"The sun is a shining to welcome the day with a Hey Hoooooo come to the Fayre.... "
Whoops you caught me singing, I couldn't help it, its a bright sunny October day, 20 C in the garden sun trap. I've just made a tarragon, chicken and ham pie with yesterdays left overs so dinner is sorted. Sarah's out visiting her mom and dad and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll have finished the April trip and how I got to retire before I actually get back to India at this rate.
As there are no direct flights to Trivandrum anymore and we are flying Air India we have to change planes in Mumbai and catch the internal shuttle flight. Its fine, just a 90 min hop down the coast. There was however a slight hiccup, we had cleared customs and security in Mumbai and were no longer air-side, our hold luggage had gone on ahead to the shuttle flight, not a problem in itself but we had three liters of duty free booze in our hand luggage. At security a young Indian Army officer was waiting a look of glee in his eye. I had already gone through the x-ray machine and was having the iPod, Headphones, Kindle and camera closely examined down the line. Sarah was still at the first stage in the process. A voice of authority rang out.
"Madam, you cannot board the plane with three liters of liquid in your hand luggage, you will have to leave it here"
I looked up, the young officer was talking to Sarah.
First Sarah looked at her bag, one liter each of Grey Goose, Ciroc and Hendrick's.
Sarah then she looked at the guard, he smiled again and wobbled his head no doubt thinking he was in for a damn good party. Sarah looked at her bag again then back at the guard. He positively beamed, at which point I flinched and like any sensible husband hid behind a small group of migrant workers flying back from Dubai. I knew this might get nasty, it was 2 am and I'd seen that look in Sarah's eyes before. He may have been close to six feet tall, trained in unarmed combat and had a Kalashnikov hanging round his neck but I didn't fancy his chances. He was attempting to liberate not only my gin but also her two liters of vodka. Sarah sweetly smiled back and spoke softly to him... now I knew he was in trouble. To this day I have no idea what she said but the effect was dramatic. Firstly the colour drained from his face, then he went red. Sarah continued to smile. Next thing I know he was waving his arms about and obviously giving directions for Sarah to go somewhere. She promptly spun on her heels and disappeared back the way we had come.
I spent the next fifteen tense minutes being watched by a customs officer who first demonstratively searched for and then slowly put on a pair of blue rubber gloves.
Sarah reappeared, minus her bag.
"Come on then, lets get on the plane." she chirped, obviously very pleased with herself.
"What happened there?"
"Not much, I just explained there was no way I was leaving £70 worth of booze and he told me where to go to get it put in the hold" She glanced back at the young officer and laughed. He was trying desperately not to catch her eye.
"Hmm, just asked him for directions eh?"
"Yep" She laughed again and we got on the plane.
When you are given your boarding card everyone knows where they are going to sit so for my first few flights to India I just couldn't understand why there was such a mad rush to get on the plane. It wasn't going to go leave any faster, flight departure time is set, there is a slot for each plane. Everyone has a seat allocated. Then the penny dropped, everyone has a seat but locker space isn't fixed and many Indian's only fly with "hand luggage". Here lies the problem.
What you can take onto a plane as carry on or hand luggage should be simple, a standard size case of no more than a specific weight, the dimensions of which depend on the class of ticket purchased. That's the rules, and rules is rules, sometimes, but not very often in India, not where cabin luggage is concerned. This is where the wobbling of the head as an answer can break down. I have seen migrant workers in Dubai try and on occasion convince cabin staff that 46 inch plasma TVs are hand luggage. On the other hand I've also seen women told to stow their handbags as they have a separate purse. The most orderly of queues swiftly descends into a rolling maul as passengers nudge, push and try to cut in, what starts as a leisurely walk down the docking arm gradually speeds up at the cabin gets closer. This is the martial art known as the India Queue. The rules are, 1) never to catch the eye of the person you have just cut in front of 2) never run, you must gradually increase your speed without making it obvious 3) if you are spotted cutting in you must never admit it or give way but immediately freeze and pretend you were there all along. The airline version of Indian queuing also allows the use of hand luggage (and small children) as weapons, experienced participants can use these to take out a fellow passenger in many ways but favorites are the wheeled case down the Achilles tendon and the shoulder bag in the eye or the child swung from the hip, a move which if performed correctly hits the opponent in the genitals. Its a great contact sport for all the family and I wish the Indian Olympic Committee luck in their bid to get it recognized. They are true masters of their own game.
The flight was uneventful, we were back in cattle class as our upgrade only lasted to Mumbai but I can cope with sitting bolt upright for 90 mins with my knees behind my ears. (I've watched Sarah do it when practicing yoga and picked up a tip or two) So could the chap in front of me, there was NO WAY he was reclining his seat, i was firmly wedged into position for the duration of the flight. In no time at all we emerged from the Terminal to be greeted by our driver, 30 mins later we were back in our usual hotel in Kovalam, The sun was just rising and it was time for breakfast, sitting in Coconut Grove our usual restaurant, chatting with the staff and catching up on the gossip. Masala Dosa, carrot juice, small pot mixer coffee.
It felt like we had come home.
Whoops you caught me singing, I couldn't help it, its a bright sunny October day, 20 C in the garden sun trap. I've just made a tarragon, chicken and ham pie with yesterdays left overs so dinner is sorted. Sarah's out visiting her mom and dad and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll have finished the April trip and how I got to retire before I actually get back to India at this rate.
Bombay Mumbai Airport 02:00 A.M. April 2013.
As there are no direct flights to Trivandrum anymore and we are flying Air India we have to change planes in Mumbai and catch the internal shuttle flight. Its fine, just a 90 min hop down the coast. There was however a slight hiccup, we had cleared customs and security in Mumbai and were no longer air-side, our hold luggage had gone on ahead to the shuttle flight, not a problem in itself but we had three liters of duty free booze in our hand luggage. At security a young Indian Army officer was waiting a look of glee in his eye. I had already gone through the x-ray machine and was having the iPod, Headphones, Kindle and camera closely examined down the line. Sarah was still at the first stage in the process. A voice of authority rang out.
"Madam, you cannot board the plane with three liters of liquid in your hand luggage, you will have to leave it here"
I looked up, the young officer was talking to Sarah.
First Sarah looked at her bag, one liter each of Grey Goose, Ciroc and Hendrick's.
Sarah then she looked at the guard, he smiled again and wobbled his head no doubt thinking he was in for a damn good party. Sarah looked at her bag again then back at the guard. He positively beamed, at which point I flinched and like any sensible husband hid behind a small group of migrant workers flying back from Dubai. I knew this might get nasty, it was 2 am and I'd seen that look in Sarah's eyes before. He may have been close to six feet tall, trained in unarmed combat and had a Kalashnikov hanging round his neck but I didn't fancy his chances. He was attempting to liberate not only my gin but also her two liters of vodka. Sarah sweetly smiled back and spoke softly to him... now I knew he was in trouble. To this day I have no idea what she said but the effect was dramatic. Firstly the colour drained from his face, then he went red. Sarah continued to smile. Next thing I know he was waving his arms about and obviously giving directions for Sarah to go somewhere. She promptly spun on her heels and disappeared back the way we had come.
I spent the next fifteen tense minutes being watched by a customs officer who first demonstratively searched for and then slowly put on a pair of blue rubber gloves.
Sarah reappeared, minus her bag.
"Come on then, lets get on the plane." she chirped, obviously very pleased with herself.
"What happened there?"
"Not much, I just explained there was no way I was leaving £70 worth of booze and he told me where to go to get it put in the hold" She glanced back at the young officer and laughed. He was trying desperately not to catch her eye.
"Hmm, just asked him for directions eh?"
"Yep" She laughed again and we got on the plane.
Scrum down, get on the plane and what exactly is Carry on Luggage?
When you are given your boarding card everyone knows where they are going to sit so for my first few flights to India I just couldn't understand why there was such a mad rush to get on the plane. It wasn't going to go leave any faster, flight departure time is set, there is a slot for each plane. Everyone has a seat allocated. Then the penny dropped, everyone has a seat but locker space isn't fixed and many Indian's only fly with "hand luggage". Here lies the problem.
What you can take onto a plane as carry on or hand luggage should be simple, a standard size case of no more than a specific weight, the dimensions of which depend on the class of ticket purchased. That's the rules, and rules is rules, sometimes, but not very often in India, not where cabin luggage is concerned. This is where the wobbling of the head as an answer can break down. I have seen migrant workers in Dubai try and on occasion convince cabin staff that 46 inch plasma TVs are hand luggage. On the other hand I've also seen women told to stow their handbags as they have a separate purse. The most orderly of queues swiftly descends into a rolling maul as passengers nudge, push and try to cut in, what starts as a leisurely walk down the docking arm gradually speeds up at the cabin gets closer. This is the martial art known as the India Queue. The rules are, 1) never to catch the eye of the person you have just cut in front of 2) never run, you must gradually increase your speed without making it obvious 3) if you are spotted cutting in you must never admit it or give way but immediately freeze and pretend you were there all along. The airline version of Indian queuing also allows the use of hand luggage (and small children) as weapons, experienced participants can use these to take out a fellow passenger in many ways but favorites are the wheeled case down the Achilles tendon and the shoulder bag in the eye or the child swung from the hip, a move which if performed correctly hits the opponent in the genitals. Its a great contact sport for all the family and I wish the Indian Olympic Committee luck in their bid to get it recognized. They are true masters of their own game.
The flight was uneventful, we were back in cattle class as our upgrade only lasted to Mumbai but I can cope with sitting bolt upright for 90 mins with my knees behind my ears. (I've watched Sarah do it when practicing yoga and picked up a tip or two) So could the chap in front of me, there was NO WAY he was reclining his seat, i was firmly wedged into position for the duration of the flight. In no time at all we emerged from the Terminal to be greeted by our driver, 30 mins later we were back in our usual hotel in Kovalam, The sun was just rising and it was time for breakfast, sitting in Coconut Grove our usual restaurant, chatting with the staff and catching up on the gossip. Masala Dosa, carrot juice, small pot mixer coffee.
It felt like we had come home.
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