In Goats We Trust

This is a take of walking, music, desert, mountains: Of three girls, one fiddle and one puppy in the Himalayan moutains......
This tale begins on a seventeen hour bus ride to Rekong Peo, where one girl with a fiddle bonded with two other girls who were also heading for Spiti - a remote part of India that used to be part of Tibet. It is so close to Tibet that you need a permit to travel on the route and no phones apart from the governmental phones work there..... A himalayan desert. To get there one must take the local bus on the tibet-hindustan highway, famous for being one of the most terrifying bus routes in the world.
We broke the journey to Spiti in two by stopping the night in Nako, a beautiful little village where we walked up the mountain and I played to the most amazing view.....you feel so high( around 3600 meters), the sky feels so close.... and in the middle of desert suddenly is this village with trees and fields that are nearly eye level with the snow capped peaks across the valley.
Arriving in Kaza, the 'city'/regional headquarters we swiftly found out favourite dhaba and arranged a plan  - a night in Ki monastary, a walk to Kibber - once thought to be the highest village in the world with a road- and then a four day homestay trek around the villages nearby. It was the next morning, just before setting off to Ki, that the three girls came accross a damp, muddy ball of fluff that seemed to be shivering and stuck to the pavement. It was impossible to just walk by, something compelled all three girls to stop and take action..... they took the puppy back to their guesthouse, washed it, fed it, discovered it was the sweeetest tibetan black fluffball, and then realised that they didn't want to put him back on the street.
An Indian guy in the guesthouse said that in a month, after trekking accross the Rotang pass to Ladakh, he could come back for the Kaja (named after the local pronounciation of the town in which he was found) and give him a home in assam. So it was settled.... Kaja would come wth us in the back of a pack and then be taken to live in dharamsala for another three weeks.
We stayed in the monstary guesthouse in Kibber, where the guys who ran it were so kind. They didnt mind Kaja not being toilet trained and made us one of the best thalis I've had in India.... and the monks in the monstary gave us a full tour of the gompas and 1000 year ol thanka paintings and made us chai in a kitchen that was 800 years old. It was black - everywhere, on the ceiling and floor....there was some tibetan prayers written on the wall: you could really feel how lived in it was. In the morning we joined the puja at 7.30 and got given chai again in a different bigger kitchen, watching the monks make breakfast in huge saucepans. Then we set of up the hill six kilometers to Kibber - and discovered that walking is a lot harder at higher alititudes. I gave a small 'concert' to the kids at school - everyone huddled into the one room with a stove that was warm- as I explained about the different types of music - folk and classical. We got tea and a few very very shy versions of traditional spitian songs from the kids. The kids loved Kaja aswell so that was a bonus because everywhere we went people reacted to the dog and asked us questions.
And so the next day we began our homestay trek... leaving our big bags in the guesthouse, we got a  jeep to Losang and after a turn around the huge budda statue on the hill we began our walk to Comic where we would be spending the night. The first days walk was pretty uneventful although I felt really ill (altitude). We got to Comic just before dark and were greeted by the most hospitalble family..... lots of chai and this roasted/popped barley snack around a really warm stove. You really get a sense of how they live as you watch the family cook and stoke the fire. The toilets were dry composte toilets - very eco frendly and to get to our room we had to climb up a ladder onto the roof  (under the sky with most amazing stars I've seen in yearrs) and into a room directly abover the kitchen and stove- so t was warm!  The elder daughter was a nun and spoke good english  and there was a cute little girl who took the whole night to not be super scared of the white injuns (foreigners).
Next day we set off to Demul. At this point I should mention that our map consisted of a line drawn between the names of villages written down on a piece of paper with no distances mentioned, just the altitude of places we would pass on our way.
 By the late afternoon we found ourselves still walking along the side of a mountain on a road that was ruined by avalanches - so not even jeep worthy- fully expecting that around the next bend, in the next valley we would find out Demul. We'd set off early so why were we not there? Its true that with the dog and fossil finding (yes, really, fossils of amonites, it used to be a sea bed) and Ibix spotting we took on a leisurely pace but when it got to five we started to wonder. Earlier the road had split, usuing only intuition we'd taken the top route - was it the right way.?
We came across the first people we'd seen since Comic, a group of boys who didn't seem interested to help and couldn't tell us if there was a village anywhere near. At this point we started to get a little nervous and began planning how to keep warm, spotting 'sheltered' spots/ It was getting colder and windy, the desert is not hospitable at night, even in Comic we slept in clothes and two blankets: The idea of a sleeping bag liner, a fire  and a dog to cuddle doesn't cut it when its freezing .
Then we turned a valley and spotted a road - to Kaza- and thus some possibility that it came from somewhere over the other side of the mountain that we'd been walking along. There were signs of life- power lines and maybe a stupa pionting its white tip from over the hill and then, Shanon spotted a heard of goats moving across the steep slope, up and over the top of the mountain. Salvation might be around the corner!  If the goats were going home then they could lead the way to a goat shed at the very least..... Bearing in mind it would take us at least an hour to get to the top of the hill it was still far away and high and we were very very tired) and we only had a wee bit mor ethen an hour of light, this was a risk to carry on walking and not prepare shelter. In goats we put our trust and hope and they led the way. It was a scary when we got to the top of the hill and didn't see any sign of humans, so following the mantra, we followed the goat shit down the hill, turned another corner and DAH-DAH............suddenly the most joyous moment of the trip, simultanerously we all saw a group of the most welcoming white tibentan houses on the other side of the valley.... we couldn't stop laughing for about five minutes as we continued to follow the goat prints down the hill. The homestay in Demul wasn't as nice - but afte rthe thought of sleeping outside anything was welcome.... .as was the news that our walk had been 25 kilometers..... some information that would have been helpful to know when setting off on the trek. We simply weren't mentally preparred for valley after valley to not be the one of Demul.
The thrird day was mostly a steep steep steep downhill walk along a tretcherous cliff face and a long flat walk to Lalung. We stopped on the way at a house in the middle of nowhere, having been invited in for Chai by a  granny covering herself from the sun with a broken black umbrella and two little kids. I gave her a concert that she seemed to really really enjoy and they in turn directed us the right way. Onc eagain we realised that our 'map' was not enough. If we hadn't been stopped by the granny we could of happily wandered on the path on the wrong side of the river to our destination.... lesson learnt. Lalung was lovely, as was the homestay...... although the family were all out so it was just the wife and her young daughter hosting us.
Next day we set of to Dhankar - our last destination from where we could ge tsome form of transport back to Kaza. Once again we found the trail spilit and it was only our intuition that guided us in the right direction.... It was a stunning walk. Some parts of spiti are just rock and then you come across terrain that is a bit like the moor- with gorse bushes and thin grass , and then the random bit of snow that hasn't melted. Knocking on the door of a guesthouse to get lunch we met three indian guys also heading to Kaza. They got us all a free ride in he back of a truck to Kaza..... bumpy but you get to see so much without a roof abover your head.In return we got them rooms at our guesthouse and introduced them to the infamous dhaba with
squashed samaosas. By this time we stank. We hadn't washed in four days or changed clothes.... our greatest wish was a hot shower. But lo, the power was out of Kaza - everything was running on generators that day (apparently Punjab buys up all the power and so other states have days where poweer just dissappeares) and so we had to wait untill after the crazy 10 hour bus ride back (along the most beauitufl scary ride of my life)  to Rekong Peo and then to the beautiful village of Kalpa.
In Kalpa we parted as Sarah and Shannon headed to Dharamsala with Kaja. Despite the numous rude awakenings of puppy biting my face in the morning and the nuisance of waiting for him to pee outside, I really missed the fluffball and his compadres. Kaja really was our puppy for a week. The himlayan trekking puppy...... I think with puppy and fiddle we left a good mark on Spiti- the strangest trio but one of the loveliest.
There's some more adventures but time is  running out online and I'm hungry so it'll wait. I've no doubt my journey to Mumbai will pick up a few tales too..... at present I dont want to think about leaving. That said, I'm ready for a hot shower where the water doesn't run out....
Joole (hello and goodbye and everything inbetween in spitian language)

D for Dharamsala, M for Manali....... lets see how much of the alphabet I have passed... perhaps X will wait till I visit China (when ever that may be)...

So Rishikesh was a chilled out place... but it definitely felt like a week was long enough.When I left I was debating where I should go first - Spiti or Dharamsala. The bus to Dharamsala left half an hour earlier and that was the end of my decision making process since both journeys were roughly the same 13 hour haul overnight.  

Dharamsala was a breath of fresh, cold, damp and very welcome air. I've found that arriving at 5,6,7 - early hours after long journeys should be exhausting and yet it is often a pleasure to see a town asleep and slowly opening its spiderweb eyes.Its like looking through a keyhole or through tinted glasses- you get to see a different side of the town. Dharamsala - or I should say Mcload Ganj, didn't dissappoint - a chai seller and a few rickshaws and me had the whole town to ourselves. It gives you time to notice the absurd restaurant names and the actual width of the streets; how the architecture is different from down in the valleys. It feels like seeing the real essence of the town because for once you don't see the touts and the tourist shops and everything that is an effect of you being there, instead you see a place that is lived in. 

I had a good feeling about the place instantly- it felt like a step outside of India and it was. My first morning it drizzled, I had porridge and with the steep high street to climb I felt utterly at home. Even the prayer flags and pine forests' reminded me of Samy-e-Ling so it didn't feel so foreign- unlike the hindu temples.

There was everything you could possibly want to do in Dharamsala - mostly I walked, joined some volunteer conversation classes with Tibetans and did meditation every morning and occasionally took my fiddle up into the  mountains for a practice. I went to a few good jam sessions as well which was fantastic. It is like stepping out of India - its full of Tibetans : who are usually more honest then the indians, the climate is different, the street food is Tibetan momo's (like steamed dumplings), the dress..... But you only have to wait for an India guy to pass you on the street and say something lewd to remind you that you are still in India and you will be seen here just the same as anywhere else in India. 

Dharamsala was social.....  I met a lot of people on the street that I'd met before or had some connection with- an argentinan I met in  Rishikesh, an australian couple who know Totnes and some fellow Totnesians, people in my dorm were very friendly, Tibentans through jamming, and like a  cherry on top of the cake I also met some of my fellow travellers from Hampi. It was such a lovely thing to bump into people on the street that I'd seen off onto trains and buses in Hampi before taking my own route south to Bangalore. When you travel there are people who are easy to let go off- occasionally you find people you aern't ready to bye to just yet so its wonderful to have another rendevouz. In the space of a few days many people I met spoke about the people you meet being a huge part of travelling. For me that always meant the native people until now when I realise its not even the travellers themselves but the kind of relationships you have with other traveller that is something special.-They can be stupid, intense, quick ...people can know nothing about you and yet instantly there is a solidarity. 

On the bus to Dharamsala I talked for a long time with a monk who was sitting next to me. A few hours into the ride, after swapping music - listening to my ipod and tibetan music on his phone... and showing me photo s of his family and discussing being a monk , buddism etc... I got an invitation to his families home. After a week of deliberating and enjoying Dharamsala... I decided to go. Leaving my bag and taking just a rucksack and my violin, I set of at 6 am... it was three and a half hours away by bus to Chauntra (which no one understood until I pronounced it Chountarrra) where there is a Tibetan Colony where his parents live. It was a bit of land by a village bought by a tibetan king with foresight at the start of the chinese invasion - now its a village of tibetan refugees with a monastary and a monks university and hundreds of prayer flags  above the houses. 

Thinkley (pronounced Chinley) studies in Uttarkashi bus was going home for his holiday.... His father was incredibly shy - I barely saw him on the first day, his mother being the complete opposite although she barely speaks english. When she smiles her whole face smiles - all her wrinkles. Its the most beautiful sight. I could draw that face over and over and over.... 

There wasn't much to do ... so I just stayed two nights. We went on a few walks around the village and got a personal tour of the temple.  I learnt how to make Momo;s - its a lot harder then it looks to fold them and make them looks pretty. My handiwork was the centre of a lot of amusement.We also did a bit of sightseeing by motobike - picture that , a western girl and a monk on a motobike driving around the countryside (slowly I might add for my mothers sake). It was a real pleasure to see how the family lived and get some insight into their lives.. and play them some jigs and reels. 

Back in Dharamsala I spent a night in Bagsu before getting a nightbus to Manali. Despite being a Deluxe bus (i.e. the seats recline), it has less suspension then a  local bus and I didnt sleep a wink. There was an eventful stop at a dhaba where the chefs seemed like they were in a slapstick comedy - rushing around and yet not getting anything done- not even making us chai we ordered before our bus decided it was time to leave. Me and an israeli girl formed a bond when we saw there was no toilet and decided to go by the side of the road- protecting each other from passing cards stares....The same girl told me of a guesthouse with the most amazing view in Manali. After an adventure getting there..true enough from my window I can see about eight snow capped peaks, the river is the loudest noise around. there's a lot of birds and being so far off the main road I need a torch to get back at night. It's wonderful. 

I've seen my first yak, walked to more waterfalls (lots of beautiful waterfall walks in Dharamsala) and another surprise was meeting another few Israelis from Hampi.... 

Soon I head to Spiti- a the desert area closest to Tibet for my last adventure, before slowly making my journey back to Mumbai.... 

with love 

ciao

Fiddler on the roof in smelly Delhi

Smelly Delhi hits you in the belly like a hole in a welly
 errrrrrrrrrrr
During the past six weeks I've collected some horror stories about Delhi, only to find myself enjoying Delhi more then a lot of 'nice' places I've been too. It probably had more to do with the people I met in the hostel more then anything else.
Delhi is probably the most Indian place I've been. It sounds silly but by that I mean its India intensified times ten. There are big holes on the street to sewers, I can smell it, there are a comparable number of beggars to Madurai and every bit of space is being used. There's plenty of good street food - not just samosas but I was welcomed to the north by the sight of men standing over tandoori clay ovens making thousands of naans throughout the day. Delhi isn't colourful but its full to the brim. Some corners look like Piccadilly adverts times ten (minus the electric lights and instead dozens of fading signs). It's hard to know where to look, or what to photograph, because something fascinating is going on 360 degrees around you.
One of the guys in the hostel was also into street photography ( about to purchase a Voigtlander) so he lead the way into some crazy narrow side streets (where the 'gang' had been the day before) filled with photographic faces and chaos. Not a tourist in sight, just lots of friendly faces. Yup, so far I've found the north pretty friendly, if not friendlier. It may just be my attitude and the people I was with. I've notices people speak a lot more to guys and they will never address me if I'm with a guy.
I'm not sure I would have stomached Delhi or gone so off the main roads on my own so I owe the folks I met my experience of that city. I also owe the weather - not too hot, freak cook period which allowed us to walk about all day long . It even rained and I had one of my best cups of chai siting on benches under the blue shelter of a chai seller in a street about meter wide. You could tell from the big smiles that it wasn't common to get white people down there.
Most of the people in the hostel had just arrived to India so we went for an 'educational' Bollywood film. I fully recommend Housefull 2 if you dont speak any Hindi. It was great albeit long, starting at 11pm and finishing at 2am. I dont know if this gives a fair idea as this computer has no sound, but hell..... here's the trailer. Be warned, it has some of the worst fight scenes I've seen in a long time: 

In Delhi I also had one of the most successful shopping trips of my life- I bought trainers and a violin in two hours!!!!! After two months of not playing I was pretty nervous so I sat on the rooftop terrace of the hostel playing to Delhi. A man from the building next door (a building site really) came and watched , staring for about fifteen minutes until some of my compadres burst in stating that I sounded good, didn't need the privacy and thus demanded I play on. I still cant remember half the tunes so send me recommendations and I'll try learn them- I've got the time.... as long as the sheet music is online or a good vid on youtube.

Playing on the roof wasn't the only unusual situation that my strings were pulled .... I also ended up playing to a busy highway somewhere outside of Delhi . My first major transport misshap. Not bad after two months given that I've taken pretty much every available transport-Its not a bad list: by train: 2AC , 3AC, Sleeper, sitting, standing, Local buses, Sleeper buses, semi-sleeper buses, vikrams, rickshaws, taxis, ferries, bicycle rickshaws, feet........... How did the small one get kicked off a bus in the middle of nowhere? I booked a bus out of Delhi, at the bus station was told the wrong bus by the guys at the information office (but it was going to the same place so the driver told me it was going to my destination and in I hopped...).  Twenty minutes out of Delhi the ported tells me its not the bus I booked, flags the bus down and tells me to get off at what was a sort of bus stop on the side of the road. It didn't occur to me then to just pay the fare since I'd clearly missed the booked bus.....
So with two men  as an audience, who didn't speak English but seemed certain about the next bus, I played my confused fiddle to the passing cars.
In the end one of the guys accompanied me back to the main bus station and after all the craziness I decided I'd better stay another few nights in Delhi and chill out a bit.
So round two with the buses went well. Didn't pre-book so no chance of missing the bus.... Just jumped on the local bus to Haridwar: One of the most sacred sights for Hindu's as the gate of the Ganges. Pilgrims come to bathe in the waters and every evening they perform Aarti (worship) on the banks before floating bundles of lit flowers down the river. Its all quite beautiful aside from Officials asking you for donations every five meters. I don't mind donating to schools or giving the occasional street kid a few rupees but hell am I gonna pay for someone else's religious ceremony. It's pretty but I don't even understand it.
In Haridwar I met/went budget room hunting with an Austrian guy who'd been traveling 18 months.Clearly 18 months made him think he was king of the road and quicker to judge a book by its cover. When I pulled my 'big' camera out of my bag he called me a european princess.Coming from someone with a snappy canon pixar type who could afford to travel for so long I thought it was a bit rich. Europeans are all royalty in comparison with the majority of Indians......    It made me think a lot about how lucky we are and how we carry ourselves everywhere we go etc. (continue the pondering....................................................................................................................................
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he did have a positive attitude, especially to being photographed by Indians. So I got something out of the meeting (the positive attitude that is) ...
Now I'm in Rishikesh. Yoga capital of the world (i.e. that place the Beatles went to in India). Its beautiful...already in the foothills but set in the valley with a clean, turquoise Ganges flowing under the two suspension bridges which bring together the two sides of the town. I'm trying out Yoga..... so far so good. I can't understand the teacher so well but it's good to stretch some under-used muscles.....and prepare for the real mountains ahead.
lots of love
L x

Watered, Fed and Sun-ed

So after my last post I set off to Madurai, home of the great Sree Meenaksmi temple before speeding my way around Kerela to find out for myself why it calls itself 'Gods Own Country' under every signpost.
Madurai felt like a very Indian town. Sure there were tourist shops..... but it felt more hectic: no pavement at all, more street vendors  etc. After Pondicherry which has an obvious dividing line between the french/tourish quarter and the tamil quater, it felt like a much more sincere experience, albeit far less chilled. The only place you could really go to sit aside from cafes was in the temple which itself is huge. Luckily you buy a ticket for the day so I went in and out a lot to escape the madness of the city center mainly just to sit and read for few hours in the shade and draw people. The temple is build to honour a consort of Shiva: Meenakshmi born with three breasts and the prophecy that when she met her partner, her third breast would disappear. Clearly this happened because to my disappointment i didn't see any three-breasted lady sculptures. Only the usual, very sexy normal ones. The temple was huge and beautiful. If I remember rightly it has six huge towers, all covered in thousands of small statues of gods/people ..... and twice as many feet. The colours are extremely bright and lion-dragon gargoyle type sculptures line the tops of all the columns. Its the first time where I really  felt like I understood how people used the temple, seeing families sit on the steps to share food or read before going to make offerings... It becomes part incorporated into their daily lives. Perhaps it is just because it is bigger then all the temples I've seen, I found it impressive. However, I've a suspicion being so used to religions where people spend time in the temple, after seeing people make quick offerings in ques at other temples that had no space, this place had more similarities to my own/western culture. It is a beautiful temple too, which clearly helps inspire feeling.
As there is little else but the temple in Madurai I decided to leave as quick as possible and headed down to Varkala for a few days of chilling on the beach.
Varkala is beautiful.... very touristy but that doesn't detract from the lovely walk down steps to get to the beach or the sitting on the  top of the cliff watching a lightning storm whilst eating dinner..... I was lucky to get there at the end of the season so things where cheap, it wasn't too busy and it made a great place to calm down after a week of cities.
From there I heading north to see the famous backwaters of Kerala.  Stopping of at Kollam for a night, which is a horrible town and proof that guidebooks are sometimes completely deluded, i made my way to Allepey. Allepey the town is like any other - busy..... but it has a few canals and step onto a government bus-boat for 20 minutes and suddenly you are in paradise. The canals are huge and they open onto vast lakes which are embroidered on their edges by homes and smaller canals leading to a maze of waterways and more lakes... It is so green its like looking at a fauvist painting or a photo-shopped holiday broucher. The canals are lined with coconut and many other trees.The odd chai shop or village shop or dock is dotted around ... and there are narrow paths either side of the canal running past houses. Every house has steps in front of it  down to the canal where people wash their clothes or themselves or else children stand with mini fishing rods and surprisingly successful buckets full of their catch... Needless to say most of the houses are brightly painted.
I splashed out and took a canoe boat tour of the backwaters with a few people I'-d met and it was definitely money well spent. First we were taken to our guides house near a bus-boat dock where we were given breakfast in his family home. It was a tiny place with the bathroom outside and no running water (yet, he said). His two daughters were on vacation - really sweet girls who brought water to wash our hands. I've discovered that Indian's don't seem to understand the meaning of 'i'm full'.....luckily the food was good- chickpea curry, rice and a sweet mix of dry cereal like substance on the side. Two distinct feelings come about in those kind of situations, sitting in someones house who is clearly very poor, one gets not only a surge of happiness, being on the receiving end of such kindness but also a sense of guilt- am I eating all their food?....Meeting those people, away from the tourist shops that always want to sell you things, was such a relief and an eye opener, seeing how people really live and how they treat you . I've been given food on trains and other occasions since and it seems to be a huge part of communication and life - giving and hospitality. People will give you food before asking your name. Its a sign that your welcome.... and it is difficult to refuse. Of course, everywhere you are still a white person and children still ask for money or pens, but they are also happy to show us things and talk and let me draw them..... I felt like there was a personal exchange.
   From there we jumped into two canoes and set off on a beautifully calm trip through the smaller canals, stopping for chai and a look at a really odd church. A few hours later ( which felt like no time at all) we headed back for a delicious home cooked lunch served on banana leaves before catching the ferry back into town. We saw about four kingfishers on the trip along with other birds and I have to say even before the rest of Kerala, that boat trip alone made me so so glad that I'd chosen to go to Kerala I was almost smug. The whole day was so calm that one wonders why anyone bothers living in the city.... Its not cut off; people have mobile phones, but its spacious and it feels like a healthy place to be.
Two days later, on the recommendation of a woman I met, I jumped on a seven hour bus ride to Munnar - a tea plantation in the western ghats (a mountain range)- for some cool air and walking. There I stayed in a homestay - a real bucket shower place which in the cooler nights wasn't as nearly as pleasant as earlier buckets: believe it or not, pouring a load of water on your head after walking around boiling Mumbai feels really good. However, i was given lots of tea and had the oddest feeling of nostalgia hearing linkin park boom out of the son's laptop.
On recommendation I booked a guide who took me on a lovely long walk amongst the tea plantations, off the beaten track. It was good friday which unfortunately meant there was nobody working. However, the holy day had its blessings. Anbu pointed to some tiny specks on the top of a mountain - christians praying for good friday. We decided to climb up..... So my calm walk in flip flops did have a little bit of trekking to it. The mountain at the top was so steep you had to take of your shoes to avoid slipping, and face the extremely hot burning ground.... after about an hour we reached the top and the other people sitting by a crucifix and were duly rewarded with glasses of sprite. The view was beautiful and the people friendly. I drew some of the kids and got into a long conversation with one girl (who was very upset when I said I never went to church on Good Friday). As we prepared to make our decent they invited us to eat with them- we had seen people cooking in great big pots on our way up- and we agreed.  Again it was another experience of kindness. Outside of India i might put it down to them being very religious but here it seems to just come from the people.
Me and Anbu continued trekking and after fifteen kilometers (the whole trip that is)  arrived back at his house where I met his wife and son. They live in a tiny place - just two rooms, newspaper on the ceiling, stone floor etc  The bedroom/living room also acts as a storage place with the kitchen at the back.  The son was extremely sweet (though not good at staying still as a model) and there was a small christian but indian-ised shrine full of catholic style pictures of Jesus and in the midst of poverty, a tv. It is strange to see a country develop in such a lop-sided way, where people have mobile phones but no running water.
Anbu's wife cooked a meal -  after the meal on the mountain I tried to explain that I couldn't eat much but I don't think she understood..... so yet again I ate. It was wonderful, leaving me no space for dinner and leaving me wondering if they had enough food. I can only assume that what I paid Anbu covers a lot of meals and hopefully some money to send his son to school. I see what a good father he is and how is wife will start studying to be a nurse soon.... these people live their lives working hard but with a grace and elegance we often seem to lack back home.  I should mention everyone we passed who Anbu knew and stopped to talk too were really friendly and offered me chai despite that they all lived in these government tiny houses like Anbu and I was just a passing tourist. I felt very privileged.
That night back at the home stay, as it was good friday, some friends - a few young couples including the daughters of owners and all their children had come over for a bonfire and bbq. I joined them and we swapped songs. One particular lady was very enthusiastic about Indian dance. She looked at me as thought I was depraved not to know it, and then went on a mission to show me lots of dances and teach me some simple versions whilst her husband sung classical Indian songs. We danced and sang around the fire in what turned  into a very moving evening.
Kerala is not just a beautiful place. I enjoyed me time there because I felt like I really met people in Kerala. That made all the difference between just being a tourist and having some interaction so I didn't feel so separate. The pattern continued in Cochin where I met lots of artists simply by walking into their studios and talking to them. Some were a bit crazy - Kerala is a communist state and I ended up in a long debate with an artist about how the USA has never been to the moon..... some were simply lovely and we swapped work ( or rather I need to send them some work when I get home). Some are more conceptual, some just paint, they all have the same difficulties as painters back home only probably tenfold as in India it is really uncommon to buy artwork for ones house.....
Cochin is a clean city - with real pavements and the fascinating Chinese fishing nets. However, because of Passover, the synagogue was closed for ten days which was a little disappointing. Nevertheless it was a lovely calm stop before my next big adventure..... tomorrow I fly to Delhi and then I travel northwards towards the foothills of the Himalayas. I can't believe I've been here six weeks already and at the same time I cant believe I've seen so much. So it's goodbye to the crazy humidity that makes the south unbearably hot .... and hello to the snow peaked mountains ( and possibly some warmer clothes.... ).  There were points in Pondicherry and Madurai, with the lack of anonymity and heat and chaos, when I questioned why the hell I had decided to stay another month extra. The last week has quelled my doubts, confirmed my decision and made me incredibly excited.
love
L.

S'il vous plait, un pain au chocolat.

Yes, I really spoke those words.....
This is because I am now in Pondicherry - the old french colonial seaside town which manages to mix french speaking Indians and hectic tamil street stalls, honking richshaws and empty french architecture-filled streets in a pot and create a chilled out place where dosas meet croissants (in my stomach) quite happily. Whats more, the ashram where I am staying serves the best cheapest coffee in town whilst overlooking the sea. Someone is a happy bunny.....
My last post began on the train to Bangalore which was a good calming stop over ....I was told to give in to Adi's mum spoiling me and so the next few days consisted mainly of eating lots of wonderful home cooked food, short trips into town, discovering new breakfasts (like crumbled chapattis in warm milk and sugar), a visit to the Bangalore Club where Churchill still has a debt of 15 Rupees and seeing Adi. 
Bangalore is a very green and yet its not really a walking city between enclaves.... It is 'high tech city' but in all reality it is still just a bustling place with as many potholes and street filling antics as any other. There are fruit-sellers with mountains of watermelons everywhere, countless stray dogs and cows with their horns painted. One never walks on the pavement - in most of India this is true- as it continuously goes up and down if it isn't being dug up or covered with rubble.... 
We (me and Adi) took a day trip to Mysore which is one of the most touristy experiences of my life - the bus even stopped off at shops and in the evening a lit up musical fountain that 'danced' to bollywood tracks! Yup, only in India.... However, the Palace at Mysore was impressive and Tipu Sultan's summer palace, the first place we visited in  Sriangapatnam was worth the 16 turned bus journey (and the punctured tire on the way back).  It was a gorgeous two floor indo-islamic design with every wall, ceiling, surface bar the floor painted in trees, flowers and geometric patterns. Thought the paint was peeling and it wasn't well looked after its the only place I would want to revisit. 
It was lovely spending time with Adi, meeting his friends, getting my first coconut water, seeing his old neighbourhood and generally catching up. So five days later, armed with lots of Adi's mums recipes written down, I left on a sleeper bus to Pondicherry and back to the sea.
One thing people tell you to see when you go to Pondy is to check out a place called Auroville - a small international community with land bought by 124 countries that has new age bonkers written all over it. In the name of Totnes I thought I had to go. It also has a reputation for lots of artists and craft and amazing paper....
Deciding to save money I'd been told by the women who booked my flights that I could get a bus there. I knew I'd have to walk through a village a little way to get there, so when the bus dropped me off on the main road I set off expectantly.  I passed scores of coconut trees blown over in fields, which I'd been told is the reason that Pondy is hotter then normal for this time of year, a steaming 32-36 degrees with about 50-60 % humidity. In Pondy there is always a light breeze as its on the coast but in land it was a different game entirely. It was hot, seriously hot. But with the same stubborness of my mother on a long walk I was determined not to give in- it was good to feel like I was doing something. Besides, dotted every 500 meters was a few shops with names like Auroville boutique and cafes serving drinks should I want to stop.... My family may remember a time when we walked several hours in the Sinai Desert to the town that never seemed to get closer - and then we discovered it was 10 K away. This wasn't too dissimilar. The woman at the travel agency had omitted the fact that the walk was 8 K which was why I was the only one walking - everyone else passing me on rickshaws or motorbikes.
Eventually I arrived....exhausted....  The visitor center after  explained the new age idea of a township outside of nations boundaries and prejudice bla bla bla with no religion .... everyone works but there is no money and no religion and yet everyone seems to worship this french woman called The Mother and a guru called Sri Aurobindo.......and to top it off there is a big bizarre gold ball look a like monument that isnt meant to be a shrine but no one is allowed in to see the crystal that represents something significant.
The only achievement I really saw was in the environmental issues - lots of organic farming, solar power and re-forestation - and craft. That said, the paper was no more impressive then some I've seen in Paperworks in Totnes i.e. not worth carrying home. I was too tired to really explore and it didn't seem like one could really just wander into Auroville itself with much welcome. I took a rickshaw back, resolute in the fact that I'd seen a lot of countryside and several real Indian villages and had a (mostly) enjoyable long walk.
I like walking and rickshaws don't seem to get this..... however, they do have a lovely policy of closing the road by the sea every evening from 6 pm so people can walk freely up and down the beach .
The only real frustration I've had in Pondy is that unlike Bangalore where no one cares, here I feel like a walking exhibit. By the end of last night I was ready to smack the next person who asked for a photo- I look forward to being anonymous again.  That said, I've been drawing and found some very happy models and some not so happy models. Last night I was eating in a restaurant that was busy when a man, without looking at me or asking, rudely sat opposite on my two person table. I got my sketchbook out and drew him and having drawn up his own fate, he couldn't really move tables.ha.I felt we were even by the end.
Next I travel onwards to Madurai and possibly into Kerela or the Western Ghats.....  and then mid- april I fly up to Delhi to explore the north- up into the great Himalayas: Long family walks on Dartmoor and elsewhere will not have been in vain......
love
L. x

' Look Mum, Just Hands!!!'l

Helloooooo from India!


I'll try keep it not too long but so much has happened in the last few weeks up till now.apologies to those whom I promised short entries, phew... India is a crazy wonderful place. That was the first impression I got when I landed in Mumbai and its stayed with me, everything I see seems to repeat and strengthen that description.
I'm writing on a train (okay, I'm actually typing on a computer but I wrote this on a train... )-upper berth  in 3rd AC with curtains so it feels pretty luxurious as I head towards  Bangalore. Yup, I am going to the hi-tech city of India to see an old friend. But lets not get ahead of the trainride....
So speeding back, I landed in Mumbai and took  a taxi into town through all the slums at about 6 in the morning. They are the most characteristic buildings I've seen, each kilometer looks like thousands of stories all piled up on top of one another.Shacks built on shacks and then homes built in the spaces in-between. It really does look like a city in a city, as I've been told.
Mumbai is sprawling and mad and intense. You can turn off a main street into a village look- a like area with no roads and then back into modern honking Mumbai. Then you have the huge colonial-era buildings: European architecture towering over a street that's so unlike any in Europe that its surreal.  The weather and the dust have not been kind to the fascades of the buildings, which makes them seem even more obscure. In one way they fit with their surroundings: people hang washing from some grand balconies which are almost in ruin and they too become part of the street.... whereas other buildings are clearly still used for official business. What's more, out of gardens poke tropical flowers and plants, gardens that look western in design with crazy pinks that you'd never get in northern Europe. I love it.
I didn't really go sightseeing, I just walked around the city a lot, first by myself and then after two days with Aimee (friend from Totnes, at the end of her travels who joined me in Mumbai )  and Kat.
Kat is a story..... so after two nights at a dingy hostel I booked from home, I joined Aimee at the Red Shield Salvation Army hostel - where you cant prebook but you can sleep in the center of Coloba for 225 rupees a night (amazingly cheap). Its a place with character, lots of steps and sunny dorms (and bucket showers when the water ran out. ). Waiting to rendevouz with Amy there,  having put my bag down and collapsing on my bunk bed, in comes a girl carrying an enormous sitar case with pink hair which pretty much sealed my first assumption of - I like you. My first impressions were right, Kat hails from plymouth, was lovely, had been to India three times, took me for my first masala dosa and gave me lots of good advice.
My first night in Mumbai, Ruchita (Adi's gf who I know from London) took me out to a gig in Bluefrog.Yes, rather crazy, jumping in the deep end, but it sorted out the jet lag by going to bed extra tired and late. Bluefrog is considered one of thebest music venues in India, and its interior with crazy pod seating and the sound system was very impressive for any standard. We went to watch a band whose music is a composite of traditional Indian and modern rock. It was fantastic, not just the music but also seeing the cosmopolitan contemporary side of the city. I also visited Ruchita's house where her mother made a feast of all the traditionally south Indian food- dosa, uttapam, idli, samba.... which was delicious.That however, wasn't my first big food encounter in India. My second night i persuaded a Mexican guy in my dorm to come out for a meal. We walked through Mumbai till we came across a busy restaurant where they spoke no English. After debating whether to go for the point and see method of ordering, the waiter told us to order 'dinner' pointing at the chalk board on which something illegible was written, to which we obliged. Dinner turned out to be Thali.- a platter of lots of different curries and chutneys with rice and chapatis in the middle - no knives or forks, just hands. This was a real welcome to India. I watched as other people ate gracefully, spooning rice with delft movements into there mouth, making no mess. Watching and learning I did manage to eat-albeit messily. After three weeks most food ends up in my stomach and not on the table  but I've still a long way to go to being elegant.
The other big adventure of India is the trains.Before you go everyone says trains are india... trains are amazing, you must take trains etc.... and they are right, the train system here is so impressive it makes me wonder how national rail can be so crass. Aimee took me at 6.30 am to buy my first train ticket. Being high season still, most trains for the next week to Goa were booked up, so Aimee took me at 6.30 am to buy my first ticket - an early start to catch the first reserved tourist tickets of the day which generally sell out within one hour. We filled out the form, sat and waited until the office opened with about 8 other tourists.... and at eight we watched as the ques grew in all the other lines till the ticket hall was jam packed. I owe my ticket to the lady at the counter who was sorting out about ten peoples tickets at the same time, calling us up for something and then sending us back. Half praying, half frantic searching, and did I want the emergency ticket, you must answer now yes or no or yes or no..... by magic that lady made a ticket appear on a train that had none spare.
Even then the adventure was not over. I managed to misinterpret the station name.... headed to the wrong station and spent the taxi journey back to Mumbai CST comforting Aimee that it wasn't her fault (why would it be)  and how as a Milward it was in my blood to be running late but still arrive just on time which we did: With five minutes to spare I even bought a bottle of water, as Aimee found my carriage and settled me in.  That was mostly thanks to a taxi driver that seemed as anxious as us (when we said we only have half an hour) to cross every red light to get us there. Luckily he was one of the rare drivers that knew where to go. Most of my rides have ended in rickshaw drives asking other people for directions as Indians it seems rarely say they don't know or give no for an answer. And a word on drivers -especially in Mumbai, I think they must be the best drivers in the world because they drive like mad men- not aggressive just with very few rules. The roads are chaos and they must dodge other rickshaws, motorbikes, bikes, carts, taxis, people, cows, stray dogs and yet they never seem to crash, they simply flow and miss everyone else by an inch without flinching.  If people drove like that in England there would be five crashes a minute.  India is the epitome of organised chaos.
However, I was heading for calm.....
I arrived in Palolim, south Goa, the next morning afternoon after a bus ride so packed that the porter was hanging of the door for half an hour.  Kat had asked her friend from Krishna's bookshop to save me a room.... on arrival I was told that Krishna had no more rooms but his next door neighbour was keeping a room for me. Only Israeli's who arrived at the same time had taken up all the other rooms and the lone girl of the group needed a room. I was waiting around to speak to Krishna when she comes up to me and says to I want to share a room. In a mad decision I said yes.  Partly because she was Israeli I trusted her, partly the group she was with, partly the daring, and because it would be a lot cheaper ..and so the next chapter began.

Goa is beautiful, the sea was warm etc etc but it didn't really feel like India. Aside from the cows, it could have been a beach in any hot country. And for someone who skipped the party scene in north Goa and is used to empty beaches, it felt quite touristy. It was a lovely chill out spot, we went for boat rides, saw dolphins and eagles, tried to get past the election curb on alcohol sales after 11 pm and spent a lot of time hanging out the the bet habad (spelling? ) a.k.a jewish home. Weird to have that kind of thing in India, a place for Jews run by volunteers..... where we could eat for free, play there guitar, make coffee.....When I say we - I was hanging out with Hofit (the girl I was sharing a room with) and big group of Israeli guys, Nimi, Guy, Shalom, Amit, Dan, Ron, Raz, Shani, Nadav, (pardon if I've forgotten names, its another Milward trait) whom I got to know in direct proportion to how well they spoke English . .

From Goa I travelled down to Gokarna, another beach spot which was less touristy about two hours south. Hofit came with me and the  following day we moved to the next beach down the strip - which meant carrying our backpacks about 3 kilometers up and over a hill to the next crescent of shiny sand-  to rendevouz with Guy and Nimi. When they got bored two days later, I decided to take join them on the 10 hour local bus ride to Hampi rather then risk travelling alone (I'd been a little bit ill).Yes, I did just write 10 hour Local, no air con, bus ride. It was long and bumpy but after that I think I can do anything.

Arriving in Hampi was the most gratifying experience I've had to date. Hampi is well known for its ruins, the remnants of what was for one short period of time the largest Indian empire. Hampi's real beauty lies in its landscape. It is a landscape like no other- fields of bright green rice paddies from which giant hills covered in dry sandy rocks and boulders rise up and tower over. Greener then Devon after rain and with hills that look like they hide dinosaurs, it feels like a jurassic landscape. It reminds me of no other place and has a real sense of stillness to it.

In Hampi we met up with the gang from Goa, and some newbies who had found their way to Shesh Besh- the grimy restaurant which became THE Israeli hangout. I was the only English person in a sea of Hebrew. Even the waiters knew Hebrew. I swapped Hebrew for English with Shalom and quizzed everyone else on words right up until I left, the end result being that now in Bangalore I  keep wanting to say 'Ma ze' and 'Todah' and offer Adi 'mime'. ......
Days in Hampi consisted of walking around temples, getting rides to the lake and to the monkey temple. The monkey temple was about 500 steps up a huge hill. At the top , after removing shoes, you come to a small white temple surrounded by lots of monkeys.Barefoot one climbs and walks over a huge puzzle of rocks to  watch the sunset before racing down before the dark settles. It was absolutely stunning. The temples are impressive, like seeing greek temples covered in carvings, huge columns and such, but they have nothing on the landscape. Driving through paddy fields was magical and our pilgrimages to the bird temple and monkey temple were something I could have done endlessly.

And then there was Holi. I'd planned half my trip around Holi - the festival of colour. The story it celebrates, as far as I understood, is the killing of a demon who could not be killed by a weapon. So the hero tore him apart with his bare hands. I don't know how that translates to throwing colour on each other but my fingernails are still pink, a little reminiscent of blood which perhaps relates to the blood on the hands of the hero. Who knows....
During festivals there are no shops open - no food till 6 pm ... and no rules. This makes festivals potentially very dangerous. We stayed on the other side of the river to Hampi town so it was smaller... and  having a big group made me feel safe after all the horror stories I'd heard (just about eve teasing and allergic reactions to paint, nothing really bad). We woke up, put on our worst clothes, mixed pigment and water in bottles and set about covering everyone we knew in paint. There was a big procession with a marching band and everyone dancing all the way up and down and up and down the 'highstreet'. The dancing was mad and beautiful. Indians have a rhythm of their own, fast,  twisting and natural, sometimes their dancing almost looked violent. Its the kind of atmosphere of crowds where you get drawn in and cant remain separate- mass mentality where everyone is letting loose.  For hours we were dancing, going wild and chanting and finding more paint..... no women though, just young school girls and foreigners. The festival finished officially at 1.30 pm .... after which we went back to Shesh Besh for more dancing with the owners (who took great relish in being allowed to cover our faces in paint). By four, exhausted and having pesuaded a place to make us  food, we all crammed into a rickshaw (about 10 of us and a few on motorbikes) and went to the lake, laden with soap to wash. At this point happy Holi became cursed Holi as the paint didn't wash off .... I got most on the paint on my face off  but Hampi was littered with red devils for days afterwards.
I wont write much more.... aside to say that parting from the Israeli's was a very sad moment - an end of an era. I will miss them and hopefully I will meet them when I go to the north.
I write more from Bangalore. Right now I am at Adi's, chilling out, being papered and playing with his dog Sandy - missing Dylan.
I miss you all. I'm having a fantastic time. The tan lines from my flip flops are getting ridiculously strong and I send you all of my love.
L.