My Air India flight arrived from Singapore at something like two in the morning. Like a lost lamb, I edged my way through the chaos of coolies and taxi drivers badgering for business.
After I slunk into the back of a wonky taxi seat, the driver whizzed through the darkened Chennai streets. I had no idea which way he was headed. It was long before you could track your journey on a smart phone. But it wasn’t needed, because I was deposited at the dingy hotel someone had suggested to me in Bali.
Surprisingly, the Everest Hotel still stands not far from the Egmore railway station. It looks like it’s had a coat of paint since my visit.