38ºC. At 10:30 PM. The arrival terminal is always overcrowded at night. The conveyor belts are too close to each other and the space between them always cramped with big trolleys that were definitely not meant for this airport. You must travel lock, stock and barrel to this city must be the unwritten diktat somewhere. The luggage always arrives on one of the two conveyor belts adjacent to the one that the airlines actually announces. One out of 3 taps in the loo don’t work. The queue for taxi at the private taxi counter moves at a glacial pace. Poor souls looking to commute to the satellite towns don’t have any other choice. The pre-paid taxi queues at the government provided counters move fast but once you are outside with your receipt, the cabs don’t come. If they do, they refuse to board you; numbered bays not withstanding. Of course, it’s all supposed to give an impression of order without actually being orderly. I am completely in awe of flying. That we can cover distances that took months to traverse in mere hours is indeed fantastic. It is the ordeal that I must go through every time I get down the plane at this city is what gets my entire goat pen.