Mumbai to Singapore

We awoke early and packed up everything for the next leg of our journey. We have about 64 kg of baggage distributed as evenly as possible among our three duffle-like suitcases (they have a rigid rectangular lower half with wheels and a handle, but are otherwise soft and collapsible above). It was still dark out when we took them all down in the tiny elevator in two shifts, paid our bill and got into the car provided by the hotel, while the driver and the same retinue as before stowed our bags in the back of it. This time, rather that hand out gratuities all over again, the concierge of the crew said he'd take the large bills I had and he'd distribute their value among his staff afterward. They all nodded (or rather wagged their heads that special way they do) that this was best. Traffic was light and we were at the airport without delay. The streets were dry. The monsoon had held in abeyance the whole time we were in Mumbai. In fact, during the wee hours of the morning, I saw a half moon over Mumbai.

At the airport I tipped our driver with all the small bills we had left and we began the ceremonies of departure from India. I had time to weigh our bags at an empty check-out counter and deftly redistribute a few minor items so that all three of our bags weighed between 21 and 22 kg. At check-in we were given luggage tags for all our items, but we already had tags so I hung on to them as souvenirs and nothing more. Wrong! These tags were required at every station we passed through, and new ones came along as we went. An assistant showed up with a wheelchair and remained with us or lurked in the background the rest of the time.

One of these stations was a manual electric-wand body scan. Never before has my ring been detected by such a device, but today the detection device got excited every time the guard passed it over my chest where the valve is. I lifted my shirt and showed him the bump under my skin. I explained how all the parts of this gastric band work. He called another guard over to see this phenomenon for himself. They marveled at such a thing and smiled broadly at my description of my new-found health because of the weight loss this contraption has wrought. And they let me pass.

Razelle and I wanted to eat, use the bathrooms, look at the duty free shops, etc., so our attendant "allowed" us time off by ourselves, but just as I was finally figuring out how to log onto the Internet at the airport he rematerialized and announced that we had to hurry along. Razelle was in a bathroom somewhere so I told him we'd be ready as soon as she returned. But he knew exactly which bathroom she was in (he had a female accomplice apparently) and he took me over there. We were wheeled to a different part of the airport where some other wheelchair jockeys were assembling. A plan had been formulated somewhere that these passengers were to be lifted into the plane hydraulically. They/we all got lifted up into a truck that coursed among parked planes on the tarmac, stopped by our own and in fits and starts (and start-overs) finally delivered its wheelchair-bound cargo and accompanying travelers into the plane, where most of the able-bodied passengers were already seated.

This flight is the first of several Qantas flights we are booked on, all the way through to Honolulu. Hearing the Australian accent throughout this flight brought it home to us that we really are on a trip around the world. Our next destination may be Singapore, but a far more significant part of our trip will be spent listening to and interacting with rightfully proud Australians on their home continent. Their accent made me very comfortable.

We landed in Singapore at dusk. The wheelchair assistant waiting with Razelle's name on a placard brought a child-sized wheelchair. It was all very humorous. An adult-sized chair was soon found and we were whisked along briskly through a very, very modern airport to the relaxing sounds of mood music (Yanni on piano?). The first bathroom we came to had a notice on it, "Next toilet 3 minutes away." How about that! We changed some money into Singapore dollars and were matched with a taxi by an usher in white gloves. We gave the name of our hotel and our driver consulted with his dispatchers on his radio for the exact directions. We gazed in awe at the sights and happy people of Singapore from our taxi. How did this wonderland get here?

Our driver was very talkative and friendly so I asked him where I might find a dentist. He gave us explicit instructions for a clinic in a shopping mall run by a very congenial and competent dentist. I wrote it all down.

We checked into our room and then we wandered to the nearest street corner. Across the intersection we conveniently found a vegetarian restaurant. The shiny photographic menus were in Chinese, and all the diners were Chinese as well. We were told they were about to close so please hurry and order. We ordered take out so as not to inconvenience them. Razelle ordered the only western item on the menu; I ordered sweet and sour rice and faux meat. We were overcharged with the explanation that the menus were old and the prices had been raised. Instead of SGD 8.5 we paid SGD 10. I knew we were being fed a story, especially since customers continued to arrive at this "closed" establishment. We got our first lesson in this utopian Shangri-la. It may look idyllic, but we still are tourists.