“You can’t really call yourself a world traveler unless you’ve been to India,” said my cousin Brooke — who has made the cross-continent trek countless times.  “Get ready for the trip of a lifetime.”

She was absolutely right.

I’ve been here less than 24 hours and I’m already gobsmacked by the sights, sounds and especially the smells of this country.  If India ever finds themselves hard-pressed for a new motto for their nation, may I suggest: “India: We Love Our Weird Smells”.  It’s the strangest combination of the stereotypical curry, the ever-present eucalyptus, some lemon verbena and the overwhelming twinge of humanity.  It’s inescapable, intoxicating and occasionally inexcusable.

Since I’m the whitest white boy in the history of white people — Indians look at me like I’m a unicorn.  I’ll smile and wave at anyonewho locks eyes with me.  9 out of 10 times they’ll smile and wave back. The other one person will immediately ask me for money.  I’ve given out countless 100 rupees … the equivalent of $1.50.

Just call me Mother Theresa.

My friend Mithra has laughed at me non-stop since we got here.  She mentioned India is the birthplace of yoga.  It now makes perfect sense. People need Zen and calm after driving in Delhi’s insane traffic. Take the worst traffic jam you can think of … multiply it by 100 … multiply by 100 again … and add random pedestrians, beggars and sacred cows that wander across the street at the most inopportune times.

Our driver told me in very broken English, “There are no rules when driving.”  That picture you see of me was taken by Mithra during a particularly daunting drive to Qutab Minar.  I had my hands covering my face the entire way — certain that we would smash into the back ofsomeone, get broadsided, careen off a bridge … or all three … at any second.

Thus far, the people in India are painfully gracious and polite … almost to a fault.  During the ENDLESS breakfast buffet today — I must have been asked a dozen times by a dozen different servers if I needed anything.  I likely looked like a crazed American ravaged by hunger. Admittedly I like to eat, but there have been countless times already where Mithra has smacked food out of my hand lest I get a case of the dreaded “Delhi Belly”.  (Think Montezuma’s Revenge … but a bit more pronounced.  If you get Delhi Belly, your lower intestines fall out ofyour body.  Allegedly.)

It was a whirlwind first day … less than three hours of manic sightseeing before we had to race to the airport to go to our second destination, Chennai.  Of course, I made a mandatory trip to Delhi’s Hard Rock Cafe along the way.  (Little known fact … my goal is tovisit all the Hard Rocks in the world.)  Our tour guide scoffed when I said we simply HAD to make time to go there. He assumed I would want to hear him talk endlessly about which dead guy was buried in which ancient tomb and why.  Granted, I was entranced by his description of Delhi … “the city of cities”.  But he obviously didn’t appreciate my humor when I said, “It’s seven … seven … SEVEN cities in one!  It slices, it dices, it juliennes fries!”  Meh.

I figured I’d be dealing with debilitating jetlag by now.  I’m holding up nicely.  I’ll probably black out at some point (likely in the middle of dinner), but so far I’m looking at India with wide-eyed abandon. Except when I’m cowering in the backseat of the car shielding my eyesand waiting to die in a horrific, yet spectacular car crash.  Day 2 begins bright and early tomorrow.