Travelled to the airport in the Indian equivalent of an uber. Chatted with the driver, nice guy. Told him I had been been in Kathmandu forty years previously. When he was two, he told me, do I made my usual joke about remembering him. He laughed.
Unsurprisingly, I was exhausted, but coped all right with the hassle of checking in (especially when I remembered I had “fast forward” speedy boarding.) I did have to play queue monitor at security; the queue to put your stuff through the machine snaked round a bit, so the two guys who tried to enter ahead of their turn might have been confused. At any event, they both joined the back of the queue smartly enough when I said “Excuse me” and indicated the people waiting.
I had a seat at the front with extra leg-room, another advantage being that I was first off the plane. Kathmandu was a tiny airport, but Delhi was enormous, and I had a swift march through it, virtually on my own, looking for the Domestic transfer section; I already had my Boarding pass. Because my e-visa said that my port of entry was Lucknow, I had assumed I would not have to clear immigration in Delhi, but following the sign for E-visas took me straight to a set of virtually empty immigration desks. The man was slightly confused (especially when I presented him with the wrong boarding pass) but all was well.
I did then have to find the domestic terminal, but that was easy enough, a well-signposted ten minute walk, and then had a fair wait, but I am very comfortable waiting. Again I had a front row seat.
I find it very hard to sleep on an aeroplane, but on this occasion, as soon as I sat down and had put my seat-belt on, I must have dropped off immediately. In any event, the next thing I knew I was coming in to land, with two complete strangers on either side of me.
Again, I was first off the plane, and marching straight to baggage collection. Which was where my smooth journey came to a swift conclusion. It was a big, modern, airy airport, all the more so when I was the only one left, standing by an empty carousel, everyone else departed. And, for pretty much the first time ever, I had a driver waiting for me. Who presumably would not wait forever.
I told the one person I could find in the almost deserted place, and he, startled, found someone slightly higher in authority. She did not speak very good English, but had enough to accuse me of being somehow responsible. Did my bag contain banned substances? Was there a problem with customs. No, of course not. Time was moving on.
I was taken to a desk, and I explained that people were waiting for me, that we had no way of contacting one another, that if I did not show they would assume I had not arrived and abandon me there. So, telling them I would return in a few moments, I rushed out through the exit, and indeed found a pair of gentlemen -a pair! – holding a sign with my name on it, in an otherwise abandoned arrivals area. I quickly explained the situation to them, and then attempted to return to the desk. Only to be stopped, of course, by security, in the form of four army guys with automatic weapons. Again, I explained the situation, and it was agreed that I could return to the baggage area… accompanied by one of the armed soldiers. Luckily, he spoke English. “I understand your situation,” he told me.
By this time, they had found my bag; it was in Delhi. Delivered tomorrow, they told me. So I bowed to the inevitable, gave them my UK phone number, and returned to meet my driver.
Arrived at the school, or rather the Conference Centre in front of the school, where the festival was taking place, feeling grubby in the extreme. I had my photo taken in front of some sort of sign. Publicity, I suppose, though I didn’t really look the part, in my sweaty travel clothes. But was then shown into the Control Room, the central office, and to my surprise the rest of the SPA team trooped in behind me; they had arrived at virtually the same time.
The officials there gave me a hugely warm welcome; they had been so excited to meet me, they said, ever since reading my bio. And could not have been nicer in finding me a teacher to go with me to the nearest mall, to buy some basic clothes to change into after a shower. Sam (he insisted that was his actual nickname, and not just something to cloak my inability to remember/pronounce his name) was friendliness itself. He soon recognised I had no interest in going to any of the branded stores, and we went to the Indian budget shop for a T-shirt and some underwear. And finally, at last, a shower, then bed – I was sharing a perfectly comfortable twin room with Yogi.
