Emily in India

While I was in Indore, the UKers invited me to join them the next weekend on a trip to Goa, a beach on the west coast of India. Being in my “Yes” era, I agreed and booked my flight. Shortly after booking my flight for 10 pm on Thursday, I realized it was the same night I had agreed to serve on a panel for the US on rotations! My flight was to land at 11:30 pm and the panel was to begin at 12:30 am. I was hopeful I could make it work.

Thursday rolled around, I went to work, and left for the airport straight from the office. I sat next to a guy at the airport who was arguing on the phone saying, “I’m not ready for a fucking kid! I’m not ready to be a dad!” and “That’s MY kid in your stomach!” At one point, he hung up or got hung up on and stormed away. I thought maybe he decided not to go to Goa and go console his baby mama but he soon returned to the terminal. It was very entertaining. The flight went well.

I landed in Goa, eager beyond belief to get the driver that had been arranged for me. It took about 15 minutes for him to arrive, I jumped in the car and we were on our way. I arrived at the lodging in Goa with 10 minutes to spare. Needless to say, the host was very glad to see me. The panel went well and I am glad I did it.

On Friday morning, we all worked for a bit and then walked to a nearby café for breakfast (Café Chocolatti). I had planned to work from the café but it was far too loud. I took one call from a corner and then joined the group for delicious eggs benedict. Once done, we walked to the nearby beach. The weather was hot hot hot and the beach was crowded. Umbrellas and chairs as far as the eye could see. We walked the beach and back to the Airbnb for rest.

We planned to have dinner at The Ivoryy. Charlotte, Ben, and I arrived at the restaurant (after having to explain to our Uber driver that the spot he was trying to drop us off was not in fact the place we were going) and it was a madhouse. So many people, such loud music. While we waited for Megan and Arththi to arrive, and for our table outside to be ready, we sat at a table inside and YELLED about how unpleasant the place was. Megan and Arththi got there and we all decided to go somewhere else for dinner. I found a spot just a short walk away and we enjoyed a lovely quiet dinner. Some of them decided to go to a bar after dinner but if you know me, you know I went back to the place to sleep.

The next day, we had arranged for mopeds to be delivered to the Airbnb. When asked whether I wanted my own to drive or if I wanted to join someone as a rider, I said, “I’ve never driven one before…” and they all responded, “neither have we!” I thought about how mad Bryan would be at me, how silly it was to attempt driving in India, but considered that if everyone was new to the experience, surely it would be okay. I was in. When the guy arrived, we met him downstairs with our drivers’ licenses. He advised that international drivers’ licenses were legally required but that he wouldn’t have a business if he only rented to people with international drivers’ licenses. I swiftly grabbed my DL back from him and said, “nope, I am not interested. I don’t want to get into any trouble in India.” Then I thought to ask, “what is the penalty if we are pulled over without the proper license? Jail? Money?” He said we’d have to pay 200-500 rupees so again, I was in. I thought, “I can bribe a cop, I just don’t want to go to jail.”

The moped was so much heavier than I expected. In the driveway, to straighten out, I lightly grabbed the throttle and swiftly ran into Charlotte. She was not injured. I kept on. Our first stop was a gas station, further away than I personally would’ve like. But it was thrilling to be driving a moped in India! I was shaky, not very confident, and needed to keep it slow. Turns were the worst! Very scary! We rode to Café Chocolatti, and parked across the street in front of a little strip mall of sorts. We had delicious breakfast and returned to find our bikes…. But we couldn’t find them. We walked all around to see if they had been moved before learning that they had been picked up for being parking illegally. The “tow” company advised that they were on lunch so would bring our bikes back in an hour or 2. We pulled our cash together and a couple of us walked home while the others shopped and waited for the bikes to be returned. I think we wound up paying 500 rupee per bike but eventually, we had them back. On the way back to the Airbnb, I was intent on getting my turns down better. I took a left hand turn onto the street and veered too far right. I stopped the bike and corrected. Back at the Airbnb, I was thrilled to have survived the experience.

I took a nap and woke up to text messages about meeting somewhere for the sunset. I promise you, I laid in bed thinking, “Emily, you’ve had a good day. Everything is fine. You can still tell Bryan that you drove the moped successfully. Don’t push your luck.” And decided to go anyway.

On the way to the sunset spot, I came to an uphill right-hand curve and tried to mentally prepare myself. “I can do this, I can do this.” And rode right into a cement wall. The front of the moped was crushed, and the entire left side of my body was scraped and bleeding. It was road rash except from a concrete wall, not the road. I was horrified. A couple on a moped going the other way stopped, came across the street to see if I was okay and to straighten out my bike. I texted the group that someone would need to come get me and someone else would need to take my bike back. I was bloody, shaky, embarrassed, and mad at myself. My fellow travelers were so wonderful. Kind, caring, and helped me get all cleaned up. Between the regret and pain, sleep did not come easily that night.

The next day, the group went to the beach, and I stayed back. Given my wounds, there was no good way for me to get dressed or move. Sweat and sand was out of the question. I talked to Bryan, told him about the accident. He was wonderful. So concerned and loving. He asked how bad it was, I played it down but then he insisted on seeing the wounds. We talked about how glad we both were that I was okay. When he asked what happened, I said, “remember riding bikes in Mammoth when I ran along side of the mountain? That but worse.” 

I nursed my wounds and relaxed. Ordered lunch from Café Chocolatti and rested until the group got back. They helped me re-dress my wounds and get ready for our last dinner in Goa. I had pumped myself up to go and planned the right outfit for the occasion, a long, loose-flowing sleeveless dress. I wore a scarf around my shoulders to cover my arm wounds. It wasn’t easy to walk but the group was patient. We went to a seafood restaurant and played Spoons. It was idyllic! A warm, muggy night in Goa, India with a handful of English, playing card games.

I flew back to Bengaluru early the next morning, all wrapped up so as not to bleed through my clothes on the flight.

The saddest thing upon returning was that Mallappa was about to go home to visit his family. His dad had fallen ill and while he expected to be back at the end of the weekend, he wound up being gone the whole week. Before leaving, he brought my backpack to the hotel and saw my injuries. He was shocked and upset that I hadn’t told him. But knowing me, he said, “well, it was an experience! An adventure!” I was assigned another driver for the week.

I decided to work from the hotel because getting dressed and moving was still a painful task. I notified my boss and counterpart that I had been in a little two-wheeler accident. I wish I hadn’t. Boss called me, counterpart called me, colleagues texted me. Before long, it seemed that the entire team knew of my silly error and that I was driving without an international drivers’ license. I declined the suggestion to go to a hospital, thinking that the wounds were clean and going to the hospital was too extreme for the situation. Throughout the day though, I saw that the wounds weren’t looking great and decided to schedule an appointment at a nearby clinic for the next morning.

The next morning (Tuesday), I got an auto to the clinic. When I saw the doctor, she asked how the wounds happened and insisted that she could not do anything if I hadn’t yet been to the hospital. I couldn’t believe it. All I wanted was for someone to clean my wounds professionally; I thought a hospital visit was waaaay overboard. So I went back to the hotel, stubbornly against going to a hospital. A few hours later, my pride diminished, and I decided I just needed to get in front of medical professionals. Counterpart sent a car from the office and told me which hospital to go to. A colleague met me there.

I walked straight into the emergency room and straight to a bed. No sitting, no waiting. I sat in the bed while a nurse gathered the facts. A doctor came to clean my wounds and dress them. Another came to be consulted, making sure that the protocol being followed made sense (mainly that I didn’t need any scans, nothing was broken). 20-30 minutes later, I was all set. I got antibiotics and strong Tylenol from the hospital pharmacy and the entire visit totaled $18.

I am now a huge advocate of the Indian healthcare system!

On top of that, I’ve done a lot of self-reflection since then on keeping myself safe. It is time to grow up and really pay attention to my gut and what I know about myself, and what is best for me. I am a Yes girl and I want all of the adventures, I just have to be more calculated about the risks I take and the risks I don’t take. Lesson learned.