Don’t Buy the Overpriced Airport Masks: A Tragedy in 2 Parts

February 21

The structures of my face sound as though they are made of styrofoam filled with whatever that viscous fluid is in levels. If you’re looking for verbs, they squeak and squelch. My head is packed full of goo like a human stress ball.

Last week I left home and realized I left my masks behind. No worries, K gave me a procedural mask and then I found a KN95 at the Toronto airport for the unholy price of $10. The woman even confirmed I knew the price before tapping my card because she had been yelled at so many times regarding the price. I put that in my easy access bag and stuffed the other in my suitcase. Just the moment I went to put the overpriced piece of trash on my face on the plane, the string broke right at the attachment point. No place to tie it. Well, fuck.

Here I am a week later making the same sounds other people on the plane were making that night. I’m taking Tylenol Cold and chugging immunity boosting hydration enhancers but they aren’t making much difference and it just has to run its course.  

Not ideal on the day we are making the 6+ hours drive to Bhuj. 

We accomplished most of the poking around Ahmedabad and the surrounding area. I’m a bit sad we didn’t make it to the Toilet Garden, but we did get out of town to the Sun Temple at Modhera and a stepwell and world famous double Ikat weaving family in Patan. The textiles in Gujarat are really something else. The Patola weaving was way outside my price range but I hope to buy some gaudy mirrored something or other from the tribal women of Kutch. When you think of heavily embroidered patchwork mirrored “Gypsy” style clothing, that’s what they are famous for making. I missed out on those skirts in Perú so I want to get something here.

I noticed the other day that the in look for stylish young rural men is a reverse mullet. Short on the back and long and floppy on the sides and front. Business in the back, party in the front. It’s the perfect heartthrob look, tidy, but with the glossy locks of hair flopping in their eyes to attract the girls. I predict it’s going to catch on.

February 22

I thought I woke up feeling bad yesterday. That was naive. During the 6.5 hour drive to Bhuj I began coughing and snot rushed like a mighty river. I had an Anokhi fine hand blocked hankie up each nostril so I was travelling in style. Before Bhuj I was running hot and cold - I clearly had a fever and, as we checked in to our offensively perfumed, impressively posh spa hotel, I attempted to appear as though I wasn’t carrying a plague.  

We were directed to an exquisitely appointed room and I rushed to the toilet. When I came out with my pants undone the porter was standing right in front of me. K was explaining that we had booked twin beds and this only had one massive bed. There was no way she was sharing it with my plague ridden ass and I don’t blame her. They walked us past a gorgeous sunlit swimming pool and all sorts of activities I could not humanly do. 

Once they understood what we wanted they sent us to a double room where I promptly laid down and curled into a fetal ball for over 12 hours with only a break for a banana lassi and some veggies. I alternated between frozen and broiling, rolled over to watch a spectacular sunset conveniently placed for my pillow. K went out on the town sightseeing and left me to my misery. She proved herself a true stalwart travelling friend by returning with a metric fucktonne of Indian pharmaceuticals and tissues. 

This morning my fever had broken and I felt better, but not great. The symptoms were med contained enough for me to experience the amazing Smitrivan Earthquake Museum and visit a few textile producing villages and embroidery museum before coming back to shower and collapse with a less gruesome version of yesterday’s fever.  

The skills of the villagers of Kachchh are mind blowing. Back in the late 60s a social reformer and textile lover worked to bring the village women’s work to commerce and taught it to villages that didn’t yet have a tradition. Hand looming is the work of women or men, but batik, embroidery and mirror work are what the women do to contribute to the economy, especially since they are not allowed to leave the house and must be invisible to any visiting men. They remain inside, seen only by family and other women and they are dressed TO KILL! Talk about all dressed up and no place to go. Their textiles are works of art.

Bed now.