Heaven and hell

On the overnight, 14+ hour bus ride from Mumbai to Goa, I asked myself why I'm taking this time to see another part of India.  It's not that I don't absolutely adore this hunk of a nation. It's just the crappy feeling I sometimes get about being a tourist on "holiday".  What's the purpose of it, really?  I end up feeling like a jackass, walking around some strange town, occasionally taking photos in the attempt to capture a snippet of a moment I perceive to be beautiful.  I'm not contributing much to these strange places, maybe some good energy through smiles and light conversation, and dollars besides.  On the flip side, I've selfishly realized the benefits that I reap as my heart gently leaps through the mazes of waves from darkness to light.  Here in India and a few other places I've been through, travelling becomes a twisted game of 'heaven and hell'.  


Hell is the hour it takes to get out of the hot, grimy, loud, thick city of Mumbai by bus.  Stagnant air meeting my face at the window that longs for the breeze brought only by greater speed. Heaven is the infinite number of amazing scenes that pass through that window: colorful markets, holiday lights, interesting buildings, traffic jams, goats, cows, families in poverty living on sidewalks among vendors and dirty happy children.  


Hell is trying to stay light and fun with the travel partner I don't really know, the travel partner who didn't seem to be as easy as I think I am... while walking on eggshells around her mood swings.  Heaven is when she gives thanks to me for being a great companion, when I see her smile with childlike wonder at animals and all things cute (fondly reminding me of a dear girlfriend), when I know she's well-fed and content, and she ends up emerging a strong, fun, wise, helpful, delightful travel buddy! 


Hell is trying to sleep during the overnight bus ride, full of potholes and hairpin turns, not able to stretch my long-ass legs, and wondering why the passengers had to shut all the windows, enclosing us in this grimy interior.  Oh, I never felt so filthy.  Heaven is the midnight pit-stops for toilets, chai, and a strrrrrrreeeeeeetchhhhh.  Heaven is waking up to see the lush, palm tree hills of Incredible India covered in layers of fog as the sun lazily emerges from behind low lying clouds.  


Hell is wandering around, bags in tow, in search of a suitable hotel.  Heaven is when we always seem to find a larger than expected room with a clean bathroom at a reasonable price.  There's nothing even remotely hellish about the food here.  Even unsure of what we order, every meal seems like the best EVER.  Here, the food, sweets, and chai are heavenly.  


Hell is where my mind goes when children follow me down the street, begging for food or money.  Heaven is in the smiles that come from those kids after simply taking their photo or slicing up a guava to share with them.  


Hell is feeling like a tourist.  Heaven?  Being invited into the home of a couple, around my parents age, for a special Diwali dinner.  Their two daughters are settled in the States, they were especially delighted to have us, and the food and stories were outstanding.  Life is a blessing, the beginning of heaven.  


Hell is a twisted, dark, imagined place that lies in pockets within the perception of my privileged, fortunate mind.  I don't think I've ever experienced hell.  Even the bout of traveler's diarrhea, which left me feeling as though I'd been hit by a truck, feverish, nauseated, and ready to die... was rapidly alleviated by neighbors and the ever-surprising travel buddy. This wandering that seems so silly at times will eventually lead me home, which still remains to be that undetermined physical location... where my heart is, where my sea-bag is.