What to do?
Blijf op de hoogte en volg Ralph
02 Januari 2014 | India, Agonda
Namaste friends!
About a month ago I made my way down south, towards to promised paradise of Goa. I witnessed the journey from a personal little cell, a bed-cubicle 2 meters up. I could open a window on my left, which I did, the warm Indian wind rushing in and round. As such I spend many hours watching Indian life pass me by, reading about it in Shantaram and occasionally slipping away in dreams, living it too. Thinking Mumbay was the end destination of the bus, I patiently watched it too go by, waiting for everybody to get out. The majority however stayed, and so did I, until we seemed to have reached another highway. I climbed down, stumbled towards the driver and asked where we were going. “Pune”. And mumbay? He pointed behind him. Unsure where Pune was, and whether that destination was better or worse than Mumbay, I stumbled back towards my bag to get my Lonely Planet. It wasn’t there, shit. I must have left it at TukTuk café. Even worse, I noticed that my towel wasn’t there. I hadn’t even traveled the length and breadth of India, let alone the galaxy: clearly I’m not a man to be reckoned with. Pune turned out to be a fine enough destination, being somewhere in between Mumbay and Goa. After one more night bus and 2 local busses I reached Agonda, South Goa, jungle.
The place where I was staying lay a bit outside Agonda, in the jungle on a hill. The place is run by a german couple, Andreas and Christine, Indian staff and long and short term volunteers. The main building is a restaurant with adjacent chill-out area. Downhill from there is the garden, where veggies and fruit are grown. Most amazing about the place are the passion fruit trees, of which there were so many I ate 5-10 fresh fruits every day! Other work included the building of new huts and maintenance of the old ones.
One day, as many other days, some of the volunteers and I were sitting at the restaurant, chilling. I just finished rolling our next connection, the charras still on the table, when Surrage, the waiter and main face of the staff, came running towards me his face in shock. “Put away the charras, quick, police!” I looked down into the garden and saw Andreas accompanied by 2 policeman advancing up towards us. I stuffed the charras in my bag, and continued my conversation with Steve. The moment the 3 reached the restaurant, one of the cops went straight for me, telling me to show him my bag. He must have seen the little commotion preceding their arrival, and suspected something, suspected me. What to do? I stood up and made it clear I didn’t care, picking up my bag and throwing all contents on the table, swiftly picking out the narcotics in the fuss. Switching it from hands, left to right, I stuffed in down my pocket and continued to spread out the contents on the table. He must have seen something, as he went around me and commanded the other cop to check my pockets. Caught. At first I tried to convince both of us that I didn’t know what the black block was, then that it was some herb I found in the forest, and finely ‘admitting’, after he smelled the high quality of it all, that I got it from a guy somewhere in the jungle. I asked him what it was. He asked me what I did with it. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest, he might even have heard. Passport. Police station. I remembered what my dad had told me, no drug problems. I was scared shitless. But then Steve saved me, when he quietly asked me if I needed money. Money? .. Money! Of course, the bastard just wanted my money and would then leave me alone! Hopefully, at the least. I approached the bad cop, and looked into his stern face with a pleading look of innocence, asking him whether we couldn’t work this out another way. I didn’t realize then however, but was told afterwards, that such things always happen 1 to 1. He refused to understand what I was getting at, but did seem to believe my story of a poor lonely traveler. Andreas, more experienced with such matters, took the bastard inside the restaurant, into privacy. He came out, and said that the cop would accept 10.000 rupees: 125 euros! Ahja, what to do? I got all of the money together, some I lent from Steve and Andy, and gave it to the latter. He went down into the garden with the 2 wankers and handed over the money. When he came back up however, he wasn’t alone. He was 2, together with my charras! And of course to calm down, we lit the joint and relaxed once more.
Over a period of 3 weeks, volunteers came and went. One week after my arrival, Fleur came to the village, a French/English girl with green fingers and eyes. Before long she was managing the garden aspect of the village, and as such was kind of my boss. We’d work a lot together, and also spent good times together outside the village. At week 1.5 more people had joint the working force, and a group was forming. Together we’d go to town, eat, visit local beaches and the like. Some of the beaches were absolutely amazing. One day, 8 of us went to an old fort-rune, and on the way back stopped at a cliff overlooking a beach. We walked down, with huts along the wooden steps, towards a very beautiful yet almost empty beach. This was the first alternative I’d seen to the busy, more commercial beaches of Agonda and Palolem. On another day we’d visit Cola beach, which has, in between the cliff and sea, a sweet water lake, coming from a cold mountain stream. I’ve seen 2 meter snakes pass my path, big fat spiders in webs so thick they could catch birds and beautiful butterflies and birds with colors only matched by sunsets in the sea. But still the best thing about traveling is the people I’ve met, the conversations I’ve had and heard. I’m here only able to share the superficial experiences of my journey, but I can’t seem to find the words to describe the inner change I’m going through, share my most valuable experience. Maybe someday I will. Possibly maybe.
Next stop, Hampi. With a group of 8 people, sadly excluding Fleur, who went back to her family before Christmas, we went to Hampi, a town famous for its runes and rocks. By now we were referring to ourselves as a family. There were Pablo and Rosa, 2 friends from Spain that came to India for the wedding of a mutual friend. Raffi and Pipa, from Portugal, Nina and Conrad, a couple from Germany, and Lyla, from Egypt. Rosa hardly spoke any English when I first met her at Kaama Kethna, but together with a grammar book and admirable perserverance, she was still one of the most talkative of the group. Although it took her long to get a whole sentence or idea out, she would keep the attention of everyone in that time, and would always verbalize her thoughts beautifully. A truly remarkable person - she seemed to have love for pupils, seeing the world in a unique way. Together we crossed the river that divides Hampi, in search for a place for all of us. We ended up at “Om, Shanti, Silence”, a guesthouse run by a gipsy family, consisting of 3 brothers married to 3 sisters and their children. They had 4 double beds in 4 rooms, as if it was made for us. As in fact it was: we were the first guests since their opening! For only 100 rupees per person, and an amazing kitchen with no dish exceeding 100 rupees, it was truly remarkable. One of the last nights there, Pablo and I went to the monkey temple, a holy Hanuman place on top of one of the boulder-mountains. From walking around Hampi I knew that it consisted mainly of rocks, and more rocks, but only from that place on the top of one of the highest mountains, could I fix it in pictures. After the sunset, we heard crying behind us and looked around. There, on one of the big-ass rocks, were two people knelled down, their heads against each other. A proposal!
The next destination was Gokarna, a sea-side town south of Goa where we would spent Christmas together, my weirdest Christmas ever. Spending the whole day laying on the beach, playing Frisbee and swimming in the sea, it was hard to believe that it actually was Christmas. Christmas dinner, which we had at the guesthouse on the beach, consisted of a big collection of Indian food, a self-made buffet including red wine and weed. No meat, no chocolate. Afterwards, armed with a jerry can full of Mojito, we went to the beach, where we found a group of about 40 people situated around a couple of candles in the sand, making music with drums and guitars. They had made an Indian Christmas tree: a couple of dried palm branches leaning against each other. Only a few minutes after our arrival, people started chanting: Light the tree! Light the tree! And they did! All the candles were collected and placed under the tree, which became a 4 meter furnish in no-time; Christmas!
I’m writing all this from Virudhunagar, in the office of Blossom. New year past unnoticed; I only realized it fully when people wished me a happy new year the next day. I’m staying and helping at an orphanage, Blossom Dayspring Home, a home for 12 boys and 13 girls that lost their parents through HIV/AIDS and TB, or were rejected by their families because they themselves suffered from those diseases. Not many westerners come here, and I think I know why: the name is unpronounceable. When I tried to reach here, nobody understand what I wanted, where I wanted to go (I eventually wrote it on my arm to show people). I haven’t seen any white people, and I doubt they see many either. Earlier today I was walking along, not exactly sure where I was, when a random person came up to me to show me the way to Blossom office!
I want to wish all of you a happy new year! And perhaps till next time :)
About a month ago I made my way down south, towards to promised paradise of Goa. I witnessed the journey from a personal little cell, a bed-cubicle 2 meters up. I could open a window on my left, which I did, the warm Indian wind rushing in and round. As such I spend many hours watching Indian life pass me by, reading about it in Shantaram and occasionally slipping away in dreams, living it too. Thinking Mumbay was the end destination of the bus, I patiently watched it too go by, waiting for everybody to get out. The majority however stayed, and so did I, until we seemed to have reached another highway. I climbed down, stumbled towards the driver and asked where we were going. “Pune”. And mumbay? He pointed behind him. Unsure where Pune was, and whether that destination was better or worse than Mumbay, I stumbled back towards my bag to get my Lonely Planet. It wasn’t there, shit. I must have left it at TukTuk café. Even worse, I noticed that my towel wasn’t there. I hadn’t even traveled the length and breadth of India, let alone the galaxy: clearly I’m not a man to be reckoned with. Pune turned out to be a fine enough destination, being somewhere in between Mumbay and Goa. After one more night bus and 2 local busses I reached Agonda, South Goa, jungle.
The place where I was staying lay a bit outside Agonda, in the jungle on a hill. The place is run by a german couple, Andreas and Christine, Indian staff and long and short term volunteers. The main building is a restaurant with adjacent chill-out area. Downhill from there is the garden, where veggies and fruit are grown. Most amazing about the place are the passion fruit trees, of which there were so many I ate 5-10 fresh fruits every day! Other work included the building of new huts and maintenance of the old ones.
One day, as many other days, some of the volunteers and I were sitting at the restaurant, chilling. I just finished rolling our next connection, the charras still on the table, when Surrage, the waiter and main face of the staff, came running towards me his face in shock. “Put away the charras, quick, police!” I looked down into the garden and saw Andreas accompanied by 2 policeman advancing up towards us. I stuffed the charras in my bag, and continued my conversation with Steve. The moment the 3 reached the restaurant, one of the cops went straight for me, telling me to show him my bag. He must have seen the little commotion preceding their arrival, and suspected something, suspected me. What to do? I stood up and made it clear I didn’t care, picking up my bag and throwing all contents on the table, swiftly picking out the narcotics in the fuss. Switching it from hands, left to right, I stuffed in down my pocket and continued to spread out the contents on the table. He must have seen something, as he went around me and commanded the other cop to check my pockets. Caught. At first I tried to convince both of us that I didn’t know what the black block was, then that it was some herb I found in the forest, and finely ‘admitting’, after he smelled the high quality of it all, that I got it from a guy somewhere in the jungle. I asked him what it was. He asked me what I did with it. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest, he might even have heard. Passport. Police station. I remembered what my dad had told me, no drug problems. I was scared shitless. But then Steve saved me, when he quietly asked me if I needed money. Money? .. Money! Of course, the bastard just wanted my money and would then leave me alone! Hopefully, at the least. I approached the bad cop, and looked into his stern face with a pleading look of innocence, asking him whether we couldn’t work this out another way. I didn’t realize then however, but was told afterwards, that such things always happen 1 to 1. He refused to understand what I was getting at, but did seem to believe my story of a poor lonely traveler. Andreas, more experienced with such matters, took the bastard inside the restaurant, into privacy. He came out, and said that the cop would accept 10.000 rupees: 125 euros! Ahja, what to do? I got all of the money together, some I lent from Steve and Andy, and gave it to the latter. He went down into the garden with the 2 wankers and handed over the money. When he came back up however, he wasn’t alone. He was 2, together with my charras! And of course to calm down, we lit the joint and relaxed once more.
Over a period of 3 weeks, volunteers came and went. One week after my arrival, Fleur came to the village, a French/English girl with green fingers and eyes. Before long she was managing the garden aspect of the village, and as such was kind of my boss. We’d work a lot together, and also spent good times together outside the village. At week 1.5 more people had joint the working force, and a group was forming. Together we’d go to town, eat, visit local beaches and the like. Some of the beaches were absolutely amazing. One day, 8 of us went to an old fort-rune, and on the way back stopped at a cliff overlooking a beach. We walked down, with huts along the wooden steps, towards a very beautiful yet almost empty beach. This was the first alternative I’d seen to the busy, more commercial beaches of Agonda and Palolem. On another day we’d visit Cola beach, which has, in between the cliff and sea, a sweet water lake, coming from a cold mountain stream. I’ve seen 2 meter snakes pass my path, big fat spiders in webs so thick they could catch birds and beautiful butterflies and birds with colors only matched by sunsets in the sea. But still the best thing about traveling is the people I’ve met, the conversations I’ve had and heard. I’m here only able to share the superficial experiences of my journey, but I can’t seem to find the words to describe the inner change I’m going through, share my most valuable experience. Maybe someday I will. Possibly maybe.
Next stop, Hampi. With a group of 8 people, sadly excluding Fleur, who went back to her family before Christmas, we went to Hampi, a town famous for its runes and rocks. By now we were referring to ourselves as a family. There were Pablo and Rosa, 2 friends from Spain that came to India for the wedding of a mutual friend. Raffi and Pipa, from Portugal, Nina and Conrad, a couple from Germany, and Lyla, from Egypt. Rosa hardly spoke any English when I first met her at Kaama Kethna, but together with a grammar book and admirable perserverance, she was still one of the most talkative of the group. Although it took her long to get a whole sentence or idea out, she would keep the attention of everyone in that time, and would always verbalize her thoughts beautifully. A truly remarkable person - she seemed to have love for pupils, seeing the world in a unique way. Together we crossed the river that divides Hampi, in search for a place for all of us. We ended up at “Om, Shanti, Silence”, a guesthouse run by a gipsy family, consisting of 3 brothers married to 3 sisters and their children. They had 4 double beds in 4 rooms, as if it was made for us. As in fact it was: we were the first guests since their opening! For only 100 rupees per person, and an amazing kitchen with no dish exceeding 100 rupees, it was truly remarkable. One of the last nights there, Pablo and I went to the monkey temple, a holy Hanuman place on top of one of the boulder-mountains. From walking around Hampi I knew that it consisted mainly of rocks, and more rocks, but only from that place on the top of one of the highest mountains, could I fix it in pictures. After the sunset, we heard crying behind us and looked around. There, on one of the big-ass rocks, were two people knelled down, their heads against each other. A proposal!
The next destination was Gokarna, a sea-side town south of Goa where we would spent Christmas together, my weirdest Christmas ever. Spending the whole day laying on the beach, playing Frisbee and swimming in the sea, it was hard to believe that it actually was Christmas. Christmas dinner, which we had at the guesthouse on the beach, consisted of a big collection of Indian food, a self-made buffet including red wine and weed. No meat, no chocolate. Afterwards, armed with a jerry can full of Mojito, we went to the beach, where we found a group of about 40 people situated around a couple of candles in the sand, making music with drums and guitars. They had made an Indian Christmas tree: a couple of dried palm branches leaning against each other. Only a few minutes after our arrival, people started chanting: Light the tree! Light the tree! And they did! All the candles were collected and placed under the tree, which became a 4 meter furnish in no-time; Christmas!
I’m writing all this from Virudhunagar, in the office of Blossom. New year past unnoticed; I only realized it fully when people wished me a happy new year the next day. I’m staying and helping at an orphanage, Blossom Dayspring Home, a home for 12 boys and 13 girls that lost their parents through HIV/AIDS and TB, or were rejected by their families because they themselves suffered from those diseases. Not many westerners come here, and I think I know why: the name is unpronounceable. When I tried to reach here, nobody understand what I wanted, where I wanted to go (I eventually wrote it on my arm to show people). I haven’t seen any white people, and I doubt they see many either. Earlier today I was walking along, not exactly sure where I was, when a random person came up to me to show me the way to Blossom office!
I want to wish all of you a happy new year! And perhaps till next time :)
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Je kunt nu ook Smileys gebruiken. Via de toolbar, toetsenbord of door eerst : te typen en dan een woord bijvoorbeeld :smiley
