When it comes to blogging, I am the
worst. In fact, I should wear a crown.
But I’m trying.
As many of you know, I am back in
Nepal. I was meant to stay for 6 weeks but due to visa issues (dammit India),
my trip has been cut down to five. I'll manage. Why am I back you ask? Well, I
have a few reasons. 33 to be exact. Last year I was a volunteer for the Umbrella
Foundation, I lived in Swoyambu, Kathmandu for 3 months in a house called
“Kanchanjunga” of 33 teen-aged boys. Long story short, I've really missed the
hell out of these knuckle-heads.
I have never laughed as hard, cried
as hard or felt as alive as I do around these guys. They both keep me sane and
drive me completely crazy all at the same time. I had to come back. It
wasn't even a choice- I had to come back.
And so I did.
Life at home is grand, in fact the
weeks just before I left were better than usual. My life, which I have always
considered a dark-comedy, man versus self, coming of age story suddenly and
unexpectedly turned into a witty slap-stick romantic comedy. Funny how life is.
In fact, things were so wonderful, I can’t say I was too heartbroken each day
when I called the Visa office to say “when the hell is my visa getting here?” and got “Tomorrow..I mean the day after tomorrow…I mean the tomorrow after that…etc”
But Friday my visa arrived at 10am
and I was on a flight by 3pm, once again- armed only with a backpack and a
ponytail.
Flights were fine- didn't miss one.
The guy who sat next to me on the way to Amsterdam was 6’9’’. I liked him a lot
because he carried my bags for me, and when our food came, he opened my butter
and jelly without me asking. We chatted most of the way and watched Les
Miserables together. We were friends by the end of the flight and I made a
point to walk next to him through the airport. I imagine this is how Emily
Elizabeth feels when she walks next to Clifford the big red dog. Much to my
chagrin, he wouldn't say “Anybody want a peanut?”. Rats.
Due to the visa office being so
unreliable, I didn't buy a ticket from Mumbai to Kathmandu- I decided to get
one at the airport. Not great planning on my part, as per usual.
I arrived at Mumbai around 11:30pm
Saturday. Customs, which normally takes 2 hours, took me all of 6 minutes. I
went to the ticket counter to catch the very next flight and….well. Among all
of the merriment of my weeks before the departure I managed to forget to call
my bank. Debit card Declined. And my credit card? Declined. And cash- don’t
worry, I was slick. Thought ahead. I had 5 one dollar bills. The minimum for
an exchange to rupees is 20 dollars. I was in India, had been flying for 20
hours, and was all of a sudden out of money- not enough to even make a PHONE
call to the bank. Once again, the Mumbai airport brought out the worst in me. I
was afraid. I was out of options. It was midnight. The only person to blame was
me. I explained to the ticket counter what happened and they replied with a
sympathetic…"Next in Line!...Miss, Move. Miss, MOVE”
How does Maggie Rogers solve a
crisis?
See picture.
I cried. No one stopped. Not even
westerners. I was sitting there, bawling like a little princess and no one
stopped. Finally someone came to talk to me, and what did they say?
Leave.
And what did I say?
Politely, I wipes my eyes, sniffed
my nose and cried “HELL NO”. I put my things down in the middle of the crowd
and set up camp. You have to help me. You have to help me or drag me out of
here kicking and screaming because I am NOT leaving.
Finally a 20 something working for
a hotel company came to my rescue. (There may have been some winking and come
hither looks coming from me, my memory fails me…)
He let me borrow his phone. After
an HOUR on the phone, things had been sorted out. It was 1am. The flight leaving at 5am was
booked so I had to book mine for 10am. Me and India just don’t mesh.
I could’ve saved a little money and had a 10
hour layover in Delhi.
I’d rather eat my hair.
My flight was STRAIGHT to Nepal.
One other charming feature of the
Mumbai airport I forgot- you can’t stay there. You can’t even come in until
there are 3 hours until take off. They
kicked me out. It was 1am. I refused to get a hotel out of pure stubbornness. I
sat on my suitcase in the parking lot for 7 hours. My ipod, computer and kindle
were all dead. I flipped through a book but mostly I did nothing. Periodically
people would come over to take photos with me (I’m famous in India apparently).
I managed to make a friend with a
25 year old who works for Air India. He has been working there for 10 years and
never taken a day off. His English was remarkable despite having no formal
schooling. He has memorized every flight coming and going in the airport.
After 7 sleepless
hours they let me into the airport. I drank coffee for 3 hours and then boarded
my plane.
My mood was so good, you’d never
know that I had spent the night in the parking lot. I literally skipped when it
was time to board. I sat down and couldn't contain myself. I squeezed the hand
of the little Nepali woman next to me and whispered through a toothy smile
“Isn’t this great?”
She asked to move.
3 hours passed. My flight landed and I was safe. I
was home.
