The Transit - Part 2

It was a day that refused to end

Some days stretch like elastic. This one felt like it didn’t want to end at all.

After a flight that lasted longer than most relationships, I landed in Los Angeles. As Susan Raye once sang back in ’71, ‘L.A. International Airport, where the big jet engines roar…’ — I wasn’t exactly joining the jet set, but somewhere between all the activities, I felt the thrum of a new kind of excitement. While the song is very peppy, the lyrics were a bit sad just opposite of what I felt right then.

 

I had already flown over the Indian Ocean, the South China Sea, and a hefty chunk of the Pacific, but the date on the clock still hadn’t moved forward. Jet lag had been kind of defeated, but in the process, time itself seemed warped in on me like my Golden Retriever curls on a cold Bangalore morning. The immigration line was long, really long. More than 300 weary passengers, trying to jostle their way to the front of the line, which snaked through the lanes distinctly marked by tapes. I felt a bit apprehensive with recent political developments and some news of passengers from India being sent back for unknown reasons but it was all unfounded. Three simple questions - whether it was my first trip to the USA, purpose of visit and number of days of stay and an unsmiling welcome later I walked down to collect my baggage which had left me in Bangalore. I had last seen them riding on a conveyor belt just to be swallowed in a small square cave and very soon I saw them tumbling down and rolling towards me like old friends who had last met in a get-together a couple of years back. 

After landing in Los Angeles, bleary-eyed and time-confused, as I stood outside the arrival lounge, I got a frantic call from my cousin who was picking me up at LAX telling me the colour and number of the car. As I stepped in a Tesla for the first time, my joy knew no bounds. Familiar faces, warm hugs, and just like that, I was no longer a traveller—I was family again.  The car ride itself was a blur of laughter, catching up, exchanging stories at double speed, and trying not to fall asleep mid-sentence. I was still floating somewhere between Hong Kong clouds and a California sun.

I reached home and met my 89 year old aunt who was smiling from ear to ear seeing me after many many years. A quick cup of filter coffee and I was shown my room where I was to stay - for a couple of hours. There was no time to settle in. Barely a few of hours after touchdown, I was to be airborne again. I had to get back to another airport Burbank — this time for a domestic hop to San Francisco. No champagne, no lie-flat seat, no ear plugs. Just a smaller plane, a tighter cabin, a shorter flight and a weary but slightly unwilling body and of course the kind of quiet fatigue that settles into your shoulders when your body knows it’s travelled half way across the world

San Francisco airport was different though I don’t remember many details. Jet lag was trying to settle in like a mist over a mountain lake. It was getting chilly outside. Another cousin was to meet me at SFO airport. (In this journey, family appears like chapters—each one adding its own warmth and twist to the plot.) She took a wrong turn to the airport and the waiting extended by another 15 minutes. I paced around with just a backpack and my thoughts wandered. I was 14000 kms away from home, alone in a strange land, still on Day One of my journey. What all lay in front of me? When would I get a proper bed to lie down on? The thoughts got interrupted, with a shout from car “Anna, jump in.” The bright smiles of my cousins (another one had joined her to pick me up) drove all thoughts away. Another round of backslapping, catching up as we drove through the city. I got my first glimpse of a city I had seen only in postcards and of course the movie BumbleBee of Transformers fame. My eyes drooped while the dusk was pushing away the daylight and night was coming up like a curtain slowly rising on the stage of this trip.

I had arrived. Properly this time.

The real journey — of city streets, cool mornings, unfamiliar places and unexpected thoughts. It would be walked, heard, tasted and felt. And it was just beginning.

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An afterthought - A Note Before We Begin

Some journeys begin the moment the plane lifts off. Others… somewhere mid-air, when the person next to you falls asleep and you find yourself staring into the darkened cabin, wondering what this trip will really be about.

This is not a story of a grand backpacking escape. Or a tight itinerary of must-do places to see. It is a little of everything: a reunion or two, a solo stroll through a city of strangers, shared meals, quiet mornings, dazzling sights, and long internal monologues no one else could hear.

I travelled through San Francisco, Las Vegas, Hoover Dam, Grand Canyon, New York City, Washington DC, and Los Angeles, with friends and family weaving in and out of the days. But somewhere between these shared moments, I also found myself walking alone—sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally—into a new kind of awareness.

This is not a travel guide. There will be no “Top 10 things to do in…” lists. Instead, enjoy this as a collage of my moments — tiny postcards printed from deep inside my mind.

Through the posts that follow, I’ll revisit:

• Glittering city lights and quiet grandeur of canyons 

• Introspective musings and cousin conversations

• Steering Wheels (even of a driverless car) & Subway Screeches

• And above all, what it means to be almost alone—and being completely okay with it

Whether you’re a solo traveller, or someone who’s simply curious about what happens. Whether you’re the tourist, the tour guide, or the unfolding path—of your inner landscape and the outer unknown. I hope you’ll find something in here that resonates.

Buckle up, wander freely with me. This isn’t just a travel story—it’s a slow unfolding through my memories and musings. Come along.

Check out next ------------------> San Francisco