Just a quick note today - I have arrived in Mcleod Ganj, Dharamsala - home of the Tibetan Government in exile and his holiness the Dalai Lama. The bus ride here was long, slow and uncomfortable - but not without the odd moment of excitement. A drunk truck driver narrowly missed slamming into the bus and then proceeded to threaten the (bus) driver with a machete. Most of the people got out and a fight ensued. Eventually the truckie was arrested. It was about 1am and we were in the middle of nowhere. It was also freezing cold. I had left Rishikesh in shorts and a t-shirt, so i climbed onto the roof of the bus (where my bag was firmly strapped down) and proceeded to change into long pants and sleeves. I had never gotten changed on the roof of a bus before. Things you get a kick outta hey? We had to wait for the driver to make a statement and so a 14 hour journey became a 16 hour journey. I slept well in my new room.
Dharamsala is already revealing itself to be one of the most friendly and peaceful places i have encountered. Everytime i turn around i meet someone new. But before the memories fade, i decided to spend a little time uploading some sound files i recorded in Rishikesh. You can dig my waves at: www.soundtransit.nl And please do so. It is an excellent website with some great and obscure material captured from all over the world. I hope you like my sample of a nail striking a pole - and the revolving ashram gate - played by yours truly.
Enough for now.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Squirtin at 2750 metres
(This image has nothing to do with the blog that follows: all my images from the himalayas have corrupted - i need a new camera - but this desolate beach we camped on (see previous blogs) in Gokarna kinda sums up the isolating emotions i experienced in that tiny cabin near Chopta. I'll see what i can do with the stinking XD card. Sorry.)And so i just returned from a trek through the Indian Himalaya which was an adventure of sorts and a trial as well. But as per usual i begin to speak in the same twisted tongue as that dancing midget in the red curtained theatre - let me go back a little further and share some recent history.
When i arrived in Rishikesh, some 8 or 9 days ago now, my mood plummeted. Exhausted after the 3- day journey from the deep south - anxious and of busy mind - i turned on myself as one often does and questioned my motives for coming back to this place, reproached what i thought i was thinking. But this has turned out to be an important chapter in the writing - and it needs to be reminded that six weeks ago i threw away my guide book and decided to let myself be led by the words and ideas shared with others. This has not limited my experience of India - rather, it has made it apparent that the longer i stay the longer i need. There is too bloody much stuff in this country. But i am rambling again.
It has become a navigation of association: When i arrived in the beautiful Holy Haridwar i noted two other obvious travellers looking for the bus stand. I walked up and introduced myself and we found a bus together. Richard - the Venezualan who lives in Miami - reminds me very much of Adam, and it has not taken long for us to refer to each other with affectionate expletives. We arrived, found a room in one of the ashrams, and then had breakfast. Then the depression came. It was a tough day and i planned rapid departure - Manali? Dharamsala? Almora? But then Richard and Paula asked me to join them for white water rafting. Which was an incredible time. The best bit was when the guide said we could surf the rapids and i leapt out and the others were soon to follow. And we went bobbing down the Ganga like corks on the ocean. And i met an Argentinian woman (Cecilia) and together we jumped from a 5 metre boulder into the Ganga. And then three others asked me to join them on the hike in the Himalaya. And i said yes to it all.
And i got sick in those mountains. It was a four day expedition, the first involved a six hour drive followed by a 6km hike up a near vertical incline. The view was other wordly and i kept hearing the theme from Lord of the Rings in my head. Words shall inevitably fail me here - those formidable old peaks standing wrapped godlike in whisps of cloud. But i could feel the illness coming and when i rose the next morning i knew trouble was in store. And so we set off for the long part of the journey. 18kms of climb and descent, and with each hour i grew more pale and the weight in my gut seeped into my legs. Feverish and poor of sight i stumbled into camp at Chopta. At 4pm i went to bed, only to rise a few hours later with the worst diahorrea i can recall. I shall spare you the details. Suffice to say: I wished i was vomitting.
The following day our guide, Rama, insisted on taking me to the hospital at the mountain village of Gopeshwar. My first experience of a hospital in India defied and dislodged all nightmarish misconceptions i carried. I hald expected to see all sorts of horror, slow service, indifferent doctors, the occasional cow wandering through Emergency. But instead i was met a smiling receptionist who sent me through to see a doctor who spoke perfect english and i did not have to wait for. He asked some questions. He felt my pulse. He gave me a prescription. And off i went. I am now gobbling eleven pills per day - some for the stomach - some for the mouth ulcers - apparently related by a common cause.
Apart from the obvious, the really shit part is that i didn't get to ascend to the 4090m peak of Chandrasila. While the other three were waltzing up and down the mountain - i was writhing about in a fever at 2750m. But the view was hot.
And now i am back in Rishikesh and Rama has insisted on taking me for another rafting trip - FREE! And so i will do that tomorrow and today i will take it easy and continue to pray for my Iranian Visa to get approval and bloody quick as Jas has his and we're just waiting for the green light n all that jazz. Oh! And in the quiet of my mornings after i walk about on my own for a while, i've been trying my hand at poetry. I've been trying to write song lyrics, but it seems easier when i don't try to imagine the music that accompanies the lines. There is a whole heap of stuff in my book now, but the one i was working on this morning is the one i'll transcribe here:
I came upon a waterfall,
Alone for me to find.
Her gentle voice played fancy,
To the burnt leaves in my mind.
And time stretched out forever,
When i touched her sandy floor.
The world became as empty,
As my clothes upon the shore.
And as we lovers parted ways,
Sun dripping from my hair.
The fall let out a mournful song,
Tempting me back there.
To sink, to swim, to be at one,
To hear that lovely dirge.
The final breath, the final light,
To finally submerge.
Thanks for reading guys. Ben
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
got rupe?
As one is often accutely aware of what has gone before, been seen, said, felt, heard, it feels like a bit of a backward step, or a let down, when i sit to write and the well seems dry. As i dip into the stream of recent thoughts, sights and memories, philosophical insights refuse to bubble up - no graceful sentences glistening with poetic melody. Instead, i fear that this visit to the "blog" will serve simply as a mundane sort of documentary, detailing the highlights of recent personal history. Ah well. In the words of one who swam in the Arabian sea with ecstatic tears streaming down his face: "Ten thousand beautiful words and all i could come up with was 'grapwagurgle blah glurg!'"
Several days ago - perhaps a week? I wrote about being alone and on my way south. I was in Kannur, birthplace to my great great grandmother and home to the Theyyam spirit dancers. Since then i have enjoyed a series of unplanned adventures, starting with my visit to a temple to witness a Theyyam performance, presceded by a demo of south Indian martial arts. Theyyam was not exactly what i had expected - It was incredibly atmospheric; with repetitive builds in the live percussion and maniacal whirling on behalf of the human characters. The "gods", however, seemed to be merely ornamental in their presence; sitting or standing still as the human dancers appealed to them in wild thrashing simulations of battle and violence. As with most human - god interactions, the mortals do all the sweating as the gods look on in dumb bemusement, occasionally adjusting their extravagant costumes and make-up.
Satisfied that one night was enough in filthy crazy Kannur, i jumped on an early train to Kochin - a tiny but incredibly affluent port town about 260kms further south. Travelling in general class is the best way to meet locals in this country. I would do better to talk about this in regard to my latest marathon effort, so it'll have to wait. Kochin was one of those places in time that i feel i should have a tonne to say about, and yet those delicate sentences defy me. Suffice to say, Kochin is a very beautiful place, and it would appear that i was not the first to notice it. Indeed, it has been a focal point for foreign invasion, investment and high roller tourism for a long time. The winding streets would not look out of place, i would imagine, in some parts of pre-world war Europe. Gorgeous old houses and Dutch architecture makes it easy to forget one is in India. Huge trees dominate the cobble stone streets with their dark thickness, while the vastness of the Arabian sea provides a timeless atmosphere. Off course, occasional voices keep the walker in touch with the wider social context - "Hello, you want mrijuana smoke?"
About a month ago i threw away my guide bookand have been travelling in response to feeling with the occasional selective guidance from others. Everybody goes on a boat tour of the Kerala backwaters, and Kochin is a popular spot to launch from. Discouraged by the cost of large boat cruises with a fleet of rich French tourists, i started asking the locals near the fishing dock. I found a couple of guys who seemed reasonably reliable, but changed my mind when they asked me if i needed them to organise a "friend" for me. No thank you water pimp. Red light canoes have never been my style. And so i wandered into the tourist information centre (i hated myself so much that minute) and was met with very friendly help booking a spot on a canoe that afternoon, and a seat for a Kathakali performance the following evening. Score!
And the canoe ride was perfectly nice. The Canadian girl, Romy, and i agreed it would have been much more exciting if we'd been able to row our own canoes, but the dude with the stick wasn't givin it up for nobody. The Kathakali was incredible - and the improvised music set that followed was sublime. I had a great time in Kerala, and wish i'd had longer to stay. But it isn't India down there. Its really bloody expensive for starters - my homestay was 400 rupees, which is about 300 more than i like paying. That said, it was pretty ritzy. As is all accommodation in Kochin. And the vast selection of cafes catering to the hordes of rich Westerners were reminiscent of places like the Rathdowne Street Foodstore. I felt like a traitor or something... and for a moment; just a moment... i actually thought about the idea of living there. Its a dirty thought, i know! But it was nice to escape the hassles, the constant honking horns and the poverty of the north. Which brings us up to where i am now: Delhi.
3066 kms over 50 hours on train 2167, the Nizamuddin express from Ernakulum. In those dark dirty moments when i was secretly enjoying the luxuries of India's deep south, i justified it to myself with the laborious journey ahead of me. I never did the Ghan, or any other mega distance train ride. The trip from Bhundi to Gokarna with Jas was around 60 hours... but it involved many different types of transport, and we had a long break in Mumbai, and we had each other. This time it was just me and the Indians. And it was pretty cool. I keep getting lucky with the people i sit next to. Ranjith was on his way to Delhi to meet another Ayurvedic doctor and then fly to the Czech republic to work in a medical clinic there. And the family sat beside us didn't speak any english but they were very generous and insistent with their food. Their pulao shat all over the Indian Rail Service's biryani.
And so now i am back in Delhi and my luck continues to flow with ease. In four hours i will board a train headed into Utteranchal - back to Rishikesh. Yes! Rishikesh, that patchouli stick wavin shanti shanti om ganesh dream catchin pranic downward dog hole i slagged off on a previous rant. But the season has shifted and the weather has turned. Rishikesh will be warm and peaceful. And it is a great place from which to jettison further adventures into the Himalayas. An adventure tour guide i met in Hampi told of some excellent rock climbing and mountaineering near Almora - only a short bus ride from the Kesh. And so i will go back there and dig those shanti cats one more time. Wish me luck. I hope i sleep on this train. I am buggered.
Several days ago - perhaps a week? I wrote about being alone and on my way south. I was in Kannur, birthplace to my great great grandmother and home to the Theyyam spirit dancers. Since then i have enjoyed a series of unplanned adventures, starting with my visit to a temple to witness a Theyyam performance, presceded by a demo of south Indian martial arts. Theyyam was not exactly what i had expected - It was incredibly atmospheric; with repetitive builds in the live percussion and maniacal whirling on behalf of the human characters. The "gods", however, seemed to be merely ornamental in their presence; sitting or standing still as the human dancers appealed to them in wild thrashing simulations of battle and violence. As with most human - god interactions, the mortals do all the sweating as the gods look on in dumb bemusement, occasionally adjusting their extravagant costumes and make-up.
Satisfied that one night was enough in filthy crazy Kannur, i jumped on an early train to Kochin - a tiny but incredibly affluent port town about 260kms further south. Travelling in general class is the best way to meet locals in this country. I would do better to talk about this in regard to my latest marathon effort, so it'll have to wait. Kochin was one of those places in time that i feel i should have a tonne to say about, and yet those delicate sentences defy me. Suffice to say, Kochin is a very beautiful place, and it would appear that i was not the first to notice it. Indeed, it has been a focal point for foreign invasion, investment and high roller tourism for a long time. The winding streets would not look out of place, i would imagine, in some parts of pre-world war Europe. Gorgeous old houses and Dutch architecture makes it easy to forget one is in India. Huge trees dominate the cobble stone streets with their dark thickness, while the vastness of the Arabian sea provides a timeless atmosphere. Off course, occasional voices keep the walker in touch with the wider social context - "Hello, you want mrijuana smoke?"
About a month ago i threw away my guide bookand have been travelling in response to feeling with the occasional selective guidance from others. Everybody goes on a boat tour of the Kerala backwaters, and Kochin is a popular spot to launch from. Discouraged by the cost of large boat cruises with a fleet of rich French tourists, i started asking the locals near the fishing dock. I found a couple of guys who seemed reasonably reliable, but changed my mind when they asked me if i needed them to organise a "friend" for me. No thank you water pimp. Red light canoes have never been my style. And so i wandered into the tourist information centre (i hated myself so much that minute) and was met with very friendly help booking a spot on a canoe that afternoon, and a seat for a Kathakali performance the following evening. Score!
And the canoe ride was perfectly nice. The Canadian girl, Romy, and i agreed it would have been much more exciting if we'd been able to row our own canoes, but the dude with the stick wasn't givin it up for nobody. The Kathakali was incredible - and the improvised music set that followed was sublime. I had a great time in Kerala, and wish i'd had longer to stay. But it isn't India down there. Its really bloody expensive for starters - my homestay was 400 rupees, which is about 300 more than i like paying. That said, it was pretty ritzy. As is all accommodation in Kochin. And the vast selection of cafes catering to the hordes of rich Westerners were reminiscent of places like the Rathdowne Street Foodstore. I felt like a traitor or something... and for a moment; just a moment... i actually thought about the idea of living there. Its a dirty thought, i know! But it was nice to escape the hassles, the constant honking horns and the poverty of the north. Which brings us up to where i am now: Delhi.
3066 kms over 50 hours on train 2167, the Nizamuddin express from Ernakulum. In those dark dirty moments when i was secretly enjoying the luxuries of India's deep south, i justified it to myself with the laborious journey ahead of me. I never did the Ghan, or any other mega distance train ride. The trip from Bhundi to Gokarna with Jas was around 60 hours... but it involved many different types of transport, and we had a long break in Mumbai, and we had each other. This time it was just me and the Indians. And it was pretty cool. I keep getting lucky with the people i sit next to. Ranjith was on his way to Delhi to meet another Ayurvedic doctor and then fly to the Czech republic to work in a medical clinic there. And the family sat beside us didn't speak any english but they were very generous and insistent with their food. Their pulao shat all over the Indian Rail Service's biryani.
And so now i am back in Delhi and my luck continues to flow with ease. In four hours i will board a train headed into Utteranchal - back to Rishikesh. Yes! Rishikesh, that patchouli stick wavin shanti shanti om ganesh dream catchin pranic downward dog hole i slagged off on a previous rant. But the season has shifted and the weather has turned. Rishikesh will be warm and peaceful. And it is a great place from which to jettison further adventures into the Himalayas. An adventure tour guide i met in Hampi told of some excellent rock climbing and mountaineering near Almora - only a short bus ride from the Kesh. And so i will go back there and dig those shanti cats one more time. Wish me luck. I hope i sleep on this train. I am buggered.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
dude descending a staircase
And so now we find ourselves at one of those many points in the labyrinthe where one has to make a decision: Yesterday morning Jas got on a boat to cross the river to take a bus to catch a train to go to a temple and sit and think; and i sat; and i exercised; and then i said farewell to Hampi for the second time... alone, this time. Alone again. And the good bus from Hospet took me to Mangalore which i did not see much of except from the ricksha that took me to the station where i caught the train to Kannur. Which is here. Which is another city, a "real India" city. A city where my great great grandmother was born when it might not have been such a city. This place is now popular as a gateway to the nearby tourist resorts which are all well out of my budget. And there is nothing much to do. Other than sweat. Which i am doing. I would like to dig the Theyyam spirit dancers - but so far no luck finding one. Oh well.
And so i am negotiating with the wonderful staff at IndiaRail again. And they get better. Kannur even has a ticketed waiting system. And in a very Beetlejuice moment i find myself holding a number several figures away from the next to be called and so i am in an internet cafe writing words on a screen and feeling a bit duped for coming here, for leaving the shimmering sun and dribbling jungle, the heave and collapse, the head spinning ecstasy of Gokarna. And then there was Hampi, which was worth a second visit. We did go rock climbing after all - and we met more awesome people and swam in a lake. And now i am wandering alone - without a guidebook - without companion - without certanty about what to do next. The one thing i definately have is the afterglow of recent all consuming joy - Joy that wants with a burning heart more and more and more. Joy that seeks honey and waves crashing and graves and their mournful attendants and sunsets behind mountains as the pulse begins to race and the collision of passionate bodies, a joy that lusts even for its own shattered heart.
And so now i wonder whether or not to go further south to Cochin and meet some friends and see the back waters... or to take the next fast train back up north - to spend 3 days getting to Utteranchal and the Himalayas... and i think i will go south yet a little further; a little deeper into the choking humidity; to smell those waters and hear the jungle cry. Yes. Why not.
My ticket may be drawing close. And so i must leave you now my brothers and sisters. But before i do, please consider for a moment the fast approaching reality that none would have thought might steal my show: I am going to be an uncle. My sister and her husband have whipped away the breath of song, if only for a moment, to breathe new life into the world. Thanks Katie. Thanks Cameron. How am i gonna top that one?
And so i am negotiating with the wonderful staff at IndiaRail again. And they get better. Kannur even has a ticketed waiting system. And in a very Beetlejuice moment i find myself holding a number several figures away from the next to be called and so i am in an internet cafe writing words on a screen and feeling a bit duped for coming here, for leaving the shimmering sun and dribbling jungle, the heave and collapse, the head spinning ecstasy of Gokarna. And then there was Hampi, which was worth a second visit. We did go rock climbing after all - and we met more awesome people and swam in a lake. And now i am wandering alone - without a guidebook - without companion - without certanty about what to do next. The one thing i definately have is the afterglow of recent all consuming joy - Joy that wants with a burning heart more and more and more. Joy that seeks honey and waves crashing and graves and their mournful attendants and sunsets behind mountains as the pulse begins to race and the collision of passionate bodies, a joy that lusts even for its own shattered heart.
And so now i wonder whether or not to go further south to Cochin and meet some friends and see the back waters... or to take the next fast train back up north - to spend 3 days getting to Utteranchal and the Himalayas... and i think i will go south yet a little further; a little deeper into the choking humidity; to smell those waters and hear the jungle cry. Yes. Why not.
My ticket may be drawing close. And so i must leave you now my brothers and sisters. But before i do, please consider for a moment the fast approaching reality that none would have thought might steal my show: I am going to be an uncle. My sister and her husband have whipped away the breath of song, if only for a moment, to breathe new life into the world. Thanks Katie. Thanks Cameron. How am i gonna top that one?
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Hampi. Karnataka.
And so i am returned to this most surreal and strange of landscapes. And it is very odd to be back in the same guesthouse, to see the same young kids, to be eating the same muesli with curd. And i'm not sure if it is good. I sort of feel like i should have left Hampi in the first few pages of my journal - that mesmerised discovery of beauty and laughter amid the lego shaped puddles that might follow a boulder storm. But then i am tired and we did only arrive. And the trip was long and exhausting and all the people i met here are long gone which makes it seem deserted - my visit smells funereal - a quiet flick through old photographs haunted by the absence of those who WERE there. Perhaps we will make this time about something else, something i missed before. I'd like to do some rock climbing - i know they have many nice rocks here.
And i should mention the experience of camping on a deserted beach south of Gokarna. Deserted is not strictly accurate - some local fishermen had their huts up shore from our camp. But they left us alone. And so fourteen of us from many different origins sat on the sand and sang along to the ipod distorting out of tiny speakers and when the batteries were dead we continued to sing anyway. The fire was our only light and i'm sure we all lost something in the darkness of the night; but i think something might have been found, hidden in the sand as the current heaved and collapsed on the shore. I woke the following morning as the sun drenched the palms in gold and a symphony of birds played out over the water. As we packed up there was a feeling of victory - as if we had found what we were looking for. No glance around the camp could miss the quiet smiles of inner joy. We waited for the boat to return while eating biscuits and i dreamt of staying longer.
And then it was our last day in Gokarna and it was exciting to leave. And now we are here and i miss being there and at the same time look forward to heading south again in a few days time. Still no photos - i apologise. But perhaps they have better internets in Bangalore or Mysore or Kochin or Kannur. I'll let you know.
Ben
And so i am returned to this most surreal and strange of landscapes. And it is very odd to be back in the same guesthouse, to see the same young kids, to be eating the same muesli with curd. And i'm not sure if it is good. I sort of feel like i should have left Hampi in the first few pages of my journal - that mesmerised discovery of beauty and laughter amid the lego shaped puddles that might follow a boulder storm. But then i am tired and we did only arrive. And the trip was long and exhausting and all the people i met here are long gone which makes it seem deserted - my visit smells funereal - a quiet flick through old photographs haunted by the absence of those who WERE there. Perhaps we will make this time about something else, something i missed before. I'd like to do some rock climbing - i know they have many nice rocks here.
And i should mention the experience of camping on a deserted beach south of Gokarna. Deserted is not strictly accurate - some local fishermen had their huts up shore from our camp. But they left us alone. And so fourteen of us from many different origins sat on the sand and sang along to the ipod distorting out of tiny speakers and when the batteries were dead we continued to sing anyway. The fire was our only light and i'm sure we all lost something in the darkness of the night; but i think something might have been found, hidden in the sand as the current heaved and collapsed on the shore. I woke the following morning as the sun drenched the palms in gold and a symphony of birds played out over the water. As we packed up there was a feeling of victory - as if we had found what we were looking for. No glance around the camp could miss the quiet smiles of inner joy. We waited for the boat to return while eating biscuits and i dreamt of staying longer.
And then it was our last day in Gokarna and it was exciting to leave. And now we are here and i miss being there and at the same time look forward to heading south again in a few days time. Still no photos - i apologise. But perhaps they have better internets in Bangalore or Mysore or Kochin or Kannur. I'll let you know.
Ben
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Let sleeping dog
Om Beach. Gokarna.
I have started this entry several times, only to realise that the words that accumulate on the screen are either awkward in their expression or completely insufficient for describing the place, the people, the feeling of being here. Frustrated with cotton wool in my throat and the splintered shards of clumsy adjectives stuck between my teeth, i write on: The past few days of consisted of the same basic routine. After waking up, getting up, one finds a spot in the cafe to gaze at the gentle waves of the Arabian Sea while eating fruit and drinking chai. Sometimes i write, sometimes i listen to music, sometimes (but not today) i go for a run along the shore. Gradually other bodies accummulate and before you know it we are laughing about the day before, the day ahead, what we do in the real world, etc. Wherever we go, Jas and i seem to find ourselves emotionally caught up in some rare and precious social network - a community of like minded sorts from different corners of the globe, all very different, all very the same. With each day that passes i find myself becoming more and more emotionally attached to this place, these people - the thought of leaving becomes increasingly abhorant.
And although we move about very little; do very little; it doesn't seem to get boring. Quite the opposite. It gets better. The other day we swam in the sea and drank rum while the sun oozed between the rocks and the waves. I have taken many photos here but it is not possible to upload them. And we talked and laughed about wiping the sunburnt brow and flicking the red colour onto the sand and it accummulating there and then the urgent need to put a bit of sunscreen on that sand. The rum here is called "Old Monk" and so we laugh about the Monks at the table and many wicked jokes stem forth from this name. As dusk became night we stood on the sand, the waves gently lapping at our ankles, and we spoke of fear and love and everything in its own time. And i said to those nearby that i thought it was the best day of my life. And for the first time i thought perhaps i now have something to say. Perhaps now i can write and sing with the voice of someone who has seen and experienced something amazing, something profound. For a long time i have wanted to write and to say things, to be an artist, but never have i known what exactly. But i did not care, i would say it anyway though i knew not what it was. And now i think i have something new inside of me that is worth saying; that should be said; and i don't know how yet. The feeling is there, but i guess i will have to find my voice again. But everything in its own time.
And it would appear that with my talent for massage i might be able to travel a little longer than without. And tonight a group of us, some twelve or so i think, will take a boat to a nearby secluded cove and camp for the night. It was my job to source the boat and now i must find food and more Monk. And so from somewhere far away, between palm trees and the slow heave of tides, so long. We stay here for a few days more. Then we go back to Hampi perhaps. Then i go to Kerala to see the spirit possession dances of the Thannur. Jealous?
I have started this entry several times, only to realise that the words that accumulate on the screen are either awkward in their expression or completely insufficient for describing the place, the people, the feeling of being here. Frustrated with cotton wool in my throat and the splintered shards of clumsy adjectives stuck between my teeth, i write on: The past few days of consisted of the same basic routine. After waking up, getting up, one finds a spot in the cafe to gaze at the gentle waves of the Arabian Sea while eating fruit and drinking chai. Sometimes i write, sometimes i listen to music, sometimes (but not today) i go for a run along the shore. Gradually other bodies accummulate and before you know it we are laughing about the day before, the day ahead, what we do in the real world, etc. Wherever we go, Jas and i seem to find ourselves emotionally caught up in some rare and precious social network - a community of like minded sorts from different corners of the globe, all very different, all very the same. With each day that passes i find myself becoming more and more emotionally attached to this place, these people - the thought of leaving becomes increasingly abhorant.
And although we move about very little; do very little; it doesn't seem to get boring. Quite the opposite. It gets better. The other day we swam in the sea and drank rum while the sun oozed between the rocks and the waves. I have taken many photos here but it is not possible to upload them. And we talked and laughed about wiping the sunburnt brow and flicking the red colour onto the sand and it accummulating there and then the urgent need to put a bit of sunscreen on that sand. The rum here is called "Old Monk" and so we laugh about the Monks at the table and many wicked jokes stem forth from this name. As dusk became night we stood on the sand, the waves gently lapping at our ankles, and we spoke of fear and love and everything in its own time. And i said to those nearby that i thought it was the best day of my life. And for the first time i thought perhaps i now have something to say. Perhaps now i can write and sing with the voice of someone who has seen and experienced something amazing, something profound. For a long time i have wanted to write and to say things, to be an artist, but never have i known what exactly. But i did not care, i would say it anyway though i knew not what it was. And now i think i have something new inside of me that is worth saying; that should be said; and i don't know how yet. The feeling is there, but i guess i will have to find my voice again. But everything in its own time.
And it would appear that with my talent for massage i might be able to travel a little longer than without. And tonight a group of us, some twelve or so i think, will take a boat to a nearby secluded cove and camp for the night. It was my job to source the boat and now i must find food and more Monk. And so from somewhere far away, between palm trees and the slow heave of tides, so long. We stay here for a few days more. Then we go back to Hampi perhaps. Then i go to Kerala to see the spirit possession dances of the Thannur. Jealous?
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