I just devoured this book. I started it last night (after completing the riveting final book of the Liveship Traders Trilogy) and finished it a few minutes ago. I bought this book (somewhat impulsively) after watching Scott give a webcast on the topic a week or so ago. I have always yearned to do more public speaking and trusted Scott to teach me at least one worthwhile thing for my $9 (Kindle Book). ...
I had a heck of a time purchasing and subsequently using my Indian Airtel SIM card. I learned a lot in the process that might be useful to other travelers visiting India. The following are some of my experiences as well as a few suggestions. Obtaining a SIM card from abroad: This is perhaps the most confusing step in an entirely confusing process. I started by trying to purchase a card online. This is a complete non-starter. All of the links that I found point to sites that seem to have been set up prior to 26/11 (Mumbai’s Terrorist attacks). Subsequent to the attacks, India’s government set up a serious bureaucracy that seems to do little more than inconvenience legitimate customers. ...
We had a really first rate dinner at Amber tonight. When we arrived (at 5:15), there was one other family there and we were seated in the very back corner of the room reserved for families with little kids that look like trouble. Ruby was wearing her pink flower rain boots, mini-skirt, and a blue tee-shirt. Olive was sporting the ripped play pants and a dinosaur shirt. I really can’t blame them for seating us in the back corner, and it did nothing to dampen our enjoyment of the meal. The waitstaff positively doted over Olive. She played it cool, not answering their questions, but turning around to gawk at them when they walked away. By the end of dinner Olive was starting to make for the door, and Vick was still trying to get some food in herself. I thought quick and asked Olive to tell me a story. She was saying something about a bunny (I later realized she meant balloon) so I decided to follow her lead. ...
We’ve really needed a relaxing family vacation for a while, and with time counting down to the big trip, we also need to make sure that the family is up for extended sailing. Last night, after weeks of thinking about these two items individually a plan popped into my head that married both of these concerns into a harmonic union. This morning I asked Ruby if she would like to go sailing for the week after Christmas. She asked a bunch of probing questions – “Can I bring my dolls?” and “What will we do about pirates” – and when she was satisfied with the answers, wholeheartedly supported the plan. ...
This is a slightly old video of Ruby singing a song she invented about respect. I love that as she’s singing it she grabs her brother and won’t let go of him when he yelps. Luckily she does let go when I ask her, so it seems as though she respects me, but not Mr. M.. Enjoy… Your browser doesn't support inline video. Download the video. … “This land was made for you and me.”
I’ve just posted the best (331) pictures from our trip. I will be adding Titles and Summaries over the next few days but if there is one that you would like to know more about in the meantime, just add a comment here with the picture’s URL and I’ll jump ahead. The “En Trip” sub-album contains photos I uploaded while we were traveling. For the most part they are duplicates (at lower resolution) of what is in the main album, but there are a few gems from my Dad’s phone. ...
“It looks like the rain has let up a bit, should we make a run for it?” I asked, equivocating. “Its probably as good as any time,” Dad replied. We had been enduring monsoon rains for hours, holed up first at the Cafe del Mar and later at Abba. It was getting late and we still had to pack. So we made a dash for it and, as if cued by some rueful sadistic god, the rain intensified. Too late to change course, we soldiered into the torrent. Dad helped my pull my bike out of the muddy garbage heap. I was ankle deep in brown water and suddenly grateful that I was: a) wearing my sandals; and b) immunized against Hep A. ...
Varkala, Kerala November 14, 2009 The muezzin’s chant wakes me at 5 am. It is still dark outside except for the occasional lightning bloom over the Arabian Sea. The early morning rumbles with ominous portents. First a ferocious dogfight down the lane with anguished howls from the injured, then an argument between man and a woman close by, the first public display of such emotion I have witnessed. I lie back on my pillow to read with my nightlight, trying not to disturb T who is sleeping peacefully beside me. But peace is not the order of this morning. An enormous swarm of screaming blackbirds begins wildly swirling the palms in the walled garden just to our south, reminding me of a Hitchcock movie with it’s eerie freneticism. ...
Our trip is winding to a close. Tomorrow at 5:30 am we will hop in a taxi and with any luck be taken to a train station where we will be whisked away to Cochin. We’ll check our bags at the airport and then spend the day wandering around Cochin. By 8:30pm we will be on a plane to Mumbai and from there it will be only a few hours before we are on our way to California. ...
Today’s plan was to make no plans. In completely surrendering the very most basic of control we hoped to avoid the loss of control that seems to be the norm here. It was an ingenious counter-plan if I may be permitted the immodesty, and it worked like a charm. We started the day by puttering over to Varkala Beach. We asked around in the shops for a wooden printing block, and were told that we would have to go to Trivandrum for that. ...
I’ve finally convinced my dad to share his story with my readers. My dad is a fantastic writer. He was a classics major and then a newspaper editor, and then eventually the Editor in Chief of Law and Policy in International Business, a Georgetown University international law review. His posts will be published on the dates they were written, so please follow his author slug so you don’t miss any! In addition to providing great reading for you all, I am pleased as punch to have this record of our shared experience. Please take a moment to greet him in the comment section of his first post!
We had a tasty breakfast at the local + organic ABBA restaurant (where, I kid you not, they play non-stop Abba), and then headed out for coffee and an Internet fix. I have to admit that the power surge that blew up my laptop power supply was pretty annoying, but i still managed to get over it after a few minutes. The downside to this is that I will be typing all of my posts on my iPhone from here on out (please forgive the typos), and l will have to be more stingy with photos. ...
After getting situated in our hotel room, the first order of business was to get a couple of motorcycles so we might regain a modicum of control over our adventure. Dad had an aesthetic interest in the Royal Enfield. So we asked our host if he could arrange such a thing. After a little back and forth on the details he went off to see what he could do. A few minutes later he came back with the details and within 30 minutes we were staring at two of the most beaten up bikes left in India. The first Royal Enfield bikes were built in India in 1955, and I suspect that ours were from the first batch. ...
We left Bangalore last night on an overnight train. We were joined in our sleeper (2AC) car by two guys who were heading to Cochin for a business meeting. After chatting for a while they started making recommendations for our next few days. “You must go to Varkala” they pressed “You will find nice people there and its not too busy”. We chatted a bit longer and then settled in to read the guide books. Dad and I both picked a few hotels that looked good and then hit the hay. ...
Kerala Express November 10, 2009 I am flying on the manic side of our India bi-polar experience today as T and I speed south on the “superfast” Kerala Express through the southern jungle. Our bunkmates on the Bangalore to Cochin train last night convinced us to skip Cochin altogether and head straight for the white sand beaches and palms of Varkala and Kovalam. They suggested we take a bus south, but only a Volvo bus. The other KSRTC buses, they assured us, we would not enjoy. I am silently thanking them for their good advice as I, Varkala bound, peer out our window at the rice paddies, rivers and thick green jungle. I spy a woman dressed in a bright orange sari with a turquoise shawl and a pink parasol walking up a red clay road and feel as if I am watching some PBS documentary, not experiencing this in real life. ...