India pt. 2: Udaipur
India is huge. It’s the seventh largest country in the world in terms of land mass, with 28 states and 8 Union Territories, each with their own unique history and culture. I had only 10 days. Ten days and no plan, since I was experimenting with doing the opposite of whatever patterns usually characterized my travel behaviour; to allow my exploration to be guided by the flow. In India, it’s incredible how easy it is to just jump in and let things come to you instead of having to go searching. I suppose it’s all about taking your time, paying attention, and trusting your instincts. Once you get the hang of it, the feeling’s quite addictive!
Venturing out on my own
My first destination: Udaipur, Rajasthan. Known as the City of Lakes, I had heard good things and from the pictures I’d seen, it had a very romantic air about it. Whether single or not, traveling alone or not, who doesn’t appreciate a little romance?
I spent about an hour with my cousin Melissa trying to book my train ticket, but it turns out that booking trains online at the last minute, even as a local, isn’t always so intuitive. I quickly got over the picturesque journey I’d envisioned and decided to book myself a bus instead — much easier, more accessible, and as I’d later find out, really great service!
The following evening, I grabbed a quick dinner with my uncle before he saw me off to my Uber. The hostel I’d booked for just a night (in case I didn’t like it) was referred to as my “hotel” and from there, of course, I’d have a “tour” arranged…
When I reached my pickup point, evening had turned into night. The driver slowed under an overpass and indicated that we’d arrived. Had it not been for the other people gathered around the side of the busy road, bags at their feet, I might have been slightly more alarmed. I took a breath and got out of the car.
As the only foreigner there, I expected more scrutiny from the locals, but I felt surprisingly comfortable. I imagined what my family would say if they could see where I was at that very moment and laughed to myself. This is what separated us; instead of fear, I felt like I was just like the rest of these folks, waiting by the roadside for my bus to arrive.
To be sure, I asked around to confirm if I was at the right place; although people were headed to other destinations or riding with other companies, I was good. As buses pulled in, travellers began to disperse. One by one, the gentlemen I had spoken to grabbed their bags and ran off.
The application through which I’d booked my ticket indicated that my bus would be late. I sat around, waiting. Twenty minutes later, I recognized the company name printed on the side of the bus approaching. Naturally, I joined the group of passengers crowding the door, when a phone call came in. Although I couldn’t understand what he said, I realized that the person calling was the one who had just gotten off the bus to check people in. He pointed to my name on the passenger list and making my way to the front of the crowd, I was the first to board.
I had booked a sleeper and was pleasantly surprised with how clean the bus was. There were several stares from those already on the bus as I made my way to my place, but I carried on as my usual self, and the entire 10-hour ride, I traveled in peace. Despite being able to feel every bump in the road from the top-tier, I rested soundly.
Family: Shifting From Resistance to Understanding
Since my departure from my aunt and uncle’s, my Bak May periodically called to check in on me during my first few days in Udaipur. Growing up, even when pagers and clunky cellphones were the norm, my parents rarely called. Having extensive experience traveling on my own, it was strange to have family calling to check in. As a reflex, I felt resistant, even annoyed, but I quickly realized that it was her way of expressing concern and care for me. I was touched.
From then on, I tried to communicate regularly, sending photos and words of reassurance that I was doing just fine — it took extra effort on my part, seeing as communication with my own parents was so rare. Whether I’d inadvertently put up this barrier through my acts of rebellion as a young adult, I couldn’t be sure, but I was finally starting to understand things from a perspective other than my own.
Udaipur
I arrived at the hostel, known as “The Castle” early morning. Located on a hill, it took some leg work and the help of some early-rising local residents to find my way around the twists and turns of the unmarked roads. I rang a bell and stood in front of the towering wooden doors before a young, sleepy-eyed man opened them to let me in. I crossed the threshold and stepped into a magical place where time ceased to exist and every moment was bliss.
But when I say “bliss”, I don’t mean the typical material luxury one might assume. What I’m referring to are the feelings of joy and contentment — pure — even with the most basic of amenities; while there were several private rooms available in the old castle, I stayed in one of the dorms with shared access to the toilets and showers.
“Bliss” to me, was feeling comfortable in my own skin. Whether alone or accompanied by new friends, I enjoyed countless moments to myself, simply admiring Udaipur’s lilac skies, surrounding lakes, and intensely beautiful sunsets.
If you ever want to fall in love with life, go to Udaipur. If its winding roads and charming small town feel aren’t enough, the humbling energy of the sacred temples and dreamy palaces in and around town might just do it. And if not, it’ll be the peaceful, glimmering ebb and flow of the water, surrounded by layer upon layer of rolling hilltops.
While in town, the people I met at The Castle felt like longtime friends. I could just sit there, in their presence, and not have to say a word. When I did speak, I felt heard. I felt like me, without having to think twice — an experience that was foreign to me on previous travels, fraught with anxiety and shying away from interaction. In Udaipur I felt safe and I felt connected. Even when I fell ill, which was inevitable, I slept and recuperated tranquilly, knowing that I was taken care of.
As days went by, however, there was a part of me that began to feel pressured. Spending all my time in just one place?? I should at least visit somewhere different. My short-term orientation conditioning began to stir. By day 5, I’d actually purchased a ticket to the desert (Jaisalmer) after having met another Montrealer who was headed that way. On the evening of our scheduled departure, I missed our bus (oops). I had gone on a local tour with a friend to see his artwork around town.
Day 7 hanging out in Udaipur, indecisive and restless, another local friend decided that I should head to Ajmer and from there, visit Pushkar for a few days. I still didn’t want to leave, but I also felt that the longer I waited, the more difficult it would be to continue on my way. So after about a week, which felt like could’ve been months, I left the romance of Udaipur behind and returned north. By the time I reached Pushkar, I’d already be halfway to Delhi, where my cousin Bethany would soon join me.
