It's a part of the world that a person can't be neutral about. You end up with strong feelings, most contradictory, all whirling around your head like banshees, invading your sleep and your consciousness. You love it, and want more of it: and you hate it, and wonder how you ever got through it.
Images keep coming back. Noise. Pollution. Garbage. Jostling people. Shouting. Dust. Breath in cold air. Literal shit holes. Beggars. Lepers. Burning corpses. Smoke, endless smoke. Child goddesses. Animals.
And more images. Brilliant blue skies. Magnificent palaces and temples. Spices and incense. Rushing waters. Tall, wise and endless trees. Rice fields. Gold in sunlight. Friendly "hellos". Beautiful children. Photos with complete strangers. Survival. Strength. Courage. Hope. History.
Trips like this test the traveller. It's not a Sunday drive, not a visit up to a familiar cottage, not an all-inclusive resort. It's long drives on broken roads, dust filled and pothole infested. It's a sore back, even though you did nothing but sit for hours. It's lining up for paper work, much of which makes no sense until you realize that there are millions upon millions upon millions of people who need and have jobs pushing the paper. It's having everything you know and believe to be true suddenly torn apart by completely different ways of thinking. It's realizing how good you have it at home, and then understanding that other people don't think you have it so good after all.
Would I go again? Difficult to say. Having been here once, why go back? Yet, there is a small part in the back of my brain that has been infected. Never say never. I'll be back. Maybe I'll be more ready next time, more prepared to open my eyes and ears more. More ready for the sensory punishment that comes with the territory here.
I'll be back.
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