Post from Tim:
I'm in Varanasi, sick in bed, fighting a nasty bout of food poisoning. In my delirious haze the room spins with the fan above my head and my eyes involuntarily trace "S" shapes into the ceiling. I'm unable to sleep and my body is simultaneously shivering and sweating. Outside my room, thousands of people celebrate the Hindi New Year down by the bank of the holy Ganges River. The uproar floating in through my window speaks of a world very foreign to mine, as festival goers ring bells, toot horns, bang drums, play exotic musical instruments, and chant. Ash smeared Hindus cleanse themselves in the polluted river. A fog of incense smoke covers the large crowd as they celebrate riverside all night long.
At 4 AM the festival continues. Five, six, the sun comes up and I've just slept in catnaps. I've got a fever over 103 degrees, I'm restless, and waves of nausea hit me like a brick when I move. I sit up too quickly and soon find myself thanking Michelle for placing the trash can bedside. I feel like a human geyser with liquids shooting out both ends.
It is times like this when I feel the most alienated from home. We move to a more expensive room that has a TV and cable, but even taking solace in mindless programming is impossible. Fred Flintstone and Scooby Doo are on the Cartoon Network, but they speak Hindi along with the rest of the translated programs on the Discovery Channel.
Outside in the guesthouse courtyard the Hindi music is screeching. I yearn for the clean sober feeling of health and pray that I'm well enough to leave on our flight to Kathmandu in 36 hours.
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