My life in a nutshell

Well, it's been one hell of an adjustment period.  I've been in the country for just over a month now, and I'm still adjusting from life abroad.  Maybe with other folks it takes less time than this, I'm uncertain.  All I know is that for me, every waking moment of my life I wish I was still travelling.

Which is strange, because I was so ready to come home, for weeks and weeks while I was in Asia.

I spent two weeks in Vancouver after I came home, visiting friends and family (as many as I could in the time allotted to me, anyhow) - and I even managed to squeeze in a brief foray to the Island with Tim for a couple of days.  The first week or so upon returning north to Smithers was a whirlwind, and now that things are settling down, I'm finding myself more and more unable to cope with the empty spaces and general lack of friends and family to talk to.

I did just spend three months in one of the most populated places on Earth.  It still unnerves me sometimes to be driving down some of the backroads here, and seeing nothing but wide open, mountainous spaces completely devoid of people.  It's gorgeous, I'll grant that.  But I'm having a hell of a time adapting.

Our beta fish.  We've named him Two-Fish.  

I've been doing quite a bit to keep busy, though it's never enough when one wakes up in the same bed day after day.  Within a few days of arriving, Damon and I moved into our new house.  It's only a temporary place, as the owners are in the process of selling, and just needed someone to live there in the meantime.  We're those 'meantime' people.  I disliked it at first, but it's fastly growing on me.  The previous owners (our landlords) are a bit...artistic, and so, each room in our three bedroom rancher on a 1/4 acre is painted a different colour.  My bedroom is crimson and green, the kitchen is bright orange with misplaced blue mosaic tiles on the walls.  The dining room is green, with nearly-invisible hearts and stars painted in a slightly lighter colour over top.  The spare room is Dr. Suess-style green and blue, the bathroom is blue and brown, the living room crimson and beige (and poorly painted, I might add) ...and Damon's room is beige and green.

Despite the colour...quirks...the house has grown on us.  Our living room is a bit of a joke - neither of us have any real furniture (having sold mine prior to moving in November), so we have a flat-screen TV which doubles as Damon's computer monitor, four game consoles (NES, N64, Sega Gen, and PS3) ...six throw pillows, a Thai axe pillow, and an old lady armchair.  We've grown accustomed to 'camping' out on the floor.  A couch would be nice, though.

I promptly renewed my license and then went for my driver's test - so I can now legally drive solo, which is both unnerving and fantastic.  I truly do enjoy biking and walking everywhere, though I'll admit to having used the car a few times to go places at night, like aquafit, or my drawing class.

Speaking of, I snagged myself a gym pass almost right away, and I've been going to aquafit at night when I feel up to it.  The class is really good, and a decent workout.  Just recently, I signed up for life drawing lessons at the Art Gallery as well, so I have that for a month.  A nude model poses for us, and we draw her, receiving instruction on the best ways to do so.  I've only had one class so far, but I really enjoy it.  In a nervous fit, I even asked the model if she'd pose for me in front of the camera so I can practice portraiture, and she said yes.  Now, I just have to figure out how/what/when/where-slash-work up the nerve to walk into the shop she owns to talk to her again.  

Most of my time is spent reading, or painting and drawing (I've completed one of each in the last couple of weeks).  I've also gone cooking mad.  I cook...all the time.  I just can't get over being able to cook again, after eating out for three months.  I truly cannot even grasp at the words designed to express my joy of cooking.  I haven't eaten out once since returning to Smithers.

Naturally sweetened buckwheat muffins

Spelt pancakes with coconut and coconut oil

Some homemade Indian food...it was ALMOST right.

Homemade gluten-free crackers.  They're seriously delicious, and full of good stuff like chia and pumpkin seed and flax.  A quote from the website I got the recipe from: "You ever see a tired bird?  I didn't think so."  

Buckwheat pancakes for me, Bacon pancakes for Damon, on International Pancake Day (the last day I was allowed to eat sugar!)

In addition to this, I've given up sugar for Lent.  I'm far too apathetic to be religious, so don't think for a moment I'm doing it for that reason.  Lent was a reasonable frame of time, and I rather like the concept of giving up something you love (why do we need anything, really?) ...so I've given up sugar.  That means no white sugar, brown sugar, cane syrup, stevia, dextrose, maltodextrin, molasses, or anything else which means sugar.  Because I realize what a nazi I'm being about this, I've given myself two leeway items.  Honey, and fruit.  It was initially maple syrup and agave as well, but I've weeded those out.

The drawing I did.

And you know what?  The body goes through withdrawal when you remove all sugar.  And you know what else?  Sugar is in everything.  I have to read the label on every single item I purchase in the store, and I can't eat multitudes of things: crackers, all cereal, obvious desserts like cake and cookies, frozen hashbrows, packaged veggie burgers, sauces, SOY SAUCE (of all things!), and many others.  It's challenging, but I'm sticking it through.  Once in a while I get a sugar craving really badly, but I'm learning to moderate it with nut butters.  Honestly, my cure to my sweet tooth is a nut butter mixed with dark cocoa.  It's almost like chocolate, and the fats satisfy my craving.

Since giving up sugar, I have more reserved energy throughout the day, and I had started sleeping better.  I've also given up wheat for the most part, as an experiment to find out if I'm intolerant or not.  I'm beginning to believe I'm not, but either way, the added bonus of removing the two largest source of carbs from my diet is that I think I'm losing size.  I was a bit over-the-top about it when I came home from Asia, having clearly gone up a waist size, but now when I look in the mirror, I don't feel as disgusted at myself.  Sadly, I still feel I have a long way to go in obtaining what I consider to be a 'proper fitness level'.

A few camping shots.

 Snowshoeing!

Damon and I together have done a few little things - we went camping in Prince Rupert, and we attempted to cross country ski.  Well...I attempted.  I'm apparently terrified of skiing.  We've been snowshoeing and hiking as well.  He's in camp right now though, and I haven't made any friends here in Smithers yet, so I've been really lonely.  I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, and a hard time sleeping at night because of it.  I'm making due as best as I can, and Damon's family have been nice enough to stop by on occasion or invite me out for walks (like a lonely puppy).

Don't get me wrong, I have been having fun - there's just only so much solo fun you can have before having other people around becomes a nice thought.  

Making face love to my new lens, the Canon EF 50mm f1.8 II.

 Anybody want to road trip up to see me?  I can make tasty treats.  

A brief foray into Hong Kong!

My flight is delayed in Hong Kong by two hours, so you get a blog!  With videos, and everything!  I'm not really as enthusiastic about my delayed flight as I sound!  In fact, I haven't slept in almost 30 hours! 

Okay, I'm done with that.

Hong Kong is fucking spectacular.  The worth of my money is much less here, sadly, and so, today has been a very, very expensive day.  I think I just spent two weeks worth of money in India in one afternoon.  That's why god created credit cards, right?

I finished my day in Mumbai, and I literally spent the entire day eating.  I don't even know why I did it; I wasn't hungry.  I just had an unending craving for street food, which is probably why my stomach is like "Rawr, what did you do to me?" right now.  The amount of food I've consumed lately (ie: within the last week) might account for how fat I've been feeling.  I think I've grown sideways a bit.  Either that, or my stomach is just super bloated.  I still think it's fat, and I dread to weigh myself when I get home (which I invariably will be doing within the hour of arriving in a house with a scale)

I got into a dreadful argument with a taxi driver, because I took a taxi from Churchgate to Crawford Market, and he wanted to charge me 50R, but I made him use the metre, and so he took me on this massive round-about route that involved sitting in traffic, and eventually I tossed the change from my pocket at him and got out.  I short-changed him, but I knew if I handed him a 100R note, I'd never see the change from it.  So I got out and walked away to a taxi driver screaming at me to get back there and pay the remainder of the fee.  I hid in a park for a bit with my book, in case the driver had followed me, and when I was positive I'd lost him, I gave up my venture to go to Crawford Market and I headed back towards Colaba, which is where I was staying.

I haven't gone to bed yet - though I did pass out on the plane for a few hours.  Getting into Hong Kong was no hassle, and I went through immigration to go explore the city for the day.  Hong Kong is AWESOME!

Everything is clean, people speak English (for the most part), money has real value - which is good and bad - there isn't Indian men urinating everywhere, and there were hardly any touts.  Although, a man did follow me for a while telling me he could find me a good tailor.  What was he trying to insinuate? ...I took the MTR airport express into Kowloon station, and took a bus from there to Ocean Terminal, which is the location of a SuperDry store! 

Yes, I went on an adventure that led me across Hong Kong, just so I could buy three hoodies.  You don't understand, they really are that good.  While I was shopping, I chatted with a British pilot, who told me if I only had an hour or two left before I had to return to the airport, that I should take the ferry for $2HK to the actual island of Hong Kong, and go grab a coffee and walk around and then come back.  He said the views of the cityline were pretty decent that way, and it was a pleasant day and a pleasant way to kill some time.

So I did just that, and he was right; it was a pretty nice way to kill my afternoon.  I took the ferry across, and then went to a buffet-style lunch on the top of a roof, which was tasty (I love food) ...but the main dish was ham, and I think the vegetables were cooked with the ham also.  A little while after I ate my food, I could taste ham on my breath and my tummy was a bit upset.  Silly meats, hiding in my foods.  It tasted good, but my body isn't really used to meat proteins anymore. 

I, of course, went to Starbucks - steamed almond soy milk.  Asia, I think I love you.

After that, I wandered aimlessly for a bit, in the attempt to find a souvenir, but I didn't find anything appropriately asian enough for me, so I headed back.  On the ferry back, some older Asian women were taking photos, and I stepped out of the way to let them get a better view from the ferry, and one of the women grabbed me by the arm and smiled, and dragged me into the photo too.  I couldn't help but laugh; the woman taking the photo was moving the camera around like you would airplane a child's food into its mouth.  What on earth are you doing with your camera, crazy Asian lady?  After that photo was taken, they swapped, and posed for another photo.  Neither one of them spoke any English, and they chattered at each other and at me, and then went to find their seats on the ferry.  I took it all in stride; there's no accounting for middle-aged Asian women. 

I've done some more shopping at the duty free, and I'm bringing some scotch home (mm, scotch).  Now, I'm laying on the floor of the airport, waiting for my flight, which is delayed by two hours due to an aircraft change, and I'm wishing I had known in advance, because I wanted to go to the Peak in Hong Kong, and I didn't have enough time to.  If I knew I was going to have an extra two hours to kill, I would have had time. 

I love Hong Kong - my brief five hour visit isn't nearly enough.  I had already made mental plans to come to China for Chinese New Year maybe next year, or the one after, but I think I'll start with Hong Kong.  Seriously, it's almost like being home here.  Evergreens on the mountains, tall skyscrapers, and Asians everywhere.  It's just like home. 

Now, here's a backlog of videos from the last few weeks: Enjoy!

Some random ones from Arambol:

 

This is a series of little videos I took paragliding: Sorry Trish!

A two part video from the Gateway of India: My memory filled up in the middle of the video.  I realized after the fact that I missed a part in the story I was telling.  I took a tip from Trish, and told the man I'm talking about in the video that he could only take my photo if he gave me 100 rupees.  Then he walked away.  I forgot to retell the bit about the money. 

And finally, HONG KONG!

Note: Don't for a minute think the irregular spacing between the videos are my doing.  I have them edited and spaced perfectly; blogger is being a dick.  And it drives me crazy.

The sad farewell to India

Well, I know it's been a little while since I've posted, but with electricity problems (which I fixed with my Leatherman!), a significant lack of working wifi, and having far too much fun to bother posting anything at all about anything, I figure I should sum up my last week. 

Today is my last day in Mumbai, and indeed, my last day in India, in Asia, my last day away from home.  Arambol was a blast, and maybe once I'm settled at home I will do a detailed recount of my time there.  For now, because I've just packed my bags for the flight tonight, and I'm sitting in an internet cafe (and who wants to spend their last day on the computer?)  ...this will be brief. 

Arambol was awesome.  I met some really awesome people: Cal, the Australian from Melbourne, Trish, an American from Seattle (we sound the same!), Jono, a brilliant British bloke from Reading, of all places, and a few others along the way.  Dave, a guy we visited one night with a broken foot.  Vishnu, my younger-than-me massage instructor, and his whole workplace/people he lived with.  I never learned any of their names, but the woman who owned the place cooked me breakfast twice, and they were all really great people.  Calan (I mispelled it in my last post), Rashan (also mispelled in my last post), and Raphael, who all invariably disappeared without goodbyes, as is the way with traveling sometimes. 

I ate a lot.  We drank quite a bit - saw some live music one night, and spent the evening drinking illicit beers on the beach in the dark the next (in order for the po-po not to see us: it's election time in Goa, which means no drinking past 11PM) ...mid-afternoon port-from-a-bottle-for-60R.  Lots of lounging in restaurants, on beaches, in cafes.  A few catastrophes involving scooters, and Trish and I even went paragliding.  Videos and pictures will get posted when I get home.  PARAGLIDING.  It was fantastic.  I loved listening to her scream as she had to run off the cliff, with a small German man attached tandem to her.

The day of the paragliding, Trish and I went for a hike up to Sweet Lake, a freshwater lake right next to the beach, and we found a giant banyan tree with a baba (guru) sitting underneath it, and we sat underneath it also.  It was peaceful, and when we departed, he gave us both huge hugs which lasted so long they had me giggling in mixed emotions.  We found another tree also, which had two babas, and a circle of people playing chess, sharing melon, and sharing chillum (a particular pipe you smoke hasheesh from) ...it was definitely an experience.

Leaving Arambol was harder than I expected it would be, and I've had very little sleep lately.  A sleeper bus is a terrible idea from Goa to Mumbai, apparently.  It was like the road to Pai, but really cold due to constant AC, and laying down.  The intermittent times I was awake, which was often, was peppered with the desire to fight oncoming nausea.  It was almost impossible to sleep that night.  When I got into Mumbai yesterday, I obtained a place in Colaba, and after going for an expensive brunch (I forgot how much food costs here in relation to the rest of India!) ...I spent the entire afternoon asleep.

I woke up in the evening, just in time to freshen up, get some tea, and go meet Heman for dinner.  We had some pretty tasty Indian food, and we were going to go drinking, but yesterday was a dry day, and so no alcohol shops were open.  Instead, we walked to the beach that I sat on when I first came to India, on my very first day, and at one point, Heman commented on how obvious it was that I was accustomed to crossing the roads in India.

Sitting on that beach, in the dark, was a surreal experience for me, and I exclaimed as much to Heman.  It was strange to come full circle to the place where I was so overwhelmed by India that I was in tears, and how I carry myself in comparison to that first day.  India continues to surprise me, but it continues to delight me also, and I know that I'll be coming back again, and again, and again.

Until then, I catch my flight home in about 10 hours, my bags are packed, and I'm just going to wander around and eat street food, and soak in the atmosphere, the chaos, that I've come to love so much.

See you all in a few days!  ...and for those I've met along the way, see you all in another time, and another place.  Namaste.  

Being a hippie in Arambol

January 24:

Well, despite everything, Arambol is still my favourite place in India so far.  

I left Vagator without a fuss.  Got up early (the first night in DAYS that I haven’t been up half the night due to nightmares and other things.  Seriously, it’s been that bad, lately) and headed down to the beach for the ol’ sunrise.  I try to do it every morning that I’m not up half the night in cold sweats.  Bumped into the old English man who gave me directions on the first day I arrived, and we went to breakfast together.  

He was a charming old chap; at least in his sixties, retired, and spends his life half in Spain, half in India.  This year’s six month long India trip is the southern beaches.  Last year it was Maharashtra.  Pleasant enough to talk to, though the age gap made things a little awkward.  My life exists in five year segments; his in multiples of ten.  Nonetheless, I enjoyed it well enough.

 

 Took a pre-paid taxi to Arambol, because it was easier than taking the public bus to Mapusa, and then another public bus to Arambol, when they’re only 25 kilometres apart from each other.  Getting a room was a huge hassle and undertaking though, which is ridiculous, considering I booked the damn thing in advance.

What the webpage, Lonely Planet, and GOOGLE doesn’t inform you of, is that there are three, possibly four different guesthouses in Arambol called Om Ganesh.  And they’re all run by different members of the same, seemingly gigantic family.  So, the taxi dropped me off at one of them, and all I had to confirm my reservation was an email, which didn’t suffice, so phone calls were made, a man from Mumbai helped me out/tried to hit on me (go away, Indian men!) ...and I walked from one Om Ganesh to another Om Ganesh, and I was registered with neither.  So another man on a scooter showed up and told me to get on; and all conversations at this point were in Hindi, and not directed to me at all, but to the random man from Mumbai.  It’s like I was invisible.  It’s MY reservation, people!

 

So, after much arguing on my part, I got onto the mysterious scooter with my things and this other man, who dropped me off down the street, where another random man showed up, and took my backpack from me, and started walking down the beach.  1.5km, and a short hike up a cliffside later, he opens a room to a building and puts my stuff down on the counter and says “You pay now?”  ...uhm, what.  Where am I, why has nothing been explained to me, and why doesn’t this room look like the one I booked on the webpage?

Oh, the webpage.  It promised hot water, access to internet, a room with a view, and a nice restaurant to eat from.  Well, no hot water, no internet, I’ve just discovered that BOTH my electrical plug-ins don’t work, there’s no bug netting, but open windows, and the bathroom is kinda small and gross.  800R a night.  I was paying 550R for my way-awesome place in Vagator.  

But I’ve got a view, right?  WTF.  And no, I didn’t have the money for all nights up front, so I had to walk the 30-40min to the ATM outside of town, just to learn that it’s the one and ONLY goddamned ATM in all of goddamned INDIA that doesn’t accept my card.  So...I’m running rapidly out of cash, and I still have to pay my hotel bill.  

I’m going to make another attempt at the ATM tomorrow, but in the meantime, I still have that $100USD that papa gave me, so I’m going to convert it tomorrow, which will cover the cost of my room for the next four nights, and leave me some cash until I can get to an ATM that works. 

After my half an hour of arguing with this random man about whether he’s taken me to the correct place, and no, I wasn’t going to hand over my passport, and where was the reservation office, and more things along this line, I was pretty pissed off.  I was also starving.  So I went and had second-rate falafel in some random restaurant (I think I left good food behind in Northern India – it’s all shitty attempted western-catered to tourists crap here) ...and wandered around.  

Arambol so far, despite the two pages of writing above, seems pretty stellar so far.  There are hippies everywhere.  It’s like a goddamn pandemic.  A lot like Pai in Thailand, in that regard, actually.  I can’t look left or right without seeing those stupid pants with all the fabric in the middle, dreads, and nose rings.  And that in itself is pretty spectacular.  There’s yoga classes everywhere, and after some careful browsing, I signed up for five days of aruyvedic massage lessons, which I started this afternoon.  By the sounds of it, I’m going to get massaged a lot in the process.  I’m also very oily.  Very, very oily.  Like a fish.

January 25:

I’m still wondering why I didn’t just come here first.  Or come here sooner, at least.  I’m absolutely loving Arambol.  I’m still harassed a bit by shop owners and things, but I can’t change the colour of my skin, or fault them for their livelihood.  I still ignore them, but hey, I’m running on a limited amount of money, patience, and space in my backpack.  

My massage course so far has been, uhm, educational.  Yesterday was my first day, and I was taught by being given an aruyvedic massage to the head and to the body, while my instructor, Vishnu (yes, like the god) explained the motions he was making while I was receiving the massage.  Today was considerably more uncomfortable.  He was going to do the same again, but with more detail, but I asked if I could try it myself, because I am paying 1000R a day for this, and so...I massaged him.  

Needless to say, touching a complete stranger who is laying near-naked on a massage bed is unnerving.  I alternated between averting my gaze, laughing nervously, and my memory went to hell because I was so uncomfortable I couldn’t retain anything.  To add to the distraction, there was a poi-spinning class happening outside the massage parlour, and it sounded both more exciting and less uncomfortable than the course I was currently doing (and it made me miss spinning poi.  I’m definitely going to have to dig them out of whatever box I packed them into when I get home.  Bring on the buzzsaws!) ...anyhow.  The head massage wasn’t so bad for me.  I could stand behind him while he sat on a stool (fully dressed) ...and I learned how to do each step for the head massage, using the special medicated oil for the head.  Everything I use is in Hindi, and sadly, my memory for Hindi words is poor at best, so I don’t recall what it’s called.  It’s a cooling oil, and leaves that minty tingling feeling that Head and Shoulders sometimes does.  Learning the body massage was uncomfortable at best.  On the back was not as bad, because it’s just a back, but he stripped down to his briefs, and didn’t cover up or anything, and I was beside myself with unease trying to figure out where I should look that was safe, or how I could learn the massage strokes with touching him as little as possible. 

Quite frequently he’d have to tell me not to remove my hands, or to press harder, or use more of my fingers and palms than I was using.  Then I did the arms, then the backs of the thighs, and the calves, and when I had to massage behind the knees, I actually cringed so much he made me stop.  Apparently, not only do I despise having my knees touched, but I can’t touch someone else’s knees.  I kept shuddering the way someone does when they have to do something really gross, until he finally let me stop.  I declined learning foot massage also, because I couldn’t bring myself to touch another person’s foot.  I can touch Tim’s feet, but apparently not any other human being.

After that, he rolled over, and I became more uncomfortable, if that’s at all humanly possible.  So now, I have a mostly naked Keralan man laying on his back in front of me, and instructing me how to massage his stomach, up through the chest and down into the arms.  Many of the arm strokes involved holding his hand the way you would a lover, and stroking up and down, hitting key points with specific pressures.  By that point, I was running out of time, and so he quickly instructed me how to do the fronts of the legs, which uses the same three strokes as the back of the legs, so it was a bit easy, except I couldn’t remember anything very well because I wasn’t comfortable touching another man’s thighs.  

I’m not really sure when I became such a prude – I used to be comfortable naked, and indeed, I’m sitting in my little hut in just a shirt and my underwear, but I can’t even fathom the thought of wearing a bikini on the beach, where other people might see me.  I think I have spent too long in countries where showing skin is disrespectful, that now I’m in a location where it’s okay, I can’t deal with it.  Oh Asia, how you’ve broken me so.

For tomorrow’s lesson (each lesson is two hours long and 1000R, which is the best price I found) ...I’m going to be massaged for one hour to be shown how to do correctly the things I did wrong today, and then I’m going to massage a woman for one hour, to practice on a different body (because men and women have slightly different strokes for particular muscles).  

As far as I can tell, the whole point to aruyvedic massage is to increase blood circulation, and/or to relax the muscles, including the tiny muscles that live inside your bones.  The end of the massage always includes running your fingers feather-light across the skin, which is supposed to relax the mind.  When done to me, it just tickles.  When I do it, I just feel extreme discomfort.  It’s just not a platonic act to me, I’m sorry. 

In the case of the head massage, which I think I remember the best, oil is spread through the hair to coat it so that everything is oily, but not dripping in oil.  The point is to be able to run your hands through the hair without tangling.  In the case of my hair, this is impossible, and I’m quickly running out of shampoo trying to wash the damned stuff out because SO much is needed/used.  Then you comb the hair with your fingers, after burying the oil all in the hair.  Then you do different things, like burying your fingers in the hair, and pulling the hair outwards, or using the thumbs to press different points on the head, or tugging at the little hairs at the base of the neck.  All these things increase blood flow to the brain, it was explained to me. 

The body is more about relaxing the muscles.  It is meant to be healing, and depending on what you do, it heals different things: one of my lessons will be the powder massage, which apparently due to the herbs in the powder, combined with a diet plan can help reduce obesity by up to 7kg in 7 days (which I think is unhealthy, but Vishnu isn’t perfectly fluent in English, so I take the descriptions as they are handed to me).  It’s neat, and I like it, minus the discomfort at touching another person’s body.  Hopefully I am more comfortable with a woman, though I doubt it.  The woman at the massage place that I’ve met is really sweet, though, so if it’s her, I might not have too much of an issue. 

Oh, and I met a teeny tiny kitten at the massage place.  It, plus its sibling and its mother seem to be strays, but it (I think it was a he, so I will say he from now on, because I hate disgendering animals) ...I picked him up and he mewed a little, and then fell promptly asleep in my arms, and I almost had a pet in India.  And of course, I took a photo on my phone.  

 

  The remainder of my day was decent.  Before the massage course at 10AM, I went for breakfast at one of the numerous bar/restaurants here and had a pretty amazing fruit salad, and exchanged that $100USD note for some rupees, which I’ve now used to pay my rent at this hostel, though I learned today I could have bargained them down for less money.  Oh well, lesson learned.  It’s not that bad, really.  I McGyvered the plug outlet back into semi-working shape, so now I at least have an electrical outlet that works, and the cold shower sucks, and there is a frog that lives in the hole above the shower tap, and two geckos that live behind the mirror.  The bed is still too hard to sleep on, but not overly hard in comparison to the crap I’ve been sleeping on for the last three months.  I don’t even remember what pillowtop feels like.  

After the course, I made attempt number two at the walk to the ATM, and miracuously, this time it worked.  I also did some banking and discovered that it’s time to come home for financial reasons.  I’m about to break the $1000 barrier.  Work, hurry up and hire me back!  I had lunch in the village that houses the ATM, just a simple veg. thali.  It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad, and it was only 40R, so I was pleased enough.  After that, I spent some quality time on the beach, in my new beach attire – some flowy yoga-hippie shorts/pants, and a tank top I purchased today.  

Oh!  And I did something cool to my hair that I almost forgot to mention.  It’s called a lulu? ...probably not spelled that way, but that’s how it sounded.  It’s like a single dread, but made of string, and with a shell from the beach attached at the end.  It’s not a proper dread, and it’s the length of my hair, behind my ear – and it should last about 8 months, or less, should I choose to unravel it.  I’m curious to see how long it lasts, but I really like it.  And it’s got a seashell from India attached to it!  I love seashells so much I’m attaching them to myself now.  Apparently, it’s not enough to have them all over the house.  

 

 While watching the sunset/reading outside my room, an Aussie man walked past me to take some photos, and we started talking, and then I went to dinner with him and two men he met earlier, an older Afghani man, and a Frenchman.  They were all really nice, and I’m just getting back from being out with them, at midnight.  The Aussie – Callum – and I chatted outside of my room for a while before going to dinner, and he’s been traveling since February, and he said he’s been living in England, and then he traveled to Egypt, Greece, and Turkey, and he just arrived in India two nights ago.  He’s got a really neat tattoo, which is new, that he got in Istanbul of a quote which is lined on the side of his foot.  That’s a really terrible description, but I thought of mom when I saw it.  I think she’d really like the idea – actually, I do, too.  

We met the other men at a different guesthouse down the way, and we all went to a restaurant right on the sand.  The Afghani - ...fuck, I forgot his name.  Rasheem? ...I think – and the Frenchman – Raphael – had acquired some hasheesh, and offered some to me, but I won’t touch the stuff if it’s got tobacco in it (and not even then, but this is India, yes?), so I declined.  Dinner was okay – they loved their freshly caught fish from the sea, but I ordered veg. jalfrezie, and it was a bit creamy, and not quite spicy enough.  Tasty, but I needed to take Lactaid, and the spice level just wasn’t quite there.  After a beer, we walked along the beach until we found another place and sat there for two cups of tea (for me), and two cups of coffee for the menfolk.  It was a nice place where we sat on the floor on bamboo mats (my favourite kind of places) ...and I got to watch a couple of people play with glowpoi, and I kept trying to pinpoint the moves they were making.  The girl was way better at the overhand butterfly than I am, and the guy was just downright good.

 Rasheem was fairly outspoken, and his accent astounded me – he’s Afghani, but living in New Zealand for 21 years, and so his accent switched back and forth in a very curious manner.  I quite liked it – it was a strange blend to hear, and his accent would be a thick Afghani, and then his next sentence would be pure Kiwi...I love accents.  We’ve all agreed to go to an afternoon yoga class tomorrow, which suits me well, as I had planned on going to an early morning one tomorrow, but this way, if I don’t make it (which I invariably won’t) ...I don’t feel bad about missing it, because I know I’m going in the afternoon.  And then hopefully, I’ll have worked up an appetite for dinner!         

 

    

on the joys of intermittent wifi, beaches, and strange men

I forgot what a royal pain in the ass it is to be consistently covered in sand.  There's sand on everything.  My body, in my hair, on and in my backpack, on and in my clothes.  I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get any sympathy, but there we go.  Sand.  Sand, sand, sand, sand, sand.  And it's everywhere.

Anyhow, I'm in Goa.  Getting here was a royal pain in the ass, too.  My flight was four hours delayed, and then I had to take an hour and a half long taxi ride from the airport to where I am now, Vagator.  I was supposed to originally arrive here early in the day, and I didn't get in until well after dark.  I also had an extraordinary time trying book accommodations for the full four nights I wanted to be here - so, after calling (yes, with roaming) every place I could appropriate a number for, I found a place for the first night, and then a different place for the remaining three.

The first place was...special.  Or nothing special, depending on your outlook.  They provided a towel, but not bedding, so I was grateful to have my Indian shawl, which is as large as some of the blankets I've been given to use in certain Thai guesthouses.  The windows didn't close, and there wasn't a bug net around the bed, and you had to walk through a Western Union to get to the guesthouse.  I'm glad I was only there for a night.  In the morning, there was a frog in the toilet, and I'm pretty sure it was poisonous.  I mean, I don't know my amphibians that well, but when the frog in your toilet is bright red, it's usually a good indication.

(interlude: the monkeys in the trees are pissing the birds off in an ungodly manner, and everything is making a ruckus)

The place I'm at right now is much more up my alley.  For the same price, I have hot water (when I have water at all, that is) ...a bug net, bedding, my room is properly nice and clean (not much to ask for, non?) and it's attached to the lovely free-range, free-trade, organic vegetarian (with vegan options) restaurant I'm sitting at right now.  And there's wifi...for my computer.  For whatever reason, it will not work on my phone.

Goa has been...interesting, I suppose is the right word for it.  I consider myself to be relatively inexperienced when it comes to the land of tropical beach vacations, so I'm not sure how much merit my opinion actually carries in the grand scheme of things.  My only other experience has been Thailand, which frankly, was pretty good.  The beaches, like everything else here in India, are dirtier than I think they should be.  Beautiful stretches of white sand coastline, but marred by random piles of rubbish, or by ten thousand suntanning tourists.  The contrast is almost comical.  And there's cows.  But I'm learning that cows are truly everywhere in India.

I've been to three beaches now, and I've done a ton of walking.  I can't really stand to suntan for longer than an hour or two, and so, when my hour or two of sweltering in the heat is done, I go walk around (because, unlike many of the tourists here, I just can't bring myself to strip down to bikini - which I would have to purchase anyhow - in India of all places.  I have seen people in thongs!  IN INDIA.  What on earth is wrong with you people?  I get my photo taken left, right, and centre and I'm in a knee length skirt and a tshirt!)

And speaking of, what the hell Indian people?  There are tourists everywhere.  This whole fucking state is crawling with foreigners.  Yesterday, while I was on one of the beaches (Vagator Main Beach - which by the way, would be gorgeous if it wasn't for the tour groups of Indians everywhere) I had no less than four separate groups of people approach me and ask to take a photo of me, with me, with this person, and then this person.  I did it once, got annoyed, and moved.  Then, sitting on a rock, I had three more people approach me, in less than a five minute span.  I couldn't even read a single page at a time in my book because they interrupted me so many times.  I'm never amused by this.  Ever.  I have TRIED to be good-natured about it, but it's just too strange for me.  I allowed the first three.  I would have allowed it only twice, but the third group of people was a father with his two daughters, and he approached me as "Excuse me, sister.  Sister, my daughters would like a photo with you." ...sister is the English equivalent of a Hindi word, which you typically use to address a female stranger in a polite way.  I can't remember the name off the top of my head, but he was polite to me, so I allowed it.

The last one, though.  The last time it happened, was RIGHT after the girls, it was like, a group of men saw it happen, and thought to do it also.  And I lost my temper: I exploded in a flurry of words, which in hindsight, they probably didn't understand.  I said, "WHAT, have you never seen a white girl before?" ...and I got up and left.

Then, while walking between the two beaches, another Indian approached me.  I was looking for seashells, which, by the way, Indians seem to think is the strangest pasttime in all the world, and an Indian man walked up to me and asked me if I lost something, so I explained, no, I'm looking for seashells.  Then, he asked "Have you ever caught a fish with your hands before?" ...and then dashed off to a little tidal pool to try and catch fishes the size of my fingers.  For once, here was an Indian not looking to sell me something.  So we wandered around and chatted and talked, and sadly, it became pretty apparent that he was just chatting me up to get into my pants.

He entertained me for the afternoon though, until I made an awkward goodbye.  He said that he was in pharmacueticals, and he was spending his weekend off work in Goa, and he lived in Mumbai.  He also said that he had just gone through a breakup, and was single, and wanted to know if I was single also.  I said no, and mentioned Tim, but it didn't really dissuade him.  We hung out for a few hours, and at one point, we were sitting on a rock, overlooking the ocean, and he stretched behind me and said "isn't this so romantic?" ...I was tacturn, as usual.  My response was no.  He also bought me a soda, and asked if we could stay together the whole weekend, because he liked my company, and various other comments like this over and over, which I repeatedly avoided, responded bluntly, or any other combination of words I could come up with to say "Look buddy, but I'm not interested" ...without actually saying that.  Finally, I feigned heat exhaustion, and left him to go back to my guesthouse.  We agreed to meet for breakfast, and I felt bad going back on my word (this was before he put the moves on me) ...but at the very end, he said he might not make it, and not to wait for him if he didn't.  I think I was stood up by an Indian man.

Which is fine, because this morning, I had breakfast and left Vagator before our appointed breakfast time.  I'll never know who stood who up, and frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Today, I walked from Vagator to Anjuna Beach, and it took about a half hour or so.  I enjoyed myself: I climbed down a cliff face and sat on some volcanic rocks overlooking black sand and the Arabian Sea.  I collected some sand for myself in a baggie, and read my book for a while (it's almost done already!) ...and then found the beach proper.  It wasn't really any different than Little Vagator or Vagator Main Beach, the usual shops and cows and tourists.  I found an organic café and wiled away some hours drinking a smoothie overlooking the ocean.  It was nearly perfect.  I spend probably 22 or 23 hours a day alone each day, and I've had a lot of time to think.  The only thing missing is Tim.  I'm enjoying the beaches, but in a bittersweet way: I can have fun for a few hours at a time, but then, the lonlieness strikes.  The only type of friend making here seems to be of the "please buy something", "please get in my pants", or "please come drink alcohol with me" variety.  Maybe I'm wrong and I just haven't tried hard enough.  I'm not sure.

On the way back, I stopped at a massage parlour, and had an aryuvedic head/neck/face/shoulders massage.  I smell of coconut, chocolate, and herbal medicines, and my face feels fantastic.  I was a bit uncomfortable being topless in front of someone, even a woman, because it's been so many months since it's been okay for me to show my body to anyone (that, and I'm pretty sure, despite what I've heard of India, I'm gaining weight) ...but she was nice, and tried to make conversation in the little English she knew, and I liked it.

But I'm getting tired, and I feel like this is dragging on now, and I think I've officially lost the net, so I'm going to go and try and reconnect and post this, and then just chill out.  Maybe I'll do laundry if there's running water.