Diary of the runaway girl

It was 7:00 am and the clinical surrounds comforted me, confirming I was in a safe place. The walls were white, the bed sheets were crisp, I was wearing pj's with cute little bows buttoning them up and a huge flat screen in front of me. This was no 'single room with fan', it was Bumrungrad hospital, Thailand.

Lets run that back a few months.

It was a few days after my last birthday as a '20-something' and decided it was high time I headed off on a longer adventure to celebrate. India was first on my hit list. From what I had heard it was crazy, dirty, dangerous, beautiful, spiritual and of course, the food was amazing. Sold.

Arriving at 1:00am to Kolkata was my first eye opener. I new nothing of the native tongue, and only learned from a chat en route, that I should get a bright yellow pre-paid cab on arrival. I did. 8 stops for directions, zillions of back-alleys, 2 policeman, and a fight for my 'coupon' later, I was admitted into my pre-booked guesthouse at 3:30am.

The months that followed were a bustle of crazy contradictions, colours and culture.

They lead me to jump on motorbikes with strangers, star in new years day parade's as 'the queen of Kochi' with a Canadian rock-star, try illicit substances in Rajasthan's Thar desert, fall in lust, hike through tea plantations, learn to drive a motorbike, free-run with a local to a stunning waterfall, free-climb boulders, waste away days on trains trying my best to answer 'where is your husband?', palm readings in the street, cycle my way through backwaters, join cricket with the local kids, find strength to fight back predators, cover up and break down, eat with locals for 50 cents a meal, learning to cook Masala Dosa, cartwheels in front of the Mysore Palace, late night skinny-dips, staying in ashrams, battle off curses, swig chai, learn methandi, become a vegetarian, acceptance speaches, roof-top dinners, love affairs and a whole lot of yoga...

My last stop was Rishikesh, the yoga mecca of the world and I was finally submersing myself into yoga teacher training.

By week two however, it was clear I wasn't feeling 'right'. Sleeping through daylight, with bouts of 'vomitron' and 'dia-dodger' and new I couldn't go on.

4 am the next Thursday, I was carrying 20kg's accross the bridge, into a 1 hour taxi, a 4 hour train, another 1 hour taxi, a 4 hour flight to Bangkok, 3 train stations and a 10 minute walk to be greeted by an Indian GP. I chuckled to myself at India's last contradiction.