Noise. Chaos. Smells. Trash. People, and people, and people, and more people. Colors.

Everything’s overcrowded, packed with people, a total chaotic mess. Cars' exhaust, smoke, and car horns. Cows, and the smell of manure left behind. And people, and more people.

What are we doing here?

We're packed in a tiny tuk-tuk, zig-zagging in a sea of people, cars, trucks, and every possible type of vehicle on wheels. Small kids cling to the windshield, pushing their small hands through the half-opened window. They beg, “Please, sir, please.”

The street vendors, the smell, and the people, so many people. How can the tuk-tuk even pass through? Every other second I choke a scream as it almost runs over a pedestrian, hits a biker, or crashes into a truck. But every time, in the last moment possible, it just sharply turns.

At the same time, it reminds me of a water stream. It smoothly flows around rocks in these endless human currents. No thoughts, no plans, just flow. I wish I could flow like this, with no thoughts, just alive and moving.

Noah and Jill are closely packed between us. Rachel looks through the window, somehow unbothered by the trash everywhere and the kids' hands pushing through the window. Or maybe not.

I don’t know how to read her anymore. Once, I thought I knew what she was thinking just by a look. Now, I’m not sure I ever understood her.

What are we doing here? Why did I think anything would be different here, that here we’d have another chance to fix everything?

With another sharp move of the tuk-tuk squeezing me into the window, one of the bags almost falls on me. The bags are all pressed behind us. I’m counting. One, two, three, four, five. And "our life" – that’s what we started calling the passports and money pouch that now seems to be welded to my skin – six.

Through the airport transfers, the trains, buses, and taxis, I got used to counting. Every time I have my eye on the bags, I count. One, two, three, four, five, "our life" – six.

Everything is here. Everything’s OK. Like a mantra, holding me. But that’s it, we’re almost there. Just one more left turn at the end of the world, almost ready to begin our real journey.

I take quick looks at Rachel, who’s packed between the bags and the kids. I try to guess what she thinks, and what she thinks of me now, and of this place. How have I managed to persuade her to leave everything and go on this crazy trip?

I remember an old Hasidic saying: Wherever you go, you’ll find something to fix there. I can’t even remember the exact phrase now, but there’s so much that needs fixing. How do I even begin? And what does it matter now?

Wherever I go, I always carry myself with me. Why would this trip help or change anything? But maybe... Maybe this is our chance to go back to our old selves, to the burning passion we used to feel. We just need to get out of this craziness and we’ll get there. We’ll find peace. Just us, and the kids, and the quiet people told us about.

A deafening horn and another sharp turn wake me back to reality. Another wiggle and the tuk-tuk stops.

“Here you are, sir,” the driver says, turning toward me. “Twenty rupees, please.”

I try to take the wallet out of “our life,” but between the kids and the bags, I can hardly move. It’s stuck behind my back. I’m already sweating, and the smells here just drive me crazy. I undo the belt strap and pull it until the pouch is out. I search inside and take out the wallet, trying to see which bill is twenty rupees.

“Thank you, sir,” the driver says. He turns back, waiting for us to get off the tuk-tuk.

I start pulling and pushing the bags, one after the other, while Rachel and the kids get out through the other door. I try to watch the bags I’ve put on the pavement, and at the same time watch over Rachel and the kids. They seem to be almost swept away by the currents of people and vehicles before they reach the safe shore on the other side of the street.

The last one out is the kids' toy bag. I close the door. The driver, not even looking back, drives away and disappears through the traffic.

That’s it. We stand by a small mountain of bags. An island of stillness between the waves of people. Two adults and two kids.

Jill holds my hand, and Noah holds Rachel’s hand. They look so lost right now, while the people-currents flow around our little island. The noise starts closing over me. I look for a quieter place.

“Let’s go to the fruit stand over there,” I say, pointing.

Rachel and I take the bags in our hands and we all find a way through, somehow. At last, a quieter place where we can get organized.

The bags are piled up again. I count. One, two, three, four, five, and "our life" – I put my hands on my hips. But it’s not there.

In all the moving around and carrying the bags, I haven’t noticed the constant pressure on my hips is gone. I forgot I untied the straps to pay the driver.

I dig through the pile of bags. It probably just fell between them. I move them around, but it’s not there.

“Jake? Is everything OK?” Rachel asks.

“Yes, sure,” I lie.

It feels like my chest is tightening. Panic.

The pouch, "our life," was left on the tuk-tuk seat.

I turn back, looking at the street. The raging river of people and vehicles is still there. I can’t even see where we got out of the tuk-tuk.

Maybe it fell on the way from the tuk-tuk? I try to retrace our path from the street in my mind.

The money, the passports, the maps... everything’s in there. Rachel told me it’s better not to put all our eggs in one basket, but I wanted to be sure that everything was on me, all the time. I even slept with the pouch on me.

What do I do now? My body feels burning all over. I wipe sweat from my forehead. What do we do now?

We need to call someone. Talk with the embassy. But where would we find a public phone? We have no idea of their number. We can’t even pay for a place to sleep. We don’t even have the money to pay for a phone call. We have nothing!

Rachel will surely kill me now. She already thinks I’m irresponsible, and that it was crazy to take this trip to begin with. It took me months to persuade her. And now? Nothing.

We have nothing. There's no way Rachel will give us another chance now.

With all the flights and buses, and the feeling that everything here stinks, it’s ugly. The words between us have just become harsher and harsher until we've stopped talking at all, besides what we have to for the kids.

I try to keep my voice normal. “I’ll go over and get us something to eat," I say.

Rachel looks at me with a questioning look. Food? Now? I read on her face.

I turn and go before she’ll have time to ask me.