fond memories of good times

I am cleaning out my work email inbox today and I came across a message I sent to Casey in mid-August after my first trip back to the US since getting to India. Feel the love:

Ok, so the airport...first of all, can someone explain to me how it is that I have YET to be dropped off at the right place at the airport ONCE in this country so far? For reals, not once, and these are professional drivers who surely are picking up and dropping off people with some regularity. Am I wrong?? (Did I tell you that the SAME driver from the Hans Hotel in Delhi took me and Alex to the SAME wrong terminal? Even though I told him twice we were on Kingfisher and then even asked when we got there if it was the Kingfisher place, because I didn't see any signs? And he insisted yes and then took off. So we once again got to walk that long weird walk through back alleys to the other terminal.) Anyhooooo, so Ahmed ended up taking me to the arrivals level and getting stuck going in to the parking lot (which cost me 60 Rs to add insult to injury), then eventually we figure out that I need to go upstairs to DEPARTURES (helllloooo? you don't say! departures?), and we find an elevator, and it was one of those typical Indian experiences where people were totally unhelpful and barging past me even though I had a suitcase and was right near the door and shit like that. So I finally figure out which door to go in to the terminal and there is a THRONG of people outside. You know how they'll have a guy (in a brown uniform, of course) standing at the door making sure you have a printout or a boarding pass + passport? So that is what was going on, except for once in this country it would have been helpful to have 2 or 3 people doing the exact same job in the exact same place, so unlike usual naturally there was only *one* guy. And then I realize that part of the effing problem is that people are showing up with their entire extended families to say goodbye to ONE person, and they all crowd along with her or him till the very last second and get in the way of the people who have ACTUAL FUCKING FLIGHTS TO CATCH and keep coming up with one last thing they have to say and one last hug they have to give and ARRRGGGGHHHHHHHH!! And also, what is UP with everyone here traveling with 18 pieces of giant luggage? So I'm in this throng and just trying to move up closer to the door and have about negative 2 inches of space to move into and people are pushing their luggage carts into the backs of my legs and shouting "Excuse me! EXCUSE ME!" and/or making that "sssh! sssh! sssh!" sound like Ahmed does when he is trying to get the attention of the 19th rickshaw driver in a row to get directions to somewhere. I actually was THISCLOSE to turning around and shouting in the face of one woman. It also occurred to me how it was possible for people to get killed in soccer mobs or whatever--there was constant physical pressure from behind me and nowhere to move to.

So I finally wrestle my way into the airport (where it is quite non-crowded...that's when I realized just how many of those people outside were simply relatives of the legitimate travelers), and then things are marked with the same kind of clarity and accuracy as, you know, like roads and stuff are. As in, not so much. Finally I find the Delta line. It involves standing in line and eventually some guy with a clipboard coming to ask you questions about whether your bag is yours and what is in it and do you have any gels or liquids and did you buy anything at the duty free shop and so on. Then he puts stickers on the bags and one on your passport. But then you stay in line and eventually put everything (regular and carry on bags) through one of those big Xrays. THEN you stand in a normal line to get your boarding pass. One of the things they give you is a slip of paper called a "departure card" or something, which you then have to fill out before going through immigration. It asks about your name/passport info, your address in India, etc. I am mainly telling you this because no one points out that this is on the back of the paper, so I had just slipped mine into my passport and then when I finally found the place that looked like the way to my departure gate, there were all these people all scribbling on these forms and I had NO IDEA where they'd gotten the forms or what it was about, and it's not like the long counters where they were filling them out had blank copies or even provided pens...OK, so I finally ask someone (one of those classic "sitting in a chair with a badge with no apparent purpose" jobs) and figure it out and go through the immigration line. That was one of those deals where they look into your passport and maybe stamp something. You know how they loves them some stamps here. THEN comes the regular security line, where they scan your carry on bag AGAIN in the usual manner and put another fantastic, magical, terror-fighting ink stamp on your luggage tag, and then finally you can maybe find your departure gate. I'm just sayin', people--they are not kidding about getting there 2 hours early.