The other day on the beach a group of Indian men who were obviously on vacation walked by, all of them wearing sun glasses and board shorts. One of them was wearing this white cut-off t-shirt that was a little too short - his round belly protruding out the bottom. The shirt had a palm tree and said, "Holiday in Goa." It was so classic.
I think today is day six in Goa? Maybe seven. I've lost track. We were supposed to leave today but decided to stay for Saturday night. I mean, who can blame us? Two 22-year old girls who haven't danced or had the sun touch our shoulders in three months.
I've had many moments of, "Where am I?"... as Goa has been one of those really stereotypical places for us. Still full of surprises, but I think maybe surprises I was expecting? Dose that make any sense?
Two examples.
A couple of days ago, around 4 in the afternoon Juliana and I get on the back of a motorcycle with our matching crochet backpacks, housing only our wallets and toothbrushes. We were going on an adventure. We rode from Arambol to Anjuna.. about 30 kilometers south down the coast.. to a world-famous flea market. We bargained hard for "closing-time prices" and filled our backpacks with goodies, and then decided to find a room for the night... mostly so we didn't have to go out dancing with all of our new purchases. We found the cheapest room that we could find (squat toilet outside..), took a quick power nap, put on dresses that in no way would be acceptable anywhere else in India... and set out. We spent the first half of the night dancing to Reggae Dub on the beach... and switched locations around 1 am to this club full of trance music and Russians. It was this white, cave-like temple with big white stairs leading to a dance floor and carved-out faces on the walls. So we danced until 4 am, which was about the time that our legs gave out.
And the next morning, we managed to check out by 10:30 and arrive back in Arambol before noon.
Example two.
Just for background purposes, this town we're in - Arambol - is quite a trip. It reminds us both of the crowd you may find at Burning Man, or the Bay Area... thirty years ago. It's the aging hippy scene of Goa. I think most people stay here for a while... if you know what I mean.
Two nights ago we decided to check out this "jam session" at one of the local cafes. I put that in quotations because it was in no way a "jam session." It was a talent show. An aging hippy talent show.
... and many of you probably know what kind of love I have for talent shows. And no, I did not get up and rap a Dr. Dre song.
Of course, Juliana and I plant ourselves in the hub of these aging hippies. We shared a table with this adorable older Swiss couple, but one of the stars of the night (for us...) was this guy sitting next to the couple. He had long hair and looked like he hadn't stopped tripping since Woodstock. His eyes were at least half-closed the whole night, and in one hand he was swinging around a glass of whiskey; in the other he was smoking a joint. The rest of his table was more or less on the same level, continually rolling spliff after spliff, swaying to the music.
As the night went on, the crowd kept getting rowdier and rowdier. It went from a really chill open-mic situation to a madhouse. Honestly there were points when Juliana and I would just kind of look at each other with our jaws dropped. There was this one women who, although was never on stage to sing, stole the show. I'm pretty sure that she used to be a stripper... thirty years ago. Of course I'm making an assumption here... but if you saw her dance, you'd probably think the same thing. She would not stay in her seat, and would just shimmy around in the aisles, or get up on stage and dance directly in front of whoever was singing, trying to simultaneously seduce the performers and the audience. At point she actually started taking off her dress. I have a feeling she's an Arambol long-timer.
Some other notable characters that night included:
This bigger Sri Lankan guy would not stop belting out in the middle of other people's performances... someone would be on stage and then he would just start singing, in this booming/cracking voice, and then get on stage and steal the mic.
This Asian guy with a long beard, who apparently has been singing sing-a-long songs all over the world for over fifty years. He got on stage with an accordion and sang something like, "This world is beautiful, I love it..." over and over and over. Kind of reminded me of Mr. Robbins.
Juliana and I weren't the only ones in shock by the night's turn of events. At one point we looked back at the kitchen staff, and saw a line-up of Indian guys with their arms crossed just watching the scene. I'm sure they were thinking, "White people are fucking crazy." It really was a madhouse. I can't blame them.
And in true Goan form, we found a chill dance party on the beach and danced under an almost-full moon until our legs could dance no more.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
R-e-l-a-x
One day when I was limping around the ashram, one woman said to me, "Well, everything happens for a reason. Maybe you just need to rest."
How true that was.
The past week and a half has been some of the most relaxing and scenically beautiful times of this trip.. which my foot certainly needed. I still have no idea what I exactly did to it... but I sure looked injured. A bandaged foot and a serious limp got me a lot of attention. Everyone wanted to know what happened. It's so funny, how in-your-grill Indians can be. Juliana overheard one family exclaim, "LOOK! Something has happened to that girl's foot!" And then everyone looked over to see me limping away, with lots of "oooohhhhhs!!!!" and "aaahhhhhss!"
After Varkala, we headed to the infamous backwaters of Kerala, which are apparently India's biggest tourist attraction. We rented a houseboat for a night, which was quite romantic, continuing Juliana and my seemingly endless date. But seriously... talk about picturesque. I spent most of my time sitting on the covered rooftop in a bamboo chair, with my feet up, watching the bending palm trees fall into the river. We ate deliciously fresh Keralan food and had discussions about whether all truths are true... and then talked about the fact that we had the TIME to talk about these things, and how lucky we are. Talk about relax.
After another day spent in the backwaters, we took an overnight train to Kannur in Northern Kerala. We got off the train in a zombie-like status and had a semi-frustrating time finding a decent hotel.
We came to Kannur not only because it's a jump-off point for Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary, but also because Juliana's got a tip from a friend from home, who said Kannur was home to theyyam performances (an intense ritualistic art form that pre-dates Hinduism)... and the nicest people in India.
Both were true.
We got good vibes from our rickshaw driver that morning (who helped us find a hotel, with no interest in commission...), so we called him later to take us to a theyyam performance. He picked us up around 3:30 in the afternoon from our hotel, and we drove about 45 minutes down the coast, to this tiny, in-the-middle-of-tropical-India temple. Talk about getting off the beaten track. When we were in Kannur, we were getting a lot of those , "how did you get here" looks. Not rude - in any way - just confused. So when our rickshaw driver pulls up to this temple, a couple of men approach us and we're like... "Hi... is there a theyyam here?" And their faces just explode with ear-to-ear smiles and are so happy that we've sought this out. But, we just missed the afternoon performance. Come back at 6, they said.
We had some time to kill, so our driver took us to this quite little beach resort for some coffee. The owner, Matthew, was this adorable older Indian man who wore a bright red lungi and thick black glasses. He spoke no English and laughed, a lot. We loved him. He made us yummy coffee, South Indian style, and ... we still had a lot of time to kill.
I sat with our driver on rocks overlooking the ocean while Juliana went for a walk along the beach, and I am so glad that my foot prevented me from going anywhere, and I was somewhat forced to make conversation with our driver. I love this guy. We covered a lot of ground, considering how slowly and simply we had to speak English. We showed each other pictures of our friends and family, we talked about his love marriage (vs. arranged marriage), how he loved his job because he gets to meet people from all over the world, how he hates when drivers charge too much for foreigners and how he doesn't want us going home saying Indians are bad people.... I talked about how I knew what he meant, wanting to give others a good impression of your country and culture (we all remember the Bush years...), we talked about war, about school... it was lovely. When Juliana got back from her walk she told me about this particularly beautiful moment she just had; as if Life was just saying to her, "I cordially invite you... to live!" And she laughed out loud. I loved that. Life is indeed for living.
It was finally time for the theyyam performance.. which was one of the most special, intimate looks at a culture in my life. Everyone was so welcoming and it really felt like they wanted us to be there, and that they were so proud of their heritage and traditions, and knew how special it was. It was all so real - only locals, in this discreet temple. There were two performers who apparently fast and meditate for days before a performance, and spend hours and hours putting on elaborate make-up and costumes. You really believe that these people become gods, as they appear possessed and start jumping around to intense drumming. All the while, people are praying and kids are running around playing. I am just in awe that something that pre-dates Hinduism is still in practice... and that we got a chance to see it... in such an organic set-up.
Our sweet driver took us around after to find me an ankle brace, and then bought us sweets. What a lovely, lovely man.
The next day we took a 3 hour bus to Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary. We stayed at a homestay that was so special. Good lord, continuing the kindest people I've ever encountered. This family was so warm. So sincere, and in the most genuine way possible. It was like this infectious disease... this kindness... as every other traveler we met staying there just radiated with joy and appreciation for this family.
We spent a lot of time with a British couple, a French couple and this Swedish woman named Margaret.
Margaret was a special lady. She had to be over 75 years old, and she is traveling around India, by herself. She is itty-bitty and wears thick-framed black glasses and has this poofed up blonde hair secured with about twenty bobby pins. Margaret told us stories about living in India, Indonesia, Japan, Ethiopia... she told us about road-tripping through the Middle East with German tiger hunters...?? She was just an incredible lady. It was funny when she spoke about living in India, "...when Nehru was president..."
Northern Kerala is so calm, so shanti. We had a lot of downtime, as we would go on one "activity" each day (i.e. walking to waterfalls, visiting a tea factory, safari, etc). I spent a good amount of time in this little bamboo perch overlooking rice fields. Can't complain.
I also saw a wild elephant! The French couple and Juliana and I were in the back of a jeep, on our way from seeing a waterfall, and a driver comes to screeching halt. He starts pointing excitedly and shouts, "ELEPHANT!!" So we all squirm for our cameras freaking out and then the elephant starts making somewhat angry noises at us and begins approaching... which is when our driver turns off the car and casually mentions that elephants can run at a starting speed of 40 km/hr, and Juliana chimes in that elephants can outrun lions. And this elephant that we're seeing... it's within 20 feet of us... and it seems to be angry. It was so funny, the four of us in the back are going back and forth between freaking out that there is a wild elephant in front of us and how cool that is and then freaking out about, uh, maybe we should go this elephant could run us down...!!! The driver just sat there and laughed at us.
Northern Kerala turned out to be one of the most special places of our trip. I can't really explain it, but it was just so real.
..... and now we're in Goa. Quite different.
How true that was.
The past week and a half has been some of the most relaxing and scenically beautiful times of this trip.. which my foot certainly needed. I still have no idea what I exactly did to it... but I sure looked injured. A bandaged foot and a serious limp got me a lot of attention. Everyone wanted to know what happened. It's so funny, how in-your-grill Indians can be. Juliana overheard one family exclaim, "LOOK! Something has happened to that girl's foot!" And then everyone looked over to see me limping away, with lots of "oooohhhhhs!!!!" and "aaahhhhhss!"
After Varkala, we headed to the infamous backwaters of Kerala, which are apparently India's biggest tourist attraction. We rented a houseboat for a night, which was quite romantic, continuing Juliana and my seemingly endless date. But seriously... talk about picturesque. I spent most of my time sitting on the covered rooftop in a bamboo chair, with my feet up, watching the bending palm trees fall into the river. We ate deliciously fresh Keralan food and had discussions about whether all truths are true... and then talked about the fact that we had the TIME to talk about these things, and how lucky we are. Talk about relax.
After another day spent in the backwaters, we took an overnight train to Kannur in Northern Kerala. We got off the train in a zombie-like status and had a semi-frustrating time finding a decent hotel.
We came to Kannur not only because it's a jump-off point for Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary, but also because Juliana's got a tip from a friend from home, who said Kannur was home to theyyam performances (an intense ritualistic art form that pre-dates Hinduism)... and the nicest people in India.
Both were true.
We got good vibes from our rickshaw driver that morning (who helped us find a hotel, with no interest in commission...), so we called him later to take us to a theyyam performance. He picked us up around 3:30 in the afternoon from our hotel, and we drove about 45 minutes down the coast, to this tiny, in-the-middle-of-tropical-India temple. Talk about getting off the beaten track. When we were in Kannur, we were getting a lot of those , "how did you get here" looks. Not rude - in any way - just confused. So when our rickshaw driver pulls up to this temple, a couple of men approach us and we're like... "Hi... is there a theyyam here?" And their faces just explode with ear-to-ear smiles and are so happy that we've sought this out. But, we just missed the afternoon performance. Come back at 6, they said.
We had some time to kill, so our driver took us to this quite little beach resort for some coffee. The owner, Matthew, was this adorable older Indian man who wore a bright red lungi and thick black glasses. He spoke no English and laughed, a lot. We loved him. He made us yummy coffee, South Indian style, and ... we still had a lot of time to kill.
I sat with our driver on rocks overlooking the ocean while Juliana went for a walk along the beach, and I am so glad that my foot prevented me from going anywhere, and I was somewhat forced to make conversation with our driver. I love this guy. We covered a lot of ground, considering how slowly and simply we had to speak English. We showed each other pictures of our friends and family, we talked about his love marriage (vs. arranged marriage), how he loved his job because he gets to meet people from all over the world, how he hates when drivers charge too much for foreigners and how he doesn't want us going home saying Indians are bad people.... I talked about how I knew what he meant, wanting to give others a good impression of your country and culture (we all remember the Bush years...), we talked about war, about school... it was lovely. When Juliana got back from her walk she told me about this particularly beautiful moment she just had; as if Life was just saying to her, "I cordially invite you... to live!" And she laughed out loud. I loved that. Life is indeed for living.
It was finally time for the theyyam performance.. which was one of the most special, intimate looks at a culture in my life. Everyone was so welcoming and it really felt like they wanted us to be there, and that they were so proud of their heritage and traditions, and knew how special it was. It was all so real - only locals, in this discreet temple. There were two performers who apparently fast and meditate for days before a performance, and spend hours and hours putting on elaborate make-up and costumes. You really believe that these people become gods, as they appear possessed and start jumping around to intense drumming. All the while, people are praying and kids are running around playing. I am just in awe that something that pre-dates Hinduism is still in practice... and that we got a chance to see it... in such an organic set-up.
Our sweet driver took us around after to find me an ankle brace, and then bought us sweets. What a lovely, lovely man.
The next day we took a 3 hour bus to Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary. We stayed at a homestay that was so special. Good lord, continuing the kindest people I've ever encountered. This family was so warm. So sincere, and in the most genuine way possible. It was like this infectious disease... this kindness... as every other traveler we met staying there just radiated with joy and appreciation for this family.
We spent a lot of time with a British couple, a French couple and this Swedish woman named Margaret.
Margaret was a special lady. She had to be over 75 years old, and she is traveling around India, by herself. She is itty-bitty and wears thick-framed black glasses and has this poofed up blonde hair secured with about twenty bobby pins. Margaret told us stories about living in India, Indonesia, Japan, Ethiopia... she told us about road-tripping through the Middle East with German tiger hunters...?? She was just an incredible lady. It was funny when she spoke about living in India, "...when Nehru was president..."
Northern Kerala is so calm, so shanti. We had a lot of downtime, as we would go on one "activity" each day (i.e. walking to waterfalls, visiting a tea factory, safari, etc). I spent a good amount of time in this little bamboo perch overlooking rice fields. Can't complain.
I also saw a wild elephant! The French couple and Juliana and I were in the back of a jeep, on our way from seeing a waterfall, and a driver comes to screeching halt. He starts pointing excitedly and shouts, "ELEPHANT!!" So we all squirm for our cameras freaking out and then the elephant starts making somewhat angry noises at us and begins approaching... which is when our driver turns off the car and casually mentions that elephants can run at a starting speed of 40 km/hr, and Juliana chimes in that elephants can outrun lions. And this elephant that we're seeing... it's within 20 feet of us... and it seems to be angry. It was so funny, the four of us in the back are going back and forth between freaking out that there is a wild elephant in front of us and how cool that is and then freaking out about, uh, maybe we should go this elephant could run us down...!!! The driver just sat there and laughed at us.
Northern Kerala turned out to be one of the most special places of our trip. I can't really explain it, but it was just so real.
..... and now we're in Goa. Quite different.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Photos
For those not on Facebook/don't check Facebook (but are adamantly dedicated to my blog..??), I wanted to share the three photo albums I have made of the trip thus far. Apparently you don't need a Facebook account to look; just copy and paste.
1. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2584915&id=1222825&l=fc1489f1b0
This first album is not in order, purposely. It's less of a, "this is what I'm doing here, and this is a tourist site I saw here...," and more a collection of pictures that made me feeling something. I guess perhaps it is in order, then. Just not chronological order. An order I found beautiful.
2. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2585314&id=1222825&l=a1598e3b5b
Ok, I'll stop being so serious. This album has pictures from Varanasi, Darjeeling, Nepal, Mamallapuram, Tanjore, Madurai, and Kochi.
3. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2557499&id=1222825&l=710788bc6b
And this one is the first I made. Starts at the beginning - Delhi... goes through Rajasthan, ends in Agra. Enjoy!
1. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2584915&id=1222825&l=fc1489f1b0
This first album is not in order, purposely. It's less of a, "this is what I'm doing here, and this is a tourist site I saw here...," and more a collection of pictures that made me feeling something. I guess perhaps it is in order, then. Just not chronological order. An order I found beautiful.
2. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2585314&id=1222825&l=a1598e3b5b
Ok, I'll stop being so serious. This album has pictures from Varanasi, Darjeeling, Nepal, Mamallapuram, Tanjore, Madurai, and Kochi.
3. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2557499&id=1222825&l=710788bc6b
And this one is the first I made. Starts at the beginning - Delhi... goes through Rajasthan, ends in Agra. Enjoy!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
(interlude) Sensory Overload
I know that technically, I'm supposed to write chronologically.
But I'm going to do a little blast from the past. While in Varanasi, I started compiling a list of the five (...or six) senses that were bouncing from one extreme to the next. Varanasi was a constant sensory overload. Constant and extreme. So here it goes:
I see corpses wrapped in gold and copper sheets, adorned with sparkling orange flowers. I watch my step as I dodge the masses of pilgrims carrying corpses, all the while trying not to step in cow shit. Or human shit? Same same. I lock eyes with Babas, ash smeared on their forehead, their long black and gray dreadlocks tied on top of their heads with orange scarves. They join the masses of barefoot Hindus calmly walking through small streets of chaos. I see beggars, lining the steps of the main ghat, arms stretched out towards me, motioning to their mouth. I see fire, the symbol of impermanence, coming out of a copper snake's mouth as Brahmins praise the Ganga in a holy ceremony. I see the hazy city lining the river, as I look from the Other Bank. I see the burning ghat - smack in the middle. Death remains at the center.
I smell something different at every turn. First it's samosas being deep-fried and chana masala cooking in a big stew pot, then it's incense so strong that it masks the stench of urine. I smell the burning bodies.
I hear horns on motorbikes, bells on bicycles, just in time for me to crush my body against whoever is next to me so that my toes don't get run over. I hear shop-keepers: "Madame, namaste! Madame, what you looking for? Nice skirt? Trousers?" I try and fade their cat calls out and then feel like a pretentious tourist for ignoring them. I hear bells - the sound of puja being performed at sunrise and sunset - bells and gongs and singing and calpping as thousands of pilgrims watch the ceremony. I hear the sitar and tabla blaring out of music shops, attracting hippied-out musicians from all over the world. I hear Hindi, and Israeli, French, Japanese... I hear children from outside my $3/night hostel room, and music playing at ungoldly hours. How do I ever sleep here?
I taste cuisine from all over the world. I taste curries, and hummus, and ravioli... I taste guava and pineapple and bananas. I taste both spicy and sweet roadside food. Oh, and I taste chai. Fresh from the kettle, on the side of the street, even before the sun has risen... I taste chai. I sit on a small bench and I sit with a hot glass of chai, lightly blowing so it doesn't burn my tongue. The heat rises and hits my nose and eyes, and then taste - ginger, cardamon, pepper, milk, sugar... oh, sweet chai. The elder Indian man next to me gives me a nod of approval.
I feel the touch of small boys and girls tugging on my clothes, asking if I want to buy a postcard of a candle to put in the river. I feel my stomach churn as I look a beggar, covered in scabs, in the eye. I feel my nose tingling, and my throat crying for clean air. I feel myself wheezing for the first time in months, and I have to borrow J's inhaler. I touch the concrete ghat steps leading to the Ganga. I sit on these steps and watch. I touch my toga mat under my body and I reach my hands, head and chest up the sky, and then back... simultaneously lifting my right foot up... only my pelvis is touching the ground. I reach, and breathe, and reach, and breathe until finally - caught it! I touch my head to my foot for the first time.
The sixth sense - fully awakened. Responding to the spirits of the Other Bank. Gripping my words, unable to translate this feeling into spoken language. But this sense is taking hold - fast - all of my senses are being shaken up. Everything is making me question everything, what is right and wrong, clean and dirty, good and bad. Dismantling my external grip on the senses. It's beautiful. Beautifully haunting.
Why are we so scared of death? It happens. It's like being scared of the sunset. Why bother living life ordinarily? Why not take chances? We're all going to die, anyways.
Sometimes I just can't believe where I am, and how many people never know anything outside of their own perspective. Question everything - always. Why do we believe everything we're told? Go see it yourself.
But I'm going to do a little blast from the past. While in Varanasi, I started compiling a list of the five (...or six) senses that were bouncing from one extreme to the next. Varanasi was a constant sensory overload. Constant and extreme. So here it goes:
I see corpses wrapped in gold and copper sheets, adorned with sparkling orange flowers. I watch my step as I dodge the masses of pilgrims carrying corpses, all the while trying not to step in cow shit. Or human shit? Same same. I lock eyes with Babas, ash smeared on their forehead, their long black and gray dreadlocks tied on top of their heads with orange scarves. They join the masses of barefoot Hindus calmly walking through small streets of chaos. I see beggars, lining the steps of the main ghat, arms stretched out towards me, motioning to their mouth. I see fire, the symbol of impermanence, coming out of a copper snake's mouth as Brahmins praise the Ganga in a holy ceremony. I see the hazy city lining the river, as I look from the Other Bank. I see the burning ghat - smack in the middle. Death remains at the center.
I smell something different at every turn. First it's samosas being deep-fried and chana masala cooking in a big stew pot, then it's incense so strong that it masks the stench of urine. I smell the burning bodies.
I hear horns on motorbikes, bells on bicycles, just in time for me to crush my body against whoever is next to me so that my toes don't get run over. I hear shop-keepers: "Madame, namaste! Madame, what you looking for? Nice skirt? Trousers?" I try and fade their cat calls out and then feel like a pretentious tourist for ignoring them. I hear bells - the sound of puja being performed at sunrise and sunset - bells and gongs and singing and calpping as thousands of pilgrims watch the ceremony. I hear the sitar and tabla blaring out of music shops, attracting hippied-out musicians from all over the world. I hear Hindi, and Israeli, French, Japanese... I hear children from outside my $3/night hostel room, and music playing at ungoldly hours. How do I ever sleep here?
I taste cuisine from all over the world. I taste curries, and hummus, and ravioli... I taste guava and pineapple and bananas. I taste both spicy and sweet roadside food. Oh, and I taste chai. Fresh from the kettle, on the side of the street, even before the sun has risen... I taste chai. I sit on a small bench and I sit with a hot glass of chai, lightly blowing so it doesn't burn my tongue. The heat rises and hits my nose and eyes, and then taste - ginger, cardamon, pepper, milk, sugar... oh, sweet chai. The elder Indian man next to me gives me a nod of approval.
I feel the touch of small boys and girls tugging on my clothes, asking if I want to buy a postcard of a candle to put in the river. I feel my stomach churn as I look a beggar, covered in scabs, in the eye. I feel my nose tingling, and my throat crying for clean air. I feel myself wheezing for the first time in months, and I have to borrow J's inhaler. I touch the concrete ghat steps leading to the Ganga. I sit on these steps and watch. I touch my toga mat under my body and I reach my hands, head and chest up the sky, and then back... simultaneously lifting my right foot up... only my pelvis is touching the ground. I reach, and breathe, and reach, and breathe until finally - caught it! I touch my head to my foot for the first time.
The sixth sense - fully awakened. Responding to the spirits of the Other Bank. Gripping my words, unable to translate this feeling into spoken language. But this sense is taking hold - fast - all of my senses are being shaken up. Everything is making me question everything, what is right and wrong, clean and dirty, good and bad. Dismantling my external grip on the senses. It's beautiful. Beautifully haunting.
Why are we so scared of death? It happens. It's like being scared of the sunset. Why bother living life ordinarily? Why not take chances? We're all going to die, anyways.
Sometimes I just can't believe where I am, and how many people never know anything outside of their own perspective. Question everything - always. Why do we believe everything we're told? Go see it yourself.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Ashram Life
A snippet from my January 14th journal entry:
'I'm sitting on the outdoor patio of the 350 rupees deluxe Rastafarian hotel we managed to find in high-season Varkala. My feet are up and I'm watching and listening to the wind-blown palm tree grove in our backyard. Today has consisted of meditation, yoga and pineapple juice. I can't really complain.'
...which is when I decided to compile a list of things I take for granted.
1. My feet
2. Juliana's awesomeness
3. Listening to the birds
Oh, my feet. My feet - or rather, my right foot, made it onto the Cast of Characters list, as it had a starring role at the Sivanandra ashram last week.
At first glance, the Sivanandra ashram in Kerala seems like paradise. I couldn't hear any city noises or rickshaws or trance music that seemed to always pop up in the middle of the night, and I was learning about yoga and living with like-minded souls. In the first few days, I was able to do a headstand for the first time in my life and I was looking forward to perfecting my locus position. I was, however, complaining about Satsang, which was meditation and chanting between 6:00-7:30 am and 8-9:30 pm. I was all for the meditation, but I never got into the chanting. I've never been able to say/sing/chant anything if I don't know the meaning... and all the chanting was in Sanskrit... so I mean... ?
Be careful what you wish for. On the third night I tripped on the stairs in the girls dorm and fell. I don't know how it happened, but in a second I was on the ground, somewhat hysterical, and couldn't move my right foot. This somewhat intense Spanish woman with red-penciled eyebrows who wakes us up at 5:30 am every morning comes over to me and says: "You don't really have a foot. Pain is an illusion." She waved her hand over my foot and told me to get up and walk to my bed.
I appreciated what she had said; I know that pain is an illusion... but something was still wrong with my foot. I didn't make a big fuss and just went to bed. My right foot/ankle region grew dramatically in size during the night and I was taking some serious pain killers the next day as I hobbled around the ashram. Most of the asanas we practiced were not standing poses so I decided I could still go to class, and just do the positions that did not use my foot. Wrong. My foot just got worse, and I just got more frustrated.
There is no better time to throw in a little proverb here: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I decided a new perspective was in order.
When the crazy Spanish woman woke everyone up in the morning to chant prayers that I didn't understand, I just pointed at my foot. "Can't go." Instead, I practiced Vipassana meditation in the dorm.. and practiced seeing reality as it was, not as I wanted it to be. So the reality was that something was wrong with my foot and I would not be able to participate. And that's that. I meditated, read, did some easy asanas in my room... I slept... which I was in dire need of, still sleep deprived from the epic bus rides of Tamil Nadu.
My foot wasn't getting any better and the Ayurvedic doctor at the ashram was not exactly to be trusted. When I asked him what to do about my foot, he looked at it, pressed it a little and, with utmost faith and assurance, looked me in eye and said, "Just rub some oil on it."
.....?
So I took matters into my own hands. I got an "out" pass from the ashram and took a rickshaw 10 km to a hospital. I had a momentary lapse of calmness when I realized I was walking by myself into an Indian hospital. The first counter I walked up to, labeled "Inquiry," kind of rejected me. I caused somewhat of a scene, as the nurse and I were not exactly able to communicate. I pointed to my foot and said "I need x-ray," and she just stared at me. As this continues - of course - the whole waiting room seems to get involved, as I'm practically playing charades and manically hoping around on my left foot. The madness stops when an English-speaking doctor walks up to me and asks what I need. I explain the situation and he walks me step-by-step through getting an appointment with a foot doctor.
The foot doctor spoke incredible English. He was super helpful, led me to the x-ray room... where two young and talkative women worked the machinery. I was in and out, with a $3 x-ray in-hand, in fifteen minutes.
So, thankfully, no fracture. I just did something. Who knows what. And I need to stay off of it a few more days.
The ashram was a good experience. Although I rarely participated in any ashram activities, I dealt with reality. Which is always good.
And we made some really funny friends. In one of those, loud-Americans-always-finding-other-Americans manner, we met Avery and Nick. Avery is 25 and just finished the Peace Corps in Kenya, and Nick is 23 and is traveling around China and India on the Watson Grant, studying Green architecture, or something. Watching these two is literally like watching stand-up comedy. In our Cast of Characters, we describe them as:
"Nick and Avery, the Seinfeld and Woody Allen live-running sitcom, complete with: magic tricks, glitter, short shorts, sarcasm, German accents, peanut balls, skits and hiding in unlit bathrooms to avoid going to Satsang."
So they were great. It's funny because we never exchanged contact information and Juliana and I left somewhat suddenly so they'll probably be put in that category of single-serving friends, who I'll probably never see again but for a limited amount of time, becomes your good friend.
Like I said earlier, I can't really complain. The sun is about to set over the Indian Ocean, so it's about time to wrap this one up. Oh! For the first time, I (more or less) know where I'm going to be until I get home:
Traveling through Kerala, Goa and Karnataka until Feb 3rd-ish
Volunteering in Pondicherry until March 3rd-ish
Beach lounging in the Andaman Islands until March 18th-ish
Flying to Bangkok and seeing my sister (!!!) on March 19th
Vipassana Course in Thailand until April 4th
Flying home... April... 15th? ish?
'I'm sitting on the outdoor patio of the 350 rupees deluxe Rastafarian hotel we managed to find in high-season Varkala. My feet are up and I'm watching and listening to the wind-blown palm tree grove in our backyard. Today has consisted of meditation, yoga and pineapple juice. I can't really complain.'
...which is when I decided to compile a list of things I take for granted.
1. My feet
2. Juliana's awesomeness
3. Listening to the birds
Oh, my feet. My feet - or rather, my right foot, made it onto the Cast of Characters list, as it had a starring role at the Sivanandra ashram last week.
At first glance, the Sivanandra ashram in Kerala seems like paradise. I couldn't hear any city noises or rickshaws or trance music that seemed to always pop up in the middle of the night, and I was learning about yoga and living with like-minded souls. In the first few days, I was able to do a headstand for the first time in my life and I was looking forward to perfecting my locus position. I was, however, complaining about Satsang, which was meditation and chanting between 6:00-7:30 am and 8-9:30 pm. I was all for the meditation, but I never got into the chanting. I've never been able to say/sing/chant anything if I don't know the meaning... and all the chanting was in Sanskrit... so I mean... ?
Be careful what you wish for. On the third night I tripped on the stairs in the girls dorm and fell. I don't know how it happened, but in a second I was on the ground, somewhat hysterical, and couldn't move my right foot. This somewhat intense Spanish woman with red-penciled eyebrows who wakes us up at 5:30 am every morning comes over to me and says: "You don't really have a foot. Pain is an illusion." She waved her hand over my foot and told me to get up and walk to my bed.
I appreciated what she had said; I know that pain is an illusion... but something was still wrong with my foot. I didn't make a big fuss and just went to bed. My right foot/ankle region grew dramatically in size during the night and I was taking some serious pain killers the next day as I hobbled around the ashram. Most of the asanas we practiced were not standing poses so I decided I could still go to class, and just do the positions that did not use my foot. Wrong. My foot just got worse, and I just got more frustrated.
There is no better time to throw in a little proverb here: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I decided a new perspective was in order.
When the crazy Spanish woman woke everyone up in the morning to chant prayers that I didn't understand, I just pointed at my foot. "Can't go." Instead, I practiced Vipassana meditation in the dorm.. and practiced seeing reality as it was, not as I wanted it to be. So the reality was that something was wrong with my foot and I would not be able to participate. And that's that. I meditated, read, did some easy asanas in my room... I slept... which I was in dire need of, still sleep deprived from the epic bus rides of Tamil Nadu.
My foot wasn't getting any better and the Ayurvedic doctor at the ashram was not exactly to be trusted. When I asked him what to do about my foot, he looked at it, pressed it a little and, with utmost faith and assurance, looked me in eye and said, "Just rub some oil on it."
.....?
So I took matters into my own hands. I got an "out" pass from the ashram and took a rickshaw 10 km to a hospital. I had a momentary lapse of calmness when I realized I was walking by myself into an Indian hospital. The first counter I walked up to, labeled "Inquiry," kind of rejected me. I caused somewhat of a scene, as the nurse and I were not exactly able to communicate. I pointed to my foot and said "I need x-ray," and she just stared at me. As this continues - of course - the whole waiting room seems to get involved, as I'm practically playing charades and manically hoping around on my left foot. The madness stops when an English-speaking doctor walks up to me and asks what I need. I explain the situation and he walks me step-by-step through getting an appointment with a foot doctor.
The foot doctor spoke incredible English. He was super helpful, led me to the x-ray room... where two young and talkative women worked the machinery. I was in and out, with a $3 x-ray in-hand, in fifteen minutes.
So, thankfully, no fracture. I just did something. Who knows what. And I need to stay off of it a few more days.
The ashram was a good experience. Although I rarely participated in any ashram activities, I dealt with reality. Which is always good.
And we made some really funny friends. In one of those, loud-Americans-always-finding-other-Americans manner, we met Avery and Nick. Avery is 25 and just finished the Peace Corps in Kenya, and Nick is 23 and is traveling around China and India on the Watson Grant, studying Green architecture, or something. Watching these two is literally like watching stand-up comedy. In our Cast of Characters, we describe them as:
"Nick and Avery, the Seinfeld and Woody Allen live-running sitcom, complete with: magic tricks, glitter, short shorts, sarcasm, German accents, peanut balls, skits and hiding in unlit bathrooms to avoid going to Satsang."
So they were great. It's funny because we never exchanged contact information and Juliana and I left somewhat suddenly so they'll probably be put in that category of single-serving friends, who I'll probably never see again but for a limited amount of time, becomes your good friend.
Like I said earlier, I can't really complain. The sun is about to set over the Indian Ocean, so it's about time to wrap this one up. Oh! For the first time, I (more or less) know where I'm going to be until I get home:
Traveling through Kerala, Goa and Karnataka until Feb 3rd-ish
Volunteering in Pondicherry until March 3rd-ish
Beach lounging in the Andaman Islands until March 18th-ish
Flying to Bangkok and seeing my sister (!!!) on March 19th
Vipassana Course in Thailand until April 4th
Flying home... April... 15th? ish?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
A new kind of New Years Eve
I'm sitting in a small blue internet booth covered in Looney Toones characters. The internet connection here is very slow, and I have a lot to say.
We're killing some time in Trivandrum, Kerala, before heading to an ashram for a yoga retreat. We arrived in Trivandrum around 11 am this morning via train, which departed from Kochin (Kerala's capital city) at 5:50 am. I only got four and a half hours of sleep last night. It has been a rough week of sleep. I wrote about our city-hopping tour in my last blog... which included lots of buses and very questionable accommodation.
I spoke too soon. If you wanna talk rough bus rides, oh my god. We took an overnight bus from Madurai to Kochin, which broke down three times during the night. The first break-down, not so bad. Up and running in half an hour, maybe. The second break-down, well, was worse. I opened my Tylenol-PM-induced-sleepy eyes and saw the engine overheating. We were instructed to pass up our water bottles, so one by one 1L water bottles are moving from seat to seat to calm that engine down. It worked! Until... break down numero three. This time, who even knows that happened. The bus just stopped. At 5 am, in the middle of nowhere. It was dark outside and no one spoke English. Juliana and I sat in our seats for a good ten minutes, nervously looking around and at each other, while some people started grabbing their luggage and just leaving, trying to hitch another ride. While we were still in the bus, some of the go-getter types flagged a bus down, got on, and the bus left. All as we watched from inside our broken-down bus. So we thought, better start moving.
Another twenty or thirty minutes goes by until another bus finally stops for us. Asking no questions, we pushed our way on (because not everyone from our bus was going to fit -- this was a serious Survival of the Fittest situation) and the bus took off.
You know it's desperate when you get on a bus in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, without knowing where it's going, and you do not care.
I'll spare you details, but we - eventually - made it to Kochin on December 31st.
So it's New Years Eve, and we're exhausted. We (or should I say, Juliana, because I was too tired/delirious to function) found a hotel and we slept until dark. Then! the fun begins. This was an interesting New Years Eve, because for one of the first times in my life (or, let's say, the last decade), I A) Didn't need to coordinate plans with anyone, B) Didn't try and find something "fun" and "New-Years appropriate," C) Didn't strategically plan myself at the location of my desired New Years Kiss, and D) Didn't get drunk. It was fantastic. No anticipation.
Instead, we A) Bought 2 lobsters, 6 jumbo shrimp and 2 live crab at the local fish market for under $10 and brought it to a restaurant to grill, just to our liking, B) Talked about the good and the bad of 2009 - and how far we've come, how much we've grown, etc.. C) Counted down to midnight with locals who were burning a giant stuffed Santa Clause in the middle of the street, and felt as though maybe I was burning away some of 2009 as well, and D) Did some serious dancing at a block party, around the corner from our hotel. A beautiful New Years Eve, indeed.
Juliana's friend from school, Suman, joined us on January 1st... and we all spent the next few days couchsurfing in Kochin with our new friend, Vinay.
Can I just say, couchsurfing.org is amazing. It's putting such trust in strangers to be good people, and to not be scared of one another. To want to help, and take of each other is something we are not often taught in our society... or at least, to want to take care of strangers, as if they are not strangers. I feel very lucky to have both couchsurfed with, and hosted, some incredible people. The thing is... I don't think I just got "lucky" with who I have met. I think everyone is capable of having this connection, if we all just opened up, and let loose a little bit. Taking care of strangers, and then being taken care of by strangers... it makes the world a little bit smaller.
Vinay completely went out of his way to help us out with everything we asked. He took us on day trips to mountains and beaches that Lonely Planet has not yet discovered, to a restaurant serving 36 different kinds of dosas (!!!), and even to the train station at 5 in the morning. So kind.
One of my favorite moments of the past few days was being at the beach at sunset. Juliana, Suman and I were standing with our feet in the Arabian sea, looking out at the horizon... kind of playing that, "Should we go in? Would that be weird?..." "But I don't have a bathing suit..." "It might be really cold when we get out..." "Maybe we should just do it... should we just do it?..." game for a good five minutes or so, until we were just like... fuck it. And ran in. So we watched the sun set over the Arabian sea on the West coast of Southern India with palm trees behind us and locals looking at us like we were out of minds. It was fantastic.
I just finished reading Even Cowgirls Get the Blues for the second time. Everyone should read that book. Dad, thank you again and again and again for giving me that book. Although round two was not as life-changing as the first time I read it, I am forever thankful to Tom Robbins and his thoughts about Time and Magic and Poetry and being the exception to an otherwise very standardized world.
We're killing some time in Trivandrum, Kerala, before heading to an ashram for a yoga retreat. We arrived in Trivandrum around 11 am this morning via train, which departed from Kochin (Kerala's capital city) at 5:50 am. I only got four and a half hours of sleep last night. It has been a rough week of sleep. I wrote about our city-hopping tour in my last blog... which included lots of buses and very questionable accommodation.
I spoke too soon. If you wanna talk rough bus rides, oh my god. We took an overnight bus from Madurai to Kochin, which broke down three times during the night. The first break-down, not so bad. Up and running in half an hour, maybe. The second break-down, well, was worse. I opened my Tylenol-PM-induced-sleepy eyes and saw the engine overheating. We were instructed to pass up our water bottles, so one by one 1L water bottles are moving from seat to seat to calm that engine down. It worked! Until... break down numero three. This time, who even knows that happened. The bus just stopped. At 5 am, in the middle of nowhere. It was dark outside and no one spoke English. Juliana and I sat in our seats for a good ten minutes, nervously looking around and at each other, while some people started grabbing their luggage and just leaving, trying to hitch another ride. While we were still in the bus, some of the go-getter types flagged a bus down, got on, and the bus left. All as we watched from inside our broken-down bus. So we thought, better start moving.
Another twenty or thirty minutes goes by until another bus finally stops for us. Asking no questions, we pushed our way on (because not everyone from our bus was going to fit -- this was a serious Survival of the Fittest situation) and the bus took off.
You know it's desperate when you get on a bus in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, without knowing where it's going, and you do not care.
I'll spare you details, but we - eventually - made it to Kochin on December 31st.
So it's New Years Eve, and we're exhausted. We (or should I say, Juliana, because I was too tired/delirious to function) found a hotel and we slept until dark. Then! the fun begins. This was an interesting New Years Eve, because for one of the first times in my life (or, let's say, the last decade), I A) Didn't need to coordinate plans with anyone, B) Didn't try and find something "fun" and "New-Years appropriate," C) Didn't strategically plan myself at the location of my desired New Years Kiss, and D) Didn't get drunk. It was fantastic. No anticipation.
Instead, we A) Bought 2 lobsters, 6 jumbo shrimp and 2 live crab at the local fish market for under $10 and brought it to a restaurant to grill, just to our liking, B) Talked about the good and the bad of 2009 - and how far we've come, how much we've grown, etc.. C) Counted down to midnight with locals who were burning a giant stuffed Santa Clause in the middle of the street, and felt as though maybe I was burning away some of 2009 as well, and D) Did some serious dancing at a block party, around the corner from our hotel. A beautiful New Years Eve, indeed.
Juliana's friend from school, Suman, joined us on January 1st... and we all spent the next few days couchsurfing in Kochin with our new friend, Vinay.
Can I just say, couchsurfing.org is amazing. It's putting such trust in strangers to be good people, and to not be scared of one another. To want to help, and take of each other is something we are not often taught in our society... or at least, to want to take care of strangers, as if they are not strangers. I feel very lucky to have both couchsurfed with, and hosted, some incredible people. The thing is... I don't think I just got "lucky" with who I have met. I think everyone is capable of having this connection, if we all just opened up, and let loose a little bit. Taking care of strangers, and then being taken care of by strangers... it makes the world a little bit smaller.
Vinay completely went out of his way to help us out with everything we asked. He took us on day trips to mountains and beaches that Lonely Planet has not yet discovered, to a restaurant serving 36 different kinds of dosas (!!!), and even to the train station at 5 in the morning. So kind.
One of my favorite moments of the past few days was being at the beach at sunset. Juliana, Suman and I were standing with our feet in the Arabian sea, looking out at the horizon... kind of playing that, "Should we go in? Would that be weird?..." "But I don't have a bathing suit..." "It might be really cold when we get out..." "Maybe we should just do it... should we just do it?..." game for a good five minutes or so, until we were just like... fuck it. And ran in. So we watched the sun set over the Arabian sea on the West coast of Southern India with palm trees behind us and locals looking at us like we were out of minds. It was fantastic.
I just finished reading Even Cowgirls Get the Blues for the second time. Everyone should read that book. Dad, thank you again and again and again for giving me that book. Although round two was not as life-changing as the first time I read it, I am forever thankful to Tom Robbins and his thoughts about Time and Magic and Poetry and being the exception to an otherwise very standardized world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
