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.

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!

(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.

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?

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.

Whirlwind tour time

Today I'm in Madurai; visiting this city's temple will be our last stop in Tamil Nadu. We've hit four cities in the past four days, which has been completely exhausting. This kind of travel is not the kind I like... but our week in Mamallapuram meant we had to speed through the rest of the state, because we are meeting one of Juliana's friends in Kochi, Kerala on January 1st.

It's funny, Mamallapuram really put us off schedule. Not just our timeline schedule, but our internal clock schedule as well. For two months we have been going to bed around nine or ten, waking up around seven... meditating every day, doing yoga, feeling very centered... etc etc... and then Mamallapuram happened: beaches + booze. On the last day we were there, Juliana and I had a nice walk on the beach and kinda admitted to one another how lost we were both feeling.. and that we really needed to get out of Mamallapuram and move on. But that night was really special; our lovely friends all sat on a rooftop with blankets and candles and hung out for the last time... I had this moment of, "oh, this is exactly why we stayed here one week. duh." What a beautiful group of people.

So we left, finally. We took a bus two hours south to Pondicherry, to check out an organization that we are thinking of volunteering for. Well, let me just say, it's funny how things work out. For this one I need to rewind, this story starts back at Burning Man...

It was late morning on Day 4, I believe, and I was waiting at the HeebeeGeebee Healers Group Camp to get a massage. I left for two minutes to pee, and when I come back I find out that my name had been called, I wasn't there, so the masseuse left and said that I could come back that afternoon. So, feeling somewhat defeated (I had been waiting for at least an hour... and really wanted that massage...), I left. Walked outside, and came face-to-face with the Shaman Camp. No idea what it was, I peeked inside the tent... and saw a bunch of shamans drumming and waving feathers and blowing incense to various people. Of course I was intrigued, so I went in and sat down, not having any clue what to expect.

Eventually a shaman comes over to me. He sits right in front of me, so close we're touching knees, and we start talking.

An hour and half later, after I pretty much share my soul with this man - and my tears, and my hugs - I leave. Some crazy stuff happened in there, not like... weird, magic voodoo stuff... but we had this connection, it's hard to describe. And the things we talked about were just so refreshing, it felt like I was being purged almost. Ok BUT, the point of this whole story... is that at the end of my "healing," he told me three things. The first two are irrelevant to this story. The last was that I couldn't just go to India to bum around. I needed to have some purpose. I needed to help people, because that's what I want to do with my life. He told me I would find someone who is working with microfinancing loans to women, and I needed to help this person.

And in due course of the universe just always seeming to work out....

I was sitting in an internet cafe in Darjeeling, late in the afternoon, when the power goes out. Juliana and I start up a conversation with the Irish girl sitting next to us, and before we know it, she's telling us about this volunteering she was doing in Tamil Nadu; an NGO that works with microfinancing loans to women...!!!

I squealed a little bit and took down all the information. Checked out the website, sent over an e-mail, and ... we had a coffee date with the founder.

So, after doing a little of sightseeing in Pondicherry, we met for coffee. Turns out this man has two foundations - one that does microfinancing, awareness and education for women, the other is brand new. It's more on the environmental side of things. When I told him that I studied Sustainable Development in school, his eyes lit up and told me that he has been waiting for people to get involved with Sustainable Development in this organization. And he wants me to start it. To establish a foundation for the program. !!!!

Oh, how things work out.

We'll be heading back to Pondicherry in about a month to start working. But first, we have some traveling to do. I'm feeling exhausted after these past few days but this is not the pace we'll be keeping after tomorrow. Thank god.

In other news, we've been much more adventurous with street food, and our stomachs have been paying for it. What else, what else... the evolution of my ponytail is something I am proud to show Juliana every day. She's not so into it. Oh! something exciting! For the past three days we have successfully navigated the local Indian bus system... we are very proud of ourselves for this. I feel somewhat accomplished to be the only white people in the bus station. I may not speak Tamil, but I can speak hand gestures and head bobs.

Phase 3

A forty-three hour train ride plus three more hours on two different buses plus bed bugs plus some serious sweating and...! We are in the South of India. Specifically, a small town called Mamallapuram. It's teeny tiny but full of tourists, which I have a feeling will be much more of a common theme in the South.

We thought we would only stay in Mamallapuram for one or two nights, but as things typically go, plans change. It's now day... five? And we'll be here through Christmas. How does one get sucked into such a small and touristy beach town? Easy: Characters. A whole slew of ridiculous characters.

Jack takes the cake of characters. We met Jack the second night we were in town, he was hanging in a hammock at a cafe and we sat down on some cushions next to him. So of course, we start chatting, and, well, Let me just tell you about Kung-fu Jack.

Jack is from New Mexico. He is about ... 45 years old (which we can only deduce from his stories -- he looks 30, maybe 35). He's tall, extremely tan and has a very thick black mustache that curves upward a bit on either side. He attended Stanford University, and then dropped out after a couple of years. He hated Stanford and often visited friends at Berkeley over the weekends, and even hung out at Loth (Juliana's co-op... such a small world, as he is the second person we have met that has lived/partied at Loth) back in the day.

After dropping out of Standford, he attended NYU Film School. I don't really know if he ever got a degree there either -- he said he NYU only likes narrative films, and he just doesn't. So the next obvious step: staring in Kung Fu movies!

He became a kung-fu movie star in Singapore for the next few years, until he had enough money to retire in the Himalayas for fifteen years. Later we find out that by "retire," he meant that he was living in an ashram for some time, and when his guru died, he was appointed the new guru. So among over things, Jack also has thousands of devotees.

He moved down to Mamallapuram a couple of years ago after running out of money, and currently stars in Kollywood films being produced in Tamil Nadu.

This is Kung-fu Jack's life. Notorious in Mamallapuram for walking around in just aviators, mustache and skirt, Jack is quite the show stopper.

Yesterday morning, just as Juliana and I are getting out of bed, we hear a knock on the door. It's Jack. And he asks us if we want to be in extras in a Kollywood film. We'd get paid 1000 Rs, in addition to free food. So although we were planning to leave Mamallapuram that morning, we decide to switch things up, and we say yes.

Our little family in Mamallapuram is growing; last night we shared food and drink at a long table with Indians, Swedes, Brits, Germans, Austrians, and other Americans, laughing about our newly acclaimed movie-star status and then getting thick into some heavy conversation. Joints were passed and the crashing sounds of the Bay of Bengal kept us until 2 am - way past our typical bedtime of 10 o'clock.

This is Phase 3 of our journey. Conveniently, this trip seems to be split up into four phases. Phase 1 was cultural stimulation and feeling overwhelmed and maybe a little lost about the "whys" of me being here. Phase 1 was North India, it was color, and desert and turbans and camels and palaces. Phase 2 was spiritual stimulation. Finding myself within the craziness of it all, acknowledging the constant change of everything - within me and outside of me. Phase 2 blew my fucking mind.

So Phase 3. Beaches. Maybe a little bit more relaxing, maybe staying out a little longer, soaking up the Indian coastline...

Quite a scenery change. It's quite nice.

The Mother Ganga

Benares is a a place that makes you question everything the Western, rational scientific way of thinking has ever taught you to think.

Built alongside the Ganges River - or the Ganga, as it's known here - pilgrims flock from all over India to cremate their loved ones in Benares's cremation ghat. It's a city built to honor one of the holiest rivers in Hinduism, The Mother Ganga. The Ganga is a goddess, it is a tradition, it is creation, it is destruction... it is impermanence.

Pilgrims bathe in the Ganga, they drink the Ganga, do their laundry in the Ganga, deposit corpses and ashes in the Ganga... Hindus worship everything-Ganga.

Now for something I read in Lonely Planet: The water in the Ganges River contains 60,000 faecal coliform bacteria per 100 ml, 120 times the official limit of 500 faecal coliforms/100ml that is considered safe for bathing. So people are bathing, drinking, doing their laundry and leaving their deceased family members in one of the dirtiest rivers in the world, a river swimming in infection, sewage and industrial waste.

Tell this to a devotee, knee-deep in The Mother Ganga, praising Shiva - The Destroyer - for all that is life and death, and rebirth, and The Cycle... and that devotee will call YOU crazy. What do you mean dirty? This is sacred, this is what life is about.. this IS life. Drinking and bathing in the Ganga can purify your soul of past sins and alleviate all sicknesses.

And it is full of feces.

Juliana and I took a boat ride along the Ganga to watch as the sun rose over Benares. It was surreal - shocking, pulsing, beautiful - it was everything. And at one point, Juliana said, "I can't imagine anything worse than to fall into this river. I would need to be rushed to an emergency room, stat."

I agreed and shivered thinking about all of the disgusting scabies I'd acquire if I just touched this water. Ew.

And then you look up and watch people completely immersed, hands up, tears streaking their faces, so thankful to be in this holiest of holy rivers. Makes you question everything.

Darjeeling Debrief

We came to Darjeeling to rest. The quiet hill town, full of tea and snow-capped mountains, was meant to rejuvenate. And yet, it was incredibly overwhelming. Not in the way India is overwhelming... but because in the way it is so un-Indian.

It was a long, 24-hour journey. We left Varanasi around 4 pm sometime last week with mixed emotions. Varanasi is an incredible, spiritual, pulsing city, but our non-refundable train ticket and limited cash meant we were headed to the Himalayan Mountains, whether we liked it or not.

After getting yelled at by the Station Manager for asking too many questions, we found our train and met our newest batch of single-serving friends; our train birth was complete with the quintessential French couple, a Punjabi man in the Indian army and a Delhi businessman selling PVC pipes (which were fully stocked in his briefcase).

Juliana and I, now pros at Indian conversation (i.e. every personal question you can imagine about marriage, jobs, income, and caste), easily make new bffs. The Frenchies took some warming up... I think they were a little taken aback when I started asking them really personal questions, and Juliana reminded me that even though we're in India, not everyone is okay with this.

The Punjabi guy pulled out his liter bottle of home-made sugar-cane alcohol and wanted to start a party. Food was passed around and our little family birth was born. Perhaps most notable was the PVC salesman telling us a story about a time he got too drunk, poured his roommate's shampoo down the toilet, flooded the bathroom, and never drank again... ???

Fast-forward fourteen hours and we arrive in Siliguri. We find a shared jeep with the French couple and take a bouncy three-hour ride up the hill to Darjeeling.

After finding a hotel, etc etc, we do a little walking around town, when Juliana stops and says, "Do you realize what's happening right now?" I didn't know what she was talking about. "What?," I said. "No one is talking to us."

I didn't even notice. But holy shit, no one was talking to us. There was no, "Madam, madam, come look at my shop, you want scarf?" There was no, "Madam, madam, where you going? You want rickshaw?" ... Nothing. No one was staring. No one was hassling. We were totally confused. We were not in India anymore.

We were in Ghorkaland. Little did we know that Darjeeling is part of a fairly intense separatist movement, trying to establish Ghorkaland as a new state. In Ghorkaland, no one speaks Hindi - Nepalese is the local language - and most of the population consists of Tibetans and Nepalese. Buddhist monasteries abound the region and most people practice some mix of Hinduism and Buddhism. Northface gear and tight black jeans are the norm and young couples hold hands on the street. People are allowed to get love marriages (instead of arranged marriage, which 99% of the Indian people we've met thus far have), and the caste system is diminishing as more and more people with different faiths and castes intermix.

J & I needed to debrief. We sat for two cups of Darjeeling tea in a very British bakery and once again, couldn't believe our eyes. There were women working at the bakery, and there were more locals than foreigners eating there. Trust me, I know how ridiculous this sounds from a Western point of view. But it's different here. I never see women working at the forefront of a business. Never. And although we do try and go to local eateries as much as possible, there is a certain type of person (i.e. tourist or very Westernized Indian) who eat at such European-influenced restaurants. But not in Darjeeling.

I just didn't understand. All of these nice luxuries were so affordable in Darjeeling. All the kids went to school in uniforms, the roads were maintained, I saw maybe two beggars the entire time I was there... it just didn't make any sense. Why was the rest of India ... so poor?

I mean, I guess it makes some sense. Darjeeling exports an insane amount of tea all over the world, in addition to supplying 25% of India's tea. And, when the British set up Darjeeling, they established infrastructure - railroad, schools, hospitals, etc... which is, I'm learning more and more each day, essential.

So anyways, we decided to take a new perspective. We had left India. Mini-vaca to Nepal, and we didn't even need to visa.

Darjeeling certainly had its fair share of characters. Perhaps taking the cake was the "Five-second lady," who describes herself as the five-second lady, claiming her world-status for brewing tea in five seconds. Her tea plantation sells tea exclusively to Harrod's, but she sells under the radar, out of a big burlak sack in her living room. Classic.

We also met the most enthusiasic travel agent in the world. After realizing that we couldn't buy train tickets out of Siliguri from the inept Darjeeling train station, we stumbled into a travel agency - which was one tiny room, with one desk, with one enthuastic man, with an even more enthuastic mustache. Everything he said, he said with such passion, his eyes almost popping out of his head, his mustache bouncing up and down. When we were having some trouble finding an affordable ticket from Varanasi to Chennai, he cried out loud, "Oh this is SO HORRIBLE! Isn't this HORRIBLE, Juliana?! ISN'T THIS HORRIBLE?" And then he would pull out his giant map and start plotting new train routes, as if he were Sherlock Holmes and no matter what, he would find a way to get us there !!!!

I could go on with the character list, but Darjeeling turned out to be much more than that. We visited monasteries, accidentally attended a wedding after-party, and cozied up next to fireplaces, actually feeling like winter was upon us for the first time.

Homesickness crept in with the cold weather, and so Darjeeling also became a time of internal reassurance, and external gratitude. I've found that almost anything can be cured by Vipassana and laughing.. separately, of course.

Separatist protests for Ghorkaland forced us to leave a day early. Tourists and locals alive left in masses yesterday morning. So now I'm back in Siliguri, about to get on a train, back to Varanasi. For the third time.

Well, we tried

It sounds pretty hard-core.

Juliana and I were trekking in the Himalayan Mountains in Nepal, on our way to see a panoramic view of the highest mountains in the world, including Mt. Everest. Unfortunately, we had not acclimatized enough... even after spending three nights in Darjeeling.. and suffered some pretty gnarly altitude sickness, forcing us to turn around.

In all actuality, being sick was pretty shitty. We had a night of tag-team vomiting that I wish didn't happen.

On the upside.. we did get an incredible view of Mt. Kanchenjunga, the world's third largest mountain... and its surrounding range, which is also known as the Sleeping Buddha. We also spent an extra night in this little house in the mountains, owned by a Tibetan family who were amazing in every sense of the word. The father, who spoke English fairly well, told us about his father's stories in Tibet (who was also living there, after escaping Chinese prison from jumping out of a third story window), and we ate momos and drank fermented oats (also known as Tibetan wine), nursing us back to health.

Getting to know our 22-year old guide, Nashant, was also a huge plus. After he drank three goblets of fermented oats (and to put that in perspective, J & I split one), he told us all about the Buddhist girl he plans to run away with and marry in the mountains (he, being Hindu.. makes this a bit scandelous). We explained to him that WWF was indeed not real, and how American football is actually played, both of which he was very thankful to know.

One of the most memorable moments during our stay with the Tibetan family was when I woke from an afternoon nap and walked by myself to the monastery down the hill, which looked like it were sitting in the clouds. Being there in complete silence, and stillness, left me feeling like being sick was totally OK. Adorned with prayer flags, the monastery was also decorated with little signs... which are certainly making more sense to me post-Vipassana. I took a picture of one of them, which said:

"May travelers upon the road find happiness no matter where they go,
And may they gain, without the need of toll, the goals on which they set their hearts."

Vipassana Meditation

Juliana and I signed up for a 10-day Vipassana Meditation course, as taught by S.N. Goenka, in a small Buddhist town called Sarnath, about 10 km outside of Varanasi.
Just as a set up... I have never meditated seriously before, the longest time I've sat for was 30 minutes. Sure, I've taken a few meditation courses through my university, but it was never getting deep into a specific type of practice... they've been more of survey classes. So when Juliana told me about this course, and what kind of impact it had on her life (she has taken one in California), I didn't really think what it meant to be meditating for 10 hours every day, for 10 days, in complete silence. No talking, no writing, no reading. Every day wake up at 4 am, and lights out each night at 9:30 pm.

I could not have been more unprepared. To begin with, I had no idea why I was there. I knew that I liked meditating, I liked yoga, I liked spending some time by myself, but I did not realize just how serious this practice was.

And looking back, I don't know if there was anything more meant for me, at this particular time and place. We forget how little time we spend looking inward. I can't remember a day of my life I spent by myself, with no distraction. Even if I were silent for an entire day, I was still distracted by external forces... the Internet, the television, advertisements... it could be anything. The amount of time we spend looking at an external reality -- a superficial reality -- is almost every minute of every day. And I don't mean to blame it.. I don't mean to come down hard on myself or anyone else for living in such a superficial reality, because how can we help it? It's funny, both Juliana and I thought about Sex and the City at one point during the retreat, and it's sad really, what emphasis externalities play in the happiness of those characters. And I grew up on it. I grew up identifying with one character or another, wanting Carrie Bradshaw's wardrobe or job, thinking in terms of making my surroundings good, so that I could be happy. This is our society. This is how we deal with our problems -- externally, and not internally.

I cried four times while at the center.
On the first day, I sobbed, in my own room, and plotted my escape. I decided this was not what I wanted and I had no idea why I was there, and I couldn't believe I was wasting my precious time in India to be locked up in this center, and I even broke the rule that says you're not supposed to read, and I looked up some different Yoga ashrams in Varanasi that I could stay at when I left in the morning.
Then I watched the Discourse that night (every night, we watched a 90 minute video of Goenka explaining the practice and philosophy of Vipassana), and I settled down. Goenka has this way of saying exactly what you're thinking. He talked about how so many human beings are on this mission their whole lives to find real truth and happiness... and they talk about it, and they read about how to do, but they do not do it. They do not do. Here it was -- here was this path to enlightenment, to real truth, to breaking the chains of attachment -- and I was complaining and crying about how my back hurt. I always talk about doing, I'm a huge believer in it... and yet there I was, refusing to do. Goenka also said something like, "You think you cannot do it. Your body wasn't made for sitting for this long. But that's only because you aren't used to it." I realized at this moment I had to stick it out.

Day 3 I cried again, after our teacher called us up individually for some Q&A, and he commented on how I cannot sit still for more than 5 minutes. He said, "You move every 1, 2, 5 minutes. How can a mother bathe her child if the child's always moving around?" Kind of a funny example, but I wondered, why couldn't I sit still? Why could I not control myself to just sit still? A lot came up. I went pretty deep into myself, my "subconscious"... and I questioned this. A lot came up. Feelings that I have suppressed for years came up, feelings that I never wanted to look in the face. Well, I finally did. And I sat with these feelings, and looked at them objectively, and let myself go deeper.
Goenka often describes Vipassana as surgery of the mind. Like in surgery, if there is a wound very deep, one must cut through other wounds first. And as one goes through these wounds, puss comes up. And it's not pretty. Well, I was going through these gnarly-looking puss-filled wounds, and watching them ooze out.

And in every one-hour sitting after this moment, I did not even flinch.

On Day 6, I cried again. But this was a different cry. I was eating lunch and all of a sudden, I was completely overwhelmed. I was thinking about the past few days, what I had gone through emotionally and physically, and I was simply shocked. Tears started flowing, out of pure happiness. It was this moment that I realized, Every moment, every single emotion and conversation and happening of my entire life, has been leading up to this moment. And this moment is perfect. I knew this thought, and this feeling, were not permanent, I knew it would pass away. But I was filled with a calmness that I cannot even describe.

Day 9... oh, day 9. The retreat was nearly finished, I had worked through some pretty serious issues that had been hiding in the depths of my mind, and I was feeling very content. Then there was this moment. I just finished eating lunch, and I was sitting outside, on a brick stoop, and I look up to see one of the elderly Indian women sitting on another brick stoop across from me. She had long, gray hair and held her face in her weathered hands. She sat there, in silence, but looked as though she was about to cry. I realized at this moment, what impermanence truly means. During the entire retreat, Goenka always emphasizes impermanence. Everything is impermanent, rising and passing away, rising and passing away. Every emotion is impermanent, always changing, which is why we cannot become attached to anything, and this is how we become liberated. For me, this meant my thoughts were impermanent, these deep-rooted emotions were impermanent, and I was working to let them go. But for this Indian women, who had to be well into her 70s, maybe 80s (because you really can never tell with Indian people), all this talk about impermanence ... well, she was probably thinking more about the impermanence of life, rather the impermanence of emotions.
The impermanence of life -- death. Who has not experienced it? Who will not experience it? Every single living being will someday die; that is the law of nature. So why cling to anything that is impermanent? It will pass away, rise and pass away. Change is the only constant.

Vipassana meditation has no mantra, nor does one use any visualization. Rather, you just observe what is. As it is.

the beginning

I can't explain exactly what prompted starting a blog.
Maybe it was the absence of my journal at the meditation retreat I just finished. Maybe it was my sudden desire to start writing in a new way.
Either way, I realized my journal writing and mass e-mails wasn't enough.. anyone who knows me well knows that I love stories, so maybe this will just be my new outlet.

So just some background.. I'm backpacking around India. This is my second long-term overseas adventure, the first being an eight-month trip around Western Europe, Morocco, and Southeast Asia. The main difference between that trip and this one is that this time, I don't have to go back to school in September. I don't have a return flight home yet, and really have no idea where I'll be next week. I'm just going with the flow, and living very much with the present.

My attitude to be in the present moment has been developing more and more in the past few years, but it was certainly this meditation retreat that brought it to a whole new level. That shall be my next entry.

As for the title of this blog, and the quote at the beginning... well, those who know me well know it's my favorite passage, and quite fitting for an attitude of Be Here Now. Unfortunately the 500-word limit will not permit me to write the entire Tom Robbins quote at the top, so I'll do it here:

"Bonk! went the clockworks, and then it went poing! And unlike the chimes of a regular clock, which announce, on schedule, the passing - linear and purposeful - of another hour on the inexorable march toward death, the clockworks chime came stumbling out of left field, hopping in one tennis show, unconcerned as to whether it was late or early, admitting to neither end nor beginning, blissfully oblivious of any notion of progression or development, winking, waving, and finally turning back upon itself and lying quiet, having issued a breathless, giddy signal in lieu of steady tick-and-tock, a signal that, decoded, said, "Take note, dear person, of your immediate position, become for a second exactly identical with yourself, glimpse yourself removed from the fatuous habits of progress as well as from the tragic implications of destiny, and, instead, see that you are an eternal creature fixed again the wide grin of the horizon; and having experienced, thus, what it is like to be attuned to the infinite universe, return to the temporal world lightly and glad-hearted, knowing that all the art and science of the twentieth century cannot prevent this clock from striking again, and in no precisioned Swiss-made mechanism can the reality of this kind of time be surpassed. .........................................................Bonk!"