In The Rush: My White Water Rafting Experience

"My name is Viru and I am going to teach you why the paddle will be your best friend and maybe even your life saver today" is how the orientation began for about 40 of us gathered on a late December morning for a white water rafting experience. I looked around as everyone adjusted to the chill in the breeze blowing over the shallow waters. Shortly, the water would rise. We listened with rapt attention as he continued for the next fifteen minutes on how to hold the paddle correctly for effortless rowing, the need for synchronisation in rowing, what to do when one falls off the raft, safe position to float in rapids etc.

Interestingly, I spotted a few people in their mid to late fifties while most of the crowd was in their mid twenties. Bivouacking at a nature camp with my family I had decided to take the morning away for white water rafting in the Bhori river near Kolad, Maharashtra.  Regulated by a hydel power dam, the river is a popular rafting point, especially in the monsoon and is a Level 3 rapid for most parts. Around the year, however, the rapids are created by waters from a hydel dam that irrigate the farmland and serve as the primary source of potable water in the region.

As we waited for the gates of the dam to be opened, we were asked to fill up the "risk undertaking and non-indemnity" (i.e. "I am responsible for any kind of injury to me") form. We were geared up in helmets, life jackets and paddles in hand. I also had a dry bag slung on my back with some money, change of clothes and car keys in it. I had earlier driven down with Mercury Himalayan Expeditions (MHE) team in their pick up truck. Before that, it was with much curiosity I had witnessed deceptively lean looking Gorkhas load with deftness two fully inflated rafts, at least 12 feet long, and secure them on top of the truck. With equal swiftness, they had loaded about 40 life jackets, and an equal number of helmets and paddles in what was a morning routine for them.

A feeling of nervous confidence in the air, which had hitherto lingered around the gathered crowd, turned to one of exhilaration when we heard a roar of water gushing down the hill. We bellowed as we saw the rocky bed of the ravine submerge under the jetting irrigate. Some of the taller trees stood proudly above water, their tops proudly showing off their height above the filled up ravine. Water would continue to rise a few feet per minute for several more minutes. That was a lot of water rolling down the valley and I felt very small in the scheme of things. Knowing that such destructive force was managed by the touch of a few buttons offered superfluous consolation.

We took our spots on the dinghy, more randomly than by instruction or choice. The blue and yellow inflatable raft had a seating capacity of ten. There were six of us on this raft loosely anchored to the rocks by a rope. A raft leader would join us momentarily. I could make out from the talk going on in the raft that I was a with a group of students, five men well known to each other. Later, I was told by one of them that they were all doctoral candidates. I was amused thinking that between the six of us 17 academic degrees could be counted.

Just then, a man with swim tights and complete rafting gear hopped onto the boat. "My name is Deepak and I will be your raft leader today. Let's get this boat loose.", he said and untied the rope that anchored the raft. As a raft slowly drifted into the pool of back water created by the flash flood in the river, Deepak recalled the instructions and told us we would now practice all that we had learned in the past hour. I looked around to other boats doing the same manoeuvres as we were practicing. Right in the middle one of the MHE safety crew was bobbing in and out of water with his snug fit sit-in kayak; his way of getting the feel of the water. Noticing that we were struggling to synchronise, I volunteered a suggestion that the guys at the head of the boat sync each others' movements while each of us synced up with the person immediately in front of them. There was a round of "yeahs" as the idea sunk in.

Sooner or later, this was bound to happen, and it did: people started splashing water on each other and there was brief water fighting all around. Following suggestions from the raft leaders, some people jumped into water just to get the feel of how cold it was. No doubt those who jumped first were good swimmers. It was a little early for the non swimmers to get used to the comfort and security of the life jackets. The life jacket is probably the most fantastic safety equipment. But, more on that later.

I could see the first raft slowly rowed toward the current. Supported by the steady rush of the water, the boat eased itself downstream. Guided by Deepak, we made our way past the overhanging shrubs and bushes in the direction of the current. Immediately our training was put to action. As we steered clear of the trees jutting out the in the middle of the rapids, we kept our arms rowing to the direction of Deepak's voice. "Left side forward, right side back" turned the raft left, out of the way of the boat ahead of us,"We will soon hit our first rapid; this one is called 'Good Morning'!"

(To be Continued... Watch this space)

The hunter, the hunted and the observer. Part - 1

I saw the Lioness first, as she looked far into the distance crouched 40 feet away in the dry Kenyan Savannah patch. Almost invisible, she had been elusive through the best attempts of my safari driver and me for the last two and a half hours. The Lion emerged about 15 feet behind her, in his majestic gait and crouched about eight feet behind her. Within a few seconds, he stood up and walked up to the Lioness as she continued to survey the dazzle of zebras. Calvin, my Safari driver and guide, let out a knowing smile and said in his Kenyan accented English "She is just trying to spot the fattest one". I said," You mean the slowest one." He replied,"Same thing. Man these zebras are all fat." I looked at my mid-riff and decided that I should not continue talking and instead work on my camera.

While I would have loved to start earlier, we had started off at 7 AM. No time for breakfast, I picked up a couple of small pies and a couple of doughnuts from a supermarket. I bought extra batteries just in case my rechargeable ones gave away. We reached Nairobi National Park at 7:30 AM and picked up our Safari passes. There were three other cars waiting to check in at one of the seven gates that open into the park. As soon as I started wondering whether the tarmac was laid for all of the 100 odd kms of criss cross Safari tracks, the tarmac ended and gave way to hard red and black earth.

The first native of the park we met was an Ostrich. After that they just kept coming - Impalas, the Wild Beasts (Oke, as they are called in Masai), Gazelles, Zebras and dozens of types of birds that I do not know the names of, but they came in all colours. After about half hour we changed tracks as Calvin spotted a Giraffe at a distance. Somehow, everytime we kept getting closer the giraffe changed directions. I never got close enough for my camera. About the camera - I own some of the best equipment for a prosumer of photography. But, this biz trip was put together on short notice and I could not get my Nikkor Lenses (one of them a 450mm effective on the D70 that I own), cleaned. I am the only one I know whose lenses have fungi on the inner element. And since it is rainy season, I was told they would not risk opening it until seasons changed and the dry winter began. So, there I was with a 100 dollar SLR-like Fujifilm S5800  digicam, which had time and again proved itself for street, landscape and macro photography. But, I knew it was a crime or even a sin to not carry to a Kenyan safari the best of the equipment I had. I was counting on the bright sunlight to make up for any limitations that my  digicam had. Anyway, c'est la vie.

Everytime we passed another private or hired Safari vehicle, the drivers exchanged notes about what each other had spotted. Even in the open wilderness of the grassland with sparse Acacia groves and very rare clumps of palm trees, it was difficult to predict where a specific type of land animal would be. It was about two hours into the Safari and we were getting eager to see a pride of three lions that we kept hearing about. We even chatted up a ranger with a gun and wearing camouflage fatigues. I did not have the whole day. I had a flight to catch in six and a half hours and a meeting (I know), to attend in three hours. So, we again changed routes.

Shortly, we spotted a tower of Giraffes and since we were driving into the sun, they appeared as tall silhouettes in a light blue background. For a second, it felt like being in  Jurassic Park. I had never seen a dozen giraffes together, let alone this close in the wild. We were on our way to what they called the Hippo Pools, where sometimes the lions hung around. While we saw neither the hippos nor the lions, we had a close encounter with congress of baboons (I wonder if the connection between monkeys and the government is a deliberate one). An enterprising guard had set up a small refreshment bar of soft drinks in a shelter near the Hippo Pools. To draw crowds to his little store, he had displayed sun-dried and somehow cleaned up skeletal remains of several animals done to end by the predators. The most interesting and difficult to guess was that of an Ostrich.  ( Continued in Part 2: Read here.)

Breakfast in Bengaluru; Dinner in Mumbai...

A few years back, if someone had said this, one would think that he is planning a day trip by air. With the Golden Quadrilateral in place, today, anyone one who drives down the distance on a car can make the same claim.

In planning for the return leg of our 12 day road trip, we had budget two days (daylight hours) to drive to Mumbai. Some suggested that we should halt at Belgaum, others said Kolhapur or Karad. These suggestions meant that it was assumed that the distance cannot be covered in a regular ‘day’ and that it is not safe (it still is not for many reasons) to drive at night. We also had a baby in tow and driver himself (me!) was expected to tire out by the time he covered about 700 km, professional driver as he is not.

For the record, I should state that I was underestimating my stamina, since I had in the past covered about 1996 miles (~3200 km) in a 96 hour round trip. But that was in the USA. Knowing the Indian road 700 km in a day seemed like a stretch. Obviously, I hadn't done much (or real) highway driving in India, in the last few years. Sure, the car you are driving also makes a lot of difference.

We set out at 6 AM sharp, in light drizzle, with the intent to make the most of daylight hours and cover the 700 KM in about 14 hours. This meant that we expected to do about 50 kmph in terms of real distance covered given the slowing, stopping, halting and simply trying to but not able to really overtake those cluster of trucks aching their way up ghats.

We drove comfortably, stopped to take pictures, lunch, drinks breaks and even a lay-bye power nap of 15 minutes. We were pretty happy that we reached Karad...but at 5:45 PM! At 61 kmph real speed, cruising mostly at 90 kmph, this is pretty neat. I am sure people with turbojet in their blood would be enthused by the prospect to make this distance in less than 10 hours; perilous as it may be. With a couple of hours of daylight still in sight, we drove on and reached Pune (880 KM) by 8:30 PM (same average even through a small stretch of ghat in 14.5 hours). Finally, we took another 2.5 hours to reach Mumbai (Pune-Mumbai on the expressway is another superb ride), yielding 1000 km in 17 hours. Late dinner in Mumbai meant that we actually saved a day on road. It is another matter that this upset my wife since she thinks I short-changed her by cutting short the vacation. (I know I will pay a price for this someday soon.)

Driving on NH4 is like jet skiing. As of this writing, NH4 is complete from Bengaluru through Pune barring a 15 km bye-pass of Ranebennur, which means you go through the town. One does not mind shelling out about 500 bucks in toll (they call it "road user fee") through the entire route. This segment of the Golden Quadrilateral is very well built and maintained. Some oddities remain- like people and animals crossing roads like they are walking in their backyard, but that’s a reality on every highway in India, no matter how wide or smooth it is and whether or not you pay toll.

The Mumbai-Pune expressway (alternative to NH4) is a wonderful exception to this rule. It is a great feeling driving through gargantuan tunnels (longest is about 1.5 km long) with three lanes and high ceilings, well lit in vibrant orange neon. In fact, watching three lanes of traffic zooming through tunnels in India is a first for me. Truck drivers need to yet learn how to use the Mumbai-Pune expressway. We saw at least five overturned trucks of all sizes- even 10-wheelers- belly-up on relatively sharp turns. Simply, they were just too fast and the guys probably ignored the warnings to slowing down. (There could be an arguable point about designing turns on expressways, but I will give engineers the benefit of doubt on this one)

It is not without reason that the entire NH4 (I am sure rest of GQ as well) carries frequently seen hoardings of the ruling Congress leaders. The GQ is indeed something to be proud of. It has phenomenal implications to the logistics, particularly, road transport industry. Fast road travel implies higher efficiency of transport vehicles; higher predictability through better planning; faster supply chains; development of storage and specialised infrastructure in ‘outer’ locations (where it would be cheaper) and overall economic savings. For personal travel as well, roads like GQ open up a safer option to travel by own cars (or bikes for those who prefer).

Bengaluru to Mumbai on road- all in a day’s work. Hadn’t thought of it that way, until yesterday.

Ode to a Road

[Inspired by NH17 Goa-Mangalore stretch on the current road trip.
Something was definitely right about this place this time of the year.]

As the mist fades away in reverence to the rising sun,
Shades of green tell on the annual rain-dance that's begun
With the green, not any green but a bright florescent glow,
Dark shades play with shadows of tall trees, in perfect flow

Large trucks rushing past the awakening village & town,
Get mocked by the bullock carts of wet hay light brown
Life begins asimple, on the clockwork of daily routine,
What you saw here yesterday, today's just the same scene

Coastal road this one, teases you with rare cliffs and the sea,
Taking scene away after just a glimpse, like unsure dance of a bee
Meandering road; colorful offshoots,some straight some cower,
Sprinkled among jack-fruit, mango and banyan, lies mayflower

Bedecked elephant cloaked in saffron, green and gold marches,
To the hill where he would bless the crowd by the temple arches
Dew drops fall on the windshield, in a splash, turning to stream,
Reminding me to not lose track of road, not lose my driving steam

As miles roll down under my wheels, each turn alive and fresh,
Brown earth on the shoulder changes color, zephyr becomes windy thresh
As I move down the ghats, gaining speed and swaying on the bends,
I think- this is real, I am here, with nature, there is no pretense

As morning recedes making way to forenoon, waiting crowds behold,
For carriers to take them to their place of work and their life's goals
Sun breaks through the clouds, makes schoolgirls open their shades,
In grey and pink pinafores, mayflowers in hand, such gleeful maids

Envious I become of the offices here, structures overlooking the sea
I work on a sixth floor by a window, but this is where I want work to be
For I have seen sights ante-monsoon; wet fields and blooming trees,
Cruising down this homely route, I have seen even a peacock fly by me

My eyes are fixed on the statue at a distance, rising above the waters,
Temple of the Destroyer, the tall tower, ode to His virtuous powers
As I drive away from the highway, into the little town by Arabian sea,
I wonder whether this coastal road is as beautiful as any road can be.

-MGP

No Discounting New Year's Eve

The Christmas to new year's week is usually filled with tension among those who want to put it on sale and those who come to buy it. On one hand are those willing to start their new year with a bang. They will shop till the ball drops. On the other, there are those who want bang for their buck. Bargain hunters will make sure they start the new year with 'new everything' with nothing more than a pinch on their wallet. Then there are those who will, each year, shop one last time before they step into the new year with a resolution to stop splurging altogether. The malls have something for all categories.

The weird thing, though, is if you want to stay at home on the new year's eve, you will not get an offer in just the right places. I was asked to register and sign up for promotions before I could access the downloadable coupons from a couple of top pizza houses in the country. And when I did download them, the fine print did not help my appetite- "This offer is not valid on 31-Dec-2009!" I am trying to recall if this is the case in the United States too. I guess they have special discounts on the turn of the year. Is it because the same chains in India think people here are less imaginative on new year's and would order more pizzas no matter what? Why then pass the opportunity to fill the orders, at full price, from home parties?

Hearing about New year's eve parties is one of the traditional catching up activities you do in the first week. After the first week, it's as boring as talking about last year! Anyway, as you'd have guessed ours was a 'nice' one at home. Sit at home, play with our son and order pizzas at full price; no offers! Don't get me wrong, for a bargain hunter is not really about money. Just like for a kleptomaniac, it is not about the item. Think bigger, it is a middle class value; more like a value game.

But for many the eve went better than they expected it to. For some it almost did. Here are some stories I heard...

One of my colleagues regretted that she and her husband could not go to Goa to one of the progressive trance parties where they ring every new year in. Later, on learning that, this year, the place got busted with a lot of drugs on site they thought it was a good sign of times to come.

Another colleague ushered new year in a resort and for unknown reasons (he thinks it is a case of mistaken identity), he and his wife received more than their share of hospitality. They could not believe their luck when they received as gift a 'three days all expenses covered package at a beach resort'. It was given as a reward for their loyal patronage. But, this was the first time the couple had even been to the city. Would you call that lucky start or what?

You have reason to be happy when you have free couples pass to, I was told, one of the coolest places to be in Mumbai. Named after an exotic amphibian, the place charges a high fee for its new year's party. If all a guy has, to take to the party, is another male friend, then he does not want to use the pass as a couples pass, lest he send out all the wrong signals. So, he should feel luckier that he gets two free passes to cover both the stags. Economically, as one colleague pointed out, this is a loss to a potential couple who could have instead gone free to the party with those two half unused passe. Anyway, this guy lands up and finds himself among TV celebrities and really cool crowd. Or hot crowd as he later corrected himself.

Having the time of his life, he lands up at the bar next to an attractive woman (his description was much risqué). Adrenalin and new years spirits propel him to ask her, harmlessly, if she would like to dance with him. He, however, is faced with the dilemma of answering the question- "How much will you pay me?" Got to give it to the honesty of the guy, unfazed, he replies "What are the standard rates at a place like this? I am new here." 'I charge twenty five thousand' pat comes the reply. Still maintaining his presence of mind and also trying some fishing, if not getting some more free airtime as well as taking a big risk on his reputation or judgement on class (But, no mincing words in Mumbai, they say) he says 'Isn't that a little too high even for today?'. Looks like this woman is ready for anything, she says 'For you I will give a 10% discount!'. That response, to me was simply Manoj T Shyamalan-esqe unanticipated. Tell me if you hear a better one than that in all of 2010!

Like I said, if you are into buying something, there is someone selling it for a discount on new years. Unfortunately, that does not seem to be the case with pizzas delivered home on New Year's eve.

Up and down in Mumbai

Mumbai, the big city of India, teaches you something new every day. The last six weeks have been full of hopes rising up and hopes falling down, traveling up and down, moving up and down and looking up and down.

For the most part of last three weeks, the small talk has revolved around the delayed onset of monsoons. Wiping beads of sweat off their foreheads, people glance up at the sky and shake their heads down in disbelief that rains have beaten them in to the sultry mid-summer. Kids though too happy to go back to school, also probably wonder when it will be called off for a day or two when the waters enshroud the roads and bring productivity of the city down.

My second day in Mumbai was spent learning firsthand the vicissitudes of life on a ‘local’. My local batch mates from IIMA-PGPX had planned a meeting, it so happened, on the day after I landed here. Living with a few relatives until I moved into the company guest house, I was left to figure out how I could negotiate the forty kilometer distance from uptown Borivali to downtown Colaba. The first evening I watched trains at Borivali station cough out people in a hurry and suck in people in a hurry. Two and a half decades back, as a kid, watching trains was apparently an obsession with me. After work, my parents would take me to the nearest level crossing where we would watch trains until they got bored or I stopped jumping with joy, or both. Watching what was going on in the Mumbai local station did not bring up any of those fond memories. Anyway, I had a task to do the next day and my wife’s cousin and uncle had one of their own that day. They had to ensure that their esteemed (tch! tch!) relative was well taken care of and trained enough to travel safely up and down the busy chest of the big city. The next day, while I had no problem getting to Churchgate, on the way back, I learned not to underestimate statements made with respect to the local. I had been warned 'let the Virar local go, you have to take the Borivali local'. But, I thought that warning was too much to be taken seriously at midnight. The Virar passengers take it to their heart that someone would take a Virar local to Borivali when the latter has a train all to itself, last stop Borivali. And they showed this to me the hard way. The carriage full of people standing on each other’s feet, would only allow people in and refused to let me out. (Stepping out and into locals is not how it works in India's city that never sleeps) Jumping out of a train slowing gathering speed, I learned it is never too late (read as never too restful) on a Mumbai local, time of the night notwithstanding.

Lifts, the ones that take you up and down, of all kinds is another thing that one needs to get used to in the Big Apple of India. Tall buildings are not built to impress; they are built to sustain. Sustain the ever growing population of the city that shelters (or not) the fourteen million aspirants and the arrived. But unlike many other cities, Mumbai had learnt many decades ago that it needed high rises. Hence, the variety of lifts in the variety of buildings. The modern one in our office is not always as predictable as the old collapsible-grill kind in the guest house building. The former, though computerized (ahem!) has a mind of its own. Back at the guest house, one has to remember that the lift is not automatic. And this learning did not come to me automatically. One evening, a bunch of kids rushed in shouting ‘wait, lift, uncle, wait’ (or was it ‘wait, lift-uncle, wait’?). I smiled and opened the door. The little people took over the charge of lift operations. They pressed some number and I said ‘Six please’. The little girl did not respond. So, I looked down at her and said ‘Six please’. A little irritated, she looked up at me and said ‘Uncle, this is not automatic. You press Six after we go out’.

Like I said, Mumbai (small or big) teaches you something every day.

A colorful Road Trip

A road trip typically combines the thrill of driving your own car through countryside and highways with the freshness of seeing rural and natural sights that one gets un-used to seeing in a city. In a road trip natural colors are easy to come by. Here are some colours of Karnataka that that we saw flying around us in the Ghats and along the coastline.

That the Western Ghats are green is common knowledge. The myriad shades of green shone by the tea gardens of Kalasa, Kudremukh and Samse, coffee plantations stretching from Sakleshpur to Mudigere and the sporadic deciduous and rare coniferous foliages sprouting out from deep red mountain soil remind you that tropical heaven is only a few hours drive away from home- the natural red and green.

Green is also the color of hope. The Shiradi Ghat road renovation project gives hope that the Mangalore Bangalore corridor will boost economic growth over the next decade more than what the recently inaugurated railway track will. The 9 inch thick tarmac starting Sakleshpur and the 1 foot thick concrete beams at the hairpin bends are being laid out with deliberation. Making no mistakes this time, the road has been closed to heavy traffic and opened to only controlled private car/light vehicular traffic.

The Greater Mangalore, if you may, area is poised to see amazing growth in the next few years. The infamous, for road accidents, NH17 belt going north from Mangalore is seeing new shades of grey- those of concrete and tarmac laid in the form of four-lane if not six-lane expressway complete with underpass and flyovers. The road will be made safe by itself. Left to man's fancies, however, nothing is safe.

All this, on top of the existing airway, railway will bootstrap the connectivity of the ports and upcoming SEZs with the hinterland. New SEZs for an energy company and several IT companies will lift this town from its tier 2 status to metro in the next decade.

That apart, the blue skies above and backwaters abutting the highway remind you that it is a little too unusual for rains to cause havoc in the evenings. What ought to be pink and blue- the two colors of spring- actually make you think black for the dark evening skies as well as the creeping impact of global warming. Forget that and the white sands of Maravanthe and the aquamarine waters of the sea beyond bring you right back to where we intended to spend one afternoon. Hot, you bet, and sultry worsened by last night's rain.

The legacy of the dynasties remnants of one of which, Hoysalas, we visited at Belur and Halebid ought to carry a bright orange glow. Orange is the color of endurance. That such intricate sculpture work has weathered nature and foreign invasions through the years is a testimony to capabilities and talents of a foregone era. The ornate pillars of the Chennakeshava temple, the hallmark of Hoysala architecture, is replete with the traditional jewellery designs that find their way into contemporary ornaments. The black polished pillars of the Jain Basadhi at Halebeedu even after close to a thousand years reflect the visitors' awestruck faces as if they were built yesterday. The musical notes that can be drawn out from the lightly constructed pillars strike the right chords of surprise.

Looking out for all these colors, we drove out of urban landscape on a Monday dawn, drove through the hinterland and ghats smelling coffee, tea, tender cashew, damp paddy and sugarcane fieldsdown to the hot coastal belt. We drank a lot of tender coconut, locally made carbonated jeera and ginger coolers sun-burned ourselves, sweated out in buckets, swallowed oodles of fresh air, woke up in the mornings to rare sounds of common birds, dug our heels in hot white sands, learned that Kudremukh National Park is replete with vistas of dark green and blue mountains against a pastel blue sky and also learned that exploration of Karnataka by road on our own car is the next best way to do it; the best way is on a bike such as an Enfield.

We returned four nights later content for now but thirsty for more, covering more than twelve hundred kilometers but not tired, intemittently cut off from communications like cell and email but not feeling any bad about it to the home-city happy but not too happy about it.

The colors we saw in this road trip are just a few sprinkles. There is a whole rainbow out there in Karnataka.

2007: A year of waitlists: Part 2

If not already done, read Part 1 here.

After touchdown at Miami and arriving 15 hours too late to our 4-Star Hotel, we were in for a bigger surprise when at the swank reception of the hotel, we were told that our reservation stood cancelled. What the heavens was happening?

Earlier, the previous evening, I had called up The Hotel and told them that we would be arriving half-a-day late, and had grudgingly consented that half of our two-night charges would be flushed away. Apparently, after talking to me, the night operator, off duty then, had messed it all up.

Budget travellers have quite a few options in the American travel 'system'. One of them is a service called Hotwire.com. Basically, you provide your budget range for a nightcap and the system sets-up a 'blind reservation' with a multi-star hotel. This means that until you make the payment, you are privy to only the facilities offered at the location; it is not easy/possible to guess the exact hotel they are offering you. But the promise is that you will not be disappointed. We were not.

Such services exist for two reasons. One is the proliferation of e-commerce in tourism makes way for creative business models. The second is the fact that doing this allows hotels to fill rooms for a cheaper rate, especially during lean periods of the year. If you will, it is an effective yield management strategy, much like how airlines sell $25 air tickets. It works well for all hotels in such consortia, since people are allocated hotels in a category ,probably, in a round-robin fashion. It works well for the travellers.

The problem happens when a problem happens. What I mean is that when there is a change in plan, you are now required to deal with two parties- Hotwire.com and The Hotel in this case. I had talked to The Hotel. They never told me I had to talk to Hotwire. But yet, the night attendant confirmed the change of plan.

Two things helped me resolve the quandary. Firstly, when the manager refused to acknowledge the fact that we had called, I showed him the call record on my cellphone. It showed that I had been on the call for all of three and a half minutes.

Secondly, the Hotwire.com services work like an open-market. Democracy is supreme here, since the services thrive on user-feedback, much like e-Bay. A brief mention this fact brought new perspective to things, endingour second waitlist of the year.

Knowing the lie of the land is important for any traveller. Yahoo! Maps and Mapquest are definitely up there when it comes to accuracy and reliability. But traffic patterns are another thing altogether. Then again, Florida is a pensioners paradise, despite the glamour and youth thronging the place. The speedlimits are lower than in other states to cater to the majority senior population. This was something to be expected but came as a surprise to us.

Additonally, the drive through The Keys to reach Key West is on several narrow several-miles-long bridges separating the Gulf of Mexico from Atlantic Ocean. These bridges have long stretches of no-passing zones. All this added up to our reaching the rendevous point of water-adventure cruise at Key West, less than 10 minutes before yacht took off. Thus ended third waitlist this year.

I will end the chronicle of our Florida trip by saying that in the midst of this canonball run, my wife and I had the best time of our life, or should I just say 2007.

The waitlist saga continues in Part 3.

2007: A year of waitlists: Part 1

This has been a year of waitlists. A turn of a New Year is a good time to recall our escapades, remembering that, while planning anything can be fun, seeing it go haywire and then unravelling the mess and coming out gleaming can be more fun.

It all began with booking tickets to visit Florida. Having taken over the portfolio of managing all our travel plans (and more), my wife booked 'special price' tickets to Miami around 120 days in advance.It saved us quite a few greenbacks and I, though wary of perils of nonrefundable tickets, was optimistic of local weather conditions in future(!). Choreographed to perfection - we even had decided on places for dinner and lunch in Miami and Key West, a couple of months before the travel date- we thought nothing could come in our way (somewhat).

Weather gods, meanwhile, had been planning their own little thingy. Six hours before ETD, our flight to Miami got delayed. Two hours later it got cancelled. 30 minutes later United Airlines dumped us, literally, on to the next day, Friday, morning flight at Six with American Airlines. We left home at 3:45 AM to be there ahead of everyone, only to realize we had undermined everyone else's determination. An hour of hoarse shouting at UA and AA, who kept shirking the responsibility about why we were being treated like a football at FIFA, intensely kicked around, only yielded that everyone was helpless; and we were 11th down the waitlist of passengers who could just make it to the 8 AM out of O'Hare.We had an option of taking the 1 PM confirmed seat. In the face of the fact that we had already lost a night's prepaid stay at a 4 star hotel in Miami, the choice was easy.

Being in the thick of things brought us face to face with how airline companies do yield management. They have a few very important tools to beat the holiday season nightmares. One of them is overbooking. Some passengers cancel out (not a statistical impossibility that) and those tickets are sold at a premium. Some passengers don't mind selling their tickets back to airlines in exchange for travel vouchers at the same time delaying their own travel to any of the next few flights out. Lastly, the most important 'investment', a passenger realizes, is to be on the loyalty programs of airlines. Because, when a flight is cancelled, or when overbooked people are moved around Loyalty card holders make it to the top of waiting lists. I will not argue with that, since if I were running the business, I may just run it the same way.

In the next two hours we would count our chances of getting on that plan a hundred times, confirming with each other, every time the boarding gate attendant announced a name cleared for boarding. We were willing to forgive them for mis-pronouncing our names, as long as we made it on board. Not until Six minutes before the plane doors would close, were we told that we were cleared. That was the end of our first waitlist.

But wait, the story has only started!