Terry Blanchard

I read a heart-warming article on Time.com about a Southwest Airlines pilot. He delayed a plane full of passengers by waiting at the gate for a late arriving passenger.

Planes that depart late reflect poorly on the airline’s reputation and how customers evaluate them. There were 100+ passengers sitting in the plane and he’s not in the cockpit. His flight crew, and everyone else who is dependent on him, are forced to answer a lot of tough questions from those inquiring passengers.

Why would he do this?

Why does he still have a job?

He’s done everything that I’m sure all of the company policies and operational manuals tell him not to do. Not only does this fine pilot have a job, his company fully stands behind him and endorses his decision.

The passenger he was waiting for was just a regular guy, a grandfather. He wasn’t a celebrity, personal friend of the pilot, or some high-ranking executive with Southwest Airlines. Just a guy. A man who received some of the most difficult news any person could ever have to deal with. He was flying to Denver because they were pulling his 3 year-old grandson off life support. There was nothing the doctors could do to save him from the brutal act of inhumanity committed by his daughter’s boyfriend.

The grandfather received the news from his wife while he was on a business trip in Los Angeles. She offered to call and make his travel arrangements for him as he was emotionally devastated. She called Southwest Airlines and the lady who helped her book the flight could do very little to hold back her tears throughout the call.

Arriving at the airport two hours before his flight was scheduled to depart, long security lines reduced the probability of him making his flight. No one in the security lines gave a damn while the grandfather pleaded his case about missing his flight. I have to be honest, I would have thought it was a scam and told him that I was sympathetic … but no. I’ve been scammed one to many times to “fall” for that line.

It’s so easy to get caught up in life and become part of the machine. No one would have faulted the pilot for doing his job by departing on time while the grandfather was stuck in the TSA lines.

But Southwest Airlines is a different kind of company. Those who have flown on Southwest know they are a different kind of airline. They aren’t the stuffy type of airline that we’re all accustomed to. If you haven’t seen this video, you should watch it. While this is a clearly a highlight, it’s pretty typical from Southwest and represents just how different they are from other airlines.

From a corporate perspective, there’s a huge distance between the lady who took the phone call from the grandfather’s wife and the pilot who actually flies the airplane. I doubt they know each other even though they work for the same company. But this is where we start to see what kind of company Southwest really is. We get to see it’s true colors. On the Southwest website they say:

Fly Southwest Airlines because you want to be treated like a person

Most companies say crap like this in their mission statement or some marketing bullshit posted on their website. Nobody in their employ believes in it and they probably mock it. Very few companies actually walk-the-walk.

Southwest Airlines is one of those few companies that walks-the-walk.

After the Southwest booking agent got off the phone, she called the LA gate agent and informed her of the situation. The gate agent told the pilot. The pilot made the decision to go against everything his company pays him to do because … it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t concerned with business metrics or his upcoming employee review. He was a compassionate man with his heart on his sleeve, not a cog in the wheel of a business machine.

When the grandfather arrived at the gate, the pilot was waiting for him.

“Are you Mark? We held the plane for you and we’re so sorry about the loss of your grandson. They can’t go anywhere without me and I wasn’t going anywhere without you. Now relax. We’ll get you there. And again, I’m so sorry.”

This story could move a robot to tears.

Let’s think about the corporate culture that must exist within Southwest Airlines. They clearly hire compassionate people, but the company also gives them the freedom to make the right decisions. Even if they are against what the rules say. They trust their employees to do what their mission statement says; Fly with us because you want to be treated like a person.

This philosophy applies to everyone at Southwest Airlines. From the lady who booked the flight and stopped taking calls while she contacted the gate agent in LA, to the pilot who refused to board his plane while he waited for a passenger going through a tragic time in his life.

Read the comments on this website. Most of them say things like, “If you didn’t mention the airline, I would have totally guessed that it was Southwest.”

Would people say this about your company? Would you?

The original Time.com article can be found here.

Written by Terry Blanchard \\ tags: Corporate Culture, Management, Southwest Airlines

You’ve gotten this far. This is my last chapter of this saga. I last left you as I boarded my American Airlines flight leaving from Dehli to Chicago. If you haven’t been reading this from the beginning, I suggest you do.

I slink on board and find my seat. I don’t have an aisle or a window, but I’m in the middle section and only one seat away from the aisle. I have one gentleman on my left, and about 5 others to my right. I’m just so happy to not be staying in Delhi that I wish I had a window seat just so I could give it the finger.

The guy sitting in the aisle seat beside me sits down, places his carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of him, folds his arms across his chest, puts his head down and instantly falls asleep. I mean instantly! The snoring commenced in milliseconds and the drool wasn’t far behind. This guy shutdown quicker than Lt. Data from Star Trek. I was in awe.

Once we reach cruising altitude, the flight attendants start offering drinks.

“Sir, can I get you a drink or cocktail?”

“You most certainly can. I’ll take a Heineken please.”

“That will be five dollars sir”

“Excuse me? Isn’t this a 15 hour international flight? Cathay Pacific doesn’t charge for drinks on international flights. I also blew all of my money at that shit hole airport we just left so I could make this flight. Can I give you my credit card?”

“I’m sorry sir. We only accept cash. Would you like a soda?”

“No, I’d like a beer. Here’s the deal, I’ll buy you and your entire crew on this 747 breakfast when we land in Chicago. What do you say?”

“I say, 7-Up or Pepsi?”

“Fine. Pepsi. But I want the whole frickin can, not just what this cup can hold.”

In 15 hours I will be touching down on American soil, at an American airport that understands what a connecting flight is and there will Starbuck’s and McDonald’s. Ah, when I land I am sooo having an Egg McMuffin, Hash Brown, and a Grande Vanilla Latte. This thought keeps my spirits up.

5 hours into the trip and Lt. Data hasn’t moved. I’m still in utter amazement of this guy. I know he’s not dead because I’ve heard that snore of his for the past 5 hours. I need to pee. All that Pepsi finally got to me. Lt. Data on my left is the only thing blocking me getting to the aisle. On my right, there’s a family of 5 people, many sleeping as well. I tap Lt. Data on the shoulder. Nothing. I tap a littler hard and say, “Excuse me sir, I need to get out.”

Nothing.

I try this a few more times with no luck. Alright then, I’ll just walk over him. On my Cathay flight from San Francisco to Hong Kong I had enough ass in my face, it was time for me to return the favor. Besides, this guys wasn’t going to wake up. And he didn’t.

8 hours into the flight, Lt. Data wakes up. But just as graceful as when he went to sleep. He just stopped snoring, raised his head, stood up and went to the bathroom. No grogginess, no stiff neck, he was completely fine. I follow him to the bathroom since it’s an opportunity for me get out of my seat and walk around for a bit. He exits the bathroom sits down in his seat just like he did when he boarded, and fell sound asleep again! This guy just slept for 8 hours and he instantly falls back to sleep again! I have got to know how he does this.

15 hours have passed by, I haven’t slept and we touch down in Chicago. Right on cue, Lt. Data wakes up completely refreshed. I’m staring at him and he returns my stare,

“What?”

“How do you do that? You just … switched off.”

“A very clear conscious I suppose.”

“Bullshit. After 8 hours of sleep, you get up and pee, and sleep for another 7 hours. What did you take in the bathroom?”

A large, broad smile appears.

“Benadryl, my friend. It’s the only way I’ll fly.”

Nice. I’ll pack that away in my little travel toolbox from now on. I get off the plane in the International terminal, hop on a tram and arrive in the domestic terminal in a few minutes. Ah, the modern world. I will never, ever again complain about modern airports and the system we have here in North America. Another modern marvel, I am greeting with the site of the automatic check-in kiosk. I type in my flight number, almost giddy about being back to civilization and the connected world.

“United flight XXX has been cancelled. Would you like to take the next flight, departing at 10:45am?”

Okay, it’s an hour later than my original flight, and I did this all through the kiosk. Sure, book me on the flight. Hello, America. How I missed you.

I scarf down my Egg McMuffin, Hashbrown and two Vanilla Latte’s. Hey, I couldn’t drink myself to sleep on that 15 hour flight, and I’ve been up for almost 36 hours.

I board myself onto to the 10:45am flight. The one thing I really like about United airlines, is Channel 9. You can listen in on the pilots and air traffic controllers through your headset. Being a pilot, I love this. As the luggage is being loaded up on the plane, the first officer makes an announcement that we’ll be pushing back from the gate in about 10 minutes, we’re just waiting for some USPS mail to be loaded below. What’s another 10 minutes, right? As we push back, I hear the first officer inquiring about the weight of the new USPS cargo. The response was, “standby, United XXX. We’ll get you those numbers.”

Why was the first officer needing to know the weight of the new cargo. A variety of reasons. First, she needs to know the weight of the aircraft before they can legally take off. Second, with big iron like the 767 we were flying on, they have to also put in the weight of the aircraft so they can put this value into the FMS (Flight Management System) which calculates their take-off roll distances and speeds.

This being O’Hare International Airport, one of the busiest airports in the world we were something like 51st in line before we could take off. The first officer kept asking the ground crew for those numbers. They still didn’t have them. By the time we were next in line for take-off, she told the tower we couldn’t.

“O’Hare tower, United XXX is unable to take active runway, New cargo was added just before we pushed back and we’re waiting on the final numbers from Cargo. Requesting to wait in the holding area on the opposite side of the runway until we receive these numbers.”

“United XXX, O’Hare tower. Request approved. Please inform us when you’re ready and we’ll get you airborne.”

So we waited. And waited. 45 minutes passed as we watched every other aircraft but ours take off into the blue sky. Finally, the Captain came on over the intercom and said we had to taxi back to the terminal because they had to weigh the new cargo as this wasn’t done prior to loading it onto our plane. We taxied back, they unloaded the USPS cargo, took it away for 15 minutes, brought it back and loaded it back into the belly of the plane. We taxied back on the opposite side of the runway so we didn’t have to wait in line again and got into the air fairly quickly.

The flight was pleasant and I enjoyed listening to the professionals on the radios. All airlines should have Channel 9. I’m really glad that United does this, and I hope they never take it away. As we started our descent, I started to worry about that 45 minute drive home. I was physically exhausted, mentally spent, and really not sure if I should drive. As I got off the aircraft, headed towards the luggage carousel, there waiting for me was my beautiful wife and my two very excited boys racing down the hall to give me a hug. They drove up to San Francisco to drive me home. We had to pick up the car another day, but I’ve never been so glad to see them as I was after this mess of a trip.

Written by Terry Blanchard \\ tags: India, Rants, Travel

This is chapter 7 of my travel experience to Pune, India. This is where I begin my trip home. You should probably start reading this from Chapter 1.

I’ve just spent 5 days in Pune, India. I’m ready to go home. My itinerary is:

• Pune to Delhi
• Delhi to Chicago
• Chicago to San Francisco

One cool aspect of this trip is that I actually flew a complete revolution around the entire planet. All 25,000 miles of it. I left San Francisco going westbound to Pune. On my way home I flew eastbound and completed my circumference around the globe.

My flight departed Pune at 6:20pm and was scheduled to land in Delhi at 8:35pm. My connecting flight is on American Airlines and it departs at 12:10am. 3.5 hour layover. Plenty of time for a connecting flight, right? If you’ve been following along, you know better. My flight to Delhi was pretty uneventful. I know better than to let a positive thought cross my head, so I anticipate the worst. However, we land without incident and on time. Okay, now India’s just toying with me.

Anywhere else in the world, transferring from a domestic flight to an international flight is a very easy process for the traveler. You get off your plane and walk, or take the tram, to the International terminal and wait for your plane to board. Your bags magically get transferred to the correct airplanes, and it might take you at most 10 minutes to get to the other terminal. Probably less time. Not so in India.

As I hop off the plane and load up onto our bus, we’re driven to the terminal where we need to pickup out bags, before we can be shuttled over to the international terminal. Your bags don’t just auto-magically get transferred to you new plane. You need to make that happen. I ask myself, what about security? Then it dawns on me. If I can access my bag that has been through the security at the Pune airport, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to run through security again here in Delhi.

The carousel starts up about 9:05pm and my bag is one of the first off. Yee-haw. I am looking for a sign such as “Tram to International Terminal” or “International Gates” but I find nothing. I ask the guy at the information booth how I get to the International terminal.

“You will have to take the International terminal bus. It departs here every hour, on the hour.”

I look down at my watch. 9:15pm.

“So I just missed the bus? I need to wait here for another 45 minutes before the next bus comes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sure I’m not the first to say this, but that sucks. Certainly there is another way for me to get to the International terminal?”

“No, sir. This is it. If you want to catch some sleep, you can rest on the chairs over here. I will be sure to wake you when the bus arrives.”

“You know what I’d like to catch more than sleep? My flight. I’m guessing that since I have my luggage in hand again, there will be another security lineup, correct?”

“Yes, sir. But don’t worry, you still have plenty of time. You will make your flight.”

My Spidey-sense is tingling. I have the impression that he’s just saying this since he’ll never see me ever again once I hop on that bus. Since I don’t have any choices here, I find a seat and wait for the bus to arrive at 10pm. It promptly arrives and I see people making their way over to the door to get onto the bus. The bus was probably built in 1950 … 1960 at the latest. There’s only a limited amount of room beneath the bus for luggage so once that fills up, they just start piling it inside the bus with the passengers. I’m still way at the back of the line and start wondering if there will still be room for myself and my luggage. There’s that awful feeling again.

As I’m wondering if I’m going to make it onto this bus, I see a bald Australian man being escorted to the front of the line and immediately put on the bus. Hmmm. Must have a connector that he’s going to miss. Wait a minute. We’re all going on the same bus. What difference does it make what order you load yourself onto it? Uhh, none.

Note to self: He’s done this many times before and knows how to work the system. Keep an eye on baldy.

I manage to make it on the bus. There’s no room under the bus so I walk up the stairs into the cabin area. There’s a pile, yes, a pile, of luggage as tall as me that people are crawling over to get to a seat. Of course, since we’re at the end of the line, there are no more seats left. I struggle and pull my luggage over the pile and let it flop over onto the other side. I just leave it there and it fits right in with the rest of the bags. The bus pulls away at 10:30. It takes 30 minutes for the entire loading process. Then, it’s a 15 minute bus ride, a very bumpy bus ride, to the International terminal. Now I know why this bus only comes once an hour.

Normally, in any other part of the civilized world, when you are transfered to a connecting flight you just pickup and go to the next gate. Not so in India. Nope. The bus is trying to drive up to the passenger drop-off area in front of the International terminal. No different than somebody who drove to the airport and wanted to go directly to the International terminal. It’s almost 11pm and there are thousands of people outside the terminal all trying to get in through one of the seven doors. Thousands of people. The bus can’t get very close to the terminal because the street is covered with people, their luggage, and all the push carts. So our bus just stops on the road and starts unloading us.

“Excuse, me. I have a connecting flight. Do I stay on the bus so you can drop me off somewhere inside the airport?”, I ask.

“Do you not have a flight?”

“Yes, I do. It’s a connecting flight.”

“Then, yes. You need to go through these doors. Any one will be fine.”

That’s when it dawned on me that there is no such thing as a connecting flight here in India. To them, it’s just another flight starting from scratch. You grab your own bags, they just shuttle you between buildings.

“It’s going to take forever to get through these doors. Is there a priority line, or special entrance for connecting passengers?” I already knew the answer, but had to ask.

“Any one of these doors will be fine, sir.”

“You guys have a lot to learn about air travel, friend. This is outrageous. I arrive a little after 9pm for a connecting flight that departs at 1am, and I’m probably not going to make it. You could stand to learn a lesson or two in the art of efficiency.”

As I’m standing there in disbelief trying to devise a plan of entry, I see my bald Aussie friend being whisked through the crowd up to the entrance, which is guarded by a military man holding an AK-47 assault rifle. Seconds later, he’s in the airport. I keep my eye on his escort now heading back into the crowd. I approach him and before I can say anything to him, he smiles and points to me.

“American Airlines?”

“Yes. Departing at 12:55.” An even larger smile crosses his face.

“You are not going to make your flight.”

“How did my bald friend make his flight?”

“50.” He states without hesitation.

50 rupees is only $1 USD. I whip out a 50 rupee bill.

“No, no. 50 English.”

“I don’t think so. Here’s $10 USD, make it happen.”

I only had $25 USD on me, and I was down to about 70 rupees since I was leaving India. He nods, and asks me to follow him which is not an easy task with how crowded this place is. Also, I’m trying to haul around my laptop and pull-luggage. He’s literally crawling over people and their push carts. He sees me struggling so he calls for a helper by snapping his fingers and whistling. This tiny, thin man who couldn’t have been more than 90 pounds emerges from the crowd, lifts my bag and starts working his way through the crowd. Without my bags, I’m still having a hard time keeping up. Now I’m concerned that this is a scam and these guys are going to disappear into the crowd and make off with my $10 and luggage. Screw it. I start stepping over push carts and over luggage so I can keep up. They were true to their word though. We approach the military guard. No money exchanges hands, but some sort of deal transpired. The military guard parts a hole in the crowd with his AK-47 and allows me to pass. I’m in. And I’ve learned how the system works here here in Delhi.

First thing I have to do is have all the bags I want to check scanned. Of course, there are lines for this. I walk up to the front of the line, inform the security agent that I need to get through quickly because I’m going to miss my flight.

“Nothing I can do.” He says.

I pull out $5 USD, and the next thing I know my bags are being scanned and I’m through. Excellent. They way they secure your bags, is comical. After your checked luggage goes through the scanner the put a single strand of fiberglass tape around your luggage. The kind of tape they might use at Home Depot if you bought 4-5 2×4′s and they wanted to hold them together. You can still easily unzip your luggage, get stuff from your bag and also put stuff in it.

It’s after 11pm and I’ve got two hours until my flight departs. I approach the American Airlines booth and it’s closed. I ask when it will be open for the 12:55 flight.

“We just closed, sir.”

“How can you close, there’s still 2 hours until the flight?”

“Yes, but there is immigration, customs, and security that you still need to go through. You won’t be able to do all of that in only 2 hours.”

“You have got to be kidding me? How long ago did you close?”

“Only 5 minutes ago, sir.”

Haunting memories of my hotel stay in Delhi are still fresh in my mind. I am not spending another night here. No way. The gate agent is female, has a wedding ring, and might have children. I don’t know, but she seems to be a kid person. All week Nancy had been sending me photos of her and the boys on my cell phone which I loved. I open my phone to the last picture Nancy sent me of Alex and Max hugging on the couch.

“I have been away from my family for a long time. See these two boys? They’re waiting for me at home. They are expecting me to walk off this airplane when it lands. I miss them dearly. How do I get on this flight tonight?” She ponders for a few seconds while holding my phone and looking at the picture.

“Do you just have the one bag to check?”

“Yes, just the one. If you can check my bag, I will take care of the rest. I will make it to the plane before they close the doors. I just need you to check my bags. I’ll take care of the rest. Please.”

“I can’t promise that they’ll wait for you, so you must hurry. Okay, let me have your bag.” Hot damn!! I could have kissed her when I heard those words. Having adorable kids pays off.

Customs has an area for you to fill out the forms. Yes, you fill out a customs form when you leave this country as well as entering it! The form asks what you are taking out, etc. They have a single long line that then breaks out into 8 smaller lines for each of the agents. I approach the security guard, slip him $5 USD and I just bypassed the long line. I still have to wait in the short lines though.

Immigration is next and has 8 desks all with lines of 200 or more people in them. I can’t pay the immigration agents because they’re behind their little desks and not accessible. However, I go to the front of the line and offer $5 USD to a family and they let me go next. Nice. Next, it’s off to security. At this rate I should have no problem making my flight. Dammit, a positive thought. That’s going to cost me.

There are 4 security lines. All long. Once you get through the first long line, you can choose between 6 different lines to go through the metal detectors and have them scan you carry-on baggage. As I’m walking up to the military guard, not security guard, I see my bald Aussie friend in the other line. Weird, he’s waiting in line and not bribing his way through. Odd. I’m down to my last $5 and I have it in my hand. I approach the military guard and ask,

“Good evening. I am about to miss my flight. Is there anyway you could let me through?”

“No.” I pull out my wallet and make it visible to him to show him my intentions.

“Nothing at all?”, I hint.

“No.” Uh, oh. Now what.

If my well-seasoned Aussie traveler is waiting in line, and this guard isn’t going to budge, I guess it’s to the back of the line for me. Crap. As I make my way toward the end of the line I see a man and his wife being escorted to the front of the line. I observe carefully. A short conversation between the military man and the escort ensues. Within a minute, they pass through. Their escort turns around and heads back in my direction. Does he work with one of the airlines? How did he swing that?

“Excuse me, sir. I couldn’t help but notice you helping that couple through this line. I’m on the verge of missing my flight and would like to know…”

“American Airlines?”, He asks. I’m pretty sure I saw a slight smile too.

“Yes. I’m down to my last $5 USD, and 70 rupees. It’s all yours if you can get me past that guard. Deal?”

“Come with me.”

I give my new friend the money and follow him to the front of the line again. He asks me to wait about 10 paces back as he approaches the guard and has a private conversation. God knows what they talked about. Personally, I didn’t care. I was just waiting for the hand gesture to allow me to pass through.

“Okay, sir. Please, quickly!”

Through I went. It still took some time to go through security. In North America, when you walk through the metal detector, you are only pulled aside and scanned if the detector goes off. Not in India. Everyone goes through the detector, and stands on a crate while the security not only scans you, but … uh, pats you down. Pronounce the next line with the voice of Mickey Mouse.

“Hi, Pluto!!” Yikes.

I can see my gate as I’m being patted down. There at the gate is the American Airlines agent that cut me some slack and checked my bags. I can see her scanning the crowd. The security guard should have bought me breakfast they way he man-handled me, but I am focused on my goal. I sprint through the crowds and race to my gate. The gate agent spots me, smiles and cheers me on.

“I knew you would make it! Come on!”

I give her the boarding pass she printed out for me, smile and say thanks.

“You’re children should be most excited to see you.”, she says as she hands me back my boarding pass.

“And I shall let them know you helped make that happen. Again, thank you.” After all, she is the only one that I didn’t have to offer any money too.

Check out the next chapter to see how the rest of this journey goes. The fun just never ends for me on this adventure!

Written by Terry Blanchard \\ tags: India, Rants, Travel

I am shopping around for a publisher to this novel about my travel experience to and from India. It really is an incredible story. How I managed to not end my life during this escapade is beyond me. Start reading from the beginning at Part 1.

Chapter 5 left off with me finally touching down and getting off the plane in Pune, India. I mentioned just how small the Pune airport is. As soon as you walk out the front door, there is only one door, you are surrounded by drivers all holding their signs. There’s easily over 100 of them and trying to find your sign isn’t an easy task. I don’t see any signs with my name or company logo. Great. I eventually see an NVIDIA sign with my name on it and meet my driver Ayyaz. As we leave the airport, the poverty is right in your face. It’s heart-breaking to see people and their families living on the side of the roads in little tin shacks. It’s one thing to see this in National Geographic, quite another to be driving through it first-hand.

Driving in India is a brand new experience. It’s now clear to me why a driver has been assigned to me instead of my renting a car and driving myself. The concept of lanes, and direction don’t exist here. It’s a free-for-all. It’s chaos. Yet somehow, they make it work.

The horn in North America is used as a warning, or an alert. In India, they use it to let other drivers know where they are. On our 20 minute trip from the airport to the office, Ayyaz used his horn more times then I have ever used a horn in my entire life. Not 5 seconds goes by without him tapping on the horn, either passing another vehicle, when another vehicle merges onto our road. Note I didn’t say merge into our lane. Remember, those don’t exist here. We all share a common piece of pavement or dirt.

I arrive at the office and meet a bunch of people. I’m tired, unshaven, stinky, and barely functional. I call it a day and leave around 4pm. Ayyaz is waiting for me as I leave the building. Off to the hotel. I check into the Quality Inn Centurion. Much nicer than the hole I stayed at in Delhi. No visible holes in any walls and the marble floors provide me with comfort. I enter my room, crawl right into bed and sleep for 14 hours straight.

One little tidbit I’ve been holding back from through this epic tale, is that neither my cell phone or Blackberry are working outside of the USA. They are picking up the local carriers, I just can’t receive or make any outgoing calls. Cingular, my cell phone carrier, tells me that I was suppose to call before leaving the US so they could activate my International capabilities. They flip some magical switch, tell me to remove the battery and SIM card, put them back in and I should be good to go. All very intuitive … not. My Blackberry starts working after a similar procedure. Oh, yeah. The Internet connection in my room doesn’t work and the hotel is completely booked so I can’t change rooms. I’m really not digging India. Not at all.

The actual visit is very productive and I’m really happy with my new team. They’re a good bunch. I tell them that I am taking them out for lunch every day at places they recommend. I’m buying. I love Indian food and they took me to some great places. “Veg, or no Veg?” is how every discussion starts off when deciding where to eat. Vegetarian only, or places that also serve meat. You won’t find a Morton’s Steak House here, but there’s lot’s of chicken and lamb. Plenty of Asian restaurants too. I know not to drink any water other than bottled water, which they must bring un-opened to your table. The food was fantastic

Wednesday morning I wake up in my hotel room and go the bathroom to brush my teeth. I flip on the tap to rinse my brush. Nothing happens. Just this gurgling sound. A very unpleasant gurgling sound. 5 seconds later this brown sludge comes spewing out. Nothing brown from a tap can be good for you. I think to myself, I’ve been…

• Rinsing my toothbrush all week from this sink
• Rinsing my mouth with the water from this tap after brushing my teeth
• Rinsing my retainer in this sink

I think this is where I got sick. All day Wednesday, and for the following two weeks, I couldn’t stray further than a 30 second sprint from a restroom. My stomach felt like I swallowed military-grade plutonium, or that I had a bleeding ulcer. I can’t wait to go home.

Oh, no. There it is again. That sounds like something Terry really wants. I will be punished for this again. Read about my flight back to the States starting in Part 7.

Written by Terry Blanchard \\ tags: India, Rants, Travel

This blog is so long, it’s really a book. You can’t start reading a book from the center, so don’t start reading this blog from the center. Start out at Part 1.

I slept for five hours. There was no way in hell I was showering, so I just changed my clothes, and caught the 5:30am shuttle to the domestic terminal. I’m off to Sahara Air to talk with Mr. Rishi about my flight to Pune. At least, that’s what the instructions from Deepok stated.

“I’m sorry, but there is no Mr. Rishi that works here.” Hmmm. Well, Deepok did say I was rescheduled on Jet Airways, he must be over there. If not, he told me I was confirmed on their 7:55am flight so I’m sure I can just show them my passport and all with be good. I hop over a few counters to Jet Airways. After a short 5 minute wait, I explain to the agent that I am confirmed on their 7:55am flight, but the Cathay Agent was unable to print my ticket.

“No, sir. No Mr. Rishi works here that I am aware of.”

“Whatever. Here’s my passport, I am confirmed on your 7:55am flight. Cathay had issues re-printing the ticket, but assured me I was confirmed on this flight.”

“That reservation was cancelled. Would you like to buy a ticket?”

“Uh, no. I don’t want to buy a ticket. I was booked on this flight by Cathay Pacific because they made me miss my connector. I’ve already paid for this flight and simply want you to fulfill that agreement.”

She doesn’t budge. Buy a ticket or get out of her line. Since Sahara Air was my original connector, they must be the ones who needed to coordinate this with Jet. Sounds a lot like my friend who lost his baggage on Air India, huh? I walk back to Sahara and explain the situation again. She doesn’t have a clue. I’m just about to blow up when I feel someone tapping on my shoulder.

“Are you Mr. Blanchard?”, the man in the purple Cathay Pacific jacket asks.

“Let me guess, Mr. Rishi?”

“Yes, sir. Follow me please.”

Cathay Pacific does not have a booth at the domestic terminal. They are only at the International terminal. So let’s put this scene into perspective. Mr. Rishi, had to find me at the terminal. Imagine if I asked you to go to your airport, didn’t tell you which gate, or airline to find me at, and you have no idea what I look like. I just said, I will be at this airport at 6am, meet me there. Are you frickin’ kidding me!

I was probably the only white guy there, so maybe it wasn’t such a tall order. Mr. Rishi works his magic and gets me back on my confirmed flight. Great, let’s go check-in. I stand in line at Jet Airways and the lady asks me how many bags I’m checking. Just one. I place my luggage in between the counter, on the scale and she wraps the sticker around my bag.

“Okay, sir. Now you need to stand in the line beside you so we can put your bag on the conveyor.”

I stare in disbelief. This has to be a joke. Where are the cameras. Ha, ha. Very funny everyone. Jokes over. She stares back at me and speaks slower, as if I didn’t understand her the first time.

“Help me understand this. I stood in this line for 10 minutes so you could check me in. This is a one-step process. You printed my boarding pass, asked me how many bags I had to check-in, and even put the sticker around my bag, and can clearly see how much it weighs on this scale. They conveyor belt is right behind you. Now you want me to go stand in this other line so I can put my luggage on this very same scale so the person beside you can put it on the conveyor belt. Can you see where I have a problem with this? Why is there a separate line for the most simple step of the check-in process?”

“I’m sorry, sir. But that’s just how it works.”

“First, you’ve failed to see the problem in my first statement. Second, you have resigned yourself to ‘That’s just how it works’ mentality without really thinking it through. It is clear to me you are not an intelligent, or logical person with any common sense. Now, I will do the same.”

If I were in the United States, my next actions surely would have attracted 50 or more TSA agents. All wielding their weapons pointed at each of my vital organs. But I’m not in the United States. I’m in India, and I’ve had enough of this crap.

I pickup my bag, walk over the scale behind the counter, and put it on the conveyor belt myself. It disappears behind the magic curtain and I dust off my hands. I smile at the gate agent, walk back over the scale and head to my gate.

“Next, please!”, I cheerfully announce to the people in line.

I haven’t used the bathroom since I left my house in San Jose. 56 hours have passed and I really need to sit on the throne. I head over to the bathroom and look for a toilet. I see the trough for urinating in, but no toilets. What the hell? They must be doing renovations here (seems highly unlikely given the state of this hell hole) because I see lot’s of holes in the ground. Dude, no way. Yes way, Terry. Those are the toilets. Holes in the ground that you squat over. No privacy, and worst of all, no toilet paper. If I’ve held it in for 56 hours, I can certainly wait another 30 minutes for the plane.

We all hop on the bus that drives you out on the tarmac to our plane. I make a dash for the lavatory while everyone boards. Man, I feel sorry for the poor soul who used that lavatory after me. Phew!

We start rolling at 7:55am precisely. “Thank, god!”, I mumble under my breath.

Uh, oh. There’s that thought again. Terry, what have we taught you about positive thoughts. You must be punished for such evil thinking.

Delhi only has four runways, pretty small for an International airport. However, we taxi for 15 minutes. We make so many turns I can’t help but think our pilot and co-pilot are lost. 15 minutes!! Here’s an odd thing. There are people who actually live in between the runways. They have little shacks with tin roofs that stand a few feet tall. We passed by one guy out for his morning pee. We finally pull up beside the runway. We stop for almost 5 more minutes. I’ve got a Window seat, and there’s no landing traffic holding us up. Nothing is taking off since we’re first in line. What is going on.

“Ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain. Much apologies for the delay. The military is inspecting the runway because VIP is landing. We should be ready for departure in a few minutes. Thank you.”

Sure enough, I see a few military jeeps patrolling the runway looking for god only knows what. The VIP plane lands, no bomb or explosion sounds are heard and we taxi on the the active runway. Finally, I’m on my way to Pune. Pune is a 2 hour flight south of Delhi. We’re 25 minutes behind schedule. No big. I’ve seen worse. That’s not as positive as some of my earlier thoughts, but it was still kind of positive wasn’t it. Terry, when will you ever learn? How about right now?

Most of you know that I am a licensed pilot. As we start our descent into Pune I immediately recognize the holding pattern. 1 minute turn, followed by a two minute leg. Repeat. After our 4th or 5th lap in the hold, our Captain keys up the cabin microphone again.

“We should be landing in 15 minutes. Pune airport is conducting some exercises right now. Thank you.”

Exercises? I know what it costs an airline every time they complete a lap in the pattern. A 737 burns about 5000 pounds of fuel every hour in cruise. Jet engines are designed to run efficiently up in the flight levels, 30,000 ft. or higher. They are not as efficient in the lower altitudes. Let’s cut that number in half to 2500 lbs/hr and do a little math:

• 20 minutes in the holding pattern or 33% of an hour.
• 33% of 2500 = 825 lbs of fuel spent.
• Jet A fuel weighs 6.84 lbs per gallon.
• 825 divided by 6.84 = 120 gallons of fuel spent.
• A gallon of Jet A costs approximately $5.00 a gallon, at the time of writing.
• 120 gallons times $5.00 a gallon = $600.00

Jet Airways just lost $600.00 because the Pune airport was running exercises. They knew we were coming. We were a little late, but still. No airport in North America can halt all commercial air traffic from landing because of “exercises.” They would have every airline company all over them for a stunt like that. Apparently, not the case in India.

Finally, we land. I made it. I frickin made it. I left Friday night and just landed in Pune Monday afternoon. As soon as you step off the plane, you are greeted with this beautiful garden that is constantly manicured. The picture on the right prevents you from taking any pictures of this garden. I laugh and shake my head. Pune has a really tiny airport. The 737 that flew us here is larger than the airport terminal. No, I am not exaggerating. There is one baggage belt, and it’s just a circle. You can see the guys standing beside the building unloading the bags onto the carousel. After the baggage carousel, you exit the door. That’s it, you just left the airport.

That’s enough for this chapter. My flight back isn’t much better. If you’ve got the stamina, or just enjoy laughing at my expense, then read on to Part 6.

Written by Terry Blanchard \\ tags: India, Rants, Travel