Checking in with Dunstan

It’s been an action-packed first week at school and I’m amazed at just how much I’ve learned. I’ve discovered that every yoga posture carries a range of physical and mental benefits, yet pretty much all of them can relieve constipation (still, none so far have made much impact on my compacted bowels); I now know that Patanjali is not a mild curry best served with rice (as first thought), but the highly venerated founding father of Ashtanga Yoga; and I’ve also mastered the art of breathing through my clavicles (but it’s not something I’d advise doing in public). And while I ache in places I didn’t think possible, I have to say I feel absolutely fantastic!

But it was the near faultless performance I gave with my first teaching assignment yesterday that’s left me feeling particularly buoyed. Not only did I manage to guide everyone through 6 rounds of Sun Salutations without breaking so much as a fingernail, I pulled it off the kind of aplomb that neither Ely nor the rest of the class saw coming. In fact, they were so astounded by my efforts; they actually broke into spontaneous applause afterwards.

And while I continue pass out every time I perform a standing forward bend (apparently my low blood pressure is to blame for this) and I still can’t do “crow” without making a complete tit of myself, I am delighted with the progress I’m making.

Today, however, I have a day off and as much as I’d love to spend it draped over a sunbed sipping Mojitos, I have to sort out a new hotel. The room rate I’m currently paying is burning a hole in my pocket and if I don’t address this soon, I won’t be able to afford so much as a mint leaf, let alone a Mojito. I’m after something chic but cheap, which may take some time to find, so I’ve forced my weary ass out of bed early to go scour the town.

Within a few hours I’ve pretty much depleted all my options. If I want a room that doesn’t come with a government health warning, it seems I’m going to have to pay through the nose for it. Feeling somewhat dejected, I decide to head to Abba –perhaps my Nepalese friends can point me in the right direction?

With another storm looming moodily on the horizon, I gather my pace, affecting the moronic swagger of a constipated speed-walker, as managing anything faster than a shuffle in flip-flops is harder than you might think. I’m intent on reaching shelter before the heavens open up, so I’m not really looking at where I’m going. Naturally, I don’t see the colossal 7-foot Indian man lummucking towards me until it’s too late.

And this is how I meet Dunstan.

It seems news travels fast in these here parts and Dunstan, having caught wind of my accommodation plight, has come to track me down. Rather too enthusiastically, if you ask me – as he’s managed to completely knock me off my feet and is now yammering nonsense at me. I’m totally mystified. Clearly, this man is wired to the moon, but something – perhaps his stupid great smile – tells me he’s essentially harmless. So I tune in and try hard to fathom some sense. Eventually I pluck out the words “cheap” and “room”. Bingo.

It turns out Dunstan is the manager of an off-the-beaten-track guesthouse called Nadakkavil House. And I’m told it’s completely empty. So I follow him over to the bright orange building, check out a few of the rooms and consequently conclude the deal of the century – a double room, with attached bathroom for 2000 rupees, for the entire 4 weeks (that’s about 70p a night!) Sure, the place is more Bangkok Hilton than Park Lane Hilton, but it’s clean and it looks relatively secure. Plus, I’ve already taken rather a shine to Dunstan. He may talk utter twaddle and look like a strange cross between the ‘Nutty Professor’ and ‘Lurch’ from the Addams Family, but I can tell he has a heart of gold. And that’s good enough for me.

We seal the deal with a firm handshake, which sends Dunstan into incoherency overdrive. The words “promise”, “secret” and “special rate” seem to be going round and round in a loop. Eventually, I get his drift – I’m to tell no one about the deal he’s given me, as it would be bad for business. Holding a finger to my lips I whisper “sshh” to show him I comprehend. He clumsily mirrors the gesture, along with another of his huge, winning smiles.

In fact, Dunstan is so entertained by the whole “Sshh” thing he's decided to adopt it as his new catchphrase and is now proceeding to crowbar it into the conversation wherever he fancies. I ask him if he provides towels for his guests. He responds, “sshh”. Is there hot water? “Sshh”. Can I move my stuff in today? Another “sshh”. And I’m battered with a further barrage of “sshhes” as I attempt to back out the door.  Like I said. The man is completely crackerjack.

But I reckon this means I’m in for an interesting few weeks.