all roads lead to Palolem

At a loss for an answer... for the first time?

2006-04-06T20:50:00.000-07:00

This Evening I went to a rugby practice... my first in about a year and a half!!! Last summer I didn't play, except for a couple of pick-up games when I was back in Winnipeg visiting. It was great to see some familiar faces, but most of all it was great to move in a semi-athletic fashion. I am feeling so sluggish these days, but have not gathered up the motivation to get myself out of the house to go for a run. So a group practice is just what I needed- someone else to tell me what to do and when. I'm hoping this will lead me to take myself out for a run tomorrow, but we'll see. As I'm typing, I can feel a certain soreness in the back of my throat, and am mildly concerned that it will be raging by morning. Imagine... there are germs in Canada too!!! Of course I know this, but it seems wonderous that germs can exist in what I now realize to be such an incredibly clean country.

Anyway, back to why I decided to write this posting: Tonight, as I was driving back from practice with my two rugby friends (the junior women's provincial rugby coaches) and their adorable kids, one of them asked me what I learned from the Indians. To be honest, I was at a bit of a loss for an immediate answer. I loved India, usually even when I hated it. And having travelled in India has taught me to appreciate my good fortune at having been born and raised in a country with such vast spaces, low population density, social services and cleanliness. But trying to think of useful lessons to be learned from the indians, embarrassingly, was an immediate challenge. I've been thinking about it for the last hour. One thing that could be learned is to find happiness in your life, no matter how challenging circumstances may appear. Driving through the slums in Mumbai, I saw incredibly poor people washing themselves in the gutter and cooking their meals in the street because there was no room to do so in their shack (not to mention it would be too hot). But in those streets covered in a medley of dirt, crap and garbage, I also saw smiling and joking faces; families enjoying one another's company; interested faces engrossed in the satellite t.v. program that crowds

gathered together to watch inside of the lean-to shack. So I suppose realizing that happiness doesn't require new parasuco or sevens jeans or the right stock option is a pretty good thing to learn from the indians.

Still, I'm not sure that this is the kind of answer my friend was looking for. He suggested as an example that something to take away from much of Europe is to take life a bit easier, as for example, by enjoying a two hour lunch break, or having a shorter work week. So if any one reading this has travelled to India, I'd be pleased if you would post your thoughts on good lessons to be taken away from India and/or Indian people. Thanks.

lazy days in Canada

2006-04-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

Today is an overcast day in Ottawa. I've been having a lovely time visiting with my former roommate and best friend, Bryan. But nonetheless, while he is off at work, slaving away for the man, I find myself missing India. Or maybe I just miss the excitement of travelling. Or maybe I miss the friends I made. I certainly don't miss the dirt and shit everywhere. But sitting here at this computer, I find myself thinking of the next adventure- one that will be upon me sooner than later, hopefully. So I have decided that though I have a few things to get done today, and therefore probably don't have the time to write a lengthy entry recounting stories form the trip, I will take the time to post a couple of photos that don't have too much of a story attached to them. I'll save the long-story photos for later.

These two photos are from the first yoga session Em and I finally got around to do, all the way down in Cochi, Kerala. We had our own provate class. Though the style was pretty much ashtanga combined with hatha, it felt a lot like Bikram yoga in the 40 degree heat. Notice the giant mosquito bites on my face, which also covered the rest of my body. Indian mosquitos were apparently quite taken with me!

Settling in... Moderate illness and mangy feet

2006-03-30T06:59:00.000-08:00

I have now been back in Canada's loving embrace for almost 1 week. Last Sunday night, I was fortunate enough to get a ride back to Montreal with Emily's lovely sister. But unfortunately, whatever Emily has been suffering from over the past few days decided to come knocking on my door. I was staying with a friend that night. He had been kind enough to wait for me to arrive before having dinner. Any other time this would have provided a great opportunity to catch up on everything that had happened since we had last seen each other in December. But Sunday night, it was not so pleasant. Two minute after I walked in the door, we were back out it, off to a nice restaurant, about a 12 minute walk away. By the time we reached the restaurant, I had terrible indigestion, the diarrhea was kicking in, and worst of all, I was feverish and could barely keep my eyes open. What a nightmare. I hadn't the energy to make much conversation, but this meant that my friend was forced to share his term's adventures. What this specifically meant to me was that the consumption of his food was reduced to a snail's pace. In my groggy, ill state, I just kept thinking.... hurry up and eat... please!!! Finally, in a moment of clarity, I had the sense to get up and revisit the ladies room so that he would have the time to put down the rest of his delicious looking meal. This plan was successful. We paid and re-emerged into a chilly Montreal night, which luckily prevented me from passing out right there in the middle of the street. All in all, this was not a pleasant night, and more than anything I felt guilty about being in this condition while the guest of this friend. Not that it was in any way preventable, but still...

So the past few days have, as a consequence, been slow paced. I've spent some time catching up with friends, a fair amount of time emailing, updating my resume, and generally lounging around. Yesterday I also came close to making an esthetician cry when I went in for a pedicure. I feel confident that I may have been one of her most challenging clients (the layers of dead and cracked skin removed could nearly have created a new foot, and my half-missing big toe toe nail is not something every esthetician dreams of looking after), but as I have become accustomed to repeating, India does funny things to feet.

Take Emily's feet as an example. While Em will be the first to admit that even in Canada her feet require semi-frequent maintenance (due probably to all of the running she does), her feet have never been what I might refer to as frightening. But at the end of our 2 months in India, her feet were indeed that. One month into our trip, one of her Rockport flip flop sandals broke. She brought the injured shoe to a man on the street who sewed the toe-divider bit back into the base of the shoe for the bargain price of 20 rupees (just over $0.50 CDN). But now the shoe was too tight. Still, for a couple of days Em wore these shoes, presumably thinking that she could wear them back in, or maybe stretch them back out. Or maybe she simply had such sentimental attachment to these shoes or the nostalgia associated with them that she was unprepared to let them go. Whatever it was, these Rockport sandals did not treat her kindly. Like a pair of new shoes, they rubbed and rubbed and cut up the top of her foot. Though she did finally scrap the old Rockports in favour of an old-lady looking pair of sandals (which also eventually got tossed in favour of a lovely pair of cheap Birkenstocks), the damage was done. This cut on the top of her foot became infected, and did not really start healing until a month later, after a 15-hour plane-ride-from-hell back to Canada. Everyday, twice a day or more, Em would clean out the wounds (there were two spots) with Dettol and polysporin and would bandage them up. But there is just no obvious way to keep one's feet clean in India.

Because, alas, it is DIRTY!!! Sure, India does have some great things going for it, but I think I would be hard-pressed to find someone who would say India is generally a clean country. And every day, her wounds would fail to heal over, and would puss and scab and peel off layers of skin around the wounds. But at least her foot wasn't as bad as Neil's (our English friend).

Neil's foot was bad. In fact, it was scary. Scary to the point that random Indian strangers on the train would comment on it and tell him to see a doctor. Scary to the point that a doctor on the train happened to see Neil's foot and immediately pulled out her emergency kit and started working some magic on Neil's foot.

Neil's foot woes started mildly enough. A few weeks earlier he had gone diving in Sri Lanka and had accidentally stepped on some coral reef, a couple tiny pieces of which lodged themselves in the bottom of Neil's foot. This made it quite painful for him to walk: the wound became swollen and the skin became hard and bruised all around it. This injury nagged him for some time (though I can't say that it slowed him down much, despite the obvious pain he was in). He eventually hankered down and forced the bits of coral out of his foot by digging his thumbs into the skin around the wound and pushing hard until a teeny-tiny piece of coral popped out. This should have been the end of Neil's foot woes and the beginning of the road to recovery. But no. Around the same time, Neil had a mosquito bite that had swollen up a bit on the top of his foot. This mosquito bite must have become infected, for his foot swelled to 3 times the size of his normal foot, to the point where he no longer had an ankle or a foot, but merely a blob at the end of his leg. It was bad! So in Bangalore, he and Mark sought out a doctor's office (navigating all of the signs for "secret disease doctors" and bizarre office hours like champs). Neil got a prescription from the doctor which helped bring down the swelling. He also was prescribed pain killers, which meant that he was finally able to relinquish his hold on my "candy-coated" Advils. So the doctor's prescription helped, but it did not entirely fix the problem. For the rest of the trip (another 2 weeks), his foot continued to pain him, looking somewhat stratefied, the skin around the wound having peeled off like the rings of a tree. Mark swore that he could see the bone of Neil's foot, the wound was so deep. This may all sound like my tendency for exageration at play, but please take a look at the attached photo and judge the foot for yourself.

At the end of Neil's trip, though I'm sure he was sad to be leaving India and friends behind, I am positive he was only too glad to be returning to the clean streets of Oxford, where he could seek out proper medical attention and put his foot up while he toiled away at the games on his new X-box 360.

5 am-Jet Lag- story time

2006-03-26T01:59:00.000-08:00

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.

Reflections upon a North-South journey through India

2006-03-25T05:49:00.000-08:00

On a crisp, end-of-April morning, Emily and Eleasha emerged from the Pearson International airport into the welcoming arms of Emily's mom and step-dad. The two girls felt slightly out-of-place, due to scantily clad birk and chacoed scanky feet, their hippie scarves, and above all, their utter lack of trendy jeans and puma apparel. Dizzy and exhausted due to the 15 hour continental flight, they were elated to simply have clean air to breathe, and room to stretch their stiff and sore bodies. In the days to come, the girls would have plenty of time to recount their adventures and contemplate the lessons that they had learnt over the course of their 2 month journey through India. But on that particular day, they were content to eat scrumptious homemade meals and sleep the better part of the day away.

Of course, some memorable, humourous stories did spill over on that day, over meals and in between naps: Emily's first attempt to re-organize India; the wild tiger spotting and heart-wrenching attempt to save the injured deer; the many fecal matters; and the frightful encounter with an apparently under-funded Indian hospital. But these stories, while entertaining, fall hugely short of giving an accurate image of Eleasha's experience of India and her true feelings about the country and it's people- good and bad.

While I can't claim to have reached a new level of spritual enlightenment or to have 'found myself' while in India, I think it is fair to say that I had some eye-opening experiences and came to a few realizations while away. Though I doubt I will be one of the few who actually write the "groundbreaking" novel that all travellers in India seem intent on penning, I have decided that I will attempt to log some of my memories in the form of a blog. Hopefully, this blog will help me to (a) remember my trip as the years and inevitable alzeimers set in, (b) allow me to finally express myself in a semi-creative work, and (c) keep in touch with friends, acquaintances and even those who may despise me and my argumentative nature as I find myself touching down from continent to continent.

As those who know me are aware, I love to chat and I love to argue. So if you feel like engaging me in a pleasant conversation or a heated debate, I welcome you to do so. And if you feel like it, check back soon for future postings and photos documenting the trip.