Bhagsu in the Monsoon

The monsoon has officially come to Bhagsu. For the past three day, I have awoken to thick foggy skies rather than my usual view of the lush green valley below. The first rain usually begins as I do my asanas on my small blue yoga mat in the upstairs room, and if I'm lucky, the sun will come out momentarily in an hour or two, giving people the opportunity to emerge from their various mountain hideouts (guesthouses/cafes).

Actually, that's a lie. There is no regularity to the rain. It just comes. But for the past few days, it has stayed for longer, a pattern which is not likely to change for a while.

Ridiculously, I have no raincoat or umbrella. Usually this is not a problem as I am loaded up with books to read when the rain comes and I'm still in my room, or if I'm outside I can duck into one of the many warm Bhagsu cafes with similarly unprepared travellers... Toady was the first day I got caught out, having braved the rain enough to run a few minutes to Roza cafe for breakfast. Luckily Sahil lent me his only-slightly-broken unmbrella to whip down the hill to my singing class, and I have been down here ever since, as today this water is just not ceasing. It's okay. I love it, and the fact that it makes us slow down and relllaaaax even more.

For I have realised something. I've been here three weeks or even more now, and have only a few days left until I need to take my Delhi night bus and my plane to Amsterdam. What a change this will be... but anyway, back to my realisation. After three weeks here, and after four months on the road, I finally feel like I'm learning to truly leeeeet gooooo.... a deeper level of relaxation is coming in. Looking back, I've always had some kind of objective for my day, and certain 'things to achieve' so to speak. How liberating, then, to fnially let go and just BE. You'd think I would have realise this already, after four months away. How interesting then, how long it's taken me to transofrm my Western view.

In 'the West' (generic term for countries not like India), we live our lives with such expectation - with goals, onjectives, attachments. Even our personal development is often laden with ideas of where we want to 'get to' or how we can make ourselves more of a person we want to be. A friend of mine told me yesterday "Why are you always 'on your way' somewhere? You need to calm down , girl. Everything is inside of you". How right he was. For me anyway, it's been highly liberating to just STOP and let life happen. I know I have the luxury of doing this at the moment - no kids, no responsibilities... so I'vwe decided to mike it, baby, for all it's worth, and ENJOOOOOYYYYY (Indian saying) even more.

Right, enough lyrical waxing. Here's some of the cool stuff that's been going on in the Valley of late.

Two beautiful jams, one two nights before in Roza cafe, and last night in 'Sky High' where a small circle of flute, singing, sitar, guitar and tabla turned into an even bigger circle of harmonies, spoons tapping on glasses and a rather hyperactive puppy wagging its tail and trying to chew everything (tabla and flute case, beer glass, everyone's feet) in sight.

My amazing yoga / meditation practise. I've taken some classes, but mostly I just love practising in my room, holding my asanas long, long, long, and watching my mind get quieter and calmer. It's amazing. Pretty much impossible to put into words, so I'll leave it at that.

Sometimes I wish I could stay longere her, but my visa is up, and Europe is calling. Soon it will be time to take to the streets with my guitar in hand and let my voice fund me for a while. I have much to take away with me. A lot has 'sunk in' for me here in this valley. Now it will be up to me to integrate it into a diferent enviornment and away from the nurturing land of India - my home, always...

Full Moon Eclipse in Upper Bhagsu

It's midnight; the moon has another hour in which to disappear and I have as much time to write by its light. High in the Bhagsu Valley, various sounds emanate. Birds burning the midnight oil chirp quietly amongst themselves. The distant sounds of drumbeats echo across to my perch, mixing with the laughter of the late night cafe dwellers. The occasional whoop and moon howl are carried to me on the windless night, although this moon is gentle; there are no loud trance parties anywhere near us. I think others have traveled to Manali and the Parvati Valley for such occasions and I'm glad for the gentle peace that remains. Possibly it's the guesthouse I'm at; the two Frenchies, a Venezuelan and I are more content to sit and watch the moon before getting a reasonably early night, than to stay up all night jamming. A dog barks and I see the white patches of a cat quicken their pace on the lawn below. I want to stay up until I can write no more.

I have just come from Shivam's full moon musical celebration, where a wonderful harmonium player jammed with various drummers and the orange clad baba from down the hill whose voice crescendoed as they sang some devotionally rockin bhajans while we sipped chai and lemon ginger honey. I joined in and felt my whole body vibrate with the sounds within and around me, although I knew none of the words. All the while, Shivam sat on his orange blanket, twisting his hands into various mudras and swaying his body devotionally, stopping occasionally to pay homage to the many portraits of his teacher that adorned the walls.

Such are the contrasts in this valley - you can find anything you want really. On my walk to Shivam's, I was tempted to stay in Roza and be part of an impromptu sitar and flute concert - instead I drank one of their famous masala chais before trekking up, and up, and up. Others told me about a rooftop party somewhere to the left of me, while the more adventurous had opted to trek to Triund and sleep in a cave to see the eclipse from there.

Back in the present moment, the moon is a crescent for a while before turning into an orange pac-man. There are no clouds around for him to eat though - by this time Federico has come home and is amazed to learn of the disappearing moon - we watch awefully (as opposed to awfully) from the steps below my room, wondering aloud whether or not the moon will reappear, and from which direction...

At 1.15 I give up and make for my bed, happy to have watched the moon nearly disappear from view. I leave the tiny orange sliver to disappear completely and curl up in my puddle of blankets, asleep instantly in the small family house...

Mcleod Ganj sunset, and last night's gig

I'm sitting in an internet cafe when all of a sudden a huuuuge commotion is occuring in the street outside... At first I am determined not to involve myself and continue tapping away at the typically sticky keyboard, but the sound increases and I wonder if someone's been hurt on the street outside. All of a sudden I find myself abandoning my chair and nosying it up with the locals lining the pavement. It always amuses me how people do this in Inda: how anyone's business is everyones...

However, this time we have more cause for concern - some dude with an American accent is SHOUTING his head off... screaming and carrying on about the motorbikes on the road.. from what I glean it seems one has run over his foot, and a HUGE part of me sympathises even though he is making a huge scene and continue his tirade about India as he walks up and down the street. These roads ARE insane and have changed a lot in the five years since I've visited last, with taxis and rickshaws and vans and motorbikes jostling for space with pedestrians, cows, dogs and children. From the way the man is carrying on I had wondered if someone had been killed, but it seems everyone else is fine...

I guess he has just expressed what I feel sometimes, albiet in an extreme way... weekends in both Bhagsu and McLeod are crazy, with many Punjabi weekenders competing for space here, their home state but a few hours away. Last night, from the serenity of Upper Bhagsu, where you have to walk up a steep road and then varying quantities of steep stone steps depending on which cafe you wish to frequent, a gentle Punjabi gentleman approached me asking if he could speak to me. I managed to swallow my inner cynic about what was going to follow and was pleasantly suprised at his genuine interest at why so many travellers come here...

I told him that the magic of the hills should speak for itself, but upon reflection I guess that being only a weekender he wouldn't have time to envelop himself into the community up here. Last night this same community, out of which an AMAZING Arabic-esque reggae traveller band has formed, put on a concert at Horizon cafe. The place was PACKED despite the 150 rupee entry fee (first entry fee for a gig up there yet I heard, although it was worth ten times as much and I had no qualms about opening my wallet to support wonderful musicians like them).

From their very first song they had wooed the crowd, actually even before they started they had the crowd wooed, with many of their friends filling the first two rows... they are 6 or 7 guys, I lost count, all beautiful both inside and out... the djimbe player reminds me of my friend Iain, and I want to show him a photo of him. They have the same brown smiling eyes and soul of a musician I think. The Israeli (I think???) singer has a white cloth wrapped around his dark hair. He closes his eyes and sings Arabic sounds to make ones soul swoon. Mine is unabashedly following suit on the dance floor. As is everyone elses! They play a slow song and we soon we all have our arms around each other, regardless of whether we know each other or not. It doesn't matter. I have my head on a strange man's shoulder at one stage and it all feels perfectly natural.

The singer in the middle of the stage (three of them at least are singing...) is something of a Spanish / South American rapper/freestyler and he is AMAZING! Doo wopping away in a way only he knows how to do right now, COMPLETELY one with the music - as they ALL are. It's great! The tall Frenchie at the back plays the clarinet in a Middle Eastern style, while behind the stage a guy in white they just refer to as 'Bagi' is holding his arms out in a V to the crowd as if to bless them. I am digging his energy - I am also in white and am feeling the same things - LOVE for everyone. SNAP! The energy of the crowd lifts me and I wonder how we are ever going to let this band go. They play for over an hour, an hour and a half, I don't know... and only stop when the resturanteers concur with police rule about no live music after about 11 and they play their final song unplugged after much shushing of the crowd, who are COMPLETELy hyped up by now. The last song is beautiful, although we're not fooling any noise police with all our voices joining in for the simple but beautiful chorus: "Your eyes are the window to my soul..." I could cry, but I'm too ecstatic and overexcited to produce tears.

Afterwards I meet and hug the guy I shared a shoulder with earlier, and there's talk of various afterparties at the waterfall or up the valley, as well as the invitation "EVERYONE COME TO MY HOUSE!!" from one rather beautiful dude (also in white). I'm a little bit ungrounded to say the least after all of this and retreat home, as I have realised lately that even though there are SO MANY beautiful people about, I am a loner after all and yearn to be 'home' in my beautiful space. Just when I thought I was sick of my own company it seems I wasn't and that there is much to be gained from silent time. The air is cool and I walk up the steps slowly, savouring the night. I won't forget the gig, and I'm sure there will be facebook photos from someone still able to be in control of their camera - my flailing limbs certainly weren't capable of capturing the moment in a frame other than that of my moving memory.

I'm still awake at 3 a.m that night when the rains start, and I hear the whooping somewhere distantly down the valley of the waterfall trance partygoers. I open my curtains and stare out for a minute before curling deeper into my blanket, happy for peace after the party...

Dharamkot Dawn

(Title and geographical note: Dharma Sala, where I'm staying, is a big town in the state of Himachal Pradesh that I never actually go into. Instead, a few kms up the valley lies an area called Mcleod Ganj, home of the Dalai Lama as previously mentioned and refuge to many Tibetans illegally crossing the border. I have yet to research the reasons why this place got chosen for Tibetan settlement, but I don't blame them - it is rich with beauty. Bhag Su is a smaller area up from Mcleod Ganj, although both are pretty touristic now, so Dharamkot, another are even higher in the valley, is where a lot of travellers seek refuge from the hubbub of... other travellers! Just to orientate you...)

6.30 a.m. On the road since 5 after waking, shaking, from possibly the most intense dream I've had in my LIFE! (death, earthquakes, knowing I needed to throw my body off a cliff for the survival of others. Holy crap, right? I spent breakfast discussing the finer nuances and symbols with similarly cosmic travellers, tee hee... new life, taking a leap of faith perhaps? As I'm doing, as best I can...)

Anyway, at 5 the dawn was teasing the inky blue sky outside and it called me to be out in it rather than in my warm bed surrounded by nightmarish residue. I pack my bag and flip-flop out. Bhag Su was still sleeping, but after covering my nose in the open toilet section of road right outside my guesthouse entrance (EW, India...) I begin the slow climb up the valley. Even in its slumber I could sense the different energies of the various sections: Lower BhagSu with its upmarket hotels and German bakeries, and more traveller oriented Upper Bhag Su. I walk past 'Haifa cafe', 'Zion Cafe' and 'Reggae cafe' one after the other and take the windy mountain path up, where civilised concrete transformed into roughly hew granite steps. I pass the Agama and Siddartha yoga centres and wonder to myself where the heck this cultish Osho place I've heard about might well be...

After paying my respects at a small white stone temple (all gods are one to me now - I worship all temples, mosques, cathedrals, synagogues. Mountains, waterfalls, big solid rocks like the one I am writing from), I see a girl I met yesterday, the tortoise shell of her pack keeping her head down as she hightails it to catch a bus to an organic cheese farm in Manali. It's 5.30, but I am wide awake, wish her well and walk on.

"Free Palestina" is sprayed aside a stone shed wall, and a psychedelic van adorned in Hebrew scripture sits waiting for the day to begin. The birds around me are waking me at least - today I've beaten the birds! Unheard of...

I'm kind of on a vague mission to find the Tushita meditation centre in Upper Dharamkot. The path winds up and occasionally forks into two - I choose instinctively and go up, up, up...

A BEAUTIFUL elderly Tibetan man in the maroon robes of a monk walks by, seemingly astonished to see another soul at this hour.

"Live here?" he asks, smiling a child-pure smile
"No. I live down. Today only walking" I speak back in the broken English that has become my every day speech.
"You journeying?" he enquires. I'm always journeying, I think!
"Yes, I go up," to which he shakes his head and laughs amusedly
"LIVING here?" I enquire back
He points to his right and replies "small house" and carries on with a twinkling eyed nod.

Up I go. A stone lingam, like a cairn about 2 metres high has been lovingly built on the roadside. I photograph it and try to capture myself in the image as well. Me and Shiva, huh? Beautiful.

It's 6 by this point and I can't find Tushita, beginning to feel tired and my Kapha laziness getting the better of me. so I justify to myself that I've still got to walk 4 hours uphill to Triund later today. The dogs are waking up and bark in choruses down below.

Down I go. More and more I lose the present moment and start to dream, losing the path and almost walking into someone's home at one point. I try a second, third time and again lose myself, rolling my eyes out loud at my directionless self. Giving up, I cross country it and at one stage lay my hand on a rock for support only to find small brown maggot like creatures dead in a cluster beneath me. Ew, India, I think, although the Hindu in me sees their sacredness. I wipe my hand off grassily and move on, more carefully this time.

These words are calling me to write them so I seek out a rock, climb aboard and get to the end of this sentence.

It's 7. The early morning magic has changed to a gentle peace in these Tibetan hills. Always, the peace of the Dalai Lama pervades everything, although his Mcleod Ganj home is another world away down the hill.

A crow cries, my eyes sag, and I'm hungry for banana porridge. I'm outta here...

...(took me ages!)
... and now, scribing this down at 3 pm, I still haven't got to the village of Triund... perhaps tomorrow...

Beautiful Bhag Su

Some kind of change has occurred in me over the last few days. Of course it's been influenced by the Himalayan aftermath, the book I'm reading ('Yogini - discovering the goddess within' by Shambhavi Chopra, a title with potential cheese factor but actually a beautiful account of one woman's journey with spirit), and also this beautiful land of Bhag Su.

I've been rising pretty late - 9ish - after waking early at around 5.30/6 and drifting back into dreams. The last two days since I've recovered from my illness I've been doing my own yoga practise which has been beautiful actually. So, after my morning asanas and a wee spot of solo room dancing, I take to the streets of Bhag Su, ready to explore the hills.

After breakfast in a typically stoned Shiva Moon cafe (the album they have been playing six times a day in every touristic place ever since my first visit in 2004, and probably since before that even...) I wander up the hill with the vague aim of finding my old guesthouse of 5 years ago, seeing whether or not Madhu still lived there, and then walking to Dharam Kot and checking out the Tushita meditation centre there.

As I meander along, a small and humble white stone temple catches my eye and I tentatively ask a man washing dishes in the accompanying restaurant whether or not I can visit it and take a picture. He obliges and I enter, instantly feeling a deep gentle mountain peace there. I can see similarly small white stone temples across the Bhagsu valley - all beautiful and humble, my favourite kinds. I don't linger long however, as a soft rain has begun to fall - a daily occurrence here in the mountains which I love. So, I take shelter in this empty cafe, which I recognise as a place I used to frequent five years ago.

Some things are better left unedited. I believe that this is one of them. Here is what came from my journal of the time as I sip my first masala chai of the day.

***********************************************************************

Nature is overwhelmingly beautiful.

Thunder sounds in the distance, rain teases the tin roof of Sahil's famous halva cafe, the stones and greenery of the valley unbelievably alive.

I have no desire to party with the early morning Upper Bhagsu stoners, but today I will take pleasure in the same beauties we all climb these stone steps for.

This rain cleanses my being - I'm going out in it! (and I do...)

There are two dogs, one on either side of me, perhaps rivalling for my attention. The black one is the healthier choice, although I eventually pat the mangy one too, knowing the tap to wash my hands is close and will give me another chance to dash out in the rain for a while. At one stage I have a hand on each of the dogs heads and the mangy one is LOVING it - closing his eyes, leaning into my touch and blissing out. The black one licks my arm in thanks, although I'd prefer he didn't, regardless of how clean he looks.

This masala chai is gooood... lots of Kala mirch (black pepper) at the bottom. Oh yeah!

Shee-ite the rain is pelting down now. I almost don't want to read my book it's so beautiful! Amazing! And I ask for someone to come and share this moment with me...

The rain makes me cry, so I pull my shawl over my head for privacy and find a massive rock in the distance to focus on, like the one I found from my hotel balcony in Maneri two weeks ago - a rock in the midst of the Bhagirathi river, steady and stoic as the waters thrashed against it. I imagined this rock to be my mind, unflinching as all the thoughts cascaded overtop of it. Today I try to keep my focus on this Himachal stone as I wonder what to do with my big overflowing heart. SO, I plant my feet on the earth, or the concrete atop of the mountain, hold my pounamu in my left hand (I'm connecting so much more to this stone lately!) and breath deeply in, and out.

I don't want the rain to finish, and as it ebbs, flows, dips and swells, thunder rumbles reassuringly, soothingly in the distance.

I COULD WRITE FOR DAYS!

In the valley, three brightly coloured salwar kameezs are kept dry under umbrellas as ladies in hot pink, aqua marine and orange tread carefully down the hill in the wet. Another white stone temple sits silently waiting for them, infused with nature's wise, peaceful power.

My eyes are ANCIENT with longing for somebody to share this with.

And then, just as soon as it begun, the rain stops. Immediately! It shimmers again for a few seconds. Is sucked into the soil. It stops fully, and I can hear the drum circle occurring a little lower in the valley - a world I feel so far away from right now but know I'll frequent again, at the right time.

A stranger has sat down near me - the answer to my prayer? And I am suddenly shy.

The wind speaks, and I try to clear my mind as the words come in.


*************

What follows is a lovely, easy conversation with an Englishman whom I briefly referred to in my last entry about India and its contradictions. As well as this, we discuss teaching, theatre, the story of the Indian dogs (the black one is called Kalu and proves himself to be the king of the hill, barking at any goats or rival dogs that dare to walk past his perch, and the mangy looking one is actually both arthritic and epileptic - a sick wee creature hungry for a gentle human touch). I drink another masala chai and am informed that the paratha here is delicious if I'm so taken on my next visit. Which I will try, along with the halva, as there is no semolina in the valley today.

About an hour after the rain has stopped, I leave the blissful cafe and walk down the hill, which in turn leads me to Madhu's house and there she is! Sitting on the porch with her new sister-in-law. She doesn't remember me at first, although as soon as I mention my friend Abbey's name, who I shared a room with for a few weeks here all those years ago, she lights up - she always did love Abbey... soon she is pulling out the photos Abbey sent her all those years ago and calling out for her papa to come and greet me - I have good memories of him teaching me Hindi back then, and of his father smoking pipe after pipe downstairs. Turns out that grandpapa is still there, smoking pipes downstairs, although out on a wood gathering mission (??) at the moment. I guess I'll see the plume rising from his pipe next time I visit...

Back then, Madhu told us she was destined for spinsterhood, being the only girl of the family and bereft of a mother. Someone needed to look after papa-ji, so it was her duty to help arrange her brothers' marriages and then run the household, which she was doing so well even back then as a 16 year old! BUT it turns out that things have changed - elder brother has a wife now - Santosh, who I meet, a beautiful young girl who dutifully pulls her sari over her head when Papa-ji emerges. Because she now lives in her husband's father's father's home she is now technically capable of running the household, and papa tells me excitedly that Madhu is to be married in less than a monthm wondering aloud if I will be around for it! At present my visa finishes on my birthday, five days before the wedding and a plan quickly forms in my head to contact the relevant embassy and get an extension as I would dearly love to be part of this family's celebration. I take a photo of them for Abbey and promise to return with a photo of Abbey's young boy in New Zealand, less than a year old still.

Madhu hasn't changed a bit, although she tells me she is much fatter now. Not that I really notice - her nature is just as sweet and she obviously deeply loves her nephew Ahshit, the light of everybody's life who is passed around for kisses and cuddles as I drink the sweet milky chai they offer me. After another rain storm it is time to go down the mountain, perhaps to finally get to Dharamkot this time?

Seems not. As I walk down the hill I see Jesse, a Californian guitarist I first met at Sasson's chai shop in Pushkar, again in Rishikesh a week later and who has been travelling India on his Enfield for a few months now. And I meet my first Kiwi in a long long time, something of an outlaw in these parts, having not returned to New Zealand since 1970 and living in India for much of that time. Interesting dude, with henna red dreadlocks swept up sadhu style atop of whitish-grey undergrowth. It's so nice to meet another Kiwi, and as we both hail from small towns we swap our stories of growing up as weirdos in straight places. We sit for chai and Johnny joins us, a very interesting English dude studying Apache shamanism and soon to be running a workshop on such magical subjects which I'm keen to know more about.

Soon Jesse returns with his guitar and we play a Bonnie Raitt tune - 'Angel From Montgomery', a very unusual first song to play together! We go on to sing 'The Passenger', 'Man Who Sold the World', 'Stir it Up', 'Little Wing', 'Knocking on Heaven's Door (a mixture of the Bob and Axl versions) and attempt 'Walk on the Wild Side' although neither of us knows the words. Dinner arrives at once and we are silent until the Shiva Moon album comes on again - my second listen in one day! Typical of these parts, but I don't mind; Prem Joshua's tunes are still beautiful all these years later, and so... FITTING for a traveller scene that I distinctively remember not thinking I was destined for earlier today. But OH how things change, and how I'm loving it - a beautiful looking Israeli dude is getting his hair dreadlocked by the guy who sells malas outside the restaurant and the flute player that joined us for a few numbers is sitting contentedly and crossleggedly on the floor. Our Malai Kofta, Palak Paneer, Israeli salad and butter naan are delicious, and I think to myself how nice it is to share a meal with others when usually I breakfast alone, reading and writing and musing on life. Well, today I've been living it and it feels GOOD!

Although I love both worlds - walking the solo path and enjoying the splashes of community that come when I am most open to them. Today has been rich with both, and I'm SO grateful. My body aches but I document it all as usual, wondering where these words will lead me and what tomorrow will hold. Besides the early morning yoga class I commit myself to with Jesse's teacher.

I'm exhausted, and want to make it down the BhagSu hill before too long so I'll sign off now and tread carefully in my slippery flip-flops back to the haven of my guesthouse. BLESSINGS xxx

Catching up - my final days in Rishikesh...

These posts have come to me somewhat out of order ever since my world got rocked by the Himalayan trip a few weeks back - no biggie, but it's a challenge to all teh Virgo in my chart which loves order and linear chronology. ANYWAY, here's Rishikesh for ya, once again.

After Himalaya, after we arrived back to Ishan hotel just before midnight on the 27th of May, life changed again. The weather was hot again. It was hard to move for all the Indian tourists (actually, that wasn't tooo different to certain treks we did up north, but mostly we were subject to lots of natural space and looong car journeys). And I had decided to stay in a 500 rupee a night room just because it was beautiful and I wanted a good view of Ganga - this would have been unthinkable to me a few years back!

Here's what happened to me in my final week in Rishkesh:

I fixed my guitar. For 50 rupees ($1.60??). Yeehah!

I was tempted too much by Banoffee pie and the Ishan restaurant chocolate balls (which excited the giardia bacteria in my gut enough to come back and haunt me... urrggghhhh...)

I met an amazing yoga teacher, Mukesh, recently out of Sivananda teaching camp and LOVED his classes. Slow, deep, healing.... I think he'll go far! And for only 100 rupees, they were an absolute steal....

I met some Australians who loved my accent and welcomed me into their whiskey party, which I tried to enjoy although I truly despise whiskey.... had a jam with a lovely Canadian though who played a mean Bob Dylan tune and was more than happy for me to oblige with some Joni, tunes from his motherland!

Met an Australian woman who gifted me with a Vedic meditation technique - pretty much similar to T.M in which the meditator focusses on a given mantra twice a day. To be honest, it's turned out to not really be my preferred form of meditation thus far, but she did take me through a beautiful puja ceremony and I'm grateful for the time she gave me.

Said bye to my Russian / Ukranian whanau, which I've written about already but whose interactions I go over in my head every single day, not wanting to forget a single moment of my time with them.

Caught a night bus here to Dharmasala with the two remaining Soviets - Dima and Lena - where we all stay happily in a small family guesthouse far far away from the upper Bhagsu parties... but that's another story....

In love with India again

Only two days after my last post, I want to take back everything bad I ever said about India. Although it was all true! ha ha.... but, fresh from a great conversation with an Englishman in a small Himalayan cafe about the paradox of India, I'm willing to forgive it. For I have been reawakened to its beauty once more...

Yes, certain things about this country annoy the hell out of me: men, rubbish, pollution, noise, bad toilet hygiene - I've said it all before. BUT what I failed to remember for a few weeks was the sheer DIVINITY of this land and the ancient, ancient traditions that pervade it. This is the land of ALL paradoxes, the most despicable and most pure, the sacred and profane, the dark and the light. Here's some examples.

This is the land that pretty much invented silence - Vipassana meditation was brought here from Burma to be kept safe, while the Buddha achieved enlightenment at Bodhgaya. Some say Christ lived here in his 'lost years' (the next book on my list is 'Jesus lived in India' and many believe he is actually buried in Kashmir. The ancient tradition of yoga was born here. Many, many ancient traditions can be traced to these lands - I only wish I had more specific knowledge to share of them right now. I'm researching, I'm researching...

Okay. Apparently in Vipassana centres, Indians are the hardest to shut up ("yes, yes" they say, and then continue on their conversation ignoring their vows of silence as soon as the teacher has walked a few meters away) - I can't vouch for this myself but go by the words of the dude I just met who has done many retreats. I can , however, speak from experience about the Char Dam yatra I just undertook, in which the roads to sacred temples were coated in donkey shit and I was deafened by the shouts of sherpas jostling for space with donkeys and locals fighting their way to the top. In Varanasi at puja, tourists literally scrapped to be in line to receive prasad.

The Ganga. The most sacred body of water in India, believed to be able to heal any illness and help one escape the wheel of karma if they are lucky enough to have their ashes cast into it. This doesn't stop hundreds of people pissing and shitting into it, and even worse, throwing their rubbish and even empty beer bottles into it! (Recently I met some very drunk Australians who had been drinking illegal beer in Rishikesh. They had been with an Indian dude who got into a scuffle on the Lakshman Jhula bridge and to avoid drama they too threw their bottles of beer into the holy river! Oh well, when in India...)

Aesthetics. Indians have created many beautiful temples and value their gods and goddesses beyond belief, offering them sweet fruits, fresh flowers and incense every chance they get. The Taj Mahal was built as a monument to love. Indian fabrics are stunning, shawls often gorgeously woven in intricate patterns. And yet, locals just do not care where they put their garbage. They throw it to the street, in the Ganga, outside their temples, spit in the gutters and shit in the alleyways.

Cows. Worshipped as embodying 'sattva', the purity of love and light, they rule the school here in India. Rickshaws edge around them, tourist buses stop in the street for them and if one is to kick one of them they face jail time. Yet, they are chained up with ropes less than a metre long to family fences and forced to feed on discarded plastic in the streets so that it swells in their bellies and makes them sick.

Weddings - sacred and holy Sanskrit rituals, locals talk over the priests throughout, calling to relatives across the room or temple.

Sex - this is the land that spawned the Kama Sutra, and yet many couples will never see each other completely naked with sex being a five minute affair. Yes, I'm generalising and am highly cynical about this, having talked to many unhappy couples and too many women chained to the household.

Love - they are OBSESSED with it and seem to live in this dreamland of romance, whereas in reality they will meet their marriage partner only once or twice before they marry (if they're lucky) and only get to know them slowly over the years. A beautiful concept if their stars are aligned as they believe, but often not working so well in modern society with its Bollywood emphasis on 'love at first sight'.

Compassion - beggars and sadhus are fed every day for free at certain temples, while policemen bribe passers by and once bet up my Delhi rickshaw driver in front of my face.

I could go on. Basically, the only way I'm ever going to accept India is if I accept that I'll never understand its contradictions. In short, the people are quite happy with the paradoxes they live with. I'm not always, but I will do my best to accept them, because I can't reject India after all that it's given me.

I met a wonderfully refreshing American guy, Sean, back in Varanasi. He was hardcore - travelling around India on his motorbike, sleeping on the roadsides on top of his money belt and even drinking from the holy Ganga at Varanasi. He seemed to have a pretty good handle on things actually, and tried to explain it to me in that Hindus believe everything to be sacred - there is no in between. That the Ganga is believed to have the power to diffuse all pollution and darkness. That even rubbish is sacred, so there is no need to hide it like we do in our clean Western societies. That many people. living and surviving on the streets, live out their family dramas in the midst of everyone else. One person's business is anybody's in India, as I know all too well, with many curious males faces crowding around me whenever I try to secure a rickshaw or taxi ride. Some even help me bargain over the price, bless their nosy hearts!

Contradiction central. But I'll forgive it, for there is still many, many sacred spots to uncover in this land. I feel like I'm only getting started now, and although I may never do another multi-month stint here like I have done up till now, I will definitely come back to visit some specific sacred sites, like Almora, Kashmir, Gangotri once again (got to reach Gaumuhk this time!), and Vrindavan. So much still to discover! The possibilities are endless...

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India's loss of innocence

Caution: the following views of the author are not indicative of anything other than a general frustration at how India has changed for her, and are probably highly effected by the fact she travels alone and thus has to endure many stares from unenlightened (am I allowed to say that? cause I'm gonna...)Indian men. Anyway, here's my rant.

I used to love India. Somehow all the stuff that frustrates me so much now just went over the top of my head - I overlooked the rubbish. I LOVED the families on the trains! I entered into the same old conversations about my education, family and marital history willingly and practised my Hindi every chance I got. So what changed? Well, I'm getting closer to realising it, but it has to do with a loss of innocence.

I always saw India as such an innocent country, which is why I could laugh indulgently at the overexcited young men jumping out of their skins to talk to a white chick, or put up with middle aged men on the train looking out for me like over-protective fathers. But, with five years away from this country of contradictions, this innocence is slowly but surely disappearing.

As I walked to this internet cafe tonight, I saw yet another stupid slogan on a t-shirt hugging the figure of a suave young buck. What did it say? 'Girlfriends are like groceries - they come with expiry dates'. Along with 'God created women - his only mistake', these must seem so hilarious to the men wearing them, although the boy wearing the latter shirt, way back in Varanasi two months ago, had no idea what it meant. Sweet young Guru, a skinny long haired hippy-in-training and called Guru because he was the Guru of joints, just shrugged when I tried to explain how ridiculous it was.

Yeah, I'm aware I'm being over-precious about this. But after being requested to 'give me one fuck' by a particularly despicable young cretin a few weeks ago on the banks of the sacred Ganga (at 10 a.m one sunny morning!!) I'm appalled at how crass the young men have become. To my memory. India always deplored swearing and such language - others have asked in other ways for example, like 'Do you want to make relations with me?" I mean, that's almost even more ridiculous but at least it's a bit more polite!!! And it annoys me doubly because I know how little freedom women have here; how they are chained to the house most of the time and forced to wear whatever clothes her husband's family decides she should wear. So any little hint of misogynism such as these t-shirts and I'm on it like a fiery eyed feminist.

Then there's the so-called 'holy-towns'. I was offered drugs and/or alcohol every single night I was in the holy town of Pushkar, which also bans meat and eggs due to it being the sole place to house a Brahma temple. The young men there seem to think it the thing to do to drink, and I tell you what, they are terrible at it... after one Kingfisher they are loud and obnoxious, full of bromance with their arms wrapped around each other and subject to such behaviour as ripping their shirts off in public or whooping in excitement to the 'I'm a Barbie girl' song. I'd laugh, but it's just too annoying, particularly cause they think they are sure to score in their oh-so-attractive inebriated state.

Even Rishikesh sells beer and basically whatever else you want in Tapovan, a small village just out of Lakshman Jhula. And look, I'm not saying I'll never join in - I actually tried to drink a glass of whiskey and soda the other night because I'd met some reggae playing Australians that were loving my accent and the night was ripe for a party - but I don't think I'll ever develop a taste for whiskey, urrgghhh....

And meat. India was always mostly vegetarian but it seems even this is changing. There is more chicken on the menu now than ever before, and eggs, which were always banned in Rishikesh, are everywhere. Not that I'd eat eggs from Indian chickens, whose lives are equally as bad as battery hens from developed countries. Crammed into tiny cages, they have no room to move around and sit on top of each other until the moment they pop their pale yellow yolked eggs. Gross.

SO, can we call these Western influences? Possibly. I definitely think the internet has a lot to do with it - I heard somewhere that 50% of everything on the internet is some form of pornography! That's just madness, and I don't even want to think about what that's done to Indian mens' view of Western women. And I don't think I'll travel in this country alone again - certainly not for an extended period of time. Even in beautiful Bhag Su from where I write it is Indian tourist season and there are endless sets of eyes and seemingly innocent 'Namastes' which I just ignore now. I used to think this was rude, but now I don't care. Somehow my lifetime of being nice has changed in just a few months because in India it just gets you into situations you'd rather not be in. Sure, I still pose for the odd photograph with complete strangers, especially where there are cute kids involved, but I feel more than okay about saying NO and walking away as well. Damn it!

Okay, rant over. I actually have plenty of happy and wonderful experiences to write about next time, but such things are always better once expressed, don't you agree? It's dinner time, and as my stomach bug is slowly but surely passing I may even branch out tonight in search of a salad... hopefully these are not famous last words....

Himalaya - the fifth and final...

ON THE EIGHT DAY...

We awoke early as usual, none of us having got much sleep over the past few nights what with the wedding excitement and all. Oh well! On we were to go... I had decided to join the majority for the 14 km trek to Kedarnath as I'd heard that the Shiva lingam up there was simply exquisite. I was slightly worried about my ankle, which had continued to hurt in the night but I strapped it up as best I could and resigned myself to the fact that I could rent a horse if things got too dire...

The roads were packed and any last minute hopes of a helicopter ride to our destination instead were quashed as we realised they were well booked up for days in advance. Bummer - I would have been quite happy to pay 7000 rupees to fly there in style, as I was anticipating the track was to be like the one to Yamonotri - full of donkey shit and tooo many pilgrims.

Yeah, the roads... PACKED!! We ended up being stuck in traffic for 5 km before the actual beginning of the trek, so decided to just start anyway, strapping our overnight bags on and expertly dodging the lines of cars, tourist busses, jeeps and taxis which were all lined up for what seemed like kilometres ahead of us. Our cars caught up with us a few times but needless to say, we reached the beginning point of the track much later than originally planned.

So... I prepared myself. Got my scarf and wrapped it to cover as much of my face as possible to protect me not only from the sun but from the fumes of manure already rising in steaming piles from the dirty concrete. Gena led us through the market place, calling "Chalo Chalo chalo!!" and "Side side side!!" just like a true Indian, but as he was setting a charging pace we soon tailed off into smaller groups.

The first few kilometres would have been okay if one had not needed to breathe in. We were all retching from the absolutely disgusting stench of murky black piles of shit, mud and water - I swear, the worst smell of my life and ten times worse than the Yamonotri trek, although the track was slightly less crowded. I told myself I'd walk as much as possible before renting a horse, mostly because I disagreed with their ill treatment. I swore that when I got one (and getting one was inevitable as my ankle wasn't so flash), I'd Reiki it all the way to the top and speak soothingly to the beast, bloody hippy... well, it was either that or be carried by a man much smaller than me squashed into a ball on a basket on his back, or on a litter looking like a ridiculous queen, so I chose the four legged option. At least they were stronger...

Vlad fell into line with me and after 5 kms we decided that the track was just too smelly and shitty to continue on foot much longer, and eventually found two horses being led down by their master. I managed to swallow my guilt and let the poor thing carry me for about 5 kms, where we stopped for our staple paratha and to buy some "horse khanna" of Parle-G biscuits. Mmm, I love those biscuits, and so did the horses, their snouts fighting to gobble them up.

We got off with about 4 kms to go and although I felt better ethically, we immediately regretted letting go of our mules! What followed was a beautiful walk though, as we took a shortcut over a field in sight of snowy mountains, both of us feeling the altitude by this point. At one point when we stopped, we were approached by a bent and wizened old man who took a liking to Vlad's many earrings. I always thought my Hindi was pretty reasonable, but reasoned that this man must have been speaking some local dialect cause I understood almost nothing of what he said, Vlad even less! It was lovely though - taking photos of the two of them and showing the man his own image, who responded with the usual Indian head wobble.

Eventually we reached our destination, and were probably the last to arrive as almost everyone else had opted for horses on that day also - guess the tiredness was starting to show... After a quick check in to our hotel, it was off to the magnificent Kedarnath Shiva lingam, and WOW....

5000 years of stone work stood at this height of 3,581 metres above sea level (I'm trying to find out the height of the actual temple but can't seem to find it anywhere on google) and it was UNBELIEVABLY stunning. There was no chance of us getting inside for hours, with pilgrims queuing, clutching their bags of sweets and coconuts to break for puja, so we had to be content with just wandering around and around the massive structure. Devotional music blared from speakers somewhere, and I remember a completely ancient feeling.... this was such a sacred place... with the Himalayas showing off their snowy white peaks behind us and the air cool and crisp on our reddened cheeks. In the temple grounds themselves were hundreds of babas all of who had done the sacred pilgrimage and were begging for alms, or expensive blankets depending on who they came across. Some of them weren't so content with the ten and twenty rupees I doled out, which always pisses me off - I mean, talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth! I sat with some babas for a while before I quickly twigged that their intentions were probably not so pure, all offering me a toke on their chillums which I politely declined. Nandi sat curled up outside as usual, staring devotedly up at his master Shiva, and he was shiny with recent puja - butter oil, curd, ghee, sandalwood paste had all been rubbed into his stone coat making him a multi coloured bull. He was beautiful. Ash smeared Naga Babas tried to convince me to part with large sums of cash, or buy them some chapati, a wish I was much more likely to oblige than the former. After wandering in a holy daze for a while, and meditating with Irina outside who was even more spellbound, I realise I'd lost everyone and knowing my terrible sense of direction, quickened my pace to try to retrace my steps as the sun was setting in the mountainous sky. I found some of the boys in a menu-less dhaba, all of us wrapped up as much as possible with glassy eyes from the cold. After a quick warming masala chai (oh how I love these simple things...) I tried to get an early night in recuperation for the trek down the next day.

Ohhh, such wishful thinking my child... for the room that Vitaly and I were sharing was right next to the road, and various unenlightened pilgrims had obviously lost their friend Ashish and decided to knock on our door very loudly every hour and bellow his name from 1 a.m till about 4. It was either that or they were trying to get rid of some Hashish, although I think it was the former. I opened the door twice, first to a young beshawled girl and then to a skinny young man who simply gave a nod in apology and stepped backwards. Oh how I wish he'd understood what I said in English - being assertive certainly wasn't a problem for me at 4 in the morning as I hissed and spat at him from the half open door. No wonder he backed off as soon as possible.

When we were woken at about 6.30 again I let Vitaly do the honours this time, and a good thing because it was only one of our crew checking that he'd set his alarm. Unfortunately Vitaly didn't speak more than a few words of English, for if he did I would have known to get up and join them all on a trek to a beautiful crystal clear lake... such are the perils of being in a language minority where certain instructions are lost in translation, but I suppose my body needed the extra hours of sleep... I woke up anyway and did a solo trek to the temple, wondering if I could possibly get inside this time but no, the lines were even longer. I think the most popular time for puja was at 4 a.m and on my return, I met my darling Irina who had to leave early to catch her flight from Delhi the following day. She had tried and tried to get inside but to no avail, and her forehead was smeared in shiny red paste. I knew how important this temple had been to her so shared in her disappointment not to be able to get inside, even with the help of a kindly priest! It seems no-one took to line jumping though, and they had kicked up enough fuss that she had had to turn back. I was happy to get another chance to say goodbye, as she left early with Chandan in order to get her taxi, then a bus, then another bus, then a hotel in Rishikesh and then a taxi back to Delhi before a 4 a.m flight. What a journey! But what a way to finish a trip to this crazy and wonderful country.... I hope to meet her in Moscow one day...

My friends returned a few hours later and I tried to swallow my envy at what I'd missed out on - it was okay... the world was filled with beautiful places and I'm lucky enough to come from a country that is teeming with them. So that was that. We left quickly and all seemed to tear down that hill, sometimes one handedly to leave the other one free to cover our faces form the stench. Vlad and Gena and I stopped for a beautiful swim in the Mandakini river after taking lots of short cuts, me scrambling to keep up with my slightly impractical running shoes rather than boots. Next time, I'll make sure I have boots... next time...

It began to pour for the last kilometre. We were mostly separated by this point and I for one was charging, taking the weight on my thighs and hamstrings as I careered down the slopes doing my best not to trip in the shit - a worst nightmare! By the time we all had reached the bottom (funny how that 14 km distance only took a couple of hours at most?) it was bucketing down. How funny we must have looked with our long faces and multi coloured raincoats over the humps of our packs. Thank goodness Chandan and Mahesh thought to hail down a jeep for us, and amazingly enough we squeezed all twelve of (some had stayed behind in Okkimot, including the newly wedded couple) into the jeep, leaving just enough space for the driver and hoping our sweet smiles would placate any policemen. There was no room for awkwardness here, and I squeezed between the two Vitalys in the back side seat, resting my arms around both of their necks, our knees taking the weight of Sergei's pack. Luckily we reached our own cars soon enough which had been gridlocked in the pilgrims rush. As we drove I did a swift change of clothes in the back and it wasn't long before we were back in Okkimot. Actually, it probably was a few hours, but time is relative in India - after stopping for some (extremely oily) okra and rice I was content to be in a warm car with Bollywood music blaring as usual out of the crappy little speakers...

I checked into my ashram alone this time, only discovering later how absolutely filthy the room was. I did manage to get to their arti this time around though (the wedding had prevented Irina and I attending last time), a beautiful small affair of songs and prayers to their Calcutta based teacher who had set up ashrams and schools around India to provide free education and spiritual guidance to many. Beautiful... Back in the hotel cafe, one of our drivers was doubling as a waiter. They had organised amongst themselves some great menu options for us - fresh Russian salad, potato, and the same delicious rice pudding we had enjoyed two nights before at the wedding. A truly sweet gesture, and my stomach was happy by the time I crawled off to ignore the dirty state of my room... shudder...

THE TENTH DAY - ANOTHER LOOONG DRIVE BEFORE WE REACH THE MOUNTAIN PARADISE OF BADRINATH

I was used to rising early at this point and was even perky as I swallowed my chai and Parle-G. As Irina had left, I had the backseat of the small car to myself and my i-pod in my ears as I left Chandan and our driver Balveer to do the talking amongst themselves today. Not much of interest happened to be honest, except a pretty nice hilltop breakfast in which we pulled out plastic chairs and table to a flat grassy plain and sat eating our curd and paratha to the sound of birdsong and the occasional tourist bus honk - can't really get away from this unfortunately.... I was aware that within a few days this journey would come to an end so was quietly trying to enjoy everyone's presence as much as possible... and tried to create mental pictures of Lena's yellow shirt and shoes (very cool shoes...), Kolya's love of tea drinking, Gari and Zuhara's quietly newly wed bliss...

We drove on.... and unfortunately, the small car I was in started to pack in. We ended up leaving it with driver Balveer in a small town to be fixed overnight as I squeezed into the backseat of another air-con mobile, not really designed for three in a row! But anyway, we did what needed to be done, and besides a lunch stop at a terrible restaurant that didn't know good service from bad, and told us certain items were off the menu half an hour after we'd ordered them, we simply drove most of the day, or waited for the mountain roads to open. Some of the passes were pretty treacherous so I was happy to wait rather than to be punted off the sides of those massive cliffs...

We got to Badrinath when it was already dark and the power still out in the ashram (much cleaner this time thankfully!), and I did a quick solo mission to the famous Vishnu temple (again, queues of 2 kilometres making it impossible to get inside) and tried unsuccessfully to source some sunglasses to replace my broken Rayban ripoffs. And then simply slept...

Morning came, the crisp mountain air keeping us fresh. We drove to the Chinese border and after buying chocolate at the 'last Indian tea stall', set off on a beautiful mountain path. The others all managed to reach the waterfall but I was sluggish and not quite warm enough, and struggling with the altitude again so instead had a beautiful solo walk, finding various rocks to meditate on and watching donkeys scrabble through the snow. Again, I was realising that it's about the journey, not the destination and I was happy with my limits on this final morning after a massive ten days of Himalayan beauty.

The chai and chocolate were good back at the 'last post' tea stand, and we enjoyed our last stop for a while, none of us looking forward to the long drive back to Rishikesh that day - a massive journey! But, most of the group had flights to catch from Delhi in a couple of days so our options were limited... it was road or bust, I'm afraid...

Another day in the car.... I was thankful for my i-pod and actually enjoyed the journey for the most part, especially as the sun went down and I could hang out the window and let the breeze wash my face. My small car broke down AGAIN only a few kilometres from Rishikesh, and most of the nearest car were asleep as I crawled in for the last leg, leaving Chandan and Balveer to do the walking / towing / mechanic calling.

And then, at 11.30 pm, after a massive day of driving, we were back at Ishan hotel, where it had all begun... along with my exhaustion I felt a strange sense of loss, as everyone made for the nearest bed... my Himalayan holiday had come to an end, and as usual my heart was still firmly with this group I'd been living with for the past eleven days....

Two days later, Mahesh organised a beautiful last meeting for us, with a deliciously iced cake reading 'Happy Himalayas Tour 2011'. A gorgeous gesture, and as everyone stood and spoke one by one around the table, I soon gave up asking for translations as by the amount of times the words 'Spicybar' (Russian for thank you) was repeated I could get a strong sense of what was being said. Beautiful people, beautiful moments... I have tried to capture them in words, but they will live on in my heart for a long long time... I can't rememebr what I said at that table, but i knew it didn't do justice to what I really felt... never mind...

Dima, Lena and I were the only ones to stay on in Rishikesh for a few days, so we waved the others off as they made for Delhi at around 4 pm the following day. Vitaly (one of them) simply put his hand on my heart and drew mine to his, and I knew I was able to be understood. A sweet, sweet man, that one. Sergei tried it on one last time to much laughter, Gari and Zuhara had their last glasses of mosambi juice, and I'm SURE Gena and Vlad had plastic bags full of mangoes stuffed into their car for the road too. We stood for our final group photos, with various Indian tourists jumping in at the sides and trying to shake our hands. I blew kisses to the cars, and then, they were gone...

I'm finishing this blog almost a week after the fact but still with the same sense of loss. I'll always be grateful to Mahesh in particular for inviting me along at the last minute at a time where I'd been feeling particularly lonely and out of sorts with travelling. I had no idea that being with a group of non-English speaking Russians / Ukrainians was exactly what my soul needed at the time, but now I'm all the wiser... Having finally left the heat of Rishikesh, I'm ready for the next adventure in some equally beautiful Himachal Pradesh mountains, but I must say that if I ever get an opportunity like this again, I'll dive straight in... although next time with better shoes. And maybe less paratha. xxxxxxx
Posted by Sharona79 at 5:43 AM

Himalaya the fourth

DAY SEVEN - ONTO OKKIMOT FOR A RUSSIAN / INDIAN WEDDING!

As planned, we rose at 6... or at least some of us did. But I must say that most of the hold-up today was caused by the usual time it took to load the bags onto the roof racks, wait for our chai to arrive and eat cold chapatis - we'd breakfast properly a couple of hours down the track.

We drove... and drove... and drove.... today was the longest drive yet, as we were on a mission to reach Okkimot by 6 pm so the wedding celebrations could begin. Zuhara and Gari had decided to tie the knot Indian style and our organisers Mahesh and Chandan were bending over backwards trying to make it the best day possible for them. I shared a car with Chandan, and I don't think he spent more than a few minutes off his phone that day, in between organising wedding food in advance and checking the beauty parlour booking. Unfortunately for him and the rest of us, Indian roads aren't the most predictable things to navigate and time correctly...

Breakfast was supposed to be a rushed affair, but somehow when there were 16 of us things always took longer than expected! My paratha was particularly good that morning I remember, and accompanied by others mango and banana offerings. Back in the car, it was HOT HOT HOT and Irina and I squirmed at the lack of air-con unlike the other cars, but I suppose that was a perk they had pre-paid for and we, joining at the last minute, didn't have much choice or right to complain. Nothing of interest happened until we stopped for lunch at around 2 in 'Srinagar', not the capital of Kashmir obviously but a town with the same name. We had begun to split up into smaller groups to ease the burden on the restaurateurs, and I ate with Ksenia, Dima #2 (two Dimas, two Vitalys) and Julia in a quiet, clean family restaurant in which they were pleased to have their best meal in the north of India yet. Used to clean, fresh, unspicy food these three were struggling a bit, but here with boiled eggs, plain white bread, white rice, fresh salad and paneer, they were in lunch heaven.

Then we drove... and drove.. and drove again... stopping to pick up vegetables for the evening's feast, the back of our car quickly becoming heavy with cucumbers and tomatoes as well as fresh flowers. Irina and I stopped to buy some pretty bangles and rose water, having heard the rumour that all women would be in full sari and excited, being quite feminine creatures and keen to dress up later on...

We FINALLY reached our Okkimot hotel and checked in, Irina and I sharing what turned out to be a shockingly dirty ashram room across the road as prices were too high for us in the hotel of the others. Here we showered with hot buckets ('real' showers a complete luxury in these parts...) and awaited more instructions of the evening. As we had arrived two hours late, things were a bit ad-hoc and there was no time to find saris for all of us (except the blushing bride of course, who looked amazing in a rusty orange shimmering number and full bridal makeup). The groom, Gari was waiting smilingly in his glittering raiment of wedding attire - seemingly unphased by all the excitement. As soon as Irina and I had crossed the road pretty much, we were all taken downstairs again to dance with the wedding band as the horse showed up to walk Gari a few hundred metres down the road in wedding procession. A few of us were coerced into dancing with the band, and I wrapped my shawl protectively around myself, aware of the local eyes boring into these strange white faces. But they were friendly, and loving it! It wasn't every day after all that they were able to witness an Indian marriage between two foreigners! Most of them I knew just thought all the Hindu rites were normal for us - not having left their village, they assumed that everyone would either be Muslim, Hindu or Christian and it wouldn't have occured to them that this was not normal wedding procedure for us...

As the temple was further away than just a few hundred metres, Gari soon got off the horse and we were all bundled into our cars to reach the sacred temple. Instructed not to take photos of the lingam itself, we didn't need to be convinced - this night was about Zuhara and Gari, who were both glowing and beautiful, and shimmering in all their Indian glitter.

I've been to a few Indian weddings before, but never one as beautiful as this - this was the first one I'd been to in a proper temple as well. Conducted all in Sanskrit besides each participant being asked for their name, it wouldn't have made a difference to Zuhara who knew but a few words of English and was just beaming and glowing. I gave up trying to capture their beauty in photographs, especially due to the low light, and contented myself with just watching the ceremony. They garlanded each other with flowers (we had all been garlanded earlier also...), threw rice, touched sandalwood paste to their foreheads and walked traditionally around the sacred fire seven times. This moment made me laugh inside as it was so typically Indian! Such a beautiful moment you'd want to savour, you'd think? But the priest was like " walk faster.. faster..." and the couple were somewhat herded around and around the small fire that had been lit a few minutes earlier by a man that shimmied down to the hollow below and got thrown a lighter from someone in order to do the honours. As usual, locals were talking loudly, not so much oblivious to the sacredness of the moment but rather accepting that in India everything is sacred and thinking that talking loudly wouldn't take anything away from the experience...

When it was all over we ventured outside to dance around the happy couple once more, who were stealing a few kisses here and there - all closed mouth, as it was a temple after all!! Everyone around us was so happy and supportive, and I soon forgot my frustration with being elbowed earlier. After half an hour or dancing and waving money above the heads of the musicians for good luck, we went back to our hotel and were served an incredible feast which had been cooked by our drivers over the past two hours. We were honoured - piles of beautiful pulao, palak paneer, a beautiful potato curry for the Russians... and a delicious rice pudding. We were all happy for the couple, who had been taken to their honeymoon suite all adorned in multicoloured streamers, but also exhausted and aware that tomorrow we were to embark on a 14 km trek up to Kedarnath and its sacred Shiva temple. My ankle was hurting and I wasn't sure if I could hack the pace to be honest, but I did my best to put all thoughts aside and enjoy the moment.

Back in the dirty ashram cell, I curled up on my bed covered in my own shawls, trying not to think about potential bedbugs and managed to get a few hours sleep before my dawn decision of whether or not to walk...

Himalaya Part 3...

DAY SIX - GANGOTRI, HARSIL AND MANERI

After two days of hiking it was nice to wake up a little later this morning and potter around a bit. Today turned out to be one of my favourites of the entire trip because of the variety of things of our day. First, we visited the beautiful Gangotri temple together - some of us had already ventured there the previous night for Arti (sunrise/sunset fire and prayer ceremony), but it was nice to go all together as a group. For me anyway - even though I mostly travel alone, I'm such a community person and I just love it when everyone is together!

Today was all about WATER for me - the falls at Gangotri were unbelievably powerful, and this temple on the shore of the rushing water was music to my ears. The stones felt good under barefeet as I tiptoed down to release some flowers into the crystal Ganga. When we walked over a small footbridge and moved closer to the source of the roaring water, I was stuck for ten minutes meditating with the spray touching my face every so often. It was beautiful. And what I've said about being able to communicate without words stands true once more, as when I was meditating silently, Sergei climbed up beside me and just sat there peacefully before kissing me on the cheek and leaving. Beautiful, plain and simple. I felt like words were no longer necessary - everyone was moved by the same power of nature, and didn't need to speak. I didn't even WANT to speak actually - what use are words when one has been humbled by such majesty?

After driving a few hours (with me feeling the effect of those waterfalls and needing to stop to pee every half hour!) we came to a magical village by the name of Harsil, a Tibetan township where locals sold their wooden toys and woven blankets, and lived in quaint little huts surrounded by Himalayan majesty. We all fell in love with the place, especially the temple there... completely unassuming, I would have missed it if Gena had not opened the heavy door and said "Come inside" in his halting English. We walked around the stupa and stepped inside the prayer room with its ancient smell of old paper and musty faith... none of us spoke and we all knew to ban the flash on our cameras, once we realised it was okay to take photos at all. Without a doubt, it was the most beautiful Buddhist temple I've ever set foot inside - very quiet, beyond peaceful, and humble. I left the temple and silently sat with some friends, each of us in our own silence. I could feel my own heart beating and got a sense that we were made of the same stuff here, know what I mean? And when I left I couldn't walk slowly enough, not wanting to leave this ancient peace behind...

But things must move on, and I soon quickened my pace to catch the others, knowing I'd never forget it and that even though photographs wouldn't even begin to capture it, at least they'd be a trigger point for my memories of that time. We ate lunch in a dhaba whose owners had been having a sleepy day up until the moment that the 16 of us walked in demanding food! Sometimes I winced at the authority in our voices when placing an order, and the frustration when it didn't appear within ten minutes. Our guides did their best to help them, with one of our drivers zipping around the tables taking orders himself and checking in on the kitchen staff as much as he could... pretty awesome really, considering how far away it was from his job description!

The remainder of the day was spent in the car until we reached our hotel in a beautiful river side place called Maneri at around 6 p.m - early! It was a beautiful hotel actually, and there was excitement in the air because tomorrow two of our party were to be wed Indian style, and all women were to get their hands hennaed to high heaven in time for the celebrations. I ate a slow dinner (like, one plate of rice cooked at a time kind of slow!) with Gena, Vlad and Dima and we explored the menu to pass the time. At one stage we erupted into fits of laughter at the 'Snakes' menu and joked about ordering "2 cobras on the side', Indians not being known for their attention to typos in menus.

Our food took ages but in hindsight it was nice to sit and enjoy the company of these men before heading off to be the first girl to get hennaed - I don't know why they missed out the bride to be, but there you have it! I must admit she wasn't the most efficient henna-stylist, as it took 40 minutes to do 3/4 sides of my two hands, with her husband regularly bursting into our room (half-dressed Irina wasn't too impressed...) and our guide Chandan zipping around with his usual frantic energy stealing my scissors and trying to keep everybody happy... my henna was finished by 10.30 but there was still 7 other women to go! Somehow they found another woman to help out on the chain line, but instead of getting an early night I revelled in skipping from room to room and comparing my henna with others. Ksenia took things into her own hands and did one of her arms herself - a fine artist actually! And she even gave Chandan a temporary 'Cheburushska' tattoo - this had been an in-joke for quite a few days now.. Cheburushka is a 70's/80's Soviet cartoon bear ( I think - a bear is the closest animal to describe him anyway...) who they all loved as children, and in mine and Chandan's enthusiasm to learn some Russian words, we somehow learned 'Cheburushska' first, as well as 'Ura!' (a cry of glory which we used often whilst trekking)... I suppose it would be like a non-English speaker learning the name of Winnie the Pooh or something - anyway, it was a funny moment and Chandan still has a photo of his glistening Cheburushska waiting to dry...

Even though I'd already eaten, I went downstairs to join some others for a late night Russian salad (tomato, cucumber and onion, although I hate raw onions so the others always ate mine for me) and Vitaly revelled in feeding me salad as my hands were still drying and I was unable to feed myself. It was beautiful and I felt like a princess - I must say that Russian men are rather good at making one feel like a princess - as he gently wrapped tomato and cucumber inside strips of chapati, added salt, pepper and paprika and fed it to me in little bites.

All up it was 1 am before we got to bed - even the thought of a 6 am wake up call not deterring me from enjoying this night with my friends. An AMAZING day from start to finish... my heart bursting once more. I slept little but was ready in the morning to go ONWARDS once more.

Journey to the HImalayas part two

DAY THREE - A LONG CAR RIDE TO GANGOTRI

Irina and I had barely slept again the previous night, and probably weren't the nicest people to be around that morning. Personally, I struggle with sharing rooms with people I don't know too well, and had spent the past two nights lying awake in a strange bed waiting for sleep to come and claim me. I hoped that the Himalayan air we would breathe that night would help, as we were to get closer and closer to the mountains as the days went on.

We left at around 6 a.m as we had a pretty long drive ahead of us. From memory I think we drove / slept for the first couple of hours before finding a dhaba we deemed worthy of breakfast - limited up here to either aloo paratha or Maggi masala noodles. Luckily I grew to love paratha and curry on this trip, and we would seek out fruit stores to ply our diets with the fibre from mangoes and bananas, just for a bit of added variety...

After another few LONG hours of driving we came to Uttarkashi, home of a sacred Shiva temple marking the place where his trident fell to earth. A priest tried to explain to us how locals had tried to dig into the earth around it but were never able to get to the source of the trident - some say it goes kilometres deep into the earth. It was a beautiful temple, and although the concrete was baking hot I walked barefoot twice around the outskirts, getting my forehead plastered with sandalwood paste as I did so.

I was gradually realising that not knowing a language didn't really have to be a drawback and began to notice one of the young men in the group giving me a lot of attention and doing all he could to practise his English, in phrases such as ... "one kiss?" or "do you love me?". He was seriously funny, and for once I didn't mind the attention - I usually hate stuff like this because it feels so false, but one look at his earnest face just made me erupt into fits of laughter. Sergei, I won't forget you, and if I ever learn Ukranian, you'll be the first one I write to!

It was late in the evening before we reached our destination, winding slowly through beautiful valleys and craggy mountain-scaped roads as we did so. The scenery was stunning, and the sharp cut of the mountain air made me realise how ill-equipped I was for the next day's 14 km trek to Buveshwar. Luckily, the stores were prepared for those like me, and I bargained over a cheap fleece, a pair of woollen socks and borrowed a jacket and hat from our guide Chandan. I was sorted!

DAY FOUR - THE BEAUTIFUL 14 TREK UP THE MOUNTAIN

Not being much of a mountaineer, I woke earlier than necessary and mentally prepared myself for the day ahead. I ate delicious banana porridge accompanied by piping hot ginger tea, and joined the others at their hotel upstairs (being a late addition, I had to do all my own hotel bookings). I tell you what though, it must be bloody hard to organise a group of 16 people... although we planned to meet every morning at around 6 / 6.30, we always set off at least half an hour later.

Natalia and I led the pack up the hill, pacing it slowly and stopping every few minutes to try to capture the beautiful mountain scenery with our digital cameras. Impossible really, but it didn't stop us trying... The first few kilometres were cool and beautiful in the fresh early morning air and I was feeling pretty good after 5 kms. Once we stopped to cross a bridge (Gena and Vlad waiting there to help everyone over - Soviet men are such gentlemen) and eat some fruit and nuts, I was pretty positive really. The next 4 kms until our lunch stop though, were more challenging.

I walked alone mostly, although the road was safe and stable and other groups were in sight. As I got closer to a beautiful waterfall and saw men in various states of undress in the freezing cold water, I knew I'd arrived at our lunch spot... there was no mistaking our group! Apart from Sergei almost killing himself with a rock-balancing yoga pose gone wrong, we were all pretty good. Chandan pulled a leaking plastic bag of cold subji (vegetable curry) out of Vlad's pack and we found a suitable tree trunk to use as a table. Lunch consisted of subji and rice spooned onto these chapatis and rolled up and eaten burrito style. Delicious. But food always tastes better when you've earned it, right??

Then, the last 5 kms almost did me in... I didn't realise how much the altitude was affecting me ( I just checked online, and our destination for the night was 3792 metres above sea level)... in retrospect, I should have taken it much slower than I did but our group was full of yogis who were setting a pretty mean pace. There was a point when we came to a small foot bridge, easy at any other time of the day, but I just froze and could only get over it, embarrassingly, with Chandan and Gena on either side of me. It crossed my mind that perhaps I had drowned in a past life or something, as this irrational fear of bridges wasn't usually something that affected me, but then again the mighty Himalayas and being at such great heights bring things out of us. I was emotional by this point but didn't want to admit it to myself, instead struggling on, stopping when I absolutely needed to to try to steady my breathing which was becoming tight, and trying my asthma inhaler to no avail.

Until, when we were crossing one of the most dangerous parts of the pass, with rock slides liable to happen to any given moment, my system just decided to pack it in, and my semi-rational mind spied a rock to collapse on as the pressure in my chest and head manifested in great heaving sobs. I'm not sure that many of my crew knew quite what to do with me until Gena reached my spot. The leader and organiser of the tour from Kiev, I don't know what I would have done without him today as he used his limited English to tell me to "breath up.. down.. up.. down" and poured preciously cool water down my back and over my face. He made me sit with my head between my knees and checked the whites of my eyes, and while others were urging me to find a safer spot a few hundred metres down the track away from potential rockslides, he insisted I stay put and kept an eye on the mountain himself. I will try not to overdramatise this - I know many people have altitude attacks and he just did what any decent human being with a bit of knowledge of mountaineering would do - but it did mean a lot to me and still does, particularly because he kept checking on me at half hour intervals, even after we'd reached our destination (whoops of joy from all around at that point!). And as I sat on a plastic chair, trying to take in my white-grey surroundings of snow and sludge and nurse the pain in my head at the same time, he knelt again and asked me the same question again: "How are you?". This time, I wasn't going to pretend I was okay - I knew that all the emotions I had experienced over the day had now eventuated in sheer exhaustion and a kind of post-crying headache. I also knew it was time for a hot cup of masala chai, a blanket and some conversation with my wonderful Russian friends who I somehow felt much closer to atop of this mountain.

Ksenia got one of chefs to boil some potatoes for us in their skins, which we ate Russian style, peeling the skins off carefully and adding salt, pepper and paprika to taste. Someone - Kolya, I think - brought out a block of delicious Russian chocolate - mmmm - and we all tried his disgusting mouth curdling herbal tea. Vlad and Gena had their usual plastic bag full of mangoes to share and Kolya (again - a man who values his specialty food!) had some amazingly sweet honey comb from Russia. Everyone around me always made sure to offer their food to me first - a generosity that kept me warm in that freezing restaurant. My heart was expanding by the day, and surely filled with so much more oxygen than before! Today really marked a change for me on this trip - a reaching of something deeper... a connection of the hearts... but I had little time to ponder over this as my body desperately needed sleep, so I crawled into my bed in the makeshift dorm room of a tent, dubious about whether it would be warm enough. Sleeping in a hat and all my clothes though with two heavy blankets over me, I was amazed at how much warmth it would hold, and drifted off eventually to the even sound of Soviet breathing around me...

DAY FIVE - GOIN' DOWN...

Most of our group had awoken that morning at 6 to walk to Goumurk, which is a sacred sacred place - the source of Mother Ganga. I would have loved to have joined them to be honest, but thought better of it due to yesterday's performance, so slept in and cherished the extra hours in a now warm bed before waking to warm tomato soup and more potatoes (about all they had up at that makeshift Himalayan cafe...)

Everyone arrived back within a couple of hours and after eating we prepared for a leisurely walk down the mountain. I was feeling fresh and swear I bounded down that hill, no longer too exhausted to appreciate her beauty and even finding time to stop for a chat with John, an English guy we'd met with his feet in a bucket of hot water the previous night after he'd got back from the gruelling Tapovan trek. He was perched upon a rock above a waterfall finishing his copy of 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' and we chatted for about half an hour with the most beautiful soundtrack in the world in our ears. I ended up reaching Gangotri again at around 5 pm, glad to take my shoes off and let my blisters breathe and order Shahi paneer and what turned out to be the worst lassi in the world! Just yoghurt in a bit of water basically! Doh - never mind...