A Sacred Tuk Tuk ride

I caught a ride today in a tuk tuk (auto-rickshaw) with the music blaring - it was the most beautiful chanting and I couldn't help but smile and hope he didn't turn it down, on account of the white girl in back.  As he caught my smile in the mirror, he explained, "Sai Baba".   I haven't studied the gurus, and I can't tell you what the philosophy is of this one, but I do recognize the name.  He's well known, with a large, devoted, following and many temples. 

As we drove along, both of us tapping to the music, the driver occasionally head-bobbling in time, I found myself getting choked-up, my heart overflowing with this sense of humble devotion, amidst the chaos of traffic.  While I can't, from that brief encounter, assume to really know anything about the man that was taking me home from the market, it was clear by the pride on his face as he announced "Sai Baba" that his guru is important to him, the music is deeply moving, and sharing it is a blessing and an honour. 

Can you imagine, in Canada, listening to Christian hymns in the back of your taxi cab?  It would be completely out-of-place . . . and in our culture, perhaps even inappropriate.  But here in India the sacred and the profane go hand in hand, un-apologetically, unabashedly. 

My sense of this driver, as he navigated impossible turns and traffic snarls, was of someone content and grounded.  (But what do I know?)  And he's not the only one I've had that sense with. This is a huge, chaotic, unruly, stinky, CRAZY city . . . that I see through the eyes of a Canadian white girl.  But sometimes, like today, I am privileged to see it, just a little, through someone else's heart. I catch glimpses of what life might be like for someone who just lives and works here, for whom this is truly home. 

And I am reminded that comparisons truly have no place here.  That what I know about how life works, from my home in Canada, has very little value here.  That the only way to be here is to BE HERE. 

Blessed be.

My first week in India

How do I put this first week into words?  Delhi is a cacophony of sounds, smells and sights . . . perhaps in that order.  When I was in Guatemala, I thought San Marcos was noisy - I devoted an entire post to it, in fact.  Sanny M has *nothing* on Delhi.  Horns are a constant discordant melody over the rumble of the traffic itself.  At night, it appears that Indians like fireworks almost as much as Guatemalans.  I haven't heard so many dogs barking - outside at least, although they are everywhere on the street.  Inside I hear dogs barking, mind you, as the guesthouse I'm staying in right now has two yappy little poms.

As for smells . . . the air here is so think sometimes I am amazed I can breathe.  I am starting to wonder if I will ever get the grit out of my eyes, or if it's permanent now.  My lungs yearn for BC's beautiful fresh air.  The smell is mostly not as bad as I expected - I was warned that I would find it intolerable getting off the plane, and really it hasn't been so bad.  It is interesting though how markedly stinkier the city gets after dark.  I'm not sure what that is . . .but it's a sickly sweet smoggy icky pungent aroma that seems to envelope the roads as the evening sets.   As always when I travel, I came down with a cold this week and it has almost been a blessing in that I can't smell much.  On the other hand, I have a hunch that the air quality didn't exactly help my healing process.  Fortunately I'm on the mend, although I still don't quite have my sense of smell back.  I'm counting my blessings.

Maybe sights should have come first on the list - there are so many.  It is such an interesting place to be witness to; the paradoxes and contradictions are everywhere.  Hindus, Muslims; happy, cared-for children, poor, dirty children with no shoes; women in fine traditional silks and saris, women in western business suits and stilettos; shiny BMW SUVs, beat up old suzuki hatch-backs; hundreds of homeless people and dogs, wealthy people with servants and spoiled fru fru dogs; tenement style concrete block buildings beside stunning palatial houses.  What's most remarkable to me is not that these contradictions exist, but how they co-exist in such proximity of each other.

Much to my surprise, I was here almost an entire week before I saw my first cow on the street.  Apparently they herded both the cows and the beggars out of Delhi for the Common Wealth Games in October.  I think the beggars have resumed their numbers more quickly overall.

The same day I spotted the cow - meandering through the market, I also spotted my first elephant, walking along a main road.  Her (I am assuming it's a girl, not sure why) face was painted with beautiful blue and gold markings and she carried a platform and rider. As we drove past her my host, Ashish, graciously stopped to let me get a picture.  Turns out they walk fairly quickly, as by the time I got my camera out I ended up with a fantastic shot of her rump walking past us.  We zipped ahead of her again and then had to stop for a light, so I hopped out to get another shot, but the light was fading, so it's not very good.  In the mean time, as we waited for the light, she pulled up behind us in the traffic line to wait for the light also.  Ashish hoped aloud that she wouldn't rest her trunk on our roof - as no doubt it would collapse. What an image to contemplate!!  Fortunately, she kept her trunk to herself until we had pulled away and then she used it to reach up for a snack as she walked under a big leafy tree. It was really quite an awesome sight.

Ashish also made sure to stop by a place known as the "Lotus Temple" en route to and from the office this week so I could take pictures.  Once in the morning and once at night.  It's Delhi's Baha'i temple, and the building is constructed such that it looks like a lotus flower. It's really quite a remarkable structure, and it's amazing all lit up at night.

I'm slowly getting to know the little area I'm in, although I think I'll be moving to another neighbourhood next week.  As lovely as my hosts here are, I've found another guesthouse that feels like it will better suit me for a long-term stay.  It's in a little enclave, with gardens and grass, and more independent private space, including a desk and sitting area.  Given that I'll be working primarily from home that feels essential. Sitting in bed working has a pretty limited novelty. Really, how many hours a day can you spend in bed??  Admittedly, I get regular tea service in bed here . . . but still, the novelty is wearing as my butt gets numb and I begin to develop cabin-fever.  My body and spirit need to have a dedicated workspace, if not in another room, at least one that requires me to stand up and move to another spot in the room. I'm positive it's better for circulation and sanity.


A quick end-note to sum up my first week.  I spent a fair bit of time driving around this week. (passengering, actually.  I don't think I EVER want to actually *drive* here)  Zipping around South Delhi, I discovered yet another fascinating facet of Indian road laws:  As I watched all the motorcycles and scooters zip by with women riding the back side-saddle, I discovered that not only is that legal (you can't possibly straddle a moto in a sari!!) but the law also holds that helmets are required for men, but not for women unless they are driving. (Apparently this decision was made to honour women - the decision makers felt that women wouldn't want the helmet to mess up their hair)  So, women passengers and the children all piled on the bike are not required to wear any kind of protective gear.  I totally see the logic: clearly the woman on the back sitting side-saddle with a baby in her lap is not only far less likely to fall off, but surely she won't crack her head if that should happen. And children are resilient, they'll bounce. Surely. ;-)  

The People of San Marcos

Trying to describe the people of San Marcos is both fascinating and challenging.  There are two distinct groups and some definitive sub-divides within them.


The most obvious divide is between the Indigenous and the 'Gringos' (used loosely to describe all the foreigners), demonstrated both through the geographical division and the underlying tension evident if one engages either in any length of conversation about living here (and with each other).  Amongst the Gringos themselves, there are the microcosms.  The long-term residents, the newer residents, longevity still to be determined and, of course, the tourists.

Geographically, there are essentially two towns here - the Indigenous town at the top of the hill, and the gringo town area down towards the lake.  The gringo town is essentially one great big square, more or less surrounding the Pyramids in the middle.  Most of gringo life here takes place on one main path.  This path contains Restaurant Fe, where I work, Blue Lili Coffee house where I often hang out, a little Tienda (convenience store), an Italian Tapas place (our direct competition) and a little clothing, jewellery and kitch store.  Littered along the path are fresh fruit and veg vendors, jewellery vendors, and an indigenous home / storefront where they sell avocados and empanadas.  (3 for 10Q . . . that's lunch for just over $1.)  

The gringo population here is probably about 300 (give or take) . . . .not including tourists, but it's a hard count to take, because even the 'residents' here are so transient.  People come for a week, and stay for months. . . . . and become part of the community . . . and then leave.   Really, I am one of those 'residents' right now . . . and yet I've only been here 3 months, and plan to leave again in another 2 or less.  So it's a hard count to take .  . . and makes for an interesting community dynamic. There are some who have been here for several years, and always new settlers who figure they will stay for a long time.  Only time will tell.  It's also common for folks to spend part of each year here, and go back to somewhere in North America the rest of the year.

I have no idea what the population of the Indigenous part of town is.  Larger and certainly more stable than the gringo part.  The cultural divide there is huge and visible.  From the money they earn, to the clothes they wear, to the lifestyle they lead. Most of the men dress in the usual gringo style jeans and a shirt, although there are still some who wear the traditional clothing.  By contrast, the women almost entirely wear the customary costumes - beautiful coloured shirts and long skirts . . . a ton of fabric gathered at the waist in a snug wide belt.  (I'll have to post pictures on these)  A friend of mine has one of those skirts and wore it one night to sing . . . said she'll never do it again.  I'm not sure how they move with such agility in those skirts.

What amazes me the most though is what these people carry.   The men carry hundreds of pounds - wood, concrete . . . building materials . . . on their back in a strap that they wrap around the front of their head - really using their forehead to carry that weight.  The old man who delivers wood to the restaurant where I work looks like he's in his 70's or older.  (Frankly, he looks about 105, but I'm assuming he's not really that old.)  The women (from young to old) carry everything on top of their heads.  They walk around with baskets of breads, produce . . .whatever.  One of them comes into my yard once a week to sell me fresh vegetables, and I've helped her put the basket back up afterward (NO idea how she'd do it herself!!!  That basket must way well over 50 lbs.  I still can't get over what these women carry up there . . . or how they balance it all, seemingly effortlessly!!!



Although the travel books mention that the indigenous have other languages – there are language schools here where you can learn K’ech Kel as well as Spanish, that is but one of the 12 dialects that make up the lake area alone.  And what no one really mentions is that for all of the indigenous, Spanish is a hard-learned second language . . . not their first, and not one that most of them were born into.  It is only in the last 10 or so years that they have been obliged to learn Spanish to accommodate the tourist trade that has become so much a part of their lives. Now they are being told they should learn English as well.  As far as I can tell, overall, theirs is a much simpler existence . . . except where we have arrogantly come in and impacted their world.

It is both fascinating and sometimes painful to witness the impact of our (foreigners) presence on the local population, and concurrently to watch the impact on the gringo population, both of being here in Guatemala amongst the indigenous, and of living in the bubble that is this community.  Like many small towns, drama and gossip are endemic to the size and proximity of the community members.  Given the one-square-path geography here, you can imagine that the bubble is that much more intense.  The nature of San Marcos, on a sacred lake, and directly over ley lines, amplifies the intensity.

I can't tell you what draws indigenous and other Guatemalans (not born here) to settle here , but the foreigners come from far and wide for a variety of personal reasons, but the themes are consistent.  San Marcos is a mecca for healing - physical, spiritual, emotional.  People come specifically to study at the Pyramids, or more generally for the yoga, meditation and body work that are so widely available here.  As noted previously, people often come for a day or two, and stay for weeks, soaking up the energy, the services, the lake and the vibe. 

Like many healing-focused communities, the paradox is powerful.  It is those most in need of healing that often come and settle in healing places . . . and so, among the gringo community, the drama and dysfunction here are as readily available as the healing services.  Having said that, there is also a wealth of welcoming, community, love and laughter.  Making a place for oneself here is as simple, really, as just doing so.  Creating what you want . . . and then sharing it.  I am frequently surprised by how easy it is here just to start a business idea and make it go, or to make friendly acquaintances.



A quick aside: I've used the term 'friendly acquaintances' but I'm not certain it's quite the right one.  Friends would be over-stating, but acquaintances feels too fleeting.  True friendships take time to develop . .. . and I'm never sure what to call those new 'friends' that might with time become true friends, but also might not. Similarly, what do you call those casual 'friends' that you hang out with, see regularly, like . . . but aren't those deep friendships you really, really rely on???  We are missing some key words in the English language to describe layers of friendship) 

I'm certain I have more observations about the people here, but lest it drift into another 2 weeks of thinking and composition . . . I'll leave it here, and add another entry when I'm ready.

Losing days in San Pedro

It appears that my experience in San Pedro is not uncommon.  I came with the intention to stay 2 days, and I stayed 5.  Others come for a day, stay for a month, come for a month, stay for a year . . . and many just don´t leave.

It´s not for everyone.  It´s not a pretty city, particularly, but it has its own charm. The streets are cobblestone, but one walks through a mixture of those streets and alleys and cut-throughs to make it around town.  Although I learned my way around fairly quickly, I never did actually figure out the layout of the town, as it´s really NOT linear.  I couldn´t tell you, for the life of me, where north is.

I found San Pedro fascinating in some ways.  There are a lot of ex-pats (from all over) that have settled here, short or long term, and you can meet many of them just wandering down the ¨"Gringo Path" . . . the strip where all those restaurants are.  Once they have a little bit of spanish, basically enough to serve the occasional Guatemalan that comes in, they can get a job there - as most of the customers are english speaking travelers or other ex-pat residents.  There´s also a significant Israeli population, which I hadn´t expected.  Signs everywhere are in spanish, english and hebrew.

It is full of restaurants, vendors, spanish schools, more spanish schools, little tiendas, bars, net cafes . . . and did I mention spanish schools?  The party scene is definitely strong, and I have a new appreciation for how easy it is to drink regularly here.  Happy hours range from the usual 4 - 6 to 9am - midnight.  And happy hour means alcohol is almost cheaper than water.  Imagine 2 Cuba Libres for 2 dollars.  Seriously.  So I confess I indulged,  but for those that know me, that means that over my 5 days, I had less than 10 drinks.  A power drunk, I know. 

I also caught the expected cold shortly after my arrival, so I was forced to slow down, take siestas and do a lot of nothing.  Although rather resentful of the stuffy nose, I felt renewed justification in the pounds of vitamin c, echinacea and other health remedies that I brought with me.  I also recognized that it was an inevitable result of leaving Vancouver tired, and traveling for over 24 hours to get here.  Not so terrible really.

I moved after a few days into a room at the front of the hotel, facing the lake, and really enjoyed my two nights there.  I got to indulge in a king size bed, with many pillows, a view of the lake and the grand gardens, and the most amazing smell of the flowers as I came and went.  One bush of lilacs (I think that´s what they were) was particularly potent in the evening, and I stopped each night under it, just to inhale for a while. 
I also spent some quality time reading in a hammock chair surrounded by the flowers, facing the lake.  Rough life.

The cold, and enforced rest, provided me with some reflection time.   I found myself feeling a real dis-ease, and struggling with the question of "why am I here?" Not the existential question, but, why Guatemala?  Why am I traveling? What is that I want out of this trip?  How long am I staying?  Do I want to learn spanish first, or go to the meditation centre first?  What happens if I run out of money before I´m ready to leave?  . . . . and so on, and so on.  It´s a powerful weapon sometimes, the mind, and amazing the damage it can inflict when I´m not paying attention.

So, as I indulged my screaming mind, I wandered the town, looked at cheap places to live and tried to decide where I wanted to be.  I learned a fair bit, I think.  Among other things, I learned that a fridge is not a standard piece of equipment in a kitchen . . . one often needs to buy it oneself and bring it with, even in short-term rentals.  I gather that a lot of folks just don´t use it.  Eating out is so cheap, they do that, or they buy at the market the day of and prepare as needed. 

I also re-connected with my privileged existence as a Canadian, who takes clean water and hot water for granted.  Both things are commodities here.  Agua Pura is everywhere . . .but you pay for it.  I may complain about the taste of tap water in Canadian cities, and the chlorine . . . but there´s no risk of parasites or SERIOUS illness from our water, and a hot shower is fairly standard back home.  Here the hot water tap is generally disabled, and one gets cold water that comes through this electric heater thing before it lands, low pressure and luke warm on your head.  (If you´re lucky . ..  many don´t even have that).

I also have a new appreciation for how we handle garbage and recycling, as insufficient as our environmental awareness is at home . . . it´s almost an unknown here. Recycling is VERY minimal - most things can´t be recycled, and garbage and litter are everywhere.  I was having the most wonderful breakfast on the beach one morning, only to find myself suddenly inhaling smoke and slowly getting covered in ash from a garbage fire on the beach.  Nothing like a little burning plastic to enhance the eating experience. 

The highlights of my time in San Pedro were really La Piscina, the friends I made there, and the gardens at my hotel. Oh, and the lake.  The last three days I was in San Pedro, the lake was SO choppy.  The waves were crashing and roaring, it was really like being back on the ocean.  I found it so soothing to my spirit, and it also served to keep me in San Pedro that extra couple of days, as I just didn´t think the boat across to San Marcos was such a good idea with the water that rough

One of my new friends, Guyta, is another Canadian from Quebec, in San Pedro studying spanish.  I´m not sure how well my spanish is progressing, but I´ve discovered I´m far more conversant in french than I give myself credit for.  I´m starting to think I´m going to return home with my french vastly improved and my spanish not so much, as I keep connecting with Francophones.  oh well.  Guyta is lovely, and I´ve been enjoying her company a lot.  She challenges me to use what little spanish I have, and when that fails, we fall into Frenglish.  I´m enjoying it a lot.  We´ve decided to spend New Years together in San Marcos;  since I´m heading there a day ahead of her, I´ll scope us a place to stay, and meet her at the dock there on Thursday afternoon.

Next top, San Marcos La Laguna.