Connecting in Hong Kong (which was in a pseudo-lockdown state at the time) and arriving at the Delhi airport in the very wee hours, I had forgotten how grueling such a long flight is. I slogged to the carousel to retrieve my backpack. Then I sought out the food court. I chose McDonalds and a supersized “Big Maharajah” combo. Apparently this is the version of the Big Mac found in India. I discovered it to be spicy and not all that bad. I noticed around me what looked to be students and young folk sitting at tables paying attention almost exclusively to their smartphones. When I had last been in India even basic cell phones had not even been present. I was soon to learn that a lot had changed. I finished up my rapidly-solidifying fries, caught my breath and hefted the densely packed bags. It was time to get back out there and see about my flight.

Suddenly in India, I experienced the Delhi airport to be chaos. Big, unruly “lines” snaked all around in non-linear fashion. This being India, there was a steady stream of people jumping right ahead of the lines and demanding attention. Amazingly, the ticket agent would then stop what they were doing and attend to these people. I was overwhelmed with the scene. Additionally, I was troubled by a feeling that something wasn’t right regarding my flight arrangements. But I certainly didn’t want to be one of these people cutting in line. I took my place at the end of a que spilling into the hallway.

When I finally arrived at the desk agent he informed me that I was in the incorrect line. I was to que at the end of the neighboring line. I gritted my teeth and did so. When I finally made it to that desk agent I was told that the email confirmation I had received from Priceline was not sufficient. I was to somehow contact the ticket agent... ... and procure an actual ticket. I was in India without an Indian sim card and officially up a creek as far as being able to make calls. I was directed to an information booth. There I met a pair of disinterested ladies chatting. One of them was actually putting on nail polish and blowing on her fingers. I persuaded her to let me call Priceline but line was not picked up. After multiple tries I somehow reached a Priceline Asia office and was informed that Cathay Pacific had issued my ticket so I was to “kindly contact them.” I called Cathay Pacific and they pointed the finger at Priceline. After a number of disconnections and redials, I finally reached someone that assured me that my ticket was valid. But back at the Air India counter they were demanding some sort of official number not showing on my booking. None of the work got me anywhere. The clock was ticking. There was now less than 1/1/2 hours before the flight for Gaya left.

I went back to one of the Air India desks and barged “Indian Style” right up to the front and re-presented my case with greater urgency. Back and forth I went, from one agent to another, my voice and blood pressure rising with each step. Finally a sort of supervisor had had enough and issued me a boarding pass. He must have been sick of me. The relief of not being stuck in the Delhi airport washed over me and inwardly I sent a silent thanks of gratitude.

About an hour later the intercom announced the boarding of the flight. I joined the herd and slowly shallow-stepped to my seat. Due to the rigors of the journey I had entered that stressed state of only surreally being able to confirm what was actually happening. My illusion of being a seasoned adventurer had evaporated. Things were not off to a smooth start.