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.”

The Travel Division - Redux

Nazy, making travel plans by herself, found a great price and had a pleasant journey to Paris on the super-fast TGV train. Planning an expedition to Asia on behalf of my employer, I was forced to use the professional travel division. As usual, their work was stunning:

“This is the lowest possible fare,” they explained.

“But I can’t even upgrade,” I replied.

“The lowest possible fare,” they repeated.

“I can’t change the itinerary and I can’t get a refund.”

“This,” they said. “This is a very ¢heap ticket.”

“I know,” I thought.

A week later the customer requested that we swap the times of the Singapore and Hong Kong meetings. This led to another discussion with the travel division.

“You can’t change the ticket,” they explained.

“The customer has changed the meeting.”

“That ticket is non-changeable….”

“I should have told the customer.”

“… and non-refundable.”

“Now it’s also non-usuable,” I replied.

“We’ve lost all the money,” the travel division representative complained. “All the money is gone and that was a very expen$ive ticket.”

“Get a flexible ticket this time.”

“That will require the CEO’s personal approval.”

“Do you know if he’ll be using the jet?”

He's Back!

The Hague, The Netherlands 1994

Nazy and I were at Naf Naf, a discount clothing store. A colourful shirt caught my attention:

“You want that?” Nazy asked.

“Well, yes.” I replied.

“It is three sizes too big and I can’t think of any possible occasion when that shirt would be appropriate attire.”

“How about a costume ball?”

“Excuse me?”

“I would go as a clown.”

“How much does it cost?” Nazy asked.

I was momentarily stunned. “Nazy never asks about the price,” I thought. Wondering what she was up to, I looked for a price tag.

“It’s five guilders,” I replied. (At the time, this was about $2.50.)

Unable to argue about the price, Nazy approved the acquisition. But..

“You’ll never find an appropriate place to wear that shirt.”

Zürich, Switzerland 2009

“I can’t believe you spent 80 Francs getting that shirt tailored to fit,” Nazy exclaimed.

“Well, my dear, you were right about the size," I replied. "There’s enough material left over to create a wall mural.”

“Not in my house.”

“I’m really glad this shirt fits,” I thought.

“You’ll never find the right place to wear it,” Nazy said – repeating a mantra that I had heard for the last 15 years.

“Your wrong!” I replied triumphantly as we walked down Bahnhofstrasse.

The Planetary Continent

Nazy, just aware of the definitional change is particularly appalled by Pluto’s demotion from planet to ‘dwarf’ status. She telephone to complain.

“Pluto has always been a planet, Dan.”

“It wasn’t a planet before it was discovered.”

“What does that mean?”

“If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to..”

“Dan, you are missing the point. Pluto should be ...”

“… a dog?”

“Dan..”

“Oh, right, you didn’t grow up with Mickey, Donald and, eh, Pluto.”

“Dan?”

“The Astronomers came up with a defensible, scientific definition, my dear. It has to do with gravity, orbital mechanics and spheroids.”

“Nevertheless, it seems..”

“It has set the stage for the next big fight – in the area of geology.”

“Geology?”

“Of course. Do you think Europe is a real continent?”

“Europe?”

“It is attached to Asia. It is a tiny appendage on a huge land form. There is no scientific reason to call Europe a continent – and I’m ready to lead the way toward change.”

“They could call it Eurasia.” Nazy was trying a rational approach.

“They could, but I think ‘Asiape’ is more realistic. Anyway, after I eliminate Europe, I will move to have France redesignated as a haughty hamlet.”

“The whole country?”

“Precisely, my dear,” I replied. Nazy wasn’t convinced.

The Career Path

Over the weekend, thoughts about my “career” came to mind. Everything is precariously balanced as the economy stagnates. But in an unexpected and unprecedented serendipitous coincidence, corporate objectives of my customer and my employer are completely and totally aligned: both are in cost-cutting mode. In practice, this means that my company is trying to reduce my income and eliminate my benefits. The customer, by not purchasing our products and services, is working hard to help accomplish the same result.

In an unanticipated development, the customer has actually been effective in its execution. Because of this unusual development, I am hoping that they will reconsider the goal. Our company’s success was not so surprising: cost elimination has always been our core competency.
I’m left in a quandary, but luckily, a sign from my travels clearly points the way.