The reason I gave for coming to India was to get treatment on my increasingly screwed up left leg which was misdiagnosed by an NHS doctor many years ago and if I ever come across that NHS doctor again I will happily take a hammer and smash his left foot to smithereens. You heard it here first!
India has a herbal form of treatment known as Ayurveda which involves a mix of oils applied to the whole body before being given the massage of your life, the 'doctor' pulling and yanking and kneading the muscles and tendons and joints back into position. I took a 7day course and after each session I went back to my room, showered then lay down on the bed feeling really groggy, not sick, just exhausted, kind of down to the last ounce of strength to beat what has become a disability. It wasn't easy.
By day I swam length after length in the pool - the sea has a dangerous undertow which has dragged more than a few to a watery grave. But the problem with the pool was that it was dotted with mid to late age obese Europeans who see the water as a place to float about in like wallowing hippos getting in the way of serious swimmers such as myself. Though this did have it's merits, the main one being while I waited for the hippo convoy to pass by and I could listen in on conversations, for example the rampant 50 year old lady from Nuneaton desperate for a shag and a drink because Kerala State is semi-dry of alcohol and hard liquor is rationed and sold at special government controlled outlets.
Nuneaton Lady (whispers loudly to Essex bloke with tattoos who knows it all): Do you know where I can get something to drink? I mean booze.
Essex Bloke: Course I do, love. What you after?
Nuneaton Lady: Vodka.
PAUSE
Nuneaton Lady: Cheap.
The treatment, touch wood, does seem to have worked, unlike any manner of other treatments I've suffered through that have all resolutely failed, and after some sort of rejuvenation I headed over the road to see my buddy Naz.
India has a herbal form of treatment known as Ayurveda which involves a mix of oils applied to the whole body before being given the massage of your life, the 'doctor' pulling and yanking and kneading the muscles and tendons and joints back into position. I took a 7day course and after each session I went back to my room, showered then lay down on the bed feeling really groggy, not sick, just exhausted, kind of down to the last ounce of strength to beat what has become a disability. It wasn't easy.
By day I swam length after length in the pool - the sea has a dangerous undertow which has dragged more than a few to a watery grave. But the problem with the pool was that it was dotted with mid to late age obese Europeans who see the water as a place to float about in like wallowing hippos getting in the way of serious swimmers such as myself. Though this did have it's merits, the main one being while I waited for the hippo convoy to pass by and I could listen in on conversations, for example the rampant 50 year old lady from Nuneaton desperate for a shag and a drink because Kerala State is semi-dry of alcohol and hard liquor is rationed and sold at special government controlled outlets.
Nuneaton Lady (whispers loudly to Essex bloke with tattoos who knows it all): Do you know where I can get something to drink? I mean booze.
Essex Bloke: Course I do, love. What you after?
Nuneaton Lady: Vodka.
PAUSE
Nuneaton Lady: Cheap.
The treatment, touch wood, does seem to have worked, unlike any manner of other treatments I've suffered through that have all resolutely failed, and after some sort of rejuvenation I headed over the road to see my buddy Naz.