It’s my first day in India and already I’m experiencing some backlash. For a month, I couldn’t wait to get here. Now I find myself in a hotel in New Delhi that immediately makes me miss home (I knew I should have ponied up the extra $60 for the J.W.Marriott, damnit). Although, by Indian monetary standards, this place isn’t necessarily cheap. The photos always look nicer on the website, don’t they?
I’m forced to listen to a loud screaming Indian man either above or next to me (I’m unsure which as it seems to be coming from all directions). I’m watching myself get super uncomfortable. There’s this perpetual haze in the air here. In the hotel, it’s the residue of some awful artificial air freshener they insist on spraying everywhere. Outside, I’m assured by a local, it’s just smog. Delhi smog makes Los Angeles look like a freshly Windex-ed window. Either way, fresh, clean air is not available and my eyes have trouble adjusting to the pervasive fog. And my nose, the odd scent.
My room is somewhat stale and musty, with just a hint of a previous smoker, even though I’m assured it’s a non-smoking room. Probably the reason for the orange Renuzit scent.
My laptop seems to be having trouble connecting which frustrates me. I want to see photos, connect to the home I know. The one in which less than 36 hours ago, I woke up. The one with the awesome bed and open window evening cool. What’s the temperature in Austin?
Oh shit, I have a DVD to send.
I have to post a blog.
For the past month I’ve felt pulled to my mat yet this morning, it takes a little more coaxing to sit for meditation. As if I’m resisting something. All I could think was coffee.
Can I unlock my iPhone?
Where’s my routine?
No hot water with lemon?
I manage to maintain a few morning rituals. Tongue scrape. Net pot (yes, with bottled water). The important things. Eventually I sit. And I know I’m that much closer to the purpose of my trip. All is well.
Until I go to breakfast.
Where are my veggies?
Can a girl get some avocado?
How about a dairy milk alternative?
OMG will this man PLEASE SHUT UP?!?
Hands down it is the worst coffee I can remember.
Is this guy SINGING now?
There is something increasingly aggravating about loud voices in a foreign language. Much more so than the same annoying tone in your native tongue.
Like a child who misses his blanket, I have a strong desire for my blender and some decent espresso. Bullet proof coffee.
At least I have dark chocolate, which I will try to ration like Matt Damon allocated potatoes in that movie I watched on the flight here. That puts things in perspective.
Ahhhhhh, finally. Sweet silence. But my tummy is feeling a little funky.