The Cab Driver

Living in or near NYC, you are bound to hop in a frisky yellow cab. Maybe to a bar, maybe a quick shot uptown, or maybe on a Sunday morning racing to make a silly NJ Transit train back to where you live (maybe even you are living in your mother's attic?). This particular travel fiend (me) caught one going downtown and struck up a conversation with the driver who happened to be from India.

Most cab drivers are talkative, but in the span of the first five minutes of being in the cab and finding out I was going there solo, he said that a) he was happily married b) he felt I was "brave" for going to India by myself and c) asked if mamasita was Spanish for beautiful young lady. We had a couple of chuckles at these comments. Not sure where the last one was coming from though. I had no reasonable response to a or c but did mention that I was nervous about going by myself. He gave me a website (that I have yet to find on the internet) and wished me luck. Then we reached Penn Station, and it was time for me to return to my mother's attic.

I've been thinking a lot about that conversation since Sunday morning and so today went to the public library to take out some books. After all, the proper backpacking, budget traveler takes out potential travel guides from the public library, and I am waiting for Christmas to get my actual books.

Please note: At this point in my life, yes I am poor enough to live in my mother's attic (recurring theme through this post), yes I am poor enough that I refuse to part with $15 for a travel guide when Santa could afford to spend a few extra bucks and yes I am poor enough that this year I actually asked Santa for a haircut. I choose to save my money in search of curries and alcoholic beverages served in hollowed-out coconuts.

But let us not go off on a tangent here... and back to the public library... I checked out three books: a guide book, a young woman's narrative on her travels, and of course a non-fiction book on economic development and superpowers. After perusing through the travel guide, I started to read the narrative my dear friend suggested I read. Stay tuned because as of right now Holy Cow: An Indian Narrative is scaring the absolute crap out of me. I definitely see the potential of the story but at the moment, the words of my cab driver "you must be brave" are repeating over and over in my head.

HOWEVER, I will admit that I have only made it to page 11 so far. Maybe if the author hadn't started out with a terrifying airport pick-up scene I wouldn't be writing this and saying, "are those tickets really nonrefundable?"

Believe me, you can expect a full book report once I am finished with it. My friend Jen says to wait. She promises the end will be a good one. And I believe her, because the other books I took out seem quite optimistic. And because I have yet to meet someone who has had a terrible time there. And because International Steph has the itch and thought this would be hilarious.

Let's hope there is a reason I am doing this and doing it alone. Less than one month until departure so I shouldn't really be doubting myself, right? I guess it is okay to be nervous. After all, I am either really brave or utterly stupid. I can't wait to find out which one it is. I'm hoping the cab driver was right.

Disclaimer uno: I do actually enjoy living in my mother's attic regardless of how many times I mentioned it in this post. Disclaimer dos: I wish I had a picture to go with this post.