I awoke to the sound of jackhammering outside, and a narrow beam of dusty sunlight waving me good morning.
My shoulder and hip hurt from where they had pushed through the thin mattress.
My first morning waking up alone in a foreign country. Ever.
[This is a chapter from my travel book. There are lots more chapters posted on the blog, but if you’d prefer to read them all at once, sign up for my e-mail newsletter and I’ll be sure to let you know when they’re available in a condensed form!]
I could have hugged that kid. He must have been no more than 15. It was midnight, we’d been delayed by a whole hour, I’d never confirmed my booking or put down any deposit on my room, but still: there he was, standing in the rain. Waiting for me.
As my layover in Delhi drew to an end, I worked my way back to the gate. It had filled up significantly since I had last been here: full of hippies and fortune-seekers looking to find inner peace in the high mountain sanctuaries of Nepal. Backpackers, families, mountain climbers— these were my people. Still, the nervousness was starting to set in.
thisisyouth 