Batteries and Such

Here's how an alcoholic thinks . . . 

We have been balls to the walls for two solid weeks.  I mean, get up and go, run hard until we collapse in bed.  Today - Day 14 - we had scheduled as an off day.  The idea was to take it a little easy at the midpoint of the trip, rest up, maybe stroll around the area a bit and do some shopping.  We are awakened by the sound of rain falling in the courtyard - that and the horns beeping and loud, metal crashing sounds of an indeterminate origin and the regular, amplified calls to prayer coming from the mosques.  Still, we chomp at the bit to go do something.  We're both worn out and run down and a slow day is probably a good idea - recharge the batteries. It's damn hard to do.  I don't want to miss anything but I don't want to wear myself out totally so that I don't enjoy the second half of the trip.

Where's the middle?  Why is it so hard to find the middle?  My two choices always seem to be Completely Stopped or Full Acceleration.  One of my whole goals in recovery is to try to get somewhere in the middle, find some balance.  I'm not God of the Universe and I'm not a Piece of #$@!!.

Speaking of batteries . . .  SuperK's camera pooped out on her early in the trip.  We asked at one of the restaurants about purchasing some batteries.  One of the tirelessly helpful young men always hustling here offered to get replacements for us.  After a bit he returned with four batteries and zero packaging.  We were dubious but when SuperK put them in the camera the indicator showed that there was a full charge available.  

Dude tries to work us for a tip.  Everybody here is always working you for a tip.  One of the main defense mechanisms is the 1000 yard stare.  Don't say No which means Maybe - don't look at the person or the goods which indicates interest - for god's sake don't say Yes because you'll have hell to pay unless you want to buy everything in the store.  The shop owners start expensive and ratchet down more and more as you go along, eventually steering you to the part of the store with the cheap trinkets.  If you buy one, they try to get you to buy two.  If you buy absolutely everything in a particular genre they start on a new genre.

Want to guess how long those used batteries lasted?

Verging on an Edge

Edge:  A sharp terminating border; a margin; a brink; an extreme verge.  

Pushing the envelope.  The Edge.  God, how I loved the Edge when I was drinking.  I confess that I have a bit of a love affair with it still today.  Sometimes I talk to people about my life and I get the sense that they think it sounds a little boring.  If they only knew about The Edge.

The thing about The Edge is that it makes The Middle a lot more palatable.  I push the envelope and then when I'm back in The Middle I think: "Wow, is this great."  But it's living a little ragged that makes The Middle seem normal.  Get it?  Huh, get it?  Because I'm not sure I do.  Right now I'd love to go over to the tap and get a big, fucking glass of tap water and drink it down so fast that half of it spills down the front of my shirt.  I'm really looking forward to a couple of days of dull routine.

Today we have an off day and it is much appreciated.  To sleep in a bit, eat a leisurely breakfast, and come back to the room on no time schedule.  

An intense and occasionally frustrating experience to the motherland of Hinduism, Sikhism, Buddhism, and Jainism.  Yowser.

Bobsled Run

So I'm at an old English hotel on the fringe of the Ranthampore Tiger Reserve, waiting for our driver to pick us up to take us god knows where, at a high rate of speed.  I feel like I'm getting ready to step off my nice, secure platform, take off my nice warm ski outfit, and skid on my ass down a very steep bobsled run.  This particular bobsled uses a spiked fence to stop any wayward bobsledders so I'm worried about that first step.  

My fucking phone rings.  Connectivity has been very spotty here so I was kind of surprised.  I see Spandex's name.  I answer the phone.  Sounds like he was next door instead of 6,000 miles and 10 time zones away.  I talk a little bit about the trip - which is so fantastical as to be indescribable, and this from a guy who can talk at length about anything, no knowledge needed - and then I ask how he's doing.  To my amazement he actually talks a little about himself - this  was the greatest gift a friend could give me because I was frazzled and bedazzled and agog about the whole trip.  I have whipsawed between "I'm never coming back here" to "OK, I love India again" on a bi-daily basis.  So to talk Program with a guy I've known forever while I'm sitting in a nature preserve far, far from my support network was EXACTLY what I needed.  That's all it took to right my ship.

God Bless You, Spandex.

Help Me!

India is firmly in control.  I am totally not in control and I say this as a very skilled and accomplished control freak of long standing.  I am not a slouch when it comes to controlling things, trying to control things, and being pissed off at not being in control.  That being said: I am no match for this place.

I feel like my head is being held under water until I think my lungs are going to burst and then I'm free for a moment and I take in long, shuddering, grateful gulps of air and I gain a little composure,  and then the invisible hand takes me down again.  

There's a great scene from "Apocalypse Now" where a military officer played by Robert DuVall walks around, upright, out in the open and exposed, in the middle of a hot battlefield.  People are ducking for cover as bombs explode and bullets zing by.  The narrator thinks he's one of those people who are invincible, a guy who lives in a protected zone.

This was our guide, Shakeel, in Varanasi.  Traffic is boiling around us with no rhyme or reason - motorcycles, tuk-tuks, cars, bicycles, horse and camel drawn carts, mobs of pedestrians - nobody paying attention to any rules or niceties, near misses the rule of the day.  It seemed like a video game and not real life.  I have no words to explain the sensation.  A tall dude with an Amsterdam jacket on walked by and said, laughing: "If you can survive this you can survive anything."

Shakeel had this nice, measured, meditative walk.  He'd hold his hand up and motorcycles would stop.  He didn't dawdle but he didn't rush.  We made it across absolute manic streams of motion with not a nick or wound.

I'm on the Shakeel Team today.

Anand

The highlight of our trip so fare has been the people. Isn't that how it should be? I find that the sights are often oversold by the tourism industry and ruined by totally unrealistic expectations and the general weariness that heavy travel can induce. Our hosts and guides and service staff have been nothing but unbelievable - gracious, friendly, caring. I have a tendency to imagine nefarious motives when people are helping me - do they like me or are they angling for a big tip? - instead of saying: "OK. This is a really nice person."

In Khajuraho we were shown the sites by a wonderful young guy named Anand. At one point he asked us how long we had been married, and the we told him that although our actual anniversary was a few months back that we celebrated 25 years of wedded something or the other by taking this trip.

"OK," he said. "I think I would like to give you a small favor - I have a lot of respect for people who have been together a long time."

At the end of our final day he took us to a nice restaurant. On our small table was a small vase of cut flowers and the window that looked out over the street was covered with balloons and other simple garlands. He disappeared for 10 minutes, finally returning with all of the restaurant staff AND our guide from earlier in the day - who had taken the time to join us - carrying a large cake covered with candles: "Happy 25th Anniversary." They gave us a small decorative scimitar carried by the ethnic people of this province and we cut the cake together, while everyone sang a song that so overwhelmed us that we can't even remember what it was. The other patrons in the restaurant even came by and joined in.

The cake was delicious. We inhaled the food. We will not forget Anand. Ever.

And we still had a huge breakfast the next morning.

Outside of My Worldview

Once again I say this: children playing in what look to be dire circumstances appear to be as happy as the children I see in my wealthy, wealthy country. Money and things can be lovely but they can also be temptresses, always moving farther and farther away from our touch no matter how many of them we possess. This is the curse of the disaffected: ceaselessly moving toward the things that please us and ceaselessly running from those that. 

 The ultimate fools' errand.

Off the Ledge Talk

On the morning after my anxiety attack SuperK and I sat and talked quietly. I don't think I was too rattled at that point - shit happens - but i was not at 100% either. It was nice to sit and talk about the anxiety. I didn't want to overdo how I was feeling but I didn't want to pretend it didn't happen, either. I felt better after we talked. To alcoholics sharing their experience, strength, and hope. I would have preferred to have a friend or sponsor to talk to - my wife isn't my support group and she shouldn't be - but it wasn't absolutely necessary.

Then at breakfast I abandoned her to get some food while she sat next to a very, very nice Indian woman who was talking to her a mile a minute about god knows what. We are very tall and very pale and of great interest to a great number of locals. Groups of young men will file past while we are touring, their heads swiveling to keep us in sight as they go past. 

 I'M the exotic here.