There’s sick, and then there’s sick in India.
Ten days into my journey through Rajasthan, I ate lunch–inside the gates of the City Palace in Udaipur, no less–and soon found my head spinning and my stomach churning.
It’s never much fun being sick away from home, but sick in India is perhaps the worst. The delicacies of Indian cuisine turned my sour stomach more sour, and the aromas outside my hotel room door overtook me . . . again and again and again. Some 15 days later from the comfort of my own home, I still have to force myself to eat. Or drink. Or talk about the days I spent in bed and the decisive trip I took to the hospital for fluids and medication.
I’ve always prided myself on being a courageous traveler. I’ve poked fun at weaker companions, ovecome by heat and culture shock and unfamiliar foods. I’ve decided it’s not all that funny to be sick. Especially in India.