Having flown into Germany a couple years previous, I was interested to see if Amsterdam compared in any way. 

It did in a number of ways, although the food was a bit blander, if not much the same base.

I was so tired by that point, though, that it was hard to comprehend anything.  I offered to the ladies that I would watch the luggage and they gallivanted away, not to be seen again for at least an hour.  When they returned, they brought some food with them, which was great.  My Coke and chocolate shake diet had my stomach a bit sluggish by that point.  I put away both a warm and a cold version of a low country sandwich that tasted quite good; the pickle that seemed plenty strong. 

But then, I don’t eat pickles.  You wonder why?  They don’t have any food value in them.  You might want to reconsider your own fetish of them in that light.

The 500 plus line was forming to board, and we joined up.  Luckily, for us, we were right behind a sharp looking Indian businesswoman who lived in Chicago and was headed back home for a visit.  She was quite conversational, asking where we were from and was suitably impressed when we told her and the reason for our trip. 

At one point, we both commented on how slowly the line was moving; she glanced ahead and said, “Ah yes, we are getting close to India.  When in India you have to do it their way.”

“Okay,” I thought, “the same could be said about the U.S.” 

But it wasn’t until a few minutes later, I noticed exactly what I had missed in her veiled words.

For the line was moving right along.  Certain folks, mostly some who wore turbans (many of them in fact) and who didn’t believe in getting haircuts or beardcuts, and who seemed of a very religious sort, kept moving along towards the front of the line, whilst we stayed planted where we were.

In fact, they began to board even before the lady at the desk had announced that boarding was beginning. 

I stood there dumbfounded for some minutes.  I began to look closely for clues and couldn’t obtain any; but then I detected a movement at my side.  

There was a turban there, briefcase in hand.  It was then I began to catch on.  For beside the line to board, was another, almost indistinguishable single file line. 

Mostly turbans.

They moved slow enough not to arouse suspicion.  I studied the turban beside me closely.  I had every opportunity to, because one of the clues of the on-the-move turbans was never to make eye contact with anyone, including the lady at the boarding desk now gone crazy with the swarm of turbans around her.

For about as long as it took to type that last paragraph is how long my turban friend stood beside me.  Then he eased forward and into the main line a bit in front of me.  In another same amount of time, I saw him ease out of line and up beside again.  Soon he was gone, out of sight, and down the jetway as the lady at the desk screamed, “Please respect the boundaries of the boarding lanes and do NOT board until I announce it is time to board!  This is a safety issue!”

Many, many turbans eased on by and down the jet bridge before we were officially invited to board the plane.

*****

That flight, from Amsterdam to New Delhi, was one of the most miserable I’ve been on to date. 

The plane was old and very loud.

The temperature seemed to hover in the mid fifties the whole nine hours.

It had been dark for the whole flight from Detroit to Amsterdam; our layover in Amsterdam was 3 hours and shortly after takeoff, it got dark again. 

It was like a 3-hour day and 20 hours of darkness. 

I slept for 45 minutes, and that was it. 

Along about 7 hours into the flight they came by with food that was decidedly of another culture.  I think they were trying to acclimate us for where we were going to land. 

I looked forward to trying this food, because Bryce had told us in such raving reviews how good the food was over there. 

Something was wrong though.  My first bite had a personality to it I wasn’t used to, and commenced to argue against the command I had given it to be swallowed.  Each time I tried to swallow, it rose up against my wishes.  An argument of half chewed food against swallow commands at the back of one’s throat has serious potential to do harm. 

I hurriedly came on the scene and told those squabbling two to stop or else.  The food didn’t give up then, though, for as soon as it landed in the lake of Coke and chocolate shakes, it commenced to speak for itself again. 

Several more visits and finally a time out had to be imposed on it or things could have turned sour in a hurry. 

Oh, and the turbans. 

They kept using the bathroom.  Sometimes as many as five were standing there waiting.  I passed it off as prayer time for them, but finally decided the urgency seemed great enough with them that they were passing their time in there in other things than prayers.

I was deeply disappointed in the food.  I couldn’t imagine how I was going to spend the next several days existing on that stuff, but I tried to block it out as much as possible at that point, and besides, they had just announced we had 30 minutes to prepare for a 1 a.m. New Delhi time landing. 

I sure wondered where I’d first see Bryce, and what he would look like.