Out of your comfort zone: Welcome to Varanasi

Extremes, that is the first thing that comes to my mind when thinking about Varanasi. Some time ago i watched Hotel Marigold, and their description of India was "an assault to the senses". My guess was that the script was a bit mellow when looking at the experiences lived here. To me, these places are so diverse, so outside my comfort zone, that sometimes it feels like a violation to everything you are accustomed to. From the precious smells of spices to the human feces in the streets, to the live and death rituals, and the nature: chimpanzees jumping over your face in the middle of the city, rats roaming one or other room or the ever present cow entering the house for a snack, to end with the vision of human legs burned by the holy fires. All this surrealism can be experienced here, and it is precisely that where the beauty of this trip lies: either you neglect it and run away, or you embrace the new realities, and enjoy the trip.

Varanasi is a city with endless history, one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world. Being the center of many Hindu traditions, it conserves the rites long forgotten in contemporary, western societies. The waters of the Ganges are sacred, and many believe that it contains the key to purify the soul and break the endless cycle of reincarnations. This is one of the reasons that make this city interesting. Closer to death, many Hindus move to Varanasi, so they can be cremated next to the holy river. The rituals consist in a procession around the city with the corpse, that ends in one of the burning ghats. There, the body is placed in between a pile of ardent woods, while a priest and some family members chant. Women are not permitted to be close to the funeral pires, as many throw themselves to the fires in the old days, performing the ultimate demonstration of love. After the body is reduced to ashes, one of the family members collects them to be thrown in the river.

Photo from http://www.gmb-akash.com/view_gallery.php?album_id=37

There is something almost magnetic when watching at the funeral pires. Each pire last several hours, and I don't get to see any demonstrations of sadness in the participants of the funeral. That might be due to the different assumption of death in Hinduism. Rather than an end of the path, death seems to represent just one of the phases one has to pass. Tears will disturb souls in their liberating trip. The naturality of such an event embodies the moment in a rather peaceful atmosphere, comparing to catholic rituals. In Colombia and other South American cultures, a funeral is loaded with sadness, and people may even hire people to cry at the funeral of big, respected figures. I stay here for some time, just watching the corpses being bathed, prepared, burnt and collected, and think to myself on how natural this process (I mean, life) is. I mean, we come, do what we are meant to do, and depart again, flowing again. Sometimes our larger-than-life plans places the need of transcendence before the deeds of living, learning and loving, and when we face the reality (that we are just simple, little human beings) the conflicts with our ego kick in deeply. 

Photo from http://blogs.bootsnall.com/indiasandy/varanasi-portraits.html

Walking through Varanasi is fascinating at each step: a sadhu (holy man) meditate day and night at the sides to the river, while in the narrow streets dozens of dogs, cows, monkeys and sometimes rats cramp the space. An intense scent of sandal wood can be felt at each corner, as the funerary processions move fast and with regularity. At dusk, the highly complex puja (Hindu worship ritual) takes place in the main ghat, in front of the holy river. Here Brahmin priests (that otherwise work as regular store keepers or the like) perform several, delicate steps involving water, fire and inciense. All this convives with an overflowing tourist mass in search of an experience of enlightenment, from experiential approaches (with yoga, meditation and other schools popping every ten meters) to  more down-to-the-business views (where any kind of mystical or not so much drugs can be found). 

Photo from http://www.globotreks.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/puja.jpg

To me, the place is hard to assimilate: on the one hand, it is super interesting to see how devoted are Hindus with their believes. At every moment, one can see people flocking to the Ganges for a bath, a praying or an offering. Knowing that at these latitudes, the Ganges is already polluted by a rate million times bigger than the advised for human consumption makes me think what kind if bold fate puts us in jeopardy with a rational mind. Talking to a boat driver in his early twenties with a deep attraction towards Japanese women, he elaborates a bit on the role of the river: it is the mother that everything forgives, the fair father that treat all beings in the same way, and the puryfing god who brings water and work. The Ganges is unquestionable that way, and therefore, it is an urgent matter to have it clean of industrial pollution, so the rituals of the community can be preserved.

I stay in the first hostel of my trip (an uncommon thing in India so far), which somehow amplifies this experience. The characters here staying are all but standard, and one can see the god-knows-who guru's monk fully dressed in white, to the 60+ yogi in search for a rediscovery of his experiences as hippie. The place itself differs a bit from the normal hostel, as the function is closer to a social center where locals and strangers learn from each other. In these rooms sometimes get to talk with the family living in the hotel (not that I have a good Hindi or they a good English, anyway) and feel relaxed and appreciate their attention and patience. When I talk about the mice in the room, they just refer to them as friends, and show me pictures of the mice temple in Bikaner. After all, Ganesha's, one of the favorite Hindu deities, has a mouse as his celestial vehicle.

This place is one and so many stories that it would take more than one post to relate everything to be experienced, but there is one special story that I want to recall. Varanasi has two faces, and their holiness can be silent at times. I walk the narrow streets during day and feel exposed to the commercial and spriritual face, but the most striking vision of the place was for me the one I had when nobody is around. My train leaves at four in the morning and there is no taxi, nor tuk tuk who could come even close to the main ghat, and the only way to go out of the place is by walking some miles to the main road. At three in the morning, Varanasi is saint: the animals all gathered together in the corners to keep some warm, while a helping hand has given sarongs and milk to some of the pregnant bitches (the animal ones, I mean) so they can feed their pups. Even the market, once cramped and dirty, seems to have a different atmosphere: only some monks are still laying down in meditative pose, while beggars sleep. 

There is an interesting difference that I perceive regarding the work and life here.  In the western world we strive to have a clear separation between what it is our working life and our personal one. That results in the kind of jobs where we are most efficient, and less connected to our colleagues, I suppose. In other terms, forget about your being for a fraction of your time, so you can enjoy your full potential afterwards. On the other hand, it seems to me that such separation makes us more harm than good. Come to think about it. What good can do to your person to be splitted in two: for eight-ten hours you embrace one avatar, and the rest of the time you try to fill the void that such action letting free your "other being", that one of father, friend, lover, etc. It took me many years to assume that there can be two or many if these facets in your life, but I also think that a proper balance between them has to come with a job that also let you embrace the other missions you have in life, those of love, support and friendship. You might ask why I am bringing this reflection up now: and it is because India seems to have a different concept of work and life. I have yet not seen other culture where everybody is working all the time, and still everything seems so steady. In my previous jobs, nobody had expected from me more than what it has been stablished in a contract: a lease of human time to perform a creative task. Everything outside that scope have to be renegotiated, and the cases where there have been extralimitations are filled with guilt. India does not seem to have such a concept. Work is all you do, but all your roles as a spiritual person, family or friend are deeply intertwined in your daily life. My cycle rickshaw won't complain if it is three in the morning and he is asleep: it is what he is meant to do. On the other hand, things can become very inefficient, and you might need to wait some time while the counter office you are expecting to be open finishes one offering to a god, or a simple cup of tea.

After Varanasi, we will direct our paths towards Bodhgaya. The experience in this remanse of tranquility will be told in a new episode...

India and love, sex & acceptance: Khajuraho

Today we will speak about what happened in what starts to be the spiritual phase of the trip: after the deception in Agra, I take a night train to be for a day in Khajuraho. For the ones who ask, this small village is were some if the best preserved temple complexes dedicated to Vishnu are located. Thanks to an early decline of its civilization, the temples were hidden from pillage and the Moghul destruction of Hindu temples. Around the world, these temples are normally known as the Kamasutra temples, and the reason is obvious: their sculptures depict clear sexual scenes covering a plethora of sexual behaviours, from orgies to bestiality and sadomasoquism. Hinduism believes on the transforming power of sexuality, and among their traditional worship symbols, it is common to find explicit sexual depictions, some of them referring to the creation of the universe. The power of sexuality is so strong, that the location of erotic sculptures in these temples obey to a special order. The sexual energy was supposed to be so powerful and protecting, that these images were located only in the points where temples could face the greatest damage. 

The craftsmanship of Indian sculptures is amazing, and one can only wow their skills. Human and animal figures are stylized in their shapes, with more detail on the interaction and the stories that are depicting, rather than body details (like veins or the like). Both warrior and lover scenes are well curated, female bodies with curves pose next to their lovers with slight tummies, and gods in human and animal figures become part of the landscape. Let aside the acrobatic ways of repressing love.

When it comes to sexuality, places like Khajuraho let me thinking a lot on what had happened evolutionarily speaking, on several centuries of religion. The Indian society is just one of the several examples one can refer: coming here and see the naturality and beauty that sex played in the daily life of Hinduism back then constrasts significantly with the conservative visions of most Indians nowadays. I arrived here just after Delhi's camera forbid any kind of consensual sexual act between couples of the same sex. The measures were proposed by Hindu and other religious groups with seats in the camera, setting back India to the same laws it had when it was still a British colony.  One cannot but question what kind of regulations are performed here, when on the one hand religion is entangled in the life of most Indians, while in the other hand freedom of choice and privacy are constrained. Perhaps they should look back at their own statues?

There are many protest around the country, and the changes have been appealed already, but it will be a large process and there is the risk that openly known LGBT couples might be threaten by law 377. One can only give support by writing about them at this moment. Here is just an image of the manifestations around the country.

Apart from the temple complex, which was great, I roamed around the village for long time along a couple of fellow travelers. I have the view that everyone teaches you something if you are open to listen, and this couple is not the exception. After two months of traveling in India and Nepal, these guys have had enough of been in the spotlight in a culture where being noticed is charged double, and are craving to return back home to a safe environment. They are rogue travelers and have tried things I would definitely not do in India, and because of that they have built a shield towards any interaction with locals. I have to say that I have not felt the same cultural shock as most of people I have met with fair skin, and the harassment by some of the salesman can be hard to cope with, but feeling their reactions towards most of the people here make it me feel that they should go sooner rather than prolong the stay in a place they do not want to be.

After going out of some of the temple complexes, I lost my travel companions and decided to search around the village to find them. On my way around I get to meet Lucky, a twelve year boy with dark skin, fine profile and an open smile. There's many stories of children like him that want to take advantage of tourists, but while talking to him, it's hard not to trust him. It might be the fact that he never talks about money, his little gentleman outfit or the shyness of his mother when receiving us, but I feel transported back to some of the slums I used to work as a volunteer back in Colombia. For one or another reason he and I end up bonding and we are invited to eat at his house. In her house, the neighboring ladies came to us to talk and take pictures. His mother prepares homemade dhal while Lucky teaches me how to play the tablas and to dance Bollywood style. There is among the ladies one who tell us the stories of the families like Lucky's. Many of the men in Khajuraho are alcoholic, and the few rupees they earn are spent in alcohol. Being a highly rural and conservative area, women are completely dependent on men, which increases the problem. Many of these kids are left on the streets, and we can see them trying to work with the tourists instead of going to school. Finally, being a as all village outside the main tourist track, place the future of these kids in jeopardy. I'm really grateful to meet them, and remember by their example, that the capacity of giving is not measured in your belongings, but on your will.

Here it's also the first moment Indian girls flirt with me: being this a conservative area, getting compliments and attention from women is very strange. This has not being a trip where I'm interested in that, but it also makes you think how the role of a foreigner embodies you in a role where interactions otherwise not common in a culture, are possible. And yes, it feels nice to feel complimented :-)

In the next delivery, I will talk about Varanasi, what it is until now the most "out of the comfort zone" city so far. I promise it will be interesting!

The end of kings' trail

I don't know which day is today, nor exactly which part of the subcontinent I'm exactly in: I have just entered in Bihar, after leaving Jaipur, Agra, Khajuraho and Varanasi. My intention was to make an entry after every other city, but the last days have been really hectic: sometimes you only sleep in trains, and some others there is so many emotion to absorb, that finding a quiet place to write and the energy to do so becomes a challenge. Thanks to the ones who have written me about this blog, it's great to hear you enjoy the stories as much as I do writing them.

This entry relates the end of the trip thorough Rajastan and the visit to Agra, the city of the Taj Mahal.

Jaipur was my last stop in Rajastan, and I was actually pretty tired to go to museums, palaces and other attractions, so I decided to stay outside the city center and enjoy the tranquility of a family hostel. Apart from a brief tourist tour, I entered Jaipurs bazaars. They are famous because it's the place where all the merchants from Rajastan get together, and it is certainly an experience to walk in a labyrinth full of colorful silks and garments for the house and for women, just as if one was in the city of Aladdin.

India is the kind of place where, if you are open, anybody can teach you a lesson. In Jaipur I had an agitated conversation with a rickshaw driver, that let me thinking for a while: he pointed out how defensive I was, and how hard will it be enjoy the trip if one shields oneself out of any contact. The truth is, that in comparison with South America or Europe, I have found really really difficult to trust on the friendship offered by Indians in the streets, as I have not had one encounter with them that do not involve a story involving money in one or other way. Despite the reasons of my closeness, this rickshaw driver has wisdom in his words, and makes me focus on the importance of all the interactions here in order to find a balance between the naiveness and experience.

I went for a massage (they cost nothing, and after nights in between trains, it's the best thing to do) and I met Kenneth. This small guy could be confused with Nepalese rather than Indian, and his origins are from the northeastern part of the India. Kenneth (who prefer his American pseudonym rather than his Indian one) is the first Christian Indian that I met on the road.  Perhaps not exactly a Christian church, he and his group work for an American pastor in one of the most depressed areas, in the Manipuri region. Before being a masseur, Kenneth was devoted to performing religious services, but his family depends on him and a life in the church does not give enough to feed a family. It seems that different variants of Protestantism have been getting momentum in northeastern India, mainly by charity missions from the United States. It was super fun to hear him singing Christian hip hop!

I quickly move from Jaipur to Agra, with a fast train that takes only six hours to arrive. Agra seems to be almost a must-do stop for tourists in India, and it seems that the whole population lives out of the tourist inflow. Despite this, the infrastructure is spartan to say the least, and only the monuments are worth to see in a city that has a big misery belt. Here you get all possible tourist traps from the moment you go down the station: from the tuk tuk driver who offers you a 'tour' (3 stops and a visit to one of his friends' shops) seven times more expensive than the normal price, to the guide apprentice who sticks to you in the Taj Mahal to friendly take a picture of you to charge you afterwards. Even the 'hotel' is a shack unworthy of all those lovely tripadvisor reviews. These places are to be alert, but tiredness weights my body and I decided to play a losing game, that all in all costs very little after all.

As for the monuments, the Taj is indeed majestic, and one can't but reflect a little bit on this place. It's symmetry is astounding (and the mathematically-inclined would agree with me that symmetry = beauty), the materials pure and deeply curated, but despite the general believe of the Taj as a love temple, this is probably the biggest mausoleum in the world. The emperor built it when his wife died giving birth to his fifteenth (yes, 15th) child! In my westernized view, she was not treated as a woman, but as a baby machine :-) Anyway, it is the mourning of the departure that is commemorated here, and remind us how hard can be when the jouney of our partner takes a different path than ours. I get conflicted here, as despite the beauty of the gesture, it makes me think how futile such demonstration is: if death is part of our path, an attachment to the past will only make our present heavier to accept.

That closes for today, hope you enjoy the reading, and wait fir the adventures in Varanasi and Khajuraho...

Andrés

Rajastani collage: Jodhpur and Udaipur

I lost a really good post made on the experiences around Jodhpur and Udaipur, so I will try to make a small recap, after the intensity of the last four days. Hope you bear with me if details are skipped.

I have Jodhpur as my second stop on Rajastan after Jaisalmer. The first thing one finds after googling a bit on the place, is a lovely hill full of blue houses in the middle of a rocky desert. Why the city is painted in blue seems to be unclear, but some say that it has to do with the desires of one of the ruling maharajas, who was deeply fond of Vishnu. I am very much looking forward to see the place, as the conditions of the rocky desert will let me play a little bit with some of the polarizer filters in the camera, apart from being recommended the fort, much bigger than Jaisalmer's.

The dawn after leaving Jaisalmer presents one of those memories hard to forget, and show me how different this country is from what I already know. I arrive a 5:30 in the morning, and the train station is filled with a sea of people sleeping in the floor. In between saris and bags, a multitude of women, babies and men try to cover themselves from the biting cold of these 12 degrees. Among them, several rats roam and pigeons around in the search of food.

One thing that is very different from Colombia to India is how the reality of others can be seen right in front of you, with no censorship. Let me elaborate: Colombia, as well as many other South American countries, is formed by a social base heavily rooted on a class system. Most of middle and upper classes live happily in gated neighborhoods, and access is only granted by members from within. This makes upper classes live in a controlled, safe environment, keeping outside any "un welcomed" (members of other societal circles) outside. Even when moving across cities, the city excludes: cars have priority in the traffic, and any contact with a poorer inhabitant of the city can be avoided by simply closing the window of your car. In my travel to India, this choice is non-existent, and pretty much one has to see the real colors of an unequal society want it or not. Jodhpur is just one example of that: to go outside the station one has to cross a very depressed area. Despite the shock, it doesn't feel horribly insecure, leaves questions on our responsibility as highly educated individuals with more opportunities.

I'm very curious on the cast system in Hinduism, and what it is its role in nowadays India. In other places like Colombia, Argentina or Mexico, visiting remotely similar areas (I mean, with equivalent levels of poverty) than the ones I had walked in India have led me with a big sense of uneasiness and insecurity. It does not feel the same in India, and despite I know people would like to get money from your condition of foreigner, it does not feel that it comes at the expense of violence. I have not visited an Indian slum yet, and my perception might change when I do that in Mumbai. My hypothesis is that, while in Catholic countries fate is something dynamic and changeable though actions, in Hinduism fate (dharma) is already configured even before birth, and social status is rarely changed. A second option could be that the cities I have been are touristic, but that can be easily disproved by the fact that there are simply not enough policemen per amount of inhabitants to control a possible security event.

Coming back to Jodhpur, well... The city has a nice fort. Going uphill in the middle of blue houses is a delight, and the Majarahas who lived there made a really good job to build a bastion and preserve it in such a long dynasty. Once in there, one can really imagine the power of this people, with golden chambers to spoil their dozens of wives.

After the short trip to the city, I head to Udaipur. I confess that I have been spoiled by the readings of this city, who seems to be the Indian Venice, or more. For a reason it was selected as one of the places where James Bond's Octopussy was filmed, and it inspired glamour and romance. As traveling alone  not necessarily involves romance, I dedicate myself to the discovery. My hotel is located in Hanuman ghat, and the name of the location could not be chosen better. In my first morning there, the bridge connecting the two sides if the ghats receives a roam of apes running in all directions. Their erratic behavior, compulsion and resemblance to schizophrenics made me be a bit away from these animals, although it seems nice to have them roaming around. Monkeys top Jaisalmer's boars (and of course donkeys, horses, camels and the omnipresent cows) in the scale of weird animals in Indian streets. Without knowing it, I have arrived for the royal engagement party, and the whole city has preparations including the city palace, chants in the lake, and loud Indian disco music played from the boats. It's really interesting to be here, and the city is more refreshing, cleaner and quieter than Jodhpur. 

Udaipur is enclaved between several hills, whose bottom was dug by a maharaja to build a lake, therefore its charm. With both city and inlake residences, the royal family counts with spaces to enjoy, and still counts with a super hotel in the middle of the lake to be used only by VIPs or royal acquaintances.

 I spend my days roaming around the city. I grow more skeptical of my interactions with locals, as the poor knowledge of the rajastanis I have met is limited to money-gathering phrases, and it becomes a bit irritating to be targeted as a walking wallet. Despite this, I get to meet some characters worth mentioning: Baghwati is one of the guys in the staff from the hotel "assigned to help me", and knowing that I live in Denmark, proceed to tell me the story on how some missionaries from Kastrup(?) have helped him and his family with education for children. I even bring a postcard to be delivered once I'm back in DK. The second is a tuk tuk driver that befriend me on my days there. Azaed, as customary in Indian families, lives with his wife, three kids and parents in a small apartment, and work 14 hours a day as a taxi and tuk tuk driver to answer for the load of 6 people at his charge. It's really touching to receive an invitation to stay at his place after knowing his conditions, and I wonder what would it be needed for a person I the place where I live to react similarly.

The funny annectdote (otherwise it won't be a good post) is my first visit to an Indian hospital. It sounds more alarming than it was, as I simply went to the tourist information centre enquiring for a physiotherapeutic massage. Knowing the amount of scams and "other massages", having a good source if info seemed to be important. The lady in the counter proceed to book me directly in the Ayurvedic hospital of the state, and I had almost no chance to refute. It seems that some states in India have established Ayurvedic care as part of their health policies, and it costs nothing to go and receive treatment. Getting to know an Indian Ayurvedic hospital is an experience, mainly because it is not an acute wing (after having seen so many diseases in the area, this is probably the place where I would like the least to be interned), its infrastructure was in the museum when my mother started in the  faculty of medicine, and there is no way for me to understand Hindi. Still, the doctor and the therapist are magicians, and I go out of the place having almost new legs.

On a side note, I think the character of the writings here can become very personal, and therefore I might or might not post the updates in Facebook anymore. The blog will still be open, and you are welcome to check it for more updates directly here.

Wait for the next delivery, that will cover the last of the sites in Rajastan, Jaipur, and the city of the Taj Mahal, Agra...

On the forgotten, sandy dunes: Namaste Jaisalmer

These train trips give enough time to get oneself some time to clear thoughts and impressions, so it's better start getting done with it. I just left Jaisalmer, a small village about 40 kilometers from Pakistan, in the borders of the Thar desert. The place is small but full of charm: once capital of the state and home of many Rajput, Jaisalmer used to be the a strategic spot on the commerce between Persia, Indostan and China. After the opening of harbors in south India and the conflicts with Pakistan, the state has struggled to keep their finances alive, and nowadays lives mainly from tourism.

The first impression when entering the walls of the old city in Jaisalmer is to be back in time to 1200... The whole complex is a labyrinth hard to comprehend, and each corner has a new surprise. Rajastani art and architecture are simply astounding, and buildings (both inside and outside the complex) have very curated forms: starry and cuneiform are the windows, and one ponders how much time stone carvers have invested in the finishing of the ceilings. White stone, miniature sculptures and details covering Jainism and Hinduism cover the old city. If you ever played Diablo II, then this place was definitely the inspiration to recreate the second city in the game.

On the first day I went to wander the city, which unfortunately had grown touristic places in almost every corner. It is hard to go anywhere without seeing a sign of a shop recommended by lonelyplanet or tripadvisor, and therefore one has to watch where to stick the head into: most of the places have been awarded a good rating one year, to later deteriorate the services while keeping high prices. I have a 2008 lonely planet guide, and could see how the places recommended there were nothing particularly good in terms of product quality or services when it came to restaurants. The second day was perfect to go to the markets and polish the bargain strategies (lots of things to learn still), get an Indian haircut (which includes knuckle massage in your forehead--quite an experience) and a camel safari.

Tripadvisor did help me to find an amazing place to stay: The Shahi Palace just outside the city walls (which is more sustainable than staying inside, where the old aqueduct cannot cope with the increasing demand of touristic services). Not only the place is cheap and beautifully decorated, but the people there were friendly to the extremes. From the pick up in the train station to a free transportation (Indian style --three people in a bike--) when I needed, and generally a good disposition here make you feel like in a little palace. 

Enough of reviews, and let's talk about people. It's crazy how easy it becomes to get in contact with people when traveling alone. It's just a simple Hi, sit down somewhere and listen a bit, and breaking the ice becomes extremely easy. Sometimes my "Indian" look works against me, and other tourists initially think that I'm going after their rupees when I address them. For good or worse, my accent helps to get a different contact (although for Indian merchants I go by Naveen, the half-Indian living in US).

Jaisalmer had three touching local characters in my stay: the first one is the owner of a new hotel, the Mystic Jaisalmer, where I went to share a beer with some fellow travelers. Since the moment I sat next to this guy, an air of peace entered the terrace where we were. Dev (to give a name), loves religions, and every once in a while he embraces a different stream that suits at that point of his life. He said that as a Sufi, one don't have a god but a lover, and such lover is represented in many forms, including other religions. We discussed broadly in the connections of dance and meditation, and I found interesting to know that part of the meditative rituals include solo dances (and in many aspects close to the ways Gabriella Roth's Five rhythms therapy uses with dance as a catalizer). Unfortunately my time was short to get to know more about Sufism.

The second character of this story is the camel guide. He is 35, and since he was 15 he walks the desert 12 hours a day, 365 days at a day for a salary of 3000 rupees (or 35 euros, roughly). He never went to school (only 60% of Rajastani people can read or write, less than 40% in women), but still prefer the peace and the stars of the desert than the sound of horns in Jaisalmer. Each of the people paying the camel tour pays 1250 rupees per trip, which tour won't start with less than 4 people. A camel cost 30.000 rupees, and given the low maintenance of the camel, we can neglect the sums of vaccinations in India. There's no need of a phd in social economics to know that these guys are heavily exploited, and their lack of education preserves this breach.

The last one, and probably the one that I felt closer with, was my driver. No, I am not used to drivers, and I'm ok finding my way out in a foreign city. Hemant picked my up in the train station and since then was the most attentive person in Jaisalmer. It is a bit funny how times have changed so much, and the rewards in terms of money of old times have been substituted by other expressions. After a great help in my stay, Herj came to me with a notebook so I could teach him some Spanish phrases so he could receive better Mexican tourists, which are close for arrival. He is a service minded guy, that knows well that the word of mouth (or a tripadvisor recommendation) brings more food to the table than anything else, but is humble enough not to show the need. Cannot but compare it with the place where I live now, where been friendly has little influence in your paycheck, and where efficiency primes.

Now, off to my train bed, as the blue city awaits in four hours.

Chemins de vie: voyage en Inde

I don't remember when this blog had a post that could be so adapted to its title. "Life crossroads" had been a blog full of intersections between ramblings of feelings, travels and general appreciations. I want to start writing again during this month, with the pretext of informing my friends on my adventures running over the Indian subcontinent, but also with the aim of documenting a glimpse of the life of the people I cross my road with. Apologies for the absence of visuals of these posts, as they won't come until I get my camera synced.

The purpose of this trip is a bit uncertain, but serves as as the conclusion of a process in a year that have had many bumps in the road. A year that I have certainly grow up as a person, and learnt to center in my personal road instead of others'. From 2014 I will start a new job, with a clearer idea on how to profile my career future, excited of being again in a Latin culture, where are many things to learn. Certainly it comes at a stake of renouncing to a comfortable life, to six years of knitting a thight social network, good friends and a "local feeling" that one that you have when you know how to approach each situation, because you have done it before.

Before entering in the core of this post (the trip to India), let me stop for a second on a reflection coming from these changes: we sit in two different of extremes: the young, inexperienced warrior, who does not know but does not fear, and the experienced, petrified observer, who knows a lot from his ivory tower, but fears too much to jump into a real experience. How do one get the balance between the thirst of actions  that ignorance grants, and the accurate aim given by experience?

I want report on my first 48 hours of trip. Started on my trip from Copenhagen to Istanbul, where next to my seat I met Ataer, a Turkish guy in his mid forties. I have never been to Turkey and Ataer wanted me to learn as much as possible from the culture, and the market possibilities of Turkey, which, after being the main representative of one of the biggest headphone companies in the world, he knows quite well. He was funny and all that, but reminded me why the corporate world attracts me less and less. It is filled with individuals only centered in their ego, with no interest in the other. This is not to say that academia is not a place for strong egos (who could ever say that?!) but my last years in industry have shown me that it feels more cynical here than in the university world.

After almost losing my plane in Istanbul and adjusting my time 5:30 hours more than in Copenhagen, we are in India.  After reading so much about health and money threats I'm a bit paranoid on this trip, and I pay an overpriced iced tea in the airport that I barely touch due to be scared of water poisoning. I feel this experience is going to be hard, as there are so many aspects I won't be able to control, and I feel that letting myself simply let go can bring to uncomfortable situations, but I'm doing my best.

After refusing something that seemed like an arranged cab, and driving 15 times around the same four streets to find my hotel, we get into Karol Bagh, at the Rockwell Plaza hotel. Indians may know English, but some of them have such a strong accent that is impossible to understand them: Rockwell turns into Rokvel and Plaza turns into Playa, and I thought myself in Goa already. The budget hotel is spacious and clean, and the personnel some of the friendliest people I have ever met, but I miss couch surfing so much. Because of safety recommendations I have decided not going into any CS house, but it simply feels empty an experience without the local point of view. On the other hand, after seeing Delhi you understand why Cs was probably not the best choice. The city is so diverse, so chaotic and unstructured like anything I have seen so far. My hood (Karol Bagh) is popular for receiving tourists, although a bit older than the ones going to Paharganj, the other backpackers area. I tried to find a compromise between price and experience for these two days and it seems acceptable, although still overwhelming. The area is mostly a gigantic market, full of smells, flavours and colors. If somebody that reads this post knows my home city, they can think of going to a market place like La Alameda to get the same feeling. Despite being a busy, dirty place, it feels predominantly safe. Here, nobody notices me,  and even the concierge in my hotel believes my mother or someone in my family is Indian (I suppose Christopher Columbus gave a good name to the West Indies after all). That helps me in my advantage comparing to other tourists, as I am not spotted as a $$$ resource, nor mobbed to become a customer.

It's hard to report from the first day, apart from the fact that the jet lag pays tribute and I sleep the whole morning. Out of the many places I wanted to go in Delhi I decided on one, the red fort. My way there is my first real culture shock: the zone of Chadni Chowk is a chaos, where no space in the street is left without a soul. Street markets, food, dogs, hundreds of rickshaws or public dumpsters populate the place, and it's really hard not to get touched by it. The best moment of the day appears in the same area. Orange dresses, flowers and chants seduced me, and I entered into a gianist temple. The atmosphere is sacred, and I have to take my shoes off and cover my head to enter. Vibes are strong, and this music has something hypnotizing in between those powerful drums. Now it's that I remember why India attracts me so much, and why this cocktail of religions is impossible to get anywhere else.

After the gianist experience, it's time to reach the red fort and try my Indian look. I get local prices for the show of the lights and sounds, with the disadvantage that I get to the Hindi show instead of the English... There you go resemblance! My brain refuses to learn Hindi today, so we call it a day.

The second and last day in Delhi is devoted to a visit to the national museum. There's so much history in this continent, that the two hours suggested for the visit will not make it justice. It opens questions, like why India migrated from Buddhism to Hinduism, when the evolution of religions in other areas of the world shifted from polytheism to monotheism. The museum has an impressive collection of artwork, specially ivory and stone carvings, as well as the history of the many miniature painting schools in India.

The last hours I have spent learning more on the life of Ganesha with my coach mate Sandeep, who is pilot and goes to visit family in Jodhpur. I asked about the nature of arranged marriages, and he answers me with the following question: when do you think you are going to be happy, before or after the wedding? And certainly touches my visions of marriage....

That's all for today, and tomorrow we will be riding camels and exploring forgotten forts in Jaisalmer.

A la que ríe

Sabes una cosa? Hoy me he topado con las 4000 fotos que tuvimos juntos, con tu sonrisa a veces tímida y a veces límpida,  y tu cabello azabache, y tu mirada de grandes ojos negros. Cuántos años son? seis, siete, quince? La verdad es que, Visitarte en mi memoria se vuelve un placer y una añoranza, y una razón para quererme más. Me enseñaste de sinceridad, aún cuándo esas palabras significaran que no tenías absoluta idea de que ocurriría. Me mostraste que hay una gran diferencia entre el amor pasional (que de amor tiene los 30 primeros minutos bajo las sabanas) y un amor-construcción, que crece a nivel del tiempo y el dialogo. Hoy te agradezco, pues de mil bocas que he besado, es a ti a la que debo gran parte de mi identidad.

En un mundo de Facebook e Instagram, de relaciones liquidas y fugaces, es una constante el desapego y la insatisfacción. Te quiero hoy, y mañana sales de mi lista en la medida que atentes contra mi idea de integridad. Qué egoísta es el 2013, no te parece? Me siento anciano cuando digo ¨En mis tiempos luchábamos por lo que valía la pena¨, y pareciese que hablara de 1930 cuando hablo del 2007. Si a alguien puedo llamarle cabo a tierra, es a ti, querida mía. Tu, que siempre fuiste tan voluble como el Helio; esa que cada semana entraba en intervención en crisis (y me volvía un experto en el tema), fuiste la persona más segura en una sola cosa, la cuál ni en Europa, ni 7 años por fuera me han mostrado. Tu me enseñaste que el amor dista mucho del cuento de Snowwhite y su armada de enanos, o que la visión de ¨Happily ever after¨ omite en gran parte aquellos momentos donde tienes que sentarte y rediseñar una relación, y que lo haces porque es una decisión en conjunto, y no un simple capricho juvenil.

El llegar a hoy me ha traído muchos aprendizajes, expandir mis horizontes, confrontar mis creencias de amor, amistad, y familia, de decir si a lo desconocido y de aprender a decir no. Me devuelvo por un instante, un vuelo que cambiaría mi vida: una mujer que deja de pensar sólo en ella por un segundo, y otorga la libertad sin esperar nada a cambio. Ese es tal vez el regalo más grande que me hayan dado.

Gracias a ti, por esas enseñanzas. Creíste en mí y gracias a eso hoy estoy aquí, intacto y sonriente. No te busco, te dejo libre, pero me llevo de ti un ideal de pareja, y de mi rol como persona, amigo, hermano y amante.

Un cubano que me cae bien.

El nombre no es nuevo, pero de vez en cuando vuelves a tus raíces, escuchas una canción que te mueve el alma y le pone palabras, ritmo y sentido a tus sentimientos. Hoy hablo de Silvio, el revolucionario, de Silvio, el poeta, de Silvio, el que camufla los deseos de un país en los besos de una historia de amor.

Hoy me moviste, cómo hace mucho no lo sentía, cuando me susurraste al oído hablandome de los amores:
¨La cobardía es asunto, de los hombres no de los amantes.
 Los amores cobardes no llegan a amores, ni a historias, se quedan alli
 Ni el recuerdo los puede salvar
 Ni el mejor orador conjugar¨

Hoy, mujer innombrable, huye como una gaviota, porque si te quedas, no te volverás a ir.