Day 1- Phakding
My flight left out of Katmandu at 6:30 am; it was a 16-passenger plane; the smallest I’ve ever been on! The stewardess handed out candy and cotton balls (for ear plugs) before take off. I rifled around in the seat pocket in front of me to find an airsick bag with a very graphic picture of a cartoon woman vomiting; just incase you weren’t sure what it was for. The view was amazing, cascading over the Himalayas, it was early, though, so I dozed off for a short time. That is, until the plane made an abrupt upwards jolt, just missing a mountain peak—um, was that supposed to happen? Needless to say, I was alert until the landing, which also isn’t very comforting, especially from the back because all you can see is a cliff getting closer as you land on an inclining runway. Phew! I dropped my plane ticket off at t Hotel Sunrise and headed off!
The first day is mostly downhill to help acclimatize; I stayed in a village named Phakding which is at an elevation of 2610 meters. I found a room for 100 rupees ($1.30) and passed out. I was sick in Katmandu and hadn’t been sleeping well. I got in a total of about 15 hours of sleep with a little reading and dinner break in the middle.
Daily Candy bar intake: 1
Candy bar total: 1
Day 2- Namche Bazaar 3440meters
I left at seven am to head to Namche Bazaar (3440meters). This trek was extremely tough and probably one of the more difficult days of the journey. It was basically an upward climb for four hours. I was supremely annoyed with two guys o passed me on horses, GAH! Lazy! Come on, guys, you can’t be any older than I am, get off and walk. Anyway, Namche Bazaar is like a thriving metropolis of a village. Everything is there, shoe repair, bakeries, grocery stores, bars, pharmacies, massage parlors, shops—most itineraries have you stay an extra day here to acclimatize so I guess they figured out how to capitalize on that. I sat outside of a bakery in town reading and watching everyone struggle to make their way up the final push to a guesthouse. I sat there with some tea and way too many 50 rupee snickers bars (the bargain of the trip) while making small talk with some people on their way up and or down. PS. The view out of my room was outstanding! I had two windows where I could watch the sunrise through the Himalayas, over the village—a totally uninterrupted sight.
DCBI-4
Total-5
Day 3
Acclimatization day! In order to ward off Altitude sickness, you’re supposed to take breaks at certain altitudes or if you have gained a certain amount of height in a day. At breakfast I met a Canadian couple who invited me to go with them for a walk up to the viewpoint to catch a glimpse of Everest. Though we took the steep steps slowly, we were all out of breath and had to take numerous breaks before we made it to the top (This is another part of acclimatizing, “hike high, sleep slow”). I spend most of the rest of the day reading and chatting with other trekkers.
DCBI-5
Total-10
Day 4- Tyangboche 3860meters
Time to move on! I headed off to Tyangboche at about 6:30 in the morning. This is another very tough day. The stops out of Namche were so difficult! After that, the trail was flat for about an hour. I was following a porter with a couple Jobcas who was chanting Buddhist prayers. A Jobca, by the way, is a porter animal that is a cross between a cow and a yak; personally, I think they should either be named a Cak or a Yow, but I think it’s a little late to be throwing in my two cents.
Along the way, I ran into two people from Austrailia; Bernie, a middle-aged man and Amy. They were working on catching up to the other fourteen members of their group because a few had to stay an extra day in Namche because they were sick. Bernie told me to hang out with them so I did for half the day. We talked about the leadership program he was running, as well as about my trek and random philosophical questions about life. We met up with two others from their group, Steve and Paige, at lunch time, right before the steep three hour climb to Tyangboche. On the way out, Paige started vomiting, so they decided to rest the night and sent Steven and me off.
The climb up was long but not as bad as heading into Namche. We arrived at around two pm and found a cheap room about 25 minutes down the hill in a nearby village. We trekked back up to see the monastery service, only to realize we were an hour late. Instead, we watched all the monks played soccer with some Kiwi (New Zealand) kids.
DCBI- 2
Total- 12
Day 5- Dingoche 4300 meters
Another early morning, out the door by 6:30 am to get to Dingboche to meet Steve’s group. The beginning was steep and windy, kind of like a human pinball machine. It’s difficult to catch your breath or function normally at high altitude; everything is a labored effort. A lot of the climb was either pretty flat or a gradual incline. We walked along the river, occasionally seeing the peak of Everest surrounded by other, closer towering mountains. We arrived at 11:30 am; quite speedy! Bernie insisted I stay with the group and get a few good free meals since they had a personal chef cooking for everyone. They gave me my own tent and all day we drank tea, ate real food and played cards. The group is so sweet and I got along with them right away. Early that evening Bernie, Paige, and Amy showed up which was a big surprise! That was a long trek to do in one day after being sick—so inspiring! However, I then felt really awful because I was taking up their space. Bernie said not to worry, but the guilt was still there.
Day 6
The Aussie group took off but I decided to follow my itinerary and take a rest day, though they wanted me to join them. I was having fun but I missed trekking alone; I don’t feel like talking about myself to others, though it’s nice to learn they’re finding me interesting and inspirational, I want to be in my own head. Plus, I felt too guilty sleeping and eating for free. I took a nap and did a little acclimatization hike. Other than that I just wrote in my journal, read, and napped; the weather was pretty uninspiring, the clouds were so low and thick that you couldn’t even see the building next door. Plus, there was NO ONE in my guesthouse to talk with.
Day 7- Labuje 4930meters
I hiked from Dingboche to Labuje and it was a struggle! The altitude was getting to me and every step caused incredibly labored breathing. The first half was relatively flat; I had lunch in a little village to warm up (Instant noodle soup, per usual) and then it was supposed to take an hour and a half more to get to Labuje. Ugh. There is a steep hill of rocks to climb with took me an hour and fifteen minutes! I just couldn’t catch my breath. I think I sprawled out on rocks at least five times, and not just sitting, either, pack off and on my back with my arms over my head; sad really. Afterwards, it was basically flat again. I sat watching a group of porters having a rock-throwing contest for a while before making the final move. I rolled into Labuje around 11 and plopped down at the first place for some hot cocoa (I was dying for some sugar and basically ended up just eating it off of a spoon). I was struggling to muster the strength to move on to Gorekship. A porter told me there were no rooms available because of a cricket tournament. Someone else told me it was a bad idea to go so high in one day, so I figured I'd listen to all of the signs and stay in Labuje. Good thing, because a little while later it started snowing!!!
Day 8- Gorekshep 5184 meters
I was physically glad to have listened to all of the signs to stay in Labuje, but I was a bit upset on the flip side because I missed the last day of the Cricket tournament! Not that I know anything about Cricket because, well let's be honest, Americans couldn't give a hoot about that "odd" sport, but I missed the game and tall the celebration (read: cute, sporty guys) as well as my Aussie friends. However, the trek that day was brilliant@ I couldn't help but smile the whole time; the weather was perfectt, bright blue, hardly a cloud and no wind, not to mention I had the first half to myself. If I sat down and relaxed my breath, it was silent; just a few birds chirping and distant water rushing, perhaps the jingling of the bells on a Yak's collar. I spent too much time enjoying myself because porters and other trekkers soon caught up with me. It wasn't too busy, though, maybe a half hour before I arrived in Gorekshep, I ran into my Aussie family. We sat and chatted for a while, giving both groups a much needed break. They unloaded all of their extra candy bars and granola snacks onto me (thank god!). I skipped my way down the hill into the village; so excited to be in Gorekshep! Sadly, it was 9:30 am, so I had a long day of nothing to do, oh well. I wanted to be up at around 4:30 am to get to Kala Pattar so I figured I deserved a big rest. Bedtime, 5:30 pm.
DCBI- 3 (one full, two minis)
Total- 15
Day 9- Everest Base Camp 5357 meters
I woke up early but couldn't get myself to function at 4:30 am to hike Kala Pattar. I decided to sleep in and walk to Base camp instead.. I met two Brittish girls who were going, as well, so I tagged along with them. The hike is maybe two to two and a half hours to Everest Base Camp, but you only gain 200 meters in altitude, so it's fairly flat most of the time. At first, you hike through a valley and for the next third or so you're on top of a ridge between valleys of rocks created by the movement of the Khumbu glacier, where the EBC sits. On this ridge, we decided to take a break and look at the view. One of the girls wasn't paying attention and accidentally kicked her jacket in it's carrying case down into the valley. A guy we were talking to volunteered to help her get it; this took over an hour because it was so steep and the rocks fell away with every step. After the ridge, you walk over the glacier to get to base camp. Mud is covering melting ice, making it very slippery, but the terrain was like nothing I'e ever seen. There are ice towers sticking out of the ground, massive rocks on solid ice platforms and lakes in between; it's amazing. Luckily, right as I was getting onto the glacier, I met Simon an older man from the UK was who leaving to try to summit the next day. He helped me weave through the puddles and crevices to get to the main camp and more importantly, the bakery! That's right, at 5380 meters there's a tent with fresh baked deliciousness waiting to be purchased; cookies, croissants, banana bread, and apple pie! I decided to wait for the girls before I went in. They strolled over maybe ten-minutes later with one of the summit guides they had met in Namche. He invited us all up to his camp for tea. They unfolded some chairs out of the wind and in the sun and served up some chai and ginger snap, yummy. There are hundreds of tents in this area and everyone is here for a few weeks to acclimatize before the 3000 meter climb to the summit. Apparently it only takes five days but way too many people die in this time due to altitude sickness and frostbite. Apparently, at the fourth and last camp before the summit, Southcol, there are bodies of thos who have died and have yet to be brought back which is sad and disgusting that people you know could leave you to die to make it to the summit, to make the $80,000 goal worth it. After tea, we ate in the bakery for a bit before finally trekking back an hour and a half to Gorekshep. The other girls started to head down, whereas i had to tackle kala Pattar in the morning before I could finally decrease in altitude. I grabbed my book and a blanket and st in the common space/restaurant until dinner. There I met two older guys from Colorado, Dave and gary. They were also hiking to KP in the morning. We chatted for a while about our travels/home/whatever and had some dinner before turning in early for the crack of dawn wake up call.
Day 10- Kala Pattar 5643meters
At 4:30 am I rolled out of bed and bundled myself together to head 400 meters up to Kala Pattar. When I first got to Gorkeshep, an Aussie woman pointed to the steep hill behind the guesthouse and said, "I'm pretty sure that's it." I slowly made my way, one full in and out breath each step, up the hill, only to get to the top and find another and another. By this time, I could barely see the three that started before me and the group that began a half hour after me had passed on by. I crouched down in a ball to catch my breath and try to warm up a bit since the sun still hadn't completely rise, so, sipite all my physical efforts, I still couldn't warm up. The other group's guide stopped by me and asked if I was ok, if I needed hot water or anything. I probably should've said yes, but for some reason I didn't. Instead I asked how far to the top to which he replied maybe 45 minutes. What??? I thought it was only supposed to be an hour and a half "tops." At this point, I almost lost it, I seriously wasn't sure if I could keep going, but deep down, I knew the problem was my mind and not my body. I shed a couple of tears and the guide said it was ok to go down if I needed. I let me know I could do it, I just needed to pull myself rogether. I stood up and took a deep breath as the sun finally came up. Before taking off, the guide said in broken English, "you know story of the tortoise and the rabbit?"
Lol, yes, I do.
Slowly, slowly, just go slowly, slowly.
I smiled and started slowly walking, again. The last bit, you just have to crawl and carefully maneuver over big bloack rocks to get to the peak, evered in peace flags. I collapsed on a flat rock in front of Dave and gary; they laughed and their guide handed me some cookies where I desperately needed. I hadn't eaten sicne my instant noodle soup at 7pm the night before and I thought I'd go cross eyed and fall off the rocks. Once I sat up and turned around, however, the two-plus hour verticle hike was worth it. We were surrounded by stunning snow capped mountains, over to the left we could see the EBC 200 meters down and gehind that, Mt. Everest looming behind, the world' highest peak just waiting to be conquered. I sat on Kala Pattar (Black Rock) staring at the crystal clear sky contrasting with the illuminated mountains before heading back down--30 minutes tops! I sat in the guesthouse--numbed by tmy efforts for a while, mustering up the courage to start finally heading down.
After some hot instant noodles, I packed up my belongings, making the decision to leave my heavy food behind. When I was in New Zealand, I made up this trekking concoction of Muesli, peanut butter, and jelly; I made three massive bags of this stuff before I left and had hardly touched it. I just couldn't get myself to consume it, I was revolted by it and would rather be hungry. My pack was so much lighter! I piled my clothes back on and headed toward Pheriche. Thank God it was mostly downhill. The majority of the trip I remembered, but Pheriche is down in a valley where I hadn't been yet. I walked along the river through the most fertile vegetation I've seen in a while. I hopped over rocks and mud and yak dung (which, when dried, they gather to use on the stoves to heat the restaurants) towards a little stone village where families were playing with the kids in the grass and an old woman was lifting stones to mend her "fence." I saw a couple of cute, fluffy baby Yaks, but when I went to take my camera out Papa starting inching closer, snorting and stomping. I stood for a while, trying not to make eye contact and figure out how to pass. Eventually, he turned around and I made a break for it--totally unnoticed. I met up with dave and Gary and immediately passed out, exhausted. They woke me up for dinner and I figured today was the day to try Dahl Baht. This is basically like an Indian Thali--rice, curry, dahl (a thick lentil soup), and spicy pickled vegetables, but it's unlimited! I could barely move by the time I had finished and had never felt more satisfied. I slept like a rock.
Day 11- Tyangboche 3864meters
We took our sweet time getting ready to leave today, why not, right? The owner had the cutest little daughter of maybe two years old and has so much personality. We all took loads of photos of her before finally heading off. The boys left around eight; I always give them a bit of a head start because A) though they have 30 plus ears on me, they're still way faster and fitter than I am and B) Kelly does not trek well with others. I just like to be by myself when I'm wondering through nature; I like to be in my own head. I got lost at the very beginning because i wasn't sure if i crossed the river or not and then it didn't seem to make sense to hike up a massive hill to go down a mountain but, the porters all assured me I was on the correct path; they know way btter than the girl with no map or sense of direction. I got to reverse conquer the rock hill that destroyed me a week earlier. I started heading down, excited and saying out loud (like a crazy person) "you're MINE!" I was so wrong. I started slipping on everything and tripping over nothing until I finally admitted that I was still inferior to the hill.
I ended up staying back in Tyangboche so I could see the monk ceremony I had missed on the way in. I read in the sunshine for a few hours ("Three Cups of Tea"--phenomenal book) and then went into the monastery at four. Monks were cloaked in crimson robes, sitting cross-legged on cushioned benches chanting and drinking tea for 20-30 minutes. Visitors are allowed in to watch and take photographs after. Maybe 30 in and I was appalled by the disrespect that was shown--flash photography, talking, and worst of all, people getting up and leaving. REALLY????? You can't sit for twenty minutes? What else do you have to do? There's nothing else but to keep hiking. I was sick and so was the woman next to me who shared my distaste. The ceremony was simple but beautiful--I don't even know how these men and boys make the sounds that they do; I closed my eyes and felt the vibrations move through my body. The inside of the room was decorated in the colors of the peace flags (red, white, blue, green and yellow, with gold accents and the walls have intricate murals painted with the scenes of Buddha's life.
Day 12- Namche 3440meters
I took off early to try to get to Lukla, which was supposedly about a six hour hike. First, however, I needed back to Namche. The three hour one-third down, one-third up, and one-third mostly flat hike to Namche was touch and I wasn't sure how I could keep going. Luckily, I found $6 in my wallet and a money exchange, so I could afford to stay the night. First think I did was buy a few snickers bars and inhale them--ahhh, sweet, sweet chocolate. It was a good think I found this, because it turns out the hike from Namche to Lukla ITSELF it six hours, not 3-4. Early bed time, again:)
DCBI- 2
Total-17
Day 13-Lukla 2900 Meters
I left around 8 to make my final moves. I was so pissy for the first half to Phakding. I was just ready to be done after 13 days; plus, I hate taking the same path both directions because it always seems to take longer/be more difficult than you remember. Luckily, I ran into Dave and Gary at the halfway point and they filled me with trail mix, energy bars, and palin good psirits to finish the uphill hike to Lukla. Though the clouds had rolled in and everwhere looked gray, I was feeling much better and performing far superior to the morning. I tackled the uphill climb, no problem and basically ran through town, past the Starbucks (how there's a Starbucks and no ATM in this little village, I don't quite understand) to Hotel Sunrise to get a room. For 100 rupees I somehow ended up with a real, QUEENsized bed and comforter--ahhh; passed out instantly.
After my nap, I found Dave and gary on their way to a bar for happy hour--free beer? Why, yes please:) I was pleasantly intoxicated after two beers (not sloppy, just pleased--hey, I deserved it!) altitude+hard work+barely drinking=:) I went back with Dave and gary to eat dinner; we shared some greasy french fries and then went back to the bar. I watched them play pool for a while and then went to bed at the late late hour of 8pm.
DCBI-1
Total- 18
Day 14
I was so paranoid that I wouldn't wake up for my flight that my eyes were wide open around four when it was still dark! I left for the five minute walk to the airport at 6:45 in order to search for the man with my ticket. My flight was to leave at eight but didn't shop up until ten. At this point, I was so pissy, I just wanted to get back and have a shower. We landed and got a prepaid taxi, but had no money; we stopped at three ATM's before I could finally wrangle some cash. Then, the highlight, the longest, hottest, most desperately needed shower of my life. Ahhh. I smell like flowers and no longer look like Kenny from South Park.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
K-K-K-K-Katmandu
I left at 11 pm to get to the train station; I had to walk through dark windy alleys, which was a bit nerve racking, until I got to the main road. A rickshaw driver brought me for fifty rupees but when we arrived he tried to charge me more “for parking” sorry buddy, you can’t pull that crap on me. I know he charged me too much already, why so much greed? The train was 1.5 hours late and arrived at two am; this was KILLING me because I had been up since five. I bolted up to my bed and passed out. I woke up at 7:30 am to a nearly empty train; I was talking to a German man the entire time we were waiting for the train and he was in the sleeping berth across from me, yet neglected to be gentleman enough to say anything when we had arrived in Gorakpur. Grumble. I quickly grabbed my things and exited the train before it took off again, accidentally leaving all of my medication, water bottle, and food. Boo. I needed to catch the two and a half hour bus ride to Saunali, the boarder town where I could cross into Nepal-- nice young, obviously educated, Indian man walked me to the bus and made sure they waited for me to load all of my belongings onto the bus. I saw the German man standing by himself at the building, but was too far away to help him find his way, as well…karma? Anway, the driver tried to overcharge me, which I knew, but the ticket guy basically pretended like he didn’t hear me and walked away. Thankfully, another Indian man on the bus helped me out to make sure the guy gave me my change.
Crossing the border into Nepal is easy as pie. Get off the bus and walk ten minutes, tips, to the immigration (DON’T take a rickshaw though they all say something along the lines of “very far”) then walk a bout ten more yards and spend ten minutes and $40 on a visa. Voila! I booked a seven hour bus ride to Kathmandu and also a guest house; I was trying to stay at Peace Guest House, which a friend recommended—they booked me into Hotel Peace Night, because apparently it was the same thing.
The ride along the Himalayas was beautifulyet petrifying; sharp, windy turns at high speeds where there are overturned semi-trucks everywhere…eek. I tried to focus on the mountains so as to not worry abut crashing off the cliffs. We arrived at Kathmandu at around eight pm. I was to be picked up by my guesthouse, so the minibus dropped me off on the side of a dark road in Thamel.
“Wait, you’re just going to leave me here in the dark, alone?”
They shut the door and drove off. Ruh Roh.
Ten minutes after, a man on a motorcycle picks me up.
But, wait, I have a backpack AND a rucksack.
No problem.
I sat behind him and he heaves my bag onto my lap sideways and off we go. Now, I don’t like bikes, in general, so I’m not feeling too safe in the dark along all these bumpy dirt roads. At one point, I almost fell off because my bag slammed into a pedestrian and nearly threw me off the back. We finally got to Hotel Peace Night and y Canadian friends weren’t there. I figured I’d worry about it in the morning; I just wanted to sleep. I get into my room and have a strange urge to check for bed bugs—none to be seen, so I turned out the lights. Within a minute I felt something crawling on me. I jumped up and found a flat black bug—is this what I think it is? I put it in between a plastic bag and squeeze; it pops, shooting blood on my face—ew, ew EW! I run downstairs, but the owner is gone and only a boy that hardly speaks English is there and says my room will be changed tomorrow. Ugh, that doesn’t help!
I went to sleep in my sleeping bag on the floor. I got up in the middle of the night to pee, only to find COCKROACHES all over the bathroom-groosssssssssss. I’ll deal with some disgusting rooms, but this is uncalled for. I got up early and grabbed my stuff at checked out. They told me they’d put me in a room with “no bug.” Sorry, kids, those bugs life in the wood and fabric, you don’t have just one. I moved to another recommendation, Potala Guest House…ahhhh so clean, steaming hot showers and a KEY! I was in heaven. I took a hot shower by candlelight (the city’s electricity is shut off for a few hours in the morning) and then went for breakfast. A Nepalese man started chatting with me and brought me to a popular bakery/breakfast spot. After, I tried to find Jo and Bret at the real Peace Guest House; little did I know there are about four and they weren’t at any of them. I received an email from them later so we could meet up for dinner. It just so happened to be New Year’s Eve in Nepal, so we had some good food and a few pitchers of beer (the first in a LONG time) while telling traveling stories to each other and two guys net to us for a few hours and then headed off to sleep because we were all exhausted. It was a bit scary going home, even thought Katmandu is very safe, because people party and drink in this country and I haven’t seen that type of night life activity in a long time. Everything was totally fine, however.
The next morning, I got up early to meet with a guy from the tour company Trek Nepal to buy my plane tickets to Lukla for my Mt. Everest Base Camp Trek. I had met with him the day before and he said to be there at eight am. He wasn’t there and I didn’t want to deal with a new person, so I kept coming back. Around one they told me that he was not coming in and they’d help me. I was SO ANGRY. They just didn’t understand that that’s not how you should deal with customers; now I have to go through everything again, it’s such a waste of time. We all argued for a bit and finally, I got fed up and caved. I needed to leave the next day and didn’t really have time to shop all over again. After that, things were better, they brought me to rent a jacket and a bag (less than $10 for two weeks) and sent me on my merry little way. I ran around buying supplies for my trek (Iodine tablets, more penicillin, food, and socks) until I met up with Jo for a farewell pizza dinner; It was so good, I can’t remember the last time I had pizza! We then went our separate ways because she and Bret decided to do the Annapurna trek.
Crossing the border into Nepal is easy as pie. Get off the bus and walk ten minutes, tips, to the immigration (DON’T take a rickshaw though they all say something along the lines of “very far”) then walk a bout ten more yards and spend ten minutes and $40 on a visa. Voila! I booked a seven hour bus ride to Kathmandu and also a guest house; I was trying to stay at Peace Guest House, which a friend recommended—they booked me into Hotel Peace Night, because apparently it was the same thing.
The ride along the Himalayas was beautifulyet petrifying; sharp, windy turns at high speeds where there are overturned semi-trucks everywhere…eek. I tried to focus on the mountains so as to not worry abut crashing off the cliffs. We arrived at Kathmandu at around eight pm. I was to be picked up by my guesthouse, so the minibus dropped me off on the side of a dark road in Thamel.
“Wait, you’re just going to leave me here in the dark, alone?”
They shut the door and drove off. Ruh Roh.
Ten minutes after, a man on a motorcycle picks me up.
But, wait, I have a backpack AND a rucksack.
No problem.
I sat behind him and he heaves my bag onto my lap sideways and off we go. Now, I don’t like bikes, in general, so I’m not feeling too safe in the dark along all these bumpy dirt roads. At one point, I almost fell off because my bag slammed into a pedestrian and nearly threw me off the back. We finally got to Hotel Peace Night and y Canadian friends weren’t there. I figured I’d worry about it in the morning; I just wanted to sleep. I get into my room and have a strange urge to check for bed bugs—none to be seen, so I turned out the lights. Within a minute I felt something crawling on me. I jumped up and found a flat black bug—is this what I think it is? I put it in between a plastic bag and squeeze; it pops, shooting blood on my face—ew, ew EW! I run downstairs, but the owner is gone and only a boy that hardly speaks English is there and says my room will be changed tomorrow. Ugh, that doesn’t help!
I went to sleep in my sleeping bag on the floor. I got up in the middle of the night to pee, only to find COCKROACHES all over the bathroom-groosssssssssss. I’ll deal with some disgusting rooms, but this is uncalled for. I got up early and grabbed my stuff at checked out. They told me they’d put me in a room with “no bug.” Sorry, kids, those bugs life in the wood and fabric, you don’t have just one. I moved to another recommendation, Potala Guest House…ahhhh so clean, steaming hot showers and a KEY! I was in heaven. I took a hot shower by candlelight (the city’s electricity is shut off for a few hours in the morning) and then went for breakfast. A Nepalese man started chatting with me and brought me to a popular bakery/breakfast spot. After, I tried to find Jo and Bret at the real Peace Guest House; little did I know there are about four and they weren’t at any of them. I received an email from them later so we could meet up for dinner. It just so happened to be New Year’s Eve in Nepal, so we had some good food and a few pitchers of beer (the first in a LONG time) while telling traveling stories to each other and two guys net to us for a few hours and then headed off to sleep because we were all exhausted. It was a bit scary going home, even thought Katmandu is very safe, because people party and drink in this country and I haven’t seen that type of night life activity in a long time. Everything was totally fine, however.
The next morning, I got up early to meet with a guy from the tour company Trek Nepal to buy my plane tickets to Lukla for my Mt. Everest Base Camp Trek. I had met with him the day before and he said to be there at eight am. He wasn’t there and I didn’t want to deal with a new person, so I kept coming back. Around one they told me that he was not coming in and they’d help me. I was SO ANGRY. They just didn’t understand that that’s not how you should deal with customers; now I have to go through everything again, it’s such a waste of time. We all argued for a bit and finally, I got fed up and caved. I needed to leave the next day and didn’t really have time to shop all over again. After that, things were better, they brought me to rent a jacket and a bag (less than $10 for two weeks) and sent me on my merry little way. I ran around buying supplies for my trek (Iodine tablets, more penicillin, food, and socks) until I met up with Jo for a farewell pizza dinner; It was so good, I can’t remember the last time I had pizza! We then went our separate ways because she and Bret decided to do the Annapurna trek.
V-Nasty
I met two British 18 year old girls waiting for the train to Varanassi. They’re very sweet, but I’m severely worried about them (cute/blonde/mildly clueless/innocent) traveling through India. I hung out with them a bit over the next couple days. They dressed a bit inappropriately, for starters. Though, they said they cover up way more than at home, they are still severely underdressed for this culture—short skirts and tank tops with bra straps and cleavage showing is a recipe for disaster. There are a few more things that I will mention later. Anyway, they were riding first class AC (which is insane—curtains around your bed, just unnecessary) while I was in non air-conditioned sleeper class, probably a third of the price. I met a girl from Brazil on the train in the morning (I kind of met her at night, but had to run and hide on my bed when a little boy saw me and started screaming at a pitch that could practically shatter glass) The girl’s name is Camilla and she’s super cool/interesting and really seems to have her life in order and on her own path. She’s 24 and has been married to a Nepalese man for two years. She’s been to India before and is back for a year. She had a guitar with her and was playing beautiful, personal music. We also talked about a charity organization she’s trying to start, as well as some video things she’d like to see produced. She hinted at getting me involved in making a documentary, and Id love to see if it follows through (but I’ve also heard this numerous times throughout the past seven months).
Once off the train, I met back up with the other girls and we piled into a rickshaw to get to our guesthouse; we had to walk through narrow, windy alleys or what seemed like forever until we finally arrived (and then proceeded to walk up five flights of stairs to get to the room). Horray for a real shower! It’s sad how excited you get abou the little things. I just sat around that night and relaxed. The next day, I got up at six for yoga, thought the teacher never showed, and hun gout with the girls for most of the day at the Brown Bread Bakery which has actually amazing food (a CHEESE list) and the proceds go to children in need. It was so good, but we all over did it—so full! after that, we went down to the Manikarnika Ghat ( there are over 80 ghats along the Ganges here, which is where people go to bathe and wash their clothes. This is actually nuts because the water is so polluted with fecal matter. I don’t understand how they think they’re getting clean; there are 30 large sewers draining into the river along the seven kilometer stretch, cause 1.5 million fecal coli form bacteria per 100ml—the safe bathing figure should be less than 500!!!!!!!) Anyway, this Ghat is where people go to cremate their loved ones. They have to pay for the wood, which is priced by the type (the most expensive is sandlewood) as well as how much is needed for the weight of the person. The family sings all the way down to the ghat, following the body which is covered in a different colored sheet depending on male/female/young/old/profession, etc. Also, those closest to the deceased—father, brother, son—dresses in white and shaves off their hair at the ghat; they then take burning sticks and light the body. It was so sad to see someone turning to ashes before my eyes. Though I was in tears, the mood of the area was oddly average; people were chatting, no one minded that tourist were watching (though photos aren’t allowed, one of the British girls tried to take a picture and I yelled at her and she didn’t get why she couldn’t play photographer—it’s someone’s FUNERAL—oh, yeah, forgot about that, didn’t you?). Anyway, after that, we went to Dasaswamedh Ghat for the sunset ceremony; hundreds of people, mostly Indians, gather to listen to changing with drums and bells chiming while men wave candles and incense in a unified dance under lights along the river. I passed out after that because I was still so full.
I got up at five the next morning to go on a sunrise riverboat ride on the Ganges—it was beautiful, though its obviously not as amazing as in Rishikesh because there are no mountains here and the water is filthy. We traveled alongside of the ghats to see people bathing, praying, and washing their clothes; going about their daily business. It’s funny how you cannot escape heckling no matter where you go. Two rowboats came up, one selling jewelry and trinkets and the other with DVD’s with a full on TV set and video player—can we please watch the sunrise, just do ANYTHING in peace for once? There is no rest in India. I was supposed to go to yoga after, but I was far too tired and rested for a bit. Then checked out of my room and wondered along the ghats. It was a bit eerie walking around; not a lot of people were outside. I walked by a family and the children all started yelling “hello,” per usual and then the mother asked me why I was out. Um, to see the ghat, I guess? She was a bit concerned and told me to be very careful; I had no idea it was supposed to be dangerous, though, I think she was more worried about my poor white skin in the heat. After shopping around for a while, I went to a Nepalese temple. It was very small, but had intricate erotic woodcarvings in and around it.
I met up with the girls for one last meal before heading back to the hotel. I chatted with an older guy from Canada about traveling around India and what not for a while. He has Indian friends and apparently, he’s found out a few reasons why Indian men are obsessed with Western women. One is because they think that we all get our jollies from, ahem, reverse entry. What?? We both thought that that was a bit absurd; do you think you can really categorize an entire CULTURE sexually? Another thing is that apparently the average Indian woman does not make eye contact with men they don’t know; that’s how they can tell the difference between the sex workers and an average woman on the street, not by their dress, but via eye contact. This is quite difficult because, obviously, that is a sign of respect and just a polite gesture in our culture.
Once off the train, I met back up with the other girls and we piled into a rickshaw to get to our guesthouse; we had to walk through narrow, windy alleys or what seemed like forever until we finally arrived (and then proceeded to walk up five flights of stairs to get to the room). Horray for a real shower! It’s sad how excited you get abou the little things. I just sat around that night and relaxed. The next day, I got up at six for yoga, thought the teacher never showed, and hun gout with the girls for most of the day at the Brown Bread Bakery which has actually amazing food (a CHEESE list) and the proceds go to children in need. It was so good, but we all over did it—so full! after that, we went down to the Manikarnika Ghat ( there are over 80 ghats along the Ganges here, which is where people go to bathe and wash their clothes. This is actually nuts because the water is so polluted with fecal matter. I don’t understand how they think they’re getting clean; there are 30 large sewers draining into the river along the seven kilometer stretch, cause 1.5 million fecal coli form bacteria per 100ml—the safe bathing figure should be less than 500!!!!!!!) Anyway, this Ghat is where people go to cremate their loved ones. They have to pay for the wood, which is priced by the type (the most expensive is sandlewood) as well as how much is needed for the weight of the person. The family sings all the way down to the ghat, following the body which is covered in a different colored sheet depending on male/female/young/old/profession, etc. Also, those closest to the deceased—father, brother, son—dresses in white and shaves off their hair at the ghat; they then take burning sticks and light the body. It was so sad to see someone turning to ashes before my eyes. Though I was in tears, the mood of the area was oddly average; people were chatting, no one minded that tourist were watching (though photos aren’t allowed, one of the British girls tried to take a picture and I yelled at her and she didn’t get why she couldn’t play photographer—it’s someone’s FUNERAL—oh, yeah, forgot about that, didn’t you?). Anyway, after that, we went to Dasaswamedh Ghat for the sunset ceremony; hundreds of people, mostly Indians, gather to listen to changing with drums and bells chiming while men wave candles and incense in a unified dance under lights along the river. I passed out after that because I was still so full.
I got up at five the next morning to go on a sunrise riverboat ride on the Ganges—it was beautiful, though its obviously not as amazing as in Rishikesh because there are no mountains here and the water is filthy. We traveled alongside of the ghats to see people bathing, praying, and washing their clothes; going about their daily business. It’s funny how you cannot escape heckling no matter where you go. Two rowboats came up, one selling jewelry and trinkets and the other with DVD’s with a full on TV set and video player—can we please watch the sunrise, just do ANYTHING in peace for once? There is no rest in India. I was supposed to go to yoga after, but I was far too tired and rested for a bit. Then checked out of my room and wondered along the ghats. It was a bit eerie walking around; not a lot of people were outside. I walked by a family and the children all started yelling “hello,” per usual and then the mother asked me why I was out. Um, to see the ghat, I guess? She was a bit concerned and told me to be very careful; I had no idea it was supposed to be dangerous, though, I think she was more worried about my poor white skin in the heat. After shopping around for a while, I went to a Nepalese temple. It was very small, but had intricate erotic woodcarvings in and around it.
I met up with the girls for one last meal before heading back to the hotel. I chatted with an older guy from Canada about traveling around India and what not for a while. He has Indian friends and apparently, he’s found out a few reasons why Indian men are obsessed with Western women. One is because they think that we all get our jollies from, ahem, reverse entry. What?? We both thought that that was a bit absurd; do you think you can really categorize an entire CULTURE sexually? Another thing is that apparently the average Indian woman does not make eye contact with men they don’t know; that’s how they can tell the difference between the sex workers and an average woman on the street, not by their dress, but via eye contact. This is quite difficult because, obviously, that is a sign of respect and just a polite gesture in our culture.
Con- Agra
I finally peeled myself away from Rishikesh; it was hard to move on because I had met some really cool people and developed some solid relationships—such is the life of a traveler. I spent twelve hours in transit to get to Agra to see the Taj Mahal.; I met a girl from Germany on the train and we decide to get a taxi together to share a room to save on costs. We accidentally slept in too late to see the sun rise, so we split up and I went for a nature walk and ran into an unexpected view of the Taj through trees and flowers—stunning! This city is extremely intense, so I tried to keep to myself for most of the day. A group of boys were bugging me so I decided to try out one of the Hindi phrases the girls in Goa taught me, “ Kudakevaste maya picha chordo!” Meaning, “for the love of God, leave me alone.” The outcome wasn’t anywhere nearly as effected as anticipated; they boys thought this was hilarious and attached themselves to me even more until I finally veered off into a hidden restaurant.
The next morning we got up at 5:30 to be in the first group into the Taj when it opened at sunrise; It’s gorgeous! Not a whole lot to it, there’s only a decorated tomb inside so the whole point is to spend $15 to get on the grounds to take photos. It was nice being there so early because I have a lot of shots with no tourists in it; the area was so quiet!
After, I got an e-mail from my mom freaking out about the staph infection on my face; saying I had to go to a hospital. I decided to first try the Dr. near the guesthouse that the receptionist told me was “very, very good.” I sat in the office, which was in a house and there wre maybe twenty Indians sitting and waiting in the hallway for the Doctor. I sat for over an hour while the “doctor” stitched a kid up in back and everyone in the waiting room stared at me through the slits in the door or, if they were bold enough, walked right inside the door and just stood a few feet away look at me like I might disappear or shape shift—no blinking, can’t miss a thing! It was so frustrating because I was there to get medical attention; I look disgusting, I feel hideous and I really don’t want to be dealing with being a spectacle. Finally, the Dr. comes in and asks what’s wrong. I brush my bangs aside to show home my pussy scabs and he starts writing a big list of pills and creams and tell ms me to go. Woah, woah, wait; so, do you know what this is?
Yes, I know. And he waves me out.
Ok, you should TELL me. At least let me know what these things on the list are
Pills, pills, creams; go with the boy.
UGH! The boy tries to bring me to the pharmacy and I just start getting really upset; I’m not going to blindly take a ton of pills without an explanation. Never mind, I’m going to the hospital that’s in the Lonely Planet. I get a rickshaw driver that agrees to bring me to all the places I need to go for 100 rupees. Thank God he was cool—I went to the District hospital and would have been completely lost without the driver’s help. There are hundreds of Indians everywhere and I kept getting shuffled from crumbling room to crumbling room, one man at a desk to another. They hardly looked at me; one guy writes down some words and I’m brought to the front of a long line where they snip off a bunch of pills and send me to yet another man in a dark room behind a desk, where I figure they are going to now make me pay for all of these pills that I don’t want—he was clearly just there to take inventory, wrote down everything, and since I was about three seconds from full out crying, he tried to explain then pills to me. He said a few words I recognized as helpful which calmed me down a bit. By the way, all of this was free.
After all this stress, I went to a nearby “classy” hotel where I could pay a dollar to use their gym—horray treadmill! I think, however, this was one of the very first joggers ever created; it had a metal frame at a slight incline, the belt was on metal rollers and if you didn’t hold on, you immediately went into an all out sprint and flew off. I ran for a while, then decided to go back to the pharmacy to purchase penicillin, a drug I was familiar with and could trust, at a whopping 14 cents a pill☺ I love the price of medication here. Anyone need me to pick them up anything? I hung out at a café, watching a movie and chatting with a guy from the UK until it was train time, yet again—next stop, Varanassi.
AWKWARD MOMENT
On the way to the Agra Guesthouse, the taxi driver asked me if I had come from Delhi. I said, no Rishikesh, which is actually further. He said, oh, I knew. You know how I knew? Because of the smell coming from you. Ouch. Sorry, I’ve been sweating on a train for twelve hours; your entire country smells like a mixture of garbage, feces, and spices, who are you to judge?
The next morning we got up at 5:30 to be in the first group into the Taj when it opened at sunrise; It’s gorgeous! Not a whole lot to it, there’s only a decorated tomb inside so the whole point is to spend $15 to get on the grounds to take photos. It was nice being there so early because I have a lot of shots with no tourists in it; the area was so quiet!
After, I got an e-mail from my mom freaking out about the staph infection on my face; saying I had to go to a hospital. I decided to first try the Dr. near the guesthouse that the receptionist told me was “very, very good.” I sat in the office, which was in a house and there wre maybe twenty Indians sitting and waiting in the hallway for the Doctor. I sat for over an hour while the “doctor” stitched a kid up in back and everyone in the waiting room stared at me through the slits in the door or, if they were bold enough, walked right inside the door and just stood a few feet away look at me like I might disappear or shape shift—no blinking, can’t miss a thing! It was so frustrating because I was there to get medical attention; I look disgusting, I feel hideous and I really don’t want to be dealing with being a spectacle. Finally, the Dr. comes in and asks what’s wrong. I brush my bangs aside to show home my pussy scabs and he starts writing a big list of pills and creams and tell ms me to go. Woah, woah, wait; so, do you know what this is?
Yes, I know. And he waves me out.
Ok, you should TELL me. At least let me know what these things on the list are
Pills, pills, creams; go with the boy.
UGH! The boy tries to bring me to the pharmacy and I just start getting really upset; I’m not going to blindly take a ton of pills without an explanation. Never mind, I’m going to the hospital that’s in the Lonely Planet. I get a rickshaw driver that agrees to bring me to all the places I need to go for 100 rupees. Thank God he was cool—I went to the District hospital and would have been completely lost without the driver’s help. There are hundreds of Indians everywhere and I kept getting shuffled from crumbling room to crumbling room, one man at a desk to another. They hardly looked at me; one guy writes down some words and I’m brought to the front of a long line where they snip off a bunch of pills and send me to yet another man in a dark room behind a desk, where I figure they are going to now make me pay for all of these pills that I don’t want—he was clearly just there to take inventory, wrote down everything, and since I was about three seconds from full out crying, he tried to explain then pills to me. He said a few words I recognized as helpful which calmed me down a bit. By the way, all of this was free.
After all this stress, I went to a nearby “classy” hotel where I could pay a dollar to use their gym—horray treadmill! I think, however, this was one of the very first joggers ever created; it had a metal frame at a slight incline, the belt was on metal rollers and if you didn’t hold on, you immediately went into an all out sprint and flew off. I ran for a while, then decided to go back to the pharmacy to purchase penicillin, a drug I was familiar with and could trust, at a whopping 14 cents a pill☺ I love the price of medication here. Anyone need me to pick them up anything? I hung out at a café, watching a movie and chatting with a guy from the UK until it was train time, yet again—next stop, Varanassi.
AWKWARD MOMENT
On the way to the Agra Guesthouse, the taxi driver asked me if I had come from Delhi. I said, no Rishikesh, which is actually further. He said, oh, I knew. You know how I knew? Because of the smell coming from you. Ouch. Sorry, I’ve been sweating on a train for twelve hours; your entire country smells like a mixture of garbage, feces, and spices, who are you to judge?
Karma Police
Sorry it’s been so long! I’ve been out of contact with the modernized world for two weeks! Here’s what I’ve been doing starting back almost a month ago (eeek, sorry!)
On way out of Rishikesh, I started thinking a lot about Karma and all the problems I have with it. So, Karma is basically kind of a pay back process with the universe—good and bad things happen if you, in turn, commit good and bad actions. Ok, I get that, I like that, you screw me out of money and later at some point you will get what you deserve. However, Karma apparently works off the idea of reincarnation and what you’ve done in past lives; so, if you steal now, you might not pay for it until the next life. This makes no sense to me, whatsoever. Think about this (and I very well might come off offensively, but trust me, that is not my intention, I’m just trying to make a point); let’s say that a Jewish man decides to take me away from my home and torture me via excessive physical labor and lack of sustenance, or maybe just kill me straight away with a bullet to the head or throw me in a gas chamber—is that ok? Of course not, you’d say (assumption). This is how I feel, as well, but it seems to me that that’s how karma can work. This, “payback over generations” thing is like saying that that would have been “my karma,” that I deserved to die because, being that my heritage is German, maybe I have an ancestor who was in WWII. Though I have nothing to do with the act, I’m somehow tied to it, and though Kelly now wouldn’t DREAM of committing such a crime, I still must pay. Puuuuuuuuhleeeeze. If I steal, cheat, lie, whatever, the universe needs to make me deal with it now, while I have some sort of recollection of my sin; either make me pay or kill me in such a way that I do—don’t wait to pounce until I’m too far removed to understand.
Ok, so there’s that. Now, let’s say, I , for example, die from Lung Cancer (because “karma uses my stupidity-read; addiction-against me”). So that means that EVERYONE I know is affected; do they all deserve to deal with this loss? And, what if they don’t? If one of my friends has immaculately good karma, does that save me or do they get some sort of treat in the future for having endured something that they didn’t deserve? Does that universe only work off what we’ve done, or can it owe use intern, in good and bad ways?
I, personally, know that I believe in spirits; I’m sorry, I have proof. I have a painting that I slopped together just after my grandfather’s death of a dragon when I was maybe 8. I let the picture dry for a few hours and when I went back to check on it, there were intricate flames coming out of it’s mouth. No one in the physical world had touched it and there’s no way that the person who painted the sloppy polka dotted figure could have produced those flames, as well. Is there room for karma and an afterlife?
What do you think?
On way out of Rishikesh, I started thinking a lot about Karma and all the problems I have with it. So, Karma is basically kind of a pay back process with the universe—good and bad things happen if you, in turn, commit good and bad actions. Ok, I get that, I like that, you screw me out of money and later at some point you will get what you deserve. However, Karma apparently works off the idea of reincarnation and what you’ve done in past lives; so, if you steal now, you might not pay for it until the next life. This makes no sense to me, whatsoever. Think about this (and I very well might come off offensively, but trust me, that is not my intention, I’m just trying to make a point); let’s say that a Jewish man decides to take me away from my home and torture me via excessive physical labor and lack of sustenance, or maybe just kill me straight away with a bullet to the head or throw me in a gas chamber—is that ok? Of course not, you’d say (assumption). This is how I feel, as well, but it seems to me that that’s how karma can work. This, “payback over generations” thing is like saying that that would have been “my karma,” that I deserved to die because, being that my heritage is German, maybe I have an ancestor who was in WWII. Though I have nothing to do with the act, I’m somehow tied to it, and though Kelly now wouldn’t DREAM of committing such a crime, I still must pay. Puuuuuuuuhleeeeze. If I steal, cheat, lie, whatever, the universe needs to make me deal with it now, while I have some sort of recollection of my sin; either make me pay or kill me in such a way that I do—don’t wait to pounce until I’m too far removed to understand.
Ok, so there’s that. Now, let’s say, I , for example, die from Lung Cancer (because “karma uses my stupidity-read; addiction-against me”). So that means that EVERYONE I know is affected; do they all deserve to deal with this loss? And, what if they don’t? If one of my friends has immaculately good karma, does that save me or do they get some sort of treat in the future for having endured something that they didn’t deserve? Does that universe only work off what we’ve done, or can it owe use intern, in good and bad ways?
I, personally, know that I believe in spirits; I’m sorry, I have proof. I have a painting that I slopped together just after my grandfather’s death of a dragon when I was maybe 8. I let the picture dry for a few hours and when I went back to check on it, there were intricate flames coming out of it’s mouth. No one in the physical world had touched it and there’s no way that the person who painted the sloppy polka dotted figure could have produced those flames, as well. Is there room for karma and an afterlife?
What do you think?
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Yoga Capital of the World
I got up at six am to start traveling to Rishikesh. The train left at seven and I got to the Haridwar at about two in the afternoon. The train was only a sitter, unlike all the others I had previously traveled on. I was next to two young women who spoke a little English and kept offering me their food; it was very sweet. When I got off the train, a taxi driver told me he’d take me for 800 rupees. Are you NUTS? It’s a half hour drive to Rishikesh, I paid 137 for the nine hours to Haridwar!! I said no way and that I’d take the bus; he said there wasn’t one and I looked him in the eye and said, are you sure? He said yes without batting an eyelash and I shook my head because I knew he was lying. Karma, Buddy, Karma. There’s a tourist office at the font gate and the woman told me where to go and that what the taxi driver was doing was illegal: I’m proud of myself for not getting monetarily screwed as much as I used to.
The bus was ten rupees, though hard to find because there are about fifty buses and no designated spot for the one to Rishikesh, so everyone keeps pointing you in another direction. I ran into a couple from Germany who helped me out since they had been here before. We finally found the right one and got there in no time. Being that they had been here before, they also helped me get to the Ashram I wanted to stay at, Ved Niketan. It’s along side the Ganges River. I’m not going to lie, it looks a bit like a prison; it’s bright orange and has a wire fence around it. The rooms are in a two-story square around the complex, in the center another building sits where there are yoga classes. I can practice yoga twice a day, plus a spiritual discussion and have my own room for 100 rupees; 2 American Dollars!! I had two Indian teachers, however, they didn’t do much adjusting which I need since I am painfully new to yoga and have no real clue what I’m doing. I met a girl, Courtney from Canada, when I was having breakfast and she told me to try out her place, Trika Yoga. This was so much better! The class is smaller and the teachers explain the poses (asanas) and the energy it uses as well as the physical and emotional reasons for practicing each posture. I am willing to pay 7 dollars for two, two hour classes and a lecture daily from a hot Scottish man, a cute Canadian girl, and a funny Indian guy. I’ve even been able to get up and go running along the Ganges River on a road through the woods, which has been oh so peaceful!
The lectures have covered a lot of interesting and controversial subjects (at least, for me). There have been a couple concerning different types of meditation and yoga, the reasons behind each of them and who should be practicing each, as well as Chakras, healing, and karma. We also have discussed different purification techniques. I will start this out by saying I have not done any of these (though I might try in order to relay a good story for everyone, yes, I will be your humorous guinea pig). The first of which is Urine therapy; I wasn’t actually here for this lecture, but I’ve heard about this technique from a friend in Thailand (Apparently, there is a good book about it called The Golden Fountain. I’ll read it soon and report back). The main part is that when you urinate in the morning you’re supposed to drink it. Yep, sounds gross, but apparently it’s a really rejuvenating way of bringing nutrients back into your body that haven’t been absorbed as well as antibodies that your system has been producing. Also, another usage is to use it in order to heal cuts, burns, and it is also apparently an anti-aging agent- yep, rub it all over your face and say bye bye wrinkles. I will admit, I put some on my face. I have some sort of skin issue right now where I have a few infected cuts that won’t seem to go away. Apparently, this is part of the purification process from all of my yoga practices, my body is letting go of toxic/negative energies though really attractive sores on my forehead (thank God for bangs). I did it twice, it wasn’t so bad, I don’t know if it helped at all, though, because I gave up and went to a Homeopathic Dr. for some aid (I’ll talk about that in a minute).
Anyway, purification technique number three, Vamana Dhauti, the cleansing of the mid section. It sounds exactly like what you’re going to do—vomit. Basically, the concept is that when you go to sleep at night you should digest everything that you have eaten the night before. However, if food is still left in your stomach, it has become a breeding ground for bacteria, which will then mix with breakfast. Here’s what you’re supposed to do. After you wake up, you’re supposed to drink a liter of warm water quickly and then shake around for about a minute to mix it with whatever may still be hanging around. Then, “the fun starts” and you stick your hand down your throat and puke it all back up. This I have not done, but apparently it isn’t so bad because what is released isn’t acidic like what we’ve all experienced every other time we puke due to sickness.
Ok! Fun huh? Here’s number three Shanka Prakshalana- cleansing of the intestines. So, basically what’s going on is every day we all poop, defecate, shi*t, whatever you want to call it, and when everything is moving through our system it leaves a smear, “like peanut butter” according to the Yogi, along the intestinal walls. This, intern, creates what is called the mucoid plaque which slows down nutrient absorption and excretion, destroys useful bacteria and basically creates a toxic bowel (in turn creating toxic blood/lymph, etc making a breading ground for disease). How, oh how can we fix this? Through pure misery for a half day or so, that’s how! Pick a day where you don’t have to do anything or go anywhere and plant yourself in your bedroom, living room, wherever and close to a toilet with 5-7 liters of luke warm water and one tablespoon of salt to mix into each liter. Sit yourself down and drink two glasses of them and do a few sets of some specific exercises that get the salt water down into the intestines. After about 6 glasses the “release” starts. Keep repeating the process until what comes out looks like the color of what you put in. There’s a healthy colon, kids!
Other than learning how to destroy myself in order to remain in a purified state, I’ve been living a relatively mellow lifestyle; it’s nice to be in a routine that’s good for the mind, body and soul! I did take a trip to a homeopathic doctor in order to try and clear up my skin purification process. I’ve never been to a homeopath before, it’s interesting, they don’t just care about your symptoms, they want to know about your eating and bowel habits, dreams, if you’re tidy or not; the medication is for you specifically, not only your symptoms but who you are as a person. I have two small bottles with tiny round white pills that I’m supposed to take, without touching, twice a day—they taste like candy, but it’s working!
Also, I went to see Maharaji the 85 year old enlightened man in the neighboring village. At nine in the morning they open the door to his room in the Saacha Daam Ashram and people file in to kneel and bow in his presence in order to absorb his energy. You sit in silence outside for a little while before you go in and while I was in there he never said a word but held eye contact with me the entire time. My heart was beating out of my chest and, while walking out tears started streaming down my face. I sat in silence for a while after, as well, until I could stop crying. I can’t really explain what happened, but it felt really good to let go. Something must have sparked inside of me to let go of old emotions because, while reading The Time Traveler’s Wife, a sad part came up and I sat crying over my book for an hour. I mean, it was a sad book, but not to the point of convulsing in tears for an hour. Maybe there really is something to this yoga/meditation/purification stuff; I know there are a lot of old pent up emotions inside of me that I have never really let go of and I feel like now I can and I have (or at least, some of it).
Sadly, my time in Rishikesh is quickly coming to an end. Tomorrow, I leave to go back into the hectic world of bustling India to see the Taj Mahal!
AWKWARD MOMENT:
You may or may not have noticed that I stopped doing the awkward moment; this is because every day and most of every post is awkward so I didn't feel like being redundant. However, here's a little ditty. Yesterday a group of three teenage boys walked by me and one put his hand out and touched my arm. I turned around and yelled at him, like a dog, per usual.
Hey! Don't touch! Do you understand me? You never touch women, you got it??? NEVER TOUCH ME!
His friend kept apologizing while the offender walked away. I created a little bit of a scene; there were two Indian men and one woman walking behind me, obviously tourisits in the area. The woman stopped and turned and shyly yelled "asshole." Hah. It was so cute; she obviously wasn't used to speaking her mind in public. I was so appreciative that someone else, for once, noticed my mild distress. However, when I turned around and saw everyone staring it was definitely a bit....
The bus was ten rupees, though hard to find because there are about fifty buses and no designated spot for the one to Rishikesh, so everyone keeps pointing you in another direction. I ran into a couple from Germany who helped me out since they had been here before. We finally found the right one and got there in no time. Being that they had been here before, they also helped me get to the Ashram I wanted to stay at, Ved Niketan. It’s along side the Ganges River. I’m not going to lie, it looks a bit like a prison; it’s bright orange and has a wire fence around it. The rooms are in a two-story square around the complex, in the center another building sits where there are yoga classes. I can practice yoga twice a day, plus a spiritual discussion and have my own room for 100 rupees; 2 American Dollars!! I had two Indian teachers, however, they didn’t do much adjusting which I need since I am painfully new to yoga and have no real clue what I’m doing. I met a girl, Courtney from Canada, when I was having breakfast and she told me to try out her place, Trika Yoga. This was so much better! The class is smaller and the teachers explain the poses (asanas) and the energy it uses as well as the physical and emotional reasons for practicing each posture. I am willing to pay 7 dollars for two, two hour classes and a lecture daily from a hot Scottish man, a cute Canadian girl, and a funny Indian guy. I’ve even been able to get up and go running along the Ganges River on a road through the woods, which has been oh so peaceful!
The lectures have covered a lot of interesting and controversial subjects (at least, for me). There have been a couple concerning different types of meditation and yoga, the reasons behind each of them and who should be practicing each, as well as Chakras, healing, and karma. We also have discussed different purification techniques. I will start this out by saying I have not done any of these (though I might try in order to relay a good story for everyone, yes, I will be your humorous guinea pig). The first of which is Urine therapy; I wasn’t actually here for this lecture, but I’ve heard about this technique from a friend in Thailand (Apparently, there is a good book about it called The Golden Fountain. I’ll read it soon and report back). The main part is that when you urinate in the morning you’re supposed to drink it. Yep, sounds gross, but apparently it’s a really rejuvenating way of bringing nutrients back into your body that haven’t been absorbed as well as antibodies that your system has been producing. Also, another usage is to use it in order to heal cuts, burns, and it is also apparently an anti-aging agent- yep, rub it all over your face and say bye bye wrinkles. I will admit, I put some on my face. I have some sort of skin issue right now where I have a few infected cuts that won’t seem to go away. Apparently, this is part of the purification process from all of my yoga practices, my body is letting go of toxic/negative energies though really attractive sores on my forehead (thank God for bangs). I did it twice, it wasn’t so bad, I don’t know if it helped at all, though, because I gave up and went to a Homeopathic Dr. for some aid (I’ll talk about that in a minute).
Anyway, purification technique number three, Vamana Dhauti, the cleansing of the mid section. It sounds exactly like what you’re going to do—vomit. Basically, the concept is that when you go to sleep at night you should digest everything that you have eaten the night before. However, if food is still left in your stomach, it has become a breeding ground for bacteria, which will then mix with breakfast. Here’s what you’re supposed to do. After you wake up, you’re supposed to drink a liter of warm water quickly and then shake around for about a minute to mix it with whatever may still be hanging around. Then, “the fun starts” and you stick your hand down your throat and puke it all back up. This I have not done, but apparently it isn’t so bad because what is released isn’t acidic like what we’ve all experienced every other time we puke due to sickness.
Ok! Fun huh? Here’s number three Shanka Prakshalana- cleansing of the intestines. So, basically what’s going on is every day we all poop, defecate, shi*t, whatever you want to call it, and when everything is moving through our system it leaves a smear, “like peanut butter” according to the Yogi, along the intestinal walls. This, intern, creates what is called the mucoid plaque which slows down nutrient absorption and excretion, destroys useful bacteria and basically creates a toxic bowel (in turn creating toxic blood/lymph, etc making a breading ground for disease). How, oh how can we fix this? Through pure misery for a half day or so, that’s how! Pick a day where you don’t have to do anything or go anywhere and plant yourself in your bedroom, living room, wherever and close to a toilet with 5-7 liters of luke warm water and one tablespoon of salt to mix into each liter. Sit yourself down and drink two glasses of them and do a few sets of some specific exercises that get the salt water down into the intestines. After about 6 glasses the “release” starts. Keep repeating the process until what comes out looks like the color of what you put in. There’s a healthy colon, kids!
Other than learning how to destroy myself in order to remain in a purified state, I’ve been living a relatively mellow lifestyle; it’s nice to be in a routine that’s good for the mind, body and soul! I did take a trip to a homeopathic doctor in order to try and clear up my skin purification process. I’ve never been to a homeopath before, it’s interesting, they don’t just care about your symptoms, they want to know about your eating and bowel habits, dreams, if you’re tidy or not; the medication is for you specifically, not only your symptoms but who you are as a person. I have two small bottles with tiny round white pills that I’m supposed to take, without touching, twice a day—they taste like candy, but it’s working!
Also, I went to see Maharaji the 85 year old enlightened man in the neighboring village. At nine in the morning they open the door to his room in the Saacha Daam Ashram and people file in to kneel and bow in his presence in order to absorb his energy. You sit in silence outside for a little while before you go in and while I was in there he never said a word but held eye contact with me the entire time. My heart was beating out of my chest and, while walking out tears started streaming down my face. I sat in silence for a while after, as well, until I could stop crying. I can’t really explain what happened, but it felt really good to let go. Something must have sparked inside of me to let go of old emotions because, while reading The Time Traveler’s Wife, a sad part came up and I sat crying over my book for an hour. I mean, it was a sad book, but not to the point of convulsing in tears for an hour. Maybe there really is something to this yoga/meditation/purification stuff; I know there are a lot of old pent up emotions inside of me that I have never really let go of and I feel like now I can and I have (or at least, some of it).
Sadly, my time in Rishikesh is quickly coming to an end. Tomorrow, I leave to go back into the hectic world of bustling India to see the Taj Mahal!
AWKWARD MOMENT:
You may or may not have noticed that I stopped doing the awkward moment; this is because every day and most of every post is awkward so I didn't feel like being redundant. However, here's a little ditty. Yesterday a group of three teenage boys walked by me and one put his hand out and touched my arm. I turned around and yelled at him, like a dog, per usual.
Hey! Don't touch! Do you understand me? You never touch women, you got it??? NEVER TOUCH ME!
His friend kept apologizing while the offender walked away. I created a little bit of a scene; there were two Indian men and one woman walking behind me, obviously tourisits in the area. The woman stopped and turned and shyly yelled "asshole." Hah. It was so cute; she obviously wasn't used to speaking her mind in public. I was so appreciative that someone else, for once, noticed my mild distress. However, when I turned around and saw everyone staring it was definitely a bit....
Amritsar: Holy City of Contradiction
I met two Indian guys on the train who were visiting the Golden Temple for the weekend and offered to help me find my way. I was told that the temple offered accommodation for free, including food with a donation, so I wanted to stay there. It was difficult to figure out where, exactly, to go because there are so many Indian families crowding the area in order to worship in the area. If there aren’t any rooms left, men, women, and children sleep anywhere they can find; this includes on the balconies, in the common space near the bathrooms, and along the walkways surrounding the Golden Temple lake We, or I should actually say the guys, spent at least a half hour arguing back and forth with a few different receptionists until they finally got me into the foreigner dorm room. Everything is such a labored process here!
I finally got to take a shower and relax; I cleaned my laundry in a real washing machine (for free), updated my blog, and went for dinner. Hundreds of people file into a big room after being handed a metal bowl, plate, and spoon then sit in rows on the floor. Men quickly walk up and down the rows with buckets, ladling out rice, curry, dahl or handing out chapattis and also pouring water into the bowl for drinking. I was the only Westerner in there and anyone who noticed me (which was practically everyone) pointed and stared while tapping their friends to do the same. I wonder what they say to each other. Oh, look, a white girl. It’s like I’m a zoo animal or a rare species of bird. I sat down between a younger girl and an old woman who silently showed me the ropes and flagged down the men if I looked like I might need a refill. The younger girl even took all of my empty dishes☺ When I left the building, ecstatic women in colorful saris grabbed me and had me take photos with them; I felt a clash of emotions between pride and embarrassment.
The next morning, however, was a different story. I went for breakfast at prime time eating hours, 7:30 am (they actually serve food in 20 minute waves over 24 hours). There were so many people pushing and crowding in order to grab the few dishes remaining and race into the dining hall. Within the twenty feet from the steps to the hall, I was groped at least four times by a group of boys behind me. I turned around twice and screamed at them. I couldn’t move away or try and hit them because there was literally no room to move. I finally got away once I was through the dining hall doors and sat down against the wall and cried (just a little). We are within the walls of a very famous and sacred temple--no shoes are allowed and everyone’s head must be covered. They are providing an amazing service by feeding tens of thousands for free and yet these young men think it’s acceptable and worse yet, funny to grope a Western woman. Traveling in India alone is so difficult (it’s significantly more bearable when I’m with someone else, even if it’s another woman), harder that I could have imagined. Coming from a first world country, I’m used to living where there are rules and regulations, a sense of safety and security that I have somewhere to run to if there’s a problem—it’s not like that here. There are no rules and not always someone to help. This was the first time in my travels, or ever for that matter, that I felt like if I were to get into some sort of trouble, that no one would help. I wonder if there can be change for the poverty, pollution and abuse; the issues are so rampant and ingrained, who will bring about a transformation here? Who can start the process of stopping the corruption?
The next day, I hid either in my room, reading, or on the Internet passing the time and unwinding from the stress of Amritsar, a city that never ceases to slow down (and not in a good way). I met an older couple from the UK staying in my dorm that was going to see the boarder closing later in the afternoon. We took a taxi with four others to the Pakistan/India boarder, which was about an hour away (solely due to traffic). I shared the front seat with a German man and, after the driver waved me to get in, I asked the other guy if he could sit in the middle, instead, because I didn’t want to be next to the male driver. Good thing, because the guy had to straddle the stick shift; the driver’s hand was in the guy’s crotch the whole time! Awkward. We got to the boarder and were dropped off in the middle of mass chaos. Thousands of people go to see this event every day. We all walked right up to the boarder where there is stadium seating on both sides of the Indian/Pakistan gate, along the road which crosses the boarder. Guards are wearing a tan button up shirt and pants that are buttoned at their rib cage. They have a thick, red striped belt, as well as a black hat with a red fan down the length of their head. Their pants are wide and too short, but have another piece of white fabric stretching to the ground, like official high waters. I don’t know how, but these men kept everyone sitting throughout the ceremony--it was an amazing display of order. Both sides have their own music and chants which gives it a feel of being at a sporting event. Then, they do a procession where one man yells into a microphone; it sounds like when you’re watching a soccer match and someone scores, “Gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllll!!!” Then, one of the officers runs at the gate, though it looks more like straight-legged power walking, and then they do a series of kicks at each other and shake hands. At the end, they lower the flags at a criss-cross and run back. It was definitely an interesting display, but it was really moving to see how many hundreds of people come together(and this is every night) to watch these two countries working together peacefully (especially with the stigma of Pakistan).
I hung around for two more days, the final night I actually sucked up my tension and stood in line to go through the Golden temple. A massive line awaits entering the temple holding food, flowers, money, and other offerings to be thrown into a central gated space where men are sitting on the floor chanting and playing instruments (drums, chimes, and bells). People are sitting around the outside of the temple watching the procession or bowing in prayer. After you give an offering, you walk out the other side of the temple and drink a handful of the holy lake that surrounds the temple where Koi fish are swimming and people bathe in at all times of the day and night. Yep, drank it; maybe I’ve been blessed now? After exiting the main temple, everyone touches the floor and the sides of the entryway and wipes their heads and hearts; I had no clue what was happening but followed suit to be respectful. After finishing the walkway back, everyone is handed a ball of brown mush to consume; it was mildly sweet, thought I had no clue what it was. I went straight to bed, after, because it was going to be an early move to the next city!
I finally got to take a shower and relax; I cleaned my laundry in a real washing machine (for free), updated my blog, and went for dinner. Hundreds of people file into a big room after being handed a metal bowl, plate, and spoon then sit in rows on the floor. Men quickly walk up and down the rows with buckets, ladling out rice, curry, dahl or handing out chapattis and also pouring water into the bowl for drinking. I was the only Westerner in there and anyone who noticed me (which was practically everyone) pointed and stared while tapping their friends to do the same. I wonder what they say to each other. Oh, look, a white girl. It’s like I’m a zoo animal or a rare species of bird. I sat down between a younger girl and an old woman who silently showed me the ropes and flagged down the men if I looked like I might need a refill. The younger girl even took all of my empty dishes☺ When I left the building, ecstatic women in colorful saris grabbed me and had me take photos with them; I felt a clash of emotions between pride and embarrassment.
The next morning, however, was a different story. I went for breakfast at prime time eating hours, 7:30 am (they actually serve food in 20 minute waves over 24 hours). There were so many people pushing and crowding in order to grab the few dishes remaining and race into the dining hall. Within the twenty feet from the steps to the hall, I was groped at least four times by a group of boys behind me. I turned around twice and screamed at them. I couldn’t move away or try and hit them because there was literally no room to move. I finally got away once I was through the dining hall doors and sat down against the wall and cried (just a little). We are within the walls of a very famous and sacred temple--no shoes are allowed and everyone’s head must be covered. They are providing an amazing service by feeding tens of thousands for free and yet these young men think it’s acceptable and worse yet, funny to grope a Western woman. Traveling in India alone is so difficult (it’s significantly more bearable when I’m with someone else, even if it’s another woman), harder that I could have imagined. Coming from a first world country, I’m used to living where there are rules and regulations, a sense of safety and security that I have somewhere to run to if there’s a problem—it’s not like that here. There are no rules and not always someone to help. This was the first time in my travels, or ever for that matter, that I felt like if I were to get into some sort of trouble, that no one would help. I wonder if there can be change for the poverty, pollution and abuse; the issues are so rampant and ingrained, who will bring about a transformation here? Who can start the process of stopping the corruption?
The next day, I hid either in my room, reading, or on the Internet passing the time and unwinding from the stress of Amritsar, a city that never ceases to slow down (and not in a good way). I met an older couple from the UK staying in my dorm that was going to see the boarder closing later in the afternoon. We took a taxi with four others to the Pakistan/India boarder, which was about an hour away (solely due to traffic). I shared the front seat with a German man and, after the driver waved me to get in, I asked the other guy if he could sit in the middle, instead, because I didn’t want to be next to the male driver. Good thing, because the guy had to straddle the stick shift; the driver’s hand was in the guy’s crotch the whole time! Awkward. We got to the boarder and were dropped off in the middle of mass chaos. Thousands of people go to see this event every day. We all walked right up to the boarder where there is stadium seating on both sides of the Indian/Pakistan gate, along the road which crosses the boarder. Guards are wearing a tan button up shirt and pants that are buttoned at their rib cage. They have a thick, red striped belt, as well as a black hat with a red fan down the length of their head. Their pants are wide and too short, but have another piece of white fabric stretching to the ground, like official high waters. I don’t know how, but these men kept everyone sitting throughout the ceremony--it was an amazing display of order. Both sides have their own music and chants which gives it a feel of being at a sporting event. Then, they do a procession where one man yells into a microphone; it sounds like when you’re watching a soccer match and someone scores, “Gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllll!!!” Then, one of the officers runs at the gate, though it looks more like straight-legged power walking, and then they do a series of kicks at each other and shake hands. At the end, they lower the flags at a criss-cross and run back. It was definitely an interesting display, but it was really moving to see how many hundreds of people come together(and this is every night) to watch these two countries working together peacefully (especially with the stigma of Pakistan).
I hung around for two more days, the final night I actually sucked up my tension and stood in line to go through the Golden temple. A massive line awaits entering the temple holding food, flowers, money, and other offerings to be thrown into a central gated space where men are sitting on the floor chanting and playing instruments (drums, chimes, and bells). People are sitting around the outside of the temple watching the procession or bowing in prayer. After you give an offering, you walk out the other side of the temple and drink a handful of the holy lake that surrounds the temple where Koi fish are swimming and people bathe in at all times of the day and night. Yep, drank it; maybe I’ve been blessed now? After exiting the main temple, everyone touches the floor and the sides of the entryway and wipes their heads and hearts; I had no clue what was happening but followed suit to be respectful. After finishing the walkway back, everyone is handed a ball of brown mush to consume; it was mildly sweet, thought I had no clue what it was. I went straight to bed, after, because it was going to be an early move to the next city!
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