Mike Huber

India 2025: Amritsar and the Pakistani Border

By Mike Huber

India Part X

Shaking off the continual feeling of being around rats, we began a 4-hour drive to Amritsar. It was crucial we get there early, as our plan was to Uber 45 minutes to the Pakistani Indian border for the closing ceremony. From what I had heard, it was just an insane spectacle to witness. Our ride was almost uneventful this day. Almost.

Around 10:00 a.m., we were still within the state of Rajasthan and we pulled over in a bustling city for a coffee break. It didn’t take too long before we were surrounded by locals wanting selfies of us and asking a lot of questions. This was mostly normal for us although it did seem at this particular stop there was an alarming amount of people surrounding us (not just the usual five or so). Within a few minutes, three serious looking men sat at our table and began asking some deeper questions than the normal chit chat. They asked to see our passports and stated they were Indian Federal Police. I am not sure why but I replied with “Show me yours first.” Which they did. Okay. It seems we were in a tourist forbidden zone as we were just a few kilometers from the Pakistani Border, which in Rajasthan was not a good thing (in Amritsar this was a non-issue).

Not wanting to lose physical control of our passports we chatted them up and in unison began to de-escalate the situation. This took about 10 minutes of back and forth as two more Federal Authorities joined in the questioning. There had been no signs or warnings stating this was a non-tourist area. I guess it was just common knowledge to most (the common knowledge we sort of lacked). Eventually the situation worked itself. They offered to buy us another coffee, but we thought it best to continue to Amritsar and not test our luck any further. We mounted our Royal Enfields and were on our way.

Shortly after we arrived in Amritsar without any further issues, we parked the bikes and paged an Uber to go to the Pakistani Border. Along the ride my riding friend in the front seat ate what seemed to be his baked goods from the Bhang shop (he bought these two days ago). He was talking to the Uber driver about pretty much everything under the sun as he wolfed down his pastry or whatever it was. I found it odd yet entertaining and his banter helped pass the drive until we pulled into the parking garage and began our short walk to what looked like a giant stadium.

There were thousands of Indians entering the long tunnel to the stadium interior. The really cool thing about this experience is that as foreigners we were treated as VIPs and given the best seats in the house. We were only 10 meters from the Pakistan border. This was after three different security and passport checks. Once we were seated we noticed it would be more than an hour before the ceremony started, but that made no difference to those on the India side as music was thumping through the speakers, and people were selling popcorn, sodas, Indian Flags, and all kinds of souvenirs. It was like being at Fenway Park but with much more going on in every direction.

As the time drew near for the ceremony, we could see through the fence that the Pakistani side was filling up. They had their own music thumping. Meanwhile, on the India side, there was a “ring announcer” riling up all those on the India side to include hundreds in a massive mosh pit on the stadium floor.

While these pre-ceremony festivities were occurring, I kept looking to my friend on my left. His eyes seemed a bit…well, off, and he was acting a bit freaked out. I nudged him to ask what he thought of the show. He could barely reply. He finally said, “There sure is a lot going on here.”

It took me a bit to finally pull out of him what was going on. The Bhang shop pastries were a type of legal edible marijuana, and he had consumed a rather large portion during the Uber ride in. My friend was higher than a cat on acid, at the India/Pakistan border, while all these activities occurred. Oh, man, it must have been a hell of a show for him. For me, even without the pastry, it was probably the craziest thing I have ever witnessed. Each stadium grew louder and louder. The only analogy I have is this: Picture Giants Stadium cut in half with two football games going on simultaneously, and being on the 50-yard line.

Fortunately for loaded friend, once the actual border ceremony began the ambiance began to tame down somewhat as the soldiers each performed their border closing duties (to include a halftime moment of them shaking hands with a short bow to one another). The flags of each country were lowered, carefully folded, and the ceremony came to a close. My friend’s eyes were about as wide as you can imagine throughout it all. We made our way back to the Uber for a relaxing 45-minute ride back to our hotel.

The day was far from over as we were to have dinner at the Golden Palace that evening.

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India 2025: Karni Mata Temple (the Rat Temple)

By Mike Huber

India Part IX

After ensuring we didn’t have any tails on us from our highway escapades, it was a short turnaround at the hotel before a visit to a temple in Deshnoke. I had heard much about this temple over the years and really wasn’t sure what to expect. What was urban legend and what was actually the truth surrounding this strange place? This temple was named the Karni Mata Temple, or as it is better known, the Rat Temple.

Well, it turns out this temple is everything I imagined it would be, but actually experiencing it was something for which none of us were prepared. Karni Mata is a Hindu Temple that believes rats are the reincarnated souls of a local story teller family that died during a famine. The rats are everywhere. There are just thousands all over and they are fed quite well. There are even several troughs for them to eat out from, and donations of grains and milk are frequently left to appease these local deities.

To add to the cringe factor, you must remove your shoes to enter the temple. As we removed our shoes and began our walk down the long hallways, out of the corner of my eye I would see things scurrying from left to right, and then right to left, and then just everywhere. After entering the temple, there are several long hallways with raised troughs that the rats climb up to eat grains and seeds. Every corner we cautiously walked around we would just see more and more rats. Surreal doesn’t begin to describe the place. The rats are so well fed, however, that when walking around the other parts of the city there wasn’t a rat to be seen. It seems they all stay in the temple. With such an abundance of food, why not? This didn’t help us get to sleep any easier, though, as our hotel was across the street from the temple.

We weren’t getting nearly as much sleep as we wanted (due to the temple’s close proximity) and we were anxious to get out of town and put as many kilometers between us and the rats as possible. Nonetheless, the temple was an experience to be had that few people get the opportunity to embrace.

Our next stop would be Amritsar, including a special trip to the Pakistan/India Border Closing Ceremony and the famous Golden Palace. This would prove to be one of our more adventurous days in India, in more ways than one.

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India 2025: Bhang, Construction, and Unwelcome Highways

By Mike Huber

India Part VIII

Awakening the following morning (still with some uneasiness from our close encounter the previous day), it took more than one coffee to jar us back into the present and rid yesterday’s cobwebs. We had a full day planned and although weren’t rushed, we wanted to get moving to ensure we could fit everything in.

Our first stop was a beautiful fort in Jaisalmer. This was an incredible structure from every angle. Forts in Rajasthan all dominate each city’s backdrop. While this was an incredible location and area, I couldn’t help but notice when we parked one of the guys slyly snuck off and went into a small store. The sign said “Govt. Authorized Bhang Shop.” He returned with what looked like a pile of cookies so I assumed it was just some Indian bakery and didn’t give it any more thought. We took a few photos and then it wasn’t too much longer until we were on our way further north.

As we continued north we encountered a nasty patch of construction. The construction dragged on for over an hour. There was nothing but breathing in dust, and loose gravel challenging our ability to remain upright. Upon nearing the end we stopped for a quick bottle of water, and we were relieved to see the highway ramp that would take us about 50 kilometers to our destination to wrap up the day. The entertainment at this stop was a guy who was beyond hammered. He could barely stand, much less form any sort of sentence (in English or Hindi). We did our best to ignore him prior to saddling up and making our way toward the highway.

As we approached the entry gate to the highway the person controlling the gate wasn’t going to let us on and I knew right away this was one of those highways where motos were not allowed. Instantly, the thought of having to return for another hour of riding through construction popped into my head, and I could see the same wash over my friends’ faces as well. Just as we were about to concede, who comes stumbling up but the drunk from the rest stop, more animated than ever. He nudged the toll worker aside and raised the gate himself for us to pass under. Just like that, we were on our way.

We were each pretty happy to not be revisiting that construction mess and the highway conditions were pristine. There was minimal traffic with new pavement. Life was good, obviously too good, and I knew that somewhere between our current location and the 50 kilometers we had remaining that we would be paying for this one way or another. I noticed the other vehicles looking intently at us and of course there were no other motos on the highway.

The 50 kilometers went by fast and as we took our exit we saw another gate which was closed and a couple people coming out to “greet” us. They spoke no English but it was clear they wanted us to turn around. Turning around made no sense to any of us. It was like doing the same violation, but twice. After we took turns with our failed attempts to get them to raise the gate (and with turning around a hard no for a solution) we spotted a sidewalk with no gate. This would be our new exit. We quickly took the initiative to exit the highway using the sidewalk. The workers were chasing us with pens and paper in a failed attempt to write our license tag numbers down. What we did sounds a bit dodgy, but I solely blame it on the drunk guy who originally raised the gate. Either way, we made great time, had a story, and to the best of my knowledge, none of us got in any trouble for it. We needed that extra time, too, as it was late in the day and we still had one more Temple to visit: The Rat Temple.

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India 2025: Om Banna

By Mike Huber

India Part VII

The number of temples and shrines we visited throughout Rajasthan in India had become mind boggling. They each had their appeal and draw for one crowd or another. It seems as though there was a temple for everyone, and as soon as I began wondering just how far apart and diverse the temples were we pulled into one that finally fully resonated with all of us. It was the Temple of Om Banna.

This wasn’t just any temple. Temple Om Banna is a temple dedicated to fallen motorcycle riders and to provide a safe journey blessing for all travelers. As legend has it in 1988, a motorcyclist lost control of his Royal Enfield here and hit a tree and was instantly killed. His motorcycle ended up in a nearby ditch. The police recovered it and brought it to their station. The following day the motorcycle was missing from the police station and rediscovered back where it had originally crashed. This happened several times until the locals declared this a miracle and the Om Banna Shrine was created.

The Shrine is located right off the highway and is hard to miss with all the food carts, people, and yes, motorcyclists. It is said that travelers who do not stop at this Temple will have bad luck for the continuation of their journey. Not wanting to have any bad luck (and more importantly, to check out this cool temple) we quickly pulled in on our Royal Enfields.

There were probably a couple hundred people there as we entered the open air temple. There was incense burning and just a few meters past that we could see the Royal Enfield encased in glass with offerings surrounding it. These offerings included food, money, and small liquor bottles (makes sense right?). The entire scene was surreal. The motorcycle did seem to have a life of its own. I am not sure if it was just from the ambience surrounding it or if it was indeed a miracle we were gazing upon. Either way, the temple was something that we each connected with in our own way and in our own space.

Upon packing up to leave one of my friends decided he would go ahead of us and get some kilometers in as he was a faster rider and would find a hotel for us for that evening. The rest of us were in no rush and decided to get off the highway to just go slower and take in the countryside. We were all pretty relaxed as another busy day was winding down. It seems that anytime riding in India, as soon as you lower your guard India feels it, and will throw something at you as a reminder to respect your surroundings.

The two of us were on a long straight. My friend was leading as I was gazing outward I saw something dart under my friend’s moto. Whatever it as it was for a moment was consumed underneath the bike and seemed to have disappeared. By the time this all processed (split seconds) I realized it was a small child that was being called by her sibling on the other side of the road. The child was underneath the bike from my perspective. My mind quickly raced through about 100 different reactions and emotions. It seems I blinked and then the child reappeared on the other side of the motorcycle still running, seemingly oblivious to what had almost happened. Neither of us could fully process how the child wasn’t killed or injured in anyway. It was just that close.

We both pulled over instantly. My friend needed about 10 minutes and a call to his family back in Canada to calm down and process what had happened, or almost happened. Once having regained our composure we began the short and very quiet ride to our hotel where we met up with our friend. He instantly could tell something was up as we pulled into the hotel. When he asked what as up the only reply I could say was “Om Banna.”

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India 2025: Jain Temples, Crowds, and More Culture Shock

By Mike Huber

India Part VI

Waking up the next day was a little bit easier. This was due to the fact there were only three switches on the wall. Much easier than the usual 100+ switches in the previous hotels. In those I wasn’t sure if I was turning on a fan, light, or launching an Apollo mission. I was even able to find the switch for the water heater to have a nice hot shower. After a short walk to obtain some much-needed caffeine and having the Royal Enfield Himalayans loaded, we were ready to head out and kick the day off.

Today was going to be about 250 kilometers of riding to the small town of Bhilwara. Along the way we would visit one of the very few Jain temples in India. Upon arrival, we instantly noticed the amount of detail on everything. The temple was more than one can comprehend in just a short visit.

We enjoyed soaking in the culture both from the temple and the locals taking more selfies of us. After a bit, it was time to start moving as we had one more temple to visit and a 2-hour ride to where we planned to stay for the evening.

The next temple was only about 10 minutes away but Google routed us through a local bazaar. Thankfully we didn’t attempt anything like this on Day 1 in India, as it would have been more than overwhelming. I figured this would start getting interesting as soon as the streets began to narrow and the crowds filled in. I cannot find a comparison other than to imagine driving through the 2004 Red Sox World Series Celebration at Government Center in Boston. Packed doesn’t even begin to describe it. Normally I would have thought motos weren’t supposed to be driving through here but with seeing one or two other motorcycles (other than us) I figured we weren’t doing anything too bad.

The ride was tight. We slowly made our way through the crowd with a constant honking and a light nudge of a pedestrian or three until we finally arrived at the temple. We weren’t quite swarmed by people looking for selfies but there were crowds everywhere around us. As always, they were super friendly so we took our time with each group and chatted with them on where we were from and where we were going.

Once we took a short tour of the temple and were asked for a bunch more selfies, it was time to head back on the road and the path to that road, you guessed it, it was through the same bazaar we squeezed through on the way in. By this time we were familiar with how to negotiate through the crowd and we did so.

As we approached Bhilwara we were more than ready to get off the bikes and get some dinner. Well, India had different plans for us. It turns out Bhilwara (as with other small towns we would learn) requires the hotels to file paperwork with local authorities for foreigners. Normally this isn’t too big a deal, but in this case none of the hotels in this town had the proper paperwork, nor did they seem too motivated to obtain it. This forced us to drive another hour until we were in a more populated area where we could finally rest for the evening. We were cutting it close with time as the bright red sun was just beginning to set as we pulled into the hotel. This was a fine way to wrap up another day motorcycling through India.

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India 2025: Alawar to Jaipur, Step Wells, and Forts

By Mike Huber

India Part V

As I woke up in my dark hotel room it took me a few moments to realize where I was. What took longer was figuring out how to turn on the lights via the Rubik’s cube, but mashing all the light switches on the main panel helped me regain my focus and vision in this now dimly lit room. The bigger issue was finding the correct switch for the hot water. So after a short and cold shower (I didn’t find the switch) it was time to meet everyone downstairs and get our plan for the day together over some much needed coffee.

Once downstairs I looked at each of my friends, then myself in the mirror. It wasn’t difficult to tell who consumed the 8% Kingfisher beers the previous evening. I also learned that one of them went back to the store for another beer after I went to sleep but the store was closed. That didn’t stop my highly motivated friend from discovering that there was a guy next to the store selling Kingfishers at a mildly elevated price from a ditch next to the store.

With a few coffees in us we loaded the motorcycles and we were ready for another day of adventure. Today would be our first full day of riding from Alawar to Jaipur, which was only around 160km. There would be plenty of sights to see along the way as we traveled through some pretty remote backroads and Google Maps even had us go through a field trail for a few kilometers. We took turns leading although my cell service was still unreliable, so we would only have me lead when we were on one road for a solid length of time.

After an hour or so we decided to take a break in a small village and get a few bananas and some water. It only took a couple minutes before most the village came out to meet us all. Even a school bus stopped and let the kids off to check out the bikes and talk with us. It reminded me of my first experience in India 20 years prior. This would become a familiar sight for us with crowds coming up to us to chat and take selfies. They all were the friendliest people. We enjoyed these stops and opportunities to engage with the locals in these little villages that were so far off the maps.

Our next stop was to check out a step well. One of the guys had this thing for step wells, and by the end of the trip I hoped I would never see another step well again. I think he had to have like a Global map for them. Step wells are really just a deep brick hole in the ground with several steps from all angles going down into the hole to fetch water with buckets and bring it back up. Some of them went over 60 feet down.

Once we arrived in Jaipur it was early afternoon, and the traffic was really starting to become congested. This made it a challenge for me to stay within line of sight of the guys (again). There is a huge fort in Jaipur called Nahargarh Fort. It was the first of many forts we would be visiting. The fort was stunning to walk around and the views from that high ground were spectacular. We could view the entire city from this fort.

As we wrapped up the tour of the fort and returned to lower ground the traffic had become beyond insane. The streets were narrow and filled with tuk tuks, motorcycles, cows, cars and just overall chaos. It seemed every inch that was gained to stay in a tight group was a fight. The others driving wasn’t so much as aggressive as it was just cramped and tight. My bike got scuffed up by a bus at one turn, but I had to keep on riding to keep up with the others.

By the time we reached our hotel we all were more than ready for a Kingfisher and we each hoped they were the 8% ones. We survived another day motorcycling through this fabulous, but intense country and were eagerly looking forward to what the following day would bring.

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India 2025: Overpacking and the ABV Lottery

By Mike Huber

India Part IV

The next day was the day we would pick up the Royal Enfield Himalayans. I was excited to show my new riding partners the bikes, having taken them out a couple days prior. We all met at Iqbal’s motorcycle shop bright and early. As we unpacked our gear and transferred it from boxes and backpacks into the panniers and saddlebags I noticed one thing: They had a LOT of gear. This wasn’t a bad thing as I was missing a lot of necessities such as tire repair kits, jump starters, and tool bags. As I looked over at my moto and the gear I had, I realized it was pretty limited, which at first glance had me concerned but then after thinking it through I thought: How many tire repair kits do you really need?

After wrapping up the final paperwork with Iqbal, we suited up and were off. It would be a short day with just a little over four hours of riding. This was perfect, as it took an hour just to navigate through Delhi, whiz through the suburbs, and eventually find our way into the country where we could relax while riding a bit. For me, the relaxation didn’t really happen as I had no communication between the others and my phone seemed to constantly go in and out of cell coverage. This meant that I had to keep eyes on at least one of the other two to avoid drifting off and getting lost. If nothing else, it was a motivator and solid excuse for my aggressive riding. At least that’s what I told myself.

Around 1500 hours (Ed Note: That’s 3:00 p.m. for you non-Airborne guys) we decided to call it a day, get a hotel, some food, and a couple beers in a tiny town called Alawar. I say a couple of beers because the local beers (called Kingfisher) were a crapshoot with regard to how strong they were. They fluctuated between 5% and 8% ABV (alcohol by volume), so until you had one you really didn’t know which end of the spectrum you would end up on. This was a nightly roulette game where we would play “who got the 8% beer?” Over the next few weeks we all had our time with the 8% beers at one point or another. This added yet another unknown into our travel equation (as if we needed any more unknowns), but it was fun nonetheless at the end of a long riding day.

Another interesting nightly game was “which switch controls the lights?” It seemed that every room had at least two panels with a minimum of six switches per panel. This made turning the lights out each evening about as doable as solving a Rubik’s Cube (especially if you were the guy who had the 8% Kingfishers that evening).

After dinner, the Kingfishers, and solving the light switch Rubik’s Cube, I was pretty wiped out and it was time for a peaceful night’s sleep. The next day would be our first full day of riding. Although my confidence was high after Delhi’s chaotic roads, there surely would be more surprises. This would prove to be especially true as we went further into northern India’s countryside.

India Part I

India Part II

India Part III

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India 2025: Birthday Cake, Strip Clubs, and Whiskey

By Mike Huber

India: Part III

My third day in India: I had met Iqbal (the motorcycle rental guy) and I bought new motorcycle gear (helmet, jacket, gloves, all for $73 USD). I am not saying this gear was high end Aria or anything, but it was something. In the event of a crash I would hope it would be low speed and I could count on my paratrooper skills to fall properly and not get too banged up. Things were coming together nicely and my confidence and morale was much higher than I had expected. With an extra evening to kill, it turned out one of my offshore developers that worked with me in 2014 lived in Delhi and had invited me over for dinner.

When I was in corporate America I loved hanging out with my team whenever I wasn’t out roaming around the world. Well, when I met this guy he had just gotten off the plane in Seattle and it was his first time in the United States. Knowing this, I directed another one of my team members to pick him up and bring him to Pike Market where we could get a few beers and I could fully christen him to our great country.

Of course, my idea for the full American immersion was to bring him to a proper strip club that was next to Pike Market. Without getting into details, he probably had one of the best nights of his life. We kept in touch over the years and whenever I would walk by the strip club I would send him a photo of the sign, and that is how you maintain high morale on a project team (leadership at its finest).

I arrived at his apartment and met his lovely wife and sister-in-law. After catching up and chatting for an hour they invited me to their parents’ home for dinner. The conversation then turned to birthdays, and they asked when mine was. I pulled out my phone and looked at it intensely. They didn’t know what I was doing as I should know my birthday (which I did). They were surprised to hear my next words: “My birthday is in 3 hours and 42 minutes.”

I don’t know a lot about the Indian culture but within two minutes I had a birthday cake in front of me, so I am guessing they always have a birthday cake in the freezer “just in case.” Either way, it was very sweet and I felt more than welcomed into their country.

After a few pre-birthday whiskeys, it was time to return to my hotel and get a solid night’s sleep. I needed to wash away any remaining jet lag I had as my friends were due to arrive the following day. As I peacefully fell asleep with thoughts of riding the new Royal Enfields, my phone rang. “Huber, I need a place to sleep!” Well, I guess I would be meeting at least one of my new friends sooner than expected as I buzzed the hotel door to let him in. It turned out his hotel had given his room away so we would be roommates until we departed on the motorcycles in two days.

India: Part I

India: Part II

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India 2025: Deja Vu All Over Again

By Mike Huber

India: Part II

As my flight approached Delhi, India, the thoughts in my head began racing back to 2004 when I experienced culture shock for the first time. Being nervous, I was optimistic as I had a couple things in my favor that I didn’t have 20 years prior. That being technology with our phones and apps, and my experience over the past 20 years traveling to quite a few countries. I took comfort in that as the plane landed and pulled up to the gate.

The last time I exited the Delhi Airport I was instantly mobbed by a crowd of taxi drivers pulling at my luggage and quoting me absurd prices for a ride to the hotel. This time was much different, and although there were Ubers, I chose to hire a taxi from the government taxi stand. Other than a few obvious scams I was not bothered by anyone at all. It was quite a refreshing change, and after a 45-minute ride I was dropped off at my hotel where I could relax and slowly take in Delhi in a way I was not allowed to 20 years ago.

With memories still lingering from my previous experience in this country I knew that the best way to overcome them was to embrace the culture, not shy away from it. For my first day in India I would take a local bus. This would not only force me to get over these haunting feelings from the past but enable me to gain my confidence in the most effective way possible. The bus was crowded, but not too overwhelming. It was a 30-cent ride versus a $3 Uber.

With my renewed confidence in my ability to navigate through this beautiful but chaotic city, the following day I chose to take the subway to Iqbal Motors, the company we were renting our Royal Enfield Himalayans from. The train was a bit more crowded than the bus. To the point when I finally found the correct subway (on my third try, but hey I was learning so I went easy on myself) I really had to squeeze into the subway car. It was a tight fit but not that bad, until the doors opened at the next stop. Not fully paying attention the next thing I knew I was thrown about 15 feet from the train and was well onto the platform before I realized I had to fight crowds to make it back onto the train prior to it leaving. Not wanting that to happen again I fought my way to the center of the car and faced towards the doors that would open for my stop. Now it was my turn. As soon as the doors opened I crouched down into a sort of rugby scrum stance and pushed with all my might in order to exit the car. Success! I was out and just a few blocks from Iqbal Motors.

I was excited to finally meet Iqbal at his shop and check out our new 2025 Royal Enfield Himalayans. The bikes were beautiful and the communication over the previous two months with Iqbal on fine tuning our needs for gear, schedules, and overall itinerary made an otherwise challenging rental easy. I knew we made the right decision as soon as I met him. I cannot say enough good things about Iqbal and his motorcycle rental company.

Upon saddling up on the Himalayan and taking the bike out for a short blast I instantly understood why this was the chosen motorcycle for India. All my apprehensions and anxiety about this trip melted away as I zipped through traffic in Delhi. I was officially excited and ready to spend the next three weeks (or longer) on my new steed. My friends were set to arrive in two days and I was ready to begin this motorcycle adventure through the crowded, yet mystical country of India.

India Part I is here.

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India Revisited 2025

By Mike Huber

I first went to India in May of 2005. I was about to graduate Boston University after 9 long years (the 9-year part will probably make for another interesting blog) and knew it was time for a well-deserved break. At this point of my life traveling abroad was new to me, and I thought India would make for an excellent adventure with all its beauty and intensity. This trip would also allow me to forego physically going to a boring graduation ceremony (even though it was my own).

I had NO idea what I was doing as it was one of my first trips abroad outside of the Army. Well, the best way to learn is by falling down and skinning your knees, and boy my knees got tore up this trip (I am sure my paratrooper mates will have some smart ass remarks on that line). It was to be a once in a lifetime adventure (well, twice in a lifetime now).

The trip didn’t start smoothly. As we landed in Trivandrum, the southernmost tip of the country, I was exhausted since I had been up for 30+ hours. It was late May and the weather was hot and humid. All I wanted to do was sleep in a hotel with air conditioning. Eventually, I got my wish and found a hotel room. As a foreigner I was required to list my friend who was staying with his family as a reference. The hotel was located in a tiny village that was very remote. My friend pulled me aside as I was checking into the hotel and said he would pick me up in the morning “Don’t do anything stupid” were his parting words that day. Tall order indeed, but I was wiped and figured that behaving wouldn’t be too difficult.

When I awoke after a solid nap I was hungry and thought I would go get some food. I left the hotel still woozy from the long journey but found a street cart with food. As I began eating, next to the food cart I noticed quite a traffic jam building up. It seemed I was causing the traffic jam with all the attention I was drawing. They had never seen a white American before. Cars were stopping to take pictures of me and numerous people approached to have conversations. After about an hour of talking and singing American music with them it was time for me to return to my room for some more rest.

The following morning my friend showed up mad as hell. “I told you not to do anything stupid.” I was perplexed as to what he was referring to. Well, turns out I drew so much attention that an Indian Government Agency (he stated it was the equivalent of the FBI) had called him asking who I was and what I was doing in this remote Indian village. It was more of a health and wellness check than anything, which I could fully appreciate.

After a week I parted ways with my friend and began traveling through northern India on my own. This was when I got my first solid hit of culture shock, and it hit me bigtime. Being alone and traveling through the bustling streets of Delhi, Agra (to see the Taj Ma Hal), and the Himalayan mountain town of Leh would prove to be a wakeup call that was clearly overdue. There were no cell phones or Google maps to navigate by during this trip. Add to that the intensity of Delhi traffic and just the overall controlled chaos that overwhelmed every sense and came from every direction possible (and some directions I didn’t even know existed). It was sensory overload to the point that one day I cancelled all my scheduled tours and stayed in my hotel with the blinds down. It was that level of intensity just outside my hotel room. The mix of culture shock and wandering through these places alone made for anxiety I had never felt before. By the time I was packing to leave I felt as though this country had overwhelmed me so much that I was questioning my confidence in traveling.

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