hampi update

Hi all,

Just arrived in Hampi. We spent 2 weeks in Gokarna, in a mud hut on a small beach with simple restaruants but no electricity or phone. WONDERFUL!

We are having major difficulties with viruses on our memory card and USB memory stick from the internet cafes for the photo editing and posting..... Any suggestions are welcome.

more later, after the irritation of almost losing all our photos dissipates.

xoxo
day

traveller's rant #3

The long way around to a simple point: there is much talk among backpackers of discovering 'untouristed' locations. A place is thought to lose its authenticity, become somehow less 'real', when the wheelie-bagging group tours arrive. Alot of this can be dismissed as simple snobbery, but there is also a kind of colonial holdover, with galavanting young Westerners keen to find a nostalgic version of a mythologized culture preserved intact and unsullied somewhere, exclusively for their viewing enjoyment...a crystalized culture that is -hopefully- naively capitalist and therefore cheap. This leads to 'indigenous tourist camps' springing up everywhere, where locals are paid a pittance to dress up and 'act traditional' for bus upon sweaty bus. Tourists get a satisfying photo of a woman with giant lip rings; she will use the extra money (if she's lucky) to pay for a satellite dish in a mud-floored thatch hut. So what we get is the illusion of tradition.

But culture isn't static. The priest accepting morning puja offerings while checking cricket scores on his cellphone is as authenticly 'Indian' as the young tough on the bus in gangster knock-offs memorizing Eminem. People who seek out 'untouristy' places miss the point: it is precisely where cultures collide, where ancient Hindu paganism (for example) meets Coca-Cola and they thrash around in the muck for a bit, that any sort of 'authenticity' develops.

But: "Oh, what about the McDonaldization of the world? What about the West's creeping, insatiable drive to turn diversity into monoculture? And ohmygod what about capitalism!?" I call bullshit. As low-fruit examples: I've seen kids in Nike shirts pushing goats through fields to slaughter. I've seen countless shrines dedicated to innumerable dieties decorated with ghee, sandalwood paste, milk, popcans, car-hood ornaments, plastic soldiers, banana leaves, flowers, movie posters, and all kinds of cultural effluvia. The sky-is-falling monoculture fear is, I suspect, perpetrated by folks with their own political agendas who refuse to aknowledge the dynamism and resilience inherent in non-Western cultures. That shit ABSORBS, man. That shit sucks up Coca-Cola and spits it out as Hanuman the Monkey God's favourite bitch. And the undercurrent of the argument is more menacing: the foriegn culture, it is inferred, is too weak/slow/dull/backward to protect itself from the great power we have unleashed...now only we, as the creators, can go back in and decide what is 'good' for another people and culture. We must save them. They're helpless.

So yeah, its an entirely new-wave colonial position masquerading as lefty social concern, and obviously full of much crap...just like trying to avoid touristy places cuz you're such a cultural explorer...

sjj

Shrines

There are shrines everywhere in India. Crucial components include a carved diety and/or lingam, a trident (for Shiva) some food, flower and fruit offerings, candles, and assorted kitschy waste. Those familiar with my sculptural work will understand my enjoyment of these bizarre little constructions, and why I'm accumulating quite a collection of shrine-images.

Lovely Ladies: The Hijras.

The images above are of Cochin's New Years Day Parade, including the Hijras.

Before moving on to the main subject of this post, we first need to be frank and cut through some PC bullshit: Indian men are, for the most part, complete pigs when it comes to gender relations. I'm sure there are a myriad of sophisticated socio-political justifications for this, none of which I really give a shit about.

Men here routinely get away with throwing acid or burning oil on their wives so they can be divorced without shame and the male can collect another fat dowry from another unlucky wife (more than 6000 REPORTED cases in 2005). A male child is universally hoped for, so much so that infant daughters are murdered or sold by families who cannot bear the 'burden'. Again, statistics are understandably hard to come by.

Today in the Times of India I read about two females who were brutally assaulted by a mob of 40+ pissed off dudes. The reason? The ladies were (shock!) in a pub without male company. The list of prohibited behaviors for women seems endless. In the South at least (this may be different in the Northern cities) women cannot dance, drink, or smoke. They are rarely seen outside after dark. They cannot leave their father's home until a marriage is arranged, at which point they're passed to a suitable male like so much property. Women who argue for their share of property after divorce are murdered. The rate of sexual assault is incredibly high, and even when reported, punishment is often nil, as clearly it must be "the woman's fault" for "putting herself in that position".

Men, incredibly sexually repressed but also infinitely more powerful, go through an extended period of adolescence well into their late twenties. Similar to Latin American machismo but much more acute, a woman is either a wife or a whore...unless she's Western, in which case she must be a whore. Dayna is astounding in her ability to deal with the constant tit-staring, oggling, etc. It was incredibly difficult for me not to completely smash the motherfucker sitting behind us on the bus who, persistently over the course of several hours, decided it would be cool to try and stuff his toes up Dayna's ass. We switched spots; he followed. He relented only when Dayna asked that I reach behind and snap his fucking ankle, which I was more than happy to do. That was the worst example so far, but the feeling of being surrounded by a bunch of horny, slimy, idiotic pigs is constant.

So imagine what it must be like to be gay in India. Homosexuality is, of course, illegal. Prosecution is rare but harrassment, violence, and ostracism are not. One loophole created out of necessity are the Hijras, or transvestites. Historically, Hijras were hermaphrodites and eunuchs (some castrated forcibly) who were part of the huge harems of princes and emporers. Today, dressing up like a woman (even if that's really not your thing) is the only way for a gay male to be seen in public. As for being female and gay in India...I really have no idea as the subject is so taboo its impossible to find information. It cannot be easy.

Interestingly, trans and poly gendered indentities are well represented in Hindu myth. Many dieties, including the macho Shiva, are able to morph across gender lines in various avatars. Indian folklore stories involve a character dressing as a woman and the confusion it causes.

These pictures are of Hijras in the New Years Day Parade in Cochin, Kerala. The parade was the most complete example of 'cultural hybridity; I've ever witnessed. As one local put it; "This is the one time we feel free, without boundries." Secular, Christain, Hindu, Halloween, Christmas, etc were all present, sometimes in a single costume.

A Little Financial Perspective.

Lets say the camera I'm carrying around is worth $2000.00 CDN. That's around 80,000.00 Indian National Rupees. The bellboy makes 1000.00 INR per month, which means he could live off the camera for more than six years.

Lets say that again. He could live off the camera I'm carrying for more than six years.

I walk around everywhere taking photos. I'm not in constant fear. I may get robbed, I may not. But the mere fact that I haven't says something incredible about human nature.

I can only hope that, were tables turned, I would behave with as much restraint.

Traveller's Rant #2.

Put on some fucking shoes. Locals take thier shoes OFF inside homes and at temples to keep the street filth OUT. Walking around like a fake sadhu barefoot everywhere kinda defeats the purpose, dontchathink?

And no, no-one really thinks you're 'going local'. Spare me.

Traveller's Rant #1.

It's irritating when travellers (with unlimited funds relative to Indians) dress like stinking filthy slobs. So you're on the road? So what. Grab a shower and a decent shirt. Every single rural Indian, without exception, will be wearing a clean, pressed shirt and a clean pair of pants even though they are likely making less than a dollar a day. Its insulting to be parading around like a pretend-beggar when folks struggle, daily, to achieve a fraction of what you have a your fingertips.

Why are cows sacred in India?

1) Because the cow is a sacred figure in Hinduism.

2) Because a cow provides much-needed insurance against periodic famine. You kill it only when you yourself are dying.

3) Most importantly, because when the Indo-Aryan invaders swept into northern India C1700BCE they were predominantly catttle-hustlers and horsemen. Land, being plentiful, had no economic value. The Aryans needed a currency that was scarce and PORTABLE. The cow is sacred in India today because it was the first currency of the region.

And incidentally, Indian vegetarianism is less a moral position than it is one of religious purity. Eating meat is considered low, brutish, bodily. It will keep one from attaining moksha. It will make you horny. Further, according to one (American) teacher at the ashram: "Dead flesh is infected with rigor mortis, so eating it brings lifelessness, sluggishness and the haze of death to the body." No shit.

Young bead-lover at beach: "Ohhh, Indians are so tolerant of the natural world...they allow cattle to roam freely. Its like the original free range beef!" Actually, the trash-eating street cattle are suffering a grisly death: the garbage eventually clogs up their stomaches, so they feel full but starve to death, or they rupture and bleed out internally. Much more humane to make burgers of 'em, eh?

The temples of Tamil Nadu, final installment.

Anyone who has enjoyed the temples of the Maya, the Aztecs, or those of Angkor Wat and wondered what it must have been like to see them in action need only travel to South India. That shit is still rocking: the Vedic chanting and fire and phallic worship of brahmin priests dates back 3000+ years. Each syllable must be pronounced with perfect clarity: as a spell or incantation it is not so much what is said but how; that accuracy traces back to the formation of brahmins-as-keepers-of-sacred-knowledge and therefore to the construction of the entire caste system.

Dravidian (South Indian, untouched by Muslim invasion) temples are cosmic diagrams where the sanctum sanctorum is concieved as a womb, within which lies a large (we saw one seven metres circumference) lingam or phallic symbol. The entire structure therefore re-creates the cosmic dance; birth/death, expansion/contraction. etc. Put differently, the temple is a hermaphrodite engaged in auto-copulation. Built of stone, primarily post and lintel, the interiors are dark, musty, and overheated. Corridors containing countless small shrines branch off from the sanctum. Every surface is sculpted in powerful mythology. Pilgrims shuffle around barefoot in the dark. The air is sluggish with smoke, sweat, incense, piss. Occasionally during puja (the offering ceremony) thousands will congregate at the lingam. Buring ghee (butter) is sprayed on the floor. Huge piles of incense are lit. People chant mantras, dance, wail, beat themselves, bang tambourines...all in time with one massive bell and drum that erupts from the dark to overcome thought.

Hinduism in the temples is an intensely personal form of worship, with the believer engaged in a negotiation with his/her chosen diety on very personal terms: "Give my son a prosperous business, O Ganesha, and i will offer you one thousand days of rich offerings." In other words, Hindu dieties need their worshippers as much as the opposite is true. Hinduism also provides a unique distinction between secular and religious activities. Unlike in, say, Christanity, where a believer is expected to follow a code of moral conduct in his/her everday life, the Hindu can be a perfect bastard in business and home affairs as long as all ritually purifying observances are met. This is very useful for gangsters and politicians who pay a priest a monthly retainer to perform puja on their behalf and are then guaranteed an uplifting reincarnation regardless of secular behaivior.

Forms of worship are, unsurprisingly, also divided along caste lines. A middle-class Indian informed me over lunch that: "Only stupid, uneducated peasants worship all the small dieties and lingams (phallic symbols). They cannot concieve of the glory of the one true God (Brahmin) ans so will never achieve moksha (liberation from reincarnation). High-class Hindus are apparently fond of drawing a line between their tenuous monotheism and the 'embarrassment' of their (undeniably) pagan countrymen.

The Indian road 'system'.

The photo above is of a deserted Indian road.

Indians must be the world's best drivers. Infrastructure in India is impossibly outdated relative to the population; highway projects are siphons for juicy moneygrabs by local politicians and businessmen; and the Indian driver has to navigate 3000+ years of transport history: an oxcart dating from the Indus valley civilization on the left, an eight-seater gold-pained SUV ripping along on the right.

Most South Indian roads are one-and-a-half lane blacktop (which began as single lane but were then 'expanded' by a foot or so either side). No sidewalks. Inconsistent lane painting. No freeways for arterial connections. The outside zones of any roadway are reserved for pissing, shitting and the ever-present roadside shrine to some overworked diety. Just inside from this is the space for roadside vending, maimed and dying dogs and livestock, the occasional camel or elephant, half-hearted begging and child-rearing, etc. Move a little further inside the tarmac and you're into pedestrian space. This merges effortlessly (unless you're a tourist) into the space for bicycles, auto-and-peddle rickshaws, motorbikes, tractors, oxcarts, and men moving heavy things by dragging from the shoulders. Occasionally a protest and/or parade (the two are often combined for efficiency) will monopolize. Next in are automobiles, some cobbled together out of roadside waste.

Here things get interesting. The precise center of the road, around ten feet across, is reserved for buses and transport vehicles going both directions. Like choosing a lawyer or a realtor, you don't want a softie for an Indian busdriver, you want a mean-hearted, ruthless, unblinking son-of-a-bitch. The bad-motherfucker bus driver's job is to fool oncoming traffic into believing -with the core of their being- that he sincerely desires death. Longs for death. Craves it. Realize that, unlike the heathen tourist, the driver will be entirely certain of his own invincibility, having only hours before offered some stinking rotten coconut and rice to the dashboard shrine. He will also likely be chewing a largish chunk of betel nut -leaking red blood-red juices down his chin- the narcotic effects of which may prevent his heart from imploding.

Both buses (or transport trucks or all four; more is not better but certainly likely in India) will swerve towards each other at first sight, thus ensuring that whoever finally gives way will lose the maximum space and be forced to a screeching halt moments before ploughing into rickshaws, cycles, pedestrians, cattle and the like. The rippling mass of smaller (and therefore less fortunate, more expendable) road occupants will react in an expansion/contraction motion so that bus wedges into car wedges into bicycle wedges into baby wedges into tourist wedges into dying cow wedges into pissing man. All movement is fluid, intuitive. Buses will pass close enough that passengers can exchange headcolds. Two to four inches on either side will separate joy from disaster. The transience of all life will be percieved, with striking clarity, around three hundred times per hour.

The best seats in the bus are plastered right up next to the front window: the suicide seats. Why go for being dismembered and paralyzed when the honour of unrecognizability can be yours? And as a bonus the suicide seats guarantee one a view outside toward liberation instead of into the crotch, elbow, belly and tit of the 90 or so people who seem to be sitting on top of you. Joy. Now try getting out...

on the run....

So now, off to Ooty, another hill station in the Nilgiri Hills, further north and more arid than Munnar and Marayoor. Shilo was absolutely set on doing some independent hikes. The research he did on the internet was conflicting on whether you need permits or not....so we snuck in the back route. .....the hike route goes through a natioal park that is in Tamil but borders Kerala.

We left Ooty around 1pm, hoping to at least get a few hours of hiking in before nightfall. We met a man at the bus station, who offered to show us the start of the hike.....BUT first we had to drop his groceries off at his house. We made it quite clear that it wasnt necessary, and we were in a rush to get going, but he insisted and we thought it might be nice to have an easy start.....

His house was 1/2 hour bus ride short of where we needed to start from, but he assured us that there were frequent buses forward. He took us into his home, and offered us tea. At which point it felt rude, for all he was doing, to refuse. We had some tea and sweets and said it was time to get moving.....Just as we reached the bus stop he really wanted to take us to the local tea factory "my friend works there, just 10 minutes, only 10 minute tour".... 10 minutes turns into an hour.

Then we bus to what we thought was the starting village (by our map), however his route was from a further village, of which a bus would not go until 6pm. We decided to walk....6km later we reach the tiny tea plantation village just as the bus arrives. HA. All along the route it becomes apparent that he really doesnt know the way, as he stops every local to ask for directions (of which, never a same answer was received). But still likes to say to me "what would you have done if I hadnt found you!!!"

He also likes to repeat close to 20 times, that we should not hike in the dark, if we get tired we should stop, if we are cold we should light a fire, do we have enough food?, tent is good?, if anyone asks tell them your group is ahead, please call me when you are finished your hike, you must visit me when you complete your hike, you must mail me frequently when you return to Canada....ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Shilo quickened his paced within minutes of our walk and left me to deal with our host.

so we finally arrive at the starting point, just as dusk arrives. And of course, now all the locals are saying we cannot strike off into the "shortcut" as it isnt safe, where will you stay, there will be no food, there is no one around, blah blah blah. we did it anyways. We tromped up a hill, as darkness set in more quickly amongst the scrub forest we were ducking and crawling on all fours to pass through (evil thoughts about my husband are now filtering into my mind) we turn the headlamps on and not too long after we reach a ridge, a decent trail and then even an old cobblestone road. We find an abondoned field and decide to camp there.

In the morning I hear singing and some good Indian music echoing from a nearby home at 0600am...We follow a paved road as per one set of directions we were given, finding a sign board for the park, and some new information....we were now entering a "TIGER PRESERVE" .oh.
But come on, the lonely planet notes in every single sanctuary and preserve that one is more likely to see deer than the "elusive tiger"....what are the chances???? About an hour later we start coming across old, but very distinctive cat scat. We decide it's too small to be tiger, and must be leopard scat. Somehow this is better. Also, there is frequent, again old, elephant dung strewn across the road.

From points on the road we can see our destination, Mt Mukurthi. From the road direction, and way of the land it looks as if we can do a couple of ridge traverses and easily reach our goal. We follow the road until it veers off towards Kerala, and luckily there is a nice trail heading into the hills. We have yet to see any tigers or elephants but did see 2 wild boars bursting away from a watering hole. As we crest the first hill, we see two large (small coyote size) fox like animals darting away from us. Bright red with large bushy tails darkening to black at the tip. The trail gentle rises and falls through the mountain gullies and peaks, we watch as the mist from Kerala bustles its way up one side of the mountain ridge, trying to penetrate into the Tamil sun. We see 2 more large coyote size grey animals, we think were Jackals. A large Sambar buck (think elk size) with an impressive rack, bursts throught through the undergrowth and crosses the trail 10ft in front of us. The trail continues past our mountain, so at the base we do any easy bushwack up the backside sloping hump, easily reaching the peak around 2pm. We havent seen another person in almost 24hrs. ahhhhhh.

It seems we have found the improbable in India: solitude and peace.

We set up camp, Shilo takes some photos with his new tripod, and tuck in early as the wind starts and temperature dropped around 7pm. Both Shilo and I slept awesome, and wake to find ourselves above the cloud line. We sit and watch the mist burn off before we start our descent. As we pack up, another smaller Sambar buck crests the mountain and crosses the trail, completely unaware of the humans downwind from him.

The "trail" down the mountain is wide, on a steep grade and follows a nonsensical route: down steep gullies when we easily transverse and cross ridges. We follow it when it is convienent, otherwise striking out on our own. Just as we rejoin the trail we find ourselves facing a forest ranger, 2 guides, and an older british couple. Ranger man was NOT impressed with us being in the preserve without a guide. He pointed his finger 6 inches from Shilo's face and lectured for about 1/2 hour (as you can imagine, this really sat well with anti-authority Jones). He took Shilo's passport and visa numbers and said he was reporting us not only to the forest department, but the superintendant of police. LOOK OUT, Shilo has pissed of yet another forest official...he seems to have a special knack for this, maybe we now have a Indian forest warrant out for us!!!!

The rest of the hike out was uneventful, we easily found the town we were suppossed to be able to bus back to Ooty, however, it looked completely deserted....A ghost town, composed of rows of old housing units for the Dam completion years back. We sat on some steps for 1/2 hour staring at the map, trying to decide what to do when we saw a man across the small valley. As we walked to see him another man popped out of one of the houses...He spoke a little English, and told us a bus would arrive in 2.5 hrs that would take us to Ootty. He invited us in. 27 y0, lives in the abondoned village with the one other man we saw for 20 days on, while he does his 6am-7am daily work on the dam, and then has 10 days off. He makes us a wonderful meal of rice and spicy sambar. While he preps he puts some "Hollywood Pop Songs" on, suddenly 50 cent is BLASTING out of large speakers I missed on first inspection...."its your birthday", followed by every bad early 90s dance hit imaginable. It was completely surreal!!!!

As we waited for the bus we saw a small truck load of people with pots of food, our host explained that they too were headed to Murkurthi peak for a overnight ceremony....apparently there is a road (maybe that trail???) up. Shilo and I were thankful for our two nights of narrowly missed solitude and peace.

we overnighted in Ooty before heading to Mysore. We bused through several more wildlife preserves, we saw a herd of 10 elephants grazing along the road and a lone LARGE tusker! There were masses of monkeys, the alpha male put on a phenomenal show of chasing our bus...he followed us for a good 30 secs, bounding from one rock pile to the next at probably close to 30km/hr...If i wasnt in a vehicle, I would have peed my pants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cheers from Mysore
xoxo
Day





train ride up to Ooty, garbage everywhere.


The old steam engine required frequent stops to refuel with water.


Hotty hot pants Hubby. Hard to get a snap with others not in the frame in India, LOL!


Tea factory, leaves being sorted.


Tea, being seperated according to grain size, after being ground and dried.


Packaged and ready for the auction house.


Views along the way.




Me and our very knowledgable "guide"


Mist, battling its way over the border.


Views from Murkurthi Peak.



Home of our hospitable host. Me dancing to 50 Cent YO!


Rice and yummy spicy sambar, as he lives alone for 20 days, his mother taught him how to cook. She taught him well!!!!!

A belated goodbye to the people of South India...

..some of the kindest, most generous and genuinely helpful folks I've encountered travelling. We had a rickshaw driver RETURN cash after a ride because of a minor miscommunication. We had vendors chase after us to return a forgotten ten rupee note. We had curious smiles, laughter, good directions, friendly (honest!) bus conductors, and some fantastic conversations with locals over thalis meals (rice and various helpings of spicy tasty glop served on banana leaves).

ashram life

Shilo "meditating" on a temple rooftop (Trichy, Tamil Nadu, India)

Varkala beach and cliffs, with the ever present Indian haze.


Ashram courtyard.


Sunset from the ashram.

Kanyakumari, statue.


I cant believe that we are nearing the 2 month mark. The time has flown by. It's also a little scary, as so much is left to be seen.

So last update Shilo and I had left the beach and were headed to the ashram.

Before arriving, we knew that there was an intense "mandatory" schedule, but it sounded ok to me, early rising but manageble....

The ashram itself is set in an idyllic forested area inside the boundaries of a Keralan dam/park. It is completely walled in and you need an "exit pass" just to walk across the street to the lake. It is permissable to walk to the right down to a town, internet facilities, or even 40km bus trip to the beach on "free days" however completely forbiddened to walk to the left, to a small town (that at one time, one of the ashram guests bought some hash from the local tea shop) and beyond to the Steve Irvine, the late Crocodile Hunter, crocodile rehabilition centre and local rubber plantations... So how do I know what was to the left???? Because I blatantly broke the rules and daringly walked to the left. When the guard waved me down and told me "Swami-ji says no left, only right"; I smiled politely and told him I would have a one-on-one with Swami later...and kept on walking.

The schedule started with a 0530 wake up bell. Sounds early, but in fact, the 0445 chanting, conch blowing, bell ringing affair at the interior temple that just so happened to be 15 ft from our tent did the honor of waking me every morning.

Then we would go off to Satsang at 0600-0730. On the website this was described as: meditation, chanting, talks. And would be repeated at 8-10pm. Sounds ok....but first you have to imagine 300 + people crammed into a hall, sitting crosslegged upon a hard marble floor, either too cold in the morning or too hot at night and singing, oh god the singing...... singing the same 30 minute song that consists of repeated deity names in verses repeated 3 times each, TWICE a day and then ANOTHER equally repeatative song. Can we say "brain washing?"

In fact, on a daily basis Shilo and I break out in "Jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha, pahiman, Shree Ganesha, Shree Ganesha, Shree Ganesha rakshiman" now repeat 2 more times!!!!

Mediation might have been easier for me, if in a grand daily total I wasn't sitting for close to 5-6 hours crosslegged on marble floors. My hips were not happy, despite the 4 hours of daily (fantastic) yoga. The talks were as disappointing as the 2pm lectures. Each consisted of speaking to the audience as if we were all dull witted children lacking any "self-discipline", mostly on the evils of meat eating, sometimes the poison of white sugar, often on the general unhappy state of the world (which a true YOGI can overcome). Sadly, neither the talks or lectures had any depth or even interesting teachings from the Hindu philosophy. Just memorized rote rants. FUN FUN FUN.

1000am was "brunch time" and my "karma yoga" time (where we give back to the ashram community). I would go and set up the seating arrangements: roll out bamboo mats on the floor, place tin plates and cups in front of the mats on floor, collect curries/veg/rice from large tin pails from the kitchen, dish out meal onto plates, then call in the masses!!! BUT before we can eat, you guessed it, MORE CHANTING! and if we didnt sing loud enough??? MORE CHANTING. "hare krishna, hare krishna, krishna krishna, hare hare" and repeat OVER AND OVER. 6pm dinner, same same. only I could sit and eat when there was still food left :-)

but those were only the annoying parts. The asana classes were absolutely wonderful. I looked forward to them everyday. Shilo and I stayed in the ashram on both the "free days" (which arent really free, as you still have to attend both satsangs and do Karma yoga) so we wouldn't miss the asana classes. We met some really amazing people. Our minds were able to rest and recharge, I feel way more relaxed and ready to tackle India again. I feel freed from some of the negativities I have been holding onto from our last year of crazy rocky relationship issues. And we were lucky, being in the tent, we conviently missed the morning and evening rounds that occured in the dormitories, rounding the folks up for the satsang. Shilo quit going after day 3...I lasted maybe another 3 more days. Then life was MUCH more enjoyable.

AND, AND, AND WE BOTH HAVE QUIT SMOKING (and maintained post release into the real world)!!! Though we havent tempted ourselves, we are still avoiding alcohol.

so know after dropping a collective 27 lbs, Shilo and I are skinny- bitches-yoga-masters!

after two weeks of strict veggie diet, Shilo and I ran to the nearest chicken roadside food stand and happily licked our lips as we devored sweet meat! We stayed in Trivandrum and took a day trip to Kanyakumari, at the very southern tip of India. Where the Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal and Arabian Sea meet. At the point is a large statue of a famous Indian poet, a temple, a mosque, and a Ghandi memorial. We watched the sun set and thought of other recent memories of being at the end of a country (west coast trail this summer).

Feeling overall very very blessed. We are having such an amazing trip!!!