The flight over the Arabian Sea from Saudi Arabia was akin to riding on the back of a panicked goose who was alone in the dead of night in a overpowering storm. When one looked out the windows you could see the wings moving up and down. The jet buckled, lurched, plunged, and banged into air pockets, righting itself time and time again. The cabinets above our seats burst open littering their contents on the occupants below. I had never experienced turbulence like this before, nor have I experienced that degree of turbulence since. I was both mesmerized and awe struck by the flexibility of the wings.

When I deplaned I was intoxicated. When I attempted to buy some rupees I was upbraided by the clerk behind the window for entering his country in this condition. I apologized profusely and staggered out into the hot and humid night where I might catch a taxi cab. There were cabs lined up for miles waiting, I assumed, to pick up passengers. This was not the case. Gathered outside of the airport was an ugly mob. They carried clubs, empty bottles, rocks, and signs. I tried to figure out what was causing the uproar, and finally asked a porter.