Nomad Travel competition - adventure travel story under 1000 words.
I’m a free spirit. I travel with the flow, making it up as I go. With this mindset I found myself hot, tired and confused on the platform of a hectic train station in Varanasi. It was the first time I’d been alone in months, I felt vulnerable and scared but only for a moment. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of Indian life, I became captivated by its colours, sounds and smells. Together they carried a potent mix of mysticism and reality that insisted on a presence of mind to navigate the chaos.
Perched on my dusty red backpack I silently observed, static in the midst of a tsunami of energy. And I contemplated, where to now? Would I head south to Bangalore to meet Sai Baba or north to McLeod Ganj to immerse myself in Tibetan culture. Down south, the monsoon was about to hit and temperatures were reaching 50C. The smart choice was to retreat to the cooler climes of the Himalayan foothills, yet indecision persisted.
Prior to leaving New Zealand I’d interviewed a mysterious psychic for a local rag. When I entered her opulent home I found myself in a shrine of sorts. The air was heavy with the sweet smell of incense. Decorating the walls were framed images of a squat Indian man sporting an afro and garbed in a bright orange gown. That was my introduction to Sai Baba.
It was as if she knew me, my relationships, education and the adventure I was about to embark on. After making some remarkable predictions, she sent me on my way with a photo of her guru and a small pouch of Vibhuti, the sacred ash that devotees claim possesses powerful properties. Her suggestion for me to pray to him for guidance felt like an easy ask and he soon became a part of my daily thoughts.
The first two months flew by whilst exploring the mountains, valleys and jungles of Nepal. Deja-vu was common-place. I felt connected and protected, never failing to sync with likeminded travellers. We hiked Annapurna, ate brownies in Pokhara and shared hilarious tales over cheap cocktails in Thamel.
After an exhilarating rafting trip down the Khali Gandaki I made my way across the border to India and spent two mind-bending weeks in Varanasi. With an eclectic group of nomads, I embraced every vibrant detail of the ancient, holy city. Early mornings were devoted to doing yoga, drinking chai and visiting the ghats to glimpse the dichotomy of life and death in all its daily rituals. Sweltering afternoons meant a visit to the Govt Bhang Shop, then off to a swanky hotel where pool access was just a few rupees and provided hours of entertainment.
When the time came to move on, I bade farewell to my travel buddies and made my way to the station. And there I was, alone on the platform, perched on my backpack. After months of company and stimulation it was like awakening in a different dimension. Momentarily I felt afraid that India was altogether too big and overwhelming for me. Taking a deep breath I made a quick wish to Sai Baba. Within moments, there he was, the only other Westerner in sight. A tall, dreadlocked, Jesus look-alike who made a beeline for me.
As fate would have it, Chris was also deciding between the southern guru or the Dalai Lama. We agreed Sai Baba had probably already gone north to escape the oppressive heat so, we too, set out in the same direction. He became like a brother to me as we journeyed through Delhi and Agra, posing in iconic shots of the Taj Mahal at dawn and struggling to sleep on jam-packed trains and buses.
I wonder if he still has the photos and ever reminisces on the weeks enjoyed sharing a room at the Green Hotel in McLeod Ganj. Our days filled with exploring the foothills of the mighty Himalayan range, teaching English to cheeky Tibetan monks and dreaming up new adventures over coffee and cake. It’s unlikely our paths will ever cross again; but if India has taught me anything, it’s to never underestimate the cosmic power of the universe.
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