My Bangalore Adventure, part 19: Bannerghatta

After the bus trip, arrival at Bannerghatta seemed a little abrupt, most likely because I had the mistaken idea the bus stop was associated to a hotel when really it stopped at a parking lot outside the formal zoo with a cafe pavilion across the way in the other direction. The lodge van was already there to pick me up.

It was a about a 15 minute drive winding uphill into the forest. At two points, we glimpsed native deer browsing near the road or dashing into the brush. Then we passed a large lagoon complete with a night heron fishing for dinner and pulled into the lodge compound.

After a gracious welcome and check-in, I had a little less than an hour to settle in before assembling with the other weekend guests for a whirlwind “safari” minibus tour of the large animal exhibits including a butterfly park.

When I say "whirlwind" I really mean it. We took a drive that could have taken most of the day if you stopped at every scenic overlook and animal enclosure for twenty minutes of photography and/or bird-spotting. But, it only lasted about two hours. The driver only slowed down when the featured large animals were in easy sight; and since you were always aware that each area was carefully enclosed by moats and fencing, it was just like going to a zoo.

Until we got to the butterfly park. Our short-changed time was paid back with 20 minutes at the butterfly park. Of course, since butterflies are things that can fly away, they aren't just loose in a park, you have to go inside a building to see them. But unlike a zoo where you are separated from the wildlife, in the butterfly park, the butterflies are fly freely about in a greenhouse garden and you can walk among them. They may even land on you. In such a setting, sheltered from the wind and with consistent lighting, if you have the right camera gear, you may have excellent photo opportunities. I was not so lucky that day but it didn't matter.

What was more interesting to me was to learn in a conversation with one of the caretakers that the butterflies are merely to entertain people and maybe raise awareness and money for the zoo and environmental causes. Due to the risk of disease and parasites, no butterflies raised in this building are released back into the wild, instead wild butterflies or their eggs or caterpillars must be collected outside to maintain the stock in the garden.

Even though I was a little sad to discover this twist on conservation, I really liked the butterfly park. The garden grounds surrounding the conservatory were just as lovely as going inside the building itself. And good for birding, too.

The tour guides hustled us through the garden way too quickly, maybe because it was a weekend. I probably could have talked them into leaving me behind to visit the zoo and come back for me later but I didn't bother. I wanted to explore the lodge grounds which have a small hiking trail. And I wanted to get some quiet time outside with a good book before dinner.

Actually, I didn't get so much quiet time. The lodge staff knew I was interested in birding because I had emailed about that when I made my reservation so while I was reading, someone came running to the restaurant pavilion to find me, “Quick! Come quick! A paradise flycatcher!” It was great!

After that, there were other birds to show me, including some members of a threatened species, the white-naped tit that had built a nest under the office roof overhang.

I ended up sitting at the park office for an hour or so talking with several of the staff about the birds and wildlife there, then there was dinner, a National Geographic video, and sitting around a campfire chatting (or zoning out) with the other guests. All of this was way much better than reading alone.

The next morning, S. Karthikeyan (aka. Karthik) came to lead the advertised nature walk. He is their wildlife and birding expert and to my surprise, Chirdeep from ThoughtWorks was with him. Chirdeep explained that Karthik had told him the Sunday hike would probably be interesting because there was a serious birder visiting at the lodge and Chirdeep told Karthik that he bet he knew who that was.

Since we were past migration season, there were not too many birds about but the ones sighted were excellent birds. And we got good looks at them. Probably the very best moment for me was being the first person to spot a pair of white-browed bulbuls. I didn’t know the name then but I knew I was looking at something really different from anything I had seen before. It’s a plain sort of bird but Karthik identified them and told me they are only found in these scrubby hill areas in southern India and Sri Lanka. We hiked for about three hours and I got 8 new birds for my list; too bad it couldn’t have gone on longer.

In the end, I never got to the zoo but that little weekend of hiking and sitting in the open-air pavilion surrounded by nature becomes more and more one of my favorite times in Bangalore.

Right now, if I knew that in about two hours I could be at Bannerghatta sitting on the mosquito-screened pavilion eating dal, some kind of chicken dish, and rotis with a big Kingfisher lager while twilight sets in and the evening birds and bats flit about, I’d be making arrangements in a hurry. It was the most relaxing weekend I had in my entire three months adventure in Bangalore.

To be continued...

My Bangalore Adventure, part 14: The Bangalore Palace

It just occurred to me that, although it's very comfortable to write one of these posts once a week or so, at this rate I'm still going to be writing about Bangalore at Christmastime (December). There is just so much to say and share about India. So I better start blocking out some writing-time every evening until I finally unload all my best memories.

For example, thinking about Cariappa Park and how quickly it went downhill from its apparently glorious renovation in 1996, reminds me of a spot in Lal Bagh that I didn't write about.

If you go through the main entrance on Lal Bagh Road and head to your right, you will come across something that looks like a fenced-in field of short-cut grass and weeds. In the center of this field appears to be a flat pavilion with some type of marker or memorial. It's actually a pillar and plaque surrounded by fountains (no water here now) dedicated to a major Indian botanist who used to run the operations at Lal Bagh. The date on the plaque? 1954. Hey, I know people who were born before 1954! They're not obsolete - yet. But this part of the park is practically ready for the archeologists.



Anyway, the next weekend after Cariappa Park, I decided to try for the Bangalore Palace again. This time, I didn't have to go through the agony of shopping suggestions from the rickshaw driver, but I did have to tell him he had taken the wrong turn. Rickshaw drivers in Bangalore and taxi drivers in Chicago have a lot in common. Many drivers in Chicago are immigrants from Africa; in Bangalore, the drivers are often young men from small villages. Both are trying to make it in a big city and both are likely to be weak on reading and speaking in English. Places or directions that might seem obvious if you live in the area or have studied your guidebook carefully may be totally new and unknown to the random driver. You just have to take a deep breath and be nice about it; whenever I did, I got pretty good service in return (if shopping was not involved).

Eventually, we got to the Bangalore Palace - another interesting place from the colonial attic of discards. The Bangalore Palace used to be a royal residence and it sits on a lot of land. A large part of that land is now used for public events in much the same way that counties in the USA have a public fairgrounds. Temporary circuses, rock concerts, sporting events, flea markets, religious rallies, etc. might lease this space and there is also a horse stable and riding park but these entrances are around the back from where the palace sits.



The Palace itself is quite a fantastical structure, inspired by Windsor Castle and pre-WWII English country manors. If you like to take architectural photos - interiors and exteriors - then you really want to come here and try your luck. If you are a designer or an interior decorator looking for ideas or laughs, then you really want to come here and look around. If you're a tourist who just likes to take photos that illustrate excessive wealth from days-gone-by, then you'll want to take some shots here. But if you're looking to learn anything useful about the history of Bangalore and India, forget it. The p[a]lace is mostly a major pocket-lining venture.

The first thing I noticed was the difference between Indian and foreigner rates. A lot of tourist attractions charge a higher rate for non-Indian visitors and, given global economics, that seems fair. It's not that they are taking advantage of outsiders but making sure that local citizens who usually earn and have far less, can enjoy their country's heritage at a competitive rate. But at Bangalore Palace, the difference in rates seems huge.

While most places only mark up foreign admissions by ten rupees or so, at most maybe 100 vs. 10 or 20 rupees; at the Bangalore Palace, it was either 500 rupees for foreigners (forangi) plus another 200 for carrying a camera; or it was the opposite. Either way, I paid a total of 700 Rs. to get in and take pictures.

Then, as soon as I got past the admissions desk, a person attached himself to me in the same way the leeches glommed on to Humphrey Bogart while he was pulling the boat through the shallows in the "African Queen".*

I suppose I could have thrown a temper tantrum and chased him off but who wants to cause a scene on a Sunday afternoon in a tourist attraction? India is a country with a bajillion people and something far less than a bajillion formal jobs. Everybody seems to have some kind of angle for survival - an entreprenuerial stewpot far beyond anything you'll see in the USA. It seems to me, the only way to really avoid "tourist guides" is to show up with an Indian friend.

I had no friend with me so off we went. He directed me through the public parts of the Palace - there's really only one route you can take - and I made him stop and wait while I took photos, or adjusted my shutterspeed and backtracked. I got some good photos but not too many I was happy with and I would have preferred to linger longer without him fidgeting behind my back. It probably would not have made much difference in my photos but it would have reduced the self-deceptions and regrets I have about my abilities.



Meanwhile, my guide's contribution mainly went like this: "Come now," point at the only door out of the room. Point at a painting, "Painting." Point at an elephant head on the wall or an elephant foot used an an umbrella stand, "Elephant." Point at the indoor plumbing (Titanic-era plumbing), "Hot and cold shower."

After I had gotten a look at the hangar-like space used for weddings and what-not; seen the entrance hall, gone up the front flight of steps to the drawing room and down the hall to the first bedroom, had a close look at the inner courtyard from above and below, and examined the building exterior plus garden (on minimal life support), I had had the very best of the tour. The rest was an amazing and amusing peek into somebody's poor taste, especially the very bad nude paintings on the back stairway (or maybe that's why so many pay the admission price).

At the end, I gave my guide 100 Rs. He told me I was cheap. I gave him another 100 Rs. The rickshaw drivers out there are all vultures. There isn't anything else nearby worth walking to, so any forangi is fair game. You don't have to go "shopping" but it's likely they won't have change for anything less than 100 Rs no matter how close your next destination, so be sure to have lots of small bills.**



* Trailer for the movie The AfricanQueen on YouTube.

** A ride to Bangalore Central mall near MG Road should only be about 40-50 Rs.

You can get all the historical information worth having on the Bangalore Palace, plus more illustrations, on wikipedia.

My Bangalore Adventure, part 7: The last auto-rickshaw story?

By now you must be able to tell that I'm a farly hard-headed person who likes figure out my own way of doing a thing (or throughly tracing every path on my own until I prove to myself I have no clue what I'm doing.)

This must be true because the very next free weekend, I called Arif, the driver who had taken me to Lal Bagh and back without going shopping. This time, I wanted to go to Sankey Tank, which may have been a natural lake years ago but now is more of a planned water reservoir that also serves as a public park. A recent report in the paper said that the early monsoons had brought a lot of bird life to Sankey Tank.

Nearby was the Bangalore Palace, an interesting historical and architectural site, so I figure seeing the two places could make for a pretty good day. Arif says me he'll pick me up at Gate 2. In a few minutes he drives up with a passenger in his rickshaw. He says he has this other fare but he's arranged for someone else to drive me and that person is coming right behind him. A few seconds later, a rickshaw pulls up with two people in it. It's a young driver and Mr. Murthy!

So! These guys are all in cahoots with each other....I tell them I am not interested in anymore of this shopping business. I want to go here and then there and I'm not doing anything but taking photos. Mr. Murthy assures me he understands that and not to worry, this driver knows exactly what to do, etc., etc.

And off we go to Sankey Tank. Here, I learn something interesting, parks in Bangalore may not be open from sunrise to sunset, as they usually are in America. They may be open for only a few hours in the morning and a few hours in the late afternoon; this one happens to be closed right now and won't be open for another hour. Nuts.

Then the guard at the gate suggests he could let me in for 20 minutes for 20 Rs. It must be the photographer's vest that I like to wear when I go birding or photo'ing. Maybe people are thinking I'm scouting faces and places for the next Slumdog Millionaire. Since I'd rather spend money than waste my time, I pay up and take a look around.

It's really a very pretty place. A mix of manicured lawns bordered by a little bit of natural woods with a wide walkway all around the lake. You can rent boats, too when it's open. I mostly see the same birds that hang out at the Diamond District but I'm also happy to identify a darter, a white-browed wagtail and a spotted dove. I start to take some photos. I had checked my batteries before I left the apartment but after a few snaps, the batteries give out anyway.



I explain to the driver that I have to get more batteries before we go to the Palace. I'm waving the camera around (but I don't think to take the batteries out and show him). He says, "Yes, yes" and seems to know what I'm talking about.

He starts driving. It appears we are passing several open shops that look like places where a person could get battereis. I point to a filling staton that has an attached market and say, "Couldn't we get batteries there?" He says, "Yes," and drives right past it.

He doesn't stop until we get to Bangalore Palace. I tell him I'm not interested in being at Bangalore Palce if I don't have any batteries for my camera and why did he drive me here instead of stopping to buy some? He seems completely confused and right about that time it occurs to me that he probably hasn't understood anything I've been saying all day. He's just going on some general plan he got from Mr. Murthy.

Then a guard comes up and starts talking to us. I can't understand the guard, but the driver manages to say to me that there's a fine for taking photos (I have my camera in my hand). Oh, there is? Then it's not such a big deal. The driver asks if we're going. "No, if I can't take photos here, then it doesn't matter if I have batteries, I'll go inside and see the palace anyway."

You have to go inside the palace bulding to pay the admission. Once I'm inside, at the admission desk, I see a sign that says the price for non-Indians is something like 150 Rs and if you take photos, it's another 200 Rs. Great! It's not a fine, it's a fee. I walk out. The driver is so confused. Are we going or staying or what? "Going! I want to go back." "Eh?" "Diamond District. Go back right now. Nothing is working out." "Go?" "Yes. Go right back."

We start driving and guess what? After a little bit, he suggests I look at a shop.

Just re-run the last two rickshaw rides. No and no and no; I am not looking at a shop. "Just one more, this one is really different. Not like the other ones." He pulls up in front of a place. Before I could even look at it and say, "I'm not getting out," I hear a familiar voice.

"Hello Madame! How good of you to come and see us again. Would you like a cup of tea? Have you thought about that trip to Mysore?" Oh No! It's the jewelry shop again!!

I'm happy to report that by now, I seem to have gotten the hang of insisting on the meter (it's ok if they ask for 10 or 20 Rs on top of the meter fare), and letting the driver know it's strictly a one-way ride (I'm meeting some friends...), and if possible, not getting in or out of a rickshaw in front of the Diamond District (I cross Airport Road and catch one by TGIF's instead), and if they ask, I tell them I've been living in Bangalore for a long time. So far my last half-dozen rides have been shopping-free.

My Bangalore Adventure, part 6: More auto-rickshaw

Having had two successful afternoons using auto-rickshaws, I thought I had it made for transportation in Bangalore. That's like thinking you are having fun in Las Vegas but you've only just arrived in the casino.

I still hadn't gotten the kitchen things I wanted so on my next free afternoon, I called Arif, the driver who had taken me to Lal Bagh. He was out of town for a wedding, so I called Mr. Murthy and told him what I wanted to do. He was busy with another customer but he would send someone else over for me. That driver showed up on time and off we went to shop for kitchen things.




View My Bangalore Adventure in a larger map


We hadn't discussed any names of stores or streets of locations, we just started driving down Airport Road toward MG Road (a main traffic artery through Bangalore). I had the general idea from studying maps that we would end up on Commercial St. which people had said was an amazing place for bargain hunting. Yes, that's where we went and it was amazing!



I felt we had turned the corner into a place left over from the days of Aladdin and the magic lamp (except for the updated merchandise). I didn't have my camera so I can't show how it looked to me but I found a few photos that come close. There was a store filled with all sorts of cookware and I bought plenty of it. When I stepped out the door with a big bag full of pots and utensils I found an empty rickshaw, no driver. I guess he'd gone off to where bored drivers hang out. I waited about 10 minutes and then called Mr. Murthy. OK, the driver is coming. He shows up in a few minutes and I'm ready to go home.



But we don't go home. We go to some shop he thinks I should look at. No. I'm done shopping. Please, just five minutes, look. No, I'm not getting out. OK, maybe you like this one. I've been there already. Please, this shop is very nice, you take a look and see. Alright, I'll look, five minutes! This goes on for about five shops. And yes, as someone commented on my previous post, it's all about kickbacks, I mean "commissions." I'm from Chicago, home of Rod Blagojevich; we know a lot about that kind of thing. Actually, this is pretty amateur compared to Chicago-style kickbacks. But annoying.

I did go into two shops that looked worthwhile and was satisfied to solve my wall hanging problem for about $6 American and discover a pair of earrings that totally matched an unusual ring of mine that I care quite a bit about. So I still thought that it was an OK day. Except, when we got back, I asked the driver what the charge was and he just says, "Whatever you think." So I figure I did a lot of shopping and give him 100 Rs. He says, "That's cheap M'am." "Oh! Well what it should be?" A little head wag, side-to-side, no speaking. OK, I give him another 100 Rs. (To learn more what that head-wagging might have meant, click here.)

I am done with "shopping" ! Keeping that in mind, the next day I cross Mr. Murthy off my list and try my luck with some other driver parked outside the gate who looked about as old as Methuselah. Did I think senior citizens were naturally more virtuous? I guess so. I ask him what he'd charge to go to Cubben Park and wait for a couple hours while I take photos and then come straight back. He says 300 Rs. OK deal. We do the park and then he suggests I see the Parliament building. Since it's just around the corner, I say OK.

We do that, and I take photos, although it's clear he doesn't get the concept of taking photos to be artistic. He figured I'd do the regular tourist one-shot and get out of there. Instead, I'm prowling up and down (it's a very large, long building), going close, going far, crouching here, kneeling there, trying to find good angles and good light while dodging the obvious tourists. He's discreetly hovering around trying to get me back into the rickshaw. It's actually not very good daylight for photos, so I give up fairly quickly.



As soon as we're rolling, he starts with the shopping business. No and no and no. I am not getting out. I've already been there. Again, five different shops at least. I decide it's time for a new tactic. I go in a shop; I tell the shopkeeper the rickshaw driver told me to take a look for five minutes so I'm just coming in to make the driver happy. Then I ask for his card, write down either his name or a note about something in the shop and say something like, "Very nice, I'll think about this for later. Good-bye." This speeds things up.

Eventually, the driver hits on the shop where I bought the earrings. I either paid too much or they figure I'm coming back for something bigger. They are so pleased and happy to see me. Come in and have a cup of tea with us. I have a cup of tea in the shop. Over tea, one of them suggests he could personally escort me to Mysore for a day or overnight. (Oh, that's the game!) I get back in the rickshaw. The driver is not happy. "They told me you were already there and they wouldn't give me anything."

"I told you I had already been shopping and didn't want to do any more shopping. What would you have gotten anyway?" I am thinking whatever it is, I would rather pay it than waste my time riding in rickshaws. "It's not for me, it's for my children." "What do your children get?" They get coupons for school." "What are they worth to you, these coupons?" "It's for the children. To get gifts from the school." "How much are these gifts worth?" He stops talking.

We get back to the Diamond District. I give him 300 Rs. He looks at me like he wants to say I'm pretty cheap but I just say, "That was the deal." A little head-wag and maybe almost a smile (or a mental kicking himself moment), "Yes."

And wait, there's more.....

My Bangalore Adventure, Part 4: the Diamond District up close

Before reading any further, you might want to check out the builder's on-line brochureware for the place.

The Diamond District is like a medieval walled city. It’s an irregular elliptical shape with five guarded gates; thee gates have little guardhouses. Two office buildings anchor one end of the complex and front on Old Airport Road (the road I came in on). Residential buildings make up the rest of the perimeter. Most of these buildings butt against each other with gaps only where there are driveways out to the gates. Service driveways of patterned, molded brick tile either run between the buildings and the external fences or they circle the interior park and play area. The interior driveway is also billed as a jogging track.

The interior and exterior driveways connect at each building through lovely arched passages with dramatic nighttime lighting; these passages give access to the building courtyards among other things. Each building is about seven or eight stories high in a uniform design of cream, peach and ochre stucco.



They are built on a general circle-in-square structure, so the central courtyard is round and the north/south or east/west "poles" are the location points for the elevators, stairways, and entrance points. Security guards sit at each entrance.

Seen through bleary 2 AM eyes; or at night from a distance, or from a balcony at sunset, with lights twinkling around the pool and palm trees rustling, the place seems just like the advertisement, exotic and even glamorous. But in the light of day, you also notice that the plaster and tile is cracked and crumbling in places; black dirt streaks the walls, especially within the courtyards; and there are always piles of sweepings or trash not-yet-picked-up and maintenance-in-progress going on somewhere.

It's a mini-Bangalore. Something that went up fast when the economy was booming; progressive, convenient, a dream of good times and getting ahead but also stretched for resources to keep up.


I was especially astounded on my first walk when I stepped out onto the service drive behind my building and saw that a drainage canal ran along below the fence. It had serious swamp gas odor, water the color of milk chocolate, and banks littered with paper, plastics and old rags. That was a lot of trash floating downstream or snagged and bobbing in the water, too. Yet, on the other side of the canal was another apartment building and at the far end, buffered by some sort of service yard, was a very nice hotel and private golf course.

Back in the 1970s, the branches of the Chicago River used to be in pretty sad shape, a lot like this, but today, most people in Chicago who live along or near the river think of it as a picturesque feature. This canal was a real shock, like jumping backwards 30 or 40 or 50 years.



The office buildings, had their surprises, too. Especially the one that ThoughtWorks is not in. The ThoughtWorks building seems pretty full up with tenants and is on par with any Chicago class B commercial building but the other building seemed half deserted. It faces Airport Road directly and has the name “Diamond District” painted on the entrance in bold modern lettering. From the road, it looks like a cool place to be. The parking signs indicate that one of the major tenants is Oracle.

The far end of the building contains a medical clinic and a variety of doctor’s offices and seems in good shape. But here at the main entrance, peering into the lobby that first weekend, I saw the ceiling tiles had caved in, there was a pile of trash on the floor with plastic sheeting draped all around and lots of scaffolding.

A lonely guard sat at a desk and I would have tried for a few photos except I think he really didn’t want an Anglo-Euro type person documenting the situation. I came to the conclusion that another major tenant had pulled out or never came in, leaving half the place unfunded for maintenance. But that was three weeks ago and the lobby is repaired now and it seems to be a perfectly ordinary functional building.

I found one of the two grocery stores well, market as they call it, in the H block at the end of the complex. It has a lot in common with the small neighborhood stores you see in Chicago's black and Hispanic neighborhoods, except the lighting is dimmer and there's no alcohol. the shelves are packed with basics like bread, milk, cheese, eggs, chips and cookies, rice and pasta, toiletries, but nearly bare of fruits and vegetables. Household items in the back are jumbled up and dusty (they always are). No meat counter, either, hey, this is India. But there are some packages of cut-up chicken in the freezer. And the people are friendly and helpful.

I buy some things and continue to hunt for the other store. It's supposed to be in the N block but I don't see it. How can you hide a store? Oh, the guard tells me it's downstairs in the parking garage. Well, that's different! But it makes delivering the stock easy. This store is the one for fresh fruits and vegetables. It also has more specialty things like peanut butter, Green Giant corn and sweet pickles. There's a row of orders lined up on the floor for delivery to residents. I decide to try to split my shopping rupees as evenly as I can between the two places but I think this one is going to end up getting the bigger share.

The pots and pans in the kitchen are all sized for a family of four or more. I could use some smaller things. And maybe some knickknacks for those empty shadow boxes. Neither of these stores carries those things. Maybe I should get out beyond the walls tomorrow and do some other shopping.

Next: All about auto-rickshaws

My Bangalore Adventure, part 3: Settling in

What a relief, in my apartment and "home" at last! I just crashed and slept until about 2 PM Bangalore time Saturday, that’s about a 12 hour nap. By then, it was too far into the day to feel ambitious so I decided to just unpack, assess the apartment and get a feel for what’s inside the Diamond District, plus figure out what to do about food (I had packed a few emergency rations like tuna and Lipton noodles, just in case.)

The apartment is a service apartment, which means it is always being let out to transient workers like me; nobody has intended it to be a permanent home, so it has the usual chips, cracks, splotches, and quick fix patches. It's spartan, but clean, roomy and bright. It feels a lot like Rogers Park, I’m going to Loyola and just moved out of my dorm and into an apartment with another girl and we got all this furniture at an “antique” shop on Broadway near Wilson Avenue (if you know Chicago, you’ll know what I mean).

The colors are nicely coordinated -- dark woods, white leather and white walls, maroon, orange, or lavender accents, white marble tile floors. In a few places, the wood is just bare plywood – like my bed which is a platform bed bigger than the mattress it holds. You can tell there used to be bigger mattress because the platform under the mattress has a border of black paint to match the box sides but the border stops short of the mattress and shows about four inches of raw wood stamped with the manufacturer’s markings. But that's ok because I read in the local newspaper that the majority of Indians still sleep on the floor, certainly many from necessity, but also for some by choice (try googling "sleeping on floor in India").

I decide the place needs some decoration. There are a few small paintings but also two empty shadow boxes on the living room wall, just black rectangles hanging there, and a bare bolt in my bedroom where another wall hanging or mirror used to be. I make a mental note to look for decorative items.

We have a nice balcony with potted palms and a pretty view, especially at sunrise, sunset and night. It looks into the interior of the Diamond District, which is mostly a park and swimming pool for the residents. Being a pretty serious birdwatcher, I was really excited to step out on the balcony and look for my first Indian bird.

There it was … a rock dove! AKA, a pigeon, the same thing you see millions of in Chicago and every other city.

Later I did see a different bird with dramatic bands of white on its wings when it flew. Turned out to be a common myna, which is more than just common, it’s like the starling of Bangalore. So, maybe the birding scene is not going to be that exciting here.



There is a little apartment directory by the telephone. Just like in a hotel. It says there are two restaurants, two groceries, a beauty salon, a fitness center, a dry cleaners, etc. but it could be outdated. I decide to get out and investigate on my own.

But first, how about a shower! It’s a two-bedroom apartment. One of the other trainers, Deepali, will be my roommate but she won't get in until Monday. My room has a separate bath (shower only, no tub) across the hall; Deepali’s room has a private bath. I have a full-size bed, she has twins; bothj bedrooms have room-size air conditioners, lockable cupboards and wardrobes, full-length mirrors and small writing desks; I have a sliding door out to the balcony; she has a TV. So I guess it all evens out.

The bath is equipped with the basics -- towels, soap, shampoo. Inexplicably, there’s a mothball in every sink. I’ve never seen this before. Maybe it’s a trick to keep bugs from crawling out of the pipes. Or it’s a low-cost air freshener substitute. Yes, that’s it. Later in the week Sharlene, another trainer, told me that her apartment on the first floor was subject to intermittent swamp gas odors from the drains. There's a lot of press coverage about water and sewer management issues; Bangalore has had so much growth the past few years, infrastructure is really stretched to keep up.

I get in the shower. No hot water. Great! There’s a small hot water heater attached to the wall above the toilet. Pipes go up into it. I wonder if maybe some valves need to be opened. It’s too high for me to look at closely so I take a cold shower. Later that day, while trying to figure out the light switches, I discover there’s a wall switch outside the bathroom that turns on the water heater. Maybe that is the problem.

I’m freshly dressed and ready to take a walk. The building manager knocks on the door. “Here is today’s paper. Is everything fine in the apartment? Would you like cleaning today” “Yes, it’s fine. No, they can come tomorrow.” “Ok, tomorrow then, madame. Enjoy your stay.” That was nice.

Now, how about that walk? No, wait a minute. Paul hasn’t heard from me in two days. I should send him an email, he’ll be waking up in Chicago soon. The apartment comes equipped with wireless internet so I switch it on. There is some very faint scribbling on the modem, a number that looks like 4567890. Once the computer fires up, I get the prompt to enter the network password. I enter 4567890. The wireless reports that it is connected but I can’t get on to the internet. Great! Another thing to deal with.

Maybe it’s just a temporary outage of some sort. Well, I'm not going to fool around with it now, I just want to get out and walk around.

To be continued: the Diamond District up close.

My Bangalore Adventure Part 2: Where's my apartment?

There I was, in Bangalore at about 2 in the morning, without an apartment, with all my luggage in a car parked in front of an office building while the driver and I are in an elevator going up to the ThoughtWorks office. It is a short ride, since ThoughtWorks' main office is on the second floor.

The elevator door opens and the place is almost pitch black except for a small night light across from the elevator. For a second or two, I think the office is deserted. It is also very hot. Bang! The driver slams his hand on a counter, a chair on wheels crashes into a file cabinet, and a security guard appears out of the darkness.

The driver says a few words to him, it doesn't sound like English to me, and the guard gives him a set of keys. The driver and the guard show the keys to me. I see that the tag says A-77 and sign for them. "Ok, Come on," the driver says to me and we get back in the elevator.

The apartment apparently is in the building across the service drive from the office so we get all of the luggage out of the car, walk past another security guard at an outdoor post, cross an open courtyard and get in another elevator. The luggage barely fits and the door closes on us about three times while we try to get everything in. We go up to the seventh floor and get hit about three times by the elevator door while we take the luggage out.

The nearest apartment says A-78 and over to my left at the end of the hall is an open door labeled A-77. Through that door is a little receiving area with rattan sofa and potted palm, a closed door and a flight of stairs going off to the left. Here it is at last, my apartment!

I try the keys in that second door. They don't work.

I tell the driver they don't work. "No, no. Try it again." I do that. They don't work. Rerun the previous sentences. This time there's a man's voice on the other side of the door. "Bruh-burh-burgh." I can't make out the words but it's a grumpy voice. I tell the driver, "Look, there's somebody in there. There's some kind of mistake. this is not my apartment." The driver says to ring the bell.

"I'm not going to ring the bell, there's somebody in there already. We've got the wrong apartment." The driver rings the bell about three times. Then he wants to try the keys again. Suddenly the door opens and an angry, naked Australian or English man wrapped in a sheet looks out and says something like, "If the bloody keys don't work, then you've got the effin' wrong apartment. Now leave me alone!"

"See, I told you." I said to the driver.

The driver gets an "Ah-ha!" look on his face and says," I know, come on." We haul all the luggage back to the elevator, struggle with the door to get it all in again, go down to the first floor and struggle to get it all out. The driver knocks on an apartment door and in a few seconds a guy appears with clothes on. He seems to be either a friend of the driver or an employee of the building or both. They talk a little. The guy looks at my keys. The tag says A-77-PH. He says something else to the driver and the driver gets another enlightened expression on his face.

"Come on," he says and we get back in the elevator. We go up to the seventh floor. We go through the door marked A-77 but this time we haul ourselves and all the luggage up that flight of stairs to the left.

It's actually a flight, a landing and another flight. At the top are two doors. Neither are marked but the driver points to one and tells me to try the keys. They work! I've found my room! Apparently, I've been given the penthouse suite.

To be continued: My first weekend in Bangalore.

My Bangalore Adventure Part 1: Getting there

Flying to Bangalore from Chicago is a long flight -- about 20 hours including the connection time in Paris -- but not too bad if you 're comfortable sleeping on planes. I had the good luck to get a good price on an Air France flight. Flying Air France is very nice. They pour you a little glass of champagne for starters and it doesn’t cost $6 and not even $4; it’s free! (Although I think it’s really sparkling wine from the Pays d’Oc.) The wine with dinner is free too. And the dinners are not bad either…personal-size French bread loaves, couscous & smoked salmon salad, chicken in mushroom sauce with garlic mashed potatoes, vanilla custard and orange-cranberry cake. I could help myself to Perrier in the galley, too.

So that part was all very good. But I did have one brief moment of panic. My ticket from Chicago said arrival would be at gate E-something in Paris and depart from gate C84. In Paris all the monitors showed the Bangalore gate was now C91. No big deal, except transferring passengers had to go to a bus pick-up zone, wait for a bus, drive a long way over to the C gates, then go through a Security check (only 2 lanes open), all over again.

After that, there was only enough time to buy a box of chocolates for the office (a ThoughtWorks tradition), go to the ladies room and get in the line that was boarding the plane at gate C91. I liked my seat and had more legroom than the first flight so I was happily distracted in a book by the time the plane pulled away from the gate and started taxiing to the runway.

Just about then, I vaguely heard the captain say something about seatbelts and/or electronic devices blah-blah-blah "until we arrive in Pakistan"….. WHHAT!!!! Did he say really say Pakistan??! Did I get on the wrong plane??????

The map in the Air France magazine didn’t even show an Air France connection in Pakistan. What to do? I decided it was too late to do anything and if this plane really was going to Pakistan, they’d have to sort it out at that end. Thankfully, about an hour later, the menu cards came out with French and South Indian options, along with a swine flu questionnaire and information card from the Indian state of Karnataka, so I knew for sure I was really headed for Bangalore.

Arriving at Bangalore International Airport was pretty ordinary and about as efficient as anywhere else. After we de-planed, we had to queue up and go through the scanners again (but not the full shoes-off, laptops out scanning). Mysteriously, after about two-thirds of the passengers had gone through, a guard shut the line down and waved the rest of us on to customs unscanned. All the customs personnel wore face masks to safeguard against swine flu and were very interested in checking for anybody who looked the slightest bit ill. The lines moved pretty fast, faster than it took for the luggage to arrive.

I had an email that said a driver would be there to meet me and he would have the keys to my apartment in an envelope addressed to me. Very simple, very typical, I think. So when I step out into the taxi/pick-up area, there is a long line of drivers holding signs for different people from different companies. I walk up and down the line twice. Nothing with my name or ThoughtWorks on it. On the third pass, as I get near the far end of the line, I catch a glimpse of a driver I hadn't seen before folding up a sign that said ThoughtWorks and walking away. Maybe he had always been there at the back of the crowd. Maybe I was just too tired.

I yell, "Hey! ThoughtWorks!" three or four times until one of the other drivers catches him and points me out. Yes, the sign he is holding is for me. It's not exactly the precision pick-up I had imagined but not a disaster, either.

We hauled the luggage; two suitcases, a backpack, and my computer case a long way to the parking lot. It's sometime past midnight and really dark so I can't see much about the surroundings. We load up the car, but it's a small car (almost all the cars here are small to tiny) so one suitcase has to go in the front seat. He pays the parking attendant and we start driving.

And driving. And driving. Drive. Drive. Drive. Occasionally we beep at somebody for changing lanes or trying to enter the road ahead of us. Others beep at us for the same reasons. Drive. Drive. Beep. Beep. Drive. Beep.

Mostly the scenery is very dark. Just basic outlines of buildings or fences and palm trees. Since it is too dark to see much, it feels a lot like driving through LA on Highway 101 --the parts with all the old-time, low-rise motels and low-rent strip malls. Every once in awhile there is a glimpse of some fantastic oriental fairyland type of structure, it's a bus stand or subway entrance; there's a small temple-like building, then some interesting houses with iron gates, colorful shutters and thick plaster walls and balconies. For awhile we drove past a dark spot with lots of trees. They gave the air a spicy aroma, almost like smelling cookies. After that came a stretch that looked and smelled like a refinery or chemical distribution center.

Then we were driving past military bases. The state and regional HQ for the Army and Air Force are in Bangalore. These were bases with long histories; you could tell by the brick walls and large trees on the grounds. We also passed a large western-style church in a very traditional cathedral style. Next came a big hospital and some type of science academy. I had studied a map before leaving Chicago and I knew all of these things were along Airport Road. What I didn't know was where the Diamond District fit in. That's the name of the complex where ThoughtWorks and its corporate apartments are located.

I see that the road signs are pointing ahead for the central business area. Then suddenly I see the most fabulous pink building. It's several stories tall and really spread out with arches and elaborate columns and figures in costumes. There is a sign that says Leela Palace and I am thinking it is a restored palace or temple that is in use now for theatrical performances or cultural events. I really want to know more about this place (and I do find out more on Sunday), but it is close to 2 AM on Saturday and the driver has made a hard right and is driving several hundred yards back the way we came. He goes though a gate beside an office building, stops the car and says, "Here's ThoughtWorks."

"I don't want to go to ThoughtWorks," I say. "That's where I work. Nobody's working there now. You're supposed to take me to my apartment." "No," he says. "We go to ThoughtWorks. You have to go up there." "No. You're supposed to get me to my apartment." "We have to go to ThoughtWorks. Come, I'll show you." He starts to get out of the car. "What? And take all these bags up there?" I have a vision of sleeping on the floor outside the office door. "No, leave it. It'll be OK." I hold on to my laptop and backpack anyway and we get out of the car and into the elevator in the lobby. We are going up to ThoughtWorks.

Next installment: When do I really get to my apartment ?

My previous project

Here's a little self-promotion:

Martin Fowler had a very nice write-up about my last project, the one that's still going without me. He said, "It's a favorite of mine because it exhibits an important property of my preferred view of software development: a long term support of a business function enabled by a well-designed code-base. The fact that they are still adding useful business value after ten years is a big dollop of kudos."

He also referenced a podcast about our project, Keeping Grey Code Fit, in which I am one of the panelists.

I didn't have any thing to do with that well-designed code base. We had and still have, a great team of developers. But I will take some credit for ensuring that the stuff we added over the past few years still had business value.

For example, my friend and fellow TWer, Josh Evnin, and I worked with members of the client's staff to do two contextual inquiries with the end users. This research revealed a sizeable list of quick-payoff process and software improvements, and helped the client avoid some expensive decisions.

We gave a presentation about this work at Agile 2008. The experience report is available through IEEE for $19 but if you are a registered user, the .pdf handout of our presentation, Are You Sure, Really: A Contextual Approach to Agile User Research is on the Agile 2008 wiki. Or you can contact me for a copy.

How I learned to let go and love life on the beach

Hi. I'm Marjorie Pries and this is my first blog post. I'm a business analyst / project manager / iteration manager / utility player (honest, my business card says, "Utility Infielder" ) for ThoughtWorks, Inc. in Chicago.

I've been in software development since 1992 and I've been with ThoughtWorks since June 2000. Today, I'm "on the beach." That means I'm in-between projects ... non-billable ... unassigned ... waiting for something to come in. I've been on the beach since the end of January and you know what, I have never been on the beach with ThoughtWorks before.

It has nothing to do with me, or the project I was on. We still have that client but they don't have the same budget they had last year, and it just made sense for me to come off. It gave a really good guy a chance to stretch and take on some different responsibilities and what the heck, I'm the utility infielder, at any other time it would have been easy to fit me into something new right away.

So five weeks later, what can I say about being on the beach, this long? I was really surprised how much of a grieving aspect there was to my days. The first week was a lot of sorting through mementos, archiving documents and elements, updating the former team wiki, and just generally letting all those wheels of concern and ideation roll to a halt. The second week I shadowed on another project just to see what was what. It was mostly excruciatingly boring (my IM avatar during that week was a chattering skull in a dungeon with a tortoise) but I was still feeling grief. A great emptiness emerged from no longer having that great project and its great people (TWers and the client's) in the center of my worklife.

I spent a week in Oregon with my mother-in-law (well, my live-in partner's mother). We shopped everyday for things she had vague ideas about but couldn't find on her own ...that's some real analysis work there. It helped! Also reading a really good detective story, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. But still some emptiness lingered.

Now I'm five weeks into it and over it. I dropped off my last folder of notes with the old team earlier this week, submitted a proposal for an Agile 2009 presentation, signed up for some conferences and classes, have some project prospects on the horizon, and even started blogging.

It's cool, and I feel I've made an important people management discovery. Downtime between projects is necessary! The longer the participation in the old project and the deeper the ties (to the project team and to the project strategy), the more a person needs downtime to let go, say good-bye, reflect on lessons learned, and focus on the new things they want to pick up. Two weeks is OK for lightweight gear-shifting but definitely a minimum of four to six weeks works better when the previous role was intense. If your organization can afford it, you must do it. The re-charge will certainly payback unforeseen benefits in the long run.