I turned 65 on a truffle farm in Italy—several days into the first international trip I’d ever taken. I told my tour colleagues nothing and enjoyed the synchronicity quietly: that I celebrated a leap into the larger world even as I stepped across the time-honored threshold to old age. That was 2011.
So in February this year, when Helen talked about her fall trip to India on the occasion of her 65thbirthday, I told her I was turning 80 a few days after her celebration. On the wings of Helen’s enthusiasm and graciousness, the plan took shape. I’d join Helen in Delhi, several weeks after she’d spent time in Goa and Pune. If I was willing to tag along, I could join her as she conducted business throughout Rajasthan for her Sakala shop in Sussex. I was more than willing. And Jo, our travel agent, set to work.
On my birthday, I woke up in Jaipur, in my arrestingly beautiful Pearl Palace hotel room, to Helen singing the birthday song. At breakfast, Helen gave me gifts and greetings from friends Jean and Bryan, along with her own present of a colorful fabric purse—better suited to our outings than my big travel bag. As we left the hotel, our driver Ajay and his dad, Dinesh/Daddy, met me with a bouquet. And unlike the previous day when we spent the morning with Helen’s suppliers, Ajay took us touring: through the planned pink city center with its seven gates and Palace of the Winds; to Ja Mahal—the Water Palace; to the huge expanse of the Amber Palace and Fort and the neighborhood below it; with a stop to meet and pet two camels; a coincidental stop close to a snake charmer and his performing cobra; and another stop at the elephant village–part sanctuary and part commercial operation. Where we had the opportunity to feed bananas to the elephants, hug their trunks, be blessed by a garland of marigolds that they placed around our necks (with a little follow-up elephant pat as it rested its trunk on the top of my head.) Helen and I then retreated for air-conditioning, lemonade, and cake before a last leisurely shopping stop at Fabindia.
At that point, I’d already experienced the most magical day I could have imagined. I mean . . . a song, gifts, a bouquet, camels, snakes, elephants, and grand historic scenes. Helen kept alluding to something more, but I was already dazzled by the day’s experiences. At most, I anticipated that maybe the sitar player on the roof-top Peacock Restaurant might play the birthday song over dinner. Or perhaps Helen had engineered a cake. I might need to cope with a slightly embarrassing public moment before bedtime.
Up in the restaurant, what I hadn’t counted on was being approached by a lovely woman in a colorful dress holding a package out to me and saying, “I didn’t get this in the mail in time and decided to bring it instead.” One long, seriously disoriented moment later I realized that Jenny—Jenny from our last trip to India—was standing there. Was there! Not in her bungalow near the sea in Sussex! I don’t know that I’d ever been truly FLABBERGASTED before, but I sure as hell was in that moment. As you’ll see, my jaw really dropped—it’s not just a metaphor. Turns out that the most miraculous birthday gift of all was Jenny!!
Turns out that Jenny’s arrival drew on months of careful planning and absolute secrecy among a host of people—except for the hotel staff and drivers who spirited Jenny from the Jaipur airport to the hotel. And as Helen pointed out—my deafness made it possible to maintain the secret when drivers and staff wanted to check details with Helen. Our shopping that day too revolved around staying out of the hotel long enough for Jenny to get settled in Helen’s room.
I still can’t believe the extraordinary time and energy that Helen and Jenny and Jo invested in planning and arranging and doublechecking and worrying that went into the gift of Jenny’s arrival and presence for the remainder of the trip.
And you need to meet Jenny. Younger than I am by a significant bit, Jenny has retired to a bungalow not too far from Brighton and indeed close to the sea. Proficient at most everything she tries—woodworking and sewing and cooking and gardening—Jenny’s special skill is as an animal whisperer. I’ve lost track of the variety she’s nurtured over the years, but I know it includes ferrets. And now—as a way to earn travel money–Jenny and her own rescue dog, Olive, offer personalized dog-sitting to all her friends. Their service is so sought-after that a week with just the two of them is rare. Finally, Jenny can keep me in stitches as she assumes the voice and character of her charges and their foibles and interactions. And she is kind and practical and thoughtful and helpful.
Helen’s friendships with so many Indian people and her easy, human response to all Indians and Indian places, percolated through our trip–with joy and reassurance and curiosity. Jenny then became the lovely linchpin to our remaining time in Rajasthan. The two became the most spectacular gifts I’ve ever been given. ©
