At 19, I was sure of three things: I was a travel enthusiast, motorcyclist, and I wanted to go to the southernmost tip of India. Routes were studied, bags packed, and the motorbike group assembled; so began the 1,600-kilometre journey south, two full days of hard riding and soft breezes. It was a journey measured out of chai cups, each sip different from the last stall or state—one as sweet as syrup, the next a no-nonsense punch to the system. Still, each glassful was a refreshing, humbling reminder of the vast tastes of our nation. Though, if I talk of India’s intrinsic charm, waking up the Triveni Sangam (no, not the rivers of Allahabad, but the oceans of the country’s southernmost point) framed by an unabashedly, peachy sunrise, was one of the most beautiful moments I have ever experienced. It didn’t need supporting characters like jagged mountains or perfectly placed coconut trees, just the edge of the world in all its mysterious glory.
This entry is a part of our 100th issue special: 100 reasons to love travel spread out across 14 varied categories. Read all 100 entries on our digital forum or new National Geographic Traveller India app here.
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