Day 118

A group of children giggle and squeak as they play and run around the airport lounge. How do they have so much energy? Midnight approaches but we have another 2 hours before our plane supposedly sets off… and, we’ve already waited 11 hours for our delayed flight.

Weighed down by numerous low blood sugars; the result of lugging my huge bags around all day (physical exercise), and my period starting (hormonal imbalance). I’m also stressed by the unclear customs information about my micro drone. The airline’s website vaguely suggests I can import it, some Indian government documents suggest I can too, but many others suggest I cannot.

Finally, it’s time to board. Inside the plane, there’s a rather large Indian man in my seat. I ask if he’s in 31J, and he says that 31J is the aisle seat. I know this is not true, as I selected my seat online, and referenced a diagram to make sure I had a window seat. He says that it’s fine for me to sit in the aisle seat. With exhaustion and rouge hormones etched on my face, he can tell from my expression that it is not fine. I tell him so. Eventually, with help from other passengers and cabin crew, he moves. 

Only a 7.5 hour flight, not terrible, but after such a long day and bad bloods, I just about keep my eyes open as I wait for take off. Beyond smeared reflections on the glass, our plane rolls through the airport to claim its take-off position. We pass coaches, cargo trucks and planes aplenty, then turn a corner to see strips of red and green lights. Our plane picks up speed, her engines hum louder, and her wings begin to bounce gently up and down. Below, we pass huge zebra-striped markings on the ground, yellow runaway signages to the side, and catch the flashing of wing lights as they blink from white to night. She’s in turbo mode now and moving very fast, I feel my body pushed back into my seat, and then, suddenly we’re airborne. The plane rises steeply, turns and I see a landscape of lamp-lit streets below us. Steady and afloat, I take a swig of water, and swallow, to allow the pressure in my ears to equalise again.

In the morning the lights are switched on as breakfast trolleys are pushed down the aisles. The sun has risen and looks like a bright LED light beyond the transitional windows. It shines upon our plane’s flanks, cooks her metallic body and soaks into my skin. My shadow casts upon my neighbour until I reposition my pillow to block the sun and lean against the wall again. 

We arrive late, which means there’s be no time to chill in Delhi airport. We now need to take a domestic flight to Mumbai and many people have told us that the customs is brutal here. The queues are huge too! For some reason, there’s a monstrously long queue to simply get to a lift that leads to the domestic departures section of the airport. Hundreds of people wait in line but only one guy is guarding the entrance with a ticket scanner. We have a little over an hour and still need to check in our bags and go through customs! Queue jumping must commence.

It takes a while, but eventually, the guard opens a gap in the corded barrier and lets us through. To bypass the secondary queue for the lift, we dump our trolley and carry all our bags to baggage check-in. No queue jumping is allowed here, eventually, we’re seen by a grumpy woman who seems to hate people and her job even more so. She checks in Wiggy’s Mosko Moto bag but ignores our questions and turns her back on us. 

Now it’s time for customs and there’s a colossal queue here too. The attendant says we need to ask people in the queue to let us through. We jump under one barricade and I politely say excuse me, our flight is leaving in 20 minutes and get us to the front. 

I’m concerned about customs as I’m still unsure if I’m allowed my drone here! It’s crowded and chaotic, and there are many frantic people around us. We are not thinking clearly and rushing, so we dump large quantities of luggage into the scanner trays. As Wiggy disappears through the metal detectors, a guard calls us back and says we need to separate our things; each item in a separate tray. 

Not ideal, there are so many people and no space free on the conveyor belts. I push through and squeeze in additional trays, all the while the guard is trying to block my trays by pushing other people’s trays into any gaps that appear! When I eventually manage to insert the additional trays, he looks annoyed.

But walking through the metal detectors, I realise something important. Oh crap, we’d forgotten about my Freestyle Libra patches! These complicated blood glucose sensors are not supposed to go through the x-ray scanners. It’s too late, I pray the devices have not been spoiled. 

On the other side, I hear our call for boarding! I’m panicked but pleased to see that my drone tray has already passed through security unhampered. But the jumble of our other trays takes more time. They pull over my Lomo bag because I didn’t remove my cables zipper bag, they also inquire about my insulin, pull out Wiggy’s motorcycle jacket as he forgot to remove his battery charger, search through Wiggy’s camera bag, and want to rescan my FreeStyle Libra patches, which we thankfully manage to prevent by showing them the active patch on my arm and the paperwork from my doctor. 

Finally, we’re cleared but on our final call for boarding! We run through the airport with our motorcycle jackets, helmets, and bags that have been hectically repackaged. We run along corridors, over horizontal escalators, down escalators, accidentally run in the wrong directions, double back manically, past startled meandering passengers, hosts in smart jackets, glamorous adverts, and duty-free… Then, we arrive and meet another queue. The first queue I am happy to see; a queue of passengers boarding airport shuttle coaches to our plane.

And so, 2 hours on a flight with adorable screaming and kicking children behind me, I let my body relax. I’m fed an Indian veg dinner and a very nice cup of chai tea. Of course, our flight comes in delayed, but we pass through immigration checks with no issues, and then wait for our checked-in luggage… and wait, and wait some more. Wiggy’s Mosko Moto bag does not arrive. 

We wait a long time; until the room is sparse and only a few strays of unclaimed luggage rotate around the sad conveyor belt. Then we look for staff to help us. The next hour is spent filling in forms, and the airport says they will send our missing bag to our hotel. Drained, we go to the exit but Wiggy notices that in 30 minutes another flight from Delhi via Air India is arriving. Maybe his bag is on that flight?

 So, I wait in the lounge with our hand luggage, while Wiggy returns to the baggage belt. Unfortunately, the flight he spotted does not turn up, but, another flight from Delhi via Air India is showing on the board now…

3 hours pass. I’ve contacted our hotel and apologised for our delayed check-in twice already. I eventually give up and go to look for Wiggy with a trolly to hold our luggage. I’m disorientated and Wiggy’s helmet, poorly balanced, rolls off the trolly as I go up a ramp leading to the baggage belt. As my emotions spill out and constrict around me, I see Wiggy, walking out of the luggage room with his Mosko Moto bag and a triumphant look on his face. Remain positive, I tell myself, happy thoughts. But I cannot contain my frayed emotions anymore. A brief paddy ensues and I’m so lucky that Wiggy remains calm while humouring and comforting me. He’s the best.

Close to midnight, outside the airport, the air is thick with heat. Dozens of men in white shirts wait to pick up guests, taxis jostle, and we discover an Uber section in the underground car park. The rate’s very good, about ten pounds for an hour-long journey, in London it would be 10 times that. Then…

We set off into the night, watch ladies in long saris sit side-saddle on the backs of scooters, embroidered fabrics teasing chains, and watch the cabs and rickshaws flow between each other like metal lumps of water, somehow making it look sinuous. Our cab drops us off a few streets away from our hotel. We are grateful and tip heavily. I get out and smell the night air, and think, wow, this smells like India. Nostalgia of my time here over a decade ago floods back to me. A wonderful, musky and moist aroma, mixed with spice and perfumes.