Hats off to those who prayed for smooth flights and a safe journey for us! There wasn’t one moment of turbulence in the air and the only hitch was a little extra time spent at the airport in Mumbai, waiting for our delayed flight to Kochi. No problem there. We enjoyed talking to the chatty Dr. Kathryn Robson, an Oxford medical researcher who is now studying achromatopsia.
What made our 38 hours of travel bearable was the 9 hour layover in London, most of which was spent in a prone position at the Heathrow Sheraton. That’s where we took our first malarone pills, for prevention of malaria. You can see from Bronwen’s expression that we weren’t too thrilled about the possible side effects. But, not to worry – there haven’t been any. We took a cab back to the airport after our nap and shower, feeling ready to brave the next 9-hour flight to Mumbai.
A peek out the window about an hour away from the giant city revealed miles and miles of brown desert – not sure which one, but I’ll have to check a map. There was a distinct line between the pale blue of the sky and the brown smudge that announced the presence of the thirteen million residents of Mumbai. As we got closer to the ground my heart lurched at the sight of the patchwork of dark brown roofs, wedged together, helter-skelter, with seemingly no room between them. I imagined narrow alleyways between the overhanging eaves, where people find their way to the homes of their neighbors. Above you see the boundary of one of these neighborhoods that hugs the edge of the airport. Below you see Bronwen patiently enduring our circuitous route from the international to the domestic side of the Mumbai airport. SpiceJet was my favorite airline of the day:)
As appears to be the rule of thumb in developing or third world countries, the scariest part of travel is riding in taxis. The trip from the Kochi airport to our home at Chiramel Residency was no exception. Here there are no traffic rules other than the fact that you are supposed to drive on the left hand side of the road – at least 50% of the time, if there is on-coming traffic. There is a white line down the middle of some of the roads, but this must be for decoration only. Playing chicken with the oncoming traffic is the sport of the day, made more cheerful by the constant use of the horn, which, as in China, means everything from “watch out,” to “I hope you’re having a good day”. It may also mean, “Sorry I knocked your mirror off, but you should have moved over.”
Competition for highest adrenaline rush on the ride back from the airport was shared by a particular game of chicken after the sun had gone down - the oncoming lights were blinding – and the time we competed for part of the road with a moped and he lost. Fortunately, we were going slowly at this point, but the poor guy and his ride tipped over against the bank at the side of the road and a pedestrian had to help them right the bike. Unlike a similar American scene, where there would have been fists shaken and four-letter words shouted, this all happened in a most gracious manner, apologies all round. I leaned out the window to ask: “Are you all right??” and the driver smiled and gestured: no biggie.
Bronwen and I did our best to ignore the traffic patterns (read, lack thereof) and enjoy the exotic sights. For now I will just tell you my favorite sign: “Digital Shoppy” – and tell you about the mixture of smells. American air is very antiseptic and boring by comparison. Here we have a marvelous combination of, let me see, smoke of various kinds, spices, that tropical humid air smell, barnyard smells, nasty human odors, tropical flower fragrance, gas and oil traffic smells, and other as yet unidentifiable ones.
Soon after arrival we went with our group to a restaurant just a couple of doors from our place (which I will describe later) for a delicious meal (more about food later, as well).
