When my husband swerved out of the doorless four-wheel-drive to avoid oncoming traffic and nearly fell, we all shouted in unison, “Wait a minute!” It was her 2017 and we were on our way to a leopard safari in Rajasthan for what we knew would be our last vacation together as a family.
My husband, Atherton, was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease two years ago at the age of 64. Our marriage was fueled by a kind of adventure travel driven by curiosity and fraught with danger. It defined us as people and as a couple, so I felt I owed it to Atherton to continue the journey with him as much as possible. We've been to Myanmar, Mexico, and Belize, but we knew this trip to India would be our last trip together.
Long before the diagnosis, we had promised to take our adult children Catherine, 36, and Alasdair, 33, to India. We wanted to share our love for this country. Immerse them in their hard work and tranquility, their culture and history, and observe their reactions when this country stimulates all their senses at once. But it was my son, daughter and her husband Michael (36 years) who decided this was the 11th hour. If I was going to do this, I had to go now.
We planned carefully. Some friends were staying at his haveli Bristows in Jaipur. This guesthouse was a simple but beautiful guesthouse built inside a courtyard with a secure door facing the street. Atherton had previously gone missing on a trip to Sri Lanka, and he feared he would not have to take part in the police investigation this time either.
So, after inquiring with the owner George, I booked it for a week. We felt this would allow Atherton to slowly acclimate to Rajasthan before setting off on his bespoke tour of the Golden Triangle, which we organized through Trailfinder. We had a local guide in each town we visited, and after the train journey to Jodhpur we had our own vehicle and driver.
The illness robbed Atherton of spatial awareness, and his world was so limited to his inner life that he had no sense of danger. For someone in this condition, downtown India was a seemingly ill-conceived destination. We weaved him through crowds and took every opportunity to cross six-lane highways, dodging rickshaws, cows, and dirty dogs. It took all four of us to protect him, but we were able to catch a glimpse of the older Atherton who had been trapped for so many years.
Due to overstimulation from those around him, he would come and go and disappear from our trips, but we enjoyed him laughing his belly out on Dogem-style rickshaws and attending temple rituals. I was mesmerized and experienced a moment of joy as I watched and admired the glorious architecture of the Taj Mahal. But heartbreaking at the same time, these moments of clarity only emphasized the loss of a man who was funny, insightful, and had an extraordinary curiosity about life.
At times it felt like we were playing a farce. Like many Alzheimer's patients, my husband was a fiddler and a wanderer at night. As a result, I found myself bolted to the bedroom. The only means of escape to go to the bathroom was to climb onto a chair, break through an interior window, and emerge headfirst into an unusual plant placed inside one's pajamas. Having left the room, I was unable to return and ended up sneaking around the guesthouse's quirky layout and re-entering the suite.
The staff were wonderful, never pushy and always attentive to my husband. I felt that there was a gentleness in their psychology that allowed them to instinctively understand how to treat him with compassion and not in a patronizing manner.
The manager, Nikhil, arranged for us to go on many day trips. During one such trip to the deserts of Rajasthan, the young man and I wanted to go on a sunset camel ride, so our guide bought my husband to watch for us and went out. What could go wrong? We left him at the fort with our guide. Of course, he manages to escape through a side door and is found wandering the tracks.
Our experience in India was enriched by the intimacy of the tour. Early in the morning, we were taken to one of our guide's family's farms, where we were greeted with flowers, drams, and a bottle of whisky. Afterwards, we met up with the women of the family who prepared us a home-style lunch. Fragrant lamb curry with golden dhal and a bowl of spiced vegetables and roti. We also stayed in the shade of a little-known magical fort on the outskirts of Jaipur that we had never visited on any other tour.
We were overwhelmed by the kindness we encountered. I'll never forget the man in the jewelery store whose eyes watered as he recognized Atherton's condition. He said his mother has dementia. Instinctively, the guide would have gently grabbed Atherton's arm, or the waiter would have stood patiently waiting for a response.
It was a holiday filled with emotion and laughter, and many memories were made. Atherton spent three years in a care home before she passed away at the age of 72. When she looks back at her photos, she notices how much she smiles. We are sure Atherton was happy to be with the people who loved him most and he was energized by India.
For advice and information about traveling with someone with dementia, visit the Alzheimer's Society website.
bristowsindia.com
trailfinders.com
