A simple trip to the courier.

I had to send a package to France today. Just a small gift for a friend, nothing crazy. My housekeeper convinced me that the regular Indian post would take an eternity, and ultimately might not be the most reliable choice. So I went with my driver to the local courier. In my mind I was thinking “courier” was just local speak for UPS or FedEx. In reality, it was a ramshackle kiosk on the side of a busy road, which by all indications seemed to specialize in cell phone plans. Or batteries. We walked up, pushing aside the other customers waving rupees at the man behind the counter. After a brief back and forth, my driver tells me it will take 72 hours for delivery. I say that’s fine, and without further ado the guy behind the counter waves down a passing motorcyclist. Motorcyle guy runs over, takes a peek at the mailing address, and starts punching numbers into his phone. Before I can voice any concerns about this stranger taking over delivery duty, motorcycle guy takes off to the shops across the street. A few minutes later, another guy comes back with the shipping rates and a shipping receipt – I pay and sign on the dotted line and pray to the god of international mail delivery that my package actually arrives in Europe. I’ll keep you posted!

**UPDATE** The package arrived, a couple days late. But someone on the other end (not te recpient) signed for it…and it’s MIA. WhaaWhaaaaaaaaaaa (sad trombone)

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