Andy's delegated himself the more chronological of our travel logs, which means I get to relay the good stuff: anecdotes, the funny and the (extremely) embarrassing.
First off, I'll recommend China Airways to any frequent flyer. The pilots are sober, the seats are vomit-free, and the meals can't be beaten. (Not that I've flown huge amounts or anything, I've just heard horror stories about Salisbury steak flavored mush from a tube, etc.) And when we touched down in New Delhi last Friday (Saturday, here) I didn't feel like I'd been on a plane for 20+ hours. No, in fact, the discomfort didn't sink in 'till afterward. 'till it was too late.
Our accommodations, an inn just off "Main Bazaar" (Street), are a small jaunt from the airport to town. And by "small jaunt", I mean harrowing ride by motorized rickshaw going, sometimes, backward and against traffic. It's cozy here and the inn keeper includes breakfast, which is often western food cooked in Indian manner--pretty tasty. (I expect the bay area socialites to pick up on this soon; await the opening of restaurant "Curry Toast" or whatever those fancy douches decide to call it.)
Our fusion breakfasts aside, Andy and I've been treating ourselves royally to New Delhi cuisine. The dishes are fantastic and there's a lot to them! But this, dear friends, is where the troubles began. You see, the long flight(s) out of SFO and Taipei left me somewhat, well, blocked (concernedly so). And all those lovely Delhi meals and no way to expel the waste! I hate to be unsavory, but I needed an Ex-lax. Badly.
There was one problem: Hindu pharmacies don't really carry any of the more "controversial" items (no tampons either, you feel me ladies?) and pharmacists dislike talking about feces. Here I was praying for medical remedy and they're pushing herbal powders on me. I settled on "SoftVac", an Indian mixture of ground licorice and some type of crumbled plant husk. Honestly, when stirred in with water, the stuff looked rather like the very thing it was supposedly made to elicit. I didn't believe in the power of "SoftVac" which, for obvious reasons, Andy and I nicknamed "poop juice". I didn't. In fact, I had horrible visions of going to the hospital and having to sign "constipation" to the nurse on duty. (How's that for hand gestures?)
But praise Jesus (or Vishnu, in this case), the powdered licorice (or maybe it was the plant husk?) came through for me, and I am no longer in the sad state described above.
Mark my words, when traveling abroad, I'll never again forget my Ex-lax. Really, neither should you. They tell us about Montezuma's Revenge, but what we should all fear is the curse of lead-belly.
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