Mantras & Expectations: Notes From Vagabonding Through India and Nepal
Stories and takeaways from a wild journey on the Silk Road
By Samuel Poe
Samuel Poe at Kyanjin Ri Lower Summit, Nepal
“I think we’re on the wrong train,” my travel companion said to me in a humorous but bewildered tone. The police officer who was still holding my phone to use for Google Translate started nodding in agreement, he was affirming what he had been trying to tell us for over 10 minutes now. We were on the train from Agra to a city we had never heard of, nor could find on a map, and we needed to get to New Delhi. Those who have traveled in India via train before know it’s not uncommon for trains to arrive extremely late or at all. This was our rookie mistake, though we knew our train would likely be late, we hastily hopped on what we thought was our night train to Delhi.
Sitting down in the unreserved section of the train with some young men who appeared to be our age, we appeared defeated and worried, but we couldn’t help but laugh at the chaotic-ness of the situation. We weren’t in the hole, the young men explained to us that in two stops we could get off and wait for the next train to Delhi. After sprinting through the train station with 50 lbs. Rucksacks on our backs in the hot night air, we jumped on the next train to Delhi.
This is one of many stories from this trip that have the same theme: expectations being squashed. When we expected things to be easy, they were far from it. The opposite was just as prevalent, when I believed things to be unexpected, adventurous, even dangerous, they were entirely predictable.
Road down from Sun Temple, Jaipur, India
Shortly after graduating from college, I decided to use the remainder of the savings I had to set off on a summer-long backpacking trip through parts of Southern Asia (Probably the worst season to go in). I wanted a break before diving headfirst into the working world, and I was inspired by modern adventurers such as Levison Wood and Mario Rigby who undertook long walking tours through entire countries and continents. My friend and I crafted a “route” that could be loosely related to the historic Silk Road and the Hippie Trail of the 1960s. I had done some solo backpacking through Europe before, and I’d lived in Morocco for awhile in college, but this trip felt like entirely new territory to me. Visiting Sri Lanka during their intense fuel crisis, underestimating India’s expansiveness, and trekking through northern Nepal during monsoon season with little training... it was a messy plan but it all added up to sound like the “daring adventure” one would dream up.
With a couple changes of clothes, an old camera, my favorite bandana, and a head full of thoughts and expectations, it was exactly that.
Messy, but in the best ways.
In this day and age, I believe it’s become increasingly easier to romanticize travel. From the photos we see to the movies we watch, many of us develop distorted perceptions of foreign countries and what they will be like. At the start of this journey, I found myself being caught up in possibilities and daydreaming of what each new country would bring. I was a regular Walter Mitty but I was in the thick of it, lost in my own expectations of what the trip would bring. This headspace backfired on me pretty quickly, and by the time we reached Mumbai in early July, I was feeling discouraged that I hadn’t come to some profound revelation for myself or become enlightened from all the walking and reflecting. There were a lot more waiting-out rainstorms than I expected there to be. More time waiting out heat waves. More getting COVID-19 tests. More avoiding scammers.
I was caught up in trying to see everything as quickly as possible, and I was caught up in how much time I felt we were wasting. I wasn’t present.
About halfway through the trip, I wrote down a mantra for myself:
"Curb Your Expectations."
Obviously, I was spending most of my time dwelling on what could be, or what was to come, never fully appreciating what was right in front of me. If I wanted to get anything meaningful out of this trip like I thought I needed to, it was time to clock in and leave all my expectations and pressures at the door. I think I said that mantra under my breath nearly 100 times a day for a couple weeks, which sounds absurd looking back now. But I had to remind myself to let go of what could be and embrace what would be, otherwise, I was missing the real adventurous aspects of that journey.
After a while I started to write down a new mantra:
"Engaged, not enamored."
As important as it was to be present with what was right in front of me, I wanted to also be involved with what was going on and not be overly distracted by the new sights around me. For myself, that meant not getting caught up in the façades and tourist gimmicks, which I felt we were doing all too often.
But that mantra was harder to live out. When you’re vagabonding through places where you have no connections and intense language barriers, it gets difficult to become more involved, to get into the nitty-gritty. All that quickly changed towards the end of the trip, in the Himalayas. You wouldn’t think it unless you learned ahead of time, but much of the lower Himalayas are very lush and jungle-like, and during the low-trekking season they’re crawling with leeches. Between the leech checks and the altitude sickness, it got pretty easy to be engaged.
It’s easy to get lost in the “what if’s” when you’re on a sizable and flexible trip like this one. It’s even easier to get discouraged when you set out on a journey expecting to become “enlightened” or if you put too much pressure on the purpose of the trip. The best narratives are the ones that are unfolding as you live through them, and sometimes the best realizations are the ones you have long after the journey.
Always engaged, not enamored.
Always curbing the expectations.
The here and now is a lot more fun, anyways.
_____
Like what you read? Make sure to keep up with Sam Poe on Instagram!