Читать книгу Destination India - Katy Colins, Katy Colins - Страница 16

Trepid (adj.) Timorous; fearful

Fifteen hours later I landed at New Delhi airport. You can do this, I repeated in my head, giving myself a pep talk as I traipsed through immigration and headed to the baggage carousel. Steeling myself I grabbed my backpack, wiped my red-rimmed, teary eyes and followed the large crowd to the arrival doors. Come on, get a grip; you’re in India, not on Mars. It will be fine. You can do this.

However, if I thought arriving into Bangkok airport was overwhelming it was nothing compared to here. I stepped foot from the safety of the air-conditioned terminal building into what felt like a wall of noise. People were shouting, smells of spicy, fried food and cow poo mixed in the stuffy, oven-like heat and intimidating stares from strange men made me want to flee back onto the next flight home.

There are more than a billion people living in India and it felt like they had all congregated in this small space to welcome my flight. A pulsating energy was constrained by a weak wire fence just in front of me. Thin brown arms poked through holes, swiping at the air. Voices yelled out ‘taxi’, each competing for the best fare. The knackered-looking railings seemed to surge forward as other passengers walked past. ‘Taxi?’ ‘Madam, good price, taxi?’

My tired eyes stung from the sunlight. I felt like I was in the middle of the stock exchange with people bartering all around me, pushing and shoving for business. I jumped, feeling something touch my arm and looked down to see a small street boy grinning at me with half his teeth missing. He placed his tiny, dirty palm out – wanting cash – but all my money was safely stored away in my unsexy, beige travel belt, which was currently sweating against my stomach.

‘Oh, sorry, erm, no money,’ I apologised and pulled out a handful of boiled sweets from my pocket that I’d been given on the plane. ‘Here, take these.’

‘Bitch,’ he said, chucking the sweets on the floor and spitting at my dusty feet. I gawped back in shock as I watched him scurry off to find someone else to ask.

My head was spinning with all the people milling around me, relentlessly pushing and shoving me. I tried to focus on the many handwritten signs bobbing up and down in front of me, looking for my name or Shelley’s, but they were nowhere to be seen. We expected all the guides on our Lonely Hearts tours to be at the airport meeting and greeting guests as they arrive in their country, to provide safe and preferably air-conditioned transport that takes them to the hotel where they meet the other guests and get their adventure started. I couldn’t even find my way to get from this cattle market section of arrivals over to where an official taxi stand might be. Looking at the chaos before me I was reminded of a quote from one of the awful reviews: I was left stranded at the airport like an unwanted sales phone call when you’re just about to eat dinner. After a long-haul flight and already feeling emotional it was not the welcome I had expected or paid for. Little did I know that this was a taste of things to come …

Suddenly someone grabbed my bag, almost toppling me over with the force.

‘Madam, I am very sorry but your hotel has burnt down. They sent me here to take you to other hotel,’ a gangly Indian man with surprising strength said, bobbing his head as fast as he was tugging my bag straps.

‘What? Wait. Can you just let go of my bag, please?’ I replied in shock. My hotel had burnt down? Oh my God! I needed him to let go of me so I could breathe and think, impossible to do with the ceaseless caterwauling noise around me.

‘Miss, we need to go now – come, come.’ He had a firm grip on one of my straps and started to lead me away like a dog on a leash when I heard someone else shout out.

‘Miss Green?’ I spun my head to face where I thought the voice had come from.

An old man with peppered grey hair holding a scratty piece of paper with my name scrawled on was waving a thick arm to get my attention. The guy pulling my bag straps instantly let go and scampered off. What the …? I elbowed my way over to the tired-looking man with the sign.

‘Miss Green?’ he asked again.

I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s me. Are you Nihal?’ Things must be bad as I was positive the guy I’d spoken to briefly on Skype a few months ago was a lot younger and fresh-faced.

The old man chuckled. ‘No, I’m Deepak; Nihal is much uglier than I am. So, welcome to Delhi!’ His wrinkled face broke into a warm grin, flashing his blackened gums.

I smiled back, wiping a layer of sweat and grime from my flustered face. ‘Thank you. Erm, I’ve heard that the hotel has burnt down?’ I asked, wide-eyed.

Deepak huffed and muttered something under his breath. ‘No, Miss Green, that is a scam. They tell you that so they can take you to their hotel. Please don’t worry; everything is as it should be.’

I smiled weakly. Great. Five minutes after arriving and I’d almost fallen for a classic rookie scam. I bet Shelley would have heard about that one.

‘Oh OK. So, please, how do we get out of here?’

‘Wait, I have here that I need to pick up two women?’ He unfolded a piece of notepaper with Shelley’s name on.