Going Down Blazing over Daramsala

I booked a flight to Daramsala on Deccan Air--an airline so ghetto that Zach didn't even mention it under his list of "Indian Airlines to avoid." To my astonishment, the plane left on time, but 10 minutes before landing in the midst of an unfathomably thick cloud bank, they announced that visibility was too low and that we would return to Delhi! Why couldn't they have figured this out earlier? I haven't the foggiest.

There was practically a revolt on the plane and this flight attendant patiently explained to each passenger (in a multitude of different languages) that we would be booked on the next flight that evening:


I felt bad for him until I realized later that he was just making stuff up to pacify us.

After some complete insanity at the airport to get a refund:


Stranded in Delhi late at night, a bunch of travelers and I got dinner at a restaurant:

We hired a taxi to drive us 11 hours through the night to Daramsala:


The ride was cramped and harrowing and nobody could sleep--except for the driver who kept nodding off! At 4am, Tamdin (the Indian in the plaid shirt) silently signaled to me that he was worried about the driver. We pulled over, let him sleep a bit, bought him a Coke, and sat Tamdin in the front with him.

That dude is amazing! I have no idea what they were saying in Hindi, but Tamdin heroically kept our driver up all night with an endless series of jokes and stories. Listening to the hum of conversation and laughter up front, I finally felt safe enough to nod off for a few hours before arriving exhausted in Mcleod Ganj--a few kimometers north of Daramsala and the home of the Tibetan government in exile.

I think Tamdin saved my life.