Varanasi

"Ma'am, excuse me ma'am, they want to know if you're okay..."

In my fugue, I barely registered the inquiry much less the two village women taking my pulse and feeling my brow while a passerby interpreted their questions.

I'd been sitting in the women's waiting lounge at the Varanasi train station trying to convince myself I was well enough to handle the 15-hour ride back to Delhi. Attempting to will myself well, I'd been sitting quietly in a corner repeating to myself, "I'm not so sick, I'm not so sick," but apparently my mantra was not working.

The village women had noticed me leaning my head against the cold concrete wall, my right hand kneading my lower abdomen which was gripped in a vise-hold spasm. I think my pained expression coupled with my pale complexion and comatose-like stupor had sparked these kind women's maternal instincts, bringing them to my side, clucking and cooing over me like one of their brood.

"They would like to know if you'd like some medicine," my kindly interpreter continued.

"No, no," I responded weakly. Unfamiliar foods and trying not to offend is what got me in this mess in the first place.

I'd been in Varanasi four days and was finally, slowly beginning to recover from my overwhelming culture shock before sickness struck.

Laundry on the banks of the Ganges

I'd been able to admire the beauty of a sunset over the Ganges River, despite the fact that dead bodies, cows and clothes washers share the same water. I'd been touched by the ceremony and piety of the cremation process for which the city is famous. I'd been able to walk the twisted narrow streets and see past the filth, to enjoy the companionship of a small child who wanted nothing more than to hold my hand and walk with me.

But I'd remained wary of the food. I'd heard that everyone who travels to India gets sick. Given the conditions I'd seen, I was being absolutely paranoid about cleanliness, carrying hand sanitizer everywhere, eating only vegetarian, and carefully choosing to eat in only the busiest restaurants. I hadn't been sick yet and I'd proudly thought I was going to escape without as much as a funny tummy.

But last night I made a grave mistake. I met a group of American Buddhists touring India (despite the country's Hindi majority, India is also the birthplace of Buddhism) and they'd invited me to dinner. Upon our arrival at a rather dilapidated restaurant I asked how they chose it and their rather haughty (and I think very un-Buddhist-like) leader said she'd eaten there two years earlier and assured us it was still "okay". That first warning bell was followed quickly by the second when I cast a skeptical eye around the utterly empty eater. The third alarm rang when I visited the filthy, soap-less washroom. I didn't want to touch a morsel in this potential e-coli factory but not wanting to insult my host, I had a small meal. Looking back, I'm sure the yogurt-based dip was off.

Supressing a urge to retch at the memory, I instead sighed heavily as these sweet women continued to fret over me, a complete stranger. After all the chaos and hassle I'd experienced in India so far, I was amazed and appreciative of this kindness, reassurance I guess that people are just people in the end. However, as much as they wanted to help me, I couldn't risk a folk remedy to avoid offense. Remembering there was a flight back to Delhi in an hour, I made the decision to abandon the train trip that I knew would be hell on wheels.

A sick traveler's closest companion

After thanking the ladies, I tottered unsteadily to the street. I promised the taxi drivers stalking the station that I would pay double fare to whoever could get me to the airport on time. After arguing amongst themselves for five minutes about whether it could be done, two brothers declared they could make it happen. I was barely conscious at this point and struggled to climb into their cab. After careening wildly around lazing cows and sending pedestrians scrambling for the safety of the sidewalk (not to mention sending my stomach into backflips), my drivers not only had me to the terminal in time to board, they stopped enroute to help me buy a plane ticket. I arrived with enough minutes to spare to call a hotel in Delhi to request a pick up and a doctor. After being searched four times prior to boarding (perhaps my profuse sweating alarmed security), I collapsed in my seat, thankful that I had met such helpful people in my time of need.

Getting sick on the road

Nothing makes me want to cry "I want my mommy" more than when I'm sick and alone. Knowing that a year of travel to a number of less-developed countries was bound to result in some unpleasant toilet memories, I stocked up on supplies before I left home. My portable pharmacy became something of a joke among my various traveling companions, but it came in handy several times, both for me and others who neglected to pack so much as a band-aid.

What follows is a list of what I carry. However, travelers should check with their travel clinic (which usually is better informed than the average family doc) on what's best to have for where they are traveling. For Chicago readers, the travel clinic at Northwestern Medical Center is particularly helpful.

Med bag:

• Ace bandage
• Antiseptic (especially if going to the tropics)
• Band-aids of various size
• Cipro (for severe food poisoning...and an antidote to anthrax to boot)
• Cold meds (I never go anywhere without my fave, Nyquil)
• Cough/sore throat meds
• Decongestant
• Ear drops (for swimmer's ear – I'm prone)
• Eye drops (for eye infections)
• Flagyll (wide spectrum antibiotic)
• Gyne meds (especially for women headed to humid or moist climates)
• Headache pain reliever
• Immodium (stops the runs)
• Malarone (malaria pills)
• Needle and syringe (for "iffy" sterile situations)
• Pepto Bismol (for mild tummy upset)
• Thermometer
• List of directions for the proper diagnosis and use of each prescription med
• Letter in English and Spanish saying it was okay for me to carry a needle and syringe – written on hospital letterhead (just in case...)

Questions?
If you want more information about this area you can email the author or check out our Asia Insiders page.