Okay, all you jamokes, here's the airport story...and the train story...but first, I have to tell you that unless you sign in as a follower or leave a comment, I have no idea that you've been here, and it is getting a little eerie typing all this stuff for an audience of one (follower)...No, this morning I attained a second follower, only I don't know who it IS! Techno portal, twilight zone!

Getting there is half the fun, they say. Ain't that the truth. Especially when you get kicked out of places for some innocuous little misunderstanding...here's how it was:

The Trip Back
The whole day started out on the ghats, of course. Carolyn said she was feeling tired, so she slept inwhile Raju and I went to the bank (because I totally blew my budget). A 5% charge on a US$3oo exchange and two Diet Cokes later, we went back to the hotel for Carolyn. Armed with 4 bottles of water between us, she and I rejoined Raju and traipsed all over town for the last time, buying CDs, a Buddha head for Carolyn and an an antique brass bell with the Hindu gods on it for me. We finally saw Shiva temple, though I waited outside because I had too many blisters on my feet to take my shoes off and walk through another templ;e barefood. Ourtide, I photographed a herd of bulls walk by and gave money for the first and only time to a child beggar.
Back at the hotel, my "boyfriend" (so dubbed by Carolyn)- a seer with a 12" beard two-timed me by bumming a cigarette off Carolyn and putting his arm around her. He gave us beads; we gave him money (the equivalent of $2.00 each). Everyone smiled. This is life in India.
Raju gave us special anti-black magic necklaces and a little urn of Ganges water, which he told us "he brought out of the river with his own hands." His mother and little sister Pinky came to meet us, and we gave her a big bag of items we'd brought from the U.S. as a gift (smelly lotion, pins, pens, household items, toiletries, etc.), then we took off in a cab for the airport after we settled the bill ($10,000 rupees = US$200 for three nights and four days' lodging, food, internet and countless bottles of water). Before we left, I bought a painting out of the enormous, eclectic collection of art in the Ganges View Hotel where we stayed. It is blue and consists of the silhouettes of two Indian women facing each other with big eyes and a dot on their temples.
We got to the airport after coming within inches of the first and only accident we miraculously almost witnessed, considering there are no rules of traffic and everybody on foot, bike, rickshaw, auto rickshaw, motorcycle, bus, truck, camel, and horse just flows and weaves back and forth within traffic, beeping and jingling horns like it was the middle of some Hindi festival. They do have stoplights, but they always remain red, and no one pays any attention to them unless, and only sometimes, when there is a traffic cop in the center of a circle intercection. Otherwise, the ride was very uneventful, except for once stopping to photograph a very scenic view of some men sitting at the side of a river tending their buffalo. It looked so serene. I asked Raju, "Are those men working or praying?" He said, "They are using the toilet."
And, sure enough, at a closer glance, their little bottoms were hanging right over that picturesque little river...lmao!
Carolyn was still tired and slept for two more hours in the Varanasi airport, where we sat among a haggle of mismatched travelers, backpackers and Hindis alike, all packed in two little rows like colorful, ragged sardines needing a bath.
In the airplane I read about Varanasi, learning "my boyfriend" and his social group remain high a majority of the time, and are "best avoided!" Carolyn slept so soundly that she didn't even notice that the man next to her was hauled away for trying to sneak on the plane with no ticket!
At one of these airports, they confiscated my two swiss army knives and a pack of Carolyn's matches I had inadvertantly stuck in my fanny pack. And of course, the entire security force stood around the x-ray machine questioning the presence of my huge metal object in my carry on (the bell). Because they are used in all their religious ceremonies, some security guard always ended up ringing it, and everyone wound up smiling and waving me on...a bomb it was not~!
Everyone, by now was in the plane, but me, having taken so long in security. "Madam, you are the last passenger on the plane, the armed guard turned and told me, as we sprinted onto the tarmac where 5-6 flight attendants waited at the bottom of the stairs to wave me in.
They served us some veggie mush taco-like things and lime water I haven't had an appetite since taking the anti-ankle swelling remedy perscribed and hand pounded by the Arovedic doctor, so I offered my chocolate cake to the elderly Hindi couple sitting next to me, and sat back to view my 2,200 pictures in my digital camera over the next hour. Once Carolyn snorted, woke up, looked at me and smiled, and fell back to sleep!
In Delhi we deboarded into the domestic terminal, knowing we had to change to the international terminal before our flight home in about 5-1/2 hours. Mela and Evan's (my Zimbabwean and Kenyan friends) friend Joyce and I had been emailing about meeting for at the airport for dinner, but never finalized an exact meeting spot. I headed out to the doorway, to look among the people for Joyce. Carolyn declined to join me and went somewhere to sit/sleep.
After a stupid conversation with two rifle-toting, beret-wearing, non-English-speaking security guards, I believed they had told me I could exit and go as far as the metal gates to look for Joyce in the throngs of people who had come to retrieve someone outside the airport.

After strolling down the sidewalk, inside the middle gates looking for a Kenyan woman whose picture I had never seen for 5 minutes, I discerned that she was not there and headed back in to Carolyn, who becomes concerned when I leave her alone. Wishing she were with me so I could take a better look for Joyce, I went to re-enter the domestic terminal. NO! "Madam, ($*&$!*(&*@&@&##( *#&@& #@(&#@"...followed by hand waving and gesturing and raised eyebrows by the armed guard. I said, "You told me I could look for my friend, as long as I didn't walk beyond the gates," I reminded him. "#&&#@ #U(@*( *@*(@)@)" He replied, shooing me back outside with his hand gesture that looked more like "Come in." So I came in. More men assembled at the door. "Madam, you are not allowed to reenter once you leave the domestic terminal" one said, then claiming he knew no more English. Okay, what was plan B? More men assembled, while I stubbornly stood inside the door, refusing to leave without telling Carolyn where I was. An alert went out on the walkie talkies. Another man came and ushered me outside, while I looked inside desperately for Carolyn, who had disappeared. "You must wait outside beyond the gate.
"You must acquire a taxi for $150 rupees and take it 4 km to the international terminal," a newly arrived man who spoke English told me. "You must exit the premises," he waved, as the now cluster of armed guards spoke louder amongst themselves, laughing, explaining my dilema to more laughing European tourists. YOU KNOW this pissed me off. I stood outside the gate, across the pavement, craining my neck to find Carolyn sitting in one of the 50 or so chairs inside the door. Nothing. I waited. The guards pointed, laughed, told me to go. I waited, knowing if I left it would totally freak Carolyn out. I explained to anyone who came and told me to leave, about my friend being inside. I described her, I gave them her name, they paged her. Nothing.
After 40 minutes, I attempted to get a taxi, but was accosted by a flurry of touts. I waited in a line, only to learn it was the wrong line. The guards were still ammassed, insisting I leave the premises. No Carolyn. The guards laughed at me as I stared longingly across the hoards of people, desperate to see my comrade. I walked up to the gate and stared daggars into the guard's eyes, and not knowing if he could understand me, told him there was nothing amusing about this situation, and that he was an ass. Yes, I said that.

I walked back to the lines of people near the street...then froze. I stood transfixed in a swirl of strangers, all buzzing in opposite directions, busy with their own agendas. I felt tears rising up.
After an hour's time Carolyn came strolling up to the door, led by a frantic "diplomat" who had now been sent into the airport with a full-flegged description of her, raging over the walkie talkies. Okay, I think you can imagine the rest. Words were exchanged.
The guards insisted she leave with me. Furious at this point, I told her to stay, and explained that I would take the taxi to the international terminal, because she didn't seem to want to join me. They said it was best that she did. They sent us inside to 3 more desks to confirm our tickets (-which SHE had. And I knew I could not get back into the airport with out proof of a ticket. My itinerary had disappeared somewhere earlier). So we were ushered, then, to some bus waiting area, where I put my blue painting down and stood, mad enough to spit.
As soon as we walked outside to board the bus to take us to the international terminal I realized I had left my painting inside. Several guards, all walkie-talkied about my escapades at this time, came and laughed, "No, no, no, no re-entry." I tried to explain, asking them to get my painting. They took us to the airport manager's office once we got to the international terminal.
He said if they found it, that I would have to go pick it up myself in the domestic terminal. Period. Then we were barracaded inside by men washing the airport controler's door for another 15 minutes.
Okay. No painting, I get it. We walked up to enter Continental at the International terminal, and were told we had to go across the street and wait in the visitors lounge for 2-1/2 hours until we could enter the Continental terminal.
Not being a drinker, I immediately had a beer. I sat next to a monk wearing all orange. He was smiling. Then we got two thread-bare lounge seats, where Carolyn promptly fell asleep.
I spotted four airport employees with blackberrys. I explained my dilemma to them.
Not wanting to have a single bad experience in India, I was elated when, after they all began making calls, one of them said, "Madam, in your honor we will have a porter bring the painting to my office just beyond the wall there. Please come and retrieve it in 10-15 minutes time." Holy!!!!
Sure enough, in about 1/2 an hour some guy came running into the lounge with the painting, making a bee-line straight for that office, and another minute later another guy literally ran up to me and stopped and bowed, presenting to me the painting!
(It is now sitting in my bedroom, where it matches the lovely seafoam walls Audrey painted for me while I was gone, the two ladies in it perpetually whispering the story of their arrival.)
Upon entering into the Continental International Terminal, we were greeted by a sea of baby blue dots~ hats of hundreds of members of the Indian National Army. Atop army fatigues, they bore either a blue shiek's turban, a blue baseball hat, or a blue beret. I had never felt so safe in my life...And for your information, it is true what they say about men in uniform. Mama mia!