that time when my mother's worst nightmare came true

Bodhanath, Kathmandu

That night was horrific. Oh my goodness I felt like I’d stepped in to my worst nightmare. It had been three days in Kathmandu when this demonic cramp plagued my being. Myself and Henry the German were doing the three laps of the giant stupa at sunset at Bodhanath. The giant stupa represents the five elements of Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Ether which glowed beautifully as the golden hues dowsed it while pilgrims recited “Om mani padme hum” circling around it. It was meant to be a special, pensive meditation while spinning wheels and making some positive affirmations. It was meant to be in my mind, but the truth was a sickness was falling over my body that was taking my concentration away and breaking me out in sweats. My head was so light that at moments I thought I might pass out on a Tibetan Buddhist monk and cause what could potentially be a tragically embarrassing ‘foreign freak’ moment amidst a praying congregation. I took some breaths before spending the rest of the sunset at a restaurant racing between the bathroom and an awkward chat with Henry with this epic backdrop of a glowing candle lit Stupa in the background.

This night a savage sickness had taken over and as I lay in my guesthouse bed sweating and spinning, I mustered the energy to head downstairs to get water from the very cheap and dirty guesthouse’s water filter only to find it empty. Mingma, the owner, took a look at me and his face said it all. Next thing I knew I had him sat next to me, as I lay horizontal on my bed next to a saucepan of water having my brow mopped over and over. He gave me some medicine and tried to keep me alert. I couldn’t work out whether he was over reacting or if I was actually on my deathbed. This is where my naivety has seriously played to my advantage because at no point did I genuinely freak out when I was having such kind attention. The Chillean boys, Jose and Daniel walked past and seeing me in my sick bed, said something gorgeous to me in Spanish along the lines of “Ok hermanita, we will make sure the sound is kept down”. “No, no” I replied wearily “I really like your music”. And those Chillean boys were so gorgeous, we had sat together on the rooftop singing songs, playing instruments and talking about the monastery I wanted to visit in the Everest region of the Himalayas only the night before.

I persuaded Mingma to let me try to sleep and before long was out like a very-nearly-but-not-aware-of-it corpse. Until this moment. This horrific moment when I woke up with the intense desperation to explode out of my backside with absolutely zero energy and hallucinating in a sweat. I stumbled up and my head spun as I fumbled down the shadowed hallway to the toilet. The power was down. No lights were to be seen, just glares from a couple of street flood lights through the ornate windows. I perched on the toilet and with a giant exhaustive sigh, relieved my body of whatever it was that needed an out. And half collapsed on my hovering shaking knees. “This is not fun” I am sure I would have said to myself. And shortly after a remark would have followed along the lines of “This is hell” as I realised that the toilet had decided not to flush. “Nooooo” a little whining why-me moment spilled over me, I just couldn’t believe the nightmare, no lights, no water; other guests. Dear Lord, I realised I was leaving my little explosion in the toilet with absolutely no way to wash it down and the prospect of sharing the experience so graphically with fellow guests had my British prudishness cringing in horror.

I spent the following 2 hours doing the same exhaustive stomach quenching runs switching between the three toilets, in the hope that one of them would have at least some dribbles of water to clear away the waste alas to no avail. Towards the end of my painful stomach cramps, it was about which toilet was the nearest and when I finally found myself squatting on the saucepan next to my bed because I couldn’t physically get on my feet, the grown up in me said to herself “Jess, you know, this is pretty bad.”

I felt terrifically horrid the next morning when I overheard one of the guests shouting at Mingma “This place is disgusting. I can’t stay here, the toilets…” and I shut my ears, hid under my sheet and cringed to the German girls angry shouts at the poor owner. I peered beneath the bed and saw the saucepan, it wasn’t a nightmare despite my senses being too numb to even consider the look and smell of what I’d left there and a part of me that realised that I was in a bad way. I spent that day in bed and had a kind visit from Otto from Finland, a lovely gentleman I befriended on my first day in KTM and shared the most awesome night stroll through the jetblacks of Kathmandu's curfewed streets and sitting on the temple steps having a DIY yak cheese sandwich at midnight. We put the world to right that night.  As I write this I realise, yes it was the Yak cheese that gave me a terrible stomach. Oh bless him he felt bad. I just told myself it was some crazy karma that I had to experience but actually, I’m thinking now it was probably the cheese. “Same, same, but different” as they say in Thailand I had to surrender to it nevertheless. Anyway, the same man who may have been an accomplice in my own food poisoning came with some medicine to ease the demons grasp on my being. At first I questioned whether to take it or not. I’d realised the strength the body built when going through sickness using the natural remedies but I was wise enough to know when to accept a very kind gesture from a friend in disguise as an angel or the other way round.  I took it and my stomach settled after he forced me to drink some electrolytes.

My legs and the plague

That night, I woke feeling really itchy and as I startled awake I saw a rat scurry by my bed. That’s when I told myself that I should probably find another less grubby guesthouse. Its going to cost me more and I don’t get to play on the rooftop with the Chilleans but the words of my father “health comes first” came to my mind. I didn’t freak out nevertheless - I was far too sick and tired as I slipped back in to the comforts of unconsciousness. The next morning I awoke to see giant welts all over my legs and arms. I gasped. The welts resembled the plague and they itched and hurt like hell.  Some cretin had had an absolute feast on my blood. Again I surrendered to the disbelief that following a night of death a la toilet, I was now suffering from some intensely raw skin disease.

on our way to the organic farm

I showed the Danish girls in the room next door and chatted to them about how its good meditation because seriously there was nothing else I could do beyond observe it and perhaps cry every now and then when it was too uncomfortable. Relentless optimism in hellish moments is such a good medicine for the mind.  I probably should have treated this disease but instead I eagerly went to the organic farm with the Chileans and the Danish girls only to feel weak, sweaty and so ill that I ended up hitch hiking back to the city and falling asleep in the wonderfully air-conditioning car of a kind family that had picked me up. 

the Danish girls

This is how I learn things I guess. How to take care of myself when alone on the road and unfortunately when dealing with the extremities of living; sanitation and survival become much more paramount than being a lady.  Because I was so far from the lady I was when I started travelling at that point and after seeing the hairy legs on the Danish girls I felt inspired to take my boyish unfeminine social rebellion to another level. I didn’t shave for the following 6 months and I didn’t really need to given I ended up living in the Himalayas where hair provided an additional layer of insulation especially when living amongst celibate Tibetan nuns. 

There's an expression "lose yourself, to find yourself" and I wonder if that's the lesson I was really learning here. Because as a British lady one might admit that all the above sounds so rather disgusting and yet, being a human being its actually natural. Shit does happen. One can hide it. Run away from it. Deny it. But it can happen one day and shame the hell out of you... and... hmmm... unfortunately.... the guesthouse owner...