FEBRUARY 4, SUNDAY

ON THE WAY TO DELHI

In the morning I had a quick breakfast at Nooit Gedacht, not knowing when I would be able to eat again. Yesterday was both a Sunday and Sri Lankan Independence day from Britain. Suddenly it occurred to me that a number of countries, the United States among them, but also India and Sri Lanka celebrate their independence from Britain with special days. No wonder the British feel a little bereft and want to preserve their glory days and sense of being the center of the world with acts like Brexit, their independence from Europe.

But my concern was that the buses wouldn’t be running on schedule because of the holiday and that I wouldn’t make it to Bandaranaike Airport on time. I checked to find what my motorcycle rickshaw ride, tuktuk in Sri Lanka, should be and so was able to bargain by walking away from the 1500 rupee ($3) demand by the rickshaw driver and get him to accept 1200 rupees, a saving of only 50 cents but a matter of pride, even though he needed the 50 cents more than I did.

He took me to the right bus, which was nearly empty at 8:05 but it filled and I realized that it was probably on a schedule and would leave at 8:30, which it did for the rapid ride on the expressway. I had to change buses at Kawabata. I was directed to a bus and sat down near the front. But then I noticed the fold down seats and was afraid that I was on a local bus. The woman next to me didn’t speak English but when I asked “Highway bus?” As a question she agreed. In any case once the bus filled, on the half hour at 10:30, I was relieved when we went through a toll booth onto the highway. So, in spite of my trepidation, I got to the airport at 11:15 for a 2 p.m. flight, plenty of time I thought.

But I barely made it to the flight to Delhi on time, one of the last passengers to board. It was one the most confusing and frustrating flights that I have ever boarded. I went immediately to check in and would have been done in two minutes with hours to spare. But the woman told me that in spite of my backpack and carry on bag being just fine when I came from Mumbai to Colombo by Sri Lankan Airlines, that I could check my carry on bag free of charge but that my backpack could weigh no more than 7 kilos. It weighed 13. She suggested that I repack. I had added some weight when I added some textiles I had bought at the Barefoot shop, probably five pounds. The only way that I could see to reduce my weight was to stuff my vest with all the heavy electronic stuff that I could and to wear my winter jacket to hide my bulging pockets. This took me about twenty minutes. I went back with my lighter back pack, hoping it would pass and as I sweltered in the head, finally taking off my twenty pound vest and heavy down coat until I got to the front of the line.

There was no line for Delhi although there were for other flights, so I got in an unmarked line and waited and waited, then shifted to a shorter line and waited and waited. No line was moving. People at the head of each line were taking 15 minutes.

Finally, almost too late, I realized what the problem was. Sri Lankan Airlines had cancelled flights to Chennai and the Maldives and everyone going to these places was in line to find alternatives, which took forever. When I finally got to the front of the line I was told I was in the wrong line. I said there was no mention what the line was for in the sign above him, he looked up, saw there was none and reluctantly agreed to accept me. He gave me a boarding pass immediately, checked my carry on bag free, and never paid any attention to my lightened backpack or my bulging vest covered with a voluminous jacket. I was off, but hungry. I stopped at a Burger King which suddenly popped up and got a $19 cheese whopper which I gulped down and then raced to Gate 2, still sweltering under my jacket, and boarded the plane with no time to repack, barely on time.

In Delhi I was the last off the plane as my backpack had been stored several rows back and I had to wait for everyone to leave. My first task was to get all my electronic stuff back in my backpack. Delhi was cool, almost chilly, so I could wear my jacket. But this made me probably the last person to carousel 14 where I could pick up my Sri Lankan Airlines bags. It was empty, not moving with no bags on either side, and I wondered who had taken my checked carry on bag until at the very end, out of sight, I found three Sri Lankan Airlines personnel guarding my bag, waiting for me.

I went through customs and needed Indian rupees for a taxi. Thomas Cook said that I would have to take at least $250 and pay 8% interest, which I declined to do, not knowing what to do next. The woman then told me very quietly that I could go to the nearby ATM, just across the way and could take out what I wanted with no fee. So I did.

Then I went looking for the tourism board government run prepaid taxi booth, set up to keep foreigners from being swindled. It was a little office at some distance and I doubt if many newcomers knew anything about it and were therefore charge exorbitant taxi fares. On the way there driver after driver assured me sincerely and in good English that their fare, 1300 rupees, was the same as prepaid. I ignored them. Prepaid, paid in advance at the office, was 450 rupees to New Rajinder Nagar. And finally I was at the Master Paying Guest house, welcomed by Uschi the owner, now an old friend, with a very nice terrace room that needed to have a heater last night, where I, Susie and Todd stayed a year ago and a good curry and rice dinner.