Note: this post has almost nothing to do with India and everything to do with how to survive the first 48-hours with two little kids once you get there.
India will come later.
Say what you will about the insane spread and strange austerity of the Frankfurt airport…
... any airport that provides multiple football field-lengths of full-sized cots clearly understands its mission as an international jet lag way station.
Note to prospective traveling grannies: 30 hours of travel, plus a 13.5 hour time difference, plus the chaotic pace of Bangalore, multiplied by highly active two- and five-year old sleep needs = a serious need for a Jet Lag Plan.
Thankfully, Kate was all over it in the packing department.
For others, exercise and some hand-eye coordination flexing is the ticket.
Personally, I found a little adoring lens therapy went a long way to getting my head, heart and travel-hormones back in synch.
A little volunteer gardening also helped to get things grounded. While I’m not sure the chlorinated water was exactly what the poolside vegetation craved, it worked for J for at least 20 minutes.
Kate found that working on her recreational improv skills pulled things together…
… and J discovered you might as well work on your technique while you’re at it.
Football is tougher than it looks, you know.
Fortunately, things drifted back to where they belonged fairly quickly, or at least it has seemed that way to me.
I don’t know, though. Adults get jet lag too, and it fogs the brain.
It’s now seven days later, and we’re all finally almost in the groove, just in time to have left Bangalore and land in the coastal resort area of Varkala. It’s so
stinkin’ blissfully hot and humid here that Bangalore was balmy in comparison, and I feel like I’ve entered a Bikram vacation zone.
But who knows? Maybe the languid, slo-mo mojo will improve my writing skills as I actually write about India next.
Time and things work differently here.