160

One hundred and sixty hours.

That is the approximate amount of time I have spent so far (since late June) traveling back and forth to India. That's four weeks' worth of 40-hour work weeks, except compressed into miserable 30-35 hour chunks crammed into coach class seats on (almost always) full planes.

Last night I arrived into Bombay and called the driver who was supposed to pick me up. This is at 11:00 p.m. or so. He answers the phone and I tell him I'm just leaving the terminal, and he says, "No Madam, you are arriving tomorrow!" I assured him that no, I was quite certain I was arriving today. He was at home in Colaba, about an hour's drive (or more) from the airport in normal Bombay traffic.

Somehow everyone at the office had become convinced that ALL of us (me, Alex, Robin, and Lon) were arriving together this morning, despite multiple emails providing precise flight information to the contrary. So, I ended up taking a taxi. Luckily I know enough about this city in the meantime that that was not too much of an ordeal, and I was able to direct the driver to the apartment building.

Another minor problem was that Don was staying at our apartment through last night, and had no idea someone would be showing up at midnight, so I was afraid I'd freak him out once I got there. I managed to make enough noise to wake him up and let him know what the deal was.

Hooray, though--our seven new linguists start on Monday.