G
etting out of a hotel in Rome is quite an experience. The entire staff is alerted to one’s leaving and are on the spot for tips, although an 18% service charge is added to an already higher-than-the-good-American-hotel bills. The Rome rate was exactly twice that of the Geneva hotel where I had an exceptionally clean and comfortable room. I’ll always remember that feather comforter and four square linen pillows. It is no wonder that when I went to sleep that first night I didn’t wake up and had to be called when I did not appear for an 11 o’clock appointment. It was so strange when I answered the telephone still half asleep that it was past 11, and where was I?

And should I ever have my own house, there must be a bathtub made for sitting. It was so comfortable to come in out of the cold and sit in hot water that covered the shoulders without any concern that any minute you might forget and immerse the head. But in Madras the warm-up bath will never be a necessity.

But back to my departure from Rome. As soon as I rang for a boy to pick up my bags (which I could have carried), two appeared along with two hall maids. All along the route until I got in the cab, the service people got thicker and thicker. It reminded me of the day at the first of the month when my mother spent a day shopping in town when we were children, and all of us were present upon her return clambering to see what she brought us as she always had something for each of us.

The night before I had been warned that taxi drivers charge exorbitant rates at night. I realized I had been overcharged upon arrival Friday evening, but chalked it up to experience. But when leaving, the driver charged almost as much for less than a dozen blocks as I had paid earlier in the day to go several miles to St. Peters. I let him know that I was displeased, and refused to tip him.

When I checked into the air terminal, I found a number of American men standing around all in a fury because of the delayed plane. Mechanical difficulties had detained it in Paris, and each hour Pan American would call and delay it longer. Most of the people had crossed by boat—the Independence—and had then taken a train to Rome. I found out about the contagion of anger. Though I had had a bout with the taxi driver, I was still in a fairly good mood. But when I purchased the bus ticket to the airport and paid the airport tax, and the man would not give me back my change of less than 20 cents, I was really angry. But it didn’t do any good. Here he was running an important concession, serving most tourists to Rome, and he absolutely refused to return my change.

On the bus to the airport you should have heard the Americans’ reaction to Rome and Italy from just passing through. Among the Americans was a couple from New York who had two children. They were most unhappy after sitting hours at the terminal. When they got on the plane there were not sufficient first-class accommodations for them to have seats. This made the man very angry, and he had a fight with all of the employees on board. I heard him say, “Has some government employee been given the space?”

I assumed that he was someone important with industry and was traveling on his own. However, after he had consumed a number of Manhattans he came up and sat down by me, and I learned he was a civilian employee with the military. He was most upset about having to travel tourist when he was entitled to first class. The difference was that liquor is free to first class, and he said the food was more choice. He couldn’t understand it when I told him I was perfectly happy. I had a comfortable seat. I had been starved being unable to eat until nearly 11 p.m., and was fed a good meal, and since I could do without liquor the rest of my life, I had no complaints. He clicked his tongue and shook his head and said, “You’ll change. You’ll change.” I can’t imagine not changing some from living two years in India, but since the Indians have prohibition and I don’t expect to run counter to their manners of life when at all possible, this isn’t one of the ways I propose to change.

As we were in the air above Italy and doubtless had Italian companions aboard, I was a bit embarrassed to listen to his remarks about Italians. Previously he was with the Army Occupation in Europe, and had traveled extensively by car all over Italy. He likes and respects the people of all countries he said, except Italians. Italians he described as lazy leeches. He didn’t seem concerned about the economy that would cause men to lose the dignity of independence, though he said his field was economics.

In Beirut we changed planes. I had been told by the steward that since we were so late it was impossible; we wouldn’t make connections. The man said he hadn’t been told, and I said that perhaps the steward would prefer to have someone else bring the bad news to him. From Beirut the entire family was bedded down in berths; so they were quiet. My seat companion from Beirut was a German businessman. As we started so late, we were told breakfast would be delayed as long as possible. I awoke when the aroma of coffee permeated the atmosphere, and was immediately served breakfast. As soon as the breakfast tray was removed, orders were taken from lunches and drinks to proceed. Champaign accompanied the lunch and an after-dinner liqueur. So the entire time aloft to Karachi was consumed with eating. The meals I missed on Sunday in Rome were made up on Monday and then some.

The man from Germany, an engineer, proved to be an interesting conversationalist, and told me about Germany during the war and his role as a public relations officer for a short time only since his engineering skill was needed. He termed the massacre of the Jewish people a crime, but said few Germans knew that it was happening. He told of a friend of his, who had a castle taken over by the government, who said to him one day: “I’d like to know what goes on there. Frequently a whole bus load of people are taken there, and none have ever come out; yet they can’t be accommodated there.” This, it developed, was a gas chamber. The man’s wife was killed during the war in an air raid. One of the last things he talked about was the attitude of the Middle and Far East. He said, “They are willing to take our money, but they will become independent of you.” I said it was my understanding that we hope the countries will grow independent of all.

In Delhi, my friend Maya Deb said, “We prefer assistance from foundations such as Ford because we feel it comes without committing us to any political course of action.”

The plane from Beirut was late arriving in Karachi as it had waited four hours on the Rome plane. The Pakistani plane on which I had reservations departed five minutes earlier. Consequently, it was necessary to spend 24 hours in that mad city which was about enough. And since it didn’t seem sensible to venture away from the hotel, I spent most of it sleeping. As we arrived at the hotel, it seemed surrounded with snake charmers and people with monkeys. They trooped around to the back of the hotel and stood on a raised dais in the center of the square below our room and performed. Two snake charmers played the been, a bagpipe-like instrument, and opened their satchels for the cobras to greet us in an upright manner. I hope the picture I took was good, also the one of the Karachi airport taken from the plane. There was a tremendous crowd of people including children from a local school awaiting some dignitary’s child that was arriving from America.

In Karachi most of the women were walking around looking like sacks in either a black or white tent with peepholes for eyes. How hot it must be under them. The main mode of transportation seemed to be the camel there. I hadn’t known before that camels are hitched to wagons the same as horses. There are also many rickshaws pulled by men. Some, of course, are motorized. The variety of costumes worn by the men were as many and varied as those in India. There is much less difference in the dress of women. Most wear saris, but the women in the northern part of the country wear skirts reportedly made from 40 yards of material. Naturally they can have only one, so it gets pretty stiff. Many people are said to have only one change of clothes. These are washed in a public stream along with the body, and put back on.

The plane from Karachi had four passengers. The German, two state department secretaries who shared a cabin for four on the Independence and no longer liked each other, and myself. We were cold with three blankets over us.

As we came into Delhi, one of the secretaries said, “There it is below; the land of the jaguar and elephant.”