You take a train and a train and a train and a train and a plane and a wait and a plane and a taxi and you are there. That’s all.
It was the G train and watch two trains pass and then an M train and an F train and an E train and an airtrain and an airplane to Kuwait City and a seven hour wait in the airport and an airplane to Bombay.
Welcome back to India, girl. Welcome home.
It was a long, difficult journey. I slept most of my first flight, lucky to have a row of seats to myself. The airport wait was long, and then a Jamaican-American began chatting me up. He was friendly, but then said that he was conservative sometimes, and passed a not-very-nice transgender comment and I began ignoring him. Back to my Kindle.
I was excited on the flight to India, especially when the flight attendant learned how long my journey had been.
Immigration. Baggage. Customs.
At the gate, I began looking for my taxi. And looking. And looking. Finally I asked a security guard to call. He did, and apparently, the driver was almost there. I met the driver, who took me to the car of another driver, and then I was on my way.My driver was driving a bit erratic. We stopped for chai, which was amazing. Then we drove a bit more and he told me he hadn’t slept. Oh, great. Another hour, another chai. He also got pakora in between two rolls - delicious. And then, another 10k, and we were at Lonavla!