Life Lesson #2

When I land in Mumbai this trek is sadly far from over because this flight was 3 hours delayed and now I need to find a new flight to my destination in Hyderabad. To keep things interesting neither my cell phone or blackberry can make calls. Text messages to cell #s in the US work, as if that was worth 3 rupees to me now. Walking to multiple desks and attempting to communicate with several security guards (at about 80lbs and 4" I am not sure who or what they are capable of securing...but I digress) I find that I need to take an unnamed bus to another terminal where I am to find the next flight. How to go about any of this seems as simple as learning how to urinate Pepsi. I am so uncomfortable I can taste it. Luckily the Air India guy has written on the back of my boarding pass "IC 617 9:00" in blue bic pen and pointed East. Fantastic. Again, with limited communication available, I am on the opposite side of the world with my sole chance of reaching my final connecting flight resting with a tiny man's shorthand on the back of a boarding pass.
One more oompa loompa guard's approval and a healthy rat running across twenty yards of of open floor in the terminal towards a random exit lead me towards the tarmac (look it up Jason!!) where a bus is sitting. Not the Air India bus, not even a bus driven by a guy with an Air India uniform, there were just a few dudes wearing Ross's 97 winter line standing around a bus. I say fuck it, thank the lord that I have trained half my life to use my body as a weapon because this is uncertainty on a new level, and I grab a seat in the second row. Stragglers and randoms fill in to while I pray for hope. The bus is actually similar to the game buses at Stanford when we would get police escorts into the stadiums on Saturdays. The reassuring feeling I get from that quip is destroyed the moment the driver turns the ignition.

Life Lesson #2: ALL INDIAN DRIVERS SECRETLY COVET DANGER AND WERE TRAINED SINCE BIRTH TO DRIVE LIKE A FORMULA 1 RACE.

The bus accelerates like we are trying to lift off. When a few guys up ahead walked infront of the bus's path they got only a headlight flash by the driver because apparently, a few human lives are not worthy of a honk, let alone the brake pedal. Next up ahead a tractor, yes tractor, pulling some baggage carts wondered in front of us. This was honkworthy but not enough for brakes so we bank right to avoid it. The driver of the tractor seemed accustomed to our 12 ton vehicle in close proximity because hell this is India!. It is important to remember that we are on the tarmac and within a few hundred yards of landing and departing Boeing 767s so I assumed one's driving would be how should I put this; risk averse. Instead we are cruising at about 50mph and with a purpose.

I learn immediately that in this culture abiding by lane lines and overall caution is disrespectful to all civil engineers who designed roads, and 5000 Hindu gods, respectively. We were joined in paying these respects by many others including trucks, pedestrians, and more tractors all of whom felt it appropriate to make blind turns by crossing over dividers into opposing traffic lanes. Driving schools in India consider looking over one's shoulder while making a hard right turn to be a great insult to other drivers, especially large and speeding buses. The theory of signaling while you turn is treated the same way you and I think of people believing the world was flat; so out of place we laugh at the notion.

This experience is not new to the world as it was gracefully depicted in the movie Speed, and while that thought made me comfortable for a nanosecond, I quickly realized my driver looks nothing like Keanu Reeves. He did have flowing black hair though; flowing because the bus doors have been open the entire time. We careen on a hard left through a tight turn only to pitch right partially onto a dirt embankment to avoid three creeping vehicles on the right lane and the whole maneuver is so dangerous I am impressed. Dale Earnhardt Jr would be aroused. This should be on a promotional video touting the handling ability of 90-passenger buses.

There is relief in site, or perhaps a 'pitstop' is the right word. A gate is up ahead and there are way to many people crowded about even for us to make it and I am excited for the reprieve. When we slow to a stop and inch through the crowd I see dozens of security guards about with machine guns. Great. Just when I thought it was going to get boring for twenty whole seconds. India is not done welcoming me. So to recap we have a speeding bus, a third world airport, and heavily armed militia. With this I realize I am not flying to Hyderabad to work but instead trapped inside a Jerry Bruckheimer wet dream.