The other night at a bar in Bangkok, some British guy told me his dad was involved in a famous robbery in Brisbane, Australia. Given that one of the most notorious Brisbane heists involved Russell “Mad Dog” Cox and Raymond John Denning, two infamous armed robbers who walked into the Railway Centre on Edward Street and robbed an armored truck carrying a $327,000 payroll maybe the guy wasn’t entirely full of it. He also mentioned he was on mushrooms, so, ya know. While I’m apparently learning how to rob a bank, I was introduced to a woman from Great Britain who left home to pursue a career in Thailand selling ketamine and cocaine. Then there was a ladyboy bartender actually more attractive than the Thai woman I was talking to while that same Thai woman was telling me she has to sell her body to support her children.

Before I go any further: this isn’t a travel blog. I made a conscious decision to let travel bloggers dig their own grave alongside their SEO friendly tombstones. I can’t even say the words “style of writing” because there is no style. They’re listicles living for clicks and calling it journalism. What you’re reading is what happens when a human being who can actually write sits in the bars these stories come from and refuses to dress them up. If you came for café recommendations and a tuk-tuk driver who taught me about love, the door’s behind you. Everyone else, pull up a stool.

From a 10,000 foot view, the tourists who visit India and Thailand are two completely different species. The tourists in India tend to have a better understanding of who they are. Clearly not what they’re selling. The tourists in Thailand seem like they’re still searching or worse, hiding. I personally feel like I have to meet the tourists here where they are whereas the tourists in India were more assertive, more certain about what they wanted from life. If you’re British and want to watch football in a pub, there are people doing exactly that abroad. Drinking is huge amongst the foreigners I’ve met here. Don’t you just love tourists who do the exact same thing overseas as they would back home? I’m completely fine with it, though. None of them will ever make it to India, and I don’t want them there anyway. See, India? I’m super nice.

Most drug addicts and alcoholics have the best stories but can’t write worth a damn. People who fancy themselves writers don’t have any good stories. Luckily for you, I’m right in the cut between sanity and madness a classical boarding school education coupled with higher learning at the Harvard of the South. Ole Miss.

Now’s the part where I’m supposed to reveal some great epiphany. Some on the spot observation about how the pigeons in front of me are picking apart scraps the same way being abroad has picked me apart. Only scraps remaining. That’s how this genre works. You sit somewhere with a bird and you write a paragraph about loneliness. No epiphany today. The pigeons are just pigeons and I’m just a thirty four year old American. No major changes to report. The biggest changes I’ve seen recently are the ladyboys transitioning from male to female. This is where the travel writer would tell you their essence is that of a woman even though they were born men, that their beauty boasts a quiet confidence, that they carry themselves with a grace most Western women have forgotten. Back to reality. Damn, they can really get it.

Travel writers punch above their waistline. They fill essays with words too big for their britches and stuff them with epiphanies delivered by tuk-tuk drivers who never said anything that profound. Not every day in Southeast Asia gives you a takeaway from a Roadside Romeo of a Rapido driver. The belt buckle needs to be tightened, not loosened weightlessness over lethargy. Writing heavily makes you want to keep filling instead of emptying. The Tao Te Ching has a line: “an empty cup holds what we want.” That’s the traffic light for this kind of writing. Light to dark. Inhale to exhale. Staying full all the time sounds like a full time job.

Sure, I miss my dog, but he’s fine. I’m not going to walk around Bangkok and write you a story of how the street dog I saw in the alley reminds me of mine. There are a lot of Chinese people here though. If Swayze were here, I could fetch top dollar. Poodle noodles are a delicacy in China only outdone by the rare pom poutine. I do miss the taste of him though. Dirt and fresh cut grass. A Nashville delicacy. No one believes me when I tell folks he’s from Nashville. I say, “sure he is just listen to his bark!” His southern accent is thick and cut like bacon.

No nothing exciting going on here. I went to the dentist the other day. It turns out I have nine cavities and need a root canal. My second appointment went extremely well and they patched up all nine in one sitting. The duct tape in Thailand is way better than what my dentist uses back home. I was hoping they’d use anesthesia to knock me out. Then I’d at least have something to write about: “I went to a dentist in Thailand and woke up engaged.” Better yet, “I went to a dentist in Thailand and woke up a woman.” I can picture the “travel blogger” SEO title now: “You’ll Never Believe the Transition I Went Through at the Dentist in Thailand and Here Are the 3 Lessons I Learned.” Then I could really do some damage with my writing. I have a couple dentist appointments left maybe I’ll ask my doctor what she sees. Other than bad oral hygiene and leftover pom poutine.

Every Thai person I’ve met has been too nice. Usually my dentist back home scolds me for inadequate brushing, flossing never, too much sweets. I could tell my Thai dentist was too worried to tell me the truth, but I knew. I really should cut down on all those poodle noodles.

I came to Thailand expecting to write about temples, street food, and culture. Instead I’m writing about a British child man child on mushrooms whose dad robbed a train, a woman who moved from London to sell ketamine for a living, and a mother whose whole job revolves around selling her body, all at the same bar where the most attractive person was the bartender transitioning from male to female.

This is where the “travel writer” would tell you what it all means. How the bar was a microcosm for my own transition. How I found a tiny piece of myself in all the characters and how I found myself in the looking.

I didn’t find anything other than some good conversation. Then I went back to my guesthouse and went to bed. The pigeons were still pigeons in the morning.

I’m The Last American Travel Writer.

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It’s gotten to a point where the younger generation isn’t learning cursive and millennials are starting to forget how to read. Then again, I’m a satirist so take that with a grain of Chai.

Travel blogging and general writing for that matter is dying, and what’s replacing it is something dumber: getting views and followers while traveling. There’s a difference. One is a craft. The other is a slot machine in Vegas.

I’ve been off social media since April 12th. I was in Chiang Mai recording content for a week and then I put my phone down. I picked it back up a little less than a month later. I want to talk about why.

There are content consumers who engage thoughtfully and content consumers who are just dumb. I love the first group. The second group gives me a chance to put you in your place. Call me Jean Claude Van Damme my writing is purely a bloodsport.

Now the people who have gone astray. The ones who consume and create content but are lifeless. I’m one of the few who can still put social media down. Some people think I’m lying or trying to impress them when I say I’ve put down Instagram for weeks at a time.

Can you honestly say the same? Remember you’re reading the writing of someone who did away with social media for eight years, from 2016 to 2025. When I picked it back up, I started this channel in late 2025.

Putting my phone down usually gives me space to ground myself in all things rooted in reality. Every time I come back to social media I’m reminded of why I put it down in the first place. Fresh eyes help me see the universal formula for going viral: under a minute and a half, a strong hook, and enough engagement in the first three seconds to earn a like. Using that scaffolding, every country seems to have its own themes creators apply it to.

For example, a lot of people who travel India get followers by saying “Indian haters will never believe” or “the side of India people will never show you.” There’s an Australian influencer, Aussie Bhai, who Indians love. If you scroll back to the beginning of his page, you’ll see he started off making videos about all things travel fun, informative, and something he seemed genuinely into. Then one day he figured out the “scaffolding” within the theme: Indians love chai. Aussie Bhai cracked that with one viral reel, and now, years later, all his videos are him trying to go viral about how much Indians love chai. He does other stuff too, but in my opinion, he’s painted himself into a corner.

I never worked out in the corporate world because I was too independent and too much of a free thinker. Before I left India, I made a reel I knew would go viral. I jumped on a Dhurandhar trend Indians love and built the whole thing around mocking Pakistan. The trend itself was manufactured fake from the start but it didn’t matter. Indians dislike Pakistan enough that the truth of the trend is irrelevant. I don’t actually believe what I said in that reel, but that was the entire point of doing it. I wanted to see if I could engineer a hit on demand.

Nearly 400,000 Indians liked it.

Do you know what Instagram said back? “Nice job here’s more inspiration content!” Do you know what hundreds of Indian men and women commented and messaged me? “Good job! You should keep doing videos about Pakistan to get more Indian followers and views.”

That wasn’t fan mail. That was grooming. They were trying to do to me what their audience already did to Aussie Bhai. Turn me into a vehicle for content they like watching a gora perform. Every culture does this to outsiders. India just happens to be where I have the receipts. The chai corner doesn’t paint itself. The audience paints it for you, one comment at a time.

It’s at this point, late March, that I took a break from social media. I kept the video up because it is a little funny, but I’ll be damned if I turn out like our Australian friend who’s painted himself into a chai corner. I saw a video of him in Japan the other week, back at it again, working the India angle. This is what happens to content creators. They figure out what works, they start getting views, and they stick with it.

The day after I posted the Pakistan reel, I posted one about how India lacks civic sense. The truth is, I only made the civic sense reel to lessen the blow of the Pakistan one which is exactly the audience pleasing calculation I’m warning against. The moment you start worrying about how your viewers will take something, you’re already in the trap. I got a flood of messages from Indian men saying: “you’ve changed,” and “how could you? You hate Pakistan like us?” This is the danger of social media. Once you find your shtick, you’re stuck.

I’m not going to let that happen to me. I’ll lose followers along the way, and that’s fine. I’m going to keep travel blogging and vlogging the old school way. I’ll never make everyone happy, and from where I’m sitting, social media leaves most people more unhappy than happy. I’m The Last American Travel Writer.

PS — If Aussie Bhai (Andy) ever reads this, I want to be clear: I think his channel is genuinely fun and I wish him well. This isn’t a hit piece. It’s a warning I’m writing as much for myself as for him. The chai corner has room for two.

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I’ve cancelled my trip to Vietnam. Everyone I met kept telling me to go. inexpensive food, budget hotels, cheap everything. That’s not a good enough reason. The Vietnamese people are dealing with real economic damage right now because of American politics, and I have absolutely no intention of showing up as an American with a camera while they’re suffering for it. I’m staying in Thailand for the next three months and I’m very optimistic about the future.

A lot of people are lost right now. From what I’m reading online about the conflict in Iran, foreigners are flocking to Thailand because Dubai has lost its shine. The war in Ukraine rages on, so I’ve met Ukrainians here in Thailand as well as during my travels through India. Israelis outnumber every other group of foreigners I’ve encountered, by a large margin.

I just talked to a Ukrainian guy named O. He spent time in India living as a Hare Krishna. His hometown sits near the front lines back home. He’s grateful for American support during the war. We’re friends on Instagram now. What’s up, O!

He wanted me to tell you that you have a choice. You can take the pain and swallow the trauma, or you can keep growing.

Now I’m with Lucky. Lucky owns a bar and says we’re all friends. She said the big country with the big man should stop the war. Lucky love everybody.

This morning I met a young couple in Chiang Mai at a breakfast spot. He was American and she was Canadian. We quickly got into each other’s backstories and I got the sense they could have done without my ample talking.

Earlier that same morning I met a 17 year old Israeli gentleman filled with the kind of excitement only a young man can possess. He and his family were taking time away from Israel to decompress. Even at 17 he had traveled all over India and knew many of the same places I’d been. He said I was an interesting person and wished me the best with my writing. I told him he was a very well spoken young man and that I wished him and his family well during the war. He said he hopes to travel the world and spread love.

Later that morning I spotted my friend E sitting on the porch. He’s Israeli and sick of the war. He’s 22 years old and exhausted from living in a bomb shelter. He said he doesn’t want to kill anyone and that he’s a pure soul. He doesn’t understand how people can kill. He could never kill anything. He stares off into the distance and chain smokes cigarettes. I feel sad. Knowing he’s only in town one more day, I can see he doesn’t want to go back.

Back to the couple I mentioned earlier. They completely resist acknowledging the world around them. Most of the foreigners I met in India opened every conversation by acknowledging the war and checking that we were all safe. Some of the foreigners I’ve met in Thailand say things like “I have no idea what’s going on” with a guilty smirk, or “we’re trying to stay as unplugged as we can” while looking around for the answer. My younger Gen Z cousins do the same thing. Ask them a serious question and they look down, up, around, or frantically search for their phone like they haven’t seen it in ages. This couple wanted to shake me off as quickly as they could. They also said they needed to start doing some kind of work and that they spent most of their money partying. I told them they should watch dating abroad videos and try to go viral. People love that stuff. They smiled and seemed enthusiastic about the idea. Hopefully they haven’t unplugged so completely that they couldn’t actually try. Blissful ignorance isn’t as cute as it used to be.

Later that afternoon I met a French gentleman who eventually stormed off. He said his passion was photography but that he was chained to corporate life. I told him he should pour his heart and soul into posting his pictures on social media and get paid for it. He could gradually transition out of his job while building a photography clientele on the road. He gave me a very French response: “I take photos just because” and “I don’t care if anyone else likes it.” I told him that was exactly the point. Put your pictures out there with the caption “I don’t care what you think.” Perfect for a French artist, right? He shrugged me off and left. Perhaps I’m perfecting the algorithm for annoying people.

Au revoir to our French friend. Bonjour America. And just like that, as if the universe wanted to remind me what a switched on American looks like, I was introduced to Jess. He’s 39, warm, and we talked for five hours about all things life, love, and politics. He essentially lives the life of an oil rig worker. On for a couple of months, off for a couple of months, sometimes working a week straight and then taking a week off. Now here’s the thing: for those of you who share my belief that we need to get back to working with our hands and communicating with each other, Jess’s profession is ornithology. In Gen Z terms, he watches birds. I’m sure many of you Gen Z’s are already doing that on your phones.

Jess is the seventh or eighth American I’ve met in six months. We are few and far between out here. I love hearing about people who love their work. It’s the best feeling in the world, watching someone smile ear to ear as they tell the story of falling in love with birds and dedicating their life to protecting animals. When I eventually go back to America, I’m going to make a point of travel blogging all fifty states. I’ve heard people say that before and rolled my eyes, but it’s true. Sometimes traveling to a foreign country makes you appreciate home far more.

When I was at Ole Miss, my history professors told us that if you can understand Mississippi in the 20th century, you can understand America. I firmly believe that someone like Jess, who understands birds and their migration patterns, which species are thriving and which are declining, can understand the ecological changes America is experiencing in a way most people never will. He and his team need ten years of data to properly publish their findings. For now, he says things are status quo. Some species thriving, some struggling. When humans build infrastructure, some species suffer and others actually thrive.

Jess loves birds. I love birds. And you should love birds too.

I’m starting to see patterns differences and similarities. I’ve been at this for over six months. Maybe I’m being too harsh on people. I grew up in an academic environment straight out of Dead Poets Society always questioning, always pushing people to think. From what I’ve seen out here, the younger travelers I meet the ones who grew up with social media can only go so far in real conversation. When things get genuinely deep, they shrink, shrug, and essentially say they’re just here to exist. They say it reverently, as if it’s spiritual. God have mercy on where we’ll be spiritually in fifty years unless a genuine revival takes hold.

When I was off social media for eight years, I became deeply overwhelmed thinking about how I’d ever fit into the digital world. The one silver lining I see in some of the travelers I meet is that they haven’t given up. We are human beings and we still have the capacity to choose kindness, love, and compassion. People are fleeing Israel, Ukraine, France, Germany, Great Britain, and countless other countries, but there’s a second “flea” people carry. It’s the burden of feeling like we no longer matter.

The people I met today, O, E, Lucky are too happy to be sad about what’s happening. That’s not ignorance. That’s a choice. Go ahead and do yourself a favor like Cameron Diaz in The Holiday and book that trip. The world is still out there.

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Hey Y’all,

No one shows up to their first yoga class by accident. No one shows up to this page by accident either. The important part is that you subscribe. I mean that you’re here.

This space is for you if:

You think most travel writing isn’t even writing anymore.

Most people switched to video. Of the writers who are left, the majority are still putting out boring itineraries and too afraid to speak their minds. That’s not what this is.

What you’ll find here:

It’s what happens when you put down your phone and find yourself meditating on Dashashwamedh Ghat with a Baba Ji. Cultural commentary, satire, and live dispatches from the road. Brutally honest and absolutely in love with the world. Chaotic yet melodic.

I’ll tell you when I’m wrong. I’ll argue with you when you’re wrong too.

Who am I?

I’m Charlie Evans. I left America at 34 because I looked around and realized nobody was paying attention anymore. Except for the three second reels people watch long enough to like before moving on to the next one. I had to see the world for myself.

I landed at Indira Gandhi International Airport at 10 PM on October 4th, 2025, and didn’t sleep until sunrise. A red eyed romeo drove me through pitch black streets to a place called US Tourism. Not actually US Tourism. Just an Indian guy with excellent branding. From there I went straight to Kashmir, a cold war zone between India and Pakistan that most Westerners only know as a headline. It was actually quite hot. It was October.

I stayed in India six months and I’m nowhere near done. My dream is to explore all 28 states while taking the story to a few more countries along the way. My father and uncle founded InsureMyTrip. I spent five years learning the travel industry from the inside out. I loved it, but I always knew I wanted to build something of my own. After a few more corporate detours, I finally did.

Subscribe and you’ll get:

Daily stories and satire via Notes. Three newsletters a week. Articles, essays, and dispatches.

My hope for you:

Hope. My hope is to show you that there’s still so much of it left in this world. It’s the best time to be alive and the best time to travel.

I’m The Last American Travel Writer.

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I wore flip flops to a hike in Rishikesh. In my defense, I thought I was conjuring the universe into giving me exactly what I wanted an easy hike. The universe had other plans, because the “hike” was indeed a mountain hike. I was so very wrong.

I was on the banks of the Ganga the other day and spoke to a group of ten Indian gentlemen. The majority of my conversation was with a young man named R. I had just finished a book about Rishikesh and was fascinated with the story of Neelkanth Temple and Lord Shiva. Long ago, a deadly poison threatened the destruction of earth, and instead of letting the world perish, Lord Shiva drank the poison sacrificing himself to save the universe. Neelkanth Temple is located exactly where Shiva sat after saving the world. Neelkanth means “blue throat,” and thanks to Lord Shiva, we’re able to use our throats to communicate, eat good food, and enjoy life.

When R and I were wrapping up our conversation, he asked me if I’d like to visit Neelkanth, to which I enthusiastically replied that I would be overjoyed to visit. That’s the magic of Rishikesh you read something and then miraculously you’re offered that very thing.

Throughout my life I’ve gone back and forth on the concepts of free will and determinism. One thing I do know for sure is that I can perform magic and conjure anything I want to or at least this is how my conversation with R made me feel. When he sat next to me he said that I was signaling that I wanted to be spoken to. The scary part is that in my head I was thinking “I hope someone sits next to me, because I really want to speak to a local.” Was it me acting on my own free will and socially signaling that I wanted to make a new friend? Or am I just a cog in a predetermined world, thinking I have the choice of free will when really everything is already decided? Whatever the case may be, R and I exchanged information then went our separate ways.

During our text exchange later that day we both agreed on heading to Neelkanth Temple the next morning to make an offering to Lord Shiva. My friend John was visiting me from the States and I’d been eager to show him how much I’ve assimilated to India. It was my time to show off and drop a little Hindi and dazzle him with how well I fit in. We met at 7am in Tapovan and started walking out of Rishikesh and into the mountains.

Maybe I was tired the night before, but I completely misread how far the temple was from Tapovan. Google Maps said it was about 3.5 km. I wore flip flops. Right as we were passing the Beatles Ashram, my buddy John said “hey, this sign says the temple is 10.5 km away.” I’ll be honest I still thought I might be okay. I wasn’t. Neither was John. By the end of the hike, we had climbed the equivalent of a mountain in Vermont somewhere between 2,600 and 3,000 feet of elevation gain.

Literally within the first few hundred feet we were confronted with hills at a 75 degree incline. This wasn’t a paved path it was the way to get to the paved path. Think of a bulldozer carving through the side of a mountain trees, stumps, rocks and roots scattered into what can only be described as a hiking nightmare. However, these obstacles served a purpose. They were gifts from Lord Shiva, offering handrails and footholds so we wouldn’t tumble down the mountain. About halfway up I stopped, hands on knees, and looked back down the mountain. John was behind me, equally destroyed. Neither of us said anything. Then he looked up at me and said “you wore flip flops to this.” Not a question. Just a statement. I had no defense.

Lord Shiva drank poison so the world could keep going. Knowing he would perish, he drank it anyway. He conjured a new outcome. So did I. Mine just involved flip flops.

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Five months in India and I finally understand something no modern travel guide will tell you: India isn’t slow. Indians just keep stopping for each other and they don’t apologize for it.

I’m back in Rishikesh now and I can’t stop thinking about time. Many people say that India moves slowly and that getting around can take a while. Now that I have Indian friends and I’m shedding my American instincts, I’m not just seeing it, but living it.

I walk around and see many foreigners rushing from place to place looking for that next India dopamine hit. I hang out with my Indian friends and we actually laugh at some of the other foreigners. We are in such a rush always! We are very driven to accomplish the 100 things we’ve planned. We’ve got our excursions, cafes, yoga and itinerary all mapped out and we get thrown off when things don’t go our way. In America we have the illusion of controlling our own time. India dismantled that illusion for me and once I stopped trying to manage every hour, I started actually seeing the country.

In my experience, human beings born outside India can’t fully grasp where that emotional intelligence comes from. If you stay long enough, you’ll start to see that it’s everywhere. It is against their nature to pass by someone who needs help. I’m not talking about street people or foreigners. The type of help I’m talking about is between regular, everyday people of India. They love their families and they love each other. Many calls are made throughout the day which takes time. Mom, dad, sister, brother, significant other or friend sometimes all in one day. Jeez, aunty had a lot to say.

Every Indian I’ve spent meaningful time with operates by an unspoken rule: you don’t walk past someone who needs help. When stepping out into the street someone may need WiFi to pay their bill. One of my Indian friends will stop and give their time to help. Maybe a friendship is made and numbers are exchanged. This takes time too. Some people actually need to know the time because their phone died if you have a power bank, you will offer it. It’s just an Indian custom. I’ve met Kashmiris in Srinagar so kind and sweet they would spend their last dollar on you to make sure you were okay.

The part that surprised me wasn’t how warmly Indians treat foreigners as they were raised to treat guests like gods. Spending most of my life in America gives me context to conclude that we don’t treat each other the same way that Indians treat other Indians.

If you’re reading this and you’re a Westerner like me I implore you to remember that if your bus is late or something isn’t going your way, it’s likely because an Indian stopped to help someone else. Let’s say a car needs to clear out of a busy lane. It may take 2 police officers, the driver, the uncle in the backseat, 2 guys on a scooter and 3 guys on motorcycles to accomplish this. The thing is it’s all good, because everyone helped and things got sorted.

One thing I’ve started to pick up on as my Hindi improves: conversations here have a rhythm. A constant feedback loop of small sounds, affirmations, acknowledgments that tell the other person I’m here and I’m present. There’s an intelligence that’s genuinely not artificial.

India will work for you exactly as much as you're willing to give. Not rupees. Time. Attention. The willingness to stop.

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I originally planned two weeks in Rajasthan and I’ve now budgeted a full month. Some places take time away from you. Udaipur gives it back.

What I love about Udaipur specifically is how tourist friendly it is. Most tourist sites I’ve visited in India have tiered pricing or it’s completely made up on the spot. One price for us foreigners and one price for Indian citizens and locals. Udaipur largely doesn’t, as foreigners and Indians pay the same price, which gives a sense of we’re all the same. Udaipur’s regality demands one price and it must be paid.

Udaipur doesn’t feel like a city of 600,000. It feels like the aftermath of Indian royalty that were given the most perfect and beautiful city by God. The underlying presence of light, love, religion and spirituality are apparent in the physicality of Udaipur, yet exemplified by Indians with their actions. Despite that, the city feels surprisingly small and intimate. It’s extremely walkable thanks to its beauty. A couple of hours can slip by without you even noticing whether you’re watching sunrises, indulging at cafes, or soaking it at all in

Yesterday morning, I witnessed a beautiful sunrise at Ambrai Ghat, one of the city’s most cherished and iconic waterfront spots. Ambrai Ghat is located opposite the historic Gangaur Ghat, near Jagdish Chowk. During sunrises and sunsets, it offers iconic, unobstructed views of the royal City Palace. The ghat opens directly onto Lake Pichola, the Taj Lake Palace, and Jag Mandir.

They catch the early light and hold it like a Hindu holding their Prasad for a temple the kind of visual that glues you to the ghat and makes you feel like Indian royalty. This is Udaipur’s greatest gift.

Udaipur’s old city has been here since the 16th century and if the energy at the ghat at 7am tells you anything, the element of reincarnation is evident. Perhaps all who witness the sunrise in Udaipur were alive in a past life. This doesn’t feel like a first time. Being on the ghat at 7am feels familiar and we’ve been here many times before.

As of January 27, 2026, sunrise in Udaipur was at 7:20 AM. I arrived at Ambrai Ghat around 6:45 AM and stayed until about 8:00 AM. Many articles I read mentioned a cover charge, but I paid no such fee. I also read that the ghat opens around 6:00 AM, which didn’t happen for me. After waiting about 15 minutes, Ambrai opened at 7:00 AM.

Get there an hour early. Stay an hour after. If Udaipur’s hustle keeps you from that schedule, get there when you can. I’ve never met an ugly happy person and I’ve never seen an ugly hour in this city. The beauty doesn’t punch in at sunrise and clock out at noon. It lives here.

My best recommendation: Don’t get stuck in one spot. Many people pick a single sunrise location and stay glued to it. I want to throw a monkey wrench in that plan. Pick your sunrise spot, but once you’re done, keep walking and keep capturing photos and videos. If you witness the sunrise at Ambrai, just keep going. By 8:00 AM, the picturesque sun rising behind the City Palace may be over, but the light is still alive bouncing off old buildings, finding angles that won’t exist again until tomorrow. That’s the hour most people miss because they already got the photo and left.

In the oldest parts of Udaipur the buildings rise taller and closer together than most Western cities I know. The morning light glides like a figure skater across corners and angles that don’t exist on a level grid. The street below, chaotic. The light above, melodic.

By 8am I’d already logged two miles without blinking. Ambrai and City Palace were now behind me, but Udaipur kept giving. The locals give me looks that tell me I’m a foreigner, but our feet connect to the same ground and the ground keeps taking me further.

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Udaipur is beautiful and deserves its nickname, the “Venice of the East” I completely agree with whoever coined that phrase. It’s like the Fairfield County or Orange County of India extremely pleasant and gorgeous. The city is so stunning that I want to photograph every tiny detail in the morning and at night.

I’ve taken a full day to compose myself, do some editing, and plan the next couple of days. If you’re reading this, I highly recommend the most beautiful sunset spot I’ve ever visited, I’m serious. It was at the top of Udaipur at Karni Mata Temple.

Your main concern is timing the sunset perfectly, so focus on the ropeway (it's just a gondola or tram). I was alone, so the staff let me skip two hours of lines, but groups might have a different experience. In January, Udaipur sunsets are around 5:30 PM. I made it through the wait, up the ropeway, and to the top of the temple by 4:30 PM.

At the top of the ropeway, you get a 360 degree view of the City of Lakes, it's a very spreadout city. I've watched the sun set over Fort Lauderdale for the past five years. In my opinion nothing came close to the view at the top of Karni Mata Temple, not because of the light, but because of how princely it made me feel. Whether it be 2026 or five hundred years earlier. The palaces even sit as if they know they look good under the setting sun. You'll earn a sense of royalty watching it.

Do yourself a favor and speak up. In my experience, Indians are extremely eager to show you their country and help you navigate the best spots once you're there. It's funny being up there, some tourists have been before and some haven't. Some camp out in a favorite spot waiting for the sun to drop, while others roam around. I roamed the whole time and asked people for help. There are hidden paths that stray from the ropeway and Karni Mata Temple that are worth exploring. You'll access different viewpoints and observation areas. Don't get stuck in one spot. Give the whole plateau a chance and decide which view you like best.

There's a footpath that bypasses the ropeway built for temple devotees, open to anyone willing to climb. I haven't been brave enough to try yet.

It’s the day before Republic Day and Udaipur is dressed to the nines. An ambience that makes you feel like the city won a Super Bowl or World Series. All of the excitement in the air has me eager to negotiate a boat ride or two to add to my Substack recommendations.

Some places on our planet just hit and feel different and Udaipur is one of those places. The city is ancient, but also screams modernity. As a foreigner you won’t skip a beat.

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I’m not in India right now. Empire of the Sun’s “We Are the People” is playing over the speakers. All the Indians are dressed way better than me, and there’s a cute beagle pup in the corner of the coffee bar. I’m sitting outside on the porch, and the waiter just moved a heating lamp over my head. I’m in California for sure.

Now that I’ve walked Udaipur for a couple of hours, I’m drawn back to my initial thoughts this morning before I passed out. I had an overwhelming sense of familiarity with Udaipur already and had no idea why. My thoughts exactly were that it looked like Greece or Venice, Italy. I got online and found an article saying people call it the “Venice of the East”. I can now say I’ve graduated from Harvard and visited Venice twice. Ole Miss and India really have their perks. Sitting here at Aosa Cafe watching that beagle eye my cookie, I keep thinking about Jaipur, specifically the coffee shops, which deserve their own conversation.

I’ve yet to visit Mumbai, India, but people tell me it’s the New York City of India. What I love about getting older is what I miss about South Florida. Back in South Florida, kava bars were a living room somewhere between home and work where people actually made new friends. I’d been looking for that version of a coffee shop ever since I landed in India. When I was in Delhi, the coffee shops felt rushed, and no one seemed to know each other. The coffee shops in Jaipur, Rajasthan, were more like a place where people would go daily, do their remote work, and talk about life.

Here are a couple of coffee shops I really loved when I was there last week.

Oh my god. I’m at Aosa Cafe in Udaipur, and I just picked up an amazing new hip hop song. Never thought I would say that while living in India. The song is called “Young Metro” by Future, Metro Boomin, and The Weeknd. You remember the beagle I just told you about? Well, the little devil is just the perfect height to try and steal my cookie. The little blind man just put his cute snoot onto my table and had his tongue a centimeter away from my cookie. It reminded me of the first Jurassic Park movie. Not this time, ya Beagle T-Rex. The whole outside area was in stitches.

The Tattoo Cafe, Wind View Cafe, House of Coffee, The Coffee Shot, and 202 Cafe were my favorite coffee shops in Jaipur. The beagle is back, and we’re having a stare-down. The Tattoo Cafe was my second-favorite place. Not just because I have tattoos, but because you can have the best view of Hawa Mahal. There’s a specific porch where people take their staple pictures with the uber-famous view. Be careful—the climb up is a little sketchy. The cafe is located right smack-dab in the center of Jaipur. You’re going to have to navigate through the chaos, but it’s chaos unlike North India. People are more chill, and that’s what I’ve loved about Rajasthan so far. You might get asked by a Tuk Tuk driver for a ride, after saying no, they immediately move on. The wait staff at Tattoo Cafe was also super cool.

Right below the Tattoo Cafe is a cafe called Wind View Cafe. Another really great option to take your Hawa Mahal photo. I didn’t like the vibe as much, but the coffee was good and people were having fun. I would not recommend the location as much as Tattoo Cafe due to the bathroom placement. It’s on the roof, and you literally have to part people and tables to open the door. Both of these cafes also take cover charges. It makes sense—they’re in such prime locations, they’re worried about people snapping pics and then leaving—but you’ll be reimbursed at both once you check out. Wind View Cafe was my third-favorite place.

The House of Coffee was my favorite because it reminded me of home. The people who came in seemed to be regulars, and it was within walking distance to downtown. I love to walk and typically walk to my kava bars back home. The House of Coffee was located in a chill residential neighborhood and a perfect place to pregame espresso before heading downtown to film. The inside was spacious, the wait staff was awesome, and there was an outside area too. I had the best remote-working experience there for sure.

Ranking things is hard for me because I’m too nice. Anywhere that has coffee is my favorite place at that moment in time. My most memorable experiences of the trip came from two more coffee shops I’ve yet to mention. The Coffee Shot was more near my Airbnb and had the best coffee. It was a smaller spot on a busier street; however, the small-business owner was working and knew more about coffee than anyone I’ve met on my India trip so far. He made me custom coffee creations as well as some virgin mojitos. We had a really nice conversation, and my taste buds were extremely happy. I’d recommend this place if you’re a true coffee person and want some tropical drinks during your AM routine in Jaipur.

The last coffee spot I’ll talk about is the 202 Cafe in Jaipur. This is where I met the nice young man I spoke about in my last article, and it was actually where I had the most tasty food. I’m an Italian food connoisseur and it’s hilarious to me that 202 Cafe had the best arrabbiata I’ve ever eaten. They had a pizza oven set up outside, and the ambience was fairy lights, couches, and good vibes. I hung out twice and spoke with a couple of different Indians.

That’s Jaipur and that’s Rajasthan in general. It runs on a different frequency, all powered by the vibe.

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The hotel owner had already predicted my drop-off, called me at 6:45, and was waiting on a scooty when I stepped off. I was asleep by 10. My coffee addiction did the rest. I teleported to the nearest cafe so I could get my fix and satiate my insomnia with caffeine. Insomnia loves caffeine if you didn’t already know.

What’s incredible about India is how easily one can maneuver around the country. My favorite way to travel India is by night bus. It’s so damn different from the USA and so much more fun. My bus left Jaipur at 10:15 PM and arrived in Udaipur at 7:00 AM.

Some of my posts on Instagram have gone viral, and that really means a lot to me. People watch and comment, and for the most part they’re so sweet and kind. I do struggle with social media, though, because I grew up with the original Instagram, which was only pictures and reflections of static moments in time. I remember when we used to stop on a picture and actually read the caption and reflect on a certain person’s writing and perspective. No one reads the captions anymore, and I feel like we’ve lost a little nuance as a civilization.

I generalize on social media videos. That’s the social contract we’ve all signed. Instagram culture rewards hot takes and doesn’t really allow for nuance. I’d have the most boring account on Instagram if I was actually being honest. Imagine me in a video saying “I don’t have anything to say right now, I’m still taking it in.”

At the top of Amber Fort, one of the most beautiful self-guided walking tours I’ve accomplished during my time here. I said something that went viral nationwide and got Indians fired up. The reel was simple. I said Indians were lazy and out of shape, calling out the ones who wouldn’t walk to the top. Behind the scenes, however, game recognizes game. I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t taking breaks myself. All throughout my day, Indians were asking me “How far is it to the top?” I love it when locals ask me for help. It makes me chuckle thinking I shouldn’t be the one giving directions.

India moves fast, but it also moves slow, being in the moment and not getting ahead of yourself is ingrained in their everyday spirit. I wish people would cut me a break sometimes, but that’s just the world we live in. I’ll continue to post videos and accept the blowback. I’m truly a man of the people.

A lot of foreigners come here and see one side of India, whichever side they want. I’m a different cat with a different mission. I want all of India and to live like a local. This means I’ll indulge in momos, smoke some cigarettes, have a chai break or two, as well as eat clean and practice yoga in Kashi one day. I have the spirit of a yogi as well as the spirit of a roadside Romeo, you know what I mean. I’m an Indian addict and will try everything the country has to offer me.

Yesterday at a cafe, I met the version of myself I wish I’d been at 19.

I had one of the most intellectually stimulating conversations of my life at a coffee shop in Jaipur. A 19-year-old young Muslim gentleman sat down near me, and after his friend left, he came over and joined me. We spoke for the next five hours about life, love, and family. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. I usually get bored speaking with people after a couple of minutes. Not this time.

I’ve made many mistakes in my life, and with how crazy the world is these days, I feel it’s my duty to share what I’ve learned with the younger generation. Not to preach or gloat I share the bad just as much as the good. All the wrong turns. All the things I’d do differently. He reminded me that being alive is worth paying attention to.

In my thirty-four years of experience, Americans have gotten worse at sitting with each other. India, at least the India I’ve been moving through has people who make eye contact and conversate with each other on a deep level. There are 1.4 billion people in India. Imagine all those conversations.

When the young man first sat down, I was a little peeved. I was trying to keep up with my blog. Now, a day later with fingers to keyboard, I’m grateful he did. I’m still here. Still learning. The young man reminded me about being alive — truly awake, not just existing to coast by.

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I’m writing this from Blue Tokai Coffee Roasters in Saket, New Delhi, the caffeine is begging me to get into it, so let’s go.

Today’s topic: What foreigners think India is versus what Indians actually think about foreigners.

We’ve all seen those wild travel vlogs of foreigners hitting Delhi and romping through Chandni Chowk the famous bustling market in Old Delhi. On any given day, you’ll spot foreigners like me wandering around. For those who don’t know, it’s smack in the middle of the city and the epicenter of travel-blogging culture.

My Indian friends dismiss Chandni Chowk with disdain, as if it carries a stigma about India that middle class Indians don’t want to be associated with. Social media does India a great injustice in not acknowledging India’s thriving middle class. People whose salaries and education levels often edge out Westerners and who have no interest in being anybody’s content.

Delhi Metro has 35 million people. The self-respecting Indians I’ve met who’ve lived here their whole lives don’t go to Chandni Chowk for fun. It’s like my friends from Fort Lauderdale who never go to the beach. Chandni Chowk is Fort Lauderdale beach for locals, it’s just not where you go.

India has a massive, thriving middle class. They have careers, opinions, coffee shops they actually like, and absolutely no reason to spend their Saturday being filmed by a stranger. So why would they go to Chandni Chowk? They wouldn’t. They’d hit up markets or shops in their own neighborhood. For foreigners to assume everyone eats and hangs out there is ignorant and honestly, a little mean.

Some great travel bloggers explore the real India beyond Delhi, showing everyday life. But too many follow the same script: land, head straight to Chandni Chowk, crack stupid jokes, poke fun at people, and zoom in on the trash. I’m not naming names. But you’ve seen them.

The coffee culture here alone should tell you something. India grows its own beans. There are more national coffee chains here than in America. The country is layered, modern, and proudly its own thing and most of it never makes it onto camera.

To all my Indian friends- I apologize for the bloggers. We’ll do better. The real India isn’t hard to find. You just have to stop filming the version that makes good content.

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The Indian visa website in 2026 looks like an early Nintendo console glitchy, temperamental, and in desperate need of a firm blow into the cartridge. Before you even book a flight, you need to understand two rules that govern everything about how long you can stay.

Rule 1: No single continuous visit can exceed 180 days. Rule 2: No more than 180 total days in one calendar year.

Everything else flows from these two. Note that the 180-day continuous stay limit applies to US, UK, Canadian, and Japanese nationals. Most other nationalities are capped at 90 days per visit check the official site for your country.

Maximizing Your Stay Across Two Calendar Years

This is the part nobody explains clearly. Two rules govern your stay and both apply simultaneously. Rule 1 caps any single unbroken visit at 180 days. When you hit 180 continuous days, you must leave no exceptions. Rule 2 caps your total days in India at 180 per calendar year. This resets January 1st.

Here’s how to use both rules to your advantage: arrive in July 2026 and stay your full 180 continuous days that takes you to late December. You leave. January 1st, 2027 resets your annual allowance and you re-enter for another 180 days through late June 2027. You spent time outside India in between, but you’ve legally maximized your time across two calendar years.

What you cannot do is arrive in January and expect to stay 365 days straight. Rule 1 stops you at 180 continuous days. Rule 2 stops your total at 180 for that calendar year. Plan your arrival date accordingly.

Acquiring your visa is the first and most necessary step. I’ll start with the process of obtaining an e-Tourist Visa the most cost-effective and easiest visa. Let’s start with the three basic e-Tourist Visas: one-month (30-day), one-year, and five-year.

Go with the five-year visa, but don’t get overwhelmed. You don’t have to stay for five years. I only recommend this one over the others because you won’t have to renew as often. No matter if you choose a one month, one year, or five-year- visa, the maximum stay allotted follows the same two rules above, though, always verify nationality specific conditions on the official site.

One-Month Visa

I don’t recommend this visa you’ll only have a maximum of 30 days.

One-Year Visa

In one calendar year, your maximum allotted stay is 180 days. So if you come to India in January 2026, you’ll be able to stay until July. Then you’ll have to leave. Your clock resets January 1st, and then you can come back. Many think the one-year and five-year visas allow you to stay for one or five years continuously. This isn’t the case.

Five-Year Visa

The five-year visa is my ultimate recommendation for anyone traveling to India. People nowadays think too much. They tell themselves, “I won’t stay that long” or “Why would I get a longer visa than I need?” Well, considering how difficult the visa website is to navigate, there is greater value in obtaining a 5-year visa. Between the one-year visa and the five-year visa, there is only a difference in price of about $40–$55 (depending on your nationality and any updates check current fees on the official site). The one-month visa is around $25 (sometimes drops to $10 during the slow season, like April–June), the one-year is about $40, and the 5-year is around $80 (fees can vary by country and year always verify).

Entries

Less headache, more India. The 30-day visa seems stupid to me. You’re only allowed double entries within its validity. If you want to stay past 30 days, you’ll also have to reapply. Again, the visa website is a pain, so go with the one-year or five-year.

In Conclusion

When deciding on your visa, I would prioritize hassle. The five-year visa gives you everything the other visas have, including having to do less work. My five-year visa gives me the opportunity for multiple entries, a possible near-360-day stay across two calendar years (depending on nationality and timing), and a digestible price only about $80 USD.

India is officially the most beautiful country in the world and it’s a beautiful maze. You need several months minimum to truly enjoy it. Disregard the 30-day, consider the 1-year, and go to the visa website and get your 5-year visa now.

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When I left the USA for India, I paid off my phone at AT&T. Then I ported my number to Google Voice so I could use it forever. But when they send the verification text, I can only half verify Google Voice has authentication limits these days.

I’m looking at a Biscoff box right now. Maybe I’ll eat the whole thing so I can reclaim what many call “whole.” Just kidding my girlfriend makes me whole. Even with her half working heater. At least it’s better than what keeps me warm: stubbornness.

She’s out on the porch, talking away in Hindi. I love it when she speaks half Hindi, half English, I can almost understand. Without her, I’d be even more feral than I am now. Right now, I’m only half.

I spend half my days caught between living like a local and like a foreigner. I have to go back at some point, but I’m also building a life here. Sometimes I catch myself: Am I only half living because I’m only half present? Or are some parts of me still in the US? My dog sure is. Don’t even get me started on being half a world away from him.

I’m here to build a business. However, my Indian friends tell me to relax and enjoy life. Every Indian I’ve spent real time with treats life as something to be lived, not optimized. I want to stay here for a long time possibly beyond a year. But I won’t be able to stay beyond a year if the business isn’t built. And no, a half built business won’t suffice either.

The way I see it, I have two half solutions. Go full Indian, move to Rishikesh and live under a tree. Or stay full American and grind it out like I’m a Wolf on Wall Street. Maybe this wolf will finally find his tree.

What would happen if I fully adopted Indian life like they say? Would my life flourish and therefore my business succeed? Or would I get taken off my mission and just settle? It’s funny how countries and cultures borrow from each other. Every place has its differences for better or for worse.

I’m worried my American Dream will falter if I become more Indian meaning my business won’t succeed. On the contrary, maybe my business will succeed if I assimilate more. My Indian friends say Americans are much more concerned with work than they are. Maybe it’s consumerism, but it could just be our culture. I enjoy that Indians live in the moment and view work with less reverence than in the USA.

If I fail, should I fail the American way living for the goal and not the moment or do I fail the Indian way, which really might not be failure after all?

Maybe I’m the trap. Thinking I’m without, when everything I need is already here. When I’m older I’ll probably look back on this and realise I’d already won. I just need to surrender.

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I came to India in search of something I strangely missed, even though I hadn’t met it yet. On a peaceful night like tonight, the feeling of missing my dog moves me the most.

Swayze came into my life in 2017. I was driving from Connecticut back down to Memphis, Tennessee, after a job interview it was also the first time in seven years I was leaving the Deep South. I called my friend Lindsay and asked what kind of dog would be best for someone who’s basically all over the place. She recommended a Mini Goldendoodle, saying they’re extremely adaptable. I picked him up from a gorgeous poodle farm outside Nashville. Two sisters ran the kennel, and their children were dancing around the yard holding little puppies as the sun set. Everything felt too picturesque to be true. To my surprise, it was all exactly what it looked like. Swayze came into my possession.

Fast forward eight years, and I’m without him for the longest stretch since he was three months old.

Leaving Swayze for India

Swayze is a Mini Goldendoodle. He weighs about 40 pounds, looks like a milk chocolate bar, and has those signature soulful eyes unique to Goldendoodles. Man, I really miss him.

I come from a family that views pets logically. We love them dearly and would do anything for them, but at the end of the day, they’re pets. Leaving Swayze behind for a year so I can start my business in India hurts. The other side of that coin is that I’m building something he and I can share one day and that makes me happy.

Do dogs have a sense of time? It’s widely understood that they don’t. I’m sure Swayze misses me the way we feel déjà vu or wake up from a dream we can only half remember. He doesn’t have a concept of yesterday, today, or tomorrow. I apologize if that makes me sound like a monster I’m just being honest. I’m a human and I need to live my life. God helped me come to India and dream big. Leaving Swayze is an unfortunately temporary guilt I carry. He’s in the best hands possible, living with a family who loves him just as much as I do. I wouldn’t have been able to leave him otherwise.

October 2026

That’s the month I hope to return to America and to my dog. I gave myself one year to start whatever it is I’m building here. I have so many ideas for where this could go. Right now, I’m enjoying working on a few different things and building a life both on camera and off it.

If I end up staying in India, I don’t know if bringing Swayze here is the right move. He’ll turn nine in May 2026 and is very set in his ways. He’s had a wonderful life. Plenty of people have dogs in India, but there are also many street dogs, and owners often walk with a stick to prevent altercations between feral and domestic animals. The whole environment is different. Like humans, dogs are extremely adaptable, but at what cost? Just because he could live here doesn’t mean I should test it.

He’s staying in possibly the best place an animal or even a human could stay. But I think about the future. It all depends on where I am a year from now. What I know is this: right now, we are both exactly where we need to be.

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As Ernest Hemingway reminds us in the epigraph to his 1926 novel The Sun Also Rises (quoting Ecclesiastes 1:4–5 from the King James Bible):

“One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose.”

India has over a billion people and is home to one of the world’s oldest continually inhabited cities: Varanasi. After arriving, I immediately thought of that quote and of Varanasi specifically, because God has been calling me there my entire life. For some reason I’ve had a desire to go that I can’t fully explain. India feels like the earth that “abideth for ever.” There’s something ancient here people are born, people die, yet the rhythm continues. India has been processing arrivals like mine for thousands of years. The Romeos outside are just the newest version of the welcome committee. The sun had set at the airport, so let’s circle back to how it rose.

Escape Plan

Escaping Delhi Airport was chaotic, even for someone like me who was well prepared to navigate India. Let’s skip deplaning, immigration, and baggage claim that all went smoothly. With everything collected, rupees exchanged, I headed to the Airtel kiosk for an eSIM.

The Airtel counter was so crowded it reminded me of videos of Indian street vendors dishing out food faster than orders come in packed with hopeful travelers desperate for cellular connection. I hadn’t been this excited since getting my first cell phone as a kid. Sadly, that childhood experience didn’t end well... and neither did this one.

Airtel Dreams

The Airtel staff were extremely friendly and helpful. Even months later, I still feel the same way. Just as airports connect people, our devices do too and the folks facilitating that in India are genuinely kind.

Once everything was set up on my phone, I looked out at the chaotic scene outside: hundreds of “Romeos” waiting to pick up their American “Juliet.” In reality, most were what Indians call roadside Romeos, and I was certainly no Juliet.

The Airtel staff told me my phone would activate in 15 minutes. Thirty minutes passed. Then they said another 15. Several hours later, the story changed to “an outage.” Indian coffee is far too good and strong, so I got antsy. I decided to leave the airport before my SIM activated. That was a mistake.

My Travel IQ

Even though my family owned a travel insurance company and I’m pretty street smart, no past experience or YouTube video could have prepared me for the intricacies of the Gandhi Airport Romeos’ web of lies, hustle, and sales skills.

My eSIM still hadn’t activated, and I was sitting outside with all my luggage, waiting to be approached by the next handsome suitor. Their pitches seemed sweet and sensible at first, but I quickly felt uncomfortable. Many claimed they worked for the airport and that my caution wasn’t “customary.” I saw through the tactics they were trying to make me feel bad as an American and trust them. In my experience, Americans don’t like offending people and I’m no exception.

The only time I was “scammed” in India wasn’t really a scam. I finally threw my hands up and accepted I’d need a Romeo’s help. The shoe was on the other foot now. I chose one with long hair and beet red eyes, eyes that strongly suggested he was high on something. He led me to a taxi, bickered with a couple of others, and off we went.

Lajpat Nagar

Right after leaving airport grounds, my “savior” Romeo pulled over for a cigarette and chai. I was scared and didn’t show it, so I did the next best thing and worsened my fears with a cigarette.

We arrived in Old Delhi only to discover I’d booked an Airbnb in a rather sketchy area. It was evident when we couldn’t access it roped off at night to block traffic, and not the safest spot. My sweet Romeo said he felt uncomfortable dropping me there. I insisted I’d walk. He overruled me, saying he knew the perfect place.

We drove another 10 minutes, and I started panicking as street lights vanished into pitch black. My driver reassured me we were almost there. To my surprise, a friendly man with a flashlight appeared, and I saw a sign reading “US Tourism.” He ushered me inside while I settled with the driver.

The fare was the highest I’d pay all trip, but whatever it was my first ride in India, and most foreigners struggle there. My ego wasn’t too bruised.

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After graduating college I was let go from a major pharmaceutical company because I was, quote unquote, “not their material.” What that really meant was that I was a freethinker and threatened their job security. What’s amazing to me about the current state of corporate America is that you have to sacrifice a part of yourself to fit in, an ability to look the other way and master the “managing up” strategy.

Another time, while working in corporate, I was put into a performance review for being insubordinate. This came right after a meeting where my boss was trashing every employee who had worked on a particular initiative. I dislike negative people, and in front of the whole team I remarked that there were a lot of really smart people in that room who had completed a lot of hard work on that project. That if we hadn’t tried and failed, we never would have known we needed to make changes. I concluded it was a good thing we went through it so we could keep moving forward.

Others in the room came to my defense and thanked me in front of her. The look in her eyes was pure rage. Instead of taking it in stride, a couple of days later she called me into a performance review and threw wackadoodle claims at me alongside insubordination. I quit several days later.

Why does any of this matter, and what does it have to do with New Delhi? Us Charlies have to stick together. Even though I disagreed with much of what Charlie Kirk said, he spoke his own truth and I believe he believed it. We’re not all perfect. I’m on my own path, searching for what I believe to be true. And what I’m finding in India is that many Indians who work in corporate feel exactly the same way I do, working for someone else’s dream rather than their own. Especially in a country with this much religion and spirituality. We’re the types who can’t stop looking out the window while sitting at the office, wondering who’s out there and what are people up to, trapped in that corporate cave.

Today, I’m an American living an Indian dream with far more hope than I had in the United States.

The American Dream

What was once uniquely American has become a universal hope: a good life for everyone. In 1931, James Truslow Adams defined it as: “a dream of a social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.” That ethos belongs to any human, anywhere.

Travel Background

India has brought me much happiness, and happiness makes me think of two of my favorite jobs.

I used to work as a banquet waiter between college semesters at Water’s Edge in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. People were always so genuinely happy, smiles ear to ear. When I later worked at InsureMyTrip the travel insurance comparison site my dad and uncle founded in 2001. I made the connection. In my opinion, people who travel and people at weddings are the happiest people on earth.

Except for the lesbian wedding that got cancelled. One of the families still had to pay for the venue because it was too late to recoup the money. They came anyway, by themselves, and got plastered. It was very sad and very awkward. Even at the happiest events, real life has a way of showing up uninvited.

Moving East

After InsureMyTrip, I tried corporate jobs in Fort Lauderdale and burned out fast. Leadership felt disingenuous, upward mobility felt fake, and consumerism demanded endless salary chasing. I’m terrible at office politics, too blunt and funny for it. Then everything accelerated: crypto highs, social media chaos, and what felt like AI looming over everything. I panicked: work for someone else’s dream, get exploited, or get replaced by tech? No thanks.

The answer was clear: use my family’s travel knowledge and connections to build my own thing, Chapter Charlie. Even though I hadn’t traveled much in my twenties, understanding travel insurance gave me deeper insight than most “seasoned” bloggers have. It’s January 5th, and I’m in Saket, New Delhi, living in New Delhi as an expat and building my own dream.

The sun is struggling to set over Saket, New Delhi, as the pollution holds onto it like a baby desperately clutching a blanket. It’s a determined sun, though, giving light to the even more determined people of India. And at least one American.

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