Last 12 days in India

> Wow, I just realized it's been a month since I wrote anything on this blog! Since I left Rishikesh on December 9th, it's been a mad journey training through Northern India, from Agra to Kolkata. I spent a night in Agra, 3 nights in Varanasi, 3 in Bodh Gaya and the last 2 in Kolkata. Since getting home to Penang a week ago, I've been blissfully sans wifi. I've taken that time to just let my India experience sink in a bit, especially from those last few days of touristy travelling. My yoga time will stick with me for a long, long time, and I've just posted some thoughts on Usha on the yoga blog site. I'm reserving my Bodh Gaya writing to another time as I actually spent those 3 days in a silent Buddhist meditation retreat -- for anyone who knows me well, I imagine it's a shock that I was able to remain silent for that long!
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> AGRA
> I met up with Sarah and Karina (friends from Yog-Ganga in Rajpur) at our measly hotel in Agra after a 10 hour train ride from Haridwar. That was my first train ride experience in India, and no, people are no longer allowed to ride atop the trains singing their hearts away or otherwise and I wasn't in a cow herd type carriage. It was all together quite a pleasant journey, having made friends with the train service staff manager who made a point of checking in on me every so often. Agra town itself is much like the crazed Indian traffic of other cities. Of course, the highlight of tourists here is the Taj Mahal, which Karina got me to somehow agree to a sunrise viewing. I've been to several sights around the world with the "best sunrise views" and had totally ignored any such silliness. But my "training" to get up early for yoga has gotten me to soften up to this idea. It was lovely to arrive at the Taj Mahal grounds before sunrise, but not so much seeing the relatively long queue already at the ticket counter. The little chai stand close by the Western gate made being up at that hour just that bit more worthwhile. I'm not sure either how Unesco justifies charging non-Indians 750 rupees entrance fee and only 20 for Indians. But it was where I took the most photos. Gorgeously stunning. Enough said, methinks. I found the "baby Taj" to be of equally stunning beauty.
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> VARANASI PHEW!  Such madness!  Thanks for trying to warn us, Hari!  The journey from our train to the hotel itself was an experience never to be forgotten.  Thankfully, Karina and I had arranged for our hotel to send an auto rickshaw driver to meet us at our train.  Whisking us away to Meer Ghat where our hotel was, he thankfully helped me with one of my luggage as I tried not to stare incredulously while meandering through very narrow alleyways (gallis) just barely wide enough for two way pedestrian traffic.  We weave through a maze of gallis, trying to avoid trash and cow dung on the ground while keeping up with the stream of people walking at a frenzy pace.  This is when I realized why it's more important to have backpack style luggage than wheeled ones.  The journey only got more interesting when we come across "traffic jam" with a cows.  Upon arriving at Monu's Guest House, we're so thankful it's quite a lovely little spot and CLEAN!   Karina and I headed out to Dasaswamedh Ghat, the main ghat, that evening to catch the Ganga aarti, which is carried out in grandiose ceremony.  Filled with excitement and perhaps the madness of being in Varanasi, we decided to partake in the puja ritual of light and flowers offering into the Ganga.  Lo and behold, no shoes allowed in the holy water!  So, Karina and I are lightly stepping into the Ganga, thinking that will somehow help us not feel the dirt, mud and filth floating in and around the edges of water lapping up to the ghat.  And we happily (and quickly) place our offering into the water, not wasting the photo opp!  Approached by a young seemingly nice boatman, Karina once again loops me into another early sunrise adventure for the next morning.  The boatman agreed to take us to the burning ghat that night where we ended up witnessing cremations in mesmerization for over an hour.  Aside from yoga, this was another deep desire for coming to India.  I was astounded at how natural the whole process was and how many bodies were being brought to that ghat in the time we were there.  Even upon death, it is sad how one's caste or cash determines the way the body is treated, placed on the funeral pyre and the type of wood used.  I've been to three of my grandparents' cremations, but seeing bodies in full view ablaze brings a deeper meaning and understanding of death.  And perhaps even further acceptance of death, dying and the impermanence of life.

International yogi-be's

Nov. 27th, 2011

It's my day off from Usha's intensive course where I have time to compile some overflowing thoughts and photos. Otherwise, I'm mostly seeking respite to rest my stretched out muscles, tendons and what not from class!

One of the most fascinating and captivating aspect of my yoga travels has been the people I meet along the way. Back in Rajpur, I had the opportunity to get to know a few yoga students better than one normally would in typical travel settings or yoga retreats as the thirty plus of us are housed in groups of 3-6 people where we spend 3 weeks together in the very tiny town of Rajpur. When I was in Rishikesh a few weeks ago attending Rudra's classes, I also got to know a couple of gals (Sophie from France and Else from Holland) since it was a smaller group where the few of us would typically head off to famous Papu's lassi after class. Now that I'm in Usha's 9-day intensive course with 50 students, I continue to meet incredible yoga practitioners from all over the world. My initial thought was to write about the few I've gotten to know a bit more than the friendly namaste, especially about their life's work if it had any semblance of making the world a better place since yoga, to me, is about the betterment of one's life, and hence contributing to a more peaceful world. The list of people keep growing quite large, and so I decided to compile them all into this one entry. There are plenty more I could've easily included. I just happened to have great shots of these few!

Daniel (London) -- My first conversation with Daniel was much like the one I had with Lucy where it made my eyes bulge I wanted to write a book about them! But Daniel is taking care of that himself in his autobiography soon to be published next year. He started his career in journalism with Reuters (funny enough, it's the company that replaced the division I worked for when Thomson bought them four years ago!) After a few years at the age of 27, he scored big as a foreign corespondent for the NY Times but could only withstand the hypocrisy and abhorring manipulations of the media conglomerate for less than a year. This lead him to lead a peace concert in Serbia where he got entangled with gangsters, mafias and what not (find out in his book!) Daniel has been trying to fight for political justice since while working on his own rejuvenation if not reconstruction through Iyengar yoga the last 7-8 years. These days, he also takes respite in writing about yoga. See his article on my comments below!

Carmen (Peru) -- Carmen currently lives in Japan...well, right now she's here in Rishikesh where we're both enrolled in Usha's intensive course. This is about her 4th trip to India. She comes here for months at a time, first taking classes in Rajpur with the Chanchani's and then here with Usha. Carmen has lived and travelled all over the world, at one time assisting her husband researching for forestry companies. She has lived in East Malaysia, where I've never even been! Interestingly, the woman I chatted with yesterday, Claudia from Austria, also carries a very close story line with Carmen in that she's lived/travelled all over and has seen more of Malaysia than I have! Claudia will be heading back to Abu Dhabi to spend Christmas with her husband and two sons. She's lived in several "oil rigging" countries where her husband has been posted, Pakistan being her favorite.

Hari Krishna (Hyderabad, India) -- We were so lucky to be taking yoga classes with Hari Krishna! How many can say they've done that?! Hari's name is too long of a story to expound here, but I'll just say it's a good name for him! He was a photojournalist who left his job two years, travelling around India and practising yoga since.

Pia (Australia) -- She and Hari are striking the Baba pose in the picture below following a funny lecture by Rajiv about a sadhu whose arm has become permanently locked in this position when Rajiv met him at Kumbha Mela some time ago. Pia is currently undergoing her Iyengar teacher training and is on her 4th trip to India, never having been to Taj Mahal, or any other touristy spots for that matter! Leaving her seemingly perfect life in Australia (a flexible job at an art gallery and house sitting for a friend in a beautiful house,) Pia felt she needed to delve more into making yoga the main focus of her life.

Tatyana (Russia) -- was my housemate in Rajpur and has the most strikingly unexpected sense of humor, akin to the cold steel mafia kind, as Hari described it. She's been practicing Iyengar yoga for over a decade and started teaching a year ago. Tatyana carries the poise of a yogi-be (yogi-wannabe, as that's all we can really strive for!) with the patience and non-judgementalism that so often knocks many of us off kilter. She grew up in Kazhakstan (excuse my misspelling if so!) when it was part of Russia and now lives in Dallas. She has worked on this poise for years while striving to make her own life better, bringing peace for herself and also her husband and son at home, even here in Rajpur and I imagine all her students back in Dallas!

Sophie (France) and Else (Holland) -- These are the gals from Rudra's class. Sophie wears many hats working with a boutique consulting company back in Paris and intends on leaving her job to pursue yoga/travel next summer. Else is a university student in Amsterdam and is new to yoga. She figured might as well start in the land where it was born and brought much enthusiasm and delight to Rudra's classes.

Kyra (London) -- Is on her countless trip to India, which started about 24 years ago. Kyra is an Iyengar teacher back in London and spends months at a time in India. She has been studying with the Chanchani's before they moved to their current location in Rajpur about 12 years ago and thus is a wealth of knowledge, not only about yoga but everything India which she shares very gladly. Her sense of humor continues to crack me up, and I imagine her students as well!

Brigitte (Belgium) -- Dr. B is actually pictured in the potluck photo, standing in front of Tatyana. Unfortunately, I don't have a better photo as Brigitte tends to close her eyes every time the camera flash goes off! Brigitte just spent a year in Fiji and prior to that was working with W.H.O. in Africa where she lived with her husband and two kids for a decade.

Silvie (London) -- was my housemate back in Rajpur as well and teaches yoga part time. Having just left her corporate job a few months ago, Silvie returned to Rajpur to continue her yoga studies after having been to India many times before. She will be back late next year when she's enrolled at the Ramanani Iyengar Institute in Pune. Silvie is also looking for a new chapter of her life!

In the bottom left picture, Hari, Pia, Kyra and I are huddled in the front corner of the crammed bus where we were standing on the steps for the first part of the trip. It was amazing we got to sit together eventually! Actually, it was more amazing how we got on to the already 2-cans-in-1 sardined packed bus...

May all these yogi-be's continue their wonderful work in the world, with themselves, ourselves and everyone else!

Namaste!
x, ~m.

Giving Thanks in Rishikesh

November 24, 2011

We're all on a journey of our own, yet we are one of the same universe. We all want the same thing in life - happiness. Contentment. Some can only see as far as material wealth, others are seeking beyond and sometimes too far. Some don't seek. They just are. The biggest lesson I've learned and am desperately trying to adopt in the last couple years of intensive yoga courses is that of gratitude. Eckart Tolle says, "If the only prayer you said in your whole life was , "Thank you", that would suffice." I found that quote in The Times of India, a local newspaper I happened to pick up at Mukhti cafe around Omkarananda ashram after a rigorous yoga practice with Usha Devi that saw me sweating going through just 5 poses in two hours. Being a long time jogger, I always thought I had pretty strong legs. This morning's yoya practice proved me wrong as I got slapped several times on my thighs for not being able to straighten and tighten my quads into the bones enough. How do I find thanks in that moment when from already fighting to recall that prayer with repeated one leg lifts in uttanasan, Usha tells us to lift both hands into Virabhadrasana III and my legs already feel like marshmellows?

After class, while having my oatmeal with fruits breakfast at Mukhti, an Indian couple from Bombay sits down across me and I can't help myself from asking them their purpose for being in Rishikesh. They are actually staying at Omkarananda largely here as tourists. Neither do yoga, something they agreed Indians take for granted as it's quite profusely in your face, especially here in Rishikesh. I suppose it's like the Microsoft syndrome in Seattle, so I've heard, where most locals don't own PC's. Or like the fact that I've never bothered visiting Alcatraz after having lived in San Francisco for nearly 12 years! The young Indian lady, amazingly, had also just left her job from disillusionment in the corporate world and mass media manipulations. She was in the public relations and advertising field. Interestingly, she worked for an organization that combatted the likes of Navdanya, an India-based organic seed bank outfit I just learned about from another yoga student in Rajpur who is currently attending its conference. To find some respite, the Bombay lady just completed a 10 day Vippasana meditation introductory course, and is thinking of teaching ethics at college preparatory programs as her future work.

After breakfast, I sat in a 1-hour lecture on Bhagavad Gita back at Omkarananda where the gentleman spoke of the first chapter on the yoga of depression and anxiety and how we all go through them. It is through these times of pain that urges us to seek and hopefully find spirituality in our lives. In that plight, I return to the studio early this evening for my self-practice, all jello-like. I am deeply thankful for being able to be here, in India, on my yogic journey. And most grateful for all the people who've helped make this possible! Happy Thanksgiving, y'all! x, ~magi.

A Conversation with Lucy

Nov. 14, 2011

A Conversation with Lucy

Lucy from London has been practising Iyengar yoga for about 15 years and finds her personal refuge on the mat above all else. Like me, this is her first time to India and we are relishing the yoga in this quaint town of Rajpur.

During our first conversation, I'd learned very quickly that Lucy has done some amazing work in her life that only a few fine souls have experienced or have the strength and courage to. It inspired me to ask her for an opportunity for another conversation so that I may share a bit of her story here.

Lucy found herself one day over a decade ago in front of a Congolese woman refugee at the hospital she worked at in the early days of her career as a nurse in London. She became friends with this woman in the weeks that Lucy cared for her, who had apparently been tortured in her homeland for helping a couple of men get out from the hospital in which she was a staff at herself. At the dismissal of the Congolese woman on a cold winter day of January from the hospital in London to some refugee agency without much regard, Lucy collected some of her own clothing for the woman who had only a light african shawl to keep her warm. My very watered down retelling of her story is how Lucy got started working with terrorized victims of gross human rights violations, the escapees. It inspired her to research, understand and work in the world of torture and other human rights violations, including human trafficking and violence against women. She spent some time working in war-torn northern Uganda at one point.

One of Lucy's most touching recollection of encounters with her patient was of a woman who had been trafficked into the sex industry. This woman, who had grown up in an abusive family setting, after many years of therapy, began to find hope for her own future, whilst also expressing a profound form of compassion, or sorrow, for many of those who had abused her throughout her life. Not that these abuses can be justified or forgiven, but in a process of personal and spiritual growth, this woman explained her sorrow that people had themselves been harmed so badly as to perpetrate the extreme abuse that she had endured. It is in debt and gratitude to many, many people like these two women that Lucy says she has grown and from whom she has learned from so much in life, the meaning of it and one's dis/position on this earth, no matter how brief. In her own words, Lucy maintains that one's true humanity cannot be destroyed and she has been repeatedly given the gift of hope from her clients as they re-engage in life, in relationships with people and consequently with their own humanity. Namaste x

Faces of India

> 11/3/11.

> I've been in northern India for about 5 weeks now. It's been quite a ride like no other. There's been endless occasions for me to test and put my yogic beliefs into practice! Beginning with the chaos that practically slapped and deafened me in New Delhi, where I constantly reminded myself to breathe, not only to practice pranayam, but to take in as little pollution as possible! In Srinagar, it was absolutely beguiling to distinguish between warm and kind attitudes from the under current bamboozling brewing in the air. Then having to keep my faith that the universe has this all in flux for some reason. In India, I have learned, sometimes the hard way, whatever goes! There are no hard rules to really go by, even in this little town of Rajpur, Dehradun where I'm writing from. I walk the small, dusty streets daily with the cows, dogs and motor vehicles. In Rishikesh, my tuk-tuk rides to the Yoga Study Center costs anywhere between 10 - 50 rupees, depending on what the driver feels like at the moment. Swati Chanchani, my yoga teacher this morning exclaimed how she thinks she lives in a different universe each time she returns from her visits to western countries, and I have to agree!
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> The one constant I've found is how fascinating and colorful the people are, and I hope I've managed to capture some of that in these pictures! More importantly, I hope they'll transfer through the wi-fi in Chaya cafe down the street!
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Day 2 Rishikesh

Day 2 in Rishikesh - a Lonely Planet day           Oct. 28, 2011

Just 2 days in Rishikesh and I'm getting a good feel of this place the Beatles help popularize with their ashram stay in the 60's.  I made it to B.Rudra's yoga class with Alsa this morning.  Afterwards, we went for some delicious lassi up the river bank with one of his indian students and the other European gal. Both Alsa and I needed a nap afterwards, so we headed back to our hotels on High Bank.  The 3 Yog-Ganga ladies arrived in the afternoon, at which time I'd made it to Omkarananda Ganga Sadan, where Usha Devi teaches Iyengar yoga.  I imagine because she's mentioned in Lonely Planet and numerous websites, her classes fill up quickly, packing in 50 students in a studio smaller than Yog-Ganga.  I'm hesitating about taking the Intensive Course here due to all the hype in a sardine packed studio, but pay my 500rupees deposit anyway to be on the waiting list for the next one that starts shortly after my ayurvedic course ends at Yog-Ganga late November.  Besides, this is one of the teachers recommended by Darren Main, my main teacher at Yoga Tree in San Francisco. I am however, beginning to see that Darren may have just mentioned these few ashrams on his website as they are the  "safer bets" than the myriad of others dotting the raging river.  My views and understanding of the yoga world is definitely finding some new grounds

(feeling pensive in the water taxi crossing the Ganges; Ram Jhula bridge in the background with ashrams and temples lining the riverbank.)

After Usha's, I didn't have to go far searching for Madras Cafe, also noted in LonelyPlanet. I'm always a little hesitant of following recommendations of such guidebooks as they are often quite subjective,  limiting and limited to the writer's experience.  In such a tourist haven town, I'm thinking it's actually best to discover your own finds, or from other traveler's feedback.  My hotel is a case in point, Swiss Bhandari Cottage, another Lonely Planet recommendation who absolutely jacks up their prices due to their popularity.  However, one of my fellow yoga students at Yog-Ganga, a frequent visitor to Dehradun and Rishikesh had also suggested this hotel. Plus, my Londoner housemates had stayed here during our 2 day break at Yog-Ganga.  Tonight, I visited a few other hotels on High Bank, all within very short walking distance and will be moving to Green Valley Cottage where the 3 Yog-Ganga gals have put up and coincidentally where Alsa is also staying.  At 300rupees/night, it's 150 less than what I'm paying at Swiss Bhandhari, with three degrees nicer looking rooms.  That's a whopping US$3 in savings.  But, what the hey!  Hopefully, Green Valley will have warm water as the housekeeper promised!

Ah, Madras Cafe turned out just an OK restaurant after all.  I probably should've gone to the one Kathy recommended instead, but was hankering for dosa, which I didn't see on the menu of Flavors.  Incidentally, I'm sitting in Oasis Restaurant, another LonelyPlanet find which adjoins the New Swiss Bhandari Cottage.  The vegetable noodle soup I just slurped up was actually quite tasty!

Earlier this evening, I'd managed to meet up with Alsa at SwargAshram area to witness the Ganga aarti (puja) at Parmath Niketan, the largest ashram in Rishikesh, with a thousand rooms, if you please.  It is quite a spectacle of an event.  And yes, this too, is cited in Lonely Planet!  Rishikesh, feels like Las Vegas, except dotted with ashrams/temples instead of casinos, and contrasted with a holy raging river instead of the arid landscape.   While it was yoga that got me interested in spending a few weeks in India here, I'm not so sure this is quite the best place to actually immerse oneself in yoga.  The thousands of tourist who flock here mostly just want a taste of yoga it seems, while many of the younger crowds are merely looking for a cheap holiday with apparently good hash to be had.  I feel quite fortunate for having gone with my instinct of attending the courses at Yog-Ganga in Dehradun instead.  For the serious practitioner, there's always the Iyengar Institute down south in Pune, and Ashtanga Institute in Mysore... but both come with reservations of exclusivity in style, with difficult and lengthy admission processes.  I'm thinking I shall head home to wherever I call home next sooner than later!

(I believe clicking on the pictures will enlarge them!)


My favorite quote/prayer I've seen, found at Madras Cafe.  I think it will be lovely to say/think this in giving thanks before every meal, like saying grace the way Christians do before meals.

Yoga in Rajpur, Dehradun

Friday, October 7th, 2011  - Rajpur, Dehradun, Uttarakhand, Northern India.

Yog-Ganga studio

I am in yoga heaven!  It's day 2 of my 3 week yoga course here in this quaint town.  I chanced upon this yoga center while researching for a place during my stay at the hospital in Delhi.  The main factor capturing my interest in this center is the Indian couple who run it with the occasional help of their two sons.  I'd never heard of them nor the center (or anything else about this area) before, but liked the warmth they exuded over the web, if any can ever be imagined!  Luck would have it that I arrived at the place I'm meant to be.

Just rewinding to my last day in Delhi where I attempted to buy a railway ticket... the autorickshaw I chose outside my hotel in Karol Bagh (oh yes, that's another story from when I left the hospital!) at first agreed to take me to the railway station, but halfway through started talking about some tour agency.  This is when I repeated myself about 10 times that I didn't want to go to any such agency, and yet this man took me to one!  The agent I spoke with eventually got that I wasn't about to buy anything from them, pointed me to some other place for a bus ticket instead as apparently, all railway tickets to Dehradun were sold out for the next 6 days.  I later learn that the Indian government actually releases a quota of tickets for foreigners and that one can buy a ticket directly from the railway station. After unsuccessfully trying to buy a bus ticket, I hopped into a tiny internet shop to ask for directions and instead bought some "cash on credit" delivered to my mobile.  I try to get another rickshaw back to my hotel, only to be quoted what I knew then to be exorbitant prices, so instead I tried to walk home, until I realized it was going to be one, long, hot and dusty one!  Thankfully, I'd taken the metro just days before and jumped on one back to the hotel instead.  My first few attempts at using this cash-credit on mobile were futile and I figured I'd again been bamboozled.  But I eventually managed to buy a bus ticket to Dehradun that left that night. Thankfully, the hotel Marketing Manager who'd been helping me around town escorted me to the bus pick up point, which was another wild goose chase.  The 11 hour bus ride to Dehradun deserves another write-up, but save for an already verbose posting, I will just have to say that I lucked out yet again meeting a wonderful Nepalese man on his way to visit his daughter at a private high school near Dehradun.  He saw to my safe arrival at the yoga center I am now.

[Jai from the hotel in Karol Bagh and me having a gujerati dinner.]

My state of Delhi suspicion left very quickly within hours at Yog-Ganga after meeting George, a canadian retiree who'd been coming here regularly for a decade or so.  I got to learn some bit of the ropes around this little town from George as we headed out for chai with his taxi-driver friend, Prem, a jovial local that I've also gotten to know.  Since class orientation, I've gotten to know several other students, many who are returning ones, hailing from England, some from Australia and the remaining 30 from just about everywhere else.  My house mates, Marion, originally from the US, and Sylvie, originally from France, both come from London.  We've had some good debates on yoga styles already, and I'm looking forward to many more such conversations with these 2 seasoned practitioners.  It turns out I am the only east asian person in class.  But I've also figured out why many chinese don't or can't possibly get into yoga!  It's aparigraha!  A tenet that simply means, non-hoarding.  Enough said, methinks...

Abilasha, the cottage I'm staying at for the next 3 weeks!  Prakriti, the 12 year old grand-daughter of Abilasha's care-taker, our much needed and appreciated translator.

my walk to Rajpur bazaar

The town of Rajpur by Dehradun is quite like my grandma's old neighborhood back in Penang, with cows milling around, monkeys jumping around not too far off trees, and of course, cow dung everywhere.  That may be the state for most of India...I'm not sure, but the lack of mad traffic up here 1,000ft above sea level is a much welcomed respite for me.  It's a 5 minute walk to the town area of Rajpur where I can get most of the amenities I'm looking for, though I'm living on bare necessities these days. The cute cottage I have all to myself actually seems a mansion compared to my apartment in San Francisco and a wonderful contrast to what I went through the last 2 weeks in India.  The wonderful vegetarian dishes cooked up by Prakriti's grandmother is deeelish from the pale food I had in Srinagar. I am considering taking another session of yoga here that incorporates an ayurvedic element next month.  Adieu!

Paranoia in Srinagar, Kashmir

Oct. 1, 2011 Saturday~

It's my 11th day in India. I'm now sitting in a very modern bakery/cafe near the East West Medical Center in New Delhi with Coldplay stirring out their infamous depressing melodies in the background. Seems a bit surreal that all the mishap and drama just occurred a few days ago, in the remote town of Srinagar that is heavily policed in the state of Kashmir, which is highly advised against visiting in guidebooks and websites of departments of tourism, specifically for the US, New Zealand and Australia! Never mind the Canadians or Brits, I guess...

Back on my first day in PaharGanj, a backpacker's enclave in New Delhi, I was quite bewildered with the noise, traffic, dirt, dust and people. Even though many had warned me, I didn't think it would blind sight me enough to sign up on the first tour package that saw me out of there! I suppose on hindsight, a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car really doesn't know what's coming or is too frozen in fear to react. In my case, and apparently that of countless tourists, the promise of a serene atmosphere and some quiet reprieve hooks us in to pay exhorbitant amounts for a ticket out. I had only been planning to stay in Delhi for 2 nights after all. My own fear was compounded by warnings from friends and family about getting swindled or god forbid, even worse. It wasn't just the atmosphere that got to me but the bit I'd been reading and warned about that pushed my standard tourist vigilance into just plain paranoia over the next few days.

Kashmir, for those not familiar, is a predominantly Muslim state that borders Pakistan. Quran prayers are blasted throughout the dusty town. The lone two year old movie theatre I walked by had recently been shut down by the government of Srinagar as it was touted to detract from the faith of its citizens. Civil war, the cause of tourist heeds comes from disputes between the Muslims and Hindus. By the time I'd reached Srinagar, I couldn't have cared less about being bamboozled off US$400. It was my safety, my life I began fearing for. Neither the sim card I'd gotten in Delhi nor my international sim card from UK worked, and there sure as heck was no internet on the houseboat I stayed at. The tour package I'd been bamboozled into buying didn't even include a return ticket to Delhi or anywhere for that matter. Omer, aka Mickey, my tour agent at the India Tourist & Information Center on Punchkuin Road had promised I'd like it so much in Srinagar I'd probably want to stay longer or even attend his sister's wedding. Yes, I believed him. It didn't help that the hotel managers in Delhi during my first night in Delhi kept urging me from going to Kashmir. They went on about how the Kashmiri's were known to lure ignorant tourists to their "family's house boat" only to further trick them into paying for more things...or later in my case, a ticket out, I thought... And yes, yet I went . As much as I tried tuning in to my inner voice to figure out what to do, the overwhelming noise outside my hotel was just over powering. In the end, I relied on my trust in the tour agent and from his willingness to answer every single one of my suspicious questioning.

My first three days in Srinagar were frought with the beguiling behavior of the houseboat owner, Mr. Fayaz Boktoo, who turned out to genuinely be the father of Omer, who'd said he was coming to Srinagar on the 27th. Over time, I was definitely more assured of my safety after reading my ebook copy of the Lonely Planet that political strife aside, Kashmir, and particularly Srinagar, is one of the safest towns for toutists in all of India. And after meeting two young Belgian female tourists who'd gone there on their own accord, as opposed to the other tourists I'd met till then, I felt quite comfortable heading out to town in Srinagar alone -- army personnel, Formula-1 rickshaws, goats and all!

The third female tourist, Yifat from Isreal, had been thrown onto the house boat as on her third day, she wanted to get out of her travel package from the same agency that was suppose to be a ten day cheauffered tour of a few places around Uttarakhand and Rajastan, northern states in India. At 28 and never having travelled on her own before, she'd been feeling too isolated and wanted to meet more fellow tourists. She arrived on the house boat feeling even more fearful than I'd had been. So, I took it upon myself to calm her nerves as I'd just gone through all that! When it became apparent that she too had been bamboozled, and not only for hundreds of dollars, but two thousand, we began scheming a plan to get her money back some how. At this point, Mr. Fayaz and his houseman, Gulzar, were still treating us with unexplainable behavior. I was still not "allowed" to dine with the girls unless one of us insisted on it. And at any point, they tried keeping us all separated. So, when the opportunity arose for us all to go an a shikara boat ride around the lakes of Srinagar, I literally jumped on it!

The next day, Yifat, still feeling like she needed to escape, and I decided to head into town to research ways we could. I was torn with going on a hike with Stephanie and Audrey but had decided to stick with Yifat since I too hadn't been sure what my next destination was. Omer was suppose to arrive in Srinagar that day, but I wasn't about to rely on him anymore! So Yifat and I spent the whole afternoon researching plans to get some of her money back or our course of action otherwise. We even went to the Srinagar tourism police to learn about our rights! There and at travel information agencies, I often had to speak for both of us as Yifat sometimes had a hard time understanding their English, and vice-versa. Navigating the town was all a learning experience for me, not only from the standpoint of being in unfamiliar territories, but with the Indian ways of communicating and doing business. In India.

With armsful of information, Yifat and I headed back to the houseboat, a bit nervous about the ensuing confrontation assuming Omer is actually there. Hailing a shikara, I knew by then to bargain...which I'd probably gotten overzealous with the whole day in town, turning down tuk-tuks charging 40 rupees! As we unboarded the shikara at our house boat, I see the front doors, which had only been the back door for me until then, were shut and so I urged Yifat to enter by the side entrance, what had been my primary way of getting in all along and that I could see was open. One has to walk along a wide plank to get in this side door, which I later learn is the kitchen entrance, and then step over the side of the boat about 2 feet to get inside. Yifat steps over the side, and promptly disappears into the ground, to the bottom of the boat! Wrought with confusion and anxiety, I quickly get inside to help Yifat out. A board plank had been removed from the boat floor and the hall way was dark. Yifat, thankfully is actually on her feet though at the bottom of the boat, with the floor at about chest high.

As I tried to figure out how to get her out, my heart pounding, she cried out in pain that she couldn't move her right arm. I knew enough not to try picking her or her arm up. Gulzar shows up and I question him about the floor board. He'd been working on the inside of the boat and hadn't realized when we'd be back. Stephanie and Audrey arrive soon after from their hike with Tiger, the guide who'd escorted us the day before on the shikara trip. All of us are up in arms trying to get Yifat out without further injuring her. The fiasco continues with transporting her to a hospital, first on a small rickety boat to shore, then sitting in a tuk-tuk waiting for the car. No ambulance was called for whatever reason, and I'm about to scream bloody murder. We end up waiting for another 20 minutes or so before Omer shows up with the car to pick us up. I wasn't sure if I wanted to choke him or just be thankful he finally showed up, and that he was true to his word about being in Srinagar after all!

In Indian posse style, Omer's mom and Tiger comes along a 45 minute ride in the compact car to the Srinagar Government Bone & Joint Hospital, with Omer navigating bumpy roads, avoiding auto rickshaws, cows, goats, cars, pedestrians, buses, dogs, potholes and what have you! All the while, the three Kashmiris are talking in their language about who knows what. I'm thinking perhaps Omer doesn't really know the way and Tiger is giving directions. And I'm trying to calm Yifat down while inside I was about to explode. We get to the public hospital which is filthy and quite busy. I'm surprised we actually get seen by the doctor within a half hour, who orders an xray of course. The posse moves Yifat to the xray lab where all of us are helping her get on the table with two other unidentified men around. The x-ray technician proceeds to start the process, at which time I bolt out of the room while most of the posse mill around.

As Omer comes out alone, I start yelling at him in as low a voice as I can keep when yelling in a hospital. He gets equally upset at my accusations at which time some old man tries to intervene. I yell at this old man who strangely looks familiar that I didn't want to talk to him not knowing who he was. Just then, Yifat and posse come back out from the x-ray room, and we all hush down. It then suddenly dawn on me the old man is Omer's grandfather I'd met when Mr. Fayaz had taken me to his house to ask me to keep a secret from the other tourists! I go over to apologize and he kindly nods. Within 15-20minutes, the technician comes out with the two x-rays, which are passed around for everyone to examine before Omer personally takes them downstairs to the doctor on call, with everyone in tow.

There is more waiting around before the doctor gets to see Yifat's x-rays and asks for a cast to be put on. But before that her arm needs to be bandaged with a sling. We are shown an empty filthy bed in a wing full of decrepit, destitute people with army guards slinging their guns waiting around. Yifat stops short and tries turning around to probably run away, but then realizes she has no option. As we wait by her bed, some guy shows up to bandage her arm and Omer and I have to put on the oversized sling on Yifat ourselves. The patient in the next bed looked like he'd gotten his hands and the side of his head almost blown off. We try not to knock on his bed as we help Yifat. At one point when Yifat has had enough and tries getting away, the nurse comes by to pull out her i.v. leaving the needle dripping on the floor, making more of a mess. It finally occurred to me to tighten the knob of the i.v. tube. We end up waiting an hour or two before she's called to get the plaster cast put on. While waiting, Omer and I talk in a more calm manner over the crazed situation the last few days, resulting in Yifat's accident. We get to go home once Yifat comes out with her cast and the doctor signs her release form.

When we leave the hospital, it becomes apparent to me that Omer is driving slowly, waiting for his grandfather. I inquire on the situation and learn that his grandfather has poor eyesight. So, he's leading the way for him. As we get out of the hospital, we are almost run over by a truck as now the two cars are moving rather slowly. Grandfather's car is also packed with people and so I ask Omer again. Ah. He likes to give rides to anyone who needs it if he can wherever he goes. I asked several times to drive them home and Omer responds that his grandfather has been doing this for years, not letting anyone else drive his car. Did I think he was about to let me?

The next morning, after phone calls to Yifat's insurance company and discussions amongst Omer, Yifat and me, I decided to accompany Yifat back to New Delhi as she'd been so freaked out with her vacation thus far. I felt compelled to stick with her as I felt partially responsible for her situation and also simply sympathetic that she'd have to travel alone with a broken arm back to Delhi. The journey to get her once again from the house boat to this hospital deserves another chapter! I literally bought our plane tickets 2.25 hours before the flight at the same Internet cafe we'd been researching at the day before. Mr. Boktoo, now a completely changed man, was incredibly sympathetic and the whole family had done what they could to get Yifat taken care of. My madness however continues in Delhi where Omer's colleague, Riyaz, whom Omer had sent to help us around town, befriends me, and spills the beans on the tour agency and wants me to get into a tour guide business with him! I am just glad Yifat's surgery was successful and I'm ready to head out of town! It is Mahatma Ghandi's and Cindy cici's birthday tomorrow...my two favorite people!

A walk in Srinagar to Delhi hospital

The pictures below are from the walk I took with Gulzar my second day in Srinagar. The gentleman on the upper right specifically requested for his picture to be taken. Often, there are men riding atop the buses. It is quite peculiar to be walking on the streets with mountain goats being herded along with the mad traffic, though a bit less congested than in New Delhi. I only realized halfway along the stamping process that I was getting a cheapy mendi which left a bit of skin scorched from the ink. It was all quite a mind blowing afternoon, but nothing quite like what was to come the next few days.

September 29th, 2011

I am now actually back in New Delhi, at the East West Medical Center where I'm staying with a fellow travelerr from Israel, Yifat, who unfortunately broke her arm as we were walking in to the house boat in Srinagar.  Gulzar had left a floor board by the side entrance wide open, and Yifat who was walking right in front of me, stepped into the dark hallway and fell 6 feet into the bottom of the boat.    It's all been like a movie from that accident 2 days ago (or maybe even from when I first arrived in India 8 days ago) to this moment in this New Delhi hospital.  I will write up a more detailed account later as I'm too tired but wanted to post some of these things up.  Yifat and I had been researching and coming up with plans to get out of Srinagar that day; we couldn't have ever imagined it would be this way...so, I decided to fly back with Yifat as this is her first time travelling alone and has been quite freaked out with her whole trip. The whole week has certainly been an experiment (or test) on living a yogic life.  

Trapped in a Srinagar house boat

September 23, 2011 (this blog was written after 'Delhi Madness' but I made changes that caused it to show up later and don't know how to move it back!)

I made it safely here to the house boat of Mr. Fayez Boktoo in Srinaga.  And that is only the start of my troubles!  Since arriving at the house boat, I've been feeling like my every move is being watched and monitored.  I'm "allocated" some nap time after a lunch of Maggi mee (noodles) - believe it or not!  Then Gurzal, the oarsman, comes to my door announcing my presence is requested by Mr. Fayaz.  Upon finding Mr. Fayaz, he casually prompts me to sit and hang out on the kitchen floor while his eldest daughter is getting her hair oiled by the visiting mumfiz.  We're making the most far out chit chat...and I'm mostly observing in blaring amusement at this whole situation while trying to figure out what to do.  Not wanting to just sit on the kitchen floor for hours, I asked to head back to my room so I could clip my finger nails, only to be questioned why I needed to do so.  Mr. Fayaz then escorts me back to the room to get my nail clipper so I can clip them at the front side of the house.  At this point, I'm suspecting they are keeping me away from the young foreign couple I'd seen walk into their room next to mine earlier.  After clipping my nails onto a notebook given by Gurzal, I asked to take a shower.  Again, the same fan fare of an escort.  However, I have to take a bath in the main house as the adjoining shower in my room only provides a cold shower.  

After my "bath" I am happy to go with Gurzal on the little rickety boat rowing around the lake to civilization.  We end up at Nurul Park.  Gurzal is quite happy to be chatting with me in English and seems to have taken a liking to me.  I'm quick to tell everyone about my boyfriend, which I think I should elevate to label of husband very soon, save for not having a ring on me.  I feel more open with Gurzal as he doesn't seem to be trying to hide anything.  He advices me not to buy anything from anyone as I'll just get swindled.  When I asked to buy water, he proceeds to get it for me as I will otherwise be charged more.  He comes back with two big bottles, and tells me he'll return my change later.  I'd given him 100 rupees (about US$2.20) - perhaps these are his actions that tell me his trustworthiness.  We end up buying some potato chips later with the 20 rupees!  I have some fun on the boat by getting to paddle around for a bit.  When we return to the house boat, which I'm suspecting, aren't really even boats, Gurzal never even tries asking for a tip.  He might be my best ally here.

I was shown the family room where I finally meet Mr. Fayaz's wife.  I sit watching her mend some clothing while waiting for dinner to be brought to me.  An elder woman is sitting next to Mrs. Fayaz the entire evening who I do not exchange a single word with nor do I still have a clue who she is.  A relative for sure.  Eventually, I excuse myself to head to bed where I sneak off to meet the young couple from France, who turns out, have been bamboozled into the same house boat trip!  Just like me and Ruben Nagore, from Spain.  

Julien Haran and Auxelie Charazac are young recent college graduates looking to travel through India for 3 months.  Their stories match those of mine and Ruben. It's funny how we all got trapped in the same manner.  We've all just arrived in New Delhi and being overwhelmed with the sights and sound, are taken by a prepaid tuk tuk driver to "India Travel & Information Center" where we're sold this vacation package to a houseboat in Srinagar. Omer Batook, the sales rep, is the son of Mr. Batook, house boat owner.  Get the picture now?  Omer even invites us all to his sister's wedding coming up in early October.  Wanting to escape New Delhi, we all are glad to sign on for something that's going to take us out.  And for that, we're all now on these house boats!  Julien and I figured that at least, we do have some clean air and quiet down time.  But the whole operation certainly is beguiling and they make it difficult for us to get off the boat sooner.  

While my hotel manager in New Delhi had tried warning me to avoid coming here, I think they over did it by scaring me even more and leaving me unsure who to actually trust.  All in all, there are some truths in what they admonished, but thankfully not to the degree they stressed. The same goes for the whole sheistering travel agency.  There is some truth to what Omer has sold me on, but equally as many lies.  I'm not sure why these folks don't just come clean instead.  I'd have been happy to come here anyway just to get some fresh mountain air!  Ah, but perhaps would not have spent US$420.  Hence, the bamboozling.  Underneath it all, it doesn't seem these folks are evil crooks.  They are mostly petty thefts, trying to make a living in this impoverished area.  My plan now is to hunt down Ruben so we can escape this town together!  I don't have any problems staying here a few more days, but just want to make sure I get going sooner than later!

shikara'ing in Srinaga

Monday. September 26th, 2011

What an absolute difference my 6th day in India has been than my first. At the spur of the moment after breakfast this morning, I decided to go for a shikara (think Kashmiri gondola) ride with the three tourists who arrived at the boat house yesterday. Two Belgian gals, an Israelite and me. I figured being with these gals would be a better experience than trying to secretly plan my way out of Srinaga alone. What a beautiful day it turned out to be. We sailed to an island-park in the middle of the lake, then to a mosque and had lunch in town. We even got to spend 20 minutes at the internet cafe and I got to buy some basic amenities (laundry detergent bar and lighter) learning then how much Gulzar had been syphoning off me; 100rupees for a roll of toilet paper, 300 rps for a bottle of beer, 80 rupees for 2 bottles of water -- the total of which should have been just around 180 rupees. (100 rupees = US$2.20) While this is all chump change, it ergs me that Gulzara has been pocketing all this under the guise of being a friend. I've not soon enough learned how these folks are so quick to make money off unsuspecting tourists, no matter who, no matter the amount.

Anyhow, I finally got to have dinner with the gals tonight in the formal dining room. I'm not sure why I've had to have my meals on the kitchen floor until now, but am taking it stride and not letting these small things bother me. It's all been such a crazy opportunity to learn, not only about this culture, but about myself and how I'm reacting to each situation. Every moment seems to leave me pondering how I can be with each in the most yogic manner I know how. Speaking of which, I taught my first yoga session in India tonight, an hour after dinner! All three gals were interested in it and so I took them through surya namaskar and a few other poses ending with a brief seated meditation. It was lovely for me!

Ah, I think the most profound moment today was when Stephanie asked what my religion is or what I believe in to which I replied my take on God and the universe, that all Gods are one. She immediately responded how wonderful it would be if more people shared my religious view that there would probably be less war. I am happy to give thanks in a church, temple, yoga studio or just in my heart. And I am so very glad to have moved past my paranoia of being in India!

FACING FEAR & PARANOIA in India
I seriously don't think I've ever been more afraid for my life than my first few days in India. While researching online for vaccinations for travelers, I'd constantly come across warnings that highly adviced against coming to the state of Jammu & Kashmir because of the civil war outbreaks. Lonely Planet guide suggested checking on the political situation first. I had not had any interest either since there was no yoga studios to be found here. The hotel managers in New Delhi scared me shitless to the beguiling tactics of the Kashmiris, telling me I should threaten the travel agent who'd signed me up for this trip by reporting them to the tourist police if they would not return my money for canceling out. All the warnings of friends and family kept booming out in my mind...It's not a good idea to go to India without a set travel plan; it's one thing to get cheated off my money but there are worse things that could happen; friends of a friend who'd gone trekking around the Pakistan border (where J&K is) were never to be found again. Up till yesterday, thoughts of the house boat owner, Mr. Boktoo, trying to kidnap me or steal all my valuables (not that I had much aside from this iPad and my passport) were still popping up in my head. Mr. Boktoo's secretive disposition didn't help my suspicions. When last night, after another failed attempt to sell me on an excursion, he pulled me aside, actually, to his father-in-law's house where a huge wedding banquet was taking place, to ask me a favor as to not let on the new traveler about my plans so that he could make some money off her, I couldn't have been more relieved. Yes, not for the sake of Yifat, the Israeli gal, who was scared shitless as it was, but for the fact that I finally understood their bizarre unexplainable behaviour! Oh, you mean you've not just been trying to trap me into staying in this god forsaken land forever and paying an arm and a leg, literally, for it? Grrrreat!!!!

Now, the circumstance has left me pondering how and what I had to do, not only for myself, but for Yifat. While I felt sad for these folks who somehow had such a need to take advantage of new tourists to their ancient lands, my sympathy in the end landed with Yifat, the innocent one who got bamboozled 5 times what I had. Nevertheless, I still feel sorry for this community. On the front, they seemed like such good, kind people. And in some instance, they have extended their version of warmth & hospitality. Had I been presented with the plight of this area in a more positive manner (it is quite a beautiful place actually) I may have been happily signing up to visit and more freely spending some money on excursions or purchasing souvenirs. I'd been planning to handsomely tip Gurzal upon my departure anyways. Ah, maybe I will still leave something. But I've been so trapped and turned off with their underhanded ways of going about business, I think I'll be happy to leave. Srinaga, however, has been one big yoga learning opportunity.

Day 2 in Kashmir

September 24th, 2011

I survived my first full day in Srinaga! Got up around 9:30, practiced an hour of yoga with a little bit of mediation and got Gulzar to fetch me a bucket of hot water for a bath. It was awesome! I had to get a bit creative with the pail of water as it was filled almost to the brim. So I used 2 small containers to inter weave filling half cups of cold water with the hot water to splash myself with, one at a time! Tomorrow, I'll have to remember to ask Gulzar to just fill 3 quarters of the bucket! It's a pretty bare bones way of life. These are times I am thankful I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth.

Mr. Baktook continues his insistence that I go on a trek or take the jeep to Leh, part of all the sales package that the french couple was subjected to I suppose. I tell him that I want to meet a friend (Ruben from Spain) at Cafe Robusta, and he eventually takes me there, with Gulzar as my escort, whom I was happy to have tag along. Even though I was disappointed Ruben was nowhere to be seen, I had a very nice walk around town towards the Shrine, or Masjid...I am not sure exactly which. Today, I'm a bit more comfortable looking like a tourist, maybe because Gulzar is with me. I don't think I've seen any asians around here, much less a lone female traveler. And it's quite obvious none of these Srinagans have before either! Or perhaps not in a long time.

Gulzar doesn't ask for a tip but asks if I want to share a beer tonight, which of course I'm buying. I gave him the money for it as he's been absolutely great to have around. I'm not sure I'd have ventured out by myself if not for him! I'm still contemplating how my exit out of Srinaga will be. Not counting tonight, I'll have 5 more nights here. I'm not sure I can last that long, largely due to the poor quality of food. Even though my fear of being kidnapped or being stripped clean of all my belongings are dissipating, I mostly just want to hang around the room so I can do my yoga, read and write. The fact that I don't have any cell phone reception in this region of India that tourists are highly adviced against visiting is what's freaking me out quite a bit. Thankfully, Mr. Bahtook took me to a travel agent friend who let me use his computer for about 15-20 minutes while both men just waited around for me to finish.

Late afternoon, Mr. Bahtook proceeds to drive me over to another "friend's" house to discuss an expedition for my remaining time in Kashmir. He drives through the same part of town Gulzar and I had been walking around, and then through some residential area with high walls encircling properties, which he touts as the rich area. My limited experience being in a muslim state brings forth imagery of Afghanistan I've seen on TV, especially when several bearded men walk out from one of the doors of these walls with traditional white muslim outfits and caps. But I retain my cool. Between my sad state of stereotyping and the less mad than Delhi traffic, my heart is still beating a pitter-patter that will probably register unhealthy on an electrocardiograph. I've spotted a handful of caucasian tourist who've become my points of confidence building. I figured between them and me, they're likely to get kidnapped first!

Dinner is rice and a vegetable curry that I eat heartily. This time, I escape to my room as quickly and quietly as I can, while no one is around me! I'm not sure why I feel obligated to to do any particular thing around the house. Perhaps because everything is so foreign to me. So I'm being watchful about what I say or do, lest they start yelling at me in the high intensity tone they seem to engage in conversation often. Gulzar has brought me an extra blanket and we sat chatting about life and relationships over the one bottle of beer. I know I will sleep well tonight!

Delhi madness

September 22, 2011 All I could recall from my brief readings in the last weeks of the 2.5 inch thick Lonely Planet guide to India was how one is going to get bamboozled, and to not head up to Jammu & Kashmir region. What did I do my first night in India? Sign up for a 1 week stay on a boat house in Kashmir! I've attempted twice now to obtain a refund for signing away US$440, but have somehow lost that piss 'n vinegar in me to argue for it. After all, it is not that high a price I suppose. Yes, way more than what it should actually cost I'm sure. But we're not talking thousands of dollars here. (And that's exactly what the tour guide operators feast on!) I don't think I've ever been this paranoid when in a strange land before. But I realize much of the fear comes from feedback from many friends and relatives about visiting India, and even Russell Peters, the indian comedian. It got to the point where I was wondering if I should even gargle with the tap water after brushing my teeth lest I contract malaria.

The traffic in New Delhi beats any adrenaline rush I've ever felt from roller coaster rides. Or rather minuscule heart attacks. Cows, bullock carts, wheelchair bound folks, tuk tuks, scooters, rickshaws all trying to cross a major intersection while cars honk on every half a minute for all the others to get out of the way! And then, there are the desolate beggars knocking on your car window asking for food while they tote their babies through traffic. Twice I've wondered if my cab driver was going to ensue in road rage. And funny enough, as I write this on my second night in New Delhi, I'm strangely getting used to the humdrum of life outside the hotel. I just have to remember not to sit in the front seat of the cabs.

Tomorrow morning, I am heading to Srinaga, to the house boat on a lake up north. I finally resigned to the idea of spending more than I'd intended (and being had) for the sake of not being kidnapped and held for ransome after a fellow traveller, Reuben, and I discussed thoroughly our stake. Or fate. Funny how when one is about to potentially befall danger, company is equally welcomed. I must say I'd never been so happy to see a hippie looking caucasian. The Japanese tourists I tried to corner earlier could barely understand English!

I realize I just have to learn to stop smiling less, which has become a semi-permanent etch on my face. Just in India. Or maybe just in New Delhi. The sim card seller called three times before I finally realized he was asking me out. The tour agency guys keep telling me I have a nice smile...never mind a gullible face! Wish me much luck and good karma on the lake! ~m.`

Oh, Bali

Oh, Bali



 My week in Bali just did not quite start off as I'd hoped, what with a fever that rendered me sleepless the first night and weakened me for a good two days.  However, Rumah Bali, where we stayed in Tanjung Benoa was the perfect place to spend any such time!  It was simply beautiful, in typical Balinese architecture and surroundings, with a great staff to boot.  Unfortunately, because of the state I was in, I didn't take a single picture!

As I got well, it was time to head over to Ubud, where these photos are from.   I tried hunting down one of my favorite San Francisco yoga teachers, Les Levanthal, who happened to be leading a retreat at Michael Franti's new villa not too far off from town.  Heading out on a scooter, with Pikachou riding pillion, we ended up in circles trying to locate the villa.  All's not lost!  We did get some good sight seeing, shopping and eating done around Monkey Forest Road of course.

 This photo at the bottom, alas, wasn't where we stayed...but is the potential premise of my very own hopeful yoga retreat, perhaps next August!

 

Touring Italy tips

Touring Rome
I haven't been keeping notes on tourist tips, but am going to for Rome (and Italy in general) as it is certainly a city that beckons many returns! Perhaps if time permits, I will do the same for a few other cities I've visited since there are some I definitely hope to bring groups back to, if that opportunity ever comes to fruition!

Rome
Train, subways 'n whatnot
Traveling within Italy is absolutely possible and fairly economical with Trenitalia. Note that I didn't say easy, as that would be stretching it if one does not speak Italian. I don't, and I managed...with only two missed trains in all entirely due to passenger error. Mei Li and I had decided to buy tickets as we go along. This allowed a better sense of going with the flow and not just constantly having to keep to a schedule. However, if that is your style, by all means purchase the tickets online at www.trenitalia.it directly, or all of them when you get to the first station! You will still probably need to print the tickets when you get to the station if you bought online. Prices stay pretty standard with no obvious advantage for purchasing ahead of time as far as cost or seat reservation goes. Trains in Italy seem to run on a fairly regular schedule, especially to the major cities. Make sure to validate your ticket though at the small yellow boxes sprinkled throughout the station, else it's a $50 fine, unless you have sweet innocent faces like MeiLi and I do and can get away with shite like that!  :) Note that when I travelled from Zurich to Venice, I had to get the ticket from Zurich. The one I'd bought on trenitalia's website had to be voided.  And I would just entirely avoid RailEurope.com as they serve as a middle man.  Their packaged deals might come in handy if you plan to travel through several countries for more than a month.  From the Rome-Fiumicino airport, there is a direct metro line that goes into the central train station for 14euros.

Within Rome, getting around on the Metro is super easy.  Keep in mind though that it doesn't go toward the "historical city centre" where most of the tourist attractions are (such as the Spanish steps, Trevi Fountain, etc.)  So, I highly recommend getting to know the bus routes unless you just plan on walking your feet off!  (Or can afford taxis.)

Where to stay?
Our first apartment was near Piazza Grillo, at a place I'd secured through AirBnB.com with Lorenzo called Anna Home for €90/night. The place was tiny, but had a miniature kitchenette. Though redundant, "miniature" is apropos. This is about a 7 minute walk to the Cavour metro station. Due to the cobblestoned roads, we decided to get a cab to our next BnB, for €10.
The next lodging was at elevenrome.com. Also tiny and for the same price, we did not have access to a kitchen (mini or otherwise) nor our own bathroom. Oh, and no ac like Anna Home did even though that stayed at about 18 degrees celcius no matter what the remote control said. However, elevenrome was actually a better location as it sits right by the red line Metro, 3 blocks from the Manzioni station. There is also good and affordable restaurants right on Via Merulana.
On the train to Torino, I learned from fellow travellers from DC that their BnB was excellent at €40 per person, called BnB Cavour. Might be worth researching next time?!
Moving around Rome was made easy with the Metro. The RomaPass is an excellent deal if you decide to visit at least two major attractions like the Colloseum and the National Art Gallery or the Borghese Gallery, which we missed as they only allow a controlled number of visitors each day. So be sure to make your reservation online if you are interested in the Borghese gallery. RomaPass can be purchased at the Termini or certain tabacchi (tobacco shops). At €25, we had unlimited rides on the metro or public buses, and free entrances to two sites, usable over 3 days. There are 5 or 7 day passes as well. See  http://romapass.it/?l=en


Sights to see
Rome is truly the land of art galleries, chiesas and basilicas. However, there are still only a handful not to be missed unless you're an artist or art student, or just crazy into seeing every piece of art at the deluge of seemingly unending list of galleries and have a lot of days here.  And I mean A LOT.
Walking around the Colosseum is just amazing as it all happened in the 500AD or so. That's a really, really long time ago! The area of this mega historical site is huge. It was helpful to go through Rick Steve's self guided tour (reading from his book, or download his free mp3 files:  http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/italy-audio-tours/id272230438) so I would allow easily 3-4hrs for this trip. Even though I'm not a history buff, these are the type of field trips that would have gotten me eating out of my history teachers' hands in grade school...

A day trip to the Vatican city is a must, even if you're atheist.  As Rick Steve's noted, the Cathedral seriously will make you want to be Catholic, even if just for a moment.  It is Spectacular.  My jaw wouldn't close for a while. And I teared up upon walking in with the sun rays shining right in.  It's the most palatial cathedral of cathedrals.  I almost wanted to attend mass.
There are of course endless sights around Rome, so I recommend reviewing the list from either the RomaPass website or general tourist sites like this to get acquainted: http://www.gorome.it/en/  There's just soooo much to see and experience.  So as not to wear yourself out, I'd preview the list and do some preliminary planning by not cramming too much into each day. We were there for 4 nights and could've easily doubled that.  Yes, we'd love to see and do everything Rome has to offer, but if you just try to hit every spot, you'd probably just wear yourself out and not have a chance to savor the experiences...certainly missing the Italian way of life in dolce far niente...

Ciao...n preeeeego!  ~m.