Devina and I were invited to ten weddings in 2017. Ten. It seemed like every weekend we had a wedding going on. Several of them were in Atlanta but many others were abroad and required travel. I managed to make it to six of the weddings and Devina made it to seven (I couldn’t go to the one in India).

The final wedding of the year took place in Playa del Carmen, which is an hour or so from Cancun. The trip ended up being a wonderful tropical respite during a remarkably cold December. It actually snowed multiple times in Atlanta that year, so the weekend was a welcome getaway. Everyone stayed in an all-inclusive resort on the beach with as many free drinks and food we could stuff into our faces. I personally like the resort experience from time to time, despite it being completely artificial. It’s nice being able to relax without having to worry about a sightseeing schedule or finding a good place to eat. The convenience certainly comes at a price and I wouldn’t want to stay at a resort every time I travel. They tend to suck you in and stop you from leaving. You definitely miss out on the local flavor when you stay in a resort.

We arrived at the resort Thursday evening and immediately joined the wedding festivities. This was an Indian wedding (my second of many others), so that meant several events throughout the weekend. Suffice to say that there was plenty of eating, drinking, dancing, merriment, and mirth. On the day of the wedding, I hung out with the groom in his hotel room along with many of our other close friends. We ended up walking down to the beach to have cocktails and were joined by the bride. The two of them took pictures while the rest of us enjoyed the beautiful scenery and the fact that none of us were the center of attention that day.

Everyone then walked in the baraat to the ceremony, which took place on an outdoor rooftop overlooking the ocean. It was lovely. The bride and groom had their ceremony by the fire and there were dinner and drinks afterwards. All in all, it was a picturesque wedding in a stunning location. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. There were more events the day after the ceremony and a group of us managed to spend a few hours exploring downtown Playa del Carmen. I even got to eat tacos with handmade tortillas for the first time. The ones you get in a bag from Kroger are hot garbage compared to those. Devina and I had a fantastic time and were sad to pack up and leave on Sunday.

Little did I know that the trip back would be the worst flying experience I’ve ever had.

Devina and I woke up on Sunday morning, got dressed, and had breakfast. It was the final day and neither of us was in a hurry to leave tropical paradise and return to Atlanta’s dreary winter weather. We managed to spend a bit more time with our friends (this is when I had those awesome handmade tacos) and before we knew it, it was time to head to the airport. The hotel provided a shuttle bus to transport us there, along with a large group of wedding guests. We all arrived at the Cancun International Airport en masse and began the arduous customs process to leave the country. Lines, forms, questions, passports – all that good stuff. An hour or so later, Devina and I were waiting at the gate to return to the good ol’ U. S. of A.

I’d like to take a moment to summarize my feelings toward airline travel. Many terms come to mind when I think about flying: soulless, depressing, aggravating, anxiety-inducing, and claustrophobic are the ones that spring to mind immediately. I think it’s safe to say that I loathe having to get on a plane. The speed at which you can get to places is the one real advantage to traveling by air and its the only practical means of reaching the majority of places in the world. International travel is impossible without flying, so I really have no other choice. I’d never get to see my wife’s family in India if we didn’t take a plane. Thus, several times a year, I am forced to squeeze myself into a tiny seat on board of a hollow metal tube that rockets through the air at hundreds of miles an hour and thousands of feet above the ground. Did I also mention that flying is completely terrifying? It’s awful. I hate it. Star Trek-style teleportation cannot get here soon enough.

With these feelings as a preamble, let me now tell you about the ordeal we found ourselves in upon boarding the plane that should have taken us home.

Getting onto the plane and finding our seats happened the way it always does. Wait in line according to seating zone, scan boarding pass, enter plane, and sit down. Devina and I were actually a couple rows ahead of another couple from the wedding who were traveling with their one-year-old daughter. We chatted with them while the rest of the passengers found their seats. Eventually, everyone was strapped in and ready for take-off, which is precisely when everything went sideways.

The pilot came on the loudspeaker saying there was a power outage in Atlanta, so we were waiting for them to resolve it before leaving. He really didn’t give us much more information that that. There was a power issue at the Atlanta airport, so we had to wait. We waited…and waited…and waited some more. I’m going to be using the word “wait” many more times throughout the rest of this story.

After 30 or so minutes, I grabbed my phone and tried to find out what the hell was going on. Some of my friends have a Slack channel for group texting, so I sent them a message asking if they knew anything about a power outage and I also decided to check the trusty r/Atlanta subreddit. Between these two sources, I was able to figure out that Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport was almost completely without power due to a fire in an underground facility. I found pictures and videos of people in blacked out terminals and stories of passengers stuck on planes because the jet bridges weren’t working.

Our plane still hadn’t moved. It had been over two hours at this point and I was pretty certain we were not going to be departing anytime soon. That prediction was soon confirmed when the pilot asked us to disembark and return to the terminal. We gathered our carry-ons and returned to the gate. As it turned out, several other wedding guests had also had their flights delayed and we all ended up congregating inside the Cancun airport Margaritaville. This would be our base camp for the next several hours.

Devina and I did the only thing a person can do when they’re stuck in a Margaritaville for an unknown amount of time: we ordered margaritas. We also asked for fresh made guacamole and had some dinner. There were about 15 others sitting with us at 4 or 5 tables pushed together. I pulled out my trusty phone charger so everyone could keep their various cellular devices running. This was important because our phones were the only way for us to check up on the situation in Atlanta (the airline wasn’t telling us anything). I found some pictures and videos that made it seem like Hartsfield-Jackson was now in a Mad Max scenario. People were stuck all over the airport without food or water and it was pretty obvious to everyone that we were not getting home that day. Obvious to everyone except Delta.

After waiting in the Margaritaville for four or five hours, two of our friends finally had their flight cancelled. Note that they were actually on a later flight than Devina and me. The two of them left the airport and were transported to a nearby hotel until their new flight the next morning. This happened around 7:00 pm and the rest of us all assumed we’d be leaving the airport shortly as well.

WRONG.

Our flight was not officially cancelled until almost midnight. I was nearly delirious by the time they finally announced that we’d all be getting hotel rooms and a new flight at 7:00 am the next morning. I still cannot believe how long it took them to finally admit defeat. The friends I mentioned earlier who got to leave sooner had been texting us that they were in a fancy hotel, had a nice meal, and even managed to go on a walk along the beach. The passengers on our flight, on the other hand, had been stuck in the airport for 10 (maybe 12) hours and had just been told we would be spending an extra night in Mexico.

Everyone from our flight had to line up at the gate desk to receive hotel vouchers and then we were moved towards the airport’s exit. Of course, since we were still in a foreign country, leaving the airport required going through customs again. We had to fill out a questionnaire, x-ray our luggage, and go through random searches. All this to spend less than 12 hours in the country. Anyway, we made it through all the tedium and had yet another line for a shuttle to the hotel. Devina and I hung out with the other couple we knew from our flight during this process. Their one-year-old daughter was asleep in her stroller by this point and I’ve never been more jealous of a toddler.

We eventually boarded a shuttle and were driven to our hotel for the night. I do have to admit that it was probably the nicest La Quinta I’ve ever stayed in (though that isn’t really saying much). We checked into our room, dropped our stuff off, and then decided to get something to eat at the free buffet downstairs. We had our pick from several different types of blobs that resembled food. We ate and then went to bed. I kept thinking about our other friends who had had their flight cancelled hours ago and the pleasant evening they got to enjoy.

Our flight had been rescheduled to 7:00 am the next morning, so we had to be up and ready for the shuttle at 5. This meant getting out of bed and into the shower at 4:00 am. Just as we were dragging ourselves out of bed, we hit on a bit of luck. The flight had been delayed yet again to 9:30, so we were able to get a couple more hours of sleep. The extra snooze did wonders and I felt the best I had in the last 24 hours. Devina and I went downstairs to have breakfast with our friends and then hopped on the shuttle back to the airport. A couple hours later we were on the plane home and it took off this time.

I’ve been thinking about karma quite a bit lately.

Most people tend to ascribe a “what goes around comes around” definition for karma. You get what’s coming to you (more or less). For me, karma is just what happens: plain and simple. Karma is the indifferent revolution of the universe that delivers outcomes without passing judgement. You walk all the way into the restaurant before realizing you left your phone in your car but then you find $20 on the sidewalk as you go out to get it. However, just as you stoop to pick up the twenty, you have a brain aneurysm and collapse in the parking lot. All of those are karma. They just happen: plain and simple.

Looking back, I know that this whole situation was karma. A freak-of-nature fire sparked in an random tunnel and somehow managed to knock out the power to the world’s busiest airport. There’s nothing I could’ve done to alter that chain of events, but I did heightened my own suffering and made the whole thing worse than it had any right to be. I’m very aware I have this tendency and I’m working to stop heaping more negativity on less-than-ideal situations.

Flying still sucks though.

Lessons Learned:

• Staying in a resort is relaxing and convenient but you end up missing out on having an authentic experience.
• Margaritaville is not a bad place to hang out when stuck in an airport.
• Beefy phone charger batteries can be a lifesaver when traveling. I have a ZeroLemon and it comes in handy all the time.
• Being stuck in an airport with a group of close friends is definitely superior to being alone.
• Flying stinks-but that’s karma.

The first morning of our trip to Paris found Devina and I lost. We had just emerged out of the metro (le Metropolitan if ya fancy) from the airport and were trying to figure out in which direction we’d find our hostel. The directions they had provided weren’t quite good enough to get us all the way to the front door. Luckily, a friendly Frenchman came to our aid and pointed us the right way. Properly oriented, we then walked down the street towards our accommodations for the next few nights.

We strolled down three or four more blocks and then spotted a building with several flags hanging over the awning. This was it! Devina and I walked inside and stepped up to the front desk to check in. Unfortunately, check-in time did not start until after 4:00pm and it was still early in the day. Our eight-hour flight to Paris from Atlanta was very bumpy. Not the worst turbulence I’ve experienced, but enough that:

1. Neither of us had slept that much.
2. Devina spilled a glass of wine on the white sweater she was wearing.

Thanks to this, the two of us were exhausted and dirty when we finally reached the hostel that morning. But, instead getting a much needed nap and a shower; we were essentially forced to store our luggage and explore the surrounding area until that afternoon. We asked the desk person if he had any recommendations for things we could do.

“You should check out the church,” he said. “It’s very popular and has a great view of the city.”

We walked back out into the mid-morning Parisian sun and stood on the hostel’s stoop for a moment to regroup. The hostel was located in the Montmartre district of the city. I certainly had never heard of Montmartre before and had not made any conscious effort to stay there. The hostel just happened to have good prices and reviews when we booked our trip online. We learned during a walking tour later in the day that Montmartre’s population is a mix of working class immigrants and bohemian bourgeoisie (bobos for short). Many artists (including Pablo Picasso) lived and worked in Montmartre during the Belle Époque period just before World War I. Ever heard of the Moulin Rouge? It’s located in Montmartre.

Devina still had the wine stain on her shirt and both of us were horribly sleep-deprived. The walking tour wasn’t starting for several hours, so we decided to go see the church the hostel’s front desk guy had mentioned. Montmartre is built on a hill in the northern part of the city. The hostel was situated at the foot of this hill and the Sacré-Cœur was at the top. There was a main street (Boulevard de Rochechouart) running around the perimeter of the hill, with side streets and stairs running up. Devina and I made our way across the street towards the main set of stairs leading to the front of the church. We stopped to look at a fountain and merry-go-round at the foot of the steps and then began our climb up. The stairs were several feet wide, made of concrete, and switch-backed several times before terminating outside the Sacré-Cœur.

Halfway up the staircase, a group of African guys approached us. We had actually already heard about them while researching Paris on TripAdvisor. Apparently, they tie bracelets on tourists and then demand money. We did our best to walk past them, but they quickly surrounded us. There were at least seven of them and they started asking us questions like: “Where are you from?” Since we had already heard about these guys, we immediately told them we weren’t interested and tried to walk past without stopping. Unluckily for us, they blocked our path and would not let us through. It became very obvious that these guys were not going to take no for an answer.

Two of the African dudes separated us and began tying bracelets to our wrists. I have to admit that the entire situation was very concerning. It was our very first day in France, we were supremely jet-lagged, and not in any state of mind to deal with a situation like this. I decided at this point that losing a few Euros was a more desirable outcome than getting beaten up. Or worse, them doing something to Devina. That’s why I let the guy tie the stupid thing to my wrist and told him I was from the US and blah blah blah. I was being extorted and felt helpless to stop it. When we read about these guys, I was expecting to only have to deal with one or two of them I figured they’d be easy enough to avoid. I thought we’d be able to politely refuse, ignore them, or just straight up walk right past them. That’s been my experience with these types of hussles I’ve dealt with in other places.

The African chap finally finished with the bracelet, which was made from simple string and had bands of colors running its length. I might’ve liked having it under other circumstances. Then he asked for money. Five or ten Euros if I remember right. Devina had my wallet, so I walked back over to her in the hopes that these guys would finally leave us the hell alone. They’d tied a bracelet onto her wrist as well, but Devina only pulled out the money for one bracelet. She told them that she did not want one and had already told them she would not be paying for it. My wife is fierce y’all. After a single tense moment, the African guys took the money and cut Devina’s bracelet off of her wrist. It was over. They walked away and didn’t say another word to us.  And with that, the one unpleasant incident in an otherwise fantastic trip to Paris ended.

We continued up the staircase and eventually reach the Sacré-Cœur. It was beautiful. The church itself is a large white building with domed spires and a tall bell tower. The basilica is part of the Roman Catholic Church and, as I said before, sits atop the Montmartre hill. Check out the pictures below. It was one of my favorite things we saw that trip. The view of the city from the church was also incredible. The hill provided a marvelous vantage point with the whole city laid out before us. It was a bright sunny morning, so that made my first view of Paris even more special.  There was a sea of buildings flooding everything within sight all the way to the horizon. We could even see the Eiffel Tower and the Notre Dame.

This view of La Gay Paris made me instantly forget about our run in with the bracelet people. There were cops patrolling all around the church, so I don’t think we were ever in any real danger. Those guys were just trying to make money, so their aggression was likely rooted in desperation. That doesn’t excuse their intimidating behavior and pressuring us into paying them though.

C’est la vie I suppose.

The view also made me think of everything we had planned for our visit: The Louvre, Champs-Élysées, Notre Dame, a ferry tour on the Seine. We would end up seeing many of the typical Parisian sights and spend our fair share of time people watching in various cafes. The two of us even spent an evening lost on the grounds of Versailles (but that’s another story entirely). And I wound up wearing that damn bracelet for the rest of our trip.

Lessons Learned:

• It’s perfectly okay to ask a stranger on the street for directions. They can help you out even if there’s a language barrier.
• Jet lag stinks! I mentioned this in my last post, but syncing your sleep cycle with the new time zone is the best way I’ve found to remedy jet lag. Sometimes that means spending a day dirty and tired.
• Free walking tours are a great way to learn the layout and background of a new city. We’ve taken a couple so far and they’ve been very educational and fun. You usually just have to tip your tour guide at the end.
• If you ever visit Montmartre and the Sacré-Cœur (I highly recommend both), the bracelet dudes are actually pretty easy to avoid. We would have been fine if we’d just taken any of the other streets/stairs that led to the church.
• Our whole trip to Paris was pretty great in all honesty. Everyone we interacted with were very nice and friendly, so we never encountered the stereotypical Parisian rudeness. It was well worth the trip and I hope to go back some day.

On November 30th, 2015, my day started inside of a tent out in the middle of the Rajasthani desert. Devina and I were in the middle of our first trip to India together and my first real international trip ever. When I woke up that morning, I had no idea this would end up being one of the longest days of my life.

It also happened to be my 28th birthday.

Devina’s aunt and uncle had arranged a short trip for us to Jodhpur as a wedding present. We took an overnight train from Dehli and spent the first day exploring the city, including the Mehrangarh fort that surrounds it. Jodhpur is a beautiful place. Many of the buildings are painted blue, which is why it is nicknamed the “Blue City”.

On the morning of our second day in Jodhpur, we had breakfast at the rooftop cafe of our hotel and then went on a desert safari. Our guide drove us through the Rajasthani desert and took us to a local farm. That’s where I learned that raw peanuts are kind of weird before they’re roasted.

After the safari, our guide dropped us off at our campsite and we got settled in to our tent. Well, while it technically was a tent, it was also the purest form of “glamping” that I’ve ever seen. First of all, there was a queen size bed inside the tent. Just that puts it leagues beyond the all other tent’s I’ve ever slept in. In addition to the bed, the tent also had a stone-floored bathroom, a closet, and a front porch with two chairs . It’s was nuts.

The rest of the day consisted of a camel ride, dinner, and a dance performance. We then went to bed and awoke the next morning to, as I said earlier, the longest day of my life.

Once Devina and I were up, showered, and dressed, we had breakfast and then rode back into Jodhpur. We had some time to kill before our our flight to Bhopal, so we decided to hit up the city market for souvenirs and gifts. The market – like most things in India – was complete sensory overload. Carts and stores selling all sorts of colorful bags, scarfs, trinkets, odds, ends, and everything else sprawled across the large bazaar.

I mostly just followed Devina through the shops while we picked out what would amount to the bulk of our Christmas presents that year. Devina’s deft haggling skills helped us avoid being fleeced, which definitely helped make the whole experience less stressful.

We moved through shop after shop purchasing various gifts and sundries. At one point a shopkeeper asked Devina if she was my guide. She politely explained (in Hindi) that we were married. Indian people definitely don’t have a problem asking strangers personal questions.

Our next stop was a shoe store to pick up a few pairs of jutis. We took a seat and the shopkeeper started taking shoes off the shelves and threw them on the floor in front of us. I tried on a few until I found a pair that worked for me. Devina, on the other hand, ended up with a big pile of shoes in front of her before she selected some for herself.

A couple hours (and many, many shops) later, we decided it was time to go. Devina and I jammed all of our purchases into a cab and away we went to the Jodhpur Airport. Once there, we went through security and bought a deep-fried pastry filled with various vegetables and spices that turned out to be very tasty. It wasn’t a samosa, but something very close to it. Definitely one of the more interesting things I’ve eaten inside an airport.

We boarded our flight an hour or so later and took off for Bhopal to visit Devina’s grandparents. At long last, around 7pm that evening, we arrived at their house. I was ready to have some dinner and then hit the hay for a good night’s sleep. Remember, I woke up in the middle of the dang desert that morning.

This, however, is not what happened.

The first thing that I noticed when walking up to the house was the welcome sign of colored sand they had made for us on their stoop. Devina’s grandparents then came out to greet us with huge hugs and birthday wishes. They also  placed a red tikka on my and Devina’s foreheads.

Badi Mumma (grandmother) and Badde Daddy (grandfather) are two of my favorite people in the world. That night they were both wonderfully friendly and welcoming from the moment I met them. We all moved inside the house and sat down in their living room. Some neighbors were also visiting, so I spent the next few minutes meeting everyone. They all wished me a happy birthday and then brought out a chocolate cake.

We ate some cake and then had dinner, which consisted of a delicious and hearty porridge. It was the perfect meal after a long and tiring day. By the time dinner was finished, I was stuffed, sleepy, and more ready for bed than I’ve ever been in my life.

Now, this really should be the end of the story. I was expecting to get into bed and go immediately to sleep.

This, however, is not what happened.

Instead, as my wife and I were getting ready for bed. My father-in-law came into our room. He, like his parents, is also a very warm and loving person who has always made me feel like part of the family. He and my mother-in-law are both fantastic people.

So, as we are getting ready to sleep, FIL comes into the room and says he wants to talk to us about something. We all sit down on the bed and he begins talking to us about the merits of purchasing a house.

It’s past midnight, I’ve been up for 17+ hours, and I’m having to discuss my future plans for buying real estate with my wife’s dad. I had been in a desert, an open-air market, a plane, and two different Indian cities that day. I was beyond tired and my brain was total mush.

The conversation actually stretched on for at least an hour. We talked about the pros/cons of buying a house vs renting, how the long term investment made sense now that we were married, and how to go about getting a realistic mortgage. I tried my best to pay attention, but sitting on the bed with the pillow so close was a constant distraction.

Eventually, my saint of a mother-in-law yelled at Devina’s dad to let us go to bed, so he got up and left. I was finally able to lay down and close my eyes. I had just enough time to reflect on the silliness of the conversation I’d just had and, at long last, I drifted to sleep and my 28th birthday came to an end.

Devina and I bought our first home six months later.

Lessons Learned:

• I really can’t overstate how crowded, noisy, and amazing India really is. When I try to explain it to others, I typically tell them that if you take any American public space, add 3 to 4 times the amount of people (all of them Indian), plus constant car horns honking and you might get close to what India is like. It is overwhelming and absolutely beautiful.
• You can haggle for just about anything in India. Certainly most cab drivers and non-westernized shop owners are willing to negotiate on price if you at least ask. When Devina would push back even a bit, most people were willing to give a better price or cut us a deal.
• Overnight trains are a great way to get around in India if you’d like to save money on a flight. From my own personal experience, be sure to wear shoes if you get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.
• If you ever get the chance to ride a camel, be very careful about sharing the saddle with another person. When we had our ride, Devina sat in the front and I took the back. She had reins, stirrups, and an actual seat. I, on the other had, had nothing to hold on to, nothing to put my feet on, and mostly nothing to sit on. It was pretty scary being jostled about every time the camel took a step since I was constantly struggling not to fall.
• It’s common in India to have the birthday cake before dinner, rather than afterward.
• Wacky sleep cycles are just a part of traveling. Between jet lag and busy itineraries, you might find yourself exhausted and lethargic during your trip. My best advice is to just go with it as best you can. We usually try and sync up our sleep with the day/night cycle of our destination. That sometimes means staying up all day until the sun goes down. It stinks, but otherwise you’re sleeping when you could be out having fun and experiencing new things.