Walking through the airport, passport in hand, we’re herded, single-file, into a roped-off area. Military personnel request the H1N1 document that we had had to complete on the plane.

After answering questions about whether I’d cared for anyone with the flu, whether I had been in a pandemic area, or whether I’d recently had a fever, I was asked to stand in front of a video camera. As I watched, the camera showed an infra-red picture of me on the screen in front of my questioner.

We all must have been cool (pun intended).

Three hours later, we’re in the hotel and I take a shower. A long, hot shower. Just so that I can put on the clothes I just took off. I do manage to wash my underwear, socks, and t-shirt. Unfortunately, even though I do have a real bra in my carryon, along with the sweater and pair of dress pants, I forgot to pack any extra socks or … you guessed it … underwear. The pair I just hand washed (with shampoo) are still dripping, and I’m supposed to be in the lobby for breakfast in 15 minutes.

I decide that going commando in jeans, rather than dress pants (that gawd only knows, I may have to wear to presentations on Monday) is my only option. A cotton sweater, the same Levis and socks from the toiletry kit the airline handed out get donned and I make my way to the restaurant.

Fortified by very strong coffee, we decide to take a walk around the grounds to snap some photos. It’s 85 degrees and extremely humid. I’m wearing a fucking sweater. I can feel the sweat tricking under my wig. It’s only 11 am. Exhaustion has come back and it’s knocking hard.

Be in the lobby at 2:30 for a city tour, pearl shopping and dinner.

we’re told.

Gratefully, I make my way back to my room, get undressed and slip between the sheets to try to nap. Just about the time I’m drifting off, my phone starts ringing. I pick up the receiver.

Mrs. Hotfessional, this is British Airways calling. We’re having system problems and therefore the ATM card we gave you will not work until tomorrow at 10 a.m. We will not be able to activate it before then.

I ask about my luggage.

We most assuredly expect that it will be on the two-seven-seven flight that arrives at 4:40 am, and at that time we will send it over to your hotel.

“Most assuredly expect” doesn’t sound very promising, I think to myself. Then I toss and turn for two more hours until it’s time to meet the rest of the group.

Plans have changed. We’re no longer going to the city because of civil unrest and rioting. We will, instead, go to a craft bazaar and then pearl shopping. I’m reassured that I will certainly be able to find something to wear at the local mall where the pearls are sold.

We arrive at the bazaar and I realize that this place is HIGHLY UNLIKELY to accept Visa or Mastercard, and I have been in such a brain fog that I completely forgot to exchange any money for rupees. One of our guides takes me to a stall selling beautiful cotton tunics. I look at her, I look at me and say, “There’s no way that any of this is going to fit me”. She laughs and starts asking the proprietress about sizes. They finally pull out a blue and burgundy print with mirrors embroidered into the yoke. I hold it up to my chest and try to figure out if it will fit. “Maybe once I have the sweater off”, I say to her. She nods and convinces the woman to let me have it for 220 rupees rather than the 300 the woman was originally asking for it. She also pays since I did let her know that I had no Indian currency – and I promise that as soon as I can get the money that B.A. tells me is on that non-working ATM card, I will pay her back.

I walk away with a hand-embroidered cotton shirt for the equivalent of $4.50.

When we finish at the bazaar, our hosts decide that the city still isn’t safe for us to visit and so we go to a road-side shop for pearl shopping. One of our group walks away with a single strand of real pearls, two pairs of earrings and two rings for $90. I’m busy standing outside watching the traffic go by and listening to my stomach growl.

After everyone has finished their bargaining, we head to dinner. It’s the grubbiest group that ever walked into a 5-Star restaurant and the manager makes sure to seat the fifteen of us FAR AWAY from the rest of his patrons. After some local beer and biryani, we don’t much care anymore.

At 11 p.m. Indian time, I get online to G00gle chat with Mr. Hot for a bit before falling asleep. By the time morning rolls around, I’ve managed five or six hours of shut-eye spread between 11 and 6.

—- I seriously consider burning the jeans when I wake up. —-

Right? Well, dudes, judge for yourself.

Leg 1: Detroit to Chicago (3:10 pm Eastern 12/3/2009)

YAWN. I’ve done this trip so many times I can do it in my sleep. In fact, I HAVE done it in my sleep. The weird thing was getting to the airport in the DAYLIGHT and after lunch not before breakfast. We boarded on time, we left on time, we taxied from the FURTHEST runway to the terminal. The only downside about the actual flight was that the guy in the seat next to me did the CHICKEN ARM thing – y’know, where you point your elbows out at right angles to your body, therefore blocking anyone else from getting the middle armrest?

That’s okay – I finished the fucking crossword puzzle in the American Way magazine. There’s no way he could have done that in a 40 minute flight.

Once I got to O’Horror, the fear of “Will my checked bag have made it?” started. Fifteen minutes later, I had my bag and was on my way from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1. I got in line to check my bag (15 minutes) then into the security line (40 minutes) and then made my way through to the lounge.

My two free drink tickets lasted about 30 minutes. I tweeted a couple of tweets and waited for the rest of my group to appear.

One of the cleaning guys came by and asked if I was done with my glass.

Yes, unfortunately.

I said. I smiled at him.

He handed me three more tickets. Told me to sleep well on my flight. I think I’m in love.

*****lalalalala*****

Leg 2: Chicago to London (9:07 pm Central 12/3/2009)

YAWN. This time, though, it’s not boredom that’s causing my jaw breaking yawns – it’s pure and utter exhaustion. Well, that and the 4 glasses of wine and 2 Benadryl. The flight attendant asks me if I’d like to order dinner. I decline – but accept another glass of wine.

This is the first time I’ve ever slept with a wig on. Giving a small prayer up that I won’t awaken with the back of my hair covering my face, I recline my seat (NOW! Lay flat beds on United Business Class!) and fall asleep half listening to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Hint: Selecting a movie that you’ve already seen guarantees that you won’t be too sad when you miss the end (and the middle) (actually, everything except the first 10 minutes) because you’re snoozing.

When the normal morning bustle starts (it’s pushing 10 a.m. in London) I accept breakfast and coffee and then make my way to the bathroom to make sure my hair is on straight. I brush my teeth and try not to drip toothpaste down my t-shirt. I fail.

After circling London for several minutes, we land and disembark. Four (of the eight) of us make our way out of Terminal 1 and head over to Terminal 5. On a bus. I’m the only one who printed their boarding pass before leaving home – so after the others get theirs, and we get through security (London, I could kiss you for not making me take my shoes off!) we have about 80 minutes before we have to board our next flight.

Full English breakfast, anyone?

says the one English guy on this trip. We bypass the Club Lounge to head over to Huxley’s Bar and Grill for Egg and Sausage sandwiches. I chug three glasses of water and start to feel almost human.

We meet up with the other four once we get to the gate to board. We’re ushered to another bus and carted out to the middle of the tarmac to get on the plane. Next stop – Hyderabad.

Wonder what they’re going to make of me – a woman traveling with 7 men. Snirk.

*****lalalalala*****

Leg 3: London to Hyderabad (1:40 pm London 12/4/2009)

British Airways secludes its Business Class passengers in these little pod-like things. Once we hit the air, I take out my laptop, order a ginger ale and start writing. The flight attendant hands us our menus – I order the lime prawns with cashews and lamb kohlapuri (curried lamb). “What the hell”, I think, “I may as well start eating the Indian food right away.” Three bites in, my mouth is burning and my nose is running, but it was delicious.

I turned on “District 9″ while I ate. By the time the flight attendant was back to clear away the dishes, my eyes were crossing.

According to the little plane icon on the little screen in front of me, I wake up over Abu Dhabi. With approximately two hours left before we land in Hyderabad, I have breakfast and watch House and E.R. Nothing like a little Hugh Laurie to brighten up a girl’s morning.

The sky is still dark since we’re supposed to land at 4:40 a.m. Indian time. I think of Mr. Hot, try to count backwards and figure it’s about 6:30 p.m. the day before. What day is this anyway? Oh, right. It’s Saturday mornning in the sky. And it’s about to become the longest fucking day of my life.

When the wheels touch down and we arrive at the gate, we stand up to gather our belongings. A voice comes over the intercom.

Will Ree the Hotfessional please see a flight attendant before disembarking?

Everyone I’m with immediately looks at me and I shrug my shoulders. Working against the people trying to leave the plane, I finally make get to the woman holding the microphone. “You called me?, I ask. She points to four Indian men with clipboards. I grab our travel coordinator and tell him he better come with me. I’m not heading off the plane – alone – with four strange men who don’t speak my language and are holding official looking papers.

One of them speaks.

“Ma’am, your bag is not on the plane. You can skip baggage claim and go to the customer service desk.”

Seriously? My luggage. All of my clothing for 12 days in India. I’m wearing a pair of jeans I’ve slept in twice, a shelf-bra camisole instead of a real bra, a t-shirt and hoodie, white sweat socks and ripped, comfortable underwear. I have one pair of pants and a sweater in my carryon.

This has got to be a horrible nightmare. I try to wake myself up. But, sadly, no. It’s true. The B.A. representative hands me a form to fill out, a sealed ATM card worth fifty pounds, and tells me that my bag will PROBABLY be on the next flight from London. When is that flight? Twenty-four hours, of course. There’s only one flight from Heathrow to Hyderabad every day, and I just got off the one for that day.

To Be Continued….

—- However, in other news, Mr. Hot is coming to Chicago today to spend the night. I’ll yack at you tomorrow if I come up for air. —-

—- It was an amazing trip, and as soon as I can stay awake, I’ll start the recap. —-

It’s okay – don’t look at your calendar – it’s not Sunday. It’s just that I have no idea what I’ll be wanting to write about 12 days from today. And hopefully, by the time you read this, I’ll be someplace between London and Chicago – coming back west.

• Popcorn.
• Finishing a crossword puzzle.
• Black Cherry Vodka.
• Comfortable socks.
• Homemade Christmas ornaments.

—- A good movie and a warm husband on a rainy afternoon. —-

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things. Thanks to Schmutzie, as always.

As I’m getting ready to leave for the other side of the world (this was scheduled the day before I left) and thinking about how LONG I’ll be away – and as I get teary eyed over the thought of missing my family – I get this guest post from The Coast Rat. You know – Coast Rat – who picked up and moved south to the coast of Mississippi for 3 years to help rebuild after Hurricane Katrina caused such devastation. Three years away from his wife and home. You can read his stories on his blog AFTER you read this memory of a favorite story here.

It is a distinct privilege to provide this guest post for my friend Ree – The Hotfessional, during her well-earned travel absence from the U.S. during December 2009. Have a safe and great trip, Ree!

The world is a small place.

In October of 2000, Blond Girl and I hit the road and drove down from Wisconsin to North Carolina to visit our son and his family, who live there, in Durham.

It was an amazing trip traveling at that time of the year, catching the beautiful fall colors on the trees, as we drove through Ohio, the Hotfessional’s West By-God Virginia, and Virginia, on our way down to Durham.

The timing of the trip was planned to coincide with the Cedar Creek Civil War Battlefield Reenactment, an annual event taking place on the grounds of the Cedar Creek Battlefield State Park, in northwestern Virginia.

It was my hope to meet several of my ‘pards’ from Company K, Sixth Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry there at the Reenactment, and fall in with them in the Black Hat Battalion for at least one day of the battle reenactment, before heading on down to North Carolina. I had last seen those fellows, mostly from New Jersey, and from Pennsylvania, the year before, at the 135th Anniversary Reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg, in PA, where some 28,000+ reenactors of us took part in that largest civil war reenactment ever held in the U.S.

As it turned out, Blond Girl and i arrived after dark on the Friday evening of the Cedar Creek reenactment, and found that a couple of Co. K members had made the trip over from New Jersey for the event. We visited a bit, and made plans for my return the next morning, in Union uniform, to take part in the Battle scenario that was to take place.

Sunday morning dawned sunny, bright and cool to begin with, as Blond Girl and I made our way from a nearby town where we had stayed the night, down to the battlefield and looked up my friends, in preparation for the battle to start.

There was a good sized group from the reenactment community on hand for the battle, both Union and Confederate, and I was fortunate to be able to spend time visiting and remembering our week-long experience at the Gettysburg 135th event the previous year.

Co. K Captain at the time, Capt. Bob Patterson, was kind enough to lend me his musket for the battle scenario, and just after noon, we got ready for the battle to begin.

As many people are aware, Civil War reenactment battles and skirmishes are entirely scripted, as to troop movements, and who wins the day, including which and how many participants “take hits,” on both sides in the battle, attempting to accurately portray what actually occured during the original event almost a century and a half ago.

At Cedar Creek, a large Confederate force surprised a large camped Union force in the morning, scattering and routing them several miles from their camps at Cedar Creek. Later in the day, Union forces rallied, and regained the original ground they had lost in the morning, including what was left of their camp and possessions.

Our reenactment started out with our Union infantry force being ’surprised’ by Confederate forces and driven across the battlefield almost a half a mile, fighting and firing our muskets all the way, at the advancing rebs, in what was termed as a “strategic withdrawal,” as often was the case in many of the civil war engagements of that war.

During our retreat across the battlefield grounds, I probably loaded and fired some 30-40 powder rounds, and eventually had to borrow some powder charges from a fellow Union infantry soldier I had been fighting beside all the way across the valley we retreated on. I had seen this fellow the evening before during our brief visit, but never got a chance to meet or talk with him.

When our Union infantry force had finally reached the point of retreat where we were to stop, we rested briefly and then, start advancing back across the 1/2 mile we had just given up, ‘attacking’ the confederate infantry back across the same ground, to the original starting point.

It was during our brief rest, while we were taking water from our canteens and briefing talking with each other, that an amazing incident occurred.

It was then that I turned to the fellow infantryman stranger beside me, who I had fought right beside all along during the Union retreat, and who had given me a hand-full of his own powder cartridges, and I shock his hand and said: “Hi, I’m Lance; glad to soldier with you.” He said: “Hi. I’m Chris; from DC, nice to soldier with you, too.”

I said: “I’m from Wisconsin, on my way to North Carolina, and I am portraying my great great grandfather, Albert Harland Rolfe, who was a member of the original Company K, Sixth Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry, who fought with the Union Army of the Potomac in the civil war.”

Chris said: “Wisconsin, huh…, are you from anywhere near Beaver Dam?”

I said: “Beaver Dam…, yeah, I’ve got a sister and brother-in-law, Sue and Mick McConaghy who live in Beaver Dam, about an hour and a half from my home.”

Chris said: “McConaghy, huh…, do they have a daughter named Michelle?”

I said: instantly alert and somewhat startled by Chris’s question… “Yes….., why do you ask?”

Chris said: Is she marrying a guy named Paul next summer…?”

Even more startled, I said: “yeeesssss……., why do you ask?”

To my absolute astonishment, Chris said: “Yeah…., Paul is my brother, and I’m the Best Man at their wedding next summer!”

As my mouth dropped open in amazement, I almost fell over, and replied: “You have got to be kidding me!!! Here we are, complete strangers at a civil war reenactment in Virginia, who end up fighting next to each other, within two feet of one another for an hour of historic reenactment, and our paths and family ties are so connected! This is truly, incredible, just incredible!”

Family connections back then in that terrible event were close, and today, observing that historic event, family ties are still connected and close.

At Paul and Michelle’s wedding that next summer, I had the pleasure to photographing their reception in Beaver Dam, and renewing my new friendship with Chris, including having our picture taken together with us both wearing the “Black Hats” of the 6th Wisconsin Infantry.

One really never knows what connection one may have with a stranger next to you.

One thing is for sure: The world truly is a small place.

—- It surely is, Lance. But I bet Blond Girl is glad that the distance between you is really teeny now. —-