Vaccinations

Flight booked and paid for? Check.

Visa application submitted and FedEx-ed? Check. 

Next on my list of preparations: Vaccinations. 

I wasn't really 100% sure I needed vaccinations. This was just one of the wives tales from the 50's and 60's I operated under. So I turned as usual to my friend, Google.

Does an American need vaccinations before travelling to India 

And right there, fourth link down, the CDC -- so I followed it.

Where I learned that I needed to get a Hep A vaccine, regardless where I'm staying in India. I should get a Hep B vaccine if I think I'll get a tattoo while in India, or experience the pleasures of an exotic new sex partner. I should consider getting inoculated against Japanese encephalitis and Yellow fever. And, I should consider getting a Rabies vaccine.

I logged online to my doctor's appointment site, pasted in a cleaned up listing of the CDC recommendations, and sent off my request for an appointment at the earliest convenience.

Dream 6

For days I let my eyes wander without interest along the shoreline on the starboard side of our open galley. It was awash in beautiful colors of flowers and cliffs and villages and vineyards and groves. Often I spotted ruins, evidence of civilized life hundreds and thousands of years gone, with no more interest than I might notice cars driving on the streets below my balcony at home -- all curiosity sucked from me like dirt by a Dyson.

Such was the awful, evil power of Incessa and her noise.

We seven rowers had remained in check since the awful spectacle of Dianna's outburst, Incessa's punishment, and Dianna's subsequent death-by-shark. I could feel the tension mounting around me, and so could Rolando, as I'd come to learn was the drum beater's name. His frantic hurried whispers implored that we make no ruckus against Incessa's noise, and that we learn to ignore it somehow -- as he had apparently done some decades anon.

Easier said than done, it was like fingernails grating on a chalkboard, like being awoken from a wonderful dream by simultaneous beeping of two hundred smoke and CO2 detectors.

My partner to the right, Katie, had been an acquaintance from the YMCA, and now we spoke sometimes in low whispers. She knew no more of how she arrived here than I. She feared she may be the next Dianna. I could see the growing distress on the faces of the captives around me, evidenced by highly raised eyebrows and darting eyes, fast shallow breath. All but one, front row starboard, seemed near a breaking point.

At evening just before our sundown water break I sensed a roar behind me as we pulled. I turned my head in time to see a large waterspout bearing down on our boat. With a movement like a cat the woman rowing behind me stood, stepped upon the stern deck and dove headfirst into the churning spout. Within an instant the waterspout collapsed in upon itself, became a swirling black drain in the water, and then smoothed out into a calm, glassy surface.

Incessa didn't even notice.

...I really don't see any need to expose myself to people who are different from me I don't mean expose myself in the dirty obscene sense I just mean why would I choose to socialize with people who are different from me it's just not proper the right sort of people shall we say don't look beyond their own community I already know how these people are I see it in movies and on the news they live in slums or in Brooklyn why do these people want me to eat their food I have no interest in going ashore here to eat the macaroni when I can get the same thing at Olive Garden I would never eat sushi it looks too weird the proper sort of people agree that it looks weird and that's how I know that the people who eat sushi are not the sort of people shall we say that I would want to expose myself to a foreigner wouldn't recognize the absolute of wearing a black suit as proper corporate attire why would I want to eat foreign food I'm sure the kitchen is very dirty I've never been in one of course but I have a knack for knowing these things ...

Two Week Turnaround

Applying for a Visa is not a very egalitarian experience.

Certainly the diplomatic relationship between the applicant's country of citizenship, the applicant's country of residence, and the country to be visited will play a major part in the successful processing of the application. This immediately establishes a certain pool of people whose applications will almost always be left in the inbox at the end of the workday.

Beyond this would be having the financial means necessary to warrant, in the form of sliding fees, your application rising higher in the priority pile.

One must weigh these prioritical considerations when first filling out the application, along with reviews you may find online, and anecdotes from friends or friends of friends.

I had three months before my departure to receive my Visa and Passport, and after tossing in a large helping of salt a la Lek's experience, I decided I would pay for two week turnaround.

Even if this became in actuality a two month turnaround, I would still be safe.

Dream 5

I was stunned after the violent death of Dianna. I kept pulling on the oar, we all did, but my mind was in a fog.

I stared off into nothingness for an eternity, coming to myself when I was visited the next morning by the time keeper with his ladle.

"Her name is Incessa," he whispered rapidly. "My mother sold me to her many years ago. She stops talking only when there is no one left to listen -- and then she crushes me to her breast, wraps her arms and legs around me in a smothering grip, and whines with fear until I pass out. And each time, when I awaken, there is a full contingent of eight rowers and we begin our journey again. I know not how you came to be here but I'm glad you are. I'm sorry that our fortunes are at cross purposes. I was a kind person once." He glanced into my eyes, and was gone. 

He shuffled back up toward the bow, took up his drum, and we began to row.

The noise was a like a vacuum cleaner trying to suction after its moving parts have been locked in place by strands and strands of long coarse hair.

 … a black suit is the only way for a woman to look professional in today's corporate environment I learned this is my recent master's degree program where I'm on the board and I still visit the campus as often as possible so that everyone knows me yes I haven't had a real corporate job in twenty years but things haven't changed that much the good things never really change I only wear Levi's like I wore in high school they are still the best still the most fashionable jeans look what are mom jeans I never shop in a discount store only the wrong kind of people would shop at Marshalls or Nordstrom Rack the right kind of people shall we say will only pay full price for items they find at the mall shall we say... 

I noticed ancient ruins, still standing columns, on a hilltop above the water, but my flash of interest in something larger than myself was sucked out of me by Incessa's never ending blather.

I caught the eye of the rower across the aisle to my right, and pointed her to the ruin with a quick jerk of my chin. She nodded in a tired and disinterested way.

All we could do was row.

Visa! Visa!

Upon receipt of the phone number I was able to quickly fill out my information through page 4, and finish the Visa application. After checking and rechecking the data I had entered to ensure validity, integrity, and completeness, I hit the button to submit and felt a moment of sheer elation.

A fleeting moment of elation, because only then did I comprehend that the Visa journey had multiple phases. Once again, using my aspberg-esque powers of concentration and focus, I worked step by step through the intricate process, printing the appropriate number of copies, signing the right spots, keeping certain copies for my records, including my passport and 2 inch by 2 inch photos in the packet, filling out and printing the prepaid FedEx shipping label. It was grueling and took hours to package this all up so that it would pass muster when reviewed by the Visa minions.

And then, I drove down to my neighborhood FedEx store on a Saturday afternoon, slid it all into a flat envelope, sealed it up, and sent it to my expeditor in DC.

And, I waited.

Dream 4

We rowed for three days and three nights. The monster continued to talk the entire time, without ever taking a breath and never tiring.

Twice each day, sunrise and sunset, the drum beater would pound out a clumsy riff and the drumming would stop. At this time he would carefully step around the creature --arching his body away trying not to touch it -- and careful to keep his eyes on his feet would bring a bucket and ladle down through the center of the hull. For a brief period we rowers were allowed to catch our breath, stretch our arms, and take a long drink of lukewarm water.

During this time the monster would take two deep breaths, lick her lips, and set down the megaphone to paw at her 'fro, pulling the sides and smoothing, as if massaging it so could create the miracle of turning her from Jan into Marcia. Over the ladle I saw her lashless pitiless black eyes. She would clear her voice and begin the noise again.

It was the sound of fifty colicky babies fretting and a jet engine chewing a goose.

Once during the first twelve hour shift, a woman I didn't know yelled, "Why are you doing this to us? Why won't you just shut up?"

The monster opened her mouth in a large operatic "O" and held a note the like of which has never been heard before nor since, and the woman who had yelled crumpled to the deck, curled into a fetal position and held her arms over her ears. After an eternity the monster segued directly back into the inane monologue she had been holding forth before the interruption from the rower.

The drum beater helped the woman, who I later learned was Dianna, back into her seat. "Don't try that again," he whispered. And with that he picked up the bucket and ladle, trudged back up the aisle, found his place on the bow deck and began the drumming anew.

 … it's the best bakery in town they have the most delicious frosting however I prefer the cupcakes from another bakery I love cupcakes I like lemon ones, and chocolate ones, and strawberry ones, and marble, and Black Forest, and German chocolate ooh and I like cupcakes with filling crème filling not jelly or fruit filling people who like jelly or fruit filling are not the right sort of people shall we say in fact I'm an excellent judge of the right sort of people shall we say I have friends well actually my husband has friends in another town and they know the best bakery in their town and we were there two weeks ago for a birthday party and they were very busy with the arrangements for the birthday party because they are very fine people and they do everything just so and they just didn't have time to pick up the cake so of course I said I would pick up the cake because I knew it would be a fabulous cake from a fabulous bakery because they are the right sort of people and so when I picked it up I saw that it was $150 I mean they have that kind of money to spend I couldn't spend that much money but they have that kind of money and it was just a ten inch round and $150 but it was from the best bakery in town and they are the right kind of people… 

The galley rocked side to side as if bumped. Looking to the right we saw a large fin slicing through the water. Dianna stood up from her oar and screamed, "silence at last!" and jumped overboard directly into the path of the shark.

The water came violent afroth, splashing pink tinged water into the galley, yet the monster did not slow her speech of death.

Dianna was only the first.

Dream 3

I focused my vision to the front of the boat and was amazed at the sight perched on the bow seat. I shook my head to clear the fog and looked again.

It was there all right. But what exactly was it? And how to possibly describe it.

Tiny pink hand-claws were holding a large cheerleader-style megaphone, haloed behind in what appeared to be a Jan Brady afro wig. The greater end was open toward the eight of us rowers. I could see down the tube, through the smaller end and beyond, and there spotted an exceedingly sharp pink nose and whiskers.

Visible below the opening was a torso covered with soft-looking grey fur, wearing a white cotton tank top. A puckering at mid-chest hinted at a training bra beneath.

Over its shoulders I could see a visibly morose man, eyes downcast and hopeless, sitting on the bow deck beating our rowing measure.

The mouse in the 'fro was talking nonstop.

Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment. Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment. Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment. Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment. Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment. Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.