Television Around the World

This post serves a dual-purpose.

First-I have been grounded for the last month while in between installments and I miss the components that come with travel. IE: posting here about discoveries, taking pictures to share with the world, and even airplane food a little bit.
I miss living off an itinerary so much that in the small amount of downtime that I have, I reflect on quieter memorable moments that served as pegs in the global experience. Those that were not mind blowing, but none-the-less  very important stitches in the fabric of my global tapestry. Things like TV in foreign countries.

Second-I am in the middle of a marketing project that involves dusting off my creative lump located 3 feet above my ass, and I am quickly reminded that I do my best writing in the morning. This post is an exercise in house cleaning as I prime my engine for tear down the track.

While unwinding and watching television the other night I began to get re-wound up thinking about television in Africa. Not quite the "riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma" that perhaps Winston Churchill brought light to, but never the less as poignant as the Simpson's and Family Guy can get.

Africa's Television Network is called ZUKU. They provide all services cable and have similar practices to home like bundle packages that include Internet, phone and cable television. They even have familiar programming to the rest of humanity that may be visiting the ivory country. FLN (Fine Living Network) which is fed out of Canada for those comforting episodes of House Hunters and Rachel Ray, ESPN which concentrates on rugby and football (soccer) with a smattering of cricket, MTV which once in a while plays a songs I recognize from some other time, and even FOX.

Here's where the differences lie.

While trying to figure out how we were going to maximize our electronic aides, Kristen and I had an impossible time getting game 7 of last years world series from America to us. Sufficed for the details we ended up skype calling my sister and having her turn her laptop towards their TV.

Point is, International rights prohibit any outside television source from being broadcast on local soil. No Internet, no TV, no sports bar. And they locate you through whatever device your using. A message will pop up saying "we see your in Africa. Sorry, you don't have the right to watch this show".

No sooner had a read that message than over my left shoulder I hear the TV announce, "Stay tuned for an all new Ally McBeal", then later, "Starting Tomorrow, Season 3 of Family Guy. Only on Fox Africa"....Yeah only here because we watched it already 6 years ago.

Then it dawned on me. To the locals, this is "new" programming. Hence the restrictions on any other television feeds making their way in.

FOX U.S. sells Africa all their old and used programming at a discount and Africa shows it as new. Brilliant! and Frustrating.

While listening to Joe Buck call the 3rd inning at 4am East Africa Time and barely being able to make out his face on skype, I was forced to get excited about the Tracy Ullman Simpson's coming on later that night...At least I would be able to see them, even if it was their baby pictures and they are currently grown adults.

What Does Freedom Mean to You?

When I was in 4th grade we were assigned the, homework to write an essay "what does freedom mean to you?"
I am sure, based on the last 3 years of world exsposur, that my response probably had to do with ice cream flavor selection and summer breaks.
Only now, 27 years later, am I ready to write and submit my essay. Does anybody know how to get a hold of Mr. Jones and find out if I can still get credit?

Based largely on the KONY 2012 viral that is circulating and the potent cocktail that it makes when mixed with recent events of my own life's perceptions, I have boiled down the layered question to one word that would fit into a blank space on any grammar school quiz.....CHOICE!

From what I have seen, this is not to be taken for granted, yet is everyday by those of us fortunate enough to live in "the bubble". This bubble it the USA, then California, then The Bay Area, and finally (for me) Alamo, where I constantly stomp my feet for having to take the trash out and sleep with my doors unlocked....how dare I.

We have the choice to take our trash out to the curb to have another man pick it up while we sleep making it go away sight unseen seemingly by magic. Not take small handfuls off the top of our growing piles and burn it on the street.

We have the choice to enroll ourselves in any school and usually have the government pay for it eliminating the global norm of working in the fields behind your house because not only is there work to be done, but the school is too far, we can't afford shoes for the long walk, and you would probably get kidnapped on your way anyway.

We have the choice to publicly chastise our bosses on Facebook for the injustice of them making us work 9 whole hours a day as opposed to the millions of people that want nothing more in this life to work 12+ hours a day for a few dollars answering to a boss that will hold them accountable for the opportunities that they will offer to them and their families.

Enough said about specific choices...you get it. But as they say...with great power comes great responsibility.

We live in a bubble where our powers are cultivated then taken for granted and this is not the humanitarian way. What we need to do is plug in to power up with the sheer goal of infecting others through education and helping hands.

Imagine your time being spent at home or the office here in America as charging your body to a physical glow of power. Then remove yourself from your environment and go somewhere where the glow is dull and/or non-existent and physically hold the hand of another human being whose light is all but out. Envision that glow moving down your arm and onto your new friends invigorating a soul that can't get to a direct source of power and not giving, but sharing your power enough to inspire vision, drive, hope.

I believe that we shy away from our geographic power because we think it takes too much time to help others, that it takes a great plan, many hours, and too much physical endurance.
IT DOES NOT!
Sometimes...most times, all it takes is your presence. Your face. Your compassion. The blanks get filled in by those receiving.

We should because we can!

Pakistan....Check!

So I have been here 21 hours so naturally I am now an expert on the country. Some of those hours were eaten by (truth be told) a delightful experience with immigration...who'd a thunk? The remainder bit was occupied with the obligatory nap and business meeting then followed up by an unexpected guided tour of Old Town Lahore with my business associate Yanaal Khan, and here is what I have to say about it.....

Fox News is full of shit man!

This city is gorgeous and not worth the secretive fretting that I have been doing since I found out I would be coming here.
Is it clean? Well no, but most 3rd world countries cannot fill those descriptive shoes. The difference is that you can clearly see how once upon a time it was. History oozes from the freakishly small bricks that were used to create some of the most mammoth structures I have ever seen, and carved marble structures that can't be climbed without carribeners and rope. Lantern lit streets reserved for foodies and pedestrians dotted with the smile ready locals all dressed in filthy 3 piece suits and sandals. Descriptors come back to me now in such rapid succession that for once I come to the conclusion that it must only be experienced, but alas, I will do my best.
Acres of manicured lawn trampled into submission by 5 times daily prayer and pigeons as fat as Disney cartoons.
Is there poverty? Yes of course, that is why I am here. To bring the much needed affordable health care to those that can't afford it, but its not a smelly poverty. Pakistanis are remarkable clean (save for their clothes) the Muslim faith requires it.
Are they hostile? No. At no time have I felt anything but welcome by service staff and locals alike. They seem happy to see me, considering that there is no room (or point) in the government budgeting for tourism. That doesn't mean they don't want us here. There is a higher population of guns on people, so I won't be blinded by false security in testing the night life but under the watchful eye of my host, the enormous expanding sky is my limit.

From the remarkable hotel room I have to the vast palatial walls of Fort Lahore I have been stricken by this place. India taught me the meaning of the loud speaker prayers that reign over the city 5 times every 24 hours, but Pakistan has taught me to associate that ominous chanting with comfort and affinity.

As home sick as I am on this trip, I feel that I have made a connection to the city of Lahore that usually comes with meeting the staff I will be working with and that doesn't happen until tomorrow.

I thought that I would easily forget my 38th birthday as I spent it in a Bangkok airport. I had no idea that it would be one of my finest, just a day late.

Sankrati is Celebrated with Kites....And I Celebrated

First of all-2 BLOGS IN ONE DAY! I feel like a celebrity tweeter..

So after my morning to early afternoon soul introduction to "Toby the Traveler", I decided to do what anybody staying in a 5 star resort would-decompress by the pool.

About an hour into my book, surrounded by other ex patriots,  and burdened by the lack of energy poolside, I get bombarded by a kite. Straight out of nowhere, crash, right next to me.
 Then it dawns on me....The youth of Hyderabad celebrate Sankrati by flying kites.(youth=4yrs-30yrs)  So I look up and there are dozens of kites dotting the skyline. Most barely visible, all higher than the circling hawks of early evening.
Then I hear the music. Loud party music in the distance. Slightly muffled, coming from somewhere far behind the 20 foot walls of the hotel pool.
I try to ignore it and go back to my book.....YEAH RIGHT. I'M OUTTA HERE.

Back to the room to put on some sensible shoes and I head out in the direction of what seems to be a party.

About 2 miles into the twisty back streets of Hyderabad, I finally seem to be on the trail. I had lost the music all together at one point and went on gut instinct and general feel. I kept checking around me to make sure that I could see the occasional rickshaw, so if I got lost I still had a way out. My 3 wheeled breadcrumbs.

Down a long narrow alley, full of suspicious stares I finally hit my most encouraging landmark of my treasure hunt. Children scrambling madly on the surface streets running towards the next downed kite. Then I look up. 7-10 stories above me on multi-leveled roof tops are young adults blaring music and flying kites.....THOUSANDS OF THEM.


I have found what I was looking for. So I do what anybody at a finish line does....sit down and watch.

Enter Maruthi (sounds like Martin). Smiley 20 something full of questions. All questions are answered graciously while I crane my neck skywards. 
"America". "Yes Obama". "Medical Clinics". "ITC Hotel". etc.
Then he asks the best question of all...."Do you want to fly a kite?" YEAH I DO. I was instructed to wait right where I was for 10 minutes...don't leave.

15 minutes later (the extra 5 minutes were loooong) Maruthireturned with 2 shiny metallic kites, no string.
"Come-I live up there". To the top of the tallest building I have been staring at for the last half hour.

Up a narrow stairwell full of cement steps pitched at an impossible angle, we ascend higher and higher, until we break out into the sun.
We are on the roof with 3 of his friends who have climbed a latter to the top of Maruthi roof top apartment in an order to get 10 feet closer to god, and kite wind. The very perch I have been watching from below, which is now impossibly far away and dizzing to look at.

Around us on other rooftops are young men blasting Indian Club Music, and sporadically bursting out into Lawrence of Arabia Camel Race yells form roof to roof as they compete to get their kites skywards.
I can see the whole city from here, including Hussein Sagar where the Buddha Monolith still holds vigil 10 blocks away.

We flew kites until sundown, and the image of silhouettes against the sun with their outstretched arms, connected to a piece of tissue paper hundreds of feet in the air.  The sounds of distorted club music from speakers not built to handle the volume, the high pitched tongue flick yells of successful liftoff, and the jumble of Hindi being spoken by our roof top aviators was too rich not to sit down and write about.....Even if it is the second time today.

Today I Met My Traveler Self

I am not sure if it is because in India, today is Makar Sankrati-the holiday to represent the transition of the sun into Makara Rashi (Capricorn) marking a day of harvest.
I am not sure if it is Sunday, my heritages linear day of peace and rest.
I am not sure if it is because I started my day logging on to my computer to find out the the 49ers beat the Saints.

What I am sure of is that today I set out on foot into the streets of Hyderabad with no direction, no destination, and no schedule, not unlike what I have done quite a few times now in the not so distance past in Africa and here. But today, for reasons unknown, as soon as I left the hotel property, I was enveloped in a bubble of confidence and peace. A tranquil comfort that scripted a permanent grin on my foreign face. A lesson understood seemingly for the first time.

Here is what happened: I did not walk blindly. I walked with a purpose, but very careful to physically stop whenever something caught my attention for any reason and really mentally explore how I felt about that from an Indian me and American me. For instance: I left the hotel hungry. I wanted food in a locals only, cheap, "don't gauge the American" place with good food. I wanted to show that I belonged there. I walked right up to the first open aired cafe I found and ordered the Chicken Tikka (because I had eaten that before and could tell if it would be different). I paid the exact amount like it was my own currency and instructed him that I was going to climb the narrow ladder to the loft to take my meal at the table up there, please send up my food, and thank you very much. All with my plastered genuine smile.

The shop proprietor seemed to congratulate me with his eyes on a transaction well done and nodded his approval.
Then I climbed, sat, and picked apart the experience to understand it viscerally.

It was the same all day. I walked past the poor begging woman like I didn't see her instead of stopping to try and explain that while my heart wanted to give her money, I realize its not the answer. No need for wordy explanations. Smile and pass...tough love.

I relied on my ignorance when it suited me without even thinking about it. I asked for answers to questions that were obvious to locals but obviously not me. Then I turned right around and acted like a local when it suited me to survive, like crossing traffic. No hesitation, no surrender, all senses heightened.

I admired local street art, and the people doing it, but politely asked permission to take their picture...

.....all with my permanent smile.

As I returned back to the hotel, I realized....that was interesting and very natural.

I now realize that being a traveler calls for attributes. Attributes that may even attach themselves to the 7th Chakra that is so prevalent here in India. The Crown Chakra. The 3rd eye. The seeing of the unsee able. The understanding of the untaught. The calculated certainty of an anticipated event. A natural comfort in a potentially uncomfortable environment.

Today, after months of training, I became a traveler. 

The National Language in India is Horn

and the local dialect is "beeeeep, hoooonnk, wwaaaaahhh".

I'm now in possession of a brand new obsession and theory.....motorized rickshaws and their ability to open a door of understanding cities on an intimate level.

For 3 seconds I began to feel bad that I never rode in one of these contraptions that seem to be everywhere BUT America, while I was in Africa. Then I remembered that I walked and took public transportation everywhere allowing, NAY, force feeding dirt and dust consumption in quantities that are uncomfortable to think about. I physically ate so much African dirt and exhaust that I should have been forced to claim it at customs upon my return.

Imagine if you will a three lane road cutting through town like the formula one race tracks in Italy. (Ok-imagine the final race scene in Cars 2).
These 3 lanes are fat enough across for one bus 2 motorized rickshaws, and 3 motorcycles....well not really, but that"s what they fit here.
Now imagine if you will that they all go 35-45 mph, are never less than 5 feet from the vehicle in front or behind, weave in and out of their designated lane paying attention to only that in front of them and letting everything behind fend for themselves, and use their horn a minimum of 15 times a minute.
SIDE NOTE: none of these numbers are massaged for affect.

Scary enough to watch from the hotel window on the 11th floor....now put yourself into the rickshaw. This is  a 3 wheeled golf cart with motorcycle hand controls, vinyl seats for maximum slippage and no doors.

This all amounts to AWESOME!

You see, you smell, you feel heat everywhere, you get close enough to people in other cars to tell the time on their wrist watches, and you feel alive.

I loved it so much during the day, that I just got back from my night trip, and no there will be no photos of that. I needed all my faculties to survive! That story has to be told in person, but here is the movie trailer..."In a world, where a white man in India decides to tackle the streets at night in a  rickshaw. Only one man holds his fate in his hands and he is angry, has ADD, a learning disability, and no sense of direction. He is....THE RICKSHAW DRIVER". Coming soon to a Sunday Dinner Table near you.

India-First Impressions

Ok-so I had less than an hour to get to my gate in Dubai, landed in Hyderabad at 230 am Sunday morning, and am writing this Sunday afternoon. What does all this mean?
First of all, I have no idea what Dubai looks like short of knowing that the airport is large, clean, and streamlined (and the lovely person checking my boarding pass upgraded me to Business Class just to be nice.)
Secondly, even India is barren at 230 am, however; the airport had a go cart race track in front of it and batting cages next to the taxi stand (very strange) and people in both....230 am...things that make you go hhmmmm.
Third, I have not left the hotel, so I have experienced very little.

I can tell you that it seems more modern and more American friendly here than Africa. What i mean by friendly is television has HBO, CNN, American sports, etc. and I have already seen a Burger King which says alot. The pigeons are the same as America and the hawks are the same as Africa...low flying and large.

I ate at the Sunday Brunch Buffet (Indian Style) and it was marvelous! India makes eating vegetarian a worth while experince  and I can appreciate that, and its always note worthy  to have 10 things for dessert that you have never eaten before in your life.

The hotel has the coolest looking swimming pool I have ever seen...with no water in it. So what if it is 85 degrees...its January, which means routine maintinence in the off season. No swimming for me.

Everybody in uniform seems to love the word "Sir" because they use it 8 times per sentence, and in case your ever here, recognize that when they bobble their head back and fourth while you talk, it means they understand what you are saying....not having a seizure, so best to keep from shoving your wallet in their mouth to prevent them from swallowing their tongue and smile right back.

Tomorrow I venture out, and by the sounds of the constant horns in the distance (seriously they never stop) I will have much more to write about.

Till Then