Having managed almost 2 months without any stomach problems it had to happen sooner or later. What appeared to Sam to be the start of a cold turned into a fever during the night. Over the course of the next day it developed into bouts of stomach cramps and the inevitable Montezuma's revenge. By early morning the next day things seemed to have calmed down a little so I left Sam sleeping and went for a run around Mumbai (having carried a pair of trainers all this way I was determined to use them at least once). I was on the look out for the Yogic Laughter groups who meet in the morning for some mass forced laughter, apparently it is quite popular in Mumbai with some 75 societies. I never found them but did come across a group of elderly people near the Gateway to India doing some sort of arm waving exercises that made them look rather like a troop of extras from Sean of the Dead. Even in the cool season Mumbai is pretty hot and I returned to the hotel in a puddle of sweat to find Sam doubled up, puffing and panting. We decided it was time to call a doctor, so dreading a repeat of our experience with doctors in Morocco I went and asked the hotel to call a doctor. Half an hour later a very smartly dressed doctor breezed into the room, removed her Chanel sunglasses and sat down next to Sam. I suspect it wasn't the first time she had seen a backpacker with a dodgy stomach and having reviewed the symptoms wrote Sam a lengthy prescription while asking us about our travels and what we had seen in Mumbai. Our replies were met with raised eyebrows "That's not seeing Mumbai!", we then told her that we had also been to some fancy cocktail bars and were going to go shopping for wedding outfits. She seemed more approving of those activities. We told her that we preferred Mumbai to Delhi, which she aptly described as "rubbish". With that she was off and I went to retrieve the cocktail of drugs to treat Sam's rumbling guts. She's all better now.
