I was sitting in the front of the transport with the gear stick between my legs. We quickly drove into the sunset, careening through river valley. I had my arm around Japo, a local raft guide also hitching a ride North in the front of this transport truck. For a guide, Japo was surprising skinny, almost gaunt. We made pleasant, slow conversation as the truck struggled for traction around each turn.
Japo had just returned from the hospital where he had left another guide, who fractured his leg today on 'rollercoaster', one of the bigger rapids on this section of the river. He said solemnly that his battered friend would have tough financial times ahead. Besides this fact we were both smiling and looking at photos of Japo's family and friends. In our silence, I appreciated the simple moment of sitting, sharing my seat in this fortunate ride in the early evening. I've had many moments just like this lately, essentially content, aware and grateful for where I am. This is how I know I'm happy. As the light lowered, I felt lucky to moving closer to my tent on the beach. I said 'Bas! Bas!' as we approached the camp. Japo insisted on paying for our ride. Afterall, hitchhiking here is really an established form of public transport.
As I scurried across the road, the camp cook greeted me with a flurry of Hindi. I ventured a 'Tike', 'Fine, I'm fine' and asked in Hindi how he was. He seemed more than happy with this and I continued down the hill, still deep in thought about Japo. I thought who when we first climbed in the truck, he had taken my bag and sat with two bags on his lap.
It was a tiring trip into the city. When I first arrived, a man was hollering at me. He turned to his friends and said in English that I didn't remember him. I did recognize the intense, young waiter and accepted a ride on the back of his motorcycle across the river. We revved and rode our way across the busy pedestrian bridge, dodging people, cows and thieving monkeys.
Once back on my slow two feet, I was stopped by many Indian tourists. They stopped in large groups and asked my origin or for group photos. One man sprang from his group and reached for a handshake. My hand covered his whole hand and I squeezed firmly. The smile was fading from his face as I held my grip for a punishing few seconds.
This was all two days ago. Yesterday I separated my shoulder playing around in a kayak. This morning it was announced at a guide meeting that I would no longer be going on the Kali expedition. I am scheduled now to guide on the Ganges on the weekend, but I will have to tell my boss to hire outside guides. My shoulder is sore and I can feel it hanging slightly out of joint. Though they say we are a family, I don't feel at place at the camp anymore if I cannot work.
I could travel further in India. I'm finding it difficult to muster the energy and enthusiasm to independently tackle the trains and buses once more. I looking into changing my flight back home but they have nothing available in my class in the month of March. To be honest it makes me feel trapped in hot, overcrowded India. Though the opposite should be true. I can move almost anywhere if I had the desire and the nerve. Albeit with a heavy pack on back and a shoulder which needs rest.
I think I'll stick it out, wait for a few days for everything to turn around again. I'll try and be open and find the right way to go. Even better maybe it will find me.
