One more day in Kolkata. One more day in India. And then, shortly after lunch on Sept. 23, we caught a ride to the airport, arriving at about 1:00. But we were unable to check in and get into the “real” part of the airport until 5:30. So in the meantime, we set up camp next to some outlets so we could keep our devices juiced up, and tried to be productive. We also — as we often do in airports — took turns strolling around to see what was what.

Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport

Next to us, or rather behind us, was a little seating area that appeared to be under renovation, if not demolition — the seats and fixtures had all been detached from the floor and pushed aside. Since it was an inconspicuous alcove, Dennis drifted into it to do some exercises, including some kung fu moves. Nobody took any notice except for a security guard seated in another little alcove directly facing the area.

After a few minutes, he got up and sauntered over, toting his rifle with him; but he was curious rather than suspicious. He stood watching for a minute or two, then asked, “What are you doing?”

“Kung fu”, Dennis replied.

Another minute or two of watching.

“How old are you?” he wanted to know.

And when he heard the answer, he seemed astounded.

“I hope I am in such good condition when I am your age”, he said.

“Well, maybe you should study kung fu”, Dennis told him.

The guard laughed and said, “Maybe so.”

And then he went on his way.

Finally checking in, at which time our bags were weighed, It was surprising and puzzling to see such a difference in the weight of our backpacks; Dennis’ at 11.68 kilos (25.75 pounds) and Kimberly’s at 14.16 kilos (31.2 pounds). We were unable to account for this much difference. In any case, Dennis gallantly offered to switch and bear the heavier burden, but Kimberly insisted on being a soldier.

When we went through immigration, we got the third degree, or at least the second-and-a-halfth degree, about how we’d spent our time during our 4 months in the country. A friend who’d already traveled in India quite a bit had alerted us that this might happen. Indian authorities want to know exactly where you were during your stay — not only what cities or towns, but the actual addresses. (Which seems odd given their generous policy of granting visas for a full year, something that few other countries do.) So we were prepared, compiling a list of all the places we’d stayed, and the dates we were there.

But the agent who questioned Dennis was especially exacting.

“What were you doing in Faizabad?” he wanted to know, apparently incredulous that any sane foreigner would actually spend an entire month there deliberately.

“We love the monkeys“, came the reply. “My wife enjoys photographing them.”

Which was perfectly true. But the agent’s expression was such as American might have if someone had said they enjoyed photographing squirrels.

“And you weren’t working?” he asked.

“No. I’m retired.”

Again, perfectly true. But we thought it prudent not to mention that we’d been volunteering, which might cause them to suspect that we actually had been working for pay — the thing they were most concerned about.

When you apply for an Indian visa, the application asks, of course, the purpose of your visit. But there are limited options to choose from, and the instructions are to select just one — if you have more than one purpose, then you’re supposed to just check off the main one. Unfortunately, “volunteering” is not one of the choices. So we’d marked “tourism”, which we considered the second most accurate response; and we just kept the volunteering under our hats to avoid a can of worms. Most likely, it would have not been a problem, but it might have entailed a great deal more red tape and inconvenience.

At last the agent stamped the passport, though seemingly with some reluctance, and we were on our way.

After this, we didn’t have a very long time to wait until boarding. In the meanwhile, we needed to round up some grub. Normally, we wouldn’t dare resort to airport cuisine, but this time we’d had practically nothing to bring along with us. Unfortunately, the options near our gate wasn’t nearly as extensive as we’d hoped. But there was a little stand open that sold takeout (and fast foodish) versions of native dishes. So we settled for some biryani, which was sufficient to get us through our long evening flight to Bangkok, as we left India behind.

9/22-23/2022