I sat in the rickshaw, trying to think of anything cool, sweating profusely in the mid-afternoon heat of Southern India. Jim was in yet another seedy hotel, searching for an acceptable room, a dismal possibility, even according to Lonely Planet. As usual, my job was to wait with the bags and the tuk-tuk, rickshaw, taxi…. whatever our current form of transportation entailed. It had been one hell of a day, beginning with us arriving late for our water taxi, being forced to run along the banks of the river with our full packs, and leaping aboard as it pulled away from shore. After a 4-hour journey through the back canals of Kerala, we arrived in a no-name town, our stop for the night en-route to get to Kumily. And it was hot. Like 98 and humid hot.
Traveling in India is tough. It’s chaotic, challenging, intoxicating, gorgeous, disgusting, fantastic. The one place where I have felt more alive than any other, all senses on full overload at all times. It can inspire and invigorate, but it also often leaves you lying, helpless, in the dust, thinking, how does this strange and amazing place even exist on the same planet as home?