International Dialing Dilemma

One problem I had contacting the hotel that was supposed to pick me up was the same problem I have everywhere—the international dialing dilemma. Everyone gives you phone numbers with the country code which is super annoying if you think you are trying to make a local call to that number.  Basically anytime you see a number that starts with + it means that you can never figure out how to call it locally. Some country codes are two digits, some are three. For some to dial locally you have to add a zero, for others you have to subtract the first digit. You can try every permutation (as I did) but really showing someone else the number and having them dial it is your only shot. And then they inevitably look at you like you’re stupid.

The Meet Up

So as mentioned, Noah and I took different flights.  Mine arrived at 2am, his at 6am. Not ideal. 

My biggest fear was that we were not going to be able to find each other- someone’s flight would get canceled, one of us would have to make a last minute hotel switch. Yikes!

We decided to meet at a hotel and chose one based on (price obvi) its proximity and free airport pick up (which were really the only things it had going for it) but the latter of the two didn’t work so well.

When we booked the hotel, we received a confirmation email with instructions for the airport pick up. They were quite explicit—do not go home with anyone who says they’re from the hotel if they don’t have your name written down, they will take you to another hotel and get a commission; if you arrive and can’t find the hotel pick-up guy, call this number but don’t let anyone else dial it because they will call someone else and pretend that our hotel is closed and take you to another hotel and get a commission. It went on…

I got off the plane, exhausted, cleared customs without incident, and then walked through this weird long hallway where one side is entirely floor to ceiling windows with lots of eager families awaiting their loved ones with their noses squished up against the glass. I felt like I was a fish in an aquarium. I successfully found the ATM and headed out to the mass of people holding up signs with people’s names on them. Alas, none of them was mine.

So I was ready for some trickery and of course, the guy wasn’t there to pick me up. Now locating a phone was quite a process but eventually I came across this:

Ah the payphone.

I know it sucks to compare countries but I’m going to. In Mali, getting off the airplane at 3am is also a trial (though I now never expect the airport pick up to come through) but mostly because everyone is busy trying to be so helpful. People want to help you buy a local SIM card, offer you their services as a guide, help you find a taxi, or just ask you about what life in your country is like.  Helpful is not how I would describe the folks hanging out outside the airport in Mumbai.  Especially not my friend running the phone booth. Getting him to pull off his earphones to listen to my question was a hassle—each of the three times it happened.  He was pretty uninterested in if I ever successfully made my phone call and paid him. It was a solid ten minutes of trying before he decided to get involved.

Pick-up dude showed up an hour late, but without a car. So he just kept me company for another half hour until the car came as well.  Not a great start.

I was a little concerned that the same scene was going to play out for Noah so I told the hotel that I’d accompany the guy to pick him up (after all, I know what he looks like so that should speed things along, also I could be sure that we went on time and to the right terminal).  So I took a power nap on the less then clean bed (see allersac) and the front desk called me at 5:30 to go pick him up. They handed me a smashed cell phone with two phone numbers programmed in- the driver and the front desk- and sent me on my way with a driver who spoke no English but thankfully (and randomly) spoke some Arabic so we got by.

 I found Noah no problem. First mission accomplished.

The world wanted us to go on vacation

The lead up wasn’t great- I got the flu a few days before we were going to leave, then Hurricane Sandy swung through and did her thing (which included flooding airports). I obsessively checked my flights status but miraculously it kept saying “on time”. The same was true for Noah. Convincing a car service to drive me to the airport was the next challenge. I couldn’t even get through to a dispatcher on first and second choice car services. I had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find one and the first car they sent refused to take me to Newark bc he thought I was going to JFK. Of course I left millions of hours early anticipating all manner of disaster but when a car willing to drive me actually showed up, we made record time to Newark.  Then the line at check in and security was shorter than I’ve ever seen it in my life. I got to my gate with 5 HOURS to spare.

Here’s why:

Yup- my flight was basically the only one leaving the airport. What’s better, Noah was leaving on a different airline from a different airport. JFK cancelled all its flights on Tuesday but Noah’s flight left at 12:15 on Wednesday- he made the cut off by 15 minutes and his flight took off too.

The world wanted us to go on vacation.

Vacay!

India is one of the major places I want to visit in my lifetime so I bought the giant Lonely Planet, read it cover-to-cover, and then realized I needed to be there for 6 months to do the place any justice. I only had two weeks so instead of “doing India” I just did Mumbai and its environs. Sorry Delhi, Rajastan, Darjeeling, Chennai, Kolkota—I’ll come back for you someday.

So why Mumbai?  Well for starters the tickets were really cheap via frequent flyer miles (even if Noah and I had to take different flights and meet upon arrival). Also, given the time of year, the South of India seemed like a good bet weather-wise. And yes it’s sort of a cop out to go to a culturally rich place and then bum around on the beach but whatever—I wanted to hang out in Goa.

Now the planning of this trip suffered severely by the fact that I had to go to Uganda and Myanmar twice in the months before, and then had a month of weird little business trips that took me to Liverpool, Ann Arbor, Atlanta, DC and St. Paul.  It didn’t leave a lot of time for doing things like “making hotel and train reservations”.  So flying by the seat of our pants was our strategy.  The idea was vaguely “land in Mumbai, go South”.  I had dreams of making it as far as Kerala, but those were abandoned pretty quickly when I remembered how exhausting travel days are and didn’t want to spend 40 hours on a train both ways.

For future India travelers, if you want to go to specific places on a specific schedule, it behooves you to buy your tickets in advance. We did a version of travel called “we’ll go wherever there are available tickets”. It worked out pretty well for us and forced us to explore parts of the country we hadn’t considered, itinerary-by-chance ended up being a decent strategy.

Playlist of my life

The Bossanova version of the playlist of my life is playing in this coffee shop. Lady Gaga "Bad Romance" and "Poker Face", Madonna "Like a Virgin" and "Like a Prayer", Michael Jackson’s "Beat It", and then whoever sings “I wanna be a millionaire” “nothing on you” “suicidal” and “shorty got it burning on the dance floor”. Remember, bossa nova versions here- so soothing and soft.

I asked the waitress if it was the radio or a CD and she said the radio which meant she didn’t know what I was asking. Then I asked a waiter and told him I liked the music so he pulled out the CD and wrote down the name for me : Dance Bossa Chill. Unfortunately it does not seem to exist on the world wide web. I looked immediately.

The best part of this is that I went to this coffee shop every day of my trip and each time they put in this CD shortly after I walked in.  Sweet.

Power Struggle

I am in a literal power struggle with my hotel. Every time I leave the room I turn off the AC and turn off the lights. Every time I return, all the lights are on and the AC is set at 15 degrees. When I first checked in, the tv was on (as if to prove to me it works). This cannot be good for their profits. It does not make me like them more. I don’t feel more at home (at home I ration AC and only use lights in the room I’m in). What is going on here!

I'm disorganized

time to dump the file called "post to blog" that I have had sitting on my desktop for the last two trips...
sorry for the random out-of-orderness and time delay.

The Doha Lounge

Let’s start with how to get to the lounge. This is usually sort of complicated in airports, but not at Doha. They gave everyone color-coded boarding passes. There is no way to be lost in the Qatar airport as you are carrying a boarding card that let’s all the helpers around (and there are zillions) direct you to the right place. These colors even indicate whether or not you are on a short transfer so you can get priority security check in if necessary. Prior to landing, there is an instructional video on the different terminals and how to navigate them.

Walking into the lounge felt like walking into an exclusive club. I felt like I needed a map or a tour before choosing a place to sit down so I could make an optimal decision. I did a quick walk around before settling in a spot and saw all sorts of people in various phases of being pampered or resting. The sleeping chairs were so nice- window facing around the perimeter of the room and surrounded by plants so there is privacy but you’re not sleeping in a weird dark enclosed room with strangers.  There was a game room with PS3s and a nursery for children; prayer rooms and a cloak room. And most of all free internet without stupid passwords!

Boy did I wish I was hungry. I had just been fed on my last flight so unfortunately wasn’t up for trying out all the different beautiful restaurants in the lounge (and me turning down free food is so rare!). I wasn’t totally sure of the protocol but flagged someone down and got a pot of tea to keep me awake until my next flight. So I got at least 50 cents worth of the benefits of being there. 

I'd like to say I will stop raving about Gulf Carriers but I'm taking Emirates for my return flight so I can't promise anything.

Qatar Airways

Sitting in the airport I was almost peeing in my pants with excitement to fly a gulf carrier- pen out, ready to take notes on the luxury.

The Africa Leg

While there were some definite perks this leg didn’t quite live up to my admittedly absurd expectations. Like all airlines, they use their crappier, older airplanes for Africa. They also clearly didn’t send the most motivated crew who seemed to oddly enough be Chinese-Americans. Sorta disappointing on that front. But just knocked my expectations down low enough to be wowed on the next leg.

The Asia Leg

I think heaven is probably a Qatar airways international flight in business (not coming from or going to Africa). I spent the eight hour flight either being in a coma-like sleep or being delighted by every detail that I noticed.

Most notably:

Hot towels: unlike some airlines where they clearly throw these in a microwave two seconds before take off so there are weird hot and cold patches, these towels were literally steaming. They were like a sauna in a washcloth. I couldn’t identify whatever scent they had on them but it was luxurious.

Leather bound menus and fresh flowers in a vase on the wall: Sure, this is totally unnecessary but it does make you feel like you’re in a restaurant instead of on a plane.

Gendered amenity kits: no idea what is in the man’s kit but mine was Salvator Ferragamo and came with hand cream, perfume, and lip balm. A note on hand cream, I don’t really get it. Doesn’t it just make your hands slippery? My friend lectured me that your hands age quickly and that is a spot that indicates your true age. Thing is, I don’t think I have ever noticed a person’s hands (unless they were slippery when shaken). That saying “I know it like the back of my hand” perplexes me because I’m reasonably sure I could never recognize my own hand-backs in a line up. I can’t picture my husband’s hands. Hands just aren’t on my radar (anyone want some fancy hand cream?).

Timing of things: you ordered your meal from the menu before take-off which made the food service portion go much faster. Also they gave you the noise-cancelling head sets immediately so you could pop them on before take-off.

Functional sinks: sinks on airplanes are a pet peeve of mine. The meager stream of water is always too close to the bowl so you end up touching the sides. You have to hold it down with one hand to wash the other. The sink bowls are made for carnies (small hands, smell of cabbage). And there is that mysterious sign that says “as a courtesy to your fellow passengers consider using your towel to wipe the sink”. What are people using these tiny sinks for that the drain can’t handle? Also, what towel? Do you mean the single ply toilet paper or the single ply tissue? Well Qatar airways has fixed the sink. It’s a regular sink-sized sink, this a regular faucet-sized faucet. You can press the red button for hot and the blue button for cold, and then the water flows without you having to hold it down. Also there are ACTUAL TOWELS.

Updates: The plane (to Asia) were newer and hence had little lights that indicated when you could use your cell phone, next to the fasten seat belt sign. There was also a new-addition to the regular lecture which was “no electronic cigarettes are permitted on board”. Wow, maybe that’s a thing here.

Pajamas: They gave me pajamas. And none of this one-size-fits-all bullshit, but the flight attendant came up to me and said “I’ve selected a size medium for you, however let me know if you’d like to change”. They are comfy and made of grey fleece. There were matching socks and an eyeshade all in a little bag. I’m such a sucker for little bags.

Seats: The seats (on the Asia leg, not the Africa one) lay out to 180 degrees and could be adjusted with only three sets if arrow buttons. None of this 15-button monstrosity on some airlines where you can never quite figure it out. Also there was a “save” button so when you’ve found the perfect position and then get up to go to the bathroom, you can get right back to your sweet spot.

Entertainment: So many movies. There were a few new releases, but then also a great selection of foreign films. And they were just the foreign films I wanted to see- not the high-brow, super famous ones I’ll hear about in the US anyway, but the dumb popular ones that I love. The equivalent of “The Vow” (which I’ve seen twice on planes) from each country. I watched a fabulous Egyptian romantic comedy (more later) and a pretty scandalous Bollywood film. Best of all, because we had the headsets on our seats when we arrived, I got through half a movie before we even took off.

$15 and two hours

I finished up my meetings, checked out of my kampala hotel, and had $15 worth of Ugandan shillings left and 2 hours to kill before leaving for my flight. The possibilities were endless. I went on a walk following the directions of the hotel receptionist toward a coffee shop I knew. Her instructions were decidedly wrong, as she told me to just continue straight until I got there when in fact, straight was not an option after about 200m. Anyway, I just wandered a little bit and it started to drizzle. I like a little drizzle, however this was inconceivable to every passing Boda-Boda that pulled over to try to “rescue me”/earn 50 cents for a ride, but those things are risky enough in bright sunshine, let alone rain. Eventually it started to pour so I jumped in a little restaurant and had a delicious chicken sandwich while the city got dumped on. I love finding little spots by chance- especially when I don’t end up with food poisoning afterward. 

Expired Money

My hotel in Mbale, for some reason, only accepted visa cards. That’s a new one. I had an Am Ex and a Mastercard on me. So I ended up having to pay for my week’s stay in cash. That wasn’t a huge deal because at this point, I keep stupid quantities of cash on me for such situations. However, this time when I paid they told me my dollars were expired! They even had the big heads!

The change desk in Kampala told me they’d give me a better rate if I changed a post-2006 bill, which was weird, but whatever. But in Mbale they do not accept pre-2006 bills as legal tender.

This lead to me having to go through my three different money hiding spots in the lobby and looking through all my bills for ones that were post-2006. Not pleasant.

At least now I can feel okay about leaving $1000 in my suitcase when I go out for the day, because apparently all that money is “expired”.

Entebbe Airport

Oh airports. Always something weird. 

There are the usual oddities at the Entebbe Airport- like not being allowed into the departures terminal if you arrive more than three hours before your flight (which those of us who are flight-paranoid and vastly overestimate the effects of traffic on the ride to the airport frequently are). Or having a series of weird 'gates within gates' AKA glass holding chambers where you go through security, wait an undeterminable amount of time, then go through another check to wait in the next one. Third time is the charm, and then you get to walk down a flight of stairs to get to the tarmac. 

But a really perplexing design issues at Entebbe Airport is how the parking lot and drop off area for departures, is two stories below the departures hall and there is no elevator or ramp. So when you get out of the car with all your baggage, you have to contend with two flights of stairs to check in. Thankfully there are some dudes there to help. Now these are either prisoners, or airport employees who wear surplus prison uniforms, but either way, not super confidence inspiring.

I’m currently sitting in the business class lounge which has some fantastic 80’s furniture. Black and tan leather couches in alternating colors with throw pillows.

There is also inexplicably this giant stone sculpture? Decoration? Non-functional fountain? Not sure.

Is peanut butter a liquid?

I bought a jar of peanut butter in Uganda for emergency snacking and left it in my backpack. Now what I learned in science was that a liquid was defined by its ability to flow. Regular old peanut butter does not flow. Security at Uganda disagreed with me but let me keep my peanut butter. Security at Thailand was furious.

Molestation vs Massage

I don’t go through the full-body scanner at security. The choice has something to do with thinking it is pointless, the frequency with which I fly and would be exposed to rays, and a distrust of TSA to properly maintain their machines.

So when you opt out of the machine, it’s a different experience depending on where you are.

In the US, as I’ve written before, you get a narrated molestation detailing every place they touch and what part of their hand they are going to use. 

In Belgium the security agent just said “and now it’s time for your free massage”!

In Thailand, they just let me walk around the machine and bypass the search altogether.

Can’t-wash-your-hands Diet

I’ve been doing a lot of field work lately so the meals are a bit sporadic.

So lunch didn’t happen today and not because I didn’t have food, but because I couldn’t touch anything that would go into my body with my nasty, nasty hands. On a long day in the field, the only thing that can overwhelm your appetite is the thought of exactly how dirty your hands are. How many hands have you shaken? Door knobs have you touched? Snotty children have you picked up?

At home I wash my hands approximately 20 times a day—and not because I have OCD tendencies but rather because I drink an excessive amount of water and am constantly peeing, and then clearly I wash my hands (because I’m not nasty).

Here I quaff much less due to non-potable tap water; also the bathroom experience is much less pleasant. And lastly, who has time for body functions on business trips? Not I, my friends.

A note on hand sanitizer

You want to be able to wash your hands in a subtle way so as not to imply “I think you’re dirty” instead of the true “I’m an epidemiologist and just know too much about disease transmission”. However, hand sanitizer is really smelly so everyone knows you’re using it. Then you have to offer it to everyone and it becomes a novelty to explain. And this whole “my body just isn’t used to the same germs” talk is usually met with suspicion. At best it comes off bizarre, at worst rude. Not worth it, especially since TSA is going to take it away when you mistakenly leave it in your purse.