Jan 26th, 2025. Mumbai.
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It was pure chaos, a massive human anthill of motorbikes, tuk-tuks, street stalls, garbage, and sacred cows stretching on for miles. Strangely, you get used to the madness, and after a while, you even start to like it. People stare at you like you're an alien. They ask for photos until your social battery is completely drained. Yet, there is a warmth in it that makes you understand them. The days blur past and the city never sleeps. Poverty stares you right in the face. Shoeless children begging, and thousands making the pavement their home. Cows forage, horns blow without a pause, markets explode to life at 6:00 AM, and the sun sinks behind the smog twelve hours later. Twenty-six million people call this concrete jungle home. It was nice knowing you, Mumbai.

End of January, 2025. Jodphur and Jaipur.
The blue city and the orange city. It was a time brimming with color and beautiful encounters. The family of albino horses. The milk chefs. The man in the hat and glasses who spoke of the war. The old woman Daniel had photographed five years ago, who somehow still remembered him.

But it was also a time of exhaustion, aching legs, and fever. Sweaty nights in a heart-warming hostel hostel where you lay shivering, quietly questioning why you had traveled so far from home.