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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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...
