5 am-Jet Lag- story time
It is curently 5 am, Toronto time. The household is fast asleep, but here I am attached to the computer, suffering through the ongoing back pain and renewed stomach cramps. We have now been home for 2 days, and Em shows little sign of feeling any better. Her stomach problems right now are infinitely worse than mine, and she also has an on again off again fever. Early next week she will go to the infectious diseases clinic in TO, but until then she'll survive with her mother's attentive care (and delicious cooking, if she can manage it). Hopefully there is nothing seriously wrong with Emily's belly, but with her unfortunate luck (or lack thereof), one never can tell. If something could go wrong for Em on this trip, it likely did.
Only 3 days into our trip, Emily fell ill. Emily's seven year no vomiting streak came to an end 3 days into our trip. Before dawn we boarded a train Goa-bound. Em was not feeling well prior to us leaving the hotel. Once we boarded the train, she had to make a bee-line for the train facilities where she spent a good two to three hours curled up on the dirty floor, hugging the metallic toilet, sending the previous day's meals into exodus on to the tracks. Luckily, she recovered from that within a few hours and regained her strength thanks to peanut butter sandwiches and many tea buiscuits. She felt relatively well 12 hours later when we finally reached Goa, but this sadly was not the end of Em's illness in India.
Much worse was to come. Just over one week later, we boarded a Paulo bus bound for the magic, Flintstone town called Hampi (located in the state of Karnataka). We had spent that day in good health, lounging on the warm, white sand beach in Anjuna. We had worked on our tans, frolicked in the breaking waves, and drank fresh lime sodas applenty. Around 5pm, we hopped on a local bus to the bustling major centre of Margao, where we were to catch the overnight, Paulo bus to Hampi. Because we had our backpacks and because we were under the (mistaken) impression that our bus would be leaving shortly, we ran off to find a restaurant near the bus station. BIG MISTAKE! Sure, anyone reading this is probably thinking to themself, eating by the bus station is a sure sign of disaster. And of course we would agree with you. But somehow our hunger made us overlook this logic. And so, on that fatefull day, Emily purchased an omelette sandwich from this hole in the wall restaurant, and consumed it with ferocious intent. She was starved, and even commented on how tasty that omelette was. Thankfully for me, I have disliked eggs since I was forced to consume way undercooked scrambled eggs in Japan when I was 14, so instead I bought a little veggie wrap at a bakery next door. We boared the bus that left one hour late, and set off into the darkness, Hampi-bound.
Our bus shook and bumped and crawled along for three hours. During this time, I read Family Matters by the light of my head lamp, engrossed in the story, tears streaming from my eyes as I finished up the book. I was so invloved in the conclusion of the story that I was oblivious to the pain Emily was experiencing just a few seats over. But she was in very real pain, and at the end of the third hour, when we stopped in yet another unknown, dark town, Emily briskly informed me that she had to get off the bus immediately. Though I was taken by surprise, there was no time to question whether this was the correct course of action. So we pushed our way off of the bus. While Em ran over to the corner of the street to be ill, I set about trying to explain to the bus driver that we needed our bags to be removed from the bus. This was no easy task, given that the driver and his assistant spoke very little English, And my ability to communicate in Hindi was pretty weak. With the use of many hand gestures, the assistant understood that Em was sick, and kindly suggested that it was alright if she just threw up out the window of the bus. While this helpful suggestion might have had a calming effect on some, this was simply not going to work for us. So after much discussion, I was finally able to get our bags out from under the bus. The bus rattled off into the darkness, and we were left to march ourselves into the nearest hotel and check into a room for the night. While Em settled into the toilet and performed acts of exorcism all night long, I spent some time with the kind men who worked at the hotel, discussing what course of action should be taken to help Em. At some point, I inquired of the hotel staff where exactly in India our 3 hours on the bus had left us. I was relieved and surprised to find out that not only were we still in Goa, but we were only 15 minutes away from Palolem.
Palolem- a beautiful beach with gorgeous sunsets and warm water. Palolem- the town we had settled into only 5 days earlier for some needed rest and relaxation after the culture shock of Bombay. Palolem- though a place unquestionably overrun by western and japanese tourists, but the throngs of westerners ensured that the food was safe for our delicate stomachs, and appealed to our cautious palettes.
So 2 days later, when Em had regained just enough strength to make the 15 minute tuk-tuk trip from Chaudry to Palolem, we ventured back to the beach. It took Emily another 3 or 4 days to get back into a condition well enough for us to start travelling again. But that experience probably stayed with Emily for the rest of the trip. And such violent illness, not surprisingly, made a lasting impression on Em and may have in some ways tainted her view on India. Her illness may help to explain why Em and I have such different feelings about the country.
Although I wish that Em had not fallen ill on that bus and left such a bad taste in her mouth (so to speak), in some ways the experience brought us closer together. And for those who believe in fate, there may have been some devine intervention or something at work, as the bus left us near a safe place, where we had friends waiting and german baked goods aplenty.
Sadly, this was not the end of Emily's misfortunes on this trip. Not even close. But it is now 6 am and I am ready to return to dream world. The list of what did go wrong for Em will have to wait for the next posting.
Only 3 days into our trip, Emily fell ill. Emily's seven year no vomiting streak came to an end 3 days into our trip. Before dawn we boarded a train Goa-bound. Em was not feeling well prior to us leaving the hotel. Once we boarded the train, she had to make a bee-line for the train facilities where she spent a good two to three hours curled up on the dirty floor, hugging the metallic toilet, sending the previous day's meals into exodus on to the tracks. Luckily, she recovered from that within a few hours and regained her strength thanks to peanut butter sandwiches and many tea buiscuits. She felt relatively well 12 hours later when we finally reached Goa, but this sadly was not the end of Em's illness in India.Much worse was to come. Just over one week later, we boarded a Paulo bus bound for the magic, Flintstone town called Hampi (located in the state of Karnataka). We had spent that day in good health, lounging on the warm, white sand beach in Anjuna. We had worked on our tans, frolicked in the breaking waves, and drank fresh lime sodas applenty. Around 5pm, we hopped on a local bus to the bustling major centre of Margao, where we were to catch the overnight, Paulo bus to Hampi. Because we had our backpacks and because we were under the (mistaken) impression that our bus would be leaving shortly, we ran off to find a restaurant near the bus station. BIG MISTAKE! Sure, anyone reading this is probably thinking to themself, eating by the bus station is a sure sign of disaster. And of course we would agree with you. But somehow our hunger made us overlook this logic. And so, on that fatefull day, Emily purchased an omelette sandwich from this hole in the wall restaurant, and consumed it with ferocious intent. She was starved, and even commented on how tasty that omelette was. Thankfully for me, I have disliked eggs since I was forced to consume way undercooked scrambled eggs in Japan when I was 14, so instead I bought a little veggie wrap at a bakery next door. We boared the bus that left one hour late, and set off into the darkness, Hampi-bound.
Our bus shook and bumped and crawled along for three hours. During this time, I read Family Matters by the light of my head lamp, engrossed in the story, tears streaming from my eyes as I finished up the book. I was so invloved in the conclusion of the story that I was oblivious to the pain Emily was experiencing just a few seats over. But she was in very real pain, and at the end of the third hour, when we stopped in yet another unknown, dark town, Emily briskly informed me that she had to get off the bus immediately. Though I was taken by surprise, there was no time to question whether this was the correct course of action. So we pushed our way off of the bus. While Em ran over to the corner of the street to be ill, I set about trying to explain to the bus driver that we needed our bags to be removed from the bus. This was no easy task, given that the driver and his assistant spoke very little English, And my ability to communicate in Hindi was pretty weak. With the use of many hand gestures, the assistant understood that Em was sick, and kindly suggested that it was alright if she just threw up out the window of the bus. While this helpful suggestion might have had a calming effect on some, this was simply not going to work for us. So after much discussion, I was finally able to get our bags out from under the bus. The bus rattled off into the darkness, and we were left to march ourselves into the nearest hotel and check into a room for the night. While Em settled into the toilet and performed acts of exorcism all night long, I spent some time with the kind men who worked at the hotel, discussing what course of action should be taken to help Em. At some point, I inquired of the hotel staff where exactly in India our 3 hours on the bus had left us. I was relieved and surprised to find out that not only were we still in Goa, but we were only 15 minutes away from Palolem.
Palolem- a beautiful beach with gorgeous sunsets and warm water. Palolem- the town we had settled into only 5 days earlier for some needed rest and relaxation after the culture shock of Bombay. Palolem- though a place unquestionably overrun by western and japanese tourists, but the throngs of westerners ensured that the food was safe for our delicate stomachs, and appealed to our cautious palettes.So 2 days later, when Em had regained just enough strength to make the 15 minute tuk-tuk trip from Chaudry to Palolem, we ventured back to the beach. It took Emily another 3 or 4 days to get back into a condition well enough for us to start travelling again. But that experience probably stayed with Emily for the rest of the trip. And such violent illness, not surprisingly, made a lasting impression on Em and may have in some ways tainted her view on India. Her illness may help to explain why Em and I have such different feelings about the country.
Although I wish that Em had not fallen ill on that bus and left such a bad taste in her mouth (so to speak), in some ways the experience brought us closer together. And for those who believe in fate, there may have been some devine intervention or something at work, as the bus left us near a safe place, where we had friends waiting and german baked goods aplenty.
Sadly, this was not the end of Emily's misfortunes on this trip. Not even close. But it is now 6 am and I am ready to return to dream world. The list of what did go wrong for Em will have to wait for the next posting.
posted by peachesandchai @ 1:59 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home