The Deep End

I intended to jump in at the deep end of the swimming pool.

Instead, I free-fell from a height into the middle of the Pacific and I am treading water.

This morning, that was the primary feeling I awoke to, and was feeling rather pessimistic.  Maybe this feeling has to with being up for 36 hours straight yesterday.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that despite being delayed by the airline by a day, my backpack is thought to be in Germany, but they really have no record of it.  Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve lost a day already, and feel behind the 8-ball.  Maybe it’s fact that my reserved hotel wasn’t reserved and now I’m on the top floor of the dodgiest place I’ve ever see (this is saying a lot) and had to walk past a person who was actually living on the landing of the stairs.  Maybe it’s the fact that the data connection on the phone doesn’t work worth anything and no internet at the “new” guesthouse with which to research exactly what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.  Maybe it’s the fact that Skype isn’t working, that Google Voice isn’t working, that even texting doesn’t seem to work, and 30+ attempts at calling home direct were not connected.  Maybe it’s the fact that I have to call down to the manager on the phone that sits on the floor, for him to turn on my hot water, so that I can put it in the bucket after 15 minutes (he says, I haven’t tried).  Maybe it’s the fact that there is no simple conversation, as carefully as I try to choose simple words; that it takes 5 or more tries for the simplest of communication:  the boy who showed me my room was showing me the switch on the circuit breaker to use for the limping air conditioning.  He was saying “off” when it was on, and “on” when it was off.   Maybe it’s the fact that there is honking going on constantly and feral dogs barking outside.  Maybe it’s the fact that my daypack’s straps are ripping away from the bag, I’m less than 24hrs in country, and it’s my only bag at this point.  Etcetera.

In a city, there is a din of conversation and background noise made by humans all the time.  We don’t notice it.  Until it’s not in English.  And then it tends to accentuate the feeling of isolation.

Things I so far regret:  not bringing the GPS ; Paharganj is like an absolute rat maze, everything is off of an unmarked alley which is off of another unmarked alley, there are no distinct sidewalks, the buildings, shops, people, growing right into the street like a cancer.  I regret not having my knife or any other implement for a tool or defense.  I have forgotten a headset (so I can see my phone for information and talk on it at the same time), my mouse (trackpad adds to my frustration), a small pad and any type of writing implement whatsoever (for notes on how to get back to wherever I am, in lieu of the GPS).  I neglected to put some probiotics/vitamins or Advil in my carryon (or my spare underwear at least), and also neglected to actually buy the Hindi phrasebook I intended to.  We’ll see how much of an issue these actually end up being.  Maybe they are practical, and maybe they are placeholders for the bigger frustrations, and maybe they are just things that make me feel safer or more in control, the latter of which I am hopelessly out of.

I laid in bed for a half an hour this morning (it’s 8:30a here as I write this, and about 11p in Cols), listening to the cacophony, and essentially feeling sorry for myself until I realized, that AS ALWAYS, it is an inside job, and I can change my perception.

Look.  I asked for an adventure, and I sure as hell got one.  My daughter intuitively asked me if I could have all easy times in India or easy and hard, what would I choose, and I told her that if this were merely a vacation, I would want only easy, but as this is a Journey, I would kind of feel ripped off if I didn’t have my share of tribulations.  The easy goes by quick and without notice.  The hard gets scrutinized and replayed and analyzed so that I can suck the marrow out of it and learn more about myself or this wonderful, crazy, scary world.

When I slow down and think about it, without stoking the fear, I feel like (in a strange way) by treading water in the Pacific, I am actually resisting the natural course in this.  I should take a deep breath and put my head under; there’s a whole another world under there, and it doesn’t operate on the principles of being above the water line because that’s not IT’s normal way.  And in this world, honking lives here.  And so do the roaming feral dogs who lay down in the middle of the lane of traffic, and the same with the drivers who somehow dodge them and each other.  Dirty sheets and bugs crawling on the furniture and floor and mattress live here.  And so do travelers like me, wild-eyed, without a 3rd backup plan, overpaying, introverted, and getting lost.

This will all work itself out, and I’m sure the less effort I can apply here the better off I will be.  I need to empty my daypack, determine what I need for today, and repack it more lightly.  I need to eat and drink something.  I need to set my sights conservatively on something that I want to do today.  And I need to take some slow deep breaths and put my head under.

As the boy that was showing my room last night was leaving, I thanked him in Hindi.  He told me he liked my beard.  I couldn’t help but smile widely.  It’s not that he thought he was saying “you’re welcome.”  It’s that he seemed to be appreciating me for thanking him, and so he was going to appreciate me back.  (Incidentally, my taxi co-pilot thought my beard was “great!” too.  What can I say :)).

So, as would feel natural in this new world, I’ll shortly be off to appreciate the “backpacker ghetto” that is Paharganj, hoping the first part of my acclimatization (or really should be acculturalization) is well underway.