On a chilly Thursday morning in India, I woke up to an overcast sky and a pit in my stomach. This was the day we were going rafting in the beautiful, mystical, and sacred Ganges river. I had visited the Ganges in the city of Rishikesh on a previous visit, but I was excited at the opportunity to see the city and its steep cliffs and riverside temples from a different perspective. I was also nervous about tackling some of the rapids, but determined to enjoy the experience. We kissed Monkey and Munchkin goodbye and my father-in-law drove my husband, his cousin and I to the start site. 

As we started off in the raft, we joked about how we picked the coldest day to go rafting. The sun was completely obscured and, after tackling the first few rapids, we were soaking wet. I was so cold, my teeth were chattering and my barefoot feet felt frozen. While we rowed along the tranquil water between rapids, I examined the sites around us. There were other rafters, a few people in the temples and then I saw the little boy. He was probably a few months older than my 14-month old Munchkin. He was standing with his mother, about 10 feet above the river, on the rocky bank. His mother was washing something as he watched and spoke to her. What broke my heart though was that he had a long sweater on, but no pants, no socks or shoes. I looked at my feet and back at his and thought how cold he must feel on this gray morning.  

Seeing this little boy brought home the fact that our beautiful India of adventure, warm family gatherings and delicious home-cooked meals was very different from the India of streets lined with people, crumbling facades and small bonfires set to keep shopkeepers warm. Despite repeated trips to India, I still find the discrepancy hard to reconcile. How could I worry about Munchkin's attempts to climb stairs and eat rocks when so many children were dodging cars, maneuvering through slippery riverbanks and not wearing shoes on their feet? Here I was chattering in the cold in the name of fun and adventure, while others used the same waters for bathing and sustenance, without the luxury of warming their hands next to a toasty warm heater. 

I am hardly the first person to see this dichotomy, nor is India the only country that forces visitors to confront the reality of poverty. My family comes from the poorest country in South America, Bolivia. My travels have taken me all over Central and South America, where I've seen variations of this little boy many times over. What sets India apart--and what makes it so difficult to grasp--is the relentlessness of the poverty. Next to many lovely polished homes are shacks that have no running water or electricity. For every expensive car we see in Dehli, there are hundreds, if not thousands,of people commuting to work on the highway on a rickety bicycle or on foot. 

How dare I worry about my children riding without car seats in India, when I see so many babies held in the arms of their parents on scooters and little children clinging to the backs of bicycles or walking in the dusty, traffic-filled streets? I, who have loved city life for two decades, who have eschewed living an over-protective and sheltered lifestyle, sometimes want to stay behind the walls of my in-laws welcoming and beautiful home and never leave. 

But outside the walls, the other world of honking horns and roaming cattle awaits us. It is where we can find delicious treats, soaked in sugar water and fried right in front of us. It is where my father-in-law picks up the eggplant and lentils that my mother-in-law cooks up into mouth-watering meals. It is here life is lived and reality is faced. After all, no one can hide forever. 

My son, like many three-year-olds, asks questions non-stop. About cars, people, animals and things I would never dream up. He did ask why people had lit fires next to the street one night, but he equated it with the bonfire we had lit in a fire pit on Christmas Eve when we had eaten kebabs and delicious bread. I'm not sure how I'll answer the questions he and Munchkin will ask on future trips. I want them to love India and feel comfortable traveling and living there for the rest of their lives, but I don't know if I'll ever have the answers to their questions, as I still don't have answers to mine. 

Have you traveled to third world countries with your children?  How have you answered your children's questions related to the differences in surroundings? 

We're back! My husband and I have survived our outgoing 12-hour flight that was delayed 4 hours and departed at 4am. We breezed through a 3-hour flight days later and held it together through a 24-hour return journey that started in Dehli, included a lay-over in Dubai, and finished with Munchkin puking all over me minutes after we landed. 

Even though Munchkin repeatedly fought sleep like a champ (I think everyone sitting within three rows of us knows all ten verses of "The Ants Go Marching"*) on the outgoing flight, we arrived back in the US relatively unscathed. Considering how easy it was to distract  3 1/2-year-old Monkey (food! toys! hours of kiddie television!) and how hard it was to distract 14-month-old Munchkin (I want to walk! No, I want to climb stairs--Ooooo, cheerios--No, I want YOUR food!) I think there should be a ban on children traveling between the ages of 6 months and 18 months. It's just too hard to keep a toddling infant with strong opinions and poor judgement under control. We sat in one of several bulkhead rows and our seatmates with younger babies had a much easier than us: give milk, sleep, cuddle, repeat. Munchkin slept sometimes, but she also wanted to keep walking everywhere, touching things and asking baby questions. By the time we flew back, she had at least acquired the endearing habit of blowing kisses to everyone which surely saved us from dirty looks on the last 15-hour-leg. 

Besides the actual travel and jet lag, there were other changes to navigate. We had to keep Munchkin from breaking multiple items in non-baby-proofed homes. She begged us to give her pieces of everything we were eating--even the spicy food--but I don't know if letting her do so proved to be so smart for her tummy. The kids and I stuck to bottled water and we were extra careful to not to take any risks eating uncooked food. 

Since the kids had only seen their grandparents on Skype for the last year, we were a little worried how they would do when left with them only days after our arrival. However, the kids had a blast and didn't mention our absence once. In Dubai, Monkey was so enthralled with his four-year-old cousin, he barely noticed our presence. In India, Munchkin and Monkey's older cousins took them under their wing and played with them, patiently guided them and made them laugh throughout our stay. 

In contrast to the playground visits and casual play-dates here, Monkey spent hours outside, out of my sight. The property was walled in from the chaotic traffic outside, and I could hear him as he tried to play cricket with his uncles and learned to climb trees.  

Not only did my kids get a chance to know their cousins, we had the opportunity to reconnect with my husband's sister, brother-in-law and parents. His college-aged cousin joined us rafting on the Ganges and we all got to go out for a night out while the grandparents watched all four (mostly-sleeping) kids. The days full of activities and company were a lot of fun and so different from my more solitary existence at home.  

I'm enjoying being back in my home and, despite the travel challenges, I know I'm lucky to be able to make the trip and that everything went so smoothly. It was good for all of us to spend so much time with family. I only wish I could bring them back home with us.  

*Why no airline has created a sound-proof seating area for parents with young kids is beyond me. They could include a play area and both parents and kid-free travelers could breathe a sigh of relief. 

There are few things that strike fear in a parent's heart as hearing the words, "plane" and "with my children" in the same sentence. Add the fact that my kids are aged three and under, and, as we head overseas this month, I know we're in for one long 13-hour ride! 

Ever since my first trip across the border to Canada when I was a newborn, I have loved to travel. Maybe it's because I'm a Bolivian who grew up in the US, always aware of other cultures; or maybe because my parents always pushed us to learn more about, well, everything, but as soon as I arrived in Spain to study abroad in college, I started to travel in earnest, seeing much of Europe, Africa and, later, Central and South America.

Since my kids were born, I've slowed down a lot, but by the time Monkey turned one, we had traveled to Bolivia, Mexico and India. If journeys were lessons, the trip to Mexico taught me to never give a 7-month-old an ice cube and that, if I were to do so, I should have packed myself an extra outfit because I certainly needed it. On the bright side, that trip is what convinced me to buy Monkey his own seat for our flight to India. He slept for nearly 10 blissful hours in that carseat, 10 hours he would have otherwise spent on our laps because our chunky Monkey would not have fit into the bassinet. 

This time Monkey has his own seat and it's Munchkin who is travelling in a bassinet. She will barely squeeze into it, but I'm sure she'll also spend a fair amount of time in the Ergo, on the floor and fighting Nikhil for space on his seat because keeping a curious 13-month still in one place is nearly (completely?) impossible.

In anticipation of entertaining our kids for hours on end either in transit to the airport, within the airport or on the plane, I'm packing a favorite toy and a few stickers and playthings they've never seen before. I'm hoping the novelty will keep them amused. The airline (clearly not American-based) promises to provide toys, warm milk and kid-friendly food, but I'm not taking chances. And for those of you who read my blog post "My Beef with TV," I want you to know I'm selling out. Any time my kids are enclosed in the same room as hundreds of other people for 12-15 hours at a time, I become TV's biggest fan. Monkey will be allowed to watch TV and play games most of the flight, unless it keeps him from sleeping. 

Speaking of which, one reason we picked this flight is because it's overnight. That means the 12 1/2 hours will fly by, right? Well, let's do some math. My kids sleep about 10 hours a night. The flight starts 3 hours after the bedtime and ends nearly six hours after they normally wake up, which means that after they get settled, they will probably sleep about 7 hours.  That's if they got any sleep in the airport--likely for Munchkin, not for Monkey. If they get no sleep, we'll have a crying baby on our hands but the potential for 10 hours of sleep on the plane. But then airlines do that thing where they wake you up and feed you at odd times in attempts to get your mind adjusted to the new time zone. That's probably not going to work, especially because by the time we arrive at our destination, the new time zone will indicate that we've arrived one hour past their bedtime which will seem entirely unfair to both kids. What will probably happen is that they will each take turns being awake, just to ensure their parents are tired by the time we've arrived.  At least we'll be ready to sleep that night!

The commute abroad doesn't quite end when we get off the plane. There will be long hallways to walk through, customs to clear, and baggage to pick up. But there to greet us, with open arms, will be our family. Nieces and nephews to play with our kids, their aunts and uncles to share a laugh with and grandparents to lift the children from our arms and spoil them rotten. This is why we travel. Though the flight is long, the journey is wonderful.

What's the longest flight you've taken with your child?  What's the minimum age you want them to reach before you take a long flight?  Do you have any tips or travel tricks you'd like to share?