Off the Beaten Path

This could've been done earlier if my computer and I had not gotten into a fight this morning. I was almost done, and then it was all gone. But how can you complain when you're on a ship? So here is another Travel Writing piece...

       “No one is going to understand what we just did,” Ben said somberly as the automatic doors to the Chennai airport slid open, releasing a wall of humidity and noise we had gladly gone without for the last five days of our trip. The smell of rotten bonfires and body odor greeted us ruthlessly as we stepped into the open air, and the stares of locals had me clutching my bag a little tighter than usual, wishing to be back in the comfortable mountain village we had unwillingly left early this morning.

        Ben and I had decided on a whim, as all great adventures are made, to skip the regular Taj Mahal, Ganges tourist destinations of India. Somewhere unexpected, somewhere out of the ordinary, we thought. Ben’s finger landed on the Himalayas, or “Him-ah-lias” as Indians pronounced it, and that was the final decision. Now the obstacle was getting there. As the nature of chaotic trip planning goes, we recruited two friends, Will and Travis, along the way. Four days before our scheduled arrival, we nixed the plan for an overnight train and bought plane tickets even farther north than originally intended.

        I swung my bag onto the small conveyor belt behind Will’s and watched it disappear through the rubber flaps of the airport’s x-ray machine as I walked under the metal detector labeled “Ladies”. A different country, a different airport ritual, I thought to myself as a young, uptight Indian woman dressed in a puce military-looking uniform gestured me towards her. She led me into a small cubicle framed with curtains, a sort of special privacy. She spun quickly to face me after jerking the curtains closed, and relaxed. “Where are you from?” she asked nosily as I held up my arms for a pat down. “America,” I responded. “Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “And where are you going?” “To the Himalayas.” Her eyebrows rose above her hazel eyes, a look of confusion. I tried again. “Him-ah-lias.” Understanding flooded her face. “My three friends and I are going hiking,” She peaked out of the curtain and back to the metal detector I had walked through, searching for the girls I was traveling with. “But where are they then, your travel companions?” “I’m traveling with three guys,” I explained. Her smile dropped. A look of shock. I tiptoed to see over the wall and pointed. “There. That’s Will. He wants to do yoga on top of a mountain and ride yaks.” She giggled. “Over there is Ben. He’s a photographer and wants to take pictures of the mountains. And Travis,” I moved my finger to the direction of the metal detector. Travis was in the process of being frisked, rolling his eyes while he emptied his pockets of spare coins and papers. “He thinks he’s going to go skinny dipping in a lake.” Whoops. Her surprised look had me backtracking. Even though I dressed for the culture of India this morning, in long pants and a long sleeved shirt, I was still forgetting the small things, like paying with my right hand and keeping my craving for a cheeseburger to myself. “Why are you here, then?” she asked before I had to explain. Huh, “I really like mountains.” Was that really all I could think of? Surely there was some underlying reason in the back of my mind. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” I finished slowly. “Well, good luck,” she said with a smile as she stamped my ticket twice, waving it in the air and blowing on it gently before handing it back to me. “Thanks.”

        I opened the curtain to see Travis, Ben, and Will standing on the other side, holding their things and mine, obviously torn at whether there was a need to jump in for the rescue or wait it out. They paused expectantly for an explanation as I waved goodbye and picked up my bag. “What was that all about?” Travis asked. “Oh, you know, just making friends.”

        I awoke next to my head banging against the foggy propeller plane window. Turbulence. My eyes adjusted to the bright morning sun, which I soon realized was the partial reflection off of the snowcapped peaks of the Himalayas. Our plane landed in Kullu, a small town north of Delhi, at the base of the mountain range. We had touched down in a green valley. Cliffs decorated with tiny terrace homes rose on either side of us, and to north, mountains sprinkled in white met the clouds above. We climbed down the steps of the plane and walked out into the middle of the runway, letting the cold, crisp, mountain air overtake our lungs. A taxi driver with minimal grasp of the English language drove us through the narrow roads, susceptible to rock and land slides, higher and higher into the mountains to the small village of Manali. This was a different kind of India.

        The biggest building in town was our hotel, the Kunzam. The biggest restaurant, fittingly, was inside the hotel, and occupied the large glass face at the front of the building, a view of the small shops and mountain peaks from inside at what we had dubbed our usual table. My stomach was virgin to the spicy cuisine of India, but I stood proud at the end of our trip, Pepto Bismol packed in its original spot, never seeing the light of day. The biggest obstacle overcome on the trip, even if just barely, was Will’s deathly allergy to nuts, including anything cooked in peanut oil. “I’ve got about five minutes to live after I swallow a nut,” he would say, “I haven’t got my epi pen with me, by the way.” He wasn’t living in fear, of course, because we were doing it for him.

        The best part of every meal, and what India was famous for, was the chai tea. Quick calculations told us we averaged about ten cups a day, each. Breakfast was our biggest struggle, and we figured a red flag would go up the next time Americans ate in their hotel. I pictured the sign in front of the tin kettle and sugar bowl: Two Caps Per Person, Please. Spelling English words was their downfall in Manali, so of course an error would stick out in their caution to visitors. Perhaps another sign would be written below in an Indian language: If you can read this, have your fill! Another small shop came to mind, one overflowing with trinkets and souvenirs from Tibet. A shelf stacked with journals sat alone in a corner, and a single label read “Dairies” just below it. We justified our tea addiction, excessive amounts of milk and sugar included, with the widely known fact that “regular tea is good for you.” Of course, this was healthy.

        We raced the sun to the top of the nearest mountain each morning, dressing in layers to avoid the freezing air, shedding them as we climbed, taking less and less oxygen into our burning lungs with each meter in elevation. We left our path for temples hidden in the forest trees, obliviously disturbing Indians in prayer as we paced back and forth across the intricate building’s entrance, snapping pictures as the sun’s red reflection turned the snow pink. Stray dogs followed us up the winding paths, some faithfully, and some for just a short while. The loyal ones were named and dubbed part of the “wolf pack”, but even they knew not to eat the street food we bought to reward them. They barked at auto rickshaws and cars, chasing them 100 yards down the road before giving up and hoping to get the next one instead. They barked at the monkeys, the Himalayan substitute for raccoons, who picked through the trash and then climbed high into the trees, taunting the mutts with hisses and shaking tree branches.

        The nights were spent trying cheap fruit-flavored wines and bad beer around a small table, huddled next to space heaters and dressed like we were still outside. We played Euchre, a northern U.S. card game that quickly became addictive, while engulfed in good conversation. Amidst the sudden shouts of defeat and unnecessary curse words, we bonded. Maybe not the friends-forever, I-can’t-live-without-you bond, but this experience was something we all knew no one else would be able to talk about. It was a personal experience we shared together, something “no one would understand.”

        And that was it. What I had been looking for. I hadn’t been able to choose a favorite between other countries I had previously visited. Brazil, Ghana, South Africa. They were nice, but this was out of the ordinary. I watched the snowy mountains touch the sky above as we took off in the small propeller plane we had arrived in five days earlier. We climbed higher and higher, but this time we were warm and breathing calmly. I watched the peaks shrink and smooth out until the world looked once again as it always had, trodden and familiar. I recognized now that there were two kinds of India. Maybe both were beautiful, maybe both could be favorites. But was I willing to give the second one a shot? I couldn’t risk it ruining my opinion.  I knew, however, that I had to come back to India. My India.

Disclaimer: My teacher, I've learned, is more about the sex, drugs, cursing, and stupid decisions of traveling. Therefore, as far as he knows, we spent the night drinking in our hotel, just to spice up the piece. The boys DID buy wine and beer, but no bottle was left empty. Let's just say the Indians should stick to chai.

More details about the trip tomorrow :)