India, a beautiful chaos.
As we continue to immerse ourselves in the exotic land of India, we have felt torn between trying to stay present yet feeling sadness for our upcoming departure. By day twelve, we contemplated canceling the rest of the trip and staying here in this beautifully chaotic country. We imagined what our lives would look like living here one day. Justin has already researched real estate from the beaches of the south, to the Himalayas of the north and we speak endlessly on saving all the street dogs. We trust, however, that there is so much richness in our upcoming travels that we will also fall in love with the uniqueness and cultures of those countries yet to be explored. It becomes a choice of enjoying life instead of clinging to it and we know that it is in living this way that every moment of life can transform us. By choosing to stay present we can have a direct experience with the world, and be in direct connection to the truth of our own soul and to the people around us.
Mysore captivated our hearts in a way that we didn’t anticipate…a city with deep history, a vibrant culture, and is the birthplace of Ashtanga Yoga. The center of the city was chaotic and congested, with a mix of dilapidated buildings alongside immaculate palaces and temples. The rich and the poor living side by side. We meandered through many side streets and alleyways, with the intention to find the most authentic meals we could. These places were packed with locals and often had no menu, no silverware, and minimal English was spoken. Confronted with the language barrier between us, we would attempt their suggestions, or knew an idly or a dosa would be a safe bet. As we indulged in our culinary gamble, sweat would roll down our foreheads from both the heat of the day and the local spice. With that, we knew we found exactly what we were looking for.
In our discovery of this mystical city, we visited many temples. The locals adorned themselves and their vehicles in flower garlands as blessings of protection from Lord Ganesh, a well loved deity who is worshiped for his removal of obstacles. The Archakas, or Hindu priests, held a bowl of fire to each devotee who then wafted the smoke from that fire towards themselves three times. This served as their personal blessing. After witnessing these temple rituals, we wandered to the crowded shacks of some of the oldest markets in India where people sold not only the flowers used for these rituals, but also sold a variety of fruits, vegetables, dyes and trinkets. The locals were sure to let us know that Mysore is famous for silks, incense/natural oils, and marijuana. Nearly everyone we spoke to asked us if we had seen, smelled, or smoked any of these Mysore treats. The persistent salesmen were enthusiastic to show us the process of rolling incense sticks and enjoying the natural fragrances of their region. “24 hour, full power, no shower, smoke flower” was a frequent saying from the young rickshaw drivers as they tried to sell us their “special teas” and “flowers”.
As we ventured a little outside the center of the city, we found the Shanti Shanti (peace, peace) neighborhood of Gokulam. The streets were cleaner, the homes larger and well maintained. We drank organic green smoothies and walked past a plethora of businesses offering Reiki, past life regression, Ayurvedic treatments, and many Ashtanga Yoga Teacher Trainings. Instead of sari robed women and cows roaming, the streets were suddenly filled with a more western appearance and it was shocking to see the vast difference of culture and surroundings in only a few kilometers.
We then continued our journey to the village of Varkala, at the southern tip of Kerala. I had visited this town many times when I was here in my early twenties, apprenticing under my Reiki Master. It’s apparent that this place has somewhat changed, partially due to the lack of tourism that the pandemic has created, and partially due to the Indian government criminalizing alcohol. Varkala sits on top of a steep cliff overlooking the ocean and was once a party town full of bars, restaurants, and shops bursting with both locals and tourists. It has now become a quieter spiritual refuge for nomads, runaways, bohemians, naturalists, old and new hippies alike. I spent my mornings practicing yoga with a gentle man named Sunil, aka, Guruji. The yoga studio overlooked the waving palm trees in the sand and the surfers trying to catch the morning waves of the Arabian Sea. It felt refreshing and sacred getting to once again partake in a deep rooted Sivananda Hatha practice. I was immediately reminded of my time in the ashram all those years ago, immersed in practice and philosophy led by such knowledgeable Swamis. Hearing Guruji’s Malayalam accent as he guided me through Savasana at the end of practice brought me right back to those ashram days and reinvigorated my love for the practice. He hummed and chanted as I moved through asanas that I haven’t done in years, offering a subtle remembrance of my yogic self. We laughed and shared stories of each other's lives, sang Shiva Mantras and it left me feeling reconnected to a piece of myself I haven’t felt in quite some time. After class I would meet Justin for breakfast, where he would be chatting with the friendly restaurant staff about soccer, politics, and the unfortunate repercussions of Covid. We spent our days sipping Lemon Nanas (lime & mint juice) and swimming in the warm ocean, which a couple of times reminded us how powerful she is. In the evenings, we discovered our favorite Kerala dishes, we caught deep red and orange sunsets, and we created friendships with the locals, especially thanks to Justin’s gregarious ways and his never ending desire to watch the World Cup.
As the life of a traveler goes, it was time to move on to explore the next destination…and with that came the chaos of travel…because as much as it may seem, travel can’t always be sunshine and rainbows. We had our flights booked to depart around 9pm. This meant we had to check out of our hotel 9 hours before our flight departed. We kindly asked for a late check out and hoped they would be generous with their offering. They gifted us an extra hour and watched our backpacks while we spent our last day in Varkala. What’s worse than a long travel day? A long travel day after all the Indian food has finally caught up and it was time to pay the toll. Now I will admit that I’ve heard many horrific Indian belly stories (we’ve all heard Justin’s train story), and mine was minor but still not a fun day to travel. We took a two hour rickshaw ride to the airport, arriving much earlier than necessary. Already exhausted, I listened to the book I downloaded until I fell asleep on Justin’s shoulder on the cold, hard chairs of the Trivandrum airport. A quick flight and we would arrive to Bangalore….at 1am… for a six hour layover... We arrived to Bangalore and with pain in my belly and not an ounce of energy, we attempted to find a dark and quiet place to retreat for a few hours. Neither existed. The bright lights, the cold air conditioning, and the sheer number of people looking for the same comforts was overwhelming. I curled into two chairs without the metal arm rest and covered my face with a silk fabric while Justin laid below me on the cold marble floor. By 6am we were eager for our next flight. A short journey that would bring us to our previously hired taxi awaiting our arrival to take us to the beaches of Goa…after fearfully waiting for our bags to show their presence at the baggage claim (because on a previous flight, Justin’s bag did not arrive with us), we gathered our belongings. We walked out into the humid Goan morning air to find no taxi was waiting for us. In our exhaustion, we were forced to barter with pushy drivers to finally find a reasonable offer to take us to our destination…still two hours away. Eventually, we arrived to our destination.
