The Second Layer

The wife arrived back from the U.S. late last night. As any good husband would do, I told her the driver would be there to pick her up. And then decided to tag along to surprise her. This post isn't about her arrival so much as it is about what we witnessed upon getting home.

Many apartment complexes in Gurgaon have a couple security layers. First, a guarded gate to enter the actual premises and, second, a guarded desk for entrance into the actual building (much like an RA at a college dorm). Our's is no exception. The guards are friendly enough though I still find it odd that they salute me (no, I don't salute back).

At 1:30am the second layer might not be terribly effective. Upon driving up to our building, the station wasn't manned (which isn't all that different because the guards often sit in close proximity to the entrance where I suspect the ventilation is better). The guards were sitting in their secondary position, illuminated by the headlights as we pulled into the apartment. They didn't move. In fact, based on their body language and the apparent deep slumber, they could have been roofied (or as the other Doug in The Hangover suggested, "flooried") The headlights didn't wake them, us talking didn't wake them, and the doors and trunk slamming didn't make them. Not exactly a rousing endorsement for complex security.

Lindsay suggested a picture (she had her camera handy; and let's be honest this post would have been more interesting with pictures), but I figured that some things translate fairly easily, including the concept of "we're mocking you by taking your picture and hoping the flash doesn't wake you up". While being mocked (I mean, being documented) had been fully earned and was completely deserved, I guess I'd rather keep the guards on our good side.

Of course, upon getting into the apartment, I triple checked to make sure the door was double dead-bolted.

I'm Vexed

We had the first minor, or what some might consider major, hiccup at the apartment this morning. We woke up, Lindsay got ready and went to work early (she had an all day conference), left, and I took my usual breakfast seat on the couch while checking Facebook and email. A while later, I walked into the master bedroom and was surprised to see the curtains blowing in the wind. This was especially shocking because I've never opened a window in the apartment. Period. Especially a window that opens to a sill where a noisy air conditioning unit rests. I checked it out to just see if somehow the A/C was blowing air in a strange and new direction. It was not. I moved the curtain back and the window was wide open; as in, a four foot square hole in my bedroom. At this point, I got a little scared, but there's really no way for a person to get into the apartment from that window (that is, unless they had a ladder). At any rate, I had been sitting in the next room, with the door open the entire time and hadn't heard a thing. In addition, my wallet and watch were sitting out and hadn't been touched. I did, however, check the shower just in case there was some sort of silent intruder. Coast was clear.

The only logical explanation is that the cleaning boy forgot to close it when he had finished wiping down the sill yesterday (yes, the cleaning boy wipes down external surfaces each day as well; believe it or not with the amount of dust and dirt blowing around here, it's kind of necessary). I noticed a few more mosquitoes last night than typical but that still doesn't explain why we didn't notice a wide open window the entire night. Even if the wind wasn't blowing, the temperature seemed fairly consistent with other nights (as in, the air conditioner was running full blast) and I don't think the Roman shade provides the same level of insulation as a real, glass window.

I recognize I live in a place where you kind of need to expect the unexpected, but this one is vexing. Much like Commodus in "Gladiator", I'm vexed.

The Move, Part 2 (The Direction-Givers)

Last Sunday’s highlights were both Lindsay-based. The first, watching her reaction when we went to the local bagel shop, and the second, watching her get uncharacteristically fidgety when filling out the country club application. I’ve never seen someone so nervous around what was basically a receptionist – of course, now that I make fun, we’ll probably not make it through the screening/interview phase in a week or so, becoming the laughingstock of the Gurgaonite expat community in the process. The next big event was the arrival of our air freight, scheduled for 9:30am Monday morning. Based on the horror stories we had heard from others, we were expecting its arrival anytime from noon to 4pm and that it would be an all day affair.

At 9:30 sharp, the doorbell rang, and there were two guys there, one obviously the leader and direction-giver, and the other obviously the laborer. I fully expected the rest of my day to be filled with watching the direction-giver ordering the laborer around (I’m not sure what that makes me). Not two minutes later, three additional guys showed up, all carrying boxes, and what I witnessed next was completely unexpected – that is, a fully efficient moving machine. Even with two direction-givers (i.e., the actual direction-giver and Lindsay), they moved in everything, unpackaged, got it relatively in the right spot, didn't break a thing, and removed all the packaging in no more than 45 minutes. If you’ve been to India, you’ll appreciate just how unfuckingbelievable that is.

Undoubtedly, Lindsay wins the prize for finding the “right” 500 pounds of stuff to include in the air freight – namely, a foam mattress pad, featherbed, pillows, and our sheets from home. It’s nice to have a few more clothes and shoes and don’t get me wrong, picture frames with familiar faces throughout the apartment are a comforting touch (as I type this, I can look over and see a picture of Lindsay with Hammes and Immel and a picture of the Acacia crowd from the 2006 Raleigh Winter Games, appropriately positioned on the bar…Hammes and Immel, you’re actually on the bar as well), but nothing compares to the comfort of somewhat feeling like you’re in your own bed, even if it means we “give up” the luxury of having twice a week linen service because we have our own sheets.  It’s a very small price to pay.

What better way to celebrate a successful move than a jaunt to MG Road (hereby referred to “Mall Road” thanks to our driver’s limited English and our still-nonexistent Hindi) for a nice little lunch at TGI Friday’s! Even though everyone here refers to it as “the place” to get Mexican, Lindsay decided it was time to venture out of her comfort zone and went with what she described as “delightful” barbeque chicken salad (note, if you order any kind of uncooked vegetable in a restaurant not associated with a 5-star hotel, you’re pretty much playing roulette); whereas, I took the advice of the waiter and went with the chicken chimichanga. Healthy? No. Delightful? Not entirely. Palatable?  Sure. I can’t comprehend why decent chicken-based Mexican food has not made its way to India, it’s not like the tastes are THAT different. Lindsay claims it’s because of the lack of tortillas. You have as good of an idea as I do on the basis on that claim.  At any rate, if someone could open a decent Mexican restaurant here, I’m quite certain it would do well. I’m surprised Taco Bell hasn’t made a run in India, it’s not like there’s beef in their tacos anyway.

After lunch, we made a few stops at various shopping establishments for some finishing touches to the apartment (including my third stop in three days at ElectiCity for a bevy of surge protecting power strips and power converters; there’s a distinct lack of outlets here) and made our way back home, where we had a self-cooked meal for the first time in nearly a month. No worries though, we’re in the process of rectifying the “self-cook” concept and hope to have a solution in place within a week or so.

The Move, Part 1

The past week has primarily been one of anticipation and preparation for the move from the comfort and familiarity of the hotel into the relative unknown of the apartment.

On Wednesday, we decided it was time to start the transition from long-term business travelers to expatriates and finally ventured to our first Gurgaon Connection (a social group we joined comprised of expats) event, the weekly tea.  Even though it was located at the hotel we were staying, we had somehow found excuses to not join the first two Wednesdays we were here.  It was a primarily female (besides me, there was only one other dude, an attorney from Washington, D.C.), yet diverse group of people of varied ages and countries of origin.

Move day itself was sadly uneventful.  We both kept waiting for something crazy or unexpected to happen, and nothing really did.  All the finishing touches had been applied and the RO UV water filtration system had actually been installed.  “RO” stands for reverse osmosis and “UV” is like the rays from the sun.  Apparently, it’s the thing that keeps parasites, bacteria, and other unmentionables out of our consumable water and keeps us (hopefully) out of the hospital. 

Our apartment is considered “serviced”.  For those unaware of what that means (as I was until about 23 hours ago), it means that it’s furnished, holds an inventory of daily use items like small kitchen appliances and dishes, gets cleaned six days a week by a nice young gent named Sanjay, includes daily towel service, a daily newspaper (I requested my favorite, the “Hindustan Times”), and four or five different levels of phone numbers to utilize in the event we have issues.  In addition, it sounded like Sanjay will do some level of laundry and also deliver items needing pressing to some person in the basement that will apparently iron for Rs. 2 an item.  A little less than a nickel.

Based on a number of factors on a varying scale of importance, including both the size of the water heaters in the bathrooms and the amount of closet space in the master, we split up on our belongings to give one another space.  The net result is that it feels a little like we’re roommates at this point in time, but I’m sure we’ll grow accustomed to the setup.  Surprisingly, I “won” the right to the master closet and bathroom, though it must be recognized that this was “given” to me and not a simple assumption on my part.  Apparently the guest bathroom has better light.  One other quick tidbit about the bathrooms and the availability of hot water is that we have to switch the geezer 30 – 45 minutes before we want hot water.  Lindsay is looking forward to this as an official excuse to hit the snooze button.

The rest of Saturday was spent touring our nearest shopping haunts (all places that will surely be referred to throughout the next two years), including Galleria Market and Super Mart-I.  In addition, there is a small grocery store located within our apartment complex that has a surprising selection of produce and basic staple items.  Galleria was our first stop, where we visited at my newest favorite store, ElectriCity.  It’s like a cross between Best Buy and Home Depot with about 0.05% the square footage (that might be generous).  There we purchased an India coffee maker, which has already performed admirably.  From Galleria, we made the short drive to Super Mart-I where Lindsay attempted to get back in the bargaining mode.  Not successful.  Let’s just say she’s going to need a little work before she hits the pashmina stalls.  On the other hand, I successfully purchased a copy of George Clooney’s “Up in the Air” for Rs. 100 (approximately $2.17).  I’m pretty sure it’s not a bootleg because there’s a manufacturer’s suggested price of Rs. 199.  What kind of self respecting bootlegger would print a price on the package?  Totally legit.  Funny side story, the kid working the stall was having trouble understanding my English, so the kind customer next to me (who was purchasing porn that the kid pulled out from behind the table) helped broker the deal.

From the video stall we made our way to Needs grocery store, which comes highly recommended by all expats.  Within about four minutes, you just come to accept the fact that all packaging is dirty and that as long as it appears sealed, it’s worth rolling the dice and making the purchase.   Fifty bucks in groceries, ten bucks in produce, and two bottles of wine later, we made our way back home.

Part two of the move takes place tomorrow (Monday) when our air shipment arrives.  Slowly but surely we’re acclimating to the new lifestyle.  The most striking difference between “hotel life” and “serviced-apartment life” in the winter is undoubtedly the temperature.  Simply put; it’s cold.  As I close this entry, Lindsay is sitting next to me, reading a travel magazine, fully clothed, yet still wearing her robe – perhaps this IS just like home.