India — If Contemplating the Journey, Just Go

Vagabond lifestyle

We wanderers, vagabonds, globetrotters, nomads, and itinerants are a unique breed. I never considered myself particularly abnormal or adventurous. Nor did I plan to live the final quarter of my existence on the lam.

With a traditional upbringing in a happy Leave It To Beaver-type midwestern home, my life’s path was relatively conventional. College, law school, career, more degrees and certificates, various professions, marriage, divorce, and some interspersed travels.

Perhaps neither remarrying nor having children were precursors of my ultimate dharma and later-in-life unplanned meandering and exploration.

With no tugging impediments — or convenient “excuses” to hinder my departure — from kids or spouse, escaping from the mundanity of a comfortably boring middle-class existence was less complicated to maneuver.

Malaise

After a decade of malaise, I began spending extended time in silence and solitude. Doing nothing. Being. Studying. Soul-searching. Thinking. Reflecting. Reading. Dreaming.

Then, after a couple more years, a resolution was reached. It wasn’t crystal clear precisely what I was seeking. Nevertheless, intuitively, I knew in the depths of my soul that there was something else…something not in the States…something more profound…something spiritual…something life-affirming…something different from how I was living. An elusive Something.

The decision

A quasi-plan was hatched, but since I’ve never been much of a “planner,” it was more of a loosely sketched, open-ended, flexible idea. I would walk away from my dreary, predictable, middle-class world.

I would head to India. Live out of suitcases. Visit ashrams and spiritual places. Stay in a place as long as the spirit moved me with no concern about what came next or where I might land. Be open to whatever the Universe delivered.

I vowed to look at my experiences in Mother India as if through “the eyes of a child.”

That was pretty much the extent of any “plan.” In essence, I’d do whatever, whenever, and however I wanted or was moved.

Only two things were on my “must-do list.” Naturally, I’d not miss one of the Wonders of the World, the magnificent breathtaking Taj Mahal. And, I’d seek out a nadi reader in Tamil Nadu in South India. A native-born Indian friend, originally from Mumbai, then living in San Diego, described his reading with one as having been life-altering.

Two guidebooks

In addition to my luggage, laptop, camera, and a six-month tourist visa, I carried two books. One was a few decades-old guidebook about ashrams and spiritual places, the only resource of its ilk I could find.

The other was a three-year-old Lonely Planet, purchased when initially contemplating leaving that many years earlier.

Total commitment...all in

Determined this would be a serious quest on an entirely new path, I sold, gave away, and disposed of the majority of several decades' worth of a typical Westerner’s accumulation of personal belongings and “stuff.”

Gone were my house, car, and all possessions, except what seemed essential to keep. All that remained filled thirteen boxes — no magic to the number, just what was left — tucked in a storage unit. Not knowing when or if I would return, friends hosted a farewell party for me to bid adieu to life-long friends and former colleagues.

With a one-way Air India ticket in hand, I was off to India. Having taught yoga for more than two decades, the allure of the origins of the 5,000-year- old practice was enticing.

An exquisite sense of freedom overwhelmed me upon fully grasping that nothing whatsoever was required or expected of me.

There was no schedule, no itinerary, no plan, and no expectations. My soul was open to whatever occurred and wherever guided.

I vowed to live from my heart and as much as possible “in the moment,” regardless of how challenging or painful it might prove for this admittedly spoiled middle-class, middle-aged woman.

At the time, I had no idea an inveterate vagabond was about to be born.

Though I’d traveled some during the prior thirty years, including a few trips abroad, I was far from a committed jet-setter or adventuress. Only after giving up attachments, possessions, and a comfortable life did the inner wanderer surface.

Many friends and folks I met along the way commented on my bravery for venturing off alone. Never did I consider myself brave or courageous. Traveling on such a trip accompanied by someone seemed silly and contrary to my desired goal.

Why wouldn’t one go alone? After all, this was my inner exploration. My quest for something. How could I attain that obscure prize with a companion whose personal objective couldn’t possibly mirror my own?

Moreover, when traveling solo, a person’s experience is substantially different than if with a friend or a group. Invariably, I met fascinating, dedicated nomads, many whose lives were solely defined by travel.

One Australian girl told me she “lived to travel” and rarely went home. Others had been on the move for months or years, covering multiple countries. Scads of kids were on their “gap year.”

Intriguing, too, was despite invariably being the oldest (often by many decades) amongst a group, whether sharing an impromptu meal, gabbing in a cafe, or heading out for a day trip, it mattered not. Age was irrelevant to fellow meanderers.

An openness existed with no judgment based on chronological age. A common, unspoken bond existed. I had delightful conversations everywhere with twenty- and thirty-something-year-old backpackers.

Back in my home in the United States, those interactions never would have occurred.

Sharing wonderful tales, outrageous experiences, and invaluable advice with like-minded wandering spirits is a vibrant component of solo travel. That commonality shared among vagabonds is unique and joyful.

I now have dear friends I met in Rishikesh, Tiruvannamalai, Delhi, Dharamsala, Chennai, and other Indian locales.

Hence, for anyone who has contemplated going to India, toyed with the idea, or dreamed of a trip “someday,” my unequivocal counsel would be: Just g

When talking about my desired junket for a couple of years before heading to India the first time, the same San Diego friend said, “Victoria, just go. Get India out of your system.”

I am incredibly happy to have followed his advice; I never got India out of my system, though. Just the opposite occurred; she infected my entire being, my soul, and my heart.

If it seems too daunting to brave the country alone — admittedly, India is not for the timid — go with another adventurous, curious, easy-going, open-minded pal.

Be prepared for the bizarre, the wild, the irksome, the cacophony.

But, anticipate the beauty, the magical, the generosity, and kindness of the Indian people.

Be open to the indelibly imprinted, inexplicable energy of a place that infects one’s being in unfathomable ways. And, most likely, expect a miracle or ten.

Bar none, there truly is no place in the world like India!

That first five-month trip was transformative in myriad ways that continue evolving and expanding years later. It also left me with a burning desire to return to that chaotic, unpredictable country.

A place where, despite the noise, I felt more peaceful than anywhere else I had lived or traveled.

The following year, I returned for six months. The subsequent year, I went back again. My fourth stay was living in North India for a year and a half.

No doubt India’s seductive call will entice me back again.

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If intrigued by travel and living in India — both the joys and challenges — I’m always humbled when people choose to read my books, Welcome to India: A Westerner’s Spiritual Journey and Welcome to India: One Woman’s Adventure (Volume Two). They are available on Amazon.

Thanks so much for reading! 🙏🕉️