When you ask an Indian a question, invariably they will answer with a head wobble. The head wobble is a cross between a nod and a shake (somewhat like a figure 8) and it can mean yes, no, it’s over there, who knows, who cares, or I don’t speak English. If it is a man, the head wobble is often followed by a penis adjustment and a spit of red chewing tobacco.

We needed a rest from our steady diet of sensory overload and settled ourselves on the beach in a three-sided bamboo tree house (minus the tree) facing the Arabian Sea, and beside another open air restaurant. We asked the man if it was quiet there. When he responded with a head wobble, we took our chances, but it looked like an awesome and unique place to stay and the price was right ($6.00 each a night). The beach scene was more ‘touristy’ than ‘traveler’, but was a welcomed break anyway as we lounged on chairs and swam in the surf. Women in brightly coloured Saries cruised up and down the strip, persistently beseeching us to look at their ‘shop’ as they stretched out slim arms laden with bracelets and other finery for sale. It was hard to resist their big, brown eyes that tugged on our western guilt at having had the good fortune to be born in a place as wonderful as Canada.

India is a country of extremes. Whatever can be said about it, the opposite is also true. I know that statement has merit everywhere, but it feels more acute in India with the stark contrast between the rich and the poor (poor in Canada is not like poor in India), the karmically devout and the swindlers, the gentleness and the cruelty, the beautiful and the ugly, the chaos and the calm, the list goes on. But by and large, while many faces are etched with hardship and creased by the sun, they generally seem a happy and carefree people. Whole families will toodle around town on scooters with toddlers between dad’s legs and mom sitting sidesaddle with a sleeping baby in her arms. They are programmed from infancy to sleep through anything and everything.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said for us and we have had our fill of the base thumping music on the beach that blares day and night. We are as rested as we are going to get, and so, with ears ringing, we are ready to move on. Tomorrow we will take a 12 hour overnight sleeper bus inland to Hampi. Maybe in the splendid ruins of the far past we will find a measure of quiet in the present. I asked a local woman who was raised there if Hampi was a peaceful place. She answered with a head wobble. Of course.

Pune, like Mumbai, is a big, ugly city and we made a fast exit (Mumbai was definitely more a rite of passage to be endured, rather than a pleasure). Our train ticket didn’t come through again so we booked a sleeper bus for the coastal province of Goa, a process that sounds deceivingly benign. With no western sense of privacy or order. , getting around in India by train and bus is taking a lot of effort, time, and patience, but we are managing. We have seen amazing sights and are now on a quest to find the quiet.

The morning we left Pune, Huggie was hit by the dreaded Delhi-belly. The diarrhea was a s__t storm (pun intended) and she immediately dosed up on Imodium. It worked wonderfully, but anticipating the 12 hour overnighter was a sobering proposition nevertheless. Fortunately, all went well. It was a surprisingly quiet ride and we would have slept if not for some crazy brain scrambling brought on by continuous travel over dirt tracks and large craters in the road.

We are now in the small coastal town of Anjuna where we have found the ocean, the tourists, and many of the worlds remaining dreadlocked hippie population. We are staying in a funky little room behind an open air restaurant, in the middle of a large market, that is right on the beach. It is not the secluded beach time of our dreams, but it’ll do for now. We will stay for a bit and rest our bones.

Yesterday Huggie rented a scooter (she is very competent on motorcycles) and we went to a gorgeous beach a few towns away. Imagine driving on the left side of the road, traffic and scooters coming at you from all angles, pedestrians everywhere, horns honking, and most important, avoiding the sacred cows who wander where and when they please, knowing they are the safest things on the road. It was like being in a real life video game, and through it all, Huggie remained highly focused, cool, and in control. I concentrated on helping with directions, reigning in my erupting expletives, and trying not to poo my pants.

On our way back we stopped at a small local joint for food where the waiter was attentive and adorable. I had the fish Thali (rice with curried fish and vegetables with spicy Indian pickle) and the flavours were so piquant and divine that every bite was a gastronomic pleasure (for about $2.40 Canadian). Huggie had palak paneer (a spicy creamed spinach and cheese soup with garlic naan) that was also amazing.

Driving back in the dark, I was both exhilarated and terrified. It was a fun day but I breathed a deep sigh of relief when we arrived back to our room safe and sound with all our parts intact. Now for the ongoing feat of trying to sleep through a chorus of birds squawking, dogs barking, music playing etc..

The Ellora Caves are a series of 34 caves, temples and monasteries carved out of pure basalt stone on the hillside in the area of Aurangabad. They represent a combination of Buddhist, Hindu and Jain faiths and imagining the work involved and how long it took to build them was simply too overwhelming to process. We would look at one small corner of one room, on one floor, of one cave, on one hillside, at one site (there are multiple sites) and marvel at the carvings. Trying to wrap our heads around the enormity of all of the caves was mind-boggling. But the Hindu temple, Kailash, is Ellora’s crowning glory, and to call it a ‘cave’ is a gross understatement. Like the other ‘caves’, it was hewn from pure stone and pictures could not begin to do it justice We happened to go to Ellora on a national holiday and it took a fertile imagination to envisage orange clad monks winding their way down the rough walkways (fortunately, we both have fertile imaginations). Nevertheless, we managed to find some quiet caves and basked in them. Overall, we have seen remarkably few non-Indian tourists so far.

We have gone to other castles, monuments and forts; all ancient, all breathtaking and now we are off on another bus and train to continue our journey southward. We are fervently hoping that the agent from Delhi who sold us the prepaid 2nd class seat assigned train sleepers (at an exorbitant rate) comes through with the tickets. He hasn’t been reliable so far. We bought the package in Delhi when, fresh off the plane and jet lagged, we were whisked away to his office like lambs to the slaughter. Live and learn. So far we have taken a combination of train and bus (and one plane) and with the exception of one train ride, we have travelled in 2nd class sleeper seats all the way (India has 8 classes of train travel). When we booked our own ticket, requesting 2nd class, we unknowingly weren’t given a seat assignment and ended up crouched in a corner of the carriageway between first class and cattle class. We survived the 8 hour ride unscathed with the exception of a good sized rat running across our feet. Our screeching and prancing caused quite a stir but provided much entertainment for the 8 or so men jammed in with us. Stories of the two old white ladies with the backpacks and the rat will likely be the topic of many a lively campfire conversation.

Jaipur (the pink city) isn’t pink anymore and we only stayed a couple of nights before heading to Jaisalmer in the the far western corner of India. Getting there was a 14 hour overnight train ride. We had sleeper seats and our romantic notion of a great sleep lulled by the soothing chug of the engine and the lonesome whistle as we rolled through the night was shattered under the crush of noise. Long shrill whistles, Indian music, food vendors shouting, babies crying, multitudes of people and luggage coming and going all the way through. What on earth were we thinking! While we are revelling in the unparalleled experience that is India, the general cacophony of sound and mayhem are also taking their toll. We have both lost multiple nights of sleep and are sick with sore throats, coughs and colds. But so far, touch wood, no diarrhea. We eat street food which is generally delicious; usually some form of vegetable curry surrounded by a pastry/dough that is deep fried. Our favourite so far is something they have for breakfast – a very thin circle of dough, deep fried and then covered with Dahl sauce (lentils/onion/spice boiled down) and then sprinkled with lemon, onion, parsley, cilantro, tomato, and chillies. Amazing flavours.

Jaisalmer (the golden city) is the quintessential desert town with golden sand coloured buildings and exquisite architecture. It looks like a scene right out of the Arabian Nights and we are loving it. In the heart of the town lies a massive sandstone fort surrounding a Jain temple full of intricate carvings that was built in the 12th century. The king allowed the families who worked for him to live within the fort and from that time on it has been passed down from generation to generation to the eldest son. Today, the descendants of those families are the only ones still allowed to live and sell their wares within the fort. Buying and selling the houses are not allowed as, technically, the king still owns the land. Our sandstone guest house ($9.00 a night) is within the fort walls and a stones throw from the temple. It all feels very exotic.

We went on a desert camel safari almost to the Pakistani border and have arrived back ‘home’ to Jaisalmer dusty, stinky, tired, and (in my case) somewhat sore in the nether regions, but happy with the experience. It took me some time to get into the flow of riding a camel. I would almost topple off when she stood up and knelt down but eventually my body relaxed and I was able to move with her. Our camel drivers cooked amazing food over open fires and the cooking lessons were an added bonus. (Sambhu taught me how to make chapati and I taught him how to write his name). Using a mixture of cumin, chilli powder, curry, fresh cilantro, coriander seeds, garlic, lentils, chick pea flour, and a variety of vegetables with rice, we ate well. We (quasi) slept without tents, under a crescent moon in the cold desert night (me paying to sleep rough is a bizarre concept) with a sky full of stars and completely different looking constellations.

Travelling as ‘unaccompanied’ females has its drawbacks. While we always keep our arms and legs covered (and usually our provocative hair), sometimes we still get too much unwanted male attention but we have never felt unsafe. People have been kind to us (with the exception of a lady who kicked me in the Delhi train station). In fact, in Jaipur, after exploring side streets and alleyways on foot for hours (I was exploring solo as Huggie had hired a tuk tuk and taken a tour) I finally emerged onto a main street with cars and asked a bellboy at a fancy hotel how to walk back to my guesthouse. He insisted that it was too far and too complicated. He tried to flag down a tuk tuk to take me but none would go the distance (it was over 16 kilometres). He snapped his fingers and a real bellboy appeared producing two helmets. Turns out he owned the hotel. He said that he was Rajput, who are kings of the Rajasthan men, and that I reminded him of his mother. He drove me back to my guest house on his motorcycle (that was an experience). It was a lot of fun but it made me feel ancient.

Now it’s bedtime. I dearly wish that it was also ‘quiet time’ but that is just a dream.

The Taj Mahal is more beautiful than I ever imagined. The stunning white marble mausoleum (inlaid with an intricately designed mosaic of jade, sandstone, ruby, etc.) is perfectly balanced. Every single aspect of the grounds, the buildings (which include the mausoleum, a guest house on one side, and a mosque on the other), inside and out, from front to back are mirrored and evenly aligned to the teeniest, tiniest detail. The sarcophagus of Mumtaz Mahal, the third wife of the Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan, (India’s ruler in the 1600,s) is, literally, at its very centre. But it’s not just the symmetry of it all that makes the Taj so special, it’s also the love story that goes with it.

She was 18 and he was 25. His first two marriages were arranged and bore no children. He married her, his third wife, for love. With his three wives and a multitude of concubines at his disposal, all he wanted was Mumtaz. She died giving birth to their 14th child when she was 36 years years old and he was heartbroken. He built the Mum Taj Mahal (direct translation–beautiful crown castle) in her honour and never married again. It took 25 years and 20,000 labourers working day and night to finish. When it was done he started building a black mausoleum beside it for himself but his son said it was too expensive and threw him in jail (kids). He spent the next twelve years confined to Agra Fort (not a shabby place to live) where his only stipulation was that he could look upon his beloved Mumtaz from his window every day. When he died he was entombed beside her. The Taj Mahal is one of the wonders of the world. Approximately between 40,000 and 50,000 people now visit it every day.

It’s hard to believe that this is only our third day in India. After arriving in Delhi we made our way into the city on the metro and then walked to the main bazar, through a dirty, narrow alleyway system to our guest house, only to find it closed. The one across the way was possibly even more of a rathole but it was a place to lay our head for the night. Unfortunately all I did was lay my head; sleep didn’t come.

We were at the train station by 5:30 am the next morning to catch our train for Agra, home of the Taj. Finding the right train was nerve racking as we have a paid a high premium for pre-purchased tickets for the next 3 weeks. But once we were finally settled on the train, the seats, the privacy and the big window were a pleasant surprise for the 4 hour ride. We were obviously not in the steerage but I’m sure that’s coming.

Last night we lucked into a great rest house with a courtyard garden restaurant and I slept well. The room cost 400 rupees (about $8.00) and my dinner of rice and tomato curry was 205 rupees (about $4.00). The taste was spectacular. We are now heading back to the train station for a four hour ride to Jaipur -The Pink City.

Winter arrived this year with teeth bared. My old farmhouse has no insulation and I was glad when it was time to leave for my India adventure. My friend Huggie is with me on this trip and we have spent the last few days in London, en route. The weather has been damp and chilly but it’s a far sight more comfortable than the bitter cold we left behind. Since arriving, we’ve walked countless miles (as my problematic ankles and knee can attest), seen many of the classic London sights, and found great enjoyment in some unexpected places.

Wandering through The National Gallery was an accidental but marvellous pleasure. I am by no means an art aficionado but I could happily have spent far more time there. I was spellbound by so many magnificent works – 25,000 pieces housed there to be exact and with a combined monetary value of £25,000,000,000. That is $40,780,462,592.66. How do you even pronounce that many dollars?

We stopped at a casino where (to my utter despair) Huggie was prepared to gamble away £5.00. With no slot machines available we sat at a ‘£10 minimum’ black jack table. Neither of us had ever sat at a real black jack table before but the dealer was friendly and explained the game. In two seconds flat Huggie had played a game and doubled her money. Whaaat! She passed me her newly won chip and we both played the next game – and won. From then on I was the keeper of the chips. Within minutes, she had played a couple more games and was up £40.00. That’s $65.00! I was flabbergasted! I kept muttering with shocked and happy awe “I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it”. One would think we had just won the jackpot at a high stakes table. I’m clearly not a gambler but it was a lot of fun. When we left she treated me to a scrumptious authentic fish and chips dinner near Covent Garden with part of her winnings.

We visited the Tower of London, (originally built by William the Conqueror (who just happens to be my 24 great grandfather), the Tower Bridge (it has a glass floor portion on the top walkway over the Thames) , the London Bridge Experience (the haunted tombs beneath the bridge. An entertaining/educational/terrifying maze designed to stop ones heart and damn near succeeded in my case) and a multitude of other London sights. Today, our last day, we saw Buckingham Palace and walked around the Royal Parks where I was happy to breath in some green space.

London has been a blast but I am ready to move on and rest my sore bits in the sunshine. Next stop – India.

2018 is bearing down on us and with it, happily, comes another adventure. This year I’m headed for India. For me India has an exotic ring to it that conjures images of vibrant colour, delicious food, the Taj Mahal, mesmerizing dance, incense, and transcendental yoga. I realize that for many, the ring falls flat. Probably on account of the poverty, the noise, the smell, the sheer quantity of people, the caste system, and the chaos. But one way or another, for better or worse, India is legendary. I may not embrace it all but I will experience it.

My dear long standing friend Huguette Long is coming with me. We fly out of Ottawa on January 9th and return March 7th. She has never travelled ‘my way’ before and at the beginning she was hesitant. She knows me well and wanted reassurance that I wouldn’t subject her to sleeping in gutters. She has always liked her comfy bed and her strong morning coffee hot and with cream, but she is ready and eager for a great new adventure (gutters and all). We will spend four days in London, England en route (extending the layover) before landing into the maelstrom and smog of New Delhi. We won’t dally there. My aversion to cities notwithstanding, the air quality in New Delhi is, at the moment, scary bad. Our thought is to head to the desert province of Rajesthan before working our way south. India is huge with many rich and diverse cultures! Bound by the Himalayas in the north and extending south where it tapers to the Indian Ocean in the east, and the Arabian Sea to the west, it covers an area of 32,87,263 square kilometres.

As always, I look forward to sharing the adventure and I will spare you nothing – not the grandeur, nor the grunge. I’ve gleaned from those who have been that you either fall in love with India or you hate it. I guess we’ll see. Whether this trip glides along with the gentle flow of a merry go round or is punctuated with the heart skipping adrenaline of a roller coaster, I hope you enjoy the ride.

Have a happy, healthy and safe holiday season,

Arlene