<\/p>\n
Luke walked beside me, one hand curled around my arm, the other tapping a gentle rhythm with his white cane. We were crossing the Taj Mahal\u2019s grounds just after sunrise, the air already balmy and faintly perfumed. From the scattered murmur of tourists, Luke said he could sense a grand, open space around us. I described the Persian-style gardens \u2014 reflecting pools, clipped shrubs, stone walkways in perfect symmetry. Then I read aloud a sign: \u201cDon\u2019t make direct eye contact with monkeys.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Near the mausoleum\u2019s entrance, the ground changed \u2014 rough sandstone yielding to cool marble, smooth beneath our feet. I guided Luke\u2019s hands to the white facade \u2026<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As his fingers roamed, Luke recalled the photographs he\u2019d seen as a child, before retinitis pigmentosa, a hereditary eye disease, gradually narrowed his vision and then, at 18, took it away.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI get the impression of something opulent and magnificent,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Inside, we joined the flow of tourists circling the tombs of Shah Jahan and his beloved, Mumtaz Mahal. Their voices echoed beneath the dome, drawn out into long, soft reverberations. In the past, this space carried recitations of the Quran \u2014 with acoustics meant to evoke the sound of paradise.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Luke tilted his head toward the ceiling. \u201cIt\u2019s almost like you\u2019re inside a speaker,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes and listened.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n What does it mean<\/strong> to travel somewhere new and not be able to see it? That question led me on a 10-day journey through northern India\u2019s Golden Triangle with Traveleyes<\/a>, a British tour company that pairs visually impaired and sighted travelers.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n So much of the language we use around travel \u2014 sightseeing, scenic vistas, must-see lists \u2014 assumes that the world is best, or only, understood through the eyes. But as the writer Pico Iyer wrote to me in an email before the trip: \u201cTravel is not about seeing the sights so much as opening oneself up to the unfamiliar \u2014 a matter of perception and vision in a deeper sense.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Luke and a sighted guide on a stroll through Bundi, in the northwestern state of Rajasthan.<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/figure>\n <\/p>\n For years, whenever I returned from a trip abroad, a friend of mine would ask: What did it smell like? I always fumbled for a meaningful answer. What layers of experience \u2014 what deeper kind of vision \u2014 had I been missing?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Amar Latif, a British entrepreneur<\/strong>, founded Traveleyes in 2004 to address the lack of accessible travel options for blind and visually impaired people. After losing most of his sight by age 18 because of retinitis pigmentosa, Mr. Latif struggled to travel independently. Mainstream tour companies often rejected him, insisting he bring a caregiver and excluding him from more adventurous activities like hiking and skiing. Those exclusions pushed him to create something of his own: a company that would allow blind travelers to explore the world without relying on friends or family. \u201cFriends and family switch off,\u201d he told me. \u201cThey\u2019re not as eager to describe things.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Traveleyes runs on a simple but radical model: It pairs blind and sighted travelers as equal companions. Sighted participants assist with navigation and describe visual details \u2014 in exchange for a discounted trip \u2014 while blind travelers bring a fresh perspective that often deepens the experience for both. The company promises \u201ca truly multisensory travel experience,\u201d with itineraries designed to engage all five senses.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Destinations include Cuba, Eswatini and Britain\u2019s Lake District, among many others<\/a>, and trips often include immersive, tactile experiences: paragliding in the Canary Islands, kneading pizza dough in a Tuscan farmhouse, handling museum artifacts typically kept behind glass. On Lake Titicaca in Peru, locals built a miniature reed island for Traveleyes visitors to explore by touch. In Xi\u2019an, China, they were granted rare permission to feel the terra-cotta warriors. To me, India \u2014 with its sensory onslaught of honking horns, potent smells, vivid colors, spices and heat \u2014 seemed like the perfect place to experience travel in its fullest, most immersive form.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Traffic in Jaipur, Rajasthan\u2019s capital.<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/figure>\n <\/p>\n After I booked my trip, Traveleyes sent me a \u201cSighted Guide Pack\u201d \u2014 a short primer. \u201cDon\u2019t be nervous!\u201d it began. \u201cGuiding may seem daunting, but once you get into the swing of it, nothing could be easier.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n No prior experience was required \u2014 just a friendly attitude and a willingness to describe what you saw. Each day, I\u2019d be paired with a different visually impaired traveler \u2014 referred to as a \u201cV.I.\u201d \u2014 and together we\u2019d find our rhythm.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n I met the group<\/strong> at a hotel in New Delhi. Among the travelers were two women \u2014 one visually impaired \u2014 who had met on a previous Traveleyes trip; this was now their sixth journey together.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The group passing through a street in Old Delhi.<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/figure>\n <\/p>\n On our first day I was paired with Daniel, a 38-year-old software consultant from Oxford. It was his 12th Traveleyes trip; he\u2019d previously visited Romania, Bhutan and Jordan. Daniel had several eye conditions, including nystagmus, which causes involuntary eye movement and makes it difficult to focus or judge depth. He often held his phone just inches from his eyes.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n On a visit to Old Delhi, I guided Daniel barefoot through a Jain temple, fragrant with wafting incense and filled with soft instrumental music, and into the adjoining bird hospital, a rather crowded and grimy convalescent home for the winged and wounded. He gripped my arm lightly, reading shifts in elevation through subtle cues in the movement of my body. I told him when steps were coming, how many and in which direction. For tight entryways, I walked ahead, with my guiding arm behind me. I felt like I was getting into the swing of it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Strolling in pairs through the tight, noisy streets of Old Delhi, our group of 18 made for a curious sight. It struck me how rare it is to see so many visually impaired travelers moving together \u2014 especially in a place that feels overwhelming even for the sighted. We navigated uneven pavement, wove around men carting guavas and sacks of cement.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n As our tour bus crawled through Delhi\u2019s snarling traffic, Daniel reflected on how blind and visually impaired people make sense of the world. \u201cEveryone builds the world in their own way,\u201d he said. Some rely on the spatial qualities of sound, others on scent, or even the feel of air moving around them. \u201cEven sighted people use some combination of these elements,\u201d he pointed out. \u201cBut when you\u2019re deprived of one, you compensate with the others \u2014 and everyone does that differently.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The next day<\/strong>, on our drive to Agra, I was paired with Candie, a blind woman from Seattle who works in taxpayer advocacy at the Internal Revenue Service. Born with glaucoma, she could once detect light and the presence of large objects, but her vision gradually deteriorated. A decade ago, at 40, she had one eye removed and now has an ocular prosthesis.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cThe whole sights thing doesn\u2019t thrill me,\u201d she said. What excited her were immersive, hands-on experiences \u2014 zip lining, rappelling down waterfalls, white-water rafting. On a previous Traveleyes trip to Peru, she rode a rickety train and leaned out the window, arms in the wind as if she were on a roller coaster. In Costa Rica, she tried surfing.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Candie reading a Braille information plate at Humayun\u2019s Tomb.<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/figure>\n <\/p>\n Candie said she wanted to hear about \u201cthe reality of India.\u201d She preferred descriptions of people \u2014 their behavior and appearances \u2014 over scenery. \u201cTell me what they\u2019re doing,\u201d she said. \u201cEven if it\u2019s just someone lying on a bench or sleeping on the sidewalk \u2014 that\u2019s more interesting to me than, \u2018There\u2019s a tree over here with yellow leaves.\u2019\u201d I peered out the bus window. Along the roadside were barbers who\u2019d hung mirrors on fences, shaving customers perched on low stools, and flower vendors threading marigold garlands. I told Candie how cars here drive on the left, and how clearly marked lane lines were almost universally ignored. Vendors had strung multicolored snack packets across the fronts of their stands like strands of vibrant beads.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cOh, that\u2019s interesting,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We passed six-story apartment blocks with laundry fluttering from open windows.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cHmm,\u201d she said. \u201cIn a lot of places in the States, you can\u2019t do that.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Marigolds for sale outside the 17th-century Jagdish Temple, in Udaipur.<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/figure>\n <\/p>\n At a truck stop cafeteria where we had lunch, I described the triangular structure of a samosa and the ingredients in dal, then used clock-face references to guide Candie to each item on her tray. She paid for the meal, carefully handling the rupee notes \u2014 colorful, textured bills adorned with traditional Indian motifs and Gandhi\u2019s portrait at the center. I described those to her, too.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I was beginning to notice how speaking these details aloud sharpened my perception. Things I might have otherwise overlooked or skimmed past \u2014 the kind of prosaic elements that quietly define a place, like the black-and-white stripes on New Delhi\u2019s curbs or the mandala murals painted on highway overpasses \u2014 became more visible to me when I put them into words. In naming them, I was also etching them into memory.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n In Agra, we joined<\/strong> the early-morning crowds jockeying for photographs of the Taj Mahal at dawn, its pale, glowing silhouette mirrored in the long reflecting pool. \u201cThey took a bunch of blind people to watch the sunrise \u2014 kind of funny,\u201d Ann, a visually impaired traveler from England, said wryly. We toured the site in pairs; one sighted guide told me she described the domed mausoleum to her partner as a giant Hershey\u2019s Kiss.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n One visually impaired traveler recalled his time inside the mausoleum as being deeply moving. \u201cI heard this low, generic hum \u2014 almost like an \u2018om\u2019 \u2014 filling the space from people quietly talking,\u201d he told me. \u201cI realized that everyday conversation had created this peaceful resonance, like a background chant. Sighted people probably wouldn\u2019t even hear it; they\u2019re too busy snapping photos.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n We eventually arrived<\/strong> in Ranthambore, a town in Rajasthan near a national park that was once the private hunting grounds of the Jaipur royal family. Today, it\u2019s considered one of the best places in India to spot wild Bengal tigers. Before our safari, in the hotel gift shop, I placed a tiger figurine in Candie\u2019s hands. She ran her fingers along its long torso and stout legs, tracing the raised stripes.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cOh wow,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s much longer than I\u2019d thought!\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We toured the park in an open-topped bus, its diesel engine rattling as we bounced along rutted dirt tracks that wound through dry forest, open meadows and rocky outcroppings. Every so often, our driver stopped at the sight of antelope, sambar deer or a quick-moving mongoose. Channeling David Attenborough, I narrated for Candie as a peacock fanned his feathers in a slow, deliberate courtship display.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The next day, I experienced<\/strong> my own version of that thrill aboard an auto rickshaw in Bundi, a hillside town known for its blue-painted houses and ancient step wells. I was paired with Chris, an accessibility specialist for the British government. Highly expressive with his eyes, Chris explained that he had optic nerve hypoplasia, a congenital condition that left him with a \u201cpinhole-camera-type view of the world.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I closed my eyes as we climbed toward Bundi\u2019s palace, perched above the town. The sudden jolting turns, the rush of wind, the blare of horns and the shifting smells \u2014 spices, incense, street food, exhaust, cow dung \u2014 turned the ride into a visceral blur of motion, sound and scent. I felt every brake, every bump and sway.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Chris described it much the same way. \u201cI feel all the micromovements \u2014 it\u2019s like a 1970s fairground ride,\u201d he said as we twisted up the road. \u201cA bit edgy. A bit bumpy. It jolts and pivots. It\u2019s got that amusement park atmosphere.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n As our group strolled in pairs through the center of Bundi, weaving between loitering cows and whizzing traffic, our local guide, Munish, paused at a street stall where a smiling man was stirring a drink made from a vivid green paste. He was, Munish explained, a government-authorized vendor of bhang, a traditional, cannabis-infused beverage.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Inexperienced but curious, a few of the V.I.s decided to try it. Later, Chris described how the high distorted his sense of time and space. Lying in his hotel room, the hum of the air-conditioner seemed to harmonize with the sound of the shower. Together, they sang.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Over the course of the trip<\/strong>, I\u2019d heard a few visually impaired travelers grumble that some of the sighted participants were being too heavy-handed in their approach to guiding \u2014 \u201coverwarning and overcautioning,\u201d as one put it. As we boarded the bus to Udaipur the next day, Suzie announced that some V.I.s felt as if they were being \u201cpassed around like furniture,\u201d with items taken from their hands as if they were children. The issue was clear: Sighted guides sometimes forget that their V.I. companions are independent adults. \u201cI\u2019m another human being,\u201d Susan, a V.I. from San Francisco, told me. \u201cI\u2019ll say what I need. When someone sees themselves as a helper, the whole relationship gets skewed.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Outside the Jagdish Temple, in Udaipur.<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/figure>\n <\/p>\n Traveleyes promotes guiding as companionship, not caregiving \u2014 someone to explore with, to share a drink at the hotel bar with, not someone to manage. But the lines can blur when you\u2019re also escorting someone to a bathroom stall.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a little like a complex dance routine,\u201d Chris told me. \u201cYou have to learn each other\u2019s moves and try not to tread on each other\u2019s toes, but you also have to give each other room to learn and grow.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n On our long drives across<\/strong> the Rajasthani desert, past sand-colored cliffs and craggy outcroppings, Munish offered insights into Indian society \u2014 the caste system, arranged marriage, the law of karma. \u201cIf I can\u2019t buy a Ferrari in this life, that\u2019s fine,\u201d he quipped, introducing the concept of reincarnation. \u201cI\u2019ll wait. I\u2019ve got plenty more chances.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n One afternoon, he shared a well-known Hindu parable about six blind men who encounter an elephant for the first time. Each tries to describe it while touching a different body part. One, feeling a leg, insists the elephant is like a massive cow. \u201cNo, it\u2019s a giant snake,\u201d says another, gripping the trunk. A third, stroking a floppy ear, imagines a flying carpet.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They argue, each convinced his perception is correct.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The moral, Munish explained, is that everyone experiences the world differently, and that no single viewpoint captures the whole picture. Understanding others\u2019 perspectives, the parable teaches, is part of seeing the fuller truth.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A street scene in Jaipur.<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/figure>\n <\/p>\n I thought about this later, on our train ride to Jaipur, when I asked Candie to share some of her most memorable moments from the trip. One had taken place in Delhi, just after she stepped off the bus at Humayun\u2019s Tomb<\/a>, a 16th-century Mughal mausoleum. She felt a small hand tap gently against her arm. Instinctively, she reached out and gave it a squeeze. The hand squeezed back.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n What struck her was the texture \u2014 rougher than any child\u2019s hand she\u2019d ever touched. She realized it must have belonged to a young beggar.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n For Candie, that brief moment of contact was transporting \u2014 a brush with the unfamiliar. \u201cI just wanted to hang out with them and find out as much as I could about their lives,\u201d she told me. What had shaped those hands? What had they endured? What did survival look like, day to day?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n