What better way to say goodbye to India than to get the self-inflicted wild shites for a second time? In fact, the first ones had barely gone away, but sitting in Indira Gandhi International Airport, I got the distinct feeling that something was rotten in the state of Denmark.
Luckily, we were heading for Munich, and several films later (including the excellent Juno, I recommend it highly), we were in the cleanest, blandest airport I have ever seen in my life. Now, I’ve heard stories about Zurich being spotless, but Munich must run it a close second. There’s a woman who zooms up and down the airport on a little two-wheel buggy – I guessed that she was there to catch anyone who dropped litter. And run them over. And then clean up the remains. This airport was ultra spotless.
Not only that, but their toilets were from outer space. You don’t pull the towel from the machine, it senses your presence and rolls it automatically for you. In my given situation, I was rather glad for Munich, but were I not in the middle of a severe bout of the London Blitz, I would have found it an altogether sanitised, rather dull experience. Especially after the chaos of Delhi, where people are everywhere. Here, people were sat in rows, and at right angles. They were all quiet and orderly. Delhi was a little dirty, and a little bit more – well, for want of a better word – “fun”.
Still, we had Heathrow to look forward to, but there was time for one more toilet visit on the flight from Munich. And it was a belter. I don’t know if you’ve ever had loose motions during turbulence, but it’s not something I recommend. Thank God Lufthansa had the good grace to put railings along the side of the toilet, as I could have gone anywhere. Well, OK, I wouldn’t have gone “anywhere”, but it’s nice to have a stationary seat while you’re going through the motions. There is an art to it, and it involves planting your feet against the walls and holding on with both hands.
So there you are, if you’re ever caught on the loo during turbulence, you know what to do.
The Delhi Belly was back with a vengeance, then, and it was entirely my own fault this time. On Saturday night, it felt as if the turbulence had somehow entered my stomach, and gradually throughout the Sunday, I got the Ashoka out of my system for good.