On couple dancing and affectionate love

Some years ago I was sharing with a good friend on mine our experiences in Rovinj, in one of the biggest Kizomba festivals in Europe. I asked her about the most memorables experiences in the festival and she proceeded to describe how good it felt to dance with a partner that only embraced her steadily for a long time, with no other requirement than her presence. That was a bit against the common pre-conception of the leader with a rich set of moves to show off.

I have been reflecting a little bit about that story, trying to understand the power of presence in the dance, and my hypothesis lies on what its referred to affectionate, or compassionate love.

Dancing has been used in many cultures as a way to transcend. Cultures like the Masai tribes, or whirling sufis or tibetan monks have used solo and group dancing as ways to connect with with something bigger than themselves. The interesting part, is that, such transcendance can also come from a couple (or social) dance, depeding on how I treat my partner on the dancefloor.

Imagine the eyes of a mother looking at her child. For her, independent of how child looks like, (s)he is already perfect. The love of a mother does not ask for more than the realization of her child. By giving love, by making this creature happy, she is receiving much more.

When we are dancing, we are in a position where we can provide compassionate love. We have a human being in front of us, to which we share many similarities. First, we both want to be happy, and second, we both want to avoid any suffering. This person in front deserves not only my respect, but also my compassionate love. I would like that at the end of the dance, that person in front leaves feeling accepted, cared for, beautiful and happy.

The beauty of a couple dance, is that we have one song in order to create those feelings. It is beautiful because we can exercise a policy of non-attachment. If I love you compassionately, I treasure that ephemeral instant that you give to be with me, and I will cherish the happy moments you share with others.

In practical terms, I think we exercise compassionate love in dancing when:

- We accept that everyone, newcommer or experienced dancer, physically appealing or not, has something beautiful to offer us.

- We do not focus on the embrace, "moves" or choreographies learnt. The goal of this dance is not to have measurable outcome, but rather the enjoyment of the instant together.

- We consider our partners  not as objects, but rather as human beings with their own range of expressions. That means, we don't project our needs to whatever they can give, avoiding a later suffering.

- We listen to whatever our partner communicates. Non-verbal communication is the key to know how relaxed we can be in each others' company.

- We keep a beginners' mind, learning from each and every person coming to us.

- We learn to receive, in the same way we are giving.

Finally, a call to earth: even when we don't want to, we all commit flaws (both in dance, and in life in general), and that is OK. Forgiving (ourselves and others) is the only way to continue dancing. That also means, to ease on the judgment, and to focus on the enjoyment of this shared gift.

/Andrés

Tal vez

Tal vez te pasé como a mi, que miro el telefono cada siete minutos, sin falta.
Tal vez, cuándo te levantes, busques ese mensaje en el buzón.
Tal vez, escribas una vez, y lo borres diez.
Tal vez, como yo, pienses cómo se está, al otro lado del puente.

Y me pregunto, adonde hemos llegado?
Explorando los limites de la pasión, el riesgo del dolor.
Cómo podemos ser honestos, tu, yo, y el resto del mundo?
Este mundo va, y le estamos corriendo atrás.

Arboles y mariposas, de esto se trata todo.
Volamos, jugueteamos, sorbiendo el nectar
O extendemos nuestras raíces, germinando

Queremos lo mismo, tan diferente,
Podremos llegar a conciliar?
Hacer que los arboles se encuentren.

In my seemingly perfect life

It´s been a while since the last time I dare to write some words in this blog, but something motivated me today.

I had my birthday yesterday. For me, getting into 35 represented a big step: the idea of moving to the quartile that statisticians call "the adult one" seemed to represent a big step for me. Five years ago, I had thought that at this age I would have achieved what was considered a standard dream. That one of the stable job, marriage, kids and a dog in a decent villa in the outskirts of the city where I live.

Lots of water ran under the bridge in these five years: I moved to live in different countries three times, I changed of profession twice and I found a vocation in my life, that one of service. To me, the only constant thing I can feel in life is the constant change we are exposed into, and the happy moments I had involved somehow assuming the fears of jumping from the stable status quo into something that might or not represent me more. Jumping does not mean to be a novelty-junkie, but to be able to feel with honesty what our bodies and hearts are vibrating with, and steer my decisions not only in what sees the "most reasonable thing to do", but also in the path that feels more truth to myself.

The dreams I once had were not really my own dreams, but a social construction from the educated society where I grew up. Many of my friends at the time asked me when will I settle, as if pursuing our dreams was something that we should give up at some point. If settling means stagnate and renounce to work on your mission, it is probable that I will not ever settle. I would rather be happy having done and try whatever it resonates with me, than not doing it because it was not profitable, because it was too alternative or because that is not what you are supposed to do.

Two years ago I came back to the city I call home, and since then I have embraced the project of fostering changes in the society I live in. The change I search is one of less fear to the contact with the other, of more openness and trust on the person next to you, of safe spaces where people can develop whatever their passions are. Yesterday was very special, not because it was my birthday, but because I could see that those seeds we are spreading are slowly settling. I see a community growing, with people open to embrace without fears, without waiting something in return. That was my biggest gift.

About those dreams of five years ago, I will not say that a part of me still likes those constructions, but they do not represent anymore the ideals of happiness. It is hard to explain all that I get from this to the friends that knew me in university, the ones that know the rational part of me. That rational part still exists, but does not live alone. It rather works together with the emotional side. It might or not lead me to the villa I considered at some point, but it is not important anymore.

To me, service is the biggest creator of positive emotions ever. If I can work a little bit to make something that makes you have a smile on your face, that will eventually get back to me, painting one smile on my own. Your happiness affects directly my way of perceiving the world, and therefore my dreams passed from something concerning  "me" to those concerning "us". In the service we find our strengths and challenges, test us and makes us bigger.

So, it is that important to strive for a perfect life? I think our lives are already perfect, irrespective of the paths we decide to take. To me, what is important is coherence. How do our life choices map into the vision of man or woman we want to have? Do we listen ourselves with the same attention whatever our bodies and heart are saying comparing to whatever our reason does? We have one big responsibility, that one of creating our own happiness. Are we ready to assume it?

In all, this birthday brought me the realisation that yes, I have a perfect life, despite all the little things I imagine as glitches. More importantly, is perfect as it is inter-dependent from many other around me, and their interaction make my emotions grow bigger. I am all grateful for having the chance to share with you, those that in one way or another are influencing my life.

Challenges? many, of course, but they come whenever they need to come. For the moment, the biggest one is to learn about patience, that does not come easy in any way. Perhaps for the 40s?

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...