I fear we all saw this one coming
Before this trip began, I made a vow to myself that I would jot down some thoughts each day while everything was still fresh in my mind. However, the combination of jet lag from the most drastic time change I’ve experienced (so far) and the culture shock of a lifestyle the most drastically different from mine (so far) left my brain feeling like a bowl of mush the first couple of days. So to recap our food tour from March 4th, I simply wrote “hungry hungry hungry.” I’m so eloquent when I’m not in the mood to write.
When I went to write about this day, though–March 6th–I simply wrote “no longer hungry hungry hungry.” And honestly? That mostly sums it up.
It began late the night before, but we can skip that part. No need to share those details. Let’s just say I was worried that this month-long journey to Asia would test our relationship in irreversible ways… and by the evening of day three, it had. It just wasn’t in the ways I expected.
Originally, we were supposed to be waking up painfully early this morning and heading to the Taj Mahal; instead, we barely slept all night (Mitch more so than me) and we were awake before my alarm went off. We had a tour booked called “From Delhi: Taj Mahal & Agra Tour by Gatimaan Express Train” that I found on GetYourGuide–the link is here, not that I can vouch for the experience–and I was certain that nothing would stop us from being there. I was so certain, in fact, that I chose to pass on the flexible cancellation option to save us some money. Why pay extra for flexible cancellation when there is no chance in hell you’ll cancel?
… There was a chance in hell.
When traveling, the one thing you can plan on is nothing going exactly to plan
For me, seeing another wonder of the modern world was one of the deciding factors in us going to India in the first place. I’ve been fortunate enough to see both the Colosseum and Machu Picchu, and the prospect of checking another place off my bucket list was indescribably enticing to me. I had been buzzing with the familiar thrill that traveling to new places always gives me from the moment we landed, and it only grew the closer we got to the fated Taj Mahal day… until we got to it. Because the Taj Mahal day ended up not being a Taj Mahal day at all.
I accepted our fate around 5:00a.m.–an hour before my alarm was set to go off–when I looked over at my poor travel buddy, who was in a state of suffering I could scarcely imagine (and little did I know, I’d be able to imagine it soon. A week later, to the day, our roles would be reversed).
In the meantime, I was feeling a little out of my depth. The places I’d traveled to in the past had not prepared me for contaminated food or water. Our American stomachs have mostly been treated to even cleaner food and water in Europe than we have at home, so having to worry about bacteria, viruses, parasites, and pathogens was new territory. And it hit Mitch hard. I could tell how miserable he was, but he was trying to put on a brave face. So when I looked at him and saw his clear discomfort even in a state of near-sleep, I rolled over in defeat and shut off my 6:00a.m. alarm, closing the door on the Taj Mahal with a sense of dreadful finality.
I wish I could say I was completely selfless and sprung into action without sparing a single thought for what we were going to miss out on seeing, but I sat there and let the disappointment run its course for a while while he (sort of) slept. I let myself wallow in the frustration that we had traveled all this way and this breathtaking sight was so close, yet still so far. I let myself wonder if a past version of me would have gone anyway, gone alone. It was that thought that snapped me out of my reverie. This version of me, the version I have grown into, would never leave Mitch when he needs my help. After all, it sounds so selfish to imagine prioritizing a building over the person you love, especially when they are feeling that awful. It was then that I set my ambition and my bucket list aside and sprung into action, feeding my pookie plain toast and trying to do whatever else I could to make him feel better.
In hindsight, I almost want to say I’m glad this happened, even if it’s not necessarily true. Obviously we would both prefer this hadn’t happened; we’d both prefer to have felt refreshed and healthy, to have seen a wonder of the world together, and to have had that extra day to experience more of India. But I think I needed to be brought back to reality, and this was a strong reminder that at the end of the day, these buildings may have a lot of beauty and a lot of history, but they are still just buildings. They shouldn’t ever be more important than what I have right in front of me.
And now, my wedding vows to Indian food
Speaking of enjoying what is in front of you: thanks to this unfortunate turn of events, a life-changing cuisine was put right in front of me… momos. Oh my god, I love momos. As I ate them, I felt that nothing was more important than the plate in front of me (I was intending for this to be a joke when I wrote it, but there’s mostly just truth to it).
Momos are a type of filled dumpling that have become popular in India due to influences from neighboring Nepali and Tibetan cuisines, and I used Swiggy to have them delivered to me from Punjabi Angithi by the Vegorama Group. Mitch being sick all day had significantly suppressed my appetite in some sort of twisted, sympathy-induced placebo sickness, but I was optimistic it would make a full comeback as the day went on. Due to this mentality, I went a bit overboard on my order… I got a platter with three pieces of fried vegetable momos, three pieces of vegetable kurkure momos, three pieces of vegetable afghani momos, three pieces of vegetable tandoori momos, and an order of paneer fried rice. All of this food–it was way too much food–and the delivery fees came to ₹465.59…which is just above $5. Absolutely insane.
This food revolutionized me. It was so, so, so good. I love spice, and this platter was the perfect blend of savory and spicy, rife with seasonings that I doubt enter my normal cooking rotation at home. The dumplings were round like baozi: soft, but interspersed with grilled green peppers and red onion, which gave it a crunch. And it was filling. Like I said, I ordered way too much.
Unfortunately, though, as we all know, aromatic food is generally unwelcome to your body when you’re sick, and my momos were quite aromatic. So I’m sitting on the rooftop of our cozy hostel, lowkey happy as a clam despite the circumstances, locked in on my momos platter and oblivious to much else. Meanwhile, Mitch is sitting as far away from me as he can, trying to subtly shift away from the breeze to block the smell of my momos. To make matters worse–and he didn’t confess this to me until a week later–I eventually found out I smelled like momos for days from that point on. Sorry pookie.
That’s pretty much that in regards to day four. Illness for Mitch, epiphanies about what matters in life and momos for me. We watched a lot of House of the Dragon and did not do any ring-closing on my Apple watch. It wasn’t the day we had planned, not even close, but that’s sort of the beauty of travel. Things rarely go to plan, and you have to learn to adapt to the changes life throws at you. And if you are visiting Asia for the first time, your stomach will probably have to learn to adapt to some changes, too.