On to Pune! May 15, 2012

Tuesday, May 15^th, at the end of training (which went great) I got a very nasty sore throat. Fortunately I had my Halls lozenges with me. Today it went into my nose and head. Damn I got a cold. The usual drill: nose running like a leaky faucet, clearing my throat every five minutes. The guy who has put the program together here locally found me a couple of cold pills. I took one. Helped a little, but not much. Got through the day, and an entire box of tissues. Folks were very happy, and I think they learned some useful stuff. My wonderful driver from the Taj was waiting for me in the black Beemer at 5:30 when I finished to take me to the airport. En route he kindly stopped at an Indian drug store so I could grab some real cold meds. It was a tiny shop on a bustling little shopping street amidst the usual chaos defined by functional infrastructure slowly being devoured by crumbling roads and buildings. 

Inside the shop I attempt to tell them through broad and unattractive sign language that I need something for a cold and runny nose. A young guy who speaks some English (but not much) brings over a silver foil card with 24 bubble wrapped tablets. He cuts off twelve of them with a scissor, and tells me to take one every twelve hours. He charges me 26 rupees, which I think is about twelve cents. Who knows what the hell it is, but it seems to work although it made me a little drowsy.

Catch my plane. Get a bulkhead seat. Doze for most of the trip. Pune airport is much more like the scene we expect landing in a third world country, including armed military everywhere. Before leaving the airport I go over to a sign reading "prepaid taxi." I show these guys, who speak minimal English, a slip of paper with the address of the Marriott. They ask me an incomprehensible question, which turns out to be "Do you want air-conditioning or no air-conditioning?"  Happy to enjoy the natural warm air, I save myself 100 rupees by going for no air conditioning. That costs 250r, which should be about five bucks.

I walk out of the airport into throngs of people behind a gated barrier holding out signs, calling to people; it's like the evacuation of Saigon. I make my way through the press of people to a bustling little taxi dispatch area, show my receipt to the head guy, and he calls over to one of his cabbies. This kid tells me to wait amongst a cluster of very small blue, parked cabs because he's got to go and get his car, which is somewhere else. I have a vague anxiety that I will never see him again.

I stand there waiting, exhausted a bit drowsy from the meds. Twice I almost get into the wrong car. Finally the kid shows up. I get in the back, and once again we're off for Mr. Toads wild ride. The driving is such a trip. Lanes are impressionistic or non- existent. The road is really just an area for cars, motorbikes, jitneys, trucks, and buses to drive as fast as they can into any open space that presents itself.  Vehicles move in and out of random packs, tailgating non-stop while honking horns every few minutes, and yet, so far I haven't seen a single accident. 

Notice the trucks comfortably straddling the centerline. They are not not passing anyone; they're just driving.
 We get to the Marriott, and are stopped by two uniformed guys who check the trunk, lift the hood, and open the back door to inspect the inside. This is standard procedure over here. They then slide back the heavy wooden gate and we drive to the front of the hotel. I get out, the very kind staff takes my bags and sends them through a scanner, I am asked to empty my pockets, and walk through a metal detector, also standard procedure.

I am then escorted to the front desk. I am sleep walking through all this. The young guy behind the desk looks at my credit card, checks his computer, looks puzzled, and asks me if I have my conformation number because he can't find my reservation. I pull out my cell phone, and bring up the info, but alas no number just the hotel address and phone number. I show him what I've got. Problem solved! I'm at the wrong Marriot.

They have one of their drivers take me to the correct hotel for another 900 rupees.  Safe at last, in the luxury to which I am accustomed. I am just moving from one destination to another, thankful to get there, happy that somehow everything works, understanding very little, touched by how kind everyone is, amidst this strange collage of strung together moments over which I have minimal control, marginal understanding, and great faith and appreciation for how the mystery ferries me through life with enormous gentleness and good humor.