hotel bombing in Mumbai from a couple of years ago, security is pretty tight, so the cab was inspected before we were allowed to enter the grounds, then we individually passed through security before being allowed into the hotel building.

I watched with J, as Jennifer received the executive treatment again at check in. Oh, hello Madam. May I please have your credit card Madam? Oh hello Ms. Jennifer, please let me take your bag, and come with me to the executive lounge. Please relax and we’ll bring you a drink and you can relax while we prepare your check in. Ha ha, we laughed at all this fawning, but it was fun. So we got in our room, which was nice, as we would expect. It had a glass wall from the room into the bathroom, with electric shades to go up and down, so the view was all the way through. Maybe it was the honeymoon suite! We lolled around a little, talking about the taxi ride and the sights, and just chilling a little. Later we reconnoitered around the hotel, and asked the concierge if walking around outside of the hotel compound was all right. She said it was, so just at dusk we cinched up our belts, our curiosity was fully piqued, and we took off to walk a few blocks to a local shopping mall. The was the crowded, dusty, dirty, smelly, narrow alley way that is underneath the elevated train, with all the food vendors using camping lanterns for light. We were gone for a couple of hours, and had a good time once we became a little accustomed to the surroundings. The people were friendly, with a few of them speaking English, just shopping, and enjoying a meal or their friends. The mall wasn’t like our malls, but was like the street outside, with old, and dirty, unpainted concrete. This is the color of New Delhi.

Back at the hotel we went to a Northern India restaurant, with seating on cushions on the floor, that J wanted to try. We staged a glass of beer in front of her for pictures, so her mom would have something so scream about later. The waiters were attentive and made sure we ate what they recommended. No rice? Oh yes, you must have rice!  With Jennifer having lived 9 months in Chennai, she ordered the good vegetarian dinner, with an especially good rice and morel mushroom dish. Mmm. It was in a sealed crock and baked, and when the crock was opened at our table, the aroma was mouth watering. With the juices from the mushrooms and the Indian spices it was a bit of heaven, and toward the bottom where the juices were concentrated it was doubly good. Jennifer scraped the crusty part out of the crock to get at the last juicy morsels. There were big tables of Indian diners, and a three-piece band playing local music, so it turned out to be a fun and colorful dinner.

 

We had an early morning get up planned so we made it an early night.

On Monday, April 4^th, we were up early to catch a 6:15 train to Agra, to see the Taj Mahal. I was there to see it 50 years ago, and Jennifer was there a few months ago with a friend, so this was a trip for J, as a must see jewel of the world. Our driver showed up at 5:15, and with lunches in hand prepared by the hotel, we jumped in the car, and were off. It was still dark, but daylight came as we rode into Delhi, with all that dirty, gray, ancient looking concrete. The streets were clogged with the morning rush of rickshaws, bicycles, and animals, but we finally came to the most dismal, rotten, rundown looking train station imaginable. People milled all around in crowds inside and outside, wearing what seemed to be dirty looking rags, but what do I know about their workday dress?  Little charcoal cooking fires were burning in the gutter and on the sidewalk, and it was all smoky, and filthy. With Jennifer leading the way we went looking for track 17, only to find there was no track 17. Crap,we were in the wrong station!. Delhi has four, and we were in the wrong one because our driver apparently didn’t read the address properly, and it was too late to catch him because he was already gone. With Jennifer at the ticket window trying to get things sorted out, J and I were just hanging, looking around being tourists seeing the sights, and stepping over people sleeping on the floor. People sleeping on a filthy, cold, marble floor, in a rundown, crowded, dilapidated train station. Amazing! As luck would have it, Jennifer came across a British guy, and his son, who were also going to Agra, and we caught hold of the them as our saviors. J. soon had tickets for us on the same train as the Brits, and after some comical scenes of us being shooed out of seats that didn’t belong to us, in a car with air conditioning, with the Indian passengers whose seats we had tried to commandeer shooing us to the back of the train, we settled in a filthy 3^rd class car, and there were the two Brits. This turned out to be a fun ride because they kept us going with stories of their travels in India. The Father loved it, and had apparently infused the son with the love too, so this was their vacation destination of choice. While we were traveling five star, they were traveling native, sleeping and eating on the streets. They said Delhi belly was just part of the experience for them!!   A group of transvestites came through begging, and putting a curse on anyone who didn’t pony up a few Rupees. I thought they were hot, until J gave me a dose of reality. Ha haa. 

When we arrived in Agra a driver was waiting, and we all loaded in the Tata for the ride to a hotel to meet our guide for the day. Driving through the streets of Agra it was easy to see why this is billed as the dirtiest city in all of India. It turned out to be a fine day, with the guided tour of the Taj, and time relaxing and having lunch in nice hotels, and running from the beggars. We lounged for a couple of hours in the afternoon at a hotel having drinks, where just before the call to prayer, a little show was performed outside near the pool. We stood on a balcony off the bar, and the show took place on the roof of a veranda across the gardens and pool. The setting was beautiful, with Indian music and a woman dancing in saris with a fire pot on her head. With the music and dance, and the Taj sticking up over the trees in the distance, it was beautiful, and most of the other bar patrons were outside on the balcony too. Just as the show was ending, the evening call to prayer could be heard starting. First one voice, then other voices from other minarets calling,

Allah is Great, Allah is Great, I bear witness that there is no divinity but Allah, I bear witness that Muhammad is Allah's Messenger, I bear witness that Muhammad is Allah's Messenger, Hasten to the prayer, Hasten to the prayer, Hasten to real success, Hasten to real success, Allah is Great, Allah is Great, There is no divinity but Allah. 

All the voices mingling together in the call is one of my favorite times of the day in a Muslim country.

The drivers we had were all models of patience. I know that’s how they earn their living, but all day driving us somewhere, then waiting in the car to be called to drive again, than wait some more, with never any indication that they would rather be doing anything else.

We boarded our 8:30 train back to Delhi, and had a nice ride in a 1^st class, air conditioned car, where were served dinner and drinks, and napped a little, and arriving back in Delhi, were met by the very apologetic driver. A long tiring day, but very good. I’m glad J has seen the Taj Mahal. 

We were up early again in the morning, Tuesday, April 5^th, for an 8:50 flight back to Chennai. All these early morning departures kept us from enjoying a leisurely breakfast, and this was the same. Grab a quick coffee, and run for the car.

Delhi has a beautiful, shiny new airport that’s all modern and clean and well kept, that again gives that time warp impression. Outside is the filthy dilapidated world of India with cows, and goats and trash, and inside is the complete opposite. There is no gradually going from one world to the other, but a hit in the face going in the door with one foot in the world of Delhi, and the other in the airport.

The flight on Kingfisher Airlines was uneventful, but with one interesting note. Kingfisher offers decent seating in economy class, good food, drinks, and cabin service from several young gorgeous attendants, dressed in crisp white blouses and bright red skirts and heels. The most gorgeous also had a terrific case of B O, which caused me to stop breathing while she was near. I switched from my aisle seat during a bathroom break for J, and Jennifer ended up on the aisle, and it was hilarious when she had her first B O exposure, and couldn’t breathe for a couple minutes. It was funny!

C and their driver, Ramesh, met us at the airport in Chennai, with fresh flower lei’s for us three, and hugs and greetings all around. It was such a nice welcome for us, and a welcome home for Jennifer. It’s a 45-minute ride south to their house, and it was good to get there; a place where we would stay for a few days. We spent the rest of the day getting acquainted around the house and pool, with drinks and snacks on the balcony, and just relaxing. The caretaker, Sakar, came at 6:30 to turn on the outside lights, and C introduced us to him. His wife, Lakshmi, is the housekeeper, and they live in a small caretakers hut on the other side of the cement wall that surrounds the main house. Sakar comes every morning to turn the lights off. The driver comes on his little motorcycle everyday as needed to drive, and leaves the car every night, and rides off on the moto. He keeps the car, a Ford Endearvour (Explorer) clean, and gassed, and helps with errands. Sakar and Ramesh both give J. and C. advise on living in India, and help with finding workmen, and things needed to keep the house working. 

We spent the next enjoyable days before coming home, in shopping, sightseeing, eating good vegetarian meals, being treated like royals by all the servants, and swimming and lying by the pool. We went to another 5 star hotel where they are regulars, where we had a breakfast of idly, sambar, rice noodles, coriander curry, a lentil doughnut, and good coffee. Then a foot massage, that began with dressing in robes for a ceremonial tea, and finished with a bite of fruit and more tea, with soft Indian instrumental music playing the whole time to create the proper restful atmosphere. Another day J had her hands done with mehindi (the tattoos you see on Indian women), and I had a haircut with head massage.

The streets and sights of Chennai are incredible, with slums and poverty, and trash and garbage, and beggars, and rickshaws and on, and on, and on. Little thatched huts are right next to new high rise buildings, and people are coming and going, and seemingly complacent, and with some level of contentment. That’s just how they live. The time I spent in India in the 60s (I was there in 1962 when President Kennedy was killed)was considerable, and although there are lots of new high rise buildings, the general living conditions don’t seem to have improved much. We visited a tourist village a few miles south where the driver paid a $3 fee just to enter the village. On the way we passed through a checkpoint where we were checked to see if we were carrying money to pass out to the villagers to buy votes. An election was coming in a few days and apparently votes buying is a big deal there. All in all, it was a nice few days to finish our vacation, but the time finally came for us to home home.

There is only one flight from Chennai to come home on. It leaves at 1: 30 AM, so at 11PM, on April 8^th, we began our journey home. From their house to our house took about 30, sore butt, hours, with 25 hours from airport to airport. We were glad to see our limo driver waiting for us after we came through immigration at the Detroit airport. J was asleep before we pulled in our driveway.