Co-written by myself and Britnie :)
Arrival
We decided to come to India to repair the psychological damage done by our first trip here 2 years ago. Upon the recommendation of a trusted friend, we contacted the Ayurveda Yoga Villa in Kerala, South India, and booked the retreat called “Yoga and Rejuvenation.” We envisioned daily yoga, daily massage, and fresh vegetarian food. What we got was that, but so much more.
The night we arrived, the realities started sinking in. At dinner, we learned that we are not customers, we are patients. You do not leave this place on your own free will, you are released. You meet with a doctor daily to discuss every ache, pain, throb, bulge, and imaginary ailment concocted by HA (Hypochondriacs Anonymous). Many of the other guests, I mean patients, sit with the doctor for hours discussing at length the incongruencies of their bodies and obtaining a variety of medicines and/or medical procedures to heal their doshas (whatever that means). The medicines have scores of random herbs and flowers in them and usually stink like cow manure or pickled pigs feet. The treatments range from grease enemas, forced vomiting, a diarrhea marathon, and soaking your eyeballs in butter; to oil massage (a loosely used term), steam box sweating, and milk baths.
Health Assessment with the “Doctor”
Doctor: “What is your favorite color?”
Britnie: “Brown.” He looks at her queerly.
Doctor: “That's not common.” He writes notes.
Justin: “Mine is blue.”
Doctor: “Correct.” And he smiles pleasantly without writing notes.
Doctor: “What sounds more pleasing, being hot and coming into air-conditioning or being cold and then sitting by a fireplace?”
Justin: “Air-conditioning.”
Britnie: “Fireplace.”
Doctor: “Hmmmm...” This time he eyes Justin maniacally and writes down the word “steam box.”
Doctor: “What taste do you prefer? Sweet, sour, salty, spicy?”
Britnie: “Sweet.”
Justin: “I have no idea. I am a food slut.”
Doctor: “Is that a medical condition?”
Britnie: “No. It means he just eats everything.”
Doctor: “Well, you need to choose your favorite.”
Britnie: “He likes spicy.”
Doctor: “Oh, okay, I have now done an in depth health assessment on your soul, mind, and body. Drink 5 caps full of this sludge,” he hands us sludge in a bottle, “take this pill at night for sleeping (just ignore the warning that says Do Not Swallow), and undergo whatever the therapists in the naked room do to you. If you do this, we might approve your release. Thank you and goodbye.”
We part, eyes downcast, with no handshake or returned salutation.
The toilet got our medications and it's never looked shinier.
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