Peace. At the mall..

I went to the mall today. It was its usual sensory overload, but I had an encounter that made me giggle..
Stopping by one of those glittery kiosks selling glittery girly goods; bracelets, hair clips and other add-ons, I ended up purchasing a blinged out hair clip, which will make me, no doubt, much more attractive. I noticed the accent of the salesgirl and asked her where she was from. "Nepal" she answered, and I saw that nice smile that I haven't seen in a while. I knew I recognized the accent because I met so many Nepalese in Rishikesh. We talked about India and so on..she asked what I did in India. "Yoga, mostly.."
As I was leaving, she said "So, did you find peace?" I love a culture that just puts it all out there.
I thought for a second and laughed "Yeah" I answered. "And then I came home!"

Leaving Delhi..Bye stinky country! Love you!

Leaving Delhi is a bit more comfortable than arriving in Delhi. It is not the chaotic mess that was leaving New York. Boarding in NY took over an hour, three airline agents, megaphones and I believe a light saber. One guy was getting deported, one threw a tantrum because he couldn't comprehend the boarding process and there was more pushing and shoving than with a bunch of tweens at a Miley Cyrus concert.
The Delhi departure terminal is heaps better than the arrival area. There is even a Subway sandwich shop. That part being just wrong. I mean, if you are going to install an American super chain, at least make it a Four-Bucks. I watched as the 10 plus group of middle aged Americans scrambled to board the plane. Once I heard a Texan accent and saw a New Orleans t-shirt, big beer belly and white tube socks, I knew I must be on the right flight.

I still think my favorite moment in India was when I stepped on to the 777 and heard the flight attendant call to the ground crew and said that "a passenger has a 'Big Buddha' and is not sure it will fit in the overhead compartment."
I had to ask about this.."Excuse me, did you say that someone has a Big Buddha back there?" She sighed and rolled her eyes.."Yes". With that she was off to help Buddha Man.
Only in India. Where you can buy Buddha statues, wives and an Ayurvedic doctor and try to put them all in the overhead bin. Oh and there is a sale on sprituality. I think it runs until the end of the month.

I still love India :)

Some reality

I have mocked India's odd bits and ironic elements, with love of course..but I would take this country over five trips to sit on a beach in Cabo..Never before have I taken a trip, or adventure, that has made me feel absolutely terrified at times yet totally safe and competent at other times, made me feel completely crazy and yet completely aware, sad for so many, yet grateful for what I take for granted and also just given me a new understanding for what I really 'need'. I have never seen such extremes, anywhere.
The severe poverty, the lack of sanitation, the role women are born into, the way this culture holds on to a belief system that a westerner thinks belongs in the past...all so alive and true here. Dowry burnings and arranged marriages are happening all the time. Of course we have read about all of this, but there was no preparation for actually seeing it. It's pretty devastating and pushes you to your limits of acceptance, because this is so many people's reality. On a simple walk to town I would want to cry ten times and found myself smiling in all my insides ten times to match that. The amazing thing is that so many Indians do not see themselves as 'poor' even in what I would consider terribly sad situations. They cling to their faith, whichever it may be, and seem to maintain calmness and even happiness. I am focusing on the positive encounters, obviously. It would be ignorant to suggest that India is a country of political and religious peace and rest... however, in my observations there is no where nearly as much angst like the kind that we seem to manufacture in the US.
Gives me a lot to be grateful for. My creature comforts, my friends, family, health.. my mind (hopefully, if I have not gone completely bananas yet!)

Delhi and the last days..

Emma is quite possibly one of the most naturally funny girls that I know. Maybe is the Kiwi sarcasm. Possibly it's the directness and her deadpan ability in the most hilarious of situations. The "Americans" at the ashram..they had just returned from visiting the Beatles ashram one evening and upon their return the ever bubbly Emma asks with her big genuine smile, "When did they 'Get Back?'..Did they take the 'Long and Winding road?'..Did they get a 'Ticket to Ride?' I was attempting to unlock my room door and trying not to make eye contact with Emma, fearing a hysterical outburst, I piped in "Hello.. Goodbye!" and shut my door.

The fiddler and Ms. Emma..
When I meet up with Emma and Topher in Delhi, I have never been more happy to meet friends in a city. We bummed around the Paragang section and ate deliciously cheap street food and shopped and haggled, got Henna tattoos and did a whole lot of sitting in cafes. We had a great time and especially after our experience at the ashram, we let loose a bit in the city.
So one afternoon along comes the fiddler..Emma, the best bargaining queen (and also a professsional musician) I have met, ends up finagling a fiddle for 50 Rupees. She and I then assume the role of entertainer and collector. Holding out Toph's hat for donations, we got a lot of strange looks and some laughs, but no Rupees! Surely I would need to learn to dance if we would ever expect to eat!

Bad Americans! Bad Ashramites!

I’m leaving my peaceful, love all beings state for a minute to rant.

The Americans have arrived.

How do I know they are American, you ask? First, I will explain our usual afternoon yoga practice. It starts off more like Hot Yoga. This sauna like situation happens by the studio being baked all day by the sun and the temperatures being about 90 degrees with humidity seeming to be about the same. When the Yoga teacher comes in, he turns on the AC.
The Lululemon clad "Americans" enter the studio, completely disregarding the few that are meditating and loudly claim their spots on the floor. They drop their bags and make way more noise than I thought you could make with a yoga mat and a bottle of water. What appears to be the head "American" starts opening windows announcing that it is just too hot in here. When British Lucy quietly tells her that the Yoga teacher will turn on the AC, she doesn’t acknowledge. In walks the teacher a minute after she opens ALL the windows and he proceeds to close them all right behind her. I ask her with a smile if she is from the US…"Yes, from San Diego. I teach yoga there and ‘my girls’ are here to check out India. I’ve been here so many times, but it is their first time and they just arrived, so they are a bit in shock”. They do have that terrified look like I did when I got off the plane. I think to myself, “Sure, because clearly you have adjusted…" yet I manage to say that this is a great place and I’m sure they will love it at the ashram. I also see the first set of fake breasts I’ve seen in a while, which are hard to miss with one of the "girls" wearing a very revealing tight tank top that leaves little to the imagination, and is totally inappropriate for an ashram.

Have I self-appointed myself the American representative of the ashram? I guess so. Given my embarrassment to this gaggle of loud Americans, I want to shout “We are not ALL like that!”
It gets worse..they begin snapping photos at dinner. The first flashes I have seen go off at the ashram (very few pictures are taken, especially during meals)
They disregard the silence from 9:30pm until 9:00am rule. Totally zapping our morning post yoga-bliss breakfast by blabbering away and yes, more pictures! I may go blind during meals. Maybe I will start eating out.

One more note about the four girls that I share a country with . Ms. Head American stops me and British Lucy on the road one morning and asks me how to get down to town, as her "girls want to check it out." I proceed to give them directions and notice that she is standing a bit too far in the road to avoid being run over and doesn’t seem to hear the blasting toodle-oo horn from the bus and at the last minute I have to yank her off the road. She laughs, thanks me, and clearly doesn’t realize that pedestrians are at the bottom rung of who yields to who…

Maybe this is why everyone thinks all Americans are self-entitled brats?

Meditation with the ladies.

I have found my time and place for meditation. Or improving upon it, I will say. I’m still writing a script in my head as I attempt to not think…At 5am, the rooftop deck of the ashram is where you can find me these days, should you be looking. There is a breeze that blows down off the mountains and it is cool and crisp. It’s the only time of day that you are guaranteed a breeze. The moon is usually still up and it was a perfect sliver this morning. It is surreal and sometimes overwhelming. I say Good Morning to the Ladies, as I have named them, the strong yet cradling mountains that surround this valley. I may not have had a spiritual epiphany (yet), but this time and place have slowed me down a bit.. It is something I wish I could pack up and take home with me.
Hmmmm…maybe I will ;)

There is a cow mooing outside my window. Loudly.

This prompts me to write and rant about India’s idiosyncrasies.
Power cuts. At least 6 times a day. Usually at the hottest time in the afternoon when you return from town or wherever, hot and sweaty and just needing the fan and a shower. The only good thing about power cuts is that if you are down in the center of it all, at the Lahkman Jhula bridge over the Ganges, the constant monotone chanting through a loudspeaker stops. Ahhhh. Quiet...

Earthquakes (the other day..hit Bhutan, but we felt it all the way over here)

The landslides when it rains...roads close. they get washed away. Mud is everywhere. And when it rains, it rains buckets

The head wobble. Indians do not like to say “No” to you. I think because of this they have invented the head wobble, which is a move that resembles those bobble doll-like things people put in their cars some years back. So, you ask an Indian if the road to the waterfall is still closed because of the landslide and you get the wobble. It means, Yes, No, Maybe, or I don’t know.

The obsession with stuffed animals and American-like toys. All of bright color and oddly displayed in homes, on gates, in store stalls. A bizarre addition to Indian culture.

Take off your shoes and have some Chai. Most store owners insist you have Chai if you buy something. At least in Rishikesh. Also, it is customary and courteous that you remove shoes before entering homes or stores.

Eat with your right hand only. This takes some practice. I don’t remember why, but you are only supposed to eat with your right hand. The left is not supposed to touch food.

I also recently dicovered the Indian method of using the toilet. That's what that little spicket next to the toilet is for..suprising and kind of jolting at first, but I now know why you can't get toilet paper anywhere. And the 'Indian' and 'Western' toliets on the trains. BYO TP..

Lassi. Although I keep trying I’ve decided I don’t like it. I don’t want to drink yogurt.

That cow will still not shut up outside!!

Malaria Prevention and other fun stuff…

The Malaria medication I take makes me so sick. It must be seriously strong stuff. So it’s either take the Malaria medication and get horrible headaches and sharp stomach pains or roll the dice and possibly get Malaria. Oh, the Choices!
I had "Delhi Belly" for two days. That is actually not bad. Most people that get sick here have got it for about a week. Probably from a drop of water in a glass or on a plate, it was awful. Thankfully, the best place to be sick is at an ashram. People actually give a crap, pun intended, and while it’s not like being home (all I wanted was Mac and Cheese and Gingerale), it’s not as bad as being in a lonely hotel by yourself and sick. Helen bought me crackers, my Portuguese friends Steph and Bebo offered up some medication, and my fun loving, wild friends from New Zealand Emma and Topher gave me some chocolate they had with them. (chocolate that has not gone bad is impossible to find here). The Swami, who happened to actually be here for two days between his travels, suggested a handful of Cardamom and wash it down with water. Gross, but this actually worked. My bathroom trips stopped within 3 hours and “Delhi Belly’ was gone!
It’s so stinking hot that I have an angry heat rash. Between the yoga in the afternoon heat and the fact that it is just HOT all the time has made my skin turn against me.
I still love India!

Look your Naval...

Yoga.
It is an hour and forty five minutes long. Holy crap. Twice a day. I am going to be in seriously good shape when I leave here! Woohoo!
I wake at 3:00am-this is just my weird internal clock that never quite adjusted-and read for two hours. If I don’t have a spiritual epiphany at least I will get in some good reading.
At 5:15, I head up to give my best efforts to my morning meditation. Yoga begins at 6am. Rishikesh is the “Yoga capital of the World” and after one class I see why. With the intense asanas (poses) and chanting and pranayama (breathing exercises) it is yoga like I have never experienced it and it seems this is the way it was meant to be. In the US we have sliced and diced it to become Power Yoga or Hot Yoga or Jumping Jack Yoga and so on..and it really is based on breathing and chanting. Still, my muscles are screaming after three days. I am so achy and my body feels like it is 100 years old.
Being the “Yoga capital of the World”, the most beautiful, fit , healthy people come here from all over the world. There is the drop dead gorgeous Brazilian girl, who I am convinced is a supermodel and I just don’t recognize her. Her long limbs bend with ease and achieve every asana gracefully. There is Kate, my friend-upon-first-meeting from Holland who is a bluish-greenish eyed blonde that sparkles when she talks. I’ve nicknamed her Sunshine. She is that radiating. Kate also is a perfect yoga student. There is the dude from London with bright blue eyes that looks like he belongs on a football team, Nate. This is just to name a few..And there is of course, me. The "American Girl". “We don’t get many of those, here” says Ally, a dark haired curvy Israeli, who carried on a conversation while balanced upside down in a shoulder stand positition and seems to come to Rishikesh all the time.. (Rishikesh and other parts of India are loaded with rebellious young backpacking Israeli hippies) I, of course wobble, shake and sweat like a pig that knows he’s dinner and inevitably fall over in a sloppy heap at least once a class. I also usually start laughing out loud at something I find humorous in the hundreds of odd and seemingly impossible asanas or "crazy breathing" as our yoga teacher says when he speaks of pranayama. And of course, our yoga teacher is a very cute twenty something Indian guy who has an adorable Brit-Hindi accent and says things like, "Look your left thumb" and "Look your naval". He is always smiling and contorts his body into positions I didn’t know were possible for a human.

He’s getting his PHd in Pranayama. Crazy breathing.

Only in India...

Meditation for the neurotics..

The ashram is a very quiet place. Obviously, right? My first day, I just observe with a watchful eye and try to make some sense of how it works here. My demanding mind wants some structure and explanation, which is not really the idea. You are meant to be taken out of your routine, out of your structure and just see things with an open unexpecting mind. Quiet things down in there…

Oh boy.

At home in DC meditation goes like this for me: “okay, just relax, breathe, back and neck straight, don’t think about anything….” 2 seconds later: “ I’m glad they opened the window, wow.. that breeze feels good, that reminds me of that boat ride in Palau. Hmm…I would love to go scuba diving soon. I loved those people in Palau so much too. They were really cool. Oh I remember that crazy couple that got married on the beach! I wonder what they are up to. And I wonder where my wetsuit is…” Enter my disciplinary self .."Aprille…shhhh. you are supposed to be meditating, not thinking about anything! Now just husshhh..focus on your breathing!” Right, got it. No thinking. My under disciplined mind goes right back for the bait. “no thinking, no thinking…breathe. (three deep breaths) I’m bored!!! Breathing is boooring! What if I just sing a song in my head? It’s not really THINKING, right? Gwen Stefani pops into my head..I really love her look these days. Wow, what an amazing photo spread she just had in Vogue. Has she really had two kids? That’s amazing. She looks fantastic. I hope I look like that if I have two kids.I really want her eyebrows..” Apriiillllllle!!!!! Ugh. You are a terrible student!

I usually get about 5 minutes of quiet. If I’m lucky.

So you might imagine my intimidation of all of these quiet little budding Buddhas around here. They walk without a sound and look at you in the eyes and most seem just high on life. Are they really that quiet inside? I tell myself that I have much time, a few weeks, to get this sorted out. For sure I will be enlightened baby Buddha when I leave here, right?

Cue the laughing audience.

Namaste..and don’t sit on the table

Everything is austere. The library, the reading areas, the yoga studio, the rooms, the dining hall.
The dining hall…now this is a subject worth discussing. Picture, if you will..a tiled room with straw mat runners around the perimeter of the room. There are what appears to be footstool like seats atop these runners, about 10 each side of the room. The meal mantra is painted in both Hindi and English on one of the walls. There are ceiling fans and windows. That is it.
All events here are commenced by the ringing of a large bell hanging near the entrance by a staff member. It echoes through the entire ashram. 5am wake up-bell. 8am breakfast-bell, 12:30 lunch- bell. You get the idea. I take off my flip flops and walk in for my first meal, equipped with my food tray and utensils, which will be mine for the duration of my stay. I am to wash them after meals and keep them in my room. I’m eager to meet my fellow ashramites and I sit on a stool on a wall where I can easily see the Hindi mantra. The kitchen workers are all tiny peaceful Indians, possibly Nepalese that speak absolutely no English. One comes over to me before anyone else comes in to the dining hall and pulls out the footstool next to me and motions for me to sit on the floor. He smiles, trying not to laugh.
I was sitting on my table.
People flow in, about 15 all together. Everyone is pretty quiet. Some talk and seem to know each other, some keep to themselves. Some are in 'full mauna' or complete silence. I get several "hello" kind glances and everybody greets each other with hands in a prayer –like position and bend, saying “Namaste”. (Sounding like Na-Ma-Staaay) I must look like a deer in the headlights. I am shouting in my head, “someone please give me the lowdown!” It’s impossible to talk to anyone without hollering unless they are sitting right next to you. I meet Barb from London and Helen from the Netherlands at my first meal. Nice women, maybe a little bit older than me. Barb is traveling indefinitely and just came from South America. Helen is visiting her Ayurvedic doctor (who she comes to see often) and then meeting friends in Delhi. A bit of small talk after dinner and that’s it. Off to read and to quiet activities until bedtime…Our actual "curfew" is 9:30, when the gates close, but the Ashram asks that you keep your activities minimal in the evenings.
There are no cupcakes.
I pass out at 7pm.

The Road to Rishikesh

F#@k seat belts. I want an airbag bubble to wrap myself in, if they exist. If they don’t, they should. If only in the South Asian countries. Driving in India goes something like this..the driver has one (or two) hand(s) on the horn. AT ALL TIMES. They honk to say hi, honk to say I want to pass you, honk to say I am driving on your left, your right, down a hill, straight at you..they honk to say move, honk to say don’t move. Everybody is just making noise. It’s a chorus of high pitch, low pitch, a toodle-oo number and a strange sort of duck blast. I now understand my Indian cab drivers at home. At first it is not really clear which side you are supposed to be driving on. Then I figure it out. It’s the left. Usually. Most often you are heading straight on towards the oncoming car or truck only to swerve out of the way at the last minute. The hierarchy of the road is that the bigger your vehicle the more road authority you have. Pedestrians yield to bicycles, who yield to rickshaws, who yield to cars, who yield to trucks, who yield to buses. The only thing that a bus will yield to is the damn cow. The cow rules the road. And the sidewalks and bridges. And probably the line at the Chai stand. They seem to know that they have this power and are a complete pain in the ass. They hold tea parties in the middle of a busy street like old biddies and refuse to move out of the way. I swear they are laughing at us.
My mouth literally hangs open in shock and awe. Being so tired and physically sore yet so curious of this country I stare out the window during the three hour white-knuckled drive. My eyes want to close, but they can’t. I will do my best to describe, but picture the combination of a farmers market, a circus, an agricultural fair, a yard sale, the dump, a slum and a machine shop. Add the ironic element of women in bright beautiful saris and Bollywood billboards. Also add the smell of diesel fuel, cow/pig/goat/mule/human shit, and incense, garbage and Indian sweat (there is no other sweat quite like it-it’s thick and spicy and clings to your nostrils). The women walk with baskets of produce or other goods balanced on their heads in baskets. How do they not sweat? I sweat sitting still in India. Naked children do their potty business on the side of the road and the elder lepers sit in groups and seem to barely be surviving. Every town we pass has a shanty town. Men bathe themselves from buckets and wash their clothes in puddles. The poverty is beyond sad at it's worst. In between towns there are long stretches of country roads, but there are still people and animals everywhere. Women herd their goats and children haul large wagons piled high with sacks of produce and building materials. Men walk along with skinny mules loaded up with packs, smacking them now and then. Nobody is in a hurry though. Except for the drivers of course.
We stop in Haridwar, one of India’s holy cities (It will host the famous Kumbh Mela in 2010) and I get my first glimpse of the Ganges. I also see white travelers for the first time since I said goodbye to Gordon. I take pictures of the enormous statue of Shiva, get some bottled water and get back in the car. We traverse the mountain and finally arrive at the ashram that will be my home for the coming weeks. I am greeted by an incredibly warm staff member and an immaculate (well, by Indian standards) room and facilities, including a beautiful yoga room and a hammock that I will be spending much time in. There is a courtyard with green grass. I have four walls, a fan, clean sheets and hot water that comes out of the showerhead.
This is all I need right now.
Happy.

Not so Natural Nature Resort

I’m utterly exhausted. No Hep A swine flu, but I haven’t slept well in my hut for the past two nights at the Nature Resort in Saharanpur. I’m open to naturopathic health, but this place is flat out bizarre. My hut feels more like a tent with a straw roof. Water leaks in and mice use it as their midnight playground. Two mosquito nets tucked under my mattress..a word on Indian mattresses..no Sealy or Tempurpedic’s here, but a 3 inch hard cover on a wooden frame. The all organic food with no sugar or oil is sure to have me drop 10lbs quickly. The only plus about this Indian hell in the jungle is that a very pleasant retired Swedish man, Gordon, is on a similar itinerary to mine and he is actually normal. We chat about the strangeness of this “resort” and make each other laugh a bit. There are four pet mini dogs who yap like mad throughout the night and I begin to think that Gordon may feed them to the snakes, he despises them so much.
I have lasted two and a half days at the Un-Natural Natural Resort and am content to never have a mud wrap or have to bathe myself from a bucket of hot water ever again and have just phoned my Delhi contact to let him know there is no way I can stay here for 4 more days. After some phone calls, he informs me that a car will come and fetch me and transfer me to the Ashram in Rishikesh. I am thinking to myself, please no mice or bizarre healing doctors. I say goodbye to Gordon and wish him luck. We’ll meet up again in Delhi in several weeks and travel to Agra to see the Taj Mahal with the same guide.

"Welcome to Delhi, you may have to have your temperature taken when you deplane as there have been many reports of the Hep A Flu here."

Fabulous....I didn't get vaccinated for that one!!! Can I get a shot over here please? I shall get a mask. I knew I was forgetting something

Luckily I don't have a hacking cough and apparently did not look ill when I came through the "health check" desk at the Delhi airport, so I was spared this event.

Given a very different smelling, um..culturally odoriferous, if you will.. ridiculously long flight (over Greenland, but not the pole) with a symphony of screaming Indian babies, I am here in a clean hotel room in Delhi, trying to adjust to the time change.. all went smoothly as could be expected, especially since my travel guide was late fetching me from the airport due to traffic, which was.. due to the weather.
When the pilot said Delhi was "experiencing some heavy rains right now" (Read: Monsooonish storm as Monsoon season draws to an end) This caused a few roads to be unable for use and therefore created a huge traffic problem at 10:00 pm.

In 6 short hours it is Saharanpur by train for 7 days of yoga, horses and sacred cow worship. I mean... organic vegetarian meals. Thankfully, I had my own sacred cow about an hour before my flight...mmmmm..burger. It will be a while before I can get another one. I have no idea if there is internet to connect to but there had better not be H1N1 Swine Flu!

Hugs

I eat a cupcake every Tuesday from my local cupcakery. It is kind of a boring day..so I make it one of my high holidays. I think I may miss this on my little journey to Miss India...
I have 9 days to get all the Deet I may need, mosquito netting, Immodium, and some sort of reminder as to why I booked this trip instead of going to Cabo San Lucas to sit on the beach and scuba dive with pretty fish. Oh, right..it's coming back to me.....Reflection, Clarity, Appreciation and of course to ride an elephant. Let me tell you, if I do not ride an elephant, I am going to be one grumpy cupcake.