I spent today online downloading travel documents and buying supplies in Delhi for my trip to Egypt tomorrow. It's funny - I feel so at home in India that I want to make sure I transact all of my e-business and purchase of toiletries here. Chances are Egypt is every bit as e-resourceful and western consumer oriented. But, one never knows until one goes. All I know is that I really like India. A lot. Things continue to unfurl in a lyrical wave of motion and movement: unbroken wholeness in flowing movement, indeed!
So, a while ago, friends from Leh who owned La Pizzeria offered me a free beach shack if I'd teach yoga at their new resort/restaurant in Mandrem Beach, Goa. I said maybe, but thought not, b/c I imagined Goa to be a party place. Then, I looked into it and found it to be idyllic, peaceful and beautiful. I have really been missing the water in my travels. I also miss a rigorous yoga routine and want to study a bit more. What do you know? I looked at the only yoga school near Mandrem and they have a teacher training course from 10/19-11/16 and it's vinyasa, ashtanga, dancing, creative arts, bhakti...in short, all the stuff I love - on the beach! So, I applied with a hopeful wish and a chant to Ganesh and whoopdeedoo I was offered the last slot - a walk in slot - that is perfect for me b/c I'll live in the beach shack nearby. Kismet coalesces again! (BTW, my spelling skills are clearly atrophying as I can't remember how to spell "coalesce," but you know what I mean...) Thank you, India! The teacher training url is here:
http://www.yogagoaindia.com/yoga_teacher_training.php
On either 10/18 or hopefully 10/17, I fly straight from Cairo to Bombay to Goa to make it in time. Phew! I'm really looking forward to a dedicated practice again. I wanted one more teachers training or a serious ashram stint to conclude the India tour. Now it will be complete and blissful. That is the future. Now, back to the past: Rajastan - also complete and blissful.
We left rainy Mt. Abu and headed for Jodhpur. I wanted to skip this city. I'm glad I didn't. I stayed at Yogi's guest house. Yogi is a young Indian guy who lived two years in San Francisco. We have a bunch of mutual friends - my international party pals of whom Ben, the DJ inBangkok who I first stayed with on this journey, is a part. Small world. Yogi explained that he has an entire warehouse full of Rajastani furniture in CA waiting to be sold. Throughout Rajastan, I've repeatedly found myself saying "perhaps I should become a buyer or an interior designer, specializing in India and Mughal design" b/c I take pictures like crazy of color combinations, architectural detail and rich tapestries by the hundred. The stuff just fascinates me. As if I had a light on my head indicating the same, one out of every three shopkeepers or hoteliers would ask me if I was in the design business. Of course, they all thought I was french, too, but that only adds to this fantasy, right? Anyway, when Yogi said this and further explained that his friend in CA is a trusted friend who has handled the matter thus far, but works too hard as an engineer, my interest prongs went up. I postponed my departure from Jodphur for a few hours so I could see his warehouse. The furniture is unique, beautiful, distinctive, custom designed and cheap! This is a real possibility. Yogi also took me to Maharani something-or-other that makes textiles and fabrics. They create fabrics used by Hermes, Versace, etc. and they are gorgeous! I splurged on a silver and golden woven tapestry made in the 17C Mughal style that reminds me of Klimt's 'The Kiss' and wanted to swim in the gorgeous miles and miles of fabric! Now, I have two very solid contacts if I do this business. An interesting prospect, indeed.
We drove through Jaisalmer, stopping at a lovely palace on the water, and on to Sam Desert National Park in time for sunset. We settled into one of the luxury tent villages and for 1800 rupees (I usually pay 300 rupees max for a room), I got two camel rides (sunset and sunrise), dinner, a cultural performance, a tent w/toilet and shower (bucket water) and breakfast. The best deal I could find.
I invited Kalyan to hop on the back of the camel for the sunset ride and he was elated as this was his first time. He was terrified and made little sounds the entire time. He's very funny! We hopped off atop a sand dune and the gypsy dancers who were following us did a song and dance on the dunes as the sun set behind them. The dunes were small, but lovely. Tourists had spilled out on camels by the busload, so the place was crowded with tourists, gypsies, camels and muslim camel riders in turbans and long flowing white garments. There were also beatles and the little tracks they made across the sand were every bit as intricate and decadent as the mughal motifs adorning the palaces of Rajastan.
We returned for tea and dinner, after which the resident Gypsy troupe of three sisters did a dance replete with spinning, clanging bells, dark eyes, brilliant uniforms and graceful moves including brass bowls balancing on one beautiful lady's head, walking on nails and hopping along inside a bowl with said brass bowls balancing on her head. The muslim band sang and played traditional instruments. I was the only westerner at the camp along with two Indian families who looked at me with pity in their eyes as I sat for the performance. Shortly after the performance began, a group of young, hipsters joined the group - they looked Italian in style, but they were Indian. The young daughter of one of the families pulled my hand up to dance with her and the gypsies in the usual touristish bit where the audience dances with the performers. She said during a graceful turn: "that man is a famous bollywood actor - he's on tv." They were all joining us as we danced around the fire. Their moves were good - typical Bollywood. You ever know what can happen in India. Dancing with Bollywood and gypsies around a desert camp? Who knew?
After dinner, I asked if they were from Bombay and asked for suggestions as to where to go. Asif Basra, the actor, gave me his e-mail and cell phone number and an invitation to explore the set with him to see what a day was like. "You can even perhaps get a small part if you're interested," he said. Perhaps. The rest of his pals wrote their cell phone numbers after I told them that I loved Royal Enfields and rode on the back of one across Nepal and throughout Leh. They have a bike club, you see...it's an Enfield thing. They immediately to tout me around Bombay on their bikes when I arrive. I feel very fortunate to have a band of Bollywood crew ready to roll when I hit Bombay. Perhaps the film will roll, too. Asif made a file about a westerner travelling in India, a love story of India, called "Outsourced." I'd like to see it. The gents left to their camp in the dunes and I pulled my bed out of the stifling tent under the stars for a sweet, desert sleep.
The next morning, I went for the sunrise camel safari. It was peaceful and calm and quiet. There was only one other camel out on the dunes. I was alone with the young camel driver. We ran through the dunes for quite some time and spotted a deer. I felt bad for the guy, as this was his only income and he was sweet and innocent. I tipped him 500 rupees just b/c I felt like being very, very generous. The look on his face was priceless - he was beyond thrilled. As soon as we returned to camp, he ran to the others and told them.
Shortly thereafter, the owner, Karim, shouted to me on his way out: "Kyra, you are family now. You have made my cousin very happy. We hope you do not leave. Stay here as my guest, pay what you'd like. And I said "300 rupees?" to which he responded "yes, please stay with us." "You are family." So, I decided to stay another night and see what life in the desert was like. It was hot and boring. The resident gypsies came out of their tents and they tried to show me how to balance the bowls on my head - useless. I braided the youngest gypsy's (about 11 years old) hair and then the beautiful leader asked me to braid hers, too. Kalu, the owner's younger brother (a little older than me), invited me to go to the larger sand dunes about 5 kms away on his motorcyle. I suggested that we take the three gypsy women and Kalu in the a/c car instead. We did. The gypsies and Kalyan sat under the shade of a bush while Kalyan and I walked to the highest dune and chatted in the sun. I covered my head with a scarf and felt very muslim. He told me that he had many western friends and I was like a man to him - part of the family - and not to worry - he could be trusted. Okay. I said I was hot, he stood up and beckoned to me "Come!" and I felt even more muslim as I followed behind him back to the car. When we returned to camp, Karim was there. He professed his undying love to me and asked that I stay as his wife. I politely declined. I later confirmed with Kalyan that Kalyan would sleep somewhere close to my tent. Kalu offered to show me a woman's life (I'd previously said I wanted to know where the women were in India as I never interact with them) and took me to the tent village next door. The women were constructing a wall and we cooed as we petted eachother's clothes and looked at nails, jewelry and eyes. They braided my hair. They asked for chocolate. What woman anywhere in the world doesn't love chocolate? A common bond.
That night, the gypsy girl came to my tent and pulled my hand to her tent. They were getting ready for the night's festivities and put gypsy makeup on me, including kohl eyeliner and glitter. It reminded me of Burning man. We were giggling and having lots of fun being girly and glitzy. They selected an outfit from my comparatively dull wardrobe and cooed as I left for the sand dunes. In the dunes, the Indian men stared at me and the gypsies from the previous night squealed and hugged me in delight as they exclaimed in their native tongue while looking at my sparkling face and dark eyes. We walked to a high dune and were entertained again by another troupe of gypsies. That night, dozens of Indian executives were hamming it up while the gypsies were dancing. The party went on all night. Kalu took us out to the dunes and we slept there. Kalu left and picked us up in the morning. He was angry at Kalyan for sleeping out there with me b/c he wanted to stay with me. Kalyan told him he had no respect. I didn't hear any of this until later. I'm so glad Kalyan was with me. The sand dunes were quiet and lovely - it was very calm and sandy to wake up at sunset and there were little tiny fox footprints next to my head in the sand. I gave the gypsies some clothes, a bra, bubbles and blistex. They gave me a set of colorful bindis and a barrett. The whole camp lined up outside the car as we left and waved until we were out of sight. Both Karim and Kalu have since called me and expressed "I want you." Thank God Kalyan was with me!
We passed through Jaisalmer and I took a tour of the city with another scam artist commission tour guide while Kalyan relaxed in the car. I had Mueslix at a restaurant that was actually puffed rice. When I pointed out that this wasn't mueslix, he said "it's jaisalmer mueslix" - touche. That's what I get for bringing my western notions to India. Good remider. We drove on to Bikaner that night. We saw the fort swelling with Bikaner pride, had a thali, then visited a Disneyized temple with a giant lion's mouth opening up to a giant Ganesh. On either side of the lion's head was a Kali figure and a Hanuman figure. It was just there - on the side of the road - giant cartoon deities larger than life. India is crazy and full of surprises!
That night, a fierce wind and rain storm blew trees across the road as we drove to Mandawa. Of course Kalyan, who stops for chipmunks, stopped the car until it was welll past. Although he's a gentlemen, Kalyan belches openly b/c all men in India do - they never say excuse me and I never get used to it. On our way, we saw two foxes, a herd of deer and two peacocks. A little safari. That night we arrived in the haveli-filled town of Mandawa. The hotel was filled with construction workers who were erecting a Bollywood set for a film to be shot the following month. I was surrounded by men in the lobby and felt just a little bit the minority in color, culture and gender. Whatever. I went to my room and didn't come back out until morning.
The next day, the tour guide touted the cleanliness of Mandawa (due to a small population) as he threw a candy wrapper onto the littered road and spat thereon. He and Kalyan shared a love of singing and during lunch, I heard many a bollywood tune with wagging heads and swooning eyes. This guide spoke six languages - he was very smart - yet he bragged about how good looking he was and how tough he and his friends were as he grabbed his groin and spat. Charming. We visited a school of darling children. We sang the Gayatri Mantra together and I taught them 'The Morning Song' from my preschool days. On the roof, the headmaster pulled a branch off the Neem tree and showed me how to brush my teeth. It was sour, but he promised it would get better after 10 days. I donated another 500 rupees to this destitute school filled with bright minds and a charming headmaster. Not your typical city tour. I liked it. We saw a palmist in one place who told me I should've married at 30, but that just means when I do marry, it will last longer (20 years, to be precise - then he'll divorce or die) and I will marry very soon (to a man who wears something other than a watch on his left wrist). He also told me I will become more genuine in personality and consciousness now. Good news on both fronts. I'm ready. A circus girl on a tightrope picked her nose as she performed (everyone picks there nose here - even when chatting with buddies). I explored several private havelis and hotels and took many, many photos b/c I just loved the color, architecture and design. This really may be a new career for me.
That night, we changed hotels and I splurged on a super romantic Maharani (queen) room that was painted with royal scenes of princesses and queens in nature and at court in golds and reds. It was opulent and splendid and super romantic. Of course, I was alone. I wanted to get away from the swarming men of the other hotel. But, I felt like celebrating my femininity and treating myself to something nice and romantic. The room was so beautiful that it took my breath away. Very special. At dinner, I explained a little to Kalyan about my liberal lifestyle as a teenager and he was utterly shocked. He is very innocent. I realized how much of myself I gave away or numbed without any feeling or consideration for the person that I was. It made me a bit sad. I thought perhaps India has a better way by preserving one's virtue and innocence until marriage. There's something very real about it. Then again, my life has been fun, although not too meaningful or full of self-respect. I woke up feeling anxious and lonely. Then I reminded myself of how fortunate I was to be here at all - even if alone - perhaps fortunate b/c I was alone. Whatever. However. It's beautiful to be me. Here. Now. And I'm grateful.
We left the next morning for Jaipur. Kalyan played my favorite Indian morning song - Jai Ram - and I swooned as we passed farmers in bright saris and turbans with their animals living so calmly in this beautiful land. I love India. We passed a camel fair and I asked Kalya to stop. We walked in and explored the fair. It was the last day of one week where 10,000 camels, yaks, cows and (some) horses had been sold. A vendor showed me the camel nose rings he had for sale; another the bells he had for sale; another man invited me to see his camels and take a photo of him preparing his lunch. I did. I was surrounded by men in the camel industry. I saw only two other women present during the fair. We had chai, tried some pakoras and generally relaxed and shot photos with the people there. It was very calm. I got used to men just staring and following wherever I go. It didn't bother me. One of the men asked if I wanted a ride on his camel cart. We got on and after circling the entire area, he dropped us off at the road where our car was. We shot more photos and he shot me the hugest smile this side of the Indus. It was very sweet. Only in India.
We returned to Jaipur and Kalyan was elated b/c he was so close to home. His singing and dancing increased. He danced like mad with the gypsies and the executive Indian men in Sam Desert. He's quite talented. He's been offered a spot on the "Explore India" tour in Russia for his Rajastani singing and animal sounds. I hope the tour will make it to CA someday. I told him he always has me as his sister there to show him around. I mean it. He's a really special guy. I'm very lucky to have had such a person as a guide, bodyguard, driver, entertainer, spiritual cohort and friend. Thank you, India! After errands including the post office and the bank, we made it to Tiger Fort (a palace fort built for nine queens - very feminine) for a final tour and the sunset with a beer. It was a lovely way to say goodbye to Rajastan and to Kalyan.
The next day, I saw the Wind Palace, Hawa Mahal and did a little bangle and pashmina shopping. The shopkeeper, Ajay, gave me incredible deals and offered me gifts, lunch, a movie, etc. He wants to meet me when I return from Egypt. I asked what for. He said friendship. Friendship here means being lovers. I'm not interested. I told him that. He was very persistent and very sweet. I accepted his gifts of a free scarf and a leh of fragrant flowers. Then, I left as he swooned. This place is full of die-hard romantics.
I ate a giant thali just before getting on the train and stocked up on water, bananas and chocolate for the journey. I was full as a tick. Little did I realize that my first class ticket included food and drink service (including veg thali, bananas, chocolate, water, plus, plus, plus) - none of which I could eat. I took stuff I could save and put it in my purse to give to pour people. I'm sure the Indian man next to me thought I was a kook. Whatever. When we stopped at a station, it was littered with people lying on the platform. I almost threw my food to the people, but realized they were simply waiting for the train. They weren't homeless. Sometimes, it's hard to tell. It just goes to show how culturally insensitive I can still be even though I've been here for a while. I have been relatively isolated and protected with Kalyan, even though I was often the only westerner around. Now, I'm back to being solo and immersed in India (see today's blog about my visit to the toilet museum). It's sweet as can be and my whole self is filled with gratitude and the chaos, romance and surprises of India. A book I once read called love "sweetness in the belly." I can honestly then say that I love India.
My solo love affair with India will have to wait until November, however. I fly to Egypt tomorrow for one week on the beach and then join a two week tour. Something about Egypt calls me. I don't know why. I'll return to India 10/17 or 10/18 then rush down to Goa for a month long teacher's training. Then....??? I'd really like to see my old highschool cohort Freeman who lives in Pune now. Why did he move here? Does he have that sweetness in the belly, too? Why? The plot continues to unfurl...
Friday, September 26, 2008
Night Soil
Today, I took a rickshaw for an hour drive outside of Delhi for one purpose only: to visit the 'Sulabh International Museum of Toilets.' I figure in a city thousands of years of history and thousands of men openly urinating on any and every street corner, field and mountain at any time of day, plus an omnipresent struggle to find an operational and sanitary toilet, plus a constant wonder about what the Indians do if they don't use toilet paper, I should finally take a plunge right in to 4,500 years of the history of the toilet. Why not? I've seen dozens of museums, mosques, bazaars and temples - it's time to get back to the basics.
Little did I know that this museum was a part of a NGO called Sulabh International Social Service Organisation that has the objective of providing safe, sanitary and environmentally responsible toilets to the poor, disabled and elderly throughout the world. They have built millions of latrines around India and consequently sussed out a way to turn human feces into bio-gas (usages include electricity and inclusion in manure provides a great source of manure after about 1.6 years "fermenting" in a closed container as long as the moisture is sucked back into the soil through holes in the container - feces is 95% water). With my own eyes, I saw a lamp illuminate with 40-watt voltage, a gas fire of stones start so that stones could later be used for warmth hours after the fire went out, a fan start, a generator turn on, and gas stove boiling tea water (not urinary water). All of this came from the center's six thousand public toilets - one rupee per person - and one person produces 1 cubic foot of gas per day. There are over one billion people in India! That's a lot of gas, folks. They also figured out a way to make doorways out of feces mixed with dirt - it doesn't smell and is solid. There are some sculptures on display. But, I was far more impressed with the technology of shit. Perhaps I'm behind the times, but wow - what an eye opener this museum was! We can recycle waste in so many ways!
It doesn't stop at feces, though. They also turn urine into non-potable water that can be used for irrigation, agriculture and further flushing of toilets where water is scarce. The water has nitrogen and phosphate, so is great for agriculture. There are two ways. One: they simply funnel urine into a sedimentation tank for 30 minutes, let it sit in a sand filter, then add some air to it then add some carbon and let it get some sunlight....voila! Clear, usable water. Who knew? Two: they add duckweed to large vats of standing urine ("dirty pond"), the duckweed multiplies quickly as it sucks up the volatile compounds from the urine water. The water is then transferred to a different, cleaner pond. They then extract portions of the fat and porous duckweed from the dirty pond and place it in little fish pond containers in the clean pond. The proteins inside the duckweed are so potent, that fish grow to twice their original size by feeding on the duckweed. So there you have it! Our pee with duckweed and two ponds plus a fish farm can make fish much bigger. A beautiful spiral of recycling again! Who knew?
Of course, the museum of toilets contained fascinating information and exhibits for every kind of person.
For the sybarites: There are 300 plus types of toilet paper that can be seen at a special toilet paper museum in Madison, WI. Japan created a toilet for only $100 that at the touch of a keypad button either, cleans the bowl, blows either air or water 'up' and can provide a massage and air freshner. The Americans on the other hand have created a $2,000 electric toilet that burns excrement within two minutes to a mere 1 teaspoon of ash. The problem is of course a very high electric bill. The French aristocrats, King Louis XIV and used to hold meetings at night with their court while on the crapper. Apparently, the king took his dinner and meetings all night long sitting on the loo and "frequently excreted" until the pot was full, at which time the chamber pot was passed under the noses of those in attendance until the person closest to the door could empty it as a reminder of the King's (or their lowly) rank. Ben Affleck allegedly bought J Lo a $105,000 jewel encrusted toilet adorned with rubies, sapphires, pearls and diamonds. "Jennifer is my princess and she deserves only the best even whe it comes to toilets," he said on April 18, 2003. And the winner? The USA!! NASA bought a $19 million space toilet from Russia that includes straps, vaccums and a filter to convert urine to drinking water.
For the destitute and elderly: India is a poor country. If a village can't afford a 10,000 rupee toilet made of brick outhouses and concrete containers, there are options going all the way down to 1,000 rupees made of whitewashed jute outhouses and wood or clay containers. For the elderly who don't like to break the habit of going in the great outdoors, an open air spiral outhouse can be built so they don't feel suffocated and uncomfortable.
For the spiritualist: Sai Baba has the largest collection of toilets in India. The excrement of his disciples provides electricity to 30,000 people. Toilet ettiquette was addressed in the Manusmriti Vishnupuram in 1500 BC India. For married people: cover the head with a cloth. If a cloth is not available, roll a sacred threat and put on right ear, bring over head to hang on left ear. Observe silence. Face north during the day. Face south during the night. Don't touch water why defecating. Use left hand for cleaning and right for the bowl. For unmarried or celibate people: observe the married's rules twice more intensely. If a sain, observe four times more intensely than the married. All of these rules apply to daytime. If evening, frequency of wash reduced by half. If travelling, rules further reduced by half. If sick, observe rules per capacity. The Manusmriti Vishnupuram also had some ecological precautions: urinate 10 hands (meaning forearm to fingers) from the source of water. Defecate 100 hands from the source of water. And urinate 40 hands from a river or temple.
For the sybarites, artists and romantics: the art of defecation, termed "night soil" was the subject of Swift and Voltaire's musings, plus many a comedy through history (especially the dumping of chamber pots on unwitting victims - mostly in romantic comedies.) There are side by side toilets adjoined for lovers who can't bear to part. Some toilets are very creative. They are painted beautiful colors, designed as flowers (a San Franciscan is currently doing this) and hidden in chairs under cushions. The French built a toilet appears to be a pile of books - all with English titles on the books - how very French of them to desecrate the Brits.
For the naturalists: In Chiang Main, the thai elephant facility frequented by tourists has installed elephant sized human toilets and trained the elephants to sit on the toilets and relieve themselves in order to avoid unnecessary droppings around the facility. There is a portable toilet used for tents and websites that has biodegradable bags as a toilet. There is a new model that has a 3.5 foot tower with a fan on top that is both solar and wind powered for the flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians has two containers (only one in use at a time, while the other is fermenting) ensures that excrement containers are 1 meter away from another container b/c bacteria can only travel that far through soil. In case of a fire, occupants of a western toilet are advised to jump into the toilet and flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians uses only 2 liters of water, as opposed to the usual 10-12 to flush. The US still uses 10-12 in most cases.
For the historians: India claims to be the first to have sanitary toilets (2500 BC) in Harapa during the Indus Civilization. This technology was flushed away with the loss of the Indus Civilization. The first flushing toilet was created in 200 BC. In BC 33, Plinius claimed that urine has medicinal values. John Harrington, NOT John Crapper, created the first WC, i.e. water closet wherein "necessaries" were flushed into a sewage system, in 1596 AD. In the 18th and 19th century, Austrian Bucketmen and women used to stand around public places with a long coat and a bucket. For a small fee, a member of the public could conceal him/herself under the coat and relieve him/her self in the bucket. Believe it or not, there have been many such instances when I would have gladly payed for a Bucketwoman in India!
For the skeptic: Here's why this is interesting. The act of excretion, as one of the most fundamental processes of all life, requires much more attention that it has been accorded until now in order that we may enjoy healthy and pleasant lives. Think about it: how many times have you walked into a public toilet and almost vomited at the lack of sanitation? At least you have toilets in the US. In India and Nepal and other developing countries, a toilet is very, very hard to come by. I vividly remember the outhouses in Africa: they were so old and moist from years of bush rain that the wood morphed out of shape and would congeal when the door was shut. There was no form of waste removal and it was rank! In order to open the door for an escape, one had to take a deep breath and not panic that the door wouldn't open, and instead figure out the angle in which to push a certain portion of the door for an opening.
So, a toilet culture is a very good thing to have. The Museum of Toilets, with the Kobe Int'l Toilet Counsel aims for: 1) world health and sanitation for elderly, disabled and poor; 2) private and public faciities that are safe and clean; and 3) a source of global environmental solutions for overuse of paper and contaminated land and water and consequent disease irradication. The Counsel believes that overcoming these many issues requires an exchange of information, experience, technology and inter-disciplinary research on an international level.
So, in line with my bretheren and sisteren (sounds like cistern, doesn't it?), I hope that this blog has effectively created and promoted toilet culture to all you readers out there! Go night soil!!!
Little did I know that this museum was a part of a NGO called Sulabh International Social Service Organisation that has the objective of providing safe, sanitary and environmentally responsible toilets to the poor, disabled and elderly throughout the world. They have built millions of latrines around India and consequently sussed out a way to turn human feces into bio-gas (usages include electricity and inclusion in manure provides a great source of manure after about 1.6 years "fermenting" in a closed container as long as the moisture is sucked back into the soil through holes in the container - feces is 95% water). With my own eyes, I saw a lamp illuminate with 40-watt voltage, a gas fire of stones start so that stones could later be used for warmth hours after the fire went out, a fan start, a generator turn on, and gas stove boiling tea water (not urinary water). All of this came from the center's six thousand public toilets - one rupee per person - and one person produces 1 cubic foot of gas per day. There are over one billion people in India! That's a lot of gas, folks. They also figured out a way to make doorways out of feces mixed with dirt - it doesn't smell and is solid. There are some sculptures on display. But, I was far more impressed with the technology of shit. Perhaps I'm behind the times, but wow - what an eye opener this museum was! We can recycle waste in so many ways!
It doesn't stop at feces, though. They also turn urine into non-potable water that can be used for irrigation, agriculture and further flushing of toilets where water is scarce. The water has nitrogen and phosphate, so is great for agriculture. There are two ways. One: they simply funnel urine into a sedimentation tank for 30 minutes, let it sit in a sand filter, then add some air to it then add some carbon and let it get some sunlight....voila! Clear, usable water. Who knew? Two: they add duckweed to large vats of standing urine ("dirty pond"), the duckweed multiplies quickly as it sucks up the volatile compounds from the urine water. The water is then transferred to a different, cleaner pond. They then extract portions of the fat and porous duckweed from the dirty pond and place it in little fish pond containers in the clean pond. The proteins inside the duckweed are so potent, that fish grow to twice their original size by feeding on the duckweed. So there you have it! Our pee with duckweed and two ponds plus a fish farm can make fish much bigger. A beautiful spiral of recycling again! Who knew?
Of course, the museum of toilets contained fascinating information and exhibits for every kind of person.
For the sybarites: There are 300 plus types of toilet paper that can be seen at a special toilet paper museum in Madison, WI. Japan created a toilet for only $100 that at the touch of a keypad button either, cleans the bowl, blows either air or water 'up' and can provide a massage and air freshner. The Americans on the other hand have created a $2,000 electric toilet that burns excrement within two minutes to a mere 1 teaspoon of ash. The problem is of course a very high electric bill. The French aristocrats, King Louis XIV and used to hold meetings at night with their court while on the crapper. Apparently, the king took his dinner and meetings all night long sitting on the loo and "frequently excreted" until the pot was full, at which time the chamber pot was passed under the noses of those in attendance until the person closest to the door could empty it as a reminder of the King's (or their lowly) rank. Ben Affleck allegedly bought J Lo a $105,000 jewel encrusted toilet adorned with rubies, sapphires, pearls and diamonds. "Jennifer is my princess and she deserves only the best even whe it comes to toilets," he said on April 18, 2003. And the winner? The USA!! NASA bought a $19 million space toilet from Russia that includes straps, vaccums and a filter to convert urine to drinking water.
For the destitute and elderly: India is a poor country. If a village can't afford a 10,000 rupee toilet made of brick outhouses and concrete containers, there are options going all the way down to 1,000 rupees made of whitewashed jute outhouses and wood or clay containers. For the elderly who don't like to break the habit of going in the great outdoors, an open air spiral outhouse can be built so they don't feel suffocated and uncomfortable.
For the spiritualist: Sai Baba has the largest collection of toilets in India. The excrement of his disciples provides electricity to 30,000 people. Toilet ettiquette was addressed in the Manusmriti Vishnupuram in 1500 BC India. For married people: cover the head with a cloth. If a cloth is not available, roll a sacred threat and put on right ear, bring over head to hang on left ear. Observe silence. Face north during the day. Face south during the night. Don't touch water why defecating. Use left hand for cleaning and right for the bowl. For unmarried or celibate people: observe the married's rules twice more intensely. If a sain, observe four times more intensely than the married. All of these rules apply to daytime. If evening, frequency of wash reduced by half. If travelling, rules further reduced by half. If sick, observe rules per capacity. The Manusmriti Vishnupuram also had some ecological precautions: urinate 10 hands (meaning forearm to fingers) from the source of water. Defecate 100 hands from the source of water. And urinate 40 hands from a river or temple.
For the sybarites, artists and romantics: the art of defecation, termed "night soil" was the subject of Swift and Voltaire's musings, plus many a comedy through history (especially the dumping of chamber pots on unwitting victims - mostly in romantic comedies.) There are side by side toilets adjoined for lovers who can't bear to part. Some toilets are very creative. They are painted beautiful colors, designed as flowers (a San Franciscan is currently doing this) and hidden in chairs under cushions. The French built a toilet appears to be a pile of books - all with English titles on the books - how very French of them to desecrate the Brits.
For the naturalists: In Chiang Main, the thai elephant facility frequented by tourists has installed elephant sized human toilets and trained the elephants to sit on the toilets and relieve themselves in order to avoid unnecessary droppings around the facility. There is a portable toilet used for tents and websites that has biodegradable bags as a toilet. There is a new model that has a 3.5 foot tower with a fan on top that is both solar and wind powered for the flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians has two containers (only one in use at a time, while the other is fermenting) ensures that excrement containers are 1 meter away from another container b/c bacteria can only travel that far through soil. In case of a fire, occupants of a western toilet are advised to jump into the toilet and flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians uses only 2 liters of water, as opposed to the usual 10-12 to flush. The US still uses 10-12 in most cases.
For the historians: India claims to be the first to have sanitary toilets (2500 BC) in Harapa during the Indus Civilization. This technology was flushed away with the loss of the Indus Civilization. The first flushing toilet was created in 200 BC. In BC 33, Plinius claimed that urine has medicinal values. John Harrington, NOT John Crapper, created the first WC, i.e. water closet wherein "necessaries" were flushed into a sewage system, in 1596 AD. In the 18th and 19th century, Austrian Bucketmen and women used to stand around public places with a long coat and a bucket. For a small fee, a member of the public could conceal him/herself under the coat and relieve him/her self in the bucket. Believe it or not, there have been many such instances when I would have gladly payed for a Bucketwoman in India!
For the skeptic: Here's why this is interesting. The act of excretion, as one of the most fundamental processes of all life, requires much more attention that it has been accorded until now in order that we may enjoy healthy and pleasant lives. Think about it: how many times have you walked into a public toilet and almost vomited at the lack of sanitation? At least you have toilets in the US. In India and Nepal and other developing countries, a toilet is very, very hard to come by. I vividly remember the outhouses in Africa: they were so old and moist from years of bush rain that the wood morphed out of shape and would congeal when the door was shut. There was no form of waste removal and it was rank! In order to open the door for an escape, one had to take a deep breath and not panic that the door wouldn't open, and instead figure out the angle in which to push a certain portion of the door for an opening.
So, a toilet culture is a very good thing to have. The Museum of Toilets, with the Kobe Int'l Toilet Counsel aims for: 1) world health and sanitation for elderly, disabled and poor; 2) private and public faciities that are safe and clean; and 3) a source of global environmental solutions for overuse of paper and contaminated land and water and consequent disease irradication. The Counsel believes that overcoming these many issues requires an exchange of information, experience, technology and inter-disciplinary research on an international level.
So, in line with my bretheren and sisteren (sounds like cistern, doesn't it?), I hope that this blog has effectively created and promoted toilet culture to all you readers out there! Go night soil!!!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Royal Rajastan
It's true that Rajastan is a land of palaces, forts, romance and pride. At times, I have to pinch myself for the incredible luck I continue to enjoy in such a place. At Amber Fort, I saw the palaces inhabited by royalty and as I trod through the grounds, I was stopped at virtually every second step for a photograph by Indian tourists visiting from the nearby villages. I was even followed down a corridor by a family wanting to take my photo. I got lost after a while b/c I tried to escape the masses and suddenly music started to waft through the fort. I followed the music to a group of Indian teenagers who promptly led me back to a place I could find my way out from. I had a lovely thali that was spicy and delicious and visited several palaces and temples with incredible architecture. I wasn't such a celebrity at these places, which were less incredible than Amber Fort, but far more comfortable to observe.
My luck was shaky to begin with. The rickshaw driver, Chandra ('moon' in Hindi), who drove me around Jaipur for two days took me to the sights I wanted on day 1, but on day 2, he pulled scam after scam to get a commission from shopkeepers all the way to taking me to a "guru" who worked from a jewelry store. My mistake, I guess, for asking Chandra earlier in the day what his star sign was - gave him a new angle to scam. When I saw this "guru" and his gem shop, I turned around, walked out without a word and sat in the rickshaw. When he returned to his auto with feigned confusion, I told him in no uncertain terms that I'd had it! I was so angry that tears came from my eyes - the death knell to any Indian man, even a con artist - and then - everything changed.
At that moment, I decided I didn't care about budget travelling anymore, I was NOT going to trust rickshaw driver after rickshaw driver to take me around from place to place in all of the towns I wanted to visit in Rajastan. I was determined to find one driver - and only one driver - to take me all over Rajastan. I demanded that he take me to the govt. tourist information office (NOT a place where he'd get a commission) so I could book a driver for a tour of Rajastan. Miraculously, he took me to the govt. tourist office. I paid him and thankfully watched as he drove away.
I walked into the park like setting and peacocks started to meow as the sun was setting. This calmed me instantly as I grew up with peacocks across the lake and it was somehow reassuring to hear a childhood sound in this strange and unfamiliar place. An Indian lady smiled broadly at me as I walked past and I returned the smile - grateful that another woman was nearby in this land of men, men, men always staring, always scamming, always wanting something from me. I asked the universe to please give me a trustworthy, peaceful, safe driver who was honest, respectful, a Hindu, a yogi, married and could take me all around the state and share with me Indian culture without harrassing me or trying to make extra money via commissions.
The universe clearly heard me. For starters, I booked the non a/c economy vehicle for a certain price, approx. $33 USD/day for 16 days. After agreeing on the price, the company (called by the tourist bureau) discovered it had no more economy cars and had to upgrade me to a luxury a/c vehicle with a/c for the same price. They also stated that Kalyan would be my driver. The govt. tourist agent said he knew Kalyan and he was a good, trustworthy man. Well, Kalyan isn't married - he's 28 and caring for his widowed mother who is in turn searching for a suitable wife for him. But, he is a yogi, a hindu, respectable, a ridiculously safe driver, a virgo (my FAVORITE star sign for a companion), not interested in commission, very proud of Indian culture and thrilled to share the religious and cultural aspects of country and religion with me. He meditates and does yoga every morning. He makes 175 animal sounds and wrote to the Guiness Book of World Records b/c this well exceeds the record, but got no response. He also has a beautiful singing voice and sings all the time. It only took three days for me to establish that just because he liked me, it was NOT okay for him to hope that we would have anything more than a platonic friendship as we toured the state together. So, the universe has heard me. He's the safest driver I've ever seen in India. Really. He makes suggestions for the itinerary, takes me to cheap and delicious thali restaurants and we go to pujas and temples all around India and share in the hindu culture. Of course, everythig is safer in India with a companion and a male Indian at that, by my side. He bargains for me, finds answers to my zillion questions from locals at the places we visit and has a great sense of humor and grasp of the English language. Thank you Universe!
The luck continues. Our first stop was Ajmer to go to a famous mosque where a Sufi saint from Persia came and died about 500 years ago. I came here because I thought it would be nice to pay my respects to my friend Reza. He's a sufi and shared some Rumi with me before I left that made me feel much more grounded and sane in taking this journey. Rumi explained that many more before me had done very similar journeys. We arrived in mostly Muslim Ajmer and Kalyan stayed with the car b/c it wasn't safe. I walked through old town with my head covered, but my ankles were showing (it's tough to be so tall in a Muslim place). The women kept staring at my ankles and the men stared at the rest of me. Shopkeepers called to me, beggars pulled on my clothes - it was the most aggressive place I'd been yet - but I kept walking, eager to get to the Mosque. At the entrance, they told me I couldn't take my camera or my purse inside. I looked into the lady's eyes who was sitting at the gate and she extended her hand for my bag. I knew I could trust her. I was right. Inside the mosque, I bought an offering of flowers and went into the main temple where the saint was buried. A man took my flowers and gave me prasad (sweets) and blessed me with a cloth over my head. I didn't know what he was saying or what I should be doing, but I just wished Reza and his family health, happiness and love. I wished for Reza to find a nice wife. I also thanked Reza and Rumi and thought "God Bless the Sufis," to which I instantly shuddered and wondered if I'd just committed blasphemy to Allah. I was the only non-muslim westerner in the entire mosque and it was obvious. People were looking at me as if I was blue. Men pushed me out of the way and I kindof slinked into the courtyard to watch what was going to happen next. But, at this point, I was so paranoid and insecure that all I wanted to do was leave. So I did. The lady smiled at me as she gave me back my purse. I stopped at a tourist shop to buy Reza a gift, but had no idea what anything was - there was writing on trinkets and fabric, etc. - so I decided the prasad was enough and kept walking. I saw two young muslim men feeding prasad to a cow who was licking it from their hands, and was reminded that islam and hinduism go hand in hand in this place. Why couldn't I fit in, too? I felt better. As if they sensed my confidence, the beggars stopped pulling and the shopkeepers stopped hollering. I didn't care that people were still looking at my ankles. I looked funny b/c I was faking it, but at least I was being respectful of the culture. Next time, I'd do it with a little more class.
Our next stop was Pushkar. Kalyan recommended a beautiful hotel on the lake and I got a room literally floating on top of the lake perched between Ghandi Ghat and another Ghat. The indians splashed the water on their limbs b/c it was good karma. Pujas were performed with rose petals and poured water from silver bowls. The Indians were happy to be there. Husbands and wives splashed water on eachother. Small children splashed around. Young ladies gingerly placed a toe in the water with their male relatives helping them step into the water. Singing resonated across the lake until 11 pm and started up again at 5:00 a.m. The moon was almost full as it glistened atop the water with the ever present spirituality wafting through the air in sound and feeling. The people were friendly and non-pushy. I ate thalis with the locals, sat with Rajasthani women who dressed me in a sari and put bangles on my arms for fun, was the first purchaser of a brand new shop opened by a 20-year old boy named Punkaj. His grandfather proudly beamed at his grandson's first customer loaded with two bags of gifts for her own family back home. They both agreed I had very good energy and would bring good luck to the business. I saw several westerners in town, but none were staying at the hotel. I don't know why not. It was beautiful.
Punkaj told me there was a local fair outside of town. That evening, Kalyan and I drove there. The fair was several food stands and a stage. They were holding a raffle on the stage and the women were seated on one side, while the men were on the other. I joined the beautifully adorned women and started snapping photos. They LOVED having their photo taken and I was soon surrounded by women in bright pinks, yellows, reds, etc. I felt like a pollen filled flower to a swarm of colorful honey bees. The men's jaws dropped as they stopped in their tracks and just plain stared at me. Kalyan bought a coconut so we could make an offering to the cobra deity (an instrument of Lord Shiva). I made my offering and a man handed me a handful of ash. Kalyan promptly smeared it on my third eye. I have no idea where the ash came from. I decided I didn't want to know. The fair was full of villagers - many of whom had not seen a westerner before - so I was quite the show stopper. A lady invited me to sit with her family and try her food. It was delicious as I ate it from my dirty fingers. Her husband then sternly told me that I would have to pay 500 rupees. I said "okay and you pay me 1,000 rupees," to which they all laughed and gave me the namaste as I walked away smiling and namaste'ing in return. As we left the fair, the villagers were also departing on tractors and motorcycles, horses and carts pulled by camels and oxen. God, I love India.
We next went to Kumbulgargh - highly recommended by the man at the tourist office. The luck increased. We stopped at a cheap guesthouse which was unacceptable to me b/c it had no windows and appeared to have bedbugs. We then stopped at a luxury tent resort b/c the location was beautiful. Tents usually go for 2,000 rupees. I told them my budget was 300. They said 'no' and I gave up. Kalyan said something and they changed their mind. I was the only guest and had VIP treatment for two nights in a giant luxury tent atop a gorgeous mountain in the middle of the jungle. Peacocks meowed and danced at dawn and the sounds of the forest played like a symphony all night and day. The food was delicious, the service impeccable and the experience nothing less than royal. All for 300 rupees a day. The fort at Kumbulgargh was gorgeous. I explored various temples and places on the land, feeling utterly safe, for 4 hours as Kalyan waited at the tea shop. I was reminded of exploring Tikal on my own, where ancient temples were overrun by jungles with leaping monkeys and gorgeous birds. Camels also passed by. A village teenager accompanied me to the jain temple and explained the history to me. I thought she wanted money, but she declined, wished me happiness and sauntered back into the forest from whence she came. I sat on the edge of the sun temple and birds whizzed by my neck so quickly that I could hear the wind underneath their wings. It was magic and beautiful and enchanting. At night, they lit up the fort so it illuminated like a christmas tree dating back to the 1500s. It was pure magic!
As we drove through the country road to Udaipur, I asked Kalyan to stop for the first time solely to take the picture of a beautifully adorned man. He wore jewelry, a bright turban and literally shined like a bright peacock. I took many photos of he and others dressed like him that appeared out of nowhere. Kalyan discovered that they were gypsies who were going to perform at a festival 16 kms from whence we came. They invited us to join them. We went. We took three of them in the car with us. They suggested we first go to a Shiva temple, which we did. The Indians were more enthralled with these three gypsy traveller/dancers than they were with me. Sunner, Ganesh and Babu didn't wear shoes or eat green veggies for 30 days in preparation for this festival b/c they believe it helps them dance better. They were kind and respectful and vibrant. On our way down hundreds of stairs to the Shiva temple (located inside a cave with stalagtites dripping with water (or stalagmites?), they bought local fruit "cita full" which they gave to me to enjoy. It was delicious - looks like a little artichoke but is sweet, white and fleshy. Babu carried my water. When we got to the temple, they gave me a tikka on my forehead. When we walked up the path, they shared their coconuts with passers by. Sunner asked if I wanted glitter, to which I ascented. He put it on my face. He then asked if I wanted kohl on my eyes. I agreed. They were thrilled at the after effects as they admired my 'indian eyes' and swelled with pride at my transformation. When we finally got to the top of the hill, I changed out of my sweaty black pants and blue cottor top into a colorful silk skirt, blue shirt and colorful scarf. They smiled from ear to ear and we made a VERY colorful bunch as we approached a festival with literally hundreds of villagers dressed in every possible color watching dances, songs, comedy routines and people possessed by spirits in the middle of a giant field. These festivals happen rarely and the gypsies are always on the move. We were VERY lucky to experience this event. When it started raining, Kalyan and I jumped in the car and drove on.
We passed another village about five hours later and the people were sprawled next to a lake. We stopped. As we approached the Krishna being carried up the hill, the entire village stopped and watched me. Again, I was a spectacle. I felt horrible for usurping Krishna's rightful place at center stage. But, I pretended I didn't notice and gave all my attention to the puja. After the puja, children surrounded me and said hello, shook my hand and asked for 'photo.' They offered me an apple, which I took and when I took a bite and smiled, they broke into applause. They then gave me a banana. They then showed me a black cobra that they stoned to death. I was getting a little too smothered by the kids, so Kalyan pulled me away and told them we had to go. A boy told him he'd never seen anyone like me before and asked where I was from. They waved and smiled as they swarmed around the car yelling "Bye Bye." Further up the road, the villagers were blocking the road and dancing for Krishna. They didn't move from the front of the car until Kalyan started laughing. This is a land of celebration and spirituality and wonder. The poverty and hard work is everywhere, but so is the celebration. So is my luck.
We arrived late in Udaipur, which was nice, but I expected something more. I think I had been spoiled. We are now in Mt. Abu. We ascended the mountain in a downpour of rain. Today, I walked through the jungle hoping to see a bear on a trek, but had no such luck. We then went to a gorgeous Jain temple and took a boat around the lake at sunset with no rain. It was lovely. We also visited Rama Krishna spiritual university and I found it a bit cultish and bizzarre. Tomorrow, we leave for Jodphur and I look forward to dry weather again, although the thunder and lightning is incredible to experience.
Christian and I decided to forego Morocco and I have confirmed my return from Egypt to Bombay, thanks to the help of my mother and stepfather. Thank you! All is well and as it should be. I am at times very lonely, especially when the Indian tourists in all of these places (mostly from Gujarat) stare at me like I'm insane for eating or walking alone. But then again, I'm American. Things are different. Independence is different. I'm different. It's okay. There is no harm or danger that I feel here. Only curiosity. Isn't this part of why I travel, too? It is a pleasure and an honor to be here. They can stare all they want. I am lucky to be alive. Lucky to be in India. And I welcome these ups and down in my travels.
Rajastan, like India, is a magical journey. And the cows continue to be revered more than anything. Something I still find hysterical every single time. Increidible.
My luck was shaky to begin with. The rickshaw driver, Chandra ('moon' in Hindi), who drove me around Jaipur for two days took me to the sights I wanted on day 1, but on day 2, he pulled scam after scam to get a commission from shopkeepers all the way to taking me to a "guru" who worked from a jewelry store. My mistake, I guess, for asking Chandra earlier in the day what his star sign was - gave him a new angle to scam. When I saw this "guru" and his gem shop, I turned around, walked out without a word and sat in the rickshaw. When he returned to his auto with feigned confusion, I told him in no uncertain terms that I'd had it! I was so angry that tears came from my eyes - the death knell to any Indian man, even a con artist - and then - everything changed.
At that moment, I decided I didn't care about budget travelling anymore, I was NOT going to trust rickshaw driver after rickshaw driver to take me around from place to place in all of the towns I wanted to visit in Rajastan. I was determined to find one driver - and only one driver - to take me all over Rajastan. I demanded that he take me to the govt. tourist information office (NOT a place where he'd get a commission) so I could book a driver for a tour of Rajastan. Miraculously, he took me to the govt. tourist office. I paid him and thankfully watched as he drove away.
I walked into the park like setting and peacocks started to meow as the sun was setting. This calmed me instantly as I grew up with peacocks across the lake and it was somehow reassuring to hear a childhood sound in this strange and unfamiliar place. An Indian lady smiled broadly at me as I walked past and I returned the smile - grateful that another woman was nearby in this land of men, men, men always staring, always scamming, always wanting something from me. I asked the universe to please give me a trustworthy, peaceful, safe driver who was honest, respectful, a Hindu, a yogi, married and could take me all around the state and share with me Indian culture without harrassing me or trying to make extra money via commissions.
The universe clearly heard me. For starters, I booked the non a/c economy vehicle for a certain price, approx. $33 USD/day for 16 days. After agreeing on the price, the company (called by the tourist bureau) discovered it had no more economy cars and had to upgrade me to a luxury a/c vehicle with a/c for the same price. They also stated that Kalyan would be my driver. The govt. tourist agent said he knew Kalyan and he was a good, trustworthy man. Well, Kalyan isn't married - he's 28 and caring for his widowed mother who is in turn searching for a suitable wife for him. But, he is a yogi, a hindu, respectable, a ridiculously safe driver, a virgo (my FAVORITE star sign for a companion), not interested in commission, very proud of Indian culture and thrilled to share the religious and cultural aspects of country and religion with me. He meditates and does yoga every morning. He makes 175 animal sounds and wrote to the Guiness Book of World Records b/c this well exceeds the record, but got no response. He also has a beautiful singing voice and sings all the time. It only took three days for me to establish that just because he liked me, it was NOT okay for him to hope that we would have anything more than a platonic friendship as we toured the state together. So, the universe has heard me. He's the safest driver I've ever seen in India. Really. He makes suggestions for the itinerary, takes me to cheap and delicious thali restaurants and we go to pujas and temples all around India and share in the hindu culture. Of course, everythig is safer in India with a companion and a male Indian at that, by my side. He bargains for me, finds answers to my zillion questions from locals at the places we visit and has a great sense of humor and grasp of the English language. Thank you Universe!
The luck continues. Our first stop was Ajmer to go to a famous mosque where a Sufi saint from Persia came and died about 500 years ago. I came here because I thought it would be nice to pay my respects to my friend Reza. He's a sufi and shared some Rumi with me before I left that made me feel much more grounded and sane in taking this journey. Rumi explained that many more before me had done very similar journeys. We arrived in mostly Muslim Ajmer and Kalyan stayed with the car b/c it wasn't safe. I walked through old town with my head covered, but my ankles were showing (it's tough to be so tall in a Muslim place). The women kept staring at my ankles and the men stared at the rest of me. Shopkeepers called to me, beggars pulled on my clothes - it was the most aggressive place I'd been yet - but I kept walking, eager to get to the Mosque. At the entrance, they told me I couldn't take my camera or my purse inside. I looked into the lady's eyes who was sitting at the gate and she extended her hand for my bag. I knew I could trust her. I was right. Inside the mosque, I bought an offering of flowers and went into the main temple where the saint was buried. A man took my flowers and gave me prasad (sweets) and blessed me with a cloth over my head. I didn't know what he was saying or what I should be doing, but I just wished Reza and his family health, happiness and love. I wished for Reza to find a nice wife. I also thanked Reza and Rumi and thought "God Bless the Sufis," to which I instantly shuddered and wondered if I'd just committed blasphemy to Allah. I was the only non-muslim westerner in the entire mosque and it was obvious. People were looking at me as if I was blue. Men pushed me out of the way and I kindof slinked into the courtyard to watch what was going to happen next. But, at this point, I was so paranoid and insecure that all I wanted to do was leave. So I did. The lady smiled at me as she gave me back my purse. I stopped at a tourist shop to buy Reza a gift, but had no idea what anything was - there was writing on trinkets and fabric, etc. - so I decided the prasad was enough and kept walking. I saw two young muslim men feeding prasad to a cow who was licking it from their hands, and was reminded that islam and hinduism go hand in hand in this place. Why couldn't I fit in, too? I felt better. As if they sensed my confidence, the beggars stopped pulling and the shopkeepers stopped hollering. I didn't care that people were still looking at my ankles. I looked funny b/c I was faking it, but at least I was being respectful of the culture. Next time, I'd do it with a little more class.
Our next stop was Pushkar. Kalyan recommended a beautiful hotel on the lake and I got a room literally floating on top of the lake perched between Ghandi Ghat and another Ghat. The indians splashed the water on their limbs b/c it was good karma. Pujas were performed with rose petals and poured water from silver bowls. The Indians were happy to be there. Husbands and wives splashed water on eachother. Small children splashed around. Young ladies gingerly placed a toe in the water with their male relatives helping them step into the water. Singing resonated across the lake until 11 pm and started up again at 5:00 a.m. The moon was almost full as it glistened atop the water with the ever present spirituality wafting through the air in sound and feeling. The people were friendly and non-pushy. I ate thalis with the locals, sat with Rajasthani women who dressed me in a sari and put bangles on my arms for fun, was the first purchaser of a brand new shop opened by a 20-year old boy named Punkaj. His grandfather proudly beamed at his grandson's first customer loaded with two bags of gifts for her own family back home. They both agreed I had very good energy and would bring good luck to the business. I saw several westerners in town, but none were staying at the hotel. I don't know why not. It was beautiful.
Punkaj told me there was a local fair outside of town. That evening, Kalyan and I drove there. The fair was several food stands and a stage. They were holding a raffle on the stage and the women were seated on one side, while the men were on the other. I joined the beautifully adorned women and started snapping photos. They LOVED having their photo taken and I was soon surrounded by women in bright pinks, yellows, reds, etc. I felt like a pollen filled flower to a swarm of colorful honey bees. The men's jaws dropped as they stopped in their tracks and just plain stared at me. Kalyan bought a coconut so we could make an offering to the cobra deity (an instrument of Lord Shiva). I made my offering and a man handed me a handful of ash. Kalyan promptly smeared it on my third eye. I have no idea where the ash came from. I decided I didn't want to know. The fair was full of villagers - many of whom had not seen a westerner before - so I was quite the show stopper. A lady invited me to sit with her family and try her food. It was delicious as I ate it from my dirty fingers. Her husband then sternly told me that I would have to pay 500 rupees. I said "okay and you pay me 1,000 rupees," to which they all laughed and gave me the namaste as I walked away smiling and namaste'ing in return. As we left the fair, the villagers were also departing on tractors and motorcycles, horses and carts pulled by camels and oxen. God, I love India.
We next went to Kumbulgargh - highly recommended by the man at the tourist office. The luck increased. We stopped at a cheap guesthouse which was unacceptable to me b/c it had no windows and appeared to have bedbugs. We then stopped at a luxury tent resort b/c the location was beautiful. Tents usually go for 2,000 rupees. I told them my budget was 300. They said 'no' and I gave up. Kalyan said something and they changed their mind. I was the only guest and had VIP treatment for two nights in a giant luxury tent atop a gorgeous mountain in the middle of the jungle. Peacocks meowed and danced at dawn and the sounds of the forest played like a symphony all night and day. The food was delicious, the service impeccable and the experience nothing less than royal. All for 300 rupees a day. The fort at Kumbulgargh was gorgeous. I explored various temples and places on the land, feeling utterly safe, for 4 hours as Kalyan waited at the tea shop. I was reminded of exploring Tikal on my own, where ancient temples were overrun by jungles with leaping monkeys and gorgeous birds. Camels also passed by. A village teenager accompanied me to the jain temple and explained the history to me. I thought she wanted money, but she declined, wished me happiness and sauntered back into the forest from whence she came. I sat on the edge of the sun temple and birds whizzed by my neck so quickly that I could hear the wind underneath their wings. It was magic and beautiful and enchanting. At night, they lit up the fort so it illuminated like a christmas tree dating back to the 1500s. It was pure magic!
As we drove through the country road to Udaipur, I asked Kalyan to stop for the first time solely to take the picture of a beautifully adorned man. He wore jewelry, a bright turban and literally shined like a bright peacock. I took many photos of he and others dressed like him that appeared out of nowhere. Kalyan discovered that they were gypsies who were going to perform at a festival 16 kms from whence we came. They invited us to join them. We went. We took three of them in the car with us. They suggested we first go to a Shiva temple, which we did. The Indians were more enthralled with these three gypsy traveller/dancers than they were with me. Sunner, Ganesh and Babu didn't wear shoes or eat green veggies for 30 days in preparation for this festival b/c they believe it helps them dance better. They were kind and respectful and vibrant. On our way down hundreds of stairs to the Shiva temple (located inside a cave with stalagtites dripping with water (or stalagmites?), they bought local fruit "cita full" which they gave to me to enjoy. It was delicious - looks like a little artichoke but is sweet, white and fleshy. Babu carried my water. When we got to the temple, they gave me a tikka on my forehead. When we walked up the path, they shared their coconuts with passers by. Sunner asked if I wanted glitter, to which I ascented. He put it on my face. He then asked if I wanted kohl on my eyes. I agreed. They were thrilled at the after effects as they admired my 'indian eyes' and swelled with pride at my transformation. When we finally got to the top of the hill, I changed out of my sweaty black pants and blue cottor top into a colorful silk skirt, blue shirt and colorful scarf. They smiled from ear to ear and we made a VERY colorful bunch as we approached a festival with literally hundreds of villagers dressed in every possible color watching dances, songs, comedy routines and people possessed by spirits in the middle of a giant field. These festivals happen rarely and the gypsies are always on the move. We were VERY lucky to experience this event. When it started raining, Kalyan and I jumped in the car and drove on.
We passed another village about five hours later and the people were sprawled next to a lake. We stopped. As we approached the Krishna being carried up the hill, the entire village stopped and watched me. Again, I was a spectacle. I felt horrible for usurping Krishna's rightful place at center stage. But, I pretended I didn't notice and gave all my attention to the puja. After the puja, children surrounded me and said hello, shook my hand and asked for 'photo.' They offered me an apple, which I took and when I took a bite and smiled, they broke into applause. They then gave me a banana. They then showed me a black cobra that they stoned to death. I was getting a little too smothered by the kids, so Kalyan pulled me away and told them we had to go. A boy told him he'd never seen anyone like me before and asked where I was from. They waved and smiled as they swarmed around the car yelling "Bye Bye." Further up the road, the villagers were blocking the road and dancing for Krishna. They didn't move from the front of the car until Kalyan started laughing. This is a land of celebration and spirituality and wonder. The poverty and hard work is everywhere, but so is the celebration. So is my luck.
We arrived late in Udaipur, which was nice, but I expected something more. I think I had been spoiled. We are now in Mt. Abu. We ascended the mountain in a downpour of rain. Today, I walked through the jungle hoping to see a bear on a trek, but had no such luck. We then went to a gorgeous Jain temple and took a boat around the lake at sunset with no rain. It was lovely. We also visited Rama Krishna spiritual university and I found it a bit cultish and bizzarre. Tomorrow, we leave for Jodphur and I look forward to dry weather again, although the thunder and lightning is incredible to experience.
Christian and I decided to forego Morocco and I have confirmed my return from Egypt to Bombay, thanks to the help of my mother and stepfather. Thank you! All is well and as it should be. I am at times very lonely, especially when the Indian tourists in all of these places (mostly from Gujarat) stare at me like I'm insane for eating or walking alone. But then again, I'm American. Things are different. Independence is different. I'm different. It's okay. There is no harm or danger that I feel here. Only curiosity. Isn't this part of why I travel, too? It is a pleasure and an honor to be here. They can stare all they want. I am lucky to be alive. Lucky to be in India. And I welcome these ups and down in my travels.
Rajastan, like India, is a magical journey. And the cows continue to be revered more than anything. Something I still find hysterical every single time. Increidible.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Revolving Tower of Om
I wrote this last night in the revolving restaurant atop Om Tower: Even after travelling all over the world, I sit atop a revolving Om and my mind revolves in time. I miss home, community, companionship and oddly enough - the wise Sufi wisdom of my persian friend Reza. I think he'll be a good friend to me for a long, long time. He has been. He is the one who reminded me that Rum wrote about the few people that hear the call and the fewer still that heed it. Many have done the spiritual journey before me. Is this a spiritual journey or a cop out? It's up to my attitude to decide. I am growing tired of a life without purpose as I sit here surrounded by Indian families who look at me sitting alone in a nice restaurant with curiosity and pity. So, I'll make this a purposeful journey - an exploration of other cultures infused with my spiritual journey. I'll really delve in to the taste and the culture. So, I ate a Rajasthani Thali that had seven types of local dishes (mostly made of spices and dahl). When I lauged to the waiter that I heard westerns lost weight in India, he balked: no, madam, you must get fatter in India - it shows you have been enjoying the food properly. Sometimes, I just love Indian logic.
I started today with a new mission: to melt into the cultures - less tourists, more locals. Ironically, I started the day with a full-day tour from the rickshaw driver who drove us into Jaipur on Day 1. His name is Chandra, which means Moon in Hindi. When I said this, his green yellow eyes grew huge and a smile sprung across his face. I knew he'd be a great tour guide. Raymundo decided not to come and is heading out of town tomorrow.
So I went out alone - day 1 with a local, even if this is his job. I threw on a blue headscarf to avoid the exhaust and fit right in with the veiled ladies - although still terribly shoddy looking comparatively (except for my fancy orange reflective designer sunglasses, of course). I went to the City Palace which was ornate and lovely. I sat with a painter for five minutes and watched him paint miniature stills of royal life. He painted a portrait of me and gave it to me. When I passed the shops, I was reminded of aggressive Kashmiri shopkeepers vying for my business all the way across the courtyard. I kept walking - this is not the culture I want to immerse myself in. I then paid a local guide to tell me how the neighboring giant observatory functioned back in the 1500s and was firmly reminded that I am not scientifically inclined, even if I am a modern woman - at all.
I asked Chandra to take me to a real Indian thali place - cheap and spicy - and he takes me to Venus. Across the park is a temple for a water god, like Poseidon. He is surrounded by durga, ganesh, vishnu, parvati, ram, sitta, hanuman...the shiva clan..everybody is in the house. I sing little songs to all of them as I wander around the temple and feel very at home.
At Venus, the owner sits across the table from me and when he gets up, the waiter sits down. Men from the kitchen come out and just kinda hover around the table. I decide that I'm just going to be myself and chat away amiably. After the meal, the owner invites me out for the night. I tell him that "being friends" means no touching, okay? He looks taken aback and says "I understand, madam." Was this too far or necessary? Who knows? I just felt the need to let him know a woman could be friendly, but that doesn't mean she's a benefits package. The thali was terrific and I left with a few more friends shaking hands and wishing me well as they commented on my positive energy. Groovy.
We next drove 11 kms from town to sprawling Amber Fort. Along the way, men stared at me from the streets and the women that passed smiled from beneath their gloriously bedecked veils - I smiled back and loved being a woman in this place. As I looked around on the street, I realized that there really weren't too many westerners out on the street. As this was Sunday, all of the shopping stalls were closed, so the shopping tourists were gone. It was just me buzzing along blue eyed and light haired through the pink city in the ever smiling Chandra's rickshaw. This was a prelude to celebrity status...
Chandra dropped me at the bottom of Amber Fort and I started to walk through the beautiful garden. Families were sprawled out en masse b/c Sunday is the most popular time for villagers to come to the Fort and enjoy a picnic all day long. Of course, the ladies were dressed in their finest saris and the golds and oranges and yellows billowed resplendent in the bright green gardens of the palace grounds. One of the lovely ladies approached me in my rag tag skirt, black shirt and blue scarf (and fabulous glasses) and asked if I would take a picture of her family. So I did. Lovely. As I walked up the path, an intrepid youth named Raj tried to sell me pictures that his sister painted. Rather than take no for an answer, he agreed that I would meet him there later. Fine. A group of elderly ladies, thin and poor, but radiant in their bright saris sat in the shade of an ornate entryway. We smiled at eachother and I greeted them with 'Namaste,' to which they invited me to join them. I almost sat down, but saw one of the ladies gesturing that she wanted money for food. I kept walking and declined with a 'Danuvad,' then wondered if the lady was actually using sign language to invite me to eat with them. Next time, go a little slower Kyra. Every fourth man said 'hello' or something synonymous and every second woman exchanged a smile with me. I finally made it to the entrance of the fort and bought a head set.
As I listened to number 1, I noticed a group of small children wildly gesticulating at me from a nearby turret where they were having a picnic with three lovely sarie'd ladies. I smiled and waved and they broke into fits of giggles. When I got to number 2, the kids were alongside me and the mother explained they are an entire family that lives together and would I please take their picture. So I did, we shook hands, exchanged smiles and they all left in fits of giggles. When I was at number 5, one woman and five men approached me and again asked me to take their picture. THEN, everything shifted - they asked if they could take a picture with me. Sure, I said - only to then have each of them take at least two pics each with me with various cameras. I told them it would cost 500 ruppees each and they laughed and kept swapping people to sit next to me. As I walked under the Ganesh gate, number 7, I noticed several Indian tourists pretending to take pictures of eachother or the gate, but actually zooming in on me. This was weird. I checked my skirt to make sure it didn't have a giant hole or something. All well.
As soon as I walked through the Ganesh gate, I was bombarded with Indian tourists at every step, literally, asking to take my picture and asking me to take theirs. Here was a beautiful fort and palace over 500 years old with intricate carving and mirrored moghul ceilings, and the Indian tourists were gawking at me! None of them spoke much English and I only new my happy yoga words, so it was a postive exchange again and again and again. I moved on to the ancient queen and women's quarters - naturally hidden out of public view - and had an entire family of men with one matriarchal lady follow me down the corridors and into a chamber overlooking the lake - just to ask me to take photos. What?!
I decided to ditch all the Indians as well as my idea to assimilate cultures and I took a turn away from the path. One hour later, I'm in awe of the Escher (sp?)esqueness of the place b/c I STILL can't figure out how to get the hell out of the Red Fort maze. I hear music and people's voices and laughter echoing through the corridors, but can't find anyone. I finally find a group of teenagers who tell me to come with them. We all stumble around and find two security guards - both of whom have three different directions for how to get out of the place. They have no idea and join our reality show team from "Lost" as we stumble through endless stairways and pathways. I wondered if Sarah Winchester was a reincarnated lady from these days and places.
Finally, we find our way out and I take a few more photos and pose or a few more before slipping out of the Red Fort. All the Indian tourists I had seen that day shook my hand and smiled as I left the Fort. It was a very welcoming departure.
It got a little too welcoming as I descended as Raj and a bevy of young men were waiting outside. I felt like the pied piper as they all shouted "madam, madam, you buy this..." Just when I thought I was going to go nuts, I saw a group of people carrying a Ganesh statute while walking through the shallow lake below and singing joyously. On the edge of the lake, two giant elephants were on their sides receiving a bath. It was soooo sweet! I automatically smiled and stopped walking. For whatever reason, the boy swarm melted away from me - was this Ganesh's removing of obstacles or did I suddenly seem like a weird hippy westerner to them or did someone more lucrative looking come along? I don't know. It just changed - everything - in an instant and I felt very bonded with India again. Ganesh, you see, is my favorite deity to whom I sang every day before leaving San Francisco. And elephants! My god, I love elephants! They've been my favorite animal forever. I love India!
I rejoin with Chandra and ask why I got so much attention. He explained that there aren't many westerners here and many of the Indian villagers are tourists seeing a westerner for the first time. I am so used to being an "American" that everybody knows and sees, yet here I was: one of the only white people these people had ever seen in the flesh. Reality check! Whoa. We head to the floating water palace called Jal Mahal. I stop to take a stroll, hear singing from the lake and peek my head over the edge. A family is having their own little puja to Ganesh as they drop the deity in the water and watch it sink. They invite me to join them and I sing a Ganesh song with them: "Gung guna pataye namo namah..." They give me a red and yellow tikka on my third eye and I rejoin Chandra.
It starts pouring down rain and Chandra and I go to a bar for cover. This is completely taboo as drinking with a driver is a big no no in the Lonely Planet. I have one drink. He has one. I show him how to play the card game 'shithead' and we play until he finally wins - round 3 - so that he is no longer "the shithead." He's 39 and not married. This gives me a red flag. He tells me I have a nice figure. Uh oh. Then he buys me a rose. Here we go... We leave - it's still light - and he asks what I want to do this evening. I say go home unless he has a better idea for a tour. He says, "we have another drink" to which I earnestly explain that I don't drink much and I don't want an Indian boyfriend. I say we are friends - no touching - no expectations - can he understand? He has the same shocked look which then softens into understanding and agrees. I hope that I have righted the situation.
Tomorrow, Chandra will pick me up for the continued tour that got rained out and timed out by my celebrity pace and lost hour in the Red Fort. We will see whether it is possible to befriend an Indian man as a western woman and actually NOT have to deal with sexual expectations. Perhaps all it takes is simple communication, rather than not saying anything and hoping it will all magically be understood. I believe that's all it will take. I'll continue to be cautious, but as part of the cultural immersion, we'll have to understand eachother. I'd also really like to meet some Indian ladies...THAT would be great!
October is the beginning of tourist season. Until then, I'll continue to be a celebrity westerner to Indian villagers visiting special places, i.e. all the tourist forts, palaces and parks all around Rajastan. I'll do my best to be open and maintain my sense of humor about India and the ever-revolving sense of Om...
I started today with a new mission: to melt into the cultures - less tourists, more locals. Ironically, I started the day with a full-day tour from the rickshaw driver who drove us into Jaipur on Day 1. His name is Chandra, which means Moon in Hindi. When I said this, his green yellow eyes grew huge and a smile sprung across his face. I knew he'd be a great tour guide. Raymundo decided not to come and is heading out of town tomorrow.
So I went out alone - day 1 with a local, even if this is his job. I threw on a blue headscarf to avoid the exhaust and fit right in with the veiled ladies - although still terribly shoddy looking comparatively (except for my fancy orange reflective designer sunglasses, of course). I went to the City Palace which was ornate and lovely. I sat with a painter for five minutes and watched him paint miniature stills of royal life. He painted a portrait of me and gave it to me. When I passed the shops, I was reminded of aggressive Kashmiri shopkeepers vying for my business all the way across the courtyard. I kept walking - this is not the culture I want to immerse myself in. I then paid a local guide to tell me how the neighboring giant observatory functioned back in the 1500s and was firmly reminded that I am not scientifically inclined, even if I am a modern woman - at all.
I asked Chandra to take me to a real Indian thali place - cheap and spicy - and he takes me to Venus. Across the park is a temple for a water god, like Poseidon. He is surrounded by durga, ganesh, vishnu, parvati, ram, sitta, hanuman...the shiva clan..everybody is in the house. I sing little songs to all of them as I wander around the temple and feel very at home.
At Venus, the owner sits across the table from me and when he gets up, the waiter sits down. Men from the kitchen come out and just kinda hover around the table. I decide that I'm just going to be myself and chat away amiably. After the meal, the owner invites me out for the night. I tell him that "being friends" means no touching, okay? He looks taken aback and says "I understand, madam." Was this too far or necessary? Who knows? I just felt the need to let him know a woman could be friendly, but that doesn't mean she's a benefits package. The thali was terrific and I left with a few more friends shaking hands and wishing me well as they commented on my positive energy. Groovy.
We next drove 11 kms from town to sprawling Amber Fort. Along the way, men stared at me from the streets and the women that passed smiled from beneath their gloriously bedecked veils - I smiled back and loved being a woman in this place. As I looked around on the street, I realized that there really weren't too many westerners out on the street. As this was Sunday, all of the shopping stalls were closed, so the shopping tourists were gone. It was just me buzzing along blue eyed and light haired through the pink city in the ever smiling Chandra's rickshaw. This was a prelude to celebrity status...
Chandra dropped me at the bottom of Amber Fort and I started to walk through the beautiful garden. Families were sprawled out en masse b/c Sunday is the most popular time for villagers to come to the Fort and enjoy a picnic all day long. Of course, the ladies were dressed in their finest saris and the golds and oranges and yellows billowed resplendent in the bright green gardens of the palace grounds. One of the lovely ladies approached me in my rag tag skirt, black shirt and blue scarf (and fabulous glasses) and asked if I would take a picture of her family. So I did. Lovely. As I walked up the path, an intrepid youth named Raj tried to sell me pictures that his sister painted. Rather than take no for an answer, he agreed that I would meet him there later. Fine. A group of elderly ladies, thin and poor, but radiant in their bright saris sat in the shade of an ornate entryway. We smiled at eachother and I greeted them with 'Namaste,' to which they invited me to join them. I almost sat down, but saw one of the ladies gesturing that she wanted money for food. I kept walking and declined with a 'Danuvad,' then wondered if the lady was actually using sign language to invite me to eat with them. Next time, go a little slower Kyra. Every fourth man said 'hello' or something synonymous and every second woman exchanged a smile with me. I finally made it to the entrance of the fort and bought a head set.
As I listened to number 1, I noticed a group of small children wildly gesticulating at me from a nearby turret where they were having a picnic with three lovely sarie'd ladies. I smiled and waved and they broke into fits of giggles. When I got to number 2, the kids were alongside me and the mother explained they are an entire family that lives together and would I please take their picture. So I did, we shook hands, exchanged smiles and they all left in fits of giggles. When I was at number 5, one woman and five men approached me and again asked me to take their picture. THEN, everything shifted - they asked if they could take a picture with me. Sure, I said - only to then have each of them take at least two pics each with me with various cameras. I told them it would cost 500 ruppees each and they laughed and kept swapping people to sit next to me. As I walked under the Ganesh gate, number 7, I noticed several Indian tourists pretending to take pictures of eachother or the gate, but actually zooming in on me. This was weird. I checked my skirt to make sure it didn't have a giant hole or something. All well.
As soon as I walked through the Ganesh gate, I was bombarded with Indian tourists at every step, literally, asking to take my picture and asking me to take theirs. Here was a beautiful fort and palace over 500 years old with intricate carving and mirrored moghul ceilings, and the Indian tourists were gawking at me! None of them spoke much English and I only new my happy yoga words, so it was a postive exchange again and again and again. I moved on to the ancient queen and women's quarters - naturally hidden out of public view - and had an entire family of men with one matriarchal lady follow me down the corridors and into a chamber overlooking the lake - just to ask me to take photos. What?!
I decided to ditch all the Indians as well as my idea to assimilate cultures and I took a turn away from the path. One hour later, I'm in awe of the Escher (sp?)esqueness of the place b/c I STILL can't figure out how to get the hell out of the Red Fort maze. I hear music and people's voices and laughter echoing through the corridors, but can't find anyone. I finally find a group of teenagers who tell me to come with them. We all stumble around and find two security guards - both of whom have three different directions for how to get out of the place. They have no idea and join our reality show team from "Lost" as we stumble through endless stairways and pathways. I wondered if Sarah Winchester was a reincarnated lady from these days and places.
Finally, we find our way out and I take a few more photos and pose or a few more before slipping out of the Red Fort. All the Indian tourists I had seen that day shook my hand and smiled as I left the Fort. It was a very welcoming departure.
It got a little too welcoming as I descended as Raj and a bevy of young men were waiting outside. I felt like the pied piper as they all shouted "madam, madam, you buy this..." Just when I thought I was going to go nuts, I saw a group of people carrying a Ganesh statute while walking through the shallow lake below and singing joyously. On the edge of the lake, two giant elephants were on their sides receiving a bath. It was soooo sweet! I automatically smiled and stopped walking. For whatever reason, the boy swarm melted away from me - was this Ganesh's removing of obstacles or did I suddenly seem like a weird hippy westerner to them or did someone more lucrative looking come along? I don't know. It just changed - everything - in an instant and I felt very bonded with India again. Ganesh, you see, is my favorite deity to whom I sang every day before leaving San Francisco. And elephants! My god, I love elephants! They've been my favorite animal forever. I love India!
I rejoin with Chandra and ask why I got so much attention. He explained that there aren't many westerners here and many of the Indian villagers are tourists seeing a westerner for the first time. I am so used to being an "American" that everybody knows and sees, yet here I was: one of the only white people these people had ever seen in the flesh. Reality check! Whoa. We head to the floating water palace called Jal Mahal. I stop to take a stroll, hear singing from the lake and peek my head over the edge. A family is having their own little puja to Ganesh as they drop the deity in the water and watch it sink. They invite me to join them and I sing a Ganesh song with them: "Gung guna pataye namo namah..." They give me a red and yellow tikka on my third eye and I rejoin Chandra.
It starts pouring down rain and Chandra and I go to a bar for cover. This is completely taboo as drinking with a driver is a big no no in the Lonely Planet. I have one drink. He has one. I show him how to play the card game 'shithead' and we play until he finally wins - round 3 - so that he is no longer "the shithead." He's 39 and not married. This gives me a red flag. He tells me I have a nice figure. Uh oh. Then he buys me a rose. Here we go... We leave - it's still light - and he asks what I want to do this evening. I say go home unless he has a better idea for a tour. He says, "we have another drink" to which I earnestly explain that I don't drink much and I don't want an Indian boyfriend. I say we are friends - no touching - no expectations - can he understand? He has the same shocked look which then softens into understanding and agrees. I hope that I have righted the situation.
Tomorrow, Chandra will pick me up for the continued tour that got rained out and timed out by my celebrity pace and lost hour in the Red Fort. We will see whether it is possible to befriend an Indian man as a western woman and actually NOT have to deal with sexual expectations. Perhaps all it takes is simple communication, rather than not saying anything and hoping it will all magically be understood. I believe that's all it will take. I'll continue to be cautious, but as part of the cultural immersion, we'll have to understand eachother. I'd also really like to meet some Indian ladies...THAT would be great!
October is the beginning of tourist season. Until then, I'll continue to be a celebrity westerner to Indian villagers visiting special places, i.e. all the tourist forts, palaces and parks all around Rajastan. I'll do my best to be open and maintain my sense of humor about India and the ever-revolving sense of Om...
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Horn to Please
Somebody once told me that the minute India is no longer funny, it's time to leave. India is hilarious. Phew. Today I took a local bus from Delhi to Jaipur (the mughal pink city).
On the journey, I observed that my new travel partner (a gentle, quiet 50 year old Swiss man) has two arms full of bad tattos, a "freedom rock" sense of style and turrets syndrome that thrice caused the bus driver to stop honking while swerving through the traffic. Just after a bombastic "Donald Duck bellar-quacks/sneezes in frustration" filled the entire bus, Raymundo remained nonplussed as the red scarf tied around his long gray ponytail blew in the ice-cold air conditioning.
Across the aisle, I observe him from the warmth of my down sleeping bag. Outside, it is 42 degrees celscius. The camel carts are just a little faster than the hundreds of chubby Indian middle age executive men in yellow t-shirts having a relay race on the freeway in the midst of all the traffic. Grungy oil tankers whiz by us with a gale force honk and painted messages: "Highly Inflammable," "Edible Oil" and "Horn to Please."
Unlike the night bazaar in Delhi that was teeming with hundreds of aggressive male touts and touchers in the absence of not more than 10 women, the females are out in force walking and working among the lounging men - not walking and not working, rather peacefully watching the cars and animals and people flurry by. And you can't help but notice these gloriously decked ladies as we drive toward Jaipur in Rajastan. The women are wearing screaming bright sarongs of yellow, pink, green, blue...every color imaginable. They make absolutely stunning figures as they float along like garish butterflies carrying giant bundles on their brightly veiled heads (and faces) . I wonder at the ostentatious array of colors flowing from a face veiled with the same bright color - walking purdah day glow sticks who don't want to be seen. What a contrast. "There must be more to this than meets the eye," I think to myself.
And just when the contrasts can't get any more wacko, I see the courtyard of a Hindu temple and hundreds of women are dressed in white and pink alongside hundreds of men clad in white and . They are lined up beneath the trees with their hands in namaste mudra at their hearts. Their heads are bowed in unison and it is one of the most suddenly peaceful flashes on a freeway I've ever seen. Just then, Raymundo quacked again. The driver shuddered and looked back at him like he was possessed. One second later, the looked forward, renestled his bottom on the seat and as if to confirm that he was "back" on the wheel, he layed on the horn. Horn to please, indeed.
I'm not really surprised by any of this - either because everything is wacko in India (kindof) or because it's just plain obvious. India is a land of contrasts. There is always fluidity in the chaos and hundreds of years of history to explain the way things are. All you have to do is open your eyes and refrain from judgement. It's all good.
Raymundo can't help that he has turrets and is stuck in the 1960s when he takes a bus journey through India. Who am I to judge? My clothes look like a pauper's compared to the lovely saris worn by the Indians. And up until this trip, I thought the Indian ladies chose to dress like unevolved fashionistas. In FACT, they are classy and elegant and completely modern. My judgment was turned inside out.
I did, however, decide to find out a bit more about Raymundo after he quacked up a few times. But first, a little history as to how he became my travel pal. In June, I saw him in Pokhara on the street and thought he was one of those mild-eyed, skinny westerners who has been in India for a long, long time. So, when I saw him again on the rooftop of my hotel during dinner in Delhi, I introduced myself and the next day we reconvened and shared a taxi all over town. I had a list of sights and he was wide open. He was also courteous, sweet, unintrusive and quiet. He also planned on leaving to Rajastan for two weeks. "The perfect travel partner!" I thought. And he is. For somebody.
Raymundo doesn't work. His latest business venture involved buying decorated, i.e. jeweled skulls from Kathmandu for $500 USD and selling them in Zurich for $3,000.00. Apparently, Hells Angels like to buy the skulls for their choppers. Who knew? His arms have tattos with knives and "Bugs" (his former nickname) stamped in scuzzy black ink. I found myself making so many judgments with this and the freedom rock and the quacking...it just all spiraled into "be careful who you travel with" and then "you can't judge a book by its cover." Or can you? This will be a lesson in judgment. Raymundo is perfectly nice and harmless. We'll do another tour tomorrow of Jaipur and perhaps then we'll part ways.
But I must admit that it's SOOOOO much nicer to travel with another person, especially a man. Last night, Delhi was crazy and I knew I was not heckled (much) because I was with him. I felt free! However, today I decided to venture out alone (Raymundo was sleeping in his room) and I had dinner on a revolving tower (that reminded me of my senior prom dinner in San Francisco). It was less than 1 km to the hotel, so I decided to walk. Whooeee! It didn't take five seconds to have men coming up and talking to me, every person staring at me, etc. until finally a 15 year old boy rides up on his bicycle and says "hi." I look at him and he has nice eyes so we chat. He escorts me all the way home and answers my question: "there are no other women on the road b/c it is not safe for them to be out at night." When I ask if I'm in danger, he says "no b/c you're a tourist - it's different for foreigners." Another contrast.
So, do I keep a quacking freedom rock security guard or brave this alone?
The Lonely Planet threatens "beware of friendly people that meet you on the streets..." because they want to sell you something. Duh. But, really what is wrong with people trying to sell you something? Some of them are pretty darn creative.
For instance, I met three juvenile boys on the street (I pretended I was spanish and whaddya know, he spoke spanish). They invited me to their puppet show at the hotel directly across the street from my hotel. Later, I went. The puppet show was hilarious and totally amateur. They constructed a puppet stage on the hotel roof garden and had an entire cast of puppet characters. "Who is this?" asked the puppeteer. "The devil," I guessed at the freaky looking creature with blueish horn-looking things before me. "No sir, it's Michael Jackson of Calcutta!" roared the puppeteer as he had him do the moon walk and remove his freakish head from his body in a popping break dance moves. BTW, everyone calls me "sir" in India. The puppets were gorgeous (except for the freaky looking Michael Jackson). I laughed and laughed. What do you know? The puppets were for sale.
The three entrepeneurs then asked if I wanted the special one hour show on mughal history. "Why not?" I said. It's not as if I had anything else I could do since I was without a man at night, after all. And the Mughal influence is interesting, especially in Moghul influenced Rajastan. So, when it started raining after 30 minutes and the one song and dance never changed except to change the name of the historical figure killing another historical figure in a fit of homosexual gyrations on the floor that was a mix between Bollywood and the Castro, I requested that they shorten the show to the reign of Akbar and Shah Jahan (with his wife Mumtaz, for whom he built the Taj Mahal, and his evil son who imprisoned him in the Red Fort overlooking the Taj Mahal and took over the kingdom). As with everything, they said "yes" and did nothing of the sort.
I finally escaped after promising to return if I found nothing better or cheaper the following day. I paid them 200 rupees for the show. They gave me a bunch of elephants hanging from a string. The main guy/singer/drummer/talker turned up the trunks and said "welcome," "welcome," "welcome," with each upturned trunk. These guys were hilarious. Was I unfairly duped into seeing this display of creative desperation to sell puppets? Not really. Did I receive a shock to my moral sensibilities? Not really. After all, I did run alongside freakier people at Bay to Breakers in San Francisco and hello, um, Burning Man??? So, what is so bad about meeting someone and seeing their show? The experience is one I'll never forget. We were perfectly safe on the hotel roof garden with people passing through. I'd have the common sense not to go to a private place for the show. So what is the Lonely Planet so freaked out about?
I believe if you use your judgment, all will be well. But sometimes, not responding to anyone b/c you're a female and he's a male and this is India is just plain rude. And a bummer. I like people. I'll continue to use my intuition. My intuition tells me to ditch "freedom rock" and actually travel free. I'm sure I won't be alone for long. Travel companions are everywhere. But, do I want one? Perhaps this woman can take India on alone. Why not? Or perhaps I'll wake up tomorrow, go on the tour with Raymundo and decide not to be so judgmental. Quack, quack, quack...
On the journey, I observed that my new travel partner (a gentle, quiet 50 year old Swiss man) has two arms full of bad tattos, a "freedom rock" sense of style and turrets syndrome that thrice caused the bus driver to stop honking while swerving through the traffic. Just after a bombastic "Donald Duck bellar-quacks/sneezes in frustration" filled the entire bus, Raymundo remained nonplussed as the red scarf tied around his long gray ponytail blew in the ice-cold air conditioning.
Across the aisle, I observe him from the warmth of my down sleeping bag. Outside, it is 42 degrees celscius. The camel carts are just a little faster than the hundreds of chubby Indian middle age executive men in yellow t-shirts having a relay race on the freeway in the midst of all the traffic. Grungy oil tankers whiz by us with a gale force honk and painted messages: "Highly Inflammable," "Edible Oil" and "Horn to Please."
Unlike the night bazaar in Delhi that was teeming with hundreds of aggressive male touts and touchers in the absence of not more than 10 women, the females are out in force walking and working among the lounging men - not walking and not working, rather peacefully watching the cars and animals and people flurry by. And you can't help but notice these gloriously decked ladies as we drive toward Jaipur in Rajastan. The women are wearing screaming bright sarongs of yellow, pink, green, blue...every color imaginable. They make absolutely stunning figures as they float along like garish butterflies carrying giant bundles on their brightly veiled heads (and faces) . I wonder at the ostentatious array of colors flowing from a face veiled with the same bright color - walking purdah day glow sticks who don't want to be seen. What a contrast. "There must be more to this than meets the eye," I think to myself.
And just when the contrasts can't get any more wacko, I see the courtyard of a Hindu temple and hundreds of women are dressed in white and pink alongside hundreds of men clad in white and . They are lined up beneath the trees with their hands in namaste mudra at their hearts. Their heads are bowed in unison and it is one of the most suddenly peaceful flashes on a freeway I've ever seen. Just then, Raymundo quacked again. The driver shuddered and looked back at him like he was possessed. One second later, the looked forward, renestled his bottom on the seat and as if to confirm that he was "back" on the wheel, he layed on the horn. Horn to please, indeed.
I'm not really surprised by any of this - either because everything is wacko in India (kindof) or because it's just plain obvious. India is a land of contrasts. There is always fluidity in the chaos and hundreds of years of history to explain the way things are. All you have to do is open your eyes and refrain from judgement. It's all good.
Raymundo can't help that he has turrets and is stuck in the 1960s when he takes a bus journey through India. Who am I to judge? My clothes look like a pauper's compared to the lovely saris worn by the Indians. And up until this trip, I thought the Indian ladies chose to dress like unevolved fashionistas. In FACT, they are classy and elegant and completely modern. My judgment was turned inside out.
I did, however, decide to find out a bit more about Raymundo after he quacked up a few times. But first, a little history as to how he became my travel pal. In June, I saw him in Pokhara on the street and thought he was one of those mild-eyed, skinny westerners who has been in India for a long, long time. So, when I saw him again on the rooftop of my hotel during dinner in Delhi, I introduced myself and the next day we reconvened and shared a taxi all over town. I had a list of sights and he was wide open. He was also courteous, sweet, unintrusive and quiet. He also planned on leaving to Rajastan for two weeks. "The perfect travel partner!" I thought. And he is. For somebody.
Raymundo doesn't work. His latest business venture involved buying decorated, i.e. jeweled skulls from Kathmandu for $500 USD and selling them in Zurich for $3,000.00. Apparently, Hells Angels like to buy the skulls for their choppers. Who knew? His arms have tattos with knives and "Bugs" (his former nickname) stamped in scuzzy black ink. I found myself making so many judgments with this and the freedom rock and the quacking...it just all spiraled into "be careful who you travel with" and then "you can't judge a book by its cover." Or can you? This will be a lesson in judgment. Raymundo is perfectly nice and harmless. We'll do another tour tomorrow of Jaipur and perhaps then we'll part ways.
But I must admit that it's SOOOOO much nicer to travel with another person, especially a man. Last night, Delhi was crazy and I knew I was not heckled (much) because I was with him. I felt free! However, today I decided to venture out alone (Raymundo was sleeping in his room) and I had dinner on a revolving tower (that reminded me of my senior prom dinner in San Francisco). It was less than 1 km to the hotel, so I decided to walk. Whooeee! It didn't take five seconds to have men coming up and talking to me, every person staring at me, etc. until finally a 15 year old boy rides up on his bicycle and says "hi." I look at him and he has nice eyes so we chat. He escorts me all the way home and answers my question: "there are no other women on the road b/c it is not safe for them to be out at night." When I ask if I'm in danger, he says "no b/c you're a tourist - it's different for foreigners." Another contrast.
So, do I keep a quacking freedom rock security guard or brave this alone?
The Lonely Planet threatens "beware of friendly people that meet you on the streets..." because they want to sell you something. Duh. But, really what is wrong with people trying to sell you something? Some of them are pretty darn creative.
For instance, I met three juvenile boys on the street (I pretended I was spanish and whaddya know, he spoke spanish). They invited me to their puppet show at the hotel directly across the street from my hotel. Later, I went. The puppet show was hilarious and totally amateur. They constructed a puppet stage on the hotel roof garden and had an entire cast of puppet characters. "Who is this?" asked the puppeteer. "The devil," I guessed at the freaky looking creature with blueish horn-looking things before me. "No sir, it's Michael Jackson of Calcutta!" roared the puppeteer as he had him do the moon walk and remove his freakish head from his body in a popping break dance moves. BTW, everyone calls me "sir" in India. The puppets were gorgeous (except for the freaky looking Michael Jackson). I laughed and laughed. What do you know? The puppets were for sale.
The three entrepeneurs then asked if I wanted the special one hour show on mughal history. "Why not?" I said. It's not as if I had anything else I could do since I was without a man at night, after all. And the Mughal influence is interesting, especially in Moghul influenced Rajastan. So, when it started raining after 30 minutes and the one song and dance never changed except to change the name of the historical figure killing another historical figure in a fit of homosexual gyrations on the floor that was a mix between Bollywood and the Castro, I requested that they shorten the show to the reign of Akbar and Shah Jahan (with his wife Mumtaz, for whom he built the Taj Mahal, and his evil son who imprisoned him in the Red Fort overlooking the Taj Mahal and took over the kingdom). As with everything, they said "yes" and did nothing of the sort.
I finally escaped after promising to return if I found nothing better or cheaper the following day. I paid them 200 rupees for the show. They gave me a bunch of elephants hanging from a string. The main guy/singer/drummer/talker turned up the trunks and said "welcome," "welcome," "welcome," with each upturned trunk. These guys were hilarious. Was I unfairly duped into seeing this display of creative desperation to sell puppets? Not really. Did I receive a shock to my moral sensibilities? Not really. After all, I did run alongside freakier people at Bay to Breakers in San Francisco and hello, um, Burning Man??? So, what is so bad about meeting someone and seeing their show? The experience is one I'll never forget. We were perfectly safe on the hotel roof garden with people passing through. I'd have the common sense not to go to a private place for the show. So what is the Lonely Planet so freaked out about?
I believe if you use your judgment, all will be well. But sometimes, not responding to anyone b/c you're a female and he's a male and this is India is just plain rude. And a bummer. I like people. I'll continue to use my intuition. My intuition tells me to ditch "freedom rock" and actually travel free. I'm sure I won't be alone for long. Travel companions are everywhere. But, do I want one? Perhaps this woman can take India on alone. Why not? Or perhaps I'll wake up tomorrow, go on the tour with Raymundo and decide not to be so judgmental. Quack, quack, quack...
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Delhi Daze
The first thing I noticed when I stepped off the plane was the heat. Heavy - too heavy - and it was only 7:50 a.m. The second thing I noticed was the yellowish brown fog resting on the airport runway and beyond. Leh was beautiful, clear, blue and refreshingly cold when I left. My, how things change quickly. My sunglasses broke as soon as I put them in my purse at baggage claim. A taxi driver charged to charge me twice the rate to get to the backpacker area and walked me all the way back to the airport lying about the rate. He said "you see, you go ask and you'll come back." I saw, I asked, I came back with a receipt for half the rate for another driver and he was nowhere to be found. The drive into town was stop and go with no air conditioning, plenty of horns and burps of exhaust through the windows. I checked into a nicer hotel with a/c and a television - I watched the drama of Bollywood and fell asleep only to be awoken from my sweet sleep by the sounds of Delhi - incessant honks, so many horns, non-stop horns, to greet my new afternoon. Welcome back to Delhi.
I feel very alone. I just bought a pair of sunglasses that are glamorous and impractical b/c I'm sick of all of my ragged clothes and wild hair. I tried to buy some clothes, but all of the material in this area of Delhi is cheap and tacky. I could walk to Connaught Place and do some western shopping, but that's not why I'm in India. When I was trekking in Zanskar, I dreamt one night of my supple leather skirt that is camel colored and my carmel colored suede boots and my soft mohair overcoat - I was so happy to have nice clothes again...then I woke up in a tent with a hat on my greasy head to keep from freezing or getting wet from the condensation of the tent, which was hardly long enough for my 5'9 1/2" frame. I am feeling the need for luxury right now. Or company. I don't know. Both, actually. I wish I had my girlfriends from San Francisco and we could go hiking or dining in whatever felt comfortable and looked great and clean to wear. I know this is a spiritual journey, but sometimes I just want luxury. Guess saddhuhood isn't for me.
I also started feeling really alone in Zanskar. I blogged about it a bit with "what is my place, et al." but now I see how people are together while travelling and wish I had someone. Now I see mothers on bollywood shows doting on their sons and I wish I had my mother or I actually would marry someone and have a fun. I wonder often if I should have married my first true love, RK. Did I make a mistake? Will I be alone forever? I just felt like wallowing on my blog b/c I'm so utterly depressed today and I figured I should capture it and share it with you all. It's real.
I bought a book on Egypt and am looking forward to my lonely five days at the beach before my two week tour with Intrepid. After, in Morocco, it's hard to tell whether I'll feel alone or not. After Morocco, where will I go? Why am I still travelling? What am I doing?
Today, I really don't know. I'm in a dirty city with a crumby attitude. Even still, at the hotel desk, I met two travellers who are looking to rent a car and drive around Rajastan. I'm supposed to meet them in 30 minutes to see how we get along and whether I can join them for two weeks. I'm in a really grumpy mood and am wondering if I'm weak to just grab on to the first people who came along. But then again, they're the ONLY people I've spoken to since I got here aside from service people. So, is this the universe once again providing me with exactly what I need?
If so, I am grateful. Yet, I just feel very, very, very alone today. Woe is me. Happy real birthday to my beloved sister Lisa - she is a beautiful human being and I wish I could hug her right now. Sometimes, she's lonely too. Family shouldn't be so far apart. Why am I so far away from everyone right now? It hurts.
I feel very alone. I just bought a pair of sunglasses that are glamorous and impractical b/c I'm sick of all of my ragged clothes and wild hair. I tried to buy some clothes, but all of the material in this area of Delhi is cheap and tacky. I could walk to Connaught Place and do some western shopping, but that's not why I'm in India. When I was trekking in Zanskar, I dreamt one night of my supple leather skirt that is camel colored and my carmel colored suede boots and my soft mohair overcoat - I was so happy to have nice clothes again...then I woke up in a tent with a hat on my greasy head to keep from freezing or getting wet from the condensation of the tent, which was hardly long enough for my 5'9 1/2" frame. I am feeling the need for luxury right now. Or company. I don't know. Both, actually. I wish I had my girlfriends from San Francisco and we could go hiking or dining in whatever felt comfortable and looked great and clean to wear. I know this is a spiritual journey, but sometimes I just want luxury. Guess saddhuhood isn't for me.
I also started feeling really alone in Zanskar. I blogged about it a bit with "what is my place, et al." but now I see how people are together while travelling and wish I had someone. Now I see mothers on bollywood shows doting on their sons and I wish I had my mother or I actually would marry someone and have a fun. I wonder often if I should have married my first true love, RK. Did I make a mistake? Will I be alone forever? I just felt like wallowing on my blog b/c I'm so utterly depressed today and I figured I should capture it and share it with you all. It's real.
I bought a book on Egypt and am looking forward to my lonely five days at the beach before my two week tour with Intrepid. After, in Morocco, it's hard to tell whether I'll feel alone or not. After Morocco, where will I go? Why am I still travelling? What am I doing?
Today, I really don't know. I'm in a dirty city with a crumby attitude. Even still, at the hotel desk, I met two travellers who are looking to rent a car and drive around Rajastan. I'm supposed to meet them in 30 minutes to see how we get along and whether I can join them for two weeks. I'm in a really grumpy mood and am wondering if I'm weak to just grab on to the first people who came along. But then again, they're the ONLY people I've spoken to since I got here aside from service people. So, is this the universe once again providing me with exactly what I need?
If so, I am grateful. Yet, I just feel very, very, very alone today. Woe is me. Happy real birthday to my beloved sister Lisa - she is a beautiful human being and I wish I could hug her right now. Sometimes, she's lonely too. Family shouldn't be so far apart. Why am I so far away from everyone right now? It hurts.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Leaving Loving Ladakh
Happy (almost) Birthday, Lisa!!! Happy soon-birthday, Audrey!!!! I love you guys (sister and niece).
Today is my last day in Leh. I started the day admiring the bright blue skies, white fluffy clouds, golden fields of wheat billowing on the farmlands spreading out from my hotel window and overlooking the resplendent rainbow of colors in the Guesthouse vegetable and flower garden. I finished reading ‘The Prophet,’ saw a friend off onto the road of travels and taught a class eight people chakra yoga for two hours. And now, this.
Today is the first full day of Ramadan. The Kashmiri shopkeepers are uncharacteristically quiet as they aren’t supposed to speak much to conserve their energy during the day while they fast. The streets of Leh are actually uncharacteristically quiet compared to the buzzing activity of July. Most of the tourists have gone and all shopkeepers will leave by Sept. 15. It’s nice to have the streets of this gorgeous valley so still and calm. I’m sure the shopkeepers agree on a certain level, while they surely disagree on a financial levely. They’re as amiable and calm as ever and I feel at home as we exchange our usual chats, occasionally sharing a cup of black tea.
I haven’t written for a while because so much has been happening here that I can’t distill into words. Rather than drag on and forget so much, I’ll make an effort here on my trusty blog. Perhaps I’ll work backwards.
For the past three days, the fellows who own La Pizzeria, Praful and Sunni, and I have been trying to sort out a trip to an and the paint shop. None of it has manifested and so La Pizzeria will remain unpainted and my story unspoken to me by the Oracle. I now have two incredible reasons to return to Leh. Since neither plan would work out, the lads invited me to go to Spituk monastery with them to see a Champa (a masked dance). As time passes in India, by the time we arrived, it was already over. Since I’d already seen Spituk (a la the fire puja with the head lama) and my Zanskar trekking partner Silvaine from France had also seen it, we decided on plan B – no plan. The lads took us on their favorite drive for making decisions. We drove through small villages with the noticeable change in building materials from mud bricks to cement bricks and tin roofs to accommodate the increasing amounts of rain from melting glaciers all around the valley. We drove past the Indus River, in parts with cows sloshing through it for no apparent reason and in other parts with two men relaxing alongside the shore in the sun and in other parts with 10 different vehicles being washed on (and in) its river banks – a natural car wash! We drove past the park where ‘’young Ladakhis go to be romantic and disappear into the brush’as Praful said. So, there is some sort of romantic tactility in this country…who knew? We continued on to the picnic grounds where they go to relax along the offshoot of the Indus. Where our picnics may last an afternoon, theirs often go from one week to two weeks! They just bring tents and provisions and stay as long as they last. What a pace.
As we lunched by the side of the river and discussed politics, materialism and spirituality, a cow walked across the creek to join us. We fed it small apples and eventually, I had the cow literally eating out of my hand. Another one joined and I found I have an uncanny ability to speak to cows. I’m not kidding. Initially, the cow wouldn’t let either man touch her, but literally walked up to me even though I didn’t have any apples. The other cow walked directly toward me while I whistling (or trying to whistle) and then posed for photographs with me. Every time I turned my head, it turned its head. When I told it to look at the camera, she did! It was a very sweet experience to connect with such a docile and revered creature. The eyes of a cow are like a deer’s eye – calm and beautiful. I felt like Leh was giving me a little lick of love to send me on my way.
The sun was shining and illuminating the entire brook and forests in glittering bastions of gold. We walked through the forest slowly – snapping photos and savoring the beauty of India. The valley was of course the snow-capped Himalayas on one side and the dilapidated stupas and fortress of Shey Palace on the other side. I felt warm and lucky in the embrace of nature and man-made spiritual history.
We drove back through Chogsalmer, where I’d been invited to return to teach English and yoga. After notifying the headmaster that I’d be on a trek for a while, I haven’t contacted him since. There is a block in me that is not ready to return to classrooms of children and actually teach English or yoga. I feel bad about this block and will call the man today to say that I am leaving, but it just didn’t feel right. I made no promises to the man, but still realize that this was a beautiful opportunity offered to me that I did not take. Why not? I don’t know. This is something to look at. Maybe it’s okay if I don’t want to. But, I still feel bad about it. Bless the little children without my English or yoga.
Last night, I walked up to Shanti Stupa at sunset – or actually just after sunset. The wisened old Kashmiri man with the crooked smile and soft brown eyes who sells tea at the bottom of the steps (“there are 600 steps!” beamed an enthusiastic German trekker as he descended the stairs past me) shook his head when he saw me approaching, solo per usual. “You are always late” he says, echoing numerous other greetings of the past such as ’’you’re too late” and “the sunset is gone already.’’ I raised my arms and said ‘that’s my nature’and for the first time since I’ve taken this journey, the man smiled at me and said ‘sometimes that is a better way.’ I shared with him a bit of the banana chocolate pie that I picked up from my favorite bakery, Babylon. I bought this pie to celebrate the beauty of Leh for one of my final evenings at Shanti Stupa. “Take a slow pace and enjoy”’ he called to me as I left on my ascent. Words to live by…
At the top of the stupa, the tourists were gone, the sun was gone and everything sparkled silvery pink in the aftermath of the sunset. The empty platform spilled silver and inviting from the stupa to the valley and mountains below. I couldn’t resist the calling and started doing heart openers and downward dogs through yoga right there on the platform. It was beautiful and empowering. I rested and chanted a guidance song ‘’aum asatoma sat gamaya, tamasoma jyotir gamaya, mrityor ma amritam gamaya, auuuuuummm, hari aum.’’ This sweet song I’d sung many a times with Sarah and as Shanti Stupa was one of her favorite places, I though of her. Suddenly, two Tibetan men appeared (not monks) and sat down to chat with me. They complimented my yoga and we began a nice dialogue about breathing and God and Tibet and Leh. I realized that there I was alone on a high hill with two strange men. Yet, there was such a kind goodness to them that I felt no fear and only camaraderie in our joint appreciation of the universe and ways to feel it within. Everything happens in threes – sure enough, my Tibetan massage partner (I took a five-day course and am now certified to give a full body massage!) Tim showed up at the stupa and joined us. We gazed in silence for a while, then went onto the stupa to say goodbye to the beautiful figures within the stupa depicting the life of Buddha. We sat in front of the ‘Turning the Wheel of Dharma”and I sang some devotional songs. It was mixing religions, but Buddha surely didn’t care as I offered it up to the universe and Tim and me as I hoped that our dharma wheels would continue to unfurl as they should.
I returned home from the stupa to a note from a San Francisco yoga instructor that I met here named Rani and a swiss cheese maker named Bhim. Bhim’s note included a lovely bouquet of flowers and some sweets. I placed them next to the card Tim had given me with two kit kats and a card quoting the Dalai Lama about friendship. I suddenly became aware that I had gathered an amazing array of friends and teachers here in Leh and they were very generous with their kindness and offers of friendship. Each note and card was given to me b/c all of us are taking off on our own paths and may or may not reconvene. Rani and I know many of the same people in San Francisco and Fairfax and actually dated the same man. Bhim is the last initiate of Swami Gitananda, who is the exact same Swami with whom my teacher David at Pyramid Yoga studied with. Thus, I studied in Thailand the science of yoga and the chakras, as taught by swami Gitananda and received by Bhim the cheesemaker who I just happened to meet in Leh (through Sarah). When I met Bhim, I liked him automatically and thought I would very much like to discuss yoga with him. What do you know? We literally speak the same language when it comes to yoga and it was a very fortuitous meeting, indeed. (Tim – well there is no connection – he’s a kind, gentle traveler on his own path and I wish him well. He has great hands and is a terrific masseuse. I hope he keeps it up.)
Two days ago was the first day of the Leh festival. I watched the parade of Ladakhis from all the various villages that I’d visited in the past two months. They performed dances and songs as they paraded through the emptying streets of Leh and culminated in a giant stage in the polo field until evening time. Rani and I enjoyed the festival together as we sat side by side with Ladakhi men on a mud fence overlooking the polo grounds. We were, of course, the only women to be so brazen as to join the men on top of a fence – dirt and all. Who cares? That morning as I waited for the parade, I met a crystal shop owner who told me that he noticed my vibrant energy which was very powerful, but I had a blocked second and fifth chakra. He is a kashmiri muslim grandfather, who is also a crystal healer who has worked with Osho and is a disciple of Sai Baba. Only in India. We shared a delicious cup of chai as we discussed energy centers and his experiences with crystals. We were interrupted by a Frenchman who was an old friend of his - I left them to catch up. I think I’ll spend a bit of my last day with him to see what crystals are about and how they may help this blockage. Why not? The second chakra, by the way, is the covalent force of nature that brings two molecules together to create a new thing – such as H2O – water. It has to do with your ability to receive emotional energies from other people and to be fluid with their energies, take it in and enjoy it, learn from it, but don’t lose your own energy in the surge of another’s. Keep the balance, stay open, share discriminatingly or else you give too much of yourself and are depleted. The fifth chakra is the throat chakra – expression. I have this blog, but why didn’t I go to the Tibetan school to teach English and yoga? A block, perhaps. What else am I not saying???
The prior night, I walked up to Shanti Stupa, bought tea from the Kashmiri man at the base that he says is good for chest pain. I don’t have any, but why not try some? I told him I could give it to the guesthouse owners and he ordered me to ‘take it home’and share it there. Okay, grandma, I hope you’ll like this tea. It’s for you. At the top of the stupa, I meditated on my girlfriend Marta Maria Marraccini who is marrying imminently a French man she met on a Mexican beach. His name is Phillipe and they are very much in love. I’m very, very sad to miss the wedding. So, I went to the top and meditated on their union. I opened my eyes and saw a rainbow arching over Leh Palace across the valley. A very auspicious symbol, indeed, for their union. I then closed my eyes and wished them the wisdom to compromise and learn from eachother and have compassion for their differences. I opened my eyes and looked to the Himalayan side of the valley. Half of the valley was a pink billowing fog and the other half was a heavy blue fog – just lingering together side by side over the Indus River and crowned by the snowy Himalayas. It was a perfect affirmation from nature, yet again, that the Himalayas bless their union. So…even if I’m not there in person, the Himalayas and I are there in nature and spirit 100%.
At night, the dogs continue to howl with the Muslim call to prayer. Last night, for no reason at all, the dogs barked all around the valley for about an hour. They wouldn’t stop and the barks and howls came from all sides of the valley. Hundreds of dogs releasing their song and I contemplated the beauty of the wild dogs of Ladakh – in community through the vibrations of their barks, alone. I wished I could howl to my mom and hear her call in return to bridge our distance. Then I wondered if I was becoming a little crazy with such thoughts????
As surely as the dogs howl around here, the flies have arrived in Leh to die, according to Praful. One day, I was receiving a massage from a Tibetan (the school where I learned Tibetan massage) and a fly was buzzing around and landing on me. He occasionally brushed it off of me. As I turned over, I asked if Buddhists didn’t believe in killing even one fly. He laughed, said a guard of the Dalai Lama’s had killed a fly in front of him and been told that was not good. Then he asked if I wanted to kill it – I lied and said ‘no.’ That night, when I returned to my hotel room, there were swarms of flies that magically appeared from the ceiling. Initially, I freaked out and thought it was too similar to Amityville Horror, then lauged at the lesson. So, okay, I want to kill a fly. I don’t, but I REALLY wanted to. That was just one. Now, my place of rest must be shared with hundreds of them. It was too cold for me to open a window – they were inside with me where it was warm and dry. So, I surrendered to the fact that I must be respectful of all creatures and went to bed covered as much as I could from their curious little legs and buzzes. I was surprised that they left me alone. We could all share the room without killing or irritating eachother. Who knew?
That was the same day that I celebrated the completion of my course by doing the unthinkable…I ate ice cream. Tim wanted a beer and went off after our celebration lunch to find a place that would serve it. Very hard to find alcohol up here. I went to a clean, touristy place for vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. It was good, but as I ate it, I cringed. Sure enough, one hour later as I’m listening to a Tibetan astrologer telling me that I was a dog in my past life, I felt that familiar bubble of gas swell up like a giant balloon inside me. The rest of the day was misery. I’ll never eat ice cream in India again. Ever. The astrologer told me to stick to the spiritual precepts and to stop thinking so much and my path will unfurl. I hoped that it wouldn’t unfurl too much in his presence. Ha ha. But really, there is a theme here of relenting, surrender, spiritual practice and a natural path. I’m living it now and it is beautiful. So, here goes a big ruff and a howl to the dharma wheel – it’s unfurling and yelping in just the right time and place and pace. Sweetness is everywhere and there’s no need to poison oneself with temptations that we know are bad for us, like ice cream in India. There are so many other sweet things to do and try instead. Wonderful…
I spent some time in the garden of the guesthouse with the neighbor’s seven-year old daughter. We painted flowers and mountains and the sky. Hers was a celebration of everything within eye’s view, while mine focused more on a single flower. We brought our wet paintings into the sun and danced around with them as they dried. It was lovely to giggle by doing such a simple thing. I wish that all of us would spend even one hour with a child painting in a sunny garden. Everything is a celebration and it’s everywhere!
Even when a cow steps out of the dark shadows directly in front of me as I walk the roads at night, I am initially startled than just have to laugh at the reality of it – the cow is queen (and prolific).
I’ve previously alluded to the flow within the chaos of India. It is here with all aspects of nature all the time – and rather than run from it, to simply observe it is a beautiful blend of feeling and experience. At La Pizzeria, a gale-force wind blew through Leh and we all simply stood and watched the force of nature as it howled across the valley in silence for about 30 minutes. While trekking, I avoided hale pummeling down on us at 4,000 meters, just by bending my head and enjoying the popcorn effects of the hale hitting the ground. As we walked through the sunny groves, it felt like golden nectar was bathing us in sweetness. When fording a river or a creek, you simply feel the curve of the river rock on which you’ve stepped so that you may move forward with firm footing in a flowing current. When the electricity went out during the Leh festival, everyone cheered and the performers kept singing and dancing until the power went on again – no beat was missed – but there was celebration at the fluctuation and power of nature. I love the way India celebrates nature. It is, like the cow, highly revered. And….it makes sense.
These are some examples of what I mean when I say that I haven’t written b/c so much has been happening. Words can’t really capture the love, the peace, the celebration, the alignment of things. I feel very safe and peaceful and held in Leh. I think of heading to the next destination of the unknown and get nervous. Then I realize that India is safer than the USA and I have nothing to fear. As Rusty would say, courage not fear.
I saw Obama’s acceptance speech at the Democratic Nat’l Convention and was almost moved to tears. The many erosions of civil rights and liberties inflicted upon the middle and lower classes was recognized, voiced and addressed. While listening to this articulate, grounded, charismatic man with a heart and a brain, I felt an infusion of hope for America. In listening to him, I realized how very disenchanted I had become with my country, with my job and with my life. Much of it was wrapped up in fighting the powers that be and go unchecked due to political corruption and consumer laziness. When Obama said that the change comes from within the moral structure of America, I hoped that this would be a wake-up call for Americans to learn, know and assert their rights again. Having the lawyers do it for them is too soul sucking for the lawyers – at least that’s how I feel. But, if Obama wins, will the people of America heed his call? Are they so fed up with debt and lies and war that they’ll vote for someone with vision, clarity, leadership and insight that has a heart? God, I hope so, I hope so, I hope so. And I hope Obama lives a very long time. God I hope so, I hope so, I hope so. This must be how people felt about Kennedy and his promise. I swell with hope at the prospect of a “changed”America. No one knows who will win. When I heard Bush wasn’t attending the Republican National Convention so he could go to New Orleans before the storm hit, I just felt sick. You know why…
So, it’s lunch time and I think I’ll go to my family at La Pizzeria. I have been eating staff meals with them and tasting the “real Indian food,”including a delicious mutton rogan josh last night. I don’t eat meat, usually, but this was a kashmiri speciality and delicious!! The lads have invited me to join them in Goa – where they are opening a new restaurant and guest house facility. If I teach yoga for two hours a day, they will build me a bamboo hut of my own to live for free. I can help them design the place and paint a wall, finally. The chef will show me how to cook his delicious foods. Praful and I can continue to discuss Hinduism and Sunni can describe further aspects of Tibetan Buddhism to me. Vinny, the sleazy waiter, will continue to hit on me and act desperately wounded when nothing pans out for him again and again and again. It’s an option with a group I’ve become very close to. They are like my brothers and their insights are 100% India. As Alex told me at the Indian border, India will take care of you and then you’ll take care of India. We’ll see whether our paths will reunite in India and the men who have been so good to me in Leh can be taken care of by my yoga, wit, and calm presence. I alone have this invitation and they are sincere. Again, the universe just provides. My plan doesn’t at the moment include Goa. We will see…
My current plan is to leave tomorrow on Lisa’s birthday and fly to Delhi. Perhaps I’ll spend one night in Amritsar at the Golden Temple to give due reverence to the Sikhs. Then, or otherwise, I’ll go straight to Rajastan and explore on my own for three weeks. This is the REAL India – gorgeous, colorful, zany, harassing and chaotic. After the peace of Leh, it will be a real shift. I’ll have to remember to breath, but what a gorgeous rainbow of energy and light swirling everywhere that will be. Wow. Courage not fear. After that, I fly to Europe on Sept. 27 for five days at the Red Sea and a two week tour through the pyramids and to luxor and Alexandria and a night in the desert. Thereafter, I reunite with Christian in Morocco for I hope a jeep ride through the sand dunes, a la his invitation. I depart to Morocco on October 16. I will likely return to Bombay on Nov. 1 when Christian leaves and explore Southern India. Goa is there. We will see…An ashram experience sounds pretty interesting, so perhaps Kerala or Tamil Nadu…or the Andaman Islands… or visit Bhim at his yoga hospital in Karnataka….who knows?
The path continues to unfurl…thank you beautiful, beautiful Leh. I love you.
FarewLeaving Ladakh
Today is my last day in Leh. I started the day admiring the bright blue skies, white fluffy clouds, golden fields of wheat billowing on the farmlands spreading out from my hotel window and overlooking the resplendent rainbow of colors in the Guesthouse vegetable and flower garden. I finished reading ‘The Prophet,’ saw a friend off onto the road of travels and taught a class eight people chakra yoga for two hours. And now, this.
Today is the first full day of Ramadan. The Kashmiri shopkeepers are uncharacteristically quiet as they aren’t supposed to speak much to conserve their energy during the day while they fast. The streets of Leh are actually uncharacteristically quiet compared to the buzzing activity of July. Most of the tourists have gone and all shopkeepers will leave by Sept. 15. It’s nice to have the streets of this gorgeous valley so still and calm. I’m sure the shopkeepers agree on a certain level, while they surely disagree on a financial levely. They’re as amiable and calm as ever and I feel at home as we exchange our usual chats, occasionally sharing a cup of black tea.
I haven’t written for a while because so much has been happening here that I can’t distill into words. Rather than drag on and forget so much, I’ll make an effort here on my trusty blog. Perhaps I’ll work backwards.
For the past three days, the fellows who own La Pizzeria, Praful and Sunni, and I have been trying to sort out a trip to an and the paint shop. None of it has manifested and so La Pizzeria will remain unpainted and my story unspoken to me by the Oracle. I now have two incredible reasons to return to Leh. Since neither plan would work out, the lads invited me to go to Spituk monastery with them to see a Champa (a masked dance). As time passes in India, by the time we arrived, it was already over. Since I’d already seen Spituk (a la the fire puja with the head lama) and my Zanskar trekking partner Silvaine from France had also seen it, we decided on plan B – no plan. The lads took us on their favorite drive for making decisions. We drove through small villages with the noticeable change in building materials from mud bricks to cement bricks and tin roofs to accommodate the increasing amounts of rain from melting glaciers all around the valley. We drove past the Indus River, in parts with cows sloshing through it for no apparent reason and in other parts with two men relaxing alongside the shore in the sun and in other parts with 10 different vehicles being washed on (and in) its river banks – a natural car wash! We drove past the park where ‘’young Ladakhis go to be romantic and disappear into the brush’as Praful said. So, there is some sort of romantic tactility in this country…who knew? We continued on to the picnic grounds where they go to relax along the offshoot of the Indus. Where our picnics may last an afternoon, theirs often go from one week to two weeks! They just bring tents and provisions and stay as long as they last. What a pace.
As we lunched by the side of the river and discussed politics, materialism and spirituality, a cow walked across the creek to join us. We fed it small apples and eventually, I had the cow literally eating out of my hand. Another one joined and I found I have an uncanny ability to speak to cows. I’m not kidding. Initially, the cow wouldn’t let either man touch her, but literally walked up to me even though I didn’t have any apples. The other cow walked directly toward me while I whistling (or trying to whistle) and then posed for photographs with me. Every time I turned my head, it turned its head. When I told it to look at the camera, she did! It was a very sweet experience to connect with such a docile and revered creature. The eyes of a cow are like a deer’s eye – calm and beautiful. I felt like Leh was giving me a little lick of love to send me on my way.
The sun was shining and illuminating the entire brook and forests in glittering bastions of gold. We walked through the forest slowly – snapping photos and savoring the beauty of India. The valley was of course the snow-capped Himalayas on one side and the dilapidated stupas and fortress of Shey Palace on the other side. I felt warm and lucky in the embrace of nature and man-made spiritual history.
We drove back through Chogsalmer, where I’d been invited to return to teach English and yoga. After notifying the headmaster that I’d be on a trek for a while, I haven’t contacted him since. There is a block in me that is not ready to return to classrooms of children and actually teach English or yoga. I feel bad about this block and will call the man today to say that I am leaving, but it just didn’t feel right. I made no promises to the man, but still realize that this was a beautiful opportunity offered to me that I did not take. Why not? I don’t know. This is something to look at. Maybe it’s okay if I don’t want to. But, I still feel bad about it. Bless the little children without my English or yoga.
Last night, I walked up to Shanti Stupa at sunset – or actually just after sunset. The wisened old Kashmiri man with the crooked smile and soft brown eyes who sells tea at the bottom of the steps (“there are 600 steps!” beamed an enthusiastic German trekker as he descended the stairs past me) shook his head when he saw me approaching, solo per usual. “You are always late” he says, echoing numerous other greetings of the past such as ’’you’re too late” and “the sunset is gone already.’’ I raised my arms and said ‘that’s my nature’and for the first time since I’ve taken this journey, the man smiled at me and said ‘sometimes that is a better way.’ I shared with him a bit of the banana chocolate pie that I picked up from my favorite bakery, Babylon. I bought this pie to celebrate the beauty of Leh for one of my final evenings at Shanti Stupa. “Take a slow pace and enjoy”’ he called to me as I left on my ascent. Words to live by…
At the top of the stupa, the tourists were gone, the sun was gone and everything sparkled silvery pink in the aftermath of the sunset. The empty platform spilled silver and inviting from the stupa to the valley and mountains below. I couldn’t resist the calling and started doing heart openers and downward dogs through yoga right there on the platform. It was beautiful and empowering. I rested and chanted a guidance song ‘’aum asatoma sat gamaya, tamasoma jyotir gamaya, mrityor ma amritam gamaya, auuuuuummm, hari aum.’’ This sweet song I’d sung many a times with Sarah and as Shanti Stupa was one of her favorite places, I though of her. Suddenly, two Tibetan men appeared (not monks) and sat down to chat with me. They complimented my yoga and we began a nice dialogue about breathing and God and Tibet and Leh. I realized that there I was alone on a high hill with two strange men. Yet, there was such a kind goodness to them that I felt no fear and only camaraderie in our joint appreciation of the universe and ways to feel it within. Everything happens in threes – sure enough, my Tibetan massage partner (I took a five-day course and am now certified to give a full body massage!) Tim showed up at the stupa and joined us. We gazed in silence for a while, then went onto the stupa to say goodbye to the beautiful figures within the stupa depicting the life of Buddha. We sat in front of the ‘Turning the Wheel of Dharma”and I sang some devotional songs. It was mixing religions, but Buddha surely didn’t care as I offered it up to the universe and Tim and me as I hoped that our dharma wheels would continue to unfurl as they should.
I returned home from the stupa to a note from a San Francisco yoga instructor that I met here named Rani and a swiss cheese maker named Bhim. Bhim’s note included a lovely bouquet of flowers and some sweets. I placed them next to the card Tim had given me with two kit kats and a card quoting the Dalai Lama about friendship. I suddenly became aware that I had gathered an amazing array of friends and teachers here in Leh and they were very generous with their kindness and offers of friendship. Each note and card was given to me b/c all of us are taking off on our own paths and may or may not reconvene. Rani and I know many of the same people in San Francisco and Fairfax and actually dated the same man. Bhim is the last initiate of Swami Gitananda, who is the exact same Swami with whom my teacher David at Pyramid Yoga studied with. Thus, I studied in Thailand the science of yoga and the chakras, as taught by swami Gitananda and received by Bhim the cheesemaker who I just happened to meet in Leh (through Sarah). When I met Bhim, I liked him automatically and thought I would very much like to discuss yoga with him. What do you know? We literally speak the same language when it comes to yoga and it was a very fortuitous meeting, indeed. (Tim – well there is no connection – he’s a kind, gentle traveler on his own path and I wish him well. He has great hands and is a terrific masseuse. I hope he keeps it up.)
Two days ago was the first day of the Leh festival. I watched the parade of Ladakhis from all the various villages that I’d visited in the past two months. They performed dances and songs as they paraded through the emptying streets of Leh and culminated in a giant stage in the polo field until evening time. Rani and I enjoyed the festival together as we sat side by side with Ladakhi men on a mud fence overlooking the polo grounds. We were, of course, the only women to be so brazen as to join the men on top of a fence – dirt and all. Who cares? That morning as I waited for the parade, I met a crystal shop owner who told me that he noticed my vibrant energy which was very powerful, but I had a blocked second and fifth chakra. He is a kashmiri muslim grandfather, who is also a crystal healer who has worked with Osho and is a disciple of Sai Baba. Only in India. We shared a delicious cup of chai as we discussed energy centers and his experiences with crystals. We were interrupted by a Frenchman who was an old friend of his - I left them to catch up. I think I’ll spend a bit of my last day with him to see what crystals are about and how they may help this blockage. Why not? The second chakra, by the way, is the covalent force of nature that brings two molecules together to create a new thing – such as H2O – water. It has to do with your ability to receive emotional energies from other people and to be fluid with their energies, take it in and enjoy it, learn from it, but don’t lose your own energy in the surge of another’s. Keep the balance, stay open, share discriminatingly or else you give too much of yourself and are depleted. The fifth chakra is the throat chakra – expression. I have this blog, but why didn’t I go to the Tibetan school to teach English and yoga? A block, perhaps. What else am I not saying???
The prior night, I walked up to Shanti Stupa, bought tea from the Kashmiri man at the base that he says is good for chest pain. I don’t have any, but why not try some? I told him I could give it to the guesthouse owners and he ordered me to ‘take it home’and share it there. Okay, grandma, I hope you’ll like this tea. It’s for you. At the top of the stupa, I meditated on my girlfriend Marta Maria Marraccini who is marrying imminently a French man she met on a Mexican beach. His name is Phillipe and they are very much in love. I’m very, very sad to miss the wedding. So, I went to the top and meditated on their union. I opened my eyes and saw a rainbow arching over Leh Palace across the valley. A very auspicious symbol, indeed, for their union. I then closed my eyes and wished them the wisdom to compromise and learn from eachother and have compassion for their differences. I opened my eyes and looked to the Himalayan side of the valley. Half of the valley was a pink billowing fog and the other half was a heavy blue fog – just lingering together side by side over the Indus River and crowned by the snowy Himalayas. It was a perfect affirmation from nature, yet again, that the Himalayas bless their union. So…even if I’m not there in person, the Himalayas and I are there in nature and spirit 100%.
At night, the dogs continue to howl with the Muslim call to prayer. Last night, for no reason at all, the dogs barked all around the valley for about an hour. They wouldn’t stop and the barks and howls came from all sides of the valley. Hundreds of dogs releasing their song and I contemplated the beauty of the wild dogs of Ladakh – in community through the vibrations of their barks, alone. I wished I could howl to my mom and hear her call in return to bridge our distance. Then I wondered if I was becoming a little crazy with such thoughts????
As surely as the dogs howl around here, the flies have arrived in Leh to die, according to Praful. One day, I was receiving a massage from a Tibetan (the school where I learned Tibetan massage) and a fly was buzzing around and landing on me. He occasionally brushed it off of me. As I turned over, I asked if Buddhists didn’t believe in killing even one fly. He laughed, said a guard of the Dalai Lama’s had killed a fly in front of him and been told that was not good. Then he asked if I wanted to kill it – I lied and said ‘no.’ That night, when I returned to my hotel room, there were swarms of flies that magically appeared from the ceiling. Initially, I freaked out and thought it was too similar to Amityville Horror, then lauged at the lesson. So, okay, I want to kill a fly. I don’t, but I REALLY wanted to. That was just one. Now, my place of rest must be shared with hundreds of them. It was too cold for me to open a window – they were inside with me where it was warm and dry. So, I surrendered to the fact that I must be respectful of all creatures and went to bed covered as much as I could from their curious little legs and buzzes. I was surprised that they left me alone. We could all share the room without killing or irritating eachother. Who knew?
That was the same day that I celebrated the completion of my course by doing the unthinkable…I ate ice cream. Tim wanted a beer and went off after our celebration lunch to find a place that would serve it. Very hard to find alcohol up here. I went to a clean, touristy place for vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. It was good, but as I ate it, I cringed. Sure enough, one hour later as I’m listening to a Tibetan astrologer telling me that I was a dog in my past life, I felt that familiar bubble of gas swell up like a giant balloon inside me. The rest of the day was misery. I’ll never eat ice cream in India again. Ever. The astrologer told me to stick to the spiritual precepts and to stop thinking so much and my path will unfurl. I hoped that it wouldn’t unfurl too much in his presence. Ha ha. But really, there is a theme here of relenting, surrender, spiritual practice and a natural path. I’m living it now and it is beautiful. So, here goes a big ruff and a howl to the dharma wheel – it’s unfurling and yelping in just the right time and place and pace. Sweetness is everywhere and there’s no need to poison oneself with temptations that we know are bad for us, like ice cream in India. There are so many other sweet things to do and try instead. Wonderful…
I spent some time in the garden of the guesthouse with the neighbor’s seven-year old daughter. We painted flowers and mountains and the sky. Hers was a celebration of everything within eye’s view, while mine focused more on a single flower. We brought our wet paintings into the sun and danced around with them as they dried. It was lovely to giggle by doing such a simple thing. I wish that all of us would spend even one hour with a child painting in a sunny garden. Everything is a celebration and it’s everywhere!
Even when a cow steps out of the dark shadows directly in front of me as I walk the roads at night, I am initially startled than just have to laugh at the reality of it – the cow is queen (and prolific).
I’ve previously alluded to the flow within the chaos of India. It is here with all aspects of nature all the time – and rather than run from it, to simply observe it is a beautiful blend of feeling and experience. At La Pizzeria, a gale-force wind blew through Leh and we all simply stood and watched the force of nature as it howled across the valley in silence for about 30 minutes. While trekking, I avoided hale pummeling down on us at 4,000 meters, just by bending my head and enjoying the popcorn effects of the hale hitting the ground. As we walked through the sunny groves, it felt like golden nectar was bathing us in sweetness. When fording a river or a creek, you simply feel the curve of the river rock on which you’ve stepped so that you may move forward with firm footing in a flowing current. When the electricity went out during the Leh festival, everyone cheered and the performers kept singing and dancing until the power went on again – no beat was missed – but there was celebration at the fluctuation and power of nature. I love the way India celebrates nature. It is, like the cow, highly revered. And….it makes sense.
These are some examples of what I mean when I say that I haven’t written b/c so much has been happening. Words can’t really capture the love, the peace, the celebration, the alignment of things. I feel very safe and peaceful and held in Leh. I think of heading to the next destination of the unknown and get nervous. Then I realize that India is safer than the USA and I have nothing to fear. As Rusty would say, courage not fear.
I saw Obama’s acceptance speech at the Democratic Nat’l Convention and was almost moved to tears. The many erosions of civil rights and liberties inflicted upon the middle and lower classes was recognized, voiced and addressed. While listening to this articulate, grounded, charismatic man with a heart and a brain, I felt an infusion of hope for America. In listening to him, I realized how very disenchanted I had become with my country, with my job and with my life. Much of it was wrapped up in fighting the powers that be and go unchecked due to political corruption and consumer laziness. When Obama said that the change comes from within the moral structure of America, I hoped that this would be a wake-up call for Americans to learn, know and assert their rights again. Having the lawyers do it for them is too soul sucking for the lawyers – at least that’s how I feel. But, if Obama wins, will the people of America heed his call? Are they so fed up with debt and lies and war that they’ll vote for someone with vision, clarity, leadership and insight that has a heart? God, I hope so, I hope so, I hope so. And I hope Obama lives a very long time. God I hope so, I hope so, I hope so. This must be how people felt about Kennedy and his promise. I swell with hope at the prospect of a “changed”America. No one knows who will win. When I heard Bush wasn’t attending the Republican National Convention so he could go to New Orleans before the storm hit, I just felt sick. You know why…
So, it’s lunch time and I think I’ll go to my family at La Pizzeria. I have been eating staff meals with them and tasting the “real Indian food,”including a delicious mutton rogan josh last night. I don’t eat meat, usually, but this was a kashmiri speciality and delicious!! The lads have invited me to join them in Goa – where they are opening a new restaurant and guest house facility. If I teach yoga for two hours a day, they will build me a bamboo hut of my own to live for free. I can help them design the place and paint a wall, finally. The chef will show me how to cook his delicious foods. Praful and I can continue to discuss Hinduism and Sunni can describe further aspects of Tibetan Buddhism to me. Vinny, the sleazy waiter, will continue to hit on me and act desperately wounded when nothing pans out for him again and again and again. It’s an option with a group I’ve become very close to. They are like my brothers and their insights are 100% India. As Alex told me at the Indian border, India will take care of you and then you’ll take care of India. We’ll see whether our paths will reunite in India and the men who have been so good to me in Leh can be taken care of by my yoga, wit, and calm presence. I alone have this invitation and they are sincere. Again, the universe just provides. My plan doesn’t at the moment include Goa. We will see…
My current plan is to leave tomorrow on Lisa’s birthday and fly to Delhi. Perhaps I’ll spend one night in Amritsar at the Golden Temple to give due reverence to the Sikhs. Then, or otherwise, I’ll go straight to Rajastan and explore on my own for three weeks. This is the REAL India – gorgeous, colorful, zany, harassing and chaotic. After the peace of Leh, it will be a real shift. I’ll have to remember to breath, but what a gorgeous rainbow of energy and light swirling everywhere that will be. Wow. Courage not fear. After that, I fly to Europe on Sept. 27 for five days at the Red Sea and a two week tour through the pyramids and to luxor and Alexandria and a night in the desert. Thereafter, I reunite with Christian in Morocco for I hope a jeep ride through the sand dunes, a la his invitation. I depart to Morocco on October 16. I will likely return to Bombay on Nov. 1 when Christian leaves and explore Southern India. Goa is there. We will see…An ashram experience sounds pretty interesting, so perhaps Kerala or Tamil Nadu…or the Andaman Islands… or visit Bhim at his yoga hospital in Karnataka….who knows?
The path continues to unfurl…thank you beautiful, beautiful Leh. I love you.
FarewLeaving Ladakh
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