SINGAPORE, Dec 17 — These days, I’m greeted with the same question from friends: “I saw your Instagram — you were just in India! Did you get Delhi Belly?”
In a similar vein, I received all sorts of well-meaning advice when they hear I was going to India. They ran the gamut, from “don’t take the salads” and “avoid all dairy products” to “make sure your hotel is well-located and part of an international chain” and “wear pants!”.
While the trip to India turned out to be utterly amazing, the pre-trip nagging weighed heavily on me. Frankly, it made me a little paranoid while I was there: I did avoid raw salads and I’m embarrassed to say, I chose a bottle of Thums Up cola over a cup of mango lassi whenever I could.
It wasn’t only the food I was careful about. During a labyrinthian tour in Lucknow’s Bara Imambara, which involved walking on a narrow balcony overlooking the interiors of its 15m-high hall, I could feel my stomach knotting up with anxiety looking at the short railing provided. I’ve never been afraid of heights, so getting worried, on top of being thrilled, was a rather discomforting feeling.
A travelling companion had to pause several times in the tunnels of the labyrinth to take in some fresh air by the windows because of her claustrophobia.
“It was never this bad when I was younger, but now I can’t be in a tunnel for too long. You know, in my last trip to Vietnam, I had to crawl my way out of Cu Chi Tunnels because I couldn’t take it,” she shared with a sigh.
Is this due to age? I thought hard about that as we emerged from the labyrinth to reach the roof. As I watched the younger set of twenty-something travellers dangle their legs off a ledge to get fantastic snaps in a move known as roof-topping, I wondered if I’ve grown too cautious about risking physical discomfort. You always hear that it pays to be smart, but what if “smart” inevitably meant closing yourself off to new and exhilarating experiences?
To be fair, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with any traveller wanting to be safe, diarrhoea-free and as snug as a bug. Comfort is reassuring when one is already in a foreign country — new territories, hearing a different language and trying new food can be uncomfortable for some. And with age comes wisdom, and a willingness to make trade-offs. After all, it’s not cowardly to avoid tunnels that bring you pain, to reject bungee jumping because that makes you puke or weak, and to sidestep the proverbial road less trodden if there isn’t an acceptable washroom along the way.
“It’s also normal to be much more paranoid once you have kids — you see danger everywhere. You’re constantly assessing whether something’s safe,” a friend told me when I bemoaned the fact that I’ve become less adventurous in my travels.
That is true. It was the main reason the husband and I decided to forgo renting a motorbike to get around Bali with our two-year-old when we would have done so in a heartbeat before. But it doesn’t blind me to the fact that there are mountaineers and deep sea divers who’re parents, and people like Anthony Bourdian, a 59-year-old dad who’s still jaunting off to Beirut, Iran and Tanzania for his show, Parts Unknown.
I know, I’m no Bourdain. But perhaps being bred on a diet of Penelope Pitstop and Carmen Sandiego while growing up has instilled an inclination for travel adventures. I’ve always prided myself on being rather gung-ho and open to trying new experiences. When I was younger, I brushed off parents and pals who warned about trips to Eastern Europe, Myanmar and Yunnan. I was less susceptible to paranoia and caution. I ate everything. I left my bag unattended; I trekked in less than ideal shoes and survived winter on Daiso heatpacks without a proper jacket. I was foolhardy and thank God nothing bad had happened.
However, age and paranoid have a way of announcing their arrival — as I discovered on this recent trip. I don’t want to grow old and fearful — at least not yet. At Bara Imambara, I was perturbed by my initial hesitation, but, emboldened by the fact I didn’t get a case of Delhi Belly for the first two days of the trip, I decided to find out if I still enjoyed getting my kicks.
I went up to the edge of the ledge and sat there (there was another wide bracket below so it didn’t turn out to be all that dangerous). No, I didn’t walk on the bracket below and whip out my iPhone just for a great snap. I didn’t want to end up in a newspaper as that person who fell while trying to take a great picture. I don’t think anyone could explain “Hey, your mum wanted a better selfie” to my kid.
But I relished that small triumph for what it was. Seeing sights below while experiencing a heady mix of bravado, adrenaline and sheer glee. It felt good, familiar and yet novel. The world looked a little brighter and more promising.
On the way back, the coach stopped for us to stretch our legs. There was a makeshift stall with a guy making chai. It definitely won’t pass the NEA (National Environment Agency) inspector’s test by any stretch, but the chai smelled wonderful. I decided to have a cup. It turned out to be one of the best I ever had.
I don’t think it was just because the chai was freshly made. Instead, it was a delightful taste of uncertainty and possibilities. One we have to force ourselves to try sometimes, just so we remember how great that feeling is — especially as yet another year passes and we get older.
Guess what, I didn’t suffer from Delhi Belly that night, either. — TODAY
