Note to the reader: This is a continuation of a larger odyssey, starting with the entry The Indian Empire Strikes Back. That itself is the sequel to my prior trip to Asia, starting with The Saga Begins (again). Yeah, it's a lot of stuff about a coward's journey through scary Asian countries and cultures, but it's not your average travel blog. You can get by without reading what came before this entry, but it does my heart good to see the page hit counts go up. :)
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There are a great many proverbs and famous sayings that come from military campaigns throughout history. For instance:
One which resonates with my own experience, however, comes from Helmuth von Moltke the Elder. While the actual quote is somewhat more verbose, he is the source of the following well-known military proverb:
So it was with this in mind when on Friday the 7th of May I began my journey out of Bangalore.
The day was like every other that week. Starting the day early with an egg, cheese and chili pepper omelet, avoiding the sausage and bacon which while probably legitimately meat were never quite what you’d expect. A glass of fresh pineapple juice to backfill my deficit of vitamins, plus a water to hydrate me for trip to the office. A quick booking of one of Leela’s cars to take me to the office, and then I’m off to another day full of back-to-back meetings.
Now one who is familiar with the area will question why I booked a car to get to the SuccessFactors office in Bangalore. The answer to this is best explained by recounting my first day at the office that week.
I knew ahead of time that Bangalore was going to be hot. And by hot I don’t mean “unusually warm for May” I mean that it is so hot that on my first day there two hobbits came by and threw a ring into my hotel room. And indeed, it was hot all week – highs around 40 Centigrade (which is 104 Fahrenheit for us non-metricified slobs). This kinda of hot is not something one writes off as a “dry heat” either. This is wicked hot and nasty humid.
So on that Monday I decided I would dress for success: shorts and a relatively business-casual button-down Hawaiian shirt. This was a wise choice, but failed to take into account just how hot each day would be from the start.
That first day we decided to walk to the office. This walk would be fairly short – maybe a 10 minute trek. Even better, it involved no life-threatening frogger maneuvers crossing the road as there is a pedestrian bridge mid-way between the hotel and the office that allows us to cross with only a minimum of peril. (The bridge is of indeterminate age, probably not as heavily inspected as those I’m used to in America, and is used to support rather thick power cables crossing the street where these are laid right on the handrail where one is inclined to grab onto in the event of an earthquake, monsoon wind or raw paranoia incurred crossing bridges over deathly traffic flows.
This walk in reality, however, requires techniques one usually employs on moderately-difficult mountaineering. The path along the road is a blatant refusal to cater to mobility-challenged persons, replete with open trenches exposing sewage flows, large mounds of soil, silt and asphalt, low-hanging tree branches over mine fields of scattered cinder blocks, and chunks of concrete tipped at all angles as though it were the aftermath of eons of micro-tectonic activity.
One does not simply walk to the office from Leela. One treks.
And so on day one, sporting my shorts, new, air-permeable sneakers and Hawaiian shirt, I arrived at the office 10 minutes after leaving the hotel looking like I swam there. I was drenched in sweat.
You know you’re really sweating when, upon arriving and shaking hands with folks, the office administrative assistant looks at you and says, “wow, you’re really sweating.”
In fact, it is worth pointing out that I anticipated this and planned ahead.
Ok, so my point is that a combination of the heat, the trek and the fact that I sweat at the mere mention of heat means that from day #2 through the rest of the week I took a car to the office. And, in true Leela style, their cars are BMW 5-series with lots of air conditioning and bottles of water. Ah Leela, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…
All week the weather was hot, the sun was intense, and the few clouds in the sky were meaningless reminders of cooler days… until Friday. Friday, about mid-afternoon, the fountains of the great deep were opened and a repeat of Noah’s flood rains began. While this helped to cool things down ever so slightly it also had the effect of heaping upon my travel-weary soul the concern that traffic to the airport that evening would be problematic, and even worse, perhaps the flight out that evening might be delayed or even canceled.
No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Indeed, this is why any general worth his medals has contingency plans.
I had already arranged for the Leela car to pick me up late afternoon and drive me to the airport with more than enough time to compensate for delays in getting there. My flight was to depart at 9:20pm. The typical travel time to the airport from the office is about one hour. The car was picking me up at 4:30pm. That left what I deemed to be a righteous four hour buffer in case Murphy would assert his laws upon my travel plans.
Right on time, Leela's BMW 5-something arrived to ferry me to the airport. Nestled into the plush leather of the back seat, I relaxed into the long ride, shutting my eyes and closing out the world. The patter of the rain on the roof, the unceasing beeping of the horns, and the constant delta-V of the driver's modus operandi conspired to lull me into false sense of security. My plans were progressing satisfactorily.
And that's when my plans encountered the enemy. Reality asserted itself and at least three things conspired against us getting to the airport in a timely manner.
First, the rain, which continued to fall, was causing moderate street flooding. In some cases there was rapidly-flowing water at least 4-8 inches in depth. This did not seem to deter the driver, who, being an experienced Indian driver, can hydroplane without concern, knowing that those obstacles that can get out of his way will indeed do so, and those that don’t are merely participants in the grand karmic scheme of the universe. Thus the risk here was that karma would kick me in the kiester and we’d be delayed due to a traffic incident involving this nice luxury hotel car and a hapless quadruped.
Second, the driver, upon questioning me on the time of my flight, concluded that I had MORE than enough time before the flight and that I would be criminally bored sitting at the airport for such a long wait before the flight’s scheduled departure. My insistence on this being the less-stressful alternative held little sway in his thinking, and so this guy kindly decided on several detours showing me the seat of Bangalore parliament, the home of the governor, and several great shopping areas where I could get great deals on gifts for my wife. The fact that I was refusing to take advantage of his advice to buy gifts for my wife got me a bit of a lecture about how to stay married, but again, weighing alternatives, I chose to remain unstranded in Bangalore as a means to eventually reunite with my wife.
Third, there was the massive traffic jam which added an additional 90 minutes to the hour travel time. This caused the driver some angst as I believe he was hoping to be back to the hotel in time for other driving assignments, and so this worked in my favor as he chatted less and less as he became more and more frustrated by the traffic.
I on the other hand enjoyed the ride, reclining in Beemer luxury, relaxing in my justified air of self-confidence, knowing that my decision to exercise caution was going to get me to the airport still in time for a leisurely check-in.
When we finally did arrive at the airport 2.5 hours prior to departure, I did tip the driver to show the world that I’m not insensitive to the plight of the common man. This time I pushed through my numerical resistance and laid 500 rupees on him. That’s right. 500 smackers. Half a “G.”
Nothing feels so good as to reward good help. There ya go, Jeeves. Buy your wife something nice at those stores you showed me.
Of course, later I double-checked how generous I truly was. $7.42 in US dollars.
After check-in I discovered that my flight out of Bangalore to New Delhi was delayed about 30 minutes, ironically due to “too much traffic out of the airport.” It was of no concern, however. still my plans were still succeeding in making this a stressless egress from India.
The Great Escape continues...
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There are a great many proverbs and famous sayings that come from military campaigns throughout history. For instance:
- Friendly fire ain’t. – Murphy
- Bring me my brown pants! – Anonymous Pirate
- Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it is very cold in space. – Kahn Noonien Singh
One which resonates with my own experience, however, comes from Helmuth von Moltke the Elder. While the actual quote is somewhat more verbose, he is the source of the following well-known military proverb:
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| "No plan survives first contact with the enemy." - Helmie |
The day was like every other that week. Starting the day early with an egg, cheese and chili pepper omelet, avoiding the sausage and bacon which while probably legitimately meat were never quite what you’d expect. A glass of fresh pineapple juice to backfill my deficit of vitamins, plus a water to hydrate me for trip to the office. A quick booking of one of Leela’s cars to take me to the office, and then I’m off to another day full of back-to-back meetings.
Now one who is familiar with the area will question why I booked a car to get to the SuccessFactors office in Bangalore. The answer to this is best explained by recounting my first day at the office that week.
I knew ahead of time that Bangalore was going to be hot. And by hot I don’t mean “unusually warm for May” I mean that it is so hot that on my first day there two hobbits came by and threw a ring into my hotel room. And indeed, it was hot all week – highs around 40 Centigrade (which is 104 Fahrenheit for us non-metricified slobs). This kinda of hot is not something one writes off as a “dry heat” either. This is wicked hot and nasty humid.
 |
| Sultry. (Movie reference: Throw Momma from the Train) |
That first day we decided to walk to the office. This walk would be fairly short – maybe a 10 minute trek. Even better, it involved no life-threatening frogger maneuvers crossing the road as there is a pedestrian bridge mid-way between the hotel and the office that allows us to cross with only a minimum of peril. (The bridge is of indeterminate age, probably not as heavily inspected as those I’m used to in America, and is used to support rather thick power cables crossing the street where these are laid right on the handrail where one is inclined to grab onto in the event of an earthquake, monsoon wind or raw paranoia incurred crossing bridges over deathly traffic flows.
This walk in reality, however, requires techniques one usually employs on moderately-difficult mountaineering. The path along the road is a blatant refusal to cater to mobility-challenged persons, replete with open trenches exposing sewage flows, large mounds of soil, silt and asphalt, low-hanging tree branches over mine fields of scattered cinder blocks, and chunks of concrete tipped at all angles as though it were the aftermath of eons of micro-tectonic activity.
One does not simply walk to the office from Leela. One treks.
And so on day one, sporting my shorts, new, air-permeable sneakers and Hawaiian shirt, I arrived at the office 10 minutes after leaving the hotel looking like I swam there. I was drenched in sweat.
You know you’re really sweating when, upon arriving and shaking hands with folks, the office administrative assistant looks at you and says, “wow, you’re really sweating.”
 |
| I was sweating like a Star Trek TOS red shirt guy on his first beam-down. |
 |
| That there is my USB-powered personal fan, and mostly responsible for the fact that I lived to tell this tale. |
All week the weather was hot, the sun was intense, and the few clouds in the sky were meaningless reminders of cooler days… until Friday. Friday, about mid-afternoon, the fountains of the great deep were opened and a repeat of Noah’s flood rains began. While this helped to cool things down ever so slightly it also had the effect of heaping upon my travel-weary soul the concern that traffic to the airport that evening would be problematic, and even worse, perhaps the flight out that evening might be delayed or even canceled.
No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Indeed, this is why any general worth his medals has contingency plans.
I had already arranged for the Leela car to pick me up late afternoon and drive me to the airport with more than enough time to compensate for delays in getting there. My flight was to depart at 9:20pm. The typical travel time to the airport from the office is about one hour. The car was picking me up at 4:30pm. That left what I deemed to be a righteous four hour buffer in case Murphy would assert his laws upon my travel plans.
Right on time, Leela's BMW 5-something arrived to ferry me to the airport. Nestled into the plush leather of the back seat, I relaxed into the long ride, shutting my eyes and closing out the world. The patter of the rain on the roof, the unceasing beeping of the horns, and the constant delta-V of the driver's modus operandi conspired to lull me into false sense of security. My plans were progressing satisfactorily.
 |
| Everything was proceeding as I had foreseen. |
First, the rain, which continued to fall, was causing moderate street flooding. In some cases there was rapidly-flowing water at least 4-8 inches in depth. This did not seem to deter the driver, who, being an experienced Indian driver, can hydroplane without concern, knowing that those obstacles that can get out of his way will indeed do so, and those that don’t are merely participants in the grand karmic scheme of the universe. Thus the risk here was that karma would kick me in the kiester and we’d be delayed due to a traffic incident involving this nice luxury hotel car and a hapless quadruped.
Second, the driver, upon questioning me on the time of my flight, concluded that I had MORE than enough time before the flight and that I would be criminally bored sitting at the airport for such a long wait before the flight’s scheduled departure. My insistence on this being the less-stressful alternative held little sway in his thinking, and so this guy kindly decided on several detours showing me the seat of Bangalore parliament, the home of the governor, and several great shopping areas where I could get great deals on gifts for my wife. The fact that I was refusing to take advantage of his advice to buy gifts for my wife got me a bit of a lecture about how to stay married, but again, weighing alternatives, I chose to remain unstranded in Bangalore as a means to eventually reunite with my wife.
Third, there was the massive traffic jam which added an additional 90 minutes to the hour travel time. This caused the driver some angst as I believe he was hoping to be back to the hotel in time for other driving assignments, and so this worked in my favor as he chatted less and less as he became more and more frustrated by the traffic.
I on the other hand enjoyed the ride, reclining in Beemer luxury, relaxing in my justified air of self-confidence, knowing that my decision to exercise caution was going to get me to the airport still in time for a leisurely check-in.
When we finally did arrive at the airport 2.5 hours prior to departure, I did tip the driver to show the world that I’m not insensitive to the plight of the common man. This time I pushed through my numerical resistance and laid 500 rupees on him. That’s right. 500 smackers. Half a “G.”
Nothing feels so good as to reward good help. There ya go, Jeeves. Buy your wife something nice at those stores you showed me.
Of course, later I double-checked how generous I truly was. $7.42 in US dollars.
 |
| I'm a schmuck. |
The Great Escape continues...
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