Flights Cancelled, Planes Delayed, and the layovers that subdue irritations
Each of these blog posts is first a document. Labelled as such: Taiwan #1, Taiwan #2…
Today the labelling changes to a new country. I’ll reserve the name for later on. See how much you know about this country through the clues I provide.
The terrible transit
Let me first catalog where I am now, and then we can reverse back to how I got here. The story is surprisingly long for moving within the same continent.
Currently, I am sitting in a Starbucks at my second long-as-ever layover. I asked someone sitting at the table next to me for their phone number to access the Starbucks wifi. I have not yet gotten my SIM card. I arrived in this city at 12am last night. It is now 12pm. I guess we are indulging in another 14-16 hour layover. I have no conception of time or day anymore. It all is a mushy limbo.
Now lets flash back to 4 November.
10pm I take an Uber from Taipei to the airport. I landed on Uber because it was too late and too much luggage to bear the logistics of buses and trains to the airport. I accidentally arrive way to early, great. My first flight is delayed. By this point it’s already 12am so what is another hour or two. The brain fog exists either way.
2:30am I think we take off. I do not really remember as I passed out when I hit the chair. I got a whole row, and snuck on 3 pieces of hand luggage that were definitely overweight, so we are off to a good start.
We land. 6am maybe?
Singapore! 14 hour layover. When picking flights, there were a few risky self transfer options that would take less time, but given the risk, I opted for the long layover. Singapore airport is supposedly one of the best in the world, so I figured it would be good fun.
To be honest, the airport is underwhelming when my expectations already started so high. Most of the stuff is in the non-security area which means one must go through customs and whatnot. The lines are short so not really a problem but slightly annoying.
The big attraction is called the “Jewel” where there is a giant waterfall in the center and a multi-tiered atrium is covered in plants. This room is actually incredible. For the first 3 hours, the waterfall was turned off, but that meant no tourists so it was a sanctuary in a way. There was even a snail sliming along the soil. I thought I left snails when I left Taiwan, so this was a delightful surprise. Especially because airports are usually so devoid of species diversity, this was decently special.
I took a 30 minute power nap on a bench in the atrium. Throughout this story, you will find that I am trying to sneak in sleep whenever I can manage.
I walked through the central area. Disney is everywhere. I guess there is a cruise that launches from Singapore and they have decided to make the airport a huge campaign for this. Popups in every terminal. Purchase stuff to get entered in a giveaway, etc. There is a vending machine for Pokemon cards. Many many luxury shops, and I feel out of place in my cotton hand-embroidered kurta. It’s these moments where I crave the quiet luxury of millions— dress the part and somehow belong to the elite unspoken world. But money does not bring happiness, obviously, so I reject this notion and recall how content I am with my life.
I walk through Terminal 1 and Terminal 3. The gated areas are remarkably underwhelming. The standard lower ceilings and questionable carpet patterns. EXCEPT Terminal 3 has a butterfly garden. Small, but magical. More airports should embrace the biosphere, bringing more life into the cages where people can go days without touching the outside and breathing fresh air.
I took meetings, I called a friend. Hours pass. I drink my protein powder. I order a dosa. Yum.
Next flight: 9pm (I think?)
As I am preparing to board my next flight, the flight that is supposed to follow this one is, unexpectantly, cancelled. So now I am rushing to book a new flight. Of course the website is not working. I guess I will sort this out when I arrive in the next location.
I board the plane. Pass our immediately. I bounce awake when we land. 4 hours.
12am. Or was it 10pm? Anyways, I head to immigration a little nervous. Although I have my visa pre-approved, I do have some stamps in my passport that may inspires some questioning.
No questions?! Okay… Not a single question. No hesitancy, just stamping the book, and I go.
I place my bags on the customs exit luggage. For those who have not travelled much internationally, this is the lowest security scan imageable. It is typically just a formality, and I have never seen someone stopped in one of these popup checks.
Except for todayyyyyyy.
“Madam, do you have a drone?”
“Yes.”
“Please come aside.”
Bruh.
I give him my passport which is handed to his superior which is then handed to his superior as I follow them to the customs declaration station.
Apparently drones are very not allowed to be “imported into the country.” Here I am walking in with a very illegal musical instrument that requires a permit to leave Taiwan, and the drone is what gets flagged. Oof.
Even light drones, like mine, are not permitted. I tried pushing. Tried a little back and forth. But stubbornness presides. Apparently, I cannot get my drone back unless I exit the country through this specific airport. A problem, as this was the last place I ever imagined flying out from again. I kept pushing and got more clarity that I can also get someone notarized to get it for me when they leave. A more complicated process, but a secondary option. Initially they were pushing me to change my flight right then and there, but they budged a little. Now I have the option to decide later. Fine enough.
They took my drone, put it in a cardboard box, layered it in so much tape, tied it with some twine, and sealed it with a wax stamp. Remarkably DIY and remarkably pretentious. The customs officer pulled out match to light a candle that would be used to heat another candle that would be the melted wax for the seal. The match was thrown mindlessly onto the airport floor. The wax was dripping all over the granite table. White powder was spread across the stone and dabbled onto the stamp so to color the stamp’s wording.
Remarkably DIY and remarkably pretentious.
12am, and I am heading out of the airport. No SIM card, no cash. I find my airline’s help desk. They are not budging. They will reschedule my flight, but to a very indirect path, with layovers, and not until 12pm the next day. Bruh. I push and push.
“At least a hotel?”
“No.”
“Where do you expect me to go? I have been traveling for long, and am alone. Do you expect me to stay at the airport throughout the night?”
“I can only give you a different flight.”
Nothing.
I check other airlines on my phone and there are no flights there for a good price, either.
Bless my friend’s dad for helping me over the phone. He contacted customer support on his end and they found a more appropriate direct flight. Not until the afternoon of the next day. Sorry, I mean this day as it is past midnight, now.
Now I am off to find this airport hotel. To speed things up, I cannot find it. I ask a white dude where he is going for a hotel. He is russian and here for an e-sports tournament. His Indian contact tries to help me a bit, but still cannot find a hotel that is not $100 a night. I keep walking. I find a help desk.
“Walk straight, second left.”
Now I am at a subway station? I see no signs for a hotel? A taxi driver offers to help. One should be hesitant in these situations. I did my vibe check; it was an okay vibe. I accept his help and memorize the path that we walk. Up the stairs, up the elevator. Ask security guard to let us in the closed subway. Down another elevator. Now a hidden little pocket of a hotel.
Hotel fully book.
HAHAHAHAH.
At this point, I should be crying. I should be fatigued and frustrated. I do not think I was numb, but I was surprisingly pragmatic. Throughout this whole process I have asked for help from strangers that any other version of myself would be deathly afraid to do. I judged my surroundings safely, being friendly but with an alertness like Stephanie surrounded by monkeys in the jungle: ready for anyone to pounce at any time, but enjoying the space I am existing in, simultaneously.
I ask for wifi. I ask for water. They graciously supply. I begin to search other hotels. The desk manager begins making calls. LEGEND! One of the guests has cancelled. A room has become available. Slay.
I get a room for $30. Not a great price for this country, but not a breaking price for me, fortunately. I did a work call during my Singapore layover, and the income from that would cover the cost of this anyways.
Double bed, private bathroom. After spending months in hostels, this is wonderful. I washed my hair, chugged water, and passed out.
9am (now we are finally at today!)
Bless this hotel. Breakfast is included. The hotel staff guides me out of the hotel to a restaurant in the metro station.
He asks what I want: “Regional breakfast?”
“Of course.”
“Dosa? Idly?”
“Mmm Idly.”
“That’s all?”
“I don’t know, heh”
“How about a mix of all the things and a little desert”
“Oh yes!”
I sit down, pull out my journal and write a little of what is happening. Dosa, idly, and the other things that I forget the name of. Mega delicious. Mega perfect.
I go back to the room and sleep for the next 1.5 hours. Scrape up whatever hours I can.
At this point, I have a sore throat, the beginning of a runny nose, and a lingering headache. I am trying to chug water to wash away whatever illness could be oncoming.
I checked out of the hotel at 11:30am, and the desk manager recommended that I go to the mall next door instead of waiting at the hotel. And that is what brings me Starbucks. Free wifi with no guilt when I do not buy anything.
My new flight has since been delayed one hour, so we wait here until then to head back to the airport.
third flight
-
Okay… INDIA!
Message me your guess, and if you were right. I am curious, hehe.
pReliminary Remarks
Yah, so India was not off to a great start objectively. Subjectively, I was fine. I see little point in growing frustrated over inconveniences outside of my control, anymore. Eat when possible, drink as much water as I can, and continue on.
As with Taiwan, my time in India is a mix of many familiarities and many more new. This time, I think I am seeing less of the India that I wanted to see, and am instead seeing the India that is true. Not the romanticization of a foreigner with a foreign social circle tuk-tuk-ing her way through the city.
What I mean is that oftentimes as foreigners, we interact with a nation with a particular filter. As a traveler who wants to be enchanted by “other” worlds, we choose to be charmed, transforming hardships into aesthetics and limited infrastructure into rugged adventures. That is not to dismiss the virtues of rosy-glasses, but to suggest that when we take off these glasses, we see a more dimensioned, nuanced place. A place less constrained by my Western orientation (see the pun, academic girlies?).
What do I mean practically? Politics. Lots of politics. It’s the news stations that yap on everyone’s televisions screens to fill the honking cars’ gaps (actually, where I am now is quite residential so the iconic language spoken through the horn is less noticeable from the high-rise apartment complex). It’s the maids coming in for 100 rupees a day to clean last night’s dishes, wiping the floors with a hand towel, and scooting along in their saris. It’s the Hijras looking glamorous while begging at stopped cars. It’s the passing micro aggressions and multidimensional intersection of caste, creed, and religion.
I do want to emphasize, though, that I love India. Stepping out of Chennai airport, I was brushed with home. I cannot describe the smells— perhaps a blend of spices, pollution, and warm, heavy air. The scent is unlike anywhere else I have been, and it is particularly touching to a girl whose heart was captured by the larger subcontinent. I know India is not my home in the common understanding of the term, but I come to find that home is where comfort and coziness wrap around my body, irrespective of the time I have spent in a place.
Bits and pIeces
watched my first Marvel movie
Harry Potter in Hindi unlocked
Aloo paratha
Going to the clothing shops
Energy & vibrancy on the streets— so many types of people. Muslim, Hindu, whatever else I do not know the name of just yet— expressed through clothing: caps, and scarves.
I am beginning to dream in the language I am learning. One night I was practicing vocabulary (kajo), and the following night was writing the alphabet. If all my dreams could turn into studying instead of nightmares, I would be very grateful.
aloo paratha
