Carpe Gnar

Let this serve as my precursor to my upcoming New Zealand post and how I feel about life. 

ENTEDAMONOS

 (so we understand each other)

By Ernesto “Che” Guevara 

  This is not a story of heroic feats, or merely the narrative of a cynic; at least I do not mean it do be. It is a glimpse of two lives running parallel for a time, with similar hopes and convergent dreams. 

 In nine months of a man’s life he can think a lot of things, from the loftiest meditations on philosophy to the most desperate longing for a bowl of soup - in total accord with the state of his stomach. And if, at the same time, he’s somewhat of an adventurer, he might live through episodes of interest to other people and his haphazard record might read something like these notes. 

And so, the coin was thrown in the air, turning many times, landing sometimes head and other times tails. Man, the measure of all things, speaks here through my mouth and narrates in my own language that which my eyes have seen. It is likely that out 10 possible heads I have seen only one true tail, or vice versa. In fact it’s probable, and there are no excuses, for these lips can only describe what these eyes actually see. Is it that our whole vision was never quite complete, that it was too transient or not always well informed? Were we too uncompromising in our judgements? Okay, but this is how the typewriter interpreted those fleeting impulses raising my fingers to the keys, and those impluses have now died. Moreover, no one can be held responsible for them. 

On camp beds, the only beds we’d know for now on, and lying beside La Poderosa, our snail-like dwelling, we still looked into the future with impatient joy. We seemed to breathe more freely, a lighter air, an air of adventure. Distant countries, heroic deeds and beautiful women spun around and around in our turbulent imaginations. 

My tired eyes refused to sleep and in them a pair of green spots swirled, representing the world I had left for dead behind me and mocking the so-called liberation I sought. They harnessed their image to my extraordinary flight across the lands and seas of the world. 

 This one’s for Kathy Jansen. 

This one may be a bit off kilter but is a reality when travelling, especially in third world countries. Let’s be honest, how many times have you shit your pants? Keep in mind that below the ages of nine or during human potty training don’t count. I’m currently at four. One was in Chile during a very wild morning which probably was completely associated to alcohol, and the other three were in New Zealand.    

  During my latest world paddling tour I only became ill once, safely making in through both Nepal and Africa without incidence. India however, reigned supreme in the fight for my bowels striking at the most opportune time, in transit.   Shortly after Christmas I flew from New Delhi, India, to Auckland, New Zealand on an Air Malaysia flight. From the start things were doomed. The flight was already delayed well over two hours, meaning that we’d completely miss our connection in Kuala Lumpar and as a result the company put us up in a five star hotel only to catch a flight twenty four hours later the next day. As I entered my wonderful hotel room I felt my stomach do a somersault and knew that I was in for it.  

 For the next week and a half India got the best of me, forcing my body to devulge whatever sickness lay inside. Liquid diaherra, fever, vomiting, shaking, and passing out during the flight all were included in my “Delhi Belly” package. I was hospitalized twice in Auckland only later to fly out still ill to kayak on the South Island. Knowing after to traveling to such countries that my sickness would only be a matter of time, I never knew how bad it would literally get till I honestly thought I might die via pooping all liquids out of my system while on the flight to New Zealand. Thankfully after two solid of weeks of not being able to hold anything down and stubborningly losing my bowels three times, twice in the car and once while kayaking, the sickness finally went away, ironically, on the New Year. 

 After various tests and professional care the culprit was a consumed piece of feces.  For those of you reading this I’m now going to offer some advice whislt traveling abroad in feces laden countries. Ciproflaxin, anti-giardia, and chewable peptobismal tablets are a must. Bring them along, not just in case, but because it’s only a matter of time before you’re warped back into childhood and pooping your pants again. 

I spent a total of two differing weeks in India while in transit between Nepal and Uganda, then ultimately flying out on December 27th towards Auckland, New Zealand.  

 Let me begin with this India section stating to whomever, for the record, and what have you, that India is a complete mental, physical and sensual trip. Never have I visited such a place with such a vibrant societal structure. Imagine taking everything you know and have experienced on this earth, turning it upside down, shaking it, then adding ten more million people. From cows wandering in downtown New Delhi amongst the rickshaws to the extreme poverty in the slums, India literally has it all. After I got over the initial sensual shock and overload of the place, it continues to be one of the most fascinating and interesting places I’ve ever traveled.  

 Most of my ventures were based around New Delhi, taking ample amounts of time to really dive into the infamous city. Other side trips included riding around the outer ring of the city with my good British friend Emrys Cook and his Royale Enfield motorbike, visiting the Taj Mahal on Christmas, and diving head and mind first into the best culinary treats the country had to offer.

After deep conversation with fellow Indian travelers I think they put it best one night stating, “One loathes to hate India.” A land of mixed cultures, peoples and religions, I can’t wait to get back amongst the chaotic tendencies of such a crazy yet beautiful place.  Photos can be viewed on my album by clicking here.