Some photos meant for a previous post.

So I tried to upload these with my post earlier today but there was an internet cut - a problem in India some times.

Here are just a few photos from my trek to Gaumuk.
(Courtesy of my dear friend Liz. I forgot to bring the cable for my camera.)

Mountains and Last Legs

A freezing cold blast of air hits your face as you step out of the rickety, crowded jeep which finally pulls to a stop after 4 hours of racing around razor sharp bends on the edge of mountains. Your lungs labour to draw deeper breathes as the thin air is starved with Oxygen. Stalls surround you selling a multitude of bottle, pictures of gods and  various other knick-knacksouvenirs. Signs in misspelt English assure you that there is ‘pissa’ on offer at ‘restuarants’ and high quality ‘servis’. Pilgrims shamble along the paved street, leading to the temple, bare foot and wrapped in blankets – completely unprepared for the cold of 3000m. Beggars, cripples and Sadhus (renunciate, holy men) sit in at the side of the street wherever there aren’t shops, forming a tunnel toward the temple. This is Gangotri, high in the Himalayas, the last human settlement on the Ganges before the trek up to the source at Gaumuk.

I knew that it would be cold but when we arrived I was still shocked. In the 35 degree heat of Rishikesh a few days earlier it was hard to imagine what 0 degrees feels like. Ok, it wasn’t always 0, it probably got up to about 8 and down to about -2. Never the less it was freezing and although we had brought some clothes with us they were certainly not enough. In our frozen state we agreed to go with the first man who offered us a room, looking it over briefly we agreed, just so that we had somewhere to put some more layers on and put down our bags so that we could buy some wool jumpers. At a glance my cold addled brain thought that this place was clean enough, however in a warmer state we realised that the room smelt of damp, part of the blanket smelled like pee and one of the windows was broken (though we ingeniously sealed it with a pillow case, however this showed us how filthy the pillows were so, swings and roundabouts I guess). It is strange what you will overlook when your needs feel dire.

The next day we explored Gangotri, a small touristic village flowing with pilgrims. They come from all over India, go straight to the temple, via buying from the stalls and then fill up little bottles of water from the river. Although the temple looked nice enough from the outside it was not our reason for being there. We were here for the mountains towering over either side of the river and the trek up to the source. At this level pine trees cover the valley, creating the illusion that you might just be in the alps. Though the hordes of Indians and distinct lack of Norwegians & dogs with whisky barrels around there necks makes you realise were you are. Even more so the lack of log cabins, for somewhere so cold you would think that people would have the decency not to build everything out of corrugated iron and have a couple of places with roaring fires. But no, every restaurant is open and not a fire or a shot of brandy in sight. Indian does not know who to do cold climates.

We started the trek by going along the wrong path and having to clamber up a sheer goat path to get to the entrance of the national park. As soon as we were clambering up that path I knew that I’d missed this. This feeling for connecting with nature by clambering all over it, feeling my body warming up as my legs and arms propelled me up the face of a mountain. Blue skies, truly fresh clean sharp air, the sun on my face, the wind whipping the warmth from me. God I love hiking. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the purity of that connection, the simplicity, the space, the ability to think about anything or not think at all and just be in wonder at the majesty and beauty of nature.

The scenery slowly changed, step by step the pines became sparser, silver birches with no leaves began to appear and then slowly fade out into shrubs inhabited by the occasional herd of wild mountain goats. Birds of prey flew with swift simple ease above us as even the shrubs gave way to a rocky desert like land. All this high above the river, occasionally crossing over tributaries, with its gentle roar always in the background. This valley has been shaped by the river, a line appears in the rock, the colour changes where the river swells during monsoon. Occasional landslides are seen and several gashes in the mountains appear from other smaller rivers that connect to the main on.

We arrived at the base camp 20 minutes before it started to snow. Within moments the landscape was blanketed in white, like a winter wonderland. It was a pleasure to see my Australian friend, who’d never seen snow, stair in wonder, like a child, at the flakes wafting down through the sky. Peaks of mountain rages hidden in clouds on either side of us were black and white, perpetually capped in snow that now matched the surfaces all around us. This trek is not in season so there weren’t many people at the camp and the only food was super noodle, YUM, just what a hiker needs.

The next morning we hike to Gaumuk (4000m) where the Ganges begins. The path gets closer to the river and you can see the aqua marine pure blue and white of the water. The path eventually stops at a little shrine. One arriving here I felt a sense of triumph, I’d made it, just me and my friend liz, no porters, no cooks, no guards, just us making our way up through the Himalayas on this adventure. But that wasn’t were the magic happened. The shrine is not at the source, the path stops and you have to continue over rocks and make your own way. It’s a treacherous and tricky climb especially since everything was covered in snow but slowly, slowly we made it up to the source.

There is a sort of silence, no sound apart from the rushing of the water. The sun finally crested the peaks and flooded the valley with light as we arrived. The Glacier stands still, barely indistinguishable from the mountain face, solid as rock you can only tell it by the slight hint of blue where it’s not covered in snow. You walk up to it, up to the source of this river that winds all the way through India to the bay of Bengal, that gives life to so many and it strikes you. The water moves continuously, flowing pure, it seems to come from nowhere, it just appears, one moment it is solid the next it flows and is gone. It keeps changing, pure and untouched by human hands it reminds you that life is always changing, in flux, the only moment we have is the now because life is change. We like to think that life is the same, that we can predict the future from the past, that ‘change is hard’ – but the reality is that life is a river, parts of it might look similar one moment to the next but they are never ever the same, life is change. Our previous experiences give us expectations and assumptions about the future but the past can never give you a prediction of the future, the past is already gone and the future is unknown – we are flowing through the river of life, shifting, moving, changing. If we resist it then life becomes a struggle, imagine a part of a river trying to hold on a certain place, trying to attach itself to a certain bend or rock – impossible. Just imagine the resistance that would create, how hard and painful that would be, to try and hold on to that one thing. But if the river lets itself flow, then there is no resistance, life is a joyful journey floating freely. One cannot control the journey or see the destination but one can direct the flow in the now and enjoy the ride.

The purity of it, the silence, the deep blue and the shiftingmotion brought all this and more to me. This place is sacred, a place touched by divinity. A place where the true nature of the universe shines forth. I can understand why Hindus worship this river as a god for truly it is in moments like this that I can see the divine in the world.

I picked up a smooth black stone that called to me, stood in silence with it, putting into the stone all that was holding me back: my fears, expectations, assumptions, anything that was stopping me being who I am, being free. Then I threw the stone into the source, which immediately swallowed it and in a moment it was gone as if it had never been there. I ‘Swarhar’ed it, a ritual in the yogic tradition where you cast off something by offering it to a fire or river, and I felt a weight lift off of me – it was a symbol of my casting off those things and I felt the pure cold water wash them away. I can see now why the Jewish tradition has tashlich (ritual with casting into water) and I don’t understand why I’ve never done it, to be able to signify your dedication and determination by physically casting off is a strong ritual indeed. (I think that I’m gonna have to run one this year, yes sir. I love when what I learn from one tradition links in with my own. Great stuff world that has bits of shared truth in it, good work.)

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Now I’m back in Rishikesh. The trek back down was long and the jeep rides back to Rishikesh even longer. My shoulders still ache. But I’m here now and I only have two more weeks in India, less now actually. I’m in the last leg of my journey.

I’ve been thinking about how much this trip has had an impact on me and what I will take back home with me to my default life. Every section has given me something different. The first month I got to know India, I got to be by myself, meeting new people every day, making lots of frienships with a wide range of people and seeing a lot of places. The last month was a deep search within myself, learning about yoga, meditation and silence. The last week I’ve spent with just one other person and the mountains. In a couple of days I will no longer be here by myself, my last 10 days will be spent in the company of the Lovely Sarah Lamb. I miss home and a part of my home life is coming out to meet me – which I am sure will be a different India to India alone.

I can see the end of my journey loaming in the distance. Part of me is already planning my summer. Though I am taking the advice of yoga and my good friend Sam, be here now, because home will be there then, travelling is not something I will be able to do all the time. But I know that I will have to do it again. It’s a transformative experience. To get out of your old habits and experience life anew, to get a change of perspective on your society and your self is so amazing. Somebody showed me a poster yesterday which comes to mind; a girl is back flipping off a cliff into the ocean and the tag line says ‘life begins where your comfort zone ends’. I could not agree more, comfort is all well and good but too easily becomes stagnation. To push oneself out of ones comfort zone however one does not need to be in India or a far flung country, so when I return I am going to bring some of this travelling attitude back with me. I am going to look at things with open eyes. I am going to explore London and the rest of the UK as a traveller (especially since being a Londoner I am typically ignorant of the rest of our gorgeous country). I am going to smile to people and occasionally say ‘Hi’.

Life is a journey and I am a traveller. In the future I know that I will have to go to other interesting places because there is so much to see in this world. But no matter where I am I intent to experience as much as I possibly can. Life is full of so many experiences and when one goes through them with open eyes rather than the same doldrums lids of the everyday then life is joyous and amazing.

So, if you ever want to have a new experience, especially one that pushes you out of your comfort zone, give me a call, I’d love to join you.

On Loneliness and the Ashram

White walls surround the campus of the Ashram, as you walk down the entrance path from the main road the sounds get progressively quieter, the main courtyard sports a garden with technicolour flowers – everything is quiet and peace, a world away from the rest of India.

For the last 3 weeks I have been staying at an Ashram, a temple of study, while attending a ‘yoga’ course. When I originally thought of yoga I had the image of many people doing complex posses that twisted the body in strange and interesting ways – probably in a large hall with a mirror on one side. But this course was a world away from that. These last few weeks have been spent with a group of 7 other people and only one teacher. To be honest when I signed up to this course I didn’t really have any idea what it would be like – the ashram was recommended to me (by my parents, I know sacrilege to do what they advise but they have been doing yoga since the 70s or something so I guessed that they knew a thing or two about it) and although I’ve been to a retreat at plum village I knew it would be very different. So I went into this a little blind and I was a little shocked to begin with, on our first night our teacher told us that he’d prefer if during our stay we had no contact with the outside world and that he’d prefer if we observed silence outside of class. You can image what that sounds like – don’t talk to anyone for the next 3 weeks please. GULP, ok, but more on this later. The first morning he interrogated us about our poo – yes poo is very important as an indication of how the body is doing, so every morning we had to describe it to our teacher. This shook up the system a little bit but perhaps that’s part of it, all of the magical places in time that I have experienced (shemesh, Israel tour, plum village, nowhere) break your normal routine, creating their own world, enabling them to affect you in a much deeper way because your usual barriers are disrupted. That’s why its always so hard to return to the default world afterwards; case in point being Rishikesh, before the Ashram I came to Rishikesh and thought ‘this is so calm for an Indian town’, yesterday I went and I was stunned by the chaos and noise.

This Ashram is an interesting place, the Guru who set it up (Swami Rama) was left this world and so there is no central teacher. His pictures are everywhere and he is very revered. He decided to build his ashram right on the edge of the Ganga, which is a beautiful spectacle to hold, you walk up a small flight of stairs to a bank that overlooks a wide stretch of water the flows so slowly that when there is no wind it doesn’t look like it moves at all. Across the river is a forest where wild elephants live and occasionally you see them come down to the river to drink or wash themselves. These are real elephants, not the dull eyed, broken spirited creatures you see at the temples or the elephant training camps. They have a mystical, playful, slow grace to their movements. Above the forst is a mountain range the hides the sun in the morning, making the twilight last for a good long time. People are always walking up and down the river, especially in the early morning and evening, you catch a glimpse of real Indian life, couples holding hands, family’s strolling, gangs of youths strutting about together and people going jogging.

Life here is at a difference pace slow but busy, my days where packed to the brim with things to do (for those interested I’ve put an overview of a basic day at the ashram at the end of this post). The course was very much learning through doing which consisted of preparing for meditation (What our teacher says is that you don’t DO meditation, meditation Occurs. If you are still doing something you aren’t meditating.), yoga and philosophy. It has been fascinating learning about a new tradition in such depth especially from our teacher who is a self proclaimed fanatic (meditation and the practice are his life). There were points that rang very true for me and others that I just could not swallow (Like when our teacher told us that with meditation one can levitate. Ok I can just about believe the stories of sages going into caves for weeks on end without food or water and coming out fine, meditation and yoga gives one mastery over the body and mind so much so that one could slow ones heart beat and breathing down to an almost comatose stat. But lifting yourself off the ground with your mind?!?! Manifesting mental energy on the material plan??? Sorry no, I’m not believing that till I see it.)but I believe that no one system is perfectly correct and I’ll be taking with me what I have found meaningful and useful from this tradition (Note that my teacher also kept on repeating that we shouldn’t believe any word he said until we experienced it ourselves.). Bellow are a few of these things.

·         I have learnt how to walk with my feet parallel. My legs are still adjusting; it’s a whole new world.

·         We make excuses and justifications about our own actions even to ourselves, covering up our reason for our actions.

·         After 24 years of life I finally know where my hips are. (Yoga should be taught at all schools because we do not get taught how to use our own bodies.)

·         The only time we have is Now.

·         A lot of the time we assume how the world is, what will happen, and then end up perceiving our own assumption.

·         Using the word ‘Tradition’ rather than ‘Religion’. I prefer it because: 1. ‘Religion’ creates much more division (Christianity, Islam, Hinduism) while tradition gives diversity, acknowledging the many different strand of different systems. 2. Many traditions, like Judaism and Buddhism, don’t really fit into the traditional view of what a religion is. Judaism isn’t just a religion and Buddhism doesn’t have a good. 3. It makes it sound like all these traditions are pointing towards, trying to get to, the same source – which I very much believe.

·         When we make a mistake we shouldn’t judge or condemn ourselves for it but rather just determine that you will not make that mistake again.

·         Nothing in this world is ‘yours’, you do not own anything, but everything in this world is for you to use and experience.

·         It’s ok to be Silent.

·         Greed and Fear are great motivators in our world but if we don’t have expectation or attachment then we can free ourselves from them.

·         Love is not attachment. Love is selfless. Attachment is about the self.

·         We can consciously change our thought patterns and habits.

·         I have learnt how to breathe diaphragmatically. That is without moving my chest or my stomach.

·         The process of Yoga Nidra ‘Yogic Sleep’. A form of conscious sleep that is deeply relaxing, restful and rejuvenating.

·         Several Yoga series that are helping me keep my back straight.

·         Nothing outside in the world will make us happy unless with are happy in ourselves, happiness comes from within.

That’s just a fraction of the stuff, not to mention all the practices that I can’t put to words. It’s enough to say that this course has affected me, taught me some new things and reminded me of some I already knew. Meditation and the practice around it are not only fascinating but also useful tools.

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Now for loneliness.

Before coming I was excited and slightly apprehensive about this experience. I’d been on a 2 week retreat before which had a deep impact on me and a was quite challenging at times. I knew that this would be a new experience and tried not to put too many expectations about what this would be and what I wanted to get out of it. I didn’t know what really to expect as I’ve never done anything from the yogic tradition before and I knew that if I tried too hard to focus on a specific outcome then it could elude me (its often only when you aren’t searching for something that it comes to you).

The first shock was the silence, silence at mealtimes I can understand, it lets you focus on your food and eat truly mindfully (something I find a challenge but when I do it, it transforms the experience of eating into something magical) but all the time, I was scared. As your may know I am an intensely social person, I love being with/talking to my friends and when I am going through a complex experience or problem I’m one of those people who finds it really useful to talk about it. Talking to people is how I process life. This coupled with the fact that ‘sharing’ was such a part of the tradition at plum village made me scared of not talking to those around me.

The second shock was contact to the outside world. No talking to my friend or family back home. No going on facebook or looking at my emails. No leaving the site of the Ashram. No speaking to or texting Sarah, the woman who I love.

On my first full day I told my teacher that I was worried about not talking to my girlfriend, that I thought it might upset her. He gave me a metaphorical slap around the back of the head, and told me that that was my ego talking, what did I think, that without me she would wither and die?

Lol, our teacher did not let us get away with any shit. He ‘broke up the frozen sea with us’ as Kafka puts it. The amount of times he’d point out to us that we were assuming or creating justifications in the first week was staggering until we started to become aware of it ourselves.

So here I was, an intensely social person that loves his friend and I couldn’t talk to anyone. Not in hear or out there. All I had for company was myself. All I had for self expression was my occasional question during class (questions in class were ok, and indeed were encouraged).

But I thought that since I was here I should do the thing how it is really done.

We are taught from a young age in the west that being alone is one of the world things that can happen.

‘You know the worst punishment for a prisoner is solitary confinement.’

‘You’ve been a bad boy Billy, go stand in the naughty corner BY YOUR SELF!’

In silence one is cannot distract oneself from what is happening inside. Usually we can drown out our mind by watching tv or going to the pub with your mates. You can share what’s happening inside with others and be comforted by the fact that they are going through or have gone through similar things. You can talk out solutions. You can have a pint.

But not in the Ashram, oh no. Hear you are confronted with the silence. You don’t know about the experience of others, you cannot voice your frustrations and wallow in the comfort of communal experience. After a while you are faced with the full brunt of your internal monologue. You stand bare in front of yourself.

For the first few days I was incredibly frustrated because my mind was so foggy during meditation (something which happens when one doesn’t practice). I kept wondering to myself what one earth I was doing here, especially considering that 3 out of the 8 people on the course were yoga teachers and I’d never done yoga before in my life. And I couldn’t let out this emotion, I couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t share it with anyone. After another couple of days I shared it at satsang and someone else in the circle shared that she felt frustration also. It was amazing to see how speaking it out loud helped me deal with the feeling, especially since my teacher talked me through it. Even more interesting was how relieved the other girl who was frustrated felt that someone else was feeling the same thing. We want to know that we are the same, that we aren’t alone.

After a time you learn to turn your gaze inwards. You get to know the inner workings of your mind, the thoughts and patterns of thoughts that keep on reoccurring. The way your mind tries to distract itself. The mind must always be doing something and it is interesting to see how it keeps itself busy. Especially since usually all this stuff goes on in the background and we are unaware of it.

Eventually through practice you become comfortable with the silence, comfortable just being by yourself, which is nice. The clamour of your mind calms down a little and you learn to direct it, getting rid of old unuseful or harmful grooves that your mind has gotten into and making new positive ones.

However it’s something that one can only do by oneself.

Once I got used to the silence, to the stillness, after about a week, then I had my first couple of interactions with the other people in my course. Suddenly my mind flared up a new, throwing out webs like spider man, or lassoes like a cowboy. These strands or assumption, meaning making and analysis wrapped themselves around what the other people said. Immediately my mind went to work, colouring them in with paint from its own pallet, trying to figure out what boxes they fit into – though truly no one ever fits into any of our boxes. I saw this happening, witnessed it and practiced letting go of those assumptions.

At the end of a week I came to the realisation that I could stay in silence the rest of the time but that I truly enjoyed interacting with people. Two weeks in I had not spoken that many more words to people but as a group we had our own jokes and occasional conversations, it was a quiet companionship. There was still a lot of silence, especially since much of our time was in practice and there is no chitchat in sessions. After those 2 weeks I broke my silence to the outside world – because I felt that the silence wasn’t adding to my experience any longer.

I was terrified of being by myself.

I learnt how to cope with my inner world.

I witnessed the difference between those experiences.

It’s good to know that I can be happy only by myself, but the technicolour and flavour of life are oh so much richer when they are shared with others.

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As mentioned above, to get a picture into your mind of what life here has been like bellow I’ve reproduce an example of my standard day.

4am – Alarm

4:15 - Wake up, brush teeth, do neti pot (in Indian practice where you irrigate your nose with luke warm salt water – I know it sounds strange but I am completely converted), drink 2.5 litres of water (that’s right, 2.5! after which I felt slightly nauseous [twice I threw up in the morning] but that’s what I needed to instigate my gastro-colic reflex, which is important before you do you morning practice) and do my Internal Dialogue (a practice where you very literally ask yourself questions).

4:45 – Breathing exercises

5:15 – Morning Systematic Relaxation

5:45 – Personal Meditation Practice (Though my teacher wouldn’t like me saying that, it should be Morning Preparation for Meditation)

6:15 – Hot Lemon Water

6:30 – Morning practice (Spent in the meditation hall doing YQ yoga series. These are series that our teacher has created based on Hatha yoga, but not hatha yoga as you know it. His focus is on real attention to detail. And I mean Crazy Detail. I learnt SO much about how my body moves.)

7:30 – Morning Meditation

8:15 – Breakfast

WALK

10:00 – Satsang (A sort of seminar/lecture split into two halves, one about the practical philosophy and the other about the theoretical philosophy. Though most of the time they are the same thing.)

1:00 – Lunch

4:00 – Chai (teas)

Walk

5:00 – Evening practice (again another yoga series)

6:00 – Evening Meditation

7:00 – Dinner

7:30 – Satsang

9:00 – Personal Practice

10:00\10:30 – Bed

A busy schedule to say the least. Only a max of 6 hours sleep, but you’d be surprised how rested I felt. But meditation, yoga and yoga nidra will do that to a man.

Men, Women and Regions

So here we are again, another week and I'm writing another post (though i probably should have written this one a week ago).

I spent some time going through Tamil Nadu, then up to Rishikesh and I am no at the Swami Rama Ashram just outside of Rishikesh town. It's a beautiful place where the Ganga flows by serenely and the chanting from nearby temples floats down from the hills and across the river. It's a new section to my journey so you might notice a change in my future posts, who knows.

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Every place in India that I go I am struck by the differences to the last. 'INDIA' seems like a unity from the outside but we forget that it is about the size of Europe and of course each region has it's own flavour and even different flavours within it.

Being from the UK I am subtly aware of the different accents we have and the reputations of the different places. Being a londoner I of course don't know where these places are and cant tell the difference between the voice of someone from leeds or liverpool, but hey I'm from the capital I dont need to know these things. Right?

I suppose that every region in India has similar nuances that I'm just not picking up but there are some things which I've noticed.

People in Kerala smile. If they make eye contact with you a grin comes onto their face and more often than not they will try to talk to you, especially if you're on a bus. Maybe it's the fact that they are the most affluent region or that they are more used to tourists or maybe even that they have the highest literacy rate in India. But the fact remains that you feel welcome there.

In Tamil Nadu people are far harder. The towns are noisier. People will try to scratch money from you, raise prices and generally rip you off. When you make eye contact with someone on the street they glare at you, you do not feel welcome.
Apart from maybe in Pondicherry. Here the french made a Galic outpost, with wide tree shaded streets. Even though the french are not there their influence most certainly is. Decent croissant and bread can be bought in bakeries and there is a general European vibe about the city. It's very much still india with the honking or bikes and tuk-tuks but there is a different feel in the air.

Rishikesh is something else entirely. A massive spot for both Indian and Western tourists it is a hub of spirituality and business. There is a feel of calm pervading the atmosphere, perhaps provided by the Ganga flowing gently by or slowly seeping into the general consciousness because so many people here are meditating and practicing stillness and calm in the ashrams. Regardless it is an amazing place. The hawkers and shop owners dont bother you. Cows walk leisurely through the streets. And most of the people I've met walk around with an open heart, happy to talk to new people and hug them - even without having had a single drink.

Every place I visit creates a new insight within me. Each new culture reflects on my own.
This is what traveling is about, experiencing other modes of being that throw your own into a new light.

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While in Tamil Nadu I noticed some things about men and women in India that made me realise how very different the roots of this society are to my own.

On the train I started talking to a man who was with his family, I asked him where he was from 'Rajastan' he said, explaining that they were on their way to see family. I turned to the other adult in the carriage asking her where she was from. He replied 'My wife is from Rajastan also'. I could see that she understood me but there was a look of slight shock when I spoke to her. The husband speaks for the wife, you dont talk or even look at another mans wife. Shocking and not true in all of India but true for this family.

It's been explained to me that for a man in Indian society a wife is for family but men are for the connection of souls. It's similar to Ancient Greece in a way, Woman are for Children, Men are for Pleasure. Homosexuality is very taboo here but men will walk arm in arm, hand in hand along the street whereas they wont talk to and perhaps even wont look directly at a woman. Strange how at home physical contact between opposite sexs is socially acceptable but if two men touch in any form of affectionate way that is hitting each other then it's seen as award - and god forbid that anyone see it and think you were one of those homosexuals that I hear about in the news corrupting our children. Women in our society I guess have less of an issue, can walk down the street arm in arm, but you wont see that in India. Strange rules both here and at home. Why can't we all just be ok with touching each other as long as both people are happy? Why does English society have such a problem with physical contact in the first place? From where comes this inability to hug?

In Delhi and the other big cities (e.g. Mumbai and Chennai) people are more western. You see girls wearing trousers and even once I saw hot pants - a scandal to my eyes I can tell you (I kid you not). Men wear t-shirts where in the country they only ever wear shirts. The cities try to emulate western society, even to the point of there being a HUGE industry in skin whitening creams.
I wonder if this westernisation will trickle into the rest of the country? I wonder whether over the next few hundred years different societies will trend towards each other. It's possible though perhaps not. And if it did what would it look like? With the decline of the west and the growth of India and China perhaps in a hundred years we'll be saying things in hindi and people will be getting surgery on their eyes to look asian.

Then again probably not. Whatever the rich can afford will be the fashion. If its rich to stay out of the sun and not work in the fields people will want to be white. If its rich to be able to afford to not work and instead go on expensive holidays to hot countries then being brown will be what people want.

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So the bell rings and that means its lunch time at the ashram. Time for me to go and eat. I dont know when I'll write next but I will.
Ciao

Beaches, Tribalism and Being Alone

For the past week and a half I have been on a beach. That is correct.

The sun rises up above the cliff and spills its glorious rays onto the sea, the surf flashing in the light. Varkala, a backpackers beach haven. It has meant that for some unknown reason I have found it hard to find the time to write - although i've been doing nothing. This is the first part of my journey that has felt like a real holiday, wake up, eat, read, chat, swim, eat, sleep, is the routine of the day - and my oh my is it relaxing.

Last time I wrote I was rushed out of the cafe because 10:30 is curfew for businesses here - so now I have given myself ample time to write.

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Time goes strangely here. With nothing to do everything takes a little bit longer. With no structure the days seems to formalize and create itself. You get blown about, this way and that, meeting people and doing things you never thought you would.

Being a lone traveler you are free to do anything you want, be anyone who you want. You are a blank canvas each time you meet someone new. It is liberating, for no one has a connection to your life at home. You could tell someone your deepest secrets and they might assume that it is just a normal conversation for who you are. You can be incredibly honest about yourself, perhaps even more so than when you are just by yourself; several times I've found myself saying things that even I hadn't fully realised for myself.
It is liberating but it is lonely, most people who you meet you will only have a passing relationship with, a surface conversation, even if it reaches into your depths. Some people you immediately connect with but the vast majority of the time you will not be heading in the same direction as them. Many people I've met are coming to the end of their trip, which is a shame because they are so lovely.

Travelers are of all different nationalities, creeds, colours, attitudes but because you are traveling there is something that connects you. There is an awareness that you are having a similar experience. It enables you to meet people complete out of your circle of life at home and gives you a common reference to talk to those people through. From the gentleman from london who's spent the last 2 years in a hugging ashram, to a taxi driver who's sold his house to explore the world. From the Quebecians who are passionately not canadian, to softly spoken German hippy girls. From the Latvian couple missing their children, to the football obsessed South African who never has a top on. All these people are just glimpses of the world and remind you how small your section of it is, how cut of from even the rest of your society you are purely by what you do, where you live, how you were brought up. The world is massive and your circle is but a drop in the ocean. Each new person, new culture, new experience expands your horizons, making you realize the reality of your place in the world.



A couple of days ago I went to 2 different festivals in India. Not huge and well known like Holi (where people throw coloured dust all over eachother) but small and intimate local temple festivals. This highlights for my how integrated religion is into the life of India. You see it everywhere, from the 'Alla's Gift' painted on the side of rickshaws to the offerings which shops leave outside their doors every morning, but during a festival everything is thrown into a new light.

There is something present in these that the west has lost along our development, a raw tribal energy that the hymns and songs of England cannot attempt to capture.

The sound of a multitude of drums catches your attention as you walk to the temple along the busy road crowded with people and the occasional hoot of an auto-rickshaw as it attempts to squeeze through the throng. The whole village and surrounding villages converges for this religious, cultural, tribal, spiritual moment. Everyone is dressed in their indian best, the young girls in colours with flowers in their hair put there by mum, the teenage boys in jeans and t-shirts because they are oh so cool, the old toothless men wearing long sleeved shirts and lungies (a male skirt that is traditional keralan wear).

Everything is a swirling mix touch with chaotic energy as you draw closer. A loud blaring voice thrums over the crown on a speaker phone but just adds to the background noise of people talking, several different drumming groups playing different tunes, elephants trumpeting, people singing, people selling. On the road and in the temple grounds people sell pop-corn, peanuts, drinks, traditional food, toys, balloons, sandals and many more items. That atmosphere is partly that of a fairground, partly that of a carnival and partly that of a religious occasion. Women approach the shrines with poise and reverence. Men work themselves into a religious fervor, dancing to the drums.

The flowing sea of people, the rhythmic noise and the beauty of the temple connects to something deep inside you. As you draw towards the drumming the beat picks up, almost reaching the speed of something that you would hear in a club. Several westerns around the circle bopping up and down wanting to dance but the rest of the men are just standing, listening, taking in the rhythm. Several of the more boystorous young ones get swept up and dance like mad, still high from the thrill of carrying a 4 story high bamboo tower around the temple at breakneck speed while it teeter and tottered - threatening to crush most of the crowd.

Westerners stand around taking photoes of the 36 Elephants who are about to parade around the temple while Indians walk by not glancing twice unless one of their friends are sat atop the mighty creatures in traditional dress. These tamed, wild creatures, trained at birth to obey the commands of their human masters don't react to the noise and the crowds, they just stand still, majestic until you see the chains around their legs and the somewhat vacant look in their eyes. I would not like to be a trained Elephant.

There is a feeling that everyone who lives here is at the temple. A feeling of togetherness, of community. Mothers talk to each other over the heads of the children that they are not doubt planning weddings for. Men stand around in groups, perhaps talking about business or cricket. The Tribal roots of my Judaism are thrown into a bright light. A shame that we lost the drums at some point along the way.

First impressions, revolution and ipad.

I walk off the plane and warm hits me like a wall. Not the familiar are at Ben Gurion but something else entirely. That the first thing, the heat that wraps around me like a blanket, all encompassing.

I find arrival to a new land in always an amazing experience, you walk into a world that is unfamiliar to you and immediately start comparing it to the other places you've been. Your mind tries to see something familiar in all the unfamiliarity, maybe a reaction to a sudden transport that doesn't let you see the changing landscape and cultures on your journey. Flight is teleportation of a sort.

India is calmer than I expected, apart from the roads, though most people I talk to tell me this is just what kerela is like. Kerela is the most educated and economically well of state, with a democratically elected Communist government the state has thrived and tourism is now bringing in even more money.

India makes me think of what England would have been like during the industrial revolution (but set in the 21st century) - there is a mixture of an older culture being thrust forward by industry and new technology. There are buildings being build left right and centre in Enarkulam, the city next to fort kochi, where I am staying. Giant shopping malls sit next to old contreet buildings. Where the rubbish of the industrial age rusted or broke to dust the plastic left my this post industrial revolution litters the street and rivers. One person sells coconuts and bannasa out of a corrigated iron shack while the shack nextdoor sells mobile phone credit. A man sits on the floor outside a building, in the street, banging at an old engine piece with a hammer, recycling. 10 Small girls in formal english school uniforms pile into an autorickshaw to go to school. I see some elephants being washed and an india boy takes photoes with an ipad.

Some people have lots, others not so much but everyone here seems relatively happy and laid back. People seem contented with their lot.

All the men wear shirts, even those who wear the traditional lungi - a skirt like sarong. This tradition is something left over by the english, for why someone would wear an ungodly shirt in a climate like this I do not know.

The roads are like rivers, lines and lights being barely even an indication of how things should be. The cars, trucks, buses, motor bikes, richshaws, auto rickshaws and more flow in and out of each other. Occasionally this flow and ebb is disturbed by a person crossing the road or a cow sitting in the middle of it like a rock in the centre of the stream.

India is a mixture of modern and old. Colonial and native. Energetic and peaceful.
It is that and a lot more.

Preperation & Limbo

So it is a week untill I go to India.

That is correct, only 7 days in this country left. And it feels a bit like Limbo.
I'm in the waiting room. Waiting to leave. It is somewhat uncomfortable, uncanny almost.

I've sorted out all the important things like shots and visas. The only things to occupy my time during the day with are writing shopping lists, leafing through the guidbook and obsessing over my Nowhere Art Project.

Everyone asks 'when are you leaving?', I laugh and say in a weeks time - feeling a swell of excitment and trepidation.

I'm heading off, into the unknow, without a planned itinerary or a phone number to call in case of emergencies. The feeling of breaching into that wild, chaotic unknown is wonderous.

One part of my mind screams about danger, my ego is scared, shivering. I'd sense this before, when going on another very different journey. What might happen I know not...
My logical planning mind tries to project into the future and cannot see itself for it knows nothing of where I am going. I suppose that I primordial part of me fears that because I cannot see myself there then I might die.
But not being able to project, not planning, put me in the now. Readies me just to experience what I am doing there when I am doing it. As I should be soaking in the now of home while I am still here.

So over the next few days I shall focus on being here while readying (as much as I can) to go somewhere else.

Oh, and welcome to my travel blog. I hope it is good for me and good for you.