Days 1 and 2

Day 1:

over 12 hours of flying and airports, the doors on the plane open and I step out to the smell of burning wood. So it begins. Walk through the airport, it seems pretty new, though still unfinished and not very efficient, but I never expected differently. Time for immigration. Hell, this is taking forever, so disorganized. In fact I’d say it’s worst than Haiti. Finally, I’m out, I grab my backpack from the carrousel, grab a bottle of rum from the duty free and I step out into the unknown, into the real india. I’m hoping to see a sign that has my inordinately long name written on it, indicating the pickup from the airport I was supposed to get. Not to be. I should have known, in fact part of me kind of expected it. So I try to call the “hotel” and can’t get through, meanwhile some cab middle man had followed from the minute I stepped out of the airport soliciting a cab ride and making small talk. I stand outside the airport taking it in, witnessing the mess and loving it, smoking a cigarette, then finally giving up and taking that ride from this middle man. He passes me on to a cab driver, then I’m off. So that’s how it works here. Everyone has deals with people. It’s a country of middle men, all collecting tiny commissions which somehow add up to a living at the end of the day. Rife with graft and cons and trickery you have to watch your back the whole time. I made my first couple mistakes that first night, but luckily I didn’t pay much for them and India still treated to me to the sight of a couple elephants hauling goods on Delhi’s main highwayat 2 in the morning. I finally get to the hotel after a whole ordeal of not finding the place and I get settled in.

It hasn’t hit me yet. I’m still in some real dream that I can’t wake up from. Maybe tomoro. I have a rum and coke and I crash.

Day 2

I sleep in a bit, till bout 10:30 or so, send some txts stay around the hotel, walk onto the terrace and look around. Monkeys have ventured onto the rooftop and are chilling. The sun is blotted out by the smog, a thick light gray haze that covers everything you can see. Across the street is a market and cars, cars, cars, all kinds, auto-rickshaws, motorcycles, it’s crazy and the deafening sound of the horns leaves no doubt that I’m not in Kansas anymore. Time for a short walk, get some grit on me, feel things out a bit. People hardly give me a second look. Other than my shaved head, earrings and backpack I think they see me as possibly an upper class Indian. It’s a cool little walk, I have no idea where I’m going but end up following the train tracks, human feces on the dirt path lining the tracks, still not a second look from anyone. I feel like I’m home. It’s port-au-prince just bigger and slightly busier. And it’s crazy. Indians have a great sense of spatial awareness honking their way through town inches away from everything but able to weave through without a hitch. It’s beautiful to watch.

It’s easy to get lost round here but somehow, like being home I just sensed where I was in relation to where I started from. Enough of a walk for today. I grab some food from off a small street stand, my first meal and I head back to the hotel to chill on the roof. Check my emails, let clients know I’ve arrived, do some work. I meet a couple travelers, chill with them, go for dinner with them, get hassled a bit, all part of the game.

It hasn’t hit me yet. The dream won’t end, I’m still home and I’m not lost here though I have no idea where I’m going or when.