The next evening, Gurjant and I go for a boat ride on the Ganges.
While I am still reeling from being sick, Gurjant points out the several
large bonfires on the ghats, or steps leading down to the Ganges. It
is then when I learn that Varanasi is holy because of the cremation
ceremonies that take place here. And when I mean cremation
ceremonies, I mean that dead bodies are set ablaze for all to see.
Devout Hindus believe that this releases all Karma and stops the
cycle of reincarnation. While fascinating and shocking, this isn’t
exactly appetizing, especially when Gurjant tells me that you can
often hear the organs exploding as the bodies are burned. Yeah,
Varanasi is intense, to say the least. But when we perform the Ganga
Aarti ritual, which consists of lighting candles, putting them in little
cups with flowers, and asking for three wishes before setting them on
the water to watch them float away into the night, with hundreds of
others, I am utterly and profoundly mystified, grateful, and content.
The next day Gurjant leaves, and I am still not feeling better. In fact, I
am very dehydrated and starting to get concerned. One of the hotel
workers kindly accompanies me to the local hospital to see another
doctor. Outside, there is a sick cow lying on its side, with its hooves
up in the air, and several monkeys are fighting on the rooftop. The
hospital isn’t actually that bad, if you take away the fact people were
cutting in front of each other to see the doctor, and I had to give a
stool sample without toilet paper or a toilet—again. But I didn’t use
a sock this time. Instead, I rummaged through my purse and found
a Fresh & Easy receipt. Improvise, adapt, and overcome. This is the
attitude you must have in India.
When I get back to Delhi, I meet up with Gurjant, and our plan is to
go to Varansi, known as India’s oldest and most spiritual city. But I
start to feel crappy. Literally and figuratively. There’s something called
Delhi belly, also referred to as traveler’s diarrhea, and most, if not
all tourists get it on their first trip to India due to the less hygienic
standards for cooking food. I only wish someone would’ve told me
that Delhi belly can strike anytime, anywhere, like when you are on
an overnight train without toilet paper. Yes, that’s right folks. In India,
neither toilet paper nor toilets are widely used, so if you want this
luxury, you have to keep several rolls with you. Because in the middle
of the night, I had what I thought was a fart—only not. It’s the Hershey
squirts, and it runs down my legs and through my pants and I must
climb over several sleeping Indians to get to the nearest bathroom.
But there was no bathroom. There was a giant hole, which had
recently been used, and I mean really used by the person before me.
I have run out of my own toilet paper. And this doesn’t happen once, it
happens twice. I use the only thing I could find to wipe myself with—a
sock.
Over the next 24 hours, I feel better, but not 100%. Considering
I am not a rational person and I had about a few days left of my
trip, I decide to take another big risk and get on a midnight bus to
Kathmandu, Nepal. My visa would end once I left India, but I had
read that you didn t need a Visa to get back into India if you were just
going to catch a flight. So I do it. I leave Varanasi and head to Nepal.
I had no idea if and when I would ever return to this part of the world,
and I had been in love with Nepal ever since I saw pictures of Durbar
Square. But busses and I have bad luck. I end up getting terrible
motion sickness and throw up my entire dinner. A drunk guy across
the isle attempts to hit on me for several hours. I manage to stop
vomiting, but develop a cough. Through it all, I arrive in Nepal.
I meet several other Westerners at the border, which isn’t even
really a border as there are no barriers. The visa process is messy,
and unbeknownst to me, India has recently cut off all fuel and food
supply to Nepal, so relations aren’t exactly great. I also don’t have
any Nepalese rupees to pay for the visa, so I m worried I’m screwed.
When we get to Varanasi, I have to see another doctor who tells me
that what I have is most certainly not a reaction from the rabies shots
but bad food poisoning. He gives me about 19 pills and directions
on how to take them. Despite all of this, I resolve not to let it destroy
my trip. Gurjant has to leave to start training to be an officer in the
military, and we only have a couple days together. We admit we are
attracted to each other, but he tells me point blank that his parents,
while they like me, would never accept me as his girlfriend. Sex roles
and culture in India is changing, but the traditions of marrying within
your caste and birth region are still widely enforced. I secretly wonder
if he was just disgusted because I crapped my pants twice.
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