How I Love Airports

I am currently in the middle of eating my feelings in the form of a delicious veg curry from an airport restaurant. I am shoveling down this food alone under artificial blue lighting in a desperate attempt to bury my anger that sprouted from such an awful airport experience. To all of my readers who will be entering the Delhi airport in the near future, please do everything in your power to check in prior to your arrival so you have a boarding pass. If you don't because your airline specifically noted that you needed to be at the airport to do so (like mine did) they will not let you through the doors. Basically, make sure you have a print out of some sort of proof that you have a flight with your name matching my passport. I had my itinerary but it did not have my name on it, so I was out of luck.

Thank the Lord that Chris was with me- if he hadnt been there to talk to someone inside the airport about getting me a boarding pass, I would most likely still be sitting out there, glaring angrily at the guard intent on keeping me out. Finally, after poor Chris got me a pass, I was allowed inside by the evil man. If I had seen the machine  gun at his side from the get-go, I may not have been so mean to him.

I seriously felt like I was dealing with the doorman at Oz. I guess my boarding pass was the horse of a different color. So I finally stepped through the doors to part two of my horrendous airport experience. At the check-in counter, the woman assisting me told me it was fine to bring my carry-on bag onto the plane since it was not overweight. However, almost immediately after saying so, she informed me that my bag was too long to fit in the overhead compartment. I threw a fit that would rival a three year old's, rooting myself to the spot and refusing to backdown. Eventually, despite my bellowing in an inappropriately loud voice my concerns about the airline losing my precious luggage, I conceded with the white flag of surrender held high. I got down on my hands and knees and dug out the items I could simply not bear to part with. This included, of course, my saree, gifts for friends and family, and my plane reading material. The little airline witch then informed me that I could go buy a handcrafted Indian bag to put my things in. In an act of defiance, I rejected this suggestion and, looking ridiculous, tried to juggle all of my items in my arms as I waddled over to the passport check and security. 

I quickly pegged the surly customs agent hell-bent on making things difficult for anyone who dare hand over his or her passport. Thankfully, my airport nightmare began to improve when I got to the somewhat attractive customs agent who flashed me a suggestive grin which I was all too eager to return if it meant quick passage to security. I have seen airports worldwide with over-the-top security measures but this one in India takes the cake. So, at your check-in gate, the agent assisting you was supposed to provide you with a tag for all of your carry on luggage. Many of them neglected to do so, making the security agents very surly and getting angry at the tagless passengers who had no idea what was going on. My bags somehow do not incur their wrath despite their lack of tags, but when I got to the gate to board the plane, the tag issue reared its ugly head again and the agent almost didn't let me on the plane. Man, some mysterious force truly wanted to keep me in India. I wish it had succeeded.