It is estimated that 3,00,000+ plastic bottles are dumped in Spiti every season.
Lately, there’s been a lot of debate around whether travelling really has the power to change you.
Perhaps you’ve felt the hair-raising excitement of a predator chase? I felt it too, except mine was laced with a tinge of cold fear.
Maybe this is the travel blogger’s version of a mid-life crisis.
If you have a spare smartphone or plan to upgrade to a new one, consider contributing it to this initiative?
Long ago, when I adopted a nomadic life, I imagined that traveling responsibly meant slumming it out.
I had no idea what it meant to call a river “alive”.
Over the course of my travels in India, I’ve found myself in some strange predicaments.
Porque viajas sola? Why do you travel alone? Some questions don’t change even on the other side of the globe. I was sitting in a cave under a waterfall, beer in hand, in the Dominican Republic – a Caribbean nation that hadn’t been on my radar until I found a cheap flight and two unplanned weeks in New York. I was sitting in a cave under a waterfall, beer in hand, with Juanin, a newfound friend who had quit his job in a golf resort to become an independent guide – leading curious travellers to secret waterfalls and pristine villages near the north coast, one of which he grew up in. I wanted to tell Juanin that I travel alone because if I didn’t, I probably wouldn’t be sitting with him in a cave under a waterfall, beer in hand, chatting like long lost friends. Even for an introvert like me, solo travel lends itself to unexpected friendships all the time. And so it was in the Dominican Republic: Una vida: You have one life. When the folks at my sweet abode …
I had no idea that an ordinary ‘chicken bus’ ride in Nicaragua was (sort of) going to transform my life. But that’s how it is with the road; it changes you when you least expect it. I no longer remember what our destination was, only that the chicken bus – so called because people are crammed in like chickens – was far more crowded than usual because it was the day before New Year, and locals were heading home to the rural countryside. An old Nicaraguan lady kept her sack next to my feet, and I felt it move! When staring didn’t work, I asked her in polite Spanish to move it. Minutes later, I felt something poking my back. Much to my horror, inside were three little squeaking chicks trying to survive in a sack without a hole to breathe. I breathed a sigh of relief when the lady got off at her stop. Clearly she had taken the ‘chicken bus’ literally. Read: Isla de Ometepe: Where the Streets Have No Name A month or so later, while making myself an egg in …