The air is thick and heavy. Horns blare. A dog barks not three yards away. I've just stepped outside the Chennai airport. I'm in India.

I take a moment and try to orient myself. My brain scrambles to localise in on the unfamiliar sounds and the utter absence of light. I look back towards the airport at the security personnel. An implacable gaze returns my own.

Do I cross the road? No. I can't see three yards. I might trip on a dog, or dogs? Yes, dogs from the sound of it. I can't check in until 12 p.m. My phone isn't working. No data, no roaming, no WiFi.

Plan A had been to grab a local SIM card at the airport before leaving. No stores were open. So much for plan A.

Plan B was to grab a coffee at the airport, connect to the cafe WiFi, download Google Maps for the region and take it from there. Why hadn't I preloaded the maps? Amateur. So, plan B meets the same fate as A.

Taxi drivers yell at me, "I give you good price, brother. Where do you want to go?"

Where do I want to go? That's a good question. I can't go to the New Woodlands Hotel. It won't be receiving guests at this hour. I could find myself stranded at 5 a.m. in a remote area. Ok, so not the hotel.

A moment of panic grips me. I wave off two more taxi drivers and sit on the arrival benches. A man sits cross-legged in the lotus pose and brushes the sole of one foot. I feel sure my friend Aliya could do this pose, I being about as flexible as a crowbar cannot.

I can't leave and I can't return to the airport. The implacable security man ensures this.

Fortunately, I'd had the sense to get some overpriced rupees before being hurried out of the airport. Normally, I wouldn't do this. I'd find an ATM, but I wasn't about to leave the airport with no means of contact and no money.

I check again for available WiFi. Nothing.

My God, it's loud. Very loud. The sound comes from everywhere at once.

So, plans A-D are exhausted. Mmmblaka. A stolen and mispronounced Ukrainian swear word from a friend makes me smile.

I'd intended to wait until dawn before heading to the hotel. Yet, I'm unsure if I can stay here. I might get moved on.

I feel distinctly foreign, but then I always have. No trouble there then. This is what I wanted after all, culture shock.

I've been pacing around the arrival area watching a few locals wait for loved ones. Everyone moves fast and no one seems approachable.

I sit down on one of the benches and pull out my headphones. I play ten minutes of The Martian by Andy Weir. I always find this book oddly comforting.

It's not light yet, but a few first rays have made their presence known. I can see the dogs lying on the walkway. I spy a coffee cart midway over the road. It's probably light enough to cross now. I cross and buy a bottle of water. I ask if there is anything around here. A cafe, a hotel, anything? I'm met with shakes of the heads.

Despite the noise, I haven't heard much speaking. Gestures seem more common than words. Perhaps it's the early hour or an economy of energy guarding against the humidity, not to waste extraneous effort.

Eventually, the woman who served me the water gives me the name of a WiFi network. "No password," she says. Like magic, the network shows up on my phone. It requires an Indian phone number to sign in. Ah, so we have a chicken and egg scenario. Mmmblaka.

The struggling light reveals a shopping centre on the other side of the road. It's shut, of course, but there's a Starbucks sign saying 24 hours.

Starbucks have WiFi and a place to charge my phone. I cringe a little inside. Thirty seconds in India and I'm heading towards a Starbucks. Not good, but a necessary and temporary evil.

I navigate more taxi drivers and head inside. The air-conditioning hits me like diving into an icy cold pool. And here, my luck changes. I met Avinash. He's the Starbucks server. The store is empty except for him. He smiles at me, the first person who has. I relax a little.

I order a mango something-or-other and sit down. Ok, think.

Frank Sinatra is crooning in the background. Despite myself, it's comforting. Go figure, a long-gone Italian American with supposed mafia connections is comforting. Incidentally, if you ever feel alone put on Sinatra's 'Live at the Sands'. It features the Count Basie Orchestra and is beautifully arranged and conducted by Quincy Jones. The recording is sublime. It is quite impossible to feel alone when listening to it. Well, thank you, Frank.

Back to the business at hand. I get out my universal charger and plug it into the nearest wall socket. The light on the charger comes on for a second and then goes out. So much for being a universal charger. Mmmblaka (I wonder if my friend ever thought this word would be so useful).

Avinash has been very kind, telling me about Chennai and teaching me a few words in Tamil. He's also connected me to the WiFi. It required an Indian phone number. He used his phone number to help me. Thanks Avinash. He also lends me an adaptor to charge my phone.

We talk a little. He tells me where he's from, a place called Pondicherry. I tell him about the 2025 adventure and my plans to travel from Chennai to New Delhi with my father, who will join me in 4 days. I promise to come back and introduce him to my dad. He asks for my YouTube channel.

It's light now, though the mall won't open for another hour or so. Stores open around 10. I grab a taxi and head towards the hotel.

நன்றி அவினாஷ். (Thanks Avinash)