Dec. 2026
Mark Eisenberg

In 1972, after my first year of university in Toronto, the spirit of adventure took hold of this child of the ’60s. A university friend and I headed to Greece, hoping to buy a boat and take people on cruises through the Aegean. The sea had other plans, and we spent a wonderful month in a small fishing village on Crete instead.

From there, we travelled to Israel, where we spent four months volunteering on kibbutzim. We lived among the Sinai sand dunes, snorkelled in the Red Sea, worked on an archaeological dig and explored the streets and alleyways of Jerusalem’s Old City.

Our paths soon diverged. I headed to Istanbul, determined to travel overland to India in search of spiritual inspiration. Over the next eight weeks, I journeyed through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, in a world vastly different from today’s. A three-day train ride from Istanbul to Tehran in a plush red-velvet sleeper cost just $18. In the holy city of Mashhad, I played my flute in the markets to earn enough for my next meal.

I travelled through the horse-drawn-buggy streets of Herat, immersed myself in Kabul’s culture and crossed the magnificent Khyber Pass into Pakistan. India was a feast of history, architecture, religion, art and music. In Kashmir, I spent eight days travelling by dugout log boat, roasting freshly caught fish over a small fire and sleeping on the riverbank.

Eventually, I arrived in McLeod Ganj, a colourful Himalayan town that had become home to Tibetans in exile, including the Dalai Lama. Its temples, chanting monks and classes in Buddhist philosophy and meditation offered a haven for a young spiritual seeker.

As I often did in those days, I found a quiet spot to play my flute. Several people suggested I seek out a man who played the violin and lived high on the mountain. After a steep, 40-minute climb, I reached a small cabin and knocked on the door. A friendly, long-haired, bearded man welcomed me inside.

Within minutes, I discovered he was a Jewish guy from Toronto.

What were the odds?

We played music together and instantly recognized a kindred spirit. Sharing a love of wilderness canoe trips and adventure, we promised to stay in touch when we returned to Canada. David later returned from doctoral studies in Britain to serve as best man at my wedding to Shelli in 1978.

Over the decades, we stayed in touch, reconnecting every few years to share the milestones and challenges of family life.

Then, in June 2025, David, who now teaches philosophy in California, called me.

“Baba,” he said, using the term of affection and respect we had adopted in India and still use with each other, “do you realize it’s been more than 50 years since we met in India?”

It was a remarkable realization. David had been invited to India to deliver a series of lectures and suggested I join him for an adventure in the country where our friendship had begun.

With Shelli’s blessing, we arranged to meet in December for a five-week journey to rediscover India—and the enduring friendship that had begun there more than half a century earlier.

We visited spiritual communities representing several traditions across South India, including the beautiful Paradesi Synagogue in Kochi’s Jew Town, with its hand-painted porcelain tiles, Belgian glass chandeliers and ornate Torah Ark dating to 1568. We also walked barefoot to the cave where a renowned meditation teacher, whose writings we had devoured years earlier, had spent 15 years in solitude.

We returned to McLeod Ganj for a week amid the chanting of monks and cool mountain air. The tiny enclave we remembered had grown into a busy destination, with a cable car replacing the mountain paths we had once climbed, yet it retained much of its distinctive Tibetan character.

In Benares, the spiritual heart of India, we watched Hindus gather along the Ganges to pray and bathe in its sacred waters, then witnessed cremation rites along the river. I also paraglided from a launch point 8,500 feet above sea level, soaring over the mountains for an exhilarating 20 minutes.

There was so much to take in: extraordinary food, the contrasts between wealth and poverty, towering mountains and green valleys, ever-present cows and monkeys, and the warmth of the people we encountered.

But the greatest treasure was our friendship. Reunited in the place where our lives had unexpectedly intersected more than 50 years earlier, we celebrated the wonders of India and the blessings and challenges of a life well lived.

Venturing beyond our comfort zone can lead to discoveries we never anticipated. And sometimes, if we are very lucky, the journey brings us back to an old friend.

Photo Caption: Mark Eisenberg and his friend David in 1973