Today was my nephew Davin`s first Fishmas (FYI, this blog is being written on a computer, or ordinateur, belonging to a Quebecoise - and I don`t know how to make the apostrophies angle the way I want them to, so if anyone has a problem with this they should stop reading now). I have to call it Fishmas because of the extreme amount of seafood I have consumed over the last 24 hours. For dinner this evening I made a sandwich with tomato and homemade fishsticks. For lunch I had saba noodles with salmon sashimi. Last night we gorged ourselves at a fancy-shmancy hotel`s asian buffet complete with crabs, oysters on the half shell, sushi, smoked salmon, and prawn curries (one of which was described on the comment card as tasting like an outhouse smells). But, by the same logic, this holiday could just as easily be called Ginmas, Beermas, or Redwinemas as the booze has been flowing, but Fishmas has a better ring to it...
Alice`s last blog descibed the hardship we endured at the Puncak mansion. Once we returned to Jakarta we needed some downtime so we ordered in Indian food and watched House on DVD. I was really hoping that House and Dr. Cameron would do the nasty but House`s damned ex-girlfriend had to show up with her dying husband and mess up House`s head and in so doing ruined whatever him and Cameron had going on. Boo.
The other day was pretty busy. We walked to the Grand Indonesian, an 8 story tall shopping mall, in search of new running shoes to replace the shoes that were in my bag that was eaten by Indian airports. After scouting out some footwear Alice and I met my family at the cinema and watched the movie `Devil` - bad... Not the worst. The seats were really comfortble at least. There was a preview for a new Val Kilmer movie called `The Traveler`that was cool not because the movie looked good but because of how bad Val Kilmer looks. Oh how the Iceman has fallen.
After the movie Alice, Claire, her man-friend Lucas and I thought it best to take a taxi the 2kms to Adrian`s apartment because we were short on time before our ultimate frisbee match (it took me a long time to pick out a pair of shoes). We should have just walked because the taxi took 30 minutes to get there - the traffic in Jakarta needs Dr. House to come and do some diagnostic medicine to find out why the hell the it only moves 2 meters every 6 seconds.
Frisbee was pretty fun. We got there by motorcycle, ran around for a few hours, and then took motorbikes back. Claire`s man-friend Lucas kept diving on the astroturf and by the end looked like he needed a skin graff from Dr. House. Alice and I ran into each other during frisbee and she had to take a time out. She said, ``If I would have closed my eyes I would have blacked out.`` I think she was faking it and was just trying to make me look like a bad human. I wish Dr. House would have been there to tell the world she is a liar. I mean all patients lies. And Fishmas is a time for families, and you can`t spell families without the word lies. We are heading to frisbee again tomorrow. I hope Alice learns not to be such a faker by then.
Alice is no longer Alice Muirhead. She is Alice Walraven. Sorry Muirheads. But through some Fishmas miracle she has transitioned perfectly into our family shananigans. I`ll let her tell you about the mystery of the Muff Wipes...
So I`m standing in the room I`m sharing with Dave, putting my stuff away to avoid having Dave yell, `Muirhead!!! move your shit!!!` when I hear Adrian in the living room saying `whose muff wipe is this? Does anyone know who put this here?` I think... maybe I misheard.... then I hear `Seriously, who put this here, Claire, are you missing a muff wipe? Katherine, is this yours? MOM this is yours isn`t it?`
This went on for some time, everyone denying that they had anything to do with the Muff Wipe, with most of the blame resting on poor Gail (who very patiently bears all the jokes her children make about her), before we decided it had probably been left by someone visiting the apartment earlier in the week. Since it first appeared, the Muff Wipe has been the subject of countless jokes and often appears in my bed, on the dinning room table, on the balcony seats, or on the coffee table, with whoever finds it exclaiming `whose damn Muff Wipe is this???`
The Muff Wipe is only the tip of the Walraven iceburg of dirty jokes. The Walravens are perverts but I`m having a great time!
Merry Fishmas everyone.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Long Overdue Update!!!
I started this blog almost a week ago, but only just finished today. Sorry for the wait!
What have I been doing, you might ask, since I've completely neglected the blog? Well, let me tell you...
The day my yoga course finished, I packed up my stuff and got out of that overpriced luxury accommodation as quickly as possible. With my yoga friends Kat and Chloe, I moved to Arambol, a town about 10 minutes drive down the road from where the course was in Mandrem. We found the cheapest, most disgusting hotel possible and relaxed before our big trip to Hampi. In his last post (or the one before?) Dave wrote a bit about his trip to Hampi, so I won't bore you with the details (it still looked like bedrock, there were still loads of temple and palace ruins). But I will tell you that traveling with 3 girls is insane compared to Dave- they take FOREVER to go anywhere and they NEVER stop talking. Needless to say, it was a bit overwhelming for me.
Hampi
Hampi
We spent three days in Hampi, at an even cheaper and more disgusting hotel. You'd think things would have improved since I was staying with girls, but they didn't. I ended up having to play Dave to my friend Maudie, assuring her that the rat that ran across our bed, leaving it's poo behind, would not be back in the night and that she should just calm down and go to sleep.
We took overnight buses to and from Hampi, which turned out to be much more exciting than any overnight bus ride I've had so far. On the way there, the girls and I were sharing four sleepers at the back. We were sitting happily, a pile of snacks in front of us, ready for the 14 hour ride when the ticket collector came toward us, a blond girl following. He informed us that the bus had been overbooked and the girl wouldn't have a seat if we didn't move over for her. I immediately moved, smiling and nodding, feeling sorry for the poor girl and not doubting the ticket collector's honesty for a second. My friends however, were much more skeptical, and quickly accused the ticket collector of selling the seats to other people and forcing the girl to share with us. They demanded compensation since we had paid for our seats. I just sat back, amazed that they really thought they would get anywhere arguing with an Indian ticket collector. They didn't, and the girl ended up squeezed in with us.
On the return journey, the driver stopped an hour away from the town we had all booked to go to and told us we had to get off. I was happy to get off, roll my eyes, shrug my shoulders, it's India, what to do, right? My friends, however, were having none of it. They demanded that the driver take us the whole way, and got everyone to refuse to leave the bus. I hid in my bunk, convinced that the driver would just start throwing our things out the window, but to my surprise, he started the bus and drove us the rest of the way. So maybe it is worth arguing on an Indian bus.
We came back from Hampi and moved into a great guesthouse in Arambol, perched on a cliff looking down at the ocean. We spent the next few days going to the beach, eating papaya and pineapple, doing a little yoga and shopping. We rented scooters a few times and rode around happily, until I got pulled over at a road block and had my scooter taken away because I don't have an international drivers license. The 6 Indian police waving their arms at me informed me I could keep the bike if I paid Rp 950 (about $23) or I could give them my Canadian license and pay Rp 450. Fortunately when I rented the bike I didn't leave my passport or a deposit, so the only consequence to leaving the bike with the police was major bad karma.
Phoebe, Maudie & Chloe, my beautiful yogi friends, on our way back from Paradise Beach
For a few days in Arambol, Dave was staying at the same guesthouse, and it was great to have him there with my yogi friends. But the draw of his new nephew was stronger than the draw of Goa, and Dave took off for Jakarta, leaving me to fly alone 4 days later. When I did leave, it was very sad for me to say goodbye, not just to my friends, but to the beach and landscape of Goa I had become so at home in. Tears streaming down my face, I found a cab to take me to the airport. With me gazing out the back window, waving frantically to my shrinking friends, the cab driver exclaimed, "you sad? I play sad music." For the next two hours, not only was I sad, I was tortured by pounding Enrique Iglesias and wailing Celine Dion.
Dave introduced me to this place, they made the best sandwiches in Arambol
I survived somehow, and, three flights later, arrived in Jakarta the next day. This is when the suffering really begins. Dave and his brother picked me and their mum up from the airport (Gail had flown from Canada) and took us back to Adrian's awful apartment. I was forced to relax all afternoon, AND the next day. Dave's bag was lost at some point between Goa and Jakarta, so using his Visa insurance money we went to the Grand Indonesia and replaced his wardrobe. Imagine how difficult this was for me- having to spend all afternoon in a mall, choosing things for Dave to try on and spending money that wasn't mine. The difficulties continued that night, when Adrian's helper prepared an Indonesian feast for us. In the morning, Adrian had the nerve to take us all to a mansion outside of Jakarta, surrounded by tea plantations, palm trees and other beautiful mansions. We spent three torturous days there, reading books, playing board games, swimming in the pool, eating food prepared by Adrian and practicing yoga on the balcony. We're now back in Jakarta, again staying in Adrian's awful apartment, suffering beside the pool.
We're spending Christmas in Jakarta before heading to Bali and Gili Trawangan. Hopefully I'll survive.
ps. I've posted new pictures on facebook, look if you like....
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=5504244&l=57d99837dc&id=511324453
What have I been doing, you might ask, since I've completely neglected the blog? Well, let me tell you...
The day my yoga course finished, I packed up my stuff and got out of that overpriced luxury accommodation as quickly as possible. With my yoga friends Kat and Chloe, I moved to Arambol, a town about 10 minutes drive down the road from where the course was in Mandrem. We found the cheapest, most disgusting hotel possible and relaxed before our big trip to Hampi. In his last post (or the one before?) Dave wrote a bit about his trip to Hampi, so I won't bore you with the details (it still looked like bedrock, there were still loads of temple and palace ruins). But I will tell you that traveling with 3 girls is insane compared to Dave- they take FOREVER to go anywhere and they NEVER stop talking. Needless to say, it was a bit overwhelming for me.
Hampi
Hampi
We spent three days in Hampi, at an even cheaper and more disgusting hotel. You'd think things would have improved since I was staying with girls, but they didn't. I ended up having to play Dave to my friend Maudie, assuring her that the rat that ran across our bed, leaving it's poo behind, would not be back in the night and that she should just calm down and go to sleep.
We took overnight buses to and from Hampi, which turned out to be much more exciting than any overnight bus ride I've had so far. On the way there, the girls and I were sharing four sleepers at the back. We were sitting happily, a pile of snacks in front of us, ready for the 14 hour ride when the ticket collector came toward us, a blond girl following. He informed us that the bus had been overbooked and the girl wouldn't have a seat if we didn't move over for her. I immediately moved, smiling and nodding, feeling sorry for the poor girl and not doubting the ticket collector's honesty for a second. My friends however, were much more skeptical, and quickly accused the ticket collector of selling the seats to other people and forcing the girl to share with us. They demanded compensation since we had paid for our seats. I just sat back, amazed that they really thought they would get anywhere arguing with an Indian ticket collector. They didn't, and the girl ended up squeezed in with us.
On the return journey, the driver stopped an hour away from the town we had all booked to go to and told us we had to get off. I was happy to get off, roll my eyes, shrug my shoulders, it's India, what to do, right? My friends, however, were having none of it. They demanded that the driver take us the whole way, and got everyone to refuse to leave the bus. I hid in my bunk, convinced that the driver would just start throwing our things out the window, but to my surprise, he started the bus and drove us the rest of the way. So maybe it is worth arguing on an Indian bus.
We came back from Hampi and moved into a great guesthouse in Arambol, perched on a cliff looking down at the ocean. We spent the next few days going to the beach, eating papaya and pineapple, doing a little yoga and shopping. We rented scooters a few times and rode around happily, until I got pulled over at a road block and had my scooter taken away because I don't have an international drivers license. The 6 Indian police waving their arms at me informed me I could keep the bike if I paid Rp 950 (about $23) or I could give them my Canadian license and pay Rp 450. Fortunately when I rented the bike I didn't leave my passport or a deposit, so the only consequence to leaving the bike with the police was major bad karma.
Phoebe, Maudie & Chloe, my beautiful yogi friends, on our way back from Paradise BeachFor a few days in Arambol, Dave was staying at the same guesthouse, and it was great to have him there with my yogi friends. But the draw of his new nephew was stronger than the draw of Goa, and Dave took off for Jakarta, leaving me to fly alone 4 days later. When I did leave, it was very sad for me to say goodbye, not just to my friends, but to the beach and landscape of Goa I had become so at home in. Tears streaming down my face, I found a cab to take me to the airport. With me gazing out the back window, waving frantically to my shrinking friends, the cab driver exclaimed, "you sad? I play sad music." For the next two hours, not only was I sad, I was tortured by pounding Enrique Iglesias and wailing Celine Dion.
Dave introduced me to this place, they made the best sandwiches in ArambolI survived somehow, and, three flights later, arrived in Jakarta the next day. This is when the suffering really begins. Dave and his brother picked me and their mum up from the airport (Gail had flown from Canada) and took us back to Adrian's awful apartment. I was forced to relax all afternoon, AND the next day. Dave's bag was lost at some point between Goa and Jakarta, so using his Visa insurance money we went to the Grand Indonesia and replaced his wardrobe. Imagine how difficult this was for me- having to spend all afternoon in a mall, choosing things for Dave to try on and spending money that wasn't mine. The difficulties continued that night, when Adrian's helper prepared an Indonesian feast for us. In the morning, Adrian had the nerve to take us all to a mansion outside of Jakarta, surrounded by tea plantations, palm trees and other beautiful mansions. We spent three torturous days there, reading books, playing board games, swimming in the pool, eating food prepared by Adrian and practicing yoga on the balcony. We're now back in Jakarta, again staying in Adrian's awful apartment, suffering beside the pool.
We're spending Christmas in Jakarta before heading to Bali and Gili Trawangan. Hopefully I'll survive.
ps. I've posted new pictures on facebook, look if you like....
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=5504244&l=57d99837dc&id=511324453
Saturday, December 4, 2010
More Yoga
Hi everyone... thank you for reading our blog so faithfully!
Today is my last day of yoga school, and as of this afternoon, I am a "yoga teacher"! (if you don't like yoga, watch out, all I want to do now is teach yoga, to anyone, anywhere)
How was was it you ask? Well, apart from the geometric carrots, it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. I learned so much about yoga- not just asanas, but the other aspects as well. Apart from the course though, the last month has been incredible because I've spent it with the most creative, loving, wonderful people who I've had so much fun with- like having Dave around but x27.
The first two weeks followed a fairly consistent schedule of meditation, asana class, breakfast, more classes, more food and sleeping. The third week, as I wrote in the last post, was similar, except we had self practice in the morning and more teaching practice than the first to weeks. The schedule wasn't exactly strenuous, and though I was tired at night, I didn't get sick or hurt myself (other people did and struggled). The fourth week however, was quite intense.
We got up for meditation at the same time, then did an hour of self practice, followed by breakfast. Then, to accommodate for the fact that everyone had to teach a one hour class to a group of 6-8 other people within the week, we did another 2-3 hours of asana class, in addition to giving feedback and comments to each teacher. In the afternoon, in case we weren't already dying, we did special workshops on acroyoga and Thai massage. Then, in case we had any energy left, we danced or chanted after dinner. By Monday at 2pm I was exhausted.
I taught my class on Thursday - naturally I got the last spot because I was late to sign up and all the other spots were taken- but fortunately I was too achy to be stressed and spent the week memorizing the feedback other people got and figuring out how not to teach. When it finally came to my turn I thought everyone in my class would just lay there, too tired and too sore move, but they somehow found the energy and miraculously followed my directions.
Today is our graduation, this afternoon we're having a puja ceremony where we will receive our certificates. This morning, as a sort of celebration, we didn't have to do meditation or asana practice. Instead, we got to go out on the water as the sun was rising and see the dolphins that swim near Arambol.
This is all I can write for today, tonight we're having a final talent show/ entertainment circle after dinner, and I'm supposed to be the master of ceremonies- so apparently I need to round up the talent and make some sort of list.
Love Alice
ps- if you want to check out where I spent the month, this is the website. (It really is as nice as it looks)
http://www.ashiyana-yoga-goa.com/
Today is my last day of yoga school, and as of this afternoon, I am a "yoga teacher"! (if you don't like yoga, watch out, all I want to do now is teach yoga, to anyone, anywhere)
How was was it you ask? Well, apart from the geometric carrots, it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. I learned so much about yoga- not just asanas, but the other aspects as well. Apart from the course though, the last month has been incredible because I've spent it with the most creative, loving, wonderful people who I've had so much fun with- like having Dave around but x27.
The first two weeks followed a fairly consistent schedule of meditation, asana class, breakfast, more classes, more food and sleeping. The third week, as I wrote in the last post, was similar, except we had self practice in the morning and more teaching practice than the first to weeks. The schedule wasn't exactly strenuous, and though I was tired at night, I didn't get sick or hurt myself (other people did and struggled). The fourth week however, was quite intense.
We got up for meditation at the same time, then did an hour of self practice, followed by breakfast. Then, to accommodate for the fact that everyone had to teach a one hour class to a group of 6-8 other people within the week, we did another 2-3 hours of asana class, in addition to giving feedback and comments to each teacher. In the afternoon, in case we weren't already dying, we did special workshops on acroyoga and Thai massage. Then, in case we had any energy left, we danced or chanted after dinner. By Monday at 2pm I was exhausted.
I taught my class on Thursday - naturally I got the last spot because I was late to sign up and all the other spots were taken- but fortunately I was too achy to be stressed and spent the week memorizing the feedback other people got and figuring out how not to teach. When it finally came to my turn I thought everyone in my class would just lay there, too tired and too sore move, but they somehow found the energy and miraculously followed my directions.
Today is our graduation, this afternoon we're having a puja ceremony where we will receive our certificates. This morning, as a sort of celebration, we didn't have to do meditation or asana practice. Instead, we got to go out on the water as the sun was rising and see the dolphins that swim near Arambol.
This is all I can write for today, tonight we're having a final talent show/ entertainment circle after dinner, and I'm supposed to be the master of ceremonies- so apparently I need to round up the talent and make some sort of list.
Love Alice
ps- if you want to check out where I spent the month, this is the website. (It really is as nice as it looks)
http://www.ashiyana-yoga-goa.com/
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Arambol to Hampi
Woah, I am a lazy bastard. Two weeks and no blog? Who the hell do I think I am? Don't I know I have friends and family who depend on this blog as an escape from the monotony of Canadian life?
Well faithful readers, what do you want from me? Can't I just have a little time to myself? Really? You're relentless.
What have I been up to? It has been so long I can hardly remember. Let me see...oh yeah, nothing.
I spent 10 days in Arambol, but it seemed like only a few. Arambol was quiet with not much to do but sit on the beach and drink fresh juices. I went to the same German Bakery every morning for breakfast, and the same Asian restaurant every night for dinner. All of my Israeli friends were a lot cooler/braver than me and all had motorcycles that they either bought or rented. I was way too scared/smart to drive in India so didn't get a bike. Because I didn't get my own bike I always had to ride on the back of one of the Israeli guys' bikes. It was emasculating to say the least, but it beat getting left out of the 'going places' action.
One interesting thing that happened in Arambol happened to my nipple. It now has a shiny bar-bell through it. I decided to go through with the piercing because my friend Noy was having hers done and it seemed like a good idea. I mean why have a boring old regular nipple when you can have a nipple with a little pizzazz? (I showed my mum and Omi (gma) on skype and they freaked out, but in my opinion they are just jealous that I thought of doing it before they did. I'm sure now that they've seen how good it looks they will both have bar-bells of their own by Christmas.) Noy went first while sat outside. I could hear her screaming and screaming which made me a little nervous. Nevertheless I sat down and before I knew it the whole operation was complete. It didn't even hurt and only cost 12 bucks. I'm now all healed up and thankfully infection free (I have seen some real nightmare nose and ear piercings that people have had done here in India which became super infected but apparently I take to piercings like a new born polar bear takes to the pure driven snow).
I made about a dozen new Israeli friends in Arambol and my Hebrew is coming along nicely. I was one of the first of the group to leave (in fact they are all still there if I'm not mistaken as they are sticking around to see Shpongle DJ tonight in Anjuna) and it was one of the best goodbyes on record. Everyone showed up at my favorite German Bakery to see me off. The owner of the bakery turned up Trance music really loud and it was bumping as I said all my "Shaloms" and "See you laters".
My departure from Arambol to Hampi was very spur of the moment. My friend Ayala got screwed by a travel agent and got stuck with an extra ticket which I was happy to take off her hands. The overnight bus to Hampi was uneventful. I shared a sleeper with a guy named Josi and chipped away on my book. In Hampi I stayed at a guest house called Bobby which also had a German Bakery which made me very happy.
Hampi looks like the town of Bedrock from the Flinstones. I had a yabadabadoo time. My first morning there, Ayala and I walked to the monkey temple on the hill and took in the beautiful boulder strewn scenery. On the walk back a man on a motorcycle did a drive by boob grab on Ayala and from then onwards I was always sure to walk in-between her and the road. My second day was spent sitting on a boulder doing some chanting and meditation in the sun. The third day I walked to a man made lake where you can do some cliff jumping into crocodile filled waters. Each morning I went to yoga and each evening I went to a Tibetan restaurant for noodle soup and a movie. The movies shown were always really good. I saw The Hangover, __________, Seven Years in Tibet, and Something About Mary. One night I mistakenly had a cappuccino right before bed and ended up staying awake until 6am. The next day wasn't pretty and I ended up coming down with a cold from which I have now recovered. In addition to eating at the German Bakery and the Tibetan place I also frequented a place called Shesh Besh which is Arabic for Backgammon. The entire restaurant was shaped like a giant backgammon board and if anyone so desired they could have played a life size game, but we settled for the normal sized boards on each floor-level table.
Hampi is a world heritage site with ancient ruins build into the rock. Very nice. Hampi is also home to a Shiva temple with an elephant named Laxmi that blesses you with her trunk if you give her 10 rupees. She takes it from your hand, passes it to her handler, and then bonks you on the head with her trunk. I didn't go for it because it seemed kind of cruel, but others did and it was quite something to see. She apparently can distinguish between 5 and 10 rupee notes and if you try to fool her with a 5 don't count on getting blessed.
I almost didn't make my bus out of Hampi to Gokarna because the clock in the Shesh Besh was wrong and the ferry I need to cross the river doesn't move until it full. Once across I asked the million rickshaw drivers who was the fasted and promised a tip to anyone who could get me to my bus on time. I found the fastest guy and made it with only two minutes to spare. The bus was a real piece of junk and broke down on the side of the highway for about an hour and 11pm. The driver tinkered with it, got it going, and off we went. We stopped at a roadside dhabba near midnight for dinner and I had the best Aloo Gobi I've had in India. The bus arrived in Gokarna, inconveniently, at 430 in the morning, well before any guest houses were open so I sat on the beach and watched the sunrise.
I am now in Gokarna at Om beach and miss my Hampi friend-family, but fill the void of their absence with beach volleyball. I leave India for Indonesia on the 13th and am really excited to see my new nephew.
Hope everyone at home is well. My gma Wally is in the hospital so if everyone can send her some good vibes I would appreciate it. The days are passing too quickly, but the bright side is that I will see you all soon.
Love you!!! Happy Hanukkah! Comments bitches.
Well faithful readers, what do you want from me? Can't I just have a little time to myself? Really? You're relentless.
What have I been up to? It has been so long I can hardly remember. Let me see...oh yeah, nothing.
I spent 10 days in Arambol, but it seemed like only a few. Arambol was quiet with not much to do but sit on the beach and drink fresh juices. I went to the same German Bakery every morning for breakfast, and the same Asian restaurant every night for dinner. All of my Israeli friends were a lot cooler/braver than me and all had motorcycles that they either bought or rented. I was way too scared/smart to drive in India so didn't get a bike. Because I didn't get my own bike I always had to ride on the back of one of the Israeli guys' bikes. It was emasculating to say the least, but it beat getting left out of the 'going places' action.
One interesting thing that happened in Arambol happened to my nipple. It now has a shiny bar-bell through it. I decided to go through with the piercing because my friend Noy was having hers done and it seemed like a good idea. I mean why have a boring old regular nipple when you can have a nipple with a little pizzazz? (I showed my mum and Omi (gma) on skype and they freaked out, but in my opinion they are just jealous that I thought of doing it before they did. I'm sure now that they've seen how good it looks they will both have bar-bells of their own by Christmas.) Noy went first while sat outside. I could hear her screaming and screaming which made me a little nervous. Nevertheless I sat down and before I knew it the whole operation was complete. It didn't even hurt and only cost 12 bucks. I'm now all healed up and thankfully infection free (I have seen some real nightmare nose and ear piercings that people have had done here in India which became super infected but apparently I take to piercings like a new born polar bear takes to the pure driven snow).
I made about a dozen new Israeli friends in Arambol and my Hebrew is coming along nicely. I was one of the first of the group to leave (in fact they are all still there if I'm not mistaken as they are sticking around to see Shpongle DJ tonight in Anjuna) and it was one of the best goodbyes on record. Everyone showed up at my favorite German Bakery to see me off. The owner of the bakery turned up Trance music really loud and it was bumping as I said all my "Shaloms" and "See you laters".
My departure from Arambol to Hampi was very spur of the moment. My friend Ayala got screwed by a travel agent and got stuck with an extra ticket which I was happy to take off her hands. The overnight bus to Hampi was uneventful. I shared a sleeper with a guy named Josi and chipped away on my book. In Hampi I stayed at a guest house called Bobby which also had a German Bakery which made me very happy.
Hampi looks like the town of Bedrock from the Flinstones. I had a yabadabadoo time. My first morning there, Ayala and I walked to the monkey temple on the hill and took in the beautiful boulder strewn scenery. On the walk back a man on a motorcycle did a drive by boob grab on Ayala and from then onwards I was always sure to walk in-between her and the road. My second day was spent sitting on a boulder doing some chanting and meditation in the sun. The third day I walked to a man made lake where you can do some cliff jumping into crocodile filled waters. Each morning I went to yoga and each evening I went to a Tibetan restaurant for noodle soup and a movie. The movies shown were always really good. I saw The Hangover, __________, Seven Years in Tibet, and Something About Mary. One night I mistakenly had a cappuccino right before bed and ended up staying awake until 6am. The next day wasn't pretty and I ended up coming down with a cold from which I have now recovered. In addition to eating at the German Bakery and the Tibetan place I also frequented a place called Shesh Besh which is Arabic for Backgammon. The entire restaurant was shaped like a giant backgammon board and if anyone so desired they could have played a life size game, but we settled for the normal sized boards on each floor-level table.
Hampi is a world heritage site with ancient ruins build into the rock. Very nice. Hampi is also home to a Shiva temple with an elephant named Laxmi that blesses you with her trunk if you give her 10 rupees. She takes it from your hand, passes it to her handler, and then bonks you on the head with her trunk. I didn't go for it because it seemed kind of cruel, but others did and it was quite something to see. She apparently can distinguish between 5 and 10 rupee notes and if you try to fool her with a 5 don't count on getting blessed.
I almost didn't make my bus out of Hampi to Gokarna because the clock in the Shesh Besh was wrong and the ferry I need to cross the river doesn't move until it full. Once across I asked the million rickshaw drivers who was the fasted and promised a tip to anyone who could get me to my bus on time. I found the fastest guy and made it with only two minutes to spare. The bus was a real piece of junk and broke down on the side of the highway for about an hour and 11pm. The driver tinkered with it, got it going, and off we went. We stopped at a roadside dhabba near midnight for dinner and I had the best Aloo Gobi I've had in India. The bus arrived in Gokarna, inconveniently, at 430 in the morning, well before any guest houses were open so I sat on the beach and watched the sunrise.
I am now in Gokarna at Om beach and miss my Hampi friend-family, but fill the void of their absence with beach volleyball. I leave India for Indonesia on the 13th and am really excited to see my new nephew.
Hope everyone at home is well. My gma Wally is in the hospital so if everyone can send her some good vibes I would appreciate it. The days are passing too quickly, but the bright side is that I will see you all soon.
Love you!!! Happy Hanukkah! Comments bitches.
Friday, November 26, 2010
A day at yoga school
Since Dave and I split up our blogging skills have severely diminished, as I'm sure you've noticed. My excuse is I've been very busy learning to bend and twist, I'm not sure what Dave's excuse is-based on my experience of him around beaches, he has no excuses and is just being lazy.
Here's what an average day looks like for me:
5:30 am- I get up, yank on running clothes and head up the road. It's dark, so I don't run on the beach, I stick to the road where there's a few street lights to illuminate the semi-wild dogs who get a big kick out of barking at me and chasing me down the road. I yell at them to leave me alone, but all I get is weird looks from the local people who stand at the ends of their driveways brushing their teeth and waiting for the man who sells vegetables from his bicycle basket.
7:00-8:00 am- After a frantic shower in which I worry about whether my roomate will one day slit my throat in my sleep for showering every morning right when she wants to brush her teeth, I rush to meditation. As most of you know, I am notorious for being late- another constant worry as I try to shower quickly- but, or perhaps because I am so afraid of coming in late, knocking something over and interrupting everyone meditating, I haven't been late yet (fingers crossed this continues).
Meditation isn't my strong point. My problem isn't, as you may assume, clearing my head of thoughts. No, my problem is I can't stay awake. It's as if my body has an automatic switch, if I sit still, doing nothing, for more than 10 minutes, I fall asleep. So everyday is a struggle, not to clear my mind, but to stay sitting upright at least look awake. Even on days I don't run this is a problem, so I don't think getting up too early is the issue.
8:00-10:00 am- After my generally unsuccessful meditation practice, we have two hours of asana class. In the first two weeks we were guided by various instructors, but since Monday, we have had to lead our own self practice. Initially I thought "oh god.... two hours of yoga... I'll get so bored!!!!" But the time actually flies by, and I've really enjoyed practicing on my own.
10:00-11:00 am- When 10:00 am arrives, it's finally time for breakfast. Everyday we're given fruit salad, porridge, yogurt, museli, toast and juice. I can't eat porridge or yogurt, and I don't particularily like museli, so my options at breakfast are limited to tropical fruit salad and toast. This morning during meditation I wrote this blog in head (it really helped to keep me awake) and when I got to the part about the fruit salad, I thought I would say I was about to go mental if I ate another bowl of papaya, pineapple, banana, apple, orange and some awful brown fruit I always pick out- BUT, luckily, they added strawberries and pomegranite to the usual mix- so I haven't gone mental, and I'll live to eat another bowl. (It was madness this morning when people caught on that there were strawberries- people were hiding around corners ready to bounce when the staff put a fresh bowl out- everyone wanted to be the first to pick through and make off with the strawberries).
11:00 am-1:50 pm- Breakfast is followed by one or two classes; this week we've done teaching practice everyday immediately after eating (which always makes me feel like I'm going to have to see the fruit salad all over again) but last week we mainly had anatomy or learning to teach classes. Practice teaching involves us splitting into groups of 3 and each taking a turn to "teach" for 20 minutes to half an hour, then sharing feedback with each other. Over the last couple days we were evaluated by our instructors, a process some people found nerve racking.
1:50-2:10pm- After our morning classes we are given twenty minutes before lunch to meditate, swim, run, walk, dance or do whatever we want that doesn't involve too much thinking (no reading, writing, talking). After sitting around all morning or patiently enduring teaching practice, I generally do handstands.
2:10-4:30pm- After our little meditation/celebration time we eat lunch. Lunch is always a salad of cucumber, carrot, tomato and occasionally avocado and lettuce, all cut into geometric shapes. You may be thinking, oh how nice, I'd like a salad for lunch everyday too! But, I urge you to think for a moment about raw carrots cut into geometric shapes and what that would be like to eat, day after day, mixed with nice soft cucumber and lettuce. After a while, it becomes all you can think about- will they grate the carrot, will I have a pleasant lunch, or will they cube the carrot, causing me to chew like a rabbit for half an hour? In addition to salad we get rice, dal and curried vegetables. Unlike the geometric salad, the dal and vegetables are prepared differently everyday.
After lunch we have a break until 4:30 pm. I usually eat quickly (as is possible given the shape of the carrots) and go to the beach to swim and lay in the sun. Sometimes though, I make the arduous journey 200 meters up the road to use the internet, which generally doesn't work, before returning to the Ashiyana bubble.
4:30-7:00pm- Following our break we have another one or two classes. Apart from anatomy and teaching practice, we study philosophy, the subtle body, bhakti and practice karma yoga. Philosophy is lead by our instructor, and owner of Ashiyana, Chris. The classes are based on Patanjali's sutras as interpreted by someone else. I find the classes interesting, and I don't worry too much about things I don't understand or agree with. Other people, however, get quite heated when they don't agree or understand what Chris is saying. It doesn't help that in response to nearly every question Chris says "I want you to examine where your question is coming from. You may find that when you do, you'll find it is only your disturbed mind talking, and the question becomes unimportant." A bit of an easy way out for him I'd say.
7:00-8:00pm- Once we've all been told we have disturbed minds, we're given dinner. The geometric salad makes a reappearance, along with more rice, dal and curried vegetables. In addition, we usually get something a bit more "non-Indian" like pasta, grated potatoes with spinach puree, chicken or fish or sometimes, if we're very lucky, pizza. We also get dessert, something we all look forward to all day. It generally doesn't live up to expectations, but, like pizza days, sometimes we're lucky and it's something delicious like chocolate balls.
8:00-9:30pm- Dinner is followed by a final activity, usually a sharing circle, chanting, dancing, or a movie. When we finish this activity we're not supposed to speak until 11:00 am the following day, so we all slip of to bed in silence, ready to do everything again the next day.
I hope this helps explain why I haven't written in so long! I have to rush now, to make it back for Karma yoga. Today I might have to do beach cleaning, since I put off doing it the last few sessions.
Love Alice
ps. I saw Dave on Sunday, we spent the afternoon together on the beach, but maybe he'll tell you all about it.
Here's what an average day looks like for me:
5:30 am- I get up, yank on running clothes and head up the road. It's dark, so I don't run on the beach, I stick to the road where there's a few street lights to illuminate the semi-wild dogs who get a big kick out of barking at me and chasing me down the road. I yell at them to leave me alone, but all I get is weird looks from the local people who stand at the ends of their driveways brushing their teeth and waiting for the man who sells vegetables from his bicycle basket.
7:00-8:00 am- After a frantic shower in which I worry about whether my roomate will one day slit my throat in my sleep for showering every morning right when she wants to brush her teeth, I rush to meditation. As most of you know, I am notorious for being late- another constant worry as I try to shower quickly- but, or perhaps because I am so afraid of coming in late, knocking something over and interrupting everyone meditating, I haven't been late yet (fingers crossed this continues).
Meditation isn't my strong point. My problem isn't, as you may assume, clearing my head of thoughts. No, my problem is I can't stay awake. It's as if my body has an automatic switch, if I sit still, doing nothing, for more than 10 minutes, I fall asleep. So everyday is a struggle, not to clear my mind, but to stay sitting upright at least look awake. Even on days I don't run this is a problem, so I don't think getting up too early is the issue.
8:00-10:00 am- After my generally unsuccessful meditation practice, we have two hours of asana class. In the first two weeks we were guided by various instructors, but since Monday, we have had to lead our own self practice. Initially I thought "oh god.... two hours of yoga... I'll get so bored!!!!" But the time actually flies by, and I've really enjoyed practicing on my own.
10:00-11:00 am- When 10:00 am arrives, it's finally time for breakfast. Everyday we're given fruit salad, porridge, yogurt, museli, toast and juice. I can't eat porridge or yogurt, and I don't particularily like museli, so my options at breakfast are limited to tropical fruit salad and toast. This morning during meditation I wrote this blog in head (it really helped to keep me awake) and when I got to the part about the fruit salad, I thought I would say I was about to go mental if I ate another bowl of papaya, pineapple, banana, apple, orange and some awful brown fruit I always pick out- BUT, luckily, they added strawberries and pomegranite to the usual mix- so I haven't gone mental, and I'll live to eat another bowl. (It was madness this morning when people caught on that there were strawberries- people were hiding around corners ready to bounce when the staff put a fresh bowl out- everyone wanted to be the first to pick through and make off with the strawberries).
11:00 am-1:50 pm- Breakfast is followed by one or two classes; this week we've done teaching practice everyday immediately after eating (which always makes me feel like I'm going to have to see the fruit salad all over again) but last week we mainly had anatomy or learning to teach classes. Practice teaching involves us splitting into groups of 3 and each taking a turn to "teach" for 20 minutes to half an hour, then sharing feedback with each other. Over the last couple days we were evaluated by our instructors, a process some people found nerve racking.
1:50-2:10pm- After our morning classes we are given twenty minutes before lunch to meditate, swim, run, walk, dance or do whatever we want that doesn't involve too much thinking (no reading, writing, talking). After sitting around all morning or patiently enduring teaching practice, I generally do handstands.
2:10-4:30pm- After our little meditation/celebration time we eat lunch. Lunch is always a salad of cucumber, carrot, tomato and occasionally avocado and lettuce, all cut into geometric shapes. You may be thinking, oh how nice, I'd like a salad for lunch everyday too! But, I urge you to think for a moment about raw carrots cut into geometric shapes and what that would be like to eat, day after day, mixed with nice soft cucumber and lettuce. After a while, it becomes all you can think about- will they grate the carrot, will I have a pleasant lunch, or will they cube the carrot, causing me to chew like a rabbit for half an hour? In addition to salad we get rice, dal and curried vegetables. Unlike the geometric salad, the dal and vegetables are prepared differently everyday.
After lunch we have a break until 4:30 pm. I usually eat quickly (as is possible given the shape of the carrots) and go to the beach to swim and lay in the sun. Sometimes though, I make the arduous journey 200 meters up the road to use the internet, which generally doesn't work, before returning to the Ashiyana bubble.
4:30-7:00pm- Following our break we have another one or two classes. Apart from anatomy and teaching practice, we study philosophy, the subtle body, bhakti and practice karma yoga. Philosophy is lead by our instructor, and owner of Ashiyana, Chris. The classes are based on Patanjali's sutras as interpreted by someone else. I find the classes interesting, and I don't worry too much about things I don't understand or agree with. Other people, however, get quite heated when they don't agree or understand what Chris is saying. It doesn't help that in response to nearly every question Chris says "I want you to examine where your question is coming from. You may find that when you do, you'll find it is only your disturbed mind talking, and the question becomes unimportant." A bit of an easy way out for him I'd say.
7:00-8:00pm- Once we've all been told we have disturbed minds, we're given dinner. The geometric salad makes a reappearance, along with more rice, dal and curried vegetables. In addition, we usually get something a bit more "non-Indian" like pasta, grated potatoes with spinach puree, chicken or fish or sometimes, if we're very lucky, pizza. We also get dessert, something we all look forward to all day. It generally doesn't live up to expectations, but, like pizza days, sometimes we're lucky and it's something delicious like chocolate balls.
8:00-9:30pm- Dinner is followed by a final activity, usually a sharing circle, chanting, dancing, or a movie. When we finish this activity we're not supposed to speak until 11:00 am the following day, so we all slip of to bed in silence, ready to do everything again the next day.
I hope this helps explain why I haven't written in so long! I have to rush now, to make it back for Karma yoga. Today I might have to do beach cleaning, since I put off doing it the last few sessions.
Love Alice
ps. I saw Dave on Sunday, we spent the afternoon together on the beach, but maybe he'll tell you all about it.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Surviving the Post-Alice Apocalypse
Dear faithful readers,
Some of the previous blog posts may have led you to believe that I am an incompetent invalid who couldn't possibly survive the dangers of traveling without a certain Alice Muirhead to manage my affairs. I thought this too. I mean, I get lost all the time, I'm a huge sucker when it comes to getting scammed, I speak with everyone on the street who says hello, and I have barely looked in the travel guide over the past 4.5 months. However, like a bird violently pushed from its nest in order to learn how to fly, Alice's abandonment has pushed me to new limits.
While Alice has been living it up in the lap of luxury, working on her bendy skills, I have been having solo adventures, meeting old friends, making new ones, and defying death at every turn.
Alice and I split up in Agra, with her going to Goa and me going to Pushkar. I took a bus from Agra to Pushkar and narrowly avoided an accidental trip to Delhi which would have added a handful of hours to the overall amount of travel to Rajastan (I didn't look at a map and thought that Delhi was where I wanted to make a connection to Pushkar but it would have meant going from Agra to Delhi and back again).
There wasn't much going on in Pushkar. It is mainly known for shopping and a camel festival, but I didn't shop and left town before the festival started because the cost of accommodation quadruples during the two week event. It was dusty and I sneezed a lot because of the mix of dirt in the air and the camels walking around in the streets. I met a really great guy from California named Peter who let me share a room with him for 3 nights so I could stay at the same guest house as Noy and Ira from Minali/Rishikesh.
In Pushkar there is a sacred and ancient lake associated with the legend of Shiva. I was given a handful of 'free' flowers to put in the lake for good luck, but when I went down to put them in I was grabbed my a Brahman who recited a blessing for me, my friends and family. He prayed to four different gods, asking for health and happiness for seven people. Afterward, he did some math and multiplied the number of people prayed for by the number of gods prayed to and told me I had to make a 'donation' of 3000 rupees (70 dollars). I told him I only had 300 rupees and he told me it wasn't possible to give so little. I was annoyed. It smacked of extortion combined with some old school Medieval absolution vending. The good thing about making a 'donation' at the lake temple was that afterward a string is tied to your wrist which indicates that you have made an offering - this string tells the many beggars on the street to leave you alone. I don't know if the string system is actually an effective deterrent because the string was tied so loosely that it came off the next day and I received plenty o' hassles...
The good karma from the lake actually carried forward because I nearly lost a silver spoon eagle ring (from Haida Gwaii) to a henna making gypsy, but in the end I got it back (my never ending faith in the goodness of people validated despite the nay saying of others)... I was walking in the market when I was grabbed by two women who started doing henna on my hand before I could say no. I figured "this is happening" and allowed them to drag me into a chai shop where they told me their life stories and covered me in swirls and squiggles. Despite my better judgment I allowed one of them to pull of my ring so that she could henna my middle finger. She slipped the ring onto her finger and I cringed anticipating some sort of problem. It quickly slipped my mind and off I went to meet up with people for breakfast. When I went to wash up before eating I realized that I left without the ring. The people I talked to on my way back to the market (to essentially find a needle in a hay stack) all assured me it was a scam and that the women are thieves etc... I didn't believe them because the women were so sweet, and hoped in my heart that it was all just a mistake. I looked and looked and after 30 minutes gave up the search. As soon as I gave up they appeared bright eyed and smiling. It seemed as though they were looking for me with the same enthusiasm with which I was looking for them. They gladly gave me my ring and I was touched my their inherent goodness. Yippee!
The only other interesting things that happened in Pushkar involve near death experiences. The first notable event was an earthquake that shook the city one night. I was asleep, but I spoke with people who said that things were really moving - but there didn't seem to be any death or destruction which is really lucky. The other nearly fatal story involves an Israeli pizza bread called a ziva. I had a ziva and went into anaphylactic shock. My throat closed up, my eyes and face puffed, I couldn't breath and I was super itchy all over my body. The Israelis I was hanging with immediately tapped into their army training and laid me out, elevated my feet, gave me a bunch of stuff to drink and went by motorbike to get some antihistamine pills from the pharmacy. I was better in no time, but it was really scary an totally lame. I asked for the ingredients in the ziva and there wasn't anything out of the ordinary so this may be an experience I'll have to repeat until I hone in on what it is I'm allergic to.
To sum up, I'm still alive, and doing fine without my old friend Bad Alice. I miss her, but know that she is off bending somewhere and that makes me happy because I know it makes her happy.
I'm lazing about on the beaches of Goa. Got here from Pushkar by train - 35 hours. Longest train ride of my life, but it went really quickly because I was traveling with great people. When we arrived in Arambol we rented an apartment overlooking the ocean for 5 bucks a person. It was a sweet pad with a humongous patio but I couldn't take anymore Hebrew and have settled into my own bamboo hut on the beach at the whopping price of 150 rupees a night - just over 3 dollars.
Sorry I didn't take any photos over the week. My camera was out of batteries and I am a lazy bastard. I've snapped a few photos here in Goa and will upload whenever I get sick of splashing around (yeah right...).
Comments?
xoxoxoox
Some of the previous blog posts may have led you to believe that I am an incompetent invalid who couldn't possibly survive the dangers of traveling without a certain Alice Muirhead to manage my affairs. I thought this too. I mean, I get lost all the time, I'm a huge sucker when it comes to getting scammed, I speak with everyone on the street who says hello, and I have barely looked in the travel guide over the past 4.5 months. However, like a bird violently pushed from its nest in order to learn how to fly, Alice's abandonment has pushed me to new limits.
While Alice has been living it up in the lap of luxury, working on her bendy skills, I have been having solo adventures, meeting old friends, making new ones, and defying death at every turn.
Alice and I split up in Agra, with her going to Goa and me going to Pushkar. I took a bus from Agra to Pushkar and narrowly avoided an accidental trip to Delhi which would have added a handful of hours to the overall amount of travel to Rajastan (I didn't look at a map and thought that Delhi was where I wanted to make a connection to Pushkar but it would have meant going from Agra to Delhi and back again).
There wasn't much going on in Pushkar. It is mainly known for shopping and a camel festival, but I didn't shop and left town before the festival started because the cost of accommodation quadruples during the two week event. It was dusty and I sneezed a lot because of the mix of dirt in the air and the camels walking around in the streets. I met a really great guy from California named Peter who let me share a room with him for 3 nights so I could stay at the same guest house as Noy and Ira from Minali/Rishikesh.
In Pushkar there is a sacred and ancient lake associated with the legend of Shiva. I was given a handful of 'free' flowers to put in the lake for good luck, but when I went down to put them in I was grabbed my a Brahman who recited a blessing for me, my friends and family. He prayed to four different gods, asking for health and happiness for seven people. Afterward, he did some math and multiplied the number of people prayed for by the number of gods prayed to and told me I had to make a 'donation' of 3000 rupees (70 dollars). I told him I only had 300 rupees and he told me it wasn't possible to give so little. I was annoyed. It smacked of extortion combined with some old school Medieval absolution vending. The good thing about making a 'donation' at the lake temple was that afterward a string is tied to your wrist which indicates that you have made an offering - this string tells the many beggars on the street to leave you alone. I don't know if the string system is actually an effective deterrent because the string was tied so loosely that it came off the next day and I received plenty o' hassles...
The good karma from the lake actually carried forward because I nearly lost a silver spoon eagle ring (from Haida Gwaii) to a henna making gypsy, but in the end I got it back (my never ending faith in the goodness of people validated despite the nay saying of others)... I was walking in the market when I was grabbed by two women who started doing henna on my hand before I could say no. I figured "this is happening" and allowed them to drag me into a chai shop where they told me their life stories and covered me in swirls and squiggles. Despite my better judgment I allowed one of them to pull of my ring so that she could henna my middle finger. She slipped the ring onto her finger and I cringed anticipating some sort of problem. It quickly slipped my mind and off I went to meet up with people for breakfast. When I went to wash up before eating I realized that I left without the ring. The people I talked to on my way back to the market (to essentially find a needle in a hay stack) all assured me it was a scam and that the women are thieves etc... I didn't believe them because the women were so sweet, and hoped in my heart that it was all just a mistake. I looked and looked and after 30 minutes gave up the search. As soon as I gave up they appeared bright eyed and smiling. It seemed as though they were looking for me with the same enthusiasm with which I was looking for them. They gladly gave me my ring and I was touched my their inherent goodness. Yippee!
The only other interesting things that happened in Pushkar involve near death experiences. The first notable event was an earthquake that shook the city one night. I was asleep, but I spoke with people who said that things were really moving - but there didn't seem to be any death or destruction which is really lucky. The other nearly fatal story involves an Israeli pizza bread called a ziva. I had a ziva and went into anaphylactic shock. My throat closed up, my eyes and face puffed, I couldn't breath and I was super itchy all over my body. The Israelis I was hanging with immediately tapped into their army training and laid me out, elevated my feet, gave me a bunch of stuff to drink and went by motorbike to get some antihistamine pills from the pharmacy. I was better in no time, but it was really scary an totally lame. I asked for the ingredients in the ziva and there wasn't anything out of the ordinary so this may be an experience I'll have to repeat until I hone in on what it is I'm allergic to.
To sum up, I'm still alive, and doing fine without my old friend Bad Alice. I miss her, but know that she is off bending somewhere and that makes me happy because I know it makes her happy.
I'm lazing about on the beaches of Goa. Got here from Pushkar by train - 35 hours. Longest train ride of my life, but it went really quickly because I was traveling with great people. When we arrived in Arambol we rented an apartment overlooking the ocean for 5 bucks a person. It was a sweet pad with a humongous patio but I couldn't take anymore Hebrew and have settled into my own bamboo hut on the beach at the whopping price of 150 rupees a night - just over 3 dollars.
Sorry I didn't take any photos over the week. My camera was out of batteries and I am a lazy bastard. I've snapped a few photos here in Goa and will upload whenever I get sick of splashing around (yeah right...).
Comments?
xoxoxoox
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Taj to Goa
Dave and I have written every post together (me correcting his half French half English spelling and grammar and him making me less boring) so it's a little difficult to write this without him... but maybe you'd like to know what I've been doing?
First, the Taj Mahal. Unfortunately the sky wasn't clear- a combination of dust, pollution and post-Diwali fireworks- but we went anyway and took the required 5000 photos. Here are a few...
First, the Taj Mahal. Unfortunately the sky wasn't clear- a combination of dust, pollution and post-Diwali fireworks- but we went anyway and took the required 5000 photos. Here are a few...
So as you can see, we have seen the Taj Mahal.
After seeing the Taj, I left Dave sitting forlornly on his bed and began my long journey to Goa. I have been doing yoga off and on since I was about 14, and the idea to do a teacher training course had crossed my mind. However, I always put the idea away, thinking that I wasn't good enough, that there wasn't time to do a course, that I couldn't afford it or that I'd be a terrible teacher. Over the last few months though, Dave and I have been doing yoga whenever we can with lots of different teachers (some good, some named Dilip....) and Dave asked whether I had considered becoming a teacher. I explained my issues with the idea and he destroyed them all. So I was stuck- I wanted to do it, my reasons for not doing had been destroyed- I had to do it! I spent hours and hours googling places (whenever I would give up Dave would send me back to the computer to look more) and finally found a few places that looked good. Unfortunately, they were full (I guess people usually think about this more than a week before). However, fate intervened and the centre I liked the most emailed me to say they had a cancellation, the spot was mine if I wanted it. One plane, one rickshaw, two taxis, one train later and one night in the wrong hotel, I arrived at Ashiyana.
I've been here one week and so far, the experience has been incredible. I get up around 5:30 am to go running (stupid early I know, the sun isn't even up), then we have breathing exercises and meditation from 7-8 am, an asana or yoga class from 8-10 am, then we're given breakfast. The rest of the day is a series of classes in anatomy, learning to teach, different forms of meditation, philosophy and chanting. We're given a break after lunch for a couple hours, which most of us use to run to the beach to fry ourselves in the sun. The teachers are incredible, the food is great, the centre itself is beautiful... in other words, everything has dramatically improved since I ditched Dave.
This is the beach....
This is my super awesome roomate Renee with her dry wafer cookie...
That's all for now... I don't know where Dave is or what he's doing, last I heard he was taking a 30 hour train ride from Pushcar to Goa.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Agra- Happy Diwali!!!!!
Vendors selling flowers for DiwaliToday we are in Agra, home of the famous Taj Mahal!
Unfortunately, it's Friday, so the Taj is closed.
We decided, after nearly two weeks of yoga, eating and lying around that it was time for us to leave Rishikesh. We knew it wasn't going to be easy- we'd heard all the rumors about trains and buses being fully booked with people traveling for Diwali- but we figured we're lucky people, things will work out for us...
Nearly 16 hours after leaving Haridwar (the closest city to Rishikesh) and 27 hours after leaving our hotel in Lakshman Jhula, we staggered, near death, off the "luxury sleeper" bus we had to take after learning all the trains were full. Dave is better at describing things, so I'll let him write about those 16 awful hours.
Boom, Diwali!!
Well, I'm actually going to take a little trip back in time and tell you about the preamble to the bus ride which included a whole day unexpectedly spent wandering around in Haridwar... We left Lakshman Jhula after an early breakfast because we wanted to get to Agra as soon as possible - but got stuck in Haridwar for 8 hours because there was no train available. I wasn't stoked because we could have been laying around in the cafes of Rishikesh instead of marching under the hot sun of Haridwar, but Alice persuaded me to see some sights and it actually turned out to be a great day. We tried to find this secret temple that you can only access by a secret tram...but it was all such a secret that we couldn't find the place, so being quitters, we gave up. We did however find a chain restaurant that offered the world's largest selection of Dosas (the whole WORLD). I didn't have one, but the one Alice had looked like a triangular piece of heaven. Anyway...in the evening we sat along the Ganges and watched people, young and very old, bathe away their sins in the sacred river - the whole while shoeing away children selling blessings and old men trying to collect donations for the maintenance of the river (both scams). As the sun set we took in the nightly Puja ceremony where Indians turn out in the thousands to launch flaming offerings into the river, sing, bathe, and cleanse themselves in holy flames. It was unbelievable to think that it happens every night because it is a real commotion, and the build up to the actually ceremony took several hours as the crowd grew bigger and bigger.
So the bus ride... We bought the tickets at a travel agency near the train station. We were assured that it was going to be a good bus, heading directly to Agra over night, and that we would have sleeper seats # 7 and 8. When we got to the bus we were a little confused because there weren't seat numbers at all, but letters! To add to this confusion people were screaming at each other inside the bus in a murderous tone, and one woman was even trying to choke a man to death over what we believe was a seating dispute. Not wanting to get choked out, or to have to choke someone ourselves, we asked where we were to sit and told that we could take sleepers C and D. Hearing this, I took sleeper C and Alice took sleeper A! Shortly afterwards a man approached Alice and said, "Is this your seat?". Alice, not wanting to give away any information that she did not have to responded with, "Is this your seat?". The two of them went back and forth until the man said "It is okay, I'll just sit with him" - meaning me, in Alice's spot which would have meant me having to spoon, or be spooned, by a total stranger for the entire bus ride. Thankfully Alice took pity on me and moved over to join me in our designated place.
All seemed well. We were in seats. Nobody was choking us. The bus started rolling. It did not take long however for things to go India. The bus broke down approximately 20 times, the first brake down occurring not 5 blocks from where we left. We just accepted the situation, trusting we'd get where we were going, and nodded off to sleep. The sleep was actually fairly restful, except for the fact that the window that I was smushed up against kept rattling open giving me a face full of dirt and dust. When dawn came we woke up expecting to be in Agra, instead the bus had got stuck in sand nearly two feet deep on the right hand side. This occured at a bottleneck on the highway and blocked traffic in both directions for more than an hour as we tried to push and pull the thing out. The bus was in danger of tipping over, so everyone got out, except for Alice. I assumed she stayed in because she hates doing anything that anyone tells her to do, but it turns out she was trapped inside and couldn't get passed the engine cover that was blocking her only escape. Eventually we got free, and we on the road again, more than 4 hours over due and with many hours of travel still ahead of us.
Breakdown!!!The absolute worst part of the bus ride was that there was no toilet and after 12 hours of driving we hadn't been given the opportunity to go to the bathroom. I peed on the road when the bus got stuck, but poor Alice who was trapped inside had to endure 14 hours of urine welling up inside of her before she asked the driver, nearly in tears to "schtop da bash" to let her out for a wee. He refused, but eventually was persuaded by Alice's charms. It is a good thing too because Alice was getting desperate. She even tried to pee in a bottle, in full public view, but lost her nerve because she was physical unable to do so. In this period of intense madness Alice was blindly groping around a storage compartment for an empty bottle to pee in on the moving bus. She put her hand inside, got hold of a bottle and pulled it out only to find that it was already full of someone else's desperate urine. - Alice just informed me "That I was so desperate that I was considering sticking my butt out the window."
(To put Alice's pee story in context, and to not overly emBareAss (get it?) her, I will tell a bus pee story of my own from the trip to Minali. You see, it had been many hours since I had been to what passes for a toilet here in India, and I was in pain. It was the middle of the night, very dark, and the bus was rattling down one of the worst roads I have ever been on. Each jolt sent a dagger into my bladder, and I yearned for relief. Alice and I were 2 of only 7 passengers, and all was quiet on the bus. I figured "now or never", whipped my pants down and stuck myself out the ever open window (it wouldn't close). I tried to pee but the road was so bumpy that I hit my head on the storage compartment above me (it hurt) and decided that another blow might render me unconscious and I didn't want for Alice to have to deal with a half naked, unconscious Dave, covered in his own pee. I held it and eventually, thankfully, the bus broke down and I peed.)
To wrap up the bus story, it wasn't direct and we ended up having to take a public bus from outside Delhi to Agra. Alice and I have some disagreement about the distance we were from Delhi (whether or not "outside" may be appropriately used) but I'm sure nobody cares except for Alice. Carrying on, I stood most of the way, but we finally arrived dirty, stinky, hungry, and exhausted in Agra.
We postponed seeing the Taj Mahal upon arrival because of our weakened state. Unfortunately, the Taj is closed on Fridays (today) so we're going to have to spend an extra day in Agra to see the thing tomorrow. The day wasn't wasted however as we saw the Baby Taj, the Agra Fort, and an old Persian-style tomb. I am going to let Alice write about this because she is better at writing about the boring stuff...
The first thing we saw today was Chini-Ka-Rauza, the tomb of Allama Afzal Khan Mullah, poet who worked for Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan and later served as his Prime Minister. The monument was once covered in beautiful glazed tiles, applied in a style unique to Chini-Ka-Rauza. Now however, the tiles have mostly fallen off and only the brown structure remains. From there we went to the Itimad-Ud-Daulah, or Baby Taj, a masoleum built by Nur Jahan, the wife of Jahangir, for her father Mirza Ghiyas Beg. Mirza Ghiyas Beg was the grandfather of Mumtaz Mahal, the wife of emperor Shah Jahan who built the Taj Mahal. Made of carved white marble and decorated with inlaid flowers and patterns, the Itimad-Ud-Daulah was really beautiful (though the French tourists were a little overwhelming). We went from there to Mehtab Bagh, a park across the Yamuna River from the Taj Mahal. The view would have been spectacular, but it is very hazy in Agra, making it difficult to see anything. Our last stop was the Agra Fort, a giant structure that was used as a base for governing India by many generations of Mughal leaders. The Fort was really spectacular, especially the areas made completely of marble.
Chini-Ka-Rauza
At the Itimad-Ud-Daulah
Itimad-Ud-Daulah
Agra FortTomorrow Dave and I are going to see the Taj Mahal, then I will take a train to Delhi. From Dehli I'm flying to Goa to start a yoga teacher training course. It wasn't part of our original plan (not that we had a plan, other than eating mango's-which we're failing miserably at) but Dave convinced me I should take the opportunity while I have it (I think he's just trying to get rid of me). The course is a month long, but I doubt that's enough time for Dave to die, get lost or stolen- he'll probably still be sleeping when I find him again.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Lamakaha?
"Why like this?" Is our new favorite saying. It can be used in all situations - with enormous comic effect. We hear it many times a day, spoken by both our Israeli friends and local Indians who have adopted the phrase...
We use it often enough ourselves here in Rishikesh. Why, for example, is there only one walking bridge that crosses the Ganges, and WHY is it used for pedestrians, cows, monkeys, vegetable carts, and motorcycles when it is only 1.5 meters wide? Anyways...
We have been in Rishikesh for more than a week with no signal of an impending departure. After a few nights in a hotel that made Alice mental, we moved to a satisfactory location and it is unlike that we will leave anytime soon. The first place we stayed did not meet Alice's minimum level of cleanliness to satisfy her minimum requirements for mental well being.
Dave was trying to write this, but he's lost the power of language, so I'll continue.
Everyday we've been in Rishikesh has been essentially the same as the day before. Every morning I get up for yoga, wake Dave up by puttering around; he complains that it's too early and he actually thinks it would be best for him to do yoga in the afternoon, I leave, come back 2 hours later, Dave is still sleeping. When Lord Walraven finally gets out of bed, we eat breakfast, a process that usually involves finding our Israeli friends and sitting for 2-4 hours. By the time breakfast is over, it's generally about 2:30pm, which means we can either read for a little while and go to yoga at 5:00pm, or actually do something and miss yoga. We generally choose to do nothing. Dave goes back to sleep, I wander up and down the one main street looking at the same alibaba pants and wool coats I looked at the day before, until about 4:30pm when I again demand that Dave get out of bed and do something.
Some days however, breakfast doesn't take forever and we actually do something between morning and afternoon yoga. There are several waterfalls around Rishikesh; Dave and I walked to one about 5km away last Friday, before going to Bedhabad (the Jewish center in Rishikesh) with our friends for dinner. Earlier this week, I walked to another waterfall while Dave went bungee jumping. Another day we walked to the ruins of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram, where the Beatles stayed in 1968. Many of the songs on the White Album were written during their stay. Dave went to the beach one day, washed himself in the scared Ganges (I had to mail a parcel- which takes all afternoon, no joke). Yesterday, in eager anticipation, we walked to Ramjhula to see a festival. But there was no festival, or not one we could find anyway.
Dave has recovered sufficiently to tell you about our first few days of yoga with Dilip, our somewhat questionable teacher.
When we arrived in Rishikesh it was part of our plan, in pursuit of our traveling list of objectives, to become yoga masters. We were initially considering staying at an Ashram, but didn't want to seclude ourselves from other travelers (and we also didn't want to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to stretch about). Alice went off and checked out some places, and to a lesser extent I did the same. I found a class advertised to be taught in a style Alice was looking for. I did a class and had a good time so Alice joined me the next day. Despite not wanting to be tied down to one place we managed to sign ourselves up for 8 days of yoga with Dilip - each morning at 8am. Initially it was good. By the time the week was almost up we had about enough of the damp basement under a bakery that served as the studio, and of Dilip's instruction which consisted of sitting on Alice (forcing her to bend further) and once each class having us stand on his legs to demonstrate how flexible we could become if we stayed with him. Dilip was a very nice guy, giving me a lift to the bank machine in the next village over and buying us chai and samosas after each yoga class, but we've sampled other instructors in the evening and found them much more satisfactory for our tastes. Each day Dilip would say "Alice a little fatty, but no problem she has much knowledge", before turning to me to say "you thin, with little knowledge." Dilip was also prone to patting Alice on the cheeks, mid pose, and saying "you make me very happy, you very flexible".
All jokes aside, Alice is turning out to be on her way to yogi-hood. I wouldn't be surprised if she started an Ashram in the woods behind UNBC and gave up the exciting prospects offered by her Masters in Blah Blah Blah... She will become a local legend. "Bad Alice of the Forest" people will whisper in the streets, and children will no longer dare venture forth into the darkness of the woods.
One of our nightly highlights is passing the general store next to the entrance to our hotel. There works a man named "Mr. Boombastic" who only speaks in sentences stolen from Shaggy songs. Everyday we go get a few small necessities and receive a spectacle deserving of an entrance fee. "How are you? Boombastic fantastic? Mr Lova Lova? Everything fantastical bambastical!," he exclaims as we purchase water. "I like quiet restaurant. Fansatical bambastical. Shanti, quiet place...no lova lova problem. Toilet paper! Ahh, fantastic invention! Fantastic bambastic! Mr. Lova Lova."
Another saying that we have picked up from our Israeli friends is the use of the word ugly to describe travelers who are loud, obnoxious representatives of their country. Israelis often call each other "ugly Israelis" when people are being too loud or belligerent. We met an "ugly Canadian" named David, from Comox. Rishikesh is a very holy city and is therefore dry. This guy however chose not to observe the religious decree and managed to get unbearably drunk. We were all sitting with a group of Israelis at their hotel and Noy, an Israeli girl, got the idea to play a trick on David because he was too drunk to realize what was going on. She convinced David that she was Alice - I would feed her bits of information about BC, and her and David would carry on in conversation. David somehow didn't notice that she had a very strong Israeli accent, and didn't even clue in when she would speak very loudly in Hebrew with everyone else present. The Israelis thought this was just the funniest thing and one commented that "she hasn't ever laughed so hard in India."
We do like it here, but we are talking about moving soon. Lola, the one who never laughed so hard, is planning on going to Varanasi in a few days and we may go together. Making travel plans right now is a little tough because it is nearly Diwali - the festival of lights - and many many locals are traveling for the festivities so things are booked up.
Alice added pictures to Facebook, look if you want:
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=5110184&l=60330f5534&id=511324453
We use it often enough ourselves here in Rishikesh. Why, for example, is there only one walking bridge that crosses the Ganges, and WHY is it used for pedestrians, cows, monkeys, vegetable carts, and motorcycles when it is only 1.5 meters wide? Anyways...
We have been in Rishikesh for more than a week with no signal of an impending departure. After a few nights in a hotel that made Alice mental, we moved to a satisfactory location and it is unlike that we will leave anytime soon. The first place we stayed did not meet Alice's minimum level of cleanliness to satisfy her minimum requirements for mental well being.
Dave was trying to write this, but he's lost the power of language, so I'll continue.
Everyday we've been in Rishikesh has been essentially the same as the day before. Every morning I get up for yoga, wake Dave up by puttering around; he complains that it's too early and he actually thinks it would be best for him to do yoga in the afternoon, I leave, come back 2 hours later, Dave is still sleeping. When Lord Walraven finally gets out of bed, we eat breakfast, a process that usually involves finding our Israeli friends and sitting for 2-4 hours. By the time breakfast is over, it's generally about 2:30pm, which means we can either read for a little while and go to yoga at 5:00pm, or actually do something and miss yoga. We generally choose to do nothing. Dave goes back to sleep, I wander up and down the one main street looking at the same alibaba pants and wool coats I looked at the day before, until about 4:30pm when I again demand that Dave get out of bed and do something.
Some days however, breakfast doesn't take forever and we actually do something between morning and afternoon yoga. There are several waterfalls around Rishikesh; Dave and I walked to one about 5km away last Friday, before going to Bedhabad (the Jewish center in Rishikesh) with our friends for dinner. Earlier this week, I walked to another waterfall while Dave went bungee jumping. Another day we walked to the ruins of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram, where the Beatles stayed in 1968. Many of the songs on the White Album were written during their stay. Dave went to the beach one day, washed himself in the scared Ganges (I had to mail a parcel- which takes all afternoon, no joke). Yesterday, in eager anticipation, we walked to Ramjhula to see a festival. But there was no festival, or not one we could find anyway.
Dave has recovered sufficiently to tell you about our first few days of yoga with Dilip, our somewhat questionable teacher.
When we arrived in Rishikesh it was part of our plan, in pursuit of our traveling list of objectives, to become yoga masters. We were initially considering staying at an Ashram, but didn't want to seclude ourselves from other travelers (and we also didn't want to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to stretch about). Alice went off and checked out some places, and to a lesser extent I did the same. I found a class advertised to be taught in a style Alice was looking for. I did a class and had a good time so Alice joined me the next day. Despite not wanting to be tied down to one place we managed to sign ourselves up for 8 days of yoga with Dilip - each morning at 8am. Initially it was good. By the time the week was almost up we had about enough of the damp basement under a bakery that served as the studio, and of Dilip's instruction which consisted of sitting on Alice (forcing her to bend further) and once each class having us stand on his legs to demonstrate how flexible we could become if we stayed with him. Dilip was a very nice guy, giving me a lift to the bank machine in the next village over and buying us chai and samosas after each yoga class, but we've sampled other instructors in the evening and found them much more satisfactory for our tastes. Each day Dilip would say "Alice a little fatty, but no problem she has much knowledge", before turning to me to say "you thin, with little knowledge." Dilip was also prone to patting Alice on the cheeks, mid pose, and saying "you make me very happy, you very flexible".
All jokes aside, Alice is turning out to be on her way to yogi-hood. I wouldn't be surprised if she started an Ashram in the woods behind UNBC and gave up the exciting prospects offered by her Masters in Blah Blah Blah... She will become a local legend. "Bad Alice of the Forest" people will whisper in the streets, and children will no longer dare venture forth into the darkness of the woods.
One of our nightly highlights is passing the general store next to the entrance to our hotel. There works a man named "Mr. Boombastic" who only speaks in sentences stolen from Shaggy songs. Everyday we go get a few small necessities and receive a spectacle deserving of an entrance fee. "How are you? Boombastic fantastic? Mr Lova Lova? Everything fantastical bambastical!," he exclaims as we purchase water. "I like quiet restaurant. Fansatical bambastical. Shanti, quiet place...no lova lova problem. Toilet paper! Ahh, fantastic invention! Fantastic bambastic! Mr. Lova Lova."
Another saying that we have picked up from our Israeli friends is the use of the word ugly to describe travelers who are loud, obnoxious representatives of their country. Israelis often call each other "ugly Israelis" when people are being too loud or belligerent. We met an "ugly Canadian" named David, from Comox. Rishikesh is a very holy city and is therefore dry. This guy however chose not to observe the religious decree and managed to get unbearably drunk. We were all sitting with a group of Israelis at their hotel and Noy, an Israeli girl, got the idea to play a trick on David because he was too drunk to realize what was going on. She convinced David that she was Alice - I would feed her bits of information about BC, and her and David would carry on in conversation. David somehow didn't notice that she had a very strong Israeli accent, and didn't even clue in when she would speak very loudly in Hebrew with everyone else present. The Israelis thought this was just the funniest thing and one commented that "she hasn't ever laughed so hard in India."
We do like it here, but we are talking about moving soon. Lola, the one who never laughed so hard, is planning on going to Varanasi in a few days and we may go together. Making travel plans right now is a little tough because it is nearly Diwali - the festival of lights - and many many locals are traveling for the festivities so things are booked up.
Alice added pictures to Facebook, look if you want:
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=5110184&l=60330f5534&id=511324453
Monday, October 25, 2010
Amritsar
After the bus ride with the Asians on the roof, we arrived, exhausted, in Amritsar. Amritsar is not a beautiful place. It is in fact, quite ugly. The haze that hung low in the sky everyday didn't help to enhance the low, crumbly, crowded shops and restaurants. The one redeming feature of Amritsar is the holiest of Sikh temples, The Golden Temple. We arrived around midday, but I was too busy complaining and moaning about a headache all afternoon for us to go anywhere but our hotel where we ate and watched Tomorrow Never Dies. The next day however, after several egg sandwiches, I was more than ready.
We hired a rickshaw driver to take us around for the day, to save ourselves from having to battle the dirty streets and crazy drivers. He took us first to The Golden Temple, where we found ourselves the subject of dozens of "snaps"- I would hate to be a real celebrity if it's anything like an average day in India for us- why people want their picture with us and where the pictures end up remains a mystery. Even more mysterious is when we're somewhere like The Golden Temple, a major tourist attraction, but people seem to be more attracted to us. We ate lunch at the temple in the Guru-Ka-Langar, a giant community dinning room that feeds 50,000-80,000 people everyday. After lunch, we spent a long period of time standing in line, waiting to see the inside of the Hari Mandir Sahib (the temple itself), holding food in our hands that we thought was an offering. After hauling the metal trays of hot mush up the line, around the temple and back, we were told it was for us to eat. This is a common event in India, we walk around looking clueless and lost and nobody bothers to tell us what we should be doing. The temple and complex were incredible, really beautiful and serene, worth enduring Amritsar for.
The Golden Temple!!!!!
Our next stop was Sri Durgiana Temple, a Hindu temple sometimes called the Silver Temple for its intricately carved silver doors. The temple is also surrounded by a tank of holy water, which we barely made it ten feet around before we were swarmed by people who wanted a "snap, please, snap, just one snap." The temple was nice, but didn't really compare to The Golden Temple. Outside the temple a small girl was knocked over by a motorcycle when her headscarf got caught- the first accident we've seen here (surprising considering everyone drives like they're the only one on the road).
Dave at the Silver Temple
The last temple our driver took us to was called Mata Temple, a Hindu cave temple commemorating the 20th century female saint Lal Devi. The temple was really wacky, you had to walk through a series of staircases, narrow walkways, tunnels, and caves, culminating in the final cave which was supposed to resemble a divine mouth. Apparently women go there to pray when they want to become pregnant.
The Divine Mouth
Our driver then arranged a tuk-tuk for us to the border with Pakistan. Other than The Golden Temple, the border is the main reason people visit Amritsar-not to cross into Pakistan, but to witness the daily border closing ceremony. The whole experience was one of the best we've had in India, it was so unexpectedly hilarious and surreal. We arrived about an hour before the ceremony was set to begin, and were herded (along with hundreds of others) into male and female lines so we could be searched and told emphatically that "only cameras, no bags!!!!" would be allowed in the stands. As foreign tourists we were allowed to sit in a special section, near the road where the guards would march by. Around us the stands were packed with very enthusiastic Indian spectators. Before the ceremony began, people had the opportunity to run with the Indian flag for about 25 meters up to the border gate and back- an opportunity they lined up in droves for. When the flag running had concluded, the dancing began. It was like watching a Bollywood movie come to life, the road filled with women, all dancing and singing. When they finished, a man with a megaphone started yelling things at the crowd which they responded to with equal enthusiasm. The ceremony itself was also hilarious, the guards marched back and forth, swinging their legs so high it looked like they might knock themselves out, or at least knock off their ridiculous hats. After marching back and forth a bit, the guards lowered the flag (the same thing was occurring on the Pakistani side, crowds and cheering included) the gate was slammed shut and the border was closed for the night. The whole event was a cross between the Monty Python ministry of silly walks and a Bollywood movie about Indian patriotism.
This isn't a very good video, but it gives an idea of the madness...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56Q6y5mBP3s
From Amritsar we took a train to Hardiwar, a bus to Rishikesh and a rickshaw to Lakshman Jhula, our home for the next few weeks. Rishikesh claims to be the yoga capital of the world, and there are dozens and dozens of classes and teachers here willing to fill any empty vessel (or at least contort the vessel). Dave and I are doing yoga with a man named Dilip every morning, which mainly consists of me being sat or stood on. Dilip claims I am a little fat but have much knowledge, while Dave is a little thin but has little knowledge. According to him however, this situation will change, as long as we stick with him.
Rishikesh
We hired a rickshaw driver to take us around for the day, to save ourselves from having to battle the dirty streets and crazy drivers. He took us first to The Golden Temple, where we found ourselves the subject of dozens of "snaps"- I would hate to be a real celebrity if it's anything like an average day in India for us- why people want their picture with us and where the pictures end up remains a mystery. Even more mysterious is when we're somewhere like The Golden Temple, a major tourist attraction, but people seem to be more attracted to us. We ate lunch at the temple in the Guru-Ka-Langar, a giant community dinning room that feeds 50,000-80,000 people everyday. After lunch, we spent a long period of time standing in line, waiting to see the inside of the Hari Mandir Sahib (the temple itself), holding food in our hands that we thought was an offering. After hauling the metal trays of hot mush up the line, around the temple and back, we were told it was for us to eat. This is a common event in India, we walk around looking clueless and lost and nobody bothers to tell us what we should be doing. The temple and complex were incredible, really beautiful and serene, worth enduring Amritsar for.
The Golden Temple!!!!!Our next stop was Sri Durgiana Temple, a Hindu temple sometimes called the Silver Temple for its intricately carved silver doors. The temple is also surrounded by a tank of holy water, which we barely made it ten feet around before we were swarmed by people who wanted a "snap, please, snap, just one snap." The temple was nice, but didn't really compare to The Golden Temple. Outside the temple a small girl was knocked over by a motorcycle when her headscarf got caught- the first accident we've seen here (surprising considering everyone drives like they're the only one on the road).
Dave at the Silver TempleThe last temple our driver took us to was called Mata Temple, a Hindu cave temple commemorating the 20th century female saint Lal Devi. The temple was really wacky, you had to walk through a series of staircases, narrow walkways, tunnels, and caves, culminating in the final cave which was supposed to resemble a divine mouth. Apparently women go there to pray when they want to become pregnant.
The Divine MouthOur driver then arranged a tuk-tuk for us to the border with Pakistan. Other than The Golden Temple, the border is the main reason people visit Amritsar-not to cross into Pakistan, but to witness the daily border closing ceremony. The whole experience was one of the best we've had in India, it was so unexpectedly hilarious and surreal. We arrived about an hour before the ceremony was set to begin, and were herded (along with hundreds of others) into male and female lines so we could be searched and told emphatically that "only cameras, no bags!!!!" would be allowed in the stands. As foreign tourists we were allowed to sit in a special section, near the road where the guards would march by. Around us the stands were packed with very enthusiastic Indian spectators. Before the ceremony began, people had the opportunity to run with the Indian flag for about 25 meters up to the border gate and back- an opportunity they lined up in droves for. When the flag running had concluded, the dancing began. It was like watching a Bollywood movie come to life, the road filled with women, all dancing and singing. When they finished, a man with a megaphone started yelling things at the crowd which they responded to with equal enthusiasm. The ceremony itself was also hilarious, the guards marched back and forth, swinging their legs so high it looked like they might knock themselves out, or at least knock off their ridiculous hats. After marching back and forth a bit, the guards lowered the flag (the same thing was occurring on the Pakistani side, crowds and cheering included) the gate was slammed shut and the border was closed for the night. The whole event was a cross between the Monty Python ministry of silly walks and a Bollywood movie about Indian patriotism.
This isn't a very good video, but it gives an idea of the madness...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56Q6y5mBP3s
From Amritsar we took a train to Hardiwar, a bus to Rishikesh and a rickshaw to Lakshman Jhula, our home for the next few weeks. Rishikesh claims to be the yoga capital of the world, and there are dozens and dozens of classes and teachers here willing to fill any empty vessel (or at least contort the vessel). Dave and I are doing yoga with a man named Dilip every morning, which mainly consists of me being sat or stood on. Dilip claims I am a little fat but have much knowledge, while Dave is a little thin but has little knowledge. According to him however, this situation will change, as long as we stick with him.
Rishikesh
Friday, October 22, 2010
Petty Fighting
From Manali we took a private, very serious quiet van to McLeod Ganj, near Dharamshala. (quiet and serious because nobody talked the whole 7 hours... weird, no?)
As Dave mentioned, Mcleod Ganj is the home of the Dalai Lama and the exiled Tibetan government. It is also the smelliest place we have been in India. Seriously, there was garbage everywhere! However, it was a very cool place, maybe just like Tibet? There was Tibetan food, people, dancers (look forward to more about the dancing), and lots of things to buy with 'Free Tibet!' written on them.
From McLeod we hiked to Triund, a day hike to almost 3000 meters which took a few hours, most of which Dave and I weren't speaking. He was in a BAAAAD mood, and I was tuning him out with my ipod. At the top however, we had a nice chat that started with "I"m sick of you!" "Ya well, I'm sicker of you!" and became friends again. The view from the top was amazing, though it was a bit hazy in the distance. (Dave - On the way back down the mountain I heard nature's call in the worst way but was 12 kms from a functional toilet. Luckily Muirhead was packing a handful of TP. I did the responsible thing and marched off into the forest, up the hillside and found myself a little slice of heaven. I tried to tell Alice all about it but she just turned up the volume on her Ipod and disappeared down the mountain... Correction - Alice would have you believe that she was tuning out my bad mood, but it was in act HER who had been complaining and shitting on EVERYTHING for the past two weeks and if I was in a mood it has to be understood in context!!!!)
The next day, Dave and I went for another walk, this time as friends, to the 'sacred Dal Lake.' It wasn't very far, fortunately, because when we got there, there was no water in the lake. Just a big hollow full of stinky mud. It wasn't a complete waste however, since we were friends that day, and used the time to discuss and solidify our ambitious life plans. I am going to save the world, Dave is rule it.
Now Dave will tell you about the 'traditional Tibetan dancing' we saw- I can't write about it because it's to disturbing to think about.
Well, it went a little something like this... Alice and I were walking along the street one afternoon when a young guy with long hair and a beard wearing cool shades, and a Tibetan flag as a shirt, came up to us and said, "Tonight come see traditional Tibetan dancing at school." We though, "Oh boy! Traditional Tibetan dancing! When are we going to have another chance to see something like this?" So we decided we'd check it out. We were assuming that since it was going to be held at a school for children that perhaps children were going to perform. Wrong! We broke the number one rule of India - lower your expectations... What we found when we arrived was that a small stereo system was plugged into the wall, and there was a sole male dancer - no children. The dancer was the same individual who was promoting the 'traditional dance' on the street. He charged everyone 100 rupees ($2.50 Canadian), and then began the 'show'. It started off alright. He told the story of how he was a Tibetan refugee, and sang a few songs that "weren't so bad", to quote my dear friend Bad Alice. After the songs however, things started to go wrong. Little did we know at the time, it wouldn't be long before we longed for wrong as the show quickly deteriorated into a violent and traumatizing act from which we still have not recovered...
I'm not an expert on very many things, and I can't count traditional Tibetan dancing among them, but I can say with utmost certainty that what Alice and I witnessed was anything but traditional. With the fly of his jeans completely down, and his butt crack showing he at times mimicked an epileptic, writhing on the floor at times in a sexual way. The point where things turned to the lowest depths of depravity was when he spat in his hands, rubbed the spit all over his face, and then put his hands in his pants and started to touch himself. Immediately after rubbing spit all over himself he began grabbing reluctant audience members to pull them into his trance. You might wonder at this point why it was that we didn't leave, and to tell the truth we thought about it, but were paralyzed like cobras charmed by the Indian flute. The room was full of about 15 people at the outset, but when it ended Alice and I were among only a handful who couldn't help themselves to leave. After the show he had the audacity to ask for further donations! I've seen the same moves he 'performed' done by raver kids - moves which included humping and licking the speakers. Awful, but memorable.
Muirhead was literally shaking afterwards, and was on the verge of tears (as usual). She has however recovered and found new and different reasons to cry.
McLeod Ganj wasn't all terrible as Muirhead would have you believe (I think it smelled just as bad as every other place we've been to and I would suggest that it had even less garbage than a number of places!). We stayed an extra day because we found a Japanese restaurant we liked, and Alice found a great Tibetan co-op shop where she found 5 toques she liked (to add to the 3 she bought in Minali).
Leaving MG, we took a public bus to Amritsar - home of the Sikh Golden Temple. The public bus was much more entertaining than the private bus. Of note were a group of Asian girls who were troubled by the fact that they had to put their own bags on the roof of the bus, and even more troubled when the bus started to drive away with them on top. "Shtop da bahs, shtop da bahs!", they cried - to no avail. With each jolt forward a distinct scream was heard from above! We had a good laugh. Don't worry they all made into the bus and safely to our destination. We even saw them in a restaurant the next day. Feewph.
Alice again... to clarify, I am very tolerant of dirt, garbage and general stink, but in MG we stayed in a particularily digusting hotel which felt damp all the time and was infested with mice (not only could you see them, you could hear them in the walls), so my patience for dirt and stink was streched to say the least.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Minali Wrap-Up
On our second to last day in Manali Alice snuck out of the room to go have herself a nice breakfast of delicious egg sandwich (a staple of our mountain food regimen). I casually sauntered out of bed, did some stretches, and then wandered down to have an egg sandwich of my own. I passed Alice on the way down to eggtown and said good morning. We were going to meet up after breakfast to go on a day hike that we had planned the night before. I took my time and enjoyed my meal, stopping briefly on my way back to the room to check some things on the interweb, and to my surprise when I returned to the room there was no sign of Bad A. In typical Alice fashion I didn't see her again until after 10pm. I had spent a good part of the afternoon walking from place to place looking for her, checking in with the hotel keep to see if she had been around, eventually going and asking strangers if they had seen a blond girl with a bad attitude. I thought, "okay I won't worry if she is back by dinner" because she has to eat. Dinner came and went and I got worried. I thought, "she must be back by the 9pm Star Movie" - another ritualistic staple of our mountain life - but nope! When she finally arrived, bearing cookies, I tried not to play the role of the worried parent who's daughter skipped curfew to party with the skidly neighborhood punks. Alice claims that she waited for me for 2 hours before she got fed up and went for a walk by herself. I was unaware that we were in such a rush, and expected her to keep our hiking date. This girl has no patience. For example, the other day while waiting for breakfast I took down a few quotations which demonstrate her general state of impatience...
1) "It's times like these I wish I had a flask."
2) "Seriously? Do you think the chicken had to lay the eggs? Burrrrrp."
Anyways... I'll have Alice take over the keys to tell you all about the adventures she had while I played the worry game and counted my new grey hairs...
Hello...
First, to clarify, I am an extremely patient person- you would wish you had a flask too if you'd been waiting for an egg sandwich for 45 minutes and you had a headache the size of the Grand Canyon.
Second, Dave is forgetful, and, after waiting for 2 hours- 2 HOURS!!!!!!- I decided he had forgotten about our walk plan. So I left. There was no time to leave a note either, so don't suggest that, I had already wasted enough time!
Anyway...
The view along the road between Manali and Vashisht
I walked from Manali to Vashisht (another village across the river), intending to walk to the top of a waterfall I had visited a few days before (also without Dave the layabout). I stopped for a sandwich (tuna) in Vashisht, where I met Ann and Kettl, an older couple from Norway who were traveling in India for only two weeks. They had seen more in two weeks than we will in three months, but I guess that's what happens when you can afford private taxis, planes and tour guides. Their guide in Vashisht was an amazing Indian man named Shiva who had given up a career of teaching physics and math to teach yoga instead. He invited me to join them that afternoon for a drive to a mountain village. Having nothing to do (and not particularly concerned about Dave's feelings) I agreed. We drove for over an hour through beautiful scenery to a village of ancient wooden houses perched high on a mountain. Walking the last 2km, we arrived at the village just as the sun was setting on the Kullu valley- too bad Dave took so long with his sandwich. Kettl and Ann had to catch a flight to Dehli in the morning so I rode with them, Shiva and the driver to the town near the airport- they said the taxi was paid for so I might as well take it back to Manali. Shiva was really great- not at all like the last yoga genius, Babaji- he was really happy, always laughing, and knew lots about many things.
Women watching a ceremony in Vashisht
The mountain village
Your favorite again - Dave. We left the next morning by private bus to McLeod Ganj where the Dalai Lama lives and has established the Tibetan government in exile. Stay tuned for our next exciting post...
Leave comments or else Alice will desert me. Yikes!!!
1) "It's times like these I wish I had a flask."
2) "Seriously? Do you think the chicken had to lay the eggs? Burrrrrp."
Anyways... I'll have Alice take over the keys to tell you all about the adventures she had while I played the worry game and counted my new grey hairs...
Hello...
First, to clarify, I am an extremely patient person- you would wish you had a flask too if you'd been waiting for an egg sandwich for 45 minutes and you had a headache the size of the Grand Canyon.
Second, Dave is forgetful, and, after waiting for 2 hours- 2 HOURS!!!!!!- I decided he had forgotten about our walk plan. So I left. There was no time to leave a note either, so don't suggest that, I had already wasted enough time!
Anyway...
The view along the road between Manali and Vashisht
I walked from Manali to Vashisht (another village across the river), intending to walk to the top of a waterfall I had visited a few days before (also without Dave the layabout). I stopped for a sandwich (tuna) in Vashisht, where I met Ann and Kettl, an older couple from Norway who were traveling in India for only two weeks. They had seen more in two weeks than we will in three months, but I guess that's what happens when you can afford private taxis, planes and tour guides. Their guide in Vashisht was an amazing Indian man named Shiva who had given up a career of teaching physics and math to teach yoga instead. He invited me to join them that afternoon for a drive to a mountain village. Having nothing to do (and not particularly concerned about Dave's feelings) I agreed. We drove for over an hour through beautiful scenery to a village of ancient wooden houses perched high on a mountain. Walking the last 2km, we arrived at the village just as the sun was setting on the Kullu valley- too bad Dave took so long with his sandwich. Kettl and Ann had to catch a flight to Dehli in the morning so I rode with them, Shiva and the driver to the town near the airport- they said the taxi was paid for so I might as well take it back to Manali. Shiva was really great- not at all like the last yoga genius, Babaji- he was really happy, always laughing, and knew lots about many things.
Women watching a ceremony in Vashisht
The mountain village
Your favorite again - Dave. We left the next morning by private bus to McLeod Ganj where the Dalai Lama lives and has established the Tibetan government in exile. Stay tuned for our next exciting post...
Leave comments or else Alice will desert me. Yikes!!!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Babaji and the FInnish Breather
A quick amendum to our last post regarding our "serious" yoga session, which proved to not be a yoga session at all...
Alice and I arrived a few minutes late because we had to switch hotels and haul our crap 2kms up a hill. The yoga master, Mr. Babaji, figured we wouldn't show up so began his breakfast. We were given toast with peanut butter and tea, and then told to wait for the food to digest before we began the session. We passed the time watching news stories on his satellite TV. Babaji used the terrible events pictured on the television as proof that the world is in a downward spiral towards some sort of dark oblivion.
When our food was adequately digested I was escorted outside by Babaji, and Alice stayed in the room with his Finnish lady friend (or devotee?). I was asked to show him some of the postures I knew, Alice was asked if she knew how to breathe. I showed him my stuff, and he said "you know many things, but you don't have knowledge." Alice, the recent recipient of a health science degree, was told about how important breathing is to life - too bad she didn't come to India first because she could have saved a lot of time and money...
Meanwhile, Babaji had me go through a few postures. No matter what I did, or how slowly I did it, he would say "shanti" (slowly in Hindi). It was kind of like that scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall where the guy is learning to surf and the stoner instructor just keeps saying "do less." The actual yoga instruction only lasted a few minutes before I was moved back inside the room, rejoining Alice and the Finnish breathing guru. I assumed that, like me, Alice had at least received some yoga instruction. However, I learned afterwards from Alice that the woman hadn't practiced yoga in so long that she had forgotten the poses and Alice knew more than she did.
We then sat in the mud walled, charras smoke-filled room for the next two hours taking in the monologue of Babaji who considered himself a fountain of knowledge, and us improperly shaped vessels that needed to be filled by him. It might have been interesting and enlightening if it hadn't been so damned confusing - quote, Alice. Babaji went off on various subjects, sometimes becoming very stern and incomprehensible, while at other times he laughed at his own equally incomprehensible stories. The general theme was that his speech was incomprehensive!
We were invited to become devotees, so that we could learn to overcome materialism and false knowledge...he assured us that we could easily transfer our money to him through Western Union or any international bank. We were also told if we wanted to buy any drugs that he was the main supplier to the village. Throughout, the Finnish woman spoke very little and puttered about changing her clothes at regular intervals, adding or removing various layers of the orange fabric that she was wrapped in.
Babaji, in his two hour diatribe, spoke only to me, never breaking eye contact. Afterwards, when he had filled my vessel, he turned to Alice and said, "don't worry I can speak with you too", and then turned on the TV to watch Wild Wild West, starring Will Smith ("Jim West, Desparado!").
We left feeling a little confused. I was bordering on an ecstatic sensation of 'enlightenment', not so much for what was said - Alice and I both agreed that Babaji was a self-involved loon - but just the strangeness of the entire experience. It fit very well with the crazy dreams that I've entertained over the years about what a trip to India might be like...wandering up a strange mountain path, into a shack containing a little bearded man who wanted to show me the path to who knows where. In this case the path offered seemed to lead to material poverty and bad eyesight from watching too many satellite movies in an unilluminated mud hut.
In addition to being invited on a 3 day excursion into the mountain with the couple (declined), we were invited to return the next day for another 'yoga' session. We initially agreed but after discussing the whole scenarios we decided to stay away from Babaji and the Finnish breather. Instead, I spent the day reading in the sun, working on my Babaji brand of do less yoga, and walking in the village. Alice, who claimed she was going for a short walk when she left the room in the morning, spent the entire day tromping about the Himalayas, and returned to the room dehydrated and feverish after nightfall. I thought it was going to be a repeat of the Sri Lankan hospital trip, but thanks to an infusion of mango juice, club soda, and a handful of pills she was back to her normal cheerful self before I even had a chance to enjoy a moment's peace.
The waterfall Alice ended up behind on her "short walk"
Mountains around Manali
In Old Manali
Manali
Alice and I arrived a few minutes late because we had to switch hotels and haul our crap 2kms up a hill. The yoga master, Mr. Babaji, figured we wouldn't show up so began his breakfast. We were given toast with peanut butter and tea, and then told to wait for the food to digest before we began the session. We passed the time watching news stories on his satellite TV. Babaji used the terrible events pictured on the television as proof that the world is in a downward spiral towards some sort of dark oblivion.
When our food was adequately digested I was escorted outside by Babaji, and Alice stayed in the room with his Finnish lady friend (or devotee?). I was asked to show him some of the postures I knew, Alice was asked if she knew how to breathe. I showed him my stuff, and he said "you know many things, but you don't have knowledge." Alice, the recent recipient of a health science degree, was told about how important breathing is to life - too bad she didn't come to India first because she could have saved a lot of time and money...
Meanwhile, Babaji had me go through a few postures. No matter what I did, or how slowly I did it, he would say "shanti" (slowly in Hindi). It was kind of like that scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall where the guy is learning to surf and the stoner instructor just keeps saying "do less." The actual yoga instruction only lasted a few minutes before I was moved back inside the room, rejoining Alice and the Finnish breathing guru. I assumed that, like me, Alice had at least received some yoga instruction. However, I learned afterwards from Alice that the woman hadn't practiced yoga in so long that she had forgotten the poses and Alice knew more than she did.
We then sat in the mud walled, charras smoke-filled room for the next two hours taking in the monologue of Babaji who considered himself a fountain of knowledge, and us improperly shaped vessels that needed to be filled by him. It might have been interesting and enlightening if it hadn't been so damned confusing - quote, Alice. Babaji went off on various subjects, sometimes becoming very stern and incomprehensible, while at other times he laughed at his own equally incomprehensible stories. The general theme was that his speech was incomprehensive!
We were invited to become devotees, so that we could learn to overcome materialism and false knowledge...he assured us that we could easily transfer our money to him through Western Union or any international bank. We were also told if we wanted to buy any drugs that he was the main supplier to the village. Throughout, the Finnish woman spoke very little and puttered about changing her clothes at regular intervals, adding or removing various layers of the orange fabric that she was wrapped in.
Babaji, in his two hour diatribe, spoke only to me, never breaking eye contact. Afterwards, when he had filled my vessel, he turned to Alice and said, "don't worry I can speak with you too", and then turned on the TV to watch Wild Wild West, starring Will Smith ("Jim West, Desparado!").
We left feeling a little confused. I was bordering on an ecstatic sensation of 'enlightenment', not so much for what was said - Alice and I both agreed that Babaji was a self-involved loon - but just the strangeness of the entire experience. It fit very well with the crazy dreams that I've entertained over the years about what a trip to India might be like...wandering up a strange mountain path, into a shack containing a little bearded man who wanted to show me the path to who knows where. In this case the path offered seemed to lead to material poverty and bad eyesight from watching too many satellite movies in an unilluminated mud hut.
In addition to being invited on a 3 day excursion into the mountain with the couple (declined), we were invited to return the next day for another 'yoga' session. We initially agreed but after discussing the whole scenarios we decided to stay away from Babaji and the Finnish breather. Instead, I spent the day reading in the sun, working on my Babaji brand of do less yoga, and walking in the village. Alice, who claimed she was going for a short walk when she left the room in the morning, spent the entire day tromping about the Himalayas, and returned to the room dehydrated and feverish after nightfall. I thought it was going to be a repeat of the Sri Lankan hospital trip, but thanks to an infusion of mango juice, club soda, and a handful of pills she was back to her normal cheerful self before I even had a chance to enjoy a moment's peace.
The waterfall Alice ended up behind on her "short walk"
Mountains around Manali
In Old Manali
Manali
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