Thirty Four in Flight

In retrospect, maybe this is not the best time to travel...

That's what I was thinking as we boarded the plane to O'Hare on our way to Chennai, India via Singapore. Perhaps with everything going on in Iraq, Afghanistan, and especially the Middle East (or West Asia as they describe the region in India) made the timing on this little adventure and the 34 hours flying that it entailed a bit foolhardy...

But seeing my good friend Jeff in his new environs (he has been working in Chennai for 8 months now) and that nagging wanderlust that Jo-Elle and I both feel, well, we could not pass up on the trip to south Asia. So we followed in the footsteps of Marco Polo, St. Thomas, Vasco de Gama, and hopefully had a better sense of direction than Christopher Columbus. The lure of the exotic had coaxed us off our comfy couch and onto the contrail path of a 777 skimming the Great Lakes, the Yukon, Mount McKinley, Siberia and Irktusk, and a bit too close to missile-happy North Korea ten days removed from a flurry of ballistics... Twelve hours later we are blearily deplaning amidst gaggles of Japanese schoolgirls in uniform and a noticeable lack of big-boned folks at Tokyo's Narita Airport.

Before we know it, we are back on a plane heading for the island city-state that works: Singapore.

And what sounds more exotic than that? Singapore...the salacious stopover for WW2 G.I.s and namesake of a disgustingly sweet girly-drink. But as soon as we land, we can see that the past is long-gone in Singapore. The place is cutting edge and you know it as soon as you step off the plane. Changi International Airport is something to see---where free Internet terminals and high-end shopping beckons even before clearing customs (which, by the way is more open and efficient than I have seen anywhere in my travels). It would be easy to while away our long layover in the airport with access to workout facilities, a swimming pool, an oversized shopping mall, award-winning rooftop gardens, and artificially cheap coffee and beer to keep us busy. But after over 24 hours on the travel clock already under our belt and a bit of confusion on the duration of our layover, we are checking into a hotel at 2:30 a.m. local time.

After a few hours of sleep, we are searching for lunch in one of the world's best places to eat. A spectacular buffet catering to Chinese and Japanese tourists offers up fresh sushi, curries, and an assortment of Asian delicacies. A new one comes in the form of clemelina juice (I probably have this name wrong)---which tastes like super sweet and tart lime-aide.

From there its a cab on the extremely orderly expressway toward the Jurong Bird Park. Along the way there's varied architecture: quaint British colonial mixed with very Asian modern buildings that sit in an incredibly clean and lush environment with trees and plantings in all directions. Wide boulevards lend convenience as well as a sense of urban sophistication and livability.

The bird park was far more interesting than I expected (that said, my expectations were low). And we zooies have a lot to learn from the folks in Singapore. Lively shows (in English). Active avians in close quarters with guests. Opportunities to feed and be photographed with many species. Flyovers from our giant feathered friends. Great stuff.

From the bird park we hustled back for baggage and then out to Changi again. The procession onto our Singapore Airways flight to Chennai was orderly, but something happened to many of the people on the flight... Halfway to India and Indians no longer felt a need to act as they would in Singapore. It's an orderly, clean, and quiet city. We would soon find it to be the perfect foil to Chennai and India as a whole. So, as people do, Indians adapted to their environs. Somewhere over Sumatra they had shifted into subcontinental mode. That meant messiness. That meant rushing for bags and the exit doors while the plane still taxi-ed. And it meant an end to orderly lines as we know them in the United States...

I had an idea of what was to come as soon as we landed. This trip had already sent us through four different international airports. None of them had a seemingly lame and mangy dog scrambling to avoid landing planes on the tarmac. None of them lacked air conditioning. None of them smelled of mildew. Save one. "Welcome to the Anna terminal of Chennai International Airport!" I think that is what the explosive and unapologetic belches from our custom agent were meant to convey amidst our first impressions of India.

As we fought to grab our bags, an army of papparazzi gathered behind us. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of a visiting Bollywood starlet, but instead we found out that the press was fighting to get the first shots of Indian nationals who had been rescued from the fighting in Lebanon (their luggage was coming out on the next carousel over). But the chaos of the media was nothing compared to the scene that awaited as we exited the airport. As the doors swung open we were engulfed in writhing sea of people. Folks as far as the eye could see and louder than I could sort out. Jeff's very conspicuous lack of melanin made him easy to spot in the crowd and a very welcome sight as we were quickly feeling overwhelmed. His driver waited with cold drinks and colder towels. As we left the airport and darkness enveloped the car Jo-Elle and I wondered aloud about the exotic weirdness that was clearly on our horizons...

Coming up: It's Taste of Chicago Everyday; doorways dripping with gold; "mutton" is not mutton; and DO NOT eat with your left hand!