The Delhi airport is old, so old in fact that they have built a new one, but it sits idle next door unable to open due to some last minute, unforeseen oversights – like waterproofing the roof. So we are still using the old one for now. The old terminal is like any other built in the 1960s – a long semi-circle drive up, culminating with multiple doors leading into a single, large, dimly lit check-in area. But, like all of India, things are not what they initially seem.
I pushed my trolley to the door in front of where I disembarked and was promptly stopped by the guard. He asked me what airline I was flying and I told him Continental. He grunted and spat out that I can not use his door. Hum. After a brief pause, I point out that all doors lead to the same hall, but he remains undeterred by my logic (and actually looked slightly annoyed). He simply pointed me towards the remaining battery of doors and sat back down with his newspaper. Since none of the doors are actually marked in any way, you must go from door to door and repeat the experience until you find the correct door (Monte Hall would be so proud). In retrospect it should have been easy to identify my door as while all the other doors were barren, there was one door with a massive mob scene around it.
I pushed through the line and finally had my face to face with the guard. He asked the usually qualifying airline question and then asked to see my ticket. I explained that it was an eticket and that the woman sitting behind the counter probably has it. He looked perplexed and asked see my itinerary. I dug through my bag and finally produced it. He confusingly looked over it for almost a minute and finally waved me through. These are the little details that in India are so well thought through. I have no idea how a terrorist could possibly get through this crack Indian security detail. I mean it is not everyone that could create a formatted itinerary on a plain sheet of paper on an everyday printer - that would take the skills of a master forger - or a 6 year old. I felt much safer having been “screened.”
The next encounter with absurdity came as I approached the check-in desk. About 5 yards in front of the desk, I was cut off by Continental's crack security team who are still asking who packed your bag and has it been in your possession the entire time. I am so grateful that India still uses this tactic, as I totally forgot about the brick of C4 and remote detonator that was given to me by a strange mullah outside a mosque on the way to the airport. I would have never suspected foul play, but Sanjeev’s evolved investigative skills alerted me to the potential danger. Idiot!
After my encounter with Inspector Clouseau, I made my way up to the counter and handed over my passport. The woman behind the counter did her check-in thing, but before the luggage could safely be conveyored away, Inspector Not-So-Bright reappears with paper luggage tags that must be filled out. I explain that I already have fully completed paper luggage tags on my bags, but he insists that I must put these luggage tags on my check-in and carry on. I asked him if they were magical luggage tags – he did not find this funny in the least.
So checked in, I walked over to passport control. You need an exit form to leave India, so I stopped at the table filled out my formed and actually breezed through this area. I was a little shocked, but decided not to celebrate too much as I needed to focus on the next challenge: security screening. Surprisingly, this also was relatively painless. As you pass through security, they stamp ‘Cleared” on your ticket and your magical luggage tag on your carry–on. Other than that it is the usual removal of laptops, shoes, etc . Easy-peezy – lemon squeezy. I passed though quickly and efficiently and was starting to feel sanity had returned. This momentary feeling, though was shattered when I caught a glance of the business class lounge – tucked away in the corner on the backside of security. Yes, the lounge was thoughtfully located in the no-man’s land between security and passport control which meant I was on the wrong side of security. Son-of-a-monkey! Could have used that little piece of information at the check in counter instead of the lecture on magical baggage tags.
I asked the security official how I get there. He pointed me to a desk with a few more soldier/security guys. The security guy gave me a disgusted look, stamped my ticket cancelled, ripped my magic luggage tag off my bag and escorted me rather abruptly through the metal detector.
About an hour later and many small potato wrap-thingys, the flight was called and I made my way down to the security line once again. Having just gone through this, I confidently pulled my laptop out of my bag, sent it through and waited on the other side. This time, though, we had an issue. As it came out, the guard asked me if I had any other electronic items in my bag, like a camera, cell phone, iPod? I said yes to all of the above (because that is where you put them since you cannot have them in your pockets). Knowing when to keep my sarcastic mouth shut (I am a continuous learner), I began to silently disassemble my bag and put the items in the trays laid out in front of me. As I opened each compartment, the vigilant guard continued to identify other high-risk items that needed to be removed like sunglasses, pens and the always dangerous crossword puzzle book. He then sent the empty bag back though security, but never once checked any of the items pulled out (you know, the ones with all the electronic wiring in them). Apparently the bag itself posed the security risk. This evolution took almost 30 minutes and I was slowly edging into boiling point territory.
After another 10 minutes of repacking, it was off to the gate .... kinda. It took me a few minutes to find my gate as the sign said gates 1-7 to the left and 9-12 to the right. I needed gate 8 which apparently can only been seen if you have the magical luggage tags. I walked around in circles for a while and finally picked a direction. It proved to be correct. As I got closer to my gate, though, I noticed there was a mob forming. Boarding had begun and apparently it was not by rows. I got in line only to discover that I was queuing for another, you guessed it, full security screening. The entire plane had to pass though another baggage scan and metal detector, because apparently the anal probing Captain Punet gave us roughly 10 minutes ago proved inconclusive. Really?
I was finally through the most ridiculous airport security in world and was ready for 15 hours of lay-flat seat, business class comfort on my Continental flight as advertised. I stepped into the cabin, only to find that we must have been part of an historic flight event, because I believe the plane was the first 777 in the Continental fleet – from 15 years ago when they were introduced. No lay flat seats, no 20” TV, no huge partition between me and the rest of the plane. These were the old type of seats that recline in a sort of a dentist-chair, not-quite-straight kind of way. These little sadistic inventions feel like they were designed in a committee of Dr. Mengele, Pol Pot, and Lady Gaga. They are just straight enough to lull you to sleep before you begin the great slide downward and in the process get your pants shoved up your ass in an atomic sized, global wedgy! Anyone who has flown in these seats knows exactly about what I speak. They are the scorn of the business class world and I had thought that all self-respecting carriers had banished them.
I settled in, rather annoyed, but mostly relieved to put the Indira Gandhi international Airport Extravaganza behind me. So relieved, in fact, that I was able to get 15 whole minutes of sleep!
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