Mr. Fantastic...Totally Bombastic

We had just arrived in Rishikesh. It had been a very, very long, frustrating day of travel from Shimla. It was dark and and we had just found a guesthouse to stay in, thankfully. It was hot, even though the sun had long set, we were hungry, thirsty and exhausted. We really wanted some cold water. Conveniently located right beside our hotel was a little store. These are the kind of stores everyone buys everything at in India. No big department stores or supermarkets. Just a collection of little shops, none with doors or windows- all open air, selling everything from shampoo and razors to candy and bulk rice and spices.

'Do you have any cold water?' I asked the shopkeeper, a younger Indian man with a smiley face and big maroon oval (tikka) painted on his forehead. "Everyt'ing is possible!" he cried. Well, is it possible for me to just have a bottle of water then? I thought cynically. 'I have the best and most fantastic water in the whole city!' he reported cheerfully. He was very excited. His enthusiasm over the bottled water caught us off guard. 'Great. We'll take it!' I said, half wondering if our water was going to come with a side of ecstacy. As he reached into his fridge to get us the bottle, he started singing. "Mr Fantastic! Mr Bombastic! Mr Lovuh Lovuh.....Everyt'ing is possible" We couldn't help but smile. After such a rough day, his happiness was a wonderful relief. 'What are your names?' he asked us. Knowing where he was going, Jonathan played along and said, "You can call me Shaggy." We knew, though, that he couldn't hear our response as the incessant honking of the motorbikes and trucks on the road behind us had suddenly increased in already deafening decibel. 'My name?' he asked, without any prompting from us. 'I'm Mr. Fantastic! Mr Bombastic! Mr Lovuh Lovuh...' We laughed. He had his speech perfected. Mr Fantastic continued on his spiel of all that was fantastic and bombastic in the world. He had a lot to say. Turns out, we live on quite the fantastically bombastic planet. Our bellies were rumbling though, so we unfortunately had to move on after hearing only ten minutes or so of Mr Fantastic's bombastic ramblings. Note to Self: don't stop by for one of Mr Fantastic's "Everyt'ing-is-possible-best-super-cold-fantastic bottles of water" if you are in a hurry. 'Ok! See you later alligator! In a while crocodile!' Mr Fantastic called to us, waving goodbye wildly as we left in search of dinner.

The best part about Mr Fantastic was that he was just genuinely friendly. Every time we passed his shop he smiled wide and waved. "Everyt'ing is possible!" he would remind us. Every time. His shop was beside our hotel, on the main road. Mr Fantastic repeated his mantra a lot. Not that it is bad to be reminded that Everyt'ing is possible!

Hoping for some more bombastically cold water we went to visit Mr Fantastic a few days later. There was an older Indian man in the shop and Mr Fantastic was bent over a film camera that looked to be perhaps even older than the old man. He looked up from the camera that he was dissecting, saw us and smiled. 'His camera has a bombastic problem,' he told us grimly. We laughed, despite the probable demise of the old man's old camera. Was his camera going to live to take another snap? Well, it didn't look promising, but as Mr Fantastic would say, Everyt'ing is possible!

ps. Happy First Anniversary to the Fantastic, totally bombastic Mr and Mrs Lovuh Lovuh, Sarah and Ed!!

Riding the Rails

'Catching the Train' has a whole new meaning here in India. Here they take the saying more literally. If you can 'catch' the train, you can ride it. We love watching people scamper down the platform after a departing train, grabbing onto the handles outside the open door and swing themselves inside. Old, small, young, regardless of luggage- this is how Indians 'catch' trains. This morning, waiting for our train to finally make its appearance at the station, I laughed, watching the scene replay itself over and over again. I remembered that time Jonathan, Gramma and I were in Dublin, catching an above ground metro train. There was a bit of a crush and Gramma and I made it onto the train just before the sleek, glassy doors slammed abruptly shut in Jonathan's face. We watched, stunned, as our train pulled away and left Jonathan standing there on the platform. Its funny now, of course. That would have never happened in India. Jonathan could just hang off the back!

All the trains in India have a name. At first, I thought that not only was this a fun idea, but also it might help us decipher the faster trains from the 'milk delivery' sort. The Something or Other 'Express', they are all called. What a complete and utter fallacy. There is nothing express about any of India's trains. I just had to get that out there. The train that we are currently sitting on is called the Dedra Dun Express. We are going a total of 447km and it is going to take us a total of 10 hours and 13 minutes, assuming, of course, that it is on time, which it isn't. 'Express', it seems simply to mean a pretty slow train that will only stop every ten minutes, as opposed to every five, and will probably arrive before the non-Super Fast train. But, who am I to complain? Our train from Delhi to Amritsar, second class, open window, which took a total of 8 hours cost us $5. Total. For both of us! And we had reserved seats! Its even cheaper in the non reserved section. (Not that anyone should ever, ever do that to themselves). Its Literally pennies to travel by train. And, train travel is far more luxurious than the buses we have been taking through the hill towns. Especially when you 'splurge' for the AC coach- which we have done since our long, hot ride to Amritsar. And by 'splurge' I mean and eight hour train journey with more spacious seating and aircon will cost $10 each, instead of $2.50. Big percentage more, small amount. Worth every penny.

Speaking of those ridiculously cheap non reserved train cars, the class in which most Indians travel, our guide book says it well. 'Incredibly packed... and best avoided for longer trips...unless you are exceptionally hardy or unusually poor.' These trains are 'so cheap as to be virtually free.' We have had our share of free train rides here, though! Fifty cents, total, for both of us to travel two hours, as an example. It would have been really hard for me to imagine how 'incredibly packed' these trains could be if I hadn't seen it with my very own, wide, unblinking eyes. (Thankfully 'seen' not 'experienced'). I was looking out the window from the comfort of my airconditioned berth. We were at a station and were slowly passing a local train. I couldn't look away (for once, I was the one stare-er as opposed to the stare-ie). There were bodies and body parts in every available inch of space. Men sat on eachother's laps, feet, legs, arms, torsos were jutting out everywhere, so tangled that you couldnt tell which limbs belonged to which body. Random feet were resting on stranger's heads, arms around necks, bodies hanging out of the train. People were trying desperately to grab the window bars and shove whatever part of their faces that they could through the grimy bars, just to gasp some air. The space between the cars was jammed. People were suspended in the air, being held up by the bodies of other passengers. It was almost comical. Only because I wasn't one of the people on the train. People were crammed in to the point where it looked impossible that it was actually real. There was a guy sitting, his back against one car, his feet propped up against the next car, only his bottom wasn't on the ground! He was being held up by everyone else. One other young guy sat on the steps between the cars, pressed up against the side of the car, one side of his head resting against the car, the other padded by a large man's round pot belly! Seriously! He couldn't move his head. It was, to me, a fascinating display of what is considered to be in the realm of 'acceptable' here in India. If you can find space, its yours. There's crammed like Rome at World Youth Day, like the subway at rush hour in London, the train in Spain, but no where we've been, nothing I've seen, compares to this. If that subway or that train would have been in India, they would have figured how to jam another 100 people in somehow.. plus 50 hanging off and another 20 on the roof. Its impressive to the point that is horrifying. Clown cars have nothing on Third Class Non Reserved India Rail cars.

Sitting in the air-conditioning, in a berth that had four of the possible six passengers, the juxtaposition was overwhelming. Watching the kids with dirty clothes and painted faces beg for money and food from the passengers. Gazing at people, young and old, going to the bathroom between the tracks. The dogs scampering in front of oncoming trains. The cows begging for treats from people like they are household pets. The shanti men in their white and orange cloth carrying their alms bowls. All this is happening while I am sitting there, sipping chai, delivered to me from a chai wallah that roams the train dispensing sweet tea to those who have the 5 rupees to pay for it. Sitting there, trying to decide whether I should watch or look away. But this is India. A country of contrasts. And its too fascinating and foreign not to look. You attempt (and fail) to take it all in.

India, to me, is colour. If I had to pick one word to describe this great subcontinent, colour would be my choice. Of course, India is so much more than one word. Its hot, its beautiful, its bountiful, its poor, its rich, its incredible... but in all this, its colourful. Today, on the train, I am reminded again of why my word for India is colour. The trains are a bright blue, to start, not the boring dark navy blue like in the west, blue like the bluest sky. The people crammed onto the trains are dressed in sparkling saris, or patterned suits or even just colourful shirts and pants. Their skin is warm cocoa, in contrast to the bright blue train and red and yellow clothes. Just the sheer number of people on the train, all dressed in their everyday clothes is a shockingly colourful sight. One thing is for sure, thankfully, India is not a country ashamed of showing off its colours.

Are You Married?

India has been wonderful. By far one of our favourite countries to visit of all time. One of the things though, that will (almost) never fail to frustrate me though, is the staring. I know, I know, we look very white and pastey and we dress funny, this is true. And I'm not complaining about this, I'm just saying, so all of you at home can get a realistic picture of what travel in these parts is all about. Ok, maybe I'm complaining a little bit- but mostly I'm informing. ok? Anyways, I think the three months we spent in China was a good breaking-in for us. Now, sometimes I barely even notice that everyone in the entire train station is looking at me. E.V.E.R.Y.O.N.E. (Not complaining- just saying).

The reason I even write this is because a funny thing we've noticed -the staring here is different, somehow. Staring is staring, yes, but the feeling I get in India (creeped out) is not the same as in China (not creepy). Its (some) Indian men, of course, that are doing the creeping. They leer. Its like you can tell that they are unabashedly staring at you, and that there are little creepy wheels turning in their creepy little heads. And you don't want to know what is going on up there. Where as in China, they stared like their brains were turned off. In China it was like we were too foreign to comprehend. In India, they are creative.

The other thing is that there are far, far more Indian men out and loitering about. In restaurants, on trains, on the street-its men, men and men. Everywhere. I don't know where all the women are hiding. I'm not usually the kind of person who is intimidated by this sort thing, and its not that I am intimidated, per-say in India, but still I find myself forcing Jonathan to do all the talking (this is hard for me, you can imagine). He just gets a better response than I do. If I try to negotiate I often end up just getting super annoyed by the way some men talk to me. Sometimes they just plain ignore me. A swift slap might fix the problem... haha. Its not always an equal playing field, and it is very obvious to me, as a woman. And being in a room where I am the only female is surprisingly uncomfortable. So, both sides are bad, really- there's the rude-ness in contrast(?) with the leering...not a good combo.

Men almost always talk to Jonathan only, even if I'm standing right there. If they do address me, they call me 'sir.' Although I don't know why. If I had a rupee for every time I witnessed this conversation... well would probably only have about 50 rupees and that would be just over a dollar...

Creepo is watching us and saunters over, creepster fashion.
'Is this your friend?' asks creepy Indian man to Jonathan. I am standing beside Jonathan, rolling my eyes.
'No, this is my wife.' Jonathan responds.
'Oh, very good,' or something equally as irritating, he will say. I sigh as the creepster looks me over, wondering what would happen if we weren't married. How many water buffalo am I worth? If it weren't for the leering, it would be rather entertaining! Maybe we could even convince creepo to throw in a goat for good measure!

ps. There are so many people who give us this feeling in India. Remember, though, that this is a country of about one billion people: there is also so many more people who are the exact opposite of this. We are even fortunate enough to know a healthy handful of them personally.

Out of Office

This note is to inform you that we will be 'away from our desks' for the next month or so... trekking in the Himalayas!! We will be hiking the Annapurna Circuit, said to be one of the world's classic hikes! We plan to take it slow and enjoy the views and side trips. If there happens to be lots of time, as we are in such good shape (haha) we might also attempt the Annapurna Sanctuary Trek, although it is unlikely.

Worry not. We have post-dated blogs (about India) to cover our entire trek, so every few days, no matter what snowy peak we may be on, a new blog will pop up here! Exciting, right? The time on this trip that we are the most isolated from civilization will be the time when our blog is posted the most consistently. Go figure.

We plan to be back, enjoying the luxuries (eggplant pizza) of Pokhara by the 20th of October! Happy Trails to Us!

ps. Yes, this also means we will not be able to respond to any emails or even (gasp) facebook messages!

It happened...

It took exactly 350 days of travel, but finally, it happened. Every traveler's (and parent's) dread. We had to make a trip to a hospital. A Nepali hospital. Just to clear it up from the beginning, it was nothing major and all is now well (ok, still on the mend). Almost a year of travel, the majority of it in Asia, and we figured we were safe. We had stomachs of steel. We figured wrong. It was myself (Kristen) that was the reason for the hospital rendezvous. This was surprising in its own, seeing as though we had long considered my stomach to be the stronger of the two. I was actually quite proud of my belly, showing no reaction over the last eleven months on the nights when poor Jonathan's little gut was rather violently disagreeing with our choice of dinner. It was waiting for its 'big' debut, I suppose.

I'll spare you all the gory details, though. To summarize, after almost two days (including the whhoooole, looooong night) of merciless diarrhea, a pounding headache, throwing up, exhaustion, sore bones, being starving but nauseous, taking turns sweating and shivering and generally rolling around moaning and whining, for both our benefits, we decided a visit to the Nepali hospital was in order. Its easy to get overwhelmed and a little paranoid when you get sick while traveling in Asia. There are just so many more things that could be wrong. And the infections or diseases that you could possibly get while traveling could not only put a damper on current travel, but also can affect you for the rest of your life! I could have malaria, or typhoid or dengue fever or hepatitis or giardia.... The symptoms are all quite similarly vague. 'You feel awful,' they might as well have written in the Health section of our guidebook.

Jonathan was fantastic. What a good nurse! He ran around buying me cold water and Sprite, he paced the restaurant while they made me toast, found boiled water to dissolve the re-hydration powder into, rubbed my back, fixed the fan, changed the channel on the TV and regaled me with stories from his frequent visits to the chemist (pharmacist). He had been looking for something for me to take to calm my pounding headache. No one knew what 'acetaminophen' (tylenol) was, so they gave him something called 'Nimesulide tablets,' which they said would clear my head. Being the good husband he is, he looked the pills up on the internet and discovered that this drug is banned in more countries than its not, including Canada, because of the severe damage it is known to cause to the liver! Guess we'll be flushing those... Back to the chemist. Did Jonathan want Codeine? Morphine? The pharmacists were trying to be helpful. You can get anything over the counter in these parts! Anyways, more research by Dr. Moon revealed that acetaminophen is also called paracetamol (good to know) and then, of course, it was easy to find. Five rupees for eight 500mg pills! That's literally almost free. I did the math. One pill costs $0.0085 Canadian. Not even a penny! Think of all the money these drug companies make in the West with the mark up that they sell it to us at!! Actually, I don't want to think about it.

So, back to the main event. Jonathan went to call our insurance company so that we could make a claim when we got home. We didn't know how much anything at the hospital was going to cost, and wanted to be sure we would be reimbursed, especially if it got pricey. Who knew, maybe even the hospital had 'tourist prices.' I had literally just, the other day, been thinking how lucky we were to have been traveling for so long and not had to go to a hospital. What a jinx. Our travel insurance is through Travel Cuts. When Jonathan got back to the room after phoning the insurance agent, he told me that he was incredibly impressed by the our plan's coverage (which we had partially forgot about) and the insurance agent on the phone, and that it was the best phone service he had ever received! He even talked to a real person after only three rings! That makes a difference to me. Anyways, everything was covered, we were set to go to the hospital and a taxi was on its way. Perfect.

Three hours in the hospital and we were on our way home with antibiotics for my dysentry. The doctors were great, spoke English and were helpful. The security guards lead us around like VIPs and never let Jonathan stand in line to pay for anything- they ushered him to the front every time (aka: an authorized butt.) The worst part about it all was the disgusting 'orange' flavoured re-hydration powder that the doctor insisted Jonathan mix into a litre of water for me (and then prescribed me THREE more packs to take home- great). This stuff is truly horrible. Ew! Ew! I think Jonathan enjoyed forcing me to gulp it down, 'for my own good.' Ew! Ew! Ew! Essentially, its salty water that is supposed to replenish all the stuff I have lost with the diarrhea...and, for the record they shouldn't be able to say that it is 'flavoured' anything other than gross. Ew! Isn't this what Gatorade is for? Electrolytes and all that jazz? Seriously, I want to know. Why can you buy morphine here and not Gatorade?!

Anyways, it might be of interest for any travellers who read our blog to know approximately how much such an adventure to a hospital in Nepal would cost (in Canadian dollars). We went to the Christian Mission Hospital ('We serve, but Jesus Saves' is their motto) in Tansen, recommended the super helpful owner of our guesthouse. The phone call to our insurance in Canada was supposed to be a collect call, but the Nepal operators weren't able to mediate one. Our hotel probably would have charged us the same price anyways, and regardless, it will still be reimbursed by the insurance.

Phone call to Insurance: $11.85 for 13min
Taxi (return) to the hospital: $6.85
Emergency Room fee: $3.08
Stool test cost: $0.82
One week of Antibiotics and horrible Re-Hydration packs: $2.05

Yes, ridiculously cheap (for us) but hopefully affordable for Nepalis. We had no idea what our trip to the hospital would cost. Turns out, not a lot. Ironically, the phone call to the insurance company was, by far, the most expensive part of the whole thing! Don't worry, we'll be making our $20 claim when we get home. Big bucks.
Well, that's why we have insurance, isn't it?

ps. We are in Nepal now, but our blog will be in India for about another month. What can we say, India is one very interesting country!

pps. Welcome Home Mom & Dad Moon!

ppps. Happy Birthday, Mandy!

A Walk on the Wild Side

There are plenty of nice ashrams and temples to go walking to in the Rishikesh area. We have spent quite a bit of time walking about, although the heat and scorching sun have been a deterrent. Feeling brave, and needing to stretch my legs after all the work at yoga we decided on the 6km walk out to the Phool Chatti ashram, at the apex of a clear, blue stream and the muddy, swift opaque ganges. We ate breakfast and sipped spicy chai at our favourite breakfast spot and left the comfort of the fan for the steamy, sunsoaked outdoors.

The walk is along an Indian road, which poses dangers in itself, what with all the jeeps crammed with locals flying (sometimes literally) up and down the narrow way. And the motorbikes, with no less than three passengers, none of whom seem to be actually paying attention to the road. Most of the road is covered in cow patties. I guess that's one of the main downfalls of all the friendly, resident, wandering cows that beg passerbys for a chip or two from their bag, 'Magic Masala' preferably. (Or their favourite treat: cardboard boxes. Those they eat with relish. They especially like the Coca Cola variety.) Anyways. Poo. Everywhere. And these cows eat a diet consisting almost entirely of garbage and pretty much anything and everything, except grass, so you can imagine that they aren't perhaps the healthiest of beasts. This is reflected in their spattering, smearing, stinky poo that they effectively spread over every inch of the road. Impressive, really. They rarely miss a spot. A stroll anywhere in India is, essentially a Cow Pattie Obstacle Course. And many people seem to like to complete this obstacle course barefoot! So, to summarize, the 'steps' of walking.

Step One: Avoid being hit by a wayward vehicle. They honk, you moooove. That's it. The cows seem to manage... then again, they are the sacred ones.

Step Two: Good luck trying to avoid walking through cow poo. Get your wellies!

The thick, jungle-y forest that lines the road is sublime, though. And the monkeys!
Sometimes I think about the time when monkeys running amok, clambering through trees and peering curiously at you from the side of the road wasn't a normal, everyday sight. I would think it was a sad time- if the monkeys themselves weren't so terrifying. They don't mean to be, I'm sure. But they don't know any better. People have fed them in the past, and they are still optimistic about handouts, they get yelled at a lot, because they are so very mischievous, and people sometimes even hit them with sticks (sad, I know). So, really, people are much to blame for some of the behaviour. When we were getting all our shots for the trip, the nurse recommended we get a rabies shot, in case a monkey jumps on us. I laughed when she said that. What the heck kind of situation would we find ourselves in that a monkey might jump on us. Ohhh how little I knew. The nurses warning has stuck, and now, to me, monkey = rabies. And rabies = a lot of needles. You can die from rabies within 24hours. This I didn't know until the needle nurse horrified me with this little tidbit. Sad, but true.

Step Three: Don't feed the monkeys.

Anyways, on a positive note, there are two kinds of monkeys here in Rishikesh. Feisty smaller red-bummed rhesus macaque and large black-faced, grey bodied 'Hanuman' langurs. Both are abundant and abundantly mischievious. So, we begin our walk by hiding our water bottle and making sure that there is nothing fun-looking or shiny dangling from our beings. Although we see monkeys now, everyday, everywhere, I still can't help but be charmed by their monkey ways. "Hahaha! That monkey just clambered across the roof and stole that apple, and then skidded across the electrical wire, down the drain pipe, scrambled across the street and scared the wits out of that couple!' 'Hahaha! Its 6am and those monkeys are wrestling on the tin roof, causing one heck of a ruckus!' Its probably less entertaining when you live here.
So, what I am actually trying to say is that you have to have your wits about you when walking through the forest.

We walk to the edge of town and are joined by a cute black dog with an incessantly waggy tail. Stray dogs join us on walks often. 'Maybe because their doggie sense tells them that we're friendly?' We originally thought. But, no, its because we don't immediately yell at them, kick them, throw sticks at them or jump at them aggressively trying to scare them. That's what most locals do. Earning a dogs love in these parts is not hard. They do not have high standards. Therefore, dogs join us for walks, and use us for protection (and often protect us against other animals!). They seem to have figured out that people won't hit them if they are 'attached' to other people. We walked along, our new doggie friend heeling in between us. The monkeys and dogs aren't friends. "Dog" (aren't we creative with names?) hid from the monkeys behind us. We're walking along, sweaty in the mid-morning sun, taking in the green, the monkeys and the rushing ganges. Dog is sniffing a bush. Recipe for disaster. All of the sudden a large monkey, aggressively jumps out at him, barring his teeth in warning. We all jump in surprise and Dog runs to hide behind us. Sigh. And the adventure begins.

Step Four: Watch out for cute, trouble causing tag-alongs.

People stop us to take pictures. Its all part of the routine now. One snap of us, then everyone takes turns taking a photo with us, they thank us, shake our hands and we move on. I feel bad that I am so sweaty and gross-looking for their photos. One guy even insists on hugging us. I am wet with sweat. Its so hot. Poor guy. I'm gross.

Step Five: Smile for the camera.

We keep trucking. If it wasn't so darn hot, it would be very enjoyable. 'I wish it wasn't so hot!' I whine for the tenth time in as many minutes. There's barely even a breeze. Dog lies down in a river that has taken over the road, covering the patch in muddy, cool water. He slurps up the drink. Yum. I, on the other hand, don't do heat so well. I complain. 'I wish it weren't so hot!' I say again, in case Jonathan didn't hear me the first eleven times.

Step Six: Get your sweat on.

As if on demand, a wonderfully cool, even cold, breeze envelopes us. Wow! Its such a contrast that I look around to see if we have passed some sort of hidden, magic air conditioned shop with its doors open, somewhere in the middle of the forest. Weird. Its soooo nice. But not free. A very black cloud appears over the ridge of the mountain and almost instantly huge raindrops start splattering around us. Splat! Splat! Splat! Of course, we haven't brought our umbrellas as the sky has been a hot, hazy blue for days. Splat! Stupid! Its monsoon. We've been tricked again. We dash under a dense tree and hope to use this jungle canopy to our advantage. The cooler air is welcome, and we wouldn't really even mind getting wet- but I have my cameras in my bag and Jonathan has the passports and money. The tree diverts some of the rain, but not for long. The rain gets heavier and the drops find their way through the leaves and onto us. 'Well, you got your wish. It's not hot anymore,' Jonathan says to me as his shirt changes colour the wetter it gets. We stand under the tree, getting soaked. So, this is what they mean by 'monsoon,' eh? Realizing that we probably couldn't get any more wet than we were we decide just to walk through the rain back towards town. Jeeps and motorbikes pass at breakneck speed, aiming for puddles (I'm sure) and defiantly splashing us with the entire contents of the puddle. 'Thought that is as wet as you could get?' they seem to be mocking.

Step Seven: Bring your umbrella.

We stomp on. My sandals are slimy and slippery and really annoying to walk in. Jonathan's hair is plastered to his head and his pants are dragging in through the mud (we're telling ourselves its mud anyway...). I am about to complain about our new set of frustrating circumstances when my thoughts are zapped from my head by a massive, shocking, terrifying BOOOOM!!! right above us. I yelp and jump impressively high, no doubt. We look up in time to see a burst of yellow and orange sparks/flames exploding from the power box on top of the wood posts and quickly showering towards us. 'That thing just EXPLODED!' I cry, my heart pounding. 'It EXPLODED right over us! There is a fire! Fireworks!' Do we run? What happens next? We are too shocked to do anything but look at each other. Swerving jeeps and motorbikes, killer monkeys, curious Dog looking for trouble, a monsoon and now an explosion. This was some morning walk! 'If Ronnie were in charge here, that would have NEVER have happened!' I tell Jonathan. Its still 'monsooning' but we push on. A few minutes later, we hear another loud BOOOM!!! from behind us and think that maybe our luck is changing. Explosions from a distance are probably of the safer variety.

Step Eight: Maybe bring a hard hat too.

We finally get to the edge of town. Its still raining with vigor. The roads are flooded and the water covering them is the grossest variety of gross. The cow patties are now floating, disguised in the muddy rain water, and nearly impossible to avoid. People's garbage has grown legs (that they all insist on haphazardly throwing out into the middle of the road) and is chasing us down the street. Garbage cans are not popular here. Why, when the street is closer, bigger and there. Food pieces float by, wrappers, diseases. Who knows, really. Its so gross I can't bare to look what I am wading through anymore. It couldn't have been raining more than twenty minutes and everything is a disaster. And flooded.

Step Nine: Don't get caught up the flooded street without a paddle.

A man sitting irritatingly dry and comfy in his shop tries to sell me an umbrella. I glare at him. I think its a little late for that. In town, everyone is hiding in come cubby hole or another. Under this plastic or that, sipping chai, staring at us as we pass. Soaked to the bone. Our clothes are stuck to us, and I am trying to cover my bag with my dripping shirt, to protect the cameras. My clothes are falling down under the weight of the water. I don't want to think what my feet are touching.

We arrive back at our hotel and leave a trail that looks like a river to our room. Jonathan is happy because he has an excuse to wear his sarong the rest of the day.

Step ten: Be careful what you wish for.

ps. Happy Birthday Fun Aunt Maryann!

pps. We felt the earthquake, but we are fine. Although extensive, damage did not reach to the Annapurna. This should mean we will have no troubles getting into our trek.