Seasoned traveler Avery reflects on her life-changing journey to India, where she discovered that true travel confidence isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about embracing the unknown with curiosity and courage. Globe Aware volunteers can learn from her inspiring experience.

I thought I was a seasoned traveler—then I spent a week in India

Real travel confidence isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about being comfortable with questions.

By Avery White
VegOut
Aug 8, 2025

After backpacking through Southeast Asia, navigating the metros of European capitals, and even surviving a sketchy hostel in Prague where the shower was literally just a drain in the floor, I thought I had this whole travel thing figured out.

I was wrong. So incredibly, humblingly wrong.

It took exactly 72 hours in India to strip away every assumption I had about my own travel competence. Not because India was “difficult” or “challenging” in the way travel blogs like to phrase it, but because it demanded something I’d apparently never learned: how to sit with complete uncertainty and still find my footing.

My first wake-up call came at the Delhi airport. I’d booked what I thought was a straightforward taxi to my hotel in Old Delhi. Simple enough, right? Twenty minutes into the ride, I realized we were heading in completely the wrong direction, but my driver spoke limited English and my Hindi was nonexistent.

Instead of panicking—my usual move—I found myself just… watching. The chaos outside the window wasn’t actually chaos at all. There was a rhythm to it that I couldn’t decode yet, but I could sense it was there.

That moment marked the beginning of what became the most disorienting and enlightening week of my travel life.

When your travel toolkit stops working

Every seasoned traveler has their arsenal of tricks.

Mine included: always research local customs, book accommodations in advance, keep backup plans, and maintain control over your itinerary.

These strategies had served me well across four continents.

India rendered them all useless within 48 hours.

Take my carefully researched itinerary for Varanasi. I’d plotted out the perfect balance of spiritual sites, local markets, and cultural experiences. What I hadn’t accounted for was that time moves differently there. Not just in terms of schedules—though trains definitely run on their own mysterious timeline—but in terms of how you experience moments.

I spent an entire morning sitting by the Ganges, initially frustrated that my “planned activities” were slipping away. But something about the scene in front of me—pilgrims bathing, vendors selling, the constant hum of prayers and conversation—made my rigid schedule feel absurd.

For the first time in years of travel, I was completely out of my depth. And strangely, that felt like exactly where I needed to be.

The comfort zone I didn’t know I had

Here’s what I discovered about myself in those middle days: I’d been traveling inside a bubble for years without realizing it.

Sure, I’d eaten street food in Bangkok and navigated the Moscow subway system. But I’d always maintained this invisible thread of control—backup plans, familiar hotel chains, the ability to retreat into English-speaking spaces when things got overwhelming.

India snipped that thread on day three.

I was trying to find a specific temple in Jaipur when my phone died, my printed map proved useless (half the street signs didn’t match), and I found myself standing in a maze of narrow alleys with absolutely no idea which direction I’d come from.

In that moment, I had two choices: spiral into anxiety or surrender to the experience.

I chose surrender. And that’s when everything shifted.

A family invited me into their home for chai when they noticed my confused expression. We couldn’t communicate much beyond gestures and smiles, but I learned more about hospitality in that hour than I had in years of staying at five-star hotels.

The grandmother kept refilling my cup and pointing to family photos, proud to share her world with a stranger who’d literally stumbled into their courtyard.

What I learned about real adaptability

All those years, I thought adaptability meant having contingency plans. Pack extra chargers, research backup restaurants, always know where the nearest embassy is located.

Real adaptability, I realized, is learning to be okay with not knowing.

It’s the difference between managing uncertainty and dancing with it. The first approach treats the unknown as a problem to be solved. The second treats it as information to be absorbed.

I started paying attention to how locals navigated situations that would have sent me scrambling for my guidebook. They asked questions. They trusted strangers. They changed plans without the emotional drama I usually attached to disrupted schedules.

When a train strike left me stranded for an extra day, I watched a fellow traveler—a teacher from Mumbai—simply shrug and say, “Now I have time to visit here.”

No frustration. No frantic rebooking. Just… adaptation.

That evening, instead of stress-researching alternative routes, I wandered through the city’s evening markets. I tried foods I couldn’t pronounce, listened to musicians I’d never have encountered on my original itinerary, and had conversations that shifted something fundamental in how I understood travel.

The irony wasn’t lost on me: by losing control of my trip, I’d found something I’d been missing in all my previous adventures.

The real lesson hiding in plain sight

By my final days in India, I’d stopped trying to “figure it out” and started paying attention to what was actually happening around me—and inside me.

The breakthrough came during a completely ordinary moment in a café. I was sitting with my journal, reflecting on the week, when I realized something startling: I hadn’t checked my phone obsessively in days. Not because I was being mindful or following some digital detox plan, but because I was genuinely absorbed in what was unfolding moment by moment.

When was the last time that had happened during travel? Or honestly, during regular life?

I’d spent years collecting passport stamps and Instagram-worthy experiences, but somewhere along the way, I’d stopped actually experiencing them. I’d become a travel performer, even to myself.

India forced me off that stage.

What changed when I got home

I think the real test of any travel revelation is whether it survives your return to normal life. Most don’t. You get caught up in routines, and that profound insight you had watching the sunset in Santorini becomes just another story you tell at dinner parties.

This felt different.

I still find myself applying what I learned during those seven chaotic, beautiful days. Not in dramatic ways, but in small shifts that have changed how I move through uncertainty.

When my flight got delayed last month, instead of immediately spiraling into backup planning mode, I caught myself and asked: what if this delay is just information, not a crisis?

I ended up having a fascinating conversation with a fellow passenger about urban farming that led to a volunteer opportunity I never would have discovered otherwise.

The humility of not knowing

If someone had told me before that trip that I needed to learn humility as a traveler, I would have been offended. Humility? I’d navigated language barriers, currency exchanges, and cultural differences across multiple continents. What more was there to learn?

Everything, it turns out.

Real travel confidence isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about being comfortable with questions. It’s trusting that you can figure things out as they come, rather than needing to control them before they arrive.

India taught me the difference between being prepared and being rigid. Between being experienced and being open.

What I carry forward

I still research my trips. I still book hotels in advance and keep backup chargers in my day pack. But now I hold those plans lightly, like suggestions rather than commandments.

More importantly, I’ve started approaching everyday life with the same curiosity I used to reserve for foreign countries. That mindset shift—from needing to know to being willing to discover—has been the most valuable souvenir I’ve ever brought home.

Sometimes the best journeys are the ones that show you how much you still have to learn about traveling through your own life.

And sometimes it takes getting completely lost in Delhi traffic to find your way back to wonder.