After 28 years, I was again in India. This time, rather than sharing a romantic adventure with my new husband, I was on an Elderhostel tour with my older sister, Una. I had reached the ripe age of 55, which at that time was the age the travel group considered elder-enough. Of course, younger travel partners were allowed to accompany their significant other, but Una and I both qualified on our own.
I had heard many great things about Elderhostel and I looked forward to the educational aspects of their program. But, it was my first time traveling with any type of tour-group and I felt a bit trepidatious about the group aspect of the trip. I needn’t have worried.
I discovered on this trip there was much to like about Elderhostel/Road Scholar programs. On five later trips with the organization, I have found the following to be generally the norm:
- Average age of participants is around 65 or 70. The Road Scholar web-site currently says their travelers are “lifelong learners typically over the age of 50.”
- Some participants are Elderhostel devotees who have attended multiple programs.
- The ratio of women to men is about 2 to 1. Most of the male attendees are there with their wives. This is not the group to look for a romantic fling!
- The attendees are friendly, eager to learn, active, and non-complaining. Una and I tried to join a different group at each meal and to sit with different people each day on excursions.
- The guides are excellent, knowledgeable, and have good people-skills.
- “Lectures” by local specialists and experts are offered almost every day.
- Excursions are well-organized, use comfortable or exotic modes of transportation, and are always accompanied by a local guide who shares a depth of information and never seems to simply spout a memorized spiel.
- In India, besides bus and train, we rode in a tuk-tuk (a kind of motorcycle-powered taxi), in an army style jeep, in an
antique auto from a maharaja’s collection, on the back of an elephant, and in a pony-cart. - The food is excellent and always includes both western and local options.
- The accommodations are no longer dorms or youth-hostels. We stayed at three- and four-star hotels. In India, some of the hotels were almost luxurious.
- Most tours are all-inclusive so there are no surprises financially.
Our tour, named “Northern India, Crossroad of the World,” began in earnest on the first day with a lecture on India’s path to independence presented by a Gandhi scholar. Soon enough, we were in a comfortable bus taking in the sights of Delhi. Our first stop was the Red Fort which Tom and I had visited years before. Though the fort remained impressive, I remembered it as more stunningly beautiful. Could it be that on my earlier visit, I looked at all things through the rosy lens of love and the adventure of a lifetime?
After two days in the capital, our group boarded a train and headed for Agra. I looked forward to seeing the Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri again and hoped they would live up to the beauty of my memories. This turned out to be another unfounded worry. The day in Agra made me fall in love again—this time with Elderhostel.
We were warned that if the weather report was good, we should be prepared for an early morning departure from the hotel. When the pre-dawn call came, we bundled up in sweaters, boarded our bus, and minutes later entered the Taj Mahal garden through the wooden gates. In the pale light, we stood near the entrance, rubbed our icy hands together to warm them, and waited. We peered into thick, gray mist and glimpsed the shrouded form of one of the most famous tombs in the world. Gradually the mist lifted and the golden glow of sunrise revealed the Taj Mahal in all its glory. The reflecting pool shone silver in the pale light, with gardens on either side. Between “ooohs” and “aahs,” we clicked our cameras and tried to capture the magical moment on film.
After viewing the gardens, we boarded the bus again and our guide promised that this was only the beginning. . . “The best will come this evening,” he promised with a broad grin. I was familiar with the places we saw during the day and, though as lovely as I remembered, none were as glorious as the Taj Mahal at sunrise. Then in the late afternoon, we all piled into seven, matching white, Morris Minor taxis.
Our string of small vehicles sped through the narrow alleys of old Agra, bumping and lurching over ruts and around trucks, tuk-tuks, cows, ox carts, and pedestrians. It felt like white-water rafting through humanity. We crossed the Jumna river on a narrow bridge, then headed across open fields to a village of low, thatched houses. The taxis slowed to a crawl in the dirt lanes of the village, honking at every turn and intersection. Finally, we stopped. Ahead stretched an expanse of hillocky, white sand, the river, and, on the other side, the Taj Mahal.
Dusk approached as we walked across the sand. We passed women carrying water jugs on their heads, tall, tied bundles of reeds, and rows of seedling watermelon vines planted in the river sand. In the distance, on the far shore, smoke and flames rose up from the cremation grounds. The mingled scents of burning wood and river damp filled the air.
At the water’s edge, we gazed across to the Taj, high on the far embankment. The
white domes and minarets, gilded by the light of the setting sun, were reflected in the steel-blue water of the Jumna river. The color of the tomb shifted from gold to amber, from amber to mauve, and to the deep blue of evening. We wandered along the river bank as night descended and the heat of the day seeped out of the air. It was a truly extra-ordinary evening, more beautiful than anything I had ever seen, even during those romantic years when Tom and I traveled in a van.
Now I couldn’t wait to see what else Elderhostel had in store.
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