I was 62 when I finally boarded a flight to India. Friends had told me for years that it was overwhelming, chaotic, even exhausting. Perhaps in my younger days I would have rushed through it, trying to cram the Taj Mahal, Delhi, Jaipur, and Kerala into one manic fortnight. But in my 60s, with the luxury of time and the wisdom to slow down, I discovered that India isn’t a place to conquer – it’s a place to surrender to.
Delhi: A gateway of contrasts
My journey began in Delhi, a city that greets you like a brass band – loud, dazzling, impossible to ignore. At 30, I might have complained about the traffic or the sensory overload of Chandni Chowk. At 62, I marvelled at the chaos and let it wash over me. I wandered through the spice markets, their air thick with cardamom and chilli, and then retreated to the calm courtyards of Humayun’s Tomb, where the Mughal architecture seemed to hum with history. The contrast between clamour and quiet set the tone for my trip.
Agra: The Taj Mahal in a new light
Of course, I had seen countless photographs of the Taj Mahal. But nothing prepares you for the moment you step through the gates at dawn and see it rising out of the mist. Younger travellers snap selfies and rush on; I lingered, watching the marble change colour as the sun climbed higher. Built as a monument to eternal love, it resonates differently when you’ve lived long enough to understand the depth of devotion it represents.
Jaipur: The Pink City’s grandeur
From Agra, I travelled west to Jaipur, the flamboyant heart of Rajasthan. Here, I stayed in a converted haveli, its courtyards strung with fairy lights and its walls echoing with centuries of family life. I spent hours exploring the Amber Fort, its ramparts rising like a fairytale above the hills, and wandered through the City Palace, where mirrors and mosaics glittered in the afternoon light. Shopping for block-printed textiles in the bazaars, I wasn’t just acquiring souvenirs – I was curating memories.
Varanasi: Reflection on the Ganges
Nothing, however, compared to Varanasi. At sunrise, I boarded a wooden boat and drifted along the Ganges as pilgrims bathed in the river, chanting rising like birdsong. In my 20s, I think I would have found it confronting; in my 60s, it felt profound. To witness rituals that have continued for millennia was humbling. Later, I sat on the ghats, sipping chai, and watched the city unfold in its unhurried rhythm. Travel at this age is about reflection, and Varanasi gives you plenty of space for that.
Kerala: A gentle counterpoint
After the intensity of the north, Kerala was a balm. I boarded a houseboat in Alleppey and floated through the backwaters, past coconut palms and villages where children waved from the banks. The pace was slower, the air scented with jasmine and spices. In Kochi, I explored colonial-era streets lined with cafés and art galleries, then surrendered myself to the healing rituals of an Ayurvedic spa. My body, which sometimes protests after long flights, thanked me for this softer pace.
Food as storytelling
At every stop, food became part of the journey. In Delhi, I savoured buttery parathas in a hole-in-the-wall eatery; in Jaipur, I dined like royalty on Mughlai curries fragrant with saffron; in Kerala, it was fresh fish grilled with coconut and chilli. I even took a cooking class, learning how the balance of spices reflects not just taste but philosophy—heat tempered with sweetness, fire softened by cream. By my 60s, food is no longer just fuel; it’s a story to be savoured.
Why India, Why Now
People often ask if India is too much – too busy, too crowded, too demanding – for someone in their 60s. My answer is that it’s exactly the right time. In your 20s or 30s, you’re racing against time. In your 60s, you finally have it. You have the patience to linger, the perspective to appreciate, and, frankly, the resources to travel in comfort – choosing heritage hotels over hostels, slow trains over overnight buses, experiences over exhaustion.
India rewards travellers who take their time. It reveals itself layer by layer: in the colours of a Jaipur bazaar, in the silence of a Kerala backwater, in the solemn chant on the steps of the Ganges. At 62, I was ready to see it not as a checklist but as a conversation – between past and present, chaos and calm, the world and myself.
And that’s the beauty of travelling to India in your 60s. You don’t just see the country. You let it change you.
Travel at 60 has tours to India. This Experience the Real India tour has departures available in 2026.
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