Crash Course to (In)sanity

The Final Episode.....for now!

2010-06-01T09:10:00.000-07:00

What will I do in my next life? Who will I become? How will I behave? You may think these musings are the result of 9 months in India. And if you think that you may well be right ……… but at the immediate level these musings were inspired by the closing remarks of a conversation about music that I was having with my step dad just the other day, following a tasty lunch of yummy sandwiches made with honey roast ham and mature cheddar cheese on multi-grain with a bit of salad thrown in for good measure (while the details of lunch may seem highly useless and irrelevant to you the reader I simply had to include them, since after 9 months of samosas or dosas for lunch you wouldn’t believe how freakin good a ham sandwich is, never mind a crisp green leaf of lettuce!!). As fellow musicians we were chatting about the merits of various music learning techniques and the draw backs of being classically trained……we were both wishing we had the ability to just sit down and play without reading the notes!! And when you stop and think about it, music is a bit like life that way. There are some people that learn the rules and always play by those rules. And can only function with a full set of instructions and guidelines. And then there are those that seem to somehow manage to just make it up as they go along, either by imitation or pure creativity and seem to have so much more fun in the process. In life I think I actually sit somewhere on the fence, vacillating between one lifestyle and the other – but in music I’m definitely a play by the rules kinda gal. And so – in wishing that I were able to play jazz, to improvise and play by ear I concluded with the thought that maybe in my next life I’d be a better jazz musician. And that’s when it occurred to me that its funny how in conversation we constantly make throw away remarks like ‘in my next life’, without thinking about what it really means and whether or not we actually believe that there might possibly be a next life. However, in India, a statement like that holds so much more gravity.

After my final 6 weeks in India, absorbed in the teachings of Yoga I’m still not certain how I feel about all that (and when I say ‘all that’ I am, of course referring to the possibility of reincarnation, after-life and re-birth in to a new form and shape) because somewhere along the line I do have a feeling that our DNA carries with it some of the lessons we learn in life and passes those lessons on to the next generation (even if our souls don’t literally find a new home in another body – if there even is such a thing as a soul, beyond a series of neural networks with custom designed firing patterns unique to our own brains that allow us to recognize a continuum of thought that established us as us) but I do now feel certain that in this one life that we are currently inhabiting there is untold potential to be and achieve whatever one might chose – but the key to attainment is that to attain one must first chose! There is nothing that a person cannot do if they just put their mind to it. And after choosing they must then remain acutely aware of those choices, commit a certain level of responsibility towards actions that will lead towards those goals and ultimately remain mindful of the fact that those goals can only be achieved and enjoyed if they are admirable goals that cause no harm to anyone and at least some benefit to someone.

So – what does it mean to me to be back in England? I thought that I would be culture shocked by my arrival back to the ‘real’ world, on departing the mayhem of India – but it seems that I am simply so habituated to being on the move, that no alteration of circumstances, no matter how extreme: from hanging with shallow, sallow sadhu’s begging beside bovine bathrooms to sitting in the clinical chaos of Heathrow airport for hours on end to finally be falling into a deep and silent slumber amongst duck down duvets, can rattle my cultural cage! I just roll effortless from one set of circumstances to the next without the bat of an eyelid these days. And I realized that I don’t think the ‘shock’ will actually set in until about 3 months after we arrive in Vancouver when we’ve had a house warming party in our new place and I finally realize that I’m not going ANYWHERE for at least the next 12 months. Perhaps at that point I will start beating my head against a wall and screaming for a way out – lamenting my lost freedom and new found imprisonment (I’ve been warned by many that this may be the case) – but my instinct is that rather than lamenting it – I will in fact be embracing the comfort of routine, the warmth of a home and the love that comes from a family of friends that are constantly at hand just around the corner or at the most a short bus ride away! I think it is safe to say that I have done my fair share of exploring the globe and I’m quite ready for a different kind of exploration that will lead me in to a new world and a new depth of connection with the people that I love and choose to surround myself with.

But despite the lack of culture shock, the return to UK has at least been another step forward, one more step closer to my new life in Vancouver and a final chance for introspection and reflection on the journey, now completed. Amusingly there have already been several moments when I have been forced to wonder: ‘Have I learned nothing?’ For example: Only hours after leaving India, as I sat on a hard plastic chair in terminal 1 contemplating my thoughts during my fourth hour at Heathrow airport, waiting to board the stupid one hour flight north to Manchester after managing to get most of the way ‘home’; despite being curiously ‘unshocked’ I did find myself seriously battling with the urge to throw a major temper tantrum…….so much for maintaining my equilibrium! Let me explain a little: Thanks to the wonderful Icelandic volcano and an impending BA strike we were forced to re-jiggle and reschedule our return flights to reality a number of times prior to our final departure from India. When we finally arrived at Delhi international airport to take the plane away from the madness it appeared we would indeed land in Heathrow in time to make the 3pm BMI connecting flight to Manchester we were hoping to catch. The check-in girl assured us that we were booked on that flight and we would make it. Well – it turned out, after cutting several immigration and security check lines on arrival at Heathrow in an attempt to make the 3pm flight that actually ‘NO!’ our booking in the system was in actual fact for the 8:55pm flight – and there was no way that we could be transferred to the 3, or any earlier flight for that matter. So after hours and hours of transit around India in the last 9 months with very little to speak of in the way of delays, I found myself ‘stuck’ in London for the best part of 7 hours and not surprisingly I wasn’t actually feeling all that inspired to write this last installment of my crash course to insanity…..but what else was there to do with all that wasted time!!! Being stuck in transit is never fun – but when you know that if there’s one thing you should have learned in the last 9 months, it’s to ‘go with the flow’ and all you really want to do is scream at a BA representative it’s actually quite tough to get creative and use your time constructively. So there I was – back in the real world driving myself nuts with the thought that I should have already been on the plane, off the plane, on the train and only one hour from home – but instead I was sitting on an uncomfortable airport chair, trying to remain equanimous with the fact that my Cumberland sausage was still in the fridge and wouldn’t make it to my stomach this side of Wednesday! So much for my personal evolution (never mind my potential to reach enlightenment)! And on top of everything – my body was still tired and sore from 6 weeks of yoga (don’t forget my body clock was all out of whack …… did I mention that I’d been going to sleep at 10pm in preparation for the 5am wake-up) so I wasn’t exactly likely to be feeling on top of the world. But having said that, I was also suffering withdrawals after 3 full days without a single asana and I was itching to get in a good session on the matt. Ahhh Yoga.

For the final 6 weeks in India I was living in Rishikesh, India at the Shiva Resort/wannabe Ashram learning to be a yoga instructor and it was a wonderful journey. My poor old body had quite a rollercoaster ride of it (trying to remember what it felt like to be employed in movement outside the bounds of ‘normal’ motion for several hours a day), but my mind really enjoyed the discipline of a learning environment and the chance to get into a routine of sorts. And while learning the practical aspects of yoga I also had classes in philosophy, anatomy, meditation, and the yoga lifestyle.

My darling husband also came along for the ride, so we got the opportunity to share in the joys of yoga in 40 degree heat and challenge the concepts behind the practical application. Yoga in its physical form is simply marvelous. It has the potential to heal and promote health, and can be the basis for a calm and contented mind. After finishing Vipassana (10 day silent meditation retreat – for those of you who didn’t read that installment……fair enough really – it was 5000 words), I wasn’t sure whether my mission in India had all been a big fat hoax and the chances for me to find inner peace were all but dashed. But after a few days immersed in yoga I began to feel changes coming over me that I had been striving for, for years. I was beginning to sleep like a baby and my mind was becoming quieter and clearer than it had been in a very long time. Yes, yoga could well be what I have been looking for.

So what can I tell you about the course? Well – we had both Indian and western teachers, which allowed us to have the best of both worlds: The passion and the spiritualism of the East, along with the science and precision of the west. The philosophy and background from the Hindu tradition and the pragmatic, systematic approach to the art of teaching that gave me exactly what I needed to learn not just about yoga, but how to teach it with meaning and enthusiasm for it’s roots. Thanks to the graceful guidance of Kristen, our American teacher I found that I was able to gradually get my feet wet. Over the course of the final weeks she introduced us to teaching in baby steps so that by the time it came to lead a complete class I was confident and totally ready for the challenge. And in fact I now feel completely excited and pumped about the possibility of becoming a yoga instructor.

I have learned that yoga is an age-old tradition that has it’s roots in the Hindu faith but is basically a system that can be applied to anybody’s life to improve well-being. There are many levels to yoga; from the most basic and practical to the most intangible and esoteric and all of them have a place in the world. I’m excited to develop my very own unique approach to yoga and share it with the world (or at least a few people in Vancouver) and hopefully enrich their lives with it. I’m not going to say too much at this point since I don’t want to give my secrets away – but let’s just say, I have some ideas that I think are pretty cool and hopefully I can start a yoga studio with a difference…….watch this space!

So – why exactly has it taken me so long to share these final reflections with you? Usually when I wrote my blog entries in India I would take a couple of days to edit and re-write the final version, but the initial writing phase would be done in just one or two sittings and come out in a smooth flowing jumble of inspiration. Not so on this occasion. Already almost 2 weeks back in the real world I have sat down numerous times hunting for the right words, the correct intention, the moment of inspiration to compel me to write but it just didn’t happened: Did I become lazy with my writing? Did my energies become so distracted with yoga that I just felt out of whack at a laptop, or deep down was I resisting the acknowledgement that this journey had to come to an end? I must accept that I have found my sanity and the crash course is now complete. It is time to press on with life and leave my ‘searching’ behind. In reality I don’t think that the search is ever really over. Every action I will ever take is part of the search. The search for meaning, the search for truth, the search for union with the greater forces of nature outside myself – the force that some describe as God. Well – for me, the last few weeks and in a larger frame of reference the last few months have really helped me to clarify these definitions and the subtle aspects of their meaning for me. I do indeed feel that this crash course to insanity has delivered me to exactly the place I wanted to be. I have a new level of acceptance about who I am, and the weird and wonderful way that I think. I can observe my mind from a new place and on a whole new level. I am at anxious peace with myself – if that at all makes sense? Let’s just say India didn’t change me so much – it just taught me to accept that which is for that which should be and stop worrying about what cannot be changed.

Staring up at the cool blue sky from the deck of my mother’s sail boat the other day it dawned on me that wherever you are in the world, when you tip your head back and look up towards space the view that greets you will be exactly the same. The same sky, give or take a few thunderclouds and droplets of rain here or there. Perhaps a ray or 2 more of sunshine on occasion – but ultimately the same – it’s only when your eyes are cast down that you realize your circumstances have changed and your environment is different. In the last 9 months those circumstances changed again and again and I saw many incredible things. I saw man made wonders of the world both on and off the ‘list’ of the greatest, like the Taj Mahal and the Temples of Hampi, I saw natural wonders of the world like the tallest mountain peak on the planet, Everest and many of her sisters……I even climbed one or 2 of them (let’s not forget I made it over 6000M by foot…….6153M to be precise). I went hunting for Tigers (and never found them). Went in search of wild elephants (and got chased away by them). Sat in silence for 10 days learning the ancient art of meditation and turned my world upside down to find a new perspective through yoga (literally – I can now do a headstand!) And of course I sampled every kind of vegetarian curry under the sun. Where am I going with all this? India was amazing…..certainly Incredible at times, and above all a world of many harsh extremes. India was the perfect landscape to help me recognize that the external world is just a mirror of what you can find inside yourself. If you keep your eyes down you can be distracted by the ever changing faces of ‘reality’, but if you look up to the sky there is an omniscient, constant truth that remains, no matter what storms may come……the blue sky is always there above, waiting to be revealed. I have been here all along. India has helped me find my blue sky above, the power to remember who I am and the wisdom to know it is time to leave India behind and embrace the world and the circumstances that I choose to live in. I loved every part of what I experienced in India, the good, the bad and the ugly, but did I want to remain there in that world of extremes? Absolutely not! As I leave the road behind I feel full of anticipation and excitement about the journey ahead. So to answer my query as to whether I am reluctant to acknowledge the journey is over……No! There are no regrets or doubts, I had no hesitation about pulling the final curtain on this crash course, I just couldn’t quite find the worlds to sum it up – because it is quite a lot to say after all, but if I must put it simply I suppose it would be this: Thank you India, I have loved you and hated you with equal parts and equal passion but now I must leave you because in you I finally found myself and myself doesn’t’ actually want to be in India anymore ……and beside which, life is calling!

A date with the Dalai Lama

2010-05-10T04:08:00.001-07:00

It’s just amazing what can happen sometimes when you don’t have a plan! Way back at the beginning of our trip to India we got wind of an opportunity to catch a glimpse of his holiness the Dalai Lama in his home town of Macleod Ganj, but since we had a plan which involved heading in exactly the opposite direction, we decided to give it a miss and plough on with our journey as planned. Although I’ve always thought it would be pretty damn cool to hear his words of wisdom in person, it just wasn’t in the schedule and the Nepalese peaks of the Himalayas were calling. So I arrived in Rishikesh one week ago to be reminded that often in life there is such a thing as a second chance…..by the Rishikesh grapevine we got wind of a little rumor that the Dalai Lama was coming to town for some ceremonial ‘goings on’. We had exactly one week to figure out a way to get our foot in the door and secure our date with the Dalai Lama. In truth, it actually wasn’t that tough. We headed down to the Ashram that was the centre of the action, where his holiness would be staying, hunted out the appropriate peeps with the power, and somehow or other, with a little straight up persistence and a word or two with the main Swamiji – we were the proud owners of 2 press passes to attend the upcoming weekend of events. Dalai Lama lookout!

On April 3rd and 4th, Parmarth Niketan Ashram, in Rishikesh was billed to play host to a whole host of spiritual leaders and dignitaries including the leader of Buddhists, the world over, the Dalai Lama, as part of a huge celebration to mark the launching of a brand new publication: An 11 volume series entitled “Encyclopedia of Hinduism”, which could certainly be said to be a pretty significant moment in modern Hindu history. Around 20 years in the making, drawing on the knowledge and expertise of over 1000 scholars and academics from all over India and further afield, this publication has brought together a huge mass of knowledge and information about the Hindu tradition in a formal way to both document its existence and make this knowledge available to educate the world. The Hindu faith, is one of the world’s major religions and has an incredibly deep well of tradition and history, which has now been brought together in one comprehensive set of volumes.

To mark the completion of this major undertaking, which was inspired by the dreams of Swami Chidanand Saraswati many years ago, there was a weekend of events planned and an impressive guest list to match this monumental occasion. Since the weekend also coincided with the largest spiritual gatherings on the planet, the Kumbh Mela, where literally millions of people congregate on the banks of the river Ganges in Haridwar, to bathe away their sins, the opening event actually took place in Haridwar, at one of the Kumbh Mela camps. The atmosphere in the speakers tent when we arrived was one of excitement and anticipation and as the moment finally arrived for the speakers to make their way through the crowd and take the stage the politely seated guests turned into a seething mass of bodies, pushing and shoving to catch a close up glimpse and take a shot of the most popular of the guests, the DL himself.

As the ‘Tibetan, secret service’ cleared a path through the crowd, right beside the table I was perching on within the media enclosure I found that I was close enough to see the beads of sweat on the top of his head – but it was all over so quickly, as the entourage pushed forward to reach the stage that my first chance to snap a good shot passed me by before I could even get the camera in focus. Not to worry, the best was yet to come.

After the initial storm in the press pit had subsided, and the flashing had died down, the security just about managed to maintain order and the photographers were finally all persuaded to back away from the stage and take a seat on the floor, so that the audience behind (and the cameras on tripods, shooting for live TV audiences) could get a clear view.

Over the course of the next few hours I had plenty of chances to capture that famous face on digital file, and at one point I was literally no more than a meter or so away from the feet of the Dalai Lama.

Never mind Vipassana – this has to be a fast track to enlightenment – to sit at the feet of the Dalai Lama for a day.

Now, if it hadn’t been for the Dalai Lama’s presence at the ceremony, I will say, that I probably would have been bored to tears, but apparently, even without the Dalai Lama there I should have been impressed because the stage was filled with a who’s who of the spiritual Guru’s of India. And so, as you might expect, each filled with his own sense of self importance, had to have a word or two, or seven thousand four hundred and eighty six!!!! But who’s counting? And of course, the proceedings went off almost entirely in Hindi. So for a westerner attending the event, it was a little on the dull side. Clearly India hasn’t got the memo yet, that a successful event of this kind, starts with a short and simple presentation to show case the work, a few brief words from an author and maybe a sponsor or two and then quite simply the party begins. Let me tell you, there wasn’t a martini in sight, and not even those cute little trays of hors d’oeuvres were being served. The one saving grace, that actually made the day thoroughly entertaining for me was simply watching the mannerisms and antics of the Dalai Lama.

At one point he was passed a packet of wet wipes, to wipe away his sweat and watching him inspect the packet, like some kind of foreign object and then slowly removing one and placing it lightly on his forehead,

leaving it there for some minutes to cool himself off, was like watching a child with a new toy. The highlight though came a few minutes after part of the blessing ceremony, when rose petals had been strewn across the stage and seated dignitaries.

Apparently old Lamaji, had spotted a bug or 2 crawling around on the rose petals, and, being a good Buddhist, he was of course concerned for the well being of all living beings so decided to make it his personal mission to scratch around on the floor ‘rescuing’ the bugs in question,

to save them from certain death.

How cute!

And really there is no other word to describe the Dalai Lama, from the way that he shuffles along in his robes, to the serene and yet at times mischievous expression he wears on his slightly chubby cheeks. From the top of his shiny shaved head,

to the tips of his pudgy little toes

there’s nothing about him that isn’t just so darn cute!

And all the while, the speeches went on and on and on, and even the Dalai Lama was failing to stifle his yawns,

until finally a few words in English were spoken to get my attention. This time the speaker was young, and handsome and the cameras began to click with renewed vigor all around me and I realized that I was listening to the words of Vivek Oberoi,

Bollywood’s latest hot young talent – who summed up the value of this brand new Encyclopedia. “For young Hindu’s, the future of Hinduism and India, there were often questions: Who am I? What am I? What does it mean to be a Hindu? And now there is a place to find those answers. And this is a wonderful legacy for us to leave for future generations.”

Finally it was the turn of the Dalai Lama to speak, and after some words in Tibetan (translated to Hindi by his personal translator) he actually took the mic in English

(because he likes to prove that he can, even though he so humbly claims to speak only broken English, despite the fact that his command of the language is better than most adults I know that speak it as their first and only language) and shared his thoughts with the non-Hindi guests: Halleluja! It was a simple speech that touched on his feeling that he was actually a son of India, having been fortunate to find refuge in the country all those years ago when he was exiled from Tibet, and having relied upon the rice and Dahl of India to sustain his body, and he was proud to be a son on India, because India lives with some great principles. There is a long-standing tradition of tolerance and respect for other faiths and religions within the borders of India, which results in great peace and harmony and he applauded that. He also spoke of the long-standing tradition of Ahimsa (non-violence) that India embraces and how this practice fosters compassion for all living beings. He promoted the need for secular values and encouraged people to see things from many angles. He talked about the world getting smaller and the need for more respect and tolerance of other people’s views, which will enable us all to live together in peace and harmony and really his message was simple: if we can look at things through another person’s eyes and use a little common sense, we can all live together peacefully. In closing he stated that he was proud to be there for this gathering of gurus – even though he doesn’t have the beard of a guru, and then he proceeded to tug on the beard of his neighbour, Ramdevji like a rambunctious child pulling at his father’s beard and the whole audience giggled. Like I said – there’s nothing he does that isn’t cute!
Finally the speeches came to an end and a number of volumes of the new Encyclopedias were brought to the stage for another blessing, and the mandatory round of photographs. Truly it was quite exciting to be in the thick of it all, surrounded by the marauding photographers, desperate for ‘the shot’.

I would have to say though that the highlight of the day was not just to be sitting at the feet of the Dalai Lama for the afternoon,

but to realize, in a moment of distraction that I was actually making eye contact with his holiness and he was cracking a smile just for me……….let’s just say that made my freakin day.

Once the special guests had made their way from the stage it was time to head back to Rishikesh, for the fire puja ceremony, and a special musical performance on the banks of the Ganges by renowned musicians, with the Lama and many of the other revered guests present. With our new favorite toy in hand, the magic key of the event, our prized press passes we were actually able to gain access to the stage, and again were only feet from the Dalai Lama et al. The entertainment was actually pretty good, but again the highlight of the evening for me were those few seconds, when I realized that I was actually standing almost directly in the path of the oncoming Dalai Lama. This time, my lens cap was off, my camera was ready and I did actually manage to catch a couple of good shots before I was thrust aside by one his personal ninjas and his entourage was leaving me in the metaphorical dust.

This was an encounter I won’t forget in a hurry.

Day 2 of the proceedings went off in much the same way as the first. A mangled crowd of desperate fans huddling around the path to catch a glimpse of his holiness, followed by a couple of hours of speeches in Hindi (this time with the emphasis on the launching of a campaign to clean up the Ganges) and then a few more words in English from the Dalai Lama.

He had just a few more things to say. Firstly he stated that in today’s world it is true, and one must admit, that money is important. Of course without money one cannot provide for the physical necessities and comforts of life – but it is also important to realize that while money is important, spirituality is of equal importance in life. One can have all the money in the world, billions of dollars and still be unhappy. For mental comfort, money cannot provide. The idea that money will solve all your problems and unhappiness is an illusion. He knows this from personal experience he said, because he has met many rich people who are very unhappy. There is no supermarket that sells piece of mind. There is no surgical procedure that can take away unhappiness. For comfort of the mind, spirituality is necessary. Again, he emphasized that one does not need to follow a particular religion to follow a spiritual path. He spoke of promoting secular ethics, and a true sense of compassion and care for other life based on common sense. He recognizes that for a happy life one needs to take care of both the body and the mind and emotion.

Secondly, he spoke of the need for a new awareness of ecology and the environment. If we want to be able to take care of our need for physical comfort, we need to extend that awareness beyond ourselves to the greater surroundings of our place and our planet. He acknowledged that around the world there are growing shortages of one of the fundamental necessities of life: water. He spoke of the beauty of the moon, the poetry of that beauty but the understanding that the moon is only beautiful from afar, and could never sustain human life. This planet we live on is the only one we have and so we must take care of it. The Himalayas, with their snow-capped peaks and lush forests are not only important for the locals who live there, but for the entire continent. The Tibetan plateau is the source of water for millions of people. And while the Ganges is a special river to the Hindu’s and for them it needs to be clean so that when the next generation of pilgrims come to her banks they will want to bathe in her waters – to him there is no religious significance. It is just water. But water is everything. Water gives life, and the Ganges is a source of life to millions, who depend on the water in it for survival. Ecologists have referred to the Tibetan Plateau as the third pole, and just as we have seen vast changes taking place at both the north and south poles, so too have we seen changes, in our own lifetimes in Tibet. The rate of change in Tibet is actually faster than anywhere else on the planet and as the temperature rises the water levels fall and something must be done to change this pattern. His message was simply that this information, this knowledge should be shared around the world and that the governments of the world need to take heed of the warnings and make changes to make a difference.

India has shown that religious tolerance and the concept of Ahimsa can create a happy healthy society and these things are what India has to offer to humanity to build a better global society. Bravely, he also commented on the things that India still needs to change, the poverty and illiteracy, and other out-dated traditions. He talked of looking to the future, changing the things that need to be changed and offering the best of what India has to the rest of the world as an example of how we can all live in harmony together despite of our differences.

And then, in true Indian style, for their first act of ‘clean-up’, they managed to pollute the poor Ganga river even more, by releasing half filled helium balloons, that barely made it a few feet in the air before being forlornly blown back down towards the fast flowing river, where they would be undoubtedly be submerged to eventually find a home under a rock, to decompose in over the next 75 yrs (or however long it takes for a rubber balloon to decompose).

Well, I guess their hearts were in the right place, even if the science still has a little catching up to do. And in a final flourish of mayhem, the Dalai Lama was whisked away one last time amongst a crowd of fervent followers and Tibetan ninjas, while we were left to marvel at our good fortune in having had this golden opportunity to hear such simple wisdom and truth uttered from the mouth of the cutest spiritual leader ever to have walked the planet. Overall impression: The Dalai Lama Rocks!

To Vipassana or Not to Vipassana…….That is the Question?

2010-04-25T00:35:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time in a land not all that far away, named anxiety, lived a beautiful but worried princess (at least her prince was constantly telling her she was beautiful so in someone’s reality she was….or is!). Why she was worried didn’t really matter. There was always something or other she could find to worry about. And if there was nothing in particular to be worried about on that particular day she would just somehow manage to worry about nothing at all – but worry she would! So much so, that one day the princess noticed she was becoming the beautiful princess with the wrinkles across her forehead from all that constant worrying. What to do? What to do? Well, the princess had heard about a train called the Vipassana Express. It was a 10-day train that could potentially deliver her directly from the land of anxiety to a land of peace and harmony otherwise known as the state of liberation. She was very excited to find out how to get on this train. Could anybody board? How much would it cost? And could it really take her all the way to that place she so desperately wanted to go? She was so tired and fed up of living in anxiety. She felt sure she was ready for a change. Well – the only way to find out if a train like this really existed was to head on down to the railway station and see if she could buy herself a ticket.

By now the astute ones among you (that’s right – you crazy folks actually bothering to read this little tale) will have figured out that the ‘princess’ of this story is actually myself and this tale is just a simple metaphor about my own state of mental health or more accurately apparent lack thereof. And going to the train station was like coming to India to find the tools that India has to offer that might just give me the chance to explore a new way of being in the world. Because it just so happens that India is the home of all (or at least most) things spiritual, and the current heartland of the ancient technique of Vipassana that has been passed down through the generations by teacher after teacher from the original teachings of the G-man himself (and by G man I am of course referring to Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha).

Before arriving in India I had heard a little bit about Vipassana from a wonderful and spiritually well versed friend of mine, named Claudio, who had given me the vague low down on how it worked – he explained it was a 10 day, silent meditation retreat in which you could find a way to quieten your mind and reach a profound level of inner peace. And although the use of this technique has now spread pretty much all around the world, since India was it’s birth place, with the Buddha, and India is where it is most widely practiced today, I felt sure that India was the place to give it a whirl.

So, here I was in India – with just a small amount of ‘unplanned’ time to fill, before my yoga teacher training was to begin and still I hadn’t managed to ‘squeeze in’ to the 9 month timetable of our travels one of the most important aspects of what I came here to do – one of the things that I was most seeking from our journey. I was running out of time to set out on my spiritual quest and was determined not to leave without at least attempting to fulfill my goal. So finally I hunkered down and gave it some serious thought, opened my laptop and starting googling around. And low and behold – as I hunted around on the Dhamma.org website for a centre that was holding a course during this gap…..serendipitously – there it was – in a location that fit with my plans perfectly – on a date that would allow me to arrive just in time to begin the little ‘train ride –The Vipassana Express’ and finish with time to spare before yoga. It was a clear indication to me (some might say it was a ‘sign’) that now was the time to board that train. Now was the moment to seize the day, pursue my intentions and take that final step. And so I enrolled for the course, booked my overnight train (a real one, not a metaphorical one) from Delhi to arrive in Dehra Dun at the allotted time and my date with destiny had been secured. All I had to do now was show up…….. My bags were packed, I was at the station and I held the ticket in my hand for the Vipassana Express (back to the metaphorical train). All that remained was to board the train and wait for the engine to rev up and pull away from the platform with me aboard and I would be on my way to my escape from anxiety (or on a crash course to insanity).

Now the only problem with all of this was that my good friend Claudio didn’t really go into all the details of exactly how the ‘Vipassana Express train’ worked. He didn’t mention that once you got onboard they would lock the doors and there would be no escape from the train until the 10 days were over – and he certainly didn’t mention that during those 10 days there would be many many moments when all you would desire would be to run kicking and screaming from that train, because it would almost certainly feel like the train carriage was about to burst into flames at any moment, or at the very least it would be an incredibly unnerving rollercoaster ride with the train feeling as if it could derail at any moment, rattling, uncontrollably rapidly along the tracks with seemingly no driver at the helm. But I’ll get to all that in due course!

So – to return to the language of the ‘here and now’ I should probably explain a little more about the technique of Vipassana. The concept is simple. Over the course of 10 days, with the use of some simple meditation techniques while following a few simple rules, you will learn how to quieten your mind, and connect with actual reality through awareness of a few subtle bodily sensations. The ultimate goal is to become equanimous with one simple truth. The law of nature dictate that all there is, is the here and now. Every experience shares one simple quality: that of impermanence. Each moment arises and passes away and if you can remain equanimous with that fact and your experience of reality, be it good or bad, you will connect with the deeper truth and reality of yourself, find peace and calm and ultimately liberation (from your attachments and cravings to worldly things and your fear and aversion to all that you despise), which will lead to an escape from the misery of existence and real joy and happiness. On the surface of things this can sound like a pretty depressing outlook on the reality of existence but if you can get beyond the first impression there is apparently a joyous state of enlightenment amongst all that, that will liberate you from your suffering in whatever way it manifests itself; be it anxiety, depression, aggression or any number of other serious mental afflictions.

Now I’d like to mention – many of my friends held serious doubts that I would be able to pull it off. They thought that although I might manage to stay on the train for the full 10 days there was no way that I would be able to adhere to the rules and regulations that applied. And here’s why: The first and most obvious of those rules was complete and utter silence. Being that I am a naturally gregarious and outgoing soul it is true that this first rule could potentially have posed a bit of a challenge to me. However, I felt sure that it would be easy – and indeed it was. In actual fact (and for you some of you this may come as a surprise), for me the prospect of 10 days without talking was positively a relief. Many times I have actually found that the main source of my anxiety is of a social nature. Sometimes the impulse for conversation arises out of an uncomfortable silence, or the need to be ‘interesting’ and have something spectacular to say. So, to have silence imposed: what a relief! I don’t speak because I can’t – and so it is simple. No words were to be uttered and it was easily done. But you see the ultimate goal of the outward silence is not just a test of will and determination. It is actually to assist the meditator in reaching a state of inner silence. To quieten the mind. And for me it’s just not that simple. You can take out my tongue, but that certainly doesn’t mean you’ll shut me up. The voice inside my mind is a truly persistent one that will not go down without a fight. By day 4, the mind is supposed to be more easily approaching silence. Well – I’m afraid Mr. Buddha that you are going to have to come up with something a little more compelling than the observation of my breath to keep me quiet in the music halls of my mind. The first 3 days of a 10-day course are spent simply observing ones own breath and becoming acutely aware of any bodily sensations in the area directly around the end of the nose, where the breath enters and exits the body. By doing this the mind becomes focused and tuned in to the capacity to sense more subtle and subtle sensations throughout the body. That part of the technique worked well enough, but I’ve always been a pretty good multi-tasker I’m afraid. And so while I was busily honing my skill as a sensation senser – I was also madly chattering away to myself about, as usual, anything and everything that my little mind could think of, to keep me busily twisting and turning myself into little knots and twirls about. Interestingly enough most of the first 2 days of distracted thinking was spent ruminating and jumbling around the most recent and fairly insignificant drama to have unfolded in my life regarding none other than……wait for it……my piano. On the grand scheme of things – it wasn’t even something that important……and it wasn’t even involving people of any great importance to me…….and yet I simply could not put it out of my head…….and so, there lay my first of many lessons that I taught myself in those long 10 days. Most of what I think about, neigh obsess about is little more than banal and boring bullshit that I would do well to dismiss instantly from my mind – in actual fact this was not a new awareness for me – but at least a powerful reminder – but still not necessarily a lesson that is easily acted upon.

And so – by day 3, I was still chattering away in my mind but I had managed to become quite a smarty pants at feeling my upper lip tingling away (supposedly this level of ability to feel subtle sensations allows you to connect with the awareness of the reality of the human body at the atomic level)….yay me! Wasn’t I doing well? (Despite the fact that I’d wanted to smash my face against the wall of the meditation hall with hell and fury out of sheer boredom on more than one occasion…..like I said……come on, Buddha……give me something a little more compelling!)
Well – what is it they say? Be careful what you wish for! Day 4 arrived with the delivery of stage 2 of the technique and something, at least initially a little more compelling. Now that we had perfected the ability to be aware of sensation on one square inch of our skin we were suddenly given free rein to explore our entire bodies from head to foot, inch by inch, part by part, piece by piece in sequence, moving from head to feet. OK – so this was a little more interesting and seemed to me to have a little more potential to take me to a state of ‘bliss’. There were moments when the sensations were verging on pleasant and I was feeling like a bone fide meditator, with the potential to feel that light and fluffy feeling that one imagines meditation is all about. But hold on a minute……the instruction weren’t quite finished. Before we got carried away feeling all tingly and lovely we were severely reminded that this warm fuzzy feeling was not at all the point of the exercise. The point was to experience all this at the physical level from the Point of view of an objective observer, to remain equanimous with the experience and maintain the knowledge that all was impermanent. All would arise and pass away and that nothing, good or bad was to be reacted to with either craving or aversion. OK – so it did seem like a bit of a party pooper move on the old G man’s part – but maybe he was just saving the best for last…..or something…….and so I went along with it……. until the slap in the face arrived.

And for the final twist of the knife. Now that you’ve figured out how to be acutely aware of every sensation on your body at an incredibly intense level……don’t move…..not an inch…….for a whole hour! OK – before you read any more……just try it…go on ……I’ll be here when you get back…..go on…….I’ll time you……ready….set…..go.

I thought so…….it’s only 7minute, 37 seconds and you’re back already! Not that bloody easy is it? In fact it’s f*&^ng excruciating isn’t it? My good friend certainly never warned me about this part. Now maybe he’s just a masochist and he liked this part. Or maybe he knew if he told me about this bit there was no way in hell I’d ever be crazy enough to try it – but Claudio – I have one question……WHAT THE FREAKING HELL? To sit in a meditative pose, with your eyes closed without moving your arms, legs, or any part of your body for that matter is one of the most painful experiences I’ve had in my life time….and there’ve been a few – including fracturing my pelvis and sustaining a pretty serious third degree burn on my upper, inner thigh (don’t ask……a teenage camping trip in the garden gone wrong!!). But anyway – none of them even compare with the pain that you will experience the first, second, third, fourth and probably fifth time you try it after about 30 – 40 minutes or so. After that……well – let’s just say that Buddha teaches you how to deal with the pain! And here is where my problems with Vipassana began and why I began this little story with the title that I chose…..to Vipassana or not to Vipassana…..a play on words based on one of the many great and famous speeches from a little ditty by the bard: Hamlet. Since at the essence of this meditation is the question of what it means ‘to be’. The theory behind dealing with this pain is that in remaining equnimous with the pain – by not developing an ‘aversion’ to the pain one gains control over the mind…..that old ‘mind over matter’ phenomenon. But to me it just seems like you get really good at playing games with your mind and convincing yourself that what you are experiencing is not really pain, when in actual fact it is incredible, excruciating agony. Any technique of meditation that involves habituating yourself to pain, conditioning your mind to ignore one of nature’s most natural and helpful instincts – that of responding to pain to protect one’s own well being – well – to me it just can’t be a good idea. It simply can’t be healthy. And so, in my mind, on day 4 began the constant debate about whether or not by continuing on this train I was actually doing myself more harm than good. Now the first couple of times that I tried to adhere to this new stipulation of complete stillness I managed to bring myself to tears. Quite literally rivers of tears were streaming down my cheeks with the pain – my face was twisting into all sorts of shapes and contortions reminiscent of the face that stares back at you from out of a fun house mirror and I felt like the sad and lonely child in the playground with no friends that tries to hide it’s pain following a tumble, resulting in a bloody knee, for fear of ridicule and rebuke.

But after a couple of goes – I did somehow manage to hold back the tears – quell the urge to scream and run away and simply ‘deal with the suffering’. And at this point, sure, I could tell myself that I had gained control of my mind – that mind over matter works – but the very fact that I breathed the biggest sigh of relief when that hour was finally over, that for every minute of that last 30 minutes I was craving and praying for the final bell to arrive was a clear indication to me that all I had managed to do was muster the will power to prevail and repress the painful sensations rather than, as was instructed, remain equanimous in the moment being only aware of the nature of the sensation, that of its impermanence and begin the process of releasing my negative karmic pain.

From here on in, each day I would ask myself whether or not I could believe in a process that uses pain as it’s primary tool to effect change and each day I would almost come to the conclusion that I could not, only to be persuaded by the daily discourses, scheduled at the end of each day that my thought process and experiences were all just part of the process and that the wisdom of it all would finally prevail. Through it all I tried hard to remain open to the possibilities, and undecided about the potential of the technique – but my tendency towards skepticism was only compounded by the obvious potential weaknesses and failings of its implementation at the instructional level. You see, despite the 10 day vow of silence, we were permitted to discuss any problems or issues concerning our meditation practice with our assistant teachers (the actual teacher, S N Goenka – was heard on audio tapes during meditation sessions and seen once daily on the TV screen for the evening ‘discourse’) and during several of the meditation sessions we were called forward in pairs by the assistant teacher to discuss our progress and receive ‘advice’. In one or 2 of these brief ‘interviews’ it became quite apparent to me that the other half of my pair was struggling considerably with the process; suffering from panic attacks with increasing frequency as the days progressed, and it was blatantly obvious that the assistant teacher was completely incapable of offering any useful advice or words of comfort.
Now, one can argue of course that my growing aversion to the practice was simply a symptom of the sickness of my mind, the weakness of my mind, my inability to become master of my mind and therefore I am a person in greater need of the technique than the next guy – but one could also argue that my aversion was simply a natural reaction to a process that was potentially quite damaging and harmful to a delicate mind – just exactly the type of mind that might seek out and hold hopeful expectation for great results from a technique like this. I myself, at times through the process felt a little like I was losing my grip on reality, that I was potentially spiraling towards insanity – but fortunately for me, my analytical mind was able to look at it all from many angles and gain a little calm objectivity outside of the pain of the meditation hall. Again I admit that perhaps this belief I hold is simply my overwhelming ego taking hold (the ‘I’ that desperately wants to maintain control and protect it’s very existence) but on the other hand, perhaps this belief is actually an accurate understanding that for me, and likely many others this is not a technique that offers a healthy approach to enlightenment.

I was fast coming to the conclusion that if reaching enlightenment means pursuing this past time of sitting with your own sensations hour upon hour then I feel confident I’d actually rather continue in the ‘misery’ of my life than trade it for the ‘joy’ provided by the utter boredom of meditating on impermanence.

Or perhaps it’s simply that I’m just not ready to give up my cravings and aversions. Perhaps I enjoy the dramas of life a little too much. What is it they say? “The unexplored life is not worth living” and I have to say that I agree. I know a great number of people who know exactly how harmful cigarettes are for their health but have absolutely no intention of ever quitting – because they like it, they like the way it makes them feel and they are OK with the fact that their pleasure seeking behavior may ultimately result in their own demise.

I was fast concluding that yes – my addiction to life is alive and well. My affliction of loving the highs and the lows is at this point in my life incurable.

And so Vancouver I’ve got news for you.

I will be arriving in the city, happily and thoroughly unenlightened and truly equanimous with that fact. I came on a journey of discovery: a search for the truth in myself, and the possibility of inner peace. Well – I’ve found out that the cost of inner peace is a price I am at present unwilling to pay. I actually like my life the way it is and myself pretty much the way I am. I simply love to love with fiery passion, and to react with infuriation to the irritations of life, in equal doses. How else would I know that I was actually alive? How would I know that I was living? Buddha would tell me that I can know I’m alive by being in the now and walking on the path of dhamma – but I think I’m realizing that I like my way just fine. Sure - I recognize that my tendency towards reacting to the world the way I do may cause me some anxiety, and this is not always my favorite sensation to experience – but for right now this may be just be a symptom that I have to learn to live with.

Partly in my mind I wonder if I ever actually boarded the Vipassana Express at the beginning of the ride or whether I was just standing at the platform with my suitcase in hand, watching the train disappear into the horizon, only imagining what it would be like to be on board, but part of me definitely feels like I took at least some of the journey before I bailed out. Maybe I was just hanging out of the door, like one of the last passengers to alight that couldn’t quite keep a firm grip of the handrail to pull herself up. Or maybe I was riding on the roof. Taking the journey without actually being inside the train and experiencing all the delights that came inside the carriage. I’m sure I could go on and on with the metaphors but you get the point!

But before I completely dissuade any of you potential Vipassana heads out there from giving it a shot, I should point out that there was also an incredible amount of very powerful things that came out of those 10 days. Each night, during the dhamma discourses, Goenka manages to weave so many of the teachings of Buddha, into his exploration of the Vipassana process. And let’s face it, a lot of what Buddha taught was just pretty damn good, good old common sense. I learned that none of the meditative aspects of the practice can do a dash of good without first living a life of ‘Shila’ – a moral life. And as guidelines for this he offers, not 10 commandments, not 5 pillars, but 5 simple rules to follow: Do not kill, do not steal, do not participate in sexual misconduct, do not lie and do not take intoxicating substances that will introduce impurities to the mind. I think you’ll agree that most of us can pull that off for at least 10 days. A life time? Well that may be a little more tough, and we can always find ways to justify bending the rules in our mind but at the core of it, I think that most of us will agree these rules are in fact pretty sensible rules to live our lives by (yes – even the one about intoxicating substances. We may like having them in our life, but essentially it’s pretty obvious they really aren’t beneficial in the long run). Now once you have these rules in check you move on to Samadhi: mastery of the mind. Which is where the meditation comes in. I’ve already explained how I feel about the Vipassana technique itself so I won’t repeat myself again, but in principle the concept of learning to become master of your mind, rather than slave to it through meditation is obviously a pretty good one (even though one may argue that on some level this is actually just creating a little control freak of your inner conscience!). And then the final step of leading a good life is to develop Panya: wisdom, which is gained through the process of Samadhi. Again – who can argue that they wouldn’t like a little more ability to see things as they really are – rather than through the rose tinted, dark mirrored or perhaps polarized spectacles that they may be filtering the world with! Throughout the discourses, Goenka peppers his teachings with little fables and tales to offer clear examples and a direct understanding of the theory, which are so simple and yet so perfect in their application that you can’t help but be persuaded by their logic. Nevertheless, when it came to the actual Vipassana technique my instincts just told me that the involvement of pain was simply not something I could accept. Now it’s true that this method clearly works and is cherished by thousands and thousands of Vipassana meditators around the world (one guy on my course was on his eleventh retreat) and there is a great deal of good that comes out of 10 days of silence, but for me the hunt is still on for a way to find inner peace. I do at least now know exactly what it is that I am looking for and think I have a great deal more clarity about how I may be likely to reach that place, so for that I am grateful.

There were also moments of incredible euphoria in that meditation room. During one of my first hours of complete stillness I experienced a few moments of utter bliss and loving joy emanating from my being – that feeling of love and compassion for one’s fellow mankind that I have always believed should be the ultimate goal of deep meditation – and I glimpsed it, I tasted it! As tears of joy streamed down my cheeks I felt like I was peering into a vast ocean of possibilities and only just tapping the surface of an eternally deep and never ending supply of pure and clear love. It wasn’t until later of course that my left brain kicked in and decided that those sensation were probably just my mind’s interpretation of the sensation caused by the rush of endorphins that had been released by my body to help me cope with the excruciating pain I was experiencing. I was quite surprised though with how much I managed to avoid growing an attachment to this sensation and managed to remain equanimous as the feeling past me by, only to be replaced by the more familiar sensation of a burning throbbing agony throughout most of my legs. Now according to Buddha, as soon as you experience this euphoria and attach a preference to this sensation, you have failed at the purpose of the meditation, which is to reach a deep understanding of the nature of reality – that all is impermanent and you should remain equanimous, with no attachment to this sensation, however I will admit that although I didn’t try to cling to the sensations in the moment, those moments are definitely cherished and savored in my mind, because they opened my eyes to the potential of a person to feel a complete harmony and joy with the world. To me, that is where the potential for a better world to live in can be harnessed. If everyone could share in that awareness then surely the world would be a much happier, safer and more joyful place to be. And so – to Buddha I apologize, but to that experience I will remain attached. I certainly will not crave it – but I will place it on a little bit of a pedestal, as a state to aspire to in one way or another – permanently or impermanently – so that it may color my choices and actions in the world and make me a better person, a more loving and giving person who wants to take care of the world around her and the people in it. And this was my greatest lesson from those 10 days and one that I can already feel permeating the choices and decisions I am making and the way that I choose to interact with the world.
So to conclude, I suppose I should answer the question that I posed at the beginning. To Vipassana or not to Vipassana? Well – if the Vipassana Express was supposed to deliver me to peace and harmony (which in actual fact it isn’t, as I learned through the course – since a 10 day Vipassana is actually just the beginning of a life long journey), I could come to the conclusion that it didn’t work – that my carriage got unlatched and I was left somewhere along the track – I didn’t make it to the final goal and so in a way for me the process failed (or I failed at the process) and one might decide that embarking on those 10 days was a complete waste of time – one might say ‘not to Vipassana’. But when I step back from it all – with a couple of days to clear my head from the vivid memories of the pain, I am certain that I did take at least a part of the journey. Maybe the train almost got derailed and so decided to go back to the station for another service before setting out again. Anyway, whatever part of the journey I did manage to take, along the way I certainly gained a big chunk of wisdom and some wonderful insights into my soul that I believe can guide me forward in a happy healthier way in life. So I would have to then conclude: ‘To Vipassana’.

Now, would I do it again? Well that’s another question. Probably not……but don’t quote me on that when I’m signing up for another round of torture a few years from now. But am I happy that I did it? Absolutely! Although it is without doubt one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life (even harder than climbing a 6153M Himalayan peak), it showed me the potential of a life – it showed me the possibilities of ‘being’ and for that I will be eternally grateful – that is as eternally grateful as one can possibly be in the moment, the only moment, the here and now of existence, the ultimate truth of being!

This is the touristy bit!

2010-04-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

Not surprisingly, Rajasthan is one of the most popular states in India for the average tourist to visit. And the reason for that is simple: Around the 16th Century, Rajput strength was at it’s peak and the state was made up of a series of kingdoms ruled by powerful leaders and Maharajah’s, who built impressive palaces and forts to protect their domains.

Over the years those fortresses were put to the test time after time, in defense against attacking powers and so Rajasthan is rich in both fascinating history and monumental architectural structures. In just over a week we made it our mission to visit as many forts and palaces, as was humanly possible. Some have been perfectly preserved or reconstructed to give you an atmospheric glimpse of their original grandeur – some are in a sad state of disrepair but all share that magic quality of ‘viewability’ – that made our time in Rajasthan captivating.
We began our tour of Rajasthan in Jaipur, visiting the Amber Fort

just outside the city (where I was delighted when our guide asked if Darko was my son……seriously – has married life really taken its toll that much?)

as well as the city palace (still inhabited by the Maharajah of the city today)

and the impressive, weird and wonderful observatory.

From Jaipur we had a quick stop in Bundi, one of the smaller towns on our circuit, where Rudyard Kipling spent time writing, which actually gave us a wonderful insight into why people used to fall in love with India.

Wandering the narrow lanes and alleys filled with bright blue buildings (painted blue to represent the Brahmin caste to which the inhabitants belong)

we were greeted with warm smiles and an amicable willingness to pose for a picture

without ever being asked for ‘rupees’ or ‘school pens’.

The streets were surprisingly clean and garbage free

and the ram shackled, falling down palace towering above the town, on the way up to the impressive fort on the hilltop behind, made a suitably romantic excursion for the late afternoon and early evening as the sun set behind the horizon.

In Bundi we stayed in a 500 yr old renovated Haveli with stained glass windows and traditional murals that made us feel like we were stepping back in time.

From Bundi we made our way to Chittorgah to explore the various ruins and structures of yet another hill top fort,

with its Palaces, Tower of Victory and Tower of Freedom, displaying sculpture and stonework that rivaled that of Hampi.

This was where we also managed to get a taste of the real authentic Indian experience for my Dad and his wife,

since most tourists only stop by for the day and visitor accommodations are sparse. We found ourselves a cheap hotel with mostly Indian guests and were treated to the usual delights of loogie hocking sounds through the paper thin walls and even a special visit in the night from the hotel clerk trying to deposit a second loads of guests into the room already occupied by my dad…..just so happened he was standing naked by the bed at the precise moment the door was flung open. Needless to say, the clerk made a hasty retreat and certainly got an eyeful of a naked Dave out of the deal! 5 Star service all the way!

From here we made our way to the magical city of Udaipur.

Considered by many to be the most romantic city in India, and I have to say, I think I agree.

The view from our hotel rooftop was utterly spectacular, looking out over the lake on the banks of which the city nestles. The island beyond the shore is actually home of the lake palace, now an exclusive hotel where part of James Bond, Octopussy was filmed and so we enjoyed several meals just gazing out to this picture of elegant beauty. And surprise, surprise there was a palace to visit, with exquisite mirror work and murals throughout decorating the walls and ceilings. Mostly the palaces of Rajastan are a series of rooms and courtyards that have been constantly amended and added to over the centuries that give you the sense that you are lost in the labyrinth of a fairytale castle.

It’s easy to spend hours just wandering about from room to room, imagining in your mind’s eye, the life of the Maharajah and his Maharani, with all their servants and courtiers.
After a second day in Udaipur, spent riding around the surrounding countryside of the city, on thoroughbred Mewari horses (don’t forget to ask Diane how much she loved that morning more than any other part of the trip) and dining in one of the finest restaurants of India, overlooking the lake with a lovely bottle of rose, it was time to move on once again.

This time to Jodhpur: another Brahmin blue town

with charming alleys

and friendly faces,

and yep, you’ve guessed it a fort with a palace.

Finally we made it to the final destination on our sightseeing itinerary in the town of Jaisalmer, and said goodbye to Krishna, our wonderful driver who had miraculously got us all the way there in one piece without a scratch or a dent, although at one point we did wonder whether we were going to be stranded in the desert with the clutch in pieces on the highway, since his ability to change gears almost completely arrested by the time we made it.

Jaisalmer is less than 150KM from the border of Pakistan and so we noticed a distinct difference in the personality of the place.

Perhaps it is just the dry arid heat of the desert that calms the mayhem of India, but to me it seemed decidedly different to the rest of India.

From here we arranged a camel safari,

to spend a night out under the stars, eating by the light of campfire and enjoying the fresh cool air of the desert at night. As we lay on our blankets waiting for sleep to wash over us we were treated to the spectacle of a shooting star or two to wish upon and thankfully awoke to find that our wishes had been granted and our camels were still on hand to take us back to civilization.

Although Darko discovered unhappily that his camel managed to take the concept of ‘morning breath’ to a whole new level while he was preparing to mount and found himself gagging from the foul odor emanating from his camel’s mouth, we were glad of the ride, since by 9am the scorching sun was already beating down on us full pelt and giving us a taster of the heat to come.
Finally we caught the overnight train back to Delhi, where we were to part ways with our travel companions and point them in the direction of the Himalayas, whilst we would head off on our final task of this crash course to insanity, of seeking a little spiritual enlightenment. On the train we had a chance to reflect on our whirlwind tour and reminisce on some of the more memorable moments. The very concept of traveling in India with novice backpackers in the over 50’s category was truly a bit of a daunting one, but we were glad to say that our buddies handled it all with ease (although Diane may disagree if you ask her about that lovely train ride back to Delhi and the aftermath – but that’s for her to tell!). Despite the daily growing stack of luggage, and the inability of my father to show up on time for anything (nothing new there then!), we all proved to be a pretty well behaved troupe of travel companions. Amongst the most memorable moments though I have to say, it wasn’t the beautiful mosaic mirror work on the ceilings of the palaces or the impressive vistas from the roof of a fortress. Nor was it the silence and stillness of the sand dunes

as the cool evening breeze began to blow whispers across my face, or the rolling lilt of the camel’s rhythmical stride under the scorching sun. No, it was the repeated queries from my father, about the schedule for the day that had already been discussed 17 times over breakfast, or the constant questions for Darko about camera settings and ISO speed. And then there were the hilarious moments on the overnight trains, watching with amusement as Diane attempted to hoist herself up on to the top bunk of the sleeper car and failing miserably (making it eventually, with a bit of a boost from behind), or learning that Diane was actually planning to ‘hold it in’ all night because she just couldn’t bring herself to do the ‘squat and squirt’ in one of the ‘hole in the ground’ toilets. (Apparently the stench was just too foul and made her wretch the minute she bent down – which I guess probably would inhibit the relaxation of the correct bladder muscles for urination). Ahh – such giggles we had at the expense of poor Diane – but don’t worry – we finally found a stall with a ‘sit upon’ as she called it and the call to nature was successfully answered. And then of course there were the lessons on how to get rid of the beggars and touts and the imparting of the wisdom that the salesmen are almost NEVER telling the truth, as well as the multiple training sessions we attempted to provide (mostly in vain) about the nuances of a successful haggle – lets just say that Diane’s poker face needs a lot of work! It was all these personal moments and many more that made our little jaunt around Rajastan more than just a trip to India – but a portion of this crash course to insanity we are on that I will always remember with fondness and pride.

I discovered that I can actually get along with my father for more than two hours at a time and that family truly is a precious thing. (Especially when that family helps to up your daily accommodation budget from $10 to $25 and you actually get a good night’s sleep as a result – India looks so much better after a good night’s sleep with a chauffeur driven car!). But all joking aside, traveling with family really is a great way to get to know one another in a neutral environment that can help you to see a person in a whole new way and I really would recommend it to everyone……..but don’t quote me on that!

How 'bout that marble dome?

2010-04-16T01:04:00.000-07:00

It’s really impossible to say anything about this experience without saying something that hasn’t already been said a thousand times before……but I’d be a fool not to at least try…….I think I owe you guys that much! What else could I possibly be referring to, but our visit to none other than that oh so infamous wonder of the world, the Taj Mafreakinhal…..well I bet it’s never been called that before!

I do actually now consider myself to be an utterly spoilt brat of the backpack brigade because, for me, this was actually a repeat performance, having visited the Taj on my first foray in India many years ago. But fortunately for me, for all my travel companions this was the day to pop their Taj Mahal cherries and so off we went with a bounce in our rickshaw ride and a spring in our flip-flopped step to have an encounter with the sublime. I say fortunate for me, because I got such a kick out of watching them all, (especially my step-mum) stride out in calculated haste, with such eagerness to get to the ticket booth and dispense with the formalities, so that they could hurry up and catch a glimpse. Just like a child on Christmas morning that hasn’t yet learned that Santa is just a tale made up by the adults, Diane had that excited gleam in her eye and was raring to go. It made the second time around for me that much more sensational to be sharing it with them all.

But, how does one describe the indescribable? Of course we can go with the basics…..milky white marble,

spectacular inlaid stone work,

simple water features and manicured lawns, perfect symmetry, bladdy, bladdy blah. But the essence? The magic? How do you capture that? And a photograph doesn’t even do it justice.

There really is no substitute for actually being in a place like that.

We had decided to arrive around mid afternoon so that we would have plenty of time to explore every corner of the grounds and just soak it all up before the golden hour arrived,

and the setting sun would begin to set the dome alight, but somehow it still didn’t feel like enough time.

The sheer scale of this gargantuan monument is of course a huge factor in adding to it’s wonderousness and impressive presence, but I think that what fundamentally clinches the peak of its impressibility is the fact that this incredible piece of architecture was built solely for the purpose of celebrating a life. Shah Jahan, the ruler who commissioned this colossal structure was basically building a shrine for his dead wife, Mumtaz Mahal to commemorate her life……now that’s a pretty serious display of adoration. He also planned to build an identical structure out of Black Onyx on the other side of the river for his own interment, whenever that day came, but he never managed to pull that project off, thanks to a little issue with his son, who, being afraid that his father was going to spend all of his inheritance, locked him up,

in the Agra Fort for the last remaining years of his life and took over as ruler and lord, before daddy dear had managed to get that project off the ground.

As the sun slowly began it’s descent across the hazy sky we watched with admiration, observing the subtle changes taking place in the colors and hues reflected back from the marble of that majestic iconic dome. Magnificent, magical, mystical, momentous, marvelous and that’s just the ‘m’ adjectives that spring to mind. It truly was one of those days that will remain etched in my memory banks forever. Now that’s “Incredible India”!

But if you do ever find yourself with a couple of free days in Agra, I would like to point out that there’s definitely more to Agra than just the Taj Mahal.

There are actually several other, almost as equally impressive, monuments and mausoleums to be seen. For the price of just a bagel and a juice back home we were able to see the rest of Agra’s highlights in a day, by way of our very own chauffeur driven rickshaw, with the reliable and rambunctious, Haneef, who fortunately (for us and him) found us looking for a means of locomotion from A-B as we set out for our day. You see, most of the rickshaw drivers in the big cities of India spend their day touting for business, napping and occasionally picking up the odd 10 or 15 rupee fare for an Indian family that will only pay ‘local price’.

So the rickshaw drivers are usually quite excited to find a few tourists who want to hire them for the day and pay the equivalent of a king’s ransom (to them) for the privilege.

We visited the Agra fort,

The Baby Taj

and Akbar’s Mausoleum and never tired of playing tourist,

constantly surrounded by the spectacular relics and reminders of ancient times.

But the highlight of our second day of sightseeing in Agra was undoubtedly the way we decided to finish it off. It’s not often in a lifetime that one gets the chance to view one of the wonders of the world and so we all agreed that it was only sensible to get a second look at the Taj Mahal – but this time from afar.

By backpacker standards our digs in Agra weren’t half bad – but for the regular tourist one might say that we were kind of slummin’ it (well that’s certainly what the look on my step-mum’s face said when she first opened the door to her ‘suite’ and discovered, much to her dismay, that there wasn’t even a wardrobe inside the room! – but props to her – she managed it all without a single word of complaint – just as one would expect from a lovely gentile English lady), so we felt perfectly justified in feeling that we’d earned the right to a little luxury. Our final stop that day would be the ‘Oberoi Grand’, please Haneef. Thankfully, our trusty guidebook had mentioned that one could stop by the Oberoi in the afternoon for a ‘sundowner’ without actually being one of the privileged few guests residing at these luxury accommodations. It had been a long day of taking in the sights, our feet were tired and we were very, very thirsty. So – with the help of daddy dearest’s wallet we took refreshments in the Oberoi hotel bar that must surely claim to have one of the top ten views in the world. As we sipped on our cocktails, in the pleasant cool of the air-conditioned lounge, we gazed out of the glass patio doors, to a distant, but perfect view of the softly glowing domes of the Taj Mahal, and marveled that we practically had the place to ourselves!

Phew – what a view, what a day!

our second yummy cocktail it was decided that this actually wouldn’t be a half bad joint to have a spot of dinner, and so we dined in style that night. Thankfully the restaurant didn’t seem to impose a dress-code because I’m pretty sure my dusty flip-flops would not have made it through the ordeal, and to be sure we did feel just a little out of place, since we hadn’t even had time to stop back at our digs for a shower – but oh well – the food was delicious and for Darko and me, it was a wonderful little reminder of what life in the real world was like. Not a dread-locked hippy, or pot smoking Israeli in sight and all the waiters spoke perfect English, and catered to our every need with the care and attention that one might expect from the finest hotel in the city…..ahhhhh!

With Agra ticked off the list we spent a day at the nearby Fatephur Sikri before it was time to head off to the land of forts and palaces in the state of Rajasthan, and for that we were going to need a little extra help. In the weeks preceding my father’s arrival I had put together a grueling itinerary that would have us covering an immense amount of ground in a relatively short space of time and so we had decided that the best way for us to get from A-B was to actually have our own car and driver, instead of relying on bus and train – now while this may sound a tad extravagant, in actual fact in India, it is far from it. Firstly – since everything here is so much cheaper than in the west, the price was still less than you might pay for a hire car alone in Europe but secondly and most importantly, unless you have a serious death wish, there is absolutely no way in hell that you would want to drive yourself on the roads of India. Besides the regular rules of the road that no one actually follows, there are clearly a whole series of unwritten rules in India, which all the Indians are thoroughly familiar with and follow to the letter, but as a foreigner – it’s pretty much impossible to fathom. And so our exit from Agra was made in the comfort of our very own spacious and roomy SUV, driven by the amicable and affable, Krishna. Now the adventure would really begin……and just a couple of hours out of Agra, our first unforeseen event: a blowout. Not to worry – we’d only just stopped half an hour before to fix the spare – so with a nifty, quick wheel change we were back on the road and crossing our fingers that this would not be the shape of things to come. And if it was – well so be it – we were in ‘Incredible India’ after all, where anything can happen! And besides – we’d already seen the Taj Mafreakinhal – so did the rest even really matter…….?

Are you still there? Because we are still here in Varanasi

2010-04-12T23:36:00.000-07:00

It seems like an eternity since I last put my thoughts together for sharing with the masses (all 6 of you that bother to read this drivel) and a mountain of things have happened so I guess it’s probably best if I just start back where I left off and gradually bring you up to speed. (Don’t worry I’m going to do it in installments!) You may recall – I left you in Sri Lanka, nervously awaiting word of our Indian visa application status. Clearly, since I am not already back in the real world, that all went to plan and we did indeed secure the required documentation and here we are back in India. It wasn’t an entirely uneventful or un-stressful process, considering that after we had finally got the little sticker pasted in our passports, signed sealed and delivered we actually noticed it was not quite signed, sealed and delivered. It turned out that my visa was perfectly in order – but on close inspection of Darko’s visa we noticed that although all details were correct and the visa had been signed, the issuing authority stamp that was staring back at us in bright green ink on my visa was glaringly obviously missing from Darko’s. Why we hadn’t noticed at the pick up desk of the embassy in Kandy, neither of us could say for sure – but it was probably just an oversight caused by the frenetic energy levels we were experiencing due to the anxiety of uncertainty, followed by the over excitement and release of tension that we felt at finally getting the green light. So we spent the next few days in a mild state of apprehension about whether or not Indian immigration would notice the absence of the aforementioned stamp and turn us back or whether we would happily sail over the final hurdle. It turned out that indeed the worry was all for naught. After several lazy days on the golden sands of Mirissa on the south coast of Sri Lanka and a brief 45 minute flight to deposit us back on Indian soil we were greeted by a thoroughly affable immigration chap who after only a millisecond of hesitation, with his entry stamp poised over the appropriate page in the passport gave us the final go ahead and wished us well on our way. We were in – we were back – phew!

Thus began our mammoth 4-day journey by train from Trivandrum on the southern tip of India to the North Easterly, pilgrim city of Varanasi. One of the holiest cities in India, where millions of pilgrims journey each year to bathe in the river Ganges and be cleansed of all their sins, and where we had arranged to meet with my father and his wife so that we could play tour guide and host to India.

Although 4 days on a train may sound like a living hell – it actually wasn’t all that bad. I’d planned a route that was not quite the most direct but allowed us to break the journey in the middle with a night ‘off’ in Mumbai, and have departure and arrival times at ‘civilized’ hours of the day (to give us the least amount of stress or hassle). Our first overnight went smoothly and on arrival in Mumbai in the late afternoon it was just a simple rickshaw ride to reach the comfortable haven of our good friend, Martin’s apartment, who once again had agreed to allow us to impose upon his hospitality. After a cozy night in, with delivery pizza and a bottle of Indian wine we were refreshed and ready for round two: our second overnight train, and the final leg of our journey to reach Varanasi. Although we pulled in to the station a couple of hours late, our hotel man was happily awaiting us there on the platform, ready to escort us to our final destination. Weaving in and out of the cars, rickshaws, scooter, bicycles and cows on our way towards the old city I realized that it actually felt good to be back in the mayhem of India and I was excited to show Darko why I had first fallen in love with this place. Varanasi had been my first experience of India all those years ago; where I had originally been bitten by the ‘India bug’, and it felt good to be back. Our rickshaw could only take us so far before it was time to get out and walk the final few minutes.

Varanasi has actually been described by many as the oldest city on the planet and has been around in one form or another for centuries and so the oldest part of the city is a maze of incredibly narrow and random pathways and alley that could be appropriately compared to a rabbit warren of concrete and brick.

The cobbled streets are invariably covered in cow poo or other unidentifiable piles of crapola and every so often one is likely to come across the creator of one of those aromatic puddles of muck

or be greeted by the honking of a scooter, impossibly trying to weave and wend through the maze, and it’s easy to feel like you have entered an alternate universe.

Varanasi truly is like no other place on earth and the moment you enter those alleys you have the sense that you are being whisked away to another dimension.

For our stay here I had chosen a relatively simple (but slightly better than our usual grade since we were expecting company) hotel, conveniently located on the bank of the river, close to the main Ghat (steps leading down to the river) of the city where all the action on the river takes place.

It was a perfect location to view the goings on of the river without being completely in the thick of it. On our first stroll along the Ghats I had the chance to show Darko what ‘spiritual’ India is really all about and was overjoyed to find that he too took pleasure in the sights and sounds of Varanasi.

I finally felt vindicated for all those days and weeks of suffering that we had endured throughout our time in India.

Time after time we had both sat, after a long day of struggle and asked ourselves what on earth we thought we were doing here in India – but then, just when you think you’ve had enough and can’t possible take another day of the madness, a gem of wonderment appears to keep you open to the possibilities and the joy of breathing in the stench! And that is Varanasi. It is dirty and smelly and perhaps even more covered in cow crap than any other part of India – but is simply oozing with a sense of the mystic and the mind-blowing.

In a very small stretch of ground you can observe pretty much each and every behavior and function of mankind unfolding. There are the basics of life: washing and bathing, eating and drinking.

There’s the recreational: games of cricket and children playing.

There’s business of course: selling and shaving, laundering and boat rowing. There’s the spiritual: the burning of incense and offering of lighted garlands,

as well as rites and rituals, ceremonial and personal, as Sadhu’s and civilians alike immerse themselves in the holy waters of the river.

And then there’s you; watching it all from the distant perspective of a boat being rowed down the slow moving flow of the Ganges or there’s you immersing yourself in it all as you stroll down the Ghats and observe the fray as if in a mystical dream.

And as you breath it all in, that burning orb of energy transitions across the sky and slowly begins to melt and transform into the golden oranges and then burning reds of a setting sun which imbue it all with a rosy hue that sets each detail on fire in your soul further still.

As night fell on our first evening in Varanasi we decided to continue our stroll along the Ghats towards the more earthly glow coming out of the darkness ahead. We were heading towards the real flames and fire of the main burning Ghat, where the dead are brought to be released from the earthly shackles of their body and transcend to the spirit world where they will be free to choose a new shell for rebirth. One might expect the atmosphere at this place to be morbid or morose but in fact this is very far from the truth. Families bring their loved ones here within hours of their final breath and although there is surely sadness felt on one level or another, during the rites and rituals of a burning ceremony there is only a calm, quiet watchfulness, almost a matter-of-factness about it all.

This time is more of a moment for celebration than for commiseration by those with a true faith in the beliefs offered by the Hindu tradition. As an outsider, one might expect that you would be unwelcome, and your attention unwanted – but in many cases it often seems the opposite. There is usually a family member or friend of the deceased eager to greet you and explain the principles behind the practice of cremation. Of course, as one so unused to this emotional detachment about death it is for some a difficult experience, but I simply found myself fascinated by it all and not in the least bit put off by the sight of the fire tenders stoking the fires and prodding and probing the burning limbs and bones ensconced within the flames to ensure a proper burning. My honey on the other hand, was not quite prepared for that much gruesome detail and so after a few minutes observing it all we made our retreat, back to the shelter of a hotel that offered nutella pancakes and hot chocolate to nurture our stunned and exploded souls!

Now, for day two in Varanasi there was a completely different ‘new beginning’ than the one the soul looks for through reincarnation! This was the start of yet another dimension of our adventure in India. It was time to play tour guide to it all, as this was the day of the arrival of our new companions. Believe it or not, my brave, if slightly unaware and ill-prepared father and his wife had decided to tag along for a short stint of our travels here in India, and I had figured, what better place to start them off and give them a real taste of India than Varanasi? Just watching their faces and sensing their shock at the newness of it all was well worth the taxi fare from the airport when we went to greet them. But I was quite relieved to see that they were taking it all in with equal parts shock, amazement and wonder. It was foreign and yet they were fascinating, it was fearsome and yet they were full of fiery admiration. Instantly I felt confident that they would cope with it all, as long as we were there to shield them from the pitfalls of India.
So, over the course of the next two days we took boats trips down the river for sunrise and sunset, we strolled along the Ghats,

we sat above the crowds in a ‘bandstand’ to watch the sunset fire Pooja Ceremony,

we got lost in the alleys of the old city, we ate tasty curries to the soundtrack of live Indian Tabla and vocals and inhaled the fumes of burning bodies and sandalwood. Of course there are countless details and funny moments that I could share – like the very first moment of our meeting at the airport when I observed that, contrary to my advice my father had indeed decided to bring far too much excess luggage with them, including a huge piece of ‘wheely’ hand luggage that was completely impractical for the ‘backpacking’ itinerary we had prepared – not to mention for dragging through the cow poo filled alleys and stairways of Varanasi– no matter – they had 2 personal porters that would be carrying what they could not (that would be Darko and me!!). Or the time that we all dodged and dashed down the narrow alleys of the old city to avoid (or not) a barrage of water bombs falling from the sky that were being lobed by over zealous kids getting an early start on the mayhem of Holi (a Hindu festival that happens once a year, when colored powder and water bombs are aimed and fired at any and all passing targets in the name of religious frolicking for some purpose or other of spiritual frivolity).

And on I could go. But I won’t…….(I hear you all breathing a sigh of relief)…..because there’s still so much more to tell.

Our departure from Varanasi was by night train to Agra, which gave our eager newbie’s a chance to taste a little more of authentic India – an overnight train ride is of course one of the defining experiences of India (even in the ‘comfort’ of a 2AC carriage). Now my dad and his wife could really say they’d been ‘backpacking in India’. Another moment springs to mind: the sound of my father’s voice angrily ordering the train conductor to switch the bloody light off and stop running in and out of the carriage disturbing everyone – since this was after all supposed to be a f(*&*g sleeper car……hilarious!! Let’s just say it wasn’t a good night’s sleep for the newbie’s – but they handled it with grace and in the wee hours of the morning we carted ourselves and everything including the kitchen sink that they’d brought in their packs and bags onto Agra City Station Platform for the next leg of our journey and the chance to view one of the great man made wonders of the world. And view it we would…..in style……but more of that in my next installment.

Sri Lanka aint so bad after all!!

2010-02-18T21:49:00.000-08:00

And so I must begin with an apology to Sri Lanka. In my last installment I think I was probably a little unfairly harsh about this so-called ‘Emerald Isle’. Sri Lanka is indeed quite lovely and for it’s size, incredibly diverse. In a comparatively small landmass it manages to cram in beautiful beaches, lush jungle and forest and fertile hill country with impressive mountain peaks that reach to over 2500M in altitude, only a few short kms from the coast. It is indeed, as its nickname implies, a gem. It is also the land of tea: formerly known as Ceylon, Sri Lanka is a country that supplies the globe with some of the greatest tea available the world over. With a landscape perfectly suited to tea cultivation, and a climate to match it is almost impossible to hike out in the hill country without coming across one of the many verdant tea plantation to be found. Many of the estates offer guided tours of their facilities, followed by a cupping…..which is apparently the correct terminology for a tea tasting…..as opposed to a tea bagging – which is something entirely different. But if you just want to pop in for quick cuppa – you may find it difficult! But I’m getting ahead of myself…..we’ve been here 2 weeks already now and so I should really press rewind and start at the beginning.

We arrived on an early morning plane from Trivandrum in Southern India with plenty of time to make it to Kandy by the afternoon a la public bus! Kandy is one of those destinations that everybody mentions fondly. It’s a town with not much going on – but plenty of recommendations as a great place to stay so we had high hopes for it. However, on arrival we decided that either the reason for these multiple recommendations was simply eluding us – or more likely the case (as many fellow travelers seemed to share our sentiments)…..things have changed. After Colombo, the capital of Sri Lanka, Kandy is one of the larger towns in Sri Lanka and somewhat of a ‘hub’ located centrally on the island and to the north of the hill country. It may have been a ‘cool and trendy’ hang out spot once upon a time – but for us it seemed to be just a slightly more pleasant place than a big stinky city like Colombo to hang out in and apply for our second Indian visa (since there is a smaller and less busy Indian Consulate here than in Colombo) – but besides that there really wasn’t much reason to stay.

Now applying for the visa was something we had originally planned to do more towards the end of our Sri Lanka stint (as it is only supposed to take 5 working days to process), but since the lovely India government have decided, just recently, to introduce a new ‘2 months out’ clause to their visa requirements and we weren’t sure whether we would qualify for exemption to this new rule we figured it would be prudent to get on and apply sooner rather than later……welcome to the joys of Indian bureaucracy once again!!! Our application was readily accepted, so we are hoping that this means it will be approved (still waiting to hear) but once this had been done we decided there was no compelling reason to stick around in the town of ‘not much going on’ (…….seriously – there’s a vaguely pretty, man made lake that you can stroll around in less than an hour and a temple that supposedly holds the tooth of Buddha – aptly named ‘The temple of the tooth relic’, which costs a small fortune to enter so that you can maybe get a glimpse of the casing in which they have hidden the tooth away……we decided to give it a miss……..and besides that there’s not much else to see or do) and we’d best be on our way.

So – off we went to explore some of the rest of Sri Lanka with the knowledge that we would be back in a few days to pick up our visa. First stop: Dambulla (which is actually where I penned my previous little rant). The town of Dambulla is rather a non-descript settlement built around a busy highway, with only a couple of ‘traveler friendly’ places to stay – all conveniently right on the highway – which doesn’t exactly make for a great night’s rest (even with my ear plugs). The whole purpose of stopping at this town was to explore a series of Buddhist Cave Temples at the top of a rocky outcrop that just kind of rises out of nowhere in the landscape, just off the highway. Now while some people may feel that the price of entry is justified here, I personally was not impressed.

And this was our introduction to the ‘Cultural Triangle’ of Sri Lanka. An area to the north of the hill country that is so called due to the high density of ancient ruins and religious sites of significance sort of in the shape of a triangle. There are 3 main sites that can be visited on one $50 ticket (a great sum of money for us to fork out on our extremely limited backpacker budget) and Dambulla wasn’t one of them – so that meant shelling out even more. We were seriously hoping that the other sites would impress us a little more – or we’d be getting in line to demand a refund!

Well, it turned out that our next stop (thank goodness) was delightful. The sleepy village of Sigiriya is little more than a hamlet really, with only a handful of homes and lodgings, as well as one or 2 ‘dining options’ in the form of cute little curry shacks. But it’s location in the middle of fertile paddy fields and tropical plantations on a very quiet road, with only occasional passing traffic allowed us to breath a huge sigh of relief on arrival. This proved to be a nice place to spend a day, unwinding and exploring the first of the 3 ‘cultural highlights’. The main attraction of Sigiriya is an incredible ‘chunk’ of rock that rises from the flat earth around it, out of nowhere to an altitude of several hundred meters. Around and upon this rock an ancient civilization carved out its living quarters and sites of worship.

Apparently the rock itself is actually a huge plug of magma that sealed a long extinct volcano. It looked absolutely stunning at all times of the day but appeared especially magnificent in the warm glow of afternoon sunlight when the suns soft radiance seemed to magically bring alive its golden and amber colors and contours.

The views from the summit were incredible and the passage to reach the top, one could easily describe as hair raising…….quite literally it felt like a stairway to heaven (see photo).

But the wobbly knees on the way up were definitely worth it. Not quite sure how they made it up there in times gone by – but I sure am glad they have the metal railings and stairs in place now to assist in the elevation process.

From Sigiriya we progressed to Polonnaruwa (watch that old classic ‘Elephant Walk’ with Elizabeth Taylor to catch a glimpse of it

– we watched it the night before we got there!) to explore more ancient ruins of a great civilization. Again, we were not disappointed. In Polonnaruwa we got to see the remains of some incredible structures – from temples, to palaces, and council chambers to sculptures of Buddha.

The site stretches out over several kms, so we were glad of the method of transit we had opted for (rickshaw) to transport us from place to place: having lost the elevation of the hill country the temperature was a little more than steamy.

Our final destination before returning to Kandy for a visa update was Anuradaphura.

This was basically a larger and less well preserved version of Polonnaruwa, spread out over a greater area and interspersed between present day dwellings, so in many ways less impressive – however its saving grace was the sheer scale of a number of the isolated ‘attractions’ dotted around the site, mainly in the form of ‘supersized’ Dagobas (think big boob with large pointy nipple made out of bricks)

which did give this final location a decent level of ‘impressibility’!! On this occasion we decided not to be so lazy and opted for bicycle as our means of locomotion and so by the end of a very long and hot day we were exhausted. Thankfully the area was in the main quite flat and so the effort involved in getting from A-B was actually not too extreme – but in heat of the day, even a gentle incline felt like the final leg of the Tour de France!!!

So – we arrived back to Kandy with high hopes of procuring a new India visa only to be told 3 days in a row that our application was still in limbo and we should ‘try again tomorrow’. On day 3 we decided that instead of waiting around anymore we would head off for the next leg of our Sri Lanka explorations and try again after the weekend.

This time we headed South, into the heart of the hill country. First stop: Adam’s Peak. One of the tallest mountains in Sri Lanka and a site of great religious significance for pretty much all the major religions represented here. For several months of the year the trail becomes overrun with pilgrims, keen to scale the heights and pay their respects to the mountain. The usual plan of attack for this steep and imposing peak is actually a twilight ascent to reach the summit by sun rise and thus be there in time to watch the amazing light show provided by both the rising of the sun, and immediately after, the specter of the peak’s shadow appearing on the misty clouds and mountains to the west as the sun slowly makes its way up into the sky.
2.30am we headed out into the cold dark night to attack the 4800 steps between us and the summit. By 4:30am we had reached the peak and realized it was going to be a long wait for dawn. Our trusty Lonely Planet Guide Book had told us it would take 2 ½ - 4 hrs for the hike so of course we did it in 2! It was actually quite cold and blustery on the top (@ 2300M) and so we retraced our steps a few short minutes back down the track to the last ‘tea shop’ before the top and ordered up some hot tea, to warm us up and fill the time. As the minutes ticked by and the sunrise approached we were joined by more and more fellow ‘pilgrims’, until we were merrily chatting away and almost missed the main event. Fortunately for us, our friendly Sri Lankan teashop dude was nice enough to break up the little party of foreigners that had gathered in his stall and remind us why we had come all this way. He quietly beckoned us to a tiny rickety wooden door, hidden away in the back corner of his stall which led to a private little ‘back yard’ away from the bright lights of the trail and the concrete steps that made the whole experience seem a little less ‘close to nature’ than we would have liked. The view that greeted us was quite simply magnificent. There was a shroud of low cloud cover over the early morning sky which actually heightened the whole experience; it made the sky appear like a bumpy crumpled quilt that had been torn into pieces – allowing the deep reds and oranges that began to disperse the darkness to break through in shocking splinters of intense pigmentation. In a word: Stunning. After watching the light gradually illuminate the sky and see the world below awakening we joined the rest of the crowds at the top of the peak to watch the final ascent of the sun, where it would break the horizon and hopefully cast it’s magical shadow behind Adam’s Peak. Unfortunately the low clouds meant that there was only a momentary glimpse of the naked sun before she rose further to be masked once more by nature. The magical shadow would not be making an appearance on this particular morning – but the supernatural light show that we had just received preceding the rising of the sun had more than made up for it. Considering the spiritual significance of this ‘holy mountain’ it turned out that the biggest disappointment of the whole experience was actually the decidedly ‘unpilgrimage like’ atmosphere. As we ascended the stairway into the sky we were greeted by a never ending ‘sound-track’ of music and chanting that to us sounded more like a radio four newscast and was of a decidedly unspiritual nature. When we reached the top we were surprised to find the source of most of this noise: a man in every day clothes (it wasn’t even a vicar or a monk), standing behind a ‘donation counter’ on a microphone, apparently announcing the generous bequests of the many arriving pilgrims, or perhaps soliciting more (we couldn’t be sure what he was saying since obviously none of his words were spoken in our mother tongue). His commentary sounded more like the sounds of a cruise ship bingo session in progress than the words of spiritual encouragement that may have been more fitting for this particular location. And then, as the sun made her final ascent we were treated to a musical extravaganza of drums and horn a la snake charmer style that seemed so wholly inappropriate; I almost felt inspired to donate myself (with the request that my donation go towards paying the ‘musicians’ to just shut the hell up for a few minutes so that the capacity to commune with nature could be allowed!). Oh well – the views were stunning: on all sides we witnessed wisps of cloud and mist swirling about the hill tops and peaks below, gradually fading off into the distance – so all in all it was a worth while experience!

From Adam’s Peak we made a quick stop off in a dusty little hill town named Haputale, to explore a little of the tea plantation heartland and make an early morning trip to ‘Lipton’s Seat’ (as in the famous Mr Lipton of Lipton’s Tea). We arrived in Haputale via train, which took us through some spectacular scenery and gave us a taster of what we would be hiking through the following morning. And so again we awoke at the crack of dawn to jump on the first bus of the day at 6:30am, with the plantation workers to the Dambatenne Tea Estate.

From there we hiked to ‘the Seat’ and enjoyed a spectacular vista from the edge of the hill country, where it kind of feels like the end of the earth (as the landscape seems to just slide away to the South Coast below).

On retracing our steps the 7kms back to the tea estate we agreed that nothing would top off our morning like a lovely hot cuppa, brewed fresh from the bushes we were currently strolling through.

And so we arrived at the tea factory with a simple request: “tea for two please”. Only to be told that there was no tea. We were horrified to discover that there was no café or tea serving facilities…….unless we would like to take a tour of the factory for 250rps per person and then there would be a ‘cupping’ to follow! And so – a word of warning (and to explain my earlier remarks): you know that saying ‘water water everywhere and not a drop to drink’? Well – replace the word water with tea and that’s pretty much how things stand in Sri Lanka!!

But at least the tea pickers here are friendly and LOVE to have their pictures taken

……so overall – even though it’s not always easy to track down a tasty brew - as far as the tea situation goes this place is much more highly rated than Darjeeling in our humble opinions!

So now we find ourselves in Ella, a sleepy little town on the Eastern edge of the Hill Country with some marvelous hiking through tea plantations and the striking formation of the Ella Gap – a break in the hills that forms an almost canyon like structure opening the plateau of the hill country out on to the low lands beneath. Today we had yet another early start – this time to beat the heat. We hiked along the train tracks and through yet more tea plantations to reach the summit of Ella Rock. Just one more spectacular view point - from here, on a clear day you can watch the horizon slide away almost to the sea.

And so - here I am, sipping on tea (in a café and not a tea estate) and typing away on Valentine’s Day, keeping my fingers crossed that when we call (yet again) tomorrow, our visa will be ready for pick up and we will once more be certain of the final stages of our journey that eagerly await us. If we can just make it back to India, we will be one step closer to our final destination and can spend our final days in Sri Lanka relaxing on the South Coast at the Beach town of Mirissa, where the aqua marine ocean will lap at our feet and we can top up our tans for a couple of days to allow us to recharge for the final assault. Rajastan here we come……

Insanity Imminent

2010-02-08T01:22:00.000-08:00

It would seem that travel and I have finally reached breaking point. I’ve known it for a while – but what is it they say? Denial is a river in Egypt! Well – then I’m in a boat floating down that river without a paddle – and I can see the shore – but I can’t quite reach it. The realizations are all in place now – they have been for some time, but I’ve been burying them in the hope that I can once again find my adventurer’s spirit and somehow be in the moment – enjoy the here and now – and just bloody well relax in this time that I’ve earned – For God’s sake, I paid my dues – I lived in a metal box for 5 years against my free spirited will and I thought that a year on the road would be payback – but it appears that a year on the road is just a twist of the knife. I JUST CAN’T WAIT TO STAY PUT.
Originally we had planned to be ‘home’ by spring – but then a few things panned out a little differently and we ended up extending our trip a few months longer and those few months have been the straws that have broken the camels back. I just want it to be over. But as is always the way – with those Catch 22 situations – since we decided to save the best until last I simply can’t quit now – just before it gets good again! – I mean it would just feel like having sex without the orgasm – but no – that comparison is not a good one – since having sex generally feels good, with or without the orgasm. No – it would be like sweating a lot at the gym and not getting to take a lovely shower and feel fresh and clean after all that effort. Oh – I don’t know – I’m all analogied out. I just need a place to call home – and I need a purpose. Looking at cool stuff and feeling kinda dirty and sweaty all day just isn’t fun anymore – especially when the cool stuff isn’t that cool and the sound of HGV’s passing my hotel window reminds me that my hotel room is right beside the main highway and isn’t exactly the Marriott!
So – we arrived in Sri Lanka 3 days ago in the hopes of getting a new visa for India and also exploring a new place that would be calmer and ‘nicer’ than India. Now, it’s true that most of the regular Sri Lankan’s we’ve met so far seem a little more ‘modern’ and laid back than their Indian counterparts and there is a little less garbage strewn about the place – but besides that– the rickshaw drivers are exactly the same (they hassle you to jump in when you are only strolling down the street and overcharge you when you do actually need a ride), the commission touts are just as pushy and aggressive as the ones in India – if not worse - and the tourist attractions are far more overpriced and still barely worth the price of entry.
And while I do acknowledge that perhaps I’m just a little jaded and over-worked in the sightseeing department, I’m not entirely sure that anyone would feel happy that they parted with $10 (a tidy sum in this part of the world) to explore the Rock Caves at Dambulla. If you are keen to see a plethora of sitting Buddha’s all in a row, in a dingy room and the occasional reclining one that has apparently been reclining for a couple thousand years – then this spot will be right up your alley. But if you really want to be wowed by the historical wonders of Sri Lanka – then perhaps you’ll want to give this one a miss.
Oh, I don’t know – maybe I’m just being a whiny old baby and my nervousness about the uncertainties ahead for us when we do finally reach our ‘final destination’ is getting the better of me and making me want to hit the fast forward button on the next few months so I can alleviate the anxiety of the ‘unknown’ – but right now I’m having a really hard time feeling like this is where I am supposed to be.
On a more positive note – it does seem that we will actually be able to get back into India as originally planned in 3 weeks time (since the Indian high commission accepted our new visa application today) – so then we will finally get to see the best of India that we came to see and I will then continue on with my quest for self discovery by attending a Vipassana (10 day silent meditation retreat) and taking a 6 week intensive yoga teacher training course. So – it’s not all bad – I think I just needed to vent a little – and well – if I can’t vent publicly to all and sundry on my blog entitled ‘crash course to insanity’ where can I vent? I mean, with a title like that I suppose I pretty much called it right from the start. The question now is – will I make it back to civilization with all my faculties intact? Will the venting be enough? Or will they really need to lock me up and throw away the key when I return. Or……will this precipice I am perching on take me into new unchartered territory where I can find the peace that I am searching for?

So.....how 'bout that hug?

2010-02-01T02:36:00.000-08:00

So, I think I already mentioned that when we arrived at the ashram, Amma was actually out on the road. The energy around the ashram was calm and peaceful as one might expect – and we assumed that this was the norm. Well I stand corrected! When we awoke on our third morning at the ashram we were greeted by a completely different set of circumstances. The tranquil atmosphere of peaceful serenity had been kicked out by a whole lot of pushing and shoving……. What? Were we still even in the ashram or had the compound been taken over by terrorists masquerading as Amma devotees? Breakfast was a zoo! By now – we had eaten several meals here and realized that our first taster from the kitchen may somehow have been a lucky break. In general the food wasn’t bad – but the 3 meals included in out ‘ticket’ were all pretty much alike – sloppy rice and some kind of potatoeish curry – occasionally spicy but more often than not kind of bland – and I don’t know about you – but for me – no matter how long I spend in India – I still just can’t quite get my head around curry for breakfast. And so – by this point we were paying the few rupees extra at breakfast (and sometimes lunch or dinner) for one of the purchasable options at the ‘western canteen’. Well – Monday morning we were shocked to find that instead of our usual 30 second wait to get served, there was actually a huge line up at the café counter. The tour had returned and there were hundreds of hungry Amma ‘roadies’ to feed. So it turns out that when Amma hits the road, most of the ashram goes with her. We hadn’t even realized that when we showed up the place had actually been almost empty. No wonder it was so peaceful! And while one might expect that since this was an ashram after all, even though the numbers increased the vibe of calm would remain, it sadly didn’t seem the case. Let’s just say that not all who reside seem to abide by the ashram code of conduct. And let’s not forget people – it is still India – where the concept of queues and orderly behavior still seem undiscovered.
Regardless of the fact that our lovely, newly found peace had been disturbed, this new pace of life did at least mean that our chances of meeting the mama had just increased by at least 50%. But we still weren’t certain of an embracing opportunity: apparently Amma was hugging on into the wee hours of Sunday before starting the 2-hour journey back home to the ashram so she was exhausted from the event and it was looking unlikely that we would see her on that first day back (Monday) – but Tuesday we felt sure we would catch a glimpse.
In the mean time, I was still helping out in the kitchen and Darko had started communication with the digital team. Since we were only planning a brief stay at the ashram it wasn’t possible for him to really get involved in any of their long term projects but since they loved his photos (he’d showed them his website of course!) he offered to provide a few hundred stock shots of India for their library should they need any general pictures for a website page etc. And when they found out we were off to Sri Lanka it was also suggested that there were ongoing projects over there that we might be able to seek out and photograph for Amma. The team seemed pretty excited about this prospect so it was discussed between the various relevant parties (including one of the top dog swami’s in the ‘shram) and a plan was hatched for us to have a private audience with Amma……wow! And we thought we’d be lucky to catch a glimpse.
Monday rolled into Tuesday and finally our first chance to get a hug was upon us. Now the normal sequence of events for a Tuesday in the ashram would be a full morning of meditation in the main temple where Amma would preside and offer some guidance as well as a little Q&A before serving lunch to all her devotees (that’s right – Amma would actually slop out the rice and dhal to those present all by herself), and then after a good bowl of grub it would be cuddle time for all the newbie’s and ashramites departing that day (this was the informal darshan session – as opposed to most other days of the week when the ashram is open for public darshan where it is actually necessary to stand in line for hours to obtain a darshan token which then allows you to stand in line for hours to hand over the token in exchange for a hug).
Well - I sat patiently in half lotus for most of Tuesday morning amongst hundreds of other hopefuls, meditating and awaiting the arrival of Amma only to be disappointed when the allotted hour of her arrival came and went without so much as an aum uttered from her being. Amma was ‘in da house’, but not ‘in da temple’. The meditation session broke for lunch (evidently not to be served by Amma) and of course, over lunch came the rumors as to why Amma was a ‘no show’ – she’d broken a rib on tour from an over zealous hugging session, a bladder infection, the flu, exhaustion…..and the list went on.
So – we headed out for some Internet action in the village over the river and decided to return by 5pm, just incase she made an appearance at the evening meditation session on the beach – of course we’d heard a rumor that she might!
At around 5.05pm we casually sauntered back to our digs to discover that the beach in front of our building was indeed a mosh pit of merry meditaters – and there before us, sitting atop the breakwater rocks all in white, with an expression of pure peace and utter tranquility was Amma. I scrambled through the crowd to find a suitable perch just along the rocks from her, facing out to sea and waited. And finally she moved, and the crowd beneath her stirred and we all hung on her every word. She spoke and her translator relayed her words in English – “Amma says you should be still and meditate……….and be careful on the rocks”. “Sit quietly, close your eyes and breath and with each breath in inhale the divine light and with each breath out exhale all negative thought and darkness”. The translators voice was rich and warm and soothing and the presence of Amma was like warm golden sun with a calm summer breeze. And then she talked about her children (us) and asked if we were not afraid of a tsunami. And people answered, telling their stories of faith and readiness to progress to another world if a wave came to take them away.
Once the Q&A was over, Amma sang a couple of devotional songs and then moved to the back of the beach where she would give darshan. And that’s when all the piety of the devotees went straight out the window. People clamored over one another to make sure they got their chance to have a hug. I swear there were more handlers there than there would have been had Michael Jackson been present and as we got closer and closer to the moment of truth I felt that little twinge of butterflies in my belly – I realized that I was a wee bit nervous – what if I messed up my hug? What if she didn’t want to cuddle me? It was just the way I felt before my very first kiss. But then I was at the front of the line and it was my turn next and before I knew it, it was all over, and I didn’t really know what had just happened. In fact it had been just like a first kiss – so much anticipated and generally a bit over-rated but at least I could say I’d been there and done that! In the final seconds before the moment of truth I was shoved into place before her by one of the handlers, and then my head was thrust down onto her shoulder by another one. I wasn’t allowed to put my arms out to embrace her – this was strictly a one way hug and what with all the pushing and shoving around me there was no chance for a moment of compassion or a sensation of ‘love’ to reach me. As I backed away from Amma she handed me a little package – which turned out to be a little candy wrapped in a tiny envelope of ash, and I tried to interpret the message she’d muttered into my ear. It sounded a lot like ‘my daughter, my daughter, my daughter’, which made sense, as she feels like a mother to all of her followers – but I couldn’t be sure. Now, I’m not saying I didn’t like my hug – but it certainly wasn’t quite what I had expected. It was all just too rushed and almost a touch on the aggressive side for me. I left the beach feeling slightly deprived by the whole experience – like going to the prom with a date but leaving early because my date ended up ditching me for the prom queen. What more can I say – it was an anti-climax. Having said that I did enjoy the tone of her lovely husky voice in my ear!!!
After the darshan was done she was whisked back to the main hall of the ashram for bharjans (devotional singing) and then she was spirited away, as mysteriously as she had arrived in our midst.
And the mystery of whether or not she would surface the next day was still circulating after dinner that night, as Darko tried to ascertain whether or not we could meet with her regarding his potential photographic assignment in Sri Lanka. We would just have to wait and see.
Next morning the official word on the street was still ‘no word’ but then at 11am she showed up to bless a wedding and the darshan session for the day began. We’d been given the heads-up that 2pm might be our window of opportunity for a quick word – but it didn’t seem likely. I left Darko to finish up some bits and bobs while I headed back to the room to pack and when he still hadn’t showed up half an hour later I started to wonder where he’d got to. All of a sudden a breathless Darko flung open the door, grabbed my arm and pulled me to the stairs – we were about to be presented to Amma. Our ‘private meeting’ was actually going to happen in the midst of her public darshan – so I wasn’t quite sure how it would work but when we arrived in the hall we were fast tracked right to the front where the IT project co-ordinator explained briefly to Amma who we were and what Darko was offering to do. She spoke rapidly in response and then we were on our knees before her for our second chance at a snuggle. Darko got a quick one to himself (being the photographer extraordinaire) and then I joined in for a bit of group hug action. And this time I wasn’t disappointed. I don’t know how to explain what happened because it was still over almost as fast as the hug the day before – but this time – maybe it was because we were down on our knees – maybe there was more of a personal connection – but I really felt her projecting her love on to us both. And as we broke from the hug, I don’t know if we had funny looks on our faces, or she just wanted to give us something more – but she looked at us and laughed. And it was such a free and loving laugh – a laugh that a mother might give to a child that has just said something funny for the first time – or taken it’s first steps – but it was a moment that we shared and it was beautiful. As we walked away, sucking on the tasty piece of chocolate she had hand fed to us we both felt a wonderful glow. I was so happy I’d got a second chance. That first hug had been such an anti-climax. I’d wanted it to be good. I’d wanted to feel more, something, anything. But this hug. Now this hug – was a good hug, and one that definitely left me wanting more. So, I can certainly see why thousands of people choose to stick around for a regular dose of fine mama lovin’ and become permanent residents of the ashram. But for us it was to be our fond farewell.
After our hug the IT coordinator translated for us – Amma was grateful for the offer – but didn’t feel that it would be safe for us to head off into the boonies of Sri Lanka to snap a few shots – she asked that we be careful there and be safe. And so – although we won’t be on assignment for Amma after all, it sure was a great way to get a very public ‘private audience’ with a saint in the making and I sure won’t mind coming back for another one some day, if the opportunity ever arises.
But for the record: I still think I’d beat her in a ‘hug off’. Common – you all know it. My hugs rock!
Coming Soon: Carrie’s darshan tour – Vancouver, July 2010! No tokens required!

Time for a quick hug?

2010-01-30T08:52:00.000-08:00

So who wants a hug? Personally I like a good hug. I’ve always been a hugger. On and off throughout the years I’ve come across lots of other people who like to give and receive hugs too but more often than not people actually feel pretty uncomfortable with that and as I get older, it seems to get less and less cool to hug. In polite company people shake hands. Or sometimes just a nod of the head will do. In India, the quirky head wobble is king. Along with a smile, a head wobble can work wonders to unlock a suspicious stare from the quiet local villagers in the sleepy backwaters of Kerala where we now find ourselves – but a hug – well for many the physical intimacy of a hug is just way too much to deal with. I wonder why – because let’s face it people: a hug can heal the world.
This morning I have woken up to my first real morning in India. At least, I should say, the India that I really came looking for. Today we find ourselves in one of the spiritual centers of India. And as I write this, in my mind’s eye I can actually see some of you shaking your heads and scoffing while you read on, at the fact we chose one of the most commercial and westernized versions of this part of India to visit – but to you I say – ‘So what? You should come and check it out too and maybe you wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss what goes on here’.
Yesterday we arrived at the Ashram of Amma – the hugging Mother. And what can I say? Our spirits have lifted just being here. Mama is unfortunately ‘away on business’ – giving out free hugs out of town – but she will be back. We had originally planned just a quick overnight stay to see what all the fuss was about – but the instant we arrived we felt an overwhelming sense of calm and welcoming. And I actually felt sadly disappointed that we were going to miss Amma by only a day or 2 – so since we had the time – we decided almost instantly to stick around and wait for Amma to return. I mean – I came all this way – it would be silly not to stick around for a hug. And if the place feels this good in her absence – just imagine how good it’s going to feel when the mama is actually ‘in da house’! So far in her 50 something years, Amma has hugged over 28 million people – and in a few days I will be one more. And since I am a fan of the hug, neigh – one might say a bit of a connoisseur of hugs. A discerning hugger, who prides herself on her hugging skills and one who is quite fussy about the quality of hugs given in return I am definitely more than a bit excited to get a good cuddle from the ultimate hugger of all time.
If you’ve never heard of Amma, then do a little research and you’ll find she’s actually quite well known! Her humanitarian efforts are nothing less than astounding. She has donated millions of dollars to numerous disaster relief funds all around the world, from helping out on her own doorstop when she helped to rebuild after the tsunami (her own Ashram having been right in the midst of the danger zone), to sending assistance to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. And her philosophy is simple: the world can be healed through love. And so – with her heart full of love and compassion she hugs the whole world, one person at a time.
Most days that Amma is in residence at the Ashram she holds ‘Darshan’ (hugging) sessions. We arrived on a Saturday with high hopes of a hugging opportunity within the next 24 hours, only to discover that she was on the road until Monday – so our first chance of a hug would probably not arise until Tuesday. Well – we liked it here. So we thought: ‘what the heck – let’s stay!’

And it’s not like getting here was a chore.

After a couple of lovely relaxing days in a gorgeous little home stay in Kumakoram (where we had an opportunity to explore the most quiet and remote of the backwaters, where only the smallest of boats and canoes can gain access),

we set off by chugging wooden ferry boat to Alleppey, often referred to as the Venice of the East. Now I have to say that I think this claim is pretty damned preposterous. If you’ve been to Venice I think you’ll agree it truly is one of the most magnificent and romantic cities on the planet and it’s pretty safe to say that nothing in India even gets close to it – I mean it’s not even in the ballpark of the comparison world. Sure there are a couple of canals around town, and the odd pigeon here and there, but that is where the similarity ends. Regardless though of this poorly suited comparison, it actually wasn’t a bad stop off point for a night.
Our hotel was brand new, reasonable priced and the bed had the first real mattress we’ve come across in India, which meant we both got a great night’s sleep for a change.

From Alleppey we took another fabulous, chugging ferryboat ride along the main canal of the backwaters heading to Kollam, and jumped off here at the ashram before reaching the ferry’s final destination. The ride was a beautiful and calming journey: It allowed us to glimpse through a window back in time leaving us with a sense of the joy to be found in the simple things in life.

After the ferry dropped us at the main pier we simply crossed the canal by rowboat to reach the ashram side of the river, where we entered the alley leading to the main temple. Finally we had arrived!
We were checked in by one of the many ‘western’ residents of the Ashram, a friendly American chap dressed all in white (as most of the inhabitants are) who took our passports and told us that for the tiny sum of 150rps each a night we would be given a room and 3 meals a day. We were off to a great start. After picking up our sheets for a small deposit we followed the little hand drawn map our new friend had made for us to find the Ayurveda building, where most of the short term guests are housed – which happens to be some of the most prime real-estate on the compound: a beach front location with rooms overlooking the ocean. It turned out that we had somehow managed to score the penthouse – a room on the top floor of the building with a small balcony and a million dollar outlook. The room itself was simple – with a minimum of furniture and only a thin mattress for sleeping – but it was clean and sufficient for our needs.
At 5pm we attended a tour of the ashram where we had the chance to view a short DVD about Amma and some of her achievements, which was actually quite moving. To see all the good that she has done in the world and understand her unfailing spirit of goodwill was truly humbling and definitely inspired a greater desire in me to meet her. Then we were given a guided tour around the facilities and shown the main temple areas, the home where her parents live (which Amma built for them on the edge of the compound as a gift to her father who had always dreamt of living in a big house), and the simple room where she stays when she is ‘home’.
We didn’t have long to wait until it was time for dinner and as we stood in line for our serving of rice and curry I was intrigued to see what they would produce. I was pleasantly surprised to find that dinner was indeed quite tasty and felt certain that I could indeed get used to this. After a quick slice of yummy chocolate and raspberry cheesecake (for an extra fee of 25rp) from the ‘western café’ it was time to stop by the Ashram store to pick up some basic supplies and head back to our room for an early night – just incase we wanted to be up for the 5am devotional singing or the 6am fire pujas. It didn’t seem likely today – but we thought; ‘you never know!’ Even though we did know: not bloomin likely!
Finally we have found a place where Darko feels at home – which is nothing less than amazing really when you consider how much he dislikes most of India not to mention his distinct aversion to anything faith based or religious in tone. I have a sneaking suspicion that his sense of belonging here might have more than a touch to do with the fact that it feels a little bit like being on a cruise ship: Check-in, orientation tour, set dinner time served in a mess like environment. Heck – they even keep our passports for safe keeping until we sign off – I mean – check out. And when Amma returns it’s going to feel like the cruise director finally showed up! But hey – I’m not complaining. He’s smiling and looks a lot like a happy man today – so I’ll go with it.
The daily life and routine of an ashram is simple really. People living and co-operating together to provide a safe and calm environment in which they can pursue whatever personal mission they chose. Mostly there is a spiritual element to the journey of the inhabitants here and in the case of Amma’s ashram there is a distinctly Hindu theme, since this is the religion into which she was born and raised. But Amma herself makes no distinctions or discrimination based on religious affiliation. People of all races, nationalities and religions are welcome at the ashram and there are some amazing projects underway here.
Most of the long term residents take part in the daily cycle of devotional singing and prayer, twice daily meditation and offer at least a couple of hours of their time to perform seva or ‘selfless service’, which ensures the smooth running of the ashram. I myself was a grade A baker’s assistant for 2 hours this morning, happily chopping Almonds for biscotti, icing chocolate cake and fetching baked loaves from the main bakery to be stored for tomorrow’s breakfast. Some of the ‘inmates’ as we are officially titled have taken vows of silence, many for undetermined periods, so although there is most definitely a gentle hubbub of chitchat at meal times in general the surrounding atmosphere is one of peace and quiet. Now I’m not saying I’m ready to move in permanently or anything, but I will admit – I could easily get used to this!
It never ceases to amaze me though, that even in such pious surroundings as these; there are still the daily dramas and politics of life unfolding. In my brief stint in the kitchen I witnessed not one but two or three little outbursts of distress and strife, caught the edge of tense moments of conflict between co-workers and overheard snippets of ‘gossip’ being shared amongst fellow kitchen hands over the policies and procedures in place at the ashram. My chief baker herself has been living at the ashram for 6 years, originally from Canada and apparently has no wish to be anywhere other than here. It’s fairly accurate to say that ‘quirky’ would be a good word to describe her and I certainly found it mildly amusing that when I said something in passing about TV, for a moment I thought I was actually going to have to explain what a television set was to her, as she looked quite befuddled by this odd combination of the letters T and V being used in conjunction as a label for some object unknown to her.
Later today, Darko is meeting with the project manager for one of the ongoing efforts of the ashram, which is attempting to build multi-media presentations for schools and farmers in the community. They hope to provide better education and training about ecologically sound agricultural methods – to help protect the environment and so Darko is hoping to offer some technical assistance in the IT and digital areas. So I chop almonds for biscotti and Darko helps to save the planet……. And whose idea was it to come here? Well anyway, I’m just happy we have both found a way to get involved without cleaning toilets and I’m looking forward to my hug……… And he says my stories never have a punch line!

An Indian Birthday

2010-01-26T02:31:00.000-08:00

It’s not writer’s block exactly. I just feel like I’m sort of running out of steam. One of the things I wanted to focus on during our time here was writing. And I put a lot of energy into that in the beginning. But as our time here progresses, I realize that there were many other things I wanted to ‘find’ in India. And I must acknowledge that when I’m exploring an idea or a goal intensely then there isn’t much room for anything else. I think I’m realizing that my documentation of this journey may need to dwindle a little for the time being. You see, we arrived here in Mysore almost a week ago and I’ve kind of dived in to the world of yoga (one of the other things I really wanted to learn more about while I was here). And yoga here in India is not just a way of keeping physically healthy (as it is to many in the West). It’s a philosophy, it’s a way of life – and I have a lot to explore here if I want to understand it properly so that I can apply it to myself, to my life and my world and to see if it fits. I think it just might – but while I continue to divide my attention into so many different places, at least to begin with I feel unable to do this exploration justice. I think as it starts to ‘fit in’ with day-to-day life, it will become more of a habit – part of a routine and then it will become easier to do it all, and more of ‘all of it’. But for now, I find my thoughts consumed by what I must learn, and experiment with. I think I might be on to something! But on top of it all – we are still here in this fascinating environment that is constantly turning my head and making me smile and wince in equal proportions. So, I’m just not sure how much energy I have right now to put towards recording my experiences - but since I started this one, I suppose I’ll finish it.

Like I said – we arrived here in Mysore about a week ago – thanks to a chance meeting in Hampi: As we took a dip in the refreshing pools of a reservoir just a few minutes drive by rusty moped from our guesthouse, we came across Ali and Rob, a lovely South African couple also taking a dip. Well it turned out that Ali was a bit of a yogi herself and so over dinner that evening she helped me understand the distinction between the many kinds of ‘yoga’ out there and explained what yoga in Mysore is all about. I had already heard from several friends and acquaintances that Mysore is a centre for yogic goings on – but I still didn’t really know much about the particular style of yoga associated with the place. Well – from what Ali told me, it seemed that it would be a type of yoga that would be right up my alley. So – we decided to put our return to the beach on hold a few more days and check it out.

On our first full day in the city we hunted out a couple of the main studios, approached strangers in cafes for the latest local scoop (other gringo’s that looked like they might be here for a bit of yoga) and eventually found ourselves taking part in our first Ashtanga yoga class in Mysore. I found to my delight that this kind of yoga is perfect for me. It is quite a mobile class and in the style in which they teach in Mysore each student follows their own pace, so there is no need to wait for the teacher’s instruction or the rest of the class to move on to the next posture – or in my case there was no need for the rest of the class to wait for me.

Just like Bikram’s yoga there is an element of heat involved in the practice, but unlike Bikram where heat is provided artificially, in Ashtanga the heat is generated from within through vigorous motion and breath. In this way, the heat generated from within assists in detoxifying and cleansing the body and allows greater flexibility and strength to be built within the muscles, without straining each individual body beyond its tolerance for heat. Again, there is a parallel with Bikram in that there is a set series of postures always performed in the same sequence (although many of the postures are quite different from those found in Bikram), but there is a much greater emphasis on synchronizing the breath with the movement and there is a much deeper sense of flow to the sequence. By my third class I had completed the entire primary sequence and was starting to become more familiar with each posture so at least I now have the basic elements of the practice down. Although I didn’t have nearly enough time to get it perfected at least I could leave Mysore with the basic idea of what it’s all about and I understand the flow of the sequence enough, so that I can work on it alone. The most incredible part of the class, for me, and the part I’ll miss the most though, was the level of involvement the instructors had in physically assisting the student. As the class progressed the teachers were constantly on the move, going from person to person adjusting the postures and pushing limbs in to position to reach a deeper level of stretch. Although it has to be said that there may not always be an understanding of the science behind the physical aspects of the practice and the level of safety and awareness of proper alignment may not always prevail (since the teaching is given more on instinct than based on a sound knowledge of physiology) – in most cases it seems the level of instruction is actually pretty good.

During our time in Mysore we did also manage to squeeze in some sightseeing and finally visited our first Indian palace.

While I’m sure that the gems in store for us in Rajastan will be far more breathtaking I have to say that Mysore Palace is quite something to see. For a few moments the filth and fumes seemed a million miles away and the majesty of India became apparent.

Although we were disappointed to find (as always) that as foreigners we were required to pay 10 times the entry fee of an Indian (Don’t get Darko started on that one!), we were delighted to discover upon entry that our admission fee also included a complimentary audio guide. Now I’ve never really been a particular fan of this kind of ‘museum experience’ but since it was apparently included in our entry ticket and in this country there is virtually NEVER something for nothing (sure – lots for cheap – but not for nothing) – we thought ‘why not?’ And boy were we glad we did – the tour was informative and interesting without going into too much depth or factual waffle and the soundtrack provided an extra level of ‘appropriate’ entertainment, not to mention the animated speech of our narrator. It was definitely a thumbs-up for the Palace.

Besides the palace though there isn’t much to keep a ‘tourist’ occupied here, besides a few minor ‘side show attractions’ and so we quite simply became inhabitants of this quaint Indian city for a few day, which wasn’t actually a bad thing! Mysore is much cleaner than most Indian cities and since it is not a huge ‘hit’ on the tourist circuit the prices are still remarkably reasonable. I managed to find us a room that actually sits quite close to #1 spot in our preferences for the last few months, if you disregard the minor infestation of cockroaches living in a hole in the corner of the door frame to the bathroom, and the noisy honking rickshaws that passed by on the busy road beneath from 6am until midnight. I mean, so far it is the cheapest we’ve found at 250rps and for that we had a proper toilet, a shower (in our own private bathroom), a mattress that actually had a tiny bit of bounce left in it, clean sheets and chairs with cushions. And to add some personality, we actually had a fabulous selection of incredibly chintzy and bizarre art on our walls ranging from a scene of lounging lions painted on velvet, a fluorescent scene of a house in a forest surrounded by tulips fields and for the ‘piece de resistance’ a couple of framed posters depicting various Shiva incarnations – my favorite being the one over the bed of a baby Shiva with a miniature Nandi bull tucked away in the corner……..hilarious! The absolute highlight of the room though was the glow in the dark stickers of stars, planets and spaceships on the ceiling that lit up when the lights went out at bed time! I mean what more could one hope for from a cheap hotel room in India?

In addition to our fabulous cheapie hotel room we were also delighted to notice that although the Indians here still love to honk, the regularity with which they do it is not quite so rapid and on most of the roads in Mysore there is almost an air of patience and dare I say it …… safety!

On a couple of the major roundabouts there are actually traffic police in attendance to ensure that the traffic lights are being obeyed and assisting the flow. There was one exception to this new level of road safety though: On our final day in Mysore when we decided to take a ride on the bus up to Chamundi Hill, known as a great lookout spot to view Mysore from an aerial perspective and visit the Temple.

As out driver left the city centre behind and hit full speed on the winding road that would lead us to the summit we began to wish that body armor and crash helmets had been provided for the ride. This particular bus ride would easily compete with the finest white-knuckle rides this side of Texas. Apparently our driver fancied himself as a bit of a Michael Schumaker, and as we took the final bends to the top and saw the end in sight I breathed a sigh of relief that the hairpin bends with alternate camber were coming to a close. The feeling of a speeding bus, dangling precariously over a deathly drop, leaning dangerously ‘outward’ is not one I care to repeat anytime soon. The moral of the story: if you ever find yourself in Mysore, planning the trip to Chamundi Hill, you may want to do as the pilgrims do – and walk!

We instead decided to walk down, calling in on the 15ft Nandi bull statue along the way, taking our time in the heat to tackle the 1000 or so steps back to base!

Incidentally, Mysore was also the town where I got to see in my 34th year on the planet. I decided to break my new year’s resolution ban on alcohol for the day and enjoy a bevy or 2, and fortunately, since we had got into the yoga scene and my birthday fell on a ‘moon day’ (a new moon/full moon – this one was a new moon) there was no yoga class (it’s an Ashtanga thing I think!) – so someone had organized a party and we were invited. Imagine – my very own birthday party in India – well – it was someone else’s party and no one knew it was my birthday – but still – it was a party – so that’s all that really mattered.

And I managed to make things even more festive and bizarre by getting all dressed up for the occasion in my very own sari (even though all the other party goers, Darko included were pretty much casual). Let me explain how this all came about: Darko was all in a panic about what to get me for my birthday a couple of days earlier so as we sat in a rooftop restaurant on Gandhi Square that looked out over one of the many sari stores in town we had decided it might be fun to get me one. The whole experience was actually quite entertaining, because as we entered the sari store we were accosted by a flock of young Indian ladies ready to assist and show us around. Now you may think that since one size fits all, the process of sari shopping would be easy. But let me tell you – it is no mean feat. I mean – there are lots and lots of pretty saris out there – but I’m picky and finding one that I really loved was tough – especially with 7 Indian girls breathing down my neck! Of course they thought it was all very funny, especially since Darko had accompanied me for the outing and they constantly giggled and tittered away to each other in Hindi as they showed their wares. Eventually, after sifting through all kinds of fabrics and patterns, I settled on ‘the one’ and after a brief lesson in sari wearing we were off to find a tailor, who for the price of about $4 would stitch me a shirt to go under my sari that would hopefully be a perfect fit – ready for pick up in 24 hours.

My sari wearing debut came just a couple of days later on my birthday and I have to confess that although I’d always thought white girls in saris look stupid and I’d vowed never to wear one, as I put the finishing touches of bangles and dangling hair jewelry in place I felt just like a little princess and was proud to be heading out on the town looking like a date fit for a maharaja. Our evening began with drinks at an old style heritage hotel in the garden café as the daylight faded. Then we progressed to the yogi/hippy party in a lovely house rented by so the resident western yogis of Mysore and finally after several stiff drinks had been consumed we jumped in a rickshaw to head to one of the five star hotels in town with a phenomenal tandoori restaurant for incredible chicken and prawns. Of course, while attending the party, my sari wearing antics did draw a little attention and so to those who asked I was happy to spill the beans that I did have a decent excuse: it was a special occasion –my birthday – which meant I even got a totally awesome hippy guitar strumming version of ‘happy birthday to you’ sung to me before we headed out for dinner.

I mean really – what more could a girl ask for on her 34th birthday in India? – but a bright colored sari, a party that wasn’t hers and tandoori chicken to die for. It’s one I won’t forget in a hurry!

I actually became quite fond of Mysore in the few short days we spent there and I certainly would have loved to spend more time, getting a deeper level of knowledge and proficiency in the practice of Ashtanga yoga, but unfortunately my 3 classes will have to do. The clock is ticking for us now. Our visa expires in just 2 weeks, so we will be flying to Sri Lanka, hopefully to obtain a new visa for India (we’ve been hearing reports of applications being denied left right and centre as the Indian govt. just decided to change the regulations – so we are hoping we don’t get stranded in Sri Lanka) and before that we still have a fair bit of ground to cover. So next we head to Kerala, where we intend to immerse ourselves in a little peaceful tranquility exploring the famous backwaters of Southern Indian. And hopefully along the way I’ll manage to discipline myself enough to continue with the odd bit of yoga here and there.

So, to conclude, my dearly beloved readers I will say this: While I’m sure I’ll still be drawn back to the keyboard from time to time, to help keep my thoughts coherent and to let you know at the least that we are still alive, I do feel that the time has come for my endeavors in India to become a tad more transcendental, and so – in keeping with this theme, my online presence may be diminishing in inverse proportion to the level of enlightenment I achieve……which probably means you’ll actually be hearing from me on a daily basis from now on…..lol! But what the heck – I have to give it a try…….like they say…..’when in Rome!!’ Or should I say ‘when in India!’?

Back in the Saddle - and a happy new year!

2010-01-18T01:51:00.000-08:00

And so we are on the move again – so I have finally decided that it’s time to get off my lazy fat ass (all those layers burned off at 5000M have definitely been replaced and then some) and get back with the program! For a while I gave myself permission to slack off as there wasn’t much of anything new to report, but I no longer have that excuse. I’m afraid to say: It’s true, I have been exceedingly lazy for a few weeks now – and I will also confess – there is no completed novel ready for submission to publishers – there isn’t even a new installment of wit and charm – there’s just the next episode in our travels and a bit of an explanation to justify my lazy ways – but I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got so it will have to do.

During the first couple of weeks in Goa – as promised (to myself) I managed to take some much needed R&R time. You see, since the day that we ‘quit’ our jobs back at the end of May I don’t really feel like I’ve stopped. First there was the manic month of preparations for our wedding. And for those of you who have planned a wedding on your own, you will know – that although there really doesn’t’ seem to be that much to take care of on the surface of it – a few major ingredients and some minor details – once you get started it just seems that the list of minor details leads to another list of minor details, and another and another and on it goes, until you are still making final adjustments and arrangements only a day or 2 before the nuptial proceedings begin. It was worth all the hard work of course and the whole of our wedding week was truly spectacular – including the weather – but after finally saying goodbye to friends and family we barely had a moment to catch our breath before we were off to the Greek Isles to celebrate our newfound wedded status with a honeymoon.

Now, since Darko and I had purposefully picked a location that was unfamiliar to both of us it was virtually impossible for these two wandering souls to resist the temptation to explore, instead of just sitting back on a sun lounger to eat, drink and get a tan. We managed to cover 4 islands and Athens in 2 weeks – so surprise surprise – didn’t really get that much rest – I know I know – I can hear you all saying ‘poor Carrie and Darko’ with perhaps more than a hint of sarcasm in your tone. But really – being an intrepid tourist can be exhausting.

No sooner had we arrived back in Ambleside to enjoy the rest of the summer; relaxing with family and hiking the hills, than I decided it might be ‘fun’ to find some gainful employment on a part-time basis to ‘keep me occupied’. Within 2 days I was donning my smart black pants to serve the hungry holidaying vegetarians (and a few locals) with hearty meals at Fellinis, the sister restaurant to Zeffirellis, (where I actually held down my first weekend stint as a café server at the age of 13). It kept some pocket money rolling in and gave me a chance to sample the delicious menu for free, as well as escaping my husband a few nights a week – we were after all newly-weds – of course I was already sick of him……lol! Our idea of spending blissful summer days strolling the fells never quite came to fruition thanks to the combination of my work schedule and the hideous weather conditions in Ambleside throughout the month of August, so when I wasn’t working we busied ourselves indoors with various research projects and planning endeavors, again somehow avoiding the opportunity to relax and unwind.

And as we screeched into September faster than June, July and August had flown by there were only a few days remaining in the UK. We did our final pack for the big adventure, set off for London to visit with friends and catch our flight and we were on our way.

Before we knew it we were on the road – this much you have heard about in great detail already – and so you know – we have been quite busy – in 4 months we have covered a great deal of ground. India is a pretty big place and getting from A-B is no mean feat. We’ve been to the mountains and trekked 6000M peaks, we’ve explored the jungle and climbed trees to escape from rampant rhinos. We’ve swum with elephants and searched for tigers. We’ve heard the cries of Imams through Ramadan in Kashmir and watched the Buddhist monks silently creating mandalas in the Khumbu region. We’ve hustled and bustled with millions of maniacal commuters in Mumbai and munched on morsels of mouthwatering masala from East to West.

And so, by the time we reached Goa we were, not surprisingly, ready to relax. But besides the R&R I had so many great plans for December. A daily regimen of yoga and meditation. An opportunity to get inspired by the ocean and write all day long. A daily dip in the gentle waves of the Arabian Sea. But when it came to the crunch it was often all I could do to drag myself from the bed to the hammock, then to the beach and then back to the hammock before collapsing on the bed by 8:30pm and sleeping until the sun came up. Lets just say I think I had some catching up on sleep to do.

And Goa was HOT. The reason that most tourists head south during the winter months is that for the rest of the year it gets hotter than hell – but right now the temperatures are supposed to be a gentle warm. Well – let me tell you – there was nothing gentle about the heat that greeted us on many of our days at the beach. Just staying hydrated was usually the challenge for the day – so tackling my first great literary achievement was simply out of the question. I did manage to write a bit of a rant about my lack of direction (not surprising really – based on my complete lack of ability to do anything ‘constructive’ while I rocked in the hammock) which was posted on the blog, an interesting and mildly amusing piece of prose that may one day form the basis of an introduction to my memoirs (there’s been a thing or 2 in my life that would make an interesting read) and I did actually manage to complete the Everest Chronicles.

So – you may be wondering – where are these fabulous tales of trekking and tramping? Well – I’ll be frank – it took several days of slogging at it and although I felt a certain sense of accomplishment on it’s completion of all 16000 or so words, I was a little less than pleased with the result. Since we embarked on this journey it’s been great fun and I’ve usually felt most inspired during these hours at my keyboard, tapping away and putting in to words my thoughts and ideas about what it is we are seeing and experiencing – and it seems, based on the comments and quips that some of you have made in response that there has been at least some entertainment value to be found in the reading of them – and so I’ve kind of come to think of myself as a bit of a writer – and in turn I’ve begun to set a standard, an expectation of myself and my abilities. And the bottom line is – the result of my ‘journal’ write-up was basically just that: a journal about a hike. And let’s face it – while a hike may be an amazing experience. And a journal can be a fascinating read – when you put the 2 together – it just aint all that fun. I have thought about just posting it anyway and letting you decide – but I’m afraid most of you wouldn’t get past day 3. I’ve thought about going through it and finding the ‘highlights’ of the trek to put into one great story – but so far I just haven’t found the inspiration for the task. I guess – I’ve built a bit of a ‘writer’s ego’ over the last few months – and I just don’t think it’s my best work darlings – and so – it will probably remain in the archives, perhaps to be revisited at a much later date. But that doesn’t stop me getting back on the horse and riding on…….right?!? Or rather, writing on. I mean – I don’t have a writer’s block or anything – I think I’ve just realized that it’s much easier to write something compelling when you have something compelling to say – and the ‘bad stuff’ is easier and funnier to write about in an entertaining way. I realize now just how hard it is to write something interesting about interesting things!
But now we are back on the road and so it seems only fair that I fill you in our latest movements. We left Goa with fond memories of our little hut by the ocean but feeling very ready for a change. A month in one place was certainly a novelty for us after spending the last 5 years moving around constantly but the rest of India was calling.

On Jan 2nd we packed our bags and headed inland to the town of Panjim, the heart of northern Goa and a relatively pretty town with a strongly Portugese influence that gave you more than a hint of a sense that you had left India behind.

We sampled several fabulous seafood curries in one dish (known as Fish Thali), thanks to the local knowledge of our friend, Felix (from Goa) who directed us to one of those ‘local’ spots (Ritz Classic) that had a line-up of natives out the door waiting for a table, we soon realized with good reason. It was most certainly one of the best meals yet in India as well as the other 2 meals we enjoyed courtesy of Felix: Twice we visited him at home and enjoyed magnificent meals prepared by his mother who was nothing less than a wiz in the kitchen (the second meal being enjoyed on Christmas day – which just shows you the generosity of the Goans, who are happy to invite perfect strangers to join in on an intimate family day).

We also spent a full day just outside of Panjim in ‘Old Goa’ exploring the many magnificent catholic churches and cathedrals

that were built centuries ago and viewing the coffin of St Francis Xavier, who despite expiring several hundred years ago is apparently still perfectly preserved without any form of chemicals or embalming fluids – creepy!!! And that’s why they made him a saint – go figure! It was like finding a little piece of Rome in India – weird! And did I mention that 2 of Felix’s aunties are nuns and one of them actually resides in the Vatican, so while we were looking at the family albums we were quite amused to come across a snap-shop of pope JP himself just tucked in amongst all the other family pics – hilarious!

From Goa it was just a seven-hour train ride to the fascinating region of Hampi where hundreds of travelers flock to delight in the splendid blend of ancient ruins and mystical scenery. For those of you who have never heard of Hampi (and I hadn’t until I got here) I urge you to google it and take a look at some pictures. It truly is magical – and you’ll all be pleased to hear – one place that my husband has finally found some joy in. Within an area of a few square kilometers there are several hundred ancient ruins that are listed as world heritage sites and they are all nestled between boulder strewn hillsides that seem to have been created by giants playing in a ball pit of rocks.

And in the valleys created between the hillsides strips of fertile land filled with rice paddies and banana plantations scatter across the countryside.

We’ve spent several days here exploring and could easily spend several more, but with only 3 weeks left before we depart for Sri Lanka and the rest of South India to explore we decided we should cut ourselves off at 5. We almost didn’t bother coming to Hampi but after making the trip I can definitely say with confidence that no one would be disappointed with what they find here. Coming to India without visiting Hampi would be like going to Cairo and not visiting the Pyramids – almost criminal!

The main tourist centre, where most of the accommodation and services are to be found is Hampi Bazaar, but we decided to spend the majority of our stay on the quieter far side of the river beside the town (reached by boat), where we found a cheap room with a lovely restaurant attached that overlooks paddy fields tumbling down over the occasional boulder to the easy flowing river beneath. It truly didn’t seem real. It was like sitting in a dream sequence as we waited for our breakfast to arrive on our first morning. The blend of green paddies and rusted golden rocks was mesmerizing and we probably could have spent all day just gazing at that view – but instead we rented some hideous rusted pedal bikes and departed our perch to explore the ruins on our side of the river.

The most impressive and dominating of the temples and ruins are on the south side of the river, within and just outside the boundaries of Hampi Bazaar, but the more rural and rustic scenery to the north was equally as intriguing. On our bike ride we came across a huge ceremony in one of the village temples, where a group of pilgrims were preparing for the long journey to Kerala on foot. We were openly invited in, cameras and all and spent quite some time snapping away as the children happily posed and giggled with glee at the results.

After dragging ourselves away from the ceremony we stumbled upon a deserted temple complex by the river where the villagers were washing and drying their laundry and once again, an impromptu photo-shoot was obligingly provided by the many local children.

It is often said that south India is more easy-going and relaxed than the north and I have to say, I agree. The people here seem much more open and friendly and the demands for rupees in exchange for a photo or two were few and far between. Simply spinning the camera around and showing them the result of the ‘click’ seemed to be payment enough to put a generous and heart-felt smile on the faces of the subjects.

While our day in the ‘countryside’ was lovely I think I have to confess that the day of ‘true’ sightseeing won out. It was a long hot day to cover it all, as the 2 main areas to explore are a few km’s apart so donning the running shoes is smart if you plan to do it all without the aid of at least one rickshaw ride – but boy – what a day! This is the true history and majesty of India.

In seeing Hampi the ‘magic’ of India finally begins to become apparent. I mean – some of the colonial architecture of Calcutta and Mumbai is impressive and interesting – but let’s face it – it’s not real India – it’s a bit of England that the Brits imported and left behind. The history in Hampi is what the Indians created, long before the British Empire even knew that India existed and it’s well worth a look.

Today is our final day in Hampi and although I feel a slight reluctance to leave I can’t help but feel inspired by what might be up ahead.

Originally we had planned to return to the coast after our stay in Hampi but after escaping from the beach we have realized that perhaps lazing on a beach is not the best use of our time from here on in (especially since we’ll be on much nicer beaches in Sri Lanka a few weeks from now), so we are off to Mysore tomorrow and I might finally get around to a bit of yoga.

Oh – and one last thing I should mention – if you aren’t a fan of Goa Trance – don’t plan for a fun night out on the town in Goa for New Year’s Eve. The fireworks on the beach at midnight were lovely, but the pumping pulse of techno trance that provided the soundtrack to it all left me cold. Regardless of that – we still managed to pop a bottle of cheap Indian bubbly and wash down the new year with a smile and a snog and so I would like to take this belated opportunity to wish you all a healthy and happy 2010 and remind you all that if you still have some resolutions to make we’re only 10 days in – it’s not too late! It’s never too late! Every day is a happy new day!

Soul Searching

2009-12-27T05:18:00.000-08:00

Such a funny phrase – I mean what does it mean exactly? There is barely proof (depending on which school of philosophy you adhere to) that the soul exists – so how can one search something that has no solid existence? And how does one go about a search of this kind? What kind of navigational tools does one employ? Is there even anything to find there? Or do we just invent what we want to find in an effort to make our endeavors worthwhile?
I came to India with the hopes of finding a little time to get to grips with my inner-self, my ‘true nature’ and all that malarkey. And here I am in Goa, with time on my hands, sitting in a hammock………mastering the art of Sudoku! I mean – it’s pretty cool stuff – rearranging numbers 1 through 9 incessantly to complete a square puzzle – for like hours on end – and I suppose, maybe in a way this task has a zen like quality to it – but really – aren’t there better ways, more useful ways I could be applying myself to the task of delving into my soul?

Of course – Sudoku is nothing more than a distraction tactic – one of many, like reading ‘War and Peace’ – (seriously – do literally critics really believe this is one of the greatest books ever written – cause if they do then I think I’m missing something – sure it has it’s moments – but in my humble opinion – the Russian nobility of the early 1800’s were mostly a bunch of pillocks, so to write 1400 pages of waffle about their vacuous thoughts and lives – well – I suppose that’s an achievement in and of itself – to get through that without blowing your own knee cap off with a sawn off shot gun – but really – for me – Tolstoy is a cool name – but not really the greatest writer of all time – but anyway – I digress), or editing photos, or obsessing about my gradually expanding waist line (thanks to sitting around doing nothing – obviously one of my least enlightened past-times – I’m quite sure that obsessing about an extra pound or two would be considered a little self-serving and positively unenlightened by Mr. Siddartha) and the list could go on!

Originally I had planned to use this time in Goa for all of the above but also to get settled into a daily regimen of yoga (in preparation for the yoga teacher training course I intend to do) and meditation (to help me obtain a stillness of mind and some inner calm). Now, granted – I have spent some time in a much needed state of relaxation, doing none of that – but as the time here has progressed and I’ve played, ‘avoid the task’ with greater determination and denial daily, the state of relaxation that I had managed to attain initially has dwindled and been replaced with that oh so familiar state that I learned to call ‘free floating anxiety’ during my oh so useful time studying for my BA in Psychology many moons ago.

So – what is it all about? This anxiety! This state of discontent! Is it just the unattended energy of an over-active mind looking for something to do? Is it the quiet urging from within to give myself a task, to find a role? The need to be achieving something with my life? To be working towards some greater goal? Or is it something else? Is it my soul, whispering to me, from the depths of it’s recess, wherever that may be, that there has to be more to life than Sudoku in a hammock and Tolstoy in Paperback Penguin Classics?

I do believe that there is more – but what ‘more’ means is different to every person, and that is where the challenge lies. Every soul must have it’s own ideal environment in which it will thrive? Every person’s idea of true happiness must be a subjectively different experience.
Perhaps the search for happiness in life is actually like a big game of, ‘hunt the thimble’. In today’s world though, the way I see it, one of the biggest problems is that there are so many choices and options – there are so many different thimbles in so many different places. It’s impossible to narrow it down. It’s like hunting for the thimble, with a playing field the size of the Americas, with only public transport to assist you in moving from place to place to find your soul’s delight. I use the analogy of public transport as a medium for locomotion as it seems fitting to me, considering that most public transport systems are impossible to fathom and seriously overpriced. In turn, this reference to pricing is borne out of the fact that there are many ‘navigational tools’ for searching of the soul, in the form of self help books and motivational guru’s out there ready to assist in your search, but this help usually comes at a hefty and unjustifiably high price, and doesn’t even end up leaving you where you want to be – just like public transport! In the same way, the search for something that makes your soul sing is like hunting for a needle in a haystack. It could take a lifetime of searching and you still won’t come up with the goods.

Or perhaps the search is more like pin the tail on the donkey. The tail is like your happiness. You already hold it in your hands – you just need a place to put it! We go through life blind-folded, just like in the game, with no way of seeing what is under our noses, so we just blindly take a stab in roughly the right direction, hoping that where the pin lands will be in about the right spot. The parallel between life and the game is in the element of competition. For most of us, the best way to determine our level of success is to look around at those close to us and compare our circumstances to theirs; to see if we are happier than our neighbors – did we pin the tail closer than anybody else? – Or did we, in fact, pin the tail on the end of the donkey’s nose, but being too proud to ask for another turn we settle with our first attempt and claim the booby prize instead of swallowing our pride and giving it another shot.

Life is full of second chances. Every day when we wake up, it’s another opportunity to start over, to have another go. But for most of us, we never see that. Since we are so determined to get it right first time, we refuse to acknowledge that we might be going down the wrong path, we refuse to take the blindfold off – or rather, to put the blind-fold back on! Or else we are so convinced that in that hunt for the thimble, we’ve already taken so many wrong turns en-route that we will never make it back to the road we should have been on, so we continue on, in the hope that maybe there’ll be a short-cut up ahead.

Really, there is now easy way, no simple answer! No one can guide you down the ‘right path’ to your destiny because each and every path is unique and individual. But I have to at least hope that the search is more like a treasure hunt, than an aimless game of chase. There have to be clues along the way. That is why I believe it is important to try new things all the time, to try new roles in life on for size, and see how they feel.

It’s important to follow those sparks of inspiration: perhaps that moment of clarity you have while you are singing in the shower, or that seed of an idea that pops into your thoughts while you sit at a red light, is a clue from your soul about where it’s source of nourishment might lie.
So why is it so hard to follow through on those ideas? All those good intentions? If nourishment is good for you, shouldn’t it be easy to find the will to eat, to put great plans into action? Well – to that I say, ask the fat lady why she still hasn’t stopped eating fries and whipped cream and switched to salad when she knows it’s what her body needs and will ultimately make her feel good and healthy. It isn’t always easy to do the right thing, the good thing, the healthy thing that will ultimately lead you to happiness.

Sometimes I feel weak, I feel lost, I feel lazy. But that’s what makes me human. And sometimes it’s OK to forgive myself for that. But in forgiving myself I also have to live with the realization that another day passed without fulfilling my goal, which will ultimately lead me to the possible fulfillment of my soul. I have to live with that, knowing that that is what makes me anxious.
Eventually, I suppose, my anxiety will lead me to action, and action will lead me to enlightenment, or at the very least contentment. But if I don’t try I’ll never know. So if you would excuse me for a few moments I have a Sudoku book to burn and a month of meditation to catch up on – this may take a while!

Ahhh the Beach

2009-12-15T01:05:00.000-08:00

From Calcutta to Mumbai was a relatively uneventful 30+hr train ride. I did some writing, edited some photos, finished my book, began the mammoth task of writing up my Everest ‘journal’ and slept and ate at varied intervals. The train food was surprisingly good (think Indian airplane food, without the cutlery, salt/pepper sachets and napkins) and although our cabin mates were saddled with an irritatingly tantrum tendencied 3 yr old who wasn’t yet quite in control of his newly potty trained bladder when he was sleeping, we managed to get a descent nights sleep and occasionally during the daylight hours remembered to look outside the window at the passing scenery of central India to observe the slowly changing landscape of the lush, tropical fields.
Upon arrival to Mumbai’s Dadar station we swiftly managed to obtain an onward ticket for the short journey by local train to Bandra (thankfully without joining the half mile long line-up - occasionally it pays to be a pasty white blonde girl with a backpack on who appears to be completely lost and clueless), where our Vancouver friends reside. Martin and Tonya had graciously offered to open the doors of their lovely home (and washing machine) to these 2 stinky backpackers for an unspecified number of days without a hint of hesitation, which I found incredibly generous, considering the fact that Martin and I had actually only met briefly many years ago and besides being friends on Facebook have had minimal contact since that first meeting. But as is often the case with travelers – the generous spirit of a wandering soul is ready to help a fellow traveler out in any way possible. Fortunately the sight of a familiar face from home was enough to generate the spark of friendship back to life, so after only a brief period of introductions for our other halves we were all getting along famously. (Tonya you are amazing!!)
Anyway – as I was saying - we managed to obtain our tickets without too much trouble; however making proper use of those tickets wasn’t quite that simple. Unfortunately the helpful ticket man didn’t think it pertinent to mention the slightly unusual design feature of Dadar train station: that there are actually two ‘platform ones’ – so we managed to board an incredibly packed train carriage, only to discover after several stations that we were in fact on the wrong train (heading north on the Eastern line instead of the Western one)….ooops! We jumped off and made the swift decision to switch from train to rickshaw and finally, by a stroke of luck, (when I noticed the names on the sides of the buildings on the street we were driving down) I realized that we were right outside Martin’s building. The rickshaw screeched to a halt at my order and we had arrived. Hallelujah!

Our time in Mumbai was quite a change of pace, due to the luxury of a ‘home’ to escape to at the end of each day (or in fact a home to hide out in all day if we felt like it). And although the city centre itself was quite pleasant by big Indian city standards, with some lovely European style architecture (never mind the smog and pollution) there really isn’t that much to it - so a couple of days really would have been enough, however both Darko and I had some ‘opportunities’ to pursue.

Darko was fortunately able to tag along with Martin and assist him on a photo-shoot of an up and coming Bollywood cutie, which gave him the chance to watch a fellow photographer at work. (Since arriving in Mumbai, Martin has made some amazing contacts and already shot the front cover of GQ India so it was quite a privilege for D.) He also accompanied Martin to an Indian Photographers Guild Event where Martin had been invited to speak and got to meet some of the top photographers of India. Score!!
In contrast my ‘professional’ aspirations for Mumbai weren’t quite so fruitful. Through a friend of friend I had the number of a possible ‘Bollywood’ contact who might be able to hook me up with a paid dancing gig. It all ended up being a bit of a wild goose chase, that left me feeling more like I was in the running for a chance to be a go-go dancer at a Christmas party (no thanks!) than with any hope of making it on a set with a camera – but oh well – I tried! Nil!!

Since my aspirations of making it to Bollywood had been dashed I decided to spend my final day in Mumbai as Darko’s assistant, shooting another more likely Bollywood hopeful (an Indian guy), which gave Darko the opportunity to add another angle to his portfolio and me the chance to practice my role of second shooter (which may turn out to be all I’m good for when we get back to Vancouver). And finally we were ready to take the train South and head to the beach.
After yet another full day on the train we arrived at Pernem station in North Goa just in time to jump in a rickshaw and arrive at Arambol for the last of the breathtaking sunset.

Now it might be said that Goa is to India what Bora Bora is to the South Pacific. The gem, the ‘piece de resistance’! But let’s keep in mind; it is still India – so there is plenty to keep you shaking your head. The sound of the ocean crashing on the golden sand is still interspersed with the deep guttural noise of belching cows.

The beautiful sari-clad women are still trying to coerce you into buying their wares, but essentially it is stunning here. Palm fringed beaches and candle lit dining tables on the sand as the sun goes down are the order of the day.
It was our plan to find something a little more ‘permanent’ for a longer stay in the region but on our first few days we were happy to perch on the hillside over-looking the beach in a little ‘Coco Hut’ and decide if Arambol was it. After an amazing fish dinner on our first evening in town it was decided that we would be happy to spend a few weeks hanging here, eating lots and getting fat. So the hunt for the ‘home’ began. We spent 2 days hard at it and finally found a place that suited our needs (and budget). For less than a tenner (GBP) our balcony looks out to the ocean with only a few palm trees and a rocky shore separating us from the waves (the Golden sand is just around the bend). We have clean tiled floors, a fridge and a stove, but much to my honey’s distress, an ‘Indian style’ convenience - unfortunately no porcelain throne (which we didn’t notice until after we’d moved in) – oh well – you can’t win ‘em all!!
So finally we begin to relax and unwind to the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the rocks, only steps away. The sun is shining, the beach is calling and we are ready to chill the f(*&k out!!!
India challenges your patience not just daily, but sometimes hourly, so Goa feels like a little corner that lets you escape the barrage of incessant hassle. The mother-hen of India that lets you hide under its wing for a while to rest and recuperate until you feel ready for the next intense round in ring. The daily assault of decisions to be made when you are on the road can be put on hold for a while and we will have time to take some space. Darko and I met, and conducted the whole of our pre-wedding relationship in incredibly enclosed quarters on a cruise-ship. Consequently we have had very little time to ourselves since we met…….ever! We were constantly by one another’s side. And India has, of course, been the same thus far – but here we can spread our wings a little and take a moment or two in solitude. Considering my desire to get more in touch with myself during this trip I’m thinking this might be a good thing. And since the last time the romance richter scale read anything past a 0.2 in the rest of India, since the beginning of time (God knows how they managed to come up with the Karma Sutra) it seems that Goa could provide the honeymoon environment we’ve been looking for!

There will also be time for work of course. Darko has his never-ending hard-drives full of photographs to edit and fine tune and I will be honing my craft as a writer. Since there won’t be a great deal of ‘new’ information about India to share with you and mostly just the hum drum stuff of day to day life going on, you may not hear from me here for a while (unless I get around to finishing the ‘Everest Episodes’). My writing may take me in a new and different direction that I haven’t even fathomed yet – or I may just spend time tailoring work for ‘professional’ publication. Who knows…….maybe I’ll finish my first novel. I’m going to meditate a little, start the yogic ball rolling with a class or 2 and maybe even spend a day or 2 in the ocean or off on a scooter exploring the rest of Goa,

but mainly I’m just going to be living and breathing – something I forget to do far to often in this current incarnation. I might read a book (Tolstoy’s War and Peace right now) or I might just stare at the ocean for hours.
Whatever I am doing, you can guarantee that every single one of you reading this (at least the ones of you that I know personally – I doubt there’s anyone else out there reading it!!!) will enter my thoughts at least once, because I miss you all and think of you often……. Oh and cos I never ever stop thinking about random stuff, day and night, try as I might!! But for the time being I’m off to ruminate on the shape of my navel and maybe get a tan.

Tigers and Headless Goats!

2009-12-03T03:13:00.000-08:00

This ol’ blogging thing keeps taking a bit of a back seat at the moment I’m afraid – but when I get to it, I really get to it. I’ll be sitting here for approximately the next 30 hours – so lots of time to perfect the next ‘episode’ (I’m on the overnight train to Mumbai and won’t be arriving until 9pm tomorrow night – it’s 3.30pm now).
So – where was I? Oh I remember: Darjeeling. Well on our first afternoon in Darjeeling we were fortunate to run into a lovely and incredibly sweet young couple from Denmark who’s plans seemed to be running quite nicely in tandem with ours so we’ve spent most of the last week in pleasant company and not had much time free to write – but we finally said our goodbye’s at the Howrah train station in Calcutta a couple of hours ago and it’s back to just me and my Mac (oh yeah – and my husband too – stinky feet in my face and all!).
So – we finally gave up on Darjeeling and the clouds and jumped in a jeep down the mountain – and whatdya know? Just as we were heading out of town for just a brief moment the clouds cleared in the distance and we got our last sneaky peak at the Himalayas and the chance to say ‘farewell’. Not to worry – we’ll be back I’m sure! And then we were heading down down down to board the night train to Calcutta. Now, based on everything I’d heard and read about Calcutta I was bracing myself for the absolute worst of the worst: Dirt and poverty in profusion. So I was very pleasantly surprised by the city that greeted us.

Now I doubt very much whether it made the shortlist for ‘best cities to live in’ in the last 50 years and since Mother Theresa seemed to have her hands full in it’s city limits for most of her waking life it obviously has it’s fair share of problems

– but next to New Delhi, it’s positively radiant. I mean, by Delhi standards, it’s clean, it’s friendly and it’s relatively quiet. We didn’t have plans for a protracted stay in the city and in fact were merely passing through on the way to Sunderbans National Park but I might almost go so far as saying it was a pleasant stay and I wouldn’t have minded a couple more days. (Please don’t get carried away and go booking your ticket to Calcutta on my recommendation - I did only say ‘almost’).

We found a decent place to stay and from the safety of our hotel lobby we managed to arrange a three day boat trip to the Sunderbans: the biggest river delta in the world and home to the largest concentration of tigers in the wild left on the planet. So, in theory our best chance to see these magnificent beasts, outside captivity.

It was a 3 hour drive from Calcutta to the launch site and from there we would remain mostly on the water for the next 3 days. Within a relatively short period of time we had left the city behind and entered rural West Bengal to get a real taster of how most of rural India actually lives: in a word – simply. The scenery was stunning. A flat land of tropical, lush, watery farm land. Paddy fields interspersed with fresh water ponds and simple mud huts with thatched roofs were dotted along the ‘highway’. Occasionally a small town would appear with the usual snack stands and street side vendors selling their wares and brewing their chai and then a few moments later we were back out into the open plain and surrounded by the simple reality of life in the Sunderbans. With a population of over 4 million, most of whom have little, if any access to power, daily life is extremely basic, and dictated by the limitations of mother nature. Most of the inhabitants wake and sleep according to the hours of daylight provided by the sun and while the occasional hut is equipped with solar power or the luxury of a generator, most survive with no power at all. It is truly humbling to enter the homes of these people (which we did on our first evening in the region, when we left the boat to visit a riverside village), and realize that the equivalent of almost a quarter of the population of Canada live in this way, with mud floors and a single ‘platform’ providing sleeping quarters for the entire family, while the chickens and goats are cooped and tethered just outside. Surprisingly the interior of the homes seemed incredibly clean and well cared for despite the fact that they are mostly made of mud. Considering the devastation that had swept through the region only a few months ago due to a cyclone of monstrous proportions it was nothing less than impressive (especially when you consider the amount of filth and dirt that seems prevalent in urban India). The families in this area may be poor, but that doesn’t stop them being house-proud. Most of the people live off the land, from hand to mouth, barely above the poverty line but somehow they survive and live with dignity and grace, relying on the river to bring them food in the form of fish and supplies via boat, while at the same time defying the river to bring it’s forces of destruction.
One of the greatest potential forces of destruction around them is of course the mighty Bengal Tiger! It is not uncommon for a tiger to ‘visit’ one of the many riverside villages at night in search of a goat, or maybe even a person, to provide a meal – but of course the tiger is stealthy and remains mainly elusive and aloof for the purposes of tourist viewing pleasure.

So although our trip to Sunderbans was a wonderful chance to appreciate the lush scenery of this Mangrove delta and see some marvelous birdlife (a twitcher’s paradise) in the form of many varied Kingfishers, Egrets, Cormorants and Storks our hopeful dreams of tiger spotting were sadly to remain unfulfilled. We also enjoyed the added bonus of a run in with a gastric visitation of a rather unpleasant nature in the form of diarrhea and vomiting (probably the result of breaking my cardinal rule in Calcutta and drinking a juice that was likely mixed with ‘unhealthy’ water) which was also accompanied by a lovely dose of fever and chills. But this only slightly took away from the joys of slowly chugging down the narrow channels of the Sunderbans between viewing platforms to look out into the jungle. Our trip was also enhanced by the presence of our very own resident ‘Mother Theresa’ in the form of Jane, a yogi from Manchester who had accompanied us on the boat to deliver supplies of medicine and blankets to the sick and needy, still left homeless after the afore-mentioned cyclone of 4 months previous. Her light and calming energy (and the occasional pilfering of her medical supplies) helped lift our spirits and gave us another person to share our thoughts and musings on India with. Her presence also gave us the opportunity to get an ‘expert’ opinion from an India regular. Jane has been visiting India for many years now, and as a yoga teacher and daily meditator has an ease and gentleness about her that makes it hard to be agitated around.

So all in all the 3 days in Sunderbans were quite an escape, and a relaxing break from the maddening chaos of the rest of daily India – especially the last day when the worst of our ‘symptoms’ were clearing, almost as much as the skies which had thus far been somewhat cloudy and we were rewarded with a final sunset of heart wrenching gorgeousness that didn’t quite compensate the glaringly obvious lack of the sought after tiger sighting – but certainly cushioned the blow.

It was definitely quite nice though to return to solid ground and a night in a bed with a real mattress (instead of a double folded blanket to sleep on) and our one full day in Calcutta before our departure was spent wandering quite close to ‘home’ (our Hotel on Sudder Street).

We visited the impressive Victoria Memorial and hunted out a taste of real home in the form of a very expensive but worthwhile Italian pizza joint and a great slice of Brownie from the best cake shop in town (we were still suffering withdrawals from our overdose of cake hits in Darjeeling) and that was pretty much it.
In the evening we did manage to come across a crazy man on the way to dinner (or so we thought) who it turned out was not actually crazy but just doing a mad dance in the middle of the street in an attempt to eject a genetically modified sized version of the biggest cockroach you have ever seen in your life from the inside of his flip-flop. The response this display elicited from my darling husband was absolute dismay. India is officially on probation. He has declared that if Goa does not impress the pants off him he’s on the next plane out of here – so it looks like I might finally get some alone time in India!!! By the time our Paneer Kati Rolls had arrived (a typical Bengali snack – featuring a tasty version of a rolled up roti and filling of your choice – in this case Paneer, the local cheese) the hissy fit had subsided and his appetite had returned – but truly I’m not so sure how much more of the filth my fragile photographer can withstand before he’s ready to snap his last shots, shape up and ship out so I’m putting the cockroaches on my hit list. If I see one when I’m in my shoes – it’s a gonna – sorry guru Jane – ahimsa just went out the window for this little yogi in training!!!
Since our train today didn’t actually depart until the afternoon we decided on an early morning outing to the ghats on the bank of the Hooghly river to check out a little more local culture and finally found something that put a smile on my honey’s face: A wonderful flower market where the flower sellers of the city congregate to stock their stalls for ‘offering’ supplies.

It was spectacular and marvelous and full of fascinating faces and colorful characters equally as enthralling as their chlorophyll filled counterparts. We all snapped away to our hearts content with surprisingly few requests for bakshish (the Indian for ‘tip’) and many happy and sheepish grins from our models as we gladly showed them the results of our looming lenses (the magic of digital SLRs).

Calcutta was back in favor as we headed for our final breakfast and planned a quick late morning visit to the Kali Temple to see the ‘intense’ side of India.
After a short cab ride and a stroll down the busy street full of flocking devotees we arrived at the Kali temple and the mayhem began. We realized that if we wanted to get inside the temple this side of Christmas we were going to need some assistance, so we agreed to let one of the temple ‘priests’ accompany us to the front of the line for a small but agreeable sum. Once at the front of the line there was still an incredible amount of pushing and shoving to be done to make it through the gate, (while several of the locals continued what seemed to be an overly aggressive altercation right in front of our faces and at one point I was sure I was about to get a stray fist in my face). Once we were within the central enclave and within reach of the Kali statue it was only marginally calmer but I could barely believe what all the fuss was about. What we actually viewed was a gaudily painted blobby head with 3 eerily staring eyes surrounded by offerings, glimpsed only briefly between other viewers arms and heads and the looming figures of the many temple attendants collecting offerings (more accurately demanding donations or violently shoving the empty handed on their way – that would be us!). And all of this in bare feet, while our shoes sat outside in the safety of a storage locker to be picked up on exiting the temple. The whole experience lasted only a few short minutes but for many seemed the exciting culmination of a lifetimes ambition – this being the oldest and most important Kali temple of the 51 in India that represent Kali, god of destruction and therefore an important pilgrimage for Kali devotees. Following our Kali viewing we decided it was time to have a gander at the other spectacle of the temple area: the sacrificial alter, that had apparently been getting a thorough dousing of sacrificial blood all morning. As we approached I heard the blood curdling scream of the next goat in line at the platform and before I had time to question the wisdom of my decision to actually check out this horrific and barbaric practice out I realized that we had arrived just in time to see the executioner swing his blade high in the air above his head and then bring it down on the poor innocent goats skinny little neck, ending it’s sad little life. Thankfully my view was obscured at the point of impact but what I did see is an image that will probably haunt me for the rest of my days. First a man with his hands over the severed neck of the goat shielding the onlookers from the squirts of blood flying from the headless body that writhed uncontrollably on the blood-spattered concrete, and then the now detached head being tossed aside. And shortly after a second goat in the same condition writhing equally as violently beside the first this time with no hands to cover the severed neck – and so – the view of spinal cord and neck musculature, dissection style, in cross section. I had seen enough. And by the look on Line’s face (my Danish friend) so had she and it was time to make a hasty exit before we both threw up in our mouths.
And here we are, full circle, back at my earlier proposition that India is full of barbarians. And while some will argue for the ancient practice of sacrificial rights as a methods to appease the gods and in this instance the great god of destruction Kali and it’s relevance, to me, it seems a practice that has absolutely outlived it’s value in this world. And I have to ask: what positive can be said about a race who clamor over one another in an almost violent rage to view a plastic three eyed god, while goats are slaughtered in its honor only feet away? (Apologies to my beloved Indian friends who are the exceptions to the rule in this country of Barbarians.)
As we taxied back to our hotel to retrieve our luggage and be on our way I reflected on it all and took it all in. The longer I remain in India, the more clearly I see how obvious and distinct the castes of India are and how deeply ingrained into the fiber of this place they have become. The untouchables that unroll their mattresses on the street as night falls, and defecate in plane view of their fellow citizens are literally inches away from being animals. They have no respect from other by default and instinctively have little respect for themselves. They have no will to improve their status as they understand in the DNA of their cells that it is futile, and walking through their world you realize that you are merely a spectator of their lives and this system. It’s like watching Coronation Street, Brookside, Dynasty and James Bond all at once on the same TV screen. There is no way that these 4 realities should co-exist in the same space at the same time – but they do. In India there are many levels: 7 castes – and you can see each one operating independently of the others but occasionally intersecting so that some in ways rely on others to continue as they are – but the awareness of the other human life belonging to a lower caste is almost as a ghost like presence. It inspires the sentiments of injustice and hopelessness – but the players seem un-phased by their lot.
Having studied religion in school until the age of 16 (a requirement by law in UK), I was already pretty well versed on the main practices and beliefs of Hindu’s in India and the basics of the caste system but when I first arrived in India I also read ‘White Tiger’ to give me a more personal insight into the reality of India today and I’m certainly glad that I did. I have moments when I look around and realize the profound truth of what the writer is trying to say – and find a much deeper understanding and recognition of it’s truth and reality in the India of today than I first garnered while I was reading. The caste system was built to perpetuate itself and it seems almost impossible to break the cycles set in place by it, so it will be fascinating to watch and see what the growing economy of India will bring and if the scales will tip or whether the rungs of the ladder will stay firmly in place – but it seems to me, that if the rest of the world is watching as closely as it doubtless will be – something will have to give – but how and when – well those are some mighty big questions?

Back in the Saddle

2009-11-24T01:53:00.000-08:00

Well, it has officially been many many days since these keys were clacked in any way shape or form and my poor little miss Mac was beginning to feel utterly rejected so I figured it was time to get her back in gear. Strange as it may seem, after 3 weeks away from technology in the Himalayas, I was not actually chomping at the bit to get back in the saddle – in fact – quite the contrary. After a healthy dose of techno starvation I was somewhat repelled by the thought of switching this puppy on – partly since ‘getting back to nature’ left me void of a desire for information – but partly because I was just too damn lazy (and a bit exhausted) to face the prospect of catching up on a months worth of blogging. But of course – since habits are hard to break (and a habit is formed in 22 days or something like that – so definitely less time than I had been plugging away on an almost daily basis at this old blog thingimijiggy stuff, prior to the trek), the urge to document and write about my thoughts and experiences has been gradually creeping back into my conscience over the last couple of days. Then yesterday I found myself on our long bus ride, composing sentences in my mind and trying to commit them to memory for recall later.
So here we are: back in India, Darjeeling to be precise. Sipping on tea (but of course – what else does one do in Darjeeling when it’s cloudy out with not a Himalayan peak in sight) and I’m back at the keyboard. And yes: I’m a little overwhelmed and not sure where to begin! So I guess I’ll just jump right in from way back about a week ago when we returned from our trek (I will of course fill you in on the details of the trek when my urge to mindlessly type up the daily ‘journal’ I kept en route), exhausted but very contented and satisfied – well actually that’s not entirely true –but to sum up – the trek was stupendous, spectacular, all I imagined and more – and then it ended – and it all felt like a bit of an anti-climax. Not because it ended, but because of the way it ended. We had decided to hike out from Lukla, instead of flying like most, to experience some of rural Nepal, and we had been warned that it was tough territory. The days of hiking were long and hard and the ups and downs steep. Well – we thought – after 2 weeks at altitude it will be a breeze. We are in shape! No problem! But it was HARD! Now that in it self was not so much of a problem but our final day to reach Kathmandu was a very long and bumpy bus ride from Shivalaya, which began at 5.30am. The early start was not so tough since we’d been waking before 6 with sunrise most mornings, but since it was around 6.30pm before we stepped off the bus, those 13 hours of jumping and jostling just kinda took the wind out of our sails. The return to Kathmandu was supposed to be a victorious fanfare of civilization and perhaps a glass of wine – and instead it was – get me to a room with a shower and maybe I’ll see the real world again in the morning. The planned celebration was postponed and I felt like I’d been robbed of my achievement. Three weeks of hiking had earned me a hurrah – and somehow it felt like the moment passed. But oh well – some celebrations are only in thought and not deed I suppose. We did buy that promised bottle of wine we’d been dreaming of for days, but I drank most of it alone the following day while my hubby was lost in computer hell, trying to figure out why his photo’s wouldn’t transfer from hard drive to laptop and ‘not in the mood’ for a glass of wine and a ‘cheers to us’ – oh well – like a true alcoholic I drank alone and tried to retrieve that jovial celebratory spirit from the deep well of despair it was diving down into……OK OK I’m being a drama queen – it wasn’t that bad really – I mean – I had a nice lazy day – read my book – had a massage and generally felt a little bit good to be back in the real world – but like I said – a bit of an anticlimax.
Our second full day back in Kathmandu was also kinda slow to get going but after a leisurely breakfast on our little roof-top terrace we visited Bodnath stupa

– a gargantuan Buddhist monument just outside the city centre with prayer flags floating in the breeze from the centre to multiple anchor points all around the surrounding courtyard.

We strolled around taking it all in and as always I had the delights of personal commentary under his breath from my cynical narrator and companion – berating the phony buddhists (aka white hippy travelers) for their public displays of Buddhist prayer.

After a couple of loops to admire the perfect proportions of the huge white dome with it’s central golden spire, almost akin to a huge white bosom with a nipple resembling something from the brazier section of a Madonna costume we picked one of the many roof-top terraces for a spot of lunch and a different, elevated angle of viewing.

From this new perspective we were reminded once again of our greater surroundings – the Kathmandu valley, crammed full of people and buildings and in the distance those omnipotent Himalayan snow covered peaks. Ahh Kathmandu! Now we were in the Stupa mood so we decided to make the journey across town to the monkey temple. We decided that another tempo ride might give us both stiff necks (very mini mini buses that seem big enough for perhaps 3.5 normal sized white guys that cram about 14 Nepalese into them and shuttle passengers all around the city for the cost of a grape – we couldn’t actually sit up straight without hitting our heads) and weren’t sure which number tempo would get us close to where we were headed so we decided to splash out for a cab to take us direct. Now on leaving the Stupa area the first cab driver wanted 600rp – but I knew that was over the top so we headed away from the ‘tourist price’ area and bargained our way down to just 250rp for the 30 min ride via the ring road to the opposite side of the city. I was quite proud of myself and impressed with my hard nosed bargaining skills that have been coming along quite nicely (that’s less than $4 people).

Now my memories of the monkey temple were quite spectacular, since on my last visit I happened to coincidentally time my arrival at the temple with the Nepalese New Year; so there were literally thousands of devotees hanging around in a jovial spirit. This time around however there were just lots and lots of tourists taking pictures and a really amateur looking music video shoot going on with a couple of Nepalese gangster rapper wannabes who looked like they’d dressed for an 80’s costume party as the bastard child of Eminem and Michael Jackson. (Just picture it!)

The saving grace though was (once again) those darn mountains glowing away in the distance and the wonderful aerial view of Kathmandu, since the monkey temple sits on the top of a steep hill to the West of the city centre.

We strolled the 3km back to our hotel, crossing the river and taking in the ‘suburbs’ of Kathmandu, arriving just in time for sundown from our rooftop with the last of the red wine from our celebration splurge (actually a surprising good Cab Merlot blend from Australia for less than $10 – about half our daily budget).
Our final day in the Kathmandu valley was spent in the city of Patan,

which is basically a much smaller, quieter and in many ways more well kept version of Kathmandu city. Although it used to be a completely separate city, these days the border between Kathmandu and Patan is pretty much non-existent as the cities have grown and all the small towns and hamlets of the valley have pretty much mingled into one. Although it was much less impressive and not half as packed with sights and artifacts as Kathmandu it was still a fascinating day and was a nice way to escape the crowds.

To say ‘goodbye’ to Kathmandu we decided our final dinner would be in a traditional Nepalese restaurant but when we arrived to find the ‘entertainment’ of a ‘cultural show’ in full swing, the enthusiasm for a dose of Kathmandu culture was written all over my darling husband’s face so we opted for the backpacker version – looked more like a soup-kitchen from the décor but provided us with a final tasty dose of Dal Bhat (the traditional Nepalese dish) by candle-light…… not for the sake of romance – there was yet another power cut in that part of town!

And we were on the road again. I do have to note that since my last visit 14 yrs ago the roads have drastically improved but since there are still many pot-holed and unpaved sections of highway this was not exactly something we were over the moon about – but a necessary evil. We were on our way to Chitwan National Park to hunt for the ever-elusive tiger and maybe a Rhino or two. Twice our journey was halted by mysterious and unexplained ‘hold-ups’ but eventually we arrived to the warmth and lush tropical surroundings of the terrain (the fertile strip of land separating the mountains from the Indian low-lands), and we settled in to the Jungle Lagoon Safari Lodge.

We had only one full day in the park but boy what a day. Our 6am wake up call sounded pretty much like this: “your elephant awaits”. Literally – we walked out of our lodge to be greeted by a small group of elephants and their mahouts (their drivers) and climbed up a ladder to a mounting platform from which we took our place in the ‘saddle’. Actually it wasn’t a saddle, but a small padded area kind of like an upside down table with cushions inside strapped to the back of the elephant that fit 4 riders. Once ‘onboard’, our elephant transported us to the forest where we would find wild boar and various kinds of deer, birds and butterflies.

I think the highlight of the day for me was later that morning when our guide took us to the riverside for elephant bath time. At 11am every morning the mahouts bring their elephants down to the river for a good scrub and tourists are welcome to assist. For a 200rp (less than $3) tip Darko and I took turns riding an elephant bareback into the river and giggled with glee as our elephant doused us with water from the river via her trunk.

It was truly incredible to be sitting on the back of the largest land mammal on the planet taking a bath. The elephants are so well trained by their keepers that with a simple command they can wiggle their massive behind in such a way that you suddenly feel like a cowboy at the rodeo riding a bucking bronco, and off you go, into the river. The mahout will then quickly throw you a hand, pull you back up and wait for you to be back in position before performing the whole little stunt all over again and there you are back in the river. What fun! Not once, did I feel afraid or scared for my safety, surrounded by these ten-ton creatures, playing in the water. Amazing. I even got to stand on my elephant’s head before diving into the river. Definitely the most fun I’ve had in a long long time.
And the afternoon came in a close second for favorite moments. After a lazy lunch it was time for our canoe trip and jungle safari on foot. We paddled down the river, watching, surprisingly calmly, the lazy crocodiles sunning themselves on the banks and admiring the many beautiful and unusual birds passing by.

We saw Storks, Egrets and many different types of Kingfisher, many with almost luminescent plumage of bright orange and shining turquoise. After a few km’s we were deposited ashore (on a stretch without the sunbathing crocs) and headed into the bush to find some more wildlife. We had not got even a couple of hundred meters from the bank of the river when our guide stopped us to explain what to do if we were to run into any dangerous animals. Only a few words into his explanation and the mention of something about climbing trees we suddenly became aware of some movement less than 30 meters away. Standing right there in a clearing, staring our way, was a mother rhino with her baby in tow. We stood completely still in awe and watched in disbelief as she sniffed the air and with an almost nonchalant toss of her horn turned and walked away. We followed, a healthy distance behind and heard rustling through the undergrowth. We climbed a tree for a better vantage point, we listened….. nothing. As stealthily as they had appeared, they had disappeared into the jungle. And so we continued on and found deer, a mere cat type animal, and many birds. We thought our rhino encounter had come and gone and then suddenly our guide stopped dead in his tracks and entreated us to find a tree fast and get up it. We froze and saw immediately ahead, not more than 20 metres from us, poppa rhino, chillin’ in the bush. Clearly he knew we were there – he looked our way many times, but since the eyesight and hearing of a rhino is exceedingly poor and we stayed as still as we could he pretty much ignored us.

We watched for several minutes and then slowly retreated, leaving him to his peace and quiet. Once again: amazing! From there we made our way to the elephant breeding centre where we saw several baby elephants and their mothers being fed by their keepers.
Our time in Nepal was coming to an end. We were sad to be leaving, but looking forward to our next stop and final Himalayan destination, Darjeeling. But of course before we could reach this tea-lovers mountain oasis…… one last bus ride. The Mahendra Highway runs the length of Nepal through the Terrai and this was the only way for us to reach the border. Almost 12 hours of bumping and jostling. And since it is not a hugely popular tourist route – we were forced to do the journey by public bus. Our seats were a squeeze, but at least we had seats, which is more than can be said for many of the passengers along for the ride. We stopped more times than I could count to pick up or drop off passengers and the aisles were packed. One guy even had a live chicken in a little wicker basket with him, which he carefully placed in the overhead shelving for the duration of his ride. It was actually during this long and arduous ride that I started to get re-inspired to ‘catch up’ with my blog. As I stared out of the window, watching the daily life of Nepal pass by I was once again impressed by the constant contrasts and juxtapositions staring back at me every minute that I spend in this colorful continent (not to mention the nosey Nepalese men…..staring that is!).
A stream of consciousness series of observations:
A town full of dirt and grime, a bike workshop with tools and pieces of engine strewn across a cement courtyard, fields of agriculture with crops of mustard, and grain with colors from green through yellow and orange to golden and straw. Seeds and grain spread on plastic sheets and tarps to dry by the roadside. Women in colorful saris of red, orange, turquoise, blue and green striding through the fields with bundles of straw balanced atop their heads. Dry riverbeds. A truck parked in the middle of the dry riverbed with colorfully sari-clad women taking rocks and boulders from the expanse of rock and placing them in the truck. Fields being ploughed by ancient methods: wooden ploughs, pulled by a pair of white humped cows, driven by the farmer. Pigs snuffling in the dirt alongside chickens and mangy dogs. Wooden huts, mud huts and in the gardens orange, yellow and red gladioli injecting a splash of vibrant color into the dirty view. It is interesting to me that sometimes in this land of ‘survival’ there are signs of appreciation for beauty and aesthetics but surrounded by so much filth: A flower for the sake of beauty. And marigolds everywhere that are cut and the petals used for offerings to the gods. And then a huge dam which we passed over on the road. The water still and glass-like, offering a perfect reflection of the man-made structure that has been built to harness this incredible force of nature, the power of water, a natural resource that Nepal is beginning to use for it’s own benefit. Roadside stalls selling fruit and vegetables. Bunches of bananas. Pyramids of apples. Shacks full of snacks, packets of nibbles, biscuits and chocolate. Roadside cemeteries. Holy men in orange robes with bare-feet and painted faces walking down the road. Many many people walking down the road in both directions and cycling and brightly painted trucks and honking and honking and honking.
And finally, after dark, we reach Karkabitta, the border town for India. It was almost 6pm when we reached the border and had to ask a policeman to point us toward the immigration building. In most countries with land borders there is only one way to get across that border and that cannot possibly be done without presenting papers to a border guard or immigration officer. Here the locals were just freely crossing like it was any other road. We actually had to go and find the office. When we presented our passports we had an entertaining conversation with the official who was subtly implying that we might need to offer a bribe, since our visa had actually expired the day before. However, we had been informed on arrival that if we wanted to stay longer there would not be a problem we would simply pay an extra $2 fee per day. So I clearly and calmly stated that we were aware of the policy and were happy to pay the correct fee and be on our way. He then suggested that instead of the $4 US we gave him we should give Nepalese money – 500rps. We politely declined, since that amount is closer to $8 than 4. Did he really think after a month in Nepal we wouldn’t know the exchange rate? Can’t blame a man for trying I suppose.
Next we walked the km long no-mans land to the Indian side in pitch darkness. As Darko happily pitched in – a country that in 20 years will have the #1 economy in the world cannot even light the road to it’s entry – this seemed quite bizarre to us. Next we had to go through the whole process of searching for the immigration office that we had gone through on the Nepal side all over again, to find a small, badly lit building with an un-uniformed ‘official’ sitting at a desk with a pile of papers and a hand-written leather bound ledger. He wrote our passport details in the ledger, gave us a stamp and sent us on our way. Welcome back to India!
After a day of snacking on curry flavored chips and coconut cookies, in a bouncing bus, we were dying for some real food - so we found a shack with some tasty Samosas and then joined a rabble of locals waiting for the bus to Siliguri, the town from which we could catch a jeep to Darjeeling in the morning. When the bus arrived there was an almighty jostle to alight the bus, but somehow, with the help of my 20kilo backpack and some brute force I managed to shove my way through and make it to the door of the bus and we were on (with a seat).
We were looking forward to a few days of doing not much of anything but enjoying the view and saying a final goodbye to the mountains in Darjeeling, so we were sadly disappointed to see that as we went winding up the mountain, gaining altitude and losing centigrade at a high rate we were also ascending into the clouds. Those wonderful snow capped peaks were looking set to elude us on this last stop of our Himalayan tour. Not to be deterred by this slight setback we set off up the steep alleys of Darjeeling to reach the highest ridge of the town and find a ‘room with a view’, optimistic that the clouds would lift and the magical views would appear.
It is now day 3 in Darjeeling (I started this entry 2 days ago and then got interrupted by some fun conversation in the cafe with a fellow traveler and her friend who actually lives here in Darjeeling) and although we’ve put on a brave face and visited the zoo (I’ve now seen a tiger and a snow-leopard through a chicken wire fence), sampled some of the world’s finest Harrod’s stocked Darjeeling tea in the world (and seen where and how it is processed) and sampled most of the cakes in the best bakery and tea shop in town I am still sitting here typing with my head quite literally in the clouds. While we are well aware that we probably used up most of our good weather Karma in Nepal with some incredibly perfect blue sky days throughout our whole trek, I will still leave Darjeeling feeling somewhat cheated by this dam thick white glue hanging around us in the sky, which shows absolutely no signs of going anywhere anytime soon (especially since it’s completely still, with not a hint of a breeze to help shift the dam stuff). So, if I could give a word of advice about visiting Darjeeling: before you make the journey, check the weather report and if it predicts low cloud – give it a miss. To be fair to the place, it does have a certain charm to it, even without the magnificent views that are apparently hiding just behind the mist, and the food here is pretty good – so far having had several great meals at decent prices, not to mention the tea which I have a newly invigorated love for, having seen exactly how it is made (don’t forget I’m originally English), but truthfully – if the views are in hiding there’s just not much to it.
We’re going to give it a couple more days, just incase the sun decides to come up but after that we will head south to Calcutta and the Sunderbans National Park for another shot at glimpsing a tiger in the wild and then…… well – we’ll get to that when we get to it.

Arriving to Kathmandu

2009-11-15T22:45:00.001-08:00

It is virtually impossible not to be charmed by Kathmandu. After revisiting Bali last year following many years away from Asia I was sadly disappointed by how much it had changed (and not in a good way) and so I was somewhat nervous to return to a place I had always held in that coveted top spot of ‘favorite places I’ve been’. I was never fully certain why Nepal held such a mystical power over me – but it has long been beckoning me back (as had India) so it was with great trepidation and yet high hopes that I walked across the border just 3 days ago with my fingers crossed.
Since we had been traveling for the best part of 3 full days to get that far we decided we would postpone the last leg of the journey to Kathmandu a couple more days and call in on a little town just an hour from the border named Lumbini which was the birth place of Siddartha Guatama – also known as ‘the Buddha’.

Having skipped right by it last time and after having been considerably developed in recent years due to it’s new status as a world heritage site we thought it might be a nice interlude to buses and trains. We were right. We arrived to a tiny little one street town lit by only a few battery-powered lamps (the power outages in Nepal are a daily occurrence) and at once found a place to stay. Since our travels had thoroughly exhausted us we took dinner at the only restaurant in town and made it an early night wondering what the morning might bring. We weren’t disappointed. We arose to find that the mustard fields surrounding us were shrouded in a thick morning mist, which created a serene and impenetrable wall around us. We had read that the development site surrounding Buddha’s birthplace was very spread out so we rented bicycles (the old school kind with no gears - mine even had a little basket on the front) and headed out to explore. As we entered the gates we were transported to a world of calm and tranquility, and the dirt road we cycled down led us to the centre of it all: a marker stone on the exact spot that the little Buddha in training was popped out into the world.

This in itself was fairly unimpressive (as was the Askoka pillar, apparently erected in the 2nd century BC, as a homage to the Buddha from one of the kings – but that looked more like a concrete pillar that was hoisted some time in the last 6 months), but once we explored further afield and discovered the eternal flame and the many Buddhist enclosures in various stages of completion around the complex we were reminded that sometimes history in the making can be as intriguing as the really old stuff.

Truly there were some spectacular spaces and details to be seen and the grounds themselves are like a bizarre combination of the Palace of Versaille in France, the Cambridge Backs in England and a Balinese Rice Paddy.
So, things had got off to a great start in Nepal. We had a lovely siesta, since the mid day heat was somewhat stifling and then ended the day cycling once more to the far end of the complex where the ‘World Peace Stupa’ stands in all her glory and literally seemed to glow a message of peace in the last golden rays of daylight.

I’m not sure if I was just feeling sentimental, maybe the heat of the day had gone to my head, maybe cycling all day had thrown me a little off balance or maybe the energy infused into the Stupa and the intentions of peace meditated on by the many Buddhists around the world who had been instrumental in the building of this fabulous monument have actually created an aura of peace about this place but as we cycled up to the entrance I found myself having a ‘moment’ and feeling an incredibly moving surge of hope and belief that peace on the planet is a real possibility and if only everyone could visit this place and find this feeling there might be hope for the world and it’s inhabitants yet! Soppy stuff I know but I just thought I’d share it with you anyway!

My hopes had been lifted and I felt that the percentage chance that I would still indeed be smitten with Nepal had just gone up by at least another 10%. Our 7am ‘Express luxury mini bus to Kathmandu’ the following day was ready and waiting by 6.30am and we were off. Even though it turned out the bus was not actually all that luxury and not particularly ‘express’ (arriving at 5pm instead of the scheduled 3pm) I was not disheartened, and when we finally alighted in Kathmandu my spirits began to soar. It actually looked much lighter and brighter and ‘prettier’ than I remembered. After one month in India we have pretty much habituated to the filth and squalor of our surroundings and come to expect dusty and mucky piles of garbage on every street corner and down every alleyway, but the Nepalese have apparently got their shit together far more than their neighbors, in that department. Now I’m not saying they’d win the ‘World’s cleanest City’ award or anything like that – but let’s just say it’s a big improvement. And the construction seems to have become a little more streamlined and colorful than I recalled from my last visit with the tower blocks coming in all kinds of bright summer hues in blue, green, pink and yellow. In my minds eye I always remembered Kathmandu as humble and warm but a little dull and dusty grey. This new Kathmandu was vibrant and energized. Now it’s true that it certainly has come close to stepping over that line of development and in Thamel (the main tourist hub) become a war zone of neon and noise, but somehow, to me at least, it still manages to have that charm that can perhaps only come from the gradual higgeldy piggeldy layering of ‘development’ that has obviously occurred over time as each new establishment attempts to outdo the next to get the viewers attention. It is almost a miniature rustic Hong Kong or NY Times Square– but nothing like either of them at the same time.

Anyway, the real clincher for my seal of approval and affirmation that I still love it here came today when we embarked upon a walking tour of the city, suggested in the ever-faithful ‘Lonely Planet’. We didn’t even manage to complete the tour before the exhaustion and hunger set in because although it suggests the tour will take only 2 hours we had already spent 3 and got only half the way around. The reason was quite simply that everywhere we turned there was something to look at, something to explore and photograph, and something to be amazed by.

It’s like walking into a living museum, only the people are really living there and going about their life without the slightest notice of the centuries old monuments and sculptures that stand in the way of their day. It is truly amazing and magnificent to round a corner of a street in Kathmandu, just like any other busy junction of the tourist zone with souvenir stores and outdoor clothing outlets to be greeted by a square containing a breathtaking Stupa surrounded by multiple shrines and monuments, all centuries old and in various states of repair. Quite literally phenomenal!

And all the while the sun rained down on us with a beautiful warm glow making everything shine.

The Kathmandu that greeted me today was even better than the one I remembered and the accommodation and food has definitely gone up a notch or two. The Nepalese are much, much smarter businessmen than their Indian counterparts across the border. They understand that with so much competition on their doorstep (as new establishments have been built) the quality has to go up – which of course means the price goes up too – but by Western standards it’s still pretty cheap here and we are actually paying less than $8 for a room with a clean bathroom and a hot shower (a luxury that was rare on my last visit).
After an errand run to register our impending trek, an amazingly cheap and delightful late lunch in a non-touristy part of town and tea on our roof-top, overlooking the mayhem of the old city I decided it was time for a bit of a deeper delve into the heart of Nepal and the heart of my journey to this part of the world so I headed off to the Buddhist Meditation Centre for a lecture and guided meditation (free). Strangely the teacher was from Spain – but was very illuminating in the ways of the Buddha and I really felt something click during my meditation – so I am seriously considering a 10-day Vipassana when we return from our trek (silent meditation retreat). We’ll see!
Tomorrow we plan to spend the day making the final preparations for our trek and I have to say, I cannot wait to be ‘off to the hills’ and actually set my sights on the almighty Everest. This is going to be a truly amazing experience. Since access to power will be very limited and internet connection exorbitantly costly (not surprising at 5000M above sea level) I won’t be posting while we are trekking but I am planning on writing the old fashioned way (with pen and paper) on a daily basis and typing it up when we return so have no fear – you will be subjected to the daily details and mindless minutia of life on the trekking trail in due course. (As long as we make it back alive with all of our fingers and toes intact!!)

Ambala.......Get me outta here!

2009-10-16T10:47:00.001-07:00

Now I don’t mean to harp on about this – but seriously. I know that men the world over have that annoyingly penis envy making habit of peeing in public. The ability to whip it out and deposit the last couple of pints consumed down a back alley has always been a great source of frustration to me – or rather – the lack of my ability to do the same (especially since I have the world’s smallest bladder and would probably utilize this ability on a regular basis) – but here in India it would seem that the requirement of the back alley has been foregone and the whipping it out part happens pretty much everywhere and anywhere. Most times it is sort of subtle and almost forgivable – but yesterday – in a place that rivals dear old Kargil as the shit soaked dirty asshole of the earth: Ambala, as I sat waiting over 3 hours for my delayed train (after an almost sleepless night that saw me toss and turn ten million times to the sounds track of an inefficient A/C unit, the reverie of a nearby party going on into the wee hours and the occasional nasal buzz of a mosquito passing by my head; as my skin crawled with the thought of what lovely creatures might be attempting to nestle under my skin, from the mattress I lay on, made of nothing more than layers of burlap sacking tied together) I watched in disbelief as one of my many fellow commuters whipped it out and pissed right there off the edge of the platform onto the tracks below. Now – call me a prude – but in what part of the world is that acceptable behavior, unless it’s 4am, you are pissed drunk out of your skull and absolutely no one sober is watching? Let’s just say we breathed a sigh of relief when our delayed train finally pulled into the station and we were able to get the hell outta dodge. Our departure from Ambala could not have come soon enough. I will certainly be sending an email to the editors of Lonely Planet recommending that they actually add Ambala to their next India edition, because it certainly has taken top spot for us (in places to avoid). Having said that – there was a certain amount of fun to be had in arriving at the central train station of a huge Indian city, after dark, with absolutely no idea where the nearest hotel would be and realizing that, if it’s not even mentioned in the guide book, then the chances of backpackers passing through these parts on a regular basis was slim to none (never mind blonde ones) so there was a good possibility that we might attract all kinds of attention and not necessarily of the good kind! It turned out that we didn’t have to go far (after taking our lives into our own hands crossing the ‘interesting’ intersection that was the railway station entrance) to find ‘The Savoy’. I’d always wanted to stay at the Savoy – but I think that this particular Savoy’s heyday was well and truly in the past. If a hotel had a sell by date I think this one passed some time in the middle of the First World War. There was a quirky little open air lounge area that displayed some incredible black and white photos to prove that this funky little hotel did, once upon a time, live up to it’s name, with some apparently prestigious guests (about a hundred years ago) – but those days were long gone and we were left with the moldy remains!!! Yes – there is a reason that the Lonely Planet neglects to mention Ambala in its lengthy tomes: it could well have been the inspiration for AC/DC’s famous song ‘I’m on a highway to Hell’! And please don’t misunderstand me – it’s not that I’m down on any part of India that doesn’t have a mountain or a majestic man-made wonder of the world like the Taj Mahal in it: Prior to our arrival in Shimla we spent a couple of nights in the town of Mandi
(clearly a place that gets only a fraction of the foreign visitors that other more well known landmark towns in India get), which has no major notable feature to remark upon, but we loved it.
Maybe it was our favorite (and only) fast food joint in town; ‘The Treat’ that served up a delectable array of tasty treats at each meal we munched on for less than the price of a beer back home. Maybe it was the cute and cuddly little munchkin beggar kids that tried to follow us home like little lost puppies in a pestering and yet polite manner.

Or maybe it was the random fireworks set alight in the street to signal the arrival of an impromptu street party that was part of an elaborate wedding celebration with brass band and all (right in the middle of the road) that endeared us to the town. Or maybe it was the day trip we took (only an hour away by bus) to Rewalsar Lake

where we explored the little village streets
and monasteries and marveled at the huge and gloriously painted brand new Buddha still undergoing the final stages of completion on the hill overlooking the lake that towered at least 30 meters above our heads.

Maybe it was the combination of all these things that made Mandi a place well worth the visit and the lack of a single endearing quality that made us distinctly un-enamored with Ambala – but whatever it was – we were glad to be outta there!

Our train journey ended up taking quite a bit longer than we had anticipated, what with the delayed departure and further delays along the way, so by the time we alighted the train in Gorakphur it was already past noon (instead of the scheduled 5.55am arrival). We grabbed street side samosas ‘to go’ and hopped on a bus to the border (3hrs) and by the time we had actually made our way over no mans land by foot to reach the Nepalese side, the sun was already fairly low in the sky so we made the executive decision to postpone Kathmandu, and make a little detour to the birth place of Buddha to complete our 3 days of non-stop travel – but more on that later.
Tomorrow we fly to Lukla to begin the journey I have been dreaming of for years into the heart of the Himalayas. We may already have reached the summit of a Himalayan peak in Ladakh on our trip, but in a few days time I will be standing at the base of the tallest mountain in the world and I simply cannot wait! So – with that thought, and a reminder that I’ll be ‘offline’ for the next few weeks, far far away from the rest of the world I will leave you in peace for a while – but don’t worry: I’ll be back!

Some thoughts on Shimla and yep, you've guessed it a little commentary on etiquette!

2009-10-16T07:42:00.001-07:00

Today is our second full day in Shimla and we spent most of it doing nothing! …. Why? …… Well - whilst this is indeed a charming place that puts a quizzical smile on your face within moments of arriving on ‘the ridge’ I think it’s safe to say that once you have strolled it’s length – you’ve seen it all!

Of course I am being a little unfair for the sake of a writer’s gag – but really – there’s not much to it. Shimla is known as India’s premier hill station – and was the summer ‘home’ of the colonial government in India for many years thanks to the pleasant cool air of the mountains at this altitude, compared to the heat and humidity of the lowlands during the summer months. For this reason Shimla has the strange feel of an Indian ‘Europe theme park’. Many of the principal buildings were constructed in an English Tudor style of architecture and due to the considerable aging and weathering that they have withstood, look more like a crumbling version of an Oxbridge college, than anything you might expect to see in India. The centre of town is built around a ridge that falls away steeply to either side giving one the sensation that most of the buildings are just a light breeze away from sliding off down the mountain and since the lack of motor vehicles at the time of construction meant that the ‘streets’ and alleys were barely wide enough for a honeymooning couple to stroll hand in hand along them there is a certain sense in which the only thing stopping it all from crumbling away is that the building next door is leaning up against it and providing a replacement for the much needed scaffolding or reinforcement to keep it in place. It’s a charming effect, but certainly one that poses a question of safety. Were we in any ‘western’ part of the world – the whole thing would probably have been condemned and deemed unfit for human habitation a long time ago – but as always – in India it seems anything goes! And in fact, just this morning whilst returning from our little outing to the train station (to receive our first lesson in train station etiquette) whilst rambling through the middle bazaar, we stumbled upon what looked like the primary inspiration for that ‘half floor office space’ in ‘Being John Malkovic’. As I climbed the steep and uneven staircase leading from one level of the bazaar to the next my eyes were drawn to what looked like an attic storage space behind a wall of glass, but on closer inspection I saw that inside this ‘half floor’ there were several tailors, seated, at work, on their old school Singer sewing machines with barely an inch between the top of their heads and the ceiling. Now that’s what I call a sweatshop.
Now I may have said it already – but I am constantly amazed at the layers of society and class that operate here in India. From the terrace of our simple backpacker’s ‘Hotel’ we look down, at night, on the lights of the grand looking ‘Radisson’ hotel built only 3 or 4 yrs ago and dream of the warm fires probably burning brightly inside (it’s chilly up here in the hills with no central heating) and the 5 star treatment being received by the wealthy Indian businessmen and entrepreneurs that can afford such ostentatious accommodations. In contrast, as we stroll from the ridge up to our hotel we pass the street food vendors with their wooden carts and pass the porters carrying all manner of items (from boxes of noodles to heavy duty kitchen equipment that must weigh several times my own body weight) with ropes fastened around their heads and I wonder how it is possible that the division of wealth here is so incredibly skewed. Climbing through the bazaar, numerous tea-stalls offer hot chai and dosas for only a few rupees in hut like quarters resembling something from medieval times while right along the alley and up the stone steps a shiny new ‘Domino’s Pizza’ has an endless line-up of people waiting to pay western prices for a crappy old fast food chain version of Italy’s staple. It’s like 2 different dimensions co-existing in the same time zone – like 2 alternate realities somehow crashed in hyperspace and ended up jumbled together.
And while I’m on this topic – let’s just venture into the realms of social etiquette for a moment. In this department I’m afraid many Indians are (as I already mentioned) sadly lacking. It is virtually impossible to go 60 seconds without hearing the melodious sound of someone nearby ‘hocking a loogy’ and despite the posted warning around this particular town (probably the only place in India with such a threat) of a 500 rupee fine for spitting or littering – bodily secretions of this nature are openly shared with passersby with little to no sense of shame or embarrassment. Twice in as many days I have had close shaves with spittle and vomit (and not my own, I hasten to add). The vomiting incident saw me walking along the side of a parking bus to realize that I had missed being puked on by mere inches as a woman inside the said bus decided to just pop her head out the window and have a quick heave (the sound of her retching alerted me to the near miss in question). The spitting incident today followed much the same course – as I innocently walked by, a man decided it was time to dribble the contents of his mouth onto the sidewalk and never mind that there was someone walking by at that very moment. But my ‘favorite’ lesson of the day in Indian social etiquette came this morning at the train station. Yesterday when enquiring at the train reservation office (a small cubicle no bigger than a phone booth in the centre of town) we learned of an element of the Indian rail reservation system that I believe will be quite useful to us. Of course we only managed to get to the bottom of this system after considerable questioning and exclamations of horror and disbelief that the train we wished to book was completely full for many many days. It turned out that if we showed up at the main train station at 8am the following morning we would be able to obtain a ‘tatkal’ (Hindi for immediate) ticket for the train 2 days after that. Thankfully – someone in the Indian rail organization realized that it might be smart to save a few tickets on each train for last minute travelers and so we were able to get around our issue. Now I knew right away that the 8am thing would probably not be that simple – so we thankfully showed up a little after 7.30am – just in time to be almost first in line at the counter which was scheduled to open at 8. Well – things weren’t exactly orderly, and let’s just say that ‘personal space’ is obviously not a concept that India has thoroughly grasped yet in a queuing environment but besides a minor amount of jostling and gentle shoving it was actually going quite well – until the man behind the counter announced ‘tatkal’ at 8.01am at which time all thoughts of orderly line ups and ‘waiting your turn’ went right out the window and the whole thing turned into a bloody free for all. Fortunately my husband has long arms and was able to shove our ‘requisition form’ right through the hole in the window of the reservation counter, normally used for speaking and under the nose of the rail man. Within minutes we were the proud owners of a ticket for 2 to Gorakphur (a non descript Indian town close to the border of Nepal) and newly invigorated with confidence that we would actually make it out of Shimla this side of Christmas. Hurray!
Our first day in Shimla was far less eventful in the social etiquette department, but we did manage to squeeze in a little bit of culture.
Our morning jaunt took us to the top of the hill overlooking Shimla where we visited a so-called ancient temple that has obviously had a bit of a revamping because to the untrained eye it did indeed look decidedly like the cement between the bricks was still drying. It turned out that the ‘ancient’ bit was somewhere underneath the brand new exterior and not all that grand but it was worth the trip for the views. The greatest source of entertainment en route was of course the monkeys, somewhat famous for their menace in that area and we were occasionally glad of the 10-rupee stick that we had hired for the trip.

After a quick lunch in the ‘Shimla Coffee House’, touted as an ‘institution’ in the guide book – which was indeed a brilliant place to people watch all the Indian government officials chewing the fat and shooting the shit over coffee (we had some tasty dosas) we headed a little further afield to find the ‘Viceregal Lodge’. (We decided to give the festival for the cow (no word of a lie), taking place in the main square on the ridge, a miss, since it is clear that there really is no need to raise ‘cow awareness’ is India – she is alive and well and roaming the streets pretty much everywhere we look.)

The lodge was an amazing display of European architecture, built between 1884 and 1888 by the Brits in power at the time and as we wandered the grounds and joined in on the brief guided tour to see some of the rooms and halls inhabited by the great minds and officials of the era we were shown the very table over which the division of India and Pakistan was discussed and were reminded once again of the contrasts of India (and perhaps some of the reasons behind them). We also found a very old map on the wall of the lodge with a detailed topography of the surrounding area and were highly amused to find half of the Lake District within a five mile radius of the place we were standing – there was a Windermere, a Grasmere and even an Ambleside! Our day finally ended with yet another search for some decent food at a reasonable price (not an easy task in Shimla) and although it was not exactly a meal worth writing home about it managed to take the title of ‘best so far’, so we retired to our quarters with full bellies and happy taste buds (ish).
While Shimla was a pleasant interlude to the ‘Indian-ness’ of it all here in India we are certainly looking forward to the next portion of our trip and switching it up from buses to trains (and then back again – there are no trains in Nepal) – Nepal here we come!

A little reflection and introspection

2009-10-09T03:11:00.000-07:00

Oh India, India, India. As I sit on my patio balcony (only 400 INR a night – so less than $10) with the sound of the mighty river Beas that flows down this spectacular valley from the Rotung La Pass to Manali, looking up at (dare I use that much over used cliché) ‘the snow-capped peaks’ of the Himalayas bathing in the last gently, glowing rays of the day, watching the puffy clouds melting and molding together to form and dissipate and re-form I do truly marvel at the wealth of beauty surrounding me, that this region has to offer – but only hours ago, I was shaking my head and agreeing with my oh so meek and un-opinionated husband (tongue in cheek) that this place is dirty and stinky and these people are barbarians. Today we visited the Hadimba Temple in the middle of a small forest on the edge of Manali and as we approached I couldn’t help but be saddened by how little the local inhabitants respect the environment around them. Not a square foot of forest is untainted by some form of garbage or other – whether it be the butt of a cigarette or some more substantial form of waste, like a plastic bottle or chocolate biscuit wrapper. Were we any place else on this planet but India, natural surroundings like these would be treated with kid gloves and found in pristine condition – but here – with only India’s inhabitants to make it their job to clean up after themselves, sadly the effort is completely lacking. At least in Srinagar and Leh, although not always in the best of shape regarding litter there was at least some effort, some signs of awareness – public notices could be seen reminding locals and tourists alike to respect nature and ‘keep the nature clean’ – but here? – nothing! It seems so sad. And yet, it is the insurmountable truth – India does not take care of itself.
So you may ask me if the term ‘barbarians’ isn’t just a little harsh when referring to India’s people, concerning their lack of environmentally sound garbage disposal – but this wasn’t really the prime cause for the use of that particular term. As I mentioned we were visiting the temple – an ancient Hindu temple dating from 1615 where, to this day, animal sacrifices are made.
Now I’m no vegetarian, but even I found it a little gruesome to see the blood-spattered walls and sacrificial posts where the poor little lambs and goats are clearly axed to infinity. Dexter would have a field day with those walls and although the guide book explains that the sacrifice only takes place once a year in May, and I will point out now, I am no expert in these matters – those spatters looked a little fresher than 4 months old to me. And what’s more – while Darko and I looked on with morbid fascination, the local tourist population quite literally clambered over one and another to enter into the temple and ‘pay their respects’ to whichever god it was that was represented within it’s walls. We decided not to join the merry throng of jostling, pann chewing devotees inside and kept a respectful distance from the chopping post where obviously many a poor little sacrifice had met with it’s demise. Instead we headed to the ‘outdoor tree temple’ nearby, where we were greeted with an equally odd collection of offerings around the base of a tree and many pairs of de-headed horns nailed to the trunk, that were obviously the only remains and reminder of all of God’s great creatures that had been ‘offered’. For what purpose? Who knows? So – barbarians did seem quite fitting to us!

Manali itself is crammed full of tourist souvenir stalls and rug shops so it almost has the feel of an Indian style, cheesy cruise ship port, without the ocean and the ship, or perhaps Niagara Falls with spicy food and sari clad tourists instead of fat Americans – apparently it’s the honeymoon capital of India and is obviously very popular with the native population, so it’s certainly a lively spot and a good place for people watching – but since we wanted to enjoy some peace and calm we didn’t bother spending too much time in the centre of town. After a quick lunch at a Punjabi Dhaba with a spicy sweet sauce that left my taste buds tingling we set off for ‘Old Manali’ to see if we couldn’t’ find a little more of that ‘authentic’ India that everyone is searching for.

We did indeed find some pretty cool buildings that looked almost like overgrown lego land creations, built from a layering of brick and wood – where the top floor was clearly the living quarters above the ground floor: the domain of the family livestock – seemed like an interesting way to keep tabs on your cows! Interspersed within this ‘Old style’ India were, of course, the mandatory backpacker accommodations and snack stops and amongst them we managed to find ourselves a phenomenal ‘English bakery’; so after an afternoon of dillying and dallying around we felt we had earned ourselves a treat. One slice of warm apple pie and fresh from the oven chocolate cake later we were ready to head home to our balcony and reflect on the day. After the behemoth journey we endured to reach Manali we were quite glad of a somewhat lazy day – and here I am – once again pondering what it is that I hope to find here in India. Surrounded by the ‘well to do’ of India, here on vacation, just like me – I am again reminded of the inequalities of this country. Perhaps it is the cynicism of my husband rubbing off on me but as he put it ‘the rich culture of India’ seems to be a lie – they live through prayer and worship while throwing their garbage in the woods, and I struggle to see what people this numb to the damage that they do to their beautiful surroundings can teach me – so I think that I am learning – the path I hope to find is and always was going to be the one within myself. My inner voice is getting louder – and my inner voice is telling me what I knew 11 years ago when I embarked on a very different journey to a much more ‘modern’ part of the world – that the place where I belong has been there all along. As hard as it may seem to believe, while staring at the majesty of the Himalayas I find myself comparing it to the might of the mountains in BC and knowing that I can’t wait to once again call Vancouver home. All that I want and all that I dream about is there waiting. But I know that this time I spend in India is precious because it is about freedom – not Indian freedom, but personal freedom and finding my own power within to be strong and confident and creative. Each day I find time to be with myself, in my own thoughts and learn my own hopes and dreams and goals and build tools to embark upon my future with strength. I am ready for tomorrow each night when I go to sleep with more determination than I was the day before and I am ready for anything that India might throw at me because in truth, much of it is disgusting and vial – but my journey is to find the good that comes from seeing past the dirt. One of my greatest skills in life is to find the silver lining – I always have and always will be able to do that. Each and every day has one – and I can and will find it – even in India! The wonderful thing about being here is that sometimes there is no need for a silver lining because the whole damn thing is golden – like standing on the top of a Himalayan peak over 6100M far away from the garbage. But sometimes finding the silver lining is truly like hunting for that needle in a haystack – like standing in a bathroom that stinks of piss waiting for the hot water to run through after an 18 hour, dust filled bus ride over pot-hole ridden roads that made my flesh shake until it felt like it was the steak under the hammer of a French chef tenderizing his meat, and realizing that since this wasn’t the only hotel in town I was quite capable of putting my pants and shoes back on, picking up my backpack and finding a hotel with a bathroom that wouldn’t make my skin crawl at the thoughts of entering it naked! There is gold and there are silver linings everywhere – we just have to remember to look for them – and when we find them – be grateful for them – and life will be amazing!
After another day of recovery in Manali it was time to hit the road once more. This time though we were not going too far; just a couple of hours down the road to the Parvati Valley. One of the things besides its Himalayan beauty that this particular part of the world is famous for is its Charas – which certainly put Darko and I in the minority of people NOT visiting for the drugs. The reason for the abundance of bakeries and cake shops in the area suddenly became crystal clear……of course…..hippy backpackers with the munchies must be fed…..and when an attack of the munchies hits hard there’s only one thing for it: sweet stuff. Apparently the marijuana of Parvati is world famous – but since we had no interest in hanging out with a bunch of Isreali stoners we decided to give Kasol (dubbed the traveler HQ of the region by Lonely Planet) a miss, and stop in Jari (the quietest of the traveler towns). At first glance this sad little one horse town does indeed look like, to put it bluntly, a bit of a shit hole – but if your little legs can handle the hill, there is a little hamlet about 1KM above the main village where you will find one of several guest houses hidden away that are quite simply delightful.

The only drawback to this town is the ‘shared bathroom’ – for one with a bladder as small and demanding as mine, the trek to the washroom in the middle of the night is a little bit of a pain – but for only 100rupees a night (for the room – not the midnight bathroom run) – it’s worth the minor inconvenience.
This village is a little piece of heaven. Peaceful, scenic, sunny and serene! We ended up pootling about here for a few days – just to catch our breath and experience a day passing slowly. A trip to Manikaran, just up the valley one day to visit the hot springs and temples was a pleasant interlude to the peace – but our favorite happening was the annual festival for the cow – a one day event that we stumbled on quite by accident. With the intention of snapping a few shots of the village kids we trundled down the lane from our guesthouse to find the beginning of merriment in action. The holy cows of the village were being adorned with flower wreaths and paint and offerings of rice and grain were being hoisted in the air.

And then came the walnuts – the frenzy of children and adults alike hopping and jumping in the air to catch the tasty treats as they were tossed about was contagious and it wasn’t long before Darko and I too had our pockets full and huge grins spread across our pasty cheeks.
And the villagers were happy to have us along – as the festival progressed through the tiny alley we were encouraged to tag along and all present were more than happy to pose for a photo or 2.

What a fabulous to wrap up our journey in Parvati. Next stop Mandi!

Not just a peak in sight – a peak to climb!

2009-10-03T03:45:00.000-07:00

So – by now we are in the heart of the Himalayas, in Leh, Ladakh and the pulse of the mountains is all around us. What else do people come here for but to be with Mother Nature and feel the grandeur of the highest peaks on planet Earth? Well – they don’t just come to look. Trekking is one of the main events in Ladakh but since this part of the world is so truly remote it’s not something that one can do easily without equipment and guides. Unlike the Himalayas of Nepal, there aren’t ‘teahouses’ every few miles to stop at for the night and it is necessary to be completely self-sufficient. The easiest way to do this is to take an organized trek with a guide and porters – but since this is generally a little more costly than our proposed daily budget for our stay in India we had pretty much ruled out the prospect of a long distance trek and decided that day hikes would have to do. Nevertheless it didn’t hurt to take a look at a brochure or 2 and make inquiries at one of the many trekking agencies in town. One of our Spanish travel buddies, Berta was also keen to take a trek so we figured we’d give her a hand in weighing up the options. Now to set the scene of our trip to the trekking agency I should also explain that only the day before our arrival in Leh we had discussed some of the many trekking possibilities and agreed that if it was at all possible to pull it off, only a short trek was a viable option based on funds and time and climbing a peak was out of the question – none of us were trained or prepared for that! As we sat in ‘Dreamland’ trekking agency with their photo album of previous treks in hand, considering the views in store and the options available, we realized that none of us were even remotely interesting in a regular A-B trek. Again the ‘-‘ between A and B, or in this case A and A was going to be the most important part. We all looked at each other and instantly knew what the other 2 were thinking. Of course we’d said we weren’t prepared for a summit attempt, but clearly those resolutions had gone straight out the window the minute the proposition was right under our noses. In 4 days we could make it to the top of Stok Kangri at the dizzying height of 6153M and back down – and the price was not much more than any other, far less impressive trek available to do in that short amount of time. Without much discussion at all we were talking logistics and dates, times and cost and it seemed clear that the summit was the only way to go. Apparently none of us could resist the challenge!
Before we made any definite arrangements we decided to think it over during lunch and found the ‘Leh View Restaurant’ to order up some cheese/veg momo’s (a local Tibetan specialty) and chew it over. As we sat munching our lunch and simmering over the prospect of a peak we enquired of our waiter: ‘Stok Kangri, which one?’ and pointed to the horizon (clearly visible from our spectacular location on the rooftop terrace of our restaurant, aptly named the ‘Leh view’). He immediately, proudly pointed to the highest peak in sight (the one with a decidedly pointy and unfriendly looking peak) and told us ‘that one’. We were daunted, but excited – the decision had been made – we were off to climb a mountain.

We were due to leave for our trek in 2 days as we’d already made plans for the following day, (an outing to Pangong Lake – one of the most incredibly serene, scenic and surreal bodies of water I have ever stood beside – in fact worth every minute of the excruciatingly, bone-shaking, 5hr drive over the 3rd highest motorable pass in the world to get there), however when my stomach decided to violently eject the contents of it’s last meal in the middle of the night and remind me of some of the less savory moments of travel in India we decided to push it back one more day to give me time to recover and regain my strength for the mammoth task ahead.
During the time we spent in the city itself we managed to explore the ruined palace of Leh, and wander the narrow alleyways of the old town finding all kinds of hidden corners and crevices of fascination. This place is a photographers dream, as long as your camera has a high ISO capability, since all the alleyways are so narrow and sun starved that lighting at most times of day is scarce. One of our favourite things to watch was the Roti makers working their magic. They would take a small ball of dough and roll it into a flat, round patty, then literally stick it to the wall of their cauldron-like fire pit. In just a few minutes the bread would be baked and ready to sample, fresh and warm for only 3 rupees. An absolute bargain and tasty as hell (especially with the locally made Apricot Jam, or, if you can find it, Nutella - believe it or not we managed to track down 2 ‘supermarkets’ in town with supplies of this hazelnut chocolate flavoured gold dust.)
Anyway, finally the morning of our departure arrived. With nerves and excitement we packed up our kits for the next four days, stashed the rest of our belongings in the blanket room of our guesthouse (that would hopefully be waiting safely on our return) and headed off to the hills. Fortunately for us, since we were going with an organized trekking agency we only had the burden of our day packs for the hike – the main body of our gear was carried by the horses and donkeys that would follow us up the trail. Our first day, a projected 5-6 hr hike into the foothills was an easy 3 hr stroll for us – barely noticing the altitude or gain in elevation (having been in Leh for several days at an altitude of 3500M we were already quite well acclimatized). The only problem with arriving to camp so early was that the horses were quite a way behind and with only our day packs, containing our packed lunches and cameras, once the sun disappeared behind a cloud it was a little brisk to say the least.

But eventually the gear arrived, the tents were up and we were able to take the chill off our icy fingers with a hot cup of tea. After a pleasant stroll above our first camp and back (to assist further with our acclimatization) it was time for noodles. As we sat outside our guide’s tent listening to the sounds of pots and pans clunking around we wondered whether noodles was the main event or whether there was more to come. After quite some time we were invited to step inside and literally could not believe what was in stall. Inside the tent was a ‘table’ set up with tablecloth, napkins, candles and all. Apparently our noodles were merely an afternoon snack. First course served was soup and popcorn, followed by several freshly cooked curry options with rice and naan. There was even fresh fruit for dessert, and wow did it taste good! This was no crappy, boil in a bag, dehydrated camping fodder, this was a freshly made dinner, fit for a king.
Day 2 followed in much the same fashion – a proposed 3 hr hike to base camp that we polished off in 1 and a half. But now at an altitude of just below 5000M we were starting to feel the thinning of the air. On day two I also became acutely aware (and not for the first time since arriving in Ladakh) of the eerie, quiet calm around us. One of the things most notable about walking through a Ladakhi Himalayan canyon is the silence. As soon as the path steers you away from the tumbling cascade of glacial water flowing over it’s rocky path and the rumble that it makes, you hear nothing. Quite literally nothing! There are so few places on the planet where life has such a hard time sustaining itself that the sound of silence is literally deafening. Here in this mountainous desert there is barely a bird or insect to break that silence.

The occasional rustle of a dried out, freezer burned nettle plant that has made an attempt at growing, only to be freeze dried or burned by the sun is all that you hear, as a gentle gust of wind passes by, beside the sound of your own feet kicking up the rocks beneath your feet. A rare bird cry can be heard in the distance but since this is not a land of abundance and plenty most of our avian friends stay close to the small ‘oasis’ provided by the villages that sprout up around the more fertile, river-fed ground, further down the valley.

Our afternoon stroll on day two took us well above the 5000M mark and my head was starting to feel the effects. Mix that with the fact that as soon as the sun made her descent behind the sharp peaks around us, shielding us from her warming rays the inhospitable nature of the environment we were in hit home. In only a few hours we would attempt to go even higher, in the cold dark night. Our evening meal was taken earlier that night since our scheduled departure from base camp was to be at 1am, to reach the summit soon after dawn. This was to be a 10-11 hr day according to the schedule. Now – since we had halved the schedule on our previous 2 days we were sure our time would be faster than this, however there was no way to predict how that extra 1000M of altitude would affect our speed and since we were all starting to feel the effects we were preparing for the day ahead with caution.

At 5000M above sea level all kinds of strange things start to happen to the unacclimatized human body and insomnia is one of them. Knowing that every minute of sleep would certainly make the task ahead easier only made it harder to fall asleep, not to mention the sounds of the guides merrily chatting away in their tent next door and the sound of the horses jingling bells as they roamed the arid base camp area snuffling the ground for a patch of dried up grass to mow.
At some point though I must have drifted off because I remember the feeling of being aroused by our guide, informing us that it was time for ‘breakfast’ – the time in fact was 1.30am (how nice – he let us sleep an extra hr). We pulled on our icy layers, donned our wooly hats and gloves and exited the tent to take a quick cup of black tea and a bowl of warm porridge before we departed for the summit. The time: 2.10am.
Slowly, we retraced our steps from our afternoon stroll the day before in the dark with only our head torches to light the way, to reach the plateau from which we would make our final push for the summit. At this altitude the feeling of exertion is multiplied exponentially for the effort expended. Although I wouldn’t call it fatigue, you just somehow know that you simply cannot go any faster. If you attempt an increase in speed, the sound of your own heart pounding in your head becomes deafening and the will to continue fades beneath your feet – the only way to proceed is with slow, dogged determination and an iron will. From advanced base camp we crossed a rocky boulder field to join the lower end of a glacier mouth. Our ascent now continued gradually over crusty and slippery snow and ice, until we reached the final rocky south-east face of Stok Kangri – the gaping mouth of the beast, one might say. By this point, the sky was beginning to show the first signs of a rising sun, the silhouette of the mountain was taking shape above us, looming overhead and although we kept on going, she seemed to rise further and further above us. It was about this time, when the sky was taking on that flickering baby blue tinge (as opposed to the black black night with it’s magical array of mystical stars) that my head began to spin. Perhaps I had attacked that last small section of ascent with just a little too much aggression – but my brain was definitely mounting a protest on the pay cut it had received in oxygen currency in the last 48 hours and I started to doubt my chances of making it to the top. We took a break (one of many on our way up) and our guide suggested a snack. Although the edges of nausea were creeping up on my senses and I was hesitant to fill my buccal cavity with anything but my own tongue at the current time I decided to take his advice and pull out that emergency chocolate chip granola bar I had been saving for a moment of need. It did the trick – within minutes I was feeling revived and ready for the final assault. By now the sun was well and truly clamoring into our world and as the first rays poked over the horizon at 6.12am we were within reach of the peak. From here it took almost 2 more hours to reach the top – but by the time your body is struggling to climb that last 200 metres it takes all your might just to take 5 steps in a row. For the final ridge of snow covered rocky buttresses and exposed crags our guide roped us together so that, should one of us slip and fall, the others would hopefully take the strain and keep each other safe.
At 7.55am we made our final steps to take our place on the top of Stok Kangri at 6153M (well according to Wikipedia it’s actually 6137M – but what’s 16M between friends) and with tears in our eyes, had just a little glimpse of what it may have felt like for Sherpa Tensing and Sir Edmond Hilary to be on top of the world at the summit of Mount Everest. Now sure there may be another 2700M or so to reach that particular Himalayan peak – but for us mere mortals, with little to no mountaineering experience that peak may has well have been Everest, at least it was our Everest!
What made it even more special was that we were also celebrating Berta’s birthday that day and our guide had actually baked and brought a cake and candles to the summit. With quite some effort in the cold and wind the candles were lit and we all sung happy birthday with what little air we had left in our lungs to the smiling proud birthday girl feeling, quite literally, on top of the world.
From up there the views were magnificent. We could look to the East and imagine the Annapurna range and beyond that mighty Mount Everest herself and to the West and the North the Karakoram Range of Pakistan and K2. As far as the eye could see we were spying the icy peaks of a giant Christmas cake spread out before us; only this view, for sure, tasted sweeter than any festive fodder ever sampled at yuletide. We had made it! Now I’ll admit, that being a bit of a self-professed mountain goat and avid hiker, I secretly thought that this peak would be a breeze. And while it’s true that no one said it would be easy, no one actually mentioned that it would damn near kill me. The only adjective that seems fitting in my mind for what I experienced that day is ‘Gruelling’. On my travels I have reached an altitude of over 5000M on many occasion and I never imagined that that extra 500M would make so much difference but let me tell you – it did!
And then, after all that effort and emotion you realize you still have to bloody well get back down. It took us almost as long to return to base camp as it had to reach the summit and while my summit buddies crashed into an exhausted slumber (the sun kindly avoided the clouds for the majority of the afternoon and warmed their aching limbs), I lay, wide eyed, staring at the blue, blue sky in a euphoric state with far too much adrenalin still pumping through my capillaries to even think of sleep.
Our final dinner on the mountain was possibly the finest. Maybe it was the fact that our bodies were so desperately in need of re-fuelling from our ‘gruelling’ ordeal or maybe it was just that Motub, our guide liked to save the best till last, but if you can believe it we actually enjoyed, amongst other culinary delights that night, a freshly made pizza of the cheese, tomato and mushroom variety and it tasted oh so good. When we finally arrived back to Leh the next day we sat on the terrace of our cute little guest house ‘The Glacier View’ as the sun went down and marveled at the fact that only 32 hours before we had been sitting on the top of that peak directly in sight, feeling, quite literally, invincible.
If you ever get the chance to climb a Himalayan mountain, I whole-heartedly recommend it because very few things in life come even close to the emotion you will feel as you take those final steps to reach the summit, but a word of warning: Do Not expect it to be easy! It’s not!

The Road to Leh

2009-09-30T01:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes getting from A-B is just a means to an end and sometimes the ‘-‘ between A and B is just as interesting. That is certainly true of the road from Srinagar to Leh. Except the bit slap bang in the middle where the buses and jeeps decide to stop for the night – but I’m getting ahead of myself – so let me start from the top.
After a couple of hours of driving in dark and early dawn light from Srinagar we arrived in Sonamarg; a one horse town that one might say you could blink and miss – but if you are smart, and do your research before you go, you’ll definitely want to stop off for a stroll. This place is the home of Sonamarg Glacier, which is hidden away just around the bend and out of sight from the main road passing through, so if you aren’t aware, it would be easy to pass it by. As we awoke from our early morning car naps, alighted the vehicle pulling our wooly hats firmly over our sleepy cold heads and headed off to the trail, leaving our prepaid driver to wait, watch over all our worldly belongings (including 2 laptops and $800 in US cash and TC’s) and probably take a nap of his own (hopefully with the jeep door locked) we were excited to see the first real signs of those much dreamt of ‘snow-capped peaks’ of the Himalayas. There had of course been sprinklings of snow on far off distant peaks in Srinagar but now it seemed we were in the heart of snowy country and we could feel it in the fresh icy air as we inhaled deep into our lungs. The trail to the Glacier led us up from the road behind one of the many India Army camps we would see over the next 2 days on the road to Leh, guarding and patrolling the much disputed border of India and Pakistan. This particular camp seemed fairly calm and relaxed at present but in recent times had, I believe, been the victim of considerable insurgent attacks, so we were once again reminded of the fragile state of ‘peace’ in this land. In any case – we strolled past and up, into the fields, following the dirt track which led us around a bend to be greeted by a spectacular hidden valley, housing the Sonamarg Glacier. When we finally reached the end of the trail we were greeted by some local chaps who were very excited to see their first ‘tourists’ of the day at 8:30am and quickly set up shop to ensure that they could provide for our needs. 4 plates of Maggi noodles were ordered up and we enjoyed fresh, warm, spicy ‘breakfast’, basking in the first warm rays of sunlight beneath the glistening snowy frosted rocks of the crags surrounding us. Now that was a breakfast of champions…….and we have the photos to prove it!

As we began the return journey my thoughts turned to ‘Nasir Hussein’ our faithful driver and ‘guide’ whom we had entrusted with our lives and backpacks. Would he still be waiting or would we be stranded with only the clothes on our backs in Sonamarg? These thoughts however did not deter me from taking a slight detour off our original path to find numerous photo opportunities where locals seemed more than happy to pose for a shot or 2. Fancying myself as the next ‘Nat Geo’ front cover photographer I snapped away to my hearts content and when we did finally return to our drop off point I was relieved to find that Nasir was fast asleep inside the car with backpacks and all safe and sound. (I won’t mention that in the final few minutes of walking back to our starting point my heart skipped at least one or 2 beats as my eyes frantically searched for a Jeep with our backpacks inside, not remembering the colour or make of our vehicle and wondering how many stupid tourists fall for this one and how much a Mac laptop would go for on the Indian black-market.)
Once more we hit the road and after quite a drive reached our highest point for the day – the Zoji La pass, with an altitude of 3529M – after being at only 1600M in Srinagar the altitude was quite dizzying, but we only stayed briefly before once again descending the pass to find a perfect spot for lunch. In our many travels around the globe one of the things that Darko and I love to do is ‘scenic picnics’ so when our driver pulled up and used one of the 17 words of English he knew to indicate that this would be our lunch spot ‘lunch’ we were dismayed. All this natural beauty and he had chosen to pull up in the middle of the only village in a 50KM radius that seemed to consist of corner stores and greasy garages. ‘No’ we said – ‘drive on’ – ‘we find viewpoint for lunch’. He looked a little confused and perhaps thought that we were Muslim too and weren’t planning to eat our pre-packed lunch at all, but complied and ‘drove on’. After some minutes we cleared the village and began heading down into a lovely valley with a river running through it (sounds cheesy I know, but that’s exactly what it looked like). We instructed Nasir to pull over, jumped out of the jeep with picnic bags in tow and bounded into the field beside the road, which would lead us to the water’s edge. 2 minutes later we were spreading our raincoats on the ground, unwrapping the newspaper package containing our roast chicken and potato lunch and admiring our waterfront position. Scenic picnic #1 – done!

Our final destination that day was the thriving metropolis of Kargil (the aforementioned ‘slap bang in the middle’ bit of the ‘-‘ from A – B) – possibly one of the 7 anti-wonders of the world – if there is such a thing! On arrival in this place that used to be a significant trading post between Baltistan and Zanskar we tried to persuade our trusty driver Nasir to continue further on to the next village on our route ahead – but since this had been the proposed stop when we arranged the drive several days earlier through our houseboat owner, apparently there was to be no deviation from the plan. We would go no further! Now if you ever have the good fortune to be traveling between Kashmir and Ladakh I firmly recommend that Kargil NOT be on your itinerary if you can absolutely help it. My lasting memories are of multiple posters of Ayatollah Khomeinni on every tea shop wall and the bodiless heads of 2 goats that had obviously been slaughtered just prior to our arrival sitting unceremoniously on the butchers table, next to the hanging carcasses of several gutted and skinned animals ready for purchase. In most of India it would seems that the concept of refrigeration in a butcher’s shop is indeed a long way off, never mind any standard of hygiene – so if you need any incentive to become a vegetarian in India simply keep this description in mind. Sure the meat may be fresh, but how long can a carcass hang in the fly filled, musty air of a place like Kargil without being tainted, filthy and poisoned? Not a question I want to put to the test!

So, after a failed attempt at killing time in a ‘tea house’ with tea so sweet even ‘Willie Wonker’ would turn his nose up we realized the only thing for it was cards. Now I don’t know what card games you all choose to play in your free time but the Spanish apparently like to keep it simple so we learned a couple of new games that day – one involved the loser being a donkey – that was me – twice! And the other resulted in the loser being an asshole. Now even though I lost – donkey was my favourite because in this game you have to make the pre-chosen animal sound of your opponent when your card and theirs are a match. A lot harder than it sounds and you get to watch your new Spanish friends making complete idiots of themselves. So Kargil wasn’t that bad after all!
Day 2 of our drive to Leh was again marvelously scenic but this day was really all about the culture. First we stopped for breakfast in Layamuru, home of an impressive Buddhist Gompa, (monastery) which was built in the 10th century. Despite our lack of acclimatization we managed to scale the hillside behind the Gompa (at an altitude of 3390M) to gain a spectacular perspective over the valley surrounding the area. Due to wind and weather conditions there was an amazing area of rock formations to one side of the Gompa that looked more like a moonscape than any place on earth and for the first time we felt that we had departed Muslim Kashmir and were entering a zone of more silent spirituality, peace and tranquility.
We took lunch in Alchi, another Buddhist site beside the powerful Indus river under the shade of an apple orchard and after food, wandered the complex of Temples containing spectacular examples of Buddhist art and sculpture, including intricate mandalas and several story high Buddha statues that left one feeling dwarfed and ultimately humbled.
Our final destination that day was scheduled to be Leh, the capital of Ladakh, but we decided that, on the advice of our new travel partners and friends (who had also been advised by their friends), that we should make one final pit stop at Likir (one more of the Buddhist villages along the way). Since we would be only 67KM from Leh, we decided that we were close enough to make it on our own the next day so we communicated this to our driver (through a friendly stall holder in Alchi who happened to have at least 200 words of steady English in his vocabulary, compared to our friend Nasir and his 17) and the plan was made. On arrival in Likir, Nasir made sure that we had a place to stay and then happily unloaded our belongings and went on his way. Our first attempt at finding accommodation did not go too well – the place was closed and locked for the season – but we persevered and eventually found a ‘hotel’ that in fact seemed somewhat out of place in these humble buddhist surroundings. We had tiled floors and a room with a view. A room for 2 (after bargaining) was the meager sum of 500INR (just over $10) including all meals. We should have stayed for a week! And the food was good too – our host and hotel owner was such a friendly Ladakhi chap, it was a pleasure to be there. He also agreed (for a price) to drop us off in Leh the next day whenever we were ready to go – so it was a perfect plan.
The fascinating thing about Ladakh is that because of the altitude it can get incredibly cold at night (especially in winter, when temperature plummet to -30) but due to the dry air and cloudless skies, when the sun is up it can be scorching hot. The region is basically like a mountainous desert at altitude. Amazingly, it is possible to be burned by the sun, while your toes in the shade become frostbitten all at the same time, so as soon as the sun goes down it’s time to pile on the layers and dinner was enjoyed by candle-light with wooly hats and down jackets adorned.
After breakfast the next day we ventured off to explore the sole object of our curiosity in Likir – you’ve guessed it – a Buddhist Gompa – but this one had it’s very own 30 foot, golden Buddha, clearly visible from miles away and unlike many of the monasteries we visited, a Gompa school. We happened to arrive on a day of holiday so had the opportunity to watch the little monks in training playing and enjoying a day of ‘relaxation’ and were even invited to join the monk elders for some tea in the garden and gatecrash their picnic. Darko took portraits of all the monks, which we later emailed to them on their request (yes even in remote Ladakhi villages the monks are online these days), and we explored the monastery all morning before returning to our hotel for lunch and the journey to Leh.

This final leg of the journey ended up being quite entertaining, since it turned out our friendly landlord had perhaps over-estimated the abilities of his trusty open topped jeep. I was the ‘fortunate’ one in the cab, out of the wind, while my travel companions rode open air, to enjoy the ‘fresh’ Himalayan air. I’m sure if you picture an open top drive through the Himalayas the last thing you expect is to be gasping for clean air. The reality is that you will actually end up being gassed by the noxious fumes that spew from the exhaust of almost every truck and van that passes you by on the road (black clouds of poison literally pour from the tale end of every vehicle in this part of the world). The real fun part of the journey started when about half way through our 2 hours journey the engine began to overheat and our ride seemed like she had bitten off more than she could chew. We stopped several times for our friend to pour water into the thirsty engine and on multiple occasions, while climbing a hill, we were forced to pull over so that he could pop the hood and bang things around. Amazingly we actually made it to Leh! We found a place to stay on the outskirts of town with an incredible view looking out over the town with the stunning Stok Kangri Range in the distance, just as the sun was setting. Little did we know that staring at that range from a distance was not all we would do in the days to come – but more of that in my next installment!

It’s all a matter of Perspective.

2009-09-27T06:51:00.000-07:00

So – you may recall that in my last post I talked of the peace and tranquillity of Dal Lake and Srinagar. Well – I’d like to take it back! I mean – there is a natural beauty about the place that does lull one into a trance like state from time to time – but as Srinagar is a predominantly Muslim area there is also the regular and rigid call to prayer from the Mosques, which sort of disrupts the peace. It is true that perhaps at other times of the year these prayers may enhance the ‘authenticity’ of the Kashmir experience, however, we made a slight error due to lack of micro-planning by arriving in the midst of Ramadan, a month of religious fervour unmatched by any other in the Islamic calendar. Ramadan is the month where Muslims must fast from dawn until dusk and the prayers are longer, larger and louder. It turned out that our houseboat was barely 50 meters away from the nearest mosque and so the call to prayer at 5am quickly became our favourite. (Said with a hint of sarcasm). There were times when the ‘praying’ sounded more like anguished war cries and it felt as if our presence in the neighbourhood was not perhaps so welcome as we had initially presumed! Not only were the calls to the mosque more frequent, the final prayers of the day continued uninterrupted for about 2 hours. Now had there been only one or 2 mosques within earshot this may not have been so bad but since every mosque on the shores of the lake had at least one loud-speaker pointed at the lake and the acoustics of the valley seemed to amplify the sounds it meant that the resulting mangle of sound was far from pleasant or peaceful.
But I am probably focusing a little too much on this minor setback to the peace. There were many great moments to our time in Srinagar. A day trip to the mountains of Pehalgam where we had the chance to hike up to some spectacular viewpoints above the mighty flowing river beneath and for a moment wonder whether Heidi and Clara would come bounding over the next mound into the clearing in which we found ourselves with only a yak or 2 to keep us company.
Then we had a day of touring around the local vicinity of Srinagar itself and had the opportunity to explore the side streets of the old city (quite close to where the bomb had exploded just 2 days before) and truly step inside the world and minds of the locals. We were able to enter the mosques and shrines and experience firsthand the paradoxical nature of this alien religion. Under one roof there would be women moaning and wailing at the pain of glass separating them from the shrine of some great holy man, others sitting quietly in a corner lost in silent prayer and then still others seemingly going about their daily gossip sessions without a moments thought to the ‘holy’ house in which they found themselves. The attendants of the mosques were invariably friendly and quick to inquire ‘which county?’ in an attempt to display their English speaking abilities. In most cases they were even happy to pose for a photograph, which surprisingly wasn’t always followed up with an open palm. Within and around the mosques we were able to see some incredible artwork, in many cases dating back centuries, which was most definitely a highlight of the day. But for me, I think one of the most surprising features of the surrounding area of Dal Lake were the Mughal Gardens dating back to the 16th century. As we strolled through the gardens on the Eastern shores of the Lake, it was hard not to feel that these water features and beautifully composed landscapes were somehow out of place. It was more like strolling through a cross between the gardens of St James Park in London and a Chinese water garden. The magnificent backdrop of the Himalayan foothills surrounding Dal Lake seemed to call for a more rugged and less ‘organized’ version of nature. These gardens have been maintained quite well and contain some gorgeous botanical specimens – but somehow it just didn’t feel like India.
Lunch that day was provided by ‘local craftsmen’, which basically meant the mandatory stop off at one of the many outlets for local Kashmiri goods. We were shown a magnificent display of silk and wool rugs that, had our budget have allowed, we would have loved to indulge in – but alas – the price of the kind of rug we would have wanted would have amounted to at least a month’s living expenses in India – so we were forced to thank the salesmen for their free lunch and be on our way. It was a memorable lunch though – not for the omelettes and toast – but for the conversation we had with one of our friendly salesmen. In the time that it took for us to eat, we learned that he had 2 wives and 5 children, the last 4 of which had been with his second wife – apparently the first wife had proved incapable of providing him with a son on her first attempt, therefore a second wife had been necessary. He was 14 years her senior (probably quite a small age gap compared to many) but had married her at the tender age of 13. Their first child (a boy) had been born only 2 years later. She was currently 23 with their fourth child being a year old. As he explained all this and the fact that most of the time he stayed in Srinagar to do business and spent only 1 or 2 days a month in his village with his family I reflected on my own position: 33, newly married, childless, travelling with the world with my husband and felt truly glad to be from the ‘western’ world.
Our final day in Srinagar was spent hiking to a Hindu Shrine on a hill above the lake, which gave us a phenomenal overview of the lake and the city followed by some of the mandatory errand running that has to be done once in a while whilst on the road. One of the errands was obtaining cash to pay for our stay in Srinagar and make sure that we had enough money to provide for us during our stay in Leh (our next stop) as we had been warned that obtaining money from one of the 2 ATM’s in town there was not always possible and if it was possible usually involved monumental queues. Well apparently getting money in Srinagar wasn’t going to be that straight forward either. We arrived at the ATM only to be informed by the machine that it was ‘low on funds’. However as we stood pondering our next move (trying not to panic too much about how we would pay our houseboat bill) an Indian man approached and successfully acquired his Rupees without trouble…..so we tried again…..this time the message said ‘contact your bank’…….Oh crap! This was all we needed! True, I hadn’t ‘informed the bank’ in writing before we departed about our impending wanderings, but having inquired twice about Indian Rupees and obtained US$ travellers checks only days before our departure, I assumed that the bank in question would have the brains to understand that this meant I was going overseas. We decided to resort to an alternate bank account (which was supposed to be off limits for the duration of our stay) and I then proceeded to make the call to the number on the back of my card; to be told by ‘Gemma in Coventry’ (it did occur to me that it would have been quite funny to call my UK bank from India, only to be ‘assisted’ by a call-centre worker in India – but apparently that was not the case – Gemma being from Conventry!!) that there was no problem with my card. Only a day later however I received an email from dad telling me that the fraud department had called to speak to me and wouldn’t discuss the matter with him – Obviously Gemma was not exactly up to speed with the status of my account when I called! Now maybe it’s just me, but to me it seems a little stupid that if ‘unusual’ activity from overseas is seen on a card that the only means by which the bank would try to contact you is by calling your home number. Obviously if the use is not ‘fraudulent’ and you are in fact out of the country and simply going about the regular business of accessing your funds from a foreign ATM, calling you at home is probably going to be a bit pointless. I did point this out when I called the bank for the second time in 2 days but was politely informed that they don’t send emails for security reasons…..how stupid is that?!? The funniest part of the call was that when she asked me if I’d informed them whether I was going overseas and I told her that I’d spoken only yesterday to one of her colleagues she confirmed that there was a note stating I was in India – but only until November?!?!? I distinctly remember telling Gemma until at least April – seriously I think the call centre in India would have been more useful than the one in Coventry!! Anyway, the card was finally re-instated and we once again have access to our funds – thank goodness.
We said our final goodbyes to Srinagar at the tender hour of 5am as our jeep to Leh sat waiting by the lake shore – apparently we had quite a drive ahead of us. In the darkness we listened to the last of the calls to prayer fading away behind us and looked ahead to the new adventures in store.

Settling In!

2009-09-16T02:58:00.000-07:00

By the time we reached Delhi airport, bound for Srinagar my mood was already lifting, like the smog over Delhi. I had slept my first night in India and already this new world of mine for the next few months was beginning to feel familiar. The upward trend continued as our plane descended on the Kashmir value and I marveled at the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas coming into view. This is where our adventure was going to truly begin. It seems ironic really that in my most recent incarnation as an art auctioneer on a cruise ship I spent a great deal of time fantasizing about a time when I could say goodbye to my ocean dwelling days and be back on terra firma and here I was fantasizing about the romance of turning back the clocks to the raj era days and spending a few days aboard an Indian houseboat – granted I would be floating on a lake and not an ocean – but a body of water nevertheless! So here we were in Srinagar with the daunting task of choosing from one of 1400 houseboats that can be found on Dal Lake and no real plan of action. It turned out we didn’t need one! As we stood in line for a pre-paid taxi from the airport, 2 of the other 4 ‘westerners’ on our plane turned to us from their pole position at the counter and politely asked if we would like to share their taxi. Well it seemed like a reasonable suggestion given that we were going to the same place and it would halve our expense (from $8 - $4 – for the 36K trip). A polite and perfect English speaking middle aged man guided us from the door of the arrivals hall to the pre-paid taxi stand and assisted us with our luggage and then of course hopped in for the ride and explained that he was the owner of a houseboat on the lake and perhaps we would like to take a look. Well – with 1400 to look at I was glad of a little head-start on the process so we figured why not? And before you know it we were sitting with a pot of Kashmiri tea in the parlor of his houseboat (our new home for the next few days) discussing our deal and bargaining like crazy. Our new Spanish friends from the taxi stand were now our houseboat mates and as a group of 4 we were wheeling and dealing for the best price on all manner of tours and rides and the 2 day journey to Leh in Ladak along with this fabulous rustic old houseboat roof over our heads.
My husband excelled in the role of hard-ass deal-maker and as we factored and figured and calculated we came up with a number that seemed reasonable to us and eventually met at a point much closer to our original starting point than that of our new Kashmiri land-lord. Hands were shaken, smiles were exchanged and our first appointment was confirmed. Shikara ride on the lake, 5:30pm and until then free time to shower, relax and take our first meal aboard.
As we boarded the small wooden boat that was somewhere between a native Indian dugout canoe and a Venetian Gondola with a canopy we already felt a new sense of peace and calm from our first few hours in Srinagar and as our driver almost silently paddled us down the channel to an open stretch of lake we felt the sensation of a clock ticking backwards or at the least, time standing still. I leaned back on the cushion, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and for the first time finally felt ‘glad’ to be in India. But the tranquility I suppose was somewhat of an illusion: as we glided along admiring the lotus flowers and the lily pads, the intricate carving of the many houseboats we passed, the brightly colored shikaras passing us by we were startled by the sound of something that we could only presume to be an explosion within a fairly close proximity to the edge of the lake on which we paddled. As we turned to find the source of the noise we saw a cloud of smoke rising in the sky above the houses to the west of us and we were reminded that there probably was good reason for all those travel advisories against Kashmir – it was after all still a politically unstable place, not far from the Pakistani border – with constant terror threats and tensions brewing just below the surface of that tranquil veneer. We later confirmed that it was, in fact, a car bomb exploding that we had witnessed from the comfort of our shikara. It had caused 4 fatalities and 16 hospitalizations. A sobering thought and one that made it a little more difficult to embrace the ‘peace’ and feel at one with the world. But we were determined not to let the incident dampen our stay – the bomb after all was meant for police, outside a jail and although civilians had been caught in the blast we thankfully were not in their number and so we stay calm, enjoy the beauty surrounding us and remain grateful to be alive. For me, there is a wonderful peace to be found in the mountains. The magic, the majesty, the sheer magnificence and scale of the Himalayas are unmatched anywhere in the world; so to me this is heaven. I do indeed feel truly happy to be here despite the ever so slight chance that it might not actually be that safe. And I mean – let’s face it – who is safe these days?

Took a few days to get the laptop to internet but here are my reflections on arrival!

2009-09-15T04:10:00.000-07:00

As we intermittently sped through the busting and bustling streets and sat stationary in the midst of a multitude of motor vehicles all attempting to go in the same direction at the same time and getting no where fast the visceral energy of India came flooding back to me. This is a place that one cannot engage with on a purely cerebral level. It overwhelms every part of you, every sense organ in a cacophonic symphony of vibrational frequencies. It quite literally freakin blows your mind. There are very few truths about India hidden away behind closed doors; all the world knows, that while a lucky few enjoy the fruits of a fast expanding economy, the majority still struggle quite literally from hand to mouth and have barely the clothes on their back to show proof of their existence, but when you see it first hand it still shakes you to the core.
As our taxi driver wove through the congested traffic I noticed a miniature village made of canvas by the side of the road and managed to catch a glimpse of the interior of one of those make shift tents. The tent appeared to be home for a considerable number of extended family members and I saw that its contents, besides the living breathing bodies, in the momentary glimpse I snatched, seemed to be minimal. The image that sticks out most in my mind was of a dark skinned man, probably of no more years than I can claim to have been on the planet (but with considerably more wrinkles from the wear and strain of living in such minimalistic conditions), crouched in a huddle, in dirty tattered clothing, just staring out of the split in the canvas at the falling rain and the passing cars with a vague hint of a wistful expression - his mind clearly in a place far from that road side tent. And it occurred to me that as he sat, perched on his tiny stool, (or perhaps it was simply a rock), his frail little skeleton had probably never experienced truly luxurious comfort, or in fact comfort of any kind for that matter. Had he ever laid down on a soft feather down duvet and felt his body sink deeper and deeper into the layers of cushion beneath? Had his muscles ever experienced that sort of escape, from the toils of supporting the human frame 24 hours a day? And I realized in that instant how easy it was to put life into perspective in just moments of being in India. Why was I planning to be here so long? What was I hoping to gain when I longed to take this journey last week from the comfort of a homely kitchen in England? I mean I’m certainly not going to say that I’m not excited to be here…….. but glad? The jury is still out. I know that on day one in rainy Delhi I’m hardly likely to be able to give our circumstances a fair assessment, but I am wondering whether my hardiness to the rough and tumble of backpacking ways has in recent years, given way to a more willing tendency to the cosy and pleasant surroundings that a slightly bigger budget can afford. What can I say, maybe I got old (I sure aint 18 anymore), but the damp stained walls and the shockingly cold shower spewing forth from the randomly aimed directional jets are not what one might describe as ‘pleasing’. But lest you are wondering if our journey will be over before it’s begun – fear not! I am not faint of heart and already after only one evening on this slighty lumpy damp bed listening to the rhythmic hum of the ceiling fan I am acclimatizing to my environment and beginning to feel at home.
I should also mention that this feeling of uncertainty over my place in India was given a head start by the wonderful striking pilots at Jet Airlines. As we spent our final afternoon in good ol’ blighty we double and triple checked in our minds that our preparations were complete and since we had time we thought why not just check on the progress of our flight. We were due to leave the house only a couple of hours later, so you can imagine our surprise when our search uncovered a horrifying detail that we had yet to be informed of. Our flight had been cancelled. Now if any of you reading this have been through the same experience you probably already know that it’s just not that big of a deal – they put you on another flight (which they eventually did after several mandatory brushes with misinformation and a couple of irritatingly long line ups) and everybody gets to where they are going eventually, but if, like us, you have onward travel plans that depend on stage one running to plan it can throw that old proverbial spanner in the works…..oh screw it! (with the spanner if you like).
We realized that with our new flight departing at a later time the chances of us making our connection had just been reduced by…. Oh….. about 100%. So – our next task was to change our flight to Srinagar and re-schedule it for the following day – so already India was throwing us the first curve ball of many that would be coming our way in the coming months – and which now of course meant a mandatory night in Delhi – and who goes to Delhi to sit in a hotel room? Not us – so off we went to explore Delhi.
During our preliminary excursions to get a peak at Old Delhi, as the light was fading and the misty soft rain lightly kissed our bare arms in the humid chaos, I was greeted with practically every emotion and sensation known to man. The aromatic blend of baking chapatis, sugared dough and asian spice combined with the occasional cloud of incense, a whiff of clove cigarette and through it all the undertone of excrement, muddy puddles and days old festering, stale urine collecting in the road side urinal troughs (for men only of course) made for a see-saw of delight followed by utter repulsion and the unquenchable desire to vomit. Already the constant tug of war in my mind over whether I love it or hate it here had begun. And along with the olfactory sense sensations there were of course the sights. Not a single millimeter of retina is left unbleached for a millisecond in the constant chaos of the streets. From floor to sky there is mayhem. The filth and garbage underfoot only acted to pave the way for the drama of life unfolding before our eyes. The mud is merely a backdrop for the wildly mingling whirling men, women and children that fill the streets. And as you watch cars, taxis, people, cycle rickshaws and cows all weaving together in an endless sea of motion it feels like the perfect synchronization of a millipedes legs all working together in perfect co-operation. You marvel at how it works, knowing that the front legs can’t possibly know what the back legs are doing and yet they move in perfect harmony. No one stops, no one pushes, no one crashes, no one gets angry and somehow the traffic keeps moving through every intersection. Everyone arrives at their final destination. An impossible feat of co-operative magic is in constant flow and it all just keeps on moving. During our brief ride on a cycle rickshaw to deliver us back to a point on the map that we recognized – that’s right we had no idea where we were – we were thrust into oncoming traffic traveling at high speeds more than once but our driver remained steadfast, unfaltering, unflinching and ever certain that the speeding buses and trucks heading straight for us would yield and allow us to u-turn in their path and re-join the flow in front of them – and somehow my heart never skipped a beat – I trusted that in India, though a singe life seems somehow less valued than in the western world, the intention to preserve life is powerful and we would be safe. And among the many things that I was feeling I did indeed feel safe. In the course of our wanderings there were several memorable moments of human connection, a gang of young boys following and shouting ‘hello’ in the most amicable way, an almost teenage lad trying out his ‘how you doin?’ look on me in the most humorous way, and of course a few looks of surprise and amusement that a couple of gringos were strolling around in the wrong part of town. Our role as ‘outsiders’ was clear but we were no less welcome for it than an outlaw in a western saloon with money to spend, and I can truly say that not once did I feel the need to look over my shoulder or check on my pockets even after the sun had gone down.
After an exhausting few hours tramping the streets and taking a crash course in daily Delhi life it was time to fuel our taste buds with the culinary delights of India and so it was that we chose a ‘modest looking’ but busy street side café for our evening repast: Veg korma and Mushroom paneer with garlic naan and rice. In a word, delicious! The greatest Indian cuisine ever made? Absolutely not – but after the day I’d had – a welcome treat.
And so – to Srinagar!

Preparations and Final Countdown

2009-09-07T17:15:00.000-07:00

The planning of a trip like ours to India was fairly simple and straightforward. Since I’ve always known that I would return and that there was far too much to see and do in India all in one go I picked the most inspiring landscape as a starting point and simply went from there. It doesn’t take a genius to work it out – for me, the most inspiring and monumental place of natural beauty on the surface of the planet is of course the Himalayas – so that is where our journey will begin.
But before we get there, there are things to think about, items to be purchased, vaccines to be administered and travel arrangements to be made, not to mention visas to obtain. Ahh, the organizer must come out to play. Over the last few years as an art auctioneer I had to learn to not only talk about and sell art but to organize and run a business, to manage a team of staff and generally take care of things. It’s one thing to see the bigger picture, but someone also has to take care of the details and while this is not necessarily a source of joy for me, it is most definitely my forte. I have a talent for remembering ‘the little things’, the ‘bits and pieces’ and so it was my job to get this trip up and running, on her feet, so to speak.
As soon as the wedding and honeymoon were done with and ‘out of the way’ my attention could be turned to the nuts and bolts of our ‘dream trip of a lifetime’. The ‘to do’ list was composed and the research began. Visas, flights, health requirements, travel insurance, shopping lists, gear checks, practice packs. Google became my best friend while I not only took care of the practical matters but also honed in on the wish list of stops and etched out an itinerary that fueled my imagination. As my ideas took shape I reminded myself that this is India and since anything can happen I would need to keep an open mind and be ready for anything.
Well now it’s all been done. With only 2 days remaining before our ‘SpiceJet’ flight takes to the sky and carries us to Delhi where we will have only 2 hours and 45 minutes to make our way to the connecting flight for Srinagar I am already reflecting on the process that brought us here and looking ahead to what lies before us. A combination of thrill, anticipation and fear of the unknown buzz over me and I try to remember all the things I may have forgotten.
And as I look at my backpack, filled with the few items I have selected for my travels I don’t understand for the life of me, why there is still so much space. Did I finally, after all these years of backpacking realize that its best not to take too much or am I forgetting something crucial. Oh well, I can always buy what I forget to take! As long as I can find an ATM somewhere in incredible India, which does seem questionable at some of our intended early destinations (according to Google!).
It is my intention to keep a record of this great trip for some purpose or other – so if you care to come along with me and take this journey from your desk in your own imagination, then be my guest. I offer you my thoughts and dreams, my experiences and visions as I attempt to do them at least some justice through my description and perhaps I will, through my words, plant those little alien forces in the depths of your own soul to whisper softly to you and one day beckon you to India.

Why Not?

2009-09-06T16:04:00.000-07:00

Now much in my world has changed since my first brief stay in India. I have experienced a great deal more in life myself and in many ways I am a completely different person. But at my core I am still that free spirit, that wanderer who wants to see the world in its truly raw state, to experience ultimate freedom and peace. If I was to compare myself to an onion I would say that the onion that arrived to Varanasi all those years ago was a spring onion – sweet and young and fresh and great with a salad with only a few layers and a hint of a kick in it’s bite. The onion I am today is much bigger and bolder in flavor and yet has many more layers and a much, much thicker skin that may need to be peeled and discarded before the stuff worth keeping and using for a succulent curry will be found. This time India will most definitely be showing me much, much more, but this time I am sure to resist with those layers of thick skin and it may take some time to peel away the top parts and get to the good stuff.
The idea for this most current trip as I already explained was germinated many years ago, during that first glimpse of India, but the final momentum for lift off has been gathered more recently thanks to a few, major, life changing events in addition to, for want of a better phrase: ‘the state of the world’. The newly wed status, which I find myself in, often, it is said, inspires change and experimentation. This compulsion for change has been compounded by the fact that when deciding to marry, my husband and I also decided that now would be a great time to change some other circumstances of our lives and not only join the ranks of ‘marriagedom’ (not that that word exists but I am known from time to time to invent my own words should I feel that there is not one in existence that suits my precise needs), but also join the ranks of the ‘unemployed’ and find a new start in life. In turn this also meant for us, a change in just about everything about our day-to-day life: since our job was our life. Having spent the last several years as cruise ship employees we were in fact very much ‘married to our jobs’ or rather living in our jobs. Work was life and life was work – that’s pretty much how it goes on a ship – since the ship is home and work all in one – so when you decide to change your work, well, your life goes too.
So here we find ourselves, newly married, without job or home but with the overwhelming desire for one last fling with freedom before we ‘toe the line’ and get ‘settled and stable’. In actual fact at this point in my life I find a powerful dichotomy within myself. Since in a sense I have been ‘traveling’ and ‘homeless’ for several years now there is a powerful yearning within me to put down roots and find a place to call my own, but there is still, on the other hand my unfulfilled desire to go back to India. So, ‘why not?’ we said. It’s now or never. We return to land and find a home and we may never have the chance again to be so free from bonds and baggage, to freely roam and wander. And India is calling.
And so it was to be. The newly-weds would seize this perfect time, certainly perfect personally and in addition perfect professionally, considering that to join the ranks of the ‘unemployed’ as an active job seeker seemed like a pretty uninviting prospect since those ranks are fairly deep and wide thanks to the ‘economic crisis’ that this poor little planet finds herself in. Why waste time searching for jobs that don’t exist, when we can be in India, searching for ourselves and wondrous wonders of the world? While the world attempts to right herself like a catamaran swaying in the blustering winds on the surface of a tormented ocean, we can wait for the storm to pass in a place where our funds will go far. Why not? Why not? Why not? That was the phrase that surfaced time and time again in our minds. And lucky for us, we could find only compelling reason to add to the list of ‘Why?’ and pretty much none to add to ‘Why not?’