Goodbye Winter, Hello Crazy

“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”
-Jack Keroac, On the Road

What would a journey anywhere be without a frenzied trip to the airport? A few days ago, my roommate told me that while I might still be living in the apartment, I had actually left for India some weeks before. She was not incorrect. The day of my departure, I felt especially out of sorts. I did a pretty decent job keeping myself distracted from what was coming, first by work, and when they would no longer have me, I spent every waking moment practicing and fretting about my NYC debut bellydancing performance scheduled conveniently the night before I left. This way, if it didn’t go off as I planned, I could just flee the country. So I really only began actually dealing with India the day I left. For those who know me, it should come as no great surprise that I misread my departure time for two hours later than it actually was, realizing this a mere two hours before actual departure. Suddenly, I’m running around my apartment like a maniac because OF COURSE I’m having technical difficulties, my mp3 player having pooped out on me the day prior. I throw everything I think I want in my bag and rush out the door. I am having an asthma attack. I am upset with myself. It’s difficult when you’re not that bright but also not quite in the category of idiot, because you remain astute enough to recognize how close to idiocy you are, and that always hurts a little.

I am so distraught that I get on the subway going in the exact opposite direction of JFK. I notice this as the doors are closing, but all I can do is curse and try to throw my mail at the narrowing gap between me and the right train. (I at this point am carrying an important letter that I have to mail before I leave, thou I’ve yet to figure out the logistics as to how.) I get off at the next stop in a more or less deserted Brooklyn neighborhood, but determine to make the flight by sheer will now, I stand on the corner and try to hail a car. None pass. A woman takes pity on me and tells me there’s a car service a block down. I run in. I ask for a ride to JFK and whether he knows of any mailboxes nearby. No, but he is going to deliver a letter himself later, and sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m not completely insane believing there is something to be said for sheer will after all.

The man at the Kuwait Airways kiosk is not pleased with me. He first tells me I can’t make the flight and must come back the following day, but I make a particularly sad noise at him and he makes a call, then instructs me to follow. I tell him he’s a saint and consider proposing, but I still don’t think he likes me as much as I like him.

Since I’m being specially escorted through security, my checked luggage is subject to the same ridiculous restrictions as my carry on. Goodbye toiletries. I shall miss thee, but not as much as the people who have to sit next to me a few days from now in the hot Delhi sun. Were it not for the most auspicious gift of a small tin of solid perfume given me earlier that day from my dear friend Katy (whom I now believe to be psychic), I would have nothing to counteract my loss of all things fragrant. Interestingly enough, though my toothpaste was deemed a threat, they missed my Swiss Army knife. Nice. My angel from the kiosk said he would send my wayward shampoo on the next flight to Delhi, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m slightly concerned I’ve used all my accumulated stores of karma already by the second day here, which is too bad because I’ve been saving.

On the way to my Kuwaiti stopover, I have a whole row to myself. When I wake up, I realize the plane is not going to Kuwait. At first I am stricken with panic that I boarded the wrong flight, but turns out it was just a London layover no one bothered telling me about when I booked. So that was aggravating. We flew directly over Bagdad; it was dark and everything looked so calm from that altitude it was hard to believe there was war so close. When we finally do reach Kuwait City, I am pleasantly surprised to be put up in a room for the night by the airline. I was only one in a handful of women on the flight from Kuwait to Delhi, which worked out in my favor because they ushered us ahead of the security line for our own private check.

Delhi is not as intolerable as many people warned it would be, though that could also be attributed to my expecting the worst. There’s a lot going on here, that’s for sure, but at least the language barrier is not so much a problem. Everywhere there are people, selling everything you could imagine. The hotel where I’m staying is in the Main Bazaar, and absolutely crowded with shops, guest houses locals, tourist, motor bikes, regular bikes, cows, dogs, and food. There don’t appear to be any strict rules really about driving (although I’ve seen worse) or a clear relationship between cars, bikes, and people. Sort of every man for himself. I do worry about getting runover by a cart here and there, but it’s less of a concern of impact and more that I do not, under any circumstances, wish to make contact with the streets, which are disgusting. I’ve booked a train tomorrow morning to Agra, where I hope things will slow down a little for me and I can start paying attention.

I’ve taken a few pictures, but in my rush out the door, I neglected to bring the proper cable to upload them. I hope to remedy that in the next day or so, so I’ll post the think to those in the next blog (fingers crossed). Otherwise, the word processor I bought especially for this trip is not working as it should and my ipod is devoid of music. So technology is not with me this time around, but who needs it. I find that travel is always a little about loss for me, anyways. Finding out what is truly needed and what’s superfluous, and how without certain luxuries, I have a richer experience. True. And something about dropping a thing I thought was important and continuing to live happily is always gratifying. Notebooks it is.