It's been a while since I wrote but some things, events, are so important, they have to be shared in order for me to make sense of them.
The title of course is a rip off of the famous eat pray love book. My journey though shorter, is no less profound but I doubt if there'll be a man waiting at the end of it !
The ski part was in Austria, catching up after too long , with Erin. We've had our share of ups and downs, to put it mildly, so I was a little nervous about how we would go living side by side for 2 weeks ...but it was wonderful. She's growing and maturing as she travels, into a beautiful young woman. We shared many special times on the snow , apres ski, and just hanging out reconnecting. It was too short and with great sadness and many tears we said goodbye...till Ios darling girl, travel safe.
Next stop India.
Mumbai airport was unrecognizable from the one I was in 28yrs ago on my 1st journey to Australia. I have a very clear snapshot memory of my 23 yr old self, close to tears, lost in a surging mob of local people trying to buy a ticket for a domestic flight to Cochin.
It's all very civilised these days, quite westernised, even queues (of a sort ).
This time I flew to Trivandrum on the southernmost west tip of India. The airport here much more like how I remembered. I knew I had to get a taxi to the Ashram in Neyyar Dam some 28kms away and was relieved to see the taxi sign on exiting the airport. Couldn't really miss it actually, as there was little else in the way of the usual airport service counters.. And no other tourists that I could see.
The tourist taxi system appeared similar to Bali in that you get a ticket from the desk inside the airport and wander outside clutching said ticket - into a sea of faces, hoping and praying that the man who approaches and takes your bag is in fact a taxi driver and not some random loitering outside the airport looking for unsuspecting white females on whom to try his luck.
On that particular day there was only one white female and that was me. I had my doubts as to the authenticity of the man who lead me away. These doubts were not eased when he took me to a car with no taxi sign, no working seatbelts and dodgy windows. He also spoke no English. Welcome to India!
As it turned out , he was the right guy. He chatted on and off in a language I didnt understand. I answered him in English. It was bizarre.
The 28km journey took 80minutes. Potholes, loose cows, several near misses with other vehicles..the usual. I was very glad to arrive in one piece , albeit exhausted.
Set in what feels like the middle of nowhere, the ashram sits in beautiful lush tropical gardens, beside a huge river and with a commanding view of the surrounding valley.
It appeared surprisingly organised, well run and busy! Around 180 people doing a variety of courses. Most were Indian and the rest from all over the world.
Joining the ashram felt a little like jumping onto a fast moving bus. No easing in..straight to the deep end!
Lesson no.1 , check your ego at the entrance.
The first 3 days were a struggle physically and psychologically. The internal mental conflict was loud and persistent. As it turned out, the ashram was very different to what I expected .
Lesson 2. Preceding every disappointment is an unrealistic expectation.
There were things about the daily routine which I didn't really like. 5.30am starts (with jetlag) was one. The huge amount of chanting, the "churchy" feel of the mandatory morning and evening satsang. (Satsang was 6am - 7.30am and 8pm - 9.30pm sitting cross legged. 30min meditation, 40min chanting, 20min listening to wisdom from swamis and sages...equals very sore knees and hips.)
If I'd wanted candles, incense and rules, I could've stayed in Ireland!
Then we had two, 2 hour asana classes , which is what we think of yoga in the west.
I realised quickly that it's been a long time since I wasn't the one making the rules and so much of me rebelled at having to dance to another tune.
Lesson 3. It's good for life balance to take a back seat sometimes.
But then there was the other side. The serene bliss of dawn meditations as rural India came to life and hearing lions roar from a nearby safari park. Afternoon yoga class as a tropical thunderstorm rolled in bringing sweet rain to clear the hot clammy air, and then just being in the midst of this peaceful , accepting, multicultural community.
So, in my head, one minute I was going to leave the next day and go somewhere with fewer rules, or at least ones that suited me, the next I'd tell myself to hang in there and remember why I came.
One of the myriad of rules is a minimum 3 night stay, and I'm glad, because for me it was day 3 that a stillness descended, an acceptance of what is. After all I went there to find balance, discipline and practice yoga. And it's good for me to be challenged and confronted by things I don't like and for me not to walk away.
Speaking of confronted, there's a thing called karma yoga for everyone who stays at the ashram.
It's basically helping with everyday chores , thereby putting some credit in the karma bank ( my words not theirs! ). A couple of days after I arrived there had been several new arrivals and we were gathered to be assigned duties...or so I hoped.
I had decided if it was a case of volunteering for specific jobs, I was just going to put my hand up first as I didn't want to be seen haggling for the best or easiest job. Obviously some of my ego did not stay at the door where it was meant to be!
So, I followed this plan, my hand shot up before my ears registered the word rubbish bins and along with another couple of fools, off I went on my first karma yoga practice.
I'm an optimist. "How bad can it be?" I said to myself.
It was disgusting! Rubbish is thrown into large plastic bins with no binliners which had to be carried to a central dumping area and tipped into hessian bags , which later get burned. (That's why the smog over India is so bad)
I could have asked to be reassigned another job , but I asked for gloves instead and continued my karma yoga while giving some thought to where the rubbish is in my life.
In an effort to balance the bin duties, I booked in for my first ayurvedic massage. I was warned that they used a lot of oil. " No problem" I said, "I love oil".
Now, dress standard at the ashram was modest at all times. No shoulders bared, no knees, tummies, nothing too clingy and certainly no Lorna Jane lycra. (Rule no. 115). So I was very surprised and a tad confused when the masseuse (Indian lady dressed in full sari) asked me to remove all clothing, in front of her. I checked about the undies 3 times! Nothing worse than being nude at the wrong time. However undies were removed and a paper loin cloth was attached which was no aid to my modesty whatsoever.
The massage began with me seated on a low stool in front of her while she poured warm oil on my head...lots of it. It progressed to me lying on a large hardwood table (with a raised edge because that's how much oil we're talking). Actually it was really good! however I'm not totally sold on the massaging of whole chest- but when in Rome..or India!
Fortunately after my oiling I got to have a hot wash...mandi style ( ie. small plastic bucket dumped repeatedly overhead). I left feeling amazing.
As the days passed it was almost a surprise to me to discover I had become deeply relaxed. Meditation wasn't such a struggle , I even experienced the odd moment of clarity , peace and joy during them. It became easier to switch off the fickle mind and imagination which tends to run into the past or future.
In the last couple of days of my "yoga vacation" ,( the term used in the ashram but it was no relaxing holiday), I gave myself permission to skip the odd class in lieu of an afternoon snooze, because I had nothing to prove to anyone or myself.
One of the indirect benefits of being there was hanging out with fellow long term travelers who thought nothing strange of my lifestyle. I had a little group of 3 other middle aged single women travelers and we supported each other with some greats chats over a cup of chai.
And then it was over. The departure was a test to see how calm I had become. I had organised to share a taxi with a couple of girls who were going to Trivandrum airport. I had booked a guesthouse only 6kms from there as my flight to Male was early the following morning. It was extremely hot and humid for going anywhere at all, and I didn't want to keep my travel buddies late so I was I a lather of sweat by the time I checked out. Of course when I got to the gate, an Indian guy appeared as if by magic , took my bag, ushered me down the steps with assurances that my friends were already waiting in the car. At least when I asked the question , more than once, "are my friends already down there"?, he wobbled his head. Not shake for no, not nod for yes..wobble. And I still haven't worked out exactly what that means. In fact my companions were not in the taxi at all. There was no taxi, just a tuk tuk which he tried to put my bag into.....and there went my hard earned inner calm!
My friends and the taxi arrived 2 minutes later and off we set. There was no aircon. It was boiling. Windows had to be down so dusty and sweaty. We dropped the girls at the airport and it immediately became clear the driver had no clue where my guest house was. That's not what he said when we got into the taxi...then again he was probably wobbling his head when he said "no problem."
1hr and 15minutes of hellish frustrating hot driving around Trivandrum city aimlessly lost, stopping to ask many people, lots of heads wobbling, I finally found an internet "shop" and got a phone number for the driver before I completely melted and lost my zen forever. I arrived eventually hanging on to my inner peace by my eyelashes.
But sure, there'd be no stories if everything went smoothly.
However I'd had enough of India for this time. I was done with full body sweats, stinking rubbish and head wobbles.
Time to return to the ocean... Maldives, here I come :)
Ski pray dive
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Male, Kaafu Atoll, Maldives
Other Entries
Comments

2025-02-12
Comment code: Ask author if the code is blank
deolali
2015-04-30
Brilliantly written.....I was with you every minute, and what a contrast the Maldives turned out to be judging by your fb photos
dinemo
2015-04-30
Thanks John, & when I planned this I had no idea how good a live aboard dive trip would be after the India experience. It's been perfect!