22 hours in a really long time to India

March 8, 2014

Twenty two hours in the air to India is a really long time even if the trip is broken into more than one leg and even if its in business class. Also, there is nothing really exciting to talk about from those twenty two hours for another post, but I feel like some sort of recap is necessary just for the continuation of the story.

Basically, my time was more or less equally divided between the following activities:

  • Eating
  • Watching movies
  • Ready
  • Playing games on my iPad.
  • Trying to nap.
  • Drinking water
  • Going to the restroom because I drank too much water.

Not terribly exciting, is it?

After the first 10 hours, we landed in the Narita (Tokyo) Airport where we proceded directly to the business class lounge.  It wasn’t nearly as nice as the Seattle one, but it did have beer and sake from an automatic drink dispenser.   Like you do.   Also, sushi.  Because, Japan.

I have a couple of general observations from my time in Narita Airport, which are:

  1. All asian flight attendants are beautiful, stylish and perfectly groomed.  And on the Dreamliner, they were styled nearly identically from their 6o’s fringe and hair knot to the silk scarf tied about their throats.
  2. A lot of Asians wear medical masks when traveling.  Enough that it was surprising to me.

Then we walked a few hundred miles to the gate (actually, about a mile) through some serious jet set shops, and got on a bus.  Many jokes about how long the bus ride would be to Delhi.  The bus was there to drive us to our airplane, an older Boeing 767 which wasn’t nearly as luxurious as the Dreamliner.  I am not complaining, just noting.

For the record, those things are tall.  Really, really tall.


Another damn tall airplane with bus for scale. You get onto it by climbing a serious flight of stairs.

Second 10 hour flight ensued.  I’m starting to get zombie-fied by this time, so I attempt to nap.  I think I slept four-ish hours and woke up with three hours left.  Slowest.  Three. Hours. In the history of hours.

Eventually, after I age 20 years, we land in Delhi.   Customs is a breeze; I get a stamp in my passport and pick up my suitcase.  I keep expecting another step, like going through another security scan, but nope, that’s it.   Our hotel has sent drivers to pick us up and this is the moment I get my first taste of what driving in Delhi is like.  Mildly terrifying, that’s what its like.

Cars, mix with trucks, mixed with motorcycles, tuk tuks, bicycle taxis, and pedestrians, all confident that they have a supreme right of way and they won’t get nailed into a pile of ooze.  Traffic rules are merely suggestions.  Perhaps not even that.  The norm is to drive between two lanes so you can easily float to another lane if one of them  happens to get congested.   Whatever this system is, it seems to work for them.

We survive the ride to the hotel and get checked in.  I can’t sleep so I proceed to mess around, eventually blowing the circuit to my room and have to call to have someone come up to fix it.  I take that as a sign it is time to go to bed.


Hotel room. Makes up in pattern and texture what it lacks in color.

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