Money, however, continues to shake us back to reality and be the ever present black balloon. The biggest challenge being trying to control the unrealistic urges to starve ourselves and walk ten miles in order to save $2, because that two dollars, over time, will increase enough to buy us another week out traveling. The beginning of our trip was especially bad, when I was still fresh into the rough, backpacker life and had a cushion of leftover holiday fat. We calculated that we could save $400 over the course of the trip if we ate two meals a day instead of one, and meals of saltine crackers with jelly were fairly common. We weren't above stealing the leftover bread from bread baskets or siphoning the tea from our neighbors teapot. Every several days, however, we noticed ourselves hunched over a quart of ice-cream wondering how it had gotten there. So we decided to loosen up a bit, plus in India the food was half the price.
Instead we had to be on guard with our nickels and dimes as the Indians constantly tried to squeeze every one out of you. The stereotype that white people equals money has been particularly hard to kick. Street food suddenly doubles in price, hotels have extra "taxes" and taxi drivers refuse to use their meters. The especially annoying white charge is the "luggage fee" instigated by the bus attendants. It happened so frequently that it has became a daily routine that I can repeat while sleeping:
The bus attendant comes up to and holds out his hand.
"Ten rupee luggage."
I snarl at him and shake my head.
"Ten rupee luggage" he wiggles his fingers. I shake my head again, "You don't charge her ten rupees" I jerk my thumb towards the innocent Indian girl sitting next to me with a duffel bag.
"Only ten rupees, Madam, is nothing."
"If ten rupees was nothing do you think I would be riding the local bus!" And then to completely disprove my point, I jam in my iPOD headphones. He finally leaves and
I am successful in making friends with yet another bus attendant.
The ideas of social equality when it comes to money have been a present theme throughout our journey, and we have become so good at it that we could have made the Hollywood blacklist in the 1940s. Our greatest invention: the communal wallet.
We love it so much, it has morphed into a personified fourth member of our traveling trio. We have affectionately named it "The Master" as he is the one who controls our finances, whether we eat or starve, take a taxi or walk, and determines the level of quality at each hotel. We therefore treat him with dignity and respect. He can be our benevolent leader, treating us to ice cream when he is fat and happy with new bills, or a malicious dictator when he is low on funds, calling in all debts and demands payment with interest. We each deposit an equal amount, and since our communist ways extend to having intense food envy if one person orders something that might be better than the rest of us, we all end up with the same food and a nice even bill. We have scared off new friends along the way, when after dinner I turn to Megan and ask, "Do I need to pay, or is the Master getting it."
Other than money and penance to our Master, the practical needs and errands of everyday life become a challenge. The search for sustenance can take hours, transportation often requires physical and verbal fights, and a whole day has to be budgeted to find hair conditioner.
We fit the profile of the stereotypical wanderer of the developing world. Our unpatriotic tendencies have us cursing our homeland, shaking our fists in shame through the airplane window as we shun the middle class lifestyle of our forefathers (that so many dream of having) only to end up curled under a mosquito net missing hot showers and dark chocolate. We have our ungratefulness beaten our of us by the uncomfortableness and inconveniences of the real world, and are forced to be reconciled to our intolerances.
Our rooms are constantly being decorated with our small wardrobes, drying to a crispy consistences, after a laborious hand washing in the bathroom sink. The most disgusting and unattractive clothes become our most valued possessions as they ware out in a blaze of international glory. Our bowel movements become a daily topic of never ending concern and entertainment. Our conversations have regressed in a sort of reverse evolution from the start of our trip, where flagellants and constipation were followed with giggles and blushing, to now, where each individual is given a turn to describe the progress of their movements while the group nods in unspoken camaraderie before turning their eyes to the next commentator. Is it a sort of bonding experience among westerners described so perfectly by Paul Theroux in his book Great Railway Bizarre, "After the usual greetings and pauses, these people would report on the vulgarities of their digestive tracts. Their passion was graceless and they were as hard to silence as whoopee cushions." Even the proper British are exempt, turning the conversations so vile their charm school teachers role over in their grave.
We realized one night that our trip has become the embodiment of the seven deadly sins. Our cheap, penny pinching ways are the realization of greed, envy and lust are apparent when we meet other travelers whose journeys have been longer, they have been to more places, or have mobile income. Our anger is American, and brews to surface with the lack of customer service and the frequent shouting matches with taxi drives, hotel managers, and kiss-blowing locals.
That leaves sloth and gluttony, the most satisfying of all our debauchery, since they have already been woven into our pre-sojourner lives. Only sloth can describe how we can be exhausted from a 6-month vacation. Rising before 9 am will have us spending a day lying in bed eating crackers off our chests. We seem to expend energy at such a rapid rate we cannot eat enough to keep up with it. The 50%-off-after-9-pm bakeries in Nepal have been a huge obstacle for avoiding temptations. Every night at 8:45 you can find us boguarding the cakes.
God, in His relentless attempts to save us from ourselves, sends us little reminders to convict us and encourage us to change out ways. Such as the beggar woman with no teeth, who hovers over my croissant and cup of chi, pointing to it then to her mouth. Or the adorable Nepalese children, who run up with their ratty pigtails and dirty cloths, hands outstretched, shouting, "SWEETS! SWEETS!" I push my purse full of chocolate bars behind my back as I lie, "No sweets. Don't have." I excuse my behavior because of their impolite manners and lack of "please." Plus, sugar stunts growth and they can't afford a toothbrush.
In conclusion, traveling, in essence, doesn't really change a person, but merely becomes the antidote for bad behavior. The glamor and exoticism that accompanies the traveler is only an illusion created for the families and friends with whom we have unlimited bragging rights upon return home. In reality, travel is really just an excuse to make a jobless life seem productive and validate political incorrectness in the name of a cultural experience. Overeating comes with the guise of trying something new, and to bombard the private lives of unsuspecting foreigners is considered tourism. May God have mercy on our souls.
