Seven Days in San Francisco - Getting there (Day 0)

We stood in the security line at Seattle Tacoma airport holding the boarding passes that I had printed earlier in the day. The agent guarding admission to the serpentine queue checked our photo ids. Before we could load our plump suitcases onto the ramp, we had to first undress – jacket and shoes, watches and belts, cell phones and laptops, chargers and cosmetics, all had to be laid out in full view of the staff for visual and X-ray inspection. The airline charges $25 for each checked-in bag. We choose to split our stuff into two smaller carry-ons which meant even the shampoo and moisturizer had to be pulled out. I thought of George Clooney in the recent movie “Up in the air” that I had watched on the British Airways flight to Seattle. In a few scenes, they show how an experienced traveler packs, the appropriate size bag, the right combination of clothes and most important, slip-on shoes, not the kind I was wearing, with hard to operate laces. Travel within the US underwent a sea change since 9/11 and with it, the joy of moving around freely in a free country. The next thing to go was airline service. First they started charging you for food, now for checked-in baggage. What will they charge for next? There are rumors about pay-per-use restrooms in the aircraft, charges for oxygen masks and even for aisle or window seats!

The San Francisco Bay Area was the last place where I had lived and worked, prior to moving back to India in 2003. It is one of the most blessed regions in the country with its pleasant weather, spectacular scenic beauty with cold, blue Pacific waters and mountains that rest side by side. It is also a place known for innovation, home of the famous Silicon Valley. I had enjoyed wonderful personal moments and professional successes in the 6+ years I lived there. I had become a mother, a boss, a teacher and a writer in this area which had previously been the birthplace of civil unrest and “hippies”. I had a bitter-sweet past buried in the freeways, offices, classrooms and apartments. I was going back there to show Aparna the places she had lived in during the first 6 years of her life. But I was also aware of my personal demons that waited for me there.

Our plane touched down ahead of time and I stepped out into the familiar terminal. See’s candies, sourdough bread, bookstores and coffee-shops. How many times had I boarded a flight here? I don’t remember. But I do remember being nine months pregnant, waiting to receive my mother who had travelled alone, all the way from Bombay to be with me for my big day. I thought of the customs agent in the international terminal who correctly identified me as an Indian and promptly asked if I had any spices in my bags. I calmly pointed out that I was flying in from a business trip to Switzerland and had plenty of chocolate, in case he wanted to look.

We waited outside the terminal for my long time friend Jeyanthi, look out for blue Highlander, she had said. Sleek black limos pulled up to the curb and whisked away privileged customers. I remembered the limo ride to my interview at Roche. People watching is always fun. We made up stories about the people who had travelled to San Francisco. Were they tourists? Or residents returning from a business trip? Or like us, tourists now but one-time Bay area residents.

We were finally found by our hosts, Dinakar, Jeyanthi’s husband escorted by teenage girls. Introductions were completed as we approached the parking garage, eager to get home and meet Jeyanthi. But where was the car? F31 said Pallavi, the older one. F28 said Sruthi. Dinakar said it was straight in front of the elevator. We looked all over with no luck. Ten minutes after the initial search began, we figured out why we could not see the car. It was on the wrong floor! F31 it was, but on the upper level. Eventually we made our way over the Bay bridge on a crowded Friday evening towards our home for the next week.