I cursed myself. I had been blissfully eating what I wanted, when I wanted without pain or suffering following closely behind. I kept this little secret all to myself and life was good. Then, I got cocky and casually mentioned it in my last post and WHAM – I was forced to endure the worst bus ride of my entire life. I barely survived, seriously, just b-a-r-e-l-y.
Who’s to say what brought me down to my knees. It could have been the outstanding meal I had at Or2K Friday night (but really, could hummus of that deliciously grandeur nature make me sick? I somehow think not.) Perhaps my morning grapes are to blame? The boiled egg I nibbled on as an afternoon snack? Or was it pineapple-vodka-sodas in the living room with Ms. Scarlett?
K, that was terribly bad, but so was my illness so leave me and my bad jokes alone!
All joking aside, I woke up feeling a little under the weather early Saturday morn. I assumed it was from a few too many drinks the previous nite at the reggae bar (which was awesome by the way!) But when I arrived at the bus stop and had to make an impromptu dash into the bushes to relive my stomach of a meager Kashi trail-mix granola bar, I knew something was horribly wrong.
Imagine if you will, a lovely five-hour bus ride through the winding, scenic roads of rural Nepal. Beautiful rice fields, green rolling hills – all this natural beauty captured from the comfort of an air-conditioned bus with reclining seats (I splurged). Then there is me. I am puking every oh, twenty minutes or so. At first, the bus driver stopped (three times to be specific). Then people started handing over plastic bags.
I can confirm that vomiting non-stop in a bus full of strangers is a horrendous feeling. It’s mortifying and sad all wrapped into one. And why do we always cry when we are sick? It’s not sobbing or anything, but tears are shed, emotions are high. I missed Jare big time.
Thankfully people were really sympathetic and the guy beside me had a strong stomach and gave a few kind pats to my back. I bet he was wondering what he had done to deserve the lucky number 18 seat.
That’s the thing about travelling in this part of the world though – everyone seems to be or has been sick. So you get that ‘I know exactly how it feels’ look from all angles. It’s just a part of experiencing South Asia. And no matter how much Immodium or Gravol we pack up neatly in zip-lock bags (Darryn’s post had perfect timing!) we can’t avoid it. We can’t run from it. And we often can never pin-point what got us.
So, yes. Worst bus ride ever. Beats out the Costa Rican seven hour stint going straight up a mountain, standing the entire time (or leaning back-to-back with amazing friends). Oh, and that was fresh from our flights from Canada! Just to give you some more feel-bad-for-me context.
This ride really was just plain ugly and cruel. But I made it to Chitwan alive!!
And I actually ended up having an incredible weekend full of wildlife and laughter. After of course, I curled up like a small infant in my room for a couple of hours and nursed myself back to human form.
Fun adventures from the jungle weekend to come tomorrow (I need rest as I’m still struggling a bit with an interesting burning belly sensation)..
But for now here’s a teaser: