Travelling to India

I am confronted with a huge task: document my time in India. Granted, I was only there for 2 weeks, but considering I had so many experiences, took hundreds of pictures, and grappled with words in a foreign language, those two weeks were momentous (which I find to be a funny word, because technically, the word means "of moments", which is what time is anyway, so am I saying anything at all by using this phrase?)

Well, if I have learned anything from infancy, it is to take baby steps. So I will chronicle my Indian adventures in themed pieces. First up: how I got there.

I will tell you.

A plane.

Yes, I will start off with airports and customs. I found them extremely momentous.

The flight was done in series, since India is quite frankly on the other side of the world. The first stop was the Frankfurt airport in Germany. Nothing really special about that place, but I was just so excited to be in Germany that I practically pranced around the airport. Since then, I've talked to a couple people (2 to be exact), and neither had a good experience with that airport, so there's my word of caution.

I didn't stay in Frankfurt long, but I was in Germany all day because my next flight was to Munich (or in German, Munchen, which makes me think of the lollipop kids in the Wizard of Oz). I had about 8 hours on my hands, so maybe I should have gone sight-seeing, but it was very foggy in Germany, so instead I found a mediation room and did yoga, calculated the euro-dollar conversion and bought marzipan, found a computer and practiced typing on their keyboards (if you check out my previous post, you'll see what I mean), and sang Christmas carols. I could have also taken a nap, since this Flughafen (about the only German word I picked up; means airport) had nap cubicles, but I had slept the whole flight from Houston, so there was no need.

I also slept all the way to Delhi, so when I finally arrived Friday morning in India, I was ready to go (but you shall have to wait to hear what I did).

Soo continuing our focus on planes, my next flight was several days later from Jaipur in the north/central of India to Goa in the southwest. My first connection from Jaipur to Bombay aka Mumbai was delayed 5 hours due to fog, and let me tell you there is not a lot to do in the Jaipur airport. I ended up talking to a Swedish man, which was a lot of fun. I don't know any Swedish, but since he spoke English that wasn't a problem. I told him that I retained the Swedish name from my great-great grandparents who emigrated from Sweden. According to him, Sweden lost about a quarter of their population to the U.S. We talked about our jobs, compared healthcare systems and schooling (of note, homeschooling is not allowed in Sweden), discussed our trip so far in India, and touched a bit on parenting and religion. Most of Sweden is Lutheran, but in a laid-back sort of way. Part of the rigid Swedish curriculum is to attend another religion's church meeting or ceremony, so he was taking his daughter to a temple (most likely Hindu) once they finally got to Goa. It was a very pleasant way to pass the time. 

After two gate changes and two security checks (which I thought ridiculous; what on earth could I have acquired while stuck in the airport? Oh, and by the way, in India, security checks are segregated: women have a separate line from the men, and are checked by a female security officer behind a screen.), I finally got on the plane to Mumbai. Because of the delay, I had missed my connection to Goa, and although they rescheduled the connection to a later flight, I nearly missed that one too. I never even went in the Mumbai airport. Those proceeding to Goa were rushed off the plane on the tarmac, loaded on a bus, and then loaded onto the waiting plane to Goa, which had been held for our benefit. Since my friend Tamanna was going to pick me up from the Goan airport, I borrowed someone's phone (mine doesn't have a SIM card, which consequently excluding using mine unless I wanted expensive charges) to send a message while I was waiting in the Jaipur airport. Another interesting thing about this section of the trip: the Goan airport had posted signs that photos of the airport were not allowed. I have no idea why.

I did get a chance to go in the Mumbai airport on my flight back to the U.S. It was quite memorable, since I got into a battle of wills with the Indian Bureau of Customs. After I got my AirFrance ticket printed, I was handed a customs form and directed to a really really really long line. I had plenty of time to fill the form out, which I did with red ink, since there were no prohibitions on the form for such a practice, and it was the only pen I had. When I finally got to a counter, the customs lady told me the form must be filled out in blue or black ink. I considered arguing, but instead asked for the pen that I clearly saw on her desk to fill the form out again. She told me no, I had to go back in line. I did NOT want to do that. So I asked the guy behind me for a pen, and started to fill the form out at the counter. She proceeded to say,  "Excuse me! Excuse me!", and I of course excused her by pretending I didn't hear. She started to get VERY mad, so I did step to the side to let the next person go, and at my next approach to the counter, used fake politeness, and scowled at the camera that documented my exit of the country. Midnight at Mumbai was Momentous due to My Madness.

I felt better once I reached Paris, since I had slept a couple of hours, watched a movie, and of course, I was in PARIS. I took pictures.

The only view of Paris that I had

Sideways garden

Fur in motion

 The Parisian airport was artful. Greenery on the walls, circle cubicles to listen to music, and a couple of people all dressed out in furs. I'd like to know more about this; it seemed rather random.
My last leg of the journey home was painful. 10 hours. My TV didn't work, and although I got AirFrance's apologies along with a voucher, it meant that I was very very bored. In the first hour of my flight, I finished the book I had brought. So I tried napping, staring at myself in the mirror in the bathroom, looking at fellow passengers (a baby in the next row kept me pretty entertained for about 10 minutes), sitting backwards in my seat, and walking up and down the aisles. At one point a flight attendant asked me how I was doing. "Bored." He replied, "Well, only 5 more hours!" AHHHHHHHHHHH. I pulled out the French newspaper I had picked up before getting on the plane, and found what I was looking for: a Sudoku puzzle (well, je ne parlais pas francais, so reading the news wouldn't have been fun). That worked for maybe an hour. In-between solving the puzzle, I would examine the crossword puzzle next to it. I got a vague idea about what the clues were, but providing a French word for an answer was beyond my ability. The redeeming part of that flight was the food; it was DELICIOUS! Pureed carrots and mushrooms, fish in a cream sauce, chocolate moose, bread and brie cheese....!
Finally, FINALLY, we reached Houston. I practically sprinted off that plane.
Right before I reached U.S. Customs, I got a call from my family. This is the call I had been waiting for all year. You see, my brother Jaron is on a church mission, and he only gets to call on Mothers' Day and Christmas, and he can only talk for so long. I had sent him several emails reminding him to call later in the day so that I could actually talk to him. Well, he called when I had phone reception, but Customs isn't the best place. I stepped to the side and spoke with him for a while, but I was also in a time crunch because my roommate was waiting to pick me up. So I told my brother that I might be silent for a bit, and got in line to approach the counter while still listening to the conversation he was having with my family in Utah (it was a conference call). When it was my turn, before I got to the counter, the customs lady told me I could not talk on the phone, so I stuck the phone in my pocket and with a "Merry Christmas!" approached the counter.This did not appease her. She read me the riot act for the phone thing, even when I told her calmly that I wasn't currently talking on it; it was clearly in my pocket. Eventually she asked for my passport, and when I handed it to her, she said, "Uh-uh, get back in line! Don't you do that to me!" I had no idea what was going on, so I said, "Ma'am, what is wrong?" She told me I had 'thrown' my passport at her, and I should get in someone else's line, since nobody disrespects her. I was tempted to do more than disrespect her at that point, but I got in a different line, since there was a good chance my brother could hear the conversation. But let me assure you that I was capital U- P- S- E- T. Crying in frustration upset. Silently, since I had resumed the conversation on the phone. The other people waiting to go through customs looked at me in awe. I think the customs lady had also called for back-up, since a security official approached me and told me to get off the phone, and that I could talk again after customs. I told him that I was talking to my family and I COULD NOT hang up. For some reason, he let me go. Then I saw a customs official, probably the supervisor, talk to my particular customs lady, and chances are I was the topic of that dialogue, since she pointed accusingly at me. I just kept talking, telling my brother how work was going, and bearing my testimony of the love and protection I felt from God. I did that in Spanish, since 1) my brother is on a Spanish-speaking mission, and 2) it was less awkward for me to say personal things that way, considering I was in the airport.
An hour later, I got through customs, that gauntlet to American residency. And was stopped again as security went through my luggage to make sure I wasn't smuggling expensive rugs and jewelry. Bells don't mock the phrase of Peace on Earth, Goodwill Toward Man; red tape does.
At last, I met up with my wonderful roommate Christina, and went to her family's Christmas party, where I did my best to be festive while suffering from major jet lag.
So yes, I include the flight in my Indian Adventures.