Beckoned by maple leaves

There is always an interesting twist to my first visits to a country: a dash of silliness, a hint of eeriness, and just enough confusion to make the trip a little more interesting, and certainly more memorable.

It all began with my first trip abroad to the US, almost 17 years back. The fascinating turn of events during the maiden journey - from the initial transgressions at the Mumbai airport [First time at international airport.html], the encounter with two Vs between Mumbai and San Francisco [Of water served with lime twist], the check-in confusion at San Francisco Airport on my way to New York, the adventure of the 'missing bag' between San Francisco and Newark, and finally the non-existent hotel booking in New York [Of Ps and Qs], courtesy some wonderful assumptions and funny coincidences – brings a big smile on my face even today. Boy it was exhilarating!

Image Courtesy: Yours truly!!😊

This time I was Northward bound, to the land of maple leaves. It was also my first international business trip in a while, so naturally some twists were always on the cards.

The scheduling intricacies

The trip was initially expected to be in September, right after Ganesh Festival. After preparing for almost two months, guess what nixed the plan? Sudden appearance of some holidays in the calendar! No, I am not joking, and they couldn't think about it when we started planning way back in June. Next, I carefully tucked my two weeks of fame right in between Dusshera and Diwali, which again got pushed - this time, the hosts abruptly remembered they celebrated something called Thanksgiving in October. This revelation, notably, occurred only after I asked. Finally, since December would have been embarrassingly late for both the parties - after all, we were planning for so long - and too close to yet another holiday season for them - November had to win by default! Boy oh boy, was I getting enough hints for the interesting times ahead? If patience was a virtue, I was getting tested to my wits' end to win the accolades. 

The weather conundrum

While we were discussing the travel itinerary and meeting agenda in the three locations in Canada, there was always an incoming advice on the different weather conditions in the different time zones I was bound to experience. Vancouver, followed by Montreal, and then Toronto - it was a good potpourri of what Canadian weather had to offer. Someone subtly, and very jokingly, mentioned 'snow' during one of those light-hearted conversations, but we brushed it off as a low probability event - the disclaimer always being it starts only in November end. Honestly, after spending over a decade in Namma Bengaluru, even traveling to a place with low single-digit temperatures needed some planning - more so because the market was getting ready for the Diwali shopping, not for Winter shopping. Mention of snow at that point was a little too ambitious. And with all kinds of superstitions associated with my previous international travels, all this was happening without the knowledge of my shopping partner who had to play an important role in the preparation.

Taking into account multiple quotients associated with the warm clothes shopping - utility, shouldn't be too warm or too thin; availability, in Bengaluru at that time of the year (no time left for online haggling), reusability, when and whether I will reuse it; affordability (well, of course); brand and probability (of adverse weather events) - we finally settled down with something which will be ok to carry me in low single digit temperatures, slightly wet surroundings, a good mix of semi-formal / formal / casual, and can be used once in a while in early morning / late night Bengaluru weather!

Business luxuries

Image Courtesy: Of course, CHATGPT!!😊

Any other day, the environment and cost conscious, humble "me" would have lightly kicked myself for this. But there comes a time when you decide not to push back for a change. The long distance journey, and a certain designation in the organization, made me eligible for a Business Class travel. Did I have an option of saying no? Of course, yes. Did I exercise the option? No! Not this time.

Carbon footprint can be looked into later on - I will walk to the groceries' throughout next one year. Humility can wait for a while - sorry NRN and Mr. Tata. Purse strings can be managed in different ways - so what if all of them were Five Star stays. This time, I had to loosen up a little bit. Was it worth it? A resounding yes, for reasons more than one!

Well, I tried a little, to change the class for the Bengaluru to New Delhi leg of the journey - the company policy blocked me from partially changing the class of one part of the journey. The hotels I booked were all a walking distance from the office, hence a lot of money on local transport saved.

See, there was an honest attempt made ... not completely guilty! 😇😇😇

Of Ps and Qs

Having spent majority of the Frankfurt - San Francisco leg of my journey thinking about the unsolved riddle, and thanking to God that amidst my woes with Ps and Qs, i.e. pronunciation and queues, I managed with addition of just one more tick off in my list, the landing announcement made by the Captain added to my discomfort, as it triggered another series of thoughts in my mind. "What next?" and "When is the next tick off?" (check here and here for the earlier tick offs) were the questions rattling me.

Keeping my fingers crossed, I disembarked from the aircraft and followed fellow passengers towards the immigration check. My well-rehearsed answers from the visa interview came to my rescue once again, and I was on my way to the baggage carousel in just about fifteen minutes. By now, I had successfully managed two queues (one while disembarking, and the second one at the immigration counter), and was feeling better because pronunciation issues did not get me into any unfamiliar trouble with the immigration officer. This confidence helped me sail through my three days stay, and I was ready for the next leg of the journey - San Francisco to New York.

Driving to the airport, all the while talking to the Indian cabbie in Hindi, was a good break from accents and pronunciation. Missing from the list of suggestions and advises he gave me was the fact that the luggage trolley at the airport needed a swipe of my credit card to come out of the rack. This, I realized, only after failing to get one out with brute force and of course, after getting those "Oh, look at that idiot" looks. Tick tick six! Damn, isn't it so easy in India? After similarly struggling on yet another novelty called self check-in kiosk (yes, they were not so ubiquitous in India those days), I joined the queue for security check. Waiting in the queue, I was so happy to see exactly three more first-timers struggling with the luggage trolley and exactly two more novices learning how to use the kiosk. In close to thirty minutes, I was at the head of the queue, and at the receiving end of yet another, now familiar, stare from the security person. After "politely" being told that I was supposed to "check-in" the bag as well, I was on my way towards the check-in counter. How in the world did I think of taking the big blue monster with me as a cabin luggage? Anyways, my romance with queues continued. Tick tick seven!

To be on a safer side, this time I chose to skip the kiosk, and opted for the manual counter. After three attempts at getting the pronunciation of Newark correct, or so I believed, I was again back in the queue for security check. This time I made it pass the lady, without missing the smirk on her face. After crossing the length and breadth of the airport for next half an hour, I reached my terminal and started waiting for the next announcement. All this while, I was a bit restless, mulling over the series of events till now. I was sure something was amiss. Knowing very well that my pronunciation had already made me drink vodka instead of water (Link), and remembering the exchange of confused looks during my second check-in, I walked down to the airline counter to verify my check-in details. Being assured by the executive that my final destination in the system is indeed Newark, I got back to the waiting area, with a lingering thought still in my mind that all is not well. Even the airport code of my destination on the baggage tag had no mention of New York, or Newark, or anything similar. May be they don't use logically derived airport codes in this part of the world!

Throughout the journey from SF to NY, the restlessness refused to subside. Another new experience, that of traveling with a no-frills airline, hit me when I realized that the meals on-board were not complimentary. To add to the agony, there were only some cookies available in the vegetarian menu, and the flight duration was almost seven hours. By the time I reached NY, hungry as a wolf, I was certain that my bag had not reached the same destination. As if on cue, I happened to see a lost baggage reporting counter right next to the carousel. I don't remember seeing one of those so conspicuously close to the carousel on any of the other airports I have been to. Missing bags was much more frequent in this part of the world it seemed!

Well as luck would have it, my fears came true and I ended up taking the service of the lost baggage counter. After providing all the relevant information, I walked towards the airport exit. The security person, on being asked about the taxi stand, advised me to take the more economical shuttle service to Hilton. Receiving such a warm treatment from the gentleman, when you are struggling in the cold weather and surprisingly wet night, felt nice. On reaching the hotel, my next surprise was eagerly waiting for me. I was told that I do not have a reservation in the hotel. After checking and re-checking the system multiple times, I finally thought of checking one of the multiple print outs I had taken. Only then did I come to know that the reservation is in Hilton Time Square, and I was standing in Hilton Newark. Wow!! Tick tick eight!

The receptionist was kind enough to arrange a cab for me. Here I was, in The Big Apple, with missing luggage and empty stomach in the middle of the night, with a slight drizzle and temperatures unexpectedly touching the lower single-digits, sitting in a cab driven by a dangerous looking, unknown person. To my relief, there was no more surprise for me till the time I reached Hilton Times Square. The cabbie, perhaps reading my mind, drove me through Times Square around 12:30 AM, and managed to bring a smile on my face. Who says dangerous looking unknown people are not kind?

Next two days were full of follow-up calls. Needless to say, getting through the IVR system was an exercise in itself as it didn't understand the way I pronounced my name. Having finally got the pronunciation of my name right (huh?), I was inadvertently directed to someone sitting in India, with the executive talking in a "known" accent. I finally persuaded her to speak in Hindi, which made things easier for both of us. Finally, they were able to trace my bag to, guess where, Las Vegas. Having worn an almost rugged looking jeans (well any jeans will look rugged after wearing them for more than 48 hours) and a round-neck t-shirt to the office on a Monday, it was such a relief on seeing my blue champion sitting nicely in my room, having spent one night in Vegas! By the way, did I forget to mention that I was not having any carry-on luggage, and ...

Recollecting my conversations during the second check-in process, it was another unsolved riddle shaping up - how did Newark get lost in pronunciation to become Vegas? I believe I should connect with Russell Peters in case he is looking for new accent and pronunciation jokes!

Of water served with a lime twist

(This post has been selected by blogadda for its Spicy Saturday Picks on March 22, 2014)

Having embarked on the first phoren journey with exactly four tick-offs from my quota of transgressions and a little loss of self-confidence because of certain events at the airport, I covered the flight from Mumbai to San Francisco with relatively less amount of excitement and adrenaline rush. From the usual I-have-paid-for-this-flight-so-I-can-take-as-many-chocolates-as-I-wish lady to the I-want-a-glass-of-water-even-if-the-fellow-passengers-are-still-not-settled gentleman,in-flight experiences those days, even on international routes, were not very different from what we see today. However, one small incident gave me a sneak peek in to what I was going to endure in a few days. This is what transpired ...

Air Hostess (AH): Good evening sir! What can I get for you? (Pushing the big drinks trolley)

Ruminating Optimist (RO): Can you please get me a glass of water? (Feeling thirsty and dehydrated, with my facial expressions leaving no doubt about my state)

AH: I beg your pardon!

RO: Can I please get a glass of water? (Mind you, I was concentrating more on getting the damn pronunciation right. So emphasis was on the wa- of water which, coming from a newbie, sounded more like whoa- or voa- ... anything but what it is supposed to be. The -ter, as they say, was lost in pronunciation.)

AH: OK sir. (With an amused look on her face, what with the funny pronunciation.)

In around five minutes, there she was, with a glass of water in her hand, nicely garnished with a lime twist.

AH: Here you go sir.

RO: Thanks! (Feeling nice that she took special care to add the lime twist - what better than that when you want an energy boost. The glass was empty in a single gulp.)

The air hostess left a little more amused. I however felt a bitter taste in my mouth - may be the lime twist was not fresh.

After going through the bunch of newspapers and magazines I had picked up in the waiting area at the airport, I decided to shift my attention to the movie that was being played on the screen. However, the really uninteresting movie, coupled with the fact that I had no "good company" on the seat next to me and the taste of not-so-fresh lime twist in my mouth, I soon started getting a headache. Yes, movies released in 2006 with five-letter names starting with V- and ending with -h are capable of aggravating your headache when you are forced to watch them on the common screen hanging from the ceiling seven rows up. I waited for the headache to subside, assuming air pressure problems in the aircraft were the prime reason (did somebody say "incomplete knowledge is more dangerous than no knowledge"?). With no signs of recovery, I again requested for whoa-ter from the still amused air hostess, swallowed a pain killer with it, and tried going off to sleep, but to no avail.

Through all this, the air hostess' how-can-this-guy-be-so-silly look did not go unnoticed. Though there was no lime twist this time (may be I didn't look that dehydrated), I still had a bitter taste in my mouth. Damn the painkiller ... I should have checked the expiry date. But why was she giving me those looks? Anyways, the Mumbai-Frankfurt leg of the journey got over, with some Asian-Veg meals thrown in between. For a change, they offered, and I accepted, apple juice, and the rest of the journey was smooth.

On the Frankfurt-San Francisco leg, when it was time for another hydrating exercise (why do they insist on hydrating so frequently), the gentleman sitting next to me requested for whoa-ter, with his -ter too lost in pronunciation. He was served the familiar-looking drink, in a familiar-looking glass, with the familiar-looking lime twist, but the not-so-familiar smile on the air hostess' face while serving the drink (as against the amused expression in case of the other air hostess). I asked for the same, and got the same, with the not-so-familiar smile. The taste was absolutely the same. How in the world can they once again serve me whoa-ter with a stale lime twist. Losing my patience, I stood up to check with her. My eyes then fell on the bottle from which she poured the drink for both of us. It was my turn to be amused. It read in bold - S.M.I.R.N.O.F.F. Tick tick five!

And then, I started replaying the events of the day, or night, depending upon which time zone the flight was in. The air hostess' first amused look (alcohol and thirst-quenching?), the lime twist (energy boost, eh?), second amused look after my single gulp (vodka, bottoms up?), headache and the bitter taste ... all blocks of the puzzle started falling in place. However, one piece of the puzzle out of reach of my comprehension was to find out how was the sound of -ter lost in pronunciation the same as -dka lost in pronunciation? I needed to know because somebody's misinterpretation ended up making a teetotaler sip vodka for the first time in life.