Category: December 2015

Just in from a shorter-than-usual walk that took me along the malecon, through Plazuela Machado and my old neighbourhood around Constitución. My pal at the beer shop on the corner was there but I’m not feeling great today so didn’t stop to say Hola. I’ve picked up a minor (so far) cold so it’s a laid back kind of day.

On the other hand, the previous four days have been a bit of a whirlwind. Stocking up with food and other kitchen essentials was much easier than anticipated thanks to the generosity of my neighbour Linda. She has a car and invited me along on trips to Soriana (think Superstore) and Walmart. She also took me to the bus station to secure my ticket to Guadalajara and has answered countless questions with great patience. She and partner James are from Quebec City and have been coming here for years. In her spare time, she tiles. And tiles. And tiles. 

I’ve also managed a fabulous long walk on the beach at low tide, a yummy meal at a (new to me) restaurant and a sublime couple of hours with my toes in the sand at Olas Altas beach with friends I met last year. Hoping to see a few more familiar faces when I return to pickle ball this coming week.

Mazatlán itself is the same, and by that I mean in a constant state of flux and growth. Prices are higher this year, and the exchange rate not as favourable for Canadians. Regardless, it’s nowhere near as expensive as home; fresh seafood, in-season fruits and vegetables are still affordable here.

The city is in the process of setting up the Carnaval figures along the malecon, and the rumour is they will be illuminated this year (in case they weren’t already perfect). The thought of thousands filling Centro and the malecon still elicits some dread in me. Even without Covid, those massive crowds would be a challenge, so I totally understand why some just leave for five days. Remains to be seen how much of the celebration I will take in, but I do enjoy watching the preparations for the party!

I have arrived in Hong Kong. It’s just after 5:30 am, and I feel as though I’ve been dropped into the middle of a futuristic sci-fi film. There are a number of reasons for that, but before I go into them, let me back up and give an account of the flight so far.

Halifax airport…deserted. No one ahead of me at the check-in counter and only one at security. The TSA agent said it was partially the time of day, but also because of the Coronavirus scare playing out on the other side of the world.

The flight to Toronto was crowded but otherwise non-eventful with the exception of the flight attendant who provided comic relief during the pre-flight safety announcements. He wasn’t the best I’ve seen, but it’s always heartwarming when the airline staff try to make the flight a little more enjoyable.

I had been dreading the Toronto-Hong Kong leg. Fifteen and a half hours in a plane is hard, I suspect even in First Class, where I was not. I took my seat in 63A, but it wasn’t long before I realized that the plane would not even be one quarter full. The flight attendant confirmed this, stating there would probably be space for every passenger to have their own personal row of seats. I didn’t have to ask why…90% of the passengers and 100% of the crew were wearing face masks.

Long story cut short, I stretched out in the seat ahead, slept for close to 12 hours, watched a documentary on the Serengeti, had breakfast, and we landed in Hong Kong (with a thud).

I know it was early, but according to Wikipedia this is the ninth busiest airport in the world, and it is empty. Every single employee is wearing a mask. The lounge is so quiet you can hear the bread toasting.

Weird.

I’m on hold for about 15 minutes or so before the Instant Pot representative comes on the line. The music isn’t half bad for being of the elevator genre – reminiscent of the Allman Brothers in their heyday – but it gets old after the third or fourth repeat. Whoever composed it obviously could not make the cut in the class of southern rock and was relegated to this…entertaining frustrated customers who are wondering what the hell happened to their double batch of vegetarian chili.

Sad, isn’t it? I used to spend hours on the phone with the internet and phone companies, trying to make sense out of quantum physics based billing practises. Now, I’m spending time trying to understand a combination pressure/slow/rice cooker. And this on a sunny day when I should be outside hiking before the icy grip of Canadian winter takes hold.

Speaking of winter, the quest for a place to hang my sun hat has begun. India leads at the moment (she always does), but Portugal, Spain and Africa are also in the running. No doubt I’ll end up somewhere that isn’t on the list…that seems to be my style.

Sitting in la Plaza de la Independencia this morning, watching throngs of people walk by. Sundays still seem to be relaxed; thousands out enjoying the street performers, eating ice cream, going to or coming from church. A man sat down beside me and struck up a conversation. The fact that I couldn’t understand most of what he was saying didn’t seem to deter him one bit. Wonder of wonders, I soon got the essence of his meaning. Money well spent on Spanish lessons.

Everything you can imagine is for sale by street hawkers, and for the most part they are focussed on selling to locals, not tourists  Most of this stuff is available in shops so I can’t for the life of me figure out why there’s a market for it on the streets. Unless it’s stolen. Toilet paper, single disposable razors and poor helpless goldfish in tiny plastic baggies. On Esmeraldas Street, men and women sell their bodies, not far from the Indian restaurant that I will check out tomorrow. In a coffee shop on the square, a group of school students on a tour; the young woman seated next to me was from Nunavut.

Musicians (bought a CD), artists (had to tear myself away because I just can’t carry a painting, however small and beautiful), leatherwork,jewelry, blankets, shawls interspersed with all manner of junk.

Back at Juancho’s comfy apartment, high up on the balcony, drinking coco tea and watching my laundry wafting in the breeze. Neighbourhood children squealing in delight. 

Today is our last full day on the river. We boarded Sukapha on Friday, April 14 after a bit longer than expected in Kolkata due to train delays. Waiting for more than three hours on the train station platform, I realized that the bug that took hold in Khajuraho was not gone. In fact, it had a tight grip on me for most of the cruise until Kay from Wisconsin kindly gave me her Cipro prescription. I’m happy to say that both yesterday and today, I was actually able to eat most of the wonderful dishes that the others have been enjoying all week. The chef is a wizard!

I’ve experienced technical difficulties insofar as blogging is concerned, so I’m woefully behind. We have visited:

The distinct Bengal style of terra cotta temples;

A walk through the brass working village of Matriari;

Ancient mosques, peaceful Moghul-style gardens and a visit to Plassey where a 2-hour battle changed the course of Indian – and world-history;

The highlight by far was the religious ritual we witnessed in Murshidhabad. A right of passage for young men (strictly voluntary), it consists of attaching a hook through the skin and muscle of the lower back, tying a rope to the hook and swinging them around a maypole-like structure until they motion that they wish to stop. We saw three young guys do this; the youngest was 10 (parental permission was required). We saw them both before and after the ordeal and they looked none the worse for wear. No blood either, although I’m pretty sure I shed some…

The group is a good one. Most of the other guests are American with me and a couple from New Zealand for balance? I still don’t see myself doing this on a regular basis, but it’s good to know that the small-group tours are do-able.

Next stop, the tea plantation.

I have never thought about yoga as a blood sport, but it seems you can get friction injuries when perspiration-soaked cotton rubs against skin while doing 22 sun salutations. My white ashram pants are soaking in hot water in hopes that the blood stains will come out.

I am in my final days here at Meenakshi, and as much as I’m looking forward to the next adventure, it will be difficult to leave. I’ve said good-bye to some wonderful people over the past few days, and there is more of that to come. My roommate Evi is an extraordinary woman and i can only hope that she enjoyed my company as much as I did hers. One of Evi’s pet peeves is people who chant off-key, and we had a winner in that category during last week night’s satsang. He started off rather subdued but then really cut loose. Evi was seated in front of me, and I was praying she wouldn’t turn around because I could barely contain myself. When we got back to the room, we let it all out…belly laughing is also a form of yoga I’m told.

Vandana, a lovely woman of Indian origin who has spent most of her life in Australia, left early this morning. I already miss her calm presence and her patience in helping me to understand some of the many things I just don’t get about this marvellous country. Janna and her boyfriend Florian are next; they are head to Pondicherry tomorrow by train.

When one door closes, another opens (although sometimes you have to jimmy the lock). The mass exodus of students over the last couple of days means that there are lots of left-behind goodies to be had. Some folks scour the empty rooms for food. Evi, on the other hand, has been doing daily reconnaissance missions for cleaning products and insect repellent. I may not have mentioned that in addition to being wonderful, she is a cleaning fanatic and has had dengue fever. She also thinks she’s tall, but that’s another story. I am so going to miss this woman.

It isn’t only the students who are disappearing. My best teacher Saju quietly made his way to Madurai a few days ago to take over at the centre there. Nandalala, another excellent teacher who is extremely easy on the eyes, leaves Thursday, shortly after I do.

It gets a little warmer each day. Temps are in the high 30s the last week or so, and they are in the low 40s in Madhya Pradesh where I am going on Thursday. Om.

My car is counting down the days to my departure for India. It thinks it’s due for an inspection on that day, but I’ve contacted the dealership and someone must have forgotten to reset the timer after the last service appointment. The next one is due in June, so I can sit back and experience this happy oincidence and those delightful butterflies at the thought of my return to Asia without the burden of car maintenance hanging over my head.

I’m flying into Mumbai this time – my first time in the city which I grew to know and love while reading the novel Shantaram. My guest house is in Colaba, the protagonist’s favourite haunt, and I intend to visit Leopold’s where he met and fell in love with Karla. With any luck and some basic common-sense precautions, I should be able to avoid encountering the thugs and war lords who beat him to within an inch of his life on several occasions. Won’t be touring the slum where he lived; the book was sufficiently descriptive so that I feel no need to witness it first hand.

I’ll be doing things a little differently this trip, trying out Air BnB for the first time and also incorporating a small-group tour in the form of a Ganges River cruise. It will be interesting to see if these modes of travel resonate…still can’t imagine they can be better than staying in dirt-cheap guest houses and hanging out with 20 and 30 somethings.

I’ll also be visiting Kolkata. It’s been challenging to shake the visuals I grew up with about that city, yet knowing what I know about India, it’s hard to believe the poverty can be worse. And India has shown me time and time again that squalor and great beauty travel hand-in-hand.