Putting my fears of India to rest

There are some things in life which seem to allure us in inexplicable ways. We are pulled into its energy field until we finally surrender into the realization that we must do something, or go somewhere. Then finally we take the step and enter into it. India, the land of unity in diversity with a smorgasbord of spirituality and life lessons on every corner, has had that role in my life for some time. I’ve felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame and yet I found all sorts of reasons to avoid it until February. It was then that I finally decided to give India a chance, to let go of all my negative preconceived notions of what it was and decided to allow it to just be, accepting it exactly as it was. That acceptance took some time but it ultimately came in the flash of a single moment, when I hit rock bottom, looked at my pale and tired face in the mirror, stopped fighting and finally gave in.

I had planned to travel to Darjeeling, a mountain hill station to the east of Nepal, as a jump off point into India but the universe had other plans for me. After I’d finally decided to come and had obtained my visa, I was stuck in Kathmandu with all roads leading to India closed due to road strikes and political demonstrations. I just breathed and said, “if it’s meant to be, it will happen.” The following morning, a road opened up, the road to Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha. I got on the first bus and it was apparently the last bus to come through before the road closed again for another week.

Through an amazing twist of fate, I was granted a travel companion to ease my insecurities about crossing the border alone. Piers, an English, fellow Vipassana meditator, offered me a ride, free of charge across the border in the taxi he’d hired. At this point, I unknowingly embarked on a Buddhist pilgrimage through Nepal and India. On our way to Shravasti, the old capitol of India in the time of the Buddha, we stopped for tea and samosas and just like that, one of my worst fears of India began to manifest. By the time we arrived at the Korean monastery, I was ready to begin my four day involuntary purge of everything in my system, besides my organs... although I think I might’ve seen a kidney come out in the process... On the fourth day of consistent vomiting and diarrhoea without food and depleted of all energy, I caught a glimpse of my sickly face in the mirror and suddenly a thought occurred to me; this is just a way to cleanse myself of all of the negativity I’ve been carrying around with me... Surrender to it and it will pass. So I did, and that night... it did.

Funny enough the timing of my recovery and the arrival of an astonishing opportunity coincided quite nicely, once again providing an example of the synchronistic nature of my journey. Our plan was to visit Sarnath next and Piers happened to overhear the men at the monastery saying “Thai group” and “Sarnath.” It was just too good to pass up so I went to the group leader and asked if we could join them and he offered us a free 12 hour ride on their deluxe luxury tourist bus leaving the following morning.
In the days to follow, we spent time in Sarnath at a Dhamma gathering then Piers had a course scheduled and we parted ways. I met with Lisu from Finland and we continued on together to Bodhgaya, the place of the Buddha’s Enlightenment. I wish I could describe the feeling that swept over my body the first time I entered the temple grounds, hosting a descendant of the Bodhi tree under which Gautama Buddha became Enlightened 2500 years ago. The energy of a particular spot had never been so apparent to me as in that moment. Lisu and I sat and meditated under that very tree for the afternoon and delighted in the nourishing energy our surroundings had to provide. It then became evident to me that the words spoken by a friend in Lumbini; “Your karma is clearly bringing you abundance, as you’ve been given the opportunity to see the places of the Buddha which others only dream about” were absolutely true.

Upon completion of my little pilgrimage, Lisu and I ventured to Varanasi to celebrate my 29th birthday... eeeek! The only thing that I wanted to do on that day was to take a boat ride on the Ganga river and see for myself why Varanasi is meant to be the holiest city in India. The Ganga flows throughout India and its waters are used for washing, bathing, fishing, travelling and dying. Many come to Varanasi to have the ashes of their loved ones burnt on the gats and sprinkled into the Ganga, as one who is said to be cremated this way will obtain liberation from the cycle of birth and death and will not be forced to live another life. As we drifted in our boat down the river, we were witness to the amazing colours of life along the gats. Hundreds of people participated in the evening pujas (offerings to the gods) while others, only metres away, watched as their loved one perished in the burning fires. I was celebrating the day of my birth and was witness to those who had completed their lives. It was a miraculous rendition of the cycles of birth and death that we all experience in our lives. Varanasi served to prove the many wrong who advised me that it was full of annoyances and amplified challenges. I felt at peace in this holy city and in turn, it found peace in me and alleviated me of the burden of those lessons.

My next stop was Bangalore, a whopping 48 hour train ride south of Varanasi. I chose to study yoga at Svyasa University, which is dedicated to Swami Vivekananda, the man who brought yoga to the west. I left the travel trails to walk on the path of jnana yoga (intellect) but after a week of solid discipline beginning at 5 am and finishing at 9:30 pm 7 days a week, I was longing for fun and freedom. Luckily there were others in my course who felt the same and we all formed an incredible bond which supported us all through our 30 days. Aside from our busy schedule of asanas (physical postures,) pranayama (breathing practice,) lectures and indulgence in lots of food, we found many opportunities to have a good laugh. Part of the program was to learn Kriyas, cleansing techniques in which we use Jala Neti (pouring salt water between the nostrils,) Sutra Neti (Pulling a sutra through the nose and out the mouth,) and my personal favourite Vomina Dauti (drinking 2 litres or more of warm salt water then making ourselves vomit it all out.) The practices were quite intense and sometimes uncomfortable, but our Korean friend Kim helped us laugh through it by showing us his water baby, caused by the inability to vomit 4 litres of water, which he “gave birth” to later in the privacy of his washroom. I’ve provided some beautiful pictures to give you a visualization of these exercises, but don’t try this at home...

The Holli festival of India landed conveniently in the middle of our course which helped us to all get to know each other really well (if we didn’t already after barfing together) by covering one another in various colours of powdered paint. It was an absolute blast and an amazing release of pent up energy. We were also offered the opportunity to meet Ama, the hugging guru. It was the first time that I’d knowingly been in the presence of a divine soul and it was a truly remarkable feeling. She began to sing shortly after our arrival and I got lost in the sounds and music, completely engulfed in each and every word, although unbeknownst of their meaning, and suddenly it was as if something reached up inside of me and pulled out all of the emotions I held onto so tightly, and then I cried. Through those words my soul had a conversation with hers which told me everything that I needed to hear in that moment. The experience was powerful and liberating and I felt blessed to be a part of it. I also received my hug, which lasted about 0.25 seconds before and after a procession of thousands who’d come to receive darshan from Ama. And as quickly as it began, it was over but I walked away with a little something that I haven’t quite been able to wrap my fingers around as of yet.

The month finally finished after an eternity, and when looking back only days later, we felt as though it had gone by in a flash, the contrast between struggling through the difficult times and then remembering and missing the good ones. The course taught me what yoga really is through a myriad of lessons involving perseverance, acceptance and finding the meaning and the good in even the toughest circumstances. For the week following the course, I learned how to laugh my way through the challenges of life in a laughter yoga teacher training. I cannot describe how absolutely ridiculous this course was as we spent 5 days laughing our butts off in a way none of us had done since childhood. It was great! After those five days it became so evident to me the importance of laughter in uniting the world as one. I even performed a laughter session with some of my fellow passengers on the train to Delhi as it seemed suiting to lighten the mood after a clash between two groups which created some disturbance. Once we started laughing, it was as if the walls had been broken down, walls that the children of the other group climbed right on over and conquered with their laughter. The realization that it is hard to hold onto something when you’re laughing became real with that little experiment and it brought along with it harmony and unity in the purest form.

I went to the south of India to learn and I was provided a space in which to do so. After the course I realized that each spot I walk on is a space in which I can learn. Every circumstance I experience, each person I encounter, every single challenge I face and each word I hear has meaning in it. I have become a student of life simply because I’ve opened myself to receiving whatever it is that India has in store for me. As I continue on to the North and back into travel mode, I am finding myself laughing and smiling at everything. I feel like a child again, with India as my teacher and playground in equal measure.

I'm back home on the 23rd so let me know if you wlll be in town and want to hang out!

View pictures at: http://picasaweb.google.co.in/KusumaTiffany/PhotosForAprilBlog?feat=directlink

Saying Goodbye to Nepal

I'm writing to you from Varanasi in India where I've been for the past 5 days. I decided to leave Nepal and come to India to do my yoga teacher training for the month of March and to explore the rest of the time. India's blog will be along shortly, in the meantime let's say goodbye to Nepal...

In the weeks before Christmas, I was staying with a Nepali family at their farm in the mountains, two hours from Kathmandu, and, as promised, I have recently returned. I found the contact information for Hasara farm in a way that seemed to be preordained by the universe. I knew that I wanted to volunteer somewhere and an Organic farm seemed to be the perfect place to integrate myself into Nepali culture, by living closely with a Nepali family. I wrote down the information for an Organic farm volunteer position and then promptly lost it. As fate would have it, I was given the information for Hasara farm, by an Israeli girl who works for a volunteer organization in Kathmandu. I was shocked however, when I returned to Kathmandu later, to find the original ad, but it was for a completely different farm, which told me that I was meant to be HERE, for reasons that would be revealed to me, in the months ahead.

Let me just take a moment to introduce you to the family. Govinda is the father, an Organic farmer, educator, jolly business man, and V.I.P to the agricultural industry of Nepal. I learn more about Organics, herbs, food and life in an hour with this man than I would in a semester at school. Mitu is the revered mother of the house, who is a master of multi-tasking. She manages everyday to wake up before the sun to make tea for the household, begins the arduous task of fixing up a healthy breakfast, while feeding the farm animals in between, she hustles three teenagers into getting ready for school, feeds everyone, washes the dishes and her face all with a smile and without breaking a sweat, before 9 am. She’s playful and cheerful yet gently authoritative, demanding respect with her demeanor alone, from everyone who crosses her path. I’m in awe of this woman and I’m taking notes from observations of her cooking and caretaking skills. She’s killing me softly with everyday extra servings of wholesome, Organic Dal Bhat. Chandra and Rudra are thirteen year old twin boys who exuberate more emotional and intellectual intelligence than any other teenagers I’ve met. They show interest in all that I do and ask me hoards of questions about Canadian culture. Rudra has taken a liking to my IPOD, uses it sometimes as a fake phone in which to make phone calls to his diplomat friends, and he now knows how to work it better than I do. Chandra has mastered the art of cross stitch embroidery, that I taught him when I arrived at the farm. I think he’s trying to make himself a sweater in which to look strikingly handsome, in the hopes that someone will take another picture of him. One or both are bound to end up as Nepali leaders with Organic farms of their own someday. Rassi is Mitu’s niece. She’s a painfully shy but incredibly sweet young girl who doesn’t speak much English but since I gave her some English books, has been reading them and sleeping with them in hopes of improving her English skills. She cooks when Mitu is busy, and the food she makes is better than anything I’ve ever taken out of a pan, and she’s half my age… I can’t begin to explain the joy I receive from spending a day with this family. Their cheer and humility make it impossible for me to get stuck in a gloomy state. In the months I’ve been around the farm, I haven’t seen a single one of them angry or show even a trace of sadness. This is truly an inspiring and astounding household.

Life at the farm is busy but relaxed, noisy but peaceful, productive but lazy (just me), and a fantastic place to spend my remaining time in Nepal. In my first week at the farm I was taught by Mitu, many tricks of the Nepali Organic farm trade. She and the kids taught me how to make different Nepali dishes, including mo mo’s (dumplings), how to plant seeds along the wall of a rice terrace, and how to extract honey from a bee hive using plastic bags as gloves and a mosquito net as armor. I was also taught in a humorous manner, how to tie a sari. Govinda’s nephew was getting married and I was invited to the wedding celebrations. I arrived and the children surrounded me asking “why aren’t you wearing a sari?” I pulled the one Mitu had lent me out of my bag and a large group of women, teenagers and children assisted with the process of wrapping me up like an elaborately decorated present. I had a difficult time walking for the rest of the day but I managed. The children had fun imitating my English and teaching me Nepali, although I was hopeless, and laughing at my attempt to dance with my gimp leg. The newlyweds arrived with the entourage of the male half of the party, the groom resembling a peacock and the bride covered in red and in despair. I asked the boys, Chandra and Rudra later why she looked so miserable and they explained it was what was expected of the bride on her wedding day. She is leaving her family for the first time in her life, to live with a new family that she doesn’t know, and if she were to smile, her family would be offended, taking it as a sign that she was happy to be leaving home, and therefore ungrateful for all they had done for her. I felt that with this genuine exposure to the mysterious life around me, my understanding of Nepali culture had suddenly begun to blossom.

I was riding on a typically crowded local bus a few days ago on my way to the farm. As usual, I sat cramped with too many bodies for the vehicle to hold with no space remaining on the benches, or the roof of the bus, at least in my opinion. Once the bus man had allowed a few more to squeeze in the bus and on the roof, and the seats were surely spoken for, more women climbed aboard and found the small wicker stools, stored under the benches, on which to sit. As a woman sat down, she rested her hand on my leg and used it to stable herself on her seat. It took me by surprise, as it always does, when a complete stranger initiates physical contact, which is practically unheard of in our culture. I sat still with a motivation comparative to that of not wanting to wake a baby or a puppy by moving for fear of disturbing it to the point of losing contact. I enjoyed the sensation of closeness with the people around me, the woman with her hand on my leg, the child smiling at me when I looked her way, the man stuck to my side who would only be closer if he was sitting on my lap. It reminded me of what I love about Nepal and the Nepalis, and it made me wonder why we are so disconnected from one another in our culture.

My acceptance into this family and this community, was an amazing gift, which taught me a great deal about how to live a modest and joyfully peaceful life. Once I moved away from the money making mindset of Kathmandu, I felt included and accepted by every Nepali that I’ve come in contact with. I’ve been invited into stranger’s homes, I’ve held hands with welcoming women, I’ve been stared at and laughed at but always with a heart of curiosity and playfulness. The Nepalis have a gentle demeanor which reminds me of the laughing Buddha, as they seem to have mastered the art of laughing from deep within their gut, remaining childlike in their personalities but steadfast and vigilant in their work. I’ve been attentively taken care of each day, but mainly when my foot prevented me from functioning normally, and also when my fear prevented me from sleeping alone in the dark. Mitu and Rassi spent many nights sleeping in my room in the other guest bed, just to keep me company, saying that if they came to Canada, me and my family would do the same for them. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been capable of caring for others the way that these people care for one another, but they have certainly given me some valuable tools to emulate in my relationships back home. Their unconditional love and acceptance accompanied by all that they’ve given me spiritually, has made me wonder again about whether or not we help others in our efforts to volunteer to the same degree in which they so willingly yet sometimes unknowingly help us.

Today is my last day at the farm and I’m sitting at the back of the house, in the sun, writing my blog posting now to document my experience while it’s fresh in my mind. I am leaving for India in a few days and I have to say goodbye for now to this miraculous place. I was told by a Kathmandu expat that “Nepal is the mirror by which all of our illusions are revealed.” My experiences here have caused me to see into the depths of my being and I haven’t been given the luxury of a concealing mask or makeup to hide behind. Nepal gave me a lesson of staying put (aside from a Christmas vacation) and returning, despite discomforts, providing a challenging but effective way to see myself and my reactions through the experiences that don’t go quite as I’d expected, through my interactions with others, not always 100% positive but always perfect, and a lesson of giving me the bare minimum when I treaded cautiously and giving me everything when I finally surrendered.

My Vacation from my Vacation

Journey: Papleket (Hasara Farm) – Kathmandu (by 2 busses and rickshaw) 3 hrs, Kathmandu – Kuala Lampur (flight) 5 hrs, K.L – Manila (flight) 4 hrs, Manila – Cebu (flight) 1 hr, Cebu – Sugar beach Negros (busses, ferries, tricycles, on foot, etc.) 48hrs, Sugar beach – White beach (busses, ferries, tricycles, on foot, etc.) 70 hrs, sugar beach – Manila (ferry, bus, tricycles) 4 hrs, Manila – Hong Kong – Kathmandu (flight) 6 hrs. Approx travel time: 141 hrs. Over the course of 3 weeks.

Sometimes travelling can become stressful and wearing on our bodies, minds and emotions. It sounds crazy, even to me, that travelling should be professed as a demanding endeavor, especially when compared with the 30-60 hours a week that most of us work in North America. But after the trekking fiasco, the pain of carting around my sadly wounded ankle, and the challenge of showering with cold water outside, in five degree weather, I was craving a break in the warm sun. As the Christmas season was fast approaching, without a sign of it in Hindu, Muslim, and Buddhist Nepal, I was starting to question where I’d like to spend it and who I’d like to spend it with. After much contemplation, I decided to take a temporary hiatus from my project hopping in freezing Nepal, to meet my travel companion, Cam for a beach mission in the warm Philippines. The process of getting from Nepal to the Philippines, however, proved to be an arduous task in which my vacation was failing in its assignment to help me relax and heal my foot.

My Nepali family was hesitant to let me go but I taught them a new word, explaining that I’d return and left my warm clothes and winter gear at their house as collateral. They prepared a leaving ceremony for me in front of their house, and as my bus arrived, I was blessed with a Tikka on my forehead and showered with the necklace of fresh flowers they prepared for me. The lengthy story of how I came to behold a Nepali family, however, will be saved for another blog.

The joyful anticipation that I was feeling to travel to another country again, slowly faded as I arrived to the airport late at night, to a “flight cancelled” notification. The inclement weather in Hong Kong had prevented our plane from arriving in Nepal so we were stuck, without a plane, in the cold, five days before Christmas. There were some definite bonuses to my flight being cancelled, and one huge coincidence that turned out to work in my favour. I met a man from Boznia, working for the United Nations in Kathmandu who just so happened to be catching the same connecting flight to Cebu. Having two of us foreigners, and having him in business class, meant that the airline wanted to accommodate us in whatever way possible. As they sat searching for flights, all I was thinking was, please get me into your complimentary luxury hotel or business class so I can sleep. I happened to be assigned a seat in Economy class on a flight to Kuala Lampur, in which I didn’t have any passengers beside me, so I slept like a baby. The second flight, from Kuala Lampur to Manila, however, was a business class seat.

Now I gotta admit, I was a little reluctant to accept it, seeing as I don’t believe in class segregation, and the fact that my tattered and smelly clothes obviously screamed that I didn't belong, but just as I was about to exchange my seat to a willing economy class seat holder, I saw the buffet... Having scraped by on saw dust and toe nails for breakfast for the past 3 months, my mouth began to salivate at the sight of brie and baby bell cheese, fresh mango, freshly squeezed juice etc. and all for FREE!! K, I know I'm sounding a little small town girl steps into the big city for the first time, but hello, have YOU ever been to business class? Their lounge has free internet access, a collection of about 40 living rooms put together, friendly faces helping you without expecting anything in return, a golf putting room to practice your swing, a slide descending into a swimming pool, free one hour massage and bakini wax while sipping lattes, free camel rides... Okay I've gotten a little carried away... Now I understand why people sometimes pay twice the price, it's not to sit in a bigger seat, it's for the luxuries of the lounge. Next time I get "stuck" in business class, I'm coming 24 hours before my flight.

Cam met me at the airport in Cebu, where he’d been waiting for more than 2 days for me to arrive. We spent two and a half days shopping for a mini computer, which I was determined to find to encourage writing on my trip, and we spent the same amount of time journeying to our sandy destination. Travelling in the Philippines is a challenge to say the least. Every trip took double the amount of time and cost twice what we anticipated and attempts at shortcuts proved to be disastrous. On our final leg across the last remaining stretch of land, we decided to hire a motorbike tricycle to drive us for one hour instead of waiting thirty minutes more for the bus. We got about 15 minutes away when the bike failed to complete its mission of climbing the first hill. The driver seemed stressed but assured us that everything would be okay as he stuffed leaves into the bike’s body as a substitute for nuts and bolts. We started up the hill again and reached the top, only to soar down at speeds resembling that of the Mind Buster at Canada’s Wonderland. When I saw the look on Cam’s face, I knew we were in trouble. I asked him what was wrong and he replied “I can’t hear you,” certainly to save me from the burden of knowing that the brakes had failed and he wasn’t sure whether the driver knew how to gear down to prevent us from sailing over the side to a quick arrival on our beach. Fortunately motorcycle maintenance is something Filipino tricycle drivers have a handle on. When we reached the bottom of the hill safely, we asked the driver to stop, not willing to take any more chances. The bus that we didn’t want to wait for, arrived about five minutes later, and we arrived safely, but after dark, on Christmas eve.

I spent Christmas inflicted with a digestive ailment that redefined the term “the runs.” It was a non-eventful day which we spent watching movies on my lap top, in between my bathroom breaks. The remaining days on sugar beach proved to be tranquil but the weather unfortunately was not. The rain let up for a few hours on New Year’s Eve, just long enough for us to enjoy the giant bonfires on the beach, then extinguish them before they spread to our bamboo huts. We said a calm and non-sealant “Happy New Years” to each other and to the new friends surrounding us, then I threw off my clothes and hopped in the ocean to spend my first few moments of 2009 with the Phosphorescence of the sea.

This was my second trip to this country and it appeared that the Philippines which I was experiencing on this trip bore very little resemblance to the one I remember from years previous. I think this is simply because I visited my first time, in my pre-vegetarian days. The Filipinos LOVE their meat, which meant that some days my eating options were sugar filled pastries, instant noodles (beef, chicken or seafood flavor), or my own finger nails. Their idea of a vegetarian meal is anything with fish (a common misconception in South East Asia), or powdered asparagus soup, which I sadly discovered on my first night in Cebu. Cam was very patient with my temper tantrums expressing my longing for Nepal’s scrumptious vegetarian meals. Apparently I’d loved the dal bhat in Nepal a little too much, as a friendly Filipino woman made it playfully evident to me on the beach, by pointing to my belly and saying, “when is baby due?” Cam laughed and patted my tummy saying “it’s just a food baby” which I’m sure I lost by the end of my trip. I nearly jumped over the counter and hugged the manager of a vegetarian friendly Mexican restaurant, when we had our first meal in Manila.

My trip to the Philippines was challenging, as it tested my patience and revealed to me a lot of my shortcomings when it comes to accepting things as they are, not as I would like them to be. Cam and I said our goodbyes in Manila and I flew back to freezing but familiar Kathmandu. I’ve decided to spend a few days to myself with my new computer, writing, reading and eating as many veggie cheeseburgers as I can get my hands on. As I sit, overlooking the Himalayas on the balcony of a small café in the mountain town of Bandipar, I’m beginning to feel that 2009 is starting out to be a very good year indeed.

Check out some Nepali and Filipino pics at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/KusumaTiffany/AVacationAwayFromMyVacation?feat=directlink

My Monkey Mind on Crutches

Journey: Damma shringa Monastery, Kathmandu Valley - Tiffany's unconscious. Total duration of travel: 20 days...

Having experienced Nepal's many tourist attractions, I was relieved to seek refuge from the chaos in the Dammashringa Vipassana meditation centre. In a sense I left Nepal and entered the depths of my unconscious mind for a ten day commitment, which I was determined to finish properly.

I was kidding myself when I fantasized about being quiet on the day before the retreat as to not create any social temptations. Within an hour, I knew where all the foreigners were from, I was taking orders for momos while we waited for the bus, and I was dishing out meditation advice (from the girl who snuck out of her last meditation retreat.) I had to laugh when I met Kelly, my Australian equivalent, we're both asthmatic fitness instructors, with current travel inflicted digestive upset being treated with Ayurveda herbs, and we'd both taken meditation courses before, which we'd both snuck out of. And as if the universe was testing our strength, we were placed side by side in the Dhamma hall and designated beds three feet apart. It took a tremendous amount of will power not to look at her and chat at any opportunity, otherwise we likely would've lost it, snuck over the fence, found some toblerones and facebooked everyone we know...

Vipassana meditation, as taught by Goenkaji, is a technique used to examine the reality of our body and mind as it is, not as we would like it to be. If any sensations arise in the body, we are trained to observe it and not react to it, understanding its nature of impermanence. Students commit to ten days of silence and refrain from any contact with other students and the outside world. IPODs, books, lap tops and every form of entertainment are handed over on the day before the retreat so we have nothing left but our minds to keep us busy. And busy we certainly were, meditating for 12+ hours a day, an hour for each meal, 1.5 hours for discourse each night, barely enough time it seemed to fit in a shower.

Having attended two other meditation courses, I had an idea of what to expect, both from the course and my monkey mind. This type of meditation however, was completely new to me and presented many new challenges to overcome. The first came in the form of a gift bestowed upon the entire centre, from their neighbour. He must have realized how bored we were so he decided to blare the latest Nepali top ten, followed by the news each day for hours. He was perfectly in tune with the meditation schedule as well. I'd sit down and settle into a nice, peaceful, meditative groove and then suddenly the music would come. In my rage all would be lost and I'd stew in my madness for the rest of that hour. I soon realized that this was simply another lesson in not reacting and expecting circumstances to be exactly as I needed them to be in order to meditate, so I let go of the need to try and control the world around me and paid less attention to the news and more to my knees.

By day three or four I began to feel excruciating pain in my knees whenever I would sit for more than 15 minutes. Goenkaji calls this pain a releasing of "sankaras" which are mental impurities lying in the unconscious, which through meditation rise to the surface level of the mind and manifest as physical sensations in the body. We are taught to just observe the pain, and by not reacting, we eradicate the old sankaras and seize to create new ones. I was convinced however, that my pain had to be worse than everyone else's. Every moment I sat through the pain I would say to myself it's impermanent, anica anica anica, and my ego, frightened at the prospect of losing control, would assert its authority and complain, "there's no pain worse than this!" "You're going to cause permanent damage to your knees!" "This is ridiculous, you could be eating chocolate and climbing mount Everest right now and you're wasting your time with THIS!" I was fiercely determined to win this mighty battle with my ego, and eventually I did... It was the words of my dear friend Rae that carried me through, "Just surrender and trust in the process" she recommended after coming out of her meditation course. I thought, I've got 12 hours of meditating a day and seven more days to go, perhaps it's about time to give this surrender thing a try. On day four, all students move into the true technique of Vipassana through mind, body awareness and are asked to sit for at least one hour a day without moving even a tiny muscle. Despite the pain, discomfort, fatigue and a very slow moving bug of some sort moving across my face, I fought with all my might to sit for that one hour. On day six I was ready to let go of my knee pain, which I was sure I had some control over. I woke up at the usually scheduled ungodly hour of 4:30 am and wandered into the meditation hall saying to myself "the pain is done today." I scanned my body when I sat down and it was still present but I didn't attach any labels to it nor did I react to it in any way. By 6:00 am it was completely gone, and it never returned.

I've heard the many stories of miraculous experiences that people have while meditating and I've always harboured a secret desire that something exciting would happen to me as well, which, according to Goenkaji, is the strongest way of ensuring that it doesn't happen. I imagined writing my blog to tell you all that I had levitated off my cushion or had a vivid glimpse into my past or future, but unfortunately none of that happened. Instead, I was simply amusing myself with my new found ability to change my body temperature from freezing cold to intense heat in a matter of minutes, and once I'd eradicated my knee pain, I began to feel an even mass of sensation covering my body, followed by subtle vibrations in my hands and feet. The problem with the realization of these sensations is that once I labeled it as a pleasant sensation and started getting excited that something is finally happening to bring me out of the curse of boredom, like a hand tries to grasp a small hair in the bathtub, the more I tried to grasp a hold of it, the faster it would float away.

I completed the first of my two ten day courses and left the centre for a break in the middle feeling peaceful and lacking the impulse to freak out when returning to society. On the night we returned to Kathmandu, 15 or so of us got together for dinner. As we were walking to the restaurant, a rickshaw came really close to me and suddenly ran directly over my foot. Everyone else seemed to notice but me and asked "Oh my God are you ok?" Surprisingly I was. Goenkaji says that the first yard stick of progress after the course is observing how it has impacted you, then sharing it with others. I have to disagree. I think the first indication of progress should be, having a vehicle roll over your foot and observing how well YOU do at not reacting!

Following my first course, it was my sincerest intention to return and serve as a Dhamma worker for the following course. I was so adamant about serving, convinced that this would be a great opportunity to GIVE and for ten days, be completely selfless, putting the needs of the meditators before my own. So I returned to the centre after two crammed days in Kathmandu and moved through my training in usual Tiffany style, not allowing a single breath before, between or after. When I finished, the students started arriving and I was busy showing them to their rooms. At dusk I was basking in the glory of being in a position of importance, and my head was held too high to see the stairs below my feet, which I gracefully tumbled down. As I fell, dropping the box of supplies I was carrying, I heard a "snap" and the swelling of my left ankle began immediately. Turns out there is worse pain than my knee pain!

So for the first four days of the course, everyone was helping me and my torn ligaments, seeing to it that MY needs were met. It's funny how things can go so opposite from what we plan. I'm grateful that it happened though, as it truly humbled me, made me slow down and look upon each small task that I was still able to perform, with gratitude and care. Due to my slow pace, which caused me to open my eyes and take in the amazing surroundings, I ended up bumping into one of the wild monkeys who frequently visits the monastery. I was outside doing yoga one day when I was approached by the monkey who was wandering about 4 feet from my yoga mat. He exuberated peace and self assurance, surely he was a meditating monkey, practicing his own form of vipassana.

I had to laugh when I realized the irony of my injury, seeing as I had just spent a month trekking and came out without any bruises or scars. Perhaps it was meant to happen in the midst of my meditation, in a place where I was truly blessed with people to help me. When I came back from the hospital, hobbling on my crutches, Beem, the office manager looked at me and laughed saying "Oh, you're lucky Teefany, you have big sankara come out!" So now when travellers see me with my crutches and aircast and ask, "did you fall down a mountain while trekking?" I can reply "No, I did it while meditating!"


I'm sorry that don't have any exciting pictures to post, as the shot of the monkey is my one of my few pics in the past 20 days. Hope you enjoyed the blog and I shall write again soon. My apologies to those who are awaiting a reply, Internet has been in short supply in my world these days, but I promise to make an effort to get back to you soon!

Zen and the art of eating a Nepali Dal Bhat

Journey: Pokhara - Phedi by bus (1 hr.), Phedi - Landruk hiking (5 hrs.), Landruk - Jimudanda - Chomrong hiking (7 hrs.), Chomrong - Deurali hiking (6 hrs.), Deurali - MBC - ABC (Anapurna Base Camp) hiking (5 hrs.), ABC - Bamboo hiking (8hrs.), Bamboo - Jimudanda hiking (6 hrs.), Jimudanda - New bridge - Nayapool hiking - Pokhara by bus (9 hrs.) Total duration of travel: 47 hrs. From October 24th - 30th. Distance trekked: Approx. 151 kms.

"The only zen you find on the tops of mountains, is the zen you bring up there." Robert M. Pirsig

It's tough to summarize the entirety of an experience, but if i were to do it in one word, this experience could be encompassed in the word "challenging." Perhaps this was exactly what I needed to realize that life doesnt always go the way we expect but that every experience is intended to help one grow, learn and force one to achieve his/her full potential. I'll do my best to explain my journey of a thousand lessons over the course of a single week.

I had reservations about embarking on the journey of the Anapurna mountains from the time I said GO. The universe certainly had a way of asking me to question just how much I really wanted this experience. Many obstacles were placed in my way, such as losing a notebook with all my trekking and guide information, hiring a guide that didn't show up and getting the run around with the Nepali's unofficial system of providing "porters" off the street with no training etc. Regardless of all of this, I was determined to go, so I finally found a porter through a reputable company and together we set off on the Anapurna Sanctuary trek.

Unfortunately arriving in the mountains wasn't an immediate breath of fresh air as I was facing a power struggle between stubborn, infamous, singing guide and strong, determined, female traveller. My decision to choose my own guesthouse against his suggestion on the first evening, was enough to send him into a rage with threats to leave if he didn't get his own way... Needless to say, the following days to come were difficult. The struggle between self respect and keeping the peace became a challenging one, but I didn't want to allow our conflict to ruin my experience.

The journey to ABC began to feel like a meditation, a cleanse, release of toxins. Every step requiring my undivided attention and awareness. Despite the physical challenge and the difficulty with my guide, I felt that I was being tested and challenged to see the beauty in my surroundings and be thankful for every step along this path. Perhaps I was attached to the idea that maybe I'd find the peace and serenity I was looking for at the top of the mountain, but with each breath of resistance, I would only become closer and closer to finding the same misery that I'd carried with me along with my hiking boots and body wash.

On my third night, I met a group of travellers from all over the world and things began to look up. The following day we all arrived one by one at our destination and gathered at the same guesthouse in the ABC at 4100 metres 13,450 feet. I wanted to go higher as I'd heard that you can prevent altitude sickness if you hike 200 metres higher than you sleep, so I was determined to make it to the snow line of the mountain. I pointed to the desired destination and Alex, our English group member, said it would take me two hours to reach that point. I insisted it would only take a half hour and he said that if I could do it in 30 minutes, he'd buy me a Dal Bhat for dinner. "Deal" I replied as I ran towards the snow line.

Perhaps it was slightly irresponsible of me to take this bet, due to my asthma and aching limbs. The severity of the altitude hit be about half way up and caught a glimpse of the deep canyon that lay directly below the narrow ridge I was climbing. I stopped to breathe at ten minutes, fiften, twenty, then I made a run for it and i arrived in exactly 23 minutes. Once I caught my breath I stood on the ledge and screamed a sound of success. Down below, my friends sighed with relief that I was alive as they had lost sight of me ten minutes previous. After my scream, a stream of emotions filled my body and for a million reasons... I cried. It was a much needed release of emotion which signified my pride of being able to do what I've often been told that I was limited in my ability to accomplish, due to my asthma. I also realised that I had accomplished my primary goal, which I had set before coming to Nepal. It has become quite clear to me however, that coming to Nepal to trek, has very little to do with trekking itself. The Dal Bhat, by the way, tasted great, even though I haven't mastered the art of eating it with my hands yet.

The following morning, basking in the glory of reaching my destination, I felt elated. That feeling was soon replaced with shock as I realised that my porter had decided to leave the highest point of the mountain, the most desolate and rural place I'd ever been on earth... without me. I searched high and low but I knew in my gut that he'd left. Someone said it was beceause he'd been drinking, another claimed he was crazy, either way I was without one drunken or dilusional porter to carry my 12 kilo bag for the remaining three days of my trek. I thought to myself, following the wise words of my former YWCA supervisor, Kim, "If this is the worst thing that happens to you today, you're doing pretty good." After all, I was feeling incredibly healthy, happy and I had many people around to help, it definitely could have been much worse.

Fortunately I was offered a hand by a kind Polish guy named Piotr, who noticed me in tears of frustration as I mournfully tried to carry my combersome burden. He took part of my load and we set off to reach our destination, which was 7 hours away. The first day of carrying my stuff wasn't so bad, although it made me seriously contemplate travelling lighter and sending my bag over the cliff a few times. The following day, however, I realized what we would be up against, stairs going straight down, then up 500 metres and a mountain that would show no mercy. I needed help so I prayed for a porter, returning from unloading his burden in the hills. Two men arrived shortly after and said they couldn't help but they quickly exchanged some words with an old man who was carrying an enormous load, surely equalling over 30 kilos. He looked at me and said "put your bag on top." Piotr and I looked at eachother in shock. I replied "No way, you're carrying too much already!" He insisted saying that it would be no problem and added that he would appreciate the extra money to help feed his family. Some people say that Nepali porters are super-human. These men are the skinniest but strongest men I've ever met, carrying up to 100 kilos in one go, hopping over rivers, trodding up stairs, running over rocks and all in their flip flops. Needless to say, we made it to our destination, and we were huffing and puffing more than our porter.

It was tough to find a porter the following day as it was depawali festival where brothers rush home to receive their "tikkas", a blessing from their sisters. I'm pretty sure the dogs and cows didnt sign up for participation in this festival though but they too receive tikkas on their heads, displaying their colourful brands with lack of amusement. We finally managed to find a porter at a guest house in New Bridge, the teenage son of the owner. So 13 year old Deepak and 15 year old Subash became our young porter/guides, quickly and carefully guiding us to the end of the trail. Deepak's English was pretty good. He talked about the sports he liked to play and I taught him how to sing "I like to eat, eat, eat apples and bananas!" He explained that they went to school in Gandruk, 2 hours away from New Bridge, and they walk for two hours, rain, snow, sickness etc. up hill... both ways. I enjoyed their company immensely and was sad to say goodbye at the end of the day, but happy to make it back to Pokhara safely, with only a few bruises and aching limbs as souvenirs of my experience.

I had to deal with the trekking company the following day and it was difficult. Eventually I had to go above them to the Trekking Agency Association of Nepal to get most of my money back. I agreed to leave half of it anyway for Subash to pay for his food etc. Besides, the president of the company said that he would have to accept responsibility for what he'd done and apologize in order to receive his pay. I felt that this was very reasonable and I was happy to put all of this behind me.

And so the chapter of submersing myself in the busy tourist circuit of Nepal, despite my reservations, came to a close. It was surely a test which has strengthened both the trust in my intuition and the muscles in my legs. The next chapter involves a journey into the great depths of my being in meditation for the next month. Perhaps it will prove to be an even crazier journey than the one I just completed.

To see photos click on: http://picasaweb.google.com/KusumaTiffany/ZenAndTheArtOfEatingANepaliDalBhat#

Come as a Tourist, leave as a friend...

Journey: Vang Vieng Laos - Vientiane by bus (4 hrs), Vientiane - Nong Kai Thailand by bus, tuk tuk and taxi (3 hrs), Nong Kai - Bangkok by train (12 hrs), Bangkok - Kathmandu Nepal by slow taxi and flight (5 hrs), Kathmandu - Chitwan by suicidal busride (8hrs), Chitwan - Kathmandu - Nagarcott by bus, motorbike (12 hrs), Nagarcott - Kathmandu - Dunche by motorbike, bus, on foot (14 hrs), Dunche - Syabrubesi on foot trekking (7 days), Syabrubesi - Kathmandu - Pokhara by bus (20 hrs) Total Travel Duration: (I need a calculator) 246 hrs. From October 1st - October 23rd.

Other than my 6 countries in 24 days stint around Europe in 2002, this one takes the cake for amount of land covered in 3 weeks. No wonder I'm exhausted! I've decided to take it easy in Pokhara, well at least for today, as tomorrow I leave for another trek for 7-10 days around the Anapurna Sanctuary. But first, lets go back a few weeks to catch you up.

Cam, my Aussie travel partner, flew out to see me in Laos, about half way through my stay. We spent about a week together in Vang Vieng before flying out to Kathmandu Nepal. We had an interesting ride to Bangkok airport however, before our departure. For whatever reason, we were never informed, the traffic in Bangkok was bumper to bumper and we could have walked faster to the airport. It turned out there were 5 people in our minivan on the same flight to Kathmandu, so we were all pushing to arrive in time for our fight. In the midst of the traffic, I had to pee more intensely than I could ever recall. The driver was not waiting for me, even if I decided to try peeing on the side of the road in the middle of Bangkok. So Cam cut the top off of a 1.5 L bottle and handed it to me. Luckily we were in the back of the mini bus but everyone knew what was happening. Cam and I killed ourselves laughing, while everyone else seemed mortified. I peed about a litre of liquid, and when we finally arrived at the airport, I said to one of the other passengers, "I can't believe I peed that much!" She replied, unimpressed, and without a smile, "I can't believe you peed." Leaving the serenity and simplicity of Laos and arriving in large and stinky Kathmandu was crazier than the reverse culture shock I experienced when coming back to Canada, well not really...

We did our best to get out of there asap and took a bus shortly after arriving to Chitwan National Park in search of Rhinos and Elephants. For a city which seems to have been taken over by the tourist industry, it was incredibly hard to get to. I supposed it was because we weren't part of the packaged tours. After an eight hour bus ride, we took another bus, then a mini bus, which over-heated and started smoking on the way. Cam dove out of the window, and the locals fell to the ground laughing at him and taking turns making jokes in his favour.

We went on a one-day safari in search of wildlife, which we found a lot of. Down the river on the canoe, we came dangerously close to two masmongruel Crocodiles, which are aparently the most dangerous in the world. They didn't seem to be phased by our passing. Sandpipers and Stocks flew over our heads as we made our way to the trail. The mission was of course to find Rhinos. I was more concerned with how to escape if a Rhino charges us than seeing them at all. We came across many termite hills, families of Monkeys, tons of leeches, wild boars and elephants (used heavily in the tourist circuit), but unfortunately, no Rhinos. We stayed that night in the Wildlife tower and two Rhinos came really close to the tower. Although we didn't manage to get any pictures of them, it was amazing to see them quietly drift into the meadow, two ghost-like figures, being gawked at by a group of tourists.

We came back from Kathmandu and the next day rode a motorbike to Nagarcott, a two-hour ride up the kathmandu valley, which was supposed to have amazing views of the himalaya mountain range at sunrise. We stayed at Eco-Home, a guest house run by a joyful man named Semanta. Everything he did in his life seemed to have meaning. The guesthouse was designed completely eco-friendly, everything down to the menus was recycled. He also ran a volunteer program for the people in the local community, helping with different projects to assist them with becomming healthier and happier. There was a lot to be learned from this man, and his giving nature made us feel like family, staying with him. I think his guesthouse was the first of which we saw the slogan "Come as a tourist, leave as a friend." Although the motto he expressed regulariy was something along the lines of "Smile, your life depends on it."

Touched by our experience with this man, we decided to visit a friend of his on the way back to Kathmandu. He owned a Fair Trade work shop where we received a tour of the ladies working and bought some of their crafts. Our time was limited though so we went back to Kathmandu quickly. The following day we hopped on a bus to Dunche to do the Lang Tang trek.

We didnt have a bus ticket so we had to pay a bit more to ride in a mini bus to the half way point of Tusuli. In this town we were offered a ride on the tourist bus which was packed on the inside and had exploded upwards with bodies hanging off the roof, no doubt clinging to the rail for dear life. He said 100 Rupees (about $1.25) and pointed at the roof. We declined. Finally we found a chartered bus and paid a lot more than we should have for a suicidal bus ride that got us 3/4 of the way to Dunche where there was a landslide blocking the road. We walked over it and found our way on another bus and an hour later, arrived in Dunche, lucky to be alive. On the way back we drove over the landslide in the local bus, being the guinea pigs for other busses to come... I closed my eyes and prayed.

The trek is hard to write about. It's difficult to put natural beauty into words. It was difficult to walk up hill for 6 hours a day but I was lucky to have Cam as he carried the heavy bag and listened patiently as I moaned and groaned the whole way... But it was a fantastic challenge, one I was greatful to experience. Best to look at the pictures as they will tell the story of our trek.

After the trek, Cam had to leave and move on to his main purpose for returning to South East Asia, a 4 month apprenticeship in the Phillippines. One can't express the bond you create with another that you travel with for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, through challenges and joy, and a variety of cultures. You would only know it if you've experienced it, but it's wonderful. I was so blessed to have him with me on this part of my journey and his departure in pursuit of his own dream, helped me to be pushed back on track to what I came here to do.

So here I am in Pokhara, leaving on yet another up hill journey through the mountains. It was challenging getting to this point and I am interested to see how the next week presents itself. After this trek I am embarking on an entirely different journey of going inwards to another 10 day vipassana retreat.

Check out my pics and please write back with any comments, questions and updates on your lives.

Namaste and lots of love,

Tiff xo

Check out my pictures at: http://picasaweb.google.com/KusumaTiffany/LaosToNepal#

My return to Asia

Journey: August 24^th – Sept. 11^th Toronto – Vancouver (4 hrs), Vancouver – Taipei Taiwan (13 hrs), Taipei – Chunan (4 hrs), Chunan – Hualien (5 hrs), Hualien – Chunan (5 hrs), Chunan – Taipei (3 hrs), Taipei – Bangkok Thailand (4 hrs), Bangkok – Nong Kai (13 hrs), Nong Kai – Vang Vieng Laos (5 hrs) Total duration of travel 56 hrs (over the course of 18 days.)

I’m back at the organic farm in Laos. It’s been an unbelievable year and a half since I was last here and it seems as though so much has happened since then. Guess life’s like that, close your eyes, suddenly you wake up and you’re so much older than the last time you looked in the mirror. The farm has changed quite a bit since my last visit but I also feel different. Ah the realities of life and change, as the Thai’s would say, “same, same but different.”

I left Canada on August 24^th. It was difficult to leave, but I felt that it was time. Rae and dad came to the airport with me to see me off and thus I began my journey.

I arrived in Taiwan, this time without a new school to pick me up from the airport, no scooter for transportation and no home base, but I still felt like I was coming home in a way. Being back, I knew that Taiwan and I had learned all that we could from one another. Taiwan being an old friend that I know I can call upon anytime I need her and I shall always be loyal to my friend in a time of need. I stayed with my chinese family for a week and went to visit my friends in Hualien for the following week. I spent most of my time packing up boxes upon boxes of things that I couldn’t somehow manage to get rid of. Look out Canada, here comes my stuff!

I said another tearful goodbye to Taiwan and flew back to noisy, stinky but dependable Bangkok. A productive day was had, searching for a flight to Nepal and a train out of Bangkok the next night. I took the overnight train where I met Sanda, a Buddhist nun, about my age from England. We had a great conversation that night and I felt we gave each other so much just in those few hours. Upon arrival to Nong kai, I met two English guys who hadn’t learned the tricks of the trade and were severely ripped off at the border. I discovered later though that I have become incredibly stubborn my bargaining skills, while the English guys were riding in a nice air conditioned mini van, I saved $1.50 US to ride with the locals for double the amount of time, on a hot local bus with a chicken as my only companion. I did however get to witness a rather strange local treat of cockroach/beetle like creatures. I questioned the woman beside me with communication in the style of charades, she made a gesture of breaking the bug apart, then raised her hand to her mouth and made a slurping noise, finishing with a smile and a thumbs-up. She pointed at me then the bowl of treats as if to inquire would you like to try some? I said, “No sorry, I’m a vegetarian.”

After the shoulder injuries I sustained from my last trip, I had wildly imaginative day dreams of carrying a bag as light as a feather. People would say to me, “you’re travelling for a year and that’s all you brought?” My fantasies were shattered with the reality of being Tiffany, as in actuality, I’m lugging around two huge backpacks and a box on a small trolley. People now look at me and say “how long you travelling for, a year!!! And what on earth is that helmet strapped on the outside of your bag for…?” Don’t ask… I told the English guys “It’s for the tubing you came here to do, you mean you didn’t bring one? Good luck!”

So here I am, back at the Organic farm for a month to write and live in the mud hut that I have been dreaming about since I left last time. A small, hand built hut made entirely of mud, straw, wood and bamboo. Even the couch is made of mud and it’s surprisingly comfortable! I’ve met most of my roommates, the geckos, ants, two bats and a family of mice. I’ve given a written notice to the landlord that the snakes and scorpions may not return until my departure in one month. The scenery is absolutely breathtaking, as my balcony overlooks the mulberry bushes, river and mountains, no shortage of inspiration here. Now I’ve just got to find myself a Fred Flintstone and my life is complete J

Lessons I’ve learned thus far; One should NEVER under any circumstances thoroughly tape a box before going to the post office, Even half a kilo can ruin your day, Taiwanese rarely share their name with someone else, it is completely unique to them, they can however, change their names if they find out that someone else has the same name, and the most valuable lesson, wheels, no matter how appealing they may seem, are never a good idea when lugging your stuff through third world countries!

Check out my pics at
http://picasaweb.google.com/KusumaTiffany/BackToAsia#
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