It’s taken us a while to get to India. I guess it usually does from all the way over here.

So nutshell: I’m going with a group of ambassadors to paint and play. The Miracle Foundation is an established and trusted multi-national nonprofit organization, and my aunt is the founder and also a really awesome human. I know what they’re doing, and how, and why. I know the heart that is moving this mission, and many of the hands on board. Partnered with UNICEF, it is the goal of The Miracle Foundation to establish a model that brings all twelve rights of the child to the children that haven’t fully seen them yet. They do what it takes to help the community to thrive, and the children to have all that they should.

We arrived late, and headed to The Gordon House hotel in Mumbai. I slept for most of the drive from the airport, waking up only a few times along the way. My friend Lori was amazed that I slept through it, and soon I would understand why. Now look, I’m not saying I’m a great driver. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m a bad driver. It’s a lot to be in charge of, all that life in your hands. I do follow the rules, and I stay in the lines. But I am an anxious driver who doesn’t like loud noises and is usually lost. So listen, guy honking that horn at me, that is not helping me to be any better at this. I understand your frustration though, and I hope you feel heard. I assure you, I am frustrated too, and cannot wait to get out of this seat. I could never attempt to drive in India, where there are no rules or lines in the road. It’s the craziest, most erratic traffic jam I’ve ever seen. It is, however, empowering to walk through.

Barbara met us downstairs as we arrived, got us all situated, and welcomed us the way only a Joubert really can. She will be our travel liaison on this trip. It’s what she does. She travels the world with swagger, and organizes beautiful experiences so that people can be helpful somewhere else. Digging wells, and other good things of that nature.

Barbara, exhale. Barbara is so cool. I met her when I was much younger, maybe 14 or 15. She is herself all the way. And why wouldn’t she be? She produces light wherever she goes. She is magnetic. You want to be where she is. You want to know what she knows. And she’s always so happy to take you with her, and tell you all about it - so lucky you! Lucky us all.

Barbara has an energy that reminds you of your confidence. Her field involuntarily stands you up straight and puts your shoulders back… because you are awesome, and standing next to Barbara. I thought she was one of the coolest people I’d ever met pretty immediately, and that truth just grows and grows. Punny, now she has a permaculture farm, and I’m heading her way real soon to check that out. The Nepalese village where she learned about conscious agriculture will be joining her live-streamed earth day opening to teach, and celebrate with her, and all of us really. You can come too!

We headed down to have breakfast in the morning, and met the rest of our crew. We would enjoy this experience with twelve others, and with Ash - Barbara’s assistant, our guide. I sat down to eat my favorite breakfast of my life, uttapam, with a friend who would also turn out to be one of my favorites.

Ashvin, a storytelling travel curator with a heart for sunsets and good music, obviously and instantly became a comrade for life. He’s from Bombay, which is Mumbai, and know I knew that. Walking me through the deliciousness of my plate, and discussing the beauty in this world, there was no choice in this friendship. There was not one second of small talk, and I am most grateful for the people I don’t ever have to do that with.

Uttapam, I must pay homage to. It is a savory “pancake” with crispy edges and a soft pillowy center. Pancake is in quotes, because it is NOT a pancake. It just looks a little like one. Probably made with rice flour, it is fluffier, lighter, and much more enjoyable on the tongue. You don’t have to work at it like a pancake, and you’re definitely not sick of it by the end of a plate. Served with an assortment of vegetables [roasted and pickled], chutneys, and pastes, this is a breakfast worth every bite and every dip.

We spent our first full day exploring Bombay, enjoying this city painted in rainbow. It is the most colorful place, and I was quickly enamored with it. They call this city the New York of India. It is vibrant, and it fills up each of your senses and overflows you. Or so, it did for me. I have heard this is not the case for all people.

There is poverty, yes. It is dirty, yes. But I am not an observer of the purely physical, actually I hardly noticed it. I walked around this city on that first day with stars in my eyes, feeling intensely every sound, every color, every human’s goodness. I fell hard for the trees, for the scape of it all. I learned to command the traffic, and I hope to walk with this kind of authority everywhere I go.

The word that comes to mind first when I think of Bombay is rich. Isn’t that funny? It is the richest place I’ve ever been. Rich in spirit, in vitality, in urgency, in love. It is rich in history, and in culture. It is rich in hospitality, in intentionality, and in care for what they do. The adorable man who sells chai on the street in the early hours of the morning, he does that with every bit of his soul. He brews with heart, and offers his beverage with love.

Everything is real. I didn’t see a grocery store. I didn’t see food packaged while I was there. I’m sure it is there somewhere, but I didn’t see it. I was there for almost two weeks, and everything I had was made from scratch by hard-working hands, all perfectly delicious - a feeling that rarely finds me.

The farmers’ markets were miles long - a dream to be part of. Real food, cultivated with purpose, all of it. Root vegetables that belong here, and spices that pass the nose and go straight to a soul. Farmers with smiling eyes, ready to reach out and sustain you.

The fish market is on the water. With fisherman lobbing the freshest catch from their boat onto shore. Into the hands of the seller, who immediately wraps it up and hands it over to you with a grin. It is beautiful with a twist of stench.

Disturbing as it may seem to some, at the chicken “market” on the side of the road, you can choose your fowl as it runs around you in circles. Unfortunately we know what happens next for that little guy, but I can tell you for sure that these are much better for you than the miserable little Tysons who never had a chance to flap their wings.

Tomorrow [well, in this tomorrow from the past that I’ll tell you about next week], we will get on a ferry at the Gateway of India, float across the Arabian Sea, and head on over to a tiny little village where my liquid heart is still melted onto the pavement.

Because Barbara and Ash are my traveling spirit animals, this song comes to mind. And I am grateful to be one who gets to drift along with them.