… to India.
After an eight hour flight from Chicago to Paris, a three hour lay over, and another eight hour flight to Mumbai we finally arrived just after midnight; and it was almost 2:00 am before settling into the hotel. After some much needed sleep, we hit the continental breakfast, which in addition to cereal and fruit had parsley potatoes, potato fritters and some Indian concoction that I couldn’t identify, nor could I understand the waiter when he told me what it was, so I took a pass on it.
After requesting some more bottles of water, hangers, toilet paper and an iron and ironing board, Paul left for the office; and left me on my own for about seven hours. Hmm, what to do?
First: Get organized.
We have three large suitcases and no dresser drawers to put things in, there’s just a small area in the bathroom to hang a few items. Oh, and Paul has two more suitcases that he is bringing back from his office…that are full. So I ironed some clothes and hung them up and then rearranged the rest of the contents so that I was only living out of one suitcase with the others stacked below it. We so need to find an apartment, uh, I mean flat, soon.
Second: Check out the hotel gym.
I am not a fitness guru by any means. My belly has turned to jelly and my ass and thighs have hail damage that Allstate won’t even cover. So I figure since I’m in India for the next few years with nothing on my agenda I can at least try to get back in shape. I go to the gym with every intention of working up a sweat except when I turn on the machines, nothing happens. Apparently you need to turn on this electrical type of box which then powers the outlets…which only work when you turn ‘on’ said outlets and then turn on the machines. That figured out, I get on the exercise bike but ‘no go’. It wants me to program it, and the first thing it asks me for is my weight. Except I don’t know what I weigh in kilograms…and the elliptical machine wants the same info, so I do the treadmill for about 40 minutes before moving on to the weight machines. I did fine with those until I noticed that one of the hotel workers kept staring at me through the windows that are common to the pool area. So I gave up for the day.
Having eaten breakfast early and with Paul not getting back until 7:00 p.m., lunch was in order. I however, like many people, do not like to eat in a restaurant alone. I dilly-dallied in the room for quite a while. I flipped through the TV stations trying to find the ones that were in English (I think there were five) and watched two movies…all the while trying to get up the nerve to go down to the restaurant. You see, it wasn’t just sitting by myself that was the problem, it was ordering Indian food and not knowing what to expect and having to pay in Rupees that had me all worked up. I contemplated ordering room service but I couldn’t pronounce most of the dishes and nixed that idea. I finally decided to go down about 3:30.
On the way to and waiting for the elevator, two more hotel workers stared at me. You’d think I had three eyes and a hump back, but that’s not it. It’s because I’m white and blond and female and by myself.
I get off the elevator and…THE RESTAURANT IS CLOSED. What the F***?
Fine. I went to the bar and ordered two beers to bring back to the room. The bartender then informed me that I could drink beer at the bar. Really? I know I can drink beer at the bar but after being stared at while trying to work out and being stared at while getting on an elevator; do you really think I want to get stared at while drinking my lunch?
The title of this post is “I Made It…to India”; the question is, “will I make it in India?”
The answer? Of course I will. I know it won’t be easy but it will be an adventure. If life were easy, what would be the point?