Losing a Whole Day

I've done a little bit of traveling in my life. Generally speaking, I really enjoy traveling by plane; I'm a person whose only reason for shying away from flight is the bureaucratic omnipotence of the TSA, not because of any fear of the transportation itself.

Until yesterday, my longest plane trip had been the first one I made to Florida some ten years ago. The flight itself wasn't that bad, but I did have a 7 hour layover in Atlanta (it was a Thursday... I remember because it was also Thanksgiving). It was a long day, to be sure, but it's not much compared to a 9.5 hour layover followed immediately by a 15 hour flight.

The day started at 4:30am when I woke to a very Sheldon-Cooper-esque “*knock knock knock* Maggie *knock knock knock* Maggie *knock knock knock* Maggie” on my bedroom door. Not the worst way to start a day, really. Dad and I loaded up my stuff, picked up Mom, and made our way to O'Hare. It was definitely nice having them both see me off, as you can see in the picture in a previous post.

Upon check-in I was relieved to find that the suitcase I'd packed was in fact only 43 pounds (well under the 50# limit) so I wouldn't have to do any last-minute rearranging of things into my carry-on. Security was a breeze, and I didn't even get picked for additional screening like I usually do... I guess I look less like a troublemaker at 6 in the morning. The flight from O'Hare to Newark was easy and uneventful. Nothing I hadn't done before.

Upon my arrival in NJ, Brandi gave me directions on how to get to Brooklyn so I could meet her and have a 9.5 hour layover that involved something other than sitting around Liberty International Airport. I congratulated myself on making it through the AirTrain and NY subway on my own like a big girl, and Brandi and I enjoyed some pretty darn good Mediterranean food and a very nice visit before she saw me back to the station and I returned to the airport. I did have to step out for a pat down (I'd rather that than radiation) but then I was on my way to plop down at my gate until we started boarding.

Protip: There aren't many outlets to charge your phone at Liberty International, at least not in Terminal C. Prepare accordingly.

After a flight delay and some moments of “holy shit, this is really happening,” we finally got on the biggest airplane I have personally been on, a 777. You know, one with two aisles and three columns of seats, like you see in the movies. That in itself was a little surreal.

I took my seat near the window, 38L. The leg room in the economy seating area of the plane may not have been anything special (luckily I'm a smallish person to begin with), but the fact that the two seats next to me remained vacant meant I could stretch out all I wanted. I win! Of course, that would have to wait, but I smiled knowing that I was going to be a whole lot more comfortable for the next 15 hours than most of the others on the plane.

Everyone took their seats, the boarding doors closed, and the plane taxied to the runway. It was then, as the plane waited on the tarmac in that customary way that always lasts longer than I expect it to, that I became acutely aware of the sound of the engines. There was something about the way the sound rolled in waves that built my anticipation -- like the wind howling through the woods or an orchestra poised for the director's downbeat – the plane hesitated on the runway as if it were trying to decide whether it actually wanted to take off.

Of course, eventually it did. The engines roared and the plane hurtled down the runway, its nose lifting into the air. It was at this point that I first really, truly, felt at peace with my decision to go to India. In this moment I teared up for the first time since I'd begun planning this whole trip, and in this moment I knew that (nevermind it was was too late to change my mind at that point) it was honestly what I wanted to do. I felt good about it. I could see the wind rushing over the wing of the plane. The pilot pulled us into the air and circled over Newark once, as if extending one last invitation to say goodbye to the only country I'd ever known.

And we were off.

Those of you who expressed a wish that I be able to sleep on said 15 hour flight will be glad to know that that is exactly what I did for most of it. I had 3 books and a loaded, fully charged iPod with me just in case, but I only managed to get through a couple of chapters. I guess 3 hours of sleep the night before will do that to you.

In fact, I slept through the dinner service (which I was quite upset about, because damn did it smell good). Even as I lay there half asleep, I smelled the spicy, aromatic deliciousness that I know to associate with Indian food and knew it was going to be a good trip. Somehow I missed them when they came through the first time, but the nice flight attendant hooked me up with a vegetarian meal once they were done serving drinks, so it all worked out.

Struck with a case of “the itis,” as Joe used to say, I settled in for a nap as the little kid in front of me seemed to work on perfecting his Zanta impression.

I woke up to find the in-flight map showing that we were over the eastern coast of Greenland. Just cracking the window shade was enough to fill the cabin with light, so bright was the sun reflecting off the ocean, the ice, and the clouds. I tried to pick out the shapes of animals, boats, anything, but I'm not sure I actually saw any.

I read for a while and took another nap. Each time I woke up I checked the screen at the front of my seating section to see that a couple more hours had passed. I got through a few chapters of Something Missing and checked the window every so often, but mostly I just saw clouds. After another nap I woke to find that we were within the last 4 hours of the flight. According to the map we were over Afghanistan crossing the border into Pakistan. I took a moment to consider that this was likely the closest I'd ever get to either of these places, and just being able to look out at the parched, cracked earth and know that that's where we were made them more real to me. It was at this point that I started to feel a little anxious. This was really happening. Until now, India still seemed far away both in distance and in time. But now, if I chose to finish my book or flipped through the movies on the screen in front of me and put on Braveheart, I'd be landing by the time it was done.

It was precisely for this reason that I did neither of these things.

I wanted a chance, my last chance, to really think about what was going on. I began to wish I'd learned more Hindi before I left. I wondered if I packed the right clothing. I hoped my contact at Tibet Charity, Kalden, would remember to pick me up at the airport (as it turns out, he did).

As if to echo my own disbelief, the child in the seat in front of me asked his mother “Are we in India?” as we left the airspace over Pakistan.

As we approached Delhi from the northwest, I lifted the shade over my window again. Clouds rolled by, and lightning illuminated the sky beyond the wing. It was incredible. I felt like India was welcoming me, painting a sky more beautiful than any I'd seen before. The lights on the plane would blink and brighten the area for a moment, and then lightning would arc some distance off and reveal the depth and the texture and the massiveness of the clouds.

An hour or so later we finally landed at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi. Upon disembarking, a flight attendant reminded us not to drink the water; some of the high school kids whose t-shirts identified them as a volunteer group of some sort laughed and announced to each other that they would have forgotten. Not me... I have my UV water bottle handy, and I'm ready to use it. I made it through Immigration (I threw out the pineapple and dates I'd brought after getting paranoid over a story how my uncle had gotten in trouble once for bringing fruit into a foreign country... turns out they didn't even check), got my bag, and found my ride.

One of the first things I learned about India was that taxi drivers are even more .. umm.. assertive here than they are in, say, Chicago. Granted, I don't have a whole lot of experience traveling in big cities, but suffice it to say I was glad I had someone with me who knew what he was doing. Apparently here it's not uncommon to turn around on a road and head back the wrong way, either. You just put on your hazards and people more or less get out of the way. Kalden explained to me that “you can do this here,” and that road rage is nearly nonexistent because this is just how it works in India.

Two traffic jams and as many hours later, we made it to the hotel. I thanked the taxi driver who responded in like, smiled, and bowed, and Kalden and I headed up what I would consider alleyways to the building. I noticed on the way some stenciled words announcing that the area supported Tibetan autonomy. This made me feel strangely welcome and as if I were in fact in the best hotel I could be. (Kalden has informed me since that this whole area is a Tibetan neighborhood.)

My hotel room is small but clean, and it's a bit funny but I find it more comfortable than many hotel rooms I've stayed in in the US. Maybe it's the cleanliness thing. 

The restaurant here is really nice, too. For breakfast I had muesli with yogurt and nice, big chunks of fresh apple, a boiled egg, and milk tea. Yum!

Today is Tuesday, even though yesterday when I left it was Sunday. I'm feeling pretty good so far, so we'll have to see how hard the jet lag hits me in the next few days. Kalden is going to show me around Delhi today. I think I'm going to opt for some scenic destinations, cultural points of interest and whatnot; he tells me he went to see Wolverine in 3D yesterday and it only cost him 150 rupees (about $2.50) so who knows, maybe a movie will make it into the schedule just to say I did it. Tomorrow evening I'll board the bus to Dharamsala which is where I'll be staying for the next 4 months.

P.S. It's hot here. Really hot, and really humid.

P.P.S. Everything here is in English, which makes it really easy to get around. I guess that's one perk to traveling to a country that was a British colony for a really long time.