Travel Part I, II, III, etc…

So, I started out having booked a flight some 10 months ago or so, from Columbus to Newark, NJ, and then from Newark to Delhi.  I got to the airport on the 24th about 3p in time for my 5:53p trip to Newark, but found out rather soon that the plane that was coming to take me there was having mechanical issues, and was going to be delayed so long that I would miss my connecting flight.  So, the agent checked around and found a flight leaving from Columbus going to Washington, D.C. (Dulles), and from Dulles to Frankfurt, Germany, and from Frankfurt to Delhi.  It would put me into Delhi a bit past midnight, rather than than the 8:15p that I would have on the originally booked flight.  This concerned me a bit because I planned to get an Indian cell phone sim card and change money at the airport, and then find transport to my lodging.  I figured all this would be more easy to accomplish at 8p rather than after midnight, but I agreed to the flight change none-the-less as it would at least get me to India and I was anxious to start the trip.

I got rebooked, but then found that THAT flight was also delayed due to mechanical.  It would be really close getting to my connecting flight.  I figured to go for it, as it seemed I would have more options out of Dulles than Columbus.  I took the flight to DC, but long story short, they closed the gate door about a minute before I got there to my connecting flight.  The plane was still right there, but no re-opening the door.  Off to customer service desk about a half mile walk away to see what they could do for me, which was rebook through Newark the next day (for the Newark to Delhi flight), and comp a hotel room and some food vouchers (which was fine by me as even though it was the airline’s “fault” for two mechanical issues, it was my decision to give it a shot on a close connector).

After about an hour and half, I ended up getting to the Holiday Inn Dulles where the clerk gave me the wrong room key, and I opened somebody else’s door (with them inside).  I got rebooked into another room, and about 20 minutes after I fell asleep, the heater started making this tremendous racket.  I got up and kicked it a couple times with no luck.  I turned it off and back on.  Still had heat, but now no more noise.  Good deal.  Until about 20 minutes later (again fast asleep).  Screw it.  I was too tired to get yet another room.  I turned the heater off, which worked fine until morning when I woke up shivering.  I kicked the heater back on, only to have it start up the noise again.  This time I put in some earplugs and tried to go back to sleep; it was too cold to turn it off.

Meanwhile, I had been having some trouble breathing after hard-core sprinting/running for about 15 minutes with my heavy daypack, to get to my connector.  I felt like I couldn’t get a full breath of air.  I’m no athlete, but I usually take the stairs to the office and the parking garage (both on the 5th floor), and am generally in decent condition.  I wasn’t worried; from my experience as a paramedic, I had determined the most likely scenarios depending on my signs/symptoms.  I concluded that either I had partially dropped a lung for some reason (which was likely to re-inflate over time on it’s own if it wasn’t too bad), or had done some temporary damage from extreme overexertion (swelling/maybe some fluid/general irritation and constriction of the airways), first-time asthma attack seemed unlikely at my age.  I went to bed that night thinking/hoping it was temporary, and it would be best to see how it was in the morning as I was out of the distress stage.

Morning came, and it was the same.  At rest it seemed like I had lost about 25-30% of my tidal volume, and on exertion what felt closer to 50%.  If the worst case was true, and I had a partial pneumothorax (dropped part of a lung), flying and the resultant changes in available oxygen and pressure would not be a good thing, especially on a 15 hour trans-Atlantic flight, so I opted to check out which Urgent Cares around there had x-ray capability (you need it to check for pneumo).  I found one, got a $40 round trip cab, a few hundred dollars worth of evaluation and x-rays.  Very friendly and accommodating Indian lady physician (my cab driver was Pakastani).  No pneumo, so I was good to carry on my journey and flights, albeit at a slower pace.  The doc said it would take a few days for my lungs to recover and reduce the swelling, gave me an Advair puffer (which helped immensely), and told me to follow-up with an Indian doc if things didn’t improve markedly inside 5 days.

Lesson learned.  I am no longer 20.  I should not do that again :).

Onward…  I got back to Dulles, requested an upgrade (which I got a preferred coach seat with more legroom) and hopped an earlier flight to Newark on standby (just in case of more delays).  Got to Newark (what a mess), through security, taking it slower than usual, blew my $20 voucher in Starbucks on bottled water and Kind bars, and waited for my India-bound flying chariot.  I boarded my final flight at about 7:45p and we were on our way within 45 minutes.

The flight from Newark to Delhi was largely uneventful except for one especially rude flight attendant (he wasn’t rude to me directly).  I had a nice discussion with the man near me (flying back to Delhi as his father passed away the night before).  I stayed awake to reduce jet lag, and watched 5 movies in a row.

I noticed as we taxied into the Indira Gandhi International airport that there is a little fence between the airport and the city.  The houses are right up to the fence.  Concrete houses with outside areas.  I see some people walking on their porch maybe 50 yards from my seat on the still moving airplane.  I can’t believe people live that close to roaring jet engines 24/7, not only for noise, but for safety, but this is a whole new world.  Got off in Delhi, hit immigrations and went to baggage claim.  Around and around and around they went, no orange backpack for me.  I asked a baggage agent - the bag was sent the day before me, so it should be here already.  “No worry, on here.”  But as all the bags were claimed, mine still had not appeared.  Up to the official baggage desk.  The manager supposes my bag got off at Frankfurt and stayed there.  It is not in Delhi despite leaving a day earlier than I did.  He has no record of it, and Lufthansa says it doesn’t show in their system either (United is what I flew, but the first official re-booking had me taking Lufthansa out of Frankfurt).  Filled out all the paperwork on photocopied pages that were missing the first inch of text on the left.  He says call back tomorrow between 4:30p and 7:30p.  They will find it, don’t worry, he says.  I’m not convinced.

He walks me over to a customs desk, fills out something and chats in Hindi with a group of uniformed old men.  They are disinterested, but apparently give him the go-ahead, because he grabs a customs stamp and stamps my paperwork himself, which one of the old men then signs.  The guy (baggage manager) guides me over to the foreign currency exchange and says it is the “fastest, best” because it’s government.  I don’t ever recall having thought that the government was “fastest” or “best” in anything, but it makes sense enough for currency here in India, so I go for it.  I go through the line and change about $300 US into INR (Indian Rupees).  As I’m putting it away, I’m wondering why I should carry US dollars around India, and so I get back in line and change the last $108.

Off to the airtel stand in the airport to get an Indian sim card so my phone will work in India.  After understanding about 12 total words of what the man said, I have a prepaid Indian sim card with data coverage.  He forgets to give me my change, but I remind him, he apologizes and gives me the change, but rounded down to the nearest 5 rupees.  I don’t know if this is customary or not, but I’m not going to say anything about it.  I’m out of steam, and I’m not even at my hotel.  I need to save my energy for something that matters more.

I go outside and ask the guard (police inside the airport have AK-47s here.  I declined to take a pic for you guys, lol) where the pre-paid stand was, he points me back inside the airport.  I go back in, and 300 rupees later, I have a voucher for a ride in a “black and yellow” to get to Paharganj.  The man tells me to go out and turn right and get to post 30.  He repeats it.  Post 30.  Ok.  I go outside, and the posts don’t go to 30.  About then, a guy approaches me, sees my voucher and says “you need prepaid taxi?”  Yep.  “Follow me, I take you.”  We walk out across a few streets of traffic in front of the airport, nearly run over once.  We get to a car.  I said this is not a black and yellow, there are little to no markings on the car, but neither do most of the others around.  He says “color on top” and while the car is blue-ish, it does have some yellow and black on the top of it.  They take the voucher and away we go into a car with a driver who doesn’t speak any English at all.  This guy I’ve been talking with is apparently the the co-pilot, and he is there to translate he says.  I’m feeling uncomfortable.

I’m taking some video in case I have to bail, and to show the hectic nature of the driving.  The guy says something to the effect that he doesn’t want me to record him and to delete the recording.  I tell him that I won’t do that.  He says something about government and illegal or something to that effect.  I tell him I’m not deleting anything, that I don’t trust what’s going on here, that that I don’t know if we’re going in the right direction or not, whether I’ve gotten into the right cab or not, etc.  He says when we get there, you delete.  I said ok.  While he’s distracted, I copy the video over to another location on the phone, so I can delete it the copy he sees.  I’m thinking about how much force I will bring to bear on his face if things get physical, and I start silently clenching my fists, and preparing my muscles.  I don’t know if they don’t have a permit or if he’s not supposed to be there or what’s going on, but things eventually cool out between us and the ride improves.  I start seeing signs for Paharganj so I’m confident that we’re at least heading in the right direction.  Then we stop.  People are all around, it’s like a pull-off area, and I ask him why we’re stopped.  He says the driver doesn’t know where it is, so he’s trying to explain it to him, but that he (the co-pilot) is getting out to be with his friends.  I think the driver is uncomfortable with this situation too, and I think that’s part of their conversation.  We stay put for several minutes, I’m eyeing out of the car to the chaos and wondering if I’m about to get robbed.  The driver and co-pilot don’t know where this hotel is, and I try to call the hotel, but can’t get the phone to call right.  I’m not sure what exactly I need to dial before the number…  the number doesn’t work, adding a 1 to the number doesn’t work, neither does 11 or 011 or adding a plus, or anything.  I try this same combination for the 4 telephone numbers I have for the place.  Nothing works (but it did in the airport when I called the baggage guy to give him my cell number).  Finally, the co-pilot calls the hotel from his phone and has an argument with the guy at Cottage Yes Please.  He gets off and says the guy is very rude and wouldn’t tell him what block it was.  Meanwhile, I have the full address, like 3 lines of numbers and streets, which appears to be very specific, but to the co-pilot (who is navigating) it doesn’t mean anything in reality, and later I find out why.

The co-pilot decides to stay (which I guess I’m happy about), and says he’ll prove that I can trust Indians because he will get us there.  I try to tell him it’s not personal, but that kind of meaning is totally lost in our broken English “conversation.”  We drive by the RK Metro station, which he points out, and which I know is close to the hotel.  We pull a hard right, going into a large alley seething with small cars, rickshaws, and people.  There are no signs for these places.  The driver stops, and the co-pilot yells out to a guy with some cart, selling something.  The vendor doesn’t look up, but they are shouting Hindi back and forth (because it’s so loud there) and the guy gives a sharp nod in the direction we need to go.  Up we go about another 50 yards in each increment, where the process repeats itself, with vendors, passerby's, and rickshaw-wallahs.  The co-pilot says, “see, you trust Indians.”  I asked if we were here and looked for a sign.  There’s a little sign.  Looks nothing like the place it’s supposed to look like, but it does say Cottage Yes Please.

The co-pilot and I shake hands, I thank him, and he starts to say something, which I suppose is about the video, but he stops, and I get out.  A guy comes out, in retrospect, I think it was so he could grab my bag and get a tip, but seeing as I have no bag, he just stands there too close to me, not saying anything.  I am on high-alert.  I ask if this is Cottage Yes Please, he says yes, and points inside.

I get inside to find out that my confirmed room for 3 nights was only confirmed for 1 night, and it was last night.  Despite having a few room keys hanging on hooks, they are full.  I ask if their other hotel is full too, he says yes.  I don’t know whether or not this is true and the keys I’m looking at aren’t room keys, or if this guy is taking out his frustration on me over the argument he had with my taxi’s co-pilot.  I ask if there are other hotels around, he says “he will lead you” and nods to a small man about 5’ tall.  Off we go into the dark and busy alley.  This is way seedier than I thought, now that I’m not protected by the walls of the taxi.  Even though on the outside, I seem agreeable and friendly, my body and mind are geared for defense and are at defcon 4.  We walk just a few shops down to Merry Gold which says travel agency on the sign.  I’m wondering if they are going to try to book me somewhere.  The small man who led me and the manager have a brief conversation which I can’t understand, and I asked the manager if he had rooms.  He said yes, “aircon or no”, I say what’s the price difference, he thinks for a few seconds, 800 non-air-conditioned or 1000 air-conditioned.  I think he was sizing me up, and I think I was supposed to argue at this point, but instead told him that I would take the air con for 1000 for two nights.  He says, “you want to see room?” I say ok, because I think it’s the thing to do.  As I’m huffing up the flights of narrow and step stairs, I’m wondering why I told him I’d look at it.  Really, at this point, if it has a lockable door, a bed, and someplace to urinate, I’m going to say it’s fine.  I’m running on fumes, and the only thing keeping me going is my alert level which is fading, because even if I get ripped off, I don’t feel a threat to my person anymore.

Up to the room:  basic, and dirty by every Western standard, with small bugs like gnats and a half dozen ants, but with longer legs than typical American sugar ants.  Mostly on the furniture and floor, but a few on the bed.  I saw cockroaches downstairs, but nothing up here.  I’m not looking between the mattress and box springs for bedbugs like I did at the Holiday Inn in DC, partly because there is not box spring (it’s a 3.5” mattress on a piece of plywood resting on a spring bed frame), and partly because I don’t want to know.  There’s a flat sheet that lays over the mattress and a dirty blanket folded at the foot.  No top sheet.  Toilet hasn’t ever seen a brush, but it’s western.  I would prefer a squat to this beast and I hope I don’t have to use it.  Showerhead comes out of the wall, but the guy downstairs says “bucket”, so apparently the showerhead is not working.  Smoking rooms in the US have a very familiar odor to them, it’s easy to identify.  But the kind of cigarettes here don’t have all the stuff in them like American brands do.  They’re just basic tobacco rolled up and smoked.  The room here definitely has had some kind of smoking in it and it’s not weed.  I wonder if this is what Indian cigarette smoke smells like.  The room overall smells old, and it smells the way you would supposed “grimy” would smell, mixed with one part each of smoky and stale curry farts, and topped with the faintest hint of incense.

I go back down to the counter, pay my money, sign the register book with my passport#, home address, age, last destination, etc.  He writes 995/night on the receipt inclusive of all taxes which is more than Cottage Yes Please and definitely worse condition.  I pay him 2000 and I get no change.  I think it’s customary, but I may learn otherwise later.  The air conditioner needs to be turned on by the manager downstairs (so does the hot water) or it won’t blow cold air.  Blow is an inaccurate word here, and so is cold for that matter.  The air conditioner whispers cool air.  And it does it next to a window that is really a screen with a piece of wood on the outside that covers most of the screen.  There is a lattice iron work grate on the room side of this “window”, presumably to keep out monkeys, but the monkeys would need to get the plywood off first.  I can hear people directly outside this window and I’m not sure how they got there or what it goes out to since I’m on the top floor; I think it might be a terrace for a neighbor.

Up in my room again (feeling fairly out of breath, having lugged the heavy daypack up and down the flights of stairs twice), I use the sink’s single, on-off valve (no temp control) to get some water and rinse my face and neck, no soap here and none in my carryon.  I successfully remember to not get any in my eyes or nose or mouth, and slide into my Dreamie sleep sack that I fortuitously put in my carryon as a flight pillow.  Thank God for my Dreamie.  Best 5 bucks ever.  It’s pure white satin-y sheen provides unwelcome contrast to the sheet over the mattress.  I slide the pillow into the Dreamie’s pillow case.

Sleep at last.