India is different. You know it immediately upon landing. Things are at once more relaxed and much more tightly wrapped than the US. There are rules that are not immediately apparent that may or may not apply to you as a foreigner. I find this stimulating and a little scary, but just like everyone in India, I am somehow managing to cope.
I love the bus ride from International Arrivals at the airport. It is hot, and everyone- with or without a uniform- checks your tickets and papers. The bus is narrow and fairly full of luggage and sleepy passengers. There is a young man who is an apparent NRI (non-resident Indian) who is more confused than I am this trip. He is worried that this bus won't go to the right terminal. It will.
The airport is much changed even from last year. The new construction seems to be largely completed. The World Cup (of Soccer) will be held in India in 2010, and they are working like crazy to make a good impression on the world. I hope I'll be able to spend a little time there instead of in the holding area for International Departures on the way back.
Still, there are wonderful signs dotted about, and odd workings in progress. One sign is over a very large hole. "Man at Work. Inconvenience is Regretted. Complaint is Futile." This is pretty much how bureaucracy works here, and the sooner you accept it, the better off you'll be. People apparently live all over the airport grounds -workers and their families, along with little shops to serve their needs, petrol stations for trucks, planes, and what ever else needs fuel. As strict as security for travelers is, there is chaos outside the terminal and it looks as though anyone could take up residence. There is even a small, ancient Hindu shrine out in the center, between some runways. It could be in use, or it could have been there first and the airport just arose around it.
Photos are strictly forbidden at the airport, so I can't document this with pictures; I'll have to figure out a way. One set of signs is my favorite. The set indicates no left turn and no right turn- which is reasonable because we are crossing an active runway in our little bus.
The flight over the Himalayan Mountains is fantastic. There aren't enough superlatives in my vocabulary to describe the vastness and majesty of these mountains that go on as far as the eye can see. It is a little hazy, and so difficult to see Nun and Kun, two of the highest peaks visible on our route. Tso Pangong is easy to see, though. It is the large lake that lies on the Indian/Tibetan border.
At the Leh airport, all arriving passengers have to fill out health forms, as well as the usual immigration forms. The H1N1 virus is everywhere. Baggage pick-up was easy, and instead of calling Dawa, I just took a cab. The driver was nice, and was surprised that I knew the way to the guesthouse. I was even able to stop him from taking a wrong turn. Cab fares are by destination, not by distance, so even if he'd turned right instead of left, the fare would still have been 170 rupees.
At the Oriental Guesthouse, I was greeted by Phuntsog, who looks just the same, and who acted as though I'd been gone a couple of days instead of nearly a year. "Mary-le! Your room is almost ready, not yet, not yet. Sit and have some tea!"
Stanzin was off from teaching that day and helped me get my bags to my room, A201. A201 is the former intern's office for HEALTH Inc., and is located right next to the beautiful family shrine on what Americans would consider the third floor. It is large, airy, and has a large wardrobe, although no attached toilet. The shared bath is more than adequate (as long as those I share with behave) and it'll be fine if I stay well. I am in Wing "A", which will save me a TON of money.
Everyone here is fine. Little Leydstone is just beautiful, and is walking. He has shoes that squeak like a squeaky toy when he walks. Phuntsog says they need the squeaking shoes because he tends to disappear. She said that she can be sitting with him, and that all of a sudden, he'll be gone. More evidence of his nascent lama-hood!
I spent the rest of the day, the next full day, and most of the following lying around getting acclimated, unpacking little by little, and repacking for the journey to Domkhar Dho. Drinking enough fluids is essential, so I tried to consume enough tea and water to float an armada. On my first trip to Ladakh, Nawang insisted that I try to drink seven liters of water and tea. Drinking that much would be impossible, but it is a good goal to shoot for. People who refuse to drink get altitude sickness, and I don't have time for it.
I have no appetite at all, but soup is offered most nights as part of the dinner, so that is what I have. It is hot, salty, and tasty, and helps with the hydration.
Saturday there is a general strike in Leh. Everything, including government offices, is closed. A taxi drive has been murdered, and the strike is in protest. Rumor has it that a Korean couple was in the cab at the time it was pulled over. They reported seeing a gun, but not identifiable faces of the assailants. They were detained a couple of days for further questioning, but they were not under suspicion. The murderer(s) are still at large. Everyone feels as though this was a targeted murder, and the rest of us feel pretty safe. There is no where to go after dark anyway, so there aren't many saftey precautions to take.
No comments:
Post a Comment