One of my favorite trips was India. While it was interesting to see it’s forts, castles and the Taj, the trip was all about the people, those being the folks on the tour.
There were couples married 40 years, moms and daughters, gals who had been girlfriends since birth and a few of us single supplement folks. Everyone had different careers one was a doctor, another a high-powered lawyer, one a business woman, one student and even a self-proclaimed Jewish princess.
The weather was hot but the tour guide was a cute, young, single man who made Mughal history interesting. He had just broken up with his longtime girlfriend and of course all us women mothered him.
Driving through the horrific streets seeing the masses and extreme poverty was challenging to see but somehow as a group we knew we’d make it together. Silly jokes started to begin with ensuing laughter and I became enamored with Indian ice cream. This is a delicious mix of high fat milk from some sort of oxen.
At each luncheon stop rather than getting food I got the ice cream. While my fellow travelers ate curry, I feasted on whatever variety ice cream the restaurant offered. It became a joke and as the waiter asked what I wanted invariably someone would scream out, “She gets the ice cream,” and we’d all laugh.
The ride to the Delhi airport was a 6-hour horror with all the restaurants which we could safely eat at either closed or unavailable. Our final hope for food was lost when the restaurant had a chunk of marble fall at its entrance. Since the bus couldn’t fly over the marble we were doomed.
Laughter continued through this fiasco and as it did our favorite self-proclaimed Jewish princess discovered an additional carry-on filled with chips and the like. Tossing each of us a bag we merrily crunched our way to the Delhi Airport.