Gokarna was the second city that I visited with one of my best friends from Canada, who also happened to be studying in India this year.
Traveling on my own the last couple months has been incredible, but I welcomed the change of being joined by an old friend. At 6 a.m. I arrived in Hampi. It took about 20 hours of bus rides, and I stumbled into Elsie’s hotel room, slipped under the mosquito net, and fell on top of her in a sort of hug/collapse.
We later both admitted that we were a little nervous about traveling with such an old friend, since 24/7 exposure for two weeks is bound to highlight some differences. Living on opposite ends of the country, we only see each other a couple of times a year, and the last time we traveled together we were only 17: ditching class, with all of our money from our respective part-time jobs in hand, running amok through the streets of Paris and Rome. The teenage thirst for freedom was satisfied by art galleries and picnics at times that we should have been in class, and late nights streets and clubs when we shouldn’t have been awake.
But 5 years later things are much the same, though slightly more responsible, with excitement, exploring and exhilaration.
It wasn’t considered to be a good time for a beach town, since monsoon season had already kicked in. But with the beaches to ourselves and a few new friends, we took in the relaxation before gearing up or the return to the big city.
Our days were spent with long walks, swimming and our insatiable appetite for Indian spices. The only thing interrupting the night’s laughter were the mangos that fell from the trees, along with other fruits unknown to the West that we cracked open on rocks and put on the tips of our tongues, which tasted the salt of the sea every time we licked our lips. The sea that we so often shrugged our shoulders and fell into every time we felt the downpour of the clouds and figured, “Well, we’re wet anyways.”
Traveling on my own the last couple months has been incredible, but I welcomed the change of being joined by an old friend. At 6 a.m. I arrived in Hampi. It took about 20 hours of bus rides, and I stumbled into Elsie’s hotel room, slipped under the mosquito net, and fell on top of her in a sort of hug/collapse.
We later both admitted that we were a little nervous about traveling with such an old friend, since 24/7 exposure for two weeks is bound to highlight some differences. Living on opposite ends of the country, we only see each other a couple of times a year, and the last time we traveled together we were only 17: ditching class, with all of our money from our respective part-time jobs in hand, running amok through the streets of Paris and Rome. The teenage thirst for freedom was satisfied by art galleries and picnics at times that we should have been in class, and late nights streets and clubs when we shouldn’t have been awake.
But 5 years later things are much the same, though slightly more responsible, with excitement, exploring and exhilaration.
It wasn’t considered to be a good time for a beach town, since monsoon season had already kicked in. But with the beaches to ourselves and a few new friends, we took in the relaxation before gearing up or the return to the big city.
Our days were spent with long walks, swimming and our insatiable appetite for Indian spices. The only thing interrupting the night’s laughter were the mangos that fell from the trees, along with other fruits unknown to the West that we cracked open on rocks and put on the tips of our tongues, which tasted the salt of the sea every time we licked our lips. The sea that we so often shrugged our shoulders and fell into every time we felt the downpour of the clouds and figured, “Well, we’re wet anyways.”
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