We're not in Kansas anymore

Where to start. Was it when I was packing my bags again yesterday morning for the dozenth time. Or When I was shuffling through customs at the International airport. Or perhaps it was when I bumped into a friend from work who I'd thought left the country weeks ago and who, when we compared boarding passes, was sitting in the seat in front on the stopover flight to Singapore.
Ryan was there with his mother, and when she found out my next stop was new New Delhi they took the opportunity to gang up on me. Dont drink the water! Dont eat salads! Dont go walking at night!
I was still singing It's a Small World in my head when I was stopped by the security guard. The sight of my umbrella in my carry-on luggage had caused a bit of a stir. After getting the twelfth degree about why anyone would carry an umbrella on a flight I find out that you can smuggle things in them. Wonders will never cease.
Four hours into the flight and I felt like I'd reverted to a baby-like state. I had people bringing me food at regular intervals, but a pale imitation of real, adult food. I was sat in front of a television, plugged into my entertainment unit, watching the world go by through the window I couldn't open.
Nearly half the trip had gone by and we were still over Australia. It gave me, finally, a sense of how huge our country really is. Roads that go on straight for hundreds of kilometers, just once kinking around some creek or outcrop before continuing on, straight as a line drawn by a cartographer between the two points of civilisation.
We chased the sun across the globe, heading into the west, trailing sunset behind us. The last light had only just faded from the horizon when the lights of Singapore blossomed beneath us. Patches of disconnected light like pieces of a puzzle strewn across a tabletop hinted at the multitude of tiny islands beneath us.
I didn't know this, but apparently your bags aren't taken off the plane if you're just making a night's stopover before carrying on your journey. I step out into the muggy night air feeling somewhat under prepared and over exposed, toting my small backpack which doesnt even contain a change of clothes.
Perhaps this is where it starts. Sun not even up, as I sneak from my concrete bunker of a room, body clock giving me false signals to the time of day. Listening to the traffic go by and the soft snores of the boys at reception, sleeping in bunks above their desks. Waiting for the sun to rise through the heavy cloud over a city busy at 6am.
Or perhaps it starts tomorrow, in Delhi.



-- H in S