My Favorite Sandals Are Now My Potty Shoes

I am not censoring what I write here because I want it to be an accurate description of my experience at SEARCH. However, warning: this post is about using the potty.

The first time I needed to use the squat toilet I walked over to the bathroom, contemplated going, then turned and walked back to my bedroom. This process must have repeated itself about three or four times. It wasn't helping that I really needed to go, but I knew that even if there wasn't an immediate need, there eventually would be. I knew this wasn't a matter of if, but a matter of when. There were no other options. So, I worked up the nerve to go.

To describe the squat toilet, it is not just a hole in the ground, or a hole in the floor. Rather, it is like a sink, or a white ceramic basin, placed into the ground. Although you can't sit back and relax as you could on a Western commode, it is not as primitive as one may think. Further, I'm not even sure if calling it primitive is fair, given that more people in the world probably use a squat toilet or no toilet than a Western commode toilet.

I'm not sure if there are any tricks to using the squat toilet. I bet someone somewhere has posted some advice online, but I came up with my own routine. First off, if I was going to be stuck in a little room inches from four walls while using the bathroom, I was going to be completely sure that there were no bugs that would eat me alive, except for maybe an ant or a little spider. Thus, the first time I went into the squat toilet room, and every time since, I do what I call "checking the corners". I took at the four corners of the ceiling and I look at the four corners of the floor. I make sure there is nothing lurking in the shadows. I do a quick scan of the walls and the window sill, and if it looks safe I go in.

My next strategy is to take the toilet paper I will need before I start my activities. You never know, those few seconds I'm saving myself could mean the difference between an assault by a creepy crawly that ends in the tragic death of that creepy crawly (or more likely a tragic scream by yours truly) or getting out unscathed and unharmed. I choose the latter. A nice bonus of taking the toilet paper before hand, which I became aware of during my very first trip, was that you can conveniently use it to mask your nose while going about your business. We are not allowed to throw the toilet paper into the squat toilet, so you use as little as possible, and roll it up and throw it in the waste basket near the sinks (which is an open area that is aired well) when you are done.

The hardest thing for me to come to grips with during my first trip to the squat toilet was, like I mentioned in an earlier post, the fact that the floor was filthy. I was under the impression that the brownish residue I saw in and around the squat toilet basin was poopy water. During my first use of the toilet, I was consumed with the fact that my favorite sandals were touching this poopy water. I feared that my skin was being infected by this poopy water. I was tortured by the idea that once I was done I would track this poopy water back to my bedroom. I was frozen by the possibility that if I left my sandals on, this poopy water would be deposited all over my bedroom floor. With no suitcase in site, and the new outdoorsy sandals I had bought for the trip inside that suitcase, I cut my losses and had no choice but to let my fancy summer sandals become my potty shoes.

For those of you who have not cried out "too much information!" I will proceed to tell you that I fortunately did not need to do a #2 until 5pm the next day, which means I had an entire 24 hour period to psyche myself up for that. In the end, I'll just say, when you have to go bad enough, and there are no other options, you will just go. That was my strategy. Thus, on Thursday afternoon when the need became great, I acted like superwoman, I put on those potty shoes, and I strode to the squat toilet with my head held high. When I emerged I felt like a newly potty-trained baby! I was very proud of myself.

Update: The story above describes my first experiences with the squat toilet, but there are a few things that have allowed me to adjust rather quickly:

First and foremost, that "poopy water"...yeah, I realized rather quickly that it was just the brown and red sand that people were tracking in on their shoes. I feel horrible for thinking that there was fecal matter on the floor around the toilet basin. Unless others are completely inconsiderate, I highly doubt that anything is landing anywhere other than inside the basin. Thus, I guess those potty shoes are not as infected as I first believed them to be. Still, I wouldn't take them to bed with me.

Second, now that I have used the squat toilet two or three times a day for the last seven days, I feel that I find it normal. It turns out that squatting to use the bathroom is not all that bad. In fact, it actually feels more natural. And if you have good balance, you end up not touching anything. (The other Americans and I here had a whole discussion too that the alignment of your body when using a squat toilet makes it easier and more healthy, and besides, don't all women squat in public restrooms anyway?) I have come to realize that it is not the squatting that makes the bathroom scary. It is pure and simple the fact that the bathrooms are buggy and you are stuck in a little room while doing your business. In that regard, the squat toilet is no worse than an outhouse or a porta-potty. And although those may not be ideal toilet spaces for those of us used to our spic-n-span, air conditioned, fluffy carpeted, sterile bathrooms, when you have to go you just go.

Similarly, while I will not make an entire post about the showers, I've become pretty accustomed to them. Taking a shower has become my favorite part of the day, and the fact that hot water is in limited supply does not really matter. I love the cool water because it is the only time of day I feel refreshed. In an earlier post I said that you have to fill a large bucket and then scoop from the large bucket with a smaller bucket, but it turns out that some of the shower heads actually do work, so you can stand under the shower head. We try to conserve water though, so my main strategy is to just fill up the small liquid-measuring-cup type bucket and pour the water onto myself straight from there. It works out.

Third, I have been very lucky in that I have not gotten an upset stomach in the week that I have been here, and further I have never had to go in for a #2 more than once a day, which makes the whole situation completely tolerable. I have come to learn about a few coveted Western commodes, in case the situation ever gets too bad.

In writing this post, I became really curious to see if in fact anyone had posted some advice on the web. I googled "squat toilet tricks" and lo and behold I am not the first person to strategize in these little rooms. Here is the website I like the best: http://johnnyvagabond.com/featured/how-to-use-a-squat-toilet-in-5-easy-steps/

And Now...This is...SEARCH

Even though I've already taken over 100 photos during our field trip outings, I do not have any photos of the SEARCH campus yet. First, because many of you saw the photos I found online when I first found out I got the internship, and it basically looks just like those photos. Second, I don't want to be "that girl" yet, who walks around campus flashing photos of everything. I promise I will try to take some photos of my bedroom, bathroom facilities, dining hall, and working spaces later this week.

When the car arrived at SEARCH, Anand was there to greet me. He was in the middle of talking with some other men, so he quickly said hello, but told me Sona would come to show me around. Sona is from Gadchiroli. She lived and worked at SEARCH back in April and is now here for a longer period, I think something like a year.

Although I was excited to finally have arrived, I also started to feel very panicky as Sona gave me the tour. I think it was the realization that I had finally reached my destination and was about to learn where I would spend the next nine weeks. The first thing we did was walk into the living quarters where she showed me my room. I live in room #4. I was happy for this because 4 has always been my favorite number and I found this to be some good omen. She said I did not have a roommate. I had mixed feelings about this. While it would be nice to have my own space, I was also looking forward to getting to know someone and having someone in the room with me in case I got scared at night (I'm sorta a baby still and afraid of the dark, especially in new surroundings). As soon as we entered the room my heart sank. It's not that the room was different than what I expected, it's just that it was exactly what I expected. It was very bare and harsh. It has white cement walls and ceiling and a classroom tile floor. There is only white flouroescent lighting. There is a built-in counter with two high chairs (that I thought made it look like a beauty salon), a brown table, and a green metal armoire. Sona showed me a special wire you can light if you feel there are mosquitos in your room. I put my backpack, purse, Whole Foods bag (with my granola bars), and shopping bags down on the bed. The first thing I saw was a gecko between the window and screen. "Ooooh," I said. I wasn't afraid, I actually like seeing newts and geckos, but this one was a little beefy and I was surprised to see it almost in my bedroom. "Now let's not get too afraid of anything," said Sona. Those were her exact words. Little did I know what else there was to be afraid of.

She then walked me over to the Research Building, which is a nice open building of two rooms. In the front room sit all the older Indian men who do research on old computers, and in the back room sit all the Americans and young Indian interns on laptops. I met four of the younger interns. Two were girls around my age from the U.S. At the time, I couldn't retain any of their names. I was still in shock from the bedroom and I was feeling anxious.

Next, Sona showed me the prayer hall where she said there is a mandatory prayer every evening at 6:45pm. She told me that I did not have to go on my first day there if I preferred to rest, but that dinner would be at 8pm and she would wake me. Sona then showed me the administrative building where more older Indian men sit and do fancy things related to the SEARCH campus and the hospital it runs.

On the way back to the living quarters she showed me the dining/mess hall where all meals were kept. It is situated directly across from my living quarters She said there was still lunch out, but I told her I wasn't very hungry and preferred to sleep. There were many other buildings on the campus that I did not see on the tour, some of which I have come to learn about (the library, the conference room, many many more living quarters and permanent housing, the "open air" room, and the store/pharmacy) and other buildings that still remain a mystery to me.

There was one thing I still wanted to see. I asked Sona to show me the bathroom facilities. I actually asked, "Is there a bathroom or bathing facilities?" She took me down an outdoor hallway past my room to a darkened hallway. All the doors were closed. She said on the left there were three showers and on the right were the toilets. We opened up the door to the first and my heart sank again. A squat toilet. Again, I wasn't surprised. I had thought very much about the potential of using squat toilets and it even came up in a discussion at the study abroad orientation I went to at UNC that was targeted towards students traveling to third world countries. In the time before I left for India I had meant to email and ask about the bathing facilities, but when the visa wasn't working out I never emailed. Then, by the time I received my visa, with just one week to go, I figured I would assume the worst, and wait and see when I arrived. The ground around the toilets looked filthy and it was very stinky. Although there were shower heads in the showers it appeared that you were expected to use the spigots to fill up a large bucket and clean yourself by using a smaller liquid-measuring-cup type bucket to scoop up the water. I was hit with a wave of fear. How was I going to live here. In addition, it was dark, damp, and buggy.

I decided to let these thoughts settle in my mind. I felt exhausted, physically and emotionally, and I wanted to be alone. I told Sona I would take my nap and I went into my room. I sat on the bed. Plumpph! The bed was hard. I stood up and lifted up the sheet. It was barely a bed. It was a wood frame with a one inch bed cushion just hinging on being called a mattress. It felt very stiff. I sat back down and took some deep breathes. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just leave, but I didn't think I could stay. I was glad to see the other Americans in the Research building, but I started to seriously question if I was meant to be here. I didn't have much time to think about it though, because I had the strong urge to pee, and that meant I was going to have to use the bathroom.

First Impressions of India

Pictures: Cow approaching my car while waiting for the driver to have lunch.

I had bought a small notebook while at the RDU airport to use while in India at times when I didn't have immediate access to a computer and wanted to write my thoughts down. As the driver moved out of Nagpur, I took out my little notebook and a pen and began to write. The following is exactly as I have written it in the notebook. (Side note: it took some patience because the car was moving very fast and my hand was not steady.)

(Also, disclaimer: this is what I saw on my trip from the Nagpur Airport to SEARCH. It is not reflective of all of India, far from it. It is also from my perspective, which is undoubtedly biased.)

My first morning in India (Nagpur) is one of the most amazing mornings of my life. I feel so alive!

Immediately I witness everything that is India. Within seconds [of being on the road] I see cows on the street, women in saris sitting sideways on the backs of men's scooters, stray dogs- adorable, but I was told [at UNC] not to touch- crazy driving, horns honking, weaving in and out, inches from vehicles, mopeds, and pedestrians, girls linking pinkies as they move down the main road in the shopping district.

As my driver (never caught his name) takes me towards Shodhgram I see more cows and dogs. I see the cutest children, some being led to school by their parents, others begging on the side of the highway. I see the slums intermingled with what can only be described as dilapidated housing at best. I see a teenage boy soaping up and washing in a pool of water outside his home.

There are so many cows!

The further we drive the more rural its gets. I see men and women working side by side on small pieces of farm land. They are laboring in the heat, pushing plows pulled by cows. The ground looks so arid. I don't know what they are farming. I do not see any actual plants.

I see so many women riding carts led by cows. It seems to be the young women's job to steer these cows to their next location of work. We pass a residential area. It is a village of tents and small cement structures. These are people's homes.

There is some industry in the area. I keep seeing large metal structures. I assume they are meant for mining [or milling] or collecting something. There are several smoke stacks in the distance- part of a larger plant [I see] as we get closer. Dark smoke drifts up into the air.

I keep seeing billboards that say things like "Planned Site for the Star Hotel," and "Future Home of the New York City Skyline Apartments." I get the sense these billboards promise hope if not actual structures.

I fear for my life the whole car ride, yet know I am in good hands. The driver seems experienced. Still, it is the most sustained bout of maniacal driving I have ever seen. I can't seem to figure out what reason these people have to tempt death. We come head to head with several trucks. Please just let me get to SEARCH in one piece.

Eventually I stopped writing. What I first thought were novel sights, just repeated over and over and over. I saw more men urinating in the field, more cows walking down the middle of the road, more women leaning over and dragging tools through the dirt, more homes made of earth and red tile, than I had ever seen in my entire life. Although I did not fancy the way the driver was driving, the behavior seems to be ubiquitous. The last thing Josh told me when I was saying goodbye to him and Kayla was "Aliza, don't be afraid with the way they drive." I try very hard to just trust the driver.

I was so tired, yet anxious and excited to get to SEARCH. After the first hour in the car, when I decided I could trust the driver, I tried to close my eyes, but I kept thinking about what SEARCH would be like. Who would meet me when I got there, who else would be there, what would my room look like, would I have a roommate, what would the food be like and would I have enough to eat, would Dr. Abhay and Rani Bang be there? The sensation of the unknown was incredible. I wanted that car to get there so bad, but the 3.5 hour car ride felt like forever.

At one point the driver stopped to get some lunch at a roadside stand (we kept passing through little commercial areas, stands and huts that would go for about 100 yards, until there was nothing but fields again). He left me in the car without asking if I wanted anything, but that was ok because I had some snacks from the airplane and he left the air conditioning on. And frankly, I felt safer in the car with my things. I took the opportunity to finally grab a picture of a cow that walked up to the car. (My other attempts at photos were ruined by the fast-moving car).

Around 2:45pm we finally finally finally arrived at SEARCH.

Nagpur

Picture: Street in Nagpur where I went shopping.

Two hour flight to Nagpur. The women I sat next to was one of those obnoxious types. Her arm was in my space the entire time and she kept touching me and not moving away. Whatevs.

Towards the end, she went to the bathroom and the young man on the end switched and sat in the middle. I could tell right away that he wanted to talk to me. I had been getting a lot of stares all morning, especially at my hair. We struck up a conversation. I never quite caught his name. It was Indian and started with an S. I told him about SEARCH and what I studied and he told me about what he had studied, though it was kinda confusing. I think it was engineering, but he wanted to switch to law. He asked for my email address. He seemed like a genuine young man from India who was eager to learn about Westerners, so I agreed and gave it to him. We seemed about the same age. I found out he was 28. Don't worry Ben, I don't have a new Indian boyfriend.

Upon our arrival in Nagpur I explained to him that a driver would be there to pick me up. I also explained that I had lost my luggage and needed to check in at the Air India desk about it. He was so worried about me and he offered to drive me to SEARCH. "No, no," I said, "I really have a driver coming." Still he wanted to make sure the driver was actually there, so he came out to the curb with me. Thankfully, there was a man there holding a sign with my name. I felt so special!!! (There was a long string of drivers there, perhaps 40. I think Nagpur is a popular business destination, as many men on the plane looked like they were dressed to do business).

I went to tell the driver about my bag, but he didn't speak English! It was interesting because everyone I had encountered so far spoke English and I assumed that SEARCH would send an English-speaking driver. My new friend was still standing there and he asked the driver if he could take a picture of us on his iphone. He seemed really excited to have met me. I didn't think that was so bad so I agreed to it. Then my new friend starting speaking in Hindi to the driver and explaining the bag situation. After calling SEARCH to also inform them about the lost bag, my new friend and I went to the Air India desk. My new friend told me that the driver had asked who he was. (From the way we were talking and taking photos together it must have seemed like we went way back). My new friend told me that he told the driver he was my friend. I rolled my eyes and said, "Nooo! I can't believe you did that."

Fortunatley, my new friend was really helpful at the Air India desk. He interpreted everything the man was saying to me and helped me write down some numbers. Again, I felt as if a higher presence had sent someone my way to help me out. When we were done my new friend said he was going to SEARCH with me. "You can't!" I said, "You have to be invited." I told him that I needed him to ask the driver if he could stop at a store to pick up some clothes. Up until now I was only wearing a black tank top, which was somewhat ok in Mumbai and just culturally tolerable in Nagpur. I could not show up at SEARCH in only a tank top.

We walked back to the driver and the car. I got in with my luggage. My new friend and the driver spoke in Hindi again. All of a sudden my new friend started getting into the car! "He is not my friend! He is not my friend" I laughed. The driver smiled. I think by now he had figured out we just met on the plane, but I also think he realized that my new friend was serving as an impromptu interpreter. So off we went to downtown Nagpur. I had a lot of fun talking with my new friend. He told me a lot about where he is from and what cities in India he often travels to. He worked for a company that had several regional offices and he traveled around to them. While I am sure that my family who is reading this is freaking out that I let a stranger into the car, I just want to say that I tried my hardest to not let this guy help me out so much. However, this is how Indian culture is. Like I said before, they treat guests like gods. My new friend even used that expression when I told him he didn't have to come shopping with us.

When we got to the commercial streets it was only 9:30am. We had to wait a half hour before the stores opened. We walked up and down the street a bit, and sat in the car for awhile talking some more. My new friend said I looked like Mona Lisa. That's actually funny because both Kayla and I have received that comment before. People also said it to me in Paris. He decided he was going to call me Mona Aliza. At one point I started getting really thirsty. It was pretty hot for the morning. When I asked my friend if there were any vendors with mineral water he took me to a store and bought me some water and a red bull energy drink. Haha, I never drink red bull, but I had a few sips of it anyway.

Finally the stores opened. We went into one where the salesman was so excited to see me. I'm telling you, they really fawn over fair skinned people. I was looking to buy two salwar kameez which is the modernized sari. It is a pair of pants, a tunic, and a scarf. Often, the scarf and the pants have the same print, and the whole outfit is a matching ensemble. The salesman started throwing salwar after salwar onto the counter. He was really eager to find ones that suited my taste. I had to try several on before I found some that fit. Indian girls are much smaller than me. Finally, I found two sets to my liking. My new friend and the driver helped me negotiate a better price. I'm telling you, my new friend was coming in handy. My new friend also told me he wanted to buy the clothes for me as a gift, but that is where I drew the line. Email: ok. Picture: ok. (I knew I was going to take tons of unconsented photos during the summer). Buying my clothes: I don't think so. I didn't want to receive any emails in the future telling me I owed him a favor. I politely declined and pushed my money into the salesman's hands before my new friend could do anything.

Afterwards we had to wait a bit because the stores often do on-site alterations and they were going to add sleeves for me. They said it would take 10 minutes. The salesman sped off on his moped to the tailor. My new friend asked the driver to call his car service company and get him a car to bring him to work. My new friend and I chatted a bit more and then parted ways. I still never caught his name or his email address, but he said he would email me. He asked me to come hang out with him in Nagpur. I told him I would only be able to come if I came along with lots of other friends....(To note: he has not emailed me yet. If he does I will probably keep it over email. Besides, it would be very difficult to get back to Nagpur).

The salesman came back with the clothes and the driver and I took off for SEARCH.

Mumbai Layover

I was really worried about navigating the airport. I had this image in my head of an insanely crowded airport (like the images I had seen of Indian train stations) and colors and languages flying everywhere. In reality, it was the middle of the night and the airport was empty. In the domestic terminal departures lobby there were groups of people sitting around waiting. I found out that the check-in desks didn't open until 3:30am. It was around 1:30am when I arrived. I went and sat down in a corner behind a cafe, which was open in case people needed snacks. Shortly after taking my seat I heard someone call my name and looked up to see Meera. She had changed her flight to the very early morning.

For the most part, Mumbai Airport was modern. All the signs were in English. There really wasn't anything that distinguished the actual departures lobby from those in the United States.

There were a few noteworthy things I saw in the airport:

1) While I was on the shuttle we made a stop before the one I was to get off at. I was looking at everything outside the window and I saw groups of airport employees sleeping in rows along side the terminal building. I'm not sure if this is an overnight thing that happens at all airports after hours- perhaps it happens in the United States and I just never knew- but something about it struck me as sad. Later on in the terminal, I saw a women sleeping on the floor with a blanket next to a register for a little store. Hmmm, maybe their shifts start so early they come sleep at the airport? Or maybe they never leave? Never figured this out.

2) I saw a mouse while sitting near the cafe. I'm not generally afraid of mice, so I just thought it was cute, but I never saw a mouse running around an airport before.

3) Another rather cute thing I saw was a dog just hanging out at the departure curb. It was just laying there chilling out. I'm not sure if it was an employee's dog or a passenger's dog or if it was just a dog that hung out at the airport.

4) When I went to go through security (yes, I had to go through security four times overall) there was a ladies only security line. Score! I think I read in some of the books I have about India that they often have "women only" lines to buy tickets at bus and train stations. I'm not sure why. At the airport I'm pretty sure it was because they padded everyone down. Either way, there were about 20 men in line, but only a couple women. Yay!

After I checked in and went down to my gate I still had another 2.5 hours before my flight would be boarding. I found one of those awesome airport cell phone charger kiosks and cracked out my kit of adapters (thankfully that was one thing that was in my backpack). I also read some. Soon it was time to leave for Nagpur.

...And Then My Suitcase was Lost

I'll start this post off by saying that I am one of those people who always fears that my suitcase is going to be misplaced even for short non-stop domestic flights. That said, I was extra anxious to find out the status of my bag in Mumbai because in Raleigh-Durham the counter agent couldn't tell me if I would see it in Mumbai or Nagpur. At first the other agents said I must transfer it myself from international to domestic, but then the agent put in an override and said it worked.

Given the chance of a possible override, I had some initial patience when I didn't see my bag come out in the first few batches. There was always the possibility that my bag would not come out at all and I would be notified of its existence over in the domestic terminal. I spent most of the time making phone calls to my family.

Meera and I stood together as the crowd thinned out. This seemed to take forrreverrrrr. It must have been close to midnight by the time anyone actually started worrying that bags were missing. When perhaps 20 of us were left (remember, this was a flight of 400+ people), some of the passengers started to inquire at the baggage desk. The agents there kept promising that additional baggage compartments from our flight were coming. Meera was convinced that all the people left standing had started their journeys in the United States before Chicago and this was an issue of one baggage compartment having all the Chicago gate-transferred luggage. She busied herself by walking around asking others what cities they started in. She herself had started in California. At this point, I had become anxious, but was still not worried about my bag. I truly thought that it was probably already taken over to the domestic terminal.

Much more time went on, but finally more bags came out and some of the passengers left. It was down to perhaps 8 or 9 people. Meera and I were 2 of them. Let me just stop right here and say, if there was any question before that someone from above had sent Meera to comfort me during my travels this was final confirmation. On a plane of hundreds of passengers, Meera had also had her bag misplaced and was one of the final 10 left standing at the baggage claim after two hours. I cannot thank g-d enough for her presence. Although most of the agents spoke English, there was still a different air about the way they worked and communicated. If Meera hadn't been there I would have been in Mumbai at midnight, alone, with no baggage. I would have lost it, that is for sure.

Then, after another 20 minutes, a final round of bags emerged. Meera's bag was one of them. Mine was not. In fact, I was the only passenger to not have my bag. By this time I had asked the baggage agents dozens of times if it was possible mine had been sent to the domestic terminal, and I tried to explain the override that had taken place in Raleigh-Durham in my clearest English. They insisted that there was no way to do an override and I must find my luggage in the international terminal.

They said I needed to start a claim. Since Meera was planing on leaving the airport and going to her sister's house for the night (her flight was not until the next afternoon), I told her she didn't need to wait any longer with me. It was already past midnight and she had already done so much for me. We made our goodbyes and left. She said she may see me in the domestic terminal because she was going to try checking her bag in. She was also having thoughts about moving her afternoon flight up to the morning and staying at the airport because her sister had already gone to bed.

I switched to the task at hand which required giving the agents by baggage ticket. What was the first thing they told me: "Ma'am, your baggage is in Chicago." Whaaaaaaat? Fine, at least it was better than some ambiguous answer like, "Hmmm, we don't really know where your baggage is." What followed was 45 minutes of paperwork. The Air India baggage desk at the Mumbai airport did things the old fashioned way including hand writing most file notes, using carbon copy paper for receipts, and printing out forms on one of those old printers with the thick white and blue alternating rows. In the process I think I handed over to them my passport, my expedia flight information, my packet on SEARCH, my US address, the SEARCH phone numbers and address, and my boarding pass stubs. Although I was upset with the situation, I found it funny that I was telling the baggage guy every contact detail for my internship, when the customs desk that I had just passed through with a tourist visa was literally 100 feet down the hallway. They don't communicate much between departments...and oh how this has become a theme in India.

The agent said my bag would follow my exact route, just one day later, and arrive at SEARCH on Thursday. I tried to explain that SEARCH was not close to the Nagpur aiport at all. "Don't worry, don't worry," he kept saying. I must have lingered at the desk for 15 minutes. I was told to continue with my itinerary. I was worried about leaving the international terminal, but there wasn't much there, and Meera said the domestic terminal had lounges. I told the agent I was more comfortable waiting in the Mumbai or Nagpur airport, even delaying my driver pickup, if it meant receiving my bag in-hand at the airport. "Please ma'am, why are you so worried?" I started to feel like there was a cultural difference about losing one's possessions, but I am still confused about how this could work.

In the end, I received a receipt with a baggage tag number and a reference number. One of the agents also walked me over to the currency exchange where, with a special form I filled out, I received 3000 rupees (roughly $75) for my troubles.

I navigated myself to the shuttle that would drive me to the domestic terminal. I boarded the bus and sat in the dark. I started to cry, the second bout of tears during my journey. I was afraid that I would never see my suitcase again. Not only would this extremely disturb me, for everyone who knows my personality and the fact that I hate losing things, but not getting my suitcase meant not surviving in India. I needed that suitcase!

I calmed down as the bus began to drive to the domestic terminal. Seeing that it was nighttime, it was obviously dark, but the runways and airport buildings were all illuminated. At 1am the air was hot and muggy with a light mist. I was upset about my baggage, but I couldn't help but be enraptured by the environment that unfolded around me. For some reason that shuttle ride was the longest inter-terminal transfer I have ever taken. You would have thought we drove to another town. No joke, we were on the shuttle for 20 minutes. I really enjoyed looking out into the peaceful Mumbai night. I could have stayed on forever.

On the Up and Up

My second flight, the one from Frankfurt to Mumbai was entirely pleasant. My airplane buddy and I arrived back to the gate around the same time. We were not going to sit in the same seats as the first flight (we had been in row 50), but for the most part passengers had been assigned the same compartment. By chance, or perhaps someone was looking out for me, my airplane buddy and I ended up sitting in Row 47 together. To make things even better no one came to sit in the seat between us. We were able to spread out a bit- something to be happy for on your second 8 hour flight.

I found out my airplane buddy was named Meera. I know her last name too, but will refrain from writing it here, in case that breaks some privacy rule or something. Also, I haven't mentioned yet that she was probably in her 60's.

I spent most of the flight snacking, sleeping, and watching the movie Invictus. Good movie. (On a side note, the sound had not worked on the first flight to Frankfurt which was another reason I had trouble calming myself down. Eventually I ad-libbed my way through two comedies.)

Occasionally Meera and I would talk. Towards the end of my flight I took out my packet on SEARCH and showed her more details about my internship. She told me she thought it was great that I was coming to India to do this. She said she hoped to find a way to volunteer once she settled into her home. She gave me her phone number and told me that I was more than welcome to come spend some time at her house on the beach. This is how Indian culture is. I read before traveling that they treat guests like gods. I'm not sure if I will actually go to stay with her, but I will probably call her at some point and tell her how things worked out.

Around 10:30pm Indian Standard Time we arrived in Mumbai. Meera also had to go to the domestic terminal, so she said she would help me. She stayed with me while going through customs. It was easy enough, with my tourist visa and all, I only got two suspicious glances, but the official passed me through after I told him I was a graduate student.

Holy Security Line Batman!

When the plane finally arrived in Frankfurt I was anxious to communicate that I had made it safely through the first leg of my trip. We took a quick shuttle from the plane to the terminal and entered on the ground floor. Once inside we were directed up an escalator. Since I knew my cell phone was unlikely to work in Frankfurt I was on the outlook for a pay phone. To my delight, I quickly spotted a row of hot pink neon illuminated pay phones sponsored by T-Mobile as the escalator ascended. Jackpot! These credit card operated pay phones were exactly what I needed. But uh oh...no...No!...where was this escalator going? We were going further up. No problem I thought, I'll just have to circle around. When I reached the next floor and got off the escalator I found another row of hot pink towers. Perfect! Now, I wouldn't even need to make the trip down a flight. However, suddenly there were German fraus in red vests snapping at us (the crowd of roughly 50 passengers that had just arrived at the terminal) to form a line and go around the corner? What was around the corner? I didn't want to go around the corner! My hands ached to touch the hot pink neon goodness that was just ten feet from me.

I pushed along the crowd around the corner and to my dismay this is what I saw: 500+ people in line to go through security. What!!??!! Another layover of red tape! The fraus hurried around telling us to "move this way", "stand along here", "form two lines here", "make this the turning point," and "don't touch the dividers!" I have to admit, they were being rather patronizing. I myself, found it all quite amusing. If you have to get 500 people through security you might as well do it effectively. Yet, many of the other passengers were agitated. There was definitely some tension between these German women yelling out snappish commands and the mostly Indian crowd that had no choice but to follow along.

I was discouraged about the line, but knew once again that I would have to gather up some strength and just accept the situation. I passed the time talking to one of the authoritative frau. Each had on a name tag that said "Frau LastName." Their last names stuck in my head at the time, but have been lost in the daze that has become my trip. She told me that she could not understand how it came to be that so many people were in line at once. Granted three international flights had arrived at the same time, but she had never seen a line so long and chaotic. She told us we arrived on the worst morning she has ever seen! Awww. She explained that new international rules required passengers to pass through security before every international flight even if they had already gone through security.

I also passed the time by watching the families and faces that I had become familiar with. It seems silly, but just knowing the whereabouts of a few others (none of whom I actually talked to) made me feel less alone. There was the one family with one baby that had gotten on the flight at RDU with me up to Chicago. How coincidental that I would be with this family the entire length of my journey to Mumbai. The mother had on a beautiful green sari. Then there was the second family with one baby that was sitting in my compartment on the plane. The mother in this family was also wearing green, but this time a green cardigan and casual pants. I also looked around for the women who had become my plane buddy. We were told that we would possibly be returning to the same seats and I was anxious to have her companionship again.

For all their aggressive behavior, the fraus must have known what they were doing because I was actually at the security belt within 45 minutes. I passed through easily and was happy to find that my airplane buddy had caught up to me and we waited to collect our bags together. I said hi quickly, but rushed off to find the phones.

The phones were user friendly, so I quickly ran my credit card through and dialed Ben's number. I knew it would be close to 3am there, but I wanted to tell someone that I was doing alright. I carefully followed the instructions and typed in the numbers. It connected but then went into a busy signal. What? I knew that had to be wrong. There was no way Ben was up at 3am, besides he had call waiting. I tried again. Same thing. I decided to try the country code as just 1 instead of 001. Yesssss! It was ringing. Please pick up. Please pick up. Pleeeeeeeeasssssse pick up. For the love of all things holy please pick up!!!!!!

Finally, he did. He was very sleepy. I told him I was safe and asked him to send out an email to everyone, which he did. He also confirmed that Anand, my contact at SEARCH, had replied to my email that the driver in Nagpur would have my name on a placard.

After speaking with Ben I exchanged some of my US dollars into rupees. Even though the airport exchange completely ripped me off I felt so rich. $200 turned into 5900 rupees! Woohoo! I headed towards the gate, happy to know that despite that chaotic mess that was security I was able to accomplish everything I needed to while in Frankfurt.

Everyone Deserves a Good Cry in the Airplane Lavatory

My journey to India was long and is now one big blur. I took some notes while traveling so I could write about them here. My story begins when I arrived in Chicago. I had the expectation that I would sit in Chicago and work on some emails for a few hours. I was very wrong. I learned very quickly to have no expectations. I am going to follow this mantra for the rest of my trip.

In Chicago, I had to transfer to the international terminal. Arriving there, I became aware that my flight to Frankfurt was on Air India. Immediately I was warped into India mode. 95% of the flights passengers were Indians returning home. Finding and taking the tram to the international terminal had eaten up a considerable amount of my layover time. Now the check in line was using up the rest. I stood alone among families with young children, elderly couples, and business men. It took over an hour to get my boarding pass and pass through security. By the time I got to the gate they were making the final call, and they did not want me to use my cell phone on the plane. I had about two minutes to call Kayla and Ben. I felt very overwhelmed. I couldn’t even get my words out when talking to Ben; each attempt to speak brought me closer to tears. For the first time since leaving Chapel Hill I started to question my decision.

Once on the plane I realized I was sitting in the last compartment. I hate sitting in the back of the plane. To make matters worse, I had the middle seat. I felt alone and scared in a sea of foreign faces. I wondered how I would get through two 8 hour flights and a 9 hour layover in Mumbai, let alone my actual experience in India. I started to freak out. I wanted to cry but I was embarrassed about crying in front of my neighbors. The man to my right tried to talk with me but gave up after a few minutes when he could see I was clearly upset. I tried to find something, anything, to make me feel better. There were small children everywhere (my compartment was decidedly the family section) and listening to their excited voices was soothing. "Mommy, mommy we are in the sky," said one little boy after takeoff. It made me smile.

I fell asleep and lost track of time. When I woke up I felt awful. I wanted to come home. I started devising ways in which I could turn back in Frankfurt. The man to my right laughed at the Indian comedy he was watching in the seatback personal TV’s. I tried to use his laughter to calm down, but it wasn’t working. It only made me feel more detached. I was becoming choked up. The snacks came and they were spicy dried lentils. I flipped the package around in my hands. Where were the peanuts and pretzels? I became sure that my internship was over. I was determined to turn around in Frankfurt.

But then, the woman to my left said, “Try the lentils, they are not too spicy”. I didn't know I was being watched. At my UNC study aboard orientation we were told to try everything so I gave in to her suggestion. I tried a few, they weren't bad. Still, I was set on finding a way out and returning to Chapel Hill. I started to tear up. Crying in my seat was not going to happen. When I got to the lavatory it was occupied. I stood in the back of the plane and began to cry as flight attendants hurried past me preparing the upcoming meal. I tried to hide the fact that I was crying, but I'm sure they could tell. When the lavatory was free, I hopped inside and completely broke down. What was I doing? Why was I choosing to go to India for nine weeks, alone, leaving all my friends and family behind me? Did I really think I was going to make it through 48 hours of international travel completely by myself? Was I going to be comfortable in Shodhgram? I thought about Ben and how I would not see him for the rest of the summer. I hadn't cried when saying goodbye at RDU, which had been surprising to both of us given my emotional nature, but here it was, tears rushing out. I immediately regretted leaving him.

After a bit, I started to worry that someone might be waiting. My only choice was to return to my seat; I knew I had to pick myself up. And somewhere inside of me I found the strength to do just that. I took a few deep breathes, and washed my face off. My sprit was immediately lifted. I left the bathroom and confirmed with the flight attendants that we would be able to get off the plane in Frankfurt. They said we would and the woman who mainly served my row gave me an encouraging smile. I set out to return to my seat and take advantage of the neighbors who wanted to talk with me. The dinners were coming. I received my kosher meal, but was jealous of the vegetarian meals of my neighbors, a sentiment I ended up sharing with the women next to me. She insisted on sharing her dish, telling me I would have to get used to Indian food if I was going to spend the whole summer there. I didn’t tell her I already loved it. She gave me her salad, and a huge portion of her main dish- curry and rice- and also her rice pudding. I told her I did not want to take her food from her, but she insisted, just like a Jewish grandmother. We started talking about my trip and what I was doing. She told me she had lived in the US for 30 years and was a US citizen, but occasionally returned to India. Last year she had an extended stay when her mother became ill and passed away. Now she was returning to live in Goa, at the beach, for a year. I felt cared for. This woman had obviously noticed I was nervous and anxious at the beginning of the flight, and now she was looking after me. I had already let out my emotion by crying in the bathroom and now I no longer felt alone. I had a friend, a buddy, for the flight. I decided I would not turn around in Frankfurt.