Bangalore, India. A city that was my home for a few early years in my life, and which I then only visited sporadically over the last three decades. Now called Bengaluru, it is known mostly for its ridiculously congested traffic levels (and its IT industry, of course).
I had a chance to re-visit this place recently for work, and found myself planning in advance to smooth out as much as possible the logistics of moving about the city where a mere 5 km (roughly 3 miles) could take an hour to cross.
The primary modes of transport for the car-less in Bengaluru are two-fold: those ubiquitous green-and-yellow autos on the one hand, and app-based taxis such as Uber and Ola on the other. Given the recent drive by the Indian government to demonetize some 86% of the cash reserves and push for a cashless society, I enthusiastically jumped into the fray.
Well before departure from the US, I downloaded the Uber app to my smartphone, created an account and tied it to my international credit card. I called the card company to make sure the Uber (and other) charges would not be declined. I flapped my wings and after a long, tiring flight through the dreaded Heathrow airport, somehow landed on a tree in Bengaluru.
It took a while to navigate to the Uber pick-up point, but the ride to my destination was rather smooth thereafter. The car arrived in about 10 minutes and we were on our way through ridiculously nettled traffic even by Indian standards. It was a flat-rate ride from the airport (ahem... I mean that tree I landed on) into the city.
The next day, the ride from home base to the city center was equally smooth except for an initial hiccup locating the vehicle. The Uber driver was waiting on a side street, and it caused some confusion.
The troubles started that evening when I had to return home. The first Uber driver who answered my request was shown not too far from where I was, but he was taking a while to get there. He eventually called and said he was so far away (i.e. 4 km, or 2.5 miles) that it would take him 20 minutes to reach me. I offered to wait for him, but he asked me to cancel the ride.
This is how bad Bengaluru traffic is. Drivers would rather look for other passengers than try to drive 4 km to get to you. Anyway, I cancelled the ride and requested another one. This time, I walked to the main road and close to one of the most well-known landmarks in the city, the Vidhana Soudha (home to major government offices and officials). At the least, it would be easy to direct anyone there.
The Uber sat at a rotary just a little distance away. It did not move on my map for ages. Then it did, but it went the other way and re-routed itself to my location at the cost of adding 10 minutes to the arrival time. Then it stopped moving. Traffic, I guess.
I cancelled this one too. Later, I was dinged a fine for cancelling more than 5 minutes after requesting the ride. What nonsense was this?
Like they say, third time's the charm. I got in, we sat in traffic, and I eventually got him. Phew! Live to fight another day!
But boy, what a fight was in store! The next day, as I clicked to request a ride, I was told that my account had been disabled. Disabled! There was no prior notification. No email, no phone call. Just as I was ready to go to my work appointment, I had the carpet pulled from beneath my feet.
I relied on the auto that day. The first two refused to go to the city center due to the traffic. The third one grudgingly asked me to get in. A third of the way over, while we were stopped in traffic as usual, the driver stepped out and had a conversation with another auto drive a few feet away. He returned and asked me to transfer to the other vehicle. Bizarre. Fuel problems, apparently.
That evening, I relied on a friend to call me an Uber from his account. He willingly did, but just as we began to move, the driver saw that the wrong destination had been punched in. Oh boy! And my friend was unreachable on his phone to correct it. But traffic congestion has its side benefits after all. When the friend eventually answered, we had not been able to get too far anyhow. The problem was fixed and I was on my way.
The next three days was spent thus. Auto in the morning, friend's Uber account or another auto in the evening. Repeated e-mail requests to Uber fell on deaf ears. I received an e-mail the next day saying the account hold had been removed. Still no luck signing in, though. There is no customer service phone number. There used to be one, which is listed in some online thread identified through a Google search. But it recites a message about how phone calls are notoriously unclear, and how I should email support@uber.com instead.
I did. I received an automated response saying this was no longer being monitored, and that I should hit Help in the app. Problem: the app first asks me to either login or register. Help comes only later.
That night, plugging my laptop into a relative's WiFi network, I emailed Uber through their website. That was back on Dec 21. I am still awaiting a response. In the mean time, Uber has deleted my account.
So long, Uber, and thanks for all the (smelly) fish.
I had a chance to re-visit this place recently for work, and found myself planning in advance to smooth out as much as possible the logistics of moving about the city where a mere 5 km (roughly 3 miles) could take an hour to cross.
The primary modes of transport for the car-less in Bengaluru are two-fold: those ubiquitous green-and-yellow autos on the one hand, and app-based taxis such as Uber and Ola on the other. Given the recent drive by the Indian government to demonetize some 86% of the cash reserves and push for a cashless society, I enthusiastically jumped into the fray.
Well before departure from the US, I downloaded the Uber app to my smartphone, created an account and tied it to my international credit card. I called the card company to make sure the Uber (and other) charges would not be declined. I flapped my wings and after a long, tiring flight through the dreaded Heathrow airport, somehow landed on a tree in Bengaluru.
It took a while to navigate to the Uber pick-up point, but the ride to my destination was rather smooth thereafter. The car arrived in about 10 minutes and we were on our way through ridiculously nettled traffic even by Indian standards. It was a flat-rate ride from the airport (ahem... I mean that tree I landed on) into the city.
The next day, the ride from home base to the city center was equally smooth except for an initial hiccup locating the vehicle. The Uber driver was waiting on a side street, and it caused some confusion.
The troubles started that evening when I had to return home. The first Uber driver who answered my request was shown not too far from where I was, but he was taking a while to get there. He eventually called and said he was so far away (i.e. 4 km, or 2.5 miles) that it would take him 20 minutes to reach me. I offered to wait for him, but he asked me to cancel the ride.
This is how bad Bengaluru traffic is. Drivers would rather look for other passengers than try to drive 4 km to get to you. Anyway, I cancelled the ride and requested another one. This time, I walked to the main road and close to one of the most well-known landmarks in the city, the Vidhana Soudha (home to major government offices and officials). At the least, it would be easy to direct anyone there.
The Uber sat at a rotary just a little distance away. It did not move on my map for ages. Then it did, but it went the other way and re-routed itself to my location at the cost of adding 10 minutes to the arrival time. Then it stopped moving. Traffic, I guess.
I cancelled this one too. Later, I was dinged a fine for cancelling more than 5 minutes after requesting the ride. What nonsense was this?
Like they say, third time's the charm. I got in, we sat in traffic, and I eventually got him. Phew! Live to fight another day!
But boy, what a fight was in store! The next day, as I clicked to request a ride, I was told that my account had been disabled. Disabled! There was no prior notification. No email, no phone call. Just as I was ready to go to my work appointment, I had the carpet pulled from beneath my feet.
I relied on the auto that day. The first two refused to go to the city center due to the traffic. The third one grudgingly asked me to get in. A third of the way over, while we were stopped in traffic as usual, the driver stepped out and had a conversation with another auto drive a few feet away. He returned and asked me to transfer to the other vehicle. Bizarre. Fuel problems, apparently.
That evening, I relied on a friend to call me an Uber from his account. He willingly did, but just as we began to move, the driver saw that the wrong destination had been punched in. Oh boy! And my friend was unreachable on his phone to correct it. But traffic congestion has its side benefits after all. When the friend eventually answered, we had not been able to get too far anyhow. The problem was fixed and I was on my way.
The next three days was spent thus. Auto in the morning, friend's Uber account or another auto in the evening. Repeated e-mail requests to Uber fell on deaf ears. I received an e-mail the next day saying the account hold had been removed. Still no luck signing in, though. There is no customer service phone number. There used to be one, which is listed in some online thread identified through a Google search. But it recites a message about how phone calls are notoriously unclear, and how I should email support@uber.com instead.
I did. I received an automated response saying this was no longer being monitored, and that I should hit Help in the app. Problem: the app first asks me to either login or register. Help comes only later.
That night, plugging my laptop into a relative's WiFi network, I emailed Uber through their website. That was back on Dec 21. I am still awaiting a response. In the mean time, Uber has deleted my account.
So long, Uber, and thanks for all the (smelly) fish.
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