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Beginning of March 2010

Because my right hand was trapped by luggage, a bag and a backpack strap, I reached awkwardly and offered the clearly American stranger my left hand for an introductory handshake.  My hand made contact and one moist, hot hand met another across the sweaty line of slightly aggressive male shoulders outside the Bangalore airport. Security men and those who came to pick up late night arrivals at the airport shoved and yelled words and threats in Hindi to keep us in our place. 

Daniel Heard, volunteer, clearly American and stranger to me, was technically the second person to arrive for the trip, I was first by an hour.  First on the ground counted but I didn’t know how much.  I was the leader of the trip after all and that was part of the job, be the first, scope it out and prepare.  I work for an international non-profit who builds houses all over the world and he was a volunteer. He was tall, well over six feet so the reach across the line was no problem for him. It was a bit more difficult for me and immediately, I saw a withering look on his face, almost scornful.  So it began. What the Hell was that look? Almost disgust.  Too late to worry about that. I had 50+ other people arriving in the next 12 hours to worry about. 

“Hi, I’m Susan, you must be Daniel.” I said, hopeful that the look was jetlag or the environment itself. He nodded.

But I am getting ahead of the story. 

And what is the story?  It is about going on a trip to a strange, beautiful country with one expectation and well, the result was very different.  It is like all stories about the people, the place, the odd things that happen, ups and downs and the relationships. It is also about two people who meet in an exotic country, on neutral ground you might say and what happens after that. There are lots of characters and it happened.

[Two hours ago]

Two hours before the handshake, I had stepped off the long flight to Bangalore and breathed my first India(n) air.  It was airport air at that point but still it was different.  Magical, perfumed with spices ( I swear there were spices), air-conditioned, tea smells and different than U.S. air.   It was also the middle of the night around 2am, quiet except for the muffled talk of sleep deprived, jet-lagged travelers mumbling as they walked towards customs.  International flights to Asia all seemed to arrive in the middle of the night. 

I knew no one in Bangalore, India except the adorable couple who I helped and who abandoned me with a wave at immigration. I had spoken with some of our folks from our India office and they said they would be there.

“Yes, yes, we will meet you. Just tell us your flight number and time. We promise. We will have cars and yes, yes, they speak English.” Said Mr. Patel, our office director. 

He was so engaging and I was hoping he was as good as his word.  Still, skeptic that I was, I was not banking on it.  There were lots of phones calls back and forth, mainly about how the work days would lay out and accommodations, but messages get confusing and I couldn’t remember the exact promise for the airport meeting. I had not been out of the U.S. for seven years.  And my last trips were to countries, like New Zealand and Australia, English speaking, western world.  India was exotic, mysterious, ancient, different.  And hot, the heat hit me immediately as I entered the airport area, even though it was air-conditioned, sort of.

As I walked/slogged along the cool marble floors towards customs, I slowed down to see my adopted family, the couple.  I adopted them.  They were home now and looked more cheerful than they had in the last 20 or so hours. They waved and disappeared down a separate path. [sigh]