Katelyn and Gregory Haskins find their way through—and around—the world
A word of advice: never trust a brahmin priest. Only a few hours after we tipped one for leading us through some good luck prayers, I was flat on my back in our hotel room, too weak to drag myself to the bathroom or even ponder what ungodly bug I had contracted. For a whole night I was left reaching for a bucket as waves of nausea and vomiting passed over me every hour like clockwork. It soon became clear that we weren’t going to Jodhpur in the morning.
For the end of our adventure, we have saved perhaps the biggest, craziest, tastiest, poorest, prettiest, smelliest, and best for last: India. Though we have three weeks to spend here, that’s hardly enough time to even scratch the surface of this country, so we’ve resigned to planning our return trip even before this one is even finished. If the beginning is any indication, we’re in for wild ride.
Descending 4,000 meters off the Tibetan plateau, the scenery begins to change dramatically. Gone are the dulcet earth tones, glaciers, dust, and stone—replaced by lush greens, tropical reds and oranges, and brilliant yellows. Not sublime like the Tibetan landscape, but warm and sweet and welcoming. This is where the subcontinent continues to crash into the rest of Asia. The smell of curry and incense mix, flowers spill over the sides of rooftops, and woman wrap themselves in vibrant saris.
As we travel around Asia, we’ve been comparing notes with Marco Polo—and one place on which we certainly disagree is Tibet. Amidst his account of the locals’ scandalous marriage practices, he barely mentions a lama or makes even a passing remark on the significant lack of oxygen in the air. But for us, from the sacred monasteries in Lhasa to the foot of Mt. Everest, the altitude wasn’t the only thing that exceeded expectations.
Back when we were putting together this whole trip, a few people were surprised our first stop would be Vietnam. We’re sure many people growing up in the 60s and 70s would never have dreamed of traveling to Hanoi, Saigon, or Phnom Penh. For us today, the cities of Central Asia possess that same forbidden draw—we desperately want to go to Kabul and Islamabad. But while we hope that someday we won’t think twice about packing our bags for Afghanistan or Pakistan, for now we will have to settle for getting tantalizingly close, just across the border in the Chinese province of Xinjiang.
