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.
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