Dulles-JFK-Delhi-Kuala Lumpur

The taxi ride to Dulles passes in a blur while migraine and medication go head-to-head. My head, in this case. It’s a blustery, sunny day which would probably be perfect to jog in, but as it is I put the hood of my jacket on against the wind from the open windows, my shades against the sun and try to zone out.
Air India would like to “see” my electronic ticket. What part of “electronic” don’t they understand? Even in Blantyre, Malawi (not a high-tech country) I was able to walk up to the counter with my passport and be issued a boarding pass (although admittedly, a Zimbabwean woman next to me on that particular plane told me it failed when she’d tried it a day earlier). In the end, just before my computer is sufficiently booted up to show them the *electronic* confirmation I have, they manage to issue a boarding pass. Only to Delhi, however, where I’m assured I will be issued the pass for the connecting flight to KL.
On the whole an inauspicious start. I’ve got a short hop ahead of me to JFK, a few hours there and then a 15.5-hour flight to Delhi, six hours of layover there and then a five and a half hour flight to Kuala Lumpur, where the workshop is at which I’m supposed to give two presentations (and chip in as overall “resource person”). Starting a day late (due to my own carelessness, I had my passport safely tucked away in the *other* black bag) means I’ll get there Monday morning of the workshop at 0700, after a 30 hour trip and with 12 hours of time differential in my baggage. Not a pleasant prospect even on a good day. Only I still have about 100 pages of Mutual Evaluation report with a lot tracked changes in it to review, with Sunday as the deadline, so even without the migraine it wouldn’t be a good day.
I take some more medication on the flight to JFK, drink a lot of water, kick the seat back the moment I’m allowed to and doze off. It’s not quite the advertised “Full Flat” seat (annoying that, like coming to a full stop at a stop sign it’s a simple yes or no question – either it goes down to horizontal or it doesn’t), but it allows me to snooze.
By the time I’m in the JFK business lounge, my head appears to be on straight again. I still have a bit of tunnel vision, but the pain is gone and so I dose up on caffeine and start working on the ME report. And I get lost in an odd zone where the tunnel vision actually seems to help, inspiring a sort of tunnel vision in my mind that allows me to concentrate on the work. Something to be said about (good) business lounges, too, I guess – comfortable seats, quiet, snacks and bathroom only a very short walk away.
I get back on the plane, let another passenger borrow my copy of the Economist and get back to work. The extended range 777 I’m on does feature power plugs in the business class. I spend most of the flight in a work binge, with brief interruptions for meals and coffee, spurred by the realization, about halfway through my assignment, that I might actually be able to finish the entire thing on this flight – and mail it to the OECD in Paris from Delhi, and before the deadline. I actually do manage it, and derive not a small measure of satisfaction from it.
Doing this in Delhi isn’t easy, however. Delhi airport advertises that it’s the “most improved airport in Asia” according to some poll or other, which might lead the casual observer to assume it started out as an improvised airfield. I am – along with some other transit passengers – being asked to wait here, then to come along to some other desk, then to wait there. Some people are indeed being issued boarding passes for their connecting flights. I am again asked for my electronic ticket.
I am sorely tempted to explain to them that an electronic ticket is issued electronically. That this is the whole point of it – no paper to carry around (and lose), just a record for the airline that I’m booked on the plane so I identify myself with the passport and can go. In other words, progress. The obvious necessity to suppress this desire doesn’t make it any easier to hide my annoyance as I start up my laptop and show them the confirmation I’d been emailed. Apparently they expected me to print this out. And I’m wondering – really? If I had a printout of an email that says I should be on your plane, you’ll let me get on it? No confirmation in your records anywhere? I actually doubt it. And if they have a record of me somewhere, what’s the point of having me carry around paper? Aren’t we killing enough trees already?
Well, I’m told they need Malaysia Airline to issue that boarding pass and I should wait. I am annoyed enough at this point to point out pointedly (ahem) that I’d rather wait in the business lounge. They reluctantly agree that I have a point (sorry) and assure me that I’ll get my boarding pass two hours before my flight.
There are three business lounges, none of which advertises serving Malaysia Airlines. The first sends me to the second, the second to the third and while the third reluctantly admits that yes, they serve Malaysia Airlines (among others), they’d really like to see either my business class boarding pass or an invitation card issued to me. I didn’t close down my laptop all the way, and between the swiftly produced screen image of a confirmation email and my barely suppressed anger, I am – with an air of reluctant magnanimity now familiar to me – granted access.
The lounge is cold (of course, it’s 30 C outside so they make it so cold inside that I put on my windbreaker over my T-shirt) and it’s got a number of televisions running, with the sound on, showing live coverage of cricket. Which is about as interesting as watching a car rust, but louder. It strikes me, for the umpteenth time, how strange it is that all these nations who’ve shed various amounts of blood to shed the yoke of colonial rule are still wedded to so many English things. The older people in the Solomon Islands still remember Independence Day, yet they pass their laws in the name of the Queen. I mean, really?
Internet access requires having their third party vendor sending login information to your cell phone via text message. And though my phone works, no such message is received. They do have one (!) computer in their “business center”, but it doesn’t allow you to upload anything. It takes a long time and the intervention of a kind employee who lets me borrow his cell phone for the purpose until I can finally get my report sent in. The connection is atrocious, and I wait with mounting tension for the ten minutes or so it takes to upload the (admittedly large) file. I manage to connect with home for a bit, as well, though this, too, is negatively impacted by the quality of the connection. The news from home aren’t good, either, so I head for my connecting flight cold, tired, tense and spent. Which at least allows me to get a couple of hours of sleep on the flight.