Radisson Hotel, Delhi, Saturday, 1999-02-27 19:00 local (Z+5:30)
Well, I guess I'm a pretty soft touch. A few minutes ago there was a knock at my room's door. It was housekeeping, a young Indian guy doing the turn-down service. I tried telling him I didn't want it, but he was intent on doing his job, and I don't think he really understood me, and I know I couldn't understand him. So he does the bit while I'm hooking up my laptop. When I drag out the power cord, he very quickly grabs the plug and scoots under the table to plug it in. These are “locking” receptacles, and the last time here I had to call the concierge to have them bring up an adapter, but this guy knew how, with the aid of a ball point pen, to defeat the locking mechanism and he gets it plugged in. I sit down at the laptop and the next thing I know he brings slippers over and sets them next to my bare feet. Now I'm really feeling bad because I have nothing of a reasonable denomination to give him. I've got American 20s and Saudi 100s (about $27 each). He finishes, I think, but then reappears with “goodnight cookies”. Then picks up my shoes and with hand signs wants to know if I would like them polished. I decline but the guilt has become overwhelming. After he leaves, I get dressed—was in running shorts—go down to the desk and change $20 into rupees, hunt him up, and give him 100, a little over $2.
Next the concierge calls to tell me they have succeeded in fixing my roller bag and will bring it up. Earlier today in Jeddah, I broke the zipper on one of the side pockets. When I got here, I inquired if there was anyplace within walking distance that repaired luggage. The concierge said no but that they would fix it. I took it down to them, and I thought I noticed a look of mild disappointment when I said to put any charge on my room bill. When the concierge got to my door with the repaired bag, I asked if there was anything I needed to sign for the charge. He very politely said no but that I could pay him 150 rupees. I have only 100 rupee notes, and gave him 200.
Oh, well, I'm happy to have my bag fixed and my laptop plugged in, and I hope the two Indians are at least a little happy.
Obviously I'm back in Delhi. Since my last message, I have returned to Jeddah, spent about thirty-six hours there, and then came back here. Crises, both relatively large and small have come and gone, and I'm sure new ones are building. Since I write these messages primarily as a journal of sorts for myself, I'll record some of them.
The most serious was that, about the time I was writing the last message, Morris Nachtomi, Tower's owner, was deciding whether or not to continue flying this Hajj or whether to order the airplanes back to JFK. The visa problems in Jeddah were costing the company serious money. Without visas, the mechanics couldn't get to the aircraft in a timely manner, they couldn't get parts out of customs, and the fines for mixed crews were mounting. The mechanics not being able to reach the airplanes was particularly costly. You are only allowed to leave an airplane at a Hajj terminal gate for a short while after it has unloaded. After that time period, it costs $5000 per hour. When we arrived at Jeddah on the last trip, there was no one from maintenance to meet us. They were tied up trying to get through immigration and on to the ramp. We had to shut down everything and walk away from an unpowered, unattended aircraft. The flight engineer volunteered to stay with the airplane. I said, no, this business of the crews suffering because Tower is not properly supporting us has to end someplace.
From the Hajj terminal, crews are taken by bus to the international terminal for foreign airlines to clear immigration and then customs. Another incoming Tower crew was there, and their captain was glad to see me. He, being one of the few whose visas had been granted before leaving New York, could have proceeded straight through immigration and to the hotel. However, in this society, a crew minus a captain has no clout whatsoever. You have to be wearing four stripes for them to pay any attention to you. When I showed up, that freed him to head for the hotel.
His crew—first officer, flight engineer, a loadmaster, and fourteen flight attendants— had been there for an hour and nothing had yet happened. There was good news, however. We were supposed to finally get visas. I later learned that Nachtomi had told his Saudi associates that, unless visas were forthcoming immediately, he would pull out. That's what it takes to get things to happen in Saudi.
We stood around for four hours before we all had visas. About midway through the process, the representative of the Saudi prince sponsoring Tower said that he would shortly have visas for the cockpit crew and we could leave for the hotel. I thanked him, said that we would be happy to receive our visas as quickly as possible, but that the cockpit crew would not leave until the flight attendants had visas as well. He understood.
So, here I am back in Delhi, same hotel but now on the fifth floor rather the second, and on a different end. I can see the same vacant lot, but the perspective is much different. If I had binoculars, I would be able to observe everyday Indian life in the adjacent residences.
Remember that security fence I talked about in the last message? Just before dark, I watched about a dozen baboons or monkeys—not sure which but if I had to bet, I'd say baboons, they didn't have much of a tail—play along the top of the fence. A sacred cow, the same or another, was in the lot again, but this time no boys playing cricket or other human activity.
I'm headed for bed. I'll easily sleep twelve to fourteen hours, and if the schedule holds, the wakeup call will be at 15:00 local time tomorrow. We'll return to Jeddah. I may or may not have to fly one more trip here before heading to Luxembourg.
Everybody take care...Terry