'An assault on your senses.' That's the phrase that kept cropping up when I mentioned that I was planning a trip to India. Often said with a tone of affection, but still, a warning, regardless. I'm not going to lie to you, that was at least 75% of the appeal to me - I wanted to assault my senses. To exercise them alone was not enough - I wanted to feel more out of my depth. The culture shock, the challenge of breaking through language barriers whilst trying new things and learning about different people and their cultures - that’s what I was craving from my travels.
With the passing of my beloved Nan the night before I was due to fly from Thailand to India, suddenly the prospect of being out of my depth wasn’t even nearly half as appealing as it had been seeming to me over the last year or so. It became apparent that it would be all too easy to hop on a plane back to England instead of carrying on with my adventures, and swap the inevitable chaos and craziness that I had been craving so badly, for the comforts of home and the love and support of my friends and family.
It took sixteen hours. Sixteen torturous hours on a bus to Bangkok, trying to decide whether I should get on that plane to India to pursue my dream, or to instead go running home to my Mum. Deep down, I knew that my Nan would have wanted me to carry on travelling, and knowing that resulted in a further eight hours of my suffering, on a plane heading towards India, as I tried deal with the anxiety of worrying about whether I’d made the right decision.
An entire year and nine months on from my arrival in India, (Yes - ok, I’m just a little behind on my blog,) I can happily tell you that I did make the right decision in continuing with my travels. India is by far the most colourful, vibrant and utterly incredible place I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting. It’s long overdue but I’m excited to finally write about the experiences I had there.