No scratch?! No!

11 March 2011

I’ve just been to my first self-practice yoga class! I actually thought to myself that I was pretty good as I went flowing from one posture to next…breathing deeply through my nostrils. Yes,I thought! Score! I had it down and wasn’t so bad at all. But then I got carried away a bit and was indeed away with the fairies my I noticed that I was doing about the tenth ‘downward facing dog’. Well, looking around I thought, sugar, I can’t remember any other postures! So, tried to stay with the flow and behave as inconspicuous as possible and going through one posture after the other, obviously doing a ‘free-flow’, i.e. not sticking to the particular sequence in which the postures were designed. And surely enough!!! I was caught out! Hanging...in the about hundredth ‘downward dog’ with my head upside down, I suddenly saw a pair of legs standing next me whispering that I should stick to the sequence or else…! Darn. Back on my knees I looked at the instructor – a bit helpless and a bit annoyed – and I thought: you perfect person, you! My yoga video never went past the Suryanamaskar B of the Ashtanga primary so I had to repeat whatever I had already done. A bit like a hamster in a wheel I kept going round and round in circles. And I thought the more often I repeated the postures the better I might get at them. But apparently that wasn’t the point. So what is the point? I mean really! It is called ‘self-practice’ during which you practice yourself, on your  own and you practice whatever you want to practice - yourself!!! DUH!

So, she told me to stick to the correct sequence of asanas, and for heaven’s sake, I bloody would have if I had been able to remember them! It was the German instructor who pointed out the inadequacy of my yoga practice. Why I got so annoyed with her I don’t know. Maybe because I found her arrogant as she insisted that she couldn’t express herself in German anymore but preferred to speak English the whole time. (I always find it a bit silly really when people of the same national and linguistic background speak in a foreign language to each other when nobody else is around - not that we were getting along, but you know. Why? I mean really, why?) But I think it was more that fact that I was jealous of her that made me so angry. She was soooo good at yoga and I just kept repeating the same bloody postures…

Anyway, my anger turned into energy and despite the fact that felt really intimidated and low I got a great workout and sweated my bum off. Dripping with sweat, I was! Literally! Sooooo hot!!!! And oh, instructors, please! Do not dare to switch on those two lovely fans hanging from the ceiling because they might actually fan some cooling air into this little sauna of ours. Duh!!

After a short green tea-break I braved another yoga session – because I felt spurned on by the fact that I could probably do better – and joined the Ashtanga Yoga session. Oh boy!!! Little did I know. Geez, I thought my body was flexible…at least that’s what people have been saying in school and at the gym. But during this session I actually encountered all the limitations of my mental and physical flexibility. Needless to say that I was beat after that one. Kaputt.

I walked down the dusty and heavily trafficked road back to the hotel - being overtaken by cars, cows and scooters - back to my little hotel and had my breakfast. (These days I lived of rice cakes and apples –I shied away from eating any of the local food for fear of contracting diarrhoea or something like that – pathetic really.)

And being fed up with being honked out of the way and having to run away from lose cows of which I was scared, and being annoyed from not being able to get around as much, I have decided to go out and hire myself a scooter. Yes!!! Yes. Yes. I felt really proud of myself – for having made that decision. Mind you, I have never ever sat on a scooter in my entire life, let alone having driven one!!!

But when in Goa do as the Goans do. J  And seeing lots of grannies speeding away on scooters I thought: oh well, how hard can it be?? Besides, in Europe I am a safe driver, know all the traffic rules and am very conscientious.

Equipped with my driving license, passport and credit card (for insurance purposes, I thought) I walked around my little hotel, full of positive energy and courage. I explained to the lady at the shop, who didn’t want to hear about insurance or driving licenses or credit cards – cash talk is the talk of the day – that I was a very good driver on European streets but that I had never driven a scooter myself. She looked at me, put her head to one side and smirked at me. And with a movement of the hand literally waved my concerns off and made me understand in her Indian semi-comprehensible accent, that I needn’t worry and that driving a little scooter is indeed a piece of cake. She had me right there and then! Yay, I thought! I can do this!!!

She went around the shack, un-parked one for me and motioned me to hop on.  Oh dear God!  I didn’t expect these things to be soooo heavy – they always look so light when they fly past you in the street. She explained where the gas was and the break – no need for a clutch or a gear shift because it’s all automatic – hallelujah! Otherwise I wouldn’t have known what to concentrate on. She motioned to demonstrate how to ride a scooter elegantly. And she did. It looked amazing, really. Then it was my turn.

Slowly but surely letting go of the gas I inched my way forward on the scooter!!! Yeah!! I did it!!! But it must have looked like as if I was hopping away with the machine rather than driving it. Sweat was pouring down my face again – I was concentrating so hard -  but I was beaming and it didn’t bother me at all that I was driving slower than the slowest cow was walking – in fact the five of them who lived on my street just passed me, probably wondering what the hell I was doing driving so damn slowly or rather leap-hopping with the scooter.

And then there came the bent in the road!!! Oh shit, I thought. I was seriously contemplating getting off that damned thing and walking it around the curb to turn back to the shop. But I was too proud – nay too embarrassed to do that (not only was I the whitest woman in town, but also the whitest woman in town trying to master a scooter amongst the cows and locals –an attraction I should have charged the numerous onlookers for).

So, I managed to come to halt before the bend and then millimetre by millimetre I carefully – and to the dismay of all the vehicles behind me – pushed the scooter around the bend and returned to the shop with some of the locals actually clapping and congratulating me on my success. Embarrassing! But well, what a confidence boost!!

So, it was sealed. I rented the iron horse for a week, filled it up with a liquid that looked a bit like thickened lemonade – extra charge of course and was privileged to borrow the shop keeper’s own personal horse riding helmet for the time of the rental. Man, was I proud!!!

I made my way back to the hotel – mind you it was only 20 meters away so not such a great achievement – grabbed my swimming gear, some water, sunscreen, a book and camera…and imagined how I would cruise along the palm tree–lined country roads, the sun kissing my nose and shoulders, my hair flying elegantly in the wind, and how cool and self-confident I would look….

Well, that bubble burst as soon as I realized that I didn’t have a clue how to get to that palm-treed road I had so vividly imagined. I couldn’t possibly be driving and reading the map at the same time and I was too scared ending up in the middle of nowhere and being attacked by pack of stray dogs.

Hence I scootered slowly down the road I remembered walking along on foot the past few days when realized that I haven’t really seen anything yet… apart from the scooter shop and the local corner shop, 30 meters down the road.  

But I thought I need to pack the wolves by the ears or the bull by the horns or something and pull myself together! So, I decided to go where the wind would blow me…on my scooter. Having inhaled a huge bowl of courage I went further – actually passing the corner shop – into the unknown, wild territory…on my machine-horse. And, as long as I was alone on the road I was fine.

But then, as it happens in a peopled village in India, numerous vehicles appeared out of nowhere, honking, passing me only at inch-distance, all the cows of the village seemed have decided to bug me all at the same times, lots of Goans appeared walking along the side of the road. Then there were the dogs threateningly barking and running alongside my machine horse…and I got scared.

Mind you, when I say road I don’t mean road, I mean dirty dusty path-type-road-way…Obviously, traffic rules did not apply. The only rule was: there is no rule. It’s quite intriguing actually how it works: there is some sort of mutual agreement that you just nod at other traffic participants to indicate who can go first. Thank the lord for indicators on my iron horse because I couldn’t have managed driving with one hand and holding out the other one to indicated the direction I wanted to take.

And then there is honking.

Honking seems to be an all-rounder instrument of navigation: You honk when you pass someone – anyone – even the cows and dogs. You honk before you turn around the bend. Obviously, you honk to indicate that you know someone walking on the side of the road. You honk in order to scare the animals off the road – as well as humans. You honk as an excuse for reckless driving and you honk for honking’s sake. So, there is quite a lot of honking going on in my little village.

Again, the dream of a quiet sanctuary, piece of mind - and piece of ear - remained  a dream indeed. The noise level in Goa is incredibly high – not only have you got all the natural noises, i.e. monkeys, crows, cows, dogs, screaming children, people arguing, tourists chatting and laughing, old women bickering with their husbands, and then you’ve got all the extra – artificial – noises as well: the humming or roaring noise of cars, vans and overcrowded busses, the millions of scooters and the HONKING. I found it really hard to concentrate on the machine I was driving whilst noticing everything else around me, plus all the crazy thoughts in my head weren’t helping (thinking about not having insurance to do what I was doing and all the type of accidents that could happen), the heat and sun roasting me and there was an increasing fear of speed and falling wallowing up inside me.

Well, guess what! It was only a matter of time – of minutes actually – until exactly that happened. Speed and falling. Fear gripped me by the neck and sent my flying – nay skidding– across the road. 10 min after I rented my scooter.

So, let’s rewind: I left my hotel to find the lovely romantic sandy beach and followed some road that led across a rice field, thinking: well, as there are no proper roads and with the map being what it was – a bunch of black squiggly lines on a piece of paper – any of those roads will lead to the beach. Ha!! Not so much in Goa. Because suddenly  it seemed as if I ended up in a desolate part of the village with fewer houses and more and more trees…and weird animal noises greeting me as I inched my way forward into this unknown territory. Needless to say that the monster Fear was already sitting behind me lurking over my shoulder, when it prompted me to a halt, telling my brain to better turn around and return to civilization. The screeching monkeys or birds or whatever made the noise were probably laughing their butts off when they witnessed what came next: in sheer panic of being lost, I stopped my iron horse in the middle of the dusty pebbly road and decided to slowly turn it around to go back to where people live. Good plan! And easier said than done …because the scooter wouldn’t turn around as conveniently as I might have hoped.

So, in my attempt to draw a circle with it I lost my balance for a split second during which the back wheel slipped on the pebbles…and in a pathetic attempt to prevent myself from falling I grabbed both handles harder not realizing that actually I was turning up the gas. The scooter jolted forward and lifting my butt off my seat and then saw us both speeding through the ditch on the side of the road into which we (my iron horse and I) have skidded.  I was still frantically gripping the handles – must have been a reflex – and I was still speeding through the shrubbery when – like a miracle – the iron horse brought me back onto the road with a jolt. That’s when it dawned on me that it might be a good idea to ease the grip on the gas handle – duh – not to say to let go – which I did, of course. So, still being on full speed, the machine stopped immediately – that came totally unexpected, duh ! Losing control of the scooter and my balance I was then thrown off the machine and skidded about 6m on to the gravelled road.

I don’t know how but I ended up lying on my back, helmet still on. Yay!

My initial reaction: Thank God, I am not dead. Second thought: verdammte Scheisse! If that thing is broken now, I can’t afford a new one! I will have to go to jail! In India! Oh dear Lord!

But I could hear the machine still running and was delighted. I tried to get up to do some damage control. Well, not so easy. I was in a bit of a shock and couldn’t move. So, I lay there in the middle of the road, saw the picture of the past 30 seconds reeling passed before my eyes and I started laughing. Well, it was more of a giggle considering that I couldn’t really move. I hadn’t even noticed that two motorcycles have stopped and two Goan men came running to help me up. How ridiculous that must have looked to them: an extremely white woman lying extremely in the middle of the road, wearing an extremely ridiculous horse riding helmet, laughing her ass off.

One man helped me up on my feet and oh – my legs were really shaky. The other man picked up the scooter and tried to turn that stubborn thing off and only managed to after a couple of attempts. I scanned my body, counted my limbs, touched my head and back and everything seemed fine. Apart from numerous bloody scratches on my feet and legs and my right shoulder there was no obvious damage. Well, me right hand hurt like hell – more specifically, my right little pinky finger did and it seemed to have been broken.

Judging by the look on the faces of those men I must have looked like a real mess. However, I immediately realized the seriousness of the situation and tried to regain some composure and dignity and tried to take control of the situation: I went over to that damned iron horse, opened the seat compartment to find my bag in which I had – with spooky foresight (I’ve always known I had a sixth sense! ) – put some antiseptic wipes that same morning. My hands were still shaking when I wiped off the blood of my legs and shoulder, whining about the stinging pain in the open wounds. But I assured those lovely and helpful men that I was absolutely fine and I actually intended to drive the scooter back into the village.

But as I was still trembling, I couldn’t master the strength to even hold that damned scooter thing. One of the men kindly offered – and I think they all (there were four altogether) felt really sorry for me – to drive me back to the village. On the way, sitting behind that stranger on a scooter, feeling the cooling air on my wounds and in my face, I’ve decided that I will not be defeated by a stupid scooter thing. Man reigns over machine!!! I was determined to master the art of driving a scooter without getting killed instantly. This was not going be the end. I haven’t travelled thousands of miles to a country I didn’t know anything about only to be intimidated by a frigging scooter and be scared into staying in my hotel room for remainder of – my whole holiday. No. No. No.

Red Flag

10 March 2011

So, yesterday did turn out to be a better day.

It was a good first day – at least up to the yoga class. My first teacher-led Vinyasa Flow class was actually amazing. And the energy in the room was simply intoxicating. I was literally floating home feeling so invigorated……

But when you’re on a high like that it is only a matter of time until something or somebody bursts that bubble and crash down to earth.

When I got to my room I was in for a shock: all my clothes and all my stuff had disappeared!!!

I couldn’t believe my eyes: all my things had been moved and put away and been unpacked and stored. And guess where? Into the spider-infested wardrobe and chest of drawers and cupboards. I sooooo wanted to scream and cry and stomp my feet and everything at the same time. OMG!!!! People!!! Why do you think I hadn’t put anything away??? Huh???? (I know this initial reaction seems a bit over the top but I really do despise spiders and the likes from the bottom of my heart.)

Oh, and did I mention that I share my “barn room” with several types of spiders and other weird crawling insects, including cockroaches???

Well, I wasn’t sure why people had done this although I did take a wild guess: considering that they probably did not have a clue as to how I felt about my little multiple-legged fellow lodgers - they only meant well – I’ve decided. Though I wasn’t sure whether it was expected of me to leave a tip for that. But still, as much as I knew that my reaction was quite ridiculous my indignation did not evaporate as quickly as it may have been wishful for I stormed out of my room to the reception and made it absolutely clear to the lady of the house that none of my stuff/clothes/shoes be touched but rather should be left hanging/lying around in that orderly manner of mine.

Apart from having made a bad impression already upon my arrival – they now must have thought that I may have completely lost. Red-curly-haired monster!

[Oh dear! I so need to learn how to RELAX! It slowly dawns on me that it is not a place I need to find to relax in but rather I need to relax in myself, in my mind….]

Maybe the Goans are fed up with all the foreigners – all the white ones – who look like they have got a lot of money but in the end don’t want to give them anything. But really: …if I had had a lot of money and wasn’t on a budget I would have given them all my money really….

So, after putting everything back where I had wanted it, I finally made it to the beach J in the afternoon and this is what I had in mind: white sand, palm trees reaching over the beach and almost nipping into the waves, a light breeze and peace and quiet. Well, I must have mistaken this for Thailand because what I’ve found was nothing like I had imagined. L

And what a nightmare it was. Firstly, I found out that you should never trust a Goan! It’s not that they are vicious people but they are too embarrassed to admit that they don’t speak or even understand English (which is by the way not the end of the world!) and they say ‘yes’ to everything and or direct you to the wrong places or point you in the wrong direction as they may have something else in mind for you.

So, when a Goan says that the beach is only a ten-minute-walk away he doesn’t actually mean walk simply because he is never walking!!!! Nobody is walking in this town except the stupid foreigners who have just arrived and don’t know yet that the way to move about is not by foot but by scooter or motorbike.

But as good-hearted and gullible as I am I took his word for it and thought that I would make it to the beach in about 10 minutes, during the midday heat, 35 degrees. Walking!!

I must have been delirious for I felt like a roast chicken (or in German a ‘broiler’ as I felt headless anyway)…waddling my way along the dusty road together with the cows…and the dogs….and the goats and the ever-honking motor vehicles brushing past me, pushing me threateningly close to the ditch by the road.

In general, I am not aware of the fact that I am a white woman but I over here I am constantly reminded of that! What an odd feeling!!!

The staring and name calling! And whistling!!! (I’ve never liked being whistled at – by anyone really cos it makes blush and this heat makes my face even redder than it already is..)

Anyway, half-way to the beach I was suddenly stopped by a young Indian man who engaged me in a conversation about racial discrimination, driving his motor bike at walking speed next to me. (Quite clever actually, he could probably smell that I felt bad for being white already and must have thought to himself ‘oh let’s put some salt into those wounds and see if I can lighten her burden of carrying all those rupees! I know I am being a bit too sarcastic but seriously…that’s how it felt!)

Me being me, being very polite and open, I engaged in a chat with him. As it turns out he speaks French and a little bit of German – which immediately raised the level of trust on my part. He then offered me a ride to the beach claiming that he was going to go there as well for the Wednesday Flea Market.

Well, by that time apart from dripping with sweat my feet had swollen up and I already had blisters on my feet and therefore I thought to myself “Sod it!” and hopped onto the back of his bike praying that he would actually take me to the beach and not down a dark alley to cut me into pieces.

Everything was fine and the ride was actually quite enjoyable for the breeze cooled my face and my feet. And as long as he stayed on the main road I was happy. I sat behind me and he drove very slowly which suited me very well because I didn’t want to have to hold on to him. That would have been a bit awkward – not only because he was a stranger but also because I wasn’t sure how Indians felt about touching.

(Although, mind you: he was a bloke so he probably would have enjoyed it. ;)

We tried to continue the conversation whilst on the bike but knowing that this was logistically slightly impossible I just kept saying “Oh really!” “Aha. That’s interesting!”

And that was when he suddenly took a turn to take a ‘short cut’! Immediately I held my breath and felt my heart stop for a second. Inside, I was freaking out. But luckily my brain kicked in and prevented from doing anything stupid but rather demanded that I remain calm as not to upset my abductor!!!

I calmly mentioned that I recognized the area and that I was fine to walk to the beach from here and that I would certainly find my own way now. So, as politely as I could I’ve asked him to stop and let me off.

But he wouldn’t stop. And when we drove into a horde of cows I have decided to stick it out and stay on the bike and jump off the next chance I would get. (You know…as peaceful as the cows looked…they all had horns and I am sure they would have smelled my fear!)

And then alas! There was the beach! He was right and didn’t trick me! Hallelujah! And then, this young man whose name I have conveniently forgotten insisted on walking along the beach with me. He actually wanted to have a drink together. Still shocked from the whole experience (I never would have done that in Europe!) and as politely as I could at that stage I declined – because all I wanted was some me-time, really!!! I just needed time to digest the past couple of days and come to terms with the different culture. (And I knew that all he wanted was to see me in my bikini and take a picture!)

By hiding underneath parasols and pretending to know some other English girls I ‘lost’ him, finally, or he lost me. Whatever. I got rid of him. Thank God!! (I know that sounds really unthankful but under the circumstances you would have felt the same. Unless you’re a man…or of different color…or whatever…)

Well, obviously, I didn’t know the girls and didn’t talk to them much but I felt some sort of connection as they were people like me – white people – from home! A huge sigh escaped from my chest and the feeling of consolation rushed over me. Finally, I can sit or lie down and relax and enjoy the sun!!!! At last!

Once I got comfortable on my little sun bed (with two dogs taking refuge from the heat underneath in the cool sand) I had the chance to have a closer look at the beach. J

What I saw was far from that lovely Thailand picture I had in mind: first, I noticed dogs. I saw two or three playing around and then I looked further down the beach and saw another four or five. And I thought “Well, the Goans must really love their animals!” until I realized those dogs were all stray dogs who lived off the tourists’ rubbish! And they lived on the beach in massive groups of 12-15 and….only very few female dogs (those lucky bitches! Hehe).

But no, it wasn’t funny actually. Not only am I scared of dogs or one dog but 20 of them…holy crap!

So, as if to prove to myself that I am not being fazed by all of this I made my way into the water…anticipating refreshment…the air was really hot…just over 32 degrees….but disappointingly, the water was just as warm…

The waves however, were really cool! Really big ones that pushed you under and spat you on the beach…such fun!!!

Later on I found out that actually nobody was supposed to be in the water – hence the red flag next to the lifeguard’s high post. Luckily, everyone on the beach was just as ignorant as me. J

But apart from those exciting waves, I can’t find anything nice to say about the beach: it is dirty; there is rubbish everywhere, lots of men preying on you and all of those sellers and wanna-be-sales men and women!!! It borders on harassment! They want the money I don’t have. L Then you’ve got the cows and dogs coming after you as well. It all felt a bit mental.

And in all of this it feels very weird being here all alone … trying to process those first impressions of India and the stuff that is going on in my head anyway…there are lots of places I would have rather been –not alone - but sadly wasn’t.

Of course, I have imagined things to be different. And normally I am quite good at meeting people to hang out with but for the moment I am wandering around alone which feels a bit awful. Tout seul…  And here I am moaning again…

Later on I went to one of the bistros to get some food as I hadn’t eaten since breakfast…I kind of forgot… and was really really hungry.

Well, I’ve waited an hour for a bowl of Chinese noodles…and that I thought “That’s it!!!! I’ve had for the day!!!!! – not knowing that it wasn’t over yet. The worst bit was yet to come: the 10-minute (i.e. 30 min) walk home in the gleaming heat….oh well, I’ve been through worse things…really…so I didn’t mind the Goan junkies offering me all kinds of recreational drugs which I kindly declined as well as all the offers from Indian women who were holding on to my arms trying to make me buy stuff…really I was polite….

I didn’t even mind the dogs…I’ve had it.

Even when I was almost pushed into the ditch again – I thought “Well, that’s it! I’m never coming back here!!! This is crap!” And then, of course, I got lost. I couldn’t find my way back home!!! Ssssugar!!!!
The map I was given by the Brahmani Yoga was so, was so….well different….because I couldn’t find or even recognize the roads as they were drawn up in the map. All I saw was trees!! (Hehe, maybe for the first time in my life?! How ironic!!)

But I was adamant that I didn’t need any help, that I could find my own way home. And as politely as ever I declined and didn’t requite the ever-polite offers from passing taxi drivers to take me home for a small recompense. Actually, everyone who has got his/her hands on some sort of motor vehicle is a taxi man or woman.

If the roads hadn’t been so friggin’ dirty I would have taken off my shoes as my feet and blisters were boiling and sifting (yuck!). But I was determined to make it home alone and to go the Restorative Yoga class to finish off my day with a nice and lovely experience and meditation to make up for that hustle and bustle of the day.

When I got home I didn’t have time for a shower so I quickly changed into my yoga gear and walked over to the shala. Gosh, was I glad to finally get there. The sun was about to set and offered a beautiful shade of orange in the sky.

The group was very small – were only five people altogether. I sank into the yoga mat and onto the bolster with great relief. I’ve tried to let go of everything that had really bugged me during the day. The cooling air seemed to underline my relief. I slipped into a meditative state that made me forget how miserable I was during the day. During meditation I squinted around to look at the other members of the group. There was the teacher who was so gentle and soft in nature I could only describe her as ‘brown velvet.’ Then there was the teacher trainer girl (whose name I’ve forgotten) and her brother who has agreed to take this class just for her sake. He was cute and he awkwardly tried out all the poses as suggested and he kept smirking to himself probably thinking that he’ll never do this again.

And then there was the ‘dude’ – tall, good-looking, blond, green-eyed surfer dude from Sydney. He seemed to grin even if he was not. His face was conveniently tanned that his white teeth only rivaled the shine of the moon when he opened his mouth to a wide smile. During mediation he smiled, very contently. He was absolutely there – in that place of mind where you can utterly and completely let go. Oh how I envied him for I had a hard time sitting still and really detaching my mind from my body. First my nose was itching. Then the bolster wasn’t in the right place. Then my legs were itching because of the sand that stubbornly stuck to my 'suntan-lotioned' limbs. And although I really managed to let go for a few moments, I couldn’t wait for this to be over and have a shower and some food.

After class the dude (whose name was Dave, i.e. Dayve by the way) and I chatted for a bit…you know the usual…what’s your name…how long are you here for…kind of thing. He suggested to give me a lift and then changed his mind and thought it would be better to get dinner somewhere before hitting the sack.

This was a yet another new experience: going to dinner with a stranger, riding on the back of his scooter in the dark for there were no streetlights. I mean – again he could have taken me anywhere really! (I don’t know why I am always so mistrusting and so frigging scared all the time! I blame my parents!)

We went to this lovely Tibetan restaurant and for the first time I actually ate food at a restaurant in India.  But me being me - I had a salad or something like that…something ridiculous I thought was ‘safe’ to eat. I was glad to hear that Dave was just like me when he first got here….living of food stuffs that couldn’t have possibly infected with any of the local diseases Westerners could catch from unclean water or contaminated food.

I was glad to finally talk to someone over here. It felt so good because I had been so alone. But I think all that came out of my mouth was moaning…I think I must have opened the gates and in only a few sentences must have outlined my miserable life. Well, I actually don’t remember talking about myself. All the more reason why what he said caught me so unawares and was straight to the point: “Helga, you gotta have faith. Have faith that you’ll be taken care of.” Those few words shot through every single cell of my body and slightly reverberated behind my eyes close enough to set the waterworks going!!! But I thought better of it: what a jerk, I thought. How come he thinks he’s got me all figured out?

I guess it was just one of those purely incidental moments that make a lot of sense without meaning to.

After he dropped me home I felt kind of upset and unsettled and sad and lonely and everything at the same time and in the shower I could not hold the fort anymore and started bawling my eyes out. Loud and heavy sobs shook my body. I don’t remember for how long I had been in the shower. It seemed like an eternity when suddenly it hit me: Shit, Helga! You are using too much water! The people over here cannot afford to waste water like that! So, I left the shower. But I hadn’t stopped crying.

And again, I felt that I missed Him. I know now that I cried for myself and that I really missed being taken care of and that I really missed to be the object of someone’s affection.

It hit me there and then still shaken by heavy sobs and crocodile tears running down my cheeks that whichever places I go to and whichever people I meet and fall in or out of love with or have feelings for – the places I might leave – the people I might lose one way or another but the only constant in this equation is: me. I am the only thing/person I’ve got. Whichever the circumstance, I will always run into me and have me with me. It’s always going be me and I. That’s it. Everything else is a bonus.

So, I should better start taking care of myself and making myself happy because nobody else can. Life is fluid, not steady as such. I need to – no I want to love myself. Until that moment I didn’t actually know what this meant. I had heard this phrase many times before and I had said it, too. But I didn’t know what it meant, what it felt like. Now I knew: it felt like that. Like I am really glad and happy to have had myself with me and that I was not alone at all. I had me. Yay! And I’m going to take care of myself.

Literally, I had to travel all the way to other side of the world in order to find myself. It’s still very fresh but I am so glad I did.

My sleep was restless, it was boiling hot in my bedroom as my landlords had decided to save electricity and turn if off. I lay awake for about two hours and then decided, “Sod it!” and slipped into the hallway to turn it back on as I really needed my fan.

On my way back into bed I found a huge massive cockroach type of bug scurrying around in my bedroom. It moved so quickly and was so noisy doing it gave me the fright of my life. I think I must have frightened that poor little thing as well because it was frantically trying to find a way out of my room until it slipped under the door into the hallway.

And then cursing that little thing I suddenly started laughing, shaking my belly. Securely tucked up into my mosquito-net sanctuary bed I literally laughed myself to sleep for a few hours.

Red Flag...

Moaning...

Why....

8 March 2011

I'm in Goa. God knows why. At least I hope he does because I haven't got a clue about what kicked me in the head to decide to come here. Knowing me, it was some romanticized idea of becoming a yoga queen (oh no, not a princess but a queen!) and possibly finding a Mr Right along the way…. Oh Jesus!!! What is wrong with me???
I've been here two seconds and am already traumatized! I literally only just got here and my first impression is that I DON’T LIKE IT. It’s not the heat – which is a bit annoying to begin with but it’s not that.
It’s the fact that when I was being picked up from the airport, my driver Ashok had the frivolity to put his hand on my right knee during half the ride without finding anything abnormal about it. Duh!
And then it’s my room – full of spiders and weird insects that have made themselves a home in the innumerable corners of my room and even the wardrobe and chest of drawers. Sweet! (Note the sarcasm here!)
It’s also the fact that it seems that every fart costs money. The people here think that I am the richest person in the world and can just throw my money after them for my personal amusement. They literally shove their opened hand into my face every time I dare to ask something. Every little thing wants to be rewarded with a “tip”.
What? I don’t get it. Help???
One, two, three….calm down!! Oh, come on, Helga! Get a grip. You’ve travelled half-way across the world to sit here in this barn room and moan??
I start telling myself that I have to trust myself and the reason/thought that brought me here. One thing is for sure though: it is not the tranquil little paradise I had hoped to find.
Everything is soooo noisy!!! I could have stood in the middle of Trafalgar Square – same thing: monkey’s screeching, honking, cars, birds, people shouting and all mixed together in a bowl of humid 35 degrees centigrade!!!!
Where exactly can I find this peace and quiet that I am so desperately seeking??


And then He pops back into my head. I think that I miss him. We’ve broken up – yet again. But this time for good. I think. I don’t understand how this could be happening but I miss him. Or the thought of him. Or really just anybody who is a little bit fond of me. How PATHETIC. I think I feel heartbroken but maybe I just pity myself. Again. PLOM: Poor little old me. Nobody loves me. (Heart-felt sobs...)
Yawn! For God’s sake, Helga. Get a grip. It’s just the culture shock. Tomorrow is another day and it can only get better.
I so hope it will.
xxx

I had lost myself and went out looking for her....

6 March 2011

Tomorrow, I am going to fly half-way across the world hoping sincerely that I would run into myself and actually recognize myself.
I had lost myself a while ago and worked really hard on trying to find out why. Finding myself has become my objective because losing yourself really really really hurts. It doesn't put you in a nice place. Rather, it breaks you because naturally you're not whole.

So, the Goa experiment is an attempt to let my mind settle and relaxe and filter through those experiences and emotional roller coasters from the past year and a half hoping that what would remain after everything else has been stripped of will be me. Just me. Helga. Helkele. Me.

I am looking forward to finding me/myself. I've missed me for so long. I've been lonely without me for so long. It's about time I put myself together again. How exciting!

Let's see.