I mentioned my driver, right? His name is Mr. Singh and he speaks broken English and keeps offering me bidis and whiskey. We set out for Dharamsala at 7:30am and I reached his car, only to find that his son was in the backseat. Indian roads are a book to themselves. Imagine a road filled with rickshaws, people, motorcycles, bicyclists, cattle, goats...and then imagine trying to navigate a car through this! The journey was the most turbulent, frightening thing I've ever experienced. I would soon find that it would only get worse.

We stopped off in the town of Chandigarh, in the state of Punjab. Mr. Sikh said that his sister-in-law lived there and would give us lunch. Fine, fine, I thought. I was dying to get to Dharamsala, but I knew the journey was long - about 12 hours by car. We got to this family's house and suddenly I was sitting there in this living room with people who spoke NO ENGLISH whatsoever, sipping chai and swatting flies. How did this happen? God knows how or why, but Mr. Singh managed to convince me to spend the night in Chandigarh with this family.

So then he took me sightseeing around the city. Interesting. We went to this "tourist" attraction called the Rock Garden. Really some idiot back in the 1980s didn't know what to do with all the piles of rubbish in Chandigarh (the newfound capital of independent India's Punjab state as of 1947) - so he commissioned the building of this atrocious concrete garden made from earthenware CRAP and mosaic pottery. Fake waterfalls, too. Everywhere around me, Punjabi families by the hundreds were walking through this maze of dump, enjoying the sterile concrete. Bit like that tourist trap in the States called "South of the Border." I thought it was a travesty - a good example of western exploitation. The worst part was the heat. I was wearing a white shirt and sweated through the cotton, leaving damp circles and a full view of my BRA!!!! How mortifying, not even wearing "common" dress, totally exposed and helpless in front of all these families. What a nightmare.

Back at the house in Chandigarh, I took a shower and froze when I saw the toilet - a hole in the ground. But, you know, you have to adapt, right? Then I sat around for hours with this family, not knowing what they were talking about, drinking whiskey and having snacks. Mentioned two words, "George Bush" and heard my first English word of the day: "Hate." Wonderful. My drunken generosity somehow led to me inviting the WHOLE FAMILY to go with us to Dharamsala!! Mother, father, two sons, whole lot. They were very poor and said they had never left Chandigarh. Bless them. Staggered into bed without taking my usual mosquito precautions.

Woke up in the morning with 15 new mosquito bites. Felt more ill than I had ever felt before. Had very swollen glands. For the meds, I had severe submandibular and cervical lymphadenopathy, combined with a wicked hangover and an even worse sore throat. Realized that a whole family was accompanying me to Dharamsala. Ugh.

The 6 hour car ride to Dharamsala was harrowing and I'm surprised I'm still alive. The uphill, steep, winding roads rocked every part of my body and I nearly threw up several times. Soon realized that I must be ill and thought maybe I had strep throat. That's the danger of being a med student - you start self-diagnosing. So I'm thinking, well, if I get a rash and joint pain, I'll know it's rheumatic fever. If my piss turns brown, that's glomerulonephritis. By the time we reached Dharamsala I knew I had a fever and needed to get to a hotel or guest lodge and lie down ASAP.

~Hope