The Clumsy Traveler

I was happy to be able to meet Josh’s childhood friends during the time I was in Chennai. It’s a really rare and special thing to stay so close with the same people your whole life – I feel fortunate to have such a group of girlfriends back home. At the very least, such a reunion always makes for excellent stories. 😉 I also found it pretty funny that I was wearing the most brightly-colored traditional Indian garb out of everyone there. The picture speaks for itself.

One thing I have been getting used to (and it’s not just part of Indian culture) is sharing plates at mealtimes. Generally when we go out to a restaurant with friends or family, everyone gets their own dish. There’s some sharing, but not like the buffet-style meals here, where many dishes are ordered and everything is passed around. It just reminds me of how individual U.S. culture tends to be, as opposed to the more collectivist cultures of Asia and other areas of the world. Sharing is easy, though – sitting on the ground is a bit more challenging to adjust to. Something about it makes me feel like a little kid, but it’s very common at mealtimes here and informal gatherings like we had. The table in the apartment was very low, and there were no chairs around it. What I was most entranced by, though, was the beautiful, enormous, intricate drawing of a peacock on the wall. It was like a henna design, and Josh’s friend just decided to decorate her wall with this freehand art. Very whimsical.

Another aspect of this culture that I have grown up quite far removed from is firsthand knowledge of where your food comes from and how it gets to your table – particularly livestock. I come from a small suburban town in New England, dotted with farm stands. Still, I never saw or really learned about how the chicken on my plate got there, or what happened to the cow that made my burger. When I was young, the idea of killing an animal was too distressing to think about – I didn’t even like fishing because I felt bad for the worm on the hook, let alone the fish itself. It’s only now that I have glanced over to see a chicken being slaughtered in a roadside stand. My friends from China and India have taken ducks and chickens from farm to table, learning how to humanely kill the animal, pluck it, prepare it…and they seem to view their food differently because of this. They don’t think it’s something to feel guilt and lamentation over, but rather an appreciation or even an awe, because when you have raised the livestock yourself, you have an entirely different relationship with the process – a more caring relationship – and you want very little of the animal to go to waste. I do wish that more of my food could be sourced locally, and I think that I will make more of a conscious effort when I return to the U.S. to seek this out. I’m too much of a carnivore to ever become a vegetarian, but I do want to ensure that I’m supporting humane organizations…and eating more healthfully!

In general, food was a source of anxiety for me as I prepared for my trip to India. I was diagnosed with celiac disease almost four years ago, abruptly ending my cherished relationship with bread, pasta, pizza, brownies…all those magical gluten-filled treats. Since then, eating outside of my home has almost always been an uncertain, often frustrating endeavor. The consequences of me accidentally eating gluten are so painful that I would usually rather not eat at all than take a risk on any food that I did not prepare myself. It’s hard enough in the U.S., where people speak my language, to ensure that I’m eating safely – how on earth was I supposed to navigate all of these small shops and food stands? I was pretty sure the terms “celiac disease” and “gluten-free” were going to get me a lot of confused looks. Thankfully I was no stranger to Indian food before I arrived, South Indian cuisine in particular. Since the diet largely revolves around meat, vegetables, and rice, I knew that I would be okay for the most part. Other than that, I just had to learn as I went. Naan? No. Dosa? Yes. Chapati? Nope. Vada? Two, please!

In actuality, I was less concerned about gluten and more concerned about getting sick from a roadside stand or drinking water that was unsafe. It has been easy to find large hotels and nice restaurants, though, and I never leave my room without at least one bottle of water. Chai and masala tea (and the yummy masala milk in the picture above) have also been everywhere, and because the water for tea has been boiled, I haven’t had a problem. I’m getting quite used to my afternoon chai!

Just in case I might need them, I did print out some restaurant cards from the Celiac Society Rajasthan, which explain the disease and its dietary limitations, both in English and Hindi. I thought it was such a cool find! I’m really interested to learn more about the prevalence of celiac disease in India and other Asian countries. It’s still a pretty mysterious disease on many levels. I was surprised to learn that children in Italy are tested at a very young age for celiac disease, but food is so central to culture that in a country where gluten is ubiquitous, it’s important to have that kind of knowledge and support as early as possible. Still, here’s hoping for some kind of cure! Travel isn’t quite the same without culinary daring.