Some countries you regret leaving; some nations you can't wait to leave, and others make it so complicated that you consider yourself extraordinarily fortunate to be able to depart. Such was India. It was not a function of airline procedure or security protocol or airport architecture. It was simply the way things were.
Take check-in for example. Our tour group arrived early and waited in line behind twelve people, eight foreigners and four indigenous Indian men. Piece of cake, right? Wrong. When the Indian folks reached the desk, they promptly plunked down approximately 15-20 passports each. In flurry, a crowd of families, sari-garbed women and children rushed to the front of the line. The reality was that each man represented a clan, all in all totaling to nearly 100 people who wedged their way to the front, irrespective of those they pushed on the way. When I asked the desk employee about this, she looked at me like I was crazy. Apparently, this was standard operating procedure.
Then there were security checks, which happened immediately after check-in and also right before the gate. When we tried to put our carry-on baggage through the second security check, half the passengers were sent back outside the first security checkpoint. Evidently, a sticker was supposed to be tacked on the luggage during that process and it was haphazardly neglected by half the staff. No matter what, you had to return to get the sticker or they adamantly would not allow boarding.
True, India was gorgeous and interesting and heartbreaking and squalid. But after being cut by 100 people and running back and forth across the airport like a flustered lunatic, next time it would be India the DVD.
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