Jon asked me if I want to go to India and I say Oui

"Sanitation and hygiene are bad. Close your eyes to those things if you want to enjoy India...if you want to see deep India" -an Indian man at the Newark Airport

Back on the ole' blog. At 5:00am on Jan 13 my dad dropped me off at the Portland Airport. I hadn't slept-I have a slight procrastination problem and so spent my final night in the U.S. packing. I got to the airport looking as if I had been hit by a train and eyes that could rival Courtney Love's-after a show. When I got on the plane, I was elated to have some uninterrupted sleep. Just me, the TV screen in front of me, and the occasional offering of soda and food.

Fast forward 22 hours and a layover in Newark. Arrived at the Delhi International Airport at 9:25pm. Felt clueless and exhausted. Slept through a majority of the international flight-not good sleep unfortunately because the behemoth of a man behind me urged me to keep my seat at a 90 degree angle so as to avoid crushing his legs. I complied and woke up every so often and shot an envious glare at the man lounging in the neighboring seat. When I got to India I wandered easily through customs, through uniformed men armed with M-16s and a sea of staring Indians. I sat down to catch my bearings and figure out my next step. My next flight wasn't until 6:25am the following day-so the big decision was, sleep in a corner of the international airport or sleep in a corner of the domestic airport. I chose the latter, which required the arrangement of a ride. There were very few airport workers to point me in any direction, so I approached the first man I saw in uniform. He was part of a driver service. The man told me that a ride to the domestic airport would cost 1000 rupees. I frantically searched for a sign with the exchange rate, obviously sweating because I do that with nerves. Roughly 45 rupees to the dollar. Like a savvy traveler, I told him I wanted to investigate other prices. Like an idiot, I took his word when he lowered his price to 900 rupees and told me that cabs charge 800. It's interesting going about this alone-Danielle was always so prepared for this sort of situation.

Our drive was quick. The night air under the street lights was thick, like looking through wax paper. Drivers ignored any lines or markings, weaving in and out of each other. Although it appeared chaotic, there seemed to be a known rhythm between them. I spent the ride with the driver explaining to me how lucky I was to have taken his car because he would keep me very safe and that people who take cabs get kidnapped more often. Thanks guy. When we got to the airport, it was 11:15pm. I went to the door, which was heavily guarded, and handed the guard my ticket. He just stared at it. No questions or comments. Just sat there, staring, as if it were his first encounter with a plane ticket. I don't know if he even knew what he should be looking for. Luckily, two other westerners showed up-a couple. The women told the guard that she had called and had been told that the airport was open all hours of the night. He gave her the same blank stare and then pointed outside. After a short conversation, he told us to go to the ticket counter. I snagged my ticket from his clutch and went with them. I found out seconds into our conversation that they were here adopting their second child...and that you should never pay more than 300 rupees for that cab ride. Good to know. I couldn't sleep that night.

At 3:00am we were allowed into the airport for check-in. For women, going through the security scanner, they have a curtained in room where a lady sits on a stool and lazily runs a hand-held metal detector over you. Upon completion of this, she stamps your plane ticket. I had 3 hours to kill until my flight, with nothing open, so I read and wrote. A Danish girl (24-years old) next to me sneezed, I said bless you, and that's when I met Karen, my travel mate for the next 14 hours. We chatted up until our flight to Kolkata, separated during the flight, and rejoined at baggage. We cabbed into town together because I didn't have to catch my flight to Malaysia until 4:00 pm. I was glad to have met her-we had much in common and she had been to India before as a volunteer so was comfortable with the language and the people. We got into town and went to the "backpacker" area, Sudder Street. India is unlike any place I've seen-it has familiar qualities-the filth of Mexico, poverty of Cambodia and the hustle of Morocco-but they are more drastic. There is human excrement on the streets, rickshaws pulled by people and beggars at every turn. It is full of contrasts-dry, cracked roads lined with lush plants; men in soiled, canvas clothes, women in elaborately patterned saris. After a short while in town, I had to return to the airport to board my final flight for a little while. Off to Kuala Lumpur...