Planes, Trains, and Zombiemobiles



 

My name is Sarah, and I'm a recovering All-Christmas-Music-Station-aholic. Sometimes, I still relapse, getting absorbed right back into perky Jingle Bells, shmaltzy Harry Connick Jr crooning about when his heart finds Christmas, and good old Elvis having a Blue Christmas. To my credit, I usually snap out of it and change the station when they play that horribly oversappy song about the kid who wants to buy shoes for his mom, but I'm still a sucker for "I'll be Home for Christmas." It gets me every time.

The thought of people longing for home--looking for any possible way to make their way there even if it's only in their dreams--is very touching. It explains why we brave the airports and tolerate the crowded lines.

 

There is, however, one airport I hope to never brave again. Not for all the Christmases in all eternity. Chennai International Airport: The place where travelers' hopes go to die.

 

On November 20th, halfway through the India trip, I took a tuk-tuk cab from the hotel to the Chennai International Airport.  (In my head, I like to acronym it to CHIA. It makes it seem so much friendlier.)

As a very special surprise, there's an airport regulation that forbids tuk-tuk cabs from entering airport property, so the driver stopped about a half mile away from the terminal and unceremoniously left me on the roadside with my 73 pounds of luggage.

 

For the record, 73 pounds is not an exaggeration. It had been weighed in New Orleans, New Jersey, and New Delhi, tipping the scales at 73 pounds every time. Why so heavy? Because I was carrying 600 pairs of reading glasses to donate to the eye hospital in Patna.

 

In case you've ever wondered what several hundred pairs of glasses in a suitcase looks like, consider your curiosity satisfied! However, on the airport X-ray security scanners it apparently looks a lot like a bomb. On a related note, you really haven't lived until you've narrowly avoided a cavity search at an airport in India.

 

From the roadside tuk-tuk cab drop-off, I followed some mutually-contradictory signs toward the "Domestic Terminal," which seemed like a fair bet since I would be flying from one Indian city to another Indian city. The signs brought me to a dead-end on a desolate sidewalk in front of an abandoned building. Taking a 50/50 guess, I turned right and kept walking northward. After about another quarter mile of abandoned buildings, I passed an empty café with stainless steel tables, a rusted metal fan slowly spinning in one corner, and a Coca-Cola sign glowing on a refrigerator case half-filled with moldy food.



 

 

There wasn't another living soul in sight. It was like a post-apocalyptic hellscape straight out of a sci-fi movie. It was Zombie Airport Nightmare (...not to be mistaken for this rather bizarre old-school computer game).  I kept walking north along the sidewalk, with the humid wind blowing the trash around my feet.

 

My bags were so heavy. The place was so abandoned. My left foot was starting to blister and bleed.

In another quarter mile, I reached the Domestic Terminal. A guard with an assault rifle stood at the door, blocking the entrance to the terminal. He looked at my itinerary then pointed further north and said "Two doors." I kept walking. One door: locked. Two doors: locked. Optimistic that maybe the guard had miscounted, I continued to the third door: locked. I returned all the way back to the security guard at the entrance. He looked at my itinerary again then pointed south and said "International Terminal."

"International Terminal? For my domestic flight? Are you sure?" I asked politely.

In reply, he gripped his assault rifle with both hands, looked at me in disgust, then turned away. I took that to mean he was sure.

 

 

The International Terminal was nearly a half mile back in the direction I had just come from. The stray zombie dog was still following me, probably waiting for me to fall down dead so he could eat my brains. I trudged southward past all the abandoned buildings again. Both of my feet were bleeding now. 

 

I finally reached an area with human beings again, found another assault-rifle-toting security guard, and asked him how to find the International Terminal (...for my domestic flight). He pointed down the sidewalk to a building another 200m south and said "Past the food stand. Turn right. Take the lift (elevator) to the 2nd floor."

I walked south. I passed the food stand. I turned right.
There was no lift. There was no 2nd floor. There was just an open latrine with a man peeing, and two more stray dogs.
My bleeding feet were soaking through my socks. My shoes had started to make bloody wet squelchy noises with every step. The stray dog was licking my ankles whenever I stood still.

"Brains! I want delicious brains! But feet will suffice for now."

I did eventually manage to find the International Terminal (...for my domestic flight). 
I did eventually manage to get through security ("They're eyeglasses! I swear, they're eyeglasses! I have paperwork!").
I did eventually manage to catch my plane out of Chennai.
I did all of that without having any limbs gnawed off by stray dogs.
Nearly a month later, my feet have nearly healed.
We'll call that a happy ending.

 

May your holiday travels be easy by comparison.

May you find a way to be Home for Christmas.