An argument had broken out between the tuk-tuk drivers. We’d approached the first in the queue who’d quoted 250R to the airport when another stopped and undercut him by 50R. But this wasn’t how things were done, and a third tuk-tuk driver got in on the act and started aggressively shouting out the interloper.
“We have a numbering system,” another explained.
“We don’t care about your numbering system,” we said (not for the first time), “we just want a decent price.” Their numbering system is really not in our best interests.
When the third driver blocked us from getting in TT2’s vehicle but otherwise completely ignored us, I started getting frustrated. TT2 was not aggressive (eventually trying to show us to TT3 – who, ironically, was not first in the queue, but he seemed willing to forget that!) and had a nice new tuktuk – and I just wanted to get to the airport.
Despite what they think, it’s ultimately our decision which tuk-tuk we use, so we got in and off we set. Finally. I just hope the driver didn’t get into too much trouble when he got back.
After a slow start (sleeping in a cave with no natural light makes for effortful mornings), we finally arrived at the airport. With very lax security – they checked our passports and tickets, and put our bags through a scanner, but all liquids were allowed through, along with a penknife (which is allowed under UK law, but shouldn’t have been in India). Once again, genders were separated – whereas in the UK both male and female personnel are present to body scan passengers, here the women have a completely separate line.
Several flights were delayed which affected ours, but we were soon on board. And just as we’d got airborne, we started the descent into Delhi.
Maybe we looked more confident, or maybe they knew there weren’t any international flights, but hardly anyone hassled us when we emerged from the terminal in Delhi – a refreshing change from our first experience here.
It was the same busy, dusty, noisy place – but it felt completely different. That’s often the case when you return somewhere at the end of a trip – the place hasn’t changed, but you you have. You now carry the experiences from the past few weeks.
A long check-in and up to the rooftop for dinner – to the tune of power tools the other side of the street. Probably another hotel.