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April 30, 2007
Day Ten
Some of the rumours are true.
Last
night Naushad told me that if I wanted to run
outdoors I should make my way to the beach where
a great many people jogged each morning. That
sounded like a smashing idea and my plan was to
hit it early.
I was up at 7:30 but I decide to try and get on
the internet somewhere first. As I’ve
mentioned, a few of the athletes I’m working
with are racing Wildflower this weekend and I
was hoping for a last minute Skype with one who
was having some bike issues before she left.
The streets were as quiet as they get here at
that hour. I jumped in a rickshaw and made my
way to a hotel with trustworthy – if a bit
expensive internet. I was supremely lucky to
get on and doubly lucky to find my gal on as
well. Her bike issues had been cleared up and
she was keen to get out there. Another small
weight off my shoulders.
During the rickshaw ride back to the apartment I
came upon a funeral procession. Quite the
event. Probably two to three hundred people
walking down the street, four and five abreast.
They carried candles and small pictures of the
deceased. There was a lot of loud praying but
few other noises. I think it’s only time the
ever-present honking of horns let up for more
than a moment. I thought of snapping a photo
but I was too close to be discrete and opted not
to.
Back at the apartment I prepped for my run. I
was disappointed to discover my fist flask had
not made the trip from Goa. I had done a
thorough idiot check at the hotel before we left
so I can only imagine where it disappeared to.
Oh well.
I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I made
last time. I drank as much water as my gut
would hold and headed out the door. The streets
were still quite enough (this place wakes up at
about 10 AM) for me to actually jog down the
street to the beach access about two minutes
away.
As you approach the beach it looks like almost
any other beach you might see in any other
resort. People play soccer and cricket.
families frolic in and out of the water.
Naushad had warned me to stay out of the water,
as it was quite polluted. He needn't of told me
though. I would not have braved those brown
waters for nothing. Later I would learn how
right he was.
The run started out nicely. I felt good and the
temperature on the beach was cooler than even a
hundred meters in. The breeze blew from the
ocean and the air was heavy and clean.
But it wasn’t long before differences in those
other beaches I’d mentioned earlier soon became
apparent.
First there’s the refuse. Everywhere is litter
– bottles and wrappers mostly but also bright
articles of clothing floated at the shore’s
edge. Scarves, shorts and even a Muslim head
dress were in evidence.
Further on I came across a rotted dead fish and
even further a dead dog. I worried what I might
find if I kept going.
The crowds thinned out and soon I came across a
squalid settlement on the beach. It looked like
fishermen might live there.
A little while later, just before the beach
ended, I saw a long row of men and boys
squatting at the edge of the surf. I thought
they might be digging for shells or some such
thing but I was wrong. They were relieving
themselves. None seemed overly concerned about
my trespassing on what is usually considered a
private affair. Understand that these were not
all from the poorer class. One guy was chatting
on his cell phone as he was dropping the kids
off at the pool. Multi-tasking is an important
skill in today’s busy world.
I was not as disturbed this turn of events I
would have imagined I would be. As a runner
there’s been more than one occasion where
modesty prevented me from doing what nature was
strongly suggesting I should do forthwith.
But then a disturbing thought crossed my mind
and I looked closely to the ground. The place
was covered in human feces. I must have looked
quite the fool as I turned around, dancing and
lurching to and fro to get out of the area.
This was turning out to be quite a shitty run (I
just had to say it) when matters got even
worse. My left Achilles was beginning to ache.
I hoped it was just the unfamiliar stress of
running on soft sand, on a slope and doing a lot
of lateral dodging that was source.
When I re-emerged back into the populated area
of the beach a young boy decided to run awhile
with me. He was probably twelve or so. He
stayed with me for almost a mile, running in his
bare feet.
Because of the increasing soreness of the tendon
I decided to cut the run short at 35 minutes.
In the end I will try to remember the lad
running and smiling along with me, rather than
the other images burned in my mind.
4:30 PM. I’m alone in the apartment and have
been in the writing zone for a little better
than five hours. Suddenly there is a knock at
the door. I’m startled out of my stupor to see
who it is. I’m shocked to see a nebbish little
Indian fellow with electronic tools in his
hand. The Internet man has arrived! I almost
had a coronary on the spot. Thirty minutes
later and I’m surfing the net!
All is right and true in the world again!
Except now I’m limping. My Achilles has
tightened right up on me. Not good.
Just before I was about to go to bed DJ’s phone
rang. It was Kabir. Apparently our servants
were on their way over! Servants – plural.
What the hell were we going to do with two
servants?! I can’t even imagine how one could
fill the day and there is only one tiny little
bed (all the beds are tiny) in the spare room –
no other bedding or mattresses. I was too tired
to wait for them but I guess the morning will
bring the introductions. DJ agreed to stay up
and welcome them.
I can’t say I’m comfortable with this whole
idea. In fact I know I’m not. We’ll see how it
goes. This is India and this is how it is here. |
