I WAS 25, wide-eyed and reckless, travelling with my equally unhinged 28-year-old boyfriend, now my husband. We had no plan, no budget, and even less sense. Just two dreamers in love, matching each other’s madness like it was our love language. My salary barely lasted a week, but that didn’t stop me from declaring that we needed a proper holiday, the kind you imagine when you still believe life will catch you if you fall.
Our list? Brazil. Japan. India. How’s that for audacity? The budget was whispering local road trip, but our hearts said global adventure. In the end, India won, maybe because my mother, a travelling yogi and collector of incense sticks, always spoke of it like a poem. Or maybe because the book Eat,Pray,Love by Elizabeth Gilbert…
