It’s twenty two hours flying time, thirteen time zones and a bump across the International Dateline. When I arrive in Delhi, I’ll have moved out thirty six hours in the space of twenty two. On long voyages, I get stumped trying to manage the numbers
The opportunity for self reflection and meditation is ground into the seatback I face. I think about the zen practice of meditating, eyes open, facing an empty wall. Minus the cramped seats and crowds of people, this is just like that.
I travel with a fifteen pilgrims. For a variety of reasons, we are headed to India to see historical Buddhist cities and sights. Almost none of us have been to India before. We are all adults with interests ranging from culture to Spirituality. Our caravan is heavily Asian - Vietnamese and Chinese, I think
I have not traveled with a group since I went on a flat water canoe trip in Georgia twenty five years ago. I don’t imagine that there will be gators, catfish, dynamite fishing or boats full of moonshine on this one. The band includes no good old boys although everyone is dressed in the sort of clothing we wore on that trip.
It’s not just us. Most people on the plane and in the airports are dressed in the sort of things REI sells. It looks like the whole world is going camping’ More sympathetically put, contemporary international travel is a lot like camping.
We stopped in Taipei for a couple of hours.
Everyone in America should have the teeny taste of culture shock you get from an Asian airport. All of the signs are impossible to understand. I looked for a drink of water for an hour. With no local currency, the vending machines were out of bounds. It was early morning so no stores that sold water were open.
(I wonder if the American habit of permanent access to food, water, hygiene products and antacids is just a Western phenomenon. In a vast expanse of airport, I couldn‘t identify a place that sold this stuff. In American and European airports, there is one every three feet.)
