Burning ring of fire (NHS, up yours!)

In retrospect, I realise it must have been a combination of things. Christina was out of action for the second or third day in a row, and I had lost count of the times that the curry from the previous night had reminded me of its burning existence. The pattern would repeat itself a few times during the journey, but the prevalent factor must have been the heat. It kind of knocks off the normal functions of your body and your existence is reduced to a lethargic struggle for survival. Not that I was having any of it, bouncing about from place to place with a mad gleam in my eyes to compliment the hectic travel itinerary of a fool. For my part, I somehow managed to keep it all together but Christina was knocked out by fever and stomach pains a few times. My mother had painted a rather bleak picture of healthcare in India before we set off - so much for her expertise providing similar services at the headquarters of Nokia; so, for the record, she has been proven wrong. On two occasions, once at the outskirts of a jungle, we received prompt private healthcare for the hefty price of a hundred rupees a go, just over one pound sterling. Now, in defence of my mother’s advice, it may not take a rocket scientist to prescribe antibiotics to tourists complaining of stomach pains. Yet, I have learned from elsewhere that healthcare services on the upper echelons of the price scale are fast becoming products catering for international demand in the form of health tourism. As one tourist guide to Bangalore puts it, open-heart surgery may come with around a quarter of the price in India as compare to the West. (Americans - do not take this literally; consult your GP before getting any ideas.) The quality seems to be in place too – at least one backpacker we met on the road vouched for local dentists. And adding to this, a European medical student tells me that most of the top Australian insitutes are crowded with Indian specialists. Go figure, I got the impression that at least tourists are in good hands – not something I can necessarily brag about back home.

And the picture below? Well, even at the dusty temple trail across Tamil Nadu (Madurai), on antibiotics and seemingly pale, at least some stubborn ladies of potent Bavarian breed still manage to stay firm and haggle a good deal in time to catch the night train. A set of custom made skirts to put a smile on a tired face, ha!