After a great day in Agra, a small supper in the lounge at the Hilton, we got a great night's sleep. We rode by taxi through the streets of Delhi -- this time in the daylight -- and got to the airport 3 hours early. A short flight to Kathmandu was all we had to worry about.
We located the flight on the screen and headed for our gate. Lots of dark haired people in line, but what else to expect in this part of the globe? Pat began to sense a lot of testosterone around before 2 Western women finally got in line too. But most of the dark haired men turned out to be Afghans, trying to get tickets to Kabul. Their gate was right next to ours. It soon became clear that they could not read English and only knew the letter K, as they kept putting their luggage on the scales for the Kathmandu flight, going to the ticket agent for Kathmandu, and driving the ticket agents mad. They also were clearly overweight on their luggage, dumping stuff out on the floor, rearranging, repacking, re-weighing (on "our" scales) and generally wrecking havoc. And LOUD. I thought Americans were loud, but these guys were crazy. They had bought half the clothes in India to take back to wives and daughters, from the stuff we saw pulled out of their bags.
We stood in line behind a couple of young Napali guys, who were alternately laughing at the Afghans and being annoyed at all the line cutting. At last, they pushed their luggage cart right up against the scale and loaded their stuff. Pat caught one guy's attention and gave him two thumbs up. He grinned.
We followed and got our boarding passes. The clerk included a couple of luggage tags as well, but all our bags were tagged, so we left them on the counter.
After prayers to the ATM god, as we began to call it, we headed to security. No problem till we got to the luggage check area. "Where are your tags? You must have tags!" a guard snarled at us. We tried to show our luggage tags, but it was clear he meant the ones we'd left at the ticket counter. "Stand over there," he barked, and we sheepishly obeyed. Doug tried to find luggage tags on this side of security, the guard had someone phone an inquiry, and they finally let us put our carry-on bags in the bins for inspection. We thought we were OK, but no. They would not let us leave the area even after our bags had cleared. No Tags! And they found Doug's small hiking bag inside his overnighter: "Another Bag! Where's the tag?" For the first time in our lives, we thought we would not be allowed onto the plane. Finally, grudgingly, they sent us to the gate. But we figured we'd never get on the plane without the tags, so Doug once again went in search of them. No luck, but folks at other airlines told him not to worry. When Air India staff showed up, they would give us tags and our luggage would be re-inspected at the gate. We still worried, but it seemed as if we'd be OK.
Meanwhile, the Afghans were at the next gate, loud and boisterous as before. I heard an announcement: Air India flight so-and-so to Kabul is changed from Gate 20 A to Gate 12. The message was repeated in Hindi, but not in Arabic, so the guys kept up their ruckus and really seemed to be having a great time. But the gate change was announced several more times and they didn't move. Finally, someone came personally to tell them, and tho they seemed skeptical, they gathered up their stuff and went. Quiet!
As for us, we got in line to board and saw a few other people ahead of us get their luggage inspected and get on the plane. We began to feel better. Then, the security officer looked at our bags, stamped the tags, and started to let us go. "Purse!" she demanded. "Where's the tag for purse?" Oops. She marched off, grabbed a tag from another airline's desk, attached it to Pat's purse, and we boarded.
