Arrival in India, January 13

My plane arrived in India Saturday morning, January 13 at 1 am. I met Peter and Daniel, BFLC pastors outside the airport after getting through customs and retrieving my luggage. It was nice to see familiar faces in an unfamiliar place. We then took a taxi to the train station where they had reserved a room for me to rest for a few hours and shower before we got on the 6:40 train for Guntur later that morning.

After breakfast consisting of idly and a Nescafe, we got my luggage and headed for the train platform. (Idly is a small circular shaped rice pancake dipped in sauce.)

When we got to the second class coach, where my seat was supposed to be, we discovered that there were no seats left on the train. My ticket was unconfirmed, meaning I didn't necessarily have a seat on the train until we confirmed it with the ticket conductor on the train. Normally this is not a problem, but that day it was because of the number of Hindu people traveling to see friends and family. Turns out that the weekend of January 12-14 was a Hindu holiday weekend in Andrha Pradesh causing travel difficulties for many. I wasn't the only one on the train with an unconfirmed ticket. There were probably 15-20 people also in the same predicament as me. Peter tried to negotiate with the ticket conductor for a seat, but was told that no seats were available and we had to get off at the next station. "No vacancy" the ticket man said to me as he made his way past me in the aisle.

"No problem," Peter said to me. "We'll pick up a taxi at the next stop and drive to Guntur." Easier said than done.

As I mentioned, there were others in the second class coach who also didn't have seats. We all crowded at one end so that we could get off at the next stop. Packed into an area 3 feet wide and 14 feet long were probably 15-20 people, me included with my luggage. We stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the next stop. The train slowed for the next stop and Peter standing next to the door tried to open it to get off. It was impossible to do so because the door opens inward. The group would have to arrange itself in such a way to get the door open. Peter got it ajar, but not wide enough to get it open. After the five minute stop, the train pulled away from the station.

As I stood in the group, shoulder to shoulder with the Indian people, I thought of a few things:

• I was the tallest person in the group which never happens to me.
• Two words never put together in India are "personal space."
  
• There were no signs of frustration within the group. People simply accepted what was and adapted themselves to an uncomfortable situation. In America we'd hear sighs and whispers under the breath expressing frustration if it ever happened here.
  
• I am the only American in this group, I don't know the language, and I'm not unnerved by the situation, probably because I have two Indian friends who know the language who are watching out for me. Isn't this the experience we have with God too, as the Spirit interceeds for us as Paul writes in Romans?
  

At the next stop, Ranammapet, we got the door open and got off. Taxi, where are you? I expected to see maybe one, possibly two taxis waiting for any passengers in a similar predicament that we were in. When we got to the back of the depot, there were no cars. Nope. All I saw were chickens, a grass hut, an open field, and a couple motorcycles.

The picture to the left is exactly what I saw. The road is probably 3/4 of mile in the distance and we were told that we'd have to walk to the road if we wanted a ride. Peter said he'd catch a ride on the back of a motorcycle to the road and bring back a car for us. After probably 20 minutes, he came back with an autorickshaw. We climbed in, Peter and I sharing the backseat and Daniel sharing the small front seat with the driver and made our way to the next village 8km away to pick up the a taxi there.

Below you'll see the taxi we hired to take us the 150km to Guntur. I really didn't think it was a good sign when the driver popped the hood before we got in. Is this car going to make it? It was a 1990 Ambassador...a British body style from the 1950s still made today and sold in India to many people.

We stopped for lunch in a small town on the way to Guntur at a local restaurant. As many restaurants are in towns in India, this was a small local establishment. On the wall written in Telegu above the door was the phrase, "Time is valuable. Beer is cool." A random comment that made me laugh...a nice moment of grace in the midst of a day of unexpected events. The food was also fantastic...very, very hot and spicy, the absolute hottest food I've ever had in my life. My mouth was on fire. It was fantastic.

The drive to Guntur for this taxi driver I was told made his day. He would be well compensated for his time! He was an interesting guy, very earthy. I sat behind him as we drove. We both had our windows down for fresh air. Periodically, however, he'd spit out the window as he drove and each time I cringed expecting the spit to come back into the car through my window...a boomerang spit. Fortunately, I was kept dry.

We finally arrived at the Moriah home at 3pm, three and a half hours later than expected. I was tired and ready for some rest and I was happy to be at my final destination.