Looking for Terminal Three1After I gave the customs people my immigration card, I put my things on a trolley and went to the place where they check tickets. The lady looked at my ticket and said, “Wrong place!” There were two airlines whose names started with the word ‘British’, and I had gone to the wrong one. But the lady wouldn’t tell me where to go. She was so rude! Then one of the porters grabbed my shoulder very affectionately and said, “Do you see the bookstore over there? Just behind it is the booth that you want.”
I went there and showed the lady my ticket. She told me which terminal to go to, but I couldn’t hear her. So I said, “Excuse me, sorry, but I could not get what you said.”
The lady said, “I told you!” and she wouldn’t speak to me again.
Another porter happened to be nearby. He told me, “She said terminal three.” He was so nice to me.
You can either take a taxi or walk to terminal three. I walked. The route was all zigzag, like a serpent, and it took me ten or fifteen minutes to get there.
WE 18. 20 May 1982↩