When I was 5 years old, I was run over by a car and dragged several feet along a Lacey, Washington street. This accident would tear a chunk out of my shoulder, rip half the hair out of my scalp and leave me with lifelong scars on my face, hands and down my right leg. It was very uncool.
But that physical pain was nothing compared to what I’m going through right now. My time in India wreaked havoc on my body and I’m paying for it severely.
And it’s not just Delhi Belly, which is the most common traveler ailment. I do love Indian food, and my tummy did have some minor disagreements with my adventurous taste buds. But the stomach problems were the least of my worries.
What I’m dealing with now is a combined result of fatigue, exposure to extreme temperatures and pollution, and very poor eating and sleeping habits.
In three weeks, I’ve traveled over 3,700 kilometers by train; 1,200 by bus; and 11,200 by plane. One of those train rides was 27 hours long. And two of those plane journeys included eight-hour layovers.
I am simply exhausted. I’ve had one too many days of being awake for over 24 hours straight, sharing cabin space with crying babies and unrelenting Bollywood cel phone ringtones. Living on crackers and chai and the few samosas I was lucky enough to come across. I occupied myself on long rides by playing sudoku and reading Anthony Kiedis’ autobiography “Scar Tissue.” I read nearly 500 pages in the course of two days, and my eyeballs are screaming.
Whenever I did manage to get a wink’s sleep, it was on a crammed bus, on the hard bed of a shaky train or on the floor of someone’s flat. I did have two nights of relative sleeping comfort before I left the country, but it wasn’t enough. These achy breaky muscles will take awhile to recover.
I flew out of Mumbai into Kuala Lumpur last night where I sat on the floor at the airport until my 6am flight this morning to Vietnam. Halfway through the night, I thought I was gonna die. I couldn’t see straight, my tummy was suffering two-fold from both a food reaction and menstrual cramps (sorry for the TMI), and I was coughing hysterically.
India is by far the dirtiest country I’ve been to, and I don’t even wanna know what three weeks there did to my lungs. I developed a nasty cough soon after I arrived and it still lingers today. Part of it was my fault for sure, as while in India, I opted for local transport in auto rickshaws which have no doors. I couldn’t help myself. I loved taking in all the sights and sounds and yes, even the smells, of this intensely fascinating country. Some of my favorite moments in all of India were riding around in a rickshaw, as I got to experience things I know I will never experience anywhere else in the world. Given the choice between a rickshaw and a cab, I always chose the rickshaw. And my lungs and throat are pretty pissed off at me for it.
Oh, did I mention every day was about 35°C (that’s 95°F) with 90% humidity?
Not only was I sticky and disgusting every second of every day, I didn’t drink as much water as I should have. Sometimes I avoided hydrating myself in fear that I’d have to pee and use the filthy washrooms. I know, it’s a very bad reason. But as many vomit-inducing washrooms as I’ve seen (and used) in my travels, none of them compare to the ones I saw in India. Really, the worst of the worst.
I realize I’m being a big fat whiny face, and I’m not painting a very pretty picture of India. India was fantastical for many reasons and I’ll be writing about them soon. The good news is, in my current recovery mode, I finally have some time to WRITE again before I commence my adventures in northern Vietnam!