Although it is hardly novel, it still amazes me that one can get into a plane in one culture and climate and fly across the globe to another world. After several lovely, lazy days making and eating Thanksgiving feasts and after-the-feast feasts in the Pt. Townsend area of Washington state, I flew to India. I wouldn't have expected it, but Northwesterly pie making and consuming, music playing and lolling was a good transition from home to Asia. Kind of a mini-trip on the way to the big trip. It was slightly tragic flying through Paris and not getting out of the airport. One of those plane changes that just leaves you enough time to get through customs, buy some water and get in line to board the flight to Bangalore. So goes. After another 9+ hours of airtime, I got off the plane in India after midnight, met my driver — a familiar face from previous trips — and made it to Mysore after a only-slightly harrowing drive (the highways improved continually over the years, but there were still some near shaves with trucks hauling mysterious looking cargo and a close-up view of a bus 'problem' aka accident) before dawn. Like Washington, it's raining; however, it's 20 degrees warmer. The air is also full of woodsmoke albeit of a different timber, and the sound of mopeds is already filling the air.