I wasn't used to it anymore. After three months in the same country, here I am. Preparing another trip abroad. The nervous niggling feeling in my stomach returned. Almost like butterflies when you're in love. As a gift I bought a plane trip to Kathmandu via Delhi. Which is why I was at the small airport of Dabolim in Goa.
I like small airports. They give us a feeling of travel. The international ones are too hygienic and belong to a world of their own. Few differences exist between them. The little ones have more character but also less things to kill time. This only offered a cafe and a small bookstore to get me distracted. As I looked at the small collection of books, my mind wandered through the feelings of a hard farewell to India. A trip as intense as the Indian one doesn't disappear with a simple border crossing. So I was preparing my body to receive Nepal.
But it was still far away. Before I had to go through bureaucratic entry into the travelers area of the airport, arrive at Delhi, wait eight hours to repeat the red tape again until I could get to Nepal. From day one – the only I used the plane - that these procedures amazed me. For a country as "organized" like this, it was impressive how many steps you have to pass through a single checkpoint.
You check in as any other country. Wait ... I forgot to say. Before this, you have to pass the bag through a x-ray machine - that "conveniently" is in another location. If you're lucky - and have nothing to disturb the security guards - then you get a stamp of approval. Of course it was not my case, and when my backpack was set aside, I knew that life wouldn't be so easy.
"No lighters ..." tells me the security with a sympathetic smile. I was already waiting this after losing mine when I got to India.
"Is it ok now" I asked, just to be sure they did not commit any mistake taking in hand my backpack. He looks at the the other guard, and although I don't understand Hindi, I can understand that not yet...
"Do you have cameras?" Question that I feel like a dagger in my back. "Yes ..." I reply hesitantly. "... But I have not the slightest idea where ... omg, I'll have to take everything out of the bag ... "I think, while the other part of the brain tries to find a solution.
"Can I see the picture?" I ask and pray that this was not the worst place: the middle of the pack.
"Yes of course" I smile with the sigh of relief when I notice that it is on top of the backpack.
With this problem solved, I go to the check-in. Something that is not complicated. With the backpack on the weight limit - to my astonishment – I give my passport and receive the boarding pass. Time for one more bureaucracy: pass into the passenger area. Nothing special ... Well it wouldn't be if the person at check-in has given me the paper to be stamped by the security check point. I find that out after spending 10 minutes in line. Time to return to check in, get the label and back in line for another 15 minutes.
Finally I'm in the waiting area for my plane. From that moment everything was simple. When the plane took off, part of me was already saying goodbye to India. I was only one night at the airport of Delhi away from Kathmandu. But as it was in India, I still a small surprise to come...
Just outside the plane I had a strange feeling. A mismatch between what my mind had imagine and what my eyes were seeing. Something that I confirmed when I left from the domestic airport. I couldn't believe ... All neaty and tidy. Everything so ... perfect. After three months my body reacted violently to this dose of Western normality. It seemed that I had returned to Europe.
With the late hour I was looking for a place to sleep. My original plan was to stay in the waiting place inside the airport. Of course making plans here only serve to fail, so I was barred at the entrance of the international airport. "Too early" the guard tells me while suggesting me to go to another waiting room in a corner of the airport. I try to follow the suggestion, but before entering the room I see a sign informing me that staying in that place cost 70 rupees each hour. In a fit of greed, I think the spotless floor of the airport is a great bed.
Once I've found a nice place, I lay down. I choose a place near other passengers trying to do the same. Unity is strength, and in these things I don't like to be alone. After a while I already felt like in a real bed. It was time to dream ...
"Excuse me ..." I wake up to this startling comment. He was a cop. By now I could read in his face what he wanted to transmit. First with a rude face - perhaps thinking that it was Indian - then with a kinder one when he understand that I am from abroad. And in a very polite way he tells me to get out and go to the waiting room. I explain I don't want to pay money, and he tells me, to my astonishment, that I only need to show the ticket.
Back to the place that I had been an hour before, my astonishment doesn't end. After wandering in search of a place I notice they have chaise lounges to rest. While I put my body to rest I have my last thoughts. I smile imagining how the tourists have the wrong image when they arrive in this place. A so clean place before facing all the incredible challenges that India has to offer.
The next day was more mechanical. Perhaps the anxiety overcame the farewell feeling. With everything set, I quickly found my seat on the plane. I looked around me, and the faces of people didn't deceive me. I was going to a new country. Traces of eastern asia already penetrated the faces of the passengers. When it was announced that we are arriving, I feel again that thrill of a new adventure. It was time to greet this new country.
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