Getting fat, lazy and happy in Chiang Mai

I didn’t realise it was party time in Thailand when I arrived on the night train at Chiang Mai station. The streets of the town were decorated with colourful chinese-style lanterns and everyone seemed to be in a good mood, but then again, the Thai people always seem to be in a good mood. It wasn’t until someone asked me if I was visiting for the ‘Loi Krathong’ Festival that I realised that I’d chosen (by pure chance) not only the best weekend of the year to be in Chiang Mai, but also the best place in Thailand to see the festivities.

Loi Krathong is a public holiday in Thailand which takes place during the full moon every November. During this time, everyone celebrates the end of the monsoon season. It’s also an occasion where the river goddess is appeased with floating floral offerings for a year of abuse (and I’m sure that she needs it, judging from all those excessive plastic bags they give you at the 7/11 stores that end up floating downstream).  There’s the chance to symbolically cleanse yourself of anything you want to be rid of, by releasing a burning lantern into the night sky and watching it ascend heavenwards, bringing good luck and peace of mind. Fireworks crackle and pop in the night sky and the streets are jam packed with  incredibly well-behaved locals. Even those stuck in the traffic jams seem good humoured. Ornate carnival floats with beautifully dressed people wait patiently for hours for the procession to begin, smiling serenely at everyone. Even the children sit cross-legged and calm like little gods and goddesses in their gold costumes, full make up and headresses.

On the Saturday night the Festival got into full swing, so me and Rahel (my lovely dorm-mate from Germany) headed for the river in search of a year of good luck. There was a fantastic atmosphere in town and it was amazing to see the night sky lit up with the glowing lanterns. The stars had been replaced by a constellation of burning lamps, disappearing gracefully into space. We bought one for ourselves and sent it burning into the sky with a big cheer. We also bought two tiny birds in a wicker cage because they looked so scared and cramped in there. I’m not sure we should have been encouraging the woman selling them, but it felt good to send them flying for freedom. We had to draw the line at liberating the bags of river fish but I hope that someone else came to their rescue before the end of the evening.

Everywhere we walked we were tempted by the fabulous street food…. noodles (add chilli, fish sauce, beansprouts, crushed peanuts and sugar to taste and scoop it all in as best you can manage with tiny wooden chopsticks as you’re walking along the street), giant fortune cookies filled with sweet cream and coconut, tiny spring rolls, fried pancakes with banana, condensed milk and chocolate sauce, snow pungs (sweet baked rolls) and bags of fresh tropical fruit, all for a few pennies. I’m going to roll home I swear.

We sat with a beer by the river and listened to a Thai dude who looked strangely like Johnny Depp (we nicknamed him ‘Johnny Thai’) sing some classics and watched the fireworks explode in the sky. I’ve had worse evenings.

Chiang Mai was the place to get down to some serious old-fashioned self-indulgence. On top of partying and eating (we went for a Thai cooking workshop where a delightful Thai lady taught us the art of balancing sweet / salty / sour and spicy flavours in heavenly concoctions) there was also the chance to be massaged into a comatose state for hours on end until you start drooling into the pillow. Thai massage is a blissful experience, where you are stretched and pummelled by sweet smiling women who are stronger than their delicate frames would suggest. With a sense of adventure, we decided to check out the massage facilities at Chaing Mai Women’s Prison, where they have the reputation of offering the best service in town. The women receive training in massage and/or catering as part of their vocational study, in the hope that they will be able to reintegrate into society upon their release and avoid getting back into a cycle of crime again. We had a wonderful massage there and it was hard to imagine that these lovely ladies had ever committed a crime. I had to bite my tongue to stop asking my sweet therapist (Bee) what she’d done to end up in the nick…

To counteract all the self-indulgence we took morning yoga classes in town and long pre-breakfast swims in the beautiful big pool at our hostel. I couldn’t believe my luck when I arrived at this place. I was expecting the usual low-budget backpacker hangout (what more could you expect for 9 Euro per night?) so when the tuktuk dropped me off at a beautifully landscaped Imm Eco resort I was ready to complain that he’d brought me to the wrong place. However luckily for me he was right and I got to spend a wonderful four days at this amazing place, enjoying the jungle gardens, swimming pool, rainforest-style bathrooms, great food and immaculate dorm. Highly recommended!

I know I keep saying this about everywhere that I visit, but it’s hard to move on from the good life in Chiang Mai, however if I stuck around too long I would risk becoming seriously fat, lazy… and blissfully happy!

Next stop Chiang Khong…. ready to cross the border into Laos.

Two nights in Bangkok

I shuffled off a sleeper bus in Bangkok at 5.30am, sore and grumpy from a cramped and bumpy night on the road. I really wasn’t in the mood for another big city, and certainly not the tacky Khao San Road area, a backpackers enclave full of cheap souvenirs, neon lights, beer-swilling westerners and burger joints. My frazzled brain was too tired to make a good decision about breakfast, so ended up having a soggy croissant in Burger King and wishing I was back by the sea. I had a long wait until check-in at the (grubby but cheap) hostel I’d booked,  so there was six hours of shuffling about trying to stay awake to do. Bleeeergghhhhh.

Luckily, things got better and better.

Once I escaped the Khao San Road and ventured out into the city centre I immediately woke up to the excitement and charm of this amazing place. Bangkok is the epitome of a modern city… but with temples, shrines and monks thrown in. There was no point trying to blend in amongst the young, hip crowd who hang about the ultra-slick fashion malls sporting achingly-trendy clothes and haircuts. My tatty travellers clothes didn’t quite cut the mustard (even after a visit to the hairdressers, where a young guy in skinny jeans with a heavy metal-meets-neo-punk-Asian haircut gave me a trim). The girls all look like they’ve stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine and everyone seems to be worshipping at the temple of fashion here.

Oh, and the temples! What an amazing site, to ride a river taxi by night and see the golden temple roof tops along the banks sparkle and glimmer with gold. They are inlaid with small pieces of glass which catch the light, giving a fairy-tale effect. I loved riding backwards and forwards along the river, leaving behind the insanity of the Bangkok traffic jams for the cost of a few Baht.

On my second night in the city I moved to a new guesthouse, tucked just behind the Bangkok Arts and Cultural Centre, for peace and fluffy pillows. This was more like it! I could step on and off the sky train here and had a great time exploring the city and enjoying the Bangkok buzz. It’s vibrant here but at the same time it’s not at all crazy. I was surprised by the low-level of hassle I got from rickshaw touts (I felt like shouting back ‘is that all you’ve got? I’ve been in Delhi mate…’) and it seems like a perfectly safe place to wander round alone.

Yesterday I visited ‘Jim Thompson’s House’, which was the home of an American entrepreneur / silk merchant who disappeared mysteriously in the 1960’s. During his time in Thailand he joined together several traditional wooden Thai waterside houses to make a beautiful teak home, full of antiques and surrounded by a gorgeous jungle garden. I loved this place and wanted to move in immediately!

This morning I woke early to go in search of some of the famous Bangkok Buddhas. The stunning (and HUGE) reclining golden figure at Wat Pho was an awesome site and the temple grounds there were serenely beautiful. I’m so glad I went early as I practically had the place to myself, except for the chanting monks (making an amazing sound). I also visited the solid gold, 3 meter high, 700-year-old Buddha at Wat Traimit. He was once covered in stucco to protect him from looters and it wasn’t until he was moved and got cracked that they realised what a treasure he was.

My ‘too-much-Indian-curry’ belly is being further enhanced by my ‘oh-my-god-the-Thais-can-cook’ obsession. As I tucked into my flat rice noodles with fresh prawns, chilli, holy basil and delicately spiced vegetables this afternoon I decided that diets are off the cards for the coming weeks and I’m just going to have to live with an extra spare tyre. The food is worth it.

I have to tear myself away from Bangkok now and catch the sleeper train north to Chang Mai. Will let you know how it goes!

Post-dive hanging out in Khao Lak

It’s been really great hanging around in Khao Lak since I left the dive boat. Great company, lovely beaches, too many beers, beautiful surrounding countryside and some more lovely chill-out time before heading towards Bangkok.

I could get used to a regime of morning ocean swims, beach walks, leisurely breakfasts then hanging about. If it wasn’t for the fact that the clock is ticking and I have a whole lot more of Asia to see in my final weeks here then I’d be tempted to plant my feet.

Yesterday I hired a scooter and headed out to the ‘Chong Fa Waterfall’ about 8km out of town. It was so nice to be back on a bike, winding my way through the forests of palms with the wind in my hair (well, through my seriously-dodgy Thai helmet actually).  I arrived as the sky was starting to darken and took the 1km climb up to the falls for a dip in a pool full of ‘cleaner fish’. This was a very odd sensation. The little fish wait for you to stay still for a while, then start nibbling at your skin, eating away the dead skin cells. At first it made me jumpy, but after a while I got used to it (until one particularly big fish bit me on the bum and I decided it was time to move). I then sat under the gushing falls for a seriously-deep-tissue water massage. It was fantastic! I had the place to myself, so swum around a bit looking up at the trees and watching a rain storm roll in. Luckily I was already drenched so I didn’t mind the rain on the journey home.

I’m looking forward to returning here in December, but in the meantime I had to catch my night bus to Bangkok.

All aboard for the Similan Islands

I’ve been back in Khao Lak for a couple of days now, but my head is still pleasantly dizzy from life on the ocean. When I close my eyes I can still feel the movement of the waves, but even though I wish I was back on the ocean it’s just a left-over sensation from a fantastic trip.  From 8th – 12th November I lived on board a dive boat which cruised the beautiful Similans, hopping about between islands and diving four times per day. We had a whale of a time.

Most of the other 18 divers on board the Manta Queen had more dive experience than me, and during the first night’s briefing meeting I was a little nervous. What if I had forgotten everything? Worse still, what if I held the others back? Luckily the lovely team from ‘Scuba Adventures’ made sure that I was well looked after and I felt that I graduated from being a ‘baby’ diver to a ‘slightly immature adolescent diver’ throughout the three and a half days of intensive diving that we did (14 dives at 14 different sites).

Life on the boat ticked along like clockwork. I was so impressed by how organised and safe everything was, yet still allowing for lots of laughs and a relaxed atmosphere. We soon all settled into the very pleasant ‘dive, eat, sleep’ cycle, and the food was fantastic. The only thing that the trip lacked was sunshine, as we are in the tail-end of the monsoon season and hit some pretty rough weather. The usual agenda had to be adjusted to avoid being caught in a cyclone that was threatening to hit, but once we were submerged beneath the sea the grey skies didn’t matter one bit. The diving was fantastic!

The Similan Islands lacked much of the weird critters that I spotted back in Lembeh, but it did boast a huge range of beautiful seascapes which were great fun to explore. We got to dive through swim-throughs (underwater tunnels), coral gardens and around huge boulders housing all kinds of fish. I got to make friends with the sharks, rays and turtles and worked to improve my buoyancy control and economy of movement underwater. The rough seas made it quite a challenge to get back on the boat on some dives, and I managed to lose a flipper one day in the effort to fight the currents. I yelled ‘Fin, fin!!’ to the guy behind me, in the hope that he would see it floating past, but he thought I was warning him about the sharks. I guess if I’d yelled ‘Flipper, flipper!’ he would have started looking out for dolphins. Luckily he understood in the end and managed to catch it.

All the daytime dives were great and it was also exciting to dive at night by torchlight, but my favourite dive was the one we did at sunset. This time of day is ‘fish rush hour’ and a marvellous time to swim through shoals of thousands of fish. I was in dive-heaven as I joined their underwater ballet and kept flipping up and down to dance with them.

I didn’t have an underwater camera, so the sea pictures you see here were borrowed from some of the other divers – some of them were amazing photographers as well as divers it seems!

One day we moored up near a beautiful beach so I took the opportunity to snorkel over there between dives. The sand was as fine as talcum powder between my toes and there were so many creatures living in the shells that when I looked closely I noticed them shifting their way across the beach. Someone had made a rope swing and it would have been just like one of those movie desert island moments, had it not been for the torrential rain that suddenly started pouring. It was slightly surreal to be walking in a rainstorm whilst wearing a bikini, but made it all the more memorable.

When the trip came to an end I didn’t want to stop diving. I loved the experience so much that I’ve decided to return and do the whole thing all over again in December before I head home. I’m hoping it’s going to be just as wonderful…. only with more sunshine this time!

Next stop back to Khao Lak, then on for a few days in Bangkok.

Beachside birthday in oh-so-smooth Thailand

Yesterday (during my first morning in Thailand) I had to keep pinching myself to check I wasn’t still dreaming. I was groggy after spending a night on two planes and wasn’t entirely convinced that the journey wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The previous day in Delhi had been spent on a five hour mission to post a parcel back home. All I needed was a helicopter and a dodgy 80’s jumpsuit and I could have been auditioning for the Indian version of ‘Challenge Anneke’. I was armed with a perfectly good map and it should have been easy to find the local Post Office, but I ended up in a Bermuda Triangle of Delhi streets which bore absolutely no resemblance to what was written. I was then forced to play the ‘ask the locals for help’ game, which involved the usual wild goose chase of being sent in a multitude of conflicting directions until I eventually ended up back where I started (but I did manage to acquire a nice bag of pomegranates on the way). Eventually I gave up and took a rickshaw to another area, where Hallelujah, I spotted a Post Office! Unfortunately there was only 20 minutes left before it was due to close and I still had to find the tailor who does the parcel sewing. It turned out that he had the day off so I then dashed madly round the market trying to find someone willing to sew at short notice. Eventually I managed to bribe someone by paying the ‘express’ fee of twice the going-rate. The resulting parcel looked more like a saggy stuffed pillow-case than the usual neat little package, but I only had five minutes to get back to the Post Office. I triumphantly presented my sorry-looking parcel to the clerk, who informed me that they only accepted parcels of up to 1kg at that particular branch, and mine was 1.9kg. I resorted to pleading and entering into chit-chat about his Auntie in Amsterdam (he said Holland Hammydam, but I think I knew what he meant) and eventually he agreed to post my stuff (for more than the cost of the value of the contents). If the whole experience hadn’t been so funny I would have sat in the gutter with the beggars and cried.

A few hours later I found myself in Thailand, sailing serenely through the airport towards a neat pre-paid taxi with a smiling driver. There were no amateur dramatic hysterics or arguing over the fare and he dropped me off at a bus stop that turned out to be exactly the place I’d asked for. The bus driver  pulled up at precisely the predicted time, charged me the same rate as the locals and dropped me directly to Khao Lak, 90 km away. It took me 2 minutes to buy a fully-functioning mobile phone sim, 30 seconds to find a happy smiling local to give me correct directions (and free map) to the dive office and  five minutes to be driven to my hotel (immaculate room with soft pillows and fluffy towels and smiling helpful staff). Before I knew it I was sleeping under a palm tree, still wondering whether I was dreaming.

I know it sounds idyllic, and it is…but I can’t help feeling just a faint twang of nostalgia for the quirky chaos of India. Thailand is so smooth and easy, but part of me misses the challenge! A night spent sleeping blissfully on clean white sheets and a morning walk along a beautiful beach is gradually curing me of any melancholy though. I even found a place for banana porridge breakfast and have booked a two hour massage for myself this afternoon. Horribly self-indulgent I know, but it’s my birthday, and I’m determined to celebrate in style! This evening I join a dive boat bound for the Similan Islands, where I spend four days touring around the various dive sites. The place has a bit of a reputation for offering some amazing diving, so it’s pretty exciting.

Back to the beach….

Diwali Finale and Goodbye India

It’s time to wave goodbye to Mother India, after an amazing month here. My last few days have been spent back with the girls at Press Enclave, slopping around the place and enjoying being in a real home again before another couple of months hopping from guesthouse to guesthouse. It’s been fun to spend the holiday (Diwali) period there, but the nights are getting cold in Delhi and the smog is worsened by the firework fumes. I’m ready for Thailand and some clean air, clear ocean waters and the warmth of the sun on my skin (although I’m seem to be cultivating a pot belly due to too much good Indian food, so not sure I’m going to be a pretty sight in a bikini).

Diwali was like a cross between Christmas and Dutch new year. Lots of sweets, money spending, pretty lights and fireworks. I took a walk round the local neighbourhood with Eliza then on to India Gate to photograph the festivities, dodge the fire crackers and choke on the smoke-filled air.

I have mixed emotions about leaving India. On one hand I’m really excited about the next leg of the journey but on the other I’m really sad to move on from this wonderful place. Okay, there have been frustrations, smog, grime, noise, heat, delays, confusion and craziness, but exploring India has been one of the most wonderful adventures of my life. India has been calling my name for a few years now, but the idea of coming here alone was always a little terrifying. I’m so glad I stepped out of my comfort zone and into the unknown. It was definitely worth it. This place has an intensity that makes it addictive and the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of India burn brightly in my memory. I just know that I will return again and again.

Another reason why India has been so special is due to the amazing people I have met along the way…. in particular my travel buddies Michael, Graeme, Ina, Eliza, Dharini, Huibert, Michal, Ana and the wonderful ashram crew.

My top ten favourite memories of India:

1. Getting goosebumps at the Taj Mahal as I got my first glimpse of it in the misty morning air

2. The crazy bicycle rickshaw ride through Agra during a festival, getting swept along with the dancing crowds and being covered in powdered paint

3. Italian coffee, banana porridge and people-watching every morning at the Honeydew Cafe in Pushkar

4. A night walk back after dinner though the streets of Varanasi, giggling due to adding vodka to our lime sodas under the table, and feeding stray dogs coconut biscuits

5. Meditating on a rock next to the Ganges, wet from a dip in the river, with just the butterflies for company

6. Standing on the rooftop at sunset on my first evening in Udaipur, watching the lights twinkle on the lake and seeing the hawks circle ahead through the pinky sky.

7. Rolling around the floor in fits of laughter during the ‘laughter yoga’ session at the ashram. Not sure what I was laughing at, but it was hilarious.

8. Being rescued by a knight-in-shining-armour motorbike driver in Delhi late one night when I couldn’t get a rickshaw. He drove me and my huge backpack on his bike and  dropped me off at my destination, refusing payment. And there was me wondering if I was about to be robbed or murdered!

9. Taking a waterfall shower… I smiled for a long time after I’d dried off.

10. Lying on the floor in the ashram after a yoga session listening to the most beautiful music with tears rolling down my cheeks into my ears.

Goodbye India… you are going to be a hard act to follow! Thailand awaits….

Post-ashram adjustment in dippy, hippy, new-age Rishikesh

Stepping out of the jeep taxi in the middle of a busy market street in Rishikesh was a strange jolt to the senses. Just half an hour before I’d been soaking up the simplicity at the ashram and now suddenly I was back in the colourful, noisy bustle of India, dodging the cows and traffic again. Rishikesh isn’t too crazy though, and was a good half-way house to stop off for a couple of days on my way back to Delhi.

Rishikesh has been called the ‘spiritual supermarket’ of India, full of dippy, hippy, new-age westerners looking for a mediation or yoga fix, a chill-out vibe and bargain clothes to suit any student wardrobe. It didn’t feel too much like ‘authentic’ India (although there were plenty of Indian tourists here celebrating their Diwali holiday period), but I really liked the place. The pleasant mountain climate (cool at nights, warm but pleasant and breezy during the day), relatively low traffic levels, tasty veggie food, all the monkeys you could hope to meet and bargain-bucket accommodation was a winning combination (I paid around 3 Euro for two nights for a double room in a clean hotel with a private bathroom with hot water!).

Many of the ashram crowd were also staying here, so everywhere I walked I’d bump into someone I knew and it was possible to spend hours drinking chai, chatting and relaxing barefoot in loungey cafes with new-age soundtracks and soft floor cushions. A favourite hangout was the ‘Pyramid Cafe’, which was set back on a leafy hillside. It was great for banana porridge breakfast, had wi-fi and its own cows!

I went to an ‘Acro Yoga’ class on the beach one afternoon and had so much fun trying out all kinds of crazy poses and balances with a partner. It took me back 30 or so years ago to my gym club days!

It wasn’t all happy vibes though, as it was time to say goodbye to the lovely ashram crowd, in particular to Michal, my new Israeli ‘sister’. Saddest of all was waving off Michael, my lovely travel-buddy as he left on his bus to Chandigarh. Over the past weeks we’ve shared a lot of laughs, near-death experiences (he’s learned that it’s a bad idea to piss in the Ganges) and adventures and I’m really going to miss his company. I even forgive him for shouting ‘Oi, Griffith’ at me in the middle of my silent ashram meditation and demanding that I wash his clothes in a bucket for 10 rupees an hour….

Next stop, back to Delhi for a big Diwali party!

Phool Chatti Ashram – A Very Special Place

Looking back, I can’t exactly remember my reasons for booking a seven day ashram course, other than the fact I had a vague notion that it would be a peaceful break from the noise and city-hopping and I was curious to see how I’d react. I figured I would either love it or it would drive me crazy.

I picked the place almost at random. I fancied the idea of getting up to Rishikesh, with its reputation of being the ‘Yoga Capital of India’ and its connection with the Beatles (they wrote most of ‘The White Album’ here) and settled on the only place in the guidebook that offered week-long courses at short notice.

The ‘Phool Chatti’ Ashram turned out to be the sweetest of choices, and a very special place that I feel sure I’ll return to whenever I need a reminder of how simple and beautiful life can be. By the end of the course I felt relaxed, happy and had slowed myself down to an easier pace. I even started wearing socks with my sandals – and didn’t care what they looked like. The effect may be difficult to maintain when back amongst the blaring horns, phlegm-spitting and hawkers, but for the moment I’m lapping up the feeling that my body and mind has been nourished and soothed.

It wasn’t all easy though. For the first day or two I felt like I was dragging my multi-tasking, sugar-addicted, spoilt lazy western butt through a regime that sometimes jarred with me. The yoga sessions were familiar territory, but I kicked against the idea of singing Hindi text and chanting mantras. Not only did I feel like a total idiot, some kind of fake new-age hippy, I also suspected that I was being somehow brainwashed into worshipping some god I didn’t believe in (or even begin to understand).

Daily ashram life also takes some adjustment. The routine is dictated by the gong, which sounds in the central courtyard. This is the signal for everyone to rush down and assemble, ready for the next activity. The first gong sounds at 5.30am, shaking everyone out of their simple little rooms (why would you need anything more than a shelf and a bed in an ashram?) and out shivering into the cold morning air. Cold is a concept that I’d almost forgotten since beginning to travel, but it is approaching the Indian winter now and we were nestled at the foot of the Himalayas, which means the dress requirement was ‘Ashram Chique’ (meaning wearing the entire contents of your backpack all at once to keep warm in the mornings). Bear in mind that at this point breakfast is still three and a half hours away. First there’s meditation, chanting, nasal cleansing (yes, I’m serious – you pour warm salted water in one nostril and it comes out of the other!), breathing exercises and yoga. After all these efforts it is blissful to sit in the courtyard amongst the doves, ashram dogs and butterflies, eating wheat porridge and fresh fruit and soaking up the sunshine.

As the week went on the morning routine ceased to become a chore and started to become a pleasure. There’s something to be said for doing things one-at-a-time and focusing on the task at hand rather than fast-forwarding to whatever’s next. The whole process of moving gradually from mental focus, deep breathing, limbering the creaky joints and finally firing up the body with some big yoga stretches started to feel great. The long repetitions stopped feeling dull and frustrating and began to feel hypnotic and calming. Even the nasal cleansing, as crazy as it may sound, turned out to be really easy and effective. As a long-term snuffler and sneezer, it was great to breathe the mountain air through two clear nostrils for a change!

All this humble and quiet living also had the wonderful side-effect of throwing the surrounding countryside into sharp contrast. Nature took on a whole new force and excitement and showering in a waterfall or bathing in the Ganges felt absolutely exhilarating during our daily morning silent walks.

Meals are taken in silence, with lunch and dinner being served in a dark cool-floored dining room with us all sitting cross-legged on mats and eating from large stainless steel dishes with our one allocated spoon. I learned to thoroughly enjoy this process and the food was fantastic. Imagine having two curries a day, complete with popadums, all the chipatis you can eat, sauces and pickles made largely from home-grown vegetables and herbs and milk fresh from the udder of the happy ashram cows. No one went hungry. By day seven my body felt like it was ticking along in a beautiful happy rhythm and my sugar addiction was a distant memory.

We all came to wholeheartedly love our yoga teacher, Lalita Ji, who in the absence of the ashram’s guru (Shwarmi Ji – who was mostly away travelling during our stay) ruled the roost. She’s my age, has an infectious laugh and gentleness while still commanding absolute respect. Guidance also came from Randi Ji, a non-Hindu American man with the gift of explaining big concepts with a few simple words. My fears of being forced to ‘worship’ proved completely wrong. We were encouraged to participate only in activities in which we felt comfortable and there was a completely open minded attitude towards allowing people to apply the practice to their own faith (or to no faith at all). I learned so much from discussions with the 35 other course participants, who were visiting from all over the world.

Meditation was something new to me and I was shocked at first by the mental ‘noise’ going on in my head. My ‘monkey mind’ was attacking from all angles with bizarre random memories, projections into an imagined future and weird creations (where the hell did that two-legged rabbit come from?!). The process was like clearing out the cupboards in the back of the brain. Bit by bit I got better at slowing down the thoughts and eventually they started queuing up patiently instead of kicking and screaming for attention. I have a long way to go before I reach Nirvana, but I’m definitely making progress and plan to continue meditating daily from now on.

The official rule (often broken) was silence until after lunch. This was something that I found in turns frustrating and liberating, but it seemed that the time spent in silence did more to create a bond between the course members that the afternoons spent chatting over chai. By the end of the course we were all sitting around the campfire singing happily together. Everyone shared a song from their own country (I did ‘All You Need is Love’ by the Beatles, which seemed pretty apt).

On the last day of the course we performed a cleansing fire ceremony, based on a Hindu ritual and we got to chant the mantra that we’d perfected throughout the week and to write down something we wanted to be rid of and throw it into the fire (cue for lots of mother-in-law jokes). It was then time for group photos and big hugs goodbye. I decided I wasn’t quite ready for the ‘real world’ so stayed an extra night. In the morning I woke early and went through the morning rituals alone then took a walk to the Ganges to bathe and meditate (just me and the butterflies). During those few hours I got enough warm and happy feelings to bottle up and bring home for everyone!

Tip-toeing through the Cowshit in Varanasi

Even by Indian standards, Varanasi is a crazy place. I feel I’ve already acclimatised to the ‘million and one sights / sounds / smells hitting you simultaneously in the face’ effect of India, but Varanasi turns up the insanity volume a couple more notches and seems to be the place where the weird, wonderful and terrible combine in a fascinating melting-pot of contradictions, culture, faith, characters and…. cows. These beasts really rule the streets here. They create their own bovine-road-block system, holding back queues of traffic or pedestrians as they casually investigate the contents of an abandoned plastic food bag or lift their tail to leave a steaming offering in the middle of the street. Walking in Varanasi requires attention to pavement level to avoid the unpleasant ‘shit in your sandals’ scenario.

I had my most insane rickshaw ride in India so far from the airport. It started off relatively calmly but as the ceaseless stream of traffic got funnelled further and further into the narrow streets of the old town, the driver started zig-zagging at high speed between bicycles, tourists, cattle, dogs and old men pushing huge carts. Eventually we got to a point where we could only continue on foot (thank goodness I left my big backpack in Delhi). As I tried to keep up with the walking pace of  driver as he took shortcuts through a maze of market streets I wondered if I’d ever find my way out again. Luckily I got the hang of things and my travel buddy from Pushkar, Michael (who had arrived a couple of days before me) was there to help me navigate my way around town. I was staying in the ‘Monu Family Paying Guesthouse’, a basic place that would have bordered on the grim if it wasn’t for the friendly family welcome and the multi-coloured paint job that they’d given it.

On my first evening we walked out to the ghats – bathing areas which allow access to the sacred Ganges river. I wasn’t tempted to join the Hindus in their ‘cleansing’ ritual, especially the man that was happily swimming between the boats. Given the amount of sewage, rotting corpses and rubbish that the river contains I’m not sure it was a good idea but I guess if it’s your ticket to Nirvana you overlook these details. Above water level things where pretty beautiful though and we watched the daily ritual that takes place, involving incense waving, music and candles.

The next morning we were out on the river by 5.30am to watch the sunrise from a leaky rowing boat. The local kids were shrewd negotiators, but I eventually settled on a price for a floating flower / candle offering which I put in the water and watched float away, hoping that it would bring me my promised 15 Rupees worth of luck and good karma. It was very serene out on the water (except for the excess of tourists and cameras) and the boat provided a great vantage point to spy on the morning bathing rituals at the ghats (which seemed to involve lots of soapy old men in baggy Y fronts, ducking beneath the surface and spitting out their special brown Ganges mouthwash).

We jumped off the boat early and took a walk back through the streets in search of caffeine and breakfast. There is a trend for ‘German Bakeries’ and ‘English Wine Shops’ in India, which seems like a strange choice, but the bakeries do provide a good selection of cakes, breads and croissants (roughly three times the weight and density of the French equivalent) and the local one gave us a mean breakfast of yoghurt, eggs, fruit and coffee. I’m yet to try the ‘English’ wine shop yet. I’m not sure if they serve ‘English’ or ‘Indian’ wine, but I can’t imagine either of these choices will win any prizes. We did find a liquor store that sold bottles of vodka though, which (when poured secretly under the table) livened up the lime sodas at dinnertime no-end. I was surprised to find that Varanasi isn’t a ‘dry’ town… so we took up the opportunity to have a pre-ashram blowout for the evening.

On the last day I went up to the ‘burning ghats’ for the curious experience of watching the cloth-wrapped corpses being washed in the river then placed onto funeral pyres and burned. It was fascinating, oddly voyeuristic but also comforting to see death being dealt with in an open and natural way. The houses that line the ghats are apparently full of the old and sick, waiting to die in the best possible place for the optimum post-death outcome.

Varanasi was a wonderful experience, full of weird and happy memories, but I’m starting to feel ready for an escape from the noise and chaos to the more tranquil north. Next week’s ashram visit will arrive just in time. First back to Delhi to pick up my luggage and catch the train to Haridwar.

Delhi Dallying

I emerged from New Delhi Train Station, blinking in the dusty afternoon sun and still foggy-headed from an early start and a long morning on the slow train. Another busy Indian city to explore and another moment of arriving in an unknown place and having to allow myself to be washed along with the crowds as I find my way. After a few weeks in India, I’ve worked out that it’s misguided to rely on the local knowledge of passers by. In India if you ask for directions you quite often get two people pointing simultaneously in the opposite direction. The new Delhi metro system appeared like a shining oasis in a maze of unmarked streets. It was weird to descend from the loud hot streets into the clean air-conditioned tunnels. I boarded the ladies-only carriage, feeling like a scruffy peasant girl next to the women in their beautiful silk saris, and made a mental note to go clothes shopping.

I had obviously earned some great traveller’s karma, as a friend had put me in touch with two girls living and working here who offered up their sofa bed in their cosy flat in the calm  Saket area of south Delhi. Eliza and Dharini were the sweetest, smartest and most welcoming hosts I could ever possibly hope to meet. It was great to be in a ‘real’ home, benefit from their local knowledge and hang out in female company. By the end of my first evening there the three of us were already sat together on the sofa watching DVD’s and eating pink icecream.

I felt a bit guilty that I spent more time in Delhi wandering around nice boutiques and sitting drinking cappuccinos than exploring the historical monuments, but it was a great opportunity to see another side of India that had remained walled-off to me until now. The girls took me to a book launch, where I got to hang out and drink wine with the arty young professionals in five-star hotel surroundings and they also recommended the leafy Hauz Khas area for a bit of self-indulgent cafe culture (the best honey lemon and ginger tea I have ever tasted) and some great shopping.

I did make it to a few tourist sites though. On my first day I spent a peaceful couple of hours in the Qtub Minar Complex, the highlight of which is an impressive tower. I was desperate to climb up it and felt sure it would provide the best view in Delhi but (in a seemingly rare moment of Indian health and safety awareness) it was out of bounds. There was also a mosque which was built on the site of a Hindu temple and had kept the original pillars carved with Hindu symbols intact. A nice reminder that religions could once co-exist without problems. I also visited the touching little Gandhi Museum where his meagre possessions (including walking stick and glasses) were laid out on his humble bed roll and you could walk the path of his final steps to a shrine in his honour.

I briefly braved the chaos of central Delhi and wandered the web of market streets in the Chandri Chowk bazaar but after an hour or two of noise, mosquitos, people with various body parts missing, car horns, hawkers, flies, pestering rickshaw drivers, mangy dogs and sewage smells I felt ready to return to the calm of the south.

At sunset on my last night in Delhi Eliza took me to a Muslim district to hear the sufis sing ‘qawwali’ song. It was amazing to weave through the narrow dark streets, leave our shoes in the care of a local shopkeeper, cover our heads and take up a place cross-legged in the square in front of the mosque to hear the singing. Once the locals got up and left to go and pray we went off to eat street food. We had rounds of ‘golgoppas’ (poppadum-like shells filled with potato, curry and vegetable water that you throw into your mouth and eat in one gulp to prevent it exploding everywhere) and sickly-sweet Jalebis and Halwa (deep fried and oozing with syrup but very nice). I’m not surprised that diabetes is common in India! It’s very difficult to avoid sugar here. Coffee and tea come in a default ‘sweet and milky’ state (even if you ask for unsweetened and black quite often) and there are sugary treats to tempt you on every corner. I might possibly be the only tourist to come out of India heavier than when I came in. I think I’m going to end up with my own Delhi-pot-belly if I’m not too careful.

Next stop….crazy Varanasi!