Finally Home

Its about 6:30am on January 15 and I have been awake for 3 hours or so. I did laundry, organized my toiletries and tried desperately to fall back asleep, but my body thinks its the afternoon so i have gotten up. I am happy to say that I am enjoying my first cup of not only real, but really strong coffee. Its good to be home

So, lets talk about travel. Sure its really fun when things are going well, but when it 'hits the fan' the fun can fly out the window...
I left Varanasi feeling a fruity mixture of delight, melancholy, bittersweet and satisfaction. Julian walked me to the main road to get a rickshaw, we hugged goodbye and I sat, feeling like I was in a movie watching for the last time as India hustled around me. I got to the train station just on time. People had told me I was cutting it close with the timing, but I was feeling positive and had not experienced any significant delays on the railways during my travels up till then, so I wasn't sure what the fuss was about. However, I was about to find out! When I got to the Varanasi station there were people everywhere. I mean, there are people everywhere always in India, but at the train station this usually means a delay or cancellation: not a good thing. Of course, my train was delayed for 2 hours. I thought to myself ' This is ok. I can still get there. Sure, it'll be tight, but Anything is Possible!'. As I chatted with two men I shared my optimistic point of view, however, they did not. As it turns out, they were right. The train literally inched its way from Varanasi to Delhi. We arrived in New Delhi at 12:30, the exact time my flight to London was meant to leave. I made my way to the airport to find the British Airways and deal with finding another ticket. The young woman in the office informed me that the office I was standing in was not a booking office, but I could use their phones to get another ticket. I stood, too hot in my many layers, stinking of Varanasi and train and not sleeping enough, while the phone line played the 'hold' song, telling me I am a valued customer. After 20 minutes I was about to book my new ticket. Then the power went out and I had to do it all over again. No problem. The next flight wasn't for 14 hours; I had time. $600 dollars later I had a flight to London. I ate a bad sandwich, drank a mediocre coffee and settled into a seat in a holding room. The lighting was too bright, there were too many people, I was too hot and uncomfortable, tired but unable to sleep... the list goes on. I was chatting with a bubbly Italian man, we were sharing our miseries of travels, trying to laugh and make light of a shitty situation, when I saw the info board: My flight was to be delayed 3 hours. I would not be departing until 6:30am! Well, I almost lost it. Perhaps having not slept, or just feeling so done with the airport in general, I began to weep. In my head I knew it wasn't really worth crying over, I could reason and rationalize that this was just how it is and no amount of tears would change that, but I was sad, disappointed and too tired to pull it together. So, I had my first public cry in a loooong time, in the holding room of the New Delhi airport as the family next to me looked on unabashedly. The Italian, Carlo, tried to cheer me up, which almost worked until the board flashed some unpleasant information for him: his flight was delayed a further 6 hours. Well, god bless the Italians, he stood up, sat back down, swore something fierce in Italian and then, with a hand on the hip and the other waving in the air, he said he was out of here and off to a hotel, and would I like to come? In some ways sharing a hotel with a veritable stranger is crazy, but in this situation it was far more sane than spending another 6 hours in the holding room. His company would pay for the room, so we got a pretty lush double room with a really nice bathroom (such things are rare in my experience). After a shower and a two hour sleep things turned around for me. I headed back to the airport, waited until 7:30am for the flight to take off and spent 8 hours watching bad movies on the flight; I was determined to stay up to help the jet lag.
I arrived in London to my Mom waiting for me at the arrivals gate. This was really magical. How many people have mothers who would traipse across the ocean just to bring their babies a winter jacket and some boots so that when I got to Canada I wouldn't be too cold? This is pure love. While waiting for our flight to Toronto I had a really nice glass of red wine and a salad and enjoyed the classy atmosphere of Heathrow - they have a Chanel and Prada in their waiting halls!
So, 56 hours of travel and waiting and with about 6 hours of light and interupted sleep, I am home. And honestly, it feels weird. I remember feeling this sensation when I would go from Montreal to Toronto during school. As I ate supper with my parents, it would trip me out to think that I had been in a lecture hall in Montreal that morning. This is even weirder. Since last night, the last bed I slept in was in a guesthouse on the river ganges. Weird.
So, I spent the morning browsing the internet, being pleased with such a fast connection. Also, I spent a good 45 minutes cursing my computer (apparently it is getting old and just doesn't do what it once did...). I also starting thinking, for real, about the next weeks. This time next week I'll be in Whistler getting myself geared up for volunteering at the Olympics. What a whirlwind of change. I am thinking that while Whistler isn't as exotic as India, the Olympics certainly should be an interesting if not challenging experience. So, I'll probably keep writing. And since I have been having so much fun doing so, it makes sense; and if you like, keep reading!
Until next time