I’ve got news. After almost a decade of threats and promises, I’ve finally bitten the bullet and have purchased a ticket to India.
I fly into Mumbai (Bombay) on New Year’s Eve and I fly home roughly a month later. Awesome.
I am striking out, this time, with my dear friend Emily. Despite the fact that we are both travel nuts who have spent a good amount of time living abroad, we’ve never traveled together internationally. I am thrilled to have a partner along for the ride, especially one who shares my love of bright colors, photography, Indian food and laughter.
We’re still cobbling together an itinerary, but it looks like we’ll be angling south from Mumbai, hugging the coast so as to hit up lots of beaches while we go, and making our way down to the subcontinental tip and back up the east coast as far as Chennai. We’re also hoping to spend a few days in Sri Lanka, mostly for the views and the food.
I’m insanely excited and also sort of terrified, which is a novel feeling for me as far as traveling goes. After all these years and all these sketch border crossings, I’m not so easily thrown for a loop by the prospect of some new place or other. I think I combat the threat of travel nerves, normally, by refusing to worry or plan too much, and instead just constructing my approach to trips around that whole “99 percent of success is just showing up” saw. It usually works pretty well, I’d say.
But. Yeah. India! I’ve a feeling I’m in for a psychic and physical ass-kicking. Fully.