Hazy Days: Breakfast

January 28,

The first couple of jet-lagged days are definitely hard to remember, but I shall do my best.

After our first night at the hostel, we woke up just in time for bed. Well, at least it felt that way - it was about 9 am in Vellore, and about 9:30 pm at home.

Attempting to start the day off right, we went for breakfast at the college canteen conveniently located next door to our hostel.





The way this party works is, you order at the window on the left after you've been given looks as if you were the village idiot for trying to order. All of the items are completely foreign so of course I have no idea what to get: rava dosa, masala dosa, chapatti, biriyani, idly, it all sounds the same to me since I didn't come into this trip with a passion for Indian food. Then, you pay at the window on the left and are handed a receipt. I'm not sure if it's considered a game to the employees and natives or what, but they don't tell you what to do when it's your first time ordering. When somebody hands you a receipt, the next thing you expect them to give you is your food, right? Wrong. But nobody's going to explain the operation, ever. After you sit down with your receipt for a healthy amount of time and looking like the village idiot again, you figure out what you were supposed to do.

You were to take this receipt to the second window, the one on the right, and give it to the men you see behind the counter. This is where they will make your meal of deliciousness after you elbow your way to the countertop and shove your receipt towards somebody. The college canteen, where these pics are from, wasn't too bad about this, but the canteens on the hospital campus were terrible. Getting to order, and then getting your food was a sport.

So, I decided to go the safe route and order an omelette - my choices were egg omelette or cheese omelette. Assuming egg is what made up the omelette in the first place, I went with cheese: Luckily, I was right for once. I also decided to try a little fresh squeezed apple juice.

Surprisingly to me, the omelette was edible. The apple juice was another story, and a funny one at that - funny in the let's-make-fun-of-Western-culture sort of way.

If you were to put a couple of apples in the blender and choose puree, my apple juice, that day, is what you would get. I could hardly drink it, it was so strange! In the U.S., we're so used to apple juice consisting of only approximately 10% juice that real apple juice tastes horrid.

Hello multiple types of cancer from chemicals in store bought apple juice, diabetes from the amount of sugar, and obesity. What are we coming to these days? People grow up not actually knowing what the fruit tastes like, just the artificially flavored version!

Regardless, quick note to self: no more apple juice in India.

Namaste.

Home, sweet home

Dear blog: I've missed you. Please forgive my absence related to mountains of school work, I promise I'll try to do better. On that note, please proceed.
-C

January 28,

Well, we officially made it.

In my groggy state around 3 am, I stumbled into my new "home" for the next month. In much of a blur, I thanked our driver (who definitely didn't understand me) as well as Dr. Thomas Samuel for helping to arrange our transportation, found my new room and fell asleep in a bed: something I hadn't experienced for a few days.

(Pics from my pal Pravin Lingam and his room - but they're identical rooms, so it works)

The long awaited bed.


Dressers/Closets




Please notice the bucket. Instructions were to fill the bucket so in case your water shut off in the middle of your shower you would have enough water to rinse with.


And, yes, we were high-roller status with our toilets although the external bidet is beside it. For all of you who don't know, I'm referring to the "metallic hose" between the toilet and the sink, in this picture below. I would compare it to a modern day hose: it has a button you push, and a nozzle that the water sprays from. Using your imagination I'm sure you could figure out exactly what that would be used for, otherwise, let me tell you I was grateful they provided us with toilet paper within the hostel. Furthermore, the use of that bidet is why Indians only eat with their right hand...it's also why I was laughed at the first time I asked why Indians only eat with their right hand.


In the end, welcome to Modale International Hostel, Vellore, India.


Namaste.

BEEP BEEP!

(Jan 28th)

Approximately 12:30 am we arrive in Chennai airport. As we're walking out of the airport, the sea of Indians holding signs with names emerges. Thankfully we saw "Miss Cassandra, Miss Kelly, Miss Cassie"

That was our driver, and that was almost the extent of his English capabilities.

As we left the airport, I truly felt like we left everything I was familiar with.

There were so many people.

There were so many people staring at us.

There were so many people honking.

I'm talkin', there wasn't a two second period without some sort of vehicle honking.

At the airport, as you can imagine, the traffic is ridiculous - bumper to bumper everywhere you look. But that heavy traffic doesn't mean anything to those behind the wheel: They're literally just laying on their horns for minutes at a time as if they have no understanding of the fact that there are indeed people in front of them. And as a traffic jam would have it, people in front of them as well.

So, we loaded up into our car, taking a second to get used to the fact that the driver's side was now on the right, and we would be driving on the left. It's funny because as much of a familiar concept that is, it took us all 5-6 times of trying to get in on the wrong side of the car to remember how things were configured.

On the 3 hour drive from Chennai to Vellore, in the state of Tamil Nadu, we were like the kids who could see disneyland, or the beach, outside of the window. But instead of 100% excited, I was about 50% excited, and 50% reeeeeeally nervous about everything.

"Yeah, that was a cow. Did you see that?!" "Yep, there's another, and another......there was one in the middle of the street - we just swerved around it!"

After a few cows, I started to realize this was a normal thing.

And this honking business, was apparently normal too, because our driver honked at every, single, car, we passed. Some of the big semis even had signs painted on the back saying "SOUND HORN."

Even though my amigos and I were beyond tired from all of our traveling, mixed with the fact that it's about 2:00 am, there were still people absolutely everywhere. Besides those that were awake and walking around talking to others, there were also those that were obviously homeless, and were literally lying/asleep any place they decided to stop: Middle of the sidewalk, on the side of a pile of gravel, on their bicycles that had actual seats on them, anywhere.

About 30 minutes into the drive, I had experienced enough, and needed sleep. See you in Vellore in a couple of hours.

Namaste.

Welcome to Delhi

(Jan 27-28)
With a big sigh of relief, we landed at Delhi International, and for the first time we truly became the minority.

In Indian culture, staring at others is just a way of life, it's not considered rude. Well, let me clarify, if it's rude by their standards, it's also considered the norm - I'm not sure which.

So, as if we were zebras at the zoo, we had to quickly adjust, or at least try to. It truly is a celebrity-esque feeling when multiple people watch your every move throughout even the most mundane of tasks.

Mission #1: Find ice. This entire trip I had been carting around my oral anti-malarial medication. I started taking the pills only a few days before our departure, so I still had about 4-5 days to go, and the meds had to come with me. The bad thing is, they had to be refrigerated since they're a live vaccine. This little detail is largely important because without refrigeration the malaria bugs could proliferate and in return cause havoc in my system.

So althrough my travels, I had my pills on ice, and asked each round of stewardesses to put the container into their refrigerator.  Humorously, on one flight, an attendant approached me and said, "Um, excuse me, but I have to ask you....I just saw what your pills are for. You don't have that disease do you?!" Well no, of course not. Those are just to make sure I don't end up with malaria during my adventures.

When we got to Delhi, I was officially out of ice. Paranoia was setting in to the point where I thought I could hear malaria growing inside of the bottle. I asked my comrades where I could get ice - and of course they don't know, none of us have EVER been to India.

I think we all found comfort in asking each other questions, even though we knew there was no answer to any of them. Question, after question, after question, we would always say "I don't know, it's my first time here too," until it became the comical answer to a rhetorical question.

FYI: If you ever need ice while in India, don't get your hopes up for finding it. The culture believes that taking in cold things will in return give you a cold. It's possible to find drinks that are cold - but only because they've been slightly chilled in refrigerator/cooler of some sort. But of course, who can you count on for all of you dining needs, no matter where you are in the world?


The golden arches of course!

The Delhi International Airport had a McDonald's, and I was able to get ice to keep my little malaria buddies in check.

While at the counter - I did happen to catch a glimpse of the menu: no beef in sight, and a few questionable items.




Although I must admit, the McAlooTikki & the McCurry pan weren't on the menu's I encountered at the 3-4 McD's I tried throughout the trip.

For more info, if you're interested you can find explanations of these interesting dishes. I didn't take pics of the Golden Arches myself, so I politely borrowed them from this website:

Ok, so back to the point - I got my ice, thank you, proceeded through the interesting security check, and waited for our domestic flight from Delhi to Chennai. Chennai, being a short 3 hour drive to our campus.

Namaste.

Air India: Home away from home?

(Jan 26-27)

Air India executive class, is amazing. Please note the controls on the armrest that apparently recline your seat in all kinds of contortionist ways.

When I realized that these seats actually converted to beds, I seriously wished I would've paid for the upgrade.

That is, until I realized it would cost over a grand, even by US Dollar standards.
All in all, my seats weren't too bad. Granted, I would've loved a bed - but I managed in economy.



I was also lucky enough to have the window seat on the far left hand side, right side in the picture, even though to many this would be very unlucky. At least this way I can prop myself up against the wall and "sleep".

Not to mention, I got to watch some quality movies in "Modern English".

After you select movies, you got to pick what language: Hindi, Classic English, Modern English, or German.
Classic English included movies from the 70s (Ha!), and Modern English were movies from 2009. German, on the other hand.......was still English afterall. Kudos to Kelly for attempting to watch a movie in German to be able to provide us with the information that it was, indeed, English.


Interestingly enough, I pulled all of these images from google - and the screen you see, the Taj Mahal, is what I saw on every single flight.

Air India provided meals for the long trek over the Atlantic, which I expected. What I didn't expect, was a meal for every flight - even if it was only an hour. My first couple of meals were....interesting. Let's just say, they made me nervous as to the cuisine that lay ahead for the next five weeks.

Normally, you get the option between "Veg" and "non-veg", but at this point I can't remember in the blur of already being out of my element, culturally, if I had that option or not. It's also entirely possible that I had no idea what she said, and I just said yes, to whatever it was she was prepared to hand to me. Oh, how very Indian of me - blindly agreeing to what you say regardless of comprehension! Little did I know, I was already blending in, I was going to have to learn that lesson the hard way....but that's all in good time.

So there it is, my little tinfoil packaged present sitting on my fold-up table. As I unwrapped my surprise, try to imagine opening a Christmas present only to find you have absolutely no idea what the present is. But all it takes is one look at the person sitting across from you, eyes wide with hope that you'll love your present, and you immediately say I love it....then you spend the next couple of minutes frantically trying to figure out what exactly you're dealing with.

It was a similar experience.

I had rice, check. Some form of a vegetable mix that I couldn't recognize, and something....else. As if testing the waters, I tried to lightly submerge only one prong of my fork into this mess.

I'll skip trying to explain the taste - but I still didn't recognize what it was. Hours after we got off the plane, Kelly told me that was yogurt without any flavor. Thank you America for your artificial, and sometimes natural, fruity flavors that you put into the wonderful yogurt I'm familiar with. As for regular ol plain yogurt, I decided to pass for the remainder of my trip.

On a side note, I would also like to mention that I was especially excited to have my own 3 seats to myself for the longest flight from New York to Delhi...that is, until random people started coming and sitting beside me every couple of hours. No explanation for that. Even still.

Namaste.

The race is on

(Jan 26)

After my flight from Kansas City to Dulles, Washington D.C.'s airport - I knew I was going to have to book it.

I had 49 minutes to get from the plane, through the airport, onto the shuttle bus, to the other side of the airport, taking the next tram to terminal C, finding the gate, to the next plane: Air India.

Please don't dismiss the minor detail of hauling ALL of my luggage while navigating to my next destination. Let me tell you, I was not conditioned for that much running with that much extra weight! Looking back now, I would like to tell the former me to "Buck up, sister! It's gonna get a whole lot more interesting in the next 5 weeks, and your luggage is going to get a heck of a lot heavier!"

There it is. Gate 38...almost there. As I arrive, it's completely empty. The only people there are two employees in charge of boarding passengers.

"Excuse me, I'm to board Air India 102, here's my boarding pass and passport."

"I'm sorry, that's not possible. We stopped boarding at 11:15, it is now 11:50."

Well, after trying to convey my point that my last flight hadn't even LANDED at 11:15 to no avail I was getting thoroughly upset. This employee is now appearing to text message, or maybe call somebody, on her personal cell phone. All I could think was "Really? I'm having a meltdown, and you're calling somebody on your cell phone?"

She was calling somebody to help me. Looking back now, I would've noticed this cell phone escapade as 100% normal. Culturally, the people of India use cell phones for everything, it's not only personal it's business. Rather than picking up the land line phone sitting in front of her provided by the airport, she turned to her little purple cell to contact somebody related to either Air India, or Dulles Airport.

She explained my dilemma on the phone, in some language I could not even begin to comprehend. Soon after, a man came from the terminal connected to Air India 102 to help me.

"Did you check your luggage?"

"No!" (This turned out to be a good thing, they're going to let me board the plane because I had everything with me.)

"Come with me. What was your delay?"

At this point, I was completely and utterly exhausted. After trekking what seemed like 100 miles through an airport, walking uphill both ways in snow without shoes, and carrying all of my luggage - the last thing I wanted to do was tell this random man what exactly was the delay, and how it was NOT my fault. Thank you 49 minutes.

None of it matters, I am officially on the plane. Nevermind the 37 flight attendants and passengers that are scorning me and asking me, "What was the delay with your flight?"

JFK, here I come. New Delhi, here I come.

Namaste.

Where you book matters.

(Jan 26 5:00am)

It's true-where you book DOES matter. What they don't tell you is, read the fine print when booking flights.

I'll skip the long saga of trying to book my tickets to India, including the not one, not two, but THREE times my bank shut my debit card down for trying to book them. To make a long story short: Bank of America has a really great fraud protection program, they thought I was an imposter trying to book tickets to India.

When I was standing at MCI Airport, in Kansas City, none of that mattered anymore. I had finally booked my tickets - much thanks to Kelly Scott and Judith Reagan and others for the help! I had my tickets, and my "lightly" packed bags and I was ready to go.

Until, that is, the man behind the desk for said "Uh-oh..." followed by "We have a problem."

Come to find out, the policy for my particular airline says you have to have at least ONE hour between connecting flights to check baggage. Between Dulles, Washington D.C., and JFK, New York, I had 49 minutes.

What does that mean?

All of my baggage will have to be carried on. There I stood, 6 a.m., with one duffle bag inside of a giant suitcase, one duffle bag that contained another smaller carry on bag that was going to be my "purse". Immediately I nixed the giant suitcase. Originally I had planned to take this along to pack all of the things I was to acquire over the next 5 weeks.

Down to two oversized bags, my next task was to convince the security guys at the airport that my things could fit in the overhead compartment. You know those obnoxious people you see on movies, and sometimes (unfortunately) experience in real life, cramming their enormous luggage into the overhead compartment, and all you really want to say is, "Seriously? That's not going to fit, my friend."

That was me. Hello, nice to meet you. I'm the obnoxious traveler.

In the end, my bags managed to fit - but all of the liquids I had that were more than 3 ounces had to go. Apparently, I am a serious threat with my shampoo, conditioner, hairspray, mousse, and toothpaste. Let me tell you! After parting with my lovable liquids, all I really missed was my toothpaste. I'm finicky about my toothpaste - I've used the same type for at least the past 6 years that I can remember.

Moral of the story: where you book matters. I sincerely blame this entire incident on the online booking website for not informing me of this discrepancy in time. Sure, as the picture shows you above - they guarantee you the best price. The price you pay in the end, is a small token of your sanity, and a lot of fatigue hauling your 60 lbs of luggage through busy airports for the next 36 hours of travel.

Namaste.