Thursday 31^st January

 

I am on the track of a satellite communications thingy.  One would think this would be easypeasy; all the cursing boats have them, don’t they? 

 

Well no…it is a bit like trying to catch smoke, using a mirror.  We find people who have good systems but when they try to explain how they work, where they got the…it all evaporates.  Or they got the system in the USA and it doesn’t really work in the southern hemisphere. 

 

This morning I talked to me New Best Friend Andrew, from Aquatronics in Sydney.  He assures me it can be done – easypeasy – and more or less within my budget.  We will see!  It would improve my life immensely, to have easy communication via the internet when we are away.  I found it a teensy bit stressful, having to lug my poor laptop computer in and out of Pacific island towns, trying to get WiFi connection, mostly with no success whatsoever.  And I was dreadfully envious of people on boats who sat, sipping Long Island Tea cocktails and communicating via the internet from the deck of their very own little boat. 

 

It must be possible to do this on 2XS – watch this space!

 

India #79

One evening Pete was suddenly stricken with indigestion.  All very painful and where were our Quikezes?  Nowhere to be found!  I persuaded him to have a rest and to let me go off on a medicine-finding adventure.  I felt very safe in Udaipor and was sure I could manage to find my way to and from some sort of chemist with no problems.  He said I had to be back before dark and I snorted quietly but derisively – OFCOURSE I would be back before dark, piece of cake, really!  The people at the desk at the Mahendra Prakash were very dubious when they saw me setting off alone.  One of them offered to go off on his motorscooter right then and there but I insisted on going alone; I really wanted to prove to myself that I could accomplish this one small task.  I followed the directions they gave me at the desk and found a hole-in-the-wall chemist about one kilometre from the hotel.  So far so good.  Next I had to try to explain Pete’s medical condition.  I thought I mimed indigestion quite convincingly, but the grave and handsome chemist thought I was holding back: “Does your husband have loose bowel motions?” he asked, directly.  Well not that was NOT what I was miming; I thought I had limited my show of pain to the gullet region.  Eventually I left the shop clutching a small packet of Digeze.  And very cheap it was too, about five cents.  All of this sort of stuff is amazingly cheap in India.  It’s almost worth a trip here to stock up on Aspirin and cough drops!

         

OK now it was time to retrace my steps.  Down the narrow winding streets, up and down a few steep little hills, through the inches deep flood of dubious water, past the tiny little shops, past the sumptuous-looking pavilion housing a collection of exotic cars (we never did go and see this, why not?) and then oh dear down a long straight dark dark street with nobody in sight, no lights, only a few cows wandering about in a desultory fashion.  Where on earth was I?  Should I keep going that way or turn back this way or what?  I dithered for a while, then made a purposeful decision and started walking purposefully – ummm – this way rather than that.  Along came a very young bloke on a shabby rickety old bike.  I might have mentioned before that a lot of the bikes ridden daily in India are of this ilk; you wouldn’t see one like this anywhere in Australia any more.  No gears at all, lots of rust, bald flat tyres.  He came to a halt and gazed at me in wonder.  What was I DOING?  He spoke very little English, but when I said Mahendra Prakash and waved my arms around in a “where is it?” sort of fashion, he became very animated.  Apparently I was a long way from the Mahendra Prakash – how did this happen?  And would I please hop gracefully onto the rusty little rack on the back of his bike.  I could feel my weight putting an unbearable strain on the back wheel but didn’t want to offend my boy-knight in shining armour so I clung on and we sped down the damp dark streets.  Well “sped” was the wrong word but we were making some sort of progress with much panting and grunting from the boy.  He managed all the way to puff away quite competently on his dangling cigarette.  But after a while he gave up and asked me to get off.  Now would I like to hop gracefully onto the cross bar in front of him.  Oh dear… He was very pleased with this arrangement and became even more happy when I gave a few sharp short shrieks of terror as he steered me towards bullock carts and big unidentifiable vehicles all coming right at us.  “Are you my friend?” he asked, wobbling the wheel dangerously close to a speeding autorickshaw.  “Yes,” I said firmly.  I wasn’t sure what he meant by friend.  Did he want me to adopt him and take him home with me; did he want me to give him lots of money; did he think I was a young chick available for dalliance – it was after all very dark by then?  None of this was up for discussion, I just wanted to get back to the hotel alive.  Finally we got there; he was very proud, and justifiably so, of having got me safely to my destination.  I wanted to give him money but he recoiled, no he didn’t want money but….could I please come to his uncle’s shop where he works and buy lots of things tomorrow?  Well no.  I couldn’t understand his directions, it was much easier to insist on giving him some well-earned rupees then and there.  And yes he rushed off with a spring in his step, very happy with this outcome.  (The men in reception and the poor ailing man in my room were all very happy to see me back safe and sound, Digeze in hand.)