Amit Sinha's Travelog

In 2006 I had started this blog to record my thoughts as I traveled around the world on a 6 month sabbatical. 3 years on, I am now married, have a son, and am back in New York at my job.

I am now starting my blog again, with the intention of making this a resource for travelers who want to head out on their own, or with friends/family, and are seeking destinations, tips and things to do that one wont find in the typical guidebook.

One of the many cliches, oft repeated to the point of annoyance, is “absence makes a heart grow fonder”. Now that I am back, after a six month separation, while unfortunately there’s no heart waiting for me to grow fonder of, I have realized that New York is a city I love, and its attraction has only grown as I traversed the globe.

I’ve had no trouble re-adjusting to life in the big city. In fact, I think I would be in trouble if I were to live anywhere else. I would probably shoot myself in a fit of depression if I had returned from this long break to suburbia (no offense to any of my readers who hail from this construct of the modern urban planner).

There really is something about New York. I got in early morning on Monday, and feeling a little low, I decided to head out for a run. As I jogged outside, amidst the old buildings, basking in the mid-morning sun, watching people walking about, eating at cafes. seeing the various eclectic stores that would survive only in a city like New York, my spirits started rising. Its really one of those few places where you can see people, shops, and restaurants from across the world in the course of a 3 mile run.
Sorority sisters from connecticut and their ohmigods and totallys
yelled over fancy pink cellphones with flashing lights, tall burly
jamaicans and their dreadlocks, an old asian couple walking slowly hand-in-hand right past a muslim man with his traditional skullcap speaking arabic on his cell phone right beside a couple of eastern european movers having an argument over something. Gay couples walking comfortably, with neither them nor the rest of the pedestrians feeling that anything’s different. A sign for an upcoming “dog gym” that caters especially to “smaller breeds” jostles for attention with one announcing the latest Will Farrell offering. Both are pasted on the temporary wall of some shop undergoing renovation. And of course, I’ll have to admit, being summer, the sight of lovely women running and walking in the latest fashions will uplift the spirits of even the most depressed

Last month, around the time of the terror alert in Heathrow, when terrorism showed its head again, putting the world in a fit of paranoia laced with fear, I was in Chennai, India. My mother, sitting next to me and watching the story unravel in the media frenzy that followed the events, asked me, after one particularly zealous reporter tried to paint a picture of impending doom for anyone remotely associated with New York or the United States of America, why through all this travel I hadn’t found an alternate job in London, or Australia or even better, Mumbai or Chennai. Her fear was understandable, as was that of most of the world, whose source of information are ratings-hungry television channels. While one reason why I didn’t find anything was that I hadn’t really looked (my resume has not been updated since 2003), the second, and more important reason was that I hadn’t yet found a reason to leave New York. I am sure I could enjoy a life just as much in London, or Melbourne or Mumbai, and at the very least get something larger than the shoebox I call my apartment, as well as probably find something with a better quality of life, it would not be the same as New York.

I like New York because it has, in one small island, all the things that I look for when I travel around the world. I was heading to work the other morning, on the Number 4 train, and I realized what it was about the city that appealed to me. In that one subway car, there were a couple of monkeys in suits (including me), a girl in gothic chic, a couple of school children in uniform, a man with crooked teeth and torn clothes, a lady choosing to read out loud passages from the bible, amongst an assortment of people from various walks of life, and various races. The difference though, was that no one gave the other person a second glance- there was no feeling of being scrutinized because of what you wear, or where you come from or how you look- you can be anybody you want to be. Your personal life, in this city of 8 million people, is only yours. I am yet to see that anywhere else in the world.

For the past week or so, I’ve been in Chennai, the city where I grew up. It=
s been a mix of spending time with family and friends, relaxing, as well as=
exploring. For the first time in six years I’m actually living life in Che=
nnai, instead of making a hurried visit to the city.

Chennai, like almost anything in India is full of contrasts, and just one d=
ay here brings that out. Chennai traffic is a mess, with roads woefully ina=
dequate for the hundreds of new Hondas, Toyotas and Chevys that hit the cit=
y streets, fueled by the IT boom. The municpial corporation, never one for =
ingenuity and efficiency, a center of either lethargy or incompetance, cann=
ot be relied on to provide proper street lighting, clean roads, and other b=
asic amenities that would be expected in one of the fastest growing cities =
in the world, where residential real estate costs between $100-$200 a sq. f=
t. The traffic police continue to be incompetent as well as corrupt. The mu=
ch awaited Mass Transit System is about twenty years behind schedule. As a =
result of all these macro issues, and the fact that I don’t have an Indian =
Drivers license, and my mother doesn’t have a driver, drove me into borrowi=
ng our watchman’s (Security Guard for the American readers) bicyle to make =
my way around the city.

This afternoon, I headed out on to the roads on a bicyle whose brakes have =
a mind of their own, which most of the time resides in a different world, a=
nd refuses to cooperate, despite all my advances. This is especially discon=
certing when you have a bus rushing past you on the right, a mass of people=
at the bus stop rushing towards the bus from the left, and two motorbikes =
behind you that have a deathwish. Spending even a few minutes on the street=
s in India will provide you with an answer to why Hindus have many gods. Wi=
th so much chaos on the roads, you need several gods working full time to e=
nsure a safe journey. Anyway, thanks to the multiple prayers to multiple go=
ds that my mother performs each morning and evening, I made my way safely t=
hrough the chaotic main roads of Adyar and towards Taramani, which is the n=
ew town built in the past two years on what was essentially barren land. As=
soon as you cross a recently constructed bridge, its as if you have moved =
to a different country. Gone are the crowds, the dirt, the drime, the chaos=
.. Instead, if you make your way past the security guard, you are in a compl=
ex that could be anywhere in the world. The Ascendas IT Park is a glass and=
concrete structure that houses centers for several of Indian Infotech comp=
anies. When you walk through a lobby that’s more spacious and modern than m=
ost buildings in New York, you see a high-tech card access system standing =
between you and an elevator bank that would take you to offshoring offices =
where someone is writing bank software for Citibank, or someone is taking f=
lak from a lady in Ohio who found an error in her Amex card. In the lobby, =
you have a wonderful food court, and a gym whose membership is costing me m=
ore than my New York Health and Racquet Club fees! The shops in the complex=
cater completely to yuppiedom, with two coffee shops, a computer store, a =
“Dollar Store”, fancy gift store, and a couple of mobile phone shops.=20

Some people point to places like this and talk about the phenomenal change =
engulfing India and taking it into the ranks of the developed world. Sure, =
places like this are extremely comfortable, and feel very western, and have=
not only provided employment to hundreds, but also provided them with an o=
utlet to spend their money and enjoy life as well. And for a yuppieish pers=
on like me, having a western-style gym, and a starbucks-type coffee shop, p=
rovide me with some of my creature comforts in a place I would least expect=
to fnd them. Yet, it take me less than two minutes on my watchman’s ricket=
y bicycle without brakes, to go from this Disneyland into a muddy ditch tha=
t the corporation decided to leave unattended on a busy road, letting it fi=
ll up with rainwater. Another three minutes on the same cycle, after gettin=
g my face colored black by a polluting government bus, and nearly getting r=
un over by another, I find myself in front of a brand new residential apart=
ment building, with high walls, landscaped gardens, the works, which has, j=
ust outside it, a stinking garbage can that’s empty, but there’s garbage ly=
ing all around it. Yes, India is making its way to being developed, but eve=
n in its most tony regions, the basic tenets of development, namely cleanli=
ness and respect, seem like goals that are just not on the agenda. A comple=
x that provides everything within its compound, protecting itself from the =
world through high walls is easy, but providing those same standards outsid=
e those four walls is what’s required.

Ok, so the word ‘exile’ might be a little strong, given that I am
sitting at a Starbucks, using an incredibly fast Wi-Fi connection
while looking at the bustling lunchtime traffic of bankers and other
sundry professionals walk around the Collins Street business district
of Melbourne. However, for a short while at least, that’s what I’ve
been reduced to, courtesy the United States Government.

The United States of America is truly one of the great nations in the
world. Its educational centers and corporations are known for their
efficiency and innovation. Its consultants have made billions
advising the world on better customer service and communication
methods. The internet found new uses and legs thanks to US-based
entrepreneurs, financiers and large telecoms. A walk down the crowded
and busy streets of New York provide the appropriate image for the
old adage, “Time is Money”. However, this concept of efficiency,
customer service and communication does not appear to have made its
way across to its foreign consulates and embassies, which continue to
vie with third world government organizations for a place in the
Customer Unfriendly Hall of Fame.

Over a month ago, on May 12th to be precise, I made my way to the
U.S. Consulate in Melbourne to have my U.S. Visa renewed. Everything
went smoothly at that time, and the lady at the counter assured me
that I would get my passport back with the visa within two days. A
week passed, and there was no response, and I had to leave the
country for New Zealand. Getting in touch with the consulate was
another exercise in futility. The very American concept of a Toll-
Free number was replaced by an equally American innovation, the 1-900
number. Its Aussie equivalent was used here, and for a mere $15 I had
the privilege of listening to a recorded message that provided me
with positively zero information. By now it was time for me to head
to Sydney, where I had a couple of days before New Zealand. Finally,
in response to an e-mail I had sent a couple of days earlier, I
miraculously received a response saying that they would return my
passport so that I could make the New Zealand trip and they would
contact me when my visa was ready. While my passport made its way
from the U.S. Consulate in Melbourne to my relative’s place in
Melbourne from where it was forwarded on to my hotel in Sydney to
arrive about fifteen hours before my flight to New Zealand, I decided
to set the stage for the next level of negotiations by sending an
email to the consulate asking them to provide me with an estimate of
when I could expect the visa, and also what could be the reason for
the delay. I figured if they required additional documentation and
suchlike, I might be able to help them. Needless to say, i received
no response to the aforementioned email.

Anyway, not allowing such trivial matters to come in the way of
enjoying life, I figured I’d let the U.S. Government’s affairs take
its own course, and put my faith in the fact that when the
authorities of a ten trillion dollar country say they will get in
touch with me, they would, I continued on my tour of Australia,
arriving into Melbourne a day before my departure to South East Asia.

And that brought me to this morning, when, without any email in my
mailbox, I decided to head over to the Consulate and try and
penetrate their defences and meet with some human being who might be
able to help me. At the entrance, I was stopped by security, who I
will admit was kind enough and extremely helpful. He took my
information and call somebody upstairs while I waited.

Anyway, so finally here’s where we stand- They have taken my
passport, and are going to ‘look at their system’ to see what the
issue is. They cannot tell me when they will know the status, and
neither can they tell me when I can expect to hear from them, and of
course, they cannot tell me when I will get my visa or what the
reason for the delay is- as a result, I am now confined to remaining
in Melbourne for anywhere from a day to an eternity.

I have the utmost respect for Governments wanting to protect their
borders and their citizens from brown-skinned young men who have a
penchant for dong things like flying aeroplanes into big buildings.
Protecting a nation, its people and making it safe to live is noble,
and I have no issues with things taking time in order to ensure that
all the boxes have been checked and the consulate has verified all
details. Providing a visa to an Indian whose been in the U.S. for ten
years, and has been working in New York for the past six with the
country’s second largest bank, may require checks that are a little
more onerous than say someone who decides to hide in a crate and make
his way into the country.

What I do have an issue with is the lack of communication. I believe
I have a right to at least know what’s causing a delay, how long they
expect the delay to be, in order to make my plans instead of spending
time and money switching flights and travel plans around. I might
also be able to help the matter, providing them with any information
that might be lacking. However, that would just be making life way to
convenient for the public I’m afraid.

Ok, so I am done venting now. I shall get back to my Venti Soy Chai
at Starbucks and figure out what to do with my extra time in
Melbourne. Maybe look for a job or something in case its a long wait.

Musings from Melbourne

Its a little after 9pm. Yet, if I look outside the window, I see
nothing, and can’t hear a thing either. I walk out, and I find rows
of pretty houses, manicured lawns, and assorted Camrys, Accords and
Fords arranged neatly along a winding path. Its absolutely quiet,
with hardly a soul stirring. You see lights in the occasional living
room, and if you are lucky and the blinds are open, catch a
flickering telly.

I am in Hoppers Crossing, a suburb of Melbourne, but I might as well
be in a town along the Northeast corridor in New Jersey. The train
line is a ten minute bus ride or twenty minute walk, and the local
train dutifully follows the schedule and takes you into the heart of
the city, every fifteen minutes to half an hour. Its Melbourne’s
modernized version of the NJ Transit.

I am spending a couple of weeks here, taking a break from my travels
and attempting to relax and try and live a civilized life. While I’m
having success with the latter, the former is a little tougher. After
four months of scaring border officials, I finally got myself a
haircut, and my jeans saw the insides of a washing machine the first
time this year. I have three meals a day in a table on a kitchen,
wear clean socks, underwear, and actually use face wash and not soap
to clean my face. I still forget sometimes to change into PJs at
night, as I’ve gotten used to sleeping in the same clothes that I’ve
been wearing during the day.

When I got here I thought I would get some time to myself, not
rushing around taking in sights and experiencing the city life, and
provide me with the opportunity to catch up on my blog, post
pictures, etc. However, its been quite the opposite, as I’ve been
dragged into the suburban family lifestyle. My cousins here have
three kids, aged one, three and eight, and have discovered a
benevolent, inexperienced and extremely gullible babysitter in me. I
enjoy being with children, and for some reason they seem to relate to
me as well, must be something to do with my mental maturity! However,
what starts as a two minute ‘oh lets play piggy back’ ends up
becoming an hour-long yelling, screaming, hair-pulling playfest which
invariably ends up in one of the kids crying and everyone accusing
each other and a hapless wannabe world traveller in their midst,
desperately seeking help, and completely adoring them at the same
time. Kids really are terribly wonderful. I can see why people go to
such pains in order to raise a family, including moving to this
mysterious and crazy place called Suburbia.

A family and suburbia does crazy things to your life, as I’ve noticed
out here. First, the basic things in life take a lot more planning
and time. You don’t just decide to go somewhere and head out of the
house, You need to make sure you have baby food and water packed. Is
the baby seat in the car? Oh, and yes, you do need a car for
everything. Two is preferable. It takes about two hours to get a kid
ready, before they decide they need to use the bathroom, and then
repeat the process all over again. Shopping, is never a trip, its an
expedition. You never buy a small pack of anything. Its got to be
bulk. You can’t just stop and buy a coffee. You need to get ice cream
and hot chocolate for the kids, and next thing you know, that one
tiny cup of vice turns into a six item order. The regard I have for
my cousins keep going up several notches as I see them undertake this
battle every day. They do seem to enjoy it. Despite the hour long
commute each morning, the cacophony of childrens’ voices and demands
and games that greet them when they return, they would not trade this
for anything else in the world.

I’ve never lived in Suburbia. I grew up in Madras, a city of four
million people (at that time) in India, and now live in Greenwich
Village, New York. I am used to having several stores, open at all
hours, right outside my home. I am used to noise, blaring horns,
ambulances and drunk revelers making valiant attempts at disturbing
my sleep. I am used to walking outside on a sunny afternoon and
finding a cafe with Wi-Fi and cappucino. After my matchbox studio, I
feel lost in a large three bedroom house with a garage and a lawn and
a backyard. I’ve started running every day, and am hard pressed to
see more than ten people each time.

After a few days in the comfortable confines of my cousin’s suburban
home, and a couple of trips to the mall, I grew antsy and needed my
city fix. I took the train into Melbourne and felt rejuvenated. Here
was a city that seemed to have found the perfect blend between a city
and natural beauty. Lovely parks alongside skyscrapers. Wide
boulevards, people, shops, cafes, and runners. A lot of them. At all
hours. What’s more, they even have a golf course and driving range in
the heart of the city.

All-in-all, its probably been the most well balanced couple of weeks.
I’m enjoying the comfort of suburbia, while getting to enjoy the
city, spending time with family, being entertained by the kids, and
exploring a new city at the same time. My cousins, who love driving,
have been showing us around, and thanks to them I saw my first
Koalas, Kangaroos, Pelicans and Penguins on Phillip Island,
experienced some breath-taking scenery along the Great Ocean Road,
and roamed a weekend flea market.