Preparing for India

On a crisp sunny morning sometime in Spring I forced myself to leave my house. I forced myself to message a friend, which led to her calling, which led to me asking, which led to me going.

I washed after days of not washing, made my bed, fed the dogs, took my vitamins, threw on my most comfortable 'going out' clothes and locked the door behind me.

In a small backpack I stuffed a notebook, a 176 page novel (that I am not really enjoying but am determined to finish), headphones, a travel book on India, clothe shopping bags and a large bottle of cold water. I was prepared. I grabbed $100 cash out of my secret stash, that is now empty, and threw the bag over my shoulder.

My friend was late enough to allow me to wash up, make the bed and swap shirts three times.

She drove. Perfect. One less thing to think about and she was generous enough to drive at 3/4 pace. I am a nervous passenger.

Fifty minutes of chatter about our lives, issues, angst and to debrief. I could feel my body relaxing the further I got from the doorstep that led a path to the unmade bed, dust bunnies and dirty dishes.

Driving through green paddocks, dry bushland, past fluffy cows and 100 year old apple trees. The scent of blossom and cut grass seeping through the gaps in the window. 

'See you in a few hours.'

We waved at each other as she drove away leaving me along in the main street. A pause, a breath before wrapping myself up in scarves and jacket and heading off to find a public toilet for the first wee of the day.

There are few people around - early cyclists, locals getting a paper, old friends meeting for their regular morning coffee and chat about the latest local topics. Referendum, political resignations, stadiums, increasing in housing rates etc.

I am pretending I am in India. Current temperature of around 37 degrees with poor air quality and high humidity, when in fact I am in a regional town in Southern Tasmania, with a top of 22 and cool nights that still require a fire or at least a woolly jumper.

First stop a cafe for coffee and food. The cafe is the result of previous owners' lovingly restoration of an old bank or shop circa 1920's? Or there abouts. A few owners on, it maintains it's open, hall-like atmosphere. A couch in the bay windows welcoming newcomers to a room full of retro tables and chairs.

I require a table for writing, reading and eating. I am a spreader and like to take up a whole 4-person table.

I read a chapter of the book. It's a small book. Intentionally bought to accommodate my reading style. I am a slow reader and used to think it was a sign I was uneducated, stupid and inadequate. I was relieved a few years ago when I heard a well known author speaking about types of readers. They spoke glowingly of the benefits of slow reading and the joy in absorbing information and taking time. This flew in the face of a lifetime of comparing my small pile of books to the towering teetering stacks of thick novels read by class mates, family and friends. The good readers, the better readers, the more intelligent readers. Those who were well-read.

While reading I am also observing the structure, the plot, the dialogue. Something new to me but becoming intuitive. I am both the reader and the observer. A third of the way through and I am underwhelmed but I am determined to finish this small book before I move onto the next.

Dusty small books bought from second hand stores. With the aim of reigniting my love of words and writing, as I exercise my reading muscle. To feel a sense of accomplishment, to finish something. Already I feel that I am benefiting from the process. Short chapters are satisfying. 

Alternating between sips of strong coffee, mouthfuls of eggs, bacon and toast I flip the pages. Every now and then I look up to review the customers coming in the door.

'they're a local'

'they're a tourist'

'they're not having a good day'

'they're an unhappy couple'

Perfunctory and unfair judgements on strangers.

Upon finishing another short chapter I open the India travel book and read about safe travel for women, powerpoint sockets and foods to avoid. How not to shit myself. I'll be fine. 

A 55 year old woman traveling to India on her own. No problem. I'll be with a group for most of the trip. I'll be fine. I can feel myself go into my happy place. 'la lala lala'

Distraction, with the girl guide kicking in enough to do the preparation...booking vaccinations, visas, passport and backpack packing practice.

Breathe out - I had forgotten how comforting writing is for me. Thanks writing.

I may be on a quest for the best hollandaise sauce. Today's is a wonderful subtle creamy and buttery amalgamation of salt, sour and lemon. Yesterday's was too sour. Too much heft in the lemon squeeze I fear.

However, my enthusiasm for today's sauce has resulted in long yellow badges of warm sauce plopping onto my blue scarf. All witnessed by the neighbouring diners. This resulting in a pause in conversation and subtle eye contact avoidance moment. They are probably reviewing me...'single, lonely woman who can't use a knife and fork properly - how sad'.

Why don't they leave black pepper on the table anymore. Is it fear of excessive use from punters, an increase in the cost of peppercorns or is it about the theatre involved in the waiter arriving at your table with an oversized tilted grinder to announce...

'Would you like pepper?"

Of course I would. Poached egg on toast with hollandaise sauce and salt. Hmmm. Something is missing in this mesmeric combination. Pepper!

Following breakfast and reading I load up and head off to explore the town. Spring sunshine has brought out the crowds. Stragglers like me wandering between the clusters of cyclists and families.

December 2023