A German Adventure - Part I

There aren't too many places I have visited in my (relatively) short life. I've been to a few cities in India, and Austin and San Antonio here in Texas. That's about it. For a person who's great ambition in life is to visit at least a 100 different countries before dying, I have visited remarkable few. Two was the number till December 2007 -- but I could add Germany to the list, thanks to Air India and their incompetency.
Air India is the international carrier for India, and, as any seasoned passenger would know, the worst airline ever. It's hard to remember the last time someone traveled Air India without hassles. Delays, accidents, rude flight attendants, no food -- Air India has it all. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when the new incident came up. That didn't stop me from being furious, however.
The date was 19 December 2007, and I was returning home to Mumbai after almost a year and a half. I was dying to see my parents and my kid sister, and meet friends. And, to top it all, I was tired and stressed, and severely sleep-deficient, thanks to a crazy hectic semester at UT. On 19 December, I took the American Airlines flight from Austin to Chicago, and waited at Chicago for almost 4 hours, till the next flight -- Chicago to Mumbai via Frankfurt. When the boarding for Air India started on time, I was actually stunned. Still -- why should I complain, right? I boarded the plane.
The take-off time was 7:05pm. That time came and went, and still the low drone of the engines hadn't changed to the high-pitched whine I was expecting. Sitting next to me was an old couple, who asked me whether I was from Hyderabad. On hearing my negation, they seemed utterly disappointed. The old man started talking in broken English and Hindi, telling me about his doctor son in Chicago, and another daughter working someplace else. I nodded my head, telling myself to calm down. The one thing I absolutely hate on long flights are chatty passengers -- and these two looked like they might keep talking all of the 17 hours and 30 minutes it would take to reach Mumbai. I calmed my breathing, and looked out of the window (I always take window seats, mostly to escape from precisely such passengers), and cursed my luck. I had hoped to get a cute boy next to me, and instead got straddled with a talkative old couple, who were anything but cute. I called up my Mum, and told her that the plane was ready to leave, and added that I might not be able to call from Germany, since I didn't have any euros, and didn't want to go hunting around the airport for a calling card.
The phone interested the old couple. They gave me a number, and told me to dial it. I didn't have a lot of minutes on my cellphone, so was a little peeved (which, in hindsight, was extremely mean of me, but I was losing my patience). I dialled it, and the two of them gabbed on forever in a language I assumed was Telugu, and every passing minute made me yell out, "Enough! I don't have enough minutes!" But something told me they would ask me to explain that statement, and besides, I had to spend 17 hours with these two, and getting off on the wrong foot probably wouldn't be the smartest thing, so I kept my mouth shut and my temper in check.
Finally, the whine of the plane's engines changed pitch, and the craft left the gate, and taxied out onto the runway. As the whine increased in pitch, I saw white smoke billowing out of the left engine (the wings were right outside the window). I looked at it horrified, and the whine went down again. A few people milled around the wing, and I thought, there goes the take-off! But, after some 20 minutes of fiddling around, the plane's engines sounded up again, and the plane began taxiing. We're taking off? I thought in disbelief, and looked at the white wisps trailing around the engine, but the pilot seemed confident, and who was I to know better, right? So the plane took off the ground, passing over one of the Great Lakes -- Lake Michigan, perhaps? Before flying out over Montreal. And the journey had begun.
The stewardesses served food, which was awful, as usual, but I was hungry so I ate it without too many complaints -- the last thing I'd had was a bottle of Starbucks Frappucino at 7 in the morning -- I hadn't had anything to eat in over 14 hours! After the food, the crew told us to go off to sleep like good children -- something that annoyed me, because I was reading Jonathan Kellerman's Time Bomb, and wanted to read on further. I decided to switch on the overhead light, but in true Air India fashion, the entire panel to switch on the light, call the stewardess, and other such delightful things, didn't work. Not even one button. I almost wept, and put aside my book, and closed my eyes. I can't usually sleep on airplanes, but the long and tiring semester had worn me out enough to lull me to sleep even on a rickety, jolting Air India plane. The last thought in my mind, just before I drifted off, was Please God, let me get to Mumbai in one piece!
The next thing I knew, the airplane lights were on, and the stewardesses were serving fruit juice. The pilot was announcing that we would be landing in Frankfurt shortly. I woke up with a horrible crick in my neck, and couldn't straighten my neck for some time. When the pain eased, I looked up to see the stewardess glaring at me. "What juice do you want?" she barked at me.
I was at the limits of my patience by now. "Apple juice," I told her curtly. She sighed, and looked at her cart. "I don't have it," she said, making a face.
This annoyed me. I know they have plenty of stock of everything in their little pantries, or whatever they are. "I don't care," I told her coldly. "I want apple juice, and nothing else." And, as a dismissing motion, I returned to my book.
I don't know what effect it had on her, but after some time, she came back, wielding a carton of apple juice, and unceremoniously thrust a glass at me. I accepted it without thanks. I think that was the worst behaved day I've ever had! But she was so asking for it.
We finally started swooping lower and lower, and the old couple next to me looked at me in alarm. I was a little alarmed myself, mind you -- I've traveled plenty of times in airplanes, and they never make jumps like this one was doing. My mind flew back again to the smoke billowing out of the engines, and I chased the thought out of my mind. I looked outside the window, and saw the beautiful forests on the outskirts of Frankfurt, all covered in snow. It looked beautiful. Then the plane gave another jump, and was soon flying over cute little houses, and then, over the runway. Something told me to back away from the window, while the plane was landing -- and was I glad I did! It landed with a terrible thump on the runway, and tilted over wildly onto the side I was sitting on, till the wing nearly touched the ground. Ok, this is it, my last day on earth, I thought to myself, but the plane miraculously righted itself, and taxied to a stop to gate B-43, I believe the number was.
We filed out of the plane, exhausted, and in my case, unnerved. Air India told us to amuse ourselves for 40 minutes, while the plane readied for take-off again, so I started exploring. Frankfurt's airport -- Flughafen, I believe it's called in German -- is a pretty place, and looked even prettier because it was all decked up for Christmas. I looked around the various duty-free stores, the most intriguing ones being the electronics store (though I turned my nose up at it later because it had an iPod shuffle for 99 euros -- ridiculous! It only costs $79 in the US), and a Chanel store. I picked up a bottle of Chanel No 5 reverently, and delicately sniffed the top of the bottle. It smelt heavenly. I didn't even dare ask the price, so I moved on.
After about 40 minutes, all the passengers had assembled at the gate, only to hear from the pilots that the plane had been delayed for an hour. We all groaned, and looked out at the runway, visible from the gate. The plane stood like a lumbering giant, while people milled around it, mostly Lufthansa technicians in yellow jackets. Something deep inside my gut told me we'd be there for more than the one hour Air India promised, but still, I forced myself to relax, and not hyperventilate. I'm usually calmer in a crisis, but my mental stability was already shot to bits by the harrowing semester I'd just escaped miraculously unscathed, so it didn't take much to work me up. I looked nervously at the pink T-Mobile pay phone in the gate area, but there was a huge line in front of it, mostly large Indian men toting golden credit cards, so I steered clear, and instead tried to lose myself again in the book I was reading. I was actually getting involved in the story, and had just reached the part where the hero, Dr. Alex Delaware gets a blinding insight into the mystery, when there was another announcement from Air India -- the flight would now be delayed by 3 hours. By now the passengers were, in PG Wodehouse's words, "not quite disgruntled, but far from being gruntled". They were annoyed. They cast poisonous glances at the Air India staff. They muttered. They cursed. And they started bonding. I luckily found younger people to bond with, and managed to (temporarily) ditch the old hounds who'd been following me since Chicago. I met two girls, both a year older than me, and both called Shruti (one of whom, coincidentally, turned out to be an ex-classmate of a friend of mine from UT), and a girl called Anita, a little bit older than me, working in San Jose. As it turned out, I was the youngest person there traveling alone. It made me feel like a bit of a martyr.
After about two hours, Air India made another announcement -- the plane would now be taking off at 11:30pm German time. It had landed at 11:30am German time. This time there were actual howls of protests, but of course the staff turned a deaf ear to us. They managed to pass out coupons for food, and then vanished. I wanted to tear up the coupons. I wanted to go home! I didn't want free food! (I had enough of that as a grad student anyway :P ) I joined the line leading to the T-Mobile phone, and looked at my cellphone wistfully. I have a T-Mobile cellphone, but didn't enable roaming on it, so wouldn't be able to use it there. When I finally got my turn, I managed to call up my parents, spoke to my Mum for 3 minutes, and gave her a concise summary of what'd been happening -- and told her not to expect me for another day at least! When I finally put the receiver down, I overheard someone say that the calls cost $24 a minute. I actually blanched, for I had just $96 on my Checking account before setting off for home. As I exited the line, I was beckoned over by my two favorite passengers -- the old couple.
"How did you call, beta?" the man asked.
"Uh -- I called from that pay phone over there, and used my credit card," I told him truthfully.
"Isn't your cellphone working?"
"No," I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. If it did, why would I spend so much on a pay phone?
"I need to call my son," he told me.
"Mm-hmm," I said, fighting to keep my face expressionless. I knew what was in the works.
"I only have rupees," he informed me further.
"Oh, really."
"Yes! Can I use it to call my son?"
"I doubt it," I told him. "You need euros, or a credit or calling card."
"I don't have euros," he told me.
I refused to take the bait. "You can get it exchanged over there," I said, pointing helpfully. "There, the counter over there."
"But I don't know how."
"Just give them the rupees, and they will give you an equivalent amount in euros."
"What if I don't have enough rupees?"
"Then you can ask Air India," I said, my temper running short.
"And how did you call, again?"
"I used my credit card."
"I don't have a credit card."
"Too bad," I said, and picked up my book.
He must've felt me escaping from his grasp, for the next question took my breath away. "Can I take you credit card?"
My jaw dropped open. I knew he was desperate, but such audacity! "Hell, no!" I said. Well, I actually just said "No," but my inner-me cried out "Hell no!" in anguish. "It's extremely expensive, and I don't have much money left."
He gave me a betrayed look, and went off to the exchange counter. I felt slightly guilty, but was too strung out by now to care. I picked up my backpack -- my only carry-on baggage -- and went exploring the airport again. The bag cut into my shoulders, for I had packed it with books -- two Jonathan Kellerman novels, two Alex Rider novels, six Ghost Hunt mangas, and two Fruits Basket mangas. Also in the bag was my laptop, my charger, my camera, and other random interesting things that probably made my bag weigh more than 6 kilos. I was puffing by the time I reached the next level, where I found a McDonald's. Since that looked like the only place that served chicken, I entered. The menu was the standard American menu, except they served apple strudel as well, and the prices were in euros. I grabbed chicken nuggets, coke, apple pie and fries, and found myself a seat next to the window, where I could see the planes arrive and depart. Even as I watched, a Royal Jordanian glided silently into its designated place. It was pitch dark outside, with only the airport lights providing any sort of illumination at all. The Air India plane was missing -- it had been taken back to the hangar.
I savored the meal, wondering whether it would be the last in a long time. The airport looked beautiful, with Christmas lights glowing, and everyone in a cheery mood. There were constant announcements, of which the only words I understood were "Achtung!" and "Flug". But Flug AI 126 was never announced. I looked at the arrivals/departures board. Flights were displayed to every country, but India -- there were flights to Canada, Dubai, Malaysia, Australia, France, England, Ireland, Italy....but India was missing. I returned to my faithful book. It was all that gave me solace in the strange new world. I think had it been an English-speaking country, my anguish would've been reduced at least slightly; but everyone was speaking in German, even the two little blond boys traveling with their mother. One of them eyed my iPod, but when I smiled at him, he turned away, as if I'd somehow offended him. I sighed, and looked at my watch for what must've been the billionth time that day. It was still just 6pm.
After another 50 or so pages (much to my woe, I read fast) I heard someone conversing in Gujarati. I looked up to see a family which had been on board the aircraft with me. They were two young boys, maybe in high school, traveling with their mother. One of the boys, a plump kid with round glasses, was earnestly telling the other one that computer security was the way to go. At this, I couldn't resist butting in. "Did you say computer security?" I said.
The plump one looked at me suspiciously. "Yes," he said.
I couldn't resist showing off. "I'm doing my Masters in computer security," I told him with an air of superiority.
That got his attention. "Wow, seriously?" he said, and started off, telling me how cool hacking was. I in return told him how, once, as part of my course project, we had to "hack" into a website the professor had created, to demonstrate cross-site scripting. The boy's eyes were huge. I was smirking, when he remarked, "Wow, this is so cool, I've never met a female geek before!" That wiped the smirk off my face. "There are plenty of us," I told him, slightly offended. He hurried to assure he he didn't mean any offense. It turned out he and his friend had just graduated from high school, and were new freshmen at some college I don't recollect in Chicago.
We were chatting along, when another Air India passenger came over excitedly. "Didn't you hear?" he said. "They're giving us visas!"
We sprang up. This had been another touchy point with us. All those passengers with American or German passports, and later, those with green cards, had been allowed to go to a nearby hotel, while we unfortunate ones had to stay put in the airport. Now it looked like we might finally be allowed out! A cheer rose from the crowd, and we all crowded to the exit that Air India indicated. It looked like we would finally be out of the airport-jail!
(To be continued....)