Arrival in Bangalore
Apr. 10th, 2012 09:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xylieThree countries later, I am in India. It is night time and for all intents and purposes one international airport terminal is much like another. We de-board the plane and I find myself going through customs. To work Bangalore customs it seems to be a requirement that you have a fabulous mustache. This might explain why no women are working the customs desks, or maybe that is just the late hour.
I go through customs only to go through another metal detector. Only, I am not required to remove liquids or laptops, so perhaps it is an explosives detector. Unsure as to why I'm seeing what I'm seeing, I move on outside.
There are literally hundreds of guys with signs. None of them have my name. I am unsure how I will find Arun, my company's driver, at this rate. He fortunately finds me. He is holding this sign:
Mr. Stancy
MontaVista
Cavium
I can only smile.
"It is good you got here now," says Arun. "At 3AM, when Luftansa flights get in, it is madness."
Considering I what I just saw I thought was madness, I nod and smile again. I hope my face doesn't freeze this way, and follow Arun to his cab. It is a Toyota, but a model I do not recognize that fits six and seven very uncomfortably. I ride up in front with Arun so I can see out.
And what a sight it is. Lanes are more of a suggestion than a strict concept in India. You use your horn to make others aware that you want them to move aside. And this is an accepted concept. "Please sound horn" is painted on more than one large truck. Everyone abides by this as well. I did not know that motorcycles had horns until I came to India, makes sense but wow.
There are also tucktucks on the road, which are like a motorcycle taxi. They have three wheels and are invariably gold and green. More than one swerves in front of us and Arun generously uses the horn to make it plain they cannot keep up.
I go through customs only to go through another metal detector. Only, I am not required to remove liquids or laptops, so perhaps it is an explosives detector. Unsure as to why I'm seeing what I'm seeing, I move on outside.
There are literally hundreds of guys with signs. None of them have my name. I am unsure how I will find Arun, my company's driver, at this rate. He fortunately finds me. He is holding this sign:
Mr. Stancy
MontaVista
Cavium
I can only smile.
"It is good you got here now," says Arun. "At 3AM, when Luftansa flights get in, it is madness."
Considering I what I just saw I thought was madness, I nod and smile again. I hope my face doesn't freeze this way, and follow Arun to his cab. It is a Toyota, but a model I do not recognize that fits six and seven very uncomfortably. I ride up in front with Arun so I can see out.
And what a sight it is. Lanes are more of a suggestion than a strict concept in India. You use your horn to make others aware that you want them to move aside. And this is an accepted concept. "Please sound horn" is painted on more than one large truck. Everyone abides by this as well. I did not know that motorcycles had horns until I came to India, makes sense but wow.
There are also tucktucks on the road, which are like a motorcycle taxi. They have three wheels and are invariably gold and green. More than one swerves in front of us and Arun generously uses the horn to make it plain they cannot keep up.
