Travellers are indeed a breed apart. Think about it. They pay obscene money to endure the full gamut of’atmospheric’ conditions, amazingly weird culinary preparations, excuses for roads, incurable ailments, money hungry officials, oversized scary creatures crawling all over, language barriers and not least of all, each other. Being a traveller or even a tourist - the distinction is lost on me - opens you up to all manner of predicaments. You might think you are in’natures lap’, all alone, till you bump into the stampeding herd, or a solitary nuisance who will recommend a little tea shop yonder, that does fantastic rat stew:-)
I am going to relate one of my travelling “experiences”, in the hope that you can identify the pitfalls and avoid them.
As is my custom, once every 6 months, I depart in big metal birds for the land of Gods(* Amchi India. *)I receive plastic trays filled with tasty plastic food and booze in abundance, from air-hostesses wearing stayfast lipstick on their stayfast smiles.
The fun begins at the parking itself. Brisbane airport parking attendants have taken courses from Pete Clemenza on extortion. When my friend dropped me off, he had to pay$10 for 55 seconds.(* that’s the time it took us to unload my junk from the car )$10 is the fee for parking for 10 minutes inside the parking lot**, and there is no charge for stopping and unloading the passenger in front of the airport. But try telling that to the parking inspector!
It got even funnier at Delhi Airport. Here, you get a ticket that says you have to pay Rs.5, but the attendant charges Rs.10! We should be thankful for this, because it shows that enterprise and resourcefulness is not dead yet. There is still hope for our economy.
The laugh riot continues at the check in counter. The max baggage weight limit is a measly 20Kg. Now, if you are a business traveller, it’s probably sufficient. But when you have to carry Sweets(boxes of laddoo, barfi, patisa), aachaar, namkeen and the like, lovingly prepared by a mother for her son, who swears he will die without this sustenance; it is woefully inadequate.
So, you flash that million-megawatt smile(it appears as a snarl on my mug), treat the check-in-counter attendant as the supreme ruler of the universe, and grovel.
If you are lucky, s(h)e will condescend and allow those extra kgs without you having to pay extra for them. The fun continues at the customs. The Gestapo look alikes interrogate you ruthlessly. Why are you going to that country? What is your business there? When are you coming back? How are you related to Aishwarya Rai?(* ok that’s stretching it). You tremble and blabber something in the hope that they will let you go in peace. I ran into this “womyn”(for the feminists here*) at Singapore Airport, who looked like a cross between the Incredible Hulk and the Undertaker. I was interrogated ruthlessly.
She> What is your business in Singapore?
Me> uh.I am coming from Australia, and.
She(rudely interrupting me> I am asking about Singapore
Me> well, I have a connecting flight to Delhi, and.
She(Growling and looking remarkably like Hulk)> I am asking about Singapore
Me(cowering by now)> the flight leaves tomorrow and I am to stay here for 24 hrs
She finally allowed my passage, handed my passport back and flashed a smile that sent shivers up and down my spine. One of my pet peeves is the mad rush and jostling that is generally witnessed when a dull, bored sounded voice announces, “ Flight 1234 is now ready for boarding.” People converge at the counter like your words do in a PowerPoint presentation(*what an analogy! I crack myself up!)
I mean, c’mon, they won’t leave you behind. Nor will you get the best seat. Duh! I particularly hate it when ugly people loaded with the latest duty free stuff push me from behind.(*I do not have anything against ugly people. I am told by almost all the people I meet what a blot on humanity I am. It’s just that I object when a particularly fat specimen shoves you from behind with the “get moving, you dull looking moron” glare and a snarl. *)
The other related phenomenon that occurs when the plane lands is that even before the wheels touch the ground, people are jumping up with their hand - luggage and elbowing their way to the plane doors. How do they expect to get out when the steps haven’t arrived, I don’t know.
During the course of your flight, you meet such wonderful people; you will never forget them for a lifetime. The oh-so-cute kids who sit behind you and do nothing much but kick a few times on your seat and throw food at you; or the man in front of you, who’s drunk on the complimentary booze one hour into the flight; or the friendly old lady beside you and then, as if to remind you of your nightmare, the flight attendant passes by and says cheerfully, ’Good morning!’ .Good? Please someone tell me what is so good about this morning?
I had the misfortune of sitting beside an ancient from New Zealand(she was from Jalundher, but a citizen of NZ, who was travelling with me from Brisbane to Singapore *) Now, my Punjabi is as good as your Martian, and the poor dear knew only Punjabi and broken English. We had a scintillating conversation, as I could only nod and mutter “haanji”, “acchaji”. As the Brisbane-Singapore leg is 7 hrs, you can imagine what a thoroughly enjoyable and fun filled flight I must have had. The old #@%!%(I know I called her a poor dear, but writing this has made me remember the whole journey in all its gory details*) refused to sleep for more than 1 hr and kept chatting with me. She asked me questions only an Indian old lady can ask a complete stranger: What is your age? Are you married? No? any girlfriend? When will you marry? Where do you work? How much do they pay you? By this time I was gazing wistfully at the hot towel and thinking if choking myself to death would be less unpleasant.
After filling ourselves with the food and the drink, an interesting mathematical problem arose. How do 500(* or whatever is the number that a plane can carry*) people use 10 toilets? Further, like good old Murphy’s laws, when you decide to use the loo, all the other 500 decide to use it 1 minute before you. So, you wait for the loo to be free, while skipping and walking to keep the dam from bursting.
My fun ended at the Delhi Airport’s green channel. The “jolly” customs guy asked me if I had anything to declare. Nothing. But you are coming from Singapore? You must have something? * um…no, just my personal stuff and some gifts. Giving me a look of deep disgust and pity, he let me through.
So, ended one of my journeys. I won’t give any advice to you on how to make your journey pleasant, as reading about my experience, you would have got a good idea of what to avoid and what not to do. I hope reading this will be of some help in identifying the potential pitfalls and hopefully lead to a “fun” journey.