Journal of india, starting now!

dani

This is just ingenious!
you should write a book!

Wazen

Reaching Pokara at night, limping, physically destroyed yet mentally stonger than ever before, my first warm greeting was a road block set on fire by children.
This really didnt phase me, for I was beyond the capablity of comprehension, a zen like state of numbness, no thoughts, no feelings, only the moment existed.
A small juice bar offerd a seat and some strength was regained over a glass of fresh juice...
While sitting alone, the two hot Israeli girls spotted me....
"Justin! How did you make it back today???"
..."I walked my ass off"....
They were in total disbelief....
..."Justin, the road block was over 35 kilometers from Pokara, we were saved by two angels on motorcycles, they were angels"
I was too tired to feel a little jealous. And they were too sane to believe I walked here in one day...

Limping back to the GorkhaliDhee Hotel, the same room was waiting for me with the same price!
Never in my life have I felt so accomplished, so exhausted, as if I was crowned king while in a hospital bed.
The next day I awoke to the most massive legs I ever seen on my body. I was totaly amped, yet could barely walk.
Wandering the streets to find my favorite resturant for some breakfast, the same young Nepali Begger Boy spotted me like the target I am.
We talked a little, mostly about getting him some cash....
"My friend, I have ganja, hash, heroin, whatever you want.... I am very hungry, could you by me crackers...Just a few ruppees.."
Ofcourse he didnt get jack from me...but he has yet to reveal the big suprise....!

Breakfast with my favorite Tibetian Refugee Family resturant seemed best, and upon entering they greeted me like an old friend.
An elderly family member, around 50 years old approaches me for some small talk. Like many Tibetian refugees in Nepal, she was selling handicrafts to tourists to survive. I asked her if she could make my Shiva bead into a necklace, the bead gifted from Naggar Baba during the Annapurna treck. Taking her time, she made me a beautiful necklace with many wooden beads decorated around my Shiva Bead. All she wanted was 30 Rupees, barely 50 cents! I was very happy and greatful, and from the look in her eyes, so was she.


Later on the in the afternoon, my Israeli friends made it back to town. They could barely believe I trecked back in one day. Niether could I....
We chilled out together, went to the Busy Bee for some good Pizza, and hit up some cheap Dabbas at night...
While at the Dabba, a foreigner was sitting along the roadside table smoking a fat joint of "Pollen".
That is, just the Trichomes or "crystals" of a Ganja plant compressed into a powdery like rock.
We sampled eachothers smoke, and obviously, this foreigner knew his Nepali smoke better than I did...
"Friend, I would like to buy some of this..."
After a few Tea's and Smoke, he took me down the road to a small home hidden behind many guesthouses dottoed around the lakeside.
First walking through a small resturant, then through the backdoor, and into a large hidden feild of poor, rundown homes.
A old Nepali man was introduced, and at that moment, the foreigner took off. My Israeli friends had a "bad feeling" about this, for no reason at all.
Everything was cool, so I did the deal for my friends.
The old Nepali man dug through the dirt beneath his garden, and pulled out a bag of Pollen weighing about a pound.
"Just a tola"...
We bargained a little, of course, but I eventually got it for less than $9. A decent deal by tourist standards. Except he didnt make me any chai, like most in India would do after a deal!...

A hotel owner I dealt with before approached me later that night, and I bought a couple more Tolas for a really cheap price. Now I am well prepared for the future!

As they days went on, and my strength slowly regained, the situation in Nepal was getting worse, and now sh*t was really about to "hit the fan".
Every afternoon, there would be MASSIVE protests and demonstrations by the locals.
Many hippies were collecting funds to help aid Nepali citizens hospitalized from police interaction.
Around sunset, a hundred or so locals would carry torches, marching down lakeside's tourist center, yelling and chanting for democracy in Nepal.
The torches would be pilled up in the middle of the street, creating a huge bonfire.
At this point, police were cool enough to let them protest, and let the fire burn for a little while.
No one was being beaten or harrassed by the cops, as far as I could see.
These demonstrations seemed rather peaceful, and gave a false sence of security....

Soon all buisnesses were forced to close 24/7. This was a very touchy situation in the tourist area. Many stores would close thier metal doors half way, to act closed, but if you REALLY needed something, you could crawl into thier shop and get your supplies. Some were too scared to open shop at all, and claimed Maoists could shoot thier place up for staying open. Locals also claimed on the outskirts of Pokara, Police were strictly enforcing this rule, to the point of brutality. Of course, this was kept away from Nepal's true income: The toursts and thier false sence of security.

The following day:
..."There is going to be a 8:00am to 8:00pm cerfew for everyone in Nepal, the airplanes are short on fuel becasue of the road blocks and the pilots are going on strike very soon"....
This seemed to be the gerneral word on the street. My Israeli friends and I decided the best Idea would be to catch a plane to the Sinuali boarder town near Lumbini the very next day, and walk into India.
We paid about $70.00 each!! DAMN MAOISTS!!!...
So its to be our very last night in Nepal....

How to celebrate? Anyone up for Pizza?
"Fellas, we gota get rid of all this smoke we are packing!"
So the plan finnaly came through, and a celebration it was!!
Everyone was unloading thier hash and pollen because they were leaving the next day.
People were just handing it out for free on the streets, because of airport security risks.
We took about 10 papers and rolled the fattest joint I ever seen in my life.
"Im gona meet you guys at the Busy Bee Resturant in an hour"...
Everything is cool.

While walking back to my hotel to freshen up, the Nepali Begger Boy came after me one last time, with the same sad stroy.
My answer was still "NO".
....
...He puts his hand out to shake my hand, looks me straight in the eyes...
"My friend, you are a very smart man."
... and he just walks away.

Meeting up at the Busy Bee resturant, one of the more expensive tourist places in Nepal, my friends were a little late to greet me.
Perhaps it was becasue I offended my short, skinny Israeli friend when he showed me a picture of his girlfriend full on embraced with another girl, making out.
"Damn thats cool man, your chick digs on girls too, lucky guy!".....
"Thats me in the picture..."
(Sh*t)
It was an awkward silence, though that fat joint, beer, and pizza cleared our heads...
In the middle of the packed resturant, live music playing, we light that joint up with no hesitation.
No one seemed to care, except for the jealous souls drooling for a tasty hit.

Suddenly, through the enterence, the young Nepali Begger Boy shows up at this expensive resturant.
Normally, any begger would be immediately kicked out of such an expensive place...
But not in this case...
He looks over at me and smiles, while shaking the hands of all the local workers, and sits down to order food!!
I cant believe it! I KNEW his begging was all just an act.
Our eyes caught for what seemed a long silent moment, and at that point we both knew the truth behind his tactics.
He wasnt poor, he just made a fat living from begging!
We had to laugh and smile together, knowing how things really work around here!
It was the very last time I would see him, though he is someone I can never forget!

I think my friends couldent handle all the food, smoke and beer. So they took of for a good nights sleep.
It was only the three of us, not the 7 or 8 that completed the treck together, as the others were no where to be found.
Soon a whole group of French cats showed up and sat down at my table, as I sit alone with a beer and joint.
I hand over some hash for free, roll thier party a couple fat joints, and said my goodbyes.
...Ah the lovely world of backpacking!
Back to the hotel for an early morning wake up, the cerfew starts at 8:00am tomorow!

In the morning my friends greeted me onto a nearly deserted road with 20 minutes until cerfew.
A police car drove by to escort stranded tourists to the airport, just our luck!
Little did I know, in the following days, the U.S Government would send officials to rescue stranded Americans!

The plane ride was calm and security low. I smuggled most of my hash with me, because I am a Shiva baba after all
Thanks to ducktape and testicles!
We all arived safely at the boarder town airport, and dozens of cycle-rickshaws where waiting for us like a hungry pack of wolves.
I just took a seat and let my Israeli friends do the bargaining! They are truley masters of the art!
As we were peddled through the large town on Nepal's boarder, I swear a tumble weed rolled across the street.
The true extent of this civil war was apparent on our last day in Nepal.
EVERY shop was closed, no one was on the streets, it was like living in a true western ghost town...
Nepal's dependency on tourism, and the blindfold pulled over thier visitor's eyes, was a livivng chaos before us.
Outside the tourist areas, this civil war was the real deal. Im glad to get out safe, and back into the struggle thats India!

Wazen

Hopping on the next bus to Ghorakpur, where the nearest trainstation was, the entire Annapurna crew just happened to be there too!
They all decided to stick together and catch the next train to Rishikesh. What to do....
I gota keep it real fellas...
"Justin come with us to Rishikesh!"
...I had to think about this decision for a while....After all I travel alone for the most part.
While waiting at the station for the night train to Hardiwar, a town near Rishikesh, I met an old french man who has been living in Manali for decades.
They were catching the same train as everyone else, and proposed that I follow them on the road past Parvati!
...Well guys, Parvati valley and the stories of Charas were my ORIGINAL inspiration for discovering India. (Viva O.G.!)
...We all had dinner together, caught the train to Hardiwar, and when we woke up in the early morning, a decision had to be made...
"Guys, ill never forget you, but i'm on my own journey to Parvati Valley!"
We had a very sad goodbye, my Israeli friends continued on to Rishikesh, and I stuck with my new friends as we ventured out into the sacred city of Hardiwar..

"The bus to Chandigarh dosent leave for a few more hours, we are going to swim in the Ganges"
...How could I say no?
"Dont worry, the Ganges here is much cleaner than in Varanasi."
We left our luggage with a friend of his who owned a storage shop, and caught a rickshaw to the Gangas...
Shoes were removed, and they stripped down into thier underwear, though I was afraid and unwilling...
I dont wear underwear so swiming naked is out of the picture, and I was a little intimidated by the pollution.
They were having a blast though, so I just looked after thier clothes, and dipped my sore, blistered feet into the river and said a prayer.
I guess the sacredness overwhelmed my hesitation.
There were so many Baba's, Sadhu's wandering around. Decorated and dressed up like no Sadhu I ever seen before.
I looked at my watch and checked the date...
Oh my god.... Its April 20th!! Not only the day I was supposed to go home, but also a sacred day for us Ganja smokers!
We had to celebrate!
My friends dried off, and continued back toward the main road when an old lady selling 2rs clay chillums caught my eye!
"Wait guys, I need a new chillum, and we should go have a smoke!"
We walked over a bridge and found a mellow spot near the riverside.
Soon a Shiva baba came over to join us, and packed a fat chillum for us to smoke.
Then he took out this exotic fruit I have never seen or tasted before.
The french man translated his words: "He says its a Shiva fruit, a very sacred fruit", as the baba washes and slices it in the Ganga water!
He hands us each a piece of this fruit, and it was very very tasty. Little did I know I just did two very unhealthy things....
Soon it was time to say our good byes, and we headed back to get our luggage.
My legs were still very sore, so another chemist gave me a little more pure codine to keep the pain at bay.
While my friends packed up, I drank some tap water to wash down my medication. Third big mistake.
Aboard the bus and it was a long journey into the early morning of Chandigargh!

Man was I hungry, and not totally clear headed, so when we arrived at Chandigarh those Samosa's sitting out at 2:00am looked really tasty. Mistake number four!
"You shouldent be eating those Justin, youll get sick for sure"...
Little did I know that little parasite named Dysentery was already making home sweet home in my gut....
I threw the left over Samosa's away, but it was too late for me now....

The last and Final bus to Manali had just enough seats left for all of us, but no more. We got lucky!
A nice long journey all the way to Bhuntar, and the bus pulls over in this large mountian town.
"This is the start Parvati valley, you can catch a bus to Jari from here"
We said our goodbyes and I wanderd alone into a new world nestled within these sacred mountains, the wife of Lord Shiva!
This marks the beggining of the most intense, mind blowing experience I have ever lived.
The very last entries to my journal follow, but will have to wait for now. All I can say is the next fifty days changed my perspective on life forever,
and even months after returning from India, Parvati calls out to my heart, for my return, for her love.
I dont know if I went insane in Parvati valley because I found the closest thing to Hevan while searching for my heart within her endless beauty.
Or maybe I found who I truley am, and being back in this western world is too much to handle. All I know is that someting changed my life forever.

Boom Bolenath!

batistuta

Great posts Wazen as usual.

Come back to India soon .

girlfromvenus

I think one word says it all:

WOW

kullukid

Amazin as usual Wazen..... There i was reading away, thinking great we'll be entering Parvati soon, (if you'll excuse the phrase!) the bit i've been waiting for all this time & what happens we get to the gateway of the Parvati when suddenly you stop & leave us with a cliffhanger! You tease you!......... Really can't wait for the next episode..... Hope it's soon! Bom Shankar KK

capt_mahajan

and i thought being at sea helped you find your truth.

good job, wazen. very good job.

Wazen

Before the bus stopped at Bhuntar, a nameless town surrounded by small rolling hills appeared down the dirt road.
Rising early morning sunrays pierced the sleeping eyes of passengers, slowly they awaken into the new day.
Two passengers at each side kept using my shoulders as a head rest. The Codeine and Valium taken was unprecedented, sleep was minimal.
Needless to say, grumpy would be an understatement, and sore would be my hands after punching a tree to ease the anger.
"Have a cigarette" My friend said...
"No I don’t want one"...
"You really should have a smoke"...
Handing one over with fire, the first drag flowed through my tension, exhaling thick breath-filled smoke into the cold morning air.
..As reality and sanity followed today’s awakening, so did the realization that I finally over did the dope.
Eyes on the dirt road, feet pacing back and forth, the bus unloaded in the distance along with my bad attitude.
It’s been over two days without sleep. Two days confined to a slave ship of overcrowded Indian travel and downing like Cobain.
Though the break was short as the last moments to Parvati will be.

The road weaved through Himalayan Mountains like no other, timeless and sacred, the Garden of Eden existing before my very eyes.
Feelings beyond words speak to my heart, though I have yet to realize the true beauty of God's throne.
Once were dreams, now within the vertical valleys of Parvati the unimaginable has been achieved.
A new chapter begins, unfolding into the unknown, an ending to this journey of a lifetime.


Time for our goodbyes came quicker than anticipated. The bus pulls over at a small mountain village, marking the entrance into
a sacred natural kingdom where time does not exist. Parvati before my feet, her beautiful mountains an artwork of god, like the
welcoming arms of love at first sight.

"Bus to Jari?" ...Within minutes a seat was taken. Its time to follow my dreams.

Sheer vertical cliffs drop into a river thousands of feet below. The slow and tedious journey traveled up a dirt road with no
boundaries, barely big enough for two cars. On coming busses are a problem that risk everyone’s life.
Barely scraping by the edge of death, the dirt road disappeared from the view of my window seat. And under my sight, far below, an old
rusted bus marks the truth of such obvious nightmares. Falling to their doom, creating large tombstones, unreachable.
Unrelenting thoughts of death upon each glance was a common occurrence. More than one bus lay destroyed at the bottom of Parvati.

Nothing was asked. The bus approached a remote town within the hour long journey, for sure it was Jari.
Insomnia and excessive dope was tearing this mind apart, without care for the disappointment of the shithole now under my feet.
Loud horns raging over countless cars. Never parting clouds of dirt mist the town like a thick fog. A single guest house along
the road wasn’t very appealing, and leaving this town within the first few minutes seemed best.

Between two dirty buildings on a slope, worn pavement boarderd by a small trench of sewage water. Cow shit and old narrow water pipes
lead to a small, barely noticeable sign. Painted red words read "Village guest house", with an arrow pointing to no where.
Following a small footpath lined with head-high ganja plants, the walk seemed more like trespassing, for it was leading through clusters
of local residents. Five minutes and numerous forks later, doubt started to sink in. Not only was I lost, but no way could a guest house
exist up here, far above Jari in the middle of nowhere.
..A quick break for a smoke when a middle aged white man came walking down the path.
"Namaste!"... "Is there a guest house up here?"
Speaking with a strong European accent, in a slow calm voice:
..."My guest house is full. Stay at the first one in the village, just follow the foot path."
It seemed odd that a foreigner owns a guest house. Perhaps the stories of tripped out westerners forever lost in Parvati may be true...
The path lead further up a steep hill, far above the dirt clouds of Jari, until car horns could no longer be heard.
Stone steps make way to a large grassy field boarderd by a small village. Towering above the rooftops stand snow capped peaks
carved with a sharp, jagged texture. Three worn down signs advertise for three remote guest houses.
Time to do some exploring!
Finding the end of the village, a small guest house with a single visitor appeared.
Without introduction, I sit next to this old guest and pack some Nepali Pollen as a nice gesture.
Small talk along with today’s first bake, the ambience of this place was starting to sink in.
"I live here every winter, that’s when Charas are best and cheapest."
"But I can’t make Charas"...The old man shows his disfigured hands. Luckily he could still hold the chillum!

Earlier conversation with the European man, along with flying high, encouraged me to look around a little more.
...To the first guest house of the village! Backtracking along a muddy foot path led way to an instant decision, for as soon as
Village Guest House appeared, I found my new home. Little did I know for the next fifty days Parvati would take my heart. And for
the first time during the adventure it was time to settle down and live!

Down a secluded dirt path, white walls and new architecture proclaim comfort. A rather large farm house with modern day looks lay hidden
behind an overgrown garden. Plastic lawn chairs and wooden tables create perfect spots to smoke charas and eat home style cooking!
A two story building stands out with enough space for seven rooms. On the balcony, two soft, clean couches overlook the beautiful
mountains that stand guard to Malana. Indescribable beauty, three mountain peaks with slanted stripes of green trees break into the sky.
A natural monument in the name of great Parvati, jarring, bold, like the statues of god they are.

A middle aged woman dressed in brightly colored Indian attire guides a tour of available rooms.
Papers are signed, bags unpacked, barely awake it was time to meet my new friends. Every visitor sitting around, stoned, happy,
listening to music and talking story. Some guests rarely emerge from their cave, too stoned to move they sleep all day.
At this point, the quality of Parvati charas has yet to be experienced. Besides, I have some potent Nepal goodies that keep me happy!

Fully grown beard upon his young face, an Israeli man seems immobile and happy. With a dragged out stoned voice, he calls out to his
care takers... "Anjeeee, Thaliii melegaaaaaa? No 30 minutes Anjeeee, im very hungry, nooo 30 minutes Aaaanjeeeee."
It was too funny to catch any hint of a demanding, rude tone. After some small talk, he shares with me inspiration needed for the future..
With an Israeli accent, his voice enhanced by the chillum passed in a circle:
"I just sit here and do nothing. I don’t want to do anything, just to sit and be bored. I have been sitting here for 10 days."
Too stoned to walk down a story of steps, he can only call for his food, and hide away in his room doing nothing at all.
At first, staying in a village for 10 days seemed strange. But Parvati has yet to embrace my soul with her timeless existence.

After two sleepless nights on the road, tonight’s rest was a good one. When the sun rose to start the morning, a new visitor was hanging around.
It was amazing that, like many who travel to Parvati, this visitor knew nothing of the chara production! Stories of India's best hash
unloaded from what mind I had left, working both of us into a severe craving for smoke.
"So do you have any?"...
"Not from Parvati, but from Nepal" I replied as the chillum was loaded.
Instant friendship built over a natural mystic started the day.
..."Wana check out the waterfall?" Who couldn’t say no?
The dirt foot path turned down a small valley near the village ending. At the trail's bottom, a stream of water ran through a lush green
forest with tree tops tunneling overhead. Teenage Indian girls washing their clothes in the river spot us up stream. While walking
back, they call to us.."Hello!!" as they giggle and speak softly in Hindi. Some of them looking straight into our eyes, teasing us,
barely respecting the boundaries of culture, as we all silently understand there is no chance. Words repeat from remembered conversations
with my French friend from Manali: "A friend who was living here once told me, never have sex with village girls. It’s okay in the city,
but in villages, everyone knows what is going on. Some girls will have sex with you, then go to the doctor and claim rape. Then they
demand marriage for an American Visa, or your going to jail."
...We just smiled with respect and waved.

The early afternoon moved in, though for some reason I wasn’t hungry. The medication I took two days ago still had me wasted.
For some reason I wasn’t feeling well, it must be the pills during the bus ride. Perhaps taking a nap would be best...

My eyes opened into pitch black, not a sound from outside. The night was late, everyone asleep. Within seconds a vomiting feeling
gripped my stomach with horrible pain. Laying there, hoping the pain would subside, the sickness got worse. Suddenly I needed to take a
dump, badly. The bathroom was 20 paces away, outside. But my ass was throbbing uncontrollably. It was so bad, I could barely get shoes
on my feet...
...Fu*k this I cant hold it!..
I grabbed a sarong and wrapped it around my waist, darted out the door and ran toward the bathroom.
...But it was too late.
Half way to the toilet, my ass exploded vile, stinky, curry smelling diarrhea all over the walkway.
..All over my shoes and sarong, dripping down my leg, covering my lower half with a nightmare. It was like a nuke bomb exploded out my ass.
Minutes passed under the silent darkness of night, standing still, confused, wanting to cry yet petrified by shock.
Covered in my own feces, I squatted over the toilet and finished the job. Long dreads brushed against my legs, soaking
up the filth like a mop, only to paint an invisible stench over my back and arms...
Though the pain overwhelmed this self imposed moment of fecofelia and shattered the cringing over filth when blood was seen dripping
into the toilet. Left hand brought into sight finger tips covered in red, liquid shit mixed with blood from my own bowels.
This is not good. Not good at all.

Wazen

I just wana thank all of you for the encouragement and kind words. Sorry the journal is coming around so slowly. Life has me running in endless circles, infact, four months since returning to America, the culture shock is still severe.

I hope to write about the biggest obstacle yet, that is, the transition back to Western culture. The biggest trip wasnt wandering around India for five months. Its having my mind torn apart everyday that I live in the west. Without a doubt, the true adventure is starting life over again. This is the main reason why the journal isnt finnished. But we'll get into that down the road. 48 days until the plane departs from India. Just that, I forgot my heart there, and its not coming back.

shpatel

Amazing! Please keep the journals coming

__________________
Let the world change you...and you can change the world
-Ernesto Guevara de la Serna

snowcrab

So glad to hear from you again

Baba

Thanks for another round of this. Take your time, this stuff should be savoured slowly anyway.

__________________
Baba

Andypolls

I've just spent the last couple of days reading this - it's a fantastic read Wazen - I do hope you find the time and motivation to continue, but I guess not since it's been a long time since your last post....
All the best
Andypolls

gohome

I agree. Only came across this thread last week and searched for the Part 2 - coming home version.

Wazen please continue.....

Darmabum

of Hanuman. Hands on either side of his chest, pulling it apart, to expose his heart. That's the picture that comes to mind after reading this post.

Thank you for sharing. India and yourself. I pray you fully absorb your journey during this next year. And if you don't . . . India's there.

Peace to You Wazen

Scott

__________________
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate; our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure - Marianne Williamson