Pack it in.

I've never been to India. My list of previous travel destinations and hometowns reads like an itinerary from Stuff White People Like: piecemeal explorations across the U.S., Canada, the UK, Western Europe (best referenced as "the Continent" for maximum snobbery points), the Baltic states, and Scandinavia. I spent two years of my childhood in England, so my elementary school stories feature such anecdotes as the time a teacher bellowed "Ah! The return of the colonies!" upon hearing my American accent, or the time my fourth-year class took a costumed field trip to a reproduction 19th-century train yard, where I meekly mumbled "many thanks, Mum" as Queen Victoria herself complimented my ostentatious hat. My last trip out of the country was eight years ago, when I spent a semester abroad in Paris studying French and art history, jotting down notes for my term paper on Delacroix from the benches of the Louvre. For these reasons, I have been at a loss over the past few weeks as people good-naturedly ask whether I am "ready" for my upcoming month in India. 

Yes? No. I don't know. I'm mentally and pharmacologically prepared for traveler's diarrhea, if that's what you mean. And my sister Julia, ever helpful, just sent me a timely news article entitled "Air India Flight Returns to Airport After Passengers See Rat," with the comment, "be vigilant!" - which seems like sage advice for any journey. 

In all other respects, I have enough of a sense of India's enormity and complexity - and its uniqueness to any place I've visited before -  to realize the depths of my own ignorance. The sum total of what I think I know about India is derived from an embarrassingly small swath of media: namely, a 7th-grade Geography class viewing of the 1982 film Ghandi, supplemented by viewings of Slumdog Millionaire, The Hundred-Foot Journey, and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. (The last of these films boasts a cast of beloved UK actors including Judi Dench and Bill Nighy, but I found the viewing experience hindered by my inability to accept Dame Maggie Smith in the role of a casual racist.)

Nooo Professor McGonagall you are better than this

I am happy to report that after the harrowing torture he endured at the hands of the gameshow industry, Jamal used his Who Wants to Be a Millionaire winnings to open a decrepit but charming retirement community for British seniors. #DevPatel

In an effort to be less of a cultural dolt, I have packed a copy of Behind the Beautiful Forevers, a book of prose nonfiction written by a journalist who spent years in Mumbai, which I intend to read over the series of long-haul flights that will deliver us to the Asian subcontinent. Other reading material for the month abroad: Fates and Furies (the January pick of my Boston book club), One Doctor (a medical memoir and birthday gift from Julia), Do You Believe in Magic? The Sense and Nonsense of Alternative Medicine (from - who else? - Dr. Dohan), Back to Our Future (a nonfiction book about the American socio-political climate of the 1980s) and Rabid (a history of rabies, included purely for my longstanding fascination with zoological diseases).

Only a former English major would pack 6 books for a 4-week trip

"What else are you bringing?" said no one. Well, I am so glad you asked!

Sara's List of Travel Essentials, Explained

Please reference the following photo:

1. A real pillow. Critical. I've tried those U-shaped neck "pillows" that purport to keep your head comfortably supported while sitting upright. This is an offensive and bald-faced lie. Real pillows are bigger, yes, but they turn the window seat of a vehicle, train, or plane into a reasonably plush landing spot, and retain their usefulness as couch or bed props upon arrival at a hotel. We will be staying in dorm-style accommodations in India, and while one or more pillows is presumably provided, bringing one from home ensures that I will have a familiar place to lay my weary head to rest (doncha cry no more).
2. Compression stockings, because it's all fun and games until someone gets a trans-Atlantic DVT.
3. Spare pillowcase. Germs.
4. Five pairs of cotton leggings, a couple of tanks/tees, pajamas. Despite the predicted 80-degree temps, ankle-length leg coverings are de rigeur where we'll be. Last year's student group bought most of their day-to-day clothing (tunics, mostly) upon arrival in India, so no need to bring more than this.
5. No fewer than 32 PAIRS OF UNDERWEAR. I don't play.
6. Gym clothes, water bottle, towel. Because optimism.
7. Flip flops. We were told these are the shoes of choice for India's dusty roads, as they can be hosed off easily each day.
8. rude
9. Makeup, dual-voltage hair dryer, sundry beauty essentials.

Same

10. SPF lotions and chapstick, courtesy of Dr. Dohan.
11. Toiletries including travel-sized toilet paper, baby wipes, and hand sanitizer. We have been led to believe that public restrooms in India are... problematic.

My basic vision of the bathroom situation in India*

*at least 50% of this blog is just going to be Slumdog Millionaire gifs, fyi

12. Antibiotics and malarone prescriptions, because ain't nobody got time for GI distress and malaria.
13. High DEET bug spray. Mosquitoes view me as a delicious feast and this is unacceptable.
14. The Michigan Snuggie, because wherever you go, Go Blue. This is mostly to fulfill the same function as the protective scarf necessary for survival on the night bus, Air Travel Edition. Side note: why do airplane cabins always feel like the Ingalls family's poorly insulated claim shanty from The Long Winter? When a former roommate bought me this Snuggie as a gag gift years ago, I protested the foolishness of what was essentially a blanket with wizard sleeves. I have worn it around my chilly Boston apartment ever since, mitigating the tripping hazard by draping the too-long front train backwards over one shoulder like the loose folds of a toga. I promise not to do this in front of any Indians who witness this absurd display and take me as a representation of our nation.
15. Laptop, homework. We will be missing the first two weeks of the spring semester back in Boston, so we'll be doing our best to keep up on readings from afar.
16. Camera and accessories, for photojournalism.
17. A comically tiny battery-powered travel clock. Come hell or high water (or power surges or malfunctioning smartphones), I will NOT oversleep.
18. Book light. Santa brought me this handy battery-powered travel lamp, ideal for reading about rabies late into the hot Indian night.
19. Phone, headphones, chargers, batteries. Verizon assures me that my smartphone will continue to work when I leave the country, even if I find myself in a rural area with no wifi. I remain skeptical.
20. Passport and important documents, to lessen my chances of being questioned in a small, windowless room at the Mumbai airport.
21. Adapters and surge protectors. While researching which adapters/converters/power strips to buy for use abroad, I learned more about international differences in electrical currents than I ever wanted to know. Ask me about voltage. ASK ME ANYTHING.
22. Sandwich, for airport snacking. Prepared while saying a silent prayer that I don't end up reenacting the 30 Rock episode where the TSA woman forces Liz to speed-eat her hoagie before going through security.

The first of my three flights leaves tomorrow morning. Next stop: Dubai, which is conveniently burning to the ground as we speak. Onward and upward.