The two stood and waved me off in Frankfurt...my husband, my mother’s sister. He, my great friend, lover and supreme encourager of all my adventures, and she, a world traveller and one who gifted me a number of such adventures during my childhood. She pressed me to her and said, “Ask everyone you meet...do you mean well by me?” and then... “I wish that you have a flying companion next to you who will make the journey swift and enjoyable.”
Security lines at the newly dubbed Fraport were long. It is after all one the of the world’s largest transport hubs. Things moved efficiently in German fashion and people were friendly and accommodating. My Titanium pins set things off bigger than after and I confess that the body sweep that followed was as expert as as efflorage by a good masseuse. Soon I was on board in almost the very last row of the jet, a window seat with one passenger to my right. That seat would belong to Pridraj Singh, a native of Delhi, whom I liked from the moment he arrived. The answer to his “Is this your first trip to India” launched us into conversation that would last through dinner and take up the first 2.5 hours of a 6.5 hour flight from my birthplace to his.
Pridraj, or Prid, is an advisor for Walmart working in North Texas and Arkansas. His company is helping the franchise with a replenishment system. We covered endless ground, from the topography of Texas to Indian ragas and back. A sweet soul who, knowing this was my maiden voyage to his homeland sprinkled out chat with tips and do’s and dont’s. After some 3 hours of sleep that we each got, we resumed talking in the last hour before landing, but it was on the ground in Delhi that he would evince that he was really a guardian angel. He offered his cell phone to me upon arrival so I could make a quick call to Rob in Germany. 1:15am in Delhi was 8:45pm the previous night in Frankfurt and 2:45pm the previous day in NYC. After collecting our baggage, we exited the inner terminal together where my driver was waiting with “Karen Kohler” printed on a sign to take me to the Global Arts Village on Tropical Drive where I will stay for the coming month. The three of us sought out an ATM, some bottled water and a SIM card dealer, AirTel. After that I met Prid’s mother and we made our goodbyes, promising to be in touch during the month we would both be here.
My driver was a quiet, unassuming sort with a dark complexion and chiseled features and a fine smile. I could tell that Prid trusted him to take me safely to my destination. Delhi has a new arrivals terminal which is quite modern and welcoming. Huge copper disks hang on an expanse of counter along the passport control and large metal hands protrude from among them in various gestures. I recognized the lotus hand among them, open palm with middle finger and thumb touching.
The grounds are well kept with low drought-resident shrubs and tall palm trees. There is no grass but dirt. My destination was in south Delhi about a 25-minute drive through impoverished areas in an old Ford Fiesta with the steering on the right - leftover English fashion. Already before leaving the airport grounds I spotted fabric tents and cardboard boxes in which I suspected people lived. Soon there were stretches of housing that seemed to have no order with lots of small domiciles situated one on top of the other, metal, glass, concrete. There were people about at this early morning hour...all men dressed in shirts and slacks or jeans. The temperature was 60 F or so.
The streets were poorly paved and dusty, garbage piled up here and there. Dogs ran loose in small packs. Then out of the blue, the poor shanty-esque environs would give way to some brand new huge shopping complex sporting Toyota, KFC and more. Rundown hotels had names like The Majestic and the Royal and though they were far from regal, there was something oddly welcoming about their entryways. A plant, the light, some color. In a dark and deserted stretch of shops, I read German Bakeshop. All were closed for the night. We drove further away from the city center. Had Prid not vetted my driver I might have been rather nervous, but all seemed well and he had a goal to get me somewhere. Finally we made some turns onto secondary roads and entered a gated complex with two men in a guard post. The grounds were now well paved with high shrubs and lots of tall gates. Tropical Drive is home to several modernized, ever resort-type facilities. I’ll know more by morning.
We pulled over in front of a high wooden door just as Prid was calling my driver on his cell. “Where are you? Has it gone well?,” he asked. “Yes, we seem to have arrived. There’s a gate here and I imagine I’ll be going through it shortly. My driver is unloading the suitcase.” We hung up. Then my driver began to mime that he needed some kind of signature or form for me to sign. I said I had no such thing. Back at the airport PridZorba the Buddha on a sheet of paper describing the facilities, so I knew I was where I should be.
After my driver left with payment, the guard of the Village walked me along a short dark dirt path to a row of buildings, unlocked one of the doors, kicked off his shoes before entering to reveal torn socks and dirty feet. Welcome to the place where I will be laying my head for the next 30 days. I gave 50Rs (about $1) tip which had been Prid's recommendation for such butlering and locked the door after him. I crept onto platform bed with mosquito netting all around and fell into a long sleep.
Security lines at the newly dubbed Fraport were long. It is after all one the of the world’s largest transport hubs. Things moved efficiently in German fashion and people were friendly and accommodating. My Titanium pins set things off bigger than after and I confess that the body sweep that followed was as expert as as efflorage by a good masseuse. Soon I was on board in almost the very last row of the jet, a window seat with one passenger to my right. That seat would belong to Pridraj Singh, a native of Delhi, whom I liked from the moment he arrived. The answer to his “Is this your first trip to India” launched us into conversation that would last through dinner and take up the first 2.5 hours of a 6.5 hour flight from my birthplace to his.
Pridraj, or Prid, is an advisor for Walmart working in North Texas and Arkansas. His company is helping the franchise with a replenishment system. We covered endless ground, from the topography of Texas to Indian ragas and back. A sweet soul who, knowing this was my maiden voyage to his homeland sprinkled out chat with tips and do’s and dont’s. After some 3 hours of sleep that we each got, we resumed talking in the last hour before landing, but it was on the ground in Delhi that he would evince that he was really a guardian angel. He offered his cell phone to me upon arrival so I could make a quick call to Rob in Germany. 1:15am in Delhi was 8:45pm the previous night in Frankfurt and 2:45pm the previous day in NYC. After collecting our baggage, we exited the inner terminal together where my driver was waiting with “Karen Kohler” printed on a sign to take me to the Global Arts Village on Tropical Drive where I will stay for the coming month. The three of us sought out an ATM, some bottled water and a SIM card dealer, AirTel. After that I met Prid’s mother and we made our goodbyes, promising to be in touch during the month we would both be here.
My driver was a quiet, unassuming sort with a dark complexion and chiseled features and a fine smile. I could tell that Prid trusted him to take me safely to my destination. Delhi has a new arrivals terminal which is quite modern and welcoming. Huge copper disks hang on an expanse of counter along the passport control and large metal hands protrude from among them in various gestures. I recognized the lotus hand among them, open palm with middle finger and thumb touching.
The grounds are well kept with low drought-resident shrubs and tall palm trees. There is no grass but dirt. My destination was in south Delhi about a 25-minute drive through impoverished areas in an old Ford Fiesta with the steering on the right - leftover English fashion. Already before leaving the airport grounds I spotted fabric tents and cardboard boxes in which I suspected people lived. Soon there were stretches of housing that seemed to have no order with lots of small domiciles situated one on top of the other, metal, glass, concrete. There were people about at this early morning hour...all men dressed in shirts and slacks or jeans. The temperature was 60 F or so.
The streets were poorly paved and dusty, garbage piled up here and there. Dogs ran loose in small packs. Then out of the blue, the poor shanty-esque environs would give way to some brand new huge shopping complex sporting Toyota, KFC and more. Rundown hotels had names like The Majestic and the Royal and though they were far from regal, there was something oddly welcoming about their entryways. A plant, the light, some color. In a dark and deserted stretch of shops, I read German Bakeshop. All were closed for the night. We drove further away from the city center. Had Prid not vetted my driver I might have been rather nervous, but all seemed well and he had a goal to get me somewhere. Finally we made some turns onto secondary roads and entered a gated complex with two men in a guard post. The grounds were now well paved with high shrubs and lots of tall gates. Tropical Drive is home to several modernized, ever resort-type facilities. I’ll know more by morning.
We pulled over in front of a high wooden door just as Prid was calling my driver on his cell. “Where are you? Has it gone well?,” he asked. “Yes, we seem to have arrived. There’s a gate here and I imagine I’ll be going through it shortly. My driver is unloading the suitcase.” We hung up. Then my driver began to mime that he needed some kind of signature or form for me to sign. I said I had no such thing. Back at the airport PridZorba the Buddha on a sheet of paper describing the facilities, so I knew I was where I should be.
After my driver left with payment, the guard of the Village walked me along a short dark dirt path to a row of buildings, unlocked one of the doors, kicked off his shoes before entering to reveal torn socks and dirty feet. Welcome to the place where I will be laying my head for the next 30 days. I gave 50Rs (about $1) tip which had been Prid's recommendation for such butlering and locked the door after him. I crept onto platform bed with mosquito netting all around and fell into a long sleep.
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