Now India, by any God-given name (Kali?Ganesha?Hanuman?) is a bloody big beast. with many arms that make for even longer journey legs. i know, because after the marathon we just sprinted in the three-legged sack race that is my disadvantaged (not historically but genetically) life, i feel that i am finally on my last stubs. and i got like 3 months to go. but let me (just this once) give you some perspective on my last 24 hours and what it took to reach this the cremation hub of India...Varanasi
It all started in Hampi, that quiet little bouldering haven that i have fallen head over heels (are you picking up the theme yet) with. actually a lot more started in Hampi (deep in the bowels of the beast when i awoke rather suddenly to the yearn and churn of fire in my belly only to play karma sutra (heads and tails not decided) with the toilet bowl for a couple of hours. (another time friend.)
When you're travelling, diarrhea and vomiting is just your body's way of telling you it's a (guaranteed, no refunds) travel day. Because on these special days of trains, planes and risk-taking rickshaws, it is a given that for every one brain cell that is preoccupied with deciphering and bargaining its way through the transport system (which platform? what time? how long (30kms often takes over an hour), there are three equally tired, equally drained cells whose sole purpose in life is to find you a place to squat...in sanitation and silence (genius IQ required here).
For the rest of us cretins, we have to make do (and this really grates me) with paying 2 or 3 rupees to squat in the most foul stenching dark hole that induces vomiting even before it is volunteered by your biling body. if you're lucky , you don't have to actually imitate a mythical (multitasking) Hindi creature by squatting whilst balancing a backpack and keeping your daypack suspended over the flooding floor. and so it continues on the trembling trains and into the much used and abused bushes between chai shops and bus stops.
Butt i get side tracked. the point of this cockeyed story (which is now limping to its conclusion) is to give some perspective on the average "transport day".
We are where we are (in Varanasi) because we...
- kickstarted a 150 cc motorbike (bags abalancing) to a boat jetty.
- sat silent through a sunset river crossing
- closed our eyes and crossed our fingers through a rough rickshaw ride (defying traffic laws and train timetables)
- sweated it out on an overnight train (why are there so many big fans attached to the roof but none work?)
- sat stupefied on a luxury airport bus
- waited out a delayed flight over cremora cappuccinos
- undertook a quick terminal to terminal (wow this is an amazing race) sprint
- caught a short connecting flight
- bargained our way into a taxi
- got transferred onto a cycle rickshaw
- got led up the beaten path and through the alleyways to the burning Ghats
- dragged our sorry asses up the stairs
And all the while, what keeps your bowels moving (or not) is the hope that at the end of all this that for just for a few days, maybe even just a few hours, you can sit on something cold and white and reach for something long and soft (and preferably 2-ply).
Please note dear reader: this post was under the influences of Imodium. I cannot be held responsible for the shit that comes outta my mouth...because it sure ain't coming outta anywhere else!
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