The Passage to India.

Yesterday was a LONG day. We saw enough of the rugby and enough South Africans to know when to make our escape; the flight was boarding just as it got too painful to watch. The monsoon lashing Heathrow as we took off matched the mood; but we hoped it would prove to be more spectacular than any weather that we might meet on our travels!

Travelling BA always used to feel like a ‘premium’ experience, even when you weren’t ‘up-front’. S gave the Business Class seats long, lingering looks as we were shoved down the back – an ominous portent for the travel budget in the future. Our seats were OK and the food was very good but it was the silly little things. Why do some seats have to have a shard-edged metal box just where you want to put your ankle? And why design a table and tray combination for your food that has the adhesive qualities of oiled ice? And why can’t you keep the paper towels topped up in the washrooms? Still, better than Ryanair… just!

Travelling south or west always feels cosily familiar. The names that pop up on the ‘flight path’ screen fill you with the holiday spirit. Going east is different. In the gathering twilight, we had a view of the Danube delta as we headed out over the Black Sea but thereafter, the names on the screen evoked different thoughts. Just to the south, the map showed Syria, Iraq and Iran. To the north, the Crimea and Ukraine. I suppose that’s the difference between ‘holidaying’ and ‘travelling’. As I gazed out of the window, I reflected that two episodes of “Chernobyl’ might not have been the best choice of inflight entertainment.

Eight hours on from the rain of Staines, we landed at Delhi. At least, so we were told; the opaque view out of the window gave no clues. We had read reports of smog in Delhi but this was something else as it blanketed the airport, inside and out!

The one truly universal symbol of mankind across the world must be an airport; endless glass, steel, polished tiles, signs in English and multiple ‘Duty Free’ shops. It does take the romance out of travel when you arrive in identikit buildings that could be anywhere. On the other hand, when you are tired, it’s all easy and unchallenging.

Until you get to ‘Immigration’.

The summary was that BA didn’t hand out landing cards and by the time we twigged that we needed them, three other big planes had landed and the queues at Immigration had grown exponentially. And boy, these chaps don’t hurry. There were passports and landing cards and visa and photos and fingerprints and and and…. I never understand this bureaucratic nonsense but I suppose India has its equivalents of Daily Mail readers who think this stuff serves a purpose. And I suppose the Indians have to put up with our rubbish at Heathrow. But an hour and a half???? I did wonder if provoking S to faint would help us jump the queue. She thought not!

The ride to the hotel was ‘entertaining’ with the 3.00am running of the ‘Wacky Races’! As the driver said, ‘Delhi never sleeps’! However, we were more than ready to…