Still, five days was enough to teach me a few things.
The first thing I learned is that what looks like chaos to me is often just normal life to someone else.
Nowhere was that more obvious than on the roads.
To my Western eyes, driving in India looked chaotic. Lanes were merely suggestions, driving in the same direction as everyone else seemed optional at times, and the horn wasn't an occasional courtesy, it was an essential piece of equipment.
We were taught to drive with our hands at 10 and 2 (or 8 and 4 for the younger generation). In India, it's more like 7 and horn.
Every pass, every merge, every approach to a truck's blind spot was announced with an aggressive blast of the horn that basically said, "I'm here. Don't hit me." Many trucks even have "Honk Please" painted across the back, as if anyone needed the reminder.
Somehow everyone else seemed to understand the rules except us.
Despite what it looked like, there was an order to it all. In five days I never heard angry shouting between drivers. We did witness one scooter bump into the back of our Uber after our driver had to stop suddenly. The scooter driver and his passenger were not hurt. Our driver calmly got out, inspected his bumper, got back in, and we continued on our way. No yelling. No drama. Just another day navigating Indian traffic.
A completely different lesson came when we were stopped in traffic.
Women, often elderly, and occasionally children, would walk from car to car tapping incessantly on the windows asking for money. The first few times I instinctively looked toward them. That was a mistake. Once eye contact was made, the tapping became even more persistent.
Eventually I found myself looking straight ahead, pretending not to notice. It worked, but it didn't make me feel any better.
While walking the streets I discovered that "No" is rarely the end of a conversation.
"Ma'am, would you like to come into my shop?"
"No, thank you."
"A souvenir?"
"No."
"A magnet?"
"No."
"Come inside and look."
"No."
"We don't charge for looking."
"No."
The conversation probably would have continued much longer, but fortunately for me I had reached the invisible boundary of his territory, and he cheerfully turned his attention to the next tourist.
Another phrase we heard over and over was, "As you like."
Whether it was the restroom attendant, the person handing out shoe covers at the Taj Mahal, or an unofficial guide at a tourist attraction, it generally meant, "I expect a tip, but I'll let you decide how much." It's always a balancing act as a tourist. You want to be fair and appreciative without overpaying and unintentionally making things more difficult for those who follow.
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| This was one of the unofficial guides. He took us up to top of the Amber Palace in Jaipur, weaving through small corridors and past the bats, showing us views we would have otherwise missed. |
One thing I didn't have to learn was to enjoy the food. I've loved Indian food for years, and eating it in India certainly did not disappoint. The only adjustment was discovering that "mildly spicy" is a very flexible phrase. Their definition and mine appear to have been developed on different continents.
There were cultural surprises everywhere. In India, shoulders and knees are generally expected to be covered, yet a sari often leaves the midriff exposed. Almost the exact opposite of what many of us in the West have come to expect. It's a good reminder that every culture has its own unwritten rules.
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The people themselves were warm, friendly, and wonderfully curious. Being noticeably taller than many of the locals and much fairer skinned, we stood out almost everywhere we went.
"Where are you from?"
"How long are you staying?"
"What is your story?"
People were genuinely interested in learning about us, and we had many wonderful conversations with complete strangers.
One of the highlights of our trip was watching the sunrise at the Taj Mahal. We thought arriving at five in the morning would help us beat the crowds.
The Taj Mahal is one of those places where everyone wants a photo proving they were the only person there.
Every picturesque spot was occupied by people patiently waiting their turn to take the perfect photo. There were long lines of people waiting for photographers who specialized in making it look as though you had the Taj Mahal entirely to yourself.
The real secret to having the Taj Mahal to yourself is arriving at sunrise with several thousand other people and carefully cropping them out of your photos.
Despite the crowds, the Taj itself exceeded my expectations. Its size and beauty are difficult to capture in photographs.
Inside the mausoleum, however, I found myself more amused than awestruck. One sign read, "Do Not Stop Here," which, of course, required stopping to read it. Another politely requested, "Please Keep Quite." Judging by the guides enthusiastically shouting over one another to be heard, "quite" wasn't on anyone's agenda. "No Photography" was another popular sign that many visitors appeared to interpret as a helpful suggestion rather than an actual rule.
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One image from India will stay with me for a long time. Sacred cows wandered freely through the streets, weaving among the traffic as though they owned the roads. The elephants, animals of extraordinary intelligence and deep social bonds, were working, often alone.
Looking into their eyes left me feeling unexpectedly sad. I couldn't help wondering what it would be like if they, too, were free to roam.
Five days in India didn't teach me what India is. It reminded me how much there still is to learn.
Ten years ago, I thought travel was about seeing new places. Somewhere along the way, I realized it was really about seeing the world through someone else's eyes. Every country leaves us with more questions than answers, and that's exactly what keeps us moving.
Tomorrow we fly to Istanbul. I know even less about Turkish culture than I thought I knew about India before we arrived, which means there are plenty more surprises waiting for us.
Istanbul, we're ready for our next lesson.
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