A dusting of sand

My name is Mary, I speak broken English mixed with Hindi and I use gestures and body language foreign to my life at home.

Yup, I’ve definitely slipped back into the swing of things here. Although now that I’m leaving Arambol I have decided to no longer go as “Mary”. That name doesn’t resonate with me at all but no one can seem to pronounce “Meredith”. I started to completely forego telling people my name is Meredith because if I do, it’s as if a fuse has been blown and all stops…

Then when I say: “but you can call me Mary” a flood of relief washes over the person I am speaking with. From here on out I will introduce myself as “Dwan” which is already a nickname of mine and is simple enough for people to pronounce and remember.

Upon arrival over two weeks ago my neck and head quickly assumed the head bobble stance that is characteristic of Indians. Neither a “yes” nor a “no”, the sideways bobble is an “I hear you” recognition. In addition (or as another option) I can hold my hand up and make a motion as if quickly turning a light bulb 3 or 4 times.

I feel like I have found some secret password because life seems simpler and more understood here with these gestures.

So…

Goa…

Hmmm.

It’s been an interesting start to my journey.

My guess of the ratio is 60% foreigners and 40% Indians. Thus my primary interaction has been with a smorgasbord of internationals who are on the same level as me as far as travel. The choice to be in Goa provides lazy days on end at the beach which is a niche within this wavelength. We all have an incredible amount of time on our hands and it is somehow slips by quickly. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the numerous connections I am having with dynamic and beautiful people.

Well…I’ll be more specific:

Dynamic and beautiful men.

The men are tan, gorgeous, numerous and have sexy foreign accents.

While the Pacific Northwest is inundated with rain much of the year, as far as me and any potential relationships have been, home has been an arid desert. But now my past few years of a dry spell have been splashed and I am reveling in this beach life…and the bounty of attractive masculinity surrounding me.

One of my favorite little “crushes” is with the sweet crystal vendor. Every day I visit him and we share a chai together. He tells stories of his girlfriend and his family in faraway Gujarat. Days later he brings photos to show me. His family is large with a total of 8 children and his parents appear in the photos as weathered, unsmiling and about 20 years older than the aging of a typical western person. In each photo there are indications that he has come from a challenged and impoverished background. At 19 he already has 5 years of experience of leaving his family and going alone for half the year to sell crystals to tourists in Goa.

He mails money back to his family as soon as he makes enough. At 19 he is basically the financial support for a family of 10.

For what appears to be such a tough life I am so inspired by the light that shines from within him. His smile and sincerity is what drew me to him one week ago.

After showing the family photos, he told me he had something else to show me and this one is a secret. He pulled me away from any onlookers’ glances and revealed the contents of a small envelope. Inside was a pile of carefully cut out magazine images of Bollywood stars. I don’t see him shining so bright as when he shows me his favorite famous faces of India.

My beach life reached a plateau and today I begin my travels outside of this tourist safety zone called Goa. With only a taxi and two bus rides I am transported to a town that is not listed nor on the map of my Lonely Planet guide. I have not seen one foreigner besides myself since arriving.

One of my top 5 favorite activities when traveling anywhere (including at home at farmers markets) is to wander around marketplaces. Vasco da Gama comes alive one hour before sunset as the heat dips and cool breezes take over, ushering in the evening. The streets fill with locals shopping for fresh produce and sundry items for their evening meal. I spent my final Goan evening taking in the sights of fruits, vegetables, sarees, bindis, fresh fish and flies…hundreds of flies.

I have gratitude for the gift of my time in Goa…

getting back into the groove of being in India

and also for establishing some confidence in myself when it comes to interacting with men.

Onward, Dwan!

My photos of Goa

Clear crystal pyramid

Arambol…

Settling in underway…

All the points along the stretch of beach from south to north act as pulling forces on my compass.

Each time I step into the sand I do not know which way I will be pulled.

This is what I love about traveling solo—feeling the pull of that very moment and following it without any consultation of others. I learn so much about myself in these wandering periods of my life.

Do I want to walk south and listen to small groups of travelers creating music with guitars, flutes and drums?

Or should I head north?

Hmm…

North it is.

Reaching the end of the beach to the rocky point that carries on its spine a dirt path continuing, winding beyond the gentle cliffs…

Reuniting with the sand…

This time a more narrow strip.

The energetic waves crash to one side.

30 yards away its other border is a calm freshwater lake.

Feeling an onward tug I continue into the trees in a forest, which grows thicker with each step. The narrow limbs and trunks become denser and dangle from great heights above descending together intertwined.

In the near distance I hear the singing and drumming of a kirtan. I reach a small circular opening beneath a massive banyan tree: not one singular being but hundreds of limbs growing together into a mass of weaved endlessly long fingers.

Seated in the circle are people from various countries singing, drumming and clapping around a smoldering fire.

I float through the Arambol compass…

Sometimes stopping for tea at a reggae café…

Or prawn curry at a hut where I incomprehensibly eavesdrop on a group of Italians…

Or settling in on a pleasant plot of sand…

So many choices and its all up to me.

When it comes to choices its not as black and white as choosing where to eat or what I will do each day. I am here in a different land with different people, languages and cultures. Here is where I can recreate myself and be whoever I want to be. There is nothing holding me to any parameters of my ego…

But me.

Really, though…it is this situation wherever I am…including home.

The biggest reason I am continually drawn to India is for this environment that teaches and reminds me of self-discovery.

One evening I wandered north on the Arambol compass and some people called me to sit with them. Our small group continued to grow and we became an audience for a man singing songs typically heard around an American campfire. However, one stark difference is that no one, not the singer nor the audience spoke English as their native language. The singer, stumbling for lyrics of a song I know well and love, asked for assistance. When I offered the words the next thing you know I was up on stage by his side singing a duo together.

Up until that day I would have convinced myself that I cannot sing, my voice is bad, yadda yadda. But in that moment I made the choice to be a singer.

Last night I went to a small rooftop café where every Wednesday is an open air screening of “What the bleep do we know?”

In this introspective state I’ve slipped into this week I have been reflecting on energetic and spatial affects of decision-making and ego.

To watch this powerful film that questions that and more…

And is filmed in the place I call home…

Seeing images of Portland combined with the affirmation of my reflection this week:

Irony

At the entry of the beach the last vendor before my feet hit the sand is a nice teenager selling beautiful crystals. Each day, a hundred times a day, he greets each passerby:

“hello, madame/sir…look my crystals?”

At least 9 out of 10 times he weathers an abrupt sloughing from the passing tourist. When he uttered the words to me I stopped anyway despite no interest in buying crystals. I was compelled by the glimmer and beauty of the mound of crystals and his sincere smile. He told me he climbs into the hills of his homeland in Gujarat to find these crystals…and it is where his girlfriend awaits his return in April.

I got a good laugh when his wallet flips open and I spy two clear plastic panes with photos. I asked to see these more closely and, with a little protest, he showed me his wallet. Both panes in the shape of a heart reveal a different Bollywood movie star. Ha! I ask him what about his girlfriend and he says, “I get good feeling from them just like for my girlfriend”.

Feeling the pull to a point beyond he stops me before I disappear and puts in my hand a small clear crystal pyramid. He refused my non-acceptance and told me not to tell anyone he did that because I am the only one he has given a gift to.

It is possible that he says this to many people but I choose to believe his words.

I’m out here doing what I love most

…and surrounded by people who love the same.

Right now I am home

My photos of Goa

Red striped seashell

Upon arrival to Chapora the taxi stopped directly in front of my previous “home” here. It felt very natural to wander inside and get a room at this family home. Welcome is how I feel whenever I return to Chapora because the people in this village have impeccable memory. Having years in the interim since my last visit I felt for sure that I would not be recognized. But they do remember me and greet me with “hello you remembah me?” This is why I chose to begin my journey in this very place.

My room opens into a shared vestibule of a family of 3. From there the entryway opens to a view of a caged statue of Krishna. This courtyard is peaceful and I can spend many a contemplative moment playing with puppies or watching the small children entertain themselves with games they create. For example, the other day it appeared that they were experimenting with a book of matches and lighting various objects aflame.

The courtyard is shared by a house that is rented by several French people. One difference between the two homes with the shared courtyard is that the French house opens up to a Christian altar/cross.

The placid setting in trees is not, however, the main attraction of this village. A mere 10 yards from my doorstep opens into the main street of Chapora. What a scene—full power “boom-boom” music, shops selling raver clothing, bars and restaurants fill the street. Backpackers from around the world, most of them in dreadlocks and tattoos, share the scene with the locals hoping to sell you something, cows roaming for their next morsel of food--although a shred of newspaper will easily suffice—and mangy inbred dogs that gnaw endlessly on their hides, showing evidence of many a late night dog fight.

This is my third season to visit Chapora and it had never been the hot spot, so to speak…more like an odd place that “special” people stay. But with a few years passing I see that Chapora has evolved into the late night destination when 9 Bar closes. That’s roundabout 10pm and that is when the narrow and short street in Chapora becomes congested with plastic chairs spilling into the street outside of the already jammed full bars. Seated is an interesting array of alcoholics, ravers, junkies reeling from the latest heroin hit and ordinary people who want to take in a few beers.

I have always acknowledged the vibe of Chapora to be a bit dark. For this I had no plans to settle in too much. It was jarring as hell to arrive after 42 hours of traveling to be surrounded by this scene.

By day 2 I began to feel concerned that I as not feeling connected to India in a way that I recalled from past visits.

Then on day 3 everything changed.

Every Wednesday in nearby Anjuna is a massive outdoor market just yards from the lapping waters of the Indian Ocean. Hundreds of vendors sell their wares, mostly clothing, jewelry, food and various services. What makes this market so dynamic is that ~50% of the vendors are other travelers selling specialty wares from their country of origin. Having only arrived 2 days prior I had to control my urge to go completely ape shit and buy everything in sight. I did however binge on getting several purple extensions weaved into my hair thanks to Lucy, a solo traveler from the UK. I don’t know what it was but as soon as I got those purple extensions my ju-ju took a 180 degree turn…

I headed directly to 9 Bar to watch the sunset in this open air nightclub perched atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. I felt pretty certain that my departure would be the following day so the time was now to work out my thang on the dance floor. This could be my last opportunity to boogie to some sweet live Goa psytrance before venturing to calmer locales.

And now I would like to tell you the story of

“Romeo and Juliet: The Chapora edition”…

There is a minor detail I left out when I described my walk from my front door through the courtyard to the Chapora main street. Every time I walked through il y a un tres gentil homme qui a long hair, a beard and a very nice smile.

On this, my last evening in Chapora, I finally had the confidence to strike up a conversation with this friendly Frenchman, named Guillame.

.

.

.

voila…

Suddenly my plan to depart the next morning dissolved entirely…in addition to any care in the world.

I had no idea what scandal and controversy Guillame and my friendship had caused among the families of our two homes. What I learned quickly is that the owner of my house is a corrupt powerhouse of the underbelly of Chapora. In weeks past he had entered the house where Guillame stays and destroyed all plumbing facilities so this house could not access the dumping area near his property.

In addition he had deflated Guillame’s tires on more than one occasion and tampered with his scooter’s electrical wiring.

This “heavy”, an elderly Chaporan fisherman, also intimidated all the French—except for Guillame—by making them move out. It’s really difficult for me to explain all the nuances but I will tell you that it was a lot of drama and Guillame and my friendship antagonized the situation much like Romeo and Juliet’s?…

This was now only day 4 and 5 in India for me thus far and frankly I was not interested in embracing the drama…just embracing Guillame. We spent the few days on the beach and partying at night.

Ultimately though, it all had to end because Guillame was forced to move and I took this as my cue to escape the weird energy there and make the move to Arambol, albeit 2 days later than planned.

On my first day together on the beach with Guillame I was finally feeling like I had connected with the feeling of being a traveler again. I passed a beautiful red-striped seashell and took it with me. It represents to me the final “arrival” to India and the beauty of Guillame’s soul. He is a wise and beautiful man and our incredible conversations of fresh perspectives I hope to carry with me.

My photos of Goa

The Journey Begins

Hot damn, it's hard to believe that the time has finally come to depart for India. I booked the airline ticket back in May and I’ve been counting down ever since. Without leaving Portland yet I already received a meaningful lesson from my journey. I am blessed with so many gifts in my life...they come in many forms. First of all, I am incredibly fortunate to have a job where I am cut loose to take this personal sabbatical and have the position waiting for me when I return. During the past two weeks while training my fill-in, I realized how much I do at my position. Once taking a person through everything I do, step by step, I saw and began to value the work that I do.

When aspects of life become familiar, repetitive and systematic my personal connection to these things grows numb.

In the same vein this was happening with the relationships in my life. During this recent countdown to my departure i took an informal inventory of the people I hold dear...folks who i wanted to make an effort to have QT with before temporarily dropping out of my social circles. in each friendship, in each mirror, I was shown a reflection of love. In particular, this past week has jump started my gooey emotional urges for all those peeps I love so much.

This perhaps is my first lesson of my journey: some of the largest blessings and possibilities stand before me and currently exist in my realm at home. With a melted heart I embark on this personal journey...without even arriving to PDX I have gained my first token of growth.

This is my third trip to India. the first trip cracked my mold...stripped me clean of most things of security in my life: loss of a career, a permanent residence, familiar faces in friendships, loss of long term relationship with David, abandoning an obsessive fitness & running regimen and detaching from my family.

The second trip was taking the vulnerable, emotionally wounded core self and attempting to determine who I really am.

Both trips were emotional roller coasters for me and my joy and exploration was equally matched with loneliness and emotional despair. But what do you get when experiencing a blend of highs & lows?

GROWTH

The past 2 1/2 years in Portland found me starting anew and laying down roots.

I've maintained and nurtured the friendships of those who have deemed to be friends I will have for a lifetime.

In addition I have attained friendships with an entirely new crew who represent a mirror to the butterfly-in-progress I continue to develop.

For this trip I have put together a list of intentions for the upcoming 3 1/2 months.

Firstly, I will make decisions by honoring my path. I will not seek outside myself for approval from others.

Secondly, I will be open to the reminders of the love, passion, happiness and family devotion that is capable despite have very little in material possessions. The poverty and joy I witness intertwined here is not only humbling but also incredibly inspiring.

Thirdly, I will receive inspiration of new experiences, philosophies and perspectives of which I cannot anticipate in advance.

For these intentions I have created an altar to my growth. In a swath of special fabric I have a tiny golden medallion and a small cluster of clear crystals. The medallion was given to me during my first visit to India by an Indian man I met in Jaisalmer. He asked for nothing in return and asserted that I am to carry it with me at all times during my travels. As I packed a few nights ago, the medallion fell from my backpack and I hadn't remembered it until I saw it glistening by my feet.

The crystals have sat on a sunny windsill of my house in Portland for months. They have absorbed the light daily and they represent all the joys and love I have waiting for me at home.

In each place I will rest my head, I will assemble my tokens as a reminder and manifestation of my intentions.

As my journey proceeds the altar will grow.

I arrived to Chapora, Goa just one hour ago after 5 flights and a total of ~42 hours of traveling. I am so happy to be here...to be greeted by the familiar smells still in the outer areas approaching the place i return to again and again was a wonderful sensation.