On the Move

Mysore – Week 4

It's amazing how time gets away from you – as I complete my final full week in Mysore, I can hardly believe that it's already coming to an end. It's almost as if I've entered some sort of panic mode, hurriedly trying to fit in the final few adventures, making the most of last days with new friends, and every practice just working as hard as I can to continue the progress that I've made here.

I've been on the move this last week, working my way around Mysore, taking in the sights that I'd been putting off, always thinking, oh maybe next Saturday – well, today is my LAST Saturday, and it was here before I could even realize what was happening. But I'm feeling content about my whirlwind tour of the city. Last Sunday night, after a restful day, I headed into town with a couple of friends to celebrate our final evening together (they've both left since). On Sundays, the main palace in Mysore becomes a gathering place for couples, families and tourists who all cram their way through the gates and onto the grounds for the weekly lighting of the palace facade. We arrived around 6:45 and made our way through the queue. The sprawling lawns were filled with people eating, laughing and generally just enjoying a perfect South India evening. At 7:00 p.m. with the flick of a switch the palace lights were turned on and what had been both grand and beautiful to begin with turned into something absolutely magical. The thousands of lightbulbs lining the palace, temples, and gates to the grounds are all illuminated simultaneously, and though I suspect that the rest of the city experiences brown outs for the remainder of the evening, it's totally worth it. To accompany the lights the air was filled with the sounds of drums and horns and as we got closer to the front of the palace we discovered a military band, all in uniform. We watched for a while, noticing that the quality of the music seemed to deteriorate slightly after the first number (perhaps practice time was limited) and once we felt we had had the full experience, we took to the streets for some roasted corn (not nearly as delicious as it sounds/looks/smells) and grabbed a rickshaw home. It was a wonderful way to spend a final evening, and a nice way to wind down my time in Mysore.

This week I also visited another classic Mysore sight, Chamundi Hill. A huge hill just on the edge of the city, most people make their way to the top via rickshaw or car. But anyone who knows me has already surmised that this was not the way I would want to mount this classic pilgrimage site. The alternative, a 1000+ step climb is the way the true pilgrims do it, and I was not about to let that experience pass me by. We started early, trying to avoid the hot weather, and were sent off in style by a group of monkeys who have made the base of the steps their home. About two thirds of the way up we stopped to visit the Nandi Bull, a huge statue of the bull incarnation of Shiva over which they pour coconut oil in order to have it turn black in the powerful Indian sun. Reportedly there is also a cave swami at this site, but after we heard that his cave more resembles a 4 star hotel, including satelite TV, we decided against a visit. After our legs had rested for a few minutes we decided it was time to finish the climb, taking the last few hundred steps well, and finding ourselves at the top of the hill and in front of a large temple. Upon entering we were aided on the winding journey through; we made our flower offerings, received our puja bindis and then found our way back to the large surrounding terrace with beautiful views of the city and fresh coconuts to quench our thirst. Though refreshed the trip down was not as easy as you might think, and we all felt as though we'd definitely gotten our exercise for the day.


Though the sights I've seen this week are incredible and beautiful and have added infinitely to my time in Mysore, they were both initiated as a final farewell for friends who are leaving. Our month is coming to an end, and for those of us for whom it is not feasible to stay on for another 2, 3 or 5 months, it is difficult to say goodbye. Even when I went to the shala to register to practice for a couple extra days before I leave, Sharath questioned my one month stay with what I felt was disappointment. But that is the nature of this place, people are always coming and going, and the constant influx and departure of students and friends forces you to deal with that generally hated concept – change. Rather similarly to when I arrived – I once again am in transition. Apparently it is a lesson I need to re-learn.

I could even feel it this week in my practice, the frustration I felt when I arrived came creeping in as I tried, without success, to achieve one of the milestones of the Primary Series, standing up from Urdhva Danurasana – backbend. Some days it's feeling so close, and others so very very far away, and it's hard to keep in mind that even as my practice has progressively grown in the last few weeks, my body and my mindset change from day to day which can have drastic effects. Through it all, it's difficult to remember that each practice is going to be different, sometimes in positive ways, sometimes not.

We are always in transition; no pose, no person, no place, no state of mind is permanent. So, climb the steps, be awed by the lights, cherish the friends, and be compassionate to yourself – in this life we are always on the move, enjoy it!

Learning My Lessons

Mysore – Week Three

The weeks here are flying by, which seems funny considering after practice I have no responsibility whatsoever. But a wise yoga teacher told me that it's “easy to busy yourself up” in Mysore, and I have to say that she was certainly right.

My practice is continuing to grow under the watchful eye of Sharath and his assistant teachers. And although the work is intense and I'm really beginning to feel it, I can see the opening that is happening – both in my body and my mind. It has been a difficult transition, I will admit, coming from a completely different style of teaching and practicing and having to adjust to the method that they use here. At first I really felt as though I didn't know what the expectations were, what I was supposed to be doing; little things are different in what could be described as Ashtanga's “traditional alignment” – a point of the toes there, a touch of the chin here, position of your heels, or your fingers or your gaze. As it turns out what I'm supposed to be doing is surrendering – to the practice, to the teachers, to the idea of possibility - and working to my edge in every posture, every breath, every morning and then seeing where that can take me. And with Sharath's first-time addition of assistant teachers in Mysore practices, as well as much smaller class sizes, we are all receiving more personal attention than I would have ever imagined and I think this is having a large and positive impact on all the students who are here.

The led classes, though less focused on adjustments have their own set of benefits. I try to listen intently to Sharath's count and his much repeated mantra “don't hurry.” No rush between chatarunga and updog, no speeding out of difficult poses, and the painfully long counts in things like Navasana (boat pose), Sirsana (headstand) and Utplutihi (lifting the entire body up while seated in lotus), build strength, stamina and patience. This need for less speed is translating into my Mysore practices as I work to slow the breath and remember each position of the count, I'm noticing that my sequence is now taking close to two hours rather than the usual one and a half.
Each morning after practice I come home and spend the morning in my own way – having breakfast, this week enjoying fresh papaya, pineapple and pomegranate in my fruit salad – doing laundry, calling home.

My morning walk continues to be my ritual, time on my own to explore my little world of Gokulam, turning right or left whenever the urge strikes, going down alleys or streets whenever a sign or a house or an interesting person catches my eye. This time also lets me reflect on what happens here, the changes that are occurring in my practice, the transformations in my heart and mind. Walking through the town helps me to put things in perspective, to see the world and myself from a different vantage point. Some days it's mundane, overhsadowed by the soreness of opening hips and hamstrings, thrown off track by loud engines and honking horns. Some days, though, like this morning, it's downright magical, making my way through the streets as the sun rises and city begins to stretch it's arms. With far fewer rickshaws and motorcycles the streets are now filled with bicycles and pedestrians, sleeping dogs and munching cows. This morning I watched as a milk delivery man adeptly steered his bicycle, carry two huge open buckets, parked and went door to door, pouring the fresh milk into waiting containers. I had a beautiful interaction with a man selling flowers, who took the enormous basket down from his head and fastened me a bracelet and necklace of jasmine before heading on his way. I stood, fascinated, as women with steady hands sprinkled chalk dust along the road, marking out the intricate design that will decorate the gateways to their home until the next rainstorm. And on my way back home I discovered one of many tiny temples, tucked in backstreets among houses, and went in to experience the silent beauty. I ended my walk at the corner coconut stand where Guru, the proprieter, poured me a steaming glass of sweet chai, and I sat on the hill and watched Gokulam come to life.
The afternoons are often filled with social things – lunches, shopping, trips into town. A highlight of this week was lunch at Aunty's House, a tucked away restaurant in the loosest sense of the word. It is quite common here for women to open their homes for lunches and dinners and call themselves a restaurant. Aunty's House is exactly this. Aunty lives tucked away in the back corner of a housing complex near one of Mysore's many palaces. The only way to find it is to go with someone who knows. My friend, Victoria, who was introduced to Aunty by another friend of hers, led me down a tiny corridor and into an equally tiny room that is the entrance to Aunty's. We sat at her miniscule table with three young Indian boys, already enjoying Aunty's lunchtime meal, as Uncle napped happily on the floor beside us and Hindi soap operas played in the background. Aunty brought us plates and warm chapatis and then individually offered us the preparations of the day – cabbage, green beans, eggplant sambhar, rice – all of it delicious and made with love. We ate with our hands, as is traditional here, and spoke what little we could with the boys, mostly about cricket, and once we had cleaned our plates, we thanked Aunty and headed home with full and happy bellies.

The evenings for KPJAYI yogis are quiet affairs, as the 3:30 wake up is prohibitive of much nighttime fun. However, this week we had a moonday holiday as well as our regular Saturday off, and so we enjoyed both of our free evenings as much as possible. The first we spent eating microwave popcorn and watching the pilot episode of True Blood, and when we emerged into the dark from my apartment for an evening walk the full moon was glowing brightly in the sky. The second free evening was spent down at Gokul Chats – a local hangout for snacks and tea and fresh lime sodas. We ate veg noodles, drank chai at a second stop and then strolled the main street admiring the lights and marvelling at the amazing talent of an Indian boy who cuts potatoes for hot chips into a bubbling cauldron of oil at the speed of light on an incredibly sharp mandolin.

Of course, when you wake up at 3:30 in the morning you're quite tired by 9:00 at night, and so it does tend to make our evening come to an end a little sooner than we might like, but hey, that's the price you pay to practice yoga at the source. In my humble opinion, it's worth it.

I've only got 10 days left in Mysore, and I'm already starting to feel a little sad. However, I'm determined to make the most of it, both inside the shala and out. This experience has been wonderful and though I tried to come without expectation, I think that it is turning out better than I could have hoped for.

I'll be posting again before I leave, so don't think the journey is over. Quite to the contrary, I'm beginning to realize. This trip is perhaps just the start down a path – and I'm looking forward to seeing where it leads.

Fire, Friends, Food, Fun

Mysore, India – Week 2

So, we're on day 7 of the Gauri Ganesh festival, and while the locals may be enjoying the celebrations immensely, those of us waking at 3:30 in the morning are a little less impressed with the impromptu drum circles, music concerts, and pyrotechnic displays that are taking place each evening. Watching the clock tick past 9, 10 and 11 p.m. when you know you've got to get up for practice in the morning can be slightly frustrating. Although, I suppose that's why they invented earplugs.

Each morning, I'm now waking before my alarm, worried that I'll be late for practice, and not wanting to miss my 4:45 (shala time – which is 4:30 for the rest of Gokulam) start. I get up, throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, down a glass of water and what I've deemed my Bhujapidasana banana and head to class. While most of the students here refuse to eat before practicing, I find that my body doesn't tend to react well to the fiery Ashtanga practice without enough nutrients, and with a bedtime around 8 p.m. and regular lunchtimes around 1:30 or 2, my dinner is light and consists mainly of cucumber-tomato salad and a veg bread or samosa. The first week I attempted practice on an empty stomach and then made the decision that it isn't for me. I'm now receiving questions that accompany the “you're crazy” face about my daily baby banana which I eat about 30 minutes before practice begins. I call it the Bhujapidasana banana because I feel that though my body can make it to Bhujapidasana (a challenging arm balance just over halfway through the series) on it's own, I need the extra fuel to finish strongly. Those 4 or 5 bites of vitamin and potassium packed sweetness are enough to pull me through until I can walk out of the shala and thankfully accept my freshly decapitated coconut.

All of this thought and rambling about food probably seems crazy, but for me it's a huge factor in determining how my practice progresses and since I'm here for the yoga, I really want to do everything I can to make each morning count. And I think it's working! This week my practices were much better, stronger, more fluid (though still not as fluid as at home) and I feel like I'm making huge strides. With the pain that's been plaguing my right hip and glute for the past 8 months magically gone, I've been able work much more deeply into all my forward folds, binding my wrists in every pose, which is something I never even contemplated accomplishing. My backbends are also deepening, and I surprised myself this week to look up towards the front of my mat while being assisted in the backbend, and there in front of my face were Sharath's toes. This, my friends, is a good sign. And along with my increased flexibility and opening, my concentration has drastically improved. My scattered brain is focusing, narrowing my field of vision from those practicing around me to my own mat and precisely what is happening on it. It may have taken two weeks, but I feel like I'm hitting my stride here in Mysore, and I'm incredibly pleased.

The comfort, though, is not limited to the shala, as I'm also finding my way through the social and cultural maze that is Mysore. I've found a community of friends that I enjoy and I'm also grateful to have time to myself to read and relax and just be in India. Every morning and most afternoons I take a walk around Gokulam, exploring different streets and shops, stopping for supplies, or a chai. In the afternoons I also visit my fruit guy who provides me with the array of goodies that make up my morning meal – watermelon, pineapple, pomegranate, and the tasty tiny bananas – all of which can be purchased in one go for about 75 rupees, about the equivalent of $1.75 and will last me several days. After class we can also purchase homemade ragi (millet) bread, freshly ground natural peanut butter, honey, tahini, hummus, ghee, carrot-banana bread and a whole variety of other things from a man who comes to the shala to sell these natural foods to the hungry yogis. It makes eating at home each morning a treat for me, and I'm happy to hole up in my little apartment and feast after a shower and a call home.
But it wouldn't be any fun if all I did was sit at home and so I go out and play, too! I've made a few good friends and we see each other most days for lunch-eating or craft-making or city-tripping. Yesterday we took a cooking class with Anu, the lady across the street from me who runs a restaurant for the yogis and cooks a delicious, slightly westernized, and healthy version of many Indian dishes. She taught us about all the main spices used in Indian cooking, how to prepare and add them to a variety of dishes and then we watched her demonstrate how to make dal and palak (spinach) and sprouts while we nibbled on freshly made paneer (Indian cheese), grated coconut, sweet lime sodas and hot chappatis which we rolled and cooked ourselves. We then had a traditional Anu feast, complete with pumpkin, which is one of my favourite Mysore dishes, well spiced and absolutely AMAZING!

Tonight we're off to the city, hoping to have a lovely evening and enjoy the fact that tomorrow is Saturday, which means no practice and consequently, the option of sleeping-in! I'm considering staying in bed until 6 a.m., which at this point is pure luxury.

Well, my friends, this is currently my life. I practice and walk and eat and walk and spend time with friends and read and there's definitely more eating in there – and chai drinking – oh and I'm working to restart my meditation practice, which I consistently did for many months last year, but then allowed to drop off. I figure with a little spare time on my hands, this is a good time to try to reinstate it. The days fly, which seems strange considering I really don't have anything I have to do, but I'm working to embrace this lack of responsibility, as it is something I may not experience again for a while.

I hope you all are happy and well and know that I'm thinking of you, and will be glad to see your smiling faces when I return.

Transitions

Mysore, India – Week One – This blog is an amalgamation of my first week of practice and life in Mysore

It's 3:45 a.m., and all over Gokulam alarms are going off and lights are switching on. It's the commencement of the new session at K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute and the little yogis and yoginis are crawling out of bed, wiping the sleep from their eyes (assuming, of course, they got sleep) and preparing themselves in anticipation of this morning's 4:30 Led Primary Series. I too am pulling myself from my bed, gathering my mat and my keys and my coconut funds and heading out the door.

It's a 5 minute walk from my house to the shala, just enough time for me to realize how stiff my body is from trains and planes and beds that are, for some reason, as hard as rocks. It's enough of a walk for me to gauge how weak my body has become in the past few days from some sort of sun-sickness, a fever, chills, dehydration and an inability to eat. Yet still at quarter to four in the morning I am more than willing to pull myself from beneath the blankets, to walk out into the dark street, nodding and waving to the other crazies who have also paid to be tortured at ungodly hours, and make my way to the shala gates. We remove our shoes, and silently take our spots in the room. Laying out our mats in strategically chosen places, not too close to the stage, avoiding the doors, or the seams in the mats.

I sit on my mat and take in the room around me. From every wall I see the faces of the Jois family, the lineage I've come here to follow, looking down on me as I practice. An honoured picture of Pattabhi's teacher, Krishnamacharya hangs high above the others, commanding attention and respect. Up on the stage, taking his rightful place at the head of the room, is a picture of Guruji, himself, in his glory days of Ashtanga, strong and powerful in Samastihi, the intensity shining from behind his eyes. As I sit, waiting for Sharath to emerge and begin today's practice, I can feel my body start to soften. The stiffness from the days before melts away, absorbed by the mat and the room and the energy of this place starts to take over.

Before I know it, practice is beginning, and I'm making my way through the Sun Salutations, my body remembering the movements it knows so well, even in unfamiliar surroundings. We work ourselves through standing, arriving at the balancing poses. Much to my surprise (and fear, and horror, and excitement) Sharath is next to me as we move into Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana and as he takes my right ankle to lift my leg higher, I inhale with the pain that I know will follow, as I'm still battling a bit of an injury and some severe tightness in my right hip. But, I came here to learn from him, and in one breath I convince myself to surrender and as my leg goes higher than it ever has before there is no pain, only stretch, and a warm and friendly smile from Sharath as I come up from the fold and take my leg to the side.

We transition into seated postures, and as we do I notice how my vinyasas feel heavy and clumsy, a by-product, I'm sure, of the weakness I've been experiencing or perhaps an apt physical manifestation of how I'm feeling inside as I transition from traveller to local. I make a mental note to try to eat and drink more over the next few days, attempting to build my reserves and get myself back to normal practice levels. My flexibility, however, seems to have only increased since my arrival (emotionally I haven't got a lot of choice), and my forward folds come more easily, chin reaching shin in poses that for months have seemed impossible. We reach Navasana, and I know that I am not the only one who is struggling to not allow the boat to sink. “Straight legs” Sharath demands from the front of the room, but my body is refusing, and I'm terrified that he's going to stop me (and conversely, almost hoping a little that he'll stop me so my tired body can rest, but shhhh...that's a secret). My legs and core shake as I try, without success to straighten at the knee, every time I lower down to pick up in Lolasana it's a blessing and a curse, trading aching legs for aching arms. Obviously the three weeks of travel have taken a larger toll on me that I had anticipated.
After what seem like innumerable breaths we're moving on, reaching Bhujapidasana and then the Kurmasanas, my worry point of this practice. Bhuja goes alright, but as I transition out and then jump my feet around my arms again for Kurmasana and Supta Kurmasana, a lump forms in my chest. If I'm going to get stopped, this is likely where it will happen. I “go flat” as Bill would say, into Kurmasana, and then begin to work my hands back. My fingers touch without problem, and so I walk my feet towards one another, tucking my head down. The right foot inches forward a little, the left foot inching back, and with a little maneuvering – tada – feet are crossed! What?!!? Feet are crossed?!? My feet don't cross. Not on my own. They touch, they mingle, they think about crossing, but they don't do it. Until now. Each day since I began practice in Mysore my feet have crossed. And though they're not really behind my head, with assistance I can feel them getting back there, my shoulder tucked deeply beneath my legs – no pain, no resistance. It's like magic!

I wish I could say I sailed through the rest of the practices, but the honest truth of it is, each day I'm fighting for poses, I'm fighting for vinyasas. In the led classes the final pose, Ut Pluihi, is insanely hard and Sharath nearly diabolical in his excessively slow ten count. As we all attempt to lift our weary bottoms off the floor, to not let him see if we drop down for fear of disappointing him, and ourselves, but I've been told it gets easier – that the 4:30 start time begins to feel normal, that your body will adjust and perhaps even enjoy. The new week begins tomorrow with Led Primary, so I guess well see.

We finish practice each day by around 6:45 and it's immediately out to the coconut stand. Coconut water has not really been something I tend to enjoy, but when the coconut man hacks the top of the coconut off with a machete, you stick in a straw and drink that luscious 10-rupee nectar after an early morning practice, nothing seems more nourishing. The coconut stand is our water cooler – and it's also the social calendar for each day. It's where we make our plans; who'll have lunch with who and where, will we go to town, to the market, to the palace? What time did you go to bed last night? How was your practice this morning? What poses are giving you trouble? How many mosquito bites do you have? Do they have this thing at Nilgiri's or do we need to walk to Loyal World? In Mysore, our universe is very small.

We actually live in what could be considered a suburb of Mysore, called Gokulam. A tiny town of sorts, that really seems to revolve around yoga, both Ashtanga and other styles, and the town caters to the students. People are friendly and helpful. They are accustomed to our confused faces and know how to direct us to one of the 5 or 6 yogi hangouts, or to the shala. Occasionally we surprise them – getting Idly (spongy rice cakes doused in curry sauce) for breakfast, or getting packed up samosas or other snacks from the bakery. But there are places that definitely know us, and know what we want. And it doesn't take long for all the yogis and yoginis to discover the many wonderful secrets Gokulam has to offer, like the hand-made chocolate bars sold from the tiny class counter of the literal whole in the wall “convenience store” on 7th cross. The amazing flavours like cardamom and ginger, hazlenut paste or peanut butter, will keep us flocking there for the month.

It's easy to treat yourself in Mysore, and for me, it helps to battle the homesickness. Going out with a few US dollars worth of rupees in your pocket will allow you to return with all manner of goodies. Bangles and fresh flower garlands, lemons or pomegranates, chocolates or other treats, stationary, stickers, decorative dishtowels – all can be had for so little, and they can bring a lot of enjoyment, sprucing up often sparse apartments.

And then there is the experience of the walk and the browsing and buying. Different depending on whether it is day or night, the shops offer up a variety of products. However it's the tiny stalls and carts that always seem to draw me in. A man selling glass and metal bangles on the street, the women with their piles and piles of beautiful yellow, and white and orange flowers. The smells of the freshly baked or fried foods mingling with the sweet aroma of jasmine. All set to an orchestra of bells and horns and Bollywood soundtracks blasting from rickshaws. India is nothing if not alive and a feast for all of the senses.

Today especially things have a frenetic energy to them. It' the Gauri Ganesh festival and last night and this morning, in preparation for the festivities, the streets are bursting with people, sellers and buyers, families and singles alike. A group of young men were decorating the Ganesh temple with fresh flower garlands, the stray petals dotting the tops of their heads like snow. Whole families man carts filled with flourescent painted Ganesh statues: pink and orange renditions of the deity finding their ways into homes all over Gokulam (including mine). Women are wearing flowers in their hair, and young girls don fancy Indian dresses. They're even setting up palm thatched buildings and covered dais to house Ganesh statues all over our little town. It's quite a sight – and walking around the city you can't help but get caught up in the excitement and anticipation of it all.

New View Deja Vu

August 31, 2010

An all night train from Haridwar and we found ourselves back in Delhi. We grabbed a taxi from the train station and headed out for our new accommodations – a bed and breakfast style guesthouse is south New Delhi we had read many good things about, called K One One. As our cab moved through the streets and into a quiet residential neighbourhood we couldn't help but feel as though we'd entered some alternate universe – the streets were quiet and calm, and, some may even say, clean.

At the bed and breakfast we felt like royalty as they immediately prepared us a delicious breakfast and pot of chai. It really helped to take the edge of the night of traveling. Afterward we cleaned ourselves up and headed out for a day of sightseeing in our new surrounds.

We began at the India Gate – the huge memorial engraved with the names of those who've fought and died for India – and made our way along the Raj Path towards the Parliament and the Presidential Palace. As I may have mentioned before, Delhi is not really a city designed for pedestrians, and though this was a definite improvement over the other places we had attempted to walk, it was still a challenge, especially because of the monumental amount of work taking place in preparation for this fall's Commonwealth Games. The grounds of the palace are not accessible to the public, but rather like the White House in Washington, you can stare through the gates and see the beauty within. Immaculately groomed lawns, fountains, gorgeous trees – in short a little oasis in the midst of Delhi's chaos.

Next we hopped the subway, and headed to Connaught Place – the upscale shopping area of New Delhi. Though we refrained from purchasing, we did wander into a Thali restaurant for lunch. What we didn't realize was that it was an all-you-can-eat restaurant, and so as we finished (or even approached the bottom of our little bowls) there were waiters there, by the dozens it seemed, to top up dal or provide another roti. We were completely stuffed before we even knew it and off and running to our next destination.

Our final stop for the day was Humayun's Tomb, a serene abyss near to our little B&B. Another Mughal era construction, this mausoleum houses the body of Humayun, the second Mughal emperor, among others. It was a divine place to spend a little quiet time, and gave us a little taste of tomorrow's final adventure.

September 1, 2010 – Agra (again)

Another early morning, and we once again found ourselves boarding a train. A few hours later we were back in Agra, but this time with the Taj as our only goal. We went straight there, spent a little time trying to figure out exactly where to purchase tickets, and then after a little discussion with security over the threat level of the emergency tampon I keep in my purse, we finally laid eyes on that gleaming white marble.

Breathtaking.

Built as a monument of love for Shah Jahan's wife, the beauty and intricacy of the Taj Mahal are even more impressive in person than in photographs. The incredible inlay and carving work in the stone is beyond belief, and sheer size of the building has a way of putting things into perspective. It really is incredible, and we both agreed that the return trip was well worth it. We spent quite a bit of time walking around the grounds, admiring the Taj both up close and from afar. We also went to the mosque that is still in use every Friday (when tourists are not allowed on the grounds), and sat a little just enjoying some quiet as well as a little shade from the extremely hot sun. When we had had our fill we headed back to Saniya Palace where we had first gazed on the Taj over two weeks before, and spent our afternoon in the shade of their terrace, drinking in some lassis, as well as the view.

We took the evening train back to Delhi, and, with a little sadness went to bed for our last joint night in India. Tomorrow Bart heads home to Baltimore, to our house and our dog and I head south to continue on in my adventure...I hope you'll join me.

Pack your mat – we're heading to Mysore.

Rockin' Rishikesh

August 28, 2010

Arrived in Rishikesh by autorickshaw to a beautiful day. Only about 20 kilometers from Haridwar this little city is almost the complete opposite of what we've previously experienced. Chalk full of foreigners from all around the world we are neither out of place or unusual here, and for that reason it seems that Rishikesh has been putting an increased amount of effort into keeping their city enjoyable for travelers. The streets are cleaner, the pressure of vendors nearly non-existent, and I feel as if I could easily spend quite a lot of time here. There are still monkeys and cows everywhere, and adding in horses and donkeys to the mix has given extra interest, but the charm of these things is not overshadowed by negative aspects as it was in many other places.

The city runs on both sides of the Ganges and is connected by two pedestrian bridges. We are staying at the northern-most bridge on the East bank of the river. For our first day we decided to walk south, out past the end of the east side of the city and search out the now abandoned Maharishi Ashram, where the Beatles stayed and composed the majority of the White Album. We did eventually find it, being swallowed by weeds (that rather resemble our front yard for the majority of this summer) and completely quiet. Much less pomp and circumstance then one would expect, but it's kind of a nice change. It was a great walk – 5 or 6 kilometers return to our room – and got us all warmed up for our afternoon yoga class.

Rishikesh is the yoga capital of basically the entire world, and you can find any style, any time and any teacher to suit your needs around the city. It was only a five minute walk before I spotted a sign for an Ashtanga class and that was all it took. By 4 p.m. Bart and I were vinyasa-ing our way through a great class, enjoying a nice stretch after being cooped up and stiffened up by planes, trains and autorickshaws. The teacher was very considerate and kind, working the class to be valuable and enjoyable for me, but also accessible for Bart and the other girl who was participating. He varied the series as needed, and added in some nice relaxation techniques at the end of class that I'm planning to share with my classes once I get home.

Needless to say after an exercise packed afternoon, we were both exhausted, and went to bed dreaming of the good days to come.

August 29, 2010

Returned to my little yoga studio at 7 this morning for another class. The teacher once again did a modified Ashtanga class for me, as I was the only one there to start, though we were joined by two others afterward. Bart, feeling a little under the weather today, opted to sleep in, and hopefully get himself prepared for the day.

After I returned, feeling wonderful of course, we headed out to grab a little breakfast before embarking on our chosen adventure for the day. We had decided that we both wanted to do a little hiking on this trip, and so we planned to do the pilgrimage walk out to Neel Kantha Temple, a temple dedicated to Shiva, and according to our trusty guidebook (I actually read it this time), an approximately seven kilometer walk on a forest path. So, all I have to say, is GUIDEBOOKS LIE! The forested path was indeed about seven kilometers, perhaps a little more, but it didn't begin until about four or five kilometers south of town! In addition, the book (the Bible as we've taken to calling it) neglected to inform that the seven kilometer forested path is straight up the side of a mountain – and no, I'm not exaggerating. Four and a half hours later we had walked until our legs were wobbly, sweat until we looked like we'd been soaked by monsoon rains, had our picture taken by numerous pilgrims, helped some elderly Indian women down the steep parts of the path only to have to turn around and go back up and mowed the only lunch we'd brought – two bananas an apple and a big bottle of water. And if we thought that was difficult, you should have seen the others out there with us! A small group of young men, probably in their very early twenties, were climbing the path prostrate! Using a stick to mark their body length they would lie on the ground, reach an arms length up, drop the stick, climb up to the marker, lie down and do it all over again. When we asked why they were climbing this way one told us that he was a yoga teacher, Shiva is the God of yoga and he had made a promise to approach the temple this way. It put me a little to shame, but I guess I did come all the way to India for yoga, so maybe that can almost begin to compare.

By the time we made it up we were completely exhausted – the extreme heat and humidity taking its toll on us. We opted for the community taxi ride back down – about a half hour plus drive down a snaking road, but it dropped us right at our hotel where we excitedly showered and got ready for dinner. While we were out looking for a place we saw my yoga instructor and he directed us to a little restaurant called Chillout – which was exactly that. We lounged on floor cushions, ate delicious Indian food and let ourselves rest after a taxing day.

I cool off after our long and tiring hike

August 30, 2010

Last day in Rishikesh and we're still recovering from yesterday's hiking extravaganza! Headed out to yoga this morning to stretch our sore muscles, and because we were both feeling a little tired we opted for a Hatha class. It was certainly more gentle and relaxing, though definitely not easy, and we both really enjoyed the Pranayama (breath control) and Pratyahara (withdrawal of the senses) portion that the teacher did at the end of the class. We also got to have a little time to talk with the teacher, who's name is Kumar, and he was telling us how he's hoping to open his own yoga retreat in his hometown, much more north of Rishikesh. He said he found the dirtiness and constant stimulation there makes it difficult to concentrate, and therefore his students are not getting the full benefits of the practice. What a shock to us to hear him complain about Rishikesh being dirty! Compared to everywhere else we had visited it seemed immaculate. Anyway, I wish the best for him because he really was a good teacher and has a lot to offer his students, and perhaps if he actually opens his studio Bart and I will come back to India for a vacation that is actually relaxing.

After class we went immediately down to the ghat that is beside the yoga studio and washed ourselves off in the Ganges – our ritual purification that we had avoided in all the other towns, due to the unsanitary water. In Rishikesh however the river runs cold, clear and fairly fast as it travels down from the Himalayan glaciers. Refreshed, but rather chilly we went to our room, showered, changed and headed to a little coffee shop we had read about in the guidebook (danger, danger!) for breakfast. They were reported to serve Yak cheese sandwiches, and we all know that if there is something available that Bart hasn't eaten in his life, he MUST try it. And he did – TWICE! The Yak cheese was delicious, sort of the flavour and depth of Manchego with a little sharpness of Parmesan, and it was served on a freshly baked whole wheat roll with slices of tomato. Heaven. I was a little disappointed I had opted for the fruit porridge, but since Bart did order a second sandwich, I got to have as many bites as I wanted. What a good husband.

After packing and storing our bags we walked around a bit – doing a little shopping here, bartering there, browsing through the numerous stalls and shops that line the road between Lakshman Jula and Ram Jula, the two pedestrian bridges that connect Rishikesh's East and West banks of the Ganges. We walked the banks for several hours and then once the heat and humidity had taken it's toll we decided Chillout was a nice place to while away the remainder of the afternoon. We relaxed, ate and drank and steeled ourselves for the return taxi to Haridwar and then the overnight train ride back to Delhi. We really weren't ready to leave Rishikesh, and I can see why people would want to go and stay there for a while, it was definitely our favourite place on the trip.

Bart embraces his inner yogi and relaxes awhile a Chillout

Monkeys vs. Pilgrims

Haridwar – August 26, 2010

We spent most of our day on the train travelling from Varanasi to Haridwar today. The train was such a relief after last night's horrible station, that I was even elated when at some of the stops today we could either quickly pop off the train to grab a very quick coffee, or vendors could jump on the train to sell passengers anything from chai (which I bought) to newspapers (which I bought) and samosas (which I bought). The latter was the best as the man set down this enormous bowl and pulled back a towel to reveal the piping hot and fresh smelling pockets, and then took out my two, wrapped them in newspaper and charged me 5 rupees. 5 RUPEES – that's somewhere around 12 cents US for homemade deliciousness delivered to my train car. Amazing.

We arrived in Haridwar late on Thursday afternoon, and as the train pulled into the station we were relieved to finally be finished with the 14+ hour trip. We took an autorickshaw to our hotel, which fronts onto the now fast-flowing upper section of the Ganges. A shower and a short rest and we felt fairly restored, and the final bit was nothing that a little supper couldn't fix. It was bed early after a very small amount of sleep last night a hope that tomorrow would be both fun and relaxing.

Haridwar – August 27, 2010

Haridwar is a city of pilgrims. Each year thousands make their way here to visit both Mansa Devi and Chandi Devi temple and receive blessings. Once every 12 years, which happened earlier this spring, Haridwar is the site of a main festival, Kumbh Mela, and the city is flooded with millions of Hindu devout. For this reason, it didn't surprise us to find that among what appeared to be a large number of tourists, we were two of the very few (I think we saw five or 6 others) non-Indians.

Wanting the full pilgrimage experience, Bart and I headed out on foot early for our morning visits to both Mansa Devi and Chandi Devi. There are cable cars up to both temples, which are about 6 kilometers apart, as each sits atop a high peak overlooking the city. At Mansa Devi the truly devout hike their way up, a 1.5 Km walk that winds up the hill, and as pesky walking tourists, we decided to do the same. It was an incredibly hot day, but to us it seemed to make the experience that much more authentic.

The road to Mansa Devi is lined with stalls and vendors selling red bags of prasad – offerings to take to the temple. We purchased ours which contained a coconut, bangles, a bag of puffed rice, and a ribbon. Carrying it up to the temple though, we almost lost it as we were accosted by prasad-stealing monkeys who have obviously learned that the red bag is full of good monkey treats. I was able to hold on to my bag, but the monkeys then went after Bart who was carrying not prasad but a red water bottle. Those little guys were determined that his bottle was full of the same puffed rice and coconut and were quite aggressive in their attempts to steal the treasure. Wisely, some Indian men suggest we hide the red things inside the green bag I was carrying, which helped immensely.

Our uphill trek ended at Mansa Devi where we were ushered into the temple in the crowd of pilgrims, and we followed their lead as we offered our coconut and rice, donated for brightly covered strings which we tied around tree branches, and allowed priests to bless us and our families. In such contrast to the many churches we've visited around the world which are often sombre and quiet, Mansa Devi was abuzz with joyful worshipers. There was pushing and laughing and singing and bell ringing – the aliveness of the spirituality in this country is intoxicating and we allowed ourselves to fully embrace it and be embraced by it.

Our second stop was Chandi Devi Temple, which is slightly smaller and less crowded. For Chandi Devi we rode to the peak in the cable car, which was probably Bart's least favourite part of the entire day. Inside the temple we again made our donations – receiving rice and coconut which we offered at different deity statues and we were blessed by several priests. Now the blessing we received here were slightly different. At each station we were asked our name and country, a piece of coloured string, usually red or yellow, was tied around our wrist and then we were told to bend down while the priest said his bless and then thwacked us on the back with a huge piece of rolled up fabric. The first thwack came as quite a surprise, the weight and noise of the cloth making contact with our backs somewhat startling, but once with got in the groove it was all okay. And whether is was the multiple blessings or the promise of lunch we'll never know, but the cable car ride back down the side of the mountain seemed to go a little easier for Bart.

In the afternoon we visited Hari-ki-Pauri Ghat, the main bathing ghat (steps into the Ganges) in Haridwar, which was completely full of pilgrims and vendors and in an attempt to escape we headed home for a rest and a little monkey watching before we would head back for the evening puja ceremony. Just as in Varanasi, there is a puja each evening in Haridwar complete with fire and chanting, and as the bells ring out over the city I released our flower boat down the Ganges. Dinner and an evening stroll would wind the day down, and after a sweet finish with some “Famous of Haridwar” gulab jamun, which I have to say deserves to be famous, we were soon off to bed in preparation for the next leg of our trip which would begin in the morning.

Tomorrow we hit the road for Rishikesh.

Setting my puja offering afloat on the Ganges

Getting to the Heart of It

Varanasi – August 23, 2010

After a very long and somewhat wobbly train ride, we arrived in Varanasi. The train station was, of course, crazy and were relieved to find our pick-up for the hotel. We were going on 14 hours without much sleep, and no food, and that's enough to make anyone a little on edge. We jumped in an autorickshaw, which I have to say is really the way to get around in India, cars are far too big and just not as maneuverable. That said, in spite of our drivers' capable skills we were still stuck in a traffic jam for quite a while, due to a parade of sorts, and because of the festival that was going on (hence the parade) the rickshaw had to drop us about a 15 minute walk from our hotel. Under normal circumstances this would be fine, but seeing as Bart and I both looked like pack animals, with bags on both front and back, the guy leading us was walking at lightning speed and we were winding our way through a maze of 4 foot wide alleys, still dodging the normal numbers of people, cows, goats and of course, piles of poop, it felt like a taxing journey. But we made it, fairly unscathed, and only reasonably covered in mud (amongst other things, I'm sure), checked in, showered and immediately set out in search of sustenance.

We had decided we wanted to try one of the place suggested in our guidebook (not again, I know), but this one we chose because it detailed the fact that this restaurant is frequented by local people. True to its word, we arrived to an open-front cafe where all but one table were occupied by Indians munching on a variety of foods. We sat down and ordered – selecting our general choice when hungry, the thali. A thali is a fixed menu meal that usually includes rice, bread, dal and a couple of kinds of vegetable dishes. Bart has been ordering the “special” thali as of late for a couple of added bonuses like yogurt and an extra veg, but when our meals arrived yesterday it was out of this world! The amount of food brought to our table could have fed each of us for several meals. And the amount of butter atop the breads, curries and dal is probably more than I've consumed in the last several months. I have to say though, it was delicious. Satiated we found our way back to where we were staying and immediately fell asleep – full bellies seem to do that here, and everywhere I suppose.

After waking we headed out on our first real Varanasi adventure, making our way in the direction of Manikarnika, the main burning Ghat of the city, where cremations are performed round the clock and the ashes are auspiciously swept into the Ganges. It took a little negotiating but we did manage to find it, which if you could see the mostly unmarked passageways we're walking, you'd understand is no simple feat. On our way we met another group of lost travelers and between all of us we found a place where we could sit and watch for a while, as the final ceremony of life here was underway. Bodies are brought into Manikarnika, carried in procession through the alleys towards the Ghat, and then dipped in the Ganges before being placed on a well constructed pyre which then incinerates them. As we looked on a man (a priest we were told by a local) came out and threw things into the river. Though this is not an uncommon thing to see anywhere along the Ganges, what he was throwing was a little different. It seems that in the pyre not all of the bones will always burn, and those that don't are tossed whole, into the water. I think I had prepared myself to be more shocked by this entire process and being privy to it (and I'm talking covered in ash, privy), however after being here for a week it seems so fitting that this, along with everything else in India, is such a public thing. I'm not really sure how much the concept of privacy really translates into the Indian vocabulary.

After we'd seen enough at the Ghat our new local friend led us along the river to the Puja ceremony that they hold each evening on the bank of the Ganges. This hour long ritual of fire and dance brings luck to those in attendance as we make offerings of flowers and candles, the money spent to buy them bringing health to you and your family. The ceremony was incredibly beautiful, and I felt as if this was the India I'd been waiting for, as if I was seeing the heartbeat of a nation so large and diverse sending out the lifeblood of spirituality to all who live here.

We both agreed that today was one of the best days we've had here so far, and I think it's safe to say that I'm finally falling in love with India.

Varanasi – August 24, 2010

Woke up before dawn in order to join our new Spanish friends – Maria, Pedro and Arancha – on a daybreak boat ride down the Ganges. It was amazing to see the number of people out on the river at 5:00 a.m. doing all manner of things, from their morning bath, to laundry, to a ritual cleanse and “purifying” drink. There was a man performing a Puja ceremony, just like we saw last night, all on his own at one of the Ghats. The markets were already open and people were out buying their vegetables for the day, and the colours from the river were incredible – the patchwork umbrellas covering stalls, the women in the pink and purple and green saris, the orange flags marking the Hindu sacred sites, all set against the stepped bank of the river, the rows upon rows of hotels, temples and homes. The trip was wonderful and even when the sky opened and drenched us with the monsoon rains, I couldn't help but smile. Sadly for our friends, it was not so spectacular. The entire group is battling a terrible eye infection, and one of the girls, Arancha, seems to be having an adverse reaction to something she ate – and kept having to lean overboard to vomit. I have to say that I think one of the reasons we've yet to get sick (besides the weird bites/rash thing I have on my lower legs – beautiful, I assure you) is that we're taking antibiotics as our malaria prophylaxis, which, by the way, is interesting since we've seen only about 3 mosquitos since we arrived – though we have seen lots and lots of lizards.

After our boat ride we came quickly back to our room to change and grab my mat before we headed over to the Yoga Training Center – a tiny one room studio that fits about 8 yogis, where we took a wonderful class taught by Sunil Kumar and his wife Bharti. They provide yoga classes of all levels and integrate many different methods including Kundalini, Hatha, Iyengar and Ashtanga. It was a really well rounded class combining both gentle and intense stretching, pranayama, several variations on sun salutations, chanting, and strength work. Sunil and I chatted a little about Ashtanga and the fact that I was going to Mysore and then bonded over our common connection of having worked with David Swenson. He shared his philosophy on yoga with me, which resembles my own, which is that no one style is better than the others, we each just find our own path of yoga that is right for us, which is why he and Bharti strive to work with a blend of styles in the classes they teach. Bart and I both really enjoyed our experience, and are considering going back tomorrow if we've got time.

In the afternoon we took some time to explore the infinite number of shops in the Ghat area of Varanasi. Vendors sell everything from Rudraksh malas to wooden kitchen implements (Bart kept me away from those ones) and whatever it is you're searching for you can probably find in Varanasi. One of the things (okay several, but that's beside the point) that I've been looking for was indeed discovered today in a little shop above street level. There I picked out a very reasonable and pretty saree-to-be, and will be in search of a tailor over the next few days to sew the blouse and hem the actual saree for me.

After an afternoon rest for Bart we set out for dinner and ended up sitting on an outdoor terrace, just under cover, watching as the monsoon rains poured down on Varanasi. Down the river we could hear the bells and chants of the puja ceremony, the devout spending their evening getting completely drenched, and seeming to enjoy every minute of it.

Varanasi – August 25, 2010

I woke early this morning to the sound of boat men singing as they paddled down the Ganges. As I poked my head out onto our balcony to take a look I saw something wonderful – the sun!!! Immediately, I grabbed my mat and headed down to the terrace area to practice while Bart when back to bed. I saluted the sun as it rose over the river and felt wonderfully in sync this morning as my breath and body actually felt like partners in a dance. It was an amazing way to start the day, and a great experience that I'll never forget.

After a quick breakfast Bart and I again met up with our Spanish counterparts and headed out on a daytrip to Sarnath – the Buddhist pilgrimage city where the Buddha is reported to have given his famous sermon about the middle way. We were lead by Peter, a guide that our friends had employed the day that they arrived in Varanasi, and he and his friend took us over to Sarnath in their autorickshaws. We spent some time touring the famous stupa and ruins of an enormous monastery before heading on to several temples which comprise some of the different sects of Buddhism. However, all this beauty was overshadowed by Peter, who as it seems, got himself into quite a bit of trouble with the locals by harassing an old man begging at one of the temple gates. This resulted in several attempted street fights and Peter being followed by an entourage of angry men almost the entire morning, which set us all on edge. Determined to be rid of him as soon as we could to avoid any further trouble, we made up a story about being tired and needing to go back to the hotel, and so Peter returned us.

Thus began our food adventure! Our new friends are less than savvy about Indian cuisine and so Bart and I took it upon ourselves to help introduce them. We started with lunch at a local eatery where they all tasted a little of every dish we ordered, opening themselves up to dal, biryani, and channa. Afterwards we headed to the market alleys in search of “street sweets” as we took to calling them – our first attempt at street food and their first experience of Indian sweets. We got a bag full of different things which we all passed around and tasted, and I was quite proud of them for their willingness to try something different. Then, with a few quick shopping pit stops we made our way to the hotel where we hung out for the remainder of the evening, sharing stories and pakoras, lassis and language barriers. It was a truly enjoyable evening and we were sad to see it end, but Bart and I had to be off to the train station to catch our overnight train to Haridwar.

And if an evening can go from awesome to awful in a few short hours, ours did, as we sat on a rat-infested train station platform until 4:30 in the morning waiting for our delayed train. It was uncomfortable and awkward with a lot of homeless children sleeping in any variety of places and people with physical disabilities and ailments approaching us regularly for money. It was hard and heartbreaking, but also, it seems, a normal part of the India experience. The one thing that continued to make us laugh as we tried so hard not to fall asleep before the train arrived was the huge cow circling the platform every 45 minutes or so. How did that cow get onto platform 4? What train was he waiting for and was he, too, upset about a delay? Oh cows, you keep us laughing in all the interesting and unusual places we find you – you are part of the charm of India.

Lost and Found!

We were lost - at least to the internet, but now we're found. Please stay tuned - there will be a new post tomorrow or Monday - maybe even both. We've been crazily travelling from city to city - Varanasi, Haridwar and finally to the yoga capital of the world, Rishikesh - so you know I'll have a lot to say. Plus we've been doing yoga!

So thanks to all of you for your patience!

Much love and Namaste!

Power and Powerless

**This blog has no photos today because I'm having A LOT of technical difficulty. I promise I'll show you them when I get home, or you can try www.charmcityyoga.com where hopefully there will be a photo or two thanks to the lovely Allison Korycki.**

Agra – August 20th

A 4:45 a.m. wakeup call had us up and out of Delhi before daybreak yesterday morning. As we headed off to Agra, with dreams of the grandiose Taj Mahal dancing before us, we couldn't help but relish both the adventure to come as well as the escape of the somewhat oppressive aggressiveness of Delhi's drivers, sellers and their persistent touts.

As we've come to now expect, the train was rather late arriving into Agra, but we were pleased to find our ride waiting for us as we headed towards the Taj's walled grounds. And that's when disaster, albeit minor, struck. As we drove through town, our autorickshaw driver was giving us the hard sell for his tour around the city, and one of the things that he mentioned was that the Taj was closed. Being seasoned travelers we had heard this line more than once before, and so brushed it off as a tactic to convince us to employ his services. Little did we know (good job Anna, why read your guidebook?) he was not trying to mislead us. Another Islamic based site, the Taj, as we came to find out shortly thereafter, is indeed closed every Friday to allow Muslims to use the attached mosque.

Our hearts broke as we realized we would not get in to see India's most famous piece of architecture – our train on to Khajuraho was leaving that evening. In an attempt to make the most of our day we headed off to Agra Fort, which not only has it's own incredible architecture, but also stunning views of the Taj, which would be Shah Jaman? Last view as he spent nearly a decade imprisoned there while his son was off enjoying the fruits of his labour. We decided to walk (of course) and just as in Delhi, everyone was surprised when they saw us walking rather than riding in some sort of motorized vehicle. On the way I was scared to death by the screams of an angry monkey running after me with teeth bared. I had apparently encroached on the territory of his mate and baby, and there was hell to be paid. Bart, of course, found this to be hilarious, and I'm still being subjected to the “angry monkey” face regularly. We saw and toured the fort, once again enjoying the quiet and relative emptiness of the sites, which is one of the benefits of being here during monsoon.

Afterward we headed back to the area around the Taj where we had some lunch and conversation with another traveler – who felt, as we do, that one of the most difficult things about India is acclimating to the intense and widespread poverty. The hardships of life here are inescapable, and it is hard to come to terms with your own abundance and privilege as you watch people around you struggling just to survive. This in itself has been one of my main lessons and yoga practices since I arrived – working to cultivate this awareness and understanding without allowing it to overshadow all the beauty that India has to offer.

Our lunch was enjoyable, but made even more so, by the approach of an unexpected guest, as a cow made her way into the lobby of the hotel housing the restaurant for her lunchtime portion of chapati.

And afterward we spent a little time wandering around the area and then went to the room we had booked just for the day for a shower, a rest and, of course, some yoga. My hour long practice was made all the better by the heat of the day, the loss of power and therefore air conditioning, as well as the spectacular view from our window. As I made my way into shoulderstand, the Taj was just at the tip of my toes.

After a relaxing afternoon Bart and I sat on the terrace and sipped lassis as dusk fell on the huge white domes and the still evening air was filled with the sounds of Muslims singing after their call to prayer. Then as night took over and a huge flock of bats soared overhead we bid farewell to this famous city, at least for the time being. We have made (and will execute!) a new plan to return to Agra on our second to last day of traveling rather as a day trip from Delhi. And don't worry – it's a Wednesday.

Khajuraho – August 21^st and 22^nd

While we found having cows wandering the streets of Delhi slightly disarming, here in Khajuraho it more normal than not. In fact a variety of livestock roam the streets here – and it seems they generally have the right of way when dealing cars, autorickshaws and pedestrians. In fact, there are animals everywhere here; goats on the roof of the supermarket, herds of cows laying in the road, peacocks on the terrace of a nearby restaurant. There are wild pigs basking in the monsoon mud and water buffalo pretty much anywhere you turn. But it doesn't stop with what we would consider “domesticated animals”. Today, while walking (once again disappointing rickshaw drivers everywhere) the 6 kms to and from Reneh Falls we also sighted a jackal (or maybe a hyena or wild dog – it's hard to tell, you know), a male peacock with perfect tail feathers and what we believed to be a gharial, which is an endangered species of crocodile they have here. It was all very exciting and definitely wouldn't have been possible if we'd been in a deafeningly loud tuk-tuk.

Although the local fauna has been keeping us quite happy, the real drawing point of Khajuraho is the four groupings of Jain and Hindu temples, many decorated with tantric sculptures and carvings, which despite all odds have managed to survive the last 1000 or so years. Yesterday we spent the morning wandering the most famous and well preserved group, and the afternoon enjoying the peace of the Jain temples complete with large and beautiful Buddha statues. The temples were for us, as well as their creators, sanctuaries from the crazy world outside. Just as in Delhi and Agra, Khajuraho is overwhelmingly full of people in need and they are not afraid to ask you to part with your Rupees, water bottles, pens, umbrellas, earrings, watches, or anything else they deem to be of value. Sadly, the majority of these are children, and saying no is a difficult task. Of course we would be happy to part with any of these things if we felt that the corresponding value would actually be helpful to the kids, but more and more we are feeling that there is something or someone much more sinister who is reaping the benefits. Instead, I've decided that once I get to Mysore I'm going to try to find somewhere to volunteer once I complete my practice for the day, thereby hoping to make a more lasting difference.

I'm sorry that it's been a few days since my last post. Internet, and particularly wi-fi, is not quite so accessible here, and I wanted to be able to upload photos with my posts. Also, due to the fairly regular loss of power (not including the mandatory shut-off in Khajuraho from 9-10 a.m. and 4-5 p.m.) and subsequent loss of everything you've typed that's not saved and still have to pay for the internet time you “use” during a failure, there's a definite possibility that if I had tried to type this directly into the blog without saving it as a word document first...you'd be getting a much less descriptive, far more succinct accounting of what's been going on – I rather think it wuld resemble this:

Love you. Miss you. Wish you were here with the pigs, goats, cows, peacocks, water buffalo and the sex statues.

Side note about food: So today we had the best food we've found so far in India. In most of the restaurants the food has been good, but neither as spicy nor as flavourful as either of us had expected. And we realized we've been eating in the places where a lot of the tourists eat because the food is “safe”. FORGET THAT IDEA! This afternoon we walked into a restaurant down the street and the first thing we noticed was that all the tables were occupied by Indian men and women enjoying their lunches...a ha! The resulting food was spicy (once we could convince the waiter that we wanted full force curries), steaming hot and made from fresh ingredients, rather than frozen veggies, which we've been getting in many places. The chapatis that accompanied the meal were so hot from the stove we couldn't even rip them without burning our fingertips. We're going to bed on our train tonight with very full and happy bellies.

Not For the Faint of Heart

Our first full day in Delhi, and I can completely understand all the warnings I had received before we left. Words like "busy", "chaotic" and "intense" that were thrown at me over and over again cannot even begin to describe the Delhi experience.

The first thing that I noticed is that everywhere in Delhi things seem to be in a constant state of construction or, conversely, deconstruction, making the heavy equipment, piles of bricks and rubble completely commonplace. The other constant is the noise - seriously - the noise! The honking, the yelling, the dog barking, the throat clearning, the persistant touts of "hello madam -where are you going" all blend into the din that makes up the background noise of almost every moment spent inside or out. Even at 6:30 this morning, as Bart and I went for a quick morning walk the normal quiet of that time of day was non-existant, life in Delhi, it seems, never finds silence.

And of course, there's the rain. Traveling to India during the monsoon, we knew it was likely, but were quite prepared to deal with wet weather; we've got quick drying clothes, trusty umbrellas, and (as you all know) sunny dispositions. However, when we boarded our autorickshaw this morning bound for Lal Qila, the Red Fort, we had no idea what laid in store. The fort itself was beautiful, quiet (as much as you can get) and peaceful, with far fewer crowds that we hand anticipated, in part thanks to the the steady stream of rain the overcast sky was releasing. We walked through the endless gardens and pavillions, gazing at the gorgeous Mughal architecture.

After the fort we headed over to Jama Masjid, an enormous mosque, built to hold over 25000 devotees. Being the people that we are, we had opted to walk to the mosque, stretching our legs, getting our bearings and severely disappointing and confusing the onslaught of rickshaw drivers who would be only too happy to take us to the mosque (WITH a one hour pre-tour, only 40 rupees). Turning people down is exhausting. Especially when you're turning them down for a dollar. ONE DOLLAR. But sadly, we've found that it's better to just keep going, game face on, and make your way to your destination. So we made it to the mosque and took a short look around - beautiful, amazing, and full of sleeping Muslims, most likely resting as part of their Ramadan fast.

Wanting to believe in our own self sufficiency, we opted to find the subway (let me just say signage, NOT a strong point in Delhi) and see if we could make our own way home from the metro and railway station to our hotel - a mere three or four blocks. By the time we emerged from the metro we were happy to see the rain had let up, but after 4 or 5 hours of rain, all the water had to go somewhere. We left the station grounds and rounded the corner towards our hotel to find the entire street completely flooded. At home this would call for detours, for police directing traffic, for warnings on the radio. In Delhi, this means, roll up your pant legs (high), hope your shoes stay on, and walk through dodging the still speeding auto and bicycle rickshaws, cabs and horse-drawn carts. When in Rome, as they say.....and so we had our first true monsoon experience!

After all that excitement we needed three things desperately - a hot shower with lots of soap, a hearty meal, and a restoring nap. I am happy to report we've been successful at all three.

The evening plans are now under way and I'll definitely find time to roll out my mat before we turn in for the night, but it'll be an early one for us...it's a 5 a.m. wakeup call to head back to the train station to make our way to Agra tomorrow morning. We're hoping they've pulled the plug on the street by then.

Down Dog in Delhi

Namaskar!
Namaste!
Hello to everyone from Delhi!

So we're here, we're alive and we're practically unscathed, despite a harrowing car ride from the airport to the hotel. The fact that we needed a push-start (Little Miss Sunshine style) to get the car moving in the first place, should have been an indication of what the 30 minute journey would entail, but until you're having the experience I don't think you can really understand. Luckily, our trusty driver Sanjay was adept at what Bart would describe as the "whip and weave" and what he lacked in volume of voice he made up for with honking.

It's nearly 11 p.m. in Delhi, and despite my best intentions, I am not tired in the least. Bart, of course, is exhausted and by the time I finish typing this entry I suspect he'll be off in dreamland. And while it's probably best for me to try to get to bed sometime soon, I think I've got just enough energy to unroll my mat and do my first practice on Indian soil (or tile, and we're on the 4th floor, but it counts anyway).

I hope you all are enjoying your afternoons over there in the Western Hemisphere, and once we get out tomorrow and have a chance to really look around I'm sure I'll have more to write, but for now, good night, sweet dreams, and we'll be talking again soon.

The Final Countdown

We're entering into the last few days before we hop a plane for the other side of the world. And while all this excitement is mentally preparing us for our trip, life seems to get in the way of the physical preparation. Lists are being made, and oh so slowly things are being checked off, although every time I finish one thing, there is suddenly a new addition to be made. And whether it is something new on the to-do list, the to-pack list, the to-see/call list or the to-buy list, there just seems to be a never ending supply of chores, necessities and sudden realizations.

Luckily for me, I can be flexible! (Ha ha, there's a little, not so witty, yoga humour for you!)



So, every day for the next four days I'm just going to begin in the morning and work to check as many things off of as many lists as is humanly possible, creating space for the countless other things that will be penciled onto the end, in the tiniest writing, so that I don't have to add another page of paper and thereby make myself crazy.

In the midst of all the listing and the packing and the prepping and goodbye-ing I'm trying to remember the inspiration behind this whole thing, and making a single word one of my top priorities: breathe. And every day when I complete my practice and can cross off today's "breathe" and add another one for tomorrow, lists become much more friendly, packing much more manageable and the excitement of departure overtakes the insanity of preparation.

We're in the final countdown, let the games begin!