I fly out of Bengaluru in five hours on British Airways to Heathrow, then onwards to Boston where I arrive Thursday evening at 6:30 EST. If I do the real-time conversion for actual travel time, that will mean about 26 hours from the time I leave the Hotel Ista on Swami Vivekananda Road to the time I roll down the clamshell driveway on Main Street in Cotuit.
This is nearly an intercontinental flip turn. Not as epic as the McKinsey director who allegedly flew to Paris from New York and returned the same day on the Concorde, but close enough for stupid-traveller-bragging-rights. I arrived at 6 am on Tuesday, went to the hotel, showered, went downstairs and had breakfast with my colleagues, and was in a day long “summit” by 9 am in Lenovo’s global marketing hub, sucking down waaaaay too much caffeine and feeling utterly vulnerable, clumsy, and addled. Now it is Wednesday night, I am vulnerable, clumsy, and addled, and by the time I depart will have been in Bangalore 45 hours having travelled a grand total of 48 to get to and fro ….
WTF is wrong with me?
Tuesday ended in a thumping roof-top night club eating mystery kabobs in the dark with a view of Bangalore all green trees and tropical below me. I crashed hard, slept six hours, than ran 3K on the treadmill before another breakfast of masala dosa and sambar. Today, Wednesday, was more meetings, a solid moment of narcolepsy around 4pm during a discussion on metrics and analytics which ended when someone noticed my snoring and loudly volunteered me for a project I still haven’t figured out yet. Another roof-top restaurant, more meat on a stick, another cab ride through twisty little streets where packs of dogs roam and cows pick through the piles ….
Then back to the Ista where I am resisting the bed like my final resting place, convinced if I nap I will miss my flight and get another day of meetings and more meat on sticks for my troubles. I ate something in the interesting category and am doing the Pepto Bismol thing so I don’t end up spending the first leg of my flight in my own private cabin.
I’d post pictures of cows and crowds but I left my card reader on my desk at the Cape.