Dancing in Delhi

Dancing in Delhi

    I went to Delhi for the weekend as Dr.Vandana Shiva was speaking at a workshop on organic farming. I packed up all of my belongings, said good bye to Parmarth Niketan ashram and caught a government bus from Rishikesh to Delhi. One of the best things I have done since I have been in India is get a local phone!!! It took a lot of work and a couple of tries to get it sorted, but it is so great to have a cell. Especially when you are arriving in a huge city and want to be able to call the one person you know there! I arrived just after sun down, negotiated a rikshaw into the heart of Delhi, and arrived to meet Rachy, a good friend from back home, and the sister of one of my besties Tabitha!
    After dropping my belongings and washing the bus ride off Rachy and I went for a good meal. I had a Mexican dish, yes Mexican in India, doesn’t seem to be right. Then it was time to have a pre-party nap as we were going out to a reggae club. Rachy never ceases to amaze me. For one she always has a smile on her face. Whether she is eating, speaking, dancing, or probably even sleeping, she is smiling. It is wonderful and always brightens me up! Secondly Rachy always knows where the party is at. Whether she is flying into Calgary for the Snowblower show, hitting up Shambhala, or locating the best reggae scene in Delhi, she is on top of it and knows all the right people to enjoy the party with. Furthermore Rachy is an inspiration. Right now she is doing a three week placement at a hospital in Delhi. She is finishing up her fourth year of med school which is an entire year of doing placements at a hospital, or hospitals in Rachy’s case. She is lucky enough to have broken up her placements across the globe. Some of her placements include New Delhi, Churchill, Canmore, and maybe even Nicaragua. So impressive and incredible! I also love the duality that Rachy has. She works hard and knows how to play even harder. Its fabulous!
    Off we went to a reggae club in Haus Khaus. We got right in  because Racy knows everyone. I met a group of friends she has in Delhi. She met them last year when she couch surfed with them here in Delhi. The Dj was great, but a little frustrating as they wouldn’t play a whole song, or a consistent beat, for more than thirty seconds. Challenging for a girl who loves to dance and just wants to let it all out! Because of our pre-party nap Rachy and I got to the club just as the Dj was finishing up. Not a worry; Rachy’s friends had another party lined up; of course. Would I expect any less. We shuffled out to the street to grab some rikshaws. Our very large group jammed into four different riks, four per rik. Most had one person sitting on a lap. In our rikshaw were Christine and Dan, both from Europe and both working in Delhi. The pair, now a couple, met here in Delhi doing the same work exchange. Really lovely people.
    Our entourage of rikshaws scooted through the city. To be perfectly honest it seemed a little surreal, like I was in a movie or something. It actually reminded me of Midnight in Paris, when Owen Wilson gets picked up in the incredibly fancy cab, and takes off in it with a full party of people dressed in their finest, drinking wine and champagne. Indian rikshaws are not the same as a swank car from the twenties, but I am a simple gal and everything is relative.
    We arrived at a venue called The Garden of the Five Senses. The place was a dream. I couldn’t believe that it existed in the middle of dirty Delhi. It was a paradise; manicured lawns, landscaped gardens, flowers everywhere. We were arriving at a graduation party for a local college. Everyone was dressed in their finest clothes, the young women looked so glamorous and modern in their platform heels, and chic evening wear.
    We immediately made friends with one of the girls attending the graduation party. She actually wasn’t graduating but was the date of a guy who was. She was very sweet, from Germany I think. Working in Delhi, for a German company. Very friendly and interested in what Rachy and I were doing in Delhi. She had to run off shortly after chatting but I remember her final comments to Rachy and I “Good luck with your time at the hospital and you," she pointed to me, "come back to Delhi”. I had originally planned on being in Delhi only for the weekend, althpugh stayed for about a weeks' time after her request!

      Ruffus, one of the group from Delhi, took over the Dj booth and put some music on for us to dance to. The girls found a bag of ‘pageant’ banners. Each one with a different title “Miss Best Dressed”, “Miss Dance Queen”, “Mr.Hunk”, etc. The banner I was labeled with was “Miss Decent”, not entirely inappropriate as I didn’t take the time to ‘dress up’ and get ready for a club that night. I just wore the kourta I had traveled in from Rishikesh, so I did look “decent”, modest, and not in the least bit revealing or exposed!
    We danced at The Garden of Five Senses until it grew tired. As it turned out Rachy and I were not in the middle of Delhi, but, well actually I still don’t know where we were but it was very far from anything close by. Despite this we decided to find a way home. Leaving all senses behind, including common, we walked down a deserted road in search of a main one. Accompanied by two young India guys who seemed more bothered by our presence than appreciative we found a main street and a rikshaw to boot. We drove home and froze as Delhi is fairly warm during the day but cools off substantially at night. Plus rikshaws do not have sides to them, so 50km/creates quite the drafty breeze.
    Saturday night was a similar occurrence of events. Delicious dinner, pre-party nap, this night I actually took the time to get ready in ‘going out’ clothes, then we were off. I cannot remember the name of the place we went to but we got right in and drinks were free until 11pm. So we took advantage of that. Up until Delhi I had not been drinking alcohol at all. Before I left for India I had spent six weeks or more or visiting with friends and family where alcohol was commonly available. I figured that I should correct the balance once arriving in India and give it up for awhile. So taking advantage of free alcohol after not drinking it for over a month, not the wisest decision. Hahahaha!
    Needless to say we had a great night! I met new people, I also met the group from the night before and most of them didn’t recognize me, Hahahahha! Apparently I truly was Miss Decent the night before. But tonight I was not, I was probably Miss Dancing Queen. Dance we did. The music was great and it felt so good to shake it all off. I made friends with some local Indian girls before we got on the dance floor. I saw the three of them taking photos and I offered to take a group shot for them. Then I told them a tip that I learned from our dear Kim Kardashian; if you tilt your chin slightly down in photos you wont get a double chin. This group of girls really liked the tip and really liked me as the four of us tore it up all night!! I had so much fun with them!
    I left the floor to take a break and then became known as “Miss Canada”. One of the girls from the dance floor came up to me and complimented my dancing, then asked where I was from. I told her, to which she replied that she had been to Canada and loved it. Another guy overheard me say Brampton, which is where he had lived for awhile. All of a sudden I was surrounded by a GTA collective, right in the heart if Delhi. So cliché but the world is so small.
    When the club died down I opted out of the after party as Dr.Shiva was speaking the next day and I wasn’t going to miss it for the world. Rachy and I parted ways; I went back to the hotel to sleep, and Rachy went to the after party where she feel asleep, was forgotten about, and left behind at a farm house somewhere forty minutes or so outside of the city. I apparently made the right decision.
    Dancing in Delhi was a ball. It some respects it could have been Toronto with the mix of people, the life, the vibrancy, and the buzz that exists there. But it wasn’t. It was New Delhi, India, and a new experience for me. Just fabulous! Thanks Rachy, you are the eternal “Miss Dancing Queen”!
   

Creep Factor

Indian Men

    Many members of my family and my friends were concerned about me traveling alone in India as a SWF (single white female). I was not worried as I have traveled extensively, particularly in Latin America where men are lude and crass and overtly sexual. Beyond this I feel very confident as a woman and as a traveler and don’t feel that I would attract a situation where I may be harassed or assaulted. Even though anything can happen I really wasn’t concerned.
    Now that I have been in India for two months I can understand why everyone has been so concerned. Nothing bad has happened to me but Indian men are insane. I should rephrase that and say ‘most’ Indian men are insane. I am already always watched anywhere I go in India due to the colour of my skin and from simply being a tourist. But the way Indian men look at me, other female tourists, and other women in general is awful. The word my friends and I have chosen is “creepy”. But beyond being creepy it leaves you with a really disgusting feeling. Despite never being touched or having an altercation with a man here in India, you still feel like they somehow got under your skin and it is incredibly unpleasant. The leering, the gesturing, the bonding of Indian guys viewing women is just terrible. Beyond terrible it is really draining. You feel like you always have to be on guard and deflecting these sexual psychic vampires that they are. It wears you out after awhile.
    There have been two circumstances so far that really pissed me off. One was when I was in Udaipur. I was going for a walk down a different set of streets. Most of the shop keepers will call out to you asking if you want to buy something. One such shop that I passed had a teenage boy, probably not any older than 15, and as I passed by he said “Hello, want sex”. I immediately stopped dead in my tracks whipped around and demanded “what did you say”? When he replied he changed his tune and said “hello, how are you?” As I walked off I could hear the boy and his friend giggling and mimicking what I had said.
    About two weeks ago I was on the beach with a friend, a guy in fact. A group of three Indian guys approached us. We thought they were from the restaurant we had ordered from so we greeted them pleasantly. They came to shake our hands, which we thought was normal. However one of the men, the youngest in the group, made a gesture when he shook my hand, which basically means he wanted to have sex with me. I pulled my hand away immediately recognizing what was going on and then realising that they were not from the restaurant but they were just coming over to be rude.
    In speaking with other travelers it seems as though we have come to the consensus that most Indian men think that either tourists or Western women are strictly there for sex. It is near impossible to broach being a friend to them as their minds immediately go to sex, or rather viewing you as a sexual object. I think that may be the most exhausting part is that you are constantly being subjugated and sexualized by these voyeurs who don’t give a shit about you other than what they can get from between your legs. It totally sucks.
    Rachel and I were discussing this one day and she said that Indian men should be pulled aside and taught how to properly behave with women, and with Western women, especially when working in the tourism industry.
    While I have been in India, actually while I was staying in Delhi an Indian woman was gang raped on a local bus. Apparently she was with her boyfriend at the time, but the group assaulted him and then attacked his girlfriend. She later died in hospital. This story caused a huge controversy in India. It was not only all over the papers but everyone was talking about it. Call me crazy but I could almost feel a bit more tension amongst women in the Ladies train cart during that time. All of a sudden there was an awareness of un-safety, insecurity, and danger. Protests broke out amongst the major universities, people started lobbying for stronger punishments against those convicted of sexual assault and rape. This event really stirred the pot in India, and for good reason.
    In chatting with my new cousin, Phoebe, she too sees the dangers, the discrimination, and inequalities amongst women in India. She is twenty years old and is just merging into her life and her womenhood, and this is what she is up against. From what I am told, the North of India is more dangerous. In Goa, there are so many beaches, and such a tourist culture that modest dress is not that common at all. In fact I made sure to dress appropriately when I went to meet my Goan Family, and Phoebe was far more relaxed and casual about her dress than my concern. 
    In terms of womens’ issues and equality things are certainly not perfect in Canada either. There is still so much work to be done on behalf of equality and simply respect and appreciation for both genders. That being said I know I can walk down the streets of Toronto, or Calgary, and not feel like I need to scrape off the layer of creep that I have been coated in while in India. There is a long way to go and I am happy to do my best to make changes towards a safer India, Canada, and world for women!

NB**  Ultimately I love all people. I love people of all types, sorts, and kinds. I feel saddened and disappointed that I am limited, in terms of friendship here in India. That being said not all Indian men are the same and I have been lucky enough to experience some great India men out of the masses and for that I am grateful!

Ashaniketan

L’Arche Kerala- Ashaniketan

    I am back in L’Arche and it feels great! I was delayed arriving here as I was sick while in Goa, and took a few extra days to rest and recover by the beach, lucky me! I arrived in Calicut, Kerala after a slow five hours waiting for a connecting flight. Once I arrived I grabbed a prepaid taxi, which I didn’t have to prepay for, and headed to Ashaniketan in Nandi Bazaar.
    When I got in the taxi, the car had trouble starting, but the engine turned over and there didn’t seem to be a problem. Word to the wise, in India, always get into a reliable automobile! I was super excited to get to the community, meet everyone, and settle in. Off we went. The driver said it would take about an hour, hour and a half to get to Nandi Bazaar, where the community is located. I had fun taking photos of the sights from the taxi. We stopped once to get water, and I bought us some ladoo for the road, such a perfect little snack!
    Time passed and the taxi stalled once. Then it stalled again, and again, and yet again. The driver always seemed to get it going again so I really wasn’t worried about making it to Nandi Bazaar. Finally the taxi stalled for good! The driver popped the hood, got out and started doing something under the hood. I wasn’t upset or concerned at all, I was headed to L’Arche, in Kerala, India. I was excited and beyond content!
    And hour and a half later, the taxi still not fixed, a myriad of people had come through to help my driver with the car and still nothing. The sun had gone down a long time ago, I was tired as I had been up since 5am, I was sweaty as Kerala does not have the breezy beach weather of Goa, I had to pee, and I really just wanted to get to the new community. It was time! Thankful my driver was not stubborn and did give up on the taxi. He called a rikshaw to take me the rest of the journey, only thirty kilometres or so. Meanwhile the director of the L’Arche community is calling me asking whether or not I have reached safely, as I am very very late. Not the best first impression, that is for sure!
    I climbed into the rikshaw, with my driver close behind. He was certain to get me there safely and would accompany me the rest of the way. Also a good idea considering I had no idea where Ashaniketan was, I’m sure the driver didn’t as well, it was dark, and I don’t speak Malayalam, the local language. He was a gentleman I must say. Even during the taxi ride we would chat with what little language we both had. I learned that he had a little girl who was three years old, and a boy who was seventeen days old. He was such a proud papa. During our drive he would say “Stephy, look, look!” I would look and there would be a dog pack walking down the street, or a beautiful Keralan river with a houseboat drifting away. He was a great help when we got to Nanddi Bazarr, asking locals where Ashaniketan was, then telling the driver which way to go. We got lost once but found our way. I noticed the L’Arche symbol of the people in the arc, so I knew we were on the right path. Sure enough we found L’Arche and every member of the house was waiting on the doorstep for me! Such a L’Archy welcome, and gladly received after my long day of travel!
    I said goodbye to my taxi driver who was so helpful. He apologized for the millionth time about the car problems, and went on his way. The taxi did eventually get fixed. Apparently there was a missing washer. I climber the steps to my new home at Anandalayam house. It has taken me four days to be able to repeat this name! When you walk into the house the centre of the house opens up in to a large open circle. The hallways trace this centre circle, and there is no roof closing in the circle itself. When I was first journaling about this I felt like the architecture of the open circle represented both unity, with the circle shape, and infinity, with the open roof. Such lovely symbolism for L’Arche.
    I was shown to my room, which I share with another assistant Shakeela. Hers was the first name I was able to memorize as it is similar to Shakira, the Latin American pop singer. Most of the other names here I am still learning. On my bed were two bouquets of picked flowers, again so L’Archy, and I love it! When I spent time in L’Arche Honduras fresh flowers were picked all the time for our weekly community meeting, prayer, or any and every, celebration. I love fresh flowers. They make me so happy.
    After a few minutes of dropping my bags, splashing cool water on my face, and using the facilities, Soumiya, quietly came over and asked if I was hungry, which I was. I had had some papaya and coffee for breakfast that morning, and the ladoo in the taxi, but not much else. I joined the house in the kitchen to eat dinner. They had been waiting for me to arrive to have dinner. Everyone else was very hungry too! Instead of a kitchen table we all gather on the floor, sitting on straw mats, which are placed around a centre tile display of flowers. There are metal canisters which contain different foods for dinner; a curry, rice, another curry, and maybe a chutney, or raita. Soumiya takes a metal, deep dish plate, and spoons each of the different foods into it. After everyone has received their plate one of the core members gives a prayer, then we are able to eat.
    My first meal at the house was lovely. There were two French girls there who spoke a little English. They gave me some information about the community and themselves. They were leaving the next morning, as their time with Ashaniketan was just closing. Shortly after dinner I got myself ready to bed and passed out after a long days journey! Who knew getting to L’Arche would be so exhausting?

Kathak Dance

    The day that I checked in to Parmarth Niketan Ashram I noticed that in addition to the regular meditation, Vipassina, and yoga classes they also offered “traditional Indian dance” classes. Even though I had just arrived and wanted to settle in I couldn’t resist the temptation to attend a dance class, let alone an Indian dance class, let alone a free, or at least inclusive, dance class. How exciting!!!
    So I arrived at 2pm ready to be amazed. There was a small group of us, maybe seven or eight of us, but no dance teacher. Vicrum, one of the dance teachers showed up right on time, Indian time that is. He pulled out his tablas and established a beat for our dance. There were two ladies in the class that had a bit of experience with Kathak and Vicrum asked that we follow by their lead. My brain does better with specific instructions as well as demonstrations, but I was still game and did my best to follow suit. First the footwork- 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4. I didn’t really understand but just went with it anyways; fake it till you make it right?
    Then came the actions. Well this was also a challenge as the dance students we were supposed to be following had their backs facing us so we couldn’t really see them. So you look like a fool and try anyway. The beginning series of the dance starts off with no drums or harmonium just a voice and it is the most beautiful tune you have ever heard. I have always loved chanting, whether from mantras, or otherwise. I love choral and opera music and listening to the power of a voice. It amazes me. Hearing Vicrum and/or his wife, and the other Kathak teacher Nina, sing the opening tune made me feel the truest depth of life. It was as though any and every thought, feeling, assumption, or expectation I had had about India was now manifested in this one voice. All things felt whole, complete, and perfect and that I was meant to be standing in this room, with these people, learning Kathak dance. True, it felt true. . . .and amazing!
    In the opening tune the dancers stand in a prayer pose waiting for our cue to first give thanks to God, then give thanks to our dance teachers, finally to thank the audience for being present, left, right, and centre. After the opening sequence we move into just footwork with our hands locked in a posture. Then the dance begins with our teacher singing accompanied by tablas, and or the harmonium.
    In my first few days of class I had never been so dizzy in my entire life. There is a lot of spinning in Kathak, to my surprise. In one sequence we spin around nine times in a row, nine! I could barely make it to the ninth time and would usually stumble around afterwards trying to regain my balance and equilibrium. After a few days I did get used to it, but I also learned the trick; keep your eyes fixed on one point! When I spin I do close my eyes but open them upon my return to lock eyes with one point I have designated on the wall. I also learned better footwork. Instead of just spinning on my foot and potentially injuring my ankle, I simply take three steps in a circular fashion. Much simpler, efficient, and effective.
    Derhey derhey, or slowly slowly, I would pick up the steps, the spins, and the sequences. By my third day I had gotten the attention of my teachers. They noticed how fast I had picked up the steps and how well I performed them. This made me extremely happy. I have taken dance classes in the past but only once a week. Doing Kathak everyday made such a difference in terms of my pick up and execution. It is a lot harder to forget something that you are doing everyday and something you are truly enjoying!
    Once in awhile Vicrum or Nina would stop playing the music and give a demonstration of the dance moves, which helped immensely. By day four my teachers were asking me to demonstrate to the class! Woot woot I had gained status and respect!
    Everyday I would have my lunch early enough so my food was well digested and that I was ready for dance class at 2pm. Everyday I would have the largest smile on my face as I spun, stomped my feet, and held my fingers in the proper Kathak position. My arms would get so tired locking my hands and arms in the position for almost an hour. But I would push the pain aside and keep going. It was totally worth it!
    Then Kathak got even better. I got my first guingeroo, I have no idea how to spell this. Guingeroo are the anklets with little bells attached. So when you are stomping your feet to the sound of the tabla your ankles chime with little bells that reinforce the beat! I did finally get my footwork down and was able to get faster and faster. It was incredible! Although if I let myself get distracted I would screw up the rhythm and would receive a look of disapproval from Nina and Vicrum. They would always notice and never let me get away with any missteps. They were hardcore, that is for sure.
    Then Kathak had to come to an end. My days at the ashram were numbered and so I let my teachers know that my last class would be coming up. We arranged to do a performance with full dress, makeup, and dance sequence. I felt very honored as the entire class was dedicated to me. Everyone waited for Nina to doll me up in the back room; a golden dress, slightly different than a sari, hair pulled back and pinned up, heavy black eyeliner, and even a bit on my eyebrows to darken my fair features. Then came the bangles. I learned how one can cramp their hand down small enough to fit through a very small circle! At the time I didn’t have my ears pierced, so no earrings for me, but a decked out gold necklace along with a little drop, earring type decoration placed at the top of my forehead where the hairline begins. Of course the piece de resistance; a beautiful jewelled bindi. It was incredible. I felt like a princess. Then I danced.
    One of the other ladies in class filmed the performance for me, including Nina’s beautiful voice; so fabulous! I gave a performance and did fairly well. I screwed up a couple of times but not too bad considering I never really got proper instructions and teaching of the Kathak, Hahahahha. Also not too bad considering the entire length of my dance classes had been eight days at that point. Not too bad at all!
    On my last day of class my teachers gifted me with the dress I wore the day before as well as all of the jewellery that I wore. It was great. I had a great final class. Then walked arm in arm with Nina down the path to their motorbike.
    Such an incredible connection and experience. Taking the Kathak classes did a lot for me. It definitely inspired me and motivated to keep up with dance. I have always loved to dance and all different types of dancing. I have taken different types of dance classes through the years; ballet, jazz, African, Hip hop, Salsa, and now Kathak. Because I did so well and enjoyed Kathak so much I am seriously considering studying the dance once again, and, in time, teaching it. For one thing to bring me so much joy  and happiness is a treasure and is worth investing in!
    Thank you Parmarth Niketan, Nina, Vicrum, and my fellow class mates.

My Beautiful Goan Family

    When I was a little girl my Dad would often say to me “Sweetie, if I could give you the world I would”. I would hear this, sit back and think two things; 1. Wow, that is how much my Dad loves me and 2. Wow, the whole world. I wonder what that looks like. I am pleased to report that my father, amazing as it seems, accomplished this task.
    My parents split up when I was a child and my father remarried a woman originally from Goa, India. My step mother is amazing and has been an incredible addition to my life. Growing up with an Indian step-mother, and two half Indian step-siblings has been incredibly enriching to my life. Beyond this it has brought diversity into my life. Because my step Mom is from Goa I didn’t grow up with her wearing typical Indian suits, or sari’s, but there were so many stories, facts, and much information about ‘back home’ and all of the things she experienced growing up there that were so different from Canada. Goa is a former Portuguese colony so my step mother is Catholic, speaks English as a first language, and understands a little Portuguese as well. In my household we would often have tandoori chicken prepared for us, or a delicious Portuguese rice with tomatoes, cinnamon, and cloves. My step-mom’s mother cooks a great deal of more typical Indian fair, and she would often send over whatever she cooked.
    I found growing up in Brampton, Ontario I was already in the middle of multiculturalism as Brampton has many immigrants and there are so many different nationalities, customs, and languages that are different. But having ’diversity’ represented within my home has taken on an entirely different understanding for me and of course has deep meaning.
    Now I am in Goa, India, the original home of my step-mother and I have arranged to meet some of her relatives in the town of Margao, where they live. I had been communicating with them via phone and they had invited me to come on the 31st of December for Noel’s birthday. Noel is Michelle’s cousin. He is married to Bernie and they have 5 children ranging in age from sixteen to mid-thirties. I was a little concerned about the arranged visiting day as I knew I had New Years eve plans and Margao was two hours south of the beach I was staying at. However I was really excited to meet this part of my family and have this experience. I hired a motorbike taxi to drive me the two hours south, wait for a few visiting hours, then drive me back in time for New Years’ Eve.
    Even though I love riding around on a motorbike two hours was a little too long for my tushy. But I got a good tan on the drive and enjoyed passing through the very small province of Goa. Goa is teeny, tiny, compared to Karnataka, or Maharashtra. It takes about two or three hours to drive the length of it. Every ten minutes or so my phone would go off and it would be Noel wondering how close I was to Margao. I appreciated the concern, even though it was hard to hear him on my cell, while riding on the motorbike. Hahahahaha.
    I arrived at the taxi stand and waited for Noel and his kids to arrive. Arrive they did. I hopped into their car and had my motorbike taxi follow us to their home. When we got to the house the two front doors swung open and there stood Bernie, literally, with open arms welcoming me inside. Such a fabulous first introduction. Their home is beautiful and was fully decorated for the holidays. I met three out of the five of their kids; Phoebe, Elton, and Heidi. Heidi is the youngest, sweet sixteen, and still in high school. Noel immediately poured me a glass of Canadian whiskey, a gift from my father back in Canada. Sweet Heidi wanted a drink too, but Noel initially refused due to her age. But with some prodding he allowed her the alcoholic beverage.
    Then we sat and chatted. What a beautiful family and so hospitable. I felt right at home and just loved their company. Bernie gave me a nice compliment saying that I was down to earth and not uptight like other Canadian girls, hahaha. I liked this. My attention was constantly changing from one person to the next as everyone had questions, or things they wanted to share with me. Fabulous!
    Then we feasted. Oh my goodness! Bernie is, not only, a fabulous host, but a fabulous cook. The food was absolutely incredible; prawn curry, Portuguese rice, drumsticks, a pork curry, which was incredible and my favorite dish on the table, chana masala, a stew with sausage, and chicken, pakoras, samosas, and salad. Then there was dessert! I had read about a Goan dessert called bebinca, which is a layered egg/milk cake. Similar to flan, but made with coconut milk instead. Sure enough Bernie had put it out on the table. Lucky me!
    After lunch Elton and Phoebe took me for a short tour of Margao. We went to a lookout point to catch the sunset, which we just missed but it was beautiful just the same. A common New Years’ Eve tradition in Goa is to burn mock grandfathers. Locals assemble more or less a scarecrow, resembling a grandfather, and set fire to them at midnight symbolizing the passing of time and welcoming the new year. As we drove through Margao we would see the grandfathers sitting out in lawn chairs waiting to be set ablaze! Elton and Phoebe also took me to see ‘crypts’, which are small scale nativity scenes. I liked seeing the different traditions and festive representations.
    We had to book it back to the house as my motorbike taxi was waiting to drive me back to Arambol. Of course I couldn’t leave without family photos to remember the occasion. Bernie, true to motherly form, packed a box of foods for me to take on the road. So sweet. Hugs and kisses were shared. Noel told my driver not to go too fast, and that I should call them once I reached Arambol to know I was safe, just like my Dad would have done. I hopped onto the back of the motorbike ready to whiz back for my New Years Eve party in Arambol.
    As we drove back underneath the night sky full of a million stars I remembered my Dad’s wish for me from childhood. Immediately my eyes filled with tears as I realized that my Dad’s wish had come true. Here I was in India, half way across the world from my biological family, meeting, and connecting with my new extended family from his re-marriage. In that moment I knew I had just received the whole world and my heart couldn't have held more love in it.

    Thank you Noel, Bernie, Elton, Phoebe, and Heidi. A big thanks to Goa, and most importantly a huge thank you to my Dad, Mom, Step-Mother and family back in Canada. I love and thank you for everything I am and have.

Christmas in Goa; an alternate story of Baby Jesus

    I have spent holidays abroad before. One Christmas in Honduras, another on Vancouver Island. Most holidays have not been spent with my family for the past five years or so. 2012 was to be no exception. Leading up to Christmas I was worried that this year would be difficult to be so far away from home for a variety of reasons. For starters I had already experienced being home sick on this trip, last year I spent Christmas in the mountains and despite having a great day I really missed my family, and I am so much further from my family than the Canadian Rockies. But being in India and not being constantly cued that Christmas is coming helped a great deal in that it didn’t really feel like Christmas. There was no snow, no pine trees, no shopping, no Christmas carols (I think I have heard 3 in total), no Christmas specials, or movies, and no Christianity or Catholicism. Well not much. Goa is a former Portuguese colony and as such there are many Catholics here, but being at the beach, surrounded by other tourists, enjoying the sun and sand, you don’t really see that side to Goa. All in all I wasn’t too phased by the holiday. Much to my surprise.

Christmas Eve.
    In the story The Night Before Christmas “no one was stirring not even a mouse“. This would have to be the exact opposite of Christmas Eve in Arambol, Goa. The beaches are packed, every beachside restaurant is pumping out incredibly loud music, most of it trance. Goa is known for its trance scene. The entire coastline is lit up with barbeques, candles lighting up the plastic tables where you will be having your meal, fireworks high in the night sky, fire spinners, and any other bright, neon things you can envision.
    I was staying at a guesthouse with my good friend Rachy, sister to one of my best friends’ Tabitha. Rachy and I chose this particular guest house on recommendation from some of her friends from India., who were also with us at the beach. All in all there is quite a large group of us.
    Christmas Day was delightful however most atypical for this Canadian. Rachy and I went to get our famous breakfast of Buffalo mozzarella, tomato, basil omelettes two doors down from our guest house. This was followed by a walk to the next beach, over beautiful rocks jutting up out of the ocean. Rachy purchased some Christmas jewellery while I went for a swim in the ocean. I spoiled myself with fruit salad and ice cream after an incredibly intensive ocean swim, not really, it was more like a refreshing dip.
    Our group then rented motorbikes and decided to bike down to a nearby beach to play in the sand and take in the evening sunset. The coastline looked absolutely amazing as Rachy and I whizzed down the coastal ‘highway’ on our motorbike. The orange sun shining on the water, the breeze passing over our exposed legs. Rachy’s metal feather earrings chiming away. Everything looking slightly tinted from our sun glasses; an incredibly good idea from Rachy as so many things can get blown into your eyes while riding motorbikes. The boys played soccer on the beach while us girls sat in the sand and chatted. Our pack drove back each bike trying to get ahead of the next one. So much fun!
    Again a feast on the beach was had, in the same fashion as the night before; fireworks going off everywhere, bbq’d seafood being cooked along the entire length of the beach, and much laughter and merriment being had by all.
       
    I was trying to think of the ways in which this Christmas mirrored that of  the story of baby Jesus. When I arrived in Goa, to the capital city Panjim I went door to door looking for a place to stay but everywhere was booked. I walked and walked and asked and asked but no one had rooms available. Everyone goes to Goa at Christmas so everything books up and everything is far more expensive. I was finally able to find a place to stay for the night. No it was not a stable, nor was it at the courtesy or generosity of local Goan. I did not give birth at the overpriced guest house in the middle of Panjim. Although I did survive ‘the end of the world’ according to the Mayan calendar. Perhaps that was a sort of rebirth for the life of Stephanie.
    Mary and  Joseph; baby Jesus’ mother and father were definitely not present at this Christmas party, but I did have my father there. One of the guys in our group is a man from France named Thomas, which is my father’s name. The day that I met Thomas I told him that was my fathers’ name and he immediately told me that Stephanie was his mothers’ name. I didn’t believe him, but it turned out to be true. For the remainder of our time in Goa I would call Thomas ‘Papa’ and he would call me ‘Mama. We both enjoyed the joke.
    The three wise men. I cannot say that I have met many people here in Goa who are “wise“. I have met many Indian men. What I mean to say is many Indian men try to meet Rachy and I and we do our best to dose ourselves in Indian-man repellent. It usually doesn’t work. In our group there are several guys from Afghanistan and they often wear scarves wrapped around their head much like a turban. I like these three guys; Rishad, Ruffus, and Rammeen. All very sweet, actually Rishad and Rammeen are very sweet and thoughtful. Ruffus is a little crass, but he strives for that. Every morning I will be sitting on the stoop of our room doing something; cutting my toe nails (which is an achievement in and of itself), journaling, or just hanging out. I will suddenly have the impulse to look up and there Ruffus and Rammeen will be leaning on the balcony above quietly watching me go about my business. We all say “good morning” and smile at each other. I find it endearing.
    Gifts. The wise men brought gifts. I have to say that my life in general is a gift. I am one of the richest people I know in love and spirit, usually not in wealth, but here in India relatively speaking, wealth too. I did receive gifts this Christmas; a very warm, fleece lined, wool sweater, in my favorite color orange. This was from another traveler who deals in textiles. I am constantly gifted  by Rachy’s presence as her beautiful smiling face reminds me to be happy and make the most of life! Rachy knows how to live life to its fullest, to smile, to play, to be happy for everything that we have and is available to us. I cannot be around her without this reminder of gratitude. It is quite the gift! If I had to name a third gift this Christmas I guess it would be recognition of self. This trip has brought me much closer to myself and all of the things that make up me; my family, friends, the country I am from, my feelings, desires, creativity, my body, my mind and its, many, thoughts, my language, my upbringing, my schooling, etc etc etc. The list goes on and on and on. Very often I will think to myself that moving out to Western Canada has to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. I am beginning to feel that coming to India and giving myself four full months to just ‘be’; be creative, to listen to myself, to feel what I need to feel and not control it, to sleep when I want and eat when I want. To just be me in a totally different place where I actually have made the time for it. That is an incredible gift and it feels pretty fantastic!
Thank you baby Jesus and Merry Christmas!

Life’s a beach !!!

    The past couple of weeks I have been fortunate enough to spend at the beach. I realize in being here that I haven’t had a strictly beach vacation in my adult years. Most of my vacations have been spent with family in Ontario, or roughing it traveling around third world countries. Arambol Goa is the beach I have been staying at and I had my doubts at first. Seems surprising considering a beach is a beach. When I arrived Arambol was crawling with tourists looking for the party/trance scene that Goa is so well known for. This is not what I was looking for. I was seeking a bit of an escape and break from the crazy tourist track as my time in Delhi and Agra had been a bit too much and I was just tired. Hesitations in hand I had agreed to come, take in some sun, the salty water, as well as wonderful Rachy and a group of friends from Delhi. Best decision ever !!!
    It has taken some time for me to unwind and simply relax, but I have gotten in to the groove and am not yet ready to leave. Life at the beach is amazing!! Within the first couple of days I was whipping around on a motorbike, partying till the week hours of the morning, eating fresh seafood and juices everyday, swimming in the Arabian Sea and just loving life again!
    Beach culture in Goa is fabulous. You do not have to worry about being too modest, wearing a bathing suit to the beach is completely acceptable. You do get attention from Indian men, but I have learned how to filter it a bit better, plus the fact that I am with a large group of people and have their protection. My day begins with slipping into my bathing suit and sarong and heading to the beach front restaurant to have a tomato, basil, bison mozzarella omelette and a fruit shake. Fabulous! Everyday the group organizes a trip to a different neighbouring beach, or some sort of adventure. Traveling in a pack of motor bikers we weave along the curvy Goan roads, the ocean sparkling in the distance. Rachy is a speed demon on the motorbike so we usually overtake everyone else in our pack. Although they do leave us in the dust sometimes. One day it is off to Anjuna to take in the sunset and play frisbee. Another day it is a ferry ride to Paradise beach.
    One afternoon Rachy and I were having a lazy time at our favorite hangout “pies and love” when we got a text from the group saying they were going to Vagator for sushi. We packed up and set out. We kind of knew the way, but not really. Shortly after making a wrong turn our motorbike ran out of fuel. Holding the spirit of Tabitha and laughing with it, Rachy and I sauntered down the road in search of petrol. A very nice man picked me up to take me to the gas station. Upon arriving I chugged down a one liter bottle of water so we could fill it with petrol. We filled up and set off only to go much farther south than needed. We got to the town of Mapusa, which is where I had gotten one of my original buses to take me to Arambol, so I knew we were too far. Again asking for directions is always a task. We found out the general direction we were supposed to take. Poor Rachy was trying to navigate through Mapusa, which is a bigger, busier city. A little frazzled we were circling a roundabout when we came upon a cow lost in the roundabout as well. As if we needed anything else to add to our journey. With a little more patience and perseverance we made it past the cow, through the roundabout and back on our way to Vagator.

     Of course there are two ‘Vagators’; small and big. Asking for the sushi restaurant didn’t help either. Amazingly enough we found our friends, and the restaurant, and enjoyed a lovely sushi dinner, with a power outage to boot. Hahhahahah. Our way back was much smoother and included a game of motorbike tag. Soo much fun!
    The holidays in and of themselves were absolutely incredible. Christmas eve was a night to remember. Our group has twenty people or so. Tables crammed together our large group spread out on the evening beach with all things alive and moving around us. Evening barbeques are set up with the catch of the day. There are bins of fresh fish, squid, prawns, baby shark, and any other seafood you can imagine. You select the fish that you would like for dinner and they grill it up for you right there on the spot! Six of us purchased the largest fish they had and shared it together. Amazing! There in the sand with fireworks going off overhead we feasted like kings and celebrated little baby Jesus’ birth. At one point we realized we had representation from sixteen different countries; Canada, India, Afghanistan, Australia, France, Germany, Turkey, Russia, Senegal, Portugal, Brazil, Norway, Sweden, Israel, Colombia, and Argentina. Pretty impressive and absolutely incredible. If Jesus were to represent anything it was love for all peoples from all places.
    New Years Eve was equally enjoyable as our group had arranged a private, white party at our guest house. Ruffus was going to be the dj for the event. Once the sun had gone down behind the ocean horizon, decked out in our finest white attire, one by one we arrived to celebrate the evening and bring the new year in together. Everyone in a great mood and properly clothed in our beachy attire. We danced like it was 1999, shouted, and cheered when the ball dropped and the clock hit 12am, midnight. Champagne bottles were opened and sprayed over the crowd. Fireworks going off all up and down the beach, the music pumping. On top of it all I had my dear friend Rachy there to bring in the new year and not only one person to kiss at midnight but a whole group!!! One of my favorite moments of the night was tearing it up, dancing like crazy in the sand, and Rachy yelling across to me “Steph, you’re a mother fucking rock star”! To which I replied “no, you’re a mother fucking rock star”! A night I will never forget and will be eternally grateful for!
    Ultimately my time at the beach has taught me that life is a beach. If you chose to take a step back, relax, breath in the fresh air, taste the salty ocean water, and absorb all the beauty and benefits of the energizing sun life can be pretty darn great!

Happy New Year Everyone! May 2013 bring much success, happiness, and fulfillment as love shines down on us all!