Wide Awake and Dreaming in India

So, do you want to go to India?” Naturally, I was a bit taken aback when I first heard these words come out of my friend Karissa’s mouth, but the travelphile in me quickly recovered and managed to stammer out, “Um, yeah. Yeah, I do want to go to India.” You see, I had already known Karissa was planning an international adventure. She had informed me of this on a weeklong road trip we took through the southern U.S. a few months before. The kicker, though, is that the trip was to be a gift from her parents in celebration of her recent graduation from Skidmore College, a liberal arts school in upstate New York. They effectively said, “Pick a country, and pick a friend.” She picked India. And to my great surprise, she picked me. A rather nonchalant beginning to a particularly epic journey, I’d say.

The trip was to be a unique one for me. Although I have traveled extensively for my tender age, I have never taken a trip that was: 1) that far East; 2) entirely planned by someone else, without any input or expenditure on my part; and 3) such a seamless integration of cultural immersion and pure luxury, seemingly mutually exclusive approaches to a trip. When I travel of my own account, I always compose the itinerary myself, basing it both on extensive research into the region and the (substantial) limitations of my budget. But because the planning process was entirely in the hands of Karissa’s parents and the India-based travel agency they used, I decided it would be best to completely limit my interaction with anything involving the trip, allowing for every aspect to be a total surprise. In fact, I didn’t read up on the history of India or the places we were to visit, I didn’t mine friends who had been there for information and insight, I didn’t even permit myself to think about the trip. Preventing myself from conjecturing and fantasizing about the experience to come also prevented me from having any Wordsworthian expectations, and allowed my virgin senses to partake of India that much more profoundly and purely upon my actual arrival.

And partake my senses did. One ever-present element is consistent in all descriptions of India: sensory overload. The cacophony of life in all its manifestations was truly inimitable and wonderful. Brilliant shades of saffron, ivory, and every other color on the spectrum pleasantly assaulting the eyes as far as the eyes can see; every sound imaginable fighting to be heard above the rest, from honking car horns to scissors snipping away at a roadside barbershop; teases of cardamom and ginger wafting from open-air markets and mouthwateringly spicy street food at every corner to tempt even the most timid taste buds; urban smells that might offend the delicate nose and euphoric scents that would delight the most particular perfumier; and that electric tingle felt ever so lightly on the skin, generated by the vibrant charge of fast and furious life reacting all around.

The constant sensory frenzy was certainly one of the main highlights of the trip, but it was also the most exhausting aspect. This, however, is where the luxury part of our trip came into play. No sooner did we set foot inside our hotel each night than the tumult and tyranny melted away into an entirely different kind of sensory overload. Recreating paradise and rendering the outside world entirely irrelevant is what each of the hotels we stayed in does best. The magazine TRAVEL + LEISURE seems to agree, ranking each of our hotels in the top 500 hotels in the world. (Yes, Karissa and I made sure to jump on the beds. We also made liberal use of the spas, which match the hotel to which each belongs in splendor and luxury.) We stayed at The Imperial in Delhi, a time warp back to the days of British colonialism; the Oberoi Amarvilas in Agra, which had amazing views of the Taj Mahal; Rambagh Palace in Jaipur, at which Karissa and I stayed in the Maharani’s suite; and the Oberoi Udaivilas in Udaipur, which T + L ranked as the best hotel in India. We did actually stay at one place that was not a five star hotel, but was rather, by my count, a five star heritage estate and guesthouse that sits on 30 acres and is run by members of the (now defunct) royal family. At Shahpura Bagh, we ate each delectable meal with the family, and were taken through their village and to their plantation, city palace ruins, and fortress ruins to watch a gorgeous sunset over the landscape below.

Considering the luxury with which we were surrounded, one might think we would never have wanted to leave the hotel. Not the case. Though we did thoroughly enjoy the many pleasures of each hotel, we were also quite dedicated to seeing as much of India as possible in the week and a half we were there. Our driver, his co-pilot, and the extremely congenial and knowledgeable tour guides that accompanied us in each city greatly facilitated this ambition. Consider that at any given time you might see people walking, people on bicycles, an entire family on one motorbike, a rickshaw, a car, a truck, a bus, a cow, a camel (being ridden), and an elephant (being ridden) all sharing the same road. This ever-present chaos, accompanied by the fact that the only traffic law in effect is “survival of the fittest,” made us particularly happy to have a professional driver who delivered us safe and sound to each destination. Some of these destinations, many of which are World Heritage Sites, included Humayun’s Tomb, Agra Fort, Fatehpur Sikri, Qutb Minar and its monuments, an 18th century astronomical observatory, Udaipur City Palace, and of course, the famed Taj Mahal. Having some expectations as to what my impression of the Taj Mahal would be was unavoidable, and I was slightly concerned that I might be let down. Ridiculous. Seeing the changing colors of the sunrise reflected upon the luminous white marble walls of the Taj could never be anything less than transcendent; nor could any appreciation of the infinite artistic elaboration upon every last millimeter of the structure ever fall short of overwhelming awe. To be honest, I was in a state of near-transcendence for the duration of the trip, stumbling wide-eyed and even a little teary-eyed from one glorious marvel to the next. Stumbling, and counting every last one of my lucky stars.