The other thing I’ve noticed is how he mixes up languages. At first he was just mixing up nouns. So, if a sentence was spoken mostly in English, the nouns in it would be in Konkani (or vice versa). Now, he’s starting to construct gerunds in Konkani (which does not have gerunds) to great hilarity by all.

An example of the first one: instead of “The spoon is on the table”, he’ll say “the culer is on the mesa”. And of the second one, “I am vaching the paper” (for I’m reading the paper).

His brother, who is two speaks mostly in English, and responds to Konkani. It’ll be fun to see how he develops.

And oh, I learned a new victory cheer from my 6 year old niece. This one, who was adamant about not getting her picture taken. You pump your hands in the air, wiggle your hips and go “oh yeah! oh yeah! oh yeah!” Ok kid, so you beat me at Tekken on the PS2, no need to make a song and dance of it.

Goa has begun to feel like a backwater provincial town that’s doesn’t know how to grow into a big city and doesn’t really care to learn. The whole attitude seems to be, “well it worked 70 years ago when the Portuguese were here with their egalitarian ways and insistence on competence in their civic servants, so it should work now that nepotism and corruption are rampant”.

Goa used to be a collection of small villages. And now, it seems to be coalescing into something strangely different.

Back when residences were mostly extended family homes, it was easy to see to the well being of everyone in the home. When I was growing up, that was changing to being mostly single family homes. My sisters and I were what would be termed latch-key kids. My parents left the house key with a neighbor and we got it from her when we returned. Of course, this being Goa, our parents came home for lunch, which gave them a chance to check on us, make sure we got back from school and got started on our homework before they went back to work.

Now, that makeup is changing. With single family homes being priced out of the reach of most middle class families, they are moving into apartment buildings. And these apartment buildings are like gated communities. The apartment my sister lives in (where I’m staying right now) has a full time guard/gatekeeper, and visitors are scrutinized closely. This is what’s happening almost everywhere in Goa.

Going back to traffic. Back when Goa was a collection of small towns/villages, and had a population of about a million (each village had a population of around 10,000). There were three big cities with a population of maybe 10 times that. The other ‘feature’ was that most people took public transport (that actually worked, even if it started at 7:00 am and shutdown at 7:00 pm) and other than that, the only form of personal transport families had were two wheelers (Vespa scooters) and bicycles. So driving on the roads then could be described as a form of cooperative multi-tasking. Think Windows 3.1. It works great, when you have a few applications and each application takes care not to hold on to the CPU.

Most roads in Goa do not have traffic lights and most intersections do not have stop signs. There are few parking garages, and parking rules/conventions are mostly non-existent. This is not a problem when people cooperate. And that was easy when you knew everyone and when everyone knew you.

Now, that makeup has changed. Most people now have cars. There are very few bicycles and I’ve seen a marked decrease in the number of two-wheelers around. Almost everyone has one car with some of the well off families having multiple cars. The traffic rules and conventions still haven’t changed. It all still works on a cooperative multi-tasking model. You think roller-coasters are scary? Try riding shotgun in a car being driven through 4-way intersections with no stop signs or traffic lights. And friends ask me why I don’t drive here. No way. I don’t want to have an accident the minute I get back to the US.

As an example, one of the local banks opened a new branch in the same building where my sister lives. So I went there with my mom so she could open an account. We met the new account person at the bank, and the first thing he said was, “oh, you’re so-and-so and you live in that building in apartment number X”. Remember, this is the first time either my mom or I had met this person. That’s what Goa’s like.

The last time I was in Mumbai airport, it was a dingy place, dark, run down with horrible paint, betel-nut juice stained corners and porters crowding around, willing to “help” you get through customs without paying any duties for only $100.

This time was very different. We walk into the terminal from the plane and it’s strangely clean, well lighted and air conditioned. The ceramic tiled floors are gleaming and look freshly polished, the ceilings are higher and make the area feel very airy and relaxing. And the lines for immigration are actually very sensible, instead of the free for all that existed before. I get through immigration and while waiting for my luggage try to find a cart. The operating word is “try”. Not a cart in sight.

To get the carts, we had to walk to the other end of the terminal, grab a cart and go back to the luggage belt. And all the while, there were airport workers catching my eye asking me “do you need help?”.

Close. You came (this) >< close, Mumbai!

Ok, then I get my cart and total up my purchases (gifts + stuff my sisters wanted), and it totals to just over a thousand. Great. So, I convert that to rupees (almost 50,000) and head for the red channel, since the duty-free allowance is only 25,000 rupees. I get to the counter and stop in front of the office who’s frantically waving me on to the green line. I tell him I can’t because I have stuff to declare. He looks shocked and takes my customs declaration.

“Oh, 50,000 – the duty free allowance is 25,000 and you will have to pay a customs duty of 35.06% on the balance.”

“Ok”.
“What are you carrying?”
“Here are the receipts officer.”
“Ok, let me look.”

He looks, calls a colleague (probably a trainee) over and gets her to fill out the receipt.

His colleague brings over what looks like a thick register and pulls out two honest-to-goodness carbon papers. I’d forgotten they’d even existed. Remember typewriters? And carbon copies (CC’s to those of the email generation)? Well, once upon a time, you had to physically insert a sheet of carbon paper between two sheets of paper if you wanted more than one copy.

Now at this point they’re both very glum, and I think I know why. I had discovered a few trips ago, that you definitely do not want to head in through the green channel if you have anything remotely resembling an advanced technology. Even if it is way within the duty free allowance. That gives the office on duty an excuse to ‘confiscate it if the traveller looks like an easy mark’ or ‘hold the item in question and you can pick it up when you are flying back’ or take you aside behind a pillar and demand a ‘gift’ for overlooking your transgression. This is unfortunately seen as a ‘normal’ way for customs officers to behave by the rest of India.

So, the officer is going through my receipts, while his colleague is making out my bill.

“Wii? What’s that?” the receipt gazing officer asks me.
“It’s a game console”
“And what’s this? Magic Sing?”
“That’s a Karaoke Machine”. (aside: that’s what my sister wanted).
“And BP cuff? what’s that?”
“That’s a blood pressure cuff. My sister is a nurse and asked me to get one for her.”
“Are you a medical professional?”
“No, I work in IT”
“Hmm. Hmmm. Professional equipment is not allowed.”

Ooh, Ooh, I know this game. It’s called toss in a blanket statement and the traveller that flinches loses and has to pay a ‘fine’.

“Really? I got it for my sister and I’m declaring it.”
“Professional equipment is not allowed in, but I’ll let you go this time.”

Yes! I win!

I pay up and proceed to wait for the shuttle to the domestic terminal.

Mumbai’s domestic security was a breeze. The only addition was that they insist on patting everybody down and all your carryon items have to have a tag which a nice cop stamps after they come out of the x-ray machine. I get through security and discover a wonderland. This is not the staid holding cell of last year. Oh no. Instead of rows of bucket seats looking at a wall or the gate, there are plush seats. Instead of a surly tea-walla selling paper cups of instant tea, there’s a coffee shop. Instead of a pile of newspapers on the floor next to the surly tea-walla, there is a real bookshop.

Of course, being the bookslut that I am, I make a beeline for the bookshop. And on the display right near the door is this. Yes. Cosmo, the Indian edition. Wow. When did that happen?

I wander around inside a little and discover that the magazines I once knew have changed beyond belief. The lead in Femina has the results of a sex survey.

The rest of the bookshop is stocked with current and a little past their prime books, arranged haphazardly. Indian bookstores can be incredibly frustrating and incredibly liberating at the same time. Malcolm Gladwell next to Seth Godin? Why not? Romance next to juvenille fiction? Of course! Both those genres are bought by the same people (women with kids), who have presumably responded negatively to the sex survey.

On the plus side, they had the latest Artemis Fowl, so I was a happy camper.

After the flight’s called and we are ferried to the aircraft. For those of you who have never travelled to India, this is how it works. Your flight gets called, and you head over to the ‘counter’ indicated. I use the term ‘counter’ loosely, since in most cases it’s just a desk with a sign over it. There, you get your boarding pass inspected, the tags on your carryon luggage checked for the security stamp and you walk through the only door onto the tarmac where buses wait. You find out which bus is the one that will take you to your flight and board it. When the bus fills up, the driver takes you to the aircraft parked on the tarmac, where you exit and board the aircraft using roll on stairs. So far a very 1970s experience.

The fun comes when you realise that all around you on the tarmac there are airplanes being boarded (around 30-40 of them).

Yes, Mumbai (and I suspect the other large airports in India) have managed to create a functioning passenger loading system without the use of gates. It’s amazing to watch and I have no pictures because 1. I didn’t remember where I’d packed my camera and 2. there were dire warnings and prohibitions against taking pictures everywhere. I may have tried to sneak a few in, shooting from the hip, since most people (at least in India) think no flash = no picture.

Of course, the process falls only slightly apart when it’s raining. Then, it’s the passengers that get slightly wet, or completely drenched (even with the ground staff shepherding you using large umbrellas from the bus to the foot of the stairs), depending on the intensity of the rains.

I got on the plane (Jet Airways) and sat down, and right away a purser came by with a bottle of lemonade. A tiny bottle (100 ml). And right after we take off, we get served a hot meal. Yes! this is what air travel still is like in the rest of the world. A 45 minute flight from Mumbai to Goa and we get a hot breakfast. Masala Dosa (again, a tiny one), a bowl of idli-sambar, a roll with butter and jam and fruit salad. Again, no picture because of, you know.

I’d forgotten how amazing this was. The flight attendants barely had time to distribute the food, and come back again picking up the mostly empty plates before the captain announced our descent.

I got up to use the restroom and heard someone calling my name. I didn’t recognize him – he was in my class in engineering college. We hadn’t seen each other since we graduated. Apparently, I was recognized because I still have all my hair.

Once, I used to love flying in and through the US. Security here was so simple compared to the big-brotherish “papers please” attitude in the rest of the world. My my, how things have changed.

I board the plane and after they close the door, the purser lets everyone know about the “industrial action” and tells us that yup – we don’t get a choice in food.

After take off, they serve the meal: the only hot portion is the entree. Everything else is frozen solid – frozen shrimp on a bed of frozen cous-cous with a frozen green bean and frozen asparagus, some kind of tri-colored frozen pate on frozen tomato sauce, a frozen custard, the ubiquitous plastic coffee cup, and the hot pasta entree.

I tried eating the frozen stuff and gave up after eating one shrimp. The frozen pate would have been interesting – the little bits I broke off in my spork were tasty – if I’d managed to eat any more.

I ate the pasta and the custard and went to sleep. I woke up about an hour from landing with my stomach making funny noises. I thought I may have been hungry because I didn’t eat much (about the only thing I’d eaten was the boxed snack for $5 on the SFO-ORD flight and the meal on the ORD-FRA flight 8 hours later). So the pasta “lunch” was only my third (partial) meal in nearly 24 hours.

We land at Bombay Mumbai, and after clearing immigration, customs and checking into my flight to Goa I visited the mens room and found out why my tummy was upset. Thanks industrial action workers and Lufthansa. I’m sitting here now on a dwindling battery within sight of the toilet. Hope this passes soon.

It’s 3:00 am in Mumbai and it was pouring when we landed. There was so much water on the runway that the pilot used reverse thrust to slow down the 747 and did not hit the brakes until we got almost to the end of the runway. My travel adventure (part 1) hasn’t ended yet. I have another flight to catch (this one, to Goa’s short – only about an hour) and then maybe an hour’s taxi ride to my sisters house in Santa Cruz, Goa.
The last time I had a chance to sit and open the laptop was in Chicago. Where, (naturally), the United flight to Frankfurt was delayed (only by two hours). I wasn’t in any state to do anything in Chicago, so I just sat there watching a 747 come close enough to kiss the terminal as it pulled into its gate. Everyone ooh’ed and aah’ed appropriately and then we stood around and watched for a bit and then drifted off.

As we boarded, I noticed that some of the passengers were especially bitchy and realised that maybe some of my fellow SFO-ORD-FRA re-routees were happy with having to dash to the airport on short notice. Me – I just wanted to get it over with. That didn’t leave any time or energy to be bitchy about anything.

Chicago-Frankfurt, the captain was very apologetic about the delay. Turns out that the plane was delayed getting in from Beijing, and he said that they had loaded up extra fuel and would be travelling a little faster than normal (at 0.86 mach) to try and make up for any lost time.

I got on the ATC channel and started listening in. Hearing ground control at Chicago was an eye opener. At one point they had 18 aircraft waiting to take off. Not all of them had their landing slots in their destinations available and they were all sizes and shapes of aircraft. There was a “company” aircraft in line somewhere (and unfortunately it was too dark to try and catch a glimpse). And Chicago ground control did a terrific job with what they had. It was fun listening to the controller ask aircraft waiting for landing slots to swing around and join the line again, and getting six or seven aircraft parked around the runway access ramp, asking aircraft behind in line with landing slots (or international travel) to “cut through the pack” and asking the others to “get in just a little tigher” because “we’re trying to get you all out of here as fast as possible”. Our plane had to swing around to make way for another aircraft (flying to Atlanta) and then “cut through the pack” and get on the runway. Our captain did not cut through the pack fast enough and we had to hold for a landing and then three minutes later finally took off. That’s also when the ATC chatter became routine and I stopped listening.

The meal service was “interesting”. Apparently, Lufthansa’s ground staff are on strike, so we didn’t get any choice in our meals. Also, it was fun discovering that everyone (economy, business + first) had to eat the same thing . Of course, the first class passengers got theirs on real china and silverware instead of a plastic box and sporks.

All the extra speed paid off a little and we got to Frankfurt only an hour late. Thanks United.

And oh, because of the rush in which I packed, I didn’t pack my camera in my carryon, so there won’t be any photos until I find it again.

After a heartstopping moment of realising that I would miss the Frankfurt-Bombay, and Bombay-Goa flights, making my journey take 4 days instead of the three. Thanks to the power of the internet, I quickly called customer service.

That’s right, in the internet age, you’re much more likely to get your problem solved by calling a real person.

After understanding my situation, the customer service agent started looking for options. There was another flight to Frankfurt leaving about an hour later. Unfortunately, it was full. Then she asked me “Are you at the airport?”
“No”.
“How fast can you get to the airport?”
“Lets see, the cab takes about 30-40 minutes to get here, and I live about 10 minutes away from the airport, so I can get there in an hour.”

I had misunderstood the question. It was really a trick one, and it turns out that yes, there was a flight from Chicago to Frankfurt and I could be on it and not miss all my other connections. Only thing is, it was 9:00 am and the San Francisco-Chicago flight departed at 11:58am.

So I had exactly one hour to reach the airport. And I hadn’t showered, or finished packing or even had breakfast yet.

So the cats got an earful and sat on the couch watching me run around and swear and try and get the house in some semblance of order. Well, I have to admit I didn’t succeed in that endeavor. Sorry house and cat sitter. I really didn’t mean to leave my place in that state. The good news is that all horizontal surfaces (tables, countertops) are clutter free. The bad news is that the couch isn’t vacuumed; the floors aren’t swiftered; the dishes aren’t done; the laundry hasn’t been put away.

The other thing I’ve discovered is today is that I can shower, shave, pack 2 suitcases and be ready to go in under 45 minutes. (I had of course, gathered together all the stuff to be packed into said suitcases ahead of time.)

I got to the airport and had to use an agent to checkin (international flight etc, etc). And the agent gets my passport and then asks “do you have your alien card?”
“My what?” I asked, wondering if the stress had made me grow a tentacele or two.
“Your alien registration card?”
“I don’t think I have one. Do you mean my permanent residence card?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”

Whew. No tentacles here.

So now here I am in the air, flying to Chicago and I’m not sure I have everyone’s gifts packed correctly and in what state everything will arrive and whether the Lush jelly soap will cause a fuss at Customs in Bombay and how much will they rip me off for this time.

The adventure continues…

Well, it’s 90 degrees in Chicago. I’m getting my dose of heat in early.
And my flight’s been delayed. Only an hour so far. This is turing out to be quite an adventure.

Also, I landed, went to the bathroom and discovered I’d put on my underwear inside out. I was glad I at least put it on before I put on my jeans….

So what is Goa like? Let me offer up three “news” articles from local newspapers

1. Faithful throng Talaulim for Touxeamchem Fest

Faithful throng Talaulim for Touxeamchem Fest
HERALD REPORTER
PANJIM, JULY 27 — On a Sunday marked by some heavy downpour,
Talaulim in Tiswadi invoked the blessings of its patron
saint (St Anne), even as people of all faiths thronged
the historic 16th century St Anne’s Church to make a
wish at the traditional Touxeamchem Fest.

Touxeamchem translates as “of the cucumbers” (or can be translated a little loosely as “our cucumbers”). To continue…

More famed for its miracles of gifting the childless
with children, this year too couples brought their
gifts (children) and placed them at the feet of
St Anne’s statue. Fr Lourdinho Pereira said
around 28 childless couples, who received favours,
met him personally.

Wow. Someone’s been busy. Note that neither the reporter nor the editor saw anything wrong with this bit.

2. Age-old ritual kick-starts fishing season in Agonda

Age-old ritual kick-starts fishing season in Agonda
HERALD CORRESPPONDENT
CANACONA, JULY 27 – The traditional fishing season has
commenced in Agonda on Sunday with the commemoration of
an age-old annual ritual at both ends of the shore.
Traditional fishermen from coastal Agonda annually carry
out customary puja, where hundreds of coconuts are broken
and cocks are sacrificed offering them to Hill Gods,
while feni and toddy is poured into sea to please Sea God.

No, not those cocks.
Feni and toddy : local moonshine made from cashew (fruit) and coconut sap.

3. Stray cattle menace on the rise in Salcete

Stray cattle menace on the rise in Salcete
NT NETWORK
MARGAO: As stray cattle become responsible for road
accidents in the city and other areas of Salcete,
the Margao Municipal Council and respective
Panchayats are yet to take action with regard to
the same.
According to sources in South Goa Collector’s office,
the South Goa district administration has asked the
Margao Municipal Council to take strict measures to
prevent the cattle menace.

That’s right. Goa has stray cattle that menace traffic. Soon to be a horror film. Maybe they can convince Buffy that the cattle menace is a harbinger of the evil horrors to come.

This is also notice that my English speaking and writing skills will regress to 19th century British governmentese.