Sagar was supposed to arrive with the mini-bus and the group of Hyderabad teens by 9:30 am, so Sarah and I made our way down to the breakfast buffet at 8:30. That gave us time to get back to our room, fetch our bags, and be ready for Sagar when he arrived.
Breakfast was pretty quick. The buffet was bounteous, but there were only a handful of items we would consider: cereal, toast, hard boiled eggs, and peeled fresh fruit. It was still a good bargain for the small price we paid. I ordered coffee which was offered with or without warm milk. The first time I ordered it I gladly accepted the warm milk. From then on, I took it black. The milk had a funny sweetness to it and often had developed a skin on top when it sat in the pot they served it from. They described the coffee as very strong, "you will want milk," but I thought it tasted an awful lot like instant coffee. Somehow, I had suspected that India would have fabulous coffee - not so much.
We grabbed our bags from our room and then checked out. We sat in the lobby while the rest of our group checked out and assembled. We were all assembled and ready for Sagar's arrival at 9:30, as instructed. He arrived at about 10. Once he arrived we had to load the luggage into the mini-bus and divide ourselves between the bus and a van. Sarah, Shannon and Alida bravely volunteered to ride in the very cramped van that was not equipped with air conditioning. The Indian members of our travel team had also drawn straws and divided up between the two vehicles.
Our luggage took up two full rows of the mini-bus, so there were not really enough seats for the passengers it needed to carry. It seemed like the 6 India teens that would be traveling on the bus had been told to squeeze themselves into the back row that was intended for 4 passengers, and they did this cheerfully. We were just about to take off, when an Indian businessman boarded the bus in search of a small suitcase he feared had been loaded onto our mini-bus by mistake. There were no rear doors to the bus that you could open to survey the luggage, so they practically had to unpack the bus to see if his bag was there. He was eventually satisfied that the bag wasn't on the bus and we were allowed to leave. It was close to 11.
It took us more than an hour to clear the boundaries of Hyderabad. I don't know precisely how long it took because in a little over 24 hours I had learned that it was important NOT to keep track of time. You could lose your mind very quickly if you expected to keep to a schedule. It was better to not even look at your watch. I kept my watch on CT time for our entire trip and kept track of what Peter would be doing at home. That was MUCH more predictable.
We also got a healthy exposure to Indian roadways and driving habits. Remember how I referenced Disney earlier? Well, traveling on Indian roads is scarier than any ride I've been on at Disney and I've been on them all. Most of our journey was spent on two-lane roadways where vehicles traveled at least 4 across. Drivers passed slow moving vehicles willy-nilly and frequently came face-to-face with each other in an unintended game of chicken. The only rule of the road that I could perceive was that you were supposed to beep as you came around a large vehicle like a truck. This seemed to be more about warning the truck that you were passing than about communicating with the car that was coming straight at you from the other direction.
It didn't take long for us to realize that looking out the front window of the bus was a very, very bad idea. Carol, one of the adults in our group, was seated right behind the passenger door of the mini-bus with a clear view of the front window, so she turned herself towards the back of the bus and worked hard to engage herself in conversation that would distract her from what was happening on the road in front of her. It was while she was turned talking to people behind her, that the bus got cut off and the driver had to slam on his brakes. Carol was catapulted into the well that held the entrance steps to the bus and lay there still and crumpled.
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| On the road to Khammam |
It was at least a half hour, maybe longer, before Sagar spotted a place to stop. He had communicated with the van, so they pulled over, too. Sagar went into the pharmacy and got some items to more thoroughly clean and dress the wounds and someone else headed into a convenience store in search of ice. Everyone assumed that Sagar had communicated with Alida about the accident when he had called the van to let them know we'd be making a stop. In fact, Alida had no idea what was going on and assumed someone had a bathroom emergency.
With the ice and medical supplies on board we took off again. Carol was actually feeling a lot better. The color was returning to her face and she was chatting and seemed relatively comfortable. We were all relieved. By this time it was getting pretty late - maybe 3 or so, and we still had a long way to go. Sagar said we would be stopping soon at a hotel (translation - rest stop) to get a quick snack before heading on. I had to admit, I was pretty hungry. The goldfish crackers weren't cutting it anymore. I also really needed to go to the bathroom.
When we got to the rest stop I headed straight for the ladies' room. The farthest stall was the only one available, so I took it. There was not a toilet in the stall, just a porcelain drain pan in the floor. This was curious to me. If you were going to go the trouble of installing plumbing and a porcelain fixture, why not make it a toilet? I assumed this was my only option, however, so when in India... It was much later that I figured this riddle out, but I'll keep you in suspense.
When I got out of the bathroom, Sagar was busying ordering food from a waiter. In addition to the Indian fare, there was a Baskin Robbins and a Subway. Subway was pretty much out of the question for the Americans because we couldn't eat uncooked vegetables, but lots of people from our group immediately began eyeing the Baskin Robbins. Sagar had ordered Coke and chicken 65 for the group and it seemed to take forever for it to arrive. When the food arrived people dug right into the chicken without first asking the important question - why do they call it chicken 65? It turns out they call it chicken 65 because it is made with 65 different spices, many of which will scorch the roof of your mouth off. It was official - we were buying ice cream.
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| On the road to Khammam |
Carol was the first one to decide she really needed some ice cream and she kindly offered to buy ice cream for all of the Indian teens , too. I decided to pass, but gave Sarah some money to get herself an ice cream, so I only know about this next scene second-hand.
As it was described to me, there were four people working as servers, one scoop, and a cashier. Communication was reportedly a big issue. Again, I had vowed off of keeping track of time, so I can't attest to exactly how long it took for them all to get their ice cream but, take my word, it was a loooong time. I'm not sure the ice cream treat completely erased their frustration with the purchasing process. Also, by the time Carol got back to the group with her ice cream, there was blood dripping down her arm and onto her clothes. The first thought was that it was coming from her arm, which had immediately seemed like the worst of her injuries. In fact, her arm was looking much better. The swelling and bruising was subsiding and the cut didn't seem so bad, after all. The bad news, however, was that the cut on her head was deeper than it had at first appeared. That was the source of the blood. It was now clear that she was going to need stitches, so as we took off, Alida put a call into our next host, John Mark. We had plans to visit a FOCI supported medical clinic while we were in Khammam. It looked like Carol, at least, would be visiting a little earlier than planned.
We finally arrived in Khammam at dinner time. Our bags were unloaded from the bus, but we went straight to the meal. Carol was anxious to be seen by a doctor, as you might imagine, and Mr. J. was on hand to take her, but his first proposal was that Carol eat dinner first.
Mr. J. was a bundle of energy. I was raised by a bundle of energy and, I have to say, I've never met anyone quite like him. He spoke at a million miles an hour and seemed to be literally percolating ideas and plans. After introductions, Carol, Mo and Nicole headed off with Mr. J. and the rest of us ate dinner. They arranged for the four of them to meet up with us at the Happy Home, a home for HIV/AIDS infected and affected children, that we would be visiting after dinner.
Our host in Khammam, John Mark, was the head of the Khammam branch of the Christian Service Unit. He was a warm and immediately inspiring presence. He was attentive, yet completely unruffled by our extremely late arrival; by the injury that needed attending to; and by the need to accommodate all of us somewhere else when the retreat center became unavailable. He acted like everything was going completely as planned - no worries, no trouble.
We got our rooming instructions at the end of the meal and the bags were quickly brought to our room so that we could hop back into the bus and van for a quick visit to the Happy Home. And I think that's where I'll stop. The Happy Home deserves it's own short post.
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