By Ms. Showalter

Martin Luther King, Jr. traveled to India in 1959 and famously said, “to other countries I may come as a tourist, but to India I come as a pilgrim.” He sought to honor the late Mahatma Gandhi, whose ideas about nonviolent social transformation impacted MLK deeply.

So were we tourists or pilgrims in India?

What were we seeking on our hike to the sacred lake, Dodital, last week? What were the others we met on the path seeking? How does an outdoor adventure—the kind we see documented on social media or in adventure journals—differ from a pilgrimage? I think a pilgrimage is about honoring God and the lives of others and not simply about “YOLO” or curating an online image.

After our trip to Dodital and Manjhi our group talked about the things we had seen, felt, and done, and how we understood this place and ourselves differently as a result. One of the ideas that emerged was about taking the long way.

Our hike felt like the long way for sure, even though the people of Agora make the trek seem effortless. For us, it took many hours and required lots of stopping for rest, conversation, and sunscreen applications. We camped two nights and of course didn’t shower. We received many blessings along the way: sharp humor and rich information from our guides, Praveen and Shivam, prayers and smudges of color on our foreheads by the hands of a priest, delicious food cooked in a tent by a team of men from Agora and of course the natural beauty around every turn.

Our peace was often strangely interrupted by the sound of helicopters overhead. I counted eight passing by on the morning we set out for Agora. Praveen told me that these carried wealthy pilgrims coming to see the four holiest peaks in Hinduism that lay just above us: Gangotri, Yamnotri, Kedernath, and Badrinath. The passengers had woken early, paid a hefty fee no doubt, and then zoomed up to the mountaintop in around 20 or 30 minutes. Tourists or pilgrims? I’m not sure, and I doubt it’s my place to judge.

I know for sure, however, that taking the long way to honor God, to uphold sacred traditions, and to feel the weight of a life—quite literally—was what we witnessed on the day after we returned from Dodital. The morning after Suman’s grandmother’s death we stood on the terrace outside the Lodge and listened to the drums beat as a chain of men from the village, many dressed in white, carried Dadi’s wrapped body down the steep and winding paths to the base of the valley. They disappeared and reappeared after turns and the sound of the drums alternately carried right to our ears or was lost on the wind. Despite the new road which they could have taken by car, the men honored Dadi by walking with her body all the way down, taking turns carrying her on a platform on their shoulders to the holy river Ganges where they would return her body to the Gods.

I know that in my life in America I more often live like those in the helicopters, being escorted in comfort from peak to peak, never feeling the sore muscles or the heat, not meeting the nomadic Gujjars and glimpsing a lifestyle that is so unfamiliar, or tasting the delicious chai at stops along the way. I will probably never feel the weight of a loved one’s body on my shoulders as I walk alongside my community down the valley I call home with deep drums marking our tempo. But I know that being here in India has helped me see more clearly the value of eschewing short cuts. I want to live life not as a tourist paying for and consuming experiences, but as a pilgrim who knows that by taking the long way while honoring God and others, I might be transformed.