Why I Wanted to
Travel to India
For some reason, I had always wanted to travel to
India. Maybe it was the eye-appealing
and beautifully sparkling saris, my friends and other awesome people in the U.S
who I knew were from India, or all of the cool backpacking stories that I heard
from other travelers and their photos, especially from girls; or, maybe it was
a combination of all of them. For
whatever it was, I just couldn’t wait to experience India for myself in hopes
that it would live up to all of my expectations. As I was “preparing” for my longest
backpacking trip that I’d ever been on, 6 months, I applied for my India visa
before leaving the U.S. I say “prepared”
in quotations because I have a tendency to not really prepare for my
backpacking trips as much as others do or should do. I find that trying to be as prepared as
possible can be quite overwhelming which can lead to discouragement. So, I do what I feel is good enough for my
travels and then play it by ear. But, a
downfall to not doing much research or preparation for a backpacking trip,
especially an extensive one like mine or one to underdeveloped or developing
countries can pose as troublesome in some cases. Since I didn’t look too much into traveling
to India, I didn’t realize that I had to apply for a visa. I had never traveled to anywhere that
required a visa so I wasn’t familiar with the process. Luckily, it was a fairly painless and short
process which, may be accredited to the fact that there was a Travisa
(third-party visa processing company) in Chicago (check out my blog post about
the steps to obtain your India visa). I
hadn’t booked my flight to or from India at the time of getting my visa because
I wasn’t sure when I was exactly going to go.
I had a one-way ticket booked to Osaka, Japan at the time and I was
going just play it by ear from there. I
booked my ticket to India while I was backpacking Southeast Asia which made it
pretty affordable. I booked my ticket
from Bali, Indonesia to Mumbai, India for less than $350. About a week before
getting into India is when I booked my hostel in Mumbai. On February 3, 2014, I set flight to Mumbai,
India, also known as Bombay, India.
My Arrival in Mumbai
It was close to midnight in Mumbai and after leaving
Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia with a night layover in Singapore, Malaysia, my
flight finally landed. I didn’t know
what to expect but what I soon experienced afterwards would wildly surpass my
expectations but, not all in a good way.
I collected my luggage at baggage claim, went through passport control,
and then through customs before exiting into the arrivals area. The airport was smaller than I imagined and was
really hot and humid. I had my hostel
booked for the next few nights but I now needed to figure out where to get
money and how to get a ride to my hostel.
I had heard to be aware of taxis that weren’t legit and could
potentially be dangerous at the airport.
I was told a certain color of taxi to look out for but, I just couldn’t
remember what color it was. Like in many
countries, especially those that are underdeveloped or developing, where
tourism is the main source of revenue and income for the country and its
people, there are swarms of taxi drivers, tuk-tuks, and other vehicles yelling
at you outside, trying to get you to use their means of transportation. As always, that’s really overwhelming and
anxiety-ridden for me and I simply just don’t like it. As a foreigner, especially one that didn’t do
much research beforehand, I wasn’t sure what an accurate rate would have been
to not have gotten ripped off. I found
an ATM and withdrew some money before choosing to just pay a pre-paid taxi
service from a booth inside of the arrivals area to take me for $17. It was my way of trying to be as safe as
possible, especially so late at night. I
asked for the cheapest rate but later to learn that it still was
over-priced. When I mention that I was
“ripped off” or something was “over-priced” in India, it still means that it
was pretty cheap but just that the people over-charged me for something that
should’ve cost much less being in India.
For instance, if I was charged $10 or $12 for close to an hour-long taxi
ride, it should’ve cost me closer to $5 or $6.
But, regardless, I got to my hostel safely without any problems.
The taxi ride to my hostel was my first impression of India and boy was it an interesting one. All that I could see was tons of vehicles of all types (tuk-tuks, cars, trucks, lots of motorcycles, mopeds, bicycles, rick-shaws, wagons, etc) with a mixture of animals (horses, cows, dogs, donkeys, etc) all crowded in the chaotic streets of a traffic jam. All I could hear was lots of loud honking, screeching of tires, and yelling as we maneuvered our way through the chaos, encountering many close-calls of our own. I’ve never seen such manic in the streets. There is little to no organization or rules to the road. I had never seen so many people in my life. My window was lowered just a bit, in an attempt to get some sort of “fresh air” or breeze into the stuffy hot and dust-covered taxi that I was in. I didn’t want my window lowered any lower because I just didn’t feel really comfortable in doing so. At one point, we were at a stop. I peered out of my window to see two men holding up a man in between them. It was as if his legs were like jello, he could barely stand on his own. I noticed him spitting up something red colored. I appeared to be blood to me. This definitely spooked me. We sped up again but at that point, I had wondered what I had gotten myself into.
My taxi driver got a bit lost when trying to find my hostel
and of course I was very little help to him.
I looked at the garbage in the streets, creepy buildings, barking stray
dogs, rats running around, and creepy looking people out my window as our taxi
crept slowly down the road trying to find any address that we could. After pulling over and asking someone for
help, we arrived at my hostel. All I
could think as I saw the many rats running in and out of the curb-side gutter
was “are you kidding me…?” I took a deep breath, grabbed my bags, and walked
inside the dark and dingy place. I
walked up a few flights of stairs and push aside a rusted metal safety gate to
get to the small office room. Yes, this
was my hostel and yes, I was concerned.
While I was checking in to my room by writing down my information in
their check-in book and giving them my ID to copy down, there was a girl
yelling at the worker through the glass.
She was screaming about being bitten by bed bugs for the second night in
a row and how now she has to pack all of her stuff up again and wash it. She kept screaming while the worker just
ignored her and eventually told her to just hold on. All that was going through my mind was “I
better not be staying anywhere close to where she was sleeping”.
I took my stuff to my room that was a few floors above. It was a fairly small room with cement walls
and dusty cement floor and about six single beds. There was a small blonde girl with lots of
her belongings spread out in her bed area.
I chose a bed, checked it for bed bugs (something that I do with each
and every bed that I stay in, anywhere, it’s a habit now) and I began to ask
her some questions. Is it safe here? Do
you feel safe walking around by yourself outside? Have you had any problems with bed bugs? How long have you stayed here? Do you like it here? I soon learned that she
spoke broken English. She was originally
from Eastern Europe and she was studying as a dancer in India. She came to Mumbai because it was where her
boyfriend lived. She had been there for
quite some time already (which is why her area was well set up like her own
room), she never had any bed bugs, and she said that she felt safe for the most
part. She also probably couldn’t find
the words in English to tell me otherwise.
I put my sheets on my bed and changed into my pajamas before going back
down to the “office” (a small room behind a plexy glass wall) and gave some
money for a bottle of water and some juice.
The guy pointed down this long dark hallway to where the room was that
had the drink cooler in. When I walked
into the room, it was of course dark.
There were two big drink coolers (like you see in normal stores) that
were filled with some drinks and water.
With the light from the coolers and a sound from below, I noticed that
the room was filled with about ten guys sleeping on the floor and tables with
some blankets spread around the room. It
really startled me so I grabbed my drinks and hurried back up to my room. What the heck was that? That was just the start to my witnessing of
people being and sleeping everywhere in India, and I mean everywhere. I used my bottled water to wash my face and
brush my teeth before trying to get some sleep.
A Tour Through the
Slums of Mumbai
The next morning I got up, walked out on the dirty balcony
of our room and peered at the streets below.
I wanted to get a more accurate look at where I was now that it was
daylight. It wasn’t what I ever
expecting India to be like and all I could think of was how was I ever going to
get to see much of India if it’s not safe to walk around? I had never seen so much dirt and filth
outside before. There were emaciated
stray dogs barking and cats running around everywhere. I could still hear the obnoxious honking of
the chaotic traffic which never ever subsides.
I took a deep breath (not the wisest choice when in Mumbai because of
how much dirt is floating in the air) and just accepted that this where I was
and that I was going to try to make the best out of it. This is a place that I had been longing to
visit and I’m now here. I must
experience India as it is. But, I could
not kid myself, I was really nervous and apprehensive. I went down to the office because they had a
few pamphlets with some tours that they offered. I figured that my most comfortable way of
walking around and seeing the city was to take a tour or to be with other
people. For about $12, I booked a
walking tour to see the Dhavarti slums of Mumbai, the third largest slums in
the world, next to Capetown, South Africa and Nairobi, Kenya. It was the slums that was featured in parts
of the movie Slum Dog Millionaire. I put on my sneakers (you would or should
never wear sandals while walking in Mumbai or Dehli) and I went to wait for my
tour guide. He was outside waiting for
me with two other travelers that also booked the tour from another hostel. They were all nice. One was a guy from New Zealand and the other
was a tall tattooed guy from the Holland.
Our tour guide was a really nice local who was always really protective
of us and always had our best interest and safety in mind. 
We walked to the Mumbai train station where our tour guide
got our train tickets and handed them to us.
The train station was packed with tons of people going in and out of
it. I’m pretty good at and use to
navigating through train stations but I can’t lie and say that I wasn’t happy
that the tour guide was with us because that train station seemed pretty
chaotic, confusing, and overwhelming. We
got on board a train that came. We were
some of the first to get on so we were able to find a place to sit on a bench. Within seconds, the train filled with people. Jam packed. I noticed that there were mainly men in the
cart that we were in. Then, our guide
told me that since I was a woman, I could go find the women and children’s cart
that usually is on the far front or back of the trains if I wanted to but,
since I was with them, I could stay where I was. Among all of the people and noise, I noticed a lovely woman sleeping in front of me. With her head leaning against the side of the train, she brought a sense of solitude to a reality of such commotion. There were people hanging halfway out of the
train doors which there were none of.
Our tour guide told us that nearly 3,000 people die every year by
falling or being pushed out of the moving train. The train cart was so dirty and dusty with
rust and chipped paint everywhere. We
were wondering if we even wanted to use the trains to get back when we were
done because of how overwhelming of an experience it was, even for the guys
that I was with. Everyone kept staring
at us. Upon arrival to our stop, our
tour guide told us to stay near him. 
As our tour guide stopped to use the restroom (the
bathrooms, something that are just something else and I’ll talk more about
later), the two guys and I walked (ran while dogging cars, trying not to get
hit) across the busy street to a few shops for something to drink. When I talk about buying something from their
shops such as food or drinks, I mean a small hole in the wall where everything
is covered in a layered of dirt and you have to point to what you want and hope
that it’s labeled with a price, or else they’ll look at you and quote you
whatever price that they want. We then
headed to the slums. The tour guide
would point out for us to watch our step and we would look down to see human
feces speckled throughout the ground everywhere. The entire city There were always men and children urinating
everywhere. I got use to men looking
suspicious in odd places and knowing that he’s just peeing. I had never seen so many homeless people
sleeping on the streets, and I’ve seen quite a few living in Chicago and have
traveled to countless poor countries before.
When I say people sleeping on the streets, I mean literally sleeping on
the streets. And we weren’t even in the
slums part yet. There would be rows of
people sleeping curbside in the road 
where the traffic even had to swerve
around them. As we entered the slums,
our tour guide told asked us not to take photos while touring the slums. He said that he didn’t want to make anyone
upset or feel disrespected, as if they were some sort of circus animal or
something. I was kind of bummed because
I wanted to share what I had seen while there.
To be honest, I snapped photos when no one was looking and when I knew I
wouldn’t be making anyone mad (which is why many of my photos from my tour in
the slums are off-centered and scarce). 
I noticed other tourists, many older white couples, taking
tours of the slums as well. This showed
me that the people living here must be pretty use to seeing tourists on a daily
basis. It was kind of funny to see small
children following us and running up to the guy from Holland on our tour and
touching his legs which were covered in tattoos. Our tour guide explained that tattoos (unlike
the traditional Henna and Mehndi) like that aren’t common in the Indian culture
so children, and many adults, find them fascinating. I felt bad for the European because he was
feeling uncomfortable with the kids at his legs. What we saw and learned was that the slums
are like a city within a city. Despite
appearing to be chaotic of its own, the slums are actually organized in a way
for a purpose. There is a part where
most women and children live versus parts where workers and mostly men
live. Many people live in the small
factory-like establishments where they work.
We learned that so much of our everyday stuff comes from or goes to the
slums. We walked by giant bundles of
plastics outside with tags from other countries like Australia and the
U.S. They were our recyclable plastics. The bundles were next to the door of a very
small room that was piled high to the ceiling with the unbundled plastics. There were three or four workers sitting on
the floor sorting the plastics by color: pink, blue, white, clear, etc. To this day I am still conscience about
recycling, sorting, and washing my plastics because you never know where they
will go and who will have to sit all day in a small blistering hot smelly room
and sort your trash for little pay to support their family. We stopped to see where work uniforms are
sewed. They looked just like the
uniforms that you see on restaurant and hotel workers around the world. We were told that although many products that
we see in the U.S have tags that say “Made in China” or “Made in Taiwan”, that
many of those products originate in India but companies prefer to have it say
elsewhere. 
There was a noxious smell nearby. We walked over to see where paint was being
made and where cans that once held chemicals were being rinsed and
cleaned. I couldn’t believe that the men
working in that room were able to endure that smell for so long. The tour guide told us that those men get
paid more than others but live much shorter lives. Therefore, those men are working in those
unhealthy and harmful conditions just to make money for their families, knowing
that they wouldn’t be living long enough to enjoy spending any sort of time
with them. That’s sacrifice. Ducking beneath hanging wires, watching where
we were stepping, watching out for any sharp edges or nails, we all squeezed
our way through many narrow walkways between the buildings. We were able to take peeks into the homes of
many families. You could tell who had a
family member working in a factory that made a bit more money because there
would be a television, refrigerator, more space, or other luxuries in the
home. We saw many women sitting on the
floor grinding spices, making food, making pottery or baskets, and more. We went to an area where clay pottery was
made. It looked like a giant area filled
with mud pits (where workers had to stand in knee deep to get the mud out which
looked like quick sand) and big man-made ovens where the pottery was baked and
then dried. 
There was a place that had
giant metal bowls filled with colored dyes to dye saris in and a place where
all of the left over soaps collected from hotels around the world come to get
melted, sanitized, and shaped into new soaps to be resold. We also went to an area where wool was
scrapped off of sheep hide. It smelled
terrible. They let you try it for
yourself but I definitely passed on that.
I could barely take the smell.
Another little factory room that smelled awful was where the animal
skins were that were turned into leather.
Beside that smelly factory was the slaughter room and you can bet
yourself that I didn’t dare go near it.
But, I did get to see some of the finished products that were outside on
display for tourists to purchase if they’d like. There were men and women’s wallets, purses,
and belts. It was explained to us that this is a common place where products
from high luxury brands such as Louis Vuitton get made before they are sold,
shipped, and tagged with the brand’s logo and sold for a ridiculously high
price overseas. I bought a wallet for
$20. Although I didn’t need a wallet
nor really wanted it, I thought that it was be cool to have a product that is
fresh from its source in the country that it was made before it ever made it to
the name brand company to be sold for much more. I’m not a name brand type of girl at all so
that wallet was special to me. Plus, my
$20 helped those workers too. Our tour
guide came by us drinking a small glass of hot chai tea. Although chai is my favorite to drink, I
didn’t want to risk getting ill by drinking chai in the slums from a glass that
someone else drank from. So, I sadly
declined the offer for one. The guy from
New Zealand gladly had one. That’s when
our tour guide pointed out that there was a nearby hospital. Despite it being a hospital, a place where
one goes to get better, he jokingly, yet seriously, warned us that we never
want to go there. “It’s a place that you
go if you want to die” he said with a half smile on his face. It’s just not a healthy place. Towards the end of the tour in the slums, we
climbed up the stairs of a little home to a room that was pretty empty. It just had a computer and some posters in
it. It was the work space of a young man
who owns the tour company that we were on and he wanted to teach us more about
it, where the money goes, and what he does for the schools in his area. 
After the tour, we walked back to the train station but the
boys that I was with decided that they rather take a taxi back to our hostels
instead of the crazy train. I wasn’t in
much of a disagreement because the train wasn’t too appealing and it was
extremely hot out. After returning to
our hostel, we were hungry and wanted some food. We found a small restaurant nearby and got a
table. They say that if you can’t see
into the kitchen of a restaurant in India that you shouldn’t eat there. It was a nice little place and seemed
okay. I was always super cautious about
what I ate in India because everyone that I met before arriving in India told
me to just be prepared to get sick because it will happen. On one of my plane rides before heading to
India, I met a couple from Australia who told me about their time spent in
India. They went with a group of people and enjoyed it for the most
part but the girl made sure to warn me about preparing myself for getting
sick. “You will get sick there, just accept
Why will I for sure
get sick? I wondered. She said that the majority of their group got
ill while in India. She swore her
sickness came from the mango lassi that she drank. “Don’t have any lassis” she told me. A lassi is a type of yogurt fruit shake
that’s really popular in India. That
sucks because I pretty much live off of fruit shakes, a.k.a “smoothies”, while
I travel. But, because lassis are made
from dairy, ice, water, and fresh fruit, there is a big chance that bacteria
and germs are in it. I refused to accept
getting sick because I still had quite some time of traveling to go after India
and I just didn’t want to get sick, it’s not fun. They also say that the food will be fine as
long as it’s cooked and hot but, I think many people still get ill from hot
food too. Many of the restaurants,
especially in the larger cities of Dehli and Mumbai, are not very appealing
because they are so unsanitary-looking and there’s such a strong stench of
urine in the air. 
Later that day, we decided to walk around town as a group. Mumbai was
definitely a place that I didn't feel the most comfortable walking around by
myself at night in so I was glad to have met those guys from my tour. We walked
to the waterfront where the Gate of India is at.
We stumbled upon an art fair that
was going on. It was a nice art
fair. It was similar to what you'd see
anywhere else. They even had super cute
things to buy. I bought a necklace with
an elephant pendant on it for around $3. It was definitely crowded in there though.
We passed a man with a little cart. We stopped
to see what he was selling. I saw banana
leaves and little containers of things. I
was told that it's like their gum. They
chew it and spit. Walking around India
you will see globs of red all over the streets. I initially thought it was blood. I saw a
drunk man being carried with red coming from his mouth my very first night. I definitely thought that he was bleeding but,
it was just this gum stuff. It's pretty
disgusting to see it everywhere though.
We stopped at a McDonald’s there because the guys wanted some food. On our way there, we were approached by a girl trying to get extras for a Bollywood film. It’s pretty common for this to happen. Bollywood films are always looking for foreigners to be in the background of filming. They offer some pay for it too. I would’ve totally done it but my time was limited in Mumbai and I wouldn’t have been able to make the required times. We apologized and went on our way to McDonald’s. I don’t like McDonald’s but I do like to see the differences in their menus around the world. The food is always customized for the country’s culture, religions, and economy. There were a lot of vegetarian options like veggie burgers, potato (aloo) burgers, and fried paneer (soft white cheese) patties. There was the McChicken and Filet-O-Fish options too. There were no beef options on the menu which is understandable. The menu even had ice cream floats on them which one of the guys that I was with had no clue what those were. I don’t remember which country he was from but he had never heard of an ice cream float
before. I tried explaining it to him and
pointed it out when a teenager walked by with it on his tray. It was an orange soda float. Another day, Lukas, the guy in my hostel room
from Austria, and I walked to the Mumbai promenade. It was a nice view of the city scape and
waterfront. It was a nice place to just
chill and relax. There were a lot of
people around and I spotted a woman sitting on the ground with her family
trying to hide her phone while trying to take a photo of us. I just laughed and shuck my head. 
The women in India wear beautifully colored and designed
saris, which I was always drawn to like a shark seeing something shiny. It was the only reason why I ever stared back
at someone in India, I study their attractive sari. A more casual look for the women is the
kurti. It’s similar to a tunic and is
worn with leggings. This is very common
to see on Indian women when they’re not wearing a sari.
My First Overnight
Bus Ride to Goa
Lukas, the guy in my hostel room from Austria, and I booked a night bus from Mumbai to Goa for 200 rupees (roughly $4). I usually would avoid night buses in India but since Lukas would be with me, I was sure I'd be okay. I was so glad to leave that hostel. It was definitely one of the most dodgiest places that I’ve ever stayed. Lukas and I decided to walk to the bus. Probably wasn't the best idea. We got pretty lost and nobody really knows where anything is if you ask. Feeling very crunched on time and not completely sure of our direction, we decided to jump in a taxi. Of course, the taxi driver seemed pretty confused and lost, plus there was loads of traffic. Go figure, it's India, the streets are mayhem. Undoubtedly the worst that I've ever seen, anywhere. We didn't get very far so we paid and jumped out of the taxi and tried to find it ourselves again. Luckily we spotted the buses. When we got there and showed our tickets, of course they seemed confused which made us feel like it wasn't the right bus, but it was. We climbed aboard and waited. The seats were extremely dirty and the windows were wide open. I got to sit in dirt while breathing in more dirt as we drove. Ooh India. It’s funny, in India, people sleep anywhere and everywhere. We sat in the front seats and above the driver was a little platform that was suspended. I saw what looked to be feet. Sure enough, it was someone sleeping up there.
There were trucks and cars, taxis and tuk-tuks,
cows and donkeys, dogs and people, and a constant honking. An annoying and
non-stop honking. It was amazing to see just how much stuff they can pack onto
a motorbike and the back of a donkey. I
felt a sense of safety sitting so high up above the rest of the traffic. I took photos and video of the chaos. I always felt best taking photos from the
windows of the taxis since we’d be moving forward before anyone noticed that I
was taking a photo of them. 
Our drive
was going to be around 10 hours or so, so I tried to get some sleep. That was
difficult to do because of the constant noise and dirt flying at my face due to
the window that didn’t close. I was
quite thirsty but I limited the amount of liquids that I consumed on the bus
ride because the bathrooms in India are bad enough in "established" places,
let alone at a routine rest stop in the middle of nowhere. No thank you. I
began to fall asleep when I heard commotion behind us. It was Amanda. She was
yelling at the local sitting beside her. She said that he kept groping her arm,
even after she had asked him to stop numerous times. She wanted to move seats.
One of the guys in charge on the bus had her move up closer to us.
We arrived at the Mapusa train station in Goa, the main bus station there. Before you even get off of the bus, tuk-tuks are there yelling for you. I already had a place booked for around five days in one of Goa’s towns called Calangute. Lukas and Amanda were still discussing where they wanted to go. When I was in Mumbai, the guy from New Zealand just came from Goa so I picked his brain about the towns there. He told me of a party area and a more relaxed town. I chose the more relaxed one of course. Lukas and Amanda went to the party town. We exchanged Facebook info and parted ways. My tuk-tuk drove me about 20 minutes into my town, to my apartment. I had booked a little studio apartment near the beach for $20 a day, using the same website that I use to book hostels and budget hotels on. It was daytime. I got to the apartments and tried to find someone to check in with. There was no check-in desk, just a bunch of apartment doors. I looked around for a short bit before spotting two guys walking from another room. I asked them if they knew who was in charge because I had a reservation. I think that they thought that I was somebody else with a booking because he showed me a room but it wasn't what I reserved. He told me that the apartments are owned by different people and didn't know who I reserved with. There was a younger guy, quite dirty and had ragged clothes on who was outside and the two guys asked him something. I couldn't understand what they were saying since they weren't speaking English. The answer for quite a bit was "I don't know". Nobody could help me. I was so hot, tired, hungry, thirsty, and had to use the bathroom so badly. I was getting quite irritable that there was no sort of organization to that accommodation. The younger guy didn't speak any English at all but I noticed him call somebody on his phone. He kept motioning for me to "wait". Finally, a man on a nice motorbike pulled up. He had on a polo shirt, side bag, sunglasses, and was well groomed. He asked how he could help me. I said that I had a reservation and had been waiting. He apologized and asked the guy to take me to my room. My studio apartment was upstairs.
He opened the door and I was pretty
disappointed. It literally looked like people just up and left the place. It
was dirty. There were blankets and stuffed shoved into some standing cabinets,
a used loofa and soap in the shower, and dirt piles on the floor. I went back
downstairs and said that it’s pretty dirty and I wasn’t pleased. He said that
"the boy", that's what he would call the younger guy who was helping
me, had already cleaned it but he can clean it again if I wanted him to. I said no but I don’t mind cleaning it myself
so I asked for a broom and something to clean with. He insisted on “the boy” doing it. The “boy” must have been in his late 20s
maybe. He had a youthful face just
lightly dusted in dirt. His clothes had
some holes in them and were stained. You
could tell that he hadn’t had clean clothes in quite a while. He wound up doing the cleaning again for me
and I gave him some money for doing it.
I constantly left food beside his closed curtain beneath the stairs in
which I would peer into from time to time to see what it was like. He had just a blanket that he laid on and a
small light. I felt bad for him. He was the one who wound up always helping me
throughout my stay in Goa.
I got my stuff situated in my little studio apartment. I was intrigued by the two standing cabinet
closets that were filled with blankets but I didn’t want to open them because
they kind of freaked me out. I wasn’t
sure what was all in them. I noticed
that my door had a bolt and a pad lock on it, rather than a regular looking
lock. The same with the outside of
it. I packed my little backpack, the one
that I carry with me everywhere, and headed outside to venture around and to
the beach. I was a short walkway away
from the beach, which I really liked.
When I got to the beach, I wasn’t very impressed. There were lots of tourists and tons of stray
dogs. It was hard to find a comfortable
place to lie. You had to pay for a chair
to lie on but I didn’t mind laying on my sarong on the sand. I just was uneasy with all of the strays running
around me. As soon I laid my sarong
down and was getting settled in the sun, a little brown and white pup came
running into my side. It wanted to
play. I think it belonged to the owners
of the small beachside restaurant that was nearby. It was difficult to relax because locals were
constantly trying to sell you things and the dogs were constantly barking. The strays loved lying 
beneath the chairs of
the tourists and getting attention from tourists but I noticed that whenever
Indian men or boys came towards the dogs, they all would go absolutely
crazy. I think that because of the way
that stray dogs tend to be treated in India, they react that way towards
locals. It was odd and startling since I
was lying among all of the dogs in the sand when they’d go crazy. It was excruciatingly hot outside that I
could only lie at the beach for a short amount of time anyways.
beneath the chairs of
the tourists and getting attention from tourists but I noticed that whenever
Indian men or boys came towards the dogs, they all would go absolutely
crazy. I think that because of the way
that stray dogs tend to be treated in India, they react that way towards
locals. It was odd and startling since I
was lying among all of the dogs in the sand when they’d go crazy. It was excruciatingly hot outside that I
could only lie at the beach for a short amount of time anyways.
Each time that I was at the beach, a woman in
beautiful Indian clothing and lots of gold jewelry and piercings kept trying to
sell me bananas or a pineapple. I didn’t
want to buy any fruit because she was trying to charge really high prices, like
$3 for the bananas and $5 for the pineapple, what!? No thanks. But, I did want a photo of her. Since I’m not one to just take photos of
people without their approval out of respect, I asked her if I bought some
bananas from her, if I could take a photo of her and her friend. She said that I could. She would find me every day at the beach
after that and say hi and jokingly ask if I want to buy any more fruit.
It’s also really common to see cows just
chilling on the beach in India.
Actually, it’s just common to see cows everywhere in India. Cows, to many people in India, are seen as
holy and therefore, they are allowed to roam as they please. Even if there is a cow standing in a road,
the vehicles must wait until it moves.
Unlike before, about half of the Indian population eats beef now but, in
the past, due to the holiness of the cow, people of India didn’t eat any beef.
Because of generational changes and new point of views and beliefs, traditions
in India are changing, in many ways.
On my walk back from the beach to my apartment every day, I passed down a narrow sandy road draped in palm trees. I came across a little table that had an assortment of fruit on it. Out of the small home came two ladies. They spoke a little bit of English but we sparked a nice conversation. They were curious about me. They wanted to know where I was from and why I was in India. They wanted to know what America was like and what my family was like. I told them no, I didn’t have a family of my own, just a cute puppy. They wanted to tell me all about their family and their children and their home. They were so sweet and nice. I really enjoyed talking to them. They actually insisted that I take a photo of them.
The food in Goa was interesting. Of course you’d find Indian cuisine but most
restaurants also have a Russian menu.
Goa is a popular place for Russian tourists, not sure why. Locals even thought that I was Russian,
probably because they don’t see much of anyone else but Russians. I learned the difference between Northern and
Southern Indian cuisine while in Goa.
Northern Indian cuisine is the type of Indian food that we are all most
familiar with but, Southern Indian cuisine is really different. It’s a lot more watery and soup-like than
Northern food. I’m not a fan of it. If you don’t want Indian or Russian food in
Goa, you can find other options. There
was a Pizza Hut on the main road and a really popular chicken place that not
only sold fried chicken but has a big variety of yummy bakery and
chicken-filled pastries. There are a
couple small stores where you can buy something to cook if you have access to a
kitchen. One day when I was walking
around town looking for something to eat, I walked passed a homeless man
sitting on the sidewalk begging for change.
Many homeless people in India can get physical, meaning, they will grab
at you, especially at your legs if you are walking by and they’re on the
ground. I didn’t have any spare change
on me at that time and I saw him grabbing at the legs at other passersby so I
decided to cross to the other side of the street. He saw me avoiding him so he began to yell at
me. He didn’t like that I was ignoring
him so he decided to start throwing rocks at me. Pretty large rocks. None of the rocks hit me but I turned to him
and told him to leave me alone. I just continued on.
I found a bus and train ticket agency on the main road. I booked a train ticket to Bangalore for $7. I wanted to make my way to Bangalore to stay
with a really nice couple that I had met on a boat in Thailand months prior. When I got back to my apartment, the only
person to ask any questions about getting to the train station in the next two
days was the guy who cleans my apartment that lives beneath the stairway. As I
was trying to ask him a question and he didn’t understand anything that I was
saying, a really nice couple came from their apartment and were able to
translate for me. They were an older
white couple from the U.S who have spent a lot of time in India over the
years. They were a super sweet couple
who were really admirable and inspiring to meet. It’s always nice meeting an older couple who
loves to travel the world, go on adventures, and have such awesome experiences
together. I hope for that one day. They were able to help me coordinate for the
Indian guy to drive me to the train station in a few days. My last night in Goa I remember waking up in
the middle of the night to an extremely loud banging sound coming from
somewhere outside. I only heard it once
or twice, I think. It scared me so much
but thinking about it, I think it was just fireworks maybe? Yes, fireworks in
the middle of the night or it was my stress and worries blowing fireworks off
in my dreams, confusing me with reality and the dream world.
My last day in Goa, I had to check out of my apartment before
noon which kind of sucked because my train to Bangalore wasn’t until later that
evening and I didn’t want to drag my stuff around with me all day, especially
through the sand and in that heat.
Luckily, the Indian “boy” who had helped me out all week signaled for me
to be able to store my belongings in a different apartment that wasn’t being
used at all that day until I was ready to go.
I walked around town a bit more, bought snacks to take with me on my
night train later on, took some more photos, and then went to one of the small
restaurants that lined the beach. I sat
in the shade, ordered a coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit, read some of my book,
and caught up in my journal.
It began to get dark and I needed to get ready to head to
the train station. I walked back to the
apartments and asked the “boy” if he could grab my belongings. He flagged down a taxi for me and I slipped
him some money. I wish I knew his name. He was a sweet human being. My taxi definitely over-charged me I’m sure
but, I didn’t care too much because I just wanted to get to the train station
safely in a taxi versus on a tuk-tuk or something. And by “over-charging” I mean around $15 for
the hour ride which would be quite impossible to find here in the U.S for an
hour taxi ride. By now, it was completely
dark out. The driver drove pretty
quickly and with all of the crazy traffic, sudden breaking and then
acceleration due to the absence of any sort of traffic or driving regulations,
I began to feel really nauseous. I sat
in the back seat, clenching onto and smothering my face into my backpack. I just wanted the ride to end already, I was
pretty close to throwing up. I think it
was also a combination of the uncertainty and nervousness of what the night
train was going to be like along with the crazy ride to the station.
Night Trains in India
are an Experience Like None Other
I paid my driver 1000 rupees ($15) and got out of the taxi. Although I wasn’t sure what to expect next, I sure was glad that ride was over. I asked the driver twice if he was sure that this was the train station. He said yes. It was in a small town called Vasco de Gamas, India. It was really dark and there were a ton of people just sitting around outside. There were a few carts with food being cooked on them and big boxes everywhere. Boxes in which I’m assuming were waiting to be put on the trains for transport. As I walked into the small station, sweaty palms and a queasy stomach and all, there was a short line of people and a few windows to go to. All eyes were on me. I don’t blame them. I am a tall white girl walking into a small train station in the dark of the night by herself in the middle of nowhere. Although I should be use to the staring by now, I wasn’t. Not at all. It actually amplifies my anxiety tremendously. I remember being on the verge of an anxiety attack that night. Why? Not quite sure. A combination of things. But, mostly the staring. It’s so overwhelming for me. I hate being looked at. In general. By anyone. So to have a crowd of people constantly starting at you while being in a strange place and not a hundred percent certain for your safety or what to expect, I did my best to suppress my anxiety and try not to show the condition I was in. I struggle often with anxiety. I went to the window and showed my pre-paid ticket that I bought from the travel agency in Goa. They stamped it and gave me a copy. I asked which direction I should go from there to wait for the train. The person pointed behind me. As I walked back passed the group of staring people sitting on the floor and went out into the area where the train tracks were, I still wasn’t feeling the greatest. I walked back and forth for a bit to find a place to sit. I didn’t want to sit near the toilet area, for obvious stench reasons, and I didn’t want to sit next to a bunch of people. The first place that I chose to sit wasn’t the wisest choice. It was nearby a few really large boxes in which I soon was to learn that they contained dead fish in because of the intense smell which was in no means aiding my already turning stomach. I moved to another area. I really needed to use the bathroom but I wasn’t about to use the toilets at a train station. I sat in my chair and pulled my baggy hood up and over my eyes and waited for the train.
There’s never any clarity on when the train or bus in India
is really going to arrive or where it is really stopping at so, I asked a
couple of women dressed in all black from head to toe who were sitting ahead of
me if I was even in the right spot. Somehow through our language barriers I learned that I
was. I showed them my ticket and
they kept shaking their heads “no” to each train until mine finally did
come. I boarded the train and boy, was I
in for a real treat! If you haven’t been
on an overnight train in India, then it will be hard to really know what it’s
truly like but, I’ll give it a good try. I stepped into pure darkness, squinting to try
to find my assigned seat number. We must need to switch the train sometime
during the night because when I made the booking, I remember the lady asking me
what level of the train I'd prefer. This
definitely was no 3-decker train like they called it. When I made out the numbers 1…5…this must be
my seat. A young Indian boy asked if I'd
like to trade seats so he could be down near his friends. He pointed to his assigned seat above. It was level 3 of the train, a simple
suspended bed-like mat called a sleeper bed. I agreed to the switch, feeling a sense of
relief that I'd be a bit higher up where I can store my belongings close by. I didn't mind the low ceiling or the tight fit
area that I was in. It was my space, all to myself, for the next 14 hours. So much commotion around as the train filled
up. I was in sensory overload. Looking this way and that, my ears following
every sound around me. Watching the boys
below me settle in. It was my first
night train in India so my guard was definitely up. As the lights turned on, I pulled out my book
to read. A kind boy started up in
conversation with me. I soon had to
apologize for my lack of attention since my eyes were following a mouse
scurrying around on the floor, armfuls of pillows and sheets were being offered
to be rented, and vendors were passing through to make any sale of water or
snacks that they could before the next departure. Despite the delicious smell
of the Indian food being devoured below, the awful odor of the restroom nearby
was quite overwhelming. I layed out my
sarong on top of the dirt-stained mat to lie upon. Soon, the lights went out and as I lay to
read with my flashlight, the train quieted and everyone was asleep. I lied wide awake, realizing it wasn't so bad
after all. The loudly snoring man on the
other side of the gate to my right, just a few inches from me, the cockroach
that decided to join me, the homeless woman who was behaving quite oddly by
crawling around on the floor below, and the coming and going stench of the
restroom all added to the adventure and unique experience. I laid there just thinking about how much I still had to go to the bathroom but how I didn’t dare to try getting down from my suspended mat and step foot into those horrid toilets. Before I knew it, it was morning. I asked the boys beneath me who bought some food for breakfast from someone, if they could tell me when my stop was. Finally it was time for me to get off and end my first, any only, overnight train experience in India.
Bangalore: a Slight Relief
I had directions on where to go from the train station to the home of the couple that I was going to stay with who I met in Thailand a few months prior. I was trying not to get ripped off again from a taxi driver so I asked how much the ride would be before I got in and he quoted a pretty high price. I said no thanks and went to as another. The second driver quoted half of the price as the first guy and since it was half of the first offer, I figured it would be closer to the actual price. Nope. Not even close. I later learned that I was still charged more than double. I knew that I should’ve asked the couple what to expect to pay for the taxi ride to their home but I forgot. I always try to get an idea of how much something may cost whether it be a taxi or tuk-tuk ride or when I’m shopping for something. There are many lessons that you learn the hard way while traveling.
My tuk-tuk driver got lost for quite some time when trying to find the couple’s home. We drove in circles. Finally we found it. It was an apartment building and I was below in the parking structure area. The gate was slightly open so I squeezed through and looked around. I wasn’t sure where to go. I had directions on what apartment to go to but I wasn’t sure how to get there. I didn’t see anyone who could help so I just chose a door and walked up the stairway. I found the apartment but there was no answer when I knocked. I knocked a few more times before realizing that no one was home. I took a seat on the dirt covered stair that had an open electrical cord dangling nearby. I only waited for a few minutes before Siddharth arrived. Siddharth is a super nice guy. He loved his popped-collared polo shirt. I was so happy and relieved to be with people who knew the culture and country better than I did. I didn’t have to be on high alert all of the time since I’m with them. They had a cute apartment that had an extra bedroom that they were kind enough to let me stay in. It felt great to finally have a clean and comfortable bed to sleep on. Siddharth was so kind to keep asking if I wanted or needed anything. Food? Drink? I’m strange in the sense that I never want anything from anyone. Not even my mom. I was always like this. I never want to feel like a burden or feel like anyone owes me anything or that I owe anything to anyone. I know that people, like Siddharth, are super hospitable and accommodating but, I’m always grateful for them just letting me stay for free. I was just glad to be safe, clean, and able to rest.
After I got settled in, Siddharth and I drove to pick up Amrapali, his wife, from work. They asked how my trip to Bangalore was and I told them all about my interesting night train ride. They asked how much I paid for my ride from the train station to their apartment and when I told them, they gasped. Of course I paid twice than what I should have. They apologized for not giving me a ballpark price beforehand. I told them that it was ok. At least it was less than the first driver wanted! Amrapali and Siddharth told me how they get ripped off all of the time themselves because they aren’t from Southern India. Since they are from the Northern half but living in the South, locals can tell by the way that they speak and look so they too get taken advantage of. They taught me a lot about the differences between Northern and Southern India and how there are hundreds of dialects throughout India. When I heard them speaking partially English and partially their language, I asked why the English. They said that even though they have been living in the South for a while now, they still don’t entirely know the dialect there. Therefore, they use a good mix of Northern and Southern dialects with English to communicate. I noticed this a lot throughout India. India is a massive country, much larger than I originally thought.
Bangalore, also known as Bengaluru, has a lot of tech companies and international businesses which gives it a much different feel from Delhi and Mumbai, despite being a pretty big city as well. There are several trendy areas throughout Bangalore with pubs, restaurants, and bars; catering to the younger business crowd that populates much of Bangalore. Some areas even made you forget that you were even in India anymore. After picking up Amrapali, we stopped at her favorite veggie burger place. I’m not a fan of fast food but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and not try one. It was a really small place, yet quite busy, where you walk-up and place your order by choosing your type of burger, sauce, and spice level. Then, you stand outside or take them home to eat. I chose a veggie-based patty made spicy. I love spicy. It was a bit greasy for my liking since they fry it but it sure tasted good! I was glad that she chose that place.
My first day in Bangalore I spent resting after we got back to the apartment. I was so tired from that night train. They have a guy who comes and cooks for them at their apartment so he made us dinner that night. Since I was so hesitant to eat food from any of the restaurants that I came across so far because they were dirty, smelly, and had bugs and mice running around, I hadn’t had a chance to eat some good Indian food yet. That is why it was nice that their cook made us some great food. I was able to try different Indian foods that were their favorites. I even had an Indian breakfast which had things like raita (cucumber yogurt sauce), a type of puffy fried bread, a potato dish, and more. It’s all served on a big round silver platter and always meant for you to use your hands to eat. The food was always really good but I personally, wouldn’t be able to eat Indian cuisine all of the time because to me, it’s quite heavy with the ghee (clarified butter), carbs, and fried food that it consists of. But it is really good to enjoy from time to time! Some of my favorite Indian dishes are mushroom masala, cashew masala, vegetable korma, and butter chicken.
So what did I eat while in India if I didn’t eat much prepared food? Not much to be honest. There isn’t a huge selection of fresh and healthy options in India. I mean there are but, it just doesn’t look too appealing when at the markets there are flies and dirt all over the fresh produce being sold. Sometimes I got a cooked vegetarian dish but I mostly ate nuts like cashews and almonds, as well as dates and any dried fruits that I could find. Most of the bagged snacks are chips or are fried mixes, I’d try to find a bag of a mixture that also had nuts and dried fruits in them so I could pick them out. I ate bananas often when I could find them because they weren’t a fruit that needed to be washed and the edible part wasn’t exposed. Since I didn’t drink any lassis or fruit shakes, there was a type of bottled mango juice called Maaza that I bought all of the time. I bought fresh coconuts whenever I could find one on the streets. They are super cheap, like 10 cents. The guy will open it up for you and give you a straw. You can even take it back to him to slice it open and to make you a spoon to scoop out the coconut pulp if you want. It was a great way to stay hydrated and have a healthy snack for close to nothing. How the guys who open those coconuts do not chop their hand or fingers off? That beats me. So scary with their big machete whacking away.
I spent a day shopping in Bangalore. I took a tuk-tuk to Commercial Street. I had the driver drop me off nearby. I had him run the meter from the beginning (which you should always do, in every country) so when we stopped, I looked at the meter and figured that was my price. Of course it wasn’t. He pulled out a laminated piece of paper that had “old” prices and “new” prices on it. He pointed that if his meter says “this” than “this” is your “new” price. What!? You’re kidding me right? I began to question him and argue that I’m paying what the meter says when all of a sudden two other tuk-tuk drivers come walking on the sidewalk to the side of our tuk-tuk. I was still sitting inside and they were arguing with me while pointing at the laminated price sheet. It was dumb of me to even argue back but I was so tired of getting ripped off. I said ok, whatever, and paid the “new” price. It wasn’t about the price that I was being charged because lets be for real, it doesn’t cost much at all, rather, it’s about the principle of taking advantage of people. I paid and walked away.
I wanted to get something to drink so I stopped at a Starbucks on the store-studded Brigade Road. Brigade Road is nearby Commercial Street and has a bunch of retail stores and nicer shops. I noticed a bunch of businessmen and woman walking around this area and in the Starbucks as well. The Starbucks was really nice inside. I got my usual hot chai tea latte. I’m not a huge fan of Starbucks. It’s always hard for me to wrap my head around a $5 cup of mostly hot milk. I do stop in Starbucks often when I travel though, whether it be in airports for convenience or in other countries because of a few reasons. One, in some places it’s the only place to find an “American-sized” drink, two, it’s a nice place to relax and use WiFi, and three, sometimes Starbucks in other countries are cheaper than in the U.S. I ordered my drink and went on the second level to sit. There were a lot of business meetings and students studying around me. I had free WiFi so I spent some time catching up on social media and emails. The staff there was really nice and the bathroom was extremely clean! What!? A clean bathroom in a public place in India!? That was nice to see.
I left Starbucks and walked down to Commercial Street. There were a bunch of vendors set up selling
everything from pashmina scarves and pretty jewelry to facial creams (which are
quite popular in India) and other Indian trinkets. I always enjoy walking around and just seeing
what there is to buy. I love buying
gifts when I travel. I don’t buy much
for myself because I always feel so lucky and blessed to be the one traveling
to these countries but, I do buy a lot for my mom and friends back at
home. I usually buy smaller things that
don’t take up much space in my backpack because of a few reasons. I don’t leave anything that I buy in my
hostels while I’m out, unless it’s locked up, nor do I ever check them in my
suitcase when flying (it is not unusual to have your gifts stolen from your
luggage during a security check in airports), so I carry them around in my
backpack and I don’t want it to be heavy.
Also, I never ship anything home because you never know if it will
actually get there or if it does, if it will be in one piece. I have a friend who spent months traveling
throughout Southeast Asia and India and bought a lot of beautiful things. When she got to India she decided to ship it
all home. It never made it home and that
was years ago. She still kicks herself
about it to this day. Luckily, most of
the things that I buy are smaller anyways.
I love seeing things that I know somebody that I know would just love
and bringing it home to them as a surprise.
My least favorite part of shopping in India, and other countries, is bargaining. I hate bargaining. I never want to
underestimate and offend anyone nor do I want to wind up accepting a price that
rips me off. But, you’re expected to
bargain and if you do it right, you can get a lot of things for super
cheap. 
While shopping on Commercial Street, I bought some pretty scarves, some
jewelry for my mom and her friend, Indian tea, and facial cream for my mom
since she likes to try different eye creams.
Outside a store was a guy giving henna (or mehndi) tattoos. I really wanted one. I never had one before. He tried convincing me to get both hands and
arms done but that was too much tattoo for me.
I settled on just one hand and wrist.
He was pretty quick at it. It’s
fascinating how fast the artist can do the tattoo and do it so precisely. Henna comes from a powder that’s mixed with
water that dyes the skin. When I was in
Morocco and had a hurt foot, the hostel owner bought henna powder, made a
paste, and packed it onto my heel since henna is known to have
anti-inflammatory properties. The Indian
artist put the henna design on my hand and said “ok, done”. Done?
It was thick and still wet. I
didn’t know that you’re supposed to let it dry and flake off on its own and
that’s what leaves the design on you.
With one hand, I managed to opened my bag and paid the artist. It felt weird having it on my hand but it
didn’t take too long to dry and come off.
The tattoo stayed on me for weeks.
I loved it! It was really hot out
and I wanted to find a cold Maaza mango drink so I check different vendor
stands. In India, most things have
prices already on the bottles just like expiration dates are placed on them and
therefore, you know how much you have to pay.
When I finally found a Maaza, the guy handed me a warm one. I asked for a cold one and he told me a
higher price, despite it already being labeled.
“If you want a cold one, it’s more” he told me. “What? It says 50 rupees on it” I said to
him. He didn’t budge. It was the only time that I had to pay more
for that drink. I guess he really needed
10 more rupees that day.
We boarded back on the bus and continued on. I was the only tourist on the bus so of course I got weird looks. There was one lady on the bus who was really sweet. She didn’t speak much English but I could tell by her smile and laughter that she was a sweet soul. I liked her. We stopped at about ten different places while on our tour. We went to palaces, temples, monuments, shops, and other places. We stopped at a fabric and wood place. In the downstairs part, there were tables filled with all types of sari fabrics. I absolutely love the way the sari looks. Every time that I was an Indian woman in her beautiful sari, I was in awe. I loved all of the colors, the designs, and especially the sparkles. So, when I saw the sparkly saris in the glass case, I would’ve loved to try one on but, instead, I tried on a beautiful coral colored fabric. I wasn’t going to buy it, what would I do with a sari in the U.S? But, of course they try to sell it to me. I just thanked the guy for letting me try it on and I went upstairs. There were men working on hand-carved artwork made from wood. They were extremely intricate and stunning.
Our last stop was at a water and light show place. Everyone was rushing to get a seat to watch the light show but I didn’t see anything so special about it. It was pretty much a water spout that played music and different colored lights. Hmm. We were supposed to return around 11:30pm or midnight but I didn’t get back until closer to 1am. I felt bad because Siddharth was picking me up and I knew it was late. He came and got me anyways which was so nice of him.
The next day, I hung out with Siddharth and Amrapali as we watched Indian soap operas and game shows. I spent some time booking my further flights after India. I originally planned on just taking a train from Bangalore up to New Dehli. I sure was ignorant on that one. It takes months sometimes and even getting put on a waiting list to get a train ticket to Dehli. What?! Siddharth and Amrapali reassured me that it would be really difficult to do so but they tried helping me anyways. The website kept freezing due to the large amount of traffic on it. I think it was a blessing in disguise because it would have been almost a 2-day train ride. That would not have been so pleasant. So, I booked a flight instead. It was around the same price and took only a fraction of the time. Siddharth gave me a ride to the airport when time came. I made sure to thank them for their great hospitality and kindness. I really liked them.
On my flight from Bangalore to New Dehli, I sat beside a younger Indian guy named Ankush. He was a really nice guy. We chatted the entire time. He tried taking my mind off of the take-off which is always the worst part of the flight for me, other than extreme turbulence. We talked about a lot of things. About: life, travel, family, work, goals, and more. He told me about him and his life. Because he is Indian, his family wants for him to be married and have a family already. They want to arrange a marriage for him but, that’s not what he wants. He wants to be young, travel, follow his career goals, and experience all that life has to offer. Therefore, he and his family don’t speak too often. I felt kind of bad for him. I couldn’t imagine being born into a culture or lifestyle that has such boundaries or expectations. With everyone that I meet on my travels and in life in general, I learn from. I learn what to be appreciative of, what to strive for, what type of person I want to be, who I don’t want to be, and what to be thankful for in life. We sat and had a coffee when we arrived in Dehli but he had a connecting flight to catch and I had to get to my hotel. He recommended that I take the metro to my hotel rather than a taxi, so I did.
When I arrived in the New Dehli train station, I wasn’t sure how far my hotel was from it so I paid a tuk-tuk to take me there. Of course, he got lost. We rode in circles and he stopped many times to ask for help. At one point, he even stopped to ask a guy if he knew where the name of my hotel was at. The guy looked at me sitting in the back of the tuk-tuk and said “yes, this way”. Even though my feet instinctually wanted to start getting off of the tuk-tuk, for some reason though, my gut was telling me that something wasn’t right. I asked if he was sure if it was that way and he said yes. I looked at my driver and he looked at me. This area of Dehli was filled with really narrow alley-ways that branched off from the main road. It was like a maze sometimes. Really easy to get lost. Because he was pointing down one of the alleys and the look on my driver’s face was concerning, I knew it wasn’t the right way. I told the driver to just go and we continued on. Eventually, we found my hotel. The tuk-tuks aren’t able to go into the alley-ways so I had to get off, pay my driver, and hope I was in the right place. Luckily, I was. It wasn’t even close to where that guy tried getting me to go. I’m glad my gut told me otherwise. Funny enough, my hotel was actually just across the road from the Dehli train station! We rode in circles for no reason. I could’ve just walked to my hotel if I had better directions on how to get there.
It was nice that I was so close to the main shopping bizarre area so I could walk around during the day and do some shopping. There are tons of things to buy. I loved shopping in India. I wanted to buy it all! From rings, earrings, sparkly table runners and pillowcases, pretty wall décor, purses, food, and more. I want to go back to India just to do more shopping! That’s pretty much all that I did while in Dehli.
One day when I was on the main road, I kept feeling something hitting me. I looked down at my feet and saw a big ball of paper. I felt another hit. I stopped and looked behind me to see a small group of young men throwing wads of paper at me and laughing. Clearly they thought this was hilarious and entertaining. I didn’t. I yelled for them to stop and they ran away. I didn’t like spending too much time outside in Dehli. Dehli is a big city that has struggled with problems with the raping of women. I once heard that many police in Dehli have the motto “if you can’t prevent it, join it”. That’s terrifying to hear as a woman. I didn’t like all of the chaos, honking, yelling at you for a tuk-tuk or taxi, the staring, the whistling, the poor people begging all of the time, the coughing, hacking up mucus and spitting everywhere, and the overall insanity of the streets of Dehli. One day there was a homeless woman covered in dirt and draped in rags holding a young child in her arms and had two children walking beside her. I was in a little food shop and she followed behind me. She kept motioning for food so I bought her a big bag of food. I walked away to later turn around to her behind me again. She no longer had the bag of food with her but she was now asking for milk for her baby. I gave her some spare change and walked away. She kept following me around for a while until I repeated “no” to her. It gets exhausting having children and adults begging you for money all day long and then being mean or rude if you don’t give anything or don’t give enough. I try to give what I can when I travel because I know that I’m very fortunate to have the life that I live and to be who I am but, you can only give so much, especially when you feel like it’s not appreciated.
The only thing that I knew I wanted to do for sure while in Dehli was to go to the Taj Mahal. I couldn’t find any tour agencies nearby and I didn’t want to venture very far to find one. I asked the guys who were working the front desk at my hotel and they said that I could either buy a separate train ticket to get there and back or book a tour through them. I didn’t necessarily want to book a tour per se but I also didn’t want to deal with navigating the crazy train stations either so, I booked the tour. I had to be up by 5:45am to be ready for the 6am pick-up that I had. I’m use to a tour van picking me up but not a guy on a motorbike. Really? It was still dark out, it was cold, and I had to jump on the back of this random guy’s motorbike. As I sat on the back and held onto his jacket tight enough to not fall off but leery enough to not wrap my arms completely around this stranger, we drove to another hotel and picked up others. They walked beside the motorbike. We waited for a bus in cold. There were people outside trying to sell hot drinks like chai and coffee. I fell asleep on the bus. While sleeping, I felt a light tug on a hair. I woke to the woman sitting in the seat behind me leaning on the head of my seat and plucking my hair strands out. My eyes shot open and I hit her hand away. “Excuse me!? What are you doing!?” I said to her. “Ooh, ooh, sorry!” she replied. “Sorry”?? What was she even doing? I was really annoyed at that point. I put my seat back up and stayed awake the rest of the way. At one point, one of the guys in charge of the tour came to me and in broken English asked if I wanted a separate ride to the Taj Mahal and to skip the other sites and then meet back up with the bus later on. I was annoyed for a few reasons. I was initially told that we’d return back to Dehli by 11pm and now I was being told that it would be closer to 1am. I knew how far we drove from my hotel to the bus and I didn’t want to be trying to find a ride back to my hotel at 1am in Dehli. Of course tourists were to be charged for additional entrance fees to the sites on the tour and I didn’t want to go to any of those places, just the Taj Mahal. Also, I was just simply tired of getting the run around on each of these tours because I was a foreigner. At our first stop, I decided to leave the tour bus and pay a guy with a bike rickshaw to take me to the Taj. During the ride to the Taj, the driver kept trying to take me elsewhere. Of course he was. He was paid by different tour places to bring visitors. I kept arguing with him to just take me to the Taj. Finally we got there.
I was standing in the ticket line to get into the Taj when a guy who was working
there came to help direct me to the right counter. I was thinking, “oh! How nice of him!” All foreigners get a “free” bottle of water
and booties for your shoes. I say “free”
because it cost locals 50 rupees to get into the Taj and foreigners 750
rupees. Therefore, the water and booties
aren’t really “free”. I thanked the guy
for helping me find the right ticket booth and for getting me the bottle of
water and booties. As soon as I paid, he
asked if I wanted a tour guide inside. I
said “no thank you”. He told me that I
was going to have to wait over an hour to get through the gates to the Taj but
a tour guide can get me in faster. I
looked at the women’s line to the left that did look a bit long but I’m sure it
wasn’t going to take over an hour. I
again said “no thank you”. He became angry
at me and told me that I was stupid. I
walked away and headed towards the women’s line. It only took about 15 minutes to get through
the line and into the security area.
They made me throw out the water bottle that I had and any other
liquids. So much for my “free” bottle of
water.
The Taj Mahal was big. It was pretty with very intricate designs. The story behind the building of the Taj Mahal is quite sweet. But, it was also really really crowded. It wasn’t quite what I always imagined. You had to wait to be able to take the photos with the Taj that you wanted and had to time your photos so that there weren’t a bunch of people in them. I noticed two young boys following and taking pictures of me. Instead of getting mad at them, I told them that I was going to take a picture of them. They liked that. They posed for the picture.
Most trains in India have a women and children’s cart but sometimes it’s on the front end and sometimes it’s at the back end. I was trying to figure out which end of the platform to stand at to get on the women and children’s cart so I asked a girl nearby but she wasn’t sure. At that moment, the train arrived. I knew I only had a short amount of time to get on the train but I had no clue which section to get on and no one seemed to be able to help. My ticket was just a little piece of paper with a stamp on it and some words but it didn’t clarify anything. I saw a guy standing near the tracks who looked like he worked on the train so I showed him my ticket to see if he could give me any sort of directions. I asked where the women’s cart was and he pointed at the train. “There” he said. “You mean the one where men are climbing up and down from?” I said. I was so confused. What does me he “there”? The cart that he pointed at was about three carts in from the end of the train. It was unlike anything that I had ever seen before. There were men and women, both old and young, trying to climb down the train stairs which began about two feet above the ground and the door being about five feet off of the ground. There were people tripping and falling out of the door, children being handed up and down, and elderly struggling to get on or off. I knew that I had to move quickly before this train took off and I’d be stuck in Agra so I ran to the chaos at the door and began my way onto the train. It was a cluster of people going in different directions and being shoved every which way. The man behind me kept shoving me in the back so I turned around and yelled for him to stop. I had so much running through my head during all of this. What was I getting myself into? Do I even want to get onto this train? My answer was no but, I had no choice. I finally made my way up onto the train and had to think quickly to find a place to stand. It was then that I realized what all of the pushing and shoving was all about and why that guy had pointed me to this cart. This was the non-reservation seat cart, the ticket that I had accidently booked during my uncertainty of getting a train back to Dehli from Agra. A non-reservation seat cart means; there are no seats! That’s right, no seats on the cart. It was an open cart. Literally open. The doors were open on both sides. There was one bench in which people crammed on as well as a luggage holder above that people climbed up and squeezed into. People rush to get on the cart because they want to find the most “comfortable” spot for themselves for the train ride, which there aren’t many options for. I found, or I should say got pushed into, a spot beside the open toilet area. I was in the narrow area in front of one of the doors and next to the toilet. The toilet area was open and had people crammed into as a place to stand. There were people squatting down, trying to sit. I was being pushed in every direction and was trying not to fall over the people sitting at my feet. It was a balancing act. I was trying not to get shoved into the gross toilet area either. In no time, the train departed. People were still climbing up onto it as it moved. There was luggage, boxes, bags of rice, and boxes of livestock being passed above our heads and into our faces. At one point, a bottomless toddler was passed through the tight crowd and handed to someone in the toilet area to be dangled above the toilet hole. It’s common for children in India, as well as other countries, to not wear bottoms, so they use the bathroom almost anywhere.
Each time the train would stop and people got on and off, there would be arguing because of the pushing. It was actually quite entertaining. My only means of entertainment while on this train ride. Somebody had brought on a large bag of rice in which a woman was sitting on. She was the only other woman on the cart other than myself. I will never forget this woman. And not in a good sense either. This woman had the most beautiful, yet piercing eyes with a hijab draped over her head. She just stared. She stared at me non-stop. I would glance at her to see if she was still staring. She was. I stared back to see if she’d get uncomfortable enough to stop but, she didn’t. She kept staring. There was a guy sitting beside her on the bag of rice. He stared at me too. I was getting so frustrated and uncomfortable with them that I started to say things to them. I had my bottle of Maaza mango juice in one hand and a book in the other. I held my book up and said “what!? Do you want this!?” then I held my juice up and yelled “this!? Do you want this!?” “Why are you staring!?” They just looked at me like I was crazy. I’m sure I looked like I was because they didn’t speak any English so they had no clue what I was saying. They just looked at one another, said something, and smirked. I was getting really overwhelmed by the stench of the toilet, the intense heat, and all of the staring. The train was going so fast so I was doing my best to balance myself among all of the pushing. A few feet beside me was the open door. There were men hanging out of the door. I was just trying not to get shoved closer to the door. Funniest thing was that I didn’t even know for sure whether the train was even going to Dehli!
I was contemplating getting off of at the next stop and paying a taxi to drive me back to Dehli, despite how far or how much it would’ve cost. I began to feel nauseous so I tried to squat down against the wall behind me and balance on my heels. I had my sarong draped over my head to block out any of the staring that I was getting. Men were shoulder-to-shoulder with me and still had the audacity to stare. That’s when I noticed the three young men standing next to me. They were groomed well, nicely dressed, and had military tags around their necks. I tapped one of the guys on the shoulder and asked if the train was going to Dehli. He said yes. He spoke broken English but enough for us to communicate successfully. I asked him if he could ask all of the men around us why they keep staring at me. He chuckled and said “no, no! it’s ok, it’s ok!” He obviously didn’t think that would’ve been a great idea. It probably wouldn’t have been but I was just that frustrated. I felt kind of safe with them being there. They seemed like good people. They kept asking me if I was okay and if I wanted to sit down. They were going to try to make some more room for me if I wanted to sit. I said that I was fine. There was one point when people managed to close the door near us and sit down to smoke cigarettes. The three guys didn’t like that and yelled at them to either open the door or to stop smoking.
After about two or two and a half hours on the train, the train came to a stop and everyone got off. This must be the last stop. I got off of the train too. It was dark outside. We were definitely not at the Dehli train station like I thought we would. It was a small train station with not much around and little to no signs saying where we were or providing any sort of direction. I walked out of the station. There were tons of taxis and tuk-tuks yelling for passengers. There were also a bunch of food carts around. One of the younger guys came by me and I asked him where we were. He told me the name of the station and said that it was not very far from the Dehli station but this was the train’s last stop for the night. I was confused and not sure how to get back. He asked if it would be okay for him and his friends to pay for a tuk-tuk to drive me back to Dehli since they were going to the Dehli train station anyways. I knew that my hotel was across the road from the Dehli station and that I wouldn’t have to have them drop me off at my hotel and know where I was staying. I said that I would be fine with that. I had a good feeling about these guys the whole time and I needed to get back to Dehli before it got even later. The guys did the negotiating for a tuk-tuk since they all tried over charging for a ride. After finding a decent price, the four of us climbed in and headed to Dehli. After about a 20 minute ride, I had them drop me off on the main road in Dehli, across from the Dehli station. The guys paid for the tuk-tuk ride and just asked if I’d take a picture with them. I agreed. They walked across to the station as I walked back through the alley to my hotel. I was so glad that those guys were on the train because they helped me remain calm on the train ride and helped me safely get back to Dehli.
I definitely consider them as some of my “travel angels” that I have encountered. My “travel angels” are people that I come in contact with or encounter throughout my travels that wind up helping me in some way. Sometimes they don’t even know that they’re helping me. Sometimes I never learned their names or what their story was. Sometimes they’re people who I have kept in contact with and remember while sometimes they’re even people who I have no clue where they went, why they were in the place that I was at that time, or what they even looked like. I’m am forever grateful for my “travel angels”. I always strive to be someone else’s travel angel myself.
I was leaving Dehli the next day. I
couldn’t wait to leave so I took a train back to the airport nine hours
early. I was flying to Dubai and was
excited for some relaxation. My
experience in India truly is one that I would never take back. It’s an incredible place that has a lot to
offer. I learned a lot about the
country, the people there, and about myself.
I learned how diverse and large of a country it is. Some other places that were on my list to
visit in India were Chennai, Cashmere, Jaipur, Udaipur, Hyderabad, Pune,
Varanasi, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Uttar Pradesh, and many more. I learned that it’s a country filled with
some pretty great people. There are so
many beautiful places to see and things to do.
It’s a place rich with culture, tradition, and a strong sense of
family. It’s a place to go to learn the
true meaning of hard work and sacrifice.
India taught me to be forever grateful for my blessings, my
opportunities, what I have, my country, and my life. My time in India, despite it not being as
long as my time in other places, has taught me the most out of all of my
travels. I believe that it’s a place
that everyone should experience once in their lifetime. It’s easy to complain about your life and
your country from time to time but, when you visit a place like India, you
learn just how trivial and minuscule your problems are. To be a woman who gets to observe and learn
what the lives of woman around the world are like, it’s amazing and
honorable. You gain a new appreciation
for the life that you’re born into. I
was able to see everyday what the different live of women in India was like and
how women are treated. Although India was
a huge sensory overload for me and that I really struggled with my anxiety
there, it definitely helped strengthen me as a person, my spirit, and my beliefs. I am truly blessed to experience places like India
and to have those places enrich my life and spirit in many ways. You can’t learn these things in textbooks or
by watching television. Traveling to
foreign countries, especially struggling ones like India, you learn more than
you’ll ever imagine. There’s no comparison. You will undoubtedly return home as a
different person. A better person. 
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