Asia
Myanmar->India
Yangon->Kolkata->Delhi
RNG->CCU->DEL
Leaving Yangon, Myanmar (formerly known as Rangoon, Burma). We love this country, and hope to be back soon. One disappointment, though… we didn't find "Crab Rangoon" in any of the restaurants or street carts were we ate! It is like the "burritos" in Mexico… they don't exist! Mmmm… I am so hungry now… );)
At the airport we found again the advertisement as we did customs for a "virus-killing" device from Samsung
I wonder how much money paid Samsung to be allowed to advertise this product…
And departure farewell that leaves me happy:
1) a wonderful mural of Karaweik with Shwedagon Pagoda in fhe background
2) wheelchairs are no longer needed here, hence they are invalid
3) but, most important, Myanmar is safe from the harm of drugs:
(but not from translation issues)
We departed on time from Yangon (Rangoon) in a practically empty flight…
…and we arrived to Kolkata (Calcuta) 3 hours early!
The mystery was solved once I realized the original flight was going first thru Gaya but it was changed to a direct flight… very nice in theory… but then all the silver lining starting fading away.
[NOTE FROM THE FUTURE: The wonderful chosen song was an attempt to revert the feeling of day as it unfolded…]
First, since we had time, Basia insisted on waiting for the bags in case they were not sent directly to Delhi as we were told; of course I immediately told her that was a silly waste of time but she insisted… so we waited… and she went to the "Beauty Free" shop… and she returned… and the carrousel started and… there was the luggage! At customs (I went thru gate 13, for "physically challenged") one of the guys was confused at my boarding pass and didn't want to let me pass, while the other didn't even check the extension on my otherwise expired passport), then, even if we were in transit, we had to pass security 2 times and got our bags rechecked 4 times (and our passports 2 more times too), walking thru the airport following signs that sometimes sent us in the wrong direction
It seems to me India is pervaded by the culture of "controlling who controls the controller" so the bureaucratic steps could tend to infinity (we saw a glimpse on the uncertainty surrounding my visa and the lack of answer if as Argentinian I needed one or not and, if I did, what type of visa)
I felt I'd need some help ahead…
(maybe another day)
Then came the time to check in again… another phase of torture of which i'll just note 2 bureaucratic moments: "where is the official name tag of the bag"? at the airline check-in for dispatched bags; "where is the tag of the bag" for carry-on bags at security… luckily I became utterly frustrated and irrational while Basia was cool and calm, and by the time she exploded I was already trying to cool down…
After some food and "that sweet, indulgent fluid", we regained perspective on what a waste of time and energy is to complain and get upset about human stupidity.
Still waiting for departure, we discovered we do not have a plug for India in our Transformer-like adaptor… Calmly we accept our phones will e-die, and e-rest in e-peace… but before we get into the plane, passing thru 1 airline and 2 military checks, and neither of them looked at our passport… very secure, indeed! ):)
On the flight from Kolkata to Delhi there was a typical Oski-Basia moment:
O: don't eat the green thing.
B: I know.
O: it's spicy.
B: I know.
O: then why did't you tell me? I ate it!
(Spicy pepper plane chronicles!)
Once in New Delhi, another long story was how to get to the hostel from the airport… I never sent the email with the info of our flight, so there was no car waiting and that meant… dealing with taxi drivers in New Delhi. Not something we were looking forward after this long day… but we had no option. After I was almost lured into paying 1,800 rupees for a ride (Basia found at the last minute an email that said we had to pay about 350!), we left that luxury cab and went for a cheaper prepaid one. Minutes later I was pleasantly surprised seeing Basia elbowing her way in front of a big guy that was cutting the line (that's my girl again!). We ended up riding for 500 rupees (about U$ 8) with a guy called Attir, who claimed has been driving cabs for 14 years… and I believe him! He was a demon at the wheel! I had a great (and very irresponsible) time enjoying the dangerous maneuvers; it's been the riskier driving I've experienced since the bus ride between Ho Chi Minh and Mui Ne in Vietnam (only a near-fatal crash could be more dangerous than that experience). Meanwhile, Basia didn't enjoy it at all…
But we reached destination, and finally got to sleep (I had no dinner and I didn't care! Imagine!!!)
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