"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
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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
Friday, October 8, 2010
Chandigarh - Our Indian Grandfather
The end of Jaipur:
Seeing the Amber Fort from the outside wasn't enough, so Alice and I decided to go back the next day to have a better look. The same small child selling postcards noticed Alice and tried for the second day in a row to move his product, but to no avail. The Fort was the old capital of Rajastan before it was moved to Jaipur, and was home to a succession of Maharajas, each of whom added on to the palace. The Fort itself was beautiful, and the views were spectacular. The hills around the area looked a bit like Kamloops with little scrubby trees and dry dusty ground. The buildings themselves looked Middle Eastern.
The Amber Fort
The next day, after another 'friend' didn't show up to meet us at the appointed time, we went to the to see the Hawa Mahal - palace of winds - located in the old city of Jaipur built as accomadation for the women of the court, so that they had someone safe from public view to observe the preceedings of the streets.
Hawa Mahal
Saying farewell to Jaipur, we took a night train to Chandigarh. Laying in bed reading on the train, I was handed a cellphone by a man who had texted "which country". I said, "Canada." He said, "text." I did, with some difficulty, and managed to text out "CANADAD". We went through the same process with my name, and then he invited me to come sit on his bunk with his friends. They couldn't really speak English but were really keen on trying. They were trying to teach me Hindi, but when I came back to my bunk an Indian man told me they were just making fun of me. I didn't mind though. I had a good laugh too. Alice however, was not laughing as they stared at her the whole trip (10 hours). Alice had even taken the precaution of covering hereself head to toe in scarfs and sarongs. The same men earned Alice's disfavour (again) at 4:30 in the morning when they engaged in a very loud jovial conversation.
We got to Chandigarh, met a nice French Canadian couple at breakfast, and then checked into a hotel. We spent the morning sleeping off the train trip, and in the afternoon took a bus to see the Nek Chand Fantasy Rock Garden (a trip into the labyrinth of one man's mind). "It was the craziest thing ever," Alice Muirhead, "it was unlike anything I have ever seen in my whole life." Maybe that's because she's never been in a man's mind before...
Nek Chand created the Rock Garden with the garbage left behind from clearing villages in order to have space to build Chandigarh - a city planned completely by one architext, the famous Le Corbiseur (or something). We were suprised by the garden because we were expecting rocks...but it was like walking into Willy Wonka's chocolate factory except the oompa loopas were made out of garbage.
Some of the crazy china figures
Alice on a swing at the Rock Garden
That night, after another delicious dinner, we were walking along contemplating time and space, when we were approached by an old beared man missing most of his teeth. "I am Mr. Narinder Singh" he declared, "and I would like to meet you! Would you like to have a cup of tea?" Over a cup of tea Narinder, "almost finished with 74 and getting ready for 75", showed us some of the contents of the two shopping bags he carries. They were full of souvenirs, momentos, and photographs that he has collected from tourists over the years. "My hobby is meeting tourists", he said, "I have knowledge and I must give it. The prime minister has told us that we must welcome tourists as they are good friends." Over the last 20 years he has walked the streets of Chandigarh, meeting tourists, and showing them his city. He had several newspaper clippings with headlines championing him as the "the guardian angel of tourists". He proved to be exactly that.
We made arrangements to meet him in the morning so that he could show us around. For the first time, out of three attempts, our 'friend' actually showed up. It was a good sign. After helping us book our bus, leaving for Manali in the evening, he took us up to the top of a government building so that we could begin our tour with a view of the city. Narinder is a retired government clerk and was able to get us in even though non-employees weren't allowed. From there we engaged in a speed tour of the city, stopping to have tea several times along the way with the who's who of Chandigarh big wigs (politicians and real estate salesmen). We had lunch at the Sikh Temple and Alice was taught how to make chappati. We were also given scarves to cover our hair which we were told to keep for the next time.
Eating lunch at the temple
In the afternoon we were shown the capital complex, where the legislative assembly, high court and government offices are located. We gained access to the legislative assembly room because Narinder sneakly told the guards and site managers that we were architects and travelled all the way from Canada just to see the building. Inside the hall was really strange. It was very industrial in style, like being inside a giant smoke stack with weird geometric painted shapes. We weren't allowed to take photos.
Throughout the entire 9 hour walking tour, Navinder kept refering to Alice as "my good Alice." I laughed to myself everytime because that is the opposite of her usual nickname.
Narinder had us adopt him as our Indian Grandfather (dada), and that he cared for us very much with good intention. We got a good number of hugs throughout the day, each one accompanied by a wet kiss on the cheek. He presented his "good Alice" with as Sikh comb saying "you make me very very happy. I am so glad to have met you. And my good David, you also make me very very happy." He was overflowing with joy and energy insisting that we ask him anything we want to know because part of his hobby is sharing his knowledge. He gave us note paper and had us write down words and sentences in Hindi. We learned an impressive amount!
At the end of the day we boarded a night bus to Manali and experienced life as a rock in a tin can. The ride was so rough that bags couldn't find the strength to hold themselves in the above head storage space, windows couldn't stop themselves from rattling open, and if you weren't holding on to your seat, at any moment you could have been ejected from it. Needless to say we slept very little.
Th bus ride was really strange in that it was unexpectedly empty. We were two of only seven people on the bus, not including the driver and entourage. We had the bus to ourselves for the last two hours (50k) of the trip. Hard to imagine how it could have been a profitable drive because the ticket was only about 6 bucks each.
As soon as we got into our hotel in Manali we fell asleep...four hours later we emerged at the crack of 2pm to greet the day. We found a little restaurant by the river and had curry, coffee and cake and then went for a walk up to the Hindu temple checking out the city along the way. In search of yoga we followed a mysterious set of signs up the hill which led to a house in the woods. Inside the house we found a man sitting smoking, and a Finish woman who seemed to be his partner. The house was really rustic, but the couple were sitting watching Spy Kids 3 on sattelite TV. We sat and were then grilled on our yoga preferences, the positions we knew, and what we wanted to work on. The man was really intense, insisting that yoga is a very serious thing and he is a strict man. However, we agreed to meet him at 9am tomorrow to have a 'serious' session.
To see more pictures of our adventures...
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=242730&id=511324453&l=1d578616f3
Seeing the Amber Fort from the outside wasn't enough, so Alice and I decided to go back the next day to have a better look. The same small child selling postcards noticed Alice and tried for the second day in a row to move his product, but to no avail. The Fort was the old capital of Rajastan before it was moved to Jaipur, and was home to a succession of Maharajas, each of whom added on to the palace. The Fort itself was beautiful, and the views were spectacular. The hills around the area looked a bit like Kamloops with little scrubby trees and dry dusty ground. The buildings themselves looked Middle Eastern.
The Amber Fort
The next day, after another 'friend' didn't show up to meet us at the appointed time, we went to the to see the Hawa Mahal - palace of winds - located in the old city of Jaipur built as accomadation for the women of the court, so that they had someone safe from public view to observe the preceedings of the streets.
Hawa Mahal
Saying farewell to Jaipur, we took a night train to Chandigarh. Laying in bed reading on the train, I was handed a cellphone by a man who had texted "which country". I said, "Canada." He said, "text." I did, with some difficulty, and managed to text out "CANADAD". We went through the same process with my name, and then he invited me to come sit on his bunk with his friends. They couldn't really speak English but were really keen on trying. They were trying to teach me Hindi, but when I came back to my bunk an Indian man told me they were just making fun of me. I didn't mind though. I had a good laugh too. Alice however, was not laughing as they stared at her the whole trip (10 hours). Alice had even taken the precaution of covering hereself head to toe in scarfs and sarongs. The same men earned Alice's disfavour (again) at 4:30 in the morning when they engaged in a very loud jovial conversation.
We got to Chandigarh, met a nice French Canadian couple at breakfast, and then checked into a hotel. We spent the morning sleeping off the train trip, and in the afternoon took a bus to see the Nek Chand Fantasy Rock Garden (a trip into the labyrinth of one man's mind). "It was the craziest thing ever," Alice Muirhead, "it was unlike anything I have ever seen in my whole life." Maybe that's because she's never been in a man's mind before...
Nek Chand created the Rock Garden with the garbage left behind from clearing villages in order to have space to build Chandigarh - a city planned completely by one architext, the famous Le Corbiseur (or something). We were suprised by the garden because we were expecting rocks...but it was like walking into Willy Wonka's chocolate factory except the oompa loopas were made out of garbage.
Some of the crazy china figures
Alice on a swing at the Rock Garden
That night, after another delicious dinner, we were walking along contemplating time and space, when we were approached by an old beared man missing most of his teeth. "I am Mr. Narinder Singh" he declared, "and I would like to meet you! Would you like to have a cup of tea?" Over a cup of tea Narinder, "almost finished with 74 and getting ready for 75", showed us some of the contents of the two shopping bags he carries. They were full of souvenirs, momentos, and photographs that he has collected from tourists over the years. "My hobby is meeting tourists", he said, "I have knowledge and I must give it. The prime minister has told us that we must welcome tourists as they are good friends." Over the last 20 years he has walked the streets of Chandigarh, meeting tourists, and showing them his city. He had several newspaper clippings with headlines championing him as the "the guardian angel of tourists". He proved to be exactly that.
We made arrangements to meet him in the morning so that he could show us around. For the first time, out of three attempts, our 'friend' actually showed up. It was a good sign. After helping us book our bus, leaving for Manali in the evening, he took us up to the top of a government building so that we could begin our tour with a view of the city. Narinder is a retired government clerk and was able to get us in even though non-employees weren't allowed. From there we engaged in a speed tour of the city, stopping to have tea several times along the way with the who's who of Chandigarh big wigs (politicians and real estate salesmen). We had lunch at the Sikh Temple and Alice was taught how to make chappati. We were also given scarves to cover our hair which we were told to keep for the next time.
Eating lunch at the temple
In the afternoon we were shown the capital complex, where the legislative assembly, high court and government offices are located. We gained access to the legislative assembly room because Narinder sneakly told the guards and site managers that we were architects and travelled all the way from Canada just to see the building. Inside the hall was really strange. It was very industrial in style, like being inside a giant smoke stack with weird geometric painted shapes. We weren't allowed to take photos.
Throughout the entire 9 hour walking tour, Navinder kept refering to Alice as "my good Alice." I laughed to myself everytime because that is the opposite of her usual nickname.
Narinder had us adopt him as our Indian Grandfather (dada), and that he cared for us very much with good intention. We got a good number of hugs throughout the day, each one accompanied by a wet kiss on the cheek. He presented his "good Alice" with as Sikh comb saying "you make me very very happy. I am so glad to have met you. And my good David, you also make me very very happy." He was overflowing with joy and energy insisting that we ask him anything we want to know because part of his hobby is sharing his knowledge. He gave us note paper and had us write down words and sentences in Hindi. We learned an impressive amount!
At the end of the day we boarded a night bus to Manali and experienced life as a rock in a tin can. The ride was so rough that bags couldn't find the strength to hold themselves in the above head storage space, windows couldn't stop themselves from rattling open, and if you weren't holding on to your seat, at any moment you could have been ejected from it. Needless to say we slept very little.
Th bus ride was really strange in that it was unexpectedly empty. We were two of only seven people on the bus, not including the driver and entourage. We had the bus to ourselves for the last two hours (50k) of the trip. Hard to imagine how it could have been a profitable drive because the ticket was only about 6 bucks each.
As soon as we got into our hotel in Manali we fell asleep...four hours later we emerged at the crack of 2pm to greet the day. We found a little restaurant by the river and had curry, coffee and cake and then went for a walk up to the Hindu temple checking out the city along the way. In search of yoga we followed a mysterious set of signs up the hill which led to a house in the woods. Inside the house we found a man sitting smoking, and a Finish woman who seemed to be his partner. The house was really rustic, but the couple were sitting watching Spy Kids 3 on sattelite TV. We sat and were then grilled on our yoga preferences, the positions we knew, and what we wanted to work on. The man was really intense, insisting that yoga is a very serious thing and he is a strict man. However, we agreed to meet him at 9am tomorrow to have a 'serious' session.
To see more pictures of our adventures...
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=242730&id=511324453&l=1d578616f3
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