One Year of Reality and How It Nearly Killed Me: My Life Behind the Scenes (12 page)

I didn’t have a driver take me around, nor did I have any support from the Italian production company, since everyone was assigned to the shoot. I had to do this alone and taxi wherever I needed to go. I was draining my money pretty fast. I had to get more cash so I hit the hotel and the ATMs to get the money to pay for the visas and any other incentives that might be needed. I also had to get my own visa expedited, so I came up with a plan. It was sophomoric, but I couldn’t think of anything better to do.

I decided to tap into my short-lived college acting career, and play the part of the completely helpless female who is very, very desperate for help. Hard to do for a 6’ 2, 240-pound woman over forty who looks like she can play on a football team. But I still felt that tears could always evoke a little male sympathy. That probably puts women’s liberation back a few decades, but I consider it a useful gadget in my little toolbox of life.

I planned on having a nervous breakdown, with the hopes that my river of tears would wash me and my poor friends into India. I only had a couple of days to accomplish this. Whatever was happening
on the race took a back seat to getting the visas. It should have been easy to get the South African crew’s visas since their information had already been forwarded to the embassy from Washington D.C., and it should have been as easy as getting the passports stamped. The scary thing was that I had to hold onto the crew’s passports so I could get them stamped. I figured that would only take one trip, and hopefully only a couple of extra trips would be needed to get the visas for me and the new crew. At some point, I had notified my Washington contact that three extra visas were needed, so hopefully that would help as well.

But I had grossly miscalculated the whole scenario.

The embassy in Rome had no paperwork for the South African crew, let alone for the rest of us. They had never heard from the embassy in the U.S. Panic set in. I was able to make an appointment to see an embassy official. This is where my “acting” would come in handy, I hoped. But I ended up bypassing the acting and went straight to reality. I told this gentleman that I was trying to help my friend’s crew get visas, that Washington was supposed to send the information to make this happen, and that the rest of us were coming in on visitor’s visas. He asked me
why I would help my friend, and I told him I just wanted to help the crew, and I would be so grateful if he could help me. I didn’t want him to think I was part of the crew because I was hoping to get a visitor’s visa as opposed to any other type of visa, which would be more difficult. I said all of this with a lot more words and a lot more tears, to the point where I literally melted in this man’s office. I was hysterical. I told him that I’d been working with India for several years, and I needed to make a miracle happen. I started to turn red from crying and was doing that thing where you are trying to get air, but you can’t because you’re sobbing too loudly. The gentlemen, in his official, dignified attire, sat down next to me and tried to console me. He told me to come back the next day and that they would do the best they could. I could tell he really wanted me out of his office. I think I just about made
him
cry.

I went straight back to my hotel and started making calls, sending faxes, and doing whatever I could do. I called Washington D.C., I called San Francisco, I called our India contacts, I called our South African contacts, and I sent e-mails pleading with the Indian Embassy in D.C. for help. I even had the crew fill out extra forms and get additional passport photos. The one thing I tried not to do, which was very hard, was to pass on the panic I was feeling. I am considered
to be stoic and rather stone-faced most of the time. I usually don’t pass on my anxiety. But this time it took everything I had to say “No problem, we’re going to get this done.” Even Bert didn’t feel like it was going to happen, but I don’t recall anyone putting together a plan B in case it didn’t. It just had to happen; there was no way out. We all needed our visas… Usually that sentence ended in an “or else,” but this time it didn’t. We all needed our visas.

After having sent out numerous faxes and paperwork, with assurances that information from Washington had gone to Rome and that all would be well, I went to the Indian Embassy again and turned in the paperwork. They still had not received anything from Washington. I called Washington again, just catching someone, who re-sent the information to Rome and sent a copy to me in case there were any remaining issues. I went back to the embassy and handed in the new information. They had the fax too, and they said it would take a few days to process. Again, pushing my panic button, I told them that it needed to be expedited, recounting the tale of what had happened the day before at the embassy. They would do everything they could, but I needed to pay for my visa and the ones for the two new crew members. So I was off to a nearby ATM to get some cash. I walked around for about twenty minutes before I
finally found an ATM and got the money. Once I paid the embassy official, I was told to come back the next day. I called Washington again and begged them to stay in contact with Rome to get everything finalized.

Meanwhile, the race was still going on. I had completely dropped out of the loop. While everyone else was running around Rome, I was deeply ensconced in the whole drama involving the visas.

I returned the next day, and still nothing had been approved. I had no idea what else I could do to move things along at that stage. I had cried, paid through the nose, and tried to play the charmer… What next? Well, there was an extra fee that would help expedite the process (why didn’t they tell me that before?). So once again, I found myself looking for an ATM. I could never find the same one twice. Rome is so beautiful and ornate that I kept getting lost left and right, and it was hard for me to find any points of reference. I would turn one corner, then another, and everything would start to look the same. But I was always able to find my way back to the embassy and give them money and get a receipt. This time, they said they would “for sure” be ready when I came back the next day. So I walked away
from the embassy breathing a sigh of relief. Finally, everything would be settled.

But there was a glitch.

I didn’t know
when
they’d be ready, and the race would be going from Rome to Milan the next day, and from there to India. So the crew had to have their passports before boarding the plane to India. I hated having to carry the passports around for so long. I didn’t want to lose them, and now I would have to catch up to them in Milan. Time was running out.

I decided that I would get to the embassy as soon as it opened and be a nuisance until I got the passports. Again, the possibility of being arrested and jailed in an international prison seemed preferable to having to tell the producer that the race had to stop because I hadn’t completed a simple (yet complicated) task. But since I couldn’t do anything about the visas that night, I decided to actually venture out for dinner and maybe catch up with a couple of people I knew, which is exactly what I did. I found a nice little restaurant nearby where some of the crew members were eating. I hadn’t seen them very much, especially in a social setting, and I felt a little weird
about inviting myself to sit with them. Who knew if they really wanted me to? But I was craving some company and relaxation, so I joined their little party. After all, this could be my last meal with the crew. If things didn’t go well, I might get fired, arrested, or something else I hadn’t calculated on. After a couple of hours it was time to go back to the hotel and get ready for the next day.

By the time the crews had checked out of the hotel and were off filming the race, I had just packed myself up, checked out, and grabbed a cab to the embassy. I figured that it would be good to have everything with me so I could go directly from the embassy to the airport and get on the first plane to Milan. I was only carrying a small suitcase, a satchel filled with
Amazing Race
garbage, and a laptop computer, so I was compact, but it clearly looked like I was ready to leave town. I arrived at the embassy an hour early and sat on the steps waiting. A policeman who passed by (or, rather, a man in a blue uniform) didn’t like the fact that I was sitting there, and he told me to leave. So I walked around the embassy area for about an hour. I didn’t want to go too far because I didn’t want to get lost. I basically went around the block a few times, and I finally had the chance to notice the beautiful architecture and the statues that
adorned one particular corner of what I called embassy row. I’m not sure what they were, but I want to say there were statues of the furies on each corner. I would have to look at a picture and do a little research on that one. My mythology is very rusty. And whatever mythology I knew was probably from
Xena: Warrior Princess
.

In any event, the embassy finally opened, and I was first in line. The passports would be ready in a bit, but I needed to pay another additional fee. At this point, I can’t even remember the reason for it—I just paid it. I was lucky to have some cash left over. The person at the counter said it would be a couple of hours, and that I should come back at 11:00 a.m. Because there was no place to stand around, I left and walked around some more, planning to return at the aforementioned time. I didn’t have a watch, so I went down the street to a jeweler and bought one. I couldn’t believe I didn’t already have one given how critical time was on this show. I guess I relied pretty heavily on hotel wake up calls. But I wanted to be back at the right time to get the passports, so that I could meet the crew members as soon as possible.

I returned at 11:00 a.m. and there was another glitch.

They needed even more money. For what, I’ll never know. At this point, I feel pretty comfortable saying it was professional bribing. They knew I was desperate and would pay. They would release the visas to me as soon as I made the final payment. I was out of money at this point and needed to go to another ATM. So I took my suitcase, satchel, and computer and went off in search of the ATM. I walked around the block and finally found one. It took a while because the first two I found didn’t work. When I finally found a functional one, I also discovered that I had hit the limit on my ATM card and could not access more money. I had to use a credit card, which I had never before used to get cash from at an ATM. I couldn’t remember the code. I wanted to go into the bank, but I thought it would look suspicious since I was carrying way too much stuff. Banks are very well protected, and I didn’t want to cause a disturbance. I decided to call the production office, which would be calmer now that the crew was gone, to see if they could help me out with cash.

Then I hit a huge problem.

Every time I arrived in a new country, I was given a cell phone and a list of everyone else’s phone numbers so that we could all stay in touch. The same had been true when I hit Rome. But I could not find it. I
must’ve left it at the hotel or lost it in a cab. I needed to get money, get on a plane, meet the crew, hand out their passports, and get on the plane to India without any missteps. I was starting to shake from nerves.

I took out one of my credit cards and just started trying random pin numbers. I don’t know which numbers I hit, but I finally chose the right ones and was able to get the money from my card. I was sweating by then, and I nearly cried out in relief. I was going to get the money, race back to the embassy, and get the visas. Crisis averted.

And then I realized I was lost.

The embassies didn’t look the same. I was in the wrong place. No matter where I turned, it looked like the same street I had been on, but the flags were all different. I felt like Jimmy Stewart in
Vertigo
. I was running around trying to find the flag for the Indian Embassy. I must’ve looked panicked, sick, or something, because I caught the attention of a police officer (blue uniform), who started to speak to me in Italian. I had no idea what he was saying, but I just kept repeating “Embassy, Indian Embassy.” Then another officer (grey uniform) came over and started talking to the first officer. I tried to walk
away, figuring they were just having a conversation. But the blue officer said something that sounded like “Freeze,” and my heart stopped.

Maybe this was the arrest I had been envisioning.

They took my suitcase. I had in it some of the passports that had been handed to me. They went through them and my underwear and everything else right there in the street. I just kept saying “Embassy, India. Embassy, India. Please, I need to leave.” I think I looked pathetic enough that the grey uniformed officer said something to the blue uniformed officer, and they sort of let me go. They gave me directions, and somehow I understood them. One block up and turn right. “Great. Thank you!”

I walked to the embassy as fast as I could. I was waiting in line to make the final payment for the visas when I caught sight of the Italian coordinator for the show. Apparently, the taxi driver had returned the cell phone to the production company (the cell phone had a label with their name on it) and the driver had told him where he’d dropped me off. We chatted for a moment, and he told me that the producers were absolutely panicking about the visas. I told them I was getting them, and would be leaving soon. He wanted to give me the cell phone, but I
told him that I was going to be in Milan in a couple of hours, and that I’d meet the crew at the airport. I wanted him to pass the message on to the producers because I didn’t want a tongue lashing from Bert to make me lose my focus. I just needed to get this task done. Finally, I paid the final bribe—I’m sorry, payment—got the passports, and headed to the airport.

When I arrived in Milan, I didn’t know where to meet the crew, but I knew which airline they were taking to India, so I bolted for the waiting area. Finally, I ran into them, and they were very relieved to see me. I think bets had been made on whether or not I’d make it. Relieved, I gave everyone their passports, and we were off to India. I cannot express to you how it felt when the tension left my body. It was like I went limp, empty, hollow, nothing there. My muscles couldn’t move and my brain was dead. I was so happy the race could continue. I had dodged a major bullet. We were all able to connect to our next flights.