We wandered the tree-lined streets of GK-II, ate in an Italian restaurant, and then retreated into the relative quiet of our clean and comfortable guesthouse. Then the next day we lazed around Lodi Gardens, which is a little like Central Park, if Central Park had 15th-century Afghan tombs and bright green parrots everywhere. We grabbed an auto-rickshaw bound for teeming Old Delhi to catch the sunset at India’s largest mosque and then ate some of the best chicken we’ve ever had in one of Chadni Chowk’s back-alley restaurants. Then it was time to head back. It took several hours, three different drivers, and a couple of threats (for good measure) to get us all the way from Old Delhi to GK-II. It was a long journey, but not as long as the next one will be. We are going home.
And we’re home. After a whirlwind fifteen months on the world’s largest, most populated continent, we find ourselves at last stationary, comfortable, and unemployed back in the good ‘ol USA. Arriving in Detroit after twenty hours in flight, it seemed unreal that we were finally back. We would not have to find and haggle with a taxi driver. We would not have to worry about where to sleep and if there would be a toilet available. We could, at long last, understand every word we heard. I just about kissed the ground at Newark under the giant, American-sized American flag outside Customs and Border Patrol, right next to the fresh portrait of some guy we heard got elected while we were gone.
When you set out on your journey to Ithaca, pray that the road is long, full of adventure, full of knowledge. The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, the angry Poseidon—do not fear them: You will never find such as these on your path if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine emotion touches your spirit and your body. The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter, if you do not carry them within your soul, if your heart does not set them up before you.
Pray that the road is long. That the summer mornings are many, when, with such pleasure, with such joy you will enter ports seen for the first time; stop at Phoenician markets, and purchase fine merchandise, mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony, and sensual perfumes of all kinds, as many sensual perfumes as you can; visit many Egyptian cities, to learn and learn from scholars.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind. To arrive here is your ultimate goal. But do not hurry the voyage at all. It is better to let if last for many years; and to anchor at the island when you are old, rich with all you have gained on the way, not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches. Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage. Without her you would never have set out on the road. She has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you. Wise as you have become, with so much experience, you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.
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.
