India was never a serious part of our travel plans. To be honest, we have it even ignored. To well we remember the Austrian cyclist, who we met around ten years ago on the Manali - Leh highway. "Flatland India by cycle? Forget it!" With sunken cheeks and exhausted eyes, he summarized his three-month tour: "Bloody dangerous traffic, the food is overspiced, the hotels are holes in a wall and Montezuma's Revanche is following you with every pedal stroke!" So why should we have payed India any of our attention? But against all reason we are now here. During the past years on the road we have learned that judgements of others are often relative: a snapshot of a single person, a mirror of his mood, his personal preferences and his feelings. We have learned, that sometimes a beautiful swan is hidden behind an ugly duckling. That everybody and every place earns a chance and that our most beautiful memories, our love to a place are often based in these chances, we have given to them.

A one hundred kilometers broad strip connects mainland India with the Seven Sisters. Mother India is threatening the seven states rather like a stepmother and some an Indian from Delhi or Mumbai even does not know, that there is a huge area in the east that belongs to his country. Together with Jerry, a bikepacker from Colorado we ride through East Bengal, Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Nagaland and Manipur. Like always, when someone is joining our rehearsed team, we need a couple of days to find a common denominator. Although all longterm cyclists seem to speak an universal language and thus we understand us always quickly, traveling together needs a bit more than only this: Jerry is early bird, we are it definitely not! Jerry likes to know the schedule of the next hours and where the daily target is. We are used to cycle into the day without plans, to get as far as we can and then look around spontaneously for a place to sleep. Jerry is open, communicative and a master in small talk, properties, which seem to be laid in the cradle of every American and which we were enjoying so much during our time in the States. We are more cautious, rather observers than actors, trying to give people time to accustom. Yes, and we admit it, we do not always get the jokes of the "refined" American humors... But opposites attract. And soon we have found our daily rhythm, enjoy the common journey and sometimes we even succeed to laugh at the right time about an American joke.

We know: if our journey through India shall become a good one, then we need to get away from the highways and the large cities. For the route through East Bengal and Assam we follow therefore smallest dirt tracks, we could never find without GPS. We ride through rural villages, along green tea fields and share the road with local cyclists, chariots and elephants. Mud and bamboo huts stand in the shade of palms, a couple of chickens peck after grains in the cleanly wept forecourt. Women in colorful Saris hang up laundry, chat with the neighbour over the fence or flirt with their children on the knees. There and again the road ends in front of a small river or water canal and we cross the obstacle carefully on a rickety bridge made of bamboo and braided mats. Water buffalo stretch their wet noses in the air, a white heron flies out of the reed. Live splashes by peacefully and imperceptible we fell under the spell of this country. Its joy for the chaos, the contrasts, the art of survival of its people, their unconcerness and their love. Yes, overall the love.

When we stop somewhere, it takes never long and a huge crowd of people gathers around us. Somewhen in the Indian history the concept of privacy has gone lost. No miracle, at a population density of 440 people on one square kilometer. And so our brake lever get tested right away, the tyre pressure felt, hundred of Indian eyes follow all our movements. Nothing of it is meant as an offense. No, it rather fits to this land, the intensity and the overstimulation of the senses. Food must burn, clothes shine, music roar. And so we get not glances, but stares and the bicycle not looks, but touches. And certainly the questions would be as direct and open if there would not be the language barrier. But so the knowledge often goes not further than "whence, where, why?" We keep the reply as short and simple: Europe, the next larger place and "to see your wonderful country". The warm smile we get as response hits our hearts. Often the people remind us of children. Direct and open in their behavior, generous with their smile and the little they have.

"No money", says the owner of the electronic shop, when we ask him if it might be possible to use his internet and how much it would cost for an hour. "No money", says also the doctor, who picks us right away from the road, moves out of his home to offer us a bed, who invites us for dinner and breakfast, buys us SIM cards on the black market and does not give up until he finds the right medication to cure our cough. "Love was not invented in India, but here it was brought to perfection", we hear this day in our current audio book "Shantaram". When we would have heard this saying a few months ago, we would have shaken the head and laughed blankly, because our picture of the Indian people was made of the Indian tourists we met at home, which fight for their place in the local supermarkets with elbows. A behavior which is a necessity in the huge cities and crowds of India, but which we judge as inappropriate and rude in well organized Switzerland. But the Indians here are different. Once again we experience: Who has the least, shares the most. And once again we think: Which picture are we Europeans showing to the world?

Snapping a selfie with a foreigner sweeps every Indian off his feet. It does not matter for him if he drives on the opposite lane and hits a rock during his selfie attempt, or if he takes the trouble to guide us personally to his favorite kitchen in the bazaar and to pay for our meal. And so the selfie then mostly comes before a hello. Of course we help playing the game. The enthusiasm is contagious. And a selfie for all the friendliness we get everyday is the least we can return. But like in every relationship we also sometimes have enough. Enough of the uninterrupted attention, the staring eyes, the permanent "brother, brother, selfie, selfie!" or the "sister, sister, where?" Strained nerves we have also then, when a motorcyclist rides half an hour long a few meters in front of us, honking and shouting, and trying to show his special "discovery" to all neighbors and other road users. Or if we just want to ask for directions, but only get an answer after we have posed with the guy, his friend, and the friend of the friend for at least ten selfies. But a slight Indian head wiggling helps to turn back these phases to the bright side again. We are so glad, that we have given a chance to India. East Bengal and Assam were amazing. The last time when we felt similar was in Sudan.

Everyone knows: high passes paint us little hearts in the eyes. And when we have the opportunity to return into the Himalayas and to ride one last 4000m high pass, we do not think twice. "Veeeery cold", all the people in Assam agree, when we start to answer the "where-question" with Tawang. And yes, it is reeeaaaly cold when we finally climb to the Grande Finale of 4200m high Sela pass. After all it is January. But the cold cannot minimize our joy. Blue sky, fresh snow, thin air. The sunglasses are slightly colored in pink. And as we would need a confirmation, the spark to this country leaps over again. Yes, we are in love.