28 Hours to Himachal Pradesh

1-3 February 2012

28 Hours to Himachal Pradesh

I already felt like I had stepped out of the United States when I walked into Terminal D at Houston Airport. It was a small and garishly light terminal with white-robed muslim men and women in saris bustling around. The security was quite stiff at the terminal so despite its relative emptiness it still took a very long time to pass through to my gate what with half a dozen passport checks.

On board Qatar Airways, I found my seat towards the front of the plane. My two seat mates were there. The shiny new Boeing-777 had purple tinted mood lighting and a crew of young and exotic looking flight attendants. As the plane gently lifted off into the air headed towards the Middle East, a cacophony of infant cries erupted. Luckily ear plugs were provided by the airway however I suggested to my seat mate that the airline also hand out baby Benadryl.

A thirteen hour flight gives one plenty of time of time to get acquainted with one's seat mates. Next to me sat Amir who was probably in his thirties; he was traveling back to his homeland of Pakistan. He told me how he missed his original flight to Karachi because the Houston rush hour traffic was so bad. Amir was quite relieved to have made it onto this flight because he was going to Pakistan to get married. Coincidentally, his wife-to-be was also a gynecologist in-training. I couldn't resist asking if this was an arranged marriage. It was not. Amir's and his future wife's families were good friends who known each other for a long time. Had this not been the case, the families would have run background checks of the future in-laws as is customary in Pakistan.

On they other side of Amir was our other seat mate, Francis. Francis was also flying to his motherland, in south India. Francis has been in the US for decades working as a family doctor in College Station. Francis was a petite grandfather with hands as small as a child's, but what he lacked in size, he made up for in personality. He was a veritable ball of energy and he sure liked to talk, particularly about politics. Before long, he was calling me "Katie" like we were old friends.

He liked to talk about the rednecks in Texas. I liked the way rolled his R dramatically when he said "redneck." Francis told us a story about when he first started practicing in Texas. A bonafide redneck came to see him as a patient one day and apparently really liked him. He called the receptionist a few days later to say say that he'd like for Francis to be his physician. The problem was that the man couldn't remember Francis ' name and there were half a dozen doctors working there. The receptionist asked him to describe the doctor and the redneck sheepishly replied, "You know, the tiny little nigger.". Francis was not offended, he said that he understood that to this man, anyone who was dark was obviously black-he barely knew the difference! Francis said the man is still one of his most loyal patients & his dear friend as well.

Through dinner and the first few hours of the flight, the three of us discussed politics. Francis was a bleeding heart liberal who was "anti-religion." Amir seemed to be a moderate republican although he didn't like to put it all out there. Francis teased Amir that Sarah Palin was his girlfriend for the remainder of the flight. Francis also liked to tease Amir about the fact that he was about to marry a doctor. He told him to prepare for the fact that she will "always be right" because she is a doctor. He clearly spoke from his own experience with his ex-wife.

Thirteen hours, three movies, one overhead call for a doctor, and two large meals later, we were preparing to land in Doha, the capital of Qatar. I landed in Qatar at exactly the same time that I'd left Houston, just 24 hours later. It felt wonderful to stretch my legs and breath in the fresh dessert air. It was already dark out so I couldn't see much of the terrain in Doha. As we were shuttled to the transfers terminal I did get a brief look at the dusty and sandy ground and even a mosque.

The terminal in Qatar was quite small so I walked just about every foot of it during my 2 hour lay-over. The Duty Free shopping area was filled with the usual alcohol, chocolate and perfume. There were also a few swanky sports cars on display. It was illegal to bring alcohol into Qatar but it was ok to buy it there and bring it out; it seemed a bit contradictory. There were groups of Middle Eastern men dressed like sheikhs wandering around. They all wore long flowing white robes but some of the men wore checkered head scarfs and others wore bright white ones. There were a lot of women in burqas and I have to admit that the burqa concept still disturbs me greatly.

I perused through some magazines and travel guides in the airport book store. I was particularly amused by the series of Islamic romance novels all featuring burqa-clad women on the covers. They all stared out of the slits in their head coverings with mysterious slightly seductive eyes. I was more interested in reading the book called "I am Nujood" about a girl who was married off at age 10.

The airbus from Doha to Delhi was jam packed. I was stuck in the back of the plane next to college-aged girl from Montreal who spoke little English. She was going to spend the next 3 months traveling in India because she needed a break from school. I always seems to be the Canadians and Europeans who are out on these lengthy adventures around the world. What are we Americans doing wrong?

I dozed and watched re-runs of The Office as we flew 3 hours to Delhi. I was so tired by the time we arrived that I didn't even want to get off the airplane. I was just before 3am when we landed according to my watch but my internal clock had no clue what time it was. In India I was 11 and a half hours ahead of Houston time. I still don't understand where the extra thirty minutes came from though.

I waited in one of the longest immigration lines that I had ever seen when I got off the plane in Delhi. I didn't mind though considering I had about 5 hours to wait for my next plane ride to Chandigarh. I was anxious to ditch my very heavy backpack as soon as I retrieved it from baggage claim. I lumbered slowly through the quiet airport looking for the Indian airline called Jet Airways, so I could check in again.

There was a small crowd of people around the Jet Airways counters and half of them were quite fascinating to look at. They were very short and had interesting faces that looked hard and weathered with features of both Asian and Caucasian. They were bundled up in many robes and other warm clothes. I wasn't sure I they were Tibetan or from the Himalayas of India and I have o say that I was surprised to see them out in an airport as they looked like tribal people who lived in the mountains without electricity.

I went in search of a place to crash while I waited for my 9am flight. There was a mostly deserted food court with some benches. Tucked away on the edge of this food court was a lounge area. For $20 you could stay, lounge on their comfortable, chairs, get access to free wifi and eat and drink all you wanted. I decided to treat myself since I'd b roughing it for the rest of the month. Unfortunately I had gotten a second wind and never wound up sleeping, but at least the wifi helped pass the time and the free cappuccinos caffeinated me sufficiently.

As I finally got to the gate for my final flight, I spotted some westerners and wondered if they were my work companions. The flight to Chandigarh in North India would be my shortest so far at a brief 40 minutes. It was just enough time to nearly go insane from hearing the elevator music versions of half a dozen '90's love ballads play on repeat. If I never hear Bryan Adams' "Everything I do, I do it for you" again, it will be too soon.

Standing at the baggage claim in the rustic Chandigarh airport, it was clear that about eight of us were all congregating to join up with the Himalayan Health Exchange. We introduced ourselves while we waited for the bags. Out in the parking lot, we found the remainder of the group. There was a total of about 18 of us; the majority were 4th year medical students. Three people in the group were from Australia. The americans were from all different states. It seemed like an upbeat and friendly bunch.

We all piled in vans to undertake a 4 hour drive from Chandigarh in the Punjab state to Bilaspur further north in the Himachal Pradesh state. I shared a van with Karen, a student from Sydney, Jamie from Arkansas, Brett from Vermont, and Avishek, a geriatrics fellow from NJ. We all got to know each other on the long ride, swapping stories about the different exotic places we'd all traveled to before.

The first half of the ride was flat and urban on a two-lane highway. It was a busy road but nonetheless children would dart out into moving traffic and cows walked along the shoulder. Immediately off the side of the road were miles and miles of shanty towns. This was a wonder that most of the shacks could even withstand a slight breeze as they slanted off at extreme angles and were made of just wood slabs and sticks. There were even structures that looked like teepees that were made of long sticks. Mangy dogs trotted about, children were squatting, urinating out in the open. Women knelt by open fires boiling water.

As the trip progressed we left the Punjab state and entered Himachal Pradesh. It is one of the newest states in India which was carved out of the Punjab state. Himachal Pradesh literally translates to "In the lap of the Himalayas." It is the second least corrupt state in India; second to Karela. The state has one of the highest literacy rates in India at around 90%. At one time the government actually paid each family 2500 rupees to send each child to school.

The switchback mountainous roads to Bilaspur were quite treacherous. There were dozens of brightly colored trucks transporting cement products from any of the three large cement factories in Himachal Pradesh. The drivers were not shy about passing other cars on blind turns. Horns are used liberally in India. It was easy to get car sick. The locals walked along these busy roads in the narrow shoulders. Women carried large baskets on their heads or bundles of sticks. The people were dressed in colorful fabrics. They stared inquisitively at the westerners in the car as we drove past. We even spotted monkeys on the side of the road. They were hanging out watching traffic go by just like many of the humans were doing too.

I had just fallen asleep when we finally pulled up to Hotel Sagar View. I was a basic hotel where we would spend the following 4 nights. We were randomly assigned roommates; I was paired up with Beth, a South African who is a medical student in Australia. It looked like we were going to be getting friendly quickly as we were sharing a king sized bed. We had a balcony with lovely views of the valley and river below.

After a late lunch a few of us took a walk down to the river. It was about a 1 mile distance down hill first on a path and then along the side of the road. We had to be vigilant of oncoming cars as they sped down the road. We took in some views of the river from the bridge; it was difficult to see very far into the distance with a thick smoggy haze hanging over the valley.

We ended the night with a big buffet dinner complete with tandoori chicken, daal, and homemade chapatti and even dessert. Between the jet lag and all of the food I ate, I was nearly comatose. I could barely manage to rinse of my smelly body in the shower before passing out in bed. I never felt so good to sleep.