With the idea of returning inside to see if there was any kind of information available for hotels, the doors burst open and out came a youthful man in a porter’s uniform that was a step down in appearance from those worn by the custom men. He looked more like a student than a professional porter, and the uniform was not only tattered but also much too big. He was pushing a four-wheeled cart loaded with luggage. As he came through the doors, he had built up speed to get up the incline. As a consequence, he almost ran into Jennifer.

“I beg your pardon,” the porter exclaimed, catching sight of Jennifer and with some difficulty pulling his cart to a stop.

Jennifer stepped aside. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be trying to enter an exit. Can you tell me if there’s an information booth around? Someone from my hotel was supposed to be meeting me, but I don’t know where.”

“What hotel?”

“The Amal Palace.”

The porter whistled. “If someone was supposed to pick you up from the Amal, they will be here no doubt whatsoever.”

“But where?”

“Go up to the top of the ramp and turn right. They’ll be a number of them for sure in that general area. They’ll all be in dark blue uniforms.”

Jennifer thanked the man and headed back up the ramp. Although she still felt mildly reluctant to push into the crowd, she did so, and as the porter promised, she immediately found the Amal greeters in their highly pressed sartorial splendor. Although Jennifer thought it odd they didn’t make themselves more apparent, she now confronted the man with her name on his chalk board. He introduced himself as Nitin and took her two pieces of luggage. He also called Rajiv, who was to be her driver, on his cell phone before ushering Jennifer out of the terminal. As they walked, he kept up a friendly banter.

When Jennifer and Nitin got outside and were standing on the curb waiting for Rajiv to bring the car around, Jennifer again noted the heavy foglike haze that blanketed the area and hung heavy halos around the airport’s streetlamps and the headlights of cars. It was exactly as she’d seen from the plane, but now with the addition of an acrid smell.

“Is this haze typical?” she asked Nitin, while she wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, yes,” Nitin said. “At least at this time of year.”

“What time of year is it not around?”

“During monsoon.”

“Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“What causes it?”