The Monsoon

Before coming to India, I used the internet to identify the important sights in Mumbai. It was, interestingly, a difficult search. According to Google, none of the zillion pages and websites on the internet contains information about ‘must see’ sights in Mumbai. If I don’t want to see a Bollywood production site or visit a modern (i.e. ‘western’) shopping mall – well…

Having a free day – Sunday – at my disposal, I decided to arrange my own tour. I checked with the concierge.

“You want to take a city tour?” He appeared to be incredulous.

“Yes.” I should have detected the scepticism.

“I will arrange a car and driver….”

“An air-conditioned car,” I interjected.

“Of course, sir.”

In my experience, most city tour guides focus on the good parts of the location. (Most, not all: the tour guide in Palermo, Sicily showed us bombed out buildings from World War II.) The Mumbai excursion began at the JW Marriott Hotel in North Bombay. We drove past what I would call slums. People were living in shacks made of sheet metal or living under a tarpaulin stretched across a couple of poles. Every part of the city was dirty – garbage in the streets and bricks, tiles, cans, etc. piled up everywhere. The number of really poor people was astonishing. The city has a population of somewhere between 15 and 20 million. There is no rapid transit system. Public conveyance is a mixture of three wheel motorcycle taxis, 15 year-old Fiat taxis (100,000 of them), ‘cool taxis (i.e. 'air-conditioned) and a variety of overcrowded buses. Believe it or not, however, all of the taxis are powered by LNG, so they don’t pollute. (There are plenty of people, however, to take up the slack.)

The first stop on the tour was the outdoor laundry. 10,000 people work in this huge site, a service dominated by about 500 families. They heat the water, bash the items against stones and then hang it out to dry. (See photo.)

Dry, of course, is a relative word. The weather was humid and hot when I arrived. However, the Monsoon was running late – a situation that is not good news for the farmers. Luckily, I had a solution.

“You want rain?” I asked.

“We need the rain.”

“You have come to the right place, my friend.” I replied. “I am an expert in rain generation. When I got to Hong Kong, the typhoon arrived. Whenever I return to Zürich, thunderstorms begin. Your Monsoon will arrive before the day is out.”

Just to be sure, I noted the large outdoor swimming pool at the hotel. This was the first time I’d seen a pool large enough to do laps. Naturally, I went to my room and collected my swim suit. The rain started before I could make it back to the pool.

Visiting Asia

Please forgive the delay in posting. I am in the middle of a trip to Asia and in the middle of a complex deal with my employer.

Trip preparation took place in the customary way. After examining flight possibilities that the travel division might choose, I invented, eh, I discovered an urgent need to be in Singapore at 6:00 AM. This meant that I would be unable to travel cramped class on our normal airlines and would, instead, be forced to use a Singapore Airline flight. Amazingly, the travel division bought this proposal. The flight was smooth, and my seats (all three of them) were spacious. I arrived as refreshed as possible after a 12 hour flight.

After a nap, I met David, our account manager for Asia-Pacific who is based in Singapore. I noted that the airline and hotel were great. David was quick to reply.

“This is not London, Dan. London is too expensive. What do they make in the UK to justify the high costs?”

“Money, David. They make money.”

“Not any more. And I hate the London hotels. Too expensive!”

“Well..”

“And the rooms are small, the TV has only 4 channels, the beds are old..”

“Antique, David.”

“And the linen is moldy.”

“I can see why you’re living in Singapore, David.”

The Singapore portion of the trip went well. Now I am in Hong Kong – hence the picture.

Swiss Appliances

A few weeks ago, the Casa Carmen Refrigerator demanded its quarterly defrost. (It seems like it needs a quarter hourly defrost.) Nazy and I were naturally concerned…

“… for the safety of the planet, my dear,” I explained.

“The safety of the planet? Surely you exaggerate, Dan.” Nazy replied.

“If we let this ice,” I said, hauling a Rhode Island-sized berg toward the front door. “If we let this ice melt down the drain, Lake Zürich will flood and, when the overflow reaches the Atlantic, it will be just as if the Greenland icecap had melted. The Gulf Stream will be diverted and..”

“That’s absurd..”

“We have friends who live in coastal areas. We have friends in Holland. Do you want to be responsible for a disaster?”

Nazy wasn't convinced and somehow planetary destruction was averted. This week, it was the washing machine that demanded attention. It began with a simple assertion from Nazy:

“There’s a puddle on the floor.”

“I didn’t do it, Nazy.” I replied – confidently.

“Did you overload the machine?”

“No. Did you check the filter?”

“Did you fail to slide the soap dispenser all the way in?”

“Did you neglect the auxillary lent removal device?” I had quick retorts.

“No. Did you, Dan, empty your jeans pockets before loading the washer?”

“Oops,” I thought. “I will clean the filter.”

The mechanism has many filters, but the one in question is located a tenth of a millimetre from the floor. Before it can be accessed and cleaned, the pre-filter retaining flask must be drained. This is done by deftly removing a micro-clamp from a straw-sized, flexible, plastic pipe and directing the flow into a shallow collection container. As you can undoubtedly imagine, several cycles are required before the water is evacuated. Only then can the filter be unscrewed, cleaned and replaced – while you are crawling on the floor.

I performed all of these actions flawlessly and without complaint.

Spousal Interrupt

“Flawlessly, Dan? You dripped water all over the floor.

“How can you tell, Nazy? That’s the same puddle that you saw in the first place.” “And,” I thought, “that’s the puddle that provoked the work.”

“Without complaint, Dan? You muttered incomprehensively the whole time you were working on the filter.”

“Incomprehensively,” I thought. “Thank God.”