Day 1: Arrive at Dulles airport with optimism, a spring in my step, ready to roll. 6 hours later (3 hrs. in line with United customer service) my flight is cancelled. By about 10 pm I got a room voucher for the Dulles Hyatt and decided to start over in the AM.
Day 2: The AM. Arrive at Dulles at about 8, check my bag, and get on a flight to Newark. My plane for Bombay was to leave at 9 that evening. 11 hours to kill. What to do? Answer: Nothing. There is officially nothing to do at Newark int'l. I rode the skytrain around, took about 5 naps in various uncomfortable positions on chairs designed precisely not to nap in, and eventaully on the carpeted floor of the departure lounge, hidden in a corner. Time somehow passed, and I was ready to board Air India flight 144. Here is where India begins in earnest. Before boarding, an Indian gentleman tells me there is "second round of check-in" before we could proceed onto the jetway. Everybody lined up and they wheeled in an X-ray machine to look at all carry-on items, already screened by TSA. Eventually, we get on the 747.
When flying intercontinentally, people usually imagine glamor, comfort and style. This had none of these these things, except for the intercontinental bit. The 747 was not equipped with those little conical air blowers over your head. It smelled like those Royal Pine Magic Trees, and was cramped with people of all ages; a disproportionate number of children and luggage. All of the formalities of flying an american carrier were out the window by the time we started taxiing. No one buckled their seatbelts. People kept walking around right until the moment of take off. Kids were screaming, climbing over the seats, throwing pillows, demanding things, I mean, jeez. I had a window seat and a bottle of melatonin. Things proceeded feverishly, with the slow chaos that pervades life here. We had a stopover at Charles de Gaulle where we sat sweltering on the tarmac while French people cleaned up the mess in the aisles, and loaded new trays of Biryani, Vindaloo or whatever. The flight proceeded from there. We flew over the Alps, the Black Sea, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan and finally India itself. The scenery was stunning, with a red sunset highlighting the endless desert below. It faded to specks of light and thunderstorms over Pakistan. Two hours later, we were landing in Bombay. A total of 17 hours on the 747, one pee break, two times out of my seat to stretch, 4 interesting meals, one big bottle of water, and about 7 melatonin pills.
The 747 itself:
Day 3: Bombay airport. We had about 25 minutes between connections on to Bangalore. They rushed us through a further series of metal detectors, looked us over with scrutiny, and packed us onto a hot bus to drive to our plane out in the airfield. We sat there waiting for busloads from about three other connections from obscure parts of the world. 3:30 AM-- Bangalore airport. I clear passport control fairly easily and get to baggage claim. Swatting mosquitoes, I waited and waited for my luggage, no dice. So I leave. My sponsor here in Bangalore had sent a driver with a plackard in a sea of plackards with my name on it: "Mr. Ethan Charles". So they are very nice, and they drive me through the crazy, busy winding roads of Bangalore in the early morning hours, and drop me at my place by about 5. It's a ministry of health seminar center, right next to the leprosy hospital, down a dirt road, not far from the center of town.
Day 4: Melatonin stupor. I dare not leave my room. Water bottle running dry, I sleep through most of the day. One of those vivid sleeps, where dreams fall withing dreams, all the content somehow seeming relevant to my waking life, but not really. I found ways to embaress myself with all culturally wrong methodologies. Finding myself naked in front of a bunch of women in saris, etc. Never sure if it was real or not. Periodically I actually awoke and reminded myself that I hadn't even left my room. The dreams spiralled into further craze, and somehow I slept through the whole day, leaving once for a piece of bread and a litre of Aquafina water.
Day 5: Today. A driver met me at 10, and took me to meet Dr. Sudarshan. He is the first person with whom I've been able to understand 90+% of what is said since I've gotten here. I explain the situation with my bags, and he sends his assistant, the head state constable with me to the airport. We play pinball between 6 or 7 offices, 10 or 12 authority figures before finding the office with all the bags stacked up. Thank god for the constable. I'd have been screwwwed otherwise. I go back and meet the Lokayukta (translated as Ombudsman), who is interrupted every 5 seconds by phone calls, and has the only air conditioned room I've been in since arrival. Dr Sudarshan says we'll start work tomorrow, so here I am today. I've just had my first meal since the 747 and am relaxing in an internet cafe.
General thoughts: I have never been anywhere as chaotic as where I am now. Even simple things like getting a meal, making a phone call, or taking a walk are incredibly complicated here. Everything requires intermediaries. Nowhere in the city is moving at a slow pace at any time on the 24 hour clock. It is dizzying and overwhelming. It makes you just have to take things as they come, keep focused, busy, directed, assertive, all those alert-type things. Poverty is found in all corners of the place. With so much government, how can there be so much anarchy? This question will probably puzzle me for years. From where I stand, alone, isolated, the only white person I've seen in days, this will all take some adjustment. I am trying to maintain quiet in my head as best as possible, learn the basic rules of getting around, and get to know locals wherever possible. It's far more crazy than I had anticipated, but all in all this will be a very formative, positive experience. Next post will probably be more interesting as I settle.
1 comment:
Keep on keeping on, grel -- you are doing great!
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