After five weeks of resistance, our stomachs have fallen. Kate lost the fight against a dodgy chicken and had to call modern medicine to the rescue.
So we went to see the doctor [dactaar] at the local hospital [haspitaal] – a charming old lady who seemed to have seen a whole lot of foreigners succumb to local food – who examined her briefly and prescribed rest, a few pills and most importantly – some curd! 24 hours and 120 rupees later, Kate was up and running in the Golden Temple.
Interestingly, the pharmacist read the prescription, patiently cut the packaging and gave us exactly the amount of pills that we needed. I wish this was the case in France or Australia. Last time I had prescription medicine, the pharmacist warned me that I only needed to take 2 of the 24 pills in the box. What a waste. Surely, it should be possible for drug manufacturers and pharmacists to provide medicine safely without all that waste… (or maybe they are just worried about losing business to the local yoghurt industry…)
