Accentuate the positive

I was wrong. I realise it now. I was mistaken.

It's nothing at all to do with the cobra woman. It's not that the hits keep on coming. It's something else entirely. And now I know, Candide-like, that nothing could possibly be better in this best of all possible worlds.

The year had been going swimmingly. A super Easter break in Ljubljana, a fantastically feel-good production of The Bald Prima Donna, and a fabulous adventure in India with a most delightful companion. So what happened on the way round Rajasthan that changed things, then?

It's well obvious, innit? In Jodhpur, I bought myself a camel-bone Ganesha. This particular deity is known to be the remover of obstacles. So let us consider.

(a) Contracting salmonella. This prevented me from going to Japan, and thereby (1) gave me an extra week's holiday; (2) gave me time to post my India photos on Flickr; and (3) saved me money for (b1).

(b) Dislocating my shoulder. This (1) gave me the opportunity to go to Finland's leading shoulder surgeon and arrange for a problem that has been bugging me for years to be fixed; (2) gave me time to sit back and consider the direction of my life; and (3) forced me to step down from acting in the autumn, thus giving me a chance to learn something new and fill a gaping hole in the backstage crew.

(c) Finding tiles lifting from my bathroom walls. This (1) persuaded me to tackle the problem of a couple of other tiles that were troublesome; (2) confirmed my bathroom walls as properly dry; and (3) gave me half a bathroom wall that looks almost new.

(d) Having my 40th birthday occupational health check. This (1) helped me to identify a previously undiagnosed ear infection; (2) gave me the opportunity for a free blood-test check-up; and (3) allowed my doctor to decide to hack some bits off to prove that I'm healthy.

Points (b1), (d2), and (d3) are still in the future. More on those later, maybe. But, hey, no more negative thinking. What can possibly go wrong when Ganesha is removing one's obstacles in this best of all possible years in this best of all possible worlds?

People, people, everywhere

It is little more than two months ago that my companion and I returned from our Indian adventure. As has been noted, the whole experience was so intense that some substantial processing time is needed to internalise the things that we saw and did. Add to that the various setbacks that have surfaced since our return to Finland, and you have a reason why it has taken so long to blog anything much about the trip.

Now, however, I flip to the pages of my travel notebook. On the road out of Delhi, I scrawled the words "wall-to-wall people; what do they all do?"

The sheer number of people was quite amazing. Take one example from the desert city of Jaisalmer. At the hotel, one of the staff (a charming older chap known to the rest of the staff as 'the boy', who would engage you in pleasant conversation for as long as it took you to twig that a tip was expected) guided us to the hotel gift shop. The lights were off and all was quiet. It was undoubtedly shut. Except that it wasn't. Immediately we approached, the lights snapped on and we suddenly had four or five shop assistants showing us clothing and souvenirs.

I was reminded of the children's television series Mr Benn, and the quote "as if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared." I have no idea how these guys spent the doubtless long hours without customers. They must simply have been sitting and waiting, because there was no delay to fetch them, as there would have been in the West. Furthermore, whereas in Europe you may expect one or two people to be doing a task, in India that number is easily doubled or tripled or more.

Such an abundance of humanity must surely lead to a different view of life than in a more sparsely populated country. In Finland, for example, I experience crowds as aggressively indifferent places. (Yes, that is an oxymoron; but yes, it does make sense.) On the other hand, in Finland, a group of people is unlikely to form around you to just stare, as happened to us straight away in India, when we entered the Jumma Masjid mosque in Delhi with our guide. Yes, that can be intimidating, even if the stares are merely inquisitive.

All told, though, for an Indian in India, with friends and family all around, the feeling in a crowd must be something quite at odds with that of a European in Europe. Perhaps the feeling of constant familiar company is warm. Perhaps the feeling is supportive. Perhaps the regular Indian seems happier than the regular European because they are so often in this sort of situation.

Perhaps I'll never know.

The curse of the cobra woman

So here I am. It's been a while.

The summer trip to India was stunning. Normal western terms of reference do not apply. The entire experience was so intense, so out-of-the-ordinary, that I'm still mentally processing. No doubt things will emerge here in dribs and drabs. For starters, check out Flickr.

The first week was a real high: heading into the Thar Desert surrounded by goatherds, camel carts, and the amazing forts of the Rajputs; discovering the incredible Golden City of Jaisalmer. The second week started on a similar high, in the dreamy white (well, off-white) city of romance, Udaipur, and the country retreat of Deogarh.

Then, on the road to Jaipur, our karma seemed to change. Waiting in our car at a railway crossing, we drew the usual attention of the local beggars. This time, it was an old woman with very few teeth and a cobra in a basket. Even if we hadn't been urged not to hand out money in the streets, opening the car window to a cobra seemed like a bad idea, so we ignored the woman as much as we could until the train passed and we drove on. I get the feeling that this left us with some sort of shadow. Since that encounter, a couple of old traumas have re-awoken.

Firstly, in Jaipur and Agra, my companion and I started to become unwell, which, on the last day, culminated in a homeward journey dominated by several hours of unremitting stomach cramps. On return to Helsinki, this was confirmed as salmonella. At 7 years old, I was hospitalised with salmonella and complications, so this ailment already carries enough bad karma in my mind. In any case, I was unfit for travel to Japan, so that leg of the summer didn't happen.

Secondly, on returning to the autumn season of theatre rehearsals, I fell awkwardly and triggered another complaint that has figured large in my medical history: a dislocated shoulder. The repetition does not make the injury less painful, and I needed a double dose of two different types of hard stuff to knock me out enough to get the joint back in place. Further surgery may be necessary to stabilise the condition at last. I am typing now slowly and left-handed.

So, as I said, here I am. Sitting at home with my second successive sick-note, remembering the highs and lows, the ups and downs, the rights and wrongs since my last blog entry. Arm in a sling, about to take my final dose of anti-malarial medicine, and hoping that simple passage of time will lift the bad karma of the beggarwoman with the cobra.

Take a large pinch of salt

It is possible to rely too much on guidebooks. If the Lonely Planet guide to Rajasthan is to be believed, almost every step one takes is overshadowed by the danger of a scam, an illness, unbearable weather, or an environmental crisis.

Maybe it's like that. I don't yet know. But you can sometimes get a better sense of proportion if you go back to look at guidebooks of places that you know a little better.

Here are some excerpts from The Rough Guide to Scandinavia (1993 reprint of the 1988 edition). Don't blame me for the title; I know that Finland is Nordic really. The country was less well known in Britain then, and this was my solitary beacon of information when I first arrived, all those years ago.

On second thoughts, maybe the warnings about India are all true and the trip is just what I need to rekindle my appreciation of a quiet life.

Imatra
"Imatra has little to set it apart and you'll make more of your time by passing right through it...."

I've been to Imatra only once. The hotel restaurant closed for lunch. Other than that, I couldn't possibly comment. Although I know at least one chap who may.

Kajaani
"... idling is what you're likely to be doing if you stay here overnight. The problem of complete boredom is no less severe for the local youth, who've taken to lining the pavements of Kauppakatu in their hundreds, waiting for something to happen."

The highlight, apparently, was watching the logs floating along the river to the pulp mill. I heard that the mill has closed, so I sneakily checked out the most recent Lonely Planet guide in a bookshop. There is no mention of the mill. But it did say that Kajaani is now widely considered the most racist town in Finland. I have never been to Kajaani, but things are obviously not improving.

Kokkola
"For what it's worth, the tourist office ... can point you towards the only remotely interesting local sight: the English Park ... A much more welcome sight, though, is the train station...."

I was a regular visitor to Kokkola for a couple of years, on work assignments. This write-up is a little unfair. But only a little.

Rovaniemi
"An administrative centre just south of the Arctic Circle ... tourists who arrive on day trips from Helsinki expecting sleighs and tents will be disappointed by a place that looks as Lappish as a palm tree."

No, no. I like Rovaniemi and find it quite charming. Though that may be because I've been fortunate in my companions, just proving that it's the people who make a place special.

Varkaus
"There's little incentive to stay longer than you have to in Varkaus...."

I've been to Varkaus only once. I have no intention of returning.

Oh, and for those who know:

Helsinki
Pub Angleterre: "Utterly Finnish ... good for a laugh and cultural disorientation."

Well, yes.

Random numbers

By 19:30 on 11 July 2007, my blog had been viewed 4,065 times.

By 19:30 on 11 July 2007, my Flickr stream had been viewed 5,514 times.

By 31 December 2006, 15,512 copies of my book had been sold.

On 10 October 2000, The Washington Post claimed that 1 in 140 people react severely enough to have to stop taking mefloquine, the malaria prophylaxis that I have just started.

On 11 July 2007, the BBC 24-hour weather forecast for Udaipur in Rajasthan, India, was 35°C maximum temperature with 100% relative humidity.

The 2007 eniro telephone directory online lists 193 hairdressers in Espoo and 825 in Helsinki.

What I will do this summer

A certain breed of Finn greets midsummer, arguably the biggest national holiday in these parts, with gleeful melancholy. They can be heard to bleat that the days get shorter from now on and winter will soon be with us.

No, no, no! Midsummer is when summer begins. I'm still psychologically tuned to the British school holiday cycle, where work goes on into July and breaks for August. The best is yet to come.

So what will I do with my hard-earned days and cash this time round? Well, big plans are afoot. Last year I went west. This year I go east.

First up, towards the end of July, is India. It is maybe not the sort of place that I would normally consider, and maybe not the sort of place one should go alone. It will be the monsoon season: hot and damp. I've got my visa and have started my vaccinations. The malaria tablets come with a warning of possible psychotic episodes. Which may be handy when suffering from stomach cramps and being held to ransom by a taxi driver in the middle of the Thar desert. But two weeks doing the Golden Triangle of Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur, plus other bits of Rajasthan, sounds so exotic, so unique, who could say no?

Second up, after a few days of recovery time in Helsinki, is Japan. I have amazed myself by going for a second destination that is likely to serve severe culture shock. Normally the flights are hideously expensive, but I stumbled on a package that includes the travel and six hotel nights for about half the usual price of an air ticket. It was a sign. It was to be mine. A week in Osaka. My August meditation will be Nipponese.