Hearty Welcome Melissa!

---

I pick up my bags, take a deep breathe and head to the door. Father Joe prepared us, too, for what we will encounter outside and exactly where Father Nelson will be waiting for me. I've been told to look left upon exiting the door. I expect to be greeted by a swarm of taxi drivers and hotel workers offering to transport me just as my friends and I were when we arrived in Costa Rica last year. One of my fellow India pilgrims said that the first moment outside the airport into another country is often the most delirious. It certainly was in Costa Rica. But as I walk out the door into India, I am greeted not by a throng of taxi drivers, but by darkness and a cool breeze. A barricade keeps the taxi drivers at least 4 feet away. I look to the left as Father Joe instructed, but I don't see Father Nelson. I pause, take a breathe, and begin to walk down the line of drivers to see if anyone is holding a sign with my name on it. I see a sign for IBM and signs for some other people traveling from who knows where, but no Melissa. I walk to the corner and wait. A man in a suit approaches me to see what's going on. I assume he works for the airport. I tell him I'm waiting for my friend who is not here yet - another instruction from Joe. He walks away. Ten minutes pass and he walks back. I explain again and this time he tells me he works for a 4-star hotel in case I need a place to stay for the night. I guess 4-star hotel reps have greater access to travelers.

I look up at the stars and think of my little ones at home. Right before I left we placed glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling over their beds as an added nighttime comfort while I'm away. We promised each other that whenever we saw stars - glow-in-the-dark stars or real ones - we'd think of each other and know that our love stretched across the planet and back. I feel the breeze and tell myself that Nelson will arrive. Ten minutes later, no Nelson. My cellphone is dead from hours on the plane and I prepare to ask the hotel rep to use his phone to call Nelson. Another five minutes passes and I feel a touch on my shoulder. It's Nelson and one of the pilgrims I've yet to meet, Mar. She's returned because her bag didn't make it yesterday. Nelson welcomes me with a hug and explains they are late because they discovered they were nearly out of gas en route and had a hard time finding a gas station at the late hour. I am very glad to see him.

It took another 15 or 20 minutes for Mar to get her bag. She had to explain why she had eight pounds of jewelry in her suitcase - another last minute request from Father Joe. The jewelry was intended as gifts for the women who would care for us along the way. Once Mar told the customs official that the jewelry was used - it had been collected by Joe's sister from among the local parishioners - her bag was freed without fees. We walk to the van and Nelson tells me it will be at least an hour and a half to reach the retreat house becuase he drives slowly.

It doesn't take me long to figure out why. It is dark and the roads are mostly deserted, but not so empty that I fail to get a pretty good understanding of traffic in India. Every lane is up for grabs in every direction --just choose your path and don't hesitate to use your most valuable asset -- your horn. Road construction in Bangalore is ongoing everywhere. I see three men along the road using a jackhammer in the nighttime darkness with no lighting. Definitely not an OSHA-approved work environment. I stay awake for the drive, which seems much shorter than Nelon's prediction.

As we near the rereat house, the roads are narrower and rougher. The last half mile is red clay. We ease up to the door and Nelson takes my bag. Father Joe appears at the door, bleary and puffy from lack of sleep. He greets me warmly and carries my bag upstairs to my room. The sign on the door reads, "Hearty Welcome, Melissa!" I stumble in with my bag and Joe points out the lights and reminds me not to drink from the tap. I close the door and open my bag for the essentials. There's a knock at the door. Father Joe hands me my key, which I left in the lock. I wash, brush slip underneath the sheets, stretching out on a wafer-thin mattress that feels like bliss.

---