I grew up glued to the epic pages of the Ramayana and those over-the-top Indian movies where everyone bursts into song every five minutes. Later, I’d drool over videos of hardcore bikers tearing through northern India’s dusty roads, the snow-capped Himalayas looming in the background, totally hypnotizing every wandering soul out there. So yeah, I’ve always daydreamed about hitting up a country that cradled human civilization way back when—a land of simple yet legendary folks (shoutout to Saint Gandhi), mind-blowing ideas from poet Tagore, and the noble, loyal vibes of women like Sita or the badass, brainy Rama from the Ramayana saga.

My India trip? Total fluke. I was just scrolling Facebook one day, probably procrastinating, when I saw my buddy plotting an India adventure. I was dying to tag along, but I’d just gotten back from a nearly two-month South America jaunt—work was a mess, and I had to sort my life out. After some serious hemming and hawing, I finally said, “Screw it,” and begged to join him. We hit up forums and Facebook to round up more crew, and after some sweet-talking, we snagged two extra daredevils. Boom—four pro backpackers, a dream team for the trip. Planning took a few offline meetups—and way too many beers—but we nailed down a 14-day itinerary.

Like any trip, step one was the visa hustle. Rumor has it Vietnam’s got visa-free deals with a bunch of countries, but let’s be real—they’re probably places no one’s heard of. My must-visit list? Zero freebies. India’s visa isn’t a nightmare, though—honestly, it’s almost too easy; it just costs time and cash. They even offer visa-on-arrival, but we weren’t risking it. Imagine showing up and getting denied for some dumb reason—total buzzkill. So, we played it safe and applied early. There’s the e-visa (one entry, six months) and the traditional one (multiple entries, one year). My crew went e-visa, but me? I grabbed the traditional one, thinking, “Who knows? I might need to swing back to India someday.”

Travel’s always a gamble—Europe’s all fancy and civilized, but even they’ve got extremist bombings these days. India? Safety’s dicier, no question. Robbery, assault, you name it—it’s on the table. But us? We’re seasoned backpackers; we’ve got the street smarts to dodge trouble. What really freaked us out, though? Indian food. Yeah, laugh all you want—big tough backpackers scared of curry. We can crash anywhere, eat anything, but Indian grub? We’d tried it before and swore it off. The curry overload and that pungent marinade stench—it’s a hard pass.

Solution? We packed instant noodles, pork floss, fish sauce—the whole Vietnamese survival kit. Plan was, if we had downtime in the afternoons, we’d hit a market, grab supplies, and cook VN-style. Plus, Indians eat with their hands—all ten fingers—so we tossed in forks, spoons, and knives to keep things sanitary.

This trip doubled as a motorbike mission, so gear was a circus. One 75-liter backpack just for biking stuff: armor, helmets, gloves, riding clothes. Look, we’re here to have fun, but safety’s non-negotiable, right? We’ve learned the hard way—don’t get cocky. Life’s a marathon, not a sprint; we play smart, not reckless. Speed thrills and adrenaline highs? Nah, we’re too old for that game.

But here’s the kicker: no matter how much you prep, you’re still gonna forget something. And trust me, that little oversight turned into a hilarious nightmare once we hit India.

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We’d already decided that India was gonna starve us silly, so before heading to the airport, the crew and I hit up a seafood joint to fuel up for the lean days ahead. Bellies full and heads buzzing from the booze, we stumbled to the airport, ready for the suffering to kick in.

Our flight plan? Hanoi to Bangkok on Vietnam Airlines, then a connecting Jet Airways hop from Bangkok to New Delhi. On the way back, it’s New Delhi to Hong Kong with Jet Airways again, followed by a Hong Kong Airlines ride to Hanoi. Total damage for these tickets? Nearly 15 million VND each—ouch, my wallet’s crying.

We had 30kg of checked baggage allowance, two bags per person. The poor girl at check-in was fumbling hard trying to route our stuff straight to New Delhi, and we’re just standing there sweating bullets. If our bags stayed in Bangkok while we landed in New Delhi, we’d be screwed six ways to Sunday. After check-in, we plopped down at a café outside security to shoot the breeze—didn’t rush through yet, folks. Here’s the pro tip: coffee at Noi Bai’s dirt cheap outside the departure zone, like 30-40K VND a cup. But once you’re past customs? Boom, 5 bucks a pop. No way we’re suckers enough to pay that. We milked the cheap seats ‘til the last second.

Looking around, we saw families waving off their loved ones, and there we were—four lone wolves with not a soul to see us off. Kinda pitiful, right? But whatever, we’re used to rolling solo. No point in tearful goodbyes wasting perfectly good waterworks.

That day was cursed from the jump. Right before leaving, I scanned my credit card for an Uber and—genius move—left it at home. Then at the airport, our “Sorry Airlines” flight gets delayed an hour for some vague reason that sounded way too familiar. We only had a two-hour layover in Bangkok, so yeah, we were basically doomed to sprint like maniacs the second we landed. Sitting there, I was a nervous wreck—bouncing between the smoking room and pacing, terrified they’d tack on another hour and strand us in Bangkok ‘til tomorrow. Thank the heavens, boarding time finally rolled around.

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And the next part…