A Passage to India….

Having got over the shock of leaving my purse in Scarborough and having  made plans accordingly, including downloading Goggle Wallet and entering the 21st Century, things felt like they were going in the right direction.

A leisurely coffee, observing the usual bustle of an airport, even at the ungodly hour of 6. Boarding was smooth enough, but soon came the news: a delay. “Heavy snow in Frankfurt,” they said. Half an hour added to the clock, half an hour of restless waiting in the plane, stressing about not getting to Frankfurt or being stranded there in blizzard conditions.

When we finally took off, the cabin atmosphere felt taut. The flight attendants had a no-nonsense aura,moving briskly down the aisle, their expressions firm, almost severe. It was odd then when they started dishing out chocolate bars. We had three each.  Apparently, they have been doing it since July 2024. A bit of chocolate always lifts my spirits.

The real surprise awaited in Frankfurt. After all the talk of snowstorms, we stepped out into mild weather—no flakes, no drizzle, just a crisp 5°C breeze. The sky was clear, the ground dry. It felt almost like a trick had been played on us. But we now had under half an hour to disembark and get on the next flight.

We passed some interesting shops, but there was no time to linger. The connection to Chennai loomed, and the minutes between disembarking and boarding the next flight were razor-thin. Why is it that when you are racing against time that the departure gate is always the one furthest away. The walkways seemed endless

Relief only came when the gate appeared at last, and with it the promise of the long journey ahead. 

The final leg of our journey had arrived, and with it came a wave of excitement. Boarding the flight from Frankfurt to Chennai felt like stepping onto the homestretch, the anticipation of arrival mingled with the comfort of knowing I had great seats for the long haul. 

The in-flight experience was great. The Indian vegetarian meals were a highlight, especially the kheer, sweet, creamy, and unexpectedly delightful at 35,000 feet.

A cheeky Bloody Mary and vino,helped theu winding process.

And again there was more Chocolate!

I managed to watch four films back-to-back, a cinematic marathon that made the hours glide by. Dead of Winter, Kiss of the Spiderwoman, a Promising YoungWoman and another that has now escaped my travel addled brain!

I also did quite a few general knowledge quizzes played among passengers. Competitive spirit kicked in, and I found myself winning each round undefeated in the skies, crowned quiz champion somewhere over the Middle East. 

Arrival, however, was less graceful. Chennai greeted us with paperwork, and as I reached for my pen, I realized it had exploded under cabin pressure. Blue ink smeared across my face, leaving me looking more like a smurf than a something out of a Merchant Ivory film! It took ages to clean up, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony after all the elegance of the flight, my arrival was anything but.

The journey began with a long, weary wait at customs. My brand-new passport seemed to raise eyebrows, as though it were suspicious simply for being pristine. A photograph was taken, fingerprints and thumbprints recorded, the full ritual of red tape.  But also in these situations I always feel as though I have done something wrong, they will find out that I am international criminal.

By the time we reached the carousel, it was obvious something was wrong. Hardly any luggage was circling, and ours was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, we learned that our bags had never left Frankfurt, with no clear idea of when they’d arrive. April, they said. April! I did my usual in moments of travel despair burst into tears. This is my trip of a lifetime, my present for being 60! I think that although it was bad, there were family  groups in th same situation and dealingwith it all at 2 in the morning felt quite extreme.

Thankfully, Veerma, our taxi driver, had waited an extra two hours for us. His patience was a small mercy in the chaos. Pete hadn’t packed much in his rucksack, while mine was stuffed to bursting — a small victory for my tendency to overpack.  I had purposely packed very little in my main rucksack, to guage how much I can carry back.

The drive to the hotel was an adventure in itself. Horns blared constantly, a chorus of beeps that seemed to replace any need for traffic rules. Veerma cheerfully assured us there was no need for seat belts: “In India, you are free.” Free indeed! the seat belts didn’t work anyway.  There were defintely some hairy moments, but in fairness  to him he had waited and he needed to get back for someone else at the airport.

And so, our first day unfolded: a mix of bureaucracy, lost luggage, tears, kindness, and the wild symphony of Indian traffic. Travel, after all, is never just about the destination. It’s about the stories you collect along the way even the ones you’d rather not repeat.

But of course it didn’t end there…

After a long journey, the hotel rose before us like a beacon of hope. I know this seems very over the top, but it felt like it. Its lights shimmered against the evening sky, promising comfort and rest.

The staff greeted us warmly, ushering us in with efficiency and that  was great! Within minutes, we were sorted out, handed cool bottles of water, and even offered biscuits.

The foyer was alive with colour, tropical fish gliding gracefully in their tank, a tranquil welcome to weary travelers. 

Our room was everything we needed: spacious, inviting, and a sanctuary after the road.

I hopped into the shower, letting the water wash away the layers of grime. But in my haste, I left water pooling on the floor  a mistake I didn’t realize until it was too late. 

Pete walked in, unsuspecting. His foot slipped, and in an instant, he crashed to the ground. The sound was deafening, a thud that echoed through the room, and apparently through the hotel as next there was a knock at the door. Blood smeared across the tiles, his elbow cut open, his sides turning red.

I opened the door, Pete leapt up and went into the bathroo, god  knows how. The man from reception looking visibly concerned, ‘Do you want any extra towels,’ he asked. But underlining it was, what the hell is going on!

I explained, he came in, then went to get the manager, all the while Pete was naked in the shower. They got more water, more towels, large plasters, special cream that they said was mousse.

Got Pete out of  the shower, helping him to dry off. Applying cream on his knees and back. Cleaning his elbow and then sticking lots of plasters on it, but it bled through. It was quite surreal. The manager saying, you are in my hotel, you are my family  here, I must look after you.

I think the abiding thing with today, despite calamities is that people are good!