If there’s anyone that should be able to handle the exotic foods, navigate the chaos, and ward off the men while traveling in India, it’s me. I pride myself on my stomach of steel, excellent sense of direction and independence, and unfaltering Beast Mode.
Everyone warned me about Indian men.
To which I responded with my trademark eyeroll, “I got this.” I’ve long perfected my Beast Mode and it’s worked flawlessly, thankyouverymuch. I envisioned implementing it in India like this:
Let me set the scene for you:
The night I had arrived in Delhi I’d gotten lost, gotten ripped off multiple times, was taken to the wrong hotel by my tuk tuk driver, got stared at by every Indian man within a 10-foot radius while I was eating dinner, and afterwards vomited on the side of the road on my walk back to the hotel.
I was not in the greatest shape when I arrived in Jodhpur. Seriously sleep deprived and fresh off the night train from Jaisalmer, I stumbled into my hotel and practically begged to check into my room early at 6am.