Day 6: Agoda – Dehradun – Delhi – Amsterdam
7 Nov 2025
A long, long day of travel for most of us – uneventful, right up to Dehradun. Then things decided to get interesting.
A bright blue sky greeted me in the morning. The nearly full moon was slipping behind a hill, still perfectly visible and begging for photos.
A small variation in the morning routine: Chai and boiled egg today. Got in some protein in early before leaving the homestay. Walked up the 400-odd meters to the upper part of the village to await our ride back. Young, strong Ak carried his big rucksack, and 2 daypacks (mine and his) up this stretch. Many village kids waved us goodbye.
The same driver, Satinder arrived and loaded up the Mahindra Bolero, and we set off, dropping Pawan at the next village. Stopped at the same Assi Ganga café for breakfast – an unhealthy samosa and masala chai for all, a plate of potato bajjis for me, to make up for the missed bajjis due to my headache on the first trek day. The brilliant concept of bun maska with and without omelette for some others. Two beautiful dogs sat nearby, watching and waiting for scraps.
We followed the Assi Ganga downstream until it merged with the Bhagirathi – a wide, stately green ribbon that would later meet the Ganga.
We had a good north Indian lunch at another roadside restaurant.
Except for the occasional scar from past monsoon landslides, the roads were smooth, and, more importantly, empty. Satinder was a skilled driver, and the ride was long but steady. Ram was staying on in Dehradun for a couple of days – so we had to say our goodbyes at a random roadside stop before the airport – apparently there is a ridiculous “pickup fee” if the police spot a passenger in a taxi exiting the airport. Ram waited on the roadside for our driver to circle back and collect him later.
At the airport came the first sign of trouble: our flight to Delhi was delayed by a harmless ten minutes. Ak, in his wisdom, predicted that this would get worse, and he was right. On this, of all days, Delhi’s air traffic control decided to malfunction. Ashok’s mother, ever vigilant, had already been messaging him with warnings, which he ignored until events proved her right.
The delay ballooned to an hour and a half, then three – jeopardizing the Pune group’s connecting flight. I was still reasonably confident I’d make my international one at 3:40 am.
When we had finally settled into acceptance of our fate, suddenly, at 8:10 pm, they announced the names of everyone in my group, except me. We rushed to the counter, and were told to bring our bags and board – now! I tried pleading and protesting, but I was not allowed to board. After hurried, unsatisfactory goodbye hugs, Ak and the rest vanished into a plane – IndiGo had made it work for people with connecting flights. It was a crushing moment: everyone else took off, and I was left standing there, grounded in every sense of the word.
We stayed a bit in touch before and after their short hop to Delhi. Meanwhile, as a small consolation, the airline handed out a meal packet to me (and other stranded passengers) – a very tasty poha and the ever-present Frooti.
Eventually my flight was announced, and I made it to Delhi. With infinite frustrations with the way things are run at Delhi airport – not to mention its three physically disconnected terminals – I boarded my Amsterdam flight. Home by morning – tired, relieved, and vaguely amazed that the trip had actually ended.
