A Tale of Two Duty Frees

After all the morning excitement the flight out to Dubai was very relaxing. Nobody in the third seat and all the legroom that you could wish for. D almost exhausted the available episodes of The Big Bang Theory while R watched a totally implausible movie starring Ray Winstone as a Glasgow polis.

Congestion over Dubai means  a late landing. We are a little worried about the tight connection but Emirates have it organised and we are shepherded to the front of the security queue and then urged to make best speed straight to our gate. This means bypassing the Duty Free which has consequences later in the day.

Before leaving Glasgow we had received a call from the Emirates help desk to check that things were going OK. The separate seating was mentioned and a solution found. At the gate boarding was under way and we were soon in our adjacent seats right at the front of cattle class. Good for legroom but rather close to several small children.

Any chance of sleep went out of the window when breakfast was served an hour into the flight. This did not feel right at 11.30 pm UK time. We did get the never ending thrill of watching the sun rise over India from 37,000 feet. As we started the descent the pilot told us it was foggy in Kolkata. He wasn't kidding. We felt the bump on the tarmac before we could see the ground.

 The Foreigners landing form that has to be completed seems to have got shorter. Or maybe we have just got used to it. While we wait for our bags we spot the stacked pallets that comprise the duty free and after we get the luggage we invest in a couple of medicinal bottles. Just for emergencies you understand.

At this point R starts to feel sick and has to dash for the ladies. D heads to the prepaid taxi counter. As he gets there the bag with two bottles of brandy falls to the floor. Both are smashed. The taxi is paid and D goes in search of R while the cleaning crew race in to see if there is anything to salvage. At this point D realises that he was short changed by 100 rupees at the taxi counter. R's ashen demeanour is not cheered by any of these tidings.

We found the taxi rank with the uninvited assistance of a couple of hustlers who wish to be tipped in foreign money. What it is to have dreams. Our lift was an ever dependable yellow Ambassador, driven by a laconic youth who seemed worried about getting frostbitten ears. The fog had lifted a bit and we were happy to have the windows open. The traffic seemed very quiet, probably due to it being Sunday. Our man made good progress and we were soon at the good old Fairlawn Hotel where our room was ready.