I finished my Thursday morning HIV presentation, had one last delicious lunch with the ladies of the canteen, put on my sneakers (so strange after 3 weeks of toe-exposing sandals), and set off, heading west (young woman).
Car to the plane to the bus to the plane to the plane to the El and I was home Friday morning, seriously confused about what time it was. 15 hours on a single plane just throws off all your bodily senses: whether you should be tired, or hungry, or how long that baby's actually been crying. Additionally, the Mumbai airport, for any of you who've ever been there, is a total trip. Very Kafka-esque. The international terminal is only accessible from the domestic terminal via a 30-minute tour bus-style ride, where all passengers dump their own luggage into the underside of the bus and a 20-year old Indian security guard with an extremely large gun might decide that he wants your seat and you should sit in the back. All security lines are split male/female, and the female line moves ridiculously slowly thanks to individual, curtained-off patdowns. Big flights technically board an hour prior to departure, but they start taking passengers into a weird little holding area a full two hours before, without explaining the reason. I'm a bit shocked I made it out without major snafus (with luggage, no less).
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