Crazy Mumbai

This post will be a bit strange, as I am too lazy to rewrite my post from the other day, that I foolishly forgot to put on my USB stick before setting out for a day in the city.  Anyhow, I'll include more recent events after I copy/paste my blog from the other morning. 

My experience of Bombay seems to change day by day.  Yesterday was a much better day, though a bit long, and equally exhausting.  And my lungs are even sorer today – my educated guess would be that I’ve got another two, maybe three days before it turns into a respiratory problem.  

I went out yesterday around 10AM, after finally getting to do some laundry and things, and wandered around the market that’s downstairs from Heman’s place.  The stares I got!  I stopped and bought an apple, and everybody stopped what they were doing to watch me.  Or it felt like they did, at least.  I wanted to take some photos, especially of this vendor who was selling spices in towers, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because the man just looked so menacing.  I eventually gave up and went to the train station.  I bought first class tickets to Churchgate (where Fort and Colaba are), which was good and bad in a way, and I hopped on the train.  

It took an hour to get to Churchgate from Kandivali on the Western line, and I stood the whole way.  The train was not too crowded, though, being after the morning rush.  Still crowded, yes, but I wasn’t suffocating, though now in the future I think I am going to carry rescue remedy with me, because there have been moments when I have to fight panic attacks just because of the pressing throng of bodies.  I hung off the side of the train for a bit for fun, until a man asked me to come back in, because people would be getting on that side of the train at the next stop, and he didn’t want me to get hurt or pushed.  I was really touched, because it was the first gesture of kindness from a stranger I’ve received so far in India.  He made a spot for me next to him in the train, by asking someone to move out of the way, and I didn’t argue it because I didn’t know how.  So I just thanked him, and stood in that spot for the rest of the way.  

I got a little bit lost trying to find Colaba; the only map I possess is the shitty one in the Lonely Planet guide, but after some aimless wandering, I figured it out.  It was a lot further of a walk from the train station than I thought it would be.  I got a bit peckish along the way, and decided to try my luck at a street vendor stand.  

In India here, people eat their food from the street vendor on little paper plates and they stand around the vendor until they are finished, and then they move on.  I did the same – and I was the talk of the entire group of people.  A foreigner, eating street food?  I got a samosa, which was far spicier than any samosa I’ve ever had before – even my eyes were watering! – and I got it with some chilli sauce which was sweet.  Don’t get me wrong, it was completely delicious, but my body is used to Thai spices, not Indian ones, and it was a crazy overload on my senses.  My nose was running, and my eyes were watering, and my mouth was burning.  But I stood there and ate it, and told the vendor what a good samosa it was.  There was a sugarcane juice stall right next to him, so I tried a glass of sugarcane juice, too.  I imagine it was probably really sweet, but my mouth was on fire, and I couldn’t really tell.  It may also have been my downfall, as I learned later to never, ever try things on the street that involve water in any form.  But I guess we’ll see.    

Colaba was an interesting experience, and I quite enjoyed it.  It’s the touristic part of town, where the art galleries and monuments, and markets and things are.  I’m such a sucker for markets.  There were stalls selling ‘antiques’, but they were gorgeous brass compasses, and sextets, and spyglasses.  I wanted one so bad...but I couldn’t reason out buying it in my head.  I was also propositioned by a ‘holy man’ who wanted to ‘bless’ me.  So now, I have an angry holy man and some string tied around my wrist.  He wanted to put a bindi on me, and I didn’t allow it, so then he gave me sugar to eat, which I didn’t eat, and then he tied string around my wrist, and ‘blessed’ me, and then asked me for money.  I told him I didn’t have any money, and he got angry with me and stormed off. 

But hey, I have a new string on my wrist.

I went to Leopold’s Café for a snack – a little maple walnut tart of some kind – more or less for the novelty of being in Leopold’s.  I’m reading this book right now called ‘Shantaram’, by Gregory David Roberts, and it takes place in Bombay in the mid-80s, and a lot of things that occur in the book revolve around Leopold’s, so I had to go check it out.  I wasn’t really expecting it to be the seedy drinking hole that they make it out to be in Shantaram, and it wasn’t, so I wasn’t disappointed, either.  It’s just a slightly pricey café filled full of tourists.  It made a good safe haven from the outside world for a bit, though.  

After that, I just browsed the shops and looked around.  I got myself a little jangly ankle bracelet – I wanted to buy more as souvenirs for friends, but the man wasn’t haggling very well, and I wasn’t willing to pay the price, so I only got the one.  I also bought a crystal pillar from one of the rock shops, from a man claiming to be a geologist.  I’ll admit he knew his shit, but he wasn’t a geologist, he just knew all the names of all his rocks, and kept selling the healing qualities of them to me.  “You need wealth?  Take this tiger’s eye.  Buy my tiger’s eye for a special price, and it bring you wealth”  ...right.  

I had practically given up on finding an internet café, when I stumbled across one by accident.  I glanced down this seedy, dark alleyway between two buildings, and just sticking out from my view was part of the word “internet” ...intrigued, I walked down and found a place that has spectacularly fast internet for 35R/hour.  That’s how I uploaded yesterday’s post – I tossed it on a USB stick before leaving the house, and then just uploaded it on the computer I was using in the internet café.  

After that, it was time to start heading back to Kandavali, because I had Heman’s keys and needed to be back before he got home from work.  It really surprises me when people are kind to me, and I’ve never been able to figure out why.  I think I sometimes feel like I don’t deserve it, but because of that, it’s positively delightful when little things happen, and it’s those little things that make traveling worthwhile for me. 

While buying a kiwi and some figs (figs, oh my god) at a fruit stand, the man selling them to me was eating some coconut, and he cut a piece of the coconut off and gave it to me, along with some little sugar balls.  He made me take a bite of the coconut and a little sugar ball at the same time, with the proclamation that it would make ‘a very good taste in my mouth’.  It was pretty tasty, and I told him so, and he cut me off another piece of coconut, and gave me a few more sugar balls, and sent me on my way.  I munched happily as I continued walking back to the train station, until I was stopped again, by a man who saw me eating lunch with the locals at the street vendor, and he wanted to talk to me.  So I stopped and talked to him, and he said he had a friend from Montréal, and then he started speaking French to me!  I was so excited that I blathered on in French with a fluency I wasn’t quite aware I possessed, and we exchanged names (his was Rahul) and he was from Rajathstan and he said I should go to Jaipur if I can.  I finally managed to pry away and start heading to the station, because at this point, I was beginning to worry that I would be late.  I spoke with one more fellow before I made it to the station, mostly because he was willing to stay in step with my long legs, and we talked for a couple of blocks until I got to the train. 

People in this country are just so curious.  It speaks to my inner child.  

On the way back, I took second class, but in the ladies compartment – for whatever reason, here in India, trains have a separate ladies section, and I had a seat the entire way, and it was much less crowded.  Hawkers jump on at stops and selling bindi dots, and cheap bangles and things, and I saw my first Indian crossdresser.  He jumped on the train at a stop and tapped us all on the head and said something in Hindi or Marathi that I didn’t understand, and some people gave him money.  I’m not really sure what it was about – but even men are attractive in saris, apparently.  

I made it back, and found out plans had changed.  I’m no longer going to Gujarat with Heman – in fact, if I was, you would not be getting this post – as Gujarat is India’s only state where drinking is illegal (this is because Gandhi was from Gujarat and he was against drinking) and apparently, this friend who is hosting the party got in a bit of trouble with the police a few days back, and is nervous to have a big house party now.  So effectively, the house party has been cancelled for all but a couple of friends, and I’m no longer invited.   

Heman and his roommate Julian were really awesome about it, though – and I am staying here now with Julian, until I can find another place to stay, or until I leave Mumbai.  They said I can stay as long as I like, and I believe them in their sincerity, but I don’t want to overextend my stay, either, so today I’m going to go to the train station and see what the sooner ticket to Delhi I can get will be, and my plans will be defined by that.  If I can’t get one before the 2^nd of January, then I think I will suffer the cost and fly there (though it is expensive this time of year – 6500R) ...but we will see today.  I’m also going to look into finding a tailor, both to get copies of my dress made, and to get a few pairs of silk selwar kameez’s made.  They are this beautiful long tunic with flowing pants (or tight pants also, I have seen) and a long scarf.  And it’s positively gorgeous.  I think I want two pairs.  

Oh, and last night after Heman left, Julian and I went out for food at an Indian restaurant – which sounds silly to say, being in India – and our food was delicious, and I tried pickled lemons, and we had roti, and dhal in fried butter, and corn palak, and Julian was super nice and we got it all mild, because my poor stomach is like “WHOA, what is all this spice?!” ...and it was actually the mildest Indian food I think I’ve ever gone for.  And so buttery...my lactose-intolerant stomach isn’t happy with me.  I think I’ll have to start carrying my lactaid around with me if food continues to be this milky.  

So yeah.  Them’s the breaks!  

I don't know why I even try to write these, sometimes.  Maybe it keeps me sane.  Everyday, I am exhausted.  I'm staying in the suburbs of Mumbai, and I have to take a train into the tourist area that takes me just over an hour.  Everything I need/want to do, however, is at least that distance away.  So I make it twice a day.  From there, Colaba (where the only internet place I can find is) is a half hour walk from the train station.  There's markets and shops and such, but it makes for a very long day.

And the smog, oh my god, the smog.  I thought Bangkok was bad, but Mumbai is so bad that when you stand on the shores of the Arabian Sea, and overlook the city...you can't see the city.  At all.  My lungs are deteriorating, and I've developed a cough.  I'm thankful to leave Mumbai tomorrow, but it is to head to Delhi, which I've heard is just as bad, or worse in terms of air pollution.  I'm more afraid of going to the doctor here than I was in Thailand.  In Thailand, the health care was amazing, they just didn't speak English.  Here, they speak English and the quality of health is rubbish.  I'm not really sure which is better or worse.  

Today is New Year's Eve, and I have no plans.  I'm sure there are big things going on in the city, but what fun is partying when you are alone?  Besides, I'm exhausted by 2PM, let alone midnight, and I can't really be bothered to do anything.  I'm stuck in a world of being woefully lonely, but at the same time, being so overwhelmed by people that I don't want anything to do with anybody by the time the sun sets.  And I miss creature comforts.

I've been showering in a bucket for the last couple of days.  There is a hot water tap, and a water tank which is filled by the city once a day, so once you use up the tank, that's it for your water for the day.  It, of course, isn't potable.  The tap on the wall fills up a bucket, and then you use a smaller bucket to pour water on yourself.  It's okay, but I don't feel properly clean without a proper shower.  But I mean, hey, at least the water is warm.  

Oh, and I finally sewed up my backpack this morning.  The strap tore open, and I was lazy, or busy, or careless, and didn't fix it for a while, and it got worse, so this morning I finally fixed it with some seam sealer and a bit of sewing.  Though, I'm hoping to call Arcteryx when I get home and get it professionally fixed, or replaced...

Every day for me is hectic, and I'm beginning to miss normality more and more.  It's hard for me, because I'm loving being in India, but at the same time, I just want to come home so badly that it consumes my thoughts during those empty spaces when I'm not being violated by some kind of chaos.  I went on a search today, that led me through streets in Mumbai that I detested so badly I wished to be anywhere else.  I was trying to find a silver jewelry bazaar, with a bad map and a poorer set of directions.  I had a rough idea which navigational direction it was, so I just started weaving through streets in the hopes of finding it (I did, after asking for directions twice) but it led me through streets that were so shockingly...dirty, that I had a hard time coping with it all.  I felt violated, to be walking down them.  There were cows on the streets, and therefore feces as well, and the sidewalks were in very bad repair, and the smell was just very bad, and the people were very dirty, and for some reason, it's totally okay in India to urinate wherever you feel like it, to spit wherever you feel like it, even if it is on another person, etc.  

Don't get me wrong - I'm enjoying India, but...only to an extent.  I keep telling myself things will get better.  You don't fall in love with a nation because you read a book about them.  There are moments, sure - when a total stranger dazzles me with a smile, or with the ubiquitious head waggle, or protects me from oncoming traffic (whether that traffic is automobiles or humans).  Individually, Indians are amazing, beautiful, helpful people.  As a nation, I've experienced, they are less than desirable.  They are very aggressive, and quick to anger, and while I'm sure it is just a difference in cultures speaking, I find them quite rude.  But that only seems to happen when you group them together.  I really have met some amazing strangers so far.  And I've met dicks.  

I do have to say though, I finally understand why they are targeted as being such poor drivers in Canada.  The way they drive at home is actually how Indians drive here.  Nine car lineups in four lane roads, and I learned yesterday that pedestrians are actually at fault if someone hits them.  If I get hit by a car here, the legal blame goes to me, not the driver.  It's nuts.  I find crossing the road very stressful, and this is with almost two months of crossing the crazy traffic in Thailand.  

I meet all kinds of random people - often not by choice - and today, someone wanted to take a photo with me.  And then all his friends wanted to as well.  It was like they had never seen a foreigner before.  Maybe they hadn't.  Yesterday, I went to tea with someone, and then his friend showed up, and I got scared and left.  Yesterday, maybe you would have gotten more detail.  Today, I can't bother.

And this has become my life.  But I miss home. 

Dear god, India

This is a post of sleep deprivation, like so many other posts in the past.  In a city that never sleeps, I didn’t really get given the chance to, either.  I awoke a short time ago, and mind, I was half asleep at the time, but I awoke to...I’m not even sure.  It was loud and persistent; in that precise way that absolves the listener of any hope of sleep thereafter.  It sounded like drums, and jackhammers, and it was rhythmic: and there was singing.  For probably two minutes this went on, and I don’t understand what it was, or why it was, or why it had to be so loud.  

Welcome to life in India. 

But I suppose I should backtrack a bit.  I left Thailand without incident, though in Bangkok I nearly missed my connecting flight.  WHY is that airport so huge?  It boggles the mind.  I had to check in again, because Thai Airways doesn’t do connecting flights to Malaysian Airlines, and then I had to go through security again, and my gate was the last gate, at the end of the international departures section, and I only just barely made it.  After that, though – things went as well as 12 hour flight days can go.  Except that they play classical music during takeoff and landing, and I couldn’t help but think that crashing during a particularly moving piece of classical composure would be probably the worst way to go.  It made the whole experience of takeoff and landing to be really surreal, and I felt like I was outside of myself.  I can’t say I liked it.  

I got into Kuala Lumpur, and by the way, flying over Malaysia was gorgeous, and the airport was gorgeous, and the people in Malaysia are gorgeous.  The airport was a bit of fun – after having been nowhere near western shops or western things, it was nice to shop around in the duty-free.  I bought my mandatory Starbucks (Malaysian Starbucks receipt: obtained!) ...and the airport even had a HARRODS!  Only my British friends are going to know what that is – but it’s just this high-end upscale department store in London, but it’s pretty famous, and I was so stoked to see one in Malaysia, if only because it was something familiar. 

I also got this magazine from the UK called “Very Nearly Almost” and it highlights graffiti and street art from across the world.  I thought it was really neat – but I do have an almost unnatural obsession with beautiful street art (think: Banksy).  

The plane to Mumbai/Bombay (so far, people who live here still call it Bombay, so I will too) was a bit of an interesting experience: the men were served scotch on the rocks, though I doubt it was real scotch, or good whisky, for that matter – and I was stoked that the plane had in-flight movies:  I watched Cowboys and Aliens (which is a TERRIBLE movie, by the way) – but the fact that I could sit down and watch a movie at all was a bit of a novelty.  It’s been nearly two months now, since I’ve just sat down and vegged out to something.  Oh, and I sat next to an Australian woman who was flying to Bombay to visit relatives, and I have to say, there’s something about the Indian-Australian accent mix that is almost attractive.  On a side note, she kind of reminded me of my family doctor, and she was really nice, and when I bombarded her with questions about 

Bombay, she was kind enough to answer as many of them as she could. 

I didn’t get into Mumbai until almost 11PM that evening, and getting to the hotel was somewhat of a disaster.  I booked a car/shuttle service to my hotel from the airport, which is fine, except that when I went to go meet the guy with the name card for the hotel, he informed me that the driver wasn’t here, and that he was sleeping in his apartment and we’d have to wait.  So after several phone calls in Hindi that I didn’t understand, with the attendant occasionally telling me “five more minutes” – we sat in an underground parking lot at the airport for thirty minutes.  I was exhausted, and after a few minutes, I was also the only white person left there, and I got stared at a lot.  Coming from a country where I was all but invisible most of the time, it makes me incredibly uncomfortable and I don’t know how to deal with it. 

I finally arrived, and checked into my four star hotel, which deserves its four stars for being perhaps in a third-world country, and perhaps it deserves it for how polite the staff were, or how nice the poolside breakfast eating lounge was, but my room?  I’ve stayed in better in Thailand for dozens of dollars cheaper.  I was really disappointed – my room was carpeted with stains and cigarette burns; there were stains on the walls, and the bathroom was just as run down as most of them in Thailand.  There was actually hot water, which was a plus, but it ran out of the showerhead like it would run from a tap.  The room was moist, and smelled really badly of mould, and the A/C had two options: Frigid, or off.  My view from my window was of a wall...inside the building.  Needless to say, for the price I paid, I was royally disappointed.  

Despite all this, my initial impression of Bombay was a good one.  24 hours later, my impression has changed, somewhat.  At first, all I could do was take in the sights and the sounds (a chaos that makes Bangkok look sane), but the people are beautiful.  The women in their brightly coloured saris, and the children, and the sea.  Although, it amuses me to note that there is a distinct lack of geckos here.  I didn’t think that would be something I’d pay attention to, but it’s noticeable.  Unfortunately, there are pigs and rats instead. 

My second night, and my first full day in Bombay ruined that initial impression.  I left the hotel at noon and took a taxi into a part of town called Bandra: the taxi driver charged me 570R when I later learned it should have cost 120R.  I tried to haggle it, because I knew I was being royally ripped off, but when you have no idea how much something should cost, how do you haggle it?  I said no to him, and tried to lower the price, but then he refused to take me, so I didn’t know if it was negotiable, and eventually, I gave in.  Despite that, he was a nice taxi driver, although, I had to slouch in his car because it was so short.  He tried to cheat me again when I paid, by only giving me 200R change when it should have been 430R.  Why do people see white skin and think they can take us of all our money?  This is a point that’s going to come up again in a little bit.

I took the taxi to Mehboob Studios, where I waited to meet a Couchsurfing host on his lunch break from work.  Even just sitting there, minding my own business, people came up to me to talk to me, or would stop and talk to each other as they stared at me before moving on.  One boy came up to me with a change jar, and asked if I would give him money.  Not having any on me at the time, I said no.  Then he demanded I give him money.  I still said no.  And then he begged, and demanded, and pleaded “you give me money, you give me candy.  I’m hungry.  You should feed me.  Give me your money, I want it, please madam.  Please.”  Over and over again he said this, and if I looked away, he would step into where my gaze took me, and ask again.  And finally, he just stood there, silent, and stayed there staring at me, and as I ignored him, people were staring at me, with glares for someone, either myself or the boy, and I felt my heart break, just a little. 

After that, I became really pensive and put my headphones on as loud as I could bear to try and drown out the sound of Bombay.

Heman finally met me, and I regarded him as my saviour.  We chatted for a few minutes, and then hopped in a tuk-tuk (though, they call them auto-rickshaws here) and headed someplace to lunch.  We ate at a place called Candies, which is hilariously backwards:  it was a super upscale fast-food joint.  We got security checked coming in, and the building it was in was positively gorgeous, with three or four levels of tables sitting outside, and a rooftop veranda.  We ate at the very top – and the food they served was self-serve, same as any fast-food place, and we ordered what I’m presuming are the Indian version of ‘hot dogs’.  I got curried paneer in a hot dog bun, with some chips and a lemon iced tea, and Heman got ...something.  Minced lamb, or something.  It looked like sloppy joes, but it wasn’t beef.

It was an interesting place, and nice: there were clay mosaics everywhere of famous people – Steve Jobs, Ché Guevara, Michael Jackson.  

After Heman’s lunch break was over, I got the auto to drop me off at some promenade next to the sea, and we agreed to meet again after he got off work. 

I have mixed feelings about the few hours I spent alone.  In a way, it was really pleasant, because it was a boardwalk on the sea, and the wind was blowing, and the sun was shining, and I even burnt my nose a little, which is surprising considering how many weeks of sun my face has seen.  I took some photography, though I think I only got one really good photo out of the bunch (wishlist: new lens).  The place I went seems to be popular with young couples – after being in Thailand, the shock of so much public affection was almost embarrassing for me.  I’m just not accustomed to it.  After a while, I just sat around, though in hindsight, I wonder if that was a wise decision.  I was the only white person I saw all day yesterday, and I’m pretty sure 

I’m the only white person most of them saw all day, either.  I got stared at.  I got sat by.  I got propositioned, and spoken to, and close to a dozen children over the course of a few hours asked me for money in the same way that first boy on the street did.  I only gave money to one – I had been watching him and his friend play, and then I watched them discuss which of them was going to walk up and ask me money – it was like I was watching a business discussion, or something – and when the smaller of the two finally came up to me, I told him I would give him 10 rupees if I could take his photo.  So he gave me a big face, and I took his photo, and gave him money, and the grin he gave me was worth it.  I think he hadn’t really expected to get so much, but I didn’t have anything smaller.  Maybe I was trying to absolve my heart from the anguish I was feeling, I don’t know.  It temporarily worked, and was probably my downfall.  At one point, I had six kids around me, harassing me and touching my things and demanding money from me.  I had to actually raise my voice and say ‘no’ ...which nearly brought me to tears.  I don’t like being so rude or impolite.  

It wasn’t just children, though.  Men came up to me and asked me for money, or would tell me I had to give them the water I was drinking, or they would just come and sit right at my feet and stare at me.  Eventually, I put away my fancy electronics, got out a book, and wrapped my scarf around my head to try and hide my white skin, and put some headphones on.  Those noise-cancelling headphones may save my soul by the end of this month in India.  

When Heman finally got off work, it was a godsend.  I had been reduced to tears twice, and I was feeling like everything I did was being watched (which I think is true, maybe).  We got in an auto and headed to the train station – and oh my god. 

Chaos.

We took first class, which by the way, isn’t really any better than second class, except that the people hanging off the train are business people, rather than poor, smelly unwashed bodies writhing in a mass of their own sweat and grime.  The ticket was 78R, and for second class, it was 7R.  We were on it for a half-hour with my giant backpack, and I was usually the only woman, and the only foreigner.  If Heman wasn’t there with me, I don’t think I’d have even known what to do.  The trains were packed – there was actually people hanging off the outside of the train.  Photos weren’t even a thought – it’s hard to muster the desire to take photos when every single person is staring at you.  I wish I was invisible. 

On a positive note, I briefly recall seeing that the train station we got off at sold gulab jamin.  I almost stopped to buy them – such tasty treats!  On the walk to his apartment, we stopped and bought a weird fruit – a thick black skin on the outside, and white fruit on the inside, the texture of a potato.  It was strange, and I ate it because it was new, but like so many times in Thailand, I don’t think I need to eat it again. 

Heman’s apartment is charming, if old.  When we got there, he has two other couchsurfers from Poland staying right now, and they greeted us at the door (which is good, because they had the keys!) ...I slept on the couch last night, which was okay.  We sat around and talked for a while, and Heman’s cook came and made dinner (it’s a normal thing here) and then his roommate came home.  I was up way too late last night, but nobody wanted to sleep, so what was I to do?  I didn’t make it to sleep until 2AM, and I awoke to that noise at 6AM. 

We went for a walk last night, and bought some paan – it’s...indescribable.  It’s this brown paste, topped with some kind of seeds, and candied cherries, and then rolled into a leaf.  It can be made with tobacco in it, or betel nut, and you eat it as an after-dinner breath freshener.  It was very strange: it smelled like incense, tasted like menthol, and had an after-taste of soap.  I only ate half of mine, because I wasn’t hungry, just curious, but it was a very strange thing.  

And the air pollution in Bombay is worse than Bangkok, and my lungs and throat are very sore this morning.  To top it off, both Heman and his roommate smoke inside the apartment.  I had plans of staying in Bombay longer, but I’ve scratched that.  Heman is heading home to Gujarat for New Years, and invited me along – so, I’m fleeing the city tonight on a sleeper bus, and I guess I’m going to go experience what an Indian house party is like.  I just want to leave the pollution behind, before I get bronchitis again.  I’ll be back in Mumbai on Jan 2, when I think if I can get a ticket, I will leave straight away for Delhi. 

Which I’ve heard is worse.

Katee: 1, plague virus: 0

Why do all the best lines and phrases for my blog occur when I'm walking down the street alone, and then completely leave my head once I settle in to start writing?  It's the writer's curse, I swear.  I bet, if I actually bothered to stop and write down my little witty comments I come up with to myself, I reckon I'd be a much better writer.

That said, I'm feeling a whole ton better today.  I still woke up feeling a bit sick, and I've had to take today a little slow, but my fever is completely gone, and I'm feeling much better, if not still a little weak.  I just came back from dinner at Blue Diamond, my favourite restaurant in Chiang Mai - I wasn't really hungry, and after getting off the plane, I was starting to get really nauseated again, but I figured I should make the attempt at dinner, and two bites into dinner, I realized my problem:  I wasn't getting sick again, I was ravenous.  I felt so awful and ill during the plane ride, and during the time it took me to find a hotel to sleep in (I ended up back at RCN house on Moon Muang Soi 6) - and then when I started to nibble at my delectable, delicious avocado salad with tahini and homemade vegan mayonnaise dressing, I realized the real issue.  I was starving.  And then it clicked: I haven't eaten anything, and I mean anything in the last three days, except: two pieces of toast, half a pancake, and a box of saltines.

 

So I satisfied my craving of nourishment (I love avocados) ...and topped it with a mango-banana smoothie, a small slice of mango-strawberry pie (I had to try it, I finally caved) ...and a take-away scone.  Tomorrow morning, I'm going there again for breakfast before I catch my flight, but I think I've gotten ahead of myself.

The rest of my time in Mae Hong Son was reasonably decent, I suppose.  I mean, as decent as it could be, considering I spent two straight days in bed.  I'm thankful I paid the extra money in the beginning, because two solid days in a hard Thai bed would have killed my back and hips.  Sometimes, you pay for comfort.

Worst freeze-frame face, ever.  Seriously.

The guesthouse/bungalow/hotel I was staying at was really beautiful, and on the outskirts of town, so it was either a 30 minute walk into town, or a 5 minute motorbike ride (while I was sick, I obviously opted for the latter) and it was being run by an Aussie in his early twenties, who had a bunch of friends staying with him.  They were all really solid people, and I wish I wasn't so sick while I was there.  They would have been "heaps" of fun to hang out with - but c'est la vie.  They drove me into town one day when I was really sick, and it wasn't necessary for them to do that, so I really appreciate it.  There was loads I wanted to do while I was there, but I was sick, and we make sacrifices sometimes. 

Christmas passed rather uneventful, the stomach flu from hell, and a multitude of calls home because I was sick and homesick.  Christmas meant nothing to me this year - I was alone, and I was ill, and it wasn't Christmas in my eyes.  Not really.  The Thai's tried, but small school children singing - I use that term loosely - mumbling - 90s alternative pop songs such as "Kiss Me" by Sixpence the Richer, or that one Cranberries song everyone knows doesn't really count as "live music on Christmas Day".  I watched a few specials on my laptop that I downloaded while I was still at home especially for the occasion, and that kept me reasonably sane while I was too sick to read, or get out of bed.

I hope for a white Christmas next year.  Or just a Christmas at home, wherever home happens to be.  I don't like to quote things often, but this quote has been on my mind a ton lately, and it's my favourite scene in Garden State.  Zach Braff and Natalie Portman are sitting in the shallow end of a swimming pool (because Zach Braff's character can't swim) ...and...oh hell.  Just read it - I can't explain storylines worth anything, anyhow:

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.
Sam: [cuddles up to Andrew] Maybe.

 But it's strange, because flying into Chiang Mai today, I caught myself smiling.  I realized for the first time in days, I wasn't homesick at all, and I was glad to be back in Chiang Mai.  The whole song tao ride into town from the airport, I just looked around at all the familiar sights, and was gloriously, ridiculously, simply happy.  It was like I had come home, in a way.  Which I suppose, considering how many pieces of my heart I've left scattered across the globe, shouldn't really surprise me, but I didn't think I'd be leaving any of them in Thailand.

I love Chiang Mai.  Just simply.  Until I made it to my hotel, the same I shared with Tim a few weeks back, and I became lonely instead.  But these things happen.

Here, look at pictures:  BE INUNDATED!

 Gingerbread making:

 

 

 

At Doi Suthep with Tim:

 (oh, the jackfruit tree. Imma eat you!)

Around Mae Hong Son:

 

There.  Love yo faces.