One last goodbye

I'm back in Port Blair again... the capital of the Andaman Islands. Once again I'm here specifically for the airport, and the internet, I suppose.

In a few hours I'm flying to Chennai. Then I have ten hours to kill at the airport, and I'm off to the blood-stained city of Bangkok! Apparently the protests are not violent, but they sure are bloody. People are throwing blood-filled bags at the Prime Minister's house. All the streets are stained. It's a bloody mess.

The past few days have been some of my favorite in India. Oh but first! I wanted to write about my last few days in Pondicherry. I guess there is something about the last few days that makes you liveeverymoment.

So rewind three weeks. Juliana and I have about five more days until we're leaving Pondicherry and Prime Trust behind, with dreams of blissful islands ahead. One evening we decide to have dinner and a drink at L'Espace, this chilled-out restaurant in the French Quarter. L'Espace is where we and most ex-pats, it seems, end most nights in Pondicherry - at 11 o'clock, sharp (Pondy's curfew). So, we go to L'Espace with hopes of litchi martinis but ... it's closed. Thus begins a string of events that lead us at an open bakery with our French roommate Ly (whom we ran into on the street). The three of us our enjoying warm apple tarts when an ex-Prime Trust volunteer, French Canadian Anne Marie rides by on her bicycle. She invites us to join a beach bonfire north up the coast a few kilometers. We can't really decide on the spot, as we're tired and Juliana has to give a presentation in the morning... but after a few Westernized Indian guys with motorbikes show up we start to come around. One in particular - who we started calling "Blue Shirt" as we couldn't remember his name - was the most convincing. He was full of life and dancing in the street with an infectious smile and kept saying, "Tomorrow never comes! Maybe tomorrow never comes! We will go see the moon on the beach! Come!" Juliana, Ly and I decide he's right. So we all get on the back of a motorcycle an jet off into the night.

A few days later Juliana and I find ourselves, once again, on the back of a scooter, unsure what's ahead. Perhaps a theme is developing here.

This time we're heading to Auroville with Michael, a Canadian guy studying Sanskrit in Pondy. We have lunch, sit at the beach for a while, attempt to watch a frisbee game but fail, I drive a scooter for my first time, we find a real Italian person making pizza, and then we drive back to Pondy while [literally] howling at the moon. It was glorious. It was a "dry" day in Pondy because of a Muslim holiday so we investigate the black market situation to try and get some beer and are told to talk to the guy "at the pakora stand across from the theatre." What? I mean, we found him but didn't actually feeling like drinking. I think it was more the chase to find it. Instead we loitered in a posh hotel for an hour reading scandalous magazines about the Bollywood stars we are now versed in.

The next day there were two holidays celebrated in Pondy. The first was the Hindu celebration of color - Holi. Holi is mostly celebrated in the North but the guys we had the bonfire with a few days before invited us to celebrate with them. Some of us Prime Trime volunteers were enjoying lunch at a nice cafe in the French district with the band of Holi celebratees rush in, covered in paint. Purple and blue and fluorescent pink stained their clothes, hair and skin. I immediately settled my bill and ran outside, to see a group of about twenty people doused in color. It was quite a sight as they all stood by the motorbikes shouting, "come on! let's go!" I found the guy who drove me to the beach last time and instantly felt hands smearing my cheeks, hair and arms in paint. In two seconds I was covered. The rest of the volunteers come outside with the same expression I wore... of "ohhhh my god...." and jump in the fun. And once again, we hop on some motorbikes and wind through the busy Indian traffic. We were quite the sight to see. About ten motorbikes full of painted people just driving into the wind. We all went to some house and had a little party of Bacardi Breezers, bhang, and Bollywood dancing. Around 5 in the evening it was time to head out... and shower. Juliana and I were celebrating our 4 months of travel that day, so we had a delicious meal where we toasted our travels and walked home after the city's 11 o'clock curfew. I loved walking the forty-five minutes home after curfew. The city is quiet, for once. The air is cool, for once. And! This was an indeed special day to walk home at night, because we saw the tail-end of the day's Tamil festival, where floats of gods are taken through the streets and dipped into the ocean. They are taken back to their respective temples at night... and we ran into about five or six floats of dressed-up gods on our walk home. It was such a sight! There were men walking with the floats playing instruments, sadhus sitting on the floats taking donations of bananas and people standing outside of their houses paying respect to the gods as they went by. Twas indeed a good day.

I'm running low on time an just wrote a LOT more than I was expecting to about Pondy. Maybe I'll just list some of my favorite moments on the islands...
-Renting a scooter and driving through rice fields and palm trees to a beach to watch the sun set over the west coast.
-Skinny dipping under a blanket of stars.
-Hopping among sand mounds in the ocean during the low tide.
-Philosophizing about existential issues with a group of Frenchies I met on the beach one night... and singing "Under the Bridge" with them.
-Realizing how happy/content I am by myself and knowing that I can travel alone.
-Dancing the night away with Israelis.
-Drinking at least three cups of mango juice a day... at 10 rupees each! (25 cents..!!!)
-Starting my morning with yoga under palm trees.
-Walking among tsunami ruins with my favorite Swede.
-Snorkeling. Tropical fish. Corals.
-Spending hours in hammocks... reading, writing, napping.

Good god I love island life.

And now I'm off to Bangkok. Thank you, India. See you next time.

Top Ten

I just took Juliana to the airport. She's heading home. It's the end of an era. Our trip in India is over.

Of course, I'm still in India... but I feel like I left about a week and a half ago. We said goodbye to Pondicherry on March 2nd and headed to Chennai, where we flew to the Andaman Islands, aka paradise. The Andaman Islands are a two hour flight southeast of Chennai. I didn't know they existed before coming to South India, where we heard delights of white beaches and florescent blue waters. The travelers we met that had been to the islands just had that twinkle in their eye when they looked at you and said, "You need to go there, man. It's paradise." So that was that.

In an effort to say goodbye to India, Juliana and I composed some lists, top-ten style. Sure, sure, they're not really in order and there are well more than ten components. But hey, if India has taught me anything, maybe it doesn't matter.

Things I Learned in India
1. Everything and anything is possible. As long as you can pay for it.
2. Smile with your eyes.
3. It's better to spike dark drinks, and a prescription bottle makes the best flask.
3. Never make eye contact with Mepal.
4. Don't hike 30 minutes in a wet bathing suit.
5. Pay attention to car horns.
6. We're all capable of loving everyone.
7. True education aids in bringing to surface the infinite hoard of wisdom within.
8. You never know. Failure opens as many doors as success.
9. Not everything on the menu is always available. Sometimes, there is no menu. And it doesn't matter; just sit down and enjoy the most delicious and spicy meal of your life... with your right hand.
10. Just say yes. Why not?
11. When on the back of a motorcycle, surrender.
12. Life is too short to wear boring clothes. The more color, more sparkle, and more textured fabric, the better.
13. You can pray to an elephant or a monkey or a blue man... You can make Buddha a reincarnation of Vishnu... you can have whatever creation story you want. It's all the same. Same same, but different.
14. When you're encircled by 15 rickshaw drivers wanting your business of 50 Indian people pushing in line for a ferry ticket, just laugh, hold your ground and keep out your elbows.
15.The best of humanity and the worst of humanity can exist side by side.
16. Our lives are impermanent.
17. The best dance moves involve "lightbulb screwing," shoulder shimmying and hip thrusts on your tippy toes.
18. Embrace silliness. Life is too short to be serious.
19. Time is not of the essence. Take a chai break.
20. We already know everything.

You Know You're in India When...
1. Everyone in the restaurant has a mustache.
2. You get on a bus that's an hour late, only to wait another half an hour while all the arm rests are attached.
3. Some sort of meat is marinating in the bathroom.
4. The fire extinguisher is decorated in light-up sparkly stuff.
5. The tailors says to be there at 7 am sharp. You go at 8:30. The sotre doesn't even open until 10.
6. You realize you need to buy a dishtowel, or toothpaste, or batteries while you're on the train. No worries, someone will come by selling it.
8. Everyone at the local store is 8 years old or younger.
9. Your bus takes a chai break.
10. You feel overwhelmed and hot and dirty and so uncomfortable you just need to sit down and take a breath. And in the process you're delving deep and questioning everything you thought you knew about life and death and order and chaos. And you shook around and spat back out again, and you just laugh. And see the beauty in it all.

Best Quotes
1. "Every man all over the world does not want the same thing every night. Every man not want chicken every night."
2. Mepal: "First you drink the whiskey, then you drink the bhang lassi..."
Me: "Mepal! That's cross fading!!"
3. "I mean, I'm not talking about anything bold here, like asking, 'wanna go eat some chicken?' Just maybe sitting really close, taking pictures and then following him."
4. "The fact that it goes that deep is really cool... I mean, not that you peed in your pants..."
5. "Anna, I ask of you again, do not drink the toilet water!"
6. Juliana: "Do you think our room is safe?"
Me: "I think so, really only a midget could fit through that window... and I have not seen any midgets in town..." (completely serious)
7. "Our experience with English guys is kinda like Goldilocks and the three bears."
8. "I've been watching Mel Gibson, Tom Hanks, and Russel Crowe... and now I've been watching you..."
9. "I vas just standing there talking to a midget. And it vas very distressing to realize, no? Ha ha ha ha ha!" (A fellow traveler talking about his experience on acid)
10. "You don't really have a foot. It's all an illusion."
11. "A cat box? A box for cats?"
12. A flyer we received in Goa said, No bullshit, just pure psytrance
"Well that's good. You can tell when it's not pure, cut up with other trance. You get a headache in the morning."
13. "You eat 25 chapatis a day? You, sir, are a chapati MONSTER!"
14. "And you know, a dead dog in a duffle bag is really hard to carry up the tube stairs."
15. "Have you considered looking into the connection between hipsters and Indian mustaches?"
16. "People will hear Anna and think 'elephant.' Then they will look at you and think, 'elephant?' No, no. More like a squirrel. A squirrel is a very lovely animal with a big, bushy tail..."
17. "You are a dive PERVERT! You weren't interested in my bubbles, were you? I bet there are magazines for people like you! You've already been certified, haven't you? That's why you had to do SSI. You're probably in the fish section - there's a sign that says, 'beware of this one!'"
18. "I will bite you so hard you will not be able to go to the Andamans!"
Rik: "That's a really weird thing to say."

That's all the listing I'll be doing for now. Of course there are more, but I have to catch a ferry in an hour back to paradise (Havelock Island)... and away from the internet.

The next time I'll be checking the internet, I'll be en route to Thailand... for an epic reunion at the Starbucks on the 3rd floor at Bangkok's main terminal...!!!!

All the small things

No - unfortunately - this is not a Blink 182 tribute.

It's a tribute to the small things. Of Pondicherry. Or, rather, of Rainbow Nagar, which is my neighborhood in Pondicherry. A toast, if you will, to the small things of Rainbow Nagar:

To the juice stand man.
Twenty rupees (less than fifty cents) for fresh-squeezed juice. Orange juice, pineapple juice, grape juice, pomegranate juice... some fruit-that-I-don't-even-recognize juice. I really have never appreciated grape juice until India. Who knew it could be so good? The preservatives, the sugar, the ... extra liquid-y stuff added to every grape juice I've ever tasted, and ... I think you'd be skeptical too. Well, I decided to give it a shot. There's this little fruit juice shop on the street corner, with this one little man inside. He sits in the shade all day until a customer walks up to his stall. Then, he - slowly - stands up, grabs some fruit hanging on the ceiling, and starts a'juicin' (<-- can that be a word?). Pours it into a little glass cup, throws in a little straw. And sits back down. In the shade. But, I might add, I've watched the evolution of our friendship and I think he puts a little more effort into my grape juice these days. What started as a simple, "Grape juice." "Thank you." conversation has flourished into "What are you doing in Pondicherry?" and "What do you want today?" Bff.

To sitting on the back of a motorcycle, weaving through Indian traffic.
Anyone that has done this knows this doesn't need an explanation.

To those sassy ladies in the beauty parlor.
I walked into the "A/C Ladies Beauty Parlor" with the intention of having my eyebrows "threaded." The lights were off, the front room empty. "Hello?," I called out. Two women, maybe in their thirties, came rushing out of the back with huge smiles. They sat me down in a brown high-chair and carefully examined my eyebrows, before examining everything else I need to do to make myself more beautiful. Creams, waxing, henna, tattoos... "Do you have any tattoos??," they asked so excitedly. "Yes..." I replied. I pulled up the leg of my left pant as they pulled out their camera phones. I think the photo shoot took more time than they spent on my eyebrows. Then we chatted some more about Indian beauty products. Then they showed me pictures of their entire families. I loved it.

To the "shortcut street."
We found a faster way to get to the main road. It's only one block closer, but it means we don't have to walk on the bustling "S-curve" to get to the main road. The shortcut street is the road on the left, after the banana stand. Every time I take it, I remember where I am. Slums. Garbage. Dogs with some sort of... something - disease or scars or utters that need to be milked. The first time we found the shortcut street, we didn't even notice the dogs. I don't know how. We weren't paying attention. These things can go unnoticed, when there is so much going on around you. You're making sure that you don't get run-over by a motorbike, or that you aren't stepping in something questionable. But the second time, maybe because it was a little more familiar and we knew where we were going, we noticed. We didn't talk. I think we may have even gasped. Families squatting around a small fire. Goats standing on trash piles taller than I am. Remember where you are.

To the ladu-sellers.
There's a trend in India. Where there is one cell-phone store, there are ten other cell-phone stores. Where there is one plastic furniture store, there are ten other plastic furniture stores. Where there is some restaurant with the word "King" in the name, there are ten other restaurants with "King" in the title. I think you get the idea. Well, Rainbow Nagar has sweet shops. Maybe twenty sweet shops. I resisted the Indian sweets at first. They were just too sweet. And I have a sweet tooth, so just know, that me saying this... well, sometimes Indian sweets taste like a spoonful of sugar mixed with melted sugar on top of it. They're just too sweet. But, as I have recently found since living in Rainbow Nagar, sometimes they are the most glorious tasting sweets one can imagine, like the ladu. A ladu is a mixture of chickpeas, saffron, almonds, raisins, and cardamon.. which is fried in some sugar mixture. It's incredible. And only 5 rupees.

To the women I pass on the street.
There is something so special about traveling as a woman in India (not that I would travel as a man...?). Being able to interact with Indian women is not something Western men would get to do. And, likewise, I don't interact with Indian men in the same way that Western men would... but I can still talk to Indian men, without too many social taboos being broken. But I'm not talking about the men. I'm talking about the women, and how it feels when you are walking along the street, and you see a woman walking towards you. And she's staring - directly into your eyes. No blinking. No smile. In fact, she looks like she's judging you. And you, for a moment, freak out and look away - avoid eye contact - because in your culture, that is just plain rude. You don't stare at people like that. Why is she staring at me like that? My shoulders and knees are covered. I'm even wearing a churidar. I'm trying! Can't you see??
Ok, enough. I've been here long enough to know that staring at someone in India is different than staring at someone at home. It's not rude.
So I've taken a different approach. I stare back. Into her eyes. And then I smile. And she looks shocked, just for a second. She didn't expect that. And then she smiles back at me, and we hold that smile and those locked eyes until we pass each other. It's one of the single most beautiful things I've experienced while being here.

To all the small things.

To the broken sidewalks.
Back home, you can tell someone is local by the way they cross the street. It's kind of the same thing here. In the States, at a busy cross-walk, locals start crossing the street before anyone else. They know the light is about to turn red, and they know that the little, white walking man is about to appear. They know it's safe to start crossing. Kind of the same thing here. Kind of. But instead of knowing when the "walk" sign is about to turn, locals know where on any given street one can walk. I'm aware, this sounds really ... obvious. But it's not like I'm saying, a local person knows they can walk on a sidewalk, or the road...? It's different. On some blocks, there is no sidewalk. On others, there is construction. On others, there are some gaps between large square-shaped rocks, so you either have to jump and hope you don't land in the gutter (and God only knows what's in there), or you know to take a different route. Sometimes you're walking along the sidewalk and then all of a sudden you're in the midst of twenty men socializing at a chai stand and they aren't about to move for you, so you better walk around. Or maybe there's a forty-foot stretch of sidewalk behind a few trucks where no one walks, because it smells like urine. Because you're basically walking through an outdoor urinal. These things... a local would know. So, that being said, to the broken sidewalks! And knowing where they are! And feeling completely calm walking into the street, dodging rickshaws and motorbikes and then knowing where the sidewalks begins again.

To my rooftop.
Epic. Not so epic before 4 pm. Then you'd be fucking crazy to go up there. Too. Hot. But after 4... you start to feel the ocean breeze. But it's still probably too hot. So let's say 5 pm. Roll out my yoga mat. Sun salutations, watching the sun start to fall. Watching it turn into that red, Indian sunset. I don't know what the deal is, why the sun here always turns red during a sunset. I've never seen anything quite like it, actually. There is this moment during the sunset here (and by here, I mean India, not Pondicherry)... the sun morphs from this yellow pulsing thing taking over the entire sky... into a single, red circle. It's like clockwork, how this happens. Always a red circle, with no rays. And I watch it, every day, from my rooftop.

To all the small things.

Pictures of Kerala, Goa and Hampi

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2595258&id=1222825&l=3d445623e5

Unpacked

And just like that, phase 3 is over.

I unpacked my bag. Decorated my new room. Watched episodes of The Office online. I feel exhausted and very pleased to be in one city for the next month.

I'm back in Pondicherry. This city is so calm (by Indian standards); it's a great place to be settled. The house we're living in is pretty sweet. Two stories, with a big open room for sitting, 24/7 internet and skype access, a rooftop, cute wicker furniture, a kitchen... unlimited purified water! The best part is definitely being in an Indian neighborhood. No tourists. There are no hotels or guesthouses around, and there is no way I would have found a house like this if I were only staying a few days.

So where did I last leave off... ah, Goa. Seems so long ago. Like this blurry dream. Or maybe I was just in my own blurry haze...

Either way, I'm glad we decided one week of dancing with Russian tourists to psytrance was enough.

We took an overnight bus to Hampi from Goa. Juliana and I have definitely become accustomed to being in some seriously uncomfortable sleeping situations and not complaining... but you should have seen this bus. It was a "sleeper" bus... so of course, the photos any tour operator shows you are pictures of an actual bed in the bus. Obviously, one cannot take this seriously. The "bed" that Juliana and I shared was tiny. The two of us fit, like sardines. Perhaps a blessing in disguise, as the bus was freezing and I had only one sheet. So, we spooned.

Hampi is one of the coolest towns I've ever visited. It's in the state of Karnataka, which hasn't been hit by massive tourism - yet - and has this desert-like quality of Rajasthan... without the camels. It has a colorful bazaar within the town, but the once powerful Hindu empire it once was stretches on for miles in each direction, scattered with abandoned temples and boulders. Massive boulders. Beautiful, stacked boulders that make you think perhaps a giant piled rocks on top of each other to remember its hiking path.

Hampi was also the prime of Juliana and my silliness. Juliana and I laugh, a lot. It's one of the best parts about traveling together. We have a very similar humor and I think, more often than not, we laugh a little too hard. To the point that we're crying from laughter and people are looking at us like... what is really that funny? But we can't help it.

Sometime during the first month of travel, J & I talked about the potentially problematic situation of spending too much time together : we have no censor. No one from the outside world to tell you when we are getting too silly, when maybe we're being too ridiculous. Maybe you should buy that really big statue of Ganesh. Maybe you don't need to shower. From the start, I think we knew this point would come in our travels. Well... it happened in Hampi.

We found a guesthouse, set down our bags and headed to the rooftop cafe to fill in the necessary paperwork... which is when we met Simon. The enabler of our silliness. Simon is just as silly as we are. And he's British... which is, perhaps, the same thing as silly.

Simon laughed as we filled out the "police identification" section of the guesthouse's paperwork. We decided the best way for the Hampi police to identify me was "very sunburnt," and Juliana -- "safari shirt." This began our conversation about hat-wear and sun protection... which concluded with: Anna needs a hat.

By the way, the sunburn is not my fault. I was part of a sunscreen scam. I bought faulty sunscreen in Goa. SPF 50! I was trying! I lathered up and was not in the sun for more than a few hours... but... I'm pretty sure I just lathered up with just lotion. And I turned into a tomato.

So anyways... back to Hampi. We decided to get me a hat. There were a few shops in the main bazaar selling lots of hats, most not fitting my XL head. One, however, fit perfectly. It was a wide-brimmed straw hat with glittery lace at the edge. It was ridiculous. It IS ridiculous. But Juliana and Simon convinced me that it was ridiculous in this kind of fabulous way. And that I looked like I should be drinking sweet lemon tea and knitting while I wore it. And that IF this hat had a personality, it's name would be Maude.

Naturally, Juliana's hat needed a name. We decided on Gil. Gil subtlety disapproves of almost everything Maude does. If he had a celebrity look-a-like, it'd be Indiana Jones. Quite a duo, these two.

Thus evolved the beginning of the silliest four days yet. The three of us laughed about everything from Maude and Gil's adventures to our million-dollar idea of cat-shaped Cat-carrying boxes to tales of Dancing Shiva stepping on dwarves to Simon's custom-made Death costume. I don't think we stopped laughing for four days straight. Actually, that's a complete lie, but when we did stop laughing it was often for moments of ... Where are we? We spent our days exploring boulders and temples on foot and bike, constantly caught off-guard with these vast panoramic landscapes straight out of Land Before Time, or Jurassic Park, or The Flintstones. I think you get the idea.

I think I could've lingered in Hampi for quite some time.

We got on a train at 8 pm. Got off at 7 am. Got on a bus at 8 am. Got off the bus at 5 pm. Got on another bus at 7 pm. Arrived in Pondicherry at 11 pm.

This volunteering business is going to be challenging. Mostly because it'll be about self-motivation. This organization, Prime Trust, does not yet have an environmental branch, and I'm supposed to ... do that. Build some sort of foundation, or something? I'm pretty much in the dark here, but no one said an under-funded, somewhat disorganized NGO in India would be smooth-running.

We had some moments of wondering whether 3-4 weeks would really do anything here... if we could actually accomplish anything, or help anyone. And, we're paying for this opportunity. Paying to volunteer. It's a tricky subject, because one could see it as a mandatory donation to a worthy cause... or, wonder, why do I need to pay to volunteer? Especially on my budget. I'm getting a little nervous about whether or not I'll have enough money to last me through April 17th, so every rupee counts.

J & I went back and forth many times about whether or not we should stay here. But there was this one voice in my head, that persisted, no matter how many times I questioned if volunteering for this NGO was worth it. It was the voice of that shaman from Burning Man, who looked me straight in the eyes. Straight into my soul. He touched my forehead with his index finger, and said, "You need to stop thinking with this..." He moved his finger to my heart. "And start thinking with this."

So we're staying. I know this is going to be a really good experience. It feels much more like living in India rather than just traveling through it. Today Juliana and I did some domestic shopping. We bought groceries, toiletries... and... wait for it... INDIAN OUTFITS! Once again, no censor.

check out Prime Trust: www.primetrust.org

Holiday in Goa

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.

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.