Travel Archives - Page 19 of 39 - Maggie InkMaggie Ink

Living at the ashram

April 5, 2011

I was incredibly nervous before I arrived at Sivananda ashram near Trivandrum, India.

Seriously. The ashram costs just $11 per day, which includes room, board and a full day of yoga, meditation and chanting activities, so I wasn’t expecting much.

I imagined myself sleeping on a bamboo mat in a cockroach-infested shanty, eating gruel and pooping in a hole.

So it was such a pleasant surprise to walk down the cobblestone path and see Lakshmi, the women’s dorm where I would be staying for a week.

There are something like 36 beds per floor, and each one is arranged cubicle-style. Everyone at the ashram also receives sheets, a pillow and a mosquito net.

This was my house.

Some girls were very untidy.

And some were remarkably neat.

Finally, a few others turned the space into something entirely unique — like this mini artist studio.

I’m a sucker for kids everywhere, and I love photographing them as I travel. Unfortunately, I feel incredibly awkward taking a photo of children unless I have permission, so I never end up capturing as many images as I’d like.

Here are just a few of the children I met during my month in India.

This boy approached me in Hampi, asking for a “country coin.” He lucked out. I gave him a U.S. quarter, an Argentinian peso, five Bolivianos and a stack of Ethiopian birr.

These little guys were bored as hell at a parade in Panaji.

Same parade. This kid’s mask creeps me out.

On our ashram field trip to Kanyakumai, a few of us girls found an abandoned school where we could change into our bikinis. One of my friends was standing directly behind me here, trying in vain to shield herself, as these children walked into the room.

Beautiful little boy in Hampi.

These girls are so gorgeous, aren’t they? They were sitting outside of the Monkey Temple in Hampi, looking so peaceful and calm despite the overbearing heat.

Tea party

April 1, 2011

As I walked around Munnar, Kerela, I had to keep reminding myself where I was.

I had already spent a couple weeks in India — long enough to know that this country definitely bucks stereotypes. It’s not all Taj Mahal, Mahatma Gandhi and cows eating rubbish in the streets.

Still, I never expected this.

That’s not the India I imagined!

The hill station mimics the Alps, except with vast tea plantations instead of snow. The squatty tea bushes form electric green cobblestones that pave the slopes of every mountain.

Not only was the countryside lovely, it was downright comfortable. After the relentless heat and choking dust of Hampi, I couldn’t help but settle down in Munnar for a few days of cool relaxation. It was even chilly enough to wear a fleece at night.

I wasn’t the only one enjoying this Irish Springs commercial-come-to-life.

With a lemonade sun in the cloudless sky, I took the local bus up to Top Station — the highest point available by public transport — to see what I could see.

The driver of the bus situated me next to him, perching me on top of the dashboard. I’m certain this isn’t the safest place to ride, but it is arguably the best.

It felt like a 3D flick, no glasses necessary. The windshield was massive, with every motorcycle and wayward rickshaw about to slam right into my face. I loved it, hoisting my hands in the air like I was on a roller coaster, screaming “WOOOO!” around every hairpin curve.

Once the ride ended, I asked the driver what time the bus would be headed back down the mountain.

2:30, he said.

2:30, I confirmed.

When I showed up to the bus stop at 2:15, I realized the driver actually said 2:13. And unfortunately, this was the only timely bus I have encountered during this whole trip.

The bus was gone, and the next one wouldn’t arrive for several hours.

However, the peculiar thing about India is that everything always works out somehow. And so it was with my predicament.

After a few minutes, a car full of guys from Cochin agreed to squeeze me into the backseat and return me safely to Munnar.

As we headed down the mountain, one of the guys turned to me and in his most charming voice said, “Can I offer you a drink?” He proceeded to pull a crystal glass, a liter of Coke and a bottle of Honeybee brandy out from under his seat.

With that unexpected offer, a good day in Munnar just got better.

Jiminy cricket

March 31, 2011

Calcutta stretches her legs slowly this morning.

The city was up well past bedtime last night, crackling and humming long after the win against Pakistan in the ICC Cricket World Cup semifinals.

“It’s a big deal that India won, of course,” said Anubhav, my host in the city. “But it’s a really big deal because we beat Pakistan.” Though sports thrives on rivalry, the long history of division and conflict between the two nations turned this into far more than a routine cricket match.

The explosions began the precise moment India triumphed.

“Come,” said Anubhav. “To the roof!”

With bare feet we hopped up a flight of stairs, entering a rooftop terrace that was littered with paper and plants, parchment-thin leaves and splintered wooden beams. From that vantage point we looked out over a leafy side street populated by wooden stalls and buildings that buckled and heaved with decay.

All of it glowed pink, gold, green and luminous in the fizz and sparkle of fireworks. Each rattle and pop shook the roof, and I jumped up and down in delight.

Fans funneled into the street, chanting the name of their country. “Ind-YAH! Ind-YAH!” A spontaneous parade began with some beating on metal buckets and plastic bins. Taxi drivers flattened palms against their car horns, their vehicles erupting in long, continuous honks.

Many fans draped themselves in enormous Indian flags. As they ran down the roads, bubbling with energy and might, the fabric lifted and snapped in the wind, flowing like Superman’s cape.

To top it all off, a brewing storm ushered in gusts of thunderous wind, bringing cool relief to the sweaty night.

I’m not a sports fan, and I don’t know jack about cricket. But it’s hard to escape the kind of excitement that unfurls with shouts, hugs, cheers and tears.

For a brief moment last night, I didn’t just feel like an Indian cricket fan — I felt like I was a part of India.

The celebration continued through a dark and dreamless night, long into the morning. Now the shouts have calmed slightly, the noise has dimmed. But at every chai stall and bhel puri stand, smiles remain on the faces of every sleepless fan.

A walk to sunshine

March 30, 2011

The wake-up bells rang at 5 a.m., but my eyes were already peeled open. It was my last morning at Sivananda ashram, and I wanted to soak up every last second of the experience.

My bag was already packed. I braided my hair, brushed my teeth and pulled on my Nikes.

Instead of our usual morning satsang — meditation and chanting in the temple — the entire ashram set off on a silent meditative walk through the forest and up a nearby mountain.

The air outside was cool and slithery with mist. It was dark enough for me to use a torch, but peaceful enough that I didn’t want to. Instead, I wanted to pause the moment, doing nothing to disturb the inky, blue-black surroundings.

The suggested method for a meditative walk is supposed to go like this: Take three steps, breathe, three steps, breathe, three steps … all while clearing your mind and focusing on your third eye. But I personalized my walk, sopping up every deep and gentle breath, while running a devotional chant on a loop in my head: Jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha pahimam, sri ganesha sri ganesha sri ganesha rakshaman.

We walked through gentle hills, then finally headed up, up, up the mountain. We arrived at a temple perched precariously on the brim of a craggy, volcanic-looking black rock.

We took off our shoes. And we sat. And we breathed.

This is what we saw.

Morning unfurled purple and pink lashes, batting them with a soft, bright-eyed glow. Finally the sun burst forth, like the host of the world’s greatest surprise party.