I’m finishing the day sitting on the bare floor of my tent, with
my torch hooked to the roof, sleeping bag rolled out next to me, and backpack
shoved underneath it in some attempt to create something akin to a pillow for
the night. It’s been a rollercoaster of a journey over the last sixteen hours,
and I’m going to retire impressed with one colleague and disappointed with
another, in the combination that I never expected. We’re bunked in to camp at Pratapgad
today, and I will admit that things have been a bit disorganised, but not so
much as to justify completely ‘checking out’ from responsibility and removing
yourself as a support figure.
We kicked off with an early morning start which was dwindled
away with countless delays. A hearty breakfast prepared us for the day ahead –
curries, breads and chutneys abound to fuel the adventures. I’ve become
accustomed to the laidback approach to getting myself organised, but it couldn’t
help me from getting frustrated with losing time by sitting in the blazing sun
for 90-minutes waiting for a scheduled dam release, that was supposed to go off
at the same time every day. Now, I’m generally pretty positive, and took the
time to chill out on a big rock with a colleague, basking in the rays. Alas,
the tour operator decided that it was time that he would take it upon himself
to begin making comments on my physique. Let’s get this straight; just because
I show interest in your culture, country and ask questions about life in India
does NOT mean I am interested in you. It does NOT mean that it’s time for you
to ask “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful legs?”
Yes, yes they have. My fiancée in particular.
And you’re old enough
to be my father.
Put that f*cking camera away you pervert.
Eventually, the dam did release and we watched the water
build up to the waiting rafts. We clambered aboard in one of those haphazard
ways where you think and hope someone knows what’s going on, and you just go
with it. We bustled our way through some techniques, directions and commands
before floating our way down the Kundalika, supported by the rising waters. We
got completely soaked, the students pushed me and each other overboard at
various points along the rapids, and we barreled our way along the water,
laughing, squealing and scrambling to climb in the raft along the way. Eventually
the waters evened out and we had to work a whole lot harder to progress along
the river back to base camp. One half of my cute new travelling flats fell
victim to the river when I was tossed over, which left me helpless and barefoot
on a long, searing walk on bitumen back to the tents. Thankfully, my boy-scout
colleague came to the rescue, turning his t-shirt into an improvised shoe, and
I hobbled back in wonder at this bravery of him removing his shirt.
Now, I want you to picture this – seventeen teenagers, forty
minutes, repacking, feeding session and moving out in jeeps. Not easy,
disorganised, completely chaotic, messy and absolutely nuts with gear left
behind and rubbish strewn about in the usual Dubai maid-care child fashion.
Package in those kids running late, who can’t organise a fart in a spacesuit,
and shove them into 4WDs for a 3-hour trip to Pratapgad Fort. Oh baby, you
heard me; car sickness hell. The ride was awful – our driver tearing in and
around traffic on blind corners, driving head on into the line of trucks and
buses, nearly clipping countless motorbikes with women sitting sideways, and
generally just being insane. I found it best not to look, for the sake of my sanity,
then it got worse. The nausea took over as we began to climb around a mountain,
and I did my best to breathe through it. I had visions of that trip to Nanny’s
every Christmas, twisting and turning around Mount Lindsay, feeling
increasingly ill. I was wedged between the door, and the old tour operator who
had conveniently put himself between my colleague and I across the backseat,
trying to zone out and keep my lunch down. Cringing away from him putting his
hand on my leg to “check that I was ok”, I bit my tongue and held out for some
fresh air….surely it would be soon, right?
Salvation came at a café of sorts two hours into the trip,
where we piled out for air and to wait for the other cars to catch up. It was
at about this time that I actually came to realise the young guy in the car
with us was a support guide for trip! I don’t know how I missed that one, as he’d
been around from the start, but at that point I found my escape from being constantly
approached by the tour leader – hail my new dinner company! Seriously, this old
guy had been texting me after I’d retired to my tent of a night, to tell me
that it had been wonderful talking to me. Gah! My new friend, Shazad, was
wedged in the very back of the Jeep with our luggage, and I don’t know how he
wasn’t worse off than I - acclimatized I suppose. As we emerged, he adeptly appeared
with a fresh bottle of water to ease off that nausea, and I sat to soak up an
incredible, steaming, sweet, milky cup of ginger chai. It was like heaven in a
small glass and I began to feel better about the trip right there and then.
Refreshed and ready to tackle the last hour of the car trip, I squashed myself
back against the door, this time with my iPod so I could completely ignore any
more advances.
We had four cars and were supposed to be heading to a
pre-scouted campsite. The trip was supposed to take three hours. Four-and-a-half
hours later, after countless wrong turns, catch ups, Jeep stops and what-not,
the sun was well and truly down and we had seventeen youths, an empty camp site
and nowhere to sleep. The next three hours heralded torches, yelling, disorganization,
confusion, hunger, complete loss of control and a desire to simply pull up in a
freaking hotel. The kids had been given a box of rations, but no direction of
what to do with it. They were given gas canister stoves and no help with how to
use them. All they wanted to do was boil some water, eat some cup noodles and
go to bed, but instead were forced to walk to the river, collect local water
and cook rice, dal and sausages in the dark of the night, as well as pitch
tents and settle in for sleep.
The local water was a real risk for international students,
and as teachers, we were a bit concerned. It was us that would be responsible
if one of them fell ill with something water-borne. Sure, they were boiling the
water, but there was no real way to tell just what the water was going to do to
the food. Yes, it was frustrating, but not to the point where you, as a
teacher, would go around telling all the kids how disorganised and dangerous
everything was. Teacher 101: don’t let the kids know when shit goes wrong. As a
more experienced teacher than I, I would have expected some support in that
area. Alas, the colleague who I thought would be most adept at coping in this
situation, promptly checked out and went and sat on a hill, while my other
colleague and I powered on as positively as possible. I had to spend an hour
reassuring every one of them that they probably wouldn’t die of dysentery in
the next 24-hours so long as they boiled the water for long enough.
The kids were legendary. They cooked in their teams, and
proudly came to share their conquests for the eating. They maintained such
incredibly positivity and showed pride in their achievements; eager to receive
feedback on their culinary skills. The ‘checked out’ teacher sat on the hill
and ate one of my stashed granola bars. I had dal baht and rice in two batches
from the kids. Thank goodness my other colleague had surprised me and stepped
forward to boost morale and keep the kids moving; I’ll forever be grateful. The
kids tidied up, settled into tents and were down by 11.30, knowing they needed
to be up at 4.45am for an early start. And now, I switch off the light,
thankful for the support of others, and amazed by what can be achieved when you
work together. You can get through anything when you stick with it.
