Travel is most certainly a privilege. Given my life choices and circumstances, travel has become more than a hobby or even an obligation but rather a lifestyle, an independent factor that shapes almost everything in my life right now. It determines what I can do and how I feel to such an extent that it repulses me to hear that someone else likes travel or thinks of themselves as a "world traveler". If you travel a lot, too much, then you either do it in economy (cheap flights, trains, buses, shared rooms, cheap food, heavy bags on your own back) or you are even more burdensome to the world than you need to be (fancy hotels, comfort in long flights, all that plastic and money spent). Regardless, traveling alone or as a single person is the worst, it is everything - wasteful, expensive, uncomfortable, scary. I travel so much that I cannot even afford to have friends or a relationship because I don't live in one place. None of this is really of my choosing but in the beginning, I was really excited about international travel. A tad scared about visas but generally acquired the confidence, taste and attitude of someone who is very comfortable navigating airports around the world. I even have stored wi-fi passwords for some cafe in a Moscow airport because at some point, all my cheap Europe flights had long layovers in Moscow and it is a really cold place (even inside the airport) and having internet really helps when you have to be there for eleven hours. My longest layover so far has been 17 hours and I have managed to entertain myself to live through it. But I hadn't cried at an airport, like sobbed, until yesterday.
It was at the Toronto airport at midnight. My mother has a habit of second-hand anxiety, having conversations with me about topics that already are on my mind, making me anxious. Worrying with me, talking about it, perhaps because it makes her less anxious or more, if she didn't talk about it. With help, I have learned to turn her (mother) away from these topics in my life, different tactics every time. But she still does it, to the extent that I don't pick up her phone calls during such phases when I know she is going to bring up the exact thing I am already worrying about. I started last month in the UK attending a conference, changing a thousand (three) flights, skimping on hotel stays and meals. The goal of the trip was to enter the US after that, pack up my entire house in Irvine, sell bits off, sell furniture, donate belongings, account for every post-it, pen and spoon and empty it out of a beautiful apartment that my roommate had already gradually been turning to her taste without checking with me. Could I have complained since I barely stayed there? Should she at least have asked before hiding, pushing every bit of me and mine into storage? Does it matter at this point now that I have left? This, what you are reading, is emotional exhaust. What remains and cannot be stored or succinctly conveyed after I have diligently packed, vacated and moved. Who would even want every detail of this story? I dare not tell my mother or father. Dad has second-hand fatigue unlike mum. His face turns a certain expression of discomfort as if to ask me if all of this was necessary, if I could not have just spent some more money or asked some friends to help. As if.
Anyway, as per plan, after Irvine I moved on to my last stop, Michigan, collecting some more exhausting by way of weird flights, scheduling tension, then 2.5 days of intense academic conversations and constant emotional availability. I was done and then awaited 40 hours of flying with three stop-overs, emails in-between. Except, this was my first ever attempt at self check-in flights - where it isn't a single itinerary. You have to clear immigration at each stop, then wait and re-check-in, like every flight is its own thing. If you miss a connection then the tumbling chain breaks and you could risk being stranded, unaccounted for, stuck at one of the airports.
My very first connection from Detroit to Toronto got cancelled. I was bound to miss my Toronto-London flight and then London-Colombo-Bangalore. It was okay, I wasn't gonna panic. I called the booking website and asked them to help. They gave me a rescheduling guarantee, told me I would have my next ticket before I reached Toronto. If I reached Toronto without a ticket, I would have no cell coverage, wi-fi (maybe) and be stranded in Canada without any hotel or food or plan. It happened. I reached Toronto, still no ticket in hand after 5 calls to the website. I sat down on the floor of the Toronto arrivals, near the bag belt, opened my laptop, still in control, connected to the wi-fi, used my skype credit to call the website again. My skype credit was low, I didn't know how long this would last. As the phone rang, it hit me. Someone answered, another new operator asking me what happened. And I sobbed. I started sobbing to her, told her I was panicking and I was going to have a breakdown because I had no way to get home. Home seemed so far away and I knew there was no bed at home. I just cried to her for a few seconds. And I lost wi-fi signal. I called again, still sobbing. I spoke to a guy named Paul. Told him everything. He told me he was going to take care of me and make sure everything would be alright. My throat is choking up as I write this from the Hong Kong airport, much closer to home but in a much better place. But Paul came through, he booked me my new flights: Toronto-Hong Kong-Bangalore. It would take me another 25 hours of flying but I would be home and he would get me refunds for meals and hotels. I was still sobbing, some man and his wife stood beside me as I cried still sitting on the floor. I told them I was okay. I spent the next ten hours in the airport, with a wool cap covering my eyes, checking and reorienting myself to Indian time to avoid jetlag when I finally get home. Today has been better, I have a paper that got accepted, new meetings, new emails, the usual emptiness that sets in my eyes when I travel - the kind that focuses on avoiding dark circles, staying hydrated, avoiding acne and window shopping while I wait for my final cheap flight to Bangalore. Imagine if I had to explain all this to someone, how much of this as circumstance and constraints and how much of it my own choosing. It would be exhausting. I can't wait to not travel again. For now, I am focusing on: finishing reading a book, thinking about hugging a cat when I get home, eating dosa when I get home, taking a bath, getting my legs waxed and when I get to the new house and find a bed, I will cry some more. Not induced crying but the kind that I could not stop at the Toronto airport.
Self check-in flights are cheap but very stressful and not advisable unless the next available option is 500 dollars more. In which case you will not have a choice and you must be prepared for all of this.
