Setting off for India

I'm going to India this week for the first time, and as I've worked through the various planning stages, I've gone from being too excited to sleep to waking up in a cold sweat.

"If you get nervous, think about the rest of us," a friend remarked when I told him I was feeling a little anxious about this trip. He was talking about the hassles of travel in general these days, but it's not world tensions or the idea of 17 hours of flying that's been on my mind. I feel like I've been cramming for a class called India 101, and now it's time for the final exam.

Some destinations require more of travelers than others. India, with its heat, dust, crowds, shortages of water and electricity and millions living in poverty, is one.

What it gives in return is a travel experience unmatched in its diversity. There are cities throbbing with street life; rural villages; royal palaces and ancient temples; mountains, deserts, beaches; and 5,000 years worth of history.

Will I fall in love with India? Or will I feel like never going back?

I'll find out over the next three weeks, and report back online and in print. I don't know yet what I'll discover, but I do know this:

• Indians are buying Boeing jets, developing our software and answering our credit-card questions from call centers on the other side of the world.

• With a population of more than one billion, second only to China, India and its people — not only by their numbers, but their drive and energy — are changing the world.

China has its dragons. As Time magazine predicted in a June cover story devoted to India's rise, here comes the elephant.

The ride might be bumpy, but it's time to climb aboard.

An independent adventure

Those who love India reassure me that I'll spend the next three weeks meeting outgoing, smart and curious people eager to help visitors; sampling a cuisine shaped by religious and regional influences; and exploring ancient culture that will take me through teeming cities, along palm-fringed waterways and into desert villages.

For some, however, one trip was enough. Internet chat boards are filled with warnings.

One thread starts off with "I'm not going there again because ... " and lists complaints about fending off beggars and con artists who lie, cheat and overcharge tourists. (One scam has to do with someone dumping glop on your shoes and then "offering" to shine them.)

Accept that you'll get sick, they say. Get used to the smell of urine, dirty bathrooms, dusty streets, bad air, bad water, pollution, crowds, traffic and grinding poverty.

An organized tour is an easy way to avoid much of this, and I was tempted at first to sign on for a small-group trek. But as I cruised the Web and talked to people, I became intrigued about the possibility of creating my own independent adventure, one with the chance of yielding the kinds of surprises package tours are designed to avoid.

This meant I had to do more than hand money over to a tour operator. Doing my own planning forced me to invest myself in the hardest parts of any big trip — deciding where to go, where to stay and how to get around.

Late nights at the computer, surfing the Web, reading blogs and e-mailing other travelers, I began piecing together an itinerary . I had never really looked closely at a map of the subcontinent. Rearranging all the possible combinations over and over like the pieces of a giant puzzle, I grew more excited and confident about the idea of India.

Mike and The Man

If this were a vacation, I might have decided to go north into the cool Himalayas, but story ideas pointed me elsewhere. Ignoring the standard advice to concentrate on either the north or south, I'll be doing parts of both.

Using trains, planes, cars and drivers, I'll start out in New Delhi; then go by overnight train west, 500 miles, to the desert city of Jaisalmer near the Pakistan border; fly south 1,500 miles to tropical Kerala on the Arabian Sea; and end up in Bombay (Mumbai.)

Reading helps, but nothing matches the kind of travel advice you get from talking to people who have gone before you.

My plan began taking shape last June about the time I had breakfast with Nadia Hakki of Wide World Books & Maps in Seattle.

Nadia is a world traveler who had never been to India until last year. Once she got there, she asked herself what took her so long.

I had already decided that I would go south to Kerala, an idyllic state with a democratically elected Communist government, known for its mixture of religions, high literacy rate and laid-back tropical lifestyle. Then Nadia persuaded me to add Jaisalmer to my itinerary. Listening to her talk about the villagers she met on an overnight camel trip into the desert and relaxing days spent wandering through the sandstone city, I was there.

The only problem was that Jaisalmer isn't on the way to anywhere. Its airport is closed, except for military planes, and the only way to get there is by car or train.

Enter India Mike (www.indiamike.com) , a one-stop Web site for all things India. India Mike linked me to The Man in Seat 61 (www.seat61.com) for info on how to book train tickets online. I clicked on "India" and went to "What are the trains like?" There were pictures and descriptions of eight different classes of seats and sleepers.

Had I been an Indian heart patient, war widow, member of a polo team or circus performer, I could have qualified for a discount, but the "foreigner" price didn't break the budget. I paid $36 for a 19-hour journey in an air-conditioned sleeper.

At home with the locals

My confidence grew as I searched for places to stay and connected with locals and other travelers online.

I wasn't looking for five-star luxury, but rather places that would feel like homes away from home. Clean and comfortable would do.

In researching hotels in Jaisalmer, I struck up an e-mail exchange with Paul Kirkwood of Edinburgh, Scotland, who posted a review on www.tripadvisor.com. He had good things to say about a hotel called the Shahi Palace, owned by four brothers.

I e-mailed and booked an air-conditioned double room (my husband, Tom, is going with me) with Western-style private bath for $36. I also made arrangements to go on an overnight camel trek in the desert with the brothers' uncle who lives in a nearby village.

Looking for places in Kerala, I read a blog that mentioned homestays with local families, and found Jos Byju, whose Gramam Homestay near the port town of Kochi wins praise for its family friendliness and home cooking.

Jos helped me arrange stays with families in other villages; a car and driver; visits to tea and cardamom plantations and a private, overnight cruise on a converted rice barge through a network of canals and lagoons called the backwaters.

Even in crowded and hectic Delhi, I got lucky. We'll be staying in a four-room guesthouse where the young owners, Ushi and Avnish, win recommendations in guidebooks and on TripAdvisor for their vegetarian meals and spotless housekeeping. Ushi leads "Hidden Delhi" walking tours for his guests on Saturdays.

Personal connections

It would have been easier to leave all these details to someone else, maybe even less risky. But the reward is that I'm going to India feeling like I have some personal connections, and in a country of one billion people, that's huge.

In Jaipur, a city famous for its former royal palaces turned into luxury hotels, my e-mail for a reservation at family-owned Jas Vilas came back with this note from owners Lily and Mahendra Singh.

"Many guests ask us as to what further action is needed to secure a room at Jas Vilas. Someday we will make a policy, complete with legal jargon, on how to secure a room and how much you have to pay to cancel. But till we do that, your word is good enough."

P.S. "We spent two months in Seattle in 1998 and 1999 and found it to be the most beautiful city in the U.S."

The couple converted their ancestral family home into a nine-room boutique hotel with a pool, private bathrooms, AC and laptop connections.

At $60 a night, I'm not expecting a palace, but these people talk like friends, and that's a luxury a stranger can't buy.

Carol Pucci: 206-464-3701 or cpucci@seattletimes.com