NEW DELHI, India —Resolving the mix-up with my Indian visa took a good deal of physical and mental effort, so it was a relief to land in New Delhi for a second, albeit limited, journey into the subcontinent.
My former colleague, Karen, invited me to stay at her apartment on Embassy Row. A journalist on assignment in Kabul, Afghanistan, she had offered to have her driver, Balbir, pick me up at the airport. I was to call her maid, Salina, and let her know that I would be on my way.
After initially missing each other at the airport, and with the temperature climbing in the midday sun, Balbir and I finally connected and sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic for easily twice as long as it might’ve taken without the rush-hour madness.
Once settled, unpacked, showered and fed, I settled in for the night with the creature comforts of cable television — and the guilty pleasure of an airing of “Home Alone,” fittingly enough.
Sometimes a little bit of home is the perfect elixir for one’s travel challenges.