Complete Travelogue

Here it is , The complete writings that I did will in the midst of my travels. Please bare with the earlier entries as I was barely able to slow down enough to really get the writing cleaned up.


The vast majority of these entries are from my first 3 months in India. Also included is a detailed account of my 3 months travles in Indonesia and more. My travels went as follows; India for 3 months; Thailand for 5 weeks; Laos for 10 days; Singapore for 1 week; Indonesia for 3 months; Singapore for 1 week; China for 9 weeks; Burma for 3 weeks; Cambodia for 2 weeks; and finally Kenya/ Tanzania in Africa for 1 month!

So, here is the start of my journals. I hope you enjoy them. It was my attempt to include my internal reflections as well as many of the more intimate juicy details. :)
Feb 17th 2005-JET LAGGED

OK, I better type this quickly before the computer conks out as it did just moments ago causing me to rewrite the text to you all. So, anyways, I'm here in Udaipur safe and sound and sleep deprived. I had planned to sleep on my 2nd 8 hour flight but it was bright day and the plane was packed with Londoners and Indians buzzing around the cabin like they were on 10 cups of chai each. Udaipur is old and charming. I have pretty good room off of the main tourist area so it's quieter, but I pay too much, so I will renegotiate tomorrow or switch my hotel. I'll do the main tourist forts, temples and sites tomorrow if I'm rested enough. I had a huge dinner tonight at a finer restaurant so the price wasn't so cheap....$11. with tip for 2 main courses naan and rice.
OK, that's all for now. No major news really....well.....ok I could have caught some action from an Indian boy today as he made his interest clear...lol ...that would have been quite the way to start this journey. Interesting vibes flying around in general in that regard. I do have an open invitation with him, I'm not think to though, don't worry MOM...lol (not with this one anyway). Andrews right, not much for women out and about...oh well...lol.
I'm very excited about my journey; it's going to be an amazing, diverse ride!!!
OK, enough of that
Lot's of love, Dan:)


Feb 18th

Hello Everyone,

I arrived in Udaipur, Rajasthan smoothly and easily, less the sleep. At the airport there was a cab waiting for me to deliver me at straight to my hotel, which has a great view and is at the end of a street on the quiet side of the lake. Speaking of lake...they call Udaipur "the Venice of the East" but ...ah...well...not this year. Drought has dried the whole thing up! Too bad, pictures with the water here look amazing though this town is still beautiful. It's a postcard everywhere.
My first day here was mellow. I rested sleeplessly for a bit and left my room at about 11:00 AM on a walking tour; the main event being the City Palace museum, which my room has direct, prime view of. I walked the street along with many Indian men, very few women, ox, elephants and more; many trying to sell me something. I got propositioned by a young Indian male, to which I declined and ate at an over priced but excellent restaurant.
This morning I woke up at 7:30 AM (yes it's true) and took my time (of course), did Sudarsan Kriya and morning sitting meditation, ate an early lunch of Chai tea, fried veg rice and peas in curry = $1.50. Then the hotel called a guide on my request and he and I drove by auto rickshaw, a 3 wheeled covered motor vehicle to most of the sites in town. The "mundi"= market was a favorite. I want to go back there and hang out a bit. Also, went to see the local painters doing the traditional Udaipur craft of miniature painting; quite amazing. Of a group of them sitting in a small room I picked a couple to watch as the eldest flew around to do showings . He was in the midst of a work that would take him 7 months to complete, painted on top of an intricately carved flat piece of camel bone. The paints are all natural, ground from stone. The yellow paint was bright yellow and perhaps the most interesting as it has made from oxen that are fed large amounts of Saffron and sunflowers, so much that their urine turns bright yellow and is collected for this color! We also visited a museum of authentic replicas of huts of many hill tribes around Rajasthan, an old castle on top of a peak over looking the town, a garden and more. The rickshaw and guide were rs450. = $10.00. for 7 hours of touring. Tonight I read in my tour book that rs.250 is more typical a price, so tomorrow I will speak with the driver.
The guide was a very nice man. He's been driving and tour guiding for 15 years. He suggested that I might want to hire a driver that he would refer for my entire tour of Rajasthan. This is tempting me as the price is cheap and I would see much more than if I just bus or fly to each place. 10 days would cost $250. including; driver as tour guide, gas, booking rooms, arranging safaris, taxiing me all over cities at my desire...whatever. It would include detailed stops where many tourists don't go. This offer definitely has me thinking I will do this. One issue is how this will weave into my hanging with my Guru Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and what may evolve from this synchronistic connection. So, we'll see.
Interestingly, the driver, named Baba, has connections all over India and suggested I may chose to travel this way for my entire journey. I think it would be very nice to not have to deal with bus or plane schedules, or for that matter , even how to organize my day around what and what not to see. My driver would be expert in all localities including what the best rooms are to book!
So, this is a piece that has just evolved, we shall see what I choose.
Tonight’s dinner was excellent and about $6.50....fish in curry, semi dry vegetable, veg rice, naan, for $10. The Veg dish was outstanding!!! This dinner was at the Jagat Nawas Palace Hotel, an amazing building/Haveli with fine dining. Lunch was at the museum, chapatti and Thali + Chai for rs.60= $1.50.
Tomorrow, I'll continue the tour with Baba, who will also score me some high grade hash hish, (alledgedly,I'll let you know about that..lol), and then perhaps rent a bike or moped to drive about.
Temps have been cool and windy. This morning I sat outside my room to eat and watched a group of monkeys frolicking in the court yard.
Namskar, Dan:)
Feb 18 10:25 PM


WOW!!!

WOW, difficult to say it better than that. The adventure is unbelievable, the visual overload is tremendous, the food is nonstop, and the people so, so, so friendly...... well and meny gorgeous.
Not much time to write now as I'm heading off to Guruji's big finally at the Stadium in Jodhpur, Rajasthan...expecting 50,000 Indians there. This AM got up at 4:40 AM, I know I can't believe it either, in order to attend Sudarsan Kriya with 1200 other Sri Sri Ravi Shankar devotees. Just great, very potent with Guruji there and so many of us doing the same practice, my beloved daily practice of breathwork. Words cannot describe my gratitude to Guruji for this technique...so thankful, brings me to tears as I type. Guruji radiant....nice to catch his personal eye and attention several times.
I have chosen not to use a guide as the price is daily regardless of days off from needing.
I will write a complete entry soon as so much adventure has transpired. I wanted to let you all know that I'm fine as it's been a few days since contact.
Jai guru dev, Dan:)


WHERE TO BEGIN

Hello loved ones :)

I have been on the go so much it is difficult to take the time to do email or journal. The adventure is so concentrated it's hard to know where to begin. I have left Udaipur some 5 days ago but there were events there that are journal worthy. But now this is behind and SOOOOO much has happened here in Jodhpur!!!!
So, I will be sending emails as my journal and thus will include some personal information about myself. So, I would request that you treat these emails as glimpses into my personal, spiritual, and private life with confidentiality and honor. These will be my log and you can have this way to come to know me better as well. Enough said:)
Back in Udaipur I was not drawn into Sri Sri Ravi Shankar's events and actually left Udaipur early for Jodhpur. The evening that Guruji arrived I took a rickshaw to the airport to great him (along with hundreds of others) and then hitched a ride with a devotee to a welcoming ceremony. This was all only ok as far as my inner feelings were concerned. I got a bit of a "status", high brow sense from a few, and this is not consistent with the teachings of love and emptiness. Also, the day before Baba, my rickshaw driver pulled over at what we found out was a press conference for Sri Sri's visit. Baba spoke Hindi to a devotee on the side of the road and she seemed quite concerned that I wear traditional attire. Baba translated to me. I replied that Consciousness has no dress code and that probably consciousness would prefer naked...lol. Anyways, no problem with the interaction for me or she. She had her perspective, I mine. However i did leave with Baba and was considering this possibility of acquiring a traditional Pajama.
So Baba brought me to a shop but the owner didn't seem interested in me, probably thinking that I was male and wouldn’t buy his very expensive tapestries and rugs and custom cloths...very expensive in terms of rupis. And he was correct. The issue is also that in part there is this situation of commission here. If I had bought this pajama then Baba would have earned a commission. This arrangement is everywhere so there is always this ulterior motive.
Anyway, the next day Baba and I were touring outside of Udaipur to some remote little villages, very nice. We we're then driving through town and I suggested once again that perhaps I will look at pajama. So he brings me to a different store and when I arrive there are 2 young men there and an older manager. It winds up that on the first day in Udaipur, these 2 men noticed me and kind of flirted with me on the streets, So, now I'm in shop and eventually they remember who I am and remind me at which point I then remember them. Quite an interesting coincidence we all feel. So these 2 guys invite me to return and join them at 9 PM for a soda or something. A very nice vibe is shared between us.
In the evening of course, this is an interesting interaction I will go and meet them. So I arrive and everyone is very interested in me and very, very friendly. I wound up buying a pajama for a very nice discount, and the 2 young men and I went off; they were quick to ditch the shop manager.
We cross the street and climb up very steep and narrow stairs and have a drink on a roof top bar over looking that market laden streets. I use the rest room, which like most all it seems are totally filthy. A quick tangent....at my hotel, I kept asking the hotel if they could come and clean my bathroom as it had a peculiar non clean smell. So they sent a boy down to clean it and he put a strong smelling detergent on the ploor, quickly wiping it up with a towel and asking if this was better. Well, chuckling I ask him to clean the toilet and he looked at me like I was from another planet. So, sometime later, once the fragrance has worn off I went to the front desk and had older female woman come to room. She as well looked at me with bewilderment as the boy again put down a strong smelling detergent on the floor and just poured a bit in the toilet. So ,I'm chatting with her and laughing. She asks. "OK, better now? no smell?" lol. OK, so now I'm scratching my head and thinking perhaps this is cultural thing. She seems completely unable to comprehend an odor free bathroom. So, I said OK, no problem, this is fine, she and the boy left and I lived with how thet bath was. Winds up later that eve I went to a high end restaurant to dine and the bath there had a similar smell. No I come to realize that Indians just plain and simply do not care.
OK , back to the 2 young men and our drink and conversation on the roof top. It winds up that they are very close brothers...well...very close. They say they like me very much and want to invite me to join them in some fun with them. Very interesting, I’m thinking to myself, I'm barely a few days in India and already there are opportunities like this. Actually , this is apparently VERY common in India among male family members as very often entire families , relatives , uncles, cousins ,grandparents ...everyone live together on a four room house...That's 4 rooms, so 1 kitchen, one living room and 12 bedrooms for 8- 20 people...often.!!!! Anyways so as a result, there is this word called "musti" meaning mischief. So, I am being invited for muusti with these 2 good looking early 20 yr olds. Difficult to say no they are very nice and handsome as are many many many men here in India. Many are slender and muscular, with defined features, long legs , tight jeans....lol wow, I had no idea as in America I have not seen this with Indian males. Indeed my head is turned constantly throughout the day as apparently are many of the Indian males towards me. Actually just today , while walking through the streets 3 - 4 males call out to me regarding my looks and one of them approached me for "musti" to which I declined. It's really unbelievable really. I don't know about the females as they are not very accessible or even out and about. but the males seems to be quite forward with their interests.
Well, with the 2 young men, it wind up that the next day we meet for some fun but one of them is sad that their sister need surgery and doesn't know how the family will pay and all of this. I told him I might help a bit, but upon leaving for a later rendezvous, I decided to not return as it seems they we seeking money which would have included 'Musti". Really, just being dishonest is a turn off. What's a bit difficult to navigate is that I am making many friends, but then I may be brought to a shop and asked to buy something. I'm still working on this piece of the puzzle.
The learning curve is pretty steep here, but by and large I have felt safe. Occasionally swarms of young males or children will surround my but always an adult is there to move then away from me and look after me. The Indian people are the friendliest, most welcoming people I have ever, ever met. I just simply cannot believe it. I have been invited to dinner, for tea, onto motorcycle rides, to meet the families, given gifts etc. I am moved to tears by the warmth.
So, how does this look? Well, I might as well be a movie star because virtually everyone wants to meet me. Anywhere and everywhere, from the moment I wake until I go to sleep all I need to do is step outside and I will meet good people. Well, and there are good people who want rupis included and there are good people who don't. The thing is rs 40 is a large amount of money for them but for me this is slightly less than a dollar. Today for lunch I had a complete "Thali " for rs 50...$1.10, stuffed. Prior I had 3 small glasses of chai= rs 3. basically free.
The traffic is unbelievable. The streets teem with life and all aspects of daily life take place openly on the streets. So, very interesting this traffic situation. OK, so here is a good metaphor for street traffic. If you have ever been to an ice skating rink or rolling skating you’ll know what I mean. OK so there are fast skaters, slow skaters, good skaters and bad skaters.
The fast skaters weave fearlessly through the slower and then there are the not so good skaters, stopping and starting pausing, etc. All of them, however skate in the same direction. Now suppose at this skating rink also they are skating in the other direction, Now also add to this rink many ox and bulls, goats, and people walking everywhere. So, on the Indian streets, there is no double yellow line, and anyways whatever lines there are seem to be of little importance. So, if you can imagine cruising down the highway and trying to pass but then just kind of staying in the oncoming traffic lane as long as there is no vehicle head towards you that is bigger than you. If on coming traffic is smaller ...no problem, just beep your horn relentlessly and watch the oncoming traffic swerve out of your way even though you may well be on the "wrong" side of the road!!! This is a source of constant amazement, and well, don't come to India if you can't hang with this because this is how it is here. Oh and good luck about a safety belt.
At any point at any time there may be religious vocals being pumped through a distorted PA system, pumped throughout the streets. This adds a very surreal element as often there are Indian melodies echoing throughout the air.
OK, so I'm trying to get through Udaipur adventures, but today I leave Jodhpur after 5 days of packed events and adventure. Just incredible experiences here in Jodhpur!!!!! Back to Udaipur, On Monday I caught a motorcycle ride back from a welcoming ceremony for Guruji and was glad to return to Lal Ghat for a huge Muslim festival taking place in the tight winding streets. My friend from Art Of Living pulled up into the crownds and dropped me of front and center into the festival. Immediately I am flooded with interest and young children swarm me, women and girls are out, well dressed and sitting very compactly all along all of the steps and sidewalks. They call out for me to take pictures; I oblige and have a swarm of enthusiasm as many want me to take a photo. Basically. most have barely seen a camera, let alone get a picture of them taken. They are happy to just experience having their picture taken and I guess are not aware that the end result of a print is the objective. Every one is beaming and smiling at me, everyone wants to know where I am from and if I'm married. These, like clock work, are the first 2 questions. Basically, I could just have gotten off of the motorcycle and just stood there and the festival and crown would just come to me! There were a few times when the adolescents got a bit testy, or rowdy, but No problem here, they loved that I would blend with them and not remove myself like many tourist would. So there streets are packed...and there is this ongoing Muslim chant going on. Youths are very excited as the parade commences featuring these taller and taller "floats" of sorts in which the young men carry through the streets. The excitement got very big as the "floats," got bigger and bigger and taller and taller, all of which are being carried be young men and held vertically by ropes in which other young men we're precariously and frantically pulling on these ropes to keep the float roughly straight and prevent it from crashing into the buildings , electric wires and people. I , of course being like an adolescent chose to be right in the midst of the action as the float carriers get ready to move the float the tension builds and a leader blows a whistle and pandemonium breaks out as the entire crown surges in response to the floats movement. I was pressed chest to chest in a sea of Muslim men right at the height of the action. The men around me offered to guide me up to steps for a calm view and I decline, as this is where the most intense experience was. These men were delighted with my staying and I elicited cheers and smiles and camaraderie. This was really quite the experience for me, very powerful. and to feel so appreciated , and they felt my appreciation, it bring me to tears , just so amazing. So , I took pictures and a short movie with my Pentax which I hope to attach in an email perhaps today, though time is getting late and today I checked out of my room in Jodhpur and will take a bus to the ancient desert city of Jaiselmer where the main event is to take a camel safari into the desert, a desert that one would imagine in a movie, rolling sand dunes for miles and miles and miles. Sorry for the run on sentence.
How will I catch up and relay my adventures in Jodhpur I don't know? It has been an incredible stay here in this blue city on the edge of the desert. This journey is simply beyond my belief and awe. I am blown away entirely.
Namaste, Dan:)


Namaste,

I'm in Jaiselmer now and I'm enjoying a peacful , non intense stay. The locals are so used to tourists that I have the now unusual joy of walking about nearly unnoticed. A nice change. But anyway, not to jump ahead too quick as my adventures in Jodhpur are worthy of a journal entry.
Jodhpur was a fast paced and intense experience. I arrived there at 4 PM after traveling from Udaipur via a vist to Kumbhalgarh Fort and Ranakpur Temple ( aparently one of the 7 wonders of the world as it contains 1,444 pillars each carved in stone and no repeating pattern for pillar to pillar). I booked a taxi for the journey as I decided last minute to depart Udaipur, skipping out on Guruji's big public Satsang there in favor of getting to Jodhpur earlier. I had already spent 5 nights in Udaipur and was feeling restless to move on as there is soooooooooo much adventure to be had in this country. Additionally , the Muslim festival felt like the peak of my experience there, so time to move on.
The 2 musti seeking brothers would not hear from me again as they were not being honest with me, though they were innocent enough.
It seems as if many actually fun and decent potential friendships still may come with a bit of a price tag( in rupis of course). The thing is , being an American I am automatically considered to be a very wealthy man. So , if I get outside of my box, and I am transparent, then I get into the other persons world, inner and outer. I , in a way, become the other person. In doing so, I see where they are coming from. Indeed many whom I meet have an average daily pay of rs 40= US $1. In fact this is the national average daily pay! They ask me for money because they know quite well that rs 40 is really nothing for me.... I am a very wealthy man here indeed and in fact. For instance , in speaking with locals drivers and friends I have come to learn that if I were to buy a home here, I could obtain land and a decent home 3- 4 BR, kithen and living room for $4,000. !!! $7,000 dollars would get me a very nice home and $300,000 would get me a mansion with servants , ground keepers , garden , fruit trees, marble floors, swimming pool, sweeping views etc. ......I guess I will retire out of the USA. Actually makes me think about moving out ASAP. No plans yet Mom, don't worry...lol:).
Anyways , back to Jodhpur, or the journey there for now. I traveled with an Indian driver who spoke very little English, some but little. We had a good time, having laughs and cranking Hindi pop music through the stereo. He was thrilled to were my sunglasses as he had never before worn any. He conveyed to me that he was also a devotee of Guruji, but in retrospct I think probably not. Again, making friends but alterior motive of some rupis. So, he tells me what I want to hear so that it seems we have a common ground, which would then increase his chance of me perhaps giving him a big tip or something. But, in any case... I still being a Newbie here, not really thinking this way. and anyways , not so concerned. I prefer to have a good time with whomever I meet and at least in part accept my position as the wealthy American. It's more fun for me this way, that's for sure. I stand out as a tourist that isn't constantly bickering and bargaining over what amounts to small change for me. And when the rickshaw driver gets more than he asked for, it lights up his face and mine as well and that costs me an extra 10-15 rupis=.25 cents. For instance, I hired a rickshaw for my delivery to the bus station 2 days ago and I bargained pretty hard for a fair of rs 35=.75 cents US. He asked for rs 50. So he helped load my bags , and off we went, jerking and bumping over pot holes , horn beeping incessently, constantly spewing horrifiying quantities of petrol smoke. I asked him to stop at the Omelette stand...yes, that's right, omelette stand so that I could get a couple in sandwhich form for my bus trip. No problem he stops, I meet my friends there who know me and we have a fun repore going on. Anyways, I order food for myself and the rickshawwallah, masala tea included. He looks at me with a bit of bewilderment. He has a sandwich and tea for rs 15= 30. cents. I have 2 cups of chai - rs 3 each, a sandwich and 2 to go, plus I pay for 2 cups I had 3 hours earlier and forgot to pay , but the owners remembered. Can you imagine remembering and collecting on a bill that amounts to about than 15 cents? Total bill rs 56.
Anyways, great guys at the omelette stand. They are very successful as Lonely Planet wrote them up 5 years ago and ever since they have dropped all other business in favor of omelettes, claiming to fry up over 1,000 eggs daily right there next to the very old and scenic clock tower, a mere stand on the side of the road. Customers are invited eagerly by the cook who's son pulls up a couple of plastic chairs inviting the Canadians who just arrived to have a seat in to dine right there on the street. OK, so, off the rickshawallah and I go and we arrive at the bus station, and well I having just bought him lunch and all ask him what I should now pay him. He replied "As you like Sir" so I gave him rs 40, 5 rupis more than agreed and a free lunch. His smile was worth every rupis:)
OK so, wow, How much detail shall I capture in these writings. Perhaps I risk losing my audience , but then again these writing are for me and all of you my loved ones are privy to my adventures and escapades. None the less, I capture my insights and learning curve in this most unusual land and culture. So, this email is already long and I haven't even started to write what I intended. Indicitive of just how condensed my experience is.
So, back to my taxi ride and driver. We cruised out of Ranakpur, after having visited the Temple of course , and slipping in an Indian Thali rs 45, all you can eat and then some at the Jain Temple's pilgrams dining area. I loved this lunch as it was me and no tourists. The servers kept piling Roti, chipati, and tasty simple dishes onto my plate until I begged laughing "enough". They all took quite a liking to me, mostly older men, my driver and me. I wowed them with my handy Steripen...lol:) I ate with my hands, no utensil provided.
Then off we drive, the driver speeding along with hopes to drop me of and return to Udaipur that very night. So he's going to drop me off at 5 and drive back another 7 hours. I actually cooperate with him on the journey, attempting to assist in his need and not dragging my feet through my sight seeing. This was ok with me as he is a human too even though I'm paying...lol The thing is, lunch at the Jain Temple was at my suggestion as a way to save time and drive straight to Jodhpur. This was for his benefit. Well later I found out that he really should have stopped for me at a resort that serves 1,000 tourists a day en route to Jodhpur. I hear that the buffet is outstanding and the resort not to be missed. This does not please me as I went out of my way to accomodate the driver, and he was selfish, despite our having a good time together. And well also, despite the rs 400 tip that I gave him at the completion of our journey. He was thrilled as I had just doubled his pay for the journey. Then hotel host tells me that it was inappropriate for him to ask for a tip and that I tipped too heavy. The entire taxi ride cost me 2100 rupis , about $ 48 plus the tip , a bit of a splurge , but this allowed me to condense my trravels and include an otherwise not includable 2 stops to the temple and all. For the driver , this was a a 34 hour job.
So, I am delivered to the Haveli Guest House right in the midst of the old town. The roof has sweeping views of the city and the huge imposing fort that looms over the city. I rest briefly, have some masala tea and an Art Of Living devotee send his son to pick me up on motor bike and bring me to meet all of the teachers and devotees.
OK, I must log off now and go to catch the sunset,. Tomorrow I'll take an overnight camel safari in the sand dunes desert. I shall complete my adventures in Jodhpur soon, I have barely started the story....a good one indeed.
Love, Dan



DELHI AND BEHIND
Asilam Alaikam ,

I've have made it Delhi, and I'm pleased to say that everything we hear is not true and that we just plain can never really know until we get there ourselves. As if anyone needed to hear that. But all along my travels , and also in the Lonely Planet is mentioned that most don't stay in Delhi long . Well,.....ok .... that confirms it LOL . I am not " most". Anyways , Delhi is Fucking amazing (old Delhi anyways)!!!
I spent my first 3 nights in New Delhi at a totally dumpy guest house. I had a room in the downstairs.....with views.... views of the used tires littered behind the auto/ tire place that is right outside the door of Ringo Guest House. The showering rooms are old with corroded pipes. It reminds my of the basement of my elementary school's boiler room, next to the janator's closet. The shower head has no functioning holes other that one crudely punctured hole in the center where the hot water spits and sputters it's way from the hot water tank that needs to be turned on with advanced notice each time I wish to shower with hot water. The toilet is an Indian style squat toilet with small tap and cup nearby for the traditional clean up. ....Nope, I haven't taken that plunge yet. I still haven't made it through my first toilet roll , one remaining after that one. Don't know if I'm going to make that leap actually. The Indians feel that their way is more hygenic....I don't know, maybe.... I'll keep the paper please. :)
Other than that, I asimmilate into Indian culture more and more. I have stopped using eating utensils long ago as I now prefer the Indian way, and that is to eat food with the right hand. I adeptly break apart my chipati or naan sweeping it through the curry, scooping up wads of dripping , delectible food. Nan, Chipati, and Paratha has taken the place of a fork. Yum. The Indians take delight when they see me eating the way that they do.
As for the Ringo Guest House, it's actually OK living there for the 3 nights that I did, though I must say I'll take Old Delhi over New Delhi anyday. New Delhi is quite western and the city does not allow animals with carts or otherwise to be in New Delhi. So, consequently there is some semblance of order in the streets. Additionlly, New Delhi is a sleepy town, though I did go out to a pretty fun dance club one night. My first day came following my first night as I arrived in Delhi at 10:20 PM, and freely overpaying a rickshaw driver to bring me to Ringo Guest House. This was no problem, over paying amounted to an extra .65 cents ( and that's alot here). Difficult to even type that as I have a hard time comprehending that .65 cents is alot anywhere. But here it is indeed.
My first day in New Delhi a basically sleep late and take it slow, wandering around an uneventful circular city layout leading to the center in which they have recently torn out the park to build a large metro and parking station. My second day there I take a city tour of all of the important sites. This was good to squeeze alot in but bad regarding leaving time to really enjoy each site and have some interesting interactions with Indians that I invariably bump into. Amazing sites and history hear though, that's for sure. Though I wouldn't know that from what I learned from the guide, which is not much. He was said to speak excellent English.....perhaps by Indian standards, but for my ear it was difficult to hear him and follow along with his broken and swiftly illpronounced dialog. I quickly gave up and tuned out the commentary on the bus , as did most everyone from what I could tell. Anyways, I won't go into the details of each site I visited, but I will say that they were all incredible.
I also really enjoyed meeting a family on the curb's edge right outside Ringo. The son has a little business set up, squating over a small propane stove , cooking hard boiled eggs. The streets are filthy, with automotive repair shops dominating the scene. But here is this young man, cooking hard boiled eggs, and the customers keep coming by. I am amazed and watch the scene, captivated. Well, it's not long before the family is offering me an egg, for which I decline, even though they ask again. Soon the attention shifts to me, and I and this family of father and 3 or 4 brothers + a few friends are attemptng to communicate, with no common language. We none the less have a few laughs and I ask to take a picture, for which they happily oblige.
A side note; it really does seem quite special the way the Indian family is so, so close. I think that we in America can barely relate. Fact is, most all families live together. This would include grand parents, parents, brother's wife and children etc. And they all seem to hang out together all of the time. Many families have one business in which they all participate for generations without a thought of any other way. The loyalty to the parents is 100% complete and obedient throughout the entire life, period.
That night I met up with a friend that I made and we ate dinner at an outstanding Chineese restaurant called Bercos. So good was it that the night prior I had dined there alone. On this night they treated me like royalty, the host going into the kitchen to inform the cooks that a white foreigner was dining there and to please put specaial attention in the dishes. Well.... I can attest , the meal was awesome and a mere rs 500 = $10. . I had some vegi momos, a huge fish in pepper sauce dish, veg fried rice and a crispy dry vegi dish. Way too much, but I do think that my tummy has expanded to allow for the constant gastronomic delights. A dinner like this is balenced by last nights dinner which was al la cart at a crowded local curbside place. This dinner was rs 15!!!! I was stuffed for .25 cents!!!!
On day 3 I relocated to Old Delhi!!!! Why I stayed in New Delhi I'm not quite sure. I guess perhaps I was a bit brain washed about rumors of Delhi's intensity and undesirability. I can't actually imagine a more intense place on earth frankly than that of Old Delhi. And for me this seems to be quite desirable. The streets are an unbelievable over-the-top crowded jangling mess, unlike anything I've seen yet. This place makes my other stops look like the suburbs. Add to the streets, unbelievable masses of people, bicycle rickshaw wallahs, along with all of the other usual Indian street traffic. You know ,ox, goat, scooter, car, truck ,etc. The traffic is literally at a stand still. I catch a richshaw wallah for a trip to the Paharganj district and sit in an incomprehensible snarl. My cycle wallah jockeying into place only to move 3 feet before bumping his front tire into the cycle rickshaw in front, over and over again. And everyone is beeping their horn as if the seas will part for them, which oddly enough , they sometimes do. How anyone can actually squeeze by and advance a bit further is beyond me, and why bother trying. But they all do. I soon realize that it would be far ,far quicker to simply walk , and exit my cycle richshawwallah , paying him rs 10 for a trip barely begun. I walk my way briskly through the streets, overtaken with the awe and scope of this daily scene. I am completely delighted and thrilled to be here.!!!!!
Making it finally over to Paharganj District, my cycle rickshaw wallah seems convince he knows where he's going, but in fact he doesn't. He's no dummy, he's got a wealthy American in his company. He's happy to cycle me as long as I'll stay on board. Together we attempt to find the location of the travel agent that I'm wanting to visit. The phone number is defunct, and just a vague location indicated on the entirely rudimentary map that is in the Lonely Planet. Eventually I ditch the driver in favor of seeking otu english speking folk for assistence. This is not so easy as few actually speak english. But within a few minutes anyways, I ask for directions and I'm sent down a maze of alleys, and shops, turn right at the T, continue 4 minutes and should be on the right. Well, it is thankfully.
My plan is to book my dparture tickets out of Delhi, bound for Agra to see the Taj Mahal, and then further to Khujaraho and then to Varanasi. Problem is that for some reason for which none of the highly recommended travel agents know why, ALL flights out of Agra, to Khujaraho and Varanasi are not availible. I'm very slow to grasp this....ok.... for some unknown reason there are no flights what so ever to this entire region. Hmmmm, I'm scratching my head...how can this be??? And how can the agents not know anything about why this is so??? Well, I still don't know why, but after some deliberation, and exploring options with the woman whom I was working with I decide to take some time to decide on my new game plan. She's happy to take lunch. She had complained at me for needing to hear the same information more than once and I explained to her that I am very slow, for which I got a small smile out of her. Later in our interaction, she needs to hear details from me, and I gently give her her own medicine, telling her that she is "slow". She smiles, the ice is broken. I order chai, and offer her some. By now the other office women are warming up to me. So, finally, I decide to not book a taxi for the entire 4 day - 20 hour driving journey , instead opting to bail on Khujaraho all together and instead booking a round trip ticket to Agra and back to Delhi and then a flight to the fabled city of Varanasi, a city where all aspects of life and death are public on the banks of the Ganges river.
I could stay here in Old Delhi for a long time.... The longer I stay, the more familiar with the terrain I become, faces become friends, I visit the same chai maker and dessert dispenser. We greet each other with increasing familiarity. I could stay much longer..... but I won't. The country is large , and I have big adventures in front of me, too big to imagine. Indeed, I am in the midst of unlimited adventure!!!
Tomorrow will be my 6th and final day here in this great, smog ridden, gloriously humanity clogged city. I will make the most of it before catching the shatabdi luxury train to Agra the following AM at 6 AM!!!Argh.
As for catching up with my past adventure, I suppose I will try to in a condensed way now. Jaiselmer is a magical town with an exquisit castle-like fort that I lived in during my stay. I made friends with a miniature figure painter, hanging out and chatting for hours. He later accompanied me to the train station for my departure after trying repeatedly to get me to delay my trip to stay and be his friend. This was a really sweet connection. He and his family are so pure and sweet. They never over charge for their work and they are far more interested in matters of the heart than business. Vijay was my friend's name, I do miss him.
Aside from recovering from a stomach problem which resulted from a bad salad, and lasted for 1 week, I did finally make it onto the camel safari. The hotel I was in was having difficulty filling the trip up, so it wound up being just myself and the guide on a 2 day 1 night safari. I was really considering blowing this off as I felt that perhaps the whole thing might be too touristy. And well, I was right on that score. Good thing I got a good guide whom took me to a less populated part of the desert. But what really sold me on the trip was being able to go to the safari guide's village, and share a night and a meal and with his family, in a small village that his family built 50 years prior in a remote part of the desert. A village of earth and dung huts, goats, camels, chicken, and 3 generatons of the family living there. The grandmother was there as well. She got up and left the area , walking out beyond the gate to her own hut. She was incredible....105 years old. I wished I had gotten a picture of her. She wasn't availible the next day after all of the ice was broken and the many, many brothers and cousins and I spent a night laughing, arm wrestling, and chatting.
The evening started slowly, but eventually I moved my position into the kitchen area and quietly sat in the dark with everyone else as the sister cooked chipati over an open fire as she does every night, squatting comfortably . There is no electricity here, and there is no running water. They pull water up in a bucket from a well near the kitchen. I ask about using the toilet and I'm instructed to walk for 5 minutes in "that " direction if I need to poop and not to worry about burying it. Soon, all of the brothers started to move closer and closer to me and before long I was surrounded with about 9-10 siblings/family men. We started speaking some and then the energy picked up more. It was when I pulled out my harmanica that things got really good. I sang a blues tune and blew my trusty harp. They were all totally delighted. I was now an instant friend. They all took turns trying the harmonica, the next thing I know one of them brings out this small boom box and starts cranking up the Hindi Pop music. All of the brothers want to see me dance!!!! I can't believe that they are asking this of me, I can't say no. So they pull me to my feet and I boogie down. They are yelling and cheering with approval, saying " very good dancer". I then convince them to try and some do reluctantly. I must say that not one of them could dance worth shit, but the laughs were out of this world. One of the brothers takes my hand and is boogieing down with me... and I just can not believe what is transpiring between us. What a blast!!!! Of course the camera comes out and I'm clicking away showing them all thet shots . They all want a pic with me...sooo sweet.
OK, that's all for now. I have to catch a train at 6 AM tomorrow for Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Then I'll return in 2 days for a quick night here in my "Home Town" before flying out the next morning. I hope to be able to keep my energy up as I will get only a small amount of sleep tonight and I do believe I am coming down with a cold. Either that or my throat is raw from inhaling so many exhaust fumes.
Love Dan:)
3/12/05






TAJ MAHAL, RICKSHAW DRIVERS UNCOVERED

3/18/05

Adventures fly by like flocks of birds. Constant. My infatuation with India and the culture does not even begin to show any sign of waning.
It's a strange and mysterious land still. A land where what's normal is rearranged. The rich blend with the poor seamlessly. The poor make their beds on the side of the street, on the side walk and call it home....it feels like home. I do not have pity for them, nor they for themselves. They are taken care of, the kitchens set up for them pumping out Roti and Dal.
Outside of the Hotel New City Palace in Old Delhi, I return home after chatting with the sweets vendor. We have become friendly and familiar as I indulge my sweet tooth. We wave to each other each time I pass on my way to the internet cafe where I typed my last email journal entry. The man who dools out warm sweet milk says hello again. I have become friendly with the chai maker at the hotel's entrance. It's 1 Am and he's here just like last night, whipping up fresh hot chai for his customers like time does not exist. How is it that they can drink so much chai at any time of the day or night I ask myself? LOL , well look at me, true I don't take chai after dark , but in the Morning and daytime, I consume freely with my Indian brothers.
Before I ascend the steep flights of stairs 3 stories up, I turn and take in the scene. I feel the tranquility of the street, I see the street people sleeping a large numbers right across the street, to my left and right, right there beside me. Their home is their hearts, they sleep quietly before waking to the blasting megaphone at 5:30 AM coming from the famous Jama Masjid. Its a haunting melody that wakes me from my sleep. I reach for my earplugs.This is the largest Muslim Mosque in all of India, and from my hotel I have a sublime view. It's clear that all things religious have no sound curfew,and no decibal limit at any time.
On the streets, my eye meets the woman's eye and she turns away. Never do I interact with her at dinner, or at the chai stand, or in the hotel, or at the market from her....by comparison, she is invisible. She is there, but she is not. I have not shared a single cup of chai with one woman... a funny standard of measure. It does seem that this is a tea sharing culture, and I love it:) The Indian women are not a part of my world here, not yet anyway.
My alarm goes off too early. I will leave Delhi for the Taj Mahal on the Shatabdi Express at 6 AM. I have packed a small bag and I catch a cycle rickshaw to the train station. On the street even the Chai man is not awake yet. I reach the station with plenty of time and resist the urge for chai, hoping to sleep on the train to Agra, which I do. Arriving in Agra, I am deluged by aggressive rickshaw wallahs. No problem though, I have my "rickshaw wallah act" up and running. I'm confident, assertive, and I position myself as the boss immediately. Those who approach me I ignore. A move through a crowd of them with amusement at what has now become a predictible fiasco. I actually look forward to this in a way...really. I know that the driver with a sweet energy, and nice eyes will get my business, and that I will choose. I am willing to play the game because it's fun!!! I get whereever I'm going with ease and perhaps a few more rupis than neccessary. But that's not my place to qualm over. My goal is fun and smooth transitioning to where ever I'm going. This I have no difficulty accomplishing.
Wow.....what to say about the utter magnificance of the Taj Mahal. Tears well into my eyes as I embrace the shear prefection of this most incredible monument of love. It was built in the name of love. The Maharaj having lost his wife, his hair is said to have turned grey overnight. Constructed in 22 years by 20,000 well taken care of laborers. My tears are a reflection of my life jouney, the richness of my emotions, my defeats and my victories, and this path that I'm on that has brought me to India. The Taj Mahal represents for my my tenderness and my triumphs. It's like it's dawning on me for the first time....I am in INDIA!!!!!!
What can I say, I believe all of my prior inner work, my spiritual practices and discipline reward me fully here. It seems that I am a magnet for what is positive. I meet the right people at the right time in the right place. True , there is much that one could complain about here. This is a culture where in fact it is hard to know who is being honest and who is not. The dishonesty and ulterior motives pour from mouths as readily as the chai from the tea pot. I come to accept that perhaps I will never really know. My measure is how I feel inside, not who got how many rupis. This is India, and this will not change. I accept the good with the bad simply. I wave away the persistent touts as they approach me relentlessly and save my words.
I continue my journey in Agra with the auto rickshaw driver that I hired at the station to drive me for the entire day. He suggests, after having seen the Fort, that he takes me to a couple of factories where I can see the finest craftsmen at work making carpet and marble inlay crafts. And this is where my jouney begins into the large world of commisions secretly paid, and my love for fine carpets, of which my taste is fast developing. Anyway, all day long the rickshaw wallah makes useful suggestions, but all of them are for his benefit as well. Perhaps this is a price I will pay for his guidance, which does have value. But today my game improves, and I progress upwards several levels. I ask the right questions and learn the tricks of the trade and how to bargain, and for how much. And this is what I've learned.
Firstly, the rickshaw wallah very often makes a wooping rs 200-300 just to merely get me to walk through the door of any handicraft store or factory. If I buy anything , he will then earn an unbelievable 30-40% commission!!!! Hmmmmm. I'm scratching my head. Isn't this quite interesting I'm thinking. Hmmmm, OK, lets play the game. Soon I'm paying the rickshaw wallah to fill me in on how this all works. I gain his information by agreeing to go with him to a carpet and handi craft outlet with no intention to buy anything. He knows this and so do I. And now I know that he will make 300 rs = $7.00 just if I walk into the building....and what a building it is. I ascend the marble stairs , through the columns, a uniformed man swings open the door for me as if I'm royalty. As I enter, I can't believe the size of this retail palace I've entered. I know I won't buy here, but several well dressed Kashmirian men great me, and one man brings me down stairs to the carpet showroom. I'm sweaty, dressed in dirty jeans and a muscle shirt, my mountain smith on my hips. No less. I am a white man , and as such I will be treated like royalty wherever I am, especially here. I stroll, playing the role, through the showroom, and soon the carpets are being rolled out freely by the young men that he orders around like slaves, loudly making demands to roll out this one, roll out that one. Soon 15 carpets are displayed for me but my time is short. The rickshaw wallah waits for me and I have a bus to catch with hopes to reach the ancient city of Fatepur Sikhri before sunset. Besides, judging from the carpet place I visited earlier, this place was way overpriced. I look the sales man in the eye and calmly tell him that his prices are "very very high". He tries to convince me that his quality and reputation warrant this, I tell him no, he's wrong and over priced, which for sure he was....WAY over priced. After finishing the Kashmire cup of tea that was served to me I depart, the sales man floundering to defend the price. He knows I'm out of there and so do I. I'm bound for Fatepur Sikhri!!!!
I bid my driver fair well and walk into the bus station. I am prepared for the scene that will unfold here as I know from my prior bus trip that it is a wild ride. A ride that parallels that of a hay ride, the young children jumping onto the wagon, hanging off of the sides, climbing on top of each other, clambering for a spot. Indeed , don't ever, ever ride on an Indian bus unless you are fully prepared to be packed in like sardines. As the bus loads 30 minutes too late, and my sunset arrival becomes a lost hope I wonder why I made this choice instead of taking the rickshaw wallahs advice and hiring a taxi for rs 650 for a trip there and back , with overnight. For one, the bus was rs15, and for two, I later had a conversation on the jam packed bus with a man whom spoke good english. He was a long time resident where we were heading, 5 generations back to the Mugal era. I took advantage of the situation and asked him about carpet sales and commissions. It was from this man that I got confirmation about the inside scoop as I have prior written here. He answers my questions with delight and candidness, requesting later, in lieu of his discomfort regarding the ïnside secrets" he has shared, that I please keep this info to myself. I agree. And I have entered into the hobbie of uncovering the whole truth about bargaining and commissions.
I'm off to a late dinner now. This tale will have to continue later as my stomach calls me. As I have been typing, the constant stream of chanting men pass by in the alley here in Varanasi. They carry the corpses soon to be cremated publicly. This is the sonic background as I type.
Soon to come.... my friend the amazingly love filled cook, Fatepur Sikhri, and catching up with my stay here in Varanasi, where corpses are carried down alley ways, a constant stream, and burned on the banks of the Ganges right before my very eyes.
Namaste, Dan:)




3/19/05 VARANASI BURNSThe days fly by here in Varanasi. I write again tonight as this is a good activity for one with an ailing tummy....again. I really have no idea where this round came from....perhaps it was the sweets that took the place of my dinner last night, as I left my journaling position too late to dine on a full meal. So I took advantage of this opportunity to indulge in oral delights. Not so much, just 4 treats from the very best sweet shop in town, here near my home above the "Burning Ghats". Or perhaps it was the paan I took on my guides advice. Paan in Varanasi is renowned as the best in India. This is a kind of bubble gum replacement for Indians I suppose. Though only vaguely resembling. This Paan has been one of my curiosities so I did have to try it. There are Paan vendors on every block, sitting there all day long rolling up a host of flavors into some sort of edible leaf that will soon be placed into the mouth. Most all Indians use it as a delivery system for their much abused tobacco habits which seem to be quite pervasive. I placed my tobacco free version into my mouth and gently knawed on the leafy bundle, very much enjoying the flavor bursts that soon followed. So, what exactly is in side of this strange street treat??? I really have not much idea actually....some sort of brown liquid that's brushed on to the leaf, and then another liquid, then some sort of flavored "rocks" called " Bettle " that eventually get spit out(along with the rest of the mess), and finishing with sprinkling a couple of powders on top of it all. Folding the leaf over to close in the contents, the recipient then enjoys. So much so that this enjoyment seems to take priority over having teeth that aren't red and caked with gunk, and conversation that's stalled because the mouth is filled with juices, the indulger swelling at his cheeks, lips pursed. I ask him for directions and he grunts as if I'm supposed to understand him. I grunt back and finish my grunted sentence with "teakay" meaning a kind of Indian version of "understand?" or " it's ok? He cracks a smile and politely spits out his wad, dare he miss business with a white man. But not to jump too far ahead as I have tales from behind that I wish to log. Well, I guess a quick bit on the long since past camel safari with my guide Surip. After our magical night in his semi-remote desert village, where many brothers and I danced to Hindi Techno and arm wrestled (as written previously), soon it was time to retire in the village and Surip and his many brothers and friends set up a cot for me, made my bed...thick wool blankets with goat and sheep hair on them. Surip told me to pack up my belongings, helping me to wrap up my Mountain Smith fanny pack tightly in a sheet to be hung from a branch that was part of the roof of the kitchen. It was quite a process. I felt very looked after. He told me this was smart as wild dogs might come in the night and grab my bag and that it would be safest this way. I slept pretty well thanks to some earplugs and a chip of Ambien. I was in the midst of my first tummy affliction and had a fever that raised my heart rate enough for me to know that sleep would not come without some help. And, well, it didn't help that I had goats sitting around my bed regurgitating and loadly chomping. All of the brothers slept outside with me under the stars. They slept on top of a 7 foot wide brick wall with only blankets underneath themselves. No fluffy pillows and sleeping bags. The Indian people are not fussy. They make due with minimal and don't pine for more. The next morning I awoke with the family and still didn't eat any food as my stomach was the boss and told me clearly not to. I strolled around the village a bit and took some pictures, including the little children that ran up to greet me. Everyone wanted their picture taken....good thing I can delete some later. I took pics at their request freely. Soon "King"and "Caloo", our camels were loaded up and off Surip and I went, at about 9:00 am, into the desert. This was easy to do as we were already in the desert. Surip told me that his brothers were really hoping that I would return to the village that night, foregoing my overnight stay in the dunes in favor of having another party with them. Got me thinking. I mean how could it get any better than last nights party. Eventually my tummy decided for me, and I chose to stay the course and do the full safari as this would be more restful, with more sleep, which I needed. There isn't much to riding a camel really. Especially when the camel has the route memorized. Surip held the reigns of my camel as this one was fond of racing off after females. That was fine for me. Mellow is what I was after. I enjoyed the ride. The next day I rode on King and took the reigns. Surip chatted pleasantly with me in difficult to understand broken english and sang camel safari songs in falseto. The same melody repeating over and over. It had a distinctly Indian tonality. Eventually, I was singing along with the tune which I then couldn't get the fuck out of my head!LOL. Surip also took delight in tooting on my harmonica like a child, with no skill...he kept blowing and blowing randomly. I was thankful when we stopped for lunch and he returned the harp to me. Surip was soo sweet. He lay out a blanket for me to rest while he gathered wood for the small fire that he would make in order to cook our fresh Indian meal right there in the desert floor. He expertly kneaded the chipati dough, cooked the rice, served the chai ( of course), and cooked up a yummy vegetable dish. Too bad I still really wasn't eating much. I took a small amount of food to satisfy Surip. I think that the Indians just plain don't understand this idea of not over eating , or dietary control ( let alone not eating). He seemed unable to understand why I wouldn't eat more, begging me to take more dal and chipati. Boy, it was tastey. I took a little more. He dropped a few more freshly fried potato chips onto my plate with a smile, and then insisted on cleaning up too, using sand as his soap and scrubber. I'm amazed at how clean the dishes became. We took a nap and continued our very, very laid back trek, bound for the dunes. We stopped for a water break for King and Caloo at the water well where a cluster of village women were filling pots to be carried on their heads back to their village. I sat quietly watching as the camels drank from the same reservior. Shortly we headed off, and apparently the women were speaking to themselves about wanting me to stay with them. Surip eavesdropped and filled me in regarding their interest in me, asking me if I would like an Indian wife. It's hard for me to imagine dating a village woman, barefoot and heavily wrapped in multiple saris, a metal chalis balanced on her head and she doesn't speak English or give me eye contact. Flattering anyways. This would be the first time that I caught the attention from a female Indian. As for the men, it seems all I need to do is put on a muscle shirt and the compliments begin. "Sexy man", "Nice body", with a wink and a smile as he strolls by me, my head turning to catch his repeated glances. Anyway..... lol... So, eventually, Surip and I came to our resting place for the night, just before sunset. Surip parked the camals and then stood high on top of a tall dune , suggesting that I take a few minutes to stroll around the dunes, which I did. As I looked across the dunes at him I realized that along the entire journey he had gone out of his way to never be alone with the camels and more importantly, my belongings. This is why he was standing on a high dune clearly visible to me. The lonely Planet had mentioned some guides stealing from their riders and this seemed like his way to make it clear that that wouldn't happen nor could it because again he always removed himself from the proximity of the belongings when I wasn't directly present there, which incidentally was close to never. In retrospect I think this is why all of the involved wrapping and hanging of my fanny pack back at the village the night before took place, not to protect against "wild dogs" as much as removing any thought that my stuff could be messed with. I appreciated this care from him as I can't say that the possibility of theft hadn't crossed my mind. Anyway,we enjoyed a nice sunset in the dunes and he cooked up a too big dinner. We listened to some tunes off of my Ipod and crashed early. It was a beautiful starry night, the air clean, the winds calm. I awoke in the middle of the night to go pee, and was struck by the beauty of the scene, a cool breeze blowing in this stark environment. I was glad I awoke as this is the visually/ experiential impression that sunk in deepest for me, even though I was half asleep. The next day I felt better. We made an easy trek across the desert. At one point Surip suggested that if I wanted , we could make a short detour and pick up some Ghee , thus increasing the quality of lunch and adding to it some fresh made Paratha ( a flakey fried wheat bread). I was game for this as my apetite was returning, so after our brief 10 minute detour we disembarked the camels. Surip suggested that he go get the ghee as without me he would get a better price. I gave him rs 100, for which he had asked. He returned in about 10 minutes but immediately I said " that's not Ghee!" Surip said yes it was , just not a high quality one and I dropped the subject (quietly suspicious/ disappointed). So later when we stopped for lunch, Surip went to get some firewood and I put a tablespoon of the alleged Ghee in an empty water bottle, for which I later planned to find out the truth about the suspect "Ghee". Why did I find it neccessary to do this I or you might ask??? Well, really it was mostly about my attempting to learn about the overall trustworthiness of the Indian people. Well, ...and also I liked Surip and I did want to know the truth as to whether he was capable of this type of mild swindle. Upon arrival in Jaiselmer later that day, I did confirm with the hotel manager whom booked me with Surip, that in fact the "ghee" was not ghee and that probably Surip purchased the vegetable oil for half of what I gave him. I felt a little mixed about asking the man whom hired Surip, but I had no time to ask anyone else as I was soon to catch a train to Pushkar via Ajmer. And anyway, I think if he did squeek out an extra rs 50 (= $1.20) through dishonesty then this was also a good way to let the word get back to him that I knew. I wonder if word did get back to him actually? I guess I will never know, but I do know that in spite of all of this in the end I tipped him rs 700 which for him was 3/4 months's pay and for me that was 15 dollars. Anyway, after an hour's wait on the side of the road and a cell phone call to the hotel manager, I was picked up by my hotel host and escorted via motorcycle back to the Moti Palace . That night I caught a 3 tier a/c sleeper train at 11 PM for Pushkar, Rajasthen. Pushkar was pretty uneventful for me. Frankly , I was making plans to depart as soon as I arrived. I was lucky to stumble on a government run hotel that was actually a converted palace, where I scored an octagonal room with sweeping views of the Ghats across Pushkar Lake. Mostly I rested here, regaining my digestive health, and continued to journal. I guess the town felt too small after the very quiet Jaiselmer. Also, too touristy, and a bit too many dread knotted white folks on the streets. Said to be a very holi town with many holi men, but the only ones that I saw seemed to be beggers more than anything. So, a couple of days later I headed to Delhi (which I've already written about). Now, on to Varanasi. 3/28/05 writing from Puri, Orissa Varanasi is a holi town, you can tell from the cows, bulls and oxen that dominate the streets and alleys. They are beauties here in this town, well taken care of. Their coats shine with health and vitality; they are big and fat. Each hair on the cow is said to represent one of the 330 million hindu gods. They saunter through the streets and alleyways as if they own them. And well they kind of do. Varanasi was a bit of a mixed experience for me actually. It was here that a sense of repetition and some fatigue began to sink in. My Delhi cold, which left me with a hack that I still haven't quite kicked (almost though) had me coughing and coughing until my diaphram was fatigued. That's no small feat for me as these muscles are quite developed from vocal exercises as well as even more so my daily breathwork practice. I must say that I really dislike any difficulty with my lungs and voice box. I was able to blow out alot of this cold in short order in Fatepur Sikri with a large pot of unbelievably strong lemon ginger tea, thankfully. My first main experience in Varanasi was for sure the "Burning Ghats"...Marnikanatika Ghats formally. It would be difficult to capture my range of emotions I felt as I witness my first ( of many ) cremations there. And indeed it wouldn't be long before I would be standing within 4 feet of a flaming corpse while an aquaintence borrowed my camera in order to capture his relatives incineration. More on that later, perhaps. Interestingly, at the Ghat there, I was approached by an older man who introduced himself. He had seen me a few weeks earlier in Jodhpur and came to say hello. He was an older slightly chunky man with a soft dispostion whom had been traveling for 5 months already and was mostly residing in Christian accomodations throughout India. I was interested to speak more with him but we were both about to witness our first burning and for sure this had us both moving closer to the fire and silently watching. It was business as usual for most Indians here. Bare chested men hauled huge loads of well cured wood on their shoulders down to the burn site while a group of men arrived chanting " Ram Ram satya hai, Ram Ram satya hai" ( meaning " God is fact, we'll all arrive here someday") , a corpse laying on top of a bamboo stretcher that the men had shouldered through the entire city in order to arrive here, all the while chanting this chant over and over and over and over. This is a chant that would at times haunt me and at time merely be an aural backdrop to lunch or chai or whatever I was doing. Fact is soon I became like the Indians, (at least part way anyways) . I would stroll home past the burn plattform at midnight or 1 AM and casually turn my head to see 4-8 corpses being cremated. But this desesitization came a few days later. As for this first "burn" I was absolutely silenced. The transience of this all too short life blurred before me. The raw intensity of the scene, drenched in death and paradoxically a total non-chalantness of many attending captivated me single pointedly. Emotions swept through me as I felt the truth of my own eventual physical death, and felt the calling of higher consciousness beckoning me towards the evolution of pre personal, impersonal, pure consciousness, a sort of death as well ( and not all that disimilar). I moved closer to the flames. I watched the male ( no women here) family members quietly sitting nearby watching as their love one returned to ashes. My thoughts slowed, I sat and after about an hour I left having lost my opportunity to connect with the older man from earlier as well as 2 women whom also approached me during this time. They had noticed me in Pushkar and wanted to introduce themselves as well. Regardless, women or no women, the totality of my absorption in my first burn left no room for anything else. So Varanasi had a bit of a mixed feeling tone to it for me as I struggeld with my GI health and a cronic cough, and constantly having death staring me in the face. None the less, these words just written really only begin the describe the cremations that I witnessed over and over again. And not being one to shy away from raw intensity, I selected a room at the Scindia Guest house which over looks the Ganges with smoke from the nearby cremations filling the air around the clock. A great room for sure, that is if you don't mind the constant reminder of death billowing through the air. The other main components of my Varanasi experience were dining at an unbelievable Korean restaurant named Raga Cafe, shopping and finally buying a hand woven carpet, and touring the city with my friend and guide Niwas. I met Niwas after winding through a series of alleys in order to come upon an advertised photo developing shop nearby my residence. Strange thing was that upon arriving, aside from a painted advertisement on the wall, this didn't really seem like a photo developing business at all frankly. I called in through the dingy dark crumbling doors "hello". An older man approached and warmly invited me in. I went to a back room which appeared to be the office of sorts ( I guess) as well as someones bedroom. I chatted with the man who's son soon joined and offered to serve up a special home blend of masala Chai. It wasn't long before we were freinds and enjoying each others company. They were explaining that they are a family belonging to the Brahman Caste. The Brahman caste apparently is a supreme religious caste that identifies predominantly with the unmanifest and uncreated force from which all else eminates. They had my attention. I also spoke with the father about their pet cow that hung around outside the front door of their cement, box- like, blue painted home( blue is the color that Brahmans paint their houses). Ganga was the name of the cow, a beauty she was. Deep brown colored coat, big and fat and friendly. The family has had Ganga as a pet for about 8 years and everyone in the neighborhood knews her. Ganga would sometimes even sleep in the house with the family, kind of in the entrance room. Apparently, on hot summer nights, family members will sleep down in this entrance way as it is coolest there . Ganga will sometimes enter when they are all asleep, carefully stepping, hoof by hoof, over the sleeping bodies. In the day, Ganga is free to roam about the alleyways and streets, where she has many friends. She makes the rounds to her favorite visiting places where everyone feeds her treats, snacks, leftovers, whatever, delighted that Ganga has paid a visit. The family pays for the very best hay for Ganga as well, about rs 900 per month!! This is one expensive pet for Indians, but Ganga is worth it ( apparently) . Ganga does provide some milk for the family and a small amount is sold, but nowhere near enough to offset the cost of feeding this enormous semi -house pet!!!! I must say, this cow-thing still does fascinate me, and well I guess I must say as well that truly , Ganga is a sweetie pie of a cow. Anyway, Niwas soon entered and introduced himself and shortly there after it was revealed that should I be interested, Niwas or Prakesh would be my personal guide, answering all of my questions and helping in any way possible, including tooting around Varanasi's very tight and extensive network of alleyways on a scooter. They promised that no price tag would be put on the service ever and that honesty was for sure their only policy. To my delight, this wound up to be the unwavering truth about this family. Earlier I had grimaced at the incessant scooters that seemed so out of place in these tight alleyways, the drivers beeping their horns with an urgency, jees you'd think they were about to give birth or something. What on earth could make their journey on scooter through tight 3 foot narrow maze-like, pedestrian-laden alleyways be so hurried ? I was really enjoying these relatively quiet, auto rickshaw free alleys, except for the darn scooters. But now, I was one of them! I hopped onto the back of Niwas's brother's scooter and off Niwas and I went, racing like time was about to expire through sudden left turns, then rights, stopping, starting pitching forward, swerving to avoid all objects....( mostly successfully), all the while Niwas wailing on his horn like it was his wedding day. Uh, well... if you can't beat 'em, join em. I was amazed at how patient and tolerent everyone was by our obnoxious tooting and blaring through the alleys. Opppps, a near miss, no problem, the nearly hit walker barely flinches and keeps moving along by foot while we screech by. Mothers grabbing and jarring their youngster out of the way of our mean little scooter, lol. Here in the alleyways, the law still aplies, that being; which ever vehicle will damage the other more when in an accident has the right of way, period. And that includes with pedestrians. Nice that there weren't trucks or rickshaws in the alleys, ....we were at the top of the heap, look out baby, you snooze you loose...beep beep beep. I revert to being a teenager, suspending all possibility of damage to myself, and enjoy the ride, including bumping into cows, walls, people and hitting a bicyclist (that was the bicyclist's fault). A few days earlier in Delhi I was in an auto rickshaw that hit a bicyclist ( the bicyclist's fault again here). Stepping back a moment, Niwas, Prakesh and I initially got to know each other a bit more over a lunch in their home prior to my first day touring with Niwas. The lunch was delicious, even though I now think that a cold dish that was served maybe had some raw oil in it that got me sick. We had rice and dal (of course, and some yummy bread rolls called Bati , that were soaked in Ghee, as well as the suspect dish which was an eggplant and garlic type of mash, not (Bhaigan Bharta). During lunch we watched the Pakisthan vs India cricket match on TV. After lunch, Niwas and I were screaming through the streets. That day we went to a couple of temples, which by now, ask my if I give one god forsaken shit about seeing one more fucking temple..lol. Basically I begged Niwas, "no, no, I can't see another Temple, PLEASE, even if it is and " important" one... I'm not Hindu, a temple will only ,ever be so important to me." I think he got the picture without being offended, so instead we went to the university hospital. Now, this is true tourism, I was thinking to myself. Holy shit...ok Dan ....yup it's clear now, you really don't want to ever, ever need to be in an Indian hosptial... EVER. We went there on my request after a failed attempt just prior at scoring some anti-malarial medication at a strip of so called pharmacies that lined a filthy, garbage laden street. The so called pharmacists and their friends hanging out in tight quarters playing cards and drinking chai, the sign above them reading " chemist". I ask for Malarone and one of them says "yes" and brings me some medication that has a name that begins with an "M" and that's about the only thing that's the same. "No, that's not it sir" No problem, one minute", he hurries over to his neighboring pharmacist friend. About 20 minutes of watching "pharmacists" trolling through a poorly organized and haphazardly stacked array of small boxes and I called it quits with this business, despite hoards of them working to find any anti malarial at all and urging me to wait. That is when I suggested we go to that ummm...hospital (?). After our "doctor's" visit...lol... we heading back to the old town and Marnikarnatika Ghat where I bid Niwas fairwell, with plans for the next day. As for the rest of this day, I decided I would go unattended out to a carpet dealer on the outside of town. I hired a rickshaw and had him drop me off across the street at a movie theater. I then ditched him ( and his commission) thoroughly, and headed into the "Cottage Emporium Industry" palace to shop. As I approached, of course the door swung open and I entered, treated like royalty. A kashmirian man greeted me, and soon the carpets are unwinding. I soon concluded that I didn't care for any of the designs, most of them being a too common "Bukara" design, but I played the game in order to tune my bargaining skills and gain experience. He started at a price for my favorite carpet at a very high price and by the time I had left had dropped the price considerably. I let him know that I would be shopping at several stores and that I intended on buying ( maybe). I strolled out the long driveway to the street and was baraged by a fleet of rickshaw wallahs whom had seen me enter presumably and now wanted to capitalize on escorting me to another dealer and earn some commision. OK, I thought, I don't know where another carpet dealer is, so ok I'll go but won't buy. Off I went with the enthusiastic rickshaw wallah to the next dealer, whom again came up short on a a carpet I liked. But again, I fine tuned my skills and got a deep discount on my return trip to Scindia Guset House seeing as I had just earned the driver 2-300 rs just by walking through the door of the place. That night I ate dinner again at Raga Cafe, enjoying another impeccable Korean/nearly macro-biotic meal. On the way home I bumped into Prakesh who had been out drinking whiskey again. Apparently, Prakesh is a brahman that has a fondness for whiskey. He suggested that he and I head out for some more shopping the following day , but really I prefer to spend my time with Niwas, Niwas is the youngest, and has a really sweet energy ,where as Prakesh seems to have an angry edge that cuts through the air. He seemed to get a bit jealous of Niwas getting all of the time with the American. As I approached my Guest House, I stopped , as usual to take in the scene at the Burning Ghat. Soon a couple of brothers called me over to sit with them , asking me why I was there. I explained that my home was nearby and that I felt that Marnikarnatica Ghat was the most intense and spiritual place in the whole city. The brothers explained that soon their relative, their mother's sister-in law's mother, for whom they were very close with ( believe it or not) ( talk about an extended family ) would be cremated. I was interested in speaking with them as I had witnessed many families and cremations up to this point but hadn't actually spoken with any family members. Certainly I got my fair share of strange looks from the Indians at 1 AM when I was standing there, long after and tourist remained outside, but minimal interaction, until this early morning. The brothers took interest in my camera, and well...to make a longer story shorter, before long the older brother really wanted to have photographs of his relative being torched on top of a huge pile of logs. I tried my best to suggest otherwise, feeling that the whole affair was a bit morbid.... Dud, well ,of course the whole affair is a morbid one. I guess I wasn't really prepared for this. And how could I say no really. I mean , here is this family, and brothers , and I guess I can't blame them for wanting a final memory, it's just that, you know, a final memory of a relative caught on fire with the skin on her face burning back off of the skull and the toes arching bizaarly as the flesh dried and became tight, pulling on the bones. OK, I said, just point and shoot my friend, and off he goes clicking away with me right by his side, if for no other reason but to keep close watch on my camera. This did give me a much more, shall we say, intimate view of the burning. Soon the photo shoot wrapped up and recieved the brothers address, promising that I would send them copies, which I just did yesterday (4/2/05). And that pretty much wrapped up my experiences of the burning ghats...didn't need much more than that it this point, and if I did, well now I had an intimate portrait of a cremation. I went home and fell asleep quickly to the smell of burning hair, flesh and wood. The next day, Niwas and I did some shopping at a silk emporium, for which Varanasi is famous, and I got sucked into buying a bit more than planned. But the scarfs and pure silk bandanas that I aquired are quite nice. Then Niwas and I spoke at length about this carpet business, that by now is kind of plaguing me. Trying to decifer the truth from any Indian, let alone a Kashmirian Handi-craft sales man is close to impossible. Niwas, Prakesh and I spoke at length about what to do with my interest. I suggested that perhaps there might be a government inspector that could accompany me to the shop where there was a carpet that I was interested in, where he could appraise the carpet on the spot. After some deliberation, the brothers and I concluded that doing this would be useless as the inspecter would work in cohoots with the salesman in order to earn a healthy commission ( behind my back). So, anyways, after making some phone calls to carpet emporiums in Delhi and Agra, and taking many things into consideration, including returning back to a prior place and getting that sales man to drop his price hundreds of dollars more, I then went back for a third time to my desired dealer , got the price down further and I'm happy to say that I made a purchase here in Varanasi and when I arrive home I will have a beautiful Kashmir hand woven, wool carpet waiting for me!!! OK, that wraps up my tales of Varanasi and behind. FINALLY, I'm going to mail this one out. It's taken me for ever to journal all of this out. I will skip writing much about Bodh Gaya, even though it was a very nice energy there ( all of the meditation apparently helped to chill out the vibe some). Interesting note here though (and quickly) is that my tour guide whom was Indian was explaining to me how the many many monastaries there really were not benifitting the poor at all. The 3 main things that the Buddha taught where 1) practice Buddha wisdom 2) practice philanthropy/ benifitting others and 3 ) oh shit I forget his one, but anyways, all of the monastaries are failing to practice the way the Buddha himself had wanted, and instead seemed to be more self invested than anything else. Darn nice monastaries though if I do say so myself. OK, coming soon, How Dan survived the stomach flu in Puri, and how he got out of Puri. Also, will he trek deep into the jungle and visit Tribal areas in Malaria endemic zones???? We will see. Also soon to come , Dan's soon to begin adventures in Keralas, where he will attend a HUGE festival called Pooram, (an elephant Festival) . 100,000 will attend, and then his travals to the very, very tip of India where he will witness over 3 oceans, simultaneously, the full moon rising and the sun setting on April 24th!!!! Namaste, Dan:) 4/3/05


4/12/05 Orissa, Testicles Saved and onwards
I just finished a spectacular dinner, so I really need to stay up a bit to digest. I’d say that the crème of almond soup with white garlic and the dessert of chocolate somosas in mango sauce were the stand out parts, though the whole meal was excellent! At rs 1000 it better be(=$22.) I’ve spent the past 3 days being a bum in the small port town of Fort Cochin in the south of India in the state named Kerala. I’ve spent my mornings lazily (after finishing Sudarshan Kriya that is). I wake up, do Kriya, drink 2 cups of black tea and eat papaya, banana, and pineapple that have been delivered to my room each AM at 8. Then I have been doing a fair amount of reading and research regarding my upcoming plans here in Kerala. Pretty much what has been guiding my itinerary for the upcoming couple of weeks have been my plans to attend the Pooram festival (elephant festival) in Thrissur on April 20th! I’m very excited to attend this massive affair where 100,000 Indians will attend, compete, and party for 24 hours straight (fireworks at 4 AM on 21st)!!! Anyway, it really does take some doing to stay on top of my travel plans; making arraignments, booking transportation, work out a game plan etc. Mostly I have been enjoying this process. The trick is to stay on top of it. It’s easy for the days to slip by and then be ready to leave wherever I happen to be, only to find out that the train doesn’t come for 2 more days or whatever. So, being a step ahead of the game, while simultaneously being present with where I am is the trick. This is a bit tricky. There is so much that I want to do and discover. I’m finding that when I arrive to a new town or city or wherever that initially it takes me a while to wind down and sink into the place. Often, on the first day I’m already making plans to move on and by the end of the 2nd or 3rd day I’m digging into the scene and relaxing, finding my rhythm and imagining living there longer. That includes discovering my favorite places to hang out and drink chai, eat, etc. Here in Fort Cochin I’ve been digging a café called the Kashi Arts Café. They serve bohemian breakfasts and lunches, plus yummy western style cakes and coffee. It reminds me of home, and I’ve met some other travelers, many whom are traveling alone as well. Today was a really nice day. After making travel plans, and calling a couple of tourist agents I wandered into a bookstore and asked them where the best place to get an Ayurvedic massage was. The store attendant there pointed me down the street to a place she claimed was the best, so I paid a visit and was soon naked and covered in sesame oil being vigorously massaged by 2 Indian men. I really enjoyed the hour and 15 min. They wrapped up the session with a head and face massage, all of this for rs 500 = $11. I got very good reviews from the men whom told me that my body was “perfect” and that I was exceptionally healthy. They were interested to talk with me afterwards, curious about how I live my life, stay in shape and eat. I think the conversation dwindled when I started ragging on Bush and American Catholics, these Indians being catholic themselves. Actually, I was trying to get a sense of how Indian Christians might differ from the American ones ( hopefully). The conversation didn’t make it far enough I guess. I’ll have other chances here in the Christian south of India. After my massage I walked over to Kashi Art Cafe for a lunch of cream of cauliflower soup, potato and bean salad with garlic bread + a slice of chocolate cake with sauce drizzled over, and chai of course, ( rs 120 = $2.30). Then I rented a bike after ignoring many calls from the locals saying “yes my friend, any ganja for you?” It seems the rumors are true about Kerala being the center of marijuana production in India. I have taken a look at a couple of the “top quality” offerings and I can say that “top quality” it is far from. Apparently it’s possible to score some pure resin that’s collected from rolling the flowers in the hands briskly and collecting the sticky glands for consumption. For this I may have some interest, but the truth is I’ve barely been smoking. Between the hack I got from my Delhi cold (and not smoking because of) and a general low priority I suppose, I still have barely dented the hash that I scored in Udaipur at the very beginning of my travels! And, actually, I made out well with that score, as my rickshaw driver became fond of me and set me up with a good deal and a good quality hash. Anyway, I think that I can say that I am approached on average of about 10- 12 times daily regarding this. Add to that being constantly called out to “Yes my friend, rickshaw for you?”. “Yes my friend, come look at my handi-crafts?” Yes my friend, water of Pepsi for you?” It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even respond. I hear “yes my friend” and they have lost any hope of any business from me. I ignore the calls entirely. The bike I got was a pretty good one, as Indian bikes go. The first 2 that I looked at were total bombs, broken brakes, skipping peddle, etc. I paid rs 5 per hour and enjoyed an afternoon of cruising all around the Island. I stopped into a few shops where the products were essentially old, old furnishings from around South India. Antiques from all over being sold to foreigners, and India is losing it’s collection of very interesting and old stone and wood worked products as a result. I visited a few of the “tourist” sites, which was only part interesting for me, but it did provide an excuse for bike around for a few hours. Finally I returned to my neighborhood and watched the sunset over the ocean, clicking pictures with century old “Chinese fishing nets” in the foreground. I then returned the bike at 6:59 pm, ( one minute before closing), paid rs 25, walked back to my room in the rain, showered and then ate the dinner that I described at the beginning of this journal entry. Yesterday was similar as today, with the exception of going to Cherai beach on Vypeen Island. This required a brief ferry ride across the bay (me and 30 Indian men and women, women in the front of the boat, men in the back rs 1), and then a 45 minute bus ride for rs 8.5 (me and 20 Indian men in the back of the bus and 15 women in the front) followed by a 5 minute rickshaw ride to get there. Once there, it was nice to frolic in the bathwater ocean for a couple of hours. A couple of young Indian guys joined me in the waves, providing me with some distant company. Like most Indians they were in the water with all of their cloths on! Jeans and a shirt. The women swim fully clothed in their multi-layered , multi-colored saris. Eventually, the young men began to shed some layers, and soon they were romping around in the surf in their underwear (this is also common), making it a bit more interesting for me to watch them lol.J One of them approached me to introduce and such, and I was thinking perhaps there just might be an invite for “musti” coming, but nope...not this time anyway ( hint hint). So, tomorrow I’ll check out of my home stay at the “Delight Tourist Resort”(not a resort at all aside from the name) and head south for Allapuzha where I’ll spend a few days and try to fit in more then I probably should prior to the Pooram festival in Thrissur. It seems likely that my stay here in Kerala will go an extra week as I want to take a back water boat ride and arrive at Ammaji’s ( the “hugging Mother”) Ashram near Kollum. This will be the first spiritual community that I will have visited thus far. It seems this may have to happen after my visit to the very tip of India for the full moon rising and sunset simultaneously over the converging point of 3 oceans. Then I will head into the hills and visit a national park, a couple of hill stations/ tea plantations and then into the state of Tamil Nadu where I will end up at a very highly regarded and recommended “palm leaf reader”. It is here where allegedly my entire life history, past, present and future, will be told to me in exacting detail. As I think I may have mentioned, I found out about this man 5 years ago when I was attending Satsang with Vartman in Marin County. He and his partner had been traveling around the globe, meeting spiritual masters and had been told on several occasions that they really, really should visit this man as the experience would be remarkable. And apparently it was, as the guru, Vartman, gave a mind blowing account of the uncanny accuracy of the reading. After the satsang , again 5 years ago, I inquired about directions on how to make contact/visit this “palm leaf reader”. So it is, 5 years later, after digging up this page from my storage, I will be looking very much forward to this experience. I have already phone and confirmed that this Mr Sharma is still in business and was informed to come whenever I will for the reading. So, more on this part of my travels later. As I approach the town where he lives, I have no doubt that more and more will be coming up for me regarding this very varied and uncertain life that I have been living, and where this is all leading for me. K, that’s all for now. I hope to catch up soon on my time in Calcutta a bit as well as my 8 day stay at the holy beach town of Puri…including details of musti and how I saved a man from losing his testicles, literally. Namaste, Dan


4/23/05 NEVER A DULL MOMENTOK, how to catch up on all that has happened, when in the mean time all that much more is going on. I shall try. Presently, I’m in Kovalum, Kerala , a small, beautiful, over-developed beach town with a light house at one end of two closely linked crescent shaped beaches, and rocky headlands at the other end.. I’m eating luxuriously (tonight I had a large fresh-caught Sear steak in a pepper-coriander crust with roasted veggies and French fries for rs 200 = $4.60). I’m getting too much sun too quickly, and spending most of my days watching the fisherman in the morning haul in their huge nets from the shore and then spending hours and hours everyday body-surfing in the tepid Arabian Ocean. I'm also beginning to think about heading to Thailand before the monsoon kicks in too strongly in mid-June/ early July. It seems quite likely that I will extend my travels indefinitely, and so I am beginning to absorb and consider the possibilities of other countries and more. Thailand and Pakistan come to mind…. I don’t know, any ideas anyone? I do think that if I travel elsewhere I will return to India to do the far northern parts near and in the Himalayas after having spent some time in a couple of ashrams. It's difficult for me to absorb that fact that I've only been gone for 2 months and a few days and all that has transpired in this time. My life on the road in India is packed with events and travels. It feels like I'm in the midst of a long adventurous highly condensed dream. Now, backing up about 3 weeks or so, I’ll go back to Calcutta. The main event there was the infamous Holi festival. As I mentioned earlier, this festival was kind of hanging over my head in Varanasi, and I struggled a bit about whether to stay there or progress a bit hastily through Bode Gaya in order to make it to Calcutta in time for the festival. Now that it’s come and gone, for sure I made the right choice to get to Calcutta earlier. This Holi festival had quite a build up with everyone talking about it, mentioning it in passing, or my overhearing conversations about it. Anyways, once I was in Calcutta, I called the tourist office to get some advice on which part of the city would be partaking the most whole heartedly. Where I was staying was in the tourist area of the city which happened to be mostly Muslim, and Holi is a largely Hindu festival. Uuuurrrrr, well a festival of sorts. I really don’t know what to make of all of the hoopla about it, though it most definitely was a most “colorful” event. On the first day of Holi, I got up early in eager anticipation for the days unfolding after having enjoyed the evening’s prior street music and mini-scene of sorts. I was drinking a chai at my preferred “recharging” station when a young Israeli guy by the name of Brian approached me, introducing himself. He was curious what my plans were and upon finding out about my research regarding where to go and when, he suggested that he might join me and share the cab fee to go to the chosen neighborhood. So, before long, Brian and I jumped into a cab, after bargaining heavily, and in no time we were at our destination. We stepped out of the cab and walked down a street where people seemed to be converged and before long Indians were approaching us/ chasing us with “colors” on their hands. Colors being deep, dark, wet dye, as well as powdered dry colors that are smeared indiscriminately on any and every victim that happens to be on the street during the day. So, essentially Holi is kind of like a water fight except that the ammunition is dye that stains the skin and takes (as we later found out) hours of scrubbing over several days to remove the god damned fucking shit. None the less, Brian and I had a blast getting rowdy with a bunch of Indians and being uniquely targeted as foreigners. At some point Brian and I were taking some respite from the commotion down an alley when he started talking about India and the culture here as well as the attitudes about gays and all and well …one thing leads to another and he makes it clear that he’s interested in “musti”. So, once we had our fill of the massive smearing of colors all over us, and receiving some overall really nice and friendly vibes from the Indians, we got into another cab; the cabbie being dosed with holi colors as we pulled off. We arrived back at Sudder Street where we showered and scrubbed for what seemed like forever in an attempt to get the colors off, interspersed with some innocent fun. Then we had a cheap meal in a dingy, smoky upstairs eatery and parted ways for the evening as I wanted to rest a bit and get some emailing done. I know, I know, I was a bit of a dud here, but I guess my interest with him was only luke warm. Brian, on the other hand was suggesting more rendezvous’ and travel together, perhaps to Darjeeling or the Andaman Islands. I did see Brian the next morning; he was following through with his travel arrangements. We said farewell, and I spent the day getting ready to leave town and head for the state of Orissa. I wound up on an over night train to Puri. Actually, come to think of it, I had booked a train for a day later and spontaneously decided to try to hastily leave town that night. I was unable to get any rupees back for the cancelled ticket, but on the other hand, I saved rs 700 on what I would have spent on my hotel room that night. That last ½ day, I slipped in a trip to the botanical garden where I viewed a Banyan tree with the 2nd largest canopy in the world ( 40 meters diameter) and had a very expensive dinner ( rs 1000= $23) at an impeccable restaurant right down the street, and just barely made it back to pick up my bags and scoot to the train station. The train ride was uneventful, and I got a half way decent night of sleep on the top bunk of the 3 tier, 2nd class non-AC sleeper train that I was in. The next morning I woke up at dawn and enjoyed the train ride as we zoomed across the now totally new, moist, tropical terrain. Villages were in lines, butting up close to the tracks, interspersed with dense foliage of palm trees, brush and marshy land. I got glimpse into the lives of villagers, like a visual version of a sound bite , as we sped by. Babies in their mother’s arms peering out from thatched roof dwelling. Men walking along the tracks dressed in modern attire despite the fact that they live in a shack. Garbage strewn about everywhere (as is the case all over India). A man is squatting on the far side of the tracks which is the villages public lavatory. Speaking briefly about garbage ( again). It still does amaze me regarding the absolute utter , complete lack of consciousness or concern about the practice of littering. For instance, in the backwaters of Kerala, I was canoeing at sunset and me boating partner and I came across a fisher peacefully fishing out on a lake. We paused and my boating guide exchanged a few words with the fisherman who was in the midst of opening up a pack of cigarettes and proceeded to throw the packaging into the gorgeous pristine lake. Then there was the time when I was observing the Indians enjoying sunset on the beach in Fort Kochi, two older women strolling side by side eating ice cream from a small cup and immediately without hesitation tossing their garbage onto the beach. I really does boggle my brain a bit on this point. I mean, I can’t imagine that anyone really wants to see a bunch of trash on the beach. Interestingly, in many ways there really isn’t much of a choice as there are very minimal trash cans anywhere. On the trains the floor is the garbage can; on the beach it is, in the city streets it is; at the national monuments, museums, palaces and parks the world is one big garbage can. I just don’t get this and yet guess what. I am now a litterer myself (to some extent). I really have no choice. I finish a green coconut milk and mindlessly throw the shell and straw onto the street. I finish a bottle of mineral water and drop the bottle for someone else to deal with (or not) later. The problem is getting really bad here with India’s discovery of the plastic bag. In the past, everything was more or less biodegradable. Even now, there is the practice of serving snacks or treats, for instance at the train stations, in news paper. Or someone might pull up to a fast food hut and leave with their fried bananas wrapped in news paper there as well. This is cool!!! But, this is also economically driven, as old news paper is free. The plastic bag ushers in the end of an era, and the necessity of Indian culture to finally begin to look at this issue. OK, enough of that. The train arrived in Puri on schedule (a rare treat) and I caught a cycle rickshaw to the Z hotel where I checked into my room for rs 200 = $4.60 per night. This was a great deal. The hotel actually used to be the Maharaja’s summer retreat. Consequently the rooms were very large with high ceiling, wood trimmings, and cool furniture. A creaky wooden stair case with steps that were too small lead upwards to my room where I would find my home for an unexpected 8 days. A mere 3 minute walk and I was on the beach. That first day I spent body surfing in bath water and that night feasted and then typed at the local internet café before walking home with a peculiar chill. The next morning I woke up with a stomach flu that kept me in bed for 2 days straight. I didn’t eat a single thing for the entire first 2 days. Finally the manager asked me if I was ok as I lay there comatose in the community TV room. I told “ No, I’m really , really sick” and he suggested going to a clinic right around the corner. So, I dragged myself out of the building and down the street, around the corner and took a seat on a plastic molded chair in the waiting area. Soon the doctor called me in and we chatted a bit. He took my temp, asked a few questions, suggested that I take the anti-biotics that I had, and told me to return if they didn’t help. He also gave me some antacids. I left and paid the reception man rs 40 = $ 1.00 for the appointment. Pretty amazing that I could actually see a doctor and only be charged a buck, which frankly was about what it was worth. I didn’t do anything that he suggested, including his suggestion to eat. The next morning I awoke feeling a better. I did eat fruit and some boiled vegetable on this day. On this morning I woke up at dawn, and having read about the fisherman community there decided to try to slowly walk down to the beach to catch the sun rise and see the fisherman at work. When I arrived I was surprised to see the beach full with people. I watched from a distance for a while and then moved closer, walking past rows of men squatting on the beach taking their morning dump, hundreds of them. After finishing they would then walk to the water and squat again, using the ocean water to clean up. Despite the fact that they were shitting all over the beach (as no doubt they have done for generations) I was impressed by the openness and total lack of inhibition around their public defecation. Now, when I say “their”, I mean the men, and not the women. Where the women take a shit I have no idea. Another example of how the women seem to be only vaguely present in this culture, at least from my perspective (as a male). I’m sure if I was a woman my experience may be different. So, this BM viewing experience on the beach in Puri did give me an intimate look at the stool of the common Indian male, and I can say that the report is not particularly good. Most all of the poop was “Soft Serve”- like (lol) and very light in color, showing no sign of enough vegetables being consumed, with not even the slightest hint of green. Now, to make it clear, it’s not like I had to go at all out of my way to view the sampling. Actually, it was a task just to avoid stepping in any. No problem for any of them however. The youth commenced in casual games of cricket following the morning's catch, casually side stepping around the fecal content with little heebee geebees about the potential of squishing into human feces. Everyone went about their business, pulling in nets, selling the catch, hauling in the ridiculously heavy and archaic boats etc, miraculously evading the poop, their feet sometimes within an inch of squishing. Anyway, I took a bunch of pictures ( not of the shit, LOL) and watched the women arrive and vigorously bargain regarding the purchase price of the day's catch. I definitely got a strong sense that this is how the fishing trade here has been going for many years. What I found out later was that the shacks that many lived in were actually temporary rental dwellings for the main fishing season and that many of the fishers, in particular the ones with bigger/ motorized boats were often making 5 - 8 thousand rupees per day! This would qualify as pretty darn wealthy. Apparently these men fish for half of the year and then head south to their permanent and, I'm told, much nicer homes. Eventually I turned around and headed back towards the part of the beach were my hotel was. I was approached by locals, asking me the usual questions, and inviting me out on their fishing boats for a couple of hours and rs 100 if I wanted. I just didn't feel well enough for a boating adventure and also felt that the asking price was too high. As I headed off of the beach a woman called out to me and I sat down on the beach and spoke with her for awhile. She was a local woman whose name was Manga. She was in her mid 20s and had a terrible limp that had her hunching over dramatically when she walked. She apparently had been suffering from the same stomach flu that I had been. She had no idea prior that I had the same flu. Anyway, she asked me if I would give her rs 60 so that she could go to the doctors. For some reason I obliged as I was interested to see what the doctor had to say about her condition. An hour later I went to the doctor's clinic and waited there to see if Manga showed up which she didn't. Regardless, I still thought that she was a pretty cool woman and was glad that I gave here the rupees earlier as I had a hunch that our meeting might lead to being invited into her home for a meal. This wound up being the case, only with a price tag. She was asking for rs 150-200 for the meal and asked me what kind of fish that I wanted with the meal. I asked for tuna. Later I was starting to feel a little reluctant to go into the village home and have dinner. The last time I had a meal in someone's home was in Varanasi with my friend Niwas and Pratap and I wound up with stomach problems for a week. But I hoped for a great meal here with a fishing village family in their home, and also Manga and I had discussed the meal for a couple of days and she had her heart pretty set on it. Well, I must say that the meal was not what I expected or what she had promised. Instead of tuna I was served a deep fried Kingfish in small pieces (and bony), plus a mediocre vegi dish and some prior cooked basmati rice that was cold and thus uneaten by me. I sat on a cement floor in their hut and was served dinner without any of the other family members eating with me. The mother cooked over a fire just outside the entrance to the hut and didn't even acknowledge me. Manga and a couple of young children quietly watched me eat. Manga and I chatted a bit, but the feeling was awkward. She pointed out the hole in the roof that leaked badly whenever it rained and told me how the family would have to crouch in a corner all night without sleep, waiting for the rain to subside. The whole dinner affair took about 45 minutes and I left having paid Manga rs 200, knowing that I would never see her again. Not the end of the world. The experience did make for a good journal entry, and rs 200 is still only $4.60. And just to clarify, I did not pay her rs 2000 for her to fix the leaky roof of the hut. It was good timing that the dinner went quickly as I had plans to meet a Kashmiri man by the name of Sunny, whom had introduced himself to me while sitting at a cyber café the night before. We met up at 8 pm, and as he had suggested the night prior, went up to my hotel room to “hang out” and he was interested in hearing some Double Dose on my Ipod. As we entered the Z Hotel the kitchen staff, hanging out as usual at the entrance, gave me a funny and uncomfortable look and I knew what was soon to transpire. Sunny and I went into my room and were chatting when a knock came on the door by the hotel manager. I opened the door knowing what was about to happen from past experience. “The policy of the hotel is no Indians visitors allowed. I’m sorry, he’ll have to leave the premises”. Now I can understand this policy in part, as many Indians are just trying to scam for some rupees and are dishonest. But on the other hand, here I am spending money for my own room, and I feel strongly that I should be able to use the room as I desire, at my discretion. I had however, encountered this policy before. It’s just that the policy hadn’t applied to me up until this point as I hadn’t had any Indian guests in my room, (well, except for in Delhi where I had a young Indian male visit for a short while, the manager at the desk kind of sneering at us as we quickly walked by the reception desk. Oh yes, that’s right it was a few days prior, at the Ringo Guest House in New Delhi where I first encountered this policy in the form of a large sign posted on the wall at the front desk stating no guests.) Now, I think a no guests policy, especially in a cheap dump of a budget hotel (such as the Ringo Guest House) is at least partially understandable, as long as it doesn’t apply to me, lol. Especially regarding any mischief that I may have the pleasure of manifesting, and most likely with an Indian male, I want exemption from this truly discriminatory policy. From this point forward, I made a mental note to myself to ask the hotel upon booking a room what their visitor policy is. So, wrapping up the story of this little mini event, Sunny and I left the Z hotel and went over to his and his father’s hotel down on the beach. He introduced me to his dad and he and I laughed at how he was able to get a seaside facing room with balcony and TV for rs 150, while I was in a budget hotel ( albeit a really nice one) in a basic room with a shared bathroom for rs 200 and 300 yards from the beach. The white guests at his hotel, we soon inquired to find out, were paying rs 350 for the same room that he and his dad had for rs 150. And so it goes, the discrimination goes both ways. Indians get cheaper rates on rooms, often times food, clothes, rickshaws and tourist attractions. For instance, and this is an extreme example, at the Taj Mahal, Indians pay rs 25 to enter and non-indians pay a whooping rs 750!!! That’s $15 dollars verses the Indians .50 cents! Again, finishing up on this, Sunny and I wound up hanging out outside in the courtyard, and I listened to an hour of him blabbing about his broken heart and the girl he loved and on and on, then he claimed to be a gifted energy healer and put his hand to my head for a couple of minutes and had high expectations that I would be impressed and somehow altered by his magical touch. I did inform him that I felt nothing besides the natural energy coming off of his hands. He insisted that tomorrow I would notice something and we left it at that. I had a good time hanging with him, though things did not turn out quite as I had anticipated. The following day I bumped into Sunny again as I was late to leave town, trying to pull together plans, bound for the “deep interior” of Orissa, where I would tour and be immersed into primitive tribal culture near the town of Koraput (allegedly). Sunny continued to really kind of flirt with me, grabbing at himself and crossing his legs to emphasis certain anatomical features. He seemed much more interested in keeping in touch with me than I with him, so we exchanged emails and all of that, and I continued with what had now become a multi day investigation and planning around visiting some of the last remaining primitive tribal areas in all of India, right her in the state of Orissa, where I was. My main concern here was the fact that Orissa is endemic with malaria and I had decided not to purchase any Malarone (for the outrageous price of $ 6.00 per day) back in the USA. I had spoken with several tour guides and they all assured me that there would be close to no mosquitoes at this time of year, even in the jungle. The other issue was that all of the “required” tours required several participants in order for the tour company to make their profit. It being in the low season, none of the tour guides had any tourists signed up for a multi-day journey. I kept bumping up against these two issues over and over as I prepared to depart Orissa. Problem was, I felt that if I didn’t get into the tribal areas that I would be missing out on a unique opportunity, found primarily here and only here in Orissa. So, I checked in with several agents and wound up following a lead from the Z hotel manager. He suggested that I speak with an Italian gentleman whom had been living in Puri and doing “unusual and less touristic” treks. That evening I met the Italian “ Paulo” and he chewed my ear off for 2 hours, with admittedly my attentive ear, about his ability to provide a true tribal experience as opposed to the other “tour groups” that would merely load me onto a bus and provide me with photo opportunities with the tribes but no authentic contact or experience etc etc. blab bla bla on and on…. He raved about the dangers of entering the jungle and encountering the highly aggressive wild elephants ( that are in fact eager to storm after humans and trample them to death), or the snakes and crocodiles etc etc….. He had my attention… I mean this is what I wanted right. An authentic experience, right? To tell the truth, my main holding point was concern regarding malaria , my P.T S.D. kicking surrounding my affliction with West Nile Virus. Regardless, all of Paolo’s tales and pitching didn’t add up to any result as he finally at the end of a two hour briefing for me, mentioned that there were no other participants and thus it would likely be too expensive for me alone to pay for. He quoted me a price, double the normal as I would be the only one, at rs 18,000= $450.00. He definitely had me thinking about going for it. The problem was, again, my concern about Malaria, and finally, I actually really didn’t care all that much for Paulo, or his cohort. I got the sense that they were more interested in drinking the tribal alcohol and getting stoned than anything else, not exactly what I had anticipated from a so called professional outfit. The following day, when I had re-met Sunny, as I mentioned earlier, I decided to go to the government tourist office and see what I could find out. After being diverted from one location to the next, and then back to the first location, I wound up speaking with a man whom was actually quite helpful albeit heavily slanted toward promoting tourism in the state of Orissa. He suggested that I hop on a train and go to Koraput on my own for a mere rs 300 , then go straight to the Government tourist office there, where they would hook me up for a complete tour, with a guide and taxi, everything that I would need would be arranged via the Koraput office. Wow, I’m thinking. Why didn’t I think of this 2 days ago. Now I had the opportunity to go into the tribal areas for a fraction of the cost!!! OK, I’m game, and I booked a train for that night, out of Bhubaneshwar, 2nd class, 3 tier non-AC sleeper. My stay in Puri was really enjoyable, less the 3 ½ days of battling the flu. The following 3 1/2 days I spent body surfing in bath water in the Bay of Bengals and as I’ve been prior relaying gearing up for Koraput. I checked out of the Z hotel in the middle of the day. They were fair enough to only charge me for half the fee. My total bill there for the 5 or 6 days up to that point was really, really low. Something like $ 60. Hard to believe that I can hang out in a past Maharaja’s summer home, 100yards from the beach for almost a week and pay so little for my room. Speaking of my costs, I recently did some tallying up and my second month expenses look to be about $1,100. !! This includes a $350 air fare to Kerala and the cost of saving someone’s testicles (more on that later). I’m spending less traveling and living like royalty than I would staying in Boulder! I took a bus out of Puri up to Bhubaneshwar and on the ride I took snap shots with my camera from out of the window. It was a jungley, villagey, rice paddyish, road side touristy visual panoply. At some point a man whom was sitting diagonally in front of me relocated next to me upon the spot becoming available. Not really much of a surprise for me as pretty much constantly Indians are wanting to meet me and ask the 3 questions. But this man had an awfully big smile on his face and the vibe seemed to be a bit, shall we say, “musti”-ish. He didn’t speak very much English but it wasn’t long until he put his hand on my hand and made his interest known. And then his stop came up and he got off the bus waving farewell, leaving me again amazed at the frequency of unsolicited interest I seem to magnetize from the Indian male. It’s not that these men identify as gay or bi or queer or any of that, rather I think it’s a product of the culture. I almost never see the men hanging out with women. The men commonly stroll the streets hand and hand with each other or with their arms around each other. I regularly see groups of males that seem to be very close friends laughing, tickling each other, cuddling on the train, resting a head on the friend’s shoulder and napping etc. I must say that I think that this is soooooo sweet, and I love witnessing this kind of affection between men. Do I see any males walking hand and hand with a female? No, I don’t. This behavior is frowned upon, even among married couples. But an entirely different standard applies to the men regarding public affection. Additionally, I do not see the same friskiness or closeness, hand holding or the likes from women whom walk together. Add to this dynamic the fact that it seems the Indian male is very much deprived of sexual satisfaction with any woman, (at least an Indian one). At the beaches it’s common to see groups of males patrolling the beach glaring at foreign women’s bodies as if they’d never seen a woman before. And it sure seems quite clear that most all Indian women are not going to or ever intend to put out for any male other than the one that is selected by her parents to be her husband (for life). I have spoken with a few men whom claim to have many girl friends, there just isn’t any evidence. Anyway, I think that this combination of factors has many, many males engaging, albeit secretly, in Musti. Perhaps because they know that I am a foreigner and that I will be gone in a flash that they feel comfortable in discreetly coming on to me. Anyway, once I arrived in Bhubaneshwar, I picked up my train with relative ease and after a few hours retired onto my top bunk. The next morning I arrived into a small town in the south –west interior of Orissa by the name of Koraput. Koraput is known as being a gateway into the famed tribal areas where I would be privy to see the dwindling but still present Bundi tribes…”the naked people”. I hired a rickshaw who brought me straight to the Gov’t tourist office and in no time at all had a guide and driver meeting with me there, discussing details and itineraries for the next couple of days. Both the driver and the guide were great, and the price I paid was far less than what I had been offered back in Puri. That day the guide and I walked around Koraput, visited a temple and hiked about 3 miles out of town to visit some of the villages. The next morning at 6:30 am we departed for a long drive into what he called the “deep interior”. It would be a 4 hour drive to get to what he called a tribal market where the Kund tribe, alone with other locals, would be doing business. It was interesting and relaxing to cruise off of the beaten track into the country side, past many road side villages. We stopped and walked through a few of them and I was encouraged to click a bunch of pictures. The villagers were very friendly and of course, extremely interested in my camera and having their pictures taken, for which I obliged. These villages were mostly cement and or clay and dung constructed walls with thatched roofs. Some of the dwellings had electricity. Everyone went to the well, which was installed by the government, to pump their water. This is very common in much of India. I saw some women pounding on piles of grain, some where spreading out seed, or rice in the sun. This was all very interesting, but believe it or not, for me a bit redundant. I have seen and interacted with families and villagers throughout my travels. Even in the cities there are villagers whom pump their water and cook by the light of the fire, so I really wasn’t seeing anything all that new here. And this definitely wasn’t , as of yet, my idea of primitive tribal villages. Finally we made it to the “Tribal” market, but unfortunately, after a 4 hour drive, we were about 1 ½ hours late. The peak of the market was over and most all of the buying and bargaining was over. There were some members of the Kund tribe there, but this really wasn’t a “tribal” market. To me it looked about like any other market I had seen. Fruits, vegetables, fresh and dried fish, fabrics, Plates and silverware, water containers and metal challises, fried food, soft serve ice cream, and men in blue jeans with cell phones were all there at this “tribal “ market. The Kund tribes people were unique in there energy and dress. The women all had 3 big ear rings pierced through their noses. Even very young infant females had their noses pierced. I managed to click a few picture, for a price after asking. But over all the Kund people were not friendly to me at all. And anyways, a 3 hour car drive in order to pay for a few pictures followed by a 3 hour car ride home, after having taken an overnight train all the way across Orissa, was not what I had in mind. Regardless, I did still enjoy the day, despite not experiencing the tribal reality that was promised. On the ride home I considered my options for the following day. Plans were in place to drive another 2 hours or so South to another “tribal” market, but at this point I felt pretty clear that what I had come for was not going to be experienced. Perhaps I could experience this primitive tribal reality, but it would require permits and prior contact with the tribes, and then trekking into the rural areas, far away from any modern signs of life. On top of that, the tribes really don’t want visitors, let alone camera welding westerners. So, when we arrived back to Koraput I met with the guide in my hotel room and informed him that I would not be going on the following day’s tour, opting instead to sleep late, wake up , do my yoga routine and have a leisurely day before commencing my long train ride back to Bhubaneshwar. Part of the deal breaker for me was spending more cash on the next days tour, but mostly it was about spending so much time in transport before getting on the train and spending still more time in transport, coupled with the fact that the tourism department was really more interested in generating business for themselves by providing a service that was in demand, but not really delivering on what the tour promised, that being an authentic primitive tribal experience. Well, at least I would leave Orissa knowing that I had given it my all, and that I wasn’t missing out on some “not to be missed” experience. On the train ride back, I decided to return to Puri as opposed to spending a day and ½ in Bhubaneshwar ( the capital of Orissa), which I hadn’t seen. Fact is, the beach and the prospect of another couple of chances to body surf won out and delightfully so. Upon returning, I checked back into the Z Hotel (despite their visitor policy………) and headed straight to the beach were I experienced a totally epic day of surfing. The waves were breaking way far out, about 200 yards, on a second sand bar. A young Indian approached me and we had spent an hour or so hanging out and throwing around a ball with some others. He was so sweet, really wanting to just hang out with me, coaxing me out of the water to walk down the beach with him, and then hanging out next to me at my towel sunning, checking out my American things and wearing my cap when he went down the beach a bit to buy an ice cream that I treated him to. The hotel manager arrived and saw me in the ocean. We body surfed the waves, enjoying sharing the thrills of the rides with each other. Indians watched from the shore in amazement. After a couple of hours, the impending sunburn on my nose drove me out of the water, where the manager and I hung out and chatted for a while. Earlier when the Z hotel manager had walked up and saw me in the surf, he was about to put his stuff down beside mine but as he approached I saw him change direction a bit due to the Indian youth whom I had been hanging with sitting next to my things. So, as we chatted , the manager related his deep distrust of all Indians and advised me to never let an Indian sit near my things as it invited theft ( in his opinion). Honestly, I really wasn’t concerned as all I brought to the beach with me was sandals, my water bottle, my hat, and some sun screen. And besides, this Indian kid and I had just had fun hanging out together; he wasn’t going to steal from me. In my conversation with the manager, he related his deep distrust, and I related my deep affection for and trust of the Indians. I asked him why he wasn’t learning Hindi, being a German man and living in Puri, this would surely open the door for friendship with Indians. He said he wasn’t interested and didn’t like Indians. He said he was sick and tired of them approaching him and asking him about his life. “It’s none of their business” he said. “They think it’s quite something that I’m a manager of a hotel, but I don’t think so. It would be one thing if I had some prestigious job and could be proud of what I’m doing, but I don’t and I don’t want them prying into my business. They don’t even know me, they don’t care about me, why do they have to bother me? I just tell them to LEAVE ME ALONE, I DON’T WANT TO SPEAK WITH YOU OR ANSWER ANY OF YOUR DAMNED QUESTIONS!” Part of me certainly could relate with the manager. Indeed, I had grown tired of answering the same questions over and over and over like a broken record. But I said to him “The Indian people are so sweet, their eyes glow with light and enthusiasm. They are just curious. You can’t blame them, they are Indians and we are white men.” “For me” I said “I really just try to be open and understand, and shine back love and light into their eyes.” I also related to him that it seemed to me that he had been living a pretty unique and interesting life, he was now 60 years old, and that his living and managing the Z Hotel and going to the beach everyday seemed to be a pretty great way to spend a few years. Of course, I couldn’t help reflecting how a man of 60 years old could rely so heavily on a vocation for his personal sense of self worth, to the point where he would feel embarrassed talking about it with anyone! For me personally, my sense of self worth comes from how deeply and fully I love myself and then share that love and energy with everyone I meet, and also how truthful and clear my relationship is with thought, Truth, Freedom, and the fact of Pure Consciousness and the resultant inner peace that comes from this…. regardless of my work, income, marriage status or anything exterior! Anyway, I think I made a bit of an impression on him as I related some of my incredible experiences with the Indian people and the love in my heart for them. Later in the early evening when I arrived at the Z Hotel, I saw him sitting and laughing with his Indian kitchen and house cleaning staff. That made me feel good. I mean why be in India if you aren’t going to love the Indians? Eventually the manager left the beach and I reflected quietly about our conversation… that is until the next Indian approached me (it wasn’t long). I saw him coming and was thinking to myself how I would like to just sit quietly. To no avail, within moments a good looking young man walked right up to my blanket and introduced himself, sitting down next to me. He had a big beautiful smile and a soft energy about him. And of course, the initial trio of questions soon began and I answered them, to the best of my ability, as if I was answering them for the first time. Then, to my surprise, he asked me if I had a girlfriend or a boyfriend! “Wow,” I’m thinking to myself, “That was unusually straight forward”. I replied that I had no girl friend or boyfriend and of course then asked him if he had a boyfriend, to which he candidly replied “yes”. “And you have a girl friend also?”… “Yes” he said. “Cool” I said, “and why are you telling me this?” “Because I like you”! Well, of course that immediately put a certain kind of excitement in the air between us. And I’m thinking to myself how this amount of come ons just don’t happen in the USA. And I’m thinking to myself about that darn visitor policy at the Z Hotel, LOL. His name was Deena. We hung out for quite some time there on the beach with rather large smiles on our faces, just enjoying the late afternoon, and each others company. It was pretty much clear that Musti was eminent…hmmm… that darn visitor policy. I suggested that we take a stroll and maybe catch a cheap room somewhere before dinner. Deena agreed. As we were walking off of the beach he mentioned that he was a poor man and that his mother was old and father couldn’t work and bla,blab, bla, to which I replied that I would not be giving him any money. That is not why either of us was there, was it? He didn’t push that one at all, instead he lead us to a hotel down an alley near the beach where we got a room for $3.00 for some innocent and entirely safe fun. Now when I say entirely, I mean entirely, completely safe. And this did limit our range of activities substantially, but that’s the way it goes for me here in India where there seems to be virtually no… that’s capital NO, awareness what so ever regarding STDs, HIV, condoms, or anything regarding sexual health. And about my permissiveness regarding Musti, I just feel that if I’m doing it by myself, then I might as well do it with another if the energy and attraction is right. There really is no harm, it’s fun and it definitely deepens my connection with the friend I’ve made. Now this particular experience, shall we say didn’t quite go as planned. As we went into the hotel room and began to have our fun, Deena stopped to say that there were problems down there. OK, problems down there, like what, I’m thinking. “Very big, very large” he said. That didn’t sound like a problem to me, LOL. But he didn’t have a smile on his face. “OK, so let me see what’s going on” I said, and upon exposure I witnessed a pair of testicles the size of large lemons, each one of them!!! I really couldn’t believe my eyes, I’d never seen anything like this before. Deena said that it was very painful and that he couldn’t work, or lift anything, and that if he stood or walked for more than a couple of hours it really became painful. Trust me now, I believed the man. But he was only so capable of relating verbally what was wrong with his nuts, his English broken and limited. He seemed to indicate a hernia, but that wasn’t clear. So, ok, the mood had most definitely changed now, and I’m thinking to myself “OK , what am I getting myself into now?” Deena was so sweet, really. Just a really nice Indian man. I really didn’t know what to do. I mean, why couldn’t he or his family save up the money necessary for the surgery to fix his balls. It certainly was an urgent matter. I asked him just that and he related again that his father is to old and sick to work and his mother does work some but has to care for the father and that he, Deena , was unable to hold a job due to this problem. He said that he had been unable to work for a year and that his problem had been there for that long. I couldn’t believe it! He had been living with his testicles like that for a year! And in pain! The truth in his eyes regarding this was clear. He was having a very hard time with this condition. He made it clear that it was unlikely that anytime soon he would be able to pay for the surgery, which upon asking I was informed the cost would be RS 5000= $115.00. I’m thinking $115. is all it takes to fix this and Deena has been living with this pain and deformity for over a year! If that’s not an example of poverty I don’t know what is. But man, I had just met the man a couple of hours ago and now look at what I was into! This was not how I had planned to spend my last evening and morning in Puri before returning to Bhubaneshwar for a flight to Chennai and onward to Kerala. I had plans to relax, have a great dinner, sleep well, and wake up early enough to slip in a last morning of body surfing before heading off for the airport. And now look at what was transpiring. Honestly, I really wasn’t too happy about being looped into this and all of the details that came with it, and yet my sense of compassion was strong. I reflected on how a couple of days ago I had strongly considering paying rs 18,000 for a tribal trek that would last 4 days and 4 nights, and here this man was with testicles that looked like they were about to explode, and needing a mere rs 5000 = $115. I asked Deena who was and where was the doctor that examined him and Deena said that the doctor was just a short rickshaw away and that we could go and he would be able to get the surgery almost immediately. And besides, I wanted verification, clarification, and to hear from a professional about all of this. I wanted to see if indeed Deena had had this condition for a year, which the doctor would know, thus clueing me in to Deena’s level of honesty regarding all of this. I certainly wouldn’t help if he wasn’t being honest with me. So, I waved down a cycle rickshaw, Deena and I climbed aboard, bound for the “hospital”. Within a few minutes we made it to the clinic, a run down, cement walled and floor, muggy small building and took our place in the waiting room , on plastic chairs, with a dozen other Indians ( whom were there before us). Boy this was testing my patients. I’m thinking to myself “OK, how can I get myself out of this mess, should I just ditch Deena? Should I follow through and help him? And if so, how could I do this quickly and effectively, attempting to avoid spending all of my remaining time in Puri dealing with this? Frankly, I had close to zero patience to sit in a hot waiting room at 7:30 PM with a room full of Indians hoping that , with some luck, the one and only doctor would emerge from the operating room (where he currently was ) and miraculously, immediately come up to Deena and the American. I kept going up to the receptionist whom didn’t speak enough English to be able to answer me as to whether the clinic took credit cards. Somehow, I was able to get someone to write down the clinic’s # and tell me to call in the following morning at 10:00AM in order to speak with the doctor. Good. That I could do. I couldn’t sit there in a waiting room being told that I could see the doctor in 30 minutes, knowing right well that that was never going to happen. I had to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and that’s what I endeavored to do. Deena and I got back on the rickshaw and got dropped back off at the Z hotel. He wanted me to come back to the “Musti” hotel, but I told him that we would part ways and that he could meet me outside of the hotel at 10:00AM the next morning. I would have spoken to the doctor by then and made my decision regarding paying for the surgery (or not). Regarding the “musti” hotel, I must say that Deena’s condition was not exactly a turn on for me. That night I ate dinner at the best place in town and reflected on the day’s events! Shit, talk about never a dull moment. Part of me resented being loaded with this detail laden burden, and part of me really cared and felt quite capable of helping the man. The situation had me, in fact, by the balls, and I decided to follow through with the call to the doctor the next morning and see where that would lead me. One thing was for sure, I had very little time before I would need to catch my bus to the airport at 1:00 pm. How I was going to navigate this situation in the brief time I had remaining for my time in Puri, I didn’t know. Clearly my hopes for a morning in the ocean were going by the way-side ( as opposed to the sea-side). The next AM I woke up, ate fruit, did Sudarshan Kriya, packed my bags, showered and headed out in just enough time to meet Deena and call his doctor. I made the call but the doctor wasn’t in yet and it was suggested that I call back in 30 minutes. So, Deena accompanied my down the street where I was working with a travel agent on my flight plans. Deena waited outside while I met with the agent and booked my flight for that afternoon. I informed the agent what was going on with me that morning and he clued me into the fact that there was no way that any doctor in town was going to take a credit card, and besides, he was really encouraging me to take Deena to a different hospital for the surgery. He told me that many, many Indians have hernias that go untreated due to lack of money and that also, the most experienced doctor for testicular related surgeries was the one he was referring me to. I asked him what the likelihood of Deena coming up with the money for the surgery was, and he told me there was little hope for a poor family. The agent told me that he was very impressed with my generosity and that very few if any tourists would be doing this. He was very helpful, making suggestions, giving me directions, and he assured me that I could go to this clinic, make a payment in Deena’s name and that it would be honored and used correctly for Deena’s surgery, that the hospital was reputable and the doctor very good, and that Deena would be very, very, very happy regarding my helping him. So, I booked the air ticket to Kerala, grabbed Deena and an auto-rickshaw and went straight to this new /other “nursing home”. To my relief, we were put at a high priority as the staff there understood that this was a unique opportunity for Deena. I made it clear that my time was VERY short. While Deena waited I ran back out to our rickshaw driver and went a couple of miles to the mearest ATM to withdraw rs 4000. Upon my returning, Deena and I were called in to meet with the doctor. The doctor told me that the surgery would cost rs 7000. That was rs 3000 more than I planned on putting out. I had prior made it clear to Deena that I would cover rs 4000 and expected that he and his family would cover the remaining rs 1000. I just felt that Deena should do contribute something for his surgery. I told the doctor that I had rs 4000 and that that was all I was willing to contribute and he responded that he would do the surgery for this amount and then left the room. I gathered that he was trying to sponge a few extra rupees off of the foreigner. Later I was informed that Deena would be in the hospital for 7 days. A 7 day stays in a small nursing home for surgery for a price of $115. One of the nurses called Deena into a room and inspected his testicles, confirming what Deena already knew from his prior check up. I was called into the room and asked to pay rs 100 for a blood test, the blood to be drawn immediately. I did this and then waited outside for a while. At this point a man (the only one around whom spoke decent English) approached me whom was a representative of some medical supplies company or something. He was watching what was going on and was so sweet to me. He really helped me to feel appreciated and informed me in more detail what was going on with Deena. In fact Deena had a Hyro-cyst, a very painful condition. This man helped me to feel clear about the whole situation, telling me about the seriousness/painfulness of the condition, and that Deena in fact would be able to work with the problem, and that the likelihood of him ever paying was quite low, and that what I was doing was really touching his heart. My heart as well felt wide open, holding back my tears while someone took a few pictures of Deena and I before I said fairwell and raced out the door to go back to the agent , pick up my tickets, go to the Z Hotel to pick up my bags and head to the Airport. That very day Deena would under go h the surgery. The Z Hotel manager seemed to be moved by the events of my morning which I conveyed to him as I was departing. He described me as a unique and generous man. I describe myself as doing what anyone whom was capable of doing this should do. After all, $115 dollars is a drop in the bucket, especially when compared to what a fellow human would experience from finally having a surgery that was 1 year over due. I mean what was more important, my having $115 dollars (or not spending it) or Deena having his testicles saved. The whole experience was very powerful for me, and I cry just recalling it as I type the details here tonight. 5 days later, from Fort Kochi in Kerala, I called my travel agent in Puri, the one whom referred Deena and I to the hospital where Deena got his nuts repaired and asked him if he could get me the clinic’s phone number. I wanted to check in with the clinic and hopefully speak with Deena. I gave the hospital a call and the staff person immediately went and got Deena and put him on the phone. Deena was very happy to hear from me. He was asking when I would return wanting to see me. I told him that I didn’t think that I would be back, but I was very touched at being able to help him, happy that the surgery went well. It was a short call, and we haven’t spoken since. Deena’s family doesn’t have a phone, and he doesn’t do email etc. I think that when I get a chance I will mail him the few pictures of he and I that I have. OK, that wraps up this installation of Dan’s adventures in India. Stay tuned for more action packed events; in the airport of Bhubaneshwar (wink, wink), backwater adventures and working in a rope factory; my visit to Amma’s ashram (where the ashram offers laundry service but doesn’t do underwear); hot action in Thrissur at the Poorum festival with my oh so hot and young Indian boyfriend; and long days of surfing at my present location…the heavenly Kovalum beach, where rays from a light house practically beam into my beach front hotel room ($5.50 per night) and the pounding sounds of waves lullaby me to sleep each night. Love and light, Dan:)


5/30/05 Saewadii krab, (or is it Namaste still?) Currently I’m in Chaing Mai, Thailand. This e-journal entry was started weeks ago while I was in Pondicherry, India back in early May. I have been adding to it gradually. Presently I'm road worn but doing well. In India I visited a total of 25 destinations over 3 months. It was an adventure of such magnificance it brings me to tears. My 42nd birthday was spent doing my first two SCUBA dives off the island Ko Tao! I think I must have been a fish in a past life, lol:) ****************************************************************** May 1, 2005 THE BACKWATERS OF KERALA, AMMAJI’S AND BOUND FOR POORAM FESTIVALAs I write tonight, I'm now in Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu. And yes, it's HOT...but not so hot. As long as I don't mind dripping in sweat most of the day, no problem. The good news is, I'm OK with sweat, and the heat for that matter. Not to say that I wouldn't prefer it milder. But hey, beggars can't be choosers. I'm just very thankful to be blessed with this incredible journey that I'm on. Aside from yet another stomach problem, I'm doing well. And, to my delight, Pondicherry has a health food store and a RAW FOOD restaurant. I just can't believe it! In a land that's bloated on way, way too much starchy white rice and dough products! Great timing to help break my 36 hour fast with a raw food meal, organic at that. Problem is, I've been eating so much green stuff that now I'm going into detox and cleansing. Not desirable right now. So, I'm eating some cookies to break the cleanse. I hope that helps, they taste good, organic too:) So, I just arrived here after having traveled for 13 hours in one day (after having packed and left the tea picker's paradise of Munnar, Kerala followed by a 4 hour drive the day before) to arrive in a town south of Pondicherry named Vaitheswarencoil. A town so small it isn't on the map. It is here that I spent 2/12 days fulfilling on my destiny to come here; a destiny which started 5 years ago and impelled me to visit the famed Nadi- astrologer A. Sivasamy. It is here that I would come to know that a palm leaf had been written specifically for me over 2000 years ago by a group of rishes/saints. They knew that I would be coming here and they knew when. And they would tell me all of the details of my life, past, present and future, read from a dried 350 year old palm leaf. It was an amazing experience, I just can't believe it! How did this whole Nadi-Astrology trip begin? It started over 5 years ago while I was living in San Francisco taking a break from being a twin and being in Double Dose. I was in Marin attending satsang with a descendent from the Ramana Maharshi school of "non-teachings"...his name, Vartman. Vartman related at this particular satsang that he had been traveling the East visiting with saints and spiritual masters and had been advised on more than one occasion to visit this particular Nadi-Astrologer; that the experience would be really worth while. So, Vartman explained, it was some time later that he and his partner Susanna made a journey to India specifically to visit A. Sivasamy. In the satsang, Vartman conveyed that his reading was mind blowingly acurate, the reader of the leaf telling him all of his family member's names, what he had done in his life and what he would do, when he would get sick, be healthy, become successful...the works! Vartman made the point "So how much choice do we really have?" I left satsang that day with a strong impression of how powerful an experience this would be for me. I also left with a map and contact info in my hand, which Vartman furnished. As I drove home to 658 15th Ave, across the Golden Gate Bridge, I thought to myself how Vartman had said "so how much choice do we really have?", and then I thought to myself that I could veer right sharply and drive off of the bridge. I wondered if that would be on my palm leaf, LOL. My healthy skepticism kicking in. None the less, I went way out of my way to go to Vaitheswarencoil, some 5 years later, to have my life story read to me like a comic book (lol), or drama. Oh, and by the way, "LOL" means " laughing out loud". On the long, long day's journey to get to this very small and holy town I had plenty of time to reflect on my life, all that I've experienced, and where it's all heading. Only thing is, I didn't really do that. Instead, I mostly sat quietly on a hard wooden bench facing a bunch of strange Indians for 8 hours as the train slowly chugged along, with numerous holding points and delays. Trains here, while they are plentiful, they are not dependable as far as timeliness is concerned (at all). So, it's a tough choice, a cramped/sardine packed, blatter bulging, knees-pressed-up-against-the-chair-in-front- of-me government bus, or a train which is more comfortable. More comfortable if you're not in general class, which was the case for me on this trip. I had no choice really. This was the only direct train out of Maderai the next day. And at that, I had to set my alarm and get into the train station early the next morning, skipping a once in a lifetime chance to see yet another temple (I almost cared this time, LOL). Actually, if I was reflecting about anything I was reflecting (and reading) about heading to Thailand, and also about all of the great adventures I'd had in Kerala for the past 3 weeks. I had arrived there by plane having flown from Orissa state out of Bhubaneshwar. And speaking of late transportation, apparently even the airways aren't immune to this delayability. I had left Puri in a hurry, after having foregone a morning of body surfing in favor of saving my friend's testicles from expanding beyond their already large lemon size due to a Hydro-Seal that left him in constant pain and unable to work. That morning I had also booked my flight last minute, so one would think that if there was going to wind up being a 5 hour flight delay, that they would have known it, and I would have been informed. But that was not the case. So when I arrived at the airport and found out about the delay, one could imagine that I was less than thrilled. I sat in an airport cafe drinking too many cups of chai, and attracting a young waiter into my field repeatedly.....repeatedly..... He sure was being friendly. A little extra friendly at that. We kept exchanging eye contact and he kept coming over to chat and check on me. Eventually, after he asked if I was traveling alone and he found out that I was a bachelor and all the usual questions, it seemed quite natural that I ask him similarly and that line of questions easily lead into a "musti" question. He smirked, and smiled, and shook his head yes and the energy shifted between us. Interesting, I'm thinking, it just doesn't stop here in this holy country! I had just been propositioned on the bus ride from Puri 2 hours earlier! His name was, hmmm, let me see if I can remember...LOL... Pratap....yes that's right! LOL. He brought me extra cups of chai and a snack and kept flirting and flirting with me. Discreetly that is, considering that the cafe was far from empty in lieu of the flight delay. Lucky me that I should catch the eye of so many hot young ones, all of them in their twenties. Well, all of them except for my absolute favorite so far; that being the adorable, funky, eminently lovable Anoop. More on that later. I clicked a bunch of pics of my "trick" and then phoned my mommy, wound up being late to board the flight, got yelled at by security and held up the plane after a 5 hour delay. They were not pleased, but then again, tourists live in an entitled world here, and the Indians will do anything for us. Besides, I had received wrong info regarding boarding time from an Indian Airlines official, so frankly, it was his fault. The price I paid was the loss of my Swiss Army knife to a security man whom scoffed it for his keeping while trolling through my bag; prominently holding a bag of condoms in his hand while unnecessarily digging through my toiletries while the plane waited. All of my luggage then made it onto the plane to Chennai, the big piece being thrown on the seat next to me moments before take off. Arriving in Chennai, I tried fruitlessly to retrieve my knife, before catching a "sleeping room" in the airport before my next flight 4 hours later (check in at 5:30 AM) to the tropical state of Kerala. At 5:00AM, I received a wake-up-call knock on my door accompanied by 2 outstanding cups of Chai. On the plane, I drank coffee and read about the bombing of the tourist complex in Kashmir. OK, let’s see. I think that I wrote about Fort Kochi in Kerala already. That was where I got the Ayurvedic massage and ate at the bakery (alot). After Fort Kochi, I caught a train to Alleppy where I planned to take the much talked about backwater tour from Alleppy to Kollum. There’s nothing much to write about Alleppy. It really is a very noisy, traffic laden city that I felt little attraction to. However there is for sure one thing that stands out very much. I had taken a rickshaw out to a hotel /restaurant for dinner, (it was supposed to be very good but wasn’t) and upon leaving the door man called for a wallah from across the street for me. Problem was the wallah was having a hard time starting his rickshaw. So, I walked out to the street’s edge to see what was going on. He was frantically cranking on the shaft that should start the rickshaw without success as other rickshaws pulled up soliciting my business. The thing is I saw how hard the first guy was really trying to get his rickshaw started so I waved off the others and waited. Finally he got the thing going (like an old lawn mower) and we were on our way. He pulled into a gas station for some petrol and when pulling out he stopped and called me into the front seat. He wanted me to drive the rickshaw!!!! Now, I just couldn’t believe it. I had spent so much time in the darn things! I thought “well if I haven’t experienced it all in India now!” It was really quite simple to drive, shifting easily, (and breaking poorly, LOL). Soon the driver jumped into the back seat and I was navigating though intersections and all in no time. This was great fun and a cool thrill for me. That night I crashed in a cute guest house, the next AM, plans in place to head into the backwaters. The backwaters are really quite unique in my experience. Throughout a lot of Kerala (nearish to the coast) there is a large network of waterways and canals that work their way inwards from the ocean. Each day they raise and fall with the tides, bringing in fresh water each day. The water is actually a 50/50 blend of fresh water and salt water. Throughout these small waterways are many mini villages; fishermen, coconut fiber rope makers, thatch roofed huts barely finding enough ground amidst the river lets. It’s really hard to describe the feeling that being in the backwaters elicits, one of peacefulness; water, earth and sea connected. My imagination went wild as the government controlled boat cruised toward Kollum. It’s a palm leaf paradise; children and young men swimming along the edges waving as we passed by. Mother’s bathing their baby at the shore, women doing the laundry or staring out from the hut. This reality stood in sharp contrast to the reality I had been immersed in for the past 6 weeks up in the North. I knew that I needed to get inside of this culture; to see how they live here, to feel the hearts of the villagers. Well, for sure my heart connected quite deeply, as was evident by my sitting on a train, heading towards Vaitheswarencoil to have my entire life laid out, past, present and future by the famed Nadi- Astrologer A. Sivasamy, yet there I was day dreaming about the backwaters of Kerala and my friend Anoop at the Pooram festival. Anyway, as the boat sailed onward through the backwaters I clicked away with my trusty Pentax and looked forward to our soon to be had lunch at a resort. After lunch, the ride would continue until I would get off of the boat early, left off at the conveniently located ashram of the Divine Mother, Mata Amritanandamaya, aka. Ammachi. We pulled up to the resort for lunch and as soon as we got off board the manager approached me, asking me if I would like to stay, offering me a sizable rate reduction due to the low season. To the tune of a mere rs 700 for what otherwise I would pay rs 3500. Certainly got me thinking as I devoured my gourmet Indian Thali (multi course all you can eat) lunch with fried mackerel for less than 2 bucks. The resort was posh, there was no one there. And all I wanted to do was swim with the villagers in that water. But not so great at making a very quick decision, and pretty much geared up to peer inside of the ashram world, I decided to get back on the boat. That was hard to do, my imagination going wild about staying there. Before long the boat pulled into a large lake that had an ugly electric generating plant and a bit further a really ugly and out of place pink high rise building, towering over the palms with no concern for aesthetics what so ever. Who the heck would put that ugly eye sore there?......Moments later the boat staff came to me and said that we were approaching the ashram. We were??? “Where?”. “Right there” he said pointing at the pink high rise. Wow, not exactly what I had been imagining but there I was. The boat docked very briefly, leaving me on the shore. It was just a short walk, dragging my wheeled luggage through shallow sand, and I entered the ashram. The place was buzzing with activity, many people there, elephants just finishing up with a display for those watching in the court yard before the temple. I clicked a couple of pictures ( later finding out I wasn’t supposed to) and dropped my big bag off at the base of the temple in order to take in the scene and get my baring. I noticed a crowd gathered around a snack bar and went over to have a look. Many Indians were there indulging in anything from Lassi to ice cream, to fresh mango juice, or fried bananas or samosa, or coffee. Well heck, I wasn’t going to argue with that. I jumped in line geared up for the mango juice and it winds up an ice cream also, lol. I staved off the throbbing crowd of Indians, holding firmly my place in line. A quick note here, it does seem that Indians don’t hold much regard for respecting a line and it’s order. More often than not in any line I’ve been in someone is cutting in front with little to no protest. Here at the ashram was no exception, to my surprise. But I gotta say that I just don’t get the mentality behind this. No one wants to be cut in line right? Soon an older man had joined the queue behind me but was soon trying to cut. I couldn’t believe it. I coughed loudly and gave him a peculiar look and he backed off. Everyone pushing forward, butting elbows etc. Not exactly the shanti “enlightened” vibe I had anticipated. And not that I minded the ice cream, but it is more difficult to reach higher levels of consciousness if everyone is wired on sugar and coffee. Generally, as I understood it , most monastic environments make it a practice to have bare bones food stuff. Not here. And again, not to argue. I drenched myself in absolutely unbelievable mango juice every day for pennies, starting my day with 3 mango juices, a pineapple juice and a couple of red bananas ( plus black tea). If I start to examine the seriousness of intent among ashramites and the community at large, I wonder how an "anything goes" diet fits into the picture. It's my opinion, and through my experience, that a clean diet and a cleansed colon can be a key part of the holistic movement towards higher consciousness. It was my luck that Amma was at the ashram and if I wanted I could receive Darshan that very day from her. Of course I wanted darshan from the divine hugging mother. It had been 5 years earlier in the CA. ashram that I got my first hug. One of Amma’s main gigs is hugging the masses, to the tune of millions of hugs at this point. It is said that one receives the shakti of a the master from this. So, I checked into my room on the twelfth floor, a bare bones shared space with two ashramites, a gym-mat thin pad is my bed. The place is a mess, clothes strewn about, bathroom filthy, tooth brushes laying around etc. I’m actually ok with that really, I’d only be there a few days. Just taking note of my observations here at the ashram. It’s just that the room did not reflect a mindfulness; or any discipline for that matter ( not that I keep a spotless home LOL, and if we based our level of "enlightenment" on a well kempt home my Mom would be the next Buddha, LOL). I would meet both of my room mates later, both of whom where good people. I headed down to the temple to queue up for my darshan with Amma. It wasn’t a bad line at all actually. Often times she has a line that extends and extends with thousands of people queued! I gathered that this was due to her staying at the ashram for most of the surrounding months due to her work helping Tsunami victims. There was plenty of opportunities for darshan. Anyway, it wasn’t long before I was getting close to Amma, and soon I was funneled into the crowd adjacent to her on my knees awaiting my turn. And in a brief flash my head was grabbed by a devotee and gently pushed into Mother’s bossum. “Moo moo moo moo mooo” she said, rocking me briefly. And then, that was it. No eye contact, just a quick hug. Now, I'm just not sure that I get this! Everyone is so enthusiastic about getting the hug. But this experience for me had absolutely no consequence what so ever ( that I could discern). Actually, this was the same experience that I had 5 years earlier. On that occasion I had queued for hours, and left “the hug” laughing at how ridiculous it all seemed, people standing in line, sometimes for many many hours for that???? Both of my experiences with “the hug” felt mechanical and insignificant, as if I was just a number on the queue. Now I don’t know why my experience would stand in such sharp contrast to the experience that everyone else seemed to be having. Later I was reflecting; why is the hug this way for me? Why was this hug the same as the last? Was Amma trying to give me a message? She is widely acknowledged as a very powerful, highly realized master and guru. One would assume that she knew exactly what she was doing. I don’t know, not that I cared enough to dwell much, just an inquisitiveness on my part I suppose. Perhaps she wanted me to not feel special in anyway. That I am as insignificant as the rest of humanity in the big picture. That my physical, emotion, or psychological form, my individuality, was of little importance when placed side by side with the Supreme Consciousness. That this Supreme Consciousness is all that warrants any attention, not our petty, illusory personal selves. Well, I guess that was my take on it. Whether that was Amma’s intended result I won’t ever know. (I did have another chance for darshan on my departure day but declined in favor of hanging out around the juice bar sucking down my last oh-so-savored Mango juices. The devotees assured me that because of my leaving that I could jump to the front of the queue and get darshan right away before I left. They had a bewildered look on their faces when I declined. And I couldn’t believe the huge amount of love that those mango juices elicited from the core of my very being, LOL.) The day before I left the Ashram (I was there for 2 nights and 3 days) I headed out of the Ashram grounds, caught a small boat across the backwater and wandered around the town that was there. Winds up that in many ways it was a settlement of Amma devotees. Amma was building a HUGE Ayurvedic college in the town as well. Eventually I made it over to the other shore side and a man approached me. He wanted to meet me and promptly invited me for tea and a recline on the hammock with he and his brother. We had a great time hanging out and chatting. It wound up that this man was a fisherman/shrimp man and operated one of the ancient Chinese fishing nets that I had sat mesmerized the night before watching from the 13th floor of the Ashram as the counter balanced wooden arms slowly descended. Small lights glowing from the arms, the nets made contact with the river and slowly sank to the bottom, only to be shortly thereafter hoisted back out of the water, the fishermen eagerly staring into the net to see if any shrimp unsuspectedly climbed onboard to meet their fate. I had watched these fishing nets being employed in Fort Kochi as well, clicking pictures as the sun set poetically. It was a pleasant surprise for me to be invited to stay with these men as they began the cyclical task of raising and lowering the nets, over and over again as the sun set and gave way to darkness leaving us all quietly sitting on the edge of the water, the nets slowly raising and lowering, raising and lowering. It was a hypnotic experience and the hours drifted by like a dream. I was later invited to sleep in a hut and share a late dinner but opted for heading back to the ashram as I hadn't been there for most of the day and planned on departing the next day. And yes, a rather short stay at the ashram I suppose. I guess I just felt that without my digging into SEVA activities/ committing to a longer period for being there, that I didn't need more time. Part of it was that there really wasn't any organized spiritual practice being offered, or encouraged for that matter. Mostly it seemed that residents were heavily involved in the SEVA activities revolving around a truly incredible list of services to humanity that Amma inspires. Things like feeding 50,000 people a month, building 100,000 free houses for the homeless, buying new fishing boats for tsunami victims, giving money to widows of tsunami, setting up free schooling...the list goes on! On the ashram grounds was an impressive printing facility where everyday reams and reams of news letters were printed, assembled and mailed to the masses. Bumpers of cars, street signs, and home fronts pay tribute to Amma with public declarations of thanks and love. The world needs more leaders like Amma taking care of the needy. While the SEVA was volumous and generous, my interests seem to be more in the direction of a disciplined spiritual practice coupled with inquiry into Truth, Freedom, Love, and Supreme Consciousness. Now I could only hope that in my lifetime I could even begin to make the kind of impact on my fellow humans as Amma does, but in terms of a serious inquiry into this "Supreme Consciousness", I just didn't feel it there. I decided to initiate communication with a few devotees regarding their inquiry and or how living at the Ashram facilitated this. One man that I spoke with actually had approached me asking for SEVA help with sweeping and mopping the cafe floor. I did decline but took advantage of the opportunity to speak with a resident. I asked him how long he had been there and he said 8 years. He described living there as not being easy, that “in this environment it's like we all are rocks with sharp edges that are thrown together into a rotating cylinder, gradually smoothing our edges." I asked him what Amma's main message was and he responded doing SEVA and added as an afterthought "and higher consciousness". I asked him what this higher consciousness was and he responded that he wasn't good with words and that he didn't think about it that much, being heavily involved with SEVA projects. He left that to Amma to explain he said. I thought that was a bit peculiar, I mean, he had been living there for 8 years. Had he not been meditating??? I asked him if he meditated or had a practice. He said no, too busy with SEVA. That I found peculiar. Amma herself said...and I quote her (approximately) “Having spiritual aspiration but not having a spiritual practice is like trying to live in a blueprint of a house." I spoke with a couple of others and got similar information. Additionally, I woke up early to join in community meditation and the females were separated from the males and besides very few attended. In fact there is no organized daily practice at all there. I asked about this and was told that everyone is pretty much left to run their own course, it was each person's dharma and choice if and how they progress. Eye contact seemed to be elusive here as well. Groups of us getting on the elevator and barely looking at each other let alone speaking. I asked if there were any fully self actualized/ realized/enlightened devotees living there that I could speak with and was told that no one had reached that state. So, to summarize, I just got a bit of a luke warm feeling there. Really, I felt considerably more warmth and love in greater India than I did there! This is why I left after a couple of nights, and had spent my only full day there actually outside of the ashram, across the backwater hanging out with the fisherman, whom incidentally were devotees. Perhaps also influencing me was my repeatedly thinking about that awesome resort on the backwaters that I had eaten lunch at while on my backwater cruise 2 days earlier. This thinking led me to action. On my 3rd day I left the ashram. As I waited for the elevator to take me to the 12th floor in order to retrieve my bags and check out from the ashram a sign on the wall caught my eye. It said that laundry could be handed in for cleaning on Tuesday and Thursday, returned on the following day and that the ashram does NOT do anyone’s underwear. Now again, I’m not meaning to “dis” the incredible Ammachi, but I did leave the ashram feeling like that sign pretty much summed up how I felt about the whole scene there. After declining another darshan with Amma in favor of a quick last minute Mango juice, I got back onto the boat, heading back in the direction that I had come from. I got dropped of at the marvelous Coir Village Resort. I checked in, paid rs 700 (1/5th normal cost) threw on my swim suit and promptly dove into the waters, swimming upstream away from the resort and just loving being in the water there. Eventually, I returned to the resort to pick up a little mini canoe, the staff member showing me carefully how to paddle. I got in the boat and promptly intentionally capsized it, the staff people looking at me like I was crazy. I paddled back away from the resort, my intention being to get into the village areas and see what fun I could drum up. And soon along came a young Indian, about the age of 14-15, swimming out to greet me after having seen me, along with a crowd of Indians now on the shore watching me. I had been climbing up on the canoe and standing up on it diving in to the waters, and in general swimming around like a mad man. As well, the Indians are in general not very good swimmers, so I think they were a bit amazed/ amused by my aquatic expertise. So this kid swims up and climbs on board and I promptly capsize the boat. He got a big kick out of this and so we continued for the next couple of hours to be totally rowdy as villagers gathered on the shore to watch the white man and his friend go crazy. Young children were screaming on the shore waving for me to come over. So my friend, Surip, and I climbed onboard, and when we got close to shore I started a splash fight with the little kids. They were screaming and getting totally rowdy, their mothers coming out to see what was going on, and getting in on the laughs. It was a totally great scene. We paddled back out into the middle, the kids on the shore screaming and starting their own splash fights. Surip and I continued our crazy antiques, pushing each other off of the boat, splashing each other etc, all with a growing audience on the nearby shore. I'd stand up on the capsized boat, Surip would too, and we'd rock each other off into the water were I would stay submerged for a long time ,swimming far away from the boat only to immerge later with the Indians laughing and yelling at me. I think that part of their thrill; was seeing a tourist from the "rich man's resort" swimming around in their village. As a matter of fact, at one point a staff person from the resort paddled up and warned me that I had swam too far from the resort, implying that it was unsafe to be around villagers and outside of the resort. I looked at him inquisitively, Surip and I in the midst of a major water fight, a dozen of Indians watching the action on shore. “Really ?" I said. "Sure doesn't seem like anything is wrong here." They clearly saw that there was no problem, it's just that the resort staff weren't used to seeing a tourist swim away and not return for hours, or having the interest or fearlessness ( not that fearlessness was necessary) to hang out with the villagers. This wasn't the first time I had experienced someone suggesting that it was somehow dangerous to be around Indians. They paddled back to the resort leaving me to my own judgment. Some fishermen had stopped their card game and come to the shore to see what all the hoopla was about. Some of them were on their large fishing boat and called to me in the water asking for me to climb onboard, to which I was delighted. I hauled myself up a rope that had a tire at the bottom, scaling the boat's wall and climbed onboard. They suggested that I jump off of the deck and so I climbed instead to the upper portion, onto a small roof above the deck and did a swan dive, plunging into the water and then swimming underwater, out of sight for 25 yards or so and immerging! They all seemed to be amazed and delighted. It was easy and fun for me to appear like some sort of superman to them:)! It was about 2 hours later that I returned to Coir Village. I was swimming and Surip paddled the boat behind me. The resort staff watched in absolute amazement as I climbed out of the water at dinner time! What fun!!! That night, I feasted on gourmet Indian cuisine, had a puff from my hash from Udaipur and interestingly clicked on the TV briefly to watch some soccer as well as some indoor badminton (of all things). As I watched, I reflected on the nostalgic content of these sports, swimming as well, for me. It was as if my experience with swimming and then watching soccer and badminton ( both of which I loved when I was younger) were calling me towards reclaiming something that had been lost, obscured by years and years of devotion, (and tunnel vision) regarding my relationship with playing music and the career. I wondered, (and wonder) what my new life will look like? My travels are an opportunity to take space, and transition, to have unbelievable adventure, and do some things that I have wanted to do for many years....travel, SCUBA dive, and maybe surf? (I hear that Indonesia is heading into great sunny weather and that Bali has great diving and surfing...hmmm...). I clicked off the Boob Tube and sat on the porch of my spiffy cottage listening to the fish jump and the crickets chirp, the fire flies fluttering by, the moon reflecting off of the waters. Then I read a bit from a book about a swami's spiritual pilgrimage in India, his spending many years at the Ramana Ashram in Tirravannamalai (where I would soon be visiting) and his eventual arrival into Amma's community. This day was just an incredible day. The next day I would head into the village and meet the local coconut fiber rope makers in the morning, wander around and see what else would happen, and of course swim. The next morning, I got up earlyish, breathed, drank mango-pineapple juice and ate fruit, and then headed off for a hike through the out lying village where I was told that I would meet the coir (coconut rope) makers. So down the dirt road I went and before no time at all villagers began approaching me, even friendlier than usual. I was guessing that they had all participated in the day prior's aquatic spectacle. I walked by a home were a couple of women and a young man were working and they called to me, inviting me into see what was going on. The women had bails of coconut fiber in a large pouch in front of them and were catching a bit of it onto a couple of rotating spindles , expertly drawing the fiber out of the bail, spinning it into twine. They backed up as the twine lengthened and then the boy would rotate a crank at the other end of the newly spun twine, blending to twine strings into one heavier duty thin rope. It was really cool to see how they worked. The women were just beaming such big beautiful smiles at me. They were more than happy to have their pictures taken, and I clicked away. After hanging around for a while I headed out and said goodbye, shortly thereafter being invited into another similar twine weaving home. These women were really really friendly too. After the demonstration I made some gestures and approached closer indicating that I wanted to try spinning some rope myself. The women burst into laughter as the “sipe"= foreigner attempted the "woman’s” job of spinning twine. So much fun, we were all laughing too much for me to have much success with the task at hand. Regardless, this was a task that would need some practice to get good at it. And practice they had, day in and day out, spinning and spinning. They were paid according to how much they spun. It seemed that they were their own bosses. It seemed as though they were quite happy and healthy despite living in homes that were far from modern or in some cases barely more than a shack! I clicked more pics and said fairwell, leaving behind more smiles. Next a young man approached me and invited me onto his backwater boat. I obliged and soon he was poling us through small waterways, heading deeper into the village...where? I had no idea. By poling I mean that the boat was pushed forward by the boatman taking a long wooden pole and extending it down to the waterway's floor and pushing the boat forward, using his weight to haul the boat. I enjoyed the ride, waving to villagers as we quietly drifted by their homes. I got the sense that the boatman was speaking with the folks on shore about me that the news of the "aquatic foreigner" had circulated through the village. Anyway, soon we pulled up to a coconut fiber making factory and we climbed onto the shore and I was invited warmly to watch the work at hand. But, well watching really isn't quite as good as doing. So, soon I approached the exit point where large amounts of coconut fiber were being blown out onto the ground, soon there after to be gathered and rolled up into semi neat bundles and then carried back over to the boat for transport to the twine spinner's locations. I watched and duplicated the action, rolling up the fiber and carrying it over to the boat. Well, this caught everyone's attention in a big way. Before I knew it they were asking me to climb coconut trees, haul large heavy baskets of coconuts on the top of my head over to the grinder (one of the workers putting a protective head rest/ pad on my head and wrapping it into place with a piece of cloth), sweeping up the remnant fibers, hauling large bundles to the boat. Man it was hard work. By the time we were done I was covered in fiber, filthy and drenched in sweat. What a great time. We all had so much fun!!! And I got hands on experience of what it's like to work as they work. As it goes, they actually make pretty good money, about rs 200 per day. That is good pay by Indian standards, but only $4.50 by USA value. Soon the boatman and I climbed back onboard, after having taken the fully loaded boat down a water way and unloaded it and headed back towards Coir Village. After a detour that I didn't really want to take, one in which we loaded more coconuts onto the boat, and mostly I meet about a dozen more villagers plus young children, all of whom wanted pictures with me and inviting me back later to play cricket. Finally we boated back to the resort. It was an incredible experience for me, and the staff at the resort seemed to be getting used to the fact that I was not the average tourist. I feasted on another great meal and spent more time swimming about the backwaters, though I must say, on this day I was pretty tuckered out with the morning's work coupled with yesterday's massive swimming event. Surip swam out to have more fun, which we managed to conjure up, but in limited supply. I decided to call it quits on the swimming early in order to grab one of the resort staff and go on a sunset canoe ride down the backwaters, into a lake and return just after dark. A beautiful ride it was:) I returned and feasted on a 15 course Indian Thali meal and crashed early, pretty much wiped out from all of the fun. The following day I would check out and head back up to Allappey where I would catch a train to Ernaculum and onward to Trissur for the much anticipated Poorum Festival. The morning came quickly. I packed up, hiked into the nearby town to check it out, made it back for lunch and tea in just enough time to climb back onto the boat and return to Allappey. I then caught a taxi to the train station and worked out details of tickets to get me up to Thrissur via a train change and 1 hour layover in Ernaculum. I had barely enough time to go to a non-tourist Indian dinner, for a quick cheap meal and then climb onboard, bound for Ernaculum. That part of the journey went smoothly enough. At this point I was pretty much prepared for the worst regarding train journeys and punctuality. Anyway, I am sure glad that I had an hour hold over and train switch in Ernaculum because it was here that I met my favorite boyfriend of all. I was reclining back on my small over stuffed daypack chilling out when across the station two great looking young Indian males entered. I noticed them right away, and well, apparently they noticed me right away as well. I watched them move across the station and walk straight up to me. The more extroverted one commenced with asking me the standard questions, to which I replied in the usual fashion..." I'm traveling alone, I'm from America, I'm not married, I'm a musician, I'm a bachelor". The follow up question was, “Do you have girlfriend in America?" “No, I don't." I replied. Now it seemed to me that conversations that added these additional questions were a way for “interested” males to scope me out. No problem here, I was delighted to be scoped out by these hot young boys. So, getting this sense, I returned some questions to them, flirting heavily and arriving at "the Musti" question, to which they promptly admitted yes the two of them do have musti together. The extrovert (whom I later came to know as Anoop) sat down right next to me. I was still lying on my back; Anoop kind of nuzzled himself onto the bench at my waist, leaning up against me. We continued to chat and flirt, the last minutes flying by before my train would arrive. The vibes were flying and Anoop asked me if I wanted to take another train. Well, he did have me thinking, but I really wanted to get up to Thrissur for the much anticipated Pooram/elephant festival. And, well, who’s to say whether it would have been worth my while? Placing my hand right up onto his lap and discreetly, well, copping a feel, I responded that I needed to catch the train. And Anoop responded that he and his friend would actually be in Thrissur the next day! “Really?” I said. “Well, let’s meet up and hang out, I’m staying at the Casino Hotel”. Anoop agreed and suggested that we meet there at 5 PM and I replied that I might be out and about. I wasn’t about to go and hang around my hotel room waiting for a meeting that might never happen, not on my clock anyway. I suggested that he call the hotel in the AM to confirm our meeting, and I think he kind of agreed… but the train was now arriving and I had just a moment to pull out my camera a click a picture of these two hotties, and I gave Anoop a pic of me at the Taj. The sparks were flying as I climbed onto the train, bound for Thrissur, pretty much writing off the likelihood that I would see them there. But, man, had me thinking as the train clanked away, chugging through the darkness, what would my night have looked like if I had stayed back there with the boys? So far, an incredible assortment of adventures and meetings had effortlessly transpired for me, obviously I had been doing something right. This time, had I missed out on a fun evening that had effortlessly presented itself if I had stayed? Well, I was happy enough to be bound for Thrissur, expecting to arrive there at about 11:30 PM. That is until the train stopped in the middle of nowhere, and then started up again, and then soon again, stopped dead still. I had been enjoying a great conversation with an older gentleman whom caught my attention by initiating a conversation that didn’t include the usual 3 questions. His first question was, “So tell me, why it is that so many marriages in America end in divorce and are unhappy?” He got my attention with that question. I had been investigating myself a bit about the state of the Indian marriage, curious about how the cultural and widely pervasive standard of arranged marriage, as opposed to a “love “ marriage ( as they call it), impacted the Indian family and partnership. So, I was happy to speak with this man, and we had a great conversational chemistry. It would be no time at all, even with delays, that we would arrive in Thrissur, the time flying by wrapped up in good conversation. Except that that second time the train stopped, well it still hadn’t started again. Someone came by and announced that the word was that it would be 1 1/12 hours of stand still before resuming. Many people at this point got off of the train and began socializing and milling about. My friend and I were so immersed in our dialog it barely seemed to matter. I was as interested in picking his brain about the state of the Indian marriage as he was mine about the American failure in marriage. One thing that my research had found was that most all Indian males are perfectly happy with the whole arranged marriage deal. Or at least they agree that this is the best way to get married; that the parents know better than they do, and that they trust their parents to make a good choice. The parents select the potential wife, get the son’s approval, and then often hire an astrologer to check out if there is astrological compatibility. This is THE way most all marriages in India occur. “So it seems to me that while yes, many American marriages end in divorce, I’m not so sure that’s worse than an unhappy marriage staying together. I mean, tell me the truth, would you agree that the vast majority of Indian marriages are unhappy?” He agreed that yes this was true, but said at least they stay together and make it work… that the family takes priority and all. I certainly couldn’t argue with him on that point. The Indian family does seem to have something quite special going for it. They all stay together and have a huge extended family that includes brother and sister in laws, their children, their parent and grand parents and on and on. My main issue was, what does that teach to the children, as far as how love looks and feels? If the parents stay together but they don’t love each other, then no doubt the child will pick up on this and that then becomes the child’s model for how love is, and how love feels. It’s really quite interesting the cultural differences. Overall, I would say that Indians follow blindly, are usually part the herd, and do what everyone else is doing. There is huge cultural and familial pressure to conform, and very few even begin to question this. This is a country that appears to have no rebellion. I didn’t see any rebellious youths wearing black and spiking their hair. I never got any sense of anti-establishment. This is a culture that appears to have no counter-culture. How they benefit is there appears to be predictability and a dependability that’s built into the culture. The result seems to be that most are not so obsessed with finding happiness or living life in an ultimate way, but rather they are content with living a life that fits into the mold really well. If it fits into the mold really well, and one is able to fulfill his/her responsibilities, then there is nothing to question…this is success and that’s good enough. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it. Americans on the other hand, have a lot more freedom and “wiggle room”. This can result in an autonomous and creative life, but also can result in a preoccupation with how it all is going to work out, whether to stay with this career or partner, or that career or that partner. There can be an immense amount of uncertainty in this culture that the Indian culture seems to have greatly reduced (for better or worse). Here as well, we don’t have the same benefit of our families working together as one big financial organization either. Compared to Indian culture, we’re all on our own. As a result we’re constantly trying to make it all better/ it’s never good enough. There needs to be more money, more power, greater freedom, a better partner/marriage. Overall, there appears to be more evidence of dissatisfaction in America than there appears to be in India. Maybe it’s just that in America its ok for dissatisfaction to be visible where as in India it’s not. Or maybe it’s that in Indian, dissatisfaction is there but it usually doesn’t result in any change; the best example being the Indian marriage and the low rate of divorce. That basically sums up the majority of the content of my friend-on-the-stalled-train’s conversation with me. Eventually, my friend and I decided to go outside as well and make use of some of that hash of mine from Udaipur. I must say we did get quite smashed. It was fun, and it was a muggy hot night, without even a breeze, stranded in the middle of nowhere, waiting….waiting…… After an hour or so, more news circulated. Apparently a train had literally derailed and it would be more time before we got moving again. And I apparently was only about 30 KM from my destination. Thing is, it was too late for any rickshaws to be out, so I was stuck there. Eventually I made it back inside, my friend having gone to sleep. A few males in an adjacent compartment initiated conversation. I noticed that a couple of guys were sleeping together on a bottom bunk (despite plenty of spare bunks nearby), openly spooning with each other. I asked if they were partners and one of the men didn’t like that question at all, and another later waved to me through the window when I was walking outside, acknowledging in private with me that he was fine with men being together. Anyway, eventually I crashed for a couple of hours before being woken up by a moving train. We had been stuck there for almost 7 hours!!! I finally arrived shortly there after in Thrissur, checking into my hotel room at 5:30 AM. I was glad to be there however as soon the city would be swamped with festival; attendees. I had booked my room 3 weeks earlier in anticipation. I slept for about 3 hours, but woke up too early and decided to head out around the town to try to get a sense of the schedule and where the action would be on festival day. And as expected, I had not received a call from the boys from the train station in Ernaculum. Problem was there was no printed schedule and no map of the site. I knew that I would be wading through a sea of 100, 000 Indians and really wanted to be “in the know” if at all possible. So, went to the Tourist Information Center and they didn’t have any printed schedule either. The guys there were really helpful and friendly however, one of them offering to make a few calls to find out info, and then offering to write it out for me. It wound up that as things transpired there at the Tourist Office, a call was made to a tour guide whom had a group of about a dozen foreigners together. They were all going to do an organized tour of the Pooram Fest and I was invited by the guide to join them. This would include busing through the city, delivery to specific events and special guest seating at the main events. Hmmm…. The special seating sounded perhaps handy I thought. And well, maybe this would be the best way to be in the right place at the right time, I as yet was empty handed regarding scheduling info. So, I agreed to meet the tour guide at the hotel , which happened to be very close to mine, at 4:30 pm to get details and meet the “distinguished guests”. I had mentioned that I was unclear as to whether there would be a good match with myself and the guests for the festival tour. Would they be young and hip and ready to rock? Or would they be over air conditioned, go to bed early types that would slow me down too much. Winds up that, after meeting the guide who was very very nice to me, that there in the lobby I pretty much had the bunch summed up. They where mostly older than me, or close to my age, but were really doing the whole India thing in a sheltered way. This I had no interest in whatsoever. But I had made a good connection with the guide so I decided to get on their tour bus and go to an elephant umbrella showing and preview, my intention really to hook up with these special seating accommodations. Yes, this group was way, way slow and kicked back. We made our way through the city in a big over ACed tour bus, and I felt uncomfortable already. But I had a good hunch I would score the passes soon , and get a pretty good idea of a schedule. I let the guide know that I wouldn’t be doing the tour with them ,a dn that what I really wanted was an immersive experience at the festival, to be swimming right in the midst of a huge crowd of Indians. The guide and staff seemed a bit bewildered by my enthusiasm and also delighted. They agreed to help me out and get me passes, agreeing that the tour group and I were not on the same page. To make a long story short, I hung around and hung around, waiting for the passes to show up. I wound up hanging out with a couple tourist office guys while they made some calls to get the extra ticket for me. Finally they got the ticket, plus an extra one that they, after all they had done, wanted me to buy and give to someone I might meet or whatever. I wasn’t going to say no, even though I really only needed one ticket. They had been so accommodating I was willing to spend for the extra, thinking that with my tendency to “get lucky” that the ticket might well come in handy. I left with guest passes for two, and a hand typed schedule of where to be and when. A bit tired from the day’s endeavors, I headed back to the Casino Hotel to eat dinner ala room service and chill out, planning on going to sleep sooner rather than later. But, well, not to hang onto plans too tightly. As I headed up the flight of stair to my room, who would have guessed that the boy from the train station, Anoop, would be heading down the stairs having just been knocking on my door! Wow!!! Was that a surprise! Anoop had in fact shown up at 5PM ( it was now 9PM) as he had suggested and had been hanging around for several hours to meet me. He was not in the least bit perturbed at his having waited. I did remind him of my asking him to call to confirm, or else I would assume that the plans were off. He said he didn’t have the Casinos #. Anyway, there we were, heading straight up the stairs for my room. To Be Continued……… Also, stay tuned for the final e-journal entry of Dan’s travel adventure in India. It will include his stint as a beach bum in Kovalum, his stay in Munnar; hanging out in the tea fields with the tea pickers, and oh yeah, what about that darn Nadi-Astrology reading??? Patience, patience, we’re getting there! If you recall ( and have been reading carefully), all of this writing really is taking place from my reflections while traveling on a train to Vaitheswarencoil to get my reading from A Sivasamy. Then I may try to write about my travels that are presently transpiring here in Thailand. Namaste, Dan :) 5/30/05



6/ 6 /05 ELEPHANTS AND WAVESOK. I'm getting into the home stretch regarding finishing up on my e-journal for India. There really is quite a bit to write about, but man alive, this thing is turning into a book! It's a good excuse to mellow out and hang in Chaing Mai for a longer than the expected time. Frankly, I've needed some down time. It's been my attempt here to live as I would if I was home on a long weekend. Moving s l o w l y. I think I'm gaining back some zeal for the road and losing a bit of the high level caffeine addiction. Its easier here in Thailand. There are 711s everywhere and they all carry cold green tea and better, my favorite; Genmaicha (green tea with toasted brown rice). So, yes I'm still hooked, albeit at a lower level than my chai stoked and soaked Indian days of travel. I think part of this down time has been to recover from my love affair with India. It's almost as if I've been a bit heart broken, or homesick for India or something. It's not necessarily a rational thing. I mean there were plenty of opportunities to complain about, or gripe about various details regarding travels in India. It's just that I somehow managed to either side step most of them, or just chose not to pay much attention to the negative side of things. So, here I am in Chaing Mai just about ready to leave town and head into the Hilltribe (opium growing/consuming) regions. Problem is the longer I've been here the more it's raining and raining. So, at this point, I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do. My plan was to rent a motorcycle and do the Mae Hon Song loop, about 500 km total. This would have brought me back to Chaing Mai in about a week where I planned to then travel on motorbike due North to cross the border and renew my 1 month visa and then tour the "Golden Triangle"- the northern most reaches of Thailand where the border meets Burma and Laos. But with all of this rain, I've had to revise this last couple of sentences here in my journal to read that instead, due to all of the rain I took a mini van this morning to a small mountain town called Pai. Here I rented a motor bike to get around. Many, many around here travel by motor bike and most all of the bikes are like souped up scooters in that most are automatic transmission. This make it very easy to ride, me included. Don't worry Mom. I've already been cruising around Chaing Mai for the better part of a week, so my skill as a rider is developing quite well. There are many little excursions to do into the hill country, visiting remote villages, caves, waterfalls etc. lending itself to the portability of the motorbike. So, now instead of doing the whole loop I will just rent in a more localized fashion. Let's see, I recovered from a mild cold and worked on getting the package Matthew sent me that is now caught in Bangkok in customs freed up and delivered to Fed X. I can then pick it up or have it delivered where ever I chose once it's cleared, hopefully this week. Additionally, I have just a few days remaining to reschedule my return flight to the USA out of Bombay. I am required to book a new date for my return flight. Tricky for me as I'm unsure when I'll return. ..Is it really going to keep raining like the last few days or is this just a particularly wet week? Additionally, additional I need to head over some border somewhere before the 14th to renew my Thai visa. Many are mentioning Laos as being great for travel. So perhaps I will do some of that there. I'll apply for a visa here tomorrow and will have in 3 days, perhaps one for Cambodia as well. So, that's the present day scene in Dan's traveling world. So, continuing on with the India cliff hanger. Lets see, where was I. Oh yes! Anoop and I had just met in Thrissur on the stairs of my hotel, he having been waiting for me for several hours. As we left our last episode (lol) Dan and Anoop were climbing the stairs to head to Dan's hotel room. Actually, it was so great that Anoop made the move after meeting me, basically a total stranger, in the train station in Ernaculum, and then came to Thrissur to join me for the Pooram Festival and other fun. His mood was just great! He had arrived hours earlier but did not complain in the least. We entered my room and chilled out. I ordered a bunch of food from room service. I had just arrived back myself after spending the better part of the day and evening networking my way into a tour group in order to score priority guest passes for the festival, so I was hungry, (as was Anoop). Additionally, I was quite sleep deprived having spent the whole night prior waiting on a train that was stuck due to another train derailing ahead of us. But at this point I certainly could put my lack of sleep on the back burner.:) Anoop and I had a great vibe together from the moment we met, so it really was no issue hanging out in my room together and spending 2 1/2 days together in Thrissur. That spare ticket that I was pressured into buying came in very handy as now Anoop was as styled as I was with a pass. So, we ate dinner and thoroughly enjoyed our time together, and managed to crash at a too late but not entirely too late hour in order to get up early the next morning (and leave enough time to, you know, get ready:). We got down to the festival grounds at about 11:00 AM and frankly, it was kinda mellow. Yes there were people there and all, but the scene was far from rocking. Non the less, Anoop and I enjoyed moving around the sight, watching many mini Poorams. A Pooram is basically a music jam that is done in honor of the various temples's elephants. The elephants were done up in decorative head gear and such and there were elephant men sitting on top of them with large parasols and ornate fans which they raised and lowered in concert with the musicians. Anoop was busy trying to flirt with various tourist women, and I was very busy feasting my eyes, and catching the attention of dozens of ripped, bare chested, Dohdi wearing elephant boys on top of their elephants. I pretty much had a constant stream of flirting and attention from many of them, it was a total blast. They were waving to me, smiling, locking eyes with me, posing for pictures etc. Other Indains around me seemed a bit amazed by the amount of interaction I was getting with the performers. I didn't get a chance to meet any of them in person unfortunately. The morning breezed by, and Anoop and I ate an early lunch in order to make it to the first main event, that being the symphony. Now this really wasn't a symphony as we know it. Anyway, it took us quite a while to find the location of the symphony and once there it was a quite small outdoor area that was jam packed with Indian man. Anoop and I looked around and around but we were not able to locate the special seating area which our guest passes allowed us to reside in for the event. And the event was running late by about an hour. Imagine that. Finally, I recognized the tour group that I had met (but decided not to join for the festival) approaching and moving through the crowd to a spot next to the media section, front and center. "Follow me Anoop. We're going where ever they are going" I said. We inched our way through the absolutely sardine packed crowd, the Indians cooperating quite nicely, albeit with a bit of a curious look on their faces as to just exactly where we thought we were going. But I knew where I was going, and that was front and center!!! Finally we made it; the tour group and guides remembering me and giving me a welcoming smile. I made it clear that the dark skinned Indian boy Anoop was with me and we took our position, then continuing to wait way beyond a reasonable time. Finally, there was a stir in the crowd, and then an eruption as a fleet of about a dozen decked out elephants and their riders approached the symphony's border. And the musicians entered. And the music began. There was about 100 or so members with a combination of hand drums, hand cymbals, and a variety of simple traditional horns and trumpet like instruments. In complete synchronization the jam began. It was an unusual form of music I must say. It seemed to have a cyclical pattern that kept repeating and repeating over and over and over again. And it seemed to have subtle changes in the cycle as well. All of the Indians seemed to be waving their hands in the air in time to the music, and the jam would come around full circle, building and building , and the Indian's arms would be waving and waving, bodies undulating in time until finally the tempo would burst upwards and the crowd would go into a frenzy!!! This happened over and over again for a none stop hour. The clouds had opened up into a rain storm , but we were under an awning and open pavilion of sorts. None the less , the jam continued relentlessly, and all of the Indians remained. But after an hour, I guess the tour group had had enough, so they all waded through the crowd, departing early. And frankly, in some ways I had had enough too! Yes it was really great. But it just kept going around and around, never stopping, and an hour of this had already gone by. Well, I wasn't ready to call it quits yet. I mean, clearly this was the place to be. We were standing right next to rows of TV cameras and photographers. So, I centered inside of myself and started to do some gentle pranayam. My mind became still, my eyes dropping back into their sockets, opening. This stillness led to going deeper into the music. I started to recite the cycles in my ear and then moved towards clapping with the drums, or matching the cymbal work with my hands, discovering that there was something really quite tricky about these musical cycles. By and large in 4/4 time , but occasionally it would drop into an odd time for a bar or two followed by a long blasting of mallet drums as if counting out a long countdown. 30 some odd drummers, all in time, striking their drum heads in perfect unison. I sarted to count the time signature, and count the "Count down" drum beat. I began to get in the groove and actually learn the piece, which was not easy. Indians started noticing the last remaining tourist ( me) learning the piece. The musicians began to notice the tourist ( me) . The camera men started to notice me. And the energy picked up. It was totally amazing. All of a sudden I got it. And the crowd was with me, the drummers checking me out, the horn players from across the hall watching me and smiling and the TV cameras turn my way.. Actually, I was starting to get it more accurately then many of the Indians surrounding us. I did my best to ignore the cameras, not an easy task considering one of them was literally right next to, and pointing straight at me. I asked later, apparently it was a live simulcast. I imagine that the footage of the "sipe" = foreigner may well have delighted the TV crowd cause for sure, I was getting so much attention from the entire scene it was almost overwhelming. The Indians just loved it that I was the only tourist to stick around and then actually learn and participate. One of the drummers and I had made a musical friendship from afar as he was helping to guide me through the challenging sections with his eyes and gestures. We met briefly later and exchanged such a beautiful warm greeting and smile with each other. Anyway, it was so fun to guess the sections and wave my arms in the air along with the hordes of other Indians as the cycle came around again and again for yet another climax, all of us in a frenzy, before starting the cycle all over again. This went on for a solid 2 hours, none stop. By the time it was over WOW! what a feeling! Just incredible for me to be so welcomed and to get so inside the tradition and the music. Anoop and I left after the symphony was over, and headed straight over to the next main event, the grand finally. The Final Pooram; where all of the temples and their elephants would do a huge procession through a crowd of 100, 000 Indians, exchanging umbrellas as an act of friendship. By the time Anoop and I got there the crowd was already there en mass. It was just incredible. A beautiful sea of dark skinned Indians. I absolutely loved it!!! Anoop and I gradually made our way through the crowd towards our priority seating position on an elevated bandstand, with a crowd of other white people (unfortunately). The center was opened up and barricaded by the police for the event, but with our passes we were able to walk right by the police and head up towards a row a elephants at the top of the event area. But man I had to pee and Anoop had to run to the train station to meet his friend who was supposed to arrive at that time. So, we agreed to meet at the temple nearby at 7:00PM and parted way. I b-lined it to the streets and headed for the nearest place to gain a very quick refreshment and some chai as well as pee. I guzzled a couple of boxed mango juices and a couple of hot chai, grabbed a water and headed straight back to the event. I got my way back to in front of the bandstand where my seating was, packed amidst Indians. The crowd was surging left and right, forward and back, and just as I turned around and was heading to the bandstand was when an acquaintance clicked a picture of me (which I sent out earlier) at the exact moment that I looked towards the seating area and saw an unknown camera pointing towards me. I met him later, he and his girlfriend were traveling thoughout India as well and were soon to return home. Really great to exchange emails and better still that he was so nice to forward the picture. Anyway, I climbed up some rickety stairs, up to the band stand, greeted by the tour guides and many other foreigners. Sweating buckets, I pulled off my tank top and all of a sudden from behind me there was an eruption of aplause and cheers. I turned around to find that about 25 yards back there was an old pickup truck parked and filled to the brim with Indian men trying to get enough height to see a little. Apparently they just loved me removing my shirt...I couldn't believe it. It's not like I was trying to catch anyone's attention! And they were 25 yards away from the band stand where I had arrived. So, turning around I waved and we all laughed at their checking me out...so I pointed my butt towards them and gave myself a pat there. That got a huge hoot out of them, all of us bursting out laughing. So I signaled to them that I wanted to take a picture, and whipping out my Pentax Optio S5 I aimed and clicked an awesome picture. I still go back and look at that picture in amazement. Just about evey man crowded on that pickup was looking straight at the camera with a huge smile! Such a great memory (and picture!) Turning around, I had prime view of an absolutely huge crowd. To my right a line of elephants about to head down the hill from where they stood at the base of a temple. Elephant riders with traditional umbrellas and fans making their way through the crowd. The crowd was going crazy, the energy was so high. I turned to my right and caught the eye of an Indian whom pointed to the sky. I couldn't quite understand what he was trying to tell me, but soon I would know.....a large drop of water landed on my arm within a few minutes, and another, and another. and man the sky just opened up like you wouldn't believe, a huge thunderstorm unleashed its might fully. We all were hoping that it would be short, but it just kept dumping harder and harder. Soon it was coming down like buckets. I was totally drenched and fighting for my camera's life. I huddled under someone else’s umbrella as we tried to wait it out. I was getting cold, the wind was whirling, the skies were thundering, bolts of lightning flying. I was able to find some comfort in doing some hip circles that I had learned a few years earlier in Ti Chi class. This definitely helped, sending spiraling energy in figure-eights up my spine. Regardless, the crowd began to flee and a huge movement of humanity succumbed to mother nature. The event was cut short right before the climax...such a bummer. Thousands of us completely drenched to the bone headed for cover or home. The streets had become rivers, trees had tumbled over, and lightening was flying through the air. It wasn't a pretty combination, not at all. I sloshed my way through the street; my camera literally stuffed down my pants was my only hope at saving it (which I did thankfully). I wound up underneath a roof and entryway to a local emergency hospital, along with a crowd of others, waiting, hoping the rain would subside, which it did finally after another 30 minutes or so. All I can say is thank god for those hip circles. I was able to keep my body temperature up while standing on a ledge just barely underneath the roof, a spot I had just barely managed to procure. Everyone around me was acknowledging me and wanting to know how I liked the festival. I chatted a bit but was mostly keeping to myself trying to stay warm. I really only had a vague idea of how to get back to the Casino Hotel. A couple of college students standing on the ledge next to me volunteered to go out of their way, they themselves cold and wet, to help deliver me to my hotel. All of the rickshaws were outside of the center and no doubt, fully in use. Problem was I was supposed to meet Anoop at the Temple at 7:00PM but I just couldn't do it. It was only 6:30PM, it was dark and I was unsure where the temple even was at this point, and unclear as to whether I would even find Anoop there if I had tried. And I was getting colder and colder. So, my two volunteers and I headed across town in the now drizzling aftermath and soon I was back at the Hotel. Anoop had indeed made it to the temple and waited there for me. It took him a while to make it back to my hotel room, for which I was thankful. It had been over an hour since I returned and I was beginning to think that perhaps he and his friend took off and that we might not see each other again. When he returned we ate room service and hung out. I played him some Double Dose from my I Pod, he became a fan:) What a great guy Anoop was and is. Just a really nice disposition, great sense of humor and adventure, and kind of youthfully funky. And so darn cute and sexy! We had a blast together! That night there were suppose to be fireworks that began at 2:00AM in the morning and were to have gone until close to dawn, but obviously they were rained out. Such a bummer. I can only imagine what it would have been like hanging out on the streets for hours with the masses waiting for the early morning fireworks had it not rained. It wound up that the next morning we found out that the fireworks were rescheduled for that evening at 7:00PM. So, that was cool. It gave Anoop and I more time to bum around and hang out. We went to a shopping mall and eat some food and bummed around on the net a bit. Went back to another hotel were we had a lead regarding scoring some great roof top seats for the fireworks. Score, only rs 100 each. That was just fine. The fire works were only ok actually. There were gaps between the displays and the actual fireworks were not what we're used to here in the good old U.S.A. Yup, it's true, we are lucky here in America. We get the best of everything. Even our Indian food is better than most of what I ate in India (not that I didn't have good food). Being in Thailand now as I type, I can say that same regarding the Thai food I'm eating here compared to what I'm used to eating in the U.S.A.. The standard in the U.S. is very high...we're lucky.. and we're fortunate to be able to afford a better quality. But, one thing I can say about the fire works is there was one section that was absolutely over the top. Frankly, dangerously so. It was at the beginning of the displays and consisted of a huge barrage of firecrackers at ground level going off en mass, along with LARGE amounts of dynamite being launched at a low level into the air and creating unbearably loud shockwaves and sonic booms. The barrage was coming down a long line, heading our way, and at first it was cool, just very, very loud. As it approached, the rapidness of the explosions increased and got louder. I whipped out my camera and put it on movie to capture a bit on video, but soon I had to stop and cover my ears, it was just an unbelievable assault. It was the type of display that would only come in a third world country where there aren't as many legalities and such. Frankly, anyone not firmly covering their ears was sure to suffer permanent hearing damage. Earlier at dinner Anoop and I were eating in a restaurant right by the fireworks grounds and the staff was busy taking down plates from the tables and pictures off of the walls, moving things away from the window. I was informed that the windows could get blown out. Well, I didn't believe it then, but now, let me tell you, I believe it. That was just fucking amazing. The rest of the fireworks were boring. Anoop and I enjoyed another evening together and crashed early as I had a train booked for Kovalum at an early hour. We got up and gobbled down a complimentary breakfast at the hotel. I made it to the station with little time to spare. I pulled out my camera and clicked a really cute video clip of Anoop saying good bye to me... very sweet. The night before, that morning and at the station he kept saying "You should never forget me Dan, I will never forget you." I gotta say. I love that boy. I will never forget him:) I hopped on the train sad to depart. I felt compelled to continue my journey after 3 days in Thrissur, and Anoop had some school related things he had to attend (he was a biology student). I was thankful to have a few video clips to enjoy repeatedly:). It took me a couple of days to adjust to life without my favorite man Anoop and the intensity of the Pooram Festival, but I gotta say Anoop stole the show. I miss him a lot. We continue to keep in contact and who knows, perhaps our paths will meet again when I return to India as part of my return to the U.S.. I was fortunate to have great entertainment in Kovalum! Mother Nature put on a great show for me and I made full use of it. The waves were just great for body surfing. I was so happy. It had been since my late childhood days that I had such fun waves to ride at the New Jersey Shore. But these waves were bigger here in Kovalum and the ocean was tepid. Pretty much the next eight days consisted of waking up, moving slowly, pigging out on a mammoth breakfast of Mangos, Papayas, Bananas and Pineapple and watching the local fisherman employ the ancient art of fishing with large nets cast out over a large area and then slowly hauling the net to shore in hopes for a good catch. I would wake up in my beach front hotel room and hear the men chanting an old fisherman’s song as they hauled in the lines, 30 or 40 of them. I’d step out the front door and walk a few feet to watch their morning ritual. It was a very enjoyable part of my morning routine. Then, after too much chai, I would get in a late morning session if the waves were good. Then I’d eat lunch and ride the waves in the afternoon, sometimes for 3 hours straight if the waves were really breaking well. Indians were lining up on the shore watching me catch and ride a wave for sometimes 25 or 30 yards? I would come into the shallows from time to time and try to teach a few of them how to ride. It was fun. They had mixed success not being good swimmers by and large. One day was particularly great. The waves were bigger and smoother, it was just awesome. Riding a wave is a pretty cosmic thing, kind of a metaphor for our spiritual relationship with the Supreme Consciousness. It’s a co created event, but ultimately the wave kind of chooses me. I need to watch for a good one coming and then swim into position, yes. But in the end, I need to feel the wave tactilely pull me outwards and towards it as it swells. My body gets pulled into the wave and I respond with a quick thrust in a shoreward direction to get up to speed. And voila, enjoy the ride. I have a distinct memory of my very best ride, man it was RAD. The wave was really too big, but it crested just right and I was in a perfect position. And the wave acknowledged my readiness and pulled me into it. There was a woman in the water nearby watching me. And man it was just an incredible ride. My body pitched down a steep and long slope at high speed. Wow! OK, enough of that. I guess we can see why I’6/ 6 /05 OK. I'm getting into the home stretch regarding finishing up on my e-journal for India. There really is quite a bit to write about, but man alive, this thing is turning into a book! It's a good excuse to mellow out and hang in Chaing Mai for a longer than the expected time. Frankly, I've needed some down time. It's been my attempt here to live as I would if I was home on a long weekend. Moving s l o w l y. I think I'm gaining back some zeal for the road and losing a bit of the high level caffeine addiction. Its easier here in Thailand. There are 711s everywhere and they all carry cold green tea and better, my favorite; Genmaicha (green tea with toasted brown rice). So, yes I'm still hooked, albeit at a lower level than my chai stoked and soaked Indian days of travel. I think part of this down time has been to recover from my love affair with India. It's almost as if I've been a bit heart broken, or homesick for India or something. It's not necessarily a rational thing. I mean there were plenty of opportunities to complain about, or gripe about various details regarding travels in India. It's just that I somehow managed to either side step most of them, or just chose not to pay much attention to the negative side of things. So, here I am in Chaing Mai just about ready to leave town and head into the Hilltribe (opium growing/consuming) regions. Problem is the longer I've been here the more it's raining and raining. So, at this point, I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do. My plan was to rent a motorcycle and do the Mae Hon Song loop, about 500 km total. This would have brought me back to Chaing Mai in about a week where I planned to then travel on motorbike due North to cross the border and renew my 1 month visa and then tour the "Golden Triangle"- the northern most reaches of Thailand where the border meets Burma and Laos. But with all of this rain, I've had to revise this last couple of sentences here in my journal to read that instead, due to all of the rain I took a mini van this morning to a small mountain town called Pai. Here I rented a motor bike to get around. Many, many around here travel by motor bike and most all of the bikes are like souped up scooters in that most are automatic transmission. This make it very easy to ride, me included. Don't worry Mom. I've already been cruising around Chaing Mai for the better part of a week, so my skill as a rider is developing quite well. There are many little excursions to do into the hill country, visiting remote villages, caves, waterfalls etc. lending itself to the portability of the motorbike. So, now instead of doing the whole loop I will just rent in a more localized fashion. Let's see, I recovered from a mild cold and worked on getting the package Matthew sent me that is now caught in Bangkok in customs freed up and delivered to Fed X. I can then pick it up or have it delivered where ever I chose once it's cleared, hopefully this week. Additionally, I have just a few days remaining to reschedule my return flight to the USA out of Bombay. I am required to book a new date for my return flight. Tricky for me as I'm unsure when I'll return. ..Is it really going to keep raining like the last few days or is this just a particularly wet week? Additionally, additional I need to head over some border somewhere before the 14th to renew my Thai visa. Many are mentioning Laos as being great for travel. So perhaps I will do some of that there. I'll apply for a visa here tomorrow and will have in 3 days, perhaps one for Cambodia as well. So, that's the present day scene in Dan's traveling world. So, continuing on with the India cliff hanger. Lets see, where was I. Oh yes! Anoop and I had just met in Thrissur on the stairs of my hotel, he having been waiting for me for several hours. As we left our last episode (lol) Dan and Anoop were climbing the stairs to head to Dan's hotel room. Actually, it was so great that Anoop made the move after meeting me, basically a total stranger, in the train station in Ernaculum, and then came to Thrissur to join me for the Pooram Festival and other fun. His mood was just great! He had arrived hours earlier but did not complain in the least. We entered my room and chilled out. I ordered a bunch of food from room service. I had just arrived back myself after spending the better part of the day and evening networking my way into a tour group in order to score priority guest passes for the festival, so I was hungry, (as was Anoop). Additionally, I was quite sleep deprived having spent the whole night prior waiting on a train that was stuck due to another train derailing ahead of us. But at this point I certainly could put my lack of sleep on the back burner.:) Anoop and I had a great vibe together from the moment we met, so it really was no issue hanging out in my room together and spending 2 1/2 days together in Thrissur. That spare ticket that I was pressured into buying came in very handy as now Anoop was as styled as I was with a pass. So, we ate dinner and thoroughly enjoyed our time together, and managed to crash at a too late but not entirely too late hour in order to get up early the next morning (and leave enough time to, you know, get ready:). We got down to the festival grounds at about 11:00 AM and frankly, it was kinda mellow. Yes there were people there and all, but the scene was far from rocking. Non the less, Anoop and I enjoyed moving around the sight, watching many mini Poorams. A Pooram is basically a music jam that is done in honor of the various temples's elephants. The elephants were done up in decorative head gear and such and there were elephant men sitting on top of them with large parasols and ornate fans which they raised and lowered in concert with the musicians. Anoop was busy trying to flirt with various tourist women, and I was very busy feasting my eyes, and catching the attention of dozens of ripped, bare chested, Dohdi wearing elephant boys on top of their elephants. I pretty much had a constant stream of flirting and attention from many of them, it was a total blast. They were waving to me, smiling, locking eyes with me, posing for pictures etc. Other Indains around me seemed a bit amazed by the amount of interaction I was getting with the performers. I didn't get a chance to meet any of them in person unfortunately. The morning breezed by, and Anoop and I ate an early lunch in order to make it to the first main event, that being the symphony. Now this really wasn't a symphony as we know it. Anyway, it took us quite a while to find the location of the symphony and once there it was a quite small outdoor area that was jam packed with Indian man. Anoop and I looked around and around but we were not able to locate the special seating area which our guest passes allowed us to reside in for the event. And the event was running late by about an hour. Imagine that. Finally, I recognized the tour group that I had met (but decided not to join for the festival) approaching and moving through the crowd to a spot next to the media section, front and center. "Follow me Anoop. We're going where ever they are going" I said. We inched our way through the absolutely sardine packed crowd, the Indians cooperating quite nicely, albeit with a bit of a curious look on their faces as to just exactly where we thought we were going. But I knew where I was going, and that was front and center!!! Finally we made it; the tour group and guides remembering me and giving me a welcoming smile. I made it clear that the dark skinned Indian boy Anoop was with me and we took our position, then continuing to wait way beyond a reasonable time. Finally, there was a stir in the crowd, and then an eruption as a fleet of about a dozen decked out elephants and their riders approached the symphony's border. And the musicians entered. And the music began. There was about 100 or so members with a combination of hand drums, hand cymbals, and a variety of simple traditional horns and trumpet like instruments. In complete synchronization the jam began. It was an unusual form of music I must say. It seemed to have a cyclical pattern that kept repeating and repeating over and over and over again. And it seemed to have subtle changes in the cycle as well. All of the Indians seemed to be waving their hands in the air in time to the music, and the jam would come around full circle, building and building , and the Indian's arms would be waving and waving, bodies undulating in time until finally the tempo would burst upwards and the crowd would go into a frenzy!!! This happened over and over again for a none stop hour. The clouds had opened up into a rain storm , but we were under an awning and open pavilion of sorts. None the less , the jam continued relentlessly, and all of the Indians remained. But after an hour, I guess the tour group had had enough, so they all waded through the crowd, departing early. And frankly, in some ways I had had enough too! Yes it was really great. But it just kept going around and around, never stopping, and an hour of this had already gone by. Well, I wasn't ready to call it quits yet. I mean, clearly this was the place to be. We were standing right next to rows of TV cameras and photographers. So, I centered inside of myself and started to do some gentle pranayam. My mind became still, my eyes dropping back into their sockets, opening. This stillness led to going deeper into the music. I started to recite the cycles in my ear and then moved towards clapping with the drums, or matching the cymbal work with my hands, discovering that there was something really quite tricky about these musical cycles. By and large in 4/4 time , but occasionally it would drop into an odd time for a bar or two followed by a long blasting of mallet drums as if counting out a long countdown. 30 some odd drummers, all in time, striking their drum heads in perfect unison. I sarted to count the time signature, and count the "Count down" drum beat. I began to get in the groove and actually learn the piece, which was not easy. Indians started noticing the last remaining tourist ( me) learning the piece. The musicians began to notice the tourist ( me) . The camera men started to notice me. And the energy picked up. It was totally amazing. All of a sudden I got it. And the crowd was with me, the drummers checking me out, the horn players from across the hall watching me and smiling and the TV cameras turn my way.. Actually, I was starting to get it more accurately then many of the Indians surrounding us. I did my best to ignore the cameras, not an easy task considering one of them was literally right next to, and pointing straight at me. I asked later, apparently it was a live simulcast. I imagine that the footage of the "sipe" = foreigner may well have delighted the TV crowd cause for sure, I was getting so much attention from the entire scene it was almost overwhelming. The Indians just loved it that I was the only tourist to stick around and then actually learn and participate. One of the drummers and I had made a musical friendship from afar as he was helping to guide me through the challenging sections with his eyes and gestures. We met briefly later and exchanged such a beautiful warm greeting and smile with each other. Anyway, it was so fun to guess the sections and wave my arms in the air along with the hordes of other Indians as the cycle came around again and again for yet another climax, all of us in a frenzy, before starting the cycle all over again. This went on for a solid 2 hours, none stop. By the time it was over WOW! what a feeling! Just incredible for me to be so welcomed and to get so inside the tradition and the music. Anoop and I left after the symphony was over, and headed straight over to the next main event, the grand finally. The Final Pooram; where all of the temples and their elephants would do a huge procession through a crowd of 100, 000 Indians, exchanging umbrellas as an act of friendship. By the time Anoop and I got there the crowd was already there en mass. It was just incredible. A beautiful sea of dark skinned Indians. I absolutely loved it!!! Anoop and I gradually made our way through the crowd towards our priority seating position on an elevated bandstand, with a crowd of other white people (unfortunately). The center was opened up and barricaded by the police for the event, but with our passes we were able to walk right by the police and head up towards a row a elephants at the top of the event area. But man I had to pee and Anoop had to run to the train station to meet his friend who was supposed to arrive at that time. So, we agreed to meet at the temple nearby at 7:00PM and parted way. I b-lined it to the streets and headed for the nearest place to gain a very quick refreshment and some chai as well as pee. I guzzled a couple of boxed mango juices and a couple of hot chai, grabbed a water and headed straight back to the event. I got my way back to in front of the bandstand where my seating was, packed amidst Indians. The crowd was surging left and right, forward and back, and just as I turned around and was heading to the bandstand was when an acquaintance clicked a picture of me (which I sent out earlier) at the exact moment that I looked towards the seating area and saw an unknown camera pointing towards me. I met him later, he and his girlfriend were traveling thoughout India as well and were soon to return home. Really great to exchange emails and better still that he was so nice to forward the picture. Anyway, I climbed up some rickety stairs, up to the band stand, greeted by the tour guides and many other foreigners. Sweating buckets, I pulled off my tank top and all of a sudden from behind me there was an eruption of aplause and cheers. I turned around to find that about 25 yards back there was an old pickup truck parked and filled to the brim with Indian men trying to get enough height to see a little. Apparently they just loved me removing my shirt...I couldn't believe it. It's not like I was trying to catch anyone's attention! And they were 25 yards away from the band stand where I had arrived. So, turning around I waved and we all laughed at their checking me out...so I pointed my butt towards them and gave myself a pat there. That got a huge hoot out of them, all of us bursting out laughing. So I signaled to them that I wanted to take a picture, and whipping out my Pentax Optio S5 I aimed and clicked an awesome picture. I still go back and look at that picture in amazement. Just about evey man crowded on that pickup was looking straight at the camera with a huge smile! Such a great memory (and picture!) Turning around, I had prime view of an absolutely huge crowd. To my right a line of elephants about to head down the hill from where they stood at the base of a temple. Elephant riders with traditional umbrellas and fans making their way through the crowd. The crowd was going crazy, the energy was so high. I turned to my right and caught the eye of an Indian whom pointed to the sky. I couldn't quite understand what he was trying to tell me, but soon I would know.....a large drop of water landed on my arm within a few minutes, and another, and another. and man the sky just opened up like you wouldn't believe, a huge thunderstorm unleashed its might fully. We all were hoping that it would be short, but it just kept dumping harder and harder. Soon it was coming down like buckets. I was totally drenched and fighting for my camera's life. I huddled under someone else’s umbrella as we tried to wait it out. I was getting cold, the wind was whirling, the skies were thundering, bolts of lightning flying. I was able to find some comfort in doing some hip circles that I had learned a few years earlier in Ti Chi class. This definitely helped, sending spiraling energy in figure-eights up my spine. Regardless, the crowd began to flee and a huge movement of humanity succumbed to mother nature. The event was cut short right before the climax...such a bummer. Thousands of us completely drenched to the bone headed for cover or home. The streets had become rivers, trees had tumbled over, and lightening was flying through the air. It wasn't a pretty combination, not at all. I sloshed my way through the street; my camera literally stuffed down my pants was my only hope at saving it (which I did thankfully). I wound up underneath a roof and entryway to a local emergency hospital, along with a crowd of others, waiting, hoping the rain would subside, which it did finally after another 30 minutes or so. All I can say is thank god for those hip circles. I was able to keep my body temperature up while standing on a ledge just barely underneath the roof, a spot I had just barely managed to procure. Everyone around me was acknowledging me and wanting to know how I liked the festival. I chatted a bit but was mostly keeping to myself trying to stay warm. I really only had a vague idea of how to get back to the Casino Hotel. A couple of college students standing on the ledge next to me volunteered to go out of their way, they themselves cold and wet, to help deliver me to my hotel. All of the rickshaws were outside of the center and no doubt, fully in use. Problem was I was supposed to meet Anoop at the Temple at 7:00PM but I just couldn't do it. It was only 6:30PM, it was dark and I was unsure where the temple even was at this point, and unclear as to whether I would even find Anoop there if I had tried. And I was getting colder and colder. So, my two volunteers and I headed across town in the now drizzling aftermath and soon I was back at the Hotel. Anoop had indeed made it to the temple and waited there for me. It took him a while to make it back to my hotel room, for which I was thankful. It had been over an hour since I returned and I was beginning to think that perhaps he and his friend took off and that we might not see each other again. When he returned we ate room service and hung out. I played him some Double Dose from my I Pod, he became a fan:) What a great guy Anoop was and is. Just a really nice disposition, great sense of humor and adventure, and kind of youthfully funky. And so darn cute and sexy! We had a blast together! That night there were suppose to be fireworks that began at 2:00AM in the morning and were to have gone until close to dawn, but obviously they were rained out. Such a bummer. I can only imagine what it would have been like hanging out on the streets for hours with the masses waiting for the early morning fireworks had it not rained. It wound up that the next morning we found out that the fireworks were rescheduled for that evening at 7:00PM. So, that was cool. It gave Anoop and I more time to bum around and hang out. We went to a shopping mall and eat some food and bummed around on the net a bit. Went back to another hotel were we had a lead regarding scoring some great roof top seats for the fireworks. Score, only rs 100 each. That was just fine. The fire works were only ok actually. There were gaps between the displays and the actual fireworks were not what we're used to here in the good old U.S.A. Yup, it's true, we are lucky here in America. We get the best of everything. Even our Indian food is better than most of what I ate in India (not that I didn't have good food). Being in Thailand now as I type, I can say that same regarding the Thai food I'm eating here compared to what I'm used to eating in the U.S.A.. The standard in the U.S. is very high...we're lucky.. and we're fortunate to be able to afford a better quality. But, one thing I can say about the fire works is there was one section that was absolutely over the top. Frankly, dangerously so. It was at the beginning of the displays and consisted of a huge barrage of firecrackers at ground level going off en mass, along with LARGE amounts of dynamite being launched at a low level into the air and creating unbearably loud shockwaves and sonic booms. The barrage was coming down a long line, heading our way, and at first it was cool, just very, very loud. As it approached, the rapidness of the explosions increased and got louder. I whipped out my camera and put it on movie to capture a bit on video, but soon I had to stop and cover my ears, it was just an unbelievable assault. It was the type of display that would only come in a third world country where there aren't as many legalities and such. Frankly, anyone not firmly covering their ears was sure to suffer permanent hearing damage. Earlier at dinner Anoop and I were eating in a restaurant right by the fireworks grounds and the staff was busy taking down plates from the tables and pictures off of the walls, moving things away from the window. I was informed that the windows could get blown out. Well, I didn't believe it then, but now, let me tell you, I believe it. That was just fucking amazing. The rest of the fireworks were boring. Anoop and I enjoyed another evening together and crashed early as I had a train booked for Kovalum at an early hour. We got up and gobbled down a complimentary breakfast at the hotel. I made it to the station with little time to spare. I pulled out my camera and clicked a really cute video clip of Anoop saying good bye to me... very sweet. The night before, that morning and at the station he kept saying "You should never forget me Dan, I will never forget you." I gotta say. I love that boy. I will never forget him:) I hopped on the train sad to depart. I felt compelled to continue my journey after 3 days in Thrissur, and Anoop had some school related things he had to attend (he was a biology student). I was thankful to have a few video clips to enjoy repeatedly:). It took me a couple of days to adjust to life without my favorite man Anoop and the intensity of the Pooram Festival, but I gotta say Anoop stole the show. I miss him a lot. We continue to keep in contact and who knows, perhaps our paths will meet again when I return to India as part of my return to the U.S.. I was fortunate to have great entertainment in Kovalum! Mother Nature put on a great show for me and I made full use of it. The waves were just great for body surfing. I was so happy. It had been since my late childhood days that I had such fun waves to ride at the New Jersey Shore. But these waves were bigger here in Kovalum and the ocean was tepid. Pretty much the next eight days consisted of waking up, moving slowly, pigging out on a mammoth breakfast of Mangos, Papayas, Bananas and Pineapple and watching the local fisherman employ the ancient art of fishing with large nets cast out over a large area and then slowly hauling the net to shore in hopes for a good catch. I would wake up in my beach front hotel room and hear the men chanting an old fisherman’s song as they hauled in the lines, 30 or 40 of them. I’d step out the front door and walk a few feet to watch their morning ritual. It was a very enjoyable part of my morning routine. Then, after too much chai, I would get in a late morning session if the waves were good. Then I’d eat lunch and ride the waves in the afternoon, sometimes for 3 hours straight if the waves were really breaking well. Indians were lining up on the shore watching me catch and ride a wave for sometimes 25 or 30 yards? I would come into the shallows from time to time and try to teach a few of them how to ride. It was fun. They had mixed success not being good swimmers by and large. One day was particularly great. The waves were bigger and smoother, it was just awesome. Riding a wave is a pretty cosmic thing, kind of a metaphor for our spiritual relationship with the Supreme Consciousness. It’s a co created event, but ultimately the wave kind of chooses me. I need to watch for a good one coming and then swim into position, yes. But in the end, I need to feel the wave tactilely pull me outwards and towards it as it swells. My body gets pulled into the wave and I respond with a quick thrust in a shoreward direction to get up to speed. And voila…enjoy the ride. I have a distinct memory of my very best ride, man it was RAD. The wave was really too big, but it crested just right and I was in a perfect position. And the wave acknowledged my readiness and pulled me into it. There was a woman in the water nearby watching me. And man it was just an incredible ride. My body pitched down a steep and long slope at high speed.Wow. OK, enough of that. I guess we can see why I’m now thinking of heading to Bali to learn how to surf. The water is warm and the waves are big! I could do more SCUBA too as now I have Advanced certification from my stay on Ko Tao in Thailand (more on that later, including swimming with a 15 foot shark 3 feet from me for 10 minutes!!!.) Oh yeah, in Kovalum I was also dealing with breaking out in hives! They would be minimal in the morning and day but after midnight I'd wake up just on fire and itchy like crazy. This went on for days. It was really starting to drive me crazy and wasn't really getting better so I called Matthew and had him look in an alternative medicine encyclopedia for any hints. Thank god I got a hint... the book said that sometimes even foods that normally don't cause a reaction change suddenly and that typical foods would cause hives might be nuts. Well, it just so happens that the further south in India I traveled the more Cashews that were readily availible. I had started eating them in Puri and had been waking up in the middle of the night there, only I was thinking that it was mosquitoes or maybe red ants that were biting me in the night. But in Kovalum I started feasting on them, sometimes eating them for my lunch. I was so happy to make the connection and as soon as I stopped eating them the problem went away. Incidentally, I have never had a problem eating Cashews in the U.S.A. so I'm uncertain whether this is an Indian Cashew issue or that my Cashew eating days are over. That would be a bummer as I've enjoyed them for my lunch regularly at home. Anyway, midway through my stay at Kovalum, I packed my bags and headed to another beach town a couple of hours north named Varkala. I had been told the town is great as well as the surf. So, I figured I’d give it a try, though I must say reluctantly. I asked locals in Kovalum about the surf there and got good reports. The fact is I really didn’t care how groovy the town was and all of that. If the waves weren’t breaking well I wasn’t going to stick around. I hired a taxi out of Kovalum, and made the trip to Varkala. I then spent a little too long searching out a cool place to check into and then headed to the beach to check out the surf. Well, it just plain didn’t measure up, nor would it on another day. The beach structure and the sandbar were just not nearly as conducive to good waves as Varkala. The beach in and of itself was quite beautiful. With large cliffs hanging over the beach it was dramatic. Also, it really was a Caucasian tourist town, and a very, very budget one at that. Most of the bungalow were dirt cheap and run down, gloomy and moldy smelling. The restaurants were all geared towards the tourist and there was little to eat of any quality. I did have a nice swim and enjoyed a nice sunset over the Arabian Sea. And that night I packed my bags, the following morning I hired a taxi and returned to Kovalum for a few more days. I stayed in a different hotel closer to the light house. So, the mood and scene changed a bit. It was really nice. Now the light house beamed nearly into my bedroom window at night. This room was cheaper too, and I liked it better. RS 250 = $5.00 per night. I had a balcony to myself and was right on the beach! The fruit women all knew who I was at this point and every morning they would watch for me to immerge from my room, vying for my frit purchasing business. I started using my binoculars from my balcony to sort of pre scope out the best mangos and pineapples, lol. The waves during this stay actually were not breaking as well. I was told that the waves had changed due to the coming monsoon season. I still had some good riding. I guess it was best this way as other wise I might never have left. Also, this left me a bit of time to explore outside and around Kovalum. The exploration proved to be quite fruitful. Late in the day I took a walk over the headlands beyond the lighthouse and discovered a whole reality totally unbeknownst to most tourists. I came across a fishing harbor that was home to many fishermen and filled with boats. It felt refreshing to feel like I was in India again. The people were friendly as I walked along the circumference of the shore. It was a photographic field day as the sun was setting. Women were selling fish at a shore side market. Men were repairing nets, fixing motor boat engines, hauling in boats…it was a bustling scene. I returned a couple of days later on the morning of my departure from Kovalum in order to catch the morning market there and watch the fisherman return from a night at sea. I packed my bags the night before and was up early enough to click a picture of the rising sun hitting the lighthouse on it's side. It was really hard to leave this town. And while I made no real connection with any locals and spent my time largely by myself over the 8 days that I was there (aside from brief interactions) I made a deep connection with the ocean, with early memories, with my sense of play, and with the deep gratefulness regarding my journey in India and my life. The rickshaw picked me up to take me 25 km to the train station... I sat quietly in the back with my sunglasses on to hide my tears. OK, still more tales of India to come including my time in Munnar hanging out in the tea plantation with the pickers, and yes finally the details surrounding my meeting with A. Sivasamy in Vaitheswarencoil, Tamil Nadu. Also, my journey to Tiruvannamalai to go to Sri Ramana Maharshi's ashram and climb the fabled mountain Arunachala in which he spent most of his life in silence. It was there that I encountered the "Foot Of Consciousness"! Love, Dan:)






Munnar in Kerala, India

It's now 6/23/05 and I'm currently traveling in Laos. It's an incredibly rugged country with huge rivers, imposing jungle covered mountains and limestone karsts jutting out of the earth. The villagers seem to happily live in shacks with stunning million dollar views. I arrived into Laos and endured an uncomfortable 2 day journey on a “slow boat” down the Mekong River, bound for the Unesco World Heritage city Luang Prabang. This is the local way to travel in Laos, except for the fact that the boat was packed to the brim with tourists. The boat had hard under-sized wooden benches that left barely enough room for 2 let alone 3 passengers and required sitting at an angle in order for my legs not to be jammed against the seat in front of me. And while the boat was profoundly uncomfortable, the journey wound up turning into a bit of a party. I met many cool travelers and I continue to bump into many of them and hang out as we all travel a similar route South towards Vientiene. The highlight in Luang Praband was the most magnificent water fall I (and everyone) had ever seen or swam in …ever! The small city itself was very charming with excellent accommodations and restaurants. Currently I’m in Vang Vieng where more outdoor adventure is on the menu for the next couple of days. Now, to continue with the adventures of Dan in India! The commute to Munnar was long; done in one full day of travel. I had been trying to do sleeper trains for the most part but for some reason or another I left Kovalum in the morning, I can't remember why. Anyway, I took a taxi from Kovalum, and then took a train from the capitol of Kerala up to Ernaculum and from Ernaculum I hired a taxi to take me the rest of the way to Munnar. As usual, as I left the Ernaculum train station I was barraged with touts seeking my business (and probably hoping to bring me to some store somewhere for a commission). I pried my way to the pre-paid taxi stand where I was assigned a cabby, the first in line, to be my driver. The total cost was about $40 US for a four hour journey...not bad. The cabby wound up being a senior citizen, only worse LOL (no offense to the older folk reading this:). He was an OK driver I suppose, though unresponsive to the honking cars and trucks behind him wanting to pass. For sure he was either ignoring them or he was deaf, I really don't know. We didn't speak a word, which I was fine with frankly. He kept his eyes on the road and I rolled down the back window in order to attempt to discreetly exhale the fresh, rather large toke of my Udaipur hash hish out the back window without him smelling it. I figured I had a pretty good chance at succeeding at this since I was able to light the bowl in the back seat without him noticing...lol. I think the group of Indians crammed into the front cab of the truck that was following behind us noticed 'cause as I stuck my head out the window they were all staring at me to say hello and I said hello back...a plum of smoke exiting my oral cavity. They laughed and didn't seem too surprised when a second hit soon followed...the cabbie oblivious. Really, I really don't think the cabbie had a clue; he was riveted on the road, hoping to make a return trip before it got too far past his bed time LOL. He just kept driving and driving and occasionally he'd cough like Grandpop used to. And as for me, well I just felt like enhancing the trip a bit. It did help to relieve the monotony of a too-long-of-a-day travel. I pulled out my I Pod and cranked up the Joni Mitchell. She'd been my musical landscape for the past couple of weeks or so. Maybe to a fault, I couldn't get the darn tunes to stop reeling in my head at times. “People tell you where they've gone, they'll tell you where to go, but until you get there yourself you'll never, ever really know". That line sure has stuck and rings true. And so very applicable as I travel around getting feedback and tips from traveler. "When your life becomes a travel log of picture postcard charms..." Yeah, sometimes I feel this way, especially as I'm on the road longer and longer and the novelty has worn off some. I mean how many amazing sights and not so amazing mundane towns and villages can I take in before it becomes totally meaningless ( not sure if that's possible). There have been times where I've wondered whether I was merely buying memories, stock piling experiences for my not-so-far-away old age recollections. Now don't think that I'm not totally digging this unbelievable journey that I'm on. It's just that there have been a few times where I've felt like as I've just mentioned. Anyway, Joni's lyrical brilliance amazes me over and over as I delve deeper and deeper into the nuance of each carefully chosen line. Yup, for sure she's a "tweaker" as some would refer to her writing in the songwriter’s world. I get a sense that she labors over each and every line after spewing out a barrage of absolutely brilliant lines like an emotional landslide. She's incredible. I've been listening to the album Hejira ALOT. Anyway, I think that road wear had begun to hit me, so the taxi was an appropriate anecdote and effective escape from the sardine packed, bladder bulging bus journeys. And the Cabby plowed ahead. Didn't matter how loud the truck horn's horn was behind us, he was not to me manipulated in any way. Now mind you, (and remind you) these aren't normal truck horns, these are 150 db high octane mega air horns. You might recall the sound of one of those at a sporting event, compressed air being expelled rapidly through a small horn shape. Well, take one of those and amplify it 20 fold and you get the picture... SOO SOO LOUD. Believe it or not, it gets to a point where I just started ignoring these horns myself....they're constant. The backs of vehicles have stickers that say “Please Use Horn", I kid you not. Incidentally, it's quite the contrast being in Thailand/ Laos now. These Thai/ Laos people are so polite and quiet you can practically hear a pin drop at the Sunday Market! I swear I've been in Thailand a month now and Laos for 7 days and I don't think I've heard a horn more than maybe a half a dozen times. And then, if so, just a quick, light, polite kind of little beep, not an all out balls to the wall, rip your head off assault that's actually expected/ encouraged in India. Anyway, more on my Thailand/ Laos experience later, that is if I ever get around to it. Not long ago I finished a 7 day motorcycle tour of part of the north of Thailand, visiting many Hill Tribe villages. It was a nice week and the rain was bearable. So, where was I...oh yes...stoned and cranking Joni Mitchell in the back of the taxi, bound for Munnar, the fabled and much talked about and praised "not top be missed" destination in the mountains of Kerala. OK Joni, let's hope you're wrong on this one 'cause frankly Munnar was really quite a backtrack, traveling again back up to the north and then east. But I did feel pretty clear that Munnar would be an integral part of my Kerala experience, filling in the bigger picture regarding the total beauty and diversity of this little state on the south west edge India. Finally, after our fearless driver forged his way through a torrential rain storm we arrived in Munnar after dark, high in the mountains. The air was crisp and filled with the storm's ozone as we pulled into the Hotel where I would book a room. The man at the desk was happy to show me a room or two while the cabbie waited. I wound up taking a more expensive room than I really wanted to and somehow felt like the host wasn't really making their full range of options available to me. I asked to see a cheaper room and he showed me one that was a dump and reeked of a moldy smell. He did offer me a large room for 1/2 price with a great view so I accepted and sent the cabby on his way. It was here that after all of my travels I lost my first article. I left one of my two Nalgene bottles in the back seat of the cab. Oh well, I really only needed one anyway. The interesting thing is that I knew ahead of time that I was going to leave it there. One of those little elusive intuition tidbits that blink into awareness like a firefly in the night. The other article was my favorite hat that I'd been wearing through out my travels to protect my more and more hairless head. I knew I was going to lose that before I actually did as well (happened in Pondicherry). Ouch, that one hurt, I loved that hat. Back to the hotel host. It was weird; he and I just were not connecting. I guess I just didn't trust him. It felt as if he was saying whatever needed to be said so that he could get a desired result with no regard for whether he was being honest or not. Now, I'm not actually sure if this was the case, it was just the feeling that I got (which is usually accurate). None the less, he and I were just not on the same page. It continued that way until I left after 2 nights there to relocate to the Zeni Guest House. The view was really, really nice out of the 4th story window. I could open it wide, wide, wide open and let in all of the fresh air and I would have liked to have heard the birds and crickets tweeting and chirping into the night. I would have liked that. That would have been nice, Yup woulda liked that. BUT INSTEAD I got an unbelievable barrage of religious Hindu music absolutely cranking full tilt through an (as usual) distorted amplification system; relentlessly blaring over and through out the entire valley below. And I was far across the valley on the other side...far away. OK, maybe, just maybe India was finally starting to get to me??? Well, actually no, not really; really. It’s just that I was so amazed that this could happen. The entire village below was subjected to this until 10 PM that night (as was I and many the other hotel guests etc.)! Finally it went off and AHHH, it was so nice to hear the natural sounds of nature. Isn't that religion? Where does silence fit into this picture for the religious? The way I know it is silence has the final word, and contains all of the needed spiritual lessons! And I have felt the benefit of gradually paying more and more attention to the space between all of the questions and answers. I actually really do have a fondness for the Hindu music and all of it's melodies and rhythms. One just needs to be prepared to hear it anytime and anywhere. For instance, even in the nearly-wilds of the backwaters of Kerala at the Coir Village resort where I had spent 3 nights there was Hindi and Muslim tunes/chanting cranked into the night, echoing surreally through the palm trees in the middle of nowhere. That first night in the hotel in Munnar I took it easy and crashed early. It was a good thing 'cause at FUCKING 6AM in the god damned fucking morning, LOL, on comes the PA system again blasting out totally rocking bajans and such over the valley. I will never not be completely and totally amazed by this. I got up and did my breathwork and silent meditation. I was quite excited to head into the hills and check out the tea plantations but kind of bogged down by more and more details around what to see, when to see it, how to get there, and how much to pay etc. etc.. This really was tiring me out, not from just Munnar but the many destinations that I had visited already with the same needs. I walked down into the town center and sought out a rickshaw to hire for the day's sight seeing. It was late morning and the clouds were starting to roll in. A couple of drivers approached me soliciting my business. One guy had a big 4 wheel drive jeep and tried to convince me that this would be a big advantage and that it would be unsafe to travel up into the mountains in a rickshaw. He wanted rs 900 for a few hours. I walked with him up a road to have a look at this supposed vehicle that would allegedly have a profound impact on my safety and discovered that it was a huge vehicle with room to seat 12 (I would have been the sole passenger). Another guy was ready to go for rs 450 in a rickshaw and that seemed like a good price, but I was trying to find someone who could speak English. This rickshaw driver said that he did, so we started the journey. My suggestion was to head over to the tea museum where I could check out a factory and the tea making process up close ; a good precursor to visiting the plantations I figured. The museum was cool, but it became clear that the driver's English was very, very limited and I had questions I wanted to ask about the town and the plantations etc. So we got back into the center of town and I asked him to pull over. I paid him more than it was worth and said so long, leaving him disappointed I'm sure. Well, to make a longer story shorter, I just got a bit feed up with the self serving needs of many whom I was willing to hire. After all, I had only this one chance to experience whatever it was that I was going to experience where ever I happened to be. I was really getting tired of that not really mattering at all for these drivers, or whom ever. Don't tell me that there aren't any other rooms available when really there are. And don't tell me that you can speak English when you really can't. And don't tell me that it'll be fine to drive up to the divide and look out over Tamil Nadu when you know full well that by the time we get there it'll be likely raining. Is any one in this town going to be straight with me today??? I don't know why I didn't visit a man that is mentioned in the Lonely Planet Guidebook immediately. He is said to be a “National Treasure", generously helping tourists to have a truly great experience in this totally enchanting town. His name was Joseph and he was everything the book claimed him to be. He told me that the hotel I was in; the staff and manager didn't really care, and that I was being asked for too much money from the rickshaws, almost twice as much as needed, and that if I wanted to see the divide and look out over the plains of Tamil Nadu, that I had better do it early in the morning or the clouds would obstruct the view. I was very relieved to meet this great man. We connected so beautifully immediately. He told me where to go for the best Dosa in town; suggested what to do for the remainder of the day; that he would hold a room for me in his guest house if I wanted ( it was often full ) and basically spelled out an itinerary for me right there and then for the following couple of days! Now why more people can't be like Joseph I'll never know. He does great honest business with his heart. So, after Joseph's kind help, I ate a mediocre lunch ( I had the dosa later) and headed out for a short hike into the hills, the ones that I viewed from my hotel room. It was a beautiful hike amidst rolling hills of tightly packed and meticulously trimmed tea plants. Thousands and thousands of them. I clicked pictures like it was going out of style and enjoyed the magic of this unusual environment. That night I packed my bags in preparation for heading over to Joseph's guesthouse "Zeni". In the morning I transferred over and what a good move that was. The Zeni Guest House was nestled right in the midst of the tea plantation with a nice view of the valley below. I was greeted very warmly, my room had been held for me, and I checked in and enjoyed the rustic environment of the guest house before heading out with a rickshaw driver that had been arranged by Joseph to head up to the zenith of the mountain range dividing the south. If the weather was on my side I would be rewarded, after a 2 hour rickshaw ride, with sweeping panoramic views of Tamil Nadu. Well, unfortunately by the time we got to the top it was "pea soup" with not a view to be had. I hiked down the main trail and enjoyed a cup of chia with some Indian tourists before returning to the rickshaw for our descent. The trip wasn't a total loss at all really. On the way up we were flagged over by some folks on the side of the road and informed that if we walked down a slope we would get view of 3 wild elephants on the far side of the lake. I took advantage of this opportunity and with the help of my binoculars enjoyed seeing 2 adults and a young elephant strolling along the edge of the reservoir. Apparently I was quite lucky as this didn't happen often I was told. Also enjoyable was a row boat that I rented for an hour to tool around one of the reservoirs on our way down. The rickshaw driver ate lunch and knapped waiting for me. It was a serene little outing. I did have to pay double as there was a line of Indians waiting to use the row boats for rs 175 each. I agreed as I really like to row a boat for one; and two, it was the best way to enjoy the lake. The last time I rowed was actually in Varanassi on the Ganges River. That was fun 'cause the boat man looked at me like I was crazy when I asked him for the ores. I'm speaking of the Varannasi experience now, pardon me as I skip back a moment. The Varannasi boatman was a bit reluctant, but as soon as I got going he realized otherwise seeing that I was an experienced rower. This was a good rowboat, unlike the one I was just speaking about in Munnar. As I rowed fisherman style with alternating strokes I unintentionally caught the attention of other boatmen and their riders rowing by. That was fun...smiling and waving to each other; delight on their faces seeing a tourist rowing with the boat worker trading places and enjoying the ride. I gathered that tourists rowing were an uncommon event I guess. Oddly, none of the boatmen used the "fisherman" stroke, which is my preferred rowing style. Perhaps that's why they were all looking at me. I don't know...frankly, I'm constantly watched where ever I am in India. Anyway, in Munnar I hopped into my rinky dink little tourist rowboat and blazed by all of the other boaters, all Indians and headed to the outskirts of the lake. I had fans on the shore waving and watching of course. It was a sweet little ride, but I headed in in not too long as an afternoon thunderstorm was threatening a bit. Further down the road we stopped at a point along the river called Echo Point, where visitors go to the edge and enjoy a remarkably clear and translucent reverberation. I sure was impressed. It was funny; I was standing off to the side and a bunch of young women were screaming and listening to the echo and when there was a brief brake I let out a big ole scream, jarring all the eyes in my direction. We all got a good laugh out of that one, the tourist with the big mouth...lol:) I thought to myself that hearing these women scream was the most vocal or extroverted experience I'd witnessed from women in general in all of my travels in India. A group of nuns, of all things, gathered on the shore and we got a bit of an interaction going. That was fun. I clicked some pictures of them, asking the "priestly looking man whom stepped into a central position for the pictures to step aside and get out of the nun's way. They all got a big rise out of that. Great picture too. That pretty much sums up the day, not spectacular, but nice:) That night I returned to the guest house around 9 PM after bumming around the town's center to see what I might drum up for action; not much. I checked in with Joseph and mentioned that I wanted to take a little walk up into the hills directly above the guesthouse. Joseph said that the house rules were that upon returning guests should retire to their rooms. He said this rule was for everyone's own safety as there were “wild pigs, snakes and elephants in the hills that were very dangerous". “Hmmm" I though," wild pigs, snakes and elephants, hmmm?” I agreed to go to my room, except well, I wasn't ready to sleep and I really wanted to spend a little time among the tea plants on this beautiful night. I sat in my room thinking about Joe's' request, but I'm sorry I just didn't feel any danger in the air, and the night was young (for me anyway). So, I grabbed my torch and like a misbehaving schoolboy at boarding school I slipped out of my room quietly, walked around the side of a long garage. At the head of the driveway I quietly unwrapped a small chain that had been spun around the chain link fence (trying to remember just exactly how it had been spun so that I could return it to that position so that Joe wouldn't know that I had left), and inched out into the "dangerous wilds" of the highly cultivated tea plantation. Now, I must say, I did feel a bit bad about saying that I would stay in and then not, heading out instead against Joseph's strong urging. It's just that the landscape was so captivating and it was a warm, still night; the moon casting a warm glow on the hillside. And frankly, I was quite sure that I wasn't going to suddenly and unexpectedly be grabbed by a heard of elephants and have my head smashed in. Not that that couldn't, or hasn't happened; according to Joseph a few people die each year from being attacked this way. Apparently the elephant that catches you picks you up with its trunk and smashes you head first against the ground before stomping you to death. I had seen wild elephants earlier that very day true, but there was no sign of trampled tea plants, and no buzz going on around town with the locals about a serious and looming threat by herds of roaming elephant ready to smoosh the skull of any unsuspecting person who is crazy enough to be out in the wilds at night! And I had spent hours roaming through the tea worker's trails and roads that run throughout the plantation the day before with a definitive feeling of safety and pleasure. The closest thing to a wild animal on that day that I encountered was a free roaming cow that clanked its bell as it approached me from down the dirt tea road. So, out into the hills I went, confident of my destiny,lol. I wandered around the small unkempt dirt road directly above the guest house and eventually headed off trail, up a steep slope, climbing and climbing along a barely trickling creek until I found myself a beautiful peaceful place to sit down and enjoy the night sounds; the lights from the village below glowing; the crickets trumpeting up a symphony of sound as if it was just for me. It was just beautiful. The dark air before me was being gently illuminated by a cluster of fire flies fluttering over the field before me. It was really quite a sight. I sat quietly and breathed. I did get a bit startled after some time when I heard some rustling or something a bit of a ways up the hill from where I sat. It was a unique kind of rustling that I wasn't familiar with. Wasn't sure what it was,oh well, it's nothing. But it kind of kept going and as I listened it did sound a bit like a heavy thumping sound. Then I noticed that I could hear breaking sounds, like branches breaking or something. I really wasn't sure but... well, I was paying attention at this point. I mean what if Joseph was right. What if my writing his warnings off as some sort of senior citizen's semi senility was a wrong call on my part? Naw, relax Dan, it's nothing. But, ummm... well..... it wasn't really "nothing" anymore. The sound seemed to be getting louder and more defined, like really loud plundering or something. And it did seem to be coming down hill in my direction. OK, I admit it, at this point I was becoming a bit alarmed. This wasn't merely post pipe paranoia. I slowly stood up and reaching for my flashlight in the pocket of my R.E.I. Safari pants I removed the torch and just as I was about to click the on switch the torch slipped from my fingers and fell into the creek that was trickling beside me. I grappled through the water and mud in the dark trying to find it but wasn't having much luck at all. Meanwhile this heavy plant crunching sound continued and was moving in my direction. My hands picked up speed, adeptly scouring the creeks bottom guided only by touch as I couldn't see much of anything. But man , I sure could use that flashlight right now. I don't know what the fuck that is coming down the hill but it is getting louder and louder and I'm becoming more and more concerned, shall we say, that just perhaps I should have listened to what 'ole Joseph told me. Finally, I found the flashlight. Pulling it from the water I hastily switched on the switch but the light was no longer working!!! And now the sound seemed to be coming directly towards me! I kid you not. OK, breath, breath. I fumbled with the torched, jingling it around to see if I could shake the water out or something; it was really too dark to make the descent without it. But shit, the sound was closer still but now I was hearing definitive grunting/ elephant like sounds. I just couldn't believe it. What the fuck. If this was really happening how could there not be large signs warning people of this serious hazard!!! And it was really too dark to make a good dash through the ensnarling masses of tea plants that have a way of tripping you up even when walking slowly. The good news is that just as whatever it was, probably elephants, where practically arriving at my location I clicked on my torch!!! I quickly turned around and HOLY SHIT!!! There before me was an elephant standing right above me, towering over me and it didn't look calm and peaceful. It was waving its trunk in a menacing fashion as if to say " Dan, you're mince meat". I had only a moment to make my move. I quickly picked up a handful of dirt and threw it into the elephant's right eye. It shook its head and flapped it's ears, raising its trunk above me. I turned and fled down the hill but it was fucking coming after me. Suddenly I tripped on something and the next thing I knew is the trunk had gotten a hold of my ankle. I know Mom. Don't freak out, I didn't want to tell you about this 'cause I didn't want to concern you about my future travels. At that very moment I was able to spontaneously grab a large rock and I threw it at the head causing it to let go of my leg. And thank GOD, this must have given me just enough time to run like a bat out of hell down the hill and into someone's garage. I hid there absolutely freaked out shaking. And thankfully I could hear the elephant moving away, the sound diminishing. Man, I can not tell you how relieved I was. Yeah, I was alive! I thought I had experienced all I could when I drove that rickshaw across Allappey. Well, this topped it all!!! Just incredible. After about 30 minutes of quietly sitting there to make absolutely sure that it wasn't still around I made a dash for the guest house, locking myself safely in the room that I never should have left to begin with. The next morning I got up very early and confessed my sins to Joseph. I didn't want him to be pissed at me; he wasn't pleased but was very glad that I was OK. I spoke with him about posting a serious warning. We called the local police to alarm them about this danger; they were non-chalant about it all. In spite of this harrowing experience, I knew I hadn't gotten what I had come there for yet with regards to the tea plantations workers and all. And I knew I really wanted to get into the fields and see the tea plantation workers doing their work. I had been speaking with the sweet and kind Joseph who was being so kind to me. He had suggested that I do a rather large hike around the back side of one series of hills where I would get great views and probably see the workers in the fields. I headed out early and got some great misty photos on my way through the outskirts of town while the lighting was still optimal for picture taking. The hike was really nice; sweeping views of the valley below and miles of tea plantation laid out before me. Joe had said that I would encounter plantation workers and I would be able to watch them at work. He also said to not wander off of the main road onto the smaller side roads as it's easy to get lost etc. And you know me, even in spite of the night prior, when finally I saw some workers in the fields they were not accessible if i stayed on the main road. I felt pretty sure that if I went onto a smaller road that I would be fine. So, I made a turn and walked along a dirt road that brought me over into the neck of they woods so to speak where I could follow the workers trails and head a couple of hundred yards through the plants and get close to the workers. I really had no idea what would transpire, I just knew that I needed to get close to the workers. I tried to click some pictures discreetly before they noticed me, but it wasn't long before the white man (me that is) was being beckoned warmly by a bunch of women tea pickers to come over. I headed down the hill to reach them and to my delight they were all delighted to see me in the fields!!! I had a spirited exchange with them; we were all laughing and laughing as they asked the usual 3 questions...I answered " Yes, I'm American...no not married...yup Bachelor" etc etc. They all got a big rise when I said " yup, no marriage, no problem!" One of the women demonstrated how to pick the tea and I started to pick some while we chatted. All the while they were all too aware of the field boss watching from afar as they got distracted by the foreigner. They kind of kept making it look like they were working up to speed, but really they were just delighted to have me as a visitor. A few minutes later they suggested that I follow them up the hill; it was time for them to weigh in the first round of tea leaves that they had picked. I helped carry some things as we headed up hill. Soon all the tea workers convened as well as the ever-serious field boss whom had had a tripod weighing device set up in the road. The women (and one male tea picker) each hung their morning's pickings on the scale; the foreman logging down the data. Apparently, according to many I had spoken with, the tea workers are all very happy to be working there. I was told that they get paid very well. Their pay was rs 80 per 8 hours day, contingent upon them making a certain weight minimum, after which , if they exceeded this minimum they would accrue more pay. Additionally, their employer, T.A.T.A, supplied free room and board plus paid vacation including travel money; also medical coverage. Indeed this was quite good! All of their needs were taken care of. Still, rs 80 equals less then $2.00 a day. One of the pickers offered me a cup of tea with her own cup, and I sipped it as I spoke with some man of authority whom was equally friendly and eager to pose for a picture. He later gave me his address requesting that I send prints. Perhaps I'll do that when I get home. I do have some really nice shots, especially of the women! They were so friendly, huge beautiful smiles; radiant! I guess I spent about an hour and 1/2 with them all. It was just great! I really wanted to hang around longer, but in the interest of not getting the women into trouble, and also to meet up with Joseph in the early afternoon in order to hire a cab to leave Munnar later that day. I must say, I really was moved by this interaction. I made my way back to the main road and down the steep hill around a bend and over through a village amidst the plantation. There I met an older man whom approached me and coaxed me into a small back diner type room. He ordered up some chai and some sweet pieces of cake and we chatted in broken English, making a really nice connection here as well. The man didn't want me to leave. He must have been in his late 60s. He kept reaching over to me and caressing my head and face lovingly, it was sweet. I asked if I could see his home, so after the second cup of chai, I paid and he and went to his home. He told me that he was a retired tea worker and had also done carpentry. He gave me a small tour of his very small home. Around the corner off of the living room he had a small shrine set up where he had the required cartoon like pictures of Shiva and Ganeesh. He did a Puja for me, praying passionately for the safety of my journeys. We cried our eyes out together. It was an intense experience. He mentioned in a way I wasn't quite sure with his very minimal English...he seemed to be implying that he needed money to visit his family in Tamil Nadu. That is where I was heading. I think he was suggesting that he travel with me. For sure I wasn't prepared for that. And if he was in fact asking for money it wasn't clear. I was hoping not. We left his house and he was pushing for me to stay a while longer, perhaps have a shot of whiskey with him before I went onward. I declined and continued my trek back to the Zeni Guest House. I turned around to give a final wave goodbye as I headed down the road but he was walking steadfast away. I got a bit of a hit that perhaps the whole Puja thing and all was just to butter me up in hopes that I would give him money. Another example of how these events seem to unfold here in India; usually intense; often with a mixed emotion. Later that day I was in a taxi, bound for the state of Tamil Nadu. It was hard for me to leave Munnar, even though the first couple of days were a bit rough, not to mention almost being stomped to death by an elephant. I got a sense that I could have hung around and made some good friends with the tea workers, or at least perhaps shared a meal in their village and such. I guess I was getting itchy to get over to Vaitheswarencoil where I would have my entire life, past, present and future read to me like a book off of a palm leaf. Tired of the road I splurged again on a taxi out of Munnar, bound for the holy city of Maderai, where one of the most important, largest and holiest temples could be visited. After a 4 hour ride up and over the divide I checked into a hotel, went to the train station that very night and got scheduling info about leaving the next morning on the only express train out of Maderia that day; at 8 am; general class. Hmmm.... remember that uncomfortable train I was writing about enroute to Vaitteswarencoil. I guess we have come full circle back to where I left off in my last e-journal entry. Yup bound for Vaittheswarencoil and my long awaited palm leaf reading...... to be continued! Sabaidee, Dan:)


7/4/05 LIFE ON A PALM LEAF

Waves don’t really exist as we perceive them to. In actuality waves are just energy moving in a shoreward direction.
Wow, I finally finished up this next journal installation. It’s been increasingly difficult to find the time to write as many of the places I have been the last couple of weeks have had a night life. In India by and large there is no night life; no pubs, no discos, no local bands etc. making it easy to spend my evening writing.
Presently I’m on Bali learning how to surf on world class waves and partying WAY too late for my first 2 days here in Kuta. My very first surfing attempt on the very first viable wave I stood up on my board!!!! Probably beginner’s luck, LOL.
Kuta is a seriously over developed tourist town that has massive and multiple clubs everywhere and for every interest. Many of the bars and discos don’t close and don’t stop serving! It really is one of the most exceptional dance club scenes that I have seen. And let’s just say that there doesn’t seem .Jto be any lack of interest in me from the Indonesians
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It was a long a grueling journey to the much anticipated town of Vaitteswarencoil. And as usual, the train kept stopping who knows where due to delays of some sort. Probably higher priority trains needing to use the same rail line as the train I was on. This of course is due to a lack of rails in general, making for travel that is highly prone to delay. In this case, what was supposed to be about a 4 hour trip turned into 8 hours.
As I think I mentioned before, I had lots of time to read an outdated book about Thailand. I got lucky (kind of) and bought the book in Varkala at an over priced cost despite it being 7 years old. It did however give me some basic info about Thailand and such.
In the section that I was sitting in was a family; husband and wife plus their child and baby as well as the wife’s mother and father. Various other Indians crammed into the section as necessary with each stop of the train. At one point it was all of the prior mentioned and several other new comers standing in the middle or squeezing a buttock or two onto the very edge of one of the hard wooden benches. Mom had a sarong tied across the seating cubical that we all occupied as well and would put her baby in it and mechanically rock it vigorously until it would be quiet. I spent time observing the family dynamic. I must say I wasn’t fond of how the mother treated her baby in that swing. I didn’t observe any real heart connection from her; she acted as if the young baby of about 10 months old was an inconvenience. The father was disengaged by and large, but had a very sweet energy. He was a slender good looking man with a decidedly androgynous appearance. He seemed to enjoy my presence, and I his. I noticed that he was looking at me a lot; looking at my feet, my arms, hands and fingers etc. We didn’t speak at all; none of us did due to none of them speaking English.
At various stops food and chai salesmen would forge their way through the train calling out loud whatever it is they were selling. Somosa, fried bananas, and other more unusual offerings were to be had. By and large I stuck to Chai. I did score a vegetable Biryani that was pretty tasty.
There was a young man whom kept walking by selling small, inexpensive books. He would just leave a stack somewhere in the area and many would eventually start to look at them. This often resulted in a sale or two. The books were all pretty interesting covering mostly topics that involved human potential and learning; topics like vegetarianism, Yoga, meditation, learning English etc.
Anyway, finally we made it to our destination; the small and of course holy town of Kumbakonom. I got off of the train and the book sales man approached me, introducing himself. He was a great guy. We took a seat in the train station and chatted for quite some time, just long enough for him to miss the train that would have taken him back to where he came from. I figured that perhaps this was a sign to hang out some more before I continued onward via bus towards Vaitteswarencoil.
We walked in the rain into town and ate some food near the bus station. Very, very few tourists make it to this town, so I definitely had plenty of Indians staring at me. The young book Man had quite the story. Apparently he had recently made a huge change in his life, switching from a violent drug dealer to a spiritual book sales man. He told me that he used to be “a bad man” and had even killed someone! It was a bit hard to believe, he was so sweet. Selling growth producing books and giving a good chunk of his profits to a charitable organization which he had founded for the homeless was his way of reversing his karma ( in his mind). We had a cool connection, exchanging email addresses before my departing. We did make cyber contact with each other but haven’t continued communications.
I luckily caught the bus I was looking for just as it was about to depart for another town that was part way to my destination. I forget the name of the town; probably some other 4-6 syllable, nearly impossible-to-pronounce-correctly name. Maliaduterai, that was the name. Man, why do the names of these towns all have to be so long. Maliaduterai, Mamilapurum, Tirrumanamalai, Kumbakonom. If I said the town Kumbakonom no one would understand me because I was putting the accent on the wrong syllable. I was saying Kum- Bakonom when I needed to say Kumba-Konom. To make things worse when I would finally find an India who could understand my mispronunciation he would correct me but would say the name at blistering speeds. Then if I didn’t say it quickly subsequently, again no one would understand me. I basically had to rehearse and rehearse the name over and over again; the only hope of finding the transport I needed. But on this day I was traveling through quite a few multi syllable towns; quite the challenge.
The bus of course was very crowded. I held my over filled day pack on my lap (barely) and sat next to a friendly young guy with a crippled hand who attempted to help me figure out when I had arrived in Maliadutarai, even though he couldn’t understand a single word I said. He certainly didn’t understand my saying Maliadutarai. The money collecting bus man who yelled at me for putting my big luggage in the aisle finally helped me out and told me to get off. I hoped that he understood which town I wanted to get off at. Fortunately he did.
Now it was about 10 pm and I had to transfer to yet another bus and take another hour long ride in order to get to Vaitteswarencoil. I walked over to the ticket counter and no one could understand where I wanted to go. One guy kind of waved me in a certain direction, towards a group of buses. So, I headed over towards the buses, I gathered that I would pay on the bus as opposed to at the ticket office. After trying to seek out someone whom spoke English for some time, finally I found someone who helped me get onto the right bus; the very same bus that I had just gotten off of!
I was tired, let me tell you. Thankfully this final commute was to be only about 45 minutes. Finally I made it to Vaiteswarencoil, completing what turned out to be about a 14 hour journey!
I hired a rickshaw to bring me to one of the hotels that A. Sivasamy’s info and contact sheet mentioned. It was a total dump without AC. It was sweltering hot and muggy, so I went to the other option and it was better (w/AC) though far from perfect.
I went to sleep promptly and before long I had the pleasure of being woken up by unbearably loud music that seemed to be cranking from a nearby street AT 6 OCLOCK IN THE FUCKING MORNING!!! I didn’t have the benefit of the white noise of the AC as the electricity was out, a common occurrence here in India. For instance in Varannasi everyday the electricity would go out from 9 AM until about 3 in the afternoon. Anyway, even my earplugs didn’t stand a chance of blocking out this noise. At least it was pretty interesting music, different from what I’d heard before. It kind of caught my attention and I actually thought it might be live musicians. So, I got up and went onto the streets to see what this was all about. I found out that a wedding was taking place and that the music was for this occasion and that the music unfortunately wasn’t live. I stood outside the building where the speakers sat blaring away astonished by this custom of waking up an entire town on the morning of a wedding..
It was already heating up. That morning I had awoken with yet another problem with my stomach, ie. a stomach ache, poor digestion and appitite, low energy, and a low grade fever. And man was it HOT! I wandered the streets looking for some fruit to eat and some chai to drink, eventually returning to my room to do Sudarshan Kriya; headed back out into the blistering heat again to drink more chai and make my way over to A. Sivasamy’s place. I struggled to get my head clear and my energy up to a funtional level prior to my reading.
Vaitteswarencoil was a very small town indeed, not even on the map! The streets were dusty and parched the buildings decrepit and crumbling. However, I was glad to be there and check out a town that wasn’t a tourist attraction per sae, aside from what turned out to be a town filled with Nadi-Astrologers. Several touts approached me suggesting that I might consider going to another palm leaf reader, but I informed them all that I had a couple of high recommendations to go to A. Sivasamy for my reading. Asking around a bit, I did manage to get a clear sense that A. Sivavsamy had a good reputation as well as apparently the largest library of palm leaves in the entire town!
Finally, once I was good and soaked in both sweat and chai I made my way over to meet with A. Sivasamy! I was really looking forward to this. It had been 5 years in the making! I had spent time reflecting about my life and where I was heading, feeling the emotional richness of my life's path; I was ready to finally have my reading!
When I arrived I was a bit surprised to see about a dozen pairs of shoes outside of the front door and a row of Indians waiting in the hall. I had called a couple of times earlier to let them all know that I was coming and was assured that I would be taken care of on whatever day I arrived.
I was greeted warmly, but no one seemed to know who I was. I was invited into a back room to speak with a woman who filled me in on the procedure. What I came to find out was that A. Sivasamy was no longer giving the reading, and that instead I would get my reading from someone whom had been trained by him. I patiently explained to the nice lady that I had traveled across the entire width of south India in order to get there, and that I had saved a map from 5 years ago with details on how the get there and all, and that I was really really looking forward to getting my reading from the Man...A. Sivasamy. I was quite persistent about this, so finally she offered to introduce me to him, though she did warn me that he was very busy and that I would still have to have a reading with one of the well trained staff. I was not particularly pleased, but there seemed to be no choice in the matter despite my persistence. To appease me a bit she said that after my reading if I had any questions I could speak with him. I did meet A. Sivasamy very briefly at that point. He was not what I expected at all. He seemed to be about in his early 40s’s.
I was also informed that the basic and mandatory reading would cost me rs 1,400, a small fortune by Indian standards (about $30). Additionally, I was told that there were numerous “Kandems” that I could subsequently elect to have readings on that would really fill in the picture and go into much more detail . The cost for each of these, potentially a dozen additional readings, were also rs 1,400 each. I was a bit surprised about this expense but I had traveled a long way so for sure I would at the very least do the prerequisite reading, and then quite likely more.
Next, I waited and waited and waited for someone to come and give me my reading. I waited in the office where the employees where rather than out in the hall with the other Indians. They seemed to be offering me special treatment. Occasionally I would get up but they kept urging me to stay in the office and have a seat. I mostly obliged. About an hour and a half went by and I was getting hungry. The woman that I kept speaking with told me that I could go and get lunch and that by the time I got back they would be ready to give me my long awaited reading.
The town was so small, I was unsure about where I could get a more quality (hygenic) lunch, so I asked around (as best as I could be understood) for a more expensive hotel where I hoped to eat. The meal was ok, not great. I returned an hour later to A.Sivasamy’s. Once there I waited some more until finally (after almost all of the Indians had come and gone) I was introduced to a man in his mid thirties who would be my reader. I was told that he did all of the readings for foreigners.
He and I went into a back room where we had some privacy and he explained that he would go through a process with me first in order to determine whether there would even be a palm leaf there for me! There might not be!!! Apparently only about 80% of the customers were lucky enough to have a palm leaf there that was designated especially for them.
So, the process finally began. I guess that based on my country of origin he brought down the first palm leaf bundle. He started with what seemed to be a sort of chant/melodic prayer of some sort and then abruptly interrupted it to suddenly ask me a question which he gathered from reading the palm leaf. “Your mother’s name is Mary?” he asked. Hmmm I thought to myself, why is he asking me for details, I thought the leaves were supposed to tell all? I asked the man politely “You’re asking me if my mother’s name is Mary? I’m not going to tell you that, you’re supposed to give me that info aren’t you?” The man replied that in order to locate the correct leaf, if there was one for me, that he needed to narrow down the possibilities and that these questions I needed to answer in order for him to locate the palm leaf that was written for me 300 years ago by the rishi. Well, OK I thought, my mom’s name isn’t Mary so I’ll just say no. “OK, No!” I said. The reader lifted this leaf off of the pile, moving it to the side. “Why did you just move that over?” I asked. He said that because my mother’s name wasn’t Mary that that then indicated that that was not my leaf!
Back into the strange song he began suddenly stopping again; reading from the new leaf he asked me, “You prefer a more spiritual life?” I replied to make sure I understood correctly, “I prefer a more spiritual life? You want me to answer yes or no?” “Yes.” said the man. I replied that I really didn’t want to give him personal information about myself as I had been informed that the leaf would tell all. He responded that this is the way the process went and that I needed to answer yes or no. Reluctantly I replied, “Yes, I prefer a more spiritual life.” This time the leaf remained and he began to the chant again. “Your parents have past on?” he said. “What do you mean past on? You mean dead? And both of them?” I asked. “Yes”he said. “No” I replied. He removed the leaf from the pile and told me that this bundle did not contain my leaf and that he would go up stairs and hunt for another bundle based on the information he had gotten.
In about 10 minutes my reader returned to the back room we were in and began the process again with a new bundle of leaves.
Beginning again with the chant… “You were born Christian?”
“ Yes, BUT I’m not Christian!!!”
He removed that leaf and read from a new one after more chants;
“Your name is James?”
“ No.” I replied
“ OK, that is not your leaf” he said
Chanting again he stopped abruptly and asked “Your name is Christopher?”
“ No”
A new leaf is grabbed; “You tend toward things artistic?”
Playing along by their rules I reply “Yes” reluctantly.
“You are a married man”
“No.”
A new leaf is drawn.
“You are a single man?”
“Yes.”
“ You practice meditation?”
“ Yes.”
“ You live alone?”
“Yes.”
“ Your name is Scott?”
“ No.”
“OK, this is not your bundle, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” My reader headed back upstairs to the mysterious library.
While he was upstairs this time I spoke with a man whom had just had his reading. He had been coming for readings here for 15 years he said! I asked him if he’d used any of the other Nadi-Astrologers in town and he said no, that A.Sivasamy was noted as the best with the biggest library of bundles. “How many bundles in the library?” I asked. He told me 200,000!!!
Wandering around in the hallway a bit while waiting for the reader to return, I was getting a bit restless. It was about 3:00 PM and I had been there since 10:30AM and it was sweltering hot. I wandered back into the main office and spoke with the main woman whom had been my hostess of sorts.
“So, I hear that there is quite a big library upstairs?” I asked.
“Yes indeed, we have the biggest library there is right here!” she said
"May I go upstairs and see it?" I asked
“Oh No” said the woman “I haven’t even seen the library. It’s strictly off limits. Only the trained readers get to see the bundles upstairs. There are a few cabinets in the rooms down stairs here for you to see some of them. Have you seen them?”
“Oh yes” I said.
I asked her; “So, the reader is upstairs now looking for another bundle based on the information he has gotten from me?”
“Yes, time will tell whether there is a bundle here for you, be patient, sometimes it takes going through 5-6 bundles before he’ll find yours, that is if there is one here for you. That would be very fortunate for you for sure!!!” she said.
I had only gone through 2 bundles, heading into the 3rd bundle and over 2 hours had gone by since we started the process. And of course by now, I’m really trying to just be open to the whole drawn out process. I mean, I had come from so far… a journey of a lifetime to be here for this momentous day. But frankly, I had some serious doubts regarding the whole process and how it was unfolding. It was clear that basically the reader was asking me many questions and I was answering them, telling him all about myself, albeit in a round about fashion.
This particular break in which the reader was upstairs in the library took a really long time. Something like 45 minutes had gone by and I was really wondering what was going on. I was getting a bit tired of meditating, breathing and just sitting there. Finally I went back in to speak with the hostess, inquiring about what on earth was taking so long this time? She looked into the matter and soon the reader came down with a new bundle ready to go. I asked him what had taken so long this time…was it getting difficult to find a bundle for me I wondered? To my surprise the reader informed me that he had just taken a lunch break!
“You just took a lunch break? Wouldn't it have been courteous to inform me; a simple courtesy to let me know that you’d be gone for 45 minutes? I mean, I’ve been quietly sitting here waiting as if you were going to return in under 10 minutes and it’s been 45 minutes! I’m sorry sir, but I would call that disrespectful, unprofessional and rude! Perhaps I would have liked a break myself, maybe gone out for a chai or a walk!” I said ( I was a bit shocked and not too pleased.)
“I’m sorry sir, you’re right. I should have let you know.” he replied genuinely
The reading continued in the same fashion that it had all along. He had some difficulty determining my name…. “You’re name has an “ AN” sound?”
“Yes”.
“Your name is Jan?”
“No”
“Your name is Ban?”
“No”
“Your name has an “L” sound?”
“Yes. Do you want me to just tell you my name? I mean, I’m already giving you all of the information”
“No, please, everything is coming, please be patient, everything is coming!”
Finally (after basically sounding out all of the tones of my name)… “Your name is Daniel?”
“Yes” I said with the patience of a total fucking saint. To me this seemed totally ridiculous at this point (and frankly long before this point)!
Anyway, the process went on and on, the reader asking all manner of questions about me, all questions allegedly being eked out from the leaves of the palm that he was working with. It was clear to me that I was providing him with all of the information but on the several occasions that I mentioned that I was giving all of the answers he simply would say to be patient and that all was coming, that the questions were coming from the palm leaves and that soon he would hopefully have my leaf. In his mind the answers that were being ascertained were guiding him to then find the leaf upstairs that had that information on it already. This was “God’s work”!!! He was merely a servant to the information on the leaves and the rest was “God’s will”.
"God's will" I thought. Hmmm....well at least he was consistent with the vast majority of other Indians that I had come into contact with. Indeed most all truly feel that all details of their lives; wins, losses, gains, dreams realized, or lives shattered were all attributed to God's will and out of their hands. The hindus believe that if they pray with intensity and earnestness (which they do repeatedly throughout the day) that Lord Shiva will bring them good fortune and a good life and that if they do wrong Lord Shiva will know it and they will pay for their bad deeds. And the prayer takes priority over everything. For instance, I have been in a fine restaurant when it was time for prayer and an old man entered with a platter of hot embers which he then poured fragranced oils of some sort on creating a huge plume of odiferous smoke that filled the entire restaurant with a thick cloud. No one batted and eyelash (quite the contrary); no one even turned on a vent fan!
Writing about this brings back a memory of a friend of mine in Varanassi. His name was Raj. I came to know him to be an exceptional human being. He was the owner of Raga Café, the Korean health food restaurant that saved me during my stomach problem while there. Raj seemed to have reaped the full benefits of a God-centric belief system; a main benefit being unconditional acceptance. He related an event that happened to him with his prior close friend and business partner. Apparently this partner without notice up and took the equivalent in rupis to about $5,000 dollars. I asked Raj how that made him feel and if he was able to forgive his partner? Raj said that he held no bad feelings towards his now ex-partner saying instead that the problem was his ex-partner's. It was the ex-partners whom would have to answer to God. Also, Raj said that the money that was taken didn’t upset him because since he never got any of that money it clearly wasn’t his to begin with as far as God’s was concerned. So for Raj, it really wasn’t a matter of forgiveness, it was a matter of compassion for his friend. Raj definitely impressed me with this incident and how he handled it. If I compare how I handled our past drummer Charles’s lying and leaving Double Dose, I certainly wasn’t able to be as clear and imperturbable as Raj was here with his business and friend.
Now Raj run his restaurant with a couple of Koreans. He told me that they have a very loose and flexible financial arrangement that's based on each of their individual needs on any given month. For instance, if one of them needed an extra rs1000 for a particular month he/she would get it, no questions asked. Raj said a natural balance was maintained and that their relationship wasn't based on business as much as being a close family.
Anyway, back to the palm leaf reading. Finally after many more questions the reader pronounced "This is your leaf!!! You are a very lucky man!"
“Oh Good!" I exclaimed allowing myself to continue with what seemed to me to be a total joke but politely going along with the process, giving the reader the benefit of the doubt even though my doubts weighed about as much as a 2 ton Lord Shiva statue. But at least now I would have the benefit (?) of seeing how this was all going to turn out.
The reader informed me that it would take about 45 minutes to translate the writing that was on “My Leaf” and that even though it was near closing time(6:00PM), he would keep working with me until the reading was over. To clarify about "My Leaf" I asked him some questions.
"Yes sir, so this leaf is for me and only me?" I asked
"That's right" he replied
"So after this reading the leaf will be discarded?" I asked
"No, there's more Sanskrit on the back side that has someone else’s information." He said
“Oh, OK” I said. “So, I just want to make sure that I've got this right and that I'm clear about my good fortune in having a leaf. So, the way I understand it is that the contents on this leaf were written over 2,000 years ago by a group of Rishi specifically for me?"
"Yes, that's right." he said
"And that the contents had been transferred to a new leaf about 250 years ago for preservation purposes? I asked
"Yes" he said
"And the leaf has just been sitting here, basically in storage, waiting for my arrival?" I asked
"Yes" he said
"How did they know I would show up at all?"
"This is God's will my friend. The Rishis knew you would come here and they knew when you'd be here." He said
"Really!" I said "Wow, it's hard to believe that 2000 years ago a group of Rishis had my life already written basically. How is this possible?" I asked
"They were doing God's work." he said
I then sat and watched him appear to be reading from the narrow, dried, allegedly 250-300-year old leaf, translating it and then writing everything that the leaf contained into a booklet which would then be read to me by him and what turned out to be the hostess, whom would act as the translator.
The leaf was about 1 foot long and 1 1/2 inches wide. I examined the leaf; it did have intricate unfamiliar text written on it, though I must say the actual ink of the pen didn't seem to be 250 years old. Regardless, this was God's Work, he was merely facilitating and writing what was on the leaf. And he was 100% committed and earnest about this sacred work he was doing at the most highly regarded Nadi-Astrology facility in Tamil Nadu!
So, the reader commenced the translation and was diligently writing into the booklet, periodically looking up at me as I sat there quietly watching him and breathing. In about 45 minutes he called in the hostess and announced that it was time for me to here what my leaf had to say. I had purchased a cassette from them and he pressed the record button and the session began.
He started with a long hymn like chant and then a prayer and read out loud in Sanskrit what was said to be written on the leaf…verbatim! He would say a few lines and then the hostess would repeat what he said in English. I listened quietly and with openness.
The Translation went something like this.
“With the grace of God and his divine will we have the good fortune of a reading with you. Your name is Dan. You are 42 years old and a happy man. Your mother’s name is Jane and your father’s name is George. You have 3 brothers. You are a creative man and play music which makes people happy and helps them to grow. You prefer the spiritual life and practice the meditation and the breathwork. You are not married but at age 46 you will meet a girl. She will be loyal to you and will help you with your business. You will not have children due to your work later with children. Due to planetary positions not much will be happening right now but soon the planets will align and this will result in a very fortunate life for you. When you turn 47 you will meet a master who will propel you in your spiritual growth. When you turn 50 you will publish a book and this will bring you fame and fortune and enable you to help people to grow and heal. You will be known the world over. People will come to you for help and advice. When people do what you suggest their lives will improve as a result. You will also develop the psychic ability and will be able to foresee what will come in the future. Because of this you will know in advance when you will be leaving Earth. You will teach people how to meditate and you will open up a meditation hall and spiritual center. You will also start an orphanage to help the children. When you turn 54 there will be some difficulty financially but this won’t last long and soon you will prosper again. But at age 54 you will have some health problems with your stomach and your eyes. Also, your mother will have health issues. Because of you hard work and discipline you will not need to reincarnate and will achieve the final liberation in this life; Moksha!
That was the basic abbreviated jist of the reading. I do have the entire reading recorded both on cassette and my Optio 5S camera.
Basically all of the information/predictions given about the future were derived from the information that I had provided during the lengthy leaf selection process earlier. And all of the correct details that the reader allegedly read from the leaf I had also provided. When I brought this objective truth up after the reading the reader responded that all of what I just heard was written on my leaf long ago and had nothing to do with the questions and answers during the leaf selection process.
At this point I was totally amazed that this business was able to pull this off and had a line of customers each day! This is a total joke is what I was thinking. How is it that Vartman the guru could have recommended this so highly? “People tell you where they’ve gone, they’ll tell you where to go, but until you get there you’ll never, ever really know”- Joni Mitchell.
The reader and the hostess seemed to be quite impressed with my reading, telling me that it is a rare event that they have a leaf that reads like mine. They were strongly encouraging me to immediately have them pull up other leafs (despite the fact that it was already 7:00pm; an hour past closing) that were associated with this reading so that I could have revealed corrective actions that I must take in order to cleanse my karma. In this way I would be able to manifest what this first leaf indicated was part of my destiny. These 2 other Kandems (readings) would cost me an additional rs 1400 X 2 for both. They seemed surprised when I said that I would really have to think about this. Of course I really didn’t need to think about much of anything at this point, though I must say their sincerity was convincing.
Always trying to remain open and not limit myself by any position I might take was the thing, if anything, that kept me in this game. And, well anyway, I had traveled a long way to get here, so part of me wanted to make absolutely sure I was seeing this through all the way to completion. Frankly, my idea of completion was developing at this point. Soon this completion would involve confrontation!
How is it that they were getting away with this with so many Indians? Was I just a trouble maker? Was I missing out on something that somehow I wasn't able to see? Was my disbelief in this process somehow cultural? Believe it or not I was still open to this possibility for myself.
One service that they offered was to type out a transcript of the reading. I figured what the heck, it would at least give me a chance to return the next day to pick it up and at that point either have the next readings or head on my way. And really what was going on for me was my investigative nature kicking in. I knew that if I had a night to reflect I would be able to go into this all further, somehow, the next day. So, I was happy to leave this window for myself.
The reader graciously offered to motorbike me over to the same hotel where I had lunch. I was starving, it was around 8:00PM and it had been a long day. I asked the reader one more time about why I was asked all of the questions before the leaf was found and then why did the leaf only provide information that I had given (plus forecasts for the future)? I asked him “ Why did we have to go through such a lengthy questioning period? Why didn't I just give you all of my information upfront at the beginning? That would have saved us all a lot of time wouldn't it have? You could have just gathered all of the information right from the get go and gone and gotten the darn leaf without the whole multi hour guessing game that took place. After all I did provide all of the information in response to your questions didn’t I?” Yes, I was being redundant and persistent. The reader became quite irked with me, dropped me off and sped away.
After a mediocre dinner a caught a rickshaw into the town center and wandered around a bit. I walked into the local temple and stumbled upon worship in mid progress with a couple of musicians playing, one of them on a reed instrument, the other on a hand drum. The temple was dingy and damp with only candle light. The sounds reverberated around the cement walls. About 40 Indians were taking part in the service. The whole group would move together to a series of different doors that would be ceremoniously opened allowing a view of the deity that was stored there. Incense was burning, chants filled the air. I felt a deep contact with a truly ancient practice.
After that, walked down the main street and was called into a dining area by the man that I had met at A. Sivasamy's that afternoon. He was very excited to see me and wanted to know how my reading went. Trying to be gentle I told him that I wasn't particular impressed. He was quite surprise! He had been going there for 15 some odd years for readings! What was wrong he asked me as his wife, brother and two sons all turned to face me in anticipation of my answer. Let the truth be known I thought, and then I told him exactly what I thought, albeit gently. He was very nice to me and was disappointed that I had had this experience there.
I took this opportunity to let my investigation progress. I asked the man what he pays for his readings and if he also does the additional Kandems and for how much? He told me that the first reading is in fact rs 1400 and that for a total of rs 1400 more one could have all of the other kandems, totaling around a dozen, read in full detail.
"Really?" I replied. "I was informed that each additional reading would be rs 1400!"
"Oh, no" the man replied. "You must have miss understood. I've been coming here for a long time, rs. 1400 gets you a complete reading of all of the remaining Kandems!"
"Hmmm" I said. “OK, perhaps I did hear him them wrong?
Privately I was pretty darn clear that I hadn't misheard them regarding the pricing. But who knows, perhaps they misunderstood me? There were language difficulties.
We chatted a bit more and then parted ways. Clearly this man was an articulate, intelligent man whom felt strongly about the value of these readings...repeatedly! It was all very curious to me! How could I be having such a divergent experience? Even Vartman, the guru whom I heard about A. Sivasamy from and received a map, from was a believer!
I retired to my room and lay in my bed thinking about this most unusual day and how I might progress with this whole event the following day. Information was going into my bio computer; the following morning during Sudarshan Kriya information would come out.
That morning as I came out of meditation my course of action became apparent to me. I decided that I would go back to A.Sivasamy's and be open to buying the additional reading. But I was hoping that the reader and the hostess would be able to help me get over my doubts. Frankly, I had little hope that they would be able to help me get over my doubts, but seeing as they seemed so committed to their work and all I figured what the heck, I'm here, I might as well see where this leads (OK , I admit it , I was being a coyote). If this was a serious professional business they would be more than willing to at least assure customer satisfaction, right?
I packed my bags in preparation for my departure later that day to Tirruvanamalia where I would visit the highly regarded, deceased Indian sage and guru Sri Ramana Maharshi’s ashram. I headed out across the street and had chai at the chai master's tea stand. They all had come to like me, and I liked all of them as well. The “tea master” did make an excellent cup. I tried the best I could to fill them all in on what was going one with me regarding the reading and what I was up to that day. This was difficult and only marginally successful due to the language barrier, though I think they understood where I was at. Some of them seemed to have their doubts about all of this Nadi-Astrology business as well.
The reader and hostess were expecting me, so when I arrived I was ushered into the office with no wait. And this is how our conversation ensued. Basically, I had decided ahead of time that I would earnestly seek their assistance in helping me remove my doubts about the validity of the reading and hence their business. They were all to aware of my doubts at this point.
So I reminded them slowly and carefully about my issues once again and asked them how committed they were to having me leave there a satisfied customer? They said they were very willing to help with this and asked how they might help. I suggested 2 actions that we could all take together that would eliminate my doubts. The first was I wanted to go and see that alleged library upstairs.
“Oh no sir” the hostess replied, “I can’t even go up there, absolutely you are not allowed.”
“Hmmm, why not? I asked. “If I could just have a quick look at the library, really, it would be so very helpful for me. Won’t you help me by allowing me a quick look?”
No, I’m sorry.” said the reader.
“OK, you have made that clear all along, though my having a look would sure be helpful …. but anyway, my second request that will help me to leave here a satisfied customer is to have the reading from my leaf re-read by a reader of my choice and for this I will pay full price as if it’s a brand new reading!”
The reader started to have smoke coming out from his ears and I pleaded with the hostess whom I had a more amiable connection with. There were a couple of other staff members in the office at this point watching the proceedings and the reader and the hostess began to speak in Hindi amongst each other and the others. There was an elderly man whom worked there and he was asked if he’d be willing to do the reading. He reluctantly agreed. So it seemed like we were moving along towards what would be a very exciting reading indeed. The problem was the hostess said she was the only one there who spoke good enough English to do the translation from the Sanskrit text on the leaf to English. This was probably true, but that would have invalidated the whole “experiment” as she already translated once and would remember the details. I mentioned this to her and suggested that I hire someone independent of the business and bring him/her there to help with this. The reader was becoming more and more unsettled and short tempered. I remained calm, speaking slowly and clearly with earnest emotion. The hostess said that that would be a big production to have a leaf with my name read.
“A leaf with my name on it, you must be misunderstanding me. I’m wanting to have the entire contents of the leaf read over again.”
“That would be the entire leaf read again!” she said “The first leaf only contains your name! And we are not going to go and retrieve all of the leaves for you like that.”
OOOppps, she had made a mistake and she knew it. During my reading only one leaf contained all of the information, not several.
She continued, “Why are you bothering us so, I think you are just trying to trick us. Why can’t you just trust like everyone else? This is God’s work and some things aren’t supposed to be mistrusted like this!”
At this point the process was over. Both the hostess and the reader insisted on giving me a full refund and ending the process we were in. I was impressed that I had gotten as far as I had and was happy enough to get a refund. I did remember the hostess's promise from the first day regarding being able to meet with A.Sivasamy should have any questions after my reading. I asked to meet with Sivasamy and was denied. On my way out of the front door I asked the reader about the pricing structure and he said that each kandem was rs 1400. I told him of my meeting a loyal customer and how I was informed that rs1400 would get all of the remaining kandems in totality. The reader replied that for that price they would be abbreviated readings. I responded that the customer I spoke with had made it clear that he was getting full readings af all of the kandems for an additional rs 1400 and no more. I asked him why I wasn’t offered that possibility and he said that for foreigners they only offer the full readings. I turned around and walked out the door.
And there you have it, the complete unabridged version of my visit with A.Sivasamy. Why did I take it this far? I guess I was curious to see what would happen if I did. And I was interested in exposing their fake business. And frankly, it really was a great Indian “experience” and I found the whole event to be quite engaging and in many ways fun ( especially this second day of meeting with them)!
It is unfortunate that the whole deal wasn't genuine and truthful. As much as I was very interested in gaining some insight into my life and where it's all heading for me, I was equaling interested in the greater implications had my life actually been read out to me miraculously from a palm leaf; that being a concrete experience for myself of a universal "information grid" of sorts that is the source of all that is. Not that I really need that as I do feel quite clear from an experientail place that cosmic consciousness is whom we all are; one infinate mass of bare awareness and energy. I already have a direct experience of this "beingness" as being the source of all that is. But who could deny the power of having one's life read out to them from the leaf of a palm by an absolute stranger from halfway around the world! That would have been an awesome, concrete experience!
I went back to the chai stand to down a few more mini-cups of chai, turning down the food they offered me as I was fasting again due to my stomach problem. Everyone wanted their pictures taken with me. The tea master wanted promotional pictures taken and sent to him; I clicked a couple of him in front of the shack that was home to his business. Then the tea man pointed to his decrepit stereo/cassette player on the floor and asked me if I would buy him a new one. In thought this was really innocent and sweet of him actually, but I said that I wouldn’t do that for him (later I actually considered sending him a cheap one). The request really reflected more than anything the Indian’s awe at my being from AMERICA. For them this meant that I’m rich and powerful and can do anything. I hated to say no to him.
It was blistering hot, and I was sick, so I hired a taxi for $40. to drive me 4 hours to Tirruvanamali.
Stay tuned for the (never ending?) ongoing adventures of Dan in India. Soon he will be immersed in the truly purely holy environment of Ramana’s ashram, he will climb the sacred Arunachala mountain where he will be at the “foot of Consciousness”.


10/25/05
Currently, I am traveling into China at a good clip. Today I leave the remarkably well preserved and picturesque town of Pingyao after having enjoyed 5 days in Beijing where I did a 7 mile hike on the Great Wall, visited the Forbidden City and Summer Palace, and ate Scorpian. I was clear about not wanting to sample the goat's penis and testicles that were on offer. These Chinese sure do seem to have a thing for "alternative" meat types. Incidentally, I have done some excellent vegetarian dining enjoying delectibles such as vegetarian duck intestines, lol. I will then continue on a southward journey to Luoyang and Kaifeng while enroute to Xi'an. After that, I will explore a bit of Sichuan Provence and then perhaps take a three day boat trip through China's famous Three Gorges along the Yangzi river (before they disappear due to the worlds biggest dam being built). Then I will travel south west towards Yunnan Provence where I will likely then fly somewhere else yet to be detemined. Maybe Nepal, maybe Myanmar (Burma)???
In Singapore I sent my larger rolling luggage and many belongings back to Boulder; 2/3rds of my stuff. I'm now traveling with a small day-backpack and a fanny pack; about 14 kilos!

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OK, here's my travelogue from months two and three in Indonesia on the islands of Papua and Sulawesi, Indonesia.
I started my stay in Indonesia with a month on the island of Bali. I wrote about this prior so keeping this part very short; my time there was spent learning how to surf on Kuta beach and enjoying the nightlife (when I wasn't too exhausted froma day of surfing). After 20 days of that, I then rented a motorbike and spent 9 days touring the rest of Bali, and doing some diving around the coasts.
Next a booked a flight to Papua, Indonesia on the island of New Guinea. My intention was to explore remote and tribal culture there and attend a festival in the Baliam Valley. The flight sucked, departing at 1:00 AM; the only flight available. I arrived in Papua at 7:30 AM, flying forward in time by 2 hours.
Once I arrived and supporting my eyelids with coffee, I hired an "ojek" (motorcycle and driver) to deliver me to the immigration office where I was required to get a special travel permit from the government; a Surat Jalan. This piece of beaurocratic hogwash was a pain in the butt. Basically, it forces foreigners to make choices in advance regarding exactly where they might go so that the government can keep close tabs. I had been warned that there was considerable tension in Papua due to the native Papuans wanting independence from Indonesia. Likely this travel permit had something to do with this internal resistance from the Papuans. Throughout my travels in Papua I got a real sense that the government wasn't all that happy with foreigners traveling there. Anyway, I got the darn piece of paper and returned to the airport hoping to grab a spot on a partly converted cargo plane in order to fly to the Baliam Valley. After some time waiting, I was informed that there was a last minute seat available for me, so I paid up and climbed onboard, arriving in Wamena an hour later at about 1:30 PM.
I spent the afternoon wandering around town orienting and looking at my hotel options (none of which were impressive). I wound up in an overpriced place but it was the best option. At least it had hot water, and running water for that matter. Later by necessity I had to stay at a different hotel that didn't have either hot or running water, drawing cold water from a washbasin in order to flush the toilet and to bathe. This was actually a common level of accommodation, unless I felt like spending large amounts of money for a "top end" place.
Regarding that, I really don't see much point. Firstly, it requires spending an amount of money as if one was in the west because the hotels figure that if you want and can afford a "top end" level of comfort and cleanliness, then you are capable and willing to pay a western price. Secondly, it has been my endeavor to spend less rather than more time in my hotel room, really using it mostly for sleeping. And finally, my extended travels have influenced me to go a bit more on the budget side and less so on the mid-range side.
Anyway, on my third day I went to a local market and spent a few hours hanging out in the scene. This wasn't particularly easy to do, as the Dani people are rather shy and not particularly jovial. All eyes turned as I entered the small but congested market area, making my way down the isle between the rows of women sitting on the ground with piles of produce and such displayed in front of them. And the eyes didn't really stop staring at me. It was an awkward feeling, but one that I've had before on many occasions.
I wasn't really there to buy anything, just to check out the scene. But this was not so easy. It required hanging out and standing out which is a given when you're the only white person. I took a position against a wall at the edge and viewed the proceedings of the local daily market. And the locals took their positions in ever growing numbers and ever-encroaching proximity around me. Before long a crowd of 25 or so men had gathered, quietly staring and staring, and not smiling. It's not that they were upset or anything, they are generally just a shy group of people not prone to smiling initially. I eventually came to know the native Papuans to be sincere and warm.
Eventually I figured I'd try to stir things up a bit. What the heck, if they were all going to hang out staring right in front of me I might as well spice things up a bit. Reaching around my back and pulling my fanny pack to my front side, I reached into the small pocket, all eyes intently watching my every move. I grabbed my trusty harmonica and started to play some blues. Immediately the energy stirred and more gathered. I really hadn't planned on what to play so I just made up some blues lyrics on the spot. "I got the blues in the morning, I got the blues in the afternoon. And when the evening comes, I got the blues, blues, blues comin' down on me." I played a wicked solo, sang some more and when I finished not a single sound from the now huge crowd. I clicked a couple of pictures of them all as they stared at me and hung out in the unbelievably intense energy.
Eventually the crowd dispersed some and I headed off for a small hike down to the river. I saw people bathing in the river; washing clothes...you know... the usual Asian routine.
As I walked down a long road, heading back into town I bumped into a couple from Switzerland; Renat and Inga. They were heading into a restaurant for a bite to eat and invited me in to join them, so I obliged. We all totally hit it off and before long we were talking about treking together into the remote regions to the south of Wamena in order to explore the traditional culture that still existed there.
The next morning, I invited Renat and Inga to come over to my hotel as I had prior arranged for a guide to come there and meet with me to discuss trekking possibilities. The day prior I had gone to the tourist office on the way to the market to get referrals for "approved" guides. So, Renat, Inga, myself and the potential guide all met at 10:00 AM. The Lonely Planet had warned to be ready to bargain long and hard for a fair price. Getting a fair price, I had read, helped to prevent an artificial inflation from happening due to loose walleted tourists all too easily spending too much money for services hired. The problem was that the guide I had arranged to meet with already had become spoiled by ill-informed tourists giving him whatever he asked for. His price was 300% higher than the Lonely Planet had recommended as a correct price.
The bargaining began, and all of the details were being discussed. The guide was adding in extra days and wanted us to hire additional porters and on and on. Renat, Inga and I convened for a private meeting in my room during the proceedings to discuss our feelings. Inga suggested that we just pay whatever he asked for, after all these people are poor and even if the price is high it's still not too much for us westerners. I suggested that we follow the Lonely Planets advice and bargain hard while at the same time making a considerable price concession. Renat kind of hung out in the middle.
The bargaining continued except the guide really wasn't bargaining at all. Yes, he dropped some of the unnecessarily added porters and days, but his price hadn't budged despite my outright saying that this price was way steep. For me, honestly, I had been traveling in Asia already for almost 6 months, and absolutely everywhere the locals where more than happy to extract as much money as they possible could if I wasn't well informed about the appropriate local market value for whatever I was spending my money on.
Eventually we had to take a lunch break. So, Renat, Inga and I walking down the street to catch a quick bite. On the way, I bumped into a Dani man, Francisco, that I had become acquainted with on my second day in Wamena while taking a hike into the countryside. Francisco was interested in guiding or portering for us but spoke very little English and wasn't "professional". But the problem now was that the guide we had been speaking with had sent one of his hired hands to follow us. When this hired hand saw me speaking with Francisco he approached us and gave a very clear message to Francisco that he had better not "get in the way" (holding a piece of metal for a weapon in his hand). This was then the beginning of the end for this so called "professional" guide.
Renat, Inga and I decided to trek independently without a guide, perhaps just picking up a porter along the way. This really felt better. The pro guide wanted to pack every last bit of food and such, but we felt that since we would be staying in villages, and since we were willing to "eat as the locals do" (which in this case would be the sweet potato, their staple food), why not just head out and trust in the process that would unfold. Additionally, Renat spoke fluent Indonesian so we all figured that would help us get along without a guide.
That night we went to the market and shopped for a couple days worth of dry food and snacks just in case we needed it. Synchronistically, earlier in the evening Renat and Inga were approached by another Dani man who offered to porter for them. This man said that he lived in Karima, where we were heading, and could also act as a guide (for the cost of a porter, that being 5 dollars a day). I was a bit unsure of yet another offer, but nonetheless the next morning we all met, including this porter/guide by the name of Asman. We dropped into a local market for some last minute items. I bought a sweater and a blanket.
Taking a bemo out to the market, we then chartered another one to take us out to the trailhead where we commenced our 5-day trek into very steep and rugged terrain. Adding spice to the trails were the occasional suspended bridges that had to be crossed. These bridges were homemade¡­. shall we say ¡°rustic and natural¡±. They had no bottom support whatsoever and where put together with elements from the environment plus some less than trustworthy cables. Boards missing, bridge swaying, stories of collapses etc. You get the picture. Personally, I loved them! But for sure you take your life into your own hands using them, not that there's much choice otherwise.
We had a blast. Each night we stopped in a different village to eat dinner and sleep. Asman wound up being a total gem so we hired his son the next day to porter as well. We ate as the villagers eat; mostly vegetables and sweet potatoes cooked over a fire in huts, supplimented with the noodles and rice that we had brought with us. We slept in huts and rustic wood cabins, often without a mattress.
We spent a night in the small town of Tangma. It had a small grass airport and a larger than typical population for the area; probably a few hundred people. There was a conspicious lack of motor vehicles or motorcycles as there wasn't a single road. This is where Asman's family lived. We stayed in one of his huts and hung out with his family, sitting on the earth in the kitchen hut by a candle's light eating dinner. We dined on fire baked sweet potatoes, white rice and beautiful freshly harvested vegetables, as well as a some packs of flavored noodles that we supplied. That night they all played some traditional Papuan music for us. Afterwards, Renat, Inga and I retired into our own little thatched roof hut and slept on the floor (as they all do). As I drifted off to sleep I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that while the Dani villagers that I was meeting were in fact very poor financially, they seemed to live satisfying simple lives with their families and neighbors. All of their basic needs seemed to be met quite well, by their own doing.
The hikes were rigorous and steep indeed. Each day we came across many local villagers whom were making their way along the trails as well. Many of the men still were "dressed" traditionally, i.e., naked with only a penis gourd. The elder Dani women were present as well; gardening on dramatic inclines, the clouds hanging just overhead. One naked Dani elder whom we crossed paths with was returning from a funeral ceremony and was wearing traditional face and body paint of smeared ashes and pig fat. We hired him to carry some more stuff...why not, he was there and asking to help.
I enjoyed snacking on a local culinary treasure called Forest Coconuts. These small narrow tubular brown tidbits were fiberous and did indeed have a flavor reminiscent of coconut. This was a highly valued staple for the Dani People as it provided a good source of protein. In fact, so valued was this Forest Coconut that our naked Dani porter whom had joined our entourage decided to discontinue his jouney with us because of our traveling into a less than friendly neighboring village's domain. Apparently there was a conflict (which could involve bows and arrows) over whose land was whose. There was a river that divided the land geographically but members of either side were crossing the boundry secretly in order to forage the highly valued Forest Coconut. Along our journey I had repeated opportunities to buy the coconut, which I did in large supply figuring that it was a wild foraged highly nutritious edible.
In addition to the Forest Coconut I went crazy over the Sugarcane that was also availible. Our naked Dani porter had some that he sold to us and introduced me to the art of eating it by taking a bite himself and after partly masticating it in his own mouth quickly removing it and putting it into my mouth! I was a bit surprised by my own willingness to allow this, but I thought to myself while it was happening- "wow, he really wants me to chew on this sugarcane that he has already chewed on, fascinating". What I learned was that the Danis are not at all squeemish about sharing oral fluids and such, readily finishing what was left on someone elses plate or in one case I saw a mother chew some corn and then put it into her young child's mouth from her own mouth. Anyway, I learned quickly and thoroughly enjoyed munching on the Sugarcane the way the locals do; ripping the outside bark away with the teeth and then chomping on the fiberous juicy interior before spitting the remnants out. Yummy, enyme rich and sweet!!!
The Dani people are very interesting indeed; They still predominately live off of the land, gardening at high altitudes and collecting as many pigs as they can. The pigs are their bank account and more pigs typically indicates the particular family's community importance. The men sleep in one hut and the women another; never together. The pigs often share the same quarters as family members. Polygamy is still practiced. The elder women amputate a finger for each family member that dies! This was difficult to see as many of the older women barely had any fingers left!
One of the topics that seemed to keep coming up during our hiking was the native Papuans desire for independence from the Indonesian Government. I had heard about a large protest that was scheduled for August 15th, so I was quite interested in the details. My being attracted to large crowds and intensity as well as authentic local experience, for sure I was considering attending the protest, especially since I figured that I would be in Jayapura around that time. But I didn't want to be there if it was going to erupt into large scale violence, and I had some concerns that the Papuans might target foreigners for publicity. Renat was a gem and translated/forwarded many questions I had as we bumped into various villagers. We all discussed whether we thought it would be safe for me to be there. Ingar advised against it, and Renat warned that the government might not be happy to see a foreigner taking pictures. The Papuans felt that this particular protest was going to be the one to bring them independence because apparently the U.N. was going to be in the country simulataneously.
Speaking of Renat's willingness to translate my at times seemingly endless questions, one such evening came on our first night out. We were staying in the schoolmaster's cabin. Here we had one room to share, sleeping on bare wood floor. That night we all congregated in the kitchen hut and watched dinner being prepared over a fire. We all ate together (sweet potatoes, veggies, rice, and noodles -without MSG I would always ask; they all love the stuff) and after dinner the schoolmaster spent time with us. I had many, many questions about this unique culture that we were soon to discover intimately. Renat was happy to play the go between, and had questions as well, and seemed to really enjoy my line of inquiry as did the schoolmaster. Well, and you know with this receptivity I couldn't help but probe into the more risky questions.
I asked questions about why they collect pigs, and do they become attached to them. The answer was no they don't and one of the main reasons to collect pigs is so that the man can afford to have more than one wife! When a man marries a woman he must offer the wife-to-be's family a dowry of pig/pigs. Interesting, I thought that doesn't seem to be a very positive reflection on the value of the woman¡K. A pig for a woman, lol.
"What if a man doesn't have a pig"I asked?
"Then he won't have a wife" was the answer.
"OK, so how is it that a man can have several wives? Can a woman have several husbands?" I asked
"No".
"Hmmm, ok,only one husband for the wife. Is that because the men own the pigs?"
"No, it's just how it goes, but true the women don't own pigs."
"OK, " I said, " but it doesn't seem fair that the women don't get more than one husband. Do the women ever have secret love affairs? Do the men?" I asked?
The schoolmaster replied, "Well, if a man wants to be with a woman he must have a pig or three, otherwise the women won't enter into an intimate relationship at all."
Hmmm I thought, no pig, no nookie. I'm glad I don't have to play by those rules, LOL!
He continued, "and a woman would never, ever enter into an illegitimate affair because if she got caught her parents would have to pay in pigs a fine that would last repeatedly their whole lives to the family of the man! The women don't ever risk this."
I'm not sure I got this part.
"OK, so what about same sex relationships" I asked with Renat's translation assistance and willingness.
"That never happens," said the schoolmaster. "That's a sin."
I left that one alone.
"OK, so how does polygamy manage to blend with the over whelming popularity of Christianity here" I asked?
¡§Well, it's tolerated because it has been a part of this culture for so long. But the younger generation isn't practicing polygamy because of the Churches influence" the schoolmaster said.
It was a really interesting and fun interchange. The schoolmaster seemed to really enjoy answering all of the questions.
Another interesting dynamic that continued to come up during our trek and wound up being a bit of an ongoing joke of sorts between Ingar and I (and Renat) was at what point should the bargaining stop. Ingar's point was that, again, look , these people are poor...give them what they ask for, stop being so cheap! I really appreciated the Yin/feminine perspective that Ingar brought into our group dynamic. Indeed, everything would have been quick and easy if we had simply said yes to anything and everything. For sure there was something to be said for that. And no doubt all whom we would do business with would be absolutely over the top friendly and helpful.
Needless to say, Ingar became very popular with all of the locals wherever we went because for one; she was interested in buying jewelery and bags and such and secondly; because she paid them whatever they asked for. And for a while there, she actually had me feeling like a bit of a cheap skate..LOL. But what we all saw as the trek went on was that they were totally taking advantage of Ingar and she begain to see this as well. At one point she was looking at a piece of jewelry and the local woman said the price was 20,000 rp.. Ingar agreed and the woman left the room briefly and when she returned she insisted on 30,000 rp!
Ingar did remind me of the softness that I had for the Indians in India during my intitiation into Asian culture 6 months earlier, so I softened a bit with her help. And Ingar learned the value of bargaining and insisting on a fair price, especially as she saw them taking advantage of her and their being willing to simply take and take with no end. We all had alot of fun with this little mini-drama of sorts that was going on.
All along our journey we had been hearing about a large group of Italians whom were doing the same route as we were. They were about a half day in front of us. None of us were particularly interested in in merging with what felt like would be a huge touristic entourage but nonetheless we soon met up with them.There were 11 Italians whom had hired 1 guide, 1 cook, and 21 porters!
We came up upon a part of their fleet at a resting point on a ridge. There I went over to introduce myself to what turned out to be he guide, a female from Jayapura and a friend of hers that was doing the trek for fun; Belinda and Anne respectively. A large group of male porters were nearby semi-quietly encouraging me to take advantage of the female company I was getting aqcuainted with. But really I was just interested in finding out about how the whole dynamic was going with the Italians. We had seen some of them very slowly climbing up very steep inclines and I wondered how the group was doing? Belinda filled me in, telling me that all they do is complain and that they were having a very difficult time with the difficulty of the hike, complaining about the food, etc. etc. Anyway, I commended Belinda for taking on such a big group and acknowledged the big responsibility she had.
Later my group met up again with some of the staff of the Italian group and Anne. The porters called me over and told me that Anne wanted to "get together" with me, laughing and encouraging me in a masculine fashion. And apparently one of the porters fancied me as well; he positioned himself in a place where he had a clear view of me. I picked up on his vibe quickly. But really, I really wasn't interested in Anne or the porter in that way. But I did like making friends.
That night, the Italians stayed in the church and we stayed well removed in a small cabin down the path quite a ways away. After dinner I decided to venture out and check out what was going on with this huge group of Italians and their staff. Additionally, Belinda had informed me that the Italians had plans to do another trek in the famed and remote Asmat region, so part of me felt like there might be a window of opportunity with this group. I took the 15 minute walk in the pitch of night, the stars brilliantly shining, down to the church where I met a few of the Italians outside after they had finished dining.
I spoke with the organizer of their whole group, interested in getting the perspective about this trek from the other viewpoint. I guess I'm just interested in group dynamics in general and this was driving my interest in finding out about their trek. He said that in fact, all of them were experienced mountain hikers from the Italian Alps and that they were very satisfied with the guide, staff and organization. They all seemed nice enough and interestingly they conveyed quite a different message than that of Belinda and Anne's. Soon the Italians were off to bed and I went off to try to find the staff and Belinda and Anne. Eventually I found them all in a long hut with a small fire burning. They enthusiastically invited me in, happy to see me. Anne and the porter whom fancied me sat next to me and we all chatted and had a few laughs. I busted out the harmonica and played them all a tune. It was a good, low key time. We agreed that we would all meet again the next day on the trail and I returned to my cabin.
Renat, Ingar and I had started to become a bit tired of the bottomless wanting of the people whom put us up (and our staff). They expected a constant flow of cigarettes and asked for ever-increasing and variant expenses to be paid for. For instance after having full access to the cigarettes that were expected to be supplied, when they smoked through them all with no regard for how quickly they used them, they then strongly expected that we would promptly buy them more. For sure, we had already supplied way more than enough. It just got tiring to have a host of the local villagers show up wherever we arrived and hang around in order to score smokes and snacks, or pens, or sell us things; whatever they could get. This was the damaging affect of our tourism, and yet at the same time, for sure it was clear that we benefitted them all. Especially the way in which we decided to travel, opting to buy potatoes and veggies and such along the way, dirEctly from the villagers, and thus giving money straight to the source rather than a greedy guide who would no doubt underpay the porters and cooks that he would hire and over charge us for the food purchased etc.
On the last day of the trek, we crossed paths with the Italian group. Belinda and Anne where very friendly to me and wanted me to join their group. Belinda paid me a nice compliment saying that when I was around everyone seemed to lighten up and have more fun. (Actually it was probably she and Anne that lightened up the most- I think Belinda had a real problem with projection). And Ingar was so sweet giving me permission to stay with them as she saw the large group of male porters that seemed to groove on me as well. But I was having too much fun with Renat and Ingar and wanted to complete our journey as the great team that we were..
Anyway, after 5 days of living in villages without running water or electricity, high in the mountains, and having eaten more than our share of sweet potatoes we returned to Wamena and dined at a restaurant with Asman and his son joining us. We paid Asman a good price for both his portering and guiding. He and his son were very pleased. I bumped into Asman a couple of days later, after Renat and Inga had left for Bali, and he informed me that the very next day he went out and bought a pig with the money we gave him, spending 600,000 of the 1,000,000 rupiah he had earned!
I felt so blessed to have had such great company with Renat and Ingar. They were both a delight to travel with and we continue to stay in contact via email.
The day after returning from the trek was the start of the Baliam Valley Festival! I had really sculpted my travels to accomodate the occurrance of this event so I was looking forward to it.
During the two days of the event I witnessed hundreds of Dani men and women dressed traditionally, performing traditional dance, handi-craft making, potato baking and the main feature was certainly the large mock tribal warfare that the men staged. Hundreds of them would charge each other, shooting arrows and throwing spears (safely of course). It was quite dramatic and really was about as close as one could come in this modern age to actually experiencing what it was like back when the tribes still engaged in warfare.
Not that the Baliam Valley or Wamena for that matter were very modern...they weren't. In Wamena one of the main modes of transport after walking was cycle rickshaw, a three-wheeled bike with a carriage for transporting passengers.
I attended the second day of the festival with the Italian group's guide Belinda's friend Anne. She and Belinda had hunted me down the night before and had just caught me arriving back at my hotel after a painfully slow internet session at the only pathetic cafe in Wamena. We hung out that night a bit and Anne and I made plans to meet the next day for the festival. Belinda was too busy being the Italian group's guide to hang much. At the festival I also bumped into a swiss couple Anne and Eric whom I had met briefly on a high mountainous ridge on my prior five day trek with Renat and Ingar. The three of us roamed around the fairgrounds and hung out for a while, hitting it off naturally and easily. They had been traveling in Indonesia for 6 months, part of their 16 month journey.
On the first day of the festival, I positioned myself on the ground in front of the bandstand for a good close view of the proceedings and to click photographs. The MC came over and introduced himself sitting on the ground next to me. We made a nice connection. On the second day, he approached me again and asked if I would like to participate in a competition for foreigners involving archery and javalin. I hadn't really intended on participating but following his lead I signed up.
Really the whole competition was for fun; the local Papuans getting a big kick out of the white westerners trying their hands at indigenous weaponry use. (Swiss) Anne had signed up for the event as well. She and I had a blast and many laughs while the crowd watched on. The MC seemed to be more invested in my doing well than I, so I did my best to fulfill his expectations and took first place in the Javalin throwing competition. Anne, Eric and I hung around the grounds and commuted back to wamena together, having dinner together and striking up a good natured friendship.
A couple of days later I left Wamena, flying to Jayapura. I bid fairwell to Eric and Anne earlier as they were heading out for another trek in the valley. In Jayapura I planned to spend a few days in the city and explore one of Indonesias's largest lake, Danua Sentani before booking another flight to the island of Biak for some S.C.U.B.A. diving.

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Jayapura is really not much to write home about so I won't. It's a beat up, poorly maintained city that's over priced due to the more affluent and exchange-rate advantaged New Guinea folk who would arrive there to shop or do business..
My first morning there I hired an Ojek to take me out to a traditional market in a Muslim neighborhood outside of the city. Pretty interesting, though I got there after the peak. It was a blistering hot day and I no longer enjoyed the benefit of milder temperatures in the higher elevation of the Baliam Valley. I caught another Ojek back into the city and when I arrived there was a very large crowd that had gathered. I had the driver drop me off as I was excited to see what was going on. I really didn't think anything of pulling out my camera and clicking some pictures. The thought crossed my mind that the event might be the protest that I had heard about during our trek, but it was only the 12th and the protest was scheduled for the 15th. Whatever it was there were plenty of police and Papuans around and I wasn't trying to hide anything. I tried to find out what was going on, but none of the people I asked spoke English.
I moved into a good viewing position and a procession surged through the street. The front of the crowd had a large red banner and they were singing a chant energetically. At this point I thought perhaps this was the protest, but repeatedly I had heard it would be on the 15th, 3 days later. Anyway, I selected my video option because the crowd was pumping and the chant was compelling, and proceeded to take a video clip. I stepped down from my position to follow the crowd and a man stopped me. He had a cell phone in his hand and said that a man was calling me from a hotel and wanted to speak with me. That's strange, not possible I thought, there's no one here like that who would call me, relaying this observation to the stranger. He said that I needed to come with him. After a few questions and lack of cooperation on my part the man told me that he was an undercover policeman. I asked to see his badge promptly which he discreetly showed me, and subsequently escorted me over to a few police vehicles. I was then asked to get into a car, which with resistance and complaints I did. I was then sped over to the police station.
I was interrogated in a rather unorganized way and informed that it is against the law for any foreigner to take pictures of a protest. I told them that I didn't know that it was a protest and that I was merely a tourist attracted by the commotion. And frankly, this was the truth. Well, a few minutes turned into a few hours, but soon the Police Chief, whom apparently I was waiting for, arrived at the station. My camera and passport had already been confiscated and the police had sent an officer over to my hotel to retrieve my bags for inspection. Anyway, the chief asked the same series of questions. I was confident about my innocence (of course) and felt clear that the Chief and everyone else for that matter knew that I wasn't a spy or an agent or whatever. Nonetheless, the process dragged on and on and on.
I won't bore you with the boring details much. The police Chief was a total jerk; in love with his power more than anything else (surprise,surprise). It took the better part of 2 days to get my camera and passport returned. The main thing that was stressing me in the station that first day wasn't my possessions being held hostage. Rather it was that I knew that soon all of my photos would be viewed and um....let's just say that there was some rather personal pictures and a "private" video clip that I had saved onto my memory card of some fun with my friend from India, Anoop. For sure it was only a matter of time before the files would be opened and ALL would be revealed to who knows how many policemen. What would be the result if this happened? Would I ever get my passport and camera back? Would I get out of there alive?
Overall, the police were pretty friendly, just following orders and all. Anyway, after a few hours of sitting there (for no good reason), there was a window of opportunity that came. My camera was sitting on the main desk and one of the main officers had stepped into the next room to question another foreigner (a Dutch Man) that they had detained for the same reason. I quickly grabbed the camera and had just barely enough time to open the photos and delete the "sensitive" files. The policeman came out and saw me with the camera and approached me....... I said I was looking at pictures I'd saved for Laos, turning the camera for him to see. He walked off and that was that!!!!!!!!!!
Later, the police finally loaded my memory card contents into their computer and a crowd of them huddled around the screen viewing my photos over and over again. I reveled in the fact that I had succeeded in deleting the X-files! Oh man, oh Man was I lucky.!!!!!!!
On day two of this hassle, I spent the bulk of the day wandering back and forth to the station, hoping that the chief would return. He had broken his promise of being there that morning and returning my belongings. I played an incomplete game of chess with one of the officers, and finally at sunset I began a half naked Yoga routine right there in the middle of the station on the balcony outside of the chief's office. It was then that the chief returned and shortly there after he artificially apologized and ordered his cronies to give me (and the Dutch man's) camera and passport back (after deleting the all important "sensitive" files). Fortunately, I had been singing that Papuan protest song in my head so that memory will remain.
I stayed and extra night in Jayapura and the next day got up early to explore Danua (Lake) Sentani and catch a flight to the island of Biak, in Papua. There I mostly intended to do some diving.
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In Biak, Papua I had a fun time S.C.U.B.A. diving for a couple of days. A quick note here; many times a local somewhere will ask me how my "holiday" is going. I always think to myself what an incredible journey I'm on and how blessed I am to be on it. But it really doesn't feel like a holiday, I gotta work for this. And all along I have confirmed the very quote that I coined myself, that being ..." The only thing that's real is what happens, everything else is just a thought". And for sure I am a traveler and this is very, very different from being a tourist.
Often times, and sometimes it seems more often than not, what one thinks will be simple and easy in fact turns out to have complications. My experience in Biak will demonstrate this quite well. The main issue here was that the manager of Biak Diving, Lexi, did not have his shit together at all. It took me an hour and 1/2 just to find his relocated office that had no sign indicating its presence. I had hired an "Ojek" (motorcycle and driver) from the airport to drive me around for this. In fact, in the end I actually never found him or his office. He actually found me after I dropped into another hotel to see if they might have info to find this elusive Biak Diving Company. Lexi raced up behind us on his motorcycle calling out to me, asking if I was looking to dive; subsequently delivering me to the dive office where a big Biak Diving sign was tucked away behind some chairs in front of the building.
Lexi and I spoke about dive trips and the need for enough divers in order to go out to sea while I got fitted with a wet suit and such. He convinced me to check out of my current hotel and travel down island in order to stay in a guesthouse right at the boat's launching point. This would have been fine except for the fact that I told him I wanted A/C and needed email, also prefering my own bath, all of which he promised was there. The problem was that upon arrival, none of these things were in fact available/functioning. I rolled my eyes as I turned the lame-ass archaic AC on in my potential room and caused the entire establishment to lose it's power! I could have probably lived without what I was promised, but what I couldn't live with was his blatant dishonest. The Guinness Stout beer that he eagerly bought me and opened in the moving vehicle while enroute (before I really wanted it) gave me an advanced indication of what was coming. I did enjoy the beer but for sure it didn't yield the result that Lexi was hoping for. I asked to speak with Lexi privately, moving him off to the side away from all of the eaves droppers and dive guides whom were eager to listen in. I told it like it was to Lexi while he wiggled around and attempted to make lame excuses while the dive master and others shamelessly encroached on our "private" space. I told Lexi that I wanted to return to my prior accommodation and he obliged.
But now I seemed to be a bit on Lexi's black list. When I convinced him to let me dive he told me that both he and the dive master were concerned that all I would do is complain. I assured him that I would be no problem provided the service was professional. This was the only dive company on Biak, so there were no other options. This dynamic put me in a position to somehow provide constructive feedback to Lexi and be honest, and at the same time stay on his good side so that I would be able to dive.
This was the first of numerous " talks " that Lexi and I had to have. My last talk with him I confronted him on the lack of professionalism on his part, his poor listening skills, his dishonesty, no first aid on the boat, leaking tanks that were never filled as a result to the correct pressure etc.etc. Incidentally, this resulted in my nearly running out of air at 20 meters depth and needing to share air with the dive master for the last 20 minutes. He definitely heard about that. Interestingly, Lexi seemed to actually want to hear what I had to say and did his best, despite his appalling listening and my frank feedback, to listen.
On the first day of two days of diving that I was able to schedule, the dive master and crew seemed a bit cold with me at first, or at least that's what I thought. So I assured them that all would be fine and good-naturedly said that I would be a good boy. But what wound up happening was that for some reason they all really liked me. As a matter of fact, on my second day of diving, the dive master from the day before had been assigned to another group. He told me that he didn't want to go with the new group because he wanted to spend another day with me! I was touched and flattered. Probably, aside from the dive master and crew apparently liking my company, they may well have been privately cheering me on and applauding my having the nerves to call Lexi on his shit. But for me honestly, speaking with Lexi didn't involve having "the nerve" to tell him the truth. I just feel that there isn't much use in my having a private dialog with myself and not sharing it should the situation warrant it.

The two days of diving were very good but not unbelievable, though the final dive was outstanding with exceptional coral table forests.
Incidentally, now apparently Biak Diving Company has gone bankrupt and closed shop. My Swiss friends Eric and Anne got wind from a traveler friend that a few days after I left the biz folded. They thought that it may well have been catylized by my taking the time to be honest with the manager, resulting in his facing the truth.
Aside from the diving, my meeting a friend, Adi, at an Internet cafe rounded out my stay very nicely on the Island. I might have stuck around longer on the island to keep his company (I think that Lexi and I had run our course by then and thus no more diving) but I had the time pressure of my 60 day visa expiring soon and I really wanted to experience more of Papua. I flew to the pretty and garbage strewn port city of Manokwari.

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Arriving in Manokwari, the usual song and dance commenced. I hired a taxi from the airport but it took a while to find a room as many establishments were full do to a conference that was taking place. I did secure a room soon enough and subsequently went to the Merapati office to make a reservation for a plane back to Jayapura in order to renew my visa in a few days. Anne and Eric, the Swiss couple that I'd met and spent some time with at the Baliam Valley Festival were staying at a "Loseman" across the street and hailed me over when they saw me! We were happy to see each other! Eric had spent much of the day procuring a special permit to adventure in the protected marine park in Cenderwasih Teluk. He suggested that we all travel together. This was perfect for me as I was planning to attempt something similar one my own.
Later that evening, we all met up for dinner, and headed out across town to a Warung (small cheap food shack) in the night market. We eat the usual grilled Ikan (fish), Nasi Goreng (fried rice) and Sayur (vegetables). The three of us did our best to continue to preach about the evils of M.S.G. On the way a local guide had approached us, introducing himself. We told him that we were heading south to Ransiki, so he gave us a referral for a captain and a boat; one of many synchronistic moments.
The following morning Eric, Anne and I met up and did some errands for the yet to be actualized outing. By late morning we went to the local market for a quick bite to eat and to catch a bemo (taxi). Packed like sardines with 12 Indonesians and assorted cargo in the back on wooden benches and facing across at each other, we commenced our journey to the small town Ransiki, 4 hours south. The taxi crossed rivers and jangled over an often barely present road much of the way. Enroute, I studied Bahasa Indonesia, working diligently on memorizing a list of 20 essential verbs. Anne attempted to help by quizing me but with mixed result over the aural domination of the muffler corroded, emission spewing bemo/taxi.
Once we arrived in Ransiki we checked into the local Loseman (guesthouse). We then hunted down the lead we had gotten in Manakwari and chartered a boat and 2 crew/guides after considerable premeditation and subsequent bargaining. Eric and Anne really made this possible as they both spoke Indonesian. The guide/crew had one night to get organized; the plan was to depart the following morning.
In actuality, the "captain" that we hired the night before now was not going on the journey with us, he said that he was coming down with Malaria (yeah right). Instead his son would be the captain. Additionally, they weren't ready until early afternoon and upon setting out to sea they were barely able to get the second engine going. And still additionally, we had two of their friends now on board with us, to our surprise. Regardless, the three of us were intent on pulling this off and exploring the seldom visited marine park and frankly the boat was easily big enough to accomodate us all.
It wound up being an incredible 5 day trip! We stopped in many places to snorkel. The four men whom were our guides had fun with us and caught us all a lot of food from the environment. I did my best to swim around the waters we were exploring and "herd" the larger groups of fish towards Arnold who would then dive deep down with a home made spear gun in hand and attempt to spear our prospective Makan Malam (dinner...lunch or breakfast for that matter).The culinary tastes went from too much fish, huge coral lobster, and to boiled bat (really). How did we come to eat bat you ask? Well, we had anchored the boat near an island to do some snorkeling and the guides, Hendrick, Arnold, Henky, and Asnu pointed to a large cluster of tree tops at the top of the island. There we could see hundreds of black spots in the treetops; bats! So, as Anne, Eric and I commenced to snorkel, plunging off of the side of the boat into crystal clear, tepid waters, the boys grabbed a B.B. gun and headed onto the island.
Eric, Anne and I knew they were having success because a large swarm of bats had left their once peaceful perches and were now flying above us. When the boys finally returned they had 4 large dead bats and a baby bat that was alive, it's mother having just been killed. Arnold put the baby upside down on the inside roof of the boat and we now had a pet bat. Later for dinner, they chopped up the bats indiscriminately (as the Indonesians do with all meat) and stuffed everything into a big pot, boiling until ready, wings and all! Fortunately, Eric, Anne and I dined mostly on noodles and fish 'cause I gotta say that pot of boiling bat really, really didn't look very appetizing. However, with in trepidation, we did sample the "local cuisine" and I can attest it was pretty tasty; kind of like gamey pork. The baby bat late in the night escaped:(.
The days were filled with hours and hours of swimming in tepid waters, hanging out on remote tropical islands and tooling around on the boat, sometimes passing by large schools of 100 or more dolphins. The boat would amber along while we would gaze into the waters, stopping the boat to jump in and see if the underwater world struck our fancy. Often it would, and often it wouldn't.
The problem here being that because we were in a "protected" marine park, what that really meant is that few if any people lived there. And what that then meant was that illegal fishing by means of "dynamite fishing" was common as no one was there to complain. These, "fishermen" merely set up an underwater explosive and when a school of fish is near CABOOM, blasting everything, coral reefs included, to smithereens.The poachers use high speed boats with three engines so that even if the police, which barely exist, were to find them they would simply speed off with faster boats. If they got caught, they would simply pay off the police and at worst risk a mere three days in jail. We had spoken with a marine park official when we returned and got all of the dismal details. Needless to say, snorkeling around destroyed coral graveyards isn't exactly an ideal environment.
Anyway, we slept in shacks and make shift tents on the beach and enjoyed the sound of gentle waters lapping up on the beautiful white sand beaches that each night became our home. It really was one of the great adventures of this mind boggling journey I'm on.
Later I returned to Manokwari, leaving Eric and Anne to hike up and visit the Anggi Lakes to the west of Ransiki. I would have liked to have joined them but I had (and still have) a hyper-flexion strain on my left ankle from my prior trek in Wamena so I figured it was best not to push it with a strenuous hike. We didn¡¯t have to make it one of those goodbye forever goodbyes though because Eric and Anne had the same travel plans as I did from here. We made plans to email each other in a few days and subsequently hook up in Manado, Sulawesi before taking a boat out to the island of Bunaken where we would spend about 5 days SCUBA diving in arguably what was said to be some of the best diving in the world!
To my surprise and delight after I had left for Manikwari two of the guides, Hendrik and Arnold had looked for me in Ransiki. They went to the Loseman where Eric, Anne, and I had slept in pursuit of me. There the guesthouse owner told them that I headed to Manokwari earlier. They immediately caught a bemo, traveled 4 hours, and hunted me down at the night market in Manokwari! So sweet they were. Very surprised to see them, I asked why they came? The one I became closest to, Hendrik, told me that when our prior boat journey was over and Eric, Anne and I had departed, it was very difficult for them to say goodbye to me. I agreed and felt the same. So they traveled all that way to spend more time with me! I was impressed and flattered. These guys really had no idea whether they'd find me but felt compelled enough to make the long and (for them) costly journey.

It was then an awesome couple of days with these two young men and a great friend that came along with them as well. Our first day together Hendrik and his friend Eddy and I took a small boat across the bay to a small island. There I was in hot pursuit of a couple of Polish travelers whom I had been told had rented a house there in order to SCUBA dive around the island. There are a lot of wrecks in the sea as a result of WWII. I was hoping to score a couple of dives with them but they had departed a month earlier. So, Hendrik, Eddy and I snorkeled all day long. I had bought them each a mask and snorkel earlier in the day, to their delight! Later in the day, the swimming turned into swim lessons from Dan. During our prior boating trip, apparently they had conveyed to Anne and Eric that they were very impressed with my swimming and underwater abilities, so I knew that they would be eager learners. We had too much fun. Giving the swim lesson brought back old memories of my giving swim lessons at Camp Jewell in Colebrock, Ct. every summer when I was younger.
That night we walked around the night market and I fed the whole gang for under $3.00. Walking around the market, Hendrik was so sweet; looking after me, carrying my water bottle and holding my hand affectionately as we walked around as is common for male friends throughout Asia. He innocently asked if he could crash in my room and I obliged. On day two, Hendrik and I met up with Eddy and Arnold and we all took a hike up a small mountain in the rain and returned to my room for naps and hanging out before going out again for another dinner together. That night Hendrik asked if the whole gang could sleep together in my room and I obliged again. Arnold, Eddy and another friend shared one small twin bed and Hendrik and I spooned innocently in the other twin bed.
The next morning I awoke early to take my flight back to Jayapura in order to renew my Visa. The boys got up with me, accompanying me to the airport and carrying my bags. It was very difficult to say goodbye knowing that it would likely be forever. I gave them enough money to cover their taxi back to Ransiki plus have lunch. I boarded the plane, took my seat and watched out the window as my friends walked away; out of the parking lot and out of my sight.
This indeed seems to be one of the challenges of this journey I'm on; to constantly be letting go and moving on to the unfamiliar. I actually look for that ache in my heart as a measure of the success that I've had with connecting with the land, the people and the country and I know I've stayed long enough if it's difficult to leave.

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Later that day, arriving by flight back to Jayapura, the journey for the new visa was time consuming, complicated, and costly. I did have fun though (mostly). At that point pretty much anything I did was an adventure and fun, especially since studying Indonesian language. And more generally, apparently I really like a challenge.
To get the new visa it took a full day of work just to get an exit stamp and entry visa and shop for a boat with a truthful price. Following a lead from the New Guinea Immigration Office, late in the day I went to a small village on the coast near Jayapura . I arrived at a shack built on stilts above the water and hired a speedboat from the people who lived there in order to cross the border. I then traveled to Vanimo in Papua New Guinea the following morning, um¡­well¡­no¡­it was early afternoon because the captain wasn¡¯t ready to depart on time. And speaking of the captain, well, he sent his son and friend with me to do the job (sound familiar ie. The prior 5 day boat trip?). Anyway, we arrived in New Guinea too late for me to apply for the visa that day so I got up early the next morning and went straight to the immigration office.
Unfortunately and frustratingly the immigration worker would/could only issue me a 30 day visa...not happy...I wanted 60. He was a short-tempered man whom really didn't want to hear much of anything from me or my complaints. I stooped over in an attempt to make eye contact with him in the only way that was possible; by peering through a little slot that was only meant for passing back and forth documents and money. Apparently the Immigration office preferred that the office workers be concealed and anonymous behind a whitewashed plywood board, leaving the powerless applicants feeling quite powerless.
I received the visa and returned via my chartered speedboat after two days in just enough time to then get an entry stamp in downtown Jayapura, grab a quick lunch, email my Swiss friends Eric and Anne, and make it to the airport with little time to spare in order to fly to Manado.

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Banokan Island was a divers dream! I spent 5 days there, again hanging out with Eric and Anne whom I met easily at their favorite bakery in the city center before traveling to the island. I avoided the low-end doughy treats, but Anne ate enough for bread-products for both of us.
We spent five days there, diving three dives a day and relaxing. The waters were clear and warm, the coral walls were massive and spectacular and the marine life was diverse. Everyday was an exciting aquatic adventure and I felt lucky to have these two good friends to share the experience with. After a long day of diving we¡¯d all gather for dinner and reminisce about what we saw; Anne diligently paging through pictorial aquatic creature and fish guidebooks in order to identify our discoveries and log them in our dive logs.
I think my favorite dive here was a night dive. We came across some truly spectacular creatures. A few of the sights that come to mind were a HUGE Nugibranch (basically a psychedelic aquatic sea slug). It was white with big brown blotches; about the size of a football! Also of note on this dive was a strange creature called Branch Coral. This thing blew my mind. Looking at it, it looked like a plant. But then the branches began reaching out and recoiling, then it walked away. I couldn't believe my eyes. I felt like I was tripping. Anne and Eric pointed out a crab that was on a coral wall that was perfectly camouflaged with the coral outcroppings. Huge crabs, shrimp, stingrays, flounders, lobsters and scorpion fish... the list goes on.
After five relaxing days of stay on the island the three of us headed onto the main land to journey towards a national park to see a small rare indigenous variety of monkey called Tarsier. Their eyes are so big that they cannot be moved in their sockets. There was one tree in particular where it was possible to get close enough to take a few pics (along with other tourists). We had taken a public bus, jam packed of course, and then transferred to a small pick-up truck with planks for seats in the back. I leaned back against the pile of bananas. The truck wound and sped around mountainous terrain while the parents sitting next to me barely caught their little girl¡¯s vomit in a clear plastic baggie. Finally we arrived and checked into Mama Rose¡¯s Guest House. We quickly heading into the park and hired a guide to take us the ¡°the¡± spot and arrived just before dusk and just before about 10 other tourists came to photograph the cute little monkeys.
Early the next morning the three of us got picked up and delivered to a live aboard boat where we had reservations to do more diving. Eric and Anne had done considerable legwork to hook us up with this next plan. This time we would be diving in Lembay Straits, an area where it¡¯s said that only one other place in the world has some of these strange underwater creatures. The nature of the diving was called "muck" diving due to the muddy bottom conditions, and in this case accented by a garbage strewn ocean floor. We lived on the boat for two days/ nights and did 3 dives a day plus a night dive. The creatures were spectacular and half the fun was hunting for them and turning each other on to what we each found. Large Morey Eels, Pygamy Seahorses, large Sea Horses, many bizarre Frog Fish, Mimic Octopus, Bat Fish, Ornate Ghost Pipe Fish, Ribbon Pipefish and more. We all had a blast.
After this adventure, Anne and Eric bid farewell after having spent almost 3 weeks together with me. They were heading home after 16 months of travel! Definitely got me thinking about my return home (whenever that may be). And I wondered how I would do after having so much good companionship. Anne and Eric were great comrades in adventure. We continue to stay in contact by email and presently they are gearing up for an intestinal and body cleanse with my encouragement and coaching.
I then rented a motorcycle out of the city of Manado and toured around the North for three days. I stayed in a small bungalow and visited a water fall, hiked up a small volcano, practiced my Indonesian with locals everywhere, and for dinner dined on Stewed Bat, Grilled Rat and veggies (really). Earlier in Manado I had "Air Wes" (dog) and rice for lunch. The bat was OK, including the black skin-like wings, but the rat was bitter. The dog was prepared traditionally; very spicy and there wasn't much meat. I had to really dig around with my teeth around the poor hounds chopped up bones to get any good bites at all. I was hoping that I wasn't eating Black Lab or Duck Tolling Retriever, (thinking of Buddha and Iko; sorry Debbie, Rebbie and Matthew).

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In three days I returned to catch a flight to Makassar in the very far south and subsequently flew the next day to Rantepau. It was here where I would explore the traditional culture of the Tana Torajans; reputed for still building homes the traditional way and in this case very ornately adorned with the horns of many sacrificed buffalo. The landscape was spectacular and mountainous with rice fields and remote villages. But the main attraction was for sure the Tana Torajan people¡¯s funerals.
The Torajans believe that the soul of the sacrificed animal travels with the deceased and that the more possessions the dead have in "heaven" the less likely the soul would come back and cause problems on earth. The tradition funeral is so important to this culture that often the families go into financial ruin in order to have a large ceremony. They proudly display the horns of the buffalo on the fronts of their ¡°Tonkanan¡± houses.
It really is quite an elaborate undertaking for these people. Firstly, immediately after the family member dies, those present have the first funeral. The corpse is preserved and then held in the family home until the extended family can all arrange and return for the main funeral. The family members that are present take ¡°care¡± of the deceased by visiting it everyday and bringing it food, which they believe the corpse still needs. This waiting period might go on for quite some time, in some cases even as long as 5 years! What are they waiting for one might ask? They¡¯re waiting until the entire extended family, each and every one of them, can return home from wherever they are with enough money to offer an expensive buffalo. I say jeese, let the poor deceased soul go to heaven already, LOL! In the meantime they build large temporary housing and a ceremony area where the much anticipated funeral will one day take place.
My guide for the first funeral that I attended (where I saw many pigs being stabbed in the lungs and bleeding to death / my second funeral I went without a guide) was currently upset with his brother for keeping his family¡¯s funeral in limbo. My guide felt that his brother should have been planning for this before the death but because he didn¡¯t, now the whole family must wait for him to save millions of rupiah (as much as $2,000. US worth) and make travel arrangements before they could have the funeral. He hoped that the funeral would happen within a year after his mother¡¯s death! Meanwhile, the mother was wrapped in blankets and residing in his home!
At the first funeral I attended there were a steady stream of tourists dropping in to catch the proceedings. My guide filled me in on a bunch of details and answered my questions. I was asked to bring a carton of cigarettes as an offering for my being there but I just could not do this. The Indonesians already smoke so excessively and besides my giving cigarettes would be like a vegetarian giving veal steaks as a gift. I gave cash instead. I wandered around the ceremony site and mostly just cuaght the vibe of the event. Mostly it seemed like alot of folks dressed in black and sitting around socializing and drinking "Tuak" -a Torajan palm wine, while many pigs met their death and subsequently were chopped up publicly, divied up and distributed to attendies.
After a couple of hours I felt like I had seen all there was to see there so I went on a day tour with my guide. He and I toured the surrounding area on a motorcycle that he had acquired at my expense. I saw ¡°hanging caskets¡± perched on the edge of cliffs with human remains stacked up in piles and the newer resting places of the deceased; that being expensive hand excavated graves inside the faces of massive rock walls, outcroppings or boulders. The guide did a good enough job, but he kept to easy to reach predictable sites and finished the day with me at 4:00pm, two hours before I figured we¡¯d return to town. I decided to tour independently the next day, renting a motorbike to tour the northern part of the province.
The next day I acquired my motorbike and hit the road, touring into the remote north country side. I had checked into a nice guest house with sweeping views over the valley below in the town of Batutamonga and returned here for a quiet night. I hadn¡¯t planned on attending another funeral but had been told that in fact there was one happening right down the road and that the next day would be the climactic day three of the five day ceremony.
I woke up the next morning, and after doing my morning breathwork and meditation (as usual) I headed over to the ceremony. Arriving just at the right time, about 9:30 AM all heads turned as the sole white man arrived just as a herd of buffalo were being inspected and selected for the upcoming offering.
Before long the sacrificing began. Young men welding large and razor sharp knives proudly performed the task at hand. I had been told that many Torajans practice black magic and that the effectiveness of their death blow to the defenseless buffalo was an indication of their magical power. I don¡¯t know¡­¡­ if I call it as I saw it I saw a poor buffalo getting his head nearly wacked off with a machete sized blade¡­don¡¯t think there¡¯s too much magic there. I asked my prior guide if he practiced black magic and he responded no, he didn¡¯t. I asked him if that left him feeling vulnerable and fearsome of those that had developed this so called magical power. He responded that no, it didn¡¯t make him feel afraid because, he said, he didn¡¯t practice black magic and that meant that those that did practice black magic wouldn¡¯t have any ability to work their spells on him! I though well heck¡­that¡¯s a useful belief, LOL.
Anyway, for sure a point in Sulawesi that will stick out in my memory is going to this second funeral and witnessing 16 water buffalo being slaughtered in front of 200 villagers! This involved a swift slice into the throat followed by blood spewing out of the neck while the buffalo stood stunned and lunging about before collapsing into convulsions (often splashing blood on the crowd). The mother with her infant in the front row casually wiped the splatters from her babies cheek. The buffalo would stumble and collapse ontop of prior victims and somehow manage to drag itself back onto it's feet, blowing blood on huge bursts from out of the gaping hole in it's neck. Meanwhile, other buffalo continued to convulse, repeatedly smashing their heads into the dirt; writhing in pain.
After the blood bath I sipped some local palm wine and coffee with some of the men and ate freshly butchered and cooked intestine and meat from one of the buffalo while the crowd and I watched the slaughtered animals being skinned, gutted and butchered. I figured that with this crowd I wouldn¡¯t push my luck and let them in on all the details of who I was and what I thought. I really just wanted to get inside of their world¡­I think I did! Plus, I had already learned that most all of them are Christian and were fond of G.W. Bush. I asked why they liked the president and the usual response was because he was against the Muslims.
One of the men I was sitting with said "You save your money to travel, we save our money for the funeral". I asked someone if they ever get attached to their buffaloes and not want to sacrifice them, after all many of them are 10 or more years old? His response was a resolute "No". I asked why not? He said, "It's the animal¡¯s time." Another man said ¡°God put animals on Earth for us to eat."
Later I was speaking to another man in town about this tradition. I said that in the States we have huge movie theaters with violent movies and computer games that feature killing and blood. It seemed that here in Tana Toraja the killing and torture of pigs and buffalo was this people's form of entertainment. Certainly everyone seemed to be enjoying the show, I said, myself included (in a strange way). The man responded quickly, "No, this isn't entertainment, this is tradition and providing meat for our friends and family."
I found it strange that a group of people would celebrate death with killing.
The next day, before checking out of my peaceful mountain room, a friend that I had met and I went back to the ceremony grounds to witness day four of the event. On this day the menu featured cock fighting.
When we arrived, men were sitting in circles engaged in gambling while the owners of the cocks meticulously compared the potential cocks for weight and wing span. After the pairing of cocks was agreed upon the owners then (to my surprise) strapped razor-like knives to the left foot of each of the birds. Needless to say, after the bets were laid out, it wasn¡¯t long before blood was drawn and the winning bird proclaimed. The owner of the unfortunate losing cock then cut the left leg off of his bird while it was still alive and gave it to the winning bird¡¯s owner. I wondered what the Pope would think about these gambling, cock-fighting animistic Christians.
This event didn¡¯t keep my attention for long and besides I needed to return to town in order to buy my air ticket back to Makassar before the agencies closed. My intention was to leave Rantepao the next day.

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Mission accomplished; I traveled in a shuttle bus to Mamasa Valley the next morning, caught a plane to Makassar, ate lunch at a caf¨¦ nearby, hired a taxi to take me an hours drive away to the main bus and taxi terminal and then finally paying handsomely for a front seat of a public bemo that would then make the three hour drive to Pantai Bira; my next destination. I made it clear that I was looking for a direct and express trip and was promised as such. However the trip was neither, so when we finally arrived at my destination at 9:30 PM, I confronted the driver and payed him less than what was agreed upon. Yes, he did make a fuss about this, but I made it clear that it wasn¡¯t the money, it was the dishonestly (which he couldn¡¯t deny).
I then walked around town and finally found a room that would due. The selection was slim as every weekend many locals from Makassar arrive and fill the town for a weekend at the beach. Unfortunately, my Pantai Bira experience was dominated by recovering from Strep Throat of all things. By day three I knew exactly what I had and immediately sought anti-biotics from a local nurse whom over-charged me due to assumptions associated with my skin color. I spent most of my time laying around and studying Indonesian language on the beach. I actually recovered quite quickly and throughout this illness managed to keep my energy level functional.
Laying around on the beach, I became quite familiar and fond of the sand there. The incredible quality of the white sand I do believe the best I¡¯ve seen ever. It was for sure the finest, almost clay-like consistency, without being muddy at all!
On one day I rented a motorcycle and took a day trip out to a small town, Tamen Beru, where villagers are renowned for building boats the old fashion way. That was an interesting glimpse into the past. The boats they build are often HUGE and can take up to a year to construct. All hand built with wood and minimal electric tools. A few of the bigger boats brought forth images of pirates sailing the seas. I was able to hang out with a few of the builders and watch for a while. The women in the village were involved in farming Agar Agar, a form of seaweed that is processed and used as a thickener in cooking. The ocean near to shore was full of aquatic fields of Agar Agar.
Another interesting thing to mention was my meeting a gentleman whom gave me a lift on his motorbike after I had traveled outside of town to see the nurse to get those anti-biotics that I mentioned. He had lived in London for 3 years so it was a unique chance for me to speak with someone whom had lived both as a native Indonesian as well as a ¡°westerner¡± in London. He had returned to his home town here because his fianc¨¦ was quite ill. I asked him which he preferred; London or Pantai Bira and he responded that he was fond of both. When I pressed him to make a choice if he could only pick one, he said he would choose London. Elaborating, he said that in Indonesia ¡°there is no justice¡±! He said that if a man calls out to someone and accuses him of theft, a crowd will often take the matter into their own hands and maybe even kill the accused! Also, he said the police and politicians are totally corrupt.
A young gent from the guesthouse next door and I became friends as well and enjoyed some time together. His name was Superman (really). I would have liked to have stayed in Pantai Bira longer, but unfortunately my freaking measly 30 day visa was about to expire and I needed to return to Bali to catch a flight that was also about to expire back to Bangkok.

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I was fully intending on returning to explore more of Indonesia but wound up deciding instead to head into China. This was a very difficult decision for me to make. I had had so much fun, done so much work and made such good progress regarding speaking the Indonesia language. And after 3 months, frankly, I really only scratched the surface of these diverse and fascinating islands. My friends Eric and Anne had spent 7 months of their 16 month of travels in Indonesia.
I spent the first few days of my stay in Singapore, having made a spontaneous choice to go there as opposed to returning to Bangkok, slowly absorbing the fact that I was moving on. I never really said goodbye to the country while I was there. I struggled with this. Ultimately it was a combination of things, not the least being the bombings that happened in my much loved Indonesian home of Kuta two days after I had left. I met a Malaysian man in Singapore, Azmi, outside of a bookstore. We went out for tea and enjoyed each others company. He informed me about the Bali tragedy. I could not hold back my tears. Additionally, the weather south of the equator was heading into the rainy season making Indonesia less enticing. China was calling me, but winter was fast approaching there. I had to push myself out from the familiar and into the unfamiliar. And with this change I knew I would be going from a country where I could now speak the language and into China, where I had heard that it can be difficult for the independent traveler, especially due to the language gap.
Ultimately, my drive to see more diversity and have a broader scope of experience catylized me to head on and leave behind Indonesia.
While the bulk of my journals have detailed external events and destinations my internal process has been strong. A part of what I'm currently working on deepening is what I experience as a subtle connection between the quality of my breath and a deeper state of presence and release. I experience that when thoughts arise this results in an energetic contraction internally as well as subtle constrictions in the breath. Through deepening the"habit" of unrestricted silky smooth breath it is my feeling that the ability to rest in bare awareness/beingness with a quiet mind will be greatly enhanced.


Hello Everyone,
Believe it or not, I'm still finishing up my travel journals from India. Here's a good one from my experience at Sri Ramana Maharshi's Ashram in Tirravanamali.
Last May 2005, “ The Foot OF Consciousness”
I arrived into the dusty sweltering town of Tirravannamalai (yet another 6 syllable town) mid-day. I was still on the weaker side from my current bout with another stomach issue. I hired a private taxi out of Vaitheswarencoil (after my fiasco with the Nadi astrologer) that morning at a reasonable rate (after quite some negotiating). I was happy to sit in my own private transport and sweat all by myself. I had soaked up my fair share of chai before setting out at mid morning. It was an easy 4 hour drive if my memory is correct.
I had learned about Sri Ramana Maharshi from my attending Satsang with Gangaji in Boulder, Co. At the age of 16 Ramana had a powerful experience of dying; not literally but psychologically/egoically. From that point forward he lived the rest of his life in abidence with Pure Consciousness; no longer referencing a "personal story". He spent much of his time in absolute silence on Mtn. Arunicala. Many people came to visit him and experienced their true nature by being in the overwhelming energy of his silent and brilliantly awakened presence.
The taxi dropped me off at the Ramana Ashram at a little after 1 PM. The office was closed as I expected due to being informed by my trust Lonely Planet. I wandered across the street and grabbed a chai from the small market where I was thrill to find a sort of "Western " accomodation with regards to the product the market carried. My biggest pleasure was to purchase some freeze dried, concentrated alfalfa. My heavily (literally) stock piled luggage of supplements and anti everythings was starting to dwindle so I snatched up a box of this green energy with enthusiasm. This was just the type of thing I would consume if I was having stomach problems; most often I would stop eating solid cooked foods during this time.
An hour went by quick enough so I returned to the Ashram to be greeted by a grumpy attendant. I think he must have gotten my hint when I apologized for causing him inconvenience by my visiting the "visitor's" office; his disposition and attentiveness changed towards me from that point forward; he actually seemed to give me special attention. He patiently answered all of my questions (which usually are many) and invited me to store my bags in the office until I was ready to check into a hotel down the street.
I wandered around to complex soaking up the vibe which I'm happy to report was pretty darn clear in my perspective. It being the low season there were close to no foreigners present as well, which was fine by me. In a main room there was a large shrine set up for Sri Ramana Maharshi. Devotees and visitors (I included) paid our respects by meditating and then circling the shrine a few times in silence.
I then visited a room where Ramana used to hold Satsang when he was alive. The vibe was palatable in there for sure. There where a few people meditating, so I joined them on a cushion on the floor and sank into a beautiful quiet inner silence.
Being at the Ashram was again coaxing me into a major ongoing issue in my life; that being just exactly how far should I or could I go with the revelations I have had, and just how completely was I walking the walk regarding what the truth had revealed to me. What was it that all of the gurus, saints, spiritual leaders and Yogis where willing to do that perhaps I was unwilling to do? From my experience any minor revelation points directly towards total and complete revelation. If it makes sense to go part of the way, then it doesn't make sense not to go the entire way. And that mostly what was holding us back from complete liberation was our own inattentiveness, coupled with the habit of remaining fixated on "surface" consciousness.
Anyway, after my meditation I headed up the slope in the rear of the complex to check out what the path looked like leading up the mountain where Ramana spent much of his life immersed in silence. There I met a man who was vying to be my guide and all that stuff. I did manage to get some information out of him but had no real intention of hiring his "service".
I also met a devotee on the trail and we hit it off instantly. He was an older Indian man, living in Bangalore with his wife and family. I asked him why, in lieu of his revelations had he not "gone all of the way"? His response was that he was postponing it. We both laughed. He was a great guy whom had done great inquiry work from what I could gather. "Postponing"...what a funny notion. That's kind of like a fish postponing noticing that it's in the water. But oddly there does seem to be an experience of postponing. In part I think it's due to the "movie" being so darn engaging. Our attention becomes fixated on the movie screen rather than the projector.
In my travels all over India I have witnessed an intense religiosity but have felt very mixed about the fruits of such activity. I have asked people again and again about their beliefs and such and have mostly gotten the same answer over and over. People seem to worship and pray to a God because they believe that in doing so that it will benefit them in some way; that "God" will take care of them, protect them, bring them prosperity etc. etc. But when I ask them if they meditate, they say they don't. When I ask them if they have a direct experience of the "witnessing presence" or "that which watches thought" or "beingness" they don't seem to know what I'm talking about. Now, Perhaps I may be missing something myself (I don't think so though...lol)...but it seems to me that virtually all religions and spirituality, gurus, saints and messiahs have all pointed to the same thing; that the very fabric that is humanity's (and the cosmos's) greatest attribute is pure consciousness/ union with God/ bare awareness...call it what we will. But very few seem to talk about or have direct experience of this (that they recognize). Even in Thailand I found this to be the case. Many Buddhists seem to mostly be going to the nearest Wat and praying to "Lord Buddha" in the same way that Hindus go to pray to any one of the 330,000 gods that they have at their disposal; or the same way that Christians worship Jesus. But are the worshipers really doing what the Messiahs and Gurus ask of them?
On the way out of the Ashram complex, I dropped by the office to get my bags and had a similar such conversation with the manager/attendant that I had initially spoken with upon my arrival. He was living at and attending to the needs of the ashram on a daily basis so I figured he would perhaps have an inside scoop of sorts. I wondered if the visitors here were doing what Ramana asked of them or had Ramana become just another figure to worship? He told me that he felt that very few people have the intelligence and focus to cut through the illusion of mind and realize experientially what Ramana so clearly abided in and pointed towards. He said he thought that most worshipped and paid respect to Ramana (and others) in order to "merely find some comfort".
I wandered out onto the busy, exhaust-ridden, noisy street out front with my bags wondering where I fit in regarding this. Was I merely seeking my own comfort? I headed towards the hotel (the Comfort Inn, LOL, just joking) where I would check in.
After checking in and dropping my bags I headed back out again. At the stores across the street from the Ashram I met an American woman and an Indian friend of hers. We all seemed to hit it off and they invited me to join them for a bite to eat. I didn't know about eating yet (still) but was happy to join them. We stepped up to a dirty (surprise, surprise)"diner" of sorts. I suggested that I would order a mango juice and the 2 women wanted in. Molly, the American woman said that she was concerned about getting fresh juice etc. I shared her concern as I hounded over the juice maker, making sure that he was preparing our drinks hygienically. This required that I push through my inclination to trust, as the preparer looked at me like I was some sort of jerk or something. It wound up that if I had not been hovering over him relentlessly he would have mistakenly added tap water to all of our mango juices. In the meantime I got him to add extra mangos and use less water....very tasty juice indeed.
The three of us hung out chatting for a while and made a plan to go to the Ashram for the free community dinner as well as get up early the following morning to climb the holy Arunachala Mountain. Earlier that day both they and I had gotten wind of a "guru" on the top of the mountain that had been there for 16 years meditating all day every day. The word was that his eyes were so intense that if one were to look into them one would lose his/her mind. Apparently, not long ago a foreigner had done just that and indeed had gone crazy, fleeing in a state of overwhelming fear down the mountain! Those of you that know me could probably figure out that this had my curiosity (scepticism?) quite stoked. Despite this story, if some man was really one the top of that mountain for the last 16 years meditating I wanted to meet him!
The dinner was great. About 50 or so Indians and a small hand full of foreigners gathered outside in the humid night and waited for the dining hall doors to open. We then all filed in. There were place settings uniformly laid out on the floor where each of us took a seat, young and old... on the hard floor. Shortly thereafter the servers dolled out as much as we cared to eat onto our "plates"... a banana tree leaf. Of course, no fork or spoon. It was about a 3 course meal served all at once. Rice, curried potatoes and veggies...vegetarian. At this point (and still) I really didn't even think about eating with my hands. Scooping up a mixture to my liking and flicking the food with my thumb from my fingers into my mouth couldn't have been easier.
After dinner Molly and I, and the Indian woman from Pondicherry headed towards the Ashram exit. I bumped into the Ashram attendant again and asked him about this guru on the top of the mountain and was it really true that he had been meditating up there for the last 16 years? To the best of the attendant's knowledge he said yes, this was true. But he didn't put any value on this. He was firmly routed in the total and deserved bias towards Ramana. I however was very, very interested!
I hung out with the gals for a while and we made a plan to get up quite early with hopes of avoiding the heat of the late morning/afternoon. Set the alarms for 6 AM...we'd leave at 7AM.
The next morning the three of us headed out and up the mountain (late). Molly's friend didn't make it far; she was hiking in her only footwear; city sandals (despite my advising otherwise the night before). So, Molly and I continued upwards as the temperature climbed.
Molly and I chatted about many things. She herself was a struggling painter and was having a hard time feeling empowered. This issue was coming up for her on her journeys here in India where she had spent the first 2 weeks with her friend in Pondichery without traveling elsewhere. I related about my difficulties as an artist myself and that I was currently in a huge transition stage in my life. She indicated that she was interested in my perspective on things so we sat down and talked for quite some time.
Eventually we recommenced our ascent in the now blistering sun and it wasn't long before Molly bowed out of completing the climb, leaving me, myself and I to go to the top and meet the " Crazy Eyed Guru". Molly and I hugged and said farewell to each other. Molly mentioned that she would leave that day to return to Pondichery but planned to strike out on her own now. I told her that I would leave Tirravanamili the following day, bound for the beach town of Mamilapurnam a couple of hours south of the capital of Tamil Nadu. As she was leaving Molly mentioned that in the conversation she and I had just had that she thought that I was very good at helping to create an opening for her.

As she descended out of sight I stood there reflecting on her acknowledgment. It seemed to me that repeatedly in my travels that perhaps my new vocation was literally right in front of my face screaming "Hello! This is what you are good at! Hello!"

I made the steep climb to the top with out much difficulty. I really don't have much of any problem with sun and heat... I've virtually never over heated before. As I approached the top I could see what appeared to be a shelter or living quarters made out of tarps and tree branches. I guessed that this is where the fabled "Crazy Eyed Guru" resided.
At the top I was soon greeted by some young men whom were dressed in orange devotee-like Dhodi. One of them was quick to suggest that he and I go over and up a short bit to an overlook, so I obliged. It was a fine view from the top! He seemed to want to linger around up there, but I really didn't want to be hovered over; I had just arrived. So I headed back down to where the dwelling was as this was my overwhelming interest.
As I approached the dwelling I could hear an old voice yelling angrily and the sound of something being hit with a stick or something. The devotees tried to call me away and distract me but I felt that I had just made the climb and that the mountain top was not a private residence. So I took advantage of my "Rainbow" savvy and just did what I wanted; that was to stay close to the "action". Well...that was until after about 20 minute or so of all of us sitting there listening to this mysterious someone yelling and hitting something. A few rather handsome bare chested young devotees called me up to a spot not far away to catch some shade and a rest with them; I obliged.
Pretty much from the point at which I had made it to the top I was inquiring about meeting the guru. I was informed that he was in the midst of disciplining a devotee whom had apparently stolen some milk and sugar from the limited supplies. I was reassured that soon I would get a chance to meet him! I really was very interested in this. Everyone had confirmed that indeed this man had been meditating there for 16 years continuously and if this was true I really really wanted to meet this man and experience first hand what this man was like and what benefit he had gained and how he then benefited others. And well...so far I wasn't very impressed. Talk about a bad first impression.
I hung out with the young devotees in the shade answering the standard 3 questions and asking questions about their guru. It seemed to me that a guru whom would beat and yell at a devotee because, as I had discovered, the devotee stealing some milk and sugar couldn't be much of a guru at all. I related this to the guys, and that I felt that a true guru was unwavering in his/her abidance in love and peace. I asked them about this guru. What was he doing before he came to Mtn. Arunicala to meditate? I was informed that in fact he was a family man with a child and wife; both of which he left for this spiritual pursuit. I was told that his family fully supported him and accepted his decision...that's what I was told me.
Still I really wanted to meet him and was assured that after lunch, once things had calmed down that I would have my chance. "When is Lunch?" I asked. I was told in about 3 hours! Man! 3 hours seemed like a long time. I had already been up there for 2 hours and my water bottle was far from full with no refill possible on the mountain top. I contemplated my options and my curiosity got the best of me. I decided to hang around and wait for my chance.
After quite some time lunch was served. I declined to join them in eating but hung close by to share the experience. They kept insisting and insisting that I have some of the food, that it was "Prasad" and had been blessed by the guru and that I should really, really have some. Blessed by whom, I thought...the violent guru? The problem was that I wasn't convinced of the hygienicness of the servings and was quite clear that I would not risk another week of sickness.
A sat quietly watching the devotees eat lunch while a couple others stood guard around the back, constantly shooing away the intruding monkeys. Another devotee had the job of splashing water on an interior part of the tarp structure that appeared to act as a sort of "swamp cooler" for the "Crazy Eyed Guru" as the baking hot breeze inched it's way through the "compound". I gotta say, I think it's quite incredible indeed that a man could spend 16 years on top of Mount Arunicala meditating in a crude and sun baked tarp structure. Who was this mysterious man?

I had been very patient indeed, waiting for 5 hours in the heat on top of the mountain. Lunch was wrapping up (the monkeys were stealing away with scraps) and I was assured that soon I would meet The Man. Some of us retreated to the shade and waited some more. Soon, I got up and headed toward the dwelling intentionally increasing my pressure to meet the man so that I could be on my way (and get more water).
Finally we got the word...the time was here. I had asked the devotees earlier about looking into the gurus eyes and they had confirmed that his eyes were very intense. Still, I would say that I was virtually unconcerned about the " crazy eyes" and the fabled result of this. Had this event with the foreigner going crazy after sneaking past the devotee guards and snatching a stare (without permission) into the guru's eyes really even happened?
All of us lined up and went around the outside of the dwelling. With some commotion and freneticness the first devotee in line peeled back a part of the tarp and we one by one hunched down and climbed into the inside of the tarp "compound". Quickly I was escorted to a point just outside of a small interior tarp room where the guru spent all of his time. Finally the time was here!!! I could see his foot sticking out slightly from his "room"! I was so close...........and the next thing I knew I was lead, with a firm hand clasping my rebellious arm, through and outside of the dwelling.
Hmmm... I thought...that was strange. "I thought that I was going to meet the guru?" I asked. "You just did" was the response! I just couldn't believe it! "
You've got to be kidding me" I said. "All I saw was a foot! I didn't even see both feet!"? I just couldn't believe the absurdity of this!
I was informed that the guru was always in a state of meditation and that this is what visitors got to see.
"But wait a minute.... all of you assured me that I would be able to really meet this man! I'm sorry, but seeing his foot does not qualify!"
I put up a bit of a fuss, making it very clear that I felt I had not been told the truth and that they all had taken up 5 hours of my time under false pretences by having me wait for something that they knew wasn't going to happen. I bid my farewell hastily. The devotees that I had befriended appeared sad and followed me down the mountain, but I was quite clear where things were at. It became clearer where they were at as well. After some time descending with them one of them began asking me to make a donation! Now I did like the guys, really, but they were not honest with me. I told them as such and that I wasn't even opposed to giving a donation but that for sure they would not get a single rupee from me due to the fact that they were not honest. Shortly thereafter they all lagged behind me and I was on my own, descending down the rugged cactus strewn side of Mtn. Arunacala.
By the time I returned to town I was pretty tuckered out and thirsty; I went straight to my hotel room. Molly had written a note to me, folding it up and scrunching it in between the door knob and frame before she and her friend departed Tirravannamalai to return to Pondichery. That was a nice surprise. Even better was that she said she felt that I had really helped her to open up to seeing her reality in a different way. She thanked me, writing that she felt a renewed strength for her independent travels in India and otherwise. And of course she wanted me to email her with news of how my meeting with the "Crazy-Eyed Guru" went. So, I guess this story is a long time coming.

It really wasn't a one way street with Molly. She gave me alot too. All of us are all the same. When her heart opens so does mine. Her healing is the same as mine. I guess the way I see it is fear is fear is fear is fear and love is love is love is love. You know what I mean? I suppose one thing I've learned is to not "personalize" everything, but rather become very clear about the generic quality of being human that we all share.
That evening as the sun was setting I visited an "important" temple down the road before returning to the Ashram for dinner. This temple was pretty darn remarkable incidentally; not an easy thing for me to say after having seen twenty gazilion ones prior. I then checked out of my hotel in the night, hired a taxi and struck out for the coastal town of Mamalapurnum (or something like that,lol). I had been eyeing my calendar for a few days and was gearing up to leave India, bound for Thailand.
At this point in my travels I was still thinking that I would be returning to the States as planned, on June 15th 2005. This "deadline" kept a sort of constant pressure on me and I wondered what my travels would be like if this timeline was all together removed. Anyway, I guess this last foray into Tamil Nadu left me pretty spent; I was feeling like my time was up and complete in India. Mamalapurnam was a small beach town just south of Chen****. I figured I'd spend a couple of days there before catching a flight to Thailand.
Mamalapurnam wound up being close to abandoned. It was low season there, no doubt due to the scorching temperatures. I wandered around the baking town and wound up deciding to head to Thailand A.S.A.P. I had planned to fly to Calcutta to score a 60 day visa but opted to just get a 30 day visa upon entering Thailand and deal with a renewal later. My 42 birthday was fast approaching and I figured that if I timed things right I could be on the island of Ko Tao and do my first S.C.U.B.A. dive on that day. The manager of the guesthouse I was staying in was very helpful and I was able to book an air ticket for that very night and hire him and his car to bring me to Chen*** in just enough time to catch a late, all night flight. I thanked him by giving him the remainder of that hash from Udaipur; I actually hadn't smoked that much of it and I certainly wasn't going to fly internationally with it.
It was a tiresome flight, surprisingly almost filled to the brim with mostly Indians. It was a relief to get served a Thai meal on the plane. I think I had pretty much exhausted my taste buds regarding Indian cuisine. An attractive Thai flight attendant singled me out as the only westerner on the flight and offered to relocate me from my present seat; I was sandwiched compactly in a row of 5 seats amongst the Indians. This relocation offer did feel a bit awkward I must say. I had already commenced in friendly conversation with my neighbors (or rather they commenced conversation with me). When I got up and followed the flight attendant to a couple of unoccupied seats in an outer section, many noticed. For sure I would be a bit more comfortable there but felt uncomfortable about the blatant elitism that was afforded me. Granted, I had already experienced having the "red carpet" rolled out for me wherever I went in India. I guess I wasn't expecting this now on a Thai Air flight.
I took my new seat with no seated neighbors and put my bag on the seat next to me. Looking back over my shoulder I kind of gave a little look back to the Indians that I was just escorted away from, making eye contact, and sending them some acknowledgement. The next thing I know, one of the Indians got up and relocated to the seat next to me! How do you like that! One minute I'm feeling uncomfortable and appreciative with the entitlement that was extended to me, and the next moment I'm rolling my eyes about what I viewed as the inappropriate relocation of this now intruding Indian. That's some pretty cosmic humor. I was both chuckling and a bit annoyed inside.
So, my new neighbor and I settled into our seats as the flight took off. After the plane was leveling off the flight attendant came by and noticed that the Indian had taken the empty seat next to me. She gave me a look and hurried down the isle, returning promptly and asking the Indian to move once again to an aisle seat down a ways. So now I had my own little space returned to me once again. How funny is that! I couldn't help but laugh (and feel uncomfortable) again.
Why is it that I should be afforded this special treatment? Because I am white? Or American? Or of a higher economic class? I have a hard time with this practice of someone getting better treatment merely because they have more money. All too often those who have the most money are the very ones who mistreat others or the Earth the most. They are rewarded no matter how they made their fortune. But what about the poor Indian father whom barely supports his family with his job of hard labor? We all sure do enjoy the garbage he's collected, or the sidewalk he's helped to lay.
Anyway, I was able to eek out a bit of sleep before landing in Bangkok the following morning at a very early hour. Once there I was able to book a flight immediately for the island of Ko Samui where I then would catch a high speed ferry to Ko Tao the next day. I had a few minutes in the airport to log on and check my email; Molly had sent me one. To my surprise, she had traveled to Mamalapurnam with hopes of meeting up with me there. Here's her actual email;
hey dan!
i wonder if you were here last night? or if you are here tonight? didn't sound like you would be, seemed like you would keep going...but i'm at the shiva guest house, in case you are in another internet spot here right now! just wanted to start getting your emails, and find out what i missed at the top of the mountain? also to say thanks, don't know if you got the note i left you, but that time with you on the mountain was very powerful for me. i think i found a guru in you! are you prepared for that responsibility? anyway, happy travels and i hope you are well wherever you are!
best,
molly
Here is my reply email;
Hi Molly,
Great to hear from you. I have been quite busy in transit to Thailand and then immediately diving in (no pun intended) to a SCUBA diving certificate program. Today is my Birthday and I couldn't have spent it better. My first dive was today!!!
Well, after a 5 hour wait on the mountain top, I had the rare opportunity to see the great "Guru's" foot.... that's right, literally, just a foot. I was promised more, but got that. Then the very nice devotees wanted rupees from me which I declined due to the dishonesty, which I informed them about. That's the short, short story.
I'm honored and glad that our meeting was good for us both. I'm ready for any responsibility regarding spreading love and light Molly, so I'm honored, once again by your openess. But in actuality, the responsibility is all yours regarding your state of freedom,( or lack there of). It's just a matter of becoming aware of that level of responsibility, and then taking the time to love ourselves enough in order to act on what our experience is calling us to learn and grow from.
Any ideas of how you'd like to proceed? Let me know.
What you felt on that mountain was probably already there for you screaming for your attention. Perhaps I just helped you to brighten your own sense of awareness and power? I'm happy to help you to keep tuning into your response pattern, as well as Pure Consciousness.
How are your travels going? Where are you?

Namaste, Dan:)

ps. I'll send a recent pic from the Pooram Festival in Thissur.

>From: molly
>Reply-To: molly
>To: danpailas@hotmail.com
>Subject: hi from mamalapurnam!
>Date: Fri, 13 May 2005 07:37:13 -0700

Molly and I have exchanged a couple of other emails since.

"What is called "mind" is a wonderous power residing within the Self. It causes all thoughts to arise. Apart from thoughts, there is no such thing as the mind. Therefore, thought is the nature of mind. Apart from thoughts, there is no independent entity called the World."
Sri Ramana Maharshi



Hello Everyone, I am writing to wish all the people that I know and love a beautiful Holiday Season and a Happy New Year. Currently I am traveling in Myanmar (Burma) after having completed 9 weeks in China. My experience there was mostly good and totally unique from any other asian country that I have visited; that being India, Thailand, Laos, Indonesia, China and now Myanmar. And today marks the completion of my 10th month of exploration! I am so thankful! I have done a bunch of writing about my China experiences but it will take some time to complete, probably after the New Year. I have set up a travel blog at www.dansworldtravels.blogspot.com . My Indonesian journal is all that is there right now. I hope to be able to take the time to get all of my logs in the blog and also set up a more convenient and dependable Photo Blog as well. Any suggestions regarding that? I am lucky to have Hotmail access in Mandalay but anticipate little to no access to the internet once I leave this city. So I am sending my love NOW:)!!! Love ,Dan:)


2/9/06
Jambo family and friends,
After one complete year of travels I will fly home to Boulder! My one year ticket expires on the 15th of Feb. and I will fly on the absolute last day possible before it's expiration.
My Thom's Toothpaste that I bought in Bali is almost out. I just got a hole in the knee of my only pair of Levis. My Birkenstocks are wearing thin. It's time to head home.
I look forward to seeing and spending time with all of my friends. I look forward to speaking with my family on the phone without it costing a small fortune. I look forward to sitting at my desk and sipping Genmaicha as I gaze out the window at the Continental Divide. I look forward to sleeping in my own bed with sheets that actually fit and stay on the mattress. I look forward to using a toilet that always has a seat and being able to flush the paper; I look forward to playing my acoustic guitar; eating too much popcorn and watching DVDs; shopping at Whole Foods and eating health food; working out at the Rec Center; wrestling with Buddha; and I look forward to returning to familiarity.
It's been a long, long journey.
I am still in a state of disbelief about my return. I will need time to rest and transition.
I will miss the constant new discovery; and the smiling faces. I will miss the sweetness of so many people whom have no notion of self importance. And I will miss all of my new friends that I had the joy of sharing time with and getting to know on a deeper level only to say goodbye forever.
Throughout this journey there have been many challenges but what I will remember is all of the amazing experiences I have had and the intensity at which my heart has responded. I have felt so much love... countless times I have literally felt like my heart was going to burst open.
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I am finishing my travels with a month in Africa. I have spent time in Kenya as well as Tanzania. I have had fun in the crime capitol of Africa- Nairobi; I have gone on an incredible 6 day wild-life safari; hung out with the fascinating tribal goup called the Maasai; gone on a 12 kilometer hunt in the bush at dawn with members of the last studyable hunter gather tribe in the world called the Hatzabe people, eaten monkey with them and impressed them with my archery skills; and currently I am on the Island of Zanzibar doing some diving, turning my skin brown and hanging out in a cool ancient muslim/swahili town called "Stone Town". There is a Swahili Music festival here this weekend so I will be living it up in style and celebrating a mind bogglingly incredible year!!!
Reflecting on the past months is like looking back on an unbelievable dream. Flashes and glimpses of my year blurr past my bio-data banks. I have enough memories to last a lifetime.
My three months in India seem like they happened years and years ago.
Yup, Feb 17th, one year ago I landed in Udaipur, India.>>>>
3 months India >>>5 weeks Thailand>>>2 weeks Laos>>> 1 week Singapore>>> 3 months Indonesian>>> 1 week Singapore>>> 9 weeks China>>>>3 weeks Myanmar( Burma)>>>>2 weeks Cambodia>>>> 1 week Singapore>>>> 1 week Kenya>>> 3 weeks Tanzania.
I am far behind on my journaling but I do have a bunch written from China and some from Myanmar. I will complete my writing when I get home to Boulder and I will organize and peruse my thousands of pictures.
Love and asanti sana,
Daniel
" Love means constant self offering on the strength of one's own inner aspirations" - Sri Chinmoy

INDIA

Hello Everyone,
Believe it or not, I'm still finishing up my travel journals from India. Here's a good one from my experience at Sri Ramana Maharshi's Ashram in Tirravanamali.
Last May 2005, “ The Foot OF Consciousness”
I arrived into the dusty sweltering town of Tirravannamalai (yet another 6 syllable town) mid-day. I was still on the weaker side from my current bout with another stomach issue. I hired a private taxi out of Vaitheswarencoil (after my fiasco with the Nadi astrologer) that morning at a reasonable rate (after quite some negotiating). I was happy to sit in my own private transport and sweat all by myself. I had soaked up my fair share of chai before setting out at mid morning. It was an easy 4 hour drive if my memory is correct.
I had learned about Sri Ramana Maharshi from my attending Satsang with Gangaji in Boulder, Co. At the age of 16 Ramana had a powerful experience of dying; not literally but psychologically/egoically. From that point forward he lived the rest of his life in abidence with Pure Consciousness; no longer referencing a "personal story". He spent much of his time in absolute silence on Mtn. Arunicala. Many people came to visit him and experienced their true nature by being in the overwhelming energy of his silent and brilliantly awakened presence.
The taxi dropped me off at the Ramana Ashram at a little after 1 PM. The office was closed as I expected due to being informed by my trust Lonely Planet. I wandered across the street and grabbed a chai from the small market where I was thrill to find a sort of "Western " accomodation with regards to the product the market carried. My biggest pleasure was to purchase some freeze dried, concentrated alfalfa. My heavily (literally) stock piled luggage of supplements and anti everythings was starting to dwindle so I snatched up a box of this green energy with enthusiasm. This was just the type of thing I would consume if I was having stomach problems; most often I would stop eating solid cooked foods during this time.
An hour went by quick enough so I returned to the Ashram to be greeted by a grumpy attendant. I think he must have gotten my hint when I apologized for causing him inconvenience by my visiting the "visitor's" office; his disposition and attentiveness changed towards me from that point forward; he actually seemed to give me special attention. He patiently answered all of my questions (which usually are many) and invited me to store my bags in the office until I was ready to check into a hotel down the street.
I wandered around to complex soaking up the vibe which I'm happy to report was pretty darn clear in my perspective. It being the low season there were close to no foreigners present as well, which was fine by me. In a main room there was a large shrine set up for Sri Ramana Maharshi. Devotees and visitors (I included) paid our respects by meditating and then circling the shrine a few times in silence.
I then visited a room where Ramana used to hold Satsang when he was alive. The vibe was palatable in there for sure. There where a few people meditating, so I joined them on a cushion on the floor and sank into a beautiful quiet inner silence.
Being at the Ashram was again coaxing me into a major ongoing issue in my life; that being just exactly how far should I or could I go with the revelations I have had, and just how completely was I walking the walk regarding what the truth had revealed to me. What was it that all of the gurus, saints, spiritual leaders and Yogis where willing to do that perhaps I was unwilling to do? From my experience any minor revelation points directly towards total and complete revelation. If it makes sense to go part of the way, then it doesn't make sense not to go the entire way. And that mostly what was holding us back from complete liberation was our own inattentiveness, coupled with the habit of remaining fixated on "surface" consciousness.
Anyway, after my meditation I headed up the slope in the rear of the complex to check out what the path looked like leading up the mountain where Ramana spent much of his life immersed in silence. There I met a man who was vying to be my guide and all that stuff. I did manage to get some information out of him but had no real intention of hiring his "service".
I also met a devotee on the trail and we hit it off instantly. He was an older Indian man, living in Bangalore with his wife and family. I asked him why, in lieu of his revelations had he not "gone all of the way"? His response was that he was postponing it. We both laughed. He was a great guy whom had done great inquiry work from what I could gather. "Postponing"...what a funny notion. That's kind of like a fish postponing noticing that it's in the water. But oddly there does seem to be an experience of postponing. In part I think it's due to the "movie" being so darn engaging. Our attention becomes fixated on the movie screen rather than the projector.
In my travels all over India I have witnessed an intense religiosity but have felt very mixed about the fruits of such activity. I have asked people again and again about their beliefs and such and have mostly gotten the same answer over and over. People seem to worship and pray to a God because they believe that in doing so that it will benefit them in some way; that "God" will take care of them, protect them, bring them prosperity etc. etc. But when I ask them if they meditate, they say they don't. When I ask them if they have a direct experience of the "witnessing presence" or "that which watches thought" or "beingness" they don't seem to know what I'm talking about. Now, Perhaps I may be missing something myself (I don't think so though...lol)...but it seems to me that virtually all religions and spirituality, gurus, saints and messiahs have all pointed to the same thing; that the very fabric that is humanity's (and the cosmos's) greatest attribute is pure consciousness/ union with God/ bare awareness...call it what we will. But very few seem to talk about or have direct experience of this (that they recognize). Even in Thailand I found this to be the case. Many Buddhists seem to mostly be going to the nearest Wat and praying to "Lord Buddha" in the same way that Hindus go to pray to any one of the 330,000 gods that they have at their disposal; or the same way that Christians worship Jesus. But are the worshipers really doing what the Messiahs and Gurus ask of them?
On the way out of the Ashram complex, I dropped by the office to get my bags and had a similar such conversation with the manager/attendant that I had initially spoken with upon my arrival. He was living at and attending to the needs of the ashram on a daily basis so I figured he would perhaps have an inside scoop of sorts. I wondered if the visitors here were doing what Ramana asked of them or had Ramana become just another figure to worship? He told me that he felt that very few people have the intelligence and focus to cut through the illusion of mind and realize experientially what Ramana so clearly abided in and pointed towards. He said he thought that most worshipped and paid respect to Ramana (and others) in order to "merely find some comfort".
I wandered out onto the busy, exhaust-ridden, noisy street out front with my bags wondering where I fit in regarding this. Was I merely seeking my own comfort? I headed towards the hotel (the Comfort Inn, LOL, just joking) where I would check in.
After checking in and dropping my bags I headed back out again. At the stores across the street from the Ashram I met an American woman and an Indian friend of hers. We all seemed to hit it off and they invited me to join them for a bite to eat. I didn't know about eating yet (still) but was happy to join them. We stepped up to a dirty (surprise, surprise)"diner" of sorts. I suggested that I would order a mango juice and the 2 women wanted in. Molly, the American woman said that she was concerned about getting fresh juice etc. I shared her concern as I hounded over the juice maker, making sure that he was preparing our drinks hygienically. This required that I push through my inclination to trust, as the preparer looked at me like I was some sort of jerk or something. It wound up that if I had not been hovering over him relentlessly he would have mistakenly added tap water to all of our mango juices. In the meantime I got him to add extra mangos and use less water....very tasty juice indeed.
The three of us hung out chatting for a while and made a plan to go to the Ashram for the free community dinner as well as get up early the following morning to climb the holy Arunachala Mountain. Earlier that day both they and I had gotten wind of a "guru" on the top of the mountain that had been there for 16 years meditating all day every day. The word was that his eyes were so intense that if one were to look into them one would lose his/her mind. Apparently, not long ago a foreigner had done just that and indeed had gone crazy, fleeing in a state of overwhelming fear down the mountain! Those of you that know me could probably figure out that this had my curiosity (scepticism?) quite stoked. Despite this story, if some man was really one the top of that mountain for the last 16 years meditating I wanted to meet him!
The dinner was great. About 50 or so Indians and a small hand full of foreigners gathered outside in the humid night and waited for the dining hall doors to open. We then all filed in. There were place settings uniformly laid out on the floor where each of us took a seat, young and old... on the hard floor. Shortly thereafter the servers dolled out as much as we cared to eat onto our "plates"... a banana tree leaf. Of course, no fork or spoon. It was about a 3 course meal served all at once. Rice, curried potatoes and veggies...vegetarian. At this point (and still) I really didn't even think about eating with my hands. Scooping up a mixture to my liking and flicking the food with my thumb from my fingers into my mouth couldn't have been easier.
After dinner Molly and I, and the Indian woman from Pondicherry headed towards the Ashram exit. I bumped into the Ashram attendant again and asked him about this guru on the top of the mountain and was it really true that he had been meditating up there for the last 16 years? To the best of the attendant's knowledge he said yes, this was true. But he didn't put any value on this. He was firmly routed in the total and deserved bias towards Ramana. I however was very, very interested!
I hung out with the gals for a while and we made a plan to get up quite early with hopes of avoiding the heat of the late morning/afternoon. Set the alarms for 6 AM...we'd leave at 7AM.
The next morning the three of us headed out and up the mountain (late). Molly's friend didn't make it far; she was hiking in her only footwear; city sandals (despite my advising otherwise the night before). So, Molly and I continued upwards as the temperature climbed.
Molly and I chatted about many things. She herself was a struggling painter and was having a hard time feeling empowered. This issue was coming up for her on her journeys here in India where she had spent the first 2 weeks with her friend in Pondichery without traveling elsewhere. I related about my difficulties as an artist myself and that I was currently in a huge transition stage in my life. She indicated that she was interested in my perspective on things so we sat down and talked for quite some time.
Eventually we recommenced our ascent in the now blistering sun and it wasn't long before Molly bowed out of completing the climb, leaving me, myself and I to go to the top and meet the " Crazy Eyed Guru". Molly and I hugged and said farewell to each other. Molly mentioned that she would leave that day to return to Pondichery but planned to strike out on her own now. I told her that I would leave Tirravanamili the following day, bound for the beach town of Mamilapurnam a couple of hours south of the capital of Tamil Nadu. As she was leaving Molly mentioned that in the conversation she and I had just had that she thought that I was very good at helping to create an opening for her.

As she descended out of sight I stood there reflecting on her acknowledgment. It seemed to me that repeatedly in my travels that perhaps my new vocation was literally right in front of my face screaming "Hello! This is what you are good at! Hello!"

I made the steep climb to the top with out much difficulty. I really don't have much of any problem with sun and heat... I've virtually never over heated before. As I approached the top I could see what appeared to be a shelter or living quarters made out of tarps and tree branches. I guessed that this is where the fabled "Crazy Eyed Guru" resided.
At the top I was soon greeted by some young men whom were dressed in orange devotee-like Dhodi. One of them was quick to suggest that he and I go over and up a short bit to an overlook, so I obliged. It was a fine view from the top! He seemed to want to linger around up there, but I really didn't want to be hovered over; I had just arrived. So I headed back down to where the dwelling was as this was my overwhelming interest.
As I approached the dwelling I could hear an old voice yelling angrily and the sound of something being hit with a stick or something. The devotees tried to call me away and distract me but I felt that I had just made the climb and that the mountain top was not a private residence. So I took advantage of my "Rainbow" savvy and just did what I wanted; that was to stay close to the "action". Well...that was until after about 20 minute or so of all of us sitting there listening to this mysterious someone yelling and hitting something. A few rather handsome bare chested young devotees called me up to a spot not far away to catch some shade and a rest with them; I obliged.
Pretty much from the point at which I had made it to the top I was inquiring about meeting the guru. I was informed that he was in the midst of disciplining a devotee whom had apparently stolen some milk and sugar from the limited supplies. I was reassured that soon I would get a chance to meet him! I really was very interested in this. Everyone had confirmed that indeed this man had been meditating there for 16 years continuously and if this was true I really really wanted to meet this man and experience first hand what this man was like and what benefit he had gained and how he then benefited others. And well...so far I wasn't very impressed. Talk about a bad first impression.
I hung out with the young devotees in the shade answering the standard 3 questions and asking questions about their guru. It seemed to me that a guru whom would beat and yell at a devotee because, as I had discovered, the devotee stealing some milk and sugar couldn't be much of a guru at all. I related this to the guys, and that I felt that a true guru was unwavering in his/her abidance in love and peace. I asked them about this guru. What was he doing before he came to Mtn. Arunicala to meditate? I was informed that in fact he was a family man with a child and wife; both of which he left for this spiritual pursuit. I was told that his family fully supported him and accepted his decision...that's what I was told me.
Still I really wanted to meet him and was assured that after lunch, once things had calmed down that I would have my chance. "When is Lunch?" I asked. I was told in about 3 hours! Man! 3 hours seemed like a long time. I had already been up there for 2 hours and my water bottle was far from full with no refill possible on the mountain top. I contemplated my options and my curiosity got the best of me. I decided to hang around and wait for my chance.
After quite some time lunch was served. I declined to join them in eating but hung close by to share the experience. They kept insisting and insisting that I have some of the food, that it was "Prasad" and had been blessed by the guru and that I should really, really have some. Blessed by whom, I thought...the violent guru? The problem was that I wasn't convinced of the hygienicness of the servings and was quite clear that I would not risk another week of sickness.
A sat quietly watching the devotees eat lunch while a couple others stood guard around the back, constantly shooing away the intruding monkeys. Another devotee had the job of splashing water on an interior part of the tarp structure that appeared to act as a sort of "swamp cooler" for the "Crazy Eyed Guru" as the baking hot breeze inched it's way through the "compound". I gotta say, I think it's quite incredible indeed that a man could spend 16 years on top of Mount Arunicala meditating in a crude and sun baked tarp structure. Who was this mysterious man?

I had been very patient indeed, waiting for 5 hours in the heat on top of the mountain. Lunch was wrapping up (the monkeys were stealing away with scraps) and I was assured that soon I would meet The Man. Some of us retreated to the shade and waited some more. Soon, I got up and headed toward the dwelling intentionally increasing my pressure to meet the man so that I could be on my way (and get more water).
Finally we got the word...the time was here. I had asked the devotees earlier about looking into the gurus eyes and they had confirmed that his eyes were very intense. Still, I would say that I was virtually unconcerned about the " crazy eyes" and the fabled result of this. Had this event with the foreigner going crazy after sneaking past the devotee guards and snatching a stare (without permission) into the guru's eyes really even happened?
All of us lined up and went around the outside of the dwelling. With some commotion and freneticness the first devotee in line peeled back a part of the tarp and we one by one hunched down and climbed into the inside of the tarp "compound". Quickly I was escorted to a point just outside of a small interior tarp room where the guru spent all of his time. Finally the time was here!!! I could see his foot sticking out slightly from his "room"! I was so close...........and the next thing I knew I was lead, with a firm hand clasping my rebellious arm, through and outside of the dwelling.
Hmmm... I thought...that was strange. "I thought that I was going to meet the guru?" I asked. "You just did" was the response! I just couldn't believe it! "
You've got to be kidding me" I said. "All I saw was a foot! I didn't even see both feet!"? I just couldn't believe the absurdity of this!
I was informed that the guru was always in a state of meditation and that this is what visitors got to see.
"But wait a minute.... all of you assured me that I would be able to really meet this man! I'm sorry, but seeing his foot does not qualify!"
I put up a bit of a fuss, making it very clear that I felt I had not been told the truth and that they all had taken up 5 hours of my time under false pretences by having me wait for something that they knew wasn't going to happen. I bid my farewell hastily. The devotees that I had befriended appeared sad and followed me down the mountain, but I was quite clear where things were at. It became clearer where they were at as well. After some time descending with them one of them began asking me to make a donation! Now I did like the guys, really, but they were not honest with me. I told them as such and that I wasn't even opposed to giving a donation but that for sure they would not get a single rupee from me due to the fact that they were not honest. Shortly thereafter they all lagged behind me and I was on my own, descending down the rugged cactus strewn side of Mtn. Arunacala.
By the time I returned to town I was pretty tuckered out and thirsty; I went straight to my hotel room. Molly had written a note to me, folding it up and scrunching it in between the door knob and frame before she and her friend departed Tirravannamalai to return to Pondichery. That was a nice surprise. Even better was that she said she felt that I had really helped her to open up to seeing her reality in a different way. She thanked me, writing that she felt a renewed strength for her independent travels in India and otherwise. And of course she wanted me to email her with news of how my meeting with the "Crazy-Eyed Guru" went. So, I guess this story is a long time coming.

It really wasn't a one way street with Molly. She gave me alot too. All of us are all the same. When her heart opens so does mine. Her healing is the same as mine. I guess the way I see it is fear is fear is fear is fear and love is love is love is love. You know what I mean? I suppose one thing I've learned is to not "personalize" everything, but rather become very clear about the generic quality of being human that we all share.
That evening as the sun was setting I visited an "important" temple down the road before returning to the Ashram for dinner. This temple was pretty darn remarkable incidentally; not an easy thing for me to say after having seen twenty gazilion ones prior. I then checked out of my hotel in the night, hired a taxi and struck out for the coastal town of Mamalapurnum (or something like that,lol). I had been eyeing my calendar for a few days and was gearing up to leave India, bound for Thailand.
At this point in my travels I was still thinking that I would be returning to the States as planned, on June 15th 2005. This "deadline" kept a sort of constant pressure on me and I wondered what my travels would be like if this timeline was all together removed. Anyway, I guess this last foray into Tamil Nadu left me pretty spent; I was feeling like my time was up and complete in India. Mamalapurnam was a small beach town just south of Chen****. I figured I'd spend a couple of days there before catching a flight to Thailand.
Mamalapurnam wound up being close to abandoned. It was low season there, no doubt due to the scorching temperatures. I wandered around the baking town and wound up deciding to head to Thailand A.S.A.P. I had planned to fly to Calcutta to score a 60 day visa but opted to just get a 30 day visa upon entering Thailand and deal with a renewal later. My 42 birthday was fast approaching and I figured that if I timed things right I could be on the island of Ko Tao and do my first S.C.U.B.A. dive on that day. The manager of the guesthouse I was staying in was very helpful and I was able to book an air ticket for that very night and hire him and his car to bring me to Chen*** in just enough time to catch a late, all night flight. I thanked him by giving him the remainder of that hash from Udaipur; I actually hadn't smoked that much of it and I certainly wasn't going to fly internationally with it.
It was a tiresome flight, surprisingly almost filled to the brim with mostly Indians. It was a relief to get served a Thai meal on the plane. I think I had pretty much exhausted my taste buds regarding Indian cuisine. An attractive Thai flight attendant singled me out as the only westerner on the flight and offered to relocate me from my present seat; I was sandwiched compactly in a row of 5 seats amongst the Indians. This relocation offer did feel a bit awkward I must say. I had already commenced in friendly conversation with my neighbors (or rather they commenced conversation with me). When I got up and followed the flight attendant to a couple of unoccupied seats in an outer section, many noticed. For sure I would be a bit more comfortable there but felt uncomfortable about the blatant elitism that was afforded me. Granted, I had already experienced having the "red carpet" rolled out for me wherever I went in India. I guess I wasn't expecting this now on a Thai Air flight.
I took my new seat with no seated neighbors and put my bag on the seat next to me. Looking back over my shoulder I kind of gave a little look back to the Indians that I was just escorted away from, making eye contact, and sending them some acknowledgement. The next thing I know, one of the Indians got up and relocated to the seat next to me! How do you like that! One minute I'm feeling uncomfortable and appreciative with the entitlement that was extended to me, and the next moment I'm rolling my eyes about what I viewed as the inappropriate relocation of this now intruding Indian. That's some pretty cosmic humor. I was both chuckling and a bit annoyed inside.
So, my new neighbor and I settled into our seats as the flight took off. After the plane was leveling off the flight attendant came by and noticed that the Indian had taken the empty seat next to me. She gave me a look and hurried down the isle, returning promptly and asking the Indian to move once again to an aisle seat down a ways. So now I had my own little space returned to me once again. How funny is that! I couldn't help but laugh (and feel uncomfortable) again.
Why is it that I should be afforded this special treatment? Because I am white? Or American? Or of a higher economic class? I have a hard time with this practice of someone getting better treatment merely because they have more money. All too often those who have the most money are the very ones who mistreat others or the Earth the most. They are rewarded no matter how they made their fortune. But what about the poor Indian father whom barely supports his family with his job of hard labor? We all sure do enjoy the garbage he's collected, or the sidewalk he's helped to lay.
Anyway, I was able to eek out a bit of sleep before landing in Bangkok the following morning at a very early hour. Once there I was able to book a flight immediately for the island of Ko Samui where I then would catch a high speed ferry to Ko Tao the next day. I had a few minutes in the airport to log on and check my email; Molly had sent me one. To my surprise, she had traveled to Mamalapurnam with hopes of meeting up with me there. Here's her actual email;
hey dan!
i wonder if you were here last night? or if you are here tonight? didn't sound like you would be, seemed like you would keep going...but i'm at the shiva guest house, in case you are in another internet spot here right now! just wanted to start getting your emails, and find out what i missed at the top of the mountain? also to say thanks, don't know if you got the note i left you, but that time with you on the mountain was very powerful for me. i think i found a guru in you! are you prepared for that responsibility? anyway, happy travels and i hope you are well wherever you are!
best,
molly
Here is my reply email;
Hi Molly,
Great to hear from you. I have been quite busy in transit to Thailand and then immediately diving in (no pun intended) to a SCUBA diving certificate program. Today is my Birthday and I couldn't have spent it better. My first dive was today!!!
Well, after a 5 hour wait on the mountain top, I had the rare opportunity to see the great "Guru's" foot.... that's right, literally, just a foot. I was promised more, but got that. Then the very nice devotees wanted rupees from me which I declined due to the dishonesty, which I informed them about. That's the short, short story.
I'm honored and glad that our meeting was good for us both. I'm ready for any responsibility regarding spreading love and light Molly, so I'm honored, once again by your openess. But in actuality, the responsibility is all yours regarding your state of freedom,( or lack there of). It's just a matter of becoming aware of that level of responsibility, and then taking the time to love ourselves enough in order to act on what our experience is calling us to learn and grow from.
Any ideas of how you'd like to proceed? Let me know.
What you felt on that mountain was probably already there for you screaming for your attention. Perhaps I just helped you to brighten your own sense of awareness and power? I'm happy to help you to keep tuning into your response pattern, as well as Pure Consciousness.
How are your travels going? Where are you?

Namaste, Dan:)

ps. I'll send a recent pic from the Pooram Festival in Thissur.

>From: molly
>Reply-To: molly
>To: danpailas@hotmail.com
>Subject: hi from mamalapurnam!
>Date: Fri, 13 May 2005 07:37:13 -0700

Molly and I have exchanged a couple of other emails since.

"What is called "mind" is a wonderous power residing within the Self. It causes all thoughts to arise. Apart from thoughts, there is no such thing as the mind. Therefore, thought is the nature of mind. Apart from thoughts, there is no independent entity called the World."
Sri Ramana Maharshi

Papua and Sulawesi, Indonesia

10/25/05
Currently, I am traveling into China at a good clip. Today I leave the remarkably well preserved and picturesque town of Pingyao after having enjoyed 5 days in Beijing where I did a 7 mile hike on the Great Wall, visited the Forbidden City and Summer Palace, and ate Scorpian. I was clear about not wanting to sample the goat's penis and testicles that were on offer. These Chinese sure do seem to have a thing for "alternative" meat types. Incidentally, I have done some excellent vegetarian dining enjoying delectibles such as vegetarian duck intestines, lol. I will then continue on a southward journey to Luoyang and Kaifeng while enroute to Xi'an. After that, I will explore a bit of Sichuan Provence and then perhaps take a three day boat trip through China's famous Three Gorges along the Yangzi river (before they disappear due to the worlds biggest dam being built). Then I will travel south west towards Yunnan Provence where I will likely then fly somewhere else yet to be detemined. Maybe Nepal, maybe Myanmar (Burma)???
In Singapore I sent my larger rolling luggage and many belongings back to Boulder; 2/3rds of my stuff. I'm now traveling with a small day-backpack and a fanny pack; about 14 kilos!

**************************************************
OK, here's my travelogue from months two and three in Indonesia.

I started my stay in Indonesia with a month on the island of Bali. I wrote about this prior so keeping this part very short; my time there was spent learning how to surf on Kuta beach and enjoying the nightlife (when I wasn't too exhausted froma day of surfing). After 20 days of that, I then rented a motorbike and spent 9 days touring the rest of Bali, and doing some diving around the coasts.
Next a booked a flight to Papua, Indonesia on the island of New Guinea. My intention was to explore remote and tribal culture there and attend a festival in the Baliam Valley. The flight sucked, departing at 1:00 AM; the only flight available. I arrived in Papua at 7:30 AM, flying forward in time by 2 hours.
Once I arrived and supporting my eyelids with coffee, I hired an "ojek" (motorcycle and driver) to deliver me to the immigration office where I was required to get a special travel permit from the government; a Surat Jalan. This piece of beaurocratic hogwash was a pain in the butt. Basically, it forces foreigners to make choices in advance regarding exactly where they might go so that the government can keep close tabs. I had been warned that there was considerable tension in Papua due to the native Papuans wanting independence from Indonesia. Likely this travel permit had something to do with this internal resistance from the Papuans. Throughout my travels in Papua I got a real sense that the government wasn't all that happy with foreigners traveling there. Anyway, I got the darn piece of paper and returned to the airport hoping to grab a spot on a partly converted cargo plane in order to fly to the Baliam Valley. After some time waiting, I was informed that there was a last minute seat available for me, so I paid up and climbed onboard, arriving in Wamena an hour later at about 1:30 PM.
I spent the afternoon wandering around town orienting and looking at my hotel options (none of which were impressive). I wound up in an overpriced place but it was the best option. At least it had hot water, and running water for that matter. Later by necessity I had to stay at a different hotel that didn't have either hot or running water, drawing cold water from a washbasin in order to flush the toilet and to bathe. This was actually a common level of accommodation, unless I felt like spending large amounts of money for a "top end" place.
Regarding that, I really don't see much point. Firstly, it requires spending an amount of money as if one was in the west because the hotels figure that if you want and can afford a "top end" level of comfort and cleanliness, then you are capable and willing to pay a western price. Secondly, it has been my endeavor to spend less rather than more time in my hotel room, really using it mostly for sleeping. And finally, my extended travels have influenced me to go a bit more on the budget side and less so on the mid-range side.
Anyway, on my third day I went to a local market and spent a few hours hanging out in the scene. This wasn't particularly easy to do, as the Dani people are rather shy and not particularly jovial. All eyes turned as I entered the small but congested market area, making my way down the isle between the rows of women sitting on the ground with piles of produce and such displayed in front of them. And the eyes didn't really stop staring at me. It was an awkward feeling, but one that I've had before on many occasions.
I wasn't really there to buy anything, just to check out the scene. But this was not so easy. It required hanging out and standing out which is a given when you're the only white person. I took a position against a wall at the edge and viewed the proceedings of the local daily market. And the locals took their positions in ever growing numbers and ever-encroaching proximity around me. Before long a crowd of 25 or so men had gathered, quietly staring and staring, and not smiling. It's not that they were upset or anything, they are generally just a shy group of people not prone to smiling initially. I eventually came to know the native Papuans to be sincere and warm.
Eventually I figured I'd try to stir things up a bit. What the heck, if they were all going to hang out staring right in front of me I might as well spice things up a bit. Reaching around my back and pulling my fanny pack to my front side, I reached into the small pocket, all eyes intently watching my every move. I grabbed my trusty harmonica and started to play some blues. Immediately the energy stirred and more gathered. I really hadn't planned on what to play so I just made up some blues lyrics on the spot. "I got the blues in the morning, I got the blues in the afternoon. And when the evening comes, I got the blues, blues, blues comin' down on me." I played a wicked solo, sang some more and when I finished not a single sound from the now huge crowd. I clicked a couple of pictures of them all as they stared at me and hung out in the unbelievably intense energy.
Eventually the crowd dispersed some and I headed off for a small hike down to the river. I saw people bathing in the river; washing clothes...you know... the usual Asian routine.
As I walked down a long road, heading back into town I bumped into a couple from Switzerland; Renat and Inga. They were heading into a restaurant for a bite to eat and invited me in to join them, so I obliged. We all totally hit it off and before long we were talking about treking together into the remote regions to the south of Wamena in order to explore the traditional culture that still existed there.
The next morning, I invited Renat and Inga to come over to my hotel as I had prior arranged for a guide to come there and meet with me to discuss trekking possibilities. The day prior I had gone to the tourist office on the way to the market to get referrals for "approved" guides. So, Renat, Inga, myself and the potential guide all met at 10:00 AM. The Lonely Planet had warned to be ready to bargain long and hard for a fair price. Getting a fair price, I had read, helped to prevent an artificial inflation from happening due to loose walleted tourists all too easily spending too much money for services hired. The problem was that the guide I had arranged to meet with already had become spoiled by ill-informed tourists giving him whatever he asked for. His price was 300% higher than the Lonely Planet had recommended as a correct price.
The bargaining began, and all of the details were being discussed. The guide was adding in extra days and wanted us to hire additional porters and on and on. Renat, Inga and I convened for a private meeting in my room during the proceedings to discuss our feelings. Inga suggested that we just pay whatever he asked for, after all these people are poor and even if the price is high it's still not too much for us westerners. I suggested that we follow the Lonely Planets advice and bargain hard while at the same time making a considerable price concession. Renat kind of hung out in the middle.
The bargaining continued except the guide really wasn't bargaining at all. Yes, he dropped some of the unnecessarily added porters and days, but his price hadn't budged despite my outright saying that this price was way steep. For me, honestly, I had been traveling in Asia already for almost 6 months, and absolutely everywhere the locals where more than happy to extract as much money as they possible could if I wasn't well informed about the appropriate local market value for whatever I was spending my money on.
Eventually we had to take a lunch break. So, Renat, Inga and I walking down the street to catch a quick bite. On the way, I bumped into a Dani man, Francisco, that I had become acquainted with on my second day in Wamena while taking a hike into the countryside. Francisco was interested in guiding or portering for us but spoke very little English and wasn't "professional". But the problem now was that the guide we had been speaking with had sent one of his hired hands to follow us. When this hired hand saw me speaking with Francisco he approached us and gave a very clear message to Francisco that he had better not "get in the way" (holding a piece of metal for a weapon in his hand). This was then the beginning of the end for this so called "professional" guide.
Renat, Inga and I decided to trek independently without a guide, perhaps just picking up a porter along the way. This really felt better. The pro guide wanted to pack every last bit of food and such, but we felt that since we would be staying in villages, and since we were willing to "eat as the locals do" (which in this case would be the sweet potato, their staple food), why not just head out and trust in the process that would unfold. Additionally, Renat spoke fluent Indonesian so we all figured that would help us get along without a guide.
That night we went to the market and shopped for a couple days worth of dry food and snacks just in case we needed it. Synchronistically, earlier in the evening Renat and Inga were approached by another Dani man who offered to porter for them. This man said that he lived in Karima, where we were heading, and could also act as a guide (for the cost of a porter, that being 5 dollars a day). I was a bit unsure of yet another offer, but nonetheless the next morning we all met, including this porter/guide by the name of Asman. We dropped into a local market for some last minute items. I bought a sweater and a blanket.
Taking a bemo out to the market, we then chartered another one to take us out to the trailhead where we commenced our 5-day trek into very steep and rugged terrain. Adding spice to the trails were the occasional suspended bridges that had to be crossed. These bridges were homemade…. shall we say “rustic and natural”. They had no bottom support whatsoever and where put together with elements from the environment plus some less than trustworthy cables. Boards missing, bridge swaying, stories of collapses etc. You get the picture. Personally, I loved them! But for sure you take your life into your own hands using them, not that there's much choice otherwise.
We had a blast. Each night we stopped in a different village to eat dinner and sleep. Asman wound up being a total gem so we hired his son the next day to porter as well. We ate as the villagers eat; mostly vegetables and sweet potatoes cooked over a fire in huts, supplimented with the noodles and rice that we had brought with us. We slept in huts and rustic wood cabins, often without a mattress.
We spent a night in the small town of Tangma. It had a small grass airport and a larger than typical population for the area; probably a few hundred people. There was a conspicious lack of motor vehicles or motorcycles as there wasn't a single road. This is where Asman's family lived. We stayed in one of his huts and hung out with his family, sitting on the earth in the kitchen hut by a candle's light eating dinner. We dined on fire baked sweet potatoes, white rice and beautiful freshly harvested vegetables, as well as a some packs of flavored noodles that we supplied. That night they all played some traditional Papuan music for us. Afterwards, Renat, Inga and I retired into our own little thatched roof hut and slept on the floor (as they all do). As I drifted off to sleep I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that while the Dani villagers that I was meeting were in fact very poor financially, they seemed to live satisfying simple lives with their families and neighbors. All of their basic needs seemed to be met quite well, by their own doing.
The hikes were rigorous and steep indeed. Each day we came across many local villagers whom were making their way along the trails as well. Many of the men still were "dressed" traditionally, i.e., naked with only a penis gourd. The elder Dani women were present as well; gardening on dramatic inclines, the clouds hanging just overhead. One naked Dani elder whom we crossed paths with was returning from a funeral ceremony and was wearing traditional face and body paint of smeared ashes and pig fat. We hired him to carry some more stuff...why not, he was there and asking to help.
I enjoyed snacking on a local culinary treasure called Forest Coconuts. These small narrow tubular brown tidbits were fiberous and did indeed have a flavor reminiscent of coconut. This was a highly valued staple for the Dani People as it provided a good source of protein. In fact, so valued was this Forest Coconut that our naked Dani porter whom had joined our entourage decided to discontinue his jouney with us because of our traveling into a less than friendly neighboring village's domain. Apparently there was a conflict (which could involve bows and arrows) over whose land was whose. There was a river that divided the land geographically but members of either side were crossing the boundry secretly in order to forage the highly valued Forest Coconut. Along our journey I had repeated opportunities to buy the coconut, which I did in large supply figuring that it was a wild foraged highly nutritious edible.
In addition to the Forest Coconut I went crazy over the Sugarcane that was also availible. Our naked Dani porter had some that he sold to us and introduced me to the art of eating it by taking a bite himself and after partly masticating it in his own mouth quickly removing it and putting it into my mouth! I was a bit surprised by my own willingness to allow this, but I thought to myself while it was happening- "wow, he really wants me to chew on this sugarcane that he has already chewed on, fascinating". What I learned was that the Danis are not at all squeemish about sharing oral fluids and such, readily finishing what was left on someone elses plate or in one case I saw a mother chew some corn and then put it into her young child's mouth from her own mouth. Anyway, I learned quickly and thoroughly enjoyed munching on the Sugarcane the way the locals do; ripping the outside bark away with the teeth and then chomping on the fiberous juicy interior before spitting the remnants out. Yummy, enyme rich and sweet!!!
The Dani people are very interesting indeed; They still predominately live off of the land, gardening at high altitudes and collecting as many pigs as they can. The pigs are their bank account and more pigs typically indicates the particular family's community importance. The men sleep in one hut and the women another; never together. The pigs often share the same quarters as family members. Polygamy is still practiced. The elder women amputate a finger for each family member that dies! This was difficult to see as many of the older women barely had any fingers left!
One of the topics that seemed to keep coming up during our hiking was the native Papuans desire for independence from the Indonesian Government. I had heard about a large protest that was scheduled for August 15th, so I was quite interested in the details. My being attracted to large crowds and intensity as well as authentic local experience, for sure I was considering attending the protest, especially since I figured that I would be in Jayapura around that time. But I didn't want to be there if it was going to erupt into large scale violence, and I had some concerns that the Papuans might target foreigners for publicity. Renat was a gem and translated/forwarded many questions I had as we bumped into various villagers. We all discussed whether we thought it would be safe for me to be there. Ingar advised against it, and Renat warned that the government might not be happy to see a foreigner taking pictures. The Papuans felt that this particular protest was going to be the one to bring them independence because apparently the U.N. was going to be in the country simulataneously.
Speaking of Renat's willingness to translate my at times seemingly endless questions, one such evening came on our first night out. We were staying in the schoolmaster's cabin. Here we had one room to share, sleeping on bare wood floor. That night we all congregated in the kitchen hut and watched dinner being prepared over a fire. We all ate together (sweet potatoes, veggies, rice, and noodles -without MSG I would always ask; they all love the stuff) and after dinner the schoolmaster spent time with us. I had many, many questions about this unique culture that we were soon to discover intimately. Renat was happy to play the go between, and had questions as well, and seemed to really enjoy my line of inquiry as did the schoolmaster. Well, and you know with this receptivity I couldn't help but probe into the more risky questions.
I asked questions about why they collect pigs, and do they become attached to them. The answer was no they don't and one of the main reasons to collect pigs is so that the man can afford to have more than one wife! When a man marries a woman he must offer the wife-to-be's family a dowry of pig/pigs. Interesting, I thought that doesn't seem to be a very positive reflection on the value of the woman. A pig for a woman, lol.
"What if a man doesn't have a pig"I asked?
"Then he won't have a wife" was the answer.
"OK, so how is it that a man can have several wives? Can a woman have several husbands?" I asked
"No".
"Hmmm, ok,only one husband for the wife. Is that because the men own the pigs?"
"No, it's just how it goes, but true the women don't own pigs."
"OK, " I said, " but it doesn't seem fair that the women don't get more than one husband. Do the women ever have secret love affairs? Do the men?" I asked?
The schoolmaster replied, "Well, if a man wants to be with a woman he must have a pig or three, otherwise the women won't enter into an intimate relationship at all."
Hmmm I thought, no pig, no nookie. I'm glad I don't have to play by those rules, LOL!
He continued, "and a woman would never, ever enter into an illegitimate affair because if she got caught her parents would have to pay in pigs a fine that would last repeatedly their whole lives to the family of the man! The women don't ever risk this."
I'm not sure I got this part.
"OK, so what about same sex relationships" I asked with Renat's translation assistance and willingness.
"That never happens," said the schoolmaster. "That's a sin."
I left that one alone.
"OK, so how does polygamy manage to blend with the over whelming popularity of Christianity here" I asked?
¨Well, it's tolerated because it has been a part of this culture for so long. But the younger generation isn't practicing polygamy because of the Churches influence" the schoolmaster said.
It was a really interesting and fun interchange. The schoolmaster seemed to really enjoy answering all of the questions.
Another interesting dynamic that continued to come up during our trek and wound up being a bit of an ongoing joke of sorts between Ingar and I (and Renat) was at what point should the bargaining stop. Ingar's point was that, again, look , these people are poor...give them what they ask for, stop being so cheap! I really appreciated the Yin/feminine perspective that Ingar brought into our group dynamic. Indeed, everything would have been quick and easy if we had simply said yes to anything and everything. For sure there was something to be said for that. And no doubt all whom we would do business with would be absolutely over the top friendly and helpful.
Needless to say, Ingar became very popular with all of the locals wherever we went because for one; she was interested in buying jewelery and bags and such and secondly; because she paid them whatever they asked for. And for a while there, she actually had me feeling like a bit of a cheap skate..LOL. But what we all saw as the trek went on was that they were totally taking advantage of Ingar and she begain to see this as well. At one point she was looking at a piece of jewelry and the local woman said the price was 20,000 rp.. Ingar agreed and the woman left the room briefly and when she returned she insisted on 30,000 rp!
Ingar did remind me of the softness that I had for the Indians in India during my intitiation into Asian culture 6 months earlier, so I softened a bit with her help. And Ingar learned the value of bargaining and insisting on a fair price, especially as she saw them taking advantage of her and their being willing to simply take and take with no end. We all had alot of fun with this little mini-drama of sorts that was going on.
All along our journey we had been hearing about a large group of Italians whom were doing the same route as we were. They were about a half day in front of us. None of us were particularly interested in in merging with what felt like would be a huge touristic entourage but nonetheless we soon met up with them.There were 11 Italians whom had hired 1 guide, 1 cook, and 21 porters!
We came up upon a part of their fleet at a resting point on a ridge. There I went over to introduce myself to what turned out to be he guide, a female from Jayapura and a friend of hers that was doing the trek for fun; Belinda and Anne respectively. A large group of male porters were nearby semi-quietly encouraging me to take advantage of the female company I was getting aqcuainted with. But really I was just interested in finding out about how the whole dynamic was going with the Italians. We had seen some of them very slowly climbing up very steep inclines and I wondered how the group was doing? Belinda filled me in, telling me that all they do is complain and that they were having a very difficult time with the difficulty of the hike, complaining about the food, etc. etc. Anyway, I commended Belinda for taking on such a big group and acknowledged the big responsibility she had.
Later my group met up again with some of the staff of the Italian group and Anne. The porters called me over and told me that Anne wanted to "get together" with me, laughing and encouraging me in a masculine fashion. And apparently one of the porters fancied me as well; he positioned himself in a place where he had a clear view of me. I picked up on his vibe quickly. But really, I really wasn't interested in Anne or the porter in that way. But I did like making friends.
That night, the Italians stayed in the church and we stayed well removed in a small cabin down the path quite a ways away. After dinner I decided to venture out and check out what was going on with this huge group of Italians and their staff. Additionally, Belinda had informed me that the Italians had plans to do another trek in the famed and remote Asmat region, so part of me felt like there might be a window of opportunity with this group. I took the 15 minute walk in the pitch of night, the stars brilliantly shining, down to the church where I met a few of the Italians outside after they had finished dining.
I spoke with the organizer of their whole group, interested in getting the perspective about this trek from the other viewpoint. I guess I'm just interested in group dynamics in general and this was driving my interest in finding out about their trek. He said that in fact, all of them were experienced mountain hikers from the Italian Alps and that they were very satisfied with the guide, staff and organization. They all seemed nice enough and interestingly they conveyed quite a different message than that of Belinda and Anne's. Soon the Italians were off to bed and I went off to try to find the staff and Belinda and Anne. Eventually I found them all in a long hut with a small fire burning. They enthusiastically invited me in, happy to see me. Anne and the porter whom fancied me sat next to me and we all chatted and had a few laughs. I busted out the harmonica and played them all a tune. It was a good, low key time. We agreed that we would all meet again the next day on the trail and I returned to my cabin.
Renat, Ingar and I had started to become a bit tired of the bottomless wanting of the people whom put us up (and our staff). They expected a constant flow of cigarettes and asked for ever-increasing and variant expenses to be paid for. For instance after having full access to the cigarettes that were expected to be supplied, when they smoked through them all with no regard for how quickly they used them, they then strongly expected that we would promptly buy them more. For sure, we had already supplied way more than enough. It just got tiring to have a host of the local villagers show up wherever we arrived and hang around in order to score smokes and snacks, or pens, or sell us things; whatever they could get. This was the damaging affect of our tourism, and yet at the same time, for sure it was clear that we benefitted them all. Especially the way in which we decided to travel, opting to buy potatoes and veggies and such along the way, dirEctly from the villagers, and thus giving money straight to the source rather than a greedy guide who would no doubt underpay the porters and cooks that he would hire and over charge us for the food purchased etc.
On the last day of the trek, we crossed paths with the Italian group. Belinda and Anne where very friendly to me and wanted me to join their group. Belinda paid me a nice compliment saying that when I was around everyone seemed to lighten up and have more fun. (Actually it was probably she and Anne that lightened up the most- I think Belinda had a real problem with projection). And Ingar was so sweet giving me permission to stay with them as she saw the large group of male porters that seemed to groove on me as well. But I was having too much fun with Renat and Ingar and wanted to complete our journey as the great team that we were..
Anyway, after 5 days of living in villages without running water or electricity, high in the mountains, and having eaten more than our share of sweet potatoes we returned to Wamena and dined at a restaurant with Asman and his son joining us. We paid Asman a good price for both his portering and guiding. He and his son were very pleased. I bumped into Asman a couple of days later, after Renat and Inga had left for Bali, and he informed me that the very next day he went out and bought a pig with the money we gave him, spending 600,000 of the 1,000,000 rupiah he had earned!
I felt so blessed to have had such great company with Renat and Ingar. They were both a delight to travel with and we continue to stay in contact via email.
The day after returning from the trek was the start of the Baliam Valley Festival! I had really sculpted my travels to accomodate the occurrance of this event so I was looking forward to it.
During the two days of the event I witnessed hundreds of Dani men and women dressed traditionally, performing traditional dance, handi-craft making, potato baking and the main feature was certainly the large mock tribal warfare that the men staged. Hundreds of them would charge each other, shooting arrows and throwing spears (safely of course). It was quite dramatic and really was about as close as one could come in this modern age to actually experiencing what it was like back when the tribes still engaged in warfare.
Not that the Baliam Valley or Wamena for that matter were very modern...they weren't. In Wamena one of the main modes of transport after walking was cycle rickshaw, a three-wheeled bike with a carriage for transporting passengers.
I attended the second day of the festival with the Italian group's guide Belinda's friend Anne. She and Belinda had hunted me down the night before and had just caught me arriving back at my hotel after a painfully slow internet session at the only pathetic cafe in Wamena. We hung out that night a bit and Anne and I made plans to meet the next day for the festival. Belinda was too busy being the Italian group's guide to hang much. At the festival I also bumped into a swiss couple Anne and Eric whom I had met briefly on a high mountainous ridge on my prior five day trek with Renat and Ingar. The three of us roamed around the fairgrounds and hung out for a while, hitting it off naturally and easily. They had been traveling in Indonesia for 6 months, part of their 16 month journey.
On the first day of the festival, I positioned myself on the ground in front of the bandstand for a good close view of the proceedings and to click photographs. The MC came over and introduced himself sitting on the ground next to me. We made a nice connection. On the second day, he approached me again and asked if I would like to participate in a competition for foreigners involving archery and javalin. I hadn't really intended on participating but following his lead I signed up.
Really the whole competition was for fun; the local Papuans getting a big kick out of the white westerners trying their hands at indigenous weaponry use. (Swiss) Anne had signed up for the event as well. She and I had a blast and many laughs while the crowd watched on. The MC seemed to be more invested in my doing well than I, so I did my best to fulfill his expectations and took first place in the Javalin throwing competition. Anne, Eric and I hung around the grounds and commuted back to wamena together, having dinner together and striking up a good natured friendship.
A couple of days later I left Wamena, flying to Jayapura. I bid fairwell to Eric and Anne earlier as they were heading out for another trek in the valley. In Jayapura I planned to spend a few days in the city and explore one of Indonesias's largest lake, Danua Sentani before booking another flight to the island of Biak for some S.C.U.B.A. diving.

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Jayapura is really not much to write home about so I won't. It's a beat up, poorly maintained city that's over priced due to the more affluent and exchange-rate advantaged New Guinea folk who would arrive there to shop or do business..
My first morning there I hired an Ojek to take me out to a traditional market in a Muslim neighborhood outside of the city. Pretty interesting, though I got there after the peak. It was a blistering hot day and I no longer enjoyed the benefit of milder temperatures in the higher elevation of the Baliam Valley. I caught another Ojek back into the city and when I arrived there was a very large crowd that had gathered. I had the driver drop me off as I was excited to see what was going on. I really didn't think anything of pulling out my camera and clicking some pictures. The thought crossed my mind that the event might be the protest that I had heard about during our trek, but it was only the 12th and the protest was scheduled for the 15th. Whatever it was there were plenty of police and Papuans around and I wasn't trying to hide anything. I tried to find out what was going on, but none of the people I asked spoke English.
I moved into a good viewing position and a procession surged through the street. The front of the crowd had a large red banner and they were singing a chant energetically. At this point I thought perhaps this was the protest, but repeatedly I had heard it would be on the 15th, 3 days later. Anyway, I selected my video option because the crowd was pumping and the chant was compelling, and proceeded to take a video clip. I stepped down from my position to follow the crowd and a man stopped me. He had a cell phone in his hand and said that a man was calling me from a hotel and wanted to speak with me. That's strange, not possible I thought, there's no one here like that who would call me, relaying this observation to the stranger. He said that I needed to come with him. After a few questions and lack of cooperation on my part the man told me that he was an undercover policeman. I asked to see his badge promptly which he discreetly showed me, and subsequently escorted me over to a few police vehicles. I was then asked to get into a car, which with resistance and complaints I did. I was then sped over to the police station.
I was interrogated in a rather unorganized way and informed that it is against the law for any foreigner to take pictures of a protest. I told them that I didn't know that it was a protest and that I was merely a tourist attracted by the commotion. And frankly, this was the truth. Well, a few minutes turned into a few hours, but soon the Police Chief, whom apparently I was waiting for, arrived at the station. My camera and passport had already been confiscated and the police had sent an officer over to my hotel to retrieve my bags for inspection. Anyway, the chief asked the same series of questions. I was confident about my innocence (of course) and felt clear that the Chief and everyone else for that matter knew that I wasn't a spy or an agent or whatever. Nonetheless, the process dragged on and on and on.
I won't bore you with the boring details much. The police Chief was a total jerk; in love with his power more than anything else (surprise,surprise). It took the better part of 2 days to get my camera and passport returned. The main thing that was stressing me in the station that first day wasn't my possessions being held hostage. Rather it was that I knew that soon all of my photos would be viewed and um....let's just say that there was some rather personal pictures and a "private" video clip that I had saved onto my memory card of some fun with my friend from India, Anoop. For sure it was only a matter of time before the files would be opened and ALL would be revealed to who knows how many policemen. What would be the result if this happened? Would I ever get my passport and camera back? Would I get out of there alive?
Overall, the police were pretty friendly, just following orders and all. Anyway, after a few hours of sitting there (for no good reason), there was a window of opportunity that came. My camera was sitting on the main desk and one of the main officers had stepped into the next room to question another foreigner (a Dutch Man) that they had detained for the same reason. I quickly grabbed the camera and had just barely enough time to open the photos and delete the "sensitive" files. The policeman came out and saw me with the camera and approached me....... I said I was looking at pictures I'd saved for Laos, turning the camera for him to see. He walked off and that was that!!!!!!!!!!
Later, the police finally loaded my memory card contents into their computer and a crowd of them huddled around the screen viewing my photos over and over again. I reveled in the fact that I had succeeded in deleting the X-files! Oh man, oh Man was I lucky.!!!!!!!
On day two of this hassle, I spent the bulk of the day wandering back and forth to the station, hoping that the chief would return. He had broken his promise of being there that morning and returning my belongings. I played an incomplete game of chess with one of the officers, and finally at sunset I began a half naked Yoga routine right there in the middle of the station on the balcony outside of the chief's office. It was then that the chief returned and shortly there after he artificially apologized and ordered his cronies to give me (and the Dutch man's) camera and passport back (after deleting the all important "sensitive" files). Fortunately, I had been singing that Papuan protest song in my head so that memory will remain.
I stayed and extra night in Jayapura and the next day got up early to explore Danua (Lake) Sentani and catch a flight to the island of Biak, in Papua. There I mostly intended to do some diving.
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In Biak, Papua I had a fun time S.C.U.B.A. diving for a couple of days. A