Introspective Journey

January 21, 2005

Greetings from New York

Yes, you read the title correctly - I am writing this posting from my parent's house in Brooklyn, New York. I surprised my parents by arriving at their home on the 20th of January, exactly 365 days after I left to begin my travels.

As many of you know, I began circulating my resume back in November as I felt I had really accomplished all of the goals I head set for myself over the course of this journey while I was in India. I was feeling a little aimless and bored about further travel and began to get an itch to get back to real life.

Well, after a few conversations and explorations of the internet, I found a brilliant opportunity to do business plan development for one of the national forests in northern California. This is like a dream job for me as it will allow me to explore the idea of living in California (something I have wanted to do since graduating from college); enable me to gain some knowledge and experience working in the environmental/ecological preservation sector - I new found passion of mine after spending so much time contemplating nature this past year; and come complete with housing in the forest - a beautiful and serene setting to transition from my life as a traveler to that of business consultant.

Over the course of December, I sent in my resume and supporting materials and underwent two telephone interviews. In early January I received an e-mail offering me the position.

Of course I accepted, and then began making my plans to get home to NY to exchange my backpack for a brief case, in order to arrive in Redding, California on January 31st for orientation.

The end of my travels, start of a new job, returning home - it is all quite exciting and a bit scary.

I opted to keep notes from the last few weeks of travel in a notebook as internet was expensive and inconvenient (besides, knowing I was coming home soon made me less than enthusiastic about spending extended time in front of a computer). I have a few entries that I still plan to write (on love, children and long bus rides), and will be happy to share with you so stay tuned.

In the meantime, know I have greatly appreciated your generous readership and encouragement.

Love and light,
Jyll

Posted by Jyllt at 09:03 PM | Comments (0)

December 30, 2004

TSUNAMI

Dearest friends and loved ones,
Thank you all for the many concerened e-mails - it lets me know how much I am loved!!!

As you may have guessed, I am fine as I am miles away on landlocked Laos. I as in Khao Lak just over a month ago, and from what I hear that was the area that was hardest hit. I am certain the lovely bungalow I stayed at just meters away from the beach is no longer. I hope the many people that took care of us there are safe -- but unfortunately there is no way for me to determine that.

A dear friend of mine used to live in Phuket and only recently returned back to the US a few months ago. Below I have attached an e-mail that was sent to him from one of his friends who is still in Phuket. It is mind-blowing!!!

Let's all continue to think thoughts of health and safety for those directly impacted by this incredible act of nature.

All the best for 2005,
Jyll

TSUNAMI!!!!Obviously since I have finally managed to get on line, we are OK. Our house and shop are okay and we are even somewhat busy with customers. However NEVER have I seen such destruction and total disaster!!! I don?t know where to begin? I guess I?ll start at the beginning?

It began as a beautiful sunny Sunday ? Boxing Day. We were at the caf? and my yoga students and I had just convened upstairs for our Sunday session. Just as we were laying down our mats (about 10am), my friend Q got a call from her boyfriend who had been on near-by Nai Hahn beach. She was obviously shocked and in disbelief about what she was hearing him say. She said "Get out of there!" But his keys ? everything had been swept away. So she left immediately and the rest of us continued with yoga, unaware of the severity of this "freak wave". Soon the air was filled with sirens, screams, and fumes of burning boat engines. I tried to stay focused on yoga but it was difficult amidst so much commotion. Mid-way through yoga, our chef Noo came upstairs and said "Excuse me, police say everyone must go. Big wave." OK. How serious is this? I?m thinking.

The staff looked scared and eager to get out of there ? our shop and house are only a few hundred feet from the sea. However we are on a somewhat protected bay where many boats are or where anchored, so the power of the waves diminished a bit before hitting our shore. Still there was much damage. Mark was out running errands and heard there were big waves coming. Being a surfer, he had to go check the surf! He drove down a small lane heading towards the sea only to find a mob of people running toward him screaming "GO! GO! GO!" Behind them was a black wave rushing quickly towards them. Mark spun around on his motorbike and escaped. He saw the third wave come in at Rawai beach and got out just in time as well.

He arrived back at the shop and we quickly drove home to check on our dogs. Thankfully the water had not reached our house, thanks to the big lighthouse and drainage ditch directly in front! Some of our neighbors were joining the evacuation, packing their TV?s and rice cookers into their trucks. We had no way of getting our dogs to higher ground so we stayed and watched the water. The biggest waves had already hit, but we saw a few others batter the shore. The current was tremendous! Boats had been thrown up onto the road, cracking the cement wall of the lighthouse.

The damage on our side of the island was minimal compared to the side open to the Indian Ocean. We are somewhat protected being on a bay. We still have running water, electricity and even customers! That?s the good thing ? people still need to eat. Even though the majority of the tourists are leaving, most of our customers are residents. One Dutch customer emailed and said he?s coming to Phuket soon and is still interested in franchising a Bagels & Beyond! So it seems like not everyone has given up on Phuket.

We have a lot to be grateful for. Other people are not so lucky. There was absolutely no warning of the tsunami traveling 400mph towards us. The biggest tragedy is that the U.S. was the first to register the quake and send out warnings. The on-line Thai newspapaer "The Nation" just let out the info that the pathetic government officials in Bangkok received the warning, sat and discussed what to do for a long time and decided to do NOTHING. Not even warn Phuket. WHY? Because IF there was NO tidal wave and the hotels being100% full, then they would have big "BROKEN FACE". Hmm, lets see... worse case scenario: if we warn people and nothing happens then we have broken face. OR we DON'T warn people and the tsunami DOES hit and thousands die. I think better not to speak and save face. OH MY GOD!!!!! Sadly this doesn't surprise me. We witness this kind of cultural paralisys every day here. In fact on the day of the tsunami we saw a fire quickly burning out of control, nearing homes. We told the police (in Thai language) who stand at the traffic circle... what did they do? They stood there and laughed and studdered like Beevis and Butthead, "Tsu... na...mi." OH MY GOD! So we went to the police station where we found some semi-interested police who maybe did something about the fire. We later went back to the site of the fire and it had been put out just before it got to some big trees.

We drove up to the highest point on the island where many others gathered. Then we drove up the coast and were in absolute shock at what we saw. It looks like a war zone. Trucks, buses, boats crumpled like tin cans and thrown up on top of buildings like toys. Other buildings and houses that were on the beach are completely GONE. Nothing left but mud and rubbish. Many bodies buried under the rubble. I just found out today that a very nice woman we knew was walking her dogs on Ya Nui beach when it hit. They found her body 800 feet into the valley the next day.

Thankfully, none of our other friend's lost their lives (as far as we know), but many friends lost their livelyhood. A yoga student?s shop in Patong is totally destroyed. Our friend?s dive shop in Kata Noi is gutted. Our friend who sells BBQ chicken out of her little tin shack near our house had her shack completely gutted. Thankfully she and her twin daughters are ok. Our friend Shy who owns Ao Sane bungalows at Ao Sane beach lost his home and restaurant ? completely gone. Three beat up trucks strewn about the beach like crumpled tin cans, his pet Sea Eagle crying in its cruel cage. Our friend Troy who owns the submarine business here didn't loose the sub, but 50% of his pre-booked customers have canceled. Our friend Chris who drives the sub was just closing the hatch with tourists inside when the wave hit! Their boat almost toppled on top of the sub, but he somehow got everyone out of the sub and onto the boat, safely to shore!

The hotel that sits right on Kata Noi beach has every single first floor window smashed into lethal shards. Beds inside the room turned up on their sides. Patong - the biggest tourist trap on the island - was the worse we saw. Total devastation. As we approached a shopping mall, we saw some people pull out a dead body. A man ran into the crowd to identify the body of someone he loved. He and a woman collapsed with their heads in their hands and cried. That was the heaviest moment for me to witness.

The dive resort area of Khao Lak got hit the hardest in Thailand. It was there that the Thai King?s grandson lost his life as he was diving. All the hotels were only a few feet from the water ? there is nothing left of them now.

It struck at a very bad time ? peak season, but it could have been a lot worse if it had struck the day before ? on Christmas when hundreds of families were on the beach ? or worse yet if it struck an hour later ? many more people would have been on the beaches. Yet still those people were sleeping in their rooms, clueless to the massive wall of black water heading their way. It was black. Divers were diving and got tossed around like leaves, unable to see anything. Some rose safely to the surface, others are still missing. A little 5 year old Thai boy was found the next day clinging to a floating tree 6 miles off the coast of Koh PeePee. When asked what happened, he said, "I don?t know, all I saw was white people dying all around me." Many children are missing parents, many parents missing their children.

Of course some people are looting and some hotels in the safe zones are charging triple, so are taxi drivers going to the airport. On the positive side, there are free flights leaving Thailand and many people are volunteering to help in any way they can.

Now we sit back at our caf? and listen to peoples? stories. We talked with a Marin/San Diego couple who have been sailing around the world for 5 years. They were heading out of Chalong bay (where we live) when the tsunami rolled in. They made a wise decision and did a 180 - turned around and SURFED the wave back into the bay! They and their boat were undamaged.

One Florida native just sailed his boat in and wants to live here, so again, some hope for the future of Phuket. Our staff on the other hand is hinting that if they go home for their pre-scheduled New Year holiday, their families will forbid them to return to Phuket. I guess we will deal with this one step at a time. I?m sure there are many people who need jobs now, so if they don?t come back, I hope we can find new staff. They?re sure another tsunami is coming. The fishermen here don't even know about what a tsunami is or does.

It?s a serious wake up call for education and an installation of a tsunami warning system. It?s also the beautiful humbling power of nature at work. Thailand has barbarically and ignorantly destroyed and paved so much beautiful nature in the last year it?s tragic. Well, now we can all see the incredible power of Mother Nature cleansing herself !

Thank you for all of your emails and support and concern. It means a great deal to me. I?ll keep you posted on the unfolding events as often as I can.

Lots of Love,
kk

Posted by Jyllt at 03:40 AM | Comments (0)

December 18, 2004

Hoi Ann - A Beautiful Love Affair

Since departing from India in late October, I have been trying to determine the purpose of my travel for the second leg of this journey. Bored with the thought of simply being a tourist participating in the guidebook prescribed activities throughout South East Asia, I assume the deeper work I am meant to do involves bringing the mindfulness I have cultivated while in semi-isolation in India, into a more regular life routine.

Up until now there has not been much to write about. Thailand was clean and easy as compared to India, providing for one week of fun and leisure at the beach in Khao Lak and another week or so of massages, cooking classes and shopping in Bangkok. A long and torturous bus ride from Bangkok to Siem Reap, Cambodia brought me to the splendors of Angkor Watt. The buildings were impressive, once you fought passed the crowds to see the intricacy of the carving work. Even more remarkable was the way in which nature, for once, was not stopped by man's handiwork, growing thick and strong, up, over and through the immense buildings, shadowing the stone sculptures with the splendor of tree roots taking back their home. The people of Cambodia also filled my heart with warm memories, always offering much physical affection and joyous smiles.

After a few weeks in Siem Reap and Phnom Penh I headed overland to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam. Restaurants playing tunes by the Beatles and the Beach Boys and museum exhibitions revealing the crimes against humanity that were committed during the Vietnam War, Saigon seemed to present an easy blend of warm nostalgia and historical documentation of the horrors of the days when "Charlie" had a heavy presence there. I departed Saigon a few days after I arrived, headed to the beaches of Mui Ne. Not much to speak of there other than the company of a charming young man from Canada and a skinny dip in the ocean after everyone else had retired to sleep for the evening. Dalat, a hill station a few hours north of Saigon, was memorable mostly for its cold weather and the brilliant nuns at the Truc Lam Thien Vien Pagoda where I was invited to practice meditation, eat and receive Buhhdist teachings.

Convinced that Vietnam was going to be somewhat of a disappointment, I began making plans to hustle through the next few towns and make my way to Laos. Then I arrived in Hoi Ann.

Lazy lanes and maze like alleyways guided me through this picturesque town of yellow-washed building and dark wood carved doors and windows. Each street has a charm all its own, filled with art galleries, cafe's and boutiques. The people lack the aggressive edge I have noticed in other parts of southern Vietnam, still hawking their goods and services but with an air of indifference to whether you buy or not.

It is amazing that no matter how many times I have seen the local women walk or cycle by with their traditional cone hats shading their skin from the sun, it is still a mesmerizing sight. Riding my bike out to the beach each afternoon, just a few kilometers away, was a welcomed way to watch the days fade into evening.

Hoi Ann is perhaps my favorite town from this entire trip, possibly of all the cities and towns I have ever visited. They ooze of romance, charm and down to earth elegance. I leave tomorrow for a 12-hour bus journey to Laos, and for the first time I am sad to be departing, feeling I did not get enough of Hoi Ann. Or perhaps it was that charming boy from the beach of Mui Ne that I did not get enough of.

We crossed paths again in Dalat, spending a fun afternoon hiking and riding a motorbike through the green hills. Every minute of time with him has been pure joy, although rushed as we both have had tight travel agendas, trying to adhere to our previous plans with our respective travel mates to see as much of Vietnam as possible with the one month visa we have been provided with.

Catching up again in Hoi Ann seemed to bring a slower pace, and an ability to appreciate the quality rather than the quantity of time we were spending together. For over 48 hours we were essentially inseparable, walking hand in hand, sharing stories and bowls of sorbet, constantly gazing into each other's eyes, and stealing kisses whenever privacy permitted such affection.

Like the cycle of life, this romantic interlude too must come to an end. Ryan departed early this afternoon en route to northern Vietnam and I leave tomorrow for Laos. As I spent my final afternoon in Hoi Ann by my lonesome, I was sad to see the sun set, and my last day here come to a close. Wishing I could freeze this moment, this place, this romance, just as it was, yet knowing that is impossible, I am off to pack my bag and continue on.

Posted by Jyllt at 11:43 AM | Comments (0)

June 28, 2004

Wonderland of Kashmir

I always thought Kashmiri people were unobjectively boastful when describing their homeland as "heaven on earth", that is until I arrived here on the 1st of June.

The city of Srinagar centers itself around Dal Lake, a romantic world of decadent beauty that only seems possible within ones imagination. The lake is full of charming houseboats, small islands, floating vegetable gardens, wild birds, and lotus flower fields -- all bordered by beautiful yellow water lilies. These calm waters are connected by shady canals and traveled by row boat that are driven by men and women, young and old all pressing the water behind them with a single heart shaped paddle. Despite the many warnings I have heard about Kashmir and the violence ensuing between India and Pakistan over the political future of this paradise, I feel nothing but calm, serene and at peace inside the snow covered peaks and lush green mountains that seemingly protect the valley where the lake is situated.

I traveled here with Rahil, a brilliant young Kashmiri man who has an old soul, wise mind, and responsible and generous heart. We met in Bagsu, where Rahil is owner of a precious and semi-precious stone shop. Enchanted by the healing and energetic properties of the unique stones and their delicate settings, I decided to purchase a few to support me on my journey. I wear the ring and malas daily, and feel naked without them as they have quickly become a part of my inner and outer identity, as if they have adorned my body from birth.

Even after the purchase transaction for my jewelry was complete, I found myself frequenting Rahil's shop for cups of chai and long conversations about everything and nothing. Through these visits I came to realize that Rahilís friendship is even more precious and rare than the stones that he sells as he is one of the few men who are capable of cultivating a true friendship with a woman with no ulterior motives.

During one afternoon of chai, Rahil announced that his sister had just gotten engaged to be married. As the only son and main financial provider for his family, even at the young age of 29, he was excitedly obligated by tradition to travel home for the engagement party. Wanting to escape the monsoon of weather and emotions in Bagsu, I happily accepted his invitation to come along.

By the afternoon following our day of departure, I was sitting in the kitchen of Rahil's family home sipping tea and listening to the loud, warm and enthusiastic Kashmiri chatter of a family happily reunited. It did not require much time in the company of the Guroo family for the sources of Rahil's many great qualities to become evident. Ghulam, Rahil's father, a retired and formerly successful travel and tour operator, is a very quiet yet extremely confident man (much like the personality of my own father), who allows the vibrancy of his wife and daughters to color the energy of the household. Rahil's mother Hasina and two sisters Mahbooba and Rifat are all bold, bright and beautiful spirits who have clearly contributed to Rahil's profound understanding and respect for women.

Most activities center around the kitchen were food is always being cleaned, cooked or eaten. It seems a pot of Kashmiri tea -- characterized by green tea leaves and the saffron, cardamom, cinnamon and almonds that this part of India is famous for -- is also always in brew in expectation of the unannounced but always welcomed guests that are continually stopping by. Since tea is never consumed here without bread or biscuits, baskets full of diverse baked goods are also always being offered.

There house is a sweet two floor A-frame that is not quite finished but completely charming all the same. It is situated on a small island just along a canal that serves as a main artery of travel. All day and well into the evening colorful shikaras -- long colorful water taxis with bright, covered, cushioned and curtained sitting areas -- pass by leaving romantic Kashmiri love songs lingering as they move into the distance. It seems like everyone who lives here has done so for generations as the boat traffic is always accompanied by greetings and gossip being hollered from water to land and land to water.

I spend lots of time in my room, the only completed one on the second floor of the house, perched by the window where I observe the going-ons of the community. From this vantage point I have seen small children bounce out of their boats and into the lake as they play with one another. I have watched Hasina carefully select vegetables for the dayís meals from the veggie walla (seller). I have witnessed the shikara driver known to all as "old man" quietly slip from his boat to a quite and westward facing part of the lawn, to bow in evening prayer. I have observed Ghulam meticulously and lovingly attending to the flower garden that borders the front yard. Mostly I see shikara's filled with Indian tourists lazily passing the time of their holiday en route to nowhere in particular or Kashmiri men and boys parking their boats in the yet to blossom field of lotus plants just across from the house, where they sit and leisurely pass the day fishing.

I have noticed that I am not the only one who likes to perch in the windows of the second floor bedroom. On more than one occasion I have been visited by local birds that are less afraid of me than I am of them. My favorite visitors are a couple of nightingales who like to fly in my room to take a rest on my curtain rod. Other fluttering and soaring friends I have had the pleasure of watching include eagles, water hens, woodpeckers, and my favorite, the turquoise feathered kingfisher.

It is more than just the exotic and friendly birds of Kashmir that come right to the house for visits. There seems to be a mobile shop for every need one could imagine that always floats up to the house just when you need them to. From the shore of the island one can purchase bread, milk, fruit, vegetables, clothes, fabrics, plastic containers, ice-cream, flowers, saffron, carpets, jewelry, live chickens, and barbecued mutton. My favorite sales boat is the one I call the "bodega (a Span-glish term used in New York City to refer to the corner store) boat" offering everything from toilet paper and cigarettes to soda and choco-pies.

The values that govern the Guroo family as well as most people's lives here in Kashmir are conservative and defined by their Islamic religion. The women of the home pray five times a day, everyone visits the mosque on Friday for prayer, no one in the house consumes any liquor, and the woman ensure that their heads are always covered, especially when the calls from the mosques are heard announcing that it is prayer time. While dramatically different from my own belief system, I have found a great respect for their devoted commitment to their traditional ways.

The only practice they have that leaves me a bit uncomfortable is their constant annihilation of flies and mosquitoes. My Buddhist vows of not killing and serving all life forms in our common desire to exist in peace and happiness has left me with a greater appreciation for the life of insects and routinely saddened by their execution (for the record, even I am surprised that I have become an advocate for the humane treatment of bugs). Recognizing that these values are not part of the Guroo family moral code, I offer respect by biting my tongue and shoeing the flies towards an exit in hope that they will escape an encounter with the swatter. I am happily rewarded when I observe that the familyís lack of compassion for bugs is made up for by their regular consideration of the fish and birds around their island. Rifat often saves her mutton bones in order to feed the crows, and any leftover rice from someone's plate is routinely dropped in the water at the joyous pleasure of the fish.

The serentiy and lack of schedule I maintain here is a nice change for me and as such I expect to stay for a while.

Posted by Jyllt at 07:52 AM | Comments (1)

June 08, 2004

The Monsoon Has Arrived

One minute everything is bright, clear, beautiful and warm. And then, with almost no warning the peaceful hill station of Bagsu (a quiet village just 10 km north of Dharamsala, where I took up residence for three weeks) is engulfed in strong gusts of wind, thick gray clouds, lightning, thunder, dampness, and cold. If I am lucky I have the time to seek shelter or put on proper clothes and gear before the sky opens, pelting the earth forcefully with a torrential downpour of rain and gumball sized hailstones. Often I am caught unprepared and forced to endure the storm unprotected, leaving me cold and wet to the bone.

The approach of the monsoon is an exciting change from the monotony of bright sunshine and crystal clear blue skies that I see everyday here. At the same time the rapid, forceful and unpredictable approach of these storms also leave me feeling vulnerable, unsettled and scared.

* * * * *

These words describe the weather in Bagsu as well as my emotional and physical state since arrival here on May 6th. During my stay, I have engaged in a multitude of activities to purify my body and open my energy channels including daily private kundalini yoga instructions from an authentic Swami and yoga master; yogic cleanings of my internal body cavities; an ayurvedic diet course; and repeated massages and reflexology treatments. As a result of all of these processes my body and emotions are both releasing toxins. My face has been breaking out. My body has experienced extreme fatigue and lethargy as well as gasteral and respiratory sicknesses. I have lost my voice repeatedly, have been on the verge of tears at the slightest confrontation. My patient and stable mind finds itself being replaced by my short temper of old.

For the first time during this trip I have longed for the comforts of home. I find myself wishing for the familiar embrace of my last lover, wanting to hear the overprotective concern for my well being expressed by my parents, needing to hear the reassuring voice of friends, and questioning my physical and emotional resolve to endure this trip to its end. My experience of myself at this moment is one of being in a skin that is not my own. I question whether I have what it takes to live the life of honesty, virtue, clarity and transparency that I have committed myself to. At the same time, I have come too far to simply return to my old persona and way of life.

The hardest part of feeling this way while traveling alone, is that I have no one and no where to turn for comfort and understanding. While I have made many beautiful and kind friends along the way, none of these individuals know the distance or road I have traveled, nor do they have the capacity to understand it as they are all on their own journey and must focus on navigating their own course. While phone calls and e-mails from home brighten my day, these words are like postcards from a distant land, beautiful and interesting but not quite the same as being there in person.

For the first time in my life I have lost the desire to be trooper, always bearing my own burden with no need for the attention, affection and assistance of others. At this point in my life I simply long to be loved unconditionally. Unfortunately the sources of love that I generally count on, my friends and family, are simply not here. Thus, I am naked, alone, and exposed and it seems no one near by is concerned about my vulnerability except me.

My state of being, combined with the many physical temptations and temporary escapes from reality offered here in Bagsu, have weakened my will to resist a diverted path from the one I am on. I have been tempted by the beautiful smile of a charming man, offers of hash, and overly sweet foods, and shamefully admit indulging these desires -- anything to make me feel good, even if just for a fleeting moment or two. While these short periods of pleasure were a welcomed escape from my reality, the resulting experiences were ones of regret and disappointment and certainty that I was moving further from the direction in which I really want and need to go.

* * * * *

When I sit quietly and just observe the irrational movement of the storm and witness how fresh, calm and nourished the earth is after the clouds have moved beyond the valley, I am learning to love the monsoons and accept them as an important contribution towards the course of nature. However, these insightful moments are few and far between as, once again, my habitual inclination is to do something, go somewhere, or seek protection in order to avoid the discomfort and unfamiliarity of my circumstances and surroundings. But slowly, slowly, the wisdom and peace of acceptance emerges. I look forward to seeing the resulting lush that blossom in the months to come.

Posted by Jyllt at 12:03 PM | Comments (6)

May 05, 2004

On Top of the World

When I departed for Nepal on March 4th, I had no grand expectations other than to climb a few mountains and visit a monastery. It is hard to believe that two months have passed that were filled with wonderful memories that have changed my life.

It all started on line at the airport when I was standing behind a British couple, Sheila and Clive, who had just arrived in India en route to Nepal, the first stop on their one year adventure throughout South East Asia. They were bustling with enthusiasm about things to experience and places to go. I was drawn to their optimism, curiosity, and honesty.

Who would have thought that some eleven days later, the three of us would be boarding another plane together ñ this one destined for the town of Jomson (2173m), nestled near the top of the sacred Mountain of Dhaulagiri. For 11 days we trekked through the Himalayan mountain range known as Anapurna, visited the auspicious pilgrimage site of Muktinath, walked through the Gandaki Gorge (the deepest in the world), dipped in the hot springs at Tatopani, watched the sun rise over the mountains at Poon Hill, and slept night after night in the blue shadows of massive mountains surrounded by endless skies of stars and moon. Every day we were met by a different terrain and climate -- one day dry arid plains in between snow covered peaks, the next terraced hillsides of wheat filled fields, followed by oak and rhododendron forests as well as apple and orange groves, all interspersed with suspension bridges crossing fierce rivers and waterfalls and cozy little tea houses where we made our temporary homes.

While these destinations were all spectacular the best parts of this adventure were the moments in between: sharing a plate of this and a portion of that with Sheila at almost every meal, our visit to the steam bath after ascending and descending more than 1,000m in two short days, alternating use of the valuable knee braces Clive brought along, receiving puja from one of the many Saduís who passed in route to Muktinath, meditating in a different monastery every day when traveling through territories that were once a part of Tibet, washing one another as we basked in the sun at the hot springs, inspiring each other with our triumphs over doubt and fear, laughing and crying about my adventure with a horse, doing yoga together in the grass at Ghorepani, racing down the mountain in order to get back to civilization before the Maoist rebels closed all the roads, sharing medical remedies and treatments all along the way. . .

One beautiful sunny day I was walking ahead of She and Clive, they often dallied about an hour behind me as they preferred to stop for cultural exchanges with the local children and merchants. Having some extra time, I opted to stop in a tea house to use a proper toilet rather than relieving myself in nature. For the record, the term ìproper toiletî is a relative term here meaning a small room with a hole in the floor and a bucket of water for washing (instead of toilet paper). This ìsquat toiletî is pretty much the norm throughout India, Nepal and Tibet and after several months of using them I have actually found myself quite fond of them (the ones that are clean) and, so I thought, adept to using them like an old pro (not so easy as there is a definite knack for balance and aim required). As I entered the toilet room I put my bag down and clipped my sunglasses to the front of my shirt. Next I set myself up with firm footing as I planned to be there for a while if you know what I mean. After completing my business I straightened my legs to wash up, leaving me in the forward bend position. Before I knew it my glasses had slipped from the collar of my shirt and fell into the hole. I tried to think fast as I had fear of them falling into the abyss of excrement, a place of no return. Lucky for me, my own pile of excrement served as a lovely obstruction to that path, holding my glasses right in the middle of the toilet basin. I stood there for a few minutes considering my options -- I knew I had several more days of trekking in the sun before reaching the land of opticians and eyeglass shops; the fact that the frames were Gucci and the lenses prescription made them far to valuable to just let go; and there were no tools around to fish the glasses out of the toilet -- thus I was left with one option. Acting like the true rough and tumble mountaineer that I was posing as for that two week period, I rolled up my sleeve, bent down, reached in, fished out, rinsed them off, rubbed some Purel (hand sanitizer) on them, slapped them back on my face, and went on my way ñ end of story!!!

Another morning I arrived in a picturesque town with cobblestone paths and traditionally carved decorative windows and doorways, known as Marpha. Eager for my daily meditation in the local monastery, I went straight to its gate and asked the monks (young boys that were between the ages of 8 and 13) if they could open the temple. Not long after they unlocked the door a few other tourists had arrived to see this historic institution (this monastery as well as many others in the region date back to the 7th century). As they walked around looking at the many paintings of Buddha on the wall, I sat down and prepared to meditate. As always, a few minutes passed, the other tourists departed, and I was left alone to absorb the energy of the thousands of other people seeking enlightenment who had sat here before me.

I was not alone for long as some of the young monks had noticed me meditating and were curious to observe me further. First they stood off to the side, watching and whispering. Slowly they came closer and closer, until they were literally sitting right next to me. The monk who was sitting directly to my right (he was so close that his knee was touching mine) pointed out to his friends the way in which my stomach would rise and fall every time I took a breath. Next he waved his hand across my lap to see if I was awake or asleep (of course I could see all of this because I meditate with my eyes slightly open as is the customary Buddhist practice ñ ensuring you are truly present). He even lightly poked my knee a few times to see if he could disturb me. I did not flinch. The calm and auspicious vibe of this historic monastery combined the childlike nature of these monks had me very present and very much at peace. I continued to meditate for a few more minutes and then I slowly opened my eyes to observe my observers. They were still sitting around me watching with there eyes opened wide. We sat and looked at one another for a few seconds and then the boy to my right asked, ìAre you a monk?î

Nothing could have made me happier than to be asked such a question by a monk himself. We sat together for a while, talking, laughing and taking pictures. Soon enough, I was saying good-bye and heading on my way. While I left them I have kept the image of their smiling and curious faces imbedded in my mind and heart.

After 12 days of walking and some serious knee pain, Clive, Sheila, Kabi and Devraj (our porter and guide) descended the mountains to the lovely and lazy lakeside town of Pokhara. Here I spent a few days simply reading, relaxing and eating. Actually there was one little Italian cafÈ we found that served delicious, authentic and organic food, that became my home away from the hotel while in Pokhara. I would arrive there at seven in the morning (often before they were even ready to receive customers) sit in their open air restaurant sipping tea and eating everything on their menu including eggs, pastries, fruit and curd, mixed green salads, pasta, pizza, ice-cream and cake. In between snacks and meals I would read, and read, and read. The only times I left were to buy another book, take a shower or sleep ñ what a decadent treat to do nothing.

Upon completion of the trek and visit to Pokhara I returned to Khatmandu and prepared for my trip to Tibet. This eight day, overland exploration of the land of snow was one of the most magical experiences of my life. I spent five days traveling in a caravan of Landrovers with 8 strangers (including my guide and the two drivers) from Khatmandu, over the Nepal/Tibetan border to the capital city of Lhasa. We visited important historical monasteries that are now just token reflections of the impressive institutions of spiritual learning they were before the Chinese occupation. We drove through numerous traditional Tibetan villages all adorned in prayer flags where people maintain a simple and hard life among the arid plains that distinctly characterize their country. We experienced the harsh extremes of weather so common to these parts including night temperatures that dropped far below freezing, snow, rain, hail, wind and blistering sunshine that leaves the cheeks of so many Tibetans stained a deep red. Our cars voyaged through many mountain passes, some exceeding 5,000m, marked by stupas and flapping prayer flags. As we got closer and closer to Lhasa we saw the effects of ìmodernizationî that the Chinese have brought to these peaceful and traditional people in the forms of ugly new commercial buildings, industry and a very public military presence.

Over the course of our journey I heard several courageous stories of people who made the treacherous journey across the Tibetan border in search of freedom, security and hope that they were not afforded in their homeland. Once such story was that of our guide Tashi. At the age of 13 his mother was killed by the Chinese authorities with his father passing away soon after that. Thus, at the age of 16 he headed out for the Solo Kumbu pass to Nepal. After 15 days of walking through the snow and over the very steep mountain range that includes Everest he arrived in Nepal and then made his way to Dharamsala, India. He had no intentions of returning to Tibet as long as his country was still occupied by the Chinese. That is until his brother (who was still in Tibet) informed him that he was receiving threats from the Chinese that would continue or manifest unless he could convince Tashi to return -- which he did just six years after he fled. He spoke of Dharamsala with fond memories and a tear in his eye. He expressed hopes to return some day with his wife.

Another girl I met during this road trip told me of her treacherous journey to India at the young age of 9. Leaving behind her entire family, she also walked through snow and cold of the Solo Kumbu Valley en route to Dharamsala. Now 19 years of age, she has returned to Tibet to take care of her sick mother (she is an only child). She too hopes to return to Dharamsala to continue her studies. She plans to depart sometime this fall, perhaps bringing some other young children in order to offer them a better life.

When I asked Tashi what was the worst aspect of the Chinese occupation of Tibet he replied, "They are destroying the Tibetan culture," specifically pointing to the demise of their language and religion. The decimation of their culture is glaringly evident when one visits monasteries and nunneries that serve as institutions of learning to less then º of their capacity due to strict quotas enforced by the Chinese authorities. The debilitating affects of these laws on the ability of the spirited Tibetan people to sustain the religious traditions that are so integral to their way of life was most present for me at the Tashilumpo Monastery in Shigatse. This Monastery is the seat of the Panchen Lama, the second most important religious figure in Tibetan Buddhism (second only to the Dalai Lama), and hence one of the most important institutions in the country.

Back in 1995 the eleventh reincarnation of the Panchen Lama was identified by the monks of Tashilumpo and approved by the Dalai Lama (as is customary) in a six year old boy named Gedhum Choekyi Nyima. The Chinese government was unwilling to allow the Dalai Lama to exercise authority over the naming of such an important figure, and thus have kept this young boy and his family under house arrest in Beijing ever since, making him the youngest political prisoner in the world. A photo of another young boy has been placed in the Monastery, a boy that the Chinese government hand selected to serve as the Panchen Lama. The monks and pilgrims who visit are expected to honor him as their spiritual leader, although most do not accept him as the true reincarnation. Due to the strict regulations that govern the speech and behavior of Tibetan people, there is no public protest, just a deep, unspoken sadness for all those who visit.

This sadness greeted me at the gates of Tashilumpo ñ I felt a lump in my throat as soon as I entered these sacred grounds that I could not explain. Upon entering the temple of the future Buddha, with his enormous golden form towering over me in the small confines of the room, I was overcome with tears, for the many lives and much hope lost over the Panchen Lama situation, including that of both boys.

Despite the systematic practices to suppress the Tibetan way of life, the spirit of these people is strong and its power is in force, especially around the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa. Starting in the early morning and continuing way beyond the fall of the sun, devout Buddhist stand in front of the temple entrance doing full prostrations for hours on end. Simultaneously others circle the temple again and again spinning their prayer wheels, grasping their prayer beads and chanting ìOm Mani Padme Humî. These acts are done with the intention of cultivating virtuous merits that will allow their next life to be better than this one.

The people surrounding the temple range in age and wealth as well as cultural sects of Tibetan culture (distinguished by the different ways in which they are adorned with clothes and beads). Despite these differences they all have a common warmth and joyous spirit that is unrivaled by any group of people I have ever met. My choice to wear a traditional Tibetan dress when walking among these people afforded me a special bond, especially with the older women. All would smile while other would take my hand and press it to their red cheeks. Often these beautiful women would shy away from the cameras of tourists, but they were so pleased by my choice to publicly honor their culture that they would gather around to join in a picture with me. None of these women spoke English and I spoke no Tibetan other than greeting them with ìTashi Delekî. But no words were necessary to express our mutual love, respect and gratitude for the other. Each of these exchanges (and there were many) made my smile bigger and made me feel at home, once again, in a distant land.

After 5 days of travle and 2 days in Lhasa, I boarded a plane destined for Khatmandu. On this day, the sky was clear with only a few fluffy clouds to be seen, perfect conditions for our flyby Mt. Everest. The snow covered pointed peak was an awesome sight. Everest and the surrounding Mountains were so still, so strong, so unshakeable -- a reflection of the spirit of the Tibetan people, or them a reflection of these mountain. I am sad that I was only able to spend eight days in Tibet, especially since the remnants of their culture will likely fade quickly under their present circumstances. I feel fortunate to have seen and experienced what I did.

During my various stops in Khatmandu I had the pleasure of staying with Leila (mother), Pasi (10 year old son) and Soraya (4 year old daughter) ñ friend of friends who quickly became like family. It was particularly appropriate that I was adopted by this family as they are the only African and white interracial family I have come across here, and of course I looked and felt right at home.

On my second day in Khatmandu, the people of Nepal were celebrating Holi, a festival of color to honor the end of winter. During Holi people walk the streets throwing balloons filled with colored water at one another, children and adults alike. On the Saturday of Holi, Ramesh, the family driver, showed up with all the supplies for a successful Holi including balloons, a water-machinegun, a bucket, and red powder to color the water. He filled the bucket with red water and placed it in the hatchback of the car as I filled the balloons. Next the whole family piled in to his friends taxi armed with a handful of water balloons. We pursued to drive all over the city doing drive-by hits on everyone we could while Ramesh would shoot red water at folks, refilling his gun from the bucket in the back. This was especially fun as we were told and had experienced that westerners were favorite targets on Holi. From the safe confines of the car we were able to turn those tables on the people of Nepal ñ ha ha!!

I so enjoyed the time I spent with the family and participating in the routines of their daily life. I was particularly amused by the 4 year old daughter Soraya as she reminds me so much of myself at that age ñ addicted to drama, a fiend for affection, and driven by a vivid imagination that is often difficult to distinguish from reality. Interacting with and observing the interactions between Leila, Soraya and Pasi have reminded me of how much I want to have children and a family of my own someday.

Outside of the generous comforts of the family home, there was a lot to see and experience in Khatmandu. Among my favorites was visiting the Bodinath stupa, one of the largest in the world and thus an important pilgrimage site for Buddhists. I was also fortunate to be here when the Jazzmandu Festival was going on and I got to hear many awesome jazz bands perform. I also spent 10 days at the Kopan Monastery studying and practicing Buddhism and meditation (which I wrote about in my last posting). How appropriate that my last day in Nepal, the birthplace of Shakyamuni Buddha, was also his birthday. In honor of this important event I visited the Swayambu Temple with many other Buddhist and Hindu pilgrims (these two religions have a unique overlapping relationship here in Nepal that was hard for me to understand but seems to flow so effortlessly and natural for everyone else).

While my visit to Nepal has been characterized by so many wonderful experiences, it is important to note that a civil war between the King, the various political parties and the Maoist rebels has been going on the entire time. On many days the entire regions would be closed to car traffic, sometimes for multiple days in a row. Towards the end of my trip the violence in Khatmandu was escalating resulting in almost daily brick throwing and multiple arrests. The sad thing is, it is almost like the people and government have accepted these interruptions as a regular part of their lives. They often speak of the devastating affects of the political instability on their economy, security and quality of life. I was asked by more than one Nepali man to marry him so that he could come to the US and earn a decent living to support his family (always offering half of their earning for the first three years in return for this favor).

While Nepal has brought me endless joy (ok, maybe not endless as it also gave me a lovely parasite that had me down and out on three occasions), I am saddened by the political situation. I feel powerless to return the happiness they have given me other than to share with others the wonders of this land.

Today is Wednesday May 5th and I am departing by plane for Delhi. Upon arrival there this afternoon I will board a train to Dharamsala, where the Tibetan government in exile resides. While you await my next posting know I among Tibetan people and thus I am happy.

Posted by Jyllt at 06:04 AM | Comments (2)

April 29, 2004

Do I stay or do I go

I have been lying here in the bed of my hotel room since 3am unable to sleep. Of course I have spent a portion of these waking hours thinking of the things I need to do like buying my ticket back to India, sending a package to NYC, calling Verizon to ask them to extend the temporary suspension of my cell phone for another 3 months, etc. However my mind and heart keep reminding me of Kruno's advice of "going deep."

While I have really enjoyed the last 6 weeks, as they have been filled with so many magical experiences, I cannot help but notice that the calm, clarity and serenity I gathered while in Omkareshwar are slipping away from me as I have returned to the world of do, do, do, go, go, go and planning my next move.

To an extent I must engage in thoughts of planning as my flight to Bangkok is scheduled for next month and thus I must decide if I am going to adhere to that date of departure or change it. Actually, that is the easy part as I am certain I want to extend my stay in India. The challenge is determining when to reschedule for. There are so many factors to consider including the upcoming monsoon season that is scheduled to hit both India and the SE Asian region I am planning to visit next, tentative plans I have made to meet friends at future destinations, a deep desire to see the south of India in the fall, a strong sense of responsibility to be back in NYC by November to cast my vote against the future of the Bush administration, a faint feeling that for once I should consider my responsibility to nurture myself through this voyage above my civic duty as a citizen. . .

This last issue is particularly present as I travel through Tibet. I can not help but feel an urgency to do everything in my power to ensure that the USA is governed by an administration with a commitment to building a just and humane world for ALL of it's citizens, one that will pursue such a vision through bold leadership and policies, both domestic and international, that reflect the democratic values that we stand for with the utmost of integrity. At the same time I am reminded of the passage in the end of the Dalai Lamas autobiography “Freedom in Exile” where he expresses that the best way for ordinary citizens of the west to assist with the Tibetan cause is to learn what they can and share their knowledge broadly. As I walk among the Tibetan people, with their rich Buddhist culture of selfless compassion for all sentient beings that is being forcibly dissolved against their will and at the hands of a political system ruled by a drive for power, I am deeply torn.

At this very moment I feel the unique opportunity I have to travel, learn, observe, record, and share my insights about my global brothers and sisters is in many ways a more precious contribution than one vote. This is the choice that allows my mind and heart to rest.

Thus, I am going to extend my trip, go deeper within the cultures around me and within myself, and hopefully cultivate some awareness that encourage those who read my postings to stop, reflect, question and tune into their own internal wisdom.

Posted by Jyllt at 03:40 PM | Comments (4)

March 10, 2004

MIA

It has been a while since I wrote but not due to a lack of wonderful experiences.

After leaving Pune I headed to Mumbai (formerly Bombay) for a few days. I didn't know anyone there but you never would have known that based on the generous hospitality of friends of friends. I was put up in the homes of the Mitra family and the Ramakrishana's; fed way too much good food by everyone including Puchu Ghose; had engaging conversations with Payal, Simmrin and her family, as well as my other host;, and was taken around to see and experience the flavor of Mumbai with my super host Ram Ramakrishana. It was all a treat and climaxed on my final day when Ram and I left his home at the crack of dawn to go the Gateway of India to participate in Mumbai's famed laughing club (a group of people who gather every morning to laugh as a form of yoga therapy -- what a blast!!). After laughing to the point where our faces hurt as the sun began peeking through the glorious archway of this famed port, we headed south to the fishing docks to watch the colorful "fishing women" fill their baskets with choice fish that were caught the night before. These are just some of the many wonderful experiences I had in Mumbai, all of which were vibrant with color, sounds, smells, life and generous hospitality.

I spent three full days in Mumbai, and then boarded my first sleeper train heading north. After entertaining everyone, most notably my fellow traveler Tam, with the high-tech lock and chain security system for my bags, I settled in for the ride. Some 14 hours, one train and two buses later we arrived in Omkareshwar just as the sun was starting to shed light on the day. After getting some fresh poha (a slightly sweet breakfast of puffed rice, dalia or cilantro, chilies and a few other spices) and chai tea we crossed the gateway to the island where we would stay. Almost like magic, as we stepped foot on the bridge we were greeted by everyone with a warm "Hare Om" and small bow of their head as they held there hands in a prayer position. After a relatively long walk (especially with my big pack on my back) we arrived at the Ma Anandamayee Ashram.

It is hard to put in words my experiences at the Ma Anandamayee Ashram in Omkareshwar. The small island of Omkareshwar is essentially a big rock in the middle of one of India's seven main rivers, the Namada, reputed to cleanse people of their sins if they just look at it. This place is charming and beautiful marked by nature in its simple and raw form. It is also an important pilgrimage site as it has one of the 12 natural Shiva lingas. There are no phones or cars, just the traffic of its few residents and the many pilgrims who visit to walk around this auspicious island (which only takes two hours).

The Ashram is equally as simple and poignantly beautiful as the island. Set in the side of a cliff overlooking the river, the whitewashed cement facilities climb a steep set of stairs, shaded by gently cascading flowers and jasmine bushes that lead from the river to the main path that encircles the island.

I opted to stay in the "kotia", a set of three single rooms set slightly off to the side of the main building that are generally reserved for people who want to engage in a serious yoga/mediation practice. While the setting of my room allowed for extra quite and privacy, it also required a slightly more rustic lifestyle as there was no electricity or toilets in the immediate vicinity. The circumstances of my locale forced me to quickly learn the art of making a fire and cooking over the open flame as it was quite a hike to get to the nearest place for food.

My travel mate Tam encouraged me to request some time to meet with Baba Shri Swami Kedarnath Ji, who is the guru that further facilitates the teachings of May Anandamayee (who has passed). I made a request to meet with him which was granted on my third day.

Meeting with Baba was a very special experience. Just being in his company facilitated a sense of calm and serenity as I was immediately engulfed in his thoughtful, generous, compassionate, and wise energy even before any words were spoken. He offered me instruction in all aspects of my spiritual practices, and answered many questions that emerged over my two week stay at the Ashram. I know I am incredibly fortunate to have had his undivided attention and guidance, and am certain his words will continue to source new and valuable insights as I go deeper into my introspective journey.

It only took a day or so for me to slip into a routine of waking at 6:30am to the chorus of birds announcing the arrival of a new day. I would then sit just outside my room, with a cup of tea (compliments of my dear kotia mate Tam who would wake at 5:30 or 6 to build a fire and boil water), and watch as the sun illuminated the river and land around me. At 7ish I would return to my room to engage in my asana (yoga postures), pranyama (breathing), and meditation practices.

I would be done around 9:15 and pursue to build a fire and cook some porridge for Tam and I. By 10:30 it was starting to get hot and I was usually sticky and stinky from the smoky fire, so I would head down to the river to bathe and wash my clothes. Bathing in the river was one of my favorite parts of the day as the water was cool and refreshing and the bank was often an ideal site for viewing island activity (including the passing of boats filled with pilgrims, a parade of cows, water buffalo or donkeys, and the emersion of other men and women in the holy waters of the Namada). As such, my baths often took an hour or so which seemed to be appreciated by the locals as they found my bathing routine quite entertaining, especially when I would rub my feet vigorously with my purple synthetic pumice stone and my hot pink nail brush. What can I say, a girls feet can get pretty rough and dirty in a place like this.

By the time I hung my clothes to dry and returned to my room, I would be summonsed to the main kitchen for lunch by the chiming of a bell (after a few meetings with Baba it was determined that I was serious about my practice and thus allowed to take lunch and/or dinner with the permanent residents and visiting devotees). Lunch was always a treat as it offered a simple yet tasty array of foods usually including some rice, dhal (lentils), vegetables and chapatti (round bread). We would all gather on mats on the floor and eat with our hands off of metal plates or banana leaves. Essentially the meals were taken in silence except for the constant offer of more food, which literally occurred every 2-3 minutes.

Lunch was usually over by 1, at which point it was to hot to do much of anything other than read, sleep, and write in the shad of my room. Before long the sun and temparature would start their descent and it would be time to get ready for satsung and arte.

Satsung was a forum for all devotees and visitors to the ashram to gather and ask Baba any questions they might have. This hour dialogue would be followed by arte, when everyone would join in the temple dedicated to May Anandamayee to sing beautiful hymns to honor and give thanks to May for her divine guidance and protection. Arte was another one of my favorite parts of the day as the passionate harmony of bells, drums and voices created a rhythm that soothed and lifted my soul.

By the time arte was over I was ready to retire to my bed. After washing and brushing my teeth at the main building I would strap on my headlamp to ensure I did not step on any snakes on my way back to my room. Yes, a friend convinced me to get a headlamp rather than a handheld flashlight due to the practicality of having my hands free. While he was absolutely right about the convenience of being able to see and use my hands at the same time, he did not inform me about the level of amusement I would once again be providing for the locals. Before long a little joke was being circulated about me being truly enlightened as light was actually coming out of my third eye.

I truly enjoyed the simplicity of my daily routine as it allowed for plenty of self nurturing and reflection. Equally as much, I enjoyed the breaks from routine or the special moments that made each day unique. There were so many, each a distinct memory, including: opening my eyes from meditation to see a VERY LARGE snake slither by just 10 feet away; walking the "Parikrama" or path of pilgrims at the early hours of the morning and interacting with more monkeys than people along the way; watching the sun set from so many different points on the island; visiting with the children who attended the ashram school (the only school on the island) and having the opportunity to tell them about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and teach them the electric slide; participating in the preparations for and celebration of Shivrati (the birthday of Shiva, an incredibly important day on the holy calendar with special significance in Omkareshwar); waking at 3am to bathe in the river before participating in the days first service at one of the island's main temples; returning to my room every day to the loving groan of enthusiasm from the stray dog that Tam adopted; walking to the market along the river bank in the late afternoon when the suns glow made everything soft and alluring; noticing how the disproportionate number of resident devotees were male yet were balanced by the strong female presence of May and the river; asking Swami Moglananda for some suggestions of places to visit and receiving a four page guide of favorites complete with stories and a show-and-tell presentation; many diverse dialogues with Tam that always left me challenged, inspired and hopeful; being nursed back to health after developing a sinus infection by a team of resident devotees filling the role of medical professional/healer; carrot and chocolate haluwa (a sweet snack); private instruction in asana and pranyama with Gurumit; taking photos of the children at the school; wearing my first Sari for the Shivrati celebration. . . the list goes on and on.

In addition to all of the above, I finally found the inspiration to begin shooting photographs. Consequently, I will be loading a few for you to enjoy in the near future (technology permitting).

On my last day in Omkareshwar, I found a book that was given to me by a young man in Pune. His name was Yaron Cohen and he is also the author of the book which is entitled "The Master: The Wisdom of Zen and the Tao Master Lao-Two." (To find out more about this book go to www.geocities.com/thetaomaster1). The book was a delight to read, offering simple Buddhist wisdom wrapped in an enlightening and fun story. It also helped me to find a quote that captures this experience better than I could say it myself:

It is possible to travel all around the world and be at home much more than someone who hasn't left his hometown.

I found that home at the Ashram and on this island -- a natural and effortless rhythm and an experience of belonging. My heart and head were light, I was happy and at peace.

* * * * * *

After 17 days or so, the rapid increase in temperature and the prospects of meeting my friends Michelle and Brad (who were visiting India for a wedding) lured me back to the mainland and north to Indore and Delhi. In Indore I stayed with Sarbjeet (Gurumit's brother and the Ashram treasurer) and his family where I was pampered with the comforts of home and family. Highlights include EVERY meal, and being wrapped in the beautiful sari that Shruthi (Sarabjeet's wife) had made for me. While this visit was short, it was rich. I hope to visit with them again in late April.

After two days in Indore I boarded a train for Delhi. It was a pleasant and uneventful trip. I was watched out for by one of Sarabjeet's students (he is a professor of business at a university in Indore) and engaged in an interesting dialogue with a young girl who was en route to a Krishna spiritual retreat. The 14 hours passed quickly and before I knew it I had arrived in Delhi

Under the guidance of Aparajita (my soon to be host and new friend) I haggled hard with the auto-rickshaw driver for a reasonable rate to her apartment. By the time I arrived it was about 7:30 am thus I decided to capitalize on the day by getting to know the surrounding area. The day quickly turned to evening and next thing I knew I was hanging out with Michelle and Brad, sharing stories of my adventures, hearing about the lavish wedding celebration they had been participating in for the past few days, and basking in the company of two of my favorite people. One day in Delhi effortlessly faded into the next, probably because Aparajita's company and apartment remind me so much of home including discussions of photography, oversized coffee mugs and olive oil (real rarities hear in India) and a photograph of the Brooklyn Bridge hanging just outside my bedroom door. Some five days later, I was on the road again, heading to my next destination: Katmandu, Nepal.

Posted by Jyllt at 06:19 AM | Comments (0)

January 23, 2004

First lesson in non-attachment

I departed my apartment on the afternoon of January 20th en route to Newark Airport. I had not slept in days, yet I was energized with excitement to begin my journey.

The trip began instantly as my flight was cancelled, my bags were lost and I was forced to gain perspective on what I need for this journey we call life.

I arrived at the Air India terminal and was met by a mob of Indian people all who were calmly gathered in a mass that they defined as a line (I could not decipher where it began or where it ended), and the subtle aroma of curry (yes curry, I guess it was emanating from their pores which was making me very hungry). After chatting with a few people I came to realize that yesterday's flight to Bombay via Paris was cancelled and thus these people were all waiting to be assigned seats on my flight. The New Yorker in me walked right past the mass/line to the desk to enquire. I was informed that my flight was being cancelled as they were going to fill my flight with passengers from yesterdayís flight. Thus I was instructed to wait until they were done booking in yesterday's passengers at which time todayís passengers would be attended to and receive further instructions. I asked where I should wait and they said "anywhere but here." I was a little frustrated with the lack of organization and the fact that I needed to wait around for hours only to return home and wait on line again tomorrow, but I was not too upset as I had no deadlines or responsibilities waiting on me in Paris. Besides I figured I could go home and catch up on that sleep I had missed out on over the last week and arrive at my friend Magda's rested.

I soon made friends with this really cool Indian couple who were en route to Bombay for a wedding. Together we found other people who were supposed to be on our flight and started a line which gave me a sense of comfort (we all know how I appreciate structure). Within two hours our line was moving and representatives were directing us on where to go based on our final destination. When asked where I was going to, I replied "Paris" as I was planning to visit my girl Magda for a few days before continuing on to Bombay. I was quickly informed to go to the front of the line as they would likely be able to get me on todayís flight since I was getting off at the first stop. Sure enough I was given my boarding pass and told to go straight to the gate. While I had already decided to accept that I was going home, I was thrilled that I would, indeed be departing NY tonight.

Once on board all was great. I got four seats all to myself where I slept from the moment I sat down. I loved be offered "chicken or vegetarian meal" rather than the typical "chicken or beef" offer of most airlines. And the vegetarian curry dinner was AWESOME -- the best airline food I have ever had!!!! It certainly curbed the curry craving I was having from the airport aroma.

Our flight arrived on time and about 6 people got off in Paris, 3 of which were booked on yesterdayís flight. Those three passengers started getting concerned when their luggage didn't show up immediately. I told them to have a little faith, it would arrive, and within a few minutes it did. I can not say the same for the rest of us. We waited for almost an hour before accepting the fate of our luggage as lost. We completed the necessary paper work and were told our bags would likely be delivered to us by tomorrow. Acting like an unattached and seasoned traveler I picked up my good attitude again and found pleasure in the fact that I did not have to lug my own bag to Magda's place and that I was traveling light enough to take a bus into the city rather than shell out all of that cash for a cab. I pursued to the Air France shuttle stop where buses to Paris are scheduled to depart every 12 minutes. After 35 minutes had gone by I asked some other patient travelers what was happening and they explained "there is a strike". I could tell by the way they said it, that this was a regular occurrence here. We all waited another 30 minutes or so before I asked a young woman and man if they wanted to split a cab, which they did. Soon enough we were on the road and within an hour I arrived at Magda's.

Paris is rainy and cold but the pulse is quite lively. I have spent most of my time here apartment hunting with Magda as she is looking to buy a place (it is a very cool way to see a city by wandering in and out of peoples homes). I have also spent a lot of time trying to get through to the airport re: my bags. When I did not hear from anyone after 30 hours or so I tried to call only to find the line busy every single time. I must have called 50 times on Wednesday and Thursday with no success in getting through.

As more time passed with no communication my positive attitude started to fade. I was starting to realize that if my bags did not arrive by Saturday I would have to replace everything I had spent the past four months carefully selecting for my trip in one day as I was not sure I would be able to find what I was looking for in India. I started creating imaginary lists in my head of what items were critical and what I could do without (the funny thing is I realized how much I packed that I really do not need). Stress was creeping in and I was not happy about it!!!!

Thus I decided to sit my but down on the floor and meditate to gain some clarity and perspective. After an hour of meditation constantly interrupted with thoughts of "don't forget to get some Cipro" or "remember to get the really good bug repellant", I came to realize everything I NEEDED, my health, my wits and my sense of adventure, I already had. Everything else was extra. I decided I would get what I could and that would be exactly what I needed to have, cest la vie.

Within the hour, and thanks to the assistance of my friend Hilah, I was able to get through to the airport to find out my bags were in Paris and they would be calling me soon to make arrangements for their delivery. As I sat here writing this message, my bags were delivered. Ahh, the magic of being unattached to help everything align.

In addition to the great lesson of keeping things in perspective that I learned from all of this, I have also decided to remove a third of the items in my bag that I do not need. This seemingly bad occurrence is a gift after all as I will be traveling lighter literally and figuratively through the rest of this journey.

Stay tuned for more stories upon my arrival in Bombay on the 27th of January.

Namaste,
Jyll

Posted by Jyllt at 06:59 PM | Comments (11)