Holy #@!&ing &%(!

The following was written in two pieces…13 hours apart.

Part I: Written in the sky at 11am on a Tuesday morning…

The journey began with an alarm at 4:40am in a grim hostel room on Khao San Rd in Bangkok, Thailand. Shuttle van to the Bangkok airport in darkness. My fourth and final time trip to BKK. Bag collected and heading for the electronic entry doors, I stopped, turned, paused, and took the deepest lung-full of air I could muster…exhaled, turned, and marched into the terminal. After buying a bottle of water and cup of noodles I was left with just 36 baht. In a brilliant last bit of Southeast Asian hospitality the warm people at Dunkin’ Donuts fronted me the 4 baht I was short to enjoy my final meal: a strawberry jelly filled powered doughnut.

Whether you’re curious or not I thought I’d share my approach to India. It starts long before you land. For me it started as far back as December 1st. I held up at a fancy bookstore in a fancy mall in a fancy part of Bangkok and devoured Lonely Planet guides. Not looking for specifics but rather the 30,000 foot view. Interested only in the executive summary of each country. Cost of food and accommodations, visa processing time, ease or difficulty of transportation, length of time required to get from A to B via C, D, E, F and (most importantly)…climate. You don’t allow yourself to get bogged down in details at this stage. You just want to walk away with the knowledge that January thru April isn’t monsoon season or locust season or God knows what season. You do this top line research on enough countries and suddenly you’re equipped with enough knowledge to frame a skeleton outline that will be practical, feasible, and enjoyable. I walked out of Siam Paragon mall in Bangkok that day with the knowledge that the weather in February in India would be brilliant. And at that time…that’s all I needed to know. Everything else would come later…

That next step, when ready, is to peel off another layer of the research onion. Some countries you just wing. Either the place is small (Rhode Island), or your accessibility is limited (Myanmar), or the places of relative interest are few (Malaysia) or far between (Cambodia). In those cases you just show up, shoot from the hip, and improvise. Places like that don’t require great amounts of research. India is different. India is a whole other monster that requires strategy. So how do you begin to map out a month long trip to a country as geographical and culturally vast and diverse as India? Because let’s face it, landing in Mumbai without a mental road map for a month head would be akin to landing at JFK and asking the information kiosk lady “what should I see in your country while I’m here?”

***Thirty second commercial break…Flying over the mountains of southern Myanmar out the left side of the plane. Fitting it’s the last thing I’ll see of Southeast Asia…And we’re back live with the soothing whispers of the great Jim Nantz.***

The Lonely Planet India guide is 1,244 pages and weighs as much as a newborn Mollett child. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy carrying Ryan and Sam’s baby girl around in my backpack but the extra weight would piss me off. I could handle all the other aspects of carrying a 5 month old child in my bag (crying, breast feasting, diapers) but I’d have issues with the weight. My bag weighted 46.5lbs at the Jet Airways check-in counter this morning and that’s after making another painful round of sophomore cuts last night from the clothing roster. So I delayed buying the new baby girl until absolutely necessary – one week ago at the Phnom Pehn airport.

My approach to guide books is simple. Milk the practical information – maps, transit info, sights and accommodation recommendations. Whatever is left over should be taken with a nice mound of salt. I’ve met many a traveler that treats the Lonely Planet guides like an NFL playbook. They follow the book’s itineraries and recommendations with alarming precious. Not me. Nobody is writing my journey over here but this guy. Since no one in their right mind would read the entire India guide book in preparation, how do you most efficiently extract the necessary information from a 1,244 page text in order to make an informed decision on how best to maximize limited time in a country worthy of a lifetime?

1. Read the intro. Get stoked.

2. Flip to the back of the book and read the directory section that addresses everything from climate to money to toilets. Get at least a vague impression of how hard or how easy life might be. With that decent idea of what might be coming flip back to the country map and…

3. Find your entry point. For me it’s Mumbai (west coast, middle). With this in mind you…

4. Read the introduction section describing every state/province/territory/region that surrounds your entry point. If the introduction uses a lot of words like “pioneering” or “undiscovered” or “emerging”…think dive. When the top billed attractions in the first paragraph turn out to be museums and textiles shops…think elsewhere. Define to yourself what grabs you and what doesn’t.

5. Flip back to the country map and overlay all those grab-me states on the map. The skeleton route suddenly comes into focus. Then ask yourself is the route logical. If I want to exit the country to the north does it make any sense to head south first? What’s down there? Am I willing to head east to see Ajanta before heading west to hit Rajasthan? What are my priority must-sees? What am I willing to compromise on? Things will begin to pile up on the cutting floor. Priorities will begin to rank…

6. Go back to each state/province/territory/region section and highlight on the regional map every city/town/village that Lonely Planet writes about. This will define your intel coverage zone. Fly here and you’ll be flying with a map and compass. Fly elsewhere and you’ll be blind. Fly here and you’ll find company (backpackers, recognizable meals, clean beds). Fly elsewhere and you’ll find adventure (none of those). And just like that you’ve got a well defined skeleton in your head. Finally…

7. Throw all of the above research out the window and wing it.

Inevitably I’ll find a comfortably middle ground somewhere between 1and 7. This is my approach. When making an assault on a country as intimidating as India in as little time as I have you’ve got to be strategic. Shock & Awe. India should supply both. So from seat 25A here is my loose plan:

· Mumbai north through Gujarat (state) to Rajasthan (state). Knock on Pakistan’s door in Amritsar and depending on the Himalayan weather either continue north towards Ladakh or bang a right into Himachal Pradesh (state) before heading south to Delhi. Then east into Uttar Pradesh (state) for Agra and Varanasi before turning north…

Not that any of that meant anything to anyone but there she is…the rough outline…from high above the Bay of Bengal. How I get from A to B is a whole other story…

Part II: Written on the ground at 12:30am on a Wednesday morning. 13 hours after what you just read…

Ben Lucas made today what it was. His name should precede all that follows. About a week ago I called upon several musical confidants back home for submissions and recommendations to act as my personal soundtrack for India. My time in SEA was completely devoid of music and I made a vow to myself to rectify that for India. In addition to Ben’s slew of recommendations he threw in a classic. His email and I quote…

”Dan Head – You’re So Cool (from True Romance) (I don’t know why but I can picture you listening to this song for hours on repeat on a train in India with the country whizzing by.)”

The film is brilliant and soundtrack unforgettable. I knew the track. I loved the track. I bought the track. Take a two minute break here people. Open iTunes and buy it. It’ll be the best musical decision you make today. Guaranteed. This means you Nancy Stanley.

With thirty minutes till touchdown I packed my gear away, signed my immigration card, found my song on the iPod, hit repeat, and glued myself to the window for final approach. You know those moments in film when the images on screen are so perfectly married with their musical match that you think no better pairing could ever have been conceived? No. Watch more movies. Yes? This was one of those beautiful moments. Yet the feeling didn’t pass when the song ended. Because the song didn’t end. It just kept repeating…for the next ninety minutes. The music made the moment and the moment made the music.

The final approach was nothing short of religion. It was an emotional and spiritual high the likes of which I’ve only experienced a few times in life (southern Utah, Davis?). And it’s in rare moments like this when I do the least masculine thing possible: I shed tears. No explanation when it happens. It just does. It’s the high. The travel high. The life high. The perfect music to match the mountainous red earth revealing itself below like a dream. I’ve looked out many an airplane window in my life but none has ever captivated me like gazing upon India in those final minutes before landing. This was one of those moments when the thought of breaking out the camera is just laughable. This moment was for me and I savored it.

The soundtrack still pumping through the plugs I departed from the rear into the brilliant high-noon sun and dry air. Draw deep lung-full of air. Tilt face towards sun. Hold. Smile. Exhale. Walk. India. Here we go…

Immigration would be no problem (the earplugs would come off momentarily). Over to baggage claim. My bag would come out in pieces, the bottom compartment torn open. Several assorted luggage articles strewn about on the belt. F*ck. The earplugs would come off again as I braced myself for what could be a very harsh reality. But when my gear arrived at my feet everything was in order. The lock on the bottom compartment had been ripped open in a way that would suggest it had been caught on some equipment. Yet everything was there. Ominous start yet setback averted.

I made my way to the prepaid taxi stand – the honest taxi guys that ensure you don’t find yourself in a nightmare.

-How much to Colaba?

-450 rupee.

-OK.

Ticket in hand I ran into a Dutch fellow a few steps later that asked how much I paid. 450 I told him. “They took you,” he said. I looked down at the ticket and there in writing was the amount after tax: 370. My first business transaction in India and I got scammed. I smile and tell myself I just learned my first very important lesson about India for just 80 rupee ($2.00usd). I find my taxi and brush off the old man asking for 20 rupee in exchange for putting one hand on my bag while I put it in the trunk. And away we go in the Mazda Miata of taxis. A proverbial shoebox on wheels. We’re stopped at the airport gate for no more than 15 seconds when three SDKs (Slumdog kids) approach my open window, rest their paws on the ledge and begin their pleas. The entire exchange eye (me sitting) to eye (them standing). And I haven’t even left the airport.

So Cool back on the box and louder than ever, eyes locked on my viewfinder pointed out the window, life never felt so much like a movie. The images unfolding on the viewfinder seemingly synched to the musical rhythm dancing in my head. The midday sun, the horns, the color, the faces – visual sensory overload. An orgy for the faculties. One of the greatest taxi rides of my life.

I opted against booking a room in advance from Bangkok. I’ll wing it. So when the taxi dropped me off at the waterfront and the Gates of India, a towering monument to British rule, I did the natural thing and strolled into the lobby of Mumbai’s most expensive hotel and found a comfortable seat. The Taj Mahal Palace is to Mumbai what the Plaza Hotel is to New York. Not having showered since the night before in Thailand and lugging a backpack I casually shimmied over to the reception, inquired as to the standard room rate, and did my best I’m-a-serious-buyer-let-me-think-it-over act. 19,000 rupee ($422) for a single room, eh? One night you say? Thanks. Let me just go back over here, pull out my guide book for budget traveling, and think about it. But don’t worry my skin won’t touch your fine leather…

After getting my directional bearings and consulting the local map I set off to find my real bed. Batting oh for two I jumped on the third location. On the third floor of a prehistoric building, two blocks from the water and the Taj, complete with one of those rickety cage elevators, I found home. A massive room. Ancient beds (three of them actually). Two huge swinging shutters opening up to the street below. Oh and the filthiest bathroom yet. For 800 rupee I was locked for the night.

I walked back to the Taj and do what I always do in fancy hotels – use their concierge desk. With map and directions to the waterfront in hand I headed off on foot with a camera, sunglasses, and iPod on repeat. Life on the streets here is overwhelming. More on that later. I find the Arabian Sea waterline and James finds me. James was 21 years old, extremely friendly, spoke solid English, and would later turn out to be more Salim than Jamal, if you catch my drift. We walked. We talked. We had some laughs. After sunset I made my way home and showered for the second time in 4 hours. I rested on my sleeping bag (not touching these sheets) and smiled ear to ear. I’d done it. Day One in India in the books. An accomplishment worthy of a celebratory cocktail. So I headed off into the Mumbai night…

(His name may have been James but he was 100% Salim)

It’s a powerful moment when you realize you haven’t seen but a handful of other western tourists and you’re in the tourist ghetto. The sheer volume of Indians is mind bogglingly overwhelming. They’re everywhere. High above you on their balconies and down below sleeping barefoot in the streets. It’s an ocean of Indians…an Indian Ocean and I but a droplet of ginger ale. I walked. I bought water, oranges, and nuts. I stood, watched, and absorbed. The flow of traffic, how people cross the street, how they greet one another. It was a magical night…and then I discovered the market. An Aladdin fantasy come to life. I would buy a flask that spoke to me. And then something else would speak to me. Something potentially life altering…

Although it’s been on my mind for months I’ve reserved writing the following until now.

I intend to ride across India on a motorbike.

There is a bit more to this then you probably think. The late fall of 2008 was a rather low point in my adult life. I was working in Washington and not wildly content with things. Many things were lacking in my life. One in particular was a means of freedom. A vehicle of escape if you will. I have always had a strong love of the open road and spent virtually my entire childhood crisscrossing the not-so-mean streets and alleyways of northern Baltimore city on bicycles. So on one Saturday in October of 2008 I drove out to a motorcycle dealership. I didn’t know anything about anything. In fact I knew less. I was like a recent college grad speaking to his MD boss. I didn’t even know what I didn’t know. The one thing I did drive away with that afternoon was a fancy catalogue for the 2009 BWM series. In that catalogue I would learn for the first time of a documentary series titled Long Way Round (http://www.longwayround.com). In need of an escape from the approaching winter I downloaded the six part series and watched one episode a night before bed that week. Talk about inspiring.

Take a two minute break here people. Open Netflicks and put it in the queue. It’ll be the best home entertainment decision you make today. Guaranteed. This means you Brian Nickel.

It wasn’t long before I was back in the car on Saturday and heading to Bob’s BMW motorcycle dealership in Columbia, MD. Like all important decisions I slept on it…for 8 months…and following great consideration and research I secured financing, insurance, and parking. Now all I had to do was actually learn to ride.

On a fateful afternoon early last May I clicked the ‘confirm’ button on the Virginia Motorcycle Safety School website and locked myself in for its intensive two-day session starting at 7am on Saturday May 30th.

A few weeks later at roughly 2pm on Tuesday May 26th my boss walked into my office. He didn’t have to say it. The look on his face did the talking. Jokingly I suggested he “close the door.” That would be a good idea he replied. I swallowed. And from that moment my life was set on a different trajectory. Friday May 29th was my final day of work. The final day of my Desk Job Life. Saturday May 30th marked the beginning of whatever life held next for me. Fitting that at 7am that Saturday morning, the first day of the next chapter, I was straddling a motorcycle for the first time.

So why now and why in India? For one I feel I’m ready. I’ve spent time on numerous smaller bikes and have logged enough hours on the road to have an understanding of what this undertaking will involve. India has a well established resale market for second hand bikes and it is far and away the one country where an independent mode of transportation pays the greatest dividends.

So how does this idea became reality? I began research in Bangkok. Websites. Forums. Blog postings. I emailed the top dog at several reputable motorbike clubs in Mumbai for second-hand dealer recommendations. I’ve been chasing leads and researching ever since.

So what are the challenges? Well, many. I’ve never actually purchased a bike before. I’ve never maintained a bike before. Hell, I’ve never traveled on a bike before. Yet despite the obstacles many people do exactly what I intend.

Rewards? Adventure of a lifetime and if completed successfully an unimaginable sense of accomplishment.

Back to Bombay…

So there parked on the street is the bike of my dreams. I proceeded with respect and caution as I felt out the owner. I say I’m not an interested buyer but am curious about the value of such a restored piece of beauty. I roll the conversation rate over in my head. I ask for a phone number and depart. Seed planted.

I head off and acquire an Indian SIM card for the phone. I’m now live and wired. It’s 11pm and I’m still in need of my first drink in India. There is only one place: Harbor Bar inside the Taj Mahal. Seated on a high stool surrounded by timeless grace and elegance I contemplate my first drink. It doesn’t take long. It’s perfect. In fact it couldn’t be more perfect. I order my favorite liquor and my favorite brand of it. I order the city’s namesake. I order a Bombay Sapphire and limejuice. I wave off the barkeep as he reaches for a tall glass and redirect him to the highball glass on the shelf. Four ice cubes later and it is perfection. Before I take my first sip I think back on one of the greatest days of my life and grin.

Ben Lucas, you made today what it was. Today the Kid stayed in the picture. Today the Kid was the picture. Eternally grateful.