Ileftgood

The morning after the night train ride from Rishikesh to Delhi, I witnessed what I can only describe as the most fascinating/strange/comical thing I’ve ever had the misfortune to view. I decided to call it the “Inexplicable Mass Defecation Phenomenon”, or IMDP for short. It began with wonder; why are all those guys squatting near the tracks? Then moved to analysis; are their pants off? Finally drawn to conclusion; sweet mother, they’re all taking a crap. If watching a monkey bounce off a door is the best way to wake up in the morning, the complete antithesis would be waking up to look out of your train window and watch several men drop-trou and poop on railroad tracks. Not the best “good morning, sunshine” moment and probably the most disturbing way to start your day. Kids, the lesson here is; when in India, do not under any circumstances, walk near or around the railroad tracks. Also, keep your eyes averted when pulling into Delhi in the A.M.

 

Luckily, this event would not prove to set the tone for the remainder of my time in India. A short flight from Delhi landed us in the warm, beautiful part of the country called Goa. We made our way North to the little town of Arambol where we were to meet up with our friend Stephanie…which we did. She had been there only a couple of days before our arrival, but had already managed to make friends with a few of the locals, both permanent and temporary, in the town. On our first night in, we were invited to one such locals house to share drinks and a home cooked dinner. I had the opportunity to help out in the kitchen which was great for me since I’d had only few opportunities to cook anything since I left. The food was fantastic and the company even better.

 

The days in Arambol continued in that fashion; Stephanie would meet some people in very random ways and was gracious enough to bring me along to meet them. After a week or so, I had the fortune of meeting up with several people I most likely would have never met were it not for her connection. Bonus for me. I can’t begin to describe the number of characters I encountered…but one highlight was a man named Joseph; an imposingly tall older gentlemen, born in Italy and transplanted to Canada several years ago, who was on a mission from God. Seriously. He is absolutely convinced that God speaks through him in the form of his writings. He had published several small books and handed them out to people he met after a brief discussion with them to decide if they would be receptive to the message. He didn’t charge anything for the books, for he thought it would be wrong to profit from his experience. Now, whether or not any of his shtick were true is not up for me to decide. But his sincerity and contagious joyful outlook on life would make even the hardest cynic think twice. Then there was Mala, a local woman who owned and operated the Arambol Huts, a place Stephanie and I called home for a little over a week. If there was anything you needed, Mala would provide. She was an absolute pleasure, as were her children who were a constant fixture in and around the home. We spent a lot of time hanging out with Mala and her kids, to the point where we received the moniker of Uncle and Auntie…once you’ve hit family status, you know you’ve arrived.

 

For two weeks in that small town I enjoyed life for what it was; simple, slow-paced, warm and beautiful. A routine of waking up, some days accompanying Stephanie to yoga, some days not; taste testing different places for variations on fruit/muslie/curd for breakfast; occasionally having a morning coconut; spending the days on a beach or in the ocean; evenings comprised of dinner with new friends often resulting in catching a musical act on the sand or in one of the near-by bars…it was a vacation from traveling…if that makes sense. Perfect in its simplicity.

 

When the time came, I found it difficult to leave Arambol. Far too often when traveling at this fast clip, I feel I’m missing out on the pleasures of truly getting to know any one place. Though, I left feeling a great connection to that town and the people in it. And more than that, I left knowing that India will be a place revisited one day. But before that happens, I must first complete this journey and my next destination; Turkey.

 

Slowly-slowly,

-N