Recipe for Delhi Belly

India.  Everything is so new, and yet instantly familiar all at once.  A few days in Delhi and I am spewing my guts out.  However, it’s not just the spicy food and questionable hygiene.  Delhi seems to combine the best of the worst of all my travels and places I have been.   Some sort of Muddled Memory Masala.

Grease the pan with the quick, slick fingers of Roman Gypsies.

Measure Out  6 parts of chaotic cacophonous Cairo traffic and 1 part cheek to jowl Tokyo trains at rush hour (with a dash of a lewd poke in the back.)

Add a generous helping of Tangier’s tricky touts.

Mix in  a smattering of cheesy come-ons and wandering hands of Istanbul’s Casanovas.

Fold  in a heaping cup of the anytime-anywhere  shitting and spitting free-for -all  of Chengdu.

Pour in the amputees and baby-laden beggars of Cambodia.

Sprinkle with a splash of the latrines after a 4 day trance festival.

Simmer at a sweltering 48 degrees C (116 F)

And voila!  A recipe for one week on the toilet.

The funniest thing is, I am enjoying every minute of it.  The sights and colors and smells are more than I dreamed of.  Somehow the chaos is just what I had hoped for.  More on the wonders of India to come!

No puking. (actually, no spitting!)

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