Welcome to India

January 5^th

The past couple of hours have been a sensory overload. India is colorful and loud, the air smells different, my taste buds are burning, and I feel like the girl who dropped out of the sky with “TOURIST” stamped across her forehead.

Our plane took off yesterday at 7:15 PM, and by the time we landed and passed through customs, it was 11:30 PM. Monica’s parents greeted us at the airport, and a bus was waiting to take us to the YMCA, where we’d be staying for the night.Before boarding the bus, our drivers gave us leis and welcomed us to India.

Excited!

I thought we’d arrive pretty quickly at the YMCA and that I’d be able to crash soon, but it took the bus a few hours to bob and weave through the fabled traffic. By fabled I mean epic, and by epic I mean insane—there are no speed limits, and even if there are, no one follows them. Semis share the road with rickshaws, and most taxis look like glorified go-carts. In the US, your horn is the audio equivalent of flipping the bird, or like saying “I’m about to hit you”. In India, it’s more of a language. Honking a horn is a hello, an alert, a request for you to move, a “ha ha sucker…eat my dust”. I’m convinced some people lay on it just to make sure it still works.

By the time we reached the hostel, and checked in, it was late. While packing, I was a fool to have forgotten that India is also the northern hemisphere and has their winters when we do. After a freezing shower and discovering that the space heater was out of commission, I went to bed with cold wet hair, and shivered to sleep.

I dreamt I was stuck in India.