There is a voice in my head. It is screaming at me. Loudly it cries, “Get me out of here”. It doesn’t stop. Everyday this mantra plays on and on in my mind. I am not sure why I strongly dislike this place so much. Maybe it is because it really is the shithole that my brain keeps telling me it is. Perhaps it is because we chose the absolute worst time of year to visit this town. It could be that I am just over travelling in Asia and I need some comforts of the Western World around me again. Or maybe I am just over travelling, full stop. Or it is because it really is a shithole? Voices circling round and round. Questioning. Yelling. Trying to rationalise the irrational. I am going mad. Ah, I need to get out of here!!
Arriving in Bangalore, India I will admit to being nervous. India was the one place I really wasn’t keen on travelling to. But Ricky wanted to come here. He wanted to witness a part of the beautiful madness that is apparently India. And sometimes I do let him win small battles you know. (I think that its best to let husbands get their way from time to time in a marriage, it helps to keep the peace and all that.) And well, it made sense logistically being that it is on the way to Europe. So India bound we were.
And Bangalore surprised me. I actually liked it. The roads were busy, the streets chaotic but it had a certain beauty to it. And everything was so incredibly cheap. $4 for the most delicious Indian meal I had ever tasted including curry plus rice and a naan bread delivered to my door. A juice cleanse consisting of 3L of fresh cold pressed juice, again, delivered to my door, daily for $20. And the shopping, oh the shopping. Unfortunately my silvete self found the clothes to be too big, due to, of course my naturally small figure. Or more likely the fact that Indian women tend to cover up from top to toe in loose clothing and being short, the baggy shapeless look makes me look Mrs Doubtfire frumpy rather than modest and demure, but anyway… the boys snagged some absolute bargains! Beautifully made, trendy clothing, top fashion labels even, for next to nothing. Less than half the price that we would pay at home. I was in awe of the prices and may have gone overboard but I could justify each item as necessary if I argued for long enough (and I had to with Mr Accountant in tow, of course!).
Then it was on to Goa. A beach town that tourists flock to in the summer time for beautiful beaches and a great holiday. Or so I had read. All I saw was dirt. Everywhere. Red dirt lining the streets and footpaths. Red dirt blowing into my eyes every time a car raced on by. Red dirt all over my clothes and shoes at the end of the day. You get the picture, the dirt was freaking everywhere. And the heat. Oh god, do not even get me started on the heat. But now that I mention it I just need to say, yuck! It was intolerable. Step outside the haven of air-conditioning for one minute. Just step outside. Don’t even move once you are outside. And you will be dripping with sweat after a minute. This is true. I actually tried this. And we got ripped off for the first time on our travels. It wasn’t by a huge amount, minuscule really. But it happened, we got slightly scammed when buying a sim card and I was annoyed. We also had our first bad AirBnB experience but we also had a great one so I will call that even for now.
The people are, for the most part, absolutely lovely though. I don’t know what I was expecting but they are friendly, polite and funny. I enjoyed having conversations with many locals even if half the time I am pretty sure neither of us had any idea what the other was saying. And the food is superb. Masala Biryani and Masala Poppadoms are now two of my favourite meals and I hadn’t even heard of them before I had visited this country. And the way they cooked capsicum, tomato and onion together in tandoori is just to die for. Seriously it was the best explosion, in my mouth, of my life to date. So I guess India is not all that bad….
But… I have been here for two weeks already and there is another week and a half to go. I am already just hermit-ing it in the safety cocoon of our rented apartment complex because it is not as dirty as the streets and there is air-conditioning on hand. The voices in my head are growing ever more present as each day passes. The boys need a playground. They need a climate that allows for them to run around outside in. There are only so many games of cards, knuckle bones and battleships that one can tolerate before they start running up the walls. I fear for the walls. It has been too long already. I need to get out of here. I whisper this to myself over and over at 12.53am as I gnaw on my top, scratch my head and resist the urge to scream.
xx Travelling Fresh