Neil and I really couldn’t fathom going all the way to India without packing in a bit of tourism, so once the wedding festivities were over, we flew up to Delhi to experience India’s Golden Triangle: Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur.

And as a Western tourist, this is probably as close as I’ll ever get to experiencing the “Real India.”

Until now, my Indian experience could be summed up thusly: Slumdog Millionaire, Bollywood Romances, Russel Peters.

The country is, in fact, everything and nothing like those.

We’d opted to book a five-day private tour, so we had a hope of seeing the key sites in the week we had planned. That left us a day on each end to explore Delhi on our own a bit, which was exactly enough time (for me at least) to experience, throw a tantrum about, and get over, the unnerving experience of being a caucasian tourist in a developing nation.

In India, acknowledgement is an invitation to barter. Saying no means you are just playing hard to get. Stepping outside becomes an exercise in self-preservation. Every encounter is evaluated on the merits of how much energy I have, and whether I have the mental fortitude to talk my way out of the situation if it turns out to be an especially persistent tout.

But, and here is where India starts to shine, it is almost always worth it.

Sometimes (especially closest to the major tourist attractions) you’ll just get into a shouting match with a jaded rickshaw driver. But most often you’ll end up engaged in a colourful negotiation with a driver or vendor, which is really just a treat to behold, even if you end up fleeced (remember, a fleecing in India is paying £5 for something that should cost £2) or laughed at.

And very occasionally, you just get to chat with a local who wants to know what you think about his city, country, and tell you about his friend who moved to Toronto, and works in IT. Or shake hands with a group of young guys, on vacation themselves from a more rural part of the country, and pose for pictures with them, so they can go home and tell their friends about the real! live! white person! they met!

I still can’t quite put into words what a different kind of place India is from anywhere I’ve been before. It’s absolutely a land of contrasts, with the marvel of the monuments and architecture, the strange mashup of technology, bureaucracy, and local customs, the devastating level of poverty right next door to immense wealth, and the inescapable, unrelenting mass of humanity.

I hated it as much as I loved it, and in retrospect, I think that’s the hallmark of some of the best adventures you can have.

Rest of the set here.

So, India! We went!

I am always at a bit of a loss when it comes to describing trips to such iconic places. Like I should have more to say, or have come to some great spiritual revelation, or have tales of a long, strange trip, returning with tales of the walrus, set to sitar music, koo koo ka choo.

The reality is, we were Western tourists. Strangers in a strange land. Observers for a brief time in one of the most populated, chaotic, colourful, cultural places on earth.

First thing you notice, that everyone says but you can’t really fathom until you feel it, is the mass of humanity. Especially having grown up in a place like Canada, where you could literally walk for days without seeing another human, it’s a bit disconcerting to realize that you will never, ever, truly be alone.

Along these lines, the only personal space you’re entitled to is the physical space you’re occupying at any given moment. Nowhere was this more evident than during the wedding.

Totally contrary to what one expects at a Western wedding, the only people who seem to be expected to pay attention for the duration are the bride, groom and priest. Various family members float in and out to participate or observe, while elsewhere in the venue there is a stream of guests eating in the dining hall. This, by the way, is how you deal with a 1500(+) person wedding. With a steady flow of people in and out, eating, watching, or catching up with neighbours, there are never more than a few hundred in any one area at once. As a guest, there’s no pressure to be anywhere or do anything in particular, so it all feels very smooth.

Even the wedding hall (nay, even the wedding stage) is not exempt from the “personal space” rule. The ceremony part of the wedding hall is about the size of a high-school gymnasium, with a stage at each end. On one side, the bride and groom are going through the rituals associated with being married. On the other side, the wedding band is playing music. And somewhere in the middle, there is a crew of men building another stage for a dance performance the next evening.

That’s right. Wedding on one side, music on the other, hammers, nails, plywood, logs and foremen in the middle. Not because of a lack of time to do it beforehand, but because why would you do it earlier? I am told this isn’t unusual. After all, the wedding is *over there*. On the other side of the room.

But even the ceremony stage itself wasn’t immune to distraction. One of my favourite moments was when the groom’s sister was participating in part of the ceremony. She was up on stage with the rest of the family, standing just behind the bride and groom, talking on her cell phone the entire time. She paused the call when it came time for her to play her part, then resumed talking again once the focus had shifted on to the next set of prayers & blessings.

This one was maybe a bit more unusual, but none of the Indians seemed phased. After all, she’s a doctor, and the ceremony is three full days long, with astrological charts dictating the particular times certain things need to happen. You do what you’ve gotta do.

But don’t let the overall nonchalance fool you.

Most people did find their way into the wedding hall for the moment the groom tied the mangalsutra around the bride’s neck. And when he did, the hall erupted into 1000 cheers of celebration, and 1000 pairs of hands let fistfuls of vibrant pink petals fly into the air to shower the happy couple with love, light, happiness and prosperity.