Paul in India

Notes on a Sandal

It is ironic that as soon as the heavens opened, so did my bowels. It has been pouring now for a few days ( and the weather hasn’t improved much either), although today is not too bad as it goes. My professor told me that this year we have had approximately 10% of the rain they had by now last year. I assumed this was a bad joke, so I grabbed him by his tie and shook him around screaming, ‘WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN??!!‘

All of the guys in the flat now have the runs. At the start, we were all a little prudish, and were trying to sneak quietly to the toilet hoping no one would notice. Now all the talk is of consistencies and regularities, and it is good for bonding, like we have crossed some sort of shitty threshold together.

The more I get to know my new room mate, the more I like him. To say he is dark and eccentric is putting it mildly. I woke up the first morning after he arrived and he was singing in a monotone eurasian drawl: ‘Bad Boys Bad Boys, what ya gonna do. What ya gonna do when they come for you’. From here he went straight into humming ‘God rest ye merry Gentlemen’ for a few bars, before seamlessly reprising ‘Bad Boys Bad Boys’ al Coda. I found out last night at ten past ten he plays the harmonica. Sorry, he is learning the harmonica. ‘Would you be disturbed if I…‘ he said ‘No! No, not at all, I can’t sleep without one, please, please’ I choked ( I’m taking a hard line with him). He began by playing that old Harmonica classic ‘Eye of the Tiger’ by Survivor and soared into ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’, demonstrating that all of the western music tradition can be carried on this blowy hell-pipe. He is however, very intelligent and funny, and we get along.

I am really struggling with the food now. I thought I’d be ok, as at home I can eat most things, and I was determined to try everything. I want to be a cool traveller, who is in tune with local traditions and customs.  The last thing I wanted was to be one of those westerners that craves Mc Donalds and picks at the food like a moron. However, this is what I have become- yesterday we all sat around talking about how much we’d love some beef, or just some meat, or some PASTA, or ANYTHING that’s not spicy. Its not as if the food is too hot, its just that there are spices in everything. For breakfast in the canteen, the blandest thing you can get is a cheese toastie or an egg sandwich but even these are spiced up. My stomach is now starting to reject savoury food this early in the morning, and all my early stoicism and vigour has been sapped. I can see myself in a few weeks sitting in a corner somewhere rubbing cream cheese into my hair in a desparate bid to absorb some nutrients. Its not that I don’t like the food; its just eating the same thing three times a day really doesn’t do much for your appetite when you’re not used to it. Especially when you feel a bit tender having imbibed all of the indigenous bacteria this side of the Khyber pass. I have been eating a lot of chocolate and drinking a lot of coke in a bid to stay alive, so it feels like a long holiday in Moville sometimes. The cadburys chocolate here is the same as in the republic, except the shape of the bar is like a mix between a normal dairy milk and an animal bar ( I know, thats what I thought- perfect!). It is wrapped in paper and golden foil, like in Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Dreamy. Small mercies eh.

I have learned a few things now since being here. Here is a brief list:

1. Just because they drive on the left, doesn’t mean they always drive on the left.
2. Umbrellas work.
3. Sun cream works.
4. Mosquito repellant works.
5. Don’t wear clothes with dangly strings that may brush against your flesh. You will constantly think you are being attacked by mosquitos and people will think you are weird.

I actually haven’t seen many mosquitos since being here. This may be the stupidest thing ever committed to print. Its possible because I bathe myself in repellant every morning, so I end up smelling like a petrol pump attendant, as the few times I have ventured out without it were the few times I was bothered by them. This is a low risk malaria area ( NB This is NOT a challenge to Malaria ), and an Indian friend of mine said he had never known anyone to contract malaria around here. Having said that, I’m not taking any chances. Malaria has killed more people than all warfare and famine combined. I am not the man to stand up to it. Especially since my earlier boasts about being immune to crippling diahrroea ( does anyone actually know how to spell this?) have come back to haunt me. Next I’ll be bragging about how none of my limbs have ever fallen off.

Yesterday I went to Udupi, the nearest town, with some French guys that we have met. They are very cool, and we have played football together with them a few times (one of them is called Xavier, is the spit of Xabi Alonso, and almost as wonderful). I wanted to get some sandals, as the ones I had bought in Goa were cutting into me, and I was worried that some overflowing sewage might give me Hepatitis or Lymes disease ( the rats over here are massive! Like cats they are! ). I went into a shoe shop, and there was a nice pair of sandals on display, at size 7. I normally wear an 8 or a 9, so I asked the little 12 year old assistant there for a larger size. He went into the back and brought them out, forced me to sit down, took my sandals off, and gently applied these new ones to my bloody feet. ‘Good fit, sir, good fit, and I make good price’. They felt a bit tight, but I thought, ‘if they’re an eight at least, they have to be ok’, so I bought them after haggling them down to something approaching a reasonable price ( suckers! ). I marched out of there as proud as punch, and walked with them for about a half a mile, before deciding they were indeed a little tight. I took them off to inspect the size ( I hadn’t done this before buying them ), and took a step back in horror seeing that they were the size sevens that had been on display! He’d only gone and done me up lovely like a right kipper. I thought about going back, but I was secretly impressed, and also very embarrassed, and also a little scared. So, I smiled in his direction, rolled my eyes, and limped on, having learned nothing from my experience. Since arriving in India, I have now bought a pair of sandals sized 7, and a pair of football shoes sized 10.

Udupi is only about the size of Derry, but is absolutely teeming with people. Its like Sugar and Sandinos have just emptied all the time. Its amazing to think that this is one of many thousands of small towns in India, and yet it is positively effervesant with life. How this whole country works is beyond me. It is dizzying to even stand and watch the goings on in the place. Indian towns seemed to be packed with tiny, understocked shops, that somehow all seem to survive, even though there are ten competing shops for every product within walking distance. There are more electrical shops in one street there than in the whole of Derry. It is truly bizarre (snigger) how mercantile the people are here- everything revolves around trading. (I think this has got something to do with one of the four pillars of hinduism, but I’m not sure. It is actual religeous doctrine to pursue a career in business for Hindus, according to one person I spoke to. This would explain a lot). My flat mate Ole wanted to buy a new electric shaver, so we went to an electical shop, but they didn’t have one. The guy sent us somewhere else, but they didn’t have one, so they sent us on. This happened until we had been to five shops, none of which stocked what we were looking for, but were all happy to direct the business on to their rivals.

Today is Saturday, my first weekend in Manipal. I normally work saturdays back home, and I’m supposed to be working today, but I’m working from home, owing to an inclement rectum. There were plans to go to Mangalore, the nearest big city, but most of us don’t want to venture too far. I think I’ll just stay here, try to get some work done, and maybe read my lonely planet and and have my lunch of chocolate, immodium and anti-malarials.

On Monday we are going camping to an area called Coorg in the mountains. We are going to go trekking, go to an elephant sanctuary, and then set up camp in a coffee plantation. Never in my life did I imagine I would camp in a coffee plantation. I’m hoping to make an impression with some of the cute girls with my mad outdoor skills. So far they have been resistant to my charms- maybe its the mosquito repellant. From there I go directly to Mysore, which has an incredible palace. Then on to Bangalore, where I can get nasty with the science, which is why I’m here in the first place. The next two weeks should be great, as long as the terrible spasming accordian that used to be my colon gives me some respite.

Incidentally, I wish people here would stop laughing at me. I kind of thought that the more I got used to India, the more they would get used to me. It appears I have some way to go yet.