Leaving India was quite a fete. At 11pm I made my way down to checkout and was whisked to the airport in the hotel car. Upon arrival, the car was swarmed – momentarily I felt like a movie star with people clawing at the window and trying to carry my bags. But no, not a movie star, just a white person begging to be asked for spare change. While in India, I mastered the art of “No!” and “Please go.” It’s still hard, though, having a 3-year old child staring up with huge starving eyes and an open palm.
Out of the car I landed in the first of 4 lines to get into the airport. In line people pushed and shoved obviously following the (un)traffic laws on foot. People were cutting and inching forward as best they could to make it that one minute sooner into the door of the airport. The man in line behind me was enjoying a nice game of bumper suitcase with my bag…until I turned to him and politely said, “please stop pushing me – it’s really not nice.” Shocked, he backed away. In the second line I enjoyed one of my favorite isms – hippie man with an Indian print bandana, smelling of patchouli and incense, with a Fendi wallet in his back pocket. Gotta love it.
Finally, after making it through all the lines and check points, I was in and ready for the next 20-hours of travel.
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