Powerless Nights of Impression

Homeslice,

 

Okay, let's try this again ... and turn the clock back to those heady days of February 28.

 

I'd checked into the hotel and took a cold-water shower.  You could see the filth just squeegee off of me and it took quite a while to clear my nostrils of that oh-so-pleasant black mucus (this is the result of being around 2-stroke engines, and the only downside of riding in the trishaws). 

 

As I'm getting dressed, I notice a black spec on the bathroom shelf.  Closer inspection shows, and I swear this is true, a rat dropping.  And it's not just a rat dropping, it's a fresh one -- one that has appeared since I went in to check the room and now.

 

I took a quick walk on the beach -- they have a really impressive shore break here -- maybe as much as 6', and it's more than a little reminiscent of Carmel.  Found the Internet cafe, did my thing, and then headed back.

 

One small error I notice already -- I forgot to bring a flashlight.  India is the kind of place where there's no such thing as consistent power and it's not too unusual to see a transformer just suddenly snap, crackle and pop.

 

I settle down to bed and fall quickly asleep, but not before hearing some world-class incindiaries.  Fireworks a long and valued tradition of the b1 family and nothing cheers us up like a good firecracker.

 

And these are impressive.  Really, really big explosives have a weird trait and that is once they go off, there's a tiny space where everything is pulled *toward* the detonation and then pushed away.  You can see this effect the best on things like nuclear tests, but this is true right down to large(r) firecrackers. 

 

When these things go off, I can feel the suck from underneath my door.  I'm all for that.

 

They expend their amory and then wander elsewhere.  I fall into a quick and heavy sleep.

 

A few hours later (I don't know, but I would guess it's around midnight), I'm awakened by people beating on drums and chanting slogans.  My friend Scott Maberry said to me once that it's almost impossible to tell the difference between a carnival and a religious celebration in In., and that is certainly true.  Some big holiday.  We're on lunar new year, so it's gotta be something H.

 

And this is pointing, yet again, to another thing I've forgotten.  I don't have any foam earplugs with me.  I've probably bought 100 pairs of those damn things in my life: I have them in my computer bag, my suit bag, the glovebox of my car, my apartment, my dresser at my mom's house.  But I don't have any with me.  I tried buying some at the Heathrow airport, but they were sold out.

 

To make matters worse, the power has now gone out, so I can't sit and read Harrington. 

 

While I grooving to the thumping H. beat, someone tries my door.  Then they try it again.  If a door has been built to a somewhat older standard (say, mideval with a huge throw bolt), you have exactly one defense to keep the baddies at bay: don't open your door. 

 

So I don't.

 

If they're still jiggling the handle once the sun comes up, well then, we'll have a little talk.

 

While I'm sitting there, waiting for the time to pass, I feel something like a drop of water on my stomach -- it's fallen off the mosquito net over my bed.  I feel and hunt around my curvaceous stomach, but i can't feel anything -- it's not water, for sure.  In In., you don't ignore things like this.  I'll be trying to figure out what that is as soon as either I wake up, or we get power.

 

The celebrating madmen pound their three beats for another 20 minutes or so and then pack it it.  Shortly after that I hear a loud pop and a hum -- that means the power is back on.  I flip on the light and look around ... I see what that thing is that I felt on my stomach: it's a small pointy bug.

 

I try to mash it, but it won't squash.  I scoop around for it with my boarding pass and get a close look at it.  My oh my.  It's a bedbug. 

 

I look around the bed.  There's at least four I can see and they are all inside the mosquito net.  Now lesser mortals would automatically run for the exits, but there are two things to keep in mind here:

 

1. This is In.  What do you expect?  Of course there will be bedbugs.

 

2. I've treated all my clothing with a super-hardcore insecticide known as permethrin.  And I've treated my clothes in the most hardcore of ways -- total submersion and bagging for 24 hours, and then allowed to drip dry.  In short, I have the agent orange of clothing.

 

I put on my sweat pants and a thin long sleeve t-shirt.  I put socks on my feet and a (permethrin) bandana on my head.  This leaves me with about 50 square inches of skin exposed -- my face and neck and my hands.  To help those, I get my bug repellent sunscreen and lather up.

 

That takes care of that problem.

 

But now I'm wide awake.  I flip on the lights and read Harrington.  This goes on until it's just starting to get light outside then I settle down to sleep.

 

All's well, so far,

m.