September 18, 2016

I have had too many quick and also extended layovers (6 hrs or more) in airports all over the world. Never have I been compelled to write about them, because they were simply a means, a passing thing, a forgettable blip between my final place. Delhi…is different.

Granted, I never saw the city in the light, beyond the airport, and 3 km ride to my overnight hotel, however, I was continually amused by this place and the experience of the past 14 hours.

Let’s start from the beginning. Leaving my hotel in Ktm should have just been a simple formality. My bags were packed, bike was built, polished and ready for the quick flight to Dehli and then on to Leh to begin my journey. Kermit really does clean up well. It ain’t easy being green, ya know. I was enjoying a final amazing curry lunch, talking with 9 of the hotel staff concurrently (yes I counted because I found it so amusing and flattering) about my route and also my bike, while simultaneously accepting their Facebook friend requests. I have become very accustomed to this discussion and the looks of utter stupefied amazement of my cycling plans and routes, even in an area as adventurous as Nepal. Their thoughts of my impending peril is always entertaining. Then my transport arrived. It was at this time, after nearly 2 hours of talking and looking at my bike, that one person asked me where the case was for my bike? I have flown on short jaunts without a case before and never had a problem so I thought nothing of it, nor did anyone say anything until…now, when my transport arrived. “It would be better if it was in a case.” Said one of the staff in his overly concerned and polite Nepali manner. What he meant to say was, “You cannot fly without a case.” Now? You’re telling me this NOW? After 2 hours of talking and literally staring at my unpacked bicycle”, said my brain as it bounced around inside my head. “Is there a bike shop? Is it close? Can we drive there on the way?” I inquired, as the first beads of adversity induced sweat began to cascade down my forehead. “No, the streets are too narrow. I will walk with you and we can pack it there. It’s no problem. Plenty of time.” Nepali people really are the kindest people I have ever met. We walked together, 6 blocks through the narrow streets, motor bikes whizzing by, blaring their horns, several times being narrowly missed by their side mirrors, until we arrived at a bike shop. The shop owner found me a very well used, seasoned, cardboard box. Translation: It needed A LOT of tape. Over the next 19 minutes, the 3 of us tore apart my bike, wrapped it in whatever scraps he had laying around, and packed it confidently…with a lot of tape. From there, he, the gentleman from the hotel who escorted me to the bike shop, carried my packed bike 3 blocks to an intersection where the transport vehicle could meet us. Yes, I wrote “he” and not “we” because he literally would not let me carry the case.   Off we zoomed, through traffic, arriving at the Ktm airport, 20 min later…plenty of time for my departure.

If the Ktm airport is Kansas, then Indira Gandhi International Airport in Dehli is New York. It is one the busiest airports in Asia and maybe the world. There is an around the clock buzz. I landed in Dehli 75 minutes later, after enjoying another amazing vegetarian curry on the flight. Yes, passengers are fed fantastic food, even on short flights. We barely had time to level off and eat before they were whisking away our trays and preparing for arrival. Thanks for the pretzels, United. They were delicious and satisfying. The cool ranch seasoning really is the key.

I was told that I would need to claim my baggage and clear customs in Delhi, since it was an international flight, but could then immediately re-check them for my flight the next morning, even though I had an 11 hour layover. This was incorrect. I appealed to several airport staff but to no avail. I have seen in my now 30 minutes of time in India, that Indian people have a way of tilting, shifting, wobblying, and pivoting their heads in a manner that appears to be a combination of shaking their head “no” and nodding “yes” all the while looking into my eyes confidently in their message. Many of their strong accents, while actually speaking English, made it challenging to fully comprehend what they were definitively telling me, when combined with this unique head wobble. The short: I would need to take my baggage to the hotel.

I exited the airport and walked head first into a wall of wet, stagnant, suffocating Indian heat, the kind that you always read about. It was 7pm and the sun had gone down over an hour ago. I was immediately saturated with a combination of humidity and sweat. Normally when someone puts the full court press on me, which is common in any airport, I know enough to walk away. However, I had sensory overload and just wanted to find a taxi and get to my hotel so I could put on some dry clothes and rinse off the Delhi night.  I got in the first taxi large enough to accommodate my bike. His name was Sonu and stood about 5’ 3” with a slim build, drove a small taxi van, and told me in his raspy voice and thick accent, that for about USD $6 he would take me the 2 km to my hotel…all while tilting, wobbling, shifting, and pivoting his head in that mannerism so unique to Indian people. By 730pm and 10 minutes later, we were approaching the hotel. The last ½ km we were driving down the wrong way on a 3 lane, one way street as cars, scooters, and busses zoomed by, blaring their horns and flashing their lights. Sonu, however, seemed unalarmed as apparently this is the norm. “To go around, it is nearly 2 km”, Sonu told me in a confident, justifiable way that actually seemed to convince me of his logic. Hmmm…makes sense, I thought to myself. Why would we go all the way around when we can just go straight there. I am in India. He told me that he would be waiting for me at 330 a.m. the next morning to drive me back to the airport for my 530am flight.

I checked into the hotel, took a shower, ate more vegetarian curry with garlic naan, and crashed. The beauty of having my body so jacked up from jetlag, is that I really have no idea what time it is internally. A 3am wake up did not phase me…in spite of the 15 minute time change from Ktm to Delhi (yes, 15 minute). I went downstairs, exited the hotel lobby, plowed face first into the wall of suffocating, wet, Indian night heat, and found Sonu, asleep in his van, waiting for me as promised.

No arms?  Guess we’re not in ‘Merica no more