I hopped on an overnight bus (with four months worth of my belongings) from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. I had the address to the Jet Airways office in hand, and that was the extent of my plan. I reached Bangkok at 5am. Not sure when the office opened, I hung out at the bus station for a few hours before catching a cab to the office. (Note: Hauling 4 months worth of luggage everywhere you go gets old pretty fast. Especially into Thai bathrooms complete with flooded floors, tiny stalls, and turnstiles at the entrance.) The Jet Air office was packed with stranded tourists. Thankfully, there were two flights leaving for India that day. I was put on one for Calcutta (even though I needed to go to Delhi) leaving at midnight. Apparently only 30 flights were leaving Bangkok each day, so I was happy to be on one! Not wanting to carry my luggage around the streets of Bangkok, I hung out in the office until 3pm when we were herded onto a bus for the military airport. With main highways closed due to protesters, the bus took a three-hour detour. As we approached the military airport, we got a police escort to the most bizarre airport experience I've ever had. The airport itself is very small since it only serves the military. Outside of it, however, the Thais had created a sort of carnival. Complete with massage stations, a live band, food vendors, and, my favorite, dancers in sequins outfits! After getting hand-written boarding passes, I chatted with some other stranded tourists for a few hours before boarding.
Food vendors outside the airport.
Massage stations.
Dancers in sequins!
Low technology airport operations: megaphone and hand written cardboard signs.
I landed in Calcutta at 1am only to find the domestic airport shut down for the night. Not having a real ticket, I had to argue my way past the guards so that I could hang out in the international airport for the night. Two nights of no sleep was wearing on me, so I invested in a Coke to keep me awake and aware. Around 3am I gave my passport to an airport worker wearing a neon vest. When he walked away, I realized that I had no assurance that he would come back. Luckily, he did and at 6:30am, I took off on a flight to Delhi.
Delhi, as I should have predicted, was a nightmare. When I landed, I tried to get on a shuttle to the International Terminal which was a few miles away. Once again, the guards didn't understand my situation and told me that I needed a real ticket (mine was expired, obviously). So, I had to pay for a taxi. Thankfully, it was within my budget. I had only 150 rupees left and it was 140. When I arrived at the International airport, I tried to get in to talk to an American Airlines rep to reissue my ticket. The guards, yet again, told me I didn't have a valid ticket (I soon realized that no one had any idea what had happened in Bangkok) so told me to go to the AA office. Well, turns out that no one had any idea where the actual office was and so for about an hour I ran around (with all of my bags) asking guard after guard. I finally found it (of course, it was unmarked) in a very obscure location - under the road, in a random dead-end hallway. I tried to go in but a man who was "guarding" the door stopped me saying that no one was working, even though it had been open for almost an hour. Against his wishes, I plopped down right outside the door to wait. When he left for a bathroom break, I ran in to the office. Of course, there WERE people working, well, semi-working. The office looked quasi-professional except that it was packed with lost luggage. The man helped me and things looked hopeful. UNTIL, a woman came out to explain to me that their office can't reissue tickets and I would have to go to downtown Delhi (probably an hour drive in morning traffic). WHAT!?!? First, let's remember that I only have 10 rupees (about 25cents) and the only ATM and money exchange is INSIDE the airport, which they won't let me enter. Second, let's think about this...at Delhi International Airport (the capital of India) there is no where to reissue a ticket. I asked if I could call the downtown office instead of going there. "No ma'am. Must go yourself." At this point, I was incredibly mad. More importantly, I was visibly mad, which doesn't happen very often. I demanded that the woman call the downtown office and ask. She did so, reluctantly. And, what do you know, everything worked out! The woman on the phone was incredibly nice and helpful and booked me a flight leaving at 1am that night.
Incredibly relieved, and with a ticket in hand (an unbelievably sketchy one that I could duplicate myself in Microsoft Word if I wanted to), I headed to enter the airport. Of course, the guards stopped me again and told me that I couldn't enter until 3 hours before my flight, which was about 12 hours away. They directed me across the street to the waiting area. With my luck, the waiting area was unexpectedly closed for the day. Why? Who knows. In India, you don't ask questions. There was a room that I probably could have waited in, but it cost 80 rupees per entry and I only had 10. So, I went back to the incompetent guards and told them my situation. They were perplexed. They had no idea that the waiting area was closed for the day and didn't know what to do with me. Finally, I got a police escort to take me into the waiting area. Success! So I had a nice place to sit. But there were no bathrooms and I couldn't afford any food. So, I sat for 12 hours trying not to drink the 8oz of water I had and rationing my mentos and trail mix. Mostly, I slept at the table with my limbs draped over my luggage while plenty of Indians stared at me.
Once I got in the airport, I attempted to contact my parents, who hadn't heard anything for 2 days on my whereabouts. Plan A failed when I didn't have enough Indian coins to make a call and the ATM that was INSIDE the airport I had heard so much about was not anywhere to be seen. Plan B emerged when I noticed information about wireless internet service. I went up to the table and asked if I could get service for a half hour. They said, "Yes, what's your mobile number?" Apparently, the only way you can create an account is by having the service company text you your account number on your cell phone. Same with the land-line phone service they offer. What?!? That makes no sense! I asked if they could just give me an account number since we were face-to-face, but no luck. Oh, India. Defeated, I decided to hunt down my favorite Indian soda for one last refreshing hurrah. Well, of course prices are jacked up at airports, so my 10 rupees wouldn't cut it. But, hallelujah, some vendors took USD! I whipped out the coins I'd been carrying around for 4 months, excited to at last have something go smoothly. I got to the counter, double checked with the vendor to see if USD was okay, excitedly handed him my money, and...got rejected. "No coins, ma'am, only dollar." I wanted to scream.
I sat down, completely exhausted, to wait for boarding and was shocked when an Indian woman handed me a cold can of Fanta. I recognized her as the woman behind me in line. She said nothing, just smiled. It wasn't the Limca I had hoped for, but it was exactly what I needed to lift my spirits.
Finally, I left Delhi at 1am and arrived in Chicago at 4:30 am (a 15 hour non-stop flight). I have never been so happy to reach American turf. Chicago was a dream, complete with smiling people and pay phones. From there, it was smooth sailing onto Minneapolis. I arrived home in WI Thursday morning, after 80 hours of traveling alone.
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