And finally I have the privilege of meeting Mr. Food Poisoning, oh happy days! OK, well let’s get this straight, and for your edification, I can tell you the story about the young man who has seen directly into the brown eye of tourist diarrhea! Just after that I arrived at the “well-spoken” hotel with the whiskey-thirsty Indians, where we all had mutton in a party mood, like nothing else, the following morning started with sightseeing in a rickshaw, including temples, and the second one was just same as the first, and all of a sudden I get this really strange feeling in the abdominal region. Get a bit worried, and after that, I am forced into jewelry shop, spending an hour there, “where they only wanted to sell things for the benefit of poor people in the city” and thereafter, a camel ride that made me feel like my ass was still on the camel long after getting off (like when you wash your mouth with Listerine, everything disappears: your teeth, mouth, gums, tongue, just about everything), I manage to forget about my stomach and am just wondering if the nerve damage from the camel ride could be irreversible. Whatever… as evening falls, I “try to expunge the bacteria from my body” with a gin & tonic (just a small one).
Night comes, bringing with it the full effects of the food poisoning. Jesus fuck, I was so FUCKING SICK. For THREE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS I lay in the strangest and most hilarious positions, trying to avoid the stomach cramps, turning myself upside down in the toilet, turning all of hope of getting rid of the stomach cramps.
The friendly Indians got a little bit of scared by the time they found me, lying on the floor trying to call the reception for some water. The first thing that they want to do was to get me in to a hospital, which I refused. I asked them to get me some antibiotics from the closest pharmacy and as quickly as possible, which they fortunately did.
And they did it all: they the nursed me throughout the days I was sick, gave me cold towels (to reduce my fever every other hour) and of course got me the antibiotics that I asked for. And it all turned out well quite, with some help from the medications: Lexinor, Ciproxin, Paracetamol, Stesolide and of course Lopermaid, but I have to tell you the story about the “holy man” that they called “Mr. Guru” whom I meet on a late Friday and who told me that my chakra was unbalanced and offered me the purchase of a fucking stone for Rs 5000 , which would immediately get me in a better shape!!
“Sweetheart, just keep that little stone, I’ll survive without it” was all I said, and in fetal position, lying inside a highly pregnant mother, back I went by rickshaw. It’s not my chakra that that is unbalanced, it’s my stomach, you idiot.
Back on stage, I was able to see some more interesting things, even though my adnominal region remained unbalanced (there was a little “accident” in one of all the holy temples I saw; not so great for my karma).
In my confusion of being exhausted by Mr. Food Poisoning, I saw myself as one of the candidates for “The 2007 World Travelers’ Tourist Diarrhea Award”.
“And the nominees are:
1. Mr. Mikael, for shitting his pants in a holy temple somewhere in Jaipur
2. Mr. “Jalla Jalla” for finally getting his long-term diarrhea into a chronic state
3. Ms. Tiffany Persson for constantly misusing laxative drugs
4. Mr. DJ Bobo for actually looking like a splash of diarrhea himself
The winner goes to……………Mr. Mikael (of course)…
Whatever. Back on stage I fed monkeys in just another temple up in the mountains, bought myself a Tony Manero suit, (Saturday Night Fever), which I’ll probably never use, bought even more silver jewelry, had dinner at a real Indian McDonald’s, visited a Rajastani festival, where I danced my ass off and got famous at the dance floor (they even thought I was a Bollywood star; the validation just thrilled me), ate toast and water for a week, cleaned the whole hotel room with an antiseptic that I stole from my job just to be sure of that would be no trace of Mr. Food Poisoning after finally banishing him, washed my hands manically just before every meal I had, called my dad like an coward when I thought I was going to die because of Mr. Food Poisoning, and sent back half of what was in my backpack by parcel post. Who the fuck is so stupid to bring 35 pairs of underwear (even though it is Dolce & Gabbana), ten pairs of socks, 20 tank tops, all white, (bright thing to bring to a country like India) and finally got myself by local bus to Pushkar!
(Intro: The Though Alliance; “Make It Happen”)
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