This week’s post is coming to you from your international correspondent at Turtleduck Press, Siri Paulson. I’m in India right now, the third country on a four-country travel adventure.
For writers who work in made-up worlds, travel is a banquet of experiences — the real-life version of the research we’re always doing. It’s a way to live in the moment, to experience life more intensely. It’s a way to narrow down your priorities — I’ve got only a few changes of clothing with me, and my computer time is severely limited. And you can bet I’m snapping endless photos for future reference in worldbuilding.
Travel is also emotionally intense. Which, of course, is also good for writers, if not always comfortable…
I’ve been struck speechless. The Taj Mahal is even more beautiful in person than it looks in photos, and I’m still looking for words to describe the experience.
I’ve been embarrassed. Today I had to explain to my auto-rickshaw driver (think golf carts acting as taxis…) that I needed to buy toilet paper, knowing that (a) his English was poor, so he didn’t know the term, and (b) Indians don’t use toilet paper (they’re part of the large section of the world that uses water instead — which is why I needed some), so it’s not something he’d be likely to think of. I was about to launch into a tale of “Well, when Westerners go to the bathroom…” when I was saved by the shop owner just in time.
I’ve been smitten. Right now I’m in the state of Rajasthan, in the northwest of India. This area is chock-full of forts and palaces and stories. I can’t stop taking pictures of historical architecture and what remains of the decor, and exploring the mazes of empty rooms, and trying to imagine the lives of the people who once occupied these wonderful buildings.
I’ve been heartbroken. Throughout my travels in Southeast Asia, I saw people living in what can only be described as shacks. But you’ve probably heard that poverty in India is much worse, and (from my very limited experience) it’s true. I’ve seen more than one family just living by the side of the road, out in the open. I’ve seen women and children and disabled people begging. I know I can’t change all of their lives, and it hurts. Still working on the best way to do what little I can.
I’m not writing as I travel — I’m too busy living and soaking up the world. But I know all of this will make me a better writer, and perhaps a better person, in the end.